My Understanding of Some Contentious Films

It is fascinating to think of the considerable discourse and fervent disagreement that can come from just one divisive film. When a movie provokes such a strong response, splitting general audiences into that overtly binary reception commonly referred to as “love it or hate it,” it can spark the kinds of sprawling debates and arguments that go on and on and on for entire years, if not decades. And of course, the endlessness of these debates comes down to the inherent subjectivity of cinema (and of any art form in general), the fact that there really is no such thing as a “correct opinion” or a “true interpretation” that invalidates anyone else’s viewpoint on a given film.

On a personal note, I spent the bulk of my teenage years trying desperately to convince others to agree with my movie opinions, fully believing that I was in the right and that anyone who disagreed with me was simply ignorant and wrong. For so long, I held that childish mentality that those who didn’t appreciate my favorite films had bad taste, that they didn’t get it, and that they couldn’t possibly understand why those films meant so much to me. The lesson that took me a long time to truly accept (and that I still try my best to remember consistently) is that you can technically understand and learn about why a movie resonates with so many people, but if it does not personally resonate with you, if it does not move you or interest you, if it does absolutely nothing for you, then that’s a genuine response that is fully valid, undeniable, and honest. Such is the way with art.

With all this in mind, I wanted to talk about three notably divisive films that have admittedly sparked a lot of discourse already, just because I’d simply like to offer my own personal interpretation for why these films resonate with me, and how I perceive the artistic intentions of their respective filmmakers. So if I manage to increase anyone’s appreciation for any of these films, that’s great. If your opinions remain exactly the same, that’s just as well. All I have are my two cents, and if you don’t mind, I’d like to spend them.

Fight Club: The Absurdities of Masculine Rebellion

There’s quite an interesting trajectory to the reputation that Fight Club (1999) has had over the years. This controversial cult classic, about an unnamed insomniac narrator (played by Edward Norton) who is radicalized upon meeting the irresistible nihilist Tyler Durden (played by Brad Pitt), revolves around them starting a cathartic “fight club” for disillusioned men, and we watch as their project evolves into something much bigger and considerably more destructive. At the time of its release, many critics deemed the film to be offensive, irresponsible, and gratuitously violent. Soon enough however, as word of mouth got around and DVD sales for the film skyrocketed, Fight Club quickly became a staple of college dorm rooms, a suitably rebellious end to the 20th Century, and a rallying cry for Gen X men who were fed up with capitalism and mainstream pop culture. Now whenever the film is brought up in a modern context, it tends to be seen as an essential text for Film Bros and incels, as it is currently perceived by many to be an edgy, pretentious, insufferably hyper-masculine treatise on the shallowness of society.

But whenever I revisit the film, I’m always struck by how satirical it is, how self-aware it is in its provocations, how transparent it is in its homoeroticism, and what I enjoy most is how much it’s actually mocking the absurd mentality of men who feel so certain and self-righteous in their extremist beliefs. There’s a very telling phenomenon that often happens with pitch dark comedies like these, whether it be American Psycho (2000), The Wolf of Wall Street (2013), or Nightcrawler (2014), as many men shamelessly idolize the protagonists of these stories, regardless of how immoral and deplorable their actions may be. They seem to think that these films are ultimately success stories, motivational tales about taking control of your life and not letting normative society get the better of you. And beyond their thematic concerns, the common masculine perception of these defiant “anti-heroes” is that they’re just so damn cool. After all, Tyler Durden is basically depicted like the ultimate Greek god of the 90s, with an impeccable physique, stylish clothing, natural charisma, complete confidence in his abilities, and perhaps most importantly, a cynical viewpoint of the world that sounds appealing on a surface level. His anarchic dogma has become so influential that real fight clubs have actually been formed across the country, full of devoted men who believe in the teachings of Tyler Durden. As if his cult leader-esque philosophy was worth following, spreading, or worshipping…

