He Cried Incredulously...

"Can't repeat the past?"

One of my top five films ever, Baz Luhrmann's 2001 ode to the hedonistic lifestyle of 1800s Paris, Moulin Rouge was essentially a generic story that was all in the telling. Part melodrama, musical, Bollywood, and costume drama, Luhrmann's driving force behind it seemed to be to ramp everything up to 11. In an interview in Venice Magazine in 2001, Luhrmann claimed that,

We set out to make a cinematic form which is the antithesis of the current cinema vernacular. Where the audience participate. Where they are awakened. Where they are alive in the cinema.

It was like nothing else. 12 years later, one Australia, and a bunch of commercials, and Luhrmann has just released The Great Gatsby, a film he had originally planned to make immediately following Rouge.  The excitement precipitating it has been palpable, despite controversies over the new cover, the book has sold over a quarter of a million copies of the Luhrmann edition. Originally scheduled to be released at Christmas 2012, a canny piece of jiggery-pokery has seen it now as a Summer blockbuster, perilously but ingeniously pitched between Star Trek Into Darkness and Iron Man 3, two films aimed squarely at a young male audience. It's a move that has clearly paid off, as a predominantly female audience has pushed it over $100million domestically, clearly sold on the romance between Daisy and Jay, and Leo DiCaprio once again perched as the tragic romantic lead. Or should that be the romance between Satine and Christian?

The aim of this post is to look at the similarities between both Gatsby and Rouge in an attempt to understand the director's motives in creating two texts so clearly connected beyond superficial comparisons.

Moulin Rouge! (2001, 20th Century Fox)

The Great Gatsby (2013, Warner Bros. Pictures)

For comparative purposes, I'm going to purposefully ignore a lot of the over-arcing narrative similarities between the two films, as I feel that given Rouge's somewhat deliberately generic nature (as part of the form it is paying homage to) render these a little too simplistic. Instead, with particular focus to the introductions of the two films I will attempt to analyse the use of technical and cultural codes to show the similarities between the films.

Both films open with a nod to their respective time periods - whilst there is no 'red curtain' in Gatsby there is another nod to the artificiality of creating the era. Rouge's opening had us examining the first type of cinema, on a long tracking shot seeing the title card of 'Paris 1888' framed in a particularly silent movie manner. Gatsby repeats this trick, showing us the 'actual' credits for Warner from the 1920s, attempting to at once immerse us and make us aware of the period. 

The one odd concession that Luhrmann has given to translating the piece to the screen is that he has given us a wraparound narrative in order to allow us access to Carraway's thoughts. So it is that we see Carraway sitting in a darkened room, looking bedraggled, recovering from alcohol abuse in a grey sanitarium. It's a neat little trick that allows Luhrmann to comment somewhat on the hedonistic excess of the time. Much like the absinthe drinkers of Paris 1888. Yes, Rouge's wraparound is incredibly similar, in fact, down to the depressed alcoholic writer (McGregor's Christian) who has taken to typing out his thoughts on a typewriter - with key phrases that then appear on-screen. Granted, in Gatsby, Luhrmann has graduated beyond simple diegetic titles, allowing his words to wisp in and out of the screen like Gatsby's dreams. It's as if he's somehow decided to re-do his opening with a bigger budget and a more serious text. Yet that itself seems false.

The similarities continue. Gatsby is alluded to much like Satine, seen in glimpses and flashes (before his grand appearance, as fireworks explode, to Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, akin to Satine's Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend) and we follow the same trick of 'rewinding' film, via a grand reverse tracking shot. In Rouge, this is to rewind to a more glamorous, pre-absinthe, revolutionary Paris. In Gatsby, it is the city of promise, New York. Once again, the two are like-for-like in their 'diorama-esque' artificiality. At this point, I began to wonder if Luhrmann was trying to point to his past glories - that he has already made 'The Great American Australian Movie'. 

And, much like McGregor's Christian, we see Maguire's Carraway arriving in New York, complete down to the freeze-frame on his young, naive face, highlighting the contrast from the opening and the change in mood. It's quite unbelievable. 

And there's more. The recurrent motif of 'Come What May' replaced by Lana Del Ray's 'Young and Beautiful', the party scenes, full of frenzied close-ups, then repeated in stop-motion slow-mo to emphasise the underlying seediness. It's as if we're remaking the same film.

Which leads me to the question I pose - why re-do Moulin Rouge? Particularly when Luhrmann has been given one of the most incredible pieces of source material to start from? It leaves me with one of three thoughts, and none of them are particularly pleasant ones. 

