LA LA
LAND A-
USA (128 mi) 2016 ‘Scope d: Damien
Chazelle
A critically acclaimed Hollywood revival that owes its
artistic soul to Jacques Demy and his lavishly colorful musicals of the
60’s, The
Umbrellas of Cherbourg (Les Parapluies de Cherbourg) (1964) and The
Young Girls of Rochefort (Les demoiselles de Rochefort) (1967), as Demy
was a great admirer of the Golden Age of MGM Hollywood musicals, where his
films were basically a love letter to the Hollywood movies of the 40’s and
50’s, incorporating the dreamy music of Michel Legrand and bleak elements of
poetic realism into his bursting kaleidoscope of colors that vibrantly come
alive onscreen through movement and dance. A key to understanding
Demy’s films was the effortless naturalism on display, where he didn’t hire the
best choreographer or music instructor, as the singing and dancing were not
legendary, but simply incorporated into the rhythm of the picture, part of the
DNA of the product, so characters didn’t walk so much as skip and twirl down
the street, where this visualized fantasy world included the bit players who
simply exited gracefully offscreen, so that the totality onscreen was always
greater than the sum of the parts. With that in mind, this film
takes a while for the full effect to kick in, as at least initially it feels
forced, opening without an introduction to any of the characters, so there’s no
emotional connection established, yet it breaks into a show-stopping opening
number that only reluctantly generates interest. Set in a typical
Los Angeles freeway traffic jam where the traffic isn’t moving at all, where
one’s patience is at the boiling point, one by one people start coming out of
their cars, singing and dancing, climbing on the roofs of cars, creating this
fantasized, color-coordinated alternate reality that makes the wasted time feel
a little more bearable. What works is that the misery caused by this
kind of freeway logjam is real, something we can all relate to, where our minds
tend to wander anyway, so why not allow an outpouring of an over-sized
imagination in response? So while it’s bit contrived, reality
quickly kicks back in gear once the cars start moving again, where an unlikely
road rage encounter between strangers (the two protagonists) results in typical
hostility and disdain.
Only afterwards are the characters introduced, where Mia
(Emma Stone) works as a barista in a corner coffee shop on the grounds of a
Warner Brothers movie studio, where important people come in and out, people
used to being ogled and pampered, often complaining of the service, where the
employees are star struck by being so close to movie stars. When a
customer accidentally spills coffee on her white blouse just before an
audition, it does not bode well for her getting the job, probably more
embarrassed than anything else, yet the rudeness of the people she is trying to
impress stands out, cutting her off in mid-sentence, with some not even looking
up from their phones. Meanwhile, Sebastian (Ryan Gosling) lives in a
near-empty apartment where none of the boxes are even opened as he wonders how
he’ll pay next month’s rent, visited by an over-controlling, financially secure
sister (Rosemarie DeWitt) who seems used to bossing him around trying to get
his life in order, where she gets under his last nerve before he heads off to
work as a jazz pianist forced to play Christmas tunes in an upscale restaurant,
the epitome of artistic humiliation, which he endures for as long as he can
before breaking into one of his own compositions, defying his boss’s strict
instructions, none other than J. K. Simmons from Whiplash (2014). When
Mia returns home, she has a giant Ingrid Bergman poster on the wall next to her
bed, with a bedroom filled with Hollywood tributes. Her roommates, all in
different colored attire, break out into song trying to cheer her up by
inviting her to a posh party that evening. After initially blowing
it off, she decides to join them at the last minute, but feels completely out
of place in such an artificially contrived upscale environment. Making
things worse, she’s forced to walk home, as her car has been
towed. Hearing a lilting melody as she passes the restaurant, a lovely
jazz riff with a beautifully melancholic theme, she is drawn inside at the
exact moment Sebastian is getting fired for disobedience, recognizing him from
the earlier road incident, but ignoring her complimentary remarks as he steams
past her out the door, soon to become a distant memory.
