Month: October 2020

Sofia Coppola Friday #7 – On The Rocks

I am a sucker for a New York film. I grew up about an hour north of the city. Some of my family grew up in Hell’s Kitchen, some in Queens, some are on Long Island, some in Sleepy Hollow, you get the point. New York is in my blood and my heart. As a kid, I was always excited to go to the city. That never changed. I remember going on school trips to the Museum of Natural History and sneaking out to go record shopping — haggling with the dude at Bleecker Bob’s, going to Kim’s video off of St. Marks and my Holy Grail, Generation Records on Thompson. When I met the woman who I would eventually trick into marrying me, she was living on West 80th. Goddamn I loved that apartment. I remember her introducing me to Big Nick’s and then Vinny’s, where the greatest calzones on the planet reside. Going down to Chinatown to eat at Shanghai Joe’s was always a favorite and for the record, the Chinatown location is the best of the three (we’ve eaten at all of them). It’s set back in an alley and if you’re not there when they open, you may not get the soup dumplings you so crave. There is no English on that menu and the staff is rude in the best possible New York way. I fucking love that place. And don’t get me started on Halal Guys — the greatest 30 minute wait in line you’ll ever have. That food is the greatest fucking thing on planet Earth. Seriously, it’s so good you won’t make it twenty feet before sitting anywhere you can find and digging in, even if it’s snowing (I know this because I’ve seen me do it). I know I’m talking at length about food but that’s because eating is what we always did. When you’re in New York, you’re always on your way to doing something and eating is always a part of that something. New York is always alive, the sidewalks vibrate and breathe, steam rises and random shit fits break out amongst total strangers. And I love and miss it so much.

I haven’t even talked about the Italian restaurant we always ate at, Coppola’s. It’s funny because Coppola’s is what set off this trip down memory lane. The first time I went there I thought it was owned by Francis Ford Coppola. I was an idiot but there it is.

Anyway, the reason I bring all of this up is that Sofia Coppola’s newest film, On The Rocks, is set in New York. It’s her first film set in the greatest city in the world and good goddamn did she shoot the ever loving shit out of this film. It just FEELS like New York. I can smell it and I love it and it brings memories flooding in like a dam broke.

And finally, we’re ready to fully dig in to Sofia Coppola’s seventh feature film, On The Rocks. I’m not going to quite dig into spoilers because this film is so new. I want people to experience this film fresh, like I did. With that said, we will still get into the themes Coppola explores.

On The Rocks is the story of Laura (Rashida Jones) and her dad Felix (Bill Murray). She’s stuck in life and fearing that her husband (Marlon Wayans) has fallen out of love with her to the point that he’s cheating on her. Felix is a wealthy art dealer and a bit of a cad. He loves his daughter and perhaps he loves everything in life a bit too much. He cheated on Laura’s mother and then left. He’s a womanizer and heavy drinker — always up for a party. Laura leans on her father and he takes this opportunity to embroil her in a caper to catch Laura’s husband Dean in an affair.

From the start, we are all the way in Laura’s shoes. We feel her paranoia and how she begins looking at everyone sideways. Her trust in Dean is eroding and so we do not trust Dean. More than this, we feel the loneliness Laura is experiencing. She’s surrounded by millions of people but the one she wants is never around. She suffers paralysis with her work and is overwhelmed with the task of raising two children by herself. Coppola adds two nice touches to cement Laura’s uncomfortable stasis: making boxed macaroni and cheese in a Le Crouset and then that fucking Roomba just banging away on every possible surface. I love these subtle touches.

At her breaking point, her father calls and then shows up. Now it’s Felix time and man does he rule. Bill Murray is the only actor who could play this role and Rashida Jones is the perfect foil for his antics. They come across as a real life father and daughter. Again, perhaps Coppola’s greatest strength is her ability to cast to the role. Their dialog is so crisp and rat-a-tat-tat on point yet natural. One of the “big” scenes of the film is when Felix convinces Laura to tail Dean to a business dinner. Felix, in a near broke down convertible, with caviar and champagne as a snack, is ridiculously hilarious in this sequence. Murray turns into a teenage boy before our eyes as he runs red lights, cuts people off, speeds, bottoms out, and does it all while cackling. They eventually get pulled over by the police and well, that scene ends up being even funnier. In fact, this is easily Coppola’s funniest film. It resembles a madcap road trip film as much as it does a mediation on married life. It’s great at the former but the latter is where the film truly shines.

