DAVID FINCHER: LA VIE EN NOIR

Gone Girl is without a doubt an innovative modern Film Noir with a unique David Fincher touch.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had been to a mainstream movie theatre, where the carpeting is coated with sticky soda and the odor of stale popcorn permeates the air. The line for the tickets was never-ending. Gone Girl was sold out twice, I went to the 10:30 pm screening instead of the one I was aiming for at 8:30 pm. I (wisely) chose to return half an hour before the show, hoping to find a seat. Three escalators and several corridors later I arrived at the “balcony” area of Theatre number four. I stood in a line once more. People grew impatient. I noticed someone trying to get his friends to cut in line with him, but there was zero tolerance among the angry mob. A fight almost broke out, “Your friends should wait at the back like everyone else,” a tall college guy said, holding his large coke in one hand and girlfriend in the other, to which the other guys replied, “You can go ahead of me if you don’t want them to cut in front of you.” The discussion went on endlessly for a few minutes, until the line started moving, and everyone headed towards the theatre in a rapid military fashion. There were at least one hundred of us up there (I looked down and saw twice as many seats in the main theatre space). Coats, hats, and scarves were placed to save seats for those yet to come. I settled for one seat left, settled between two couples.  The couple on my left had a great big bucket of popcorn, the young man would plunge his mouth into the bucket instead of reaching in with his hand. This was a lot more entertaining to watch than the endless previews for TV shows, Iphone Apps, M&Ms… We were blessed with three movie trailers, and then Gone Girl with no introduction, suddenly began just after a faint fade out.

The room grew silent instantly. Not a peep was heard, even from the popcorn munchers. David Fincher was casting his dark spell. I remember how I felt after watching Fight Club, and Se7en for the first time. I was a teenager then, and never felt quite the same again after. His mystery twists remained with me forever. Little did I know that Gone Girl would be his lengthiest and darkest twist yet.

Paul Schrader defines Film Noir as “subtle qualities of tone and mood” in his Notes on Film Noir. For this, Schrader reminds us of Film Noir as a means of representing darkness through highly stylized visual esthetics. This is flagrant in Gone Girl through the multiple usages of crane shots, or slow travelling camera-movements. The shaky handheld filmic look is never once used. Schrader writes, “we move cinematographically,” as opposed to with the characters. Indeed, the film progresses with a constant fluid rhythm, also due to the atmospheric music byTrent Reznor (loyal Fincher composer for Se7en, The Social Network, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo) and Atticus Ross (also composed The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and The Social Network) as opposed to a spoken soundtrack. There is a muted color palate, no excessive bright colors are to be seen. This is emblematic in the first kissing scene, when Nick Dunne (Ben Affleck) kisses his wife to be in the alleyway. They are surrounded by floating powdered sugar. Amy’s (Rosamund Pike) face becomes pale from the sugar, and Nick prints two fingers on her lips, before kissing them. At first sight, the powdered sugar creates a poetic and enchanting vision. However, there is a serious tone behind everything in Film Noir. The paleness of the powered sugar brings out a corpse-like expression. In fact, the tone is similar to her corpse which we see floating in the water. Once more, an allusion to Film Noir and the Freudian fascination for water. 

Film Noir was highly used in the 1940s and 50s to portray a world of “dark, slick, city streets crime and corruption.” Most of these actions took place at night. David Fincher redefines the noir tone by spreading it across the whole film, day and night. He respects Schrader’s noir hero, who “survives by the day,” by skillfully playing with the “complex chronological order.” The film indicates precise date and time from the very beginning. We are informed right away of Amy and Nick’s fifth wedding anniversary. Titles throughout the film divide and explain the exact chronology of past, present and future.

