National Post (National Edition)
Play it again, Francis
Director Lenny Abrahamson covered up Michael Fassbender’s face with good reason for independent feature Frank
complete.
Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather is among the highest achievements in American movie history, a story so rich, so broad and so deep that even at more than three hours, time seems to slip by while watching. In adapting Mario Puzo’s book to the screen, both Coppola and Puzo agreed to condense the text version and focus on only one section of the story, leaving large portions of backstory behind.
With the success of the first film, everyone involved (save Al Pacino, who was initially concerned about the script, but joined after a quick rewrite) was eager to adapt the remainder of the book. In celebration of a new restoration of The Godfather Part II, the TIFF Bell Lightbox is undertaking Second Coming: Cinema’s Greatest Sequels, a celebration of the pinnacle of cinema’s second stories. Here, programmer Jesse Wente explains why sequels can be more than just cashing on a popular movie. It’s an answer to a question Hollywood has been asking for decades, and increasingly is the central question to the summer movie season: What makes a great sequel?
This summer alone has seen a flood of sequels, including new chapters in the X-men, Spider-man, Planet of the Apes and Transformers franchises, not to mention 22 Jump Street and Sharknado 2. While a few have found critical support, and a few have also disappointed at the box office, in terms of the modern blockbuster it almost doesn’t matter, with studios already confirming sequels for years to come.
Sequels have become the economic engine of entertainment — movies aren’t alone, big budget video games are also deeply imbedded in a sequel cycle — answering the business questions posed by the ever growing expense of blockbuster production. Even the summer’s two biggest nonsequel movies, Maleficent and Guardians of the Galaxy, are almost sure to have sequels in the future — actually, Guardians 2 has already been announced. Yet while the profit
Sequels have become the economic engine of entertainment
motive of sequels is apparent, the creative one is often lost, sequels too frequently feeling more like recreation than continuation.
Sequels can have merits however, including some that extend beyond filling studio coffers. For audiences the great promise of a sequel, of course, is to continue the story of beloved characters, to extend a stor y ’s reach into new areas and plumb the depths of new emotions. When fully realized, a sequel enriches the experience of the original, shedding new light onto the story and adding resonance to the initial text in retrospect. At their peak, sequels don’t just extend, they
Lenny Abrahamson doesn’t have a big head, but he recognizes the swelling problem of ego in our collective interface. Social media has turned us into self-conscious, selfie-snapping spin-doctors stumping airbrushed
portraits of personal truth.
Abrahamson would rather be frank — which is why he created
Frank — the Sundance-lauded feature about a gifted musician who wears a giant papier-maché head.
Starring Michael Fassbender as the central, masked character who strives for creative perfection, the film also features Maggie Gyllen
haal as the world-weary love inter
est and bandmate to Frank, as well as Domhnall Gleeson as Jon, an ordinary guy with unremarkable skills who sees endless potential for fame and fortune with Frank at his side.
Though originally conceived as homage to Frank Sidebottom, the alter-ego of late English comic Chris Sievey, Abrahamson says he wanted
to create a story that could function on a universal level and address particularly modern themes — namely, our increasing desire to live inside our own fat heads.
“The story came out of an article about working with Frank, and what it was like to tour with a band with a man who wore a big head.
But I didn’t have any real interest
in a straight biopic set in the ’80s with flashbacks. I think fiction does a better job of transforming those ingredients and making them more articulate,” says Abrahamson, the Dublin-born director who recently started pre-production on Emma
Donoghue’s bestseller Room.
“Part of this story is about people
like Captain Beefheart and Roky Erickson and Daniel Johnston, musicians who were on the periphery … You know Zappa knew what he was doing. But Beefheart probably wondered why he wasn’t a huge mainstream success. So the Frank we ended up with is a composite of many people, but we kept the head,”
says Abrahamson.
“Because in a lovely way, things came together: The film is about that desire to be successful for the sake of it. But it also asks questions about how you present yourself to the world and whether you are do-
ing it authentically or not,” he says.
“And this plays into how we relate and use social media. People are projecting a self-consciously intriguing, highly constructed version of themselves… . That idea is rooted in the film. It’s connected to
Frank’s head. It’s the bloated digital
commentator.”
Abrahamson smiles. “Listen to me, I’m talking about it like it’s a person now … But social media is very judgmental. It pretends to be open and accessible but it’s very prescriptive about what is acceptable digital behaviour. It sells itself as super hip and super cool, but it’s
mob-like.”
This invisible conservatism is seeping into every crevice of pop culture via social media’s friendly painted-on smile, but no one
‘Social media pretends to be open, but it’s prescriptive’
is really questioning the stream of false images and idols, says Abrahamson.
“You see it at festivals… in the gifting suites as people put on
their perfect version of self. Maggie Gyllenhaal had a great line yesterday. Someone asked her if she would prefer wearing the head, and she said ‘I am wearing the head. It just looks like my real one,’ which is a brilliant line.”
Abrahamson says he can see why so many people are seduced by the
fat head phenomenon: It means
you are noticed. You have an air of mystery and purpose. Who cares if it’s just the effect of paint and wallpaper paste?
But he’s also seen Michael Fassbender on a press tour. “Everybody wants to get their picture taken with him. And I don’t know how you handle that as an individual. So to have
Michael, whose face has been turned into a commodity, and have him lose that face in the film forms an internal rhyme,” says Abrahamson.
“I also think it makes people really see what Michael does as a performer. They get the whole Fassbender-ness thrown at them, without being distracted.”
Yet, because the whole movie revolves around the idea of an indie band finding fame, Frank also comments on our need to be loved, and how social media seems to offer nurturing affirmation, but is really just a dry nipple we suck until our head aches.
“Wanting to be liked can be poi
sonous,” says Abrahamson. “And Frank wants to be loved. So a good part of the film we are siding with Dom, you know, we want them to get their act together because that’s the dream. You want them to just stop sabotaging themselves. But if they did, they wouldn’t be the band they are. And Frank would no longer
be Frank. It would just be another
branding exercise.” Abrahamson scratches his head. “We’re all affected by it in some way. I mean, I am doing it right now, talking about how I think art is important and how I want to maintain my originality. But I have buttons … I’m marketing. I want the work to be
loved,” he says.
“I have ego. I am proud of the films I have made and I’m happy that I waited before I got a U.S. agent. Now I can show people the kinds of movies I am interested in. But you can’t get caught up in the crassness of it all. Every festival I see some table of young men, talking about the industry, and the studios and their self-importance.
Some of them are really nice people
… but they are living inside the fake
head.”