A personal look at the influence of Hayao Miyazaki

At 2013’s Venice Film Festival, pioneering filmmaker Hayao Miyazaki, premiering his latest film The Wind Rises, announced that he would be retiring. Miyazaki announced this a couple of times in the past, however there seems to be a certain sense of finale this time round. It is with a sense of sadness and honour that the film world received this news. Most are now eagerly awaiting his feature film swan song, The Wind Rises, and are producing retrospective looks at the great filmmaker’s past. While I do intend to produce a look back at Miyazaki’s works at a later date, this article seeks to look at my encounters with the great filmmaker’s work and how they influenced my life in (retrospect) profound ways. My respect for Miyazaki's films manage to illustrate my development as a film fan, along with my own personal experience. This can be particularly supported by the film, Princess Mononoke, which happens to be my all-time favourite. 

I first encountered anime on Cartoon Network back in the late nineties/early noughties. My parents had recently upgraded our TV from terrestrial (only five channels!) to Sky, which contained a whopping 300 channels plus! My little mind was blown by what was available. A week later, an odd little anime series started called Dragon Ball Z, which literally unlike anything I had seen before – comedy and science-fiction and epic fist-to-fist action all mixed together to form an unfolding story of increasingly silliness. I was, of course, into Pokemon (well, okay that was my first true experience of anime), but Dragon Ball Z was something else. Soon, I would track down any of kind of TV or film that resembled the Dragon Ball Z style, which I would learn was of Japanese origin and called ‘anime’, such as Osamu Tezuka’s Metropolis, Shaman King, Gundam Wing and Tenshi Muyo. This would eventually lead me to the discovery of the classic TV and film of the medium such as Akira, Ghost in the Shell, Full Metal Alchemist and Neon Genesis Evangelion. These TV shows and films proved to have a spectaculars influence on me, breaking the mould on what a story and characters could do (in particular the mind-bending Evangelion). For a child raised on Disney and Spielberg/Star Wars films, anime represented a break from the norm and introduced me to a new way of thinking.

Somewhere down the line I watched Princess Mononoke.

At secondary school, I was part of a short lived anime/manga club that united us strange students together by our mutual love of the medium. The teacher who ran the club lent me Princess Mononoke. While the violent content at the start of the film fitted into my (limited) view of anime at the time, the film left me somewhat perplexed. This was before viewing Evangelion and Ghost in the Shell, meaning that Mononoke was easily the most cerebral and thematically heavy film I had seen up to that point. The whole thing went over my head, in particular the subtle story-telling and culturally specific references. I returned the DVD to the teacher, shrugged and moved on. A decade later, I would call Princess Mononoke my all-time favourite film. A couple of years later, I stumbled across Spirited Away in my local Blockbuster. Wanting to watch more anime, I rented it and was overwhelmed by the weirdness of the film. But somehow it weaved a wonderful kind of magic. Not seeing any connection between Mononoke, Spirited Away remained a wonderful anomaly. As my love of anime continued, the forums (a new concept at the time!) were discussing an animation studio called Ghibli and a director Hayao Miyazaki. Both Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away came up as part of this director’s wider works. Following the release of Howl’s Moving Castle (the anime magazines began to run retrospectives on Miyazaki in time for the film), Optimum slowly began to re-release the director’s (and studio’s) back-catalogue, which me and my brother would collect. My Neighbour Totoro, Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, Porco Rosso, Laputa: Castle in the Sky, Grave of the Fireflies, Whisper of the Heart, Kiki’s Delivery Service etc. all became new kinds of experience in film for me, that emphasised subtle story-telling, more liberal thematic concerns, slower takes and beautiful animation. In addition, these films crossed a wide range of genres, showing to me that anime was more than just shonen and mecha exclusively. Most importantly, their love for strange narratives, odd characters and magical worlds took me to another place entirely, defined by a distinctly more Japanese view of the world In all this time, but somehow the themes remained universal. I re-encountered Princess Mononoke, and thoroughly enjoyed it. However, something was still holding me back from pure-love like the rest of the internet. I was 14-15 by this point and the immediacy of Spirited Away and Laputa appealed to me more. However, I can say that these films were my first encounter with the concept of film as art.

