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Eo (2022)
Human, All Too Human
If you take away everything that makes Au Hasard Balthazar great - its subtlety, complexity, dignity - then you are left with Eo, a film that doesn't know what it wants to say, but knows what it wants its audience to feel - it wants you to feel sympathy for the donkey, it wants you to feel awed by its cinematography, and perhaps impressed by its artsy digressions. I could only feel awed by the cinematography, which is admittedly breathtaking.
Regarding the director's failure to evoke my sympathy for the donkey protagonist, I'm reminded of the poster for Richard Linklater's Everybody Wants Some... On the poster, the cast is assembled in a very contrived fashion, not candid (as from a moment in the film, or recreation of a moment in the film) but deliberately posed to evoke a feeling of camaraderie among the characters. This poster has a strange effect on me . . . It's obvious that the director (or whoever designed the poster) wants me to like the character, but they have taken it too far . . . They are trying so hard to endear these characters on me, that I reflexively resist. The same is true of the donkey in Eo - the more the writer/director tries to make me sympathize with the donkey (and he tries very, very hard) the less I feel.
For the record, I'm not an unfeeling person. The donkey in Au Hasard Balthazar broke my heart. Perhaps because Bresson didn't stoop to maudlin techniques to endear this animal on me.
Eo has nothing to say. Its only commentary is that people don't know how to co-exist with animals, and as a result people often treat animals badly... but this commentary isn't specific to this time or this place. (If you wanted to read into the episode with the truck driver, you could make an argument for there being commentary that addresses toxic masculinity or the migration crisis in Europe . . . But even then the commentary would be shallow and reactionary.)
The writer/director is human, all too human (to borrow a phrase from Nietzsche) in his failure to co-exist with this animal (or animals, considering Eo was portrayed by several donkeys). Perhaps he was afraid that a donkey left to its own devices wouldn't produce the results he wanted, so he manhandled it (them) like so many of the characters he criticizes in the film.
Stranger Than Fiction (2006)
What distinguishes literature from cinema?
What distinguishes literature from cinema? Among other things, one distinction (as with theatre) is the necessity of performance. What is written must be enacted. It is for this reason that a narrative like "Stranger Than Fiction" is best realized in a theatrical or cinematic context.
Arguably, the meta-narrative in a cinematic context would have been better served if the author (played by Emma Thompson) had been a screenwriter (at the risk of eliciting unwanted comparisons with "Adaptation").
El hoyo (2019)
Trickle-down allegory
"Republicans didn't start thinking of the old common fellow till just as they started out on the election tour. The money was all appropriated for the top in the hopes that it would trickle down to the needy. Mr. Hoover was an engineer. He knew that water trickles down. Put it uphill and let it go and it will reach the driest little spot. But he didn't know that money trickled up."
- Will Rogers (1932)
In the 1980s, the term "trickle-down economics" was used to describe President Ronald Reagan's economic policy that included tax cuts for businesses and the wealthy (those on the upper level of the economic spectrum) under the pretense that it would stimulate business investment in the short term and benefit society at large in the long term. It was not money or water that would trickle-down literally, but other societal benefits that would trickle-down abstractly.
At the time, Reagan's economic policy was subject to scrutiny and criticism (even Vice President Bush referred to it as "voodoo economics"), and yet its influence is still apparent in the economic irresponsibility of those who followed Reagan (in America and elsewhere). Like the prisoners in a vertical prison relying upon a trick-down system to provide food, we are complacent in the political process, hoping that by our complacence we will be reward (elevated to a higher level) or at the very least not punished (relegated to a lower level).
For the overwhelming majority, as for the majority of those within the vertical prison, power is abstract and unreachable. We obey their rules voluntarily or upon threat of harm (extreme heat or extreme cold), and we hope that we may live to see another day. We know that there are enough resources for everyone to live comfortably, but we have also resigned ourselves to a reality in which resources are not distributed fairly.
The protagonist is a thinking man. But, under the influence of an old and cynical man, he too resigns himself to the realities of the vertical prison. It is not until he meets the dreamer (a woman who is breaking the rules in pursuit of her child who may or may not exist) that he questions the reality (that is, resumes his inherent state as thinker).
