Manderlay

7 out of 7

Lars von Trier’s second film, Manderlay, out of what may yet prove to be an amazing trilogy is an exploration into the psychical affects of oppression.

Von Trier, who has been criticized for making a film about racism in America, though he’s never visited, hits at a very sensitive spot in our collective conscience as he points out that our racism was not (and is not) a black and white issue (pun fully intended).

The story tells of how Grace Margaret Mulligan (Bryce Dallas Howard), while traveling with her father and his “men” (her father is obviously a mob boss of some sort) discovers the small plantation of Manderlay, which has never been emancipated, even though the Emancipation Proclamation occurred 70 years prior (the film is set in the 1930’s South). Grace, whose name may be a little too heavy-handed, storms the plantation (with the backing of her father’s men and their guns…you know, just how Jesus did it) and demands that all the slaves be let free at once. Mam (Lauren Bacall), the aging and dying matriarch of Manderlay, tries feebly to explain, but passes before any clarity can be shed on the situation. What follows is the tenuous negotiations between Mam’s heirs and Grace and her men. Grace lobbies that the slaves be given equal share of the plantation and, in order to secure justice, she decides to stay, taking half of her father’s men with her for security. She also places the heirs (former oppressors) into a form of bondage, making them take on the roles that they had previously demanded from the slaves.

The rest of the film traces this newly-freed community as they work through the spring and summer to bring about a successful crop of cotton. They work through a dust storm and learn how to use the democratic process to right wrongs and bring about justice. The process is difficult, but they do make it to the fall, where they sell their cotton at a record price and all share in the wealth equally.

Yet, not all is well (nor would von Trier be criticized if this were the entirety of the film), as the former slaves begin to show their true colors (pun not intended that time) after Grace’s men leave. All along, throughout the film, Grace read Mam’s old journal, which detailed exactly how to keep slaves in check and ranks them on a 1-7 scale, with each number being some different type of insulting ranking. Reading this journal enrages Grace and she spends much of the time trying to systematically correct the systematic wrongs in the journal. At the end of the film, however, the viewer discovers that the conditions of the plantation were intentionally constructed as they were, not by Mam, but by Mam and Wilhelm (Danny Glover), the oldest slave, after both decided many years ago that the Emancipation Proclamation was not necessarily advantageous to everyone. Furthermore, Wilhelm now explains that Grace must take on the role of Mam and be the enslaver that she fought so hard against. This plot twist only gets resolved after Grace flees Manderlay for Washington D.C. and, assumably, the third installment of the trilogy.

This film vexed me much after watching it (and nearly destroyed my friends Ben and Karen, who had so nicely agreed to watch it with me), until I read an article by Karen Lebacqz titled “Implications for a Theory of Justice.” This article, with which I strongly disagree, claims that “It is the stories of injustice as experienced by the victims that count.” The basic thesis of the article is that injustice is only corrected when the oppressed are given a voice. With this voice, assumably, they will be able to tell both what is wrong and how to correct it. As Lebacqz writes, “This means that justice begins with stories of injustice….” Indeed, this is exactly what Grace tries to work out in Manderlay, a fact made even more obvious by the existence of a journal (story) of how to oppress. Grace has the story of the oppression, she has the physical power to bring about justice, she has a captive audience (pun kind of intended), simply put, Grace has everything she needs to bring about justice and yet, the story goes as it does.

What I will contend, in lieu of a narratological approach to justice is that being oppressed does not end when that which is oppressing is removed (be it law, slave owner, etc…). Rather, oppression, like any other repeated and enforced habit, causes a certain psychical affect on the oppressed (please forgive the use of a Freudian term, applied to a pre-Freudian time). Indeed, most liberal philosophy holds that much of a person’s identity, ethics, and reality stem not from some ordained holy place, nor from some universal understanding running throughout humankind, but from the particular time and place in which a person finds oneself. If this is true, if our society is that impressive on our minds and actions, then allowing those who’ve been in a society of injustice create a society of justice, will inevitably just recreate a society of injustice – the formerly oppressed can know no different.