Fincher provokes his audience by giving an extensive emphasis on the twist of the plot rather than taking us through a traditional linear narrative. Gone Girls is really two films in one. Fincher masters his audience by forcing us to explore two sides of the story through his character’s point of views. I was never convinced by Ben Affleck’s performance, although I did appreciate the effort he put into Argo. I felt the same with the casting choice of Neil Patrick Harris, for the stereotypes associated with his usual comical roles in How I Met Your Mother, and Harold and Kumar go to White Castle. Fincher knew better. He knew Ben Affleck’s character couldn’t make the “murderer” cut, and indeed he was perfect for the role of the generic, constant, yet vulnerable hero. His character mentions it himself when being interviewed by the media, “I am not a murderer, but I am far from being perfect.” The choice of Neil Patrick Harris turns out to be more than effective as we can’t help but feel a hint of pity for his character. In a way, his character is Barney Stinson (from How I met your Mother) with a twist, as if he were hopelessly in love and punished for being so – nothing close to being a laughing matter. Rosamund Pike is convincing as ever, with or without makeup, psychopath or lucid.  

David Fincher strikes again, with a spot-on job of cast. His characters have no set boundaries. We are drawn to the characters in such a way that the movie deviates slightly from the noir theory to a psychological drama: it’s no longer cinematographically driven but character driven. Yet the noir is undeniably omnipresent in other ways until the very end of the film. For instance, the looped first and last scenes with Ben Affleck’s voice over, “I wish I could break my wife’s skull,” embodies the everlasting noir mood: What is she really thinking? She could strike at any time, but we will never know when and how.  By repeating that scene David Fincher leads us to a false interpretation of the characters. Initially the scene suggests that Ben Affls intentions are dangerous. However the second time around, at the end of the film, we are aware of the context of the plot, and know who the real psycho killer is out among the two.

The film ends abruptly. No sudden moves or shouts are to be heard; only gasps and sighs of disbelief.  The viewer remains awe stricken, haunted with intrigue and fascination.

YANN MARTEL VS: ANG LEE

Yann Martel deemed Life of Pi as “un-filmable” because of its “enormous technical challenges.”  Indeed, filming a young adolescent boy alone with a Bengal Tiger on a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean poses certain technical challenges.

Yet, Ang Lee took on the project. Long gone are the days of Bringing Up Baby (Howard Hawks, 1983), when actors were in contact with actual wild animals on set (Katherine Hepburn was almost attacked by the leopard on the set of Bringing Up Baby, she was saved by his trainer as the leopard was about to lunge at her back). Ang Lee was not allowed to shoot the tiger at the same time as his lead actor, Pi Patel (played by Suraj Sharma). Instead, he had to intercut between footage of a real tiger and a digital one. Bill Westenhofer (visual effect supervisor of Life of Pi) disposed of hundreds of hours of real tiger footage, and he conducted a team of fifteen artists to work on animating the ten million hairs of the tiger’s fur. The amount of meticulous work put in to the CGI alone is astounding. However did Ang Lee take this device a little too far?

When Avatar (James Cameron, 2009) came out, spectators were drawn to its innovative visuals rather than its mediocre screenplay. This isn’t the case with Life of Pi (thankfully), and let us not forget that is was a best-selling novel first and foremost. Although Yann Martel defined his story as “un-filmable,” it would be absurd to deny the copious amount of stunning imageries he uses throughout his novel. Through an illustrious description of a fanciful island, the ocean’s “smooth skin reflecting the light with a million mirrors,” and comparing the killing of a dorado to “beating a rainbow to death,” one can’t help themselves from picturing while reading. Ang Lee clearly saw this too – especially through the sea-life sequences. He personifies the sea as a powerful and unpredictable key to the plot. The story sways through the constant rhythmic movements of the waves, making the spectators feel slightly seasick at times (as well as the protagonists). The grandeur of the movements are epic, and the scene when the wale crashes out of the fluorescent sea (due to the jellyfish) is memorable (the thought of it still sends shivers down my spine). Another striking moment was when the camera swam through the ocean like a fish, focusing on an Architeuthis (giant squid) who then latches on to a whale, that transforms itself into the Pondicherry zoo animals (hippopotamus, crocodile, leopard, giraffe, rhinoceros and zebra). This may all sounds abstract (and absurd?) but it’s a lot more interesting than the mindless science fiction depicted in Avatar.

