We are warned at the beginning of (500) Days of Summer (Mark Webb, 2009), “this is not a love story”. In world where relationship lines are increasingly blurred, gender roles are shifting, more marriages end in divorce than happiness, and the media increasingly infiltrates our lives, one has to question, has love lost its meaning? And can you say ‘I love you’ with a greeting card?
So many formulaic rom-coms are released each year that churn out fantasy love stories on the variation of boy meets girl who, after a few bumps in the road and quirky adventures, realise they are meant to be together and (assumedly) live happily ever after (or at the least movie ends before the real issues begin). Hollywood has been doing this since Katherine Hepburn made cracks about Cary Grant’s dinosaur bones in Bringing Up Baby (Howard Hawks, 1938). Though we are under no illusions that Days of Summer is one of those films, you can be forgiven for still hoping for that cliched happy ending. By resisting this, the film captures a certain modern cynicism.
The movies and consumer culture infiltrate the characters’ lives. Instead of discussing their relationship, Summer insists on going to the movies. In his deepest moments of sorrow Tom pictures himself as characters in French New Wave films he watching (and who hasn’t done that?!) On their first date, Tom and Summer ironically play house in an Ikea store, the embodiment of pre-fabricated, assembly-line domestic bliss. Except it is exposed as a fabrication – nothing works. Just like Tom is kidding himself about the future of his and Summer’s relationship.
Although Tom’s speech when he realises he is part of the very system that propagates the unreasonable expectations of love that he has fallen victim, is less than subtle, it demonstrates the disillusionment of a generation that thrives on the same mass media culture that they want to rebel against.
Summer embodies a contemporary cynicism towards love and finding ‘the one’. She says she wants something “casual”, that she doesn’t believe in love. She is also pragmatic. When asked what happened to her previous boyfriends, she simply says “life happened”. So is it ironic that she is the one who ends up married? Perhaps, but this does not necessarily mean she has found true love or ‘the on’e. In fact Summer’s motives remain elusive. As Tom says “you just do what you want, don’t you”.
It is refreshing to see a role reversal where the woman has all the power and is active in setting the plot into motion. While he is too tongue-tied to even ask his dream girl out, she makes out with him in the copy room. She waits in his bed naked while he composes himself in the bathroom. It is made explicit when Summer compares them to Sid and Nancy and clarifies “I’m Sid”. This demonstrates how men are increasingly feminised by contemporary society, where their traditional roles as dominant hunter are being undermined.
This film is also about what we project onto people, the feelings and connections that may or may not be there. What evidence does Tom have that him and Summer are meant to be? Because she likes the same music as him and happened to work in the same office?
Sometimes you feel like we are only being shown what Tom wants to remember, or what fits into his fantasy. At one stage Summer points out that they are always fighting but the film only shows one scene where they argue. Like so many of us he blocks out those moments he doesn’t want to remember: her crying at the end of The Graduate and not sharing with him why; moving her hand away when he goes to hold it. The things that don’t fit in with the fantasy are blocked out.
The role of the narrator is important, giving the feeling of fantasy and storytelling. Sometimes you are not sure whether what you are seeing on screen matches the narration or whether to believe the only identification point offered – Tom’s. The action in the film often undermines the romanticism of the narration. The narrator tells us “the next four words changed everything” but when Summer says “I haven’t told anyone”, it does not seem that significant.
The structure of the film encapsulates the way we reflect back on relationships. Time is not linear. Memories interact with each other and spark new memories. And only once you have reached the end of something can you truly understanding everything that has come before.
And at the end of the day, the best you can hope for is that you will learn something from the experience. It helps Tom get out the rut he is in career-wise and pursue what he’s always wanted to do. (The film would have been more satisfying for me if he’d got his dream job at the end). Sometimes it might not work out the way you hoped with someone but they might have changed your life for the better in some other way.
The ending is a little flat and tries to play it both ways. For those who want to believe in the Hollywood happy ending, ‘fate’ brings Tom a new girl who could be the love of his life (conveniently named Autumn). For those who want to remain cynical, it echoes with hollowness, simply providing another person for Tom to project his unreasonable expectations onto.
As for me, I was left remembering the last scene between Tom and Summer and the message that there are some people you will never understand and you just have to let it go.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Monday, February 2, 2009
Woody in Barcelona
Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Woody Allen 2008) is one of those charming ‘slice of life films’ where the consequences of their actions may not have lasting repercussions but the characters are changed by their unique experiences. Normality is rocked but equilibrium is restored at the end. (Significantly these films often occur as part of an overseas holiday or being taken out of everyday life, Sophia Coppola’s Lost In Translation (2003) being just one example).
Some may be thankful that Woody has moved away from the narcissitic desire to star in all his films while playing out all his psychoanalytic anxiety and neuroses. In this film he turns to the lives of two American girls, taking some time out in Barcelona, with very difficult ideas of love. Like all Woody Allen films, Vicky Cristina Barcelona has plenty of psychoanalytic fodder. For Woody fans, never fear, the neuroses are still there (particularly in the character of Vicky and her overanalytical diatribes, arguably a sign of repression).
