Monday, December 12, 2011

Masculinity, Identity, and Existence in Breaking Bad and Mad Men


For some, the domestic life is thought to be the male American dream. A car, a wife, two kids, a house in the suburbs, and a steady job that provides small luxuries for the entire family may seem ideal for any American male. AMC’s recent dramas “Breaking Bad” and “Mad Men” both attempt to reexamine male identity in the context of the American dream, and to reconfigure what it means to be a man in the modern world.

Both programs have strikingly similar main characters. Walt (Bryan Cranston) from “Breaking Bad” lives in a comfortable home in Albuquerque New Mexico. Diagnosed with cancer and faced with expensive medical procedures, Walt lashes out against his dire situation by becoming a manufacturer of crystal methamphetamine. This chemistry-teacher-turned-meth-cook narrative drives the entirety of the show. Throughout the series, Walt lashes out against his circumstances, struggling with the pitfalls and responsibilities assigned to his patriarchal role in the household.

“Mad Men’s” Donald Draper (Jon Hamm) is very similar to Walt. Also acting as the “man of the house,” Draper even more solidly symbolizes the idea of the alpha male. “Mad Men” is set during the 1960’s, when the burgeoning American Dream was actively carving out specific roles for males in family and society. The show acts as a character study of Donald Draper, diving into his inner psyche and assigning reason to his actions. The program uses the 1960’s as a cloak for masking thematic material pertinent to today. The struggles of Donald Draper are the struggles of the modern man finding himself trapped by social constraints, eager to break free.

Both Walter White and Donald Draper lash out against popular conceptions of male identity. Finding themselves trapped by the constraints of their lives, they act out in existential assertions of life and freedom. Walt’s involvement in criminal activity acts as his breaking-free from the mold, while Draper’s rebellion lies in his many illicit affairs and ever-changing identity.

Walt’s character in relationship to his identity becomes complex when his circumstances and motivations are revealed. Though his initial reason for his criminal activity was to pay for his medical treatments and to provide for his family down the stretch, his intentions dramatically shift through the course of the series. When his health begins to improve with his cancer in remission, Walt continues to produce meth. Though he’s made plenty of money in the drug business and has more than enough to provide for his family, his quest to fulfill his responsibilities becomes warped. He doesn’t just want to provide for his family, he wants recognition for it. Because his money was obtained illegally, he can’t claim responsibility for it in any meaningful way. His caregiving can’t be praised, and he begins to lash out against his situation. His continuation of his criminal activities suggests a larger rebellion. His manufacturing becomes a kind of breaking-free from his family life and responsibilities. Walt has a painful need to be remembered for his accomplishments. His criminal activity acts as a kind of existential footprint to leave the rest of the world. Whether it’s as a stand-up father and husband or as a criminal, Walt wants to be remembered.

Draper’s character is also rife with nuance and complexity. His home, wife, and children in the suburbs are all obtained through suspect circumstances. The show slowly reveals that Don Draper is not who he appears to be. Actually a deserter from the Korean War named Dick Whitman, he steals the identity of a deceased officer in a successful attempt to make a new life for himself. Lying and deceiving his way into his suburban life, Draper rebels against the very role that he’s created for himself. Through a series of illicit affairs and identity cover-ups, Don is never quite the man who he projects himself to be. There’s a feeling that Draper’s social identity as a father and husband is really just the façade of a man struggling with modernity. Instead of embracing the social role that has been carved out for him as a husband and father, Draper acts out against it. He attempts to liberate himself through sex, alcohol, and business, though none of them seem to erase his underlying need to fulfill his roles as a responsible patriarch. Draper’s struggle, like Walt’s, amounts to an existential gasp in the face of a threatening modern world.