Except that I don’t think the film remotely agrees with Tyler Durden. To me, this is a classic case of depiction not being the same as endorsement (and it should be said that this same sentiment certainly applies to the next two films as well). While I won’t get into detailed spoilers for those who haven’t seen the film, what I will say is that the story increasingly, unambiguously, and pointedly, portrays Tyler as a villainous figure, a malignant presence, a false prophet whose plans only bring further chaos and disarray to the narrator’s life as well as the world at large. The film argues that the act of combating capitalism should not devolve into extremist violence, and that men who feel disenfranchised can then be easily persuaded into abandoning their morals. I honestly think that a great companion piece to this film, in terms of portraying the ridiculousness and immaturity of masculine rebellion, is the hysterical Lonely Island sketch Threw It On The Ground (2011). That is pretty much the level of “defiance” we’re talking about here.

In various interviews, the meticulous director David Fincher has described Fight Club as his attempt to make an absurdist coming-of-age story for adults, a cautionary tale for those who are seduced by nihilism and its self-destructive qualities, and he’s been fairly baffled by the way people have misinterpreted the film to such large extents. So while I can certainly understand if some people simply find the film’s relentless style too draining, or if they don’t find the morbidly sarcastic humor particularly funny, I do think the film offers much more to admire and appreciate than its toxic reputation may suggest.

Licorice Pizza: An Ephemeral Young Love

A much more recent film, but no less contentious by any means, is Paul Thomas Anderson’s Licorice Pizza (2021). Set in 1973, in the filmmaker’s hometown of the San Fernando Valley, the story follows Alana Kane (played by the talented singer who inspired the character in the first place, Alana Haim), an emotionally stunted 25-year-old who’s struggling to find her place in the world, as she suddenly meets Gary Valentine (played by Cooper Hoffman, the son of the late great Phillip Seymour Hoffman, one of Anderson’s most frequent collaborators), a 15-year-old dilettante who manages multiple businesses and who feels instantly smitten with Alana. The film adopts a loose structure of vignettes, showing the ebb and flow of these two characters clashing and reconciling over and over as they navigate different jobs, social situations, and the kinds of bizarre misadventures that could only come from real life.

Indeed, the majority of the events from the film are directly inspired by the childhood experiences of a close friend of Anderson’s, the producer Gary Goetzman (known mainly for being Tom Hanks’ producing partner), who used to be a child actor in the early 70s and who consequently saw/did a lot of crazy things in his youth that would simply not fly today. Knowing the source of this story really contextualizes the vignette structure, as the film really does feel like a collection of core memories from someone who’s led a full life, and who is now regaling you with stories from their colorful past.

While the film was warmly received by critics and huge fans of PTA’s work (I certainly belong in the latter category), it obviously received a lot of backlash for its May-December romance at the center of the story, as well as for a couple of scenes that feature racist impersonations. To a lot of people, all of these politically incorrect elements just felt needlessly provocative and utterly unnecessary, like the work of someone who only wanted to get a rise out of people. It’s not hard to see why many of these audience members felt uncomfortable with the material and thus were unable to enjoy the movie.

All that being said, I do think that the film features these elements for thoughtful reasons that go well beyond mere provocation. The characters in the film are quintessentially Andersonian, which is to say that they are ambitious people who desperately want to seem mature and sophisticated, when in reality they are deeply childish and primal. In other words, the characters in PTA’s films are unquestionably human in the messiest of ways, and one of the things I admire most about his work is how uncompromisingly honest he is about complex human behavior and how paradoxical it can often be. Especially when it comes to nostalgic period pieces, where it can be so easy for filmmakers to overly romanticize the past, there’s something refreshingly sincere about an artist who is fearlessly depicting the kinds of inappropriate customs that were far too casually practiced not too long ago. The whole vibe of the film is decidedly bittersweet, right down to the title Licorice Pizza. It’s an incongruous combination of flavors that shouldn’t go together, and even when they do, it’s only for brief and chaste encounters, not everlasting passionate romances.

