Velvet Goldmine (1998)

Gays, gold makeup and a whole lotta glitter – this is essence of Todd Haynes’ Velvet Goldmine (1998), a wild and musical ode to the glam rock era and gay culture of the 1970s. Admittedly, I don’t have much experience with the kind of music or scene that the film focused on, so I was unsure of what to expect. I’m not sure if I particularly LIKE the music in the film, but I can safely say that it stands out from anything that I usually listen to and for that fact alone, I can appreciate and respect it.

The idea that pop stars used to live the way Brian Slade and Curt Wild did is almost impossible for me to think about – and yet, we’ve all heard of this type of person before. The character of Brian Slade (Jonathan Rhys Meyers) is the cinematic re-imagining of David Bowie, and its obvious in the numerous parallels in their clothing, music, tumultuous careers and personal lives. Brian Slade himself is a curious character – he’s never fully realized or bared for the audience to totally understand. We gets bits and pieces of him throughout the movie and through his music, but we never truly get to see who Brian Slade really is apart from his involvement in the entertainment industry and his stage persona, Maxwell Demon. Similarly, we have the character of Curt Wild (Ewan McGregor), who is loosely based on Iggy Pop and Lou Reed and breaks every single barrier by showcasing the dirty, messy and gritty side of performing on stage. This intrigues Brian, and the two cross paths and agree to do music and, eventually, each other.

The exploration and expression of sexuality was a major movement in the 1970s and the glam rock era supported this wholly. With the idea of androgynous makeup, clothing and the wider acceptance of the LGBT community came the an era of music that empowered formerly socially outcast members of society and provided them with a sense of belonging and understanding among like-minded people. The sexual part of Brian and Curt’s relationship leaked out into their music and self-expression, because they were both comfortable enough to do so. This even spilled out into Arthur Stuart, an avid glam rock fan in his younger days and member of the queer community too. His encounter with Curt Wild was a turning point in figuring out his identity and finding a way to confidently living it out.

Both Brian and Curt become too much for each other and themselves individually, and this serves as a catalyst for their downward spirals. Brian’s struggle to find a clear distinction between his personal and professional life is something we see too often with the famous pop stars of today, and it cannot be denied that the pressure of it all can take a serious toll on them. The price of stardom is hefty, and leaves almost no room for to step back without consequences. The creation of Maxwell Demon was an attempt to separate himself from his fame, but it proved to be too much, and I understood why Brian Slade felt like faking his stage persona’s death was the only way out. The artist in him made beautiful music, but he didn’t leave enough of himself to himself.

An Always Intense Life

The only “car” films I know involve magic (Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets), racing (The Fast and The Furious) and aliens (Transformers) — and Repo Man (1984) has all. It combines these three aspects in a flurry of flavor that leaves a bad taste in my mouth — mostly because the mix of characters used were, in my opinion, mere self-centered and self-indulgent plot devices. There was no real character development in the film. Each and every character only had their own goals and agenda in mind, with absolutely no care for anyone else around them. For instance, the repo men in the Helping Hand wanted the 1964 Chevrolet Malibu in order to win the corresponding $20,000 bounty; Leila and the United Fruitcake Outlet wanted the Chevy Malibu to retrieve Dr. Frank Parnell and the aliens; and for some reason, a government agency led by the woman with a metal hand also wanted to acquire the Chevy Malibu. They treated each other as means to their own desired ends, regardless of the label of their relationships — be it parent and child, girlfriend and boyfriend, or mentor and mentee.

Aside from the sloppy character work, the cohesiveness of the film felt rather forced as it attempted to connect countless coincidences throughout the film. However, its series of strange stunts or gags, such as the generic labels on consumer good, the flying alien car that zaps people, and the shoot out at a convenience store, were absurd yet well-delivered thus serving to provide entertainment in the unexpected moments. The straightforward and serious dialogue of the characters complemented these scene, such as “Let’s do crime!”, but there were lines that served only to add details necessary for the subsequent scenes. The monologue of Miller is a perfect example, since I feel that it was only executed to give a vague explanation as prelude to the final scene of the film.

Nevertheless, I did love the color palettes and the design used for both to the production set and to the costumes of the characters. These assisted in conveying the general mood of the scenes, made the scenes memorable, and embedded the characters in my brain based on their standard style. In addition, Repo Man’s soundtrack made the film slightly more likeable than it really is, as the punk rock reinforced the attitude of the characters, the story, and the film itself.

