The Deep End

 

Writing/directing team Scott McGehee and David Siegel

Scott McGehee

David Siegel

Tilda Swinton on the set

THE DEEP END                    A-                                                                                                  USA  (101 mi)  2001  ‘Scope  d: Scott McGehee and David Siegel

Among the early film appearances of Tilda Swinton following her work with English artist and experimental filmmaker Derek Jarman in the 80’s and 90’s, starring in Sally Potter’s ORLANDO (1992), also Tim Roth’s The War Zone (1999) and David Mackenzie’s Young Adam (2002), but this is the film that put her on the map, a stylishly made atmospheric neo-noir murder mystery that is a remake of Max Ophüls’ last Hollywood film, The Reckless Moment (1949), which was about the hidden crime of slavery within a family, and by extension within society, with two major departures from the original, the transformation of the rebellious teenage daughter into a teenage gay son, while the subject of race is left out entirely by removing the character of the black maid.  This remake also lacks the sophisticated irony of Ophüls, a subversive trademark of his work.  Both films are adapted from American novelist and short story writer Elisabeth Sanxay Holding’s The Blank Wall, first appearing as a story in The Ladies Homes Journal in 1947.  Holding is a suspense writer who excelled at the exploration of domestic unease, a favorite of both Hitchcock and Raymond Chandler, though this film reinterprets the blankness of “the blank wall” in a new way, as the female lead protagonist, a soccer mom, discovers her comfortable middle-class life is built on a lie, yet her awareness is tied to the terror of existence, a terror emanating from the metaphysical void lying beneath the surface in “the deep end” of ordinary life.  Film noir peaked in the 1940’s, with a focus on crime, corruption, and a cynical look at humanity, though they tend to be thrillers, crime dramas, or gangster films, emphasizing an imagery of shadows drawn from an earlier era of German Expressionist cinema.  Typically they tend to get more existential, often exploring a suffocating isolation of humanity and the claustrophobic nature of our limited existence.  McGehee and Siegel are a San Francisco writing/directing/producing team, kind of like the Coen brothers, or the Dardennes, probably the only partnership of longevity which isn’t romantic or fraternal, but neither attended film school, nonetheless McGehee has a PhD in Japanese cinema from Berkeley and Siegel is a trained architect, yet American postwar melodramas had an enormous impact upon them, updating a 40’s women’s melodrama into their own modernist noir style, where David is straight while Scott is openly gay.  That figures prominently in their rewrite, as historically gay characters in fiction and film are routinely killed off in short order, bringing a complex history of cinematic gay panic to the idea of having a closeted gay child, where the protective mothering goes into overdrive here, escalating to heroic proportions as Margaret Hall (Tilda Swinton in one of her finest performances) bravely tries to protect her family at home while her husband is off commanding an aircraft carrier in the Pacific, forcing her to discover a new strength in herself, a sense of power she had not known before.  Emphatically resonating is the cinematic flourish from British cinematographer Giles Nuttgens, who worked with Scottish filmmaker David Mackenzie on Young Adam (2002), HALLAM FOE (2007), and Hell or High Water (2016), while the setting is magnificent, beautifully shot in Lake Tahoe, the same place as THE GODFATHER (1972, 1974), featuring wide expansive shots of the breathtaking vistas while Swinton has an extraordinary ability to also work in close-ups, where structures are revealed with complete clarity, concentrating on closed compositions, isolating the protagonists in closely-confined spaces, elegantly capturing an upscale residence along the lake, where the placid tranquility of the water is actually a mirage, as an overwhelming sense of dread lurks under the surface, something this film shares with Sean Penn’s The Pledge (2001) and Todd Fields’ In the Bedroom (2001).  In a subversion of noir, many of the most psychologically intense moments occur in the bright sunshine, and while Swinton is not your typical femme fatale, exhibiting a strong moral fiber as opposed to emotional damage, she is an otherwise decent character who is driven into the moral abyss of a seedy underworld, yet her femme fatale appearance in a bright red coat late in the film causes even her son to do a doubletake.     