                           

Life of Pi is about the power of story-telling : “Doesn’t the telling of something always become a story,” reminds us of a Socratic comment. This “mise en abîme” automatically becomes clearer in the book, as it is literally “a story within a story.” There are two narrators: the writer who is directly speaking to the reader, and Pi, the main character, of whom we read the story. This isn’t very clear in the film. It would seem as though we have three narrators: the writer, the young Pi and the older Pi. The film overuses flashback between the older and younger Pi, which interrupts the magic of the story-telling. The voice of the young Pi (largely explored in the book, as we read his direct thoughts), comes out as quite abstract for someone who hasn’t read the book. It is difficult to sympathize with the character because although we see him struggle a great deal to stay alive, we are not aware of his immediate thoughts. Perhaps more voice-over on his part would have done his character justice make his character more believable. I also have some reservations about the casting of Suraj Sharma (cast as the young Pi). A stronger and more experienced actor would of done his part better justice. The monologue at the end was well performed but some of the dialogues when he speaks to the animals in the boat sound off. The first animal he speaks to is the hyena. The delivery of his lines lacks emotion – he is clearly reciting them to a green screen. Perhaps it’s also a failure on the part of the screenwriter who should of internalised his speech rather than having Pi ramble out loud. It would of made more sense to have him speak out later on in the film, after his solitude grew to an outgoing state of delirium (I can’t help but think of Tom Hanks and his beloved Wilson in Cast Away).The rest of the time, he is shouting out to God in numerous rainstorms. This too fails to develop his part as we cannot hear nor decrypt his words due to the high level of sound effects in the background. In the book, there are moments that make us smile when we realize that the narrator is just a boy. For example, the description of the “ugly beyond redemption,” hyena (along with another vivid description of the tiger), the detailed butchering of the turtle (explaining his disgust, especially as he’s a vegetarian). There are many survival elements in the book that we fail to see in the movie. Perhaps it was because of the explicit content it could have created (which would of changed the rating of the film from a PG 13 to an R, reducing its prospective audience). Overall, the actions on the boat seemed too fast paced through rapid editing (discovering the food, building multiple rafts although there was only one in the book). There was also a much larger emphasis on the visuals of the tiger and the aesthetics of the scene rather than developing Pi’s character. Lee’s interpretation of Martel’s ocean’s “smooth skin reflecting the light with a million mirrors,” is a still golden motionless ocean. It seems overdone and screams sci-fi.

“If you stumble at mere believability, what are you living for? Isn’t love hard to believe?” This appears in both the book and the film. We are reminded about story-telling and also the theme of Love. To my great disappointment, the romance story between Pi and Anandi at the beginning was an added element to the film – and an unnecessary one too. The story is meant to “make you believe in God.” Pi is obsessed with learning how to love God so surely that should have been the only source of Love. Ang Lee chose to delete one of the most amusing and key scenes of the book when the religious leaders of Pi’s three chosen religions confront each other and refuse to believe that Pi is equally “a good Christian boy,” “a good Muslim boy,” and “born a Hindu,” therefore will “die a Hindu.” When the argument turns to Pi, his response (memorable to say the least) is “Bapu Gandhi said, ‘All religions are true.’ I just want to love God.” The three men are forced to approve of this and the argument comes to an end. From one shot to another, the movie shows Pi discovering a Catholic church to then praying on a rug at home. It’s as if Ang Lee chose to replace Pi’s religious encounter with one dull puppy-love relationship. Is he dumbing it down purposely, willing to avoid any religious and political conflict?  Looking back, the warm lighting at the beginning, used in the Pondicherry zoo with the Parisian music playing as well as the Hindu Lullaby reminds us of a the beginning of an upbeat contemporary Disney movie. Story-telling shouldn’t have to immediately be linked to child-like fantasy. Life of Pi is a story about youth to begin with, but Pi is clearly mature and driven. It’s as if suddenly Pan’s Labyrinth (Guillermo Del Toro, 2006) became a children’s movie. It’s far from being one, although Ophelia clearly chooses to compare her real life to a world of fantasy that she makes up in her head. In my opinion, Ang Lee was challenged by who his targeted audience really was, drowning himself into the quality of his effects and failing to exploit the true “Adult” themes which are, devotion to religion/God, and developing your survival instinct.

