1) While nobody in his or her right mind would characterize Whit Stillman as a “realist” or a maker of realistic films, I would still insist, allowing for the limitations of my particular perspective, that his 1990 debut film Metropolitan is a scrupulously accurate and, yes, even realistic portrayal of both the social class it depicts and the people within it. One reason that people tend to resent what they refer to as “elites” is indeed because those entities are pretty much closed circles. And the conditions within those circles are quite strictly circumscribed. Allow me to offer a supporting anecdote. Stop me if you’ve heard this one before, or skip ahead, because I’m not actually going to stop. A friend of mine used to play bass in a band led by a singer-songwriter who as it happened was a child of social/financial privilege. Her world was Jewish, not White Anglo Saxon Protestant, but that aside, the bubble effect was largely identical to the one enjoyed by the characters in the Stillman film. In any event, one day, after a rehearsal (I place this anecdote some time in the ’70s), the singer-songwriter asked my friend what he’d be up to, and he told her he’d be taking the subway downtown to meet a friend, and the woman, who by this time was at least in her early thirties, got very excited and asked my friend if he would show her his subway token. Because she had never seen one in anything but a photograph before.
And every time I watch Metropolitan, I think of a cousin of mine and how he showed up at a family one Christmas, swaining with a group of buddies from school shortly before he flunked out (or something) of Columbia. My uncle never aspired to WASPdom, but there were periods wherein a kid or two of his did (this relative was and remains a Brooklyn Heights pioneers), usually with hilarious results. Anyway, this was the late ’70s, and he and his buddies showed up in rather ill-fitting evening wear and insisted on drinking from standard 4.5 ounce cocktail glasses, where the hell they got them from I’ll never know, and they clearly got off on swaining around as if they were in a Wodehouse novel or something, and yet there was a slight ersatz quality to the enterprise. Except for my cousin’s group’s ringleader of the unknotted bow tie, who was somehow clearly the real deal and was soon to regret having allowed some of his lowers to adopt his costume, as it were. Very strange.
So yes: I’d say that Metropolitan offers an entirely credible and acute look into a real world that the likes of you and I have such limited access to that, yes, given its inside-the-bubble perspective it might as well be science-fiction.
2) Stillman’s subsequent and unfortunately infrequently-produced pictures have the same bubble in common. Barcelona’s theme and storyline concern how the inhabitants of that bubble behave when the bubble is somehow pierced. The Last Days of Disco, among a great many other things, looks at the decline of both an actual real-world cultural phenomenon that in the film is also a stand in for One’s Youth, and in its light but poignant way concerns itself also with the taking on of “responsibility,” both in the quotidian “adult” sense of looking after yourself but also in a larger, moral sense. But the rarefied atmospheres of those films and the extremely precise and idiosyncratic dialogue spoken by their characters would not fully prepare a viewer for the strangeness of Stillman’s new Damsels In Distress, which I would characterize as a full-on fantasia.
But not an unserious, not to say frivolous, fantasia. I understand the film’s lead character, Violet, played beautifully by Greta Gerwig, seen above, as both a Stillman spokesperson and self-criticism, and I mean that entirely in an intellectual sense—I don’t believe this film is any type of confessional in the conventional sense. Let us take just one example of the Violet view of the world/life. When Violet talks about finding the scent of a bar of motel courtesy soap to be “transformative,” yes, it’s funny, but it’s not entirely a joke. Personal hygiene as a touchstone of not just physical and mental health but also of moral order—I think this is an idea that Stillman takes very seriously indeed. But he is also acutely aware as to how peculiar this idea at first appears in the “real” world that’s outside the movie, and how Violet’s championing of this makes her seem a little ridiculous. The whole scheme of the movie’s whimsy rests on this tension, which is why the delivery of the dialogue in this picture is by necessity a trifle more formal and declamatory than it was in Stillman’s prior films, which, you know, have LOTS of dialogue. (There’s more than a slight touch of Mamet here, in the way the actors, even the ones playing rather absurdly stupid characters, make sure the attentive viewer will feel every comma.) The way the character played by Adam Brody descibes how in his view “decadence” has ruined homosexuality is offensive on the face of it, but the argument behind it, that a thing cultivates a more legitimate/authentic/coherent aesthetic/moral coherence by virtue of being suppressed or needing to be kept secret is, I think, something that Stillman feels rather deeply, and this film’s form is necessarily an articulation of the collision of his unusual ideas and the place that he’s trying to pitch them.
