friday, january 22, 2010

Nightwatching

The particular epiphany that opened the doors of understanding about cinema to me seems almost prosaic to the point of insignificance when articulated directly: everything in a film is there for a reason.

Well, isn't it obvious? Yes, of course it is. Which might be why I overlooked it for so very long. The import of this simple idea is transformed into something breathtakingly profound when it is unshackled from the stultifying inertia of plot and allowed to blossom in the vast fields of possibility the medium can lay claim to.

Peter Greenaway's 2007 film Nightwatching takes this conceit and runs with it. On one level it is a retelling of the story of behind the creation of Rembrandt van Rijn's masterpiece, The Night Watch. On another it's a dissertation on how a work of art must be understood within the context it was created in.

And then, perhaps most importantly, it's a subtle argument as to why this same approach must be taken for film as well.

This is fertile soil for a filmmaker like Greenaway, whose initial training was as a painter and whose films are rife with references to classical painting through scenic composition, the use of light and an unvarnished approach to the naked body. He works doggedly to earn the description "baroque" without a whit of concern for the pejorative aspect of the term.

There is also a very structured sensibility of his films that may come from the deliberate sense of setting inherited from his background as a muralist but evokes the impression of the theater. From the placement of the actors in the scene to ornate sets that boasts furniture as evocative as the lavishly costumed extras in every scene.

Greenaway's impulse to fill the cinematic space to the brim was best illustrated in his 1991 opus Prospero's Books. A film so lavish in spectacle and visual splendor one reviewer at the time noted that if it were made in 3D, viewers "might bleed from their eyes" upon watching it.

Paradoxically, the power of the work was oddly dampened by the abundance. The initial euphoria prompted by the exquisite delights gave way to a feeling of lassitude as the spectacle numbed the senses. Finishing the film became a test of will and it left one exhausted and spent.

Nightwatching demonstrates a degree of restraint not evident in the earlier work. While the amount of visual information thrown at the viewer is immense, it's not to the point of indisposition. The nuance then works to alight the viewer's curiosity rather of numbing his sensibilities.

And that's might be Greenaway's true intention here. He's ostensibly on a mission to reveal the truth behind Rembrandt's masterpiece, The Company of Frans Banning Cocq and Willem van Ruytenburch or, as it is commonly known, The Night Watch.

Completed in 1642, the painting depicted the militia of Amsterdam setting out upon their rounds. It was commissioned by the 17 members of the group to be hung in their banquet hall and, at the onset, intended as a group portrait.

Yet Rembrandt produced an immense painting filled with symbolism and effect that, according to Greenaway, present an accusation that the militia members murdered their prior leader of the group. They then extract their revenge by ruining Rembrandt socially and financially.

The focus on this conspiracy is even more overtly depicted in a companion film J'Accuse...! that features Greenaway himself explaining the plot point by point to the viewer. Nightwatching is the depiction of Greenaway's argument and J'Accuse...! is the explicit explanation.

Now how serious Greenaway believes this complex web of chicanery and innuendo is difficult to say. He's certainly put a lot of effort in convincing the viewer - except the whole point of both films is to stop taking things at face value.

Once it is conceded the painting is more that a simply depiction of a group of well-to-do Amsterdam militia members then it is possible to delve into the profound depths of meaning. And the best place to start is with the artists themselves.

While Rembrandt's inclusion of himself in The Night Watch suggests his role as the puppetmaster for the drama it unveils, Greenaway does the same for Nightwatching. Interestingly, the stand in for Greenaway in the film is not Rembrandt (Martin Freeman) but rather Jacob de Roy (Krzysztof Pieczynski).

It is Roy - the mysterious man in red - who explicitly explains the meaning to the painting in the film rather than Rembrandt who simply stands silent as it is unveiled. This connection is made explicit in J'Accuse...! when Greenaway goes so far to dress himself in the costume Roy is wearing in the painting as he presents the evidence for his theory.

