“La La Land”
La La Land is a ludicrous and a laborious film. It’s the work of
Damien Chazelle, who previously gave us the grotesque sadomasochistic
psychodrama Whiplash, and plays as
ineptly on the subjects of music, musicians, art, and artistry as that earlier
film did. Where the two leading figures in Whiplash
were each a pile of clichés working tirelessly on performances of mediocre jazz
numbers, the two leads in La La Land
are empty shapes painted in bright artificial colours and emoting through unexceptional
Broadway poperatic ballads. The film is explicitly a tribute to the
plastic-coloured musical reveries that sprang up in the 50s and 60s, during the
final great blast of energy at the death of the classical Hollywood system; a mixed
bag of overt allusions is made to Singin’
in the Rain, Funny Face, Top Hat, The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, and other films. But Chazelle – though he
works frightfully hard for it, and though that labour shows on the screen –
does not have the sensibility of style and of wonder that made each of the
works he obviously loves so memorable.
The trouble starts in the very
first shot, which turns out to be a long tracking shot that appears to last for
at least five minutes, right through the opening number, “Another Day of Sun”.
In it, a traffic jam on a Los Angeles freeway turns into a song and dance
routine. Drivers dressed in monochrome pastel colours jump out of and leap over
their cars, mugging chaotically for the restless camera.
A show is made of the tracking shot and how well-timed, well-placed, and
well-coordinated are each of the dancers, yet the impression given is not of the
geometric precision of sequences in classic musicals such as Gentlemen Prefer Blondes or 42nd
Street, but of the strenuous work and rehearsal that went into it. The dancers’ beaming smiles don’t
evoke the joy of performance and of artifice, but preen at their technical
achievement and conspicuous exertions. The self-satisfied multiculturalism of this opening scene feels contrived and then insulting as it yields to the
whites-only love story of the film.
La La Land stars Emma Stone as the aspiring actress Mia and Ryan
Gosling as the jazz pianist Sebastian, whose career is in overlong bud. Mia
works at the till of a coffee shop and Sebastian plays what he sees only as
crass muzak for a local restaurant. They encounter each other three times
before their story together is kicked off; the third time is at a pool party
where Chazelle, misplacing his snobbery, doesn’t scruple to take a swipe at the
legacy of 80s pop and glam rock (does he suppose that no one watching might be
capable of enjoying both A-ha and Charlie Parker, as many of us in fact do?).
Afterwards, leaving the party, they perform the film’s major dance sequence,
but neither Stone nor Gosling is an especially talented singer or dancer, and
Chazelle doesn’t coax the necessary bursts of personality and joy in each of
them to overcome that deficiency (as Stanley Donen managed with the definite
non-singer Audrey Hepburn in Funny Face).
Consequently, the number doesn’t rouse or inspire, and the joke at the end with
the iPhone ringtone is neither smooth
nor jolting, only the floundering snap to end a scene.
Chazelle demonstrates
unequivocally, for anyone who wasn’t sure about it when they saw Whiplash, that he has no grasp on visual
style at all. He fails woefully at his intention to show off the glow
of the city of Los Angeles and, despite the immense effort that went into the
sets, costumes, and photography, brings no directorial inspiration and no verve in synergy that sparks these diverse elements to life. Chazelle
reportedly showed some of his favourite classic films that he wished to emulate
to the cast and crew of La La Land
every week, but must have missed himself the vast importance of a director with
a bright enough vision and a cogent enough style to pull off the feats he
aspires to with that most essential attribute of movie musicals, which, though
trite, we can call magic.
One of the more annoying
aspects of the film is the continuation of Chazelle’s devotion to a silly idea
of musical purity when the topic of discussion turns to jazz. Sebastian poses
as a jazz fundamentalist, but the little we see of his practicing is (again,
just as in Whiplash) not the
exploration of new and daring musical ideas or the development of technique,
but the precise replication of a recording. Sebastian is also dreadfully
unhappy playing Christmas carols when what he wants to play is his own set list
(if only he’d known classic jazz, then he’d know what to do with it), and he
views his friend Keith (played by John Legend), the frontman who offers Sebastian a job as keyboard player for his jazz-funk-pop
fusion band, as a sellout. In short (once more, as with Miles Teller’s drummer),
Sebastian doesn’t recognise any authority or system, and views collaboration as
the smothering of his ideals and artistic bloom. If Chazelle feels so deeply about
the purity of jazz and the necessity to protect it from contamination, why didn’t
he expound on that and put on his own jazz musical instead of this pop pastiche? Did he think it wouldn’t have been accepted by corporate studio executives? It seems unlikely that that would have
been the case, given that Rob Marshall got to do just what he wanted with Chicago (which went on to win the
Academy Award for best picture) and Bob Fosse did the same with his original
jazz movie musical, All That Jazz,
which was itself a strong contender at the Oscars. There ’s sure to be some number of Hollywood producers that would have accepted the proposal.
