2017 Top Ten List #5 Columbus

COLUMBUS             A  

USA  (104 mi)  2017  d:  Kogonada

This is the film Jim Jarmusch was trying to make in Paterson (2016), as it’s infinitely more meditative, using conversations to explore things that matter to people, including starkly poetic imagery based entirely on the local architecture of the region, yet the biggest surprise is the complexity of the subject matter, dramatically spare, interjecting a strange combination of moods and personal thoughts that continually broaden to become universally recognized themes, where there’s more love in this one film than any ten films combined seen earlier this year.  It’s an ever-expanding work that operates on so many different levels, not the least of which is a stunning visual design, making this among the more eye-appealing films seen in years.  Who knew all these tiny secrets were kept hidden in the heartland of Columbus, Indiana, (birthplace of sitting Vice-President Mike Pence), a small Midwest town that is showcased like never before.  THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY (1995) gave rise to massive tourist interest where a curious public wanted to see those historical bridges in their original settings, driving through various country roads to get there, while this may have a similar effect to the tourist business of Columbus, as this film gives it a unique appeal that is nothing less than eye-opening.  Envisioned by a first-time director, Korean-born Kogonada, who was writing a Ph.D. dissertation on Ozu when he realized he wanted to be a filmmaker himself, better known for conceiving online video essays, which includes the infamous Kubrick One-Point Perspective, many of which can be seen on Vimeo here: https://vimeo.com/kogonada.  In a strange twist, much of the dialogue is actually spoken too quietly, barely above a whisper, where bits and pieces may be inaudible, but viewers won’t miss anything and can easily follow the path of the storyline, which is brilliantly written, enhanced by the performances of its two stars, John Cho, more familiar as Sulu in the Star Trek (2009) movies, and Hayley Lu Richardson, a welcome surprise who resembles Jennifer Grey in DIRTY DANCING (1987), an All-American girl whose warmth and sweetness overrides her obvious talent and intellectual insight, yet her moral integrity is impeccable.  The two come together almost by accident, as Cho plays Jin, the son of a famous Korean architect who is in town to give a speech on architecture, but suffers a heart attack, leaving him in a coma, with his son flying in from Seoul to be at his side, met in the hospital by his wife, none other than Parker Posey, who is something of a scholar in her own right.  Richardson, on the other hand, plays Casey, a home town resident working in the library while voluntarily leading architectural tours, who was planning to attend the speech before it was abruptly cancelled, and overhears Jin in the hospital speaking about his father.   

It’s surprising to discover an old-fashioned town of 46,000 is home to a staggering number of public works projects, more than 60 civic buildings designed by some of the famous names of 20th century architecture, with seven currently designated as national historic landmarks (Seven national historic landmarks in one small ... - Columbus, Indiana).  First and foremost, in terms of the film, is The Inn at Irwin Gardens (irwingardens.com), a beautiful stone structure set amongst trees and gardens overlooking a vast expanse of freshly mowed green grass leading to a wall of imposing trees that can feel mesmerizing, while the ornate interior, as Jin confesses, moving into the room reserved by his father, feels like living inside a museum, where he’s afraid he’ll break something.  The opulence on display greets viewers with a sign of what’s to come, as every shot is perfectly framed, where the exact precision is like a moving art exhibit, with the director integrating the neo-futuristic architectural works of Eero and Eliel Saarinen, Myron Goldsmith, Kevin Roche, Harry Weese, Cesar Pelli, Richard Meier, Deborah Berke, Robert Venturi, Michael Van Valkenburgh, Eliot Noyes, I.M. Pei, and Pei’s protégé James Polshek, among others (All of the architects of Columbus – a list) throughout his film, leading 20th-century figures whose works are infused with the imaginations of other masterminds, like sculptor Henry Moore, but also including interior designers and landscape architects, where the post office, newspaper offices, banks, churches, libraries, fire stations, ice-cream shop (with marble counters and a self-playing organ), city hall, courthouses, even the prison, along with other brilliantly designed structures become the strongest component of the film, where lives exist within the shadow of public art installations, whose daunting influence imposes its will over all, where few can fail to be moved by the harmonious beauty of these designs.  In this way, the present meets the past with an everpresent look toward the future, exploring something fundamental about what it is to be human.  Shot in just 18 days, using drawings ahead of time from Japanese illustrator Mihoko Takata who designed six of the film’s scenes, all without ever visiting Columbus, the film examines the complicated relationship each lead character has with their parents, as Jin was basically estranged from his father, never really trusting the influence of architecture, while Casey’s mother is a recovering meth addict now working in a packaging plant, believing she needs to stay at home to take care of her, as she may fall into relapse without her, even if that means foregoing her own future.  Despite these differences, the two embark on a friendship, with Casey overhearing him speaking Korean on the phone, surprised to learn he speaks English.  Both are intelligent and well-educated, with Casey having a longstanding interest in architecture, studying the influence it has in her home town, where its immediate effect is more personal with her, while Jin views it from afar, believing it was crammed down his throat by his father, so he’s familiar with the artists and their theories, but the emotional abyss that stands between himself and his father clouds any and all interest, so instead he’s fascinated by what draws Casey to it, as there’s an understated, near invisible force driving her passion.  Throughout the film they visit various sites, commenting on what they think, offering personal revelations, where the candid conversational style resembles the spontaneity of Richard Linklater’s BEFORE TRILOGY, though it never rises to a level of romanticism or sexual interest, just a budding friendship, exploring the impact they have on each other, which seems to shift and change as they go along. 

