Thursday, September 21, 2017

Rebel in the Rye and mother!

Two Write(r)s That Seem To Make a Wrong (for some, but not me)

                                                        Reviews by Ken Burke
                  
                             Rebel in the Rye (Danny Strong)
                   
“Executive Summary” (no spoilers): My condensed account of this biography of a small part of novelist J.D. Salinger’s life (roughly 1939 to the mid-1950s) contains probably nothing that would count as a spoiler given the massive amount of information easily available on him so I’m not too worried about giving anything away.  Basically, we follow “Jerry” as he begins to study creative writing at NYC’s Columbia U. under the tough-love-guidance of Whit Burnett, also the editor of Story magazine. Following some initial publishing success prior to being drafted into the Army to fight in Europe during WW II (his intended romance with Oona O’Neill shot down by her marriage to Charlie Chaplin), Salinger’s post-war life is burdened by PTSD along with his refusal to edit his stories according to The New Yorker’s intentions, but all that changes (with the help of Hindu meditation) when Burnett finally prods him to expand a short story about Holden Caulfield into the novel of The Catcher in the Rye, bringing great success along with constant distractions from a new cadre of fans, convinced Salinger’s peering into their souls.  He seeks isolation in rural New Hampshire, marries much-younger Claire Douglas, has 2 children with her even as he decides against further publication of his works now written only to satisfy his own creative/spiritual needs.  

 There’s no attempt here to put the focus on Salinger’s prose (no scenes of literary critics analyzing it or readers exploring their attractions or the acting out of passages from his works); it’s all about who this young genius was, what his motivations/influences were, his difficulty with relationships (except his supportive mother), and his sense of integrity about his writing despite the frustration he caused for his devoted fans.  Reviews of Rebel … are mostly dismissive, but I’ll recommend it anyway (although it's a difficult film to find) as a touching tribute to a giant of 20th century literature.

Here’s the trailer:  (Use the full screen button in the image’s lower right to enlarge it; activate that same button on the full screen’s lower right or your “esc” keyboard key to return to normal size.)


If you can abide plot spoilers read on, but as this blog’s intended for those who’ve seen the film—or want to save some bucks—to help any of you who’d like to learn more details yet avoid important plot-reveals I’ll identify such give-away sentences/sentence-clusters like this: ⇒The first and last words will be noted with arrows and red.⇐  OK, continue on if you like.

What Happens: In this docudrama about a small portion of Jerome David Salinger’s life (Jerry to his family and friends back then, J.D. to the rest of us now, played here by Nicholas Hoult) we find him in 1939 (at age 20) determined to attend Columbia University to study creative writing with Whit Burnett (Kevin Spacey)—also the editor of the notable Story magazine.  Jerry’s father, Sol (Victor Garber), sees literature as providing no future for his son (later he offers this insult: “What makes you think you have anything to say to people?”),* insisting he work instead as a kosher butcher, but his mother, Marie (Hope Davis), supports her son in his emerging passion although he’s yet to prove to anyone (especially Burnett) he has the ability to turn potential into nuanced-talent.  With some proper prodding from willing-mentor-Whit, though, Jerry’s soon able to get his first short story, “The Young Folks,” into good enough shape to submit it to Story, although Burnett rejects it (seemingly; actually, he keeps it until he’s convinced Jerry’s a true writer, not a one-hit-wonder, then surprises him with publication and his first small professional payment).  As Salinger gains more confidence he attempts to break the difficult barrier into The New Yorker, receiving several rejections until they show interest in “Slight Rebellion off Madison,” featuring obstinate teenager Holden Caulfield (based liberally on Jerry), but he resists their notes for changes (he feels they’re too sentimental), then they put the piece in mothballs as “too frivolous” after the U.S. enters WW II.

 Jerry’s also having some difficulty getting as close as he’d like to Oona O’Neill (Zoey Deutch), daughter of famed playwright Eugene O’Neill, but when he volunteers for the Army (as shown in Rebel ..., although other sources say he was drafted) she promises to wait for him until war’s end; however, that doesn’t work out as planned with Jerry shocked by a newspaper story about her marriage to much-older Charlie Chaplin while he’s in England training for the 1944 D-Day invasion, an event we don’t see directly but there are quick visual references to battlefield deaths and concentration camp prisoners as his unit makes its gruesome way through France into Germany.

*Even later in this narrative's flow Dad tells Jerry how as a young man he wanted to be a pianist but his rabbi father forbid it (again demanding stability), so this sort of intimidation runs in the family.

 As we slowly put together how various blue-toned, voice-over scenes periodically interrupt the continuity of the rest of this film’s chronology, we understand the war was brutal for Jerry forcing him to spend some time in a V.A. hospital trying to deal with his flashbacks, depression, overall PTSD challenges, even as his intended literary career’s not going so well either as Burnett’s unable to get funding for his promised publication of Salinger’s anthology of short stories, leading to estrangement between them just as Jerry confounds his family with a surprise marriage to German Sylvia Weiter (Anna Bullard), a diversion soon ended in divorce. Then, the long-delayed New Yorker publication of the Caulfield story followed by their acceptance of “A Perfect Day for Bananafish” along with an offer of first-refusal on anything else he’d write, Salinger finally (with encouragement from a Hindu guru) follows through on expanding Holden Caulfield’s school-expulsion-travails into a novel which will become a huge best-seller in 1951 for Little, Brown and Company.  However, the success of the book brings out a parade of loonies who see themselves in Holden, encouraging Salinger to move to 90 acres of rural land in Cornish, NH where he pulls his own Chaplin act by marrying considerably-younger Claire Douglas (Lucy Boynton), later the mother of his 2 children but also his ex-wife by 1967, although Rebel in the Rye attempts little further exploration of Salinger’s life after the 1950s by which time he’s insisted to his long-time agent (as well as long-suffering, given his non-cooperation with publishers), Dorothy Olding (Sarah Paulson), he’s now content to write only for his own inner explorations so he no longer wants anything distributed to the public.*

*Here’s an interesting anecdote appropriate to Rebel … : As the film concluded at the marvelous old Albany (CA) Twin Theatre for the screening I attended the credits music continued but the screen went black, as if the ghost of Salinger prevented us from seeing anything else about his life, even who played him in the film.  An employee there told me the projector’s been periodically doing that with this film despite no understanding by anyone as to why it’s happening so there’s another example of what oddities can happen when we trade in the centuries-old-technology of celluloid projection for machines using video and computers (yet, I still think Salinger’s involved somehow).

So What? What I don’t know about J.D. Salinger could easily fill a 106-minute-film* (Rebel … will do) because beyond my awareness of The Catcher in the Rye—which I read so long ago I don’t really remember much about it—that despite his fame from such a seminal novel he remained a reclusive, mostly-unpublished author of new fiction for the rest of his long life (born 1919, died at his rural retreat in 2010), and knowing he was  fictionalized as Terrence Mann (James Earl Jones) in my favorite baseball-themed-movie, Field of Dreams (Phil Alden Robinson, 1989), I’ve never bothered to learn more (nor felt any particular need to).  As such, for me Rebel in the Rye faces the same challenge any biographical book or film does: making a subject interesting even if your potential audience knows little about the object of your narrative, just as Burnett tells his freshmen writing students what makes a successful story is the use of compelling situations and details, with the author’s distinct voice enhancing those elements (as does a film director’s individual style) but first the interesting story elements need to exist or all the style in the world won’t draw in the reader. Again for me (but not for many critics of this film; see the next section below) such a need is well met in Rebel in the Rye because I didn’t hope to finally see how The Catcher in the Rye could be put on screen (never has been, probably won’t be as long as Salinger’s estate has anything to say about it); instead, I wanted to know more about the author of J.D.’s impactful book, which I got a useful introduction to in this biopic, giving me some better understanding of who the man was who brought Holden Caulfield to life in his modern classic (in looking over biographies of Salinger I see how the usual fictionalization of history’s a bit in effect here but I don’t find crucial fabrications nor omissions undermining what Strong has written/directed, even if it’s mostly in awe of his subject).  

