Freaks - How I Failed the Test

Freaks

Director: Tod Browning

For the love of beauty is a deep-seated urge which dates back to the beginning of civilization. The revulsion with which we view the abnormal, the malformed and the mutilated is the result of long conditioning by our forefathers. The majority of freaks, themselves, are endowed with normal thoughts and emotions. Their lot is truly a heart-breaking one. –Special Message/Prologue

We accept you, we accept you… one of us, one of us… –Freaks

They did not ask to be brought into the word; but into the world they came. –Sideshow Barker

The Netflix description of this movie (see below) did very little to prepare me for what I was about to watch. Though, to be fair, I’m not sure any description could have fully prepared me. The movie’s Special Message prologue, some of which I’ve quoted above, dug a bit deeper into the heart of the matter, though I still couldn’t have fully known what to expect.

Netflix says,

Director Tod Browning cast authentic circus folk, not actors, in this Greek tragedy about sideshow “freaks.” Normal-sized trapeze artist Cleopatra marries diminutive Hans with plans to poison him, take his inheritance and marry the brute Hercules. When the freaks uncover Cleopatra’s scheme and Hercules forces himself on an innocent girl, they gang up on the two miscreants.

At times, I found it very uncomfortable to watch the movie. Many of the characters are, after all, genuine circus folks, considered sideshow freaks. We’re taught in today’s society, that physical appearance does not dictate inner beauty, and that we are not supposed to notice physical differences. That’s why portions of this movie are uncomfortable to watch. We are asked to view these people as abnormal, which goes against our moral training.

But the most human moments of the film, the scenes evoking the most emotion, are two involving the Freaks’ interaction with Cleopatra and Hercules, first at the Wedding Feast and then at the movie’s climactic terror scene. Watching the character of Frieda, elegantly dressed and styled, tear up as the love of her life suffers to see his new wife kissing Hercules, draws me into the pain of a broken-hearted woman, freak or no. The most painful part of this scene, however, is the look on the faces of the patrons as Cleopatra douses Angelo with the communal cup he has just offered her as a symbol of welcome to the family of the Freaks. The scene serves as an attempt by the freaks to show their acceptance of Cleopatra as “one of us.” Her outrage and Hans’s subsequent shame make it impossible to feel nothing. You can’t help but feel for the Freaks.

Similarly, the scene toward the movie’s end draws big emotions. Watching the family of Freaks close in upon the two villains under the dark of night in the pouring rain causes me to shudder and sink back into my chair. It is truly terrifying, both psychologically, as the Freaks, for the first time, are portrayed as the monsters the world claims they are; and emotionally, as I find myself, unknowingly (and, later, shamefully) relating to and associating myself with the “normal” Cleopatra and Hercules, despite the fact that they are the attempted murderers. And that goes back to my statement before: we’re taught to disregard and not really see physical deformities. Yet here I am, watching the group of Freaks – in this case the “good guys” – crawling toward the “normal” people – the “bad guys” – and I’m still relating to the people who intrinsically look more like me. While it’s definitely not a conscious decision, I realize upon analysis afterward that that moral training I’d been given by society hadn’t really stuck at all. And now I’m not uncomfortable looking at the Freaks; I’m uncomfortable looking at myself.

…

I watched the movie a second time in order to hear the commentary. There, I learned that several scenes were eliminated or severely altered for the sensors. The fates of Cleo and Hercules, in particular, were slated to be even more bone-chilling than they are. Another bit of information the commentator drops is that Browning, the film’s director, was known more for his silent films than for his “talkies,” which he apparently never warmed to. The two emotionally-charged scenes I discussed above are, in fact, built more for silent film than for sound. Re-watching the scenes with the sound muted, I completely agree. Throw in a few title cards and some whimsical Charlie Chaplin era instrumentals and the actors’ words wouldn’t even be necessary. I’d still feel the same way I did the first time…

The commentary was delivered by David Skal, a man known for his writings on the horror genre, both film and literature. While much of the information he provided was facts on the actors’ and director’s lives, he also spoke of the movie’s affectations on culture and society. References are apparently still being made of this movie today. As Skal so eloquently put it, “Whatever one thinks about it, Freaks is a film that simply won’t go away.” I know it will be that way for me, unpleasant though that may at times be.

