The Voice You Hear Is Not My Speaking Voice: The Piano (1993)

I can distinctly remember viewing Angel At My Table and realizing, as it unfolded in front of me, that it would prove to be one of the most influential and important pieces of cinema I would ever see.  From its highly feminist narrative to the absolutely captivating cinematography, it made me fully aware of Jane Campion and kept it that way even though it would be now some four years later before I would catch up with another one of her films.  Of course, when I approached The Piano I had already been made aware of its critical acclaim, far before knowing that Jane Campion was the director, but for a multitude of reasons had never managed to actually catch up with it.  To describe the film as cinematic, or mesmerizing only captures the very visual obvious elements of the film, which are expressive and key to the overall theme of the film, yet not entirely is brilliance.  Within The Piano, viewers are offered a set of expert performances by a range of actors, whether they be the then well-established Harvey Keitel or the then up and coming (now quite successful) Anna Paquin.  It is also a very elaborate and multifaceted story that manages to be expansive and introspective, without sacrificing linear structure, a dangerous act, when attempting to play to the palettes of viewers who are often not versed enough filmically to follow a filmmaker outside of the traditional stylings which constitute big budget filmmaking.  Fortunately, Jane Campion clearly has no concern for making a narrative simple and accessible, but still possess a certain aesthetic frame of mind that seems transcendent of personal tastes and preconceived expectations, something her films embrace both within her choices, as well as the manner with which her characters occupy the narrative space.  To say the film centers on Holly Hunter's character is an absolute understatement, she absolutely rules and always occupies it, with her stoic silence and piercing stare, it is a film about one woman struggling to assure her voice in a world that she is literally trapped within and expected to act subordinately to a male figurehead with less than respectable desires.

The narrative centers on Ada McGrath (Holly Hunter) a woman who, along with her daughter Flora (Anna Paquin) have found themselves transported to a small island off the coast of New Zealand to be wed to a wealthy landowner named Alisdair Stewart (Sam Neil).  Ada, however, has been a mute for quite some time, occurring after the death of her husband after both him and her were stuck by lightning.  The only sort of expression Ada appears to still possess exists within her ability to masterfully play the piano, which is simply dumped onto the beach of the island along with all her other valuable possessions.  It is during this arrival that Ada meets her husband-to-be, as well as his handyman/translator/land-proprieter George Baines (Harvey Keitel) whose tattooed visage and muscled physique serve as a sharp contrast to the sleek and a bit slithery Alisdair.  Realizing that the piano is far to heavy to move upon arrival, Alisdair leaves it on the beach, much to the frustration of Ada who sees it as an extension of herself, begging George to take her to it the following day.  It is during this trip that Ada simply spends the time playing the piano, at which point George finds himself growing fond of Ada, given her ability to play and the beauty that exudes from her as a result.  Realizing that Alisdair simply desires to get the heavy instrument off his hands, George strikes a deal for land in return for the piano, as well as Ada's providing of lessons.  Ignorant to George's ulterior motives, Alisdair agrees quickly assuming he has earned the best deal.  What follows is a game of bartering between George and Ada where in Ada must trade trip to George's residence for the keys of her piano.  This of course expands from simply being her playing to touches, and eventually to intercourse, eventually leading to the two falling for each other.  This realization enrages Alisdair who cuts off one of Ada's fingers in response, yet when he realizes that she will forever find herself attracted to George and ignore him he gives up and the two are allowed to leave the island.  It is during this trip that Ada demands that the piano be thrown off the boat, at which point her getting caught up in the rope leads to her almost drowning, yet she escapes at the last moment, and her George and Flora are able to start a new life.  Although the narrative voice reminds viewers that the memory of her piano always sticks with Ada.

There are many things to consider as minor commentaries within this film, whether it be the clear statement on property, colonization and invasion of space as it relates to Alisdair and George's overtaking of aboriginal land for their own economic advances, even if George clearly has a respect for the people, his appropriation of their culture only speaks to such a degree about his own engagement in capitalist based oppression as a result.  One could even read this as a sort of masculine competition, a sporting challenge, in which a woman's body is objectified as a result.  In both cases, however, Champion is clearly mocking and satirizing such issues, instead; it is absolutely and clearly a commentary on the feminine obtaining a voice.  Much like Julie Dash's Daughters of the Dust, the film possesses a narrative completely detached from the temporal space of the film.  Whether it be the unborn child of Daughters, or in the case of The Piano, Ada's voice which she has lost much earlier in the narrative, before the film begins.  Yet she still attempts to navigate the space of the film as though she were still very much present, and, to be fair, she is present.  She uses, firstly, her daughter as a means to navigate the space, teaching Flora to deliver statements with a directness and frankness as to be taken seriously, not only to assure her respect when she gets older, but to ground the fact that she is speaking for two people.  Of course, the more important manner with which Ada obtains a voice, is through her piano, its strings representing her vocal cords as she speaks her frustration, her sexuality and her love, in some instances all at once.  The soundtrack for the film serves as a beautiful non-diagetic, and at times diagetic doubling of this notion.  Yet by the end of the film both outlets as replacements for her voice fail and she is left with the realization that she must possess her own voice again, the closing scenes suggesting that she will do so with much practice, always remembering that a failure to do so led to her very near death.

