st. brad pitt, edward norton, helena bonham-carter, meat loaf, jared leto
scr. jim uhls, based on a novel by chuck palahniuk
I thought I'd kick off this little round with a snippet from another Toto review - Eugene Chew's take on The Matrix. In his article, Eugene wrote that The Matrix was 'a particularly important and seminal film for our generation… [destined] to be one of the film-texts of our time, a cultural signpost of lasting influence and importance…'.Hmmm. That's pretty heady stuff. So let's take a closer look at the argument.
As far as being representative of our times, The Matrix isn't a bad poster-boy at all. Certainly, the film is no slouch in the brains department, with its hip commentary on everything cyberpunk, its mobile-phones-as-modems metaphors and its amazing hybridization of special effects and film genres. But then again, The Matrix isn't as revolutionary as it's cracked up to be, either. In its appeal to all the lost little boys who dream of growing up to the One, the hero, the king on the throne, The Matrix contains nothing 'seminal' for our generation. It's just a very clever twist on some very, very well-worn mileage. Even though The Matrix was a great ride, I doubt that anything in it strikes me as being particularly special or far-reaching for our generation. But that's okay. After all, it's hard to pin down a movie as being the epitome of its times. Hell, on any other day, I'd probably say such a thing was impossible.
But then again, I've just seen Fight Club.
The differing ideologies of The Matrix and Fight Club are as compelling as they are antithetical. They're as different as light and dark, black and white, night and day. But then again, there's a slight edge that Fight Club has in the race to be the representative movie of our generation; and that is, while The Matrix illuminates what we all want to be, Fight Club shows us what we are. To paraphrase Robert Frost, The Matrix is the road not taken - and Fight Club the road we have taken.
In one sense, the title Fight Club is a misnomer. The physical sweat and blood that spills between Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt) and our Nameless Protagonist (Edward Norton) is indicative of the very things the movie wishes to say on a metaphysical level. Fight Club is what the movie is, and even after the last mano-a-mano punch has been thrown (some two-thirds through the movie), a fight club it remains. The entire two-and-a-half hours is a brooding, haunting look at pop-culture commercialism and postmodern theory, but on such an elevated level that the effects are quite startling. It's a deranged and inspired satire that takes us from group therapy to random acts of terrorism to surreal personalities and back again. But most importantly of all, Fight Club is about tearing flesh - pulling apart your own tissue and watching the gush of fluid that comes rushing, tumbling out.
The film is full of sizzling, quirky moments. The first half-hour is a jolt of pure electric, searing through the audience, while never putting a wrong foot down. The main characters are hands-down right on the money, larger-than-life, and oddball endearing. Edward Norton, a veritable chameleon of the screen, slips into this role as easily and as bravely as anything he's ever done. Helen Bonham Carter is perfect as the love interest that never quite inspires anything other than hate from the audience; even by the end of the film, she's wan and sullen and the target for pent-up frustration (while being, paradoxically, the only one who drifts through the film without getting physically hurt). Even Brad Pitt brings out the 100-gigawatt charisma no one knew he had as Tyler, the anti-hero leader and prophet of a new wave in Gen-X nihilism. Most surprisingly of all, Fight Club rolls with its own punches - like having Pitt deliver a line about wanting to grow up a movie star, or Norton describe William Shatner as his victim of choice in celebrity death match. I mean, how could you not like a movie that looks at this huge, sweltering bruise in culture, then proceeds to use its own form and content as punching bags? If Austin Powers and Wedding Singer are clever, self-referential looks at society, then Fight Club is the cannibal who somehow manages to have his cake and eat it too.
The egotistical scope of Fight Club is matched only by its visual innovation. During the early to mid-90s, director David Fincher redefined the concept of the film noir - the dark, brutish, neo-glassy look that has since reclaimed the mainstream as its traditional stomping ground (particularly in the action and thriller genres). Here is a man who has presented us with films like Seven, The Game, and Alien 3; films that are as disparate in their messages as they are united in their drab, murky looks. Wading through identical color palettes of black and brown, movie after movie, people quickly found their tolerant levels for Fincher's work. Seven was a success; The Game was not. In a way, the neo-noir movement that Fincher had pioneered became the chic thing too fast, too soon, hurting his commercial appeal.
What is surprising is that anyone expected Fight Club to be a standard Fincher film. Sure, it has moments when it shows the same 'artistic' flair as his other work; but Fight Club is sufficiently different because it's funny. It's funny and droll and witty and so far off the beaten path in its material, that some of it ends up infecting Fincher's stylish camerawork, lightening it up so normal people can watch without getting a headache or bored or both. The music is likewise phenomenal. You get a roller-coaster ride from the introductory credit sequence all the way to the very last scene of the movie, with no punches pulled in-between.
One could almost say the movie is too much of a roller-coaster. While the first hour or so is pure bliss, flowing together in strange and unexpected ways, the movie soon tapers off and becomes a lot tamer - which, ironically, is to its detriment. Most of the innovation can be found at the beginning of the film, leaving comparatively little for the second act to build on. This is hardly the fault of the director as much as it is of the script; because, in the process of churning out a story, of making the characters grow and change, Fight Club loses some of its strange appeal. Things that would be otherwise laudable in a film - extended dialogue, explosions, chase sequences - become so overbearing that we lose the energy between Norton and Pitt. I'll acknowledge that the movement away from the fight club concept (yuppies beating each other up in underground locales) and into urban terrorism is necessary for the film to build to its climax, both as a theme and as a plot device. But at the same time, there's something in me that wishes Fight Club would have stuck to its earlier guns.
The movie is also unbelievably graphic at times. Exit wounds from the back of the head are shown in detail; at least two men are threatened castration with a knife; there is a glimpse of a full-frontal penis; and disfiguration plays a particularly important role in the film's sequences. Jared Leto, as Angel Face, winds up with half a face and a flesh balloon for the other part, while Meat Loaf's character, Bob, lumbers around with a pair of enormous breasts as a result of testicular cancer. In one of the scariest moments of the film, I recalled Tyler's warning that 'everyone fights with their shirt off' scant moments before Bob stepped up for his first fight. I think I might have screamed, but thankfully, it came out more as a gurgled choke. I think Fincher must have also reached his pain threshold, because Meat Loaf kept his shirt on.
The film is likewise hampered by its bizarre marketing campaign. One of the most indelible images of Fight Club is that of a bar of wet, pink soap. I mean, it's plastered everywhere. And why? Although an important element of the film, it isn't all that central to the plot. Combined with preconceptions of Fincher's work, I know that there are a lot of people out there who would be turned off from watching Fight Club. The official website is a hoot to visit, but not much more informative. The fact is Fight Club cannot be described without lessening the impact (and the ending) of the film.
Whether you end up loving it or hating it, Fight Club sticks in your craw as a fitting tribute to our generation, in a way The Matrix never could be. It's provocative, loud, schizophrenic, broken in parts, quiet in others. Most importantly Fight Club is undeniably, wickedly funny.
adrian gunadi
comments? email the authorDon't agree? Adam Rivett was not impressed by Fight Club's supposed cleverness.
Eugene Chew thought Fight Club was "anarchy sponsored by Pepsi."