A cold stark excessively gratuitous portrait of a teenage sociopath, François Ozon's Jeune & jolie (Young and Beautiful) casts a chilling unresponsive gaze at bourgeois stability's apathetic spectre.
It's bare bones.
Or helplessly destructive.
Suddenly nothing interests Isabelle (Marine Vacth) besides pleasure, and she decides to search for this pleasure while earning a comfortable income.
It might be an experiment.
It's as if she can't recognize the danger, or lasciviously profits from its vicious prospects.
Ordinary or traditional forms of social interaction, rich in diverse variations on manifold themes themselves, relationships, poetry, familial warmth, simply hold no interest, a wild rebellious ingénue, blindly and recklessly courting the dark side.
The film's naked manuscript can't adequately capture the depth of her mother's sense of abandonment, but this inherent emotional vapidity augments Isabelle's carnality.
Like Belle du jour without the consequences, Jeune & jolie's bland calculated immature desire precipitates a baleful hush, violently curtailing the flowering of youth, its empty excesses, pathologizing discourses of the beautiful.
Showing posts with label Prostitution. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Prostitution. Show all posts
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Saturday, June 7, 2014
Fading Gigolo
Financial fissures beget liaising insurances while potential clients attract attentive patrolpersons in John Turturro's Fading Gigolo, wherein the world's oldest profession brings good fortune to Murray (Woody Allen) and Fioravante (John Turturro), suddenly caught-up in an historical vortex, secularly lucrative, religiously blasphemed.
The film unreels pleasantly enough, risks taken, rewards cashed-in, comical awkwardness syncopating charm, Midnight Cowboy's lighter side.
Fioravante is a strong character, mild-manneredly reflexive, sensitive yet powerful, equanimously conscious.
His love for Avigal (Vanessa Paradis) isn't tragic or heartbreaking, more like a mature delicate yet robust scintillating red wine, caressed then invested, with lucid modest elegance.
About 50 minutes in I thought, is it starting to drag?, but then Avigal appeared again, and I was immediately reminded of my nightly glass of red wine, and then knew that it wasn't starting to drag at all.
Ancient religious practices follow, a ridiculous patriarchal kerfuffle, chillingly yet playfully impassing an ancient contemporary dialectic.
The negative side of prostitution, apart from a requisite ethical dilemma, is totally absent from the film, but it is a lighthearted comedy, presenting issues of race/ethnicity, identity, and community from a temperately confrontational perspective.
Apart from the nut with the baseball bat.
Not sure if I'm reading too much into some of Woody Allen's introductory lines, but from an off-the-wall point of view, it's as if he's handing off his reins to Mr. Turturro, either sincerely or mischievously, who proves he could be a worthy successor.
There's a volatile scene near the beginning involving a traffic accident.
Minor characters feud to introduce Dovi (Liev Schreiber).
More scenes like this one throughout, not necessarily volatile, just ones which interject cameos to inquisitively motivate the action, work well.
Highlighting the multidimensional nature of the world at large.
Thereby romanticizing the role of individuals within it.
He sort of does this with Murry's kids, but they have a direct relationship to a major character, which lessens their impact.
The film unreels pleasantly enough, risks taken, rewards cashed-in, comical awkwardness syncopating charm, Midnight Cowboy's lighter side.
Fioravante is a strong character, mild-manneredly reflexive, sensitive yet powerful, equanimously conscious.
His love for Avigal (Vanessa Paradis) isn't tragic or heartbreaking, more like a mature delicate yet robust scintillating red wine, caressed then invested, with lucid modest elegance.
About 50 minutes in I thought, is it starting to drag?, but then Avigal appeared again, and I was immediately reminded of my nightly glass of red wine, and then knew that it wasn't starting to drag at all.
Ancient religious practices follow, a ridiculous patriarchal kerfuffle, chillingly yet playfully impassing an ancient contemporary dialectic.
The negative side of prostitution, apart from a requisite ethical dilemma, is totally absent from the film, but it is a lighthearted comedy, presenting issues of race/ethnicity, identity, and community from a temperately confrontational perspective.
Apart from the nut with the baseball bat.
Not sure if I'm reading too much into some of Woody Allen's introductory lines, but from an off-the-wall point of view, it's as if he's handing off his reins to Mr. Turturro, either sincerely or mischievously, who proves he could be a worthy successor.
There's a volatile scene near the beginning involving a traffic accident.
Minor characters feud to introduce Dovi (Liev Schreiber).
