A Guy Maddin film is always an odd thing to experience. The Canadian filmmaker, known for "Brand Upon the Brain," "My Winnipeg," and "The Saddest Music in the World," was clearly born in the wrong decade. He prefers the styles and sensibilities of films from the 1920s and 1930s. He works predominantly in black and white, borrowing imagery and common tropes from the Prohibition and Depression eras, and uses a surreal, expressionist style that can be narratively incoherent.
So take the description of his latest film, "Keyhole," with a grain of salt. The marketing copy tells us it s the story of a gangster, Ulysses (Jason Patric), who returns home after many years in search of his wife Hyacinth (Isabella Rossellini), who has confined herself to the huge, labyrinthine house. Ulysses searches the house room by room, with a hostage (David Wontner), a blind girl (Brooke Palsson), and the remnants of his gang in tow. Ghosts and phantoms dog their every step. Sounds like a very nice little supernatural thriller doesn't it? I hope no unsuspecting horror fans picks this up, because they won't have any idea what they're getting themselves into.
The first scene of "Keyhole" shows the gang fighting their way into the house, which has been surrounded by the police. Those who have made it inside are ordered to separate themselves into two groups. The ones who are still alive may continue. The ones who are dead are told they must stay behind. The film is narrated by Hyacinth's father (Louis Negin), a naked old man who has been chained to his daughter's bedpost. He's probably dead too, along with most of Ulysses and Hyacinth's children, who keep making appearances throughout the film. The old man informs us that happiness disperses once the inhabitants of a house have gone, but sadness lingers and haunts, Ulysses' journey through the house is a journey through memories. There are many things that he has forgotten that he must remember, and many things that he never knew that must be discovered.
Maddin's usual obsessions are all on display: unhappy families, psychological and sexual neuroses, ghosts who treat their deaths quite matter-of-factly, ambiguous physical environments, and old movie magic. This time, however, it feels like he's trying too hard. We're supposed to find the nightmarish interior of the house disorienting and dreamlike. Maddin bounces lights and shadows from the windows over the characters as they converse, cuts quick montages of half-visible images, and piles dissolves one on top of the other. There's some vaguely menacing sexual deviancy going on around the edges of the story, including a very lost-looking Kevin MacDonald from "Kids in the Hall" having an endless tryst with a French prostitute. It's all so bizarre, but a familiar, clumsy kind of bizarre. For the first half hour of the film I was unmoved, feeling like I'd wandered into a student film made by someone who'd watched David Lynch's "Eraserhead" a few too many times.
However, as Ulysses worms deeper and deeper in the house, and the history of his screwed-up family begins to unfold, the most excessive stylization settles down. "Keyhole" eventually becomes a more languid exploration of a broken marriage, digging up all the forgotten little incidents and events that lead to its ruin. A broken bowl, a dead son, and too many long absences are brought up again and again. Ulysses and Hyacinth have whispered conversations through keyholes, though they always seem to be a considerable distance apart. Various figures try to hamper or delay the reunion, and are dealt with one by one. Perhaps they are symbolic of other forces that kept the couple apart originally - filial duty, Ulysses’ criminal activity, infidelity - but sorting through all the layers of abstraction and ambiguity would require a much longer review than I have space for.
The cast is impressive, particularly Jason Patric and Isabella Rossellini, who provide moments of emotional clarity that are vital in anchoring the film amidst all the dream imagery. They fit the period setting without any problems, but it's really their ability to convey unusual, unworldly emotional states that I found the most striking. Louis Negin is a lot of fun as the sneering father-in-law, contemptuously feeding the audience information about the rest of the unfortunate family, in order to point out their many shortcomings. You can also spot Udo Kier making a brief appearance as a doctor.
If you're a fan of Guy Maddin, "Keyhole" should be familiar territory. I think it's probably one of his messier and more self-indulgent films, and can test the patience, but it has some good moments that it may be worth the time to dig out. If you're not familiar with the director, however, this is not the best of his films to start with. I'd suggest the far more accessible "My Winnipeg." And if you're not keen on experimental films at all, then best steer clear of "Keyhole" entirely.
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Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
TJE 7/24 – The Dark Knight Rises (With Spoilers)
This is your final spoiler warning. Here goes.
Okay, I admit I was wrong. Robin, who bears absolutely no resemblance of any other version of Robin, ever, was in "The Dark Knight Rises." However, this was the only version that was ever going to work in the Nolan universe. Officer John Blake's story was easily the most complete and satisfying one in the film, and I can't help wishing that he could have stayed an entirely original character to escape all the extra baggage associated with Robin. But as a reinvention of a Batman staple, he may be the most thorough and impressive one I've seen yet.
I wish I could be as excited about the other new characters that were introduced, but they don't even come close. The misdirection about Bane and Talia al Ghul was clever, but it came at the expense of both of the characters. Bane, without the Venom, with his origins rewritten, was simply a very smart and intimidating terrorist in a scary mask. We didn't know what his real intentions were, unlike the Joker, who very effectively demonstrated the depths of his psychosis. And in the end it turns out that all the talk of revolutions and punishing Gotham was just for show. The real mastermind behind Bane was Talia, who was bent on avenging her father. She barely got any screentime whatsoever, and it was only thanks to Marion Cotillard that the reveal landed with any impact. Nolan's Bane was certainly a sadistic menace, but one whose motives were entirely too confused to be a great villain.
Then there was Catwoman. Anne Hathaway brought the charm and the sexiness, and seemed game to tackle the role, but was given so little material to work with. She fights. She banters. She looks great in the costume, giving off more of a Julie Newmar vibe than her film predecessors. There are hints of a possible romance with Bruce Wayne. Mostly, though, she's on her own, playing a game with different stakes than what the rest of the cast is dealing with. Selina Kyle's subplot takes up a lot of time, but seems to have the least bearing on the larger story. Wayne's romance turns out to be with Miranda Tate, not her. Kyle is only minimally linked to Bane, and her conversion to the side of angels isn't particularly meaningful. She's just involved enough to justify her share of the spiffy action scenes and witty one-liners, but only just.
And then we come to Bruce Wayne. I like that Christopher Nolan wanted to create a definitive ending for Wayne, and to let his story conclude. The trilogy began with the origin of Batman, and it was a bold idea to end it with the last chapter of Wayne's tenure as a superhero. Nolan did his best to convince us that it made sense for Wayne to willingly give up the cape and cowl, emphasizing his precarious physical condition, providing him with a clear successor, and having multiple characters point out that his behavior had gone from selfless to self-destructive. I don't know that I really buy it though. Wayne faking Batman's death I can understand, but why fake his own? If he was willing to give up so much to save Gotham City, why leave it behind for good?
