I often get mixed up between A Serious Man (Coen brothers’ essential Yiddish comedy) with A Single Man (Tom Ford’s directorial debut). Both got a lot of nominations during last award season. Both take place in the 1960s – an era with a very specific sentiment: fear. Both pivot around a male protagonist – a college professor – with his daily struggle with incredibly profound matter: what makes life worth while. Although both character take different approach in find the answer to this question (and one can argue that A Serious Man takes this question into greater depth) but I feel a very similar subtext that the film makers are trying to posit to the viewers.

Since I saw A Single Man is still fresher in my memory, I’ll just write about it now. A Serious Man needs a re-run and more mulling over.

A Single Man is a glimpse to the life of George Falconer (Colin Firth) – one day of his life, to be precise. It’s not just any other day for him – although his life has been an excruciatingly dull repetition of routines since his lover was killed in a car accident 8 months ago.

George is an British man who lives in Los Angeles to teach English in a local college. He is a man of impeccable taste, as we can see from his dapper clothes and his remarkably stylish house. But as we see he wakes up that morning and goes through his routine, we can begin to see that the superficiality is covering up a giant gapping void. That morning, just like every other morning, he rips open the seal of a brand new white shirt. It symbolizes a fresh start, a clean slate, but then we see he is dreading the present and continuously haunted by the past. His house is filled with expensive-looking furniture, but it looks cold and inhabitable.

But it hasn’t always been that way. Months ago, George would wake up to a sight of Jim (Matthew Goode), his lover, playing in the garden with his terrier. This flashback sequence and many others in the film allow us to learn bit by bit about George and Jim’s relationship. The flashback are not presented in reverse chronological order, rather each flashback is related to an event that happen is present day. At times, the flashback can be gut-wrenching, but sometimes it’s also heart-warming. But then, as they include a memory of someone who’s already passed away, there’s poignancy even in the happiest memory.

As the film takes us through one important day of George’s life, we also meet several characters that play an important role in his life: his best friend Charley (Julianne Moore) who has known him since they were young boy and girl in London and now she lives in LA as well. She reminds us of a writhing flower – beautiful, frail and very tragic.

There’s also Kenny Potter (Nicholas Hoult aka the boy with Vulcan eyebrow from About a Boy, all grown up), one of his students who seems to be harboring an interest at him. Kenny reminds George a bit of his dead lover: young, naïve, lively and sure of himself.

There’s also his neighbour Mrs. Strunk (Ginniffer Goodwin), a perky housewife you’d normally see on those absurd, colorful advertising from the 1960s, and Carlos (Spain guy) a Spain James Dean who come to LA from Madrid to become an actor but end up soliciting outside grocery stores.

hey look! it's Contra's album cover in the background. tee-hee.

The thematic arc in the film, I guess, is how interaction between George and each of these characters during the course of the day affects his outlook to life. And perhaps also how these people who are alive and breathing can ‘exorcise’ the ghost of the past and his dead lover.

What really caught my attention in this film is the exceptional sense of aesthetic. As the film is directed by Tom Ford (THE Tom Ford of Gucci fame), it makes sense that he brings his own brand of couture polished-ness into the film. Every cast member looks like a model – the actors and actresses are very beautiful people to begin with, but with the carefully and thoroughly designed wardrobe and make up, they really look like retro mannequins – and very fashionable ones.

is this the most beautiful ensemble cast or what.

Still frame of any scene in this film are also meticulously stylized and might as well come from Vogue/Harper’s Bazaar fashion spread. The cinematography plays a lot with color – the color grading attempts to enhance/capture the emotion on each scene: desaturated mute colors when George is bleakly reminiscing about his past, into vibrant gleaming red when George is talking to Carlos. We can also see a transition when George is brooding in the bank lobby, and one of the Strunk kids come over and talk to him. We can see the change in color scheme, literally like there’s red sun rising right next to them. Very dramatic.

There’s also many slow-motion, distorted, surreal scenes in the film which may put the film in the verge of becoming very similar to an extended TV commercial for designer brand perfume. It’s THAT visually arresting.

But even with this ‘hard, shiny formica coating‘ of style and beauty, I still feel that the film manages to be emotionally captivating in its best moments. This is due to the excellent performance of the cast members, and also…I’ve never subscribed to the idea that films with strong visual/stylistic idiosyncrasy tend to be superficial or gimmicky. It’s up to the viewers whether they want to experience such films merely on superficial level (and be bothered as hell by it) or they can regard the stylistic idiosyncrasy as an element of the story.