On the other hand, the camera work was not superbly impressive but it did the job of capturing the narrative. What irritated me the most was the poor animation of the alien car at the final scene: it feels as if they did not even try to make it a fringe more realistic. Maybe this is part of its “charm”, but it honestly just threw me off as bewildered, exasperated, and moderately amused.

Overall, Repo Man by director Alex Cox embodies its characters in a sense that it does not care what the audience thinks — like the film or not, it exists. This rebellious and rather punk attitude against conventional Hollywood standards is fun and inspiring. Personally, there was no time or energy left for me to digest or interpret the deeper meanings of the film as I was too caught up in disliking the characters and the cheap animation. The film, as Otto so accurately says, is “just a white suburban punk like me.”

Golds, Greens, and Gays

My brand of sheltered-ness is not limited to the places I go, the things I do, the people I hang out with, or the films I watch — it also includes the music I hear. Coming into Velvet Goldmine (1998) by Todd Haynes, I only knew of the name of the music genre featured in the film: glam rock. I did not what it sounded like. I did not know any big names of the people who have made it famous. I did not know what these people looked like. But one thing I did know was that I was extremely excited to get the answers to my wonderment.

“Getting answers” is an inconspicuous underlying theme that make its appearance in the film. For instance, the opening scene was that of little boy Oscar Wilde who answered a question regarding what he wanted to be when he grew up. His answer: a pop idol. Side note, funnily enough, the name Oscar Wilde rang a bell for a historic poet and playwright whose works I had read — The Picture of Dorian Gray would fit perfectly with this film. On another account, the adventure of British journalist Arthur Slate in writing about the withdrawal from public life of Brian Slade, also known from his stage moniker as Maxwell Demon, is a portrayal of the necessity to “get answers” and never be truly satisfied.

As this was the 1970’s glam rock scene, the strikingly colorful patterns of outfits, the heavy and picturesque makeup on each and every one of the characters, the vivid and lively musical score, and so on. The production design for Velvet Goldmine was excellent in bringing out and highlighting the wonderful and colorful time of most of the people in the country. All of these together has served to captivate me and my classmates deeper and deeper into appreciation of the film — especially since Arthur Slate had to do to an article about the ever-elusive Brian Slade who had faked his own death.

Ironically, despite the film being about glam rock start Brian Slade, also known as Maxwell Demon, viewers never get to hear any parts of the story from Slade himself. Instead, Arthur Slate takes the viewers to a wild goose chase of interviews — wherein almost everyone who has been affiliated by, with, and to Brian Slade. Thus these characters serve to form only a jigsaw image of Brian Slade as the characters accurately and legally piece together their little stories of and encounters with the glam rock star.

The journey of the emerald jewel brooch from one hand to another is crucial, I think, to monitor the development of the characters holding them and the further deepen the themes surrounding the film, such as singularity, sexual liberation, and otherness. It was first seen pinned to the blanket of baby Oscar Wilde, as the child had been deposited on a doorstep in a basket by a spaceship. Years after the death of Wilde, the emerald brooch appears in the dirt next to a little boy Jack Fairy whose face had been beaten, bloodied, and planted on the ground by bullies. He goes home and pins it onto his shirt, as he rubs the blood over his lips like lipstick. “jack would discover the somewhere, there were others quite like him, singled out for a great gift. And one day, the whole stinking world would be theirs.” It was a truly iconic moment in the film.

Velvet Goldmine was truly a gold mine for ushering in an era of open queerness and singularity, especially as related to this rather magical music genre — glam rock.

On the road that never leads home

In search for love, care, acceptance, and for his mother, abandoned street hustler Michael Waters declares himself as a connoisseur of roads: “I’ve been tasting roads all my life. This road will never end. It probably goes all around the world.” And truly, his search for his mother did take him all around the world — from Seattle to Portland to Idaho to Italy and back. Of course, this quote could also be an allusion to his neurological disorder, narcolepsy, which affects his control of sleep and wakefulness thus leaving him vulnerable in narcoleptic episodes wherein he suddenly falls asleep during daytime, wherever he might be and whatever he might be doing. These are all seen in the opening scene of the film: wherein Mike is alone on deserted stretch of highway, falls into a narcoleptic episode, and dreams of his mother comforting him.

