Edgar Cochran ✝️’s review published on Letterboxd:
What sin is it to be as autobiographical as possible? What if this film suddenly functions as a stream of consciousness emulating Wojciech Has or even Fellini, something extremely personal to you, where your intent is to show your inner being through a cinematic poem? The former depends on how much relatable audiences find your statements; however, the latter is meant to be labeled as “pretentious”, and so, Bardo gets stabbed to death, especially by Mexican audiences, which I consider to be among the most immature and unprepared film audiences around the world.
The blockbuster auteur’s most personal alter-ego retelling of his own film formation, even before Cassavettes approached him in the set of Faces (1968) and asked a wandering Spielberg what he wanted to be, contains all of his signature trademarks, whether that ends up being detrimental to the perception of any viewer or not. There is a high appeal to all of those that grew up watching films, especially those that dreamed at least once to be a filmmaker until finding out that our national governments gave close to zero support to cinema as an art form to be promoted and distributed. So, the homo-economicus principles keep ruling the world, but what about the so-called “amateur” projects? Remember? The ones that, for sheer miracle of a merciful circle of judges of a local film festival, finally select your film and gets aired only locally on Vimeo? Those have also a story to tell.
The beloved director, the one that caused commotion and has been beloved since the 70s, tells the story of how film is a window to the soul of the maker, but also how it always reflects a portion of the maker. You can tell at least one thing about the director behind (or in front of) the camera with every film released, even if it was heavily studio-controlled. All films have an agenda of their own. This portion exteriorized to the world through celluloid reflects a portion of their reality and how that reality is being perceived.
The revelation in The Fabelmans is how you can discover things that you didn’t see at first glance though the perpetuation of the caught frames in succession. This can be studied, reproduced, and replayed countless times. That is how a style is perfected. However, the film also smartly plays with the dichotomy of what happens when you are asked to do a specific theme that might be out of your interest for the public interest, resulting in a heavily restricted artistic control of your output. This circumstance more than often makes money and studios happy but does not necessarily reflect the artist’s heart. How can we balance this? In a world submerged in great economic disparity and widespread cultural differences when it comes to approach film, most of the auteurs remain at prestigious film festivals looking for innovation and honest filmmaking rather than the Academy Awards, the Golden Globes or [insert superficial popularity “film festivals” here].
And then there’s the theme of idolizing human figures based on their output of any kind. You name it: films, literature, philosophy, paintings, podcasts, YouTube videos, Twitch streams, etc. People in mass are dangerous and extremely volatile. You can be a beloved actor for ‘n’ reasons at one second and be hated passionately and without the possibility of forgiveness the next one because of a public incident, erasing everything you did the prior >= 20 years. You can also be attributed personality traits that you never even spoke about because people find you hot at “Pools & Hot Tubs” streams, but that makes money. People love gossip and the international sensation of the Big Brother phenomenon in the early 2000s made people more self-aware of this; living this as a kid during that era really confused me about what people really wanted to see, and why people found more interest in the virtual existence of others rather than their physical own. When you idolize someone, disappointment will always ensue, but that is also why I find the last sequence the truest (and one of the best film cameos in the history of movies): the industry and their big names have a story behind, and even if, according to my words, their output exteriorize a portion of their souls, you also must take a look at their everyday lives to see if your assumptions about that person are correct and if you would apply the same moral principles or decision-making processes in your own home, let alone your job, your peers, your past ghosts and your plans for the future.
Is it clichéd ridden? Well, not “ridden” per se; it’s the melodramatic, fantasy-looking stamp of the director he will never leave, and it’s something good that Spielberg never refused to let it go. It works most of the times here, resulting in his best output in 17 years for a simple reason: it’s honest. Also, Michelle’s character is an extremely complex one, and a correct reading of her character will lead you to the conclusion that the last advice she gives is extremely dangerous, and also wrong when your accountable for keeping a family alive and united. Freedom and debauchery are not synonyms.
As a side note, people love to generalize. This film does not give a good publicity to Christians (and this is due to how Spielberg, as a Jew, was bullied when young), but those missing that the “love interest” is a maniac fundamentalist played for laughs and decide to generalize, they’re making the second mistake of character reading in this film.
I was indeed asked what was my favorite metafilm about a director showing his love for movies and beginning his career with a camera. So far, look no further than Kieslowski’s best film, Amator (1979).
72/100
