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Thank you for the insightful post.
Morality is moribund. Even if one were to look back to the exordium of the 20th century, there were few, if any, noble figures that one could look up to. Who was praised? Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Bukowski, etc. Men whose works reflected the general aimlessness of their own lives. Men who drank themselves until they were terminally infirm, analogs of contemporary rudderless drug dependents.
Today's protagonists have few discernible positive moral qualities. They are not characters to extol or aspire toward. They are symbols of pathos, and they mirror the interminable state of acedia a growing segment of the population suffers from.
Great post.
In the early sequences of the film, Anton (symbol of nature, of animal) confronts the deputy (symbol of law, of domestication). Following the strangulation of the deputy, the viewer sees cultured law become replaced by natural law (animal). Anton's control over the dead deputy's vehicle reifies this notion, as he is able to effortlessly steer 'law' any way he sees fit. What's more, is that Bell's ineffectiveness throughout the film evinces the dominion of entropy, as represented in Anton (prophet of destruction), and of domesticated law's attenuated state.
It certainly is a powerful scene, especially when one considers everything it entails (e.g., merging of Vincent/Eugene, shedding of the physical body (Jerome) to keep the spirit (Eugene) intact, the ultimate gesture of love and selflessness).
<blockquote>"[The ending] is a beautiful testament to the elemental fact that when all the static of our self-righteousness dies down, what remains between good people is only love" (Popova, 2019).</blockquote>
Although the ending may seem bathetic, upon closer inspection, there are many themes to draw from it.
* The notion that just one day of reciprocal love is worth an eternity of wait, and is far more meaningful and impactful than any form of technology or attempts at civilizational progress.
* That David is less sentient than Teddy, and has ultimately forsaken his life-long companion for an ephemeral and finite love, leaving his friend alone for all of eternity.
* Whether or not David's suffering was real or merely part of his programming and, if it was real, then do humans have a moral responsibility to at least attempt to return the love that they themselves so strongly desire?
* As a Pinocchio story, did David fulfill the conditions of becoming a real boy? Was he brave? Was he stoic? The answer is no. He was a coward who hid behind Joe and Teddy, and whose wish of reuniting with Monica only became possible because Teddy saved her lock of hair. Therefore, even though the film symbolically shows David finally closing eyes and allegorically becoming a "boy", he remains a mecha.
* Could David have lived a happy life with Teddy and Joe had he chosen to end his frivolous pursuit? Given that his programming was so concrete and ingrained, and his sentience so crude and unrefined, it is unlikely David could have broken out of his destructive cyclical thinking.
That said, it is understandable how some people just may not like a particular piece of work, and are therefore less inclined to analyze it for its themes. There is nothing wrong with that. To a large degree, art is subjective.
It is interesting to consider morality as moribund. Even if one were to look back to the exordium of the 20th century, there were no noble figures. Look at literature. Who was praised? Hemingway, Miller, Fitzgerald, Bukowski, etc. Men who drank themselves until they were terminally infirm; analogs of contemporary rudderless drug dependents.
That was ~100 years ago. Today? No one. The fish rots from the head down. Self-made perception is dissolving. The Tom Sawyer and Horatio Alger myth are gone. There are no more veritable capitalists and, to a rapidly increasing segment of the population, agency is becoming a shibboleth.
When asked whether or not someone or something will save us, the grim reality dawns upon the observer, who finds out that, alas, there is nothing worth saving.
<blockquote>Then how did Alan Arkin’s(Detective Hugo) and Gore Vidal’s(Director Josef) characters get the kind of jobs only Valid’s would get? They were clearly born way before the eugenics technology was available. Shouldn’t they have been Invalids?</blockquote>
Detective Hugo (in a deleted scene) admits that "[he is likely] only detective second class" because he is an in-valid.
As for Director Josef, there is very little information regarding his status throughout the film. The only piece of information available is listed on <i>Gattaca's</i> wikipedia, which lists him as being a valid. This makes sense, as he holds the highest post possible in the film, commanding valids into space.
