Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Lost - The Life And Death Of Jeremy Bentham

::Disclaimer - I almost made it this time! Stuff got in the way, as ever, and I'm currently as tired as I've ever been, but I nearly made it. I might beat the US West Coast screening of LaFleur, but even so, after my recent run of failures, I'm just glad to be this close to the screening hour. Next week will be another matter as we're on holiday, so forgive me if I treat this like some kind of success::

Throughout its run, Lost has alienated viewers by leaping from one event to another whenever that event looks to be leading to something revealing or exciting, though there are probably many more who enjoy that mischievous gameplaying from the showrunners. Even so, audience sympathy is usually tested depending on which character next comes under the microscope. If it's Jack or Kate, the complaints rise. If it's Desmond or Sawyer, no one seems to mind. These episodes always fill in important details that we need to decode the show, but it's arguable whether any of them is the true focus of the show. As we approach the end, it's tempting to assume that no matter who the show skips to next, the core of the show that all the other characters revolve around is the battle of wills between Locke and Ben.


The Life and Death of Jeremy Bentham managed the neat trick of going over a time period we already know a lot about via flashbacks, while still giving up lots of new info, big surprises, and resonant thematic imagery to add to the wealth of detail from previous episodes. That's the stuff we expect. However, I don't think we expected performances of the calibre on display in this episode, with Terry O'Quinn and Michael Emerson again giving award-worthy performances. Their final scene together, with Ben begging Locke not to kill himself in such a convincing manner that even I was momentarily fooled, was an acting masterclass, and instantly one of the most incredible and iconic scenes in the history of the show, and possibly ever. That's right! I'm gonna go hyperbolic on your ass, reader! If you don't believe me, here it is. Warning: contains grisly sound effects of a trachea being crushed.



Even if you were prone to bitching about how the episode gave us little new information (I'm looking at you, Noel Murray), or you've been partially spoiled by accidentally looking at a Lost Alert email from EW that contains the line "And more on that shocking murder!" (not naming any names), surely this moment would nevertheless chill the blood in your veins and organs and other body parts. To us this is a big deal, but is it to Ben? How evil is he really? Can we ever again think that there is ambiguity here? Somehow Michael Emerson's performance, and the relentlessly ambiguous nature of the show, cons us over and over into thinking he is somehow going to become the hero of the show, but we're reallly only fooling ourselves. As broken as he is on a psychological level, as entertaining as he is as a weaselly trickster, and as awesome as his hair is in this picture, he's a total fucking douche.


Or is he? Oh God, it never ends. Often we can only gauge his alignment by contrasting him with other figures, most notably his nemesis Charles Widmore. This week we see Widmore as a caring soul, no doubt with his own motives but nevertheless committed to helping Locke get the gang back together. Locke points out that Widmore has, in the past, sent a gang of murderous assholes to the island to kill everyone, but even so he's helping Locke out and being very friendly. He was even recognisably human a few weeks ago when asking Desmond for information about Penny. How can we not compare that behaviour to Ben, who apparently kills Matthew Abaddon and then throttles Locke once he has the information he needs?


Ben truly is a colossal asshole of the highest magnitude. This, of course, is the kind of bait and switch Lost does all the time, giving us a ton of information that turns out to be nothing more than a huge, and satisfying, fakeout. There's a possibility that he already knows that Locke will come back to life when he returns to the island. If so, this act of dastardly murder is actually part of a scheme to fulfill Alpert's instructions, taking Locke's inevitable death and making the "prophecy" come true, but on his terms. Even though that's the kind of labyrinthine thinking we can usually to Ben, I doubt that's the case. We're probably going to get a Ben flashback at some point that shows him visiting Eloise Hawking and finding out he can indeed return to the island, but only by recreating the conditions of Oceanic 815's final flight. This would be a perfect moment for some schadenfreude until he realises Locke's death is advantageous.


Or does he already know how to get back to the island, and has planned Locke's death knowing his corpse would replicate Christian's? Do you see why I'm having difficulty attaching expectations and judgement on Ben? Even now, having seen him kill one of the most important people in his life, and in an incredibly personal and brutal manner, I still can't be sure that he really is as bad as he seems to be. Time for more hyperbole; I'm beginning to think that Ben Linus is the most complex character in contemporary fiction, in any medium. Every second he is onscreen I'm unable to take my eyes off him for fear of missing some gesture or expression that opens up some new avenue of conjecture. His murder of Locke is brutal but also seemingly traumatic. Is he crying in this shot?


His behaviour after killing Locke, feverishly cleaning every surface to remove fingerprints and then offering an affectless and unconvincing confession of some kind of weird affection for the man he has used, toyed with, and assaulted, was electrifying. I am in awe of Emerson, as well as Cuse and Lindelof for creating this incredible character.


What is especially weird is that this is, of course, not the first time Ben has tried to kill Locke. At the end of season three, Ben shot Locke in the hole where his kidney should be. Are Ben and Locke doomed to keep repeating this pattern of murderous abuse forever, like Horace Goodspeed is trapped in an endless cycle of treechopping? Perhaps not that exact fate, but I do suspect Ben's ultimate fate will be along the lines of being trapped in some kind of timeloop. Call it a hunch.


