I’m not sure if it’s still the case, but in the 1990s, “Joe jobs” often came with benefits, official or not. My then girlfriend worked at Blockbuster, and so I watched a multitude of films I would otherwise probably not have, and at an age (late teens) where the brain tends to record impressions more solidly than later in life.
So it was that I watched Gods & Monsters, a partly fictional dramatization of the life of the ironically named James Whale. Gods & Monsters featured Brendon Fraser in a starring role, and I remember being impressed by the film. Last year (September) I was on holiday and the AirBnB I was staying at had a stack of DVDs and a player. There were some 90s classics: Three Kings stood the test of time; I felt Gods & Monsters had not.
Someone once described another of Aronofsky’s films, Requiem for a Dream as “the best film I’ll never watch again” which is thought captured the quality and impact of that particular film. The Wrestler was different: not exactly a light film, but more traditional in scope and cinematic format. Requiem for a Dream felt like being on a troubling acid trip; The Wrestler was like a more interesting Rocky (no offence to Rocky – it’s a fine film). The Whale was more Requiem, less Wrestler. I would really like Quillers to go and see this film, so have chosen not to give much of the plot away in this review.
The first scene was shot from a distance, and I was wondering what I was looking at, and felt it had some pedestrian The Shining vibes. Still trying to catch up with what I had seen, and the viewer is then presented with an exceptionally overweight Brendan Fraser’s character, Charlie, masturbating to gay porn, in an apartment that is densely detailed and all the more depressing for it. I found the pace of the film a strength: days are announced as the impending morbidity of Charlie is discussed.
Charlie is clearly intelligent, and talented as his profession: teaching English literature to an online class. Like Ben Sanderson in Leaving Las Vegas, Charlie knows that his excess is going to kill him, and like Ben, seems committed to this outcome, regardless of who is hurt and who is left behind. In Charlie’s case, there is more collateral damage, and not even the faded, dirty glamour of Las Vegas to deflect from the grimness of the decision not to intervene to prolong life.
Charlie can be likeable, even when his choices and actions are selfish, even despicable. He’s sentimental, self-indulgent on a number of levels, and apologetic to others so often and in such a way that it becomes irritating and nonsensical. This, I felt, was Aronofsky not letting the audience away with simply pitying or liking Charlie. There’s so much more going on. Charlie demands of those around him, and by extension the audience: what do they think of him? Are they disgusted? I was left wondering when Charlie’s decision not to save his life began – and where, perhaps, choice became impossible.
I thought I had untangled one of the threads of the plot, but had got it wrong. I found this a film that keeps you thinking and on your toes. All of the characters are fully dimensional, interesting and textured. None are heroes, and none are really villains. Religion and literature, and the possible redemptive qualities of each are present, alongside self-destruction, hope, and fear.
I found this a powerful film, and one that has stayed with me since I watched it. I have read a number of reviews: 2/5 stars from The Evening Standard, and 1.5/4 stars from Roger Ebert’s site. I’d give it a solid 8/10, and unlike Requiem for a Dream, might watch it again to see if I missed anything.
For some reason, it made me think of this song, My Pal, by GOD. A bunch of Australian teens, who made this incredible song, and then, from what I’ve read, sank into heroin use from which some of them didn’t survive. Death is often adjacent to the finest art.
Someone once described another of Aronofsky’s films, Requiem for a Dream as “the best film I’ll never watch again” which is thought captured the quality and impact of that particular film. The Wrestler was different: not exactly a light film, but more traditional in scope and cinematic format. Requiem for a Dream felt like being on a troubling acid trip; The Wrestler was like a more interesting Rocky (no offence to Rocky – it’s a fine film). The Whale was more Requiem, less Wrestler. I would really like Quillers to go and see this film, so have chosen not to give much of the plot away in this review.
The first scene was shot from a distance, and I was wondering what I was looking at, and felt it had some pedestrian The Shining vibes. Still trying to catch up with what I had seen, and the viewer is then presented with an exceptionally overweight Brendan Fraser’s character, Charlie, masturbating to gay porn, in an apartment that is densely detailed and all the more depressing for it. I found the pace of the film a strength: days are announced as the impending morbidity of Charlie is discussed.
Charlie is clearly intelligent, and talented as his profession: teaching English literature to an online class. Like Ben Sanderson in Leaving Las Vegas, Charlie knows that his excess is going to kill him, and like Ben, seems committed to this outcome, regardless of who is hurt and who is left behind. In Charlie’s case, there is more collateral damage, and not even the faded, dirty glamour of Las Vegas to deflect from the grimness of the decision not to intervene to prolong life.
Charlie can be likeable, even when his choices and actions are selfish, even despicable. He’s sentimental, self-indulgent on a number of levels, and apologetic to others so often and in such a way that it becomes irritating and nonsensical. This, I felt, was Aronofsky not letting the audience away with simply pitying or liking Charlie. There’s so much more going on. Charlie demands of those around him, and by extension the audience: what do they think of him? Are they disgusted? I was left wondering when Charlie’s decision not to save his life began – and where, perhaps, choice became impossible.
I thought I had untangled one of the threads of the plot, but had got it wrong. I found this a film that keeps you thinking and on your toes. All of the characters are fully dimensional, interesting and textured. None are heroes, and none are really villains. Religion and literature, and the possible redemptive qualities of each are present, alongside self-destruction, hope, and fear.
I found this a powerful film, and one that has stayed with me since I watched it. I have read a number of reviews: 2/5 stars from The Evening Standard, and 1.5/4 stars from Roger Ebert’s site. I’d give it a solid 8/10, and unlike Requiem for a Dream, might watch it again to see if I missed anything.
For some reason, it made me think of this song, My Pal, by GOD. A bunch of Australian teens, who made this incredible song, and then, from what I’ve read, sank into heroin use from which some of them didn’t survive. Death is often adjacent to the finest art.
I hope you go to see it as well.
⏩ Brandon Sullivan is a middle aged, middle management, centre-left Belfast man. Would prefer people focused on the actual bad guys.
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