existentialism

Certified Copy

mandy — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 20:00:00 +0000

The latest film from Iranian filmmaker Abbas Kiarostami, Certified Copy begins with the same joke twice. While waiting for author James Miller (William Shimell) to give a lecture, his translator (Angelo Barbagallo) apologizes for James’ lateness and says, “He can’t blame the traffic; he is walking from upstairs.” The restless crowd responds with no audible laughter. Moments later James walks into the room and, unknowing that it has just been said, re-uses the same joke. This time several members of the crowd emit soft laughter. Within the first few minutes of the film, Kiarostami has already laid out his brilliant thesis: that when it comes to art, history, or even comedy the copy can have meaning in a way that makes it as valuable the original.

This sets up the audience nicely for the existential journey that is to follow in Certified Copy, a rich examination of art, love, and the authenticity of life. Kiarostami’s first film away from his home country hits every note just right and creates an environment that encompasses the viewer. With beautiful cinematography, pitch-perfect pacing, and fantastic performances from both leads Certified Copy is a certified hit.

Comparable to the films of Richard Linklater or David Mamet, Certified Copy is not about where the characters go, but the discussions they have along the way. At a small café, a barista mistakes James and Elle for a married couple and is never corrected. Then, without provocation, the two characters begin to play-act as if they were a married couple, immediately challenging the direction the narrative had been leading. Have these two characters known each other before? Are they so committed to proving the value of a copy over the original that they are going to continue this “copy” of marriage? Or are they a real married couple looking for some excitement?

Juliette Binoche is brilliant as the bubbly and enthusiastic leading lady, who seems to be leading the direction of the conversation for most of the film. The story moves along like a long-form improvised scene with each character continually providing a “yes, and…” to continue the flow of the story. Just like in any improvised stage scene, even the best performers are apt to occasionally break character, and Kiarostami seems to emphasize this by having the characters look directly at the camera, breaking the fourth wall. Just like Bertolt Brecht, Kiarostami never wants the viewer to forget that they are watching a piece of art, not a piece of life, so he often has the actors look straight into the camera to distract any audience members from moments of escapism they might be experiencing.

At the conclusion of Certified Copy, the audience will be left with far more questions than answers and the discussions that will be inspired are undoubtedly one of the greatest values of the film. Unlike author James Miller’s thesis that artistic copies can have equal value to their original, it is unlikely that Kiarostami’s film will be successfully imitated anytime soon.

Read the full review at Film Misery

Written by: Alex Carlson, April 18th 2011

Somewhere

mandy — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 09:00:00 +0000

Directed by Sofia Coppola

Focus Features

It’s hard to give a shit about the rich. The beautiful and the damned don’t stir much sympathy. All the angst of moneyed loneliness seems… slight, when compared to poor and ugly people who feel lonely. Pity should be reserved for people the world shuts out, not those who shun the world’s embrace. Sofia Coppola’s new movie, Somewhere, is about the sadness of having everything. Luckily, it’s not as bad as you might think.

At the Chateau Marmont—an opulent hotel with an edgy reputation—we meet a famous actor (Stephen Dorff) who is feeling isolated. He spends his days by the pool, or watching pole dancers perform for him in his hotel room. He receives anonymous text messages telling him he’s an asshole. He drives his fast car, in circles, on a deserted race track. And he tries, fitfully, to be father, though there’s a sense in which he thinks his daughter is too good for him. She, fortunately, loves her dad. And together, they are charming.

As the dissolute dad, Dorff looks like a men’s fragrance advertisement. He’s got so many stomach muscles. His tattoos are winningly rebellious. His looks devil-may-care when he smokes. Even though he’s a scarcely-articulate douchebag with the intellectual life of a palm tree, you still want to hang out with him.

Elle Fanning has been in showbiz since an agent cut her umbilical cord (she had her first major screen credit at age two), so it really is a stretch for her to play a non-actor. She’s innocent as a lily in Somewhere, and she easily presents the strongest argument as to why anyone should care about Dorff's character. Her role is to be authentic; a real person in a morass of phonies. Thankfully, she isn’t given the kind of precocious wisdom children are often endowed with in this kind of movie. Instead, Fanning gets to play a girl who seems entirely normal, who doesn’t see her uncertain future or how painful adolescence is going to be.

