Dr. Parnasuss and the slippery slope

This is a confusing and senile film that is littered with ideas but none of which seem to get investigate and explored to a satisfying conclusion. Ideas are just thrown out as if discarded, left for the viewer to wonder what could have been – if only – and then the film continues to clumps along aimlessly. In short this is a film that is not fully realised, it hints at many things, it seems to have a wide scope – good versus evil, creativity, death and volition – but unfortunately the story doesn’t come together to form any cohesive unity and story. It would appear that Gilliam’s flight of imagination has with this film, failed to touch back down to earth. A strong editing hand is what seems to be missing. And this makes for disappointing experience

Was it a good choice for this film to be concluded and released after the untimely death of rising star Heath Ledger, was there a story there that was worthy as something of an epitaph – as this film will invariably be used – to his legacy and potential, should this film have move time spent on post-production? These sorts of questions were always going to be levelled at this film and it is noble of Gilliam to push on through with the film’s production despite the major loss of Ledger. But an epitaph does not make a film and the parts of this film don’t add up to a worthy memorial.

Yes, themes of mortality, imagination, a bleak inevitability and pure love inhabit this film as they do in many Gilliam films but here they are strands that are not tied together and are confusingly deployed thorough out the film to no end. Are we supposed to take sympathy on Dr. Parnassus and his idiotic determination to carve out a life as a poet-storyteller? Or should we take sympathy on ourselves that we fail to appreciate the gifts that Dr. Parnassus has to offer and the general decline in our civilisations ability to appreciate storytelling and the art of imagining? And just where is Gilliam laying the blame for his despondency: a particular demographic, a political-economic cabal, the choices that consenting individuals make or somebody-or-other? It’s a nigh on impenetrable veil that Gilliam casts.

The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus starts off promisingly with a strong opening gambit of the general decline of modern western civilisation that is wallowing in drunken stupor and clipped wings of creativity. And as we see Dr. Parnassus sit lonely on his mountain outcrop we can feel his despair at what he sees, but then as the film begins to unfolds we see that Dr. Parnassus, despite his lofty prelapsarian ideals, is himself a fallen man who has recklessly gambled the lives of those dear to him and has dug his own hole.

And a hole is what Gilliam digs for himself he is never able to get a cohesive story together and get out beyond a promising beginning. As a result this film lack focus; too many ideas and not enough segues. The production design is filled with fascination and trinkets of wonder. Alone they are well crafted elements but they can’t distract from the general lack of focus and continuity this film exhibits. One must wonder about what muse was leading Gilliam’s choices in the realisation of this film.

And so finally, what of the choices that one has to make in their life? This idea is signposted at the conclusion of the film but it’s a little late for any investigation; and it’s an idea that lingers with a morbid tint. Perhaps what Gilliam is alluding to is that through the act of making a choice, sticking to it and acting upon it, one can attain a moral high ground of productivity and worthiness. Throughout the film Dr. Parnassus has given over to many a temptation presented to him – be it by a dapper and cigarette chomping devil or the reading of a fortune card – he has seemed to lack any volition of his own, so to see him make a choice at the conclusion of the film and then improve his life in the process of resolutely sticking to the choice concludes the film on a positive note.

And this review so far has said nothing of the role that the late Ledger plays, which seem to be something of a Mephisto type role. But it’s unclear just what this film, characters and director desire to tell, too much seems to fall by the wayside in this bloated meta-narrative. As it is, this film along with life and death remain clear like the water of the Thames. But a lingering thought remains, does this film need repeated viewing for its fruits to ripen

Space is the place: Space Station 3D

If the representation of life aboard the International Space Station presented in Space Station - directed by Toni Myers, presented in the IMAX format and produced by the Lockheed Martin Corporation along with NASA - is to be believed then it's a place where all of mankind’s divisions and conflicts are left far behind and a floating clowning around is the international code of conduct. Now it is presumable that any adult will realise that this is a preposterous proposition to put forward but perhaps the kids might just believe this. So beware, have your wits about you when taking off on this voyage.

