Author: Corrina Lee

I arrived at the Michigan Theater, ready to do my job. It was early so I chose my seat carefully. Not too close or I would be swallowed up by the glowing screen. Not too far or I would strain my eyes trying to see the actors’ faces. Just right. The Goldilocks seat was situated perfectly between the two older men in front of me. I sat, no popcorn, of course. I was being professional. A few minutes later, the lights were dimming, and the screen was displaying the coming attractions. Twenty minutes after that, I was fast asleep.

The film that I had set out to see, the same one that sent me into deep slumber was The Other Side of the Wind. It is both an entirely new creation and a relic from the past. Originally written and directed by the famed Orson Welles, principal photography for the film was completed in 1976. However, the editing process became increasingly complicated as years passed. Welles passed away in 1985, project still uncompleted. Finally, in 2018, the film was completed and released by Netflix in November. Seemingly, after this long and winding journey, I should have been entranced by this film. After all, this was the Orson Welles, the same visionary who created Citizen Kane, hailed to this day for its revolutionary use of the medium of film. This was the last project, a glimpse of fading genius. What kind of film enthusiast, what kind of movie critic was I, if I could not enjoy this film? The kind that falls asleep, apparently.

Thankfully, the Michigan Theater was not my last chance to enjoy this film or yours either. You, too, can watch The Other Side of the Wind on Netflix now. It is a film that is strikingly different from most of the service’s offerings. Not to its detriment, I think. This is something altogether unusual in its form and presentation, not at all what I was expecting. The story is framed as a documentary, archiving the last day of Jake Hannaford’s life. Hannaford (John Huston) is desperate to complete his latest film, intending to comeback from years of controversy with this experimental project. The documentary incorporates scenes of his project intermittently, fully committing to the film-within-a-film-within-a-film premise. It is confusing, jumpy, and quite amusing as Welles links conversations and camera angles. He flows from character to character, scene to scene, requiring the audience to connect the cleverness and create the plot. Once in a while, he even explains things, underlining and highlighting repeatedly, until one wishes he would be less blunt again. For a sleep deprived college student, it was a little bit more whiplash than I could handle. The tone thoroughly distinguishes it from any of the more plot-driven or even character-driven films in theaters today. Welles focuses instead on creating a mood and immersing us in it as we explore the troubled life that Hannaford has created for himself.

So, perhaps, I was not the perfect audience for this film the first time around. But as someone who returned to it the next day, comfortably seated before my computer, it is a great film to revisit. The Other Side of the Wind has much hidden visual depth, even narrative depth at times, but does not quite capture the interest.

We encounter people only in the present. We may inquire about the past, scroll through Facebook timelines, even read a Wikipedia page if they are famous enough, but all we gain are snippets of who they were before. These bare wisps of information cannot be sustainable and certainly cannot compare to the living, breathing persona in front of us now. So, all too easily, we brush aside the remnants of history and only see how someone appears in the moment that we interact with them. Even as we get to know someone on a deeper, more intimate level, we cannot clearly imagine how they were as a child, as a teenager. The journey is lost in translation and only the destination is seen. Perhaps that is why A Star is Born feels as relevant as it does despite being retold for the fourth time. It dwells on the unseen events and how they can’t be merely brushed away.

We first encounter Jackson Maine (Bradley Cooper) as he prepares to mount another performance. He pours pills heedlessly into his palm and then into his mouth. He grabs his guitar and the audience cheers, unknowing and overwhelming. Later, after the splitting lights and the pounding sound, he sits alone in the back of an expensive car and drinks until he runs out of alcohol. The film excels at these secret insights and personal moments. The characters dominate the camera and their point of view drive the film with little outside interference. Even the screaming audiences that Jackson, and then Ally, command are little more than smudges on the periphery. This is not a film merely about fame or even stardom, as the title proclaims. Instead the film is relentlessly focused on two people who love and damage each other.

