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Carol is another movie getting major buzz from Cannes. It's adapted from the Patricia Highsmith novel The Price of Salt and stars Cate Blanchett, Rooney Mara, Kyle Chandler, and is directed by Todd Haynes.

 

The Guardian's Peter Bradshaw: "Todd Haynes’s Carol is an amour fou which plays out with sanity and generosity: it is a superbly realised companion piece to his 50s Sirkian drama Far From Heaven and an overt homage to Lean’s Brief Encounter. The film is based on Patricia Highsmith’s 1952 novel The Price of Salt, about the love affair between a virginal shopgirl and the beautiful older married woman that she serves in the pre-Christmas rush in a Manhattan department-store: they are played here by Rooney Mara and Cate Blanchett. Just occasionally, along with the classic echoes, Carol has the obsessive frisson of Nic Roeg’s Bad Timing and – with the flourishing of a revolver – Haynes conjures a fraught kind of Nabokovian despair and futile melodrama."

 

Justin Chang: "An exquisitely drawn, deeply felt love story that teases out every shadow and nuance of its characters' inner lives with supreme intelligence, breathtaking poise and filmmaking craft of the most sophisticated yet accessible order."

 

Todd McCarthy: "Blanchett makes an indelible impression as a woman who, through breeding, intense personal cultivation and social expectations, has brilliantly mastered the skill of navigating through life, but to ultimately disastrous effect on her husband, child and her own satisfaction. It has all, of course, been a charade, and what is impressive is that Carol has the strength to even try to change course after so many years.

 

The roughly half-as-old Therese is unformed clay, which makes her largely a reactive character most of the way. But Mara really comes into her own in the story’s latter stages as, without overt melodrama, Therese realizes what she wants. Thanks largely to how Mara shapes her characterization in the home stretch, the final, dialogue-free scene is a knockout.

It's the side effects that save us.
--The National, "Graceless"
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  • 5 months later...

Jeffrey Wells on the new poster for Carol:

carolsnow460.jpg

 The big red car between them seems to symbolize a barrier of some kind, but it also seems to say “hey, folks, it’s holiday time!” There are happy snowflakes falling all around them, of course, which is more than you can say for Starbucks’ Red Cup. Snowflakes = holiday mirth = Santa Claus = Jesus. The poster seems to basically be saying “if Starbucks isn’t Christian enough for you, Carol will step in and fill that void because we believe in holiday values.” Except for the girl-on-girl aspect, of course, but who’s to say love-struck lesbians don’t value Christianity and Christmas?

P.S.  I COULD BE WRONG.

 

Takin' 'er easy for all you sinners at lookingcloser.org. Also abiding at Facebook and Twitter.

 

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Has anyone here seen this?

I thought it was impeccably crafted, but it's more a movie I admired than one I enjoyed. It's grounded by two fantastic performances, and director Todd Haynes has a great sense of atmosphere and pacing, but it all felt too carefully calculated. I thought Blanchett did a great job of portraying a woman imprisoned by the cultural double standards of the '50's; she's calculated her whole life based on doing what she wants while appearing as cultural norms dictate, and Blanchett's mannerisms convey that tension exceedingly well. Rooney Mara was fantastic as a young, insecure woman who is still trying to sort out what she wants out of life. It's unbelievable that Mara's being touted as a supporting role, and considering that she is, she's probably going to be the front runner for the Oscar. (My predictions are notoriously terrible; watch as I'm wrong.)

There were a few scenes where I thought the "oppressive, anti-woman, anti-LGBT '50's" theme was laid on a little too thickly, although I did appreciate the scene when Therese's (Mara) boyfriend casually references his past affairs as if they're no big deal, and yet the idea of a woman having an affair is much more appalling. Granted, a lesbian affair would have been much more appalling, but that double standard regarding adultery flows so naturally out of the story that the moment works very well. On the other hand Carol (Blanchett) being slapped with a morality clause by her husband which would prohibit her from even seeing her daughter works less well, because it goes beyond portraying the injustice to making it a major plot point which is hammered out not to exhaustion, but far enough to feel overly calculated.

