via subtraction

Come into the world
Alone
And you go out of the world
Alone

But in between
It’s you and me

via bshawise

As with all his other movies, Moonrise Kingdom is emotionally utterly flat. I understand this is a draw for his fans, as though sucking out all the emotion from each scene somehow makes them funnier or more tragic. And I get the impact of deadpan, and I see how Anderson leverages it to create a certain quirkiness in his characters which I suppose is meant to substitute for actual humans. But populated with expressionless characters the gorgeous natural setting and richly drawn scenes all come up empty.

I can’t emphasize enough how brilliant every other aspect of this film is – the visuals are stunning, the story is engaging, the production design is meticulous. It makes me want a giant full color poster to hang on my wall. As a matter of fact, I might prefer the poster over the film.

Viridiana (1961) is widely considered one of Buñuel’s masterpieces, though he would go on to direct other internationally acclaimed films such as Belle de Jour (1967) and The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972), both of which are on my list to see. Viridiana is a nun about to take her vows, but first she must visit her estranged uncle. In a Julie Andrews movie this would be the start of a wonderful adventure, but with Buñuel at the helm this can only go badly. Without going into the plot (because I hate it when a film review spends most of its time rehashing the plot) Viridiana is unashamed to explore questions of faith, morals and the value of charity. Buñuel presents the action straightforwardly, without melodrama or commentary, and in the end the actions and events speak for themselves, posing his answers to the big questions.

The poor inherit the kingdom

Buñuel doesn’t despise religion (though he rightly despises its pomp and abuses of power), and he certainly doesn’t despise authentic faith. He just doesn’t think it makes any difference. Viridiana begins the film bursting with devotion and naivete, and Buñuel walks her through crises and disappointments until her original outlook is…well, not quite the same anymore.

The fact that Buñuel ends the film where he does belies his opinions. In my view the trajectory of Viridiana‘s plot is only the first act of a longer story, or the first film in a series examining a life of faith put to the test. What do you do when your best efforts and beliefs don’t seem to have any effect? The film is realistic and stark, but to suggest it is all there is to the story is to fall prey to the same naivete that it criticizes in Viridiana herself.

You’ll never even notice the other guy’s not in it. Wait, we named the movie after him?

The plot is the same plot as every other Bourne movie, which in itself isn’t bad, but by itself is empty. Let me sum it up (no spoilers ahead). A troubled CIA program cutting its losses pursues a rogue agent who teams up with an unsuspecting female lead. The CIA nearly catches them but they get away. The CIA catches up with them again. Then they get away.

And then…the credits roll. Seriously. That’s it. I could say more about the gratuitous milking of an established franchise, but I think you get the idea.

And that’s about the extent of the film’s plot. Angela pouts, the two lovers fight, Alfred dances eager and tentative circles around them. By 25 minutes in I wanted to slap this film. Maybe I am out of touch with the sensibilities of the French New Wave (of course I am), which I am told this film falls squarely into, but without more story or exploration of the themes the vibe took center stage, and it’s the sort of vibe that if it doesn’t work you want to slap. You know what I mean. The cooler-than-thou winking at the camera vibe (beyond winking – Angela and Émile quite literally interrupt a scene to bow to the camera), loads of cinematic in-jokes (Alfred, whose surname is Lubitsch, wants to leave at one point to go watch Breathless on TV), and heavy handed editing devices that less move the story along and more call attention to the witty inventiveness of the director (large CAPITAL LETTERS on screen spelling out how a character is feeling right this second! What will he do next?!).

There were some magic moments – Angela and Émile quit speaking to each other and then continue their argument with a stack of books by pointing out scathing words in the titles. But this was too little material stretched over too much time, even at a brisk 85 minutes. At a 20 minute run time it could have been a fantastic film.