HopkinsCinemAddicts

Art in the Age of Corporate Cynicism (Conor)

    I am not really interested in superhero movies. The last one I saw was Guardians of the Galaxy (2014 dir. James Gunn) and for one reason or another I never ended up seeing another one after that. Well I broke my personal embargo to watch Captain America: Civil War (2016 dir. Anthony and Tony Russo). Ultimately the film was neither entertaining nor challenging. It was a completely standard and boring superhero flick that failed to excel in any category. It was too long, confusing, completely devoid of substance and poorly constructed with the exception of the ending twist and the appearance of Spiderman; both of which served as welcome breaks to the monotony and the incredible lack of nuance in the film’s politics.

    The Marvel Cinematic Universe has become a beast so great that preserving it has overtaken the studio’s desire to actually make compelling cinema. Because an audience would potentially need to see twelve other films and One hundred twenty four episodes of television to get a full idea of the background for Civil War it is impossible for the film to effectively build tension or suspense, do justice to its characters, or adequately wrap up a narrative in this film or in any of their future films. It is almost impossible to follow the meaning of the narrative or the growth of the characters because it is spread pretty thin among an absolutely immense amount of material.

    The natural extension of this of course, is to introduce a character in these movies to entice viewers to watch other movies both past and future to learn more about them. In this way Spiderman, while entertaining, is also one of the worst parts of the film: he is nothing more than a huge advertisement for a future Spiderman film. Worst of all, this model of filmmaking has made such an astronomically huge amount of money for Marvel that other studios are falling in line and copying it. Both the Harry Potter and Star Wars series already have myriads of interconnected spin-offs and sequels planned. This entirely profit motivated model has overtaken the entire industry and it appears that we will be trapped within it for years to come.

    Ideologically, the film is a mess, boring, and sickeningly pro-status quo. It attempts to play at the only truly interesting question surrounding the superhero genre today: is it responsible to have super powered individuals intervening in world politics wherever they see morally fit? The Avengers in this film are a clear stand-in for American military interventionism. The opening scene outlines an action scene that could very well be in any American military movie, and one of the superheroes might as well actually be called “Captain Drone,” considering how his talents are used and the completely impersonal way in which he indiscriminately kills bad guys from a position of safety.

    While the film comes frustratingly close to examining whether or this kind of arrangement is moral it never actually develops the opposing opinion to a point where it would threaten the ideological safety of the superhero universe. The film makes a clear stand on which side is morally in the right and with absolutely no surprises it is Captain America (Steve Rodgers) and his rag tag band of underdogs who of course represent all the forces of American military intervention. The film even ends with Tony Stark, the Iron Man–who represents the bureaucracy of the state but also its responsibility to regulate itself–allowing Captain America to break his fellow super-conspirators out of prison, clearly indicating that Rodgers’ methods and plans are the right ones.

    By having Captain America–-who is the living embodiment of American values and the American state in the Marvel universe–-as the lead the film even manages to dissociate the cruelty perpetrated by the state in the film from a notion of the “True America.” The moral cowardice exhibited by the American government in the film is not really a part of America but the result of bloated bureaucracy run by people out of touch with the “true American values.” Separating a state from the politics of the state is ideologically dangerous and allows the film to use the horrors perpetrated by the state not as criticism but to support the American military interventionist policy embodied in Captain America and his cronies; like the only solution to combatting politics is letting a group of super powered ideologues wreak havoc in other sovereign nations.

    The ideology expressed in the film is inextricably linked to the corporate model in which it was made. A system of filmmaking based entirely around profit is not equipped to discuss actual social issues. In order for these films to make money they have to be as ideologically “safe” as possible. This is cynicism of the highest order.  We live in a time where police indiscriminately kill people of color in this country and put down peaceful protests with incredible violence. A protofascist has been elected to the highest political office in the country and the enormous ideological divides that have been hidden away for so long have angrily and disgustingly boiled over to the forefront of the American political reality.