Mia, on the other hand, is as
empty and flat a character as any being given to attractive
young women in Hollywood today. Besides her unending rotation of fruitless
auditions, she has nothing else to talk about, nothing to think about, and no
life outside of her career goals. The one thing she does talk about with
Sebastian are the standard classic films that she watched with her aunt (she cites Casablanca primarily) and
that, for some reason, motivated her to drop out of school and pursue a career
as a film actress. When she puts on her one woman show, we aren’t shown the
process of her writing it, of collecting or remembering the material, of arranging
the logistics of it, of drumming up the finance, or of rehearsing it – just like
her romantic development with Sebastian, it’s briefly blown past in a wordless
montage. When the performance comes up, we don’t get to see or hear any of it,
and aren’t shown the personal and professional stakes she sets up for herself,
and so can’t realise any of the deeper emotional implications of the results.
When Mia is given the chance to tell a story from her own life – which only arises close
to the end of the film – it’s about something she didn’t even witness herself,
but a story her aunt told her.
Besides the essential wonder of a movie musical, a major factor missing from Chazelle’s film
that characterises the entire classic genre he pays tribute to is the quality
of camp, and severe stylisation and artifice in classical movies that, though centred on
hetero love stories, allowed for profound queer identification. A classic
brought up and thrown about in La La Land
is Nicholas Ray’s forceful drama Rebel
Without a Cause, famous for the iconic James Dean performance, which, through its queer coding, was totally absorbed by the subculture, which instantly picked up
the furtive homoerotic relationship between Dean’s Jim and Saul Mineo’s Plato.
That film is burnished with a youthful fury and a trembling eroticised psychology, and to hold La La Land up against it for even a few seconds is to point out glaringly
the inadequacy and hollow (straight) straightforwardness of the misdirected
contemporary musical. There’s no grace or whimsy to the performances, and no stylised
expression of over-the-top emotions that has always made musicals the
heightened delectation of queer moviegoers (and that made Liza Minnelli as potent
a gay icon as her mother in the absurdist jazz musical Cabaret). The refinement and camp that La La Land lacks is what allowed societies and communities on the
margins of mainstream culture carry the legacy of establishment classics without
having to subvert them. La La Land
isn’t even capable of subversion.
La La Land has been conceived, filmed, and then marketed as though
nothing had been done with movie musicals since the 50s – as if A Hard Day’s Night, Saturday Night Fever, and The
Long Day Closes hadn’t shown what was possible outside of and beyond the
movie musical of Hollywood’s so-called Golden Age. Rather than conveying
Chazelle’s own ideas about and inventions for the movie musical, and
throwing a personal and original gloss over the classical forms of the musicals
he hallows, he works hard in the same way Sebastian does to replicate what has
already been recorded, relocate it to a contemporary setting, and strain
towards a technical kind of perfection (which also eludes him). Its base
nostalgia is drearily inept compared to the objects of its affections, as was the case with
Michel Hazanavicius’s The Artist
(which, incidentally, also misplaced an infatuation for Singin’ in the Rain).
Compare La La Land to Martin Scorsese’s much greater movie musical update New York, New York (also an original jazz
musical), starring Minnelli and Robert De Niro as two young performers in New
York City, each working on advancing their career, who happen to fall in love
with each other (even La La Land’s
conceit is not original). De Niro plays Jimmy Doyle, a brilliant jazz musician with
a dangerously volatile temper, which places immense strain on his relationship
with Minnelli’s Francine Evans, a singer who performs big band numbers. The
film is an entrancing homage to the works of classical Hollywood, and is pervaded by Scorsese’s instantly recognisable and distinctive style; he displays his ardent love for
those films with the deliberate classical artifices of the sets, and
creates magnificent tension between that setting and the thrillingly modern
performances of De Niro and Minnelli. It’s a wonder-filled, beautiful
psychodramatic work that distills the emotions in the performances and
highlights the complex relationships between the actors, their public personas,
their roles, the numbers, and the personal meaning of the work to the director. The fact that these two highly creative and passionate people can’t be together, as Mia and Sebastian ultimately can’t, is woven tightly into the fabric of the film and the performances, and a tender understanding of their work and their lives arises from this tragic realisation.
