Review of the film The Social Network

It’s sounds like pure bad friction, but the partnership of screenwriter Aaron Sorkin (A Few Good Men, The West Wing) and director David Fincher (Fight Club, Zodiac) pulls quite the weight when it comes to their most recently released film, The Social Network. Telling the story of the founding of Facebook, it uses Sorkin’s breathless, smart dialogue and Fincher’s subtle image making in such a way that one is engrossed without pushing. It’s the friction between the two that balances this tale.

Mark Zuckerberg, played by Jesse Eisenberg, is attending Harvard. He follows a nasty breakup with a vicious blog post about his ex. Then, after a few more beers, he starts a cruel interactive program called Facesmash, which allows users to rate the attractiveness of female students in the Harvard online network. He receives some disciplinary action for this, but its popularity and structure lead him to create Facebook which we all know was also instantly a huge success. It also garners him the attention of Napster founder, Sean Parker, and allows him to expand the reach of Facebook and his own power. This story is interlaced with several lawsuits that Zuckerberg later faced from those who felt they were screwed out of the huge profits the network eventually began pulling in. One of these lawsuits was by Eduardo Severin, who is arguably the co-founder of Facebook and was the one time best friend of Zuckerberg.

It isn’t a movie that allows one to get close nor does its ending promote good feelings. It’s a confounding film in that it deals with such weighty issues as isolation, friendship, and loyalty with a lead and cast of characters that know little of these things beyond how to turn them to commodity for personal gain and power. The characters here are not having meaningful, deep relationships; they are using each other. Their connections are fodder for whatever that they can get them in upward mobility. It does make a Facebook user wonder about his or her personal friend count and what those people the number signifies mean. Don’t be fooled by the short review of this film you see here: This is one has themes that fester and continue to puzzle long after the credits roll.

Review of the film Inception

“You’re waiting on a train. A train that will take you far away. You don’t know where it will take you, but it doesn’t matter where or why…”     (dialogue from film)

Inception is a dream maze. It’s never beyond grasping if one is keen to its twists and turns. However, this is not to say that its themes and symbolisms are as easily understood. One has to be prepared to be a bit mystified by this film. The visuals play with the architecture of our world and the unexpected turns of the story play with the architecture of plot that we have come to expect in films.

It starts with a very different type of corporate espionage. Leonardo DiCaprio’s Cobb is a master thief who has made a business of extracting important secrets from reticent minds while they are in vulnerable dream states. His latest job has him not extracting precious information but, rather, placing an idea in the head of an adverse target.  His employer wishes for the heir of a monopolistic corporation to dissolve his father’s assets upon his impending death. However, it is explained that the mind is incredibly resistant to invasion. This means that Cobb and his team of specialists must fool the target’s sleeping brain into thinking that this idea originated and was cultivated within its own folds. There is one more ultimately important piece to the story: This is Cobb’s final job if it is successful and, because his employer promises to expunge his criminal record, he will be able to see his children for the first time in years. We have all the components for a great heist movie, but this particular heist movie has an infinite number more layers than usual. We dive into the maze along with Cobb and his team.

The experience is truly engrossing, but it is not a film without issues. I guess I’ve read a lot of chatter on feminist sites that Inception is a movie that marginalizes its female characters, romances them or leaves them as only carving points for the mold of the male lead, Cobb. These two characters are Cobb’s wife, lurking about in his subconscious like a true femme fatale and a young, brilliant architect, who is to build the dreamscapes for the job. But in my opinion, it’s not only the female characters that are marginalized but also every character in the movie besides Cobb, including his associates and his enemies. This makes sense in terms of the themes of the movie. There are suspicions by critics that this is all Cobb’s dream. Of course, then it is going to be built to feature his desires and the obsessions of his sub-conscious. It is his memory that builds this dream, what he remembers and how he remembers—the colors, the sounds, the people, the beauty of it, the angle of a glance, the pitch of a laugh or sigh.

Inception is not necessarily the most thoughtful or meaningful film one will see this year. However, it certainly is a well-crafted vehicle of its own with ideas both confounding and lucid. Nolan made me feel as if I was on a runaway train during the story; it had a destination, that much is certain, but where exactly is never clear. Nor is the why or the how. There is an ending, but it happens to be ambiguous and very quick. It also depends upon how one interprets the story and the place that story may have taken one’s thoughts. We each bring some much of ourselves to a film that a single critique is never possible and it’s also quite unreasonable to expect. One thing I can say about Inception, it does take you far from your own reality and where it places you upon arrival is completely up to your own mind.