But what I find most moving about this film is that in spite of the bitter components that leave much food for thought, it’s the sweetness that really prevails. The film is a labor of love featuring a lot of the director’s family and closest friends, to the point where it is basically a $40 million home movie in many respects. And it is a retrospective tale all about the ephemeral connections we make during our youth, the things that weren’t meant to last, the mistakes we made back then, and the altogether sensational memories we’ll carry for the rest of our lives. If you give the film a chance, take note of how often the young characters run through the streets of the Valley, how much they seem to be rushing from place to place, refusing to take a single moment to slow down and consider the consequences of their actions. That right there feels like such a perfect encapsulation of youth: The blissfully ignorant run of a child who hasn’t been stopped in their tracks by the harsh realities of adulthood.

Babylon: A Love Letter to Cinema & A Hate Letter to Hollywood

Lastly, I want to talk about a film that is quite near and dear to my heart, Damien Chazelle’s maximalist masterpiece Babylon (2022). It is a sprawling epic that depicts the decadent Hollywood lifestyle during the late 20s and early 30s, showcasing the transition from silent films to talkies, and chronicling the rise and fall of multiple characters working within the film industry, such as the idealistic production assistant Manny Torres (played by Diego Calva), the wildly rambunctious actress Nellie LaRoy (played by Margot Robbie), and the seasoned actor Jack Conrad (played by Brad Pitt), who is getting increasingly disillusioned with the industry he works for.

When the film first came out around Christmastime of 2022, it was widely seen by many critics as a derivative, overlong, self-indulgent display of hedonism, an exhaustingly obscene portrait of the Roaring Twenties that lacked clarity and precision. Those initial reactions to the film were so aggressively negative that when I went to watch the film for the first time, I consciously lowered my high expectations from the trailers and prepared myself for what was seemingly just going to be a sensory overload without much substance behind it. Little did I know that the actual film would turn out to be one of the most exhilarating, hilarious, devastating, haunting, and ultimately awe-inspiring pieces of art I’ve been lucky enough to behold. It is a truly special film that offers all kinds of disparate emotions in quick succession, turning its three-hour runtime into a mad dash through cinematic history that leaves you feeling energized and wanting to make art.

This is a film that’s simultaneously enamored by the endless creative potential of cinema while also being disgusted by the rampantly monstrous behavior that the film industry often exhibits towards minorities, the exploitation of labor from those who were not given a voice, especially during the tumultuous time period in which the story takes place. There are so many films that express their adoration for the magic of the movies, but few films complicate those feelings of reverence with a direct acknowledgment of the toxic industry that makes those movies. Chazelle’s work has fundamentally revolved around the sacrifices of committing to a vocation, the relationships that slowly dissolve in the search for artistic fulfillment, the dark side of the moon that sits alongside the sea of tranquility. Babylon presents all those nuanced notions and many more, on the largest canvas that Chazelle has ever worked on thus far, and as the film has garnered a cult following of sorts since the time of its release (the Babylon Hive is getting stronger every day, there are dozens upon dozens of us!), it’s been really heartening to see more people discovering the movie and appreciating its magnificent scope. 

There was even a notable moment in time, not long after the film came out, when fans would make video tributes in the rapid editing style of Babylon, showcasing their favorite films across the entire history of cinema. It was because of this trend that I started my own YouTube channel, and since then, I’ve gone on to make many video tributes about my favorite filmmakers. The impact that this film has had on my life is massive, and I continue to feel eternally grateful for its existence.

Simply put, Babylon is an exuberant experience that makes me feel so alive. It transports me to another time and place, it reminds me of all that cinema is capable of evoking, and it inspires me to tell stories that are unafraid to be expressionistic, messy, overflowing with ambition, and profoundly personal.

So yeah, I guess I kind of recommend it, I’m fairly positive about it. And if it’s not your cup of tea, that’s just fine. Cause it certainly is mine.