*If you’d like more about Salinger than Rebel … has time to present, this extensive site should prove useful (please roam around in it) but you might also want to consult this more concise one.

 Another challenge to a filmmaker attempting to bring an historical subject to life—especially one with such limited public appearances directly available (forcing us to depend on biographies by those who knew him, histories by those who’ve researched him)—is finding some manner of crafting this portrait so we’d want to actually meet this person, get to know/understand/appreciate him (or her, as the case may be) in a more engaging manner.  Salinger would definitely make for an intriguing act of conversation about life in general, although I wonder if he’d really want to talk specifically about his art or his creative process (he certainly didn’t want to do so with his adoring public as presented in Rebel …, finally building a high fence around his already-isolated-home to keep out the curious “worshipers” who saw too much of Holden Caulfield in themselves [a similar-yet-opposite situation comes up in our next review {mother!} where the famous-poet protagonist forbids access to his private study {the “Holy of Holies” you could say once you’ve read the review} by boarding up its door, although he’s quite open to adoring fans roaming through, then destroying the rest of his home]); however, Jerry’s mentor, Whit Burnett, could talk all day on literature but he sums it up in this film with simply: “Imagine the book that you would want to read, then go write it.”

 I'm sure my much-more-well-read-than-I-am wife, Nina, agrees with that advice wholeheartedly, especially since she’s in an ongoing nonfiction workshop which has opened up another aspect of creativity for her, despite her admission of how difficult writing can be in properly conveying what you wish to share with a reader.  (I fully understand that problem, with gratitude to the Internet I don’t have to be as eloquent as Salinger to be able to also reject the intense chore of editing originally expected of him [Holden was considered “too negative” to appeal to readers], sparing me the need to submit my rambling reviews to any reputable publication’s extensive notes for revision.)

Bottom Line Final Comments: Wow, is this ever an instance where my perception of a film is completely at odds with the critical establishment (not that such a difference makes me wrong—that could never happen, of course—but it just shows how subjective criticism in and of the arts can be) because my response to Rebel in the Rye is quite gracious regarding approach and content whereas reviews as a whole have been largely negative, bitterly so at times (maybe these other folks feel they have more of an investment in Salinger than I do so they’re being more protective of their feelings about an enigmatic literary legend; however, I still don’t feel this film is of such a pedestrian, mediocre quality as their responses indicate), with those surveyed by Rotten Tomatoes offering only 31% positive* reviews while the normally-more-restrained-commentators at Metacritic are surprisingly, noticeably more generous but still with just an average 46% score (more details on both of these in the Related Links section far below), putting my 4 stars in the stratosphere by comparison (of course actual stars are light years away beyond that layer of Earth’s atmosphere, but I’m still in a much more positive zone than most of my critical compatriots).  For example, a guy whose analyses I generally admire, James Berarinelli, says: “The film offers little more depth about the writer than his Wikipedia article and considerably less than one would get from reading the semi-autobiographical The Catcher in the Rye.” (He’s one of the naysayers despite his 2.5 of 4 rating [see footnote] so maybe any discrepancies with the RT designations can be traced to reviewers offering higher scores than their own harsh comments imply).  On the other hand, another critic whose opinion I generally trust, Richard Roeper from the Chicago Sun-Times, offers one of RT’s few positive critiques: “With ‘Rebel in the Rye,’ we get a solid, well-acted and basically standard biopic about the man who created Holden Caulfield, largely in his own image.”


*35 of the Tomato-tossers' 51 current reviews of this film are what they call “Rotten,” that is they have an overall negative tone, yet of those critics who offered some sort of rating (not all do) there are 6 that fall within the reviewers’ C range (70-79% in traditional academic scoring) while 2 more (including Berarilnelli's) were given 2.5 of 4 (63%) by their authors, all of which are higher numbers than what RT uses to apply its overall Rotten designation to a film (anything under 60% positive of the total reviews)—yet one Rebel … analysis (Jordan Hoffman of the Guardian) that offered 3 of 5 (60%) is categorized as “Fresh” by the RT compilers while another (Sarah Boslaugh from either Playback:stl or theartsstl [confusion there as well]) is also counted as Fresh even with her 4 of 10 score (which I don’t see anywhere when reading her full review).  While I don’t agree with studio execs who blame poor box-office-performance on the impact of their films’ Tomato status (see my remarks about such in the Bottom Line Final Comments in my review of Beach Rats [Eliza Hittman] in our September 13, 2017 posting), I do see these seeming anomalies regarding … Rye as somewhat supporting the confusion as to how the RT staff deems each review as positive or not.

 While all this blather about ratings merely shows how subjective they are in the minds of the various critics who produce them (likewise, audience responses to the films in question are equally subjective with no true standard of right or wrong, just privately-held-opinions which do or don’t gather support), what really resonates with me are what Salinger’s mentors say about the purpose of writing (or any other art): Whit Burnett wants to know “Why do you want to write?” while Swami Nikhilananda (Bernard White) answers this for Jerry: “You write to show off your talent or to express what’s in your heart.”  Our protagonist wants to minimize the former (renouncing further publication of his fiction), immerse himself in the latter while writing to be truthful (finding salvation in the work, rather than the praise given to it by others), all of which brings me to my Musical Metaphor (my final word on the particular film under review, seen from the perspective of an aural artform) which my instincts tell me must be Joni Mitchell’s “For Free” (from her 1970 Ladies of the Canyon album) at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LaOSbBcPlfY (from a 1970 BBC concert), with its sweet story about a successful musician who performs “for fortunes And those velvet curtain calls [… because she’ll] play if you have the money Or if you’re a friend to me [but she’s impressed by a clarinetist out on the street who] was playing real good, for free [yet] Nobody stopped to hear him Though he played so sweet and high They knew he had never been on their TV So they passed his music by.”  

 This street musician isn't even sharing his talent in hopes of getting donations (as most buskers do), just immersing himself in his art for the self-satisfaction of the process, not to earn transport in a “black limousine” as Salinger apparently wanted to do as well, writing only for his own sense of accomplishment rather than the accolades of the public (to cite another song [George and Ira Gershwin, 1937]: “Nice work if you can get it And you can get it if you try”—if that trying results in an international bestseller affording you the financial stability to shut yourself off from the world, finding a type of spiritual peace in your art, a situation providing us a segue into the next review).

 Moving on from the subjective realms of ratings and Musical Metaphors, my original intention with this posting was to start with mother!, given it’s playing on a couple thousand domestic (U.S.-Canada) screens whereas Rebel …’s only on 49 of them after 2 weeks in release, taking in a paltry $144,377 so far (I’m sure those mostly scathing reviews haven’t helped a bit) so I was going to confine it to one of my condensed Short Takes structures, but after I saw some parallels in these films regarding a major artist working against some form of writer’s block, a need for isolation to protect/inspire the creative process, a distinct stance on the importance of fan adulation in the writer’s life, and the results of how these writers faced their situations I felt it necessary to devote more space to each film with Rebel … leading off as it’s the more traditional, accessible approach to these issues while mother!’s in another world entirely (literally!).  So, on to our next review, about another famous author (a fictional one, this time, although that categorization takes on a deeper meaning when the film’s explication’s in place) who also has problems with maintaining his career but once the obstruction is conquered the last thing he wants is isolation from that legion of fans.


    mother! (Darren Aronofsky)    (you may think I’m crazy, but ⇒)

“Executive Summary” (no spoilers): It may be a bit of a spoiler to state bluntly this film’s a symbolic statement from its scriptwriter-director, but before anyone sees this assault on the senses he/she needs to know what’s being shown here shouldn’t be taken literally lest they storm out of the theater before even realizing what this weirdness is all about.  With that in mind, the little I can say in my non-spoiler-account is we observe a nameless couple living in a huge-but-isolated-home which she’s still in the process of renovating while he’s a poet struggling to rediscover his creative spark (she’s also bothered by strange noises along with oddities in the house, but this is no standard horror movie so don’t expect something to just come jumping out of the walls).  Their situation then gets more complicated when another couple tries to take up residence with them (the poet insists, his wife resists) which leads to increasing trouble, especially for the wife who finds her life’s become more traumatically-complicated than she could ever imagine.  Other reviews make mention of such horror standards as Rosemary’s Baby and The Shining in reference to mother! (no typo; that’s how the title seems to be intended), past experiences which may have some relevance but probably not as much as this director’s own previous work in Black Swan and Noah, which may give you some clearer idea as to whether you’re willing to risk your ticket money on this film or not.  

