MOVI E MACGUFFI N, EXPLAI NED
Time for some trivia sessions. How many times have you watched a movie wherein a certain person, object or a set of motives has been hailed as something incredibly important, as if the only thing that mattered in the film was the object under discussion, only to find out by the end that it was alluding to something completely different? I bet, a number of times. Take a simple example from a basic narrative structure: a hero and a villain after the same thing in the movie only mentioned to be incredibly important, but no concrete explanation is offered as to why it is so. Numerous chases, confrontations and run-ins until one of the following is finally revealed: a) The object was made up or doesn’t exist in the first place and was used as a motive driver for something else. b) It exists, but is far less consequential than made out to be in the film, and points to something larger/ more significant in the third act, or earlier in rare cases. c) It is significant as well, but alludes to a more intangible set of connections/emotions that are integral to the essence of the film. d) It exists, is significant in tangible forms as well, but by the end finds itself naught in the hands of either pursuant, thereby diminishing its physical value. There could be other innumerable outcomes of the scenarios, but the core of the idea remains the same. What you’ve witnessed in all these cases, and more, is not a trivial movie twist. In film terminology, it’s a very common technique writers and storytellers often employ (and have been employing for decades now), called the MacGuffin. To sum it up, the MacGuffin in films is a plot device, something that is told to be of immense importance, but in reality is just used to drive the plot forward.
History and Usage Plot device or not, come to think of it, MacGuffins have been an important, albeit unsaid or barely mentioned part of even daily conversations and exchanges. Infact, many theoreticians would argue that the first ever MacGuffin, even before it was called that, would be ‘The Holy Grail’. That’s right. Borrowed as a literary object from Arthurian literature, literally, according to biblical sources, it would be the chalice Lord Jesus drank from during The Last Supper. Figuratively, it is a plot device used to denote something elusive that the protagonists were after (akin to its modern definition) and is of
great significance. A treasure, or a map to a treasure is also among the oldest used examples of a MacGuffin for plot progression. Here, the treasure becomes the prime motivator, often for both the protagonist and antagonist, and the film/story may end in one of the four outcomes discussed in the introduction. It was the famous auteur then, Alfred Hitchcock, who popularised the term ‘MacGuffin’ through its usage, and employment as a plot device in a number of films, starting with ‘The 39 Steps’ (1935), to be followed in his most famous works including ‘Psycho’ and ‘North by Northwest’. The term, though popularised by Hitchcock, may have been coined by his friend and screenwriter Angus MacPhail, but that is a discussion for another day. As the years passed, and films changed form, appearance and structure, the definition of the term ‘MacGuffin’ has seen a lot of deliberation too. While filmmakers continue to argue as to what the ‘true’ nature of the MacGuffin is, regarding its usage, interpretation and who it motivates or affects most (including the audience), the core, as said earlier, remains essentially the same: it is indispensable in taking the plot forward, wherever employed, consciously or unconsciously. In that nerve, it would be informative to delve into what three accomplished personalities in the field of film have to say about it. Read on.
Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘Lion Trapping Apparatus’ In a series of lectures and interviews, Hitchcock has fondly narrated this story that indicates what the MacGuffin meant to him. It might be a Scottish name, taken from a story about two men in a train. One man says, 'What's that package up there in the baggage rack?' And the other answers, 'Oh that's a McGuffin.' The first one asks 'What's a McGuffin?' 'Well' the other man says, 'It's an apparatus for trapping lions in the Scottish Highlands.' The first man says, 'But there are no lions in the Scottish Highlands,' and the other one answers 'Well, then that's no McGuffin!' So you see, a McGuffin is nothing at all. In crook stories it is always the necklace and in spy stories it is always the papers. In other words, he completes: “It (MacGuffin) is the thing that the characters on the screen worry about but the audience don't care." This here is a very important differentiator for the modern usage of the term from the Hitchcockian one.
Yves Lavandier’s ‘M.O. of the Villain’ Lavandier’s interpretation is much more along the lines of Hitchcock’s, but differs in it affecting and motivating the villain more than the hero. The protagonist, in the strictly narrative sense, is just someone who gets caught up in the pursuit and wants an out. “In a broader sense, a MacGuffin denotes any justification for the external conflictual premises of a work”, he says. While it is a fresh school of thought and completely ripe for discussion, I feel that it encompasses lesser movies in its purview than the other interpretations, ones I would like to term the
‘Classical’ and ‘Modern’ definitions. It then lands up somewhere in between Hitchcock’s and Lucas’ interpretations, and finds merit in a select few films like Hitchcock’s own ’39 Steps’.
George Lucas’ ‘Driving Force’ In a more modern sense, and very much in contrast with the Hitchcockian school of thought, George Lucas described the MacGuffin as such. “MacGuffin is still an object/prop that acts as a plot device, but it's just as important to the audience as it is to the characters. Things like the ring in The Lord of the Rings, the horcruxes in the Harry Potter series, and the Ark of the Covenant in Raiders of the Lost Ark are great examples of the modern MacGuffin.” Lucas said this in an interview explaining the search for R2-D2 in ‘A New Hope’, as his interpretation of the modern MacGuffin as something that was essential to, and “the driving force” for the plot, something the audience cared about deeply for the sake of involvement, as much as the protagonists and antagonists did on-screen.
Popular Macguffins Having made a significant effort in understanding what a movie MacGuffin actually means, the discussion would be incomplete if we don’t delve into the most popular/significant examples of MacGuffins in films we have seen. Some of them are classical examples (Hitchcockian) and the others are more akin to the modern definition. What is constant is filmmakers’ and storywriters’ obsession with them, especially those in the thriller and adventure genre. Pulp Fiction (1994)
The MacGuffin in ‘Pulp Fiction’ finds itself somewhere more aligned to the classical definition, yet again sticking true to the core of what a MacGuffin is. The briefcase Jules and Vincent are sent to retrieve for Marcellus Wallace at the beginning of the film is an able MacGuffin, one that is juggled in different hands and progresses the already eccentric and non-linear plot ahead. As is completely true for the nature of the MacGuffin, the true contents of the briefcase are never revealed. What the audience sees is a rather faint golden glow. While it piques curiosity, come to think of it, the briefcase doesn’t really matter when the credits roll, and that if you ask me is what the MacGuffin is meant to signify in the first place. Titanic (1997)
Many of you may have pointed this one out, or atleast felt the insignificance of it as a plot propeller. The Heart of the Ocean necklace in ‘Titanic’ is indeed a MacGuffin that establishes its significance in the beginning of the film as the search party salvages the wreckage of the ill-fated ship to find it. As an aged Rose Dewitt begins sharing her journey with the others, the plot focus shifts entirely on her romance with Jack and the sinking of the ship, as the necklace itself diminishes in value, until finally revealed to be with Rose the whole time who drops it in the ocean before the film ends. Psycho (1960)
‘Psycho’ was the first Hitchcock film I saw back in the day, and I was completely enthralled by the multiple layers of corruptivity and the sheer complexity in plot the film exhibited. There are a lot of things the film is popular for, none perhaps more than the infamous shower scene and Norman Bates’ menacing smile towards the close of the film. What the film is also popular for among many film enthusiasts is its probable use of a double MacGuffin. In the same vein, here is some food for thought. In the strictly Hitchcockian sense, everyone quite knows that the $40,000 stolen by Marion Crane is the primary MacGuffin in the film, since it guides her character almost completely and is elusive in nature but keeps the proceedings going for about forty minutes into the film. By killing off Leigh’s character, seemingly the protagonist with Perkins, somewhere along a third of the film’s runtime, didn’t Hitchcock introduce another MacGuffin, one that the audience knew won’t obviously be found/attained, yet keeps the pursuit interesting enough until Bates’ chilling revelation? Casablanca (1942)
