Oslo, August 31st

365 Films

Entry #104

Oslo, August 31^st (2011)

Directed by Joachim Trier

I’m going to begin this particular entry with a line stolen from Eels front man, E that was written when describing the difference between the bands’ first two albums.  I have an incredibly specific memory of thieving this specific piece of verbiage prior to this; however, an incredibly lazy Google search has not yielded any such instances.  If there any dedicated sleuths out there who can dig up this lazy piece of self-plagiarizing plagiarism, I tell ya what, I’ll take you out for a steak dinner.  And if that’s not your thing, I’ll let you pick one of the 365 movies.  The line in question is if Reprise was Joachim Trier’s filmmaking calling card to the world, than Oslo, August 31^st is the phone call in the middle of the night that nobody wants to answer.  The primary observation that fascinates me most about Oslo is how it is, in some ways, a spiritual sequel to Reprise, but in other ways is almost it’s polar opposite.  Where the first film is flippant, warm, and quick to the cultural pulse and pace of youth.  Oslo is a film populated by ghosts and it’s pace is such that (again, in comparison to Reprise) one can’t help but notice that where the prior film moves along at an agitated clip, compressing massive amounts of actual time into a few minutes of screen time.   Oslo is nearing middle age, and seems to trudge endlessly towards its inevitable conclusion in only a twenty-four hour time span.  I don’t think I can stress enough how much of a bummer this movie is; it’s an unrelentingly bleak look at an extinguished life.  And where some filmmakers would chose to take the redemptive route, Trier avoids that well-worn path altogether and it’s in the film’s sobering observations on city life where the film becomes something more than just another long day’s journey into night.  Trier captures something about his hometown of Oslo that is germane to any major metropolitan area around the world.  That is the idea that life in a city can be simultaneously liberating and suffocating.  That may not sound like such a radical reading on this piece, but I am much more interested in the way Trier chooses to cinematically represent these ideas.  The opening audio collage for example, clues us in immediately to the painful reality that this is a city populated by ghosts.  As the voice over jumps from person to person, the visuals seem to do the same thing.  Capturing an entire cities’ worth of intimate home movies capped up by the demolition of the Phillips building from 2000.  The key to this introduction is that these ghosts are haunted by joyful memories rather than devastating ones.  Mournful reminders of a time that seemed infinite in the present, but is now reduced to little more than the rubble of a once mighty skyscraper.  Another example of this is the show stopping centerpiece sequence of the film, when the main character Anders sits down in a café and begins to absorb snippets of the conversations around him.  These aural daydreams then lead to visual connections, as he tries to imagine the lives of two strangers who pass by outside on the street.  The café sequence is startling because it of how it creeps up on Anders, and eventually, us.  It begins as a bit of a lark, a playful bit of casual spying.  But the more Anders listens, the more disconnected he begins to feel.  The more swallowed up by his own shattered memories he becomes.  The café is full of life, but all he can hear is the life he has voluntarily discarded, and rather than pick up the pieces, he chooses to leave them as they lie.  It’s hard to speak so rapturously about this movie without sounding like a pompous buffoon, but part of what makes the film so bearable is its ceaseless commitment to sincerity and compassionate humanity.  Mind you, these qualities are never at the expense of the trenchant, painful insights the film has about its characters and their actions.  This approach is merely emblematic of the masterly control Trier has over his material.  It’s his vision of a generation that makes the entire film, from frame one to its quiet climax, all the more shattering.