More scenes like this one throughout, not necessarily volatile, just ones which interject cameos to inquisitively motivate the action, work well.
Highlighting the multidimensional nature of the world at large.
Thereby romanticizing the role of individuals within it.
He sort of does this with Murry's kids, but they have a direct relationship to a major character, which lessens their impact.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
The Wolf of Wall Street
What to make of this one.
Comparing Scorsese's Wolf of Wall Street to Oliver Stone's Wall Street could generate some compelling comparative data, in regards to their historical censures.
Has this particular epoch enabled Scorsese to direct without limits, to go beyond Seth MacFarlane and Adam Reed, to freely proceed with neither caution nor complaint in an excessive wanton capitalistic cynosure, to gratuitously salute the golden age of sleaze?
He tests you within.
He bombards you with luscious images of in/accessible voluptuous beauties, interspersing tips on illegally playing the stock market, and then asks you whether or not you're capable of following the lecture, playing with the process of narrativization throughout.
Tantalizing tutelage?
He takes a group of guys who grew up together, installs one as leader after he learns how to make enormous sums of money, they all then make enormous sums of money, and they basically never leave high school for the rest of their lives, and not one of them even so much as ends up in the hospital.
There are funny moments.
But why they needed 180 minutes to retool this tale is beyond me.
There's just no Gravity in this film.
That's arguably the point, and it's presented as a best case example of raunchy sophomoric absurdity.
But there's too much exploitation for me.
It is fun getting to know smart women.
There's one female stockbroker who succeeds but her role's tacked-on, she's belittled in the end, and is initially dependent on the generosity of men.
However, like American Hustle, it's filled with tips on how to avoid being scammed.
Comparing Scorsese's Wolf of Wall Street to Oliver Stone's Wall Street could generate some compelling comparative data, in regards to their historical censures.
Has this particular epoch enabled Scorsese to direct without limits, to go beyond Seth MacFarlane and Adam Reed, to freely proceed with neither caution nor complaint in an excessive wanton capitalistic cynosure, to gratuitously salute the golden age of sleaze?
He tests you within.
He bombards you with luscious images of in/accessible voluptuous beauties, interspersing tips on illegally playing the stock market, and then asks you whether or not you're capable of following the lecture, playing with the process of narrativization throughout.
Tantalizing tutelage?
He takes a group of guys who grew up together, installs one as leader after he learns how to make enormous sums of money, they all then make enormous sums of money, and they basically never leave high school for the rest of their lives, and not one of them even so much as ends up in the hospital.
There are funny moments.
But why they needed 180 minutes to retool this tale is beyond me.
There's just no Gravity in this film.
That's arguably the point, and it's presented as a best case example of raunchy sophomoric absurdity.
But there's too much exploitation for me.
It is fun getting to know smart women.
There's one female stockbroker who succeeds but her role's tacked-on, she's belittled in the end, and is initially dependent on the generosity of men.
However, like American Hustle, it's filled with tips on how to avoid being scammed.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Teddy Bear
A tough, trusting, reserved, youthful 38 year-old bodybuilder, unfamiliar with the feminine sex and generally unable to generate first contact, spontaneously departs to an undiscovered country, having no desire to insurrect a moral nemesis, or the wrath of dawn, where, too upright to cross the final frontier, he sticks to his game plan, hits the gym, and serendipitously discovers that for which he has been searching.
In Teddy Bear, the motion picture.
The film's a calm, patient, joyful, timorous study of a caring athlete, dedicated to his calling, possessing practically no knowledge of worldly affairs, coyly proceeding from one day to the next.
If you've no interest in celebrating a strong contemplative investigation of ageless dreams or oedipal blunders, you may find that Teddy Bear lacks the flexibility continuously recycled in many a phantasmagorical flick.
But if you desire to humbly enjoy a robust quotidien reflection which elevates the passive struggles of an underexplored muscular happenstance, or any of the other things I've already mentioned, it just might work out, with multiple rep potential, without making much of a stretch.
In Teddy Bear, the motion picture.
The film's a calm, patient, joyful, timorous study of a caring athlete, dedicated to his calling, possessing practically no knowledge of worldly affairs, coyly proceeding from one day to the next.
If you've no interest in celebrating a strong contemplative investigation of ageless dreams or oedipal blunders, you may find that Teddy Bear lacks the flexibility continuously recycled in many a phantasmagorical flick.
