Weekly Review -- Strength outside numbers

Over the past century, various cinematic works have attempted to depict and, in some cases, epitomize the unwavering potential of the human spirit. While many of them have succeeded, the masterpieces are few and far between. Rare are those films that draw us into the domain of pure strength instead of merely presenting it to the audience, those that transform inspiration into a multidimensional experience, those that create catharsis using a perspective that can only be comprehended as true vision. The following two works are prime examples of these concepts, streaming two breathtaking stories through art without compromise.


Hunger (2008 ) -- One of the most riveting chronicles in recent memory, this film is a staggering narrative about the last bastion of perseverance in the midst of political chaos. The impressive debut by visual artist Steve McQueen pits hope against desperation at every turn, all the while embracing the richness of its minimalism and refusing to allow convention into its storytelling technique.

The film depicts the 1981 Irish hunger strike, the final stage of the Irish republican prisoners' protest against the British government's stance toward their political status. Through stark imagery and quiet script subtleties, we see the protest's influence on the individuals involved directly or indirectly, such as guard Raymond Lohan (Stuart Graham), new IRA prisoner Davey Gillen (Brian Milligan) and, most comprehensively, Bobby Sands (Michael Fassbender). Sands is about to organize a new hunger strike, after one that represented a failed attempt to bring global attention to the prisoners' plight. Having no other option, he embarks on an odyssey of physical and emotional decay for the sake of his beliefs and long-awaited justice, the only two things that he has unshakable faith in...

What I liked the most about Hunger was McQueen's usage of the body as a device that outlines humanity within the most inhuman of circumstances. Every action and its consequence is delineated as an effect on the corporeal essence of life and dignity, from the merciless beatings to organic rage and from unclothed defiance to, ultimately, grim starvation. Whereas the body is too often exploited in cinema as a tool of either victory or horror, McQueen exposes its vulnerability and juxtaposes it with the power of sheer resolve. The raw details of the piece are strewn across the map of its bleakness, with a hint of slight optimism for the protest participants who possess enough willpower to live their principles and abandon all comfort for the sake of freedom. Indeed, one cannot help but feel immense grief for the tortured youth of the men who were forced to fight for their country in the most brutal manner imaginable. McQueen does not begin and end his exploration behind the prison walls, placing a great emphasis on the events unavoidably seeping into the relationships and life outside, with the nursing home scene probably being one of the most haunting sequences of the past decade.

Hunger is full of moments that bring to life the struggle unfolding on screen, constantly reminding us that we are not watching pure fiction. Elements like the dark isolation of the set design and near lack of verbal exchanges push the urgency of the drama forward, with Sean Bobbitt's cinematography highlighting the proceedings. However, it is the intense moral debate between Sands and a priest that steals the spotlight, posing questions that perhaps no one is able to answer. Does the meaning of life and death hinge on a situation? What constitutes a sin? Does Sands have the mental capacity to set the course of action, particularly one this fateful, for the men that rely on his leadership ability? Where, in the entire conflict, is any kind of morality to be found? Fassbender and Liam Cunningham make the sequence function like a short play, a somber back-and-forth between two men standing on the same side, glaring at each other from opposite ends. The scene is not only dynamic as a philosophical dialogue on the edge of a breakdown, but also glorious on a technical level, as a record-holding, continuous 16-minute shot.

The acting is perfection. Fassbender's portrayal of Sands is a stunning testament to the character's pride and tenacity. He journeys ferociously from Sands' religious-like zeal to virtual self-destruction, the activist's motivation always at the forefront. He is electrifying in the debate scene, bringing passion and conviction to the character's determination, while his fearlessness in the last twenty minutes will leave you gasping. Simply put, it is a performance that will forever remain part of the cinematic canon. Cunningham renders his priest into a voice of reason, one that nonetheless empathizes and sides with the prisoners' strife, whereas Graham and Helen Madden give moving supporting turns as the conflicted guard and Sands' mother, respectively. All of the performances contrast the oppressive milieu of the story in a very deliberate and elegant manner, simultaneously infusing the context with a dose of human universality.

Hunger is a masterpiece that opens one's eyes not only to a specific point in modern history, but also to the lengths that we as people are willing to go to, in order to preserve the truth of our identity. The politics of the world we live in are no match to the politics of the bodies we inhabit, each of them an instrument that can serve as the ultimate weapon in the fight against despotism. While its aesthetics may appear to be hopeless and its landscape may appear to be a harsh shade of gray, appearances can be deceiving, since the film's message and its implications are nothing but hope, rising from the ashes of sacrifice and facing off against the barbed wire.

10/10


127 Hours (2010) -- What would you do to survive?

Upon hearing this question, some of us may start thinking, picking and choosing, mentally eliminating phobias and the scenarios that are the most distressing to us. Some of us may say "anything" and then negotiate that claim later on. Some may even stick with "I don't know", the safest, time-purchasing bet. Thankfully, not many of us will ever have the opportunity to find out, contrary to mountain climber Aron Ralston, whose real life story of intrepidity is the subject of Danny Boyle's latest film.

In April 2003, Ralston (James Franco) arrives in Utah's Blue John Canyon for one of his usual outdoor adventures. After a promising start to the exploration, he endures a freak accident when he falls down a crevice, along with a boulder that ends up crushing his right arm and imprisoning him miles away from civilization. Having told no one where he was going and knowing that he is alone, he has to rely on his wits to figure out a way to prevail. Running out of resources and slowly falling victim to his own mind's wanderings, Ralston soon realizes that he will have to resort to doing what can only be possible in a desperate situation...

From the very start, it is Boyle's unique style that pushes us, the audience, into the principal character's inadvertent isolation. There is hardly any music, except ominous monotones; there are no voices, except cries for help; there are no glossed-over resolutions to sequences, but mostly close-ups that focus on Ralston's external and internal struggles. Using fluctuating camera and cinematography techniques, Boyle depicts the young man's horror through the perspective of a witness, not merely an observer. The film employs lyrical pirouettes to shift from Ralston's visions to memories, trekking from his unending desire to live beyond his predicament to his heightened awareness of possibly perishing in the canyon's deadly embrace. The hallucinations involving his family, who he knows he may never see again, are heartbreaking, as are the scenes with the last video he had filmed before the incident. The actual and infamous arm-cutting scene is not so much gruesome as it is pragmatically clinical evidence of survival instinct's voracity. What Boyle manages to do is bring each and every one of us into the canyon with the climber, making us re-examine everything we ourselves value and creating not only empathy, but also a strong sense of human connection.

As far as the performances go, it is Franco's portrayal that drives the proceedings, and the actor does a truly fantastic job. It is a tour de force circle of gravitas, going from Ralston's initial adventure-hungry euphoria to his shock at the unexpected impasse, and concluding with his determination to overcome the obstacle. Making some brave choices and fully immersing himself in the story, Franco captures the indomitable force of grit and breathes soul into the screenplay.

127 Hours is an inspirational example of willpower ethos. It is a film that teaches us about the mercurial nature of existence and its relationship with fate, both cosmic entities that toy with the frequent human naivete. Its message is a tribute to a person who is capable of finding a warrior within when they need them the most, and a hope that each one of us is that lucky when life dusts off its hazards.

10/10