I hate to sound influenced by the “dichotomous thinking,” expressed by Robert Stam in The Theory and Practise of Adaptation, which relates to a “bitter rivalry between film and literature.” Perhaps I was too harsh when criticizing the film’s visual effects which are pleasing to the eye, and I don’t want to downsize the fastidious work of Ang Lee. I do believe that Film and Novel should be treated as two different entities (as they are) and in the case of Life of Pi, they could work hand in hand. One for the treatment of the visuals, and the other for the integrity of the character. Lastly, one can’t help but notice a faint echo to Big Fish (Tim Burton, 2003), where we had a similar interweaving plot differentiating “Man from Myth,” and “Fact from Fiction.” 

The Two Faces of January, by Hossein Amini

At first glance, The Two Faces of January flows like a colorful Hitchcockian tale. 

The poster spoke for itself: close-ups of our three leads (Kirsten Dunst, Viggo Mortensen and Oscar Isaac), well groomed and attractive as ever. Their importance in the poster matches their dominance in the plot. Mortensen is staged right in the foreground, Dunst isn’t far behind on the left, and Isaac is in the background. We notice the different directions of their gaze which will be a recurring theme in the film. Viggo stares into the horizon, Dunst looks at Viggo and Isaac is facing the other way, but he glares back at both characters (and perhaps us too). His sunglasses restrict us from identifying the exact direction of his eye-sight. The poster gives a striking impression of déjà-vu, and you get an immediate sense of what the film will be and what to expect – a love triangle deprived from any form of originality. Looks can be deceiving, and one can’t judge a film by it’s opening scenes.

The film begins in the ancient ruins of the Parthenon in Athens, where the married couple, Colette (Dunst) and Chester (Mortensen) MacFarland are enjoying a casual stroll. The camera then pans to Rydal (Isaac) who is giving a tour to a group of young women. Within the first five minutes, we are introduced to the who and where: a wealthy couple vacationing in Greece, and a young handsome American man, fluent in Greek. The when is in the title and the costumes, “January” and the 1960s, and the what is yet to come. Regrettably, the why remains unknown. However, let us not forget that this was Hossein Amini’s directorial debut, and without a doubt a challenging one, particularly for the continuous plot twists, abundance of themes, main characters and locations. The story was also based on one of Patricia Highsmith's weakest novels (compared to the groundbreaking, Talented Mr. Ripley, and Strangers on a Train) But before I drift off into any further cynicism, let me return to more precise reasons for my accusations. 

Colette is the female lead, and plays the role of the mediator from a very early point on in the film. As soon as Chester mentions Rydal to Colette (he notices Rydal frequently looking at him, we learn that Chester reminded him of his recently deceased father), we are introduced to his lack of trust, which will soon turn to his dark side. Colette, willing to avoid conflict, passively approaches Rydal to question him. Rydal is an American expat who gives tours in the city. He seems good enough to her, so she decides to hire him. Chester is resilient but accepts nonetheless.

Colette MacFarland (Kirsten Dunst) 

                                    

                                       Chester MacFarland (Viggo Mortensen)

                                                         Rydal  (Oscar Isaac)

The next day, following a dinner altogether, the light-heartedness of the story takes a much more serious route. 

The genre immediately shifts from romance to crime/thriller. We are also introduced to a horror-like aspect, since crime and suspense take place at night, in dark caves or through the appearance of Chester’s true colors/deamons (seen through his bad temper and alcoholism)– which would explain the cinematography by Marcel Zyskind (28 Days Later, Dancer in the Dark).

The couple is disturbed by a private detective who knocks at their hotel door in the middle of the night. His name is Paul Vittorio (played by David Warhovsky, Taken, There will be Blood). He is armed, and wishes to speak to Chester alone. We soon discover that Chester is corrupt and owes money to many of Paul’s clients. He manages to defeat the private detective by accidently killing him. He lies to Colette, and tells her Vittorio is merely knocked out. He then sets off to drag the dead detective back to his room. 

