Caprice

 

self-portrait of Joanna Hogg, 1980

Hogg on the set with Tilda Swinton

CAPRICE                   B+                                                                                                        Great Britain  (28 mi)  1986  d: Joanna Hogg

Expressing a fun and playful side not seen in her other films, this is Joanna Hogg’s graduation short at the National Film and Television School starring a then unknown Tilda Swinton, listed in the credits as “Matilda” Swinton, a reminder of just how early in her career this is, having met when they were just ten years old, placed in the same dormitory as boarding school students at the West Heath Girls’ School in southeast London in 1971.  One thing that’s already apparent at this early stage is just how extraordinary Tilda Swinton is as an actress, exhibiting a wide range of emotions and facial expressions, where she’s just so transparently revealing.  Known for playing eccentric and enigmatic characters, working with directors like Derek Jarman, Wes Anderson, and Luca Guadagnino, with no formal training, yet she’s capable of shifting between sexes and centuries, sprinkling in mainstream films with indie roles, Swinton won an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress for her performance in Tony Gilroy’s MICHAEL CLAYTON (2007), having begun her career working for Derek Jarman in the experimental and challenging film CARVAGGIO (1986), which was made immediately following this film.  She ended up making nine films with Jarman, part of a collective queer movement in London, a time when British culture was being eviscerated by Thatcherism, part of the Conservative government’s “family values” campaign that whipped up hysterical levels of homophobia when so many of her friends were ravaged by AIDS in the 80’s and 90’s, including Jarman who died in 1994, a year Swinton went to 43 funerals, all AIDS-related deaths, leaving lifelong scars that are so deep that it’s hard for her to return to London anymore.  Joanna Hogg, on the other hand, moved to Florence, Italy for a year to study photography before returning to London to work as an assistant to an advertising photographer in Soho, finding herself experimenting with the equipment on weekends, switching her focus to film school after discovering Derek Jarman’s Super 8 films, who gave her a camera to make her own Super 8 film PAPER (1982), a study of kinetic sculpture artist Ron Haselden for her entry into the National Film and Television School, where she resented how she was patronized by her all-male professors who created a learning environment that was generally hostile towards women.  After graduation, with few prospects of breaking into the film industry, she directed several music videos for artists such as Alison Moyet and Johnny Thunders in an era of punks and the art school cool of David Bowie, including Johnny Hates Jazz - Shattered Dreams (Official Music Video) YouTube (3:26) with 33 million views to date that reworked ideas from this graduation film, a stepping stone for a career in television over the next decade before she decided she needed to have more creative control, making her first feature film UNRELATED (2007) two decades after this thesis film was made, a straightforward character drama that is her least experimental work to date, winning praise as a “breakthrough” artist and “most promising newcomer” at nearly 50-years old.

Hogg’s relatively late career start as a feature filmmaker was an uneasy fit for most critics, too slow for commercial appeal, too psychologically remote for mainstream critics, also too white and upper class to have any contemporary relevance, yet there is always more to her films than what we see at first glance, often mystifying the viewer with its contradictory effects, as there’s something aesthetically internal that make them difficult to decipher.  But for sheer joy and unbridled enthusiasm, it’s hard to temper one’s appreciation for this short mixed media film, where our protagonist is literally swallowed up by the pages of a fashion magazine, which is a bit like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, Alice in Wonderland - Falling down the rabbit hole YouTube (3:38), where you never know who or what you will encounter.  All shot on a single stage, where only the backdrops change, using a camera borrowed by Derek Jarman, the film is a comic satire on the world of product placement in fashion magazines, where everything is about selling wares to as many customers as possible, where this literally transports us directly into the imaginary universe of the magazine itself, with each product model literally beckoning us to buy what they’re selling, becoming an overwhelmingly crass experience, like an inescapable nightmare.  Yet the playfulness on display is endearing, especially when our guide through this magical mystery tour is none other than Tilda Swinton, with this film presenting both her and the director with their first chance at an artistic partnership, bonding together as boarding school students who “mutually loathed” private school, as it was designed to sculpt young minds for lives of privilege and produce bourgeois wives for the rich and powerful.  Like her other films, this mirrors her own personal experience, as Hogg was once caught smuggling a copy of Playgirl magazine into her West Heath dormitory, and the headmistress disciplined her by seating her in her office and asking her to turn every page of the magazine and offer commentary, which this film does in glorious color, a fusion of pop color with social critique, as embodied by Jean-Luc Godard’s Two or Three Things I Know About Her (2 ou 3 Choses que Je Sais d’Elle) (1967), opening up a phantasmagorical world to a bespectacled and shy woman named Lucky (Tilda Swinton), becoming a dark fantasia about the fashion-magazine industry, inspired by Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s THE RED SHOES (1948) and Technicolor Hollywood musicals.  Lucky is a star-eyed young woman who is religiously obsessed by the glamor magazine Caprice, awaiting each new issue with a devoted fandom that knows no bounds, living and dying with each release, yet right from the outset the magazine cover girl (Rachel Byrd) speaks to her, inviting her inside, taking a zany dive into the surreal depths of 1980’s candy-colored pop and fashion culture, something of a cartoonish blend of comic touches and glam spectacle. 

