There
have been few American filmmakers over the past 50 years who have had
as eclectic and as continually surprising a career as Brian De Palma. From his first feature, Murder à la Mod
in 1968, a playful and occasionally bizarre low-budget film where seeds
of De Palma's future cinematic preoccupations were already on display,
to his politically provocative and structurally experimental Redacted
in 2007, De Palma has had as many ups and downs and hits and misses as
any filmmaker of his generation. In between, the science student
standout turned contemporary master of suspense has achieved fame
through his most renowned films, notoriety through his most
controversial (usually based on false accusations of misogyny or only
partly-false accusations of Hitchcock rip-offery), and he has become
tragically neglected as some of his best films have been overshadowed by
their Hollywood stature and star power (how many people know that he
was the man behind Scarface (1983), The Untouchables (1987), and Mission: Impossible (1996)?).
But
for many De Palma fans, and I count myself among his most ardent, each
and every film of his yields moments of staggering innovation, virtuosic
technique, and a seemingly endless ambition to do something new with
the tools of his cinematic trade. As such, I'll confess from the outset
that with the release of his latest film, Passion,
with Rachel McAdams and Noomi Rapace (the latter one of the most
captivating and talented actresses working today), I had the highest of
hopes and was pretty sure that no matter how the film turned out, there
would at least be portions of typically De Palma brilliance. In the end,
these expectations were surely met. Passion is a fine film,
exuberant, daring, and cinematically flashy. Granted, it's nowhere near
the caliber of his greatest work (for example, the 1-2-3 punch of Dressed to Kill (1980), Blow Out (1981), and Scarface (1983)), nor is it, however, anywhere near his lesser films, liked the much maligned Wise Guys (1986) and The Bonfire of the Vanities (1990). Passion
is a film by a director fully aware of why and how his films are
special; and he's confident enough to revel in these particular talents.
If anything, its apparent effortlessness is deceiving. This is De Palma
doing what he does best: it's a taut, sexual, suspenseful, violent, and
visually dazzling film. There are flaws (the dialogue, performances
early in the picture), but for De Palma admirers and those who admire
films similar, it really has it all.
Set
against the ultra-modern world of an advertising agency fraught with
deceit and ruthless ambition, McAdams is Christine Stanford, boss and
friend to Rapace's Isabelle James, her protégée. In De Palma fashion,
Isabelle also harbors more than a professional preoccupation with
Christine. There is an obsessiveness in her devotion, something the two
of them are clearly uncomfortable with. When Isabelle's desire and
delusion runs up against the desire and ruthlessness of Christine, the
complexity of their personal and professional relationship comes to a
head and one form of aggression and manipulation follows upon another.
It's a sort of psychological twisting and turning not uncommon to some
of De Palma's best thrillers. Added to this level of mental torment is
the sexual tension running as a combustible undercurrent through all of
the main characters. And then, in its kaleidoscopic third act, comes the
wave of hallucinatory violence. In this trifecta of psychological
distress, erotic infatuation, and stylized, elaborate violence (even
with trademark split-screen), you get three key ingredients of any
successful De Palma film.
Now,
I will concede that there is considerably more style than substance
here. De Palma is a visual artist far more than he is one concerned with
richly developed characters and a depth of intellectual meaning in his
narratives (though some of his films have had these). That is not to
say, however, that Passion lacks in either good characters or
intriguing drama. Certainly, the final portions of the film are so
perplexing and ambiguous that one is left to ponder over the proceedings
and motivations long after the conclusion. A jumbled mess of
incongruities to some, reason for analysis for others.
This type of division will carry over to the film as a whole. One's reception to Passion
will largely depend on one's expectations. It's safe to say that nobody
really makes films like De Palma these days, and knowing this, Passion
will not be like most other American films. This will no doubt work for
and against it. I'd say the best barometer for how well Passion is going to succeed is to base it on individual opinions of previous De Palma features, films like Sisters (1973), Body Double (1984) and Femme Fatale (2002). This is the mode De Palma is operating in here. Passion is a true return to form for aficionados of his work, and it's a good introduction to his brand of distinct filmmaking for those less acquainted.
