Reflections on duality in 19th century literature, the Enlightenment, Existentialism and beyond

 

Reflections on duality in 19^th century literature and

its philosophical forebears and successors.

 

When Plato differentiated between the body and the soul, he laid the foundations of most religions and belief systems that continue to this day, based on a supreme being whose standards of spiritual morality we humans may aspire to but frequently fall short due to our bodily desires, weaknesses and limitations.

Religions and churches based on faith and ecclesiastical hierarchy were developed to help us chart a way through life but by the end of the Middle Ages, they had grown in authority and influence to the point where they exercised control over many aspects of life and discouraged challenge or dissent.

Bolstered and promoted by the advent of the printing press and the consequent sharing of ideas, education and independent thought developed and became more widespread. Focus on mathematics, science and logic became more prevalent and thinkers or philosophers such as René Descartes and John Locke emphasised the place of reason, evidence and proof rather than blind faith and dogma, though their logic was often applied to proving God’s existence.

This intellectual movement grew steadily and its proponents grew more daring in terms of conclusions and more challenging to the ecclesiastical and political status quo. In the course of the 18^th century, a series of philosophers (including Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot and Hume) effectively offered reasoned challenges to the authority of those in religion-based power. Their argument ran (in a VERY simplified and condensed form!) that God and therefore morality may not exist, therefore those in authority, who generally ruled in the name of God, had to justify by reason their policies and should be held accountable for their actions as all men were to be considered equal. This came to be known as the Enlightenment Movement and its intellectual, political and practical repercussions (including, indirectly, the French Revolution) cannot be overstated.

This represented a revolution in thought but also in political and practical consequence. Equality, responsibility, accountability and justification were now expected and this new outlook had enormous repercussions in the 19^th century, politically, socially and economically in terms of democratic government, social unrest and even, perhaps, the ban on slavery as individuals gained the inspiration and confidence to challenge the status quo and demand fairness for all.

Philosophically, and in terms of our perception of ourselves as functioning human beings, these ideas also had something of an impact and this is perhaps best illustrated through examples of the literature of the time and the concepts of duality they present.

Initially convinced by Plato’s distinction between the body and the soul, then influenced and directed by religious elements before having his beliefs upended by philosophical claims that God and morality may not exist, mankind was in something of a moral and philosophical quandary by the mid-19^th century.

Beneath the façade and veneer of respectability, social tolerance and conformity, is there a raging cauldron of desires, impulses and ambitions held in check by the distraction of work and routine, the common acceptance and expectations of social groups, and limitations for the common good set by law, morality and religion?

What if theses limits have no sovereignty and are merely social conventions?

Circumstances can cause a person to recognise and possibly embrace man’s baser instincts, and the consequences of succumbing to the temptation of conceding to impulse and desire are explored in the five works to which I will refer.

In “Les fleurs du mal” (1857), Charles Baudelaire presents a collection of poems that describe and investigate conflict between nature and social conformity or expectation within the individual. Baudelaire encapsulates a desire for spiritual purpose and buoyancy but this is punctured and deflated by the prospect of the non-existence of God and morality as proposed in the principles of the Enlightenment. Spurred on by the inevitability of death and the apparent pointlessness of life, he supports (indeed, promotes) physical gratification and indulgence as a consequence of this turning away from the spiritual and the more elevated purposes of the mind. The division between the body and the mind or soul is clearly made and Baudelaire is overwhelmingly of the opinion that our bodily needs and desires will always win out over our spiritual attempts to impose control or discipline, and any short-lived regrets we may experience following our adventures.

That said, his contention does not seem to extend to matters of criminality but is rather focused on physical indulgence and pleasure without oversight.

However, in “Les Misérables” (1862), Victor Hugo makes a clear case for the capacity of man to rise above his base desires and social conditioning and to impose a form of moral order by way of compassion and understanding.

Having served 19 years in penal servitude for a relatively minor crime, Jean Valjean becomes the very creature he was accused of being all these years before – a self-centred opportunist thief. However, as a result of kindness and generosity shown to him, he realises there is a choice to be made and he abandons his outlook of personal survival at the expense of others in favour of compassion, tolerance and dignity.

The division or conflict between the two pathways is therefore drawn but Valjean displays the spiritual determination and strength to put humanity and compassion for others above his personal needs and ambitions, whether God and morality exist or not. Although Valjean is inspired by a Bishop, it is the Bishop's kindness and concern that motivate him, not his faith or position, emphasising the importance and accessibility of humanity as a source of motivation.