But if you desire to humbly enjoy a robust quotidien reflection which elevates the passive struggles of an underexplored muscular happenstance, or any of the other things I've already mentioned, it just might work out, with multiple rep potential, without making much of a stretch.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
To Rome with Love
For a summer in Rome, an office clerk finds himself thrust into the spotlight, his routine reflections hyperbolically sensationalizing influence, as an architect revisits his youth to bring back to life/cross-examine his most serendipitous subject of desire, a young communist lawyer contends with a retired opera producer when it's discovered that his humble father can sing exceptionally well, and a married couple, in town for a potentially prosperous employment opportunity, find themselves accidentally embracing exotic extramarital affairs.
Felicitously framed by a traffic cop's dissolving point of view.
The conditions of which inculcate calisthenic creativity.
Romantically mingling the celebrated with the starstruck and the ordinary with the hyper-intensive, while evoking the nimble necessity to unearth metaphorical mirth within corresponding psychoanalytic observations, Woody Allen's To Rome with Love's palpable playful pluck picturesquely procures impressionable popularizations, and salaciously serenades atemporal condensations.
Fidelity strengthened through chance, temptation tethered to testimony, regret distinguished from revelation, and dreams evanescently alighted.
A virtuosic variation on a theme.
There's a lot more to it than that.
Felicitously framed by a traffic cop's dissolving point of view.
The conditions of which inculcate calisthenic creativity.
Romantically mingling the celebrated with the starstruck and the ordinary with the hyper-intensive, while evoking the nimble necessity to unearth metaphorical mirth within corresponding psychoanalytic observations, Woody Allen's To Rome with Love's palpable playful pluck picturesquely procures impressionable popularizations, and salaciously serenades atemporal condensations.
Fidelity strengthened through chance, temptation tethered to testimony, regret distinguished from revelation, and dreams evanescently alighted.
A virtuosic variation on a theme.
There's a lot more to it than that.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Shame
Consumed and dominated by uncontrollable sexual desires which demand constant strategic salacious improvisations, Brandon Sullivan's (Michael Fassbender) unquenchable thirst for carnal pleasures is disproportionately interrupted by a visit from his little sister (Carey Mulligan as Sissy Sullivan).
Who, as it turns out, has no where else to go.
His private carnivalesque prurient pursuits must now adjust themselves to the potential impact of familial judgment and the threat of patronizing restraint. As it becomes clear that Sissy's economic circumstances are by no means self-sufficient, the resultant limitations psychologically materialize a contemptuous backlash which leads to a breakdown in their sustainable relations.
And a resurgent unfettered libidinous conflagration.
Shame works as an emotionless stark rigid character study which sociologically examines localized affects of satyriasis. Michael Fassbender's focused distant unattached self-absorbed performance seductively infuses Mr. Sullivan with a wantonly calculated individualistic purpose. Carey Mulligan's struggling confused desperate counterpoint functions as an effective curve.
Responsibilities bear their consequences in jolting destructive strikes whose unleashed immediate pressures instantaneously distill a sense of belonging.
Consequent reactions determine semantic interpretations incorporating previously manifested patterns built into historical socio-foundations established in relation to a kaleidoscopic point of view.
Director Steve McQueen's direct approach attempts to resist the interpretative labyrinth.
In so doing we're given the cold hard narrow unforgiving facts.
Which themselves impose additional limits on Brandon Sullivan's freedom.
Who, as it turns out, has no where else to go.
His private carnivalesque prurient pursuits must now adjust themselves to the potential impact of familial judgment and the threat of patronizing restraint. As it becomes clear that Sissy's economic circumstances are by no means self-sufficient, the resultant limitations psychologically materialize a contemptuous backlash which leads to a breakdown in their sustainable relations.
And a resurgent unfettered libidinous conflagration.
Shame works as an emotionless stark rigid character study which sociologically examines localized affects of satyriasis. Michael Fassbender's focused distant unattached self-absorbed performance seductively infuses Mr. Sullivan with a wantonly calculated individualistic purpose. Carey Mulligan's struggling confused desperate counterpoint functions as an effective curve.
Responsibilities bear their consequences in jolting destructive strikes whose unleashed immediate pressures instantaneously distill a sense of belonging.
Consequent reactions determine semantic interpretations incorporating previously manifested patterns built into historical socio-foundations established in relation to a kaleidoscopic point of view.
Director Steve McQueen's direct approach attempts to resist the interpretative labyrinth.
In so doing we're given the cold hard narrow unforgiving facts.
