"The Virgin Suicides" is resplendent with still-life photography. Somehow the camera manages to unravel a little of that human facade that often obfuscates a person's internal makeup and character. You don't have to be unusually perceptive to slice through the outer layers of these characters and find a glimpse of their affected souls, the camera does that for you. There were moments, especially when watching Kirsten Dunst as "Lux", I found a light emanating from the cavernous insides of the characters and glowing amidst a drab milieu. The montages revolve around a central point, a epicentre where the will of the character dictates the movement of the surroundings. Sometimes, while watching Lux, the scenery seems to pullulate elliptically about her. When you consider that the scenery was fashioned like still-life photography, with every inch fixed and significantly conspicuous, this rotation exuberantly guides the observer and the film's periphery elements, towards the emotional centre.
What do I mean? I think Sophia Coppola quietly unveiled the inner lives of her characters and did so while remaining taciturnly committed to allowing the story to tell itself. What is interesting is that at times, with the possible exception of Lux's character, the story and the characters are inseparable. There is a melding of the two, a fusion of body and motion that guides the viewer through movements, not unlike a symphony gliding towards a finish, or crescendo, or maybe resolution? I admire Coppola's ability to remain quiet, in modern American film this is a rare quality. It is also noteworthy that Coppola did not exploit the sexuality of her characters to make up for the lack of gratuitous violence in the story. The sexuality of the characters is never denied, never overlooked, but is allowed to flourish organically, slowly unfolding like a flower whose moment has come and whose world is anticipating its arrival.
One could criticize this film because it appears that Lux dominates the story and she does. However, I do find that she provides an appropriate apex, a needed centre for the rotation and litany of the film. We also could criticize the screenplay for shrouding us in a thick mystery, a persistent rhetorical refrain of Why? How? Who? But there is a reason there isn't an omnicient narrator, for, like a portfolio of still-life photographs, we are left with images and the narration they exude, not the philosophy or paradigm rendered putative by pedagougery or didactics.
What do I mean? I think Sophia Coppola quietly unveiled the inner lives of her characters and did so while remaining taciturnly committed to allowing the story to tell itself. What is interesting is that at times, with the possible exception of Lux's character, the story and the characters are inseparable. There is a melding of the two, a fusion of body and motion that guides the viewer through movements, not unlike a symphony gliding towards a finish, or crescendo, or maybe resolution? I admire Coppola's ability to remain quiet, in modern American film this is a rare quality. It is also noteworthy that Coppola did not exploit the sexuality of her characters to make up for the lack of gratuitous violence in the story. The sexuality of the characters is never denied, never overlooked, but is allowed to flourish organically, slowly unfolding like a flower whose moment has come and whose world is anticipating its arrival.
One could criticize this film because it appears that Lux dominates the story and she does. However, I do find that she provides an appropriate apex, a needed centre for the rotation and litany of the film. We also could criticize the screenplay for shrouding us in a thick mystery, a persistent rhetorical refrain of Why? How? Who? But there is a reason there isn't an omnicient narrator, for, like a portfolio of still-life photographs, we are left with images and the narration they exude, not the philosophy or paradigm rendered putative by pedagougery or didactics.