Opening with an absolutely breathtaking depiction of Eden, Vera Chytilova's Fruit of Paradise is an experimental retelling of Adam and Eve, used as an allegory for loss of innocence and how easily naivety can be consumed by darkness. The film opens in Eden, where our central characters, Josef and Eva, wander through the fall. The sequence is a stunning piece of art, for lack of a better word, as Vera Chytilova superimposes images of brown, yellow, and red leaves over these two characters, a beautiful and powerful way of expressing their inner peace, innocence and the idea that they are truly one with nature. After the opening we are introduced to fully clothed versions of Eva and Josef, who appear to be spending time at some type of resort, one filled with complacent individuals who all become enamored with Robert, a mysterious man who always appears to be wearing a vibrant red suit. Vera Chytilova's Fruit of Paradise is not an easy film to decipher. The film seems to have something to say about communism and its ability to consume those individuals naive enough to let it take hold, as Robert, seems to be the symbolic representation of this. Eva is a character who slowly finds her self pulled away from her philosophical husband in Josef, enamored by the cheap allure of Robert, regardless of the fact that he himself is most likely a serial killer of sorts. I love Vera Chytilova's use of color throughout Fruit of Paradise, as Eva is a character who is almost always in some form of white shrouds, a visual representation of innocence. As she becomes closer with Robert, and falls further away from the intellectual Josef, Eva's clothing begins to slowly change, with red slowly beginning to appear as part of her ensemble. Vera Chytilova's film seems to use the story of Adam & Eve as an allegory for the dangers of communism, with Eva representing the gross populace, individuals who can easily be manipulated by the communist party due to their nativity. Fruit of Paradise features some truly haunting sequences throughout, with Chytilova combing what appears to be some form of handheld with speed ramped sequences that capture the frantic essence of a woman who slowly finds herself consumed by darkness. Vera Chytilova's Fruit of Paradise is the type of film which one needs to simply let the images flow over them, as Vera Chytilova has created a film that is more symbolic than connectionist, a film that is meant to be felt.
0 Comments
One of the world's most renowned envelope-pushing filmmakers is back with Love, a 3-D film centered around the turbulent relationship between Murphy an American living in Paris, and Electra, a French woman he meets one day in the park. Highly sexual and emotionally charged, the relationship that unfolds between Electra and Murphy is one of intense passion, with Gaspar Noe creating another truly unique vision that plays with narrative and elicits a true sense of emotion from the viewer. While I'm sure there are a ton of people out there that will call Love excessive or perverse, I'd vehemently disagree, as what Noe has created is an honest film about intense passion and sex, pulling back the curtain on the censored view of sexuality we have, especially in America, and delivering an authentic, unapologetic look at the importance of sexuality in Love. Using a non-linear narrative, Love captures the host of emotions which exist in any intensely passionate relationship- the jealousy, deceit, and possessive aspects which love can bring, particularly after the so-called "honeymoon" stage has ends. While some could certainly argue that these characters simply don't understand the true meaning of love, or at least the difference between love and lust, I'd argue that simply isn't the point, as Noe's film perfectly demonstrates the messy nature of love. This film captures how something so intense, so powerful as Love simply cannot be the fairy tale we are accustomed to seeing in rom-coms or disney films, as such a powerful force as love will trigger other emotions such as jealousy or distrust at some point, regardless of how strong two individuals care about each other. This isn't the first time that Noe has used non-linear storytelling, and once again it works beautifully to his advantage, as Noe is able to reveal intriguing character insights in a way that simply wouldn't be as powerful in a linear narrative. Similar to Enter the Void, the transition shots truly stand out as well, overlaying similar compositions in a way that makes the film feel like a cinematic collage. It could be somewhat abrasive to some, but i'd argue these jarring transitions add more emotional weight to the story. Noe's use of color is something else that really stood out to me about Love, using bright red hues throughout the film as a way to symbolize the deep passion and love Electra and Murphy have for one and other. I'd honestly have to rewatch the film to truly confirm this, but the red lighting seems to be only used to express Electra and Murphy's relationship, one of love, as in other sequences where Murphy performs intense sex acts with other woman, such the current mother of his child, Omi, or a random woman he has sex with in a restroom, the colors are much more muted. Noe uses a white sterile