Post by Capo on Jan 25, 2006 14:13:38 GMT
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Director: Michel Gondry
2004 USA
Joel Barish, upon finding out his former girlfriend Clementine has had him erased from her memory, finds the doctor responsible, and demands that his own memory be erased of her. During the procedure, however, as his memories of Clementine are slowly erased, he realises he still loves her. But the situation is out of his hands…
In the final moments of Michel Gondry’s Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, when Beck’s version of the Korgis’ Change Your Heart kicks in, the film surges into its end credits on an emotional high. On first viewing, the crescendo of the song creates a kind of euphoric vibe, as if it has come from nowhere, a musical metaphor for hope coming late in the day. Upon revisiting the film, however, you realise that Beck’s cover is used early on in the film, if only briefly; it begs the question, then—the answer to which we can only presume in retrospect—whether the final moments of the film on a first viewing were given strength due to our unconscious connection to the earlier parts of the film. It is an appropriate thought for a film dealing with memory, and Gondry’s use of music throughout the film is masterful. Assorted tracks tend to blend into a composite mixture, subtly registering as the underlining, essential element to the emotional core of the film.
The subtlety of the soundtrack is complimented by Gondry’s loose direction. The stylistic approach of the film suggests something of a contrast; Gondry’s camera stays fairly static throughout, but there is always a free-flowing, hand-held feel to it, a freer version of Robert Altman. His background in music promos is evident throughout, too; while jump-cuts suggest an existential desperation to stay and live in the moment (Clementine is an impulsive woman, and Joel realises that’s what he loves about her), the clever trick camera work almost feels out of sorts in a film seemingly wanting to stay within modest limits. Kaufman’s clever, inventive script is so tightly written that it rewards repeat viewings, while also inviting criticism of being “too fussy”, according to John Walker of Halliwell’s Film Guide. The affecting backbone of his script stems from the flawed characters in the lead; there are nods throughout the film referring that this isn’t the first time Joel and Clementine have had their memories wiped of one another, and, as the narrative develops, so too does a knowing acknowledgement in us that these two insecure characters, while more compatible for each other than they actually know, are always going to be (trapped) in blemished relationships. And the final moments, again, in which the two final accept one another’s imperfections, creates a kind of explosion of the senses, a genuinely moving moment, at once hopeful and relieving.
The non-linear narrative is directed for us into colour-coordinated coherence, whereby Clementine’s dyed hair turns from blue to orange to red to green (and ultimately, as it arcs back to where it the film began, blue again). Winslet plays Clementine with a convincing impulsiveness about her, and a forced confidence stemming from, at her core, an embarrassment of the prospect of rejection. Her opening moments with Joel, in which she openly acknowledges her aggressive, spontaneous brashness, have a hint of unavoidable awkwardness about them, a treat given weight when, having been rejecting by Joel, she disguises her hurt with a “friendly” punch to the arm. Carrey, meanwhile, from his opening voice-over, explaining why he skipped his train to work and rang in sick, to the revelatory climax, in which he sheds himself of his shyness, is a suitable contrast to Winslet. Seen throughout with one side of his shirt collar tucked into his jumper, the other side left out, he’s an eccentric living in a messy apartment who, he resents himself, falls in love with every girl who even looks at him. That we should care for these two stranded characters in a film with, oddly enough, a surreal sci-fi element to it, pays testament to Kaufman’s ability to blend the strange with the humane. Not once, in the film, do we question our suspension of disbelief, even as Joel lies in bed with wires and a laptop attached to him, slowly getting his memories wiped away. When stripped to its bare bones, then, Sunshine may be nothing more than a romantic comedy, of sorts, though one which, as an examination of memory, love and flawed relationships, is an inventive and fresh experience.
