Too Old to Die Young (Refn, 2019)

There's a lot to say in regards to NWR's newest piece of neon-coated exploitation, much of which will be said better than I will, but after having watched all 13 hours of this thing, there was much that floated through my mind. Admittedly, I'm no Refn stan. I've liked several of his films in the past (haven't re-watched anything in a while so I may view them differently now) but I wouldn't have ever gone out and said he was a favorite. For as much of an eye as I think he does have, I do find much of his work rather silly despite how deadly serious it's presented as. In that regard, this series is in much the same vein, in some ways for the better, in a lot of ways for the worse. 

I think in all fairness, there are several things I was rather impressed with throughout the series. I think, like his last few films, this is nothing if not directed to the nines. There's never an instant in watching this where you feel as though it's ever out of the director's control. Some have called it Kubrick-ian, and while that is certainly a touch point for Refn, there's very little in here that actually made me think of that seminal filmmaker. It's a work wholly of his own making. 

I also have to single out praise for both cinematographers (Darius Khondji & Diego García) and Cliff Martinez for his score. Whatever you think of the quality of the show itself, I think it's pretty undeniable how well shot it is. Both cinematographers, one an old pro and the other a seemingly great up-and-comer, light and frame this immaculately. It's one of the best looking things I've seen this year bar none. And while I think Martinez's score isn't really anything new for him or for his collaborations with Refn, I think that especially during the first half of the series, it's really one of the only things that propels it forward. 

Now, for as much has been said of how empty this, and a lot of Refn's work in general, is, there was a very clear delineation in the types of images that were made here in contrast to all of Refn's films. Whatever one thinks of those films, they had a very clear line of reference back into other films (Lynch, Argento, Kubrick, Jodorowsky, etc.), whereas throughout this series, the main point from which I believe the images are drawn from are comic books. Perhaps not surprising given that the co-writer is comic-book writer/cartoonist Ed Brubaker. But whether the camera is static or performing a long lateral tracking shot, every image is composed as though it is an individual panel in a comic book. This isn't meant as a criticism but more of a clear difference in the aesthetic of the images here that struck me. 

The influence of comic books is also felt in the (minimal) dialogue throughout. A lot of it is pretty bad. If it isn't bland exposition, it's attempting to be edgy. But none of it would feel out of place in a comic-book strip. It's concise and minimal, which allows Refn to dwell and linger on each image instead of the words that come out of the mouths of his "actors". Frankly, if you're coming to a Refn film for the dialogue, you've been misled as to the kind of filmmaker you're engaging with. 

As for the actors themselves, for as much leeway as I'm willing to give the likes of Gosling or Fanning or Reeves for their anti-performances in the likes of Only God Forgives or The Neon Demon, if only due to the fact that it's clear they can act and are imbuing the films a kind of inexplicable presence despite their blankness, I'm not willing to give most of the acting in this series the same credit. Miles Teller, God love him in Whiplash, just is not good here. Someone compared him in another review to a knockoff Gosling in regards to his work here, and it isn't hard to see why. Unlike Refn's previous muse, there's little that he does here that couldn't be done by a literal no-name. He brings no tangible qualities to this non-character that in any way make him engaging to watch. I don't really care whether he's "sympathetic" or "relatable" as much as whether someone is watchable in these kinds of films, and he simply isn't very interesting. While Jena Malone brings some semblance of "fun" to her performance, once again, it's just not at all interesting to watch her here. Really, the only two performance here that were in any way worthy of the time invested in them were James Urbaniak (who is only in episode 5 - really the highlight of the entire series) who is the only character in this series that brings any kind of menace to what's going on and Cristina Rodlo, who less for her character than for the confidence she imbues a nothing character. 

There's a lot of talk from several of the critics and writers on here who's opinions I respect that call, more rightfully than not, Refn a troll filmmaker. Someone who basically gets his rocks off by being provocative and making the kinds of films meant to push the buttons of "civil society", in a sense. Often mentioned along the likes of von Trier, Iñárritu, and a couple of others, I think what separates Refn from those other directors is that Refn, for all his arty pretensions, is ultimately an exploitation filmmaker. He's making schlocky genre films - action movies, horror films, crime films. If you took away all the gloss, the material itself isn't that different from what you might see on a straight to dvd genre movie. I don't see him so much as trying to "class up" or "elevate" the material he's making as much as grafting his own house style onto whatever the script entails. He has a house style, and whether he was making The Shining or Troll II, it would still wind up looking like one of his films. 

