Post by StevePulaski on Mar 28, 2013 22:40:27 GMT -5
Rating: ★★★½
Are my mores changing or am I becoming more grown up and mature? Perhaps both, as I recall when I refused to watch Harmony Korine's Gummo based solely on its animal cruelty. Consistent readers know I despise animal cruelty in any way, shape, or form. I find it reprehensible and simply unnecessary in almost every film. Gummo is the first film where I found the animal cruelty to be somewhat just (take note of the word "somewhat"). The film wouldn't have been any better without it, and it sure wouldn't have been any worse. The animal cruelty does nothing to worsen its quality, nor does it boost it a star in its rating.
With the abundance of other quirks, shocks, horrors, and unforgettable instances of inhumanity here, the animal cruelty could appear as one of the higher points in the lives of the characters in Gummo, widely known for being one of the most controversial films of the nineties. It depicts the small town of Xenia, Ohio, which was ravaged by a tornado in 1974 and is shown as a town that never fully recovered from the destruction. Its residents, some of the quirkiest and strangest souls this side of any line in the sand, are seen in a naturalistic light, going about their daily routines. For some, that means committing atrocities like shooting cats, vandalizing property, spouting racism, fighting, expressing grief, making small talk, or trying to find a meaning for their seemingly pointless existence.
I realize I'm playing Gummo as a documentary, when it clearly isn't. I do this on purpose, because the film is so jaw-droppingly smooth, consistent, and believable that an ignorant me would be hard to judge a real documentary next to this one in terms of factual quality. One character we focus on is a young teenager nicknamed "Bunny Boy" (Jacob Sewell), who wanders around the brokenness of Xenia in nothing but bunny ears, short-shorts, and tennis shoes. Another character, by far the most interesting, although he has tough competition, is Solomon (Jacob Reynolds), a young boy who spends his days shooting cats with his pal Tummler (Nick Sutton) and keeping to himself in the presence of his family.
Solomon is so interesting because he accentuates so little personality in everything he does. He never smiles, never gives off a friendly persona, though not a mean one either, quietly goes about his day, no matter how weird or pointless it may seem, and has a unique look to him to boot. He's a character that seems to not hold an ounce of humanity or sympathy in his body, and what is walking is just a cold, lifeless shell of a human. There's something beyond his oddly-shaped head, crooked eyes, and strange hairdo that made me want to know more about him. It's his inability to emote, but his consent to conform to a lifestyle that makes him such a driving force in Gummo's success.
Korine's cinematic philosophy is one I'm a full supporter of, as it is one of the countless number of reasons I'm such a cinephile in the first place. He believes that characters should be the main focus in a film, and not plot-progression, specific events, or any other possible feature (except maybe cinematography, but that rarely overpowers character here). After any Korine film, I guarantee you're left describing events and characters rather than plot. If cinema had any ground-rules, or anything it could do more of as a broad whole, I'd want strong characterization in just about every film I watch.
Speaking of scenes, there are a handful of ones I can pull out from here and try to meticulously construct a message from, but I'm only going to briefly analyze two. The first one comes relatively early and is as funny as it is depressing. It takes place in a junkyard, where two boys, no older than nine or ten, are vandalizing broken cars or mounds of garbage during a game of what appears to be predators and prey. They are talking about their extreme loathing for policemen when "Bunny Boy" shows up in his trademark uniform to much dissent. "Bunny Boy" is treated and approached like a real bunny, with the two boys using their toy guns to shoot him down and ridicule him for about two minutes afterwards. During this time of ridicule, the boys are mindless swearing, criticizing the boy's (rabbit's, technically) smell, face, build, etc, before finally "leaving him for dead." This scene, alone, among with countless others, could formulate the viewpoint that Gummo is about the degradation of culture in the face of a tragedy. The ever-so popular method of "recycling," where the following generation inherits the traits of the previous generation, regardless of their good or bad nature, and passes them on in a never-ending "apple/tree" cycle.
The second scene involves Solomon sitting in a decrepit bathtub of filthy, black water, eating away at his dinner; spaghetti and milk, with a Crunch bar for desert. This scene is a heavily ambiguous one (like many in the film), and we're left questioning what we should take away. Other than it's an example for quite possibly why these children will grow up to be unsuccessful, relatively listless adults, I couldn't provide an explanation. I can say that it will be a scene that will long stay with me, just for its simplicity, and its haunting depiction at how a character could go and spend his childhood.
One day, I'd like to sit down with Gummo on the TV, and heavily analyze every scene in it, trying to extract some meaning in it and formulate my findings into an opus of a blog-post. Talk about a challenge with no reward. It's the kind of film where there seem to be morals and themes growing on trees, but you need to work hard and climb a number of rickety branches for the small but noble reward of finding them. Just for its characters Gummo deserves praise; everything else is just cherries on a huge sundae.
Starring: Jacob Reynolds, Jacob Sewell, and Chloë Sevigny. Directed by: Harmony Korine.