It's so easy to hang yourself

If Cure (1997, Kiyoshi Kurosawa) hypnotizes you Pulse (2001, Kurosawa) gets you to do suicide.

 

Pulse is a cyber horror depression core chainletter existential plague postmodern postapocalyptic snuff film that makes me feel an overwhelming emotional impact immediately and maybe more so than any other film. That emotion is heavy paralyzing hopeless drowning depression. The thing is irl I am so full of too much surplus of joy excitement energy this kind of thing is like so fun I rewatch Pulse on the reg more than any other Kiyoshi Kurosawa one it’s my jam. Balances me out. Or as Nicole Kidman might say suicidal thoughts feel good in a place like this.
     Okay enough messing around what I care about more than anything is what is going on with Pulse? Let’s try to list analyze its rules. It seems like

•     you log on
•        a ghost in a shroud dials you up and kills itself
•       you see what they call a reflection on your pc monitor that shows you on screen looking at you on screen looking at you on screen 
•        your distorted electronic anguished voice moans the word help
•        you may put on a shroud and kill yourself leave a dark smudge for flashes loved ones can see you
•        someone living seals the door into the spot you offed yourself with red duct tape
•        if someone living enters this forbidden room you can chainletter make them kill themselves too then they will be immortal e-dead loneliness or you can do same online to others as well

Does that seem right? I haven’t searched for any online explanations yet. Just because I love this film and wanted to stubbornly try all by myself. My first biggest obvious question was always what is the purpose meaning behind sealing off the forbidden room with red tape. I think I figured it out as I just described so that means though the midpoint you know that flashback expository sequence with Shô Aikawa is he traps the ghost in that shipping yard office with red tape but when it gets torn down the reveal is it’s like patient zero first to open the circuit using the broadband to travel online and chainletter spread the plague death wants to make everyone immortal through eternal loneliness instead of going to hell worse trapping them in their own isolation. But the red tape could also serve as a warning to the living to stay away from these internet people who have crossed over. Personally I’d to think the red tape doesn’t even trap the e-ghosts at all because they're already so lonely and isolated it doesn’t need to it's only a spiritually condemned warning sign where they reside.

     What about that Harue hug? Who what does she hug? Okay if there is one not laugh but just something I can’t help but always I have a morbid sense of humor when Kawashima is in that computer lab and she overhears comes up to this stranger and is like what was that you said about a website that asks if you want to see a ghost. Just the tonal contrast between her bright chipper demeanor and this dark weird topic.
 

As always with Kurosawa the thing that anchors this drama is the characters. Another thing that makes Pulse so scary is the way it’s the beginning of the internet. The way Kawashima first reads the instructions is so asmr hypnotic sustained suspense and his visits to Harue in the computer lab are perfectly sold as everyday that’s how he gets you everytime. 
     But the score in this thing. Within the first minute when that thing drags you down I instantly want to kill myself give up on life curl up in a ball and hide give up it’s so oppressively aggressively downer misanthropic emotional underscoring. And the glitchy electronic static deteriorating debilitating soundscape concoction wraps its nasty lurking swells around you constricting continually is delight.
     The drab dismal patina and high contrast murky shadows is despair visualized. The narrative arc perfectly follows Shiguéhiko Hasumi design start slow build resolution while being so conducive for the character arc of Harue going subtly from bright and happy optimistic to reveal she had this death depression drive within her the whole time is scary because if you think in real life maybe probably definitely some of the people most affected by depression suicidal self harm you wouldn’t have guessed.
 
My completely esoteric subjective way off not in a million years as usual meta easter egg take is why is the great Kôji Yakusho captain of the ocean liner bookending the narrative? Because all these sad whiny doomed souls are being sucked into the lame internet but his ship is cinema and nothing can stop it and it’s how we will all move forward our hopes our dreams the progress the very future of civilization can count on it.

5. Women in Trouble—David Lynch’s two Hollywood pictures

The difference between Mulholland Drive (2001, David Lynch) and the rest of the films Lynch made is that it takes us to a place where we get to experience all of the bliss exhilaration joy sweet wonder promise of everything. Particularly our first love and a creative passion we love both so intensely as if to make our lives perfectly realized. Emotional paradise. 

