mariamkhoury

[mariamkhoury]

Punch Drunk Love, written and directed by Paul Thomas Anderson

"I have a love in my life, and it makes me stronger than you can imagine"

Punch-Drunk Love is the story of an anxious and potentially unstable man, Barry Egan, who manages to find love. After I watched this movie, I walked around my house for about 20 minutes, I then made myself some chamomile tea and stared into nothingness.  Evidently, this movie sends a strong message about love, the strength that loving and being loved can give you - or how love can free you from fear. Most importantly, however, I think what this film shows is how we communicate love, and the outcomes of different expressions of love through three main axis: the love that Barry has for himself, his sisters’ love, and Lena’s love.

Barry’s love

Something I always found intriguing about humans is how often we struggle to love ourselves. When we meet the other, we usually build admiration and respect for the impressive things that they are, we grow fond of the good things they do for us and when they show their vulnerability, we don’t stop loving them, if anything, we love them even more. We build a connection based upon our commonality: our condition as humans. However, when it comes to our own weakness, we tend to believe that they are dragging us down, and rendering us pathetic and unloveable. When Barry is talking to his sister’s husband about his depression, he says “I don’t know if there’s anything wrong because I don’t know how other people are” and I think a large number of people can relate to that. We have this horrible habit of keeping our wrongs to ourselves, pretending they are not the essence of what makes us human.

I thought this was one of the character’s biggest complexities: on one side, he projects pity and almost forces you to empathise with him, and on the other side, he clearly doesn’t accept his flaws and constantly goes around them, instead of just facing them. As a result, his frailty makes him feel alienated and consequently, very lonely. One of the most interesting scenes was the very first phone call with Anna, which fluctuates from a friendly conversation to a very standard phone-sex line interaction. Whenever Anna reverts back to her role, the camera shows Barry, sitting on one end of the table, and on the other end, an empty chair - nothing shows a character’s loneliness like an empty chair.

His sisters’ love

Elizabeth’s appearance is usually announced by the pace speeding up, jerky images and blurred speeches. Everything races, and even thought it feels like a hubbub, you can still hear every character very clearly and very intensely, creating an anxiety-inducing environment. Soon enough, the audience links the sister to distress. Now, we usually understand anxiety as caused by a negative, possibly the presence of a badly intentioned character in our lives. Nevertheless, can we really say that Barry’s sisters are badly intentioned?

Elizabeth does want what’s the best for him, she understands his loneliness and no matter how unpleasant Barry appears, tries as much as she can to set him up. I grew up in a family with a similar mindset, the “we’re doing this because we love you” type. I think the film does a great job exposing this expression of love, a love that’s true and honest, yet so harmful. His sisters playfully mock him, thinking that it will remind him of the past and perhaps reignite a connection that they’ve had growing up together. However, what appears like a cute and fraternal teasing drives Barry nuts, until the point he decides to smash a window in a billion pieces. I perceived this choice as symbolic - ultimately, what this teasing does is lock you up in a certain version of yourself, perhaps a younger, anxious, and insecure version of yourself, essentially a self that you don’t want to be anymore. I’ve previously talked about Barry’s reluctance to actually facing himself even though he’s highly aware of the disaster he is. Therefore, this kind of treatment impacts him more than the next. He decided to break that window because he literally wants to find an exit, the idea of being stuck between these four walls with his sisters, his old self and his not-so-much-better new self becomes unbearable to him.

Lena’s love

And finally, Lena’s love. There’s a great allegory scene in the movie, when Barry goes to Hawaii, and gets stuck in a chaotic and nerve-wrecking carnival. He finds the nearest phone booth and calls up Lena. The sounds of the phone ringing gets louder and louder as it intertwines with the noise of the carnival. Suddenly, Lena picks up and the light on the phone booth turns on, and there’s peace.

What I like about Lena’s character is that she pretty much embodies the kind of love she expresses. She’s calm, pure, peaceful, honest and accepting. She brings a stability to Barry and as soon as she first enters the frame, her presence is associated with a warm atmosphere. Much like Barry, the spectator longs to see her again. She doesn’t react to Barry’s weirdness - she does not repress nor does she encourage it. She just accepts him, as he is. Usually with two strange characters, their relationship feeds into their individual toxicity, but with Barry and Lena, it doesn’t, it’s just simple and easy. This honest and appreciative love pulls Barry away from his fears, allowing him to face his biggest demons.

