The Rake Magazine

The last few Gus Van Sant films that I have seen were all part of the filmmakers' Death Trilogy, which are best characterized as plotless trips through discomfort. Elephant was like experiencing the Columbine tragedy, Last Days a pseudo re-enactment of Kurt Cobain's demise, and Gerry a battle of attrition, both in the desert, onscreen, and in the theater, as a viewer. So, when going to see Paranoid Park, I was expecting to be somewhat uncomfortable with the trip I was about to take. But I was pleasantly surprised by where Van Sant took me this time.

A murder mystery wrapped into the life and times of a wannabe skate punk who gets caught-up in the investigation, Paranoid Park utilizes a myriad of production devices to take the viewer inside the mind of a troubled teenager. While I was expecting a meditative journey through the dark side of skateboarding, it was a surprise to get caught up in a murder mystery plot intermingled with teen skateboarder Alex's struggle to cope with his insecurities, and what he is willing to do not to have to feel.

Alex, whose journal writing (or perhaps, letter writing) helps tell the story in narration, attends a very suburban High School with a few skaters that look-up to the freedom and unruly lifestyle of the homeless and runaway inhabitants of Paranoid Park, a skate park built underneath a city overpass in Portland, Oregon. It is obvious that Alex is a beginning skater and has some reservations about going to Paranoid Park for the first time. But his exposure to the park leaves him wanting more.

Despite being abandoned for a girl by the buddy who introduced him to Paranoid Park, Alex goes back downtown on his own at night. He sits on the sidelines until a few residents make his acquaintance, and he follows one of them, Scratch, on a freight train ride to get some beer. In the process, a security guard is killed, and Alex must deal with the impending police investigation, while also navigating the other circumstances of his life, including sex, dating, divorce, and peer pressure.

Van Sant brings his meditative style to Paranoid Park in the form of scenes of nondescript skateboarders on the streets of Portland, filmed in Super 8, that serve as kind of an escapist fantasy that Alex imagines possible. But an interesting and twisting plot brings the viewer into Alex's life and thoughts while navigating the minefield of coming of age. Alex's journal writings serve as both a narrative device and healing solution to deal with his insecurities and mistakes. He uses his writing as a way to deal with the crazy, messed-up things that happen in life, allowing him to finally move forward.

The acting may leave a little bit to be desired in this film, and some of the style changes in cinematography and music can be distracting, but the interesting plot, the exploration of Alex's inner turmoil, and the redemptive message are more than enough to keep the story moving along.

The thing that "makes" the film, however, is the way Van Sant utilizes music and cinematography to allow viewers to tap into the characters' minds. His long slow-motion tracking shots, with a myriad of different musical styles, force the viewer to stop and consider what the characters are thinking and feeling in the moment. The result is a very relatable story about the insecurities of fitting in and not understanding what to do with these feelings, especially when something goes extremely wrong as a a result of a bad decision.

Paranoid Park screens at the Walker on Wednesday, March 19th, and opens at the Lagoon on Friday, March 21st. 

Anachronistic is the best word to describe Married Life, which will be arriving at Landmark’s Edina Cinema on March 21^st. The film’s frustratingly whimsical tone washes out its better, darker moments, leaving little to say about marriage.

Based on the 1953 pulp mystery novel Five Roundabouts to Heaven, the film follows the relationships and ethical dilemmas presented by a man and his wife, a man and his mistress, a wife and her lover, and the rakish friend that likes the mistress. The sum of those four parts is supposed to be some sort of conversation about marriage, but it never really emerges from its pulp mystery origins. What does emerge is a story you’ve seen before: Man decides to kill wife to be with mistress. I kept waiting for the movie to offer up something new, a new breath of life into a tired story, but ultimately it falls short.

The problem is rooted in the source material. Commenting on the reason he chose the story, writer/ producer/ director Ira Sachs explains, “I wanted to make a film that spoke gently and honestly about the complexities and intricacies of marriage and intimate life, and here was a plot—however outrageous it might seem—that in the end could do so in a way both direct and metaphoric.” Unfortunately the direction Mr. Sachs takes with the story, a split between whimsical and serious, is neither complex nor intricate, making it difficult to take the film seriously.

Mr. Sacks also thinks you’re an idiot. There is a constant, droning voice-over during the entire movie, and the characters are shallow and poorly developed. With only the slightest provocation they spout off their entire life stories, discussing relationships and feelings with the clumsy hands of the screen writer pulling the strings in abrupt, jerky motions.

The uncommonly talented cast does a lot to calm the uneven writing. Chris Cooper, the pain and disillusionment fused into every pore, delivers the sort of nuanced performance that we’ve come to expect from him. Rachel McAdams is similarly able to shock a semblance of life into Kay, the thinly written object of affection for both leading men.

The acting makes the darker moments of the film resonate, but it hits so many bad notes with its thin plot and whimsical execution that it’s difficult to take seriously. Ultimately the film neither chills, nor comments on marriage at all, but simply wilts away in mediocrity.