Months pass before they meet again, this time at another
poolside Hollywood party where Sebastian’s hiding behind dark sunglasses
playing electronic keyboards in an 80’s pop cover band, the evening’s
entertainment, so she plays along and offers a song request, doing a blatantly
fake dance in response that is actually kind of cute, showing signs of an all
but absent personality. Walking to their cars afterwards, the only
emotion they share is utter sarcasm, reaching an overlook showcasing the
glimmering city of lights, where despite their pretend contempt, they break out
into an elegant song and dance, swinging on a lamplight in a riff of Gene Kelly
and Debbie Reynolds in SINGIN IN THE RAIN (1952), lamenting how such “A Lovely
Night” is wasted by being with someone who is so clearly not interested, yet
for the first time a spark of magic is in the air, where we’re beginning to get
the charm of these two delightful characters. When Sebastian shows
up at the coffee shop, all bets are off, as they walk through a studio lot as
if they’re gliding on air, suddenly hanging on every word, confessing their
innermost dreams, as she’s been striving to become a successful actress since
she was a little girl, while he’s always wanted to be the owner of his own jazz
club, where the chemistry between them is electric. When she blurts
out “I hate jazz,” suggesting it reminds her of Kenny G and elevator muzak, the
kind of stuff that sends you to sleep, he’s compelled to reach into his soul
and reveal what makes it so alive for him, suggesting every jazz musician
composes their own spontaneously created symphony that is different every
night, challenged by the musicians around him, the changing moods, constantly
discovering new territory while playing onstage. It’s a kind of free
form poetry that only exists in this intrinsically American art form that began
by blacks playing live music in the brothels and bars of New Orleans, including
Louis Armstrong, one of the most influential figures whose career spanned five
decades, literally introducing a new style of music to the entire
world. His enthusiasm is so apparent she can’t help but be moved by
his passion, where he later brings her to a small jazz club where they are
literally smitten. This conversion, of sorts, has a way of
persuading the viewers to give this kind of movie a chance, where jazz and cinema
are synonymous with a treasure-trove of history, where all you have to do is
kick back and enjoy, allowing the artistry to work its
wonders.
Much of the film does exactly that, borrowing from the past,
replicating some of the wondrous moments of movie history, where couples would
fall in love and find themselves transformed by imaginary Hollywood backlot
sets that couldn’t be more luxuriously decorated, transcending the limitations
of theatrical space, where we watch the couple float through the stars of the
Griffith Observatory, waltzing into the air as planets and galaxies roll
by. This is thoroughly enchanting stuff, where it’s hard not to be
moved by the changing moods of the romantic couple whose lives become a
brilliant mind-altering fantasia that comes to represent their unspoken
interior worlds, filled with a dazzling elegance that literally fills the
screen, shot by cinematographer Linus Sandgren in extra-wide
CinemaScope. Most of this has been seen before, where it’s like a
collection from movie history, but the most poignant moments are reserved for
just the two of them, as the viewers become invested in their characters once
they reveal themselves to us with such brazen authenticity. The film
uses the changing seasons as chapter headings that invoke different periods of
their lives, which don’t always mesh as we might expect. Perhaps the
biggest contrast comes when Sebastian is hired to play keyboards in a popular
jazz fusion band called The Messengers lead by an old school friend Keith (John
Legend), complete with a singer, scantily clad dancers, and other MTV music
video looks, where he’s finally making money, but growing farther away from his
dream. Their onstage performance couldn’t be more hostile to the
film’s artistic concept, yet it represents what’s more customarily accepted in
the modern world, where the format is to make a record, then go on the road for
a year or so promoting the music. This has a disastrous effect on
their relationship, while Mia devotes all her time writing and staging a
one-woman play that is an instant flop, sending her back home to the safety net
of her parents. With their dreams deferred, a single event changes
the status quo of avoidance and disinterest, offering Mia, and perhaps even their
relationship another chance. Her audition is the most personalized
and poignant moment of the film, “The Fools Who Dream,” (“Here’s to the hearts
that ache, / Here’s to the mess we make”), becoming a mantra for the
thousands of people who have flocked to Hollywood having this exact same dream,
just hoping they might get their chance, but the exhilaration of most are left
dejected and disillusioned. The film imagines two completely
different endings, where one is like the flip side of the other, where you get
your fantasy fairy tale ending as well as a more realistic possibility, where
both are one in a million chances, but all it takes is that one lucky
break. Mia’s heartfelt audition is easily the most original
aspect of the film and is the one scene that far and away distinguishes it from
the rest, as overall the film feels more like a recreative montage of cinematic
scenes and styles that came before. Chazelle has stylishly created a
melodramatic tearjerker, a musical film fantasia, and a sure audience pleaser.
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