I love David Fincher. I thought it was bullshit when people kept saying that M. Night Shyamalan was the "next Hitchcock" because David Fincher is actually the next Hitchcock. Not that I think there actually is a "next" Hitchcock, but as a facsimile Fincher's films are contemplative, precise, and most importantly -- thrilling. "The Game" is to "The Man Who Knew Too Much" as "Panic Room" is to "Rear Window" with some "Psycho" and echoes of "Lifeboat." Even Fincher's 2007 film, "Zodiac," channels Hitch's wandering and dream-like "Vertigo." While not a direct copycat (like that fucker Shyamalan, who thinks he can put himself in every one of his "movies") I like to think that as a conduit for Hitchcock, Fincher does what the man would have done had he access to the digital wizardry of modern cinema. Fincher's camera work in "Panic Room" alone would have made Hitch jealous, I'm sure. Plus they both have pretty awesome last names.
So, I wasn't sure what to make of "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button" (CCBB... that's right, I acronymed that shit...) before I went in. I had read some praise for the film, but it wasn't as if people were shouting "Go see this movie!" like it was "Slumdog Millionaire." I was worried that Fincher, thinking outside the Gweneth Paltrow's head-in-a-box box from "Seven" would be too emotionally distant for a movie written by Eric Roth, the master of what-to-feel and when-to-feel-it American landscapes like "Forest Gump" and "The Horse Whisperer" (the guy also wrote the Kevin Costner end-of-the-world... thing, "The Postman"). Still, I rushed home from Christmas in Connecticut to catch a matinee.
I Saw a ton of movies over the holiday. "The Wrestler" was great, a living Springsteen song. "Bolt" was fun, especially in 3-D. Walked out of "Valkyrie" and asked "what was the point??" However, CCBB really grabbed me, but I wasn't really able to put my finger on WHY. While visiting my high school, I struck up a conversation with my librarian and family friend about the film. She is an enthusiastic cinephile in her own right, as well as a published author and her sentiments on pop culture are always thought-provoking. Her response to the old "What did you think of it?" was so far from what I had seen in the film on my own, as well as what popular criticism is saying about it (A.O. scott in the NY Times fixates on the "triumphs of technique" it has to offer) that I felt the need to relay it here. Randi has a way of speaking in public that, almost like the film, allows time to pass without notice. Before I knew it, half an hour had flown by and I was already asking her permission to blog about what she'd just said moments before. She said yes. I hope I do your thesis justice, Randi.
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"My name is Benjamin Button and I was born under unusual circumstances. While everybody else was aging, I was getting younger. All alone."
"There's a political message there, I'm certain." This was what intrigued me. Political? I saw NOTHING of the sort here, only Brad Pitt in digital make-up. I had to hear more.
"The film says Americans have done nothing for the past fifty years except look back. Looking back in time, this is all we do." Off my blank stare: "It's a warning!" Still nothing.
"The clock." Yes, CCBB begins with the story of a clock being built to run backward. I overlooked this upon my initial viewing as a thematic device, one which sets in motion the "curious" life of Mr. Button. Randi sees it as a kind of alternate history, if I understand her point correctly. The prologue indicates that the clockmaker reversed time in order to try and set history straight. We see his son go off to war, then die in combat. Before we begin the meat of the movie, Fincher rewinds time (combat scene and all) as if to say -- forget World War I. Forget Eisenhower warned against everything that has actually come to pass. Let's start when America was fresh-faced and care-free. So, this is where Fincher begins his tale. The war is over. People are celebrating in the streets and a baby is born 80 years young.
As Benjamin ages and sees the world around him change, I couldn't help but notice his passivity. Was it Brad Pitt's stony performance or was it Roth's script? Randi shed some light on it: "The whole time he's unable to process the world around him because he's the equivalent of that clock." So, he's living a fantasy? "Yes." He doesn't respond, doesn't change, doesn't really ever DO anything in regards to his surroundings. Button just up and decides he's gonna go work on a tug boat (a symbol in its own right, dragging heavy, wounded ships through the ocean as if it were time itself.) Then he's drafted by his captain to fight in the war, a weird way of involving him in a conflict that I thought was really pushing it... Turns out, it's true. When Benjamin's whole crew is killed, he doesn't feel sad or remorseful for them. He just stands atop the battleship that rescues him, looks at his sunken boat and moves on. No grief, no thinking, no processing of any kind. I half expected him to march back to Queenie, his adopted mother, and recount the whole story. Doesn't happen.
