Saturday, August 2, 2025

Marco van Bergen | Vattnet (Water) / 2012

the lost moment

by Douglas Messerli

 

Marco van Bergen (screenwriter and director) Vattnet (Water) / 2012 [15 minutes]

 

Dutch director Marco van Bergen’s short 2012 film seems to rely as much on its press kit as on the images of the film itself, the general description of the film reading that the central character, James “leads a lonely life in a luxurious castle” (IMDb), and in other descriptions that the “castle,” is an expensive hotel which, evidently, his mother and father operate.


     Simply watching it, I might have presumed it to be a kind of prep school or some similar institution, in which what are described as Swedish soccer players might have been seen as students or visitors, with which the head master’s son James (Tobias Kersloot) is discouraged from meeting.

     It doesn’t change the story as much as it alters the tone of the piece. In the “authorized” interpretation James is even more magically separated from the world around him, looking down upon it with sincere fears, strong attractions, and confused feelings. Certainly, had I been more attentive the first time watching this film, I’d have noted the sign stating that this was a Bilderberg Hotel, a chain of exclusive hotels throughout the Netherlands and Germany from where the mysterious Bilderberg Group, an exclusive club involved with world finance, politics, and fine dining (depending upon which source you consult) took its name.

      If nothing else, James’ busy mother (Barbara Labrie) certainly is determined that he brings no friends into his room, particularly young women, that he join his parents for their private meals, and that he focus on his homework for his obviously private school education. And in her constant attentions to him, she is a bit like a mean queen who’s locked away her son in the castle tower.


     The imprisoned prince, however, has no appetite for spaghetti, which his mother tells him his father has just made for dinner, but does hunger for the Swedish soccer players stopping over at his hotel. He follows their group peregrinations both from his indoor staircase balcony, as they traipse through the hotel lobby, and from an outside balcony where he looks down upon them, marking sure to duck out of sight if they should ever chance to look up.

      And from his distant viewpoint there are a great many mysteries concerning the world he is observing, as there are also for us. Why does one of the boys suddenly fall over in his chair in the garden, why does our young prince wander down to the swimming pool to check out all the dressing cabins? And why is one of the Swedish soccer players found in a cabin with his nose-bloodied. The few reviews which I’ve read about this movie simply suggest he had an “accident,” but that makes no sense. How did he fall near the pool, bloody his nose, and crawl into a cabin? 


      Obviously, the boys have gotten a bit drunk, and something this particular boy, Tobias (Serge Mensink) said, something long-simmering in the group dynamic, or more likely, Tobias’ attempt to show his love to one of them—the name he calls out upon James’ discovery of him, “Peter”— called for him to be beaten up.

      But why James has gone in search of him or why the Dutch boy who can’t even speak Swedish has a Swedish flag on his bedroom wall is one of the film’s gentle reminders that we can never truly know another person or fully interpret what is happening.

       What we do suspect is that James has just begun to discover that he is attracted to boys, and has been following the soccer players, similar in age to himself, for that reason. Finding the hurt boy and bringing him back to his room to wipe away the blood and allow him the use of his shower is similar to a dream scenario, in which James has been able to kidnap someone to play out his sexual fantasies. The very fact that they must speak English, since neither of them speak each other’s language, places them into a coded world in which they must speak a special outsider language they “alone” share.


       His plans are almost destroyed by his intuitive mother, who suspects his lie about making sandwiches for his own dinner and now perceives that someone might be in his room. But fortunately, business calls distract her from further investigation.

       While Tobias continues to shower, James takes up his jersey and hides it under his pillow, picking out another, far more expensive one, to replace it. When the boy finishes, towels off with a freshly provided linen, and puts on the new jersey without question, he turns to James to provide him with a gift for his friendliness, a kiss on the mouth. This may have been precisely what James has dreamt of happening, but the suddenness and unexpectedness of the event forces him to turn momentarily away. He immediately returns to consciousness and leans toward Tobias to provide a kiss, but by this time the Swedish flirt has himself turned away, irritated by the rejection of what he certainly recognizes the hotel prince has so desperately wanted: his first (male) kiss.


