Something for the Weekend

Weekend (Andrew Haigh, 2011) follows two men and their fleeting but resonating relationship from a Friday night to a Sunday afternoon. Towards the end of their time together, there is a sense that neither of them really want it to end. I certainly felt that way about the film. Genuine, inviting, challenging, engaging, SET IN NOTTINGHAM – sorry, a homestead of mine so a particular delight to see it as a backdrop – I was seduced, quite frankly. Two and a bit days in just under two hours – the relationship between Russell (Tom Cullen) and Glen (Chris New) is like that of an audience with a film. The duration may be slight relative to other experiences but what you learn and experience stays with you.

Yadda yadda, I liked it a lot. My issue is not with the film but with the film’s certificate. For a film that addresses the fundamental heterosexual assumption that permeates our society and culture to get an 18 without cuts, when not too long ago The Human Centipede II: Full Sequence (Tom Six, 2011) got released with two minutes or so of cuts but the same certificate… If you’re squeamish about anything to do with the other end of the gastric system I can understand treating the material in a certain way. But whereas Russell and Glen discuss, consent to and have anal sex – in no more graphic detail than any of the teens in American Pie (Paul Weitz, Chris Weitz, 1999) – Martin, well… He wants to put twelve people together end to end and not in a sardine type fashion. American Pie got a fifteen certificate. It’s slapstick in places, sweet in others, was one of the first very mainstream films to address the theme of, “Oh hey, teenagers are horny but they have feelings in places other than their genitals”, features a fair few swear words and tits… But a fifteen. And there is no homosexuality, apart from a few slurs if my memory serves me well.

Is Weekend‘s certification down to the heterosexual agenda? Here is the BBFC’s official extended certification information (ECI) as to why the content of the film led to their decision:

“WEEKEND is a drama about two men who meet in a club and form a relationship over the course of a weekend, before one of them moves abroad. It was classified ’18’ for strong sex, sex references and hard drug use.

The BBFC’s Guidelines at ’15’ state ‘Sexual activity may be portrayed without strong detail’. There are a number of sex scenes that lack strong detail and which would have been allowable at ’15’. However, there is one sex scene which includes sight of a man apparently masturbating his partner, after which we see the man lying on his back with liquid resembling semen on his stomach. The level of detail in this scene is too strong for ’15’ and more appropriately classified at ’18’.

There are also some strong verbal sex references, including one man recalling having sex with a married man: “I wasn’t sure I could get a hard-on, he wanted me to suck his cock, get me to cum in his mouth”. This graphic reference, and other strong verbal references of a similar nature, exceed the terms of the Guidelines at ’15’ which state ‘There may be strong verbal references to sexual behaviour, but the strongest references are unlikely to be acceptable’. The strong sex references are therefore more appropriately classified at ’18’.

There are several scenes of ‘lifestyle’ drug use, many of which show people smoking marijuana joints. There are also some scenes in which men snort cocaine and a scene in which men blow cocaine into each other’s mouths. Although the men finally acknowledge that they have taken too many drugs, the frequency of the activity and the unusual nature of the cocaine use mean the drug use is more appropriately classified at ’18’. However, the film as a whole does not promote or encourage drug misuse.

WEEKEND also contains frequent strong language and two undirected and nonaggressive uses of very strong language, as two men talk to each other.”

Yeah but Jason Biggs poked a pie. FIFTEEN. The drugs I get – but ‘graphic reference’? Am I an unfeeling member of the iGeneration or is that phrase not all that graphic? Why is it that the sound ‘kuhm’, when spelled ‘cum’ gets you an 18 but spelled ‘come’ is U friendly? Besides, Chris Klein quite graphically describes and gestures what it feels like to, er, ‘bake’, and a couple of Russell’s workmates to do the same but in a much more derogatory – but heterosexual – fashion. It is a real shame. There are a lot of under-18s that I think could do with seeing this film. Not because they may be gay but because it is a lovely love story between two young people who happen to be men, who discuss the world around them and how certain elements make them fit and others do not. Surveillance cameras swerve in and out of the cinematography, Russell looks at Glen walking away from his 18th – how appropriate – floor window, unseen people jeer at them in public… They are being watched.

But not by everyone.

A Slice of Humble Pie

Yesterday I moved from in front of the screen to on the screen. My moment had come to be part of my friend Matt’s film (http://matthewbaren.tumblr.com/), playing a young journalist sent on a ‘death knock’, reporting from a bereaved family whose son had recently died. Attempting to use my ‘natural empathy’ as Matt described it – what a charmer – for my character’s career driven gain was bizarre, to say the least. To inhabit someone who is genuinely unmoved, in the sense that what to me would be an instinctive outpouring and sharing of grief, but rather to observe and take away to expose human suffering… Anyway, I digress.