     And by this I mean the BETTY world. The bulk of the film. When was the last time this kind of plucky G-rated schmaltz camp was so gratifying? It’s never too much. The wide-eyed naïve excessive enthusiasm is me. An involuntary tendency I have that’s been pointed out to me. And I’m pretty sure I got it from this movie. The most exemplary instance of this has probably always been this line when Betty leaves for her audition and says And don’t drink all the Coke which I’ve always matched to an identical scene from Showgirls (1995, Paul Verhoeven) when Showgirl tells her roommate And don’t eat all the chips.
     I’d say the point in Mulholland Drive that causes me to exclaim I cannot believe how perfect amazing awesome this movie is is when Betty and RITA go to those apartments and Betty decides to break into Diane Selwyn’s apartment by climbing in through that back window. Aside from the kind of mystery we work out with our intellect this is the kind of beat in a mystery yarn that on some primal level is just so rad fun on its own. But then throw in our intellects working and we get the girl who was lured betrayed whored out ridiculed punished and humiliated by the love of her life on a dream Hardy Boys adventure with the idealized version of said love in the most romantic amateur sleuth scenario to find out the identity of a woman who we know is her and is also the one dreaming the dream we are in and at the same time has already committed suicide because of it and we have to ask ourselves when has any other movie taken us anywhere like this before?
     When cinema evokes establishes encodes and exchanges a meaning with us that is impossible to put into words we get Club Silencio. Ever since the first time I saw this when Rebekah Del Rio sings Llorando and Betty convulses in her seat I’ve always immediately recognized as getting your heart broken for the first time the hardest the most painful that moment right before the end when you realize it was all an illusion that is about to irrevocably vanish from reality and you’ll pumpkin back into life without her and I cry every time the most cathartic scary happy vulnerable messy invigorating sobs you’ll ever know. The No hay banda illusion is infatuation cinema and dreams. It’s no less than our very existence.
     But what about all of the other trauma dark abuse hidden meanings in Mulholland Drive you ask? I mean they’re there yeah. But acknowledging most of them never really seemed to add anything that significant to the whole viewing experience for me. The Lynch clues. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to answer that last one Where is Aunt Ruth? I mean all I’ve got is that after Rita drops the blue cube and we shift to what I presume is Diane Selwyn’s real world then Aunt Ruth enters her bedroom and doesn’t notice the cube on the ground yet later at the dinner party Diane says she had an aunt that died and left her some money so? Where is Aunt Ruth? I wanna say Aunt Ruth is this like fulcrum of verisimilitude in the sense she was a source for Diane Selwyn to base her fantasy Aunt Ruth on but in the real world of Mulholland Drive she has nothing to do with her. But the cube is in her room. As in this uncanny Celine and Julie Go Boating (1974, Jacques Rivette) moment with a remnant of a reality beyond our own that shows up in our real world. Cinema is candy. Cinema is a mystery box.

Mumblecore folk tale collective unconscious recognition repetition. You know I’d never thought of Inland Empire (2006, David Lynch) as mumblecore before but it’s shot on prosumer MiniDV lacks a conventional narrative and the definitive proof according to my definition a scene where Laura Dern’s character makes scrambled eggs the telltale mumblecore trope. If Mulholland Drive is all about what if feels like to have your heart broken for the first time then Inland Empire is about how fun it is to play make believe.
     Also of primary importance is how David Lynch’s final film feels the most DIY creative indie low budget artistic freedom art film meta distillation culmination of his life’s work. Ironic to consider his big Hollywood film is both narratively and aesthetically in its execution anything but. And like Mulholland Drive I personally don’t go for trying too hard to figure out what all of it means more like I just know how it makes me feel and that’s enough. Come to think of it the only David Lynch film I think I really infer something significantly within its subtext is Lost Highway. 
     Inland Empire then is NIKKI GRACE entering into the folklore of Old Hollywood but at the same time her character exists in a state where time does not exist. Everything’s already happened and the past and future occur interchangeably throughout the film’s narrative. Reflection is an elastic motif that encompasses meta devices such as watching yourself in a movie watching yourself prostitute versions of actresses wives mothers and domestic triangles where someone invariably ends up getting stabbed in the stomach with an old screwdriver. Oh and probably most of it has to do with the PHANTOM. Pretty straightforward.
 