      Recognizing just how meaningful and uncommon this event is in his life, James rushes after the boy into the hall, daring to continue what he had hoped might happen in his room in public. He almost insists upon the lost kiss, but the other now can only put his hand on his cheek, look in tenderly in the eyes, and thank him for helping. It is nearly as good as kiss. But it cannot ever answer the loneliness and longing of the young locked-away hotel prince.

 

Los Angeles, June 3, 2023

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (June 2023).

Evan Roberts | Yeah, Kowalski! / 2012

childish pleasures

by Douglas Messerli

 

Britta Lundin and Evan Roberts (screenplay), Evan Roberts (director) Yeah, Kowalski! / 2012 [10 minutes]

 

US screenwriter and director Evan Roberts’ 2011 film, 33 Teeth, about a young boy having a crush on his older high school neighbor was an absolutely charming short. The comparison of signs of maturity in that work were of little significance since the subject was penis size, which given the difference of ages, was less of a significant source of envy than it was a simple expression of desire.


     In his short work of a year later, Yeah, Kowalski!, the late blooming 13-year-old Gabe Kowalski (Cameron Wofford) is very much ashamed of his bodily differences, particularly since he has a crush on a boy of same age, Shane (Conor Donnelly) who has already developed underarm fuzz, while Gabe remains hairless. Desperate to impress his fellow classmate, or just to get his attention, Gabe pastes some of the hair his father has just trimmed from Gabe’s head, into his armpits, and now struts off to a local birthday party showing of his suddenly visible sign of male masculinity.

     The trouble is that having a crush on an older boy next door and being fascinated by the size of his cock is someone poignant, while trying to show-off your underarms to your male and female peers isn’t at all appealing or even very comedic, particularly when you get pushed into the pool…well the hair goes everywhere.



      It doesn’t matter anyway, since Shane bicycles by soon after and invites himself over for a visit to Gabe’s house. Gabe is thrilled, without seeming to recognize that his post-pubescent rosy red cheeks and smooth, hairless complexion makes him far cuter than the early adolescent slightly pimpled complexion of his friend’s face. But then young boys always want, so it seems, what they can’t yet get. But at least now Gabe has Shane’s attention, something unthinkable and maybe even undesirable in my ancient days. Besides, in washing off the paste left under his arms, he discovers he’s suddenly spouted a tiny black hair.

     Too bad Roberts’ film is about as pointless as his character’s childish pleasures.

 

Los Angeles, June 1, 2023

Reprinted from World Cinema Review (June 2023).

Jacob Kernis | Who You Wanted All the Time / 2024

an unlikeable trio

by Douglas Messerli

 

Kyla Kralapp (screenplay), Jacob Kernis (director) Who You Wanted All the Time / 2024 [13 minutes]

 

It’s hard to know with whom to even sympathize in Jacob Kernis, Who You Wanted All the Time. Beck (Caleb White), a pre-law student, is an insecure man who is now suddenly faced with a hearing product. Although Beck is clearly the one with whom we are meant to feel empathy, he basically dismisses his previous roommate and friend, Jasper (Diego Andres Rodriquez), with whom he obviously desires a relationship. Besides, he, like Jasper, has spotted a handsome new boy Georgie (Jamie Martin Mann).

   If Beck is uncertain in how to approach Georgie, the latter is not at all afraid to play tricks in order to get to meet Beck, pretending in the library that he can’t find a certain book—he’s completely looking in the wrong section of the library—and begging for the pre-law student’s help. Beck quickly takes him to the book, and to Jasper, who serves as check-out librarian.


    Before they know it, both have been invited to a private party at Georgie’s, who, with a wink, suggests they can “play games.”

    Which indeed they do, as he takes out masks, forcing them to put them on, and, as a kind of ritualistic indication of friendship, demands that they each sacrifice something of great importance.

    Jasper flirtatiously sacrifices his fear to tell Georgie the truth; he wonders can he sacrifice that? Only if he promises to never lie, argues Georgie.