All in all, I think the film is refreshing. It does not give any formal conclusion on what makes life worth while, but nor do I think any film should attempt to do so anyway.

*: inexplicable sentimentality that involves listening to Joni Mitchell’s Cloud album from beginning to end, OR inexplicable rage that involves considering to join a Fight Club for the prospect of beating up a bleached Jared Letto).

I've only read ONE of the books in this pile. Ay Carumba! (illustration via http://www.iliketodrawthings.com/)

I’m sure there’s a long tedious intellectual discourse to argue how void/materialist/futile/greedy/etc  it is to let ‘what you buy‘ influence ‘how you feel about yourself/your life‘.

But if we go down to brass-tacks, the fact is:

Impulsive shopping is called a therapy for 2 reasons yo!

1. It makes you feel good, like a therapy should.

2. It sucks the money out of your account, like a therapy would.  (That Freud guy was a unsung business man!)

HAHA.

So, I’ve acknowledge this tendency, or let’s say vice if you want, and I’ve been thinking about it. And by thinking I’m refering “trying to come up with proper justification to minimize the guilt that usually comes at home after calculating how much I’ve spent on this overpriced - but cute! – dress that I would possibly wear only once – but cute!“.

And my resolution was: Should the unsurpressable urge to shop comes, direct your path to the nearest book stores!

It’s better to buy books (from which one can learn new things, experience an imaginary journey, etc) than clothes or shoes or bags.

AMIRIGHT?AMIRIGHT?AMIRIGHT?

This realization + rapidly decreasing attention span  = a long, long, loonngg bucket list of books to read cluttering all over my bed room.

To wit:

Books I’ve read more than 50% of it but then lost interest,but made a half-assed promise to finish:

• Middlesex – Jeff Euginides
• Virgin Suicide – Jeff Euginides
• The Adventure of Kavalier and Clay – Michael Chabon
• The Yiddish Policemen Union – Michael Chabon
• One Fifth Avenue – Candace Bushnell (I know, what the hell, right??)

Books I’ve been reading, very interested in, but for some reason haven’t finished yet:

• Seymour : An Introduction – JD Salinger
• Brideshead Revisited – Evelyn Waugh

Freshly-bought book:

• Slaughterhouse Five – Kurt Vonnegut Jr
• Catch 22 – Joseph Heller
• Tender is the Night – F.Scott Fitzgerald

Books that I bought ages ago but haven’t read more than a chapter:

• The Pittsburgh Mystery – Michael Chabon (Damn what is it with my non-committment to Michael Chabon’s books? I really, really enjoyed Wonder Boys immensely and decided to buy more of his works but they’re not like what I expected)

Borrowed book that I haven’t finished:

• The Gourmet Rhapsody – Muriel Barberry

How am I going to finish them all???

One passage in the book strikes me immensely. It’s a conversation between Charles and Lady Marchmain – Sebastian’s mother:

I remember [Lady Marchmain] saying “When I was a girl we were comparatively poor, but still much richer than most of the world, and when I married I became very rich. It used to worry me, and I thought it wrong to have so many beautiful things when others had nothing. Now I realize that it is possible for the rich to sin by coveting the privileges of the poor. The poor have always been the favorites of God and his saints but I believe that it is one of the special achievements of Grace to sanctify the whole of life, riches included.

WHOA.

It reminds me of a very memorable passage from The Elegance of A Hedgehog (Murriel Barberry). This book is also about the anthropological aspect of social classes, particularly the rich and the poor. I find it very insightful as it offers two different point of view: how the rich sees the poor, and how the poor sees the rich.

The passage I was mentioning is from the point of view of Renee, a building concierge on affluent apartment in Paris. She’s talking about Colombe Josse, one of the residents in the apartment:

Colombe Josse is…a sort of tall blond leek who dresses like a penniless Bohemian. If there is one thing I despise, it’s the perverse affectation of rich people who go around dressing as if they were poor…. Not only is it ugly, it is also insulting: nothing is more despicable than a rich man’s scorn for a poor man’s longing.

WHOA WHOA.

Well, these passages are basically talking about the same phenomenon: rich people envy poor people. How outrageous….or is it?