Mike’s flashbacks of his mom are always grainy and seemingly distant. In this quest to find his mom, Mike enlists the help of his best friend and fellow street hustler, Scott Favor. Unlike Mike who is a homeless vagabond, Scott is the son of the mayor of Portland and is destined to inherit his father’s fortune once he turns 21. However, both friends suffer from the lack of biological parents’ presence — a gap that is filled in by Bob Pigeon, a middle-aged father figure and mentor to street kids and hustlers who live in an abandoned apartment building. Whenever Bob would be in the camera’s shot, I noticed that the characters shift from simple modern English to Shakespearean English. This created a bit of confusion for me at the beginning; that is, until I realized that Scott’s character was similar to that of Prince Hal — the Prince of Wales, eldest son, and heir of King Henry IV of England — from the Shakespearean classics Henry IV (part one and part two), and later, Henry V. After this realization, I definitely enjoyed the film more as a Shakespeare enthusiast looking for plot devices and other items that were akin to the Bard’s works.

As with most Shakespeare-like adaptations, this film was a pure tragedy doused in utter sadness, especially for the main protagonist: Mike suffers from a disorder that leaves him powerless and poor; Mike professed his love to Scott only to get rejected; Mike watched the man he loved fall in love with someone else; Mike is abandoned by his mother, then eventually his best friend and true love; Bob is rejected by Scott whom he treated as a son; Bob dies in misery; and Scott never seems to find his true self. One of the only “happy” moments that stood out for me was Bob’s lively and rather colorful funeral, especially in contrast to Mayor Jack Favor’s bleak and black funeral.

Moments filled with the mix of reality and fantasy, especially the latter, are not necessarily “happy” moments, but they are somewhat fun and entertaining to watch, thus alleviating some of the immense sadness of the film. For instance, the weird musical and dance number of Hans was… well, weird and a little creepy, but still amusing. The scene in a magazine shop that had topless men on all the covers suddenly shifted into fantasy as each topless man begins narrating their background of being a prostitute. The editing in this film is truly quite unorthodox and out of the ordinary.

Lastly, another detail of the film that was out of the ordinary: the clips of salmon leaping (which is what their etymology, salmo or salire means in Latin) in salmon run. A salmon run is when salmon migrate from the ocean and swim upstream to spawn on gravel beds; then they return to the ocean and repeat the cycle. This clip must have meant so much as it was also shown prominently on the film’s trailers. I think this is reflective of Mike’s roundabout journey: the film opens with him experiencing a narcoleptic episode on a deserted highway and the film closes with him experience a narcoleptic episode on the same deserted highway. Try as he might to search for his own private Idaho in places and in people, he never could find it. Mike keeps going back to his hometown but never truly comes home — and that, I think, is the biggest tragedy of this film, My Own Private Idaho (1991) directed by Gus Van Sant.

Bother me all you want

Despite being an absurdist dark comedy, Sorry to Bother You (2018) directed by Boots Riley was my favorite film of those shown in class. Personally, the film hit too close to home — as a struggling scholar faced with the decision of putting my Management course into a corporate career, knowing full well that structural capitalism oppresses people like my parents who are call center agents, Sorry to Bother You really did bother me. As my friends and I walked to our next class (which, ironically, is entitled Strategic Management), we raved about how intelligently it was done. Every insane thing thrown into the film worked together in the end: the social and political commentary on existentialism, racism, capitalism, status quo and protests, the splashes of comedy, the original sound track, the dark yet colorful production and costume designs, and of course, the magical plot twist at the end.

To clear the air, let us delve into the film’s in-your-face commentary that cannot possibly be ignored. First, existentialism was captured brilliantly in the opening moments of the film, where Cassius Green converses with his girlfriend about: “I’m just out here surviving. What I’m doing right now won’t even matter.” This sets up the audience to follow Cash and his journey to “mattering”, which becomes the foundation for introducing the other themes in the film.

On the other hand, racism was all over the film: in the importance of using the “white voice” for Cash to make sales and eventually get promoted to Power Caller status, as well as for Detroit to sell her works of art; in the insistence of Steve Lift, Chief Executive Officer of Worry Free, and his posse for Cash to rap; in Cash’s rap itself; and even in the name of the leading lady, Detroit. This paints the sad reality that even people like Cash, who have been brought up in the horror stories of black slavery, still choose to subject themselves and others into a type of modern slavery just to get by in life.

The film was also heavily imbued with aspects of capitalism: the most obvious being the existence of Worry Free’s slave labor disguised as efficient production. Worry Free pitches a worker’s life where everything is provided for, such as food, clothing, living space, among others — only at the expense of your labor. In spite of being horrific and hilarious at the same time, it is a very accurate portrait of the road that capitalists are already on. I sadly expect that we would be witnessing real-life commercials like these soon enough. Side note, a funny little thing that screams capitalism is the name of the protagonist himself: Cassius “Cash” Green.

