Film Journal 2023: Poor Things
Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos

I found this article on Sartre to be a helpful companion piece to fleshing out Director

Being and Nothingness

One of Sartre’s glaring holes as an existentialist is his notion that nothingness (or non-existence) is liberation. Everything for him begins with a meaningless existence (which is similar with Kierkegaard), but unlike Kierkegaard the antidote to a meaningless existence is the acceptance of nothingness. This is what frees us to embrace acts of becoming as something that emerges from existence. How does it do so? Through awareness of our existence, and thus our non-existence.

As he suggests,
(We) should be responsible for (our)selves and make decisions without any outside influence. Ultimately this gives us autonomy over our existence, as Sartre believed that existence precedes essence. Our choices play a role in determining who we are.”

Here in lies the problem- I don’t believe its possible to make decisions without any outside influence.

It says further,
“Unlike any other objects in the world, we have no pre-existing nature or essence to dictate our behavior or existence; instead, it’s up to us to craft ourselves and ascribe meaning to our lives—something which might sound liberating on the surface yet can be an intimidating reality as well.

We become solely responsible for all the decisions we make, and we can’t blame anyone else if things don’t go according to plan.”

And yet, for this to gain any sense of moral meaning it must accept that external forces and realities absolutely do have the power to control and shape who we are. Thus his reasoning collapses in on itself, and even becomes dangerous.

Further yet,
“It’s natural to want to evade accountability with excuses, which amounts to self-deception, according to Sartre.”

But what if the self deception is his notion of the existence of a true self apart from any external influences?

Which leads me to Poor Thimgs as a subsequent exploration of this existential concern.

And don’t look now, but Yorgos Lanthimos just made a film that is both clear and accessible. Although, it should be said that it is actually not that far apart from The Favorite thematically speaking. If the Favorite used sex and money to say something about the nature of power, this one uses it to say something about the nature of individual freedoms and the creation of the self. Poor Things is also much more expansive in scope and setting than his earlier films, using a physical journey to underscore the subsequent theme of exploration and discovery.

There is a lot to like here, including some brave and committed performances that straddle the line between quirk, humor, and seriousness. The production design is also quite fun, moving fluidly between the realism of its period piece and the fantastical nature of its, frankenstienian madman subtext.

I was slightly less enthralled though with the films overall vision and messaging. It falls far too easily into some of the trappings of a certain kind of intellectualism, leaning into certain tropes that tend to pervade sections of academia and high art. This film is very much, and in it’s own way, a kind of Greek Odyssey with an enlightenment era twist, delving deep into the philosophical undercurrent of an existence defined by the existential quest. The stated travels, which follows a young woman (Emma Stone) who is something of an experiment in the art and theory of transplantation, find her encountering some of the more formative symbols of life’s contrasting viewpoints- the traditionalist, the adventurer, the cynic, the liberal optimist, the entitled, the powerful, the oppressor. These symbols are consistently framed as contrasts when it cones to exploring what it means to be human (existence) and the nature of being human as an expression. They are also tied to the movies twin concerns- what it means to discover the world, and what it means to discover the world as a woman. As Stone herself has expressed, the story is very much about acceptance “of what it is to be a woman, to be free, to be scared and brave… to be a member of society,”

These things are, of course, good and necessary ideas to explore, but underneath this is a driving set of assumptions regarding the liberated self. In the outlook of Poor Things, it wants to uphold the self as an idea that can withstand the constraints of reality. It wants to face humanity’s raw and determined potential for horror and uphold the existence of good. It wants to entertain the concept of the free individual even in the face of social conformity and external forces. This young woman discovers her “true self” seemingly by naming her right to happiness, which she finds through indulging in the basic pleasures of the flesh regardless of consequence. Somehow this is supposed to represent less of a cage than the once tightly guarded confines of the home she was “reborn” into, to evoke the grand nature of the experiment which brings her into existence. And it all hinges on the films assumption that there is such a thing as a true self that can be discovered, or that can emerge by way of her conscience awareness of the world around her. Without the truth of a truly free self in play, one that finds its meaning in the basic carnal pleasures of our material existence, this film slides head first into the murky waters of nihilism. And indeed, the logic of the films own observations about humanity and the world and about nature, actively push back against the films own existential quest by appealing to this nihilism. In fact, there is a desperate line spoken near the mid point that perhaps stands as its most honest conclusion- the soul does not exist. At least in this films worldview. Therefore we exist. What this existence is beyond its appeal to nothingness begs the real question lingering at the heart of this film.