The quintessential classic American film. The story is squarely about the two lovers set against the backdrop of the early stages of the Second World War, and the tough decision faced by Bogart’s character, of hanging on or letting go, when an old flame shows up at the doorstep of his nightclub in Casablanca. The famed ‘Letters of Transit’ prop is the MacGuffin here, in the sense that it motivates majority of the actions happening in the club that night, but it essentially serves as a backdrop, therefore diminishing in its own importance and fostering something almost completely different from what it’s supposed to accomplish. Citizen Kane (1941)
That one of the greatest films ever made would incite dialogues and discussions over its plot years hence should come as no surprise. The MacGuffin in this one is quite tricky though. ‘Rosebud’, the singular word around which the entire film is strewn about, the famous last word uttered by Charles Kane, is in many ways a MacGuffin, and in many other ways, not. In those, it becomes more of something that actually holds and imparts meaning (contrary to a MacGuffin that actually loses meaning as the film approaches its end). The sled on which 8 year old Kane played on his last day in Colorado is symbolic of his lost childhood and innocence, something he traded for a successful life in the publishing business. For Jerry Thompson, finding the meaning of ‘Rosebud’ becomes the primary presence guiding him through what he does in the film, though elusive as ever. In the end, he dismisses Kane’s last word as an unsolvable mystery, later to be revealed to the audience and meeting an inopportune end in a furnace. The Lord of the Rings (2001-2003)
One Ring to rule them all. The One Ring is another significant example of a modern MacGuffin as a device used for plot progression that is equally important and is pursued with the same fervour by
both the protagonists (the Fellowship), and the antagonist (Sauron) and his forces. The Ring, though in the films renders the bearer invisible for a short time, is said to be capable of far more powerful feats that are neither described nor shown. The Ring was forged by Sauron as part of his plan for dominion over Middle Earth in the fires of Mount Doom, and is later destroyed in the same fires by Frodo at the end of the trilogy, despite being the prime motivator, directly or indirectly, for all the happenings in the films. The Big Lebowski (1998)
Easily one of the most outrageously funny movies I have ever seen, this one has a rather hilarious, albeit ridiculous MacGuffin that is employed by the Coen Brothers to mine well-earned laughs. You guessed it right: it’s the Rug, because it really tied the room together, ya know? North by Northwest (1959)
Mentioning popular uses of the MacGuffin and not discussing the master’s works would be a blasphemy to his name. The interesting thing to note here before we begin, and to derive from the definitions is that Hitchcock never intended the MacGuffin to be more than a gimmick, a false trail of sorts to be pursued only in vain in his movies. How his movies end up supremely entertaining masterpieces despite the primary motive of the pursuants being something shallow or non-existent is a matter of his craft. The MacGuffins in North by Northwest are dual in nature and just as equally inconsequential. The first, George Kaplan, a fictional man Thornhill (the protagonist) is after to prove his own innocence; and the second, the microfilm in the Mexican sculpture, never really shown on screen, yet touted to be something of immense importance. What does the microfilm hold? Nuclear Secrets? Financial codes? The key to invincibility? We’ll never know. Mission Impossible III (2006)
Perhaps the only MacGuffin on the list that satisfies all criteria laid and is as readily acceptable. In explaining this section though, I will let this piece of dialogue from the film do the work, mouthed by Benji in a conversation he has with Ethan before flying off to Vatican City. “I'm assuming it is a kind of code-word for a deadly weapon, something Davian is going to sell to his unspecified buyer for 850 million, by the way. Or maybe it's not a code-name, maybe it is just a really, really expensive bunny appendage. Whenever I see, like, a rogue organization willing to spend this amount of money on a mystery tech, I always assume...it's the Anti-God. End-of-the-world kinda stuff, you know. But no, I don't have any idea what it is. I was just speculating.” There, you have it. In the classic hero-villain scenario explained earlier in the article, the MacGuffin here (the rabbit’s foot) is something the villain wants badly for his nefarious plans to take shape, and the hero, though unaware of what it can actually do won’t stop at anything to keep it from the villain’s hand, knowing probably just the nefariousness of the plan. The audience on the other hand, are just there for the fights and explosions! The Harry Potter Series (2001-2011)
If you consider the entirety of the eight films composing the series, the MacGuffin doesn’t occur or even make its existence known until the close of the sixth film, ‘The Half-Blood Prince’, eventhough it did guide a motive or two in the first five films. The Horcruxes are what I call essential MacGuffins, very much in line with Lucas’ definition and essential in every sense, even crucial to the progression of the plot, so much so that the last two films in the series are almost entirely focused on Harry hunting down the Horcruxes with Ron and Hermione. Yet still, what the Harry Potter books, films and fandom solemnly stand for is not them. Infact, it is quite the opposite.
DOGTOOTH, EXPLAI NED
While a very different kind of cinema feverishly grips the globe, it would do us well if we periodically come back to a parallel kind of cinema as suggested by my editor, as a refuge or as therapy or just by matter of choice. Parallel or Indie or even Arthouse cinema aside, if you consider yourself a cinephile and that you may have seen “everything”, I advise you to watch ‘Dogtooth’, or as it is originally known, ‘Kynodontas’ in Greek after that. If there would be certain films capable of changing your “everything”, I believe ‘Dogtooth’ to be among them. You probably would have already heard about the Greek auteur Yorgos Lanthimos following his successful stint at the 2019 Oscars with ‘The Favourite’, and his other films that made an impact on western audiences, chief among them being ‘The Lobster’ and ‘The Killing of a Sacred Deer’. While having seen a fair share of this impactful director’s works, I am yet to form an informed opinion on his directorial style still, but I’ll give you that his films are unlike anything that you may have watched. To term them weird or eccentric would be simplifying and even vilifying them beyond belief and sense. The same would be the case with his 2009 Oscar nominated feature ‘Dogtooth’. Well, I will reserve saying what I felt while watching ‘Dogtooth’ and the kind of diverse things it made me feel till the end of the article, I can say this: ‘Dogtooth’ will take you back to the days when he was truly unbound, and independent as a filmmaker, and might I add, still exploring and experimenting, as opposed to now when he is a filmmaker more confident and grounded in his craft and selling exactly that.
Unassumingly going over the internet, I came across a particular piece claiming that arthouse cinema was meant to inspire dialogue and conversation. Even the message-giving, sermonising or case studies in philosophies are reserved for a different tier in commercial cinema. I may not have fully agreed with that, now that I perceive every single indie flick I have seen, Hollywood or not, it does become an interesting lens for me to spot and carefully classify one. The same lens also proves useful when you look at the case in point: ‘Dogtooth’ doesn’t have a definite start and doesn’t have an inspiring end, or an end at all. It just cuts, leaving you to wonder what fate awaited the characters you just spent 90 minutes with. It doesn’t have a single character that is likeable or even relatable, even if you might grow slightly empathetic of one of the kids, especially the elder daughter. Yet still, ‘Dogtooth’ manages to get to you and stay: its idyllic setting seldom unsettling as its residents, and the utopia created too false to sustain longer than it did in the film. Without going any further, we jump straight to a brief summary of the plot followed by an examination of its pressing themes that it chooses to convey to subtly. Read on.