 If you can conscientiously read around my marked spoiler remarks below (difficult, as there's lots of “off-limits” material to navigate around), getting a better understanding of what Aronofsky’s doing with this most-unique-presentation, I’d hope you do so in order to see if my overall encouragement to at least consider seeing mother! makes any sense to your sensibilities or not.  If so, by all means check it out becausestrange, disturbing beast that it isyou'll find it in theaters most everywhere.

Here’s the trailer:



       Before reading any further, I’ll ask you to refer to the plot spoilers warning far above.
                    
What Happens: (Please note that this film is an allegory, not a straightforward fictional story so if these plot details sound crazy at times just understand it’s all part of the director’s intention which will be explored more in the other sections of this review.) We begin with strange images (in retrospect, we’ll understand this is all part of the cinematic strategy here) including Him (Javier Bardem)—no one in this film’s given a conventional name; in fact, you have to wait for the credits to learn any names at all—placing a small crystal onto a little stand, followed by shots of a decaying house reversing into livable shape as Mother (Jennifer Lawrence) wakes up, searches for husband Him, who’s a famous poet suffering from writer’s block (Sound like something else you’ve read recently?) causing tension between them as she’s committed herself to personally renovating their huge home, isolated in the countryside, to allow him the space to re-kindle his artistry even as she longs for children despite Him no longer being intimate with her.  We also see she suffers from occasional ugly spells of dizziness/sickness which she soothes with a mysterious yellow liquid; sometimes she also seems to have an organic connection with the house as she leans on its walls while we see cutaway shots of what seems to be a semi-abstracted beating heart (much of the overall imagery’s presented in a manner to be difficult for the viewer, with constant grainy-closeups of Lawrence’s face, swirling camera movements, choppy edits, all of which keep us off-balance).  

 As if this isn’t strange enough (along with occasional disturbing noises implying this film will take some sort of home-invastion-Amityville Horror [Stuart Rosenberg, 1979—followed by numerous {almost countless} sequels/remakes] direction), events get weirder with the arrival one night of Man (Ed Harris), claiming to be a doctor mistakenly here looking for a B & B, coughing terribly (yet still stepping outside to smoke), admitting finally he’s a big fan of Him’s work, carrying his picture.  Despite Mother’s initial hesitation, Him offers Man a room in their home, then later attends to him when he’s retching into the toilet; the next day we know we’re now in surreal territory when she tries to unplug the stopped-up-toilet, only to find some ugly, fleshy organism in it before it flushes away.

 From here, everything gets increasingly unpredictable, then hostile with the sudden appearance of Man’s wife (Can you guess?), Woman (Michelle Pfeiffer), whose pushy, belittling remarks to Mother (especially about her lack of children and questions about her sex life) raise a tension this “guest” hardly notices as she continues to down her spiked lemonade (leaving quite a mess in the kitchen); these visitors leave a brief-but-false-impression of some sort of Rosemary’s Baby (Roman Polanski, 1968) demonic-cult with them and Him against Mother, a frequent reference in many reviews I’ve read (even as Mother hoped to rebuild their damaged home in order to “make a paradise”).  Him’s ongoing hospitality disappears, though, when Man and Woman go into his private study—against Mother’s admonitions—accidently breaking his precious crystal (which he says is his inspirational talisman, found in the ruins of a fire that previously destroyed all his worldly goods), then they go to their room to have sex.  Before they can leave, though, suddenly their adult children show up with Oldest Son (Domhnall Gleeson) complaining his father’s will cuts him out so he fights with Younger Brother (Brian Gleeson), injures him then runs away, leaving Him, Man, and Woman to take the bleeding boy to the hospital while Mother mops up the blood, but it leaves a small hole in the floor.  

 When Mother goes to see what’s seeped into the basement she finds a lot of blood creeping down the wall, leading her to discover a hidden door into a previously-unknown cellar room (but nothing comes of this, despite the use of usual-horror-movie-tropes implying she’s about to release some sort of demon).  While alone at the house, Mother’s shocked by the return of Oldest Son but he quickly leaves; when the others come back they’re distraught because Younger Brother’s dead, with the house soon filled by mourners for a wake (Him delivers a poetic eulogy), causing more distressful problems for Mother brought to a climax when she keeps telling people not to sit on the kitchen sink counter only to be challenged in that demand until it breaks, spewing water all over the place resulting in everyone but the home’s owners to finally be sent away.  Mother complains to Him about their lack of sex which he then quickly makes up for on the stairway to their bedroom.⇐

⇒The next morning she’s as giddy as was Scarlett O’Hara Hamilton Kennedy Butler (Vivian Leigh)—read a plot summary of Gone with the Wind (Victor Fleming, 1939) if necessary—after her husband, Rhett Butler imposed his “marriage privileges” on his wife, Mother telling Him she’s now pregnant (Scarlett was too but lost her potential 2nd child due to miscarriage), which inspires Him to write again as she flushes away her yellow medicine.  Time passes in the wink of a cut between shots, with Mother very far along toward impending birth while Him continues to write furiously (with pen and ink on what seems to be parchment paper), finishing his work to her acclaim even as his agent simultaneously calls with the good news of positive public reception.  Mother prepares a marvelous celebratory dinner for the 2 of them, interrupted by the arrival of strangers in adulation of the book-length-poem’s mastery with Him preoccupied by his acolytes, Mother in consternation over these strangers infiltrating her kitchen, bathroom, the entire house (more trauma haunts Mother who covered the spot with a rug where Younger Brother was wounded, but blood stains continue to ooze up from the floor through this carpet).  Him’s publisher, Herald’s (Kristen Wiig), there as well for the festivities, but as the house becomes overrun Mother calls for the police; without warning, the entire situation turns to deadly chaos with the crowd tearing the house apart for pieces of Him’s dwelling, a riot ensuing as cops arrive with the violence leading to what appears to be war scenes, POW imprisonment, Herald casually shooting bound prisoners in the head as total insanity reigns with Mother and Him finally finding refuge in his study where she painfully delivers her baby son.⇐ 
  
⇒Him notes the crowd’s calmed down in anticipation of seeing the newborn; Mother refuses to even let Him hold the child, but when she eventually dozes he brings the baby out to his huge flock of followers who tear the child apart, eating his flesh.  At this point, Mother’s had enough of these atrocities so she attacks members of the crowd, suffers a brutal counterattack until saved by Him, then goes to the basement to spill furnace oil onto the floor, sets it afire destroying the house and all in it—except in the next scene as she’s burned badly, on the verge of death, Him’s unharmed, wanting the last bit of her love for him which she, exhausted, allows, so he pulls out her heart which he grips until it crystalizes; he puts the new talisman on that same small stand as the house reconstitutes itself, a new Mother (Laurence Leboeuf) awakening to start the cycle all over again.⇐

