The Fountain

Written at the time of the film's release...

Tapping a Dry Well

First off, this is the best-sounding film I've heard from 2006, with a subtle, supple sound design that makes great use of the stereo field to direct your attention. Secondly, it's one of the most beautiful--a truly different looking set-bound "green-screen" film that doesn't go for vast (and busy) pixilated papier-mache-feeling vistas ala Sky Captain or The Lord of the Rings. There is a perpetually claustrophobic feel to it, despite the exotic locales that extend from an ancient Mayan temple to "the vast reaches of space."

And yet....one expects great things of a Darren Aronofsky film—not just in the images, but also in the ideas. Both Pi and Requiem for a Dream were visually and thoughtfully stunning, so one wanders into The Fountain expecting to be transported to new places, not only visually and aurally, but within the mind as well.

That's why I found The Fountain very disappointing. Though trying to say something profound, it offers up an idea so obvious that it occurs to me only every time I sit down for a meal, and that is: Out of Death Comes Life. To make its point, there are three time-lines in the film: the first takes place in the present day as a researcher named Tom studies treatments of brain tumors in a frenzied race to save his wife Izzy's life. He is so bent on finding a cure that he loses all the precious moments he could be sharing with her. 

Izzy is writing a fanciful book of a Spanish explorer named Tomas (wait, wait...don't get too far ahead yet. I mean, you're right. it's that obvious, but bear with me for a couple more sentences) who invades a Mayan tribe trying to find a fountain of youth (which is actually the sap of a specific tree) for his doomed queen Isobel—the story's a sort of parallel-o-gram to the researcher to wake up and see what he's missing. 

The next time-line features an older Tom, beneficiary of his research that has found the secret of long life (which involves the bark of a certain South American tree), in space-transit to restore his wife...from a tree...by means of the energy of a star (Xibulba) that figured in the Mayan legend of the explorer...well, everything relates--all the elements fall back on themselves in a self-referential heap.* 

All the Tom's of the film (portrayed by Hugh Jackman) are after Eternal Life in some form or another for their Queens...but mostly for themselves, while the Isabel/Isobel's (played by Rachel Weisz) know they will never achieve it. It takes him a near-eternity to learn that life is an eternal process (only not individually!) and that death is a necessary ingredient for it. 

The only original idea in the film is to state that to aspire to immortality is, rather than overcoming death, to deny the process of life and renewal. The idea should be profound, but it comes across as simplistic...and obvious. And dramatically inert. The tag-line for the film is "What If You Could Live Forever?" and the answer appears to be "Then You'd be a Selfish Bastard!"

Still, there is a sense of relief in, for once, seeing a film where death is the inevitable conclusion and you don't start whispering "So DIE already!" underneath your breath (curiously, part of the gorgeous sound-design has the film saying it for you...though not those exact words...frequently through the movie), but it did plant the seed of Elton John's "The Circle of Life" in my head for days for which it must be held accountable. And needless to say, The Fountain won't be at the top of the NetFlix list for the Schindler household.

The View from 2021: Aronofsky has gone on to make The Wrestler (which we'll re-post a review of tomorrow), Black Swan, Noah, and mother! and I'll still go to see any of his movies in a theater because even if he doesn't deliver on story, he does deliver on image, making him one of the more interesting film-makers working. And when he delivers on story...well, the movie will haunt you for days, maybe the rest of your lifetime. Aronofsky is one of the really good ones, even if individual movies are less than satisfying.

* The Fountain had a troubled production history. Millions of dollars were wasted in the first attempt at it (when it starred *shudder* Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett—they would subsequently star in Babel and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button). One can only wonder if, when re-started with half its original budget, whole sections of the screen-story that might have given it depth, were ash-canned (I haven't read Aronofsky's graphic novel, which ala Neil Gaiman's "Signal to Noise" might be closer to his original vision) which is a pity. But I don't know. Aronofsky was supposedly inspired to attempt this film by The Matrix, which is just one more thing that overrated geek-flick needs to answer for.

300

Written at the time of the film's release...

