YOUTH (2015)

In Paolo Sorrentino’s Youth, the realm of the living has been (mostly) razed, having been replaced by a patchwork of conversations—mostly predicated on moments now lost—and fantasy. Best friends Fred Ballinger (Michael Caine) and Mick Boyle (Harvey Keitel) are in a particularly contemplative mood during their stay at a hotel by the Swiss Alps. The picturesque scenery and lavish accommodation offer the pair ample time to reflect on how their lives could possibly have brought them to this juncture. The answer to that question proves surprisingly slippery,

Youth is a lyrical, elastic work of art, where fiction and reality blend so seamlessly that one is better off accepting that nothing is strictly literal in this fantasy tale. Fred and Mick feel they are both past the point where they can make memories, and are instead alive as a kind of inventory of relationships and interactions. As each day rolls into another, the monotony of idle luxury without a sense of purpose is broken up by the flights of fancy that overtake them. Fred, a former composer who retired for good when his wife and soprano became senile and unresponsive, hears music in the air when he allows these notes to float through him. His private and public voices and worlds having become immeasurably entangled, where something as simple as a crunching sweet wrapper can form tender compositions that only he can appreciate.

Well, him and Jimmy Tree (Paul Dano), an actor who, for whatever reason, develops a keen interest in Fred, watching the former composer attentively and with great pleasure in the very first moment that we witness both of these characters. As Fred insists to an emissary for Queen Elizabeth II that he has no interest in performing one of his compositions for Prince Philip’s birthday, Jimmy watches silently, a wry smile slowly creeping up on his face, a common motion whenever he’s around Fred. Why exactly is this actor so besotted with the septuagenarian? Youth has no meaningful answer for this. It’s best to approach the film with one important factor in mind: only Fred and Mick are characters. The rest are figmentations, sketches, frivolous creations with no meat or substance tacked onto them. And they bog down this narrative.

On rare occasions the absurdity is mildly entertaining, but mostly it overwhelms Sorrentino’s lyricism. While the Italian director is able to conjure up cinematic magic out of these two old men and their inability to cope with living in the present day, he’s more likely to waste time with inane side characters and a rather dismissive worldview. Though the film clearly prides itself on its openness as it follows two men who have nothing left to lose in life, whether that involves saying what they feel or learning about who they are on a fundamental level, they betray their limited perspectives on more than one occasion, often in the direction of attractive women. Beautiful ladies are a hallmark of this film, though it’s made clear these characters aren’t nearly so impressed by them once they speak. Jimmy dismisses one woman simply because she won Miss Universe, and while his condescension ends up making him look supremely foolish (in a very hammy scene that really should have been cut from the movie), it would appear that it is not his sentiments that are the problem, but his misguided application of them in this particular instance.

Mick, a renowned filmmaker who is still working tirelessly, this time on a movie that he refers to as his ‘testament’, also treats his son’s new girlfriend as if she’s a harlot, all because she dared to realise her dreams of becoming a pop star. Sorrentino might be criticising Jimmy and Mick’s casual misogyny, but it’s clear that disdain for popular culture (in the form of modelling and pop songs) is a genuine expression of frustration from the filmmaker. It’s telling that, in this tale of two old men trying to figure out if they accept or regret how their lives have turned out, the focus of this ire continues to be young women. As The Guardian‘s film critic Peter Bradshaw eloquently put it, the film is laced with ‘macho geriatric’ ruminations, a quality that surprises with its dismissiveness given how eager Youth is to examine the dual dance of pain and beauty that comprises these two men’s lives and memories.

This level of condescension is embarrassing when it’s packaged in a film that is just as likely to produce a smug, self-satisfied, and pretentious pondering on existence as it is a virtuosic, soaring sequence. Though many side characters are utilised, Youth is particularly interested in the bodies of young women, and particularly disinterested in what these young, pretty things have to say for themselves. Some abstractions, like Fred’s masseuse, offer rather sickening notes. The young woman’s facial features and braces make her appear childlike, while in her rare moments of dialogue she not so subtly implies she would like to take things to a more overtly physical realm with these old men. When the masseuse is asked why she isn’t interested in talking, she makes it clear that she feels she has nothing worth saying. It’s no coincidence that the film appears to hold the same view.

