Lore, or: When it's OK to relish in the absurd, and when it's just...absurd

It's my first film of 2013, and I'm already dealing with insanity: Lore, despite it's very straightforward premise, is an absurd film—but in a good way. From the get-go, director and writer Cate Shortland (with co-writer Robin Mukherjee) piles on the bedlam, turning an understandably intense situation into a migraine-inducing onslaught of the senses hellbent on creating discomfort. A girl lightly hopscotches as Lore (Saskia Rosendahl) stringently tugs at her hair with a brush, all the while counting "one, two, three, four, five, six." It's all, quite honestly, very reminiscent of a crappy horror film's trailer, where a child sings an otherwise simple lullaby and turns it into a creepfest. The techniques used in this opening scene in order to set the film's tone are actually quite similar to tension building methods in both the horror and thriller genre. In fact, two films come to mind right away: Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part 2 and Final Destination 5.

Yes: this is how absurd Lore is.

Looking at this opening sequence, we can note several instances where Shortland is clearly manipulating the aura—which, again, isn't exactly a bad thing. Lore is all about loss, abandonment, and living in the shadow of one's family and nationalism. In addition, Lore discovers and explores the emotions associated with these themes by trudging through the forest, searching for food and constantly in fear of being shot by army personnel. This shit is dark and intense, and Shortland has no intentions of allowing anything but distress settle in. So as Lore tugs at her hair, this discomfort is forming. Her mother claws at her sleeve and struggles with her bra strap; her brother trips over the last step and spills papers all over the floor; her father grips his suitcase tight as he smokes. All of these shots are met with extreme close-ups, which are bountiful enough to make Howard Hawks never visit film again. It's constricting and intends to create a claustrophobic feeling, amplifying the sound of a hand wrapping around leather to ridiculous levels. In addition to it all: we're in the dark so far. What's going on? We'll find out, but for now, rapid-fire succession and close-ups revealing skin pores are dictating a sense of hurried angst and despair.

Breaking Dawn Part 2 makes a more adept use of this technique, as Bella begins the film testing her new vampire powers. She's gaining knowledge of her newly enhanced senses, ludicrously augmenting the sounds and feelings associated. Suddenly Kristen Stewart biting her lip expels a tiny click; her nostrils flare with her heightened sense of smell; she can feel her hairs slowly lift off her arm in the breeze. All of these overtly intense methods are all building towards one realization: her thirst for blood dominates. Breaking Dawn Part 2 is all about Bella's newly found powers and how she deals with them. The difference between Lore and Twilight is that director Bill Condon knows when to step back.

Building upon the film's original props is key, and Shortland takes that idea to the nth level. Instead of allowing the intensity of her family's situation to settle and take its psychological toll (after Germany loses the war, they're forced to burn their identities), Shortland barrels forward, yet manically stagnant, continuing to fixate on the abruptness of chopping wood, awkward hands fumbling with coins, and wow are you kidding me, some more tripping over and dropping shit. Lore is never able to enhance the sheer discomfort of the family's crippling new lifestyle because every situation's aura replicates the frantic nature of the opening scene. If discomfort is the only motive, then it's an entirely different discussion. But as Shortland continues to expand her themes, exploring the idea of recreating your family's mistakes and discovering one's sexuality, the form disallows any emotion to sufficiently dominate the pestering nature of the daily grind.

Which, again, is cool—if that's the controlling point of the film. But I do believe Lore has intentions beyond creating discomfort, rendering the incessant attentiveness to extraneous props and constantly shaking camera rather inconsequential and incongruent to the film's heart.

Final Destination 5 a glorious example of utilizing this technique for psychological peril and embracing the absurd. In typical Final Destination fashion, the intense focus on the unfortunate mechanical failures that off the various characters is in full force: the clink and clank of insufficient gears; the spilling of coffee that drips and short-circuits an appliance; the loaded gun slowly heating up on a burning stove. Yet, there's a contextual relationship between these props' presence and the emotional core of the film. Veering off from the typically limp-dicked, repetitious, eye-rolling nature of the Final Destination death scenes, the stagnant work life of Final Destination 5 dominates outside of the slow-burning bloodbaths, correlating the life-draining dormancy of pushing papers with death of divine order. It's a powerful statement about the misdirection and aimlessness of a generation searching for identity in the workplace, and never once does it sacrifice the tick-tock precision and build of its death scenes by juxtaposing them with the same level of intensity in everyday tasks—life slows down, relationships settle in and find their footing, and the core premise of the film is allowed to build on itself.

Sometimes Shortland's craft is beneficial, such as the moments where Lore fiddles with her mother's ring, paralleling the fiercely implacable relationship between mother and father with Lore and Peter (Nick Holaschke). The moment she gives away the ring is a moment where she believes she is physically abandoning her mother's influence, and it recalls the relevant and psychological use of props in Final Destination 5. All at once, the constricting nature of Shortland's camerawork gains meaning, balancing discomfort with a loving moment of hereditary reprisal that can be correlated with Germany's irrational hatred of the Jews and give depth to Lore's relationship with Peter.