    Beck, momentarily suffering a serious problem with his ears and his thought processes, has a sort of emotional breakdown, finally after a long silence with inner turmoil, sacrificing Jasper himself, willingly giving him up to Georgie. Is Jasper the mysterious you of the title?

     A short time later we see that Georgie and Jasper have, in fact, developed a relationship which clearly now excludes Beck.


     The viewer, however, has difficulty in knowing how to react to this. We have only the slightest evidence that Jasper and Beck actually saw themselves as a couple, or that Beck wished they might truly get together. Mostly he spouts a principle about law concerning the famed ternary of the judicial system: the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

     But what this means precisely in terms of his desires and what he has truly sacrificed is never made clear. How can you truly sacrifice another person without owning or controlling them? What writer Kyla Kralapp and Kernis are suggesting is simply that Beck has given up his desires for a relationship with Jasper that seemed to have never truly prospered enough—given his lack of confidence—to mean anything in the first place. Are we, accordingly, meant to feel deep empathy for him now to be locked out of the new relationship with Jasper and Georgie?

     And then what kind of a friend might Jasper be, to so totally exclude Beck not only from his own company but from Georgie’s, knowing as he does that Beck has been attracted to him.

    And what kind of person is the intruder Georgie who forces his future companion to don a mask and sacrifice something special in order to find love? I might suggest he is an untrustworthy manipulator. And does he, himself, have no preference of the two “candidates” for his sexual desires? What does it say about a relationship that’s based on what the other might do for you?

    Finally, what does Beck’s possible sudden hearing loss have to do with all this? Is it a metaphor for his inability to hear what has actually been going on between his two acquaintances? If he is losing his hearing, moreover, are the film’s creators simply using his disability to make us pity and side with him?

    In the end, there is just too much confusion about this story to render it meaningful. We realize that we don’t actually know any of these characters, and what little we’ve been shown in the 13 minutes we encounter them, makes us want to turn away and find another trio upon whom we might better focus.

 

Los Angeles, August 2, 2025

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (August 2025).

Gary Halvorson and William Kentridge | Nos (The Nose) / 2013 [Metropolitan Opera-HD live production]

shrill charm

by Douglas Messerli

 

Dmitri Shostakovich, Yevgeni Zamyatin, Georgy Ionin and Alexander Preis (libretto, based on a story by Gogol),  (music), William Kentridge (stage director), Gary Halvorson (director) Nos (The Nose) / 2013 [Metropolitan Opera-HD live production]

 

Yesterday Howard and I saw, for the first time, the rather raucous, even, at times, rackety opera by Dmitri Shostakovich composed in the last wave of Soviet Futurist experimentalism in 1927-28 and premiering in Leningrad a year later.

     I cannot imagine a more innovative and stunningly visual version of this short opera than William Kentridge and Luc De Wit’s dynamic production which combines small, beautifully lit (by Urs Schönebaum) “realist” sets upon and behind which is projected a stunning collage-film of Russian visuals and English-language and Russian-language words that creates the entire world of Leningrad whirling out of control around the fairly simple story of a lower bureaucrat, Collegiate Assessor Kovalyov (wonderfully performed by Paulo Szot), who one morning wakes up without his nose.


     The nose has been found in a piece of bread baked by the wife of the local barber, who the day before has attempted, unsuccessfully, to shave Kovalyov. The barber, Ivan Yakovlevich, immediately attempts to get rid of the discovered nose, but has a great deal of difficulty as he is met throughout the streets by friends and enemies alike, establishing the almost always mix of wildly exuberant and severely controlled world of Gogol’s story. Finally, attempting to throw the nose into the Neva river, Ivan is spotted by a police officer who immediately arrests him.

      As Kovalyov wakes up to bemoan the missing appendage, the utterly absurd story begins its dramatic arch as the nose, suddenly now as large as a person (played in this production by Alexander Lewis), is seen running through the streets, and soon after is encountered by Kovalyov in the Cathedral—now dressed in the uniform of a State Councilor, who, compared with the Collegiate Assessor, is of so high a rank that Kovalyov dare not even address him. When he does demand that the nose come back to him, the appendage declares to have nothing to do with him and, in the crowded service, again escapes.



