Julie & Julia

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There’s a telling moment about the three quarters of the way into Julie & Julia, one that puts the entire film into perspective. Without this moment, it would be a bore. For we already know the story of its two main characters: Julia Child, upon returning from France, will become a household name; and Julie Powell, blogging about her crazed experiment to cook 524 recipes from Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking in one year, will make a name for herself as well, becoming a best-selling author and even the subject of a major Hollywood motion picture.

Which is not to suggest that these stories hold no interest in themselves. There is, after all, a certain pleasure in seeing Meryl Streep’s habitation of that famous persona, and in learning about the actual life behind the iconic figure she was to become. There is also a certain fascination in following the emotional ups-and-downs associated with Julie’s mad adventure, including the minor tragedies and triumphs of her life in the kitchen.

But despite what we already know about these two women and what we come to learn about them during the course of the film, the question remains: why embark on such an experiment in the first place? Why would Julie turn Julia into an obsession, making each and every recipe in that massive tome the primary objective of her daily existence?

Jennifer’s Body

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What most reviewers seem to have failed to recognize about this film is that the central character is Needy, not Jennifer. While Jennifer is the one who gets to act out the juicy parts – as a foul-mouthed predator – she is not the protagonist here. For in the end, the story revolves around the special relationship the two have shared since childhood but also, quite significantly, the role that Jennifer had come to serve for Needy.

Needy is, after all, a nice girl, unable to hurt a fly or even allow mild profanities to pass through her lips. As her name would suggest, this is born from a deep-seated sense of deficiency, although we are never really told why this might be so. However, the fact that she would be allied with another who embodied a completely different – and self-assured – persona should come as no surprise, since it compensates for the very lack that she perceives in herself.

Therein lies the clue to the “vampiric” elements of this story. Jennifer acts in ways that Needy cannot allow herself to be. In fact, she feeds on others in ways that attend to the needs of the introverted one. This symbiotic relation is how we’re first introduced to these two characters and which, in the eyes of one of their classmates at least, comes across as weirdly inappropriate (i.e., “lesbigay”). Should we have missed the point, the accusation is less a matter of giving voice to homophobic fears than the parasitic bond that has congealed between them. For Jennifer is attached to Needy in ways that aren’t immediately obvious, as well.

Antichrist

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“And Adam said, This is now bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh:
she shall be called Woman, because she was taken out of Man.
Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother, and shall cleave unto his wife:
and they shall be one flesh.”

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Those who would call Antichrist “controversial” without offering a judgment of their own likely lack the ability to form an opinion they’re willing or able to defend. As for those who accuse the film’s director (Lars von Trier) of misogyny, at least they have the courage of their conviction, even if such a charge also belies a certain kind of laziness, latching onto the most convenient scapegoat for the discomfort elicited by the screen. Such a gesture not only replicates the violence of confusion at the heart of Antichrist’s story, it also fails to consider the trap within which the film’s protagonists are caught, the extremes to which they will go to relieve themselves of their torment, and the director’s intent in subjecting them – and us – to such pain.

In the end, the misogynist accusation can only be understood as a secular rite of (self) absolution, in which the stance of indignation is called upon to veil the far-reaching implications of the anger and mutilation put on display. For the nameless characters around whom the film revolves signal how the battle being waged is not particular to them: some might call it the war of the sexes; others would prefer the language of Good and Evil. In the end, the story’s the same. For it provides a visual – and visceral – display of the breakdown of the marital bond and the horror brought upon by this violation of their sacred union, in which the two that had become one are abruptly returned to a state of separation, alienated from the very meaning that had come to govern their lives.

We are not left unaided in the task of divining the purpose of this story. In one promotional image, the protagonists are portrayed as the blades constituting a pair of scissors, cleaved together and joined at the hip, even as she struggles under his gaze. Her closed eyes suggest a turn in their relationship, one in which she can no longer rely on his eyes as her mirror, for what is reflected there is more a measure of his imagination than anything else. Turning inward, she will seek another kind of validation, one independent of what he is able to provide. But with this shift, the pivot of their relationship will begin to resemble a prison, immobilized by what was designed to hold them together … until separated by death. The very emotional and sexual bond that had brought them together in celebration and delight will, quite cruelly, become the site of emotional and psychic torture, as a different kind of imperative comes to the fore. For what once brought them together in celebration and delight will give way to another force, just as beautiful and natural but which, because unrecognized, will take on another face.

The fact that the film’s title is drawn using a symbol to signify “woman” points to the ambiguity that lies at the center of this story: Are we to consider her the antichrist and, if so, what are we to make of such an appellation? This is the conundrum with which “He” will be faced, and it is the challenge that Antichrist puts to us. The limbs of the dead that surround the couple’s carnal embrace gesture towards the grapplings of the dispossessed and the forgotten, that which has been pushed aside in their union. It is the condition for their lovemaking as well as its aftermath, for they are the ghosts that “She” desperately has sought to escape when turning to him for comfort, and the nightmare that invariably returns.

