Oscarstravaganza: Brokeback Mountain

* * * *

Winner: Best Director, 2005
Director: Ang Lee
Starring: Heath Ledger, Jake Gyllenhaal, Michelle Williams, Anne Hathaway

Brokeback Mountain is representative of a lot of things to a lot of people. For some it is a watershed film that suggests a movement towards a more inclusive mainstream cinema. For others, it is a lightning rod for controversy and further evidence of society’s decaying values. It is one of two films involved in what is easily the most contentious Best Picture selection of the last decade. “Brokeback Mountain” is bigger than the film itself, bigger than the story on which it is based, bigger than even the Hollywood machine. Its reception is indicative of the volatile relationship between society and the individual and a measure of the distance left to travel in the battle for equality. But beneath all of that lies a quiet and beautifully crafted masterpiece, a film that transcends whatever boundaries might otherwise ghettoize it as a "gay movie" to become, simply, a great movie.

Beginning in 1962, the film explores the relationship between Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhaal) that begins at the eponymous locale. Hired to tend to sheep for the summer, Ennis and Jack go up the mountain, set up camp, and prepare for months of near total isolation. They have no one but each other for company and yet spend large swaths of time apart, as one is supposed to tend to the camp while the other guards the sheep, leaving the flock only twice per day in order to have breakfast and dinner. One night the routine is broken and both spend the night at camp, their relationship progressing from longing looks to physical contact.

They insist to each other that they aren’t gay, agreeing that their relationship is situational, though their bond obviously runs much deeper than that. When the job ends, they come back down the mountain and go their separate ways – Jack back to the rodeo, Ennis to marry Alma (Michelle Williams). Four years pass. Ennis and Alma have two daughters and are barely able make ends meet; Jack has given up the rodeo and settled into a life of financial comfort with his wife Lureen (Anne Hathaway) and their son, and sells farm equipment for his father-in-law’s company. When the opportunity arises to pass through Wyoming, Jack looks Ennis up and they pick up where they left off.

Seeing Brokeback Mountain again for the first time in years, I was struck by the thread of loneliness that runs through it. The landscape is open and empty; the characters are isolated and unable, for the most part, to connect with each other. The most meaningful connection is forged reluctantly, kept alive through brief intervals of contact over the course of some twenty years. Ennis and Jack spend most of their relationship lonely not only for each other but also for themselves and the ability to abandon a pretence that makes life painful for them. Jack is willing to take the risk, always talking about setting off so that they can have a real life together, but Ennis, scarred by a violent memory from childhood, won’t be persuaded and so their relationship remains a major force relegated to the very margins of their lives. One of the most touching scenes in the film comes at the end, when Ennis’ daughter invites him to her wedding. He tells her that he doesn’t think he can take time off work, an excuse he also used occasionally with Jack, and then thinks better of it, having learned how precious time with someone you love can be. He may never feel safe enough to let her know this other part of himself, but he won't keep himself from her entirely either. In a performance that is strong from beginning to end, these are Ledger's finest moments.

Due to its subject matter, the film was controversial before it even hit theatres, though it isn't at all explicit. In fact, the physicality between Ledger and Gyllenhaal is downright chaste compared to some of the obligatory pseudo-lesbianism that is occasionally shoehorned into the American mainstream. However, in making Ennis and Jack cowboys, Brokeback challenges a very masculine, very American image and calls into question popular conceptions of sexuality and gender, exposing those popular images for the fragile poses that they are. It also explores its themes in terms of the personal rather than the political. In films like Milk and Philadelphia, for example, the focus isn't on the protagonists' sex lives as much as it is on the issues of equality and acceptance. Brokeback Mountain can't be considered in the same terms because Ennis and Jack aren't crusaders but two simple men trying simply to find happiness. This isn't an "issue movie" but a romance that asks the viewer to see its characters as human beings rather than symbols and questions why their desires should be considered illegitimate and what purpose is served by making two consenting adults feel like criminals for wanting to be together.

As the starcrossed lovers, Ledger and Gyllenhaal both render solid, effective performances. For many people, myself included, this film was the first indication that Ledger could actually, you know, act and though Ennis is a man of few words, Ledger is able to convey his inner turmoil. As for Gyllenhaal, he guides Jack's transition from needy youth to weary and fed-up middle-age without ever missing a beat. The ageing process for the two characters is done in such a subtle, believable way that you hardly even notice as you're watching and that's as much a credit to makeup as it is to the two actors and the ways that they allow their characters to grow and change over time.

Although Brokeback Mountain's impact on the culture is not as great as its ubiquity might suggest, given the dearth of gay characters as romantic leads in mainstream cinema since its release, it is nevertheless a great film. It is as powerful today as when it was first released and by all rights should be considered one of the great movie love stories of all time.

Review: The Dark Knight (2008)

* * * *
Director: Christopher Nolan
Starring: Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, Aaron Eckhart

Is The Dark Knight the best comic book movie ever made? It’s hard to say, so thoroughly does the follow-up to Batman Begins transcend the boundaries of its genre and become something else entirely. It’s far too cerebral to be labelled simply “a comic book movie” or an “action movie;” it’s a morality play in which the villain is less a means of causing chaos and destruction than he is a way of challenging the hero on moral and intellectual grounds.

