Absyrd

I don't know what to say. I love Sam Mendes, I love the actors involved, I'm sure it's an alright book, but this, what a lifeless bore of a film. It establishes its point within the first five minutes and spends the next two hours following this psychotic couple as they whine about everything wrong with their pathetic lives. It's just... empty, it leaves me absolutely nothing at all to ponder with, a totally opposite reaction from Mendes' previous work, all which contain 10 times the charm, beauty, humor, and depth of this film. If only its script was quite as compelling as the performances and ravishing cinematography, then we might've had something worthwhile. A professional travesty.

I've read just about every possible comment anyone can make about this film, from stupid, insipid, tasteless trash to slow, minimalist masterpiece of modern cinema. I should come out and say I've loved every performance Jared Leto has ever given, and this appears to be his biggest, boldest effort yet, gaining well over 50 pounds to play the character. Was it a fruitless waste of time and danger of health, or a triumphant success? Only time will tell. Right now the film has been poorly received by critics and masses as a boring and simplified look at a loner WITH a cause. But for me, that lead performance was a celebratory success which transcends all the banal pondering and mundane isolation and delivers a glimpse to the man behind the murder of arguably the most acclaimed musical artist of the 20th century. Any other actor would've portrayed the man as insane and raucous but sympathetic. Leto turns him into something more -- a yearning, indulgent, substandard, pathetic, arrogant, misunderstood, underestimated, and yes, insane man.

Throughout the film we follow Leto as he lives and breathes every minute of New York City before he slowly begins to drown beneath the pressures of his own social awkwardness and the surrounding annoyance of the people trying to behinder his one dream... receive an autograph from John Lennon. The film develops an atmosphere where his optimism resonates an aura of pessimism because his determination is such a futile endeavor and the inevitable aftermath is dragged along with every step he takes. Eventually, this building of tension collapses on itself when he begins to develop a predictably doomed relationship with a New Yorker girl, played well by Lindsay Lohan. It would've felt like a parable of romance were I not already aware of the proceeding outcome. So rather than being heartbreaking, it feels conventional because we know all along that she will leave him to trigger the murder. That's not what I define as ambiguity.

The film also falters with its numerous long-running narrative soliloquies which turn surreal and sometimes descend into obvious lyricism. He spends much of the film discussing his social isolation, his desperation, complaining about the banalities of his life, and his feelings of homesick. Instead of feeling insightful, they feel dreary, Like I'm reading an old man's diary rather than entering the mind of a psychopath. But what maintains the key intrigue behind all the mundane babble is the manner of Jay Leto's narration, which always compels me to see beyond the dialogue and take a long hard glimpse at a man who has something to say but doesn't how to say it sanely, who wants to express himself but can never sum up the right words to explain why he seems so obsessive-compulsive and antisocial without coming across as one or the other. I almost (*almost*) feel like I could relate to him because Leto's vigorous and dynamic performance was just such a human touch.

And now, the climax of the film. The whole shebang of wandering, outbursts, and epiphanies all lead to the killing of John Lennon itself. We witness the events leading up to Leto's convincing final transformation through flashy editing and blaring music as he pulls out his gun and shoots the man down whilst he walks drunkenly to the entrance of his hotel. The film ends as he's arrested and forced into a police car.

There's little exploitation in this film, except maybe during its final scenes. It tries to be slow and intelligent and begins to feel obnoxiously pretentious. That fabulous performance really deserved some sort of Oscar recognition, it's a rare and pure and beautiful depiction of obsessive admiration. His performance pretty much exceeds his own characterization, a stunning achievement because he's in pretty much every shot of the film.

But what did we all learn from this movie? We didn't learn much at all, actually, we were merely given a different perspective to challenge our prevailing thoughts of the event. While sometimes it feels overtly sympathetic and sometimes just simply pondering, I do believe its outstanding performance conquers my applaud, while little else redeems it as but a sad and slightly sensationalized depiction of the tragedy.

All That Jazz may be the most colorful film I've ever seen. And it may also be the most thematically rich film I've seen in a long time, one that portrays a man's obsession with his art, his refutation and eventual embracement of death, his unlinear block between reality and fantasy, and his failure as a father and a husband, the only driving force of his life being his passion for art which he visualizes through his frustrating career as a theater director. It's a multilayered piece of neurotic fiction disguised as a musical about life and death, held together by a wonderful ensemble cast and some beautifully abstract dance numbers. Such a brilliant film.