Soon, I had devoured the complete Studio Ghibli filmography and had introduced me to a new way of filmmaking. Miyazaki’s films had introduced me to new ways of enjoying films outside of the enjoyment factor of the story – whether they are recurrent themes, stylistic traits and the actual filmmaking technique. You could say it was my first encounter with that old film studies theory, autueurism. Additionally, Miyazaki’s films introduced me to the idea of world cinema and art-house, outside of Hollywood. I was soon encountering the works of Akira Kurosawa, Stanley Kubrick, David Fincher and Sergio Leone. This growing love of the wider reaches of cinema would lead me to studying film at university as half of my university degree. Most importantly, Miyazaki’s films raised important issues such as equal rights for women, ecological and environmental concerns and the importance of individuality. Joe Hisaishi's music scores were also fascinating to me. This really was the rest time (outside of Star Wars and Indiana Jones) that I was aware of the power music could have juxtaposed with moving images. I would track down the soundtracks and really became my entry into the wider world of music. Hisaishi's music inspired me to learn keyboard, but, after years of failure, I converted to guitar, which I still play to this day. Miyazaki’s films would have a profound impact on how I viewed the world in my formative years and continue to do so today. These films also managed to pull me through some difficult times in my teenage years, in particular the hardships of high school. By placing an emphasis on individuality, I strove to stick to my own personal values and integrity.

As high-school became college, which became university, I slowly lost interest in anime and moved onto new things. While I had moved on to try out new things, the works of Ghibli remained a strong part of me, becoming ingrained into my subconscious. Their approach to cinema had a great impact on me and helped to develop my love of the medium in general. As I explored stranger, more obscure avenues of film, the Ghibli films would remain on my shelf, gathering dust, waiting for me whenever I wanted to venture back to their wonderful world. I would always watch the new one out on release (Ponyo was a particular delight) At university, I was exploring new ways of thinking and approaching history and film. The experience was both intellectually stimulating and liberating from my small life in the middle of Yorkshire. This life and intellectual development changed the way I viewed films. One summer between second and third year of university, I pulled Princess Mononoke from the shelf and put it in my DVD player. I wasn’t in a good state of mind in that period and needed something to cheer me up. 2 hours later I was left stunned. After a decade, I had finally got Princess Mononoke. The amazing animation, the ambiguous nature of the story and characters, the strong themes, and the overriding message of ‘live’ really spoke directly to me and hit me on an almost subconscious level. The reasons for the slower story and calm moments, that were once mysterious to me, had become clear. I could elaborate, but I want to save it for my full analysis of the film. I began to revisit his other films and the experience proved just as eye-opening. Studio Ghibli had re-entered my life, just now with a new found sense of appreciation. It soon became clear that Miyazaki's works had had a profound impact on my life that I wasn't even aware of. Truly great art grows better with age and the works of Miyazaki fully represent this. Suddenly, this filmmaker’s art had become clearer to me. This also led to an awakening of Miyazaki’s influence on myself, which led me to writing this very article.

People ask me all the time what my favourite film is. After much searching, I can say that it is Princess Mononoke, for it represents my complete journey as a film fan and how my tastes have developed over the last decade. I’m sure in the next decade it will remain so. While the retirement of Miyazaki can be seen as something of a loss, his body of work will continue to influence young cineastes and film fans. For his films represent an excellent entry point to treating film as an art form and can emphasis producing intelligent films that can appeal to all ages. His filmography will remain a crucial part of the cinema landscape, for both the young and the old. For me personally, Miyazaki's films helped me to develop into the person I am today. Thank you Miyazaki-san, for your amazing body of work

Update 27/08/2013

Been a bit busy of late, thus the lack of updates - so I have uploaded three new reviews tonight for your reading pleasure:

1.the controversial Only God Forgives (http://nincronyreviews.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/only-god-forgives.html)

2. the disappointing Kick-Ass 2 (http://nincronyreviews.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/kick-ass-2.html)

and 3., the better-than-it-needed-to-be The Wolverine (http://nincronyreviews.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/the-wolverine.html).

The Coen Brothers Retrospective will continue with the duo's classic screwball comedy Raising Arizona, which should be uploaded within the next week.The Big Lebowski will follow.