The performances are charming, the dialogue is witty, and the Latin ‘love amour’ of Juan Antonio and Maria Elena is full of fire (irrational, emotional and flaming – just as a hot-blooded passion should be!). Barcelona, as the title suggests, is a character in itself and this please all those virtual tourists in the audience. Javier Bardem manages to avoid stereotypes playing the seductive Latin lover and despite the initial urge to dislike him, you can’t help being drawn into his world just like Cristina and Vicky are. Afterall, it looks so scrumptious, why wouldn’t you be?
When the narrator speaks you expect to hear Woody’s voice because you know it is him behind the scenes driving this narrative. Nevertheless that awareness of watching a contrived piece of art creates an important layer to the film. The narrator’s voice is well used, not only to keep the story moving but it creates an alienation to remind you this is just a story at the moments when you are tempted to become too engaged.
I like to think of the two female leads in terms of Kristeva’s melancholic. The melancholic is one who gets pleasure out of his secret heart of woe, out of being deprived of the fulfillment of his desires. To put it crudely, the melancholic gets off on loss. In particular this resonates in the character of Cristina who, as the narrator informs us “knows what she doesn’t want but is not sure what she is looking for”.
The melancholic links back to Kristeva’s foreigner. Cristina is literally the tourist in a foreign place but she also gives off the free-spirit sense of belonging nowhere, bathing in the absence that comes with failed love affairs, never learning Spanish so she can’t understand the conversations between Juan and his ex wife, having some unknown desire that can never be fulfilled, and perhaps delighting in her own melancholy. Interestingly she is opposite to Maria Elena in looks (blonde vs brown, American vs Spanish) and countenance (quiet vs fiery).
On the other hand, Vicky who knows exactly what she wants but throughout the film is forced to question her ideals. Through this and more explicitly the threesome that develops in Cristina’s life, the film questions the concept of heterosexual monogamy. Vicky’s fiancee is a tiresome bore, obsessed with material possessions - you can’t understand why she would want to spend the rest of her life with him. His potentially romantic gesture of marrying in Spain (to of course be reinforced by a properly elaborate wedding with all their family and friend in New York) instead seems contrived. It’s great to see Vicky, the pragmatic one, being tempted to throw her sensibilities aside.
But this film is also about people repeating the same destructive patterns (how Freudian!). All the characters are guilty of this. Cristina leaves what she has seemingly always wanted for no apparent reason (though arguably this cannot be sustainable in the real world so has to end) but in the context of her character it is plausible. Vicky resist the seductions of true passion in favour of her rational approach to “love”, doomed to middle class ennui. Juan Antonio can not helped being sucked back into the destructive patterns of his relationship with Maria Elena (perhaps hoping this time it will bring them happiness). And of course there’s peripheral character of Judy who tries to live vicariously through Vicky, only see her own pattern replayed.
And at end you cannot help wondering if people are afraid to let themselves be happy. Or perhaps this film just appeals to the melancholic in all of us!
Some may be thankful that Woody has moved away from the narcissitic desire to star in all his films while playing out all his psychoanalytic anxiety and neuroses. In this film he turns to the lives of two American girls, taking some time out in Barcelona, with very difficult ideas of love. Like all Woody Allen films, Vicky Cristina Barcelona has plenty of psychoanalytic fodder. For Woody fans, never fear, the neuroses are still there (particularly in the character of Vicky and her overanalytical diatribes, arguably a sign of repression).
The performances are charming, the dialogue is witty, and the Latin ‘love amour’ of Juan Antonio and Maria Elena is full of fire (irrational, emotional and flaming – just as a hot-blooded passion should be!). Barcelona, as the title suggests, is a character in itself and this please all those virtual tourists in the audience. Javier Bardem manages to avoid stereotypes playing the seductive Latin lover and despite the initial urge to dislike him, you can’t help being drawn into his world just like Cristina and Vicky are. Afterall, it looks so scrumptious, why wouldn’t you be?
When the narrator speaks you expect to hear Woody’s voice because you know it is him behind the scenes driving this narrative. Nevertheless that awareness of watching a contrived piece of art creates an important layer to the film. The narrator’s voice is well used, not only to keep the story moving but it creates an alienation to remind you this is just a story at the moments when you are tempted to become too engaged.
I like to think of the two female leads in terms of Kristeva’s melancholic. The melancholic is one who gets pleasure out of his secret heart of woe, out of being deprived of the fulfillment of his desires. To put it crudely, the melancholic gets off on loss. In particular this resonates in the character of Cristina who, as the narrator informs us “knows what she doesn’t want but is not sure what she is looking for”.
The melancholic links back to Kristeva’s foreigner. Cristina is literally the tourist in a foreign place but she also gives off the free-spirit sense of belonging nowhere, bathing in the absence that comes with failed love affairs, never learning Spanish so she can’t understand the conversations between Juan and his ex wife, having some unknown desire that can never be fulfilled, and perhaps delighting in her own melancholy. Interestingly she is opposite to Maria Elena in looks (blonde vs brown, American vs Spanish) and countenance (quiet vs fiery).
On the other hand, Vicky who knows exactly what she wants but throughout the film is forced to question her ideals. Through this and more explicitly the threesome that develops in Cristina’s life, the film questions the concept of heterosexual monogamy. Vicky’s fiancee is a tiresome bore, obsessed with material possessions - you can’t understand why she would want to spend the rest of her life with him. His potentially romantic gesture of marrying in Spain (to of course be reinforced by a properly elaborate wedding with all their family and friend in New York) instead seems contrived. It’s great to see Vicky, the pragmatic one, being tempted to throw her sensibilities aside.
