Neo-Revenge in Two Styles
***Spoilers abound***
The revenge narrative structure remains a stalwart of the horror genre despite being one of cinema’s oldest formulas. Well before seventies exploitation films made the rape/revenge formula a sleazy regular of grindhouse cinema, vigilantes populated Westerns and even the great “art house” director, Ingmar Bergman, directed the gorgeously devastating The Virgin Spring that inspired more traditionally generic fare such as The Last House on the Left.
Nevertheless, filmmakers continue to rework the revenge formula for new audiences. Revenge remakes have enjoyed a revival of sorts (see my speculation on one such effort), but new stories have emerged as well. Two recent screenings I attended reminded me of how divergent the uses of revenge can be despite the simple formula. The films, Hobo with a Shotgun and Red White and Blue, both use the revenge formula for a contemporary audience but in drastically divergent ways.
Image take from Wired.com
The more conventional of the two, Hobo with a Shotgun casts the legendary (I don’t banty the term about lightly) Rutger Hauer in the titular role of a homeless man just trying to survive peacefully in a nightmarish urban Nova Scotia landscape. After witnessing the cartoonish cruelty of the city’s thugs, however, he takes up arms against criminal elements. Watch the red band trailer below:
The trailer highlights the stylistic flourishes of the film, harkening back to an eighties action film aesthetic of urban lawlessness (think Robocop or Cobra). The film, in other words, exemplifies pastiche much like related efforts Death Proof, Planet Terror, and Machete. Hobo began, after all, as a trailer for a contest associated with the release of Grindhouse before becoming a full-length feature as did Machete. The results are predictably gratuitous and campy, and while it may have fallen slightly short of my high expectations, it delivered on its promise gory action sequences and hilariously stilted dialog.
Red White and Blue differs dramatically from Hobo in both its aims and execution. The film follows a group of characters all residing in Austin, Texas, beginning with the detached and promiscuous Erica (Amanda Fuller). Despite her reckless sexual exploits, she attracts the attention of the pensive Nate, (Noah Taylor in an impressive turn), whose vague military career and stories of childhood hint at psychopathology. Despite their flaws, the two reluctantly form a bond, violently shattered by the entrance of Franki (Marc Senter), a musician whose tryst with Erica proves life-changing.
What differentiates Red White and Blue from so many other revenge narratives is the way in which complex grievances and motivations entangle the characters. The downward spiral begins when Franki discovers that he contracted HIV after engaging in unprotected sex with Erica. While the implications for his own life prove devastating enough, the impact multiplies since Franki donated blood to his mother who suffers from cancer. Franki and his friends then kidnap Erica. Upon confronting her, Erica admits to the knowledge of her own HIV positive status to Franki, both downplaying the significance of the disease and explaining her behavior in terms of her own sexual trauma. It could be Erica’s vulnerability in this scene that leads to a strange kind of violation: Franki, in a supposed effort to make amends, rapes Erica before proposing to her. (Note: Some viewers might not interpret this scene as rape since Erica hardly resists, but Fuller’s performance clearly conveys a lack of consent; it is a disturbing scene because the violence is as much emotional as it is physical.) After Erica attempts to escape, Franki fatally stabs her, dismembering and stowing away the body with the help of his friends. Soon thereafter, Nate tracks down and brutally attacks, interrogates, and tortures Franki and his accomplices. These scenes of calculated violence reveal the monstrous interior hiding beneath Nate’s tranquil exterior, making it difficult to root for Nate as avenger.
Image take from Impawards.com
Ultimately, then, Red White and Blue refuses to give its audience a character to root for but makes each of its principal players multifaceted and sympathetic (to varying degrees). Hobo with a Shotgun, by contrast, simplifies the intentions of its characters: the hobo along with his sidekick hooker with a heart of gold represent marginalized goodness while crime boss, The Drake, and his spoiled sadistic sons embody evil fueled by unchecked greed. While I found Hobo far more satisfying as a spectacle, Red White and Blue challenged me in its conception of revenge and, in the process, critiqued our culture’s simplistic notions of justice. Red White and Blue showed that the myth of the vigilante portrayed in Hobo may be comforting, but rarely does it translate to life beyond the screen.
Carnivàle as a case of bad timing
My husband’s been diligently watching the now defunct HBO series, Carnivàle, for several months now, and while initially a bit skeptical I’ve gradually grown fond of the show.
