Ghostlight

 

Writer Kelly O'Sullivan

Co-directors Kelly O'Sullivan and Alex Thompson

GHOSTLIGHT                      B+                                                                                              USA  (115 mi)  2024  d: Kelly O’Sullivan and Alex Thompson

It seemed like you might like the change of being someone else for a while.                                —Rita (Dolly De Leon)

The film is about the perils of childhood and the devastating effects of losing a child, reminiscent of the horrific anger and grief expressed by Nicole Kidman in John Cameron Mitchell’s Rabbit Hole (2010), the heartbreaking trauma in Kenneth Lonergan’s 2016 Top Ten List #5 Manchester by the Sea, the masterclass on repressed grief in Robert Redford’s Ordinary People (1980), the lingering sadness that never heals in Atom Egoyan’s The Sweet Hereafter (1997), or more recently the introspective play-within-a-play which does with Chekhov what this film does with Shakespeare in Ryûsuke Hamaguchi’s 2022 Top Ten List #1 Drive My Car (Oraibu mai kâ).  Written by Kelly O'Sullivan, who studied theater at Northwestern University and is an alumna of the Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago, she co-directs alongside her real life partner and producer Alex Thompson, both Chicagoans who have been part of the local theater community, yet what’s remarkable about this picture is hidden in its modesty, as it just seems so ordinary at first.  Defying all odds with an overly contrived synopsis description that does not exactly entice, this is a theater movie filled with authentic nuances, and also a heartfelt film about grief, family, guilt, and the healing power of art, where the underlying truth about what has actually happened is not revealed until the second half of the film, while the way these filmmakers prolong details is one thing they do extremely well, given extraordinary dramatic weight when combined with the tragic elements of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.  Also running through the film are songs from the musical Oklahoma! (the first written by the infamous composing team of Rodgers and Hammerstein, whose 40’s and 50’s musicals are considered the “golden age” of American musical theater, winning a special Pulitzer Prize in 1944), which are completely unexpected, yet profoundly influential in their recognizable warmth and humanism, opening and closing the film, with a truly wondrous karaoke version somewhere in the middle, which is like the engine that generates everything that follows.  They are a thread that runs through this picture, adding a layer of emotional depth that would not otherwise be there, as this film never follows a traditional path.  Inexplicably opening to Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin,’ 'Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’' | Gordon MacRae | Rodgers & ... YouTube (3:00), a song brimming with optimism, while a jackhammer is seen pounding through the asphalt on the street as a roadside construction crew is seen working.  This is our introduction to Dan Mueller (Keith Kupferer, from Stephen Cone’s Princess Cyd, 2017), a stressed-out, seemingly quiet, laid-back middle-aged construction worker prone to disturbing emotional outbursts at passing traffic coming too close, or shutting down emotionally in front of his family, someone who never talks about his problems, yet something hidden, buried deep beneath the surface, is clearly impacting his behavior.  His rebellious teenage daughter in high school, Daisy (Katherine Mallen Kupferer, who was in Kelly Fremon Craig’s Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret., 2023), mirrors his ill-advised behavioral flare-ups, inappropriately erupting at one of her teachers, as we see the school informing the family of the consequences, New Ghostlight Clip Highlights Real Family Dynamics In A ... YouTube (1:15), which leads to her getting suspended and sent to anger management therapy.  While the mother, Sharon (Tara Mallen, part of the international cast in Steven Soderbergh’s Contagion, 2011, also the founder and artistic director of the Rivendell Theatre in Chicago), who teaches at the same school, appears to quietly endure the havoc around them, Dan, on the other hand, simply walks away from the confrontations, disappearing at a moment’s notice, never uttering a word.  Clearly they have issues that suggest family dysfunction.  Interestingly, the actors who portray the family in the film are in fact a family in real life, offering an unpretentious family dynamic that exudes unforeseen authenticity, shot in the Chicagoland area, including the Raven Theater in Chicago and the Three Brothers Theater in Waukegan.    

