Showing posts with label Darren Aronofsky. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Darren Aronofsky. Show all posts

Thursday, December 16, 2010

Distant Relatives: The Entertainer and The Wrestler



Robert here, with my series Distant Relatives, where we look at two films, (one classic, one modern) related through a common theme and ask what their similarities and differences can tell us about the evolution of cinema. 


Angry Old Men 

As a society we have such a strange relationship with celebrities.  We admire them and we despise them.  We love when they fail, embarrassing humiliation and then we promise to celebrate their comeback.   For the person who has actually attained fame, there's a good chance that that fame will come to an end before they do.  At some point society won't have a place for them anymore.  Filmmakers seem naturally attracted to the stories of these people since their world, for good or bad, is eternally rooted in the hype of fame.


Tony Richardson's The Entertainer and Darren Aronofsky's The Wrestler are two outside-of-Hollywood films with two very outside-of-Hollywood subjects.  Archie Rice of the somewhat-forgotten (or at least under-loved) The Entertainer is an old music hall performer, a song and dance man in a world where rock and roll is the only song and dance anyone seems to care about any more.  His audience is small and unenthusiastic.  Randy the Ram's audience is enthusiastic.  He's got small crowds cheering for him every week as he makes the rounds of the local underground wrestling scene.  The audience cheers for blood and bruises.  They cheer for Randy out of nostalgia for a time when Randy had full arenas packed just to see him entertain.

See the Resurrection

Two men trying desperately to hold onto a time when they mattered, growing old, living paycheck to paycheck or not even.  At the start Randy seems to have a better deal.  He's at least part of a community (though most of his fellow underground wrestlers are young guys trying to get where he once was), he has a haunt in the local strip club and a tenuous connection with fellow over-the-hill dancer Cassidy.  Living in a trailer park isn't preferred but he plays with the local kids and he has people who cheer for him.  Archie Rice does not.  And while he can often be found throwing one or many back among laughing cohorts, it's an attempt to recapture the good old days and numb the present ones.  They are not really his friends.  Both men are estranged from their families with particular attention payed to their relationships with their daughters.  Archie's is sympathetic but disappointed.  Randy's is jaded.  The father/daughter relationship is often plastered with "daddy's little girl" cliches.  Maybe we're meant to think that here, or maybe not.  Certainly we're given a glimpse into what could be.

Naturally there's a comeback opportunity that is not to be.  It seems unfair to breeze over the big chance for these men but it's a foregone conclusion that it can never be.  The entertainment industry demands change or death and these men, so desperate to matter again, aren't evolving but trying to pull their worlds back into the past with them.  Then again, the evolution that the world demands of these men is far from ideal.  Archie's best prospects are in Canada where he has an opportunity to run a hotel.  For Randy it's the deli counter of his local grocer, waiting on grumpy, particular seniors.  It's no surprise that Randy chooses to put his health at risk to fulfill his comeback, just as Archie stakes his financial future and risk of prison time on his.  The choice that these men have really isn't a choice at all.

We Had Faces Then


There is one woman whose shadow looms large over these two men.  She is the patron saint of washed up performers, or perhaps since we're talking in terms of relatives, their mother.  Norma Desmond is the original doomed performer though she's a villain; as time goes on, these characters get more and more tuned to our sympathies.  Desmond is such a villain that her film needs a hero.  Archie Rice isn't a villain but he's quite hurtful to those who love him.  He's given up trying.  Randy the Ram too screws up and often, but we get the sense that he's trying, he just can't overcome his own nature.

Randy's likability and the severity of his ultimate fate presents us with the biggest emotional blow of any of these characters.  Perhaps as time goes on, these kinds of stories must get more painful to make us take notice.  Or perhaps writer Robert Siegel has noticed how fatalistic celebrity culture has become.  All three films inhabited by these characters end with a death.  Perhaps it's the death of hype, or old Hollywood or British reign (as has been speculated in the case of The Entertainer).  Either way, the past dies.  And so does the roar of the crowd.

Monday, October 25, 2010

LFF 2010: Northern Lights, Black Swans

Dave from Victim of the Time, reporting from the 54th BFI London Film Festival.

We're winding down now. Today's gala screening, the sparky, perceptive The Kids Are All Right, is old news on American shores, so it's a good thing that I've taken so long to ponder over today's films. Today's theme might be... don't expect too much. You'll only get hurt.

Darren Aronofsky’s films consume. They consume the characters, slowly more obsessed with a singular goal or self-destructive impulse, but they consume the audience too. His last film, The Wrestler, was, despite its emotional intensity, less stylistically immersive than is typical of him. We are, in more ways than one, back to ‘normal’ with Black Swan, which simply can’t resist overpowering you with the contrasting black and white thematics of Swan Lake. Any other colour scheme would seem nonsensical, but Aronofsky doesn’t merely prescribe to the ballet’s bald imagery. The whole film seems to mimic the necessarily overdramatic, telegraphed stylisation of the whole artform; the escalating nightmarishness of Nina’s (Natalie Portman) fixations are pitched to the rafters, defiantly relishing the kind of flourishes of red and flashes of madness that Powell & Pressburger would be proud of.