“People are just crazy in this world, I think”

[mariamkhoury]

Modern Times, directed by Charlie Chaplin (1936)

“Can’t I stay a little longer? I’m so happy here.”

I think the advantage with silent movies is that the rareness of quotes can make them very powerful. For instance, this sentence is said by The Tramp when he’s finally let out of prison, indicating in the lightest way that living in prison is nicer than living as a factory worker in the 1930s. 

The title holds a double meaning; it comments on living during the depression-era, but also on Chaplin’s career during the transition of talkies in cinema. By making a stubborn choice of doing a silent film once the era of silent films was a blast from the past, he proved that silence is not only a technological constraint - silence holds unique merits of storytelling that are irreplaceable. After all, cinema is a visual art and I think Chaplin, with his physical magnetism, liked to perceive it that way.

I’m obviously not going to sit here and explain why Charlie Chaplin is a genius or why this movie is a masterpiece. Instead, I’ve noted down three very distinct themes as I was watching the movie, that I will expand on: first, productivity in the workplace, then, social reproduction, and finally, how artists are perceived in society. 

Productivity in the workplace 

Chaplin’s Marxian critic of work is probably the main theme of this movie; with that hilarious and saddening moment where the Tramp is trying the new machine that should allow workers to work and eat at the same time. There are so many different aspects that this scene explores- the element that I resonated with the most was that his hands kept on repeating the same gesture, even after he’s done with work, implying that this alienation that we get from work does not go away once our work day is finished but has a deep impact on our psyche. 

Evidently, we now live in a very different culture, the Google culture which is based on treating your employees like kings. Even though the means are different, the intention is always the same: making your workers as productive as possible. I personally very strongly feel the impact it has on my body. Some days, after spending the whole day on my work computer, I have a hard time perceiving reality and I need a half second where I need to remind myself that I’m looking at another human being. Whether it is the physical fatigue from turning screws the entire day, or the intellectual numbness that comes from repeatedly copy pasting, we’re taken further and further away from our work. But, sometimes, and especially in the 1930s, that is all you could do which pushes The Tramp to times and times again give up on his dignity and his identity. The enthusiasm he does it with, however, brings a poetic sadness to the film. 

Social reproduction

There is a pattern that is created in the movie: The Tramp has a job, The Tramp loses the job, The Tramp tries to find another job, The Tramp finds another job, The Tramp loses that job again. This pattern puts the audience in a never-ending loop, which is essentially, you know, social reproduction - duh. I think what’s interesting though, is looking at the Tramp and how he reacts to that loop. One of my favourite scenes takes place in the mall, where the Tramp decides to put on rolling skates, and of course, a blindfold, and of course, skates right next to a ravine. I love this scene because it essentially summarises the whole movie; or at least, how the audience feels during the movie. He’s blindly and happily rolling around that ravine, and it projects so many different emotions. Evidently, you know he’s not going to fall, but yet you worry and you worry again, to the point where you kind of hope he falls. And the Gamin is here, and you keep on thinking there’s a thousand ways in which she can help, but he keeps on rolling and rolling and there’s really nothing she can do. 

I wondered for a long time why Chaplin decided to make his character such an optimistic, enthusiastic man. I concluded that the happiness of the character creates a beautiful contrast with the tragedy of his situation. I can’t help but think that Chaplin was the British Voltaire in that sense; using humour and absurdity to criticise something that is very much a reality in our society. 

The perception of artists in society

As a final point, I believe Chaplin intended on making us reflect on the perception of artists in our society. The Tramp goes from job to job, and even gets thrown into a mental hospital because of his extravagance. But right at the end of the movie, when the Tramp gets on stage, this is where we discover his power and his skill. But the Tramp doesn’t wait for his moment on stage to become happy, the Tramp is happy throughout the whole movie. However, the only difference is how he’s perceived and he goes from being thrown out the door to being acclaimed. This constant rejection that he suffers really makes us wonder, is this what will happen to us if we’re not good enough to do what we’re told? Or if we don’t want to do what we’re told? My friend jokingly asked me if I related to this, if I was the rejected artist I talk about, but I think we all are. Not because we are all artists, but because I think there’s an obsession with value, and what each individual can bring to society. And if, unfortunately, you have not yet found what you can bring to society, you are deemed worthless until then. 