Many may think the roots of this film may be Roberto Rossellini’s divorce among the ruins film, Journey to Italy (1954), where the visualization of the camera integrates character, in particular the psychological mindset of Ingrid Bergman, with the remnants of decaying artworks scattered around Naples, mirroring her deteriorating relationship, suggesting an impermanence in human relationships, a film that may have opened the door to modernism.  But a closer inspection suggests it may actually be closer to Antonioni, who specialized in creating a sense of space between characters in order to heighten the emotional distance, framing his films with an almost mathematical precision, shooting through doorways, windows, or hallways, always acutely aware of architectural lines, as if the camera was peering at the characters through the prism of history and Western civilization.  Antonioni was cinema’s premiere modernist, creating profound meditations on emptiness, with isolated characters searching for meaning in the boredom of their rich and comfortable bourgeois lives, finding themselves disoriented by the changing landscape, where the weight of classicism has been replaced by sleek modernist structures with glassy exteriors, using electronic-infused sound designs to enhance alienation.  This sounds like what Kogonada has in mind, also writing and editing the film, bringing to light the blind spots in his characters, exploring what’s holding them back, especially when surrounded by such massively expressive architectural works that seem to be speaking out to them, beckoning them, radically breaking from the past, exploring new ideas in design, making conceptual use of space, at times therapeutically integrated with the surrounding natural world, which impacts viewers in a symbiotic manner, calling out to and challenging their basic instincts, impacting how they feel, if only they can learn to read the signals.  In this sense, Kogonada is actually building on the Antonioni legacy of existentialism, as these buildings have a fixed position, a place of permanency, offering a restorative energy, even a consoling power of healing, like spirits that speak in the night, or ghosts of the past, unnoticed, largely forgotten, like submerged memories that only come to life when we choose to think of them, as the film literally asks what it means to live in a modern world.  While reaching for the profound, much of the film, rather humorously, takes place during smoking breaks, momentary pauses where people fill empty space, where near the end of the film Rory Culkin, Casey’s coworker at the library, finally confesses that he doesn’t even smoke, but just wanted to spend some time with her.  It’s a heartfelt confession with underlying overtones, but it also speaks to her human value and worth, something she questions throughout the film, wondering if there is more that she could do.  There is no mistaking, however, the closeness of her relationship to her mother, the polar opposite of Jin and his father, though both of their thoughts evolve over time, aided by their companionship.  Jin explains what he would be expected to do if he was living in Korea, which is stand by his father’s side to the bitter end, as a son should not allow his father to die alone.  But he simply doesn’t feel that way, as he can’t manufacture a closeness that doesn’t exist.  Now that his father is in a coma, it doesn’t close the distance or change how he feels about him.  Casey finds that view appalling and crude, almost prehistoric, where there is certainly room for growth.  Shot by cinematographer Elisha Christian, this is no ordinary indie film, but is a small gem that reaches for exalted heights, a coming-of-age story that  defies the typical sexual exploration and instead involves an intellectual awakening, where a sense of urgency accompanies each character’s curiosity, literally celebrating the purpose of the people and places that surround us.  Accentuated by a heightened sensory experience, Kogonada’s own sound design along with atmospheric music from an original score by the two-man Nashville band Hammock, the film challenges how art can effect human behavior, becoming a meditative study of human interaction, exploring a friendship that arises out of troubled circumstances, where emotions resonate among some of the most extraordinary fixtures of modern architecture.

The Academy of Muses (La academia de las musas)

THE ACADEMY OF MUSES (La academia de las musas)             B-                   

Spain  (92 mi)  2015  d:  José Luis Guerin         Official site [Japan]

