Pink Floyd: The Wall By Jeff Shannon
By any rational measure, Alan Parker's cinematic interpretation of Pink
Floyd: The Wall is a glorious failure. Glorious because its imagery is
hypnotically striking, frequently resonant, and superbly photographed by
the gifted cinematographer Peter Biziou. And a failure because the entire
exercise is hopelessly dour, loyal to the bleak themes and psychological
torment of Roger Waters's great musical opus, and yet utterly devoid of
the humor that Waters certainly found in his own material. Any attempt to
visualize The Wall would be fraught with artistic danger, and
Parker succumbs to his own self-importance, creating a film that's as
fascinating as it is flawed.
The film is, for better and worse, the fruit of three artists in
conflict--Parker indulging himself, and Waters in league with designer
Gerald Scarfe, whose brilliant animated sequences suggest that he should
have directed and animated this film in its entirety. Fortunately, this
clash of talent and ego does not prevent The Wall from being a
mesmerizing film. Boomtown Rats frontman Bob Geldof (in his screen debut)
is a fine choice to play Waters's alter ego--an alienated,
"comfortably numb" rock star whose psychosis manifests itself as
an emotional (and symbolically physical) wall between himself and the
cold, cruel world. Weaving Waters's autobiographical details into his own
jumbled vision, Parker ultimately fails to combine a narrative thread with
experimental structure. It's a rich, bizarre, and often astonishing film
that will continue to draw a following, but the real source of genius
remains the music of Roger Waters.
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