In “Crime and punishment” (1866), Fyodor Dostoevsky juxtaposes apparent freedom to put one’s own best interests above those of others (ultimately leading to murder) with the consequences, moral and practical, of these actions.

Nihilism resulting from the affirmation that God and morality do not exist may lead to egotism and a sense of social superiority. Some individuals may appear to lead lives that are worthier than others and it takes little rationalisation to convince poor student Raskolnikov that he is entitled to commit the murder of an elderly pawnbroker for his advantage.

However, an underlying compulsion toward humanity and compassion affect him and, despite his attempts to rationalise the situation and appeals to nihilistic reasoning, he is dogged by guilt and conscience which cause illness and out-of-character responses. Eventually, obsession and paranoia lead to confession and punishment, and this leads to a form of social rehabilitation by virtue of a friend whose love and guidance allow him to appreciate the value of humanity.

Dostoevsky focuses on the spiritual or psychological aspect of man, having had Raskolnikov stoop to the depths of murder. God and morality may not exist but there remains a common bond of life among people, one that requires respect for the existence of others and that lends limits to our actions and attitudes toward others, though this respect needs to be cultivated and protected to be fully effective.

In “The strange case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde” (1886), R L Stevenson makes the division of the two aspects of man’s nature all the more effective by way of a physical transformation between the two. One presentation is the law-abiding, principled and outwardly virtuous Dr Jekyll while the other is the self-indulgent and narcissistic Mr Hyde.

Jekyll’s aim in separating these two facets of his character is to allow each to fully blossom and not to encroach on or impede the other. Although we are given scant detail of Mr Hyde’s misadventures, we are assured of their awfulness, but also of Jekyll’s pleasure in being guilt-free and in being able to focus on good and charitable works.

However, Jekyll starts to take pleasure in Hyde’s conscience-free indulgences and this allows the Hyde side of his character to develop beyond his control and to take precedence over his civilised and principled self.

The essential notion is that by separating and indulging the two sides of our nature, we free ourselves of internal conflict and may focus our efforts with greater purity and therefore greater success. That said, it is strongly implied that indulgence of our base desires without limits set by concepts of compassion and morality would be disastrous. We may even conclude that each side of our nature may be necessary to man’s survival but a balance between the two is essential, with the “dark” side providing motivation, desire and enthusiasm but held in check by compassion, empathy and humanity.

In “La bête humaine” (The beast within) (1890), Emile Zola seems to suggest that work and routine provide distraction, therapy and stability which allow us to control or ignore our base desires and personal ambitions. Scientific and technological advances (in the shape of the railway system, transport and communication) may have had a profound effect on the shape of society but society’s component parts retain age-old problems regarding passion, self-control and respect for others.

Here, there is little attempt to exercise control or respect society’s conventions and principles as our protagonists or antagonists concede to emotion and instinct as they have affairs, seek revenge and plot murder. They display intelligence and cunning only in how to achieve their aims and evade punishment. There is a casual acceptance of lack of consideration for others and indulgence of one’s own desires and sense of fulfilment. Caution is exercised only in the pursuit of self-protection, not in the effect of actions on others, to the point of deprivation of life, suggesting that “spirituality” or morality have diminished and people simply follow their feelings or impulses. This represents a significant development and departure from the previous entries in that consideration for others, or common humanity, now appears to hold little appeal.

Readers see also that the actions of the main characters impact many innocent lives, drawing attention to the existential premise that our actions exercise an influence on others and we should perhaps take that influence into account when considering our plans and deeds.

These existential concepts will be greatly developed and expanded with the advent of the World Wars and the ensuing political and social change while duality will be explored, explained and given psychological validation by Sigmond Freud in 1920 and again in 1923.

Interestingly, Freud suggests the two conflicting elements, the “id” being our base or inner instincts and the “superego” being external forces of control and social limitation, are balanced by the “ego” which acts as an arbiter and judge in terms of how best to proceed in the situations we face.

In the course of the 20^th century, existentialism rather overtook the concept of duality, or perhaps it grew out of the casual acceptance of our moral dilemma, as suggested by Zola. Whatever its roots, with its insistence that God and morality do not exist and its affirmation that we are morally free to act as we wish, existentialism apparently does away with justification and moral conflict – we simply do as we feel.