Review of the film No Country For Old Men

The novelist Cormac McCarthy is famous for being a spare writer. He doesn’t use words upon words to get across a sense of a space or the look of a moment. In the novel No Country For Old Men, this leaning towards spareness is especially true. In making their film adaptation of the novel, the Coen brothers did not use every word of dialogue or every scene that McCarthy penned. However, the ones they did use were and are crucial to the narrative and tone that the author set up. The Coens had to decide how to portray everything around those spare sequences—the physical look of the space, the lighting, the blocking of the actors, the angles seen by the viewer. McCarthy may have left these things out, but the Coens are said by most critics to have remained faithful to the novel. It is my opinion, having read the book several times, that they did remain faithful. This is the ultimate compliment I can give to the filmmakers. Even the actors playing the book’s characters, where no physical attributes were given, seem to look exactly as they should.  It’s a simple story about money and drugs and the way that the two seem to envelop all those within a hair’s breadth and beyond, moving outwards like ripples in a pond. 

It begins when Moss, a middle-aged, lower middle-class white man, is out hunting antelope in the dusty plains of southern Texas. He happens upon a vaguely circular array of vehicles. He moves closer and finds the circle littered with bodies full of bullets of many different calibers and shapes. Flies cling to the blood that has seeped from the deadly wounds. In the flatbed of one of the vehicles are big blocks of heroin and in the cab of another is a dying man asking for water and speaking of wolves. Moss follows a trail of blood from the scene to the base of a lonely tree and finds another dead man riddled with bullets in its shade. Next to him is a suitcase with over 2 million dollars stacked inside. Moss makes the decision to leave with the suitcase with seemingly no remorse, but he later makes another decision, which is the catalyst for the rest of the action in the film: He returns that night to the scene of the fateful drug deal with a jug of water. Soon, Moss is being chased by a killer for hire with a Paige-boy haircut and an implacable sense of what lies before him.

            The events that transpire from that late night decision Moss makes are violent and quick. They roll one onto the next like bloody waves, spreading across a great swath of the state and covering even those who had never dreamed of being touched by such a mess. Through it all is small town Sheriff Bell, played with easy earnestness and hard-gotten wisdom by Tommy Lee Jones, trying to put together the bloody and random pieces. His craggy visage and knowing voice put to words those questions which no one else seems able to express at the carnage that is transpiring: What is the meaning of this? Why do these evil things happen?

The threat of violence looms in nearly every scene writ by McCarthy and filmed by the Coens. They both seem to be saying that it is merciless injustice, but this is the natural state of things. The precepts of civilization can be so easily peeled back and then we find out how poorly fit for survival most of us are without them.

Review of the film Drag Me To Hell

Drag Me To Hell, created by Sam Raimi, is a return to the demonic camp of the Evil Dead trilogy for the director. It’s mischievous and full of gross-out and “Gotcha!” gags. Like in Teeth, another camp-tastic horror film, the lead is a young, pretty, blonde-haired woman who seems to do everything right. Her name is Christine, and Allison Lohman plays her with believable sincerity. Christine is a simple farm girl who has left her roots to move to the big city and try her luck. The film opens on her as a nice, sympathizing loan officer at a small company bank. She is competing to become the assistant manager of the branch. Her boss explains to her that sometimes leaders have to make tough, unsympathetic calls for the good of the bank. Christine takes this to heart; she knows that her competition, the other ambitious young loan officer, is making all the right moves—denying extensions, bringing in new customers and kissing the boss’ ass with finesse. Deciding to make the tough choice on the very next loan extension that comes across her desk, she is resolute no matter who may stand before her. The problem is that the person is a creepy old woman with a foggy eye and dirty claws for fingernails who looks suspiciously like she might know a few spells and curses. It’s her third mortgage extension and Christine denies it, leading to a lengthy physical confrontation at the end of which the old woman snaps a button off of Christine’s coat. Button in gnarled hand, the old woman casts an ancient curse upon Christine. For three days, the young woman will be tormented by evil spirits before eventually being dragged to hell by demons.