The vibe of Inland Empire is like Axxon N the longest running radio play in history most enjoyable through its serialized continuously unexpected curse it charts. Yes I said curse that isn’t a typo. I’ve always above all loved more than anything the scene with PIOTREK accidentally squirting that entire plastic squeeze bottle of Heinz ketchup all over the white t shirt his stomach he’s wearing then when he asks his wife so calmly where are the paper towels and she says right behind you on the table. And such a cool backyard then all his Polish circus friends show up ominous and that Stanley Kamel dude with the watchmen cap intensity asking where his hammer is. This is the kinda thing in general cinema is lacking in. 

     It’s the subtle little things. Like how KINGSLEY and FREDDIE after we are told they had lousy tea from the commissary when they show up on stage and have a seat look how long of a beat they hold just projecting their distaste that stuff is hilarious. And my obsessive need to match and connect is given full reign with this material like the look at me and tell me if you’ve known me before line. And the manifestations of the visitor’s vague elliptical foreboding fairy tales.
     Inland Empire is also such a fascinating incantation of make believe and how we construct our own meanings because of how it was not only Lynch’s final film but the final and grandest achievement in that short lived little trend of MiniDV features. Remember that? Shot so wonderfully by the likes of Anthony Dod Mantle and Robby Müller movies like The Celebration (1998, Thomas Vinterberg) Julien Donkey-Boy (1999, Harmony Korine) Dancer in the Dark (2000, Lars von Trier) Chuck & Buck (2000, Miguel Arteta) The Original Kings of Comedy and Bamboozled (2000, Spike Lee) 28 Days Later (2002, Danny Boyle) Personal Velocity (2002, Rebecca Miller) 24 Hour Party People (2002, Micheal Winterbottom) Visitor Q (2002, Takashi Miike) and The Girl from Monday (2003, Hal Hartley). These were a time of going back to our roots trying to reclaim the excitement of spontaneity the whole independent craze promised. The MiniDV era was a bridge between Dogma 95 and mumblecore that Lynch was at the forefront of because of not only Inland Empire but a series of content and shorts he was uploading to his website davidlynch.com at a time when the internet wasn’t near as big a thing as it became. This stuff was lo fi raw rough and amateur and Lynch was one of the proponents of embracing this kind of aesthetic as an alternative means to stale bloated mass product Hollywood brainrot garbage. And that time is gone now. And so is he. One awaits the next time we’ll see that kind of spirit make its return. It’s only a matter of time.

The More You Look at Something the Less You See

After Quentin Tarantino, Woody Allen, and David Lynch, the Coen Brothers are the most crucial American filmmakers I have followed, appreciated, and critically studied for my entire adult life.

To separate movies from films, the Coen Brothers' widely praised works are typically their movies: Raising Arizona (1987), Fargo (1996), The Big Lebowski (1998), O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000), No Country for Old Men (2007) and True Grit (2010); and unfortunately, it's been a long time since I've had the desire to revisit these in hopes of finding something new.

However, their films: Barton Fink (1991), The Man Who Wasn't There (2001), and A Serious Man (2009) easily remain some of the most intellectually stimulating and classically entertaining narratives any American filmmakers have crafted since the 1990s, in the modern era. Yet, their movies are necessary to identify them as auteurs, and their films only become stronger if you take their body of work as a whole.

Yesterday The Man Who Wasn't There screened in a 35mm print at a theatre. Since this movie was shot on 35mm and converted to a DI, watching it on DVD or digitally projected in a theatre leaves something to be desired. However, seeing the film projected in 35mm returns the black and white converted DI to its native analog look because the print shows dirt, dust and other debris and feels like you're watching an old black and white movie from the 40s.