From materialistic point of view (and as Madonna said: we are living in a material world), the definition of ‘being rich’ would be ‘having all your needs and wants fulfilled’ – from your basic needs to your frivolous wants. I think the word ‘rich’ even has the connotation of excess. While on the other hand, ‘poor’ is about deprivation – about being denied your needs and wants. So in any sense, it should be the poor who envy the rich. It is despicably greed if it’s otherwise: how can someone who has ‘everything’ still envy others who have ‘nothing’?

Well:

1. Money can’t buy you love. (The Beatles said it. Your arguments are not valid)
2. Here’s another form of truism that none of us can deny : It’s human nature to always want more, more and more. Greed is the natural disposition of human being. Corollary: being rich does not equal an absence of want. It doesn’t make rich people exempt to the agony of wanting what they cannot attain.

Does it make her envy acceptable?

See, there are levels of needs/wants. If your basic needs are fulfilled, then your struggle becomes about your emotional needs, etc. People will continuously invent needs/wants in their life – we are insatiable. For Lady Marchmain, as her worldly needs are lavishly fulfilled, her struggles becomes an immaterial one: the afterlife. What she wants is the assurance that she can continue to live pleasantly in afterlife as she does in the world.

This, I think, is more difficult to attain than bread and butter, right?

Does it make her struggle more agonizing?

Isn’t it better to want things that can be achieved rather than wanting things that are simply beyond our control as humans?

WHOA WHOA WHOA….

*whispers*

Isn’t it actually “better” to be poor than to be rich?

?

Tthe first things that comes to mind is the campaign from Italy for the Comic Museum (another reason to move to Italy!). It is from last year – won Bronze at Cannes – and this year.

To get the full effect of awesomeness of this campaign, please allow me to take you through some legendary paintings:

Portrait of the Infanta Margarita

Diego Velasquez, 1653

Le Déjeuner sur l’Herbe (The Picnic)

Edouard Manet, 1863

The Death of Marat (La Mort de Marat )

Jacques-Louis David , 1793

AND NOW, BEHOLD:

(it’s not too readable. In the middle panel, text on that piece of paper reads: Room Service Bill)

Campaign line: Comics are art. Just funnier.

(Audio: laughing tracks of studio audience on sitcoms + applause)

Love this campaign for several reason:

1. It includes a work of fine art (Manet no less! woot woot). So basically, that alone is enough to make me excited..

2. It juxtaposes, or even ‘clashes’ high brow form of art with low brow sense of humor (comic strip), thus leading us to a interesting idea: is the concept of polarizing extremes still relevant in this day and age, where synthesis/fusion has become the way our life and our world operates (pure “creation” no longer exist, everything is derivative)?*

3. It shows great understanding about the target audience and create relevance. I’ve seen some other advertising that also use visual of fine artwork but there isn’t any coherence in the idea and the execution, so the use of fine artwork become kind of gimmicky.

4. It’s just simply FUNNY AS HELL. DISCUSS.

*Yeah, this is related to Contra.

Bonus:

Here’s a guide I’ve developed to help you interpret what your Facebook profile photo says about you. It’s based on a rather intricate analysis and deep understanding on the work from various well known artists.

If your Facebook photos are: Close-ups of your face, always from the same angle, always with the same expression.

Then you are:

Which means: You know what works for you, you know what makes you look good and you’re workin it, girl! (or guy!)

If your Facebook photos are: close-ups of your face with various angle and various expression, but always frowning never smiling

Then you are:

Which means: You’re kind of an emo and might be interested to get multiple piercings on your ear

If your Facebook photos are: Close-ups of your face, modified creatively using  color filters and you have many many MANY of those photos.

Then you are:

Which means: You’re a fan of Lady Gaga and might consider a career in advertising

If your Facebook photos are: photos of you experimenting with various make-up, hair-do and costumes. In some of the photos (if not all), you are barely recognizable.

Then you are:

Which means: You challenge the concept of selff, identity and manifestation of individuality (WHOA DEEP), or you just like dressing up.

If your Facebook photos are: the same photos as that on your ID, Driving License or Passport

Then you are:

Which means: You have a no-nonsense take on life and are very confident, since those photos  can often make you look kind of awful because you’ve been waiting frustratingly for hours before the photo was taken and the government officers who took it didn’t actually care whether you look good in it as long as you don’t blink.

If your Facebook photos are: photos of you doing various weird crap with your best friend/boyf/girlf.