Though it has been a while since I have done any acting that has leaned towards a more serious scene, I really enjoyed it, even though I felt quite worried about ‘doing it right’. Matt is a fantastic director, letting you find your way through the scene but waving to you at the other end of it, guiding you as you go with distinct directions but still allowing you to really make it your own. He is happy with the results, so therefore I am happy. I was having trouble with the very end of the scene, where my character chances upon a chance to reflect but again, engaging in a more intellectual, removed way rather than an emotional, empathetic one. Once I struck on the idea of being a film critic, watching a film and having thoughts provoked rather than submerging into emotional investment, Matt called that we had got it.

So in terms of why I am writing this now, I remembered how hard it is to get things right in making a film. It is a group effort but every person’s role is so important as to put a fair amount of strain on each individual in the collective. What with the auteur system still firmly in place in Western cinema – as far as I am aware anyway – the responsibility often sits on the shoulders of the director. Success, failure, will often go to them, or to the faces we see in the film, as people are our way into narratives and ideas. That’s how our psychology tends to work, searching for the human we can relate to, or at least try to understand. Thinking about the weight of the scene and its importance in the film as a whole, I was more than a bit nervous, though I felt very looked after by Matt and the other crew members. To do this as a job… I couldn’t, I don’t think, not all the time. So I salute those who do do it, and make it appear effortless, and appreciate that the abuse actors get in terms of ‘not doing a proper job’ is really a twisted compliment, in that they don’t seem to be doing anything at all. To seem seamless, the illusion that belies the construction, to immerse an audience in the world you are portraying. A world that has been created but a world nonetheless. It is hard going. I respect anyone who manages to make a film. Not that that film should not be open to criticism but that every film should be given the base appreciation of simply being made. Being part of the process again reminded me of the work and effort that goes in to every shot. The craft of it. I remembered why I love film. Even films that I disagree with, quite frequently as you are more than aware of if you have read previous entries here, are achievements for existing.

I take a disproportionate comfort in that.

Matthew Baren, Emily Morgan

The Not-So-Ugly Gosling

Like the rest of the world it seems, I am going a bit nuts for Ryan Gosling. Not just his wonky face and husky voice but, y’know, his talent as an actor. My adoration does not stop at his aesthetically pleasing appearance nor his skill but for his decisions. His choice of his recent roles has left me incredibly impressed. So excuse me as I try to explain amidst the Gosling saturation – oh to be amidst the Gosling saturation – why I think he is a bit more than your typical hawt new Hollywood spark. Avoiding any more references to my lust. Apologies.
He has, quite spectacularly, managed to balance his exposure to the perfect point. He is immediately recognisable but has been something of a slow burner. Starting out as a Mouseketeer but being fired for – gasp! – talking about sex to his fellow yoot. Bit rich considering colleague Britney Spears made most of her early career from talking-but-not-talking about having-but-not-having sex. She has kids now, at least that is settled. His star began its ascent from featuring in weepy-and-a-bottle-of-wine favourite The Notebook (Nick Cassavetes, 2004), which has enough members of the Cassavetes clan in it to make it worth a second watch in my opinion. The off-screen passion he shared with co-star Rachel McAdams kept the interest in the film going for longer than many anticipated yet did not seem as overblown as other professional pairings. His character is a relatively standard romantic hero, a loyal to the point of creepily insistent boy of poor birth who gets the girl, even if the girl grows up and cannot remember him. The poster summed it all up really. They’re kissing, it’s raining, they don’t notice…

Rachel McAdams, Ryan Gosling

But his first film was The Believer (Henry Bean, 2001) a sinister Grand Jury Prize at Sundance winner, that follows a vehement Nazi who is Jewish himself. The force of Gosling’s performance is pretty stunning considering he was rather young at the time – not to say actors get better as they age, but to pull off such a complex character amongst a minefield of issues, to carry such a film squarely on his shoulders, those shoulders, so strong… Sorry, I digress.

The portrayal of troubled – generic Hollywood speak for interesting – characters continued with a kind, drug-addled teacher in Half Nelson (Ryan Fleck, 2006) and a traumatised man with social difficulties in Lars and the Real Girl (Craig Gillespie, 2007). Gosling brought an empathetic believability to both roles with a deftness of touch that other actors could not spare as their hands were already outstretched for the awards they were convinced they would win.

Then comes Blue Valentine (Derek Cianfrance, 2010), a film that I have already gone on about in length elsewhere here but depicts an atypical – read realistic – relationship, miles away from the classic happily fated one six years beforehand of The Notebook. Not that Gosling strays away from seemingly saccharine romantic comedy, as in Crazy Stupid Love (Glen Ficarra, 2011). But even here, there are surprises. The ending is optimistic and ambiguous without being too neatly tied. Jacob is groomed and polished to perfection, spending as much time on his appearance as the women that he picks up in his favourite haunt but is in turn haunted by his parents’ relationship, acting like his mother to survive but constantly trying to reach out to his father. There has been a wave of snobbish reactions to Crazy Stupid Love but it is one of the smartest, sweetest, sanest romantic comedies of recent years. And Gosling got himself a juicy piece of the pie.

