BigJeffLebowski Blog

Under discussion:

Hotel Chevalier  (2007)

If Hotel Chevalier is any indication, Wes Anderson's forthcoming The Darjeeling Limited should be a welcome return to form after the disappointingly flat and oddly uninvolving Life Aquatic.  Anderson's stamp is all over the film, from the judicious use of obscure pop music to the ornately framed shots, from the allusions to unseen past events to the precision taken in selecting every prop and piece of wardrobe, and it is a stamp which has regained its credibility and its luster.

One of Anderson's myriad stengths is building and sustaining a feeling of emotional repression.  The awkward stagey-ness which too many viewers are too quick to criticize works in Chevalier for the the same reasons it worked in The Royal Tenenbaums; there is a sense of history, of a past which is both memorable and regretable.  There is arguably no director better at creating those beautiful, heartbreaking moments of both joy and sadness, of both hope and regret, and it is in films like Chevalier and Tenenbaums where this strength is put to its best use.  In moments where past and future collide in an uncertain, pregnant present, Anderson excels where few other filmmakers even tread.

Recall Gwyneth Paltrow stepping off of the bus in Tenenbaums: about to see her step brother, with whom she is secretly in love, for the first time in years, Paltrow and Luke Wilson's trepidatious, awkward reconcillatory embrace is loaded with thoughts unspoken.  Now consider Hotel Chevalier, in which two former lovers share an increasingly awkward several minutes before erupting into the throes of passion.  One of Anderson's calling cards is his ability to portray those moments when the past comes rushing back to us with such immediacy that we can no longer recall if we miss it or regret it, and for good reason.  His protagonists are almost always at a crossroads at which they must reconcile their past and their future, face their regrets, and decide if they will be defined by their failures or press on in spite of them.

In Hotel Chevalier, the protagonist, played with masterful reserve by Jason Schwartzman, awaits an unexpected reunion with an ex girlfriend (Natalie Portman).  Such an encounter is rife with pyschosexual tension, especially in Anderson's hands.  We do not know why they parted, nor why he is on what appears to be a self-imposed exile in a posh Parisian hotel.  But when Schwartzman answers his phone and hears Portman's voice, you can feel his world freeze.  His gentle resignation to his conflicted emotions is illustrated with beautiful economy:

"Wait a second."

"What?"

"Where are you?"

"I'm here."

"I didn't say you could come here."

"Can I come there?"

(silence)

"Okay."

The rest of the scene plays out in a fashion that will be familiar to anyone who has found themselves still in love with someone who has hurt them beyond repair.  The masochistic, self-spiteful, self conscious, pageant that plays out does not scar, nor does it heal.  It's damaged individuals hoping to put themselves back together by revisiting the traps which broke them in the first place.

The paradox of nostalgia is that as much as it is a celebration of beauty and of happiness, equally is it a reminder that everything we know will one day disappear, ourselves included.  Could there even be beauty if the world were not temporal?  Surely, the salvation that Anderson's characters seek would be meaningless if they were immortal; with eternity, they could be everyone they ever wanted to be.

All lovers of the cinema should rejoice in the works of Wes Anderson.  That a director can create films of such sincerity using tools of such blatant artifice is reason enough, but to speak so directly to the often conflicted inner torments of those individuals who are stranded in their own lives is a true cause celebre.

Under discussion:

Great World of Sound  (2007)

There are precious few fortunate people who do not know the fine balancing act between moral righteousness and paying the bills.  If we were to dissect our present and previous employment -- dissect it down to the basic tenets of capitalism if need be -- almost every one of us would have some ethical quibbles with what we do to keep ourselves out of debt.  Few of our jobs, however, present us with as much of a moral dilemma as that of Martin (Pat Healy), a nice enough guy with the misfortune of applying for the wrong job.  Teamed with Clarence (Kene Holliday), an outspooken, affable middle aged fellow similarly in need of the biggest paycheck in the shortest span of time, Martin travels from hotel to hotel auditioning acts to sign to Great World of Sound Records.  The acts aren't particularly good, but neither is the company's offer.  The fine print of a GWS recording contract is that the artist is required to put up a percentage of the costs himself, usually over one thousand dollars.  Perhaps because he's a gullible guy, or perhaps because he wants so desperately to believe in what he is doing, it takes Martin most of the movie to realize he is part of a scam.

Great World of Sound is essentially a two character comedy-drama set in hotel rooms and lobbies, in airport terminals and in very poor excuses for offices.  As such, the film could have succeeded or fallen apart based upon the lead actors alone, and Healy and Holliday nail their parts.  Healy is great at internalizing, and creates a character who doesn't decide to stand passively beside what he believes may be injustices to both himself and others, but has stood idly so long that he has forgotten he can speak up.  Avoidant and weedy, he frequently falls into the background both at work and at home.  Holliday, however, is charismatic and larger than life.  He doesn't care whether what he does is immoral; he knows what his job is, he does it well, and he doesn't let himself think very far beyond that.

Zobel and his cowriters give Martin several ocassions to test his moral mettle before throwing him into the biggest ethical dilemma he has ever faced.  In this, the film's strongest moment, Martin befriends a bartender so good hearted and so talented that he cannot stand to "sign" her to their record label.  As the scene progresses, however, what at first seemed altruistic becomes disingenuous, and Martin must decide which -- and how many -- of his convictions he is willing to eschew.  It is here, towards the end of the film, that Healy truly shines.  Holliday, as well, is given a brilliant monologue in which he tears down Martin's false illusions of fairness and reciprocity.

The film feels small and occasionally claustrophobic, but never like it would be better suited to the stage.  The constant flow of musical acts enlivens what would otherwise be two men talking, and Martin's wife adds a nice dimension to both Martin as a character and to the film as a treatise on art vs. commerce.  Ultimately, the film is enlightened to that age old dilemma, and offers no simple solutions.  If it is possible to realize that those who lie and cheat are more often than not the ones who win, yet still maintain that an ethical core is a strength, if not a necessity, in surviving this lifetime, then this is the film to champion that dichotomy.