The Quay Brothers’ Sanatorium Under the Sign of the Hourglass

Frankly, the level of care in this clinic is appallingly low, probably because most of the staff sleeps all through the day. Yet, in their defense, it should be conceded their patients never fully die. They exist in a kind of limbo, resulting from the localized time distortion. If that sounds confusing, just wait until you start watching Stephen & Timothy Quay’s Sanatorium Under the Sign of the Hourglass, "presented" by executive producer Christopher Nolan, which opens this Friday at Film Forum.

The Quay Brothers based this hybrid stop-motion-animated film on Bruno Shulz’s episodic novel, which also inspired Wojciech Jerzy Has’s surreal but more manageably titled The Hourglass Sanatorium. True to their reputation, Quays managed to make their take even trippier. Sadly, Sanatorium is one Shulz’s few surviving works, because the National Socialists destroyed most of his manuscripts, along with Shulz. Has alludes to the author’s tragic fate, whereas the Quays avoid any Jewish subtext.

The Quay Brothers also remain largely untethered from the constraints of narrative structure. In many ways, their new feature flows like Guy Maddin’s The Forbidden Room, which Sanatorium also resembles stylistically, especially the live-action framing sequences that share a dreamy look and atmosphere, very much akin to Maddin’s films. The Quays employ an antique crypto-projector to reveal visions of the main narrative thread, as well as several confusing off-shoots.

The main puppetry spine of the film follows Jozef as he travels to the Sanatorium Karpaty, to take charge of his late father’s body and effects. However, when he reaches the Sanatorium, creepy Dr. Gotard explains to Jozef that even though his father is dead in the outside world, he still technically lives (but mostly sleeps) in Karpaty, because patients are essentially caught in what we might consider a time-lag. That lag also induces sleepiness throughout the Sanatorium.

The Quay Brothers create some absolutely arresting darkly fantastical imagery. However, trying to impose logic onto their latest film will cause diamond-splitting headaches. They have made it intentionally hard to follow, which grows increasingly frustrating.

Nevertheless, their vision is evocative and immersive. At times, watching Sanatorium feels like getting dropped headfirst into a newly discovered Kafka novel, which rather makes sense, since Shulz helped translate Kafka into Polish. The twilight vibe is transfixing, but also anesthetizing.

Jack and Diane: With No Apologies to Mellencamp

You could possibly liken lycanthropy to puberty because they both involve dramatic physical transformation.  It is a dubious comparison, but evidently it was enough for writer-director Bradley Gray Rust to build a film around.  As a result, love is rather messy in several ways for two young women in Jack & Diane (trailer here), which opens tomorrow in New York.

Diane dresses like Goldie Hawn on Laugh-In.  Tomboyish Jack dresses like Tim Allen on Home Improvement.  However, when the two hipsters see each other, it is love at first gawk.  Lost in Manhattan not far from Evacuation Zone A, the visiting Diane accepts Jack’s offer of hospitality.  The British Diane seems to exist in a state of arrested development, but it evidently works for the tough-on-the-outside-needy-on-the-inside Jack.  Yet, just as their whirlwind romance begins, miscommunication and Diane’s meddling aunt threaten to tear it asunder.

Coming between these kids might be dangerous though.  In moments of extreme emotional agitation Diane transforms into a werewolf—but, not really.  For the most part, the lycanthropy is metaphorical, with only occasional hints that these trippy interludes have real consequences.  At least they look distinctive, animated by the celebrated Quay Brothers in a style that is better described as macabre than frightening.

Frankly, it is a wonder Rust has not been picketed by the Hollywood thought police, considering J&D essentially equates its characters’ lesbianism with something explicitly monstrous.  However, he handles their relationship with keen sensitivity and reasonably good taste.  Indeed, J&D is being touted as the lesbian werewolf movie, but it is likely to disappoint fanboys hoping for either sort of exploitation.

Instead, J&D is your basic downtown indie.  It is not mumblecore, but you can see it from here.  Still, the earnest sincerity co-leads Juno Temple and an unrecognizable Riley Keough (Elvis’s granddaughter) bring to their characters shines through strikingly.  Unfortunately, they are not well served by some overripe dialogue and the rather laborious pace.

If you were wondering, the Mellencamp song never appears on the J&D soundtrack and the ex-Johnny Cougar is reportedly not thrilled by the association.  Be that as it may, the film itself is not terrible, but it is far from a cohesive whole.  The Quays and particularly Keough did some fine work, but the concept remains only half-developed.  Fans of the animators should find it worth checking out, but they can safely wait for Netflix and the like.  For the curious, Jack & Diane opens tomorrow (11/2) in New York at the Cinema Village.