What could have been a compelling choice of story ends up treading water in the shallowness of it’s own contradictions. What should and could be a story about a young woman coming to realize that the promises of the enlightenment and its aspirations to supersede and transcend nature don’t necessarily deliver on their promise, and that the ways in which we develop ideas about the true self and existence don’t really hold water when held to reason and rationality, arrives at a place where it then pretends to simply ignore the challenges reality poses to it’s own conclusions and the hard questions this poses to our social and mental constructions.

If that’s its weakness, the film is still, at the very least, willing to tread into the waters of such a philopshical conundrum with a clear artistic vision. On that front there is no doubt about the filmmakers capability and talent, something all the key players benefit from.

Film Journal 2023: Godzilla Minus One
Directed by Takashi Yamazaki

Finally found the time to jump on this ever growing bandwagon, and I’m happy to say the hype is real.

Its not just that setting this in post war Japan returns Godzilla to its roots and its primary metaphor representing the horrors of atomic destruction. The films near pitch perfect direction understands the necessasy balance between creature mayhem and human drama. Real characters and emotional stakes allow the monster to occupy its necessary place as both destructive force and existential crisis.

I really loved too how the films approach doesn’t need any tricks to establish the threat and the tension. It doesn’t need to cloak things in darkness or hide it in the shadows. It doesn’t need the slow reveal. It doesn’t need grand visuals. It just needs to establish that the monster is every bit as real as the people, planes and boats it is challenging. The monster design here is great, but even better are the action set pieces and set design themselves, which feel earthy, grounded and raw while providing some exceptionally intense, edge of your seat thrill ride moments.

The human element stays decidedly simple while employing a good deal of depth through the subtext. It is soaked in Japanese culture and cultural concerns, especially where it relates to honor-shame societies and family/community expectations. This provides a great opportunity to veer the story towards the essential human drama instead of fleshing out any big themes or relying on the destruction to pull it’s own weight. Themes are there, to be sure, especially where it relates to matters of regret, responsibity, and family, but they don’t override the fundamental journey of the films central character; a fighter pilot who bears the weight of a mistake he feels he cannot be forgiven for, and the persons who become his potentially redemptive voice. Where the film takes this journey has real and genuine emotional resonance.

It’s so interesting to me to consider that the last few Godzilla films released with an incredible amount of advertising and push. I didn”t even know this one existed until the week it started it’s slow roll out in select theaters, expanding now this week. But here we are, boasting one of the strongest Godzilla movies in recent memory and one of the best action films of the year. Go figure. No wonder its managing some success via word of mouth. It’s always something to celebrate when a film is able to do that using it’s own two legs, proving that success can still happen the old fashioned way. Fitting that it involves a throw back classic creature flick.

Reading Journal 2023: How Do You Live
Author: Genzaburo Yoshino

Picked up this recently translated version of Yoshino’s popular Japanese classic upon the news that this book, reportedly famed Hayeo Miyazaki’s favorite book, would be the source material for his reportedly final film.

I can see what Myazaki loves about the book. It is highly philosophical and essentially hands him the sort of visual poetry and symbolism that have become a mark of his filmography on a silver platter. This is a story ready made to challenge narrow perceptions of time and space, turning the smallest molecule into an opportunity to explore the interconnectedness of life on the most grandest of scales.

