Blanchett’s not bad, but ‘Manifesto’ is overkill
Artistic and political manifestoes are best consumed in small bites, a significant problem for Julian Rosefeldt’s new movie. In 95 minutes, “Manifesto” presents a fairly steady stream of proclamations, declarations and provocations, and it’s a lot to digest — you’re likely to feel surfeited long before the curtain drops.
The movie offers Cate Blanchett in no fewer than 13 varying guises, reciting from who knows how many lofty (and occasionally incomprehensible) statements. The movie gets lots of mileage from keeping us guessing which of her various personae will pop up next. It seems likely that the film may have drawn at least some inspiration from Blanchett’s striking Bob Dylan impersonation in “I’m Not There.”
If anyone could pull this off, surely it would be Blanchett, and it’s fun, at least initially, to watch her glorying in the revelations, contradictions and absurdities of the documents she quotes. An example: One of her characters is a suburban Southern mother who says a decidedly nontraditional pre-lunch grace using words from a 1961 manifesto by artist Claes Oldenburg.
Among her other roles are a homeless person, a TV news anchor (and the reporter with whom the anchor has an on-air chat), a puppeteer with a puppet who looks just like her, a hazmat-suited worker in what appears to be nuclear power plant and an autocratic Russian choreographer.
Some of the manifestoes are familiar, though none is identified during its recitation (you’ll have to wait until the credits). There are quotes from early works such as Tristan Tzara’s Dadaist manifesto of 1918 and from the Futurist and Fluxus movements, and later words from the filmmakers behind Dogme 95 and from Werner Herzog’s 1999 Minnesota Declaration.
There are some blunt ironies in the contrast between the quotations and the characters and contexts in which they are delivered: from a woman in widow’s weeds at a funeral or a CEO offering commands to her subordinates.
But the sheer abundance of material offered is a problem the film hasn’t solved. The manifestoes are dense with meaning, full of paradoxes, wild imagery, anger, contempt and impossible dreams, and eager to contradict themselves and each other.
The cumulative effect is overkill, and all the sentiments begin to blend together into a free-floating rage at things as they are and a call for perpetual rebellion. A kind of monotony sets in, as if we’re being compelled to hear the effusions of a bright adolescent in an endlessly defiant mood.
Still, there’s something to be said for simply watching Blanchett at work. Without the contribution of this exceptionally talented actress, “Manifesto” would be rough going indeed. With it, the film rises — barely — above the category of “enough already.”