More and more, there are films that are rising into a new camp of dark comedy that are reactionary to this country's (le USA) strengthening infusion of warped puritanical sexual justice. TEETH is no exception.
Vagina dentata, need I say more? This film follows a young girl through a coming of age story that involves the fearful discovery of (the teeth in) her vagina. As a member of a troop of fervent virgins who grow itchy at the mention of masturbation, Dawn serves as more than a symbol of a growing number members in this disturbing puritanical faction: she serves as a charicature of a much more readily available and accepted American attitude.
Throughout the film's entire, there are two nuclear towers that overshadow the town, hinting, in no little way, the looming presence of this mutated stance of morals. When one is forced to squelch a basic part of their human nature or, as in our culture, fetishize the very act, something ugly and horrific mutates within. This is, perhaps, why I identify with and have such an affinity for such body horror films. They are a reflection of this mutation that takes place within when a culture presses aspects of our basic human nature into some dark corner. We evolve into these confused beings with all sorts of "philias."
The other side of the coin, is the oversexed human being who, instead of retreating from the fetishization sex, envelopes and supports it (not as a natural act, but as something purposefully subversive). Through this, we meet Brad, Dawn's step-brother, an hypersexed uber kinkified mo' fo'.
I'm going to be honest. There is so much to delve into with this film. Basically, it is what it sets out to be: a biting (yeah, I did it) dark comedy that charicatures sexuality in the US. There are weakspots (the brother/sister relationship needs more development in order to be as impactful as it needs to be in the finale), but Jess Weixler (Dawn) is an engaging new face who holds her own very well through the evolution of this role. If, like me, you are concerned with the state of this country's attitude toward sex or if you just want an excuse to say "Vagina Dentata" at a cocktail party, enjoy.
I'll have more to say on this later. Stay Tuned.
tizzle rizzle
Friday, May 18, 2007
WRISTCUTTERS: A LOVE STORY a la cannes
Right. Apparently there aren't enough latter day psychological twist-based films that rely on one obvious concept (that most of us are growing to sniff out early on) and ignore building on things like, I don't know, character development, story... etc etc.
Although the film starts interestingly enough, and everyone loves a dark comedy about suicide, once the color bleeds from the film after the suicide (if you're bitching because I gave that part away, go back to the title and rethink the bitchfest)it goes downhill.
This is short and really not a review built for anyone who hasn't seen the film... more like a rant against banality. And a question: How does Shannyn Sossamon keep getting work? I think she'd be great in print. But her performances are never far beyond 2 dimesional. Can you dig it?
More on this when I'm not so sun stroked, no?
Although the film starts interestingly enough, and everyone loves a dark comedy about suicide, once the color bleeds from the film after the suicide (if you're bitching because I gave that part away, go back to the title and rethink the bitchfest)it goes downhill.
This is short and really not a review built for anyone who hasn't seen the film... more like a rant against banality. And a question: How does Shannyn Sossamon keep getting work? I think she'd be great in print. But her performances are never far beyond 2 dimesional. Can you dig it?
More on this when I'm not so sun stroked, no?
Monday, May 7, 2007
A Clinical Observation of SHIVERS
Upon initial examination, it might be easy to jump to the conclusion that David Cronenberg lost touch with his artfully sterile examination of society when he progressed from making “films” into making “movies.” It might even appear that he utilized his first feature with Cinepix to understand technique and tap into surface exploitation rather than to expound upon some very unsettling groundwork he laid in his featurettes Crimes of the Future and Stereo. However, in tapping into the horror/ sci-fi genre, Cronenberg is able to fully utilize the elements inherent with the genre to explore his themes even more in depth in Shivers. The genre allows him to explore issues of isolation, perpetual denial, and an absence of intimacy in lieu of sex in a way that would be nearly impossible in a pure dramatic structure. He uses the fantastic to bring his audience into a world that is outrageous. And yet, in doing so, he merely highlights that which exists in human nature; the surreal is utilized much as a microscope: to analyze our world on a microscopic level. As an audience has a difficult time relating to the horrific elements, they are able to watch the film without empathizing. Cronenberg is able to comment on the values of a society around him with the clinical deftness of a scientist by lulling his audience into a state of disbelief.