Written by Hogg and David Gale, shot by David Tattersall, this whimsical film was not understood at the time, viewed as a superficial, juvenile exercise by her professors, the exact opposite of the more serious British social realism films being taught in film school, and can be seen as a declaration of Hogg’s independence, filtered through a postmodernist lens while filled with pizzazz and personality.  Stylistically ambitious, the film has elaborate sets and dramatic lighting, fusing the exuberance of the highly stylized singing and dancing in Chantal Akerman’s visionary GOLDEN EIGHTIES (1986) with the splendorous set pieces of Powell and Pressburger, climbing a grand staircase to heaven just like the one featured in Powell and Pressburger’s A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH (1946).  Lucky is thrust in the middle of a larger-than-life fashion magazine, suddenly finding herself trapped in the pages of the magazine that initially seems like her road to liberation, where a first glimpse of the gorgeous fashion models in a pastel-colored fantasy sequence elicits her response, “I just dream of looking like that,” immediately getting a makeover and given a chic look, where she’s literally ecstatic about the idea of rubbing elbows with the people she idolizes.  But as she moves through different articles of the magazine, she’s drawn deeper and deeper into a labyrinthean cave where she finds herself in a maze of photo shoots, perfume ads, fashion layouts, and society pages, with someone selling their products around every corner, all trying to trap her in their captivating world of commerce, including a Douglas Furbanks (Anthony Higgins) matinee idol, a male model in black-tie attire who romances her with suave caresses and kisses, yet she’s forced to continually keep on the move in what amounts to a vacuous consumerist wonderland, as she suddenly finds herself at odds with her own desires, moving from enchantment to disillusion.  Perhaps most telling is a sequence that amounts to an entire music video, with girls in colored dresses doing a fully choreographed dance routine in front of a nightclub as Jackie Jones (Helen Cooper), “the hippest music editor Caprice has ever had,” introduces her to Billy Pez (Robert Parnell), a Billy Idol lookalike singing Games We Play, but of course, he turns out to be a cad in real life, instantly turning her off with his supreme arrogance, as all she represents to him is a potential buyer.  Though dated by a synthesizer soundtrack that places the film in the 1980’s, viewers can still relate to what Lucky is going through, as it’s a different kind of transformation, where at the center of it are all the pressures thrown at young women to look and behave in a certain way.  In the end, Lucky is offered a dream job at her favorite fashion magazine, but rejects it because she’d rather keep her integrity intact than sell her soul to an industry that would crush it.  What’s important is the discovery of her own voice, demonstrating a feminist, formalist sensibility by standing up to these powerful forces, accentuating advertising’s corrosive effects on women’s consciousness and identity, as all the relationships on display are transactional and surface-level.  For Hogg, a young woman who loved fashion magazines, this eye-opening film helps us understand the dark side of what they represent to young women wanting desperately to be accepted.