Many seized on these contentions to support nihilism but they failed to take into account the second part of the existential doctrine, that if freedom is the only truth, and if we are entitled to that freedom, it is “wrong” to deprive others of it. Indeed, the whole basis for much mid-century existential literature is the exploration of the impact and influence we have on one another and the extent to which we should feel responsible for any impact or influence.

In the 21^st century, rather than pursue concepts of responsibility, common humanity and empathy, there appears to be a development of casual acceptance of our moral freedom and a turning away from compassion, conformity and even definition. There is a move to simply be, recognising no social restrictions, limits or even, some would argue, objective truth, and the focus seems to be on egotistical assertiveness and self-indulgence, and this has led to an increasingly fragmented and divided society.

It is interesting to note that religion played little or no part in the evolution of these ideas, perhaps reflecting man’s desire to find a cohesive base for “morality” based on humanity and common experience rather than nebulous beliefs and man’s potential manipulation of such beliefs.

 

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)

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Characters and themes in "Living" (2022)

 

Reflections on “Living” (2022)

Directed by Oliver Hermanus

Written by Kazuo Ishiguro

(Based on “Ikiru” by Akiro Kurosawa,

which was in turn based on Tolstoy’s “The Death of Ivan Ilyich”)

Starring Bill Nighy, Aimee Lou Wood and Alex Sharp

Mr Rodney Williams is a bureaucrat in charge of the Public Works department of London County Council in 1953. He leads a somewhat robotic, passionless and unfulfilled existence, unaware of or having forgotten the possibilities of an alternative life. Life for Mr Williams and his work colleagues is rather taken for granted and its potential is wasted as opportunities are allowed to escape them or slip through their fingers.

Mr Williams’ colleagues, of varying ages and temperaments, all display the contagious effects of peer pressure and conformity, and are succumbing to the reassurance of security and habit at the expense of personal dynamism and fulfilment. Only Miss Margaret Harris displays enough gumption to show character and seek change, though we will see that she experiences similar issues in her next position as well. Mr Wakeling is the keen young innocent through whose eyes we witness this claustrophobic and mind-numbing situation, and he offers hope in terms of humanity and youthful optimism, though we see through the example of the others just how easily he may eventually be worn down to become a shell of a man devoted to administrative competence.

Mr Williams in particular has become a creature of unquestioning conformity and habit. He lacks energy and is numbed by the repetitive relative inconsequence of his life as he fulfils an administrative rather than active role within society without truly considering what he wants from life or how to make the most of the life he has.

That is, until the moment he is told his life is coming to an end and he realises that possibilities for the future are limited and, indeed, that the future itself will soon be no more. Perhaps like most of us, he thought he had plenty of time to do things later while he focused on issues in the present.

He struggles to share his news with his son. Although they live in the same house and they care for and respect one another, each finds it difficult to open up and share inner feelings and thoughts. Just as Mr Williams has played a role in his office, so he appears to have played the part of a caring father but has failed to bond emotionally and share his thoughts, dreams and fears with his son, perhaps because the daily grind and constant repetition have overwhelmed him and left him a conditioned shadow of himself, unable to bridge the emotional gap between himself and his son.

As a result of this distance between them, Mr Williams sees news of his impending demise as bothersome and a burden to his son, further suggesting that while he may have played the practical role of father perfectly efficiently, he has failed to commit and engage emotionally with the role.

This distance and difficulty with engagement may also be viewed as an element of a broader “game of manners” in English society at that time. An emphasis on politeness, etiquette and formality, combined with emotional reticence, a refusal to reveal inner thoughts and display feelings, and an insistence on self-control may have led to stunted emotional growth and may even have contributed to a lack of self-fulfilment both personally and professionally. This is beautifully observed throughout the film but especially in the interactions between Mr Williams and his colleagues, as well as with his son. This is also a theme common to a number of Mr Ishiguro’s works.

Upon consideration of his rapidly upcoming fate, Mr Williams decides to have some fun and he heads to a seaside town for that purpose. He also contemplates taking his own life while there, though in the end he realises he doesn’t have it in him to go through with it.

Despite striking up a friendship with a local free-spirited young writer, he comes to realise he doesn’t really have it in him to have fun either. Ultimately, it seems he is seeking some kind of fulfilment and these “fun” activities do not provide the gratification or contentment he craves.