What ensues is diabolic fun in the manner that only Raimi could pull off. After the first outrageous haunting that Christine experiences, there is little doubt that the old woman’s curse is real. And as the encounters become more wicked and physically thrashing, there is little Christine will not resort to in order to save herself from certain eternal damnation. Soon, there are dead kittens, creepy and bodily-invasive flies, sly hints at eating disorders, a demonic horned spirit, a possessed goat, and an extremely shocking and comical séance scene. There is little that Raimi holds sacred, including the burial of the dead. Christine is made to endure and stride through it all to get back the button that will save her from the hell fires. There are some tired tropes that Raimi touches upon—gypsy curses, socially ambitious women, fears of aging, “native” mystics—but he does it with such gleeful abandon and quickness that we are left falling over ourselves to keep up.

It seems likes Raimi’s intent to pick the nicest, prettiest and most moral possible victim for his special brand of mayhem. This could happen to anyone in his universe, including those who appear like the most undeserving of being dragged off to the netherworld by demons. As the inevitable nears, we find out that Christine abandoned her drunk and sickly mother along with her rural past. She has even used tapes to aid her in dropping her country accent. The fateful decision to deny that old woman her loan extension was not the first time Christine had made a sketchy moral choice; perhaps there are other instances of this mentality that Raimi only hints at. Maybe she isn’t the most undeserving of this curse. Each of us has a few troubled choices in our lives, some worse than others. Raimi is winking at us and our assumption that Christine could be all good. Near the end of the film, she is resolute that any one be saddled with this curse as long as it isn’t herself. She will go to any length to get that button back; she will not bear the  blame for her bad decision. Raimi finds this struggle delightful. It’s kind of a cosmic joke to the director, but a well-done and shockingly horrific joke.

Review of the film Teeth

            The phrase “vagina dentata” makes the boys and girls squirm. Understandably. Translating from the Latin as “toothed vagina,” this multi-cultural myth can be said to articulate the male fear of castration. Bloody, surprising and painful castration. One could also say that it expresses the dread of female sexuality in general. This goes not only for the males who seek sexual intercourse with multiple female partners but for the women who might possess such a fearful abnormality as well. He who encounters such a woman will be labeled as less than a man, and she who has the “dentata” will be labeled a monster.

Not much to be surprised about in our culture, but there is a film that imagines this scenario taking place in Middle American suburbia. It’s called Teeth, and it’s quite the little nasty horror piece directed by Michael Lichtenstein. The main character, Dawn, a pretty and proper blonde haired, blue-eyed teenager, has always had suspicions that something is a bit “off” down there. It all started when she was a little girl and her stepbrother cut his finger when he attempted to touch her between the legs in the kiddy pool. Though the true specifics of this encounter are hazy and curious. She doesn’t like to remember that.

            Nor has Dawn done any exploring of her own in the region. With a shining chastity ring on her finger, she gives rousing addresses on the importance of remaining “pure” until marriage. The other young people in the Promise Ring group look to up to Dawn, and she is enraptured with her choice and the attention it gives her. But refraining from sexual intercourse is a bit more complicated than simply wearing a ring. The cute, nice-seeming male group member who Dawn has a huge crush on takes her swimming in a beautiful natural pool with a cascading waterfall. It’s idyllic and sweet. Soon, their obvious desire for each other leads the young man to believe that this is the moment when he will have sex whether Dawn is a willing participant or not. But he’s in for a bloody surprise when he attempts to force himself on her body. There’s a loud snap and, when he pulls back, not all of him comes away in its proper place.

            It’s a shocking scene for both male and female viewers. The act of castration in such an unexpected way is definitely gruesome, and the image of it will cause nearly everyone to gag in horror. But for me, I was more horrified by the near rape of Dawn when she’d been so happy and infatuated with this seeming-perfect boy a moment before. After that snap, however, he certainly is shown to be less of a perfect male specimen than previously believed.

            The film plays with us in its swift oscillations from intense earnestness to facetious cheekiness throughout. At first terrified by the knowledge of her “condition,” Dawn fears she will never be able to function as a normal young woman. But then, after a few more unwanted encounters, she begins to realize the power she has to take revenge on those men who believe, in some conscious way or not, that “No” is not the right answer. Dawn embraces this gift and goes from naïve “Promise Keeper” to someone with quite the sense of personal agency. It’s at once a fun and frightening transformation to watch happen on screen. And it’s easy to feel sorry for every one involved in the mayhem that ensues, no matter how much he might deserve it.