Plot Summary
‘Dogtooth’ primarily involves five unnamed characters residing in a fenced compound, a beautiful country home, in an unnamed city in an unnamed country. The parents have raised the three children: two daughters and a son, in confinement at the estate for perceivable cynicism of the outside world and its influences, strictly under their control. The film begins with the siblings listening to recordings of their mother stating incorrect meaning of words, in an effort to condition them to life inside the estate and keeping them wilfully ignorant of the world outside. For instance, the sea is told to them as being a leather chair with wooden arms, motorway is a very strong wind, an excursion is a very strong material used to construct floors, and a carbine is a beautiful white bird. You immediately get the sense starting with the film that something is seriously wrong with the seemingly idyllic household as the three siblings don’t seem to question any of it, and you realise that everything that could mean anything to the outside world, or to the very concept or notion of freedom has been tampered with to give it a new meaning, one that nobody was allowed to question.
As later revealed in the film, the children have been instructed to be ready to leave from the estate when their dogtooth (canine) fell, and that the only way to get safely out was a car, much like their father who went out every day for work. The parents have also constructed a lie wherein they have a second son, a fourth child who they have ostracised from the family as a corrective measure for him, meant to keep the other three in check. The family is regularly seen throwing things on the other side of the fence, and the son even talking to the fence in an attempt to get to him, even if naively so. While inside the estate, the children spend time mostly engaging in “endurance games”, like in the beginning of the film wherein they each keep a finger in hot water, and the last one to pull out wins, and “training”, with any of the supposed vices that lure regular children of their age completely absent, including anything that could introduce them to pop culture, films, songs, and even books. The only music they listen to is their own and the only film they watch are home videos they shoot themselves, chosen as a form of entertainment by the one out of the three who scored the highest number of stickers, rewarded for compliance as opposed to violence in exchange for infractions. They routinely physically workout and swim in the pool on the estate on a carefully constructed regimen and are in top physical shape. That is where I close with the description of the day-to-days of this family that seems to put a new twist on the word dysfunctional. If you thought what you have read until here or seen until this point, you are in for a ton of surprises, and shocks.
The first one perhaps comes in within a few minutes of the film’s opening when we see the father driving home one of his factory’s security guards, Christina (the only recurring character with a name) in blindfolds to have sex with his son. This is presumably to satisfy the bodily urges of the son and keep them in check, and the father even pays her for the same. Little did the man knew that she would prove to be the very catalyst in breaking the perfect equilibrium he had created for the family. During one of their sessions, Christina demands cunnilungus from the son to pleasure herself, only to be blankly refused by him, the latter seemingly unaware of sexual activity as an indulgence more than sheer necessity. Christina frustratingly asks the elder daughter for the same and barters her headband that she claims “glows in the dark”, and the daughter obliges. In an increasingly uncomfortable scene later, we see sexual tension mounting in the household as the elder daughter asks the younger to lick her shoulder in exchange for the band. The younger does it later again, regardless, without seeking anything in exchange, perhaps as a way of exploring pleasure seeking for both, but all of it happens in a very direct fashion, with nothing held back and no reservations or hesitations among either, a plausible result of their naivety and lack of exposure, hence a hampered sense of judgment of right and wrong, and everything in between. I also suspect it to be a common activity within the household as we later see the youngest lick her dad towards the ending as well.
A stray cat unassumingly finds herself on the grounds of the estate, where the children are terrified of seeing it, and the son proceeds to kill it with a pair of pruning shears. The parents use this to their advantage by claiming that the cat was a vicious creature indeed, the most dangerous one from the outside world, and that their yet unseen brother was killed by the cat, after their father tears off his
clothes and covers himself in fake blood, convincing them of the fake attack by the cat. The family then holds a funeral inside the property for their brother on the other side of the fence, and the father teaches the family to howl on all fours (like a dog) to hold their own against cats. A new, wry and yet uncomfortable kind of humour stems from the situation, something that is aplenty in this film. Christina later tries to barter with the elder daughter again for “licking her” in exchange for hair gel, but the daughter refuses demanding something better. Christina hesitatingly hands over two Hollywood film DVDs to her and promises to retrieve them within a week. The elder watches the films at their VCR player in the night, and tries to recreate iconic scenes from one of the ‘Rocky’ films, and even quotes dialogues verbatim. The father finds out and after beating the elder for her infraction with the VCR tape, he even hits Christina at her apartment with her VCR player, cursing her future kids to have bad influences and a bad personality as punishment for the evil she had brought upon her family. In the absence of Christina, and increased instances of the parents realising that they were losing control, they have the son choose one of the daughters by blindly fondling them in a bathtub to satisfy his urges. Him and the elder one later have sex, and while the latter is increasingly uncomfortable about it, she quotes a dialogue from the ‘Rocky’ film to threaten him. Later, as the family gets together to celebrate the parents’ anniversary, the trio of siblings perform as the couple watches. While the son plays a feisty tune on the guitar and the younger daughter excuses herself to rest, the elder continues dancing, almost as in an act of defiance, to the moves of ‘Flashdance’, an 80s Hollywood pop cultural phenomenon, much to the chagrin of her parents. Later that night, she knocks off her dogtooth with a small dumbbell, and bloodied, hides in the boot of her father’s car. The bloodied mess left behind by her is discovered by the father who searches for her inside and outside the house, all in vain, as the rest of the family gets on all fours and starts howling, probably in an attempt to fend off any cat attacks, just in case. The father drives to his factory in the same car the next day, and the screen cuts to credits just as the camera pans at the unattended boot of the car long enough.
Ending, Explained
I am going to devote this entire section to the development of the arc of the elder one, since after all she is the one to have escaped that captivity and has the final shot focussed on her inside the trunk. Well, there are no two ways about it, the ending was as open ended as you’d like it to be, and as unilateral as you want it to be. It is abundantly clear that the elder one eloped and hid in the trunk her father’s car, realising the falsity of the idyllic household and perfect family that their parents were
creating, having a sort of awakening after watching the Hollywood films she bartered from Christina, something that her parents considered bad influence. Her discovering that the telephone was not a salt cellar was part of her awakening. Now, as the film closes, one could reasonably assume that she would still be hiding in the trunk, and would escape into the world outside the first chance she gets. If not, any of the other million possibilities only Lanthimos is capable of brewing. However, as stated in the introductory paragraph, that is far from the point of it. What it intends to do is give you enough to feed a discussion or an open dialogue, and that it does. The film ends even as you grow curious about the fate of the elder one, choosing to end with no definite answers, and all of them at once. From the initial bits in the film, Lanthimos drops in hints on a sort of “rebellion” brewing inside the eldest one: it would almost seem like she was in a way aware of the false utopia her parents were creating. My tentative conclusion stems from the observation when she first threw the toy airplane outside the fence, possibly to urge someone to attempt to get to it, followed by her cutting her brother’s arm with a kitchen knife in what I believe was an act of unchecked rage. Her ‘Flashdance’ was an act of open rebellion in front of her parents, and stripping off her dogtooth both an act of breaking free and an act of mockery against her parents’ almost fascist upbringing. If I am to term Christina the disruptor of their ‘natural’ equilibrium, it was the elder one who basically enabled her to do it: it was her psyche that appealed to Christina, even if unassumingly. Towards the ending too, through eloping, she basically just blows the lid of the container for the truth to come out: the father in an unsuccessful attempt to search for her walks outside directly, contrary to what the couple taught their kids, as opposed to car being the only way to go out. The two siblings continue howling on the threshold of the house simply excuse they are too brainwashed to see.
