Crash (1996)
A film review by Jean-Denis Rouette
Copyright 1996 Jean-Denis Rouette
CRASH Directed and produced by David Cronenberg Written by David Cronenberg Based on the novel by J G Ballard Photographed by Peter Suschitzky Art direction by Carol Spier Music by Howard Shore Edited by Ronald Sanders Starring: James Spader, Deborah Kara Unger, Elias Koteas, Holly Hunter, Rosanna Arquette
As our century draws to a close, human sexuality has lost much of its original purpose. Procreation doesn't physically need it anymore. Sexual energy beacons for new outlets, and sexuality itself is ripe for reinterpretation. Enter the car as an extension of the human body, and the car crash as a new form of intercourse.
The late twentieth century notions described in CRASH are not alien to David Cronenberg. He explored the evolution of human sexuality through technological means as early as in his 1969 film STEREO, and has continued to probe with films like SCANNERS (1980) and VIDEODROME (1983). Ballard's book is as "Cronenbergian" as anything written by the director. Its imagery of twisted metal merging with wounded flesh, of engine oil flowing with human semen, begged to be captured by Cronenberg's camera. Although the director dismissed the novel as "repulsive" at first glance, he later spontaneously decided to adapt it to film. His approach, however, betrays a certain uncertainty as to how to expand on Ballard's ideas. Unlike the imaginative narrative structure he imposed on Burrough's NAKED LUNCH, his CRASH adds almost nothing to what was published almost three decades ago.
CRASH does not tell a story. It is very little concerned with its individual characters. It describes the world the characters inhabit, and they are merely the details of this description. The actors are made to walk through each scene, whispering dialogue, in a state described as "narcotized". If Cronenberg's strategy of casting gifted actors like Holly Hunter in such hollow, unrewarding roles to best communicate the emptiness and alienation of his world makes a certain intellectual sense, it also betrays a cynicism and moral stance he often denies when talking about the film. If the futuristic psychology hinted at in CRASH is undeniably fascinating, it needs more development. More thought. As it stands, our glimpse into this world is superficial and monotonous. Cronenberg overrates his sex scenes as illustrative devices. The idea of defining the characters through their physical relationships has merit, but the execution is too timid to work. Although I admire his refusal to overuse the car's many offerings of phallic symbolism, I question his insistence that ALL of the film's nudity be female.
Technically, CRASH shows consummate skill and finesse. From a stunning opening title sequence (featuring dented metallic type) propelled by Howard Shore's screeching guitars, to the endless traffic viewed from Jim Balland's condominium balcony, to the desolate hospital halls, empty but for the principle players, Cronenberg knows how to communicate through film. His editing in the film's first half hour is concise, brutal, and brilliant. His "distilled" filmmaking, excluding all superfluous elements in a scene, creating a specific film reality, testifies to the uniqueness and solidity of his personal vision.
Unfortunately, once the major thematic elements have been introduced, the film loses its way. Scenes follow one another without advancing new ideas, and the repetition of theme and imagery rapidly becomes tiresome, despite the cold beauty of Peter Suschitzky's photography. The more the film progresses, the more it seems redundant and flimsy. Entire scenes (Arquette at the car dealership, Hunter and Arquette making out at in the pound) go nowhere. At both screenings I attended, many people walked out before the final half hour. Cronenberg believes that the boredom many people felt watching the film stems from their incapacity (or unwillingness) to deal with the notions about sex and death that the film implies. Many of them, I suspect, had already gotten the point, and felt they had nothing left to gain from repetition.
By the time the film comes full circle, and sums itself up in its final shot, I felt that, contrary to most of Cronenberg's work, CRASH was form over content. The director has evolved to such an admirable level of artistic skill, that it is particularly disappointing that the distilled images of CRASH don't yield more thematic meat.
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