I intend on lining up a re-watch of The Vengeance Trilogy within the next couple of weeks in lieu of writing my article on the films.

So yeah, there's whats coming up. Enjoy the new reviews and new updates will be coming soon.

The Wolverine

Short Verdict: A solid, well constructed action-adventure film that puts the X-Men film franchise back-on-track for Days of Future Past.

Some spoilers follow

The X-Men series finally moves forward, as the story picks up years after the events of The Last Stand. Logan, or more famously known as Wolverine (Hugh Jackman), is a hermit in the “middle-of-no-where-America trying to null the pain of the loss of Jean Grey (Famke Janssen), the woman he loved and was forced to kill (long story). An opportunity is presented to Wolverine to travel to Japan to visit an old-dying friend whom he saved at Hiroshima and maybe a chance to redeem himself. Yashida (Hal Yamanouchi), now a very successful businessman, offers Wolverine a chance to pay him back for saving him – a chance rid himself of his immortality, which Logan views as a curse. What follows is a high-octane action-adventure which sees Wolverine embroiled in a chase across Japan, becoming involved in company conspiracies, yakuza dealings and the secret of Yashida’s inheritance. Supporting him is Yashida’s grand-daughter Mariko (Tao Okamoto) and step-grand-daughter Yukio (Rila Fukushima), a mutant with the power to foresee the future. 

When superhero films are becoming increasingly about shared continuity post-Avengers, it is genuinely refreshing having just a stand-alone story in a wider universe. While there are loose connections to the previous films (and future ones....no spoilers though), The Wolverine can be enjoyed as a stand-alone action-adventure film that hits all the right beats. This is particularly comforting given the quality of the recent X-Men films – The Last Stand was a limp conclusion to the original trilogy, X-Men Origins: Wolverine failed at almost every level (except for producing unintentional humour) and X-Men: First Class, while an improvement and all-round decent flick, glossed over many key plot elements that make it fail as a prequel. The Wolverine is content to tell a smaller-scale story which serves as a proper showcase for Hugh Jackman’s dominance of the character. 14 years down the line (man, I feel old), Jackman still has the sarcastic wit and physical prowess to keep playing one of the characters that defined comic-books. 

Moving at a good pace, the film makes full use of the Japan as opposed to just background eye-candy. It actually works in ronins and the nature of samurai to tell a story of redemption for Wolverine. Some of it is pretty ham-fisted, but it just about succeeds in developing the character. It ending up doing a lot more than I initially expected, setting him up to take the stage for Days of Future Past. However, rather than feel like a place-holder film (Iron Man 2), The Wolverine has great action, a fun, gripping story that takes full-advantage of the Japan setting and a serious tone, but without stepping into Nolan territory of pretension, leaving room for some light-hearted moments. It completely gets how to entertain a mass audience, something which a surprising number of blockbusters fail to get. The sparse use of action is also appreciated, where a good chunk of the film is dealt with dealing with Wolverine’s actions and atoning himself. The action scenes themselves are very well-thought and quite unique, again taking advantage of the setting and Wolverine’s powers – a fight on top of a bullet-train, where basically physics and Wolverine do battle, is particularly clever, as a great deal of it is spent planning the next move and careful judging each act. It’s pretty neat stuff and refreshing, especially when compared to the constant onslaught and mindless dirge of Man of Steel’s action scenes in the final third. The Wolverine remembers that pace; building-up and setting-up; are key components when putting an action film together. The plot itself just about holds together until the final 15 minutes when it digresses into mindless action schlock. Fortunately, the ending doesn’t do this u-turn as poorly as previous superhero films (Iron Man, Man of Steel, Thor) however in a film that has portrayed Wolverine in a mostly grounded matter, it is pretty jarring. But then again, this is what comic books are made of and the rest of the film more than makes up for it.

