To insipidly but
aptly quote the old adage: All good things must come to an
end. Such is the case with this year’s AFI Fest, which,
for the most part, has offered me an illuminating
selection of motion pictures. I only saw one film at the
festival that dipped below my two-bucket rating, and only
a select few that straddled that mark. The majority of
what I saw represented entertaining, interesting
filmmaking. Not to mention, AFI Fest 2007 provided me the
ability to catch two sure-fire contenders for my Top 10 of
2008 (4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days and Silent
Light) and one likely resident of this year’s list (The
Savages). As I mentioned in Day Six’s column, my
overwhelmingly positive first-time experience at this
festival has already inspired me to commit to attend AFI
Fest 2008.
To my dismay, the
first film that I saw on the final day of the festival,
Gregg Araki’s Smiley Face, was definitely one of
the rare few poor selections that I made. “I’m not sure
what it says about us that we’re showing this movie at
12:15 in the afternoon, but I know what it says about
you,” a festival programmer addressed the audience when
introducing the film. I’m sure that he thought that the
line sounded witty, but as I reflect on it, I realize that
it didn’t make any sense at all. Just what did it
say about us audience members that we showed up to the
screening?
Did the
programmer mean to imply that we were diehard fans of
Araki’s work and we were interested to see him take on a
much more farcical subject than he is used to tackling? I
doubt it. Was he accusing us of being junkies who endured
the inhumanity of waking up before noon because of our
devotion to the cause of stoner-comedy? Given that the
movie screened the night before at 9:45 for said stoners
(who were, unquestionably, still in bed as we watched it)
and nearly all of us were visibly critics, the programmer
couldn’t have assumed this to be the case. As a result, I
must assume that he simply wanted to make the movie sound
cooler and more provocative than it really is.
Unfortunately for him, Smiley Face is so utterly
mediocre that no amount of dizzying verbal explanation
will ever justify the festival programmers’ insipid choice
to include it in this year’s line-up.
Many of the
film’s fans will probably send me hate e-mails accusing me
of being an elitist who carries a predisposition against
Stoner-Comedy, the genre to which Smiley Face
belongs. This, of course, will only go to show that they
grossly misunderstand my criticisms of the film. I do not
object to stoner-comedies in and of themselves—although I
would be hard-pressed to name one that I liked—but I do
object to boring, conventional movies. Smiley Face
does nothing remarkable for its genre and is rarely clever
enough to be considered funny. Araki merely hopes that
stoners themselves will be the only ones watching the
movie and will laugh at the fact that (har de har har) the
protagonist is, like them, under the influence of
marijuana.
For me to
describe Smiley Face’s plot would be to reap
potential viewers of any joy that the movie may bring
them. The only amusement to be found in the film exists in
its narrative twists and turns; its delivery is entirely
one-note and comes across as such after the first ten
minutes. I will say, however, that the action begins with
amateur-actress stoner Jane (Anna Farris) accidentally
eating her roommate’s pot-cupcakes and ends with her
imperiling herself in one of the cars of a Venice Beach
Ferris wheel. In between these “critical” plot-points,
John Krasinski and Adam Brody make appearances that are
more creepy than funny as Jane’s roommate’s horny friend
and Jane’s incompetent drug dealer.
There are a few
laughs to be found in Smiley Face, most of which
derive themselves from the nuances of Farris’ all-too-real
performance, but they are few and far between. For the
most part, the movie fails to prove more inspired than the
average made-for-cable release covering the same
subject-matter. Perhaps the only thing unique about the
film is the way that it depicts drug-addiction: despite
making fun of the cannabis-consumption of its characters,
it never glamorizes this to the extent of other
stoner-comedies. Araki, quite competently, shows the
downside of Jane’s recreational use of marijuana. How
unfortunate that he crafts a thoroughly uninteresting
picture for this statement to be a part of. Almost any way
you look at it, Smiley Face is an unexciting
example of cinematic dullsville.
And now for
something completely different. From the opening take of
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly—a long sequence
from the literal point-of-view of a man who has suffered a
stroke and wakes up to find himself completely paralyzed
in all but his left eye—I knew that the movie would be
tedious. What I didn’t expect is that it would be tedious
in a good way (yes, you read that right). In fact,
the film’s unrelenting, intimate depiction of protagonist
Jean-Dominique Bauby’s (Mathieu Almaric)
thought-to-be-unbecoming physical condition is so tedious
that it leads to a work that is maddening, triumphant, and
impressionistic all at the same time. Director Julian
Schnabel has made an unapologetic art film, a treasure
that is as unique and visionary as it is welcome.
Amazingly, the
film is based on the life of a real man who, for a long
time, worked as the editor of France's Elle magazine.
Schnabel has a great deal of admiration for him, and this
is very apparent in his depiction of the character. He
cares enough about Jean-Dominique to stick with his
point-of-view of the events for nearly the entire first
act of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. Schnabel
does so in a way that will frustrate many viewers, and
rightfully so. In a stunningly real manner that transcends
being a gimmick, we observe Jean-Dominique’s
emotionally-crippling determination to overcome a
condition that, by conventional standards, should have
completely disabled him from expressing himself. The film
never pretends to promise a happy ending in the
melodramatic form of its subject regaining his health—that
would exploit the sad truth of the story—but it does offer
a message that is ultimately uplifting.
Realizing that he
had not told his wife (who he had cheated on) and children
all of the things that he had needed to during his
“normal” life, Jean-Dominique soon became inspired to
write a book that would vocalize all of his feelings. Due
to his physical impairment, he did this in a painfully
rigorous way. Jean-Dominique’s publisher provided him an
assistant (Anne Consigny) to
transcribe his words using a system devised by his
revolutionary speech therapist (Marie-Josée Croze). She would recite every
letter of the alphabet in order of commonness and he would
blink when the one that he wanted was said. When finished,
his book was 144 pages. (The film does not mention the
length for the sake of not exploiting John-Dominique’s
character, but I find the fact to be so remarkable that
it’s impossible for me not to mention it.)
Through
unspeakable hardship, Bauby crafted an impressionistic
piece of art in his semi-autobiographical book, against
all odds. Schabel has, in turn, created an
equally-impressionistic film out of his fascination for
the man. In many ways, Scnabel’s vision is all over the
place, but it poetically captures Bauby’s life and its
emotional, artistic, and physical plights. In addition to
his implementation of experimental point-of-view shots,
Schnabel captures one of the most wonderful, kaleidoscopic
third-act montages ever to be committed to film: a near
image-for-image recreation of the opening sequence of
Francois Truffaut’s The 400 Blows. The only time
that his efforts fall flat is during the film’s
straightforward, blasé flashbacks to previous moments in
Jean-Dominique’s life, many of which involve his elderly
father (Max von Sydow).
The Diving
Bell and the Butterfly may be something of a tough
sell given the bleakness of the tragedy that befell
Jean-Dominique. Those who do seek it out, however, will
leave the theatre feeling deeply rewarded. (In fact, it
took home the festival’s coveted Audience Award.) The
Diving Bell and the Butterfly is a poignant,
beautifully-crafted motion picture.
And, with that, I
conclude my coverage of this year’s AFI Fest. See you next
November!
-Danny Baldwin, Bucket Reviews
(post date: 11.30.2007)
