As the hours tick away,
Can you find
A peace of mind?
Ere the debt that all men pay,
Will you stress
For happiness?

Will you leave this earth too soon,
Slack to strive
And stay alive?
From life’s grief, none are immune,
And some begin
To give in.

I, for one, refuse, however,
To relent
To discontent.
Ties weren’t made for me to sever;
Life will grow,
Despite the woe.
_______________

Rating: PG-13

The Hours profoundly embodies that famous quote from Henry David Thoreau, asserting that “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.” In the case of this film, that quiet desperation is the realm of women, whether it be an unstable author in 1923, a depressed housewife in 1951, or an overwhelmed hostess in 2001. There is little relief from this oppressive despair, yet the film has artistry to spare, with a superb score from Philip Glass, vivid cinematography from Seamus McGarvey, and poignant performances from three Oscar-winning actresses and Ed Harris.

On a purely superficial level, The Hours has a haunting allure as it eloquently jumps between timelines and slowly reveals their connections, but as I delve deeper into its messages, I find them more and more dubious, even appalling. Let’s start with the three storylines. In Plot 1, Virginia Woolf (Oscar winner Nicole Kidman in a false, uglifying nose) begins her novel Mrs. Dalloway, preparing for visitors and mourning her unsatisfying country existence. In Plot 2, Laura Brown (Julianne Moore) stumbles through the simplest activities and mourns her unsatisfying suburban existence. In Plot 3, bisexual Clarissa Vaughan (Meryl Streep) plans a party for her dying writer friend Richard (Ed Harris) and buckles under the weight of her unsatisfying urban existence. Obviously this is not a “happy” film, but even tearjerkers can offer some hope or peace or gratification in the midst of trials. Based on its three paragons of sorrow, The Hours seems to imply that life and society are inherently unsatisfying and can only be improved by abandonment of society, of responsibility, of life itself.

Setting aside moral qualms about the characters, I find Meryl Streep’s Plot 3 to be the only one that doesn’t deeply vex me, since it at least captures the sorrow and emptiness that this abandonment causes. Plots 1 and 2 are a different story. Both feature their heroines in clear social anguish, yet I find it hard to sympathize with either one since both of them share a galling selfishness. Mrs. Woolf goes out of her way to annoy the servants and complains about protective measures her husband did out of love, though her history of mental illness at least explains her behavior. Mrs. Brown of Plot 2 is the most perplexing of the three, since she acts as if daily life is an unbearable torture when there’s nothing particularly torturous going on. She doesn’t have a mental illness; she doesn’t have a friend dying. I kept asking, “What is your problem?” and as she decided on different forms of “escape,” I wanted her to just look at her little son and recognize that he alone, a gift of God and the envy of her neighbors, ought to be reason enough for her to bear whatever emotional constipation she was enduring.

I see why The Hours was so acclaimed. Between the acting, the haunting music, and the overall artistry, it’s a film to be studied rather than enjoyed. In particular, I liked the writer details, such as how Virginia Woolf decides to write her book based on the first sentence she develops or how she explains why a character must die. There is good, but as the film nears its end, there is an intellectual, venomous bad as well. The abandonment I mentioned earlier takes center-stage, and instead of being rebuked, it is sympathized and even admired. This mirrors the novel Mrs. Dalloway as well, and Woolf’s ideas in it have clearly affected the scholastic view of her own life and suicide. In watching a behind-the-scenes feature on the DVD, I was shocked at how critics and academics used words like “bold” and “courageous” in describing how she took her own life. I’m sorry, but I find nothing courageous or admirable about the tragedy of suicide nor the actions of several sufferers in The Hours. When one character attempts to explain those actions and comments that she had “no choice,” my feelings toward the movie were clinched. Woolf in the film mentions how we should “love [life] for what it is” but then “put it away”; I disagree. One doesn’t put life away; I could counter with one of the film’s own quotes: “You cannot find peace by avoiding life.”

Best line: (Woolf’s sister Vanessa, to her own daughter) “Your aunt is a very lucky woman, Angelica. She has two lives: the life she is living, and the book she is writing.”

Rank: Dishonorable Mention

© 2015 S. G. Liput

334 Followers and Counting

Grief can make it hard to live,
And even harder to forgive,
And when we see someone to blame,
It’s easy to despise the same.

Yet kindness can bear added weight
When aimed at someone we could hate.
We might be able to start living
If we first attempt forgiving.
_______________

Rating: Unsure (Nothing objectionable I recall)

The Son (or Le Fils in French) is a critic’s movie; that is to say, it’s the kind of film that critics swoon over while ordinary movie watchers scratch their heads asking, “Is this great filmmaking?” Granted, I’ve never seen anything else by the French Dardenne brothers, but I had only heard good things and was expecting much more from these Cannes favorites.

The plot itself is extremely simple, the kind of story that could have been just as (or more) effective with a half-hour running time. I agree that Cannes Best Actor Olivier Gourmet is quietly persuasive as Olivier, a teacher of carpentry at a vocational school. In the beginning, there’s a drawn-out mystery when a new student named Francis applies, causing Olivier to stalk and leer and act almost creepy as he allows the boy into his class. Disclosing the secret taxed my patience, but its eventual revelation is shrewd and gradual. Let’s just say that Olivier has reason to not be so kind to Francis, and Olivier is well aware of it, even subconsciously. A perceptive example is when he calls all his students by name but refers to Francis as “you.” This standoffish benevolence puzzles Olivier himself, his ex-wife, the boy, the audience, and (according to the Dardennes) even the filmmakers themselves, yet I consider this up-to-interpretation uncertainty more of a weakness than a strength. There’s a subtle and admirable theme of forgiveness versus revenge, one that was lauded by critics for its naturalism, but in this case, the abrupt ending might have benefited from some additional dialogue, since even the words “I’m sorry” don’t make an appearance.

This somewhat stilted “naturalism” carries over to the camera work too. Olivier Gourmet is a good actor; it’s a shame that I mainly saw the back of his head. For the majority of the film, it is as if we are looking over his shoulder, as he walks down corridors, runs, drives, carries beams, and performs various other mundane activities. It reminded me of the beginning of Captain Phillips, but whereas that film only employed this technique for the opening car ride, The Son gets tiresome with its overuse. I will admit that certain scenes utilize this method strongly, such as when Olivier looks straight into the camera when backing up his car, but these are few and far between.

Perhaps when I see more from the Dardennes, I’ll see that this approach is simply their preferred style. Perhaps I just didn’t “get” it like all the real critics did. Perhaps further exploring their filmography will give me a greater appreciation for their artistry. Or perhaps I’ll simply watch something far more appealing, like Inside Out.

Rank: Dishonorable Mention

© 2015 S. G. Liput

327 Followers and Counting