Felix and Dean share a scene at the door to their building that gave me goosebumps. It’s a father and a husband, who size each other up and let one another know something about the other without actually giving up much ground. Like I said, goosebumps. It’s here where we begin to understand Felix a little better. He’s not just being a protective father. Felix sees some of himself in Dean. Felix is beginning to reckon with his past failures. He doesn’t know how to change but he knows that his lifestyle has consequences for others. The film takes us down to Mexico near the end and Felix again unfurls a bit more. He confesses to Laura why he did what he did and it’s proof that in life and love there are no easy answers. He knows he’s wrong but he’s finally being honest about why he did what he did. It’s wonderfully naked. For her part, Laura does not allow Felix off the hook. She gives him his medicine. He’s earned it and even though he may not like it, he knows it’s deserved. It’s tough for us because Felix is so likable. Maybe he reminds us of people in our own lives. Telling someone you love that you’re angry or disappointed or even disgusted by their actions doesn’t mean you don’t love them — it’s the opposite. Love requires honesty. Again, there are no easy answers.

This is what Coppola is pointing out to us above all else. The film is about relationships and the give and take they require. Relationships cannot be a one-way street. Marriage cannot exist without work. Love cannot work without trust.

Another great film from Sofia Coppola — one I will be rewatching over and again. Next week, our wrap-up. Until then, love each other.

Sofia Coppola Friday #6 – The Beguiled

We’re in the homestretch now and I’m getting sad. This little project has served as a reminder just how special a filmmaker Sofia Coppola is to me and my taste in film. Today we’re discussing her sixth feature film, The Beguiled. My wife and I raced out to theaters to see this upon release in 2017 and the film still holds this majestic power over me.

From the first frame, this feels like a bigger production than Coppola’s previous films, save for Marie Antoinette. I previously stated that I had discovered Coppola had created a trio of sister films and you’d think perhaps this one would fit with Marie Antoinette but no, The Beguiled is The Virgin Suicides if the Lisbons had better caretakers. The girls who live in the school resemble the Lisbon sisters to a great degree. They are sheltered and taken with flights of fancy and a curious nature. Nicole Kidman and Kirsten Dunst are the two women left in charge of these girls and they are both better equipped at not only caring for these girls but preparing them for the world they’re inhabiting.

Coppola sucks us into the story quickly with slow, measured shots, expanding the scope beyond the confines of the house. She uses expert level sound design to bring a totally natural soundscape, making us feel every creak of wood, chirp of birds, and buzzing of insects. What this does is create an environment for us to actually feel the heat and humidity of the south. She doubles down by focusing her camera on the willow trees’ sagging branches and the morning mist burning off of every surface. There is a dreamy quality to all of this. Almost like it would be a typical summertime coming-of-age story were they not in such close proximity to danger.

If you pay close enough attention, you’ll hear the sounds of cannon fire in the distance. Coppola often uses this as a cue to a slight turn in the narrative, letting us know that there is danger right there around the corner, no matter how safe and sheltered you feel. And it’s here where we quickly realize why Coppola was drawn to this material and what exactly she’s hitting out at. The Civil War backdrop is just that, a backdrop. Women have always existed in this world in close proximity to danger. They are never safe when men are around and holding at least a modicum of power. Danger is always closer than you think.

Colin Farrell, as the wounded Union soldier in their care, exudes a charming menace throughout the entirety of this film. He’s a silver-tongued devil who uses a cunning ability to read these women and girls and their desires for his own good. It’s in the moments where he doesn’t get what he wants that he quickly and harshly lashes out — the epitome of a man used to getting his way, no matter what. Kidman, for her part, is extraordinary in this film. Perhaps my favorite performance of her career. She shines amidst a stellar cast as an unflappable and quietly gargantuan woman in charge. She is calmly yet resolutely in control at all times. Specifically Farrell and Kidman again show off how well Coppola casts to the role. They are both perfect in this film.