Then you are:

Which means: You don’t really care whether people think you’re weird – as long as you got each other.

If your Facebook photos are: photos of you but blurry

Then you are:

Which means: You’re a bit shy about your looks, or you don’t really know what the focus button is for.

If your Facebook photos are: various photos of you but seem to be of different people

Then you are:

Which means: You’re a freaking genius.

If your Facebook photos are: shadows of yourself

Then you are:

Which means: Your face is 4 but your body is a 10

If your Facebook photos are: doodles of yourself and they look like you.

Then you are:

Which means: You’re a sensitive artist, and you want people to know that.

If your Facebook photos are: doodles of yourself and they DON’T look like you.

Then you are:

Which means: You’re extremely talented. Or not at all. It’s rather controversial.

If your Facebook photos are: photos of you with fresh-from-the-salon perm

Then you are:

Which means: I cannot relate to you, like, at all.

Heeheehee, don’t take this too seriously.

Anyway: the internet is the best easiest channel to be informed about stuff, so I’ve been reading a lot of articles about both of them.

Besides of finding out gazillions of facts and mind-reeling anecdotes about them (Wes Anderson’s middle name is Mortimer Wales, and Ezra Koenig’s favorite food is hummus), I also find out one other thing: BOY, DO THE CRITICS HATE THEM.

Both Anderson and VW have become subjected to a lot of hatred and ridicule for one overarching reason: critics find them ostentatious with their own brand of quirks, capital Q. What bothers me greatly is not this reason or the criticism, but it’s the act of criticism itself.

How relevant is criticism in art, really?

The matter has been cooking in my head for some days and I have come to the conclusion:

Criticism may be the antithesis of art.

WHOA.

Here we go.

Art is a celebration of individuality. The essence of art is subjectivity: one individual’s interpretation of an “objective” reality. How you experience or create art is inseparable with who you are, your ‘self’.

But, one may argue, isn’t criticism also an expression of subjectivity as well?

No matter how many other people’s names, quotes or theories you throw into your criticism as an attempt to make it more valid or ‘objective’ (and hence more agreeable, compelling, persuading, or in short: winning for the readers), it is still only one’s individual opinion. It is an expression of individuality..right?

How could two things that may come from a common origin become antithesis to each other?

Well, I don’t think the ‘danger’ in criticism is not in the act of making a criticism but rather in reading one. Because by reading it, on a subconscious level at the very least, it will become a part of your own set of experience. It will affect how you feel or think about that specific work of art.

The stakes are even higher when you read criticism about a work of art before you experience the work of art itself – before you see the painting, read a book, watch the movie or listen to the album.

(I’m not completely missing the point that criticism these days are in fact used as a pre-purchase guide by the post-modern consumers. It has become a very powerful marketing tool. I’m also not saying that your purchase decision shouldn’t be based on external values or opinions posited by others unto you (I believe and work in advertising, after all). But let’s isolate your decision on purchase with the decision on how you feel about the artwork. Let’s focus on the later.)

As a part of society, I think every individual has this undeniable tendency or obsession to the ‘norm’ or the consensus. Some people get the kick out of finding out that their personal opinion does not deviate from the consensus, while others are pleased to know that their personal opinion is a polar opposite of the consensus. Upon finding out about the extent of deviation, one may intentionally calibrate his opinion to approach the norm or go the other way around (rebellion brings joy to some people, apparently).

Reading criticism is an act of succumbing to that tendency.

Writing criticism, which at first may come from a budding sense of individuality, often turns out to be an attempt to make the writer’s opinion the new norm. I’m not saying that every critic wants all readers to agree to his opinion (that would be a very wan and futile pursuit), but isn’t every criticism based on the conviction that the writer’s vision should be valid for others? Isn’t that kind of making your opinion the norm – to which others should measure their deviation? Isn’t the only two possible basic reaction to a criticism is either to agree or to disagree to it?

See, by succumbing to this tendency, you’re limiting yourself to a dichotomy.

On the other hand:

Art, in its process of creation, should be free of this kind of propensity. Art should be regardless of consensus and norms. It should not be bound by any imposed limitations formed by society. Again, art is a celebration of individuality. It should be the creator’s own rehashed version of reality. It’s about the creator’s own vision of reality. Like JD Salinger said (I paraphrase): the true painter or poet is the only seer we have on earth.