1) Luhrmann's bag of tricks is sadly empty, and this is all he knows. I would hate for this to be the case - there are moments of Gatsby that are incredible. The most stunning is the climax in the Plaza Hotel in chapter 7, where oddly enough, Luhrmann dispenses with the gimmicks and removes all non-diegetic sound and any sort of whizzy special effects, putting the actors' performances front and centre. It almost makes it seem as if these events are played out in some sort of alternate-universe stage play, and is invariably both striking and useful revision material for all English teachers to utilise post DVD-release (this one included!)

2) Luhrmann believes that Rouge, somehow needed to be improved upon, and by placing a classic piece of literature on top of the framework of that film, it is his chance to revisit and 'fix' the film. Despite its flaws, Rouge is (forgive the pun) a sparkling diamond of a film, and one that stands on its own two feet without the lineage of a long-revered text to back it up.

3) Luhrmann is Gatsby. At the end of chapter 6, after telling Nick Carraway of a moment, five years ago, where they went for a walk, Gatsby talks about repeating that one inescapable moment. Rouge was like nothing I had ever seen on screen, a level up from Romeo and Juliet. Carraway tells Gatsby that he can't repeat the past. Gatsby, looking around 'wildly' responds, much as I sadly feel Lurhmann would,

Why of course you can!

Relics...

So I discovered, while cleaning my old PC, all of my university level film pieces. As such, I thought I would share one, which I found interesting and still relevant. It's on violence - one of my favourite, and most hated elements of cinema. Hope you enjoy...

Contrasting Views -                                                                         

The Reversal of the Impact of Violent Sequences In Relation to Genre

                                                                                                                  Martin Hollis

            “Penn and Peckinpah helped establish the stylistic features of ultra violence, while subsequent filmmakers have replicated and exaggerated them. Squib-work, multilateral filming and montage editing utilizing differential rates of slow motion - this combination of elements became one of the two dominant aesthetic forms of ultra violence”^[1]

            Lisa Parks’ claim that acts of physical aggression take on different meanings depending upon the genre to which they are attached is an important one. Indeed, the idea that two similar violent acts can raise two different meanings is one that complicates many other theories, most notably those seemingly raised by the effects model. If, indeed, Parks’ claim is accurate, this would seemingly count against the validity of the effects model, in that one cannot justifiably state an act is explicitly violent, unless one see the context in which it is shown. This essay will evaluate Parks’ claim by looking at two similar fight sequences from two different movies - Fight Club (Fox, 1999) and Mission Impossible 2 (Paramount, 2000), and examine how, if at all, the meanings of the violent acts in the sequences can be read differently. The sequences examined will be the narrator and Tyler’s first fight from Fight Club and the final fight between Ethan Hunt and Sean Ambrose in Mission Impossible: 2.

            Both sequences are ostensibly similar, indeed, they are both fist fights between two men, yet the films themselves are not so. watching Mission Impossible 2it is more than likely that the viewer has a knowledge of Tom Cruise and his star role - that of the action hero from Top Gun, the undying star of countless films, and indeed, Mission Impossible 2’s prequel. Also worth noting is the involvement of John Woo, who is renowned for directing action sequences. With some (or all) of this knowledge, the viewer no doubt expects a ferocious action film, in the vein of other Cruise / late 90’s films (eg. The Rock, Armageddon, et al). It is with that knowledge, having just witnessed a fantastical motorcycle sequence, which climaxes in both characters essentially flying towards each other, that the viewer enters the final fight. Whilst the sequence may be seen as more realistic than the others - the two men are both exhausted, both claw and scrape at each other - the sequence is still rooted in many of the conventions of the action film. Indeed, the film follows many of the conventions previously mentioned that were established by Penn/Peckinpah, and as such, the violence seems accessible, not overtly brutal, as it is recognisable as being within accepted norms of violence within action films. During the sequence, an almost tribal drum sounds out, punches and kicks are given extra weight thanks to the assortment of non diegetic sound effects placed over the soundtrack, and Cruise’s character is subject to that staple of action movies - the honourable wound, that of suffering as a way to create new strength. As Rikke Schubart states,

            Identification is with the hero as victim, not victor. In spite of the apparently

            feminine position, there is nothing effeminate or womanish whatsoever about the

            passions of the action hero. Instead of weakening the hero, the pain induces new

            strength.^[2]