We first encounter Ally (Lady Gaga) as she prepares to mount another performance. She has tucked away her waitressing apron from her first job. But as she leaves the restaurant, unseen by anyone, she spreads her arms and twirls. It is a perfect moment and Gaga inhabits every moment of her performance. Young, inexperienced, but more than willing to stand up for herself, she is the perfect foil for Jackson. In her, he hears something special, a voice with something to say. In him, she sees someone whose caring and kindness has been rendered invisible by fame. But even without all the explanatory factors, Ally and Jackson belong with each other. In a credit to Gaga and Cooper’s acting, their characters have an electric chemistry that never wavers. For a film that is over two hours long, it is crucial. We remain invested in Ally and Jackson’s relationship as they reveal their little chips and flaws to each other, because of the quirks. Cooper, as the director, manages to make a story that could easily devolve into romantic melodrama, grounded and intriguing. So, we see as Ally and Jackson develop into something more than a meet-cute. They are meant for each other, yet there are equally many things driving them apart. The more they try to be together, the more the past interferes. Unlike the typical romantic movie, the film doesn’t posit that love can solve all their problems. In the end, both Ally and Jackson are separate people, who cannot understand every essential element of the other, as much as they try. In the end, they are still flawed.

For all the pomp of its title, A Star is Born is a film ultimately about two people. We may glimpse the occasional trappings of stardom, the dance rehearsals, the awards ceremonies, but they never last long. What truly embeds itself in the memory is a look, an embrace between two people.

Colette is a movie that certainly heightens the senses. The sights and sounds of early twentieth century France are detailed in every delicately plunked piano, in the layers of draped dresses and tightly fitted suits. Even the rank smells of the Paris streets, which should not be able to penetrate the separation of time and fiction, somehow seem to wind up in the theater air. That is the power of this film. It can entirely transport you from a seat in Ann Arbor to somewhere far away where life is one country trip after another. The world is exquisite and lush. As for the characters that inhabit it, unfortunately, they are not as well-drawn.

Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette (Keira Knightley) is the woman that should be at the center of this particular story. She is a provincial girl, daughter of war hero. We are told these things in conversation. But it is Knightley’s portrayal that truly lends Colette her delicate naivete and youthful uncertainty. This early version of Colette may be more hesitant, but she still knows what she wants. Colette marries Henry Gauthier-Villars or Willy (Dominic West) because she loves him. He is charming, in his own way. At a party, Willy is always the one at the center. He is the booming presence that people will inevitably be drawn to. And Colette is drawn to him. Yet, it is just as easy to see that Colette and Willy’s relationship is fundamentally imbalanced, even by age alone. He is much older than her and he is the one who chooses to marry her even without a dowry. It is a decision that shapes the rest of their marriage, especially her attitude towards him. Colette feels in debt to Willy for noticing her, for choosing her, for giving her the opportunity to live and write in Paris. But what is clear to the audience is a more involved situation to Colette. She gets drawn in again and again, with less and less motivation to stay. Each critical juncture feels like an end. Each time she stays. It becomes more and more difficult to justify, especially as the film declines to give Colette a chance to voice her opinion. It is an inching journey that one wishes would progress in leaps and bounds instead.

Perhaps this wish springs from the contemporary tone, especially as it concerns societal views of gender and sexuality at the time. In its careful avoidance of the soapbox, the film becomes vague and passive. Colette proclaims to be an overtly feminist film, but it shies away from displays of feminine power until the end of the film. It even resists showing much of the sexist discourse that would surely be on display. It is freeing to cavort through the streets of Paris without the disdainful stares and the outright hostility. But it also uproots the grounded nature of the film. We are transported to beautiful place, albeit a bit fantastical.

The element that remains the most interesting is the relationship that forms between Colette and her initial literary creation, Claudine. Here, the quasi-fictional quality of the film works in its favor. Colette wrote Claudine on the memories of her childhood, already lending the novel an autobiographic feel. However, as Claudine becomes a phenomenon, Colette is shunted to the side. Thus, Willy is given credit for everything, even for Colette’s own life. The film is at its most potent when it reflects on Colette’s life through the distorted reflection of Claudine.

A biopic can never fully encompass a whole life. Colette makes a valiant if not complete effort. Ultimately, it is a beautiful period piece that shows less than it means to.