An early scene shows Therese and her boyfriend in a projector room watching the New Year's Eve party in Sunset Boulevard as Norma declares her love for Joe. Inserting that taboo relationship as a point of comparison almost seems to undermine the taboo romance at the center of Carol. For one thing, Carol is a far more sympathetic character than Norma, and Therese is a far more willing lover than Joe. However, it does raise an interesting point on how we as a culture treat people who engage in behavior considered socially unacceptable, even if it does recast Carol and Therese's affair as more tragic and unhealthy than, I think, the filmmakers intended. Or maybe I'm overthinking the use of Sunset Boulevard.

Edited by Evan C

"Anyway, in general I love tragic artists, especially classical ones."

"Even the forms for expressing truth can be multiform, and this is indeed necessary for the transmission of the Gospel in its timeless meaning."

- Pope Francis, August 2013 interview with Antonio Spadaro

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Haynes seems to me a rather limited filmmaker, his touted intertextuality a sort of crutch to compensate for a lack of originality. (I'll take any Rainer Werner Fassbinder over Far from Heaven, for instance.) But I agree about the performances in this one. Blanchett and Mara are both touchingly vulnerable. Even so, there's something slightly disturbing about how Carol oscillates between motherliness toward the virginal Therese and something more predatory, a tension that Haynes hardly acknowledges. It's unfashionable to say it, but this may be one of those instances in which sexual consummation demeans what might have been a great love story.

"A great film is one that to some degree frees the viewer from this passive stupor and engages him or her in a creative process of viewing. The dynamic must be two-way. The great film not only comes at the viewer, it draws the viewer toward it." -Paul Schrader

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2 hours ago, Nathaniel said:

Haynes seems to me a rather limited filmmaker, his touted intertextuality a sort of crutch to compensate for a lack of originality. (I'll take any Rainer Werner Fassbinder over Far from Heaven, for instance.) But I agree about the performances in this one. Blanchett and Mara are both touchingly vulnerable. Even so, there's something slightly disturbing about how Carol oscillates between motherliness toward the virginal Therese and something more predatory, a tension that Haynes hardly acknowledges. It's unfashionable to say it, but this may be one of those instances in which sexual consummation demeans what might have been a great love story.

Yes! As soon as the sex scene started, the first thing I thought of was Orson Welles and his comment that the two things he never believes in cinema are sex and prayer.

"Anyway, in general I love tragic artists, especially classical ones."

"Even the forms for expressing truth can be multiform, and this is indeed necessary for the transmission of the Gospel in its timeless meaning."

- Pope Francis, August 2013 interview with Antonio Spadaro

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there's something slightly disturbing about how Carol oscillates between motherliness toward the virginal Therese and something more predatory, a tension that Haynes hardly acknowledges.

 

I couldn't disagree more with this. Haynes is very intentionally working within exactly this tension. Patricia White's short but excellent piece is a good starting point.

 

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Yet Carol also refuses to offer a realistic picture of lesbianism. Viewers familiar with Haynes’s films, from the Barbie dolls of Superstar: The Karen Carpenter Story (1987) to the faux 1950s melodrama Far From Heaven (2002), would hardly expect that. Nor is its depiction of lesbians ahistorical or asexual. Some of its specificity and texture come from the much-loved source novel. The pseudonymously published, semiautobiographical The Price of Salt lacked the suicides and tragic renunciations of the lesbian pulp novels with which it shared bus depot paperback racks. The film adaptation preserves the lesbian looks and lust at the heart of the novel. Highsmith cruised the dyke bars of Greenwich Village and hooked up serially in artistic and society circles in New York and postwar Europe during and long after the “lavender scare” of McCarthy-era America. The paranoia that pervades her crime fiction also informs Carol’s plot of pursuit, wiretapping, and custody disputes, and the Waspy class fantasy that elevates Carol as love object gives Blanchett’s performance a creepy edge.

Rather than offer us psychologically rounded lesbian characters, the movie activates cinematic stereotypes for its own seductive purposes. At the heart of the romance is an intergenerational seduction fantasy. While the film renders this tastefully, there is no mistaking Carol’s kinship with predatory lesbians like Giovanna Galletti’s Fascist in Rome, Open City (1945), or Delphine Seyrig’s vampire in Daughters of Darkness (1971). As Richard Dyer notes, this type is commonly “shown positioned … behind the sexually indeterminate (i.e., she might go “either way”) woman … In this pose she appears to be trying to draw the indeterminate woman into her thrall, not by direct assault or honest seduction but by stealth." Carol approaches Therese in just such a way.

 

White illustrates the last point with images from earlier films.