“Breaking Bad’s” 9th episode of their third season, entitled “Kafkaesque,” provides a fruitful cross-section of the themes the show deals with on the whole. The allusion to Franz Kafka and his existential body of work is no accident. At this point in the series, Walt is grappling with the dangers of the drug business. Having been cooking meth for a solid few months, he’s realizing that his contract with Gus (the head of a giant meth distribution center) is soon to be up. A Mexican drug cartel makes an attempt at Walt’s brother in law’s life, and he soon realizes that he may be in over his head.
At this point in the series, Walt’s existential rebellion comes to fruition. While at a meeting with Gus about his further employment, he’s offered 15 million dollars a year to continue manufacturing meth. Walt already has enough money to support his family comfortably for many years to come. His eventual decision to continue working for Gus is proof that he’s searching for something beyond his normal realm of responsibility.

The most revealing segment of the episode comes after Walt ends his meeting with Gus. While driving home on the highway, he closes his eyes and allows his car to drift about the traffic lanes. He eventually ends up barreling towards oncoming traffic, his eyes remaining closed. He opens his eyes at the last moment and veers away from an 18-wheeler that nearly hits him. It’s a close call, but Walt remains alive. The entire sequence is a window into Walt’s character. Struggling with his own existence and his place in society, he has big decisions to make. He’s conflicted and adrift, not knowing where to turn or what to do. Just as he aimlessly meanders across traffic, so too does he wander through his own life. He thirsts for control, yet is unable to obtain it. This is his very own Kafkaesque exercise, and its indicative of his mindset.

“Mad Men’s” eleventh episode of its third season, entitled “The Gypsy and the Hobo” also proves indicative of that series as a whole. The episode acts as a turning point for Don as a character, and a narrative shift in the program at large. In the episode, Betty (January Jones) learns of Don’s true identity. Having found some compromising information in his desk at home, Betty confronts Don and asks him who he really is. He’s forced to tell the truth about his name, family, and origins in an uncomfortable scene of emotional confrontation. Don owns up to his treasonous past, and opens up about his family, childhood, and early life. It’s one of the rare moments in the show where Don shows any amount of weakness. As he comes clean to his wife, he starts to cry about his deceit. He realizes that the new identity that he’s carved out for himself as Donald Draper is coming to an end, and he no longer knows where he fits in the world. The episode ends on Halloween night with someone asking Don, “Who are you supposed to be?” If only he could answer that question himself.

The irony of both shows lies in the inception of each character’s situation. Both men created the surroundings from which they wish to break free. Having created the circumstances that entrap them, the men find themselves in a heightened state of existential confusion. Both Don and Walt are unable to decide what they really want, and both lash out against the societal jails they’ve helped to create.

“Breaking Bad” presents the more ironic of the two situations, as Walt’s rebellion is initially undertaken with the aim of keeping his family financially afloat and together. This remains his motivation through much of the series, though his priorities are in a constant state of flux. Once he has established financial solidity, he continues his criminal activity. It’s not enough for Walt to simply provide what is needed for his family. He lashes out criminally, and his actions aim to do something much larger than simply keeping his family together. With his newfound success as a drug manufacturer, he realizes that he can leave an indelible mark on the world. Through his crimes, he can be remembered eternally in the face of his inevitable demise. Make no mistake about it; Walt’s cancer will eventually end his life. His struggle becomes less focused on the family and shifts towards his individual identity. Walt is a man striving to be remembered, through whatever means necessary. This flourishing of individuality often runs concurrently to his original goals of familial preservation. Walt is attempting to carve out an identity for himself based on his own accomplishments rather than his social role as a father and husband.

“Kafkaesque” is also very revealing as to where Walt’s mind is in terms of his family life. Skylar (Anna Gunn), who now knows of Walt’s criminal activity, offers up Walt’s dirty money to help her brother in law, Hank, pay for his medical bills. Having to explain to Hank where they got the extra money. Skylar invents a story about Walt suffering from a gambling addiction.
Because of the illegality of his activities, Walt is unable to tell the truth about where his money came from. He can only sit by and play along with the invented story about gambling winnings. He’s unable to take responsibility for the ways in which he’s helped his family. He can take no pride in the story. Skylar paints him as a weak victim of gambling addiction rather than the strong-willed provider he sees himself as. His sense of identity here becomes skewed. Wanting to provide for his family, he’s unable to take credit for anything that he’s done. This inability to own up to his accomplishments creates an identity vacuum. He wants people to know that he’s the one accomplishing these things. He begins to rebel from his situation in “Kafkaesque” because he’s unable to publicly fulfill the role society has given him. If he can’t make his mark on the world as a provider, he will search for something more.

