Time Code

There is a rule in science that for an experiment to be meaningful, all the variables must be controlled but one. That rule could be applied to experimental cinema, too; at least it should have been applied to this film.

Time Code combines two experiments, one that has promise, and one that is doomed. The promising experiment involves multiple screens following different parts of the story in "real" time. The doomed experiment involves requiring actors to script and direct themselves.

In addition, this movie was shot in four simultaneous uninterrupted takes. Maybe this was an experiment, too, but it is comparable to live theater, which is not exactly a novelty. It is neither a good thing nor a bad thing -- and should be a matter of complete indifference to the audience, as long it works. Instead of cutting from scene to scene, our attention shifts from screen to screen.

The four-screen experiment did work reasonably well here, especially on DVD, where one can instantly back up to catch bits one missed. The multi-view device might even have been truly excellent in this film, had it not been for the other experiment -- the Absentee Director.

A feature movie is not an improv sketch. There is a reason that an army has one general, and that a movie has one director. Although each of these endeavors requires the effort and cooperation of many talented people, both a military campaign and a feature film must be focused on one person's vision and goals.

Time Code has the same fatal flaw as Dancing at the Blue Iguana. Each actor was instructed to invent his own character, and then to direct himself. In Time Code each performer was evidently told to make of his character a recognizable Hollywood stereotype. The result: eight variations on "coke-snorting pretentious but sycophantic loser," who all walk stiffly through their parts like zombies trying to perform soap opera. I cannot imagine how desperate a viewer would have to be, in order to care about any of them.

I suppose this should not reflect badly on the performers, although it cannot have helped their careers. I have seen most of them in other films, and they are all capable actors. It does reflect dismally on the director. Where was he hiding while the four cameras were running? Maybe he was busy watching four tumble dryers at the laundromat up the street.

Time Code might be worth a peek on dollar-day at the video store -- which is how I found it. Otherwise, forget it. 3/10.

Mike Figgis does a Robert Altman. Except, instead of creating a large narrative of interconnecting plot strands, he puts them all on four split screens. Is this therefore more subversive than Altman? I don't think so - Altman's method is an attack on Hollywood linearity, on conventional methods of 'connection'; his characters exist is the same space but are emotionally etc. miles apart. The characters in 'Short Cuts', like the city of L.A. itself, are a mass without a centre. Figgis, for all the supposed diffusion of his visual strands, actually reunites, glues together Altman's ruptures. In this way it might seem a more optimistic kind of film. It isn't.

'timecode' is being touted as a revolution in cinema, a new way of watching films. Instead of watching one screen and being led by a director, we are given four, and asked to make our choices. I was surprised at how panicked I was at this in the first 20 minutes, darting between scenes, wondering which one I should follow. This forced me out of the film much more disturbingly than anything by Fassbinder or Godard. But this alienation is deceptive. Firstly we are not really bombarded by four narratives - put 'pierrot le fou', 'diary of a country priest', 'vampyr' and 'branded to kill' on four screens, then you'd be confused. Figgis leads you all the way, gives you an illusion of choice, but rarely fulfils it. The focus is on one screen at a time - either the soundtrack is turned up loudest, the plot is more interesting, whatever. For long periods of time, you can safely ignore other scenes because there is nothing going on - for about 20 minutes, for example, Lauren sits in a limousine listening to a bug planted on Rose; this leaves us free to watch another screen and see what she's listening to. Other scenes are merely tedious - eg Emma droning to her shrink (a nod to Godard's 'week end', that famous end of cinema?) - so that you gladly look elsewhere. It is possible to listen to one scene, and flit around at the others to catch up on what's going on.

What I'm saying is, 'timecode' is not a difficult experience - after the initial adjustment, you watch the film as you would any other, especially as all the stories converge and are really only one story. Even at the beginning, the feeling is less one of Brechtian alienation than akin to being a security guard faced with a grid of screens - you rarely think about the physical processes of film or performance, as you would in a Dogme or Godard film.

So if 'timecode' is less revolutionary than it seems, that doesn't mean it isn't a brilliant film, a real purse in a pig's ear of a year (or whatever the expression is). One reason for this is the four-screen structure: I would have to watch it a few more times, but I was very conscious of the orchestration of the screens, the way compositions, or camera movements, or close-ups etc., in one screen were echoed, reflected, distorted in the others - a true understanding of this miraculous formal apparatus would, I think, give us the heart of the film, and bely the improvised nature of the content. Figgis is also a musician - he co-composed the score - and the movement here, its fugues and variations are truly virtuosic, almost worthy of my earlier Altman comparison.

