Movie Review/Rebuttal: Closer
"You can have my isolation. You can have the hate that it brings. You can have my absence of faith. You can have my everything."
Three scenes leap into my writer's mind: The first is of Patrick Marber sitting before his first final version of Closer feeling fulfilled, clever, and not a little bit proud. The second is of Clive Owen reading the screenplay and hitting a point somewhere amongst the many words where he realises that the role of Larry is, in fact, the cynical heart of the movie and a part he can really grab by the balls. The third is...well...it's this...
You see, they almost had me. I like Nichols as a director, and I enjoy Law, Owen, and Portman as actors. Julia Roberts I can take or leave. As for Marber's screenplay, it gives a romantic intro and then promises a cynical and REAL take on love, sex, and relationships, an antidote to all those Hollywood dreams of fairytale endings. Promises, but never delivers. Because this is a film as fake as those it seeks argument with.
Like Nick Hornby's High Fidelity, Closer believes that in blowing the horn of compromise, lust, and apathy, it can somehow approach the realities of everyday relationships in a way that will arouse the viewer's sympathies. This, apparently, gives us real people in real situations with real emotions. It isn't a Hollywood daydream and it isn't some idealistic version of fairytale lives. It's gritty and rude and human.
It's bullshit.
The world of Closer gives us four protagonists - two male and two female - with little in common save for chance meetings and intense feelings. It is, in the simplest possible terms, a lingering look at the power of physical and emotional memory. On those terms, it is an effective and even powerful piece of work. As an examination of people and love, though, it is no more valid or human than, say, A Cinderella Story. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that such apparently superficial films have more in common with reality than Closer does. Shallow, fake, and idealistic they may well be, but at least they make some kind of attempt to confront human emotion where Marber and Nichols give us only weak cop-outs in the guise of serious commentary.
I don't know Patrick Marber, but I do know that his alter-ego in the screenplay isn't Jude Law's weak and underwritten Dan, rather Clive Owen's flawed and striking Larry. While Owen's performance in the film is undoubtedly deserving of the praise he has received, it isn't unfair to say that he had far more to grapple with in terms of characterisation than his three co-stars. As his male opponent, Dan is weak, neurotic, and false. As for the two females, Portman as Alice is given the role of Needy, Manipulative Cocktease while Roberts as Anna gets Worshipped (But REAL) Goddess. Portman makes the most of what she has - which is little in comparison to the men - while Roberts makes no impression other than as a foil for the angst of Owen and Law. By the time this farce is played out, the viewer is left with plenty of sympathy for Larry, but very little in the way of feeling for anyone else. Marber spends his entire screenplay making Dan look like a witless, insecure fool before attempting to make him a sympathetic character in the last twenty minutes through the less-than-engaging plot device of having everyone shit on him while he runs around in the rain and stares meaningfully at himself in various mirrors. Alice, meanwhile, is portrayed as being by far the most sincere character before she is revealed as the most dishonest of them all with a closing sequence that tells us it's okay that everything we've come to believe about her is wrong because she's beautiful and free. As for Anna, well, her story is never really closed out. She never fell out of love with Larry and ended up back in his arms. Which makes sense, really, as we never understood how she could possibly prefer Dan in the first place, apart from the brick-in-the-face subtle subtext that both girls prefer him in bed.
In the end, then, Larry wins the heart of the Goddess because he is honest and true and real, even if this occasionally makes him look like a bastard, Dan ends up broken and alone because he loves Anna but then pretends to love Alice even though she's second-best, Anna...just fucks both of them and then sticks with Larry for the reasons stated above, and Alice - the supposed heart of the movie - ends up alone but empowered ('empowered' in this case being walking in slo-mo down a busy street with long hair and funky earrings) because - hey - she never really gave herself to those predatory, neanderthal males.
My God, it's so REAL.
Fuck off. Marber clearly sees himself as Larry with just a hint of Dan to reveal his insecurities. His worldview - as evidenced by his weak, stereotypical female characters - is shallow and misogynistic. He's clearly confused as to whether women are something to be fucked and forgotten or placed on a pedestal, and believes by mingling tired cliches he has come up with something original and exciting and - lest we forget - REAL.
No. The only REAL thing about this story is the character of Larry, who clearly represents the working class dreams of the middle class Marber. While Patrick writes exceptional dialogue and obviously has some idea of what he wants to say, the message is lost in the translation from the philosophies of his obvious heroes to the high-cheekboned, back-slapping grins of the Hollywood set trying to be sincere.
Nichols, on his record to date, can do far better as regards both film-making and sexual politics. Law is clearly talented and could do with an agent that doesn't send him every second-rate piece of mainstream crap that comes in the mail. Portman is seemingly doomed to be young and talented but cursed with being beautiful. Roberts is...Julia Roberts. Clive Owen could and should have the world at his feet right now. He isn't the best actor on the face of the planet, but he's coming up trumps on the roles he chooses and making the most of what he has. As for Patrick Marber, the critical focus of this review, my feeling is that if he ignored all the people telling him he's a great writer and focussed on penning something genuine rather than stories that are REAL to people so far removed from reality that they have to go out and buy it, he may find he has something to say that won't make a whole lot of money but will cure what ails him.
Sadly, and despite all the hype, Closer is not that something. Cynicism, in this case, is just as easily faked as sincerity.
