Vanilla Sky/Njósnavélin (The Nothing Song) (Untitled #4)

Cameron Crowe’s 2001 sci-fi-remake-romantic-psychological-Tom Cruise-phantasmagoric-drama was an incredibly divisive release in the waning days of that year. Okay, I added phantasmagoric for effect, and while I’m not entirely certain what genre that is; I know it’s definitely NOT Vanilla Sky. There were a handful of notable critics who found the heady mixture of pop-obsessed science fiction and vain white man redeems himself allegory to a be a complete disaster. Others, including myself, found it to be an ambitious, yet flawed, but ultimately moving work of one director purposefully impregnating another’s vision with his own directorial DNA. It’s a film where homage gives way to assimilation, and eventually domination. It might be a remake of a Spanish-language film, but Cameron Crowe is the only filmmaker who could have made this particular film.   

Upon exiting the theater that cold December day, (it might not have been cold, but this was back when weather used to match up with it’s seasonal alignment on a somewhat more consistent basis), the first thought that popped into my head was: “I think I liked nearly every single song on that soundtrack.” My brother Nate commented that he in fact “owned nearly every single song on that soundtrack.” The fact that music played such an integral part of the film should have come to no surprise. As this was the same director who gave us the In Your Eyes/Say Anything boom box moment, the Tiny Dancer/Almost Famous bus sing-a-long, and most certainly influenced my life long love of Pearl Jam with the inclusion of two of their tracks on the Singles soundtrack. A soundtrack, I should add, I bought when it came out when I had little to no interest in seeing the actual movie. I felt something different about Vanilla Sky, perhaps because it was a more modern collection of bands, and I was at the perfect age to discover that kind of music. Here is just an idea of the bands I eventually became enamored with because of Mr. Crowe’s track selection skills. Red House Painters, Mark Kozelek, Sun Kil Moon, Sigur Ros, Jonsi, Beth Orton, Chemical Brothers, Looper, Josh Rouse. Not to mention the acts I was previously acquainted with such as Bob Dylan, R.E.M., Radiohead, and Jeff Buckley. Spiritualized’s title track from their landmark album, “Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space” was also used in the film, although not included in the soundtrack. In all fairness, Nate had previously introduced me to Spiritualized that fall with the use of a track in one of his student projects.

There was one band and one track that particularly stood out for me. Sadly, it was also not included on the actual soundtrack. It is the last piece of music used in the film (aside from the Paul McCartney end credits original), and it’s there to score the incredibly powerful ending. During the film’s release, it was only available as a live bootleg and it wouldn’t be until November of the next year, 2002, that it would gain a proper release. It is the song of many names. It is Sigur Ros’ Njósnavélin, aka, The Nothing Song, aka Untitled Track Number Four.

This song and sequence immediately grabbed my attention as soon as it began. One reason for this might be that the preceding 10-15 minutes are nothing but wall-to-wall necessary exposition. And in these moments, we are meant to challenge nearly every single piece of information we had been given by the film up to this point. Then again, maybe we aren’t. If the explanation were the end of the film, it would rob the story of the shot of adrenaline it had acquired wherein David Aames’ life starts to fall to absolute shit and chaos.  After this barrage of information, something interesting happens when Aames gets to the top floor of the literally sky-scraping building located in the middle of Manhattan. It gets quiet. Now, that’s not to say that the dialogue becomes non-existent and the film becomes nothing more than a selection of free-association abstract images. The dialogue that remains becomes a little sparser and a little more oblique. The lasting auditory effect we are left with is the music of Sigur Ros. What I love about how this particular piece is used, is that it is all at once: frightening, soothing, loud, quiet, distant, uncomfortably close, strange, and then ultimately as natural to the soundscape of the scene as the wind. With Jonsi’s otherworldly vocals, the wail of the lead guitar as it is played with a bow, and the steady pounding of the percussion, the song comes to reflect the ultimate fate of the world of David Aames. It’s important to make that distinction because this final scene is not just about the obliteration of one man, but of his entire world. Given that one of the titles of the track is Nothing Song, it makes sense that the scene attempts to capture both the creation and destruction of a way of life.   