"This won't be over quickly. You will not enjoy this" 

Two characters say this in 300, but it might as well have been me when I walked into the theater. I'm not a fan of Frank Miller, the comic-book artist-turned-writer who breathed new life into Marvel's "Daredevil" and DC's "Batman." I enjoyed his work on those, but around the time of his "Sin City" output, I began to think of his work as campily overblown and corrupt. When he ran out of ideas, he'd have one of his characters cut off a limb and do something that defied the laws of physics and that would serve as plot advancement. 

So, upon seeing the extremely faithful film adaptation of his "Sin City" graphic novels years ago, I just hung my head and thought that was the end of Miller doing anything good ever again. His hack-work had become too successful. A second Batman "Dark Knight" series was a sporadically illustrated mess, and his current work on an "All-Star" version of the character has been embarrassing. His scripts for the "Robocop" series were terrible. His co-directorial debut with Sin City was a frame by frame recreation of his original illustrations, and in those, there was power, no matter how thick-headed the concept or eye-rolling the dialogue that accompanied them.* 

It did point out, however, why films are one thing and graphic story-telling is another. Comics have the luxury of leaping from high-point to high-point. They suspend time to make way for mouthfuls of dialogue. They focus the eye and mind. Film does this, too, but at 24 frames a second, rather than the one comics afford. A film has to crash through that white border separating panels, and that's the difference between art and artifice. 

Now, Miller's "300" has hit the screen, and unlike "Sin City," director Zack Snyder has taken the concept, the tone, and Miller's design sense but gone his own way with the direction. Key frames of Miller's book are reproduced, but for the most part Snyder has found a way of taking Miller's tropes and making it move and breathing life into it. And it's Snyder's efforts to connect the dots and make Miller's flat-panels three dimensional that lets 300 rise above most comic book adaptations. 

It's still overblown. Some of the dialogue is not only bad, it's bad for today, much less ancient Greece. Example: When King Leonidas meets his opposing King, the bling-encrusted Xerxes--who's not nearly as gay as Miller made him in the book--he takes a look at the Persian's elaborate transportation and says "Let me guess. You must be Xerxes"--a line more weisen-heimer than kingly. 

But it beats the fade-out line on the eve of the final battle: "Unless I miss my guess, we're in for one wild night!" 

Oy. So bad it stings!

300 is a bit too enamored by the CGI-technology to create blood-spurts, but damn, if it doesn't move and hold your interest! There's one shot--of King Leonidas providing point (literally) to an attack done in one long take, and as he dispatches opponent after opponent, at each impact the film is speed-ramped to a crawl, which is as ingenious a way of recreating the framing ability of comics in a moving picture as has been devised. Sort of like Peckinpah's slo-mo cut-aways but self-contained in a single shot. 

So, what did I think of it? I enjoyed it! I may not like Miller's current writing, but one can't fault his illustrative sense, and Snyder brings it to glorious life. It may be gratuitous "homo-erotic war pornography," but it's sure well-constructed homo-erotic war pornography. It makes one anticipate Snyder's promised version of Alan Moore's "Watchmen," although one quails at the suggestion (and it's only been suggested) of Tom Cruise as the Machiavellian super-hero Ozymandius. Not even a Spartan could face that! 

* Miller did go on to make his directorial debut with a film version of the classic comic character "The Spirit".  It was just plain badness. And not in a good way.

A History of Violence

It's October..."so maybe I should pay attention to horror films." How cliché.

I have some planned and in the hopper, but I noticed "The Large Association of Movie Blogs" is showcasing director David Cronenberg, so I'm also going to be throwing in a bunch of Cronenberg reviews from the past and the retrospective present. After all, you can't have a Cronenberg movie without a little bit of horror...somewhere.

A History of Violence (David Cronenberg, 2005) Tom Stall (Viggo Mortensen) is an ordinary guy living a quiet life in Millbrook, Indiana. He's married to Edie (Maria Bello), a local attorney and they have two kids—Jack (Ashton Holmes) and Sarah (Heidi Hayes). Millbrook is small enough (population 3,246—but that will change) that everybody knows each other and are on a first name basis and everybody knows everybody's business. As they say in The Last Picture Show "you can't sneeze in this town without somebody offering you a handkerchief." 