So What? Aronofsky—a self-proclaimed-atheist—likely will maintain his well-earned-non-endearment to devout Jews and Christians with this latest work, building on his controversial approach to an Old Testament (or Torah, if you prefer) patriarch in his previous feature, Noah (2014; review in our April 3, 2014 posting [with my now-much-reviled-lousy-layout that’s not worth reformatting]), which turns that ancient tale into a contemporary interpretation of military-industrialist-carnivores desecrating the planet so the Almighty decides to purge his creations, leaving only environmentally-conscious-vegetarians to reboot after surviving the massive flood (as well as presenting Noah as a manifestation of righteous indignation, initially determined even his own family should die once the flood waters have receded so God can start totally fresh with only animals and plants populating the planet).  While a combination of interpretations of mother! (you’ll also find it written about with the “m” capitalized, but I’m going with how I understand the official posters) in this review’s next section below will better explicate how Aronofsky and various analysts interpret this film, I’ll summarize it here by saying that ⇒Lawrence’s character is intended to represent Mother Earth—or Mother Nature—abandoned by her spouse, ravaged by her inhabitants (with the house symbolizing the planet itself), while Bardem’s Him is God (but more so the manifestation Jews know as Yahweh, Christians as God the Father rather than the complicated later concept of the Trinity), especially in his obsession with being loved by his followers, offering salvation to them despite their many sins although Mother’s being devastated in the process.  While Mother Earth’s more of a concept from other religious traditions (the Bible basically presents the planet as just a vehicle for the use—but not abuse—of mankind), the Judeo-Christian scriptures get their due in most of the other aspects of mother! (except the re-emergence of a new Mother in a reconstituted house at the end, more akin to the destruction/resurrection cycles of Hinduism).⇐

⇒If you follow the aspects of the interpretations noted above and in the Related Links below for this film, you’ll see Harris and Pfeiffer’s Man and Woman as Adam and Eve (the scene where he’s sick over the toilet shows him with a rib-area-wound, the organic-grotesquery in the toilet the next day also implies a removed body part; her haughtiness has been understood by some explicators as the arrogance that led Eve to believe the serpent about the famed apple in Eden rather than following the previous dictate of God), their sons as Cain and Abel (with the elder killing the younger, the stain of the crime continuing to haunt the house/planet), the broken sink as Noah’s flood, Mother’s child as Christ not only killed by his zealous followers but also consumed (as Christian tradition decrees in many denominations) as the body and blood of the Savior, and—most importantly, to Him at least—the heart of Mother (the essence of God’s creations) turned once again into an inspirational object enabling this honored poet (who, after all, is supposed to have dictated the Torah to Moses) to find inspiration although it’s to be in restricted access except under His supervision (just as the apple on the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil was forbidden to Adam and Eve in Eden).  Of course, when you put all of this together in mother! you find Him/God incapable of using his impactful, poetic voice until Mother’s about to bring forth their greatest collaboration (mankind’s needed intercessor) and so absorbed with the needed worship of his constantly-growing-army of followers that he reneges on his promises to his bride, allows the home she’s painstakingly prepared for him to be destroyed, willingly sacrifices his precious son all for his greater glory while his followers unleash private obsessions, war, and pestilence upon the home that Mother feels she must finally destroy with a fossil-fuel-fire, prior to Him starting the whole scenario over again with yet-another-abandoned-heart from a spouse destined for another death.⇐

 If you’re open to visually-impactful-allegories, condemnation of the greed leading often to warfare which has decimated humankind from our earliest days, pleas to abandon such grotesque understandings of our existence as the only means of human-based-salvation, and rejection of the stifling-aspects of religion that have limited our true spiritual/ethical evolution then I think you’d find mother! to be a challenging, yet fascinating allegory for our times.  If you’re offended by either its premises or its horrid depictions of human behavior—as well as feeling ripped-off if either the trailer or the early scenes of mother! leaves you with a sense of a haunted house but with no follow-up in traditional horror-movie-fashion—this film will likely be a complete waste of your time and money.

Bottom Line Final Comments: My initial reaction to mother! was that this collection of unsympathetic characters—except for Mother, who’s so emotionally abused by her adoration-seeking-husband then physically attacked by his increasing-crowd of willing worshipers (attaching his picture to the stairwell wall in a ritual evocative of the holy cards of Jesus and the saints I knew from my Catholic upbringing [a “sacred” version of baseball cards that in past years came wrapped with bubble gum]) she’s to be pitied, then almost wept for as she (in her decimated final state) willingly gives up her last gift, her heart, to this constantly demanding presence she’s already lost everything else for—operating in an environment intended to resemble Hell on Earth is just too overblown, even for Aronofsky (even though I’ve enjoyed the Expressionist/Surrealist aspects of most of his previous features: Pi [1998], Requiem for a Dream [2000], The Wrestler [2008], most especially Black Swan [2010] my choice for #1 of that year; conversely, I’ve admitted I had some problems with Noah, while as I vaguely recall The Fountain [2006] it was too spacey even for me but I really can’t remember it very well so I’ll just stay neutral on that one).  However, as with Noah—where I contemplated on it, researched about it a bit more then found it to be more impressive than I first thought by the time I actually wrote the review—I’ve experienced increasing-after-the-fact-respect for mother!, but I realize my modified response doesn’t speak to other viewers’ experiences as explored in this report nor this representative review, both emphasizing the negative aspects.

 Nevertheless, the critical establishment as a whole leaned toward the positive side (69% praiseworthy reviews at RT, another surprising-but-this time-just-slightly-higher 74% score at MC)—with much praise for Lawrence’s powerful performance*—although audiences seemed to have been swayed by either negative reviews they encountered, the mistaken assumption this is just another creepy horror film, or a genuine interest in other fare as mother! pulled in a paltry $7.5 domestic millions (plus another $6 million overseas) for its opening weekend despite playing in 2,368 theaters (even its renown-name-brand-stars weren’t much help: the Cinemascore responses from audiences exiting last weekend’s screenings gave it a rare F grade) vs. the successes of the true horror movie It (Andres Muschietti), still climbing at $372.3 million worldwide so far at #1 last weekend, or the also-debuting action-adventure American Assassin (Michael Cuesta) at #2 with about $21 million worldwide.  ⇒Maybe the viewer response to mother! would have been heartier if potential-attendees had known better what Aronofsky was up to by having read this analysis or this one (even better detailed) beforehand—although Aronofsky’s best defense may be his own explanation “If we want something new at the movies,” he said, “you give them something new and they say, ‘What the hell is that?’ The more these films can succeed, the more chance we can get weird ones made.”—but even if we'd read all about the director’s intentions it’s very probable this presentation is religiously/culturally-insensitive enough to still turn off the moviegoing-masses.  

*While I respect all she’s accomplished in her career since 2006 I still think it was too early for Lawrence to get a Best Actress Oscar for Silver Linings Playbook (David O. Russell, 2012; review in our December 28, 2012 posting) when much better performances did and will continue to come her way (such as this one, which may catch 2017-Oscar-nomination-attention if this film’s not too early in the release season [or too loathed because of poor response], possibly pushed away by the more recent impact of performances seen in November, December, or even January just before initial voting occurs) especially because she was up against the fabulous Emmanuelle Riva for Amour (Michael Haneke, 2012; review in our January 24, 2013 posting—great cinema nominated for, but lost, Best Picture, Best Director, Best Original Screenplay; it won for Best Foreign Language Film).

