The Past: Coitus interruptus
and a violent end to an extra-marital affair within the steel acreage of
the Raiston Building.
The Present: Nick's mother
lies dying in hospital whilst he tries to halt the destruction of the Raiston
building and indulges in an affair with Jane, wife to would-be demolition
man and erstwhile friend, Paul.
Inextricably entwined
when cinematically juxtapositioned, Mike Figgis' Past and Present gain
the precise ambience of inevitability required in Liebestraum. Visually,
the camera looms dangerously over the top of the building that is ready
for knocking down. It is a good few minutes later before the N (N for Nick;
N for Nearly; N for Nasty) plummets on a mission to kill. Similarly and
psychologically this time, Figgis makes the viewer wait before Nick and
Jane consummate their lust and the fate that dominates all dictates that
it does not happen at her place or his place but at the Raiston establishment
itself. "Remember - only you can prevent forest fires", Sheriff Ricker
drunkenly jokes and is so wrong.
Why fate should always
be accompanied with themes of doom rather than optimism is curious and,
indeed, it gets a raw deal here with darkness and subversity in character
and imagery. Figgis manages to maintain the hurtful poignancy of the last
scene of his Internal Affairs throughout the whole of this movie. The outright
maleness of his direction still dominates: the Sheriff urinates to the
lengthy extremes of Roddy Piper's fight in They Live, Nick talks
of architecture as if they were his own mighty erections and is crucially
lost in his own Oedipality, constructed by the absence of his father.
Meanwhile, Figgis juggles
phallocentricity with patriarchy in balancing sexist 'pigs' and nymphomaniacs
with calculated observations such as Jane's cutting of her own long hair
after stumbling across her husband's affair. Paul's rueful account of this,
however, indicates that the act - done to deny him pleasure - was still
being done for him and thereby Jane may be ironically compared with the
serviceable prostitutes. This silent statement that every woman is a whore
is enforced with the doubling of roles for brothel madam and her later
manifestation as nurse. The brothel stands as another irresistible and
fatalistic lair for Nick. This is also one of Figgis' finest scenes. Protracted,
it showcases the extraordinary script and suggestive intimacy of acting
whilst continuing themes of Nick s societal exclusion as he is bathed in
blue in this red electricity.
Yet, despite such intense
minimalism, Figgis proves his worth in adorning the screen with extravagant
dreams and nightmares. Eerie, almost flawless, challenging and depressing
feel every breath.
Ed
Cooper