The series (which lasted a mere two seasons) traces two parallel stories: one about a traveling troupe of carnival workers (the most prominently featured include a tarot reader played by Clea Duvall, a worker with mystical healing powers played by Nick Stahl, and a cootch dancer played by Carla Gallo) and an evangelical minister named Brother Justin (Clancy Brown). Over the course of the series, these seemingly disparate story lines converge. We learn that Ben must confront the minister who, despite his popular image as a pious preacher, contains a deep-ceded evil (see promos for both seasons below).
I am late in coming to the Carnivàle bandwagon. I remember that while in grad school, I attended a panel at the first-ever Flow Conference featuring two organizers from the Save Carnivàle movement. These passionate fans petitioned against HBO’s decision in 2005 to cancel the show and continue to do so. Six years later, I’m beginning to understand their point.
But part of the reason I am enjoying the show has to do with its relevance to the current recessionary economy. The touring members of Carnivàle struggle to persist in an America hobbled by the Great Depression. Their impoverished audiences take in these amusements to distract themselves from the destitution of the everyday. Meanwhile, Brother Justin’s followers suffer from the same need for diversion, seeking a divine explanation for their troubles. In the series’ last episode, when the co-manager of Carnivàle, Samson (Michael J Anderson), and Brother Justin meet, Samson points out the similarities between what they do: both are performers stirring their despairing audience’s emotions, though to different ends and in different ways.
But while Carnivàle must move from city-to-city as a slow-moving caravan, the minister harnesses the power of radio to disseminate his populist message. Brother Justin’s fiery sermons combine theology and politics to tap into the fears of the era. Here’s a clip featuring one of these speeches:
The scene highlights the importance of mass media in summoning followers to Brother Justin’s ministry. In other words, Brother Justin’s power results from the technological innovations of modernity and, in effect, the series critiques modernity itself by imbuing these technologies with an evil power.
The famous historical figure, Catholic priest Father Coughlin, similarly utilized mass media to draw followers to his controversial message. This newsreel describes Coughlin’s impact on the national discourse:
Right now, we’re living in an age of so many Father Coughlins that I don’t even feel it’s necessary to name the television network and its particular personalities that emulate his approach. Needless to say, the conservative pundits of today paint Barack Obama with the same brush that Coughlin and Brother Justin use to tar FDR.
I cannot help but wonder, then, if Carnivàle would have resonated more had it been released about a half a decade later in the midst of the Great Recession. As with Brother Justin, today’s religious zealots assert that the Apocalypse is upon us (tonight at 6:00 PM, to be exact). In a recent New York Times article about this prediction, Courtney Campbell, an Oregon State University professor of religion and culture, remarks “Ultimately we’re looking for some authoritative answers in an era of great social, political, economic, as well as natural, upheaval.” Carnivàle presents a similar historic moment and a shaken populace looking for the same sorts of answers. Sadly, the show arrived too soon, but we can still appropriate it to reflect upon today’s uncertainties.
Meek’s Cutoff, Jon Raymond, and “gentrification” olde West style
I saw Meek’s Cutoff a few weeks ago with my buddy, Tara, and the film far exceeded my expectations. While many critics praised the film, several reviews included caveats about slow pacing and failed potential given the brilliance of director Kelly Reichardt’s previous efforts, Old Joy and Wendy and Lucy. Such undercutting comments calibrated my expectations sufficiently that I found the film neither dull nor deficient in comparison to the director’s previous works.
But another factor, I believe, enhanced my appreciation of the film. At the time of the screening, I had worked through most of Livability: Short Stories by the film’s screenwriter, Jon Raymond. In the past month or so, Jon Raymond’s name continually popped up in the arts section of The Oregonian. Raymond resides in Portland, Oregon, and locals love stories about the successes of their own. Those recent successes include Raymond’s collaboration with Reichardt on Meek’s Cutoff (Reichardt’s previous films resulted from adaptations of Raymond’s stories in Livability) as well as his work with another Portland filmmaker, Todd Haynes, on the teleplay for the Mildred Pierce miniseries that recently aired on HBO. The press on Raymond often mentioned the award-winning Livability, inspiring me to check out a copy from the Multnomah County Library.
Now, I’ll have to admit, reading the book was a classic act of Portlander narcissism: I wanted to see my city interpreted artistically. There’s always something thrilling about that moment of recognition–I know that place; I’ve been there. I was particularly pleased that “Train Choir” (the story upon which Wendy and Lucy is based) took place in North Portland where I went to school for four years. That sound of train whistles that haunts the story’s protagonist also resonated through my dorm room. The Walgreen’s in the story is blocks from the first house I rented, and the lampshade store on Lombard is an oddity I always noticed. This story, as with every piece in Livability, is as much about Portland’s landscape as the characters that occupy it.