It's not that I don't think that this was a good endgame, but it's not set up well at all. We don't get to see Wayne exorcising the demons of his past, or having the epiphany that he can and should move on from Gotham. This is a major oversight. No other version of Batman has ever left the Batman role, and we really needed to see more of the thought process behind the decision. After the fight with Bane, when this soul-searching should have happened, instead we get Wayne in the Pit, learning the backstory of Bane and Talia. How does the lesson of scaling the prison wall fit into Wayne's mental state and ongoing character arc? Does learning to fear death again boost his will to live? Does he learn that being a symbol of heroism is more important than the actual act? I almost wish that the final glimpse of Bruce Wayne was Alfred's fantasy, because the lack of an explanation undercuts the last twist so badly.
There were other parts of "The Dark Knight Rises" that worked. The fall of Gotham City to Bane was beautifully plotted out and executed. The scenes of life under his reign of terror were fun, especially Dr. Crane presiding over the kangaroo court. I have no complaints regarding any of the action sequences, and I particularly enjoyed Selina Kyle getting herself out of the bar with a combination of fighting and trickery. Up until the Pit sequences, I liked how Bruce Wayne's character arc was going. However, I have to say that Batman looked out of place in a lot of shots. I don't know it was the increased daytime scenes or some changes in art design, but the rubber suit looked like it belonged in an older, campier movie.
I'm also glad that Alfred and Commissioner Gordon got more time and attention, both men struggling with bad choices made with good intentions. Lucius Fox got shorter shrift this time out, but there was a nice wink to that, when he ushers Bruce Wayne down to the lab to show off some gadgetry, just for old time's sake. And I'm always surprised by how deftly Nolan draws some of the minor characters, like Matthew Modine's Deputy Commissioner Foley, and Selina's gal-pal sidekick, played by Juno Temple. The exhaustive amount of detail in some of the visuals, from the Gotham police uniforms, to a football stadium full of fans decked out in Gotham Rogues gear, to the Stock Exchange sequence, all point to an enormous amount of effort being expended on this film. And it's all dazzling to look at and take in.
I just wish the story had been more solid. But I think about all the Batman movies that Christopher Nolan could have made instead – the Riddler-centric retread of "The Dark Knight" with Leonardo DiCaprio that the studio wanted, or the too-faithful comic book adaptations that the fans wanted – and I'm glad Nolan went in this direction. Even though I thought the film bit off more than it could chew, "The Dark Knight Rises" was an honest and worthwhile attempt to take the Batman mythos somewhere new. The results are severely flawed, but still well worth watching and debating and puzzling over.
As a point of comparison, I prefer "The Dark Knight Rises" to "Batman Begins" by a wide margin, and the Nolan "Batman" trilogy as a whole to every other superhero film series ever made.
---
Okay, I admit I was wrong. Robin, who bears absolutely no resemblance of any other version of Robin, ever, was in "The Dark Knight Rises." However, this was the only version that was ever going to work in the Nolan universe. Officer John Blake's story was easily the most complete and satisfying one in the film, and I can't help wishing that he could have stayed an entirely original character to escape all the extra baggage associated with Robin. But as a reinvention of a Batman staple, he may be the most thorough and impressive one I've seen yet.
I wish I could be as excited about the other new characters that were introduced, but they don't even come close. The misdirection about Bane and Talia al Ghul was clever, but it came at the expense of both of the characters. Bane, without the Venom, with his origins rewritten, was simply a very smart and intimidating terrorist in a scary mask. We didn't know what his real intentions were, unlike the Joker, who very effectively demonstrated the depths of his psychosis. And in the end it turns out that all the talk of revolutions and punishing Gotham was just for show. The real mastermind behind Bane was Talia, who was bent on avenging her father. She barely got any screentime whatsoever, and it was only thanks to Marion Cotillard that the reveal landed with any impact. Nolan's Bane was certainly a sadistic menace, but one whose motives were entirely too confused to be a great villain.
Then there was Catwoman. Anne Hathaway brought the charm and the sexiness, and seemed game to tackle the role, but was given so little material to work with. She fights. She banters. She looks great in the costume, giving off more of a Julie Newmar vibe than her film predecessors. There are hints of a possible romance with Bruce Wayne. Mostly, though, she's on her own, playing a game with different stakes than what the rest of the cast is dealing with. Selina Kyle's subplot takes up a lot of time, but seems to have the least bearing on the larger story. Wayne's romance turns out to be with Miranda Tate, not her. Kyle is only minimally linked to Bane, and her conversion to the side of angels isn't particularly meaningful. She's just involved enough to justify her share of the spiffy action scenes and witty one-liners, but only just.
And then we come to Bruce Wayne. I like that Christopher Nolan wanted to create a definitive ending for Wayne, and to let his story conclude. The trilogy began with the origin of Batman, and it was a bold idea to end it with the last chapter of Wayne's tenure as a superhero. Nolan did his best to convince us that it made sense for Wayne to willingly give up the cape and cowl, emphasizing his precarious physical condition, providing him with a clear successor, and having multiple characters point out that his behavior had gone from selfless to self-destructive. I don't know that I really buy it though. Wayne faking Batman's death I can understand, but why fake his own? If he was willing to give up so much to save Gotham City, why leave it behind for good?
It's not that I don't think that this was a good endgame, but it's not set up well at all. We don't get to see Wayne exorcising the demons of his past, or having the epiphany that he can and should move on from Gotham. This is a major oversight. No other version of Batman has ever left the Batman role, and we really needed to see more of the thought process behind the decision. After the fight with Bane, when this soul-searching should have happened, instead we get Wayne in the Pit, learning the backstory of Bane and Talia. How does the lesson of scaling the prison wall fit into Wayne's mental state and ongoing character arc? Does learning to fear death again boost his will to live? Does he learn that being a symbol of heroism is more important than the actual act? I almost wish that the final glimpse of Bruce Wayne was Alfred's fantasy, because the lack of an explanation undercuts the last twist so badly.
There were other parts of "The Dark Knight Rises" that worked. The fall of Gotham City to Bane was beautifully plotted out and executed. The scenes of life under his reign of terror were fun, especially Dr. Crane presiding over the kangaroo court. I have no complaints regarding any of the action sequences, and I particularly enjoyed Selina Kyle getting herself out of the bar with a combination of fighting and trickery. Up until the Pit sequences, I liked how Bruce Wayne's character arc was going. However, I have to say that Batman looked out of place in a lot of shots. I don't know it was the increased daytime scenes or some changes in art design, but the rubber suit looked like it belonged in an older, campier movie.
I'm also glad that Alfred and Commissioner Gordon got more time and attention, both men struggling with bad choices made with good intentions. Lucius Fox got shorter shrift this time out, but there was a nice wink to that, when he ushers Bruce Wayne down to the lab to show off some gadgetry, just for old time's sake. And I'm always surprised by how deftly Nolan draws some of the minor characters, like Matthew Modine's Deputy Commissioner Foley, and Selina's gal-pal sidekick, played by Juno Temple. The exhaustive amount of detail in some of the visuals, from the Gotham police uniforms, to a football stadium full of fans decked out in Gotham Rogues gear, to the Stock Exchange sequence, all point to an enormous amount of effort being expended on this film. And it's all dazzling to look at and take in.
