by Bruce E. Parry
Two young people (twenties) in Europe meet on a train, hit it off and spend just one magical night together. I have experienced that (not literally) and it is a most important aspect of growing up and falling in love. The essence for me here is not the particular story, but the feeling of complete freedom to be yourself. (It occurs to me that it is also the complete freedom to be someone you’re not, to act, but that would—it seems to me—negate the experience altogether). Two people, without commitment, get to be with each other and to experience each other without “baggage” and without expectation.
Of course, they fall in love. Knowing before hand that this is the first film of a trilogy, I cannot help but wonder what transpires in the second two episodes. But the film stands on its own. The film is beautiful—as it must be to work—being filmed in Vienna. The closing shots are revealing of both their relationship and the magical city itself: it is the morning of the next day and everything that was magical before, everything that was mystical, transcendent, beautiful and unique, is now shut down and just a regular city (block, park, cemetery, sidewalk). The magic is between the two lovers.
The idea of the film is so beautiful and meaningful to me that I almost hate to shovel it into the ditch of analysis. But I will. The story was there. I knew how it would unfold because it could only unfold one way. But I could not get into their relationship. It was portrayed. I could tell it was there. I remember the feelings I had in the same kind of situation, but I could not feel their love. Whether it was my age and being too jaded, whether it was my mood, or whatever, I didn’t feel it. And I wanted to. That was the tragedy. I understood what the film was doing, where it was going and how it would conclude, but I couldn’t feel it.
I could feel her (Celine, played by Julie Delpy) and react to her, but I couldn’t feel Ethan Hawke (Jesse). First, I thought of him as Ethan Hawke the entire film, not Jesse. Not so with Celine, perhaps because I was unfamiliar with her as an actress. Second, I couldn’t identify with what he said or how he said it. It was—generational or experiential gap?—different than the way I would have reacted, different from what I would have said, different from how I would have reacted to what Celine said, and different from the way I view the world. Not so different that I couldn’t see what was happening; just different enough that it was jarring for me.
I am a sucker for schmaltz. All kinds of films have been able to engage my heart. I am not sure why this one didn’t, particularly since its theme—and writing—was beyond schmaltz. It seemed to be the real thing. That’s why I’m disappointed.
Yet, I still want to see how it unfolds as a trilogy. I am intrigued. I have been pulled in enough to want to continue on with the project. I think that there are so many ways it could go from that first magical evening. I wonder which path will be chosen.
Copyright Bruce E. Parry
Two young people (twenties) in Europe meet on a train, hit it off and spend just one magical night together. I have experienced that (not literally) and it is a most important aspect of growing up and falling in love. The essence for me here is not the particular story, but the feeling of complete freedom to be yourself. (It occurs to me that it is also the complete freedom to be someone you’re not, to act, but that would—it seems to me—negate the experience altogether). Two people, without commitment, get to be with each other and to experience each other without “baggage” and without expectation.
Of course, they fall in love. Knowing before hand that this is the first film of a trilogy, I cannot help but wonder what transpires in the second two episodes. But the film stands on its own. The film is beautiful—as it must be to work—being filmed in Vienna. The closing shots are revealing of both their relationship and the magical city itself: it is the morning of the next day and everything that was magical before, everything that was mystical, transcendent, beautiful and unique, is now shut down and just a regular city (block, park, cemetery, sidewalk). The magic is between the two lovers.
The idea of the film is so beautiful and meaningful to me that I almost hate to shovel it into the ditch of analysis. But I will. The story was there. I knew how it would unfold because it could only unfold one way. But I could not get into their relationship. It was portrayed. I could tell it was there. I remember the feelings I had in the same kind of situation, but I could not feel their love. Whether it was my age and being too jaded, whether it was my mood, or whatever, I didn’t feel it. And I wanted to. That was the tragedy. I understood what the film was doing, where it was going and how it would conclude, but I couldn’t feel it.
I could feel her (Celine, played by Julie Delpy) and react to her, but I couldn’t feel Ethan Hawke (Jesse). First, I thought of him as Ethan Hawke the entire film, not Jesse. Not so with Celine, perhaps because I was unfamiliar with her as an actress. Second, I couldn’t identify with what he said or how he said it. It was—generational or experiential gap?—different than the way I would have reacted, different from what I would have said, different from how I would have reacted to what Celine said, and different from the way I view the world. Not so different that I couldn’t see what was happening; just different enough that it was jarring for me.
I am a sucker for schmaltz. All kinds of films have been able to engage my heart. I am not sure why this one didn’t, particularly since its theme—and writing—was beyond schmaltz. It seemed to be the real thing. That’s why I’m disappointed.
Yet, I still want to see how it unfolds as a trilogy. I am intrigued. I have been pulled in enough to want to continue on with the project. I think that there are so many ways it could go from that first magical evening. I wonder which path will be chosen.
Copyright Bruce E. Parry
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