The cover of "Livability" highlights the importance of setting in Raymond's work. Image from SFGate.com.
But Raymond’s descriptions of Portland always undercut the romanticism that many residents (myself included) feel about this place. In one of my favorite stories, “Benny,” Raymond addresses how gentrification has transformed many of the city’s neighborhoods. A fantastic series of recent articles in The Oregonian demonstrates that in the past ten years (since about the time I first moved here) Portland’s inner city has become dramatically whiter and more affluent even as the larger metro area grows more diverse. I was reminded of this trend while reading “Young Bodies,” a story about a teenage child of Russian immigrants who commutes from her family’s home at the outer edges of the city to work in the mall adjacent to my central neighborhood (yes, I’m certainly implicated in this trend). While conservatives might chalk such trends up to the invisible hand of the market, The Oregonian articles show that government policies benefit some to the detriment of others, and Portland failed to gear those policies toward the communities of color long established in these urban neighborhoods targeted for development.
With all of this in the back of my mind, I watched Meek’s Cutoff with great fascination. The film follows a group of pioneers trekking along the Oregon Trail in 1854. Led by guide Stephen Meek the party gets lost in the desert with a limited supply of water. In the midst of their distress, they come across an Indian (I use this problmeatic term here intentionally) and capture him. Meek argues that killing him would be the safest course of action while the rest of the men in the party debate the merits of this plan. They decide to keep the Indian alive in hopes that he might guide them toward a source of water. One of the pioneer women clearly at odds with Meek, Emily (played brilliantly by Michelle Williams), goes so far as to threaten the guide with a shotgun to prevent him from killing the Indian (see poster below). The Indian’s intentions, however, are difficult to decipher, and to describe exactly how these dynamics play out would be to undercut the power of the film’s conclusion.
Maybe my favorite film poster of the year. Image from Collider.com.
What struck me as I watched Meek’s Cutoff was the ways in which the themes of Livability recurred in the narrative. As with “Train Choir” and “Benny,” the setting plays as much of a role in the story as the characters. The dry, remote landscape, gorgeously filmed by cinematographer Chris Blauvelt, feels at once vast and enclosed, like it could go on forever and is hence inescapable. Tara pointed out that the camera angles often create a claustrophobic affect. The viewer, like the settlers, feels an anxiety about what might be over the next hill.
Also as in Raymond’s stories, the story vividly depicts the mundane activities of daily life. Scenes detail the labor involved in pioneer living, such as washing laundry, mending clothing, cooking, and knitting. These scenes show that pioneer women in particular played an important function in the labor of immigration, despite their subservient role in decision making processes. The camera places us in a similarly disempowered position, filming the conference’s of the men from a distance and muffling their dialog accordingly. Critics point to such scenes as evidence of the film’s feminist intentions.
The women of "Meek's Cutoff" look on from a distance as the men decide the group's fate. Image from trailershut.com
But the film also operates as post-colonial allegory with the pioneers not so unlike the urban gentrifiers of Raymond’s more contemporary stories. Their presence signals the transformation of the landscape that decimated and displaced tribes across the West. It would be a false equivocation to say that this is the same is the current patterns of gentrification (it’s clearly not), but gentrification and colonization both involve a dominant group claiming a space as their own to the detriment of previous occupants. In this respect, Meek’s Cutoff aligns nicely with Livability and it’s depictions of the evolution of Portland. The current whitening of the city center may not be history repeating, but most definitely it’s rhyming.
Psycho and the Symphony
Earlier in the year, I wrote a piece for my “Undermining Auteurism” series about the famed film composer, Bernard Herrmann. In that entry, I argued that Hermann’s scores dramatically impact the films they accompany to the extent that we should question the status of auteur imparted upon these films’ famous directors.
One of the films I discussed at length was Psycho, whose director I need not mention by name. Of all the films Herrmann scored, Psycho represents his most memorable contribution, if slightly less brilliant than his haunting composition for Taxi Driver. It was with great pleasure, then, that I attended a screening of Psycho tonight at the Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall in Portland, Oregon, with the Oregon Symphony performing the score live. The screening offered a rare opportunity for the audience by mixing of live performance with the moving image, and I am so glad that I took advantage.
