Take two

Noel Vera

Richard Linklater's "Before Sunset" isn't many things: it isn't
profound, or dramatic, or earthshaking in anyway, nor was it meant to
be. This much it has in common with its predecessor, the 1995
film "Before Sunrise," in that it's no more and no less about two
people named Jesse (Ethan Hawke) and Celine (Julie Delpy) who meet,
find they are attracted to each other, spent the entire movie talking
to each other, sharing hopes, fears, dreams and idle chatter, plus
the possibility that they might sleep together, perhaps spend the
rest of their lives with each other.

Beyond that, it's interesting to note the differences between the two
pictures: the first is set mostly in Vienna, mostly during the magic
period between sunset and sunrise; the second is set entirely in
Paris, in broad daylight, during the actual eighty minutes of the
movie's running time. You might say that in the first the two were
under the spell of Vienna at night, wandering about the magnificent,
mysterious architecture, pretending to be insubstantial spirits (they
agreed not to give each other their phone numbers or addresses, or
even last names) that would disappear (to each other, anyway)--when
the sun rises, the spell is broken, and reality sets in. The second,
faster-paced and more terse, is the tail end of that reality--instead
of nighttime Vienna, we have the alleyways and backyard gardens of
everyday Paris (still breathtakingly beautiful, though--Lee Daniel
does the cinematography in both movies) as day slides into night;
part of the suspense is in wondering if they will or will not
recapture the spell of that earlier meeting.

But it's not just the time scheme or setting: the characters have
changed. In the earlier picture Julie Delpy and Ethan Hawke played
roles given to them by Linklater; in the second Delpy and Hawke are
much bigger celebrities (in their own fashion) than nine years
earlier, celebrities who have developed enough clout to direct their
own films; now they collaborated in the script, and the characters
and dialogue seem more self-reflexive, more tailored to their own
personalities (Hawke, for example, has actually written a novel, like
Jesse has; Delpy has spent considerable time in New York and composes
her own songs, like Celine does).

The dialogue circles around three themes: what happened nine years
before, what happened in the nine years since, and (possibly most
crucial to both) what's going to happen now. We're filled in on the
first theme here and there, helping us recall (and filling in gaps
for those who haven't seen) the first picture; gradually, the second
theme comes to fore, and the characters start to change and develop
before our eyes--they're no longer the Jesse and Celine we remember
from the original picture, they've experienced a considerable amount
of life apart: Jesse has made a career out of being a writer and
novelist, has married, and has had a child; Celine has gone around
the world on a series of noble causes, has had a series of
boyfriends, and a pet cat. Full lives, both, in their own fashion.

What's interesting is that while the first theme--their first meeting
nine years ago--fades into the background, it doesn't quite go away
(the question of whether or not they slept together that night,
incidentally, is given an intriguing answer (or two) along the way).
The conflict of the film is basically a conflict between first and
second theme, and part of the fascination of their dwelling on the
second theme (despite the humdrum, everyday details) is in the way
they fling their new lives at each other, as proof of their having
forgotten or at least grown past that night. It's done casually,
almost defiantly, each daring the other to admit that that night is
still important, that it wasn't just fodder for a novel (perhaps one
reason why Celine goes to Jesse's book-signing was to confirm if, in
fact, this was the case), that at least one of them hasn't completely
forgotten; you can't help wonder who--if at all--will give in and
make such an admission.

Hawke is a fairly skilled, fairly pretty actor who has managed to
appear in a handful of interesting roles (Andrew Niccol's "Gattaca,"
Michael Almereyda's "Hamlet" to name a few); it's possible that he's
never seemed more natural or interesting as in Linklater's films.
Julie Delpy has had the good luck to work with some of the world's
best filmmakers (Jean-Luc Godard, Krzysztof Kieslowski, Agnieszka
Holland, Leo Carax, to name a few), has more than proven herself in
their films, and is blindingly beautiful to boot; putting it kindly,
she adds much gravitas to Hawke's rather lightweight presence, makes
him seem attractive (you think: "he must be, otherwise why should
someone so gorgeous give him a second look?"), even witty.

It's a graceful, charming film; I enjoyed it more than I expected to.
I was reminded of moments and images in the earlier picture much more
than I ever thought I would be, and it and its original might make
for a lovely double feature, what with the opposing light schemes
(night brightening up to dawn, day shading into dusk). I wished for a
little more than the hint of aging and mortality that I actually got,
for a more vivid contrast (as is, you just can't quite bring yourself
to believe that the "Sunset" of the picture's title is meant to stand
for the sunset of both their lives--they're much too young, much too
successful in their respective careers (Hawke's novel actually rates
a book tour in Paris)--for that bit of symbolism to stick); which is
unfortunate because maybe with that extra level of meaning the
picture might have had a real chance at greatness. But Linklater
doesn't work that way, and you have to respect that kind of stubborn
artistic modesty. Either that, or he's saving the big guns for the
twenty-years-from-now sequel--"Before Senility," or somesuch title.

(First published in Businessworld, 10/29/04)

(Comments? Email me at noelbotevera@...)