The Beach, the Psychology of Youthful Escapism, and the Consequences of Society

            Although elements of the plot seem contrived, themes loosely presented, and characters shallowly developed or marginalized, The Beach is a film that delves into the psyche and questions modern societal convention. Critical reception of the film admonishes its failure to adequately represent its literary counterpart, and scoffs at unnecessary scenes of romance and debauchery that were supposedly added for entertainment value. However, as J. Hoberman explains in his article “Bad Movies,” “…trash itself is not without its socio-aesthetic charms…a film had a dreamlike latent content—and this could be precipitated by deranging or bypassing the manifest content of its storyline” (Hoberman 517). The Beach is worth viewing because of its aesthetic and psychological resonance. The glaring discontinuities and impracticalities of the plot are secondary in relevance to the viewer’s experience with the film, and complementarily the viewer’s experience within society. San Francisco Chronicle reviewer Mick LaSalle asserts, “The Beach is a film that could easily be mocked. Its emotions are simple. The longings at its heart are naked, and many of its moments are plainly ridiculous…yet The Beach…taps into something powerful that can't be overwhelmed by individual moments of silliness” (LaSalle). As a “bad” movie, The Beach attempts to teach us about ourselves through exposing a subconscious mind jaded by technological stimulation, realizing the intangible concepts of love, life, and death, and challenging our perception of the creation of society.

            Leonardo DiCaprio’s character Richard is the protagonist of the story, and it is through his eyes that we experience the strange adventure of The Beach. Richard’s wide-eyed young-manhood idealizes his arrogance and lust for freedom, which lead him to abandon civilization and join a secret commune on an island off the coast of Thailand. Critics assert that the plot centers on Richard  “to divert us from the fact that there's not much going on. The picture is a cocoon around DiCaprio” (Mitchell). In addition to DiCaprio carrying the success of the film, The Beach becomes an unintended documentary of DiCaprio’s growth as an actor (Hoberman). Although the plot is somewhat shallow and implausible, DiCaprio’s coming-of-age performance as Richard gives the film a hopeful and energetic quality. Richard’s character arc in the narrative represents the inner turmoil that is perpetuated by a stifled, cold, technology-driven society—and the resulting chaos that comes with confronting suppressed desires. 

  Richard's Monologue

There is a particular moment in the film that makes us forget the marijuana fields, the six-pack abs, and other ridiculous aspects of the plot. Hoberman describes, “The ideal Surrealist spectator habitually broke open a film’s continuity to liberate individual images from the prison of the narrative” (Hoberman 518). Upon Richard’s return to the commune (after weeks of solitary exile), he discovers that his friend has been slowly and painfully dying from a severe shark attack. The other members of the commune could not deal with the reality of death, and shunned this man to die alone. Understanding that Richard could not save himself or his friends from danger with this dying man in tow, he takes it upon himself to end the man’s suffering. Although reviewer McCarthy from Variety describes the film as only “moderately compelling,” he goes on to explain that “no earthly paradise can presume to remain immune from the mix of good and evil, and of the constructive and destructive, in the world at large” (McCarthy). The few moments that it takes for Richard to suffocate his dying friend are the most resonant in the entire film, making clear the reality of life, death, and the consequences of the pursuit of pleasure.

            The commune on the island is a microcosm of society and depicts the fall of civilization from corruption and fear. In The Beach, there are only a few characters that are actually developed in the narrative. Paul Clinton from CNN laments, “…Everyone living in this paradise is reduced to cinematic wallpaper. Interesting dynamics could have been developed between the newcomers and the established members of this odd little group of travelers. But the audience is left only with Richard and his friends frolicking around and adjusting to their new living conditions” (Clinton). After his experience on the beach, Richard returns to modern civilization, technology, and superficiality. His journey is reduced to some dream-like memory that he looks back on fondly, where he learned humility and gratefulness; the potential themes and profound motifs are not developed enough to have significance in the narrative. LaSalle ties the loose presentation together by explaining, “The picture is also honest about the consequences of a society based entirely on pleasure…it’s about the horrors attending the emergence of a civilization” (LaSalle). Therefore, while the film does not fulfill its potential as a psychologically significant exposition on civilization and human relations, it touches on those themes enough to offer a brief understanding of the dangers of escapism and reliance on pleasure for happiness.  LaSalle concludes, “...It’s a movie to feel. Even when the thinking isn’t all there, the emotions are…” (LaSalle).

