Defending Babylon - and the importance of low expectations
How a bad film can be more fun than a good one, so long as you think it won't be
The Academy Awards don’t matter. Of course they don’t. I know the nominations and eventual winners, which every year are dissected and vilified, are just the aggregated opinions of voters who haven’t watched half the films they are judging.
As Hugh Grant chirped, The Oscars is a vanity fair, a pageant relying on heart-warming narratives as heavily as the films it celebrates. Nominees with redemption arcs - the Brendan Frasers - tend to win. It’s an evening of canned banter and crocodile tears, which is best enjoyed – and I do enjoy them - through the prism of a Twitter timeline.
Despite knowing all this, I still manage to get annoyed each year. I have, on many occasions, lamented Michael Keaton’s turn in Birdman being snubbed in favour of Eddie Redmayne sitting in a chair for an hour. Last year, CODA snatched Best Picture despite no human having ever watched it. Of course there was the Green Book debacle, caused by Fox News complaining about the lack of American flags in First Man.
This year, however, I found myself oddly uninvested. I liked Everything, Everywhere, All at Once, and although I thought other nominees were “better”, my feathers remained unruffled by the film’s triumph. It was much the same in the acting, directing and writing categories.
My only qualm came in the Best Original Score category, an award I usually pay no attention to – particularly as the Coldplay of composers, Hans Zimmer, usually wins. This year Volker Bertlemann took the stage for his work on All’s Quiet on the Western Front.
Bertlemann’s score is fantastic. Yet, it robbed a brief moment of limelight from a film I enjoyed more than any of this year’s nominees: Babylon.
Damien Chazelle’s ode to 1920s Hollywood, which arrived with murmurs of awards season glory, did not live up to its lofty expectations. Lacklustre reviews lead to a box office tanking, with many bemoaning it’s garish and self-congratulatory tone. Alonso Duralde, writing for The Wrap, labelled it a “cocaine conversation of a movie”.
And he’s not wrong. Babylon, is deeply and truly flawed. It’s three hours long, its Hollywood-centric message is sickening, and its plot regurgitates Boogie Nights.
I don’t consider myself a movie contrarian. I usually enjoy movies which are acclaimed, and dislike those which are panned. My taste is uncontroversial; Lincoln is my go-to hangover movie.
Why then, did I enjoy this critical outcast? Well, it has to do with expectation.
On a weekday night I felt like going to the cinema. There were limited options and, despite its panning, I was intrigued by Babylon. The runtime was a turn-off, but I was resigned to walking out if it was as unwatchable as people said.
Yet, as I’d prepared myself for the film’s pitfalls, it was not jarring when they appeared. I expected the film to be drivel, leading my critical faculties to dull, and freeing me to enjoy Babylon’s redeeming features. And there are many.
As mentioned, the score is brilliant. Justin Hurwitz’s buzzes and twangs compliment the film scattered and energetic feeling. Many criticised the film’s overzealous set pieces, but their scale and intricacy is awe-inspiring. Yes, the camera occasionally whirls around with unnecessary flamboyance, but the ambition practically oozes out the screen.
Then there’s Margot Robbie. She has monopolised the manic, tortured protagonist role, and for good reason: she is magnificent. She also anchors one of the best dance sequences since American Hustle. This is before you get to Spike Jonze playing a deranged German (I think) director, possibly the best cameo of 2022.
The three hours flew by. I left smiling, freshly bathed in the light of the big screen. It was self-important nonsense, but it was earnest. Chazelle swung for the fences and fell short, but that’s still more commendable than a cowardly bunt.
And, having expected nothing, I didn’t feel cheated.
Babylon exemplifies what Bilge Ebiri calls “un-normalness”, where a film’s shortcomings or quirks belies what makes it compelling. Some films, such as Goodfellas or Heat, are easily digestible classics. Their dorky cousins Casino or Miami Vice, which are clothed in the same genres, lack clarity, making them seem lesser. Yet, if one looks past what they’re meant to be, what they are is just as enthralling – and more intriguing.
By expecting disappointment, I could ignore the excess and imperfection of Chazelle’s movie, making its un-normalness far easier to find.
This experience echoed my favourite cinema trip. On a sleepy Sunday, two friends suggested we catch an evening showing of The Square. In contrast to Babylon, I knew nothing about the film.
Once again, I had no expectations. If I’d known anything about the film, my hackles would have raised, wary of self-indulgent, arthouse ambitions. Instead I let the images and sounds wash over me, unburdened by anticipation. After 20 minutes, I was enchanted.
In the world of reviews and social media clips, film ignorance is increasingly rare. Almost always, our opinions are shaped prior to watching. Avoiding influence has to be a conscious choice, and even then it’s nearly impossible to achieve. In the case of Babylon, the incessant commentary inadvertently salvaged a film I otherwise would have discarded. But it can so often lead to disappointment. If one expects greatness, it is often underwhelming when it is delivered.
So, I’ve made a choice. If possible, I will never research a film beforehand. Yes, I may watch some duds. But if I happen to stumble across excellence, it will make it that much sweeter. And if this fails, I’ll just watch things that everyone says are bad. I’m sure, amongst all the disappointment, I’ll find something to enjoy.