L'Eclisse (Michelangelo Antonioni)

Aliens.

Deemed by Martin Scorsese as the 'boldest' film in Michelangelo Antonioni's trilogy of emotional isolation (the other two films being "L'Avventura" and "La Notte"), "L'Eclisse", especially in its final moments, has displayed just that and has also solidified, at least in my eyes, Antonioni's status as one of the greatest filmmakers of all time. 

     

Enhanced by Monica Vitti's powerfully disillusioning and mercurial performance as Vittoria and Alain Delon's animated turn as her overly passionate (but I doubt that this is the right term for his character) stockbroker of a lover named Piero, "L'Eclisse" is an exemplary depiction of the qualms of leading an ennui-ridden life in a materialistic world. As highlighted by the film's almost nauseating visualization of the stock market, Antonioni is eager in exposing the chaotic repercussions of money. But more importantly, I think that, more or less, the film is truly an ambitious meditation on loneliness. 

     

Throughout the film, we see Vittoria do all sorts of recreational things to alleviate her angst-ridden state of mind. From riding a plane, dancing in the tune of a native African music to chasing dogs, she has done it all. But still, empty she was. Along then came Piero, an aggressive, over-materialistic lad whose advances to Vittoria was first received with coldness, and then with passionate abandon. Both slightly cautious at first, they then began to have a series of brief romantic encounters that has neither meaning nor worth. 

     

In many ways, "L'Eclisse" is a thoroughly pessimistic view on modern romance and how it's just impossible to maintain one in a money-driven world. In its majority, the film is exclusive in its observation of Vittoria's alienation. But by the end of the film, by way of a conclusive montage that has a certain power only a few scenes from a select number of films can muster, Antonioni suddenly transfers the alienation from Vittoria to us, the viewers. 

     

By focusing mainly on a mundane street corner, its various trivialities and several 'alien' faces while completely removing Vittoria and even Piero from the whole picture, we ourselves are lost. 'Where have the characters gone?' 'Who are these people?' 'Where am I?' These are the questions that Antonioni has sparked within me as the montage kicks in. Through this striking sequence, Antonioni lets us feel that particular feeling of isolation and fear of not being able to perceive and interpret the things we're seeing. The resulting feeling, at least for me, is truly transcendent and somehow spine-chilling. 

     

As those final minutes play out, I was literally lost for words; I can't decipher the holistic meaning of the images because the scene, I believe, is really meant to be 'incommunicable'. Bar none, "L'Eclisse" is certainly one of the most emotionally and perceptively unique cinematic experiences of my life. 50 years after its creation, its themes are still supremely relevant. At the end of the day, I think it's either "L'Eclisse" is truly a timeless masterwork or our everyday living hasn't really changed that much after all. For me, I think it's a great combination of both. Despite of "L'Eclisse's" esoteric quality, it has an emotional and reflective appeal that transcends cinematic barriers. This is auteurism at its best.

FINAL RATING

 

L'Avventura (Michelangelo Antonioni)

Claudia.

Before anything else, let me first, for the record, state that I love Michelangelo Antonioni's films. Be it the psychological enigma that is "Blowup", the mysterious identity thriller that is "The Passenger" or the marital woe-laden "La Notte", he has always been a hit to me. Without exaggeration, I consider him as one of the greatest auteurs of all time, and I'm not even halfway through his sterling filmography yet. So with that in mind, I went on to watch "L'Avventura", the first film in his informal 'Incommunicability Trilogy', with an expectation of being blown away once more. But alas, it has not happened. 

     

Hailed as a cinematic work that has revolutionized the way films are structured and executed, "L'Avventura" is quite a disappointment for me as far as Michelangelo Antonioni and his films are concerned. But then again, maybe that is the film's point. After all, the film is a prolonged observation of emotional detachment, which is the same thing that I have felt while watching the film. 

     

Though I understand where the characters are coming from, the film has still alienated me to high heavens. If perhaps that is Mr. Antonioni's ultimate intent, then I am impressed once more. If it's not, then maybe I deserve to be sentenced to an eternal cinematic damnation for not liking a film that everyone seems to love. But kidding aside, I think that "L'Avventura" is really that kind of film that is quite difficult to like but is easy to admire.

     

Antonioni, being the existentialist filmmaker that he is, is more concerned not with the film's literal mystery (the sudden disappearance of one of the characters) but with the emotional enigma that pervades throughout. The primary premise is simple enough: After the shocking disappearance of her friend Anna (Lea Massari) during a yacht trip, Claudia (Monica Vitt) suddenly finds herself trying to resist the urge of falling in love with Sandro (Gabriele Ferzetti), the man that's no less than Anna's current lover. But still, fell she did. 

     

All throughout the film, Michelangelo Antonioni finely questions the validity of the romance between Claudia and Sandro and invites us to witness the subtle awkwardness of it all. We see them kiss and hug in hotel rooms and on discreet street corners. We can sense that, somehow, they look fine together, but what about Anna? 