He next develops a friendship with Miss Harris whose zest for life he finds admirable and he hopes she will be able to inspire a similar dynamism in him. He sees what he has become and remembers fondly his childhood days full of life and full of hope, and he comes to see that the fulfilment he seeks must come from within him. Miss Harris does, however, offer an essential and very pertinent piece of advice, that he should return to work.

At work, he recalls a project to do with the construction of a children’s playground that has been stuck in bureaucratic limbo for months and that inspires hope and a sense of purpose in him. He sets out to ensure this playground will be erected on a derelict site – a place where children can have fun, develop social contact and escape the drudgery of post-war life. It is also a place that will become the focus of the remainder of his life and will, indeed, become his legacy. He wishes to leave behind something positive, something worthwhile which will be a source of pleasure, fun and hope for years to come and he overcomes physical and human obstacles to ensure its completion. It will also stand as a testament to what can be achieved through positivity, determination and purpose as opposed to simply allowing life to slip through your fingers and leaving the Earth with no sense of fulfilment.

Mr Williams’ actions inspire his colleagues who come to admire his spirit and determination to achieve something in spite of red tape and bureaucratic resistance, and they vow to follow his example. However, shortly afterward we see once again that the daily grind, social pressure and lack of leadership and inspiration take their toll and these colleagues once again fall into a blinkered and self-absorbed outlook, though hope for change survives in the shape of Miss Harris and Mr Wakeling.

This is a film that entreats us to appreciate life and its possibilities, and to do something we consider of worth, contributing to and nurturing, if possible, the lives of others with our time here on Earth. It is a slow-burn character piece that engages and builds nicely to a touching and inspiring conclusion. The design and costumes are brilliantly evocative of the period while the script captures the language and tone of the era, as well as fleshing out the characters beautifully. The performances are affecting all round, though Bill Nighy deserves special praise for his highly engaging tour de force.

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)

 

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Brief reflections on characters and themes in John Boorman’s “Hell in the Pacific” (1968).

 

Brief reflections on “Hell in the Pacific” (1968)

Directed by John Boorman

Written by Reuben Bercovitch, Alexander Jacobs and Eric Bercovici

Starring Lee Marvin and Toshiro Mifune

 

Lee Marvin and Toshiro Mifune play American and Japanese soldiers stranded on a deserted island in the Pacific during WW2.

In such a situation of isolation and mutual dependency, it is clear that it would be advantageous to set aside political, cultural and historical differences as both men have to confront the challenges of nature, a motif common to a number of John Boorman’s films, in order to ensure survival.

However, even here and in this situation, the clash of their political and cultural backgrounds carries over and each tries to get the better of the other. On top of, or perhaps because of a failure to communicate, each regards the other with suspicion and fear, showing scant understanding and consideration for one another as human beings, opting to maintain their established and ingrained hostility, seeking to prove superiority and refusing to share resources. Each also shows cunning, courage, determination and spirit, suggesting a positive outcome is possible if only they can overcome mutual distrust and fear.

This small island and the issues these men are facing may be viewed as the Earth and its human population in microcosm. Mankind is split into a variety of political, social and cultural factions who, ultimately, would benefit from cooperating with one another to ensure survival and security for all rather than vying with one another to ensure personal or national success.

Each of our protagonists does, eventually, get the better of the other and both show a fundamental humanity as neither can bring himself to kill the other, though they do try to hold one another in check and control one another. The Japanese soldier displays order and a need for precision, while the American is more relaxed and haphazard, but each shows himself capable and strong, and neither is obviously superior to the other.

The whole would seem to be a metaphor for warring nations and peoples seeking to gain control over one another or gain advantage at the others’ expense, with arguments over food, water, territory and property, all the while failing to see the bigger picture.

Finally, there appears to be a realisation that they are going nowhere, physically and figuratively. This is not verbalised, but there develops an underlying, if uneasy, trust between the two. This trust is doubted from time to time, and this doubt is based on previous “conditioning” rather than their experiences on the island.

Eventually, they find a common cause and take on nature together, helping and saving one another. By now their cultural differences have been forgotten as they focus on the here and now. After their escape across the sea, they come across land which could be under the command of either nation, and each is protective of the other.

Through these two soldiers, we are shown how people can live and prosper together if they focus on what they have in common, including common dangers and challenges, rather than concentrate on their differences.

However, once again surrounded by cultural memories and photographic reminders of “reality”, they start picking at one another, only for both to be killed in a bombing raid on the island, indicating the madness of war and the possible result for mankind if we allow our differences to overwhelm us.