And then there is Drive (Nicolas Winding Refn, 2011). The driver has no name but then he does not need one. He barely needs words. We only have him for a hundred minutes. No more, no less. The scratches of his background and the bleak thin horizon of his future are motivating but mute. What matters is the journey – and what a ride it is. The fascinating thing to me about Gosling’s character is the mix of feminine and masculine tropes. He may be handy with a hammer but he wears a plush silk jacket and gold boots. He does not smoke or drink but he can kill people swiftly. He falls in love with a young mother, trying to make life for her and her son better but is oddly asexual, focusing on the man with the information he needs whilst surrounded by naked strippers. Something akin to Ripley in the Alien series, playing with the visual signals we have grown accustomed to as an audience to make a greater comment through characters that transcend gender and are shown to be all too human.

To summarise, the Gosling is becoming a mighty fine goose making mighty fine choices. Admittedly, it cannot all be him though his performances are the effects of what we cannot see. Perhaps a lot of this is down to filmmakers such as Cianfrance and Winding Refn being able to make the films that they do in this climate. Perhaps a lot of this is down to being in the right place at the right time. Perhaps a lot of this is down to his agent.

At least there is someone out there earning their ten percent.

Antichrist? Certainly. Anti-Women? You’re Having a Lars-ugh.

If controversy becomes a constant in your career, are you still controversial? Lars von Trier is no stranger but gets stranger with every film he makes, if only in his public appearances. So to mark his vow of silence – the jury is still out as to whether semaphore or other non-verbal communication remains an option – I am going to speak out and for this rather interesting filmmaker. There has been a fair amount of hoo-hah regarding Melancholia (Lars von Trier, 2011) and the infamous Cannes press conference where he appeared to sympathise with Hitler, which is ridiculous because to me, and many others, he was floundering in an uncomfortable, borderline inappropriate, line of questioning. I am not even going to waste any more of my dexterity on commenting on that because I am more intrigued by a different type of discrimination and offense that he has continually received criticism for: his treatment of women in his body of work, both on screen and off. My focus will mainly be on screen, as off screen is so often speculation and I do not feel that I have enough information to sufficiently argue anything. So for now, my opinions…

The usual suspects...

Before I begin, I want to turn my attention to Kirsten Dunst, one of the leads in Melancholia, and this quote regarding the ‘scissor scene’ in Antichrist (Lars von Trier, 2009) from this article (http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2011/oct/04/kirsten-dunst-melancholia-interview):

‘”That kind of film is harder for someone like me to get away with. I’m more in the public eye than Charlotte.” She pauses to reconsider. “It’s something about Charlotte’s body, too. You couldn’t have someone like me, with big breasts, in that film. Charlotte’s thin and her breasts are small and that’s easier to watch somehow. For someone like me to do that film – it would almost be ridiculously shocking.”‘

What up, KD? It’s somehow acceptable to watch a thin, flat-chested woman mutilate herself than one with whacking great nawks? ‘Cos then it would just be porn, right? Somehow being more androgynous makes this kind of display more palatable? Less about femininity? When I posed this for discussion, the comments that I garnered ranged from ‘WTF?!’ to some rather nasty personal attacks on Dunst. However, having thought on it more with my friend Matt (don’t forget to follow his own adventures regarding his film at http://matthewbaren.tumblr.com) he rightly pointed out that Dunst seems to be making more of a statement regarding her celebrity status and exposure globally compared to Charlotte Gainsbourg. Neither of these actresses has shied away from challenging work but Dunst’s profile is, for lack of a better word, bigger. Not just because of her mammaries. Gainsbourg has not been in a mega franchise, whereas Dunst has. Yes, both of them were child actresses who dealt with themes such as paedophilia and incest early on in their careers, but have had very different trajectories. It would be somehow more shocking to see Dunst in the ‘scissor scene’ because she is an American, near-universally recognised actress, not because of her particular feminine appearance. Though she bares all in Melancholia she undergoes a different strain of self-exposure and self-harm. Melancholia itself is one of the few films in recent memory – well mine anyway – that primarily features two female leads and goes much of the distance to passing the Bechdel test (http://bechdeltest.com/). Dunst’s character is paraded in the first half of the film, pressured to be happy. She has a career, a marriage – what more could she want? Peace of mind, which does not come until all those around her lose their heads. Then you will be a woman, my daughter. Lars von Trier made the film after his own intense depression and has made no secret of the fact that Charlotte Gainsbourg in Antichrist is the manifestation of the beginning of that depression. He chooses female characters to represent himself. There may be a fair bit of self-loathing in him. But misogyny? Hmm…

