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Arts
Wednesday, September 23, 2015 — 5A
T
he Hungarian film
“White God” begins with
an aerial shot of a vast
and empty city. The only figure,
barely visible, rides a bike. The
silence is
unnerving
— where is
everyone? It’s
the setup for
some kind of
fairytale or
post-apoca-
lyptic story of
survival. The
camera moves
in; the figure
is a teenage
girl, probably
13 years old. She rides across a
bridge into the heart of Budapest
as the wind blows gently. The
camera zooms onto the pedals of
the bike, capturing her cycling
in slow motion — movement,
forward progress. But then an
orchestra erupts in symphonic
malaise. The girl turns to see
a deluge of wild dogs, 250 of
them, hustling down the street,
growling, angry. They are gain-
ing on her. As the girl passes an
intersection, the camera rests
barely a foot off the ground as it
captures the flood of dogs sprint
by. Cut to black. Director Kornel
Mundruczo has moved us from
the sky to the ground; we have
fallen from grace.
This two-and-a-half-minute
sequence is perhaps the best in
film I’ve seen this year. It tells
us most everything we need
to know — not so much about
the story itself, but about the
emotional stakes in which we
are about to invest ourselves.
Mundruczo’s film is indeed a
fairytale, a particularly sad one
at that — a tale of lost innocence
and
oppression
and
anger,
devoid of a happy ending.
“White God,” which recently
dropped on Netflix, recounts
the tale of Hagen, a mixed-
breed dog, as he devolves from
a loving house pet into a killer,
transformed by a society that
sees him as a dirty less-than.
The
Hungarian
government
has laws against non-purebred
animals, and Hagen’s owner,
Lili, the cyclist, is forced to
give him up to the streets.
The metaphor becomes quite
clear; Hagen and other mutts
represent
the
lower
class
shunned by society. Eventually,
Hagen, about to be put down
by the pound, leads the other
impounded dogs to rise up
against their oppressors. They
take the city, killing those who
have abused them.
If
the
film
sounds
like
“Battleship Potemkin” by way
of “Babe: Pig in the City,” it
is. The premise may be a bit
ridiculous and the allegory
rather heavy-handed, but the
film generally works as a series
of dreamlike images, effectively
staged
and
featuring
some
of the best acting by animals
I’ve ever seen. In addition, it
draws its principle strength in
how Mundruczo frames the
characters and animals.
If we view a camera as
a pair of eyes — our eyes —
then when the camera looks
down at something, a dog for
example, the dog has no power
because we stand above it,
claiming positional dominance.
However, if the camera points
upward at the dog, then the dog
claims the power— we feel its
size overpowering us. This is
really the one that Mundruczo
expresses with the opening
sequence: the audience begins
with power, which diminishes
by the end, trampled by the
stampede.
Mundruczo, for the first
two-thirds of the film, slowly
but surely moves the camera
lower and lower in framing
Hagen. By the time Hagen
has broken, tapped into his
heart of darkness at the behest
of a number of cruel owners
(among them a dog fighter
who pounds the animal into a
fighting machine), the camera
sits beneath him. He takes the
power from the audience, the
rest of society that has beat him
down, and fights back.
The position of the camera
further
suggests
where
Mundruczo expects society to
go to combat the lack of regard
for the lesser class: are we to
ascend higher and see the world
for what it truly is or descend
into the dirt? We really only
have two options: higher or
lower, better or worse.
“White
God”
parallels
another
recent
film
about
class strug. Bong Joon-ho’s
“Snowpiercer” operates on a
similar, though more nuanced,
level about the world, but
instead contracts the Universe
into the closed walls of a train.
In a train that shelters the
only survivors of a devastating
global freeze, there isn’t really
space to move higher or lower,
so instead it remains at the eye
level of Curtis, the leader of the
rebellion. The camera, then, can
only move in a lateral direction:
forward or backward, forward,
being to the front of the train,
where the upper classes reside,
and the back, with the leftover
lower class.
Like
the
camera,
Curtis
and the rebellion can only
move forward or backward,
progress toward the front to
make the engine fall back in
line,
taking
the
oppression
to which they have become
accustomed. Joon-ho mirrors
this limited thinking through
Curtis’s decision-making, as he
hesitates to move backward or
forward, ultimately choosing
to move forward, always at
the cost of friends that have
served as his conscience and
grounded him. This way of
staging, forward or backward,
right or left, always results in
death and destruction; the push
forward, even if it seems just,
is still just as costly, physically
and through the goodness of
the minds of those bodies.
But
then,
at
almost
94
minutes in, Joon-ho introduces
a
third
direction:
out.
