'The Ides of March'

George Clooney, as a director, clearly intends to follow in the footsteps of Robert Redford or Clint Eastwood, in terms of his politically engaged film-making, even though he neither possesses Redford's gritty commentary nor Eastwood's lavish aesthetics, yet, anyway.

Let's not put the cart in front of the horse, or the endorsement in front of the governor, or whatever the saying is. The Ides of March follows the young media genius Stephen Meyers as he works on the Pennsylvania governor's presidential campaign, the film is mainly set in Ohio whose polls could decide the potential outcome of the presidential preliminaries. He works under the experienced Paul Zara and contrary to the latter, Meyers has an almost naïve faith in the liberal democratic values of their charismatic candidate Mike Morris.

On the other side of this political ring-fight, we find Tom Duffy, a shrewd campaign manger who seems not only to see all the strings, but pull them as well. Duffy, naturally attempts to hire Meyers whom he sees great potential in and Meyers, somewhat foolishly, agrees to meet, even though he eventually turns Duffy down. Things get messy as Meyer's journalist friend senses a scoop and learns of the meet. Throw in a gorgeous young intern and the political débâcle is on its way.

Based on a theatre play 'Farragut North' by Beau William in 2004, it comes as no surprise that the plot in itself is a skeleton plot, following a trigger, consequential action to the situational circumstances and the results of those actions. This bareness in terms of plot structure, makes the overall feel of the film result in a certain notion of staginess as it isolates the characters in symbolic concepts of idealism, corruption and the weaknesses of pride and personal gain. The 'twists' (and the quotation marks here are very much deliberate) are straightforward to blunt, emphasising the good old truth that politics is a dirty business, as if we hadn't seen it all before. The intern business feels contrived at times as it relies too much on Clinton's little indiscretion with a certain Monica Lewinski, relevant at the time of the play's opening, but almost anachronistic in present day.

The film's concentration on the characters of its unfolding leave one very important element of the political power play out, namely the people, or the votes for that matter. Granted, this could be deliberate as it illustrates how, in the end, a campaign is nothing but the sum of actions of the opposite campaign teams at play, at the same time however, the film could have benefited from the introduction of the masses and their more or less blind belief in the promises of the candidates as it would have heightened the cynicism of political observation.

As such, Clooney focuses on a cinematography of close-ups, highlighting the conspirational closeness of the protagonists and an atmosphere of dirty secrets in which the latter are nothing but a means to get headway in this personal road of success. The framing translates a feel of absolute isolation, of a closed universe in which trust is a luxury, loyalty an impossibility and idealism just a sign of naivety. The colour scheme is one of expensive subdued, plain in its dark greens, browns and beige, not unlike the lounge/bar in high class hotel, in which whispered echoes provide a background noise which prohibits any genuine voice or sound and as such become utterly unreal.

The performances are, of course, excellent, how could they not be with Philip Seymour Hoffman and Paul Giamatti on board. Am I the only one who cannot help but feel guilty boredom in seeing those two high-class actors, which I know are never going to et a foot wrong in terms of performance? Hoffmann plays his character with the beaten desolation of a man who has been in the business for years, which seems to have drained the colour from his very figure and Giamatti who plays Duffy with the nihilistic perseverance of a pit-bull, who doesn't so much know why he has to bite as he just knows it's in his nature. The real reverence of the film, however, lies in Gosling, who, since Drive has really drawn attention to himself. He carries the film with an aggressive nonchalance which is as much put on as it is strangely enough innocent. There's nothing new to the role of the young idealist who becomes corrupted along the line, Gosling, however, manges to infuse the role with a genuine intensity of a man who is in over his head and needs to make a choice of whether to relinquish his principles and success or whether to lose with his integrity intact, but nothing much else left. Clooney cleverly puts on a sideshow performance in his portrayal of the charismatic governor, his role almost becomes a parody of the figure of Clooney the actor himself, charming, but with an underlying tone of sinister calculation. The audience witnesses Clooney the actor, acting, which conjures the uncanny comparison of the Hollywood machinery and the governmental power play, supposedly making the most important decisions of a whole nation. In the end, the film seems to suggest, the show must go on.