However, the film isn’t really about the plot (though there are enough twists and turns to keep the audience interested) and rather opts to presents entertaining high-octane action-adventure that is really constructed and executed, while following the exploits of Wolverine. The plot just about holds together for presenting these two elements. The Japan setting is used surprisingly well and goes a lot deeper than expected into its culture and the nature of death and redemption (in the best way a mass produced Hollywood film can do). As a smaller-scale standalone superhero film, The Wolverine is genuinely refreshing, especially when continuity is becoming too important (just see the mixed fan receptions to Iron Man 3 – managed to reference the entire trilogy in one review!). Understanding exactly what kind of film it is, The Wolverine charges forward with a fun, if garbled, plot, inventive action scenes and a myriad of great Wolverine moments. 

Long Verdict: Hugh Jackman returns to the role that defined superhero films and in the process redeems previous X-Men follies, making a statement for standalone superhero films in the face of ‘interlocking/shared universes’ and for producing an entertaining action-adventure film, with inventive action scenes, strong pace and memorable moments. Completely understanding what kind of film it is, The Wolverine is deliriously entertaining, but intelligently made. 

Rating: 7/10

Kick-Ass 2

Short Verdict: Bigger, broader and more infantile than the original, Kick-Ass 2 loses much of the wit and charm of the original.

Kick-Ass exploded onto the superhero scene in 2010 presenting this idea: “What if a superhero existed in real life?” While other films have done this idea better since (Super in particular), it is a different, quirky idea for mainstream audiences back in 2010 (especially in the face of continual superhero sequels). Dave Lizewski (Taylor Aaron-Johnson), comic-book geek, asks why aren’t there any superheroes in real-life? Deciding to take it on himself, he dons the mask of Kick-Ass. He quickly becomes involved in a war between mafia crime bosses and Big Daddy (played with Adam West glee by Nicholas Cage), along with his profanity spurting daughter, Hit-Girl (Chloe Grace-Mortez). Kick-Ass 2 picks up the story as more superheroes are appearing in New York, mostly in response to Dave’s heroic acts in the original film. Deciding it is difficult to work solo, Dave joins a super hero team, led by Jim Carrey’s Colonel Stars and Stripes. Meanwhile, Hit-Girl is struggling to adapt to high-school social life (Big Daddy died in the original), while Chris D’Amico (Christopher Mintz-Plasse) the son of the mafia boss re-emerges as a super-villian, seeking revenge for the heroes’ actions. All out war begins to occur and it is up to Kick-Ass, Hit-Girl and the members of Colonel Stars and Stripes’ team to make the important choices one must make as a hero.

Kick-Ass 2 plays out like a bigger version of the original, upping the stakes and presenting difficult challenges for the characters. As a sequel to the original, Kick-Ass 2 continues to present high-octane, colourful and brazen action and violence. However, the issue with the sequel is that it does not attempt anything really different with the main story. In fact, the B-story, of Hit-Girl struggling to adapt to high-school, has more heart and humour than the main story. Dealing with the cliques and cruelty of teenage girls, Hit-Girl tries to become part of this world of popularity. Not wanting to give plot away, though those familiar with the character, will probably guess that doesn’t pan out, eventually ending with a Troma-esque scene of revenge. However, the main plot simply does not have the same drive or interest. While the new heroes (and villains) are fun in their patheticness (with the exception of the imposing Mother Russia)  and Jim Carrey’s performance is as delightfully mad as you want it to be, the story feels like it is just tying up the loose ends of the original and not really pushing the story and themes forward in new directions. The exception to this is, of course, the Hit-Girl subplot, which is strong enough it could be its own films.  The original was a surprisingly tightly-plotted film, while the sequel meanders from kinetic action scene to the next. The action scenes themselves are well-presented and shot, in particular the finale, it just lacks the drive and momentum of the original. The performances overall are fine, in particular from Mortez, however Taylor Aaron-Johnson’s central performance lacks any kind of charm, making it difficult to latch onto the main plot.

Ultimately, fans of the original will be happy with this gleeful return to the blood soaked world of Kick-Ass – there is enough bizarre moments, funny lines and character moments to keep most going. However, for those wanting to see the story progress further and build upon the ideas of the original, you may want to wait until the, inevitable, third film. Kick-Ass 2 feels too much like closing the plot points of the original without really doing anything different with them. The B-plot dealing with Hit-Girl fitting into high-school society is strong enough to hold interest, and builds upon the ideas of the original. Otherwise, Kick-Ass 2 falls into the problems of many sequels – making it bigger and better, while adhering to the original too much and not building upon it. The violence in particular comes across as more infantile than the original – while the original used it to subvert comic book traditions (if a superhero existed in really life, he probably get beaten into a bloody pulp!), the sequel falls into the realms of the medium it was trying to subvert.

