I wrote a scathing review of the first film in which I noted its very competent filmmaking and yet deplored it for being the most tedious and obnoxious film I had ever sat through. I asked, was it satire? How could somebody who clearly knew what they were doing make a movie so blisteringly unnerving and unsatisfying? In my conclusion, I mentioned that I would sooner have someone administer a lethal dose of heroin to me than sit through the planned second part.
Well, I've still never done heroin, I willingly chose to watch the second film, I think it confirms that the first movie was indeed satire (of a very unique, unprecedented sort), and in a way, its boldly original blend of theme and style, so masterfully done here, almost entirely redeems the first film along with it. Yes, I was wrong. This movie--and perhaps it's best to think of the original and Part II as one extremely long movie, although maybe Hogg could have never pulled off what she wanted to achieve if she had indeed released it as a four-hour film--is a masterpiece. Where's my shoe? I'm ready to eat it.
I can't think of anything that compares to these two movies. My review of the microbudget Japanese horror comedy One Cut of the Dead most closely approximates what Hogg has done here, but even that very unique meta take on the creative process is far removed from The Souvenir. I don't want to spoil much, but I think The Souvenir: Part II is a film that can only achieve its very uplifting catharsis by deliberately coming after the utter tedium of the first film. Both films taken together, I believe, make a pointed statement on life and artifice, and that point can't truly be appreciated unless we first sit through a movie as mind-numbingly unsatisfying as the first film. I don't think Hogg wanted to punish us with the first film--I don't think she was laughing at us for being suckers, and I don't think that the many people who *did* claim to enjoy the first film were necessarily "wrong," so to speak; rather, I think she fully delivered on her vision of creating an autobiographical film that is truly reflective of the complexity, inanity, and absurdity of life, and I think she did so knowing full well that it would be a very bitter draught for most people to swallow. The second film consciously acknowledges that dilemma: that art is not in fact life, that our lives are not actually narratives which follow any sensible structure, and that in order to create an art derived from life that is both satisfying and coherent requires accommodating the expectations and needs of the audience by sacrificing a bit of idiosyncratic artistic vision in favor of some of the agreed upon conventions of artifice. In other words, yes, people do indeed sit around having extremely boring and forgettable conversations while crises are brewing, as we bear witness to throughout the first film, but one of the responsibilities of a filmmaker--or at least one who wants to reach an audience--is to edit some of that noise out.
In Part II, Hogg demonstrates that she can excel at all the conventional substance of the movie business: conflict, an autonomous protagonist, character growth and arcs, a goal-oriented plot, emotional resolution, levity, and so forth. Does she insist that such things are essential? Does she reject her original vision in favor of this more successful tack? Not necessarily. I haven't rewatched the first film yet, but I think I would get a lot more out of it now that I'm willing to extend more patience to its filmmaker. Like many of the men in the first film, I wasn't able to trust that the woman in front of and behind the camera had anything especially meaningful to say(--although I'd say that had more to do with my aversion to those of her cushy upbringing rather than any tendency to denigrate those of her gender). Like some of the crewmembers depicted in the second film, I had some valid reasons for those objections. Nevertheless, I have been proven wrong, and I am grateful for it. I look forward to learning from more of Hogg's work.
Well, I've still never done heroin, I willingly chose to watch the second film, I think it confirms that the first movie was indeed satire (of a very unique, unprecedented sort), and in a way, its boldly original blend of theme and style, so masterfully done here, almost entirely redeems the first film along with it. Yes, I was wrong. This movie--and perhaps it's best to think of the original and Part II as one extremely long movie, although maybe Hogg could have never pulled off what she wanted to achieve if she had indeed released it as a four-hour film--is a masterpiece. Where's my shoe? I'm ready to eat it.
I can't think of anything that compares to these two movies. My review of the microbudget Japanese horror comedy One Cut of the Dead most closely approximates what Hogg has done here, but even that very unique meta take on the creative process is far removed from The Souvenir. I don't want to spoil much, but I think The Souvenir: Part II is a film that can only achieve its very uplifting catharsis by deliberately coming after the utter tedium of the first film. Both films taken together, I believe, make a pointed statement on life and artifice, and that point can't truly be appreciated unless we first sit through a movie as mind-numbingly unsatisfying as the first film. I don't think Hogg wanted to punish us with the first film--I don't think she was laughing at us for being suckers, and I don't think that the many people who *did* claim to enjoy the first film were necessarily "wrong," so to speak; rather, I think she fully delivered on her vision of creating an autobiographical film that is truly reflective of the complexity, inanity, and absurdity of life, and I think she did so knowing full well that it would be a very bitter draught for most people to swallow. The second film consciously acknowledges that dilemma: that art is not in fact life, that our lives are not actually narratives which follow any sensible structure, and that in order to create an art derived from life that is both satisfying and coherent requires accommodating the expectations and needs of the audience by sacrificing a bit of idiosyncratic artistic vision in favor of some of the agreed upon conventions of artifice. In other words, yes, people do indeed sit around having extremely boring and forgettable conversations while crises are brewing, as we bear witness to throughout the first film, but one of the responsibilities of a filmmaker--or at least one who wants to reach an audience--is to edit some of that noise out.
In Part II, Hogg demonstrates that she can excel at all the conventional substance of the movie business: conflict, an autonomous protagonist, character growth and arcs, a goal-oriented plot, emotional resolution, levity, and so forth. Does she insist that such things are essential? Does she reject her original vision in favor of this more successful tack? Not necessarily. I haven't rewatched the first film yet, but I think I would get a lot more out of it now that I'm willing to extend more patience to its filmmaker. Like many of the men in the first film, I wasn't able to trust that the woman in front of and behind the camera had anything especially meaningful to say(--although I'd say that had more to do with my aversion to those of her cushy upbringing rather than any tendency to denigrate those of her gender). Like some of the crewmembers depicted in the second film, I had some valid reasons for those objections. Nevertheless, I have been proven wrong, and I am grateful for it. I look forward to learning from more of Hogg's work.