The Fake Life - Love movies? We do too!

Monday, August 13, 2007

Consequence, Regret, Heart-Break, and Hope: The Most Human Hollywood Endings

The original intention was for all of us to do a top ten of our favorite film endings, but once the esteemed Doug Slack broke that mold, I had to follow suit. Like he was saying behind closed doors, I didn't want to reach for stuff that might not fit just to fill the list. That and I'm terribly lazy. C'est la vie!

Spoilers to follow...

Jackie Brown (1997)
d. Quentin Tarantino

What moves me the most in what's now unquestionably my favorite of Tarantino's films is the realization of lost opportunity. The "what could've been" mentality that all of us have no doubt felt to varying degrees at one point or another in our lives.

Particularly, seeing Max Cherry (Robert Forster) turn down Jackie Brown's (Pam Grier) offer to go away with her and live it up with bags full of Ordell Robbie's (Samuel L. Jackson) money. And for what? A return to the mundane? A return to the fulfilling life of the bail bondsman? Max himself realizes this as he watches Jackie walk off and drive away. He turns and walks off as the camera stays out of focus, almost grimacing as if trying its hardest not to see the painful sense of regret in Max. All we can make out is Max folding his arms and holding his head, as Bobby Womack's "Across 110th Street" begins to swell up (a fantastic music cue), which of course leads to the long take of Jackie driving in the car.

And what's great about this shot is the whole spectrum of thoughts and emotions being told in Grier's face and subsequent mouthing of Womack's lyrics. For someone who just made off with half a mil, there's a curious sense of ambivalence in Jackie's expression. Is it sadness for not having a companion in Max? Perhaps she's questioning the righteousness of her actions? Or maybe it's regret that she didn't take charge of her life sooner when she was younger? I think it's a little bit of everything. It's an introspective moment, and one that's indicative of Jackie Brown's maturity as a whole. Quentin, I loved Death Proof to pieces, but I'd love it even more for you to return to this kind of filmmaking. It's brilliant, affecting stuff.

A Woman Under the Influence (1974)
d. John Cassavetes

I often have to step back and rethink what it means when a movie is being "real". This is usually when whatever film claiming to be real isn't a Cassavetes flick. What kicks your ass in his films are that performances suddenly seize to be performances and cross over that line into honest human action. It's scary stuff because it begins to feel almost voyeuristic, but beautiful all the same. How is it beautiful? It's truthful.

Gena Rowlands (brilliantly whacked out in one of the great performances of the 1970s) plays Nick Longhetti's (Peter Falk - never more naked than he is here) wife, Mabel. Mabel is going nuts. Why? Who knows? That's not really the point. She's simply a woman that's emotionally volatile, living in a relationship with a man that loves her but is also an impatient bastard. They have three kids too, which further complicates the household dynamic. Like all juicy drama, this is a good thing.

Towards the tail end of Cassavetes' film, after a welcome back "party" for Mabel (she's just been released from a mental hospital) turns ugly and everyone is kicked out including friends and immediate family members, all that's left is the basic family unit. And guess what? The unit functions in near-normality.

So what about all this is "human"? The Longhettis, by the end, are at a crossroads. It's either break the chain and move on separately or take a deep breath, regroup, and tackle the bumps on the road ahead they know are coming yet again. They seem to choose the latter, and do it with smiles on their faces. But there's a storm waiting, that much the audience knows. How could they not, what with the absolute nakedness we've seen in both Rowlands and Falk's performances from the get-go? The ending is an affirmation for the human soul's ability to cope with disintegration and its unmitigated ability to find hope when nothing else is left. There are no absolutes, and that much is clear in Influence's ending. Just like real life.

The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985)
d. Woody Allen

When I started thinking of heart-break, a lot of films came to mind besides Allen's Purple Rose of Cairo. But what ultimately made me pick Purple Rose was that it's also a great love letter to the great escapism of cinema and its ability to reaffirm our own hopes and desires (this is a common theme in a lot of Allen's films). Even if those hopes and desires are often delusional or far-fetched, like those of Mia Farrow's Cecilia.

Cecilia is a hopeless romantic and she loves the cinema (a woman after my own heart). She's also holding down a shitty job and is married to a shitty husband (Danny Aiello - born to play the bastard spouse). But no matter how hard it gets, she always gets her fix at the movies... the ultimate drug. There she falls in love with the main character in the film "The Purple Rose of Cairo", Tom Baxter (Jeff Daniels), who literally walks off the screen and into Cecilia's heart.

By the end, Cecilia falls in love with the real Tom Baxter, Gil Shepherd (Jeff Daniels again, this time as the bastard actor portraying the character Tom Baxter) and plans are made for the two of them to go off to Hollywood and essentially live happily ever after in typical storybook fashion. And you want this for her after all the shit she's put through with Danny Aiello, and more simply, because of her unwavering passion for the romantic. But alas, it's not meant to be, as the movie takes a cruel twist for the worst and Gil Shepherd stands the poor girl up at the very end. And it's fucking crushing as you watch her almost child-like enthusiasm slowly wane. We even get a shot of Jeff Daniels on the airplane going back to Hollywood as he sits in regret with what he's done. Did he love her at all? Does he just feel like a dick for what he did?

