I didn’t start out wanting to write about Blow Up. It’s a
long time favourite and a film I’ve not wanted to over-analyse for fear of
breaking the delicate strands of nostalgia that hold it up as one of my
“favourites”.
That’s favourite as in really like… in an unquestioning and
unconditional way. It’s not an overtly rational Sight and Sound poll sort of decision
but one based on layers of imposed meaning at various stages of my life. I’d liked
it for its hip credentials, its crystal clear view of the
world I missed growing up in and its inherent cleverness… it was too
smart to demolish even when I saw it as a jaundiced twenty-something.
But… I’d just watched Zabriskie Point and I wanted something
to compare it with… to understand how Antonioni could go from the focus and
intensity of Red Desert to the almost empty Zabriskie...
This the very stuff of Antonioni. All film is
a search for meaning and that meaning can only really be defined through
sharing it with others. So… in the same way that David Hemming’s photographer
wanted to show the dead body only he had seen, to someone else… I would like to
share my discovery with you.
Alright, straight into pseuds’ corner with this but I’ll
give it a go.
Zabriskie Point was Antonioni’s first American film and he
spent almost four years on the project searching for the right story,
locations, music and cast. It begins promisingly enough with what looks like a
genuinely heated discussion amongst actual students about revolution and race.
Over an impressively formless percussive music track from Pink Floyd, the
youths argue whether white people can truly become revolutionary and whether
they are willing to die for the cause (whatever it is…).
One participant, Mark (Mark Frechette) gets up and says that he’s prepared to die but not from
boredom… he means it, man. We move through a series of fragmentary scenes
culminating in student arrests after which Mark refers to himself as Karl Marx
whilst being processed by the police. We’re not given any defined set of
beliefs for Mark though, he might be a communist or he might just like the idea
of revolt.
A policeman is shot during a student occupation. Mark was
about to pull his trigger but someone struck first. He runs and ends up
stealing a plane…
At the same time we’re introduced to a young student Daria
(Daria Halprin) who is working part-time with a property company to help fund
her studies. She takes to the road in a magnificent old Buick off to meet up
with her bread-head boss (Rod Taylor).
Daria and Mark meet up after he spies her from above. They
end up at Zabriskie Point, a quiet and exceptionally beautiful area of the
Californian desert which, almost, provides the film’s visual highpoint. They
make love amongst the prehistoric river beds seemingly accompanied by dozens of
others… yet as the dust settles, they remain alone.
Mark explains his backstory and resolves to return the plane
and, possibly, to prove his innocence in his diffident way. Yet on his return
he is killed by the over-zealous police. Knowing his fate, Daria reaches her
boss’s amazing desert retreat. Sickened by the opulence she leaves looking over
her shoulder to imagine the house and all capitalist trappings blown to
smithereens.
This is the most famous sequence in the film and rightly so.
Against the menacing backdrop of a re-worked Careful with that Axe, Eugene
(an immensely influential track and probably the main reason Antonioni wanted Floyd for the soundtrack), the house
explodes over and over again along with its contents. It’s a powerful moment
and one that gives sense to the film. But it’s also an unambiguous statement
and this is problematic, anchoring the film in the anti-capitalist political
rallying of the time.
Is this a warning, a revenger’s dream or is it just a
really good looking pop video?
By comparison Blow Up is far more universal in its politics
and philosophy – in spite of being as much bound to its time and its reputation
as quintessential swinging cinema. In fact it has far more in common with
Antonioni’s early 60s films in terms of its critique of social mores and the
nature of identity.
Zabriskie Point is more obviously and directly political but
has less impact than Blow Up, which in its own unresolved way, asks bigger
questions and demands more than patience from its audience. Zabriskie may
question the commitment of alternative America to a substantial agenda and it
may even be a call to more direct action but it doesn’t intrigue or engage in
the same way.
Even in the unreality of a London caught up in its own myth,
Blow Up hits harder. This is partly down to the considerable strength of its
actors. Both Frechette and Halprin
were certainly committed (the former tithed his earnings to his then commune
and ended up in prison for armed robbery after a failed attempt to redistribute
wealth to another) but were largely untrained. Whilst this brings a certain
neutrality it’s no substitute for skill and neither moves their story forward
by very much. Frechette in particular leaves us a clueless at the end as at the
start.
