Tropic Sprockets

BY IAN BROCKWAY

The Immigrant

With a story that is unapologetically cold, grim and more understated than the work of Albert Camus, James Gray (Two Lovers) and his epic “The Immigrant” holds a charge through the vibration of its actors, specifically Marion Cotillard and Joaquin Phoenix.

Cotillard stars as Ewa, a young Polish girl who arrives at Ellis Island in 1920s New York. With her tubercular sister in tow (Angela Sarafyan), Ewa has all the best of hopes for starting anew. But just when it appears that the pair is making headway, Ewa’s sister is yanked from the line and the couple are in jeopardy of deportation.

Enter Bruno Weiss (Phoenix) who bribes the administration and becomes Ewa’s guardian of sorts. Ewa honestly intends to pull her weight, but while looking around in Bruno’s theater drawer, the temptation to steal a bill or two, proves irresistible.  Soon it becomes clear that Weiss is far from a reputable citizen, but is in fact a two-bit pimp, who works a prostitution ring under the guise of a vaudeville show.

Worse, Bruno is a violent alcoholic. During one interlude, Ewa meets Orlando (Jeremy Renner) Bruno’s cousin, a small time magician. Orlando develops feelings for Ewa, and Bruno also develops an obsession.  The melodrama quickly runs as thick as blackstrap molasses. Not one character is truly likable or dynamic, but the self destructive tensions will keep you going.  The classic cinematography by Darius Khondji of “Midnight in Paris” fame is a conceptual return to the films of Sergio Leone and Francis Ford Coppola with panoramic closeups that are religious in intensity. Every frame is muted as if through sepia, coffee, cigar ash and shadowy motes. There are scenes of overtired harlequins, harlots and curlicued cupids weary with absinthe and mascara. The anemic pinks and purples shown recall the decadent enervation of an era struggling to gain steam, reminiscent of “Cabaret.” Visually, the film is masterful, all encompassing of the period. It is only Ewa’s gullibility that seems far fetched and full of teary pathos of the handwringing variety.

Every role in the film is infused with a lethargic spirit and drive. Bruno himself becomes a twisted grotesque mask, an emotional twin to Paul Dano’s role in “Prisoners”. At one point, Bruno’s face turns black with self hating bitterness. While the daring in a dark approach to a period piece is well taken, there is no one to root for.

With its flat feeling of lugubriousness, The Immigrant” is an offbeat film that masquerades as a mainstream period drama: A kind of “Midnight Express” for fans of “Once Upon a Time in America.” While it is sure to divide fans of Sergio Leone, the painstaking richness in its grim cause and effect of an America gone syrupy in gloom rather than galore, is nearly poetic.
The Galapagos Affair: Satan Came to Eden

From Daniel Geller and Dayna Goldfine (Ballets Russes) comes a documentary that is nothing less than a real life enactment of “Lord of The Flies.”

In 1930, a Nietzschean German doctor Ritter and his anti-capitalist lover Dore Strauch fled Berlin to the Galápagos Islands. Embittered by the bourgeoisie, they settle on Floreana Island, wanting to be solitary and self sufficient. But due to a “Believe It or Not!” hunger for sensation, the couple’s adventures on an untamed island, full of huge tortoises and espresso-black lizards made them known in the German press.

Heinz and Margret Wittmer arrive to settle on a neighboring island with their son Harry who is often sick. Tensions rise. Dr. Ritter does not want to be consulted by neighbors, but through gradual social visits and gift exchanges, bonds are forged. A commune of five emerges.

But, there are unwelcome footprints on the spirited and sable earth with the arrival of aspiring entrepreneur von Wagner Bosquet, who declares the neighboring islands her business alone, to build a hotel. This sensual and self important “Baroness” gains the reputation of a libertine and is serialized in pulp stories in the ‘30s as being a sex crazed seductress with a taste for whips and domination. After “The Baroness’ ” henchman began to bicker with the Wittmers and Dr. Ritter, (involving stolen mail and the baroness’ murdered donkey), she announces that she is taking a trip to Tahiti. In an eerie omen, she leaves her lucky copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray behind and has left no signs of departure. Some have speculated that this Svengali-like siren was murdered. Stranger still, her assistant, Lorenz took a boat to Santa Cruz, bereft and lost.

His mummified corpse was found months later, almost calcified — a fossil of pain. This is a lively, gripping tale with haunting footage. Both Ritter and “The Baroness” slowly emerge as an autocratic dictator that may have turned a reluctant submissive under Bosquet’s Medusa glare and her leering lazy eyes, akin to those of a panther.

At midpoint, the story lessens in magnetism a bit with mentions of new families coming and going and trying to make it after the disappearances (The De Roys, The Angermeyers) and you might find that you need a smartphone visit to familytree.com. There are images of “The Baroness” in full pulp sexuality with her nipples visible that are as lurid as a Weird Tales cover or an Edgar Rice Burroughs cliffhanger, but for the most part we are only given impressions of intrigue.

What really happened? There is no telling. One appearance that stands out above the rest is the figure of Fritz Heiber, grandnephew of Fredrich Ritter, who is absolutely riveting in intensity on par with the actor Klaus Kinski. With his mad blond hair and staring devil eyes, he exists as a solitary spectator watching the fall of Heaven.

“The Galapagos Affair” works best in its telling of a numinous isle with cultish characters wishing to strike out on their own, and almost making a fetish out of nature. It seems that the Galapagos Tortoise is indeed the guardian of these shores. Woe to those who try to raise an opportune, materialist eye to these creatures and knock on their shells.

Write Ian at [email protected]

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