There's a really stunning montage in the second half of the film that chronicles Benjamin and Daisy's (Blanchette) love affair as the world around them marches forward. It's not "Gumpy" in any sense of the word (Pitt doesn't do any hand-shaking with the president and then announce his need to urinate...) but there is one shot that really took my breath away. Benjamin and Daisy lounge on a sail boat in the Florida Keys as a rocket takes off behind them against the sunset. It's as if they never notice it, nor do they care. This shot, in particular, is in contrast with the drab "old-timey" ness that Fincher has referenced for the past hour and a half. As if to say, and Randi's thesis supports this, "look how far we've come... look how Benjamin Button doesn't care..."
But, Randi, what about the women? The miracle of Cate Blanchette, Tilda Swinton even. What about them? Randi put her hands on her hips. "That guy," I assumed she was talking, still, about Benjamin Button, "lived a life coddled by women!" This point was immediately clear to me. His father abandons him, leaves him to be cared for by the aforementioned Queenie. He loses his virginity to a prostitute. Meets up with Swinton in Russia, where he learns about caviar, vodka, extramarital affairs. Then returns to find the love of his life, Blanchette, all grown up and stunning. These women protect Benjamin from the dangers around him, and more importantly, from the real knowledge of what he is. None of them ever marvel at his "curious" case of aging backward (or, if they to, it's to point out that he's unique and special, never a freak or an abomination.) Daisy marvels, at one point when they're about the same age, that they're "meeting in the middle..." as if Benjamin's affliction is working in their favor, never to his detriment.
The framing device Fincher and Roth chose to use was grating, to me, because it seemed heavy handed (A.O. Scott calls it "superfluous and unduly portentous"). Why Katrina, of all the wretched tragedies of modern times? I didn't speak to Randi about this specifically (perhaps we ran out of time) but I think, using her thesis, I can make some sense out of it. First, while reading from Benjamin's diary, his daughter played by Julia Ormond is sped along by the hurricane's imminent landfall. Fine, it lends some urgency to the framing, nudges the story along at a nice pace. I think Randi would argue that, since the hurricane is of natural force (unlike war or a terrorist attack) we cannot avoid it -- it comes screaming, headstrong, right at us. Katrina, for me, sums up the failures of this country on many levels and -- looking back -- uncovered the harsh realities that exist (failure of infrastructure, failure of government on a vast scale) so why not make it that inescapable THING? By now, Benjamin is dead and we're left with an ailing Daisy barely able to tell the story herself. Her daughter must learn from the failures of her mother. From the failures of her father, such a curious case. This is why, perhaps, we never actually see Benjamin writing in said diary (also problematic). We don't need to -- he could never shed as much light on his case as the woman who coddled (failed) him and the monster hurricane we could never avoid.
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There isn't as much levity in "CCBB" as Roth's "Forrest Gump." Not as many moments where the anguish is tempered with humor. There is one character, I'll call him "Lightning Joe" since I can't remember his name, that smacks of Bubba or even an aged Lieutenant Dan. This man, living in Queenie's retirement home, tells the story of how he was struck by lightning seven times, each time more odd than the next (getting the mail, walking the dog, etc). Lightning Joe, like Benjamin Button, can't seem to get his head out of the past. Maybe it was all that lightning that fried his brain, but I think Fincher (and Randi) wants us to take something else from it. Not only do these flashbacks get a special "old-timey" feel to them (all cracked and scratched on the negative) but they have a repetitiveness to them that should remind us of life itself. Everything happens over and over again, no matter how perplexing or coincidental it might be. This is the nugget of truth I carried out of the matinee we drove home to catch. Randi's spotlight polished said nugget. Let's keep our heads up. Let's keep moving. Learn from our mistakes, yes, but don't harp on them. Lest we all die big babies.
"Plus," Randi added, "We live in the age of Velcro. Who uses buttons anymore?"
--Saddam
As Benjamin ages and sees the world around him change, I couldn't help but notice his passivity. Was it Brad Pitt's stony performance or was it Roth's script? Randi shed some light on it: "The whole time he's unable to process the world around him because he's the equivalent of that clock." So, he's living a fantasy? "Yes." He doesn't respond, doesn't change, doesn't really ever DO anything in regards to his surroundings. Button just up and decides he's gonna go work on a tug boat (a symbol in its own right, dragging heavy, wounded ships through the ocean as if it were time itself.) Then he's drafted by his captain to fight in the war, a weird way of involving him in a conflict that I thought was really pushing it... Turns out, it's true. When Benjamin's whole crew is killed, he doesn't feel sad or remorseful for them. He just stands atop the battleship that rescues him, looks at his sunken boat and moves on. No grief, no thinking, no processing of any kind. I half expected him to march back to Queenie, his adopted mother, and recount the whole story. Doesn't happen.