And in the process of experiencing art, it should also pivot on individualism: you project your individualism through other’s individualism. This is not an argument about using your ‘heart’ or your ‘brain’ (emotional versus cerebral). I think one experience art both in affective and logical manner because art has its aesthetic and contextual level. It doesn’t matter if you choose to only see one of the aspects.

The important thing is that art presents you the right and entitlement to be self-centered. A privilege you often have to dispossess if you want to be accepted and thrive in your social contacts and interaction. While actually: self-centeredness is actually the default in which each individual operates. Every part of this ‘reality’ you shared with others is only real if you have experience it. Everybody has the tendency to make himself the center of every experience (further reading: David Foster Wallace – This is Water).

There are infinite possibilities of how we could react to a work of art, not just to agree/disagree or like/dislike.

So in the context of experiencing art, succumbing to this tendency will liberate you.

So why deprive yourself of this opportunity?

And for those who says “I read criticism on a film/book/album/etc so I know whether it would be a waste of time or not”:

You’re already wasting your time by reading that criticism.
And also: get over yourself.

Rushmore is one of my desert island movies.

(Yeah, if your plane/ship is wrecked above the sea and you’re washed ashore to a deserted island, there’s gonna be a DVD Player, a TV set and an electric plug in that island. So you have to pick 5 films that you’re going to watch for the rest of your life. Play along with this premise, please, regardless of its many logical fallacy. Let’s move along).

My other desert island movies Singin’ in the Rain, Annie Hall, High Fidelity, and a tie between The Big Lebowski and a Pixar movie (and I’m still undecided between A Bug’s Life or Finding Nemo.)

I feel that it simplify matters to state this in the beginning of the review. I love this movie as much as Lady Gaga loves attention. And leotards. (Her, not me.)

I saw it on VCD years ago back when I was in high Sshool, if I remembered correctly. The film was released on 1998. At that time, I was not familiar with Wes Anderson and his amazing idiosyncrasy. Of course, at that time the term “Wes Anderson’s idiosyncrasy” has not existed yet. Rushmore is his first feature film with wide release (Yeah, I know about Bottle Rocket.). But I do remember feeling that there’s something stylistically unique and striking in Rushmore. Something I haven’t seen in any other films – partly due to the fact that during high school years, all I saw was blockbuster movies with few exception of the good films that my brother recommended. But mostly because Wes Anderson does have a unique, striking cinematic style.  (It deserves a blog entry (or a blog?!) on its own. So I won’t exhaust the topic here.)

Rushmore feels unique and striking because of many things: the cast, the performance, the set & art direction, the soundtrack, the cinematography (huh?), and the dialog. Especially the dialog. I remembered cracking up several time during the film when the actors said something out-landishly funny with dead-pan delivery. The one i remembered the most:

Rosemary Cross: We don’t have a relationship.
Max Fischer: But we’re friends.
Rosemary Cross: Yes, and that’s all we’re *going* to be. Well, yes…
Max Fischer: That’s all I meant by “relationship.” You want me to grab a dictionary?

Hilarious stuff.

Although I liked Rushmore when I saw it for the first time, my appreciation to it grows as time goes by. Over the couse of 12 years, I watched every Wes Anderson’s movie released and continue being a huge fan of his work (and Wes himself. Tee-hee.). I saw Rushmore for the second time last year and how I feel and think about it is different.

My high-school self kinda hates Max Fischer’s gut: He’s a wuss and kind of a cry-baby. He screws up and punishes people for that. What a self-righteous little prick. But he’s kind of cute that way. Tee-hee <3

My current self (I was about to type ‘my grown-up self’ but that’s a bit arguable) has a soft-spot for Max Fischer. He’s actually a good kid and also smart,he’s just kind of lost in his ways. In addition, he’s practically the puppy-eyed version of Holden Caulfield. Holden..puppy..what’s not to like?

Max Fischer is a sophomore student in a private prep-school called Rushmore. He has tons of whimsy extracurricular activity (Bee Keeping society!), leads and even initiates some of them. He carries himself with this peculiar air – a mix between grandeur and naivete. Like any important figures in history, he has a lackey assistant who keeps his calendar and takes note of what he says. (Bonus awesomeness point: the assistant,  Dirk Calloway, is Dennis the Menace!).

