YOUNG ADAM A-
Great Britain France (98 mi)
2002 ‘Scope d:
David Mackenzie
If ever anyone says to you, “You can put that where the sun
don’t shine,” think of this film, a deeply probing, excessively gloomy adaptation
of Scottish beat author Alexander Trocchi’s novel. Ambiguously set in postwar Scotland, this is
a tense, sexually explicit lower class version of Polanski’s KNIFE IN THE WATER
(1962) with a brilliant cast, the ménage à trois, Les and Ella, played by Peter
Mullan and Tilda Swinton, an unhappy couple with a young son onboard who
transport post-WWII fuel rations on a barge up and down the narrow canals from
Glasgow to Edinburgh, who take on hired help in the form of Ewan McGregor who
plays Joe, a chain-smoking, handsome lothario, a self-absorbed character
largely based on the author himself, who was a heroin addict with squandered
talent. Filled with an attention to
detail, few words, and an endlessly gray mood, the film opens on the docks as
they sweep a woman out of the harbor dressed only in a flimsy petticoat. Shortly afterwards, Joe is staring at Tilda
Swinton’s every move, sharing close quarters underneath the decks of the barge,
concealing little from her husband. In
this film, no words are needed, and after a brief sexual escapade outdoors on the
grassy slopes, when Joe tries to say something, Ella cuts him off quickly,
“You’ve said enough for one evening.” In
a series of well-placed flashbacks, Joe is seen meeting and romancing the
drowned woman found in the water, Cathie (Emily Mortimer), picking her up on
the beach, moving away onto the concealment of rocks where they have sex,
learning more about their deteriorating relationship but only as the film
progresses, where it seems to be moving in slow motion backwards and forwards,
all at the same time. The style is
absorbing, moody, incredibly detached, but extraordinarily focused on each
single moment at hand, which when gone, seems to have never meant very much to
anyone at all, as if all is lost in a deep abyss of an existential void. Easily comparable to the most famous barge
movie of all time, Jean Vigo’s L'Atalante
(1934), which also happens to be the name of the barge (The Atlantic Eve), this
lacks the surging romanticism and optimistic feel and instead embarks upon a
more somber and fatalistic mood that is diametrically opposed to Vigo, a
downbeat depiction of working class social realism that accentuates physical
intimacy, where Joe screws every woman he meets, with the audience sympathies
and overall view of his character slowly deteriorating over time. The story moves to the murder trial of the
drowned girl, becoming a morality tale, as the police seem to be accusing the
wrong man, which sparks the interest of Joe, who slowly, but surely, falls
farther and farther from grace. With an
intriguing soundtrack by Talking Head’s David Byrne, the title, one assumes,
refers to original sin. To quote Michael
Wilmington, “This is an unvarnished, pitiless look at real life by a man who
knows his character is deeply flawed and does nothing to disguise or excuse
it.”
Interesting parallels exist between Vigo, whose life was cut
short by tuberculosis, actually directing part of L'Atalante
from a stretcher, and the author Alexander Trocchi who wrote his novel from the
drugged stupor of a lifelong heroin addiction.