On the way, Rydal catches him in the corridor (he was headed to the couple’s room to return Colette’s lost bracelet). Chester bribes Rydal, offering him a large sum of money to help them escape. He accepts, and the tumultuous adventures start here.

Chester, drinks himself silly and is eaten alive by jealousy. He doesn’t believe anyone, although this appears to be very ironic as he is not only a liar (to his wife and clients) but also a corrupt thief. Therefore his approach to “drink and forget”, and constant passive aggression is very shallow in my opinion. We can see through him from the beginning and there is no mystery involved. His death marks the end of the film. He gets shot in the back, after being pursued by Rydal, along with the police. The scene is a worthy of a déjà-vu Greek tragedy ending, corny and dramatic as ever. Chester is dying, practically in Rydal’s arms at this point, and he admits to his crimes and faults. Amini was saved by casting Viggo Mortenson, who despite Chester MacFarland’s overly dramatic character traits, still managed to make his character seem somewhat convincing, given his charisma and brilliance.

Rydal is the radical black and white opposite of Chester. He is the rebellious "career student" who went to Yale. Needless to say, it comes as a surprise that his character would have so little to offer. Amini’s characters are too obvious from the start due to their excessive actions. Rydal displays no emotion, unless an occasional smile. He shows irritation for the first time, when Chester and Colette fight at a café in Crete. This appears to be the only clue we have so far to his interest in Colette. Were we meant to think otherwise beforehand? If so, it wasn’t clear. Chester suspected it but we trusted Rydal more than jealous drunken Chester. It felt like Rydal was far more interested in the money than Colette (as he doesn’t hesitate to bargain for more), and the other reason for helping the couple is because Chester reminds him of his father. We also see a radical change in personality when he tracks Chester down following the murder of Colette, and his attempt to kill him.

Rydal is ambiguous, but only because his character should of been better written. At the end, he is set free but we are unable to have any sympathy, nor can we identify with his character. We are left with too many unanswered questions about his true identity: What were his true intentions with the couple? Did he really go to Yale? Did he sleep with Colette? We end up loosing interest in him in the end.

Colette doesn’t have much more to offer than her good looks and her role as a mediator, but this is acceptable as the story is not about her, but the “two faces,” the duo that Chester and Rydal form following her death. The title is based on the reference to the two-headed Greek god Janus, who looks in opposite directions. Once more, we think of the poster, and the excessive use of point of view shots in the film. We also see this with shot reverse/shot patterns, at a very early point on in the film (when Chester notices Rydal sitting down at the ruins the first time, and the café when he sits with Colette at a table near Rydal). Rydal and Chester represent Janus, who become enemies tied by their faith.

In short, however complex the characters seek out to be, a much further development would of done the plot justice as opposed to a constant emphasis on their actions versus location of which there were too many: Athens, Crete, Tunisia… In Drive, Amini proved to us that he was capable to reflect on a troubled conflicted character by successfully discerning the tremendous “good” and “bad” of his personality. The real complexity of his character stimulated our interest in him. Perhaps this was less challenging for him as the plot concentrated on the “Driver” character in Drive, as opposed to three distinct ones. In The Two Faces of January, the characters are stereotypes of emotions, and we never end up knowing where their true value of integrity stands.

Another striking mistake in the plot, is when Chester and Colette leave their passport behind at the first hotel they stay in. They were meant to leave the next day anyways, so it’s difficult to believe that they wouldn’t wait to retrieve them at the check-out. Any tourist in the world would hang on to their passport for dear life. It’s illogical that they didn’t, and could lead us to believe that Amini was using this faux-pas to transition to a conclusion more easily. It’s hard to think of such a crucial misconception as simply a mistake in the script.

I have rarely sat through what seemed to be the longest credits ever for a film. I couldn’t help but feel disappointed with this imbalance between the result of the film and the amount of people who worked to create it. I have already partly forgotten the film, only a few hours after having watched it. Perhaps this was also due to my confusion, I wasn’t sure who the targeted audience really was.