Once Aames makes his leap, this is when I feel the film becomes its most eloquently expressive self, and it does this entirely free of dialogue. After some potentially (too) cutesy exchanges between David and Sofia, and a meta-audience-as-spectator-and-character-in-the-film-line from Noah Taylor, the dialogue is finished. Nothing Song takes over and David takes the plunge.  There are many ways to look at this and perhaps the most obvious is that the seed planted in the beginning of the film about David’s fear of heights had to be addressed eventually. Another is that taking a leap of faith was a common science fiction trope at the time, if you’ll recall the many sequences of people jumping in the original Matrix (a film without which, Vanilla Sky probably would never have been made). The interpretation that makes the most sense to me is that this is a suicide.  It is a suicide because he’s killing the life he has now and the world he’s always known. At the same time, he’s most certainly taking something with him. He is told he will wake up 150 years later in an all too real world with little more than the clothes on his back (or not, depending on what kind of future it is). His fate is yet to be determined and nothing will be in his control.  The song ultimately succeeds in this sequence because it conveys a tone that is at once hopeful and fatalistic. By selecting a song with such depth of emotion, Crowe seems to imply that within this death, there will be a life. Within the mad rush to the ground, there will be an epiphany. And finally that within the fabulous life of David Aames, a life over-flowing with consumption and excess, all it amounts to is nothing more than a series of fleeting memories.  Memories filled with life, but memories nonetheless. As past, present, future, family, pop-culture, friends, lovers, glances, shrugs, hugs, kisses, experiences, regrets, and the rest of the over-whelming nature of existence collide on impact, David truly opens his eye for the first time in his life.  The Nothing Song embraces the acceptance that we may never understand the ingredients that make up a life.  Imagine you are watching a home movie of yourself as a baby. Clearly, the events on screen transpired exactly as filmed. You were most certainly present during the filmed activities. Yet, it’s almost as if you’re looking at someone else’s life. You are watching someone else’s story.  What happened to the experiences and sensations you had to have felt? Will they all come rushing back to us the moment before it all ends?  The music of Sigur Ros and the films of Cameron Crowe do not pretend to come anywhere close to answering this question.  By presenting this moment with a flush of images, song lyrics written in an indecipherable made-up language, and a melody flushed with eloquent eeriness, they simply ask: when the time comes, what will you see? What do you want to see? 

Bottle Rocket/2000 Man

In honor of the release of the newest film by Wes Anderson, Moonrise Kingdom, fish and the whale presents a series of entries detailing a sequence from all six of Anderson’s previously released features. Each scene displays Anderson’s impeccable taste for using popular music and images in the most harmonious of unions. This is the Wonderful World of Wes.

I’m a little rusty on my screenwriting terms (so sue me, or remark upon how blatantly ignorant I am in the comments section), but I believe the scene from Bottle Rocket I have chosen would be the climax of the story. Dignan (Owen Wilson) is trapped at the site of one of the most mind-bogglingly inept robberies in the history of the universe. His brother Anthony (Luke Wilson), lookout man Bob Mapplethorpe (Robert Musgrave), safecracker Kumar (Kumar Pallana), and Apple-Jack (Jim Ponds, I’m not entirely sure what his job is), are fleeing from a cold-storage facility after the alarm has been tripped. Anthony and Dignan argue over who is going to return to the scene of the crime to rescue Apple-Jack, who has been felled by a heart attack (and he is the sole possessor of keys to their getaway van). The music playing over this section is part of Mark Mothersbaugh’s original score for the film. The tribal drums and the metronomic maracas, suggest perhaps an initiation ritual for Dignan. This is the ultimate test, the trial by fire for his 75 year plan; he could flee the scene of the crime or sacrifice himself for the well being of his fellow criminals. Dignan pleads with Anthony to let him go resorting to one of the most endearing declarations of leadership and power: “WHO is in charge here?” Claiming authority with a question is just one of Dignan’s incomparable achievements. This conversation leads to the most important dialogue spoken in the entire movie. Anthony tells him that he knows what will happen to him if he goes back to get Apple-Jack, Dignan replies, “No, I don’t. They’ll never catch me man, cause I’m fuckin’ innocent.”

