Biutiful (2010)
Biutiful (SPAN) Directed by Alejandro Gonzales Inarritu Written by Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu; Nicolas Giacabone; Armando Bo Starring Javier Bardem; Marciel Alvarez; Hanna Bouchaib (Ana); Guillermo Estrella (Mateo); Eduard Ferndez; Cheikh Ndiaye; Diaryatao Daff; Lang Sofia; Luo Jin Lin; Cheng Tai Chen
At two and a half hours Biutiful still feels overstuffed, as if co-writer/director/producer Inarritu could have constructed a mini-series or several films out of the material. The main criticism levied at Inarritu in the past has never focused on his abilities/talent, for he is simply one of the best craftsmen working today. He also consistently manages to elicit outstanding acting performances from experienced well-known performers and non-professionals alike. What bothers people about the director though is his tendency toward pretension, his overreaching multi-story-lines, and an overall inability to pull himself back from the excesses of moralizing commentary on everything from world economies, politics, and the nature of death.
Most filmmakers would be more than sated with a narrative involving a criminal hustler and single father with a bipolar/substance addicted ex, who learns he is dying of cancer and has, at best, several months to live. Instead, Inarritu chooses to bestow upon his lead magical powers that allow him to speak with the dead, and adorns his narrative with several sub stories involving exploited Asian and African immigrants working in the various illegal businesses he maintains. At least with his previous efforts, the director’s multiple stories felt balanced, if, at times, showing the strain of the melding of somewhat disparate elements. Biutiful, though, is first and foremost a showcase for Bardem and his undeniably immense talent, and therefore his character’s story takes precedence, with the several side plots merely sprinkled in to further up the the social relevance quotient.
It’s not that there isn’t merit in discussing the abuses of globalization that has workers being paid pennies in developing countries in order for established nations (such as our own) to reap the benefits of decreased production costs. It’s not that the issue of new, undocumented immigrant workers in these same developed countries being housed in awful conditions and paid paltry wages by exploitative entrepreneurs running various scam businesses isn’t a worthy topic. The problems here include the fact that these issues call for a film dedicated to a full exploration. Further, these are issues that have been explored recently by a variety of directors, and done with more subtly and depth at that.
Inarritu is focused on making very important, timely films, each and every time out of the box reaching for the most dramatic of circumstances, unapologetically navigating the waters of didacticism with every stroke. When he manages to create the right formula, ala 21 Grams, marvelous things can happen - bravura acting with the best kind of emotive expressions of pain, loss, sadness, and anger. When it falls flat there is a particularly loud thud because the drop is coming from some pretty lofty heights.
Biutiful is, again, nothing if not a forum for the talents of the wonderful Javier Bardem as Barcelona slum area criminal and single father, Uxbal, and his performance is worthy of any and all accolades that come his way. It is, after all, not Bardem’s fault that the entire affair is at least one half hour to forty five minutes too long, or that there are far too many scenes that simply do not advance the story in any way. Despite his undeniably charismatic presence, the meticulously composed visuals by famed cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto, and excellent supporting performances from the likes of Marciel Alvarez as Uxbal’s troubled ex Marambra, and Hanna Bouchaib and Guillermo Estrella as their children, there is simply not enough for everyone else to do. As compelling as Bardem is there is only so much one can demand from an actor. When he is not on screen the film grinds to a screeching halt, and the inclusion of a homosexual relationship between two men running a sweat shop feels tacked on and completely unnecessary.
The same can be said for the superfluousness magic realism of a bookended dream sequence and the plot-line that has Bardem able to see dead people, a device that has been played to death itself, and adds nothing to the depth and/or development of the individual characters, or the story as a whole. The inclusion of this spiritual element reads as self-indulgent nonsense, and it seems apparent that Inarritu has not only failed to be chastised by the steady line of criticism devoted to his excesses - rather, it has become apparent that he is actually dedicated to upping the ante. In the way that Tarantino is like a runaway train who seems to have no one telling him to slow down, Inarritu is, frankly, an artist run amok, a gifted filmmaker in almost every way who has no one telling him to dial it back, to edit himself, to refrain from taking himself so damn seriously.
There are beautiful visuals and quietly acted moments galore in Biutiful - enough that one feels the loss for the film (or films) that could have been. It is hard to come up with a current director in his or her prime who brings more to the table, who is capable of individual scenes, sections, moments that are any better that what this director can put up on screen. Alas, films are judged by their overall composition, and prizes are not awarded for a series of fantastic beats - rather, we judge a piece of art by its overall effectiveness and how successful it is in accomplishing what it reaches for.
We do not expect the same kind of finesse and social relevance from a Jud Apatow comedy as we do from a filmmaker who makes dramas about life’s biggest questions. Inarritu wants very much to be taken very seriously, and his films are therefore judged by the parameters he himself establishes. In the final analysis, Biutiful recalls the recent Italian film, Gomorrah (2008), a similarly occasionally brilliant piece of cinema that also attempted to say too much. Like Gomorrah, Biutiful wants to make universal statements, but fails to hold up to the promise of its reach, never coalescing as a cohesive entity, despite the many excellent individual elements contained in the over crowded mix.