As the film carries on and Farrell fully makes his villainous turn, Kidman is forced to brush aside an attempt at her own position from Dunst. I believe Coppola is commenting on how women sometimes are detrimental to other women in power and there is nothing a man likes more when challenged than seeing women become cannibalistic with each other — this is partly what has helped keep men in power for as long as any of us can remember. The film feels like a big time MeToo movement film even before the movement took hold.

As Kidman brushes the challenges aside, she asserts her own cunning to eliminate the threat once and for all. Back when we realized that a theme of the film was the close proximity women have to danger, we didn’t yet grasp that this particular blade cuts both ways. Farrell thinks he’s won but he lost sight of what has been happening around him. Kidman, again calmly and with precision, eliminates him with ease, thus restoring peace and order to her school and the girls’ lives. Where Farrell was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, these girls were actually a pack of bears and Kidman, their protective mama. I love how Coppola shows these women collectively standing defiant in the face of those who wish to dominate them. Kidman specifically is handing out great life lessons to anyone who will hear them.

By the time the credits roll, we’re ready to leave them be, knowing they will be just fine. This is the world of men — entitled, expectant, with false humility. Yet everyday life is moldable and the step-over into the world of women can be treacherous for men like this. I say good riddance to them and onward to a better future.

Next week, the brand new film from Sofia Coppola, On The Rocks. Until then, love each other.

Sofia Coppola Friday #5 – The Bling Ring

Today, we’re discussing Sofia Coppola’s fifth film, The Bling Ring. Following on from her previous film, Somewhere, she’s getting even more loose with her techniques. This film, I’m sure many of you know, is based on a true story. A few years ago, a group of Los Angeles teens were breaking in to celebrity homes and stealing their belongings. I can see why Coppola would be drawn to this story as many of her previous work has been rooted in tabloid, celebrity, and celebrity culture. This is no different and feels like a companion piece to Marie Antoinette, albeit told from the opposite perspective. She loosens her grip on the camera and more importantly, her dialog — it’s still natural but much less impactful. This isn’t a knock on the film because it’s required as Coppola chose to tell this story using a more documentary styled approach. Her camera is often handheld which makes us feel like we’re right there with these teens. This creates a voyeuristic effect and the film would not work without it.

The film itself is all about feeling, about vibe. The camera helps create this and once again, Coppola’s choice in pop music is spot on. We always feel like we are in this world, in these clubs the teens cherish so much. More than this though is the question it causes us to ask. Why would these kids do these things? Okay, this is why. Coppola is a master at linking her camera to the music to the dialog and so on. She is nothing if not supremely confident and assured in her vision.

Digging into these kids, we see similarities to the Lisbon sisters from The Virgin Suicides. Coppola is cycling back to feelings from her feature debut, this time with an extra sense of entitlement. These kids are obsessed with celebrity and celebrity culture — obsessed. They’re all also positive the world is out to get them — desperate to grow up.

In fact, desperation is a main running theme throughout the film. They are desperate to be noticed, liked, declared beautiful, etc. They want and need all eyes on them. Through their actions, they actually achieve a small level of fame, even if it is actually infamy — they don’t care, attention is attention. It is all so ugly in its desperation. You feel bad for these kids but at the same time, you want to punch these kids and their ineffectual parents. The kids have life-sized holes inside them and nothing can fill them — not the drugs, the booze, or even the stolen goods. Instead, their sadness, angst, self-loathing, and entitlement mix together into one hell of a destructive cocktail. We also see them run out of rope as their desperation breeds compulsion and then spin itself into paranoia and their relationships begin to fray.

And at last, we begin to see the real point here. Sure, the film makes us feel unsafe. It points out how social media can and often does make us more susceptible to people wishing us some level of harm. This is not the main point. What Coppola is really driving at is the short-sighted nature of youth. When we’re young, we have an inability to see correctly what is right in our face. The youth are too busy searching for instant gratification that they will grow willfully ignorant to what is really going on all around them. I know I was guilty of this when I was younger and I am sure many of you can share the sentiment. This creates a never ending cycle that can be difficult to break. It’s like a tiger eating its tail. It is cannibalistic. But then again, so is celebrity, so is business, so is life in America.