My takeaway: Familial bonds know no physical deformities or individual insults – you hurt one, you've hurt them all and you had better beware. And often the truest freaks are the ones who look just like us.

The Bridge of San Luis Rey - Is Falling Down, Falling Down, Falling Down...

The Bridge of San Luis Rey

Author: Thornton Wilder

Style is but the faintly contemptible vessel in which the bitter liquid is recommended to the world. –Narrator

Here the Perichole would fling her face and arms upon the tables…, caught up into a trembling fit of weeping. Only perfection would do, only perfection. And that had never come. –Narrator

But soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left the earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning. –Abbess

Book jacket description:

“On Friday noon, July the twentieth, 1714, the finest bridge in all Peru broke and precipitated five travelers into the gulf below.” With this celebrated sentence Thornton Wilder begins The Bridge of San Luis Rey, one of the towering achievements in American fiction and novel read throughout the world.

By chance, a monk witnesses the tragedy. Brother Juniper then embarks on a quest to prove that it was divine intervention rather than chance that led to the deaths of those who perished in the tragedy. His search leads to his own death – and the author’s timeless investigation into the nature of love and the meaning of the human condition.

Every time this book is mentioned online, it is surrounded by glowing praises. That’s the reason I chose it for my list. And while I agree that the language Wilder used throughout was poetic, and the interconnectedness of his five subjects was well-thought out and beautifully unfolded, I didn’t find the work as brilliant as I was supposed to have found it. Granted, I’m no expert and have no great authority, but I found it only ‘good’ and not ‘the best thing ever written.’

The story is broken up into five parts – not one for each of the deceased, like I initially thought. No, only parts 2, 3 and 4 discuss the people involved in the accident. At first I thought this was maybe a copout… doesn’t each person deserve his or her own section? But the more I thought about it, the more it really made sense… if you’re traveling on a journey, you’re often not alone. So why should each character be alone on his or her passage across the bridge? And even though the five people were broken up among three sections, not a one of them was crossing alone.

In Part Two (Part One was the setup, titled “Perhaps an Accident”), the Marquesa de Montemayor and her companion Pepita are returning from a pilgrimage to a saint’s shrine. And, as is typical before a literary death, one of the characters – the Marquesa – has just had an epiphany about her life, and the other – Pepita – has just learned she is going home to the convent, after having been sent away. And on that happy note, they fall to their deaths.

Similarly, in Part Three, Esteban is traveling with his new employer Captain Alvarez. Fortunately for the Captain, he had to ferry a boat across the river to carry all of his supplies. So while the section is only about Esteban’s death, even he isn’t really traveling alone. And also similar to Part Two, it is an inopportune time for Esteban to die, as he has just purchased a gift to give to his beloved Abbess, who raised him. Instead, he dies.

Finally, Section Four deals with Uncle Pio and Don Jaime. They were traveling back home so that Don Jaime could undergo theatrical and musical training from Pio, who – rumor had it – was his grandfather. They were about to usher in a new era, as Uncle Pio would once again be grooming someone for the spotlight, as he once did for Don Jaime’s mother, Camila Perichole. Their deaths came at the time of their new beginnings and fresh hopes.

Each death happened in the prime of a life, when the victim of the tragedy had just made or was on the verge of making a life change. And while that seems… unjust, it’s almost poetic justice that each person who died had made a decision to alter the way he or she was living. They were taking metaphorical steps to better their lives in one way or another, and instead their physical steps led to their deaths.

The two women who were intertwined in each of these people’s lives, the Abbess of the Convent of Santa Maria Rosa de la Rosas and the great performer Camila Perichole, both live. The Abbess loses her prodigy in Pepita and her favorite charge and scribe in Esteban; Camila Perichole loses her valet, “her singing-master, her coiffeur, her masseur, her reader, her errand-boy, her banker; rumor added: her father” in Pio and her favorite son in Don Jaime. And both women lose a matron and acquaintance in the Marquesa. Wilder weaves other minor characters into the lives of the victims, as well, but none so prominently as these two women.