Three scenes leap into my writer's mind: The first is of Patrick Marber sitting before his first final version of Closer feeling fulfilled, clever, and not a little bit proud. The second is of Clive Owen reading the screenplay and hitting a point somewhere amongst the many words where he realises that the role of Larry is, in fact, the cynical heart of the movie and a part he can really grab by the balls. The third is...well...it's this...
You see, they almost had me. I like Nichols as a director, and I enjoy Law, Owen, and Portman as actors. Julia Roberts I can take or leave. As for Marber's screenplay, it gives a romantic intro and then promises a cynical and REAL take on love, sex, and relationships, an antidote to all those Hollywood dreams of fairytale endings. Promises, but never delivers. Because this is a film as fake as those it seeks argument with.
Like Nick Hornby's High Fidelity, Closer believes that in blowing the horn of compromise, lust, and apathy, it can somehow approach the realities of everyday relationships in a way that will arouse the viewer's sympathies. This, apparently, gives us real people in real situations with real emotions. It isn't a Hollywood daydream and it isn't some idealistic version of fairytale lives. It's gritty and rude and human.
It's bullshit.
The world of Closer gives us four protagonists - two male and two female - with little in common save for chance meetings and intense feelings. It is, in the simplest possible terms, a lingering look at the power of physical and emotional memory. On those terms, it is an effective and even powerful piece of work. As an examination of people and love, though, it is no more valid or human than, say, A Cinderella Story. In fact, I'd even go so far as to say that such apparently superficial films have more in common with reality than Closer does. Shallow, fake, and idealistic they may well be, but at least they make some kind of attempt to confront human emotion where Marber and Nichols give us only weak cop-outs in the guise of serious commentary.
I don't know Patrick Marber, but I do know that his alter-ego in the screenplay isn't Jude Law's weak and underwritten Dan, rather Clive Owen's flawed and striking Larry. While Owen's performance in the film is undoubtedly deserving of the praise he has received, it isn't unfair to say that he had far more to grapple with in terms of characterisation than his three co-stars. As his male opponent, Dan is weak, neurotic, and false. As for the two females, Portman as Alice is given the role of Needy, Manipulative Cocktease while Roberts as Anna gets Worshipped (But REAL) Goddess. Portman makes the most of what she has - which is little in comparison to the men - while Roberts makes no impression other than as a foil for the angst of Owen and Law. By the time this farce is played out, the viewer is left with plenty of sympathy for Larry, but very little in the way of feeling for anyone else. Marber spends his entire screenplay making Dan look like a witless, insecure fool before attempting to make him a sympathetic character in the last twenty minutes through the less-than-engaging plot device of having everyone shit on him while he runs around in the rain and stares meaningfully at himself in various mirrors. Alice, meanwhile, is portrayed as being by far the most sincere character before she is revealed as the most dishonest of them all with a closing sequence that tells us it's okay that everything we've come to believe about her is wrong because she's beautiful and free. As for Anna, well, her story is never really closed out. She never fell out of love with Larry and ended up back in his arms. Which makes sense, really, as we never understood how she could possibly prefer Dan in the first place, apart from the brick-in-the-face subtle subtext that both girls prefer him in bed.
In the end, then, Larry wins the heart of the Goddess because he is honest and true and real, even if this occasionally makes him look like a bastard, Dan ends up broken and alone because he loves Anna but then pretends to love Alice even though she's second-best, Anna...just fucks both of them and then sticks with Larry for the reasons stated above, and Alice - the supposed heart of the movie - ends up alone but empowered ('empowered' in this case being walking in slo-mo down a busy street with long hair and funky earrings) because - hey - she never really gave herself to those predatory, neanderthal males.
My God, it's so REAL.
Fuck off. Marber clearly sees himself as Larry with just a hint of Dan to reveal his insecurities. His worldview - as evidenced by his weak, stereotypical female characters - is shallow and misogynistic. He's clearly confused as to whether women are something to be fucked and forgotten or placed on a pedestal, and believes by mingling tired cliches he has come up with something original and exciting and - lest we forget - REAL.
No. The only REAL thing about this story is the character of Larry, who clearly represents the working class dreams of the middle class Marber. While Patrick writes exceptional dialogue and obviously has some idea of what he wants to say, the message is lost in the translation from the philosophies of his obvious heroes to the high-cheekboned, back-slapping grins of the Hollywood set trying to be sincere.
Nichols, on his record to date, can do far better as regards both film-making and sexual politics. Law is clearly talented and could do with an agent that doesn't send him every second-rate piece of mainstream crap that comes in the mail. Portman is seemingly doomed to be young and talented but cursed with being beautiful. Roberts is...Julia Roberts. Clive Owen could and should have the world at his feet right now. He isn't the best actor on the face of the planet, but he's coming up trumps on the roles he chooses and making the most of what he has. As for Patrick Marber, the critical focus of this review, my feeling is that if he ignored all the people telling him he's a great writer and focussed on penning something genuine rather than stories that are REAL to people so far removed from reality that they have to go out and buy it, he may find he has something to say that won't make a whole lot of money but will cure what ails him.
Sadly, and despite all the hype, Closer is not that something. Cynicism, in this case, is just as easily faked as sincerity.
posted by Michael at 2:36 PM
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