3) Throughout the film, I was thinking, “This kind of reminds me of a Rohmer picture,” but not of the ones the French writer/director is best-known for, and I couldn’t put my finger on it, and this morning I did. It’s 1993’s The Tree, the Mayor and the Mediatheque, one of his most obscure (it never received proper U.S. distribution and is dauntingly difficult to see here). Thinking on it now, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Stillman knew the picture well, so pronounced are both the thematic and modal similarities. Rohmer’s film posits eccentric notions culled from a classically conservative philosophy; its characters speak not just formal dialogue but sometimes actual verse; and the film ends, like Damsels, with a relatively full-blown musical number. Some enterprising programmer should try to book a double feature of the two films one day. Seriously.
4) The peculiarity of Damsels has led some people who would very much like to posit themselves as stalwart Stillman people to evince some disappointment. This is particularly exacerbated by the fact that—because Stillman writes such “strong” female characters, and because Greta Gerwig is Greta Gerwig—Gerwig or Stillman or some some weird combination of Gerwig and Stillman seem to have been appointed at this cultural moment (and in some circles) as the Vice President(s) of Feminism,the new media’s sassy-and-smart division, or whatever (Lena Dunham is the current president, not that she really asked for the position). This being the case, the actual, unclassifiable-by-dogma work produced by these individuals is seen not just as weirdly wanting, but as also LETTING DOWN Our (their) Side. I won’t cite, or link; you can find the suspects, as they’re not too unusual. Instead, I will (again) quote Robert Christgau, from his 1975 review of the Robert Fripp/Brian Eno masterpiece No Pussyfooting: “Although art-rockers praise Fripp’s undulating phased guitar and Eno’s mood-enhancing synthesizer drones, they also complain that it all gets a little, well, monotonous after a while. That’s the problem with art-rockers—they don’t know much about art.”
Great call on the Rohmer comparison, “Tree, Mayor…” and all (indeed, what a double feature that would be). I was reminded of another nouvelle vague luminary—Jacques Rivette—and his melancholy musical “Up, Down, Fragile” while watching “Damsels.”
“the character played by Adam Brody describes how in his view ‘decadence’ has ruined homosexuality”
My memory of that point is a little different, that “decadence” itself isn’t what it once was, though even that does lead back to the conclusion that you cite – that “freedom” is to blame.
Criterion just announced July releases of Last Days & Metropolitan on bluray today.
Glad you see the Rohmer connection. I’ve mentioned it in several places and long to chat with Stillman about it.
The characters he creates are only superficially “élite.” As I’m sure everyone doubtless recalls one of the principle character in “Metropolitan” is poor – a fact that his rich friends come to realize and don’t hold against him in the slightest. They mya be “upper crust” but they’re not snobs. He’s part of the group, they all love him, and that’s that. In the same way Violet in “Damsels” wants to spread her presumably sage advice to one and all. a fortiori her desire to invent a new dance craze couldn’t be more democratic.
What I love about his characters is that you’ll never catch them saying “I don’t know why I’m doing this.” They all come armed with often rather elaborate reasosn for their beliefs and behavior. Often as not they’re misguided. But they manage to learn from their mistakes – Violet being a perfect example.
So glad you know “The Tree The Mayor and the Mediatheque.” Outside of “Percival” it’s the clsoest thing Rohmer ever came to a musical. And it’s big song finale matches the great restaging of “Things Are Looking Up” by Stillman in his “Damsels.”
I laughed out loud at Adrien Brody’s remark. Speaking as a 65 year-old gay activist I didn’t find it offensive at all. Saying that if he were to be gay he would have preffered another era because today it’s about “guys in muscle shirts hitting on each other” is perfectly a propos for a Stillman character.
Man, I hated this movie. I mean I really, really hated it. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve detested a movie this much since BENJAMIN BUTTON. I got so aggravated while watching it that I wanted to smoke cigarettes and start doing pushups. This thing is so hermetically sealed off from any recognizable human reality that it’s impossible to give a shit. The characters come off as nothing more than vessels for Stillman’s ostensibly witty words, though for me so much of the dialogue played like what would happen if Kevin Smith decided he wanted to start sounding like Frasier Crane. And it’s so smugly self-satisfied, and weirdly oblivious to its own unfunniness. I mean, I know comedy is subjective, and maybe someone out there thinks watching a dumb guy lose his shit over a rainbow is funny. I didn’t.