Speaking of Antichrist, what a palarver that turned out to be. Everyone seemed to want to claim the film as misogynistic, even though a theme, expressed through Charlotte Gainsbourg’s character’s PhD research, was femicide throughout history. In particular, the murder of women seen to have powers, such as witch trials. Willem Dafoe throttles his wife to death after her vengeful rampage and is stopped in his tracks by ghostly faceless women. This final image of the film lingered with me much longer than the graphic violence, committed by both Gainsbourg and Dafoe on each other. Perhaps it could be read that Dafoe’s character cannot escape the power of women. He is outnumbered and surrounded. The women rendered blank rise up to confront an incredibly pompous character. For me, Antichrist was less about gender and more to do with the Gothic divide between nature and science. There is only so much we can explain away. Dafoe’s character reacts with an almost sterile grief, sanctioned by psychiatry, and takes it upon himself to cure his wife, who begins to unravel in the face of his certainty. She forces him into a darker place and exceedingly desperate actions because she is unbound by her loss. Aware of the cry of all that lives that is to die, she embodies the unpredictable, the chaos of nature that reigns. What can be created ultimately must be destroyed. She is a terrifying, mighty figure – and he, with his treatments, fails to suppress and control her as he wishes. Though she dies, he is not triumphed or lauded.

Where are you?

A woman gets her way, having been brutally treated, in Dogville (Lars von Trier, 2003). Grace, played by Nicole Kidman, is gradually stripped of her humanity, raped and enslaved. Again, a man, this time in the form of Paul Bettany’s writer, tries to claim her experience as his own through his interpretation. He is made to pay for his mistakes, along with the whole town. Excessive, perhaps – but Grace ends up the stronger.

Grace by name and by nature...?

Dancer in the Dark (Lars von Trier, 2000), part of von Trier’s “Golden Hearts” trilogy, follows an Eastern European immigrant with failing sight trying to make a life for herself with her son. Selma works incredibly hard and is kind to everyone she meets. In a hideous series of events, her neighbours turn on her, in a scenario not dissimilar to the mob versus the outsider as shown in Dogville, and she is killed for a crime she did not commit. A woman is put through hell, so therefore von Trier must hate women. Uh, sure. This film spoke to me of America and its history, its present. Selma’s love of musicals and the ideology behind American dream seem naive but heartfelt. It is those around her, ‘native’ Americans, that are hideous. We are led to empathise with Selma and the injustice of her situation. I remember the gutting feeling I had when the film ended so clearly. I was always on Selma’s side – and I think von Trier was too.

I have seen it all...

The Idiots (Lars von Trier, 1998) depicts another grieving mother going against the social tide. Unlike Antichrist, Karen takes a quieter, though no less orthodox, approach to her emotions. The depiction of disabled people has caused much ruckus but I will refer you to my extensive A-Level work on the matter and the scene where the commune are confronted with their own assumptions when faced with spending time with the very people they are trying to emulate. Karen finds release through choosing to behave in a questionable manner but emphasis on her choosing. She refuses to live up to others’ expectations of her, particularly in her role as a mother, rejecting social mores to heal herself.

Lars von Trier's women get their cake and, er, eat it too

Breaking the Waves (Lars von Trier, 1996) may be the hardest von Trier film I have ever watched. Emily Watson is stunning as Bess, a woman with learning difficulties who is preyed upon and used as a vehicle for others’ guilt and attempts to do the right thing. What Bess goes through is, unsurprisingly at this point, horrific. But she is the saintly one in a very bad bunch. Her faith and dedication are shown to be real and victorious, if not in this lifetime.

Caught between a bell and a wave

Hopefully I have made my point – I DO NOT THINK LARS VON TRIER IS A MISOGYNIST. Quite the opposite. He is one of the few directors in this day and age who gives his actresses fascinating characters to portray. His next project? Rumoured to be a pornographic film, with both hardcore and softcore cuts. With his production company already doing a fine line in pornography for women, I have to say I am, er, excited for this.

I will be watching Lars, even if you must resort to holding up pictures of stick people at press conferences in the future.

Shameless Plug

So this is my friend, who is making a film, and the first post regards something very interesting. I am still thinking on it, having only been introduced to this test but I want to share and encourage you all to follow him on his journey. One on which, incidentally, I am joining him for a leg, as I am going to be in it. Oh.

http://matthewbaren.tumblr.com/

Albrights and Marylins: Virtual Empires and Actual Power

So behind every great man is a great woman, you say? Is she sneaking up behind him or ready to catch him if he falls? Perhaps she is simply in the back of his mind all the time – but what an innovative mind that may be. Despite being of the generation that is consumed by the internet, it took me a while to get round to seeing The Social Network (David Fincher, 2010). But I thought, you know, great. I admire both Andrew Garfield and Jesse Eisenberg, for both their acting talents and the luck of the genetic draw they got to look the way they do. They are both playing geeks. Proper nerds. Nerds are cool. Finally.

The film blew me away, mainly because of its tempo. It just does not let up – why should it? We live at a different speed now, fibre optic cables transmitting globally, Wi-Fi updating statuses through the air. The roster of characters and their behaviour was almost unbelievable until I saw through the business, appletinis, Napster, Silicon Valley… This is Rome. Everything Shakespeare forgot to mention about Octavius Caesar is put out in full for us by Aaron Sorkin and Jesse Eisenberg.

