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Reviews
The Brown Bunny (2003)
A meditation on Love and Loss...
'The Brown Bunny' is the kind of independent art film that was always destined to polarise the opinions of critics and audiences alike. Gallo's controversial decision to incorporate a graphic hard-core oral sex scene between him and co-star Chloe Sevigny was interpreted by many as gratuitous and the film's modest pacing and minimalist plot inevitably alienated a large section of mainstream film-goers.
'The Brown Bunny', which was written, directed, edited, produced and photographed by Vincent Gallo, is essentially an existential road movie that departs from traditional modes of narrative filmic communication. The film treads a similar thematic terrain to his directorial debut 'Buffalo 66' in that in both films the central protagonist is struggling to come to terms with certain events that have taken place in his past. However, in this film Gallo dispenses with his uniquely black sense of humour and with any real linear narrative in favour of providing a character study of a man deep in grief; carefully detailing every subtle nuance and trait of his increasingly pathological behaviour.
The journey that Gallo takes us on is an entirely subjective one. Throughout the film, Gallo forces the spectator to scrutinise Bud and his facial expressions in extreme close-ups. We look on as Bud spontaneously breaks down and weeps within the confines of his van. The spectator is made to feel like a voyeur because what we are witnessing seems so personal and private. These extreme close-ups make two things clear: Firstly, Gallo is committed with the Brown Bunny to present Bud's state of mind visually and not by resorting to the traditional Classical Hollywood method of using dialogue or voice-overs. Secondly, they emphasise the impossibility of this task. Ultimately, we cannot tell how Bud is feeling simply by looking into his eyes or observing his facial expressions at close proximity. In this sense, Gallo also seems to be exploring the limits of the filmic image in representing a character's subjective mental state.
Gallo's cinematography is characterised by an abundance of static shots, precise compositions and long takes that are all employed in a methodical manner, creating a slow and rhythmic pace that accurately evokes a pensive atmosphere of romantic grieving. His decision to shoot on Super 16mm film with a non-linear digital blowup to 35mm gives 'the Brown Bunny' the grainy visuals of Independent American cinema of the early seventies.
It is difficult to fault Gallo's eye for aesthetic detail. Beautifully photographed shots of the open road and the picturesque American landscape are accompanied by the wistful and haunting melodies of folk artists like Gordon Lightfoot and Jackson C Frank. These incredibly evocative musical interludes serve to heighten the cathartic experience between the spectator and Bud, encouraging us not only to ponder the provenance of Bud's turmoil but also providing us with an opportunity to reflect on our own lives and loves.
The film's major shortcoming is Gallo's blatant and overstated use of metaphor. We are left in doubt that Bud Clay is the proverbial bunny of the film's title. Gallo's symbolism is at its most contrived in a peculiar scene in which Bud randomly visits a pet store to inquire about the life expectancy of the rabbits. This notion of Bud as the symbolic bunny who only has a short time to live if he cannot re-establish his emotional equilibrium is again overtly reinforced visually through Bud's entire brown apparel in the film's final reel.
The spectator's sense of voyeurism is sustained throughout the film and culminates in the penultimate fellatio fantasy sequence between Bud and Daisy which is beautifully bathed in speckles of blue light. Gallo ingeniously integrates icons of pornography into the narrative, which he then juxtaposes against his protagonist's feelings of insecurity, jealousy and guilt to formulate a scene that is both genuinely disturbing yet emotionally insightful. Far from being erotic or exploitation's, this scene marks Gallo's most significant achievement with 'the Brown Bunny'; a personal study of masculinity, masochism and the male ego. It is Bud's ego that initially leads him to view himself as the victim of the events surrounding Daisy's death by interpreting his pregnant girlfriend's brutal rape as an act of infidelity. His masturbatory fantasy explores the gulf between sex and intimacy in the context of a couple who have had their emotional ties severed. Bud makes a vein attempt to try and recapture the intimacy that he once shared with Daisy through an act of physical gratification. When he cannot find solace in this ritual and realises that it does not satisfy his emotional needs, he is forced to confront his own masculinity and that ultimately places him on another spiritual road to either redemption or suicide. Gallo deliberately leaves the ending wide open through his use of a final memorable freeze-frame.