From the opening scenes of his film, Cronenberg outlines what his audience can expect. As the static shots of the high-rise building bring the audience into the film (much like a slide show), Merrick’s narration points out the most desirable trait that any resident would find in living here: “…it belongs to you and your fellow passengers alone.” There is both possession and a community built on isolation implied in this statement. This idea of isolation is rather cleverly utilized throughout the film via its structure. Although it would be easy to amass all the residents into one character, Cronenberg draws us into peripheral characters by weaving small yet remarkable scenes into the overall dramatic structure of the film and the protagonists’ struggles. The couple that draws the audience into the world of this odd apartment complex is intercut with the jarring scene of the mad scientist chasing and attacking the androgynous schoolgirl. This technique of juxtaposition and parallelism is used throughout the film to connect characters through their isolation. Another striking note to mention during Merrick’s opening narration is the score utilized. There is a sense of loss through the wandering clarinet in this opening. The tune is repeated again at the film’s end, as if to point out that this sense of loss existed long before the parasites were introduced. There has been something unsettling bubbling underneath the surface in this community. In a sense, this highlights the idea that Cronenberg is using the fantastic to magnify a problem already existing rather than to introduce a new problem.
This sense of unease is expressed through Cronenberg’s composition as well. As the couple exits their vehicle to enter the building, the camera, from a low angle, captures something an unnatural an unsettling perspective despite the postures of “intimacy” the couple exudes as they confidently stroll into the apartment complex holding one another. Even though they become dwarfed in the frame as they walk toward the complex, they are trapped in the composition by how the cars are placed. Even in isolation there is a sense of claustrophobia. It is worth noting, as well, that this image is echoed by Dr. St. Luc and Nurse Forsyth after they escape her attack in the car. The sense of entrapment has a much more tangible sense in this context and Cronenberg uses the uncomfortable compositions in both instances to draw attention to the idea that all is not well; there is something foreboding just around the corner. This claustrophobia in isolation is mirrored in the use of sound. The film utilizes silence in the most stifling sense. Although one would associate silence as a form of emptiness, it calls attention to the horrific actions and often makes scenes of violence and disturbing sexuality that much more disturbing; the audience has no release from the visual. There is almost no use of dialogue in scenes of intense struggle. It is a form of sensory deprivation, forcing the audience to focus on the actions in a clinical way.
Cronenberg is able to draw his audience into a darker world once he establishes the visitors. Through juxtaposing the sale of an apartment with the violent death of a young schoolgirl, there is a comedy that is inherent as well. This comedic device is used throughout the film, as well, to keep the audience from sympathizing with the situations. He moves between very static shots that are edited in a very steady rhythm (the sale of the apartment) and very jarring handheld shots that are violent in themselves, even without the action of an older man strangling a young girl. And yet, an odd transition occurs in the middle of this juxtaposition. Once the girl is dead, the shots themselves become very static as well. Although one might take this to mean the camera movement is synonymous with the mad scientist’s psyche, there are other clues that point otherwise. The audience actually moves into the perspective of the dead girl. As the scientist commits suicide, there is a shot-reverse shot technique used between himself and the dead girl. Although it initially looks as though we are seeing her through his eyes in this technique, once he kills himself and breaks eye contact with the girl (even with her eyes closed), the camera returns to the girl, unmoved, as if to imply her as a witness to his grizzly death.
It is also in this graphic scene that a male perspective is setup (that is ultimately countered by the dead girl’s point of view). As she is portrayed from the doctor’s perspective, the audience only sees her naked torso and upper thighs on the table, disarticulating her, objectifying her (not unlike Dr. St. Luc’s perspective of Nurse Forsythe as she changes in front of him). There is a lack of intimacy implied through this sexuality that exists in these two men who are not infected. This disarticulated objectification is played upon, rather cleverly, in the image of Nicholas confronting the dead girl for the first time. With her bent leg in the foreground, he literally holds back the rising bile in the background. The composition of this shot seems to be in reference to the infamous shot in The Graduate where Dustin Hoffman looks on at Anne Bancroft’s extended leg, forced to confront a dislocated sense of his own sexuality. It is the lack of intimacy, the isolation, which Cronenberg points out throughout the film as being the source of the problem. The off-putting demeanor of clinical coolness that Dr. St. Luc maintains throughout most of the film, in fact, is perhaps more disturbing than the rapes and acts of violence he witnesses. It is interesting, then, to see how other characters react to this nature.
Both Janine and Nurse Forsythe are women unsatisfied by the men in their lives. Through their dissatisfaction comes an element of denial that seems to be at the core of the film. Just as the residents want to believe they are fulfilled by their surroundings, Janine and Nurse Forsythe fight to believe certain untruths. For Janine, this expresses itself in a need to allocate Nicholas’ infidelity and distance (which existed before the introduction of the supernatural) to a physical ailment. Although there is some truth to this, it is clear that her fears are not rooted in his mortality but rather his exposure of isolation no one wants to admit to. This idea that she doesn’t want to see what is in front of her is driven home as she crushes her contacts in a fit of tears. The idea that a marriage or that sex could be built on something other than intimacy horrifies her. For Nurse Forsythe, her sexual pursuit of the Doctor is in direct response to his devotion to the clinical, to the observable. He denies her an emotional bond, in fact, until she becomes involved with the parasite he studies. The sense of denial is furthered by other small scenes throughout the film such as the inability for the elderly woman to accept that the bloody smudge on her umbrella could be anything except for a misguided bird.
