Silence (2017)

Martin Scorsese's latest film is a quiet, meditative piece about the politicization of religion and Man's relationship with God. At 2 hours and 41 minutes long, the film feels much longer; it embraces its title, having no music and rather long, drawn out sequences, all with long cuts, to emphasize the agonizing guilt that plagues Rodrigues (Andrew Garfield). 

The trailer for the film is deceiving, as are many of the early reviews. The pace of the trailer suggests a more typical Scorsese film, and the reviews posited the film as the most excruciating and violent out of Scorsese's canon. Neither of these pronouncements is correct. 

The film opens with the sounds of crickets, first barely audible, but crescendoing gradually to a rather cacophonous symphony of natural sounds. It is an effective choice, both establishing the film's setting and immediately introducing the eponymous central theme of the film: silence itself. Indeed, the central question of this film is whether remaining silent in the face of genocide is acceptable if it manages to preserve one's principles; or if one should silently go along with the persecutors' demands to prevent said genocide, but in turn violate everything one stands for. This conflict plagues Rodrigues, whose entire raison etre seems to be preserving the Word of God, no matter the consequences; his journey is learning the folly of such a goal and in the most painful way possible. 

And this pain is not entirely physical. Indeed, the tactics Rodrigues endures usually involve his watching torture and being forced to accept that he could stop it if he would only succumb to his captors' demands and denounce God. As the film progresses, Rodrigues begins to see Jesus's image in place of his own face in his reflection, and his narration quotes from the Bible more and more, all suggesting his growing perception of himself as Christ-like. The audience, though, sees how Rodrigues is actually not behaving like Christ at all. I found this motif interesting, but not rendered as effectively as it could have been. 

One of the many things I appreciated about this film was Scorsese's spotlighting a piece of history that most Americans (myself included) know little to nothing about. The film was dedicated to Japanese Christians who endured so much oppression, torture, and murder. Silence is a timely film, considering this kind of religious persecution is still present today. 

The first act of the film was probably the best part. After getting a letter from long-lost Father Ferreira (Liam Neeson), which is photographed majestically with Neeson's voice-over describing the horrors he both witnessed and endured as the audience sees these images of torture and religious persecution, Rodrigues and Garrupe (Adam Driver) both decide they must find their mentor. There are rumors Ferreira has defected, denouncing God and taking a Japanese wife. Rodrigues and Garrupe both refute this rumor passionately, and set off in search of their mentor. 

When they first reach a small Japanese village and get to know the people, and witness the later (and imminent) persecution, the film shines. To avoid spoiling anything, I will simply say that the older gentlemen who suffer in this act of the film arouse the most pathos and sympathy in a disturbing yet surprisingly not-gruesome crucifixion sequence. There are moments of power and deep emotion throughout the first act, and I was sincerely moved.

The second act, however, is perhaps the messiest part of the film and the portion that needed much more strenuous editing. The film is at least 45 minutes too long. The second act is too bloated with numerous sequences of captured Japanese Christians being forced to step on images of Jesus and Mary as an act of apostasy. These sequences become so voluminous that when the film enters the third and final act, the audience is exhausted with apostasy and has little enough remaining energy to care. 

That being said, the last half-hour was, again, profound and moving, and the ending was one of Scorsese's most powerful (at least post-2000). After the final image of the film, which was genuinely breathtaking, faded into black, the film again went silent before the growing crescendo of crickets. I sat still in the theater, as the cricket symphony continued throughout the credits, taking in all of the emotion of what I just watched. 

Silence is not an entertaining movie. It's probably the driest film Scorsese has ever made, and the lack of music reinforced this. Yet, I doubt "entertainment" was at all what Scorsese was working towards with this film. Silence felt deeply personal, and I felt throughout that I was getting more insight into the most private and personal thoughts of one of America's greatest talents. 

No one should go to this film expecting some kind of graphic gore-fest. In fact, there is little violence at all in this film. The torture is mostly people hanging, tied, from crosses or being tossed into the ocean wrapped in bamboo mats and held underwater until they drowned. There is one scene in which a man is beheaded, but the camera cuts away quickly. Scorsese emphasizes the emotion and consequences of this violence, not the gruesomeness of it. 

That being said, there is a great deal of internal violence, which puts Silence more in the company of The Age of Innocence within Scorsese's canon. I found this approach refreshing, actually, and very Catholic, for this film is obsessed with guilt: guilt as penance, guilt as blackmail, guilt as motivation, guilt as redemption. Guilt is one of the most prevalent themes of the film, and the way Scorsese ties this guilt to genocide and persecution is fascinating if not wholly efficacious. 

Indeed, as I stressed earlier, Silence is a meditative film. The absence of music forces one to listen instead to the film's sounds and the film's narration. I can't say this was completely effective, but Kudos to Scorsese for doing something different and stepping far outside of his comfort zone. 

Overall, Silence does not meet the promise of its initial praise nor the possibilities offered by the talent involved. It is a disappointing film, but mostly because a film with Scorsese's name on it holds so much potential. Nevertheless, Silence is worth seeing and its questions will stay with you long after the final credits. 

Grade: B

Joy (2015)

Joy is easily the deepest and most powerful movie David O. Russell has ever made. Building on his success with The Fighter, Silver Linings Playbook, and American Hustle, Russell takes a more focused and intimate approach to telling the story of Joy Mangano and the Miracle Mop.

Russell's previous efforts have been enjoyable, but none have been as daring as Joy. Russell inverts many tropes associated with success stories - and even tropes established within Russell's own canon. 

