Don't be put off by the man's reputation: the film is about dreams, the illusions our selves weave to tangle with things.The first admission is that the film is the precursor to Trash and Spring but the vision is not refined yet. Contrary to various misconceptions, Korine is not a nihilist, about nothing, though he flirts with provocation. This has all manner of that, in its main thrust however it is about beauty and meaning as much as any Malick.The provocation is as in his other works about the ways we consume culture, as biting as Godard in his time and at least here as superficial. The image always reflects your view of the thing pictured, so when you perceive superficial things to rail against it's going to be a superficial perception. Here an example is the segment in the retirement home with senile old people gawking at Michael Jackson, one of them tapping his head with a hammer.Now about the thing that matters here.The film is centered on people acting roles - in Trash they were pretending to be old people, in Spring it's even more subtle and deep. Here impersonators of cultural icons; Jackson, Marilyn, Chaplin. Among them, Abe Lincoln, Queen Elizabeth and the Pope so he can have opportunity to provoke later on; a Pope who stinks and so on. So this is about people who are not content to be who they are, who have to adopt an image that lets them go out and do things, opening up a horizon of life as performance with the complexities of self more evident than just people on the street.Part of the fun is to see the famous faces in all sorts of hijinks, the faces picked because they're so recognizable; Jackson, Marilyn, Chaplin, each one's demons as famous as their glamorous light. But more, it's an opportunity to conjure our preconceptions ahead of us, show the complexity of that image we know: where we expected the neurotic self, we find people doing things, happily drinking in a pond or playing pingpong, where we expected glamorous light, we find the same troubled souls as the rest of us, feeling small or neglected.It falters for me in that Korine decided to have this play out in a separate stage, a castle in Scotland, removed from life. It is his way of hitting up against the problem: an inner life of dreams as the desire to be someone else, as an escape to a stage that has no life to gracefully perform for no one (seen as a performance they stage for an audience of three people), so in the end when Jackson sheds the artificial self and returns to the world an ordinary guy, we see that it's this world and your own self that has to be lived. (Korine must have realized that if it is to pose a real question, the stage of dreams has to be seen around us, accessible; ordinary middle America in Trash, the this-worldly illusion of Florida.)So a mild failure from this view, but with hindsight a necessary one to move beyond it. The gamble is to not be stuck grooming a view. There's a great image here where we see the man cultivate the intuitive reach. In a separate subplot Herzog packs nuns in a plane to fly over the tropics and drop parcels of food, a nun finds herself airborne; the ecstatic rush of sky, the apprehension of god as the swirl of the whole horizon, everywhere light and air.

"Hollywood is like being nowhere and talking to nobody about nothing." - Antonioni Harmony Korine directs "Mister Lonely". The plot? A group of celebrity lookalikes assemble in an isolated mansion. Here they practise vaudeville routines, build a stage and hope to the heavens that visitors will come watch them perform. A second subplot observes as a convent of nuns - led by none other than Werner Herzog - perform humanitarian acts in a Third World country. Bizarrely, the nuns discover that they have the ability to fly in the air once they show utmost faith in God. Both subplots end with disappointment, the nuns and their plane crashing (with everyone on board killed) and the celebrity impersonators throwing a show which no-one attends (which leads to much feuding amongst the actors and even a suicide).Thoroughly aimed at the Facebook generation, "Mister Lonely's" first act centres on gangs of alienated celebrity impersonators who hunger for connection. Here every human being is an actor, insecure performers who "put themselves on display", "regulate and monitor their identities" and assume manufactured, "celebrity personalities" in an attempt to "feel special". But if late capitalism atomizes, displaces and isolates, it also offers new, hyper-mediated modes of human connection. And so Korine's celebrity impersonators become grotesque, freakish monsters, twisting their bodies and updating their profiles out of a need to be loved, wanted or even recognised.The narcissism of the impersonators is then mirrored to the altruism of the nuns. Where the actors think only of themselves, the nuns act selflessly to help others; they put their bodies and lives on the line, and seem to live a wholly sacrificial existence. But Korine also deftly shows how the reverse is also true. The actors may seem selfish, but in their own way are beautifully selfless, communal, exude their own spirituality and readily give of themselves for the betterment of others. Indeed, Korine spends much of the film drawing parallels between the actors' commune and religious covens. Likewise, the nuns may seem supremely generous, but behind their motivations lurk commensurate insecurities, delusions and what are really ego-maniacal beliefs.Korine then draws other complex parallels. Psychological damage explains both the nuns and the actors, but does not negate the social benefits of what they do. Likewise, while the actors pretend to be broadcasting a certain individualism (seemingly unique outfits etc) - as opposed to the communal anonymity of the nuns (standardized garbs etc) - they in reality have indistinct identities and must adopt second hand personas. Korine then equates the nuns' faith and the