Long Verdict: Kick-Ass 2 is a vibrant and bloody action film which fails to build upon the original. Lacking much of the drive and heart of the original, the film squanders in presenting wackier and crazier characters and ideas without really trying something new. The exception to this is the Hit-Girl subplot, which sees the character struggling to adapt to school-life. The rest feels like an empty whole, as the plot lurches crazy action scenes to the next, without any of the tight-plotting of the original. There are great moments littered around the film, however the whole just doesn’t hold up. 

Rating: 5/10

Only God Forgives

Short Verdict: A neon-lit, blood soaked nightmare of a film and all the better for it. A somewhat misunderstood film, Refn and Gosling return is a divisive and difficult trip into the dark heart of Bangkok.

Under a sea of controversy, Ryan Gosling and Danish filmmaker Nicholas Winding Refn reunite to tell a tale of revenge, family, justice and violence in the harsh Bangkok underworld. The story follows Julian (Gosling), who uses a Thai kick-boxing club as a front for a massive drug smuggling operation, along with his mother Crystal (Kristin Scott Thomas), who tries to seek vengeance for the murder of his (truly despicable) brother. The paths of Julian and Crystal are crossed by the omnipresent, sword-wielding, policemen Lt. Chang (Vithaya Pansringarm), who is also seeking to bring justice to the crimes committed by Julian’s brother (and also authorised his murder). The characters themselves are blank, traumatised slates, but this works within what Refn is trying to create – the extreme violence these characters commit informs the audience of their character and motivations. We can only learn about these characters through the horrific acts they commit. In this regard, Only God Forgives can be a very tough watch, especially for those converted by Refn’s previous film Drive, which put an emphasis on a blooming romantic relationship in the middle of escalating violence. However, the violence of Only God Forgives, much criticised by many in the press, serves a purpose in both examining its effects on people and for those watching the film.

Only God Forgives is a beautifully shot film, soaking in deep pools of red and blood against the rain-soaked city of Bangkok. Here, the city offers no escape for the characters and hostile to outside influences. However, Refn completely embraces the city for his thematic concerns, right down to the use of Taiwanese titles for the credits. Another criticism given of the film is the use of long slow takes of characters. However, again, this works within Refn’s treatise on violence. The long takes make us question the character motives, leaving us wanting to get to the next violent action scene and when it happens, we are subjected to long uncut acts of violence – and what does that say about us as viewers? Nothing shows this off more than the long, drawn out fist fight with Julian and Lt. Chang towards the end of the film (overlaid by the stunning Cliff Martinez synth-organ music) which directly throws the viewer in the act of committing violence. Rather than lingering and cumbersome, the long take serves to work within the thematic framework Refn is working with. As previously touched upon, Cliff Martinez’s soundtrack is beautiful, bringing back some of the synth elements from Drive, but overlaying it with traditional Taiwanese instruments and sounds. This again helps to put the viewer directly into the world Refn is trying to create. The use of music is surprisingly sparse and only helps to inform the creeping, cold nature of the story and the themes.  

This is further supported by the blank nature of the characters, all very intentional. Gosling plays Julian as an impotent fighter, struggling through the conflicts of his own personal choices and his relationship with his family (especially his mother). Having even less dialogue than his career-defining role in Drive, Gosling plays Julian as expressionless, empty and troubled. A particularly great scene follows Julian and his encounter with a prostitute. He can only sit and watch her, completely emasculated. In contrast to this, and arguably the only character with a kind of passion, is Crystal, Julian’s mother, played with ferocity by Kristin Scott Thomas. Playing the dominant mother in the relationship, Crystal plays a part in Refn’s staging of this oedipal drama. His entrance into the film, coldly stating that she has come to collect her son’s body while harassing a hotel worker, clearly demonstrates her dominance – for her, violence seeks to serve as vengeance for the loss of her son and only leaves her cold, empty and hostile. The third major player in the film is Lt. Chang, played with cold intensity by Vithaya Pansringarm. Lt. Chang feels like he has stepped out of an old samurai film, wielding his sword, treating it with reverence and enacting his form of cold-cut justice. Once again, violence has caused this character to retreat into withdrawal – even though he uses it in the name of his own form of justice, he is left traumatised by his acts having only karaoke confessionals to admit to his murders (and yes, you read that right – these scenes also help to inform elements of the characters, in a similar vein to Tsai Ming-Liang’s The Hole).