Review of the film Black Swan

           Bloody, grisly repetition. Turn, leap, spin, lift, again and again and again. Go to bed, wake up early, go to practice, return home, eat dinner, wash, go back to bed. The daily recurrence of rehearsal until toes are bleeding, until arms shake uncontrollably, until one vomits with fatigue and queasiness. What one will do for art. Constant practice in order to gain perfection. Pushing oneself to the brink of exhaustion with the process. Burn the memory of each movement into one’s body and mind. All for that one performance, one moment when everyone is watching and waiting. The pressure of this moment lives within one’s chest, growing, weighing against the ribs as breath is brought in and pushed out. Will the moment be breakdown or breakthrough?

            Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan tells the story of a young prima ballerina’s rise to this moment from an intensely close angle. Nina, played by Natalie Portman, has just been given the role of her life, the Swan Queen, in the New York ballet season opener, Swan Lake. The problem is that the Swan Queen is a dual role—there is the virginal and refined White Swan, for which Nina’s  obsessive perfectionism is well suited—then there is the Black Swan, seductive and fevered. The lecherous company manager, played by Vincent Cassel, has doubts that Nina can find the passionate abandonment and dark sexuality required for the part.

            There is little uncertainty that Nina is sheltered. Frigid is a word that falls from the mouths of others in the company. She lives with her mother who has put everything into Nina’s ballet career and is always there to fret over any sign of problem with her daughter’s being. So little space exists between them that one can safely assume that Nina has never been out with a boy, let alone had any sexual encounters before now. She watches the newest company member, Lily, as she dances the Black Swan effortlessly. She covets Lily’s easy sexuality and lack of inhibition.

            Nina is neurotic with inhibition. She dreams vividly about the production. The intense process of practice and the pressure of the starring role begin to wear on her psyche. There are paranoid and strange visions, heightened experiences, instances of self-afflicted harm that turn out to be suspect, people speaking things that may have never been said. Is Nina hallucinating? This mystery is vital to the story’s unfolding. It goes back to that moment of performance; is it breakdown or breakthrough? There is something beyond perfection in art, where one reaches a place or moment of transcendence—muscle memory, echoes of training, take over and we are lost in what is occurring at our hands and minds. It gives one the power to create something that pulsates within others, leave them breathless for however long. Nina finds this space of transcendence, where she is more than perfect and her performance guides the throbbing of the audience’s collective heart. But is it to the demise of her sanity?

            Aronofsky wants to say something profound about the process of art, and he goes about it with a nightmarish and lurid style that is sure to leave the audience disarmed. It is a fascinating film, at times darkly and passionately absurd as well as beautiful and viscerally affecting. But is it wrong that the director does it using such sexist tropes? Black Swan’s story centers on feminine breakdown, but it seems like such a man’s view. This throws off my notion of the film as saying something true. It’s certainly sincere and well done. However, the dated use of the virgin/whore dichotomy is far from groundbreaking. There is also the overbearing and emotionally stifling mother, the lecherous father figure, and the abundance of neuroses overly-attributed to women throughout history.

Perhaps I am simply overanalyzing that which is just supposed to be fiction. I tend to do that a lot. But I do believe it’s important to view pieces of popular entertainment with some degree of healthy scrutiny. Movies are vehicles of our collective culture, and they say something about the way in which our society thinks about certain subjects. Perhaps this is simply and only Aronofsky’s angle on femininity, but, considering he is a much-lauded filmmaker, I find Black Swan curious and engagingly problematic. That is not to say that I don’t admire its audacity.

Review of the film Inglorious Basterds

The Quentin Tarantino film Inglorious Basterds deserves to be seen multiple times. The first instance it is witnessed, there isn’t much that can be made of what has transpired, other than it was highly entertaining. This is a piece that people will talk about, and it will be brought up again and again in the future. After watching Basterds, there is certainly no forgetting it was experienced.

It won’t be surprising in a Tarantino film but the level of graphic violence can be disturbing, even nauseating. This is the director unrestrained, not that he’s ever been very restrained in the first place. Now, though, he is creating historical fiction of the ultimate entertaining nature. Genres are mixed, and there is an undercurrent of significance with this one:  People may take the violent manner of the crime underworld—the one Tarantino has shown us before—lightly, but very few would take lightly in the same way the horror of World War II.