The Bling Ring can be a tough watch because there is literally nobody to root for. The film leaves the viewer cold, numb if you will, but that is the point. We are not a part of the club, either club depicted, and our feelings about the film can say a lot about the work each of us still has to do with our own selves.

Next week, The Beguiled. Until then, love each other.

Sofia Coppola Friday #4 – Somewhere

This week, we’ll be discussing the fourth feature film from Sofia Coppola, Somewhere. It tells the story of Johnny Marco and his daughter Cleo. He is a superstar actor currently living in the famous Hollywood hotel, Chateau Marmont while Cleo is his eleven year old daughter who surprises him with a visit.

From the first moment, Coppola is hitting us with a big metaphor as we are shown nothing but a black Ferrari driving around a remote racetrack. Johnny is directionless at the onset of this film. Here, he’s in an expensive sports car and doing nothing but going around in circles. We move on to the Chateau with Johnny, drunk, stumbling down the stairs with an entourage. He falls and breaks his arm. Coppola is pulling no punches in showing Johnny’s nothingness. She uses natural light and unadorned settings. He pays for a striptease with twins but falls asleep before they’re done. He wakes the next morning and we see Xanax and Propecia sitting on his bathroom sink. It’s telling. Johnny is worried about losing his hair which equates to his movie star looks which connects him to his youth. He’s depressed and constantly looking to fill the void inside with anything. He hires the strippers again, remains awake but it is no less sad.

This film feels like a sister to Lost In Translation because Johnny resembles a younger Bob in many ways. He is able to do whatever he wants but never has anything to do or anyone to do it with. Johnny is always surrounded by people and is always receiving free, various offers of anything from almost anyone he meets yet it is all so ineffectual. He is alone in a crowd — alone with his own demons.

Johnny wakes the next morning to see his daughter Cleo sitting on the edge of his bed and drawing on his cast. His face immediately lights up. We see the hint of a spark in Johnny’s eyes for the first time. He takes his daughter to her ice skating lesson and right away, the film strikes us with another of its lessons. Johnny is watching his daughter skate and Stephen Dorff’s face morphs from love and amusement to a troubling recognition. The realization of the similarities between his daughter skating and the dancers/strippers he hires for himself washes over him. He is now a man beginning to reckon with his own treatment of women. I have always loved Dorff and this is easily his best performance. Again, Coppola has impeccable taste in who she chooses for roles. There is nobody else who could portray Johnny with the rough, lonely care that Dorff displays. The same goes for Elle Fanning as Cleo. She is an astonishing talent.

The film then follows Johnny alone for some time as he has a press junket to attend for his new film. Coppola is sure to show us the box he must stand on in order to be as tall as his female co-star. The co-star in question is also quietly and constantly reminding him how much she doesn’t like him throughout the whole process. We finish with Johnny’s stop at an fx studio for a plaster mold of his head. They then apply serious aging makeup and we watch Johnny study himself as he takes in what the future likely holds for him. It is all very vain and illustrates this particular side of the Hollywood game with brilliant clarity. He so desperately needs to feel good about himself and for others to show him similar admiration.

Johnny then receives a call from one of his exes, Cleo’s mother, and she explains that he needs to take care of Cleo for awhile because she needs time to herself. Johnny has a prior engagement in Italy and takes Cleo along with him. We get to witness and experience the absurdity and surreal nature of celebrity during this sequence. The point of view switches to Cleo as she takes it all in. It’s also here where Johnny, in the midst of staying in a lavish suite, begins to take stock in the ridiculousness of what he does.

As the film goes on we watch Johnny begin to figure out what is truly important in his life. He loves and cherishes Cleo more than anything else and it’s wonderful to watch him figure this out for himself. Where in the beginning his car was a vessel for restless nature and an aimless life, with Cleo it’s a tool used for specific purposes. His whole life has direction when with his daughter. I love the scenes where it is Johnny and Cleo alone. Their late night gelato binge in Italy. The knowing smirk he gives her on stage in Italy. Playing cards, eating burgers, being serenaded in the Chateau’s lobby. Playing ping-pong. The underwater tea party and subsequent poolside lounge session. Johnny is fully alive like he hasn’t been in a long time.

