Uncle Boonmee And The Nature of Art

OK, let's get the important bit out of the way: don't watch this movie. You don't need to nor should you ever want to. It's obtuse, self-indulgent and, worst of all, boring; so pretty much the kind of movie I'd end up making if I got my hands on a camera, but still. The point is: this is a piece of shit. Pretty, sure, but shit.

You can polish a turd all you like but, at the end of the day, it still came out of an anus.

Good. I'm glad that we've got that sorted right off the bat; now I'll be a little more specific.

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives is about the eponymous Uncle who is suffering from chronic kidney failure and on his last legs. He claims to be able to see visions of past lives that he had and is visited by various spirits and begins to accept his fate and it's all very ethereal and odd.

There's a lot of sitting. It's that sort of film.

First off, Uncle Boonmee is slooooow. As in screensavers of paint drying or slo-mo Spartan slow, not the fun kind. Sure, the six minute opening sequence of an ox (one of Boonmee's past lives) just mooching about is intriguing, but you can't keep a movie at that pace for the whole run time unless you're planning on using it as an insomnia treatment. I did the dishes while watching this film and only needed to look up every five minutes to make sure no-one had moved yet. There's atmospherically lengthy then there's boring; Uncle Boonmee, while no doubt striving for the former, falls most definitely into the latter.

Secondly, this film is one of the most patronisingly cryptic pieces of wank I've seen in a long time, and I'm a fan of The Fountain. I like surrealism, and Uncle Boonmee actually pulls it off rather well (my particular favourite moment being the dinner scene with a ghost and a red eyed man-monkey), but where the likes of Eraserhead use surreal imagery to create an air of unsettling dread and such, Boonmee purposefully presents it in a way that strips away any meaning that the scene could have had. You're left with a series of pointless events and interactions that refuse to give themselves context just for the sake of making you feel silly for not understanding what's going on. That's not clever use of imagery, that's the cinematic equivalent of name-calling.

"Soggypants McFishFucker!"

When we do actually get given a little bit of context, the delivery is so heavy-handed they might as well have added a commentary to each scene that's just a loop of someone going "Guys. Guys, do you get it?!" Two occasions stick out in particular: Boonmee's conversation with his sister-in-law about his involvement in the Communist Insurgency in Thailand in the 1970s, and a moment when the aforementioned man-monkey describes his transformation into the beast that he now is. He talks about learning how to use a camera and understanding "the art of photography", turning to look directly at the camera as he says it.

"It's OK, they won't notice how ham-fisted this is because I'm dressed like a monkey!"

Wow. Subtle. Would this film happen to be both an allegory for the changing landscape of cinema and an exploration of the strong political and religious history of Thailand? My god, who'da thunk!? Maybe try expressing that with your imagery next time, instead of having to resort to narration by bestiality-obsessed primates.

The last thing, which you might have already noticed, is that the film looks for the most part like it was shot underwater with a novelty lamp for lighting. Sure, tell me all about how it makes it ethereal and mysterious and fuck you, I can't see shit. Shut the fuck up and sit down. You did bad. Bad. There is one good line in this whole film and Uncle Boonmee is sort of adorable, but apart from that you fucked up big time.

I can't see the forest for the lack of basic competency!

Ahem. Yes, so Uncle Boonmee pretty much fails on most every level required to be considered an enjoyable piece of cinema; which of course means it won the Palme D'or at the Cannes Film Festival.

Overall Ben Equivalence Rating

Watching a Greek Opera Being Performed Using Interpretive Dance in the Pitch Dark -

You know there's meant to be meaning here somewhere but you can't see it for the impenetrable wall of darkness and unnecessary wank.

Speaking of Cannes and the Palme D'or, I'd like to take a detour now and talk about a quandry that I often find myself facing when appreciating art; particularly that which is highly lauded by, for lack of a better term, the bourgeois of the art world.

I'ma just leave this here.

There seems to be an almost unequivocal disparity between what the public consider good art and what is praised as great art, and to a lesser soul like myself it can often seem like there's this whole other secret language going on art that we, the common folk, are not privy to. Now, I'm all too aware that the very nature of art leaves it open to the interpretation of the viewer, and so it would be impossible to create a standard against which art could be judged as good, but I'd like to take a stab at defining what a piece of successful art could be.