Which themselves impose additional limits on Brandon Sullivan's freedom.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
The Hangover Part II
And they made another Hangover film.
This time the Wolfpack's in Thailand, and, thanks to the fact that everywhere they go someone speaks English, they're able to loosely piece together what took place during their second rowdy blackout. Character types are solidified and exaggerated. Phil (Bradley Cooper) once again maintains a level-head and calmly leads the pack from one reconstructed debacle to the next. Stu's (Ed Helms) future father-in-law humiliates him regularly and his adventures in Bangkok potentially complicate the bonds of holy matrimony. And Alan (Zach Galifianakis). Alan consistently elaborates upon his peculiar relationship with highly 'alternative' conceptions of the status-quo, and thoroughly demonstrates that he hasn't the slightest clue in regards to socio-anything. Of course, many of my favourite characters are Alanesque and the status-quo is a slippery conception whose malleable determinants relativistically engage opposing cultural semantic designations (internally and externally) which are dependent upon political and economic (and so on) qualifiers and whether or not anyone pays attention to them. But Alan's such a yutz when it comes to Teddy's (Mason Lee) inclusion in the pack, that it was difficult for me to generate any related sympathy.
Although the generation of sympathy is where The Hangover Part II's strength lies, not simply sympathy generated for the slapdash script, which was potentially written in haste in order to cash in on the simmering Hangover phenomenon, perhaps over the weekend or during daily trips to the washroom, but sympathy for reckless behaviour brought on by years of predictable engagements whose consequences resultantly clarify and distinguish their uniformity, for better or worse. Yes these particular things happened and they were the by-product of other general things which also happened and therefore, while problematic in regards to a strict definition of responsibility, accentuate and integrate said responsibilities into a traditional framework nonetheless, fully and completely, through the art of forgiveness.
It's too hot today.
This time the Wolfpack's in Thailand, and, thanks to the fact that everywhere they go someone speaks English, they're able to loosely piece together what took place during their second rowdy blackout. Character types are solidified and exaggerated. Phil (Bradley Cooper) once again maintains a level-head and calmly leads the pack from one reconstructed debacle to the next. Stu's (Ed Helms) future father-in-law humiliates him regularly and his adventures in Bangkok potentially complicate the bonds of holy matrimony. And Alan (Zach Galifianakis). Alan consistently elaborates upon his peculiar relationship with highly 'alternative' conceptions of the status-quo, and thoroughly demonstrates that he hasn't the slightest clue in regards to socio-anything. Of course, many of my favourite characters are Alanesque and the status-quo is a slippery conception whose malleable determinants relativistically engage opposing cultural semantic designations (internally and externally) which are dependent upon political and economic (and so on) qualifiers and whether or not anyone pays attention to them. But Alan's such a yutz when it comes to Teddy's (Mason Lee) inclusion in the pack, that it was difficult for me to generate any related sympathy.
Although the generation of sympathy is where The Hangover Part II's strength lies, not simply sympathy generated for the slapdash script, which was potentially written in haste in order to cash in on the simmering Hangover phenomenon, perhaps over the weekend or during daily trips to the washroom, but sympathy for reckless behaviour brought on by years of predictable engagements whose consequences resultantly clarify and distinguish their uniformity, for better or worse. Yes these particular things happened and they were the by-product of other general things which also happened and therefore, while problematic in regards to a strict definition of responsibility, accentuate and integrate said responsibilities into a traditional framework nonetheless, fully and completely, through the art of forgiveness.
It's too hot today.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
The Naked Kiss
Seeking redemption in the small town of Grantville, Kelly (Constance Towers) leaves behind her street walking lifestyle and finds a job as a nurse helping handicapped children. Her upbeat and dedicated personality make an immediate impact and she's able to start building a new life of her own.
But barriers lie in her way, established by Police Captain Griff (Anthony Eisley), who, having spent the night with her upon her arrival in town, passing his days watching new women arrive on the bus, seducing them, and then recommending that they find work at a sleazy night club, refuses to give her a fighting chance and consistently threatens her with full disclosure.
The situation erupts after her hand is sought by a wealthy local bachelor who has been instrumental in building the town, yet has a few secrets of his own.
Samuel Fuller's The Naked Kiss is blunt, bold, and bellicose, plunging headfirst into the inferno and intensely categorizing its flames. It proceeds at an accelerated pace, quickly moving from one scene to the next, confidently building a momentum whose volatile reactions simplify and complicate its rhythms.