Something of a psychological thriller where Margaret is forced to reckon with the idea of being a woman alone, she is stripped of her identity as a mother or housewife, suddenly confronted with a chilly existential emptiness when the walls of middle-class comfort come crashing down, as her bourgeois home comes under siege from a blackmailer, Alek Spera (Goran Višnjić), leaving her exposed and on her own, where her terrifying moments of isolation are the most chilling moments of the film.  Sexually repressed, half a globe away from her husband, and incapable of openly discussing the subject of homosexuality, yet just as driven to keep this from her husband, Margaret’s role as a woman and mother is put through the emotional wringer.  Two worlds collide, the natural blue water of the lake surrounded by green alpine forests, and the urban corruption and manufactured sins from the gambling city of Reno, where Margaret goes to confront Darby Reese (Josh Lucas), the unsavory owner of a gay nightclub known as The Deep End, where the décor is like being inside an aquarium, warning him to stay away from her teenage son Beau (Jonathan Tucker).  But when she finds Reese’s body along the beach outside her house the next morning, the gears of her brain start wondering how to deal with a corpse whose presence could destroy her family, as a rush of adrenaline from a sense of panic sets in, uncertain what role her son played in his death, but she assumes he had something to do with it, so she does everything she can to conceal the body and protect her son, where her cool composure under intense pressure is quite literally shocking.  Wrapping the body in a tarp, she drives her small dinghy across the lake to a peaceful cove and dumps it, surrounded only by water and empty sky, though by dumping the still visible body in shallow water, the film emphasizes the thin line that separates secrets from exposure, a key underlying theme.  Surprised to see his shiny blue Corvette parked outside afterwards, she’s forced to take a second trip across the lake and dive for the missing car keys still attached to his body, becoming more desperate and increasingly dangerous, finding herself alone in the middle of nowhere, before successfully driving the car back to Reno.  While all of this kicks into motion, she also has to look after her three kids, fixing them lunches and dinners, getting them to sports activities and ballet and music lessons (her daughter is a ballet dancer and car mechanic), while also looking after her elderly father-in-law, Jack (Peter Donat), without arousing suspicions, yet conversations are constantly interrupted or fail to materialize altogether.  Accustomed to emergencies, she feels frustrated by her inability to handle the volatile nature of her son, who is exploring his own identity issues, yet both skate around the subject, where both mother and son assume the other committed the murder.  Adding more fuel to the fire is an unexpected visit from a lurking blackmailer who produces one naughty X-rated video of her son that links him to the dead man, footage Reese secretly shot himself, which she’s cruelly forced to watch, something no mother should have to witness, leaving her with an overriding sense of helplessness.  For $50,000, he promises to make it go away, otherwise he will hand the tape over to police, implicating Beau in the murder, suggesting it’s merely a business proposition, as they were apparently blackmailing Reese before his unfortunate demise, so now they’re simply transferring his debt onto her. 

According to Roger Ebert in his review, The Deep End movie review & film summary (2001), “Tilda Swinton is the key.  She is always believable as this harassed, desperate, loving mother.  She projects a kind of absorption in her task; she juggles blackmail, murder, bank loans, picking up the kids after school—it’s as if the ordinary tasks keep her sane enough to deal with the dangers that surround her.”  In one scene we see Margaret swimming laps in a pool, hoping to escape the terrors of the present, reaching the pool’s edge gasping for breath, as if she is drowning, mirroring her excursion on the lake, where the physical and emotional demands are taking their toll, feeling overwhelmed and under constant assault, yet leaving no family trace of the exasperation she is experiencing.  Her desperate attempt to raise the requested money fails for a variety of reasons, none looming larger than the bank requires her husband’s signature for a withdrawal of that magnitude, and, of course, he’s completely inaccessible.  Beau is already in over his head, having just barely survived a drunk driving car wreck with Reese, which sent alarm bells flashing for his mother, and now she’s hiding a corpse.  He’s just a kid applying for musical scholarships at prestigious universities, where these adolescent decisions could adversely affect his entire life, and while she may want to respect his privacy, she’s forced to tiptoe around the parent-child boundary lines, never confronting him directly.  “He’s just a friend, that’s all,” Beau insists, not knowing she’s already seen damning evidence.  These roles reverse near the end of the film, with Margaret suggesting Spera is “a friend, just a friend,” though Beau suspects otherwise.  A life-altering event happens in between, as Jack suffers a heart attack on the floor of their home that brings him to the precipice of death, with Spera simultaneously arriving to collect the money she doesn’t have, only to see her sprawled on the floor administering mouth-to-mouth, screaming for help, with Spera applying CPR chest compressions that actually save his live.  Coincidentally, Višnjić also played a dashingly handsome emergency room doctor on the television show ER for ten years from 1999 to 2009.  Their relationship goes through a surprising transformation, having been brought into her life in such an intimate and personalized manner, creating underlying sexual tension, which is a fundamental contradiction for any blackmailer, and the irony is not lost on either of them.  Spera develops a heightened appreciation for the position he is putting her in, aware of her entrapment, drawing an explicit parallel with his own entrapment in criminality, where he’s a foot soldier in a larger criminal enterprise run by Carlie Nagle (Raymond J. Barry), who’s only interested in getting his money, using blunt force if necessary, convinced she is lying about not being able to raise the money.  This all comes to a head in the boathouse, exactly where Beau and Reese had their earlier tussle, exploding with the same kind of senseless violence that spins even further into the void of darkness, resulting in a horrific accident, with Beau witnessing his mother’s intense anguish, changing his perception of her forever.  This neo-noir thriller unearths moral implications of repressed sexuality and muted familial communication, yet the sexual theme creates an unusual bond between mother and son, bringing them closer together, while keeping it a secret from their absent father who would not understand, as Beau moves from teenage resentment to an adult capable of understanding her as a person, not simply as his mother.  This is a movie about secrets and their unintended consequences, creating elaborate ambiguities, contradictions, and misunderstandings, where the sudden violent death that drives the plot could not have happened and would not have had the same consequences without the specific dynamics of this family.  In the end we are left wondering whether those dynamics can ever be the same again.