When Dan is seen assaulting a rude yet reckless motorist, it is witnessed by a bystander on the street, Rita (Dolly de Leon, from Ruben Östlund’s Triangle of Sadness (Sans Filtre), 2022), a cantankerous yet diminutive figure who runs a storefront community theater group, encouraging Dan to come join them, something he literally stumbles into, with Rita leading him inside, only to discover he is auditioning for the part of Lord Capulet in Romeo and Juliet.  It doesn’t make sense at first, as he has no real interest in the play, comprised of a ragtag group that Rita proudly describes as an “island of misfit toys,” but he takes it more seriously after he’s suspended from his job, as his assault was captured on video and went viral on the internet, leaving the employer no choice.  Having nowhere else to turn, and with nothing to lose, he asks his daughter’s advice, as she was a theatrical star in her high school’s production of Oklahoma!, capable of lighting up the stage, and intimately familiar with the Shakespeare play, showing him a photo on her laptop of a young Leonardo DiCaprio as Romeo in Baz Luhrmann’s ROMEO + JULIET (1996), reciting the opening prologue by heart, leaving her father dumbfounded by how easy she makes it look.  The theatrical dynamic is a bit like a family, where Rita and the director Lanora (Hanna Dworkin) are insistent on making it a safe place, but that all goes to Hell when Tyler (Charlie Lubeck), rehearsing a scene as Romeo, refuses to kiss Rita as Juliet, suggesting she’s “too old,” which gets him a smack in the mouth, Ghostlight | Exclusive Clip YouTube (1:54).  Exit Tyler as Romeo, with 50-year old Dan suddenly thrust into the lead role, as Rita has helped nurture his trust, and they have developed a strong chemistry together.  But he has his own personal demons, struggling to connect with his own emotions and fears, feeling isolated not only from his family but from the rest of the cast, improbably finding sanctuary in this company of strangers.  He seems like the most unlikely, uninteresting hero, suddenly dropped into unfamiliar territory, a world he never imagined, which may have actually been the original source of inspiration behind this project.  Having never read the play to its conclusion, he is gobsmacked by how it turns out, utterly paralyzed by what happens, leaving him begging for them to change the ending.  Only then does the film shift into another gear, becoming a catalyst that actually transcends the theater format, keeping viewers invested with profound moments of humor mixed with small triumphs, deeply felt melancholic emotion, strong father/daughter moments, while slowly doling out pieces of information, where the drama onstage begins to reflect his own life, as Dan quietly and somberly confesses what amounts to the biggest tragedy of his life, expressed against a black backdrop with a lone Ghost light (theatre), the single bulb that theater companies leave on when a stage has gone totally dark, as the final scenes make him have to relive that horrible experience all over again.  The theatrical stage is an ambiguous, ghostly space where an illusory representation begins, but ends with a transformed reality, as theater can literally change people’s lives.  Most view Romeo and Juliet as one of the great love stories of all time, filled with youthful passion and supercharged poetry, but the tragedy of the finale just has deeper meaning when it actually hits home, where the film finds its own voice in expressing just how bone crushingly sad it really is.  It’s an utterly sensational way to bring new life and energy to a classic story, where it’s not just a play, but an emotionally taxing extension of real life, with its multitude of thematic parallels.  Much of the time spent is not actually rehearsing scenes, but doing theatrical exercises, meant to instill trust and intimacy with one another, where there’s even a momentary celebration where they let it all out, with everyone dancing awkwardly to Under Pressure, Queen & David Bowie - Under Pressure (Classic Queen Mix) YouTube (4:03).  

Daisy and Sharon get the wrong idea when they see Dan and Rita hugging on the sidewalk, thinking he’s concealing an affair, but when Daisy confronts him about it, he brings her in to meet the rest of the cast, and they all love and adore her, especially after observing her extraordinary karaoke rendition of I CANT SAY NO - GLORIA GRAHAME YouTube (4:17), which is just a breath of fresh air, and one of the stunning highlights of the film, re-establishing her passion for theater, with the group immediately welcoming her into the fold, with Lanora willing to give her any part she wants.  She chooses Mercutio, no questions asked, fitting right in, becoming the heart and soul of the theater troupe, providing that youthful energy so desperately needed.  The narrative intertwines several interconnecting storylines, with extraordinary personal moments woven into the preparations for the upcoming theatrical performance, as small details snowball and eventually overwhelm with its sheer force of tragedy, where there’s also a lawsuit involved, adding a layer of conflict and complexity to the family’s struggle, where the editing scheme is extremely successful, building a volcanic emotional arc of suppressed feelings that are only unleashed through the dramatic power of Shakespeare, which is just a different and more heightened way of experiencing the play.  For instance, the choice of music interjects something new and warmly familiar to the theatrical marital scene, which we hear as vows are exchanged, Ben E. King - Stand By Me (Audio) YouTube (2:57).  Initially, the film establishes who the characters are, allowing viewers to become familiar with them, but by the end it’s just a phenomenal force to be reckoned with, as Dan and his family’s demons need to be exorcised through the collective power of art, but also the real life experiences they are already going through, still grieving over their terrible loss, which makes little to no sense, leaving a horrible void that cannot be processed or extinguished.  A film that showcases the behind-the-scenes stories of putting on plays, this community theater experience takes us back to Jonathan Demme’s Who Am I This Time? - made for TV (1982), which couldn’t be a more modest production, where theater provides an emotional catharsis, allowing audiences through the changing times to appreciate the value in these amateur productions, as they work to accentuate the absolute best of the human condition, getting us back in touch with long-repressed emotions, as there’s a therapeutic value of the play in processing our grief, which is at the core of what theater can do.  Not everyone is meant for therapy, as there are alternative outlets that include seeking refuge in theater, film, and other artforms.  Impossible not to think of John Cassavetes and the incomparable Gena Rowlands in Opening Night (1977), another troubled stage production that delves into the internalized anxieties of an actress who has doubts about playing the role, who thinks it’s all wrong, who wants it changed, even though it was written specifically for her.  While Cassavetes grounds his film on the beauty of live theater, where the agonies and self-doubts are brought into the rigorous rehearsals onstage, but the performance is the thing, bringing to life a living and breathing quality to every moment.  Uniquely authentic, without an ounce of histrionics or sentimentality, this beautifully written film is an original take on something written hundreds of years ago, yet it feels urgently contemporary, as we are constantly re-evaluating what matters in our lives, but this film explores some of the darkest places with wit and verve and the magic of theater.  The stark judgmental beginning of the film couldn’t be more different than the empathetic mood of redemption and forgiveness that we feel in the tear-inducing finale, as we’ve learned to appreciate things we don’t necessarily understand, which may be beyond our control, and accept that it’s part of our life experience, where the recognizable music over the final credits sends us dreamily into lofty heights "Out Of My Dream" scene from Oklahoma! (1955) YouTube (15:19).