With this in mind, there is another theme to consider. As it unlikely that Director Josef's genetic profile yields him to a predisposition toward violence, the fact that he was able to commit such an act despite his engineering indicates that one can act beyond their genetic limitations.
While Vincent is able to overcome his genetic profile and transcend the limitations of his "in-validity", Director Josef, despite being equipped with all of the tools necessary to mediate space flight, is unable to fully live up to his "valid" perfection, much like Jerome.
<blockquote>It was implied that the world of Gattaca was so terrible that the only jobs invalids like Vincent could get were cleaning toilets. But the existence of two invalids in such high posts shatters the theory that invalids couldn’t get anywhere.</blockquote>
Hollywood has mastered single-perspective storytelling. When one watches this film, they see a disenfranchised Vincent burdened by the world of perfection. What they ignore, however, is the main character's folly and hubris. Vincent has no concrete plan for success once he embarks into space, as his own genetic limitations indicate a high likelihood of death.
Despite being able to pass the rigorous tests required to enter space flight, Vincent's success is ultimately not the result of some fortitude of the will, but of luck; and for some, upon deeper inspection, this may be where the film falters.
Billy, I wish to extend my deepest thanks for your grace and tact.
<blockquote>I wouldn´t call them "servants in their own right" though. Nick was a servant, Bill was not. Bill wasn´t invited as help, it was just happenstance that Ziegler´s mistress overdosed and Bill was asked to help.</blockquote>
Although we may noticeably observe how Bill and Nick lie on different points in the spectrum, what is salient is that they are nevertheless on the <i>same</i> spectrum. By spectrum, I am referring to those characteristics indicative of the typical bourgeois set-up. While Bill is upper middle class by bourgeois standards, he holds no domain in the realm of elite (e.g., Ziegler). Despite Bill's ostensibly positive relationship with Ziegler, he is unable to transcend the confines of his social class.
<blockquote>I think the movie is less about class differences and more about morality and temptation.</blockquote>
There are definitely elements of this at play here. The evolving sets throughout the film seem to indicate a transitioning toward the darker side. This is intimated initially when Alice reads <i>My Shadow</i> to Helena (i.e., darkness). Later, when Bill receives the house call, it is now on a black phone which was white before. The taxi he takes is driving in the fire lane, symbolizing entry into the underworld. The scene where Bill rips the money in half can be interpreted as a subconscious desire to keep at least one foot in the old world in case things turn awry.
Whether or not Bill can be seen as moral given how his temptation was interrupted at auspicious times is an interesting point that I have not given much thought to. I suppose it is easy to get lost in the minor details which may or may seem insignificant.
As always, thank you again for entertaining these thoughts. Until next time, take care.
<b>Money as the New God</b>
John Cant writes, “[McCarthy] portrays an America in which material progress has not been accompanied by a spiritual or moral counterpart.” While Tom Sawyer and Llewelyn Moss are fascinated with money, willing to do anything it takes to gain and keep possession of it, Huck and Carla remain hesitant over the merits of its relentless pursuit. The scene where an exasperated Carla tells Moss that she doesn’t care about the money and only wants life to return to how it was mirrors the scene where Huck tells Tom that he wants to go back to the shed and live with nature, unencumbered by the burden of achieving prosperity. The more incisive moment in the film comes when Carla says that the money is a “false god,” to which Moss replies, “Yeah. But it’s real money,” affirming Moss’s intrinsic assumption of real money as the “supreme good and guide” in life. As Moss clings onto his satchel of millions, believing it will bring salvation, his reveries of fortune and success ultimately culminate in his and Carla Jean’s destruction, belying the traditional myth of infinite possibility.
<b>Bell as Morally Culpable</b>
The picture becomes more bleak as we come to understand that it is not only Moss and Chigurh who carry moral culpability, but Bell as well.