Do We Want an Animal or a Friend?
The question in the title of this section is asked by the trainer at the facility where the family’s dog is being trained to become more obedient and docile, immediately establishing a rather unfortunate parallel with the canine and the children he is rearing in a similar fashion. One of the most unmistakable themes of this complex narrative if you wish to draw from it would be control: the over-
application of it or the lack thereof. We are basically dealing with a film that portrays home-schooling at its worst, darkest and most twisted under extremely paranoid parents, who believe anything outside those fences is a corrupting agent. It is almost as if they are running a totalitarian regime within those walls: one where a sense of freedom of expression and of activity was completely absent. It is also akin to George Orwell’s seminal literary work ‘1984’, wherein Newspeak is replaced with a completely new vocabulary: one where a vagina is also a keyboard and a bright white light, thus curtailing whatever little freedom of thought that could’ve prevailed. Now, the control essentially works in two ways: by keeping them blissfully unaware and misguided about the outside world, the parents have almost crippled the children in terms of surviving in the outside world by making it impossible for them to adapt in ways other than physical. On the other hand, the children too would almost certainly be rejected from an unforgiving world, something that should double up on your perception of the ending. Just goes on to show the impact an upbringing can have.
Moving away from the obvious themes, I strongly believe Entropy to be another one. In nature too, any equilibrium may not last long by virtue of it slowly moving towards disorder, and entropy is a measure of that. That would imply that no matter how hard the parents would have tried or however hardly control was asserted, a similar outcome would rather be imperative by the end of it. The means could be any: here it was Christina, even if unknowingly, while some of it was internal as well. The violence in the scenes wherein the older one cuts the son’s arm, or the younger one hammers his knee and blames it on the cat, the sisters inhaling anaesthesia as an endurance game etc are all outlets opened up as a response to excessive smothering. Come to think of it, something similar occurs in ‘regular’ kids when they indulge in fights or substance abuse, especially when the parent or overseer is excessively restraining. The film also reeks of a regressive patriarchal setup within the household where the son’s sexual needs are taken care of even if the sisters have to be offered up for that, while there is barely any mention of the need to do the same for the daughters. Among so many issues, it would seem rather befitting that the aeroplane flying over their heads becomes a metaphor of irony. “I’ll have it when it falls!”, she says. “The one who deserves it will have it”, her mother retorts.
Final Word
Yorgos Lanthimos’ tale of a perceived utopia and its shortcomings and eventual falling off is an effective, albeit an eerily scary one. For some around the globe, it may even hit closer home, where abuse and control is all but a part of the upbringing. It is almost as if the estate where the five reside is on a different planet altogether, it is that isolated, even geographically it would seem. This is perhaps why Lanthimos refrains from disclosing any names, be it the setting, or the names of the members of the household. The film, in my opinion is a carefully mounted study of interpersonal relationships under confines, and how they proliferate despite. It is bleak, even spiteful in parts, and will test you. If you haven’t ventured into Lanthimos’ filmography, ‘Dogtooth’ may be the best place to start, since it essentially embodies the full Lanthimos experience. For the love of indies, don’t miss this one.
THE FOUNTAI N, EXPLAI NED
There are some movie experiences that awe you, some make you think; some make you bow at the sheer brilliance of them, while some may evoke a melancholy strain. ‘The Fountain’, does all that and more. Darren Aronofsky’s 2006 epic-fantasy-science fiction-romantic drama (If you have watched the film, you will agree it is hard to put it under a single genre), divided critics and polarised viewers, and has continued to do so eleven years hence, even after having gained a cult following. Love it or hate it, you can’t deny that ‘The Fountain’ is a transcendent movie-watching experience. Like Aronofsky’s other films, ‘The Fountain’ too deals with complex psychological themes, and is a hard film to watch, but one that is extremely rewarding as we approach the end. Incidentally so, that is exactly what the film deftly sets out to address, The End. The film deals with man’s mortality, his feeble attempts to overcome it, maim it, or in ways change or delay the obvious outcome that accompanies birth, and his eventual coming to terms with it. If anything, Aronofsky’s work here feels like a romantic ode to the dichotomous cycle of death and birth, stressing it in ways, to be necessary to be replaced by the new order of things. “Death, as an act of creation”, as remarked by one of the protagonists in the film; “omnis cellula e cellula”, proposed by the physicist Rudolph Virchow (meaning all cells come from cells) and penned and interpreted by John Green as “life comes from life” in his novel, ‘the Fault in our Stars”, are important and overarching themes in Aronofsky’s film.
For all its commentary on life, death, what precedes it and what may follow, it is a hard film to indulge in, also given its non-linear narrative and its tendency to throw another curveball at you the moment you start to make sense of the already limited information Aronofsky presents on-screen. Although, as stated by Aronofsky himself, the film is like a ‘Rubik’s Cube’. It may be solved and interpreted differently, but he ultimately believed the solution or result achieved in the end to be the same. Here, I offer up a narrative breakup and my interpretation of this deeply complex yet enriching film. Read on!
SPOILERS follow, obviously. The film employs three different, albeit somewhat related, congruous narratives to address its themes of man’s mortality and his ways of dealing with it, each separated by a gap of five centuries, popularly translated as the past, present and future. As stated, some of the audience may perceive the events to be occurring in a timeline of sorts, but again, that is completely open to interpretation.
Tom Creo, the Neuroscientist (Present):
In the modern day (21st Century), neuroscientist Tom Creo (Hugh Jackman) wrestles with time to find a cure for his wife’s terminal disease using samples found from an old growth tree in Central America, a reference to the biblical ‘Tree of Life’. He tests these samples on an unassuming monkey only to record some progress but not being completely able to eliminate the tumor. His wife, Izzi Creo (Rachel Weisz) on the other hand, realises that her days are limited, and chooses to go out with grace, gradually coming to terms with it, and trying to spend her last days with her husband. Tom however, refuses to accept that she may be no more and struggles to find a cure not only for her, but for death itself, calling it a “sickness” like any other that needed to be cured. In one of the many beautifully realised scenes in the film, Izzi and Tom sit out stargazing, when Izzi tells Tom about ‘Xibalba’, a nebula wrapped around a dying star, described to be the Mayans’ underworld, “a place where the dead go to be reborn”, and that she was writing a book about it. Through this analogy and the analogy of a dying star going supernova to give birth to a new star, Izzi tries to make Tom realise the inevitability of her death, even indicating that they’ll live forever when they meet in the afterlife; that is, the possibility of life after death, the possibility that a person may live on even after death, in one manifestation or another.
Every scene, every exchange of dialogue that happens between Izzi and Tom in the ‘present’ scenario is replete with heavy symbolism, also providing plot points for the other two narratives. After collapsing at a museum, Izzi tells Tom the story of her Mayan guide who planted a seed over his dead father’s grave, allowing him to live on after his death. “Death was his road to awe”, she says, resolutely telling Tom that she wasn’t scared anymore of her death, and that he shouldn’t be either. Having already told Tom about her book featuring the story of the Spanish Conquistador on a quest to find the biblical Fountain of Youth, she asks Tom to “finish it” for her as a final behest, gifting him a pen and ink set for the same. While Tom is in denial and refuses to finish the book saying he doesn’t know the end to it, Izzi reassures him, saying that he will. In many ways, Izzi’s parting gift to her husband was to help him come to terms with her death, while Izzi hoped to live on through the book, through her incomplete work.
