by Bennett Campbell Ferguson
There is a moment at the end
of Woody Allen’s “Blue Jasmine” where the titular heroine (played by Cate
Blanchett) sits on a park bench, her wet hair and washed out face perfectly
matched by the fact that she’s talking to herself. Anyone would say that she’s crazy. And yet she’s not quite the Jasmine we know
from the rest of the film. That Jasmine
is cocky, stylish, twitchy, obnoxious, and, above all, loveable.
It may
seem impossible that such dissimilar traits could exist within one person, but
“Blue Jasmine” is not an ordinary film.
It is more melancholy and conventional than Mr. Allen’s most recent
efforts and it contains a truly abnormal performance by Ms. Blanchett. While she is usually stiff and charismatically
mannered (as in “The Aviator” and “I’m Not There”), as Jasmine she comes to
life as full-blooded human being who is guilty not of doing anything
particularly wrong, but of looking the other way when others do.
In this case, “others” refers to her husband Hal (Alec
Baldwin) a philanthropist living off a stolen fortune. He’s a notably despicable character, but
Jasmine loves him and loves the lifestyle that his affluence offers even
more. She thrives at elegant dinner
parties and in expensive shops where she flouts her prestige and good taste
over her sister Ginger (Sally Hawkins). Indeed,
Jasmine is so immersed in this lush existence that she never seems to emerge,
even when Hal is arrested and breaks his own neck while in jail. So deluded is our heroine that on a plane
ride to San Francisco, she chats easily about Hal’s finesse between the sheets,
as if nothing has changed.
Nothing could be further from the truth. When Jasmine arrives in San Francisco, she
moves in with Ginger and has to face not only living with a sibling with whom
she has nothing in common, but the reality of having to make money and find a
job. It is here in these early scenes of
adjustment that the movie feels most queasy.
Jasmine is not just any “fallen woman”—she’s the wife of a criminal, a
criminal’s whose actions she casually condoned.
In San Francisco, she meets some of Hal’s victims and the way their
anger seems to press against Jasmine’s perfectly groomed façade is
frighteningly invasive, even if it is justified.
You may ask: what’s the point of all this? I wish I had a satisfying answer. But “Blue Jasmine” is not about answers—it’s
about anger and messiness. There are
moments when Jasmine seems triumphant, like when she imperiously lectures her
two nephews about life (“Always tip big, boys”). But those scenes usually fade into fits of comedic
despair, wherein Ms. Blanchett usually storms from the room, washing down pills
with water and vodka. Between her
disdain for Ginger and her friends and her penchant for lying, there are
moments when I wondered if Jasmine is any better than Hal.
And yet, I wanted her to succeed. I won’t deny that my crush on a certain actress was part of the reason for that—Ms. Blanchett looks breathtakingly beautiful throughout the whole
movie, even when her smooth features are torn by mascara stains. But it’s also that Mr. Allen and Ms.
Blanchett make you understand her. Jasmine's
desire to be swept back into the comfortable, leisurely world of the wealthy
might be shallow, but who could resist the same? After all, the movie makes the Upper East
Side world of red dresses and silver earrings look mightily seductive. And by the same count it’s hard to blame
Jasmine for concealing her criminal history once she arrives in SF. She seems to think that by pretending none of
it happened, she can contain her despair.
Of course such a notion is ridiculous, but who among us could do any
better?
In some ways, I think Mr. Allen could have. His writing and direction seem faultless
until the final scene when the film abruptly cuts to the credits, leaving us to
wonder what fate might have in store for Jasmine. It’s a cruel trick, making us care about such
a character and then refusing to tell us whether she sinks even lower or
rallies. Yet it’s hard to feel much
enmity towards the movie. “Blue Jasmine”
has its share of villains, from Mr. Baldwin’s casually cruel entrepreneur to
Louis C.K.’s demonically deceitful lothario.
But Mr. Allen has sympathy for all of his other characters, especially
the ones who are hurt by others and flail, like battered swimmers, to reach the
surface once more.
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