January 25th, 2012

Review: 9/10 Can of Whoop Ass

 

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

 

            Early on in Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close Oskar Shell points out that eventually there will be too many dead people to bury in cemeteries.  He envisions cemeteries necessarily going underground, thousands of feet underneath the surface of the earth, creating a veritable world of the dead, positioned directly below the world of the living.  This terrifying image is one of central metaphors that persist throughout Extremely Loud: how does life exist so close to death?  The film is emotional and poignant, but its true success lies in its mastery of thematic connection.  All the pieces of the story fit not just into a plot, but into a larger interpretation of what it means to be alive when we all must die.  Ultimately, the film lovingly offers the idea that the existence of death doesn’t cheapen life – it is simply a requisite of the journey.

            The film begins by exploring the close relationship between young Oskar (Thomas Horn) and his dad, Thomas (Tom Hanks).  Thomas sends Oskar on “reconnaissance expeditions” to follow clues he has left that lead his son around the neighborhood and force him to interact with strangers.  Thomas encourages Oskar’s intellectual endeavors, but stresses the importance of taking risks and trusting others.  The sixth mission Thomas sends Oskar on is to locate the elusive “sixth borough” of New York City.  But before Oskar completes the expedition, Thomas is killed at the World Trade Center on 9/11.

            Oskar’s world is shattered.  He distances himself from his mother and collapses into an obsessive relationship with the circumstances surrounding his father’s death.  A year later, he finds a key hidden inside a vase in his father’s closet.  The majority of the film is Oskar’s attempt to locate the lock for which the key belongs.  Using the name “Black”, which was written on a small envelope the key was inside, Oskar begins a meticulous process of systematically questioning every person in New York City who’s last name is Black.  And though he is thorough, he knows his search is unlikely to produce any comforting result.  But it isn’t the details of his search, or even what he finds, that matters – it’s the people.

            On his journey through the boroughs of New York, Oskar meets all manner and quality of people.  He meets religious kooks, distraught housewives, artists, doormen, and a cavalcade of characters that make his hometown so special.  But it isn’t until Oskar’s search reaches somewhat of a conclusion – when he finds out the key didn’t even belong to his father – that he can reflect on the importance of the people he has met.  His search, therefore, was more than an effort to reconnect a key with a lock.  It was for him to reconnect himself with humanity.  As with all transcendent journeys, the protagonist does not travel laterally, but internally.  All roads lead back to self.

            Oskar’s troubled relationship with his mother, Linda (Sandra Bullock) is similarly resolved when Oskar finds out she has been in on his search the entire time.  This plot twist explains away much of the doubt a viewer might have about a school-age boy escorting himself all over one of the most dangerous cities in America, but it more importantly echoes the important thought that no journey is alone – not the journey to death, and especially not the journey through life.  Oskar’s heartache is not his alone, and there is relief in that shared sense of loss.

            Oskar’s grandfather joins in his quest to find the home of the key.  Interestingly, the grandfather is mute and never named other than as, “the Renter”.  He is a sympathetic old man who feels for Oskar, but he too has dealt with loss, and his sense of regret never really went away.  One sees in the Renter the awful future Oskar may be headed for.  His silence is a stand-in for the unspeakable despair of never letting go.  If you fill yourself with tragedy, soon there won’t be room for anything else, just as the fear of death can become actual death, and just as memory can consume the future.

            Ultimately, Thomas’ instruction to Oskar to find the sixth borough of New York is a task for Oskar to find himself and to accept all the things that life entails: the death, the people, the nonsensical forces that govern existence.  And complimentary to that idea, the existence or loss of the sixth borough doesn’t negate or cheapen the existence of the five real-life boroughs Oskar has sorted through in his process of reuniting the key with its lock.  This idea powerfully parallel’s Oskar’s father’s death.  September 11th was tragic, shocking, and utterly pointless – but it didn’t ruin the beauty, majesty, or value of all the lives that were left behind or tarnish the memories of those taken away.

            Extremely Close and Incredibly Loud is based off a novel by Jonathan Safran Foer, who also wrote the novel Everything is Illuminated.  That book and eventual film also dealt with issues of death and reconciling memory with loss.  Foer’s novels are tightly wound with connected metaphors and plot lines that go as deep as they go forward.  In both film adaptations of his novels, Foer’s vision of life’s interconnectedness is strong enough to offer a powerful template for the films to exist as philosophical triumphs.  Watching Extremely Close, one can’t escape the feeling of fine craftsmanship and every part having its place.  This foresight offers a comfortable vehicle by which to explore such heavy subject matter.

            The nuts and bolts of the film are mainly in service of the themes that govern them, but some scenes fell flat and went on too long.  One noticeable plot hole was the lack of explanation for why Thomas Schell, a jeweler, was “taking a meeting” in the World Trade Center, unless there is some sort of simple explanation for this that I am unaware of.  Thomas Horn covers the majority of the screen time and admirably reflects a boy completely unprepared to deal with the loss of the father he loved so much.  The film also took the less traveled route of making Oskar somewhat unlikable, to my mind, in an effort to capture truth.  Oskar’s condescension and emotional insecurity are authentic to child prodigies – smart kids are never timid little angels.  They frequently act out and ignore advice.  More importantly, it is the over-confident children that are most damaged when faced with irresolvable conflict.  Oskar is distraught not just at the loss of his father, but at his inability to sustain a logical view of the world.  Oskar wants to extend his relationship with his father for eternity, but because that is impossible, we know he is headed for a fall.  When it comes, it is as tragic and desperate as seeing those towers fall in real life.

            But also in real life, time goes on.  Life goes on.  Despite the biological end death can bring to life, it can never destroy the essence of what it is to be alive.  Oskar discovers the sixth borough is nothing more than his memory of his father.  Or the people of New York.  Or the people lost on 9/11.  Or his own dominance over fear and limitation.  Or the million other things that make the land of the living such a wonderful place.  Sure, our planet is littered with terrorists, and killers, and indifference, but it is also occupied with neighbors, and families, and children, and photographs, and hobbies, and churches, and dancing, and things immune to death and destruction.  All these little nuggets of beauty compose a larger landscape that is extremely loud, incredibly close, and entirely worthwhile.