But this film is also about people repeating the same destructive patterns (how Freudian!). All the characters are guilty of this. Cristina leaves what she has seemingly always wanted for no apparent reason (though arguably this cannot be sustainable in the real world so has to end) but in the context of her character it is plausible. Vicky resist the seductions of true passion in favour of her rational approach to “love”, doomed to middle class ennui. Juan Antonio can not helped being sucked back into the destructive patterns of his relationship with Maria Elena (perhaps hoping this time it will bring them happiness). And of course there’s peripheral character of Judy who tries to live vicariously through Vicky, only see her own pattern replayed.
And at end you cannot help wondering if people are afraid to let themselves be happy. Or perhaps this film just appeals to the melancholic in all of us!
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Creating myths for Australia
Australia lacks the foundation myths that great nationalism is based on. Some of the most well-known historical figures are criminals (like Ned Kelly) or failures (who can forget Burke and Wills). Australia (2008) Baz Luhrmann’s sweeping epic (is there any more appropriate phrase to use?) can be considered a milestone in Australian mythmaking and perhaps film. On a basic level it is encouraging to see a big budget film with high production values come out of this country (though arguably this is a Hollywood film, Luhrmann has his roots in Australia). It looks great. The outback is a star. Formulaic? Of course. But most importantly it is done well.
I approached this film with skepticism, partly due to its marketing (as a Tourism Australia exercise) and its big budget epicness (all I can think is Titanic and shudder slightly). I also dislike Nicole Kidman. I think she is neither a good enough actress nor attractive enough to be made into the star that she has. There is something wooden about her and Australia is no exception. Luckily the rest of the acting makes up for it. Hugh Jackman is all man! He has real screen charisma. Brandon Walters as Nulla is satisfactory, though his contrived pidgin English is somewhat bothersome.
The first half an hour is a little bizarre. Baz is back using his Moulin Rouge tricks, which is fine but the tone it sets is quickly abandoned in favour of more traditional drama. The scenes of Sarah’s arrival in Australia and Faraway Downs are almost cartoonish, with quick cuts and close-ups of exaggerated facial expressions. You feel like you have fallen through the rabbit hole into a 1930s screw ball comedy! What is the purpose of this when the film seamlessly moves into epic blockbuster mode for the rest of its duration?
Australia has all the ingredients of a successful blockbuster: a sizzling love story, heroes and villains, action chase scenes, explosions, extended length, rousing musical score and of course, a happy ending. But it offers nothing new to this genre. It is interesting to view it in the context of the Western tradition, which is what it essentially is complete with renegade cowboy, money hungry land owner, uptight school marm (or close enough in Kidman’s English lady), bar room brawls, and a community dance. There are clearly delineated good and bad characters. No ambiguity there! The bad are bad through and through. It could have made a more interesting film if the lines between good and bad were blurred a little.
What is ambiguous is the film’s treatment of Aboriginal issues. There is nothing new or revolutionary in this respect. It wants to have its cake and eat it too. While attempting to stick to history portraying the abuses and indignities faced by Aboriginals at the hands of the whites, in the spirit of reconciliation it also allows Aboriginals their same victories (having a drink in the bar, saving stolen generation children from the mission, allowing the half-caste child to go walkabout). But this changes nothing. What happens to the children after they have been rescued? Assumedly taken off to another mission. The only reason the Aboriginal gets to have his drink is because Darwin has been bombed and the bar is about to be abandoned anyway. In the end he has to give up his life for the white hero anyway. There is always the sense that Nulla is better off being adopted by white parents and Sarah inherently deserves to have him.
Aboriginal issues are a touchy and much neglected subject in Australia. Luhrmann’s film takes the safe ground.
Overall this film is an enjoyable experience, if not a forgettable one.
I approached this film with skepticism, partly due to its marketing (as a Tourism Australia exercise) and its big budget epicness (all I can think is Titanic and shudder slightly). I also dislike Nicole Kidman. I think she is neither a good enough actress nor attractive enough to be made into the star that she has. There is something wooden about her and Australia is no exception. Luckily the rest of the acting makes up for it. Hugh Jackman is all man! He has real screen charisma. Brandon Walters as Nulla is satisfactory, though his contrived pidgin English is somewhat bothersome.
The first half an hour is a little bizarre. Baz is back using his Moulin Rouge tricks, which is fine but the tone it sets is quickly abandoned in favour of more traditional drama. The scenes of Sarah’s arrival in Australia and Faraway Downs are almost cartoonish, with quick cuts and close-ups of exaggerated facial expressions. You feel like you have fallen through the rabbit hole into a 1930s screw ball comedy! What is the purpose of this when the film seamlessly moves into epic blockbuster mode for the rest of its duration?
Australia has all the ingredients of a successful blockbuster: a sizzling love story, heroes and villains, action chase scenes, explosions, extended length, rousing musical score and of course, a happy ending. But it offers nothing new to this genre. It is interesting to view it in the context of the Western tradition, which is what it essentially is complete with renegade cowboy, money hungry land owner, uptight school marm (or close enough in Kidman’s English lady), bar room brawls, and a community dance. There are clearly delineated good and bad characters. No ambiguity there! The bad are bad through and through. It could have made a more interesting film if the lines between good and bad were blurred a little.