One of the challenges this book faces is finding ways to supersede the didactic nature of its approach, most readily in the portions that are expressed in letters or journals. Its not just philosophical, it reads like textbook philosophy, right down to its interest in building a literary and literal historical center (a grand portrait and treatiest of Napolean). The structure is relatively straightforward; it follows back and forth conversations between a young boy and his uncle, whom has affectionately nicknamed him Coppernicus, or Copper, due to his inate awareness of the world around him and his deep felt need to ask the necessary questions. It tries to connect the didactic sections to a linear storyline by using the unfolding events of the boy and his friends at school. As the boy experiences everyday struggles, he brings these struggles to his uncle in the form of a question. These questions become lessons, often blanketed by observations which connect his struggle and experience to a governing truth about the world and how life works, infusing this with a specific focus on how a single boy exists in relationship to the friends, family, culture, society and country that surrounds him. This parallels a history of Japan with the personal questions being explored, building a celebration of identity along with existence.

My personal convictions/worldview aside, oone thing that has long fascinated me about the particular philosophy being represented in this book- a particular form of Buddhism- is its tendency to ruminate between religious expression and philosophical materiliams (or humanism). Depending on where it is being translated into, it tends to gravitate more heavily towards one or the other. For me personally, I have often found the most compelling parts of this worldview to emerge when it is williing to embrace the language of the gods and its more strident and upfront religiousity. I find it least compelling when it strips this away in favor of a materialist approach to the world. The world Yoshino sees in these characters is one that veers towads its more strident religious experession, something that, through astute observation of the Japanese culture which has shaped him, is reflected in the migrant nature of Buddhims geographical movement. Where the lines between East and West blur, the roots of specific beliefs become more complex, something Yoshino highlights through telling the history of a particular Buddha statue that comes into view of our main characters. There are moments here wherre it stands in danger of replacing god with the self, but it is the power of the cultural conditioning that keeps the philosophical concern pointed outwards rather than inwards. It might be fair to restate the question on the cover of the book, the same question that flows out to the reader at the end of the book, as, “how do you live in a world when life is not about you.” If my own worldview might take that to a slightly different place than the author, I deeply appreciate that necessary foundation. It carries even more weight when applied most practically to the very real social realities that inform these character’s own space and time.

Yes, we are all molecules. More to the point, we are all the result of molecules being formed through a lengthy and interconnected history of cause and effect. This is what places us in space and time. What lies behind this history of cause and effect, the very things that breathe nuance and complexity into concrete religious truths, is the thing that draws and shapes our inate longings and desires for something true. If, as the author points out, we experience suffering for example, that awakens us to the notion that this is not what life was made for. Such a reality points us to the idea that things are not as they should be, and yet awakens us to live as witnesses to the greater truth- that our desire for something different, the very desire that pulls us through suffering, testifies to a greater truth that this world was made for wholeness. We are who we are in a reality that longs for that which such a reality wars against. Thus we find the nature of living in one direction or another- hope or hopelessness. How do we live in hope when reality arrives at our doorstep in such a way as t tell us life is otherwise? We embody those desires. We make them incarnate. And we do so by beginning with the most important piece of that puzzle-awarness of both the reality and the hope as tensions needing reconciliation.

Reading Journal 2023: The Princess Bride
Author: William Goldman

A pure delight and a classic fairy tale true to all its form. Goldman pens a this memorable tale, filled as it is with the glorious fictional history, through the lens of his own imagined back story. The book he grew up with, the one his father read and reread to him, had proven to be more than the sum of its parts. Understanding what it took for a fairy tale to be good, to be of the type that engages a young person’s imagination and fascination, his father had cut out all the “boring” parts, leaving the swashbuckling and the romance, the grand adventure and the danger. Goldman thus decides to rewrite the fictional story with only the good parts. This is what we, as readers get, with the authors own point of perspective woven into the narrative as it’s own parallel storyline.

It really is wonderful. And exciting. And funny. Given that I was only ever aware of the film, I was surprised at how much this story gains from the backstories Goldman gives each of the main characters. Adds a whole other natural element to the fairy tale, especially when it comes to Buttercup’s fierce and determined persona.