It’s a fine balance, though, and the trappings of imitating such a florid style are easy to fall through even as it delivers vivid, scorching imagery. As a result, it often feels as though it’s in service of an increasingly flimsy set of dynamics. Nina is, physically speaking, a huge step forward for Portman, but as a character to inhabit, she’s reduced to an alarmingly simple ‘coming-of-age’ narrative: a realisation of sexuality, a rebellion, and a descent into madness that, since it is telegraphed right from the off, she is never defined apart from. Confusing, and possibly reductive, suggestions about sexuality (and particularly lesbianism) rear their head, and, coupled with the similarly basic friction between oppressive mother and stunted daughter, Black Swan leaves a slightly bitter taste in the mind at points from the sheer abundance of cliché.

If I sound like I’m being overwhelming negative, it’s merely because my expectations were far higher than any film deserves. The viscerality of the Black Swan experience is such that it’s not difficult to commend, and indeed recommend, and it doesn’t entirely deny Portman the chance to, er, spread her wings. But, ultimately, it feels like a step back for Aronofsky, a triumph of style over substance, and even if the style is slightly magnificent, it’s still a niggling disappointment. (B)

I spent a lot of time sitting watching Aurora, and most of it was spent trying to find the greatness in it. I knew it had to be there somewhere; after all, Cristi Puiu’s previous feature, The Death of Mr. Lazarescu, was a majestic, darkly ironic masterstroke, so there had to be at least a hint of it here somewhere. Finally, as the film approached its end, the rather restless audience around me seemed to find some appeal, chuckling away at the film’s sudden change of tone, and I gave up. There is good in Aurora, but not only is it never great, the goodness is drowned. The film’s intriguing treatment of violence as an event barely more notable than an exchange of money or visiting your parents’ house seems to make sense of the extraordinary running time, but the slowness of the building character study never justifies this length. Puiu’s favouring of long shots, with diegetic sound covering dialogue, seem gratuitously inscrutable rather than fascinating, and though the closer shots are alert and responsive, the lethargy of the film is overwhelming. As the film gathers pace and events are felt a bit more keenly, Aurora seems headed to a meaningful apex, but it torpedoes itself with a finale of absurdity within its realist aesthetic, with the sardonic, humourous social commentary suddenly laid on so obviously it’s as if we’re being buried beneath it. As Puiu introduced the screening, he seemed to acknowledge the wearing length, but it seems he couldn’t resist. Depth, Cristi, doesn’t necessarily require length. (C)

It’s unlikely, no, that a film would name itself after something so intriguing and then barely engage with it? For the soap-opera dynamics of the half of Patagonia that actually takes place in Patagonia don’t have any need to be there at all, although I doubt they’d be much more engaging in California or Siberia than they are here. Rather curiously sheathed in half, with two plots that are cleanly unrelated, the film swerves between Patagonia and Wales without much rhyme or reason. There isn’t much sense of Patagonia as a place distinct from any of the rest of South America, except that the characters – two of whom are visitors – speak in Welsh. Showing the disconnect that should likely be the point of the film, the characters in Wales speak in Spanish, though this plot is played much more heavily for the cultural tension. As the soap-opera dynamics of infidelity and a tired coming-of-age plot crowd the film and Wales is inevitably depicted as a rosy, pastoral landscape, any deeper angles that have been vaguely suggested are shunted aside. The brief hints of something more specific that we are given make the film’s overall disinterest even more maddening – there are stories here being ignored, snubbed for ones that have probably been written during a deep sleep. (C-) [edited from full review]

Still left on the LFF docket are Sofia Coppola's Venice champion Somewhere, and closing night film 127 Hours, which Nathaniel just left word on. If you're so inclined, take a look at the screening log on my sidebar and let me know if there's any film you're just desperate to hear my thoughts on, and I'll slip it into my final post in a few days.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

I link through all this... before you wake up... so I can be happier

to be linked again with you... ♫

Kenneth in the (212) Fun couples at the Emmys. I hadn't seen some of these photos. Cute!
Just Jared The new cast of Dancing with the Stars. I don't watch it but I do find it amusing in a meta way that Jennifer Grey of Dirty Dancing fame will compete.
/Film Dozens of new photos from The Social Network


popbytes I so wish I was in Venice right now for Black Swan.* (yes more on this later today) In a perverse way I hope that Darren Aronofsky does take that X-Men Origins: Wolverine sequel.
The Playlist I forgot to mention that someone finally gave primo scene-stealer Ari Graynor a lead role. That someone was David Gordon Green. I guess he's just smarter than other directors.
USA Today Lindsay Lohan talking to Vanity Fair. She claims she's still a "damn good actress." You always were Linds so prove it again. You can't keep resting on 1998-2004.
Pop Eater Sofía Vergara's boyfriend is in politics? Huh, who knew.
Movie|Line ewwww. the bedbug epidemic has reached Toronto. Will it hurt the Film Festival?