 Beyond the sociopolitical message, though, how effective is this film as a viewing experience?  In my always-superior-opinion (?), it works quite well in that a dual sense of curiosity/tension’s built up nicely from the beginning so the house is an enigma, reconstituting itself from a situation of shambles into something under repair but already with attractive elements even as it seems to hide a menacing presence with those shots of a beating heart (evolving from robust red to withered black as the story progresses), implying the house is alive, possibly as a malicious agent of doom or holding something terrifying in that hidden basement chamber.  As the unsettling elements shift to the strange appearance of Man and Woman, then their sons, with the even-odder-embrace of these disruptive characters by Him, our sense of doom is heightened, especially with Mother’s periodic illness spells which are quelled by the unexplained yellow liquid.  ⇒Once the crisis with Younger Brother’s death has passed, followed by the momentary euphoria of Mother’s pregnancy/Him’s spontaneous literary inspiration/the jump-cut across the months it takes for her to be almost at term with the baby as Him finally finishes his latest opus (immediately made odd by the book-length-work seemingly just on 1 large sheet of paper, the agent calling with reports of published success even as Mother’s just had a chance to read the freshly-done-poem), we’re overwhelmed by craziness in plot devices paralleled with paranoia by Mother as the crowds continue to grow, vying for her husband’s attention (just as he bathes in the glow of their adoration), then occupying their home even as they destroy it for little souvenirs (like relics of the True Cross or a saint’s bone fragments) with the final descent into chaos of riots, prison camps, various atrocities of physical abuse, all of which could easily make us yearn for the simple frights of a traditional horror movie.⇐

⇒By the time it all goes up in flames we assume we’ve reached the end of the line for not only all of these mad characters but also the human race in general (as the Biblical implications of what’s been building up become expressly-manifest with the death and ingestion of Mother’s child),⇐  we sense Aronofsky’s clearly returned to further Biblical allegory with its prophecy of “the fire next time” (see New Testament’s Second Epistle of Peter, Chapter 3to follow up on his destructive flood story about human lust for consumption gone tragic in Noah, but that’s not the case at all when we realize the undamaged Him is more than we bargained for, both in his ability to come through the destructive fire unscathed and his need to then take the only remaining life-element of dying Mother so He can fashion it into another inspirational-crystal, allowing this whole tragedy to replicate itself (into eternity?) all for His benefit, not for anyone else he sucks the life—and love—from in this aberration of what love, life, and life’s continuity are supposed to be about.⇐   It’s a harsh view of a deity, but despite millennia of attempts by devotees of these scriptures to interpret the accounts of God in the Old Testament as a loving, forgiving, generous Father (as Him keeps presenting himself in mother!) it’s still difficult for me to reconcile that with the supposedly-equal passages of condemnation, vengeance, strict laws that allow no deviation, as well as sanctioned warfare against the enemies of the uniquely-covenanted-people. (But still, Happy Rosh Hashanah!)  

 Maybe it’s my inclination (as a lapsed [far gone, actually] Catholic) to agree with what Aronofsky’s saying in this dual condemnation of a God who revels in the adoration/sacrifices of his followers along with human creations of such a cosmic presence who abuse the planetary home so lovingly prepared for our existence, instead treating it like hedonistic rock musicians trashing a hotel room simply for emotional release, the same sort of physical violence taken to higher levels resulting in homicides, inter-societal brutality, war, destructions of the environment itself that seem to call forth responses from nature with natural disasters (such as have devastated the Caribbean, Mexico, the U.S., other parts of the Earth lately) as the planet seemingly seeks to cure itself from our infestation.

 Yet, with all the above as consideration, I still had an easy time picking a Musical Metaphor for mother! because Aronofsky did it for me with by using the old Skeeter Davis song, “The End of the World” (from her creatively-titled-1963-album Skeeter Davis Sings The End of the World) under the closing credits although with a somber version by Patti Smith; her dirge-like-rendition of this tune doesn’t seem to be available, though, so I’ll turn all the way back to Skeeter in 1963 at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tSTHOqO6A7Q (an appropriate video to use here relative to mother!'s situations of destruction given its terrible visual quality—the audio’s fine, though—along with Skeeter's sad visage [enhanced by that hairdo, something I well remember on so many of the girls during my high school years of 1963-’66 before the bouffants finally got straightened out later in the decade], all of which goes along with the fatalist implications of the song;  by the way, if you want variations on this theme you can also find renditions on YouTube by such artists as Davis contemporaries Brenda Lee and Herman’s Hermits or increasingly more contemporary versions by The Carpenters, Anne Murray, and Susan Boyle—just don’t get this song confused with R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It (And I Feel Fine)” or, a more reasonable mix-up, Patti Smith doing U2’s “Until the End of the World”).  As Smith turns this song into a haunting ballad appropriate to mother!’s disturbing mood the lyrics become very appropriate when applied to the film’s characters representing God and Mother Earth, in asking why the planet’s sun, sea, birds, stars are all “the same as it was […] How life goes on the way it does [… because] it’s the end of the world It ended when you said goodbye,” ⇒so Mother’s heart must be used to bring it all back again for God’s self-absorbed-satisfaction.  Certainly this isn’t likely to be shown at church-recruitment-camps anytime soon,⇐  but for at least some of us it speaks to past and current horrors that need to be addressed, which Aronofsky’s done very brutally well here although I doubt his message will make much impact given how off-putting the imagery and plot lines are for a good many viewers.
                       
Related Links Which You Might Find Interesting:
          
We encourage you to visit the summary of Two Guys reviews for our past posts.*  Overall notations for this blog—including Internet formatting craziness beyond our control—may be found at our Two Guys in the Dark homepage If you’d like to Like us on Facebook please visit our Facebook page. We appreciate your support whenever and however you can offer it!

*A Google software glitch causes every Two Guys posting prior to August 26, 2016 to have an inaccurate (dead) link to this Summary page; from then forward, though, this link is accurate.

Here’s more information about Rebel in the Rye:


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrKhuctJkOA (4:59 interview with director Danny Strong and actors Nicholas Hoult, Zoey Deutch) and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lTyIQ0U3WJU (15:17 Q & A with these same 3 plus Kevin Spacey and other associated with the film)



Here’s more information about mother!:

http://www.paramount.com/movies/mother (not much hereor anywhere else—so you might benefit from this one as well: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt5109784/?ref_=nv_sr_1) 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZtGO2bJiiA (11:35 enthusiastic analysis of what’s going on in this film along with lots of clips illustrating these speculations on what it all means) followed by (in my recommendation) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2YHFNjBimA (3:02 a scene analysis by Aronofsky himself when Man and Woman’s sons arrive at the troubled home, in which he briefly explains his intended concepts and shooting methods)



Please note that to Post a Comment below about our reviews you need to have either a Google account (which you can easily get at https://accounts.google.com/NewAccount if you need to sign up) or other sign-in identification from the pull-down menu below before you preview or post.

If you’d rather contact Ken directly rather than leaving a comment here please use my new email at kenburke409@gmail.com.  Thanks.

By the way, if you’re ever at The Hotel California knock on my door—but you know what the check out policy is so be prepared to stay for awhile. Ken*

*YouTube keeps deleting links to this Eagles performance so I keep putting a newer version back in but you’ll just find dead links in our previous postings prior to July 6, 2017, so don’t be confused.

P.S.  Just to show that I haven’t fully flushed Texas out of my system here’s an alternative destination for you, Home in a Texas Bar, with Gary P. Nunn and Jerry Jeff Walker.  But wherever the rest of my body may be my heart’s always with my longtime-companion, lover, and wife, Nina Kindblad, so here’s our favorite shared song—Neil Young’s "Harvest Moon"
—from the performance we saw at the Desert Trip concerts in Indio, CA on October 15, 2016 (as a full moon was rising over the stadium) because “I’m still in love with you,” my dearest, a never-changing-reality even as the moon waxes and wanes over the months/years to come.
            
OUR POSTINGS PROBABLY LOOK BEST ON THE MOST CURRENT VERSIONS OF MAC OS AND THE SAFARI WEB BROWSER (although Google Chrome usually is decent also); OTHERWISE, BE FOREWARNED THE LAYOUT MAY SEEM MESSY AT TIMES.
              