I just wish the story had been more solid. But I think about all the Batman movies that Christopher Nolan could have made instead – the Riddler-centric retread of "The Dark Knight" with Leonardo DiCaprio that the studio wanted, or the too-faithful comic book adaptations that the fans wanted – and I'm glad Nolan went in this direction. Even though I thought the film bit off more than it could chew, "The Dark Knight Rises" was an honest and worthwhile attempt to take the Batman mythos somewhere new. The results are severely flawed, but still well worth watching and debating and puzzling over.
As a point of comparison, I prefer "The Dark Knight Rises" to "Batman Begins" by a wide margin, and the Nolan "Batman" trilogy as a whole to every other superhero film series ever made.
---
Monday, July 23, 2012
TJE 7/23 – The Dark Knight Rises (No Spoilers)
Here's how we're going to do this. Review posted today will be a spoiler free as I can possibly keep it. Review posted tomorrow will go into all the analysis of the things that you shouldn't know about before watching the latest Christopher Nolan Batman film. Got it? Great. Onward!
It has been eight years since the events of "The Dark Knight," and both Batman and Bruce Wayne have retreated from public view, the Batman's image tarnished by being scapegoated for the death of Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart), and Wayne's heart broken by the death of Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gylenhaal). In the meantime, peace and prosperity have made the leaders of Gotham complacent. Only Commissioner Gordon (Gary Oldman) continues to fight a forgotten war on crime, and has made too many moral compromises to do it. So no one appears to be left to stop the new villain Bane (Tom Hardy), a terrorist who has been turning Gotham's less fortunate into an army of ideological crusaders, bent on bringing down the rich and powerful of Gotham City. However, Batman has some new allies of his own, including a young policeman named John Blake (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), who is not afraid to work outside the system, and a lovely cat burglar named Selina Kyle (Anne Hathaway).
Let's get the big stuff out of the way first. No, "The Dark Knight Rises" is not as good as "The Dark Knight," for the simple reason that it doesn't have any characters that can match up to Heath Ledger's Joker. Tom Hardy's Bane is a properly menacing hulk of a villain, visually magnificent, but comes off as something of a Joker-lite because his ideology is more muddled and he doesn't have the same charisma or presence. Catwoman, who is never identified as Catwoman, is nothing unexpected. Anne Hathaway has no problem playing the sexy bad girl, but there's just not much more to this version of the character. She gets her own subplot, but it's such a simple and predictable one, it feels perfunctory. The film could have cut her out entirely without much effort. And as usual, Bruce Wayne's love life gets the short end of the stick. In addition to flirting with Selina Kyle, Wayne gets close to a philanthropist businesswoman named Miranda Tate (Marion Cotillard), who really should have been given a few more scenes to cement their new relationship. Considering this cast and these promising characters, I was surprised at how shallow they came out.
But then, Nolan has a lot on his plate. "The Dark Knight Rises" suffers from trying to do too much and having a lot of conflicting messages. Bruce Wayne must find the strength to put on the Batman suit again, but then the case is also made, most strongly by Alfred (Michael Caine), that it's time for Wayne to put Batman behind him. Is he too self-destructive to be a hero? Is being a hero making him self-destructive? It was brave of Nolan to devote so much time to Bruce Wayne wrestling over the decision to return to the crimefighting life, and pumping up the personal stakes. Some of the best Wayne and Alfred scenes of the series are the result, and I've never been more sure of Michael Caine's MVP status in these films. However, I don't think that these issues were resolved as well as they could have been, and there are some odd developments required by the plot that nearly derail the whole works.
To add to the confusion, in the previous "Dark Knight," Batman was painted as the one who would do the dirty work and stay in the shadows, while Harvey Dent was elevated to hero status because he was a better symbol of hope for Gotham. Here, this is quickly subverted, and Dent's heroism is treated as a destructive lie that has been exploited by those in power. And those in power may deserve what's coming to them, but Bane's efforts to lead the downtrodden in overthrowing the corrupt are portrayed as evil and destructive. Batman's vigilantism gets a pass, of course. I've seen a few articles suggesting that Nolan had some beef with the Occupy Movement, but aside from borrowing a few bits of iconography to make the film more topical, I don't think "The Dark Knight Rises" is making any kind of political statement. Or if it is, it's a deeply convoluted and confused one.
The film runs well over two hours, and it's not nearly as complicated as I'm making it sound, but there are an awful lot of subplots and complications to grind through in order to set up the big finale. At one point we're following Wayne, Blake, Kyle, Gordon, Bane, and Wayne Enterprises CEO Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman), all from different vantage points in an ongoing crisis. Aside from Bruce Wayne, the character who gets the most development turns out to be John Blake, who is set up as this down-to-earth, average police officer, just trying his best to help save Gotham City. We follow his perspective for a good chunk of the film where Wayne is absent. I like the character, and I like Joseph Gordon-Levitt in the role, but I don't think the film benefited from Blake getting this much emphasis. There were several other characters that needed the attention more.
Still, Nolan delivers plenty of good action, and he succeeds in keeping the major storylines on track and the adrenaline high. Superhero movie fans should have no complaints about the level of mayhem. All the old toys and vehicles and are back, including a handful of new ones. Crimes and carnage take place on a grander scale, and some of the later altercations turn into full scale battles. It's easy to ignore all the plot holes and the unanswered questions when there's so much forward momentum driving the film toward its big climax. I thoroughly enjoyed "The Dark Knight Rises" while I was watching it, and letting myself get carried away by the noise and the spectacle. However, when you try and go back and piece together the logic and motivations, it doesn't add up. And that's a shame.
"The Dark Knight Rises" is perfectly fine as a summer action movie. Most Batman fans should love it. However, for the discerning viewers, the ones who were hoping to see a reinvention of Catwoman, or a truly monstrous Bane, there's bound to be some disappointment. It feels like Nolan was trying to reach something big and profound with the Batman franchise, but he didn't quite grasp it. The visuals are right. The talent is right. The desire for better was clearly there. And Nolan had the daring and the will to twist and reinvent the mythos as he saw fit, to create something different and new.
But in the end, Christopher Nolan didn't quite stick his landing. More on that tomorrow.
---
It has been eight years since the events of "The Dark Knight," and both Batman and Bruce Wayne have retreated from public view, the Batman's image tarnished by being scapegoated for the death of Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart), and Wayne's heart broken by the death of Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gylenhaal). In the meantime, peace and prosperity have made the leaders of Gotham complacent. Only Commissioner Gordon (Gary Oldman) continues to fight a forgotten war on crime, and has made too many moral compromises to do it. So no one appears to be left to stop the new villain Bane (Tom Hardy), a terrorist who has been turning Gotham's less fortunate into an army of ideological crusaders, bent on bringing down the rich and powerful of Gotham City. However, Batman has some new allies of his own, including a young policeman named John Blake (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), who is not afraid to work outside the system, and a lovely cat burglar named Selina Kyle (Anne Hathaway).