“Stick to the script” is a tagline that not only insisted the telemarketers’ adherence to the words they speak to the people they call, but also insisted the telemarketers’ adherence to the way things are, to the norm. This insists that they stay in their place, thereby discouraging any kind of rebellion — including the protests of the union, as organized by Squeeze.

In relation to the protests, my favorite comedic splash was that of the iconic “Have a Cola and Smile, B*tch!” scene. Although the surrounding circumstances of that video clip and its subsequent commodification of the girl who made the clip were dire, I am still up for the laughs of a good and viral Internet meme. Overall, I think that the film consistently featured a comedic tone throughout its run time in order to alleviate the heaviness of the darker underlying themes.

The film evolved from different iterations and forms, namely that of an original soundtrack and a book of the same name. This musical score, created by director Boots Riley, Tune-Yards, and The Coup, aided in giving energy, potency, and distinguishable character to the film’s narrative. Along with the music, production, light, and costume design was dark yet colorful, further empowering and complementing each other’s effect to the film.

My favorite character in the movie was Detroit, played by Tessa Thompson (Valkryie!). Her costumes and accessories established her character as a rebellious artist, perhaps even more so than her lines, her sign twirling, and her art exhibit — especially since she rather gave in to the norm by using her “white voice” in her performance and in selling her works of art. Nonetheless, her character kept my attention throughout the film and was part of the reason why I enjoyed the film so much.

Finally, the magical plot twist that caught us all off-guard: the equisapiens. Despite the way the film was built, I was completely unprepared for the revelation of Worry Free making equisapiens. Their rationale behind it, however, somehow made perfect sense to me: the worth of laborers in this capitalistic society is tantamount to their productivity and effectiveness in achieving the company’s goals; thus “improving” their capacity for labor increases their productivity and effectiveness, and ultimately results into the achievement of company goals. But of course,

I heard a comment from the class while we watching that it was “like centaurs”, but I beg to disagree. Centaurs are human from waist-up and horse from waist-down, unlike the equisapiens who are a mix of both all throughout. These creatures looked more like Bojack Horseman than Firenze, the centaur from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. The animation and cinematography of the house of Steve Lift, the cage of the equisapiens, and the equisapiens themselves made it appear eerily too possible in the real world.

To conclude, Sorry to Bother You was excellently and bravely executed. It is a must-see for everyone who exploits and is exploited by the structural capitalism which we all unwillingly help perpetuate.

Suckers for Big Things

Trainspotting is a 1996 crime drama film featuring Ewan McGregor as Mark Renton and his heroin-addicted friends. Renton opens the film by telling people: “Choose Life. Choose a job. Choose a career…” and a bunch of other things that typically represent “normal life”—a satire of everyone else, meaning, everyone else who is not addicted to heroin like him. The film depicts the life of Renton and his friends who are struggling against heroin.

‘Trainspotting’ as many might not know, is a slang for shooting up heroin through the veins. This often leaves a dark line that you can see through the veins on the arm, which they call a “track,” hence, why injecting heroin through the veins is also called ‘trainspotting.’ As they say, small gestures count but we’re all suckers for big things. Trainspotting is a film about pleasure—or pleasures for that matter. It is a struggle between pleasures—heroin or normal life, an underaged girlfriend or following the law, Iggy Pop or Lizzy (in the case of Tommy).

As Renton attempts to get away from the pleasure of heroin to pursue the pleasure of a normal life—normal according to popular practice, at least—he finds himself to be a mockery by normal life. As much as he wants to separate himself from heroin, he hates the side of “normal life” that looks down upon him as a piece of trash. He knows that heroin isn’t healthy but he also doesn’t want to be like the normal people who call heroin addicts like him ‘trash’. Normal people, in his eyes, become monsters, and though a part of him seeks the pleasure of this “normal life” that does not depend on heroin, he can’t help going back. He knows it’s bad for him but it makes him feel so good, so much better than the monsters of “normal life”—his parents, a job, mortgage, bills, and so on. But the heroin life isn’t easy either. Renton laments: “It looks easy, this, but it’s not. It looks like a doss, like a soft option. But living like this, it’s a full-time business. Pleasure always came at a cost, whichever form it took, be it heroin or “normal life.”