The black and white look and the film's period small town somewhere near Sacramento, CA setting make this a Film Noir. Normally I confine Noirs between 1941-1958, but this 2001 movie qualifies because they set their film back then. But this isn't merely a Film Noir. It's more like the Coen Brothers making a Neo Noir because they are drawing heavily from the established conventions of historical Film Noirs, but have crafted the film as an existential crisis--with a plethora of big questions, most notably: "What kind of a man are you?" And in addition to all of this, they have succeeded in delivering one of their most sparkling deadpan comedies, with one of their most uniquely droll and prosaic assortment of everyday small town folk, dryly skewering all things ordinary.

The look of this film separates it from B-movie Noirs. Roger Deakins primarily using the barbershop, photographs sublimely contrasty, detail cluttered set pieces almost as gorgeous as images Henri Alekan achieved in Der Himmel über Berlin (1987, Wim Wenders). Also, the Nerdlinger's department store features cavernous shadows and broad pillars of blackness against smoky shafts of light that create geometrically designed representations of the protagonist's psychological inner chaos like the films John Alton shot in the late '40s. And notice the striking use of medium to medium close up-framed dolly tracking shots, overcranked, and often rain soaked; these are among the most lyrical segues in the film.

Some of the strongest evidence to support categorizing this film as a Film Noir is Ed Crane's guarded near-paranoia. He's cynical, as are most hard-boiled Noir protagonists. And he's our narrator, so in a way, the film is cynical. Film Noir often means an American looks around sometime after The War and realizes people, society, or the government aren't what they seem. This is Ed Crane's path. Sizing people up seems to be his only reason for living. And he usually concludes that they're all phonies. Think about how often he slings that slur.

Birdy almost takes on an existential significance, as she's obviously something like a manifestation of Crane's ideal female. And in the glorious scene where she attempts to give him fellatio as a consolation prize, Crane's dreams are finally shattered once and for all, causing him to take account of his place in the universe one last time.

Existential is a big label that gets thrown around way to much. I'm not saying I'm the one to categorize this film as such, but I think it does ask big questions instead of setting the same conflicts and resolutions as most plot-driven works. There is something said without words that floored me when Crane gets his leg shaved before his execution--because we remember that everynight he used to shave his wife's legs in the bathtub--like, how odd that on his last night alive someone else would be shaving his. There's no point. It's a mere observation. But, what else is there? These shots may support the motif that Doris' marriage proposal suggests ("Why? Does it get better?").

She has a point.

Maybe this is all there is.

Doris (Frances McDormand) is a riot as the comedic relief, and Crane is here merely to serve as her foil mostly. She's got the balls and spits fire like one of Hawks's gals. And what cracks me up is that religion or a higher power isn't a governing factor for Ed or Doris (or anyone else in this movie really) but, she kind of symbolizes everything the ten commandments try to dissuade. Doris cusses like a sailor, loves to use blasphemy, "Enjoy your goddamn cherries," is racist, "I hate wops," is an alcoholic, commits adultery, commits grand larceny against he employer, and finally is convicted of murder. The irony is that even though Doris didn't kill Big Ed, one wonders how long before she might have.

Her first line in the film is a riot, "Bingo!" I saw McDormand on a Charlie Rose interview from the time of the film's release and I remember she said some of the best direction she had was in that scene because Ethan told her, "when she gets bingo, it's life or death for her."

The casting in this film is brilliant. No one holds a candle to Tony Shaloub (as Freddy Riedenschneider). Riedenschnieider's machine-gun rapid-fire dialogue as a fast talking big money attorney from Sacramento takes the second half of this film into vastly entertaining dimensions. Everyone is a small town rube, but he kicks the cobwebs off of the mausoleum once he arrives. He talks fast, eats fast (and voraciously), and thinks fast. He's arrogant, rude, manipulative, and driven. His musings on Heisenberg's uncertainty principle are ridiculously hilarious. Although my favorite Riedenscheider lines have always been his curt summary of how crummy Doris' case looks:

FREDDY

You say he was being blackmailed. By who?

You don't know. For having an affair. With

who? You don't know. Did anyone else know

about it? Probably not, you don't know.