The Mend

THE MEND               C+                  

USA  (111 mi)  2014  ‘Scope  d:  John Magary

Otherwise known as squalor and self-loathing in New York City.  While this is undoubtedly uncompromising indie filmmaking, it joins a field of miserablist outsiderism, like Mumblecore, that distinguishes itself by being outside the mainstream of conventional filmmaking, eschewing any narrative approach or the idea that characters onscreen need to have some redeeming quality.  Instead it seems to thrive on its own intentional discomfort that some identify as comedy, but more likely adheres to a state of continual dysfunction.  Much like Andrew Bujalski was predicted as being the second coming of a new generation of American indie filmmakers by Amy Taubin in Film Comment, perfectly capturing the ambivalence of the slacker lifestyle, describing Bujalski “as a poet of demurral, hesitation, and noncommitment in whose films there are as many minute variations of meaning implied by the phrases ‘I don’t know’ and ‘I mean’ as there are said to be words for snow in the languages of the Inuit.”  Others have made their own predictions about the future of the indie movement, but if this film proves anything, it is that intentionally alienating audiences comes at a cost, and that is that few will actually show up to see it, and fewer still will “like” it.  What it does have going for it is an abstract musical soundtrack and sound design by Judd Greenstein and Michi Wiancko that has been woven into the fabric of the film like some sort of expressionist mosaic, where the idea that it doesn’t fit is felt throughout, yet that is predominantly the intention.  In this way it can be said that this film in its finished product is exactly what the filmmaker intended.  Of that one has little doubt.  Where it struggles is with the idea that all provocation is good, so that one is not accused of complacency.  This is a film filled with unlikable characters, a trend that may have started with the lead character in the Coen brother’s Inside Llewyn Davis (2012), who is such a fuck up with everyone he encounters that audiences begin laughing at just how pathetic he really is.  This film was written with that idea in mind, where like watching cartoons, some in the audience will find it hilarious to watch just how excruciatingly screwed up these guys actually are, incapable of dealing with even the most trivial moments without alienating everyone around them with revoltingly obnoxious behavior.  Without an actual story, the film is instead a series of these unfortunate incidents strung together over a period of time, where each sequence is presented with meticulous scrutiny, where little is left to the imagination. While it has the feel of life happening spontaneously, it is instead scripted down to every last detail, where there is some question whether anything about this method is actually interesting.  Some contend they are mesmerized, but they are likely to be in the minority, or high on weed, as most will simply tune out. 

