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"The Celebration" Offers A Dysfunctional Home Movie.
By Poly Higgins
HOME MOVIES ARE enjoyable because of their lack of structure.
The point isn't to capture beautiful shots, present a cohesive
narrative or follow a main character, but instead to construct
a collage that offers a general impression of a particular gathering
or event. The result might not be an accurate overview, but at
least it lacks an overbearing sense of authorship that guides
the audience to focus on particular scenes, props, or moments
of dialogue. The Celebration, described by director Thomas
Vinterberg as a Post-Digital Neorealist film, offers viewers a
similar look at a bourgeois Danish family assembled for the 60th
birthday party of the patriarch, Helge Klingenfeldt. The approach
is appropriate and compelling, as the camera becomes yet another
partygoer who aggressively pursues a realistic group portrait.
Vinterberg and friend Lars Von Trier (Breaking the Waves,
The Idiots) received attention at Cannes last spring in
part because of their filmmaking manifesto, Dogma 95, and the
"Vow of Chastity" they signed with two other Danish
directors. Both documents are a response to what they consider
the overuse of new technologies in contemporary moviemaking, from
special effects to post-dubbed sound, as they distract from the
exploration and development of the characters. Drawing upon conventions
of 1940s Neorealist films such as The Bicycle Thief, they
pledge to adhere to rules such as only shooting on location, recording
all sound while filming, and using hand-held cameras and natural
light.
The Celebration was shot with a lightweight video camera,
and this helps to provide viewers with a fly-on-the-wall look
at the inner workings and problems of a seemingly successful and
functional family. The camera travels independently from character
to character, following them throughout a huge estate. This, coupled
with the editing, contributes to the varied pacing of the story;
it begins frenetically as friends and family arrive in fast cars
with screaming kids, and ends calmly after the Klingenfeldt skeletons
have been exposed.
The loosely structured narrative is anchored by an incredibly
long celebratory dinner, which consists of multiple courses, tangential
chatter, alcohol-soaked outbursts and declarations of family secrets.
The over-30 diners as well as a staff of servants all contribute
to this portrait, though the birthday boy's adult children are
particularly important. Michael, desperate to inherit the family
business, is a loud, wife-beating drunk; Helene, oblivious to
the family's problems by choice, is a chain-smoking anthropologist;
Christian, suspiciously quiet, is a successful restaurateur; and
Linda, Christian's twin, is dead, having committed suicide two
months earlier. During the first course of a yummy seafood-based
soup, Christian, in the first of many toasts, announces that he
and Linda were raped by their father throughout their childhood.
The reaction to Christian's news is a striking nonreaction, and
at this moment the lack of a post-dubbed soundtrack becomes especially
obvious. As most movie music tends to be incredibly manipulative,
its absence becomes especially noticeable. All that is heard after
his announcement is the ambient noise of silverware clacking,
and this focuses attention on Christian and how uncomfortable
and vulnerable he feels. It's hard not to imagine that if this
were usual commercial fare, "Lonely Boy" or some other
soundtrack-friendly song would by playing in the background.
Though Christian's storyline is important, as it clearly exposes
the rotten core of his family, all of the attendees have varying
degrees of personal baggage and neuroses that feed the overall
soap opera. And when the kitchen staff hides their car keys, the
guests are forced to stay and see this wealthy family in all its
twistedness.
The two-hour film is done in close-to-real time, as the actual
dinner covers only a few hours. This also helps flesh out the
characters, because we primarily see them engaged in mundane activities.
It is through these everyday actions that we are provided with
the essence of this group, as Michael assaults his wife, Helene
pops pills, a family friend complains of depression, and a senile
grandfather makes the same toast twice. All details, large and
small, are given equal screen time.
The Celebration is satisfying because it's thematically
focused and stylistically open. Most viewers can dip into their
own lives to connect with the pervasivness of family melodrama,
and this is facilitated by the emotionally driven (rather than
plot-driven) characters. At the same time, however, the audience
is not guided by a strong directorial presence. The camera offers
much to look at, and we decide what is important. Personally,
watching my sister on video doing the funky chicken at a wedding
is just as interesting, if not more so, than the ceremony itself.
Viewing The Celebration, I felt the same kind of pleasure
in discovering these family members through a series of character-defining
vignettes.
The Celebration is playing at the Catalina
(881-0616) cinemas.
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