      Outraged, Kovalyov visits the chief of police, only to be told, as in so many tales of the slipperiness of those in power, that the chief has just left his office. A too-long encounter with journalists at the local newspaper follows, wherein they refuse to post Kovalyov’s notice of his lost nose for fear of discrediting the newspaper; who would believe in the loss of a nose: When Kovalyov finally reveals his face, however, they are convinced, but still refuse to post the advertisement, ironically offering him some snuff in recompense. In anger and self-pity the bureaucrat leaves them to return to his room in despair.

      The real pleasure of Kentridge’s sets reveal the nose in various “adventures,” linking itself, at one moment, to an equestrian statue, at another dancing upon head of Anna Pavlova. Mostly, the poor nose roams the city, attempting, like the murderer in Fritz Lang’s M, simply to not be noticed and trapped. As the artist-director described his interpretation of Gogol’s story in an engaging conversation with Met manager Peter Gelb before the opera, he sees the nose as something like a writer reading his failed words in despair, the words unable to match what in his head. The nose, a bit like one’s words, simply desires a life of its own, a life apart from its humdrum pimpled existence upon the face of the failed human being, we gradually discover, who Kovalyov is. Adding another layer of irony to the story, Kentridge modeled the opera’s nose upon his own quite sizable proboscis.


      Throughout the opera, indeed, much is ironic, and everything is almost always satiric, without being truly funny (despite the constant chortles that issued from the elderly woman sitting next to me who obviously confused attention to the opera with the need to issue vocal clues to her appreciation). Indeed, Shostakovich’s piece, one might argue, presents itself as a kind of one-liner. Without character development in the narrative, and basically shrill in its scherzo ostinato and high tenor and baritone squeaks, the work, despite its often exciting score, generally overwhelms its subject matter, particularly in the crowd scenes, where both in the train station and on the streets the large wonderfully-costumed cast run about in chase of the nose and scream out their fears for the dangers the escaped nose represents. At times, one sought just a few moments of tonal relief, but when those moments arrived, as in the comic balalaika song sung by Kovalyov’s servant or the somewhat quieter moment when, after everyone has rushed to a park to see the nose, one viewer summarizes the “nothing” he has seen; the momentarily quietude was quickly swept away again in the frantic action and sounds of Shostakovich’s busy city life.

      There is ultimately a kind of sadness to this satiric work, as when, even when Kovalyov’s nose is returned, it still is determined not stay upon his face as the Collegiate Assessor briefly fantasizes during an evil spell cast upon him by Madame Podtochina whose daughter he has refused to marry, and who he continues refuse even after the fracas has died down.

     In the end it appears that the nose has just been worn by all the hubbub of the citizenry and police stalking the Nevsky Prospekt and other parts of the Russian city. It is only then, when Kovalyov discovers upon awakening the next day, when his nose has returned of its own will, that Shostakovitch’s opera quiets down into a fetching polka, as the gossipy city-dwellers—similar to the officials proclaiming the Stalinist-imposed restrictions—chastise the writer for even thinking of such a silly and unbelievable story—although admitting, in true Eastern European manner, that, of course, such things can happen. That even the unbelievable can sometimes occur.

     If Shostakovich’s first foray into theater and opera is not a great work, it is, nonetheless, a kind of hidden treasure, despite its often-strident narrative and sounds. And William Kentridge has transformed this work into a true visual pleasure which I will not soon forget.   

 

Los Angeles, October 27, 2013

Reprinted from USTheater, Opera, and Performance (October 2013).