In contrast David Hemmings, Sarah Miles and Vanessa Redgrave
were highly adept players and are able to obscure as well as reveal. Sarah
Miles gets through more genuinely moving human expression in five minutes than
Frechette manages in almost two hours…
In Zabriskie there were blank faces against the desert backdrop whilst
in Blow Up there are complex emotions on display against the ever-changing
London scenery.
Hemmings plays a photographer in the David Bailey mould who
is self-servingly documenting the visual life of swinging London. He goes under
cover to photograph a doss house and then switches into Svengali mode to bully
various models in his fashion shoots. He is planning a book on “real” London
including the shots of the down and outs in the doss house; he is not committed
to social improvement just self aggrandisement.
He is constantly on the move driving through the London
Streets onto his next meeting. Antonioni spent a fair amount of time in London
and he deserves credit for his selection of locations. He doesn’t go for the
obvious hot spots of Notting Hill, Camden and Carnaby Street and shows us
Clapham, London Wall, London Bridge, Charlton and Camberwell in a fascinating
tour of a city still in mid-regeneration… establishing the more self-directed
society which carries on to this day.
Wandering into a park he is attracted by a young woman
(Vanessa Redgrave) and an older man who appear to be lovers. He follows and
photographs them until the woman chases over and demands the photographs back.
He refuses throwing up the kinds of justification modern paparazzi make for
their activity. The girl runs back up the hill and away from him.
Later she visits his studio and the two almost make love
before being interrupted. He gives her another roll of film but keeps the ones
she wants. He develops the film and here begins the mystery. Blowing up the
pictures he gradually pieces together the story of what he shot but not what he
saw. The images get larger and grainier but in the end he is convinced he’s photographed
a murder.
I’m not sure how much Antonioni “liked” the Hemmings
character, but he begins to behave in a slightly more humane way, possibly
humbled by his inability to control or resolve this situation.
There’s still time to take advantage of two young girls
hoping for a modelling break though… one of the two is Jane Birkin and she
looks like she’s giving Hemmings as good as she got in this scene. Don’t mess
with “Mrs” Gainsbourg!
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Jane Birkin and Gillian Hills
He goes to the park and finds the body his shots revealed
and then goes off to find his publisher: somebody needs to share in this for it
to become “real”. On the way he sees, or thinks he sees, the girl from the
park. He gives chase and ends up walking into a gig where the Yardbirds are
playing. The crowd remains pointedly silent and still – a comment by Antonioni
on the shallow nature of London pop culture?
Jeff Beck breaks up his guitar and throws the neck into the audience and
they suddenly go wild: everyone wants the souvenir. Hemmings wins it and runs
outside, discarding it once he is clear… it was only important when everyone
else wanted it and has no value on its own.
This kind of point is made so effectively and in a far more
coherent and less obvious way than Zabriskie Point’s political trajectory will
allow.
Hemming’s character arrives at his publisher’s house and
experiences a soulless orgy of drink and drug taking… in the morning he races
to his destiny at the park. The body is gone and as the film reverses itself to
a finish he encounters the mimes who play a game of silent tennis that amuses
and finally draws him in to their shared reality… It’s non-specific enough to
allow you to place your own meaning.
One of the characters is an abstract painter and the brief
scenes the cameraman has with him reveal a lot of Antonioni’s intent. The
painter says that when he has finished with a painting he loses touch with them
and clings on to what detail he can to understand the work. The same is true
for the director and for the watcher who, like Hemming’s character, tries to
find understanding in looking as hard as possible at the detail.
But maybe the answer is in not looking too hard but
accepting what you can. In Blow Up’s case, that means enjoying the richness of
the images, the city and the acting without having to commit to definitive
meaning. You don’t have to pin it down
to “get it” and that ensures longevity for both movie and message.
None of this makes Zabriskie Point a bad film, it’s just not
as good as the director’s best work. The cinematography is superb and the
scenery is beautiful. But the film is remembered more for the closing scenes of
destruction than for its analysis of contemporary politics.
Blow Up is available on DVD from Amazon and the version
I watched had a well-informed commentary from film scholar and Antonioni specialist, Peter Brunette. Zabriskie Point is not
so well served but was recently released on a basic DVD - a decent quality print and very worth watching if you like Antonioni but it won't haunt you like his very best work...
Blow Up came through with flying
colours. It’s still got more than enough to maintain my interest and grows in
stature if anything. I should trust my “favourites” a little more.
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