Ironically enough, Tom receives the news of his wife’s passing just moments after he discovers he has made a breakthrough in his search for a cure. Aronofsky succeeds in driving the message home here, but alas, does so while reducing both Tom and the viewer to an incomprehensible mess of tears and melancholy. In one of the most heartbreaking scenes put to film in my opinion, Tom makes an impression of his lost wedding ring on his finger where it used to be, using the pen and ink Izzi left him, as a reminder. Also, through the recurring scene where Tom bluntly refuses to go out for a walk with Izzi to enjoy the first snow, denying her of a simple pleasure she seeks in her final days, Aronofsky tries to express the cycle of regret that Tom goes through for not having spent enough time with his ailing wife, eventually grieving his way to the bitter realisation and coming to terms with it, when he plants a sweetgum seed in her grave that she gave him in an apparition from the ending of the ‘future’ storyline.
Tommy, the traveller (Future):
The ‘future’ storyline, may be interpreted in two different yet uniquely engaging and satiating ways. It could be a story of the 26th century, 500 years hence the ‘present’ timeline, where Tommy, the space traveller makes his journey to Xibalba in a biosphere bubble (see it to believe it) of sorts, the sphere containing the ‘tree of life’ or in terms of the continuity storyline, the tree he seeded over Izzi’s grave, supported by the fact that Izzi (or her apparitions) repeatedly appear, asking Tommy to “finish it”. The second theory suggests that it all may be a manifestation of ‘present’ Tom’s mind, an abstract existence, where the tree signifies Izzi, and his journey to Xibalba in the hopes that she would be given back to him, similar to his struggle in the ‘real’ world for finding a cure for her.
The tree, however, dies just before the biosphere ship reaches Xibalba, (much like Izzi’s sudden death as Tom approaches a cure) and upon finally accepting his impending fate, and being persuaded by Izzi to “finish it”, he lets go right before the star goes supernova and achieves a sort of nirvanic state, bursting out of his ship and being absorbed by the dying star. The tree then flourishes back to life, another manifestation of Izzi’s “life after death” belief. Izzi is shown picking a sweetgum from the tree, and handing it over to ‘present’ Tom, who then plants it in her grave as an act of acceptance, (as told above) bidding her a hearty farewell.
Tomás Verde, the conquistador (Izzi’s Book ,Past):
In 16th century Spain, Tomás the conquistador is commissioned by Queen Isabella to find the biblical Fountain of Youth, and alongside it, the Tree of Life, convinced that drinking its elixir would grant her immortality and help her defeat the Inquisitor threatening her reign. A loyal Tomás sets out on the journey, promised by his queen that she shall be his Eve when he returns, and both of them will spend an eternity together, also giving him a ring to remind him of his promise. Upon reaching its supposed location, a mayan pyramid, Tomás engages in combat with a group of pagans, is overpowered, and directed to the top of the pyramid where he meets a mayan priest with a flaming sword. The priest attacks him, and just as he is about to deliver a final blow to Tomás, the scene cuts, and we are repeatedly shown the same sequence time and again, expressing the state of denial Tom (in the ‘present’ storyline) is, with regard to Izzi’s death, showing his inability to finish the story. It is only when Tommy from the ‘future’ storyline finally accepts his impending death and the death of his beloved by making a leap towards Xibalba, that we are shown a conclusion to the scene in question.
A nirvanic apparition of ‘future’ Tommy appears in front of the priest, who recognises him as the “First Father” and offers to sacrifice himself, to be set on the road to awe. Tomás does so, slitting his throat and proceeding towards the tree of life, applying its sap on his wounds, astonished to see them cured in an instant. He greedily drinks the sap in the hope of immortality, which is somewhat rejected by Tomás’ body, making plants spring out from his torso, gradually covering him completely and making him a ‘part’ of the tree of life. In a fulfilment of the mayan theory, he quite literally gives rise to new life. Rightly so, this is how ‘present’ Tom chooses to end Izzi’s incomplete story, safe to say that the ending comes to him only when he truly comes to terms with her death, understanding in the process, what she meant when she called Death, a road to awe.
Having explained all of that, I do accept that ”The Fountain” Is an impossible film to fully understand or explain. For all its interpretations and theories, it remains an experience to be cherished by every cinephile, for it is embellished with such intricacies that may be discovered, and the experience of it made even more visceral on multiple viewings. For all we may make out of this, or what Aronofsky wanted to portray (seldom actually commenting on how he intended the film to be viewed as) ‘The Fountain’ could be the tale of Tommy’s realisation of the true nature of death over three lives, or a manifestation of the same story in three different ages, of man’s initial resistance, denial and subsequent acceptance, offering multiple and unique interpretations, and therein lies the beauty of Aronofski’s underrated gem of a film.
WHI PLASH ENDI NG, EXPLAI NED
Whiplash is what would define an electric kind of cinema for me. The much needed jolt of energy and adrenaline, even inspiration for some, and a kick in the gut for creative professionals from all walks, much like 'The Wolf of Wall Street' was for the business and trading guys. Apart from surprising virtually everyone in the awards circuit when it released back in 2014, it can also be hailed as the film that put Damien Chazelle on the world map of the most promising filmmakers, a feat that was only cemented further when he became the youngest director to hold the coveted golden statuette two years later for 'La La Land'.
What makes Whiplash a great film apart from obviously being an exemplar in film scoring, editing and writing, are the omniscient questions it raises about true greatness, whether it even exists in all its subjectivity, the path to its attainment, and pushing oneself beyond mental and physical extremes in the process. Might I also add that a single viewing of Whiplash may just leave you too overwhelmed and charged up to even contemplate on these larger, overarching questions, but a second, deeper viewing will leave you in search of answers and more. Worse still, 'Whiplash' does provide an answer that is a dichotomy at best, but to me, that impresses upon the intelligent nature of the film, especially the ending. We discuss what that meant and more in the following sections.
The Ending
If ‘Whiplash’s ending doesn’t have you on the edge of your seat, your heart racing and your pulse in your throat, perhaps you were watching a different film. There will always be naysayers, but arguably so, ‘Whiplash’ has one of the best endings in modern cinema history. However, a few deliberate choices by the filmmakers have left some of it open to interpretation, and the very moral fibre of it comes under question with the kind of dichotomy created here. Let’s wind the clock to quickly recapitulate the ending and set the needle following Fletcher being fired from Shaffer conservatory after Andrew, under the condition of full anonymity and on discovering the cause of Sean Casey’s death, testifies against Fletcher for the abuse he suffered at his hands. After an unspecified period of time passes in the film, Andrew is shown having settled for a more comfortable life, having moved on from his passion of drumming and working at a restaurant. While walking by a Jazz club, he discovers Fletcher’s name in the list of performers and goes inside to see him perform out of curiosity. Fletcher discovers Andrew among the bystanders, and the two share a drink and a conversation that really is the point of the entire film. I will quote part of the conversation verbatim later to analyse what the ending meant while offering my own two cents on it, but for now, let’s progress with the plot. Following the conversation, Andrew is invited by Fletcher to drum for his band of professional players in the opening act for the JVC festival he was guiding that year. Naturally, Andrew accepts, and just before the beginning of the performance, Fletcher informs him that he was aware that Andrew was the one who testified against him that led to his dismissal, and starts off by cueing in a tune Andrew didn’t know. Realising he was being sabotaged, Andrew stays nonetheless, trying to improvise his act, but fails to keep and leaves, humiliated. However, with a steelier resolve, he returns to the stage, and interrupts Fletcher in the middle of his speech by playing ‘Caravan’, eventually cueing the band in.
