FILM REVIEW: The Wrestler

So after hitting on Black Swan a few days ago, I felt obliged to watch this film, which many claim is supposedly Black Swan’s (ironically) ‘perfect’ counterpart. And while I do agree that The Wrestler is far more psychologically engaging and emotionally complex than Black Swan, it is definitely far from perfect. Like Black Swan, it uses a variety of different film techniques to capture different ideas and to address various thematic concerns. Unlike those used in BS (lulz), however, much of the devices used in The Wrestler actually develop both the obvious themes (existential fear, societal judgment, interpersonal connection etc) and complex underlying subtexts (the nature of Ram’s need to stay in the ring, the importance of supposedly meaningless sex, the insidious effects of urban life, human nature, the much-disputed political undercurrents etc) and occasionally, are even subtle (OMFG IKR WTF)! For example, the extensive use of close-ups/tracking shots effectively conjures an atmosphere of paranoia. At the same time Ram suggests that he loves being followed; he’s just terrified to be the one following others. The camera, therefore, becomes an ambiguous, stalking entity that simultaneously reflects our need to follow Ram, Ram’s need to be followed, a wrestler’s need to be understood, our desire to be free from our ‘followers’ (or free from societal judgment). These ideas, of course, are bolstered by Aronofsky’s determination to undermine the preconceptions and break the misguided illusions we have regarding wrestlers, by the sideplot of Ram being outmoded by a little boy etc. Being the nice boy that I uh that uh I am, I explain what I mean below:

(By breaking the illusion, we recognize Ram not as a wrestler but as an ordinary ‘fuck-up’ who too has problems, and thereby relate to him. The little boys that Ram likes to play with *sniggers* represent modernity. Ram asks one about Call of Duty 4 but immediately dismisses it for an 80s game that harkens back to both his youth and to his career heyday. He does not care nor follow modernity, and forces the present to be shifted back to the past – that is, his ‘present’; ergo, the present becomes the follower, he becomes the followed – the only position he is comfortable with)

Okay.

But Aronofsky trying to be commercial (I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt that the complexities of his indie films were not serendipitous) invariably seems to involve dumbed-down conceits. The tensions between “Ram” and “Robin” (btw, lulz so fem) is clumsily brought out through Ram’s insistence that he is RANDY not ROBIN. While I do understand that many wrestlers probably do the same thing (If I were named Adam Copeland, I would probably fuck shit up if people stopped calling me Edge) with their names, especially since so many have voiced their approval of The Wrestler and its authenticity, in the context of an Aronofsky film, any repetition of words immediately (and unfortunately) beg to have some kind of metaphorical significance. As someone who likes to feel superior to the hoi polloi when I understand things they don’t, this kind of in-your-face bullshit is just kind of bullshitty, you know? I’m totes for the idea of authenticity, but as a director, one should always be self-aware. I mean, I absolutely loved the scene where Ram was picking up his medicine from the pharmacist and he told her to call him Randy. It was subtle, telling, realistic. Beautiful. And then Aronofsky just HAD to expand on that scene and repeatedly direct the audience’s attention to the oh-so-brilliant idea of RANDY VS ROBIN. Which as it turns out, is not that brilliant. Like, at all. *sobs*

And was I the only one who didn’t really understand the point about the daughter possibly being a lesbian? There are many times when I swoon at unheard dialogue (See: Lost in Translation, Random Porn Flick Involving A Waitress Whispering Comically Well-Articulated Sibilance Into Some Woman’s Ear) and marvel at unaddressed sideplots (See: Beautiful Thing), but uh that was just weird. Or maybe someone just needs to tell Mickey Rourke that he ain’t no Bill Murray. Deadpan monotony is so not your thang, bro.