The title credits of this short 47 minute documentary promise much; from the dark nebulas of the theatre, free-form parts materialise, merge and construct each credit right there, appearing tantalisingly within grasp of the viewer, then the next credit. This is an immersive spectacle and the motif of parts coming together to construct something with meaning is an excellent and exciting departure point. From here on we are guided by the overstated and cock-sure narration of Tom Cruise around some of the launch sites on Earth, the International Space Station itself and are presented a glimpse of life aboard the space station. Everything is presented with a child like glee and wonder, where there seems to be an echo of ‘all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds’ in most scenes.

We are shown some of the complexities of the construction process and space walking, that all go off without a hitch and are given the impression that this is the life of childhood dreams realised, where the world is a calm spec of awe floating in the vastness of space. All this seems to belie the politics of the situation of what life in space and in small confined environments is like – next to nothing is made of the contrast between the cramped space station and the perceivable openness of space and the psychological impact this may have on the inhabitants of the space station or of the loneliness of being away from earth. As well, none of the criticisms levelled at the International Space Station programme are addressed: primarily any controlled experiment done in space can be done cheaper on Earth. This documentary come out of the top draw of propaganda and seems to services the interests of those who have economic interests in the continuation of the International Space Station programme; namely NASA and its sub contractors.

Although 15 countries participate in the International Space Station programme this is an American show with Russia playing a supporting role in this post Cold War reach for the stars. It’s the Star Spangled Banner that has centre stage. In one scene where the first of the compartments that will eventually comprise the space station are joined, Mr. Cruise makes much ado about how the American astronauts ware Star Spangled Banner socks for the occasion of the virgin journey between joined compartments. This whiff of the nationalisation of space is conveyed with such cute matter-of-factness that it becomes disturbing to watch; an assumed ownership that reeks of toe-jam.

If the spectacles of suspended disbelief are worn for the duration of this documentary, what is presented, politics aside, are some of the steadiest and crispest actual shoots of space, Earth and the habitation of space to date. But no matter how awe inspiring these images may be, this is an unsettling document about assumed ownership, bias, corporate interest and manipulation of childhood wonder.

Ip Man: a heroic account of the man

This film – directed by Wilson Yip and with Donnie Yen in the title role – seems to take as a platform for departure, the old saying ‘why let the truth get in the way of a good story’. Of course this can be a good thing from an entertainment perspective, but take the story with a grain of salt. Ip Man opens in a shroud of mist – presumably cast to encourage suspended disbelief – with credits emerging from then disappearing again. An overture sets an epic template for things to come, the credits are brought to an end by the grand entrance of the films title accompanied by the silhouette of one Muk Yan Jong (the wooden practice dummy used by Wing Chung practitioners).

This is a mythologised account of Ip Man’s time during the second Sino-Japanese War during the 1930’s and 1940’s. At the time Japan’s sun was on the rise and was attempting to gain control of regional territories and resources. The people of China were in turn subjected to harsh treatment from an invading foe that has formally claimed to have had the intention of “racial liberation from white rule” which in turn cost the lives of some 20 million Chinese. The wounds of this are still a delicate issue in regional politics; Japan has still not denounced its motives and actions of that time. Around the personal story of Ip Man this film creates a mythology of one man making a stand which inspires many.

And Ip Man has attributes that are easy to build a myth around. He was the peerless master of his art at the time and he went on to mentor among others a young Bruce Lee. Man’s story is an attractive platform to mobilise a national struggle from. This film fits snugly into the Martial Arts genre where one man by his force of will and skill alone can take on adversity reluctantly and eloquently triumph.

In the film Man leads a somewhat hermetic life of wealth; he gracefully refuses to take on pupils, prefers to spend his days practicing his art then idling away the small hours with family and hobbies. This all changes with the Japanese invasion, Man’s fall from privileged grace to a black pit of self doubt brings on something of an ‘age of reason’ where questions of what is to be done and civic responsibility haunt the demoralised Man. After the atrocities that he witnesses Man is forced to reformat his life. And if anything of the Martial Arts genre is known, then one will know where things go from here.

Most of the characters are cut out and their developments are in the service of the collective mobilising narrative played out in the film. But this doesn’t stop Ip Man being an enjoyable film that allows the space for some genuine reflection, ruminations upon Confucian philosophic enlightenment and its place in Chinese society which is polemically positioned against a portrayal of Japanese unrefinemen and lack of honour. All this is tucked in amidst some very well choreographed and executed fight scenes that lead to an ecstatic yet solitary reflection that practice can make perfect.

