Beau Is Afraid

Since college, I’ve loved bizarre, surreal storytelling. It started a bit earlier with films that embraced certain elements and a heightened, highly stylized tone. I fell in love with movies like Donnie Darko and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and directors like Darren Aronofsky and M. Night Shyamalan. None of which are truly surreal, but are often clearly influenced by those ideas. So by the time I came across Charlie Kaufman, who is a pretty mainstream example but still plays a lot in the surrealist sandbox, I was prepared. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind was my introduction, and I distinctly remember the feeling when it clicked exactly what the movie was doing (what I would now refer to as its narrative structure). Its playing with the form of dreams and memory and the faulty logic therein, not to mention how it all weaves together with a very touching and profound (if simple) theme was just perfect.

Synecdoche, New York was a watershed moment for me in movie watching. It was the first time I recall where I had almost no idea what was going on, but I knew I loved the way it made me feel and the way it was presented. I’d long enjoyed movies which were somewhat opaque (see Donnie Darko), but often there was enough straightforward stuff that I had something to grab onto while I rewatched it to put together the rest of the pieces. Synecdoche was not that kind, at least to me in college. But something about it I found endlessly compelling. I made some friends watch it, I even bought the DVD. And slowly, through a handful of watches plus the passage of time, all its layers revealed themselves. The beauty of the construction, not to mention how it was obviously a piece of art to be interpreted and not a puzzle with an objective answer, all of it are why it’s still one of my favorite films period.

Beau Is Afraid is another entry in the cinematic vibes canon with more depth than is immediately apparent if you’re willing to meet the movie and spend the time and effort to peel them back. Indeed, the comparisons that jump to mind are Eternal Sunshine, Synecdoche, and I’m Thinking of Ending Things.

Our story finds Beau (Joaquin Phoenix) about to travel home to visit his mother Mona (Patti LuPone). To do so, he must navigate an unimaginably and cartoonishly hostile, violent, and unwelcoming world, including racing a random shirtless man covered in tattoos from head to toe to get to his apartment door. His world quickly spirals out of control, and just as things settle down for a moment, he’s informed by a UPS delivery man that his mother was killed by a falling chandelier. Now, his trip home changes its focus to bury the dead, so time is of the essence. Of course, in a world that seems tailor made to assault his senses and nerves, a whole host of obstacles pop up which send him on a hell of a journey to return home.

I learned recently that Roger Ebert used to say “It's not what a movie is about, it's how it is about it.” Which along with being pithy, is a perfect encapsulation of what I think Beau succeeds at. If you boil the plot down, it’s pretty simple. Even what I wrote above is more complicated than necessary, since I’m also trying to convey how the movie feels. What makes it so opaque and divisive and remarkable is the way it tells that story. There are tangents and visual flourishes and abstract events and an element of magical realism. We don’t know what’s real and what’s imagined, what’s happening to Beau in reality vs. in his mind. And does the distinction even matter?

Beau’s world is one of waking nightmares, where his anxiety and paranoia are very well justified, and where violence lies around every corner. It’s dangerous for everyone, but he seems to be a particular target. From a litany of notes asking him to turn down the music he’s not playing keeping him up all night, to his apartment being trashed by random hooligans while he’s locked out, to being accused in the most excessive way of taking the place of a dead sibling, he’s constantly surrounded by a whirlwind of arbitrary aggression, both physical and mental. Yet no one else he encounters seems to notice anything is wrong, just happily existing amongst the whirlwind (well, unless they’re a victim of Birthday Boy Stab Man). In this way, Beau is both audience surrogate, reacting to his world the way we do, and a physical manifestation of the way many people feel internally about the real world, but cannot express in public.

This fear propels him through the story. Terror at finding a brown recluse in his apartment causes him to run screaming naked into the street where he’s hit by a car. Being blamed for a death leads to him sprinting into the woods and finding the Orphans of the Forest. It impacts quieter behavior, too, such as agreeing to delay leaving Roger’s (Nathan Lane) for a day to avoid inconveniencing him, trying to return home while still gravely wounded at the behest of Dr. Cohen (Richard Kind), and every interaction with Toni (Kylie Rogers).

You’ll note that he never truly makes a decision. He is a being of pure reaction, with various stimuli prodding him from moment to moment. He has no real identity and no independence. He’s built up a set of behaviors which he thinks will keep him safe, but really end up exposing him to a barrage of abuse. Which is why it’s such a relief later on when he does take charge, if only for a little while.

This leads to my main takeaways from the film, which concern the necessity of autonomy and choice in the establishment of self. We see many points throughout where Beau’s life is railroaded, and it led to him becoming complacent and docile to the extreme. Yes, it began as a child, and thus laid down a pattern for his life. But whereas many adults rebel against their upbringing by separating themselves from their parents, Beau seems to never have done so. The result is a stunted man-child with an utter lack of control. In that sense, his journey home is also a journey of self-discovery. Not a unique duality by any means, of course, but effective nonetheless.

Life’s choices and the impact of even the smallest one is emphasized quite heavily, especially during the gorgeous hybrid animation/live-action sequence which takes place during the Orphans of the Forest stage play. We’re introduced to it through a few short scenes in which characters are waffling on choices and whether to make them, before we see Beau place himself into a fantasy world in which his life went very differently, not just in specifics but in overarching experience. And yet, his present inability to deviate is highlighted even more by the presence of a narrator stating everything he does just before he does it, letting us know that even in his dreams he does not have the strength to choose. In a film of striking and hauntingly beautiful and compelling sequences, the whole animated section stands somehow above the rest.

Throughout all of this, there’s a hint of something even more sinister going on. Not just the paranoia of the world being out to get Beau, but that something isn’t quite right. Some of it is obvious, such as the television channel Grace (Amy Ryan) shows him. Some isn’t clear until much later, and may take a second watch to catch, like the copious subtle foreshadowing of later events. And some of it is wide open to interpretation, like the repetition of “I’m so sorry” to Beau by strangers for no obvious reason. I have my own thoughts and theories on much of this, but it gets into spoiler territory, so I’ll leave them for my Letterboxd review.

It’s also worth noting that this movie is incredibly funny. Not in a bust a gut, laugh out loud way. But in an absurdist, ironic, “what the hell?” way. There are lots of stark contrasts, bizarre behaviors, and relatable minor experiences. The background details include plenty of color for the world, much of which would be plain silly if it were happening here, but fit into his world quite well, eliciting a laugh without breaking the environment. Bold actions and minor details are the most common types of humor, and whether you laugh depends on your exact sense of humor. But if the movie is working for you at all, you’ll at least be left with a wry smile.

If I have any criticisms of this movie, it’s that it doesn’t quite trust its audience enough. Some clunky dialog, repetition that seems designed to ensure you caught it the first time around, or highlighting a nonsensical scene to increase the chance you remember it later when it becomes reasonable. I also wish the themes cohered a bit better and left me with some more universal and grand philosophical questions to wrestle with. There’s absolutely more depth to it than I think some have acknowledged, but it is admittedly not as rewarding or complex or sophisticated as something like Synecdoche.

But what it does accomplish is wonderful and challenging and a true experience. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since seeing it a week ago, so much so I caught another showing yesterday. It’s easily my new favorite movie of the year so far, displacing the outstanding Missing. It will leave you thinking about your relationship to the world outside your door, and what it means about the choices you’ve made and haven’t made. Because I think that’s its ultimate lesson: not choosing is itself a choice.