One of the big head-scratchers for me at Cannes, it being my first time and all, was the vastly different opinions offered up on Biutiful. I still find it one of the great mysteries that I seemed to have watched an entirely different film from most of the louder critics writing from Cannes. I simply can’t understand how they could remain not only unmoved — okay fine, it’s easy to be moved by things, even soup commercials — but find so much wrong with a film that seemed to say so much about the human experience.
My first reaction was to find them shallow and unthinking. I kept hearing that quote from Rilke about poetry — if life seems empty to you do not blame it, blame yourself. You are not poet enough to call forth its riches. But inevitably, I had to lay the blame squarely on my own shoulders and admit that something isn’t wrong with them, something is wrong with me. I do not fit in with the status quo.
What I found so great about Biutiful, by the way, wasn’t just the heart-wrenching part of it. It happens to have expressed my own personal views of the universe and life: I think we are alone. We are born alone, we die alone, and for the most part, we are fed shit sandwiches all along the way. ¬†And all we have left, really, is the good we can do for other people. ¬†Having faith in a higher power will result in disappointment. ¬†So we care for our young, we help our neighbor and we hope to find a glimmer of goodness here or there. ¬†This is not a popular opinion to have and when I reveal how dark my thinking really is, I tend to repel people.
So, it’s not about me. Okay, fine. It’s about this film. And if the status quo are already against it – that is, they’ve decided after one viewing that it’s greatly flawed, there is no way to rescue it from that. The critics are the only ones who can rescue a film like this and if they aren’t going to do that, well, one wonders what the fate of Biutiful will be.
Owen Gleiberman’s piece on Biutiful I find entirely wrong-minded. But I was interested in this paragraph:
At Cannes, there are two kinds of movies that take home the top jury prize, the droolingly coveted Palme d’Or. There are the films that deserve it, like Taxi Driver or The Ballad of Narayama or sex, lies, and videotape or 4 Months, 3 Weeks, and 2 Days. And there are the movies that achieve a notably facile, Euro-friendly brand of total heaviosity, and are therefore shoo-ins. You probably think that I’m just finding a snarky way to dismiss the Palme d’Or winners I haven’t agreed with. But I’d contend that the celebrated Cannes films in the total-heaviosity category, while acclaimed at the time as deathless works of art, don’t age well. To see what I mean, here’s a list of some of those winners: The Mission, Elephant, Wild at Heart, Farewell My Concubine, Barton Fink, Paris, Texas, and — give it time — last year’s The White Ribbon. Be honest: Are you moved, truly, to see any of those movies again? (I’ve got kind of a soft spot for Barton Fink, but please.) This is the sort of heaviosity that only grows heavier, yet less profound, with the years.
Being honest, I’d say that Paris, Texas is still a pretty good movie. ¬†The White Ribbon, really? ¬†Again, one must call invoke Rilke. ¬†Is it really the movies or is it you?
I don’t know, folks. ¬†The way films are grouped up and routinely accepted or dismissed is a strange ritual. ¬†I can’t imagine what the films from Cannes 2010 will be that aren’t considered flawed works will be. ¬†The ones the critics seemed to like I found dry and uninteresting: Of Gods and Men (fine if you want to be on God’s side of things; I don’t), Copie Conforme (an experiment that was like dry humping). ¬†The ones I loved, like Poetry and The Housemaid weren’t exactly setting the status quo aflame with passion.
I will be interested to see what the jury chooses for the Palme d’Or later today. ¬†At the same time, I’m preparing for the reaction from the status quo – either they will be approving, or they won’t be. ¬†If it’s Biutiful, the dismissal of the jury and of the fest will be deafening. ¬†That’s Cannes for you, they will say, it’s about star directors and friendships.
Finally, Todd McCarthy has suggested that Inside Job, Charles Ferguson’s doc on the Wall Street meltdown, and the only film the status quo has unanimously agreed upon, should have been in the main competition because it might have won. ¬†But Inside Job is an American story, and American film made for Americans. ¬†Sure, some Europeans might find our folly interesting, but I can’t see how that should dominate an international film festival, a celebration of great cinema from around the world.