Friday, August 1, 2025

Andy Warhol | Kiss / 1963-1964

some like it hot

by Douglas Messerli

 

Andy Warhol (director) Kiss / 1963-1964 [58 minutes]

 

One of the several Warhol films that are perhaps more talked about than actually seen, Kiss was shot from 1963-1964 as 13 silent close-ups on a 16mm Bolex camera roll, run at lower than usual speed. The film ran out at from 3 to 6 minutes, so Warhol used basically a constructivist method to record his black and white kissing sessions between unnamed couples including Naomi Levine, Gerard Malanga, Rufus Collins, Johnny Dodd, Mark Lancaster, Ed Sanders, Fred Herko, Baby Jane Hozer, Marisol, Barbara Rudin, Robert Indiana, Charlotte Gilbertson, Philip von Rensselaet, Paul Restany, and possibly others. Eventually, the 13 short films were linked to include one longer 58-minute work, with a white blank screen between each kissing event.



    Some commentators such as the Village Voice’s Bob Colacello argue that the impetus of the project was to satirize or perhaps even “break” the Hollywood Production Code, which stipulated that kisses, between heterosexual couples only of course, should last no more that 3 seconds. If this is true, Warhol went even further by including same-sex couples and in one case a mixed racial kissing pair.

     But, in fact, one wonders watching the film en masse whether most couples spend 3-6 minutes actually kissing before moving on to further sexual actions. Indeed, quite early in the series, the two males Mark Lancaster and Warhol’s assistant Gerard Malanga seem to have a somewhat difficult time of remaining lock-lipped as Malanga’s hands move naturally elsewhere before returning to the required focus on the kiss.


     And given the numerous works of the Screen Tests project, we can perceive this early series as a way to simply get to know, quite voyeuristically, several of the friends who surrounded Warhol in at the Factory. Critic Ruairí McCann goes even further by suggesting that this “film” marks an early interest in narrative:

 

“Unlike the conceptual behemoths that would follow soon after, such as Sleep and Empire (both 1964), Kiss and its hive of romances, along with the first salvos of his Screen Tests project, would mark the start of a steady trickle of narrative and character, filtering through what Annette Michelson called a “cinema of literal textuality”. The culmination of this change, which included the employment of sound and more dynamic editing and camera movement, being that deluge of personality and chatter; the 210 minute (approximately), split-screen Chelsea Girls (1966).”



    Most of the series consist of static close-ups of the subjects’ faces, with little interpolation of location, be it a bed, a couch, or simply mid-air. Yet as McCann points out, there are exceptions, “with the occasional bit of shadow play produced by their love throes turning holographic against glaring spotlights.” And at other moments “the camera does move and a look at the setting or the surrounding props is parceled out. For instance, midway through couple number 4, Warhol zooms out to reveal a couch and a few hanging paintings, indicating that we are more than likely in some stratum of his Silver Factory,” although others have pointed out that several of the kissing sessions were done in Naomi Levine’s apartment, and she plays an outsized role in the sequence, kissing The Fugs member Ed Sanders, the black actor Rufus Collins, and Malanga.

     Moreover, continues McCann, “the lighting during couple number 5’s kiss is particularly high-contrast. Solid bands of silhouette wrap themselves around the pair, giving the impression of a back-alley dalliance. While with couple number 8, in which a woman is being ravished while draped across a leopard skinned settee, springs to mind a clandestine, drawing room consummation of some upper crust affair.”

    And as this critic argues, the film has already a tradition in cinema. Its lineage stretches as far back as the medium’s afterbirth, “with the William Heise shot Thomas Edison produced The Kiss (1896),”—to say nothing of the first on-screen kiss between two women, filmed by Eadweard Muybridge in 1887.

 

Los Angeles, August 1, 2025

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (August 2025).

Mark Pariselli | Kiss / 2012

sign of love

by Douglas Messerli

 

Mark Pariselli (screenwriter and director) Kiss / 2012 [4 minutes]

 

Using Warhol’s 1964 film as a referent, Mark Pariselli took the 50-minute film that stood up against the Hays Code, reducing it from 50 minutes to 4, this time in protest to the laws that prohibit

and punish sexuality in many countries.

     Pariselli’s cast of performers, moreover, were international, including figures from Iran, Tanzania, etc. They consisted of El-Farouk Khaki, Troy Jackson, Maira Mohyeddin, Samantha Gillings, Adam Moco and Marvin Lisan, pairing two male couples and one female couple.