They also fill us in on everything Homer left out about Helen of Troy, or Erica Albright as she is here. The woman that launched a thousand statuses, played by Rooney Mara, the nattily named soon-to-be Queen of Hollywood, if how she looks as Lisbeth Salander has anything to go by. Anyone inspired by Gena Rowlands is someone to watch out for in my Facebook.

The other most prominent female character in the film is Marilyn, played by Rashida Jones, who is on Mark’s defence team. Otherwise the women are Silicon Valley geek groupies, who turn into obsessive paranoid girlfriends. There is not a sense that Sorkin or Fincher are commenting on all women – but perhaps most of the women in that particular social set. The majority of the characters are male, which speaks volumes about the way business is conducted in modern times.

To me, this is a film that begins and ends with an asshole.

“You are probably going to be a very successful computer person. But you’re going to go through life thinking that girls don’t like you because you’re a nerd. And I want you to know, from the bottom of my heart, that that won’t be true. It’ll be because you’re an asshole. ”

“You’re not an asshole, Mark. You’re just trying so hard to be.”

Marilyn and Erica seem to be the two people – let alone the fact that they are women – that Mark seems to genuinely care about what they think of him. Everyone else is shot down whereas with Erica and Marilyn, he says nothing to them but seems to act on their opinions. They give the first and the last impressions of Mark, powerful positions in a film that has been rumoured to go as far as to constitute Jesse Eisenberg’s wardrobe entirely of clothes worn by “The Real Mark Zuckerberg”. Whether this just means different instances of the same item or togs with MZ DNA present, who knows – but it is a fantastic story. Both of these impressions relate to Mark’s asshole-ness but with insight. Dare Sorkin and Fincher say feminine?

In the wake of the global economic crisis, there has been the occasional article since 2008 that has baffled me. Article X(X or Y?) will argue, whether from a neurological, sociological or biological basis, a gender essentialist line that more women in business is a good thing. This is because the hallmarks of femininity – caring, sharing, consideration – is the missing element that will halt all bank crises in the future. All these silly male bankers with their testosterone and their testicles and their lack of concern for their fellow humans, concentrating only on profit… This is a male thing, not a business thing, right? That the desired personality type in business has ‘classic’ masculine attributes does not limit people who work in business to being solely male, neither will an increase of women automatically produce financial harmony due to an expectation of an increase in ‘classic’ feminine attributes. Until there is a realisation that people are people who have different personality attributes – aggression vs. passivity seems to be the major dichotomy in business – regardless of sex or gender, and are capable of behaving differently, the responsibility for the banking crisis is not going to be fully met. Fair enough, I would like to see more women in business but only if each individual woman is up to the job on the basis of what she does, not that she is a she who is expected to maternally oversee the stocks floor as if it were a creche.

The Social Network does not necessarily appear to condone these ideas of women in business, rather reflect the views of others. It is, after all, for its modernity and topical relevance, an eerily traditional – almost ancient – tale of power struggles. Zuckerberg goes to war over Helen Erica and is guided by Pallas Athena Marilyn, a source of wisdom who seems to understand how utterly alone he really is, who throws him a bone as to not having to try to be so mean, suggesting that there is a hurt boy underneath the fierce emperor. Zuckerberg’s own approach to women is shown almost as a barometer of his power. That the film begins with ‘women’ casting him out, accepting him back once he is successful but only for hook-ups in bar toilets, then seeing through him once the empire falls under attack… It is a strange indicator, this narrative strain of women, of the simultaneous high and low esteem that Zuckerberg et al hold women in. They are both unattainable and disposable, caring and caustic, desirable and despicable.

TwoFaced-book?

What I Call “Progressive”

I love Miranda (2009 – present). Yes, it has been criticised for being old-fashioned – but that is part of its joy. The laughter track works, as do Miranda’s vaguely Hancock inspired turns to camera, and the slapstick… The thing that gets me is that, as a sitcom, Miranda is a cake we have eaten many times before but never quite with this icing. Miranda is single, has her own business, and is a bit rubbish at plenty of things. But she is charming, funny, and not afraid to look at deeper, more complex relationships. The episode in the second series where she and her mother awkwardly try to avoid letting a psychiatrist in on their dynamic is both oddly touching and hilarious. Miranda has an on-off, will-they-won’t-they with her friend Gary, who likes her company and spark, but promptly draws a line when he does not reveal to her an important piece of his past that affects her trust in him. She has self-respect, even if she admits how klutzy she is and that the majority of running jokes are based on her not-that-classically-feminine appearance. But we are always laughing with her, not at her. That a woman has her own sitcom without having been in a mainly male-led previous success (Yes, I am looking at you The New Adventures of Old Christine) that portrays a woman in all her humanity but in a very similar format… Well, it feels normal. As it should.

Heather Smalls may ask Miranda Hart et al what they have done today to feel proud. I think plenty.

