The third installation of Gus Van Sant's thematic "Death trilogy", Last Days was a film I came to with very high hopes. Having the day before seen both Paranoid Park and Elephant, two extremely fine films, I expected only the best from the experimental director.
Following troubled rock musician Blake through his titular time period, Last Days takes heavy inspiration from Kurt Cobain. Much like Elephant's inspiration, this will instantly reveal the conclusion of the film to just about anyone who encounters any coverage prior to viewing.
Almost certainly the most well known of the true stories which gave rise to this trilogy, the suicide of Kurt Cobain is yet another subject which Van Sant has come under controversy for electing to represent. It is important to note, however, that the heavy ties to Cobain do not exclusively mean that he and Blake are one and the same, more that this is Van Sant's interpretation of a period he perceives as entirely immune to objective interpretation. As we have seen develop as perhaps the most important aspect of this trilogy, Van Sant once more offers us poetic visuals, further developing his personal cinematic style, one which is deeply independent and highly unique for so (at least sometimes) mainstream an American director. Probably the best way in which I can summarise my thoughts on Last Days is this: where Elephant was Van Sant identifying everything that was truly great about Gerry—the cinematography, the tension, the ability to show rather than to tell—and adding to this the societal message, the depth, and the emotional involvement which that film lacked, Last Days is the opposite. With Last Days, Van Sant takes the indulgent tracking shots and the apparent sagacity which lacks in genuine meaning and runs amok with it. While Gerry was a deeply flawed film, misusing its dazzlingly beautiful visuals by offering nothing beneath to support them, Last Days is simply empty, a pseudo-artistic "exploration" of a poorly structured character. Even the visual splendour is somewhat reduced, giving hopefuls like me even less to cling to as we hope for something more. Pitt wanders about, occasionally stopping to don a dress or make macaroni, mumbling intensely to himself in an utterly incomprehensible manner. After perhaps half an hour, I started to wonder what was happening. How, after the majesty of Elephant, had Van Sant gone so wrong? Alas, it just carried on in the very same way, Pitt wandering around his nonlinear narrative, me staring in puzzlement at the screen and wondering why this character was so thinly sketched. The characterisation is frankly non-existent, a serious problem given that this is—or at least is supposed to be—a character drama. I have a great deal of patience for slow films, and an unbalanced adoration for recondite ones, but this simply has no method to its madness, nothing whatsoever to say, and no apparent justification for existing. There is one scene, in which Blake loops his instruments and jams with himself, which does something to assuage this onslaught of disappointment. The long take as the camera ever so slowly zooms out films all of this through a window, the vast stone walls a barrier between us and this character, his dark playing and lugubrious wails a brief glimpse into the tortured soul that lies beneath. The scene itself is nothing shot of mesmeric, but it is essentially the only thing of any merit in the film. It's a deep shame that such a wonderful piece of cinema should be featured in so poorly misjudged a mess of a film.
Astoundingly disappointing as a follow-up to Elephant, Last Days follows on the nonsensical navel-gazing of Gerry by multiplying it, and by giving us fewer pretty pictures to look at to distract us from the unfortunate lack of meaning. Were it not for the fact that I've already seen and loved Paranoid Park, his feature to follow this, it would be a long time before I felt ready to trust in Gus Van Sant again.
Following troubled rock musician Blake through his titular time period, Last Days takes heavy inspiration from Kurt Cobain. Much like Elephant's inspiration, this will instantly reveal the conclusion of the film to just about anyone who encounters any coverage prior to viewing.
Almost certainly the most well known of the true stories which gave rise to this trilogy, the suicide of Kurt Cobain is yet another subject which Van Sant has come under controversy for electing to represent. It is important to note, however, that the heavy ties to Cobain do not exclusively mean that he and Blake are one and the same, more that this is Van Sant's interpretation of a period he perceives as entirely immune to objective interpretation. As we have seen develop as perhaps the most important aspect of this trilogy, Van Sant once more offers us poetic visuals, further developing his personal cinematic style, one which is deeply independent and highly unique for so (at least sometimes) mainstream an American director. Probably the best way in which I can summarise my thoughts on Last Days is this: where Elephant was Van Sant identifying everything that was truly great about Gerry—the cinematography, the tension, the ability to show rather than to tell—and adding to this the societal message, the depth, and the emotional involvement which that film lacked, Last Days is the opposite. With Last Days, Van Sant takes the indulgent tracking shots and the apparent sagacity which lacks in genuine meaning and runs amok with it. While Gerry was a deeply flawed film, misusing its dazzlingly beautiful visuals by offering nothing beneath to support them, Last Days is simply empty, a pseudo-artistic "exploration" of a poorly structured character. Even the visual splendour is somewhat reduced, giving hopefuls like me even less to cling to as we hope for something more. Pitt wanders about, occasionally stopping to don a dress or make macaroni, mumbling intensely to himself in an utterly incomprehensible manner. After perhaps half an hour, I started to wonder what was happening. How, after the majesty of Elephant, had Van Sant gone so wrong? Alas, it just carried on in the very same way, Pitt wandering around his nonlinear narrative, me staring in puzzlement at the screen and wondering why this character was so thinly sketched. The characterisation is frankly non-existent, a serious problem given that this is—or at least is supposed to be—a character drama. I have a great deal of patience for slow films, and an unbalanced adoration for recondite ones, but this simply has no method to its madness, nothing whatsoever to say, and no apparent justification for existing. There is one scene, in which Blake loops his instruments and jams with himself, which does something to assuage this onslaught of disappointment. The long take as the camera ever so slowly zooms out films all of this through a window, the vast stone walls a barrier between us and this character, his dark playing and lugubrious wails a brief glimpse into the tortured soul that lies beneath. The scene itself is nothing shot of mesmeric, but it is essentially the only thing of any merit in the film. It's a deep shame that such a wonderful piece of cinema should be featured in so poorly misjudged a mess of a film.
Astoundingly disappointing as a follow-up to Elephant, Last Days follows on the nonsensical navel-gazing of Gerry by multiplying it, and by giving us fewer pretty pictures to look at to distract us from the unfortunate lack of meaning. Were it not for the fact that I've already seen and loved Paranoid Park, his feature to follow this, it would be a long time before I felt ready to trust in Gus Van Sant again.