Melancholia: Mental Relief at the End of the World

Lars von Trier's Melancholia opens with a series of slow-motion shots, a poetic prologue, if you will, of the coming film. Like with his previous film, Antichrist, the shots are mesmerizing, haunting, and quite beautiful. Especially the final shot of the prologue when two worlds collide, not with a bang, not with sound and fury, but slowly, silently, exactly how it probably happens when viewed from above.

This is the second of Trier's films I've seen, and I think I've noticed a trend: His films are more about effect/affect than they are about narrative flow. That's to say, he focuses on how the events of the film affect his characters and the audience. Plot be damned!

Of course, there is a little bit of a plot. After the prologue, the film then shows the audience a bride and her soon-to-be husband sitting in the back of a limo, laughing as the driver tries to navigate the monstrous thing around a curve the limo is far to big to make. And after multiple attempts by everyone in the car--bride, bridegroom, and driver--the bride and groom decide to walk to the ceremony, which makes them insanely late for the wedding, two hours to be exact.

This is Justine's (played by Kirsten Dunst) section of the film, and it turns out she doesn't mind being late to her own wedding. In fact, she does everything in her power to avoid the whole silly ritual by disappearing just as an "important" moment is about to take place, leaving her guests--not to mention her sister, Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg), and brother-in-law, John (Keifer Sutherland), who paid for the extravagant affair--to wait for her return.

As it turns out, Justine isn't the only eccentric character at the wedding. Her entire family seems to rebel against all forms of ritualized formality, except for Claire, who goes to great lengths to make sure everyone is happy and that everything is running smoothly.

Justine is not entirely sure about marrying her husband. Claire and John continually ask if this is truly what she wants. The problem is Justine doesn't seem to be sure of what she wants. Indeed, the only time she seems focused is when she notices a new star in the sky just before the wedding.

That star, we learn later in Claire's half of the film, is not a star but a planet that is supposed to come extremely close to Earth, but hopefully--fingers crossed--pass us by. Having seen the prologue, the audience knows what most of the characters do not: that the planetary dance will be the last beautiful thing humanity will see, ever.

Justine knows it, too. The rest learn as the film progresses, but Trier doesn't go for the usual mass hysteria of other apocalyptic films. No, he instead focuses on this one family as it attempts to deal with Justine's debilitating depression. No one seems to be able to help. No person seems to be able to help, for the closer the planet comes to Earth, Justine is drawn further and further form her depression. Conversely, the planet's advancement seems to do just the opposite for Claire, whose mind descends into paranoia and despair by film's end.

Trier has set up, as I said, a film that evokes the very mood in its title. And as I watched, I was overwhelmed with sadness and awe. Here is a film that lingers on in the mind long after the screen fades to black. Justine is a character so consumed with her own illness, her own sense of doom, that the only thing that allows her to truly escape from her depression is her own impending death. Justine sees death as a new beginning, and yet Claire sees it as an end. Both sisters represent the cosmic cycle of life, death, rebirth; and the only difference between the two is simply perspective. A change in perspective makes all the difference in the world.

Avengers: Much Better than Expected

After a couple of weeks of seeing the juggernaut that is The Avengers dominate the box office, and after watching as countless Facebook posts indicate that the movie is so awesome that it requires multiple viewings, I finally saw it this past weekend. I must say, it's quite good, very good in fact. Is it the best comic book film  I've ever seen (Spider-man 2, The Dark Knight)? No, but it is still a very good comic book movie.

Thankfully, I didn't need to bone up on my research in order to see the film. That is, I didn't need to go out and rent Captain America and Thor in order to understand the plot of the film. And the thanks for that has to go out to Joss Whedon (director and co-writer). The movie is self-contained, and I like that. But it also delivers, what I assume, insider nods to the other films. It's the best of both worlds, a film that pleases both fanboys/fangirls and non-fanpeople alike, which is why it has been so popular.

The plot involves a bid for world-domination by the brother of Thor, Loki. A smaller, more manageable project is not in Loki's laundry list of things to do, but then again, I may have missed his earlier exploits. Nevertheless, he is employed by an alien race, I forget the name, to steal a power source that opens a wormhole to the other side of the universe. After the power source is stolen, Nick Fury (Samuel Jackson) assembles the superheroes, thus activating the Avengers Initiative.

Of course, being such disparate and unique characters, they don't get along at first, but after a couple of action sequences, and very surprising loss, they team up to battle the invading army.

My favorite characteristic of the whole film is its sense of fun, but it also helps that Whedon doesn't just deliver one-liner after one-liner. The screenplay adequately gives each character plenty of screen time. That is, they are allowed to talk, a novel concept for many action films out there. The characters are so well set up that the audience cares when everything goes to hell.

Now, my favorite moment involves the Hulk and Loki. At first, Loki's speeches were getting on my nerves, but once Hulk delivers a huge slice of humble pie, I forgave the writers for Loki's speeches. They built up to the biggest payoff of the film. Indeed, the audience I saw the film with clapped.