Another Unrelated Island – Women of a Certain Age on Screen

For someone who writes a feminist critique of TV and film, About A Boy (Chris Weitz, Paul Weitz, 2002) may not be the answer that springs to mind when asked, “What was the first DVD you ever bought?” However, dear reader, that is the truth in my case. My impressionable young brain seems to have picked on a particular theme from the film to commit to memory – the island. Will, played by Hugh Grant, declares at the beginning of the film that, “all men are islands. And what’s more, now’s the time to be one. This is an island age.” Despite incorrectly attributing Jon Bon Jovi with the original quote, Will grows enough in character if not general knowledge to conclude in the coda that, “Every man is an island. I stand by that. But clearly some men are island chains. Underneath, they are connected.”

 

Archipelago (Joanna Hogg, 2010) is a term that by definition seems to doubt that islands are connected. ‘A group of islands scattered in a large body of water’. The characters in Joanna Hogg’s second film are certainly a scattered bunch. A family holiday sees the small collective each facing their own issues that seem inextricably linked to those who are meant to be closest in their lives but who are actually consistently distant. Repressed members of the upper middle classes on holiday is not a genre that is likely to catch on but it is one that Joanna Hogg has made her forte, with painfully unflinching observations that rarely feel constructed. The long static shots become prisons, where audiences are sentenced along with the characters. Sometimes, in small ways, they are able to connect. Not in any overtly sentimental or secure manner but enough to relieve the tension of years, established in under two hours. Her status as an auteur who happens to be female is quickly being cemented and I am excited to see what she does next – even though I would be pleased to see something where characters stay put rather than use their not-so-relaxing leisure time as a metaphor for being away from oneself.

 

Hogg’s debut, Unrelated (2007), is set in the beautiful but remote countryside of Tuscany. The cinematographer, Ed Rutherford, makes you want to be there, if not as a guest of the people that Anna, played by Kathryn Worth, goes to stay with. Anna is that startling thing amongst middle-aged women, partnered without children. Arriving at her old friend V’s villa, she may be the same age as the ‘Olds’ but feels drawn to the ‘Youngs’, in particular the troubled Oakley, played by Tom Hiddleston. She seems to consider herself an old child rather than an adult precisely because she is not a parent. However, the hysterical, neglectful and borderline abusive parenting strategies of V, her husband and Oakley’s father make Anna appear more responsible though she is discovering her reckless side. Kathryn Worth’s performance delicately strains Anna, as every movement and sentence tells of a lifetime of not-joining-in, of waiting. Straddling the divide between the two sections of the tribe, Anna cannot help but fall through the middle, becoming the unintentional catalyst of a break down in generational relations.

The reason behind Anna’s visit is a deeply distressing one. She can no longer have children. Her choice has been made for her by her biology. Whether she never wanted children until she could not have them, or if her partner’s decision not to procreate became hers, is not explicitly explained. It does not have to be. Anna’s break down to V of this discovery is heart wrenching. Compared with the aforementioned About A Boy, where Will’s determination to be childless and alone is played for humour (“Well, fingers crossed, yeah.”) this scene touches upon the tangible but typically hidden sadness of infertility. Yet, with the help of her friend welcoming her back into her family, Anna is at the end of the film still unrelated but not unloved. The tantalisingly ambiguous phone conversation she has with her partner on her way to the airport leaves Anna in a perfectly pitched emotional epiphany. There is hope for her happiness in what she has, not what she is not able to have. She is her own island. Sort of.

For a film that is otherwise quite radical in its honesty, Unrelated does show the heterosexual relationship being the salvation. Though I sometimes wish that someone heeded the words of Marcus from About A Boy, “I don’t think couples are the future”, Anna’s relationship situation is portrayed in a refreshingly realistic light, with Alex, Anna’s partner, only ever mentioned, never heard. We are with her entirely, not privy to what he says in their signal-thwarted mobile conversations. Patriarchs are on the other end of the line for Hogg, as the father in Archipelago is similarly unheard, unseen but present in their marked absence. Anna has been with Alex for twelve years. I am not sure I am completely convinced by the strength of their relationship to weather such a storm that has been brewing for what seems to be the entirety of that time but Worth manages to quietly convince in her giddy final conversation.

 

 

Unfortunately not everyone is as lucky to have a partner in good times and bad as Anna. Another Year (Mike Leigh, 2010), shows a year in the life of a happily married middle class couple, Tom, played by Jim Broadbent, and Gerri, played by Ruth Sheen. They seem to be in the business of being the steady rocks for their assorted archipelago of friends. Their two single friends are alcoholic and thoroughly depressed. There almost seems to be a hint of support in trying to get Mary, played by Lesley Manville, and Ken, played by Peter Wight, to couple off, perhaps not for their happiness but just so that they stop bothering Tom and Gerri. In particular, for Mary to stop flirting with Joe, Tom and Gerri’s son, whom she has known since his birth. Mary becomes the focus of the film gradually, as her situation becomes more and more desperate. Though Gerri is a counsellor, she talks to Mary like a child rather than a friend or patient. Mary is often manic, unable to function without several glasses of white wine. She used to get by on her girly giggle but men do not respond to her in the way they used to, even if those men were married. Mary’s attempt at independence, buying a little red car, is privately laughed at behind her back, with the men pointing out her inadequacy in knowing the engine power. She is an exasperating presence but a woman who has not had the kindest hand dealt her. Perhaps if she concentrated on herself rather than the pursuit of a man, she would be happy? The film ends bleakly, with Mary feeling isolated, surrounded by people she sees rather than knows, who consider her a burden. The sound of family chatter fades to leave Mary staring silently into space.