The two share looks of disapproval over each other’s actions, but as Andrew pushes himself and his performance progresses, Fletcher seems to warm up to him owing to the visible dedication Andrew was putting in and an incredible performance, and begins to guide the band. Guiding ‘Caravan’ to a finale, Fletcher is surprised to see Andrew still perform an extended solo, and seemingly impressed, starts guiding him. As the solo ends, the two share a look of approval and the finale is cued in, as the credits start appearing, drawing the film to a high spirited close. Now, in order to analyse the ending, we must understand the circumstances that led to Fletcher willingly sabotaging Andrew and his act on stage. There are mostly two polar theories as to why that happened, and we are going to spend some time on both to fully understand the gist, the emotional core of the film, and the possible message it sought to purvey.
Theory 1:
Before we begin delving into the first theory, it is fairly obvious that Fletcher knew Andrew had testified against him well before the two stumbled into each other at the Jazz club. Now, the first theory, the simpler one, states that Fletcher invited Andrew to play for his band in a bid solely to exact revenge from him for the dent in his reputation caused due to his dismissal from Shaffer. In that, Fletcher would come off as a vile creature, a bad teacher and just an overall horrible person for pulling that off, knowing that the JVC Jazz Fest would have the who’s who of the music industry among the audience, not to mention the line-up of the very best musicians across the Big Apple. An embarrassment on stage and a faulty performance in the evidence of such stalwarts was bound to completely derail Andrew’s career before even taking off, but instead Andrew uses the opportunity to bounce back and gives Fletcher a taste of his own medicine. The tension the two share at the beginning of the piece is maddeningly high, as Andrew mouths ‘f**k you’ staring deadpan into Fletcher’s eyes, and Fletcher retorts profanely by threatening to gouge out Andrew’s eyes. As ‘Caravan’ progresses and Andrew proves his brilliance on stage, impossibly so, Fletcher develops an admiration for Andrew. He might still be mad at him, but as an artist, he now respects him and his resilience as he sees Andrew not give up, continuing to wow the audience, despite the kind of move he’d just pulled off on him. The admiration paves the way for total submission for Fletcher, who now seems to be happy guiding Andrew and the band, and letting him take centre stage. However, even as the core of ‘Caravan’ ends, Andrew continues playing a solo in a bid to secure his position among the stalwarts, a won over audience, and most importantly, Fletcher. While the film doesn’t delve into what happened in the case of the former two, we see the latter share a smile of approval with Andrew as his solo ends, while the camera skilfully conceals Fletcher mouthing “well done”, adding to Andrew’s visible glee as he continues his stellar performance as the film closes. Simply put, Fletcher, who initially planned to exact revenge from Andrew in the most colloquial sounding sense softens his stance as he sees Andrew defy odds and deliver a performance that won over everyone.
Theory 2:
For understanding the second, more interesting theory, albeit slightly less probable, I would like to retrace our steps back to the conversation between Andrew and Fletcher at the Jazz club, which also sheds a light on one of the most important, deeply contemplative questions the film raised for me, as to the meaning of true greatness. While narrating the conditions that lead to his dismissal from the school, Fletcher laments people not understanding what he was trying to achieve through his extreme methods at Shaffer. He narrates the story of how Charlie Parker “became Charlie Parker”, when Jo Jones threw a cymbal at his head, mid-performance, humiliating him in front of an important audience. Charlie Parker didn’t give up, practiced harder, and bounced back with a solo performance that instantly found him a place within the greats, reiterating the validity of his methods in pushing people to perform beyond what was expected of them, in the hope that they would deliver. The deliberate act of inviting Andrew to play with him at the fest and opening with a piece Andrew didn’t know was metaphorically Fletcher’s act of “throwing a cymbal at his head”. Similar to Charlie Parker’s incident, Andrew, despite the humiliation is able to rise up and deliver the best performance of his life, again reiterating the latent belief Fletcher always had in Andrew, providing the necessary push for him to attempt his leap to greatness. Fletcher knew or atleast hoped that things would happen the way they did as a necessary way to test out Andrew if he could be the next Charlie Parker or Louis Armstrong and his resolve of becoming likewise, knowing that the “next Charlie Parker would never be discouraged”. The stringency of his methods combined with a burning hatred towards Fletcher was able to push Andrew to deliver, and deliver he did. In that, the nod of approval the two share at the end of Andrew’s solo becomes Fletcher’s seal of approval for Andrew, something that Andrew worked and longed for since the beginning of the film.
Andrew and Fletcher’s Relationship
The two central characters in the film, Andrew Neiman and Terence Fletcher appear with little redeemable “human” qualities about either of them, except their talent, will and determination to push themselves harder in the pursuit of something greater. However, it is more than these similarities that binds them. Quite possibly, Fletcher had an admiration or atleast a belief in Andrew’s talents masked beneath a tough and abusive exterior in an attempt to hone his skills, which is also evident by some leeway he seems to provide Andrew in the first act of the film, as opposed to his other students.
He also laments at one point to Andrew about never finding “his Charlie Parker”, but that he tried atleast. Andrew on the other hand probably senses that, is dangerously smitten by Fletcher, and is even willing to endure abuse at his hands, constantly working to impress him. It is clear that in his pursuit of becoming a great musician, he held Fletcher at a very high regard, and that his approval would matter a lot for him. He only gives in and testifies against him when Fletcher’s decrepit attitude completely breaks him in spirit.
He even tries to refute his methods during that conversation at the Jazz Club saying that pushing beyond a certain line could discourage the next Charlie Parker from ever attaining greatness, to which Fletcher retorts saying that the next Charlie parker would never be discouraged, furthering Andrew’s appreciation for him, and with that, his will to impress him. Apart from proving his worth as a musician to himself, Andrew sees Fletcher’s favour or approval as the unattainable goal that pushes him to practice harder and be more of what he was. Fletcher’s methods seem to work here, even dangerously so, because they are too similar to each other for their own good, allured to each other for all the wrong reasons. For this reason alone, Fletcher’s final nod of approval brings a wide grin on Andrew’s face, despite being duped over minutes ago, atleast in his own opinion. It is an acknowledgement of Fletcher’s methods by Andrew, irrespective of either of the two theories conspiring said sequence of events. The look on Jim Neiman’s face says it all. For some, it might be a look of pure surprise at the realisation of his son’s talent. For me, it was akin to a look of horror, having in a number of ways become the same cold monster that Fletcher was.
The Price of True Greatness
With the finale explained, we attempt to end the writeup with the very question we started. Through all our discussions, it is, by now, clear that Fletcher did indeed soften his stance over Andrew and recognised him as an artist with calibre towards the end. Andrew too managed to be the star of the night and stole the show by pushing himself to do what he normally wouldn’t. Taking these facets into account, the consensus would be that in all their destructive and dangerous connotations, Fletcher’s methods did prove productive and do seem to produce results, atleast in Andrew’s case. Ofcourse, the morality of his actions, including hurling a chair at and repeatedly slapping Andrew, more verbal abuse than one could possibly endure, and mental pressure and trauma, are definitely under question here, but the kind of gratification one might derive from its ending should surely be construed as dangerous, since it seems to be the norm today in most workplaces and institutes of higher education. The conversation between the duo at the Jazz Club was the single most enlightening piece of dialogue I had heard that year. A dialogue from the conversation that particularly has my attention and appreciation reads as follows. “There are no two words in the English language more harmful than ‘good job’.” While the internet and virtually all social media sites with it make it a point to frequently throw inspirational quotes about working harder and dedication regularly in your face, it is widely understood that success or any of its close relative terms are associated with that extra bit of effort from an individual’s end, but that is in no way to be superceded as normalisation of abuse. ‘Whiplash’s ending too is cinematically brilliant and adrenaline fuelled throughout to make you believe that it’s a warm and fuzzy close to the film, while on the contrary, it might not be. The mutual exchange of approvals and acknowledgement between Andrew and Fletcher came at a cost, especially for the former. While Fletcher is bound to feel inherently happy on the discovery and validation of a possible protégé, I couldn’t help but realise that the Andrew who sat on the drumsets in the finale was different from the Andrew who sat alone practicing in a room at the beginning of the film. It is vastly dependant on individual perspective if you are to consider this growth, but the look on Andrew’s father’s face in the end might tell otherwise. That should give your brain enough fodder to think about the question we started off with.
