Found Laying Around the Shop

Friday, July 21, 2023

Barbenheimer



Barbie (2023, Greta Gerwig) is the best film of the year. It’s an astounding work of genius. I didn’t know what to expect going in. The only thing that drew me to it initially was its plastic pink pastel dreamy commitment to an entirely artifice based aesthetic, which I’d only previously encountered in The Cat in the Hat (2003, Bo Welch). (But that time it was a lavender and green palette, and didn’t offer much else beyond that.)

     But it’s foremost a sympathetic and modern approach to gender politics, feminism, and finding one’s self, sense of purpose, and place in life. It’s also fun. And hilarious. Gorgeous. And works as a dazzlingly choreographed musical. Sure, its audience is little girls. Yet it speaks to youth culture in general, in fact ultimately with a Generation X sensibility.

     The midpoint, where BARBIE hopelessly wallows in the defeat of her existential crisis, 7 hours of looking at the pics of all of her friends engagements on Instagram, eating a whole family sized bag of Starburst, and watching the BBC Pride and Prejudice evokes a relatable truth. And America Ferrara’s monologue in the second act is an indelible feminist tract that rallies us to see the truth about the hypocrisies, perceptions, roles, expectations, and hardships placed on women in a way that’s not preachy or accusatory but insightful and progressively empathetic.

     And the ending is powerful. The whole act structure of Barbie is really well done actually. But the conclusion had me, entirely won over by its existential philosophical dialogues. When Barbie says she wants to be the thing that imagines, and not the thing that is imagined, isn’t that straight out of Schopenhauer? His refinement of the Cartesian? The subject that cognizes the object?  And its resolution: she’s the idea not a person—the idea, isn’t that what Plato means by the imperishable forms that, multiplied by way of space and time, are made partially visible in countless individual perishable things? Barbie as Cinema as the thing in itself.

 

Oppenheimer (2023, Christopher Nolan) succeeds in telling a narratively complex story about a complex historical figure. It took me a little while, but my conclusion is that the black and white scenes are from the perspective of STRAUSS (who wants to bet Robert Downey Jr. wins an Oscar for best supporting actor?) and the color stuff is from OPPENHEIMER’S.

     Seeing Barbie with its perfect trad three act structure, then going to Oppenheimer is jarring. Oppenheimer right away reminds you oh yeah no credits, no set up, no inciting incident—this movie doesn’t wait for you to catch up. Oppenheimer jumps around all over its timeline. It's a mosaic of vignettes. And it’s got a relentless energy that’s punctuated with loud explosive sound cues and wall to wall epic score accompaniment. Nolan’s movies sound like if you went to see godheadSilo live. He’s the loudest rock band of cinema. Another funny thing is if you see Barbie first, there’s an attack on the patriarchy and this running joke about how the manliest thing is to ride horses; and Oppenheimer is excessively patriarchal and yeah Oppy rides a horse in many a scene. 

     While the bulk of Oppenheimer feels like litigation, science, politics, and espionage, all told through a bunch of white guys talking, it’s a question of how cinematic are all of these facts? How does it all come together as a movie and does it work? I think so. It’s grand, and it’s grand because it’s about the biggest thing ever to happen in the history of mankind, and happened such a relatively short time ago. And maybe I’m too selfish self-centered for even asking this but all the talk about how the nuclear bomb is the end of the world, am I the only one thinking uhh I’m still here watching this right now so…? 

     I know no one wants spoilers, but worth mentioning the subjective cinematic interludes are truly inspired effective. And yeah the nuclear stuff, but also the sex stuff with Florence Pugh, especially. You know, from the point of view of Oppenheimer’s wife, I won’t say anymore.

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