But these moments are few and far between. None of Shortland's obvious moments of psychology are useless, such as moments where an extreme close-up of Jesus challenge the idea of inherent hatred of another race, or how the scattered broken eggs in the field are a miniature version of Lore and her fellow abandoned brothers and sisters searching for food. But the constant state of apprehensiveness is more intent on brooding and relishing in peril and disgust than allowing the characters to develop through such filth. These two shots are head-scratchingly inserted, coming and going as quickly as one of Shortland's many moments of unsubstantial imagery: constant close-ups of people's mouths as they talk, flowers on Lore's dress, a suitcase and its clothing strewn about a field, etc. All of these moments contain their own meaning in the moment, but sharing both mood and placement in relation to the more important pieces of imagery throughout the film, claustrophobic concentration becomes their unifier—not the psychology of the characters.

Building off that, no single happy moment can exist without the shadow of Adolf Hitler towering overhead. Lore and her sister gleefully run through the field, but does it not last more than a few seconds before sinister music settles in and red flakes (reminiscent of the blood spilled in WWII) float through the air. Soon there's a shot of Lore peering out through the shadows, and then eerily creeping backwards into nothingness. As Lore races to her mother to say goodbye (or say, "I hate you"), it's greeted with nothing but an intense, tension building stare of understanding that cannot stop being melodramatic for one fucking second in order to capture Lore's troubles as a budding adolescent. Not that I need every film to reflect the perfect world of, say, Whisper of the Heart, but at what point does such treacherousness make a point that isn't opaque and frustratingly broad? This is the central problem with Lore, and it extends to all the points made above: a film can choose to brood in despair, but it can go horribly awry if taken in the wrong direction.

Paul Thomas Anderson's There Will Be Blood is an example of a taking the delicate approach. Not in terms of its ferocious central character, but in terms of style, aura, and mood. It's a bit too light in certain areas, substituting a search for humanity (or in this case, the denial of humanity within Daniel Plainview) with long, cold stares and the occasional bit of demonic imagery. But still, There Will Be Blood is a more-than-competent take on an idea Lore wishes to explore, which is the constant denial of one's past until it can no longer be avoided. Lore's smashing of the tiny deer figurines is an act of self-release, denying the power her mother (and her grandmother) held over her, along with the inherent hatred that led to her fucked up relationship with Peter (and now the absence of a relationship). In a sense, Daniel's bowling alley excursion is on the same psychological scale as Lore. As their contempt for humanity is tested through familial relations, they both build towards and peak with a self-realizations that ensure their much needed solitude.

But, alas, another crazy comparison with Lore falls through the cracks. Whereas There Will Be Blood owns discipline, Lore is the bratty child that screams until she gets her way. The skull-crushing moment that concludes Blood is an earned one, much like Lore's melodramatic smashing of figurines, but in terms of atmosphere it exists on a plane of its own. Daniel's moment is abrupt and encompasses the entire build-up of its two inhabitants—Eli's faith is put into question, and in the long bowling alley with background in focus, the pinnacle of Daniel's quest for wealth is pit against such adherence to faith. Eli screams into the room, pronouncing "God is a superstition!" and all of its plays directly into their tried relationship and tests their morals.

The wide shots and elongated discussions of faith correlate with the rest of the film, but imagine if the entirety of There Will Be Blood was dominated by the frantic nature of Daniel's chasing of Eli. Would that moment contain the same spark of exhilaration or bite of crudeness? As Lore smashes those figurines, I can't help but feel a certain coldness. This could, in fact, be the intention. Perhaps we are expected to feel the same sense of soullessness as Lore, completely and utterly lost and abandoned in a world that's taught nothing but hatred and spite. But then the entirety of Lore would suddenly blend together, and those humanistic moments involving the ring and the eggs would all reflect the same mood. I'd like to think that Shortland wishes to extract a sense beyond angst in her quieter moments, such as when Lore beckons Peter to reach up her skirt in a moment of sexual exploration. It's a wonderful moment that recalls an earlier scene involving her father and mother, only this time Peter is the denier. It's cold, longing, and tragic all at once...and it carries the same gravity as when Günther is shot, or, more ridiculously, when Lore abruptly turns to her sister during an argument and says:

"Scratch all your skin off until you're only a heap of blood and bones."

Talk about melodramatic. But, at the same time: talk about disappointing. Since when is such a dynamite line rendered so useless? So inconsequential? So incredibly in line with every spiteful line uttered from these beleaguered characters' mouths? At one point a man tells Lore she "smells like death." If you ask me, Lore reeks of death and despair every bit as much. It's another moment that tests both Lore's morality and sexuality, yet it's another moment that carries the same aura as her father executing a puppy. There's no shame in replicating the mood and techniques utilized by goofy horror films, slow-burning freak accidents, and callous character studies in greed and alienation—but what's in question here is discipline. Despite an absurd, elongated build-up to the film's final moments, Lore's version of "I'm finished!" is yet another cold stare into the mirror.