What is ambiguous is the film’s treatment of Aboriginal issues. There is nothing new or revolutionary in this respect. It wants to have its cake and eat it too. While attempting to stick to history portraying the abuses and indignities faced by Aboriginals at the hands of the whites, in the spirit of reconciliation it also allows Aboriginals their same victories (having a drink in the bar, saving stolen generation children from the mission, allowing the half-caste child to go walkabout). But this changes nothing. What happens to the children after they have been rescued? Assumedly taken off to another mission. The only reason the Aboriginal gets to have his drink is because Darwin has been bombed and the bar is about to be abandoned anyway. In the end he has to give up his life for the white hero anyway. There is always the sense that Nulla is better off being adopted by white parents and Sarah inherently deserves to have him.
Aboriginal issues are a touchy and much neglected subject in Australia. Luhrmann’s film takes the safe ground.
Overall this film is an enjoyable experience, if not a forgettable one.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
The American road film Italian-style
Michelangelo Antonioni’s genius lies in his mastery of cinematic rhythms. He can be accused of drawing his films out and if you are not in the right state of mind this can cause distraction. But he does it for a purpose and it is all worth it at the end. When I think of great endings in cinema, I think of his magnificent 12 minute panning shot which concludes The Passenger (1975). It was a one take sequence which made me want to hold my breath for its eternity. Zabriskie Point (1970) ends with a truly mind blowing experience, an assault on the senses which brought a physical reaction from me. A recurring explosion that I could feel it reverberating inside me and each moment I thought I was free it would start again. This is the ultimate Freudian return of the repressed – no matter how many times it is played out (each time it returns bigger than the one before), you can never be free of it. The message is not exactly subtle. Antonioni literally blows up symbols of commodity culture (there are clothes flying, fridges exploding and branded products spinning before the camera) but it is the lead up which creates the shock.
As an outsider approaching American culture, Antonioni’s use of landscape and cinematography is brilliant. The focus on the omnipresent billboard is wonderful and symbolic of American consumerism. The billboard infiltrates almost every scene, from the edges of the frame until it invades the whole shot. Everywhere in the city there is excessive branding, like a shadow that cannot be shaken it follows the characters. For example when the boy is using a telephone in a shop and behind him is a wall of logos for different food brands.
As we move into the desert and the billboards literally start to fade and eventually disappear. The claustrophobic condition of the overbuilt LA (some striking birds eye view shots show a city dissected by roads) is contrasted with the amazing expanse of the desert (which is shot magnificently). The vastness of the open space is captured beautifully in shots which demonstrate the epic scale of nature to wildlife. The wilderness, particularly the desert, comes with all sorts of connotations in American film. It is a mythic site of self-discovery regularly utilized by the road flick (think Easy Rider, Thelma and Louise) and before this it represented the last frontier in the Western film - a ‘no space’ if you will, full of threats and possibilities before it is tamed by humanity. There is a freedom evoked by this and Antonioni encompasses this in the character of the girl. She goes from the sterlised environment of the office block (all the shots here have symbols of technology and industrialization cutting up the frame, for example in a shot of a secretary where ¾ of the screen is taken up by the hard industrial vertical lines of the wall) to the freedom of the desert.
The rendezvous the boy and girl and have in the desert is incongruous. A courtship played out between plane and car, possibly ludicrous but no one claims this is realism. The familiarity with which she acts towards him makes it seem like they have known each other forever, not that he’s just dropped out of the sky!
Their frolicking at Zabriskie Point brings with it a child-like innocence. Running down sand hills, play dead, spinning around in circles and screaming as loud as you can knowing no one will hear feels like a way of recapturing the impulsiveness of childhood. There a wonderful vivacity around the girl and her inane conversations. Then of course sexual discovery (what road film would be complete without it!) which turns wonderfully surreal with the groups of people rolling naked in the sand dotted across the landscape.
However like most road films the characters can not remain in this liminal space, they must return to ‘reality’. The boy returns to face his tragic fate and the girl, after seemingly contemplating pushing onward, proceeds to fulfill her work obligations. But how can she accept this world after what she has experienced? For a good ten minutes she walks around the house in a daze, in virtual silence, her sense dulled and yet heightened. It is all about the looks, the noticing of details, where after an amazing experience, nothing seems to exist outside your immediate environment but what does has taken on a momentous significance. I could feel her solitude and the deafening silence. We are lulled into her brooding world and then literally exploded out of it. A rare big screen experience that evokes a physical reaction.
As an outsider approaching American culture, Antonioni’s use of landscape and cinematography is brilliant. The focus on the omnipresent billboard is wonderful and symbolic of American consumerism. The billboard infiltrates almost every scene, from the edges of the frame until it invades the whole shot. Everywhere in the city there is excessive branding, like a shadow that cannot be shaken it follows the characters. For example when the boy is using a telephone in a shop and behind him is a wall of logos for different food brands.