This might not seem a necessary read, and it might feel odd even to consider the beloved film as a literary source, but if you are in any way shape or form a fan of the film, you owe it to yourself to read this at least once in your lifetime.

Film Journal 2023: The Boy and the Heron
Directed by Hayao Miyazaki

Distanced is not a word I thought I would ever use to describe my experience with one of Miyazaki’s films, but I’m finding it hard to come up with a different descriptive. What I don’t know is if it simply needs a rewatch to really figure out and unearth the story and the themes, or if the film is just genuinely elusive and unfocused in what it wants to say and is trying to do.

I’ll be honest. I went into this film after having just read the book, and the film is such a drastic departure from that story that it actively threw me off. This is mostly apparent in the way it trades the straight forward realism of the book for building out a magical world in the film. Two very different vibes, very different tones, and very different emphasis, and I’m still trying to piece together where the inspiration for the adaptation was being applied precisely.

Even as I write this my brain is still mulling over the general trajectory of the plot. Is it about the boys grief? That seems to fade from the picture for most of the films runtime. Was it about his mother? His father? His stepmom? His experiences at school? Almost of these things come into play at some level, but each of them are left somewhat confusing and barely fleshed out.

Even the concept of the family’s history and their connectedness to a greater sense of responsibility feels underwritten, which is strange because most of the worldbuilding sort of depends on this for establishing some necessary motivation and tension.

The technical elements are all great, including the animation and the score. It looks great and its lovely to experience, for sure. And it has moments where you can see the potential for this to be a lot of fun, even meaningful, and perhaps even brilliant. You can tell that this a personal film for the Director, being an adaptation of his favorite book and his final production (perhaps). It’s just unfortunate that it couldn’t have had more clarity and cohesion as a story and a vision. If this film has something big and important to say, I’m not sure it helps itself by keeping it so deeply buried.

Film Journal 2023: Wonka
Directed by Paul King

From the voice behind the beloved Paddington films comes a colorful new vision of Wonka’s past. This is, if there was a pure defintion of the term, the very defintion of a family film, one that sees its success in bridging that gap between old and young. It captures the spirit of the original while pushing it ever so gently in fresh directions, all in service of the story’s appeal to the imagination.

Any questions about Chalamet’s ability to conjure up the quirky idealism and eccentricities of a young Wonka finding his way are put to rest with the first musical number. He proves a perfect fit for the grand stage and the innate magical realism that surrounds him. This is a world where the simple power of confectionaries and artistic creativity can defy the limits of our cynicism and challebge the trappings of capitalist pursuits. As the film posits, its not about the chocolate, its about the people we share it with, and the backstory that we discover in this film sets the stage for the deeply embedded moral convictions of the mysterious Wonka in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

Loved the clean cut simplicity of the action and the set design, along with the different musical numbers. It might deviate ever so slightly when it comes to the typical trappings of that third act climax, but it never loses its heart and its soul, nor its charm. I have to imagine that if you grew up with any appreciation of the classic film, this will tap into all those childhold memories and feelings, not as a retread but as a celebration. Its ability to share this and communicate this with a fresh generation using the same geinine and thoughtful artistic commitment that we find in the Paddington films is the thing that bridges that gap.

The other week I mentioned to my pastor that my entire conception of Christmas was being overturned in one fell swoop this year. I consider myself to be fairly well read, and I have experience in and with a variety of denominations over my many years as a Christian. I’ve been through undergrad and seminary, and I’ve served in a professional capacity in liturgical and non-liturgical settings.

And yet, up until this year I had never really noticed Advents focus on the second coming of Jesus. Growing up, my Church environment, not to mention my social and family context, always emphasized Advent as a celebration of the arrival of the Christ child, not His second coming. Perhaps it is because this viewpoint was so ingrained in me that I simply heard the language of the second coming through the lens of the first during my time serving in the Lutheran Church where it likely would have been more prominent. Truth be told, after digging into it a little bit, I’ve discovered I am not alone. In fact, its even kind of a thing in liturgical histories, where the Christmas focus has seen a bit of an ebb and flow concerning its emphasis on the first and/or second coming over different times and cultures.

