There is a certain difficulty in writing this because, in some respects, all it’s doing is harboring complicated emotions in me. With that said, I have found myself favoring lighter, friendlier movies over the past few weeks because I recognize my own struggle with mental health. Even then, the best of that group (Buffaloed (2020)) was only really good. When thinking of the BEST movie I saw this week, it’s one that came with a bit of a reluctant curiosity. I think that Albert Brooks is a very talented filmmaker. I’ve loved him since those Saturday Night Live shorts and his filmography is a delight front to back. If you haven’t seen Defending Your Life (1991), then I suggest amending that sooner than later.
With that said, I mostly watched Modern Romance (1981) out of obligation. It was one of the last Brooks movies on my list that I had yet to see. However, I was in no hurry to see it and only did because I noticed the writing on the wall. As of December 1, it would be leaving The Criterion Channel and I knew that I would regret not seeing it. Maybe not this month, but in four or five when I finally want to see it.
Even then, I feel embarrassed admitting that this was easily the most stressful movie I have seen since Uncut Gems (2019). To be totally honest, the Adam Sandler drama may have tapped into anxiety I recognized, but I wasn’t as overwhelmed by every obstacle as I was Modern Romance. It’s an amusing gambit because, when you get down to it, what Brooks is doing is far from life or death. All that he’s doing is pulling out his phone and calling people, asking them to love him.
Now three weeks ago, I had a mental breakdown that I discussed in a previous post. It was driven by the idea that I was feeling alone with nobody there to validate me. As an introvert, I don’t exactly know how to reach out to people and the threat of invasive thoughts was rarely as difficult as it was then. Still, I remember going to Twitter writing posts that I designed as coded messages of “Please love me.” I understand that I should be looking for it more in my personal life, but when you’ve spent three days alone, it’s hard to contextualize this struggle with rationality. I’m still feeling some fallout, but I like to think that I’ve spent these days bettering myself, learning how to be more appropriate in my requests.
What I find amazing is how excruciating the first 20 minutes of this ended up being. Following a break-up, we follow Brooks in a state of loneliness that looked too familiar. It’s the type of perspective where the atmosphere of a room changes because of your day. If you come back tomorrow, there’s a good chance that everything will seem normal. For now, you’re irrationally wanting to escape by listening to disco records before shutting them off because they make you too sad. When you turn on the radio, every song is going on about the joys of love. It’s the type of confirmation bias that swells up when you’re experiencing hopelessness. Even the fact that your car battery dies is some reflection of your own adjunct failures as a human.
Those 20 minutes of self-loathing feel so real without being anything exceptional at all. This isn’t some grand dramatic performance, but just a man who picks up the phone and nonchalantly tells his coworker that he loves him. It’s the type of speech that seems irrational to the outside world but comes from a place of deep pain. It’s the need to hear someone say the phrase “I love you.” One can argue that it’s even reflective of Brooks’ own need for control, both of his relationship and of his emotions inside. If he can make people love him, it will fix some hole inside of him.
I was initially skeptical about the rest of the plot from here. While I am a cinephile and love stories about making cinema, the idea of comedies about filmmakers has felt increasingly tired to me. At a certain point, they’re all the same, reflecting the creative process of a movie symbolizing their vulnerability being borne to the audience. I get that art is personal and I’m guilty of making stories like these. It’s just that I had to ask myself “What exactly is essential about Brooks playing a film editor?”
The further in that you go, the more that I recognize what makes this film strangely more affecting. Much like L.A. Story (1991), there is an atmosphere to Los Angeles that informs these lonely types. The most apparent is the reality that everyone drives around in cars, meaning that there’s less time to socialize in regular hustle and bustle. Compared to New York scenes where massive crowds cross a street, L.A. has cars honking and this miserable shade of smog hanging over everything. It makes sense why this city has largely been reduced to stories of tragedies and crime. I personally hate that’s what my home county is reduced to, but it only makes movies like Modern Romance and (500) Days of Summer (2009) stand out more.