I admire any man who takes three years out of his life to single-handedly create a movie that he wholeheartedly believes in, no matter what the end result. As anyone in the industry will tell you, it's hard enough to get a terrible film made let alone a truly great one. 'The Brown Bunny' stands up as an undoubtedly brave and ambitious meditation on love and loss that, despite its flaws, retains a remarkably powerful cumulative effect..
Buffalo '66 (1998)
A Personal and Poignant fable...
'Buffalo '66' is one of those unusual kind of American movies that could only have been made as the debut feature of an independent filmmaker. The film is oddly proportioned, brimming with the flamboyant ideas of its director, autobiographical and relentlessly self-indulgent; and for exactly these reasons the film has its own kind of unique charm. Vincent Gallo's directorial debut, which he also co-scripted and wrote the soundtrack for, is a quirky, deadpan tragicomedy that departs from traditional modes of filmic communication and indulges his idiosyncrasies. Gallo clearly emphasises performance and characterisation over plot and narrative; a trait that is reminiscent of the film's of actor/director John Cassavetes.
The film focuses on the character of Billy Brown and provides an in-depth character study of an emotionally isolated and paradoxical individual, who is struggling to come to terms with events that took place in his childhood. On the one hand, Billy desperately wants to love and be loved but at the same time he is uncomfortable with physical contact and intimacy. Seated on the steps outside his parents house, feeling sick at the thought of seeing them again, he asks Layla, "Would you hold me?". However, when she moves closer, Billy shrieks, "Don't touch me!". During the course of the film, the tough criminal exterior that Billy presents when kidnapping Layla is stripped away to reveal a sensitive innocent who desperately craves the attention he's been deprived of all his life. Only after Billy has overcome his feelings of frustration and resentment towards an uncaring world can he accept the love that is eventually offered to him by Layla. Gallo puts an incredible amount of nervous energy into his performance as Billy Brown and that makes it difficult to take your eyes off him. He delivers Billy's repetitive, quick-fire dialogue with tremendous vigour and a keen sense of comic timing.
Gallo re-invigorates the language of contemporary cinema, employing a number of striking cinematic devices that give the film freshness and vitality. The entire film is ingeniously shot on 35mm reversal film stock, a process that produces distinctive contrast and colour saturation. This technique perfectly encapsulates the cold, grey industrial landscapes of Buffalo, bleeding them of their colour and giving the spectator a visceral sense of the raw weather and alienating locations that function in the narrative as a metaphor for Billy's own feelings of loneliness and estrangement.
Gallo's cinematography is precise and idiomatic. Certain shots appear meticulously composed like still photographs whilst others, like the shot of Billy's indolent friend's potbelly, have the ability to sum up an entire character in just one single image. The flashbacks to Billy's troubled childhood are cleverly communicated through a series of optically inset frame-within-frames that start off as tiny boxes and gradually grow to fill the entire screen. However, Gallo's greatest and most inventive visual achievement is saved until the final staging of Billy's climatic shooting in the strip club. He presents it as a startling succession of mind's eye tableaux vivants, freeze frames that capture the graphic anatomical detail of the shooting in a darkly comical way. The entire sequence is accompanied with strange perfection by the extravagant 70s prog-rock sounds of 'Yes'.
The film is filled with a number of hilariously peculiar comic episodes. Take for example, the scene in which we first realise Billy is an incompetent criminal when he is unable to drive Layla's getaway vehicle because it's a 'shifter' car. Noticing that Layla is clearly amused by this, Billy goes into a childish verbal tirade in a pathetic attempt to try and disguise his shortcomings: "I'm used to luxury carsI drive cars that shift themselves". Another humorous highlight takes place during an exchange between Billy and Layla in a $2 automated photo booth as they pose for photographs to send to Billy's parents. The comedy in this scene arises from Billy's insistence that the photos of them as a loving couple appear authentic and simulate them 'spanning time' together, whilst at the same time not allowing Layla to actually touch him: "We're the couple that doesn't touch one another. We like each other. We like each other a lot and we span time together. We just don't touch each other, all right?".
