symbols
In the film The Constant Gardener, the lead character at one point holds up a large book, and comments on it. The book is Amnesty International's annual report.
By doing so, the film is defining itself as one which is not only knowledgeable on the issue of human rights, but also one which is wiling to proclaim and educate its audience about where to go to find out more about this subject themselves. The book is a badge the film wears with pride.
The film's plot deals with the issue of pharmaceutical companies using citizens in the 'third world' to test products which are being developing for global usage. The approach and denoument become predictable with film obeying its (commercially determined) genre diktat. What was more interesting about the film from this perspective was its portrayal of two things: the english, viewed through a Brazilian lens; and the way an englishman reacts to bereavement. The lead character seemed, until the demands of plot began to hero-ise and anonymise him, acutely drawn. He reminded me of a friend I used to have who worked for the Bank of England. Liberal, enlightened, diffident, wary of connection.
The second key english character is the woman he marries, a wealthy liberal activist who is killed for investigating the pharmaceutical companies. She owns a flat in Chelsea. Which is where the Amnesty annual report resides. A badge of her right-thinkingness. In her aspiration to saintliness (perhaps to atone for the sins of wealth she has inherited) the young activist behaves with a selfishishness which is later justified in the context of the global cause. One of the weaker aspects of the narrative is that it is not quite brave enough to be true to this selfishness, and ends up re-inventing it as the price of saintliness. She does not tell her husband that the man he suspects her of having an affair with is gay - because she wants to 'protect' him. etc etc. As a result of which he must ultimately (and willingly) give his own life to 'find' her again, in death. (A most Kleistian romantic vision, which may have appealed to a sun-kissed Brazilian mind.)
As the martyred woman is transformed into a saint, it is to be assumed that the Amnesty book is a mark of her saintliness. The film's refusal to confront her self-serving nature had to be maintained, as much for the protection of the Amnesty/ Oxfam/ liberal shibboleths as its own romantic narrative demands. (Though these may be one and the same thing).
I have encountered, through a privileged insight into the organisation, a very different understanding of Amnesty, one where the organisation is seen as insensitive, lacking clarity of thought, and indulging many of the weaker aspects of the British (administrative) culture. Just as the film, to my mind, declined to embrace the complexity of its central female character, so the received perception of the Amnesty imprimatur fails to recognise the complexity of that organisation's truth.
What does all this mean? That we have a tendency, in art, in politics, in all things, to simplify. Reality is too complex for most narratives to bear. We resort to looking at the symbols, rather than looking at what lies behind the symbols.
The film includes a sequence describing the husband's despair when he revisits his dead wife's Chelsea home. This sequence achieves the cinematic language and brilliance of City of God. The English reserve cracked open. The emotion which lies behind despair, which the english so often fail to penetrate, is released. Perhaps the Brazilians understand that emotional despair cannot be rendered in anything other than the most poetic of language if it is to be realised at all. A language which demands a more complex use of symbols (which is the language of film, image succeeding image, each one a symbol of the film's ultimate ambition.)
By doing so, the film is defining itself as one which is not only knowledgeable on the issue of human rights, but also one which is wiling to proclaim and educate its audience about where to go to find out more about this subject themselves. The book is a badge the film wears with pride.
The film's plot deals with the issue of pharmaceutical companies using citizens in the 'third world' to test products which are being developing for global usage. The approach and denoument become predictable with film obeying its (commercially determined) genre diktat. What was more interesting about the film from this perspective was its portrayal of two things: the english, viewed through a Brazilian lens; and the way an englishman reacts to bereavement. The lead character seemed, until the demands of plot began to hero-ise and anonymise him, acutely drawn. He reminded me of a friend I used to have who worked for the Bank of England. Liberal, enlightened, diffident, wary of connection.
The second key english character is the woman he marries, a wealthy liberal activist who is killed for investigating the pharmaceutical companies. She owns a flat in Chelsea. Which is where the Amnesty annual report resides. A badge of her right-thinkingness. In her aspiration to saintliness (perhaps to atone for the sins of wealth she has inherited) the young activist behaves with a selfishishness which is later justified in the context of the global cause. One of the weaker aspects of the narrative is that it is not quite brave enough to be true to this selfishness, and ends up re-inventing it as the price of saintliness. She does not tell her husband that the man he suspects her of having an affair with is gay - because she wants to 'protect' him. etc etc. As a result of which he must ultimately (and willingly) give his own life to 'find' her again, in death. (A most Kleistian romantic vision, which may have appealed to a sun-kissed Brazilian mind.)
As the martyred woman is transformed into a saint, it is to be assumed that the Amnesty book is a mark of her saintliness. The film's refusal to confront her self-serving nature had to be maintained, as much for the protection of the Amnesty/ Oxfam/ liberal shibboleths as its own romantic narrative demands. (Though these may be one and the same thing).
I have encountered, through a privileged insight into the organisation, a very different understanding of Amnesty, one where the organisation is seen as insensitive, lacking clarity of thought, and indulging many of the weaker aspects of the British (administrative) culture. Just as the film, to my mind, declined to embrace the complexity of its central female character, so the received perception of the Amnesty imprimatur fails to recognise the complexity of that organisation's truth.
What does all this mean? That we have a tendency, in art, in politics, in all things, to simplify. Reality is too complex for most narratives to bear. We resort to looking at the symbols, rather than looking at what lies behind the symbols.
The film includes a sequence describing the husband's despair when he revisits his dead wife's Chelsea home. This sequence achieves the cinematic language and brilliance of City of God. The English reserve cracked open. The emotion which lies behind despair, which the english so often fail to penetrate, is released. Perhaps the Brazilians understand that emotional despair cannot be rendered in anything other than the most poetic of language if it is to be realised at all. A language which demands a more complex use of symbols (which is the language of film, image succeeding image, each one a symbol of the film's ultimate ambition.)
posted by maldoror at 5:32 p. m.
1 Comments:
I cannot abide Ralph Fiennes. I do not go and see his films, ever. Unfortunately I went to see Harry Potter on Saturday morning, in York. He was in it, but they'd replaced his nose with what looked like two little gills and as a result, his performance was greatly improved.
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