The score quietly fades out and the camera pushes into Dignan’s face ever-so-slightly.  We watch Dignan’s eyes as they race through all manner of daring escapes he can make to avoid capture. It could also be read that they are illuminating his entire life for him up to this point as he prepares to make a decision that will no doubt radically alter it forever. Either way, the smile that begins to creep into Dignan’s face and the gentle acoustic strumming the opens the Rolling Stones’ 2000 Man, suggest that Dignan is not only living the dream, but about to play it out in real life. Decision made. It’s also important to note the sound design in this sequence; Anderson wisely leaves in the natural droning wind of the location. I have no idea whether this was live sound or taken from a library but let’s just assume the former for sake of argument, plus, it doesn’t really matter one way or the other. The sound of the drab storage facility wind is the boring life Dignan’s so absolutely petrified of.  That life is attempting to over-power the wistful tempo of the Rolling Stones. That life is attempting to shut off the movie that’s constantly playing in Dignan’s head.

The song completely takes over the soundtrack once Dignan takes off for the plant (save for some footsteps and yelling by the cops) and we are now in Dignan land.  It is here where Anderson cuts away from the robbery and reveals the twist of the story. The character of Mr. Henry (James Caan) reveals himself to be a small-time con-man who has cleaned out the house of Bob Mapplethorpe. He used Dignan as a surrogate son and protégé to get close to the rich friend. Over the shots of Caan organizing the moving van filled with Bob’s shit, Jagger sings about his name being a number and growing funny flowers on the window sill.  The chorus of the song is revealed as “Don’t you know, I’m a 2000 man. And my kids, they just don’t understand me at all.”  If you’ll indulge me to read WAY too much into this, I believe this is the final connection and, in effect, the severing of the chord between Dignan and Mr. Henry.   As the sequence of shots reveals, Mr. Henry is last seen in a low angle close-up, billowing cigar smoke from his mouth.  He has finally morphed into the imposing gangster figure we’ve been waiting for throughout the film. At the same time, he is left utterly and completely alone. His kind of thievery and Dignan’s brand are as different from each other as night and day. Take the very next cut of Dignan helping the ailing Apple-Jack to the van. His selflessness and humility stand in sharp contrast to Mr. Henry “I-got-mine-so-fuck-you” selfishness.  As much as Mr. Henry tried to mold Dignan into his apprentice, we now see that his failure is absolute and total.

Dignan’s sacrifice wouldn’t be complete without him actually having to sacrifice something. His valiant act of bravery aside, Dignan is still Dignan, and he locks himself out of the van. The music changes rhythm here completely. The cops corner Dignan, and we think this is the end. Then, as if spurred on by the faster tempo of the second part of the song, Dignan takes off back into the storage facility.  It is here, according to this writer, that the scene becomes iconic.  Wilson, in his banana-yellow jumpsuit armed with a gun, running away from the cops with exhilarating comic desperation. Nobody else can pull this off quite like Wes Anderson. It is here that the song begins to repeat the same set of lyrics over and over again, “Oh daddy, proud of your planet. Oh mummy, proud of your sun.” Note once again, the re-occurrence of the parent-child relationship reflected in the lyrics.  The only variance is in the following lyrics, which appear in the song when Dignan heads for the location of his eventual last stand: a giant fish freezer filled with ice. “Like it did when you were young. Or do you come down crashin. Seeing all the things you'd done. All was a big put on.” Dignan must now face the objective reality of his situation. Everything is about to come crashing down. He gets stuck in the freezer; the cops corner him, ignore his surrender, and begin to violently sub-due him. And even though he is getting repeatedly punched in the stomach, Dignan is still trying to talk his way out of it.

The last shot of the sequence is Dignan, handcuffed and led by the police out of the facility into a police car. The first thing that struck me about this final shot is how similar it looks (I guess it’s the other way around) like the shot in Rushmore of Max being led away by the police after Blume reports him for cutting the brakes on his car. The scene in Rushmore is an explosion of adolescent rage. The look on Max’s face as he’s pushed through the halls of his new high school and the pounding drums of The Who’s A Quick One While He’s Away convey this. In Bottle Rocket, the song reverts back to its original tempo and Jagger repeats the chorus. The look on Dignan’s face suggests an exhilarating defiance. He has finally achieved his dream of being a career criminal. We may not understand him at all, but we’ll follow Dignan wherever he goes. Why? Because he’s fuckin’ innocent.

