Showing posts with label Scandanavian. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Scandanavian. Show all posts

19.2.13

Vanity. Vanity. All Is Vanity: Babette's Feast (1987)


The period piece is a genre that I always approach with a considerable amount of hesitance, which is a surprise considering that I absolutely adore everything about Downton Abbey and would probably come around on most any other Masterpiece theater production I undertook.  I am rather certain that a lot of my uncertainty is grounded within the very theatrical, costumed and rigid nature of the style.  My review of Anna Karenina made careful note of the manner in which the narrative styling and cinematic set-up counters the tradition of the period piece.  The Scandinavian classic Babette’s Feast is, undoubtedly, entrenched within the tradition of the period piece and is heavily influenced by a commentary on the nature of religion, making it quite similar to one of my favorite directors Carl Theodor Dreyer.  I will admit that I would never have undertaken a viewing of this movie, were it not for my research surrounding food in film, but I am more than glad to have engaged with this work, because not only is it beautifully composed, poetically written and simply cinematic, but it has opened me up to the world of period pieces done correctly and I cannot wait to engage with the genre full scale in the upcoming months.  Babette’s Feast is both an incredibly intense consideration of the role selfishness and vanity play into an individuals existence, as well as a reminder that even in the most distinct of philosophies and national barriers things like good music and beautiful music can help to unify any group.  It is also noteworthy that the film deeply considers the nature of femininity as it relates to a variety of oppressions and the rather creative manner in which many women navigated such issues and obstacles.  Yet, one of the major elements that seems to create a visually striking and unconventional film with Gabriele Axel's particular period piece, is that it is so dismissive of temporal and spatial constraints as to almost be experimental in its grandiosity, matching beautifully with its questions of religion and self-identity in a way truly and unequivocally transcendent.  Suffice to say, Babette's Feast is a cinematic revelation and yet again a remind that not all films from the 80's find themselves shrouded by the showiness of the era.


Babette's Feast, does indeed have a character named Babette (Stephane Audran) and while she certainly plays considerably into the plot, especially in its back half, she is rather irrelevant to the front portion of the narrative.  The film focuses primarily on two sisters, Martine (Birgitte Fiederspiel) and Phillippa (Bodil Kjer) whohave lived into old age within the same provincial village in Denmark.  Viewers are led to believe that they have spent much of their life locked on the island as a direct result of their father possessing them as his own, mostly as a result of his religious believes, but seemingly out of a sense of protection, especially since it appears as though their mother has long been forgotten.  The  knowledge that the father refuses to allow either to marry does not go unacknowledged, in fact, many townsfolk attempt to ignore this provocation and ask, always with failed results.  Two figures attempts factor in prominently, firstly in the haphazard and a bit goofy soldier General Lowenhielm (Jarl Kulle) who makes an offer for one of the daughters, only to be rejected leading him to spill his life into his work in the military, using his learned "piety" from the time with the daughters and their father to his advantage, even securing and economically viable, as much as it is political marriage.  The second suitor Achille Papin (Jean-Phillip LaFont) stumbles upon the family after hearing Phillipa sing at church, instantly becoming infatuated with the diva like quality of her voice.  He asks for permission of her father to train her in singing, something she initially agrees to although, when he realizes the sexual implications of such requests, he demands that Papin remove his services and return to Paris.  The narrative then flashes forward considerably and the much older Phillipa and Martine receive Babette at their doorstep, with a note explaining that she is Papin's daughter and wishes nothing more than to serve as a cook to the elderly women.  Although the women explain that they can offer no money, Babette agrees to work for free, eventually bringing the old ladies more money than before, which is, ultimately, topped off by her winning the lottery.  Babette as a gift, wishes nothing more than to cook a dinner for the parish in celebration of their late father, begging to cook a great French meal.  The sisters are hesitant, but agree to let Babette have this one wish, and she blows all of her winnings on the lavish meal, even inviting General Lowenhielm to return.  The dinner complete with rich food and drink serves as a unifier and a breaking of enforced conformity over decades of silence.  The silence is broken though, not through words, but through subtle expressions and actions.  Babette reveals that she was once a cook at a lavish French restaurant and that the sister's allowing her to enjoy her artistic past was greater than any gift imaginable and all those involved seem quick to agree.

