Amour: Stripped, naked and uncomfortable

"It is not something that you should see," says Georges Laurent to his daughter Eva in reference to his wife's condition midway through the film. This line strikes me as particularly pertinent. In Austrian film-maker Michael Haneke's beautifully pieced Amour, he does exactly that; which is to show us a sight that we have long turned our eyes against, something we should not and do not want to see, yet by virtue of that very fact, should definitely have to see.

What do I exactly mean by that? Consider, in stark contrast, the film Intouchables. These two films whilst being rather different, bears striking similarities as well. In the very first instance, they are both French. Voila. They are both critically acclaimed and have won numerous nominations and major film awards. Amour even won the Palme d'Or at the 2012 Cannes Film Festival, the second time Haneke's film won the Palme d'Or, making him only the eighth person to have won the prestigious award twice. Très bien. Both films deal with a character that is paralyzed. Okay. Here, the similarities, as well as my limited French vocabulary, end. Intouchables will most probably leave you reeling with laughter at the numerous comedic scenes aided by the impressive Omar Sy. Amour, on the other hand, leaves you with something else. An entirely different sensation, a rather inexplicable feeling that lies somewhere in between sadness and remorse, with a dash of guilt, disgust and helplessness thrown in.  

Here's a bit of trivia for you, since everyone loves movie trivias. It is the sphere of quintessential knowledge that has absolutely no value at all but is where all self-proclaimed film buffs dwell and revel in. Emmanuelle Riva's performance in Amour led to her nomination at the Academy Awards for Best Actress. At 85, she is the oldest nominee to have been ever nominated for the Academy Award for Best Actress in a leading role. 85!  At 85, I will probably be either dead, or have more than a leg in a coffin. But Riva is still acting and getting nominations, albeit for a slightly deadish character. Brilliant. There is not much of a plot, by conventional Hollywood standards, in Amour. The film revolves around the lives of a geriatric couple who struggle to cope with life after Anne, played by Riva, suffers a stroke and becomes paralyzed. There is hardly any humour in the film, apart from the memorable dig at British humour, where Anne remarks that her son-in-law's British sense of humour is only acceptable in small doses.

What is then so good about the film? Emmanuelle Riva puts in an impeccable performance and thoroughly deserves her Academy Award nomination. But for me, it wasn't so much about the acting. Instead, what really draws me to the film was the way Haneke handles the difficult and morbid theme of ageing and dying, the way the film questions the concept of love in old age, and most importantly, the way Haneke utilizes the aesthetics of film to evoke the raw and strong emotions that we, as film spectators feel. Highly regarded French filmmaker Robert Bresson once said, "I'd rather people feel a film before understanding it. I'd rather feelings arise before intellect". Haneke, whom reportedly lists Bresson as one of his key influences, does precisely that in a deep and poetic manner. 

Amour begins with an uncomfortable silence and ends with the exact same solemn lack of sound. The discomforting absence is but one way the film provokes the disquieted film spectator into thought. The film spectator is constantly compelled to experience the deep and heightened tension within the film, through Haneke's clever use of the film apparatus. Consider another scene near the beginning, where it shows an audience on the screen, watching the piano performance of Georges's and Anne's former piano student. We as film spectators are not privy to the sight of the pianist at all. Instead, we are forced to gaze upon the audience. It felt almost cathartic, in the sense that we were gazing at the audience, who were in turn gazing at us, in a perfectly symmetrical way. It was like staring into a mirror and it seems as if Haneke wanted to say, "Look! Think! Examine and reflect on your own filmic experience!" Despite being deprived of the actual scene where we see the pianist, we know the pianist exist and this scene is rendered even more meaningful than a normal shot-reverse-shot sequence of the audience and the piano performance.

Haneke also employs a number of measures to critically disrupt the spectator's illusory experience. Apart from the sudden scene to scene transitions, Haneke cleverly and subtly manipulates the cinematic experience with a series of still shots that renders the spectator immobile in his gaze. For instance, we are forced, by means of the apparatus, to look at Anne being bathed in a rather humiliating way. We are unable to look anywhere else but at Anne, and intimately feel her suffering, because of a combination of exhibitionist filming and the way the shot is framed.

If your idea of enjoying a cinematic experience is to merely sit in front of the cinema screen and mindlessly consume the myraid of images that appear before you, then Amour is definitely not a good film choice for you. However, if you enjoy being provoked, disturbed and challenged into deep thought, you would definitely find Amour a cinematic masterpiece.

Not beautiful photography, not beautiful pictures, but rather necessary pictures, necessary photography.

Robert Bresson

What art thou that usurp'st this time of night?

