As I soaked in the famous opening fanfare of Strauss's Also sprach Zarathustra performed live by the London Philharmonic, I saw the beautiful image of the Earth rising over the Moon with the Sun following suit in alignment. I then read the words appear ominously on the screen: 2001: a Space Odyssey. Attending the world premiere of Kubrick's definitive science fiction epic with live music accompaniment at the Royal Festival Hall on 25 June 2010, I was reminded once again of his genius. Kubrick's attention to detail, his love of music and his meticulous research into his subject material all shine through to make this film as mysterious and sublime today as it must have been when it was released in 1968.
As Kubrick's wife, Christiane, mentioned at the event, Kubrick had wanted to show people that by 2001 space travel would have been a piece of cake. We are in 2010, and we are nowhere close to hibernation or inter-galactic travel, let alone creating artificial intelligence that is capable of emotion. In many aspects, we failed Kubrick's trust in mankind's evolution. But what Kubrick really accomplished with 2001 is that he set the standard for many other science fiction films that followed it. The design, the story and the predicted future technology all became common place in our minds. We accepted Kubrick's vision to be reality, almost fate, that we now expect pressured sliding doors, video calls, miniaturized food, hibernation, enhanced computer intelligence, humanoids, aliens, white and sterile environments, etc. We expect the artificial intelligence that we create to overtake us, fueling our self-doubt.
What Kubrick doesn't do is get carried away with his vision. As anyone will notice, none of the space scenes have any diegetic sound whatsoever. There are no engine noises, laser sounds, or any sound at all. Since there is no air in space, sound cannot travel. Space is not only black, but it's also mute. Kubrick takes advantage of this by filling in the gap with non-diegetic music. He purposefully picks Johann Strauss' waltz, the Blue Danube, to accompany the motions of the space station. He emphasizes the slow, rhythmic movement of the space station and likens it to ballet. With this choice of music, Kubrick not only stays true to scientific reality but also enhances the cinematic experience, signifying an almost royal air to space travel and making the cinema experience more like an opera. As a matter of fact, the film's road show release in 1968 included a musical prelude akin to how operas and musical theatre productions start. The blank screen musical intro was immediately followed by the MGM logo and then the film. I was lucky enough to experience that original idea at the Royal Festival Hall, and I must say it does amplify the experience and harken back to Kubrick's love of music. For more on the use of music in the film, I would highly recommend this Wikipedia article.
The story is also well polished. Arthur C. Clarke and Kubrick wrote the story and the book together, but Kubrick wanted to keep the film a bit more mysterious. He keeps the film in four parts that are divided to outline human evolutionary steps, each one highlighted with Strauss' Also sprach Zarathustra in the background. However, he denies the viewer any direct explanations as to what the black monolith is that ties them all. The four main parts are:
I. The Dawn of Man
II. TMA-1
III. Jupiter Mission
IV. Jupiter and Beyond the Infinite
In the first part, a herbivorous ape discovers the use of bones as a tool and weapon. Subsequently, the apes learn to stand up on their hind legs, hunt and eat meat and defeat other tribes. As such, humans begin, and Kubrick gracefully transitions to millions of years later with a match cut from the bone to the spacecraft in TMA-1. The humans also discover the black monolith, but this time on the surface of the Moon. The monolith seems to be a living thing that reacts, purposefully buried there.
A cut to the Jupiter Mission introduces us to HAL-9000, the iconic artificial intelligence onboard the spacecraft. HAL-9000 is most definitely the basis for many other representations of AI and robots in subsequent films. Their mathematic logic somehow presents a danger to our human way of thinking, and as such, they become our enemies made by our own hands. Kubrick's take on the subject is thrilling to say the least, as he introduces potential emotional capabilities. HAL-9000 may not only be designed to display emotion to make communication with the astronauts more natural but may actually exhibit emotion. HAL's last words are striking and are no different than a man who knows he is dying. Regardless of his actions, HAL ignites sympathy and pity from the audience as his voice gets lower and he loses his mind. "[He] can feel it."
The final chapter has been the most mind-boggling and left open to debate. As the final astronaut, Bowman, approaches Jupiter, he encounters another monolith. On contact, he is taken through a "star gate" as Clarke calls it. He finds himself in an enclosed space with a bedroom and bathroom, suspiciously decorated and fitted almost as a lit cage. It's almost as if aliens have captured him and are keeping him alive to study him. At the end, Bowman transforms into a "Star-Child" as an image of a fetus bound in a glittering bubble travel around the Earth. It's as if Bowman gives birth to himself as he dies or the aliens have found a way to clone him. Or it could just be death.
When everything is said and done, there is still one question that doesn't fully get explained. What is the black monolith? Is it an alien or an element that we have not discovered so far? Does it matter? It could as well be that little synapse which creates moments such as those presented in the film and pushes us to our next evolutionary phase. Throughout the film, the monolith is used as the agent for further evolution. Without the monolith's interference, we are essentially not moving on the evolutionary ladder. It takes that little unknown something to push us through the boundary and create another chapter in our collective history.
