Strawberry MansionOur dreams are our refuge, our retreat into a world of our own, where the only limitations are those of our imagination, and where all of the trials and tribulations of our waking life are blissfully irrelevant. But imagine: what would happen if that sanctuary of the mind were invaded by government meddling and advertising...where even this blissful escape was punctured by the overreaching tentacles of product placement and taxation? Well, that would be a nightmare indeed. Strawberry Mansion is a dreamy dystopia about this very idea, and about a cog in that machine--an auditor for the tax bureau--named James Preble (Kentucker Audley), who ironically finds himself awakening to this idea by way of sharing in the dreams of another.
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Written and directed by Albert Birney and star Kentucker Audley, Strawberry Mansion is unlike virtually anything you will find in contemporary filmmaking, and makes one of the most compelling arguments in recent history for a return to form of creator-driven stories instead of the cookie cutter blockbusters that inundate streaming services and movie theaters anymore. To me, this movie represents the clarion call of what movies can be if we let them in a medium recovering from the impact of Covid-19. We begin with Preble's dream (he is largely referred to by his last name instead of his first), set in a "Pepto pink" room, where the auditor is in the throes of agony. But wait! Coming to his rescue is his "buddy" (Linas Phillips), with a bucket of fried chicken and soda. All is well...and then Preble wakes up in his spartan apartment. He retrieves a memory stick from his bedside where this scene--a dream--has been recorded, and inserts it into his computer, where a readout of the products in his dream are taxed. In these first few minutes, Strawberry Mansion unequivocally underscores the evil of advertising and taxation in one fell swoop. How dare someone sell you something phantasmal, implanting subliminal suggestions, and then tax you on them? But of course all you have to do is turn on your TV or internet to see how these technologies have already become nothing more than a glorified commercial first and foremost. And as Preble prepares to depart on his assignment to audit the dreams of the reclusive Arabella "Bella" Isadora (Penny Fuller), he first stops off for--you guessed it--a bucket of fried chicken and soda, in addition to their newest offering, the humorously absurd "chicken milkshake".
Preble exists--like all of us--in a world increasingly enslaved by consumerism; and like most of us, he just doesn't see the shackles binding him yet. His initial encounter with Bella is disarming. She has no fear of his audit, even though Preble's purpose is to assess just how much she has broken the law--the first step in action against her by the twisted government he represents. Her pleasant demeanor and unshakable ebullience depict her more as "touched" than menacing, even though she is, in fact, as sweet as pie. She insists on putting Preble up in a spare room where her pet turtle, "Sweetie Baby", dwells, and her home is littered with thousands of VHS tapes--the older format no longer used for recording dreams, no doubt because it could not reliably be used to bleed its users dry of their income. Strawberry Mansion is a anachronistic amalgamation of antiquated fashion and mechanisms, despite being set in the future, recalling Terry Gilliam's Brazil. What must life be like in this world of 2035? If Preble's experiences are representative of it, that life must be truly soulless. But Preble himself does have a soul, although it is only by way of watching another's (Bella's) dreams--in which she is younger (played by Grace Glowicki)--that Preble begins to find it again. And after his epiphany, Preble is forced to confront his deep-seated fear of breaking out of this nightmare of complacency.
Strawberry Mansion is a metaphor for how movies allow us to understand ourselves better by way of the dreams of another, as Preble does. He begins to insert himself into Bella's dreams a little at a time--first as a spectral observer, and then as a full blown protagonist. Don't we also feel that we identify with the movies that speak to us? Don't we also discover things about ourselves by enjoying the adventures of others, no matter how wild and impossible they might be? Speaking for myself, I have found that my dreams tend to play like a kind of movie. People I know (or know of) are cast in "roles", and I often sit back and just enjoy the show--much like Preble does via his monstrously massive dream reading helmet (like a prototype for the one from Videodrome). Bella's dreams that Preble experiences defy logic by their nature, and often feature fantastical elements missing from his own. While his is an abrasive monochromatic commercial pretending to be a dream, hers are full of lush nature, vibrant locales, and even special effects, like a stop-motion skeleton, or a waiter with a frog's head and a deep voice suited for radio (played by co-writer/director, Albert Birney). His imagination is unfurled like a sail on the sea of dreams. Time holds no power over the realm of dreams, and as Preble becomes increasingly enchanted with the youthful Bella, he spends vast swathes of times in her dreams that would be impossible for him to experience in his waking life. This is another way that dreams and movies coincide and share real estate. Time is dictated by the editor in a movie, and our dreams have their own built-in editor. So Preble's experiences in Bella's dreams are fundamentally no different than if he were watching a movie; the VHS tapes really underscore this, not to mention the mysterious figures wrapped in VHS ribbon tape shambling within the dream world. And that means that Strawberry Mansion is not just a cautionary tale about the impact on society of government and corporate meddling, but on movies as well. How many times have you been subjected to lifestyle influence in movies, ranging from what kind of music you should listen to (by way of the soundtrack) to actual product placement; and that's not even taking into consideration all of those horrible car and insurance ads inflicted on you if you show up early to the theater. So of course the villain of Strawberry Mansion turns out to be a CEO of an advertising company that sells products in people's dreams--and who happens to also be Bella's son, Peter Bloom (Reed Birney). After Peter shows up, he immediately sets into trying to get Preble to call off his audit. (Notice how he constantly says "listen" to make it clear that he is trying to compel Preble into compliance, which is a typical management form of manipulation.) But neither Bella nor Preble are on a mission to ignite a revolution; theirs is a story about the liberation of the heart. Each of them finds something in the other, and gifts their love to one another. Preble gives comfort and companionship to the elderly Bella in her final days, while she peels away the layers of materialism and conformity clinging to Preble like weeds. Like she tells him concerning the dream-shielding helmet she has used to escape the unjust taxation of her dreams after she gifts it to him, it is "up to him" how he will use it. This is a statement that holds true for each and every one of us after we are gifted with newfound wisdom, knowing that our world can never the same. How will you put to use the wisdom of Strawberry Mansion?