Much of what we'll call high art, like our good Uncle Boonmee here, is shrouded in an air of almost impenetrable esotericism that seems to revel in taunting you for not getting it. It's the artistic version of that inside joke in History class that no-one else would let you in on and you felt stupid for not realising the punchline. The thing here is that just because you might understand what's happening, it doesn't mean it's worth your time. I got Uncle Boonmee, but I didn't like it; I also got A Good Day To Die Hard, despite its best efforts to be so stupid it needed its own carer, and I didn't like that either. Art can often get so tied up in being smart that it loses the accessibility that makes it so appealing (see Damien Hirst), and this leads to frustration for those who just want something nice to enjoy.

I don't know what I'm looking at but it scares me.

Of course I say all this and it's absolutely right that an artist has no obligation to make something that will appeal to anyone/everyone, nor should they alter it for the public's enjoyment or so that they might understand it better. Asking for something that pleases everybody is like trying to make chewing gum that doubles as a three course dinner, and we all know how that turned out. Art is about evoking emotion in the spectator however, and an artist who doesn't consider how their work might be interpreted by those viewing it, regardless of their knowledge of or standing in the art community, is missing half of the point of making something in the first place.

Let's use TV comedy as an example: some people love Family Guy. We don't like to admit it, but it's true. It's popular, but by no means any more than chewing gum for weary, meth-addled eyes, and the wider world accepts that. Shows that are pretty much unanimously considered the cream of the crop on the other hand (Futurama, Community, Gilmore Girls... I totally didn't put that last one in myself.) all have something in common that's worth pointing out. Much like art, comedy ostensibly contains two types of humour: high class and low class humour. Low class humour is fart jokes and, at it's furthest depths, the entire 22 minute run time of any Family Guy episode (I've sure got a vendetta out on these guys today), while high class humour consists of the jokes that are aimed at a smaller audience that require a little more specified knowledge to understand.

Jokes that make fun of Family Guy have their own class entirely.

For example, in Futurama, Professor Farnsworth delivers the exposition for an episode in overly technical terms and another character might make a gag based on some principle of quantum physics. To those who don't have a great understanding of physics it might sound like a reasonable, if techno-babbly, reply, but it doesn't really matter if they get it because six seconds later Bender curses and burps fire. Everyone's happy. Here we've got a perfect mix: smarter jokes that are there if you want to find them, but presented alongside humour that anyone can enjoy regardless. The same can be found in Community, which relieves the relentless barrage of obscure pop culture references with the low-brow but still well-written characters of Chang and Pierce, because we can all get behind laughing at crazy bigoted people. When a show dips too far either way towards an unrelenting barrage of Wilde-style wit or descends into endlessly beating up a chicken, it loses it's spark (see Futurama Season 6). It's this harmony between different levels of knowledge and an obvious understanding by the creators that their viewers will be at different levels that makes for an experience that can be enjoyed by many but still be rewarding to those who want to look for more. Of course you can still get good and bad shows on either end or in the middle of this spectrum; crap is an independent quality dictated by writing and myriad other factors, but you've got a better chance of success if you try and get your show in that sweet spot of accessibility.

What does all this have to do with cinema and Uncle Boonmee? Well, much in the same way that these shows know how to appeal to a wider audience, so do successful, highly-lauded films. The Shining and The Exorcist pretty much dominate the top spots of any "Best Horror Films" lists, and for good reason; they're well paced, tense, atmospheric, and have more layers to them than, like, a really big lasagne. Most of all though, they're great, enjoyable movies regardless of whether you pick up on the fact that the homeless guy was actually Satan or that Stanley Kubrick faked the moon landing, and that's why they'll always be the best; they're deep, intellectual pieces that present themselves in a way that makes them more easily digestible to the masses. They have all the makings of a critically praised movie, but go even further to create an experience that is open for interpretation on more levels than just those that require a Masters in Visual Arts and a king size box of Kleenex. These are the kinds of films that should predominate our festivals and awards and be held up as paragons of great, truly successful art.

And while we're at it we should probably start cracking down on all the excessive peacocking too.

Sadly, what we have instead are films that alienate the general public to give themselves a better chance at pleasing the people who hand out the awards. Sure, your film is smart and has garnered critical acclaim, but to most of us it's entertainment garbage.