It’s quite possibly the most divisive film of 2013, and since its premiere at May’s Cannes Film Festival, Only God Forgives
has been greeted with boos, walk-outs, and an array of scathing
reviews. However, since its wider release July 19, in theaters and on
several “on demand” platforms, the film has begun to garner some
encouraging evaluations. Granted, it’s still a minority who find
anything redeeming about the movie, and as more have the opportunity to
see it there’s no doubt that other mixed opinions, interpretations, and
occasionally quite visceral reactions are to follow.
One of the more virulent appraisals
of the film came from critic Rex Reed. In his review titled
“Unforgivable: Only God Forgives Is One of the Worst Movies Ever Made,”
subtitled, “Ryan Gosling is the new ghoul of gore,” he states: “Gruesomely grotesque and
pathologically pretentious, a diabolical horror called Only God Forgives
may not be the worst movie ever made, but it is unquestionably in the
top five. ... Ultra-violent, demented, plotless, creepy, meat-headed and
boring, this is nothing more than a depraved travesty of abstract
expression that wastes the film it’s printed on. Get to the point, you
say. What is it about? Absolutely nothing, really. Ryan Gosling, looking
dangerously anesthetized...” It goes on, but I think the point is clear.
As this review does seem to echo many
other sentiments regarding the film, taking it as my own personal
springboard I’d like to comment first on a few of the adjectives used to
negatively describe the film: “Gruesomely grotesque and pathologically
pretentious” and “Ultra-violent, demented ... creepy, meat-headed.” I
couldn’t agree more. Only God Forgives is all of these things
(and more!), but none of these attributes necessarily make a bad film,
just an unpleasant and difficult one. Not all art has to be pleasing to
one's sensibilities, easy on the mind, and comfortably digestible.
Before attempting to further justify
this film though, there’s the plot, a rather simple and, on the surface,
conventional story. Gosling plays Julian, a drug-smuggler in Bangkok.
His disturbed and disturbing brother is brutally murdered after he
himself rapes and murders a 16-year-old. The brothers’ equally
disconcerting mother (Kristin Scott Thomas) demands to know who killed
her son and seeks vengeance, vengeance that, she reasons, Julian should
enact. Behind the killing, and head of the underworld orchestrating much
of the chaos, is Chang (Vithaya Pansringarm). Julian, no stranger to
the seedy side of life here, must ride the fence of familiar
responsibility and his place within this realm of depravity and crime.
This is the basic setup for the film. Now, I’m not going to say that
this plot is ground breaking in any way, but there is a plot, so there
goes that argument. And in the performing of the scenes as part of the
ensuring drama, the acting, to say the least, is certainly minimal.
Gosling is mostly mute, brooding (see “thoughtful”), and does seem to be
in a perpetual daze. Pansringarm doesn’t really need to do more than
appear sadistic and potentially volatile at any and every turn — this he
does. The only “performance” is from Kristin Scott Thomas, and her’s
admittedly isn’t a great one, but it’s a memorable one. She’s crass,
vulgar, obscene, and even at times humorous. When learning of what her
son did to the young girl, she responds in a frequently cited line that,
on the one hand is deeply cruel, but, yes, is still kind of funny: “I’m
sure he had his reasons.” So the acting in Only God Forgives
isn’t great. It’s not going to garner any Oscar nominations for its
leads. (I get the sense that it never for a moment wanted to.) But these
are caricatures, not necessarily characters. They’re crime film types –
hence the overtly self-conscious tough-guy poses, mannerisms, and the
cutting dialogue. They represent more than they are. This can be enough.