Finally, for the data-oriented among you, Google stats say over the past month (which they seem to measure from right now back 30 days) the total unique hits at this site were 18,065; below is a snapshot of where and by what means those responses have come from within the previous week:

Wednesday, September 13, 2017

Beach Rats

              These Rats Would Probably Sink The Ship Themselves

                                                          Review by Ken Burke
                   
Pat Craig (left) and me in 2015 on a visit to his new home in far-upper Washington state; I was
a guest on his Public Access radio show where we talked about movie musicals.  I tried to
get him to write a quick review over drinks at dinner 
(aiming for coherence) but to no avail.
  This is the 300th posting (encompassing 602 reviews) by Two Guys in the Dark (although I—Ken Burke—have done all of them since we began in December 2011 as my intended-writing-partner Pat Craig continues to contemplate how he’s going to best demonstrate his cinematic reviewing skills within our enterprise; the door’s always open, Pat, whenever you’re ready for your long-awaited, audience-anticipated entrance), so I’d hoped to have something somewhat significant to share with you on this occasion, but the decent-but-not-terrific Beach Rats is the best I could come up with for now as I continue to be generally underwhelmed by most of the not-already-Two Guys-reviewed-choices currently available to me in local cinemas (including It [Andrés Muschietti] despite "its" enormous $123.4 million domestic [U.S.-Canada] opening weekend), so maybe there’ll be something more conspicuous when we get to #400 (in the meantime, I’ll fill out this posting-accomplishment with various semi-related [at best] materials).  As always, thanks to the many anonymous thousands who check us out each week; according to Google our monthly unique hits were stabilizing in the 30,000+ range (sometimes up to about 45,000, although the latest count [see the very end of this posting] shows a drop-off to about 23,000—I guess we have to start giving out coupons for Beverages and More again) so we’re blissfully overwhelmed with your attention to our eccentric approach to film reviewing, hoping we will continue to see you often here in cyberspace.
            
                                           Beach Rats (Eliza Hittman)
                 
“Executive Summary” (no spoilers): In an unspecified Long Island beach community—but seemingly around (if not actually at) Coney Island—a young man (late teens), Frankie, has little going in his life except a dying father, a mother who tries to connect with him to little or hostile responses, a younger sister he shows no interest in (except anger when she brings a boyfriend home), a bunch of beach buddies who share his attraction to muscles, drugs, and leering at girls (with little effort made to connect with any of those being drooled over except in Frankie's case), although he’s quite intrigued by a local gay porn site that allows him to make clandestine dates he has no intention of telling anyone else about, especially the new girlfriend who’s shown some willingness to overlook his more obnoxious tendencies.  Beach Rats doesn’t really go much of anywhere beyond this foundational situation, nor has it made much distribution impact yet (out for 3 weeks, yet playing in only 34 theaters, grossing just about $209,000 so far); there’s a lot to respect about it—especially the lead actor—but, honestly, you’ll get more from revisiting Moonlight on video in order to see an even-more-successfully-sincere-story of the lives of boys in the sand.

Here’s the trailer:  (Use the full screen button in the image’s lower right to enlarge it; activate that same button on the full screen’s lower right or your “esc” keyboard key to return to normal size.)


If you can abide plot spoilers read on, but as this blog’s intended for those who’ve seen the film—or want to save some bucks—to help any of you who’d like to learn more details yet avoid important plot-reveals I’ll identify such give-away sentences/sentence-clusters like this: The first and last words will be noted with arrows and red.⇐  OK, continue on if you like.

What Happens: Frankie (Harrison Dickinson) is just 19 but already directionless, lives in the waterfront area of Brooklyn (maybe somewhere like Gerritsen Beach; more on that a bit later) where his days are spent in a seemingly-endless-cycle of quiet grieving over the imminent death of his cancer-stricken-father (that doesn’t prevent him from stealing some of the old man’s opioids so he can snort them with his friends), keeping his distance from his attempting-to-care-mother, Donna (Kate Hodge)—he pawns a pair of her earrings just to get $200 for more drugs—showing an older brother’s distain for his younger teenage sister, Carla (Nicole Flyus)—although maybe he’s jealous because she’s a lot surer in her sexuality than he is—hanging out at the local beach boardwalk/ arcade with his equally-buff-but-basically-boneheaded-buddies Jesse (Anton Selyaninov), Nick (Frank Hakaj), and Alexei (David Ivanov [all 3 are local amateur actors, recruited specifically for ... Rats])—clarifications I managed to figure out later from the interview with the director (2nd entry in the Related Links section of this review far below) because none of these characters address each other by name much (“Hey, Burke, you wanna know who I am?  Whassit to you, bitch?”)—showing interest (sexual for sure, maybe something deeper if he can feel it) with local girl Simone (Madeline Weinstein) who comes on to him one night during a fireworks display (“What’s your idea of romance?” she asks; by the end of Beach Rats we’re still waiting for an answer.), while smoking enough cigarettes to give you lung cancer just watching him, all of which is put into context by Frankie’s frequent cruising of the Brooklyn Boys website where he shyly, clumsily makes contact with various men for one-night-hookups in some dark realm of the beach.  Frankie’s not sure what—or whom—he wants, so we spend the rest of the film watching him try desperately to figure it out.

 Simone seems to be the only one of these folks with a job (selling clothes in a local franchise outlet) so we get to watch the guys spend their days playing handball, trying to out-macho each other, talking a lot about women but not doing much about it (Frankie tries to score, that is when he’s not doing dumb things that push Simone away from him), and looking to score whatever drugs might be available, wherever they might come from.  Frankie, of course, has one other aspect of his life no one else knows about, as this isn’t exactly a hipster Brooklyn neighborhood so his encounters are clandestine, the sex is quick and seemingly meaningless for all involved except for the immediate release, the confusion’s constant in Frankie as he insists he’s not gay even as Simone assures him that 2 girls kissing each other is “hot” while 2 guys doing so is not.  ⇒Frankie even tries to mix his pleasures toward the end of this story by telling his friends he cruises gay websites just to find guys with weed, although he doesn’t imply there’s actually any sex involved; in trying to make a connection (to satisfy his own urges, after Simone’s dumped him in response to angering her by getting too loaded while on a date even after they had doggie-style-sex in a dark corner—he’s almost unhinged when he sees the bartender’s his previous pickup, then refuses to let the man buy him drinks) where he hoped for some time alone with the guy (Jeremy [Harrison Sheehan]) before getting the pot for his buds (so to speak) his plan is thwarted when the rattier beach bros insist on coming along, so when Frankie leads his mark into the dark Jeremy’s jumped, punched out at the water’s edge by one of Frankie’s homophobic friends.  The next day we see shots of Frankie looking out at the waves (maybe to see if the clobbered guy was anywhere to be found, maybe considering suicide to end his endless-inner-trauma) but that’s put aside until another group of shots that night on the boardwalk with Frankie still looking lonely, lost, longing for some sort of inspiration as the fireworks flash above him, the film suddenly ending with no resolution.*⇐

*Last weekend was one of media-ambiguous-endings for me, not only in Beach Rats but also for the David Lynch series-continuation of Twin Peaks: The Return on Showtime TV where after 18 increasingly-weird-episodes it appears Agent Dale Cooper (Kyle MacLachlan) has actually gone back in time to prevent Laura Palmer’s (Sheryl Lee) murder only to end up in some alternate dimension where she’s alive but as a different person (as is he, seemingly) so if you’re as confused as I initially was (due somewhat to not being a … Peaks fanatic who can keep up with the constant flow of characters wandering in and out of this rambling narrative in its current incarnation as well as returnees from the previous 1990-’91 series) you might want to explore this explanation along with follow-ups 1 and 2, plus a few cinema and TV critics discussing the impact and value of this show/fragmented film (if you need any refreshers on what went on in … The Return you can consult this site, where there’s also a link at the beginning to the original ABC-TV series [where you can find a further link to the prequel film Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me {Lynch, 1992} if you want the complete story of what’s Peak-ed out at us so far]).  If after all that you can truly make any sense of what went on in this wild amalgamation of a murder mystery gone deeply into near-incoherent-surrealism, please feel free to enlighten me (although I did enjoy watching this craziness if for no other reason than to try to see what I could comprehend of events transpiring from week to week).

