Brand Upon the BrainIf you've ever had a fever, you know that sleep does not come as easy as it should, and when you do manage to drift off into unconsciousness and are in that half-awake state where what is real and what is unreal is too blurred to distinguish, then you are approaching some idea of what to expect from Brand Upon the Brain. The film follows the story of Guy Maddin (played by Erik Steffen Maahs)--the character, but not the director of the same name--as he revisits the island of his youth at the request of his ailing mother to repaint the lighthouse. In the midst of this brooding reminiscence, Guy relives memories of his childhood, and the bizarre events that would forever alter his world.
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Brand Upon the Brain acts much like a silent movie relic, with title cards and film that appears worn over time--but this film also taps into some deep subconscious link, like an electrical current jolting you into a waking trance. Guy Maddin (the filmmaker, now) crafts a tale in black and white with deep shadows and glaring light at times. The film often portrays objects or characters out of focus or through narrow peepholes or wide vistas intermittently, as well as a rapid barrage of nigh-subliminal images, looping back on itself, a nervous tic or mannerism which burns itself into your conscious, filmgoing experience. The story also echoes like the vox of the aerophone, an invention of Guy's father (Todd Moore), and one of the themes that resonates through the film of "everything twice, everything twice" highlights both the futility of Guy's attempt to reclaim his past and a pervading sense of duality that dusts over the cursed Black Notch Island. This duality is ubiquitous, in everything from the gender confusion embodied in Wendy/Chance (Katherine E. Scharhon), and in a story told by Guy's mother (Gretchen Krich) about her mother and aunt who--according to the story--fought each other in a rage for what the other had that they did not, as well as Guy's sister, Sis (Maya Lawson) and her own ascension to the role that her domineering mother possessed...even Guy's "two coats of paint" for the lighthouse is a manifestation of that duplicity. What this ultimately means for the residents of this isle of orphans is that there is no escape from fate--except maybe death...and even that is unsure, when a jolt of nectarine and jumper cables can circumvent death. And perhaps more unnerving is that, like Guy, we often walk willingly back into our traps of the past, and the reason that the events of our traumatic pasts revisit us is because we invite them, provoke them, tempt them to return to haunt us again, just as Guy does with the phantom of Wendy.
Brand Upon the Brain is experimental to the extreme. Consider its stage debut, with varied interlocutors like the excellent Isabella Rossellini and live orchestral accompaniment and Foley artists. But the themes that haunt the film are identifiable for attentive audiences, and rewarding for abstract thinkers. There is a line spoken by the narrator of this twelve chapter odyssey into the past, describing how secrets are always told in whispers...in a whisper, of course. There is a demand to pay attention to the content of Brand Upon the Brain, challenging the audience to submit to the idea that a film can be entertaining without resorting to conventional structure, piquing our curiosity with weirdness and beguiling unfamiliarity. There is a demand to absorb the subtler messages of the story, even when they are left muddy and open to one's own perception. Even the frequent narrow iris of the camera reminds one of staring through a peephole, hoping to uncover a glimpse of something forbidden or secretive. Although Brand Upon the Brain is a story about the past--about childhood--it is also a story presented as a fable for children, though the content is clearly meant for adults. That is not to say the story is immature; rather, it subscribes to a kind of instinctual simplicity, one which resonates with the audience's inner child. We can instinctively identify with young Guy (Sullivan Brown), as he rankles under the oppressive thumb of his mother and her watchful eye in the sky from the lighthouse, beaming down at him, and the cruel irony that his crush Wendy doesn't seem at all interested in him, but rather Guy's sister. Guy's mother is tyrannical, possessive, and vain, but seems to still love Guy in her way. Guy is overly eager to please, because he believes that by pleasing others he is worthy of love. Wendy's journey to the island was intended to liberate the orphans from the strange circumstances of their undisclosed servitude there, but she ends up selfishly pursuing Sis in a duplicitous disguise, while unconsciously fostering a complex in the young Guy, whom she unwittingly awakens to his own desires. The characters are motivated by love in some capacity, but their efforts usually only result in disaster in the end. Does that mean that love should not be pursued, or that love should always be open and forthright, even in the face of rejection? Well, if even the best of intentions and actions result in tragedy--twicefold--then the answers are less than transparent. Brand Upon the Brain asks these questions without directly asking them, and questions our perception of familial responsibility and trust in our relationships, even if those questions drip forth like some brain nectar from the delirious phantasm of a sleepwalker, a riddle wrapped in an enigma.
Recommended for: Fans of film that wants to convey a message with rapid imagery and haunting music, rather than a direct narrative, and fans of silent movie-esque weirdness coupled with a hallucinogenic dreamlike reverie.
Brand Upon the Brain is experimental to the extreme. Consider its stage debut, with varied interlocutors like the excellent Isabella Rossellini and live orchestral accompaniment and Foley artists. But the themes that haunt the film are identifiable for attentive audiences, and rewarding for abstract thinkers. There is a line spoken by the narrator of this twelve chapter odyssey into the past, describing how secrets are always told in whispers...in a whisper, of course. There is a demand to pay attention to the content of Brand Upon the Brain, challenging the audience to submit to the idea that a film can be entertaining without resorting to conventional structure, piquing our curiosity with weirdness and beguiling unfamiliarity. There is a demand to absorb the subtler messages of the story, even when they are left muddy and open to one's own perception. Even the frequent narrow iris of the camera reminds one of staring through a peephole, hoping to uncover a glimpse of something forbidden or secretive. Although Brand Upon the Brain is a story about the past--about childhood--it is also a story presented as a fable for children, though the content is clearly meant for adults. That is not to say the story is immature; rather, it subscribes to a kind of instinctual simplicity, one which resonates with the audience's inner child. We can instinctively identify with young Guy (Sullivan Brown), as he rankles under the oppressive thumb of his mother and her watchful eye in the sky from the lighthouse, beaming down at him, and the cruel irony that his crush Wendy doesn't seem at all interested in him, but rather Guy's sister. Guy's mother is tyrannical, possessive, and vain, but seems to still love Guy in her way. Guy is overly eager to please, because he believes that by pleasing others he is worthy of love. Wendy's journey to the island was intended to liberate the orphans from the strange circumstances of their undisclosed servitude there, but she ends up selfishly pursuing Sis in a duplicitous disguise, while unconsciously fostering a complex in the young Guy, whom she unwittingly awakens to his own desires. The characters are motivated by love in some capacity, but their efforts usually only result in disaster in the end. Does that mean that love should not be pursued, or that love should always be open and forthright, even in the face of rejection? Well, if even the best of intentions and actions result in tragedy--twicefold--then the answers are less than transparent. Brand Upon the Brain asks these questions without directly asking them, and questions our perception of familial responsibility and trust in our relationships, even if those questions drip forth like some brain nectar from the delirious phantasm of a sleepwalker, a riddle wrapped in an enigma.
Recommended for: Fans of film that wants to convey a message with rapid imagery and haunting music, rather than a direct narrative, and fans of silent movie-esque weirdness coupled with a hallucinogenic dreamlike reverie.