Here’s the pitch:
Jeffrey Overstreet is a film critic with an assignment to review
the bizarre, relentlessly clever movie Adaptation, from director Spike Jonze and
screenwriter Charlie Kaufman.
He’s excited about it. He’ll get to lavish praise on
Nicolas Cage for the actor’s best performance in many years, and he’ll get to
point out the cleverness of the Jonze/Kaufman team. Their last collaboration was Being
John Malkovich, which challenged viewers to sort out a confusing jumble of
perspectives and non-chronological sequences. Adaptation works in a similar way.
But Overstreet is filled with angst about reviewing the film for
several reasons:
- He
finds it difficult to summarize the film without spoiling its many clever surprises.
- While
he’s mightily impressed by the film’s first-rate craftsmanship, the characters
are so resolutely selfish and self-absorbed, their company becomes wearying, and we are
offered little hope that it is possible for them to find meaningful lives or rewarding
relationships.
But Overstreet will review the film. He has a
deadline. Perhaps the best way to write about the film is to write about his own
attempts to review the film. Is that self-absorbed?
First, he should set up the plot for readers as simply as
possible:
Adaptation
is about a writer named Charlie Kaufman. (Yes, just like the actual writer of the film
-- Charlie Kaufman.) Kaufman, played by Nicolas Cage, is a depressed, self-loathing man
whose insecurities and moods keep him from developing meaningful relationships with the
opposite sex. He is also an artist with nothing but contempt for commercialism and
cliché. Thus, when he is asked to write a compelling Hollywood screenplay based on a
popular work of non-fiction, he determines to write an inspired adaptation that respects
the author’s intentions without resorting to cliché. But he's too scared to talk to
the author, so he is left with his own feeble guesses at how to portray her or bring her
book to life.
The book in
question is Susan Orlean’s The Orchid Thief.
And yes, this is what began the real Kaufman’s journey to making Adaptation -
a request to write a good film from a plot-less collection of articles.)
Already, Overstreet is having trouble making the details clear.
After all, Susan Orlean, like Charlie Kaufman, is a real person too, and so is her book The
Orchid Thief. But in the film, Orlean is played by Meryl Streep, and her behavior
strongly suggests that this version of Orlean bears little resemblance to the real person.
Back to the summary:
Kaufman is
distressed because he wants to make a movie that is as beautiful as Orlean’s book. He
wants to give life to Orlean’s insights about the way human beings pursue their
passions in search of something higher, something sustaining and meaningful.
There’s
a problem. The studio wants a “hit”. Thus, they want Kaufman’s movie to
feature car-chases, violence, and implausibly sappy romance. Kaufman loathes the cheap
tricks of conventional films. But he’s running into the worst writer’s block
this side of Barton Fink. Thus, we are treated to Kaufman sweating, Kaufman
ranting, Kaufman pacing.
Overstreet stops there. He is thinking about Barton Fink.
Barton Fink – a film he dearly loves – is also dark and bleak and full of
self-absorbed characters. Both films portray the world as a dangerous place in which it is
difficult to form meaningful bonds with others. Why does Adaptation feel more
oppressive? What is the difference? He thinks it through, and stumbles onto a possibility:
The thing
that kept Barton Fink from collapsing under the weight of its own angst is the
inclusion of a character (played by Judy Davis) who knows something about grace, something
about love. She represents a better perspective on life, a heart that can bring grace to
the suffering.
Adaptation
also has a character who offers kindness and some measure of grace, but that character
is portrayed as such a compromising buffoon that he’s hardly admirable. That
character is Kaufman’s twin brother Donald. (Donald doesn’t exist in real life
but who plays an important part in the film.)
Unlike
Charlie, Donald is an aspiring screenwriter, a humble man, unafraid of asking for advice,
and seemingly comfortable with his couch-potato physique. He has no qualms about playing
the commercial movie game. Donald happily pounds out an implausible, ridiculous,
cliché-ridden screenplay about a serial killer called the Deconstructionist (of course)
who chops up his victims. His shallowness nearly drives his brother Charlie insane. And
yet, his goodness will eventually play a larger part in his brother's trials.
Overstreet bites his tongue. He’s going too far. He gets up
from his chair, paces back and forth. He’s got to stop and wrap up this review.