This one scene affected me so profoundly that afterwards I forgot nearly everything else that had happened before, which is a shame as there is some gold there. The most interesting stuff revolves around Locke's miserable quest to convert his former castaways to his cause, which he does in the most half-hearted way possible. Maybe that's not fair, but he certainly doesn't seem to be trying too hard (as has been said elsewhere, that's probably due to an understandable reluctance to die). Even Abaddon calls him out on it, which is odd as the rest of the time he's really deferential to his cranky passenger.


Speaking of Abaddon's pointed comments, his line about how someone must want to see Locke stuck in my head. My own theory for why he doesn't try hard with the Oceanic Six is down to their pretty unpleasant behaviour toward him. No one is happy to see him at all. Poor bastard. If I was trying to get back to a magic island I'd really hate to have to drag along a bunch of snarky ingrates like these. Sayid is reasonably polite to him, but then he always did have an air of civility, even though he has a habit of killing people with his legs or kitchen appliances.


Also polite to him is Walt, who seems to have no recollection of visiting Locke in the Dharma mass grave at the end of season three, which gives credence to the possibility that it was the island manifesting as someone else. Or Smokey, doing his new trick of mimicking people.


Not bringing Walt back to the island is a very nice gesture, but it's deeply frustrating for those of us who want to find out what the deal with his psychic powers was. Is this a plot thread that has been dropped for good? If so, I shall write a strongly-worded letter of complaint to Lindelof and Cuse.


It gets much worse for Locke after that pleasant diversion. Hurley has yet another meltdown upon seeing him, refusing to return to the island. At this point I was wondering why Locke was going through the Oceanic Six in this order, as there was no way Hurley was ever going to agree to go back to the island. Was Locke trying to fail? Hurley's reaction was almost uncharacteristically mean, but in the middle of storming away, he offers a folrorn, "Bye!" even though he's just been yelling. I love Hurley.


In contrast, Kate is flat out horrible to him. She basically goads him into talking about his lost love, Helen, by making bitchy comments about how he has never loved anyone. Maybe it's just because we've been following his life story for so long, but to me the desperate unrequited love pours out of him. O'Quinn's heartbreaking performance during this scene is a sight to behold.


And anyway, it's a bit rich for Kate to be coming out with this kind of snarkiness. She's got two guys chasing her around like love-sick puppies, at least one former boyfriend who died helping her rob a bank to get a fucking toy plane back, and her husband, poor Nathan Fillion, is probably crying somewhere because she drugged him and left him behind, like someone out of a warped C&W song. She's the last person to be making comments about loving people. Shut up, Kate.


If she's rude, Jack is psychotic with rage. Foxy's unhinged performance was another highlight, and the last straw in Locke's terrible journey towards his suicide attempt. Some have thought he tries to kill himself because he now really does have no one (Jack's comment about him being a lonely old man was way way harsh and, apparently, pretty accurate), but it's probably more that his dream of being a leader of men is dead and so there is nothing else for him.


It's not just that these people don't like him. They won't follow him. His requests are ignored, but he understands that they would never go back to the island unless he did something exceptional to show how important it is that they do so. All along he wants to be a leader, but even when he gets a chance to flex that muscle, the only thing fate allows him to do is convince a bunch of desperately hostile and miserable people to do something they would never do. With his options narrowed to nothing, it's no surprise he does it. It would also be a leap of faith to mirror Jack's in the next episode, though of course this is not the way it turns out.


His doubt in his ability to convince the Oceanic Six to come back is so strong that he openly admits that the only person who could actually do that is Jack. He pretty much cedes his responsibility to him, which is a total turn-around considering how often he fought with Jack for leadership of the castaways. He also self-pityingly refers to himself as a failure to Ben, but then I guess if you've decided to kill yourself, there's little reason to hold back on something like that. All of this self-loathing made me very sad, as I've been rooting for Locke for some time now, even though he's a bit of a dick. I hope that the series ends with Locke actually fulfilling his weird fantasy about being the main man.


Ah yes, Saïd Taghmaoui. As expected, there is way more going on with our new islander, and with Ilana, who are both interested in raiding the Hydra station for information about something. Ilana seems more interested in Locke, plying him with mangoes for details on how he got to the island. Saïd Taghmaoui, playing Caesar, is more interested in... well, something. Is it the map of the island, bearing an "Unknown" notation that is reminiscent of a Here Be Monsters warning?


Or is it this peculiar map of space/time, with the fascinating notation "Imaginary time"?


That reveal alone is enough to make my brain whir into overdrive. As of yet I have nothing concrete to wonk on about here, but I'm sure I will in time. (An aside: giving Saïd Taghmaoui's character the name Caesar is deeply confusing, as Ilana is played by Zuleikha Robinson, formerly playing Gaia in Rome. I'm sure she was cast for her talent as an actress, but surely playing a character with such an evocative name in a show that is already hinting at the idea of a sentient landmass was a side consideration as well.)


