Showing posts with label David Lynch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label David Lynch. Show all posts

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

The picture of Dorian Gray

There is a confession I have got to make. I love movies. Frankly speaking, I am a movie maniac. I watch every decent movie that comes within my reach when I have time. (And sometimes I free all my time, leave everything aside for the sole purpose of watching a good story to unfold.) Anything that has the IMDB rating above 7.5 is something that I would love to see. I watch even 7.0 movies. On rare occasions I can watch 6.5ers. In the ages before the Internet I have actually watched hundreds of movies without any discrimination. Honestly, the number of movies I’ve watched during last five years might go beyond any sense. If I would compare this to anything, it would be probably that song “So What” by Metallica:
I’ve watched this, I’ve watched that…
I even watched all the parts of Friday 13th when I was a teenager. I will not mention TV series here, for you are going to have a hard time trying to stop me from speaking extensively about House MD or Dexter or True Blood or Breaking Bad and so on. Oh, don’t get me started! (Or, perhaps, shall I write some notes on those some other time?) I am a cinematographic hedonist. I don’t think I am the worst-case scenario of a movie junkie, I’m sure there are many people who regularly watch movies that have rating below 6.5. Who am I to judge them?

What attracts me in the cinematographic art is states and perspectives experience. What I discovered (as, I believe, many other people) is that a work of art is usually a response to a state experienced by the artist, a perspective that he or she is desperate to frame into a painting. Especially great movies by being a work of art are able to show everyone who is open to receiving the transmission some fleeting aspect of universal experience, some unknown corner of consciousness, some experiential continuum that is ready to unfold before you on the screen and enfold you into it by transforming you into a true experiential participant of this very occasion. One of the best masters of dialectical art in cinematography seems to be my favorite David Lynch. When I say dialectical, I mean that kind of art that involves you as a participant of the masterpiece; and the overall viewers’ response is something that helps to make the art consummate. For instance, when I watched Lynch’s INLAND EMPIRE in a movie theater for the first time, I had the sense that everyone who is watching it now is the participant of the mystery unfolding…

So during the last few months I’ve watched some pretty good movies that I didn’t write about. But here is a movie that I don’t want to leave unmentioned. Dorian Gray is the title, and it is an Oliver Parker’s film based on a beautiful book by Oscar Wilde. To be succinct, I think the movie tells the Dorian Gray story the perfect way; and I doubt that it could’ve been told better in terms of a movie at this point in history. It is a huge and timely slap on the face for the folks who are fond of the impulse-gratifying life style and instant-coffee spiritual materialism. It is a story about a Soul trapped exclusively in the sensorimotor world of prerational senses and bodily feelings and flesh by somehow innocently trusting and embodying the rationally formulated worldview of sensual hedonism. (Isn’t it true that our minds can rationalize any invented worldview with some sense of reason; and then trust it; and then make others believe it too?) And, surely, it is a story of maturation and liberation. For blessed are we that it is our flesh that decays and not the soul, even though it can lose itself in reflections and shadows casted by apparitions seen in the mirrors of the Spirit’s Great Play. And eventually, I believe, the Soul will always have a chance for redemption.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Inland Empire

David Lynch is my favorite movie director; and INLAND EMPIRE is the only movie I've watched for a good dozen of times, always finding something that my consciousness had previously missed, always constructing new meanings, always challenging my own mind to attend to perfection of this and every moment.

This is the rare masterpiece that engages you as a spectator in the process of intersubjective co-creation of meaning and meaningfullness with a Rorschach blot test of seemingly chaotic kaleidoscope of primordial consciousness in background. It is an art of finding the ever-present Witness in the labyrinths of the individual soul, a kind of dialectical art that is worth silencing your ego for three hours. This movie dialogues with you; and you had better be its equal in the dialogue.

If you consider yourself aesthetically gifted, use this movie as a test; and the result of it will tell what's the actual worth of your aesthetics. Out of the dozen times of watching INLAND EMPIRE, I have watched it in a cinema for 4 times. Every time a half of the audience left the cinema after the first hour; and the other half stayed till the end, enthralled by irrational visions and joyfully crying because of the genuine hope and liberation the story unfolds.

I dare you to watch INLAND EMPIRE. If you're among those who prefer to keep boundaries between your ego and the art you observe, you will probably not make it to the end of the movie. You won't have an intimate encounter with the beauty, and you will miss one of the profoundest experiences you can ever enjoy in life. It is not a simple walk, it is a challenge (just as life is not all joy and pleasure), but successfully confronting this challenge bears fruits of self-liberation.

Chrysta Bell – Polish Poem
from the INLAND EMPIRE Original Soundtrack

I sing this poem to you...
On the other side, I see…
Shall you wait, glowing?
It’s far away, far away from me,
I can see that —
I can see that —
the wind blows outside and I have no breath,
I breathe again and know I’ll have to live
To forget my world is ending.
I have to live…
I hear my heart beat,
Fluttering in pain, saying something,
Tears are coming to my eyes —
I cry… I cry…
I cannot feel the warmth of the sun
I cannot hear the laughter
Choking with every thought,
I see the faces,
My hands are tied as I wish —
But no one comes,
No one comes,
Where are you?
Where are you?
What will make me want to live?
What will make me want to love?
Tell me… tell me…

I sing this poem to you… to you…
Is this mystery unfolding
As a wind floating?
Something is coming true —
The dream of an innocent child…

Something is happening —
Something is happening…