But going back to the point, The Wrestler was definitely better than Black Swan, but it’s still far from perfect. There’s a lot of unexplored depth that was eschewed for sensationalist masochistic fetishisms and a misguided attempt to show how um… wrestlers are like strippers? Thankfully, a lot of the wtf-ness (and not the good Dogtooth or Attenburg kind) is still eclipsed by the often-stunning cinematography, score and sound editing (the scene where Ram prepares for his entry into the deli counter thing and the invisible crowd cheers him on is cringe-inducingly predictable, however). Again, I refuse to believe that Aronofsky is a bad director, because Requiem for a Dream is one of the best psych-horror film of all time – and making shit like that requires some major skillz. I just hope that he stops making stupid pop concessions and start making real arthouse shit worthy of his talent. Til then, I’m gonna keep my eyes peeled for the next Aronofsky film. In all honesty, it’s probably gonna suck ass, because he seems to be carving out a wonderful niche of dumbed-down arthouse pop – something that I personally have much disdain for. After all, the very concept of arthouse is predicated on creative integrity and/or (lulz see what I did there) not-giving-three-fucks-about-whether-people-understand-every-fucking-thing-you-do. Of course, the very premise can seem rather dubious, especially since many filmmakers seem to think that the ‘arthouse’ label is an excuse for narrative incoherence and experimental non-sequitors (See: Eraserhead). But I’ll leave The Degeneration of Arthouse Film for another post. I love how I just thought of a title like, on the spot. Because I’m talented that way. In any case, as far as wide-release commercial films go, The Wrestler is obviously one of the best. But with the knowledge that Aronofsky is capable of much more, it just comes across as…sad. And disappointing.

Oh what’s also sad and disappointing is that I get excited when my friends cancel our outing plans. #introvertsareweirdos

Aloha, bitches. KevOUT.

KevinScale Rating: 3.5/5

So Black Swan is an arthouse mindfuck for shitheads

That’s right. After more than a year since its glorious global release, Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan (BS) still annoys the shit out of me. And not just because Aronofsky eschews all semblances of subtlety and adopts instead offensive in-your-face visual conceits to convey ideas reeking of half-baked superficiality (I’m so over that), but because, time and time again, I have been forced to listen to people (Ed Wood sympathizers, no doubt) telling me how awesome it is:

“Oh, you know, the mirrors are used to like, symbolize right, this like…um… multiplicity of identity, you know?”

“It’s like…daring and bold and inventive, you know? The lesbian scene was very bold and daring, and like…it’s so cool, you know? Like when the black wings grew out of her, right, I couldn’t believe it.”

Omg stop kthx.

Admittedly, BS’ visual conceits are not just empty exercises in set design and special effects. The mirrors are obviously symbols that chronicle the fragmentation of Nina’s identity and serve to express the tensions between her “uptight virgin” and “lesbian slut” sides. The use of black wings is obviously a counterpoint to Nina’s endless supply of white dresses. But children…making sense is imperative; making sense does not make a film great, or even good. On the contrary, the abundance of clichés is both cringe-inducing and irritating – especially when constantly faced with hapless sycophants.

Let’s poke around Aronofsky’s oh-so-twisted mind:

“Natalie Portman is hot. Mila Kunis is hotter. They should make lesbian porn together. I should help them.”

“But how do I pretend I want to convey something complex about identity? Oh, I know. I’ll use mirrors. It looks pretty and it gives Natalie a chance to flaunt her Harvard Psych degree by making multiple references to the relevance of Lacanian psychoanalysis to confuse otherwise-credible film critics into liking mah shit.”

“Maybe I’ll make the mother evil.”

But to clear the air, I’m not wholly against Black Swan. Fear and paranoia permeate the film’s atmosphere, and more often than not they come crashing down on the audience, at once suffocating and sublime. The actors are obviously very dedicated in their mission to salvage Aronofsky’s weak source material, because the acting is uniformly top-notch – even if Natalie Portman’s dancing was mostly done by an overlooked stunt double (OH SNAP). The strategic placing of mirrors occasionally makes for a stunning scene. The extensive use of close-ups and grainy cinematography effectively disposes of ballet’s veneer of grace and poshness. If this movie were less drenched in Aronofsky’s half-baked stylistic flourishes, and people didn’t keep droning on about how amazing it is, I would probably like it more. Also, to Aronofsky’s credit, he is not a bad director. Requiem for a Dream (I approve of this film btw) was one of the most inventive films of the last decade, and all of its stylistic flourishes – the score, the hip-hop montages, the clinical yet dim lighting, the juxtaposition of melodrama and subtle, complex subtexts – were extremely well-developed. For his sake, as well as for that of his diehard fans, I really hope that Black Swan was just a throwaway creative outlet to purge him of all his unoriginality.

Also I quasi-apologize for the unrestrained grumpiness. I just woke up from a nap and found out my Ruffles stash had been wiped out.

Aloha bitches. KevOUT. (Geddit? Kevin out? KevIN out? KevOUT? TROLOLOLOLOLOL)

(/badhumor)