Smoke/Innocent When You Dream

I still can’t quite explain why the movie “Smoke” has stuck with me all these years. Perhaps it was the circumstances in which I first viewed the film, a sick day home from school, (at least, I think it was a sick day). I was lucky to have incredibly lenient parents when it came to movies I was allowed to see. The advantage is such that you are made aware of things that, simply, aren’t on your radar. Two other examples of sick day movies that spring to mind are What’s Eating Gilbert Grape and Don’t Look Back, two films, for which, I still hold a great deal of admiration. The lesson here is quite simple: accrue lots of sick days kids, that way your parents will let you watch a bunch of cool shit.

Miramax released Smoke in 1995, written by Paul Auster and directed by Wayne Wang. Interestingly enough, the possessive credit at the start of the movie reads: A Film By Wayne Wang and Paul Auster. It is definitely the product of two distinct personalities. Smoke was one of those Miramax Multiplex Art House movies that proliferated in the mid-90’s. I just coined that term so don’t bother looking it up, and if isn’t legit yet, try to spread it around. I’m referring to films made in the wake of Good Will Hunting and Pulp Fiction, the kinds of films Miramax hung their banner on for so many years. They were independent films, but they weren’t what you’d call provocative “art-house” movies. They had no intentions of rubbing your face in shit. At the same time, they weren’t glossed up the wazoo like big studio productions. There was a strong amount of integrity to these movies. They were singular visions, yet accessible at the same time. Smoke Signals, Chasing Amy, Brassed Off, Cop Land, and Rounders are the prime examples of how I was first introduced to “independent cinema.” A term, which seems fairly meaningless now, considering every single one of those, was actually released by the Walt Disney Company. I guess such distinctions escaped me at the time. I also remember yearning to one day have that Miramax logo in front of a film I had contributed to in some way. I thought that was the mountaintop and the rainbow behind it, the official sign that you’d made it.

I’ll give you all a minute to laugh at my inane naiveté. Yes, I had (and still have) a very dim grasp of the movie industry but I wasn’t even 14 yet, so lay off. Before this turns into a Miramax love-fest, I should explain that the reason for all this is to say; these movies introduced me to the idea that not everything had to have shoot-outs or ten explosions every five minutes to be worthy of my time. It could just be a movie about people…talking.

Talking, and all of its inherent glories, is precisely what Smoke has on its mind. The pleasures one takes from a conversation, the shared experiences, and that intangible connection are all created by the act of conversing. They are created and released into the atmosphere, only to disperse and evaporate instantly. It can be seen, heard and tasted, but the moment one tries to touch it, it’s gone. This all sounds a lot like…okay, I think I’ve laid it on pretty thick here.

The movie is the opposite of this, I should say, It’s light, witty, and quick on it’s feet. The story revolves around Auggie Wren (Harvey Keitel) who runs a cigar store on the corner of 16th Street and Prospect Park West in Brooklyn. The store is frequented by Paul Benjamin, (William Hurt) a writer struggling with the still-fresh random shooting death of his wife. Paul and Auggie have a long-standing friendship. As the film transpires, certain events occur to take Auggie and Paul out of their comfort zone, as they are each confronted by lost children. I suppose it is a bit disingenuous to describe the plot in a beat-by-beat action. Besides, I’m supposed to be talking about music, right? The film has more of a hangout vibe as it is, situations occur and characters react, but it is all within the realm of naturalistic forward momentum. That’s not to say there aren’t certain contrivances, moments where you can feel the writer struggling to pull everything together into some sort of cohesive “what does it all mean” statement, but those are few and far between. As it is, the film likes to sit back and observe these characters and more importantly, hear them talk.

