Angels Always Speak German, It's Tradition: A Dangerous Method (2011)

While I had seen a few David Cronenberg films well before I had decided to "get into him" as a filmmaker, it was around June of last year that I finally encountered him as a director proper and slowly notched his oeuvre off of my needs to be seen list.  Considering that yesterday was his birthday and that I had A Dangerous Method delivered the other day via Netflix, it seemed far to serendipitous an opportunity not to take.  I am aware that there has been a sort of tapering off of the love for Cronenberg by his fandom as his films have move far away from their more gore inspired roots to something that at first glance seems to be cerebral and less physically affective.  I can see the confusion for certain, but I am also wholly aware that body gore and affect do not need a visual component to work wonders.  Indeed, it is with almost perfect precision that Cronenberg is able to take the deeply psychological and disturbing elements of the interior and make them work on the body without really showing the gore he has become synonymous with the director.  Sure there are some deeply graphic scenes and the film is disconcerting, but this is Cronenberg moving in a new direction, after all as of yesterday the man is seventy one years old!  To make The Fly or Scanners is simply not his world anymore, like most directors (Tarantino excluded) maturity brings forth a new look at the world and a far more introspective execution in his films.  Hell, even Michael Bay seems to be moving in this direction and it should be no surprise that it occurs with the master of gore.  If one is looking for film to affect them on a deep level, then Cronenberg is continuing to succeed in a way few are and were he not being overcome by the likes of Paul Thomas Anderson and David Fincher, I would be prepared to argue that he is one of the most important directors working today, but at seventy one to be mentioned in the same breath as the former filmmakers is a success all its own.

A Dangerous Method focuses on the work and life of Carl Jung (Michael Fassbender) as he continues to establish himself in the field of psychoanalysis, despite having to do so under the rather intense and broad shadow of Sigmund Freud (Viggo Mortensen).  Although, Jung knows that this is a near impossibility when he is provided with the patient and prospective psychoanalyst Sabrina Spielrein (Keira Knightley) things change drastically.  A frantic and disheveled woman, Spielrein, nonetheless, proves a counterpoint to so many of Freud theories, completely throwing the theorists understanding of abject desire and erotic fixation out the window.  Jung begins pouring his entire studies into working with Spielrein, while also guiding her along in her endeavors.  This act comes at the frustration and anxiety of Jung's wife Emma (Sarah Gordon) who is busy attempting to provide the doctor with a son, the only way in which to assure that his name will continue to possess legitimacy and avoid the existential fear of losing one's name.  Yet, this seems to be of the most minor concern to Jung, who finds the navigation between patient learning and desire for Spielrein to become less and less clear, particularly when she begins making advances towards him, seeing his role as authority figure and teacher, overlapping with her own problematic relationship with her father.  It is not until Jung is given another psychoanalyst turned mentally ill patient in Otto Gross (Vincent Cassell) that things change.  Gross argues that Jung must engage in relationships with his patients in order to assure that he will become happy and better achieve a relationship.  Blinded by his already repressed desire, Jung takes Gross's ill-offered advice to heart and begins a relationship with Spielrein, one that puts his familial relations at odds and eventually leads to his contentious and troubling confrontations with Freud.  Finally, believing he has become friends with Freud, Jung offers up his dreams for interpretation, hoping to receive the same in return.  When this does not happen, Jung questions the entire structure of authority, although this happens far too late to solve things with either Spielrein or his family, instead, Jung pours everything into work and solitary studies.

If one were to extract the psychosexual element at play in this film, it would read as pretty much another period piece of desire, lust and repression in a time of hyper-conservative conformity.  There have been other films about the era of psychoanalysis, but the limitations of censorship often cause them to be confused and lost in safe narrative construction.  Cronenberg, as most know, has always pushed the boundaries and buttons of censors, using giant bugs and non-linear narrative to make one of the greatest examinations of repressed sexual identities in modern cinema.  Here, he is dealing with the perverse and in no small way he does so with it expressly meaning to shock.  Under the guise of the cold medical rhetoric, Cronenberg is able to talk about the most uncomfortable of human functions in banal terms.  When the psychoanalysts talk of the various fixations, many of which involve relieving oneself, the overlay of Jung consuming things makes a clear connection that human bodies are subject to exchanges that are in a constant ebb and flow.  It is not so much an act of pleasure in the context of this film as it is replacing voids that are physically lost.  Cronenberg takes the guise of excretion and argues that it is in these basic human desires that psychoanalysis seems to be replicating a mental understanding of something physical.  It is heady academic theory and at this point has become more a point of literary consideration than anything certifiable, indeed, most psychologist just teach it as a point of historical curiosity.  Where Cronenberg seems to relish most in regards to narrative is within a consideration of authority, it is in this space that he seems to find the body at a loss, a surprising moment for Cronenberg, who had prior tied the body to the world of television and video games.  In the space of this narrative the body is a thing that can only be punished by authority, because rewards are seemingly less physical and far more cerebral.  The basest of human desires often coming in as, again, fillers for hopes of approval.  In the vague and dreary endings that have come to signify the filmmakers works, desolation and ennui fill characters who are blindly hoping for something far grander, but still linger on the failure and limitations of the body.

Key Scene:  I was initially hesitant to embrace Knightley's performance as it seemed to be very Oscar-baity, however, one scene involving her recollecting a dream to Jung where she is in the foreground and he in the background.  It is deeply intense and cinematically engaging.

I rented this, but intend to buy it soon.  However, it is a different kind of Cronenberg than most expect, so I would suggest doing the same before pulling the trigger on a purchase.