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I stand corrected. One should never underrate Haynes's devotion to cinema history, especially when it comes to gay esoterica. But my point still stands. The tasteful rendering of a "creepy intergenerational seduction fantasy" is precisely what bothered me. But I also recognize that my reaction is a hopelessly subjective one, an attempt to resolve an issue that simply doesn't exist for many viewers. 

My other main objection to Carol is a purely aesthetic one. For reasons of their own, Haynes and Lachman decided to shoot in Super 16, which just doesn't look good when projected digitally. The result is a coarse, scratchy image that works against the very sensuality that the filmmakers seek to achieve. It's like trying to snuggle up to sandpaper. What a gross miscalculation from an otherwise excellent cinematographer! 

"A great film is one that to some degree frees the viewer from this passive stupor and engages him or her in a creative process of viewing. The dynamic must be two-way. The great film not only comes at the viewer, it draws the viewer toward it." -Paul Schrader

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The result is a coarse, scratchy image that works against the very sensuality that the filmmakers seek to achieve.

 

Why do you assume sensuality was their goal? I'm not trying to nit-pick, I promise! I've seen Carol two days in a row and am seriously considering going again tonight, so I'm doing a lot of digging to better understand why I'm so in love with this film. Ed Lachman spoke at length at the NYFF about their decision to shoot in Super 16, and I wonder if your aversion to the style is partly because it didn't meet your expectations? This isn't Far from Heaven or even the less-lush Mildred Pierce. Lachman talks about Carol being set in 1952, before Sirk's signature color films created a new template for Hollywood melodrama. He and Haynes conceived it more as a film noir.

I don't yet have the vocabulary for describing precisely why the film grain is so essential to my experience of Carol, but it is!

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I thought the graininess added immensely to the bygone '50's era the filmmakers were trying to achieve.

I'm still mulling the film over. So far, I think I agree with D'Angelo's take the most, although I think his quibbles were slightly more problematic than just quibbles.

"Anyway, in general I love tragic artists, especially classical ones."

"Even the forms for expressing truth can be multiform, and this is indeed necessary for the transmission of the Gospel in its timeless meaning."

- Pope Francis, August 2013 interview with Antonio Spadaro

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I haven't read a single interview with Haynes about the film, so I can only assume what his goals were. If he was trying to achieve something more transgressive, then the gamble was almost completely lost on me. All I know is that it's hard to enter emotionally into a scene--especially a love scene--when the photography turns the actors' skin into the color of uncooked chicken. Unless I somehow manage to see the film projected in 16mm, I'm unlikely to change my mind about this.

As for the characters, I, at least, don't know what to make of Carol's "motherly lover," or Haynes's attitude toward her. If you ever find the vocabulary, Darren, I'd be curious to hear your take!

"A great film is one that to some degree frees the viewer from this passive stupor and engages him or her in a creative process of viewing. The dynamic must be two-way. The great film not only comes at the viewer, it draws the viewer toward it." -Paul Schrader

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If he was trying to achieve something more transgressive, then the gamble was almost completely lost on me.

 

Now I probably am nit-picking, but only because I use "transgressive" in another context below. ;) I think this film is as beautiful as anything I saw this year--maybe the most beautiful film I saw this year. I respect your taste, so I'm now curious to try to figure out why we've had such radically different responses to the same images. I was talking with another cinephile friend today who's in your camp and who told me he envies all of the Carol fanatics because he didn't have that kind of rapturous experience with any film in 2015.

 

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As for the characters, I, at least, don't know what to make of Carol's "motherly lover," or Haynes's attitude toward her. If you ever find the vocabulary, Darren, I'd be curious to hear your take!

 

I wish I had some expert knowledge in this arena, because otherwise I'm left to speculate and make general assumptions. But, for what it's worth, picking up from Patricia White's essay, which I linked to earlier, Highsmith's novel (which I've read and like a great deal) is working with certain pulp tropes--tropes that are titillating to heterosexual male readers/viewers, certainly, but that also apparently have an iconic resonance with lesbians. The power imbalances are myriad: wealthy/poor, worldly/naive, experienced/virginal, maternal/daughterly, old/young (I mean their naked bodies; the sex scene is critical if for no other reason than Carol's line, "I never looked like that"), large/small (Blanchett seems to tower over Mara). When you add sexual desire to those imbalances, you step into psycho-social minefields that are too complex to address in a forum post, but here's the crux of it: How does an artist in 2015 speak to the wild transgression of Carol's choice in 1950s America? And in case there's any confusion, I mean the choice she makes in her attorney's office.