 

I cannot tell if Leigh wants us to sympathise with Mary or not. Manville is stunning at making her as sympathetic as possible, even if those around Mary are convinced as to her remaining a sad case. Leigh rarely pulls punches in leaving an audience adrift but finishing on Mary’s misery, extending it eternally by making it the final point of the film, seems a tad cruel. And that she’s called Mary? Puh-lease. Emphasising the first syllable of dichotomy much, Mike? Maybe I am being unfair. Leigh is renowned for his compassion for characters who are put upon by life. Manville’s role in All Or Nothing (Mike Leigh, 2002) as a dedicated mother who finally gets a break through the positive aftermath of her son’s near-fatal heart attack, is nervy like Mary but ultimately rewarded. Perhaps Leigh is asking us to sympathise with Mary, as Hogg seems to be doing with Anna. The social construct of the family may appear strong and loving but is rarely an easy or happy state of affairs, particularly for those who dare to not conform, often not by choice. Hogg and Worth and Leigh and Manville, through their interesting, complex characters of Anna and Mary, provide portrayals of a group often overlooked and misunderstood. Hopefully this trend grows, if only to give brilliant female actors such as Worth and Manville more to do.

 

People are islands, chained together in ways they want and ways they hate. Cinema can show us how we are connected, how we fall apart and how we sometimes manage to come back together again. That women are being better represented across age ranges and class, if only in British productions for now, is helping to bring the bigger picture into better focus. Anna and Mary are female characters who are not presented as pin ups or aspirational. They are real. They are genuine. They are human. They are just different to what we have come to expect.

 

What a nice surprise.

 

Speculating Beauty

I know what you are thinking – if you are enough like me, that is. Not another Emily Browning-as-prostitute film in such a short space of time. Why I ever looked to a film whose title features both ‘suck’ and ‘punch’ to be good I will never know. Please refer yourselves to Ultra Culture as to how this is the most misogynist piece of work to be considered worthy of national release for a wee while.

“A haunting erotic fairy tale about Lucy, a student who drifts into prostitution and finds her niche as a woman who sleeps, drugged, in a ‘Sleeping Beauty chamber’ while men do to her what she can’t remember the next morning.”

Not sure exactly at what point in the sentence where I think it stops sounding erotic but for me it is around the ‘sleeps, drugged’ part. I have not read the book. I have only watched the trailer. But already I feel disconcerted at this being marketed as an ‘erotic’ piece. Some images in the trailer stirred me. Lots of beautiful people in a confined space wearing what looks like Agent Provocateur, for example. Comatose, pre-pubescent looking girl waiting for sleazy businessmen (as seen at 0.57) to do things that do not matter because she is not awake before, during, or after. What this will do for the notion of consent baffles me. Haunting, yes. Erotic – er, not my cup of tea, even if it is your Rohypnol.

Another point that makes me feel I am crazy. The font used appears to be identical to this:

Why does this even bother me? Am I making a link where younger people interested in a film about Facebook will not?

Maybe the film itself deals with these issues brilliantly. But the marketing… Are we the ones being lulled into the promise of beauty by the authoritative, seductive yet ultimately distant female voice over, to sit in the dark and be changed without our knowing? Maybe this is just a dream.

I just hope I wake up in time.

Awards Are Upon Us And The Black Swan Is Getting Fat… (Or Not)

“For admitting that there is something divine, good, and desirable, we hold that there are two other principles, the one contrary to it, the other such as of its own nature to desire and yearn for it. But the consequence of their view is that the contrary desires its own extinction. Yet the form cannot desire itself, for it is not defective, nor can the contrary desire it, for contraries are mutually destructive.” — Physics, Book I, Chapter 9, Aristotle.

“We all know the story. Virginal girl, pure and sweet, trapped in the body of a swan. She desires freedom but only true love can break the spell. Her wish is nearly granted in the form of a prince, but before he can declare his love her lustful twin, the black swan, tricks and seduces him. Devastated the white swan leaps of a cliff killing herself and, in death, finds freedom.” — Thomas Leroy, Black Swan.