When the thinker meets one of the architects of the vertical prison (who has entered the prison to improve its system), he answers a call to action. But first he must reject the cynicism of the old man, who imparted his belief that human nature is to blame (rather than a system the imposes a hierarchy). Though the architect is lost in disillusionment, the thinker meets to doer and enacts a plan to reform the prison once and for all.
The Two Popes (2019)
Perpetuates the myth of a "War on Christianity"
It would be disingenuous for an American to suggest there is a war on Christianity while the American Empire stages a REAL war on Islam. And yet we have "The Two Popes", a typical Hollywood film that perpetuates the myth of a "War on Christianity".
It would be further disingenuous to characterize Roman Catholicism as an "underdog" on the world stage. And yet, that is how Roman Catholicism is characterized in the film.
If nothing else, the film provides remarkable insight into the success of Pope Francis (albeit, indirectly and unintentionally). Because Jorge Mario Bergoglio was himself an underdog (in some ways), now the entire Roman Catholic Church may ride on his coat tails.
Forcefury (2019)
An allegory for a divided age
The conflict of Forcefury is both that of the individual (man vs self) and that of the integration (man vs society). Perhaps the greatest (or most conspicuous) conflict in our time can be found in the "United" States of America.
Division that has existed for years within the United States has become increasingly obvious since the election of failed businessman turned reality television star turned politician Donald Trump.
In Forcefury, Donald Trump is represented by President Joe. Unlike Trump, President Joe has realized his xenophobic dream of erecting a wall... on the border? The location is irrelevant because the wall has been erected as an ineffectual means to prevent the immigration of illegal aliens (from outer space).
Within the fictitious United States of Forcefury, the wall exists as a symbolic "middle finger" from the Republicans to the Liberal Democrats. Within the context of the film, the wall is an obvious symbol for division, a division best characterized by Brick Forcefury when he disparages the desert from which the alien came (juxtaposing it with the "American oasis" to which they come).
This "othering" attitude, applied to the alien outsider, may also be applied to Forcefury's political adversary (frequently disparaged as the "Liberal Agenda"), and frequently reflects the politically divisive climate of our time (in America and elsewhere).
From Brick Forcefury's shallow criticism (of the left, of identity politics, etc...) and his exaggerated fear/hatred of the unknown other (echoing Fox News, Info Wars, etc...) the film approaches an understanding of why the right has dismissed the left (and, to some extent, vice versa).
The individual conflict is explored through Brick Forcefury. As a border patrol officer working with another man (his partner named Partner), Brick is blissfully unaware of any conflict. Though he is reprimanded by his superior, named Chief, Brick succeeds at insulating himself from any consequences.
It's not until his male partner is replaced by a woman (his new partner named New Partner) that Brick's inner-conflict becomes evident. The conflict may therefore be interpreted as a failure to integrate the male and female aspects of his psyche (a failure worth exploring as it is common among those who align masculinity with strength, femininity with weakness).
Aside from disparaging remarks about women, Brick's inner-conflict is obvious when he is asked to attend group therapy. Perceiving group-therapy to put him in touch with his feelings (feelings that put him in touch with the feminine aspect of his psyche), Brick would sooner castrate himself.
The extremity of his response (pun intended) demonstrates that he values constructed gender above biological sexual orientation. Later, he is unable to recognize the gender of New Partner (repeatedly referring to her as a man).
In their efforts to help, both Wife (named Wife though she may not actually be his wife) and the Magician (not actually a magician) subject Brick to various chores (chores that would be subjected to a woman in a gender-normative context).
In both cases, Brick is reluctant. His reluctance may be read as the resistance of the male aspect of his psyche, perceiving a threat to its supremacy. Like the gender politics of our time, a certain demographic of men feel entitled to their supremacy (patriarchy), and mis-interpret the outcry for gender equality as the arrival of female supremacy (matriarchy).
In the end, Brick's inner-conflict is the conflict of intersectional politics. He cannot integrate the male and female aspects of his psyche and do justice to the race politics threatening the aliens from outer space. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Brick invents a new unknown other.
But by scapegoating the new unknown other, derivative of a past unknown other, Brick dooms himself (and America) to repeat past atrocities.