Les Herbes Folles/Wild Grass (2009) - dir. Alain Resnais - 3 stars
Resnais made a name for himself first with his documentary short film, Night and Fog (1955), and then with his first feature length film, Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959). His fascination with memory as a subjective phenomenon reared its head in almost all of his films, taking center stage with Last Year in Marienbad (1961). His association with the Nouvelle Vague and the Left Bank movements brought him fame and interest in the 60s and onwards. At the age of 87, Resnais has delivered a rather curious film with Wild Grass, shifting his focus from subjective memory to subjective imagination. At the surface, his latest appears to be a playful and coincidental film with no deeper meaning, but it's riddled with seemingly unexplainable episodes that leave the viewer in doubt as to what really lies underneath it all.
The lives of Marguerite Muir (Sabine Azéma) and Georges Palet (André Dussollier), collide when Georges finds by chance Marguerite's stolen wallet. Georges' imagination takes off upon this discovery, and with what little information he's able to gather from the contents of the wallet, he convinces himself that this could lead to a romantic encounter. His borderline-criminal obsession with meeting Marguerite pulls her in even closer as she finds herself obsessed over him. The unexplained curiosity of both characters disrupts their lives, and their closest, Marguerite's best friend and Georges' wife, find themselves entangled in the confusing tale.
Resnais employs a wonderful visual motif throughout the film: wild grass sprouting from cracks in the asphalt. By definition, wild grass is unexpected and hard to control. It will find life at the most impossible locations and thrive nonetheless. As such, the film is aptly named as Georges sprouts into Marguerite's life and disrupts her set path, road. No matter how well defined she may think her life is and how much she wants to be left in peace, wild grass unexpectedly comes forth and changes her story.
Besides the visual motif, Resnais achieves surreal and dream-like visuals with heavy uses of cranes, tracking shots and highly saturated colors. His signature voice-overs tell most of the story, but depending on the narrator, the legitimacy and truthfulness of what's shared are in question. In expected fashion, the film ends in a riddle, which reminds me a lot of David Lynch. All in all, the film is enjoyable, but it's not the best Resnais has made.
P.S. The quotation in the title of my review appears in the film and is taken from Flaubert's L'Éducation sentimentale. It translates to "No matter, we shall have loved each other well."
Micmacs (2009) - dir. Jean-Pierre Jeunet - 3 stars
Jeunet's imagination is an impressive creature. The fact that he pulled off Amelie from a box of thrown-in notes tells tons about the man's talent. Speaking at the BFI preview screening of Micmacs, his latest feature, he admitted that he wrote it in about two weeks out of a desperation to film after failing to score financial backing for the Life of Pi, which had been in pre-production under his helm for nearly two years. And I'm sorry to say that it shows. Jeunet has created another charming universe with colorful characters, but the story can't penetrate much as it's mainly two-dimensional, lacking the depth of Amelie.
When released, Amelie became the highest grossing French-made film globally, and it still holds that crown. What made it so special for audiences was the complete world Jeunet created and the very special protagonist. Amelie was a part of everyone - she was cute, shy, mischievous, scared and daring at the same time. She did what everyone wanted to do but feared. Audrey Tautou's impressive interpretation took the character to a whole new level, and Jeunet experienced the rare joy of having created a successful film that's loved by critics and movie-goers alike.
Micmacs also features some very colorful characters and carries Jeunet's signature heavily. At the center, we have Bazil, played by Dany Boon, who works at a local video rental store. One night, out of chance, he witnesses a gun-blazing car chase fit for the movies and ends up with a bullet lodged in his brain. The bullet stops short of killing him, and the doctors decide he needs to live with it as the risk of removing it is too high. To add to the coincidence, the bullet lodged in his brain is made by the same company whose bullet also killed his father. A tale of revenge unfolds with the kookiest crew ever as Bazil's new adopted family includes a contortionist, mechanics genius and a mind reader among others.
What starts out as a fun ensemble doesn't expand to anything beyond that. Characters exhibit one characteristic, which serves as a key point in the film. They never really grow or change. Everyone's happy with what they've got so the final experience feels a bit like watching a cartoon. It's like any Japanese cartoon of super heroes who seem silly by themselves, but together, they're formidable.
Visually, the film features heavy post-production digital coloring similar to Amelie, which enhances the cartoon aspect of the film. The Paris we see in the film is very much an alternate Paris as you will not see many references to the modern-day city we know. It's obvious that Jeunet spent quite a bit of time to perfect the look of the film to reflect the contradiction between the emotionless stainless steel of the weapons firms and the coziness of the kooky team's hideout.
All in all, Micmacs delivers an enjoyable time at the cinema. Just don't expect anything like Amelie this time around.