The time finally comes for Johnny to take Cleo to camp for the next several weeks. She is afraid for her mom and as they say goodbye, we see Johnny is afraid to be without his daughter. He knows the hole that is inside him and it’s grown too big and unkempt due to his negligence. He turns to his daughter and tells her, “Cleo! I’m sorry I haven’t been around.” The helicopter rotors drown him out. Cleo smiles and waves and she’s gone. Johnny swipes at a rogue tear. This is important because he needed to own this failure. He needed to admit this out loud. Where in the beginning of the film, Somewhere meant nothing, it now means something. Johnny could have gone anywhere but he was stuck and trapped by his own fame and the shackles that come with that lifestyle. This is perfectly illustrated by his final night at the Chateau. He looks out over the city of Los Angeles and there is nothing there for him. The Chateau and his fame have acted like a prison, keeping him where it wants him to be. A hotel acting as a sort of prison is the second big similarity to Lost In Translation.

Johnny checks out and drives straight out of the city. He leaves his Ferrari on the side of a remote road and walks away from it all. The look on his face is a mix of relief, happiness and determination as he finally leaves his trappings behind. He once wandered, searching for a map to life but now he finally has somewhere to go.

Next week, The Bling Ring. Until then, love each other.

I’ll Be Gone In The Dark and White America’s Obsession With True Crime

Reading Michelle McNamara’s book and then watching the subsequent HBO series has set my mind ablaze. First of all, both my wife and I are big fans of true crime. Second of all, there’s actually no second of all, we devour true crime in various formats (documentaries, tv news programs, books, podcasts, etc.). This has led me down a path of what I think is self discovery. My biggest takeaway whenever I consume true crime is a question: Why?

To put it another way: what is it about true crime that fascinates me to such a degree?

I cannot speak for everyone, not in great depth but I can say this: as a white man in America, I think it has something to do with guilt. It’s no secret that Americans are obsessed with true crime. Adding to that, specifically white America is obsessed with it. Adding a bit more, women in general (and again specifically white women) are drawn to tales of sordid reality. I think there are a few reasons. Speaking generally, white America is drawn to these stories because we are the most likely candidates for living lives of privilege. We understand, even if we don’t acknowledge it, that our privilege comes with a price. That price is the blood and forced struggle of minority Americans and the downtrodden. I for one am beginning to reckon with the awful history this country and our ancestors have created to make my life as easy as it is. I empathize and sympathize with those who are fighting back against the system, only asking for equality. It strikes me as terrifying, more than ever, that asking for equality and justice has caused such a rift in this country. But with the rift comes self-reflection. I suggest more people try this. It’s hard, I know — much easier to ignore the problem and carry on but carrying on has helped contribute to the misery of others. What white America has chosen to do is take those feelings of guilt and enabling and then exorcise them with true crime media. We say to ourselves: hey, at least this got squared away. Even when the crime in question is still unsolved, we look at the victims with pity, from our perch on high and say: these poor people, I wish I could help. Sometimes, people actually do help and sometimes the jolt of adrenaline we get from these true crime stories fades to nothing and we carry on. It is a way for us to organize this world into categories: Our lives and the horrible shit that happens to people who are not us.

As far as white women are concerned, I cannot directly speak for them but I do think I have a small amount of incite into the why of it all. I think white women are ALMOST as privileged as white men except white men will never willingly share their perch with anyone, not taken as a whole. The above statements ring mostly true for them but women also identify with the victims, which is an important distinction to make. Women in general live their lives automatically as a minority citizen, despite being in the majority. This just illustrates how dominating and demeaning the ruling class of men has always been and continues to be. Things are changing for the better but we should be much further down the path of progress than we currently stand. White women get more out of true crime than their male counterparts because they don’t consume these stories through a filter of pure pity and observation. Many women, far too many, have suffered at the hands of men and there is a camaraderie with the victims that permeates all.

