Guadagnino: "Call Me By Your Name"

Almost every conversation about, or pertaining to, the two young men involves misdirection and/or subtext. When the father- Michael Stuhlbarg- wants to comfort his son post-affair, he can't bring up the affair explicitly, and that bit of delicacy makes the scene that much weirder, more tender, and more heartbreaking. Elio relishes an early moment when he has power over Oliver; Oliver has requested a certain song on the piano, and Elio won't play it, or won't play it in the manner Oliver has requested. The song is meant to be soothing; Elio plays it abrasively, in a jumpy way, partly because that's the state he's in, and then partly because there's power in not giving someone what that someone wants. The frustration means increased attention from the frustrated person.

In place of a straightforward declaration of love, Oliver will eat the semen out of Elio's  "violated" peach. (Elio has been listlessly half-reading "Heart of Darkness"--a nice touch.) Oliver will wipe sperm off his own chest with a button-down shirt, then leave the shirt for Elio. (We see Elio running around in the shirt, in one of the final scenes.) On a last holiday, Elio and Oliver are clearly distressed, and can't articulate that distress; they cope by getting extremely drunk; Oliver becomes atypically sentimental with a stranger, whose boombox plays a shallow pop tune; Elio pukes all over the place. This feels so real; it almost feels like a scene from Mike White's "Enlightened." (Is there higher praise?)

After learning of Oliver's engagement to a woman ("it's complicated"; "it's been off-and-on"; "I didn't know how to bring it up"), Elio murmurs something calm and resigned, then wanders off to stare into a fireplace and weep. And the weeping persists and persists for several minutes. In one of the most playful scenes, Elio, who has been managing his uncomfortable attraction to Oliver via obnoxious remarks, offers a "truce" to Oliver--but the truce isn't through a handshake. One man holds the disembodied marble arm of an ancient statue, and the other man shakes that. So much is indirect, awkward, complex in this movie, it's really remarkable and beautiful.

I can't get enough of Elio's outbursts. "I almost had sex with a girl"--this by way of stirring, or trying to stir, Oliver's interest. "You should go after Lucia (or some such); she's hot." (Meanwhile, when Oliver actually demonstrates a bit of lust, Elio can't take it. He shrugs off the unnecessary massage. He runs away.) How can you trust words to ascertain whether your paramour is still romantically available to you? You can't, in this fictional world; it's best, if you're Oliver, to drop to your knees and start a round of d*ck-sucking. ("Ah! You're hard! That's a good sign!")

It's possible the characters feel so real, you get bored. You forget that you're watching a work of art; it feels a bit like a documentary, but in a bizarrely gorgeous setting. By investing so much attention in the project of making plausible characters, James Ivory is storing up credit. The final twist in the affair--the sex, and then the break-up--feels so devastating only because you have convinced yourself that these two people are real, and are your friends. And that's a magic trick. Two strings of words--but they seem like people, and they break your heart. Food for thought, regarding this flick.

P.S. Did you notice how the screenwriter, James Ivory, made his name working with Henry James novels? Talk about subtext! And isn't that early scene, where Elio eavesdrops on Oliver from a balcony, reminiscent of some Henry James-ish parlor-room drama? And then do you notice how Guadagnino defamiliarizes? How the garrulous Italian guests make the American seem mute? And how the garrulousness builds to almost surreal levels? (Is there any greater hell than being next to a heedlessly verbose person at a dinner? You might think of Ralph Fiennes's incessantly talky character in "A Bigger Splash," plopped down next to Tilda Swinton's mute former rockstar.) Guadagnino also likes to zoom in on buzzing insects and sensuous flowers. The peach trees! The lush green life surrounding prelapsarian Elio and Oliver! The bees and the garden that envelop the nude Tilda Swinton in "I Am Love"! Guadagnino and James Ivory--a match made in heaven.

P.P.S. Even the title of the movie is about playfulness and subtext! "Call me by your name"--for the rules do not apply in the topsy-turvy world of love. So much in this story is counterintuitive. It's a story in which people speak civilly to one another; the generations do not collide in a gruesome way. When the teen says, "I almost had sex," the father gently says, "Try harder next time!" It's a movie where people read books and listen to classical music. Always go for the counterintuitive.