So What? While there’s an obvious comparison here between Beach Rats and Moonlight (Barry Jenkins, 2016; review in our November 19, 2016 posting) due to their similar ocean-shoreline-settings and focus on the protagonists’ homosexuality (even if Frankie’s still not convinced he’s gay, yet I don't see him as bisexual either), I can’t really say this new film has quite the impact of the previous one, although both offer coming of age stories that usually aren’t promoted beyond various manifestations of LGBTQ (and beyond) festivals so they serve helpful purposes in giving straight audience members (like me) a chance to better understand life situations, challenges, traumas—even the triumphant moments of happiness—as well as the prejudices gay men must encounter, endure, in many cases attempt to rise above. (I can’t begin to say what such films offer to a gay audience, but hopefully they’re perceived as valid, mature, acceptable enough to be useful reflections of how at least some members of this vast community experience their often-derided-lives to instead be useful viewing experiences for these viewers as well).  However, in addition to Moonlight I also see some reasonable connections to a French New Wave masterpiece, François Truffaut’s debut film, The 400 Blows (1959),* not in terms of sexual-identity-conflicts but in terms of young men alienated from their families and/or adults in their communities, the social expectations being put on them, and even some of the cinematic approaches of their structures and conclusions.

*I’ll note The 400 Blows is on a list of all the films with a 100% positive rating at the Rotten Tomatoes critics’-accumulation-site (although this tally may be incomplete), a list that verifies a few things for me: (1) My stinginess in giving 5-star-ratings mostly to films I consider classics (reviewed by me upon re-release) is supported by a good many on this list going back in time as well, with the earliest one being A Trip to the Moon (George Méliès, 1902); (2) as with some of my choices for 4 or 4½ stars (there aren’t many of the latter either, but at least they’re all contemporary), one way a film might get RT highest rating is to be rather obscure so only the few who’ve seen it really like it (there are 21 entries from 2017 on this 100% positive list, none of which I’ve even seen [except, from years past, Terminator 2: Judgment Day 3D {James Cameron, 1991} which is a modified re-release, Close Encounters of the Third Kind {Steven Spielberg,1977} is a 40th-anniversary re-release {with Truffaut in a supporting role} also re-mastered {to 4K sharper clarity}, while The Shape of Water {Guillermo del Toro} has only been shown at festivals so far]); (3) related to item 2, many of the entries on this list probably get there by good fortune as they’re based on a mere 10 or fewer reviews (as are 14 of the 2017 entries), all of which could be easily undone by a single dissenting voice, so I’m much more impressed by the only ones to break 100 reviews—Toy Story 2 (John Lasseter, 1999) with 163 and Man on Wire (James Marsh, 2008) with 155—yet with all of them of a positive nature (a bit more on that last point will be footnote-explored in this review’s next section).

 In The 400 Blows (a title in French—Les Quatre Cents Coups—that implies “To raise hell,” in reference to the “blows” a person must endure in making the difficult transition from childhood to adulthood) protagonist (about 6 or so years younger than Frankie) Antoine Doinel (Jean-Pierre Léaud—seemingly functioning as a fictional version of the director’s biography)is a consistent misfit whose irreverent, independent streak constantly gets him in trouble with his parents (who have their own problems: Dad Julien [Albert Rémy] is a bit of a blowhard but at least gave a more stable life to Mom Gilberte [Claire Maurier], pregnant by someone else when he married her but now having an affair with yet another someone when caught by her son one day on a Paris street when he’s playing hooky from school), his suspiciously-stern-teachers, and just about every other adult he encounters.  He finally attempts to live in the shadows of his enormous city with the help of his best friend, René Bigey (Patrick Auffay), but in trying to raise money by stealing (then attempting to hock) a typewriter from Dad’s office he’s caught in the act, sent to reform school, escapes (shown in a marvelously long tracking shot as the boy runs away from the prison yard to the nearby beach, as he’s never seen the sea), then his story comes to an abrupt end with a revolutionary (for the time) freeze frame of Antoine at the water’s edge, the camera zooming in on his increasingly-grainy-face with an ending as arbitrarily-unresolved as Frankie’s in Beach Rats (which has a similar grainy texture throughout, having been shot on 16mm then made larger for standard theatrical projection).

 These 2 young male protagonists have different motivations for their inabilities to fit in more comfortably with their respective societies; however, the constant problems they face, along with mutual estrangements from their parents—although Frankie’s is more pronounced in that his father’s death is very traumatic for him, his inability to confess his sexual confusion to his sympathetic mother cuts him off from a potential source of comfort while Antoine’s stepfather is hurt that his “son” shows him no better respect while his mother—despite her similarities with the boy’s independent streak—clearly wasn’t (still isn’t) committed to a life of familial responsibilities.  Unlike Truffaut’s grand accomplishment, though, with its energetic pace, active roaming camera (an inspiration from his great influence, the masterful Jean Renoir), and illusions to the proto-French New Wave work of Jean Vigo from the 1930s, Beach Rats generally moves at a meandering pace (almost as if it were a documentary of the lifestyles this director seems as knowledgeable about as did Truffaut in his semi-autobiographical script for The 400 Blows), often shot in tight closeups because as Hittman explains in that interview farther below she was shooting on a constrained schedule with a slim budget (another reasonable comparison to Truffaut's early work) so to compensate for problematic visual distractions in the various environments she shot in it was often necessary to eliminate everything but the actors’ faces to get all the proper coverage of her scenes.

Bottom Line Final Comments: One of my regular screening companions (who teaches at a well-respected private school in Oakland, CA) said he found Beach Rats to be an appropriate film for the 1970s but felt dated to him because he’s easily aware of 9th graders coming out with no trauma so doesn’t understand why Frankie’s so conflicted in such a hip location as Brooklyn.  My response may be outdated as well because I haven’t lived in NYC since late 1973, have visited only a couple of times since then (including to Brooklyn), but it’s my perception the muscleheads Frankie’s hanging around with in his beachside-community (Coney Island, some reviews say, but if you watch that interview with the director you’ll see this was originally intended to be Gerritsen Beach [more inland than Coney Island, on the small Sheepshead Bay rather than the Atlantic, even though the beach shots in the film clearly imply the vast ocean so Luna Park at Coney Island’s likely where we’ve actually ended up], a place I could easily see even in 2017 as still qualifying as a NYC neighborhood Rick Blaine [Humphrey Bogart] warned Major Strasser [Conrad Veidt] the Nazis shouldn’t attempt to invade, even as far back as in Casablanca [Michael Curtiz, 1943]—a 5-star-movie if there ever was one [although I’ve never officially reviewed it ... yet])—are as homophobic as any of the goons I could cite for you from my upbringing in Texas so I don’t think Frankie’s reticence about sharing his sexual ambiguities with his buddies is inappropriate at all.  To be even more specific, these beach bums are the “rats” I’m referring to in my title for this posting, pumped-up macho guys whose tunnel visions of life (When and how can we get high next?) and sexuality (Hey, Frankie, did Simone put out?) would easily choose to sink their friend’s fragile ship (of existence) if he doesn’t conform to their hetero-masculine-expectations, as they keep making clear to him with their questioning about why he roams gay websites, suspicious he’s not just looking to score drugs.

 As with Ingrid Goes West (Matt Spicer; review in our August 30, 2017 posting), Beach Rats is distributed by Neon which has again included an animated short with this screening (which doesn’t noticeably increase your viewing time as the feature runs only 98 min.), New Balls Please,* with this one about a rising Black tennis star, Jorge Romeo, defeating a reigning White champ, Kurt Bruckner, as their courtside antics take on sexual overtones (it also seemed like their match might be in the process of being stopped for a rain delay or a break between sets, but that just shows how little I know about tennis—or exactly what the point of this short is, except for sneaking in a titillating title prior to a feature with a good bit of gay sex, or maybe it’s a pun on an emerging male sports star [as evidenced by this information]; either way, I find these Neon Shorts to be odd little bits of business).  The critical establishment’s more attuned to Beach Rats than I am to New Balls …, though, with Rotten Tomatoes offering a hefty dose of 82% positive reviews** while the folks at Metacritic are surprisingly close with an average 77% score, so they’re a bit more taken with this feature than I am, finding it hard to not feel Moonlight more successfully addressed this touchy topic.  Festival judges may also disagree with me, though, as Beach Rats has won the Directing Award of the U.S. Dramatic Competition at the 2017 Sundance Film Festival, the Grand Jury Prize for Narrative Features at the 2017 Boston Independent Film Festival, along with some other honors.