Key Scene:  The staging of Bluebeard is a throwaway scene of sorts, but it is this great metaphor of failed escapism that works on a larger context within the film.

This is an artwork, film at its highest potential, owning it should go without saying.

It's Not Suicide If You Are Already Dead: From Dusk Till Dawn (1996)

Quotable, hyperviolent and absurd are all words that could appropriately describe Robert Rodriguez's horror action film From Dusk Till Dawn, in a similar manner to his later work Death Proof, From Dusk Till Dawn takes one narrative convention and suggests a certain plot only to completely avert genre midway, of course one welcomes this in a Rodriguez movie because he does so with such flare and cinematic zeal.  As such, this conversion of genre is what allows for From Dusk Till Dawn to make my horror list, because it is undeniably centered in the genre for its back half, despite initially being, and to some degree remaining, a heist film.  For the most part well-acted, with the exception of the ever grating Juliette Lewis, the group of performers manage to make the most unusual of circumstances seem at the very least plausible.  Furthermore, From Dusk Till Dawn does a great deal of genre reflection and coalescing, hearkening back to everything from seventies shlock films to a great deal of noir existentialism, even throwing in a bit of family road trip drama for laughs.  Rodriguez is of the same breed of filmmaker as Tarantino, who casts in the film, in that he wants to spend as much of the narrative showing how much he likes films, as well as how good he is at directing them.  At no point is the story in From Dusk Till Dawn boring one is on the edge of their seat waiting for the next ridiculous moment or intense action scene, even if, as is the case with myself, it a second, third or hundredth viewing.  Of course, as is often the case with Tarantino, Rodriguez's films suffer from a certain gendered state of mind that can make a considerable amount of the action quite problematic.

From Dusk Till Dawn begins with two men pulling into a liquor store, only to be followed by the entrance of a cop.  The cop after a bit of banter with the clerk heads to the bath room leaving the two men to reveal their motives as runaway thieves, who in a moment of panic shoot the cop, as well as all those present in the store.  It is revealed that the two men are the Gecko Brothers, Seth (George Clooney) and Richie (Quentin Tarantino) and that they are on the run from essentially the entire Texas police force.  Simultaneously we are introduced to a family on a trip, one that includes a doubting preacher father named Jacob (Harvey Keitel), his daughter Kate (Juliette Lewis) and his clearly adopted son Scott (Ernest Liu).  As fate would have it, the two groups collide, leading to the Gecko Brothers taking the family hostage and using their RV as a means to travel to Mexico somewhat undetected.  After an intense border crossing scene the group makes it to their desired destination the eponymous Titty Twister bar and strip club.  Choosing the place because it is open from dusk till dawn, the entire group, Jacob's family included await the arrival of the brother rendezvous.  As drinking ensues and strippers perform things suddenly take a turn for the worst when it become clear that the bar is a vampire haven, one that feeds on its nightly attendees.  The group, along with the help of a few other survivors begin to fight the vampires, eventually losing members as they turn after being bitten.  In the end only a few survive walking away from the incident changed, but unusually unaffected by the inexplicable events.

From Dusk Till Dawn is a fun movie and an extremely watchable horror film, however, like many of Tarantino's films, Rodriguez suffers from a bit of heavy reveling in masculinity.  Everything in this film promotes male dominance, whether it be a constant vying for power between Jacob and Seth, or the obvious phallic nature of the wooden spikes used throughout the film.  Even the presence of Kate, and later, Santanico Pandemonium (Salma Hayek) serves as a means to justify male gaze and desire.  The notion of hypermasculine presence even permeates the minor details of the film, such as handshakes as means of contract, the naming of a character as Sex Machine (Tom Savini), right down to Frost (Fred Williamson) suggesting that no horror on earth will match his experiences during Vietnam.  It is hard to suggest why exactly this glorification in masculine power exists, but I often recall the work of bell hooks in the situations, particularly her critique of Pulp Fiction as ignoring some serious issues of intersectionality and racial stereotyping in the name of hipness.  I would venture to say that From Dusk Till Dawn problematically portrays masculine effects on religion, violence and sexuality only to lose the possibility to critique them beneath insane special effects and cool dialogue.  Now with all that acknowledge, I do very much enjoy this film, however, I am careful to view it with quite the critical eye.

Key Scene:  The discovery of the unconventional weapons cache is hip absurdism.

This movie is a watch instantly gem both on Hulu and Netflix, but should you be a diehard fan of either Tarantino or Rodriguez, this is a must own work.