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As far as selections go, I guess I’m a little baffled by The Cell. Watching the visually stunning odyssey into the mind of a depraved killer scared the hell out of me 8 years ago and profoundly disturbed me again last night.
But as we’re shrouded in darkness, I find myself totally mesmerized by the film. It’s full of great stuff I’ve completely forgotten about: JLo gets high in her underwear, picaresque vistas, D’Onofrio’s pre-Chigurh bob cut, Peter Sarsgaard in a cameo, electrifying transitions, and a straight-faced Vince Vaughn.
Splicing surrealist landscapes into stylized nightmares, director Tarsem Singh’s visual bravado does overwhelm the story and characters. As it goes, psychologist Catherine Deane (Jennifer Lopez) plunges into the mind (literally) of Carl Stargher (Vincent D’Onofrio) to recover the location of his latest victim. What unfolds is a harrowing journey into the demented psyche of the killer, where he rules like a self-imposed deity.
An interesting fantasy world, all things considered. Mine consists of Playboy bunnies, Jack Daniels, and a lumpy futon.
Afterward the crowd bursts into raucous applause. Then, evaporates. Undoubtedly seeking counseling after what transpired on screen. Chaz Ebert appears at the podium – sans Roger – complimenting the visual feast and acknowledging the film’s midnight movie quality. Once disposed of formalities and to festival honchos, she introduces Tarsem Singh, the man behind this phenomenal phantasmagoria.
Singh’s manner is that of an artist comfortable in any social circle. He discusses film, architecture, Damien Hurst, and even campus mores with deft pacing. He’s humble too, only casually mentioning his upcoming film, The Fall.
For a creative guy having worked on commercials and music videos, he certainly eschews the introverted persona. He knows how to crowd control. Like a verbal machine gun, he tosses out studio insider info and witty anecdotes and – was that a Big Lebowski joke in there? Hello, new favorite director!
Even the disturbing content of The Cell doesn’t rattle him. Tarsem maintains a fearless poise when fielding questions from the bevy of attendees. And with the die-hards sticking around till 2 AM, these were hardly the sanctimonious types.
A woman accuses Tarsem of exploiting the gross necrophilia and graphic murders depicted in the film. A lesser, volatile director (cough David O. Russell cough) would have exploded in a flurry of curses. The native Indian responds with intelligent grace. His consummate professionalism and unflinching precision to detail apparent in every word.
Like Singh’s brilliant amalgamation of two diverse realms, I’m reminded of the Overlooked Film Festival itself. Hollywood seizing a small town. Two separate entities combined in the creation of something wholly memorable and totally unique.
Focusing on whether or not The Cell has any aesthetic value beyond visual appeal would be missing the point. Uniting movie buffs from every conceivable demographic, the 10th annual Ebertfest transcends those haughty festivals loaded with A-listers because it builds a sense of community that others ignore.
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