Carter Burwell (he's scored every Coen Bros. movie) wrote one of the only scores in a Coen Brothers movie where I actually felt like they were being sentimental. The Burwell excerpt I'm talking about doesn't play until Act III, when Frank has to sell the barbershop over to the bank. And it is after this point I feel like the Coen Bros. have transcended most of the stuff they usually do, and why The Man Who Wasn't There is so important for me. (I wonder if Burwell's similarly heart-breaking score for Being John Malkovich (1999, Spike Jonze) was a breakthrough that paved the way for this?)

In closing, the haircuts for kids were:
The Butch
The Heine
The Flattop
The Ivy
The Junior Contour
(And occasionally) The Executive Contour

 --Dregs

The Most Hollywood Un-Hollywood Movie Ever Made

Last night, an acquaintance of mine invited me to attend a theatrical screening of a 35mm print of Mulholland Dr. (2001, David Lynch) and I immediately decided this was something I could not pass up. My previous encounter with this challenging narrative, from quite possibly the most challenging auteur to tread the boundary between commercial and arthouse, from both within and outside of Hollywood, simultaneously, was about 10 years ago. A longtime David Lynch fan, I'd always gone out of my way to actively engage with his works, in my own way, finding my own meanings. Then, I kind of got burnt out after Inland Empire (2006, Lynch) and walked away for about 5 years--until last night.

So, I used to try to figure out what Mulhollalnd Dr. was about. Then, I decided that was no use. After returning to this film, 10 years wiser about life and with a recent BS in film production added to my cinematically analytic arsenal, I think I'd like to give another shot at attempting to explain what I think Mulholland Dr. is about--my apologies to David Lynch, as I assume he discourages this type of discourse.

Part 1: Decoding Messages

1A (Follow your dream)--In the 1940s, it was common to hear Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer described as "The Dream Factory." The first shots of the Jitterbug Competition in Mulholland Dr. accompany a POV shot of someone going to sleep, setting up the potential to read the following film as some one's dream.

1B (Sequence between the two gentlemen in Winkie's on Sunset)--This may be a key to decode the entire narrative. The key elements are:

• One person telling another about a dream they had with the other person in it.
• That first person then becoming frightened after seeing that the account of the dream scares the listener.
• That first person then attempting to confront the dream, in reality, and being killed by it.

My conclusion is that this structure is a model for the film in two other instances: The first part of the film (Betty wants to be a star and falls for Rita) and the second part (Diane Selwyn wants to be a star and falls for Camila Rhodes). Now, an important distinction here is that the structure of Mulholland Dr. is one that supports an emotional truth, rather than a conventional realism typically associated with Hollywood movies. Furthermore, the film is ridden with double symbols. Perhaps the most startling discovery for me last night was the scene where Betty and Rita first discover the corpse of Diane Selwyn and run out into the front yard--the photographic effect used is a double exposure--because it suggests that the entire film is an instance of the collision between dream (Betty plot) and reality (Diane Selwyn plot), cinematically expressed as one image exposed onto a film negative that has already been exposed and the perplexing nature of this effect; or, the collision between dream and nightmare; or, the collision between Old Hollywood clichés and New Hollywood auteur riffs; or, the collision between youthful naiveté and aged cynicism.

Personally, I'm currently obsessed with filtering my entire existence through the lens of a paradox--or, the collision between opposing forces.

1C (Hollywood movies and their formal characteristics)--In addition to the significance of where Lynch has employed the double exposure shot in Mulholland Dr., there are other instances of double meanings derived from decoding cinematic techniques and the implicit meaning therein.

Next, there's the old couple, Irene and her companion. For me, they're nothing more than a gratuitous symbol of the language of conventional Hollywood film language from the twentieth century. Consider this: we see them at the beginning and end of the film. They are a coin that shows first, the side of how Hollwood movies communicate a dream--in the car they don't speak, but by how they're filmed, we, the audience, imbue them with meaning (jubilation) because of the slow motion (or, overcranking the shutter speed)--then, second, they show how Hollywood movies communicate a nightmare--again they don't speak, but the fast motion (undercranking the shutter speed of the camera) imbues them with a terrifying, threatening menace.