By the Stream (Suyoocheon)

 

Writer/director Hong Sang-soo

Kim Min-hee with the director

The director shooting on location

BY THE STREAM (Suyoocheon)     B                                                                                     South Korea  (111 mi)  2024  d: Hong Sang-soo

Are you a commie?                                                                                                                       —Professor Jeong (Cho Yun-hee)

Proving that he’s something of a one-man band, Hong Sang-soo writes, directs, films, edits, produces, and composes the few frames of music for this film, all but confirming that perhaps as much as he is a filmmaker, Hong Sang-soo is also a prolific playwright, creating a cinema that constantly relies on the power of conversation, like variations on similar themes, often linked to each other in near subliminal fashion, becoming theatrical compositions of his own internal expression.  An astonishingly prolific filmmaker, with forty film credits since the late 90’s, his films are largely inaccessible, with no screening or streaming options available to most persons, seemingly existing in their own universe, yet he’s an extremely conscientious artist, working with such regularity, churning out a variety of small-scale chamber dramas that are immediately recognizable, yet despite the similarities, somehow each new film is a revelation, like new chapters of an infinite novel, as he’s exploring territory that no one else working anywhere in the world today is making films about.  Told in a barebones, naturalistic style, ignored by the commercial masses, where you wouldn’t think any of this would matter to an ever-changing world that spits out such grandiose mega-hits designed for the Cineplex, apparently to take our minds off of the cruel realities that exist all around us, yet somehow Hong Sang-soo finds a way to articulate the small details that continue to matter, like opening up cracks in our existence.  For the last four years, Hong has presented two films each year at major film festivals, registering somewhere between comedy and tragedy, exploring themes of infidelity, artistic aspirations, and communication breakdowns, this latest film reunites Hong with actress Kim Min-hee for their fifteenth film together, while this is the eleventh film working with actor Kwon Hae-hyo.  These familiar faces provide a level of comfort in Hong films, like a reunion of old friends, as if we know what to expect, where they provide a sense of reassurance to viewers with their intelligence, curiosity, and emotional restraint.  Hong typically avoids heavy planning and pre-production, scouting locations just a week or so ahead of time, preferring to withhold handing his actors a full script, instead writing the dialogue for each day’s shoot in the morning, allowing his actors only an hour or so before shooting begins, freeing up his actors to make more spontaneous choices in the moment, using an editing process that rarely takes more than a day, where Hong’s directional style relies upon authenticity and observation, accentuated by his use of long single takes, where this film, notable for its autumnal color, may have the shortest end-credits in memory. 