actors' hunger for fame, both groups trying to find personal exaltation, and a sense of well-being and security in something that is largely false and/or insecure. Strangely, Korine punishes both groups. Extreme individualism/egotism and extreme altruism/selflessness are seen to be dead ends.The film's duality itself mirrors contemporary political discourse. Capitalism is organised narcissism and tends to organise our lives around the narcissism of the powerful. Offered as "antidotes" to this are typically collectivised, altruistic social models. In "The Culture of Narcissism", Christopher Lasch himself notes that certain forms of narcissism are the result of a relentlessly consumerist society in which the "self" is repeatedly destroyed, purchased and projected. For Lasch, our modern era is one associated with pathological narcissism, perpetual adolescence, and a very weak sense of self which requires constant external validation.For Lasch, even "alternative lifestyles", an exodus to which began with the collapse of post-Sixties progressive movements, are tainted. With the victory of neoliberalism and the designed destruction of all alternative social and economic models, radicals found themselves gobbling up objects of mass consumption and consciousness (hypnotism, Tai Chi, health food etc) and then, with no future, retreating into a kind of extreme individualism. This glorification of the self then went hand in hand with its complete obliteration; we are celebrated as individuals precisely at the moment when we are most subsumed or integrated into the logic of capitalism. A veneer of cynicism is used to deny these truths, but such a stance merely makes us more susceptible to accepting subservience. Such a dissolution of illusions and myths, far from sharpening one's perception of reality, then reduces man's interest in the real world itself. Man thus retreats inwards, to a private, cloistered self. This new narcissism then becomes increasingly obsessed with self-improvement, medicalization, acquisition and the approval of peers and authorities. Deprived of real control and meaning, the subject retreats into grandiose fantasies, and hopes it might one day be confirmed, applauded or stumble upon its fifteen minutes of fame. Alongside such a Western narcissism is a new breed of Eastern narcissism; those obsessed with monastic purity, cultivating beautiful souls and remaining socially disconnected but spiritually clean. Both stances – the narcissism of the actors and the nuns – hinge on both a psychotic denial of reality and a betrayal of the social.Like the works of his hero, Werner Herzog, Korine's film ably mixes moments of horror, documentary realism and the absurd. Korine also captures a number of sublime passages, most of which involve nuns floating eerily through the air. Like most of Herzog's films - "Even Dwarfs Started Small" is its chief ancestor - "Mister Lonely" also hinges on outcasts and eccentrics. Korine presents these marginalised characters with a complex mixture of sympathy and revulsion. His follow-up film, "Spring Breakers", would adopt a more pessimistic tone, portraying America as a pornographic cesspit.8/10 – Worth two viewings.

Mister Lonely (2008) **** Well, it's been 8 years since Harmony Korine made a film. The last time we saw him was in Julien Donkey-Boy, before that Gummo. Both those movies passed through eyes of which the majority had no understanding. Roger Ebert, in his review of Julien Donkey Boy, referred to Korine as on a list with such names as Herzog, Cassevetes, Tarkovsky, Brakhage, Godard, etc. The reason: because he smashed the boundaries of how a conventional filmmaker would have told such tales. He also pointed out the near death of the underground film scene. There once was a time when if you were a film buff, you sought out films like these, and sat willfully in old one screen cinemas. And you were not alone: It's hard to believe now, but yes people lined up around street corners to see the Godard's or Tarkovsky's. Now those lineups are reserved for the likes of Pirates of the Caribbean and Spiderman.That kind of film buff is now a rare breed. We exist, and gleefully buy our tickets and run to the theatres, but we're no longer shoulder to shoulder or lined up around the corner. Take as an anecdote a few trips made to my local film festival. I saw a Bela Tarr film, and in my idealism rushed to get there early so i could get a seat. Though later I realized that the auditorium was only maybe half full, at best, in one of the smallest auditoriums in the city. When I first saw Mister Lonely, it was of course the same.But I digress. The point? Mister Lonely, like Korine's two previous directorial outings, dare to be different, dare to be bold, and so are destined to go unappreciated. Even Ebert, who praised Julien Donkey-Boy only gave the film 2 stars - though he did wish he could give a 2 star positive review. The problem with making a film like Mister Lonely is that its so odd that everyone gets caught up on the oddity. A common gripe: "sure its original, but what's the point?" Mister Lonely, written by Korine and his brother Avi, sets its sights on the world of celebrity impersonators. Mainly are Michael Jackson (Luna) and Marilyn Monroe (Morton). He meets her while working a bizarre gig at an old folks home, as they sit half amused, half catatonic. She invites him back to her commune in the highlands of Scotland, inhabited by their kind: Abe Lincoln, James Dean, Madonna, the Queen, the Pope, Little Red Riding Hood, the Three Stooges, and Charlie Chaplin and Shirley Temple, who are her husband and daughter, respectively of course. They live in their own world. The only thing that ties them to the real world is a flock of sheep. To them, their world seems as perfect as they want it to be, for they are the truest souls of all as they cloak themselves in the lives and manners of others. Or so that is their