Romantic Love Is The Last Delusion Of The Old Order: Anna Karenina (2012)

Much hype circulated around this recent adaptation of Anna Karenina, which of course has proven to be a staple of film, for many decades, seemingly having some adaptation for pretty much every decade within the history of cinema.  It is hard to justify creating a new version of such works, especially when it is arguable that nothing new can be provided on the subject matter, however, Joe Wright does manage to exact something that is fresh both in terms of the age old material, as well as in regards to cinematic production as well.  This particular version, similar to one of my favorite films Dogville, immediately demands that viewers accept the world of their film to exist within a distinct and minimized space.  While it is certainly not as diluted as in Von Trier's work, Wright's adaptation of Anna Karenina is seemingly set within the confines of one theater, which proves both expansive and restrictive, much like notions of love and intimacy so ever-present within Tolstoy's seminal novel.  Many critics, specifically the guys at Filmspotting, seem decidedly split on Wright's vision, a few arguing that it brings a much desired vibrance to the antiquated text, while others seem content to claim its showy spectacle as a distraction.  I would venture to say that an argument could be made for either, although I favor the new life argument and happily embrace Wright's vision, although it could be influenced heavily by my deep adoration for his breakout hit Atonement.  Of course, this adaptation of Anna Karenina is not perfect and certainly has a handful of flaws, especially in regards to embracing consistency within the rather condensed diagetic framework, however, when this minimalist approach coalesces perfectly with the grandiosity of the cinematic narrative magic does exist on a nearly unprecedented theatrical level, and to Wright's credit he manages to evolve and appropriate specifics of the novel to an contemporary audience, which results in a quite an enjoyable film and one of the deserved stand outs from this year in film.  Furthermore, it never hurts when a movie incorporates stars from the hottest show from across the pond, which, as you certainly know, is Downton Abbey.

The story of Anna Karenina is all to familiar, even for those who have not read the novel or seen an adaptation earlier, the premise and plot has been adapted and reworked to fit a variety of films and other cultural outputs, regardless, a rehashing of the plot is a bit necessary as it is a dense work with many characters moving throughout the narrative.  Essentially there are two intertwined story lines, the first focusing on Matvey (Eric Maclennan) a wholesome pseudo-aristocrat who has taken to a life of hard labor as a means to become closer to his employment, as well as those that work for him, much to the demise of his family and his dear friend Oblonsky (Matthew Macfadyen).  Despite his troubled identity, Matvey is quite resolute in his adoration of Dolly (Kelly Macdonald) a baroness who is the object of many suitors, specifically Count Vronsky (Aaron Taylor-Johnson) a soldier who helps tie in Anna Karenina (Keira Knightley) the somewhat vapid wife of Russian diplomat Karenin (Jude Law).  Dolly refuses the marriage pleas of Matvey because of her infatuation with Count Vronsky, however, Vronsky's eyes wander to Anna upon their initial meeting, a desire that is shared by Anna who despite her position of power as it is tied to Karenin engages with Vronsky and becomes his mistress.  Needless to say their improper engagement leads to levels of distrust and infidelity ones with very serious societal and political consequences, eventually leading to the ruin Vronsky's military career and Anna's being shunned by proper social groups.  In the wake of being left by Vronsky, Dolly returns pleading forgiveness from Matvey who embraces her desires gladly and their life begins with dueling sacrifices intended to display their mutual loves, which proves beautifully successful.  In sharp contrast is the relationship of Anna and Vronsky one that has detrimental effects mentally on Vronsky and enacts clearly physical changes upon Anna, one of which being her eventual death.  However, even in her lack of existence, the narrative suggest that her presence lingers on even in the most subtle of situations.

The beauty of the metaphor of a closed space within this version of Anna Karenina is not easiliy lost and, in fact, is quite welcome.  The notions of politics, polite society and infidelity are often intimately tied together.  Hell, look at the recent General Petraeus scandal and its aftermath, not so much for its degree of shock concerning its effects on how we understand privacy and the value of respect associated to public figures.  Wright's adaptation certainly plays into these ideas in how we are led to view characters like Anna and Vronsky, whose relationship does have an element of sincerity and legitimacy, yet the very clear acts of infidelity and disregard for other individuals makes it loathsome, especially since in the confined spaces of this particular narrative many of their acts of betrayal occur while the other individuals are literally standing within eyesight, take a dance scene for example.  Incidentally, this notion of close quarters also allows for guilt and paranoia to consume those engaging in acts of betrayal, as well as those being betrayed, which happens with near cinematic perfection when we are shown Karenin leaving his house, only to look through a glass window to see not his reflection, but that of Vronsky, a cruel reminder that exiting the stage does not mean that the terrible and bothersome actions are occurring any less.  This moment is almost hypermeta, in that Wright questions what is lost when acknowledging that a character in a play, despite being off stage, in all likelihood still hears words and actions occurring on stage as they are often in earshot.  This is doubly exposed in the moment of Anna's death, which while exceptionally graphic is more so intense because the characters close to her appear to fell the physicality of her passing, not on a ethereal level but one of a very real factor, because it is occurring in the rafters above the theater, at least the diagesis of this work would lead us to believe such things.  Beyond these moments of brilliance, Wright also makes nods to The Rules of the Game and Children of Paradise that cannot and should not be ignored in this specific reading.

Key Scene:  The horse raise is really fucking intense, so much so that the expletive is necessary to drive the point home

This film is cinematic and meant for theatrical consumption, fortunately for everyone it is still in theaters and quite deserved of your money.  Drop what your are doing and go watch it immediately.