Unhappiness and pain—as much as people desire to get away from it, there can be no real escape. The pleasure is always temporary. People get jobs because they want to escape poverty and owing money. People have friendships, family, even sex, in order to escape loneliness. People take drugs just to escape the general feeling of it. Every day is a struggle for another hit.

It is the same struggle whichever century you were born in. People are quite obnoxious regarding this matter. They like to say that no one else could ever understand what they were going through. The pain may belong to only one person but what people forget is that everyone else has the brains to experience it. People have always struggled against some kind of suffering—wild animals, the miracles of nature, colonization, civil war, genocide. People often forget that while others may not feel your pain, they can feel pain—their own. Despite the pain we experience every day, the movie does teach us this: new things are coming and we must move on. The old will get older, the new will become old, and there will be more new. In the end, there is only forward—only, what kind of forward? Well, you choose.

Stories in a Store

With aisles full of regular consumer goods, an interesting variety of consumers, and a fun set of employees, Futureless Things (2014) opens in an ordinary and mundane convenience store — and establishes itself only in that convenience store. The premise of a single location for a story is not new: there have been dozens of experimental films that played with the idea of telling a story in and with just one space. Most of these films shot in single locations are about characters being stuck in a place that they desperately need to get out of, so the films follow the characters’ story and struggle for freedom.

In Futureless Things, however, characters are already given the freedom of movement in and out of the convenience store. Although the film touches on the distinguishable characteristics and little stories of the people who are in the convenience store, as well as how their lives are intertwined in some way, I think the film was not about the characters. Instead of telling a story of a certain character which we can follow throughout the duration of the film, Futureless Things tells the story of a space: the characters that use or occupy the space, the things the space witnesses, and the events that happen in a space with or without people around.

The camera explored a lot of different yet creative angles and perspectives: wide shots that featured the entire store or an entire aisle, shots from the perspective of the employees at the counter, mid shots of people conversing, and even shots from a security camera overhead. It took us all around the store (even to the storage room) and once outside the store. These different aspects contribute to the amount of and richness of the “story” that can be told from and about a single space. This was an undeniable feat of director Kim Kyung-Mook.

As the film tackled social, economic, political, and cultural issues in the form of its characters’ interactions in the subplots, such as homosexuality, learning English, plastic surgery, poverty, work life, underage vices, discrimination, and harassment, one could reduce Futureless Things to a commentary on the harsh realities in South Korea. However, its strange, magical, and supernatural elements render transcendence from the humdrum. In fact, it even took a dark turn at the end: not only when the owner of the store hanged himself, but more so when the government (or was it someone from the bank?) official came in and began labeling the items — including the store owner — as their property, due to the store owner’s immense debt. The film ended in the weirdest way possible: with a vigorous dance number of the store’s employees.

Futureless Things raised more puzzlement and questions than answers — so much that I am uncertain if I understood it or not. However, if there is anything I learned from the rest of the films in this class, there are films created for us to comfort the disturbed, disturb the comfortable, and sometimes, just to disturb us all. I used to think that my comprehension and interpretation of a film takes precedence over anything else, but Futureless Things made me realize even more that I can thoroughly enjoy something that I do not fully comprehend and might never truly comprehend.

My Home

A film blog on My Own Private Idaho:

As a film from the New Queer Cinema movement, My Own Private Idaho explores the idea of what home is and what it can be to the queer youth who are finding their place in a heteronormative world. It follows the story of Mike and Scott, who are both male prostitutes. Mike in particular, as a queer man, is longing for something familiar, whether that be through his unrequited love for Scott, his dreams of his mother, or his search for her. I came into the film dreading the Shakespeare, especially since it sources Shakespears historical plays of Henry IV and Henry V, but I left emotionally compelled because of just how differently the story tells itself with the then-unfamiliar aspects of prostitution, narcolepsy, and of course homosexuality.

I am, however, unsure of how to feel about the visuals of some of the film. It definitely makes some interesting visual choices, such as its use of the color orange (the orange fireplace and the orange sky) somewhat giving a warm, comforting feeling when the scene or situation needs it. At other times, the colors are very gray or bland to look at, enhancing the more depressing parts of the film. If you really think about it though, this was a very visually dark film. Even in scenes of broad daylight, the shots still felt pretty dark to me.

Shots that definitely took me out of the movie would be those that tell us where the next scene is. A blank, solid color screen with white letters of where they are is not exactly the best way to express a change in scenery. I read that there were financing problems when it came to getting the film greenlit, but I would’ve expected something less jarring. Heck, maybe even just a shot on location with text saying where they are could’ve been better!