In any case, and for whatever reason, I found myself this year in the Advent portion of N.T. Wright’s devotional book On Earth As It is In Heaven, being slightly confused by the fact that day after day seemed to be all about the eschaton. Then I went to celebrate the first Sunday of advent at our Church (part of the Evangelical Covenant Church), and it was all about the second coming. And then I dove into the book, Advent: The Once and Future Coming of Jesus Christ by Fleming Rutledge, and it was more of the same.

That’s when I wondered what was going on and how I had managed to miss this emphasis after all these years. That’s when I set out to try and make new sense of precisely what Advent means.

Which of course brought me to that key and central word- waiting. Advent is, above all, a time of waiting. For me, this waiting was always attached to the slow progression leading towards the arrival of the Christ child. In a sense this is, of course, a part of the picture. But historically speaking, as some fellow readers of Wright pointed out, Advent is about the first advent being a signpost for the second. Which is to say, we wait in the light of the first arrival in expectation of its culmination. Equally in historical terms, there has been some resistance, be it in language or practice, towards emphasizing the second coming in the Advent season, perhaps because it tends to be attached to such strong language of judgment. And yet, in its purest form, the Christmas songs and celebration are withheld in the liturgy until Christmas Day (or Eve) precisely because the time of waiting is treated as a time to prepare for Jesus’ return. Thus, in some way, form and fashion, the time between the final day of the Church calendar (the feast of Christ the King Sunday) and its beginning (the first arrival of the Christ child on Christmas Day, or the last Sunday of Advent) is an invitation into the storied cycle of this waiting and anticipation. It is about learning how to live differently in light of Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love, all marks of what the Gospel teaches to be the new Kingdom breaking in through the person and work of Jesus. The lead up to Christmas day is anchored in the conviction that something new happened and that this newness is marked by the arrival of the promised kingdom and the King who is, even now, on the throne.

As Wright so poignantly expresses,

“For Paul something had happened. The living God had acted in person, in the person of Jesus, to rescue people from that “present age”(of sorrow, shame, exile and death), and to launch “the age to come” (when all things will be put right).” The two ages were not, as it were, back to back, the first stopping when the second began. The new age had burst upon the scene while the “present age” was still rumbling on. This was the direct effect of the divine plan by which Jesus “gave himself for our sins”; the power of the “present age” was thereby broken, and the new world could begin.”

If the ancient Jewish peoples only ever expected the Messiah to come once at the fullness of time when all would be resurrected, the scandal of Jesus’ birth is tied to “a single resurrection in the middle of history”. Thus Jesus is, as Wright puts it, both the starting point of the new creation and the goal or fulfillment of Israel’s hopes.

One of the great things I have discovered about reorienting my focus this Advent season is how it has been recontextualizing that story. Often Jesus is treated as the starting point of MY salvation, with Israel’s story being relegated to a scapegoat, a people destined to fail so that Jesus might succeed on my behalf. Their story is treated, commonly within Protestantism, as a people who thought they could earn their way to heaven, while we have thus learned that it is only “by grace through faith”. All of this misses the true power of the story, or the Law (understood as the story of Israel’s own expectation), that Jesus is in fact fulfilling. If Jesus is the fulfillment, then we do not wait as one under the Law, meaning as one in a world where Jesus did not come, we wait as one in Christ, meaning as one in a world where Jesus did in fact come. This is the proclamation of the Gospel, and it speaks not at the expense of the story, but rather to its relevance. A people raised up for the sake of creations redemption have found this promise realized in Jesus. Christ has come. And it is because of this story that we can say now with confidence, Christ will come again.

And so we wait, but not as those without hope, peace, joy and love, the mark of heaven invading earth. This is, as the second coming so clearly calls us towards, the necessary time of preparation, the work of living in the way of a kingdom that is, in fact, already here.

