The Cinema of Surfaces
On the Aesthetics of Film in the Eighties, by Jürgen Müller & Steffen Haubner. Excerpt of the book 'Movies of the 80s', by Jürgen Müller
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Lynch's surfaces are brilliantly ambivalent. They reveal as they conceal, which brings us back to the misgiving voiced by the director that the thin facade of everyday life conceals some very sinister forces. In the Eighties, a wide variety of films expressed the suspicion that the most mundane realities are merely masks for something extraordinary. Corrupt governments are pulling invisible strings from behind the scenes-as in Nikita. Or apparently normal, law-abiding citizens are aliens in disguise-as in John Carpenter's They Live (1988). In House of Games (1987), David Mamet presents a bunch of cardsharks and con-artists in such a way that that every apparent revelation of the truth is merely a front for a further deception. Modern technology and the apparently limitless power of the media make it increasingly easy to doubt one's own perceptions. For The Osterman Weekend (1983), Sam Peckinpah orchestrated a complex cat's cradle out of government red tape, in which it soon becomes impossible to tell who is actually conspiring against whom. Here, even the weather report cannot be taken at face value. It should therefore come as no surprise to us that films have continued to voice the suspicion that life itself is nothing more than a brilliantly fabricated illusion.
Metamorphosis and Transgression
An element of social criticism adds to this climate of suspicion. In Wall Street (1987), Oliver Stone depicts a young stockbroker (Charlie Sheen) learning a few of life's harder lessons. In the process, he comes to see that the world in which he lives and the goals he has aspired to are nothing more than a mirage. The stylish interiors, the designer desks, the wellgroomed surfaces of the people and the objects cannot conceal the nihilism at the heart of it all. This is a world in which everything is sacrificed, irretrievably, to profit. An abstract painting serves as a symbol for this inner and outer void, when Gordon Gekko (Michael Douglas) finds only one thing worthy of mention: the picture's appreciated value. Standing in front of this work of art, he gives his "protégé" a lesson in capitalism. "Illusion has become reality, and the more real it gets, the more strongly it is desired."
In After Hours (1985), Martin Scorsese has an IT expert wander the streets of a Kafkaesque New York. In Something Wild (1987), Jonathan Demme sends a stodgy businessman the woman of his dreams, who almost drives him insane. In Susan Seidelman's Desperately Seeking Susan (1984), a bored housewife loses her memory and finds that there's a whole lot more to life than what home cooking and advice columnists have to offer. The protagonists of the films just listed are paradigmatic heroes, our proxies on the mythical journey to an alien world-a gaudy, threatening and seductive microcosm in which they will finally encounter and face up to themselves.
Page [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]
Page [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]
Lynch's surfaces are brilliantly ambivalent. They reveal as they conceal, which brings us back to the misgiving voiced by the director that the thin facade of everyday life conceals some very sinister forces. In the Eighties, a wide variety of films expressed the suspicion that the most mundane realities are merely masks for something extraordinary. Corrupt governments are pulling invisible strings from behind the scenes-as in Nikita. Or apparently normal, law-abiding citizens are aliens in disguise-as in John Carpenter's They Live (1988). In House of Games (1987), David Mamet presents a bunch of cardsharks and con-artists in such a way that that every apparent revelation of the truth is merely a front for a further deception. Modern technology and the apparently limitless power of the media make it increasingly easy to doubt one's own perceptions. For The Osterman Weekend (1983), Sam Peckinpah orchestrated a complex cat's cradle out of government red tape, in which it soon becomes impossible to tell who is actually conspiring against whom. Here, even the weather report cannot be taken at face value. It should therefore come as no surprise to us that films have continued to voice the suspicion that life itself is nothing more than a brilliantly fabricated illusion.
Metamorphosis and Transgression
An element of social criticism adds to this climate of suspicion. In Wall Street (1987), Oliver Stone depicts a young stockbroker (Charlie Sheen) learning a few of life's harder lessons. In the process, he comes to see that the world in which he lives and the goals he has aspired to are nothing more than a mirage. The stylish interiors, the designer desks, the wellgroomed surfaces of the people and the objects cannot conceal the nihilism at the heart of it all. This is a world in which everything is sacrificed, irretrievably, to profit. An abstract painting serves as a symbol for this inner and outer void, when Gordon Gekko (Michael Douglas) finds only one thing worthy of mention: the picture's appreciated value. Standing in front of this work of art, he gives his "protégé" a lesson in capitalism. "Illusion has become reality, and the more real it gets, the more strongly it is desired."
In After Hours (1985), Martin Scorsese has an IT expert wander the streets of a Kafkaesque New York. In Something Wild (1987), Jonathan Demme sends a stodgy businessman the woman of his dreams, who almost drives him insane. In Susan Seidelman's Desperately Seeking Susan (1984), a bored housewife loses her memory and finds that there's a whole lot more to life than what home cooking and advice columnists have to offer. The protagonists of the films just listed are paradigmatic heroes, our proxies on the mythical journey to an alien world-a gaudy, threatening and seductive microcosm in which they will finally encounter and face up to themselves.
Page [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]
Movies of the 80s
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Still from 'Blue Velvet', USA, 1985