He will be painfully oblivious to this, Her torment, for he is implicated in ways he couldn’t imagine. So, oblivious he will remain. Unless someone or something intervenes on their behalf …

The Fountain

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“Therefore, the Lord God banished Adam and Eve
from the Garden of Eden and placed a
flaming sword to protect the tree of life.”
- Genesis 3:24
(from the opening frames of The Fountain)

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It may not be a mortal wound to the body. Nevertheless, it threatens to bring death in its wake. For Tom’s wife is dying, or maybe she’s already dead: no matter how hard he tries, or where he looks, he cannot find his wedding ring. Caught in the unimaginable torment of a life without his Beloved, he compensates for her absence, stabbing ink into skin. A tribute to the love he has lost, and a feeble grasp at the kind of permanence life was unable to provide. Soon, this single band will multiply, spreading across his limbs, giving witness to the passage of time like an ancient tree, less a measure of his loss than a sign of the fire that consumes him, leaving him capable of only one thing: repetition, until eternity. Confronted by a gaping void and incapable of consolation. Paralyzed in the face of death.

This is the “heart” of The Fountain, a film that left most critics baffled, if not angry, even as they admired the stunning visual and aural feast laid out before them. A story of a woman’s embrace of the hereafter, and her husband’s inability to match her courageousness in the face of extinction.

The three “timelines” of the film are but narrative devices that provide a panoramic view of this awful struggle. They also hint at the promise of what is to come. Hence, despite speculation about which of these times is real and which are imaginary, the simple truth is this: none are real, for the “real” has already passed, and what we are witness to in its stead is a meditation on the painful process of discovery when faced with the Impossible. The different incarnations of this man – Tom, Tomas, Tommy – are nothing but versions of Thomas (“the twin”) attempting to wrench sense from the pit of meaningless, battling the demons of the inchoate.

Swimming Pool

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Shall Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear a child?
And God said … “I will bless her, and she will become the mother of nations.”

A shadow, cast from a place unseen, looms over the woman basking in the sun. Whether its owner is male or female, we can’t quite tell. Neither is it possible to discern his (or her) intentions. A voyeur, perhaps? Or a stalker? Or maybe a guardian who silently watches over the one with closed eyes, shut off from the world?

Despite the uncertainties, this much is clear: the shadow does not belong to the reclining woman, but to another. Sequestered from our field of vision, the watcher stands transfixed between water and sky, eclipsing the Sun, unable to see – or appreciate – what the young woman takes pleasure in. In this way, she serves as a screen, catching the shadow of the watcher. And, like the one who stands over her, our gaze will be directed to this woman-as-screen: she is the one from whom meaning will be sought, as if she alone were in possession of the secret around which the ensuing story will unfold.

The tagline reads “On the surface, All is calm” although it’s plain to see this isn’t quite the case. Gentle ripples animate the shadow cast over the water and threaten to dissolve the letters that spell out the silent signifier haunting the events to follow, as if it were a child’s creation unable to withstand the power of the lapping sea.

Despite the impulse to focus on the actress’ body, evident in many reviews of this film, what we are presented with here are the outlines of a mystery, perhaps the greatest one of all. The figure framed by the camera’s eye reclines in the Sun’s glory, seemingly oblivious to the world, even as we are alerted to that which lies beyond our field of vision. This unseen presence, only seemingly absent, hints at the relationship between observer and observed, yes, but also to forms of (in)sight not immediately apparent to a mind’s eye still learning how to see. Only careful investigation, and a certain kind of fearlessness, will unveil the truth that beckons from the water’s surface.

It is with this portrait of a crime already committed that the filmmakers introduce us to the world of Swimming Pool.

Away We Go

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As we have learned from the movies, road films are about journeys other than the ones depicted on screen. The persons and obstacles met along the way serve to challenge – and measure – the emotional growth of the protagonists, including their ability to overcome their fears about themselves and the world they inhabit. In this sense, Away We Go is no different.

However, the film also provides us with what can only be described as the couple’s archetypal journey which, in this case, is ultimately about the trip from his parents to the home of the dead that is hers. The stops along the way are almost incidental to this other journey but, in the end, are necessary steps along the way that make it possible.

Blind

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Devi said: ”Listen Deva, supremely blissful quintessence, the Lord of Kula,
to the very essence of knowledge … concealed by my Maya.”

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One of them is blind, the other prefers not to be seen.
It would appear to be a match made in heaven.

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But he – the blind one – is a tyrant, imprisoned in the desolate mansion he inhabits under his mother’s care, unable to tolerate those hired to tend to his needs. And she, the one who wishes to remain invisible, brought on to read for him, will shun the affection that grows between them.