     

As the film progresses, Antonioni lays down the question of whether or not we should take Anna's disappearance literally or symbolically. Whatever our personal answers regarding it may be, it is quite evident that Antonioni has used Anna's sudden absence as a device to further explore the emotional uncertainties of the kind of love that mushrooms from such situation rather than as a shallow means to compel and excite. 

     

Despite of its slow pacing, bloated running time and alienating characters, "L'Avventura" is still a seminal film that is worthy of great veneration mainly because of how it has changed the way how cinema can communicate such things as love, existence and the feeling of being lost. I may not have liked the film that much compared to Michelangelo Antonioni's other works, but I sure do respect it for what it has contributed to the artistic progression of cinema as a whole. By creating this film, Antonioni has proven that cinema has no limitations, that it is not necessarily all about the plot and the payoff, and that cinema can exist outside the four corners of a tightly-structured narrative; the shackles are no more.

FINAL RATING

 

Lost in Translation (Sofia Coppola)

The long goodbye.

A second viewing.

Time and time again, it has been proven that a mark of a great film is the fact that no matter which place and what timeline you bring the core of the main story and its themes, the impact will always be the same. That claim is valid, of course, not strictly limited merely for films, but in every medium of artistic narratives as a whole, so to speak. Shakespeare's works, for example, right? Set "Hamlet" in Ancient Greece, "Macbeth" in Imperial China and "Romeo and Juliet" in Monarchical India, but the essence of their tales won't even be affected. 'Timeless', as they say.

But then there comes Sofia Coppola, armed with a little film called "Lost in Translation", a very picturesque 'Japan' to render fresh and some emotions to transcend. The aforementioned claim to greatness of films, as what was stated above, appeared to be not the case for "Lost in Translation" that made it rightfully so. Its theme of alienation and a subsequent connection in a haze of culture shock and language barrier (although were treated by Coppola's script with witty naivety that does not poke fun in the wrong places) was tackled perfectly by specifically setting the film in 'Japan'.

Putting it in China will get the same effect of misunderstanding and cultural difference, but the ideal Japanese bluish grayness wouldn't be there. Setting it somewhere in Europe may look too elegant, while locating the film somewhere exotic and infinitely tropical will be too adventurous and lively. The film needed stagnation, but at the same time, it asks for some unpredictable quirks and eccentricities. Japan is, after all, the definitive country there is. Tokyo's technologically advanced, contemporary metropolis, to be exact.

So, now that the alienating location was established, where would the film extract its romance? With the help of Scarlett Johansson's knowing yet discreet performance as newlywed twenty-something Charlotte and Bill Murray's naturally comic performance (that is one of the best performances of his career) as midlife crisis-inflicted actor Bob Harris, the film (along with its emotionally observant screenplay that won Sofia an Oscar) has further elevated the film from being a potentially lackluster travelogue-cum-romantic comedy film into a whole new height.

Granted, there were scenes that may look like cinematographic clichés for films set in foreign countries (the much used editing where a character is looking out from a car or a train's window, while images of landmarks are juxtaposing along with their wondrous stares and awestruck faces), but it was part of their characters. Beyond their situations, one tagging along with her husband (played by Giovanni Ribisi) for a job (Charlotte), and the other in there to shoot a whiskey commercial (Bob), although debilitated by cultures and places immensely different from their own, they still strive to appreciate Japan as it is, and to understand.

In some scenes, it was quite obvious that Bill Murray were ad-libbing lines mostly for comic effect, but it makes his character's bond with Charlotte much more genuine with all its tender spontaneity. To be precise, it is in a scene where they are eating in a typical Japanese restaurant of some sorts. Scripted or not, Bill Murray delivered his lines so irrevocably funny in a certain conversationally mundane way that Scarlett Johansson's laughs looked more authentic and very 'by-the-moment'. These sequences have helped to uphold their already very involving chemistry, and through that, they have achieved to inhabit the sensibilities of real people that for once, although how admittedly beautiful Scarlett Johansson is, by way of her portrayal of Charlotte, I wouldn't even be surprised if I bump into her character in a crowd of tourists all dazed and confused. Yes, she was that convincing.

There were many unforgettable scenes in the film mostly enhanced by Bill Murray's everyman-type slapstick and Scarlett Johansson's combination of ennui and starry-eyed cultural wonder. But it has got to be the final, evocative scene that easily takes the cake as the film's defining moment that exposes the silent power of love.

We see them say goodbye in the hotel lobby, but we all know that it was merely for formality's sake. After the brief farewell, Bob rides a car. Then in a busy corner, Bob Harris asked for his driver to stop. She saw a blond-haired woman that seems like Charlotte. It was her indeed. He went into her and they embraced. He then whispered to her something inaudible to us, but what Bob has said were just meager in importance. We have followed their connection, their relationship and their love close enough for the film's entirety that in that final whisper, we accepted their privacy and we gave it to them.