The special effects were very good, and the action sequences delivered, but the real star of the film is the script. It's the model of what a comic book film should be, at least the variety The Avengers belongs to: humorous, takes the characters seriously (but not too seriously), and delivers a fun time at the movies. The Avengers may not be as great as Spider-man 2 or The Dark Knight, but it's a step in the right direction.

By the way, I did stay after the credits. It's interesting how a shot with no dialogue can produce the second biggest laugh of the film.

In the same spirit of fun, I do enjoy the pictures below. Together, they address the sticky issue of how women are posed in action film advertisements.

Oh, it's so funny when the tables are turned. Honestly, I prefer this one, especially Captain America's pose. :)

Favorites: Quills

Dear Readers, this post covers a most impure tale, one which is inspired by a man so devoid of--for lack of a better word--inhibitions that many of you may not dare to watch. Thankfully, I have, so you may read what I write and decide for yourselves if this is the film for you.

Quills is a fascinating film, full of what many films lack today: wit. It follows the final years of the Marquis de Sade at Charanton, an asylum for the criminally insane. Have you heard of him? If no, have you heard of the word "sadism"? Well, he's the man that gave us that wonderful word. Sade found pleasure in everything, and I mean everything. In his philosophy, morality is a faulty human construct that serves nothing but to limit humanity's true potential. He wrote about his views in the most salacious manner: by writing erotic/philosophical novels that voiced and demonstrated his philosophy. Needless to say, he was both popular and considered the most evil man of his time. Frequently locked away for crimes that involved sodomy, the abuse of prostitutes, and the overall defilement of anyone (man or woman, boy or girl) who crossed his path.

Generally speaking, the Marquis doesn't sound like the type of person who could be considered a protagonist in any story, except for maybe one of his own. However, Quills does just that. The Marquis is the hero of the film, a free-thinking writer who attacks hypocrisy and indulges in the all the pleasurable experiences of which a human being can play a part. Indeed, in the film, despite being French, he's the symbol of a very American ideal, "free speech". And boy did he ever test that ideal!

Truthfully, the film tones down the Marquis' true nature. After watching the film again recently, I was curious if any of his works could be found online. They're available, but I'm not entirely sure I should thank Google or not. The website I found contains most of his writings, including 120 Days of Sodom and Philosophy in the Bedroom. The latter is the one I chose after reading a synopsis of the former and not feeling up to the challenge of reading it. To be sure, his works are a challenge, a dare, as the website is so kind of point out: "To read him is to come against an iron will."

Well, I must say I lost the dare. My curiosity carried me to about page 40 of 144. I just couldn't take anymore, and I wish it hadn't carried me that far. His writings push the limits of a person's ability to look at his works from an academic standpoint. The only positive thing I can say about the experience is that his writings have a visceral effect on the reader. No other writer I've yet read has produced such a revulsion of not only acts, but ideas.

I'll just stick with Quills, thank you, and Geoffery Rush's outstanding performance. I believe this film, so far, is one of Rush's best performances. Think of what he has to accomplish: He must transform one of the most reviled human beings ever to exist into a sympathetic and physically attractive character. Both of which he accomplishes with absurd and bewildering ease. Of course, the narrative of the screenplay helps, which is based off a play, but Rush really sinks his teeth into this one with a kind of bravery that is hard not to admire. Now, think about Rush, his appearance; he's not an altogether attractive man, but he establishes an attractive sexuality not through physical appearance but through intelligence, wit, and a fantastic sense of humor about the human experience.

One of my favorite lines--truthfully, the only one I feel comfortable posting here--occurs near the climax of the film. After everything is taken from the Marquis, anything he could use to write, including his clothing, he and Madeleine (Kate Winslet), a laundress at the asylum who has been smuggling his manuscripts to a publisher, attempt to write a new story together with the help of the Marquis' fellow inmates. Since the Marquis cannot write himself, he must rely on others to relay his message in a perverse version of the telephone game. After one of his lines is mutilated by the one of the inmates, he cries, "My glorious prose filtered through the minds of the insane. Who knows? They might improve it."

In addition to Rush, there is at least one other standout performance: Michael Caine, playing Dr. Royer-Collard. Seriously, how can one man go from playing a character more evil than the Marquis himself to playing beloved Alfred in Christopher Nolan's Batman trilogy? A damn fine actor, that's who. The film sets these two against each other, a pair of iron wills, in order to illustrate the battling forces at work whenever an artist disrupts the established order. But it also demonstrates that those who fight hardest against what they consider to be sexual perversity harbor that same "perversity" within themselves. Look at how Royer-Collard subtly displays enjoyment in causing others pain, much like the Marquis finds sexual enjoyment in the same. The only difference is that the Marquis freely admits to his sexual preferences, revolting as they may be, while the good doctor is merely a hypocrite.