As Wright puts it,
“The whole point of Jesus’ work was to bring heaven to earth and join them together forever, to bring God’s future into the present and make it stick there. But when heaven comes to earth and finds earth unready, when God’s future arrives in the present while people are still asleep, there will be explosions. And there were.”

“If we imagine that ‘law’ simply means a moral code- as many readers of Romans have done- we will miss much of the point.”
– N.T. Wright (Into the Heart of Romans)

21 So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. 22 For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; 23 but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me.
– Romans 7:21-23

In locating the heart of Romans in chapter 8, Wright notes the “therefore”, or the ‘so then’, that opens the chapter as the conclusion of the argument Paul has been making in chapters 1-7. The emphasis of chapter 7 is on the dual nature of the Law, which, as Wright notes, was not a set of moral codes but the first five books of the Torah, the formative story of Gods acting in the world and Gods promise to make the world right.

The question at hand is, how can the Law do two seemingly opposite things:
10 I found that the very commandment that was intended to bring life actually brought death
13 Did that which is good, then, become death to me?

Paul responds definitively;
7 What shall we say, then? Is the law sinful? Certainly not!
13 Did that which is good, then, become death to me? By no means!

So how do we then reconcile the end of chapter 7 with the beginning of chapter 8:
7:25b
I myself in my mind am a slave to God’s law, but in my sinful nature a slave to the law of sin.
8:1
Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus

The answer, seemingly is found in two pointed realities concerning cheaters 7 and 8. First, Sin is depicted as something that has agency. It is able to “seize the opportunity”. It “springs to life”. It “uses what is good”. “It is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me.”

And this agency is depicted as “another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me.” Earlier Paul locates this “in the realm of the flesh” where the “passions” are aroused. So its not only a matter of Sin as agency, it is a matter of a fleshly reality, which for the ancients was marked by Death, or finiteness which breeds suffering.

Second, Paul says in chapter 7:6 that;
6 But now, by dying to what once bound us, we have been released from the law so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit

Later in 7:25a, Paul offers this precursor to the direness of 25:b;
25 Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!

Therefore, it is Jesus who releases is from the Law, not ourselves, nor any good moral works.

Now notice how how 8:1 repeats the claim of 7:25a, adding the specifics in relationship to the broader argument in chapter 7 regarding the Law;
Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, 2 because through Christ Jesus the law of the Spirit who gives life has set you free from the law of sin and death.

God fulfills the “aims” of the Law, the thing it was powerless to do in the realm of the flesh where the agency of Sin holds sway, by “sending his own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh to be a sin offering” (vs 3). And in so doing God condemns “sin in the flesh”.

What is the aim of the Law, or as Paul puts it, “the righteous requirement of the law”? It isn’t to follow a moral code perfectly. It isn’t to be sinless in those terms. It isn’t for us, or Jesus on our behalf, to prove faultless in terms of perfect obedience to a set of moral commandments. The righteous requirement was found in the aim of the Law, which was the story of the first five books of the Torah that shaped Paul’s Jewishness, and that aim was the three fold expectation of the defeat of Sin and Death, resurrection, and the establishment of the eternal king on his throne.

In other words, a new reality brought about in our midst “8 Those who are in the realm of the flesh cannot please God. 9 You, however, are not in the realm of the flesh but are in the realm of the Spirit.”

Now read these words in 8:18-21
18 I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. 19 For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. 20 For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.

What is the subjection? If we have followed Paul’s argument, we can see that the subjection was the giving of the good Law which promises life, which became the means by which this agency called Sin acts and enslaves according to the flesh and fleshly reality. What is the hope? Liberation of creation from this fleshly reality. 24 For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? 25 But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

Attentive readers can then note the connection between this present fleshly reality and the hope of this liberated reality in Jesus, with the connective piece being our own obligation as a people already occupying space in the spirit, or the spiritual reality. 12 Therefore, brothers and sisters, we have an obligation—but it is not to the flesh, to live according to it. 13 For if you live according to the flesh, you will die; but if by the Spirit you put to death the misdeeds of the body, you will live.

