I'm Still Here

"Joaquin, I'm sorry you couldn't be here tonight." David Letterman

As a piece of performance art, I'm Still Here is as good a mockumentary about celebrity insanity as you will ever get, except, of course, for This is Spinal Tap, which is the real deal of satire. Director Casey Affleck follows his brother-in-law for more than a year after Phoenix's decision to retire from his successful acting career and become a hip-hop artist.

The iconic, Nick-Nolte-like image of Phoenix with a beard and sunglasses, a sort of Blues Brother and Smith Brother all in one, is both hilarious and sad, depending on whether you believe the story of his retirement or see it as a smart marketing campaign for this film and his career. His expertly scoring blow and constantly smoking weed have an authentic air about them although a good actor could simulate. His abuse of his many paid assistants is accurate for a star but almost unbelievable for such a talented one (Walk the Line, Revolution Road). The poor quality of the sound and image makes it a Blair-Witch kin or a device to evoke realism.

I am a disbeliever because although Phoenix convinces me he is sincere about retirement, the actual lack of talent he has, evidenced more than once in the film, leads me to think it's a finely-wrought hoax. No actor as smart as Phoenix could ever judge himself talented, especially as he forms a relationship with Sean Combs, one of the great rappers of our time and in the film a shrewd judge of Phoenix's sophomoric attempts. Phoenix's gig with Letterman, see quote at beginning, could have been a part of the hoax. Throwing up after a performance looked real enough.

Phoenix could make himself into a minor rap artist if he wanted—witness his successful learning to play guitar and sing as Johnny Cash—yet it seems he prefers not to learn well just so he can fail and return into acting, where the dollars will follow.

The title is instructive—does it mean the acting Phoenix is still here, or does it suggest his whole persona—musician and actor—is here. I don't know the answer; I just know my film critic side thinks it sees a con.

If it is all true, Joaquin Phoenix will have time to get back to his real talent, acting. If not, he'll spend time mending a reputation he has willfully wrecked.

This movie still catches many people on the wrong foot, as this hoax is so well implemented that it is hard to believe you aren't watching Phoenix completely loosing it. In reality this is great acting and great directing, and once you know this, the movie is hilariously funny and a sharp criticism of reality TV, Hollywood and show business.

This is a very good movie, but it may not be obvious at first. Our present culture is enamored with spectacle over substance, so I can see why its cursory glance would miss a deeper story being told. It is the story of each of us.

On the surface of things, the movie comes across as a bit voyeuristic. The stereotyped perspective of celebrity life is interesting enough (or not). It is both titillating and uncomfortable to peek behind the veil of someone's raw and intimate life, to have such a personal journey on public display.

The long title for the movie reads, "I'm Still Here: The Lost Years of Joaquin Phoenix." Truly, if we are lucky, we are all works in progress. What is the nature of our identity? What individual and shared narratives have we embraced to define our lives? When those stories unravel at the seams, come crumbling down, what remains?

There has never been a line blurring fiction from non-fiction. It is all fiction, always. The stories we tell ourselves, and others, are both real and imagined. They give shape and trajectory to our lives. Yet, we are simply an expression of circumstance and happenstance -- trying to carve meaning out of our fleeting experience, to connect a constellation of moments and memories into some discernible picture.

We want to believe, in our hearts, that we are special: the mountaintop waterdrop. Rather, we are part of a greater ocean of being, the depths of which we cannot even dimly fathom. Some people go their entire lives without wondering who they are, or how they are called to contribute to the world. Many people are happy enough with the surface show, oblivious to the mystery and reality of their authentic selves. It takes effort to reveal the treasures within. Why bother.

We want our lives to have the benefit of a movie. We want everything somehow to come together, to make sense, to have resolution, a happy ending, triumph, victory! In short: to affirm our desires and imaginings. But life is not like that. It is a messy, desultory business. In the person, in the example, of Joaquin Phoenix, we witness the everyday phenomenon of going to pieces, without falling apart.

