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Subway (1985)
Mar. 9th, 2008 10:41 amI'm not sure how I managed to avoid this movie for so long. It's the kind of thing I was destined to love. I vaguely remember seeing posters for it at the Neptune in years past, but apparently I didn't realize that the film was an attempt to do something in the vein of Diva. I blame drugs, rock'n'roll, and lack of sex.
Subway was directed by the French director (and big time producer) Luc Besson, whom I first became aware of with La Femme Nikita (1990) -- an impressive, very stylish movie, as was his next, The Professional (Léon, 1994), although they both left me a little cold, perhaps because hitman movies aren't my favorite genre. The Fifth Element (1997), however, is something I just totally adore -- the greatest Métal Hurlant movie yet made. It's deeply flawed in many ways, but the sheer visual invention and wonderful performances conquer all problems. (Watching Léon again the other day, I was struck by how much better Gary Oldman's over-the-top, twitching, grimacing, scenery-chewing evil act works in a pure fantasy like The Fifth Element.)
Subway is more like The Fifth Element than like Besson's two assassin films. While it incorporates elements of gangster films, it takes them into a completely artificial otherworld, albeit more fabulistic than science fictional. In many ways, the movie is all about exploring the bizarre and extensive underground world we discover through the story -- seemingly some kind of symbolic or dream extension of the Paris Metro system. When Fred (Christopher Lambert, speaking fluent French) descends into the bowels of the subway, it is as though we are descending into the depths of Story. Realism falls away as the editing creates a labyrinth of interlocking ladders, catwalks, elevators, ramps, stairways, and escalators, taking us deeper and deeper into an inexplicable landscape where there is no day or night.
The story is slight, although a great deal of slowly-revealed scaffolding is built around it. Fred is in love with Helena (Isabelle Adjani), the wife of a gangster who isn't sure she returns the favor. There's a maguffin in the form of some papers that Fred has stolen from the gangster. He is being pursued by men with guns. An obnoxiously cool punk wearing New Wave hair and a tuxedo -- a wise-cracking pain in the ass who still apparently only cares about romantic love. He's also putting together a band on the side. He falls in with a roller-skating purse-snatcher and an annoying drummer (Jean Reno, a Besson regular), and stays just one step ahead of the fumbling gangsters and rumpled, sadsack cops.
Like Diva, Subway is a knowing mix of genres that constantly shifts tonal gears and hovers in an uneasy zone between art film and ultra-cool pop confection. Sometimes the mix becomes brittle and threatens to break, but it's held together by the performances, the headlong pace, and the breathtaking visual bravura. As smart as he is at ringing changes on pulp formula, Besson's real genius is visual, I think. He is fond of symmetrical formations, and the artificial nature of this movie allows him to indulge it with abandon, arranging bodies in motion in flagrantly unrealistic but visually beautiful weaving patterns. The camera is frequently on the move in ostentatious, boy-genius, look-ma-no-hands maneuvers. The lighting is superb, moving from sticky noir chiaroscuro to raw, naked fluorescence.
I love this kind of thing, whatever it is. Cool pop art gangster love musical comic-tragedy. Had no idea what was happening the first time I watched it, but it began to make more sense -- or better non-sense -- the second time through. I'm positive more details will be revealed on further viewings. Pity the music kind of sucks, but I love that the soundtrack all along turns out to be the product of the band that Fred is putting together and who close the movie with a rousing performance of an anthemic chorus, "Guns don't kill people/People kill people" as Fred lies bleeding and singing on the floor. I can tell that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Subway was directed by the French director (and big time producer) Luc Besson, whom I first became aware of with La Femme Nikita (1990) -- an impressive, very stylish movie, as was his next, The Professional (Léon, 1994), although they both left me a little cold, perhaps because hitman movies aren't my favorite genre. The Fifth Element (1997), however, is something I just totally adore -- the greatest Métal Hurlant movie yet made. It's deeply flawed in many ways, but the sheer visual invention and wonderful performances conquer all problems. (Watching Léon again the other day, I was struck by how much better Gary Oldman's over-the-top, twitching, grimacing, scenery-chewing evil act works in a pure fantasy like The Fifth Element.)
Subway is more like The Fifth Element than like Besson's two assassin films. While it incorporates elements of gangster films, it takes them into a completely artificial otherworld, albeit more fabulistic than science fictional. In many ways, the movie is all about exploring the bizarre and extensive underground world we discover through the story -- seemingly some kind of symbolic or dream extension of the Paris Metro system. When Fred (Christopher Lambert, speaking fluent French) descends into the bowels of the subway, it is as though we are descending into the depths of Story. Realism falls away as the editing creates a labyrinth of interlocking ladders, catwalks, elevators, ramps, stairways, and escalators, taking us deeper and deeper into an inexplicable landscape where there is no day or night.
The story is slight, although a great deal of slowly-revealed scaffolding is built around it. Fred is in love with Helena (Isabelle Adjani), the wife of a gangster who isn't sure she returns the favor. There's a maguffin in the form of some papers that Fred has stolen from the gangster. He is being pursued by men with guns. An obnoxiously cool punk wearing New Wave hair and a tuxedo -- a wise-cracking pain in the ass who still apparently only cares about romantic love. He's also putting together a band on the side. He falls in with a roller-skating purse-snatcher and an annoying drummer (Jean Reno, a Besson regular), and stays just one step ahead of the fumbling gangsters and rumpled, sadsack cops.
Like Diva, Subway is a knowing mix of genres that constantly shifts tonal gears and hovers in an uneasy zone between art film and ultra-cool pop confection. Sometimes the mix becomes brittle and threatens to break, but it's held together by the performances, the headlong pace, and the breathtaking visual bravura. As smart as he is at ringing changes on pulp formula, Besson's real genius is visual, I think. He is fond of symmetrical formations, and the artificial nature of this movie allows him to indulge it with abandon, arranging bodies in motion in flagrantly unrealistic but visually beautiful weaving patterns. The camera is frequently on the move in ostentatious, boy-genius, look-ma-no-hands maneuvers. The lighting is superb, moving from sticky noir chiaroscuro to raw, naked fluorescence.
I love this kind of thing, whatever it is. Cool pop art gangster love musical comic-tragedy. Had no idea what was happening the first time I watched it, but it began to make more sense -- or better non-sense -- the second time through. I'm positive more details will be revealed on further viewings. Pity the music kind of sucks, but I love that the soundtrack all along turns out to be the product of the band that Fred is putting together and who close the movie with a rousing performance of an anthemic chorus, "Guns don't kill people/People kill people" as Fred lies bleeding and singing on the floor. I can tell that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
