2020 films – Joy On Screen

I’ve never seen a movie quite like Another Round. The premise of this Danish film is intriguing: a group of teachers hear a claim that humans’ natural blood alcohol level is .05% too low, so a slight state of inebriation would enable them to function better. The friends decide to conduct an experiment in order to determine the veracity of this claim, faithfully documenting their results to remind themselves that they’re doing this for the sake of science. We join them on this journey as they seek to reclaim the joy they’ve lost and find a new way to make meaning in their mundane days.

From almost the first moment he appears, the film’s excellent writing and directing clearly lets us know who Martin is. He and his wife hardly speak, his students essentially accuse him of being so boring that they can’t learn from him, and he refuses to join his friends for a drink at a birthday celebration. We get a glimpse of the man he used to be–a jazz ballet dancer who was passionate about learning and on the path to excel in his field–but see that he set aside those dreams for the sake of practicality.

So the transformation of the first act is an exhilarating ride. Mads Mikkelsen portrays Martin with captivating, intense charisma as the quiet history teacher comes alive. He becomes an engaging leader who, with the boost of a slight buzz, masterfully helps his students see the connections between their own experiences and the events they are studying. He rebuilds his relationship with his wife and children, finding a joy their family had been missing for years. His friend, a music teacher, finds that being intoxicated enables him to point the youth chorale toward the sound they’ve been looking for. Their rehearsal is one of the most stunningly beautiful scenes of the film, as a group of awkward, uncertain teenagers unite to produce an ethereal harmony. Despite some minor missteps, it seems like these friends have unlocked the secret to a happy and fulfilling life.

Though Another Round is billed as a comedy, it straddles the line between humor and tragedy as things begin to fall apart for the friends at its center. They decide to push their experiment to the limit, imbibing more and more alcohol and going from buzzed to barely functioning, unable to fulfill their obligations at work and at home. Three of the group’s members come to a sharp awakening when they wake up bruised and dazed after a night of binge drinking. They’re able to pull back–to see how close they are to ruining their lives and to step away. Their friend Tommy, though, is no longer conducting a scientific experiment. He’s become an alcoholic and can’t escape his dependence, which ultimately leads to his death.

So the magic answer turns out to be a false hope, and these friends must return to a sober life a little sadder and a little wiser. Another Round lets us draw our own conclusions about their choices, never completely condemning the use of alcohol as a tool for overcoming anxiety or fear. But it shows us how quickly intoxication can go from invigorating to debilitating, how something that once helped you see the beauty in life can begin to blind you again. The film quietly encourages us to think about the crutches we rely on and to ask if they are enabling us to engage with life more fully or if they are standing in the way.

And what about Martin? Will he retreat back into his shell, especially as he has lost some of the relationships that were once keeping him afloat? The film’s magical conclusion gives us hope for him. The newly-graduated students from their school parade down the street, celebrating success on their exams, and Martin has a choice. He can look on and smile, passively watching their joy as he would have at the beginning of the film, or he can join them. And he chooses to dance.

As a recovering English major and one of nine sisters who all love to read, Jane Austen’s novels have been part of my life for as long as I can remember. It seems like my sisters revisit the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice every time they have a free afternoon, and we frequently play a game where we must attempt to win by marrying Mr. Darcy. So, while I was prepared to love Autumn de Wilde’s new interpretation of Emma for the sake of its source material, I was delighted to encounter a film that stands firmly on its own merits.

Almost immediately, it’s clear that de Wilde’s vision for Emma. is unique. Rather than the hushed pianos and violins that have graced recent Austen films, the soundtrack here is bold and upbeat. With choral renditions of traditional tunes, the cheerful clamor of the soundtrack acts almost as a Greek chorus, providing narration that reinforces the action and often cuts in to enhance the humor of an awkward interaction. In addition, de Wilde’s previous work as a music video director is evident in the way she choreographs the players on the screen. From the moment when we waltz into the story, the servants surrounding the main characters begin to float through rooms in intricate patterns, gliding past each other as if they’re performing a dance. As if it took place at one of Emma’s balls, the film is obsessed with appearances and style–but it uses those surface-level concerns to remind us that manners shape and define the relationships that make up this polite society.

We first learn about our heroine through those relationships, understanding her through the women revolving around her in Highbury’s shops and sitting rooms. By contrasting her with Harriet, we see that Emma is self-assured, certain of her place in society, at ease in the rituals of tea and balls. In comparison with Jane Fairfax, we see that Emma can feel only moderately accomplished, trapped in a small town by her duty to her hypochondriac father. And, unlike Miss Bates, Emma has such a high regard for the demands of society that she will rarely allow her enthusiasm or her love to break through. In the first scene, we see Emma picking flowers to give to Mrs. Weston on her wedding day–and then the camera zooms out and we realize that she is merely standing at a distance while a servant cuts the blooms she chooses. We’re instantly aware of the way Emma uses polite customs to keep others at a distance, attempting to avoid all acquaintances she deems inconvenient or distasteful.

Emma’s strengths and weaknesses are highlighted by all these women, but we find her ultimate foil in her future partner. While Mr. Knightley knows how to dance and play an instrument and perform every task required of a gentleman, he often puts aside the decorum Emma holds so dear. He follows his own desires, choosing to walk everywhere, to close off the rooms of Donwell Abbey where he’d be expected to entertain, and to freely associate with lower-class members of society. He refuses to let the rules of propriety constrain him, telling Emma what he actually thinks of her choices with an honesty that is easily avoided by others in the name of politeness. Unlike Emma, though, he backs up his manners with eyes for the overlooked, practical help for the less fortunate, and patience and kindness for those who don’t quite fit in. His affection for the people around him, in sharp contrast to Emma’s “love” for Harriet and others, always seeks their best.

So we rejoice as we watch Emma and Knightley learn to love each other. We celebrate every shared glance, despair at each miscommunication, and swoon over the crucial dance (the only way to discover love in an Austen film). Even before their relationship becomes romantic, Knightley and Emma begin to build each other up, never demeaning or harassing each other as couples around them too often do. Knightley helps Emma look past herself to consider the impact she has on those around her, and she draws him out of his bachelor solitude to engage him in society in new ways. By the time they declare their love, Emma has grown enough that her first thought is of another person’s feelings, not just the happiness she could claim by pursuing what her heart desires. It’s a delight to watch them fall in love and find each other worthy of that love.

And suddenly we’re back where we began, attending a wedding once again. In a film so focused on meaningless rituals, it’s beautiful to see it end with a deeply significant tradition that unites instead of dividing, making two people one instead of setting up social barriers. No matter their class status, every character in the film comes together for this wedding. And we rejoice with the citizens of Highbury and the happy couple, trusting that they will continue to learn and grow and lean on each other to overcome whatever difficulties they encounter. Though it is filled with frivolity, with silk and dances and screens to protect Mr. Woodhouse from the fire, the film concludes with a genuine moment of love and joy–as every Austen adaptation should.