Albert Nobbs (and Young Adult, accidentally)

I'm thinking right now about movies that misidentify themselves. Is that a word? Movies that seem to believe they are something other than what they actually are. One example of this, from recent memory, is a movie called Young Adult. It was billed as a comedy, and the trailers made it seem like a typical fluffy romance -- a chick flick. Even though there were one or two scenes that made this implication possible, the overarching vibe of the film was very dark, featuring a main character whose depressive immaturity and complicated web of neuroses is extremely difficult to watch. She may be beautiful, but she's not beautiful on the inside, and that may be one of the misleading elements. We're not accustomed to seeing someone as beautiful as Charlize Theron acting in a way that's viscerally disgusting, at least not without her first putting on a lot of "ugly person" makeup and altering her appearance like she did in Monster. In "Young Adult" she's simply disgusting because of her neuroses. The way she pulls at her hair, for instance, plucking out a bald spot on the back of her head compulsively. Her drunkenness, how pathetically unaware she is of how pathetic she is, her false sense of pride as she piles on layers of makeup like sludge to hide her age. It's so obvious that she is 100% phony. It's miserable to watch. I sat in the theater, cringing throughout.

People told me afterward, "Didn't you think that was a really profound portrayal of a woman who hasn't outgrown the self-image she had as a teenager?" Well, yes. "But!" I yelled. "It was supposed to be a romantic comedy! Or heck, just a comedy at least! It wasn't funny at all!"

Now, that was an extreme case of bad marketing. However, I was shocked not only by how misleading the marketing for the film was, but also by its expectations for itself. Did it really expect to win an Oscar? Did it really expect to be successful as a "comedy" in the Golden Globes? Did it not understand that it was a film destined to be loveable only by the fringe, a film dealing with heavy, heavy territory that not many people would be willing to traverse? Unfortunately for Charlize, because she is such a high-caliber actor and this performance was so exquisite, the film will never get the attention it deserves. Why did it not stand up and say what it truly was? Something like a psychological horror film. If I were in the editing room, I would cut out all the supposedly-comedic or supposedly-romantic "borderline" scenes and emphasize all the ones involving makeup or vomit. After all, "Young Adult" in fact has more in common with "Black Swan" -- which did win an Oscar -- than it does with "Notting Hill."

So. Mis-identified movies. I was thinking about this because of the movie I just watched yesterday: Albert Nobbs. What a totally confused movie this is. On one hand, it thinks it's a period piece. On the other hand, the period is completely irrelevant. Also, there's a lot of references to other movies about class struggles and the plight of the poor. While the viewers are sitting there figuring out that this is no Jane Austen movie, they're left wondering why it's important that the primary characters are working class.

Too much is happening all at once: You've got a woman disguised as a man, and it's not at all clear why she is doing this. Not for a long, long time. You've also got a bunch of working class people, in a time where clearly it's difficult to find work -- but the socioeconomic conditions are never clearly explained. Yes, Albert is saving up "his" money in order to gain independence. But what does that have to do with the decision to pass as a man? You might start to think that passing as a man was something Albert chose to do in order to make money. But then, why would "he" have to do this for so long? Early in the film he makes us aware that he will be well enough off in six months to buy his own tobacco shop. That's his plan. But he's not a young man. Couldn't he have done this a long time ago? Besides, couldn't he have taken a more traditional route as a woman? It's completely unclear what the class struggle has to do with the gender struggle.

And then to confuse matters even more: Suddenly there is another woman posing as a man. What are the chances? And this woman is married (to a woman). Suddenly, it's apparently the central plot point that Albert wants to be married, too. This is now his grand pursuit. He sees they have a successful marriage and he wants one, too. Why? We spend a lot of time in the film with Albert "courting" a young working maid. A lot of his precious saved-up money is wasted on her, buying her hats, chocolate and whisky. But why? Does this movie now think that it is, in fact, a Jane Austen novel with a twist? Is it going to become a lesbian romance?

No. Finally, Albert confesses his story. It turns out that Albert Nobbs was actually gang-raped when she was a young girl of fourteen. My, how disturbing it is to see her put on a dress for the first time after some forty-odd years of living as a man and, having confessed her horrible rape story, in a state of exhilerated emotional release, run wildly on the beach. She looks like an old man in drag, and she looks also like someone with severe mental derangement. Is there pity for her? Of course there is. Gang rape?! Is there anything more horrible in all the world? It's deeply disturbing. Your "aha" moment, the big reveal. Albert is a victim of a serious trauma, and Albert is mentally ill.