Late tonight... the next episode of Hit Me With Your Best Shot features A Face in the Crowd. Are you joining in?

Robyn doing Björk whilst Björk watches. No pressure or anything.



"Hyperballad" is such a goodie.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Burlinque

Behold: The Poster for Burlesque. I think the marketing department deserves kudos for managing to pay homage to both of their leading ladies simultaneously in a way that's flattering to both. Although the hot pink "they airbrushed my face" quality won't be a sale for everyone.

Linques
MTV Whoa! Darren Aronofsky originally conceived of Black Swan and The Wrestler as a single film. Now I'm even more intrigued.
Hollywood Crush Bradley Cooper and Ryan Reynolds as action co-stars? Media to swoon.
In Contention Isabella Rossellini to head Berlinale jury
Stale Popcorn Gypsy 83. I never hear anyone talking about this movie so I had to link up. Way too underseen for something so heartfelt.
MNPP Good morning. Hey, I love bookshelves, too. They scream "I am what I am."
Serious Film "Pulled from the Wreckage" Fine acting in terrible films
Cinematical freaks out over the amount of stunts in Mad Max: Fury Road
Awards Daily on the current cynicism and the Oscar race.
Movies Kick Ass picks his favorite Emmy dresses. Christina Hendricks was probably mine. But I'm a sucker for attention grabbing cleavage ... and lavender come to think of it... and redheads (come to keep thinking of it). Triple success.


Go Fug Yourself
on Diana Agron's (Glee) Little Women look on the red carpet.
PopWrap first official image of Kristen Bell in Burlesque. They think she'll be the most quoted character.
Geekscape asks "What if The Expendables had an all female cast?" Answer: Nathaniel would've seen it twice already. (P.S. A female version is so not a bad idea.)

And finally The Awl asks a question that's really been haunting me lately "Why is American selfishness so widespread now?" It's been a disheartening summer -- lack of empathy everywhere. I think you can even see this in reviews of movie dramas. People just have no time or patience for other people's heartache.

OK that's too depressing to end with.

How about By Ken Levine's (who knows from television) Emmy recap:
You realize of course that you watch a lot more television than the people who made these decisions? If it weren't for screener DVD's, many Academy members would still be voting for HILL STREET BLUES.
Ha. Good one.The only reason they're lazier than Oscar voters is they can be. Movies tend to be, like, ineligible after their debut year.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

YES, No, Maybe So: Black Swan

The gorgeous Black Swan trailer has arrived in glorious quicktime. But here it is in YouTube though, really, go watch it at Apple Trailers where you can blow it up big and be amaze-ed.



I can barely type from the shaking. I'd like to do a yes, no, maybe so but I am only yes. Or rather, a GOD YES.

Though I am not generally prone to visually vomiting out trailer screencaps, I make an exception today since I love the work of DP Matthew Libatique (still awaiting an Oscar nom. grrrrr) and the movie looks dark, dangerous and all around delicious. And I don't even like ballet!*

Here are twelve shots** in chronological order.

pretty princess ballerina all by her lonesome

Strained Natalie Portman, adult sized with a little girl voice.

Barbara f'in Hershey in a role that might be worthy of her?
I dare not hope.


ballerina so sad -- hey, what's that on my back?

Bitchy carefree sexy rival Mila Kunis. Boo! Hiss! Yum!?!

Ballerina Doubled = Self Loathing Metaphor???
These shots FREAK ME OUT.


Natalie watching her Star Wars performance on perma-loop.

A little 'me' time. Wait, isn't she getting plenty of me time by
seeing herself everywhere she goes? She'll go blind!


At this point I was totally scared for my/her life.

holy. shit.

Alternate Title: MUST SEE

Just...chills.

Especially once Natalie Portman's ballerina starts splintering. I can only pray that along with the disintegration of her psyche -- I assume that's why she's turning against herself, is it a self haunting? -- she lies to herself since Women Who Lie To Themselves™ is the greatest of film genres.

Director Darren Aronofsky has yet to make anything less than a must see. Even his weakest effort Pi, was a pretty stunning calling card. Though I suppose if I had to nitpick to try and smother excitement so it stays at normal levels rather than fanboy droolings, three things that are bugging me about this here Black Swan.
  1. I already wish it were shot on celluloid and... (well perhaps it is but it doesn't look it to me exactly)
  2. The nearest film I can think of as a reference point for girlie supernatural terror is Rosemary's Baby and the nearest reference point for girl who seems to be multiple girls at once is Mulholland Dr and few films are ever as good as either of those so... uh... good luck with the company you keep.
  3. I hate that Barbara Hershey isn't named. She's a f**king Oscar nominee and she's f**king great in certain roles. I hope this is one of them.
*Isn't that weird. Because I love dance in general. But ballet. Something stops me from loving it.
** Can you believe I didn't screencap the lesbian makeout between Mila Kunis and Natalie? What's wrong with me.