For one, it made me think about what it must have been like for movie audiences over a hundred years ago when musicians regularly performed the music for otherwise silent films. The liveness of the music contrasts the fixity of the film, reminding us of that film must be produced–musicians must sit in a room for hours on end, rehearsing the sheet music before them, and then record it, hitting their cues and maintaining the tempo. The score, which so often seems invisible, becomes visible through live performance.
Seeing Psycho with the score performed live was a little like the penultimate shot from the film. Image taken from San Francisco Sentinel.
Beyond the novelty of seeing the score performed live, it was also a pleasure to see the film in a public setting. I’ve seen Psycho so many times, but never in a room full of strangers. It was fascinating to note how often we laughed at lines of dialog that seemed dated as well as those intended to be funny (“Teddy was furious when he found out I’d taken tranquilizers!”). On the opposite end of the spectrum, audience members cried out and screamed not during the famed shower scene but over the second killing of the private investigator, Arbogast. My theory: that audience members are primed for the shower kill and, knowing less about it, get taken by surprise during that second kill. The final scenes, though, didn’t seem to terrify anyone–the big reveal of the corpse mother was met with laughter as was Norman in drag.
All of this is to say that experiences such as the one offered tonight by the Oregon Symphony remind us to continually look at film classics from a different angle. Just when you think you know a film front-to-back, you see it again and realize you missed something the first hundred times you saw it.
Sympathy for the Devil
Sitting in the multiplex several weeks ago, I experienced a crowd reaction to a trailer that confirmed my long-held suspicion: M. Night Shmaylan is a public relations liability, and his involvement in any project would be best kept secret. Case in point, as we waited for Scott Pilgrim vs. the World to start, a trailer for Devil played. Here it is:
The audience sat silent until the words “From the mind of M. Night Shyamalan” spread across the screen. Suddenly, the packed house erupted into a mixture of laughter, gaffaws, and boos. A nerdy middle-aged man in front of me uttered something to the effect of, “He needs to go away.” The attempt to use Shyamalan’s name to market the film clearly fell flat with this crowd.
Like the rest of the audience, I’m a Shyamalan skeptic. I loved The Sixth Sense and found Unbreakable, while less satisfying, thoughtful and stylish enough to get me on board. Despite it’s critical success, Signs became the turning point in my fandom for the writer/director. Like his previous projects, Signs attempted to replicate that Spielberg magic of science fiction nerdiness and wholesome sentimentality. The end-result was a heavy handed film that neither surprised me with it’s goofy twist (“Swing away”!) nor entertained me with it’s attempts at humor from the wooden lead, Mel Gibson:
I felt I’d been manipulated and cheated, and immediately decided that Shyamalan’s schtick had worn thin. I have since ignored his films, and from what I hear, I haven’t missed much: The Village, Lady in the Water, and The Happening received successively worse reviews from critics and viewers alike. Over-exposure and under-delivery have undermined the hype surrounding Shyamalan’s work, so it’s difficult to imagine what the marketing department was thinking when they plastered his name on the promos for the otherwise flawlessly promoted Devil.
Marketing materials for Devil repeatedly make reference to M. Night Shyamalan's involvement in the project. Image taken from FilmDrunk.
What’s surprised me is that in spite of my reservations about Shyamalan’s previous films, I’m actually very curious about Devil. The minimalist concept (five people trapped in an elevator, the devil among them) appeals to me, and while the whole thing could easily run afoul, the potential for a terrific thriller is there. It’s also worth noting that while the trailer plays up the Shyamalan association, his role in the production is vaguely defined with a “story by” credit. In other words, it’s hard to gauge Shyamalan’s level of involvement, given that the screenwriter (Brian Nelson) and directors (Drew and John Erick Dowdle) likely took liberties with whatever idea Shyamalan ostensibly conceived (not to mention the many other filmmakers participating in the project).
In short, I’m willing to give this thing a chance with the hope that Shyamalan’s fingerprints have been wiped clean from the finished product. Then again, maybe the last thing we need is a Shyamalan success to reboot the hype machine.