As we move into the desert and the billboards literally start to fade and eventually disappear. The claustrophobic condition of the overbuilt LA (some striking birds eye view shots show a city dissected by roads) is contrasted with the amazing expanse of the desert (which is shot magnificently). The vastness of the open space is captured beautifully in shots which demonstrate the epic scale of nature to wildlife. The wilderness, particularly the desert, comes with all sorts of connotations in American film. It is a mythic site of self-discovery regularly utilized by the road flick (think Easy Rider, Thelma and Louise) and before this it represented the last frontier in the Western film - a ‘no space’ if you will, full of threats and possibilities before it is tamed by humanity. There is a freedom evoked by this and Antonioni encompasses this in the character of the girl. She goes from the sterlised environment of the office block (all the shots here have symbols of technology and industrialization cutting up the frame, for example in a shot of a secretary where ¾ of the screen is taken up by the hard industrial vertical lines of the wall) to the freedom of the desert.
The rendezvous the boy and girl and have in the desert is incongruous. A courtship played out between plane and car, possibly ludicrous but no one claims this is realism. The familiarity with which she acts towards him makes it seem like they have known each other forever, not that he’s just dropped out of the sky!
Their frolicking at Zabriskie Point brings with it a child-like innocence. Running down sand hills, play dead, spinning around in circles and screaming as loud as you can knowing no one will hear feels like a way of recapturing the impulsiveness of childhood. There a wonderful vivacity around the girl and her inane conversations. Then of course sexual discovery (what road film would be complete without it!) which turns wonderfully surreal with the groups of people rolling naked in the sand dotted across the landscape.
However like most road films the characters can not remain in this liminal space, they must return to ‘reality’. The boy returns to face his tragic fate and the girl, after seemingly contemplating pushing onward, proceeds to fulfill her work obligations. But how can she accept this world after what she has experienced? For a good ten minutes she walks around the house in a daze, in virtual silence, her sense dulled and yet heightened. It is all about the looks, the noticing of details, where after an amazing experience, nothing seems to exist outside your immediate environment but what does has taken on a momentous significance. I could feel her solitude and the deafening silence. We are lulled into her brooding world and then literally exploded out of it. A rare big screen experience that evokes a physical reaction.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Films teach you about life…and making beds.
Jean Eustache’s masterpiece The Mother and the Whore (1973) is an important film in cinema history. Sure it is self-indulgent to make a three and a half hour film based around prolonged conversations but to keep an audience captivated for its duration is talent. However it is an artifact of its times.
Somehow I felt I’d seen this film before in one guise or another. I think the style (lingering shots, Marxist sermonizing) exists in a plethora of films from Bertolucci’s Partner, Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point and a variety of American Indie cinema (such as the work of John Cassavette’s and even a film I recently fell in love with, In Search of a Midnight Kiss). It is amazing to watch a film that really does it well.
Generally speaking, they don’t films like they used to. This is a film completely carried by the quality of its script, performances and cinematograph, rather than special effects or fast editing. And it has a lot to say.
I have taken a recent interest in what I’ve termed ‘slice of life’ films, where seemingly not much happens (we follow characters through a brief period of their lives and often leave them where they began) but their profoundness lays in their subtlety. Perhaps The Mother and the Whore is the ultimate slice of life film. We enter in media res, initially grappling to fit the characters and their lives together. Then we are taken on a journey through their everyday lives, growing to know them intimately. And just as abruptly as we entered we are cut off again, never to discover how it all ends. But does life or love ever have a true end point?
Then again the film is deliberately alienating, never allowing complete identification with the characters it so vividly creates. From Alexandre’s first speech you’re thinking, people in real life don’t speak like that. He sounds like he’s talking from a script. But that’s the point. His whole character is a performance. It is a role he has determined to play and he is engulfed by his persona.
Alexandre is a relic from 1968 – a wayward, self-obsessed bohemian who spends his days sleeping or hanging out in cafes philosophising (like one great line when he comments to his friend about reading in cafes: “I am going to do this every day…like a job”). He is in the midst of an existential crisis, speaks in lofty discourse and is completely hypocritical. It’s a fascinating portrayal as you can’t help but be sucked into his view of the world.
Commentators have emphasised the way the film captures the malaise of post-68. There the pervading sense, we’ve had this amazing social revolution…what now? The next generation feels like nothing can live up to the events of 68 and doubt whether it actually changed anything.
Significantly Jean-Pierre Leaud is cast in the lead. As Truffaut’s alter ego (beginning from The 400 Blows and later to play alongside Truffaut in the famous film about making a film Night For Day) he is a recognisable actor from French cinema and iconic of the New Wave. Having watched Leaud grow up in Truffaut’s films, he is a part of the system and all there is left for Alexandre/Leaud to do is reference other films, books and music. Alexandre sums it up when he states “phoniness is the hereafter”.
The film is more about the conversations and the character types presented than about their relationships. Afterall you can never actually believe Alexandre truly feels anything. I’m sure you need to watch it more than once to truly appreciate the diatribes spouting from these character’s mouths which at times border on poetic. It also a beautiful evocation of Parisian life – its streets, cafes and bars.
But for me what it is actually about is destructive patterns we have and cannot break. The film is full of repeated shots and scenarios: Alexandre waking up to the phone; inhabiting the same cafes; following the same patterns of following in love and destroying that love; the rows and passionate making up Marie; Veronika’s drinking and her continual return after apparent rejection. At the end you can’t imagine anything changing and significantly it in this mysterious phenomenon of love that our most destructive patterns exist.
Somehow I felt I’d seen this film before in one guise or another. I think the style (lingering shots, Marxist sermonizing) exists in a plethora of films from Bertolucci’s Partner, Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point and a variety of American Indie cinema (such as the work of John Cassavette’s and even a film I recently fell in love with, In Search of a Midnight Kiss). It is amazing to watch a film that really does it well.