And Horatio's line in Shakespeare's Hamlet in the titled phrase ends with, "by heaven I charge thee, speak!" What art thou indeed. Perhaps a fleeting thought, concealed as an apparition. I read, with great interest and great discomfort, an article titled "6 Harsh Truths that will make you a better person" on cracked.com. While I shall not go into details and critique some of the perverse notions that I felt was implicitly hidden within the article itself (But please, I implore thee, to question, better in what sense? better for whom?), one of the writer's succinct points hit me squarely in the face. It was #2 What You Are Inside Only Matters Because of What It Makes You Do. Again, I find myself disagreeing not only with the overarching point that the writer puts across but I find myself uncomfortable with the way the writer writes. As if he puts himself in a position that is far superior than anyone else reading the article. As if he is beyond criticism and as such he finds this "noble" need to belch out advice that would make ordinary minions a "better person" and perhaps comparable to him.

But lets move back to his minor point that I agree with. So he says:

"Being in the business I'm in, I know dozens of aspiring writers. They think of themselves as writers, they introduce themselves as writers at parties, they know that deep inside, they have the heart of a writer. The only thing they're missing is that minor final step, where they actually fucking write things."

Okay. Fine asshole, I'm guilty as charged. I don't actually fucking write things, unless you count the academic papers where I am forced to dribble and churn out something that reads as "graduate-level". But time and again, there are instances wherein an apparition, much like the ghost of Hamlet's father, visits me in an untimely hour, "usurping the time of night". The apparition when unveiled, appears in the form of ideas and stuff to write about. Fleeting thoughts that upon first glance appear as brilliant but in the aftermath of sleep, gets forgotten, repressed or relegated as unworthy. Hence, by the heavens I charge myself, speak!

Speaking with (do forgive the brash conflation of speech and writing), a topic that is totally off tangent and unrelated to any of the above slobber that I hope I have not bored you with thus far. I begin with,

the film re-make of  Les Misérables. Now, I can't pretend to be an high-classed bourgeois sod who wears a top-hat, swallow-tailed, double-breasted dress coat, and requires the assistance of both a gold-tipped walking cane and a monocle. 

 

I have not read Victor Hugo's novel, nor have I been to a Broadway play in my life before. Neither did the ignorant me know that Les Misérables was borne out of a book. The only thing I knew of Les Misérables was one of the song that I was forced to learn to play on the piano when I was really young, and even then, the faintest memory was only revived halfway through the film. 

After watching the film, I now consider Victor Hugo's novel to be a classic, a masterpiece and definitely one on my to-read list. Beyond the random cries of Anne Hathaway for an Oscar award, or "ohh the film was sooo good", there is a need to ask, what is it that draws the spectator to the film? Was it really the songs? the acting performance? the music spectacle? Or something that lies much deeper and further than any of those? Yes, no doubt Anne Hathaway put in a spectacularly moving performance. Her emotional plea that was captured during the rendition of "I have a dream" was sublime. I was, in fact, mesmerized and inebriated by her acting. But that was but a small scene in a two and a half hour long film. 

I remember reading an interview by Tom Hooper, who also directed The King's Speech (2010) which won far too many awards that I can mention. In the interview, he was asked how he intends to differentiate the film version of Les Misérables, from the musical. His answer was simple. "Close-ups." Okay. not really, he rambled something long about allowing the spectator to be able to enjoy certain close-ness and engage with the emotional aspect of the characters in the film, which theatre does not afford. Or something along that lines.. I can't really remember, to be honest. But the one thing that strikes you in the film would be the (over)use of close-ups. You could count the number of blemishes on Hugh Jackman's face, both before and after he shaves. Yes, perhaps the use of close-ups does empower and draws the spectator to the invoked emotional responses that the spectacle exalts. Godard, for example, likes to use close-ups as a way to address the spectator directly, yet for a vastly different reason. He does it to dispell the illusion of continuity, to invoke and demand a response from the passive spectator, or perhaps sometimes to reflect the gaze of the spectator on itself. Hooper, on the other hand, uses close-ups to draw the spectator further into the illusion, and to encourage the secondary form of identification with the character. 

While it does work to a certain extent, paradoxically though, I feel restricted. Particularly after the 209th close-up shot. Restricted by the way the close-up limits my vision. I am unable to appreciate any other aspect of the Mise-en-scène. Hooper should consider the phrase, "What you giveth, what you taketh away." The close-up, inasmuch as it empowers, oppresses my field of vision and renders the spectator immobile, and subject to the frame's content, i.e. Hugh Jackman's blemishes. 