I, however, tend to fall somewhere in between these two views. I would certainly contend that oppression is real (and wrong) and that our surroundings and specific histories have influence on us. I would not contend, however, that these histories have influence over us, as there must still exist some kernel of the created order in even the most harshly oppressed.

The beauty of von Trier’s film is that he pokes back at some of our preconceived notions of how to bring about justice from our former oppression (notions that are reflected in Lebacqz article) and asks if there might be a better way than the current path. Of course, here is where the film gets real nasty, as it implies that most (if not all) African-Americans are still enslaved, but this time because of some implicit agreement between slave and owner that, while never articulated, still runs rampant through the course of recent history. It also fails to recommend an answer after deconstructing the current problem. Yet, maybe that would just be too much for one film.

Often times, a story that is addressing some cultural lie (or myth) can do no more than point out that it is indeed a lie/myth. Only after the art has served to open the eyes and hearts of the viewers can a solution be sought.

I highly recommend this film for any one who thinks about race issues (and that is pretty much everyone).

Little Miss Sunshine

4 out of 7

Little Miss Sunshine could be a commentary on modern notions of beauty and how it impacts the youth of our culture. It could be a commentary on the dependence every individual must maintain on his/her community (i.e. family) and how this inescapability, when truly pondered, isn’t bad. It could just be a funny film with a quirky plot and one of today’s funniest comedians (Steve Carell). Sadly, the film falls somewhere in the middle of all those wonderful stories and suffers for it.

Olive Hoover (Abigail Breslin) is crowned winner of a regional beauty contest for seven-year-olds (after its initial winner is found to have been taking diet pills) and is all-the-sudden thrust into a frenzied weekend trip to California with her parents, her Nietzsche-loving brother, her heroine-addicted grandfather and her gay, suicidal uncle. After a fury of debate in the first 20 minutes, it is decided that for Olive to have her chance at beauty pageant fame, the whole family must pile into an old VW van and travel 16 hours to the national contest. What follows is completely unbelievable (as is to be expected in a good road trip comedy) and completely philosophical/meaningful (as is to be expected in a good drama). The specifics and a chronological recap of the events only serve to vex me, so I won’t do it. Only those who desire to feel perplexed as to what they’re supposed to be feeling should watch this film.

My friend, Greg, argues that this film is “anti-Disney” in its approach to success and I suppose I’m inclined to agree with him. However, the film doesn’t so much say that winning is bad, but more says that what we call winning may be inappropriate and, within this paradigm, “losing” is good. Of course, there is also a hint of post-modern irreverence as the film might also just be encouraging the viewer to seek and do what makes them happy and move forward regardless of communal critique. Those seeking drama could look elsewhere. Those wanting Carell’s humor should turn to “The Office.” Those wanting to think, though, for awhile and then end feeling frustrated should certainly bump this one up in their Netflix queue.

Friends with Money

6 our of 7

Jennifer Aniston continues to search for cinematic success to compliment her triumph in television and might have found it in Friends with Money.

Friends with Money is an unique film, insofar as it deals intimately with the lives of women, but simultaneously stays accessible to men. The film follows the lives of three couples and Olivia (Jennifer Aniston). This odd group is, apparently, the persistent friendship of the four women from their mutual single days. But, as life trudges onward, the bonds that once bound are called into question, as is the purpose of the future. Each character takes these questions on differently and each critiques the other for how they pursue their search. Ultimately, as one would hope, the group remains friends and better for the trials through which they have come.

To relive the entire plot, character-by-character, would tax this review unnecessarily and not even to the advantage of the reader, so I’ll say no more. Rather, I’d like to explore further the writing and directing (Nicole Holofcener, in both roles) and just why this film, whose plot isn’t too terribly different from most of “chick lit/chick flick,” (the latter term is, I believe, completely unique to me, but then, I doubt it) still works for men. I would reason that this film involves its male characters/actors enough to present a balanced version of both sexes and, in doing so, transcends its genre to a place of realism that makes watching drama personally fulfilling. Indeed, enough can’t be said about the male characters, especially Aaron (Simon McBurney), whose metro-sexual character serves as a metaphor for the film as a whole, as he too must rise above the standard genre expectations to surprise the viewer.