Joanna Hogg’s Closet Picks  Criterion picks on YouTube (4:22)

Caprice (1986) on Vimeo  entire film may be seen on YouTube (27:50)

2018 Top Ten List #10 Phantom Thread

PHANTOM THREAD              B+               

USA  (130 mi)  2017  d:  Paul Thomas Anderson  

Arguably the most Kubrickian film in the post-Kubrick era, though it appears emotionally inert and not nearly as interesting, lacking some of that obsessional Kubrickian devotion to detail (for which there is no equal or comparison, as his curiosity knew no bounds), though it is exacting enough in its elegant precision, where this will have to do, with an impressive visual form showing surprising restraint, especially when seen in glorious 70mm, making this among the more exquisite cinema experiences possible in the modern era.  Given such an exceptional look throughout, balanced with an equally alluring French classical musical score, moving from Debussy, Fauré, and Berlioz, as well as Schubert and Brahms, along with a classical score by Jonny Greenwood, this is all largely a tone poem, a chamber piece getting inside the internal minds of a high couture house of fashion, as we observe them go through their regular workday routines, led by fashion designer Reynolds Woodcock, Daniel Day-Lewis, a pretentiously obsessive and overly controlling man in East London in the early 50’s who maintains his childhood temperament, where everything has to be exactly as he wants it throughout his daily ordeal, as anything out of place will only detract from his creative impulses, something that bothers him to no end, letting the offending party hear about it with regularly occurring temper tantrums, all part of a normal day’s work in the House of Woodcock.  Equally austere is his beloved sister Cyril (Lesley Manville), affectionately referred to as “my old so-and-so,” a stone cold ice princess who ruthlessly observes every last detail and manages the financial concerns of the company, always protecting the emotional inner world of her brother, without which they could not possibly hope to stay in business, so his every need is catered to like a symphonic orchestra all in unison, making sure no one ever plays an incorrect note.  All of this is an exploration of British custom and manner, dressing members of the royal family, film stars, heiresses, socialites, and debutantes, the potential buyers of this overly personalized, expensive merchandise, as everyone and everything has a proper place in the working apparatus of British society, where royalty and nobility routinely ignore the concerns of ordinary citizens, as they’re too busy preening in the latest fashion designs coming out of these houses, finding the right festive or somber occasion to exhibit this costumed finery, as they’re only allowed to wear it around other equally pompous nobility, where putting wealth on display is what they do for a living.  The customs and manners of the wealthy aristocracy haven’t been examined like this since Robert Altman’s Gosford Park (2001), an absolutely gorgeous film that relished in the pretentious fun of the upper classes, as it was explored through the eyes of the servants who were serving these prima donnas, so, much to the director’s own delight, one assumes, it was told with tongue in cheek.  Not so here, as it’s a much more intricate affair, exploring the world through the eyes of a full-fledged fashion god and his much younger mistress, exclusive fashion model, and ultimately his wife, Alma (Vicky Krieps, a relatively undiscovered actress from Luxembourg), a mere commoner whose worldly pleasures have little in common with the master of the house.   

   

A film of rhythm and routine, where the women of the seamstress brigade arrive early, gathered outside the door, greeted personally by Cyril or Woodcock himself as they climb up the narrow staircase on their way up to their workroom and immediately find their work stations, putting on white coats, busily hand-stitching each magnificent dress, (where in a film like this one must recognize the costume designer, Mark Bridges).  While there is order and quiet in their daily regimen, it is clear these women are overworked, and used to it, constantly working after hours on special orders that must meet unheard of deadlines, with no complaining or even an ounce of displeasure uttered, though late in the film we do discover one of the seamstresses has taken her talents to another couture house, much to the chagrin of Woodcock, who takes it as a personal affront to his character, moaning about how unfair everything is, which his sister endures briefly before telling him to buck up, as these things happen, unfortunately, and there’s really nothing they can do about it, so get over it and move on.  Her practical viewpoint is the backbone of the organization, as Woodcock himself is all aflutter, a moody iconoclast who distrusts all, including himself, giving it all to his profession, leading a monastic life where he rarely sleeps, rising each day searching for more fashion inspirations, spending most of his time drawing his latest ideas.  Hating interruptions, the man is the picture of the walking wounded if even so much as a sound is ever heard out of place, as his all-important mood depends upon complete obedience to his everchanging temperament.  While Day-Lewis seems to specialize in domineering characters who are used to having things their way, bullying those around them to get their way, this is reportedly his last role, claiming he will be retiring from acting, though making himself scarce will only increase the price of offers to come out of retirement, most likely a shrewd business decision.  Because of all the accumulated aggravation that comes with the pressure of his chosen profession, Woodcock has been dreaming lately about his beloved mother, who taught him the trade, believing she is hovering over him, keeping watch, so his sister suggests a trip to the country would do him good, suggesting he get a head start and she’ll join him the next day.  This sets the stage for the all-important meeting between Woodcock and the shy, introverted waitress that serves him, a bit clumsy, but devoted to his every need.  Almost instantly, he asks if she’ll have dinner with him, introducing her to the opulence of his world, retreating to his work quarters afterwards where on their first date he dresses her, designing a gown for her right there on the spot, taking her overall measurements (there are more than a dozen) while Cyril jots them down in an oddly overstuffed personalized catalogue, freely intruding into her personal interior space, as if stripping her naked and commenting upon her physique, though after expressing some displeasure about her own unconventional form, thinking it doesn’t fit together well, Cyril reassures her she has the perfect physique for her brother, as “He likes a little belly.”  

