Something else French . . .
This may be the best of the French things I've seen thus far (with the exception of the American/Canadian Rufus concert at the very beginning of the year). The synopses and reviews of the film left me sort of luke-warm about seeing it. But, we all know I am nothing if not OCD about fulfilling imaginary requirements. An annual imaginary requirement is to see all of the movies nominated for major Oscars or multiple Oscars (there are, of course, always exceptions based on various "moral" codes, ex: Into the Wild, which I almost adamantly refuse to see because I refuse to validate that child's wandering blindly and unprepared into the wilderness as a noble return to nature--that's right, Sean Penn, I think it's stupid). ANYWAY, Diving Bell was nominated for cinematography, directing, editing, and adapted screenplay. So . . . right, it’s an imaginary requirement.
While the synopses offered strange information like the fact that you see a lot of the action through the eyes of the paralyzed main character, blinking and all. That and the fact that the whole thing is a bit of a downer about an Elle magazine editor who suffers a stroke at only 43 and is immediately and irreversibly paralyzed with his eyes being the only absolute exception (his lips make efforts toward movement and his head sort-of moves), made me less than thrilled to make a trip to a second-run theater to see the thing. I was greatly rewarded for seeing it, though. It’s really fantastic.
Quite a bit of the film is “literally” through the eyes of the protagonist. You see the blur of his coming out of a coma, the strange people talking in his face, and his right (?) eye being sewn shut—all of this through his eyes. And it’s not annoying or cloying or imposed. It works. The film also functions on the protagonist’s interior monologue. So you feel his absolute confusion and frustration that he cannot communicate (feeling his disappointment when the soccer game he was so invested in on TV is turned off and he can’t tell anyone to turn the TV back on). We also get the dreaded flashback except here they work wonderfully well. Somehow Schnabel manages to include almost every aspect of films that can go horribly wrong and alienate an audience within seconds but he not only makes it work, he makes it work well.
It’s a sad sad sad sad movie (especially a phone conversation with his dad that almost killed me) but it’s well worth the watch. It should win direction, adapted screenplay, and cinematography (who knows what should ever win editing, really). But I doubt it will—what with Hollywood’s love affair with No Country, which is up for all of the same awards (incl. editing).
Also worth mentioning is my desire to see Young at Heart, which is about the Young at Heart chorus, a group of senior citizens singing rock songs (“I wanna be sedated” . . . . ). They’re on YouTube. You should watch a clip of them. And, I want to see Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day with Amy Adams and Frances McDormand this very minute (I have to wait until March unfortunately). Both were previewed before Diving Bell.
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