The Squid and the Whale

I've just come back from my second trip to the cinema in a week. Amazing what you can do when you aren't in an office all day every day, oh and on the bus for two hours as well.

First was "Caché," or "Hidden," a psychological thriller (by Peter Haneke) which was ultimately aboutcoming to terms with the past. Interestingly - I guess - the threatening videos which are being made of the comings and goings of a Parisian family turn out to be the objective correlative of the unrecognised childhood guilt of the father (Daniel Autueil).

"The Squid and the Whale" feels like a much more personal film, set in the middle of a family break-up in Brookyn in 1986. Personal to me, that is, I guess, and produced by the same team (partly) as "The Royal Tennenbaums." Both these films are about what happens to you if you repress your feelings, and in both films it is the father of the household who has been hiding specifically behind his intellect. Cordoned-off emotions in Caché literally lead to death - but as there is also a political correlation going on it's not the death of the guilty party (sorry if you haven't seen the movie yet; let's say it's the chicken). In "The Squid and the Whale" things are a bit more hopeful, with the kids finally getting the point at the end of the story. Both films are a little heavy-handed.

EVERY review says that "The Squid and the Whale" is funny. I suppose there is clever dialogue, and I admit the trailer seems as if it might be funny. Moments. But in fact the thing is painful all the way through in the manner of "My Life as a Dog." People laughed at that, when it came out. I laughed the first time I saw it. I laughed less the second time. The third time I felt it was the most depressing film I'd ever seen.

Half an hour in I realised "The Squid and the Whale" was making me want to bang my head against a wall. The picture above, which is obviously not from the movie, is full of the element the characters could most use: cooling, refreshing water.

Both of these films dissect the way a certain stratum of society operates: the intelligentsia. Daniel Autueil's character presents a TV talk show of the "Late Review" sort; Jeff Daniels' character is a writing professor and waning novelist. Autueil's dining room is, literally, a wall of books - and the set of his talk show is a simulated wall of books. I liked this detail: when he goes for a slightly ominous meeting with his producer - the station isn't sure they want his show for the next season - there's a small stack of badly-piled books next to a pillar. Jeff Daniels' character interprets life through snobby critical judgements - "a minor work," "the 'filet' of the neighbourhood," "not really 'serious'." He praises books: "very dense." A touch I liked was near the beginning, before we fully realise that this character blames everything on everyone but himself - a man who sacked his agent because the man made a disparaging comment about the Knicks at a cocktail party, and now feels bitter because he's not getting published - when the camera passes in a leisurely way past his side table, with a copy of Saul Bellows' "The Victim" on it.

In both films the women are discounted by the men, though not by the filmmakers.