But all these extracurricular activities has made his grades slipped. The principal implements an “academic sudden-death” to him, meaning that he’ll be expelled from the prestigious school if his grades don’t pick up. To complicate matters: enters Rosemary Cross (Olivia Williams), a teacher that Max falls head-over-heels for, because of her scribbles in a library books about ocean life (a JJ Costeau’s quote). There’s no reciprocity as Miss Cross never sees Max as more than a kid with an amusing quirk. But nothing as unsubstantial as that could stop someone as driven as Max Fischer. (He saved Latin class from being erased, just because he thought Miss Cross would appreciate that, given that Miss Cross thesis is on Latin America Economic Policies. Errrr. Misguided, but sweet nonetheless.)

There’s also Herman Blume (Bill Murray), a rich business man with a steel factory and a failing marriage, whose Neanderthal twin sons studied at Rushmore. Max befriended Mr Blume because he admires Mr Blume’s speech (” …[Rich boys] can buy anything but they can’t buy backbone…”). There is reciprocity in this relationship, as Mr Blume admires Max’s ambition and initiative – perhaps he wishes his sons are more like Max. But there’s also a common interest between Max and Mr Blume that turns them into rivals: Miss Cross. Both men fights for her attention – each with his own twisted way. The rivalry grows nastier and the casualty becomes bigger. It’s also extremely funny.

But the love triangle is not the focus of the film. In its heart, Rushmore is coming-of-age tale about a boy name Max Fischer. And that’s why I love this film. The character, despite of his not-so-innocent mischief, is so damn likeable. Sure, he attacks people with crates of angry bee and fakes accidents to manipulate his way into a woman’s bedroom, but by golly..you want good things to happen to him!

Bill Murray has a career-reviving role as the dull, cynical but kind-hearted Mr Blume. Jason Schwartzman also did a tremendous job to make Max Fischer comes alive. This debut performance even defines his career – I think all roles he had ever since is essentially Max Fischer (eg: Ash Fox = Max Fisher with fur). (I don’t mind this typecast because he’s so damn good in every single one.)

There’s so many bits and pieces that I also love: The montage scene showing Max’s various activities, the school play that Max directed, his banter with the Scottish bully, The Kinks’ song “Nothing Can Stop Me From Worrying About This Girl” and the scene that comes with it.

In entriety, every single thing in this film is perfect.

It’s seminal, destined for bigger things – just like Max Fischer is.

Before I’ve seen the movie, I’ve always thought that The Graduate is a drama about steamy forbidden relationship between a young, naive college graduate and an older, sultry woman. I think it would revolve around the young man’s internal battle of conscience and lust. And after many twist and turns (disapproving parents, judgmental society, male’s ego to constantly domineer, etc), he will finally make up his mind and decide what’s right for him. Eventually the odd couple beat the odds and maybe reunite in a rainy afternoon in an artistically drenched cobble-stone street – a.k.a Movie Ending Script type 4B.

Turns out – like most of the time – I was wrong.

The film is, apologize for a lack of more sophisticated vocabulary: taut. The narrative, the dialogues, the way the cast emote (did I use the word emote correctly?). Every moment feels like something bad is about to happen on the next one. There’s a constant lull (but not in the boring way. Never in the boring way.) – almost like the calm before a storm. There are a lot of scene where “nothing happens”, yet they induce uneasiness instead of tranquility. The exchanges between the characters sound strained, like the actors can’t barely miss a nanosecond to say their line right after their counterpart finish their part. Everything seems to be done with clock-like precision (a Switzerland-made one). It feels…void.

I have to admit, these things are a bit off-putting when I saw the movie for the first time. The experience was very unique, like opening a gift box to find out that you don’t get what you wanted/expected – after that slight pang of disappointment, what you find in the box still intrigues you very much.

So I watched it for the second time (it’s starting to grow on me, as I so much wished that it would) and the third time (after my brother mentioned that the film is apparently Symbolism101 and highly influenced by French New Wave Cinema – which I knew nothing about but keep hearing that it’s supposed to be the height of sophistication (with a side of pretentiousness.))

The elements that annoyed me when I saw the film for the first time turned out to be the exact reason why I, eventually, love this film. It creates a world of its own and it takes you into that world. It doesn’t feel real but hey, let’s face it, you’re already living in a real world and it’s not always that great anyway?

On second viewing, the strained dialogues becomes charged with complex emotion and the meticulously-calculated contemplative scenes becomes pure, unadulterated bliss of escapism.

