Bergsonian Critique

Screwball [pronounced skrue’bol] is a noun that means unbalanced, erratic, irrational, and unconventional, in which became a popular slang word in the 1930s. It was applied to films where everything was a juxtaposition: educated and uneducated, rich and poor, intelligent and stupid, honest and dishonest, and most of all male and female. When two people fell in love, they did not simply surrender to their feelings, they battled it out. They lied to one another, often assuming indifferent personas toward each other. They often employed hideous tricks on each other, until finally after running out of inventions, fall into each other’s arms. It was fossilized comedy, physical and often painful, but mixed with the highest level of wit and sophistication, depending wholly on elegant and inventive writing. ~ via Modern Times

My introduction to such subgenre of comedy is very recent, and for someone who openly discloses his affection for romantic comedies, it is indeed a blissful discovery. The last two weeks I have seen more films that I usually do in a single month, and my enamored admiration for the classics has never been intensified as it is now. Truth to be told, however, is that I have had to truncate my original draft in order to make my exposition more concise and piercingly focused. You should grasp the matter of consistency that pervades the films that I have selected for my discussion below, in which I also meticulously elucidate (I presume) their differences as well as their similarities. The bigger portion of the discussion will be reserved to what I believe is the quintessential screwball comedy, and that is The Philadelphia Story.

» Read the rest of this entry «

“You’re only thinking of yourselves,” cries the devious, hulking Nazi to the others passengers of the lifeboat during a vertiginous typhoon sequence, “you’re not thinking of the boat.”

That line best highlights Lifeboat’s maxim, Alfred Hitchcock’s World War II film, which points to the cause for all of the dangers to follow. That the “enemy” utters that line made it particularly indignant in 1944 (when critics lashed out at Hitchcock for his unpatriotic portrayal of Brits and Americans), and perhaps it still resonates today: we (as in anyone who’s not a Nazi) may have rallied together, expressed our contempt after the many hours of history lessons, and deservingly ridiculed the Nazi regime to great measures but, since then, we’ve certainly become more petulant, materialistic, and egotistical than ever.

The funny question in all of this is who would’ve pegged Hitchcock for a moral humanist? Certainly not me, I would like to believe that my universal humanism is more intricate to be correlated with a man whose métier was the psychological horrors that distort the glam of the American/British bourgeoisie. But I digress, though I’d like to acquiesce with the the selective consensus that, despite the film’s lack of technical excellence, this is probably the most characters-driven film within the director’s voluminous canon.

» Read the rest of this entry «

• Book: Stoner by John Williams

John Williams’s Stoner is simply a novel about literature, those who love it, and those who spend most of their lifetime living on its nourishment. William Stoner, whose the book is dedicated to, had spent his childhood and few of his adult years in a most banal of bucolic lifestyles, until unexpected circumstances sought him to the University of Missouri to pursue the academics of agriculture, where he discovered the uncharted love “of literature, of language, of the mystery of the mind and of the heart showing themselves in the minute, strange, and unexpected combinations of letters and words, in the blackest and coldest print.” With a deadpan prose and a discreet evasion from sentimentality, Williams unfolds Stoner’s trials and tribulations in many arresting, though despondent, instances: his marriage miserably fails, his daughter’s life is dishearteningly sheltered, and his career as a professor is hindered and ravaged by discomfited conflict. Still, Williams makes sure to distill Stoner’s daily life with enough reciprocated love and beauty to cope with such miseries, whether through the leaves of literary books or occasional friendships and love affairs. What emerges from the novel’s unhurried chapters is a burdened college professor, whose life is dovetailed with a stern observation on humanity, and how absurd, confounding, beautiful, mundane, and poignant it can be. Stoner is both a celebration of life and an elegy of reality, told with an honest overtone, delicate structure, and profound respect to the minimalism of everyday existence.

» Read the rest of this entry «

When it comes to predictability in cinematic storytelling, the revenge variety is perhaps the most stagnant and superficial; the film usually features an afflicted protagonist (or a group of individuals) who has been robbed of something quite precious, leaving him (or her) devastated for quite some time until he musters the conviction (or seizes an opportunity) to take matters into his own hands. As an audience we might not relate to such extreme measures, but our delight from watching a couple of hours of blood gushing out of the screen (because killing is almost inventible) is often tasty despite the tasteless execution. However, in Denis Dercourt’s aptly titled The Page Turner (“La tourneuse de pages” in French) the retribution doesn’t proceed as generally expected, the journey doesn’t dwindle on grotesque executions, and the avenger doesn’t necessarily evoke our sympathy, but the aftermath, regardless, remains permanently destructive.

» Read the rest of this entry «

• This post is dedicated to my cousin, who has graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in film production from SIU this Saturday.