Velvet Buzzsaw (2019)
The line between chic and murder is very blurred these days
A film about art is not inherently artistic. Although director Dan Gilroy intended the film as a commentary on the superficiality of the art world (superficiality at odds with art as a form of expression in which artists have invested their "creative soul") he has contrived a film that is superficial, a film that lacks a soul. I stipulate "contrived" because the characters are one-note, archetypal, and neither develop nor provide substantial commentary in their lack of development; because the plot feels like a hodge-podge of Gothic themes and motifs superimposed on a modern setting, without a clear motive (aside from entertainment); because the film doesn't say anything about the art world that hasn't been said before.
The cast is strong, but I can't help but feel their talents are wasted (because they are playing one-note archetypes). The film is entertaining, but the thrills are often cheapened by their execution (a world is constructed, a world in which the supernatural is possible, and that world has certain guiding rules and principles, but those rules are loosely adhered to, thereby unintentionally challenging the suspension of disbelief).
The superficiality of the film can be summarized by its title. Rather than providing something of substance, writer/director Dan Gilroy has opted for something that lacks relevance, something that is flashy and attention grabbing. Isn't this precisely what is wrong with the arts specifically, and our culture in general?
Le Week-End (2013)
Tourism Ad
A new genre of film is emerging. Hollywood is trying to sell them as the offspring of "Roman Holiday", but in reality they are nothing more than extended tourism advertisements. Whether its Julia Roberts in "Eat Pray Love", Steve Coogan & Rob Brydon in "The Trip" trilogy, or Diane Lane in "Paris Can Wait", the protagonist is compelled to travel, and their travels are accompanied by sight-seeing and food sampling. Whereas "The Trip" trilogy is honest about its advertising, films like "Eat Pray Love" and "Paris Can Wait" try to veil it under a thin plot. "Le Week-End" belongs to the same category as "Eat Pray Love" and "Paris Can Wait". Like "Eat Pray Love" the couple of "Le Week-End" pursue travel as an answer to their problems (in both cases, the problem is an unhappy marriage, but whereas "Eat Pray Love" follows a middle-aged woman escaping their marriage, "Le Week-End" follows an older couple firmly trapped in their marriage and seeking rejuvenation). The audience is compelled to ask: "Why travel? Why not a marriage counsellor?" Ostensibly, they have chosen travel because they have watched too many film like the one they are starring in. The true nature of a film like "Le Week-End" is revealed in the scenes that forego character and plot development for the sake of sight-seeing and food sampling. These scenes always included impressive shots of the architecture (here the Eiffel Tower, there the Louvre). And, despite their lack of substance, they are drawn out and indulgent (Lindsay Duncan samples a glass of wine, turns to Jim Broadbent, says, "That's the nicest thing I've ever put in my mouth"). The couple (and the film) is finally rejuvenated by the arrival of Jeff Goldblum. Need I say more? In closing, I don't know why I expected more from "Le Week- End". It's a Hollywood film like any other, and Hollywood has been increasing the presence of product placement in its films ever since E.T.: The Extra Terrestrial increased the sales of Reese's Pieces. When we're watching a Hollywood film, let's not pretend we're watching anything other than an extended advertisement.
