Drawing Restraint 9

Drawing Restraint 9 (5 stars)

Director Matthew Barney Writer Matthew Barney Stars Matthew Barney, Björk Certificate tbc Running time 135 minutes Country USA / Japan Year 2005

Matthew Barney is a visual artist. Think 'film' as in the sort of media that might attract the attention of the Turner Prize or, its American equivalent (with an international remit), the Hugo Boss award. The most recent Hugo Boss award was won by a Brit, Tacita Dean (who has also been shortlisted for the Turner). Barney won it back in 1996 and has garnered a string of prizes since. So you could say that, in his field, he's comfortably at the top of the heap.

I mention all this because you may come to a review of his film with the question, "But will I like it?" And while that question is still open, it is probably rather better than, "Is it any good?"

Although Barney has his critics, even in the art world, to suggest his stuff is rubbish is maybe a bit like saying Meryl Streep can't act: her finished work may vary in quality but it's the product of someone at the top of their profession. But even if Drawing Restraint 9 is great art – of which this reviewer is unqualified to say – it is reasonable to wonder whether going to the cinema should entail the attitude of mind that going to see a Tate Modern multi-media application might demand. Surely a film-goer has every right to judge a fill as a movie rather than an art exhibit?

Drawing Restraint 9 demands more – or perhaps a rather different type – of application to the type of movie commonly at art house cinemas. Yet I recall the delightful shock of seeing Bunuel's Un Chien Andalou – that unapologetically surrealist outburst that resulted from his friendship with Salvador Dali. Or Andy Warhol's Screen Tests, that reveal astonishing depth in the personalities instructed not to move or blink for four minutes. More recently Béla Tarr's masterpiece, The Man From London, where the scenery carries a force as powerful as the plot or characters. These people dared to use moving pictures in a different way, and cinema is (in my opinion) better for them.

Matthew Barney has little or no interest that I can deduce in conventional cinematic form. When it comes to film, it is as if he started with a blank page, or another medium upon which to bend like sculpture and ideas. Fans of his earlier Cremaster cycle of films will recognise a certain organic development in his films: the plots and persons seems to grow in a way that mimics the growth of crystals, or of speeded up plant growth, all redolent with arcane or sexual symbolism.

Drawing Restraint 9 seems to me a more rounded and mature work than his Cremaster opus. It is more tightly structured and coherent. The viewer can piece together the threads of stories by patient observation. The work of a Japanese whaling ship and various issues surrounding its trade, and the Shinto marriage ceremony on board. During an intense lightning storm the tea ceremony / marriage ceremony takes on disturbing dimensions that set our mind and senses racing.

Barney's (real life) partner, Bjȍrk also combines many new ideas in creating the music. The main suite is written for the sho, one of Japan's most ancient instruments. She worked with Noh theatre scholars to develop musical settings for a poem to produce an authentic, haunting sound.

Drawing Restraint 9 is no more an easy cinematic experience than a Rodin is a catchy picture postcard. But it rewards serious attention and its lyrical and elegiac qualities make the journey an interesting one. The strange visual experiences will leave an impression even on viewers that don't delve beyond the surface. Those that do, will find Barney has drawn his cinematic sculpture on sound ideas and symbols of substance.

This experimental film is utterly gorgeous. Barney's film's are as ambitious as any Hollywood blockbuster. The visuals are stunning and the soundtrack by Bjork is the best music to date for one of the artist's projects. If this film comes to your town, I highly recommend checking it out. The narrative structure is somewhat unusual and the film contains almost no dialogue. I found the experience reminiscent of my first time seeing Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey". If you're looking for action, this may not be your cup of tea (ha ha). The Japanese locations, the costumes, music, sets, cinematography & special effects create a seamless and highly polished package.

There's no dialogue for a while, and then there's some Japanese dialogue, and all the while, I didn't really know what was going on. I was lost at pretty much all times, but that was to be expected. This had "avant-garde" written all over it, and for being an art piece, I guess it's sporadically interesting. It probably achieves what it sets out to do, but whatever that is feels unclear to me. If you want to dive in, there's probably a lot to chew on, but as to whether it would taste any good, who knows. Probably not. But it's challenging. That's more of an observation rather than something that makes it bad or good. And there's some music here composed by Bjork, though she didn't do all the music it seems. I don't know.

That's my take away. I don't know.