Generally speaking, they don’t films like they used to. This is a film completely carried by the quality of its script, performances and cinematograph, rather than special effects or fast editing. And it has a lot to say.
I have taken a recent interest in what I’ve termed ‘slice of life’ films, where seemingly not much happens (we follow characters through a brief period of their lives and often leave them where they began) but their profoundness lays in their subtlety. Perhaps The Mother and the Whore is the ultimate slice of life film. We enter in media res, initially grappling to fit the characters and their lives together. Then we are taken on a journey through their everyday lives, growing to know them intimately. And just as abruptly as we entered we are cut off again, never to discover how it all ends. But does life or love ever have a true end point?
Then again the film is deliberately alienating, never allowing complete identification with the characters it so vividly creates. From Alexandre’s first speech you’re thinking, people in real life don’t speak like that. He sounds like he’s talking from a script. But that’s the point. His whole character is a performance. It is a role he has determined to play and he is engulfed by his persona.
Alexandre is a relic from 1968 – a wayward, self-obsessed bohemian who spends his days sleeping or hanging out in cafes philosophising (like one great line when he comments to his friend about reading in cafes: “I am going to do this every day…like a job”). He is in the midst of an existential crisis, speaks in lofty discourse and is completely hypocritical. It’s a fascinating portrayal as you can’t help but be sucked into his view of the world.
Commentators have emphasised the way the film captures the malaise of post-68. There the pervading sense, we’ve had this amazing social revolution…what now? The next generation feels like nothing can live up to the events of 68 and doubt whether it actually changed anything.
Significantly Jean-Pierre Leaud is cast in the lead. As Truffaut’s alter ego (beginning from The 400 Blows and later to play alongside Truffaut in the famous film about making a film Night For Day) he is a recognisable actor from French cinema and iconic of the New Wave. Having watched Leaud grow up in Truffaut’s films, he is a part of the system and all there is left for Alexandre/Leaud to do is reference other films, books and music. Alexandre sums it up when he states “phoniness is the hereafter”.
The film is more about the conversations and the character types presented than about their relationships. Afterall you can never actually believe Alexandre truly feels anything. I’m sure you need to watch it more than once to truly appreciate the diatribes spouting from these character’s mouths which at times border on poetic. It also a beautiful evocation of Parisian life – its streets, cafes and bars.
But for me what it is actually about is destructive patterns we have and cannot break. The film is full of repeated shots and scenarios: Alexandre waking up to the phone; inhabiting the same cafes; following the same patterns of following in love and destroying that love; the rows and passionate making up Marie; Veronika’s drinking and her continual return after apparent rejection. At the end you can’t imagine anything changing and significantly it in this mysterious phenomenon of love that our most destructive patterns exist.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The absurdity of marriage in 'Palm Beach Story'
Preston Sturges' Palm Beach Story (1942) is an excellent example of the American screwball comedy and it is an absolute hoot. The screwball comedy is a predecessor of the modern rom com but watching a great film like this makes you realise how lame our contemporary romantic comedies are. I compare it to a film like Made of Honor, starring a charmless Patrick Dempsey, attempting cringe-worthy moments of physical comedy and generally lacking an engaging plot. On the other hand, Palm Beach Story strikes a perfect balance of witty repartee, slapstick and well-developed characters you revel in sharing an outrageous journey with.
The screwball genre is often considered subversive in film studies, allowing women to engage in transgressive behaviour. Laura Mulvey’s famous theory of the gaze posits that women are passive and men are the instigators of the narrative. Screwball comedies open a space for women to challenge conservative ideology by playing up. They are characterised by an unruly woman who turns the world of the man who loves her on its head. It features opinionated women who cause havoc by not accepting traditional values and men who are made to look ridiculous. Furthermore the genre allows female sexuality to be explored in a highly conservative time. You’d be right to wonder how some of these films made it through the censors with their not-so-subtle sexual innuendos!
Palm Beach Story is wonderfully subversive. It begins with a frenetic wedding ceremony and the words “They lived happily ever after…or did they?” Don’t you always wonder why rom coms end when the couple gets together? This is because that’s where the married bliss ends!
The women rule this film. There is Gerry (significantly her name is shortened from Geraldine as she takes on male characteristics), who decides one night she is leaving her husband. Though her motives are initially hazy, in the madness of the film it all seems to make sense. She takes flight to Palm Beach for an immediate divorce. On her journey she gets drunk, she flirts, she uses men to pay her way. Claudette Colbert gives a delightful performance as Gerry – vivacious, impulsive and strangely believable. One particularly memorable moment is the facial expression she gives at one of Hackensaken’s attempts at a lame joke.
The other dominant female is Princess Centimillia who is a serial divorcee, treating marriage like buying a new pair of shoes. One of her great lines is “Of course, I’m crazy. I will marry anyone!” The film is full of hilarious one-liners including:
“You have no idea what a long-legged woman can do without doing anything.”
“That's one of the tragedies of this life - that the men who are most in need of a beating up are always enormous.”