Draper’s familial situation is a little trickier to pin down. His escape from his original identity as Dick Whitman plants him firmly in the clichéd role of the American male. He’s taken drastic steps to secure this life for himself. His further rebellion from this situation he’s created for himself accents his ironic desperation. The popular conception of male identity is not enough for him. He sleeps around and keeps his true identity a secret. His illicit affairs stem from both a want to return to his true self and his compulsion to establish a new role for himself in society. His family is simply not enough, and he struggles to become an individual under the pressures of modern society.

Don’s identity is seriously questioned in “The Gypsy and the Hobo.” With his ongoing deceit exposed, Don is struggling to place himself in the context of his family and society. It is clear that he will no longer continue to be an active member of his family, a fact that tears at him emotionally. Having established a new identity for himself, the revealing of his old life causes calamitous confusion. His numerous affairs early on in the season found him rebelling against his established life, and now that life is crumbing. Don is unable to truly connect with anyone. His life is a gigantic void at the end of the episode, leaving him to grasp the essence of his own existence.

Both men operate in worlds of irony. For Walt, his original intent becomes skewed as he tries to grasp at something larger than himself. For Don, the irony lies in his own personal construction of the circumstances against which he rebels. Society has created expectations for these men, and they have fulfilled them. Upon their accomplishment of their conceived sense of male duty, however, they have found themselves wanting more.

“Breaking Bad” and “Mad Men” are male-dominated shows. Their central focus is of masculine identity, and the female characters are often lacking as a result. This drastic reconfiguration of American male identity comes at the expense of the women portrayed on the shows.  Through the general construction of both show’s narratives, each figure’s wife is shown in a harsh, unsympathetic light. The audience is supposed to believe that these men are acting altruistically for their families and themselves, and that the matriarch of the house should leave them alone to pursue their “other” lives.

Betty signifies the stereotypical conception of a woman in the 1960’s. Weak-willed and full of paranoid neurosis, “Mad Men” most often paints her in an unflattering light. Though the adulterous actions of Don merit a healthy suspicion of his loyalty and intentions, Betty’s childlike demeanor frustrates audiences to the point of siding against her. Don, though flawed, is the hero of the program, and anything that gets in the way of his most often self-serving actions is depicted as a deterrent to the narrative. Rather than reconfiguring the concept of American male familial duty in tandem with a stronger, more modern view of women in society, the new male identity presented runs directly opposite to the reality of the modern woman. This seems gravely irresponsible on the part of the show’s creators, who will no doubt use the time period to their advantage when attempting to explain this backwards view of women in society. That argument holds little water, however, when the “Mad Men’s” decidedly modern thematic consideration is taken into account.  Perhaps more complexity is on the horizon, however, as the end of its last season found the program examining some deeper social context surrounding the general disenfranchisement of women in the 1960’s and today.

“The Gypsy and the Hobo” is a perfect example of the generally negative portrayal of Betty. Though she is clearly the one who has been wronged, we are meant to sympathize with Don. He cries as he tells her the story of his real life, and he gains our support. Betty is seen as cold and unfeeling in this episode. She’s done nothing to Don, yet she receives all of the audience’s resentment. While Don grapples with his identity, she remains locked in a borderline sexist representation of the modern woman.

Skylar also functions along similar gender-based lines. While Walt begins his individualistic rebellion, Skylar is seen as a hindering force to the family’s financial success. Throughout the series, Skylar constantly meddles in Walt’s private affairs. Walt needs to sneak around and hide his illegal activity, unable to share his existential crisis with his wife. This inability to share his emotions throws Skylar into an unsympathetic light. Walt and his criminal activity are given more sympathy than his clearly victimized and disenfranchised wife. It is only in the show’s 4th season that Skylar becomes partially integrated into Walt’s dangerous personality shift. His freedom comes at the expense of his responsibility, and we’re meant to believe that’s something of a good thing. Again, male freedom and the American dream come at the expense of a victimized woman.