'Buffalo '66' is a refreshingly honest and personal film that is directed with a confident and singular vision. Vincent Gallo's poignant fable shows rare creative flair whilst providing a perceptive insight into the pathos of failure and the indispensable nature of love.
Mean Creek (2004)
A keenly observed drama that unfortunately never really transcends the sub-genre...
First-time writer/director Jacob Aaron Estes' Mean Creek is a coming-of-age drama that follows a group of teens and pre-teens as they seek playful retribution on the school bully who has persecuted them. However, when the kids discover that their tormentor is actually just an insecure boy who is desperate for friendship, their boat trip down river takes on a new level of complexity. The film's main strength lies in the empathetic portrayal of its teenage protagonists; a group who are forced to learn a stark lesson in moral education.
Estes offers a fresh perspective on contemporary youth culture that is far removed from the wilfully moronic teen antics of comedies such as the American Pie series, and decidedly less misanthropic than films like Bully and Thirteen. The central protagonists Sam and Millie are sensitive souls with a keen sense of the difference between right and wrong. In the film's early stages they debate the ethics of revenge in hushed tones and Sam declares that, "If we hurt him we'd be just as bad as him."
Mean Creek's acutely observed take on childhood is inspired throughout with a number of subtle nuances and character traits that accurately depict a period of awkward adolescence. There is a perceptive and rather charming sequence near the beginning of the film in which the level headed Millie prepares for an after school meet up with her classmate. Clearly nervous about her 'date' with Sam, she draws up a list of questions to ensure that both of them have plenty to talk about. She includes momentous icebreakers like, "Do you believe in God?" and "What's it like to be a male?" and in a humorous interaction she attempts to casually weave these into the conversation. These candid moments demonstrate that Estes has a firm understanding of, and affinity with, his teenage characters as well as a remarkable ability to capture, in an uncontrived manner, their natural actions and dialogue.
The film has much in common with rites-of-passage movies like Stand by Me, River's Edge and The Outsiders but unfortunately does little to update and enrich the generic form. Mean Creek is hampered by its commitment to revisiting a played-out cycle. The film displays all the staple elements of this familiar teen sub-genre: the leafy west coast locale, the disparate gang of youths, the symbolic journey into unfamiliar territory and the body as the central plot component. In fact, the whole enterprise could be construed as a cynical attempt to revive for a new generation, a category of movies that proliferated in America in the mid 1980s. It is a little disappointing that Estes should follow the formula so closely, producing a piece that is predictable, delivering few surprises and no unexpected plot twists.
Sharone Meir's cinematography is characterised by an extensive use of hand-held camera and natural available light. This vérité photography is particularly effective in the water sequences, placing the spectator firmly in the boat with the children and making us participants in the action. Estes chooses to inter-cut digital video footage with the 35mm film as a means of representing George's camcorder diary, a choice that initially appears somewhat hackneyed. It is not until the end of the film that this technique yields an impassioned resonance that vindicates its employment and reveals it to be an insightful documentary device.
Shot on location in the woody backwaters of Oregon, Sharone Meir fills the frame with an abundance of garish greens and muddy browns that create a trenchant backdrop for the caliginous psychological terrain. The melancholic music cues by Tom Hajdu and Andy Milburn of tomandandy successfully underpin the drama and accurately evoke a pensive atmosphere through their contrast of cellos and high-pitched strings.
The final reel of Mean Creek holds the majority of its emotional impact. It is extremely unusual to watch children of this age discussing morality on film, and intelligently reflecting on issues of conscience and guilt. In the hands of a lesser director the film could have become overly simplistic and one-dimensional. Although Mean Creek never manages to transcend the conventions of the genre, it redeems itself through the intricacy of its observations. Estes is smart enough to understand that destroying the bad guy is not necessarily the solution to all of life's problems. Indeed, in the case of Mean Creek it is only the beginning of them.