All in all, I watched this movie 85 years later it first came out and it still felt very modern to me. 

“Buck up! Never say die - We’ll get along.”

[mariamkhoury]

American Psycho (2000), directed by Mary Harron based on Bret Easton Ellis (1991)

“... there is an idea of Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction, but there is no real me, only an entity, something illusory, and though I can hide my old gaze and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours, and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are comparable: I am simply not there”

It took me ages to write this analysis, because I didn’t know if I should compare both pieces or just analyse them separately, fearing to be unfair to both. This stands as a warning; even thought I might compare elements of both pieces, I still think they are both to be read or watched as individual works. For me, the main difference between the film and the book is that where the book concentrates on the character, the film focuses on the context. 

Personally, I engaged with the book more than the movie, because it resonated with a very human aspect of myself. I believe it was the story of a highly anxious banker trying to find comfort in conformity, and beyond that, trying to win a game he doesn’t quite understand, until it drove him insane. The book is built on moments that repeat themselves endlessly: empty dinners filled with Wall Street’s game of who’s who, condescending conversations with secretaries, and gore interactions with homeless people. As these moments keep happening over and over again, I started feeling that claustrophobia, like a never-ending loop that directly echoed with my own feelings of anxiety. The combination of these moments creates a pattern in which every element represents a part of his anxiety that evolves to the point of driving him mad. 

“I am simply not there” - This quote, perhaps the most emblematic quote of both the book and the movie, appears on page 362. Bateman has this realisation right after his secretary, Jean, admits her feelings for him. For the last 361 pages, the reader has to suffer through getting to know a man who does not appear to have any empathy. Right when the reader starts accepting his psychopathic nature, he goes on this intense introspection, which is itself a confession of feelings. In contrast of Jean’s unabashed honesty, Patrick realises the lack of his own, and it bothers him. This part echoes another which confronts Patrick with his ex-girlfriend from his Harvard year. This is the first time throughout the whole book that the character has a genuine interaction, which makes his anxiety peak. Surely, it’s easy for him to reject his emotions and engage in his madness where everyone around him encourage him to. However, his anxiety is triggered when he’s faced with people who do voice their feelings, in a natural and almost shameless way, reminding him that his emptiness is unnatural and beyond that, unjustifiable. That confronts him with his deepest insecurity and his most essential truth: “Because I want to fit in.”

“I am simply not there” - The movie starts off with this quote, and this, I believe, is where lies the most essential difference between both pieces.  We’re introduced to a man who’s already confessed to his non-being and from that point on, we’re looking at this man through this view point. Instead of having a never-ending pattern, the film chose a few scenes, enough to show the audience the kind of world Patrick Bateman is living in. The book essentially explains this is this world, and this is what is going to drive this man mad, but the film explains this man has gone mad, and this is the world that drove him mad. That anxiety is also reflected in the film, at times. For instance, that ridiculous competition over the aesthetic of business cards which is essentially a dick contest in his world, where Bateman dramatically drops his colleague’s business card. I hold Christian Bale in very high regards and he was just the most brilliant actor for that movie (even thought all his co-stars thought he was a terrible actor and a poor choice for the movie) and for me, the absolute peak of the movie is the confession scene. There is something deeply intriguing about this scene; this is the moment where we realise Bateman’s humanity, with the tears streaming down his face like a pathetic 3 year old. It’s so pure, so direct, so pathetic, and so pathetically human. For me, this scene is notable because it reveals something about the art of film: instead of having pages after pages, slowly describing his downfall from human to animal, you just have a scene of Christian Bale, sitting on the floor and crying. It resonates to something so deeply ingrained within all of us. 