While Guerin is viewed as an experimental filmmaker, often creating images that appear to be a collage from different sources, producing painterly, impressionistic glimpses of life as seen through a fractured prism of light, his unorthodox approach has always been viewed as meditative and intellectually probing.  While that may be true here as well, this film, while its intent may be satiric, smacks of sexism, where it’s hard to get past the blatant moral transgressions being depicted.  Ostensibly an academic lecture of ideas, where Barcelona University philology professor Raffaele Pinto stands before a class of interested students and poses ideas on the origin of love in art, suggesting artists since the dawn of time have always relied upon female muses as a source of inspiration.  His ideas are actually engaging, as he breaks down complicated works of literature like Dante’s Inferno into easily understandable conversation pieces, described as men having a relationship with women, even with their dead spirits, a notion that has been around since the Greek mythology of Orpheus, where poets have carried around “the idea of love.”  What immediately stands out is that only attractive female students ask questions and articulate their positions in class, though the heightened level of classroom discussion is engaging.  What happens afterwards, however, may leave many viewers at a loss, as these attractive women are seen with the professor outside of class as well, often getting into their personal lives, where he’s seen as a father figure and confidante, perhaps even their private confessor, taking on a priestly role.  When we realize he’s having sex with these women, where relationships escalate to his personal lovers, all bets are off, as this is something else altogether.  While Guerín’s films regularly explore the boundaries between documentary and fiction, yet real or not, this is a decidedly troublesome aspect of the film as it clearly crosses into morally forbidden or taboo behavior.  One of the most damning scenes in the film is a prolonged argument between the professor and his Spanish wife Rosa (Rosa Delor Muns), which begins in an animated fury but soon unfolds into utter silence, with Rosa staring blankly out the window, neither one able to acknowledge the other. 

Described at the outset as “An educational experience with Professor Raffaele Pinto, filmed by José Luis Guerín,” where you’d think initially that you’re walking into a classroom, like Wiseman’s uncommonly uplifting At Berkeley (2013), but as the word “experience” starts mulling around in your head, the meaning of the word expands into an imaginary concept where we hear the expression, “To teach is to seduce.”  Throughout the centuries poets and writers have felt emboldened in describing fiery love affairs, carnal pleasures, and intense longed-for desires, where this film seems interested in merging academia with the imagination, where there are no boundaries or prohibitions, allowing passions to exist in private dialogues and ordinary moments.  While it’s one thing to theorize, this film takes the lecture out of the classroom and allows it to live and breathe in the real world.  While Pinto is a balding man in his early 60’s, the women in his class are considerably younger and more attractive, yet sharp as a tack, where their intelligence rivals their beauty.  Emanuela (Emanuela Forgetta) is a voluptuous and fiery Italian student who seems as knowledgeable as the professor, while the others are Spanish students, where Mireia (Mireia Iniesta) is seen confiding in her, revealing she is pursuing an online love affair, apparently wondering if words alone can sustain love, where you don’t even have to meet the object of your desires in person.  Carolina (Carolina Llacher) is a short-haired student who seems more interested in challenging the professor’s theories, using more contemporary, free-form verse, for instance, instead of the preferred classical language.  Except for the professor, none of the women are referred to by their names, remaining anonymous throughout, although at least once Carolina is referred to by name from one of the other students.  This tends to minimize any associated reality and instead they are more mythical creatures, existing in the stream of thought, necessary in the pursuit of ideas.  As far as Pinto is concerned the women are real, where his justification to his wife is, “I fall in love within a teaching relationship,” a rationalization that she simply refuses to accept.

In private discussions, student papers are critiqued and evaluated, where he retains his professorial relationship, but especially concerning Carolina, he’s not very open minded to new ideas or concepts.  Who’s to say what she expounds is any less exemplary than his own philosophy, but he excoriates the very notion that she would communicate “outside” the boundaries of “his” guidelines, which at the very least appears to be hypocritical and sexist.  Poetry of any kind remains within the stream of thought and can be used to communicate and express a myriad of ideas, perhaps even more than the professor is willing to consider.  When she is soundly rejected, she again confides with Emanuela, the student/professor among them, who reminds her she knew this would happen, so what did she expect?  Mireia actually travels with the professor to Naples as his mistress, and is the only one seen naked in bed, where they visit various museum artifacts afterwards, reminiscent of Rossellini’s love in the ruins film, Journey to Italy (1954).  Afterwards she meets in a coffee shop with Rosa, hiding nothing, actually defending her right to be the object of the professor’s desires, yet Rosa has a larger overall view, noting that at some point, it is inevitable that the man will tire of her, and in her diminished state, what will she represent then?  Rosa is the only one in the film who seems rational and human, angered by her husband’s actions, bothered by this young girl’s insolence, yet retaining every shred of dignity even in such a compromising situation.  From her position, her husband’s experiment is nothing more than selfish male indulgence, where he’s using his position to manipulate the behavior of younger more attractive girls, where he can claim the ones he wants and reject the ones he’s not interested in, where it’s actually surprising he hasn’t gotten fired.  Despite all the flowery academia, one wonders if any of that actually comes into play when a man finds a woman he’s attracted to.  As the professor and his wife agree to share their extensive wall-sized bookshelf rather than break it in half, there is something to be said for enduring love, the kind that exists beyond all the artifice and youthful bluster, where perhaps this is all a diversionary smokescreen, as ultimately, sexual attraction can never really be explained in a classroom, as it rarely happens the way the poets see it.  Instead we are a smaller microcosm with a much shorter attention span, but we do have the capacity to dream.