Friday, September 19, 2008
Movie review: Chris & Don. A Love Story
Defying convention - transcending taboos.
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Chris & Don: A Love Story
"Chris & Don: A Love Story" is the true-life story of the passionate three-decade relationship between British writer Christopher Isherwood and American portrait painter Don Bachardy, thirty years his junior. From Isherwood's Kit-Kat-Club years in Weimar-era Germany (the inspiration for his most famous work) to the couple's first meeting on the sun-kissed beaches of 1950s Malibu, their against-all-odds saga is brought to dazzling life by a treasure trove of multimedia. Bachardy's contemporary reminiscences artfully interact with archival footage, rare home, reenactments, and, most sweetly, whimsical animations based on the cat-and-horse cartoons the pair used in their personal correspondence. With Isherwood's status as an out-and-proud gay maverick, and Bachardy's eventual artistic triumph away from the considerable shadow of his life partner, the film is above all a joyful celebration of a most extraordinary couple.
Source: Cinema Source
When young and impressionable Don Bachardy met middle-aged, successful Christopher Isherwood on what Don's older brother referred to as a "queer beach" in Santa Monica, it ushered in a new stage in both their lives.
For British-born Isherwood, who immigrated to the U.S. following several years spent in Germany's Weimar Republic (which experience resulted in The Berlin Stories and - later - his screenplay for Cabaret), the meeting marked the ending point of a turbulent spiritual journey. For Don, it represented the beginning of a life-long romantic relationship that would nurture his artistic talent and shape his personality.
As told in Tina Mascara and Guido Santi's Chris & Don. A Love Story, Isherwood's early life story parallels the unsettled history of Europe spanning two world wars: his father was killed in the first one, and he (Christopher) was forced to flee Germany as seeds of the second one sprouted following the rise of the Nazi Party. Rather than returning to his English homeland - where he felt uncomfortable expressing his homosexuality - Isherwood voyaged with his friend, the poet W.H. Auden, to America and the promise of broader views. He ended up in California, where his writing skills were put to work in the film industry.
In the creative crucible that was Hollywood, Isherwood rubbed intellectual elbows with such luminaries as Aldous Huxley, Truman Capote, Tennessee Williams, Somerset Maugham and Igor Stravinski. As a result of his writing of screenplays, he also became acquainted with a panoply of film stars. (Incidentally, Isherwood maintained that his film scripts actually improved on his writing style, honing it in the process of maintaining the necessary brevity.)
Meanwhile, Don and his brother Ted (four years his senior) found themselves swept up in the glitz and glamour of the movie world from a fan's perspective. They attended gala openings and red carpet events, snatching photo ops with stars of the day: Marilyn Monroe, Cary Grant, Leslie Caron.
As much a father figure as a life partner and lover, Isherwood literally molded Don into the man he was becoming. As Caron, who maintained an acquaintance with the couple, puts it: "Don as a man was entirely formed by Chris." So much so that California-born Don soon began speaking with a British accent, and picking up other verbal shadings employed by Chris. (When we first hear Isherwood speaking in an archival film clip, we're astonished at how much the two sound alike.)
Furthermore, Isherwood encouraged and cultivated Don's talent for portraiture, enrolling him in art classes when Don's own father thought such a pursuit to be folly. (Unsurprisingly, Don's parents never approved of their son's relationship with the gay writer 30 years his senior.)
Don and Chris would live together through good times and bad for 34 years, until Isherwood's wasting death from prostate cancer in 1986.
Their touching story is told through excerpts from Isherwood's diary (read by Michael York); home movies and personal photographs from the couple's travels; and, primarily, through direct on-camera narration by Don himself, who continues to live and work in the southern California home he shared with Chris.
Don proves a talented story teller, and the story he has to tell features numerous fascinating anecdotes, such as:
* the road trip that he and Christopher took to a film set in Monument Valley, where John Ford's film crew mistook the two for father and son
* the sea cruise they took to Gibraltar, with a stopover in Tangier for a visit with writer Paul Bowles - and the hashish-induced psychosis that ensued
* an unexpected close encounter with Montgomery Clift in an Italian restaurant in Los Angeles
The remembrances of this sentimental, moderately garrulous old fellow are interspersed occasionally with whimsical animations of a cartoon horse and cat, representing the pet identities Chris and Don devised for each other. The animations (done by Katrina Swanger) mimic child-like sketches done by Isherwood for Don, often as a means of expressing sentiments that were too difficult to convey by more straightforward means.