The promotional images for Blind capture this emotional terrain in which she seems to hold the upper hand: on the one hand, the distance she maintains between the two of them, despite his nakedness and the intimacy they share; on the other, when she finds the courage to face him, the lingering fear of what it is he “sees” in her, an anxiety partly due to her own deceit, innocuous lies used to hide her anguish and shame.

Despite her apprehension, he finds himself pulled in the opposite direction. For while she struggles with a certain trepidation about being the object of another’s attention, he finds escape from the aggravation of being handled by others. Her willingness to let her guard down, even if briefly, permits him to explore – and delight in – the world of another on terms not dictated from without.

In the absence of (his) sight, both are given the opportunity to experience the other – and themselves – in a different light, the flow of sensations different than the strangled mass that has dominated their lives until now: for her, that which has left its ugly marks on her body; for him, a world enveloped in black, punctuated by incessant demands that come from without.

Out of darkness, comes light. And from that light emerges a radically new sense of possibility.

Wanted

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In many ways, Wanted is the complement of Martyrs, particularly since both revolve around the violence of transformation. The primary difference, of course, is that the protagonist being pummeled here is male and the one at whose hands he suffers is a woman. And unlike the horror of Martyrs, Wanted is framed as an action-thriller which, for better or worse, has the effect of obscuring the nascent similarities between these two films.

As a result, Wanted presents us with what appears to be two incompatible stories. The first is the familiar tale of initiation in which an emasculated protagonist is transformed into a virile hero. The fact that humiliation and injury are the primary tools used in his initiation should remind us of the time honored parallels found in the college fraternities, varsity and professional sports, and the military, each of which claims to transform boys into “real men.”

In contrast to this, we are presented with elements that belong to a very different – even mystical – tradition. How else are we to understand the references to Fate, the role of the sacrificial father, and the imperative of intervening on behalf of a world so desperately out of balance? If we take these different elements seriously, the transformation signaled here cannot be reduced to a noisy celebration of masculine tumescence but something else. In which case the “action” is merely a cover for a different kind of story. One in which the feminine, rather than the strut of masculinity, is the central figure.

Push

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Push (2009) has left the critics disappointed, if not puzzled. Even hostile. Roger Ebert, for example, acknowledges the film’s “vibrant cinematography and decent acting” but continues by complaining, “I’m blasted if I know what it’s about.”

Oh, I understand how the characters are paranormals, and how they’re living in a present that was changed in the past, among enemies who are trying to change the future. I know they can read minds and use telekinesis to move things. I know they’re [fighting against] a Nazi experiment gone wrong, and the U.S. [agency, called Division, that] wants them for super-soldiers. But that’s all simply the usual horsefeathers to set up the situation. What are they doing?

What Mr. Ebert and most of his fellow critics have failed to recognize is that the “horsefeathers” is precisely what this film is about. The opening credits make it abundantly clear that its story is addressing the violence that defines our present, the role of medical science in contributing to modern dis-ease, and how shadow governments and fortified bureaucracies strangle the vitality of the living.

The future for which the protagonists are fighting is one that has been all but blotted out, a path at risk of extinction, crowded out by decisions and commitments made on our behalf … and with which we have complied. The accretions of power have long-lasting effects, not only resident in the hands of the elected, or the (self) appointed, but in the modes-of-living and ways-of-feeling that have come to define our “normal” existence.

But what does this have to do with paranormals?

Phoebe in Wonderland

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The critics are divided. And this is no surprise, since this is a film that tackles a difficult subject, one that impinges upon the thorny territory that all parents must contend with: how to understand the anxieties and idiosyncrasies of their children, particularly when they appear to verge on the pathological.

But it is precisely the shifts between the delight of a young imagination and the despondency that seems to emerge from nowhere that Phoebe in Wonderland explores. And it does so wonderfully.

In doing so, it invites us to look at the world through another’s eyes, specifically the eyes of a young child who struggles to give meaning to the shifting panoramas that life has to offer, and which leave her vacillating between hope and despair. Not insignificantly, it also offers us a glimpse at the labor of love during which this child – and her family – work through that treacherous terrain.

Wonderment

The film opens with the “memories” of a young Phoebe as she is twirled through the air in her mother’s arms. Everything is a delightful yet dizzying blur, until her eyes are able to focus on the woman at the center of her world, and is able to witness the delight she takes in seeing Phoebe’s own thrill and sense of wonderment.

For Phoebe, this is the joy of discovery, of apprehending a wondrous world “out there” separate from herself. Her mother is the ever-present mediator of that enchanted world. She is the one who provides young Phoebe with many of those first experiences of this fascinating landscape. She also shares in the child’s delight, orients her to the sometimes confusing surfeit of sights and sounds, and even provides her with the words she learns to use for naming the things that fill the world and for describing the impressions that flood her senses.