Begotten, the warmly received experimental first
film from director E. Elias Merhige, is a passion play that wavers between
amateur-hour incompetence and an undeniable directorial vision. It presents an
unrelentingly bleak vision of the universe, to be sure, but it’s also one
that’s been tempered with some unfortunately shoddy production values and some
narrative uncertainty that leaves the viewer confused as often as mystified (a
second viewing answers many questions but also reveals flaws that you suspected,
but couldn’t confirm the first time through). Some of the movie’s power
relies on this bewilderment, and the movie offers so many layers of abstraction
(the black and white film, the graininess of the rephotographed film stock, the
inverse negative, the bizarrely natural soundtrack, etc…) that what we see
becomes almost subconscious. Images dart past us, and we’re not sure if what
we think we’ve seen is what we actually we saw, and oftentimes we’re hoping
what we thought we saw isn’t what was actually shown, because of its graphic
nature. In its best moments, the movie takes on the hyper-real sensations of a
fever dream in which everything we perceive is amplified, distorted, and
unbearable. It’s unfortunate then, that much of the film consists of plodding
dead space that connects these moments of epiphany, despite its relatively short
running time.
What little plot there is in the film seems to tell a
primal and forgotten creation myth (the first character we see is later named
“God Killing Himself” in the end credits), and much of the movie’s power
comes from the primordial groove that the series of violent births, deaths, and
rapes that the movie sets up. Though the movie might have a simple narrative, it
is ambitious in its attempts to work through powerful iconography, and as much
as it’s a film of ideas, it’s a film of visceral gut reactions, and that’s
something of a rarity in movies. It’s definitely not for the squeamish or
unadventurous, and there are too few works that truly warrant that sort of
warning, but it’s also not for those who place high value on having easily
classifiable experiences (and even less so for those looking to be entertained).
Begotten’s biggest problems lie in Merhige’s inability to sustain the
illusion that the spasmodic figures that dot its desolate landscapes are as archetypical
as the movie would needs us to believe. Whenever that singular illusion lapses, and we
manage to get our bearings, the movie crumbles apart into a pretentious and
murky muddle. It’s tough to guess to what any given person might get out of Begotten,
since it’s such a highly subjective experience. Although I personally didn’t
relish my experience with the film, I wouldn’t think anything less of a person
who had.
Begotten, the warmly received experimental first
film from director E. Elias Merhige, is a passion play that wavers between
amateur-hour incompetence and an undeniable directorial vision. It presents an
unrelentingly bleak vision of the universe, to be sure, but it’s also one
that’s been tempered with some unfortunately shoddy production values and some
narrative uncertainty that leaves the viewer confused as often as mystified (a
second viewing answers many questions but also reveals flaws that you suspected,
but couldn’t confirm the first time through). Some of the movie’s power
relies on this bewilderment, and the movie offers so many layers of abstraction
(the black and white film, the graininess of the rephotographed film stock, the
inverse negative, the bizarrely natural soundtrack, etc…) that what we see
becomes almost subconscious. Images dart past us, and we’re not sure if what
we think we’ve seen is what we actually we saw, and oftentimes we’re hoping
what we thought we saw isn’t what was actually shown, because of its graphic
nature. In its best moments, the movie takes on the hyper-real sensations of a
fever dream in which everything we perceive is amplified, distorted, and
unbearable. It’s unfortunate then, that much of the film consists of plodding
dead space that connects these moments of epiphany, despite its relatively short
running time.
What little plot there is in the film seems to tell a
primal and forgotten creation myth (the first character we see is later named
“God Killing Himself” in the end credits), and much of the movie’s power
comes from the primordial groove that the series of violent births, deaths, and
rapes that the movie sets up. Though the movie might have a simple narrative, it
is ambitious in its attempts to work through powerful iconography, and as much
as it’s a film of ideas, it’s a film of visceral gut reactions, and that’s
something of a rarity in movies. It’s definitely not for the squeamish or
unadventurous, and there are too few works that truly warrant that sort of
warning, but it’s also not for those who place high value on having easily
classifiable experiences (and even less so for those looking to be entertained).
Begotten’s biggest problems lie in Merhige’s inability to sustain the
illusion that the spasmodic figures that dot its desolate landscapes are as archetypical
as the movie would needs us to believe. Whenever that singular illusion lapses, and we
manage to get our bearings, the movie crumbles apart into a pretentious and
murky muddle. It’s tough to guess to what any given person might get out of Begotten,
since it’s such a highly subjective experience. Although I personally didn’t
relish my experience with the film, I wouldn’t think anything less of a person
who had.