Skylar functions along these unsympathetic lines in “Kafkaesque.” She invents the story about Walt’s gambling addiction, effectively emasculating him. The audiences’ sympathies lie with Walt for the entirety of the episode. Though he’s been sneaking around, lying to his wife, and neglecting much of his fatherly responsibility, he is still portrayed as the more sympathetic of the two. This sympathy is reflected through the reactions of their son, Walter Jr. (RJ Mitte). When he hears of his father’s fake gambling addiction, he immediately reacts positively. Proud of his father for winning large amounts of money, Walter Jr. supports Walt in all that he does. He also takes issue with his mother numerous times throughout the episode and the series. He sees her as the cause for the rift in their household. Skylar is given little sympathy throughout.

Walt and Don’s respective quests for individuality find them shirking their marital and familial responsibilities. The true shame in both “Mad Men” and “Breaking Bad” is in their refusal to fully examine the role of the modern woman in the context of the shifting tides of male identity. Hope remains for both programs to flesh out their female characters. The end of both programs’ most recent seasons offered up stronger, more complex roles for their female characters. Perhaps each will find that the search for male identity in America doesn’t have to come at the expense of women’s independence.

“Mad Men” and “Breaking Bad” are both essentially concerned with the same ideas. Through the depictions of confused men grappling with their own identities, they present a re-imagining of what it means to be a man in America. Rather than prescribing to the idea of the American dream, both Walt and Don yearn for something much larger. They lash out in unexpected ways, constantly trying to reevaluate their positions in the world. For Walt, what begins as a financial drought quickly turns into a crisis of identity. He attempts to assert himself as a man of conviction – a provider who can both take care of his family and leave and indelible mark on the world. Don’s struggle is similar. Through his ever-growing list of identities, he finds himself confused as to who he truly is. Constantly practicing self-sabotage, he finds himself confused and alone. The trouble with Walt is that he wants what he can’t seem to have. The trouble with Don is that he doesn’t know what he wants.

“Breaking Bad” and “Mad Men” both show males grappling with themselves. Essentially existential television programs, these shows posit that the male identity is constantly changing. The popular “American dream” mentality is slowly being erased, as the men in these shows attempt to search for something more. Walt and Don are trying to find where they fit in the modern world, dissatisfied with the lives they’ve always led. Their rebellion is natural. Their quest to place themselves in the context of their families, communities, and the world is the universal struggle of human beings everywhere.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Final Essay Outline


Topic: Patriarchal Entrapment in “Breaking Bad” and “Mad Men”

I.               Introduction
a.     Briefly summarize what Mad Men and Breaking Bad are all about
b.     Connect both shows thematically by bringing up Male Entrapment
II.             Breaking Bad
a.     Examine Walt’s trapped situation
                                               i.     Look at factors that have led him to his entrapment
                                              ii.     Determine if he’s the bringer of his own entrapment or if it is forced upon him
b.     Track the course of his entrapment throughout all four seasons of Breaking Bad
c.      Look at Skylar’s character and determine how the show portrays the matriarch (negatively, for the most part)
III.           Mad Men
a.     Examine Don’s trapped situation
                                               i.     Look at factors that have led him to his entrapment
                                              ii.     Determine if he’s the cause of his own entrapment of if it was forced upon him
b.     Track the course throughout the four seasons of Mad Men
c.      Look at Betty’s character, her development, and the stance the show has taken on her character.
IV.            Connecting the two
a.     Examine how each male reacts to his suburban entrapment
b.     Examine how each character has respectively created their very own “trapped” state through their reactions to their original state of entrapment.
V.              Conclusion
a.     Solidify the link between the two shows
b.     Connect with other modern art depicting patriarchal entrapment
c.      Do these things point to a sign of the times? Are we all sympathetic to the Male’s roles of responsibility in society?

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Breaking Bad Season 3, Episode 10: "Fly" Review

Breaking Bad Season 3, Episode 10: "Fly" created by Vince Gilligan



Breaking Bad is a show that thrives when it embraces elements of a high-octane thrill ride. Every action sequence in the series thus far has been perfectly choreographed, and the narrative twists and turns employed by the show’s writers have always provided for some of the most compelling television currently hitting the small screen.