I hope this will become a conversation because I don't have time right now to write through these ideas, but I was moved by a series of tweets from a friend today--a friend who's queer and happens to live in NYC.

 

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to those who think CAROL is "cold": what about queer relationships in the 1950s suggests warmth, given the future the characters faced? Especially that it took until *this year* for the US to formally honor queer marriages. The film is more weary than anything, not cold or distant. Carol and Therese have a lifetime of "roommate" status to look forward to.

 

Ken, I'm certainly glad I saw it on a large screen.

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"I wish I had some expert knowledge in this arena, because otherwise I'm left to speculate and make general assumptions."

I am stuck right here with Carol. I have no reference point for understanding the relationship and its nuances. I understand the film is introducing me to these issues. But I remain really confused, because I am not sure which aspects of the tensions to prioritize or identify as that which (a) Haynes/Highsmith is attempting to call into being and which (b) is just kind of fallout. I better connect to a Denis or Akerman approach to depicting sex, power, and identity - so my ignorance may be a function of my inability to connect with Haynes.

 

"...the vivid crossing of borders between film and theology may save the film from the banality of cinema and festival business, and it may also save the church from the deep sleep of the habitual and the always known."

(Hans Werner Dannowski)

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Funny, because I don't have any intellectual point of reference either, yet I keep saying that the highest compliment I can give Carol is that it gives me a very real sense of watching two people fall in love, which is a remarkably rare experience for me in the cinema. It's not something I've ever felt from a Denis film, for example.

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Haven't seen the film yet, but as far as the "predatory" thing goes, I think that's actually implied in the poster at the top of this thread -- the way Cate Blanchett gazes at Rooney Mara while Mara is looking somewhere else. Whatever things that poster might suggest, mutuality and reciprocity are not among them.

"Sympathy must precede belligerence. First I must understand the other, as it were, from the inside; then I can critique it from the outside. So many people skip right to the latter." -- Steven D. Greydanus
Now blogging at Patheos.com. I can also still be found at Facebook, Twitter and Flickr. See also my film journal.

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I'm still mulling over Peter's use of the words "mutuality" and "reciprocity." Carol, I think, requires a viewer to experience viscerally the transgression of the power imbalances while also understanding that it is mutual and reciprocal--that Carol and Therese are both freely acknowledging and enjoying the imbalance and that the transgression itself is potentially beautiful and healing for them both. In that sense it's something more than just a metaphor for the transgression of being queer in the 1950s; it's an aesthetic instantiation of the physical/emotional relief generated by that transgression. In that amazing final shot/reverse-shot, there's finally the deep, satisfying pleasure of hope and potential.

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I hesitate to go further after a single screening of Carol, but since Darren has opened up the conversation...

With regard to choice of film stock, I feel like critics are praising intention over achievement. It's an interesting, intelligent choice to use an archaic format to evoke a bygone period. But it seems obvious to me that digital exhibition has changed the intended meaning. If a film is shot in 16, I want to see it in 16. What we're experiencing here is a "denatured" (to borrow Richard Brody's phrasing) version of film grain. And that's important, somehow. A film's surface is its skin; it can entice or it can alienate. And although it requires specialized knowledge to make an image (and Haynes and Lachman have fussed over this one considerably), it does not take an expert to size up a film's material accomplishment as it appears onscreen. That's why I don't get the critics' quotes proclaiming Carol as "sumptuous" and so forth. The lighting and camera placement are impeccable (in that slightly suffocating, closed-frame, Haynesian sort of way), but digital exhibition has rendered the images coarse, the color corroded. 

But if that sounds too picky, I'm afraid my discomfort with the film is also on a more basic level. I am clearly struggling to understand the characters and their choices, as well as the director's attitude toward them. The more I read about the film, the more confused I become. Is it love or manipulation? Is Carol sympathetic or sinister? Is the style melodrama or something closer to noir? Is it tasteful or transgressive? Is it transgressive because it's tasteful? (Thank you, John Waters.) Darren's most recent comment is about as concise a reading as I could hope for, but it further alienates me from the characters. We clearly inhabit different universes. And then there is the high-minded, vaguely condescending way Haynes retreats into the past in order to comment on the present. Couldn't you make the same point--wouldn't it be more daring--to take an old pulpy story along with an old style and transplant it into a contemporary setting, as Fassbinder did with Ali: Fear Eats the Soul

Anyway, it's obvious there are others who will enjoy Carol on a deeper level than I have. I can admire it for the acting and the period detail, but that's about it.

