Poison.

Well, ain't that a creative title for a sick Saturday morning. Watch film. Take name of film as title. Discuss.


But, Todd Haynes fest! First this and then this and now Poison. And we've got Safe coming up! Yay! That'll leave only I'm Not There and I will have all of Haynes' feature narrative work down, and most of it on here. I don't know why that excites me, but it does.

Poison was his debut, and it was pretty successful for a first outing. (Also, incidentally, the debut feature producer credit for uber-indie megastar producer Christine Vachon, who is responsible for bringing us half a dozen or so films on this here blog. Thanks Christine!) Teddy? Check. Sundance Grand Jury Prize? Check. Those are a couple of not insignificant awards right there.


Me? I think I need to watch it again. I think there are levels in the film that I wasn't expecting, took me completely by surprise and I wasn't really up for. It's really three different stories. In one of them a young boy kills his father before quite literally flying away. In another a scientist develops the elixir of human sexuality and, after consuming it, turns into a monster. The third is a queer prison story (which just sounds like porn, but isn't) about one inmate who is attracted to another whom he recognises from their previous time together in a juvenile facility. The stories are titled Hero, Horror and Homo respectively.


It is definitely an interesting film. Each of the films is told in a different style - the first is a doco, the second like old school horror films, almost like a creature feature in parts, and the third kind of straight up. The general vibe absolutely fits with the New Queer Cinema that Sundance was a heavy proponent of back in the early nineties (see here) with it's non-traditional style of telling an otherwise fairly traditional story. Or stories, as is the case.


Shot primarily in black and white, everything technically and performatively fits in the film. Performances are hammy or naturalistic or dramatic as required, the camera moves how you would expect it to in each given format, the cinematography matches the shifts. It all felt a little disjointed to me, however. The consistent themes didn't flow through, the mood and feel didn't pass on segment to segment. This is why I think I need to watch it again. I think I was so thrown by the fact that it was so different to Far From Heaven or Velvet Goldmine in its narrative structure.


So, in the meantime, until a revisit manages to occur, we're talking 2.5 stars.

Just Because He's A Faggot Doesn't Mean He's An Asshole.

Todd Solondz does know how to make 'em depressing, as we saw back here with Happiness. Preceding that one by a few years, however, was his breakthrough Sundance winning title Welcome To The Dollhouse.


Dollhouse is a film like only Solondz can make them. Strangely comedic in many ways, it is ultimately horrendously tragic through the bleakness offered up at the end - there is no bright side, only reality, which is so often very ugly. 

Dawn Wiener (Heather Matarazzo) is an unattractive and unpopular junior high schooler with a nerdy older brother playing clarinet in a band in the garage and a younger sister who is perfect in every way. Dawn is picked on at school and only makes matters worse through clumsy attempts at retaliation, such as spitballing a teacher in the eye. One student even threatens to rape her, though after a failed first attempt he opens up to her and eventually seems to fall for her, though she rejects him in order to try and get it on with the hunky singer who has joined her brother's band.


Eventually, after a fight with her sister resulting in her going missing, Dawn realises that her only hope of some freedom from the agony of her rejected life is to try and simply fade into the background, something which is all too easy after she tries to find her sister, running away to New York, with her absence not even being noticed until she phones home to let her family know. In the end, she ends up back where she started, singing the anthem with her classmates, completely alone.


It is this hopeless ending that I so often associate with Solondz and his films. It is painfully pessimistic when taken in the context of storytelling and how the majority of narrative arcs conclude, both within the mainstream and independent sector. Generally there is some glimmer of hope, no matter how desperate the situation. Very rarely do all the characters end up dead, plagued by unhappiness, with no order restored to how you are encouraged to view the world. Here, however, that is entirely what you get. Dawn ends up with nothing, with less than how she started. Even though she took the bold and dangerous route, albeit motivated by guilt, of going to New York and sleeping on a street to try and find her sister, she is completely snubbed by her family and friends. There is no heroes welcome for her on her return, no thanks for her noble gesture, however misinformed. 


The hardest thing with this film is that it probably is, in fact, much closer to the reality of what may play out, especially for a girl in Dawn's situation. A lot of parents may in fact be furious with her for running off without first telling them, especially considering it was in many ways Dawn's fault that the sister went missing. And for many people at her age, it just doesn't get any easier in the short term. They continue to struggle through and hope to find some sort of clique once they enter the elder realms of education and the freedom of movement and choice that provides.