Let's get the big stuff out of the way first. No, "The Dark Knight Rises" is not as good as "The Dark Knight," for the simple reason that it doesn't have any characters that can match up to Heath Ledger's Joker. Tom Hardy's Bane is a properly menacing hulk of a villain, visually magnificent, but comes off as something of a Joker-lite because his ideology is more muddled and he doesn't have the same charisma or presence. Catwoman, who is never identified as Catwoman, is nothing unexpected. Anne Hathaway has no problem playing the sexy bad girl, but there's just not much more to this version of the character. She gets her own subplot, but it's such a simple and predictable one, it feels perfunctory. The film could have cut her out entirely without much effort. And as usual, Bruce Wayne's love life gets the short end of the stick. In addition to flirting with Selina Kyle, Wayne gets close to a philanthropist businesswoman named Miranda Tate (Marion Cotillard), who really should have been given a few more scenes to cement their new relationship. Considering this cast and these promising characters, I was surprised at how shallow they came out.
But then, Nolan has a lot on his plate. "The Dark Knight Rises" suffers from trying to do too much and having a lot of conflicting messages. Bruce Wayne must find the strength to put on the Batman suit again, but then the case is also made, most strongly by Alfred (Michael Caine), that it's time for Wayne to put Batman behind him. Is he too self-destructive to be a hero? Is being a hero making him self-destructive? It was brave of Nolan to devote so much time to Bruce Wayne wrestling over the decision to return to the crimefighting life, and pumping up the personal stakes. Some of the best Wayne and Alfred scenes of the series are the result, and I've never been more sure of Michael Caine's MVP status in these films. However, I don't think that these issues were resolved as well as they could have been, and there are some odd developments required by the plot that nearly derail the whole works.
To add to the confusion, in the previous "Dark Knight," Batman was painted as the one who would do the dirty work and stay in the shadows, while Harvey Dent was elevated to hero status because he was a better symbol of hope for Gotham. Here, this is quickly subverted, and Dent's heroism is treated as a destructive lie that has been exploited by those in power. And those in power may deserve what's coming to them, but Bane's efforts to lead the downtrodden in overthrowing the corrupt are portrayed as evil and destructive. Batman's vigilantism gets a pass, of course. I've seen a few articles suggesting that Nolan had some beef with the Occupy Movement, but aside from borrowing a few bits of iconography to make the film more topical, I don't think "The Dark Knight Rises" is making any kind of political statement. Or if it is, it's a deeply convoluted and confused one.
The film runs well over two hours, and it's not nearly as complicated as I'm making it sound, but there are an awful lot of subplots and complications to grind through in order to set up the big finale. At one point we're following Wayne, Blake, Kyle, Gordon, Bane, and Wayne Enterprises CEO Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman), all from different vantage points in an ongoing crisis. Aside from Bruce Wayne, the character who gets the most development turns out to be John Blake, who is set up as this down-to-earth, average police officer, just trying his best to help save Gotham City. We follow his perspective for a good chunk of the film where Wayne is absent. I like the character, and I like Joseph Gordon-Levitt in the role, but I don't think the film benefited from Blake getting this much emphasis. There were several other characters that needed the attention more.
Still, Nolan delivers plenty of good action, and he succeeds in keeping the major storylines on track and the adrenaline high. Superhero movie fans should have no complaints about the level of mayhem. All the old toys and vehicles and are back, including a handful of new ones. Crimes and carnage take place on a grander scale, and some of the later altercations turn into full scale battles. It's easy to ignore all the plot holes and the unanswered questions when there's so much forward momentum driving the film toward its big climax. I thoroughly enjoyed "The Dark Knight Rises" while I was watching it, and letting myself get carried away by the noise and the spectacle. However, when you try and go back and piece together the logic and motivations, it doesn't add up. And that's a shame.
"The Dark Knight Rises" is perfectly fine as a summer action movie. Most Batman fans should love it. However, for the discerning viewers, the ones who were hoping to see a reinvention of Catwoman, or a truly monstrous Bane, there's bound to be some disappointment. It feels like Nolan was trying to reach something big and profound with the Batman franchise, but he didn't quite grasp it. The visuals are right. The talent is right. The desire for better was clearly there. And Nolan had the daring and the will to twist and reinvent the mythos as he saw fit, to create something different and new.
But in the end, Christopher Nolan didn't quite stick his landing. More on that tomorrow.
---
Sunday, July 22, 2012
TJE 7/22 - The Turin Horse (2011)
We begin with the famous anecdote about Friedrich Nietzche, who one day encountered a horse being beaten by his driver in the street, and intervened. He was so overcome by the incident, it may have contributed to a mental breakdown that Nietzche suffered and never fully recovered from. The film suggests that it will tell us what happened to the unfortunate horse and its driver, but I'm not sure that it really does.
"The Turin Horse" is an apocalyptic fable, about an unnamed man (János Derzsi) and his daughter (Erika Bók), who life in a small stone cottage in an empty wasteland. They own the titular horse, who we seeing being driven homeward by the man in the opening shots of the film. Subsequently, the horse stays in the small stables adjacent to the cottage and refuses to eat or drink. Perhaps it knows something that the humans do not. For the rest of the film, spanning six days, father and daughter remain in this tiny, remote place, waiting out a terrible windstorm that rages outside, and going through a daily routine of drudgery and growing despair. But who could expect anything more cheerful from the great Hungarian auteur Bela Tarr?
I will warn you now that "The Turin Horse" is an art film to test the patience of art film lovers. It is two and a half hours long, shot in beautiful, bleak black and white. The sparse lines of dialogue are spoken in Hungarian. By the director's own admission, the film is designed to wear on the viewer, with its constant repetitions of the characters' routines, the ominous musical score, and the ever darkening mood. Long, long static shots show the arduous task of drawing water from the nearby well, the mundanity of the characters consuming their daily allotment of boiled potatoes, and the struggle to complete chores outside while being buffeted by the violent winds. "What's going on?" the daughter asks one night in the darkness, the only time when father and daughter seem able to speak honestly to each other. There are signs that larger forces are are work, perhaps close to bringing about the end of the world.
What does any of this have to do with the madness of Friedrich Nietzche? If the dialogue is Hungarian, where does Turin come in, or does Turin just refer to the horse's point of origin? These are not the kinds of questions that the film is interested in answering, at least not directly. Instead, as with Bela Tarr's previous films, the objective is to create a particular reality for the audience, to evoke a mental state that lets them experience a fragment of this desolate universe. We come to understand that the main characters live lives so devoid of meaning or purpose, that their very desire to exist is being sapped away. I suppose you could argue then, that watching the film is akin to endangering your own mental health. I'm kidding. Mostly.
