starring Ally Sheedy, Radha Mitchell
At last, the posters will read, a drama to sink your teeth into.Pretty girl Syd (Mitchell) works on a desperately chic photomag. She spouts like a critical theory student. She believes in high art somewhat, which means she really believes in ambition. She discovers a drug-addled little world in the flat above her, complete with wilting photographic genius Lucy Berliner (Sheedy), a plate of high-grade heroin and the usual bunch of flunkies and weepies and noddies. Syd spots true photographic talent and proceeds to entice the genius out of spiritual retirement. Romance ensues, a genuine drama unfolds. You know, with real beginnings and realistic narrative and realistic trimmings. And a really good soundtrack. One to buy. By Shudder to Think. Dreamy stuff.
Ally Sheedy trades well on her seemingly remote brand of intimacy. She's an actor who probably gives more of herself than her character may warrant, it's hard to tell through her wiry ticks and direct, post-heroin immediacy. Something like Christopher Walken without the due-back-on-Earth loopy states. But her distance becomes a curiosity for Syd and the viewer. Whatever it is, it's a great tick, a narrative magnet.
Radha Mitchell handles the young, naive but desperately determined climber like a trooper. Forget about the unfortunate association with Emma-Kate Croghan, this is a far superior role. Does realism matter here? Yes, because the nature of the drama is such that we can extrapolate both past and present events in the character's lives, even to the kind of ideas projected to actors at the auditions, the feel, the interpretations. The script works well to bring out the uncertainties of desire and drug-toting relations on one hand, and the commercial world of supposed high art on the other. Actors should kill for these roles.
The strange thing about High Art is that it gave me faith in photography again – which is odd since it features only a few photographic technicalities. The High art here is the world of high-style, high-gloss Frame magazine. Something like Black and White in colour (now why didn't someone think of that before). But the photography of our hero is spontaneous and intimate, natural and unplanned. That is, Real Art. The film illustrates neatly how arbitrary the world of professional art briefs and trend sycophantism really is. Without drawing obvious reference to the superiority of Berliner's art, Cholodenko succeeds to locate this effect through the drama's progress. Some might even say that only a female director, with the utmost faith in her cast, could pull this off. But it is true. The effect is achieved indirectly, from a distance almost. And hence it becomes more real.
This is probably one in a handful of dramas to emerge in the 90s that quietly succeeds. At what? At cinema. At balancing contrasting worlds and relational change. Or the funny imbalance between sex drive and drug use. Or balancing the image with the projection of desire. Or honesty and exploitation, etc.
There is also a healthy eye for all things German: a German surname, a German girlfriend, a German car, a German camera. The interiors are close and enclosed within the domains of portraiture. The first real visual departure from Syd's flat into the exterior world also marks the great departure of the story– which those with keen narrative eyes will spot as a "John never has a second cup of coffee at home" warning bell. But that is to take away from the drama, which has all the modulation of pace and tact between open and closure that marks the passage of true dramatic cinema. OK, so that sounds a little winded. How about it is great. Go and see it, sportfans.
rino breebaart
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