Midway through the third season, Breaking Bad has tossed aside their old formula for success. During the season’s 10th episode, the writers backed away from their penchant for big thrills and showed their true prowess of the craft in an episode titled, “Fly.”

There is no action in “Fly.” There are no plot twists or surprises. In fact, the two main characters Walt (Bryan Cranston) and Jesse (Aaron Paul) barely leave their meth-lab. The episode mostly consists of one long conversation between Cranston and Paul that occurs while they’re trying to catch a fly that has infiltrated their lab. Walt’s pursuit of the rogue insect borders on madness. The actual threat posed by the presence of the fly is minimal, but Walt asserts that order must be kept by destroying the winged intruder. Jesse confusedly aids in this pursuit, helping his clearly maniacal partner in his quest for control.

With “Fly,” Breaking Bad’s writers have boiled down the essence of Walt’s character up to this point in the series. Walt craves power and control, and the fly’s presence in their working environment denies him both. His resultant mania to catch the fly is the ultimate expression of his frustration and stress with factors in his personal life. His inability to kill the fly is akin to his inability to control many elements of his own life.

Acting and dialogue drive the episode – and both find themselves in top form. The pacing of the conversation is impeccable. Revelatory bits of information about Walt and Jesse are tactfully peeled away, giving the conversation an air of reality. Cranston and Paul’s chemistry is near perfect, each actor bouncing off the other in perfect harmony with the feelings and thoughts of their characters. There’s an intensity these two bring to their performances in this episode that remains unmatched throughout the rest of the series.

There’s always a risk when a show decides to take on an episode in this manner. The “chamber-piece” format may alienate fans of the show who crave a revved up narrative full of twists and turns. This episode’s success relies on the deep, complex characters that the show has crafted up to this point. Every word in Walt and Jesse’s conversation is filled with rich subtext asking further thought and exploration. The tone of the episode is contemplative and metaphorical – something representative of larger ideas. While some may find “Fly” off-putting, astute viewers attempting to key into the arcs and emotions of the characters will not be disappointed. 

Monday, November 14, 2011

A Chemist Lifting with Extreme Precaution the Cuticle of a Grand Piano Review


"A Chemist Lifting with Extreme Precaution the Cuticle of a Grand Piano" by Salvador Dali, 1936


There’s no question that Salvador Dali is one of the most influential painters of all time. His landmark surrealist works push the boundaries of the painted image, and create a world unlike any other previously seen. The Art Institute of Chicago’s “A Chemist Lifting with Extreme Precaution the Cuticle of a Grand Piano” (1936) stands as one of his most arresting works, utilizing his trademark otherworldly style to create an image that transcends space and time.

“A Chemist” depicts (in classic Dali style) a dream-like landscape occupied by various characters. The space they occupy is blank and bare, with clouds in the background. A chemist lifts a piano, a child holding a rope looks on, an undetermined womanly figure stands relaxed, a man leans lazily in the foreground, and a wizened old man who seems to be melting stares intently to away from it all. Far off in the distance we see a character meandering through the blank landscape – purposeless and barren.

The beauty of Dali is that his characters function both symbolically and viscerally. The painting’s greatest strength is its unexplainable emotional grab. The muted colors and flowing composition draw viewers into the world of Salvador Dali. Everything in the painting seems like it’s melting, and Dali’s sense of amiable line lets shapes bleed into the background and one another. The emotional effect of the piece is one of quiet reflection and austerity. We’re looking at the edges of the human mind, peering at characters created by the subconscious. They are frozen in time – the still products of a mind in contemplation.

The characters can also be read symbolically. The title of the piece suggest particular attention be paid to the chemist and his actions. Here Dali presents us with surreal duality – a man of science barely lifting a product of art. The piano can be molded and configured, suggesting music’s inherent scientific infusion. The rest of the characters provide less-obvious symbolic functionality. They act as observers to the chemist, but also seem to stand in as individual thoughts. We’re gazing at the freely associative subconscious of a surreal genius, and our very own intuition assigns symbolic meaning to these ghostly images.