The film has doses of humor throughout, but most can be attributed to the absurdity of Woodcock’s demeanor, an overly fussy perfectionist who is easily thrown off his game, where the sounds Alma makes having breakfast in the morning become a prominent theme of the film, as it grates on his nerves, such as buttering her toast, or stirring her coffee, stomping off in a huff, with Cyril calmly acknowledging “If breakfast isn’t right, it’s very hard for him to recover for the rest of the day.”  The underlying dynamic of their relationship, however, is rock solid, building upon a trust factor established as his leading model, as she’s completely devoted to him, just like everyone else that surrounds him, where all obey his every wish, never once stepping out of line.  His demanding nature, however, gets the better of him, as even he needs to slow down a bit to keep from overburdening himself with all his petty grievances, which he only addresses through inappropriate tantrums, his way of letting off steam, which seem to balance the equilibrium and get him back into working order.  These mood swings are quite extreme, with Alma taking note, assuming an air of quiet rebellion, becoming something we never expected, discovering her own home grown solution for providing the needed balance, as only when he’s completely exhausted and off his feet does he turn tender and appreciative of her care, lavishing him with love and affection.  So Alma, so quiet and reticent most of the time, meek as a mouse, learns how to push the buttons, dangerously so, pushing him to near exhaustion, resembling the tactics of extreme sadomasochists who strangle their lovers just prior to sexual release, increasing their pleasure by dangerously toying with levels of pain.  This allure of toxicity is a dangerous game, yet it’s the only way to restore any equilibrium to his ill-mannered, overly dominant behavior, balancing his outlandishness with a restorative remedy, where only she has the power to bring him down to size, carefully watching over him in the process.  It’s an odd set of circumstances to be sure, but if anything can be known about the personal eccentricities of the wealthy it’s that many lead dysfunctional personal lives, at least according to Truman Capote, a socialite writer who partied with the rich and famous and wrote about it, both in Breakfast at Tiffany’s and his posthumously published Answered Prayers: The Unfinished Novel, suggesting personal habits that are astonishingly weird, exaggerated beyond extreme, which is why they go to such extremes to keep them private and out of the public domain.  This film only feigns at what’s really going on under the surface, remaining largely a superficial glimpse of an obscure world, like Cyril the first time she discovers the presence of Alma in the house, “And who is this lovely creature making the house smell so nice?,” moving uncomfortably closer and actually soaking in her smell, describing the aromas with inscrutable detail.  While Woodcock is a puffed peacock of male arrogance and pride, Alma knows the pressure points to bring him down to size, relishing that time together, both drawn to one another like an intoxicating allure, yet those morning breakfasts still have a way of grating on Woodcock’s every last nerve, but he stomachs it, relinquishing a smidgen of control, knowing she is utterly devoted to him, a trustworthy partner, an equal in love, and a lifelong companion who will continually watch over him like the dead spirit of his mother, only Alma will be there to greet him every day, serving his every wish.  Probably Anderson’s most accomplished film since There Will Be Blood (2007), though still missing the fresh potency of his earlier films, in the end, with a lavish Max Ophüls style set design and swooning moods out of Hitchcock’s Rebecca (1940, whose wife was named Alma, by the way), this is just another old-fashioned love story.    

Note

Shooting on the film ended the same day as the death of Jonathan Demme, a fellow film director, close friend and mentor who died from cancer. The film is dedicated to Demme.