DISGRACE: IT’S JOHN MALKOVICH WHO DESERVES A NOBEL

 

Oh how I wish Anthony Lane would have reviewed this film; unfortunately the New Yorker didn’t assign him. I always value his insights, particularly on movies I find disturbing. And I found this one so not because of the subject matter (race and gender-based violence in post-apartheid South Africa), but because of the way men, women, blacks and whites are all depicted, the extremely outmoded essentialist terms in which women and men are portrayed (ie: I am man, therefore I desire to rape women; I am woman therefore I love children and won’t have an abortion, etc. etc.)

The film is based on the Booker-prize-winning novel of the same name by Nobel-winning writer, J.M. Coetzee, a white man from South Africa who currently lives in Australia.

David Lurie (Malkovich) is a 52-year-old white professor at a Cape Town university who’s attracted to younger biracial women. As the movie opens, we see him soliciting a prostitute who fits such description, and shortly thereafter he becomes taken with one of his students, Melanie, and the two begin having an affair. It’s not clear how Melanie feels about him though. She seems completely dead during their sex scenes, and whenever she leaves his house, she always looks sad and violated. But it’s not like he’s raping her; she’s there of her own volition and she’s an adult and went into the affair knowingly. Nor is it made clear that he’s committing quid pro quo sexual harrassment — telling her he’ll fail her if she doesn’t do as he pleases; in fact it’s later revealed that the opposite is true — he passes her even though she’s truant and fails to show up for exams.

Eventually her young black boyfriend finds out about them and exposes Lurie. Students drop his classes and the disciplinary committee calls him for a hearing. Lurie seems to agree with the committee that he’s done something wrong (though it’s not clear to me what this is — again, she’s an adult and the sex seems consensual), but won’t defend himself because he can’t apologize for what he considers his (male) “nature.” The disciplinary committee dismisses him from his post and he moves to the country, into his daughter’s farmhouse.

His daughter, Lucy, is a lesbian whose lover has just left her. She shares the farm with a black man, Petrus – -he lives not in the main house but in a shed — who’s worked part of the land, installing pipelines and a well, and who, because of his labor, now owns part of the land. I wish the film had done more to educate viewers about this practice. It’s not clear, in post-apartheid S.A., whether Lucy is trying to help Petrus (she’s clearly liberal-minded and believes in righting historical wrongs) or whether this is the way the new system works to enable black South Africans to gain land ownership. In any event, Petrus is depicted early on as someone who’s up to no good. He’s nearly drooling at the mouth when we (and Lurie) first meet him (like a dog, I guess, since that seems to be the main — totally overdone — metaphor here).

So the dogs: Lucy houses several out back in a cage, partly for humane purposes — apparently there’s an over-population of dogs in S.A. and Lucy’s friends with a female veterinary nurse who catches them, tries to adopt them out and then euthanizes them when she can’t — and partly for protection. We’re made aware up front it’s very dangerous out on the farm — there’s been a lot of pillagings. She also keeps a loaded rifle in the house. At one point, she and Lurie are walking one of the dogs and Lurie tells her dogs are “creatures of habit.” He tells her a story of his childhood neighbor’s dog. The dog (a male) would always go nuts when the bitch next door was in heat. He’d dig holes in the yard, tear things up, etc. — create chaos basically. So his owner would punish him every time this happened. Eventually, the minute the female dog went into heat, the male dog would crouch and whine and walk around with his tail between his legs. The horror of this Pavlovian game, Lurie says, is that the dog eventually learned to deny his own nature. This is why, Lurie says, he shouldn’t be expected to deny his own nature (screwing around with young women, presumably to their detriment).

One day, Lucy and Lurie return to the farm after walking some of the dogs, to find three young black men taunting the caged dogs. Lucy approaches them and asks them to stop. They give her a story about one of the boys being stranded and ask if he can come inside and use her phone. She cages the dogs she’s walked and tells him yes; he alone can come inside. This is a ruse and after she’s caged her dogs, the boys drag her and Lurie into the house, gang rape her, lock Lurie in the bathroom where they douse him with gasoline and set him on fire, and use Lucy’s gun to shoot and kill all of the caged dogs. They also loot the place and cart off Lucy’s possessions in Lurie’s car. Lurie manages to save himself with toilet water but he’s still badly burned.

Lurie tries to get Lucy to go to police but for some nonsensical reason she won’t. Ludicrously, she tells him he doesn’t know what happened because he didn’t witness “the crime” — ie, he wasn’t in her bedroom, which, ridiculously, he doesn’t argue with. Her friend echoes her — he “wasn’t there” during “the crime.” He tells her he’d like to talk to the police, but she tells him there’s no information he could give them that she can’t, which he also inexplicably doesn’t argue with.

So a man is bludgeoned and set on fire and almost killed, but he isn’t the victim of a crime? He sees the attackers as they kill the dogs and pour gasoline on him, then throw a match at him, while Lucy is still in the bedroom, but he has “no information” of “the crime” that she doesn’t have?