The feeling of aimless wandering achieved through the colors and composition gives the painting its trademark among the vast Dali canon. There’s an incredible duality to the figures presented. They seem to be at once purposeful and purposeless. They function as symbols and emotional catalysts. They hint at concrete definition, yet avoid it at every turn. Dali’s success is in his elusiveness. “A Chemist Lifting with Extreme Precaution the Cuticle of a Grand Piano” is affecting because of its haunting dreamscapes, surreal emotional power, and, ultimately, its inability to be concretely defined.


Monday, November 7, 2011

Almost Famous Review


Nostalgia, in art, is often a tricky subject to tackle. Attempts to immortalize the past can often fall flat. One man’s romantic depiction is another man’s sentimental swill. Cameron Crowe’s “Almost Famous” occupies an area in between, though it leans towards the latter description. Filled to the brim with hollow acting, rampant predictability, and a nauseating “feel good” attitude, “Almost Famous” simply tries too hard.

Largely autobiographical, “Almost Famous” tracks main character William Miller’s (Patrick Fugit) introduction into the wild world of 1970’s rock n’ roll criticism. Through meeting a series of larger-than-life personalities on tour with rock band Stillwater, William is introduced to the ethical pitfalls of journalism and criticism.  While faced with these professional questions, he falls in love, makes friends, and everything generally comes up roses for everybody.

The film’s nauseatingly predictable story is the least of its problems. The empty, vapid portrayals of the clichéd characters force the whole nostalgic experience to fall flat. Fugit’s performance lacks any of the verve or life that the character calls for. Even worse is Kate Hudson’s portrayal of “band-aide” Penny Lane. The character functions as the prototypical “free-spirited female that changes the main character’s life,” and Hudson’s unbearably cheesy performance gives audiences little reason to care about her character.

Crowe paints the past romantically. There’s a sweeping energy and genuine love for the time period that clearly comes across. The attention to detail and love for the subject matter finds Crowe’s intentions in the right place (the production design is phenomenal) – the final product just falls short. The emotions dealt with are cookie-cutter and forced, and the story resolves itself all-too-easily.  

Little attention is given to the most interesting theme dealt with: the journalistic ethics of reviewing the artistic output of close friends. Too much time is spent caught up in Cameron’s romantic view of the lifeless, oftentimes unbearable characters, and not enough to the intellectual struggles of a journalist in crisis. Crowe lingers too long on the clichéd characters and emotions, and not enough on the real conflict. Perhaps it’s simply the result of unlikeable characters or hollow acting, but the dramatic stakes of the film feel low throughout. There isn’t much at stake here for any character, and keying into their emotional problems is difficult without any identification.

Here, nostalgia has done Crowe a disservice. His need to romanticize the past results in a predictable, flat, typical Hollywood film. Everything about “Almost Famous” screams “conventional,” something I’m sure the film was trying to vehemently avoid.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Songs of Shame Review


Woods, “Songs of Shame” (Woodsist 2009)

There’s something to be said for a band that knows its limitations. Finding a quiet, comfortable sound and sticking to it can be a great formula for success. Brooklyn’s Woods is just such a band, finding a comfortable sound on their 2009 full-length, Songs of Shame. An album full of cozy melodies and well-crafted songs, “Songs of Shame” finds Woods in their very own successful niche.

The album is a collection of mostly short, melodic, lo-fi pop tunes that can either blend into the background or reward the astute listener. Full of crunchy guitars, tape hiss, and deceptively memorable melodies, “Songs of Shame” seems like it should sound noisier. Brilliant, muted production blends these elements together and produces a laid-back, unified sound. Lead singer Jeremy Earl’s Neil Young-esque wail couples perfectly with the understated mess of noise, providing for relaxing listening.

While Woods have forged their very own brand of introspective lo-fi rock, there’s an obvious injection of American folk music in their songs. Heavy attention is given to the songwriting, and many songs are completely stripped down to acoustic guitar and vocals. Earl’s lilting melodies are quintessential folk fare, and his lyrics also owe much to the genre.