While the women dominate, the men are portrayed as ridiculous or ineffective. The ridiculousness of men epitomized by the character of the Frenchman, who haplessly trails after the Princess and speaks jibberish. She ignores him, dismisses him and unashamedly tells him to shut up. The impotence of Gerry’s husband is evident with his inability to tame her (except by exploiting her sex desire). Hackensacken III is mocked for his awkwardness around females and his traditional values (like wanting to trial marriage before entering into it). In one hilarious moment he says “You don't marry someone you just met the day before; at least I don't.” To which the Princess quips back “But that's the only way, dear. If you get to know too much about them you'd never marry them!” The Princess overshadows her brother in every scene.
There are comical misunderstandings worthy of a Shakespearean comedy, as Gerry pretends her husband is her brother. Palm Beach Story is a celebration of the ridiculous. Certainly reality doesn’t get in the way of good fun! It is epitomized by the absurd ending when the united couple suddenly remember that they both have twins which Hackensacken and the Princess can marry. Thus the film ends as it began, with a wedding (and of course the Frenchman still hanging around). The final words “…or did they?” flash across the screen once again. The ending resists domesticating the females with the open ended finale and exposing the absurdity of marriage as an institution.
The screwball genre is often considered subversive in film studies, allowing women to engage in transgressive behaviour. Laura Mulvey’s famous theory of the gaze posits that women are passive and men are the instigators of the narrative. Screwball comedies open a space for women to challenge conservative ideology by playing up. They are characterised by an unruly woman who turns the world of the man who loves her on its head. It features opinionated women who cause havoc by not accepting traditional values and men who are made to look ridiculous. Furthermore the genre allows female sexuality to be explored in a highly conservative time. You’d be right to wonder how some of these films made it through the censors with their not-so-subtle sexual innuendos!
Palm Beach Story is wonderfully subversive. It begins with a frenetic wedding ceremony and the words “They lived happily ever after…or did they?” Don’t you always wonder why rom coms end when the couple gets together? This is because that’s where the married bliss ends!
The women rule this film. There is Gerry (significantly her name is shortened from Geraldine as she takes on male characteristics), who decides one night she is leaving her husband. Though her motives are initially hazy, in the madness of the film it all seems to make sense. She takes flight to Palm Beach for an immediate divorce. On her journey she gets drunk, she flirts, she uses men to pay her way. Claudette Colbert gives a delightful performance as Gerry – vivacious, impulsive and strangely believable. One particularly memorable moment is the facial expression she gives at one of Hackensaken’s attempts at a lame joke.
The other dominant female is Princess Centimillia who is a serial divorcee, treating marriage like buying a new pair of shoes. One of her great lines is “Of course, I’m crazy. I will marry anyone!” The film is full of hilarious one-liners including:
“You have no idea what a long-legged woman can do without doing anything.”
“That's one of the tragedies of this life - that the men who are most in need of a beating up are always enormous.”
While the women dominate, the men are portrayed as ridiculous or ineffective. The ridiculousness of men epitomized by the character of the Frenchman, who haplessly trails after the Princess and speaks jibberish. She ignores him, dismisses him and unashamedly tells him to shut up. The impotence of Gerry’s husband is evident with his inability to tame her (except by exploiting her sex desire). Hackensacken III is mocked for his awkwardness around females and his traditional values (like wanting to trial marriage before entering into it). In one hilarious moment he says “You don't marry someone you just met the day before; at least I don't.” To which the Princess quips back “But that's the only way, dear. If you get to know too much about them you'd never marry them!” The Princess overshadows her brother in every scene.
There are comical misunderstandings worthy of a Shakespearean comedy, as Gerry pretends her husband is her brother. Palm Beach Story is a celebration of the ridiculous. Certainly reality doesn’t get in the way of good fun! It is epitomized by the absurd ending when the united couple suddenly remember that they both have twins which Hackensacken and the Princess can marry. Thus the film ends as it began, with a wedding (and of course the Frenchman still hanging around). The final words “…or did they?” flash across the screen once again. The ending resists domesticating the females with the open ended finale and exposing the absurdity of marriage as an institution.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Sex and the City: The movie
I was a casual fan of Sex and the City: the television series. It was revolutionary in portraying the lives of cosmopolitan women plus the frankness it brought to women talking about sex and relationships. The series evolved over the years and the focus of the characters and storylines shifted as the show grew up. At the end of the day aren’t all women looking for a stable life partner? I’m not going to get into the debate whether the show sold out its strongly independent women in favour of monogamous conventional relationships and families. This is about the movie…
I have my doubts about movie spin-offs of TV series (surely it takes something special to bring a how delivered in weekly 42 minute blocks on a small screen to a length of over 90 minutes on the big screen). On an aside, why on earth is there another movie of The X Files coming out over 6 years after the TV series finished? One thing is for sure, there is huge market out there for films focused on women’s lives. The session I went to was sold-out, the cinema filled with women and perhaps only four men. The women collectively sighed, gasped and cried at the appropriate points in the film. It is encouraging to see Hollywood cinema providing starring roles for women in their forties, with active female characters who driving the storylines. The shortage of juicy roles for women in their forties in Hollywood is well known. They are usually reduced to supporting roles as mothers or wives, the occasional deranged psychotic or are midday movie melodramas. And it’s the not the same for men! They continue being romantic and action leads into their fifties and sixties, think Michael Douglas and Harrison Ford.