Sadly, there are still parts of the world where women are considered male property, and therefore her rape is seen as the worst possible thing that could ever happen to her (or her “owners”). Worse than being set on fire. Worse than being shot and killed. I find it beyond shocking that the rape is seen as the only crime here.

It turns out Lucy is pregnant with the child of one of the rapists. Lurie tries to get her to have an abortion but she responds with, “I’m a woman. I don’t hate children because of where they came from.”

Petrus, who was suspiciously missing during the time of the break-in and whom Lurie suspects of having set the whole thing up so that he could scare Lucy away and own the farm himself, returns to the farm, with a new wife, and throws a party in the shed. At this party, Lucy and Lurie discover that one of the boys who raped her is the son of Petrus’s new wife. Lurie wants to call the police but Lucy forbids him from doing so, saying she needs to get along with these people since they’re now co-owners of the farm.

Lurie goes to talk to Petrus. Petrus insists his new son is not one of the rapists, but tells Lurie because of what’s happened, he would still make him marry Lucy but for the fact that he is too young for her. Petrus then tells Lurie he will marry Lucy himself (I don’t know if the filmmakers forgot that Petrus is already married or whether in S.A. bigamy is legal). Lurie delivers this message to Lucy and she accepts Petrus’s marriage proposal. Lurie thinks she is completely nuts (as does most of the audience, I’d venture to say) and tries to plead with her but to no avail.

Eventually, through all of this trauma, Lurie realizes the wrongness of his ways (because, apparently, in this world, rape is equal to sex with prostitutes and consensual sex with adults). He visits the father of the student he seduced to apologize. It’s a testament to Malkovich’s enormous talents that this climactic scene actually works, based in nonsense though it is since he’s really done nothing wrong to this supposedly full-grown woman.

Lurie begins having an affair with Lucy’s friend, the humane euthanizer, and helps her put the dogs down. In the second climactic moment, Lurie sacrifices his favorite dog in order to show that he’s finally has decided to disavow his own male / dog “nature.”

By the end of the movie, Lurie has learned to accept his daughter and her pregancy. In the last shot, the camera slowly pans across the land (like in Howard’s End) to reveal the entire farm. The bright new house Petrus has built himself is a marked contrast from the shabby, broken home housing Lucy. So, through rape and pillage, black South Africans have “taken over.”

The biggest problem with the movie (apart from the bad metaphors, the infantalizing of women and the equating of sex with rape) is that all the black South Africans are portrayed either as evil or easily taken advantage of. I’m sure it can be very dangerous for whites on those farms, particularly for women living alone, and I’m sure there are many rapes. But the film doesn’t present the perspective of any of the black South Africans, the historical oppression, the conditions creating the severe inequality that have led to such hatred and violence. The film is one-sided and in my mind comes across as feeding into racist stereotypes.

The film’s only redeeming quality, to me (apart from some beautiful shots of South Africa), is Malkovich, who — I have no idea how — was able to make his way through all the aforementioned problems and create a truly sympathetic, memorable portrait of this man. He always does that though, no matter how unlikeable the character. The man is a genius.

Has anyone else seen the movie? Or read the book? I have the book, but haven’t gotten around to reading it yet. I didn’t like Diary of a Bad Year and so was putting it off but I probably should now because I have a feeling there was a lot left out. I hope there was anyway.

 

EIFMAN BALLET’S "EUGENE ONEGIN"

 

 

Last night I went to see the Eifman Ballet of St. Petersburg in their New York debut of Boris Eifman’s Onegin, based on the 1837 novel in verse by Alexander Pushkin. I’ve seen this company once before and I’ve always been thoroughly entertained. They’re very Russian, very dramatic, very theatrical, very emotional, very angst-filled, doing everything as full-out both movement-wise and acting-wise as you possibly could. There’s never ever a dull moment.

Mr. Eifman’s work is very controversial here amongst the critics — I remember Joan Acocella (of the New Yorker) calling him a “public menace” at one of her book signings! I think he’s very Russian though (as well as very daring), and many in the audience are Russians, of all ages. I felt just as much as if I were in a nightclub in Brighton Beach as at a ballet performance. I also think he would be well-liked among the So You Think You Can Dance crowd. He often combines classical ballet and classical music (here Tchaikovsky) with more contemporary dance (like hip hop or jazz / theater dance) and music (here by contemporary Russian rock musician Alexander Sitkovetsky).

He sets his Onegin not in Imperial Russia but in 1991 in the wake of the fall of the Soviet Union and local uprisings against Gorbachev and his liberalism. We see, above the dancers, projected onto a circular backdrop, video clips of people marching, demonstrations, police trying to keep order, and then the images switch to an ensemble of classical ballerinas performing what appears to be Swan Lake. The dance / play begins with the main male characters — Onegin and his friend Lensky (who in Pushkin was a poet, here is a guitarist and musician) in a bar. Lensky seems to be trying to comfort Onegin with his guitar-playing but it doesn’t seem to help much.

