This video is brought to you by MUBI, a curated streaming service showing exceptional
films from around the globe. Get a whole month free at MUBI.com/yharazayd Stick around because I have a lot to say,
I have a lot of recommendations. Sit tight. I was in high school the first time I saw
a Gregg Araki film. I often think that had I been exposed to his
movies earlier or later in life, my appreciation for and understanding of his
worlds would have been totally different. In the throes of teen angst
and would-be rebellion, angry and confused, Araki’s films, filled with apocalypses and
anarchy, really spoke to me. As much as I imagined no longer existing to
the world or the world no longer existing to me, I also wanted to do as much as possible. I wanted to live and I wanted to see and I wanted all of the world in my hand. Life sucks, I thought, but maybe living isn’t
so bad. And in the worlds invented by Gregg Araki, I saw that philosophy continually and vividly
brought to life. "Let me tell you what the problem with the stupid fucking world is. All the stupid people are breeding like mad,
having tons and tons of kids! While the cool people aren't having any! So, the population just keeps getting stupider
and stupider. I mean, it's no wonder the whole world's going
down the toilet." Nowhere opens with the declaration that the
city of Los Angeles is Nowhere and that all who live there are lost. The multitude of characters and the sometimes
other-worldly situations they find themselves in characterize the city as a Purgatory. The in-between of Something and Nothing where
all who wander are lost. In this wasteland devoid of morality or empathy dwells characters like Dark who long for more, who long for that so out of reach Something
that escapes them. They want someone to hold them or for something
to have meaning. This sense of isolation and dread and clinging
to hope comes up often in Araki’s filmography. The feeling of which is perfectly summed up
with a question posed in Totally Fucked Up. Critics and even admirers of Araki’s have
frequently deemed his films to be nihilistic. Characters who bemoan the world, who hurt others, who are hopeless in a place that is violent
and bleak. There seems to be no belief in anything. But describing Araki’s worlds as nihilistic
is only characterizing one side of the coin. The bigger picture depicts
a world of disillusionment with characters who might be on the verge of nihilism or something like it but who are still, whether they’re aware of it or not, secretly hopeful and optimistic. In Totally Fucked Up, a character is attempting to make a documentary
about his friends and he asks them individually what their thoughts
are on love. This is Andy’s answer: “It’s all a load of bullshit propaganda.” Despite this, Andy, when presented with what
looks to be a promising relationship, falls head over heels. You can tell from his interactions with his
love interest that he isn’t this nihilistic, dispirited person. He’s happy for love to have found him, happy
to be experiencing it. Deep down, Andy is a romantic. He’s not so much nihilistic as he is disheartened
by an existence that feels like a meaningless marathon of misery. I really think Andy only says love isn’t
real because that’s what he wants to believe, maybe even needs to believe, in order to survive
alienation. You can only survive so many broken hearts
before you have to tell yourself that it isn’t you who’s being broken. But that love has never been whole. Araki’s films have a romantic tinge to them,
a sort of blink-and-you’ll-miss it gentleness that’s easy to overlook. With beheadings and alien takeovers and giant
beetles, romance seems like it doesn’t exist. But Araki’s films are, like the character
of Andy, hopeful and romantic. Sure, these characters live in a world that
is often nihilistic, brutal and unforgiving. But they still maintain this desire for something
more. They believe in love even when they say they
don’t. And that only adds to the emotional core of
every Araki film. That we still hold onto fairytales even when
we don’t get our happy ending. I think Araki said it best when he was interviewed He has a yearning quality for a pure connection
with another person, and I think that’s what makes the films ultimately kind of romantic
even if he’s denied the ‘happily ever after’...There’s a warmth and tenderness
between the characters. That’s what makes it so heartbreaking, because
it’s set in a world that is incredibly chaotic and hostile. This chaotic and hostile world, while true
for many people, is even more brutal and unrelenting for LGBTQ youth. In these films, it isn’t only that the city
of Los Angeles is damning for all. It’s *society's* attitudes toward these youths that is highlighted. Throughout Totally Fucked Up, the group reads news articles about
growing hate for their community, about the rise in hate crimes against
them, about pride with which
people perpetuate this hate. And, just as awful, the casual attitude toward
this uptick in violence. In this movie and others like it, they’re
the only ones who care about the fact that they are constantly under threat and under
siege. The violence and alienation