It’s also because L.A. is home to one of the most nauseating stereotypes imaginable. The Hollywood actor is someone who never comes across as genuine. Once you realize that acting is the career of convincing people you’re telling the truth, it makes sense to see this culture as dishonest, hiding behind emotions that may or may not be genuine. Cinema’s only objectivity is that it’s designed to manipulate you, making you believe that these images hold more weight than they actually do. For me personally, I love getting lost in it and it’s halfway through Modern Romance that I realized that Brooks is, quite honestly, one of the smartest comedy directors of the 20th century.
There is a scene where he’s working on a George Kennedy sci-fi movie. With his coworker watching over his shoulder, the audience gets to rewatch several times, receiving maybe the best description of film editing I’ve seen. There is a minor exchange between Kennedy and an actor who will deceive him later in the story. What initially starts as a scene of very obvious foreshadowing is dwindled down (with fun editing software in tow) to something more subtle. The conflict is still there, but it’s now an allusion. Again, Brooks is taking control, showing how to do more with less.
That is the heart of the movie in a nutshell. While there’s not a lot to suggest it’s breaking the fourth wall, there’s plenty to suggest that Modern Romance is asking the audience about the importance of perspective. By watching a film within a film be edited down to something subtler and rich, one has to ask what Brooks is going to do to make the audience see him differently. By this point we’ve mostly seen him wallowing in despair, turning to health foods in an attempt to better himself only to dump it like a bad impulse by the time that he drives home. His life has no focus and, arguably, neither does the narrative.
Without making anything seem exceptional, the whole story is about trying to get to that perfect edit. How does one strengthen their life than by cutting out the unnecessary? It’s what all relationships are striving for, and the decision to make it through this film analysis is a clever enough angle. It’s therapy through art, finding the flabby raw footage at the start of the film becoming something stronger and more realized. Brooks slowly gains more confidence in his career and in his relationship, even as he stumbles through bad attempts to get back together. He never lets go of optimism, even as he stares darkness in the face.
It’s a satire that ends with the absurd ending that questions: does Brooks really have control of his life? There’s an endless string of contradictions that suggests that some of the edits are as much a reflection of strength as they are his repression of ideas. He’s found an ambiguous middle ground where suddenly he’s able to forgive himself and move forward, but it’s questionable if he’s changed for the better. In typical Brooks form, it’s a lot of fun to think of on a philosophical level, finding the human condition played for farce with just the right level of confusion.
No matter what the rest of the film becomes, which is a really good satire, I’m still torn up by those early minutes. I’m not sure if this would’ve played differently if I even watched it a month ago. Maybe it would’ve exacerbated my stress in a different way. Whatever the case may be, I recognize the loneliness in his comedy, that desperation to be accepted immediately following a sad moment. I say that because it was me not that long ago, and I’m sure many others have gone through that pattern because of the pandemic.
Overall I think Brooks is worth exploring not because he’s the funniest filmmaker, but that he’s the intellectual underneath. Even his crazier works like Real Life (1979) feel like it’s saying something more insightful about privacy and our authenticity around others. It’s a story of emotions, coming to terms with some internal struggle inside all of us. Maybe it’s just because of where I am in my life, but Modern Romance hit so much stronger than I’d ever hope, even if it’s not necessarily my favorite. I come away feeling seen, or at least recognizing my own foolish behavior and noticing how we’re all vulnerable, looking for something in our life that may not make sense to the outside world.
At the end of the day, what makes Brooks a revelation is that he’s never cynical about this. He’s sympathetic, finding ways to make these universal emotions funny. I relate to the confirmation bias elements of this film, even when I’m in a decent mood. It’s the idea that a disco record is the most depressing thing in the world. So much of Modern Romance is about understanding our own perspective of ourselves and others, and there’s optimism even in its somewhat feudal ending. I’m thankful that this film exists, that Brooks’ whole filmography is there. It’s a quintessential story of ennui in Los Angeles, and one that I think best captures the isolation in a city that wants to believe it’s better than it is, just like us.
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