    Instead of attempting to address these issues through art Hollywood continues to churn out boring politically safe films that re-affirm the corrupt fantasy of a wholesome and powerful America that is rightfully enforced by a group of incredibly unfairly powerful few who should be accountable to none because they are more profitable. Superhero movies and their insidiously corrupt corporate model are destroying the film industry and failing movie watchers around the globe. An art that has so much potential to entertain, inspire and challenge is now relegated to only challenging the status quo in ways that are ultimately unimportant and meaningless.

To Serve Man (Conor)

    The Servant (1963) is a cold, cruel film. Tony, the young aristocratic protagonist, is established as listless, confused, and prone to alcoholism. His house in the opening reflects this. It is totally bare, a fresh canvass waiting, like Tony, for someone or something to show up and provide it with some kind of direction. Tony choses to let Barret, his recently appointed manservant, model his home and by extension, his life. This threatens Tony’s girlfriend Susan, and Tony’s house becomes a battlefield for control of Tony’s life.

            No one treats Barret worse than Susan. She speaks to him brusquely, callously orders him around and enjoys mocking him and forcing him to demean himself in front of her. While this treatment is somewhat justified considering Barret’s ultimate motives, her treatment of him is still off-putting; she is needlessly cruel. Susan is a good aristocrat, she is aware of her place in society and constantly reminds the servants of theirs. We get a glimpse of the type of life she would lead with Tony during their stay at the Mountset estate. The Mountsets are parodies of the extremes of aristocratic life. They sit in stiff, unnatural positions in a house replete with extravagant and expensive decorations and talk about nothing that matters.  The sound design for their house is quite unlike any other scene in the film. The noise they make is extremely reverberant, suggesting a large and empty house that, like Xanadu in Citizen Kane (1941), sounds more like a tomb than a home.

            His life with Barret however is not seen as a useful alternative. Barret begins taking control over more and more aspects of Tony’s life, and even after Tony fires him he cannot break free from his influence. Barret ends up back in the house but the relationship between master and servant is all wrong. Barret is no longer the quiet and calculating manipulator but the bold and terrible tyrant. In an effort to retain his agency, Tony lashes out at Barret to pick up his tea dregs, but it is too little too late.  The two men play a ball game upon the stairs and Barret remarks “I’m in the inferior position, I’m playing uphill” but by the end of the sequence Barret stands victorious at the top of the stairs while Tony fetches him some brandy. The enormous and ominous shadows they cast on the wall betray the importance of this encounter, Barret has not only won the ball game but also the role of master.

            The film is obsessed with the pettier, crueler side of human nature. The mise-en-scène is covered with mirrors and the scenes themselves are constantly shot in reflection, giving the world of the film a cold, narcissistic quality. Mirrors also reverse the images they reflect, as they do in the bar scene where Barret apologizes. The scene starts in reflection and then switches to a normal point of view, deliberately switching the relative positions of Tony and Barret just as their positions as master and servant are being switched in the drama. One particularly ugly convex mirror constantly appears in the film, and the reflections inside it are twisted and pinched, suggesting that mirrors and reflections themselves have the ability to reveal the psychic state of the world. In this way the narcissism and materialism inherent to the mirrors also becomes the truth about the world.

    In The Servant, some things really are just skin deep. There is no deep revelation as to why Barret treats Tony the way that he does just like there is no deeper reason given for Susan’s treatment of Barret. The characters in the film are cold, stupid, and above all cruel. Their eventual slide into pure decadence–the movie does end in an orgy, after all–reflects only the parts of them that were already there. Tony’s boredom and laziness reduces him into a shadow of his former self while Barret’s cunning ambition turns him into a brute. Only Susan remains untouched by the corruption, but her ready acceptance of her place as an aristocrat suggests that she will end up like the Mountsets. There are no real survivors in the film and no better alternatives are given. The lethargy and apathy of the aristocratic life is taken to its extreme and it is horrifying to behold.

The Horror of Romantic Reality (Jaeyoung)

Spoiler warning: plots of The Graduate and Anomalisa discussed.

