Shutter Island

Just to reassure you all, I don’t spend all my time thinking about the tragedy of Slipknot or the existential situation of being on a boat. One thing I’m thinking, more and more, is that Scorsese is a director worth examining more in a personal attempt to address in what way film relates to art. I am trying to avoid the problem Walter Benjamin articulates; namely, that “commentators had earlier expended much fruitless ingenuity on the question of whether photography was an art--without asking the more fundamental question of whether the invention of photography had not transformed the entire character of art--film theorists quickly adopted the same ill-considered standpoint” (28). I try to consider in what way film has transformed art. One approach I take is to compare films to their corresponding art--generally, the book from which they are derived. I watched “Shutter Island” (Scorsese) on the way to Ireland and read the book (Lehane) on the way back. That film is most interesting to me at least in part because it improves on the book (I haven’t found too many that do that--possibly some Steven Kings, possibly “The Silence of the Lambs,” to name others).

The literal story introduces themes common to both book and film. A quite literal theme: what is the proper way to treat diseases of the mind? Another, perhaps more aesthetic, theme common to book and film: the portrayal of insanity in light of Chesterton’s statement: ‘Insanity means losing everything except your reason.’ Another aesthetic theme, and here is where the movie goes beyond the book: the role of the actor and his humanity in the face of a dominating “apparatus” (Benjamin). [I have no qualms about spoiling the end of the movie for anyone, because I recognize that I'm pretty behind y'all on the movie front.] There is a pretty good possibility, at the end of the movie, that the main character is not actually insane, but rather is choosing to play a part, a role, that is not true, for the sake of preserving his personal integrity.

I am reminded of Benjamin’s statements about film-making as opposed to theatre. The actor in the theatre measures himself against nature; or, against the role he plays. The film actor, on the other hand, measures himself against “the apparatus” (30). To perform well before the demands of the apparatus is a “test performance of the highest order. To accomplish it is to preserve one’s humanity in the face of the apparatus. Interest in this performance is widespread. For the majority of city dwellers, throughout the workday in offices and factories, have to relinquish their humanity in the face of an apparatus. In the evening, these same masses fill the cinemas, to witness the film actor taking revenge on their behalf not only by asserting his humanity (or what appears to them as such) against the apparatus, but by placing that apparatus in service of his triumph” (31). In “Shutter Island,” the main character engages his humanity, the question of his own real identity, against what he perceives to be the false apparatus that is placed around him; he even uses that apparatus in service of his own heroism. The tragedy lies in that he chooses to hold onto his personal integrity , which turns out to be false (and thus "die" by undergoing a lobotomy), at the cost of the integrity of the apparatus, which turns out to be real (instead of living with the knowledge that he and his wife are "monsters"). (I won’t address the question here of how real that apparatus actually is--I mean, why would Scorsese end the film with a last shot of the lighthouse? It seems that Scorsese, by closing with that shot, invites at least some possibility that the character actually is sane.)

The last line from the main character in the movie does not occur in the book. It is solely the basis of that last line that I think the movie surpasses the book. The book concludes with the patient a confirmed criminally insane person, about to undergo out of necessity an operation that will destroy both his ability to harm others and destroy his ability to think rationally. The movie concludes similarly (just before the shot of the lighthouse), except with a person who I think consciously chooses to play the role of an insane person: “I’d rather die a good man than live a monster.” Brilliant. If the guy actually thinks he is sane, why would he say that?

Also, as a postscript, I have heard that there is massive controversy over the film “The Last Temptation of Christ,” another Scorsese film. I think that Kazantzakis’s book from which the film was derived was excellent, and I don’t think it was any more “heretical,” than, say, Paradise Lost (keeping in mind that 'the morality of art is different than the morality of the church'--drawn from comments by Louise, among others). Is the film worth seeing? Is “Mean Streets?” Other Scorsese recommendations?