The Music
No genre of music, to me, is perhaps as alluring as Jazz. It is hard not to appreciate an ensemble of dedicated artists and musicians coming together for a piece so carefully constructed in precision, every note in perfect unison and synched to perfection, not to mention increasingly pleasurable to the ears. I may not be wrong in thinking that Jazz would be one of the few genres in music that is able to encompass such a diverse range in tempos, from soulful pining numbers to even eclectically charged dance numbers. I am no musician, neither an insider to the hardships associated with Jazz as a genre, but I know good music in films when I hear it. I have zero reservations in admitting that 'Whiplash' is the film that it is owing to its incredible music and its compositions, and the intense staging and filming of those scenes. All that when ‘Whiplash’ isn’t even constructed as a through and through musical, very much unlike ‘La La Land’. Justin Hurwitz, suffice it to say, has my respect for ‘Whiplash’, and the other two Chazelle directorials that got the world talking, ‘La La Land’ and ‘First Man’. The only film composer who gives me the same kind of hope Zimmer and Desplat have given for so many years, Hurwitz’s score for ‘Whiplash’ comprising of Jazz classics to swear by and groovy new tunes elevates an already extremely well made film to a status that can be considered nothing short of legendary in the current cinematic climate. However, among a string of gems, I have to mention the genius of two musical pieces performed for the film, ‘Whiplash’, originally composed by Hank Levy and lending the film its title, and ‘Caravan’, originally composed by Juan Tizol and Duke Ellington, also forming an important part of the film’s narrative. All the respect to the actors for pulling off their best performance faces, especially the five minute long drum solo in the finale on the tunes of the latter. Both ‘Whiplash’ and ‘Caravan’ are terrifically performed here, lending much of the manic energy that drove the film. Not to mention, Fletcher’s interruptions for the band’s practice of ‘Whiplash’ for tempo correction, (“Not quite my tempo!” and “Were you rushing, or were you dragging?”) will forever scathe the anxious viewer in me, but the fully realised pieces in the film, are both a visual and aural treat.
FI GHT CLUB ENDI NG, EXPLAI NED Two decades. Long enough a time for even a vastly popular film’s legacy to die down, leave alone its popularity that is anyway measured on a relatively shorter yardstick. ‘Fight Club’ defied that, and not only does its legacy live on in 2019, a mighty two decades since it was first released, so does its popularity. Tyler Durden is still a messiah for nine to fivers toiling away in the hopes of a rebellion, and its numerous quotes that attacked the very core of what the society seemed to function on years ago (and still does) are still gospel for those followers, flooding the internet every once in a while. We are talking about a film with literal daggers up its sleeve against everything that basically defined the modern world, from consumerism, to culture, social structure, the wants and needs, the corporate circus, the materialism that we so happily let overcome us, the high rises, the ‘success ladder’, validations, finances, debts, and virtually all terms that sound snazzy enough to run the world today. It shunned societal values, debased what the entire ‘system’ seemed to run upon, and sought to spark an internal revolution, calling out to the part of the male psyche that let ‘masculinity’ slip into suits and shirts and ties wavering around in callously planned square offices.
Chuck Palahniuk said everything in his novel that all of us have at some point wondered while meaninglessly writhing away; his writing is still relevant, even more so today, and David Fincher’s little revolution packaged as an explosively twisty film embodies all of that, with a little bit of added mischief and mayhem. The criticisms with irresponsible representations, and the provocatory nature of the film followed closely for years, until an entire generation knew ‘Fight Club’ to be the film that definitively spoke of everything wrong with the modern world, and summatively redefined the word ‘cool’. The only other film that did that three decades before even ‘Fight Club’ was ‘A Clockwork Orange’, sans the cool and twice as harrowing, and needless to say, it was met with criticism along similar lines. However, none of those blots even came close to what people had to say about the ending of the film, twisted as a wretched rubber band that would tension up all the more whence you got done with the first knot. Here, we attempt to tackle that and more.
The Ending, Explained
It would be fairly obvious to assume that you’ve had a generous dose of the cult classic by now if you are here, and seriously, if you haven’t, you’re doing yourself and the film community a great disservice. Hear not me who speaks highly of the film beyond reason, but the million others who would parry in my claim. Sermonising aside, as we proceed, we refer to Edward Norton’s deceptive first person in the film as simply ‘The Narrator’ as listed in the official credits as we attempt to decipher his troubled psyche, the idea(s) of Tyler Durden, the ending, that was explosive in the most literal sense, and the significance and themes that run deep as veins in this highly influential film. I admit that having gone berserk when I first watched the film, and burning the disc for repeated viewings in a state of being completely and helplessly enamoured, a recent, calmer viewing of ‘Fight Club’ put me in a more contemplative state of its various narrative choices, that safe to say, broke more than a few moulds back in the day. Things that appeared colloquially weird the first time around made more sense now and for a keen eye, the various Easter-Eggs and obvious references made the revelation visible from miles away. This is not to take away the impact of the first time that obviously took your breath away, but to state it as an elaborate puzzle that you know how to solve, yet in the process, you have learnt to appreciate how intelligently the pieces fit together.
Who is Tyler Durden?
If I am to put it simply, without mincing any words whatsoever, Tyler Durden is an idea. In psychological terms, he would be stated as the dissociative identity that stemmed from the narrator’s innate dissatisfaction from his mundane material existence and his latent inbound desire to change it. You must have often caught yourself practicing a speech in front of the mirror, holding conferences and talks, delivering sermons, seeing yourself as somebody you have always wanted to be, the mirror being the manifestation of your wish seeking fulfilment. That person in the mirror, that manifestation is who Tyler Durden is. A figment of the narrator’s imagination, an extension of himself, yet embodying everything the narrator wasn’t but aspired to be is the overall summative of Tyler Durden as a person. This piece of dialogue from the film by the man himself should give you an idea as to how and most importantly why the second, more elusive identity developed in the first place, unbeknownst to the narrator. “All the ways you wish you could be, that's me. I look like you wanna look, I fuck like you wanna fuck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not.” One of the many reasons for Tyler Durden’s almost global appeal that defines him as a case study in triumphant character writing and pretty much the ambassador for cool is that like it did the narrator, Tyler’s carefree self, through his words and actions, is able to tap into a repressed part of our psyche, the same one that holds anguish on the inside and dons a smile on the outside. By extension, it would also mean that the words of Tyler Durden were gospel for us because akin to the narrator, we, the common men today harbour the same kind of dissatisfaction and disillusionment. It was affecting because in a way that almost all of us would denounce, it was relatable.