Unless I am with other people, or if I’m feeling unnaturally brave, I will never watch a horror movie. The suspense, stress, cringe, and anticipation of jump-scares are all too strenuous for me to handle on my own. Therefore, during this Halloween season, I have watched no horror movies to recount on this blog.

Yet the feeling I’ve had watching those movies, the squeamishness, the dread, the “No, don’t make me watch this,” came up unexpectedly in a movie of a totally different genre--The Graduate.

And it wasn’t the part where Mrs. Robinson tries to seduce him, or when Benjamin asks for his hotel room, or when Benjamin brings Elaine to the strip club. No, it was the very last scene, after Benjamin crashes Elaine’s wedding and escapes with her, when their excited, smiling faces fade into regret and disappointment. It was uncomfortable to watch, and I was tempted to stop the movie before it got to the end credit.

Of course, I had questions. What happens next? Where are they going, and what is their future? Benjamin has even less idea of his future than he did in the graduation party, and the life to come will probably be worse than the life he just escaped. In the topic of horror, perhaps this fear can be categorized in the Terror vs. Horror paradigm; Benjamin’s impending fate is terrifying, while his unseen, painfully awkward future would be horrifying.

But one could say that the scene itself is horrific-- (the idea of) Elaine was the closest thing he could get to happiness and normalcy, but he loses her. After ripping through California on car and by foot, he realizes that he became bored of her more quickly than he did with her mother.We see in Benjamin’s face that he truly loses everything.

In Benjamin's defense, who hasn’t daydreamed about their ideal romance, imagining every perfect scene with the person they love? Everyone is their own private filmmaker. The Graduate simply does the dirty deed of realizing these romantic fantasies, only to muddy it up with hopeless reality.

The same romantic idealization is seen in the R-rated stop-motion picture Anomalisa, directed by Charlie Kaufman and Duke Johnson. In a world where everyone is voiced by Tom Noonan, Customer Service expert Michael Stone finally meets Lisa Hesselman, a woman with a unique voice. In his hotel room, he appears completely infatuated with her, relieved that the many years of grim mundanity are finally coming to an end. In fact, after Lisa sings an unimpressive rendition of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” she exclaims, “Oh my God, are those tears?”

And to no surprise, Michael falls into the same trap Benjamin did--he shoves his hopes and dreams into a stranger he’d only recently met. And he faces great disappointment, as Lisa starts to displease him and sound more like Tom Noonan (aka everyone else). Unlike Benjamin, however, Michael attempts to shape her back into his idealized woman, chiding her for letting food hang out of her mouth and telling her she’s “too controlling.” But Lisa’s charm is irreparably broken, and Michael’s only hope in life is lost. The sunlight in the room becomes obnoxiously bright, suggesting that (the idea of) Lisa has just been a meaningless dream. Just when life was looking up for Michael, that one breakfast scene thrusts Michael back to misery.

But Anomalisa actually has obvious elements of horror. Not only are the puppets somewhat unnerving (unlike normal puppets, their faces appear pasted onto their heads), but also there is a nightmare sequence in which everyone, from the hotel manager to the staff members to Lisa’s friend, are “all one person" and are after Michael. The hotel grows ominously dark as Michael (who at one point drops his animatronic face) frantically plans his escape. But even in his nightmare, Michael has (the idea of) Lisa to hold on to, a last hope.

And then he wakes up, and (the idea of) Lisa is lost. Reality becomes worse than nightmare.

Women have no responsibility to conform to a man’s idealization. But we (as in mainstream audience) still expect romantically-satisfying endings. We are primed with movies and shows that have protagonists “winning the girl” or rekindling a waning relationship. Hollywood constantly peddles these opiates, and when movies like The Graduate or Anomalisa come around, we're kicked in the gut.

So who needs ghosts or zombies for a cinematic scare? With the right dose of wishful thinking and a swift counter-punch of reality, anything could be a horrifying thriller.