     Kiss begins with short one-on-one sessions of deep kissing, like Warhol in black-and-white, before he brings all three couples together in a full color representation as the camera moves down from their lips to their feet, shifting the various couples position in the cinematic tryptic. In the final sequence, they all turn to directly face the camera, as if to signify the public intentionality of their act.

 

  In the final few moments, the frame ends in a colored test pattern which, when turned on its side, becomes a representation of the rainbow flag.

     Whether or not this challenge to the persecuted LGBTQ individuals of other countries is significant is up to question, but the gesture in this case is what matters; and the 21st century reiteration of Warhol’s mid-20th century sexual flourish is fascinating, particularly since what might have once shocked its audience is now generally accepted in the US and most of the world.

 

Los Angeles, August 1, 2025

Reprinted from My Queer Cinema blog (August 2025).

David O. Russell | American Hustle / 2013

on thin ice

by Douglas Messerli

 

Eric Warren Singer and David O. Russell (screenplay), David O. Russell (director) American Hustle / 2013

 

David O. Russell’s 2013 film, American Hustle, concerns a fraudulent and demented vision of the American Dream that has long been a staple of American film and drama, from Eugene O’Neill’s The Iceman Cometh and Arthur Miller’s All My Sons to numerous of Edward Albee’s plays centered on characters who, through whatever means possible, are determined to reinvent themselves and financially “succeed.” In film, we perceive a more comic variation of this theme in Preston Sturges’ The Lady Eve, in which Barbara Stanwyck and her gambling father con a naïve Henry Fonda, she later transforming herself into a British heiress to get her revenge.

     Two down-and-out losers, Irving Rosenfeld (Christian Bale)—a small-time con-artist and owner of several dry cleaners throughout New York—and Sydney Prosser (a stunningly beautiful Amy Adams)—a former stripper—meet at a Long Island party. Although neither is what one might describe as a good “catch”—Irving is overweight and already married and Sydney is a clever manipulator—they recognize themselves in one another and immediately fall in love.



       With Irving’s long experience with conning (he runs a small art-gallery featuring fakes out of his dry cleaning business, and takes others “to the cleaners” by offering them loans which are never paid out) and Sydney’s brains, good looks, and her suddenly acquired British accent (along with a new name, Lady Edith Greensly) the two quickly escalate their petty thievery into a thriving business. That is, until they are suddenly caught in the act by a rookie FBI agent, Richie DiMaso (Bradley Cooper), in the midst of a transaction.

      Every one of the figures in this film of the late 1970s and early 1980s is obsessed with clothing (outrageously patterned and brightly colored or just as outrageously sexually revealing), hair, and makeup, as if the outside of their bodies might represent something that they knew they were not within.

      Richie, like the other two, is also out to transform himself by rising up in the agency ranks. Accordingly, he offers freedom to the two in return for their help in a bigger con that might catch at least four bigger con-artists. At first the couple consider taking their money and running off. But the one redeeming quality, Irving’s love of his wife’s young boy, puts a damper of that decision. And then there is the wife, herself a dangerous ditz who—with her alcohol-induced accidents, including a house fire and, later an explosion of a microwave—puts the boy’s life in danger. Although he has long begged her for divorce, Rosalyn (Jennifer Lawrence) is a passive-aggressive manic who cannot abide any change in her pampered life.


      The success of Irving and Sydney’s past scams has depended on what Irving describes as “working from the legs up,” gradually reeling in their suckers, often by saying no, and keeping their robberies relatively below radar, mostly by asking only $5,000 to help people at the end their rope to open foreign accounts and obtain loans. Suddenly, working with Richie, the two quickly discover themselves out their league, so to speak, as the FBI agent keeps upping the ante by involving, at first, a fake Arab sheik and a local northern Jersey mayor, Carmine Polito (Jeremy Renner), who, hoping the sheik will invest in the Atlantic City casinos who will hire the people of his Camden to find jobs, is convinced, after originally rejecting it, to the take the bribe. He promises, and we believe him, to make good use of the money.