"A great film is one that to some degree frees the viewer from this passive stupor and engages him or her in a creative process of viewing. The dynamic must be two-way. The great film not only comes at the viewer, it draws the viewer toward it." -Paul Schrader

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The more I read about the film, the more confused I become. Is it love or manipulation? Is Carol sympathetic or sinister? Is the style melodrama or something closer to noir? Is it tasteful or transgressive?

You used the word "tension" earlier. Change every "or" to "and" in the above and you find the source of the tension. The only word here I'd quibble with is "sinister." I don't think there's anything sinister about Carol's behavior. Sinister implies malevolence, cruelty, exploitation, and the violation of essential laws. Nothing of the sort happens in Carol. I keep using the word "transgression" instead because it implies the breaking of socially constructed norms--all of the things I described as power imbalances in my earlier post. (I'd oppose "transgressive" with "conforming" rather than "tasteful.") The more I watch and think about Carol, the more it reminds me of one of my all-time favorite films, In a Lonely Place, which is also difficult to classify.

That distinction between sinister and transgressive is exactly why a film set in 1952 is categorically different from one in 2015. The essential laws haven't changed, but the socially constructed norms certainly have. It would never occur to me to describe Carol as a retreat into the past or condescending.

 

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That's why I don't get the critics' quotes proclaiming Carol as "sumptuous" and so forth. The lighting and camera placement are impeccable (in that slightly suffocating, closed-frame, Haynesian sort of way), but digital exhibition has rendered the images coarse, the color corroded.

That's a nice description of the images. I said the film is beautiful, and to me "coarse and corroded" and "beautiful" aren't mutually exclusive. (I agree that the images aren't "sumptuous" -- at least not as the word is typically used in film criticism.) I watch a lot of contemporary experimental film that is shot on 8mm and 16mm but designed with digital exhibition in mind, and I don't have any qualms with it, so we'll have to agree to disagree on that.

Thanks for indulging me with this, Nathaniel. I've only been entranced like this by four new films in the past five or six years, so I appreciate having a good sparring partner as I try to better understand my obsession!

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I just read my friend Phil's piece at Cinema Scope and wanted to share this point, which also helps to explain why the period setting is so essential:

But if certain sorts of queer desire are no longer required to hide in public . . . Haynes and Nagy remain concerned with what retains its capacity for difference even within the form of arthouse normativity. In presenting a romance between two decidedly femme women, a fact which is indeed present in Highsmith’s novel (Haynes and Nagy retain the moment in which Therese encounters two women “in slacks” and immediately turns away, made obviously uncomfortable by their gaze),

the film draws out a more general ambiguity in female friendship, where physical and emotional affection have not yet been sheared away and placed squarely under the sign of homosexuality

. Cate Blanchett’s Carol Aird, in all of her overwhelming glamour, stunningly tailored suits, perfect coral nails, radiant blondness, and velvet drawl, is something near the ideal of that paragon of Cold War normativity: the suburban housewife. And Rooney Mara, who might have been Natalie Wood, could just as well have been a few years removed from a place on the homecoming court if she weren’t a girl of such strange temperament. . . .

What is at stake then is nothing more or less than the possibility of a queerness that remains undefined, one that emerges without precedent, and refuses to offer itself as a model of, or for, anything. It is a question of the specificity of a desire, one which is hardly settled, and the film’s period setting only serves to underscore its continuing resonance. . . . It’s impossible to overstate the social importance of images in both shifting the terms of acceptance and allowing individuals to better understand their own position: simply look at the confusion that pools in Mara’s eyes throughout the film’s early scenes, as she struggles to understand her situation in the absence of any image against which to check it. It’s hardly an accident that when our lovers come together for the film’s happy conclusion, Therese has begun to present herself in Carol’s image, arriving for tea in a stunning grey suit after spending most of the film in floppy dark wool skirts and sweaters. But even as Carol offers the therapeutic value of its images, its most thrilling pleasure is that its characters themselves, as Therese says so many times and Carol says memorably once, don’t know what they’re really feeling. They’re simply feeling it and acting on it as they can.

