Allow me to set the stage: The year was 1989--the year of Driving Miss Daisy, Dead Poets Society, and Field of Dreams. While not exactly a cultural wasteland (it was, after all, the year of My Left Foot and Born on the 4th of July), 1989 saw the independent young guns of the mid-1980s falter slightly (see Mystery Train, a slight disappointment after Down by Law and Stranger than Paradise) and left those who care wondering who would reign supreme over independent cinema? What would the year bring? Ultimately, it brought the great Drugstore Cowboy, heralding an interesting new voice in American cinema. All was well and good, I guess, but the honeymoon was over far too quickly. My Own Private Idaho was an excellent follow-up (no sophomore slump here boss!), but misgivings began with the unwatchable Even Cowgirls Get the Blues. Yes, To Die For is excellent, and Good Will Hunting has some nice, viscerally emotional moments, but Psycho (a nice, um, stab at some sort statement I guess but an unnecessary film) and Finding Forester (Good Will Hunting without emotional moments that ring true) are awful awful movies.
I apologize for the lengthy prologue, but one must understand the mindset I was living with when I saw Elephant. One must understand that I loved Gus Van Sant from an early age (too early an age: what mother lets their 12 year old son watch My Own Private Idaho) and one must understand that I felt, to a degree, betrayed by Van Sant starting with Good Will Hunting. That film had hints of insincerity--I didn't feel Van Sant's presence as much. Psycho and Finding Forester removed whatever vestiges of his film-making found in Good Will, creating in me the sense that Gus Van Sant had fallen prey to the body snatchers. He looked and sounded like Van Sant but his films were either awful or awful and maudlin.
I went to Elephant with high expectations (it won the Palme D'Or, after all, as well as the best director award at Cannes) and I was, perhaps, never more satisfied than I was seeing that film. It was beautifully photographed and wonderfully acted. It was harrowing too. It was everything I'd wanted Van Sant to achieve and, well, he did. It was an amazing feeling.
No single reason is given for the violence that takes place in the film's final act, though it could be argued all the standard reasons are given. The killers are ostracized youths who watch Nazi propaganda films, play violent video games, and might be gay. By including all of these characteristics, though, Van Sant refuses to point the finger at any single element. As the film makes clear, some of the other kids are coming from rather problematic upbringings (the kids with the drunk father or the clearly left-behind girl working in the library), but they don't kill anyone. Van Sant seems to be saying: "Look, this violence is a problem, but blaming the sexuality or hobbies of the murderous teens gets us nowhere." It's a brave statement and one that, in choosing not to explain actions, does us far more good than any movie that would try to explain away the reasons for a high school shooting. To explain the actions allows us to see the events as an isolated incident and not as a symptomatic occurrence of a certain cultural milieu. Elephant says "This is what happens now. This is who we are. We need to change it."
Beyond thematics, though, the film is photographed gorgeously, returning to some of the visual tendencies that marked Van Sant's earlier work. Everyone was screaming Bela Tarr this and Kiarostami that, which was accurate (this is a very calmly paced film with a lot of silence). However, Van Sant's style has always tended toward the minimal side of things. He rarely showed active camera-work in the style of Scorsese or De Palma; he was always more reserved (just look at the wonderful scenes of lovemaking in My Own Private Idaho). It was nice to see him return to his roots and abandon the lackluster photography found in his work from the late 1990s.
Elephant is a fantastic film. It is on par with Van Sant's greatest achievements and is one of the best films of this current decade.
I apologize for the lengthy prologue, but one must understand the mindset I was living with when I saw Elephant. One must understand that I loved Gus Van Sant from an early age (too early an age: what mother lets their 12 year old son watch My Own Private Idaho) and one must understand that I felt, to a degree, betrayed by Van Sant starting with Good Will Hunting. That film had hints of insincerity--I didn't feel Van Sant's presence as much. Psycho and Finding Forester removed whatever vestiges of his film-making found in Good Will, creating in me the sense that Gus Van Sant had fallen prey to the body snatchers. He looked and sounded like Van Sant but his films were either awful or awful and maudlin.
I went to Elephant with high expectations (it won the Palme D'Or, after all, as well as the best director award at Cannes) and I was, perhaps, never more satisfied than I was seeing that film. It was beautifully photographed and wonderfully acted. It was harrowing too. It was everything I'd wanted Van Sant to achieve and, well, he did. It was an amazing feeling.
No single reason is given for the violence that takes place in the film's final act, though it could be argued all the standard reasons are given. The killers are ostracized youths who watch Nazi propaganda films, play violent video games, and might be gay. By including all of these characteristics, though, Van Sant refuses to point the finger at any single element. As the film makes clear, some of the other kids are coming from rather problematic upbringings (the kids with the drunk father or the clearly left-behind girl working in the library), but they don't kill anyone. Van Sant seems to be saying: "Look, this violence is a problem, but blaming the sexuality or hobbies of the murderous teens gets us nowhere." It's a brave statement and one that, in choosing not to explain actions, does us far more good than any movie that would try to explain away the reasons for a high school shooting. To explain the actions allows us to see the events as an isolated incident and not as a symptomatic occurrence of a certain cultural milieu. Elephant says "This is what happens now. This is who we are. We need to change it."
Beyond thematics, though, the film is photographed gorgeously, returning to some of the visual tendencies that marked Van Sant's earlier work. Everyone was screaming Bela Tarr this and Kiarostami that, which was accurate (this is a very calmly paced film with a lot of silence). However, Van Sant's style has always tended toward the minimal side of things. He rarely showed active camera-work in the style of Scorsese or De Palma; he was always more reserved (just look at the wonderful scenes of lovemaking in My Own Private Idaho). It was nice to see him return to his roots and abandon the lackluster photography found in his work from the late 1990s.
Elephant is a fantastic film. It is on par with Van Sant's greatest achievements and is one of the best films of this current decade.