This finally brings me to this week’s discussion on the brilliant mind of Michelle McNamara and her hunt for the Golden State Killer. For the record, this post is specifically about the HBO doc series that aired earlier this year.

The doc does a tremendous job conveying McNamara’s excellence as a writer. Her words come through like a loud speaker blaring morning announcements in school — you cannot escape their power. The doc somehow gives equal time to McNamara amidst her dogged pursuit of the truth, the survivors and victims of GSK/EAR’s attacks, and GSK/EAR himself. By the end of the series, and the tragic death of McNamara before the boogeyman was ever caught, we’re given even more to chew on. The doc is unafraid to dive in to McNamara’s obsessive nature in chasing the truth which led to a failed hubris with prescription drugs that ended in tragedy. This obviously ties in with our current opioid epidemic, so we’re getting four docs in one.

As each episode unfolds, we fall further down the rabbit hole on the trail of a serial killer and rapist. We become part of the hunt. We’re shown brilliant tidbits and ideas like McNamara’s thought to use genealogy sites like 23 and me in order to track and trace the dna in a different way. This was ultimately the successful method in catching GSK/EAR.

It’s in the bits sprinkled throughout the doc, chronicling the survivors, that separates this doc from most others in its genre. There is immense humanity here. In fact, as the doc wraps up, post McNamara’s death, the survivors come to the forefront. This gives us the a peak into their lives and shines a light on how a single, horrific incident can shatter a person’s life to unrepairable bits. But these survivors have more in common than simply being victims. They all, individually, possess an extraordinary amount of inner fortitude. They’ve suffered and some of them have struggled to form lasting romantic relationships in the wake of their attacks yet they are still here and still walking forward. It’s undeniably hopeful.

The last thing this doc shines a light on is GSK/EAR himself. This is a man who hid in the shadows his entire life. The title, I’ll Be Gone In The Dark, is taken from something he told to his victims. McNamara wrote about and threatened GSK/EAR with bringing him into the light.

And that is exactly what the doc does.

It brought this despicable motherfucker in the light for all to see.

We get so much detail on who he was. There are interviews with his family members who are catastrophically distraught by who their kin really was. To some, he was Uncle Joe, and that thought is fucking crazy. I was particularly struck by two stories the nephew told. The first was his recounting of what he was told about his mother’s rape at age seven — SEVEN. His Uncle Joe, his mother’s brother, was a witness. The second story was him recounting an event that happened to him. He woke up one night, as a child, to see a man in his bedroom, shrouded by a ski mask, watching him. He now realizes this was his Uncle Joe. Monsters as we learn of them in stories, aren’t real. Monsters help us to organize good and evil into categories. Monsters only exist wearing the skin of men. Shine a light on them and the illusion breaks, leaving in its wake nothing but a pathetic husk emulating a human being.

That’s all I have for this week. Next up is the HBO series, Perry Mason. Until then, love each other.

Sofia Coppola Friday #3 – Marie Antoinette

“Holy shit! Was that a monkey?” – me while watching Marie Antoinette

Have I properly expressed my love and adoration of Sofia Coppola yet? I love this project because great art opens doors. If you’re willing to engage in self-reflection, you can learn a lot about yourself and the world around you. I was struck, several times throughout the runtime, by revelations. I make notes when consuming various forms of art and media and afterward, I graze my notes and begin the process of asking myself questions about why certain things stand out to me — why I interpret things the way that I do.

Watching Marie Antoinette hit me in different ways than when I first saw the film, fourteen years ago. I like it a helluva lot more now than I did then, placing it firmly in my “I love this film” category. What hit me the hardest, watching Kirsten Dunst expertly play this historical figure trying to navigate a world of excess, inconvenience, and rigid adherence to ridiculous custom, is about the fragile nature of our personal identity. I don’t think anyone ever knows who they truly are. We are constantly searching for it. If not, we’re giving up on the mysteries of life, instead settling into a depression by realizing who we are not. Great art helps us decipher the type of artist we want to be and for the record, everyone is some kind of artist. It’s in there somewhere, in each of us, we just need that spark to light the way.