Much has been made of alternate endings for the film. I have only ever seen the destructive one, but apparently there is another version in which they argue and go their separate ways. I must say I find the former more effective in terms of a warning of the implied ultimate result if we fail to make the effort to get on together.

This intense and spare film, featuring just the two main characters, will not be to everyone’s taste, but it does bring its own thought-provoking rewards. Although the film fared poorly in terms of box-office results on its release, it is now rightly considered to have cult status.

 

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)

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Reflections on characters and themes in John Boorman’s “Point Blank”, focusing on the nature of the main character, Walker.

 

Reflections on "Point Blank"

Directed by John Boorman

Screenplay by Alexander Jacobs, David Newhouse and Rafe Newhouse

Starring Lee Marvin, Angie Dickinson and Keenan Wynn

The story is a remarkably simple one. A thief, Walker, helps his friend Reese steal a large sum of mob money. Needing more than his percentage, Reese shoots Walker and makes off with both Walker’s share and his wife Lynne, leaving Walker for dead. However, Walker survives the attack and seeks revenge on Reese, as well as pursuing his $93,000 share of the heist.

Prior to his shooting, when seen in flashback, he appears to be a fairly happy-go-lucky rogue who is sociable, genuinely fond of his wife and displays a fundamental humanity when he tries to prevent Reese killing the messengers in the original heist. However, post-shooting, he is quite amoral, is willing to use violence and death to achieve his goals, and acts coldly and efficiently, apparently without conscience.

Walker is a strangely attractive amoral anti-hero. Perhaps because he moves in an equally amoral world in which his opponents and victims are seen as totally unprincipled mobsters hiding behind a façade of corporate respectability, Walker is seen as more appealing and somehow more honest, perhaps because he has been presented as a victim himself and because he is acting with a purity of purpose, seeking only what is due to him. Reese and his mobster associates make a costly mistake in refusing to recognise the justice of Walker’s demand of payment of his $93,000, which has gone into the "corporate" coffers.

The world in which Walker and these "businessmen" operate is one in which law and order play no part, and where men do what they feel they have to do in order to survive and make profit. Respect for law, order and morality does not exist and our protagonists are on an equal amoral footing, apart from belief in the principle of trust, loyalty and respect between friends, and the principle of paying debts.

He is no angel, but Walker appears to have had respect for these basic principles – he got involved in the heist as a favour to his friend, and he appears (in the flashback sequences) to have been devoted to his wife. Used and betrayed by both, and then by the organisation which profited by his involvement and shooting (and which, in Walker’s mind, inherits Reese’s debt on Reese’s demise), Walker is the outraged victim who fights back.

He has learned there is no right and wrong, and there is no loyalty. He will use the organisation’s own methods against them to reclaim his money, though there are hints that below the surface of anger and determination there is an underlying humanity which he may be willing to share with deserving cases. Walker’s overwhelming characteristics are anger, purity of purpose and strength of resolve, but without the suggestion of underlying humanity he is no better than his opponents, and there would be little interest in seeing him succeed.

Each of the main characters has his or her own agenda in the film. They all have their own reasons for involvement in Walker’s situation and revenge, but there is no question of right, wrong, or of morality – it is always down to personal choice. When Walker asks for his sister-in-law Chris’s help, she asks "Why should I?". Walker’s reply is a simple “It’s up to you”, indicating we are firmly in “film noir” and existential territory. Chris’s involvement is based on revenge, highlighting the idea that we all pay the price of our actions and indiscretions through the reactions of others whose lives we touch. We are all free to act according to our cut and conscience, but there may be a price to pay, as Reese and his organisation discover to their cost.

However, there is another element which adds interest to both Walker himself and the film as a whole, and one which may help explain the enigmatic ending. Did Walker really survive the attack on Alcatraz, or is Walker an indignant and distressed spirit out to gain vengeance on those who did him wrong?

While this may at first seem an unnecessary and romantic complication, there is evidence to support the theory that Walker did in fact die on Alcatraz, and we are watching his spirit seek retribution on those who have profited from his demise.

When Walker is shot, he is lost and confused though he was seemingly mortally wounded.

Walker discovers the whereabouts of his wife and he sets out to see her for the first time since his shooting. His approach, purposefully marching along a corridor, driven by his contained fury and aggrieved determination, brilliantly conveys his feelings and we see the impact of his return on his wife Lynne who appears to have been waiting for this moment when she must face her past and her sense of guilt.

