Review of Vox Lux (2018) by Bertaut1 — 23 May 2019

Irreverent and dynamic; the picture it paints of the increasingly indistinguishable divide between celebrity and notoriety isn't pretty though Written by former actor Brady Corbet and Mona Fastvold, and directed by Corbet, Vox Lux takes the basic A Star is Born template of a rising pop star, and gives it an angry 21st-century makeover. As a director, Corbet exploded onto the scene in 2015 with the sensational The Childhood of a Leader, with which Vox Lux has much in common - they both examine troubled formative childhood years intertwined with global tragedy; they both use a small group of people to synecdochally engage with larger socio-political issues; they both indict a culture in its death throes. And whilst Vox Lux could be accused of straying into cliché on occasion, and walking a very fine line between portentousness and pretentiousness, this is another superb film from a director who is a unique and exciting cinematic voice.

Divided into four parts ("Prelude - 1999"; "Act I: Genesis - 2000-2001"; "Act II: Regenesis - 2017"; and "Finale - XXI"), Vox Lux begins in 1999 when teenager Celeste (Raffey Cassidy) survives a school shooting. With her sister, Eleanor (Stacy Martin), she composes and performs a song for the victims, which catapults her to stardom, under the watchful eye of a talented, if not entirely scrupulous, manager (Jude Law). With Act I concluding with 9/11, the film then jumps to Croatia in 2017, as a terrorist group open fire on a beach, wearing masks similar to those worn in one of Celeste's first music videos. A neurotic, self-obsessed, and barely functioning alcoholic, the adult Celeste (Natalie Portman) is now mother to a teenage daughter of her own, Albertine (also played by Cassidy), and, struggling to finish an album and put together a tour, the last thing she needs is to be associated with more violence.

Aesthetically, there's all manner of things to be fascinated by. For example; whereas the Prelude and Act I cover two years, followed by a 16-year gap, Act II and the Finale take place over roughly eight hours. Or the existential, adjective-heavy, almost "once upon a time" voiceover narration (provided by Willem Dafoe), which serves as a kind of omniscient chorus. Also aesthetically important are the unashamedly over-produced songs (all written by Sia), and the score by the legendary Scott Walker.

Thematically, the film's most salient concern is a deconstruction of celebrity and fame, specifically the 21st-century post-reality TV incarnation of such (there's a reason the closing credits give the film the subtitle, "A Twenty-First Century Portrait"). In an era whereby one can become famous for virtually anything, the film is painfully of its time, saying as much about celebrities and the machinery of fame as it does about celebrity-obsessed culture.

Much of the biting satire is tied into the plot itself, with Celeste building a career off a massacre; gun violence used to sell records. She is literally the beneficiary of tragedy in a world where mass shootings have become so commonplace they can serve as launch-pads for musical careers. Celeste herself articulates an important element of the connection between pop culture and mass murder when she says, "nihilist radical groups perceived as superstars. If everyone stopped talking about them, they'd disappear", which is very reminiscent of the main theme in Natural Born Killers (1994).

Vox Lux doesn't provide any answers to the question of the crossover between pop culture and terrorism - how one might lead to the other, or how both provide opportunities for fame - but that's because there are no easy answers. It's simply the way things are. And the irony at the heart of the film is that in 1999, a mass shooting shaped Celeste, but in 2017, Celeste shaped a mass shooting. This is the nightmare of the 21st-century celebrity wheel of time.

In terms of problems, any film with such lofty aims as mapping the ideological decline of 21st culture onto the rise of a pop star is setting itself a huge task, and at times Corbet's ambitions exceed his reach. Parts of the adult Celeste portion of the film also stray into melodrama, and the fact that the first act is so good does make the second seem a little prosaic in comparison (although the Finale is mesmerising). And although the totality is satisfying, I couldn't shake the feeling that the first act seemed to be setting up for something upon which the second fails to deliver.

Nevertheless, this is a vicious dissection of contemporary culture and the forces that drive it. Both a victim of her time and its desensitised apotheosis, through her, much as he did through Prescott in Childhood of a Leader, Corbet explores questions relating to the interaction between the private and the public.