Cronenberg utilizes this genre to it’s fullest. His focus is not on the supernatural, but rather the irrational sense of security people have. The inability that people have to come to terms with isolation and a lack of intimacy. Although this film is filled with sexuality, there is really no intimacy. The characters are more than secluded from society; they are secluded from each other. In a self-reflexive way, Cronenberg is able to get his audience to view the film in a detached sense. Ultimately, the audience becomes like every character in this film: either isolated through a clinical observation or isolated through a denial that this film is really about a parasite. He manages to portray an internal claustrophobia through isolation in both his sound and compositions. In this sense, Cronenberg treats this genre much like Douglas Sirk treats the melodrama genre: although an audience can easily get caught up in the superficiality of the content, there is turmoil that bubbles underneath waiting to be discovered.
From the opening scenes of his film, Cronenberg outlines what his audience can expect. As the static shots of the high-rise building bring the audience into the film (much like a slide show), Merrick’s narration points out the most desirable trait that any resident would find in living here: “…it belongs to you and your fellow passengers alone.” There is both possession and a community built on isolation implied in this statement. This idea of isolation is rather cleverly utilized throughout the film via its structure. Although it would be easy to amass all the residents into one character, Cronenberg draws us into peripheral characters by weaving small yet remarkable scenes into the overall dramatic structure of the film and the protagonists’ struggles. The couple that draws the audience into the world of this odd apartment complex is intercut with the jarring scene of the mad scientist chasing and attacking the androgynous schoolgirl. This technique of juxtaposition and parallelism is used throughout the film to connect characters through their isolation. Another striking note to mention during Merrick’s opening narration is the score utilized. There is a sense of loss through the wandering clarinet in this opening. The tune is repeated again at the film’s end, as if to point out that this sense of loss existed long before the parasites were introduced. There has been something unsettling bubbling underneath the surface in this community. In a sense, this highlights the idea that Cronenberg is using the fantastic to magnify a problem already existing rather than to introduce a new problem.
This sense of unease is expressed through Cronenberg’s composition as well. As the couple exits their vehicle to enter the building, the camera, from a low angle, captures something an unnatural an unsettling perspective despite the postures of “intimacy” the couple exudes as they confidently stroll into the apartment complex holding one another. Even though they become dwarfed in the frame as they walk toward the complex, they are trapped in the composition by how the cars are placed. Even in isolation there is a sense of claustrophobia. It is worth noting, as well, that this image is echoed by Dr. St. Luc and Nurse Forsyth after they escape her attack in the car. The sense of entrapment has a much more tangible sense in this context and Cronenberg uses the uncomfortable compositions in both instances to draw attention to the idea that all is not well; there is something foreboding just around the corner. This claustrophobia in isolation is mirrored in the use of sound. The film utilizes silence in the most stifling sense. Although one would associate silence as a form of emptiness, it calls attention to the horrific actions and often makes scenes of violence and disturbing sexuality that much more disturbing; the audience has no release from the visual. There is almost no use of dialogue in scenes of intense struggle. It is a form of sensory deprivation, forcing the audience to focus on the actions in a clinical way.
Cronenberg is able to draw his audience into a darker world once he establishes the visitors. Through juxtaposing the sale of an apartment with the violent death of a young schoolgirl, there is a comedy that is inherent as well. This comedic device is used throughout the film, as well, to keep the audience from sympathizing with the situations. He moves between very static shots that are edited in a very steady rhythm (the sale of the apartment) and very jarring handheld shots that are violent in themselves, even without the action of an older man strangling a young girl. And yet, an odd transition occurs in the middle of this juxtaposition. Once the girl is dead, the shots themselves become very static as well. Although one might take this to mean the camera movement is synonymous with the mad scientist’s psyche, there are other clues that point otherwise. The audience actually moves into the perspective of the dead girl. As the scientist commits suicide, there is a shot-reverse shot technique used between himself and the dead girl. Although it initially looks as though we are seeing her through his eyes in this technique, once he kills himself and breaks eye contact with the girl (even with her eyes closed), the camera returns to the girl, unmoved, as if to imply her as a witness to his grizzly death.