These confrontation scenes have a certain ethereal, almost atemporal quality, causing some confusion as they are disjointed and we are unsure of the chain of events and timescale. Events are not presented in a linear fashion, but seem to depend on perception or perspective.

After Lynne’s suicide we have no clear notion of the passing of time. As Walker moves from one room to another, he remains the same, but the rooms are substantially changed, and Walker seems almost surprised, as to him (and us) these scenes are continuous. This may simply suggest upset on Walker’s part (he is certainly distressed by his wife’s death), or it may suggest a different continuum or perspective.

These scenes, together with others in which time seems to jump (meetings with Yost, scenes at Brewster’s home) suggest an ethereal, almost mystical or other-worldly quality to Walker’s very existence.

Evidence that Walker may have an ulterior motive while pursuing his debt comes when he gives his wife’s money to her sister after Reese’s death. As she takes the money, she comments on how unlike him this action is, saying "You did die at Alcatraz". Despite the fact he is ostensibly pursuing his money from the organisation, it seems money is not as important as revenge for the betrayal he has suffered. This charitable act toward his sister-in-law also suggests his underlying, if selective, humanity. Even when he is apparently unpleasant to Chris at Brewster’s home, is he not trying to drive her away in order to protect her? Once again, these actions allow the audience to sympathise with him and root for him in his quest, but they may also suggest a broader understanding and purpose on Walker’s part.

After various attempts to recover his money have failed, leading to the deaths of various members of the organisation, Walker eventually makes contact with Fairfax who, it seems, is willing to pay him. The payment is to take place on Alcatraz, therefore bringing the film full circle. Once again Walker is on Alcatraz to steal his money and perhaps be killed in the process. Fundamentally, his apparent death and all the subsequent events have had no effect – nothing has changed. The organisation continues to operate, the drop still takes place, and someone is still willing to steal the money.

At the end of the film Walker appears to retire to the shadows, leaving his debt unpaid. However, he has avenged himself on those who betrayed him, and in the end that was what it was all about – not the money. He has apparently been used as an instrument of furthering Fairfax’s position in the “company”, but Walker has also used Fairfax as a source of information. In fact, they have used each other to their mutual benefit. Walker has taken vengeance on those immediately responsible for his demise and may now be at peace. He may also recognise that, in the end, human nature will win out and the cycle of corruption will be repeated. Although a number of people have died and personal scores have been settled, the organisation remains intact, and nothing has really changed. In the end no real purpose was served – Point Blank.

This is an excellent thriller from John Boorman who made it all the more intriguing and thought-provoking by using a mixture of styles. At times straight hard-nosed thriller, but laced with almost surreal moments suggesting mystery over the very nature of Walker’s existence and mixed with film noir elements and some black humour, this is an immensely watchable thriller with excellent performances from Lee Marvin and Angie Dickinson in particular.

The masterstroke, however, is in the possibility that Walker is a ghost who must act to avenge himself before he can rest in peace. This adds a certain moral mystique to Walker’s quest, suggesting the possibility of ultimate payback for our actions while the end also implies that ultimately no lessons are learned and no change is effected in the face of human nature and weakness.

 

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

Stuart Fernie

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Brief reflections on characters and themes in “Vera Cruz”, directed by Robert Aldrich, starring Gary Cooper and Burt Lancaster.

 

Brief reflections on “Vera Cruz”

Directed by Robert Aldrich

Screenplay by Roland Kibbee and James R Webb

Starring Gary Cooper, Burt Lancaster, Denise Darcel and Cesar Romero

Film noir and existentialism are ideologies which challenge the traditional view of morality and even its very existence through the eyes and experiences of disillusioned, even amoral characters who can win as well as lose. They are usually associated with crime or gangster genres, but “Vera Cruz” takes some noir and existential concepts and applies them to the western.

Take a politically volatile setting in which traditional values regarding national sovereignty and autonomy are challenged and add a couple of main characters who do not demonstrate what might be viewed as typically western characteristics in that they appear to accept and support the dubious values set at the start of the film, and you have an intriguing and somewhat disconcerting exposition with no clear hero or moral cause to root for.

A brief historical digression might be helpful at this point…

Our film takes place during the Second Franco-Mexican War of the 1860s. France, under Napoleon the 3rd, wished to re-establish its empire’s interests in the Americas and ousted President Juarez with the help of Mexican conservatives who wished to protect their own interests and see a King replace the President. Austrian Emperor Maximilian was made head of state but there was great resistance in the form of Juaristas who sought to re-establish Juarez as President.