The final segment of the 90-minute documentary focuses on Don's luminous portraiture, culminating with the visual chronicle he produced as Isherwood progressed through the physical and emotional deterioration brought on by approaching death. There's a gut-wrenching final portrait produced after Chris had passed away, his open eyes hauntingly devoid of the spark of life. This frankly horrifying set of drawings ends up serving as a kind of de-mystification of the process of dying, and as such renders it less fearsome.
INSIDER VIEW: "He took this young boy and he warped him to his mold." - Don, re. Isherwood and himself
AND CABARETS: "To Christopher, Berlin meant boys." - Don
THE LIMITS OF FICTION: "Why invent, when life is so prodigious?" - Isherwood, comtemplating the merits of journal entry over the writing of novels
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Comments
moyuraxmi4 Anonymous
On February 14, 1953, Don Bachardy (18) meets his brother’s lover Christopher Isherwood (48) on a beach in California and, unbeknownst to both parties, are locked in for life -- a life that would enlarge into creative soars for a portrait artist yet to know his calling and an established author awaiting his eternal subject. Yet Chris and Don: A Love Story is not simply about the ungovernable urge to create the life of art that only artists can know where often the object is art itself; it is more humbly about two lovers’ bone-deep adamancy to preserve as much of life as one can in a durable yet aesthetic medium. Here, the intended substance is not the piece drawn nor the word written but the protraction of human essence by embalming it in text, in sketch. The documentary, much like its own subjects, is the act of reinforcing memory with creative proofs -- the body of evidence, which, in the process of its production, inspires more memories than any paper or celluloid can hold. A sketch of a gnarled Chris, haggard in his cancerous boniness, opens the smell of the author, the smell of the ink-then in the ink-now, and the taste of that morning in this morning. It is a story of an artist drawing an author while the author simultaneously writes his muse into immortality.
Amid this Edenic coalescence breathes the quiet defiance of a ritual-weary, mid-aged Chris Isherwood against societal prescriptions for public, age-aware heteronormativity. What could have been (and was) perceived as Isherwood’s Humbert Humbertish captivity of the sun-sinewed boy-Lolita is now cited as one of the primary prompters in the gay liberation canon. Yet Humbert Humbertish it all was in many ways as brutally young Don, calling himself “an unconscious impersonator,” willingly and star-struckly serves as Chris’ substrate, replicating his accent, his Cheshire mannerism, and sparse diction. Eclipsed by Chris’ deserved superluminosity and commensurate clout, Don confesses, “I wanted people to like me for who I really was but I wasn’t sure myself who I was. The only thing I knew that I was good at was drawing people...” And draw he did, and with it came the urge to break free from the only lover he had known. Chris’ enabling of Don’s art pushes the latter to gauge the cost of unequal sexual experience with a seasoned, three-decade-distant partner. All Chris wants is for Don to come home at the end of the day after his shenanigans. Which he does in the late 60’s. (Sometimes.)
Like Paulie Bleeker for Juno MacGuff, Chris Isherwood is the cheese to Don Bachardy’s macaroni. Don comes back for good and draws Chris, and Chris only in the last few days of his life, chronicling the coming of his death piecemeal in a preemptively elegiac set of sketches. Chris Isherwood bares his all, his full, bleak nakedness in sacred singularity with his scribe. For Don’s furious fingers, each tender stroke is a prayer for bonus time. Chris dies; Don spends the day drawing his corpse lest memory alone betray. There is everything lyrical about these last soul-jolting images of depleted youth, the shameful shriveling of the body, the kind of lovely grotesqueness that only death can do. Guido Santi and Tina Mascara cleverly juxtapose them against a lithe yet withered Don’s feverish workouts at the gym, and close the story with the artist in his solitary atelier where all that is left are drawers of pictures and shelves of books in poetic time-still, all the company a man has shored for a night to allay “the foul rag and boneshop of the heart.”
Sabrina Sadique, July 20, 2008
9 months, 3 weeks ago ( Link to this comment | Suggest removal )
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