Writer/director Richard Linklater's latest film (unfortunately for Dazed and Confused fans), Before Sunrise (1995) is an astounding failure of an attempt to be a "new romantic comedy" for the Generation X intellectual. Essentially, it is a continuous dialogue between French actress Julie Delpy ( White, Killing Zoe ) and Gen X stallion Ethan Hawke ( Reality Bites ) during the course of one night in the streets of Vienna. Sound exciting? It gets worse.
Jesse (Hawke) and Celine (Delpy) meet in the first scene on a train from Budapest to Vienna. Celine finds herself seated next to the American stranger, who greets her entrance with an approving stare at her backside. Enter endless conversation and sexual tension, and the plot is complete. That's right - there's not even a sex scene. Remember: this film is for intelligent, thinking people, who use their minds to re-hash every gender role stereotype in patriarchal history. But perhaps this is cutting to the chase a little early. Hold that thought.
So, on a train... the train stops. Jesse invites Celine to spend the one night he has left in Europe with him, roaming the streets. He uses a marvelously convincing argument: "Think of yourself 10, 20 years from now, and... you're married, and... you're thinking of all the opportunities you've missed, you know, with other guys, and you wonder what might have happened.... If you come, you won't have to wonder." The intelligent, passive female is thus won over by his romantic affectations. And on and on - it's all downhill from here. The plot is completely contrived and implausible; the script is worse, due to its insanely sexist and superficial content; need I even mention the acting? What the hell, this is a review, so I probably should - briefly - in the form of the Top Two Quotes. Number One, Jesse: "Well, I've never been in love, but I used to have this obsession with Miss July 1978. Have you ever heard of Playboy ?" and Number Two, Celine: "I'm the most harmless person. I don't think I could ever hurt anyone but myself," (follow with a pathetic pout).
The highlights of the film were the rare but much needed entrances of characters from the outside world, "reality." These would include: two Viennese actors with funny accents and glasses, a gypsy palm reader, a bohemian poet and an Austrian version of Kurt Cobain. This must have been the "comedy" part. I know these were the only times I laughed.
What is so horrifyingly offensive about this film in particular, as opposed to its more mainstream counterparts, is that it claims to be "intellectual." It is definitely bold to even attempt to address problems in art, feminism, gender roles, capitalism, communication and a multitude of other issues which plague society, especially in so shallow a film. Yet these problems, or concerns, are mentioned solely in the conversation of these two characters, who consistently end a potentially meaningful conversation with some form of Slacker whining about their parents. Everything eventually is reduced to trivialities, as this pair repeatedly succeeds only in perpetuating stereotypes, especially concerning gender issues, in their dialogue. For example, their discussion of feminism has its best moment when Celine declares: "I think feminism was created by men, you know: `free your mind, free your body,' as another excuse to fuck a lot." Even love, the central theme of the film, is reduced to something subordinate to marriage, since love is shown as a temporal event lasting one day, and marriage as the goal in life.
About three-fourths of the way into it, I asked myself: "Why bother even making this film?" I suddenly became aware that the only plausible answer was mind control sanctioned and funded by New Hampshire Primary winner Pat Buchanan, and I immediately saved my brain cells by turning it off. So, have no fear of my giving the ending away, those of you who really care whether or not Jesse and Celine will ever see each other again after their night of pointless, passionless schmoozing ends.
I have only this left to say: to anyone with a social conscience, an education and/or a clue, this film is a guaranteed vomit fest. Ride the Gravitron instead.
Copyright © 1996, The Oberlin Review.
Volume 124, Number 16; March 1, 1996
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