Aided and abetted by Spain and Britain, the French agenda was for purely commercial and financial gain and, as suggested in our film, such an overtly self-serving incursion and conflict inevitably attracted mercenary adventurers, unfettered by conscience and principle, who would be willing to risk their lives in exchange for wealth, advancement and adventure. One such individual is Joe Erin, a self-centred manipulator of situations and people who professes and recognises no loyalty except to himself. Joe is charming but, in his heart, he is quite amoral and he has the skills and determination to bully and manipulate others for his own ends without consideration of the consequences for those he uses.

Into this moral morass wanders Ben Trane, a former officer in the Confederate Army who has lost everything – his home, his position, his pride and his moral compass, at least to some degree. He appears willing to work for Emperor Maximilian if the price is right and he will go on to consider stealing a fortune in gold, though not simply for himself, but to help restore his family home and business. We learn, then, that he may be disillusioned and is dabbling in distinctly amoral activities, but there is a higher purpose to his actions.

He may have chosen this theatre of war to sell his skills exactly because the French action is essentially amoral as they seek to take advantage of and plunder what, to Trane, is a foreign land and Trane thinks he will feel no sympathy, attachment or qualms. However, he discovers an empathy with the Juaristas who, like Trane, have lost their homes, their society and their freedom. In the end, Trane cannot act selfishly when he sees a cause greater than his own needs.

As is so often the case in films noirs, the “hero” learns to recognise a purpose or cause in which he can believe or which restores his humanity and belief in principle having lost them through experience and suffering. We may be surrounded by amorality but it is left to the individual to decide whether or not he or she will follow that path, and so the scene is set for a show-down of sorts between the amoral mercenary Joe and the disillusioned but fundamentally principled Trane.

“Vera Cruz” may be relatively slight and obvious but it paved the way for other more overtly challenging, insightful and perhaps even realistic portrayals of moral conflict within the western genre, and the flag of existential confrontation was flown in such films as “Ride the High Country”, “The Magnificent Seven”, the spaghetti westerns and, of course, “The Wild Bunch” which all owe something to the premise and style of “Vera Cruz”.

 

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)

 

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Brief reflections on “Dr Strange in the Multiverse of Madness” and thoughts on other modern action/adventure films.

 

Brief reflections on “Dr Strange in the Multiverse of Madness”

and thoughts on other modern action/adventure films.

 

Although I tend to write about relatively weighty dramas with major themes, I do enjoy the occasional romp in the form of a blockbuster or a superhero film. I was quite impressed by the early Marvel outings which made an effort to build character and regularly dealt with worthy themes beneath the superhero antics.

I can’t say I’m a big fan of fantasy films but I quite enjoyed “Dr Strange” as I found it an imaginative extension of the human experience anchored in inner conflict and principle, with a focus on plot and character development, all within a framework of imaginative and challenging perceptions of possible, if improbable, realities.

I found the latest sortie of Dr Strange into the multiverse spectacular and very well made, but this time I felt largely uninvested in the characters and uninvolved in an overly contrived plot that was served by a glib script. The audience is entirely in the hands of self-indulgent filmmakers as we are thrown from one outlandish and extreme situation into another, with little consideration of pace, character development or consistency. I see these as “hooks” that encourage an audience to actually care about the fate of the characters and plot progression, but as it is, they appeared to be mere puppets to fill one forced action sequence after another. Curiously, the only character who invites compassion is the misguided and unstable villainess at the centre of the piece, yet little work is done to build any sense of tragedy or even regret over her fate.

Spectacle and speed are, of course, essential to gloss over gaps in logic and justification. Indeed, if you think about the content in any depth (and that is ill-advised on the grounds of danger to mental health), you may conclude that the audience is treated with quite remarkable disrespect as events unfold and characters react seemingly at the whim of the writers with little thought of an old-fashioned, well-plotted storyline that might have had meaning or relevance to the audience.

The problem with this film, and with so many other modern action-adventures, is that it seems anything can happen at any point, apparently without the need for real justification or explanation, but then films whose plots are constructed around concepts for action sequences, stunts, and opportunities for a director or star to show off technique and style, are likely to lack plot integrity and engagement as themes and character development are sacrificed to spectacle and visual thrills.