And now I’m re-evaluating my stance on whether this book deserves all the praise it received… the way that Wilder interweaves the major and minor characters while simultaneously outlining the lives and future hopes of each of his victims all in less than 200 pages is, simply put, genius.

My takeaway: There is a time and a reason for every life and for every death, though we may never fully understand any of it. And, if given the option in Peru to take a footbridge or a ferry, take the ferry!

Following - Breaking In and Out of Order

Following

Director: Christopher Nolan

Other people are interesting to me. –Bill

The most important rule was that even if I found out where somebody works or where they live, then you’d never follow the same person twice. That was the most important rule. That’s the one that I broke first. –Bill

Everyone has a box. […] Sort of an unconscious collection, a display. Each thing tells something intimate about the people. It’s like a diary. –Cobb

Netflix blurb:

Christopher Nolan writes and directs this odd, claustrophobic neo-noir film about a seedy young Brit who’s obsessed with following people – albeit harmlessly at first. After meeting a like-minded bloke, the twosome graduate to breaking and entering – but meet their match in a tough blonde dame who may have dubious plans of her own.

I did something a little different this time. I read the Netflix description before I watched the movie. So I knew there was a dubious blond to watch out for. But knowing ahead of time where the movie was going didn't really help. Because with Christopher Nolan, you never really know where the movie is going. Of course, that’s not a fair assessment of all of Nolan’s films, but like Memento and Inception, Following leaves the viewer trying to piece information and scenes together into some sort of intelligible story line. Unfortunately, the Netflix description did not prepare me for that…

The initial premise – that of a man following random people throughout their days – is a bit off already. But then comes the first break-in. And it is the most psychologically interesting break-in I've seen. The point isn’t to burgle, exactly, but more to get a glimpse into the lives of the inhabitants, to, for a moment, become the inhabitants. They open a bottle of wine, trifle through a box of sentimental bits, take what they like but only if there is anything interesting enough to take. The point isn't to steal; it’s to become. Voyeurism verging on obsession. Obsession to become someone else…

As I mentioned, the movie has the disconnected feel of one of Christopher Nolan’s other big hits, Memento. And just like Memento, the movie’s scenes are not in chronological order. It does make me wonder if, during production, they filmed the scenes in chronological order, in viewing order or in no particular order at all. I realize that movies are not typically filmed in the order in which the viewer is meant to see them, and that order is often dictated by location, scheduling and daylight. But with a movie like this, where viewing isn’t meant to be chronological, and filming likely isn't chronological, how in the world did Christopher Nolan know in which order to splice the scenes for final cut?

Another interesting editing choice is the music. It’s often eerie when it need not be. It feels as if the director is trying to control the viewer’s perception by setting a mundane scene with sinister sounds. I suppose that’s part of his job: to shape the viewer’s experience and to coax the desired response. But in this case, I felt it. I felt the hand of the back office in the music. I felt that I was being told in what light to view the scenes and what my reactions to those scenes should be.

In a different style of movie, I might say that this detracts from the movie-viewing experience. When I’m being told how to perceive a scene or think about a character, I feel I am not able to immerse myself in the story. I’m not able to let the characters, scenery and sounds surround me and flow through me. However, in this case, it is so forced it feels intentional. It’s as if Nolan is speaking not only through the disorientation of the plot, but also through the heavy-handedness of the music. He’s overdone it so much that it becomes a character of its own. While it may not directly interact with the other characters, it certainly has a voice. And I have to think that was intentional. I have to.

I feel like I should watch this movie again, if only because I think I’ll catch more the second time around, now that I know the ending… or the middle… or… well, now that I've seen it once.

My takeaway: There is a fine line between voyeurism and obsession, just as there is a fine line between friend and enemy. And everyone has a box... and they want someone to see it.