Only God Forgives is an exceptional film, an odd blip in the cinema going experience. Much more in line with Refn’s previous work as opposed to Drive, the film opts for a more arthouse style. As a cinema going experience, it is engrossing, polarising and difficult. Some audience members may leave the cinema alienated from the story and the characters, however this is arguably the point. While it has been criticised by some for its violent content, Only God Forgives is actually an intelligent look at its effects on people and we as a cinema audience. It directly involves us in the horrific acts and offers up the question of why we watch it. While it doesn’t answer this, it provides a great launching point for its place in cinema. Gosling and Refn have created a difficult, often times unwatchable, film that challenges its audience to explore the dark heart of humanity.

  

Long Verdict: Intentionally difficult and off-putting, Only God Forgives will not please all audience members, especially those expecting Drive Part II. In fact, it plays out like the dark, twisted reflection of Drive. Dealing with difficult themes and emotionally distant characters, the film is not for everyone and may alienate many. However, those willing to go into the dark side of Bangkok will find an intelligent assessment on violence and its relationship to people and the audience. A misunderstood film that deserves a closer look than some critics have been giving it. 

Rating: 9/10

Coen Brothers Retrospective #2: Barton Fink Early Impressions and Critical Musings

            SPOILERS LIE AHEAD. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.            

 

Every now and then, a film comes along that completely taps into your own musings about the world around you.  For some, Blade Runner completely tapped into their own personal vision of the future – dystopian, cold and hopeless, where the lines of culture have blurred into one. For others, Cloud Atlas tapped into notions of Buddhism and spirituality across the space of 250 years of history, which clearly has resonated with a number of people given the film’s mixed reception. Barton Fink, the subject of this blog, feels like a movie almost tailored to my interests and ideas and I’m bereft to think of why I haven’t watched it sooner (it has been on my shelf for nearly two years now). The film taps into my ideas of the history of Hollywood’s supposed ‘Golden Age’ (tip: it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be), post-modernism, deepening madness and obsession (almost Vertigo-esque), wrapped in a black-comedy style played out by bizarre characters in an almost-dreamlike world. Yeah, I have weird taste in film. The fact that Barton Fink can support my own readings and a multitude of others, such as fascism, religion, high and low brow debates and slavery, is testament to the film’s quality. The Coen Brothers offer multiple readings that can be interpreted by the viewer’s own experiences.  I wonder what Milhouse and Bart’s other friends got out of the film? 

                 

Set in 1941, the film follows Barton (a career defining turn from John Tuturro), a small-town New York playwright, who is offered a contract to come out to L.A. and write screenplays for Hollywood. He is put up in a depressing, dingy hotel (the Hotel Earle) where he soon meets his neighbour Charlie Meadows (John Goodman), who form a mutual friendship based on their loneliness in the city. Chaarlie is a seemingly good-natured insurance salesman who takes great interest in Barton’s work (though this isn’t returned by Barton). Barton struggles to adapt to the rigid structure of Hollywood story-telling (he is given a one-sentence assignment and expect to run with it) wanting to pour his own themes of the ‘Common Man’ into it. The studio is seemingly uninterested in making ‘art’ and would rather produce low-grade B-movies to make a quick buck. He seeks help from writer William Preston (W.P.) "Bill" Mayhew (John Mahoney) and his ailing secretary Audrey Taylor (Judy Davis) but finds he is a violent drunk. Unable to finish his screenplay and plagued the studio execs, Barton begins to spiral out of control as the cruel world of Hollywood and L.A. revolves around him, culminating in the murder of Audrey in his own bed. Barton’s impending madness grows as he attempts to solve this mystery. It is revealed that Charlie is in fact the murderer and has done so multiple times in the past. The only friend he made in L.A. is a psychotic killer who proceeds to burn down the hotel. In the final scene, an emotional traumatised Barton hands in his finished script, who is lambasted by the head of the studio (who is leaving to join the army reserve), completely rejected for portraying too much of Barton’s own ideology. Barton remains under-contract but is doomed to write scripts that will never be produced to be lambasted as a loser in the studio. Barton retreats to the beach and spies a young woman posing in a similar fashion to a picture that was hanging on his hotel room wall. Symbolising the crushed sense of Barton’s notions of reality and fantasy, the film abruptly cuts to black. 

