Palo Alto

A couple of weekends ago, I finally got to get a hold of a decent Torrent copy (oops) of Palo Alto. The film is directed by Gia Coppola who happens to be Francis Ford Coppola's granddaughter (of course the skills run in the family). And long story short, this is one of those films that one could easily label as "pretentious" or "unoriginal" because it does stomp around well-worn territory, and it's basically the been-there-done-that kind of plot, but there is just something about this film that draws me in. The cynicism is not at all romanticized which I highly appreciate. I guess I just a have a knack for moody themes and elegiac nihilism (Adult World and The Art of Getting By are the two films I'm currently thinking about, which also coincidentally stars Emma Roberts) but whatever it is, it's enough to get me to watch it more than five times in a week.

The film attempts to capture the truth of the slippery slopes of adolescence and what it is like to be hopelessly trapped between being a kid and being an adult. It is a simplistic take on the angst-riddled teens and their forlorn struggling with the harsh realities of life. I find the film’s laconic script is the film’s essence; the majority of the film is spent in contemplative silence. I also especially enjoy the film’s atmosphere and mood which relies heavily on its excellent cinematography. Its moody and misty shots show the dissociation of the characters in a purely visual way. 

The shots are often awash in a dreamy haze; cloudy and occasionally out-of-focus that conveys the characters’ aimlessness and confusion. Its beautifully eccentric soft lighting proves to be the film’s crowning gem– its color palette consisting of pale hues of whites, grays, blues, and greens. The artistic use of banded shadows and silhouettes, often on the characters, added a touch of melancholy to the film. It also uses several shots of sunbeams peeking through windows and trees. Repeated lingering shots of peripheral details inside a character’s room – such as childhood toys, dead plants, and clothes lying around – are aesthetically pleasing and highly symbolic which I absolutely love. Most of the scene’s compositions are often minimalistic, with interesting perspectives, using angles that put the characters in odd places within the shot. The unbalanced views make the film all the more ambiguous. 

Another aspect of the film that I absolutely love is Robert Schwartzman’s hazy musical scores that lull the viewers into a sense of wooziness, with almost a hypnotic demeanor. It adds to the palpable sense of darkness and languor, a presence that is hard to shake off as the film goes on. 

"You're crazy."

"No I'm not."

"Yeah you are."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because... you just don't care about anything."

"I wish I didn't care about anything, but I do. I care about everything too much. I think it's you who doesn't care, not me."

"What do you mean, I care about you."

Palo Alto is the kind of film that prioritizes mood over message. Most of the scenes are long stretches because of the characters’ lack of motivation for specific goals, nor are there clear reasons behind their actions and behaviour. The film dwells on ambiguity, on the unpredictability and unstableness of the characters’ futures. At first glance, one may instantly label the film as a superficial attempt to dissect modern unthinking, passive-aggressive teens; however, Coppola does not provide any diagnoses of what is societally wrong. She merely shows us what these characters do – mundane and aimless acts, indulging on the “now” and setting aside the “later”. The protagonists have little concern for the future, leading them to make impulsive decisions with total abandon. 

The film tiptoes around conventional teenage issues, but does not confront in a way that the director provides solutions. However, the characters are given a shot at redemption by making pivotal choices that somehow allow them to grow. Because the film is all about the well-worn territory of teenagers and coming-of-age, it is easy to regard the film as banal, but its beauty is that it goes through a range of emotions. April, Teddy, and Fred, no matter how indifferent they are presented, hide behind smokescreens to cover emotional damage. The film may be a been-there-done-that feature; however, it does inject a welcome dose of sympathy for the unaided teens. What I appreciate is that Coppola does not romanticize their cynic behaviour, however one can’t help but see its poignant demeanor. More importantly, the film is paradoxically blithe and intense, with the characters constantly torn between feeling everything at once and feeling nothing at all.

SEVENTEEN

An obligatory birthday post in which I reflect upon the past 17 years of my existence and whether or not I went through interesting developments, or even in the slightest sense, epiphany.

This post is actually 2 weeks late as I am known to be the least punctual person ever when it comes to uploading and posting (I'm working on it), but better late than never. 

I thought turning 17 was the perfect excuse to ask my friends Earl and Steph to give me a hand in a mini-photoshoot. This, my friends, is where I finally live out my blogger dreams if only for 30 minutes. And I obviously look like I don't know what the hell I'm doing, which is totally true, but in my defense, all of these so-called poses are my attempts at looking like those girls on Seventeen magazine. It's a total bust.

Ah, seventeen. I'd like to say it's the comic sans of my teenage years. The age that doesn't have much significance -- just another year older from being sixteen. Except being seventeen entails a new level of maturity and emotional stability. Of course, the morning of my birthday I woke up feeling completely indifferent and unchanged which was a huge WHAT on my part. I look the same and feel the same. But I've been discussing that dilemma ad nauseam so I figured, why not try to be the glass half-full kind of person and focus on the things that finally separates the sixteen-year-old me from the seventeen-year-old me.

What good is a one year difference and why am I making yet another melodramatic teenage post about it, you say? Well, for starters, I'd like to think I went through interesting developments. I'm finally thrusting myself into situations beyond my comfort zone and I'm finally trusting myself enough to say "yes" to more things, which is huuuge considering how my mind automatically jumps to the worst-case scenarios once I walk into unknown territory. I'm learning to see these new experiences as opportunities to grow instead of opting to cower away. I'm learning to celebrate the little things that count -- like getting the right amount of sleep, finishing a challenging book, and the like.

And of course I feel like I can't get away with still being ~juvenile~, so I'm definitely, positively determined to find that right aura of sophistication if it's the last thing I do. This means being less of an obnoxious turd and more of a proper lady. Which, by the way, is going to be an extremely difficult challenge for me as I live off of sarcastic remarks and sardonic comebacks. Old habits die hard.

This is one of the few boundaries I dare not cross because the realm of love and relationships isn't exactly a walk in the park. I hardly ever thought about relationships before, much less tried to do anything about it, but the glaring absence of the ever-sappy "love life" has become such a big deal that it's impossible to ignore. It's as if everybody's somehow agreed that no teenage life is complete without the luxury of having a boyfriend/girlfriend. I'm not exactly a frontrunner on the whole flirting thing, and it's a little silly, but I try to steer clear of the whole issue. Total blobfish feeling inside each time. What most people overlook is that 'being alone' and 'lonely' are two completely different things. So no, a love life is not some requirement or some item on a checklist, in order to be "happy".

Now normally, when faced between two decisions, I'm the type of person who always ends up choosing the wrong one. And believe me, if my instincts had a face, I would punch it. I would insert an anecdote or two, but that's not something I should advertise. My instincts aren't entirely the culprit of this situation, but also my sense of judgement. And mostly I think it's my indecisiveness, but point being, unless the situation drastically calls for it, I should second-guess my instincts. Yep.

And now to wrap it all up, I guess I don't have to be what everybody else needs me to be. If there's anytime to figure out who I really am and what I really want, it's now. And I don't need to depend my self-worth on anybody else but me. If there's anything I've realized is that people shouldn't get to tell you what you're worth, but rather the other way around. And this is probably some lame, teenager-meets-the-world kind of shit, but I'm a firm believer in being nobody but myself. Even if I don't like myself all the time, I'm learning not to beat myself up too much about it.

In conclusion, I'm in my 2nd week of being seventeen. I'm probably gonna screw up a couple of times and as far as cheesy posts go, well, que sera, sera.