"Like Huck Finn, who rejects life in society, Bell also believes he can escape evil if he withdraws from civilization" (Grifis, 2021). This collides with Twain's view of Huck as admirable for withdrawing from a seemingly amoral system. By resigning and remaining passive, he repeats his abandonment in the war; and as such, does not demonstrate any sort of moral growth. His ruminations align more with Quietism, which elevate passive contemplation over pious action. Benjamin Mangrum writes that Bell's ceaseless ulutations and "final retirement make him the prophet of despair, the harbinger of resignation." They are a "failure to meet the moral demands of his life, a shrinking back from his duty, and an absence of courage and virtuous activity at significant times in dire situations” (Mangrum 120; Griffis 547). It is, by all accounts, a retreat from communal responsibility, and a precursor for the dissolution of contemporary society.
The worldview of the three characters is distinct: Bell does not believe in God, Moss believes in a false God, and Chigurh thinks he is God.
<blockquote>“Parent” is a noun, not a verb, unless you are uneducated, lazy, or both.</blockquote>
My deepest thanks for addressing my solecism. I am admittedly and ignobly all of the above. Based on our previous correspondence, I understand you are/were a professional writer and publisher; as such, I value your input highly and humbly request your revision so as to, hopefully, not propagate such a careless gaffe in the future.
<blockquote>Postmodernism is a movement within art and architecture and was a reaction to modernism. Modernism searched for absolutes, the perfect form, colour etc. Modernism searched for objective truths. Where as post modernism reacted to this and rather searched for subjective truths, meta narratives etc.</blockquote>
You are absolutely correct!
<blockquote>What postmodernism is not about is moden day consumer culture. Witch seems to be the culprit of your displeasure with this current age.</blockquote>
Indeed. It is important here to distinguish between capitalism and what Fabian Scheidler refers to in, "<i>The End of the Megamachine</i> regarding the dissolution of truth or rationality. The former is a socio-economic system, whereas the latter is rooted in postmodern philosophy.
<blockquote>Lastly. Albert Camus is a postmodernist writer and thinker.</blockquote>
Yes! This was precisely why I thought it was apt to refer to his stance on absurdism, as I believe it aligns perfectly with today's age of "reason."
What is unique here is Noé's ability to prevent any form of closure for the audience. The infamous tunnel scene happens early in the film when the characters are not fleshed out; so while the moment is horrifically graphic, Alex is a victim we are not well acquainted with. When Pierre kills the man at the club, we once again do not know the full scope of the violence, and are once again observing an act. This "objective" lens frames the amorality as if it were occurring anywhere. The scenes of violence are terrifying without any regard for the characters; and in this respect, Noé does an excellent job at giving the viewer a worldly perspective.
If we are to look at what Gaspar Noé may be saying with the references to Kubrick's work, we find that what is elevated in <i>2001</i> is the material. In fact, when looking at <i>A Space Odyssey</i>, we see no sign of spirituality, and this is highlighted perfectly in the depiction of the astronauts. Yet with <i>Irreversible</i> we see Noé remarking that any hyper-focus on temporal pleasures will lead to the dissolution and degradation of society and culture.
Indeed we find that characters in the film have very little, if any, redeeming qualities. There is certainly no sign of virtue anywhere, as everyone acts for their own benefit.
One not need look further than our own world to see what a lack of moral guidance has done for civilization as a whole. Children are taught how to have anal sex, but they are not taught how to love.
Thank you for your kind comment and I apologize for the delayed response. The film's ability to address multiple, often times disparate, themes makes it excellent for analysis and scrutiny; however, your points are apt and difficult to argue.
I would add that <i>Cast Away</i> remarks the value of human relations as being greater than the increased capital of a company. While the hero in <i>Robinson Crusoe</i> eventually leaves the island, he remains tethered to his materialistic drive; Chuck, on the other hand, upon leaving the island, realizes that human connection is worth more than treasure.
If Milton was able to reset the outcome of Lomax's decision, then it is likely that Lomax has been inveigled by Milton in the past. With such a thought, any feelings of triumph or free will are suddenly dispelled, because there is nothing preventing Milton from merely attempting to entice Lomax time and again, until he finally succumbs to his vanity and produces the antichrist.
