When i decide how many stars to grant a film I've seen, I typically rely on the handy rubric I created when Cineplexus was born -- that is what the rubric is for, after all. There is, however, no accurate language in that guideline to describe Tony Manero. "Meh" (what "★★★" generally stands for) couldn't be farther from the true expression of emotions this film inspires. If I were forced to sum it up in only one word, that word would probably be an uncomfortable, disconcerted sigh.
Tony Manero is set in the dark and chaotic climate of Pinochet's Chilè and follows Raúl, a 52-year-old entertainer (so to speak) deeply obsessed with Saturday Night Fever, and especially with John Travolta's character in that film (whose name, you may recall, is Tony Manero). His string of actions, each more depraved than the last, suggest an ambition to somehow become Manero.
Does it sound funny? Put that hopeful notion out of your head. Raúl is a sociopath, though he has companions. There are a few fleeting moments of humor in their attempts to recreate the dances, costumes, and sets (kind of) from Saturday Night Fever, but even these leave you feeling guilty because of the sheer sadness of it all. The majority of the film is by turns depressing and horrifying as we're subjected to unpleasantnesses of every variety. The director, native Chilean Pablo Larrain, has chosen, quite deliberately, to make a picture that is patently unenjoyable, with no truly likeable characters and no sympathy for the audience.
So, back to the rating. Why on Earth deliver even an average rating to a film with so little entertainment value? Well, an average is precisely what I mean to suggest here. Icky though it was, Tony Manero is never half-assed or sloppy. Larrain has sought to create an appropriately frustrating and dark portrait of life in Santiago under dictator Pinochet, and his calculating strokes bear a certain resemblance to those of a work of fine art that's considered a masterpiece despite being disturbing – take the work of Francis Bacon (or, more recently, Jonathan Meese) for example. I appreciate the artistry here; nevertheless, I wish he'd been able to execute his vision in a way that was less...scarring.
After leaving the theater with my father, who had suggested earlier that evening that we go see the movie, my dad started to laugh. I asked him why, and perhaps his answer sums things up best: "Two reasons. First, despite my respect for it's artistry, that was the most disturbing movie I've ever seen, and second, I feel like a terrible father for taking you to it." I assured him I could handle it. I was a film studies student, after all.
Tony Manero is set in the dark and chaotic climate of Pinochet's Chilè and follows Raúl, a 52-year-old entertainer (so to speak) deeply obsessed with Saturday Night Fever, and especially with John Travolta's character in that film (whose name, you may recall, is Tony Manero). His string of actions, each more depraved than the last, suggest an ambition to somehow become Manero.
Does it sound funny? Put that hopeful notion out of your head. Raúl is a sociopath, though he has companions. There are a few fleeting moments of humor in their attempts to recreate the dances, costumes, and sets (kind of) from Saturday Night Fever, but even these leave you feeling guilty because of the sheer sadness of it all. The majority of the film is by turns depressing and horrifying as we're subjected to unpleasantnesses of every variety. The director, native Chilean Pablo Larrain, has chosen, quite deliberately, to make a picture that is patently unenjoyable, with no truly likeable characters and no sympathy for the audience.
So, back to the rating. Why on Earth deliver even an average rating to a film with so little entertainment value? Well, an average is precisely what I mean to suggest here. Icky though it was, Tony Manero is never half-assed or sloppy. Larrain has sought to create an appropriately frustrating and dark portrait of life in Santiago under dictator Pinochet, and his calculating strokes bear a certain resemblance to those of a work of fine art that's considered a masterpiece despite being disturbing – take the work of Francis Bacon (or, more recently, Jonathan Meese) for example. I appreciate the artistry here; nevertheless, I wish he'd been able to execute his vision in a way that was less...scarring.
After leaving the theater with my father, who had suggested earlier that evening that we go see the movie, my dad started to laugh. I asked him why, and perhaps his answer sums things up best: "Two reasons. First, despite my respect for it's artistry, that was the most disturbing movie I've ever seen, and second, I feel like a terrible father for taking you to it." I assured him I could handle it. I was a film studies student, after all.
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Posted by: Alonso | August 03, 2010 at 04:23 PM
This actually screened at MIFF last year. I missed it at the time but my sister caught it & all I recall is him telling me that it was insane & just pushes the whole political allegory thing way far.
Posted by: Mensagens Para Orkut | December 03, 2010 at 09:01 AM