Life is good for the Stall's. Edie is the big deal in town—local girl makes good—son Jack is on the baseball team for his high school and Tom contents himself with running the local diner, where there's always a hot pot of coffee and it's nearly as endless as the small talk and gossip. But, something will happen that will set the whole town talking and change the Stall's forever. 

One night, moments before closing, two toughs walk into the diner like they were out of "The Killers" or something. They are Leland Jones (Stephen McHattie) and "Billy" Orser (Greg Bryk) and Leland orders coffee, black for them both and Billy wants some lemon meringue pie. Tom lets them know that the diner is closed. But, Leland doesn't take the hint, his smile dropping. "I said...COFFEE!" he bellows, and Tom relents. "It's not very fresh," he says meekly. His waitress grabs a piece of pie and Tom tells her she can go home. But, that's not enough for Billy, who grabs her, throws her into a chair and fondles her. Tom is repulsed, and gets an expression on his face of uselessness.

Lester pulls out a gun and aims it at Tom, and, coffee pot in hand, he explains that they don't have much cash in the till. But the cook is still there and there's a couple of kids in a booth in the back—potential collateral damage. So, Tom takes action. He swings the hot coffee pot at Lester, hitting him in the face, shattering the glass, the follow-through knocking Lester's gun to the linoleum. Even before the force of the swing is over, Tom is over the counter, makes a grab for Lester's gun, while Lester pulls out a knife and stabs him through the foot, pinning him to the floor. Tom fires four shots, hitting Billy square in the chest, sending him flying through the front door. He then turns the gun on Lester and fires point-blank in the head.

It happens so fast, there's hardly time to react. But, Tom stares at the gun, sweating pouring off his face. It's over. But, it's only just begun.

A History of Violence comes from a Vertigo graphic novel by John Wagner and Vince Locke, but Cronenberg was working from a script adaptation by Josh Olson, not knowing its source. As such, he has his own visual style, starting the film with a long four minute shot as Lester and Billy "check out" of a flea-bag motel without paying the bill. It tells the story of how violence begets violence and can affect everything in its bloody path.

The process begins when word of Tom's action in the diner gets around town. He's a big deal, people stopping him in the street and glad-handing. Good work, Tom. Business at the diner actually picks up (rather than discouraging customers because it's a crime-scene) and Tom down-plays what he's done. 

So, business picks up at the diner, which is good. And bad.

Not long after the diner incident, three guys in suits come in and confront Tom, especially the guy in charge, Carl Fogarty (Ed Harris), who wears sunglasses, even inside, and has a particularly venomous way of calling Tom "Joey." Tom tries to deflect, but Fogarty will have none of it, pressing him, calling him "Joey" and reminding him of Philadelphia. Tom denies everything, but Fogarty isn't buying it, even if he does lay a hundred dollar bill on the counter to pay for his coffee. They leave, but they don't leave town, raising suspicions with Millbrook's sheriff who does some digging and reports to Tom that they're part of an Irish mob out of Philadelphia, led by one Richey Cusack.

Fogarty and company begin to stalk Tom and his family—following Edie and her daughter when they go to the mall (and leaving her with a taunting "ask him why he's so good at killing people"—and an inevitable confrontation takes place at the Stall house. Tom comes out to defend his family with a shotgun, but is persuaded to drop it when Fogarty reveals that he's got the boy, Jack, and implies harm to him unless Tom comes with them back to Philadelphia. Tom complies, but it's just a feint to attack the men, which leads to dire consequences for the family.

A History of Violence keeps you guessing about whether Tom really is a hit-man or this is just a case of mistaken identity, and Cronenberg ups the stakes with brutal depictions of violence not for the squeamish—he is, after all, the Master of Unease and the Viscera. But, he is also a director fascinated by obsession and the communicable. And there is more than a hint that he believes that violence is something that is passed on from example. One can see that in what's called the cycle of abuse where "normal" is fractured by example and passed on, like eye color or male-pattern baldness or a pre-disposition to disease.

But, is it a sickness or a learned behavior? Nature or Nurture? Does the stopping of the threat of violence by violence stop the violence or merely teaches it? Do the ends justify the means? Cronenberg doesn't provide answers, only examples, and keeps the unease palpable as one leaves the theater.