Recommended for: Fans of a wholly original (despite its antiquated visual aesthetic) science fiction/fantasy film that is as much a love letter to dreams as it is to cinema itself. Strawberry Mansion is all too much of a rarity in filmmaking it would seem. It is endlessly inventive, innocent, and inviting. It is also a compelling concept and cautionary tale that restrains itself from offensive language and gratuitousness. Really, this movie is for anyone and everyone. We need more innovative and exploratory movies like Strawberry Mansion.
Preble exists--like all of us--in a world increasingly enslaved by consumerism; and like most of us, he just doesn't see the shackles binding him yet. His initial encounter with Bella is disarming. She has no fear of his audit, even though Preble's purpose is to assess just how much she has broken the law--the first step in action against her by the twisted government he represents. Her pleasant demeanor and unshakable ebullience depict her more as "touched" than menacing, even though she is, in fact, as sweet as pie. She insists on putting Preble up in a spare room where her pet turtle, "Sweetie Baby", dwells, and her home is littered with thousands of VHS tapes--the older format no longer used for recording dreams, no doubt because it could not reliably be used to bleed its users dry of their income. Strawberry Mansion is a anachronistic amalgamation of antiquated fashion and mechanisms, despite being set in the future, recalling Terry Gilliam's Brazil. What must life be like in this world of 2035? If Preble's experiences are representative of it, that life must be truly soulless. But Preble himself does have a soul, although it is only by way of watching another's (Bella's) dreams--in which she is younger (played by Grace Glowicki)--that Preble begins to find it again. And after his epiphany, Preble is forced to confront his deep-seated fear of breaking out of this nightmare of complacency.
Strawberry Mansion is a metaphor for how movies allow us to understand ourselves better by way of the dreams of another, as Preble does. He begins to insert himself into Bella's dreams a little at a time--first as a spectral observer, and then as a full blown protagonist. Don't we also feel that we identify with the movies that speak to us? Don't we also discover things about ourselves by enjoying the adventures of others, no matter how wild and impossible they might be? Speaking for myself, I have found that my dreams tend to play like a kind of movie. People I know (or know of) are cast in "roles", and I often sit back and just enjoy the show--much like Preble does via his monstrously massive dream reading helmet (like a prototype for the one from Videodrome). Bella's dreams that Preble experiences defy logic by their nature, and often feature fantastical elements missing from his own. While his is an abrasive monochromatic commercial pretending to be a dream, hers are full of lush nature, vibrant locales, and even special effects, like a stop-motion skeleton, or a waiter with a frog's head and a deep voice suited for radio (played by co-writer/director, Albert Birney). His imagination is unfurled like a sail on the sea of dreams. Time holds no power over the realm of dreams, and as Preble becomes increasingly enchanted with the youthful Bella, he spends vast swathes of times in her dreams that would be impossible for him to experience in his waking life. This is another way that dreams and movies coincide and share real estate. Time is dictated by the editor in a movie, and our dreams have their own built-in editor. So Preble's experiences in Bella's dreams are fundamentally no different than if he were watching a movie; the VHS tapes really underscore this, not to mention the mysterious figures wrapped in VHS ribbon tape shambling within the dream world. And that means that Strawberry Mansion is not just a cautionary tale about the impact on society of government and corporate meddling, but on movies as well. How many times have you been subjected to lifestyle influence in movies, ranging from what kind of music you should listen to (by way of the soundtrack) to actual product placement; and that's not even taking into consideration all of those horrible car and insurance ads inflicted on you if you show up early to the theater. So of course the villain of Strawberry Mansion turns out to be a CEO of an advertising company that sells products in people's dreams--and who happens to also be Bella's son, Peter Bloom (Reed Birney). After Peter shows up, he immediately sets into trying to get Preble to call off his audit. (Notice how he constantly says "listen" to make it clear that he is trying to compel Preble into compliance, which is a typical management form of manipulation.) But neither Bella nor Preble are on a mission to ignite a revolution; theirs is a story about the liberation of the heart. Each of them finds something in the other, and gifts their love to one another. Preble gives comfort and companionship to the elderly Bella in her final days, while she peels away the layers of materialism and conformity clinging to Preble like weeds. Like she tells him concerning the dream-shielding helmet she has used to escape the unjust taxation of her dreams after she gifts it to him, it is "up to him" how he will use it. This is a statement that holds true for each and every one of us after we are gifted with newfound wisdom, knowing that our world can never the same. How will you put to use the wisdom of Strawberry Mansion?
Recommended for: Fans of a wholly original (despite its antiquated visual aesthetic) science fiction/fantasy film that is as much a love letter to dreams as it is to cinema itself. Strawberry Mansion is all too much of a rarity in filmmaking it would seem. It is endlessly inventive, innocent, and inviting. It is also a compelling concept and cautionary tale that restrains itself from offensive language and gratuitousness. Really, this movie is for anyone and everyone. We need more innovative and exploratory movies like Strawberry Mansion.