On third viewing, I became aware of the symbolism. The diver statue in a fish tank vis a vis the main character’s deep-sea diving costume, a birthday present from his parent. I suppose they both symbolize something deeply profound, but anything deeply profound always escapes me :p (a person who uses emoticon on a film review clearly doesn’t have the mental capacity for anything deeply profound.)

Anyway.

In terms of story:

Benjamin Braddock (a young, unwrinkled Dustin Hoffman – very strange!) is a college graduate with ‘a bright future ahead of him’. He’s intelligent, athletic, polite and people look up to him – they expect big things from him. From the very first beginning, it’s made apparent that Benjamin is unhappy and feels empty despite all his achievement. The opening credit of this film is cited as one of the most memorable opening in cinema history. It’s quite simple, actually. It follows Benjamin as his plane landed, he arrives at an airport, picks up his luggage and rides on a conveyor belt. What makes it memorable is the soundtrack (a very solid evidence of  how music really plays an important role in storytelling) is Simon&Garfunkel’s Sound of Silence. It perfectly captures the mood of the scene and the film. It’s the musical-equivalent of a distant vacant gaze. The songs is used on several critical scene in the film, and it never fails.

To celebrate his graduation, Ben’s parent held a party at their home. Friends and relatives tell Benjamin how proud they are of him, and of course that makes them entitled to tell him what he should do with the rest of his life (one of the advices, the best one, only consists of one word). Seeing how other people are more excited about his future than he himself is, Benjamin withdraws. He gets into his room to stare into the fish tank in his room (just like any kid would). Suddenly, a lady with bouffant hair and heavy eyeliners barges into his room (like any mother would) and asks him to drive her home. After some strained-yet-hilarious argument, Benjamin succumbs to Mrs. Robinson’s request – after all, she is his parents’ friend so by extension he should do as told. Plus she looks hot. (Dude, Anne Bancroft is the quintessential cougar – forgive the expression.)

After they arrive at the Robinsons’ driveway, Mrs. Robinson asks him to walk her into the house because she’s scared of the dark. A flimsy excuse that doesn’t fully mask her intent to seduce Ben. Ben senses this and he declines – again Mrs. Robinson scold him for being ridiculous. As Ben enters the house, you can’t help to feel the similarity of this situation to that of a little insect helplessly being cocooned by a preying spider’s web.

You can also feel that Mrs. Robinson’s is about to seduce Benjamin with an indecent proposal – but the way she does it is quite unexpected and in fact shocking. The scene is brilliant - a cinematic high-wire. There’s suspense and hilarity that you would not expect from a scene with such a romantic/sexual undertone.

From that moment, Ben and Mrs. Robinson becomes involved in a strange relationship. They both pretend that it’s all, you know, biological - while in reality it’s so much more than that. They confide to each other their deepest, darkest secret while in their mind, they wonder how come The One they’ve been longing from come in such an unusual package. What is this sultry, incredibly beautiful and mature woman doing with an over-achieving geek fresh out of college with a constant fidget and a funny haircut? Shouldn’t he spend his time with someone his age – a pretty and naive girl?

Well, whaddya know, Mrs. Robinson’s has a pretty, naive daughter. Naturally, the Braddocks and the Robinsons (the Mrs. is holding back her hidden raging jealousy) arrange for these kids to meet and date. Why of course, because they’re perfect for each other!

Unable to come up with an excuse not to, Benjamin agrees to go out with Elaine. Mrs. Robinson throws out an impressionistic hissy fit but the date happens anyway. Again, you kind of expect that Ben will intentionallly screw it up..but the way he does it blows your mind away. Brilliance.

The rest of the film tells us how Ben juggles between the two Robinson women (he adored both and both adored him, it seems) and how he fights his inner demon, doubts, and non-anticipation of his future and the pointlessness of it all.

As the story unravels and each relationship develops, you would become more and more confused: what would be a “happy ending” for a love story like this?

And the whole story (and film) truly hinges on the ending. Up to this moment, everything in the film feels strained and subliminal. It’s all a build-up to a scene close to the ending when everything explodes with raw emotion and almost-psychotic energy. This is the storm you’ve been expecting and dreading all along.

And just like a storm,  the ending leaves you with a strange, post-traumatic calm in which everything stands still and you wonder what the hell has just happened.

Christmas 1985..i remember that pink dress!

Christmas 1986

Christmas 1987