Bedbug Bites
Bedbugs might be a bit of a strange topic for a blog of this sort, but the media craziness surrounding these annoying insects begs for some commentary from this horror fan. First, some context: if you happen to watch the news on TV or pick up a daily paper, you’re bound to come across one of the many stories about the massive infestation of bedbugs. I’ve seen these in everything from the big-gun local paper to the alternative weekly to the New York Times. The media frenzy has gotten so out of hand that Jon Stewart weighed in on the Daily Show:
The media deserves the mockery that Stewart dishes out here. Bedbugs, though annoying, do not spread disease or cause you any grave harm. Like a mosquito, they suck out a little blood, creating itchy little welts that will eventually disappear. Still, the idea of something crawling in your bed is psychologically powerful and catches the eye when evoked in a headline.
Of course, there are other ways to think of insects, and Stewart’s inclusion of clips from Green Porno, a short video series conceived of by actress Isabella Rossellini, reimagine the insects in slightly different terms. Each entry in the series highlights the reproductive process of a different insect, illustrated by Rossellini herself in outrageous costumes. I especially appreciate the ways in which Green Porno raises questions about gender, nature, and the relationship between violence and sexuality. While the subjects of the videos may be insects, Rossellini’s anthropomorphizing of the insects suggests some connection exists between these creatures and us. Here’s another of those hilarious videos:
Psychologist Kevin Ocshner spoke about Rossellini’s video about bedbugs in relation to the media buzz, stating that he felt the video commented on the overblown nature of our fears by exaggerating the size of bedbugs (Click here to listen to the piece from NPR’s Talk of the Nation). Ocshner also discussed how the brain works when we imagine these bugs. Specifically, he says that the same parts of the brain that respond to actual threats, like a real bug in your bed, also become activated by strong thoughts of them. He connects this neurological quirk to the sensations we might get reading a thriller or watching a scary movie.
The power of insects (and other creepy crawlers) to trigger these fears might be one of the reasons that the surrealists used insects so often in their work. Below, a narrator explains Luis Bunuel’s likes and dislikes, and bugs come up several times (relevant portion ends at 3:17):
The prominence of insects is a trademark of Buneul’s films. In Un Chien Andalou alone, bugs form the basis of some of the most powerful compositions in the film, particularly this still of ants streaming out of a wounded hand:
In Bunuel's famous collaboration with Salvador Dali, Un Chien Andalou, insects appear frequently in unnerving images such as this one. Image taken from factoidz.com.
But while the surrealists engage the fear of bugs subtly, the contemporary horror film has exploited it for a more blunt effect. One obvious example would be Slither, a film I’ve yet to see but has always intrigued me with its campy critique of monogamy. Watch the trailer below and you’ll see what I mean:
Slither isn’t alone, of course: The Fly (both the original and remake), Arachnophobia, Mimic, all tap into the same fear of bugs currently being exploited by the news media. While the increasing numbers of bedbugs might be truer than the fictional representations just mentioned, the hysterical response seems based more on fiction than reality.
Sucking It Up: Vampires Suck vs. My Sucky Teen Romance
***Quick thanks to Kristen over at Act Your Age for cluing me in on Hagins’ latest project.***
After a wave of successful vampire books, films, and TV series, it shouldn’t surprise anyone to see spoof versions of these texts coming down the pike. Most prominently, Vampires Suck has been heavily promoted with spots on TV. Here’s the trailer:
It’s also probably no shock that I’m not itching to see this one. As the Vampires Suck trailer demonstrates, the spoof genre has gone from a hilarious and even at times legitimately subversive form of social critique (a la Blazing Saddles) to a hodge podge of cultural references (Lady Gaga, Black-Eyed Peas, Jersey Shore), body humor, and over-the-top antics.
This already stale genre has become even more trite in the age of the internet. As Felix Vasquez of Cinema Crazed points out in his review of Vampires Suck, comedic parodies of the Twilight series already pervade blogs, YouTube, and comedy sites like Funny Or Die. Here are a few samples:
By all appearances, Vampires Suck fails to really say anything new or substantial about the vampire phenomenon, which is to be expected since the same crew brought us such slap-sticky schlock as the Scary Movie series, Epic Movie, Date Movie, and Meet the Spartans. Like those offerings, this film merely cashes in on viewer exasperation with current trends in the media. It also critiques fandom in a very gendered way: teenage girls wearing “Team Jacob” and “Team Edward” shirts duke it out with shovels–didn’t see that one coming! Such scenes, of course, play upon problematic stereotypes about the veracity of girls’ fandom.
I am far more interested to see how young filmmaker Emily Hagins tackles the trend in her upcoming film, My Sucky Teen Romance. Austin native Hagins filmed Pathogen, a full-length feature zombie film, releasing it in 2006 at the age of fourteen. Her efforts making the film became the subject of the documentary Zombie Girl: The Movie, raising Hagins’ profile in the Austin film scene and beyond. Below is the trailer for her film and for the documentary.