As Joaquin says at the top of the movie, he wants to be seen for whom he is, just that. All of it, the good and the not-so-good. From this place, there is the genuine possibility to grow and to become. Truthfulness is the foundation of all virtues. Everything is built on this honest open humanity.

After the fiction of one's self- and culturally imposed identity is obliterated, we can pick our way among the ruins and begin again. The inner and outer forces that have come together to define us -- in a very real sense, to imprison us -- no longer hold their narrative sway. The movie ends on this baptismal note, with a new beginning, a rebirth. Each, in our own way, is reminded: Free thyself from the fetters of the world, loose thy soul from the prison of self. Seize thy chance, for it will come to thee no more.

With a wink and a nod, the movie is complete with cast and writing credits, made under the banner of They Are Going to Kill Us Productions. As self-involved as the movie may first appear, we can be forgiving of its conceit or deceit. This is cinema verite (no accents), as the camera is pointing to truth, without the story itself having to be true. "I'm Still Here" carries the double meaning for this universal and particular process of sacrifice, discovery and spiritual maturation.

In life, when all is said and done, we don't know quite what we have lived through, or what we have wrought. The curtain falls. Someone else takes the stage. A new story begins. Round and round it goes. If we could see the end in the beginning, perhaps we would not lament, but rejoice, in the journey.

This is unlike any other movie ever made. Inventive. Joaquin made a movie, he was in character at all times. Whether or not he broke character or there were flaws or slips in the film, he had to keep in character any time he was in the public eye. He wasn't locked away on a set or in a remote location. He wasn't shielded from scrutiny until every word or action was carefully crafted by editors. He was acting in plan sight, having to flow and improvise anytime he was around the media. These guys are made a film by catching the media off guard, a media hoax, instead of the media paying there rent by displaying or exposing celebrity.

This is the result of a history of celebrity turning the tables on the media. Edgar Allan Poe used the print media to conduct hoaxes for the end goal of entertainment and enlightenment. He manufactured a truth to raise questions, do you believe everything you read or hear in the case of Orson Wells? I commend the efforts and dedication that went into the making of this movie.

Also, I wish no one had let me in on the ruse until I had seen the movie. Being fooled is fun, it's why magicians will always be entertaining despite the fact that we may adamantly dismiss the existence of magic.

I'm Still Here is a difficult film to watch. It's slow and plodding at points with long cuts where little seems to happen. JP's character is hard to like as he's spinning out of control lashing out at those around him. It's like Entourage during a massive drug addled shame spiral.

I get it, It was all a big act. Yet watching the film you can't help but scratch your head and wonder. What is real and what isn't? Are the coke binges real, the prostitutes, the tirades... Is the hoax a hoax? Affleck's directing and Phoenix's skillful performance made me wonder.

But what is definitely real is the public and the relationship that we have with our celebrities. Some of us (myself included) have watched (no cheered) the self destruction of certain celebrities. This film made me question why I sometimes hope to see others fail. I didn't like what I saw about myself, that having the successful fail makes me feel better about my own shortcomings. Few films can bring about such self reflection and it showed me that I am too scared to take risks.

Thankfully this film does not have the same aversions when it comes to taking risks, OK It takes HUGE risks. Who among us would leave the safety and security of a multi-million dollar career to make a film that will be misunderstood, often hated, and potentially career destroying? In the end was it worth it, that will be for the public to decide but I for one am inclined to believe that it was. After the inevitable lawsuits and box office failures, Phoenix and Affleck may disagree.

I found the final sequence of the film to be strangely emotional, and it really made me appreciate the skills of Casey Affleck. I've seen so many negative comments about his directing and I can only assume that those who are dissing his approach either haven't seen the film, or think that if there isn't a ton of glitzy effects a movie was a waste.

As for Joaquin, I found this to be his most compelling performance to date. Yes he was excellent as Johnny Cash but what about Signs, what about Reservation Road, what about Gladiator? (yes I know that won an Oscar but sorry, that movie sucked) After seeing I'm still here, I have new respect for the man and hope that this film will redefine his career for years to come.