For now, pontificating about the show's meaning has taken a temporary back seat due to brainfog. Even so, I was thrilled to hear Matthew Abaddon (played by Lance "Intensity" Reddick with an air of wry detachment. And intensity) back up my Sirens of Titan theory. When finally confronting Locke about his weird sour behaviour, he says of his employment to Widmore that he "help[s] people get to where they need to get to." He is one of those who puts the gamepieces into place. Who else has been doing this in the past? Eloise Hawking for certain, but will we find there were others? How many seemingly unimportant characters from the past will turn out to have been agents of Widmore or the island?

A lot of people have made a big deal about the cover of the Life magazine that Caesar looks at, as it is now super-relevant to the show...


...but surely this means we're in for some top aquatic-monster action.


Maybe Mikhail Bakunin isn't dead, and will be making a return soon? Though without gills, surely.

This is easily the worst fake newspaper I've ever seen on a TV show. I know UK newspapers are traditionally ugly, but this is ridiculous.


Actually, now that I think about it, it's not that bad, I guess.

For a long time I had suspected that the second island was in fact the actual island, but sent back in time and space at the end of season four to exist next to itself in the past.


I guess now Locke and the Ajira survivors (who I now suspect are all minions of Widmore) are all hanging around on its beach with those crazy boats, that is not the case. It also makes me suspect that the Ajira survivors, who will undoubtedly be shooting at the Island Six in a forthcoming episode, will be made to do that by Locke, who will remember it happening the first time around.

Hey Sayid, our landlady still hasn't fixed our roof after a year of complaining. You wanna help us out?


It's even hotter and sunnier in England than it is in the Dominican Republic, you know. Seriously. I'm not lying.

I was, until a couple of hours ago, convinced that the site of Locke's impressive car crash...


...was the same crossroads that Kate was spying on in The Little Prince, but actually...


...it turns out that was a different one. It's enough that the composition is the same, I guess. This means something, I'm sure. And not just that Hawaiian roads all look similar to each other.

If ever there was a case for wrapping someone in bubble wrap...


...this is it. The man should have been a shattered bag of bones long before now.


Jack's deeply upset reaction to the news of Locke's suicide now makes sense, as we now know that Jack was the last castaway to see Locke before his death was announced. The guilt is what Jack is fighting through during the previous episode, and why his reaction to Locke's note was so pronounced. I gather Lindelof and Cuse were unsure what order to show these two episodes in. I can see their point, but I reckon they got the order right. Rewatching 316 after seeing The Life and Death of Jeremy Bentham was a fascinating experience, so that means I got to enjoy it as new twice in a row. It was like a little present from the Lost showrunners.

The visual references to Locke as Christ didn't crop up as much this week, though we did get this lovely shot of the dismal hotel room he dies in.


There is no way that the enormous cross on the ceiling is a coincidence. Also this...


...somehow reminded me of Calgary. I don't know why. (And by Calgary, I do indeed mean the Canadian city, as pointed out in the comments by Masticator. This shot totally has a real Canada Olympic Park vibe, despite that being snowy and this picture being barren desert. I'm sure any Canadians reading this would agree that the Canada Olympic Park is synonymous with the place where Christ died.)

One of the best and most chilling moments came when Abaddon pulled a wheelchair from the back of his car.


None of the Oceanic Six managed to escape their terrible past, so why should Locke?

Worst road trip ever?


I know Abaddon is a bit creepy, but even so, he shouldn't have to put up with the snottiness he gets from Locke. Funnily enough, Abaddon is the one person taking orders from Locke and that lonely old man doesn't even appreciate it. He also runs away when Abaddon gets plugged by Ben. Coward! And Abaddon was trying so hard, too. He even smiled!


Or maybe that's just Lance Reddick expressing relief at not having to put up with Olivia Dunham on Fringe for a couple of weeks.

Nice visual metaphor for Locke's condition during his stay in hospital. While he might think he is in control of his destiny, he is actually at the mercy of others.


His manhandling by doctors was a perfect visualisation of that. They also got his loneliness down pretty good, as well as referring back to Ben's arrival in Tunisia.


Of course, Ben might also have no friends, but he's never alone. He's in the desert for a couple of minutes before he's thwacking people in the head with a collapsible baton. Locke has to wait hours for help, even with cameras looking at him. That's a pretty sad state of affairs.

Is Widmore's comment about the aptness of Locke's new name the first time anyone has made a reference to the naming of some of the characters on the show?


If Widmore thinks Locke's name is funny, let's hope he never meets Christian Shephard.

From my studies of the genearl opinion of internetters everywhere, I see I'm not alone in thinking Helen isn't really dead.


If Widmore can put a fake plane full of corpses at the bottom of the sea, he can swap a gravestone around. Now it would be nice for Locke to finally be reunited with his lost love, but I get the feeling that isn't going to happen. As much as he professes to love Helen, I think he was just hoping to get a bit of affection from anyone after being treated like a pariah by everyone who isn't Walt. I'm beginning to wonder if the only reason he wants the Oceanic Six to return to the island is as a form of punishment for not being nice to him. He does let Walt off, after all.

Am I the only person who thinks that Locke's weird wave is kinda creepy?


If I was Walt I would not approach him. Especially if I had been dreaming about him hanging out with a bunch of hostile folks. He did it to Sayid as well.


Urgh, dude, back off. You're freaking me out.

Can you see a runway here?