Kelly's transformation is definitive and she uses her newfound energy to combat the forces which once constituted her moribund vitality. She thereby carves herself a place on the other side of the tracks whose foundations are troubled by the stereotypical baggage attached to her former way of life.
Some of the sharp distinctions maintained by The Naked Kiss could have used some more elaboration, but deviating from the film's over-the-top charge would have disoriented its ballistic aesthetic. Thoroughly advocating for personal transformations, it still oversimplifies what is necessary for these transformations to take place.
But barriers lie in her way, established by Police Captain Griff (Anthony Eisley), who, having spent the night with her upon her arrival in town, passing his days watching new women arrive on the bus, seducing them, and then recommending that they find work at a sleazy night club, refuses to give her a fighting chance and consistently threatens her with full disclosure.
The situation erupts after her hand is sought by a wealthy local bachelor who has been instrumental in building the town, yet has a few secrets of his own.
Samuel Fuller's The Naked Kiss is blunt, bold, and bellicose, plunging headfirst into the inferno and intensely categorizing its flames. It proceeds at an accelerated pace, quickly moving from one scene to the next, confidently building a momentum whose volatile reactions simplify and complicate its rhythms.
Kelly's transformation is definitive and she uses her newfound energy to combat the forces which once constituted her moribund vitality. She thereby carves herself a place on the other side of the tracks whose foundations are troubled by the stereotypical baggage attached to her former way of life.
Some of the sharp distinctions maintained by The Naked Kiss could have used some more elaboration, but deviating from the film's over-the-top charge would have disoriented its ballistic aesthetic. Thoroughly advocating for personal transformations, it still oversimplifies what is necessary for these transformations to take place.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
The American
At first I thought The American was going to be a terrible film. The introductory scenes have a peculiar logic that doesn't make much sense and George Clooney's (Jack/Edward) performance within is anything but exceptional. But as it unreels and the motifs and situations percolate and blend, slowly and harmoniously disseminating character, philosophy, and metaphor, utilitarian and reflexive, frank yet cunning, a life force begins to shine forth, greater than the sum of its parts, as an assassin tries to escape his fate and freely retire from his cloak and dagger existence. For once a priest is shown to be an honourable man (Paolo Bonacelli), judgments regarding controversial occupations are suspended, mature desires coalesce with ubiquitous anxieties, and professional foresight outwits calculated terminations. Some of it's kitschy and sensational but these scenes often conclude with a sinisterly provocative resolution which reflects the subtleties of the predictable. A uniformly paced paranoid template within which a nocturnal narrative timorously pulsates and maneuvers, The American outwits expectations and undermines its overt manifestations. Directed by Anton Corbijn with an excellent performance from Mr. Clooney.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call - New Orleans
Never thought I'd see Abel Ferrara's Bad Lieutenant reworked and revitalized but that is what Werner Herzog has done in The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call - New Orleans. Opening on an heroic note, Lieutenant Terence McDonagh (Nicolas Cage) quickly proves that he is on par with Harvey Keitel's degenerate masterpiece, as he travels the streets of New Orleans using his badge to procure as much prurient activity as he possibly can. Things are complicated: a camera has been placed in the police department's evidence room, making it more difficult for him to obtain free narcotics; when a costumer assaults McDonagh's prostitute partner (Eva Mendes), he threatens him even though his political contacts are severe; he is suffering from chronic back pain, the result of his aforementioned heroic act; his gambling debts mount as he can't catch a break and his bookie (Brad Dourif) comes calling; a protected witness escapes under his watch and after ruthlessly interrogating his politically connected grandmother to discover his whereabouts, he is temporarily removed from duty; his relationship with his recovering alcoholic father (Tom Bower) remains estranged; and he can't find the means to put the cocaine dealing murderer Big Fate (Xzibit) behind bars. Certainly not the most family friendly film, The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call - New Orleans offers a pristinely nocturnal portrait of a successful substance abusing professional scumbag, shot through the discarded lens of an alcoholic looking glass. Deconstructing the traditional hard-working-by-the-book-master-narrative, it brazenly points out that corruption often finds its own rewards, while highlighting the nefarious steps that must occasionally be taken in order for justice to be virtuously upheld.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Stroszek
In Stroszek, Werner Herzog once again examines an impoverished individual's descent into madness. Stroszek is the tale of Bruno S. who also appeared in Herzog's The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser and almost took the lead role in Woyzeck. Bruno S. was reportedly so disappointed at having not received the role of Woyzeck that Herzog wrote Stroszek specifically for him, and many of Stroszek's stories and locations are taken directly from Bruno S.'s experience.
