I can certainly identify with these journalists, faced with the challenge of making sense out of David Lynch’s latest movie:

Asked if the film was supposed to make sense, Lynch told a news conference following a press screening: “It’s supposed to make perfect sense.” […]

Lynch was in no mood to help journalists fathom the film’s meaning.

When asked to explain the appearance of three actors wearing rabbits’ heads, one of whom stands in the corner doing the ironing, the 60-year-old replied: “No, I can’t explain that.”

I can appreciate Lynch’s desire to not out and explain the symbolism behind his movie before mainstream viewers get a chance to try figuring it out for themselves. But I think I’m going to have to side with the bewildered journalists here. I can testify that Lynch’s films, while interesting in a what-the-heck-is-going-on sort of way, definitely do not “make perfect sense,” and if Lynch is under the impression that they do, then somebody’s confused, and it ain’t just the people watching his movies. Lost Highway and Mulholland Drive are two of the least comprehensible films I’ve seen in my entire life. I’ve seen some truly noble and tortured attempts online to wring coherence out of both of those films, but to little avail.

I love a good perplexing book or movie that requries concentration, discussion, and even research to interpret. Some of my favorite such stories are those that, even after I’ve read and understood them, still leave me with the nagging sense that I haven’t really uncovered everything the creator intended me to find–those are books and films I can revisit years down the road, always finding new bits and pieces of meaning. But if you don’t provide the audience the contextual clues they need to even begin deciphering your work of art, then you might as well just be making the film for yourself, because nobody else has the slightest clue what you’re trying to say. Maybe Mulholland Drive makes perfect sense to David Lynch, but I’ll go ahead and bet that 99% of its viewers were left scratching their heads when the credits rolled. He’s certainly created something that’s vaguely impressive, but a work of art that speaks to people? Not so much.

So go ahead and keep making movies, Mr. Lynch. But try not to act quite so surprised when nobody seems to know what the heck you’re trying to say. The rest of us are busy entertaining ourselves with much less artsy fare–things like Arrested Development, with such populist and unsubtle scenes as this:

Rita: Is that a story?
Maeby: Not yet. It doesn’t have an ending. He’s in LA, she’s in Japan–how do I get these two characters together?
Rita: Maybe they could walk.
Maeby: Across the ocean?
Rita: If it’s not too deep.
Maeby: No… deep is good. People are gonna say “What the hell just happened? I better say I like it,” ’cause nobody wants to seem stupid.
Rita: I like it!

by

Downfall belongs to that elite cadre of films that manage to tell a truly disturbing story with such artistic skill that you simply can’t avert your gaze. A recounting of Hitler’s (and Nazi Berlin’s) final days, Downfall introduces us to a bizarre cast of villains and… well, I can’t really bring myself to think of them as heroes. The death throes of the Third Reich are seen through the eyes of Traudl Junge, Hitler’s personal secretary, who remained in the Fuhrer’s bunker almost to the bitter end.
The film works because it doesn’t pursue much of an agenda beyond simply introducing its rogue’s gallery and letting their own words and actions speak. It’s certainly not a vindication of Hitler or the Nazis; it doesn’t try to sell us any archetypal “noble Nazis” who secretly hated Hitler’s policies, nor does it try too hard to moralize or condemn.
The film begins with Junge accepting a much-sought-after position as Hitler’s secretary. During the first half-hour, we meet most of the famous Nazi personalities and see the hopelessness of Germany’s situation. Some of the early scenes feel a bit staged for effect, but they work. Hitler’s delusional state is clearly established, sometimes through bleakly comic moments. In one early scene, as explosions sound in the streets outside, Hitler demands to know who is shelling Berlin. It can’t be the Russians, his generals reply, because they can’t be that close! Unfortunately, wishful thinking can’t make the Russians disappear, nor can the grand, war-winning, and completely imaginary strategies Hitler continually orders to be undertaken by Germany’s virtually non-existent armies.
The bulk of the film simply depicts the comings and goings of Nazi Germany’s generals and leaders. As Russian bombs fall throughout the city, some people engage in virtual orgies of drinking and dancing; others casually discuss the manner in which they’ll kill themselves when the Russians finally arrive. Some plot their escapes from Hitler’s bunker (he himself refuses to leave, and expects the same from his loyal friends and staff), or try to arrange for the escape of loved ones. Still others follow Hitler around like dogs, hanging on his every word, clearly unable to imagine life without him.
Downfall is, as you might expect, a dark and unsettling film. Its characters occupy places on the moral scale ranging from “flawed” to “monstrous,” and while the film depicts them as real human beings–it’s hard not to pity even Hitler as his friends and advisors abandon him one by one–a pall of godlessness and depravity hangs over every single person, sympathetic or not. We see Hitler both as murdering tyrant and gentle father-figure. The film’s spiritual nadir comes not with Hitler’s suicide, but with Magda Goebbels’ murder of her prepubescent children to prevent their contamination by an unworthy post-Nazi world: the mind simply reels as she walks quietly from bed to bed, placing cyanide capsules in each child’s mouth like communion wafers, clutching their heads in her hands as they convulse and die.
It’s not the visceral horror of Schindler’s List, but the effect is much the same. The film allows us a few glimmers of hope towards the end, as Junge and a handful of other survivors flee the bunker in hopes of escaping. (We know at least that Junge survives the war, since she is interviewed briefly at the beginning of the film.)
Throughout much of the film’s final hour, I fought a constant urge to weep. But what for? It is a strange thing to be profoundly moved, but unable to pinpoint exactly what is moving you. Do we weep for Hitler and his cronies, however pathetic they may be? Certainly not. For the death of a dream and the end of an ambitious vision, however depraved? I think not. For the “ordinary” people who found themselves in Hitler’s bunker at the end not because they were depraved monsters, but because they were morally flawed creatures? Perhaps. For the millions dead and ruined throughout the years of war? Certainly.
As they say: never again.

by

Saw the movie Serenity late last night, partly to wind down from a very busy week. I’ve not seen the Firefly TV show upon which the movie is based, and so was a bit uncertain what to expect. But it’s sci-fi, and seemed to feature lots of spaceships and explosions–always good things to have in a movie. So we decided to give it a try.
It was extremely good. It’s essentially a space opera with a very entertaining Western motif, complete with cowboy holsters and bank robbers… in spaaaace!
Watching it, I was struck by a question: why aren’t these people making Star Wars movies instead of George Lucas? Serenity captures the feel of the original Star Wars far better than any of the three prequels did. Likeable, everyday heroes who exchange witty banter and struggle to keep their clunky spaceship from falling apart? Check. Tough-talking mercenary characters who act mean and gruff but who, we’re confident, will Do The Right Thing in the end, even if it means they won’t get paid for it? Check. A motley gang of quirky protagonists who bicker amongst themselves and can’t pay their bills, but who will nevertheless find a way to cleverly stick it to The Man in the end and save the galaxy in the process? You guessed it–check.
In short, it’s what made Star Wars so cool. The debt that Serenity owes to Star Wars is substantial… but would that George Lucas had been able to watch and be inspired by this movie before he launched into The Phantom Menace. It’s exactly the sort of pulpy space-action flick that Lucas hasn’t been making recently.
Serenity isn’t perfect, but it’s a fun one. Go see it!

by