Easter Eggs
Early on, I talked about having a different kind of experience watching the film again at a distant interval of time since I had first seen it. That would also hold true in terms of how this revelatory twist presents itself to you. You know the revelation, but now you begin to see it coming, pointing all the subtle (and unsubtle hints) Fincher and Palahniuk send your way. There is a host of them, and the very first ones occur in the initial bits of the film during the narrator’s introduction. Funnily enough, in the manner Tyler inconspicuously slipped in lewd pieces of film in the projection reel of the theatre he worked at, Fincher here tries to introduce a little mischief himself for the viewer. Apart from phalluses and other sexual images that briefly flash in the film at numerous instances, Tyler too appears in extremely brief blink and you miss them flashes, rather as a tease, making the narrator look as bewildered as the audience, reflecting his clearly troubled state of mind. “Nobody knows they saw it, but they did.” Interestingly enough, the narrator sees these flashes before he actually meets Tyler in the plane, furthering the hypothesis that Tyler wasn’t a real person in the first place.
However, as telling as it was, this was only the first one of these instances among many. A rather subtle one that becomes more obvious during subsequent viewings is Marla’s conversations with the narrator, especially the ones following the nights when “Tyler” slept with Marla. “You fuck me, then snub me. You love me, you hate me. You show me your sensitive side, then you turn into a total asshole.” She remarks, at one such instant. This evident duality, coupled with Tyler’s insistence on not talking about him in front of Marla and her continuous “who are you talking to?” retorts for the narrator are only precursors to the conclusion that it was actually the narrator sleeping with Marla, albeit as his dissociative self.
Another famous topic of discussion for the internet has been the car scene. Remember the scene where Tyler is driving the narrator and two other members of project Mayhem, wherein the former two get into a verbal argument and Tyler urges the narrator to let go? This is one of the extremely few scenes where Tyler and the narrator appear together AND indulge in a conversation in front of other people. However, if you observe closely on a second viewing, knowing the revelatory twist, you will see that the scene is essentially the narrator sermonising as ‘Tyler’, while the voice of the narrator in the film in actuality would be his own voice of reason in his head, the remaining bits the narrator has of himself as Tyler’s dissociative identity takes over. Another scene that took me by complete surprise was after the crash, when Tyler who was driving before the crash emerges from the wreckage on the passenger’s side, and the narrator emerges on the driver’s side. This deliberate intermixing, I believe, is one of the film’s subtle foreshadowings of the dissociative identity revelation.
The Explosive Finale
“In the world I see - you are stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You'll wear leather clothes that will last you the rest of your life. You'll climb the wrist-thick kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. And when you look down, you'll see tiny figures pounding corn, laying strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of some abandoned superhighway.” Tyler gives a fairly graphic description of the world he wishes to build one day, partly in voiceover. Reading the description, it becomes increasingly obvious that Tyler, the manifestation that he is, would seem like a man for the pre-industrialisation ages: a simpler way of life involving hunting and cultivating farm yield. His description makes sure that the remnants of the modern world, the ones that would survive after he is done with his “mission”, would still be there, albeit as reminders, with thick vines growing around them, implying their abandonment and them having fallen into a derelict state of disrepair, Including the multi lane superhighways that no one would now use because there are no cars to begin with! The cars, skyscrapers, offices, hotels, fancy homes, the superhighways and the cities in general: it doesn’t take a genius to figure out the common element linking those: money, cash, capital, finance. Tyler’s plan seeks to take down the one institution behind all these institutions, one of finance. Specifically, Tyler’s plan involved blowing up the headquarters of major credit card companies, in an attempt to destroy records of any and all debt. “If we erase the debt record, then we all go back to zero”, the narrator cites on one incident. That is where the end begins, with the narrator realising his dual nature, and trying to stop the attempted attack, he “faces off” against Tyler in the basement of one of these buildings where vans packed with homemade explosives are waiting to be blown up. The narrator diffuses that, but is quickly subdued by Tyler in a hand to hand. By this point, also evident from the camera footage, we know that it is actually the narrator inflicting those attacks on himself, and the ‘Tyler vs. Narrator’ battle is more internal. That Tyler is easily able to win among the two clearly signifies him being the more dominant personality of the narrator’s dissociative ones, and is slowly taking over. However, even that ending has a kind of dual ambiguity associated with it. Hereon, we discuss that.
What’s That Smell?
Going back to the beginning and following a bout of crazy flashback humour, we see Tyler counting down three minutes to the attempted assault, to ground zero. However, in the final moments of the film, the story takes some really dark turns to deliver one of the most deliciously twisted endings of the 90s. The key to cracking that ending lies in this one line that the narrator mouths as Tyler looks out the window, waiting for the explosives to go off. “That old saying, how you always hurt the one you love, well it works both ways”. Read on.
Jumping straight to the point when the narrator seemingly finds a way to overpower his dissociative identity, he realises that Tyler is but a phantasm, and him holding the gun would actually imply that the narrator has it himself. Now, in an attempt to eliminate Tyler, he shoots himself in the mouth with that gun, but to everyone’s surprise, it is Tyler who falls to the ground with a pie sized hole in his head, while the narrator is barely hurt to an extent that he starts talking normally minutes after his vocal cord should have been possibly tethered from the shot, instead only profusely bleeding only from the side of his neck, and in all improbability, surviving. The only possible explanation for this mayhem is that the narrator didn’t actually shoot himself in the back of the head. He pulled the trigger with the gun inside his mouth, aimed at the very spot he was hurt in the end: the side of his neck, only narrowly
escaping with his life. On the narrator’s end, it was a well calculated shot, one that was designed to let him get away with, yet it impaled ‘Tyler’ lethally. This was because since Tyler never was a real person, “killing” him was merely signatory. As whimsical as it may sound, this one act was clearly representative of the narrator taking control and letting go at once, accepting his alter ego, his dissociative identity, and becoming one with it. At this point, the two identities hang in a balance whose scales can freely tip completely in one direction. The film thereby ends with “Tyler” holding hands with Marla, and watching out the window as Project Mayhem is unleashed and a few buildings wired to blow are reduced to rubble. Well, it actually ends with a little phallic mischief from Fincher, but the former sounds better. Let’s leave it at that.
Ground Zero?
The second part of the dual ambiguity. Since the film ends on multiple ambiguous notes, including the very ambiguity of who survives, I wouldn’t be so surprised if the ending, the supposed conclusion to Project Mayhem with the bombs in the basements of the credit card office buildings simultaneously going off, crippling the financial system, wasn’t real to begin with. What if The Narrator emerged victorious in the “face-off”, survived, and hallucinated the entire conclusion, just as he did Tyler, realising this was what he had wanted all along? Or a mere sequence of fantasy from the director? Unfortunately so, there is no clear way to ascertain whether the conclusion to Project Mayhem, the blast intended to level atleast a city a block at a time was even real or not, and is one of the very few endings in cinema that are truly open ended and open to interpretation if you think long and hard enough. If you don’t intend to, there is always the first theory to side with.
Final Word
Well, do you EVEN need a final word on ‘Fight Club’? The film is legend, a part of popular culture in a way probably no other film from the 90s is. While I offer my two cents on the ending of the film and what it possibly meant, ‘Fight Club’ remains a work of genius with a hint of crazy that doesn’t need any more reverence than it already has. Deserves? Quite possibly, yes. It attacked corporate culture and the ‘modern‘ embrace in a way that is painfully resonant with even the current times, and if the tide of time is any proof, this film and Tyler’s sermons are bound to gain more relevance in the years to come. The very definition of a cult classic, and unequivocally one of my favourite films ever.