|
Page 1 of 2 
Life can crumple like paper. It can become torn, shredded, burned. Life can be crushed, and unceremoniously discarded... but what if Life wasn't the paper? What if Life was the ink of a pen, primed for the task of leaving a mark -- and not a stick person variety of mark. No. Our pens would bear the enterprise to leave gorgeous strokes, transcending the paper from grainy blue lines to a Chinese canvas of character artistry. If our first attempt failed, we could toss it aside, again and again, until our legs were awash in crumpled bits and perfection was, at long last, achieved. Of course, it wouldn't be that simple. Life is never that simple. There would have to be some sort of catch. And if there were a catch, that would mean someone or something orchestrated the catch.
Which would mean... well, they or it probably had ulterior motives. 
|
We'll never cast a flawless mark. Only history is cognizant of perfection, while the present unfurls without it. Damned if we believe that, though. The film Triangle makes mention of the Greek story of Sisyphus, which drives this point home, beautifully. Sisyphus, the King of Corinth, was a cunning fellow. When a thief called Autolycus* began changing the coloring of purloined cattle, Sisyphus outwitted him by marking hooves so the cattle's unique hoofprints could be easily tracked.
|
Sisyphus's most enduring story didn't come until later, though, when a good deed/betrayal incited the fury of Zeus. Death was dispatched to collect the king -- only to wind up, literally, wound. Sisyphus bound Thanatos, causing the world to be alleviated of death for a few days. Ares was then set on the king's trail, only for Sisyphus to arrive in the underworld... and promptly dupe Hades into letting him return to the world for just a bit. Of course, the king didn't return. Upon his second death, luck was no longer smiling. The gods made Sisyphus a promise: if he could press a boulder up and over a hill, they would release him. So he pushed, and pushed. From the belly of the valley, up the long slope of the hill, he made a painstaking trek with the massive boulder above him, poised to crush. When he reached the top, the boulder lost ground, plummeting back to the bottom. So, he pressed again... and again... each time, the boulder managing to slip from his direction, returning to the gulch.
What is left to our imaginations is the madness such a predicament would unleash. How many steps would be required to roll the boulder up the hill? Yet, none of those matter -- only the last one. Only the final movement. Certainly, that's the notion which drove Sisyphus up the hill a second, and even a third time. But the fourth, and the fifth, and all the hundreds after that? The god sought to humble him, so it would stand that, at any point, Sisyphus could have simply held up his palms and admitted defeat. He'd lost, either way; however, trying to push the boulder up the hill was only recognized as defeat by those watching from a distance. In Christopher Smith's celluloid mythology of Triangle, we watch Jess (Melissa George), in a somewhat similar predicament. How she deals with it, how she should deal with it, and whether or not she's the only one dealing with it is up for grabs. Triangle's internal loop is the point upon which Triangle achieves both triumph and failure. Some films stay with us. In most cases that lingering rustle in our minds is due to a character locating -- then uncorking -- a misplaced vial of hope within us, or a climactic moment scores our hearts with a razor's edge of a fabric wheel, leaving us holey and leaking. In precious, rare instances, a film doesn't move us so much as it ensnares. Triangle, as it happens, has some barbs. Introducing a damp knot into viewers' minds might not sound like much of an accomplishment, but we're not speaking a little bow with shoestrings here. This knot took craft. Dexterity. You know those awesome knots the vulnerable, knee sock and khaki donning boys are taught? No, not those. I'm referring to the ones they learn for badges. Yeah? Forget those! We're talking Black Ops knots, here. The sort of Black Ops who are the champion of an underground lab -- who are equipped with extra fingers, just so their knots can be extra-intricate. Triumph! Woo! | Then, there's the other side of the coin: The failure. Mind you, it wasn't the writer/director of Triangle (Christopher Smith -- the same lovely mind who graced us with Severance) who failed. Nor the cast, the crew -- nor even the film, itself. You see, I have this fear for Triangle. We didn't see it at the theatre, which, we really should have. It's on DVD, and I wonder if Triangle will fare well upon rental shelves. The pie is immediately whittled from the start. First off, patrons seeking an hour and half escape from reality might be hesitant to be looped. Secondly, Triangle is a cerebral affair; which translates to: even if the wankers behind the counter at the video store accidentally insert the Triangle DVD rather than Backdoor Bettie Nurses on Crack, they're not likely to "get" it. I shudder to imagine the acne-sprouting numbskulls who will meet a potential rental of Triangle with a sweeping condemnation of, "-- that movie made no sense. It's just fucked up." |  |
It kind of makes me want to fuck up the imaginary, acne-sprouting, wanking, numbskull video store employees in my head who would say dreadful things of this brilliant film.
Hmm. I'm getting off track. Jack (Jack Taylor) is a patron to a diner Jess (Melissa George) works in, and has invited the single, beleaguered mother of an autistic son to a day of sailing with his friends. What we witness of Jess's life is enough to assure us that the woman could use a day away. Typical of vacations, though, nothing quite goes as planned. The ocean revelers soon find themselves stranded without food or fresh water... when serendipity seems to smile, and an ocean liner appears. 
|