  The Fall

          Although much of the critical reception of The Beach is negative and renders it a “bad” movie, the film is worthy of consideration and re-evaluation because of its emotive quality. From Richard’s disassociation from advanced civilization, to his exotic journey through Thailand, to his transitory romance, to his psychological breakdown, and finally his acceptance of American culture, the viewer’s holistic perception of the film is nothing less than an emotional and thought-provoking experience. DiCaprio’s portrayal of Richard represents a wild manifestation of the typical coming-of-age narrative. It is “about a dream of youth,” and its underlying resonance “eventually sneaks up on the audience” (LaSalle). The observations and parallels that Richard makes about life on the beach and the outside world are “shrewd” and “biting,” and offer a unique interpretation of the dynamics of an emerging, self-regulated society (LaSalle). Elvis Mitchell of The New York Times analyzes, "Richard finds himself living the aphorism that has ruined the life of so many film protagonists: paradise breeds callousness, a marginal rethinking of beware the things you want, for you shall have them” (Mitchell). On the surface, The Beach is a negligent retelling of a fever dream novel. However, the questionable intention of the film inadvertently creates a “poignant, heightened realism by…a failure to convince,” and offers the viewer a glimpse into the conflicted, youthful subconscious (Hoberman). 

 

Blood Simple: A Coen brother film that entertains tragically and gruesomely, and lets us know why we should all have blinds on our windows—or at least be really good at throwing shoes.

From its film noir-esque dramatic irony and chiaroscuro technique, to the wide-eyed naivety of Frances McDormand’s Abby, to the brute violence and unsettlingly catchy soundtrack, Blood Simple is a Cohen brother classic. The suspenseful action and creepy nuances of the main characters will keep you hooked until the last gunshot.

 

 

            Caught up in a not-so-typical love triangle, Abby and her lover Ray (John Getz) are troubled by the antics of her bar owner husband Marty (Dan Hedaya), who is also Ray’s boss and a troubled man. The fervor with which both Ray and Marty act out for Abby centers her in the plot as a modern-day femme fatale. Amidst all the missed evidence, misconstrued conversations, and misplaced trust, Abby’s character arc is both saddening and empowering. McDormand’s portrayal of Abby—an unhappily wed, insecure, deer-in-headlights kind of woman—creates empathy in the viewer and establishes purpose in the plot. Without McDormand’s delicate movements and implied loveliness, Ray and Marty’s passion would be unfounded. 

 

            In a fit of rage, jealousy, and despair, Marty hires a detective (M. Emmet Walsh) to investigate the affair and rid his life of lost love and betrayal. However, his own greediness and seedy nature complicate the plot in a way that he does not expect. Also, there are scenes in which Abby and Marty lose their thoughts in pictures of their tainted marriage. These ambiguous scenes set a powerful mood for the film, suggesting that neither one knows what they really want or how to go about attaining it. The tragic series of events that follow the initial set-up make us wish that these people would all stop mumbling nonsense to each other and get the facts straight—although the conversations they have only serve to add more intrigue and mystery to their characters. 

            Furthermore, detective Visser has his own agenda to con Marty, Ray, and Abby that manifests itself in a complicated and sloppy criminal scheme. M. Emmet Walsh, much like Frances McDormand, is a key actor in this film. Visser is the cause of much of the confusion and fear that is sparked in each character, although he lurks in the shadows as an unknown presence for much of the film. His character’s sweaty, I-have-a-fly-on-my-face-but-I-don’t-care demeanor makes his deplorable actions so much more intriguing and eerie. The contrast between Abby’s bright but troubled persona and Visser’s detestable appearance and actions ultimately makes for an intense and dramatic showdown. This confrontation is one of the most memorable scenes in the film, and one of the most visually and aesthetically stimulating.

  

            The tone of the film is dark and gritty, and much of the action takes place at night or inside. The darkness is used to create an ominous feeling of foreshadowing and danger. We are drawn into these scenes, wondering who or what is behind the corner watching us—and why does no one cover their windows these days? Contrastingly, harsh and unforgiving lighting in some scenes heightens the drama and makes us uncomfortable but drawn into the storyline. A scene with Marty and Visser is made more unsettling by a loud rotating fan, ugly fluorescent lighting, and a bunch of dead fish that no one bothers to throw away. Also, soft morning light casts a feeling of distance and somber shock in scenes of moral dilemma and confusion. We watch as Ray smokes a cigarette in the morning, contemplating his actions for the day and from the night before—and we nervously laugh as his car doesn’t start. The audience becomes a character in the film, aware of the action but just as lost in the visual representation as the onscreen characters are in their purpose.

            As the Cohen brothers’ first film, Blood Simple is an entertaining cinematic experience. Although the premise is presented early in the film, the continual build-up of action and lack of sensible communication between the characters creates a tension that the viewer cannot resist. The emotional investment in the characters creates intrigue and a sense of yearning to see how the conflict is resolved. The film reads like a genre film noir, but the atypical progression of events, lack of moral resolve, and tense, dry humor serve to make the film more believable and watchable. Some may be bored by the lack of car chases or volume of gunshots, or annoyed by the self-conscious style of the Cohen brothers, but the film is witty, entertaining, and pleasantly gruesome. This unique twist on a genre film is what makes the Cohen brothers’ independent films works of art. The use of camera angles, lighting, music, and production design coalesce into a film that is somehow a love story, a murder mystery, and a beautiful tragedy all at once.