When you ask someone if they’ve seen/read American Psycho, the most common answer you’re going to get is: “the story about the guy that thinks he kills people but doesn’t really?”. This is really curious for me, because whether it be the book, or the film, most elements hint at the fact that it actually happened and whether he actually did murder those people is completely open to interpretation. The only real clue that indicates it was all a fantasy is Bateman’s lawyer telling him “I had lunch with Paul Allen last week”. An interesting theory I’ve heard was that the murders, in fact, were real and that the lawyer believes he had lunch with Paul Allen because even if it wasn’t Paul Allen, all Wall Street men are so similar that you can’t tell them apart. Harron included this scene and later on admitted that she tried to avoid as much as she could an obvious interpretation of the story. Considering this, the way that the film exposes Wall Street fits in perfectly with the story Harron wants to tell.  

“Each model of human behavior must be assumed to have some validity. Is evil something you are? Or is it something you do? My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone. In fact, I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape. But even after admitting this—and I have countless times, in just about every act I’ve committed—and coming face-to-face with these truths, there is no catharsis. I gain no deeper knowledge about myself, no new understanding can be extracted from my telling. There has been no reason for me to tell you any of this. This confession has meant nothing….”

[mariamkhoury]

The Hunt, directed by Thomas Vinterberg and written by Tobias Lindhom

“The world is full of evil but if we hold on to each other, it goes away.” 

Yeah, right, Theo, nice of you to say that after you’ve managed to make everyone turn their back on your best friend. But can we really blame Theo? No. This is where the absolute genie of this movie resides. 

The Hunt tells the story of a divorced middle-aged man, Lucas, working in a local kindergarten, who gets falsely accused of abusing a child - and not any child; his best friend’s daughter. Lucas is a very lovable and kind man, and his group of friends kind of makes you wish you’d moved to Sweden (but then you remember it’s Sweden). Evidently, when this tragedy hits upon their peaceful lives, everyone reacts a certain way, and most people decide to trust the child, Klara (a bit unrealistic, but then again, it is Sweden). There begins the Lucas’ slow downfall. 

The first element of this movie is how everyone is right to react the way they do. The kindergarten director initially listens to the child who accuses Lucas of sexual abuse, she then proceeds to inform Klara’s parents, and the other parents. She then calls the police, and organises a meeting between Klara and a policeman, and pushes her to repeat what she had said, which is undoubtedly the most painful scene to watch. But that’s her job, and if anything, she’s doing it beautifully. Thereafter, it’s Theo and his wife’s time to react, and they don’t hesitate one second to believe their daughter, and when she admits to her lie, they think to themselves that Klara has seen the trouble her story caused and is backing out, out of fear. Rarely have I seen such incredible parenting. And then the child doesn’t really know what she’s saying because she’s a child. Consequently, it’s impossible to find someone to blame which creates such a frustration in the viewer. Suddenly, there’s no Manichean scheme of good and bad to hold on to. The viewer starts wondering what is good and bad, and if there ever was good and bad, and everyone tries to do good and yet everyone’s hurt. The Hunt gives a brand new perspective on an issue that is very often dealt with and yet still so taboo, and asks its viewers questions that makes them question their own reality and their own prejudices. 

A second thing I’d like to point out an interesting scene: The Christmas Church scene, in which Lucas finally flips out and drunkenly lashes out at Theo. I’m still unsure how to understand this scene, but it does seem strange to me that this is the scene that turns the situation around. Up until that point, through every injustice that had happened to him, Lucas managed to stay composed and calm. He did not give anybody the satisfaction of being the person they claimed he was, which, in my opinion, would be enough to reconsider if he was actually that person. But that did not do, and what actually pushed Theo to reconsider is a drunk, vulnerable and sad man. Again, I’m still unsure how to understand this scene, but I do think it says something. Perhaps that it’s okay to show one’s vulnerability, and its through that honesty that people perceive the truth? Through that vulnerability, you build trust between two people, and for people who were as close as Theo and Lucas, maybe that weak point was all they needed. 

Finally, the end, which is my favourite part of that movie. In the movie, a year has passed, and we find ourselves in hunting expedition with Lucas, his son, and his friends. Tensions have lessened and Lucas’ life seems to have gone back to normal. On the one hand, I was relieved that the truth had been spoken, and that everything seemed to end well, but on the other hand, I had this constant feeling that something bad was about to happen. I think this makes a great case for how well Vinterberg takes its audience through Lucas’ mind and emotions, guiding you through this new established constant fear. This tension is very well built up in a hunting environment, where anything can go wrong at any point. Suddenly, it happened, the shot was fired. It was right when I expected it, yet, I was still surprised. A strange silhouette appears, suggesting this is the person who shot him, the unstoppable threat. There are so many things that this silhouette can represent: Lucas’ anxiety, the unknown enemy. Beyond a society that will never truly perceive him as innocent, Lucas will never forget how that society treated him. 