It is also in this graphic scene that a male perspective is setup (that is ultimately countered by the dead girl’s point of view). As she is portrayed from the doctor’s perspective, the audience only sees her naked torso and upper thighs on the table, disarticulating her, objectifying her (not unlike Dr. St. Luc’s perspective of Nurse Forsythe as she changes in front of him). There is a lack of intimacy implied through this sexuality that exists in these two men who are not infected. This disarticulated objectification is played upon, rather cleverly, in the image of Nicholas confronting the dead girl for the first time. With her bent leg in the foreground, he literally holds back the rising bile in the background. The composition of this shot seems to be in reference to the infamous shot in The Graduate where Dustin Hoffman looks on at Anne Bancroft’s extended leg, forced to confront a dislocated sense of his own sexuality. It is the lack of intimacy, the isolation, which Cronenberg points out throughout the film as being the source of the problem. The off-putting demeanor of clinical coolness that Dr. St. Luc maintains throughout most of the film, in fact, is perhaps more disturbing than the rapes and acts of violence he witnesses. It is interesting, then, to see how other characters react to this nature.
Both Janine and Nurse Forsythe are women unsatisfied by the men in their lives. Through their dissatisfaction comes an element of denial that seems to be at the core of the film. Just as the residents want to believe they are fulfilled by their surroundings, Janine and Nurse Forsythe fight to believe certain untruths. For Janine, this expresses itself in a need to allocate Nicholas’ infidelity and distance (which existed before the introduction of the supernatural) to a physical ailment. Although there is some truth to this, it is clear that her fears are not rooted in his mortality but rather his exposure of isolation no one wants to admit to. This idea that she doesn’t want to see what is in front of her is driven home as she crushes her contacts in a fit of tears. The idea that a marriage or that sex could be built on something other than intimacy horrifies her. For Nurse Forsythe, her sexual pursuit of the Doctor is in direct response to his devotion to the clinical, to the observable. He denies her an emotional bond, in fact, until she becomes involved with the parasite he studies. The sense of denial is furthered by other small scenes throughout the film such as the inability for the elderly woman to accept that the bloody smudge on her umbrella could be anything except for a misguided bird.
Cronenberg utilizes this genre to it’s fullest. His focus is not on the supernatural, but rather the irrational sense of security people have. The inability that people have to come to terms with isolation and a lack of intimacy. Although this film is filled with sexuality, there is really no intimacy. The characters are more than secluded from society; they are secluded from each other. In a self-reflexive way, Cronenberg is able to get his audience to view the film in a detached sense. Ultimately, the audience becomes like every character in this film: either isolated through a clinical observation or isolated through a denial that this film is really about a parasite. He manages to portray an internal claustrophobia through isolation in both his sound and compositions. In this sense, Cronenberg treats this genre much like Douglas Sirk treats the melodrama genre: although an audience can easily get caught up in the superficiality of the content, there is turmoil that bubbles underneath waiting to be discovered.
Longing for the Self: Reimagining the Romantic Comedy through LOVE AND DEATH IN LONG ISLAND
The cinema is a language unto itself. Just as in any language, it must be in a constant state of evolution in order to remain relevant. If language meets a stasis, that is, if it doesn’t continue to evolve, it dies. Thus, there are constant small deaths within a language, and often romantic reincarnations of these dead components. This is, specifically, in reference to the genre. Genres are sublanguages within cinema. Their language is generally built within a few films and remains a stasis in the films to come. Once the genre dies, however, it often resurfaces (commonly from a generation of filmmakers raised on the genre) in a new form that is very often, self-reflexive of the genre. An example of such a reincarnation is SCREAM. This film spurred the rebirth of the teen horror flick and infused it with a new element: comedy. It also stated the very language (rules) inherent in the genre (thus, being self-reflexive) in the infamous scene where the rules to survive a horror film are stated. Another genre that seems to have an endless number of incarnations is that of the romantic comedy. As of late, there has been a movement within the genre of self-criticism. Just as SCREAM was able to poke fun of the genre from which it sprung, these new romantic comedies are able to laugh at the modern idea of romance. In a sense, these are comedies of romance, rather than romantic comedies.
There are several means in which the recent comedies of romance have been able to express this irony of romance. Perhaps one of the most thought provoking ways is through the examination of an individual’s unrealistic expectations of romance. Often these films will point out how a protagonist is truly in isolation and will delude himself/herself into believing a romance with another character is possible (when in reality, they are usually in love with an idea that another character seems to represent, rather than the character themself). In LOVE AND DEATH IN LONG ISLAND, the audience follows the captivating tale of obsession that walks a very thin line between comedy and bittersweet pity. Richard Kwietniowski deftly utilizes many aspects within the cinematic medium to comment both on the isolation inherent in western culture and the irony of romantic comedies. To further emphasize the development of this subgenre (comedies of romance as identified through isolation), comparisons and contrasts will be drawn between LOVE AND DEATH and two peer films: Gregg Araki’s cult film NOWHERE and P.T. Anderson’s PUNCH DRUNK LOVE.