 

     When it’s determined that the sheik must become an American citizen before he can invest in the casinos, Carmine suggests he might pull strings with several New Jersey congressmen and senators, and all hell breaks loose, as Richie, smelling success, now sees a way to entrap several even larger prey. Before these clever small-time con-artists even know it, they are involved with the mob, with their very lives at stake.

      Beyond that, there are the FBI higher-ups, refusing at nearly every point, the tools of entrapment, from a suite at the Plaza, to a helicopter for the arrival of the fake sheik, to say nothing of the millions and millions of dollars used for the briberies. When major mafia mobster, Victor Tellegio (Robert De Niro) circles the hook, Richie nearly salivates, suddenly perceiving how he might make one of the biggest catches of all time! The small-time hustle, however, as Irving and Sydney perceive, has turned into an unmanageable fiasco. Both want out, but are no so intensely caught up in what later would be described as “ABSCAM,” that, for different reasons, they determine to go straight, beginning to rid themselves of all the lies and prevarications of their lives. Even more complexly, Sydney becomes sexually interested in “Richie,” while Irving bonds deeper and deeper with Carmine and his family.


     Even more disastrously, Irving’s jealous and lonely wife Rosalyn falls in love with one of Tellegio’s men, spilling the beans about the impending FBI sting and almost assuring her husband’s murder—along with her own and her son’s. Indeed, things grow so out of control that Russell’s film reminds one, at moments, of a screwball comedy like Bringing up Baby—only, as we are told in the very early credits of the film, “Some of this actually did happen.”

      Some of the logic and even relevance of the film’s scenes, just as in Russell’s previous film, Silver Lining Playbook, gets lost in the director’s clearly improvised antics of Jennifer Lawrence in the later part of the film. By film’s end the actress has taken her character so humorously over the top, there is hardly anything left of her stick-figure stereotype, as she drives off with her mobster lover into the Miami sunset.

     Yet in the final twist of these American hustles, the director and screenwriter magically pull several more rabbits out of their hat that stave off mobster hits and release Irving and Sydney, and even commute Carmine’s prison sentence by spinning up a tale that takes Richie down again to the lowest peg on his office totem pole by implying that he either exhorted the missing 2 million dollars or was fooled by the con-men he employed to do the job.

      Throughout the film, Richie’s disapproving boss, Stoddard Thorsen, attempts to use a private story to warn his young assistant of the dangers of his acts. Growing up in Duluth, Minnesota, Thorsen recalls, he, his brother, and father used to go ice fishing. On cold winter days they would dig a hole, drop a line, and wait in the cold air for a nibble. He remembers it as a beautiful event. But one October, after a brief frost, his brother wanted to go out fishing, and he had joined him, the father warning that it was not yet time, suggesting that the ice cover was still too thin. The first time he tries to tell this story, Richie interrupts him, suggesting he knows the moral of the story, that Thorsen fell in and nearly drowned. Thorsen denies that that was the story.

      A second time Thorsen tries to tell the story he mentions that he and his brother were fishing, when they saw their father approaching them, he going out to meet his father before the elder discovered his brother fishing on the lake. Again Richie interrupts: “All right, so the brother fell in and died!” No, Thorsen again proclaims, that isn’t what happened. By brother died years later.

     The running gag is not repeated, and we never do discover what the true story was meant to reveal. I’d suggest, however, that the third alternative, the father falling in and drowning, is, at least, what might have happened. Certainly, in the end, that is what happens to Richie, who, in his surety of righteousness himself suffers at least a symbolic death, a return to his miserable apartment where he lives with his mother, visited every day by a plain-looking mother-determined fiancée to whom he is unattached and of whose existence he cannot even admit. In a year in which so many major films that feature characters who are failed and flawed, even despicable beings, the righteous, those who cannot see, as Sydney argues, that they too are lying to themselves, become, perhaps, the true villains.

 

Los Angeles, December 26, 2013

Reprinted from Nth Position (January 2013).

Index R-Z

Angelo Raaijmakers I, Adonis / 2021 Peeter Rabane Firebird / 2021   Tyler Rabinowitz Catalina / 2022 Tyler Rabinowitz See You Soon / 20...