The way to explain this is to assume that a majority of the characters in the film are merely figments of Jack's imagination. All of the "space monkeys" are personalities. One of the arguments made against Marla or other members being real is that they interact with other people, yet Tyler is also seen interacting with other people such as Raymond, so this doesn't really discredit the notion.
The most apparent clue to Marla being another figment of Jack's imagination is their attire. Throughout the film, Tyler and Marla are both seen wearing faux fur coats, they both wear sunglasses, somewhat similar rings, have messy hair, and are seen smoking in nearly every scene.
What is really intriguing, yet difficult to spot unless you read some other interesting interpretations, is that Marla and Tyler both have no reflection. When Tyler saves Marla, we see them pass a convex mirror in the hallway, yet no reflection is seen. The film illustrates that Jack's split personality has no reflection, because towards the film's end, when we see security footage of Jack fighting Tyler, we only see Jack fighting himself. The only time we see Marla or Jack's reflection in the mirror is when Jack is himself (i.e., Tyler in the bathroom or Marla's breast cancer check-up).
An interesting and subtle scene occurs when Jack and Marla are in the laundromat. Here, we see her take out a blue pair of jeans and subsequently sell them at the thrift store, indicating that she is now taking over as a personality. One of the more clever indications regarding this transition in personalities occurs on the plane, where we see Tyler first appear. Immediately after Tyler appears, Jack looks at the emergency exit illustrations, which show three pictures. In the first diagram, we see a woman opening the exit, then in the third diagram a man is standing in her place. This indicates that Tyler has replaced Marla.
<blockquote>From these words we can gather that no matter the weapon or the method, nothing brings truth to form more than the conscious act because it is a reflection of our character.</blockquote>
We can see that the bolito is not only the culmination of "closed potentialities" (i.e., Westray's death), but of the suffocating grasp of progress alongside social alienation.
<blockquote>"The wire cuts through the carotid arteries and sprays blood all over the spectators and then everybody gets to go home."</blockquote>
The ethical dilemma with abortion stems from whether or not metaphysical personhood is a necessary component for moral personhood. If we take Kant's view, believing that a person must have the actualized capacity to think rationally in order to fall under such a category, then we can certainly justify the abortion of fetuses and participate in embryonic research.
If, however, we believe that mere sentience or membership in the species of homo sapiens is sufficient for metaphysical personhood, then abortion, in all stages, becomes difficult to justify. When ethicists argue the moral position of embryos or human fetuses, they do so by explaining the intrinsic value of biological humanity. To such proponents, metaphysical personhood is viewed as the apex of moral dignity.
Arguably, "we can say that the fact that the fetus will develop into an adult human being that was once that fetus (if the fetus develops normally) establishes the fetus’ right to life" (Stone, 1987). According to anti-abortion philosopher Francis Beckwith, "a human being at every stage of her development is never a potential person; she is always a person with potential even if that potential is never actualized due to premature death or the result of the absence or deformity of a physical state of nature necessary to actualize that potential."
Although there is always a subjective quality to films, I believe your interpretation puts into words rather nicely what the director was trying to convey. There is a pervading and lingering note of vacuity throughout the film, as the morally bankrupt protagonists mirror the barren landscape which they inhabit.
Perhaps the most interesting element is a scene where Kit and Holly are staying in the rich man's house. As they peruse the objects, each character withdrawing into themselves, a knock is heard on the door. When Kit opens, we see Terrence Malick carrying blueprints. The blueprints not only represent Malick's character as the architect, but Malick himself as the writer and director of the film. Just as the character he portrays would like to leave a message to the rich man, so too does Malick wish to leave a message to the audience. We subsequently see Kit, realizing the inherent risk of lingering in the mansion any longer, quickly discard the note and tell Holly to pack her bags, as they must move on. What this scene subtly intimates is that just as Kit neglects to read the architect's message, so too has the audience neglected to read Malick's.
A similar meta-narrative display is seen in <i>The Shining</i>, where during the maze scene, Jack, in following Danny's footsteps, gets lost. What this symbolizes is that the indexical quality of the footprints; that is, what the audience sees, is not to be taken at face value. The footprints—much like the symbols and images in the film—have led Jack astray, just like the audience.