Ip Man as a film can be taken two ways, as a straight out Martial Arts bio-pic or as a subtle piece of mainstream propaganda that continues the recent resurgence and reintroduction of Confucian ideas into Chinese culture that have since the dawn of the Peoples Republic been exiled. So go along for a ride but don’t get taken for a ride.

Going solo

The trailer for The Soloist – directed by Joe Wright – has being playing in theatres for the best part of a year now. Initially the idea of some moralising film about the normality and acceptability of individuals that are classified as abnormal struck a cord that was slightly trite and could possibly play out like a bunch of platitudes pushing acceptability and inclusiveness. But any good marketing scheme will get you to bite the bait and a years worth of trailer viewing seemed to justify actually viewing this film.

The Soloist touches upon quite a few issues; life in big urban environments, mental illnesses, dashed hopes of youth, the diminishing prominence of broadsheet journalism, tales from skid row and friendship. But a central theme is about people and their journey to a friendship and friendships restorative qualities. These qualities are not the sort that makes everything better, this film doesn’t take that rose tinted view of friendship but more the view that friendship can help ease the burden of our lives and help bring us out of ourselves and back into the world. The Soloist centres on the relationship that develops between Nathaniel Ayers (Jamie Foxx) and Steve Lopez (Robert Downey Jr.), the former a down on his luck musician and the later a journalist trying to pull his life together.

Foxx’s turn as the paranoid schizophrenic Nathaniel is understated and doesn’t try and shove abnormality in our face. When we first meet Nathaniel, and this is also when Lopez first meets him, his violin playing is swept in by a soft blowing wind. His playing is eloquent but constrained like a bird with clipped wings and when he speaks his conversation leads from one subject matter to another on a quick turn of a signifier that is pregnant and overloaded with meanings. This is the conversation of not a crazy man – although the film does make it clear that Nathaniel is tormented by distracting voices – but one who struggles to keep to a charted narrative flow. One can imagine Deleuze and Guattari nodding with approval to this schizo-analytical depiction of a schizophrenic individual. But Nathaniel’s talent as a musician is never in doubt; it is indeed the catalyst of inspiration for Lopez.

Lopez form this chance meeting is inspired to probe the back story of Nathaniel and find out how such a talented man can end up marooned in the tangled and thorny nest of Los Angeles skid row. Lopez is a populist writer and knows when he has struck gold and after Nathaniel’s hard luck story strikes a favourable cord with his readership Lopez decides to keep up reporting on the developments in Nathaniel’s life. This may seem cynical and opportunist, but Lopez does need stories to write, deadlines to meet and newspapers to sell: something of a reality of the economy. Through his exploration he is exposed to and does a small cartography of Los Angeles skid row, where sadly 90,000 homeless people live in squalid and over crowded conditions. It is here on skid row that Nathaniel and Lopez really touch each others lives and a bond starts to develop that is restorative.

There is deft direction from Wright, who it seems is shaping up to becoming a fine director. The film takes in many ideas whilst remaining focused on the two leads and the development of their relationship. Wright repeatedly shows Nathaniel’s fingers on the fingerboard of his instruments, dexterously moving around, drawing out a note, teetering on a precarious edge and searching for the next note. This dance of Nathaniel fingers is like the way we move through life, looking for our next move to continue the song of our lives. It’s on this note that Wright presents us with overhead shots of the L.A freeway system and the tangled confusion that it presents. As for Nathaniel, he is stuck in this confusing transportation confluence where his playing is his only solace. While our other lost soul Lopez, played with a warming delicacy by Downey, has a house in the hills but lives alone, has yet to unpack his boxes and settled into his new abode; his loneliness punctuated by the ‘no new messages’ update from his answering machine as he crashes into a makeshift bed after spending his day in hospital.

There is a telling scene that kicks off the second movement of the film. Nathaniel and Lopez are alone in the Disney Concert Hall with only the orchestra in front of them and they’re there to listen to the orchestra practice. As the conductor standing in front of the camera conjures up the music the camera moves past his shoulder and zooms in on the two men seated back in the hall. It is from this moment that the relationship that Lopez and Nathaniel have started to forge is tested. The film is littered with small touches, such as Lopez playing with his key, slapping on a beat up hat and Nathaniel’s feminisation of his cell or the personalisation of his cloths that open the characters and develop them into ordinary people from the city of Los Angeles.