But the content is great fun too. At first I was disappointed at the self-absorbed drabness of the material, the idea that we shouldn't be made to work too hard because we've enough to deal with the four screens. And, it is true, that the stories rarely transcend cliche. But, such is the enthusiasm of the performers (people like Salma Hayek obviously relishing slightly more useful roles than the bilge they're usually stuck in); the precision of the structure; the mixture of comedy and pathos, and the way the style facilitates both, that you're convinced you're watching a masterpiece. Quentin's massaging and Ana's pitch are two of the funniest things I've seen in ages, while Stellan Skarsgard's rich performance stands out all the more for its brittle surroundings.

The purpose of this movie was not to entertain with an extremely dramatic plot full of twists. It was just to show that it is possible to film four separate quadrants and make them work together. THIS film did not even have a real script or anything, and it didn't take much time to complete. In the future, a major production could be created. The only problem is that because the viewer sees everything at once, the film would have to be shorter (Timecode did get boring because it is 90 mins x 4).

In an age where top-rated films involve Australians in xenophobic, concocted histories, or should-know-better Oscar winners in films about nicking cars, innovation seems rarely welcome.

It comes as no surprise then that the first film to be told via four separate panels on the screen, with continuous 93m takes and improvisation should only be shown on one single screen in the whole of the West Midlands.

What did surprise me, however, is that the film isn't that good. It is above average, though is too mainstream to really appeal to the artset, and too arty to interest a mainstream audience. The attention is directed around the four separate panels by virtue of judicious sound editing; dips and fades occurring throughout.

Of the four panels, while their fixations may merge or change, generally speaking they take the following form: the top two are the serious ones, the upper left seeing Lauren Hathaway (Jeanne Tripplehorn) using surveillance to listen in on her girlfriend's conversations, whom she (correctly) suspects is having an affair. The upper right is the dullest, a meandering affair with the self-absorbed Emma (Saffron Burrows) who goes through counselling and has very little interaction or involvement with the rest of the film.

Lower left are the cast-offs, often sharing perspective with its adjacent panels and mostly being used for light relief. Lower right, arguably the most interesting, is centred on a movie production meeting which allows for some industry parodies. These include movies such as "Time Toilet", "Bitch" and a hip-hop Soviet incidental music that offers "Can you dig it - Trotsky in da house!"

I did chuckle at the Asian staff member whose name - Connie Ling - produces sniggers when introduced, though Onyx Richardson's (Golden Brooks) assertion that black people get short shrift in film seems hollow when you consider the only thing her character gets to talk about is her colour, and that she's the only black cast member. The film's lesbian relationships also seem only there for titillation. Lastly, when you meet a character who pitches a film based around four separate panels and continuous takes (dismissed by a committee member as "pretentious s***") you realise that this film either isn't as clever as it thinks it is or too clever by half. Without the gimmickry - and it could easily get by with only half of it's four screens - this would be a forgettable 4. Therefore, isn't it a pity that the innovation wasn't applied to a better movie? 6/10.

I am pretty sure that I will not see a more jaw-dropping piece of film-making for quite some time. To put the complexity of filming 4 continuous takes simultaneously and in full co-ordination into any perspective, is extremely difficult. And then to have such a dramatic climax at the end of 93 improvised minutes is pretty mind-blowing.

I'm sure plenty of people will scream "pretentious crap" - as the girl suggests in her meeting speech - but the innovative brilliance of this film should be applauded above everything else. For example, little things like how the camera is focused on Skarsgard in the meeting while his wife is having it away with another woman. And then bigger things such as each screen simultaneously focusing in close-up on their characters eyes. Unbelievable.

I'm sure this isn't everybody's cup of tea - some people just don't appreciate the concept of doing something unique and risky. Some people even go as far as criticising Mike Figgis for attempting this - when in truth, this experiment was never likely to reach the masses, so any accusation of arrogance/pretension are pathetic.

As for the story and acting, I have a sneaky suspicion that maybe the sound was turned down on certain screens in post-production when actor's were fumbling or struggling for dialogue, I also thought the sound should have been muted from the other 3 screens while we were focused on one - because at times we get mumbling from all 4 at once, which doesn't work. But none of this detracts from a truly great achievement from all involved - for actors to go 93 minutes undisturbed is very impressive.

A perfectly constructed and co-ordinated film, I am in absolute awe. 10/10