Monday, October 5, 2009

Thoughts on Bright Star

Is is better to have loved and lost than have never loved at all?

http://www.filmofilia.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/img_771082976.jpg

That's something I'd like to ask Fanny Brawne, who managed to move on after Keats' death and have her own family without him. The end notes would have you believing that Fanny, like Arwen from LOTR, wandered the frozen woods in eternal sorrow while draped in black and muttering lines from his poems. In a way, Jane Campion's new movie is a very idealistic view at love. But my severity aside, it's still a rapturous, beautiful ode to first love, quite different and similar from "The Piano" in many ways. There are certain elements in common, like the funny little girl, or the relationship between the characters founded in a weird mutual attraction/revulsion and moving on to quiet devotion. Keats tries to teach Fanny poetry and though her attempt are genuine, you feel that, like Harvey Keitel, she's more interested in the teacher than the lesson.

But whereas The Piano was harrowing, shocking, raw, Bright Star is a very chaste affair. In the hands of lesser performances, the love affair could have felt sterilized, but the chemistry is palpable between Abbie Cornish and Ben Whishaw. 

The movie's slow, luxurious pace is explained in a single line by Keats, who says that one does not dive into a lake "for the purpose of getting to the other side, but rather absorbing all the sensations". So I basked in the lush images, though after awhile the endless reptoire of flower fields got a bit tiring. 

But the ending is an emotional punch to the stomach. Cornish's crying scene is one of the best I've ever seen. It's not just one where the viewer merely watches and admires the mechanics of it (cough like I do for Leo Dicaprio), but I'm right there in her shoes, sobbing along with her as she cries for her mother. I actually turned away because it became too painful - I felt like I was Fanny.

And sure enough, just as she swept up the sad remains of Fanny's impulsive butterfly collection, just as she has done all her life, Mrs. Brawne comes to help her daughter back up again. 


I found a review that just made me smile, because in many ways it reflects my post-viewing feelings immediately, when I walked around the streets of New York, with a spring in my step and a glow in my eyes. Like Keats, I was dazzled, aware - my senses were sharper, both happy and devastated. I was shocked when I saw my reflection in a window; my hair was wavier, my eyes were brighter, my cheeks were pinker - I looked prettier. Never thought a movie could be a secret beauty sponge. 

From http://tgeorge12345.blogspot.com/2009/10/bright-star-review.html:
"When I walked out of the theatre, I felt other than before. Autumn cool, ground wet but not raining, and overcast, there was a certain lightness of mind, of decluttering, a scrubbing. Each step seemed a thing in and of itself, like the riding of a horse, a palpable sense of separation between the walking and the walker. Also the looking, as if through different eyes; occasioned of an equanimity tinged in fear, of something good, right, justified yet fleeting. Breath, too, the breath of morning in midday, a gentle rising and falling to match the gait. 

How does one describe the indescribable. To be changed and to know of the changing, a realignment, a tectonic shifting of soul and mind and even body--a lightness such as the unshouldering of a heavy coat, where everything, every step, lifts again in peaceful joy, neither frown nor smile burdened. And above all, a calm, the kind after a long, hard cry, when resistance gives way, is released into the wind, carried somewhere, away. 

I could write of the movie, the score, the acting, the cinematography. But everything I would say would pale the art as words always dilute their object. But I will say this, there are moments, devastating moments, when what is real and what is affected become confused, where one loses the sense of stage and in its place, a witnessing. Of what, I'm not sure. Yet, one knows upon the moment, of something other. "


The most common praise I've heard for this film is that it's "beautiful." And it is, in every sense of the world (funny when you consider that the movie actually has very muted tones). It's not just pretty in the sense of lavish costumes and glossy superrealism - it's like staring into a spring day or a single flower. The beauty fills your mind, your heart, the body with joy until the very soul is moved. You don't just watch it, you breathe it. 

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