“Napoleon was a man, and though sensitive, his flesh was safely covered”
Yes, but who was Mary MacLane? Mary MacLane was a truly extraordinary nineteen-year old with a “fine young body that is feminine in every fiber” and a brain that is “a conglomeration of aggressive versatility”. She is “a fantasy–absurdity–a genius!” with no parallel, “a genius, with a wondrous liver within”. But she lives in Butte Montana in 1901, and stuck there, she writes this “Portrayal” of herself, in which she is very honest (though she is also “a liar”) about her obsession with the devil, her desire for Fame and Happiness (always the Devil brings Happiness), her seventeen pictures of Napoleon that she stares at daily, her (then, and even now) unconventional views of marriage, her liver, her crush on the “anemone lady” and so on.
It may be tempting find her exaggerated way of phrasing things amusing and quirky, but they also communicate some incredible and unique insights. I do think she was a genius, in her own odd way, and I found myself agreeing to (and feeling deeply with) a lot of what she says. Her repetition bordered on poetic at times, and her mysterious use of certain phrases (her heart is always a “wooden heart” and her philosophy is always “peripatetic”, she lives in perpetual “sand and barrenness” and always the “red red line of the sky” is a symbol of Happiness to come). Mostly, she writes about how lonely she is, stuck in Butte Montana, and how she would give anything for 3 days of Happiness. For some more history on Mary MacLane’s life before and after this book, visit this website.
“But no matter how ferociously pitiable is the dried up graveyard, the sand and barrenness and the sluggish little stream have their own persistent individual damnation. The world is at least so constructed that its treasures may be damned each in a different manner and degree.” p.16
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An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter by Cesar Aira
Part fiction, part non-fiction, part poetic description, part philosophy. Aira examines the depths of history, the meaning of repetition, reproductions and its role in art, compensation, and much more, and in the context of a very specific, relatable person and his predicaments. Often zooming into an idea or description with intense precision, then moving on, this book is able to contain big ideas without sounding pretentious, or bloated. In fact, the book is less than 90 pages, though it tells a story that could be told in 500 pages. It’s really some of the best writing I’ve read. Also, I had no idea it wasn’t a completely true story, because it was told as if it was pieced together from accounts and letters. But there were points where he could not have been so intimately in the character’s head. Only after I read it did I find out that this is a perfect combination of history and novelistic invention. Some excerpts:
Peaks of mica kept watch over their long marches. How could these panoramas be rendered credible? There were too many sides; the cube had extra faces. The company of volcanos gave the sky interiors. Dawn and dusk were vast optical explosions, drawn out by the silence. Slingshots and gunshots of sunlight rebounded into every recess. Grey expanses hung out to dry forever in colossal silence; airshafts voluminous as oceans.
p. 14
A drove of mules the size of ants appeared in silhouette on a ridge-top path, moving at a star’s pace. The mules were driven by human intelligence and commercial interests, expertise in breeding and blood-lines. Everything was human; the farthest wilderness was steeped with sociability, and the sketches they had made, in so far as they had any value, stood as records of this permeation. The infinite orography of the Cordillera was a laboratory of forms and colors.
p. 16
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Dylan’s not there–he doesn’t appear in the movie (well, except for a small clip at the end, as a shadow of himself, almost). A series of actors who “weren’t there” play him, a series of substitutions. The movie reproduces and quotes numerous other movies from other Dylan documentaries to Fellini’s 8 1/2, and in a way, referencing these highlights the fact that we weren’t there. A reference is an acknowledgement of existence, of knowledge, but also an acknowledgement of absence.
You start to realize that the actors playing him aren’t all trying to act like him. Exact replication isn’t the goal here (except for Cate Blanchett who does an excellent job). When you have a black boy play Dylan, it makes relating to him as Dylan, as “there”, that much harder, and that is part of the point of the film. Richard Gere doesn’t even TRY! He acts exactly like Richard Gere in all his other shitty movies. But it’s this quality that makes the movie unique and much more interesting than other biopics.
It shuffles between reference points as well as styles. A black and white scene reminiscent of 8 1/2 is followed by an interview with Julianne Moore in full color, reminiscent of a mockumentary. Though the film is so restlessly shuffling, it manages, amazingly, to capture something about Dylan. The nonconventional storytelling style really benefits here in being enigmatic and revealing at the same time. Who is this person? We are asked to do the other half of the work, to place ourselves there in our minds.
It’s not without fault. The performances were spotty. Some were amazing, like Cate Blanchett who was really great at her role about 90% of the time, Charlotte Gainsbourg, who gave a real standout performance here, even though she didn’t really do anything that spectacular. She was just very convincing and lovable and real. There were bad performances too, Richard Gere was awful, the black boy was good when he was playing the charismatic Dylan, but he was awful when he tried to act meditative, David Cross as Allen Ginsberg was so much of a joke that it was hard to judge how well he played the role. But in a way it doesn’t really matter, the format of the film absorbs the bad performances because the film itself draws attention to the fact that none of this is real, you’re constantly aware of the fact that this is acting, and that’s part of the point. It’s almost like an exercise, but one in which there is a little bit of heart, which is what redeems it. The incredibly generous heart of Dylan, or part of it at least, comes through all the noise and makes the film that much more convincing. He’s hiding in the film, even though he’s not there.
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