There is a lot of online conjecture suggesting Ajira 316 landed on the runway being built by Kate and Sawyer in the third season, but it looks to me like the plane crashed into some trees. I'd like to think that someone as awesome as Frank Lapidus qouldn't miss a runway. Because he is awesome, beard or no beard.

Someone has pointed out, elsewhere, that Ben keeps stealing Locke's destiny from him. Not only did he move the island even though Christian had said it was Locke's responsibility, but Ben also killed Locke even though Locke was supposed to do it himself.


I'm not sure about that, as Christian said he had to die, not that he had to kill himself. It did make me remember that Locke was also supposed to kill Anthony Cooper in order to join the Others, but he conned Sawyer into doing it instead. He just wants to be accepted without having to do the hard work to get there. This kind of self-delusion, thinking there is a path to greatness and happiness via an easy route, is utter anathema to me. ::hides recently purchased Euro Lottery ticket::

Okay, time to move on to other things. Those who have already seen the next episode, LaFleur (which, of course, was the first Dharma Initiative password in last summer's aborted ARG Lost Experience), I hope you had a good time. Those of us who have it to look forward to, fingers crossed it keeps this amazing run of excellence going.

Questionable Amounts of Flesh, Growing Older (Wiser?) and Hysteria

I've been asked by a few people to resume writing analysis of the particular films I've seen, so here's a few. Sorry if they weren't the ones you wanted to hear more of...

Too Much Flesh - dir. Pascal Arnold, Jean-Marc Barr - 2000 - France - N/A - Jean-Marc Barr, Élodie Bouchez, Rosanna Arquette, Ian Brennan, Ian Vogt

The fact that Pascal Arnold and Jean-Marc Barr's Too Much Flesh was released with said title, the temptation to discuss at length the film's fleshiness and sexual content is unavoidable, and perhaps the only thing worth spending time on in the first place. Conceived as the second part of a trilogy dealing with the heart, the body and the soul, Too Much Flesh deals with, yes, the carnal desires of man, specifically one named Lyle (Barr) who's still a virgin at 35. He seems to be driving his wife (Rosanna Arquette) mad with this, and things don't get any better when he decides to lose his V-card to another woman, played by Élodie Bouchez, who not only starred with Barr in J'aimerais pas crever un dimanche but is the only actor to be in all three of Arnold and Barr's trilogy (Lovers and Being Light are the other two). Once the deed is done, we're given a series of lusty, dreamy sexual encounters between the two, one even involving Bouchez wanting Barr to seduce a young farmboy. There's plenty of issue to be taken about the fact Too Much Flesh isn't half the film Dogville is (which Barr co-starred in), but the film's display of sexuality is considerably more provoking than its notion of small-town, small-minded America. For the abundance of flesh on display, it's hard not to notice the way in which the camera or the body is always cropped in order to avoid Barr's penis. There's a suggestion in the film that there might be something "wrong" with it, but when Bouchez's body, which is not given the same treatment, becomes the concealer of choice (placing her hands and legs, among other things, strategically in front of Barr's member), any attempts at a European elitism over prudish American views of sex become futile. Too Much Flesh begins to perpetrate taboos it so snobbishly opposes in regards to full-frontal male nudity (Bouchez's hand also hides the farmboy's dick), which I'm sure most people would attribute to American cinema. The sex itself, while certainly more erotic than most films about blossoming sexuality, also stops short of penetration, and I'm referring to the simulated act. Ultimately, Too Much Flesh seems satisfied with not-really-enough flesh and becomes about as prudish as it thinks us Americans are.

Party Girl - dir. Daisy von Scherler Mayer - 1995 - USA - First Look - with Parker Posey, Guillermo Díaz, Sasha von Scherler, Omar Townsend, Anthony DeSando, Donna Mitchell, Liev Schreiber

God, I'm getting old. More than ten years ago, Party Girl was one of my touchstones of hipness. Yeah, it probably always was a shitty movie, but what I'm realizing now is that, outside of the multi-character Gen-X films she co-starred in (Dazed and Confused, Kicking and Screaming, Sleep with Me), Parker Posey was probably the only actress who constantly rose above her shitty films. I rewatched The House of Yes a few weeks ago and could barely get through it. It's probably the greatest compliment one can give an actress to be so wonderful as to distract the viewer from recognizing the lousiness of the film at hand. While I'll always admire Mary's ice-cold hauteur (which was the exact phrase a critic used to describe her while condemning the film), I don't know that I'll be taking many more trips down memory lane with Party Girl. Talk to me when you get a last name, honey.

