Skip to main content

BABEL. Dir. Alejandro Gonzalez Innaritu. 2006

Image result for movie images babel


This is a highly intelligent, deeply affecting film. Shot in documentary style, it offers the realism of unforced observation, yet it is brilliantly arranged and choreographed. Innaritu has achieved actors’ performances which appear absolutely natural, and understated, and which give their characters enormous dignity. The result is so accomplished that the unfolding story is totally absorbing.

A sequence of events is set off by an accident when two brothers are arguing over the distance a rifle can fire; they hit a tour bus. The introduction of the rifle into the Moroccan community suggests corruption of a way of life, and the film shows how far-reaching are the repercussions of this mishap. Innaritu plays with timing and fate, guns and panic. People are simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and characters respond differently when under pressure. Only the Englishman is unsympathetically portrayed, when his fear and suspicion overcome any compassion. Social divides and the difficulty of communicating effectively and clearly create a remoteness which is emotional not geographical, but this disconnectedness is not alienating; the audience seems to be willing the characters towards resolution, reconciliation and trust.

Innaritu tackles grief, adolescence, the loss of innocence, and family relationships, but the central theme is dislocation, and its accompanying alienation, misunderstanding and incomprehension, between people and between cultures. Individuals are apart from their countries, are unable to communicate with those they most love, are at odds with authority, and are utterly understandable and recognisable. Babel provides a huge range of characters from a wide world, yet we can identify with each and every one, with their desires and their frustrations. The effect is intensely powerful, utterly compelling and a triumph of storytelling. Flawless.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

OLD JOY. Dir Kelly Reichardt. 2005

Dropout Kurt arrives in town and calls up his old friend, earnest father-to-be Mark to suggest a camping trip out in the forest, away from the city. They haven’t seen each other for some time and the film suggests a desire for intimacy as well as a quest for peace. Something of a lost soul, Kurt is emotional and, at times, to be pitied. He lives outside society, in a world of new age type retreats and travels, which seem to have left him out on the margins. In contrast, Mark has a home and a pregnant partner, and tunes his car radio in to phone-ins with much loud chat about the state of society in America but he seems only half alive. They drive out of town, with the camera as passenger, which gazes out of the car window while a gorgeous soundtrack by Yo La Tengo sets a mellow mood. The use of extended silence makes me a little uneasy; it’s hard to get away from memories of Deliverance, and a sense of apprehension. In the city, the glass of the car windows insulates us...

Interior Life of an Estate Agent - part 18

You're not from round 'ere then? I am surrounded by delightful young families, happily retired couples, or contented empty nesters, enjoying their return to pre-children companionship and some freedom from parental responsibility, as well as a large number of women who have escaped their marriages and bought a dog, preferring long walks and book clubs. One of the imbalanced things about living in the west country, as with living in the farther reaches of Scotland, is that there is a surfeit of single women and a dearth of suitable single men. The men are wage slaves, and to be found in the south-east whereas women, on the whole, like a bit of a view. This must be the centrifugal effect, as though single women have been flung out from the frenzied middle of a dance, and have landed, like so many wallflowers on the hard chairs all around the dance hall. I can tell you; those chairs are hard; and sitting on them makes you invisible; not, however, to the sort of man who has an ...

Ian McEwan. Amsterdam. London: QPD, 1998

McEwan’s novel about ambition, personal betrayal and revenge features Clive, a modern composer trying to complete a major orchestral work, his friend Vernon, an editor trying to save his ailing newspaper, and Garmony, an unscrupulous right-wing politician on the rise. In common, all three have, in previous years, been lovers of recently dead Molly. They meet at her funeral and the story follows the next few weeks of the men’s lives. Vernon and Clive act as one another’s conscience, each infuriating the other. Which is more important, honesty, friendship and trust or Vernon’s newspaper and Clive’s symphony? The novel presents the difficulties of balancing personal and public morality, the importance of private shame and public reputation, the conflict between taking a moral decision for the greater good, or putting first ones own desires. Not just a simple exposé of a politician with a vulnerable side, Amsterdam is full of double standards and surprises, and takes a long, cynical look a...