            Be assured, however, this is a rousing revenge story with strong and vivid characters, larger than life, bordering on satirical. Beginning in Nazi-occupied France, viewers meet those who hunt the Jews and their leader, Col. Hanz Landa played with finesse and gravitas by Christoph Waltz. He is at once at terrifying character—intensely dubious, mannered, witty and intelligent—and he is almost besmirched by what he does and at those who hide from him in vain. Under the floorboards of the idyllic country house that his patrol visits is his quarry, and, though for a time they remain hidden, it is obvious to all that they will be revealed and captured. Their heads already belong to him. Col. Landa is only toying with them and the sincere and frightened homeowner he slowly questions with increasing tension. Upon the eventual unveiling of the Jewish family, there are many shots fired, but through the doorway viewers glimpse a young woman escaping, sprinting in her skirts towards the horizon. Col Landa allows her to disappear over the hill.

Then there are the Nazi hunters, the Basterds, led by Brad Pitt’s American Southern-style Lt. Aldo Raine. These men strive to each bring in 100 Nazi scalps. It is with relish that they commit their acts and their visages are notorious among the population that they terrorize. Even if a Nazi under their capture isn’t immediately recollecting of these men, he will be so soon enough. The weapons of death the band of hunters use become the red letter for their captives—there is a flicker of recognition, just before their demise.

Last, there is Shosanna played by Melanie Laurent. She is a beautiful proprietress of a movie theater in Nazi-occupied France. She works feverishly to secure the premiere screening of the newest Nazi propaganda film and the attendance of the highest-ranking members of the party. Moving towards this goal, she strides cautiously but diligently through danger and suspicion. Using her wiles and personal strength to navigate this war-ravaged landscape, at moments of great peril she is nearly trembling with her fear and her desire.

In Basterds, these three characters build the story Tarantino wishes to tell. They inhabit a universe at once similar but then again, much grander and artful than our own. The ensuing events are fictional and not meant to be understood as otherwise. Despite the realization that this experience is meant to be so, this movie produces in me a strange reaction. It’s highly engaging and well done, well acted and produced. But there is a problem in my conscience. The Nazis were horrible; I know this—the majority is in agreement. The violence they committed against the Jewish people and the rest of the world was unspeakable and beyond comprehension. And there is something to be said for bloody revenge—there is something so satisfying in seeing Tarantino’s Nazi hunters dispensing with their targets, especially in the artful manner in which these executions are carried out. The notion that many of the hunters are Jews only makes the deserved carnage more pleasingly entertaining.

            However, this is where I begin to question my and so many others’ satisfaction. Perhaps I want to be too much of a pacifist. Is it wrong to wish that atrocities are not visited upon those who commit atrocious acts as well? It seems like this film’s premise is falling into the notion that violence in revenge is excusable. But my bleeding heart says that this seems like a cycle—that violence begets violence, and killing one, no matter what acts that one has perpetrated, will not stop the killing of others. There should have been no atrocity in the first place. What the Nazis did was wrong; what they did should never have been done. Can’t we go back to that—the first acts should have been prevented, stopped by those people who had the power to do so, right? I guess I must simply remind myself of the fictional nature of the story.

In the meantime, Tarantino makes the ultimate coup of history, doing that on film what has only been discussed infinitely by so many. His is a lingering achievement of verve and sly intent. I only wish I weren’t so troubled by my enjoyment in the carnage of the affair. This is one I will revisit.

Review of the film Winter's Bone

 A rural sheriff arrives. He explains the situation slowly and does not elaborate. A 17 year old girl listens; she already knows what she has to do. Behind her is the backwoods cabin she lives in with her two younger siblings and catatonic mother. She takes care of them, makes sure they are provided for and healthy, and the weight of that responsibility leans on her shoulders as she faces the sheriff. “I’ll find him,” she says in a quiet but certain manner.

This scene begins the Debra Granik directed film Winter’s Bone. The person that the 17 year old girl, Ree, must find is her father. He has disappeared and, having put the house up as collateral for bond, he must be found. If he is not, Ree and her family will be turned out of their home and surely separated. Her father was a meth cooker; his whereabouts have been unknown to the family for quite some time. There have been rumors that he is dead; Ree must then prove this if it is indeed true.

