It's not very often I walk out of a movie not knowing exactly what I've seen, but that's what's happened here.It can be a good thing, in theory, to see something I don't quite understand. It can give me something to mull over, or something to examine. I can discuss abstract symbolism or the conflict of the rational mind and irrational art. I could ponder the nature of obsession, possession, and the dual nature of creation and destruction. I could almost admire the Phantom of the Opera-esque adaptation of a mythic morality tale like the The Nightingale.
I could marvel at the intricately animated automatons and be haunted by their purpose. I could stand awed by the dreamlike quality of the film's cinematography. I could be chilled by the isolation of the seaside setting, the nearby woods, and the elegant cage created by a brilliant madman. I could be seduced by the sultry housekeeper and protective of the naive Piano Tuner invited into this tableau.
Or I could be pissed off that I wasted this much time on a movie that began with a decent plot, OK acting, and wonderful art direction, but ultimately degenerated into a near-incomprehensible mess of sexual imagery, pretty animations, and an ending that makes the whole thing feel like it was a pastel, psychedelic hallucination brought upon by a bad night at the opera, insomnia, and a burlesque show.
Guess which one I'm leaning toward.
Famous Last Words: Huh?
Existence, on the other hand, was a wonderful short whose oddball images and cast of characters fit the premise perfectly. And the disorientation they create were perfectly suited to the journey the main character's on.
