Indeed, living in London for a while does
not make one English enough to comment on Englishness, nor does it efface the
stereotyped concept of Englishness, and the truth is being a foreigner there, this
stereotype is perceived way stronger than that absorption of Englishness
through varied forms of entertainment while residing in the hometown. Although
the actual lived experience in that surroundings of Englishness injects
something real into that mental image, once one leaves that surroundings, the
mystic functioning of the memory twists the real experience, making it even
more unreal and vague, and thus going beyond the stereotype, becoming a pure
imagination of Englishness that calls itself memory.
So this memory of Englishness is only something
very private and untrue, and it is pretty much a false image, a fantasy,
particularly in the eyes of the English, but it is this false image that allows
Adele’s voice to produce a strange emotional resonance that links with that
slight but beautiful depression in Weekend
(2011, directed and written by Andrew Haigh), which triggers memories of other quite
irrelevant real experiences that somehow reinforces this mental imagination of
Englishness.
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| Weekend (2011) |
Gloomy weather, repression, and the light
sorrow constitute this mental image of Englishness, which is first developed after
seeing the film A Room with a View
(1985) and then is strengthened in the reading of this novel by E. M. Foster.
The fine misty rain falling from the gray sky is a symbol of that light sorrow
that can only come into being through a very subtle mental struggle and
repression, which is most obviously manifested in love and self-control. This
imagination of a gloomy and repressed lifestyle is once again intensified in
the most recent TV series Downton Abbey
(2010 – present), a genre play of the high society in the early twentieth
century.
But such a mental struggle is not a
privilege of the high society, and Weekend
projects this agonizing self-control along with that feeble wish to break
through through two young middle-class gay men in the twentieth-first century. The
truth is such a projection of mental struggles is universal, and it should
happen to anyone regardless nationality and cultural upbringing, but due to the
temporal-spatial setting of the film, memory directs mind towards that
imagination of Englishness, which blurs the reality with fantasy, making the
mental construction truer than ever. As a result, the sorrow of those young men
– though not completely without hope and faith for the future – represents a
unique English dilemma that gay men faces in the contemporary English society. It
seems illogical if the temporal-spatial setting is made American, or, say,
Taiwanese, since the background does not offer that gray, gloomy ambience which
makes the exaggeration of mental struggles available.
It is interesting that such an exaggeration
of human sorrow can be achieved without images, and Adele’s smoky and emotional
voice sings not only regret and lamentation, but also fortitude – through her
special tone that encourages those who mourn their loss and saves them from the
over-indulgence in sadness – which is also the characteristic of those tragic
heroes or heroines in English films or TV series. Once again, that should be a
universal human nature, but due to that strong mental image of Englishness, the
display of one’s inner strength and self-control is associated with the
English. Even though one is so deeply dwelling in that unbearable sorrow
without not having tried to ignore it, as projected in Weekend the departing of lovers who are almost strangers to each
other and their knowing of each other through self-confrontations, the
repression for self-control never allows a total breakdown of the mentality. As
seen in this film, this self-control miraculously directs them to hold on to
that feeble wish that they themselves have already known so well that it might
not be achieved. Although they can never be together, at least they know they
have found each other, they both have rediscovered their self, and life can still
be beautiful because they are left with beautiful memories.
This complicated mental process allows them
to stand in the brink of self-destruction without truly destroying the self,
and therefore, these two young men are both the combination of extreme sadness
and positive faith for the future. It is fortitude that keeps the balance of
this bipolar relation. This unique feature is sung by Adele in her Someone Like You (2011), and her tone
and attitude makes her a perfect representation of fortitude, and her
Englishness makes this universal fortitude so English. This Englishness is best
projected in her version of Bob Dylan’s Make
You Feel My Love (1997 [2008]); rather than being manly and caring, the
English love is repressed, well-controlled, and even lonely, a love that can
never come into being without a long process of self-struggles, or a love that
can be completely sacrificial even though it is utterly unattainable, as the
one projected in Weekend. This
self-control is celebrated in One and
Only (2011) through which she advises that mental struggle can only be
conquered by the self, and one must be bold and keep the faith for oneself if
the final paradise of happiness should be reached. Her encouragement points to
that English nature of repression, which should not be seen as a total
rejection of life but an inevitable sorrow that would make the final success
sweeter than ever.
How interesting it is that these three
songs all connect with the plot of Weekend
even though the film has not incorporated any of these songs. One and Only interprets the emotional
change of both characters in this short-lived weekend love. After they grow
fonder of each other and intend to know each other more, Make You Feel My Love is represented through their constant self-confrontation
and arguments. When the lovers are doomed to that inevitable separation, Someone like you becomes the perfect
footnote to their mood and their hope for a better future, even though that
sorrow has perpetually stained the heart.
Probably no others can project this gloomy
sorrow better than the English. Although French films normally give something
way more miserable than this English sorrow, its strong philosophical stance
quite often takes control of the overall emotional expression, and thus their
exploration of humanity is deep, making the film heavy and emotionally
unbearable. Quite differently, Weekend
probes the same issues with a light approach, but not as light, or usually
comical, as Hollywood movies, and that projection of the actual life of
nobodies brings that film closer to its viewers. There are no special effects
or melodramatic expressions. All you see is something so real and sincere, something
that resembles the tone and attitude of Adele, something that reminds us of
Englishness, a memory of pure imagination.
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