As
Namgoong,
the
security
specialist, explains that he does
not want to take the engine but
to break outside of the train, the
camera very deliberately and
slowly pivots a full 90 degrees,
the only time it has moved in
this fashion. Suddenly, this
space is not one dimensional;
Curtis can move forward or
backward and perpetuate the
cycle of violence, or he can
end it completely by breaking
outside. And it is this third
option that Curtis ultimately
chooses,
opting
to
derail
the train, killing all but two
children, who are able to begin
society anew, untainted by the
adults that formed it.
Joon-ho ends his saga on an
optimistic note: a shot of a polar
bear, thought to be extinct,
suggesting that the children
will survive and perhaps thrive.
For Mundruczo, the ending is
less positive. He takes us back
to the sky for a shot of all of the
dogs, Lili and her father lying
on the ground, humans nearly
indistinguishable
from
the
dogs. The police will soon come,
and the dogs will likely be shot.
For a moment, there is peace and
similarity and understanding,
but not for much longer.
And so we see a difference
in ideology between these two
directors. Joon-ho has taken us
forward and backwards, only
to abandon the two altogether
and move outside. Mundruczo
has taken us up and down and
then back up to see the world
with
newfound
awareness.
Whichever is correct will have
to be left to the viewer, but it is
clear that both directors have
used their cameras to deliver
a message: we have shown you
the world, now what will you do
about it?
Bircoll likes Hungarian films, but
will he like “A Serbian Film”? To get
an invite to the basement screening,
email jbircoll@umich.edu.
FILM COLUMN
Movie camera
politics
JAMIE
BIRCOLL
Mac Miller does
his best work yet
ALBUM REVIEW
Miller finally gets
serious on his latest
release
By SHAYAN SHAFII
Daily Arts Writer
Ah, 2015: the gift that keeps on
giving. The number of fantastic
hip-hop releases this year has
already become
dizzying.
Without
even
attempting
to
make
a
comprehensive
list,
Drake,
A$AP
Rocky,
Kendrick
Lamar,
Earl
Sweatshirt,
Young
Thug,
Vince
Staples,
Future and Chief Keef have all
dropped outstanding albums in
the past nine months. What’s
most remarkable, however, is the
emergence of artists that basically
had no right to be taken seriously.
Mac Miller entered the rap game
as a white, Jewish lacrosse player
from the suburbs of Pittsburgh and
spent years meddling with frat-rap
before becoming a reclusive drug
addict. While his more traditional
fans were likely turned off by his
psilocybin-infused projects like
Faces and Delusional Thomas,
it seems that Mac’s drug-fueled
chamber of reflection has emerged
stronger than ever before. GO:OD
AM is undoubtedly his best work
yet, and he knows it.
“When In Rome” sees Mac lit-
erally beat his chest and yell, “I’M
AT THE TOP OF MY GAME.” At
that moment, he hits a peak that
he’s never hit before. You get the
sense that this is his magnum
opus. For the first time in, well,
ever, Mac spits with the highest
order of conviction. The drug-
induced self-doubt and confusion
that characterized much of his
earlier work has given way to a
more pure, clear-headed sense of
direction and hunger that aligns
with the development of fellow
“most improved rappers” like Big
Sean and Tyler, The Creator. Mac
used Faces to announce that he
didn’t care if his next high was his
last (word to Amy Winehouse),
but on album-opener “Brand
Name,” he prays he doesn’t join
the infamous 27 Club. This is a
changed man.
“Brand Name,” featuring some
of the most lush production this
year, sets the tone for the rest of
the album. Mac’s turned into the
type of guy that takes pride in his
extreme work ethic, à la Kanye
West, and it comes through with
lines like “I work harder than
anybody you know / I’m done
with tricks, don’t need no money
to blow.” The aim isn’t mak-
ing “Forbes 30 Under 30” on his
major-label debut; he is focused
on his craft.
Mac’s
self-awareness
on
GO:OD AM highlights his con-
stant emphasis on building a
personal narrative. “Back when
I first made 100 grand … thought
I was the shit” on “100 Grand-
kids” spins some humor into his
very serious development from
a “teen rapper” to a composed,
legitimate artist. He’s been in
the game for so long that we tend
to forget how young he is: only
23. He was 19 when the video
for “Donald Trump” came out
and shot him to suburban fame
from coast to coast. On the latter
half of “100 Grandkids,” a wom-
an’s voice annoyingly weaves
between left and right channels,
murmuring “Lemme get some
money …” and for a moment, we
can understand what it feels like
to have leeches at our necks for a
substantial part of our adolescent
and artistic development.