The photographer Helmut Newton died, age eighty-three, when the Cadillac he was driving crashed into a wall outside the Chateau Marmont. After a lifetime celebrating excess, even his death seemed glamorous. Not many octogenarians die in this way. The fact that Somewhere is set in the cloistered walls of a celebrity retreat, and not in a mall in Boise, Idaho, is because Coppola knows depression is easier to look at when it’s dressed in pearls. Her movie is elegant and perceptive. But poor people have it worse.

Read the full review at Movie Waffle

Written by: James Tatham, January 11th 2011

Prince of Truth

admin — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 01:04:00 +0000

Evangelista

Constellation

Considering Evangelista is side project of musician Carla Bozulich—a rather unstable project at that—it is hard to imagine that a work of quality would be produced by a band that seems to be a metaphorical revolving door. However, despite the constant entering and exiting of band members, Evangelista released the solid Prince of Truth.

This album is a living testament to Bozulich’s ongoing fascination with noise and its role in the creative realm, particularly in music. Each track seems to be more in the vein of a soundscape than of an actual song. They supplement the lyrics with the vivid images they bring to mind. There is no doubt that the sounds were placed very cleverly, as they always fit in well with the song itself. The myriad of instruments combined with various noises form a distinct impression for each individual track. Without a doubt, it’s the album’s instrumentals that really push the envelope and make this a distinct piece, for better or for worse.

Lyrically, Prince of Truth could not get any better. Every song is both music and poem. They are all emotions frozen in time, preserving the feeling in the song. As one listens from track to track, one is taken on an emotional rollercoaster that is no doubt a reflection of what Bolzulich was feeling when writing them. She covers a variety of topics, all discussing truth, and many of them touching on the hopelessness of life. It is in the haunting details, like the song that seems to be suggesting that cats bet on when their humans will die, that the point is driven home. With her cathartic and eloquently written lyrics, Bolzulich forces listeners to face ignored truths that permeate life, even going as far as questioning whether there is any truth at all.

Though there is arguably a commonality between tracks in their overarching theme of nihilism, overall they seem to be arranged a bit randomly. One goes from the intense, sound-heavy “The Slayer” to the mellow, shanty-esque “Captain’s Side”. Though all albums contain such a progression of feeling, there seems to be no progression at all, but rather a jarring arrangement of hot and cold, hot and cold. The album’s disjointed nature is its only major flaw. Prince of Truth is for any listener who can appreciate the complexities of life, human emotion, and sound-play.

Written by: Jacquelyn White, December 6th 2009

Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle

admin — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 23:46:00 +0000

By Bill Callahan

Drag City

I once happened upon a Callahan show at Boston’s MFA with friends who are seasoned fans of the Smog oeuvre. In town to promote Woke on a Whaleheart, my pals were far less surprised than I when a very average looking, middle-aged man took the stage to sing existential songs about meadows, dark skies, anniversaries, and water wells in his unmistakable deep baritone.

On Sometimes I Wish We Were An Eagle, the lo-fi Jandek admirer continues his tradition of half-speaking his otherwise emotional lyrics, backed by lovely orchestral chords. For as unimpressive as that might sound, it is the opposite. No one but Callahan can sound modest and sincere when employing phrases like “jaunty as a bee” or explaining, “I started telling a story without knowing the end.” His contemporaries would sound like awkward poseurs at best. But here, when he says, “I ended up in search of ordinary things,” it’s ol’ Bill just doing what he does best.

Most of the new tracks maintain the form Smog fans have come to know and love, though a few offer surprises. “My Friend” is the kind of song that shows Callahan’s progression as an artist whose preferred instruments used to be misshapen or broken. Showing influences of his experimental past, the song is cohesive, winding, and building on itself through strange chord progressions and lyrics about “sweet desire and soft thoughts.”

“All Thoughts Are Prey to Some Beast,” on the other hand, is not so much a song as a three-minute experimental drone, and a bit out of place. “Faith/Void,” however, rebalances and ends the album with calm clarity. At nearly ten minutes, it is the perfect track for agnostics or the religiously weary among us, as Callahan simply croons, over and over, “It’s time to put God away.” At no point does it feel repetitive, even if that’s exactly what it is.

Whoever made the term “singer-songwriter” sound derogatory never listened to anything in the Callahan canon. Shame on that unwise critic.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, April 27th 2009

Synecdoche, New York

admin — Tue, 02 Dec 2008 17:58:00 +0000

Directed by Charlie Kaufman

Sony Pictures Classics

It sucked.