prevalent in Araki's films is a direct representation of what
it is to be queer in the world. His films, especially some of his first
films like The Living End and Totally Fucked Up, are iconic for many reasons including the fact that
these films were some of the first times audiences were presented with
a story that was unapologetically gay. This wasn’t latent, not the kind of story you’d
have to really analyze to get the subtext of. Same-sex couples kissed
on-screen, openly and freely. They had sex, they had relationships and these relationships ranged from the
casual to the deeply romantic. And they weren’t inherently tragic either. It really was revolutionary and, quite honestly,
still is. The apocalyptic quality to Araki’s films are representative of the isolation
and anguish of the AIDS epidemic. Other themes are an extension of queer
identity and the experiences that come with it. The Living End is about two
disillusioned people, Luke and Jon. They’re both HIV Positive and they have
absolutely had it with everyone’s shit. When Luke kills a homophobic police officer,
the two take off on a crime-riddled roadtrip, righting wrongs and falling in love. The film was released in 1992, during a time
when HIV became the leading cause of death among men ages 25 to 44, during the time of a presidential
election where campaigning elects viciously attacked the quote “homosexual
lifestyle,” a time with fucking Paul Cameron The world in the film is a reflection of the
world Araki was living in. Because of the AIDs crisis and what was going on politically, it was very
much like a war zone.... a very dark time, a very angry time and a time when people were agitated. It was impossible not to be agitated because, as a young person in your twenties or thirties, you were just surrounded by constant death. Your time was very limited because
of the simple fact that you were gay. It was a very intense period to live through
and I think the films really reflect that." In The Living End, Los Angeles is a lawless and loveless land with endless
brutality and hopelessness. The fact that Luke and Jon are able to not
only find each other but to fall in love is just one example of that romantic tinge I was talking about and the
one that Gregg spoke of here. Everything is fucked up but life is still
worth living and love is still worth having. It’s hard to think that a crime-filled road
movie would be hopeful during the AIDS epidemic but The Living End became exactly that. It offered to both the young and the old of
LGBTQ communties, a glimpse of something hopeful. Yeah, the world is shit, Araki says,
but you don't have to be alone in it. Teen angst is a driving force in the masterpiece
triad of The Teen Apocalypse Trilogy. The first time I ever saw my teen angst reflected
on screen was when I watched Nowhere. Of course, I’d seen teen films before that. The classics, the contemporaries, the underseen. But when I sat down to watch Nowhere, which follows aimless college kids getting
through a violent and incomprehensible world, it was the first time I really felt...seen. I didn’t have to have those exact
experiences or be in that exact place. It doesn’t matter because what I’m
talking about and what Gregg Araki depicts well is a feeling. A feeling of the crushing weight of adolescence, of everything and everyone being such a mindfuck that attempting to find the logic in
its existence is a fruitless endeavor. Of what it is to be young
and clueless yet expected to know and understand everything around you. Araki’s expertise is that, instead of relying on
characters to reflect moods and states of being, he relies on the world. Instead of writing a person who
represents discontent or disillusionment, he crafts worlds made up of that feeling. Emotional wastelands. Araki is one filmmaker proven to be divisive
amongst audiences and critics alike. Every now and then, he’ll touch upon
something that becomes universally appreciated like his 2004 adaptation of Mysterious
Skin, which is beautiful and exquisite. Other times, people either
love his work or they hate it. Never is there an in-between. That’s part of what makes
him so daring to begin with. He does his own thing without a care
for what may appease people more. "That's what I've always aspired to with my
films: they're not for everybody and some are polarizing—I definitely have my fans
and my detractors— but the people that do get
my movies really get them. For me as an artist that's, like,
the most I could ever ask for." The director once described himself as a vessel
of imagery. When he’s writing scripts, the words and
the images and the characters come to him. He is a prism and the stories he develops
are the light. He’s given one image or one light and, from it,
he shows you everything that makes that one story, all the different light refracted
for you to see it clearly. My favorite thing about Araki’s work and
one quality that carries through everything he’s created, no matter the genre -- here’s
looking at you, Smiley Face -- feels like a dream. The surrealism and dreaminess is so affecting
that even when there is no elaborate set design, no checkered hotel rooms like in Doom Generation