And this is a story from Los Angeles and the trials that that particular city throws at its inhabitants. The film ends on a touching note where the camera pulls back to reveal the distance that Nathaniel and Lopez have travelled. The Soloist is most certainly a film with flaws, but they are only part of the films sum and this film does have a level headed and mature character that is captivating.

Give me a break or "I could do with a fag"

Another image of woman smoking is as a strong feminine character, this image is steeped in seductive posing that smoulders with sexual promise, the impenetrability of that promise and the image of a woman who will not stand for a domineering patriarchal society any longer. This image heralds from the mid twentieth century when women became a genuine consumer market for the tobacco companies and also when this image of women popped from the cigarette case of Marlene Dietrich.

In Blade Runner directed by Ridley Scott – and I am here talking of the 1991 directors cut – there is a scene early on when the Blade Runner Deckard interviews (Void-comp test) Rachael, ostensibly this is to see how the test reacts to humans, as opposed to the usual subject matter that are Replicants. As anyone who has seen the film knows, it is made explicit at the conclusion of the interview that Rachel is a Replicant, although she believes she is Human but suspects that she may be otherwise. So it is clear that Rachael is a woman caught in a precarious position of not knowing what she, Replicant or Human, endangered or simply normal.

At the out-set and during the interviews duration we are lead to believe that Rachel in human. She appears at first glance to be a strong and determined woman albeit with innocent inchoate eyes that are slightly cold, her dress is a clean fusion of 1930’s, where the cut of her clothing is fitted to her body’s curves, and the hypothesised synthetic styles of a Si-Fi 2019. But after a marathon interview Deckard concludes that Rachel is a Replicant to which the head of Tyrell Corporation replies that she suspects that she is.

During the course of the interview Rachel had been smoking and smoking played a large aesthetic part in the scene, not only did it help cultivate film noir styling at one point an edit was cut with an eddy of smoke as the segue. A question as to the motivation for Rachel’s smoking is lighten up if we consider why women smoke, at first glance Rachel smoking is indicative of a strong, emancipated and seductive woman in control of her situation but we also know that Rachel suspects that she is a Replicant and that the interview she is taking aims at determining her true nature. She has something to hide no doubt, so is her smoking more of a crutch for her emotions to help mask her inner most secret or a weapon of seduction?

This is an interesting little scene as it is a polemic mash-up, stylistically with the mingling of film noir and Si-Fi, the boundaries of the human and non-human and of particular interest here Rachel’s smoking, is she in command, as we are lead to believe, or is she for the duration of the interview trying to mask something. The implementation of the cigarette devise is wonderfully subversive. We the viewers are seduced and led, with the scripting of signifiers, up the garden path with the line of thought that Rachael is a strong and seductive woman and her smoking being the obvious tool of expressing this, but this garden path does a u-turn at the conclusion of the scene where we learn that Rachel was in fact trying to mask an inner secret in what in short amounts to an interrogation. It is in this light that the smoking signifier has now morphed into one of emotion support: an ever diminishing crutch, which by the scenes end can no longer support what Rachel desires to conceal.

A berry from North America

My blueberry nights:

My Blueberry Nights is Wong Kar Wai’s first English language film and is also his most accessible, it is a straight forward film about living without loved ones and attempting to move forward. It uses the road movie genre as a vehicle for telling the story of a young, heartbroken and innocent woman Elizabeth (Norah Jones, in her first acting role), but this gener is more of a backdrop to the old Wong Kar Wai themes of searching for love, issues of alienation and probing memories. It is perhaps a lack of understanding on Kar Wai’s part that the road movie theme of travelling the frontiers of experience and identity is not played out more; he is also a stranger in a strange land.

Elizabeth starts to hang out late at night in a New York diner run by Jeremy (Jude Law) who has his own backstory of loss. His way of dealing with it is to stay put and things will come to him, whilst Elizabeth decides that she must take to the road and learn of life, love and loss. So she sets off, along the way she spends time in Memphis where she meets a separated couple who tried to drink themselves back into love, but alas for the sultry and seductively wasted Sue Lynne (Rachel Weisz) even this did not inspire and compel her to stay with Arnie (David Strathairn), who subsequently carries on drinking each night and is a sad story of a heart broken man. It is during this story sequence that the song ‘Try a Little Tenderness’ by Ottis Redding is heard repeatedly and we can infer what we will from this, but it further stresses the importance of music in the storytelling technique deployed by Kar Wai in his films.