Earl’s lyrics are cryptic and quiet, much like the band’s sonic output. Simplicity is key here. The album’s single, “Rain On,” provides the most stunning example of Earl’s gift. He softly croons, “I won’t shovel through / All the shame that led me too / You wouldn’t pass it off / How the days will rain on you.” Short, simple, cryptic lyrics about shame and loss compliment these quietly jumbled lo-fi compositions.

“Shame’s” greatest strength is that it doesn’t try to do too much. Woods know what they can do, and they stick to their trademarked lo-fi sound. The short, condensed songs move quickly, and the album flows effortlessly from one song to the next. There’s a sense of cohesion throughout, and the sequencing of songs makes sense in terms of the pacing and unity.

“Shame” derails only once. The fourth track, “September with Pete” is a ten-minute lo-fi jam session that finds Woods denying their strengths. The tune feels out of place, and the instrumentation simply isn’t good enough to constitute a ten-minute song. Most of the other songs clock in at less than three minutes, and they succeed for it. “September with Pete” just doesn’t fit in anywhere, and it stands as “Songs of Shame’s” only glaring flaw.

“Songs of Shame” shows Woods at the top of their game. Aside from “September with Pete,” the band is extremely self-aware and plays to their strengths. Their unassuming sound and endearing melodies drive the album, and Earl’s songwriting meshes seamlessly with the sound they’ve cultivated. “Shame” finds Woods trying to be exactly what they are: quiet, understated, and introspective. It’s a refreshing, relaxing album that grows more endearing with each listen.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Hunger


In 1981, Irish political prisoner Bobby Sands went on a hunger strike in protest of the removal of the “Special Category Status” for Irish political prisoners by the British government. Sands’ hunger strike was preceded by the notorious “no wash” protests, in which the Irish prisoners defiantly refused to bathe while incarcerated. First-time director and acclaimed visual artist Steve McQueen tackles both struggles in his film, “Hunger” (2008). Through the employ of visceral images, political discourse, and the centerpiece – a harrowingly committed performance by actor Michael Fassbinder, McQueen has created a haunting depiction of the lengths to which a human being will go to have their voice be heard.

“Hunger” opens with quiet tension. A paranoid prison guard walks from his house to his car, checking for hidden explosives before he drives away. He then drives to the prison where the “no wash” protests have been underway for weeks. Here McQueen shows us the disgusting conditions and the impassioned prisoners that live in them. They are treated poorly, and beatings are frequent.

The film then segues into a lengthy scene between our main character, Bobby Sands (who is introduced nearly halfway through the film), and a priest who he has called to discuss revolutionary strategy with. The two sit at a table and talk of an upcoming hunger strike that is to take place. Here Sands gives his emotional and political justifications for his revolutionary actions. The entire scene is shown in just one 17-minute take that respects the reality of the encounter. The final half hour of the film graphically chronicles his hunger strike, and allows viewers to visually experience an action of true passion and revolt.

“Hunger” is a film that is unsurprisingly driven by its images. Feces adorn the walls of prison cells, piles of rotting food are cloistered in corners, and unshaven prisoners battle guards amongst the filth and grime. The hunger strike is carefully calculated, and achingly depicts the physical deterioration of an impassioned human body. McQueen keeps his camera eerily still throughout the film, giving the events a sense of palpable reality and austere urgency. The whole experience is revolting, yet strangely beautiful, as we see a man sacrifice his body for his higher-minded political ideals.

At the core of the film is the impactful performance of Michael Fassbinder. To prepare for the role, the actor lost forty pounds, adopting a sickly, emaciated look. Bobby Sands is a character of stunning conviction, and Fassbinder’s rendering of him is a perfect marriage of form and content. The actor physically and emotionally embodies the character, and offers up a visceral, honest performance.

“Hunger” is a film that avoids the pitfall of taking a decidedly political stance. While the prisoners are mistreated, we are also shown the strike’s psychological effects on the prison guards. This leads to a quality of transcendence that permeates every frame. It allows viewers to experience the passion, disgust, and anguish felt by people who are disenfranchised and silenced. The purity of the struggle rises above the political context, and the result is a film that speaks to the universal need for the human voice to be heard.