60s Surrealism

The Swimmer

Daisies

I am no stranger to strange cinema. I welcome it, encourage it, and I’d like to think I generally keep a very open mind when it comes to the movies. The only reason why I might shy away from the realm of absurdist surrealism is because of one particular auteur that I have talked plenty of shit about: David Lynch. I’m not gonna give him anymore grief than I already have, because art is art and weird can exist surely just for the sake of being weird but I’ll just say that the way that dude happens to do weird, I have nothing nice to say about :). I love a weird, wild, fantastical narrative—told linearly or otherwise—but my favorite versions of these stories are told with enough depth and details to keep me interested and invested in the plot. Both of tonight’s film’s certainly kept me interested throughout, but only one really, really blew me away. Thinking outside of the box and outside of my cinematic comfort zone, let’s explore two surrealist films from the 60s that are more than just beloved, but revolutionary within the film world. Neither of these films used typical ways storytelling or filmmaking, but they both had firmer grips on reality than I expected. Both films serve as critiques for certain archaic ideals and practices, and caused quite a stir upon their respective releases within their respective countries, but garnered cult-followings overtime. Both films make use of disorienting, hallucinogenic imagery, and they both feature protagonists in swimsuits, that are a bit unhinged. Frank Perry’s 1968 adaptation of John Cheever’s short story The Swimmer was a mind-bending, exciting, somewhat confusing beauty of a film, that, despite several issues while filming and a mixed response upon its release, became a classic of its time and of its genre. The story follows Ned Merrill, a middle-aged man whom we’ll soon find out is riddled with secrets and regret, but for now, we only know as a cool guy with a rockin’ bod. Burt Lancaster, in all his timeless, hunky charm, led this film boldly, bravely, and in a way that made it easy to sympathize with his troubled character. Ned shows up at a friend’s pool party, unannounced, but is welcomed by his friends. Ned just wants to swim, and upon looking over the rolling hills of this neighborhood in Connecticut, he realizes that there is a trail of houses, all with pools, that lead back to his house. Ned declares that he’s going to swim home, hiking and swimming through a river of pools he dubs “Lucinda” after his wife. His friends are puzzled, to say the least, but they’re just so enamored with Ned that they more or less accept it and let him go off on his journey. Throughout this journey, Ned happens upon old friends and acquaintances, a girl who used to babysit his daughters, a nudist couple, past lovers, and a former mistress, all confused by Ned’s plan and the condition of his psyche, all causing Ned to reckon with certain decisions he’s made throughout the course of his life. We get the feeling from each interaction, positive or negative, that the people who know Ned know more about him than he’s told us. He mentions his wife and his daughters and everyone seems nervous, others offer sympathy and regrets about his job. We never actually fully learn the full, intricate details of how Ned Merrill messed up his life, because this is surrealism and apparently nothing has to be explained, but we do get the idea that Ned has an issue with denial. It’s all a study of the passing of time, of life and it’s little fucked up inconveniences, of the suffocating mundanity of suburbia, and how easily trauma can make you detach from reality. Throughout this one day, time passes quickly, leaves change color and fall, the time of day never seems clear, and with each step he takes and swim he makes, several stages of life are represented. Ned slowly but surely becomes undone, finally being forced to face several people he’d assumed he could win over, as he always does. I won’t give away the ending but I’ll warn you that it doesn’t all the way work out for Neddy. The 60s was certainly a time of revolution, politically, structurally, and culturally, and The Swimmer is the perfect representation of the budding surrealist movement. From the odd sequences of Ned daydreaming, with extended shots that zoomed into the swimming pool eyes of Burt Lancaster, shots of him running and jumping like a horse, trying and failing to regain a sense of normalcy with his friends who have quite clearly changed their feelings about him, this whole movie felt like a fun but existential nightmare. Ned isn’t tormented mentally, but socially, a form of torture that, for 1968, seems like even more of a death sentence. It’s probably about the least absurd absurdist film I’ve ever seen, but it was also, as Cher from Clueless says, way existential. I appreciated The