So a young woman sets out with unnerving persistence to find her father—whether it be a man alive or his body to substitute. Ree moves through a treacherous landscape among the meth-ravaged Ozarks territory.  This is land that is harsh in many respects—the unkind weather, the poor economy, the mistrustful and secretive nature of the people. Immediately she is marked with suspicion by those she pushes with questions. It is clear that there is a trail to follow, but it is one that all wish to keep secret. Ree continues with daring aptitude to interrogate those she suspects know her father’s present or final location. The threat of violence is overwhelming and imminent as she navigates through this mystery. It looms in the space between people’s words and right in front of their stares. It lurks in the angle at which a woman turns in the doorway or the way a man cocks the bend of his elbow. The culture of the drug trade touches everyone around, even those who want nothing to do with it.

This film gives viewers a glimpse of a world that some among us inhabit—steering aggressively around the law is the everyday nature of surviving. This reality of the drug trade has surrounded this place, but Ree strides through it with the unmovable faith that people will do the right thing if one appeals to their humanity. Director Granik is able to focus on this humanity and thus avoid the clichés that could be so easily depicted in this kind of story. The film does not look down on these characters but inhabits the landscape with them. Most importantly, it gives us an unflinching and intelligent look at a young woman who is capable and brave, a woman of integrity we are unlikely to forget.

Review of the film Walkabout

Australia has a dirty history, much like every country on this earth, but it is just as true and filthy as those. The clean and beautiful lines of the buildings and roadways that snake around the perimeter of that island continent were not always present; their history is new and built on the soil of an older culture. Move inland from these glittering cities on the cusp of the sea and one will find traces of that older culture—one of the oldest on the planet. One sees the outback, an immense stretch of landscape that has shaped that culture and will continue to shape it beyond the time that those gleaming structures of the cities possess. Director Nicholas Roeg places us in this landscape, along with its sordid history, as simply as opening a beautiful picture book.           

The film opens on a brick wall, ordinary and weathered. The camera pans to the side and reveals a vast expanse of desert. Walkabout is a dream—events happen out of order, connect but do not to one another, people speak but others cannot hear the words, moments of great beauty are intercut with grotesquerie, things which have never been expressed are understood and then forgotten, great swaths of time lapse but then circle back on themselves. Somewhere there is a story, somewhere there is a message—we seem to always have faith in that no matter what—but it is muddled by the illusive nature of the telling.

            Like that brick wall, it begins as a simple story—two white children of middle class background and nature lost in the wild outback desert. They are found and saved from exposure by a young Aboriginal boy who is on a “walkabout.” This is a custom of many of the Aboriginal tribes where male youths must go out into the wilderness and survive for six months on their own before being declared men. He offers them water and food, and they follow him through the landscape and a series of adventures until finally coming to something that they recognize as civilization. It is, at first, like a children’s adventure tale with the animals of the land watching them serenely as they pass by on their journey.
            However, there is an intense undercurrent of sentiments and ideas that go much deeper than that simple story. This sense of deeper significance continues as the Aboriginal boy leads the two white children through the outback, foraging for what they need to survive. As he stalks and kills animals for food, there are flashes of a butcher chopping at a carcass, filleting the meat for sale and consumption. Traveling through a rocky outcropping near the base of some foothills, the three children pass by so closely to a house that it is just a ridge that blocks their view and knowledge of it, though we find that the Aboriginal boy is aware of its existence. It is never made truly clear why he did not show them that small outcropping of civilization.
            There is an absence of clear communication between the girl and the Aboriginal boy. He speaks to her in his language, rattling off words in her direction, following her around the cabin they come to near the end of the story. He seems infinitely interested in her, but this interest does not appear to be reciprocated. As she looks through an old collection of photos belonging to those who once lived in the house, she cries quietly. It looks as if she is only interested in the life that she inhabited before and not in this new landscape that she has been led through. This is an adventure that she has experienced; it was not all unpleasant, but now she is ready to return to the city. The Aboriginal boy’s courtly advances fall to her backside as she continually turns from him. There will be no communion between the two.
            What made the Aboriginal boy think that this was a possibility? Perhaps something she did made him believe it, a smile or posture, perhaps he dreamed it, imagined it as they wandered through the outback together. The concluding lines of the story seem deeply pessimistic. But one must understand that time in the Aboriginal world is not viewed in the same straight linear manner as in the world of the cities.  And the film honors this in many of its scenes. Viewers are not sure if they every truly occurred, but there are images that linger from the film which give the impression of that possibility the Aboriginal boy may have felt. They are indelible, and when we last see the girl as a young woman later in her life, we are certain that she cannot forget them either, whether dreamed or realized.