And as Bob returns to the backseat of his car that will bring him into the airport and then back into America, he alternately looks out the window and around him. The buildings and the highway. The cars and the skyline. At first, when he arrived in Tokyo, he looked upon them with questions in his mind, but after he has professed his love to an acquaintance in a foreign land that has unconsciously taught him to understand, he looked upon the metropolis with cathartic eyes. This time, it's with clarity, and with a hint of a smile.

FINAL RATING

Gummo (Harmony Korine)

Werner Herzog: "This is the entertainment of the future."

The nothingness of nothing, the meaninglessness of conformism, and the ennui of existence. Sounds like the last thing for a film to be made about, right? But then there is "Gummo", a film that tackled these with such surreal handling and awkward storytelling (that mirrors the film's essentially subversive yet minimalist approach) that, although polarizing, it has nonetheless shared such an abstract yet endlessly intriguing piece of mind extracted out of some trashed and dilapidated obscurity.

The film, although revolving around different misadventures of the tornado-stricken town's (Xenia, Ohio) juvenile inhabitants and is also seemingly at ease with its own lack of direction, its focus rests deeply upon friends/partners in crime Solomon (Jacob Reynolds) and Tummler (Nick Sutton) and their several miscellaneous exploits and small transgressions. But then, although they were the ones that were chiefly followed by the camera all throughout, its ADD is still very much evident, so why is that?

'That's what it needs', Director Harmony Korine may and could have said regarding Gummo's visual and narrative style. No, not just because of glorified 'pretense': that's too vague and generalizing a word. More than anyhing else, perhaps because it complements its characters' urban journey through whatnots and into wherevers perfectly. It dared to observe this psychologically chaotic state brought forth by a natural disaster (though I think the film is not about its traumatizing effects) with a certain amoral viewpoint.

Now, I'm almost halfway done with my review yet I still haven't written anything about what the film is really all about aside from all those pseudo-nihilistic themes mentioned in the very first sentence. But here we go, a piece of my mind.

(SPOILERS)

I look upon "Gummo" not as a film dealing with the devastating after-effects of a catastrophic tragedy but as a sharply satiric, yet thematically contrasting piece of work about the endpoint of human entropy. Throughout the film, we see all these people punching each other (genuinely), wrecking inanimate tables and chairs, and even spouting racial slurs. As we adjust into the film's confused perspective, we realize that it's their way of life, and sensitization is never one of their goals.

At first look, it's really hard to notice anything even remotely profound about the whole film, but digging deeply enough, I even found the 'feline torture fixation' prevalent in the teenagers' (especially Solomon and Tummler) set of daily activities as a surprising symbolism.

The cats are the representations of an 'orderly' life. There's one scene where Tummler is about to shoot a black cat dead, only to be talked out of it by Solomon, telling him that it's a 'house cat'. The cat then ran inside the house. Later, it was immediately revealed that its owners are three sisters that, although eccentric, live a considerably simple, relatively manicured life.

Considering that many of the juvenile characters are into killing cats, it's quite given that, based on their absurd preferences, their lives are therefore rendered directionless by their penchant for destroying these 'guardians of homes' (an Ancient Roman symbol for felines).

Then after some time, the sisters lost the black cat. They printed out fliers to distribute to people in the hopes of finding the animal. But the next thing they knew, they are being sexually harassed (unsuccessfully) by an old man in a car. Yes, the deed was prevented, but it was a shape of things to come.

The next thing we see, the two of the three sisters are already half-submerged in a pool and making out with the Bunny Boy (played by Jacob Sewell, another significant character whose place in the film is really very unclear), all while a potentially heavy rain (and a menage a trois) waits on the wings. After that, there's Solomon and Tummler staring at the said 'missing' animal with cocked cap guns. They then shot the 'black' cat dead. And in the film's most haunting moment, the Bunny Boy then shows the deceased animal directly into the camera as if proclaiming another conquest. It turns out, this so-called conquest was the three naive sisters, which are finally convinced to join in the free-for-all ride towards nihilism.

Aside from that, I also like how "Gummo" was able to convey, in utter simplicity, the sheer innocence of the mentally disabled, especially the scene of the 'challenged' woman near the end talking about how she loves to take care of her dolls and toys because she wants them "straightened out".

Because of her lack of idea of the psychological milieu around her, she is therefore very much living an 'orderly' life, fully suggested by how she sings the ever-organized 'ABC' song near the beginning. And even after all of the random acts committed by the apocalyptic characters who all want to waste away in their private wasteland of Xenia, the woman still found the time to sing "Jesus Loves Me" while she's calmly lying in her bed for a peaceful sleep.

"Gummo": started up rough, ragged, and tasteless, but ended as a simple embrace of the old adage "Ignorance is bliss". As her song lingers in the end credits, a heavy metal music suddenly interrupts it; we're back in reality.

FINAL RATING