So, how does Coppola manage to pull these musings from us? She employs several tactics to get her point across. This, her third film, shows incredible self-confidence and it makes our journey easier. First, Coppola uses pop music to set a tone in her films better than anyone. Yes, she’s better than QT, better than Wes Anderson, and better than Martin Scorsese. Using pop songs in a film set just before the French Revolution in the 18th century sounds like an anachronistic gimmick but Coppola’s choices are deliberate and perfect. They add a layer to every scene — evoking the despair and ennui of isolation and then the wild debauchery of youth gone wild. Next, the production and costume design are sublime. Coppola even leaves in modern fashion flourishes to further embellish this tale. She then uses subtle camera movements and expert scene blocking to provide us a specific feeling toward her work. The cinematography and shot composition combine to make the film resemble an oil painting come to life. She does more with this later as it all reverses and she literally tells a portion of the story through actual oil paintings. It’s an incredible reverse technique and when that pin drops, it injects the viewer with an extra dose of dopamine. It’s akin to the film becoming a silent film and then changing back — simply awesome. Early on, her storytelling is extremely visual, sparse dialog allowing the music, score, and camera to tell the story. The dialog increases and it’s full of gossip, back-biting, and royal fuckery creating an atmosphere that is gloriously bitchy.

What I’m getting at is that Coppola found a way to un-stuff the period piece.

The film spends most of it’s first half chronicling Marie Antoinette’s isolation inside this royal family. She’s different and everyone knows it. She doesn’t fully understand their ridiculous customs and finds herself surrounded by vapid enemies all searching for a crack in her armor. Everyone wants what she has and her standing is on precarious ground. MA feels this pressure but through sheer will, she begins to bend the royals to her will. The shot of her signature on the marriage certificate is incredible. Where everything else is done with precision, her signature is messy and crooked, ending with a splotch of misplaced ink. She is the dominate force here and everyone else will have to catch up. In fact, I could make the argument that she is us. Nothing makes sense to her in this new life and while she will adapt to a degree, she will fight to maintain her own identity. It all comes to a head when she convinces everyone to sneak out of the royal palace in order to attend a masked ball. The scene is amazing — reminiscent of the Lisbon sisters at homecoming and Bob and Charlotte’s big night out in Tokyo. These kids are breaking free of the rigid confines of their societal and royal obligations. Their lack of adherence to the rules, put simply, rules.

We could try and tackle the actors in their specific roles but Dunst blows everyone else off the screen. She owns every single frame of this film. The only other actor who even comes close to matching her electricity on screen is Rose Byrne. She is pure spunk as MA’s number one co-conspirator.

Instead of specific performances, everyone works in concert to create a vibe. This is what Coppola wants here above all else — put the viewer in the story. As the story progresses we become unable to tell the difference between everyday life and pageantry. It’s something that wears people out and drags them down. Nothing is ever quite like the first time. It’s here where Coppola’s ultimate intent becomes clear. Sure, she is telling an expert story about a woman attempting to break free of the shackles placed upon her by a male dominated society but it’s also about celebrity and tabloid. We can draw direct parallels between 18th century French royal society and that of Hollywood today. We are obsessed by the magnitude of their charisma and hang on their every whim while also reveling in their downfall. It sucks but it’s also a symptom of our frail relationship with our own egos. Coppola even finds time for the famous “let them eat cake” line with a clear rebuke to its attribution to MA. She never said it. In fact, MA was blamed by the poor and downtrodden for many things that were not her fault. Just like today, it’s easy for us to overlook the true villains, instead focusing on others.

By the end of the film, MA is forced to flee her home. The final image is one of her bedroom, now destroyed by rioters. It’s an interesting choice in that the decor at its peak is so ornate and gaudy, it doesn’t look all that different once destroyed. This is life full circle. A girl comes to France alone, wills the country to view her in her own way, creates a tight circle of vibrant friends, and watches it all fade away like old laundry until she is alone again. If you watch closely, you’ll see the use of color in increasing intensity until it fades to more subdued tones. Our birth. Our life. Our death. The only thing we can control is who we strive to be.

Next week, Somewhere. Until then, love each other.