claim. To showcase their talents and philosophy, they build a theatre where they will put on shows for themselves, and the townsfolk.Although their is light heartedness and tender sweetness, something else seems to be sinister. Charlie Chaplin is an egomaniac, and emotionally abusive towards his wife, Marylin Monroe. To everyone else he is courteous and, well, Chaplin-esquire. She tells him that sometimes he looks more like Hitler than Chaplin.Though the film retains its tenderness, its big shift comes with the slaughter of sheep. They are infected, and even the living must be killed. All gather round as Larry, Curly and Moe pull the triggers of double barrel shotguns. In a way, their fantasy reality is not so much shattered, but breached.Punctuating this is a story about flying nuns, who believe that they can jump from the priests plane (played with absurd hilarity by Werner Herzog himself) and land safely on the ground below.Although Korine has always found the beauty in his own chaos, Mister Lonely is a much more aesthetic film than his others. It has a certain level of visual prestige that few others would even strive to. Many images are quite simply breathtaking. The sequences of Nuns, accentuated in their sky blue robes against the sky blue skies are some of my favorite in any film.And, yes, there is a point. What is it? I think I know, though I'm positive its up to some personal interpretation. And for that matter, a review is not the proper place for such a discussion. This much can be said though, its poignant, touching, and genuinely heartbreaking and life affirming at once.Films like this exist to be based solely upon their own merit. Even though Mister Lonely has some thematic similarities to, say, Sweet Movie (which Korine has said was an influence on his career), it is still something all together unique.The problem with films like Mister Lonely, though, is that they must be taken totally literally or not at all, or maybe both at the same time. That is a lot to ask of an audience, especially now. But, I ask, is that not the point of good film-making? And Besides, where else can you see the Pope sleeping with the Queen? The Three Stooges killing sheep? Michal Jackson play ping pong with Charlie Chaplin? Or maybe James Dean hang out by a swing with Madonna and Shirley Temple? Where I ask you, where!

As a long-time fan of Harmony Korine--his films (sans script for KIDS), his photographs, his music videos, writings, music, and (let's face it) "performance art" known as his inimitable interviews over the years--I, as with so many others a part of the HK cult, have been waiting almost a decade for the return of this erstwhile enfante terrible who amazed the most important modern filmmakers alive along with the rest of us with his stirring explosion onto the independent film and art scene back when we ourselves were all but kids.I can't say that I was necessarily disappointed with MISTER LONELY, but there are definitely as many aspects about it that I did not like as those that I enjoyed immensely. When I did my best to corral a few friends into the screening, everyone inevitably asked what the critics had said--strangely enough--and all the reviews seemed to say the same thing about the film: "a beautiful and meandering mess." Not only did that sound exactly like the kind of film I wanted to see, but it pretty much nails the film to the letter.Unquestionably, the film is stunning in visual beauty.Harmony has a preternatural knack for the visual form; he is in essence a photographer who thinks himself a bit better of a storyteller than he is. His stories are surely fascinating, but certainly being a raconteur of sorts is his least strong talent. His concepts are always fantastic, but his execution can become irritating and frankly gimcrack. Even in his interviews, when he goes on a tirade about talking to Orthodox Jews who are dentists and play basketball, calling him a sinner, you chuckle and can almost see the image in your head of such a scene... then you grow bored and wish he would just answer the damn question about where he got his idea for such-and-such a film, etc.As most other reviewers on IMDb and in the press have stated, you could see this film for strictly the "nun footage" alone. Those specific ethereal scenes certainly are a true breath of fresh air, and of course Harmony also has a terrific ear for the discovery and use of the best music to go along with his dreamy "surreal realism" style.The two largest problems for me with this one: 1) The dialogue was at time so sappy and sentimental that it made me wonder how such a contrarian critic such as Mr. K could come up with or employ such hackneyed and cloying material (especially an "epilogue" sequence of sorts involving talking eggs that is probably one of the worst scenes in all of American film history), 2) The acting could have been punched up a bit, especially with Diego Luna who had the physical style of Jackson down pat, but just couldn't pull off the voice, the "hee-hee," or an acting performance that transcended a frightened, timid child of 13 (and, yes, I did catch that this was somewhat the "point," but the whole film's ensemble seemed a bit too pedomorphic this time round... rather like the characters, dialogue, and even narrative of Bret Easton Ellis' last novel in which you almost want to grab the guy and say, "Hey, you're better than this. You're not a kid anymore. And your characters aren't kids anymore. Time to move on and evolve.")The Chaplin character was also such a wooden villain, so despicable in every way, that I believed his development suffered the same kind of flatness one would see in a late 90's romantic-comedy. It will be difficult for me to recommend MISTER LONELY to even my most staunch artistic cineaste friends; but, I'm personally glad I saw it, and--again--there was imagery that I will never see anywhere else.Looking forward to his next piece.