Any other questions?

Okay, I know all the reviewers are raving. My husband raved (and I’ll let him justify that on his blog). I suspect the reviewers are raving because that’s what they think they’re supposed to do. It’s a deep and serious movie. It’s existentialist! It’s about the meaning of life! It’s surreal!

Yes, it’s all those things, but that doesn’t mean it’s good.

But it was directed by Charlie Kaufman! And it stars Philip Seymour Hoffman and other great actors! Saith the reviewer, “Surely I’m the only one who isn’t getting it. Ergo, pretend I got it.”

I admit I’m tired of that schlub’s (Hoffman) schlubby act. I’m tired of his potbelly and his patchy skin and his mouth hanging open in bewilderment. He may be a good actor, but he’s done his schtick one too many times for me. So that’s part of it. He’s just aesthetically offensive. I like my actors to have some bones in their faces, some grace to their bodies, even if they are dying of pustules.

There was no discernible storyline. Or at least, they started out with one, but lost it somewhere along the way, but kept bringing it back. In other words, they couldn’t decide on a course of action and stick to it. Indecisiveness that stretches over two hours in a difficult movie is not my idea of entertainment.

And at the end of the day, this is what it is supposed to be: entertainment. If I’m not entertained, and if the most profound thing they could present in the way of a meaning of life was that we’re all actors in a play, each the lead in our own tragedies, that’s not profound. Well, it may be profound, but it’s still a cliche.

If I want deep, I read a fucking book. Not saying movies can’t be both deep and entertaining. They can. This one wasn’t. It was slow. It was boring. They could’ve shaved thirty minutes off it without losing anything, and it was full of plot twists that neither made movie sense nor contributed to the point of the movie, if the movie had a point. There were changes in tone and in the characters that were senseless, random, arbitrary.

There comes a time when a filmmaker tries to do something ambitious, and in the process of doing it, his head starts swelling. Then he starts inventing words and throwing random stuff in to make it deliberately confusing. He’s brilliant! Nobody will get it and everybody will think they got it (or should get it), and they will all write reviews that are wildly different from each other’s, which the reader will promptly forget as soon as she reads them because they aren’t actually saying anything of substance, anything that has much relation to the movie.

There were a few clever moments. Of course. I’m sure Finnegans Wake had a few witty lines. Or maybe not. This wasn’t quite that bad. Let’s say Ulysses then.

It still sucked.

Yes, I just indirectly admitted I thought Ulysses sucked. What of it?

Cross-posted at The Apostate

Written by: The Apostate, December 2nd 2008

Big Dreams Little Tokyo: A Half Japanese Comedy

admin — Tue, 10 Jul 2007 18:30:00 +0000

Directed by David Boyle

Brainwave

Big Dreams Little Tokyo is written by, directed by and stars David Boyle, who plays the character of Boyd, an awkward American who speaks perfect Japanese. Boyd is a well-dressed young man who claims to be a businessman, yet his most successful business only has one client. The relationship that subtly develops between Boyd and Mai, a nurse and his only English student, is the most enjoyable aspect of the movie. Here is where the movie’s delicate pacing shines: the shy glances between the two characters, the dates disguised as English lessons and the quiet slide towards one another as they sit on a rock, and later on a bench at a business meeting. Boyd is an individual who overcompensates for everything, and finally Mai allows him to ease into real conversation as she listens to his stories and gives him time to come into his real identity.

The only negative aspect of the film is that the humor is often too blatant, which doesn’t fit with the understated tone of the movie and takes away from some of the more subtle, comedic moments. Big Dreams Little Tokyo has a strong mix of quick, MTV-esque cuts and edits paired with long, contemplative shots, which show Boyle's knowledge and understanding of contemporary independent filmmaking. This cohesive dichotomy of editing commented on the film’s narrative of displaced cultural identity.

Boyd isn’t who he appears to be, and many of the Japanese people that he meets don’t want him to speak Japanese or bow to them, they want to shake hands and speak English. We discover that Boyd often enters the store Murakami Books to sell his own book, and later the owner chases him out of the store shouting, “No matter how many times you bow when you speak, you will never be Japanese.”