Hagins’ approach to the teen vampire craze differs dramatically from Vampires Suck. Instead of tweeking the Twilight premise, Hagins’ film takes place at a sci-fi convention. In that setting, actual vampires infiltrate the convention by hiding in plain sight amongst fans costumed as their favorite Twilight characters. As quoted by Slash Film, Hagins says:
“I want the characters to be real geeks– they know about Twilight and the teen vampire phenomenon. But these vampires are the real deal, and more than everyday teenagers can take on. The comedy comes from the awkwardness of regular kids dealing with monsters who have been over-romanticized in recent pop culture . . . This is a teen comedy written, directed, and acted by teenagers. It is a unique opportunity to capture the genuine teen experience.”
A still from My Sucky Teen Romance. Image taken from Slash Film.com.
Of course, it’s impossible to “capture the genuine teen experience,” but having an actual teenager writing and directing such a project gets you pretty darn close. What I’m more interested to see is how Hagins negotiates issues related to fandom. On the one hand, the description of the film seems to suggest a critique of “over-romanticized” vampires and their fans; on the other hand, Hagins uses these geeks as protagonists who fend off the monsters that they idolize in fictitious form. This seems like a more even-handed approach than Vampires Suck by allowing for a parody of fandom without dismissing it entirely. Such an inventive premise proves that Hagins is clever beyond her years, or at least beyond those who wrote Vampires Suck (admittedly, not a tall order).
To wrap things up, here’s the short promo for Hagins’ film:
Beyond Film #5 – Living the Double Life
It’s been weeks since I’ve posted anything, and while this is mostly due to my preoccupation with finding a job, it’s also because I’ve spent most of the last few weeks watching a lot of television. When you’re unemployed and have a lot of time on your hands, there’s nothing better than filling the time with some TV, especially with so many terrific options. But rather than seeking an escape, I’ve noticed that I am gravitating toward series that explore difficult subject matter. In particular, the theme of living a double life seems prominent in the shows I’ve been watching.
The series I’ve found most entertaining: Nurse Jackie. Starring Edie Falco as the title character, the series follows a nurse living and working in New York. While Jackie proves herself to be a competent and dedicated nurse practically every episode, she compromises her job performance and home life with her addiction to pain killers and other pharmaceuticals. Fiercely private, she takes off her wedding ring upon arriving to work, never mentioning her husband or two daughters to all but one coworker. This secrecy conveniently allows her to maintain an affair with the hospital pharmacist, Eddie (another Sopranos regular, Paul Schulze). The duplicity fueled by her addiction drives the plot forward with the question of how long Jackie can maintain her double-life hanging in the air. She drives you crazy with her dishonesty, yet you can’t help but sympathize with her.
This second season promotional poster effectively depicts Jackie as both saint and addict. Image from DaemonsTV.com.
Another Showtime series, Dexter, follows similar patterns in its exploration of the title character played by Michael C. Hall. Dexter’s vice, however, is far more grisly than Jackie’s. As a sociopath with violent impulses, Dexter channels his tendencies into ritualistic murders of individuals with the same inclinations all the while working as a blood-splatter analyst for the Miami Police Department. Dexter developed a code of ethics based on the advice of his late adoptive father, Harry (James Remar), who recognized Dexter’s sociopathic disposition during childhood.
The series, then, not only explores the conflict created by this moral paradox, but also examines the source of Dexter’s desires and his efforts to appear normal despite his inability to emotionally relate to people. To this end, the series uses effective voice over narration to contrast the charming Dexter we see with the hollow, compulsive killer we hear. The Dexter’s duplicitous nature, then, is not only reflected in the contrast between his professional life and his recreational activities, but also in his self-presentation and his inner thoughts.
Still, the most compelling series I’ve been watching that explores these themes would have to be Breaking Bad. This show, like the others previously described, centers on a primary character with a moral dilemma. The character, Walter White (played perfectly by Bryan Cranston), discovers he has lung cancer and must decide how to proceed with treatment. As a high school chemistry teacher supporting a family, he makes such a small salary that he also works at a car wash. The fact that his wife is unexpectedly pregnant raises the stakes. While Walter initially decides to forgo treatment due to the unlikelihood of success and the high expense, he ultimately caves in to family pressure. Still unwilling to burden his family with debt, he decides to cook meth in order to finance his treatment and save some money to support his wife and children in the event of his demise. Ironically, Walters’ attempts to take care of his family financially only seem to create more problems at home. Walter, like Jackie and Dexter, struggles to maintain a harmonious domestic life as a result of his participation in criminal activities.