or polka dot ensembles like in Nowhere, it’s apparent that this world is not like the one
we frequent. It’s surrealistic or hyper realistic, on
the fringe of truth and of fiction, of consciousness and unconsciousness. The only other time I get this feeling of
weightlessness, of comfortably floating within a space I don’t understand, is when I listen to My Bloody Valentine. And that is extremely intentional. Gregg Araki’s love for shoegaze music is
apparent even if you’re not paying
attention to the soundtrack. Though, how you could manage to not hear it
escapes me. But even if you’re not paying attention,
that dreaminess is a filter that enhances each and every one of his films. When I sit down for one of his works,
I’m not going in with reality on my mind. I’m going in expecting to be exposed to
things that bear no logic, that take me away without me having to leave my seat. But that also exposes me to the ups and
downs of existentialism and existence. The genre of shoegaze was, funnily, dismissed
when it first entered the scenes. Critics deemed it boring and effortless in
a bad way. The name “shoegaze” was fully intended
to be an insult. A genre of music that puts you to sleep was
how people perceived it. Characterized by steady beats, washed out reverb, droning and all the
makings of something ethereal. You don’t listen to shoegaze. Shoegaze sort of just happens to you, overtaking you with emotion and plunging
you deep into this unknowable world. Like Araki’s films, shoegaze is just as
much about attitude as it is about content. If not more. There’s an inherent quality of emptiness,
the music and the vocalists sort of wailing for an out from this void, and, though it
may sound sad or hopeless, the wailing is proof that someone is home. Someone is listening. I find it amazing and endlessly impressive that Gregg Araki managed
to visually and narratively characterize a genre of music, especially one as evasive as shoegaze. As much as isolation and hurt and romance, shoegaze is just as significant
a character to his films. "In those formative teenage years, that music
really struck a chord with me. . . the British bands were more atmospheric
and experimental – music that you respond to on a purely emotional level. . . I've always liked bands that do their
own thing. It's a spirit I share in my film-making.” Araki’s worlds and the way he builds them
are so divisive perhaps in part due to the violence they contain. People are murdered and
brutalized in every which way. However, the way he chooses to explore violence
is more palatable than he gets credit for. It’s never done exploitatively. The violence is not voyeuristic. In fact, all the violence in his
works occur off-screen or in the dark, distorted so that it never feels gratuitous or there solely
for shock value. Some might disagree with me on that last part
but, hey, this is my video essay. Get your own. Assault also comes up a few times in his worlds,
even before Mysterious Skin. Characters in the Doom Generation and Nowhere
fall victim to it. There is an obvious intention in both instances. Violence has a place in Araki’s world. We’re talking about characters who are discontent,
disillusioned and all but destroyed by the crushing melancholy that feels inescapable. These are people who are too pure for the
chaos of this world and the violence they experience
further showcases that. They deserve more than what they’re getting. This harshness drives the story forward, it encompasses every theme
you’ll note in these films. The alienation, the anguish and the faint
desire to believe in nothing because believing in something makes all this shit harder to
face. But at the same time, if you stop believing
in a place like this, what the hell do you have left? The atmosphere of Araki’s films can be best described as a melodious
blend between hyperrealism and surrealism. Regardless of the specifics on character or
plot, these films are so memorable and can easily get under your skin because of their
too accurate representations of real life struggles. It’s this world that shouldn’t be real
and yet is. It’s kind of like being presented with a
photo of yourself. It’s different from the version you see
when you look in the mirror. You recognize it, of course. But it’s hard to wrap your brain around
it being you. Cities, the most populated places in the world,
tend to be the most alienating. In Araki’s earlier work, the business of
LA and its simultaneous detachment from humanity is frequently observed. You have these images of people walking around
aimlessly, of general disdain or disregard for empathy and humanity and in the middle
of it you have these gentle souls. These truly empathetic people who are drowning
under all of this emptiness. There’s a scene in Totally Fucked Up where
Andy and Ian pass a homeless man on the sidewalk. It’s Andy who stops because he wants to help and Ian who would
rather ignore the situation. "Don't you have, like, fifty cents or something?" "No." "He's probably faking it." "I don't care." The use of surrealism fades in
seamlessly with everything else going on. not bothering to explain it which
made it feel more authentic. In his films, angst and loss come in the form
