fight
club
I am Jane's delightful surprise. I've been driving around for days with the Pixies, "Where is My Mind" pouring out of my stereo at ear-bleeding decibel levels trying to puzzle together the images and ideas and turning points of this film with every spare minute. It's when a piece of art consumes me like this that I fully realize the poverty of language alone. Instead I want to paint with bold, thick acrylics on rugged canvas and turn up the volume so loud that your insides melt. And only then can I begin to make you understand. I went into the theatre with little more than blind faith in Edward Norton and came out charged and changed by the sensory overload. Without a doubt, Norton is mesmerizing, particularly in portraying the depths of his stale and confused narrator against David Fincher's visually stunning atmosphere. Helena Bonham Carter's Marla Singer is equally interesting, her pale skin often washed in green hues of overhead fluorescent lighting conjuring a sickness and frailty that is indispensable to her character. Even Brad Pitt serves a brilliant purpose, bringing the necessary face and swagger to the role of Tyler Durden. Each performance is layered atop the other, creating an intricate weave of chaotic confusion. Be skeptical, but don't be stupid. See this film. |