Like all of Hong’s works, the film is stripped of all artifice and is largely character-driven, where the performances are always elevated, as the director is never afraid to examine the small, often overlooked details of daily living, like hidden detours along the way, where he finds a way to delve into the complexities of life through loneliness, isolation, and fleeting connections.  Finding inspiration in nature, the reclusive Jeon-im (Kim Min-hee), an arts professor at Duksung University, a small private women’s college in Seoul, spends her free time on the banks of a local stream of the Han River sketching the changing patterns in her notebook, as she captures the changing colors of a pastoral autumn landscape of a stream running toward a bridge, and then weaves those patterns into tapestries on her loom later, creating larger works of art.  When she’s not creating her own textile art, she’s teaching a small group of performance art students, where the sleepy rhythms of this university campus are rocked by the startling revelations of a budding sex scandal, as a male student director from another university has been accused of an abuse of power by sleeping with three of the seven actors (who all dropped out simultaneously) just ten days before a play is scheduled to be performed at the university’s annual skit contest, leaving them in emergency mode trying to find a replacement director.  Desperate to find a solution, Jeon-im turns to her Uncle Chu Si-eon (Kwon Hae-hyo) to step in, a bookstore owner leading a quiet yet comfortable life by the sea, a man she hasn’t spoken to in ten years, but he was also a widely celebrated stage actor and theater director, hoping he can write a new script and finish directing the project.  Much to her surprise, he accepts the challenge, bringing him into the fold, where he arrives with ideas already in mind, hoping to provide the last-minute saving grace.  Jeon-im’s boss, Professor Jeong (Cho Yun-hee), has been extremely supportive and is largely responsible for securing her position at the university, yet she’s also intrigued by the presence of Chu, as she followed his career on television and in the theater, and has always wondered what happened to him, as he simply disappeared from having any public presence.  As it turns out, Chu’s bookstore is largely an excuse for him to appear busy when, in reality, there are very few customers who frequent the store, so the idea of resuscitating his creative juices is like a needed jolt of adrenaline.  The academic setting is a return to the director’s early films, where he was such a subtle and distinctly original force in the industry, making quiet, low-budget cinema, often featuring the inappropriate actions of brooding, self-absorbed men who tend to drown their sorrows in alcohol, social awkwardness, and meaningless sex, shining a light on human fallibility and the everyday idiosyncrasies of personal relationships.      

While there’s plenty of eating and drinking, always the centerpiece of Hong’s dramas, as these interactions drive the central questions of the film, where pauses for smoking cigarettes overlooking a picturesque stream offer Zen moments of melancholic reflection, perhaps the biggest surprise is Jeong’s infatuation and sudden interest in Chu, which is a startling development, especially as it leads to a romantic affair, with Jeon-im utterly dismayed at watching it blossom before her eyes, discovering her uncle is not the man she believed him to be.  Autobiographical elements are interspersed throughout, with Chu, a stand-in for the director, acknowledging at one point that he’s no longer with his wife of many years, that she finally agreed to a divorce after a decade of separation (Hong’s own wife refuses to divorce him so that he could marry Kim, where the scandalous public revelation of their affair all but killed Kim’s career outside of Hong’s work), and that he hasn’t spoken to his own sister (Jeon-im’s mother) since she accused him of being a “commie,” so this new romance is like a fresh start in life, but it leaves Jeon-im more than a little perplexed at finding herself in such a precarious position, relying upon her uncle not to spoil the good thing she has going at this university.  Making matters worse, she runs into the guy she fired (Ha Seong-guk), only to learn he hasn’t left the university grounds and shows no remorse for his actions, believing he did nothing wrong, but his presence alone is like a stalker in their midst, adding a creepy element that lies under the surface at an otherwise safe haven.  Where it all leads is to an understated dramatic skit that includes the women eating the last of their dwindling ramen supply, vowing to conserve their goods in a nod to socialism, overshadowed by a blaring industrial roar, which is poorly received while also creating some controversy, where this snippet of a live performance is not like anything in Hong’s films that we’ve seen before.  Celebrating with his cast afterwards in a restaurant, apparently fascinated by this youth generation, Chu asks “What kind of person do you want to be?,” turning into a somewhat improvised poetry session performed by the students speaking their inner thoughts, voicing their hopes and fears about the future, which are tinged in sadness, as they’re not particularly optimistic, while remaining very ambiguous about what the skit is actually about, yet the four women (Kang So-yi, Park Han-bit-na-ra, Oh Yoon-soo, and Park Mi-so) are like a Greek chorus standing in unison against an established male patriarchy, as the disgraced director’s actions mirror an incident in Chu’s youth where his shameful treatment of a female student at this same school still haunts him to this day.  We also learn that Chu made some rude comments about a famous actor he worked with that got him blacklisted from the business, and that 40 years ago he staged a radical theater piece at this same university that caused a scandal, perhaps an allusion to Kwon’s offscreen leftist activism ([Feature] An actor turned activist, later in life).  The unspoken theme is that art requires taking risks, potentially alienating one’s audience, as Hong is an artist who has faced his own public condemnation for his extramarital affair with Kim, and is viewed as a fiercely independent, minimalist artist standing outside traditional avenues, where the haiku-like simplicity of his work is something many critics just don’t get.