I love the ways in which Herzog's films often focus upon the disenfranchised amongst us. His heroes are neither rich nor well dressed nor clean cut nor opportunistically swift but their humanity is rich in ethical substance and their suffering packed with disenfranchised grittiness. Stroszek has spent most of his life in and out of institutions where things have been miserable at best. Upon being released from jail, he is presented with an opportunity to leave Germany (where two pimps harass him daily) and start a new life in America (to which he departs with his prostitute girlfriend).
Of the numerous images and allegories that Herzog presents throughout, there are three of which I took note. First off, while still in Germany Stroszek visits a hospital to discuss the problems he is having reintroducing himself to society with a benevolent doctor. During the scene, the doctor laments the inadequate ways in which he is able to respond to Stroszek's inquiries and decides to illustrate how everyone experiences such hardships. In order to do this, he shows Stroszek a baby, born prematurely, who suffers from a particularly troublesome ailment. Herzog holds his camera on this shrieking newborn for an extended period of time, allowing us to soak up the image. While viewing this image, I was struck with the ancient idea how can there be so much suffering in a world as beautiful as this?, and how can something as innocent as this helpless baby grow up to be tormented in a fashion similar to that of Stroszek? That's only one way of examining the scene of course, and as the film progresses and Stroszek's torment evolves we're left wondering if he'll accept the doctor's advice, recommending patience and goodwill, or finally snap.
Second, Stroszek is introduced wrapped beneath a sanitary, institutional robe. The image subtly introduces us to his character and challenges us to consider whether or not someone who has experienced so much state sponsored care will ever be able to transcend their history. And third, there is an interesting scene that takes place after Stroszek arrives in Wisconsin, where two farmers are fighting over a piece of land, shotgun at the ready, to ensure that no one cultivates the land dividing their properties. The middle ground over which the farmer's are fighting can be thought of as representing Stroszek or the modest individual, those who are too damned nice and don't know how to stand up for themselves, silently waiting to be caught in the cross fire.
Stroszek is a powerful film and an insightful study of the detrimental effects of rehabilitation. Experience can be difficult to overcome once it becomes an inveterate, immutable, reality.
I love the ways in which Herzog's films often focus upon the disenfranchised amongst us. His heroes are neither rich nor well dressed nor clean cut nor opportunistically swift but their humanity is rich in ethical substance and their suffering packed with disenfranchised grittiness. Stroszek has spent most of his life in and out of institutions where things have been miserable at best. Upon being released from jail, he is presented with an opportunity to leave Germany (where two pimps harass him daily) and start a new life in America (to which he departs with his prostitute girlfriend).
Of the numerous images and allegories that Herzog presents throughout, there are three of which I took note. First off, while still in Germany Stroszek visits a hospital to discuss the problems he is having reintroducing himself to society with a benevolent doctor. During the scene, the doctor laments the inadequate ways in which he is able to respond to Stroszek's inquiries and decides to illustrate how everyone experiences such hardships. In order to do this, he shows Stroszek a baby, born prematurely, who suffers from a particularly troublesome ailment. Herzog holds his camera on this shrieking newborn for an extended period of time, allowing us to soak up the image. While viewing this image, I was struck with the ancient idea how can there be so much suffering in a world as beautiful as this?, and how can something as innocent as this helpless baby grow up to be tormented in a fashion similar to that of Stroszek? That's only one way of examining the scene of course, and as the film progresses and Stroszek's torment evolves we're left wondering if he'll accept the doctor's advice, recommending patience and goodwill, or finally snap.
Second, Stroszek is introduced wrapped beneath a sanitary, institutional robe. The image subtly introduces us to his character and challenges us to consider whether or not someone who has experienced so much state sponsored care will ever be able to transcend their history. And third, there is an interesting scene that takes place after Stroszek arrives in Wisconsin, where two farmers are fighting over a piece of land, shotgun at the ready, to ensure that no one cultivates the land dividing their properties. The middle ground over which the farmer's are fighting can be thought of as representing Stroszek or the modest individual, those who are too damned nice and don't know how to stand up for themselves, silently waiting to be caught in the cross fire.
Stroszek is a powerful film and an insightful study of the detrimental effects of rehabilitation. Experience can be difficult to overcome once it becomes an inveterate, immutable, reality.
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