Some of the themes that emerged for me: Minimizing use of natural resources in order to maximize the full capacity of human intelligence.

The role of ritual as a focuser of intent that enables utter, literal transformation.

Profound understanding of other forms of life via literal experience of what they have lived (in this case, using that species' human interaction as an entry point for understanding).

Civilized human society's penchant for consuming nature to benefit materially while suppressing our (well documented) ability to shift shape as a means of enriching our intelligence immeasurably.

I noticed how my mind didn't even question the industrialized hierarchy presented in the film, the ritual of common human toil or even the pageantry that has traditionally accompanied industrial "progress." But I had to struggle with the ritual that became the vehicle of transformation for the two main characters.

What seemed like an unnatural act turned out to be only the human part of what is encountered by the species our hero and heroine sought to be. Their yearning to BE and experience that species seemed very natural.

To hear Matthew Barney interviewed, saying things like "I will continue to manipulate space in film," you would think that he has nothing on his mind but process. Yet the evolution of Drawing Restraint 9 is spiritual, not formal. DR9, in fact, is a complete repudiation of the noxious Ayn Rand-stinking cosmology of the Cremaster films. Freud has been replaced by Jung, and Hegel by Kierkegaard. This is a Barney film that could bring you to tears. Any doubts about whether he's an artist or fraud are laid to rest by this film -- frauds do not grow, they just keep along the same path.

I had my doubts about the Cremaster films ( except for Cremaster 2, still the most uncanny piece on Barney's resume ) The first hour and a half of Drawing Restraint 9 had me squirming, sure that Barney was unmasking himself as a joke once and for all. All of Barney's faults are on display -- the crude appropriation and dim understanding of other cultures and myths, the glossy yet flat cinematography that would only look stylish to a reader of Vogue, the hunch that the only movie he's ever seen is The Shining, and a generally unfocused feeling, as if he's casting around for meaning that isn't there. And then, of course, there are those endless shots of men doing their work, building a better future, creating that obelisk to the sky! Except here the bumbleheaded Hegelian philosophy of history-in-action was even more boring because of the documentary trappings. Instead of showing a legless woman strap on a blade and chop potatoes, a metaphor for a half-completed action, we see real men doing real jobs. Only occasionally Barney has them producing one of his symbols, or sticks a blue feathered afro on top of a tanker, so that we know these seemingly mundane tasks will eventually have vaguely triumphant, Wagnerian results.

Then, suddenly -- if you can speak of suddenness in a film like this, and I think you can -- the Japanese men start loading a harpoon gun and firing nasty spikes at nasty speeds into the sea. And you realize that what you took to be another Barney paean to progress has crumbled. We are now sailing in deep hippie waters, my friend. And the sailing is good. Barney and Bjork retire to a tatami-matted cabin and the film begins to go places the Cremaster films would never dare. The cinematographer suddenly discovers shadow and grain-texture. Bjork's uninspired score becomes hypnotic. A feeling of death, doubt, and failure creeps into the film, as a Japanese sage tells a story of a primal scar made by the collision of two ships, while Barney and Bjork are posed with the edge of a whale statue separating them. The personal, the political, the spiritual and the mythical start to engage in supercollision.

The film seems to have been conceived as an exercise in humility, repentance for the colossal egotism of the Cremaster films. Barney takes pains to highlight his new bald spot, making him look like a tonsured monk, there is a nude scene which proves he is no Vincent Gallo, and -- most memorably -- Barney speaks! As a studly silent mannequin in the Cremaster films, he had mystery, but here he lets you in on the dirty little secret: He has the geekiest voice in history, almost like how a castrato would talk in daily conversation. Listen closer, however, and he sounds almost angelic...

This new humility, which may have roots in marriage troubles or encroaching baldness -- the root of insight is often just this shallow -- justifies the Asiatic trappings. But Barney is hiding his real light under a bushel. It is a Western religion that truly moves him these days. There are a "trinity" ( hint hint ) of symbols consisting of whale ambergris, pomegranate seeds and shrimp whose meaning I won't spoil for you. Except to say that Barney is calling you a shrimp. And asking you to be a whale. The "restraint" of the title starts to feel a whole lot more like renunciation, and the inner joys it brings.

Life is fair after all: It costs ten dollars for a ticket to DR9, and unless you're a zombie, you will get more pleasure and consolation from this film than any billionaire computer-peddler could get out of one of Barney's vaseline tubs.