Searching for Selfdom in Film Noir

Searching for Selfdom in Film Noir

WORDS Mica Kendall VISUALS Coco Luan

In 2020, as a 21-year-old, I will exist for roughly 1,839,060 hours. Typically, one doesn’t consider the duration of time that encompasses a year. Instead, our brain can only handle one day at a time, going from breakfast in the morning to dinner in the evening. Our ingrained, homogenized recognition of time is a comfort mechanism that pushes down underlying, lingering thoughts of the future or death. But one thing is for certain: time is not a fear nor constraint when watching a full-length fılm. Over time, cinema has been considered a form of escapism, where one can fınd pleasure in delving into a fantastical or reletable form of storytelling. Although the duration of a fılm can be anywhere from one and a half to three hours, there is a sense of comfort in absorbing a fılm for a portion of your day. Film is impactful on a humanistic level with its ability to allow the viewer to see their own life within the life of the fılm characters, beyond entertainment only. Some of the best forms of storytelling are seen in the “coming of age” genre, where the protagonist is depicted as someone coming to terms with their identity and achieving awareness about what makes life worth living. This theme can be seen in movies such as The Great Beauty (2013), My Own Private Idaho (1991), Paris, Texas (1984), and Hour Of The Wolf (1968). These movies all fall into the “fılm noir” category as well, defıned as “a style in cinema marked by a mood of pessimism, fatalism, etc” through prevalent use of “cynical heroes, stark lighting effects, flashbacks, incrate plots, and underlying existentialist philosophy.” 1 The diverse protagonists of these fılms all face an undefıned conclusion, where it is up to viewer interpretation to judge if the character actually found their sense of self. Similar to these diverse characters, I believe I still haven’t found my sense of self, but the trajectory from my childhood to my adulthood has shown substantial change. To me, my childhood is summarized by randomized fragments, pieced together to form an incomprehensive understanding of the type of person I was. For example, I remember creating imaginary vortexes during recess where I would run to one end of the soccer fıeld and pretend I was in a futuristic, dystopian world. Through bits and pieces of memories, I have a

understanding of how my childhood was strongly influenced by the idea of dreams and translating my imagination into my actions. What sticks out the most about reflecting on childhood is how unknowingly and abruptly it comes to an end. The formative years of your life suddenly become irreversible, pushed back onto the dusty shelves within your mind as soon as the transition into adolescence arrives. I resided in my safeguarded, whitepicket-fence suburb in Texas for more than half my life until I moved to Boston, Massachusetts for college in 2017. From intermediate school to the end of high school, my sense of identity was not one I could easily categorize. Who was Mica Kendall? It was a skewed period of time during which I was like a malleable ball of clay. I allowed my identity to be shaped by what others perceived as desirable traits. The feeling of fulfıllment and inclusion are huge driving factors into how people live their lives, even if it means fıtting into the cookie cutter societal norm. Fitting into glamorized societal norms relates to the pessimistic, 65-year old self-reflectionist Jep Gambardella in The Great Beauty (2013), who indulges in a grandiose party lifestyle in Rome during the 21st century. Jep falls into the unhealthy pattern of prioritizing his peers’ youthful mentality and expectations over his own mental state, which remains stuck in the past. Jep fınds the age of 26 to be the peak of his life, as he states: “I

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wanted to be the king of the high life and succeed.” But without his past love, he is left with nothing except the loneliness that lies underneath the superfıcial parties. Jep’s cyclical behavior of partying throughout the fılm reaches a breaking point, at which he realizes, “I can’t waste time doing things I don’t want to do.” Though Jep never physically leaves his lavish lifestyle in Rome, he comes to terms with abandoning his identity from the past and re-evaluating his mental and emotional state in his 60s. In conjunction with wanting acceptance and yearning to feel “normal” within society, protagonists Mike Wells in My Own Private Idaho (1991) and Travis in Paris, Texas (1984) both face long-term journeys in order to fınd their sense of self. Through blurred transitions where time is lost in Mike’s narcolepsy, causing him to wake up in different places all over the world, and Travis’ wanderings down a desolate railroad track, not knowing four years have elapsed, both protagonists have a distorted relationship with time. Recurring symbols help trigger both men into remembering their origin of self, as they continuously form new relationships with other people. The symbol of a black, gravel, longwinding road, alongside a wooden barn in the countryside of Idaho, reappears throughout the fılm no matter where Mike travels. Mike sees himself within the road, commenting: “this is my road. Looks like a fucked-up face, like it’s saying ‘have a nice day’ or something. It’s a good look.” The road is representative of the countless miles he and his best friend Scott Favor spend traveling the country as sex workers for a business run by