Next we’re in the countryside where Lensky has taken Onegin, presumably so Onegin can have a break from the city. (In Puskhin, Onegin is a jaded aristocrat who retires to the country). The setting, by Zinovy Margolin, and lighting, by Gleb Filschtinsky and Eifman, are really cool by the way. Whenever the characters are in the city, the back wall on which are painted a series of black lines is lit in red and those lines become kind of abstract but imprisoning; when they are in the country, the wall is lit in blue and the lines turn into a bridge crossing a river, and the circular backdrop (which the movie images were projected onto) becomes a moon.

Anyway, Lensky goes to the country to see his girlfriend, the playful, flirtatious Olga, and there the bookish Tatyana immediately falls for Onegin, who doesn’t return her affections. Tatyana (danced brilliantly by Maria Abashova) has some really compelling dance sequences, by turns lyrical (showing she’s in love) and more angst-filled with awkward, angular lines and contorted mid-body movements. During part of this sequence, Tatyana’s love letter to Onegin is read (in Russian) by a voice-over. As Olga and Lensky dance a romantic duet, Tatyana walks up and across the bridge holding the letter. It’s really striking, the contrast between the sexually suggestive dancing of the pair and the lone Tatyana with her letter.

Soon, Tatyana has a dream in which she is being seduced by Onegin (pictured at the top of the post). The stage is lit in red and hard rock music is played. It’s very sexual and turns very violent, as soon Onegin turns into several men all clawing at her — a foreboding of the violence and tragedy to come.

I didn’t completely follow the story in the next section — and this is where I think it’s hard to bring Pushkin into the present — but Onegin gets angry at Lensky for some reason — (in Pushkin it’s because Lensky organizes a socialite party which angers Onegin because it represents everything he desires to escape from) — but it wasn’t as clear to me here. Maybe here Onegin’s just a tormented soul in general, maybe his anguish has to do in some way with what’s going on politically and culturally in Russia. Anyway, Onegin gets angry and starts to flirt obnoxiously with Olga (in a very intense duet filled with daring lifts and sexual overtones), leading the same place it does in Pushkin – -to Lensky’s anger resulting in a fight in which Onegin stabs Lensky to death (in the Pushkin, Lensky challenges Onegin to a duel, which Onegin wins).

Then, there’s a really beautiful scene — one of my favorite — where Lensky returns to life, ghost-like, and he and Onegin do a pas de deux. It begins with Lensky hovering over a small table, Onegin underneath. The men see each other through the glass and Onegin pulls himself up as Lensky slowly lowers himself down. They then do a lift sequence, but a very masculine one — with lots of kicks and anguish-filled jumps. One critic interpreted this as a gay scene, but I thought it was more about Onegin expressing his sorrow at what he’d done to his friend, praying for forgiveness.

Eventually Tatyana meets and marries a blind colonel and moves to the city, becoming a member of urban high society the way Pushkin’s Tatyana did. Years later Onegin (who now has greyed hair) spots her at one of the clubs he frequents and becomes enamored of her. There’s an intense pas de deux between them and she tells him she is taken, she’s no longer his to have. It ends with Onegin sitting at a desk crazily writing love letters to her the way she once did him, trying desperately to get the wording right, shredding paper after paper and starting anew. But the letters go nowhere, his time and energy is wasted. Instead, a wind comes along and blows the papers about and he becomes flooded by them.

The main dancers — Abashkova as Tatyana, Oleg Gabushev as Onegin, Dmitry Fisher (who bears a striking resemblance to Slavik Kryklyvyy!) as Lensky, Natalia Povoroznyuk as Olga, and Sergei Volobuev as the Colonel — and are all excellent, both with the intensity of the acting, and the incredible flexibility and gorgeous lines for the women and the athleticism for the men. The two women especially really moved like their characters — Abashkova at times making her movement awkward, at times beautifully lyrical, as if in love, and Povoroznyuk, more playful and sexual as Olga, would often fall into these amazing splits, legs wrapped snakily around her male partner.

One thing: I wish the women would have been on pointe. They all danced in flat ballet slippers. I think pointe work brings out not only the poetry and beauty of ballet but its intensity as well. Eifman could have used it to powerful, dramatic effect here.

The company performs at City Center through Sunday. I think they’re definitely worth seeing if you have the chance, though it might be a bit of a jarring experience for people devoted solely to classical ballet 🙂

BARYSHNIKOV, JOAN ACOCELLA, BILL T. JONES

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Please excuse the blurry photo; I took it on the escalator last night at Barnes and Noble, where I went after Paul Taylor (review soon!) Thankfully I decided to visit the bookstore; I hadn’t known about this, even though I’m on B&N’s events mailing list…

So, this Tuesday, March 10th, Joan Acocella (New Yorker dance critic) will be in conversation with Mikhail Baryshnikov at Barnes & Noble, Lincoln Square (66th and Broadway) to discuss Baryshnikov’s new book of photos of the Merce Cunningham Dance Company, Merce My Way.

 

But same night same time, Bill T. Jones is giving a talk at Skirball. Now what?