L'important c'est d'aimer [The Main Thing Is to Love] - dir. Andrzej Żuławski - 1975 - Mondo Vision - France/Italy/West Germany - with Romy Schneider, Fabio Testi, Jacques Dutronc, Claude Dauphin, Klaus Kinski, Roger Blin, Gabrielle Doulcet

It's rather fitting that I'm watching Andrzej Żuławski's films around the same time Jeremiah Kipp's been interviewing Daniel Bird about Central New Wave Cinema at The House Next Door. I should confess that although I included Żuławski's Possession in the revisited section of my 2009 Notebook, I'm not 100% certain that I saw the full film prior to this year, after renting a crappy VHS of it from an independent video store years ago which, more than likely, was the US edit. In the interview, Kipp states that "[Żuławski's highly emotional and aggressive films] are frequently criticized for their 'hysteria.'" These are similar criticisms that have been given to Ken Russell's films with "mania" as the substitute for "hysteria." However, in looking back at both directors' films, there's something terribly admirable about this "hysteria/mania." When you're hard-pressed to come up with a contemporary filmmaker to match either (Baz Luhrmann be damned!), there's a sad sense that perhaps such cinematic mannerisms have become relics. L'important c'est d'aimer (which is a difficult title to translate into English) was Żuławski's first big success, in France of course as it was his first to be made in the country and starred two cultural icons, Romy Schneider and Jacques Dutronc. Though it lacks the alarming-ness of his later Possession, L'important c'est d'aimer is wonderful still, particularly for Schneider, who considered this to be her best work and whose performance here was one of the dedications at the end of Almodóvar's Todo sobre mi madre. As Nadine Chevalier, an actress specializing in films de cul, Schneider devastates within her first moments onscreen, unable to find it within her to fuck the dying body of her onscreen lover. Żuławski has a flair with actors, eliciting the frightening best of out of both Schneider and Isabelle Adjani in Possession and wonderful turns from Dutronc and Klaus Kinski as well. Was I wrong in absolutely hating Mes nuits sont plus belles que vos jours, particularly Dutronc's performance? I'll have to give it another go. Best line in the film: when asked if he's crazy after planting a kiss on the film's dull protagonist Servais (Fabio Testi), Kinski responds, "no, just rich."

Frissons

Martyrs - dir. Pascal Laugier - 2008 - France - The Weinstein Company - with Morjana Alaoui, Mylène Jampanoï, Catherine Bégin, Robert Toupin, Patricia Tulasne, Isabelle Chasse, Juliette Gosselin, Xavier Dolan-Tadros

I'm not so sure it's my place to say anything about Martyrs as its partly-fabricated reputation certainly proceeds it. In the era of what appears to be Hollywood's shittiest onslaught of the horror genre, though I'm not sure when outside of the time around Rosemary's Baby, The Exorcist and The Omen when Hollywood wasn't churning out lowest-common-denominator horror trash, the French have taken the place of Hong Kong and Japan as the salvation for the true horror fanatic (of which, I wouldn't count myself). With their endearing love/hate relationship with Hollywood, the French approached Hollywood horror not in an attempt to reinvent it as much as revitalize it. From deformed inbred horror (Calvaire) to slasher flicks (Haute tension) and a pair of home invasion-ers (À l'intérieur, Ils), the filmmakers borrowed the familiar molds and, for a brief moment, made horror films relevant again. In an ill attempt to play "catch up," Hollywood abandoned their fleeting obsession with remaking every successful Asian horror flick and began enlisting the French to... remake their own national canon of horror. (Apparently, they aren't officially done with Asia though as this year's The Uninvited was a remake of A Tale of Two Sisters.) Despite the lousiness of Hollywood's first attempt with Alexandre Aja (Haute tension) and The Hills Have Eyes, Martyrs director Laugier is slated for the Hellraiser remake. This could certainly fall through as Julien Maury and Alexandre Bustillo (À l'intérieur) dropped out of the sequel to the remake of Halloween, which seems to be back in Rob Zombie's hands (and which I believe is not a direct remake of the sequel to the original). It might also be noted that H'wood has remade Ils into The Strangers and Aja's last film Mirrors was a loose remake of a Korean film.

I might have wanted to speak more of Martyrs if it weren't riding so high on the waves of horror fantastics' new fascination with French horror. I had plenty to say about Maury and Bustillo's À l'intérieur [Inside] last year, but the stakes appear to be higher now as a result. Like Inside (and, other than placing women in the only active roles, this is the only real similarity between the two), Martyrs is going through the same befuddled release structure from The Weinstein Company. Building word-of-mouth from various film festivals (Toronto, especially) and the few people that saw it there, Martyrs was acquired by the Weinsteins, who are still clueless how to release a graphically violent, subtitled horror film to the American public. The DVD, which is still tentatively set for 28 April, has been delayed twice already (though this may have to do with financial woes), which may be the gravest mistake they could have made. With the French DVD released just yesterday, I'm sure it's only a matter of time before file-sharing networks allow the people who've been eagerly anticipating the film (and there are plenty) to see it before the Weinsteins can take their first check to the bank. I suppose the economic times are too shaky for studios to start experimenting with release structure (especially for The Weinstein Company whose successful Oscar-baiting of The Reader didn't exactly translate to box office gold and whose release slate for 2009 looks pretty depressing). However, if the trend of hotly anticipated European horror films continues, Hollywood is going to need to find a way to tap that market before they lose out to the many of us that have region-free DVD players.

To address the film at hand, I don't wish to perpetrate the outlandish myths that have circulated the Internet, nor do I wish to dispel them. Martyrs plays so much to your expectations, whether they be low after catching all the shit Hollywood's been making or high as a result of fanboy gloating, that it's a disservice to the audience going into specific detail. It's ultimately bound to evade those expectations and that in itself is exciting. I don't mean to be irritatingly cryptic, but if you really crave to know more, there are plenty of other outlets to satiate your curiosity. As hopes of catching Martyrs on the big screen, where it belongs, are nil, it's probably well-suited for the film to simply bask in its transient mystery.