I bolded those three lines because they're so essential to the film and yet this hadn't occurred to me until I read Phil's piece. The words "gay" and "lesbian" are never spoken in the film. Instead, we get a lot of euphemisms: "women like you" (from Harge), "a pattern of behavior" (from the injunction), "what happened with Therese" (from Carol), "one of those Greenwich Village types" (from the guy at the party describing Carrie Bronwstein's character). All of this helps me better understand a scene that has always felt a bit clunky -- the conversation between Therese and Richard when she asks him if he's "ever fallen in love with a boy." It's a genuine question. She has no idea how common her feelings for Carol are. This circles back to my earlier quote from my friend who pointed out that, best-case scenario, Carol and Therese have decades of "roommate" status to look forward to. In 1952 there isn't even a vocabulary for describing--much less understanding or internalizing in a psychologically healthy way--what Carol and Therese feel for each other.

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So when I am uncomfortable during the film because I don't get it, I am really kind of getting it. As an aside, my wife and I underwent a massive sea change in our understanding of sexual identity when we became friends with several people in our church that had been or are in same sex relationships. Learning their stories meant coming to understand a struggle over deeply confusing desires and a life spent trying to name themselves in a society (and especially church!) that did not even have terms or labels for what they were experiencing. 

"...the vivid crossing of borders between film and theology may save the film from the banality of cinema and festival business, and it may also save the church from the deep sleep of the habitual and the always known."

(Hans Werner Dannowski)

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That's an important aside, I think, and it points out the obvious, which is that an evangelical-leaning arts & faith forum is an interesting place to be having this conversation! M, can you imagine if I'd made that essential law versus socially-constructed norm argument around here ten years ago? Then, I would've framed the social construct business in the critical language of postmodernism. And maybe it's a sign that that language won, or that it was more accurately describing society than I was willing to give it credit for at the time, but I really do see the power dynamics (old/young, rich/poor, etc.) in this film as being socially constructed and, therefore, ambiguous, shifting, and inessential. So, when you say you "don't get it," I think I know what you mean but I can't relate. (My own aside: Joanna and I have dear friends of Therese's generation who have been together for more than four decades, but it wasn't until they could get legally married that they finally dropped the roommates charade.)

M, any chance I can talk you into seeing Carol again? I'm dying to talk formalism with this one! Remember our discussion of Denis's avant-garde moves? Like, the pan up to the trees in U.S. Go Home? I knew I was going to love Carol a few minutes in when, soon after the opening credits, there's that amazing, non-linear, pure-sensation shot of Blanchett (see below) cut into a montage of toy trains. Then, a few minutes later, the camera looks at Rooney through a car window at night and the image turns abstract. I keep going back to see Carol again and again because shot to shot, cut to cut, it's the most excitingly, impeccably made film I've seen in years.

 

6-15B-2B-R-copy-620x348.jpg

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Just a quick note. I'm listening to a Q&A with Haynes and he makes the point that great love stories are typically told from the perspective of the person who is more vulnerable (he lifts Carol's framing device directly from Brief Encounter, for example) and that what excited him about the screenplay was realizing that, by the end of the story, the status of "more vulnerable" has shifted (at least in emotional/psychological terms) from Therese to Carol.

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Darren H wrote:
: . . . he lifts Carol's framing device directly from Brief Encounter, for example . . .

Oh, I wish that had occurred to me.

...And now that it does, I find the ending of Carol, which goes *beyond* the Brief Encounter framing device, a bit of a cop-out.

"Sympathy must precede belligerence. First I must understand the other, as it were, from the inside; then I can critique it from the outside. So many people skip right to the latter." -- Steven D. Greydanus
Now blogging at Patheos.com. I can also still be found at Facebook, Twitter and Flickr. See also my film journal.

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3 hours ago, Darren H said:

...by the end of the story, the status of "more vulnerable" has shifted (at least in emotional/psychological terms) from Therese to Carol.

Yes! That's what I love about the ending too. It makes sense to me that the inclusion of the party scene, with the introduction of Carrie Brownstein's character, was to show Therese gaining status and influence to a place where she could really choose Carol, with some serious agency, rather than just surrender to her.

Edited by Overstreet

P.S.  I COULD BE WRONG.

 

Takin' 'er easy for all you sinners at lookingcloser.org. Also abiding at Facebook and Twitter.

 

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