From the opening of LOVE AND DEATH, the audience is made aware of their position in relation to the film. Giles De’Ath’s narration opens the film, following footage of Ronnie Bostock walking on the beach, vastly alone (save for his dog). The audience’s position is made clear as it appears the narrator is speaking directly to the audience. At the end of the film, however, there is a realization that this narration is lifted from a letter that has been faxed to Ronnie from Giles. The narration weaves directly into the film as the word “yes,” spoken by the narrator, is visually personified on a mixer at a radio station where Giles is giving an interview. Although this narrator seems to function, initially, as an omniscient guide, by weaving him into the diegesis of the film world, the present of the action being explained, a baton is handed to Giles from his future self to unveil the story. This narration, however, functions later in the film, to introduce a letter. Thus, the audience, unknowingly, is watching this film from the perspective of Ronnie Bostock reading a letter meant to humanize, to explain Giles’ position and actions. By bringing the audience into the subjective landscape of the main character, the film allows the audience to feel the same things the protagonist does. How can an audience truly understand the nature of isolation (which is inherently introverted) without venturing into the world of the character?
Subjectivity is a powerful technique utilized by many filmmakers far beyond the POV camera technique. PUNCH DRUNK LOVE uses a subjective soundscape to bring its audience into Barry’s world of isolation. The soundtrack also becomes a character in itself, of Barry’s invention, reacting to his sonic diegesis. In NOWHERE, the audience is allowed to see things that only Dark, the main character can see; things that, if described, would lead others to mark Dark as insane. It is only in going into this territory with the main character that the audience is allowed to empathize with rather than make a clinical study of these isolated men. In LOVE AND DEATH, Giles is introduced as an alien of sorts. He is out of touch with the world in which he inhabits, living in a self-induced exile of sorts. The opening narration allows the audience to connect with a character that, otherwise, might come off as cold and uptight. Instead, this is viewed from a comic sense. Much of the comedy in this film comes from Giles’ discovery of a new world and his complete and total commitment to his actions without any sense of irony. We watch the death of a man and the rebirth of a boy in an antiquated body (as masterfully portrayed by John Hurt’s impeccable performance). From the opening, following the radio interview, the audience joins Giles’ world through stylistic techniques of subjectivity. In reading a description of the radio interview he gave seconds before the camera cuts to the shot, the article is portrayed in a disembodied way, a slash of light highlighting the word “fogey” in reference to Giles. A light of self-awareness of one’s image in the world has been shed. And thus a journey begins. The recognition of one’s self. Perhaps some of the most moving moments of subjectivity in this film are when Giles is at the cinema watching a film that seems to be outrageously absurd, until one remembers films in the tradition of PORKY’S. Upon the second viewing, Giles’ perspective of Ronnie (as portrayed by teen idol himself, Jason Priestly) is summed up gracefully in a very slow and romantic pan from Ronnie’s feet to the mournful face that drew Giles in from the beginning. Once the credit’s roll and Giles gets a first glance at Ronnie’s name, the words gain a ghostly glow and jump out at the audience. At another moment in the film, the audience delves directly into Giles’ imagination in a rather matter-of-fact way. Relating to a clip that Giles watched of a quiz show earlier in the film, the audience watches as Giles delves deeper and deeper into his obsession with the beauty of youth in Ronnie Bostock in his daydream of himself as a contestant on the show answering trivial questions that any pre-teen girl would know about Ronnie’s life.
There is a connection, early on, drawn between Giles and the typical pre-teen girl. His obsession with Ronnie is likened to that of most adolescents. There seems to be a commentary on a society that would culture its youths to obsess over an idea of a person profit of that obsession. Many of the fan mags that Giles gleans his information about Ronnie from profile Ronnie in a very commercial sense, inviting the reader to connect with Ronnie through products (Stephen King novels, British sneakers, and Guns’n’Roses albums). Giles makes his own connections as he purchases Chesterton cigarettes, a brand that shares the name of Ronnie’s town in Long Island. Giles’ adolescence is highlighted in several ways, beyond making scrapbooks of Ronnie. The further he delves into this new world, the more secretive he becomes. It is very reminiscent of a secretive teenager, building a life of their own, an identity of their own, as Giles asks his housekeeper not to clean in his room anymore. The audience follows Giles on this journey of self-discovery masked by an idea of romance.