1D (Hollywood Movies and their formal characteristics, continued)--The scene where we first are introduced to Naomi Watts as Diane Selwyn is a huge turn from the entire narrative thrust up until that point. It's jarring. It's bizarre. It doesn't really make sense. But, Lynch blocks this by intentionally Jumping the 180° Line (the convention established in Hollywood movies whereby spatial orientation through blocking and editing establishes a realistic visual geography for viewers) and actually seems to be the first director I've seen to do so, in a way, suggesting an almost cannibalistic comment he's making about his super un-hollywood Hollywood movie. Sorry, I prefer cannibalistic to meta--I don't like using the term meta too much.

1E (Hollywood Movies and their formal characteristics, continued more)--Lastly, I'll suggest that the opening scene of Betty's idealized image of herself as movie star appears overly white (or technically, burned out--a term in cinematography that means over exposed), implying that the type of "exposure" she seeks is "overblown;" or even that that pinnacle (as Valley of the Dolls hypothesized) of fame is the point at which one falls victim to Hollywood Burnout.

Part 2: Hollywood Burnout

2A (Hollywood Burnout as a model for Betty and Diane Selwyn's respective emotional cores in Mulholland Dr.)--For me, Hollywood Burnout is a symptom evinced in Betty's emotional requisition of her romantic object of desire (Rita). The symptom is, again, getting to the point where attaining your dream destroys your personal identity. The link is that of the realization that it won't last, no matter how desperate you may want it to--whether it be attaining the career of a movie star or attaining a chance to be with the love of your life--because it's all an illusion, albeit one that we believe we have mutually contracted ourselves into, and once we realize it's disintegrating, we often are unable to survive from.

2B (The director, Adam Kesher)--He also suffers from Hollywood Burnout, of the variety wherein he's gone from auteur to commercial hack. A very telling line of dialogue occurs when he's told by a financier, "it's no longer your film."

Part 3: References to Other Hollywood Movies

3A (Part 1, Old Hollywood)--Mulholland Dr. begins with an inventory of Old Hollywood bright-eyed, overly sentimental idealism. And we get all of the most saccharine chestnuts one could imagine: comical references to dog poop and a kagaroo that destroyed a courtyard; slapstick (the entire botched hitman thread is a comment on Hollywood violence because it's all gratuitous and goes absolutely nowhere and has practically nothing to do with the rest of the plot); etc...

3B (Part 2, New Hollywood)--Lynch's over the top lesbian scene is nothing other than Camp of the most intentional type. It's hilarious, not erotic.

3C (Specific references)--I'd always found the line Betty says to Rita before her audition hilarious: "...And don't drink all the Coke!" Anyone remember the line in Showgirls (1995, Paul Verhoeven) where Nomi is off to work and tells her roomate in a similarly overacted delivery: "...And don't eat all the chips!"?

There's obviously a ton more of these, but I'll just limit my observations to Showgirls and The Wizard of Oz (1939, ???Victor Fleming??? and way too many others). One of the biggest narrative devices that helped me understand Mulholland Dr. was that the second part is reality, because Diane Selwyn has obviously awakend from a dream and the people in her reality are versions of characters she'd created in her dream, just as Dorothy had done in The Wizard of Oz. In fact, the exact moment this occurs, Coco (Ann Miller) exclaims to Diane: "So you just flew in from Kansas... is that it?"

Conclusion

This movie is so close to the themes I find most important in films: feminine identity, Hollywood Melodrama, and artifice as a means to achieve aesthetic emotion are the big ones; but also, of course, the illusion of love and its analog, the illusion of movies. Or, as Mulholland Dr. says: "There is no band, but we hear music." Of course, the entire Club Silencio is an analog for watching movies, as important, if not more than the haunted house shown in Celine and Julie Go Boating (1974, Jacques Rivette).

Ahh, these are just a few thoughts off the top of my head that I wanted to jot down while they're fresh. There's no telling what this movie will mean to me in the future, but I'm guessing a lot.

--Dregs