Babette's Feast won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film the year it was entered and deservedly so, considering that if an American based society is to identify a singular film to represent the entirety of foreign cinema, Babette's Feast is certainly a deserved candidate in its transnational nature.  In fact, Babette's Feast, while very much a film about the beauty of a singular shared experience, via a feast, is also a consideration of border crossing.  This, of course, happens in very literal terms with the heavy amount of traveling done throughout the film, but can also find itself manifesting in a variety of different manners.  For example, the notion of a spiritual being crossing even invisible borders is a though professed by the sisters' father and a theme that seems prescient throughout the film.  While the characters seem to share distinctly different views of the world, they, nonetheless, seem similarly affected by a large entity, we can call it God in the context of this film, but its essence in some instances moves the villagers to sublime internal remembrance, while in other cases it causes characters to consider their entire existence, as Lowenhielm existentially considers his own vain life, perhaps serving as the main factor in his decision to return for the dinner.  Borders are also crossed in a gendered sense, although not in the performative element of somebody like Judith Butler.  Instead, gender identities are a very fixed thing, however, the roles they can perform in society seem less strict.  For example, both the sisters manage to take the place of their father as spiritual advisors for their community, and while they do not don the dress of a religious figure their status is, nonetheless, tantamount to such associations.  In a similar context, Babette's role as a cook may seem heavily domesticated and, exists in such a state up until the final feast, but with her willingness to throw caution to the wind in the French oriented menu and the revelation that she has been in charge of a restaurant certainly makes a viewer reconceptualize each gendered performance in the film, even by male figures like Papin and Lowenhielm, which become far less "masculine" in a sense.

Key Scene:  Sure the feast takes up a better third of the movie, but it is both grand and simple and serves as an extended and poetic scene and one of the best uses of food as metaphor I have seen to date.

This is a Hulu offering via the folks at Criterion.  I can only hope for a future bluray release, but until then this should work perfectly.

17.10.11

Have You Got All The Troll Footage You Need?: TrollHunter (2010)


This was an impulse viewing if ever such a thing existed.  I was expecting to see an over-the-top special effects heavy movie in the vein of Cloverfield that was visually intriguing, but lacked very little beyond that.  Fortunately, for me, TrollHunter was so much more.  A very self-aware film, TrollHunter takes as much time perfecting the monster movie genre as it does mocking it, incorporating the found footage elements to make a heavy political statement while also dodging heavy reliance on technical wizardry to captivate audiences.  It is a fun movie that is thrilling not for its suspense, but because its genuine captivating qualities which range from humorous dialogue to enthralling imagery of Norwegian wilderness.  I am surprised that it took me so long to hear about this film and feel completely obliged to share it with as many people as possible.


As a found footage film, TrollHunter posits itself as a factual account claiming to be uncovered in a recent release of government documents.  It centers on a group of students who are intrigued by a recent rash of bear deaths in the area, believing it to be a direct result of unethical hunting practices.  However, they quickly discover that what they though to be the actions of a group are instead centered around the work of one mysterious and continually elusive man named Hans (Otto Jespersen).  When the crew finally catches up with Hans, they persistently demand he answer for his ways, assuming him to be the bear murderer.  Hans dismisses them and warns them to avoid his lifestyle because it will prove deadly if they do not.  The group refuses to yield to the warnings and follows Hans into the woods only to lose him instantly.  Taken back by disturbing sounds the group stalls only to discover Hans fleeing out of the woods while yelling out the word “troll.”  It is in this instance that the group discovers that the bear deaths are reflective of something much larger, literally.  Hans explains to the group that he is tasked with maintaining the troll population in Norway and that it is a process enacted by the government.  Realizing that they have stumbled upon cinematic gold, the crew follows Hans on his daily activities realizing that his job as troll hunter is as bizarre as it is lonely, which slowly leads to a bonding amongst the group.  As they continue their quest, they realize that the government’s insistence on hiding trolls is indicative of larger issues and that Hans is a pawn for the government who sees the trolls as a hindrance and wants nothing more than to destroy them all.  It is in this realization that Hans uses the documentary as a call for help to the dying trolls, hoping that all that view the material will realize the trolls indifference towards humanity and that a possibility of a harmonious existence.

  
In typical Scandinavian fashion, the film is incredibly liberal and blatantly uses the trolls as a commentary on environmental decay.  The film’s writer and director André Øvredal seems fit to blame the entirety of this downfall on conservative ideology, particularly that which is concerned with capitalist advances.  It is clear throughout the film that the government’s only reason for hiding the trolls is that as large, lumbering beasts they interfere with the extension of power lines and other forms of industrial evolution, which inevitably rely on destruction of the natural world.  To the government officials in the film murdering the trolls is a simple and cost-efficient answer to industrialization, particularly given that Hans is the only troll hunter in existence.  Øvredal also has no qualms about attaching the problem to Christianity as well, using Scandanavian folklore as inspiration.  Hans notes that trolls lust for the blood of Christians, which inevitably associates their negative relationship to the natural world.  The critique is logical in a liberal sense, because in many discourses Christianity is a root for modern oppression.  The films narrative is even careful to note its fondness of Michael Moore, who the crew cites as a role model.  Finally, the film is obviously a call to maintain the natural world through its cinematography, which often consists of long panning shots of the Norwegian landscape, which are simultaneously breathtaking, and a sobering reminder of the continually vanishing natural world and the hands of technological advances.  In the closing scenes, the film brilliantly edits a interview with the Norwegian Prime Minister to make it appear as though he acknowledges the existence of trolls, or in a metaphorical sense a nature in need of preservation.

As I noted this is a Norwegian version of Cloverfield, but is considerably better, and getting a copy on Blu-Ray should be understood.