Why is this an obligation? Because through life in the Spirit we bear witness to the fleshly reality of our hope in the person and work of Jesus. And not just to one another, but to creation itself. Through our living the new liberated reality is experienced even as we experience life in the flesh as slavery to Sin and Death

Film Journal 2023: May December
Directed by Todd Haynes

I’m a big fan of Todd Haynes. Far From Heaven is a legitimate masterpiece, Carol isn’t far behind, and Wonderstruck is a legitimate all timer for me when it comes to my personal favorites list.

May December doesn’t feel out of place in terms of his filmography, but it does feel slightly less focused and confident as a project. Perhaps it’s trying to find a way to push the boundaries of some of his recognizable characteristics and sensibilities, to reimagine his penchant for drawing out morally compromised characters in a way that seeks the nuanced and morally ambiguous middle ground. But it felt like it needed something to kind of draw it all in and make it sensible and coherent, something that allows us as viewers to connect with the characters. Perhaps a little bit more work on the script even.

There are points of brilliance along the way. Playing around with the actor playing an actor bit provides some interesting artistic choices when it comes to utilizing Portmans character. There are some haunting and unsettling portraits as the two figures gradually blur together, throwing into question whether this process is bringing her closer to knowing her subject or further away. That’s really where the film is most invested, using the interplay between the actor studying her subject to pull out the nuances of the subject at hand. And Haynes chooses some dark territory to tread, littering it with some uncomfortable humor as a way of making the tone a bit undefinable.

One of the issues is that it all ends up one big nod to the artistic vision itself, leaving any worthwhile or recognizable arc cloaked from our view. Perhaps that’s part of the intent, creating a film that is more about the idea and the experience than the story. On some level it does achieve this. But towards that end it feels a bit too clever for its own good, and certainly the supporting cast becomes a bit expendable because of this.

A bit disappointed with this one overall, even if it has its moments.

Film Journal 2023: The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes
Directed by Francis Lawrence

Songbirds and Snakes might not have the same epic scope as the Hunger Games trilogy, but, like the book it is based on, it trades this for something intimate, self contained and distinct. It does of course fits within the same world, operating as an origins story for the franchises main villain (Snow), but its interests are not on progressing the story but rather on adding to it in terms of nuance and depth. And I think the film succeeds on this front.

The construction of the film allows the background of the story leading into the 10th annual Hunger Games, to be told succinctly and concisely. It sets the necessary backdrop for how the games came to be, affords us the context (the early fate of the games is hanging in the balance), and then provides us with the central character who’s future hangs in the balance (a young Snow). From there we dive into the games in the midst of all this uncertainty and chaos.

It’s a stark contrast to the ordered and established scenario we find in the Hunger Games. It’s also the perfect way for us to get to know Snow as a complex individual. We see the things in his past that have left him teetering precariously on the line between knowing and doing what’s right and what’s wrong. His world is flooded with notes of grey, and we gain a glimpse of someone who’s actions and choices can turn him in one direction or another, especially as the events of the film begin to unfold. It’s a glorious mash-up of allegiances and emotional pushes and pulls and desires, and in classic form to the series, much of it hinges on this larger discussion about human nature and its inherent need to survive. Given who we know Snow to be in the trilogy, this whole conversation carrys that much more weight.

The production values here are strong, leaning a good deal into practical set design, and the story spends time in multiple settings that each provide their own flavor to the film. More importantly, the film successfully helps to conceptualize Snow as a person and as a President. I do think it’s a great way to add to the subsequent films in a way that subtly recontextualizes them without losing their truth.

The film of course brings in music, and I think the casting of Songbird is pretty good. This isn’t perhaps jumping off the screen like it did with the iconic figures whom carry the trilogy, but the casting of Snow captures the necessary transformation, while the simplicity of the Songbird helps to anchor the basic struggle of those populating the districts. If it functions as a ballad about the two sides of our nature, I think it becomes a poignant part of the films thematic presence.

This is of course a stand alone story. I do hope it stays that way, as I think it’s a welcome addition and a nice way back into the world that captured many of us on both page and screen.