P.P.P.S. I love the attention to Oliver's abrupt American way of parting-- "Later." Entrances and exits are important! Manners matter. The host family can't quite adjust to this "Later!" But then it becomes a joke--a sign and source of fondness. And so a one-act play grows up around the word "later." I love that James Ivory is noticing all of this in the world, and building the subtlety into his script.

P.P.P.P.S. More on the title of the movie. "Call Me By Your Name"--it's a metaphor for love. I want everything about you; I even want your name. But it's also a reference to Elio's thrilling liminal state. As he grows into adulthood, and into romantic love, everything is up for grabs. The way he dances, the way he stands, his relationship with his parents, the way he dresses, the way he speaks, the way he thinks--everything can change. The way he displays emotion. In this state, even Elio's name is subject to revision. He can be anyone, or anything; he is young and in love. The final scene--the shedding of tears--makes us think of the symbolic role of water in other works. Water suggests baptism, rebirth, cleansing. Through love, Elio is "inventing himself." He is shedding old skins. He's becoming a person.



***

Taylor Swift's "I Did Something Bad" is a sequel to "Blank Space." It's a series of three vignettes, linked by an S&M vibe; it's a theme and variations. Its obvious ancestor is the singing of Rihanna--particularly "Good Girl Gone Bad" and "I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it. Sex in the air. I don't care. I love the smell of it. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me."

Act One: An (anti-)hero's journey. The temptress finds herself entangled with a narcissist. There isn't any trust. One party plays the other like a violin and makes it "look oh so easy." (Tension between appearances and the truth!) The untrustworthy narcissist "talks shit," as narcissists are wont to do (TS has saved her first swear word for an attention-grabbing song). The temptress reveals her true colors; she has "told a lie"; her evident docility was a facade; now she will haunt the narcissist. (Perhaps she will behave in a way that resembles the speaker's actions in "Blank Space": "Screaming, crying, perfect storms. Keep you second-guessing like, 'Oh my God, who is she?' Darling, I'm a nightmare dressed like a daydream.") The speaker's acts of betrayal actually serve to ensnare the narcissist even more fully: "Now all he thinks about is me." ("You'll come back each time you leave.")

Act Two: An equally poisonous dalliance. The Ordinary World is upended; a playboy is here. A journey: "I fly them all around the world and let them think they saved me." But a playboy is a playboy: He tries to take credit for the speaker's work. He drops her name from a collaborative effort. He spends her money. Surprised by the speaker's anger, the playboy does some begging. "Don't throw away a good thing." But the temptress will have none of this. "You gotta leave before you get left." (Amour fou! A danse macabre! These vignettes are more complicated than earlier TS work. For once, the speaker isn't blameless. She is complicit in the silliness she gets buried in. ("And I know I make the same mistakes every time; bridges burn; I never learn.") Also, the speaker has complicated feelings about her bad boys. "You gotta leave before you get left"--there's a suggestion that the speaker experiences some genuine warmth in the general vicinity of her playboy.)

Act Three: All these troubled waters! All these bad-faith relationships. Now TS does something brilliant--surprise! She implicates the listener. She says, "I will have the same relationship with you that I had with my narcissist and my playboy." "They're burning all the witches even if you aren't one. So light me up; light me up; go ahead and light me up." So much is notable here. The bridge underlines earlier themes: TS is complicit, complicit, complicit; she is asking to be "torched." The reference to Salem reminds us that *powerful* women are often targets of attack. (Would the speaker find herself in each of these situations if she were a man?) Also, the urge to be burned is so counterintuitive: who expects TS to take that turn and *demand* to be set on fire? The image evokes thoughts of transfiguration, a phoenix climbing out of ashes. What a surprising swerve to take after beginning with some reflections on the Salem witch trials.

More to praise here. "Crimson-red paint on my lips"--A suggestion of a "fallen woman" from the days of Hawthorne. ("You were Romeo, I was the Scarlet Letter.") "They got their pitchforks and proof, their receipts and reasons." Delightful alliteration, and it's fun to imagine Kanye West wielding a pitchfork like a witch-hunter from the 1600s. "I can feel the flames on my skin"--sex is mixed up with danger in a way that Rihanna would approve of. Obviously, I'm obsessed with TS's work on this song. She says she had the tune in her head one morning, and this is when she began to understand she had material for a new album. The joys of reinvention. Have you heard it yet?