2009 Notebook: Vol 8

Vicky Cristina Barcelona is the second film I've watched twice this year, and though I know I'm not alone in my love for it, I just can't seem to get enough of it. It made sense to watch it again to, sort of, get the best of both worlds, as Almodóvar and Allen have been my go-tos when nothing new looks remotely appealing. I'm still having problems with the labeling of the films (On the Bus, for example, should fall somewhere between "Good" and "Middle-of-the-Road"), but hopefully that'll work itself out. I'm going to try to do a fair amount of writing today, so check back.

The New Favorites

Les corps ouverts - dir. Sébastien Lifshitz - 1998 - France - N/A - with Yasmine Belmadi, Pierre-Loup Rajot, Margot Abascal, Mohamed Damraoui, Malik Zidi, Dora Dhouib, Sébastien Lifshitz

The Good

L'important c'est d'aimer [The Main Thing Is to Love] - dir. Andrzej Żuławski - 1975 - Mondo Vision - France/Italy/West Germany - with Romy Schneider, Fabio Testi, Jacques Dutronc, Claude Dauphin, Klaus Kinski, Roger Blin, Gabrielle Doulcet

Martyrs - dir. Pascal Laugier - 2008 - France - The Weinstein Company - with Morjana Alaoui, Mylène Jampanoï, Catherine Bégin, Robert Toupin, Patricia Tulasne, Isabelle Chasse, Juliette Gosselin, Xavier Dolan-Tadros

On the Bus - dir. Dustin Lance Black - 2001 - USA - 10% Productions

The Bad

Too Much Flesh - dir. Pascal Arnold, Jean-Marc Barr - 2000 - France - N/A - Jean-Marc Barr, Élodie Bouchez, Rosanna Arquette, Ian Brennan, Ian Vogt

Revisited: The Old Favorites


Bugcrush - dir. Carter Smith - 2006 - USA - Strand Releasing - with Josh Barclay Caras, Donald Eric Cumming, David Tennent, Eleonore Hendricks, Alex Toumayan, Billy Price

Old Joy - dir. Kelly Reichardt - 2006 - USA - Kino - with Daniel London, Will Oldham, Tanya Smith

Vicky Cristina Barcelona - dir. Woody Allen - Spain/USA - 2008 - MGM/Weinstein Company - with Javier Bardem, Rebecca Hall, Scarlett Johansson, Penélope Cruz, Patricia Clarkson, Chris Messina, Kevin Dunn, Pablo Schreiber

Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown [Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios] - dir. Pedro Almodóvar - 1988 - Spain - MGM/Sony Pictures - with Carmen Maura, Julieta Serrano, María Barranco, Antonio Banderas, Rossy de Palma, Kiti Manver, Fernando Guillén

Revisited: Les Autres

Party Girl - dir. Daisy von Scherler Mayer - 1995 - USA - First Look - with Parker Posey, Guillermo Díaz, Sasha von Scherler, Omar Townsend, Anthony DeSando, Donna Mitchell, Liev Schreiber

Tuesday, March 3, 2009

Sci Fi Through Space / Time: Franklyn

Have you ever wanted to like a movie because hating it makes you seem like a big jerk? Have you ever railed against your country's film industry for not trying hard enough, and then, when you get your way, you can't stand what you end up with? Seeing Gerald McMorrow's Franklyn was pretty much the ultimate downer, as I finally got to see what I thought was going to be an ambitious sci fi thriller, but ended up being an empty exercise in puzzle-movie mechanics with some extraneous fantasy trappings from a first-time director who should surely earn praise for getting such an anti-audience project off the ground. Disliking it makes me feel like I'm dropping a rock on a tiny bird moments after it has learned how to fly.


Franklyn concerns four lonely people, played by Sam Riley as a hopeless romantic trying to connect with his childhood sweetheart between moping sessions, Eva Green as the world's most pretentious art student, Bernard Hill as a delusional man looking for his mentally unstable son, and, in the movie's most striking scenes, Ryan Phillippe, as a vigilante-cum-militant-atheist roaming a gothic land called Meanwhile City in search of an evil prophet called The Individual.

(Warning! Franklyn spoilers from here onwards!!!)


So far so perplexing. Sadly, the links between these characters are nowhere near as interesting as you would hope. As soon as it is revealed that Bernard Hill's son is mentally ill, all the efforts to hide photos of him from the audience come to naught. The fantasy land exists in Philippe's head, and the reveals of how all of the peculiar details from his plot-thread match up to the real world unfurl much as you would expect. It's rather disappointing.

For the most part the visually impressive Meanwhile City sequences could have been dropped from the film, as they add little but a bit of variety to the drawn-out scenes of Riley, Green, and Hill wandering around various unpleasant backstreets of Grey London. Riley seems almost totally fixated on Tottenham Court Road, and even passes within projectile vomiting distance of my old haunt Bradley's Spanish Bar. The meat of the film seems to be pushing the characters together through "cosmic intervention", with the only true fantasy element of the film being the two mysterious beings who intervene throughout. One is an Eastern European hospital janitor who is probably God. That detail, sure to infuriate xenophobic Mail readers throughout our dyspeptic and crotchety land, was delightful, though sadly reminiscent of the Godly janitor from The Hudsucker Proxy. The other Godly presence is a doubly-employed Eva Green, this time wearing a mad red wig. This also delights, in a different way.