The power of the film is in its simplicity and starkness. Sets and costumes and bare bones and utilitarian. A town is mentioned, but we never see it. The actors' performances are harshly naturalistic, recalling Robert Bresson's famously dead-eyed female leads, reflecting his distaste for any sign of affectation. We watch the characters work and work, the focus on their slumped forms rather than their faces. The man is bearded, and the girl's hair is always in the way, especially when she is outside. The cinematography, though very beautiful, is unrelenting in its dreariness. It is a relief when other briefly characters appear at the cottage, to provide momentary respite from the sameness of each day's cycle, even though each new deviation is a portent of steadily encroaching doom.
It's easy to label "The Turin Horse" pretentious cinema for masochistic snobs, but the emotions that it stirs and the themes that it explores are not so easy to dismiss. There have been many films about a coming apocalypse in recent years, but only a few films like "The Road" and "Perfect Sense" have confronted the hopelessness that lurks on the edges of these narratives. "The Turin Horse" does so even more directly. It doesn't matter what caused the end of the world here, but only that it renders an endless, difficult struggle for simple existence too arduous to continue. And watching the characters reach that breaking point is fascinating, terrifying, and deeply moving.
This is reportedly Bela Tarr’s final film. I’ve only seen one of the others, “Werkmeister Harmonies,” which I loved. The other major one, “Satantango,” remains on my to-watch list. I’m a little afraid of it, really. Considering my reaction to his other work, the seven hour running time of “Satantango” may be too overwhelming. “The Turin Horse” is going to be difficult enough to recover from.
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"The Turin Horse" is an apocalyptic fable, about an unnamed man (János Derzsi) and his daughter (Erika Bók), who life in a small stone cottage in an empty wasteland. They own the titular horse, who we seeing being driven homeward by the man in the opening shots of the film. Subsequently, the horse stays in the small stables adjacent to the cottage and refuses to eat or drink. Perhaps it knows something that the humans do not. For the rest of the film, spanning six days, father and daughter remain in this tiny, remote place, waiting out a terrible windstorm that rages outside, and going through a daily routine of drudgery and growing despair. But who could expect anything more cheerful from the great Hungarian auteur Bela Tarr?
I will warn you now that "The Turin Horse" is an art film to test the patience of art film lovers. It is two and a half hours long, shot in beautiful, bleak black and white. The sparse lines of dialogue are spoken in Hungarian. By the director's own admission, the film is designed to wear on the viewer, with its constant repetitions of the characters' routines, the ominous musical score, and the ever darkening mood. Long, long static shots show the arduous task of drawing water from the nearby well, the mundanity of the characters consuming their daily allotment of boiled potatoes, and the struggle to complete chores outside while being buffeted by the violent winds. "What's going on?" the daughter asks one night in the darkness, the only time when father and daughter seem able to speak honestly to each other. There are signs that larger forces are are work, perhaps close to bringing about the end of the world.
What does any of this have to do with the madness of Friedrich Nietzche? If the dialogue is Hungarian, where does Turin come in, or does Turin just refer to the horse's point of origin? These are not the kinds of questions that the film is interested in answering, at least not directly. Instead, as with Bela Tarr's previous films, the objective is to create a particular reality for the audience, to evoke a mental state that lets them experience a fragment of this desolate universe. We come to understand that the main characters live lives so devoid of meaning or purpose, that their very desire to exist is being sapped away. I suppose you could argue then, that watching the film is akin to endangering your own mental health. I'm kidding. Mostly.
The power of the film is in its simplicity and starkness. Sets and costumes and bare bones and utilitarian. A town is mentioned, but we never see it. The actors' performances are harshly naturalistic, recalling Robert Bresson's famously dead-eyed female leads, reflecting his distaste for any sign of affectation. We watch the characters work and work, the focus on their slumped forms rather than their faces. The man is bearded, and the girl's hair is always in the way, especially when she is outside. The cinematography, though very beautiful, is unrelenting in its dreariness. It is a relief when other briefly characters appear at the cottage, to provide momentary respite from the sameness of each day's cycle, even though each new deviation is a portent of steadily encroaching doom.
It's easy to label "The Turin Horse" pretentious cinema for masochistic snobs, but the emotions that it stirs and the themes that it explores are not so easy to dismiss. There have been many films about a coming apocalypse in recent years, but only a few films like "The Road" and "Perfect Sense" have confronted the hopelessness that lurks on the edges of these narratives. "The Turin Horse" does so even more directly. It doesn't matter what caused the end of the world here, but only that it renders an endless, difficult struggle for simple existence too arduous to continue. And watching the characters reach that breaking point is fascinating, terrifying, and deeply moving.
This is reportedly Bela Tarr’s final film. I’ve only seen one of the others, “Werkmeister Harmonies,” which I loved. The other major one, “Satantango,” remains on my to-watch list. I’m a little afraid of it, really. Considering my reaction to his other work, the seven hour running time of “Satantango” may be too overwhelming. “The Turin Horse” is going to be difficult enough to recover from.
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Saturday, July 21, 2012
TJE 7/21 - Boys Town (1938)
A few days ago I reviewed "Angels With Dirty Faces," which was notable for one standout performance by James Cagney. He was nominated for the Oscar that year, but lost to Spencer Tracy for playing Father Flanagan in "Boys Town." Now Cagney's performance is held up as one of the defining roles of his career, while Tracy's seems to be fondly regarded mostly out of nostalgia. So I watched both films, and it's pretty clear why Tracy got the Oscar. "Boys Town," despite its reputation for being sentimental and maudlin, is a much better movie than "Angels With Dirty Faces."
We first meet Father Flanagan, a Roman Catholic priest, running a refuge for the homeless, but his efforts don't seem to make much of a difference. After visiting a condemned man who had a terrible childhood, Flanagan decides to change tactics and open a home for orphan boys, believing there's "no such thing as a bad boy." After persuading a local shopkeeper, Dave (Henry Hull), to finance the venture, Flanagan creates a home for boys that eventually expands to a whole little community called Boys Town, with its own schools and training facilities. The boys elect their own leaders and enforce their own laws and justice under the guidance of Father Flanagan. Though the place is always in debt, Flanagan's methods, aimed a preparing the boys for good futures, prove sound. However, Boys Town is tested by the arrival of Whitey Marsh (Mickey Rooney), the brother of a convict, Joe (Edward Norris). Whitey is well on his way down the wrong path in life, and it may be too late for him to change his ways.
The boys of "Boys Town" are fully realized characters, unlike the passel of interchangeable young toughs in "Angels With Dirty Faces," and that makes all the difference. Tracy may have won the Oscar, but I think the performance that really makes the movie work is Mickey Rooney's. Whitey Marsh is the kind of young gangster wannabe who is always trying to act big, who has a smart-aleck reply to everything, and thinks he's a lot smarter and rougher than he actually is. He struts around and postures and mouths off. And he's so much fun to watch, getting his ego deflated at every turn. Then come the dramatic parts, and Rooney nails those too. Sure, there's some cutesy business, especially with a little seven year-old named Pee Wee (Bobs Watson), but the kids in the picture are rock solid. I think you could have cut Father Flanagan out of the plot entirely and still had a perfectly watchable film with Rooney as the lead.