Your points are apt as usual. Thank you for enlightening me on mahanaim.
With David's yearning to be loved, I hearken back to a comment I once read regarding David's treatment toward Teddy, who is left all alone as he slips away into eternity with Monica.
<blockquote>Love is as selfish as [it is] generous. In serving one thing, it disregards all others.</blockquote>
An interesting and insightful comment as always, although its esoteric nature made it difficult for me to apply within the context of the original post.
With your words, I would like to discuss Teddy (a recurring topic of mine, I know) again.
I believe one of the reasons for the film's criticism (potential quality notwithstanding) is its liminal state between two directing visions--Kubrick or Spielberg? It certainly tries to tackle on many themes simultaneously, but the sum of the parts don't quite add up to expectation.
Upon scrutiny, we see the film's denouement as not one of happiness, but one of profound sadness, because it ultimately leaves Teddy, the only person who has ever truly loved David, all alone. Not only did Teddy go out of his way to stay with David despite his programming, but he sacrificed his entire existence and potential happiness for a reality that never became actualized. David did not acknowledge Teddy when he gave him the locke of hair, without which David's dream of reuniting with Monica would have never been realized, nor did he acknowledge Teddy's loyalty and supreme friendship. In fact, we never even see a moment where David and Teddy part ways. What we see instead is a simulated sequence where David is happy with Monica, but at Teddy's expense (literally and figuratively). The ending simulation depicts Teddy, the object, being the butt of the jokes (i.e., hide and seek). More than that, however, is with David's symbolic and literal death, he prevents Teddy from ever finding contentment, as all humans have gone extinct. Although we may speculate and assume that the advanced mecha will take Teddy in, I find it much more likely, given what we see in the film, that they merely discard him.
The intrigue in the film is that it is not David who appears sentient or able to exert control over his actions, it is Teddy. All of David's actions function to serve himself, whereas those of Teddy serve others (i.e., David). David's entire perspective is shaped around his coding, where he seeks to be loved by Monica. Teddy, on the other hand, escapes all of his programming. He leaves, volitionally, Martin, despite still being programed to be his "supertoy," and when in the hands of another human who may potentially love him (the girl at the fair), he uses his wit to free David by telling her that he is real. David shows no higher intelligence in the film, instead perseverating on the notion that he may someday become real. Even Joe realizes that his pursuit is a logical dead end.
David is a figure of pathos, but not one to be pitied. His self-serving, reckless, and selfish nature makes him part of the same solipsistic breed of humans which he so longs to be a part of. This is also part of the overarching double entendre of the ending, where by fulfilling his Pinnochio journey, David cements all of humanities foibles, instead of remaining the AI which is actually more human than the humans (i.e., Teddy).
We saw this with Kubrick's <i>2001: A Space Odyssey</i>, where Hal, despite status as machine, was more human in his emotional exhibition than any of his accompanying biological cosmonauts.
I believe Irene is much less confused and surprised in this scene as she is shocked that her entire worldview has been shattered. When Anton realizes that the superlative engineer at Gattaca is not the perfect, enhanced, and valid individual everyone thinks he is; he, alongside Irene and Eugene, must confront the fact that it is Vincent who is the superior human being, as he is able to overcome his "physical and social limitations despite his built-in flaws."
The following passage from David Kirby's Essay: <i>The New Eugenics in Cinema: Genetic Determinism and Gene Therapy in GATTACA</i>, is interesting:
<blockquote>According to screenwriter/director Niccol, Irene is "somebody who would lie down and die at the allotted minute because she would feel guilty if she lived a minute longer than her [genetic] profile prescribed" (Production Notes 2). During the course of the film, Irene realizes that Vincent has overcome his genetic flaws, and that she has the ability to overcome hers. As Uma Thurman, who plays Irene, states, "her fate isn’t sealed the way she thinks it is, and the realization transforms her" (Production Notes 3).</blockquote>