The Forbidden Room

I admire the film making and the art direction for The Forbidden Room, but while it initially dazzles, it quickly becomes rather tedious. There is no real payoff for the effort it takes to sit through it, and it does take some effort. The most entertaining part for me is the opening titles. The only movie I can compare it to is Stalker, and it isn't a fair comparison. While both share the washed-out, sepia tone Lynch-like visual style, Stalker has a discernible plot beyond just its style. I'd love to intellectualize the film and say it has deeper meaning, but outside of the art direction and distressed film look, after sitting through it I've decided there is just no "there" there.

In a time when Hollywood seems completely incapable of creating anything original (not b/c it's all been done before, which I would argue is the case for music, but b/c Hollywood is run by non-creatives who only look at dollar signs and are terrified of risk), the unique works of Guy Maddin stand out like a precious stone. Love him or hate him, you have to admire his dedication. For the layperson, his films are often hard to access or decipher. In this way, his works remind me of the late great David Lynch (he's not dead, but seemingly retired). I am not as well-versed in Maddin films as I am with Lynch, but I'm also not the first to point out their similarities. For one, they have a very similar soundscape. This film in particular employs Lynch's standard drones of dread, synthesized melancholic strings, and industrial sfx. However, Maddin adequately stakes out his own territory, as well. His employment and recreation of various vintage film stocks is somehow both convincing and unique. His tendency to embrace distortion and outdated special effects goes further than I've seen with any other filmmakers.

As far as plot, the film employs a standard concept, the story within a story, but it also takes this concept further than I've ever seen done before. The narrative structure is in fact two nesting russian dolls, presented one after the other. The framing story (not counting the bookends which feature a hilarious Louis Negin giving bath-taking advice) concerns a group of men marooned inside a submarine, unable to resurface due to a large block of melting jelly which will explode if depressurized. But then the impossible happens. Not unlike the supernatural events in Tarkovsky's Solaris, a lumberjack suddenly appears in the submarine, unaware of how he got there. From this scenario, we enter the story of the lumberjack's last memories. Before this concludes however, we've gone off on another tangent, another story within the story. And thus continues the narrative, falling further and further down the rabbit hole, until finally, as if coming up for air, we reverse directions and begin to zoom out, resolving one story at a time, until we're back in the submarine. However, as I mentioned before, this is only one of two plunges the movie makes before we receive a conclusion to the tail of the submariners.

The titular Forbidden Room refers, I believe, to the Captain's Quarters, but also derives from a 1914 silent film now considered to be lost. Which leads me to the second big concept of the film. All of the stories, vignettes, and tangential meanderings are based on silent films which can no longer be viewed, as they have either been lost or destroyed. This part I didn't know going into the movie, though I wish I had, for it adds an interesting element to the often surreal storylines. For a moment, when the film was just beginning, I had a tinge of worry that it would be an exercise in style over substance, and I know many would agree with me on this. However, as the different concepts were picked up and dropped, I became engrossed in the tone shifts, in turns erotic, surreal, melancholy, and humorous, and realized I was being swept up in the narratives.

For those uninitiated in an intentionally bombastic visual style, the Brechtian effect of constantly being reminded that you are watching a film may prove too difficult to overcome. But for those of you who can enjoy an attack on the senses, such as with Natural Born Killers, while still managing to pierce through the surface level and immerse themselves in the plot buried underneath, this film might be for you. And if it isn't, don't despair. I readily admit, this is one of the harder films to access. Just don't make the mistake of writing a belligerent review employing extremes and absolutes. We've already got plenty of those, as typified by most of the reviews for The Forbidden Room. Although, I have to admit, there is a certain comical irony to seeing a reviewer call a film impenetrable, inaccessible, undecipherable, only to be followed by a glowing review written by someone who has seemingly done the impossible - deciphered a plot!! There is definitely a plot here, and though it was a struggle at times, I managed to retain my awareness of which stories were inside of which, which stories had finished and which had yet to be resolved, etc. So give it a shot. Hopefully this review has, to some extent, prepared you for what you are about to see. And if it isn't working for you, turn it off. But please, for the love of god, don't tell me about the hours you invested which you will never get back. Nobody gives a rat's bottom about your stupid precious hour, especially when you continued to waste time by writing an asinine review about your experience.

This film, like all those of Guy Maddin, has married the weirdness of David Lynch with the love of film and quirkiness of Wes Anderson, all wrapped up in a unique visual style like no other. It's absolutely gorgeous, a true adventure in filmmaking and film watching filled with dreams- within-dreams and stories-within-stories. It is like a love letter to the history of movies that blends silent films, noir, action, myth, comedy, musicals, and even instructional films into an absurd, self-referential ball.

But before you go running out to see it, you should know that it has zero interest in entertaining you. Seriously. It's dense, confusing and difficult to follow, and a tedious slog. There's no plot, if by plot you mean something that will emotionally resonate with you and keep you engaged with following the story or characters. Viewers should be the kind of masochist film geeks who enjoy subjecting themselves to such pain and then feel enlightened for doing so.

I realize that a lot of people are going to be put off by the abstract, artistic nature of this film. But what it lacks in cohesion, it more than makes up for in style - similar to poetry, this film is very expressive and doesn't follow any particular norms for film making. It's very visually striking, and for me this was a large part of the enjoyment. Although it has references to films from the silent film era, this film doesn't necessarily keep to a specific style. At times it is sensual and erotic, at other times it's violent and shocking. I believe the intent was to adhere to a certain randomness in both the events portrayed, as well as the tone and visual style; this makes the film follow a seemingly arbitrary path. To me it was visually beautiful and compelling, and I never lost interest. I was impressed by how ambitious it was, with a huge variety of scenes, actors, events. Obviously, the film is very nonlinear and I think the best way to enjoy it is with the expectation of a visual and thematic journey, a series of emotional and artistic events strung loosely together to form a dreamlike storyline.

On the face of it, this silly story within story romp through Saturday morning films of a previous generation should be ignored.

It is not a pastiche - and the strange punk lurid dream style is both art and annoyance. But the style is to no useful end.

And to force an audience to revisit bad early American cinema 'somewhere between Berlin and Bogotá' for 2 hours, with gentle mocking of early 20th century sexual strictures, is quite unfair.

It plays out as being more appropriate for a repeating segment in a high concept sketch show than a cinema production. A short experiment of 15 minutes maybe. But to inflict real people to this at full film length seems strangely tragic.