Maybe it would have also been a more interesting one, as the story of Father Flanagan is awfully conventional. "Boys Town" is almost certainly a very whitewashed portrayal of reality. Whitey is presented as a terribly problematic case for Flanagan, but he turns out to be quite responsive to a little peer pressure and tough love. None of the boys have any truly serious mental or behavioral problems. The plot is frankly a little ridiculous, involving a bank robbery, a standoff with the crooks responsible, and a couple of really blatant, manipulative twists in the last act. Also, the timeline jumps ahead frequently. One minute Flanagan and his first group of boys are suffering a miserable Christmas at the first orphanage, and the next Flanagan has somehow managed to pay off all his debts and is looking to expand. Then there's the fact that Flanagan seems to be running Boys Town by himself, with a nun in the infirmary as the only other nominal adult presence. And the film certainly has its own agenda. Flanagan's persistent money troubles seem like thinly veiled solicitation for donations, and the jabs at a local newspaper publisher seem to be alluding to some offscreen incident we don't know about.
And yet the movie still works. After nearly seventy-five years, it's still moving and inspiring and the corny ideals behind it still have potency. The sentiment and optimism are there, but don't grate as badly as you might suspect. Though the particulars of the story are too good to be true, there's still a ring of truth to it. Father Flanagan is idealized, true, but in Spencer Tracy's capable hands he also comes off as very human, and we can believe that perhaps there was once such a man who cared and loved enough to create a place like Boys Town. And even if he didn't save someone like Whitey Marsh in such dramatic fashion, he probably did change many lives for the better through the reforms he pioneered.
"Boys Town" is also something of a cautionary lesson for me. I think I've been relying too much on certain critics' lists to choose movies to watch lately, and entirely overlooked a film that was a major cultural touchstone of its era, and made a real impact. I don't think "Boys Town" is particularly notable from a purely artistic standpoint, but it's not hard to see why it's so fondly remembered. It's not a great film, but it stands as a wonderful example of old-fashioned studio style filmmaking, acting, and writing. And it's still awfully entertaining too.
---
We first meet Father Flanagan, a Roman Catholic priest, running a refuge for the homeless, but his efforts don't seem to make much of a difference. After visiting a condemned man who had a terrible childhood, Flanagan decides to change tactics and open a home for orphan boys, believing there's "no such thing as a bad boy." After persuading a local shopkeeper, Dave (Henry Hull), to finance the venture, Flanagan creates a home for boys that eventually expands to a whole little community called Boys Town, with its own schools and training facilities. The boys elect their own leaders and enforce their own laws and justice under the guidance of Father Flanagan. Though the place is always in debt, Flanagan's methods, aimed a preparing the boys for good futures, prove sound. However, Boys Town is tested by the arrival of Whitey Marsh (Mickey Rooney), the brother of a convict, Joe (Edward Norris). Whitey is well on his way down the wrong path in life, and it may be too late for him to change his ways.
The boys of "Boys Town" are fully realized characters, unlike the passel of interchangeable young toughs in "Angels With Dirty Faces," and that makes all the difference. Tracy may have won the Oscar, but I think the performance that really makes the movie work is Mickey Rooney's. Whitey Marsh is the kind of young gangster wannabe who is always trying to act big, who has a smart-aleck reply to everything, and thinks he's a lot smarter and rougher than he actually is. He struts around and postures and mouths off. And he's so much fun to watch, getting his ego deflated at every turn. Then come the dramatic parts, and Rooney nails those too. Sure, there's some cutesy business, especially with a little seven year-old named Pee Wee (Bobs Watson), but the kids in the picture are rock solid. I think you could have cut Father Flanagan out of the plot entirely and still had a perfectly watchable film with Rooney as the lead.
Maybe it would have also been a more interesting one, as the story of Father Flanagan is awfully conventional. "Boys Town" is almost certainly a very whitewashed portrayal of reality. Whitey is presented as a terribly problematic case for Flanagan, but he turns out to be quite responsive to a little peer pressure and tough love. None of the boys have any truly serious mental or behavioral problems. The plot is frankly a little ridiculous, involving a bank robbery, a standoff with the crooks responsible, and a couple of really blatant, manipulative twists in the last act. Also, the timeline jumps ahead frequently. One minute Flanagan and his first group of boys are suffering a miserable Christmas at the first orphanage, and the next Flanagan has somehow managed to pay off all his debts and is looking to expand. Then there's the fact that Flanagan seems to be running Boys Town by himself, with a nun in the infirmary as the only other nominal adult presence. And the film certainly has its own agenda. Flanagan's persistent money troubles seem like thinly veiled solicitation for donations, and the jabs at a local newspaper publisher seem to be alluding to some offscreen incident we don't know about.
And yet the movie still works. After nearly seventy-five years, it's still moving and inspiring and the corny ideals behind it still have potency. The sentiment and optimism are there, but don't grate as badly as you might suspect. Though the particulars of the story are too good to be true, there's still a ring of truth to it. Father Flanagan is idealized, true, but in Spencer Tracy's capable hands he also comes off as very human, and we can believe that perhaps there was once such a man who cared and loved enough to create a place like Boys Town. And even if he didn't save someone like Whitey Marsh in such dramatic fashion, he probably did change many lives for the better through the reforms he pioneered.
"Boys Town" is also something of a cautionary lesson for me. I think I've been relying too much on certain critics' lists to choose movies to watch lately, and entirely overlooked a film that was a major cultural touchstone of its era, and made a real impact. I don't think "Boys Town" is particularly notable from a purely artistic standpoint, but it's not hard to see why it's so fondly remembered. It's not a great film, but it stands as a wonderful example of old-fashioned studio style filmmaking, acting, and writing. And it's still awfully entertaining too.
---
Friday, July 20, 2012
TJE 7/20 - Baraka (1992)
I saw the last half hour or so of "Baraka" a long time ago, and I couldn't figure out what it was supposed to be. There were all these images of concentration camps, a funeral on the Ganges river, Whirling Dervishes, ancient stone images, beautiful landscapes, and starry night skies. I couldn't piece together any kind of narrative, but I kept trying to. What was it all about? What did it all mean? A decade later I finally saw the whole movie, and found some answers.
"Baraka" is categorized as both a documentary and an experimental film, following in the footsteps of the more celebrated "Koyaanisqatsi." Ron Fricke, who was the cinematographer on "Koyaanisqatsi," directed "Baraka," bringing a somewhat different sensibility. The film is best described as a collage of images exploring the natural world and human society. There is no story, at least none that is made explicit. Instead, the film looks at a variety of subjects across multiple cultures, such as religious rituals and industrialization. Like "Koyaanisqatsi," the modern world is viewed negatively, as a source of corruption, pollution, and squalor, but it doesn't dwell on this for very long. Critique is not the central concern of "Baraka." Its gaze is wider, and it spends far more time finding connections between different cultures, cutting from one part of the world to another, architecture in one country of the world echoing that of a different city, the ceremonies of one religion blending into other. Sometimes the viewer won't even notice that the film has moved on from one place to the next. In total, the filmmakers collected their images from 24 countries, across six continents.