As such, even thought somewhat simplistic in its treatment of the preliminary presidential campaign and all the conspiracies this entails, the film does raise some elemental ethical questions, the most important of which is whether it is better to win and have a chance to instate half the principles to believe in or whether to retain your ethical integrity, but lose. Even if the film's overall cinematography feels at times too glossy for its supposedly grim and realistic conveyance, while the emphasis on soured idealism, the backstabbing of the loyal minion (Y tu, Brutus!) and the intern as back-story might feel too contrived and simplistic for its own good, it does not diminish the necessity of films which raise elemental political questions and raise an awareness in an audience which must soon again make their way to the voting booth.

'Wuthering Heights'

If you enjoy romantic period dramas with damsels falling for handsome, dashing gentlemen in well-cut suits and impeccable manners, who even though somewhat lacking in the realm of emotional expression, nevertheless make up for their shortcomings in deeds and heroines who overcome their prejudices after traditionally rejecting the first marriage proposals as to prove their personal worth and interest in the man, not the economic capital, if you enjoy, longing female protagonists in wind-swept skirts standing on a hill musing in taking in the highly romanticised landscape of more often than not the lake district, then, beware, do not go and see Andrea Arnold’s Wuthering Heights.

The newest version of Emily Bronte’s monumental text of the English literary canon comes from none other than the maker of the critically acclaimed Fish Tank. It seems an odd choice of text for Andrea Arnold at first, but quickly proves plausible in breaking the novel down to its bare essential themes rather than taking it as a mere classic. Like Fish Tank, Wuthering Heights deals with the figure of the adolescent outsider; it deals with the dispossessed and is infiltrated with a distinct social realist tone. 

In terms of plot, the film follows the first half of the novel, in that it depicts the arrival of the later named Heathcliff to the family home of the Earnshaws’ in the middle of nowhere, also known as Victorian Yorkshire. In a bout of Christian charity, the head of the family has taken this boy in from the streets of Liverpool and given him a home in exchange for labour.  Heathcliff quickly attracts the hatred of the family’s eldest son Hindley and is thus subjected to constant humiliation and even physical abuse by the latter. He finds a companion in Catherine, the younger daughter and soon the two prove inseparable and roam the bleak moors of Yorkshire all day long. Catherine and Heathcliff’s relation is of an almost animalistic nature, strong, wild, occasionally cruel, defiant, desperately loyal, and innocent while erotic at the same time.

Of course the text lives through this all-consuming relationship and Arnold cleverly equals the nature of their relation with the powerful imagery of the landscape which becomes a character in its own right.  This is no sanitized period drama version of the moors shot through a glossy Hollywood lens; this is a highly desensitized treatment of a landscape whose bleakness is more council estate than countryside and the characters mirror and become part of it, rather than battling against it. This is almost a primeval world in its essential bareness and the difference between man and beast is narrow to non-existent, as Heathcliff is sent to sleep with the animals on the farm and Catherine licks his wounds in imitation of an animal taking care of its own.

The constant alteration between wide angle shots of the landscape and extremely confining close-ups of the characters make for a visual shock, which renders the overall feel of the film a visceral one. Arnold and her cinematographer Robert Ryan introduce images of as delicate as bleak beauty in focusing on the textural nature of the thing on screen, prioritising the tactile over the visually comprehensive. As such we are presented with images which seem almost of an alien nature as butterflies and bugs are magnified to the point of becoming unrecognisable, the rough creaks of the wide planes of Yorkshire remind of the close-up of Cathy’s hair and the focus on dead and trapped animals become almost unbearable to watch, not so much necessary components of country life as uncanny representatives of the abject. Let’s just say that any scholars of the haptic will have a field day with this film. The twin obsession with death and sex is omnipresent in the littering of animal corpses on the screen which are as much part of the filmic landscape as Cathy’s and Heathcliff’s erotic tensions. This linking of death and sex culminates in the last scene in which Heathcliff visits the corpse of Catherine. Here, however, one cannot help but feel that Arnold is pushing for extremes rather than really feeling the necessity to include this scene in the film in terms of character-understanding.