But, as a viewer, by this time aren't you completely angry with the movie? Aren't you completely disappointed that nothing that's happened so far really matters at all? Think about it. Socioeconomic struggle? Not relevant. Long courtship with pretty young maid? Not relevant. Life in 19th century Ireland? Completely irrelevant. The only thing that matters, in fact, is passing as a man because she could no longer stomach the identity of a woman -- She could no longer live with the idea of sex, or play the part of demure feminine girl seeking a husband. This movie turns out to be something utterly, utterly off the charts un-mainstream. I have rarely seen something so horrible. When the revelation hits you, and you realize what you're watching, you instantly want your money back. Figuratively speaking.

What was Glenn Close thinking, anyway? We know she likes a little crazy, and does it well (I'm thinking "Dangerous Liaisons" and "Fatal Attraction" now). But "Albert Nobbs" has a multi-layered identity crisis, thinking of itself as some kind of cross between "Emma," "Yentl," and "Boys Don't Cry," but with none of the payoff of any of those films. I won't even mention how badly it ends for poor Albert. Oops. Well, you weren't going to see it anyway.

Congratulations "Albert Nobbs," you are now officially the worst movie I've ever seen, bumping "Edward Scissorhands" out of the bottom spot.

The Aviator

Last night, I re-lived the bliss of watching the movie that I long ago decided was my all-time favorite movie: The Aviator, with the stunning Leonardo DiCaprio.

It became my favorite movie the minute I walked out of the theater having seen it for the first time. Ever since then, whenever I want someone to get to know me, or whenever I'm in the middle of a deep conversation with a new close friend, I tend to somehow work in an opportunity to quote DiCaprio, as Howard Hughes, repeating: "The way of the future. The way of the future. The way of the future. The way of the future."

If the person I am speaking to finds this funny, then s/he will be able to understand me. If not, then probably not. It's very simple.

What does it say about me, that my "ALL-TIME FAVORITE MOVIE" is The Aviator? Well, I begin to answer this by first pointing you toward my previous favorite movie, before I had seen The Aviator. It was: The English Patient.

For this, the very first blog post in a series where I discuss my favorite movies, we'll have a perfect introduction by comparing The Aviator and The English Patient. Both of these movies have a tragic hero. That is crucial. Both of these movies have a flawed tragic hero, reminiscent of ancient Greek literature. Both of these movies tend toward the romantic, in style, philosophy and substance. Both of these movies are absolutely, breathtakingly gorgeous to watch -- Both movies fill the screen with huge, lucid portraits of landscapes, skies, architecture and masterpieces of human engineering. Both of these movies are masterpieces of cinematography.

Both of these movies have an extremely handsome male lead. Both of these movies have a quirky, unusual, melodramatic, introspective, fearful and socially awkward male character as the lead. And the things he must do! to make us love him. In both cases.

Both of these movies have Drama, with a capital D. Some would argue that both of these movies are overly dramatic and overly romantic -- that they veer so far from realism that they are unbearable. In their very unbearableness, they are both beautiful. Whether it is an apocalyptic small plane crash where the roofs of Los Angeles are torn in two and burst aflame, or a poetic dialogue between two lovers trapped in a dark car while a desert sandstorm gusts around them, the scenes in these movies will echo eternally in the walls of your imagination. They will not let you go.

Isn't the height of good Drama just fundamentally defined by how readily you are taken away from the mundane and lifted up into an experience that challenges your imagination? Your mind must burn new neural territory in order to accomodate how alive this makes you feel, and in order to burnish words for the new aesthetic you have been given.

So -- that's a nice introduction, isn't it? But let's talk just a little bit about why The Aviator is better than The English Patient.

First of all, The English Patient has a weaker plot. It relies on the adaptation of a book; the adaptation was much better than the book, (yes, I read it) --it kept the romantic magic the author intended. It just didn't translate in terms of the action into a movie. The action becomes, in the movie, a story of a love affair and a cuckolded husband, set against a backdrop of a war. The war becomes the most important character, and the moral message of "War is Evil" does not roll out lightly. No, it thunders down. The war/Evil character is primarily responsible for what befalls everyone in the movie. The burns on the patient; the bombing of loved ones; the missing thumbs; even the fatal union of the lovers is shaped by war. The war/Evil is so obviously the lowest, most morally wrong of all the wrongs that could be -- so much so that the affair, and the harm it does to the cuckolded husband, become forgivable and seem less wrong. They are let off the hook completely.