There is also the idea of technology inherent in many of these films where isolation is a major theme. It is no coincidence that so many films seem to utilize technology as a means of conveying isolation. We currently inhabit a culture that strives for technological perfection that allows us to become more and more independent. The result is a society where “texting” and “myspacing” have become proper verbs and means of connecting. The result is a ride on the train or bus where everyone plugs in and tunes out through iPods. The result is a section included in most urban newspapers entitled “Missed Connections,” where people imagine connections between themselves and complete strangers on their early morning commutes. Technology has become the perfect escape into ourselves and, ironically, one of the only ways people know how to connect with one another. In NOWHERE, Dark’s main connection with the people around him is through video. The only way he knows how to connect in his lonely world is to document it and reimagine it through the lens as a place where his girlfriend loves him, and only him. PUNCH DRUNK LOVE sees Barry’s main mode of connection between himself and people through the telephone. Many characters, in fact, are introduced sonically by the telephone, always filtering out actual human contact. LOVE AND DEATH, however, shows a character isolated as he vehemently denies the world of technology any entrance to his life. When Giles does begin to integrate himself into the new and often strange world of technology he is seduced into a false sense of connection to a society that is truly founded on a disconnect.
As these characters seek a means to connect with one another, they are often brought into a realm of self-reflection. It is only through self-reflection that these characters can truly understand the nature of isolation. In Lacanian theory, the mirror stage (le stade du miroir) is the phase “in which the subject is permanently caught and captivated by his own image." Lacan goes on to state that the first moment of recognition of the image as an entity unto itself happens when we are infants, at six months, before we have control of our bodies. There is, then, a disconnect between our fragmented physical selves and an idea of a whole image ourselves that we are constantly comparing ourselves to. Many of these comedies of romance seek to get the protagonist to understand his image in the context of the world of disconnect surrounding them… to grasp an idea that the individual, in itself, can be whole, while we ourselves will forever be fragmented and in search of something (or someone) to complete ourselves. This idea of self-recognition is echoed throughout LOVE AND DEATH. Giles is faced with his own image, rather obtrusively, as the film progresses. In the motel, he is frightened by the mirror on the ceiling above the bed. Although this is comical in the sense that he is frightened by the implications of the placement of the mirror, it also refers to a sense that Giles has not yet come to terms with who he is. Thus, he is still striving for an idea of a person, the image of a person. Much of the action in the motel is viewed, in fact, through the mirror, showing a shift in emphasis from a story about an obsession with a teen-idol to an understanding of one’s self. In the novel, DEATH IN VENICE (of which the author of the novella LOVE AND DEATH is based on openly acknowledges his novella is based on), the main character (Giles’ equivalent) Aschenbach falls in love with a beautiful boy. He describes a charming smile that the boy flashes at him as Narcissus smiling at his own reflection (Mann). Comparing this to the film, we get a sense of what Giles has really fallen in love with: the idea of a young man who has come to terms with his own image and who can express this in an openly longing gaze (that Giles initially is bewitched by) of recognition that he is incomplete.
If his journey can then best be articulated as a journey of self-discovery, it should come as no surprise that the film ends on a note where both Giles and Ronnie, although not entangled in a relationship akin to that of Rimbaud and Verlaine, have found some satisfaction from their effect on one another. Thus, the idea of romance’s function in our society has broadened. It is not so much about two people meeting, falling in love and living as some eight-limbed graceful monster, but more about the importance of simply connecting with another human being and allowing yourself to be affected. This is the new romance in a society of isolation. NOWHERE makes use of this concept in a much darker sense as the protagonist makes a connection, finally, only to have his lover-to-be explode in a fit of gore. The giant alien-bug that was inhabiting his lover simply mumbles “I’m outta’ here,” before wobbling away, leaving Dark alone and isolated. Dark turns to the camera, wide-eyed and shell-shocked with a final understanding of his utter and complete isolation. On the other spectrum, PUNCH DRUNK LOVE finds the protagonist able to connect with the one other character aware of isolation inherent in society. Their connection is not one based on an amazing love of one another, but rather a mutual understanding and fear of the nature of the world around them. They are cleaved to one another by their basic understanding of the importance to connect to another human being. These films all inhabit a genre that utilizes the ashes of the classic romantic comedy to make its point. They are, by nature, comedies of romance, following the classic rules of the genre in order to draw attention to the absurdity of the rules themselves. The genre seeks to call attention to a society that is bent on romanticizing something that doesn’t exist rather than looking within for some sense of completion. The emphasis is not on the union of the couple, but the union of the self.