This takes us to the final two sequences in the film. One is a lengthy monologue delivered by Auggie to Paul in a diner somewhere in Brooklyn. Paul has informed Auggie that the New York Times has asked him for a Christmas story to be published on Christmas day. Paul claims to not know any stories, so in exchange for lunch, Auggie agrees to share one with him. He claims that every word of is true. The second scene is played out during the film’s credits. It is a black and white, slow motion visual interpretation of Auggie’s story. The shot that connects the two sequences is a type- writer banging out the words: “Auggie Wren’s Christmas Story.” We hear the story, but we also see it re-constructed by Paul Benjamin for his piece in the times. (Note: Further wormhole inducing information, Auggie Wren’s Christmas Story was actually published in the New York Times on Christmas Day by Paul Auster). In the end, we are left with one story, but many different ways of telling it.

Over the black and white recreation of the story, the filmmakers used the song, “Innocent When You Dream” by Tom Waits. It was this exact scene; I remember it perfectly, when the film seared itself into my mind. From first viewing, this felt like the perfect ending to me. It doesn’t serve any story purpose, it doesn’t tie-up any of the still dangling threads we’ve just spent ninety minutes with, yet it ends on such grace that none of it matters anymore. I think a lot of that warmth has to do with the Waits song. There’s a lot of comfort to its accordion, merry-go-round melody and stumbling piano twinkles, and Waits’ voice is the perfect weapon to undercut any sneaky sentiment. What we have is, in effect, a time less song, one that very strongly indicates a yearning for the past, but in it’s lack of specificity in regards to catering to the popular music trends in which it was created, can be about a feeling we’ll always have. It’s the musical equivalent of smoke. Throw in the fact that Waits uses several of his own vocal tracks to make it sound like a drunken sing-a-long at a bar full of broken down losers and you have that ephemeral spirit of the film wrapped up in a perfect marriage of audio and visuals. As the song plays, the images are definitely the most stylized we’ve seen yet. Yet they never come across as flashy or meant to induce a music video by any stretch of the imagination. Neither do they ever plead with us to feel a certain way about the characters (this is, after all, a story of a man who steals a camera from an old blind woman). The images take their time, allowing the song to intermingle with the silent footage in ways that both compliment and enhance one another. The song gives this final sequence an almost fable-like quality. We quickly understand that it doesn’t really matter if it happened this way to the exact letter. What’s important is that Auggie gave Paul the story as a gift and now that story has taken on an identity of its own. The song is a punch-drunk, bleary-eyed howl of anguish. The visuals are more contemplative but we can see in Auggie’s fumbling attempt at making a connection with another human being that they are after the same thing. It is in that dichotomy, I believe, that the film achieves its true moment of grace. We can make a lot of noise about it, or we can sit down and share a meal with each other in silence. Either way, whatever it is we’re looking for and eventually find, will be gone by the time we realize it. That is why we keep looking, writing, smoking, talking, and dreaming.

 PS: Here is Auggie Wren's Christmas Story by Paul Auster, it's definitely worth a read.

Okay! That's been just about one moment...

Apologies for my absence. I'm sure in the ensuing years since we last spoke you have been forced to wander the barren wasteland known as the internet, in search of anything remotely resembling mental sustenance. I say to you now that your long and arduous search is over.

I have returned!

I should say, I'm writing this return post right now, which isn't to say I'll necessarily STICK TO IT this time. But let's roll the dice and see what happens. I had an idea for a blog a couple years back for some kind of examination of how music not specifically written for a film works in conjunction with the images. I believe there is a technical term for when a pop song is used on a soundtrack but it has escaped me at the moment. For one reason or another I never got around to starting this blog. Perhaps because there are ten-thousand other blogs with the exact same purpose being started, written, and subsequently abandoned as we speak. How do I offer to stand out in this immensely packed field? I don't. I'm just going to write about things that interest me and maybe some of you will come along.

Getting back to the point. Each post will examine a particular scene from a film, (I might do the occasional TV show every now and then but those will be few and far between) and I will try to offer my unique insight into the why of it all. Why was this scene chosen? Why does it work (or doesn't)? That's only two but I'm sure more will come up as I dive into this.

So sit back and get ready for some hopefully not copyrighted youtube clips and half-assed pseudo analysis of some of my favorite Songs and Images from the Movies.

PS: I'm not totally 100% crazy about this lay-out. If anybody has any ideas or contributions, feel free to share.