Let’s start with three inarguable but potentially subjective truths. 1. Henry James’ The Portrait of a Lady is the wildly contested and ever elusive Great American Novel (I am sure of it). 2. Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master is the best film of the year 3. Bela Tarr’s Damnation is the most stunning cinematic depiction of near-apocalyptic desolation you’ll ever see committed to film. I have been challenged and haunted by all three of these. As I read and watched piles of tripe, and greedily nibbled on whatever treasures were thrown my way, it was these three that stuck out and continued to do so. Together, they form the whacked-out cultural triangle that made 2012 “My Year in Affect.” I am just going to take a bit of your time and point out why you simply must seek them out. You have to brace yourself though. All three, characterized by intimacy and interiority, are savage in their affect and practically ooze feeling. Moreover, they are narrative triumphs which make for a strange trifecta but somehow, a fitting one.
In his preface to Portrait, James points out its origin pretty matter-of-factly. “The Portrait of a Lady” was, like “Roderick Hudson,” begun in Florence, during three months spent there in the spring of 1879.” In a marvelous coincidence, I began reading it in Florence. I finished it months later back in the States. I couldn’t read it for too long a time or over too much time. It had to be put down now and again; it was trenchant and that’s an understatement. I know I am not alone in this, but to my mind, James has rendered not just one of world literature’s greatest characters but the preeminent American female character in Isabel Archer. If you picture the Last Supper, but swap apostles for literary characters, you’d have Isabel in the middle, Anna to her left, Emma to her right, and so forth down the table. But don’t let the power get diminished by the analogy. What makes Isabel’s trials and tribulations so much more difficult is their interiority and the lack of catharsis. I don’t want to go into spoilers but Isabel’s story is shocking for what doesn’t happen, whereas Emma and Anna’s stories shock for what does. But, as a character in Tarr’s Damnation points out, “ All stories end badly, because they are always stories of disintegration.” It’s unfortunate that Portrait is no exception. From it’s very beginning, something seems amiss and the feeling only deepens. It’s highs; happiness and occasional light moments seem disingenuous and ominous. It’s lows; depressions, fears, anxieties and various ruinations seem far more real because, well, they are. It’s hard to so forcefully recommend something without going into too much detail. This is one of those books that people say they’ve read but can never really talk about. Don’t be one of those people. Suffice it to say that no book has made a greater impression on me this year or in a very long time.
Early in Tarr’s film Damnation, a character warns another that “you should realize there’s order in the world and you can’t do anything to upset it.” You could picture the same sentiment coming out of Lancaster Dodd, Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s mind-bendingly charismatic proto-Hubbardian shaman-cum-con man in The Master, as he speaks soothingly to disciple Freddy Quell, played with unquenchable fire by Joaquin Phoenix. In short, it’s a towering achievement from the most sure-footed American director working today. The cinematography and score are equally chilling and soaring, the writing is complex and magnificent, swinging pendulously between earthy and cerebral. Overall, though, it’s the acting that rattles the bones, squeezes the heart and fries the brain of any viewer. Hoffman is scarily composed with moments of sharp-tongued rage and swelling ego. Joaquin Phoenix is unhinged and melancholic, adrift, occasionally manic and eternally desirous of succor and counsel. Amy Adams is meek and unassuming. To elaborate on her character would be a grave disservice. A caveat: The places her character goes and what she manages with a bathroom sink should eclipse any possibility of another woman winning an Oscar, be she singing as she dies of consumption or suffering as a first lady. Like Portrait, the most unsettling aspect of The Master is its ability to elicit feeling and sympathy from its audience while exposing it to the most horrific faces of humanity. Both The Master and Portrait are extraordinary examples of what happens when that social order is flaunted.
Finally, Tarr’s Damnation. It’s a film about a sad man dating a married woman. But, it’s also about immorality and darkness and squalor. It’s about being alone in a city full of people or being most alive when you’re alone. It’s about struggle and sacrifice, giving up and soldiering on, being oppressed by life and still somehow learning to live with it. Don’t let this steer you from it. It’s unquestionably powerful and unlike anything else I’ve seen. It’s black and white cinematography pops and moves, deepens, lightens, widens and narrows in ways so different than The Artist or anything you’d see on TCM. Tarr traffics in long takes that could, and often do, last for minutes at a time. He trains the camera on something until you see the way he wants you to, and then rewards you by moving on. Halfway through the film, a character speaking quietly to another offers up a reminder that struck me. “ I know you can step out of the story just as you can any story.” We could turn it off; we could tweet about it or post it. We could warn people against wasting their time. Instead, I say commit. These were the three defining cultural moments of 2012 for me. They are challenging and exacting, but just as rich in their rewards. In closing, it’s not too late to throw these on your Christmas list. Shift your perspective — I dare you.
This post may contain affiliate links.