color palette in the sequences between Omi and Murphy, almost as if to capture the true lack of love which exists between these two individuals, with Murphy feeling shackled due to having a child with this woman. In the other sequence, where Murphy cheats on Electra in the bathroom with another woman, Noe lights the sequence in a harsh green color palette, as if he is visually capturing Murphy's greed for more. While not a central aspect of Love, the film also speaks somewhat to the male gaze, as Murphy is character who finds himself following his sex drive far too much, even when he unequivocally loves Electra. Raw, passionate, and emotionally charged, Gaspar Noe's Love is a sexually explicit journey into the turbulent relationship of two young characters, delivering a one-of-a-kind experience about Love, Sex, and Relationships. Set in 1902, Julie Dash's Daughters of the Dust chronicles the Gullah people, a unique group of individuals who live off the coast of Georgia and South Carolina. Their dialect is based on the West African languages spoken by their forefathers who were brought to the Americas as slaves. Preserving many of the West African tribal culture and traditions, the Gullah people live culturally secluded from American culture. Daughters of the Dust chronicles one island family who begins to feel the strains of staying on the island, with conflict boiling over among the various generations of the family, some of which want to free themselves of the poverty and take their chances on the mainland. A challenging film that is sure to be a tad slow for most casual viewers, Daughters of the Dust shows little interest in narrative, instead creating a visual lyricism which focuses far more on the themes of conformity, identity, culture, and ancestry than plot points. Featuring strong performances from everyone involved, Daughters of the Dust's greatest attribute is its ability to capture the emotional pain associated with cultural transformation, showing how conforming is essentially a loss of individuality, which is particularly felt through the elder woman of the family, Nana. Considering the well documented budgetary constraints of Daughters of the Dust, the aesthetics of the film are quite impressive. Dash creates a film that flows with visual poetry, which captures the authenticity of African culture, in particularly the mysticism and spirituality. Obviously I'm not expert in the subject, but Dash's use of mise en scene and juxtaposition to create what seemingly is an authentic portrait none-the-less. Another interesting aspect of Daughters of the Dust is how it contrasts the male and female roles in Gullah culture, showing how segregated they really were, as each gender had very specific roles and seemed to keep to themselves, outside of intimacy. The differences between those who have stayed on Gullah island and those who have lived off of it is also felt, as the lines between these two conflicting cultures and ways of life put extra constraint on the family throughout the film. Featuring a in-depth, albeit languid look at the Gullah culture off the coast of Georgia and South Carolina, Julie Dash's Daughters of the Dust is a story of the importance of culture and heritage, and the loss of identity which can exist when assimilation takes hold. Featuring films from Neil Marshall, Lucky McKee, and Darren Lynn Bousman, among others, Tales of Halloween is the latest anthology horror film to come around, which features ten stories centered around Halloween night in an American suburb. Like any anthology film, the quality differs greatly from segment to segment, but fortunately Tales of Halloween features enough degenerate fun centered around demons, evil children, and a even a killer pumpkin, to be one of the stronger anthology horror films to come out in recent years. Tales of Halloween gets started off with a bang, as Dave Parker's Sweet Tooth is a dark, demented little short that tells the story of a little boy slaughtering his parents over candy. It is a twisted segment that doesn't hold back in the gore department, but perhaps more importantly the film sets the tone for Tales of Halloween, an anthology film that is more fun than scary, gleefully celebrating the macabre from start to finish. Personally, many of my favorite segments were centered around demented children, taking advantage of the built-in juxtaposition of innocence with violence and evil that such a storyline provides. The ten various segments provide a loose inter-connectivity, with neighborhood kids being recognizable from segment-to-segment, but what makes Tales of Halloween work is the variety it offers, with some segments being purely horror-based while others fall much more under the category of comedy. As one would expect, Lucky McKee provides one of the more batshit insane segments, while Neil Marshall's final segment centered around a genetically altered pumpkin is a nice final act. High variability of quality is a built in construct of any anthology effort, and while I wouldn't say Tales of Halloween is particularly scary, there is a lot of fun to be had from a film that gleefully celebrates a holiday centered around death. |
AuthorLove of all things cinema brought me here. Archives
June 2023
|