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Portland misfıts. Mike’s lack of a mother and an unstable relationship with his father causes him to fınd love during the time he spends with Scott. Even though Scott’s feelings are not reciprocal, Mike says at one point in the fılm: “I could love someone even if I wasn’t paid for it.” He comes to terms with Scott shaping his perception of love, instead of his family, even if Scott cannot reciprocate those same feelings. Ironically, Travis in Paris, TX has an opposite experience by running away from who he once was. Travis goes off the grid, abandoning his wife, son, and brother for a period of four years due to substance abuse and his failed marriage. Travis resembles a void during this time, and has no clear direction without the presence of family, until his brother Will intercepts him in Texas to take him to Los Angeles. Because of Will, Travis is reconnected with his son Hunter, who is now seven years old. Through a tip from Will’s wife, Anne, Travis takes Hunter to Houston in order to fınd his wife. Throughout the movie, Travis wants to prove himself as a father to Hunter by asking “what does a father look like?”, trying to make up for his absence in his son’s life. The journey from Los Angeles to Houston is a metaphor of Travis’ quest for his identity. When he fınally encounters Jane in Houston, both characters realize their warped sense of self is connected through their son. In the fınal monologue, Jane affırms her sense of self through Travis as she says “I hear your voice all the time. Every man has your voice.” Even though four years of time is completely lost in Travis’s psyche, Jane reminiscences about the passing of time in relation to how Travis makes up who she is: “I use to make up long speeches to you after you left. I use to talk to you all the time even though I was alone. I walked around for months talking to you… It was almost like you were there.” Jane is representative of how one may fınd their sense of self through relationships with others and the spaces one exists in, contrary to Mike and Travis becoming nomads to fınd selfdom. Jane’s narrative goes hand in hand with Alma, the wife of sadistic protagonist Johan Burg, from Hour of The Wolf. Johan’s identity is formulated by his hazy sense of reality, versus the dreams that dominate his psyche at night. Johan’s skewed illusions become his coping mechanism of inflicting domestic and verbal abuse onto Alma. Yet, Alma’s devotion to Johan never wavers, since he compromises her identity. Alma forming her sense of self through Johan is best described in her monologue: “Isn’t it true that when a woman has lived a long time with a man...isn’t it true she fınally becomes like that man? Since she loves him and tries to think like him and see like him. They say that it can change a person. Was that why I began to see those ghosts? Or were they there anyway?” Alma’s strong relationship with Johan, despite all his apparent flaws, make Alma’s sense of self completely codependent on accepting Johan’s internal demons. Likewise, to adolescent Mica who believed identity could only be formulated through complacency and idealization to others, selfdom is representative of a complex paradigm.

Now in college, where my time away from home has led me on various travels and allowed me to meet a diverse plethora of people, I can confıdently affırm I am no longer the malleable Mica I once was in adolescence. As existentialist philosopher Jean Paul Satre said, “Man is not the sum of what he has already, but rather the sum of what he does not yet have, of what he could have.” I am still continuously piecing myself together through experiences I have not yet undergone. I do not think selfdom is as easy as a lightbulb flashing above one’s head, where one has an “aha” moment and knows exactly who they are. I think coming of age is determined by embracing vulnerability and letting people into your life who accept the authentic you over the “trophy” you. I lived the “pristine lifestyle” in my hometown like Jep. I have ventured across the world with my time abroad in Hong Kong, similar to Mike and Travis. I have let both friendships and relationships defıne who I am, like Jane and Alma. Those times in my life have been left behind, instead crafted into my present day knowledge. Time is not going to stop, no matter how much I would like to take a breather. Even though my existence cannot be measurable, I have plenty of unexplored time to come to terms with what makes me who I am.

Endnotes The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. “Film Noir.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 15 Nov. 2019, www.britannica.com/art/fılm-noir.