[mariamkhoury]

The Meyerowitz Stories, written and directed by Noah Baumbach

“It was like walking barefoot through broken glass to get a milkshake. I loved the milkshake, but, you know, my feet were bleeding.”

The Meyerowitz Stories (New and Selected) essentially tells the story of how a father’s ego can trample on his offspring’s wellbeing. As soon as the movie starts, the audience finds itself in a typical family dinner that reeks of power dynamics and chaotic behaviours, the kind of scene that makes your soul cringe. You haven’t even had time to meet the characters that you’re already deep dived into their psyche. Baumbach cuts through the generic introduction and directly speaks to my most vulnerable self; the person I am at those exact family dinners. 

Danny 

There’s something about Adam Sandler playing a serious character; whilst a majority of my entourage is actively against it, I believe that Sandler plays the most touching tragic characters. Danny, first of all, is called Danny and wears capris, and limps which I believe is a genius touch by Baumbach: not only does it add to his tragedy but also shows how stubborn and proud the character is. Danny is both the prime victim and the prime heir of his dad’s egoism, which makes it so easy to love and hate him at the same time. The resemblance between Danny and The Dad hit me during the hospital scene where Danny and Matthew are catching up; every question that Danny asks Matthew is formulated in a condescending and judgmental way. He barely gives a chance for Matthew to answer before reverting the question back to himself. He even reaches the point of creating an imaginary, Ptolemy, in a desperate attempt to get his brother’s approval. He’s constantly projecting his failures unto the people around him: “Are you disappointed in me? I know Dad is, but I thought maybe also you were critical of me for quitting piano and..”. But, Danny actually cares and tries, as much as possible, to create a narrative in which everything that happened to him made sense: “Maybe I need to believe my dad was a genius because I don’t want his life to be worthless. And if he isn’t a great artist, that means he was just a prick.” What differs Danny from his father, really, is that Danny was, in fact, such a good father that he’s become the Jewish mother. 

Jean 

Jean is definitely the character that is closest to my heart. Unfortunately, her story isn’t quite as developed as the boys’, and even thought part of me likes to believe that was another genius touch by Baumbach, it does appear to be a regretful yet unavoidable mistake. That is what usually happens to the Jeans of the world; their lack of confidence and voice renders them secondary characters, whilst in actuality, they usually portray quite complex personalities. I don’t think Jean minds, however, I think Jean grew up as a secondary character, and even though a small part of her wishes she hadn’t, she’s quite content with the way she is now. Secondary characters, oftentimes, are very much self-aware of their role as supporting characters, guiding the protagonists into whatever direction they need to go on, (even if that sometimes means telling a tragic story about child abuse just to create a funny revenge scene) and Jean does it quite charmingly: “I’m glad you guys feel better. Unfortunately, I’m still fucked up.”

Matthew 

I think by that point we all know that Baumbach is the master of emotional chaos and Matthew’s character embodies it best. Right from the start, he claims he’s immune from his father’s grievances, that he almost finds them funny. But then comes the lunch scene, and in a matter of minutes, Matthew’s already spiraling into his childhood angst until he reaches the point of running after his father’s car screaming: “I beat you!”. I think there’s no point over-analysing their relationship when this scene pretty much says everything. Matthew is not only yet another casualty of his father’s education, but he also suffers from his brother’s jealousy and projections. Not only did he not get a decent dad, but he’s also not allowed to suffer from it. I believe Matthew represents both the idealist and the realist: he’s very much aware and vocal of his father’s wrong-doings, unlike Danny, yet he decided to run away from it because it did not fit his perfect idea of what a family should be. And he hesitates to do the exact same thing when his family, in turn, is falling apart: “sometimes I think maybe I sit this kid out, start another family, and then he finds me at 21″. Even thought I initially thought I didn’t relate to Matthew’s character, the more I think about him, the more I realise he’s the most sensitive one. His only way of coping with his family’s reality was to get as far away from it as possible, alienating himself in every possible way. I think he blames himself for his siblings’ anguishes. One last thing I’d like to note is how touching I find his relationship with Eliza: it shows how great of a father he could be if he wasn’t so anxious about being a father. 