This isn’t to say that the movie’s representation of women entirely comes down to sexism. Many of these side characters are intentionally flat and one-note, where they can be easily manipulated into whatever contortions Sorrentino pleases. Male side characters like Jimmy might be given greater priority, but they are also just as uninteresting. In Jimmy’s case, that’s because he spends most of his time fawning over Fred. He isn’t the only character who mostly feels like a figment of these two men’s imaginations. Mick’s core collaborators, a team of young people who are always in sight whenever he’s away from Fred and ruminating on how to end his latest film, don’t feel the slightest bit real. Each of their suggestions go unappreciated as they rattle them off one by one, only for this director to come up with his own theory once they’ve all spoken.

This is the closest nod we’ll get to their irreality, as this ageing, lonesome filmmaker still imagines himself as a young man surrounded by like-minded collaborators (but with an added dose of ego there, too; their potential solutions for storytelling problems never rival Mick’s answers). It would be tragic if they weren’t so crudely sketched. There are hardly any reveals in this film, just layers upon layers of fluff that occasionally blossom into something beautiful. The beauty springs forth from the narrative; it never sits within it. These compelling sequences mesmerise for how instantaneously they transport us from the world of the living to that of the not quite dead, and the not quite real. These moments, like Youth as a whole, are briefly beautiful.

For as deftly as Sorrentino depicts such lyrical grace and visual poetry, it’s a continued surprise how lacking the cinematography and colour grading is in comparison. Not only does Youth never take full advantage of its surrealism and dreaminess with expressive colours, it can’t even do its beautiful Swiss backdrops justice. When these characters walk along nature trails with the mountains lingering in the distance, somehow there’s no sense of majesty present. It’s a baffling move given that this film attempts to draw out these feelings of awe from every other aspect of its execution.

Youth isn’t the easiest movie to discuss in terms of plot, which proves to be both a blessing and a curse. It’s a blessing in that it distracts from some of the inane side characters and conflicts, and a curse for making it feel as if there’s no sense of reality for the film’s dreaminess to subvert. Absurd things will happen, but knowing that absurdity is always around the corner dulls the excitement quite a bit. To counteract this, Fred’s daughter Lena (Rachel Weisz) is present, who has an utterly unremarkable dilemma to confront in her husband leaving her, as well as the much more interesting rationale that it might have something to do with her being bad in bed.

Despite having two phenomenal actors at the helm, and substantive roles with plenty of heft behind them, Youth feels like a movie made by someone for whom English isn’t their mother tongue. This even comes through in the performances. Keitel and Caine turn in great work, as they tend to do, but there still appears to be a lack of adequate communication of the film’s intent between its leads and their director. Weisz also sounds unsure of herself at points; when she swears it’s as if her character is doing so for the first time, testing the unfamiliar tones with an odd mix of ferocity and caution. Sorrentino has no such inhibitions, and for that Youth is rarely boring and fleetingly spectacular. Even in its messy state, it has a commanding presence. You might not enjoy every scene, but there’s a curiosity about what will next emerge. Enchanting and frustrating in equal measure, it deserves a watch for its moments of grace and its director’s unbridled audaciousness.

SWITZERLAND • UK • FRANCE • ITALY | 2015 | 124 MINUTES | 2.35:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH • SPANISH • SWISS GERMAN

Cast & Crew

writer & director: Paolo Sorrentino.
starring: Michael Caine, Harvey Keitel, Rachel Weisz, Paul Dano, Jane Fonda, Luna Mijović, Roly Serrano, Mădălina Diana Ghenea & Alex Macqueen.