Perhaps the most irksome
praise given to La La Land by pundits
is that it reclaims cultural significance for the movie musical (fitting in with Chazelle’s cry
of “Make the musicals great again”), expressed most absurdly in Manohla Dargis’s
recent piece on the matter in the New York Times.
She ridiculously claims that any resistance to La La Land among today’s audiences is due to an inflamed cynicism
brought on by latter day events, as if moviegoers watching the musicals of
Vincente Minnelli and Stanley Donen hadn’t lost their illusions to the Great
Depression, the Second World War, the paranoias of the Cold War, and the
revelations of mid-century genocides. Her wish that the Hollywood system would
abandon its current production policy of sequels, reboots, and otherwise formulaic fare
and go back to the classical forms she remembers and loves is contradictory; it’s
wishing for film-makers to apply even more inflexible and more out-of-touch formulas
than they already do. The films of the Golden Age were just as formulaic as
today’s films, and it was the auteurs who brought their own unique and intimate ideas and expression to movie tropes who managed to made the few films from that period that we now regard as classics. Chazelle demonstrates reverence for classic musicals
by applying their forms like formulas; he throws all the ingredients
together as though following a recipe, but doesn’t bake it in the heat of
artistic inspiration. At this time, as at all times, we need to look to the
contemporary cinematic innovators for advances to the artform – such as Wes
Anderson and Terrence Malick – and to those who draw influence from those
innovations to sublime ends – such as Martin Scorsese and Barry Jenkins.
Musicals have always been with
us, and they have always mattered – even by the asinine measure of box office
performance. How quickly have those pundits forgotten the regular flow of
Disney musicals through our theatres? In recent years alone, we’ve been offered
Moana, The Jungle Book live action remake, Into the Woods, The Muppets and its sequel, Winnie the Pooh, Frozen, Tangled, The Princess and the Frog, Enchanted, Home on the Range, The Jungle
Book 2, The Emperor’s New Groove,
The Tigger Movie, as well as all the
television movies that have kept pre-teens just as interested in musicals as
any other group: High School Musical
and its sequels, Camp Rock and its
sequel, The Cheetah Girls and its
sequels, The Hannah Montana Movie and
its sequel, et cetera. There are animated musicals for children other than
Disney’s: Sing!, Trolls, Alvin and the
Chipmunks and its sequels, Rio
and its sequel, Happy Feet and its
sequel, Corpse Bride, The Road to Eldorado, et cetera. And
there are the hosts of miscellaneous, far more contemporarily minded musicals
(both original and adapted) that took into account a changing culture and showed a perspective of their place in the context of musical and movie history, which come out year after year: Sing Street, Love and Mercy, The Jersey
Boys, Pitch Perfect and its
sequel, Straight Outta Compton, Annie, Get On Up, Begin Again, The Sapphires, Once, Rock of Ages, Sparkle, Footloose, Country Strong,
Burlesque, Nine (which also directly referenced a classic film adored by
critics), Fame, Across the Universe, August
Rush, Mamma Mia (for which I
remember similar remarks about the rebirth of musicals being made at the Oscars), Hairspray, Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet
Street, Tenacious D in the Pick of
Destiny, Chicago (for which
similar remarks were made as well), Dancer
in the Dark, Moulin Rouge! (which
also elicited similar remarks), Love’s
Labours Lost, School of Rock and
its sequel, and The Phantom of the Opera,
to name only a few.
Perhaps it’s because there are
so many musicals with us nowadays, and because the current cinema is on the
whole so diverse, that we don’t notice the arrival of each new musical on the
screen. It’s always been as natural a feature in the cinema as gangster films
and melodramas. The cornucopia of varied styles and forms doesn’t seem unusual
to us either, as part of an evolving artform that seeks ever to move forwards.
La La Land invites those kinds of
comments because it draws attention to itself and how it reverts back to old
styles that, unless rendered by someone apt for both wonder and invention, are best left to
their place in history. The cinema of 2017, as well as every year before it,
has items of far greater vitality and spark than the strenuous and uninspiring
nostalgia of La La Land.
Image: www.latimes.com
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