                 Hollywood’s Golden Age is the subject of much adoration amongst older film critics but has been brought into light by historians and other critics. Douglas Gomery writes that “Hollywood is first of all an industry, a collection of profit-maximizing corporations operated from studio headquarters in the United States”.[1] This notion is most definitely reflected in the keys players of Capital Pictures. The boss, Jack Lipnick (Michael Lerner) seems to take little interest in the artistic integrity of film. He sees only profit and producing as many low-grade pictures as possible. Thomas Schatz points out that “while the ‘creative-control’ and administrative authority of studio film-making in the 1930s steadily dispersed throughout the producers’ ranks, the industry remained as market-driven and commercially motivated as ever”.[2] The almost flippant way in which Barton is assigned the ‘wrestling’ picture is laughable. The various workers around the studio offer Barton tips on how to write the film, which boils down to basic Hollywood screenwriting 101: villain, love-interest, obstacle etc. Barton does not want to adhere to formula just as much as the studio has no interest in presenting the actual real-life account of the wrestler they are basing their film on. For Hollywood, reality becomes fantasy. This would appear to put Barton in good stead, with his belief in the ‘common man’. Only it really doesn’t. Leaning towards his high-brow tensions, Barton makes it his mission to note the plight of the ‘common man’ but never really grows to understand them. At the end of the film, Charlie lambasts Barton for never really listening to him, serving merely as a vessel for Barton’s own thoughts on the nature of reality. While Barton believes he is writing for the ‘common man’, he is merely creating his own fantasy, just as Hollywood does so. 

With this Hollywood setting and their (as well as Barton’s) attitudes to reality, notions of ‘post-modernism’ can be introduced to the film. This is, of course, a huge complex subject, that I will attempt to simplify (I do not in any way completely understand these theories!!). In particular, Barton Fink produces an interesting look at the post-modern theory of hyperreality. Gary Aylesworth describes hyperreality “as a copy or image without reference to an original. In postmodernism, hyperreality is the philosophical result of the technological mediation of experience, where what passes for reality is a network of images and signs without an external referent, such that what is represented is representation itself”.[3] Fundamentally, this debate begins with Jean Baudrillard’s Symbolic Exchange and Death (1976). In it, Baudrillard uses previous notions of the symbolic, the imaginary and the real to develop the concepts discussed above, while attacking the orthodoxies of the political Left – he argues that their assumed reality of power, production, desire, society and political legitimacy have become simulations, signs without any referent, because the real and the imaginary have been absorbed into the symbolic.[4] For an example, The Simpsons can be viewed as post-modern show. With its numerous references to pop-culture, many of the viewer’s first experiences with a product or piece of art could be through The Simpsons, with no reference to the original text. Heck, that’s how I first heard the name Barton Fink. Many of the iconic moments of cinema, such as the opening of Citizen Kane and the type-writer scene of The Shining, I first experienced through The Simpsons, again with no (initial) references to the original text. TV, the internet, film, comics, radio and so on have created a world of hyperreality, where reality and fiction are seamlessly blended together leaving no clear distinction between where one ends and the other begins.  