Swimmer’s brand of surrealism that didn’t rely solely on shocking imagery and unpleasant sequences of weirdness just for the sake of being weird, there was a realness beneath it all. To wake up one day and have everyone you know and once knew despise you, pity you, be confused by you, I think is universally terrifying. John Cheever, who wrote the short story, was incredibly successful as a writer, but struggled with alcoholism and shattered several relationships, both personal and professional, throughout his career—an idea that very clearly lives on through the character of Ned. The concept alone was enough to drive its messaging forward, with no need for what I would call the 3 B’s of surrealism: boo, blah, and bleh (shock, talk, and grotesqueness) a trifecta of absurdist cinematic elements that is often overdone in this genre, in my opinion. An intense and profound sense of urgency and desperation is felt in Burt Lancaster’s dedicated performance, and his genuine desire to just swim and have things be the way they once were was heartbreaking but powerful to observe. I really didn’t expect to like this movie so much but between the disturbing story, the wonderful and, at times, hilarious performances (including Joan River’s debut on screen), mixed with the 1960s version of surreal was just bewitching and thrilling. In surrealist terms, The Swimmer is downright logical, but it’s still a bizarre and breathtaking film, full of surprises that will both soothe and haunt your soul. The Swimmer’s brand of “does everyone hate me” surrealism was troubling, but it was more engrossing than Daisies’ brand of manic pixie dreamgirl surrealism. A staple in the Czechoslovakian new wave film movement, and in the movement against authoritarianism, Daisies was a whimsical, absurdist comedy that heavily-critiqued the patriarchy, and particularly the way women were often depicted in cinema. Daisies follows two wild and wacky women, both named Marie, with insatiable appetites for pleasure and fun. Pleasure and fun is certainly found for these two, who spend a whole day gallivanting around town, getting free meals out of strange men, getting drunk, and dancing in way that seemed to really stress out everyone around them. The Maries are living in their own world, saying tumblr-worthy things like “we’re supposed to be spoiled, aren’t we?” and “you’re heavenly and yet so human” and “we can try anything once”, all against the backdrop of dreamy, flowery, colorful imagery that only 1966 could allow for. Their day of debauchery is actually quite mild by today’s weirdo standards, as they frolic through bars and restaurants, stealing food off of people’s plates and drinking their drinks, gorging themselves with as many delicious things as they can. They indulge freely, without concern or insecurity, selfishly, even, all in the name of self-satisfaction. It was fun, but almost too silly at times to be fully enjoyed after such a delightful downer like The Swimmer. This film was, no doubt, meant to be funny, but as an American watching this in 2021, I feared that there were jokes I was missing out on. It’s impressive that this film was even made, considering that filmmaker Věra Chytilová had to get state-approval to make it, then received such harsh criticism from members of parliament upon its release. Daisies seeks to callout the stifling depictions of femininity, by exaggerating an already absurd stereotype placed upon women within art, which can be seen in the way that the Maries are characterized. They’re infantilized and describe themselves as dolls, squeaking in high-pitched voices and partaking in whatever self-appeasing activities they possibly can, remaining as gluttonous and shallow as they can. Their path of destruction is goofy, like female Cat in the Hats they cause chaos with ease, and with the help of some innovative special effects, subvert every filmic formula upheld at the time. It’s fabulously feminist, with its use of phallic imagery and ambivalence toward men, and I can see why this film is so beloved—I just think I’d appreciate it more if I understood more of the context (which I plan to read more about upon finishing this post). Despite my confusion and desire to know more, the freneticism and style of Daisies was still much appreciated by this surrealist novice. Just like The Swimmer sought to critique the bourgeois proclivities of the upper class, Daisies was determined to show the absurdity of patriarchal ideas of femininity. Daisies certainly accomplished this in a groovy and grandiose way, but also in a way that seemed genuine and in ways, incendiary. Just like Neddy Merrill, the Maries were easy to sympathize with, despite all efforts to make them seem like bad people. Whether you’re satiated by the surreal or have a picky palate for the bizarre like myself, Daisies and The Swimmer are worthy of your watch.