When Reverend Toller (Ethan Hawke) pays a visit to Michael (Phillip Ettinger) to counsel the young, troubled environmental activist, he is met with a computer screen in the corner of the room detailing the pollution and environmental degradation of the world between the 1990s and the future 2050s. As the screen progresses over time, what initially looks like a weather report takes over the entire screen with blood red tones signifying total degradation of the earth's atmosphere. In this one repetitive image lies the heart of Paul Schrader's new film First Reformed. It is a film about cancer, in all senses of the word: medical, environmental, spiritual, systemic, etc. Schrader, known for his harshly realistic takes on religion, made a film about despair that somehow is full of hope. In one scene, Toller, not always convinced of his faith, explains the conflict of despair and hope and their necessary coexistence. The wise notion of holding two contradictory ideas simultaneously in one's mind: a frustration with religious institutions (and in some of these depictions an utmost contempt for a certain style of institution), while maintaining an acceptance of one's own faith in a real, passionate God. The focus on cancer becomes more and more apparent as Toller himself devolves physically and spiritually. In some lasting moments from the final third of the movie, though, Toller discovers his dormant spirituality waiting to be uncovered and reconnected with God. The final moments, which can be interpreted any number of ways, serve as the embodiment of the contradictory coexistence explored by Toller: sin and grace, destruction of creation and recreating the past, the starkness of the white walls laden with empty crosses and the unrelenting beauty of God.
0 Comments
James Allen claims to build bridges so that people have a means of escape. The truth is that he builds them so he can re-enter society. He needs to reclaim his life from before the war, before the crime, before the unjust prison camp. Alienation is only a feeling to be mended by a bridge. But when he blows up the bridge in the final act of the film, he consciously destroys his last opportunity to re-enter society. He accepts his alienation. This is a classic "film class" movie to watch but I think it's really really smart about PTSD, American ideals, and symbols. There's a very unique tension within every frame of this film. In the same way Murnau injects love with the fear of spontaneous violence, he fills every frame with the insecurity that at any moment another image could burst through, disrupting the image with which we have become comfortable. The consistent use of double exposure and overlaying images is only one of the exclusively brilliant decisions Murnau makes in this movie. This one absolutely floored me. The Last of the Mohicans is arguably Mann's thesis film. That he uses a period piece to discuss the progression of time is essential—both for this film and the progression of his filmography as a whole. But the most sticking aspect that makes it inarguably Mann is his notion that as the world collapses around a character, all that matters is that the character has their loved ones beside them. |
ImpressionsBrief thoughts I have regarding movies I recently watched and books I recently read. |