THE STORY – A repressed philosophy professor grapples with lingering guilt over a decision from his past when the victim suddenly returns to his life.
THE CAST – Jack Huston, Sofia Boutella, Daniel Zovatto, Bill Pullman, Dana Delany, Shiloh Fernandez & Karl Glusman
THE TEAM – Paul Schrader (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 94 Minutes
No matter what, Paul Schrader remains a fascinating figure in the history of cinema. It’s impossible to deny the great influence he’s had throughout the decades. Even if one were solely counting the collaborations with Martin Scorsese, providing the screenplays for “Taxi Driver” and “Raging Bull” would be enough to cement one’s legacy as an invaluable contributor to the medium. Add to that “American Gigolo,” “The Last Temptation of Christ” and “First Reformed,” and there is clearly a filmography with so many monumental works that’s worthy of celebrating. However, that is not to say it’s a career without any blemishes. Far from it. It’s been especially dodgy since securing that elusive Oscar nomination, and every effort from him seems to have diminishing returns in regards to their effectiveness. Given his already questionable views about a litany of hot button issues, which can be gleaned from his infamous Facebook page, the subject of “The Basics of Philosophy” would cause a lot of concern. While it perhaps avoids the worst case scenario of what this story could have showcased, it still represents a misguided commentary from a perspective that feels too removed and too shallow to make a real impact.
This tale is set around John Jorrisen (Jack Huston), a college professor teaching a philosophy course to mostly disinterested students at a Midwestern university. Because of this, he doesn’t seem to have that much ambition. Even the romantic relationship he is pursuing with another professor (Sofia Boutella) feels cold and distant. His world is shaken following the death of his father, Melvyn (Bill Pullman), and something rattles him when he spots a stranger in the crowd. It turns out he’s actually Miguel Vasque (Daniel Zovatto), a person who John gave piano lessons to when he was a teenager which preceded an incident of sexual activity between them. While Melvyn helped cover up the crime by using his wealth and influence, the reappearance of this figure from the past sends John into a path that finds him exploring old wounds that have not fully healed.
Anyone with a passing familiarity on Schrader’s takes on an array of controversial topics will ultimately brace themselves to experience the most uncomfortable kind of analysis. Perhaps one should be grateful that it doesn’t lean so heavily into the notion of totally excusing such behavior or calling into question the legitimacy of such an accusation. The film never asks its audience to absolve the protagonist directly, nor is there any doubt as to the veracity of the claims. There is, however, still an outdated mindset when it comes to approaching these discussions. The question of whether or not this assault informed the sexuality of the victim is one that seems absurd for any modern interpretation of the events. In truth, the victim’s viewpoint seems oddly constructed, demonstrating that he has made a successful life for himself in spite of such trauma but also having an ill-defined motivation for continuing any further communication with his abuser. Thankfully these events don’t turn into a twisted act of lust now that they are adults, but it then leaves him with a muddled sense of purpose. Miguel wants to warn John’s partner because she also has a teenage boy that could be put in danger, but he is then strangely ambivalent about the decision when confronted.
It’s not the only time Schrader’s screenplay seems uninterested in providing his characters with dimensionality. Melvyn’s status as a wealthy white man using his powers to intervene in a case that involves undocumented migrants does not implicate any grander political ideologies of his actions. John uses his lectures to apply these philosophical concepts to his own journey regarding regret and forgiveness, but they are flat dissertations that speak to surface level observations of a weak character. Not to mention that Schrader’s obligatory voiceover narration has been slightly shifted from diary entries to writings for a book the character is working on. There’s even another character, a hustler at a gay bar named Claude (Shiloh Fernandez) who wants to exploit the past controversy to extort money from John. Apart from being a queasy acknowledgement of those who are willing to lie about sexual assault in order to achieve monetary gain, it also conflates general same-sex attraction with the underage proclivities that seem to interest John. Not to mention, it’s a thread that’s dropped without any kind of resolution, and the same can be said of Miguel’s arc. These are incidents in which Schrader may not be confirming the worst interpretations, but whatever insight they attempt to offer is devoid of so much substance. It’s frustrating how the storytelling finds an unsatisfying exploration at every turn.
It’s a shame that Schrader’s script significantly lacks any kind of engaging intrigue because there are occasions when his filmmaking can be a little engrossing, though certainly not by much. Eli Keszler’s score has a strange sound to it, almost like a thriller, that is oddly hypnotic when it appears. The cinematography makes use of the stark, reserved framing that is in most of his films, and a splash of colorful lighting in a seedy motel does a lot to provide some visual vibrancy. There’s also the utilization of black and white in flashback sequences, and the contrasting shadows are rather captivating in their presentation. The filmmaking hasn’t always been at the forefront when it comes to the effectiveness of his narratives, but there are a handful of moments that showcase a more compelling eye at work. It’s not frequently implemented, and still doesn’t solve the other shortcomings, but the slight effort is still appreciated.
Unfortunately, the cast doesn’t provide that much respite either. Huston’s register feels to be intentionally removed, as he inhabits a soul that’s been beaten down by a crushing guilt, but there’s also little layering present to give his characterization any more complexity – at least that is demonstrated in his portrayal. It just comes across as monotone and disinterested, which mirrors the chemistry he has with Boutella. She isn’t that impressive either, also featuring very few modes of emotional range with her role. But at least she is the only female player who doesn’t sound like a stereotypical online influencer. At least, apart from Dana Delaney as well, who does admittedly have some compelling intrigue in her brief appearance. Zovatto should have one of the more interesting parts to play – a figure who can display a lot of presence with a passionate aura – but he’s handicapped by the poor writing which limits the definition of the character. Every moment of confrontation can’t give any further complexity, and as such, the performance never becomes more than satisfactory. A similar issue can be applied to Pullman. Credit to Fernandez for taking a useless character and infusing some erotic and sly menace into a completely hollow character, making him the only alluring member of the ensemble.
Then there’s Karl Glusman appearing as an apparition of Dutch philosopher Baruch Spinoza, the subject of John’s book, who ends up having a lengthy conversation on philosophical life musings in broad daylight. The less said about that utterly bizarre scene with cheap costumes and bad wigs, the better. It’s funny how Richard Gere can appear for a brief cameo and instantly provide more impactful screentime than any other cast member here.
One should not immediately dismiss the value of any artistic work simply because it wants to explore taboo subjects that can make an audience uncomfortable. That’s something to be celebrated in work as it can inspire provocative conversation. Paul Schrader’s career has been built upon that worldview, but it is still required to deliver a stimulating thesis at the same time. That is sadly quite elusive in “The Basics of Philosophy.” Whatever interesting commentary it means to convey is undermined by the poorly outlined topics of conversation. The characters don’t possess any unique or enthralling positions in regard to their motivations, and it all amounts to a frustrating result. There will always be great admiration for Schrader’s previous contributions, but when he can’t even make a case for shock value anymore and instead provides a tedious experience, it’s frankly an even more disappointing one.