What also threw me off at times were the visual shots of the open road. As someone who isn’t technically proficient with DP work, it’s difficult for me to say if the strange visuals of the open road, the desert, and the time lapse of the sky were thanks to the technology at the time or if it was an actual stylistic choice.

Despite these complaints, however, River Phoenix and Keanu Reeves’ portrayal of Mike and Scott are what definitely sell this film. This is particularly impressive when we remember the context of a less understanding society when it comes to homosexuality and with prostitution.

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Convenience stores have become part of Koreans’ lives over the last 25 years. In 2012, their number reached around 24,000 in Korea, which meant that there is one convenience store for every 2,000 Koreans. Korea even has a higher number of convenience stores compared to US, where this store originated, and Japan and Taiwan, which are considered as convenience store paradises. In the movie Futureless Things (2014), the director was able to deliver a message through the setting—the convenience store, and several symbols that mirror the different themes of the movie.

The convenience store is the perfect setting for the film for it symbolizes the presence of the intersection of the different aspects in everyone’s life. Here, anyone can go in and out. It is one of the most basic things that is embedded in every Korean’s culture. Furthermore, it acts as a melting pot of different people with varying hopes, dreams and religions. It is like a grounded blank space of some sort that even when you look at the workers, they have different desires. Aside from being employees, they also have different distinct characteristics: gay and lesbian couples, aspiring actor, aspiring English speaker, to name a few. If the movie is set in a different place like an office, for example, there are certain structures and stereotypes which may pertain to predetermined roles, unlike in the convenience store where the characterization remains unpredictable. In addition, since it is small and enclosed, viewers are able to see everything—that each person is caught up in different kinds of stories and identities. Even conflicts are observed because there lacks the element of boundaries or limitations, just like the couple who was fighting just because of the flavor of the condom that they were trying to look for. Its transitory nature becomes a good convergence for all these different people with their own stories already set. It is able to satirize the common interactions between social classes, and it cuts through race, class, gender, nationality, sexual orientation and political affiliation.

In the whole duration of the movie, it can also be observed that there were a lot of references to the Korean culture that we are not fully aware of. In fact, they have used different symbols to show tidbits of Korean culture. One of the symbols used in the movie is lottery. This symbolized the frequent gambling in the Korean society. In the movie, the customer did not only turn to God, but also recited the Buddhist mantra to be able to pocket the jackpot prize. This particular symbol is just one of the other imagery used to show the different themes of movie.

Furthermore, the movie was also successful in making the clock as a transition device to further create an intertwined story at the end. In the movie, just when we think that we are trying to get to know more about the character, we get cut off by the clock. After this, we see another employee who is not related to the other one. What is the clock for? At the beginning, one may observe that the scenes seemed like they weren’t in order or that they don’t fit together. The narrative is not in a chronological order, but viewers become aware where and when they are in the shop within the twelve-hour timeframe because of this clock. Every time the clock is shown, another convenience store employee takes on his/her shift. The clock made it seem that although there are different employees, their stories are still intertwined. Aside from showing a day in a life of an employee, the clock may also symbolize a feeling of time pressure—that time is running out. Evidently, time has ran out for one of the characters as seen in the suicide incident in the ending of the movie.

Sorry to Bother You

Sorry to Bother You is a movie that portrays capitalism in a creative way. We can see at the beginning of the movie the kind of life Cassius Green lives. He stays at his uncle’s garage, on the verge of being kicked out since he can’t pay his uncle for the rent, and his uncle can’t seem to pay his landlord either. This led him no other choice but to go to RegalView and work as a telemarketer. At first, he had a hard time with his job, but after making use of a “white voice” in order to talk to customers, he started rising up to the ladder and he later became an elite Power Caller. This shows how there is a certain life that white people live that everyone aspires to have.

At the Power Caller suite, he realized that RegalView’s real customer was the CEO of WorryFree. Due to his need for money, he abandoned his principles. WorryFree is a company that utilizes people and subjects them to extreme conditions. It portrays a false advertising of a “worry free” life within their compounds. We can see from here how society and its wretched institutions hinder people from being capable of exercising the higher faculties in life. Steve Lift, the CEO of WorryFree, uses people as mere means, without recognizing the humanity of his workers—their goals and aspirations in life. In the movie, he literally did not recognize the humanity of his workers by turning them into horses.

Sorry to Bother You is an interesting movie. Other than the capitalist theme, it also shows how art is also used to protest against oppressive institutions.