Holofcener shines as a writer/director in what is arguably her first major film (she has a few other films to her credit, but mainly her work has been in television, including four episodes of “Sex in the City,” whose influence shines through in the film. Really, four friends? Isn’t that a little convenient?). Again, though, it is the pleasure of watching a film starring women (the female leads are much bigger names than their male counterparts and include Frances McDormand, Catherine Keener, and Joan Cusack), written and directed by a woman, focusing on the lives of women that still doesn’t turn every man into a convenient stereotype, of whom it is easy to know who to root for and who to root against.

As a final note, Aniston does well, once again, taking a role that is quite far removed from Rachel Green, her “Friends" persona. The only critique might be that watching Aniston play this role will feel a little too familiar to her character from The Good Girl. Olivia, like Justine from The Good Girl, is direction-less and purpose-less, but with the hope for more that keeps the viewer engaged in her life and happenings. Thankfully, Aniston isn’t all just down-trodden and depressed in her roles, so maybe the rehashing of a similar character is permitted. Also, maybe, playing Rachel Green for a decade might force a few role choices that would get that taste out of her mouth.

Anyone who is in a relationship, be it with a significant other or friends or both, will see the reflections of their lives in this film and cinema that can get that close to real is always worth watching.

Shop Girl

6 out of 7

Steve Martin writes and stars in this story of finding one’s self beyond one’s employment. The film is not so plot driven as it is character driven, with the main character, Mirabelle Buttersfield (Claire Danes), serving as chief protagonist.

Mirabelle is from Vermont, but now working as a “shop girl” at Saks in Los Angeles. She meets, at the laundro-mat of all places, Jeremy (Jason Schwartzmann), and has a one-time romantic affair with him. Simultaneous to this meeting, Ray Porter (Steve Martin) woos her with dinner, gifts and a hope of a life she could not otherwise achieve. Jeremy conveniently leaves the scene to tour with a rock band (in some form of a glorified roadie role) for four months. During this time, Mirabelle and Ray’s relationship sees its ups and downs, including a meaningless affair Ray has (and immediately admits to) with a former flame. Mirabelle and Ray’s relationship ends in time for Jeremy to re-enter, which is convenient for Mirabelle and the story in general.

Her time with Ray taught her a number of lessons, including a reliance on herself that does not exist at the film’s beginning. Through this new-found identity, Mirabelle feels empowered to leave the counter of Saks for – and this isn’t all that glorious, but thank goodness, for it is much more realistic – the help desk at a museum. This job, though, permits her contacts with the art world and the film ends with Ray providing some form of a benediction on their relationship at the opening night of her art display, where she stands boldly and proudly along side her charcoal drawings with her new lover (and, the film I believe would have us understand, her true lover), Jeremy.

Steve Martin’s role is an interesting note in the film, as he is writer, actor and narrator. This cacophony of voices creates some confusion (or paradox, if you’re a post-modern fan) as to who he is when he’s narrating. If he’s Ray, then the film stinks. If he’s the writer, then why does it have to be his voice (writers are typically content making a narrator that says what they want them to say, but doesn’t force them to be the one to say it)? If it is an independent narrator, then who is this person and why use Steve Martin’s voice? An answer is not immediately forthcoming and maybe that’s for the best. This review, at least, would be much shorter without this quirk to the story.

Shop Girl is in that same vein as Bill Murray’s recent work, particularly, Lost in Translation and Broken Flowers. There maybe a Master’s Thesis in trying to understand why the greatest comedians of the last generation are becoming so reflective in their old age, but then again, maybe its as simple as understanding that this is what age does to us all.