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter . . . and Spring, is pretty much a film about the forces of nature as it is a depiction of human’s frailty, and the consequences that follow when childhood innocence gets tainted with the lust of adulthood. Renowned South Korean film director and extraordinaire, Kim Ki Duk, has masterfully guised his meditative picture with a Buddhist’s stern scrutiny; it is not quite loquacious in judgment, though subtle in wisdom, harsh in discipline, and profuse with quaint imageries. Despite his hypnotic, naturally visualized storytelling, Kim’s message in his feature is critical, intense, and rather pervasive. While it is easy to conclude that the film is an elaborative domino effect (and possibly it is), the themes and the intricate progression of human’s growth are doubtlessly successive.

» Read the rest of this entry «

• Book: A Confederacy of Dunes by John Kennedy Toole

“A Confederacy of Dunces” is an unusual novel that follows the exploits of the rotund, indolent Ignatius J. Reilly, who lives with his indomitable mother, Mrs. Reilly, in New Orleans. For years, Ignatius has lived off of his mother and her welfare checks. Then it happened: Mrs. Reilly plowed her car into a building, and to pay for the damages, she demands that the supercilious Ignatius should get a job, several in fact. Before he knows what has happened, Ignatius finds himself at the center of a worker’s revolt and the common share of several ingenious characters. It is here that John Kennedy Toole’s sense of humor flourishes, which is either side-splittingly funny or merely quaint, usually exhibited by his keen ability to write in various dialects and recreating witty caricatures of popular stereotypes that comprise the individuals that populate this story. Yet, it is Ignatius that proves to be the most fascinating. He lives in his own egocentrically warped world, and he constantly strives, and fails, to force those he meets to confirm to his worldview. Ignatius is not a likable character, but it is hard to ignore him. He is so obnoxious, arrogant, and self-righteous that he becomes a walking farce that it is impossible to take your eyes off of him. “A Confederacy of Dunces” is not your typical novel; what it lacks in plot is more than made up in farcical vignettes, intriguing characters, vivid imagery, and unforgettable dialog. I ardently place it as one of the most important books in Southern literature.

» Read the rest of this entry «

In the midst of egotism, self-denial, social conformism, and self-made delusions that seem to pervade a large sum of Richard Yates’ Revolutionary Road, the voice of reason seems to lose its echo among all the society’s hypocrisy. Yet, Yates’ commentary manages to be carried out by his characters, even though their selfish acts often overlap their criticism of the American’s suburbia of the 1950s. Frank and April Wheelers, the young and frustrated couple regrettably harbors little affection for each other just as much they dislike their hollowed existence in the estates of Revolution Road. They recognize that their youth is withering away on meaningless and unfulfilling prospects that rarely provide incentive to incite self-worth.

» Read the rest of this entry «

“Tokyo!”, the omnibus triptych film that is independently envisioned by three distinctive filmmakers can be hardly described as a valentine to the populated Japanese megalopolis. Unlike other collaborated and commemorative anthologies such as “Paris, je t’aime” and “New York, I Love You”, “Tokyo!” is all about the stillness of urbanism. Its allegorical storytelling cunningly stymies anyone’s grasp of the Japanese culture, casting more enigmas than usually expected or conceived. Despite the prevalence of Japanese actors in the film, none of the directors and writers is actually Japanese. While it would be more practical to take this three-course meal at face value and not deem it as an accurate depiction of contemporary Japan, its experimental narrative and occasionally esoteric presentation warrant at least a solicitous assessment.

» Read the rest of this entry «

• Book: Eleven Kinds of Loneliness by Richard Yates

Eleven anecdotes. Eleven fictitious portraits. “Eleven Kinds of Loneliness”. This is simply the premise of Richard Yates’ second novel after he had published his grandeur debut, “Revolutionary Road”. Akin to its herald, the novel galvanizes the artistry and the domestic realism that eloquently pervade Yates’ sparingly paced chapters, creating a hypnotic voice that rims with sentiment but remains shy of sentimentality. His stories may not be a bundle of laughs but his commentary of the world -and the state of mind it creates- is so economically and so persuasively excruciating to the fact it borders the edge of plausibility. Indeed, Yates’ characters are not scandalized by their actions but rather their struggle to find a sense of life and themselves. The zenith of such anthological descriptions of human fragility is a haunting, subtly shaded mosaic of the 1950s, the era when the American dream was finally coming true and just beginning to ring a little hollow. The latter can be attributed to few of the novel’s depictions but the rest is quenched with sublime characterizations. If you want to brush up on your vintage American literature, then think nowhere else than Yates’ oeuvres.

» Read the rest of this entry «