And just then we begin to hear Irving Berlin's "Cheek To Cheek", one of THE classic romantic numbers of yesteryear that's used to perfection here, as Cecilia dejectedly walks into the cinema - the only one to never let her down - having nowhere else to go. And while some would say using Top Hat and that particular moment where Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers break into song and dance is too on the nose, those people need to get fucked right quick. It's a gorgeous moment of synergy between audience and screen, both in the film and to us the viewers as we suddenly take the role of Cecilia and become captivated by the grandiose vision of Astaire and Rogers performing like gods of the stage. And at that moment, all our problems, our worries, and sadnesses... disappear. And when Cecilia slowly begins to smile again, we can't help but simply smile back.

Magnolia (1999)
d. Paul Thomas Anderson

Paul Thomas Anderson is a right fucking bastard. A brilliant filmmaker, but a goddamn bastard. And thank goodness for that. Anderson puts his characters through the wringer like few storytellers today do. I mean, he pummels them, treats them to the finest hell has to offer, and then... redemption. Redemption is never as sweet without the bitterness before it. Anderson knows this and he milks it for all it's worth. It also helps when you've got the incomparable Aimee Mann's musical tracks lining the walls of your film. And it's this combination of music and visual again that makes the closing moments of Magnolia one of the most off-kilter hopeful endings ever.

All the characters here are real, and as such, fucked up. Really fucked up. But he uses the John C. Reilly/Melora Walters combo, the most human pairing in the film to close it all off. Their connection, at least to me, is the most touching because you have a girl that's about as fucked up as a girl can be - abusive childhood, terrible father, etc, etc. - and a guy who's sort of the perfect embodiment of the "born to lose" gentleman. And it's obvious he's almost as screwed up as she is too, which is a nice touch. Anderson doesn't look down on these characters, but rather, completely empathizes with their shortcomings and insecurities. And he gives these two the final moment of forgiveness, redemption, and hope. Like with Purple Rose of Cairo, when Melora Walters looks at us and smiles as Aimee Mann's bitchin' guitar chords release all the weight of this character's world, we're smiling (and possibly tearing up) too.

The Lord of the Rings:
The Return of the King (2003)
d. Peter Jackson

The ending to Peter Jackson's epic took some new meaning to me of late. I haven't watched the films in a very long time as I sort of got burned out on the whole thing, despite holding them very dear to my heart. But having rewatched the third act and denouement again the other night for the purposes of this list, I can say that Return of the King, for its occasional hiccups and indulgences, has not lost a thing in the end and still has one of the most poignant and satisfying third acts of any of these large-scale films to have come out in recent memory.

Looking at the very end of the film, as Samwise walks back towards his home and his daughter comes out of the door, running to great her father (a moment that really gets me) you hear Frodo's voice-over basically saying that everyone must live for something in their lives that isn't themselves.

I know I've already mentioned this before elsewhere, but my grandmother passed away a few years ago from cancer. That was a blow, being that she was a very integral part of my small but close-knit family. But the years that have passed have eased the struggle, and life as it does, moves on. However, for my grandfather, the story has been a little different. He does better than any of us thought he would, but there is a void now in his simple life. Who is he living for other than myself and his daughters (my mother and aunt)? It's not the same as living for your spouse. And I know the same thing has been happening to my friends and acquaintances over the last 5-7 years. The observations have been the same.

A very close friend of mine lost his father a few years back. His mother was now alone, faced with having to move to a smaller place with her son and daughter (both older, and as such, not in need of paternal care). It was a confusing and difficult time of change and my good friend worried about how she would cope. And then one day, she decided to adopt a little 2-year old girl from the daycare facility she worked at. A girl that needed a new family as her biological parents were basically clueless kids that didn't know what the hell they were doing and were neglecting the child. So this was a two-way blessing. And suddenly, everything changed. There was purpose. There was renewed love for life and a reason to make the effort of the everyday routine, because someone else needed it.

I watched from afar and was happy to see how things can work out, often in ways we never expect. I hope for the best for my grandfather, a strong man, but a man still made of emotions like all of us. As I watched Sam say goodbye to his dear friend for the last time, I couldn't help but relate in a peripheral sort of way. And what Frodo's voice-over states is indeed so true. Sam finds renewed life and joy in his wife and his children, and once again, the cycle continues.

Return of the King shows its humanity, like all the films already mentioned, in how much we are able to endure. Trials, tribulations, heart-break... none of these things are foreign to us. But films like these basically show a reflection of our lives with a clarity that we'll never have. They often depict a life that's more real than our own. To see characters fall and get back up to soldier on, it inspires. It fills us with confidence. We're learning along with them. And it's a testament to the creative minds behind all these films that we should learn so much about ourselves when watching them.

That, my friends, is a beautiful thing.