The story picks up more or less where Begins left off: Gotham is still under siege by the mafia underworld, but is in the process of being cleaned up by people like Lt. Gordon (Gary Oldman), D.A. Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart) and A.D.A. Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal). Batman (Christian Bale) is there, too, of course but is a divisive figure within the city as some people seem him as a saviour, others as a dangerous vigilante who ought to be stopped. The mob is on the verge of being shut down but then the Joker (Heath Ledger) enters the picture to throw a wrench into the plan. Gotham is soon plunged into terror and a series of choices are made which cause Bruce Wayne/Batman, as well as Dent and Gordon, to question the moral codes by which they live and conduct their business.

More than anything, the Joker functions as a mirror for Batman. Both are “freaks,” as the Joker happily points out, both scarred by events in their past (the Joker literally, Batman metaphorically), one acting out his trauma by attempting to bring order to the city, the other by attempting to dismantle it completely. The mob is willing to work with the Joker only for as long as they need him, and the authorities are willing to condone Batman’s actions only for as long as they have to – once the city is cleaned up a bit, he’ll go back to the top of the most wanted list. Batman and the Joker are two sides of the same coin (or, for the morbid amongst us, the two sides of Harvey Two-Face). Dent and Gordon function as mirrors of each other as well, with Dent playing the role of idealist driven off the rails and into performing the very actions he’s meant to stand against, and Gordon playing the role of realist (“I work with what I’ve got,” he says, explaining why cops who have a history of being on the take are still on the force) who is able to maintain his place on the moral high ground through his ability to see the various shades of grey which reside in between black and white.

A lot has already been written about the performance by Ledger, so I’ll simply say that it’s everything you’ve already heard, and focus instead on the film’s other two great performances: those of Eckhart and Oldman. Eckhart is wonderful, perfectly managing Dent’s transformation from hero to villain and becoming the film’s most compelling character. There’s something almost operatic about the arc of this character, who goes from being as good as Batman to as disfigured and twisted as the Joker. As for Oldman, he provides a solid anchor for the film as the character with the least ambiguous moral authority. It's a quiet role but Oldman does more with it than you might expect.

I really only have one criticism of the film, and it’s the same criticism I had of Begins, which is the length. You could easily cut twenty minutes out of this film while still maintaining its power. That begin said, however, the film is powerful; I was more moved by it than I had been expecting. The Dark Knight is definitely more than just your average summer movie fare.

Review: I'm Not There (2007)

* * * 1/2
Director: Todd Haynes
Starring: Christian Bale, Cate Blanchett, Marcus Carl Franklin, Richard Gere, Heath Ledger, Ben Whishaw

This is how it’s done. Rather than forcing a narrative through-line on someone’s life, Todd Haynes’ fractured, jig-saw puzzle of a movie instead breaks the narrative apart and works to distil the essence of its subject, exploring the various personas of the man commonly known as Bob Dylan. Cate Blanchett, Christian Bale, Heath Ledger, Richard Gere, Marcus Carl Franklin, and Ben Wishaw are all on hand, each embodying a different facet of the man and the myth.

The six actors play six different characters (seven, depending on how you gage it): Bale is Jack Rollins, folk protest singer who eventually becomes Father John, the preacher; Ledger is Robbie, an actor who portrays Jack in a film; Franklin is Woody Guthrie, a young musician trying to reconcile those who have influenced him with the time in which he himself is creating; Blanchett is Jude Quinn, a self-consciously quirky star; Gere is Billy the outlaw; and Wishaw is Arthur, who is in the process of being interviewed. These different stories weave in and out of each other, comment on each other and, in some respects, work against each other to highlight the ways that "Bob Dylan" the public figure is ever changing, a series of different personas that have been given the opportunity to take center stage. Not all of these stories are successful - for me, the Billy sections were a little rambling and unfocused and I consistently felt my mind wandering. The film would have worked better, I think, if they’d cut this particular story out entirely.

However, even though I didn’t particularly care for his section of the film, Gere himself is quite good in the role. Billy is the most understated and unaffected of all the central characters, perhaps because he’s the only one who isn’t a direct evocation of Dylan himself but of a figure who inspired him. All of the actors playing facets of Dylan are very good, though Wishaw isn't given the opportunity to show much range in his portrayal. Everyone talks about the performance by Blanchett, and it must be admitted that something magical happens when she appears on screen, perfectly embodying the Dylan of Don’t Look Back, that maddening, self-constructed prophet and eccentric. This section of the film also features Bruce Greenwood as a British reporter who becomes Jude Quinn’s antagonist, seeing through his bullshit and challenging him on it. Greenwood is really great, matching Blanchett blow for blow, and also appears in the Billy sections as Pat Garrett, the man who (supposedly) killed Billy the Kid.

As far as a plot goes, there isn’t really that much to say. It’s an episodic film focusing on bits and pieces of public, private and musical life that are, obviously, reminiscent of or inspired by Dylan’s own life. These moments unfold in different ways, with the Robbie and Jack/John sections being the most straightforwardly told and the Jude, Woody and Billy stories playing out in a more dream-like fashion, surrealist in their construction, while Arthur acts as a connecting figure, a sort of Greek chorus waxing poetic as he’s being interviewed. The music, too, is a way of connecting the stories with the songs not only commenting on what’s going on, but also being used to segue from one story to another.

This is a really inspired film and, like La Vie En Rose, a welcome change of pace from the by the book musical biographies that have come out in the last few years.