He’ll try focusing on the good things. He’ll praise the technical aspects of the
film, which are indeed praiseworthy:
Donald is
played by Nicolas Cage as well. The scenes of the two Kaufmans together are the most
convincing scenes ever filmed of one actor playing multiple parts. It works because the
two characters are so different, and because the movie does not distract us with stunts
that make us wonder "How did they do that?" The relationship of the brothers
remains central to the film.
As Charlie
and Donald, Cage has found roles that show he's still capable of great acting. This is his
best work since Leaving Las Vegas. Oh, he’s had some memorable turns since
then, especially Bringing Out the Dead and Face/Off, but for the most part
he’s been an action figure and a headliner in flashy action throwaways like Gone in 60 Seconds and sentimental clichés like The Family Man. Here, he’s wonderfully funny, he wins our
sympathies, and he makes the struggle between artistic integrity and compromise
compelling.
Meryl Streep
lives up to her reputation as well, making the movie’s version of Susan Orlean a
melancholy, funny, and deeply sad woman who is capable of deplorable acts of
self-preservation and self-destruction.
Sam Cooper
is also fantastic, giving a career-capping performance as the orchid expert, John Laroche,
who develops a tenuous friendship with Orlean as she interviews him about his passion for
flowers. Cooper deserves an…
Overstreet stops again. He almost said “Cooper deserves an
Oscar nomination,” but that’s such a predictable “critic” thing to
say. Good writers avoid clichés. So Overstreet worries about how to continue with his
review without just sounding like a hack. He tries philosophizing about the film’s
subtext:
Intentionally
or not, Adaptation goes a long way to explaining why a purely evolutionary
perspective on life will lead ultimately to despair. The orchid survives by constantly
changing itself in order to get what it wants. And the characters in the film try to do
the same thing. But it is interesting: As these characters compromise and abandon morality
in order to get what they want, they become weaker, more self-centered, even
mean-spirited. Laroche sees no difference between his passion for the beauty of orchids
and his "passion" for making money off of pornography. Orlean's desire to
discover her own passion leads to indulgence, weakness, and violence. Kaufman's
observes this without preaching, without spelling out what our
conclusions should be. But for those with eyes to see, it should be
clear: Striving for mere survival leads to dissatisfaction and
malnourishment of the soul. All of these lost characters must learn to
humble themselves, submit to the constraints that have been set for us,
and employ their talents to serve others even if the process becomes
embarrassing. When one's own survival is the
goal, anything goes, and thus the world gets darker.
It is clear
that living things in the world seek to preserve their lives. It is certainly the dominant
way. But is it the best way for humans to find fulfillment and joy? Why is it that
we praise love, which seems to require the opposite of self-preservation? Love asks us to
be vulnerable and offer ourselves up for the good of others.
The first time I watched Kaufman's film,
I felt unsatisfied and
discouraged. I felt that he was shrugging his
shoulders and saying, "You’ll be lost and lonely and unsatisfied
unless you compromise your standards and play dirty... and then you're just
pathetic." But upon a second viewing, I now
think he has painted a poignant portrait of a man struggling to find
fulfillment, a man who learns the value of putting aside his own desires
to serve the needs and desires of others.
The review is getting too long. Agitated by caffeine and his own
carelessness, Overstreet checks his watch and decides to wrap things up.
Adaptation
will receive award nominations and, if the Academy is brave, it could even pull off a
Best Picture award. It is as clever as any film I've seen, and it recalls Flannery
O'Connor's work in that it boldly displays the depravity of human beings.
Nicolas Cage
says of Kaufman, “I discovered that Charlie was someone who is very devoted to being
honest and totally naked in his art. He wants to rip the masks off himself, off
everybody.” Unfortunately, through Charlie’s eyes, the faces behind those masks
are all about need and devoid of the desire to give. Thus,
they may find fleeting happiness, but they will not know joy or true
fulfillment.
In the character of Donald,
Kaufman has given us a signpost to the truth.
The meaningful life is not the one that adapts in order to survive, but
the one that puts aside earthly worries and offers itself in service of
others. Adaptation suggests that there is something "not of this earth"
about humanity, that we are meant for higher, better things than
mere adaptation.
Jeffrey Overstreet walks away troubled by the
oppressive unpleasantness of Adaptation's view of the world. Yet, he is again
convinced that sometimes we can find glimmers of
truth and redemption in the darkest places, that visions of sadness can point
the way to joy, and that the truth can shine through even the bleakest storytelling.
Jeffrey's Rating:
A-
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