In the Mood for Love

In the Mood for Love is the perfect title for which the film it has been bestowed upon. The film is all about the mood, the feeling, the perception and readiness for love, and how it never comes to fruition. It is a deep wound that the film leaves when experienced correctly and fully. It is a film of such dramatic, such intricate yet bold styles that it is difficult to fully grasp the narrative the first, or even the first few times viewed. Much like how I had to see The Conformist a second time to even know why such magnificent frames were composed, Love provides a certain enigmatic, elliptical approach to storytelling that is not wholly impenetrable, but blurry and indistinct, just like our time worn memories of the past.

We are given little plot. Two people, a man and a woman whose lovers have supposedly found new lovers and are left to themselves only to find what they had wanted all along through aforementioned scorn. It is not the story that sets the mood: it is the style. The style is the narrative, it is the plot, the exploration, the rising and falling action, the climax. It is the character development and slowly moving poetry at the core of the film. Its style transcends simply being flashy and aesthetically pleasing—it is an integral part, if not the most important, to the entire experience.

So what is this style? On a very basic level it is elegantly composed people, or parts of people. We are shown feet, waists, and bodies without heads. We are shown rain dripping into puddles, flickering neon lights and ascending spiraling swirls of smoke. It is all very subtle, very low key. Had you not been paying attention the plot points would pass you by and you would only be left with those marvelous images of Maggie Cheung in her myriad of different outfits.

The view from the camera is often obscured or shown in part. Many things block the action, our view of it. We are never shown the faces of the suspected cheating spouses. We are only witnessing parts of the truth, the objective truths of day-to-day living. What are hidden are the secrets we keep from one another, which we try to hide and cover up. These are visually manifested onto the canvas, these blockages we must accept to continue on.

Much of the film is done is slow motion. This means different things at different times. Slow motion could signify hyper perceptivity of a particular situation. It is also used for pacing and to suggest the passage of time. This is used in conjunction with its soundtrack, which almost exclusively occurs during these slowed sequences. They together create a singular mood, an expression of longing trapped within these two main characters who are themselves trapped in an unforgiving societal taboo, even when they are viewed modernly as overly loyal victims.

In the Mood for Love is a beautiful film. It is oftentimes breathtaking in its choreography and plotting of the emotional map of longing and unrequited love which exists in a state beyond desire and beyond pain in a realm so embedded within ones psyche that is becomes engrained into the very beat of ones heart.

Punch-Drunk Love

The color in Punch-Drunk Love is nothing short of breathtaking. There are an infinite number of ways an image can be aesthetically pleasing. Films like Barry Lyndon have a richness, a softness to their tone. Films like The Conformist have outstanding cinematography and framing. Films like Play Time convey extreme amounts of information within every frame. Films like The Brown Bunny express the protagonist’s state of mind through the image alone. Of all the other ways and examples there are, the color in Punch-Drunk Love is of significant note.

Leaving out symbolic and metaphorical insight, it would be of note simply for the fact of how bold, how precise, and how pronounced it is within the film without being a hindrance. The bold primary colors that Barry and Lena wear through most of the film, the blue suit and the red dress, are more than clothes. We come to identify their characters as inextricably entwined with these garments.

The blue suit serves as being both an awkward attempt at trying to be businesslike and professional, but more importantly as a characteristic that Barry is trying to reach. He wants to be known as a serious man, he wants to be respected and admired, but in his attempt is too unsure of himself and is only treated with more disrespect and given harsh words for it.

Lena wears a bright red dress signifying compassion and strength, humanity almost. She is the redeeming factor for Barry, she is his very lifeline, and the blood in his veins is manifested in the brightness of her dress. Red is a warm, gentle color. Had she been wearing green or black the (somewhat subconscious) effect would be lost.

The multitudinous flashes of light are almost to be considered as color in this film. They are such an omnipotent force that they become part of the canvas, with dashes flying and splattering at us as we inch along through the various pitfalls and peaks of Barry’s mind. The director has used light in such a way in his other films, but not to such an extent. You can definitely tell it was a deliberate decision. And when Barry and Lena are in her hotel room in Hawaii what is Barry wearing? Nothing. He’s shed his blue suit, and she’s shed her red dress, and Barry is wrapped in a white blanket—the color that is produced when all the different rays of light are combined. A unified complete whole: just like the love each character is experiencing at that moment.

Punch-Drunk Love is an interesting film in that it subverts its genre several times. It could even be argued that it never truly establishes any genre. It begins as a somewhat comedic drama and evolves into a character study that becomes a shaky romance and then employs elements of a thriller while continuing to be a romance. It is a very complex film, indeed, and does not deserve to be pigeonholed, which is what the majority of the people who’ve seen it do.

I would venture to say there is such a backlash for this movie because of the casting. It was inspired to cast Adam Sandler in such an unusual role, but that unfortunately draws the wrong crowd to the picture. Obviously, that doesn’t affect the film, just the mythos around it.

I originally saw this film before I was into quote unquote art films and before I even knew who P.T. Anderson was. Magnolia has since become one of my all time favorites and I admire his work to the extent of explaining to people that as a filmmaker I would like to become the next P.T. Anderson. I watched it with my mother when it came out and we were both befuddled to the point of anger.

I’ve come back to it many times since, always with a fresh perspective. Different things jump out at me upon each viewing. What I initially found really interesting was the use of violence. Barry is obviously emotionally stunted, and probably partly because of his sisters. It's as if he is shoved into a corner, emotionally, and the only way he can work his way out of that is through violence. This is not really Barrys fault, I think, because he has never been able to learn a better way in our messed up society that discourages male emotion.

Think about it: he smashes the windows when he is uncomfortable at the party, the hammer thrown when he was a child because he was made fun of, destorying the bathroom when Lena brings up the wrong topic.

So when he attacks the kids with the pipe and are we supposed to be happy for him for protecting his woman? I say no. Violence is not an answer, but that has become Barrys go to solution for everything. Is this not a double standard? He is praised for violence in some situations and scolded in others. Is society sending Barry mixed messages or is he supplying them himself? Why does Barry not like himself, is it because he cries and doesn't feel like a man? Or is it that he isn't as sex crazed and is just looking for a meaningful emotional connection, albeit the wrong route, but one nonetheless with the phone sex line.

Here is a man who finally has an emotional connection to another person and can only express it to her in violent terms, and I quote, "I'm lookin' at your face and I just wanna smash it. I just wanna fuckin' smash it with a sledgehammer and squeeze it. You're so pretty."

None of that really occurred to me upon this viewing, I was too caught up in Barrys progression thorugh the exalting effects of love and in the camerawork. It was only after seeing it five, six times that I realized the masterstroke of the constantly zooming and panning camerawork. The zoom works to express the closing entrapment of Barry’s mind, everyone singling him out and waiting to set him in their sights. He is continously running away, but we keep getting closer and closer until he snaps. The panning works to express Barry’s irritability and indecision. He sways back and forth attempting to find a comfortable medium, but never does.

Only when he makes a meaningful human connection does the camera stop to observe, such as in the bedroom and when they embrace in silhouette. Everyone rushes behind them, but they are stationary and secure, absolute in their devotion and understanding.

Punch Drunk Love is one of my favorite films. Everything from the acting to the sound design to the camerawork down to its hues resonates with me. Perhaps you need to be slightly introverted, or have come from a place that Barry has to really appreciate the nuance and intricacy of his character, and the overall arc of the storyline. It is a singular film, quirky in its approach but meaningful in its delivery. I feel that Paul Thomas Anderson is one of the great artists of his generation and that Punch will always stand out as a highlight in his oeuvre.