This staple is shown in Mission Impossible 2 as Ambrose cuts Hunt’s face, then chest, and nearly drives the knife into his eye. The ensuing sequence shows Hunt throw Ambrose off him, therefore gaining his strength through his weakness. Viewed within the context of the film, then, the violent sequence of Hunt’s face being cut serves the established rules of the action film - the viewer sees the wound not as anything excessive, comical, or grotesque, but as a necessary evil for the character to overcome their enemy. It is also here where the sequence becomes much more aerobatic, with Hunt kicking in mid air, both men running and jumping at each other. Interestingly, although the sequence is much less realistic in the sense of the world outside of the film, within the film, and the action genre itself, this is not the case. The violence in the film, much more in vein with other action heroes (such as Schwarzenegger, Stallone, Willis etc) in its excess seems more fitting with the sequences of fantastic action which preceded it. Having been attacked previously, the violence in the final sequence is then seen as both justified and serious, given Hunt’s new quest for masculine superiority, after having received the subverted threat of castration (Schubart believes the honourable wound to represent the threat of castration^[3]). The film’s violence, therefore is much more distant from the viewer in this case, as the violence, although realistic with regards to the film and genre, is not believable in the world outside the film. Interestingly, however, thanks to the conventions of the genre and the actions portrayed in the sequence, the violence is taken as credible and believable with regards to the characters.

            With Fight Club, it is probably interesting to note any ideas the audience may have of its stars prior to viewing the film. Neither Brad Pitt nor Edward Norton were previously renowned for action films, and, especially in the case of Norton, both had previously starred in films which may be considered more intelligent than normal action films. With the knowledge that neither of these actors is renowned for their action / fighting skills, the idea of a film about these two actors engaging in fights is slightly strange. The film, indeed up to the first fight sequence, most closely resembles a black comedy, or at least, has a sharp comic edge to any of the drama onscreen. The sequence, which actually cuts into the start of the first fight, is an entirely comic one, chronicling Tyler’s jobs and his efforts to subvert them. With this idea of a comic genre, the effect of the fight sequence is much different to the one in Mission Impossible 2. Firstly, most noticeably, is the lack of exaggerated non diegetic sound effects to emphasize the strength or ferocity of the hits that either character receive. Secondly, the attacks themselves are much less graceful or aerobatic as those in Mission Impossible. Rather, the attacks are much more grounded in the real world, and as such, both the narrator and Tyler show much more pain from those attacks. As the characters then start to struggle with each over, Tyler even falls over during the fighting, unable to keep his balance - far from something seen in fight sequences in other films. Despite the fighting looking more realistic, at least in relation to the viewer’s world, the violence is almost absurd, and unlike that in Mission Impossible, almost comical. Perhaps, since the viewer is used to seeing fantastic, or exaggerated fight sequences like those in Mission Impossible, in relation to film, a realistic fight seems out of place. The fight sequence in Fight Club can then be seen as not realistic within the context of cinema “realism“, or at least the accepted levels of realism within action films. This over-realistic violence, despite being closer to the viewer’s world can therefore be seen as something other than real, something comical, something absurd. Of course, when one views the film again, with the knowledge that there is no Tyler, the fight sequence takes on another level of humour. The viewer can relate to a flashback sequence at the end of the film, which replays the first fight, except without Tyler. Viewed in context with the rest of the film, the fight therefore is not seen as excessive or brutal through its realism, but a blackly comic and absurd sequence. Indeed, this violence may be seen as comical, and not serious like the far more exaggerated sequence in Mission Impossible due to the fact that, as some critics claim, the viewer is more desensitised to the violence in the latter^[4], and the acceptance of the more fantastic, outlandish violence stems from this apathy to it. The violence in Fight Club, different in both style and with a lack of excess, and indeed, perhaps more brutal than that in Mission Impossible, creates a sense of “other”, and it is this “other” that creates the comical effect of the sequence - that this violence is so different to what is expected and accepted, it is amusing in its pursuit of realism.

            Both sequences from the films are certainly classifiable as violent, yet viewed in context with the rest of the film, they take on entirely different meanings. Whilst the violence in Fight Club is certainly more recognisable as realistic to the viewer, the fight does not have as brutal an impact as one might expect due to the audience’s unfamiliarity with this style of violence. Mission Impossible is then seen as more instantly recognisable as a violent sequence, thanks to the conventions of the action genre which it utilises during the sequence from the thuds of the soundtrack, to the viewer’s reaction to the exaggerated punches and kicks thrown. Therefore, these two sequences, which may have been looked at conversely were they viewed in the “effects model”, seem to support Park’s claim, as viewed in context with the film as a whole, they take on different meanings entirely.

---

^[1] Stephen Prince, Graphic Violence In The Cinema, from Screen Violence, 1999, Rutgers, Pg13

^[2] Rikke Schubart, Passion and Acceleration, from Violence and American Cinema, 2001, Routledge. Pgs 196-197

^[3] ibid, Pg196

^[4] Andrew C. Epstein, Desensitize This” http:// the-underground.ca/ html/archives/issue_0/commentary_2.html