Walter's criminal and domestic lives collide in this still from Breaking Bad. Image from poptheology.com.
But while both Nurse Jackie and Dexter certainly have social implications (doesn’t every piece of art?), Breaking Bad seems the most pointed in its critique of the current socioeconomic climate. Unlike Jackie and Dexter, Walter is motivated out of financial self-interest. With the astronomical cost of health care in this country and the paltry salaries we pay public school teachers, Walter’s plight reflects the sense of economic unease pervasive in this recessionary economy.
This social commentary is the reason that I’ve found Breaking Bad oddly comforting during my period of unemployment. While I’m lucky enough to have family support during this transition, I still feel concerned about my prospects in the job market and worry about my savings running out before I earn my first paycheck. The schadenfreude of seeing characters like Jackie, Dexter, and Walter, dealing with much bigger problems than mine cannot be underestimated.
My Pick for Lisbeth Salander
The late Stieg Larsson‘s ridiculously popular Girl with the Dragon Tattoo novel received the movie treatment in his native Sweden last year with its American release this past March. The film only further popularized the novel with its excellent performances by Noomi Rapace (as title character Lisbeth Salander) and Michael Nyqvist as investigative reporter Mikael Blomqvist. Having recently finished the book, I finally got out to see the adaptation at the Academy Theater in Portland this past week. While some have critiqued the film for its lengthy duration and graphic depictions of violence, I appreciated the ways in which the film condensed the novel. I also found the depictions of sexual assault appropriately disturbing without being exploitative. It may not be the twenty-first century equivalent to The Silence of the Lambs, but it’s not far off.
I hope and expect that David Fincher (director of Seven, Fightclub, and Zodiac) took copious notes while watching the Swedish version, which rides heavily upon Rapace’s brilliant performance. Currently, well-known names like Natalie Portman, Carey Mulligan, Kristen Stewart, and Ellen Page have been thrown around for the role, along with some more obscure actresses such as Rooney Mara, Emily Browning, and Sarah Snook. Not surprisingly, everyone wants this guaranteed star-making role.
One of the few names mentioned that struck me immediately as a fascinating possibility: Mia Wasikowska. Most filmgoers will immediately associate her with her big-screen role as title character in the Tim Burton directed CGI overdo Alice in Wonderland, but I urge you to please set aside that association and hear me out on this.
Wasikowska has several qualities that make me want to see her in this role. First, she fits the Salander body-type: lithe and petite, she has that boyish quality so essential to the character. What’s more, her smiles seem labored when I see her press-photos–she’s the kind of actress that looks more comfortable wearing a scowl than a grin.
Mia Wasikowska, exuding her trademark intensity. Image taken from www.abc.net.au.
One reason for this impression might be her excellent performance in the first season of HBO’s In Treatment, a series following a psychiatrist (Gabriel Byrne) and four of his patients’ sessions as well as his own experience in therapy. Wasikowska played Sophie (a talented gymnast suspected of suicidal impulse) beautifully, showing her to be highly independent but deeply conflicted. A scene below demonstrates Wasikowska’s nuanced performance:
While this particular scene shows Sophie as vulnerable and expressive, others portray her as cold and reserved. Even in those moments of seeming indifference, Wasikowska hints at a deep reservoir of pain lying beneath her steely surface. These are the moments that suggest Wasikowska has the potential to play a kick ass Lisbeth Salander (I’ve yet to see her in The Kids Are All Right but imagine she brings something extra to her role in that indie comedy).
Wasikowska also filmed Restless with one of my favorite filmmakers, Gus Van Sant, slated for release in early 2011. According to Movie Line, the film depicts the story of a funeral crasher and a terminally ill 16-year old who fall in love–yes, a bit Harold and Maude, but Van Sant’s direction and Wasikowska’s involvement give me hope. Wasikowska cropped her locks for the role, giving us a preview of what her Lisbeth Salandar might look like:
With black hair and a few piercings, Mia Wasikowska would make a terrific Lisbeth Salander. Image taken from Celebrifi.com.