All that said, “The Multiverse of Madness” is remarkably well made and remains fast-paced reasonably entertaining fare with smatterings of a knowing humour, yet its qualities also serve to undermine concern for characters and interest in the plot as the lightness of script and lack of consequence contrasts with atmosphere and situation.

In so many modern action adventures, and this is certainly not restricted to films from the Marvel stable, action sequences often constitute a veritable onslaught on the senses in terms of pace, extravaganza and sheer deafening volume, and this actually has the effect of desensitising and even disengaging the audience, whose understanding and commitment are sacrificed to spectacle and visual thrills with little attention paid to integrity and cohesion.

Another weakness is the sheer length of the film. Why is it assumed that a longer playing time means a better film? Adding action sequences and unnecessary plot developments, which risk transforming adventure films into soap operas, may only make the experience more tiresome and may suggest a lack of appreciation or consideration on the part of filmmakers for plot integrity and audience response and thresholds. Self-indulgence of this nature does nothing to enhance the quality of the film and may well detract from it.

Although the blockbusters of the summer of 2023 have fared reasonably well at the box-office, it has been suggested they have fared considerably less well than hoped, and those filmmakers disappointed by their box-office returns might do well to consider just why people are failing to flock to their films and should consider the quality of their scripts and product rather than blame social issues, financial pressure and even the weather for disappointing attendance.

Big, brassy stunts and set-pieces should enhance or complement a good, engaging storyline, not replace it. Cinema-goers return to view sequels not because of the action sequences but because they care for or are entertained by the characters and plots. A good action film will put substance, heart and mind over stunts.

 

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)

 

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Brief reflections on the meaning and import of “Il faut cultiver notre jardin” at the end of “Candide”

 

Brief reflections on the meaning and import of “Il faut cultiver notre jardin”

at the end of “Candide”

 

I have greatly enjoyed writing up my vaguely philosophical thoughts on a variety of films and the odd book, and then offering them up for acceptance or scorn on various internet platforms. It has given me pleasure and satisfaction to think my articles were of some interest to a relatively small group of people, but it occurred to me recently that my thoughts are purely notional and subjective, and are likely to have little, if any, practical or long-lasting effect. This somewhat disheartening train of thought led to the notion that philosophy itself could be regarded as unfulfilling, as it leaves questions unresolved and, indeed, only ever leads to more (unresolved) issues. Consequently, I wondered if it wouldn’t be better to abandon such cerebral activity and simply focus on the practical business of living.

This rather despondent conclusion brought to mind “Candide”, the first philosophical book I read in French. However, unable to put my hands on my 47-year-old copy of the book, and wishing to read the final paragraphs of the work which summarise the conclusions reached by the “hero” of the tale and his friends, I searched “il faut cultiver notre jardin” (we should cultivate our garden) in Google and was somewhat taken aback by what I found.

Rather than a link to the text that I was hoping to find, I came across a series of interpretations of this famous phrase:

We must put our own health first.

We should improve ourselves.

We must cultivate our minds.

We should seed and sow thoughts and ideas.

We should develop a perspective by rational scepticism, not simple faith.

 

I was stunned.

These readings are, of course, valid interpretations of the isolated sentence, but are considerably less valid as an interpretation of Voltaire’s famous philosophical work whose final words, “il faut cultiver notre jardin”, summarise the hero Candide’s response to the physical and philosophical journey he has taken in the course of the tale, and as such should not be taken out of this broader context.

In the end, Candide and his friends conclude that work is the way forward as reflection, historical knowledge and philosophy essentially do little to help mankind survive – these are beautiful indulgences which may cause confusion and distress while work frees them from boredom, vice and need. This is encapsulated in the line, “Travaillons sans raisonner, c’est le seul moyen de rendre la vie supportable” (Let us work without reflection, that’s the only way of making life bearable).

In my opinion, “il faut cultiver notre jardin” should not be taken out of context and should be regarded as an appeal to focus on practical efforts to get by in life, and to reject excessive thought, though it should be pointed out that our “heroes” only reach that conclusion by indulging in philosophical thought.

It is perhaps ironic to note that the first philosophical book I read, one that helped launch many reflections on a variety of topics, also contained the conclusion I would reach some 47 years later, though I also felt the need to “philosophise” in order to arrive at this conclusion.

 

 

My thanks for taking the time to read this article. I hope you found it of some value.

 

Stuart Fernie (stuartfernie@yahoo.co.uk)

 

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