Instead of believing in love, the underlying power of Vigo’s film, this
is all about sex, viewed as a short-term substitute where there is no
possibility of love. One main difference
in the film is the lack of an inner narration, which is provided by Joe in the
book, instead the film wordlessly sees the world through his eyes. A gritty depiction of working class life,
this parallels the poetic realism of Vigo’s film, both offering sumptuously
beautiful cinematography (in this case Giles Nuttgen), but this film couldn’t
feel more claustrophobic, as the cramped quarters inside the boat are squeezed
right next to each other, with paper thin walls offering no privacy to speak
of, with Joe using reading a book as an excuse not to go into town with Les, or
cuts his visits to the pub short, as his real purpose is to have moments alone
with Ella, growing used to each other after a while, even bored, as is
suggested when he watches a fly sitting atop her naked breast, which holds
little interest anymore. Simultaneously,
Joe is seen staying at home attempting to write on a typewriter while Cathie
works all day, but he fails miserably, a writer with no inspiration, usually in
a sour mood when she gets home, or drunk, treating her terribly, at times like
a sexual predator. This picture of
domesticated bliss is always soiled and stained, a picture of opportunities
wasted, yet she yearns for the stability while that most of all is what feels
like its breathing down his neck, suffocating him, offering him no relief, eventually
making a quick exit. This failed
relationship is what leads him to Les, seeing him throw his typewriter away
into the river, offering him a job on the barge, where Joe is viewed as just
another drifter. There’s another scene
in the film that’s not in the book, a moment when Ella’s young son falls into
the canal, with Joe jumping in headfirst to save him, perhaps offering a bit of
sympathy to this otherwise wayward character, suggesting he’s capable of moral
decisions even as he openly flaunts behavior that suggests otherwise, having
regular sex with Ella right under the nose of Les, thinking only of himself,
taking advantage of every opportunity, showing no regard for others. Pretending to express little interest in the
ongoing investigation surrounding the drowned girl, the seemingly unflappable Joe
is fooling no one, least of all the audience, while Les just wants to see his
name in the papers. Their closeness is
revealed, however, in a scene scrubbing each other’s backs, wiping the coal
dust off their bodies, which is done without an ounce of pretense, where it’s
simply viewed as a necessity. Along with
trips together into town to visit pubs, this friendly male bonding on the one
hand and willful sexual promiscuity with his wife on the other reveal the moral
divide that actually defines this picture.
Moody and extremely atmospheric throughout, while there is an
idealized freedom that comes with the barge, with no set hours, no punching the
clock, living on the river away from the noise and traffic of the city, the
film does an excellent job revealing a near-documentary view of ordinary life
traversing the narrow bridges and locks along the river, loading and hauling a
variety of commodities. None of the
other characters have much character development, though Swinton makes Ella proud
and self-aware while Cathie completely surrenders her dignity and self-respect,
instead focusing upon Joe’s sexual exploits, showing little affection and even
less responsibility. Through a series of
flashbacks Joe’s despicable inner character comes more prominently into view,
in particular a defining scene that reunites Joe with Cathie, accidentally
running into one another sometime after they split up, where they strip naked
and have sex in the dirt and grime under a truck, hardly a romanticized view,
as instead it’s just another depiction of loveless sex. When she announces she’s pregnant, Joe grows
alarmed and immediately defensive, angrily suggesting he may not be the father.
And while she acknowledges having
another lover, a likeable plumber named Daniel, there is no question in her
mind who the father is. Gathering his
things to walk away, she chases after him and slips along the riverbank falling
into the darkness of the river with no sign of her afterwards. Seemingly paralyzed into inaction, Joe
gathers all her clothes and throws them into the river as well, wiping his
fingerprints from anything he can recall touching. Taking an avid interest in the trial
afterwards, as Daniel is being charged with murder for the death of Cathie, the
film takes a turn into social injustice, as a wronged man is condemned to die,
yet it’s just another day in the ordinary lives of a working underclass, making
their positions clear in the crowded pubs where gossip takes center stage,
eager to equate sex with criminal intent, becoming morbidly intriguing to Joe
who listens transfixed to what is being said without ever uttering a solitary
word, witnessing a developing lynch mob mentality ready to convict this
innocent man. Joe on the other hand
conveniently runs away, away from himself and his conscience, like he’s always
done. And while the book may be an
existential critique of a disconnected bourgeois society that is no longer in
touch with its own moral values, the film is more of a psychological study of
Joe’s own moral failings, expressing a near pathological indifference inherent
with his own failure to adjust to the constantly changing world around
him. Far from innocent himself, his
crimes are those of narcissistic indulgence, apathy, and self-disgust. Joe’s connection to the corpse is
intentionally withheld until the latter stages of the film, allowing viewers
some clue into the kind of man he is, a morally irredeemable character, where
any Dostoyevskian guilt or anguish are simply beyond his grasp.
Do you know any films where a mother wears a bikini in at least one scene?
ReplyDeleteJulianne Moore in Boogie Nights comes to mind.
ReplyDelete