|
Like the intimate details of a parent's sexual activity or the obnoxious confessional poetry of Sharon Olds, there are simply some things better kept private. An exploration of the personal life of director Sally Potter--or more specifically, her relationship to dancing--furthers this axiom. There is nothing wrong with dancing, of course, but intellectualizing the art is a tricky act of pretension. Alan Bates' character learned this in Zorba the Greek, when, after all his studious torment, he simply asked Anthony Quinn to teach him to dance--a joyous moment in cinema. He lifted up his hands and danced out his newly uncluttered mass of Dionysian energy. Potter stares with an amused look on her face, and then robotically follows. What she's trying for is passion, the kind Jennifer Grey and Patrick Swayze had in Dirty Dancing. But as Lou Reed said, Sally can't dance. She can't sing or act, either. Why is she starring in a movie? Because she can. The concept and style of The Tango Lesson are pure independent art movie. Not only does it contain a movie within a movie, but it was shot (by Robbie Muller) in black-and-white and is written mostly in French--the universal language of artistic cinema. It's also all "true"--or at least taken from events in Potter's "real" life. Potter plays film director and ex-dancer Sally Potter, a woman who is struggling creatively with her latest endeavor, a movie called Rage (which, fortunately, has been abandoned, the press kit reveals). She sits at her uncomfortable desk and madly scribbles out what looks to be a real pretentious piece of work: Models in Oscar de la Renta-ish dresses being, literally, shot by photographers--boy, no one ever thought of that subtle comparison before. The sedentary mediocrity of her life is interrupted when she happens upon a tango performance in Paris. Entranced by both the beautifully seductive dance and the world-class Argentinean tango dancer Pablo Veron (playing himself, of course), she decides to take some lessons. After cornering Veron and offering him the "I'll make you a star, baby" promise in exchange for tango lessons, she begins her life's new phase: tango not only for pleasure, but for life. The subject matter generally associated with the tango--possession, jealousy and loss--come into play as the pupil and student slowly fall for each other--but not without complications. Artistically different from Pablo (Pablo is more talented, for one), and accustomed to being in charge, Sally struggles to follow Pablo's lead. The same holds true for Pablo, who, when working in Sally's film about their relationship, argues over control issues: "But will I get to tap dance in the film?" She lets him tap dance, and she lets him clog all over her sensitive emotions, and the expected life lessons are learned: Tango equals love and life, and man and woman eventually unite. "This is my movie!" you can hear her whine. "This is my little Argentinean dancer boy!" Perhaps it seems unfair to clobber Potter's personal effort. Her narcissism is well-intentioned and really the most interesting aspect of the movie. But one leaves with this depressing realization: Though dressed up in indie-wear, Potter is really just a woman eating H‰agen-Dazs at 2 in the afternoon watching General Hospital. Not a dancer, a singer or even a tramp--the lady is a sap. |
|