Perhaps a better example of this is David Gordon Green’s Manglehorn (2014), which features a truly miserable lead character as portrayed by Al Pacino, yet the performance is outstanding, where audiences are riveted in their seats wondering what craziness he’ll pull off next.  That is not the case in these low budget productions that don’t have the luxury to hire Al Pacino, though many have given similar high marks to Josh Lucas in this film.  While it is admittedly different than what he’s normally asked to do, that doesn’t mean it’s better, and one could argue that it’s a new low.  A barely revealed yet central theme of the film is the social effect of smartphones on the modern generation, where they spend so much time connected to electronic gadgetry that they’ve forgotten how to communicate with other members of the human species.  While this is ostensibly a relationship film, showing how little effort is exerted in actually trying to remain in the good graces of others, thinking instead that it’s too much effort, so one always ends up alone with their smartphone, as if that’s all they really need to get by.  Remaining connected even while taking a shower, it’s one of the few films that actually shows the debilitating effects from a dependency on smartphones and how it interferes with one’s striving for love, where like Joaquin Phoenix in Spike Jonze’s Her (2013), one falls in love with the smartphone instead of an actual person, as there’s too much energy involved dealing with the staggering unexpectedness of human deficiencies when people aren’t what you think or expect they are, but are something else altogether apparently too difficult to figure out.  Computer technology, other than the occasional connectedness interruptions, is exactly what we think it is, remaining as devoted and predictable as the loyal lapdog.  One of the common elements of Andrew Bujalski or Mumblecore films is the extraordinary ambivalence of the characters who have trouble committing to anything, even an idea, much less another human being.   So these films often show people stumbling around in the throes of various states of indecisiveness, where uncommon attention is paid to each minute detail involved in the present moment, where not much of anything happens, as each episode is some variation of Beckett’s Waiting for Godot lovable losers, Vladimir and Estragon, chatting endlessly as they wait in vain for something significantly important to happen in their lives, all triggered, apparently, by the existential absence of faith in God, so what on earth is there to believe in?  Undoubtedly the answer lies in paying attention to one’s self.  And therein lies the biggest difficulty with these films, where one grows exceedingly tired of the juvenile, self-absorbed nature of these exceedingly vain and self-centered human beings.  If the director is trying to hold up a mirror to society, it may no doubt reflect their own circle of friends, but it hardly matters beyond that short reach.  It in no way reflects America, but it may provide insight into a certain segment of indifferent, middle-class, white, educated, and overprivileged twentysomethings that are relatively bored with their lives, feeling they are entitled to and deserving of love, but aren’t willing to exert any effort in the event it’s not simply given to them. 

The question one always has to ask with these films is what’s the point?  Does this have any effect on my life?  Haven’t young adults always felt alienated and disconnected from their parent’s generation?  So what’s so different now?  These films would have you believe there’s a different element of hopelessness involved, as if there’s so many choices to be made that the easiest thing to do is to simply make no choices at all and do as little as possible, leaving as much open space as possible for doing whatever you want.  This lack of commitment or moral responsibility is a throwback to the Me Generation where all people want to think about is themselves.  That is perfectly reflected in this movie, which is comprised of small fragments of their lives, in no apparent order, where everyone wants to talk about themselves but no one wants to listen to others.  A couple toys with the idea of getting married, as Alan (Stephen Plunkett) has created the perfect vacation trip to Nova Scotia or parts unknown with his girlfriend Farrah (Mickey Sumner) for the sole purpose of proposing marriage.  Immediately prior to this major event, Alan has an all-night party in his apartment that seems to go on forever, where his annoying brother Mat (Josh Lucas) shows up, putting a damper on the event for anyone within earshot range, though the highlight is a visit from a psychedelic friend of their father Earl (Austin Pendleton), a throwback to the 60’s revealing all kids of icky information about the kinky sexual habits of their mother and father, driving Mat into drinking excessively to the point of passing out, ignored the following morning when Alan and Farrah head out on their new adventure.  Meanwhile, Mat remains a constant parasitic fixture in their apartment, a lowlife and leech with no ambition whatsoever who’s perfectly comfortable taking advantage of the hospitality offered by others, until quickly wearing out his welcome when he’s forced to inhabit another warm body and sucks the blood out of that creature as well.  This is how he survives.  Leading the life of a bum, his depravity and slovenly habits kick in with no one around to tell him what to do, so he doesn’t do anything except drink excessively and criticize others to the point of exhaustion.  When Alan returns unexpectedly, as things apparently did not go according to plan (no explanation offered), he settles into his brother’s biorhythm of doing as little as possible, staying out all night drinking while passed out sleeping during the day.  Inevitably the two get on each other’s nerves and argue about their differences, where their frustrations rise to a boil, spilling over into their empty and meaningless lives, where they’re each incapable of doing the most basic things in taking care of themselves, refusing to exert an ounce of energy to wash dishes or clean things up, instead living in a cesspool of their own making.  This regression into childhood where they’re waiting for their mother or some significant other to clean up their messes for them feels typical of an overly pampered generation who has had everything done for them, as they’re overly consumed with only doing what they want to do, even if that means doing nothing at all.  While there is excruciating detail built into the absurdity of each moment, the musical dissonance heard throughout accurately reflects the emotional discord felt throughout, where nothing is ever communicated except anger and dysfunction.  In the end, as in the beginning, there’s some question as to whether they’ve arrived anywhere.