Yet, despite my apprehension on the director's take on the film, I thoroughly enjoyed it. Where then is the lure of desire enacted? What is it about the film that makes it enjoyable? Definitely not Russell Crowing away at what appears to be a thinly veiled attempt to sing. 

I think then, the centre of attraction lies in the plot. The philosophical themes that the plot exudes leads one to ponder much about. And when one questions, one thinks (Thus the Heideggerian phrase "for questioning is the piety of thought" as the title of this blog). The romantic notion of the up-rising of the people, the uprising of the proleteriat that sparked the revolution are all major themes. But the one that draws me into the most was that of the absolute justice. The persistence of Inspector Javert to chase a labelled criminal to the end of time and that questioning of the unwavering sense of justice, or rather the absolutism in justice is simply charming. The idea that social justice is clear as day, that right and wrong can be differentiated like black and white are such themes that Hugo explores and then he destroys the binary with a symbolic killing. Absolutely and positively charming. 

After all, wasn't it Nietzsche who said "There are no facts, only interpretations"? 

Irony, O irony, what art thou?

 
Oh the irony. The idea of using mediated technology to construct a critique of technology, or at least, abet the critique, might come across as most contradictory, a foul and loathful idea that reeks of the stench that a hypocrite carries but cunningly tries to bury under his layers of hypocrisity. But while this contradictory position may be a problematic one, it is definitely not a unique one. It is a problematic that every and anybody would face. How can one critique new media technologies, when essentially, in today's day and age, any subject or individual, or the conflation of both, is produced within and via new media technologies. Think, perhaps of how immersive and pervasive technologies are, such that any critique, in order to stand a chance of being a critique, has to, in some way be produced, circulated, reproduced, simulated, re-critiqued, challenged, re-challenged, deployed, rejected, accepted, via some form of new media technology. Thus, I repeat, this fundamental problematic affects everyone.

Then comes the million dollar question. A fellow I imagine, dressed as a goblin and carries a small backpack, a green trucker cap with the phrase "Million Dollar Question" but in a font size so small that one has to squint his eyes to see the words, but the trick is, once squinting (or squinted), you lose sight of the question. The fellow grudgingly trudges around in your brain, and you only notice him (notice the subtle masculine usage of 'him', cue vehement feminine protests) when you are either, too steeped in academia thus wasting all your time on what conventions designate as useless questions, or you are in such a bored state of mind that you actually start thinking about useful things for a start. This guy ("thats much too phallocentric!") is a cunning bastard. Imagine trying to chase after him (okay would you give up already?), for you know the answer, or perhaps question, lies in his backpack. However, that slinky skunk is much too quick for you, and already had a headstart the minute you started squinting at the irrelevant words on his cap. Perhaps, if you were fast enough, you might have been able to catch a quick glimpse of his t-shirt, which bore the words: "Is there a space for authentic resistance within new media technologies?"

No, I'm not under the influence of any LSD or any of these sorts. But lets not be distracted by these mere bagattelles, and instead focus on the matter at hand. Okay, so I begin with the million dollar question: Can we locate a space for authentic resistance within new media technologies? Martin Heidegger already espoused his thoughts on a similar question, perhaps not concerning new media per se, but technologies in essence, in his ontological critique, The Question Concerning Technology. Well this might seem abit duh, since he already answered the question, whats the point in re-asking it again? But we should remember that 50 years ago is a long time, and the concerns then and now might be vastly different. So perhaps the question should instead be reframed to: "How can we understand Heidegger's concern in light of new media technologies today," a reframing or rethinking of Heidegger's thought in relation to technology, if you will.

Ah but dream/the unconscious calls (notice the already subtle negotiating of meaning technology plays with, calls? with a mobile phone? smart phone?), sleep beckons, and tis a never ending tale. So perhaps I should conclude. Heidegger's piece was very intriguing and influenced me in a great way, thereby laying bare my epistemological roots. I was also rather fascinated with Herbert Marcuse, whom my supervisor introduced, and when I read, or rather attempted to read One Dimensional Man, I found that it was much Heideggerian in nature, and it amused me to find out (through Google of course) that Marcuse was actually a student of Heidegger thus, they shared rather similar concerns, yet Marcuse's standpoint diverged rather significantly. Perhaps then, it would be important to trace how these concerns have changed across a different age. And perhaps, in the next post, I shall mention briefly on someone who wrote a nasty critique of technology even before Heidegger did, Walter Benjamin. This bugger was quite someone, for his thoughts went on to influence Adorno and Hockheimer and even spawned the entire Critical Theory era together with the Frankfurt School. Till then, au revoir.