There are several means in which the recent comedies of romance have been able to express this irony of romance. Perhaps one of the most thought provoking ways is through the examination of an individual’s unrealistic expectations of romance. Often these films will point out how a protagonist is truly in isolation and will delude himself/herself into believing a romance with another character is possible (when in reality, they are usually in love with an idea that another character seems to represent, rather than the character themself). In LOVE AND DEATH IN LONG ISLAND, the audience follows the captivating tale of obsession that walks a very thin line between comedy and bittersweet pity. Richard Kwietniowski deftly utilizes many aspects within the cinematic medium to comment both on the isolation inherent in western culture and the irony of romantic comedies. To further emphasize the development of this subgenre (comedies of romance as identified through isolation), comparisons and contrasts will be drawn between LOVE AND DEATH and two peer films: Gregg Araki’s cult film NOWHERE and P.T. Anderson’s PUNCH DRUNK LOVE.
From the opening of LOVE AND DEATH, the audience is made aware of their position in relation to the film. Giles De’Ath’s narration opens the film, following footage of Ronnie Bostock walking on the beach, vastly alone (save for his dog). The audience’s position is made clear as it appears the narrator is speaking directly to the audience. At the end of the film, however, there is a realization that this narration is lifted from a letter that has been faxed to Ronnie from Giles. The narration weaves directly into the film as the word “yes,” spoken by the narrator, is visually personified on a mixer at a radio station where Giles is giving an interview. Although this narrator seems to function, initially, as an omniscient guide, by weaving him into the diegesis of the film world, the present of the action being explained, a baton is handed to Giles from his future self to unveil the story. This narration, however, functions later in the film, to introduce a letter. Thus, the audience, unknowingly, is watching this film from the perspective of Ronnie Bostock reading a letter meant to humanize, to explain Giles’ position and actions. By bringing the audience into the subjective landscape of the main character, the film allows the audience to feel the same things the protagonist does. How can an audience truly understand the nature of isolation (which is inherently introverted) without venturing into the world of the character?
Subjectivity is a powerful technique utilized by many filmmakers far beyond the POV camera technique. PUNCH DRUNK LOVE uses a subjective soundscape to bring its audience into Barry’s world of isolation. The soundtrack also becomes a character in itself, of Barry’s invention, reacting to his sonic diegesis. In NOWHERE, the audience is allowed to see things that only Dark, the main character can see; things that, if described, would lead others to mark Dark as insane. It is only in going into this territory with the main character that the audience is allowed to empathize with rather than make a clinical study of these isolated men. In LOVE AND DEATH, Giles is introduced as an alien of sorts. He is out of touch with the world in which he inhabits, living in a self-induced exile of sorts. The opening narration allows the audience to connect with a character that, otherwise, might come off as cold and uptight. Instead, this is viewed from a comic sense. Much of the comedy in this film comes from Giles’ discovery of a new world and his complete and total commitment to his actions without any sense of irony. We watch the death of a man and the rebirth of a boy in an antiquated body (as masterfully portrayed by John Hurt’s impeccable performance). From the opening, following the radio interview, the audience joins Giles’ world through stylistic techniques of subjectivity. In reading a description of the radio interview he gave seconds before the camera cuts to the shot, the article is portrayed in a disembodied way, a slash of light highlighting the word “fogey” in reference to Giles. A light of self-awareness of one’s image in the world has been shed. And thus a journey begins. The recognition of one’s self. Perhaps some of the most moving moments of subjectivity in this film are when Giles is at the cinema watching a film that seems to be outrageously absurd, until one remembers films in the tradition of PORKY’S. Upon the second viewing, Giles’ perspective of Ronnie (as portrayed by teen idol himself, Jason Priestly) is summed up gracefully in a very slow and romantic pan from Ronnie’s feet to the mournful face that drew Giles in from the beginning. Once the credit’s roll and Giles gets a first glance at Ronnie’s name, the words gain a ghostly glow and jump out at the audience. At another moment in the film, the audience delves directly into Giles’ imagination in a rather matter-of-fact way. Relating to a clip that Giles watched of a quiz show earlier in the film, the audience watches as Giles delves deeper and deeper into his obsession with the beauty of youth in Ronnie Bostock in his daydream of himself as a contestant on the show answering trivial questions that any pre-teen girl would know about Ronnie’s life.
There is a connection, early on, drawn between Giles and the typical pre-teen girl. His obsession with Ronnie is likened to that of most adolescents. There seems to be a commentary on a society that would culture its youths to obsess over an idea of a person profit of that obsession. Many of the fan mags that Giles gleans his information about Ronnie from profile Ronnie in a very commercial sense, inviting the reader to connect with Ronnie through products (Stephen King novels, British sneakers, and Guns’n’Roses albums). Giles makes his own connections as he purchases Chesterton cigarettes, a brand that shares the name of Ronnie’s town in Long Island. Giles’ adolescence is highlighted in several ways, beyond making scrapbooks of Ronnie. The further he delves into this new world, the more secretive he becomes. It is very reminiscent of a secretive teenager, building a life of their own, an identity of their own, as Giles asks his housekeeper not to clean in his room anymore. The audience follows Giles on this journey of self-discovery masked by an idea of romance.