Stylistically, Only God Forgives is as expected. Director Nicolas Winding Refn is a tremendously gifted visual artist. Anyone who has seen his Pusher (1996), Bronson (2008), Valhalla Rising (2009) or his masterpiece, one of the best films of this century, Drive (2011), can’t question his formal craftsmanship. With Only God Forgives
though, the argument is “all style, no substance.” Its style is
certainly the film’s most notable attribute, so against this visual
bombast the minimal plot and subdued acting is going to stand in stark
contrast. But a film can be as much about a feeling, a tone, as it can
be about people and what they do. That in itself is substantive, and
that is what Only God Forgives does exceedingly well. From its
neon lighting, to its camera placements, to even its geysers of
blood-letting, there is nary a scene here that doesn’t at least look
interesting. Put them all together and Only God Forgives achieves a sort of collective sensation of objectionable fascination.
That, of course, leads to the film’s
grotesquery, its ultra-violence. Who can argue? The movie is incredibly
violent. One torture scene is particularly harsh, and a scene at the end
involving Julian and his mother is as baffling as it is unpleasant. So
what’s the point of this graphicness? There probably isn’t any. It’s
just there, it’s who these people are, and it’s yet another level of
imagery to unsettle (which in itself can be a “point” of a movie). See
this in contrast with the Evil Dead remake earlier in the year.
The horror film is far more graphic, there’s far more blood shed, but
yet, according to the critical consensus (at least as far as Rotten
Tomatoes is concerned) it’s “fresh” at 62% positive. Compare this to Only God Forgives’
36% “rotten” score. It must not be the actual violence of the film that
turns so many off. They’ve seen gallons of more unrelenting blood and
gore. Again, it goes back to tone and atmosphere. One may not like these
aspects of Only God Forgives, but let’s not cop out by
decrying the apparent violence of the film. It seems to me that,
especially in this day and age, simply condemning the obvious violence
is much easier than analyzing the manner in which it’s presented, the
way, and the reason, and that I feel is what Only God Forgives
has fallen victim to, and those questions are, in actuality, the more
interesting concerns of the film. People don’t want to even try and wrap
their heads around the more ambiguous and complicated aspects of the
film (that may, alas, lead to positive commentary); it’s simpler to just
dismiss because of the violence.
With all of this said though, I don’t mean to suggest that Only God Forgives
is an exceptionally great film. It would barely crack my top five of
the year so far, and it’s not even remotely close to Refn and Gosling’s
accomplishment with Drive. But it’s a misunderstood film. It’s
also one that I think is getting unfairly derided by critics. Why? I’m
not sure. I think it has something to do with the film coming across as
being “too cool for school.” It’s almost like the film, and Refn’s
narrative and formal choices in particular, carry with them such disdain
for any sort of established acceptability that people feel personally
attacked by the affront. Reed used “pretentious” in his review of the
film. As far as it being showy and overtly stylish, it is. But as far as
it being guilty of pandering to artsty for arts sake critical
judgments, it isn’t. In its languid pace, lack of dialogue, and abstract
plot, is it really so different than the films of critical darlings
like Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Bela Tarr, Jia Zhangke, and, as Reed
mentions, Refn’s fellow Dane, Lars von Trier? These are, to be sure,
great filmmakers, but why the free pass?
In the days since its wider release, more and more positive comments about Only God Forgives
are coming out. Message boards are attempting to decipher some of the
film’s potential meanings and symbolism. Aside from being a good thing
for the mere reason of getting more people to possibly watch the movie,
these discussions are also further evidence of a film with more going
for it than initially meets the eye. Anytime one encounters so much
debate and such a polarizing reaction to a movie, I can’t help but feel
the filmmakers are on to something. In this time of increased
complacency, especially when it comes to the mainstream cinema, a film
that enrages and engages has to be deemed at least worthwhile. For
better or worse, a movie that gets people talking is a movie worth
considering. You don’t have to like it (indeed, most will never like Only God Forgives), but to call it one of the worst movies ever made is unnecessarily exaggerated, simplistic, and naive.