So women are flocking in droves to see it but what about the actual movie? In a nutshell it is boring. This is for two main reasons. Firstly it is too far long. There is not enough depth in the script to sustain its 148 minute length. It could have easily been trimmed to a more manageable 90 minutes with a bit less female whingeing, moping and over–reacting. Secondly, the main storyline (involving, of course Carrie and Big) was not interesting enough to base a whole film around. So he almost left her at the altar but he was coming back! Yes she might have felt humiliated and angry but everyone knows she will get over it (after all she is hardly going to go out looking for a new man at this stage and the film does not even consider this option). Good script writing creates tension and intrigue; it backs its characters into a corner and then finds interesting ways to get them out of it. Put simply the stakes were not high enough! Carrie had nothing to lose. He was just waiting for her to get over it. She was never at risk of losing him or doubting their love. Even what makes her forgive him is lame. Surely the script writers could have come up with a better drama for a feature length film.
But perhaps it’s always been that Carrie’s friends have had the more interesting storylines. In the film it is Miranda who has the most interesting character arc. At least there is something at stake here. She has been betrayed by her husband and there is child caught in the middle of it. There is some tension created wondering whether they will both turn up to reconcile but again there is never any sense it could happen any other way. As for Charlotte and Samantha their stories make little impact. It is dominant ideology writ large. Charlotte is rewarded for her conservative values by martial bliss and pregnancy, with nothing essentially bad happening to her. Samantha, forever the promiscuous one, is finally punished by ending up as the only single one celebrating her 50th birthday. All the film pretty much does is slightly rock the equilibrium then restore it…for 148 minutes!
The other problem I had with the film was that the sex out of Sex and the City! The TV series was made famous by its sexy banter and for the most part this was gone, instead dominated by domestic drama. The famous café gossip scenes were turned into pseudo baby-sitting excursions with the characters’ children in the background of most scenes and explicit sex scenes were far and few between. I suppose this is a part of growing up and as the characters (and actresses) get older their priorities change. There was, however, a great example of objectifying the male body in the fetishised, cutting up the body with close-ups-kind of way, usually associated with the female form.
What the film does well (as the show did) is portraying the friendship between a group of women, which ranks above that of their relationships with men. The scenes of female camaraderie were the most touching. Guys may come and go but your female friends will always be there!
I have my doubts about movie spin-offs of TV series (surely it takes something special to bring a how delivered in weekly 42 minute blocks on a small screen to a length of over 90 minutes on the big screen). On an aside, why on earth is there another movie of The X Files coming out over 6 years after the TV series finished? One thing is for sure, there is huge market out there for films focused on women’s lives. The session I went to was sold-out, the cinema filled with women and perhaps only four men. The women collectively sighed, gasped and cried at the appropriate points in the film. It is encouraging to see Hollywood cinema providing starring roles for women in their forties, with active female characters who driving the storylines. The shortage of juicy roles for women in their forties in Hollywood is well known. They are usually reduced to supporting roles as mothers or wives, the occasional deranged psychotic or are midday movie melodramas. And it’s the not the same for men! They continue being romantic and action leads into their fifties and sixties, think Michael Douglas and Harrison Ford.
So women are flocking in droves to see it but what about the actual movie? In a nutshell it is boring. This is for two main reasons. Firstly it is too far long. There is not enough depth in the script to sustain its 148 minute length. It could have easily been trimmed to a more manageable 90 minutes with a bit less female whingeing, moping and over–reacting. Secondly, the main storyline (involving, of course Carrie and Big) was not interesting enough to base a whole film around. So he almost left her at the altar but he was coming back! Yes she might have felt humiliated and angry but everyone knows she will get over it (after all she is hardly going to go out looking for a new man at this stage and the film does not even consider this option). Good script writing creates tension and intrigue; it backs its characters into a corner and then finds interesting ways to get them out of it. Put simply the stakes were not high enough! Carrie had nothing to lose. He was just waiting for her to get over it. She was never at risk of losing him or doubting their love. Even what makes her forgive him is lame. Surely the script writers could have come up with a better drama for a feature length film.
But perhaps it’s always been that Carrie’s friends have had the more interesting storylines. In the film it is Miranda who has the most interesting character arc. At least there is something at stake here. She has been betrayed by her husband and there is child caught in the middle of it. There is some tension created wondering whether they will both turn up to reconcile but again there is never any sense it could happen any other way. As for Charlotte and Samantha their stories make little impact. It is dominant ideology writ large. Charlotte is rewarded for her conservative values by martial bliss and pregnancy, with nothing essentially bad happening to her. Samantha, forever the promiscuous one, is finally punished by ending up as the only single one celebrating her 50th birthday. All the film pretty much does is slightly rock the equilibrium then restore it…for 148 minutes!
The other problem I had with the film was that the sex out of Sex and the City! The TV series was made famous by its sexy banter and for the most part this was gone, instead dominated by domestic drama. The famous café gossip scenes were turned into pseudo baby-sitting excursions with the characters’ children in the background of most scenes and explicit sex scenes were far and few between. I suppose this is a part of growing up and as the characters (and actresses) get older their priorities change. There was, however, a great example of objectifying the male body in the fetishised, cutting up the body with close-ups-kind of way, usually associated with the female form.
What the film does well (as the show did) is portraying the friendship between a group of women, which ranks above that of their relationships with men. The scenes of female camaraderie were the most touching. Guys may come and go but your female friends will always be there!
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