Quills is essentially about the freedom of artistic expression, the freedom to explore and to think in ways others may find distasteful or disturbing. Yes, this tale is not for everyone, but if you dare to watch, it is a great example of brilliant performances and great writing. And if you want to experience writing that tests the limits of your will, then by all means read the Marquis de Sade. But don't say I didn't warn you.

The Gay Bubble Just Outside My Window

Last Saturday was my birthday. Not just any birthday, but my 30th. Yes, that's right. I've left my twenties behind.... finally. Unlike most people I know, I have been looking forward to my thirties. My twenties have been fun, but that was a long decade. By the time I hit 28/29 I was long ready to see the big 3-0.

However, this is not going to be a post about me turning thirty, but the occasion of my birthday did make me realize something now that I'm living in the "Gay District" of Dallas, as it's called; though, of course, I've also heard it called the "Gay Ghetto." Both are appropriate, I believe.

Anyway, Tim and I moved down here because we wanted to live closer to downtown, and because we wanted to be more involved in social activities. You know, bars, clubs, drinking, friends. All of that good stuff we felt we'd been lacking since moving here to Dallas nearly three years ago. Now that we're here, we've been getting more of all, and it has been fun. Especially this past weekend.

My family came into town: parents, sister and her boyfriend. We walked around an art street fair, which provided a cool opportunity to introduce my parents to the gay-strip. They were great. They received even better introductions later, but I'll get to that in a bit.

After the walk, after we all went to the Nasher Sculpture Museum (where this picture was the highlight of the visit; there's an image of a person in all that mess when viewed in the right light), and after a bit of shopping, we came back to the apartment to wait until the time of our dinner reservations approached. In the mean time, we drank a bit and people watched (one of my favorite activities), and from our living room there's plenty of opportunities to watch people.

Really, we had a blast. The funniest part was giving my family a crash-course in Gay Lingo. Things like twinks, daddies, bears, cubs, and one Tim made up on the spot: "Paid for." Yes, it was inappropriate, but most gay humor is essentially inappropriate.

Those couple of hours delivered a slew of fun memories, but one seemed to linger on in my mind as the week as progressed. Someone, either my Dad or my sister, mentioned that couples tended to clasp hands at the same point: the parking lot of the Bank of America across the street. Couple after couple would be walking along, a safe distance from each other until they crossed an invisible barrier in the middle of the parking lot. Once the barrier had been crossed, they moved closer and held hands.

It was both a sweet and sad moment. I explained that because this is the gay district, couples felt more comfortable expressing their love to one another once they slipped inside it's protective sphere. Outside of that sphere, most would not have dared hold hands or show the slightest bit of affection for each other. Some do, but not many.

Sure, if you're walking through a store, or eating at a restaurant, most people who pay attention will notice the two gays who seem too engaged in each other's conversation, or the woman shopping whose hand lightly touches her girlfriend's lower back only to be pulled away a moment later (can't have it stay there too long!).

People notice when a couple is a couple. I've seen people glance at Tim and me when we're out shopping. We barely touch each other when out, but our mannerisms and conversations clearly reveal our relationship status, and our sexual orientation.

Yes, it's always sweet seeing two men or two women holding hands, but it's also sad that I can't see that anywhere outside of the "Gay District," or gay-friendly areas. In most stores, I wouldn't dare kiss Tim, nor would he dare. We don't feel safe enough outside of that bubble that exists around our Gay Ghetto. Outside of that bubble there are lots of people who, seeing the two of us kiss, would glare, pull their children away, talk to the store manager about how they were offended by our blatant display of sex, or worse: follow us out to our car and beat the shit out of us.

For a gay couple, there's a certain amount of fear and terror out there in the straight world, and believe me when I say that; it's a straight world out there. People may be okay with gays as long as they don't "see it" or as long as it's not "thrown in their faces," but we are constantly bombarded by straight couples kissing, holding hands, cuddling, and more. Every time I seen a couple lovingly sitting on a bench, the guy's arm wrapped around his girlfriend's shoulders, I'm sad because so many gay couples can't do the same outside of our "ghetto."

Funny, people tend to forget the history of that one word, "ghetto." And just outside my window, it's used appropriately.

I guess this post is both an appreciation and a hopeful look to the future. I appreciate at least having a place where I can hold Tim's hand, hug him, kiss him, or rest my hand on his lower back, but I hope for a time when I can do it without thinking about where I am. Am I in a safe zone? Will someone see and want to kill me simply for holding my boyfriend? Or kissing him?

I hope the younger generation won't have to think about those questions. I hope where they live won't matter. I hope a future gay couple can walk down the street anywhere and hold hands.

All in all, last weekend was a wonderful experience. Indeed, the photo below is most definitely my favorite moment. Yes, that's my mom. Yes, that's a busty drag queen waving her "paid for" melons all up in my mom's face. And yes, that's my mom laughing, having the time of her life.