All in all, the movie is incredibly layered with character profoundness and family dynamics. I honestly did not think a movie that featured Ben Stiller and Adam Sandler could make me so emotional, but through very meticulous and humane dialogues, great performance from each actors, cheesy singing scenes and even cheesier slow-motion, Baumbach takes the audience through an emotional journey, filled with humour and a random Adam Driver. 

“I love you. 

I forgive you. 

Forgive me. 

Thank you. 

Goodbye.”

[mariamkhoury]

The Two Popes, directed by Fernando Meirelles and written by Anthony McCarten

“We all suffer from spiritual pride. We all do. You must remember that, uh... you are not God. In God, we move, and live, and have our being. We live in God, but we are not of it. You're only human.”

There are so many great things to see about The Two Popes. I was born and raised in a Catholic background, but I have grown to conceive religion in a new light, define it in my own words. Yet, I think I am more Catholic than I would like to admit, to the point that references to the Church usually make me feel uncomfortable. But nothing made me uncomfortable about this film. 

I personally feel as thought the film wanted to tell a story and chose the set of the Vatican to tell that story, as opposed to wanting to tell the story of the Vatican. The Vatican, in fact, has always been quite a private place, and except for a few scandals here and there, I’ve always thought of it as a big castle where the most pious and pure men would sit and pray all day. Watching two popes being portrayed as human beings was quite disconcerting in a way. 

There are many things in the direction which are worth noting; the documentary-style filming, and the blending of actual footage to the fiction. Both of these elements serve the purpose of making the viewer feel closer to the characters, and gives us an impression of legitimacy. Evidently, the movie is a fictionalised version of real events, but I personally believed I was watching the behind-the-scenes of The Throne of Saint Peter. 

However, what really got to me in this movie is the script and the dialogues. I am not familiar with McCarten’s work, but I’ve very rarely appreciated dialogue so much. I chose the quote above because it alines with my perception of religion. I believe that God represents what is the divine, the pure, the good, the superior, what we aim to strive for, as opposed to Satan that represents the inferior, the impure, the malicious, what we must run away from. And both of them live within us, and it’s precisely their cohabitation that makes us human. This is what Francis says to Benedict, after Benedict admitted to knowing about the molesting of children. Benedict confesses to Francis that he cannot hear God anymore, that he’s plunged so deep into the bad, that he’s lost his connection with God: “I cannot feel the presence of God. I do not hear His voice, do you understand me?”. Earlier, he talks about closing himself to life, and having God by his side, but once he was faced with decisions and real life, he lost God. 

This movie asks its viewer what it means to be good? Or to do good? Or does doing bad make us not good? 

This, of course, is along many of the themes that are brought upon in that movie. Another brilliant dialogue is the first dialogue of the trip that takes place in the garden, where two men of religion debate whether or not Catholicism should adapt to the changing times, or should stay true to its tradition, the place of mercy within Catholicism, and even whether God is the finality or if he is the journey? There are so many brilliant quotes to pick from that interaction, but I guess I’ll go with a cheeky one: “Perhaps we'll find God over there, on the journey, I'll introduce you to Him.”

Another reason why I like this quote above, except for the very obvious dad joke, is because it gives such a humane aspect to Benedict. Something I found very interesting is that the movie revolves around the contrast between these two characters: Francis, being the new age, more in touch, progressive and caring character, whereas Benedict is the cold, traditional and conservative character. However, as the movie developed, I found much more humane aspects about Benedict. Francis holds more of the voice of reason, constantly confident in everything he says, always joyful and nice to everyone. Benedict, on the other hand, is much more relatable: he’s never convinced of what he says, and has quite unhealthy ways of dealing with certain things, and genuinely seems like a man who suffers. His connection to music, always wondering if he’s in the right place, looking for ways to improve are all the elements that constitute a real, authentic character. And then they hug, and they dance. 

Pope Francis : 'Eleanor Rigby?'

Pope Benedict : I don't know her.