*A 4-min. Dutch ditty from 2004 (Richard James) now on screen. An even more appropriate use of this title might be for an unfortunate incident during a match at the January 2017 Australian Open.

**Film-biz-execs are now complaining that less than “fresh” ratings (positive reviews from at least 60% of the critics surveyed; under 60% is “rotten”) are contributing to the current decline in box-office-revenues (even though RT’s owned by Fandango, itself a subsidiary of NBCUniversal, and Warner Bros.) with disputes over whether the cumulative verbiage of a review constitutes a positive response or not.  (I must agree.  When I read some of those reviews I’m completely puzzled they’re declared to be within the “positive” realm; I haven’t seen complains about the MC scores although they seem even more arbitrary to me as each review’s assigned a number somehow [not just a rounded-off-80 for example, but a very specific 78 or 83], then those scores are averaged together, but how a review that carries no numerical designation [sure, 3 of 4 stars is easy to calculate as 75%, although many reviews offer no such specifics with the commentary’s context often giving nuanced responses] from the writer is given such a specific result’s really a mystery.)  However, those complaints in the New York Times article are disputed by Variety, citing studies that show no correlation between Tomato ratings and movie grosses, with additional data indicating the more successful an offering is the higher its RT percentage is likely to be (the 2017 average: 77.5 so far)

 Beach Rats is still an honest study of its subject matter, though, fairly earning its R rating with its use of sex scenes (nothing too graphic, although when Frankie’s giving another guy a blow job you don’t have to see erect genitals to know exactly what’s happening “down there”), some brief (with no briefs) full-nudity-shots, appropriate spewing of likely street language, and frequent drug use.  I know that director Hittman wants to be authentic in her depictions of this neighborhood (even as many other NYC locations had to be stand-ins because of the ongoing damage to actual Gerritsen Beach from 2012’s Hurricane Sandy—it’ll probably be awhile before much gets shot in Houston or Miami either) which she’s done, giving us a troubled portrait of a protagonist in deep confusion about his life, which we just take an exit from at the end of the film’s running time leaving him mired in the same situation he’s been facing for quite awhile, will continue to do so until he’s finally able to make some decisions unless peer-pressured-fear prevents him from ever finding an escape from his dilemmas.  In finishing off these comments with my usual tactic of a Musical Metaphor that gives a final look at the situation from the viewpoint of another artform I was drawn to use Jackson Browne’s “Fountain of Sorrow (from his 1974 Late for the Sky album)—which I stumbled on after asking Amazon’s Echo device to “shuffle Jackson Browne,” then not recognizing a couple of the songs played so I turned to the website, reminding myself of the haunting 1974 tune which I’m offering to Frankie (as sung in a live performance by Browne at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5Cz8ppvGXk) as part of my fictionalized extension to his story in which he finally meets a man—or womanhe can truly share a relationship with (not just secret sex at the beach), although they don’t connect for long but the experience still gives this kid some better perspective on his future as it might be noted to him when former lovers meet up again later, as do the main men in Moonlight:

“Now the things that I remember seems so distant and so small Though it hasn't really been that long a time What I was seeing wasn't what was happening at all [...] you see through love’s illusions, there lies a danger And your perfect lover just looks like a perfect fool So you go running off in search of a perfect stranger While the loneliness seems to spring from your life Like a fountain from a pool Fountain of sorrow, fountain of light You’ve known that hollow sound of your own steps in flight You’ve had to hide [...] but now you’re all right And it’s good to see your smiling face tonight."

 I never get to see any of your smiling faces (nor even very many of your keystrokes with commentary on what you encounter with these Two Guys—all done by this one guy—reviews), except for my wife, Nina, my most valued reader, but I do hope the sun’s beginning to shine again in southeast Texas, all through the Caribbean, and from Miami northward through the deep South for all of those who’ve suffered recent hurricane tragedies, with hopes that recovery, slow as it may be, will eventually bring back some sense of normalcy (even as Frankie out there on the ever-shifting-sands of time, probably even more so with Agent Cooper and Laura Palmer [if any version of Twin Peaks ever emerges out of the woods again] go on with their lives as well, hoping to eventually find some avenue of redemption).  As a final Musical Metaphor for some uplift in the face of such intensified-natural-disasters, here’s a tune from another seacoast entirely with The Beach Boys’ (no grungy Rats here) "The Warmth of the Sun" (from their 1964 album Shut Down Volume 2—written by Brian Wilson and Mike Love to offer some needed solace on the day of President Kennedy's 1963 assassinationwith added calming photos far from the recent angry waters of the Gulf of Mexico, the Caribbean Sea, and the Atlantic Ocean), so that even if—in a symbolic manner—“The love of my life She left me one day [just remember] Still I have the warmth of the sun Within me tonight.”  You might be able to offer a little warmth to the victims of these disasters as well by donating to the various charities helping with these massive cleanups, including the one from the recent network/cable TV telethon if they’re still taking donations at https://handinhand2017.com/.

 I'll look forward to seeing all however-many-of-you there are again, maybe for #301 and beyond (to infinity); I'm still holding out hope Pat Craig will join us as well, when the spirit's properly in motion.
                
Related Links Which You Might Find Interesting:
            
We encourage you to visit the summary of Two Guys reviews for our past posts.*  Overall notations for this blog—including Internet formatting craziness beyond our control—may be found at our Two Guys in the Dark homepage If you’d like to Like us on Facebook please visit our Facebook page. We appreciate your support whenever and however you can offer it!

*A Google software glitch causes every Two Guys posting prior to August 26, 2016 to have an inaccurate (dead) link to this Summary page; from then forward, though, this link is accurate.

Here’s more information about Beach Rats:


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dIoJmzqqtU0 (22:07 interview with director Eliza Hittman and actors Harris Dickinson, Madeline Weinstein, David Ivanov, Frank Hakaj)



Please note that to Post a Comment below about our reviews you need to have either a Google account (which you can easily get at https://accounts.google.com/NewAccount if you need to sign up) or other sign-in identification from the pull-down menu below before you preview or post.

If you’d rather contact Ken directly rather than leaving a comment here please use my new email at kenburke409@gmail.com.  Thanks.

By the way, if you’re ever at The Hotel California knock on my door—but you know what the check out policy is so be prepared to stay for awhile. Ken*

*YouTube keeps deleting links to this Eagles performance so I keep putting a newer version back in but you’ll just find dead links in our previous postings prior to July 6, 2017, so don’t be confused.

P.S.  Just to show that I haven’t fully flushed Texas out of my system here’s an alternative destination for you, Home in a Texas Bar, with Gary P. Nunn and Jerry Jeff Walker.  But wherever the rest of my body may be my heart’s always with my longtime-companion, lover, and wife, Nina Kindblad, so here’s our favorite shared song—Neil Young’s "Harvest Moon"
—from the performance we saw at the Desert Trip concerts in Indio, CA on October 15, 2016 (as a full moon was rising over the stadium) because “I’m still in love with you,” my dearest, a never-changing-reality even as the moon waxes and wanes over the months/years to come
             
OUR POSTINGS PROBABLY LOOK BEST ON THE MOST CURRENT VERSIONS OF MAC OS AND THE SAFARI WEB BROWSER (although Google Chrome usually is decent also); OTHERWISE, BE FOREWARNED THE LAYOUT MAY SEEM MESSY AT TIMES.
            
Finally, for the data-oriented among you, Google stats say over the past month (which they seem to measure from right now back 30 days) the total unique hits at this site were 23,162; below is a snapshot of where and by what means those responses have come from within the previous week (with activity from 5 continents, missing only Africa and Antarctica):