Nightwatching is a fascinating and absorbing film that makes a strong case for the aesthetic argument but the factual pretensions of J'Accuse...! falter upon introspection. The license granted to the artistic embellishments in the fictional film is rescinded for the more documentary style of the companion work.

Yet, that problem only stands if it is assumed the intent is simply to make a case for The Night Watch as representing the accusation of murder. Satire, Greenaway argues in both films, is the hallmark of Rembrandt's work, so why should we assume it's not his as well?

Which suggests the whole of Nightwatching may need to be rigorously examined using the same standard he's just employed on The Night Watch.

A work of such a caliber as The Night Watch was made for such rigorous interpretation and to deny it that is to deny it what it rightfully should be given. The abyss of time alone makes them inscrutable and the encrusted centuries of praise, criticism and debate only make them seem beyond casual understanding.

To cede in the face of such a challenge, out of arrogance or ignorance, is the true tragedy. The introspection of such a work is an exercise that enlightens no matter what answer the viewer takes away from it. Solving the murder mystery might be a useful plot device but it's not what makes the painting or the film resonate with meaning.

The process of examination not only leaves us the richer, but we also have found ourselves taking part in a shared dialogue with countless others now 378 years strong. In this way the humanist lesson of Rembrandt's work continues to resonate into the present.

The problem, Greenaway admits, is less dragging Rembrandt into the present, as dragging the modern audience back into the past. The historical context can be found quickly enough but the ability to examine the painting as a viewer from the 17th century is almost impossible.

In J'Accuse...! Greenaway argues that there is a rampant "visual illiteracy" in today's world where ability to interpret images bereft of lexical clues "undernourished, ill-informed and impoverished." The idea that a painting (or film) can convey meaning without text has been almost completely lost.

Greenaway's denunciations don't tread the line of haute couture snobbery, they gleefully run amok on the far side of the barrier with nose defiantly in the air. The withering elitist tone is a deliberate challenge to the viewer to defy its condescending appraisal of the rabble.

Visual literacy is a slippery enough term to start with but it seems counter intuitive to argue that there is a woeful inability to interpret meaning from images in today's' world. The ubiquity of image is almost a hallmark of modern society.

Almost all of the visual stimulus that we are assaulted with on a daily basis is designed to evoke an immediate emotional response. This qualifies as propaganda and advertising, not art.

Greenaway argues that the manufactured image that contains a subtle and profound message is uncommon and the viewer with the ability and patience to take advantage of the opportunity when presented is rarer still.

The insight that an image holds much more meaning than what it presents at face value opens a door of inquiry that includes historical awareness, aesthetic theory, critical assessment and the ineffable fluttering of the sublime. All of which Greenaway treats us to in spades.

Nightwatching is filled with direct quotes and distinct echoes from Rembrandt's works. The most obvious being almost exact re-enactment of the Dutch master's works but also by affecting the palette and sense of lighting Rembrandt pioneered as well.

This citation changes over the course of the film to reflect the changes in Rembrandt's own style during his lifetime. The initial washes of bright color and chiaroscuro give way to frontal lighting and more saturated areas of color toward the end. The unveiling of The Night Watch marking a rough delineation in the look of film as well as the great painter's style.

Yet, through it all, Greenaway shares the Dutch master's abiding pursuit to achieve "the greatest and most natural movement."

As the on-screen characters insist the protagonist's painting must be probed for meaning and nuance, Greenaway fills his own work with as much detail and intimation as the camera can allow. In theory, every still of the film can be examined in minute detail as a work of art in and of itself.

The implication is that Rembrandt found a way to imbue his work with the suggestion of movement, sound and human gesture. It is less a painting than a performance - a work of the theater, as one character puts it. Greenaway's work can be seen as the not exactly modest enterprise of realizing that inherently cinematic promise in a motion picture.

And everything in it is clearly there for a reason.

more:  Movies 

posted by kleph @ 6:30 am |

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