Clearly, Barton Fink can fit into this kind of reading. As previously discussed, both Barton and Hollywood are attempting to make their fantasy versions of reality appear on the big screen. The original experiences of the wrestler, on which the film is going to be based, are lost to the machinations of these two entities. Neither side directly experienced the life of this particular wrestler but attempt to create their own versions of it. Barton, in fact, takes little interest in the world of wrestling. This can also be extended to Barton’s pretensions of writing about the ‘common man’ when he can’t really express this (he even admits that maybe his first, and only, play was a fluke). M. Keith Booker claims that Charlie torments because of his obliviousness to the common people, whom he claims to so passionately care about – while the film does look at the sleazy dealings of Hollywood execs, its principal censure is aimed at Barton, who is portrayed as an intellectual completely cut off from the lives of the common people.[5] However, despite this lack of direct experience, Barton believes he can make socially relevant comments. Booker suggests that the Coens, “although they do not suggest a preferable alternative within the film, …. Clearly indicate that the kind of socially engaged cinema Fink hopes to create is pretentious and silly”.[6] On the other hand, R. Barton Palmer suggests that the film, and the Coen’s (then current) work represents the artist in a postmodern situation: either produce high-culture art which could distance himself from an increasingly commercialising culture or formula production for the mass culture meaning he would be complicit in it.[7] Conform or be cast out. Either one of these readings can be used to feed into the film’s ultimate conclusion. 

This forming of hyperrealities in Barton Fink can be viewed from the impending madness of the titular character. Fantasy and reality are slowly beginning to blend together. This is ultimately represented by a key symbolic device used in the film, a portrait hung on Barton’s wall. When Barton arrives at the beach, he finds a girl in a position exactly the same as the picture. He asks if she is movies and claims “Don’t be silly”. Is this a final sign of his madness? Have reality and fantasy completely clashed together? Booker opinions that the ending is a “final enigmatic comment on representation and the relationship between art and reality in general”. [8] Further, he sees it as a comment on the genuinely ‘weird’ nature of if art were to reflect reality in such as accurate way.[9] Palmer reflects that the conclusion represents the artist in a crisis – having experienced inauthentic fantasy and cruel reality, does he then channel this into his art or does he feel he has gone as far as he can?[10] Breaking hyperreality can reveal the true nature of reality. To round off, Booker claims that the Coens did not intend to make a factual representation of 1941 Hollywood, but rather “representing [it] as a collection of art deco images derived not from reality but from films, magazine covers, and other visual art of the period”.[11] Hyperreality is an embedded part of this post-modern take on Hollywood. The ending suggests that artists are stuck in this world, surrounded by a hyperreality formed from a lack of direct experience. Again, in the words of Rush, “Conform or be cast out”. 

The best thing about Barton Fink is that that is just one avenue of thought brought on by the setting. There is so much more to say that other writers have more eloquently put than myself. Due to this myriad of ideas, theories and readings Barton Fink is a film I will most definitely be revisiting soon. It has an enigmatic quality, powered by excellent performances, darkly funny script and brilliant direction. Its look at a postmodern world inspired by the forming of hyperrealities presents a dark conundrum for artists of any generation. It works on so many different levels that multiple viewings will most likely offer different ideas and perspectives. Like I said in the beginning, it offers so many interesting critical ideas to myself (such as the representation of history, madness, postmodernism) I was overwhelmed by it, both as a film (story, character, technique) and on a critical level. There is so much to say, so much to explore, Barton Fink is a truly excellent film.

RATING: 10/10

“I’ll write blogs about 500-800 words for each film in the Coens retrospective” …. 2000 words later.

---

[1] Douglas Gomery, ‘Hollywood as industry’ in John Hill and Pamela Church Gibson (eds) The Oxford guide to Film Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), p. 245.

[2] Thomas Schatz, ‘Hollywood: The Triumph of the Studio System’ in Geoffrey Nowell-Smith (ed.) The Oxford History of World Cinema (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 225.

[3] Gary Aylesworth, ‘Postmodernisn’ in Edward N. Zalta (ed.) The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2013 Edition) http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/postmodernism/#6 (accessed 11/08/2013 22:54)

[4] Ibid.

[5] M. Keith Booker, Postmodern Hollywood: What’s New in Film and why is Makes Us Feel so Strange (Westport CT ; London : Praeger, 2007), p. 143.

[6] Ibid.

[7] R. Barton Palmer, Joel and Ethan Coen: Contemporary Film Directors (Urbana and Chicago : University of Illinois Press, 2004), p. 114.

[8] Booker, p. 144.

[9] Ibid, p. 145.

[10] Palmer, p. 128.

[11] Booker., p.144.