Fur: an Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus movie review

by Kris   ⋅   June 17, 2007   ⋅   Comment now   ⋅    RSS

JUST SAY NO to Zaph Chancery font! How can a film with art direction and cinematography so rich start out with credit lines so faulted? It almost reduces it to a Made for Television style, when this film deserves so much better than that.

Behind the (ugh) titles, we see a woman on a bus with an unkempt ‘do and even messier clothing. Wait a minute, is her coat made out of human hair?! In southpaw scrawl, she furiously scribbles a to-do list in her journal: “…slaughterhouses …albinos”. Trippy. Her stop is at the nudist colony, where we are treated to 80-year-old cock and overflowing bellies. No, it is not supposed to be sexy, it is a lifestyle, and in order to fully accept it, or even to photograph it, as she has come to do, visitors must disrobe. As she musters up the courage, we lapse into a tidy segue to three months prior, and a shocking departure.

Diane (Nicole Kidman), presumptuously pronounced DEE-anne, is, er was a dutiful wife with a mousy tight coif, dowdy unadorned beige and grey librarian frocks and in fact, everything about her is beige except for her bright sapphire eyes which all-too-willingly drink in everything she is permitted to view. It is entirely indicative of someone who has been an observer her entire life, but too sheltered and too shy for self-motivated internal and external exploration. Upon realizing her unfulfilling and vanilla existence as a photography assistant for her husband, which she might have believed was trading up from her oppressive wealthy parents’ prison (she was a teen bride), she pursues a new tenant in her apartment building. Mysteriously shrouded with only peep holes for eyes and lips –his masks either resembling a colorblind luchador (pictured below left) or the Elephant Man– this man definitely has a secret. Hints thrown at us of Diane flashing her neighbors on the balcony (pictured above right) and oft enjoying a game of “tell me a secret” with her hubbie, inform us that Diane’s obsessive curiosity with exposure will only make this mystery man all the more delectable.

I love the idea of “exposure” here: we have A) the photographic term where an image is captured depending on the amount of light (illumination metaphorically) entering the aperture; B) the literal willing and almost fetishist public exposure of Diane’s skin; C) the revealing of one’s true humble self to another.

The phrase “take it off” is repeated throughout, as are framed shots of Diane within circles, reminding us that Fur is a journey into a pseudo-biography as explanation of Arbus’ psyche. In her mind she is a freak, secretly prefers others to view her as such, and shares an affinity with oddities, all the while pretending to be poised to appease others. This is what her famous duotone (black and white, yet a lot of grey–metaphor again) photographs will later convey: the ability to find familiarity and comfort in the obtuse; grotesque attrition in normalcy and luxury.

Fur: an Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus is also an exploration into the trials of societal expectations. We’re appalled by the Circus of the rich and the ugliness of their rehearsed mannerisms, Diane’s mother at the dog groomers abominating natural poodle fur growth, Diane’s parents’ booming fur coat business. Diane’s husband and two daughters find her odd, when in reality, her husband’s so-called “normality” is an uninspired and going-through-the-motions farce, just like every ordinary person who follows a collective community’s standards: his postcard fashion photographs for the NY Times subverse, his studio a freak show, his lovemaking brutal. Diane and her husband sleep on far opposite sides of the bed, he chuckles when she initiates intimacy. So who are the real freaks?

The real freaks are the ones who pay to see a chained man with hypertrichosis (overactive follicle production, even all over the entire face, dubbed the “Werewolf Syndrome”) being yanked about, menaced and humiliated on stage. This man with the fitting name “Lionel” (Robert Downey, Jr) who possesses confident chutzpa despite his oppressive history is Diane’s new neighbor. Clever introductory sequences where Diane becomes a voyeur and is invited to explore Lionel’s lifestyle adds to their immediate attraction. There is an economy of dialogue because well, people usually lie and add fluff, where Diane and Lionel are being completely genuine. A tremendous opportunity for the actors, guided by the awesome Steven Shainberg of Secretary fame.

I’ll see anything with Robert Downey Jr in it, even if it means I have to endure Nicole Kidman’s awkward accent blanket, her icy unblinking stares and stiff unyielding posture. I loved her performance in Gus van Sant’s To Die For, but other than that, she often comes across as a mannequin or a commercial for Visine. But in casting Fur, she is an astonishingly strong choice. Kidman’s excruciatingly over-enunciated cloudy breathy sighs mingling with Downey’s debaucherous baritone mumblings further emphasize how opposites attract and helps define their characters’ personalities. Her wide eyes and slim child-like statuesque figure supplement her character’s silver spoon upbringing and naïveté, where Downey’s worldly weariness emotes wisdom, enforcing an instructor/pupil sentiment. Brilliant.

As time moves on, as Diane is emboldened, her dresses become wilder, more colorful, her hairstyle softens, her mannerisms sloppily carefree. What becomes Diane’s signature dress is cornflower blue (taken right out of the crayola box) dotted with intermittent embroidery, delicate dyed lace, orderly perfectly pressed pintucks, wavy scalloped edges; basically a representative of all the frills she was never allowed to partake in. Or perhaps it was an old dress from her youth. Perhaps, like her eyes, it is meant to remind Lionel of his beloved and estranged ocean waves. Whatever the reason, Diane chose to shove it in the back dregs of her closet in the past and chose to dig it up just to wear to Lionel’s.

This particular blue dress also describes the incredible eye the costume designer Mark Bridges has. The studded and piped gilded trim on Diane’s accompanying peach ballet flats (pictured below right) warranted at least three close-up shots. Every single stick of furniture, every detail and accoutrement flawless, as this was 1958 before the age of plastic, before plumbing was hidden and when asthma inhalers were made out of rubber and glass. Even upstairs in Lionel’s roughly rustic digs where the blue walls have chipped off so much paint that the underlying surface emerges like a cloudscape. His apartment is swathed in warm tangible sensual fabrics and harem hues. I love it all so much that I’ll report the diaphanous Ikea curtains with the ruby starbursts as a gimme.

Fur: an Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus is as much about empowerment and solace as it is about metamorphosis (even Diane’s husband changes in appearance, sporting a beard and shaving it at the pinnacle moment of his revelation. I wondered if he grew the beard because he wanted to look more like Lionel, or was it a favor for Diane?). Mentions about being brave (like a lion perhaps?) is peppered throughout, juxtaposed with calming, cleansing institutions imbued in visions of water.

There’s also a wonderful Alice in Wonderland quality about the whole affair, Lionel has a white rabbit, reads the fable to Diane’s youngest daughter who was earlier dressed in a white bunny costume, Lionel instructs Diane to drink a cup of tea via a scribed note, Diane’s blue frock. Even to the effect that Carroll’s surreal tale included a slew of anthropomorphic animals and freedom from routine, and Fur is about a furrier heiress enamored by a furry man who grants her entrance into a fantastic fanatical realm pretty much provides a valid link. Besides, “Lewis Carroll” was an adopted pseudonym for a mathematician. Talk about busting through societal expectations while simultaneously being a slave to it. Fur: an Imaginary Portrait of Diane Arbus allows us retrospect into our own fears, desires, rabbit holes. So what’s your secret?

About the Author

Kris Kobayashi-Nelson says these directors/screenwriters rarely disappoint: Peter Greenaway, Kiyoshi Kurosawa, Krzysztof Kieslowski, Gus van Sant. Gregg Araki. Kris claims that Jake Gyllenhaal, Cillian Murphy, Desmond Harrington and Casey Affleck are much more than pretty faces.