Spirituality and common humanity are the major themes here. "Baraka" means "blessing" in Arabic, and some of the earliest images we see include calls to prayer, women reverently kissing a lock, and monks at a Tibetan monastery. There is no identifying information and no context for any of these images. The film requires the audience to recognize and make sense of what they see with little help from the filmmakers. Here are a group of children dressed in colorful tribal costume. Here are people decorating a temple. Here are a group of men in long robes and tall hats being solemnly blessed. And then they begin to dance, and you realize that these are the famous Whirling Dervishes of Turkey. In the modern world segments, shots of crowded subway platforms are intercut with shots of newly hatched chicks being processed and marked, and it's left to the viewer to catch the connecting ideas of mechanization and dehumanization.
The major selling point of "Baraka" is the cinematography, which is absolutely stunning. Throughout, I kept thinking of Tarsem Singh's fantasy film, "The Fall," which also went globetrotting to many different locales in order to find the most beautiful shooting locations that it could. However, "Baraka" has more impact because of the documentary approach. I'm sure there was still some staging for some of the shots we see in the film, but the images feel far more genuine, more candid and spontaneous. The camera is less intrusive, and there is the sense that we are simply watching as real-world events unfold. This is not to suggest that the film is lacking a point of view, because it's not. The inclusion and juxtaposition of certain elements is very deliberate, particularly the later segments of the film that travel to various concentration camps and Khmer Rouge prisons, lingering on photographs and piles of skulls.
However, I found that the images of nature were the most arresting. It's one thing to see lovely shots of waterfalls and desert landscapes and rock formations, but it's quite another to see them in this kind of quality, set to the hypnotic score by Michael Stearns, as part of the larger whole of "Baraka." The film has this wonderful immersiveness, which I think is due to the total lack of dialogue or any artifice we expect from other films, including the usual nature documentaries. "Baraka" is really a silent film, one that derives so much of its effectiveness from some of the oldest montage techniques, and lacks the distraction of modern movie soundscapes. We just have image after image of marvelous things to look at. And soon you get caught up in the rhythm of the editing, which is deceptively languid in the early going, and it's hard to look away from the screen.
There is a common what-if question that tends to come up in movie nerd discussions. If you met someone who had never seen a movie before, what would you show them first? I think I would pick "Baraka," because it shows what the cinematic medium is capable of, and because it provides such a fascinating look at a world it's easy to forget is all real.
---
"Baraka" is categorized as both a documentary and an experimental film, following in the footsteps of the more celebrated "Koyaanisqatsi." Ron Fricke, who was the cinematographer on "Koyaanisqatsi," directed "Baraka," bringing a somewhat different sensibility. The film is best described as a collage of images exploring the natural world and human society. There is no story, at least none that is made explicit. Instead, the film looks at a variety of subjects across multiple cultures, such as religious rituals and industrialization. Like "Koyaanisqatsi," the modern world is viewed negatively, as a source of corruption, pollution, and squalor, but it doesn't dwell on this for very long. Critique is not the central concern of "Baraka." Its gaze is wider, and it spends far more time finding connections between different cultures, cutting from one part of the world to another, architecture in one country of the world echoing that of a different city, the ceremonies of one religion blending into other. Sometimes the viewer won't even notice that the film has moved on from one place to the next. In total, the filmmakers collected their images from 24 countries, across six continents.
Spirituality and common humanity are the major themes here. "Baraka" means "blessing" in Arabic, and some of the earliest images we see include calls to prayer, women reverently kissing a lock, and monks at a Tibetan monastery. There is no identifying information and no context for any of these images. The film requires the audience to recognize and make sense of what they see with little help from the filmmakers. Here are a group of children dressed in colorful tribal costume. Here are people decorating a temple. Here are a group of men in long robes and tall hats being solemnly blessed. And then they begin to dance, and you realize that these are the famous Whirling Dervishes of Turkey. In the modern world segments, shots of crowded subway platforms are intercut with shots of newly hatched chicks being processed and marked, and it's left to the viewer to catch the connecting ideas of mechanization and dehumanization.
The major selling point of "Baraka" is the cinematography, which is absolutely stunning. Throughout, I kept thinking of Tarsem Singh's fantasy film, "The Fall," which also went globetrotting to many different locales in order to find the most beautiful shooting locations that it could. However, "Baraka" has more impact because of the documentary approach. I'm sure there was still some staging for some of the shots we see in the film, but the images feel far more genuine, more candid and spontaneous. The camera is less intrusive, and there is the sense that we are simply watching as real-world events unfold. This is not to suggest that the film is lacking a point of view, because it's not. The inclusion and juxtaposition of certain elements is very deliberate, particularly the later segments of the film that travel to various concentration camps and Khmer Rouge prisons, lingering on photographs and piles of skulls.
However, I found that the images of nature were the most arresting. It's one thing to see lovely shots of waterfalls and desert landscapes and rock formations, but it's quite another to see them in this kind of quality, set to the hypnotic score by Michael Stearns, as part of the larger whole of "Baraka." The film has this wonderful immersiveness, which I think is due to the total lack of dialogue or any artifice we expect from other films, including the usual nature documentaries. "Baraka" is really a silent film, one that derives so much of its effectiveness from some of the oldest montage techniques, and lacks the distraction of modern movie soundscapes. We just have image after image of marvelous things to look at. And soon you get caught up in the rhythm of the editing, which is deceptively languid in the early going, and it's hard to look away from the screen.
There is a common what-if question that tends to come up in movie nerd discussions. If you met someone who had never seen a movie before, what would you show them first? I think I would pick "Baraka," because it shows what the cinematic medium is capable of, and because it provides such a fascinating look at a world it's easy to forget is all real.
---
Thursday, July 19, 2012
TJE 7/19 - Shame (2011)
"Shame," according to Boxofficemojo, was the only film released in the US in 2011 with an NC-17 rating, and I'm glad that it was. The story concerns a man who is battling sex addiction, though the term is never used in the film. The NC-17 content is absolutely essential. However, I should warn that the graphic sexual activity that we see onscreen is not titillating, prurient, or anything that could be called sexy. Rather, the overwhelming mood of the film is one of isolation, alienation, and loneliness.
Brandon (Michael Fassbender) works in a Manhattan advertising firm. He is successful, handsome, and perpetually unattached. By his own admission, he has never had a relationship that lasted for more than four months, spending his nights with a succession of anonymous strangers and paid sex workers. His need for gratification is constant, but he remains emotionally uninvolved with the people around him. Then one day his younger sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan) arrives unannounced at his apartment. Her situation is unstable, and Brandon lets her stay, but the demands on his privacy severely hamper his sex life, and he's forced to struggle against the impulses he's long indulged. Awkwardly, he begins to look for alternatives to his solitary existence.