There is also the idea of technology inherent in many of these films where isolation is a major theme. It is no coincidence that so many films seem to utilize technology as a means of conveying isolation. We currently inhabit a culture that strives for technological perfection that allows us to become more and more independent. The result is a society where “texting” and “myspacing” have become proper verbs and means of connecting. The result is a ride on the train or bus where everyone plugs in and tunes out through iPods. The result is a section included in most urban newspapers entitled “Missed Connections,” where people imagine connections between themselves and complete strangers on their early morning commutes. Technology has become the perfect escape into ourselves and, ironically, one of the only ways people know how to connect with one another. In NOWHERE, Dark’s main connection with the people around him is through video. The only way he knows how to connect in his lonely world is to document it and reimagine it through the lens as a place where his girlfriend loves him, and only him. PUNCH DRUNK LOVE sees Barry’s main mode of connection between himself and people through the telephone. Many characters, in fact, are introduced sonically by the telephone, always filtering out actual human contact. LOVE AND DEATH, however, shows a character isolated as he vehemently denies the world of technology any entrance to his life. When Giles does begin to integrate himself into the new and often strange world of technology he is seduced into a false sense of connection to a society that is truly founded on a disconnect.
As these characters seek a means to connect with one another, they are often brought into a realm of self-reflection. It is only through self-reflection that these characters can truly understand the nature of isolation. In Lacanian theory, the mirror stage (le stade du miroir) is the phase “in which the subject is permanently caught and captivated by his own image." Lacan goes on to state that the first moment of recognition of the image as an entity unto itself happens when we are infants, at six months, before we have control of our bodies. There is, then, a disconnect between our fragmented physical selves and an idea of a whole image ourselves that we are constantly comparing ourselves to. Many of these comedies of romance seek to get the protagonist to understand his image in the context of the world of disconnect surrounding them… to grasp an idea that the individual, in itself, can be whole, while we ourselves will forever be fragmented and in search of something (or someone) to complete ourselves. This idea of self-recognition is echoed throughout LOVE AND DEATH. Giles is faced with his own image, rather obtrusively, as the film progresses. In the motel, he is frightened by the mirror on the ceiling above the bed. Although this is comical in the sense that he is frightened by the implications of the placement of the mirror, it also refers to a sense that Giles has not yet come to terms with who he is. Thus, he is still striving for an idea of a person, the image of a person. Much of the action in the motel is viewed, in fact, through the mirror, showing a shift in emphasis from a story about an obsession with a teen-idol to an understanding of one’s self. In the novel, DEATH IN VENICE (of which the author of the novella LOVE AND DEATH is based on openly acknowledges his novella is based on), the main character (Giles’ equivalent) Aschenbach falls in love with a beautiful boy. He describes a charming smile that the boy flashes at him as Narcissus smiling at his own reflection (Mann). Comparing this to the film, we get a sense of what Giles has really fallen in love with: the idea of a young man who has come to terms with his own image and who can express this in an openly longing gaze (that Giles initially is bewitched by) of recognition that he is incomplete.
If his journey can then best be articulated as a journey of self-discovery, it should come as no surprise that the film ends on a note where both Giles and Ronnie, although not entangled in a relationship akin to that of Rimbaud and Verlaine, have found some satisfaction from their effect on one another. Thus, the idea of romance’s function in our society has broadened. It is not so much about two people meeting, falling in love and living as some eight-limbed graceful monster, but more about the importance of simply connecting with another human being and allowing yourself to be affected. This is the new romance in a society of isolation. NOWHERE makes use of this concept in a much darker sense as the protagonist makes a connection, finally, only to have his lover-to-be explode in a fit of gore. The giant alien-bug that was inhabiting his lover simply mumbles “I’m outta’ here,” before wobbling away, leaving Dark alone and isolated. Dark turns to the camera, wide-eyed and shell-shocked with a final understanding of his utter and complete isolation. On the other spectrum, PUNCH DRUNK LOVE finds the protagonist able to connect with the one other character aware of isolation inherent in society. Their connection is not one based on an amazing love of one another, but rather a mutual understanding and fear of the nature of the world around them. They are cleaved to one another by their basic understanding of the importance to connect to another human being. These films all inhabit a genre that utilizes the ashes of the classic romantic comedy to make its point. They are, by nature, comedies of romance, following the classic rules of the genre in order to draw attention to the absurdity of the rules themselves. The genre seeks to call attention to a society that is bent on romanticizing something that doesn’t exist rather than looking within for some sense of completion. The emphasis is not on the union of the couple, but the union of the self.
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