Writer/director/producer Solondz takes us there with gusto. He doesn't pull any punches. His humour is sardonic more than it is hysterical - so dark as to almost disappear within itself. His themes are depressing and his characterisations often alienating, but these are the elements that lend to his singular voice. In a world of light he is the realistic twilight, the bitter reality check, and the deliberately stylised and stereotyped performances add a layer of horror to the film - those sorts of portrayals are much more suited to a fifties period drama (I just jumped to Far From Heaven...) where they fit in with the heightened moods and the period nature, the filtered retrospect applied to history. Here, they just serve to ram home the point that the more things change, the more they stay the same. And sometimes they even regress.


Dark and hard to watch, it is nonetheless a terrific film. Another 4 stars for Mr Solondz.

No Honey, I Don't Think I've Had Enough.

Sigh. Julianne Moore. AND Patricia Clarkson (who I also love, although less desperately and singlemindedly than JM.) In one film. Amazing.


I remember having to look at Todd Hayne's Far From Heaven back in uni, as an example of something something something with All That Heaven Allows. I can't remember what it was. It wasn't adaptation, it wasn't appropriation (I'm certain I did that in high school, not uni...) but I can't remember what it was. Which probably makes this entire reminiscing segue entirely pointless, but there you go. I remember the two films sharing similar visual tones and melodramatic performance styles, but in both cases it worked. I think that's where I was going to go there.

Cathy Whitaker (Moore) is the perfect 50s housewife and mother. She's happily married to Frank (Dennis Quaid), they are popular and loved by many friends, coworkers and associates, they're kind and giving within the constrictions placed on them by racial demands and the like of the 50s - meaning to say, they're as progressive as upper-middle-class people can be at the time without actually rocking the boat. But then along comes Raymond (Dennis Haysbert), the son of the Whitaker's late gardener, suddenly in her yard and all nice and sweet and polite and funny. And then, oop, there he is at an art opening, chatting about the merits of modern art, and how he believes abstract art is a continuation of religious art. 


Meanwhile, Frank is staying late at the office - this time of year brings many a proposal that needs to be prepared, reports that need to be written, random man that needs to be made out with. Oh dear. Frank is a dirty homo? No, put him in therapy that'll be fine. And Cathy can lean not on her best friend El (Clarkson), who wouldn't understand and who would set to gossiping around town about the state of the marriage which is otherwise fine, of course, this is just a phase, Cathy draws solace from Raymond. Their friendship has already set tongues wagging, and disapproval from El doesn't help matters. Sadly, Frank's treatment doesn't work (what a surprise!) and he skips out to live with his lover. Raymond is suffering as well - his young daughter is being abused for his relationship with Cathy, so he skips out of town also. Poor Cathy. From perfection to isolation in a couple of short screen hours.


Moore is amazing. This was one of two Oscar noms for her that year, the other being in support for The Hours. She lost this Oscar to our Nicole, her co-star in The Hours, and it's always a hard call. Between this and her showing in The Hours, I think they should have made up a whole new category for her. Here she is trying to be strong, but falling apart inside again and again, and you see it all with the slightest shimmer across her eyes, a momentary falter in her smile, a tiny shift in the feel of her voice. Clarkson as her best friend also does very well in a much smaller role, again judging her friend with merely a hardening of the jaw and quickening of the step. What truly mattered was completely left unsaid, it would appear.


Quaid does fine with his conflicted role as father, husband and lover. I've never thought him to be terrific in any role, and here he does his job just fine without proving to me any different. Haysbert, who I enjoyed as the President in television's 24, felt a little forced here, a little too 50s camp melodrama. His presence didn't slip as easily into the post-war world like the others did.


Haynes (who wrote and directed) did very well capturing the feeling of the films of Douglas Sirk. One can totally see the likes of Rock Hudson parading (or mincing? Oh, be nice) by. Those stars of the 50s could simply slot right into this film, with its stunning hues, incredible costumes (why oh why don't people dress like that anymore? It's incredible!) and soft, soft lighting. Credit also, of course, to cinematographer Edward Lachman, costume designer extraordinaire Sandy Powell, production designer Mark Friedberg and art director Peter Rogness for their stunning capturing of Haynes' vision.


Full cred. A great film. Not quite the masterpiece many people seem to think (there are a few too many little things that quibble with the notion of perfection), but a terrific production, more than worth a look-in. 4.5 stars.