6/64: Mama und Papa (Materialaktion Otto Mühl) (1964)
The gradual destruction of the erotic
To appreciate Kurt Kren's short films, one must consider the climate from which they emerged. In Austria and abroad, post-war conservatism was faltering. In the United States, Kenneth Anger's "Scorpio Rising" and Jack Smith's "Flaming Creatures" challenged the code, outraging audiences and censors alike. Although they were sparely screened, they awakened a craving that audience were hitherto unaware of, a craving best articulated by Gregory Markopoulos, who said of "Flaming Creatures" that "early audiences were astounded when their secret Hollywood fantasies burst upon the screen". That Kurt Kren made "6/64: Mama und Papa (Materialaktion Otto Mühl)" at the same time as these films is an example of the Zeitgeist theory at work. At the same time, another director working in another country, Duan Makavejev in former Yugoslavia, had evolved from shorts to feature length films with "Man Is Not a Bird". Although the film was a breakthrough for Makavejev, he would not achieve the same level of sexual frankness, of erotic deconstructionism, or dadaism (or both), that Kren achieved in "Mama und Papa" until the 1970s. In the early 1970s Makavejev made his masterpieces, "WR: Mysteries of the Organism" and "Sweet Movie". In Kurt Kren, one can see a fleeting glimpse of what is fully realized in these films. A prominent parallel can be drawn between "Mama und Papa" and "Sweet Movie". In both films, the naked body of a woman (or women) is flaunted, and then covered with food. Both evoking a similar feeling of nausea (achieved with what may be termed the gradual destruction of the erotic). In their crusade for sexual expression, both directors seem to be proposing nothing less than a paradigm shift. Their destruction of the erotic is not an attack on eroticism or sexuality, but an attack on antiquated ideas of what is and isn't erotic, the comedy of manners that is our sexual etiquette. I write "our" sexual etiquette because not much has changed. There is still a lot of room for progress in the field of human sexuality. Making "Mama und Papa" as powerful and as relevant now as it was in the 1960s
Saraband (2003)
A Pale Shadow of Scenes from a Marriage
Saraband bares no resemblance to Scenes from a Marriage. Even after their marriage ended, Liv Ullmann's Marianne and Erland Josephson's Johan remained central to Scene from a Marriage. In Saraband, they feel displaced. They are like set pieces in a drama about a widowed father and his daughter. The story about the father and daughter is the only substance in the film. (Unfortunately, their acting ability is not as substantial as that of Ullmann and Josephson.) The only pretense for Marianne and Johan is the premise that the father is Johan's son, and the daughter Johan's granddaughter. Imagine an installment of the Ocean's franchise, let's call it Ocean's Fourteen, in which the original cast sit around enjoying their golden years while a younger group of unknown thieves plan a heist. The film is directed by Soderberg and resembles some of his early films, but bares little or no resemblance to the Ocean's franchise. I wouldn't excuse this indiscretion from Hollywood, why should I excuse it in any other context? Ingmar Bergman is one of my favourite directors, and Scenes from a Marriage is one of my favourite of his efforts. I wanted to enjoy Saraband, to appreciate his last effort. But I couldn't. To feign enjoyment would be a discredit to the master's early work.
King of the Hill (1993)
The "Real" King of the Hill: Studio Intervention in 90s Independent Cinema
King of the Hill is an impressive film, and I wanted to like it more than I did, but throughout the film I found myself asking: "Is this the same Soderbergh who made Sex, Lies, and Videotape? The same Soderbergh who would become one of the most innovative and versatile directors of 90s and 2000s American cinema?" The film, however, is encumbered by corny music, cheap sentimentality, and bad special effects. I don't know much about the production, but if I had to guess I'd say that these discrepancies are not the work of Soderbergh, but the studio behind him. Soderbergh was, after all, a fresh faced Independent director looking to find his footing, and landing in Universal Studios. It wouldn't be the first case of studio intervention in 90s Independent Cinema - specifically the early 90s, when Independent Cinema was still on the rise and didn't have the strength it had after the success of films like Clerks, Pulp Fiction, etc. (but before the late 90s and subsequent failure of various studio funded films by "Independent" directors). Universal Studios in particular is notorious for its "intervention". I'd like to refer readers to the case of Terry Gilliam's Brazil. Where the film succeeds, it triumphs. The performance of young Jesse Bradford (in the lead); supporting performances by Spalding Gray, Karen Allen, and a young Adrian Brody; masterful adaptation and direction by Steven Soderbergh... If only the quality was consistent.
Focus (2001)
Less Is More
What can be said about judging books by their covers can also be said of judging films by their posters. In the case of "Focus" I was drawn as much to its poster, a brilliant B&W photograph, as for its star, William H. Macy (featured prominently in the poster). The poster was reminiscent of Straw Dogs, and from that I expected a film of the same quality, a film that exercised the same subtlety and control, undoubtedly building to a similar violent climax (punctuated by the calm that preceded). But from the first scene of the film, a dream sequence that depicted a carousel (an overt metaphor for the cycle of hate that spins out of control - not unlike the film itself) I knew that my expectations would be disappointed. The sequence, aside from being gratuitous, wasn't particularly interesting - visually - and would have been better used as the background for the opening credits. Instead, the opening credits interrupt the film shortly thereafter. The dream, however, never ends, and we, the audience, are propelled deeper and deeper into a nightmare of shoddy filmmaking. There were moments when I hoped the film would improve, but ultimately the various talents that went into this film were wasted.