If anything captures Malcom’s
newfound wisdom, it’s the Lil B
feature on “Time Flies.” BasedGod
himself makes a fleeting appear-
ance to drop some delectable based
interludes. “Watch as time goes,
time moves, time flow. How do we
handle these things? I am time,
we are time, and we have control.”
Again, the four years separating
Mac from “Donald Trump” have
been an absolute rollercoaster
through DatPiff fame, psyche-
delic reflection and finally a poised
adulthood. He’s handled the grow-
ing pains of his career rather admi-
rably for a millennial tossed in the
deep end, sharpening his creative
vision and fending off “white rap-
per” stigmas along the way. More
so than any of his other projects,
GO:OD AM is Mac’s strongest
claim that maybe we should start
taking him seriously.
WARNER BROS. RECORDS
Album not bad, eyebrows need work.
B+
GO:OD AM
Mac Miller
Warner Bros.
Records
Stunning ‘Grandma’
By VANESSA WONG
Daily Arts Writer
When visiting an old friend, Elle
Reid (Lily Tomlin, “I Heart Huck-
abees”) jokes that his many remar-
riages have made
him a patriarch.
But one look at
the wine-stained
stacks of feminist
literature litter-
ing her household
and you know
“Grandma”
is
nothing
other
than the highest of matriarchs.
Filled with the wisdom of age and
the fire of youth, Elle’s brassy wit
and progressive attitude command
attention and place her at the cen-
ter of her family’s orbit.
So when her teenage grand-
daughter Sage (Julia Garner, “Elec-
trick Children”) gets pregnant, it’s
Elle’s door she comes knocking
at for abortion money. Bad news:
despite a once-prestigious writ-
ing career, Elle’s broke too. A 1955
Dodge Royal takes them to Elle’s
acquaintances all over town in an
effort to pony up the cash. Equal
parts laugh-out-loud funny and
heart-wrenchingly
poignant,
Tomlin’s skillful performance sets
the tone for the rest of the film.
Clocking in at barely 80 minutes
— a sprint among stamina-testing
Oscar contenders (and this does
deserve to be an Oscar contender) —
“Grandma” boasts an impressively
economical use of screen time.
In a sense, the structure takes
on Elle’s attitude toward life.
Rather than wasting time wading
through past narrative, it hits the
ground running. The opening
scene ushers us in right in the
heat of Elle’s breakup with her
girlfriend, without even leaving
time to explain what, exactly,
initiated the argument. Every
character introduction thereafter
seems to come in medias res, so
it’s the dialogue-heavy character
interactions that drop just enough
context clues for the viewer to
stitch
together
the
extensive
backstories. What’s so amazing
about this is that we get to learn
about the past in a way that also
propels
the
current
situation
forward in one fell swoop.
The most notable use of this
dialogue style is in Tomlin’s scene
with Sam Elliott (“The Big Leb-
owski”), where Elle’s persistence
pulls feelings of nostalgia, hesita-
tion, reluctance, tenderness and
hurt out of the both of them. The
course of an entire relationship,
from its peak to eventual down-
fall and the loose ends afterward,
is revealed in just two lines that
don’t even explicitly state informa-
tion, just the characters’ present
emotions. And it’s not just scenes
with Elliott that get this treat-
ment: every one of the supporting
characters maximizes their time
on screen, showcasing their talent
and revealing remarkable depth
about their personal history.
On a media representation level,
“Grandma” is as progressive as
Elle herself. For starters, it’s one of
the very few movies featuring teen
pregnancy in which the character
actually goes through with the
abortion (the only other one
that comes to mind immediately
is “Obvious Child) and has it
portrayed as a reasonable option.
While it’s not the media’s job to
take one political stance over
another, it is important that it
represent real decisions that real
people make, and not selectively.
Also, it treat’s Elle’s sexuality as
something
completely
normal,
focusing on the story behind her
relationships
rather
than
the
gender of her partners.
Honestly, every aspect of the
entire film is spectacular, from
the naturalistic camera work
to the restrained use of a sweet
soundtrack — the type that makes
you smile out of love for life and
everything in it. But the cherry
on top of an already teetering
mountain of cherries is the dia-
logue, written with subtle but with
alarming complexity and executed
in the same fashion, making it one
of the best films —if not the best —
of 2015 thus far.
A
Grandma
Sony Pictures
Classic
Michigan Theater
FILM REVIEW
SONY PICTURES CLASSICS
I bet she’s cooler than your grandma.
We have shown
you the world,
now what will
you do about it?
A difference in
ideology.