of monsters and aliens and apocalypses. Everything in films like Nowhere and The Doom
Generation is leading up to an event unlike any other. In The Doom Generation, the characters pass
by a sign that declares the end is coming. In Nowhere, Dark says this and I still think
it’s one of the greatest lines ever. And this goes back to being gay and coming
of age during a time that was so frightening, where death was all around you, where you feel like you're running
out of time to do something great. There's this sense of ... Well, what's the point anyway? The use of surrealism, the alien abductions and giant cockroaches, brilliantly put visuals to that aggravating uncertainty and restlessness. Here is the thing you’re running from. What especially stands out
is the solidarity though. It’s a love letter to LGBTQ youth. There’s hostility and brutality and things
you can’t put into words but in the midst of that is friendship, love and the reminder that, although the world is brutal, you don’t have to be alone. It’s really fun to watch Now Apocalypse, Gregg Araki’s self-described
career retrospective in TV format, and see all these little things
referencing his repertoire of memorable films. It’s a sleek patchwork of
everything him, I love it. Even when I find myself unable or unwilling
to watch certain Gregg Araki films, I must say I’m endlessly fascinated by the world
he invents. Because that world is a place of the impossible
and the possible, of unabashed and unexplained weirdness -- monsters and aliens and cinematic apocalypses. It’s a world that is violent and painful, hazy and hard to understand. I’m fascinated because as warped as these
worlds are, they’re also the closest reflections of the real world I have seen on the screen. The best way to enjoy an Araki film also happens to be the easiest way to
get through the difficulties of life. The real world is nonsensical, needlessly violent, sometimes beautiful and always a headfuck. To get through it and appreciate it is to
try not to make sense of its absurdities, to accept the flawed and the freakish without getting tripped up over
the logic of their existence. In that way, Araki delivers the real world, angst and enchantment along with it, right to you. Just as the characters in his world are often
left without answers or closure, the hands dealt from life often leave us confused or sitting in a pool of blood and flesh, watching, stunned, as an alien cockroach that was once a
love interest escapes from our bedroom. That really happened in an Araki film. Seriously, if you haven't watched
his movies, maybe get on that. MUBI is a curated streaming service. A place to watch beautiful,
interesting, incredible cinema. Every day, MUBI premiers a new film. From iconic directors to emerging auteurs,
there is always something new to discover. With MUBI, each and every film is hand-selected. It's like your own personal film festival, streaming anytime, anywhere. I've been using MUBI for about a year and a half. Yeah, that is Brenda Sykes as my profile pic. It started during the inception of the pandemic because I needed to do something with my time and, of course, the thing I was *most* interested in was watching *more* movies. Not only have I been introduced to a lot of
directors I hadn't been familiar with before. Like Sylvia Chang. But with the selection of MUBI, I've had an
easier time crossing films off my watchlist. Like Asako I & II. I figured if you clicked on this video. And I don't mean a video made by me, I mean a video specifically about Gregg Araki, you might be a person who
really appreciates cinema. Just a thought. It's a service that really excites me. At the top of the homepage, you'll
find MUBI's Film of the Day. As of me recording this bit, the
film of the day is Hotel New York. Ah, that's a good one. You can also make lists and write reviews. Speaking of lists, I came across
one on here that's exclusively compiled of movies that have shoegaze soundtracks. And guess which director is
here a total of seven times. You know I can't let you
go without some recs first. I made a little list of movies available
on MUBI that I highly recommend. But I especially want to single out the following: The Legend of the Stardust Brothers, This movie is wild and hilarious and whimsical. It's a surrealist, maybe absurdist,
musical comedy about what happens after two people form a band and the rise and fall of fame they experience. It's a story we've seen before but the
way it's told is so bonkers and campy and just overall a good time that it
feels completely different. Meeting the Man: James Baldwin in Paris. It's no secret that James Baldwin is
one of my all-time favorite writers. I've read through each and every one of his books, some of them I've even read multiple times. This documentary covering James
Baldwin and his time in Paris is an engaging portrait of an intellectual,
an artist and a great human being. It's nice to see him in such
a way and, after watching it, I wanted to re-immerse myself in his literature. Even if you're not a fan of James
Baldwin, I still recommend it. You can try MUBI free for 30
days at MUBI.com/yharazayd. That is MUBI.com/yharazayd for a
whole month of great cinema for free. You won't regret it.