Director Steve McQueen is known for his long takes, and there are several employed here to good effect. The unblinking, sustained gaze ratchets up the tension, heightens the mood, and gives the performances more room to unfurl. And they're excellent. "Shame" is a character study, driven by work of its superb cast. Though the script by McQueen and Abi Morgan contains plenty of dialogue, there is very little proper exposition, and it takes a while to figure out what Sissy's relationship to Brandon is, and for the details of his addiction to emerge. We observe Brandon going through his usual routine at home and at work, riding the subway and jogging through empty streets, almost always alone. McQueen often places him on the edges of the frame, emphasizing his remoteness. Crop the widescreen frame to in some scenes, and he would totally disappear. One of the most vital elements here is the score by composer Harry Escott, supplemented with Bach piano pieces performed by Glenn Gould. The melancholia of the music completely saps away any pleasure that could be had from the sex scenes, rendering them clinical, empty, and cold.
2011 was a great year for Michael Fassbender, and of the four films he appeared in, "Shame" was the one that contained his best performance. It's surely the most fearless and revealing, not just because he spends a good portion of the screen time in the nude, but because of the intimacy and candidness of it. Initially Brandon's lifestyle is attractive, enviable even. Fassbender is charismatic enough that we can easily accept his ability to charm just about any woman into bed for a no-strings tumble. However, there's always an unspoken tension to every encounter, and it soon becomes apparent how little control he has over his sexual urges, and how precarious a situation he's come to. Fassbender embodies all the common paranoias toward sex, the fears of inadequacy, of rejection, of unforeseen consequences, and of course that the extent of his secret, perverse activities will be discovered. We watch him ignore and internalize the problems, until they overwhelm him. And nobody suffers an onscreen breakdown like Fassbender.
The only real relationship Brandon has is with his sister, and we learn very little about Sissy except that she is a musician who has achieved a small measure of success, she's in a troubled relationship, she has a history of self-harm, and she has nowhere else to go. Carey Mulligan's performance does the rest. McQueen devotes one of the longest scenes in the film to Brandon simply watching her sing "New York, New York" in a club, her face filling the screen. Initially it seems like a gimmick, and Mulligan's tremulous vocals are passable at best, but the effect is mesmerizing. She has the ability to suggest so much in the most offhand comments and gestures, and in one of her best scenes we don't see much more of her than back of her head. Her psychological state, like Brandon's, is never discussed, but take one look at Mulligan and you know Sissy is a girl on the edge.
"Shame" is about far more than addiction. It quietly criticizes and deglamourizes the entire alpha male image that Brandon creates for himself. All the hallmarks of his success - being rich and attractive, living in Manhattan, enjoying all the best clubs and restaurants, and snagging the girl that a colleague couldn't – amount to very little in the end. He spends most of the film perfectly miserable, despite enjoying every classic heterosexual male sexual fantasy in the book. Sissy's life as an artist doesn't bring her happiness either, her pretty exterior masking too much pain. Manhattan itself has never looked so beautiful and so desolate.
"Shame" is a tough film, but cathartic and penetrating, and a viewing will linger in the mind for days. The real shame is that more people won't see this film because of the MPAA rating, but that's a rant for another day.
---
Brandon (Michael Fassbender) works in a Manhattan advertising firm. He is successful, handsome, and perpetually unattached. By his own admission, he has never had a relationship that lasted for more than four months, spending his nights with a succession of anonymous strangers and paid sex workers. His need for gratification is constant, but he remains emotionally uninvolved with the people around him. Then one day his younger sister Sissy (Carey Mulligan) arrives unannounced at his apartment. Her situation is unstable, and Brandon lets her stay, but the demands on his privacy severely hamper his sex life, and he's forced to struggle against the impulses he's long indulged. Awkwardly, he begins to look for alternatives to his solitary existence.
Director Steve McQueen is known for his long takes, and there are several employed here to good effect. The unblinking, sustained gaze ratchets up the tension, heightens the mood, and gives the performances more room to unfurl. And they're excellent. "Shame" is a character study, driven by work of its superb cast. Though the script by McQueen and Abi Morgan contains plenty of dialogue, there is very little proper exposition, and it takes a while to figure out what Sissy's relationship to Brandon is, and for the details of his addiction to emerge. We observe Brandon going through his usual routine at home and at work, riding the subway and jogging through empty streets, almost always alone. McQueen often places him on the edges of the frame, emphasizing his remoteness. Crop the widescreen frame to in some scenes, and he would totally disappear. One of the most vital elements here is the score by composer Harry Escott, supplemented with Bach piano pieces performed by Glenn Gould. The melancholia of the music completely saps away any pleasure that could be had from the sex scenes, rendering them clinical, empty, and cold.
2011 was a great year for Michael Fassbender, and of the four films he appeared in, "Shame" was the one that contained his best performance. It's surely the most fearless and revealing, not just because he spends a good portion of the screen time in the nude, but because of the intimacy and candidness of it. Initially Brandon's lifestyle is attractive, enviable even. Fassbender is charismatic enough that we can easily accept his ability to charm just about any woman into bed for a no-strings tumble. However, there's always an unspoken tension to every encounter, and it soon becomes apparent how little control he has over his sexual urges, and how precarious a situation he's come to. Fassbender embodies all the common paranoias toward sex, the fears of inadequacy, of rejection, of unforeseen consequences, and of course that the extent of his secret, perverse activities will be discovered. We watch him ignore and internalize the problems, until they overwhelm him. And nobody suffers an onscreen breakdown like Fassbender.
The only real relationship Brandon has is with his sister, and we learn very little about Sissy except that she is a musician who has achieved a small measure of success, she's in a troubled relationship, she has a history of self-harm, and she has nowhere else to go. Carey Mulligan's performance does the rest. McQueen devotes one of the longest scenes in the film to Brandon simply watching her sing "New York, New York" in a club, her face filling the screen. Initially it seems like a gimmick, and Mulligan's tremulous vocals are passable at best, but the effect is mesmerizing. She has the ability to suggest so much in the most offhand comments and gestures, and in one of her best scenes we don't see much more of her than back of her head. Her psychological state, like Brandon's, is never discussed, but take one look at Mulligan and you know Sissy is a girl on the edge.
"Shame" is about far more than addiction. It quietly criticizes and deglamourizes the entire alpha male image that Brandon creates for himself. All the hallmarks of his success - being rich and attractive, living in Manhattan, enjoying all the best clubs and restaurants, and snagging the girl that a colleague couldn't – amount to very little in the end. He spends most of the film perfectly miserable, despite enjoying every classic heterosexual male sexual fantasy in the book. Sissy's life as an artist doesn't bring her happiness either, her pretty exterior masking too much pain. Manhattan itself has never looked so beautiful and so desolate.
"Shame" is a tough film, but cathartic and penetrating, and a viewing will linger in the mind for days. The real shame is that more people won't see this film because of the MPAA rating, but that's a rant for another day.
---
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