While Wasikowska may prove to be a bit high-profile for Fincher (he’s expressed a desire for an unknown actress), I hope he gives her another look. If Noomi Rapace has taught us nothing else, the role of Salander must be cast with great care to an actress with the skills and the looks to make this incredible role believable.
How Inception Bests The Matrix
***Is it really necessary to post a spoiler alert here? I guess if you’ve never read my blog you ought to be made aware that I discuss plots in full. Be warned.***
Much has been made of the recently released Inception‘s similarity to The Matrix. Both portray worlds that exist solely in the mind and both use this concept to depict gravity defying action sequences. Despite these similarities, the two films differ dramatically in terms of the ways in which they resolve issues of intellectual uncertainty. While The Matrix may offer a more satisfying end (sequels not withstanding), Inception‘s ending, like the conclusion of the director’s and final cuts of Blade Runner, provokes more questions without frustrating the viewer.
Inception's promotional poster. Image taken from latinoreview.com.
In my Adventures in Auditing series, I discussed the ways in which The Matrix manifested the idea of a text-based reality through formal elements such as color and vertical motion. I concluded that the ways in which the film distinguished between the false, textual reality of the matrix and the “real reality” of the world beyond the matrix actually reinforce the idea that a reality exists behind what Jean Baudrillard and others calls “simulacra.” As a result, the film fails to capture the essence of postmodernism even as it references these theories overtly.
By contrast, Inception lacks obvious references to postmodernism instead exploring these themes in a more cerebral way through depictions of dreaming. Still, the platonic themes of intellectual uncertainty remain pertinent to the film. The movie follows Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio), an expert in extraction, which is the process of obtaining information by invading a person’s subconscious through his dreams. This task proves dangerous in part because dreams appear so real that distinguishing between dreamed and lived reality requires certain tricks, such as totems. Totems are weighted objects, such as the metallic top carried by Cobb, that feel or behave one way in the dream and another way in reality. If Cobb spins the top in a dream, it never falls; if he spins it in reality, it topples as it should. This allows Cobb to enter and exit dreams for the purposes of extraction without fear of disorientation.
Cobb assembles a team of dream experts to perform a process called inception for a powerful client. Inception involves the planting of an idea into the subconscious through shared dreaming. While inception initially appears to be a theoretical possibility never before tried, Cobb claims to have successfully performed this task. One of his curious assistants, Ariadne (Ellen Page), discovers that Cobb implanted the idea that reality was actually a dream in the subconscious of his wife Mal (the superb Marion Cotillard) in order to encourage her to exit a lengthy shared dream. Once out of the dream, Mal believes that she continues to dream, mistakenly committing suicide as a means of returning to reality.
Marion Cotillard turns a stunning performance as Mal in Inception. Image taken from celebrity-mania.com.
Or so we are to believe throughout the bulk of the film. The end of Inception, however, seems to suggest that Mal may have been correct. After successfully completing the task of inception, Cobb returns to his family, whom he had been unable to visit as a result of previous crimes. In the final moments of the film, Cobb spins his top, which wobbles slightly but continues to spin before the film ends by cutting to black.
This ending fails to resolve the question of whether or not Cobb actually exited the dream state. The timing of the cut prevents the viewer from knowing for sure if the top will continue to spin or if the top will fall as physics proscribe it should. This beautifully ambiguous open ending elevates Inception to classic status.
Still, Inception cannot be described as flawless by any means. While Dicaprio, Cotillard, and much of the supporting cast deliver strong performances, Ellen Page’s efforts at a more serious role falter. Her character’s presence feels necessary to the narrative (with Ariadne as the dreamer-in-training, we the audience learn the rules of shared dreaming through her tutorials) but awkward and at times unnecessary in the moment of the scene. As a whole, the plot can feel a bit convoluted and the reasons for inception (to encourage a young executive to break up his father’s company) seem trite.
Nevertheless, the film hits its stride about midway through, and these little problems fall by the wayside. The film’s visuals, it’s plotting, its editing, remind you the ways in which cinema defy the spatial, temporal, and physical constraints that limit everyday life. It’s a lovely tribute to the power of film and its ability to mystify the senses and challenge the mind.
A still from Inception featuring Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Image taken from The Atlantic.
While The Matrix most certainly dazzles like Inception with its incredible action sequences and futuristic style, it falters in its attempt at sustaining intellectual uncertainty. Once we know the differences between the matrix and the desert of the real, viewers can feel secure in understanding the distinction. Inception denies us this certainty, instead opting for the discomfort of leaving questions unanswered and mysteries unsolved.
