Double Dose: of the Surreal

 (Double Dose is two films from the same director, writer or star...or genre or theme...pretty simple.  Today: two films that play with surrealism)

The Legend of the Stardust Brothers - 1985, d. Makoto Tezuka - Tubi

The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie - 1972, d  Luis Buñuel - Criterion Channel

My teenage years and much of my 20-somethings were spent trying to broaden my horizons culturally, only to, in retrospect, understand that I still was very much an insular person who wasn't really very comfortable playing outside his comfort zone.  But I liked to think myself open-minded, ready to dive into the avant garde in comics, music, television, and movies (things very much in my comfort zone -- theatre, dance, art, opera, travel, culture, food and the like, far less so).  Even in my comfort zones, I would, until pretty much just now as I write this, have thought myself a fan of surrealism, but if I'm really being honest with myself it's certainly not a preference, and as I age, something I have less and less patience for. 

Surrealism -- the bleeding of the unconscious mind or dreamstate into reality, leading to irreverence and/or disjointedness such that the waking state and dreaming state are rather inseperable -- is attractive to the young creative mind, because it seems so liberating.  But from the consumer perspective it often leads to befuddlement even if it impresses. What I find so often is that surrealism often feels pointless, a shapeless inkblot that attempts to trick you into engaging in a search for greater meaning where, in most cases, there is no greater meaning intended.

The Legend of the Stardust Brothers is a cult Japanese film about two rival punk boys, Kan and Shingo, who are brought together by a high-powered manager, Minami, to form a band, and despite their animosity (which dissolves incredibly quickly), they rocket to success.  With success comes the inevitable temptations and vices, which they succumb to.  Their success is fleeting as the leader of their fan-club, Marimo, finds herself with the opportunity to perform in their stead and she becomes the next great sensation, and they wind up licking her boots (only figuratively, though even if they did it would be one of the less strange things to happen).  The boys, though discover that a new player, Kaoru, a young unscrupulous pop star with political connections (psst. it's Hitler. Hitler is his dad), is threatening to destroy Marimo's career in order to launch his own.  After Kan and Shingo foil his plot, and conspire with Marimo to form a trio, Kaoru sets out to kill the boys, only for their manager to take the shot.  Minami reveals, with his dying breath, that he's the boys' father.

That's pretty much the plot, but it doesn't really get at what the film is, which is a very visually inventive, often striking, often confusing, impressively bold (if still amateurish) production.  It's a film that's told largely in segments of music videos, the songs of the film perhaps the most integral storytelling of the film.  While the songs are a... palatable mix of pop and rock sounds of the early 80's, they're not revolutionary.  As much as the film applies a surrealistic dream logic to its scenes, it's almost more of a surrealist music video logic.... The surrealism in these numbers seem somehow more palatable, because we're so used to music videos being anything, with a lot of askew imagery, including where events are happening and people are ignoring the fact that people are singing a song as the events occur.   The best song is Minami's epic song-and-dance number as he reveals his patronage to the boys. something that manages to actually wring out a honest sense of emotion in this bizarre little film.  

It's said to be influenced by Phantom of the Paradise, but it doesn't have nearly the steady hand of Brian Di Palma (nor the production budget, nor the incredible talents of Paul Williams).  The acting is not great most of the time, but the sheer chutzpah of the production kind of just glides over the over-gesticulating theatrics and broad facial muggings of the performers.  It's not a compelling story, but it's somehow a compelling production, one that features such magnificently bizarre and inventive and nonsensical imagery that it keeps you stimulated when not immediately invested.   I can't say that Tezuka was inspired by David Lynch, but they both seem to have emerged from the same bubbling pool of crazy nonsense.  If Lynch plugged Stardust Brothers in as episode 10 of Twin Peaks: The Return I wouldn't bat an eye.

That all said, The Legend of the Stardust Brothers is a pop art version of surrealism, where it interferes, but doesn't derail the general trajectory of the story.  There was a framework to the film that's easy enough to follow, even if everything doesn't always make logical sense.

The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, on the other hand, is more erudite, pure surrealism in comparison, where there's a decided lack of story, and if there's purpose, it's not entirely clear.

The basic plot is six high status individuals attempt to have a meal with one another and are constantly interrupted.  Some of those interruptions include a military regimen on training exercises, or the hosting couple's sexcapade leading to paranoia in the awaiting guests.  At one point there's a double fake-out of someone waking up from a dream, only to have someone else wake up from the dream of that person waking up.  It's clearly what Bob Newhart was cribbing for his classic Newhart finale. (Kent aging himself tremendously).

I enjoyed the surreality but wished it would have pushed these moments deeper into surrealism. They're in most cases just a little off, not impressively so.  I liked the satire (poking fun at the rich never goes out of style) but I didn't find that it pushed hard enough at the aloof, pedantic, self-importantness of these so called elite.  One of the gang is an ambassador to an indeterminate country who is clearly using his status to smuggle drugs into France, and at every turn outside his circle, he has to fend off damning accusations with respect to his country's government, its civil discord, and the apparently horrendous record on human rights.  I wonder if I had a background in French history or politics if some of the scenarios here would be more pointed, or if that's also part of the surreal deal.

The tone of the film doesn't directly call attention to either its satire or surrealism, which allows them to coexist, but there's no particular rhythm to why and how it all plays out, and from an editing standpoint it feels quite choppy.  There's a recurring interlude, and the film's most striking imagery, of the sextet walking down a road, no end or signs of civilzation in either direction.  The film ends on this image, posing the questions... Wha..wh..how...huh?  Is it a purgatory? Is there some form of symbolism to this, or is it just nonsense meant to provoke but with no real intent?

In lampooning the "elite", it's kind of a timeless, but it's a product very much of its time and its production limitations. Maybe I shouldn't hold that against it, but I do.  This was also sold to me as a comedy, and I find much of it funny in concept, but little of it funny in execution.  (Side note, Vincent Cassell's dad, Jean-Pierre, is one of the gang, and he's the spitting image of his son.  Remarkable).

I clearly enjoyed Stardust Brothers more than Bourgeoisie, and that likely has to do with the fact that Stardust has a story, a beginning, middle and end.  Bourgeoisie is a series of portraits, almost skits, but they don't all hang together as a sensible whole.  Whatever it's trying to say, if anything, seems lost in its obliqueness.  That to me is frustrating, and I don't enjoy the game of having to try and parse out intent, especially in the case of surrealism, where it's almost more a whim than anything purposeful.