Which, in turn, (deeply analyzing the plot at this point, so follow along with me), almost destroys the weight of the problem for the two lovers. You may think that the lovers are driving the plot, but you see, they're not really. How could it be so important for them to stay apart, given what's going on with the war? --The plot is weak. Upon repeated viewings it becomes tiresome.

Ralph Fiennes is damned good and Kristin Scott Thomas earned my lifelong admiration. I have never been able to forget the charm of Naveen Andrews. I love the movie still, and I'll keep it on my favorites list. But it definitely got knocked down several bars as time went on and I saw more movies.

The Aviator is breathless and literally, awesome. The planes alone -- the engineering -- make the film worth watching. Right from the start you are treated to triumphant scenes. Hughes informs his new CFO that he's standing looking at the "largest private airforce in the entire world." So right away you get the scope of it. The planes swoop and duck, and sometimes you get this amazing angle as if you were in one of the planes yourself! Cate Blanchett steps in to play Katharine Hepburn, and you feel that as a movie viewer you have suddenly gone to Heaven without having died. DiCaprio makes you know Hughes, makes you know not only Hughes' temper and stridency, passion and vulnerability, but also his shyness, his nightmares, and his inner ego. I have never in all my life felt like I could live inside another human's brain as much as DiCaprio allowed me permission to live inside Hughes'. And I relate to Hughes. I relate to him because anyone with a big heart would have to relate to him. We've all been that vulnerable at some point. We've all wished we were that powerful.

Plot, as far as it goes, in this movie takes on one of my criteria for "HIGHLY SUCCESSFUL DIRECTING;" which is to say, it is subtle and nuanced. I can't even sum up the plot in a few sentences. I might be able to say that it is a biopic of Howard Hughes, which is vague enough not to touch the plot question, but avoid it altogether! Or, I might be able to sum up the plot in a few paragraphs. That's the range. For example, I might write a paragraph about each of these questions: is it a movie about competing airlines? Is it a movie about United States history? Is it about obsessive-compulsive disorder? Is it a love story? Is it about Hollywood? Is it about money and greed, power and fame? Holy shit, buddy: it's about all of those things and more. This movie is, in short, epic. It's epic because it's directed by Martin Scorsese. He has a knack for making things larger than life, nuanced, and unforgettable. I'll write more on the perfect partnership of Scorsese and DiCaprio soon, when I discuss another fave, The Gangs of New York.

There are so many scenes in this movie that I could rave about. I don't know what excited me more: the sweeping interior of a Hollywood lounge, the plane crash scene mentioned above, the lights of nighttime LA as Cate and Leo glide above it in a gentle airplane motion (that you as the viewer can actually feel, like you're back in childhood riding the Peter Plan flight ride at Disneyland), or the horror of the dank red theater in which Hughes slides into craziness, growing wolflike and repeating his instructions for milk delivery into the void. This movie is SO big in my imagination. It takes me to SO many different places, unreal places, vivid dreamscapes. It satisfies me intellectually, too -- when Hughes takes the microphone into his overscrubbed fingers and charges Senator Brewster with corruption, this is quite a bit more than a history lesson. The movie is political, and DiCaprio is at his best in those scenes.

Shall I go on? On a personal note, the scene when Hughes burns all of his clothing after Hepburn walks out on him will always move my heart. On a technical note, the scene where Hughes is barraged by cameras for the debut of his movie, and bulbs are smoking, popping and exploding all around him, is the best piece of cinematography that I have ever witnessed.

If you don't believe me, watch it again.

So we have powerful acting, (of the highest caliber -- the kind that makes you intimate with the characters), nuanced direction, action-packed and complex screenwriting, layered and intellectual plotlines, unforgettable cinematography, and stellar stylistic design from head to toe. It has the best ending to a film that I can possibly imagine, with one the most ironic and memorable lines of dialogue for its concluding sequence.

One last thing: The Aviator bears watching again. And again. And again.