There's a really stunning montage in the second half of the film that chronicles Benjamin and Daisy's (Blanchette) love affair as the world around them marches forward. It's not "Gumpy" in any sense of the word (Pitt doesn't do any hand-shaking with the president and then announce his need to urinate...) but there is one shot that really took my breath away. Benjamin and Daisy lounge on a sail boat in the Florida Keys as a rocket takes off behind them against the sunset. It's as if they never notice it, nor do they care. This shot, in particular, is in contrast with the drab "old-timey" ness that Fincher has referenced for the past hour and a half. As if to say, and Randi's thesis supports this, "look how far we've come... look how Benjamin Button doesn't care..."
But, Randi, what about the women? The miracle of Cate Blanchette, Tilda Swinton even. What about them? Randi put her hands on her hips. "That guy," I assumed she was talking, still, about Benjamin Button, "lived a life coddled by women!" This point was immediately clear to me. His father abandons him, leaves him to be cared for by the aforementioned Queenie. He loses his virginity to a prostitute. Meets up with Swinton in Russia, where he learns about caviar, vodka, extramarital affairs. Then returns to find the love of his life, Blanchette, all grown up and stunning. These women protect Benjamin from the dangers around him, and more importantly, from the real knowledge of what he is. None of them ever marvel at his "curious" case of aging backward (or, if they to, it's to point out that he's unique and special, never a freak or an abomination.) Daisy marvels, at one point when they're about the same age, that they're "meeting in the middle..." as if Benjamin's affliction is working in their favor, never to his detriment.
There is one "choice" Benjamin Button makes in the film, so far as I could tell. That's to leave Daisy because he couldn't bare to raise their child as he himself slowly devolves into one. This is troublesome in many ways to me. First, as a story point -- I suppose you could say it's Benjamin's turning point. He finally realizes his predicament will personally affect him -- so he tries to do something about it. Interesting, though in the context of Randi's argument, it seems less problematic. What if, at some point, Americans did realize that all they've been doing is looking backward -- to their detriment? What if they had a chance to get out of all their responsibilities to the world (to themselves) and just go... ride their motorcycle into the sunset? Fincher only allows this to happen for a short time, then Benjmain comes crawling back to Daisy to ask for forgiveness, etc, etc. Only to have her, once again, coddle him, tell him it's alright and ultimately take care of him as he wastes away to nothing (or, as Randi put it: "He dies a big baby!") This tell-tale ending, the unavoidable relapse, is so... American. We worry and worry and wring our hands over the economy and the war -- but we keep suckling the breast that feeds us and remembering how sweet that milk is, no matter how bitter the times. This is a dangerous formula, one that feeds my last point about the movie.
The framing device Fincher and Roth chose to use was grating, to me, because it seemed heavy handed (A.O. Scott calls it "superfluous and unduly portentous"). Why Katrina, of all the wretched tragedies of modern times? I didn't speak to Randi about this specifically (perhaps we ran out of time) but I think, using her thesis, I can make some sense out of it. First, while reading from Benjamin's diary, his daughter played by Julia Ormond is sped along by the hurricane's imminent landfall. Fine, it lends some urgency to the framing, nudges the story along at a nice pace. I think Randi would argue that, since the hurricane is of natural force (unlike war or a terrorist attack) we cannot avoid it -- it comes screaming, headstrong, right at us. Katrina, for me, sums up the failures of this country on many levels and -- looking back -- uncovered the harsh realities that exist (failure of infrastructure, failure of government on a vast scale) so why not make it that inescapable THING? By now, Benjamin is dead and we're left with an ailing Daisy barely able to tell the story herself. Her daughter must learn from the failures of her mother. From the failures of her father, such a curious case. This is why, perhaps, we never actually see Benjamin writing in said diary (also problematic). We don't need to -- he could never shed as much light on his case as the woman who coddled (failed) him and the monster hurricane we could never avoid.
There isn't as much levity in "CCBB" as Roth's "Forrest Gump." Not as many moments where the anguish is tempered with humor. There is one character, I'll call him "Lightning Joe" since I can't remember his name, that smacks of Bubba or even an aged Lieutenant Dan. This man, living in Queenie's retirement home, tells the story of how he was struck by lightning seven times, each time more odd than the next (getting the mail, walking the dog, etc). Lightning Joe, like Benjamin Button, can't seem to get his head out of the past. Maybe it was all that lightning that fried his brain, but I think Fincher (and Randi) wants us to take something else from it. Not only do these flashbacks get a special "old-timey" feel to them (all cracked and scratched on the negative) but they have a repetitiveness to them that should remind us of life itself. Everything happens over and over again, no matter how perplexing or coincidental it might be. This is the nugget of truth I carried out of the matinee we drove home to catch. Randi's spotlight polished said nugget. Let's keep our heads up. Let's keep moving. Learn from our mistakes, yes, but don't harp on them. Lest we all die big babies.
"Plus," Randi added, "We live in the age of Velcro. Who uses buttons anymore?"
--Saddam
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