The issues of cultural and personal identity come to a head in the character of Jerome. Jerome is the archetypal, lazy roommate who - to reference the original Odd Couple - is the upbeat Oscar to Boyd’s Felix, and he poetically explains the complications of cultural identity while he deconstructs a piece of sushi that turns out to be a California roll, which was made by a Mexican chef.

This movie centers around cultural identity and the nuances of language, thus the subtitles take on a larger role in this film than they usually do. The filmmaker uses the subtitles not only as a tool to help us understand the language, but also as a comedic device, giving us an insight to the inside jokes that we as viewers share with Boyd. This film makes us aware of language in its many forms: its musicality, its written form, the intonations that exist from one speaker to another and how our self-confidence is often dependent on our grasp of language.

Written by: Kirsha Frye-Matte, July 10th 2007

The Session

admin — Sun, 20 May 2007 21:24:00 +0000

By Aaron Petrovich

Hotel St. George

The Session is a novella mystery with quirky, intellectual humor dispersed throughout the book. It reminds me of the “Who’s on first?” Abbott & Costello skit:

What we’re after here is the truth of the situation. I’ve got it. I’m pleased to hear it. In the palm of my hands. That’s the wrong place for it. On the edge of my seat? In anticipation of…? What? What? What are you waiting for? Who says I’m waiting? You’ve just done. I said no such thing. You are on the edge young man of your seat. But I’m standing.

See what I mean? This unconventional dialogue engages the reader in the conversation, feeling perplexed yet intrigued at the same time. Two detectives by the name of Smith try to solve the murder and theft of a mathematician and his missing bodily organs. While discussing the events that led to the mathematician’s death, both Smiths begin to venture into deep, thought provoking conversations about life and how individuals perceive the reality of their own existence. Their quest for the truth leads them to an insane asylum, which houses the men and women who are part of a cult that may have given the mathematician his fate.

This short text will pull you inside the storyline quickly because you’re trying to understand the complexity of the situation. Toward the end you get the feel of the story, but by that time it’s too late; the book is complete. You begin to ask yourself, “Are there really two people talking or just one? Is Detective Smith the murderer? Or does his monologue simply bring you to the way his brain falls into complex illusions about the existence of life and how we live?”

The book is a must read. It left me wanting more, and definitely kept me engaged. The reader will feel as if she or he is lurking behind the walls, listening to the Smiths’ long-winded, intellectual yet funny conversations about who killed the mathematician.

Written by: LaToya Rogers, May 20th 2007

Sophie’s World: A Novel about the History of Philosophy

admin — Mon, 07 May 2007 11:40:00 +0000

By Jostein Gaarder, Paulette Moller

Farrar, Straus and Giroux

An international bestseller when it was first published over a decade ago, Jostein Gaarder’s Sophie’s World has recently been re-released with a new appendix consisting of a short set of thematic and plot-related questions. Gaarder’s novel, brilliant in its philosophical scope and concision, narrates the intellectual maturation of its protagonist, Sophie Amundsen, a fourteen-year-old girl living in Norway. The novel is comprised of brief synopses of major philosophical theories and figures, from classical myth to twentieth century existentialism, from Socrates to Beauvoir. The synopses are interspersed between narrative segments that follow Sophie’s quest to discover the mysterious identities of Hilde Møller Knag, Hilde’s father Albert Knag, and their connection to her philosophy teacher Alberto Knox. In a quite frightening narrative twist constructed as a type of surreal mise en abyme, which culminates in the delightful philosophical garden party, Sophie and Alberto discover that they are fictional characters in Albert Knag’s novel (coincidentally entitled Sophie’s World) that he has written to Hilde for her fifteenth birthday.

In his review in the New York Times of the novel upon its first publication in English in 1994, John Vernon aptly refers to the Sophie’s World as a kind of modernized “old-fashioned conduct book of the sort written by a father for his daughter’s education.” While this description bespeaks the novel’s unfortunate bland style—which Vernon calls as “plain as a box,” with “tissue thin” characters—it also is indicative of the novel’s practical value as an elementary guide to the history of philosophy; if a reader, for example, wanted a brief summary of Sartre’s version of existentialism, she can easily flip to the novel’s index for quick reference. It is a wonderful resource for a basic introduction to philosophy, especially for younger generations of readers who have already devoured J.K. Rowling’s and Philip Pullman’s books and who are looking for something else to satiate their desire for intellectual intrigue, mystery and adventure.

Written by: Marcie Bianco, May 7th 2007