Marie Antoinette
Hey everyone. Capone in Chicago here. Leading up to seeing this vision of quaint loveliness, I’d heard stories about writer-director Sofia Coppola (Lost In Translation) putting Converse All Stars on her period-costumed actors or having the characters utter very modern expressions. Perhaps in some previous incarnation of Marie Antoinette (perhaps the version that was booed by the French at the Cannes Film Festival) these touches were reality. But in the version opening today, the only modern touches were some rather tasty bits of 80s’ new wave/power pop music choices, some of which the characters seem to manage to ballroom dance to in one party scene. Like no other costume drama I’ve ever scene, this film’s main intention sees to be reminding us that Marie was a teenager, and she suffered from all the same afflictions most teenagers do: short attention spans, the need for excitement, and the desire to be loved by everyone.
Never more staggeringly lovely, Kirsten Dunst plays the Austrian princess who is shuffled off to become the queen of France as part of a political agreement between the two nations. She marries the rather unremarkable Louis XVI (Coppola’s cousin Jason Schwartzman, who rarely changes expressions but still manages to crack you up in every scene) and prepares to spend the rest of her life living in Versailles trying desperately to understand what is expected of her and wishing to please her husband, who seems to want no part of her in the bedroom. Massive pressure is put on her by Louis’ father, Louis XV (the irrepressible Rip Torn, who is always seen in the company of his mistress, played by Asia Argento).
Coppola delicately loosens the grip on the formalities as Marie gets more comfortable in her surroundings and the first seeds of rebellion are planted. She gambles, she takes a lover, she spends like a fiend. All the while, people of the court watch her, judge her, gossip about her every movement. Coppola does a remarkable job showing us just how much the royals were under constant scrutiny. I don’t think her goal is to paint a pure and faithful biography. Instead she shows us that, in her own way, Marie Antoinette was a punk-rock girl. Her youthful exuberance was charming to some and infuriating to others (particularly the overly taxed French citizens, who eventually had her beheaded--an event the film does not quite get to). At the center of this blissful work is Dunst at her absolute most sensual and measured, setting a tone not all that different from Coppola’s The Virgin Suicides (also starred Dunst).
In some ways, the film feels like kids dressing up and putting on a play. But at its core, Marie Antoinette is a luscious offering that throws accuracy to the wind sometimes, but still manages to capture better than most how it is to have the world dropped at your feet when you are far to young to appreciate or cope with the burden of power.
American Hardcore
I'm going old school hardcore with you for a minute. Growing up in the Washington, D.C., area in early 1980s, I always just thought Bad Brains was a local band that some of my friends went to see on occasion (I saw them once as well). Little did I know that the Brains were arguably the most admired and trend-setting hardcore punk band in the United States, and this wonderfully thorough documentary gives Bad Brains and dozens of other hardcore bands their rightful place in music history.
Based on the book by Steven Blush, American Hardcore covers the years 1980-1986 (the exact years I was in middle school and high school, I should add), when the hardcore punk scene blew up in big cities all over the country and teenagers were able to voice their growing frustrations about the Reagan administration, the recession, and a wave of faux conservatism that was threatening to take over the land. Taking an almost anthropological look at the scene, director Paul Rachman paints a well-documented canvas of the messages of the musicians, the DIY approach to record distribution, and the way the scene exploded without help from record companies, radio, or promotion of any kind. If bands like Black Flag, Minor Threat, SS Decontrol, Negative FX, D.O.A., Millions of Dead Cops, Circle Jerks, Minutemen, or Adolescents mean anything to you, this film is essential viewing. If you ever for a minute believed that Green Day, the Beastie Boys, Nirvana, or the Red Hot Chili Peppers came out of nowhere, think again.
The filmmakers are remarkably honest about the scene, especially when slam-dancing, crowd-surfing and stage diving became the norm at shows. Some of the kids were releasing aggression; others just like beating the shit out of people. There’s also a stunning amount of great (and not so great) footage of these bands in their prime that is worth the price of admission. As a documentary about a time and micro-movement in music history, American Hardcore is such a learning experience. But the lasting effects these bands had and continue to have (Black Flag’s Henry Rollins is still kicking) has never been better explained and illustrated than it is in this film. In the end, the music and players burned out as quickly as they caught fire. But like any good fire, the toxic fumes got stuck in America’s lungs and gave a distorted voice to a new generation of bands.
Capone capone@aintitcoolmail.com