When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a prima ballerina. The structure of my foot failed to meet my enthusiasm, forcing me to give up pursuing that particular dream. Having watched Black Swan (Darren Aronofsky, 2010), I am grateful to my flat feet for saving me from what could have so easily become a nightmare. I watched this film nearly a month and a half ago. Instead of writing, I have spouted streams of ideas and thoughts surrounding themes in the film, changed my mind at least four times and have still not come to any solid conclusion as to how I definitely feel towards the film. So apologies if the following seems quite sporadic. What I can say, however, is that it is a film that has made me think. Probably the only awards contender that has made me think. That, in itself, deserves merit. If you are looking for a conclusion, that is the one you are likely to get from this so best to stop reading now otherwise I will waste your time – though if you are reading this, I think you are wanting to waste time. Expand your mind, of course but I don’t judge procrastinators as a general type – please consider this a safe space.

Nina, the main character of Black Swan – perhaps the only character, if some interpretations are to be believed – is no slacker. She lives, dreams, works, eats (barely) ballet. A moment by herself in the dark, angular corridors of the labyrinthine practice rooms is spent with eyes shut, contemplatively and tentatively practicing tender hand movements. She is in her own world, and that world is ballet – but ballet as she sees it. Whether this is ballet as she wants to see it or is forced and manipulated into seeing it by her domineering mother, Erica, is not really answered, but plenty is implied (so much of this film is left to us to decipher and decide). Erica devoted herself to ballet, more specifically to the director of the company, resulting in both Nina and the end of Erica’s career. When Nina gets the role that could make her, will it just break her?

We all know the story. Aronofsky knows we all know the story. But instead of creating something utterly unique, he seems to be referencing – unintentionally or otherwise – so many other directors that he risks giving his audience whiplash what with all the double takes. The tight, stalking close up from behind reminiscent of Rosetta (Luc and Jean-Pierre Dardenne, 1999), which Aronofksy toyed with in The Wrestler (Darren Aronofsky, 2008). The lofty performance halls, sexual repression brought to the surface in the bathroom, self-mutilation, mutilation of others and asphyxiating mother-daughter relationship are straight out of The Piano Teacher (Michael Haneke, 2001). Twinges of body horror similar to David Cronenberg. Women grappling with split personalities or threatening others such as in Persona (Ingmar Bergman, 1966) or Perfect Blue (Satoshi Kon, 1998). For some reason, ballet in cinema is just treated as so damned tragic and creepy, meaning Black Swan could be part of an informal trilogy, its companions being Suspiria (Dario Argento, 1977) and The Red Shoes (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressberger,1948). Before I break imdb.com, let me point out that I do not think that this is necessarily a flaw in the film. If anything, having so many references to other films highlights how common its themes are. Common and ancient but pressing nonetheless.

There are many times where Black Swan looks and feels like a companion piece to The Wrestler. Aronofsky himself has discussed that one deals with high art, the other with low art, and the strains on the body that ballet dancers and wrestlers put themselves through, the quest to push physical boundaries, almost becoming superhuman, transcendent. The link present in both films between performance and mortality is striking. Aronofsky captures more, though. He sees the choreography and violence inherent in both ballet and wrestling. The inquisitive camera cannot turn away from Nina tearing apart her delicate pink shoes to score the soles, cracking their stiff form in the same way she stretches her spine. The wrestlers discuss their moves before a fight, agreeing where to go soft, where to let rip, got to give them a good show, even if it means risking your neck… In my opinion, Aronofsky, more than any other director working today, understands completely that gender is a performance. Taken to extremes, we can never be ourselves by following footwork set down by others. What is the point in living, if your life is not yours?

If anything, there are too many issues in Black Swan. My notes from when I saw the film: pressure from all sides: to relax, from teacher/father figure to be both virgin/whore, threat of age posed by Beth and mother, recurrence, thwarted sexuality yet pressured to flourish, mother lives vicariously through daughter, threat posed by other women/stealing ‘role’, aesthetic/losing weight/childlike, becoming a woman: shard of reflection/image/mirror/other self, penetrative stabbing, quivering white surrounding vaginal bloody mess… And they go on. The film hints at each one gingerly making for a rich subtext. There is depth, certainly – but often I felt like I was drowning.

It is still the most interesting film out there in contention for awards. Though I am glad that Natalie Portman has been so unanimously awarded, as she carries the film effortlessly, gripping and convincing in every scene – and I mean every scene of the film, as she is in every one – there has been little in terms of recognition elsewhere. Maybe the nominations will do everyone involved some good. Maybe everyone was annoyed at having to try to figure out what was going on whilst The King’s Speech (Tom Hooper, 2010) stuck to its safe Hollywood-and-historical-accuracy-lite structure. Though I am a fan of the Firth, he won that Oscar because of his brilliant turns in A Single Man (Tom Ford, 2009) and Genova (Michael Winterbottom, 2008) but also because he is the King of Speeches. I would give him an award for Best Vacuuming if it meant I could hear another snippet of that self-deprecating, witty charm. So no gold for anyone else involved. Typical awards disappointment. How original of me.

More importantly, with the news that Aronofksy is on board to helm the next Wolverine film, is it possible that we are witnessing his Black Swan-song from challenging, disturbing films? I hope not. Who knows, maybe we’ll be queuing round the block to get a seat for Black Wolf.

That adamantium suite sure is a toe tapper.