Earlier in the film the track ‘Yumeji’s Theme’ with its themes of nocturnal longing and memories dancing a mournful tango, first heard in Mood For Love and again in 2046, rears its head; with the characters on screen swaying to similar moods as in earlier films. Could the use of this piece again be a thread that constitutes the three films representing a trilogy of sorts? But whatever the case, what is apparent with this first English language film by Kar Wai is that he still likes to cast musicians in a role. Along with Jones, Cat Power/Chan Marshall pops in for a cameo along with her aching recollection of a song ‘The Greatest’.

From New Orleans Elizabeth is on the road again working in a casino and meeting up with Leslie (Natalie Portman) who teaches her some lessons and takes her along for a rids to Las Vegas. All this plays out in a quite un-Kar Wai straight, linear time narrative and as such there is not any jigsaw pieces of time to fit together, the narrative is all laid out in front for the viewer to see. The film only once cuts back to the past: it’s only for a fleeting, towards the end of the film and serves more as garnish. The remembering of a moment from the past that has been built into a memorial by the memory is lacking in this film, in previous films a memory was probed repeatedly and its nuances revealed a sensual bounty. The one cut back serves only to tell fleetingly that Elizabeth didn’t want to be the person she was anymore, but it is safe to assume that this point was a given and didn’t need to be explicitly stressed.

Where My Blueberry Nights lets down is in the style department: stylistically it’s quite weak compared with what we have come to expect from a Wong Kar Wai film. It may look better than most films, especially with the neon lighting of night-time highlighting the ache of the heart, but, gone is his long-term Kar Wai cinematographer Christopher Doyle’s tight angles and dreamy hand held camera work and the film looks pedestrian without it. Also it would appear that the story for the film was quite advanced during production and it wasn’t cut together in the editing room as is often the case with a Wong Kar Wai film. Cut from the film are many of the tricky narrative structures of repeating a moment to explore its differences; like watching undulating ripples cast from the coins we cast into the wishing-well of time.

Given that Kar Wai’s films are generally quite literary – the calligraphy in Ashes of Time and the writing in the Mood for Love and 2046 – My Blueberry Nights is a bit light and it’s hard for postcards to pass as literature. But then again, perhaps this film was something of a cinematic postcard sent to us by Wong Kar Wai.

puff puff

Women smoking on screen: Women smoke for emotional reasons, men smoke for other reasons.

In the film Stalker (1979) directed by Andri Tarkovsky the Stalkers wife lights up a cigarette just after she has nursed and put her husband to bed after his latest return from the Zone. She is in an obvious state of distress, the Stalker has had his faith in humanity punched by the desire for easy happiness and after he has been placed in bed she leaves his side and crouches on the floor in a corner, lights up a cigarette and explains why she decided to live and marry the Stalker despite him being a Stalker and one of God’s fools and the warnings from her mother. She is distraught as she reflects on the hardship that she must endure whilst also gaining so much happiness from her love, a love that is bitter-sweet and un-regrettable. Her hands tremble and it is the cigarette and the act of smoking that offers her a touch of calming solace

While a scene earlier when the Writer, Professor and Stalker had just returned to the café, where they were eventually meet by the Stalker’s wife who asked the Stalker to return home with her and the child: here she exhibits a quiet strength. As the family leaves the Writer look back after them with a smoke between index and middle fingers and his chin rested on the anatomical snuffbox of his hand that holds the cigarette. He is in deep contemplation regarding the Stalker and the experience he has just had. The shot is largely static with little movement and the visceral quality of contemplation is framed. The Writer is show to be quietly contemplative and is in control of his emotional state

What we have in quick succession, by a director who is regarded as one of the great maters of cinema is both male and female on screen and being quite expressive with a cigarette in hand. The Writer is composed and thinking whilst the Wife is having an out pouring of emotions and it seems that she needs a smoke just to be able to breath. We are presented with two polemic depictions of smoking, one being for a activity whilst contemplating the other as a claiming activity whilst distraught. But also are we being presented with and solidification of an old myth: that women smoke for emotional whilst men for other reasons?