That's one of the fatal flaws of Franklyn. Working like a cross between Dark City, It's A Wonderful Life, and Lost (with regards to its interconnected plots), Franklyn's ambition is hobbled by echoes of other stories. The moments where McMorrow allows his film to become a torrent of ideas, especially the religious mania of Meanwhile City, are the most interesting, but perhaps there's a movie to be made about that, instead of stapling it to this other story. To be honest, I doubt even that would work. As enjoyable as the detailed matte paintings are, Meanwhile City's conceit - that living there is only allowed if you adhere to a faith - is at worst an ill-thought out satire on New Age thinking, at best part of a greater theme throughout the movie about belief and self-deception.


Perhaps I'm being generous. Sam Riley's plot-thread revolves around his unrequited love, caused by a fixation on a childhood sweetheart who turns out to have been an imaginary friend-cum-guardian angel. He has created a fantasy world of his own, a lot less elaborate than Phillippe's, but containing more mad wigs. He also refers to a tale about a Storyteller who spins yarns that can then come true (Riley's onscreen BFF, played by Richard Coyne, makes a wet comment about that being a great superpower, which is kinda unfortunate, as this means McMorrow has never heard of this recently introduced Marvel character). That theme, of the delusion made real, pops up at the end as Phillippe's fantasy bleeds out into the world, to be seen by Eva Green. So what's the point McMorrow is making? That we make the world in our own image? That perception is all? That faith is the same thing as that, or perhaps a lesser form of self-delusion than daydreaming? It's a thread that could have been followed with more vigour, but instead falls short.


To make matters worse, it seems like all of the cosmic interventions are all in the service of so little. Green, who appears to be on the way to killing herself (her attempts disguised as a boring art project), is redeemed at the end by meeting Riley, who seems thrilled to have found a non-bewigged version of his guardian angel. Of course, he meets her in the final moments of the film, so a couple of weeks listening to her wittering on about her shitty art will probably put him off, but I think we're meant to find her solipsism and brattiness charming. As for Phillippe, he dies, and his dad sees it happen. I think he's meant to be given the opportunity to move on, but it seems like a pretty crappy way to do it. Your crazy son is dead, dude. Time to get a hobby. Thanks, Janitor God!


Maybe if there was a sense that more was at stake this would have worked better, but even with the threat of Bernard Hill dying at his son's hands, the loudly-whirring machinations of the plot signal that any attempt on his life is merely going to trigger something else. In that sense, Riley's flesh-wound seems to be important, but it really isn't. He doesn't have to be hurt for him to meet Eva Green. It's all meant to seem like something has happened, but nothing really has. The film runs on the spot for an hour and a half just so we can see a couple meet-cute. Or, considering the bloodshed, pyrotechnics, matte paintings, Godly interventions, and contrivance, perhaps I should say meet-complicated.


It's not all bad. Green is, as ever, a compelling screen presence even while playing an obnoxious art-school YBA parody, and effortlessly rises above the material. Phillippe is obscured by a mask that screams Desperately Seeking Iconic Status, and it's tempting to think he's been replaced by a body double for the majority of the film. When he's not in the mask, he speaks his dialogue through his traditional mouth-full-of-intensity, though his diction clears up when adopting a British accent for the final act. Bernard Hill is typically brilliant, though playing an infuriating loser strips him of all of his King Theoden charisma, which is a shame. Art Malik crops up in a dual role, and is almost unrecognisable while wearing his Meanwhile City White Contact Lenses Of Otherworldly Freakiness. It's good to see him around, even though he's not given much to do.


Sam Riley, sadly, is pretty bloody awful. I've been hearing a lot about him since he played Ian Curtis in Control, but this introduction to his work has soured me, hopefully temporarily. It doesn't help that his character is utterly wet and silly, whining repeatedly about how sad he is about not finding the right girl. Jilted by his fiancee in his first scene, he never recovers, so much so that after an hour and a half watching him mope and then stalk his guardian angel (yes, you can actually stalk imaginary people, apparently), you wonder how someone as feeble as him could ever appeal to someone as intense as Green's pretentious artist.


Perhaps that's why I felt so robbed at the end. All of this because two self-absorbed twits are meant to hook up in the final scene? And there's no way on earth they could ever make each other happy? It all felt like a lot of effort in service of nothing. The Meanwhile City ideas are left to dissipate in the air, unloved and undeveloped, with some gratuitous fight scenes added just to make you feel like something is happening. Bernard Hill is only there to look sad, for all the effect he has on the plot. Riley does literally nothing for the first hour of the film. Only Green gets anything meaty to do, and even then it's just giving up, though giving up in suicidal style.