Avatar

A 3-D CGI cinema experience, $300 billion dollar budget, and 3 hours of "revolutionary, Hollywood-blockbuster, visual eye-candy..." well, here are three reasons why I think Avatar was a bad movie. (And further, that it was deceptively bad, because it looked so good):

1. It is anti-human. (forget mere claims of anti-American, anti-military)
2. It offers no avenue or inspiration of hope, and instead offers a cynical, sparkly, appeal-to-the emotions message that we are doomed
3. It is artistically and creatively irresponsible

If anyone reading this has talked to me in the past two weeks, you have probably witnessed my bizarrely indignant, and deeply disturbed reaction to James Cameron's Avatar. I have read my fill of reviews out there of the movie, trying to synthesize what about it troubled me so much. If you haven't seen the movie, I encourage you to read some reviews (good and bad) to get a sense of the plot. (Spoiler alert)

Perhaps what I am angry about is a bigger issue of the movie industry in general, but stories have a profound impact on us as people. Those who write stories should be held accountable for the messages that they send and the commentary that they make about the human condition. Many have argued that Jake Sully is just choosing a different life-- one that is more suitable in his eyes than the way the humans in the movie are living--and that when he becomes his Na'vi avatar-self, it could be likened to someone embracing a new culture or race's lifestyle.

Even if that is true - the metaphor is a poor one and one that will be missed by most people. Reality and fantasy are too intertwined to actually send the message of embracing a "new lifestye." We will constantly be asking ourselves what is the best way to be humans--and this is a good thing--yet the movie is offering that the best way is a way completely other than our own.

I disagree. The movie is a projection of human life as we know it, and his disowns his human self. He completely renounces his humanity. I argue that this is fundamentally different than our struggle to discover the best way to live as humans and has a tragically hopeless and irresponsible undertone. I know that it is fantasy, but you cannot separate your human understanding of a fantasy world. This allegory about two cultures will have an impact on people viewing the movie, whether you want to admit it or not, and the human being in the story disowns his people, changing his essence. (and here I am not even going to go into the tree worshiping religious aspect that completely plays on people's spiritually emotional side...but I encourage someone else to take it up)

The movie is not merely an attempt to discover a better way to be human, it is offering the solution that this alien people have life figured out better than we do. This offers no hope for the current state we are in, because we are human and cannot renounce that. Again, maybe I am being too ideal, but our stories--even ones for entertainment--need to offer hope or commentary that leads us to something better and this movie does neither.

Artistically irresponsible? James Cameron has drawn upon some of the most creative minds and sources of human ingenuity to make a piece of widely acclaimed eye-candy, that cynically comments on the way we are treating the earth, (how much better off we would be if the creative ingenuity had been directed towards a productive innovation that serves society) and offers no solution for harmony or hope, so leaves the viewer 3-Dimensionally delighted and... uninspired.

Please friends, comment!

Summer Hours

Based on what I see and read on this blog, I'm going to make a recommendation...

Go see a movie.

I recommend the following: Summer Hours (L'heure d'été).

If you've seen Paris, je t'aime, you've seen this director's work. His name is Olivier Assayas. While his work on that short film is hardly worthy of attention (think Maggie Gyllenhaal on drugs), his latest effort is definitely worth $7.50 and two hours of your life.

The entire effort began through Paris' Musée d'Orsay in celebration of the museum's twentieth anniversary. While the initial project was abandoned, Assayas continued his efforts, turning what was initially conceived as a short film into a subtly poetic feature.

The end effort wreaks the boring stench of Chekhov, but somehow continues to fascinate me. The story is a modern reflection on the cycle of generations and the progress and decline of culture, all packaged in a mute drama of three distinct acts. ACT ONE: the family gathers to celebrate the mother's birthday. She takes her oldest son aside to verbally cram the contents of her will into his ears; these consist of paintings by famous French artists, furniture pieces, etc., and the summer house they are currently in. (The film's production design in this respect is dead-on, a dingy, artsy French cottage estate.) ACT TWO: mother dies a year-or-two later, and the three children (around 30 years of age) decide what to do about it.

As for the remaining half of the film, I hope my writing pushes you to see it. This is a modern family that participates in modern artistic culture. The director's perspective sheds light on the importance of memory within a culture, of the practicality of clinging on to the past, and the value of preserving it. At the end, although the life and art of the past generation has been scattered and sold, hope seeps forth from the least likely supporting characters.

While Summer Hours lacks dynamism, that doesn't make it bad; the film is appropriately undramatic. Audiences leave alerted to the importance of culture by telling a story involving the specific disassociation of artifacts from one generation of a family, a microcosm of a period of culture. Go watch how the story carries out and reflect on it. This is not my kind of film, but I really liked it.