His troll-ish nature, comes through here in perhaps the most cad and clearly meant-to-be-edgy ways. Whether it's the violence, the pedophilia, the frankly odd Orientalism and take on class politics/warfare - it's done with an eye to be provocative. It's done to make the audience turn away and wag their fingers at him, all the while he sits in his chair looking at them with all the smugness of a teenager who likes to constantly bring up death and murder in conversations just to show how dark and twisted they are. It's all empty though. There's nothing there. Honestly the linking of underworld syndicates just struck me as bizarre more than anything else here (yakuza and neo-nazis are brought up for one scene each and then are apparently never referenced again). The final two episodes highlighting the attempt to poke the audience being the most eye-rolling moments in the entire series. I can't even call it laughable, though I'm sure Refn is having a good laugh to himself.

Three Days (Bartas, 1991)

I've probably watched this film four or five times but this time still felt fresh. The narrative feeling more immediately graspable here than in prior watches, but Bartas' eye towards the dominating landscape remains second to none. Feels as much an ethnographic study as a now stereotypical "slow-cinema" narrative. Isolation, depression, near silence, long takes, static camera - it checks all the boxes but let it never be forgotten how ahead of the curb Bartas was. Taking the poetic style of Tarkovsky and hammering it into the earth ala the social realism of Tarr's early work. It's a work of great beauty that is covered by the dust of time. 

When you live a world perpetually on the move forward, industrially speaking, humanity will be left behind. Our purposes relegated to momentary blips before the next technological advancement can take our place. So we wander the land, barely able to communicate, our tongues silenced by the sounds of metallic groans. All that remains is the physical desire, though even that is fleeting. All this and more contained and shown in the eyes (and performance) of Yekaterina Golubeva. To watch her here is to view a life passed on and on, reaching it's finality here. A walking shell with no purpose except to remain walking the streets. 

But Bartas' eye is never less than stunning here, more often than not recalling the work of Vermeer. The simplicity in his images is haunting. One could call it almost documentary in it's aesthetic, plain and unadorned, but so captivating and engaging. Figures placed against brutal landscapes of plain walls. The beauty is the light that reflects off of their faces and bodies. The way their bodies move through light and shadow. Few filmmakers capture faces, really people in general, the way that Bartas does.

Archipelago (Hogg, 2010)

I still consider this Hogg's best work to date (excluding The Souvenir, which I have yet to see at the time of this writing). Her scalpel-like precision at dissecting middle-class malaise ranks among the best of this decade. A carefully and hermetically constructed world where the outside, or a "reality", is barely viewable. The perspective is contained and wound so tightly that it could break apart so easily, which is precisely why her technique is so immediately grabbing. She probes seemingly so gently here that the inherent melodramatic narrative structure is reduced to almost nothing. 

The luxury of privilege on full-display. To feel as though you are so superior and intelligent and generous, yet the burden of actuality exists and creeps in through the corners, dwelling in the shadows. The fear of knowing, or acknowledging, the world outside of their little bubble might be the most terrifying thing in their lives. That for all their money and class and education, it amounts to almost nothing when you leave your haven of banality. 

There is a condescension to every conversation here. Whether it's between family members or when they engage with the help, as one could call them, there's a quality to their engagement with others that accentuates the isolation the entire piece presents. The main family speak to each other as if they're hardly listening, engaging, with the person/people their talking to. They exist within their own bubbles. And it's precisely why when Hiddleston's Edward engages with the help (Amy Lloyd's Rose) his approach and tone never rises above viewing her as someone below him, class-wise (to say nothing of his perspective of the African people he is supposedly helping). It's as if to view someone from a different social strata than himself is akin to viewing an animal in a zoo - engaging with them in the same way a child would fill their hand with food for said animal and letting them eat out of their hand. 

In a certain light, the film at times almost touches upon the kind of awkwardness that approaches horror territory. The confrontation in the restaurant is one of the most oppressive scenes in modern cinema (in my estimation). The establishment of the kind of hierarchical perspective of its central family prior to said scene only reinforces the brutality of it. The blade piercing the skin deeper and revealing the hatred not so hidden beneath.