Anyone who knows me knows I get very upset at the British film industry for not trying hard enough to tackle ambitious projects, and am rarely happy with the films that do get a wide release (this was one of the few times I ever sounded optimistic about it). Film4 and the UK Film Council funded McMorrow's project, and with the small budget (approximately $6m), he has done wonders. Ben Davis' photography is impressive, capturing the greyness of modern London depressingly well. Joby Talbot's soundtrack is also worthy of praise. However, McMorrow - who is originally a video and ad director - has fallen into the same trap as the mighty TARSEM! by letting his visual imagination run riot to the extent that any old narrative bolted on will serve to deliver those eye-bending images (if you think I'm being harsh about Tarsem's likeable and beautiful The Fall, bear in mind even that very slight film was based on Valeri Petrov's Yo Ho Ho, a fact that struggled to be discovered in the press coverage upon the film's theatrical release. That's how little attention people were paying to the plot).


Of course, McMorrow doesn't have the resources Tarsem had on hand, so his film is bound to be a lot less interesting visually. That's not his fault. However, while The Fall felt unsatisfying on a narrative level but still delivered a generally satisfying experience, Franklyn is a major disappointment. Though I commend McMorrow for getting this project onto the screen (no mean feat these days), he would do well to consider directing screenplays by stronger writers before he does so again. One day, with the inevitable support he will get from the fans that will champion this film as a visionary success (inevitable, if misguided, IMO), he could make something really worthy of attention. I look forward to joining that band of fans.

Une autre folie de la jeunesse

Les corps ouverts - dir. Sébastien Lifshitz - 1998 - France - N/A - with Yasmine Belmadi, Pierre-Loup Rajot, Margot Abascal, Mohamed Damraoui, Malik Zidi, Dora Dhouib, Sébastien Lifshitz

If there's a single filmmaker in the past ten years who I think has been criminally overlooked within the film community, it would have to be Sébastien Lifshitz. It's not so much a lack of appreciation, as the one or two people I know who've seen his films feel the same as I do, but being the closest offshoot of Claire Denis doesn't really get the film houses packed. (On a side note, I mentioned in my review of Lifshitz's Wild Side that his film's have more in common with mid-period Bergman, but the Denis comparisons, even beyond sharing the amazing cinematographer Agnès Godard, are apparent.) I finally got a chance to see the short he made prior to Presque rien, Les corps ouverts, which won both the Prix Jean Vigo and the Kodak Short Film Award at Cannes in 1998. Les corps ouverts, which appears on the French Film Office disc for Presque rien but irritatingly not on the US disc from Picture This!, basically lays out the groundwork for Lifshitz's later work, which I suppose is exactly what I hope for when a filmmaker follows the path of establishing theirself with a short to "graduate" to feature-filmmaking. To refer to Les corps ouverts as a "test-run" would be unfair, as it's quite good on its own. However, watching it retroactively, the thought lingered. Though I can remember when non-linear storytelling seemed to be a hot trend, Lifshitz, like Atom Egoyan, understood that the structure could only be truly rewarding if it were dramatically revelatory instead of divisively concealing.

In many ways, the film's protagonist Rémi (Yasmine Belmadi) is Mathieu (Jérémie Elkaïm) of Presque rien and Stéphanie (Stéphanie Michelini) of Wild Side at the same time. Like both, he's thrust into the role of caretaker when his parent falls ill, and similar to his other films, his other parent is absent. Like Mathieu, it's a figurative orphaning as he's left to his own devices during the formation of his own maturity; like Stéphanie (and perhaps Mathieu after-the-fact), this "orphaning" results in an outward hardness (though this isn't exactly the case for Stéphanie) which is deceptive to both the characters around him and, most of all, to himself. The outward hardness, of course, could be reduced to Rémi's floundering attempts at a certain Arab machismo, which is seen early on during a casting session when he tells the director his favorite film is De Palma's Scarface, the beacon of feigned, hard-edged masculinity. His sexuality thus becomes less of an issue as his own applied gender norm, as he assumes the active role of "man of the house" with his ailing father (Mohamed Damraoui) and his sexually maturing sister (Dora Dhouib). This spreads to his sexual affairs, with both film director Marc (Pierre-Loup Rajot) and the street dancer (Margot Abascal), who looks like a Madonna impersonator circa 1988, where his projections conceal what his face is never able to hide. With Marc, Rémi rejects tenderness as if it were something to be ashamed of; with the girl, he recites his own poetry in an attempt to woo her with sensitivity. And then there's the porno theatre hook-up (with a character played by Lifshitz) where all of his naiveté and both sexual and emotional immaturity subconsciously reveal themselves.

To go back to the Bergman reference, Les corps ouverts is no different from Lifshitz's later films. There's a jarring moment of truth in the film's closing shot, where the film returns to Rémi's casting session with Marc. Leaving the camera on Rémi's face as Marc explains the film to him, we learn everything we need to know about the film's protagonist in his face as if the camera captured something intangible within him. The weight of this shot is immeasurable and ultimately devastating. I can't recommend Lifshitz's films with any more enthusiasm that I've already displayed. With no word of future projects listed online for the director, I can only hope Wild Side wasn't the last we've heard from such a gifted filmmaker.

Additional Readings:

Comin' Home [My review of Wild Side from 21 June 2006]
Neverland et la folie de la jeunesse [A comparison piece between Presque rien and Pawel Pawlikowski's My Summer of Love from 14 April 2006]