Call me crazy (again), but I really like Tarsem’s debut feature, The Cell. If I had any complaints, though, it would be that there wasn’t enough visual stimuli. I’m sure others would have preferred a better story instead, but I have a greater appreciation for those films that are primarily meant to be looked at, and not as much followed. Favorites include Terry Giliam’s The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, Julie Taymor’s Titus and Zhang Yimou’s Hero, though I could probably go on and on. It’s an interesting affection coming from me, a guy occasionally inclined to criticize Hollywood’s spectacle-over-substance model of blockbustering. But I can’t help falling for a combination of beautiful cinematography and art direction. I shouldn’t, but I’ll even admit to enjoying What Dreams May Come – with my eyes wide open and my ears plugged shut, of course.
The problem, though, with filmmakers like Tarsem and the rest is that eventually their painterly visions may dry up or become repetitive or obvious, or they’ll simply fail to reach enough of an audience that they cease to acquire enough funding to adequately present their style believably. I’ve already grown bored with Taymor and Zhang (Gilliam hopefully still has some surprises), and I’m thinking it won’t take long for me to tire of Tarsem, too. As gorgeous as his sophomore effort, The Fall, looks, it also seems a bit cheap, as if it had only the budget of one of his music videos (he directed R.E.M.’s “Losing My Religion” and Deep Forest’s “Lullaby”). Yet perhaps it only feels like that to me now because I’m viewing the film as a short montage of shots. I’m willing to give any of these visionary filmmakers a chance until they disappoint me enough that I scream (figuratively, through criticism, that is — see any of my mentions of Taymor’s Across the Universe around the web).
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