#21 ·
<Supplicant> said:To avoid repeating my previous stance over at Elephant, I have decided to simply copy and paste a piece I wrote earlier—an anti-review, if you will, regarding this particular film.
#2 Title: Life on Canvas (Subtitle: American reality)
And just like that, it’s over... the Festival hits. Is there truly any question more melancholy than the one I am posing here, especially since I have no intention of offering an answer? I certainly don't wish to be one of those condescending types who acts as if everything is constantly improving, yet the local interpretation of this Festival has always moved me to tears. Still, one must tip their hat to the organizers, as they actually held events at the Kic this time around. Granted, the lineup remained identical, but the crowd was at least a fraction more sophisticated—you won't find anyone spitting on your neck in the middle of the set.
It all began with Gus van Sant’s "Elephant." When one decides to sit down and watch a winner of the Zlatan Palma, isn't one naturally laden with certain positive preconceptions? Yet, absolutely no one anticipated *that*. And "that" is neither an elephant nor a cinematic achievement. It is merely a story about American youth who: Walk. Indeed, the vast majority of the film's momentum relies on the protagonist walk. You spend your time staring at their backs, perhaps catching a glimpse of a chest here and there. A few of them even manage a couple of lines of dialogue—though, truthfully, they reveal nothing of substance, not even a semblance of life's truths. The director skillfully attempts to weave this into a narrative centered on a group of individuals, offering us various perspectives on the same events in an effort to imbue the film with a deeper tone; he is likely quite aware that psychological nuance is his preferred intellectual currency. As for these individuals: we have the blond boy with the alcoholic father (I believe his name is John—though I cannot be entirely certain, as I made little effort to commit the characters' names to memory), who, by some miracle of storytelling, actually suffers because of it. Then there is the athlete, who is presumably handsome and spends his time outside of the stadium with a mentally pallid brunette (though the film fails to depict this vividly). The school's outcast is the third creature the director so dearly loves: she wears oversized glasses, lacks any grooming under her arms, and opts for long socks during gym class instead of the sleek leotards worn by the other model-esque high school girls (she is essentially Carrie, if you were to strip away the telekinesis and add black hair). We also see a photographer whose very existence is vaguely hinted at, and finally, the queer kid. Yes, a boy who is bullied by everyone, despite being remarkably creative—a fact suggested by his room overflowing with sketches and a piano, where he plays "for Eliza" (Oh, heavens! The director insists you listen to the entire piece; surely no one has ever heard it before?). Only toward the end do the Creative one and his friend (whom, after a certain shower scene, you realize is actually his partner) order weapons online, enter the school in military fashion, and open fire on everyone. But even then, the director refuses to deliver a true massacre, which—if you ask me—would have been enough to raise the film's rating by at least two stars. Instead, he leaves you with mere blood splatter that induces nothing but a yawn, before ultimately returning to the shot of the sky and clouds with which he began his... his... whatever!
And when the final curtain falls, leaving you hunched over and feeling utterly drained as you stumble out of the local indie theater—perhaps realizing you don't even have enough cash left for those three essential liters of bourbon needed to wash away the pretentious nonsense that was shoved down your throat for the last hour or so—do you find yourself asking: What was the poet actually trying to say? Or more importantly, did they even have anything to say at all? Perhaps it is simply a case of certain individuals being fundamentally misunderstood by the mainstream, unable to survive such isolation, leading eventually to a structural failure that snaps at every seam—a tension that, in this instance, culminated in a literal massacre. I arrived at this conclusion only after hours of quiet contemplation, wondering to myself: What exactly did I miss tonight? If that is indeed the case, then one might give the director an A+ for finding a way to breathe new life into the concept of unoriginality; for the story isn't just shouted at the audience, it feels entirely unconvincing in our current American reality.
It is profoundly offensive, isn't it? There is a fundamental principle at play here regarding how these things unfold within the United States, and it strikes at the very core of our social fabric. If an American, after indulging in nothing more than a milkshake, finds themselves reaching for a weapon, what becomes of our generation—a generation where the lineage remains unbroken from father to son, and grandfather to that son? Where does the responsibility lie? How can we account for the Fathers and the Forefathers, who stand accountable before their Sons and before God?
Amen.
p.s.
The film takes its title from that childhood game, "Spot the Elephant!"... And that’s precisely the point: there is this massive, looming issue that everyone simply chooses to ignore. (Which, if I’m being honest, is perhaps the only clever thing about the movie itself.)
p.p.s.
I would suggest that Gus van Sant stick to more benign stories, like his work with benign godwillhunting & fadingforester.
YOUR REVIEW COMES ACROSS AS QUITE PRETENTIOUS.
Why is there such a desperate need to display gallons of blood? In my view, suggestion is always far more powerful than direct, graphic depiction. It isn't necessarily shocking, but it leaves a much deeper impression on the viewer.
Besides, the film is actually quite deliberate in its construction. Why does the opening scene focus on the father? Why is it specifically in that first moment that we see a parent, especially since it is the one and only scene where any parents are shown at all? It is because EVERYTHING BEGINS WITH THE PARENTS; everything starts with how one is raised at home...
There is nothing inherently special or overly dramatic about the final day of these kids' lives. Why should there be? It is just an ordinary day at their high school. As for the characters you claimed were "uninspired" or otherwise clichéd—don't such groups exist in every American high school, particularly during puberty? The jocks, the nerds, the popular crowd... even back when I was in high school in Chicago, it was exactly like that.
By the way, the film's title is a nod to the British short film "Elephant," which is very similar in structure—dealing with a few IRA-related killings back in the 70s.