Persona

Persona (1966) - 10/10

First Viewed: 3/17/08
Ingmar Bergman (Dir.)
Sven Nykvist (DP)
Starring Bibi Andersson as Alma and Liv Ullmann as Elisabeth Vogler

Bergman's film begins with a montage of abstract images. A film projector thunders to life, a roll of film advances, and a harmless cartoon plays. Then a tarantula crawls up the screen and the film cuts to disturbing images of a sheep slowly being killed and gutted, its life visibly draining out of its eye. Suddenly, we see a close-up of a hand, possibly belonging to Jesus, being nailed into a wooden post.

Bergman cuts to a dirty pile of snow and then to closeups of people laying motionless on beds in what appears to be a brightly lit morgue. A non-diegetic telephone rings and, as if on cue, their eyes fly open, revived by the noise. One of these people is a naked boy, who reaches out towards a huge projection of a blurred woman's face, as if he is trying to reach into another dimension. And then the narrative begins.

These are the first five minutes of Persona, and they comprise what is certainly one of the most fascinating openings to a film I have ever seen. I'm not even sure what it really means at this point, though I do have a theory that I'll explore later on. The film's narrative centers around a beautiful nurse, Alma, who is hired to take care of Elisabeth, an actress who has chosen to live as a recluse and a mute. What follows is a bewildering exploration of what defines identity. While the actresses themselves are stellar in their roles, it is the beautiful cinematography by Nykvist - the DP who would later do brilliant work in Fanny and Alexander and The Unbearable Lightness of Being - and Bergman's meticulous control of the mis-en-scene that give us an innate, visual understanding of the characters. Elisabeth has a shadowy, ghost-like presence while Alma, who is well-lit, seems to retain a bright demeanor.

Alma discovers that Elisabeth is a wonderful listener - she doesn't say anything, after all - and begins to recount events, both good and bad, in her life. Elisabeth, in the meantime, becomes less ghost-like and better lit while Alma seems to be consumed in shadows; their roles begin to switch. Elisabeth, who has chosen to withdraw from society because of past disappointments and disgust with the world in general, essentially becomes a parasite, sapping the humanity and life-loving nature from Alma, who begins to wallow in her own disappointments. The film, through the use of sound and imagery, evokes a feeling of imminent decay and we follow Alma as she struggles to retain her true identity and even her connection with life.

As for the opening sequence, I believe it represents all of the aspects that make up Elisabeth's life. It does seem that the little snippets from our lives - events both beautiful and disturbing - make the biggest impact on who we are and how we view the world. The boy at the end of that sequence may be Elisabeth's son, who she has chosen to grow apart from out of fear of personal weakness. The projected image that the boy reaches towards could be Elisabeth; it is appropriately hazy considering the emotional wall that she has built between them.

Bergman's film is challenging, purposefully vague and difficult to interpret. Its score ranges from sounding dissonantly brilliant to obnoxiously tacky. Our protagonist is sweet one moment and then incredibly distressed the next. Whatever it is we witness, though, this is undeniably brilliant work.

Fargo

Fargo (1996) - 10/10

Second Viewing: 3/2/08
The Coen Brothers (Dir.)
Roger Deakins (DP)
Starring Frances McDormand as Marge; William H. Macy as Jerry; Steve Buscemi as Carl; Harve Presnell as Wade

Fargo is a brilliant movie about the best and worst of human nature, set in the genial, yet frigid wilderness of Minnesota. The film is impeccable on a technical level as cinematographer Roger Deakins does an amazing job photographing the beautifully harsh landscapes and the Coen Brothers' use of sound and editing as dramatic tools remain unmatched. The Coens present the whole gamut of characters ranging from McDormand's lovely police officer to Presnell's cold-blooded murderer.

In between is William H. Macy's fascinating character, a loser car salesman whose financial shortcomings lead him to do the most unimaginable things. Acting under the guise of Minnesotan friendliness, Macy's character is at once extremely pathetic and repugnant, a man who's willing to have his own wife kidnapped at his son's expense so he can pay off his debts. In trying to hide his shortcomings, he foolishly starts a chain of events that negatively affect the lives of many people. In the end, the lesson is that every action has a consequence; and while not an original idea, it has never before been so brilliantly realized in a film.

Paranoid Park

Paranoid Park (2008) - 3/10

First Viewing: 3/14/08

Directed by Gus Van Sant

Cinematography by Christopher Doyle
Starring Gabe Nevins as Alex

Gus Van Sant’s latest film is a disappointment and all the more frustrating because of its wasted potential. We follow a young skater (Gabe Nevins) who is disturbed after committing a terrible deed near Paranoid Skate Park. Instead of presenting the events in a narrative fashion, Van Sant decides to present his story in a fragmented manner. While I have no qualms with such experimentation, I do have issues with Van Sant's execution. The film could have been a tightly-constructed, fourty-five minute character-study, but Van Sant prolongs the film by simply repeating events and using slow motion shots of skaters and our protagonist to an annoying and even voyeuristic extent. This does not add any depth to the skater’s actions and instead makes the film feel bloated.

Perhaps the film’s biggest issue is that it struggles to present two themes, both of which have the potential to be fascinating, but are never properly fleshed out. One theme attempts to explore the skater’s guilt and anguish over his actions and the other to depict the selfish, every-man-for-himself mentality of individuals. The first doesn’t work because of Nevins’ terrible voice-over delivery and the afore-mentioned repetitive nature of the film. The second theme also doesn’t work because of some very awkward dialogue (the obnoxious Napoleon Dynamite monologue) and distractingly bad acting (the protagonist’s friend who always wants to "get laid").

This isn’t to say that all aspects of the film are terrible. Indeed, Christopher Doyle’s cinematography is beautiful and mesmerizing, the sound design is well thought out, and the soundtrack is often excellent. But none of these wonderful things are allowed to shine because of the rest of the film’s weaknesses. In the end, the film's biggest failing is that despite much of the film being comprised of beautiful and almost lustful close-ups of Nevins' cherubic face, we never really get to know who his character is.

Additional Thoughts:
I later learned that this film is being released on blu-ray in April. I'm tempted to give Paranoid Park another watch at that point. First of all, Christopher Doyle's cinematography would look amazing. Second, the film may make more sense if I view it as a very subjective effort - that is, Van Sant shows how an emotionally underdeveloped middle-class teen is trying to make sense of his life through the use of elliptical storytelling.

Unfortunately, I feel that most of my afore-mentioned criticisms will stand unchanged. For instance, there's a scene near the beginning that plays a cool electronica soundtrack over mesmerizing tracking shots (shot in 8 mm film) of anonymous skateboarders at Paranoid Park. Van Sant then inserts random French dialogue into the soundtrack. I find it hard to believe that Portland teenagers would be playing French dialogue through their heads; the scene suddenly shifts from one of mesmerizing beauty to one of blatant pretentiousness.