The Air I Breathe

 

 

In what is one of the lower key releases of 2008, The Air I Breathe, the feature length debut of Jieho Lee, breaks life down into four cornerstones; happiness, pleasure, sorrow, and love, with an actor and their scenario representing each.

 

The Air I Breathe is an art film by all standards, and more importantly, it is a materially strange outing. Its feel is very much that of something that goes direct-to-DVD or TV, although its star power (rather than its quality of performances, which is surprisingly bland) elevates it above that. Quite naturally, some (this critic included) will find its supposedly thoughtful, meditative approach alienating, overbearing, or even pretentious; yes, its opening quote is over-complex, yet the main plot strands are anything but complex. The four scenarios are exceedingly simple on a superficial level; the characters are cut-outs, and none more than Garcia's gangster character, but the picture is less concerned with the depth of its characters and more with what they symbolise. It appears that the film paints its narrative in narrow, simplistic strokes; the stories are simple, but only to allow the viewer to concentrate on what they mean, and what meditations the film is forming, although quite what they are is anyone’s guess.

 

Simple the stories are, although that in no way restricts their scale; the opening story, “Happiness” (performed by Forest Whittaker), quickly descends into an overblown, surreal venture that never quite convinces, and doesn't seem to make much of a point at all. At this point, there is always the hope that the dots would connect as the film progresses, but even if this were to be true (and it is not), can it justify sitting through what are essentially four films protracted into diluted, rushed 20-minute segments? The speed at which the opening narrative changes from a man down on his luck to the same man embroiled in a police chase whilst riding a pizza bike is not only ridiculous, but overstated. Subtlety is overrated, but in this instance, in a meditation, it is preferable, if not necessary.

 

If "Happiness" is Falling Down-lite, then "Pleasure", starring Brendan Fraser, is Final Destination-lite mated with Eastern Promises-lite. Fraser's character has the curious ability to see the future, and quite what it has to do with pleasure is never made in the least bit clear. It is as the second proverb finds its resolution that the film begins to lose its credibility; one character undergoes an unconvincing, life-changing personality transplant that feels entirely forced.

 

The third story, “Sorrow”, personified by Sarah Michelle Gellar, makes considerably greater sense than the ones that preceded it; the character’s existence quite clearly befits her name, and whilst the opening scene in which she is interviewed is well thought out, the part all too-quickly diverges to a violent, compromising flashback, returning the picture to the overwrought tone of the previous facets. As with the previous parts, it relies too much on conventional, and more to its detriment, soap opera-esque plot threads which, even if the film were to contain something thoughtful within it, degrade the film's integrity nevertheless.

 

This third chapter suffers from the same disorientating, Saw-esque editing style as the previous portions, yet the subject matter of this portion is a considerably more mature and disturbing exploration of the human condition than the previous two, and thus, is infinitely more watchable. The third chapter's closing moments are so rudimentary, however, that one is driven to consider whether The Air I Breathe is, in fact, a film with its tongue rooted firmly in its cheek. Even if the film could be considered more parody then serious consideration, the film is still a slew of unashamedly, unnecessarily brash and mean-spirited moments. I would never normally decry violence or swearing, yet when a film seems to say as little as The Air I Breathe, all of its melodrama just seems to provide an excuse for the film's cast to shout, swear, screw, and kill.

 

The film's final entry, “Love” (characterised by Kevin Bacon), is the most worthy of the four simply because of its frenzied performance from Bacon. He immerses himself in the melodrama of the situation, and is accompanied along the way by a brief appearance by the wonderful Julie Delpy. The final installment asserts that The Air I Breathe is, without doubt, entirely tongue-in-cheek; it simply is not possible that someone could craft something this melodramatic with the intention of being serious. The conclusion of the final chapter is only mildly more tolerable in that it isn't so nihilistic and downbeat, yet it still relies on certain conventions that are entirely unnecessary and ancillary to the narrative, such as attempting to link the four stories together. If anything, "Love" presents to us the one thoroughly likeable character in the entire film (Bacon's character), yet otherwise, falls victim to the same trappings as the other segments.

 

The Air I Breathe had extreme promise, with a competent cast and the intrigue of a rich, thoughtful premise. However, it is instead is one of the rare examples of the "bad art film"; it is a confused film with muddled direction (in both senses); it is also overwrought and melodramatic to the point of lunacy, and simply as a film, is seemingly pointless as food for thought, or even as mere entertainment. For a superior film of similar ilk, watch Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia, or Paul Haggis’ Crash.