CREDITS
Director
Michel Gondry
Producer
Anthony Bregman
Steven Golin
Screenplay
Charlie Kaufman
Cinematography
Ellen Kuras
Film Editing
Valdis Óskarsdóttir
Production Design
Dan Leigh
Art Direction
David Stein
CAST
Jim Carrey
Joel Barish
Kate Winslet
Clementine Kruczinksi
Tom Wilkinson
Dr. Howard Mierzwiack
Mark Ruffalo
Stan
Kirsten Dunst
Mary
Elijah Wood
Patrick
Director: Michel Gondry
2004 USA
Joel Barish, upon finding out his former girlfriend Clementine has had him erased from her memory, finds the doctor responsible, and demands that his own memory be erased of her. During the procedure, however, as his memories of Clementine are slowly erased, he realises he still loves her. But the situation is out of his hands…
In the final moments of Michel Gondry’s Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, when Beck’s version of the Korgis’ Change Your Heart kicks in, the film surges into its end credits on an emotional high. On first viewing, the crescendo of the song creates a kind of euphoric vibe, as if it has come from nowhere, a musical metaphor for hope coming late in the day. Upon revisiting the film, however, you realise that Beck’s cover is used early on in the film, if only briefly; it begs the question, then—the answer to which we can only presume in retrospect—whether the final moments of the film on a first viewing were given strength due to our unconscious connection to the earlier parts of the film. It is an appropriate thought for a film dealing with memory, and Gondry’s use of music throughout the film is masterful. Assorted tracks tend to blend into a composite mixture, subtly registering as the underlining, essential element to the emotional core of the film.
The subtlety of the soundtrack is complimented by Gondry’s loose direction. The stylistic approach of the film suggests something of a contrast; Gondry’s camera stays fairly static throughout, but there is always a free-flowing, hand-held feel to it, a freer version of Robert Altman. His background in music promos is evident throughout, too; while jump-cuts suggest an existential desperation to stay and live in the moment (Clementine is an impulsive woman, and Joel realises that’s what he loves about her), the clever trick camera work almost feels out of sorts in a film seemingly wanting to stay within modest limits. Kaufman’s clever, inventive script is so tightly written that it rewards repeat viewings, while also inviting criticism of being “too fussy”, according to John Walker of Halliwell’s Film Guide. The affecting backbone of his script stems from the flawed characters in the lead; there are nods throughout the film referring that this isn’t the first time Joel and Clementine have had their memories wiped of one another, and, as the narrative develops, so too does a knowing acknowledgement in us that these two insecure characters, while more compatible for each other than they actually know, are always going to be (trapped) in blemished relationships. And the final moments, again, in which the two final accept one another’s imperfections, creates a kind of explosion of the senses, a genuinely moving moment, at once hopeful and relieving.
The non-linear narrative is directed for us into colour-coordinated coherence, whereby Clementine’s dyed hair turns from blue to orange to red to green (and ultimately, as it arcs back to where it the film began, blue again). Winslet plays Clementine with a convincing impulsiveness about her, and a forced confidence stemming from, at her core, an embarrassment of the prospect of rejection. Her opening moments with Joel, in which she openly acknowledges her aggressive, spontaneous brashness, have a hint of unavoidable awkwardness about them, a treat given weight when, having been rejecting by Joel, she disguises her hurt with a “friendly” punch to the arm. Carrey, meanwhile, from his opening voice-over, explaining why he skipped his train to work and rang in sick, to the revelatory climax, in which he sheds himself of his shyness, is a suitable contrast to Winslet. Seen throughout with one side of his shirt collar tucked into his jumper, the other side left out, he’s an eccentric living in a messy apartment who, he resents himself, falls in love with every girl who even looks at him. That we should care for these two stranded characters in a film with, oddly enough, a surreal sci-fi element to it, pays testament to Kaufman’s ability to blend the strange with the humane. Not once, in the film, do we question our suspension of disbelief, even as Joel lies in bed with wires and a laptop attached to him, slowly getting his memories wiped away. When stripped to its bare bones, then, Sunshine may be nothing more than a romantic comedy, of sorts, though one which, as an examination of memory, love and flawed relationships, is an inventive and fresh experience.
CREDITS
Director
Michel Gondry
Producer
Anthony Bregman
Steven Golin
Screenplay
Charlie Kaufman
Cinematography
Ellen Kuras
Film Editing
Valdis Óskarsdóttir
Production Design
Dan Leigh
Art Direction
David Stein
CAST
Jim Carrey
Joel Barish
Kate Winslet
Clementine Kruczinksi
Tom Wilkinson
Dr. Howard Mierzwiack
Mark Ruffalo
Stan
Kirsten Dunst
Mary
Elijah Wood
Patrick