Was it a double rainbow? ‘Cause a guy losing his shit over a double rainbow is definitely funny.
Guy losing his shit over the rainbow in DAMSELS way »»> Guy losing his shit over the double-rainbow in that YouTube vid.
Even funnier than the Auto-Tune song version of the double rainbow guy? Can’t wait then.
Seriously though, I hope DAMSELS comes to my neck of the woods, but I don’t think I can count on it. Probably have to wait for home vid.
You had me until you quoted Christgau…but that was the very last line of the piece, so I guess it worked out all right.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FXrjIrmek88
Better a man loses his shit over a rainbow, than lose it over Rainbow Dash.
Riveting as always, Oliver_C…
Notice that Kenny has never once acknowledged you?
Maybe you’re, I dunno, kinda stupid?
I masturbate to old Ruby-Spears cartoons, Lex. Anything’s possible. On the other hand, I’m older than you but weigh less *AND* have more hair.
Now get back to your fucking telecine, Hemmingway, and hope the glare off your scalp doesn’t mess up the gamma!
PS: Given that Glenn Kenny worked for a magazine that once devoted six pages – or was it eight? – to the movie career of (wait for it) Tonya Harding, what makes you think I care for his acknowledgment?
Mr Kenny, seriously – (adopts voice of Josh from ‘The Last Days of Disco’) – Ban this fucking clown.
PPS: My initial comment was of course a humorous dig at the so-called “brony” subculture (which even *I* have nothing to do with).
Hmmmmmm… Oliver_C’s mush-headed screed was so wankery, I feel protective of LexG. So confused right now.
A similarly dull-witted associate of mine tried to argue that Stillman was the granddaddy of mumblecore. Ridiculous. For starters, the characters are far too articulate and even purposeful.
Be careful, Bob: such concern might prompt Lex to describe at length, in a repeat of his ‘Hollywood Elsewhere’ Jack Torrance homage, about just how he wants to stick his [REDACTED] in your [REDACTED].
Seriously, Lex, everybody – I’ve had the likes of *Crusader Cat* (Google him) furious at me. After a fundamentalist Christian dressed like ‘Mrs Sexy Kitty’ from ‘CSI: Fur and Loathing’ threatens you with eternal damnation, well, Lex’s sex-starved, anti-intellectual gonzo routine is penny-ante stuff.
Ooooohhhhhhhhh. Please ban yourself.
I re-post my anecdote from the earlier thread, just for the sake of hopefully not being the last one to comment again:
I attended a Q&A with Stillman last month and he was asked specifically about how he felt being mentioned in the same breath with the whole mumblecore thing.
Stillman said that he would like to think of his films as “mumblecore with better diction”. Which, even in its joking slight, is a nice compliment to mumblecore in general, methinks.
If Stillman is ‘proto-mumblecore’ (a phrase I just made up that may not deserve to exist), I would prefer he be its Uncle to Rohmer’s Grandfather, I guess. Plenty of others have made these connections, though the fact that the directors all have completely different approaches to the CINEMA of it all is kind of missing from the comparisons (just like how Dunham, Bujalski, and Aaron Katz are wildly different as well).
He was also asked about the “heightened reality” of his pictures, especially DAMSELS, to which he really didn’t feel the need to explain himself. It is what it is; Obviously not reality.
I would like to think that, like Rohmer, he works less as an (WASP) anthropologist than as a champion of a Cinema of ideas.
I tried to work with Fred’s comments about gays but the “I don’t see the point.” seems to be a sort of breaking point in that discussion. It seemed that way for most people in the theater. Until that sequence, everyone was laughing and enjoying the movie. Then 3 people directly in front of me walked out and 1 person behind me walked out. I found I was the only one laughing from there on out. I saw Stillman conveying what David Ehrenstein saw it as. Yet afterwards when trying to communicate why I was not offended, one friend said it is kind of odd that conversation occurs in a film that has no gay characters. This is a tough one. I liked the film but that sequence is really bothering me more.
And the thing is, I don’t recall the confident, smiling gay dancers glimpsed repeatedly in ‘Disco’, with their body paint and leather gear, as being at all unwelcome, let alone “ruined”.