 The use or non-use of sound reinforces this notion of essentialism in terms not only of character emotions but also life in the 19^th century. The raindrops on the lens of the hand-held camera, the shaky cinematography and the sound of wind with an occasional cry of a lonely bird come to emphasise the harshness of a life lived in a cramped cottage which translates as an existence lived in poverty and a constant draft. The characters here are very much a product of their surrounding as they live a life in defiance of the elements and stifling social conventions which make of Catherine and Heathcliff not only outsiders in terms of gender and race, but also dependents on respectively marriage and charity. The sparse dialogue conveys the sense of impossibility of expression with occasional violent outbursts such as Heathcliff’s : ‘Fuck you all, you cunts’ which left the respectable middle-aged and distinctly middle-class audience gasping while at my screening one couple bowed their silver-haired heads and left in a self-righteous huff. The straining from the novel’s original dialogue, however, makes sense in that it brings the emotional core to a modern level. Heathcliff and Catherine are children left to run wild, they are dirty and uneducated, of no economic consequence and socially marginalised. This living on the fringes of society is here translated through the characters lingering in doorframes, peeping through keyholes or window frames, especially Heathcliff is always looking from the outside in.

At the same time, however, this negation of verbal expression proves the only digression from the novel which left me somewhat bewildered. In the novel, Heathcliff has a very distinct voice and refuses to be victimised in expressing defiance at all cost. Here, however, Heathcliff’s muteness makes him more of a victim as one gets the feeling that he has no means of defence. Also the film’s radical gutting of the novel’s gothic framework, leaving out not only the supernatural, a wise decision in terms of the tone of the film, but also some of the character traits, leave the protagonist as representatives of bare emotions such as anger, passion, pain and loss, rather than rich textual figures to be explored. One cannot help but feel that essential traits of what make these iconic characters have been left out, such as the cruelty Catherine and Heathcliff display as children, mostly to their immediate surroundings, but also to themselves. Also, the Hindley character seems to be portrayed as a mindless bully rather than a boy who sees himself confronted with the potential loss of his place as an heir and deprived of his father’s love and as such resumes to physical violence.

Why can’t you always be like this? Cathy’s father asks her when she snuggles up to him. This question leaves an audience unfamiliar with the book bemused as they have not seen proof of Cathy’s wickedness. Also the first scene shows Catherine spitting in Heathcliff’s face, an action which makes no sense in accordance to the next scene in which she invites him to visit the moors with her. The novel, naturally, has the time and pace to establish this sadomasochistic relationship between Cathy and Heathcliff, in which the two characters seems to hate as much as love each other , as one torments the other only to be fiercefully loyal to them once the outside world turns against them.

The lovers’ reunion after Heathcliff’s return also somewhat leaves to be wished for, as the adult actors seem to close in age to the child actors which makes the supposed time-frame appear artificial and unbelievable. Also the adult Cathy character looks utterly dissimilar to the young Catherine in looks and behaviour that one almost feels like watching a different character. Some of her behavioural changes must, of course, be attributed to her marriage to the socially refined Linton, but even in her interaction with Heathcliff she seems more teasing than passionately in love. All of the performances, from the young non-professional actors, to the more established older actors are superb, their performances, however, are completely desynchronised, a fact which greatly weakens the second part of the film.  

All in all, the film’s greatest asset lies in its effect on the audience, as it has the same shocking and startling impact as the novel had on its 19^th century readership. Even thought the film proves flawed in terms of character development, which would have been acceptable in a loose reimagining of the Bronte text, but becomes a shortcoming in an adaptation, the fact that Arnold managed transform a well-worn classic into something new and raw which brings back to life the original audience response in its shocking and unsentimental approach deserves nothing short of critical admiration.

Oh yeah, before I forget: Heathcliff is black.