Robert De Niro plays Joy's (Jennifer Lawrence) father; in an inversion of his loving father character in Silver Linings Playbook, De Niro's character is perhaps the most despicable person in the film, but Russell reveals this gradually. In a similar vein, the most loyal and compassionate character is her ex-husband Tony (Edgar Ramirez). 

By now, most people expect a certain level of sweetness and romance in a Russell film starring Jennifer Lawrence and Bradley Cooper. Joy, however, does not really have any romance in it, but there is a romantic feel permeating the entire film. Although there are no romantic relationships, there is an emphasis on the essence of romance: the guileless effusion of emotion, dreams, and magic that is so fragile, yet so intrinsic to childhood - and is so easy to lose in adulthood.

One of the key visual motifs in the film is memory and the process of resurrecting memory. The film opens with a curious prologue, which is actually a scene from a soap opera that we learn soon after is one of Joy's mother's obsessions. Buoyed by the opening to Eric Clapton's "I Feel Free," which functions as a bookend to the opening and closing of the film, the film then cuts to Joy as a child playing in the snow. Her grandmother (Diane Ladd) narrates the film, which posits the narrative as a story of childhood and, more important, of maturation whose process depends solely on never forgetting the bright-eyed dreams of childhood.  

Indeed, childhood is the key theme of this film and in many ways its star. This opening memory of Joy playing in the snow is also how all of the principle characters in her family are introduced, suggesting a connection among snow, family, childhood, memory, and success. When Joy describes a paper house she designed and created herself, we see that this early childhood impulse to create is not only Joy's defining characteristic but also one that she has lost as an adult. In perhaps one of the most moving shots of the film, Joy's grandmother explains to child Joy that one day she will be a success; this idea, we come to see as the film cuts to adult Joy, is truly the driving force of this film - not the mop or even the monetary success she enjoys later. Joy is about success as a continuous process, one that begins early and that must be revived in adulthood if one is to achieve it. 

Throughout the film snow is a sort of shorthand for childhood, success, and memory, and all of these elements appear sequentially, usually prompted by something as simple as a Christmas light or a snowflake. Indeed, most of this film occurs in the snow, and the snow imagery becomes ubiquitous as Joy's invention grows more successful. This metaphor is not about success itself, but about Joy's reclaiming of her childhood dreams and aspirations. Additionally, the snow imagery appears increasingly in the context of Christmas, which again functions as a shorthand for childhood dreams and magic; what is more magical to a young child than Christmas? 

Easily the most moving sequences in the film - and the ones that have stayed with me since first viewing Joy in the theater back in January - are Joy's dreams in which her childhood self essentially asks her adult self when she abandoned them. Russell's use of dream sequences and visual imagery is a new step for him, and he handles it with beauty and emotion. These sequences felt reminiscent of early Ken Russell in their embracing of visual symbolism and fantastical imagery. Truly, David O. Russell's films have always been realist, which is ordinarily a trait I have enjoyed: Part of the beauty of Silver Linings Playbook, for instance, is its ordinariness. Joy has a similar universal relatability, but it also isn't afraid to skirt the supernatural or the eccentric. The grandmother, known simply as "Mimi," narrates the film posthumously; at her funeral, she appears at Joy's side and holds her hand for a moment. These touches brought an emotional pull to the film that is definitely new territory for Russell. 

Jennifer Lawrence's acting is in top form, and she is surprisingly quiet in this film. In direct contrast with her characters in Silver Linings Playbook and American Hustle, her portrayal of Joy relies mostly on her eyes and her whispers. Indeed, when Joy is angry, her voice drops to the point where it is barely audible. I found this far more effective than any yelling or crying could possibly be. 

Another satisfying trait of this film is the emphasis on women and matriarchy. The film is bursting with veteran actresses: Susan Lucci, Isabella Rossellini, Diane Ladd, Virginia Madsen, and even Melissa Rivers playing her late mother Joan. Changing generations of women, and what each woman has passed on to Joy in her life - including her daughter - is another key theme that is woven into the fabric of this childhood theme. Although Joy has a son, he is almost absent from the film; instead, Joy's daughter is with her throughout this journey, as are her grandmother, half-sister, and mother. In almost every scene, Russell has a shot of the daughter's reaction, and it represents a powerful bond between Joy and Christie and, more important, between generations of women. Joy apparently puts even more pressure on herself to succeed not only to revive her childhood self, but to show her own child that dreams are not foolish and can be attainable no matter the circumstances. 

Joy was marketed as a comedy, and I have no idea why. There is little to laugh at in this film; it is almost completely humorless, which is again quite a departure for David O. Russell. To me, Russell is a throw-back to Golden Age Hollywood, his films reminiscent of George Cuckor, Frank Capra, and Billy Wilder. Of course, it is important to remember that each of these directors, especially Wilder, made subversive comedies. No matter how cheerful or hilarious a Cuckor or Wilder or Capra film might be, there is always an underlying seriousness. It's a Wonderful Life might be the ultimate Christmas movie, but its whole plot encompasses a man who has decided to commit suicide on Christmas Eve. Adam's Rib might be a sly comedy about two lawyers, but it is a ferocious critique of 1940's gender politics. And as for Billy Wilder...well, every film he ever made bordered on the dark and the cynical, no matter how light (Sabrina, Some Like It Hot) or dark (Ace in the Hole, Sunset Boulevard). Russell is certainly following in this tradition, but he is also bringing his own style to the table, one that continues to evolve with each film. 

Overall, Joy is a deep, thought-provoking film that probes into the most sheltered and suppressed yearnings of its characters and its audience. There is a profound emotional connection within this film that cannot be overstated. I am excited to see what Russell creates next, but I also think Joy will be remembered as a classic and a turning point in Russell's canon. 

Grade: A+