Paul Giamatti takes a good look at himself in "Cold Souls."
(Sophie Barthes, 2009)
September 7, 2009
by Joel Crary
Paul Giamatti plays himself in “Cold Souls.” At least, I’d like to believe he does, because to believe that Paul Giamatti is put into a tube to have a look at his own soul is to fully understand the importance of an actor’s ability to put himself in touch with the very nature of being. Paul sees his feet, but how does he know they’re his, or the feet of the character he plays, or simply the word for an otherwise elusive concept of what keeps a person upright?
The soul is an elusive concept – far more elusive than feet, which can be easily spotted. It takes on a different meaning to different people, most of whom might be as offended as Paul to find out that their soul is chick-pea like in size, colour and shape. “Coul Souls” operates on the notion that souls are physical properties of ourselves that can be not only identified, but also removed and stored in a freezer for safekeeping or later use. Their removal is facilitated by a large cylindrical machine that doesn’t appear to leave any surgical scars, though if the procedure is performed too many times it can leave one prone to nosebleeds.
Paul is struggling with his role in a production of Chekov’s “Uncle Vanya,” finding himself drawn so deeply into his character that his life becomes a miserable reflection. He reads about the procedure in The New Yorker (where else?) and investigates. He asks rather sensible questions of Dr. David Flintstein (David Strathairn), who assures him that a de-souled body makes for a life removed of dark thoughts and complications. This much is true, but Paul’s new lack of complication makes him unable to play the part.
So much of acting is empathy and compassion, two other qualities that disappear from Paul’s repertoire once he is soulless. He recognizes that he is in danger of losing his job and decides to have the procedure reversed. Unfortunately, his soul has been absconded with to aid in the budding acting talent of a Russian black market soul trafficker’s wife. Paul and a Russian soul mule (Dina Korzun) travel to Russia to get it back, with Paul running on the rented soul of a Russian poet, chosen from a catalogue like an IKEA cabinet.
The film portrays Paul’s odd situation quietly without resorting to broad and obvious laughs. Giamatti is one of the current great American actors, exchanging looks of great pathos for blank stares, presenting himself as a lively feature player one moment before turning into a disembodied brain operating a body the next. Sporting a beard that covers his mouth and limits his facial contours, his expressions resonate profoundly in his eyes. After Paul is given a view of his soul, he removes a pair of dark glasses to reveal a look of amazement and infinite understanding.
Soul removal presents a lot of questions that the film wisely chooses to avoid answering. Even Dr. Flintstein is uncertain of the soul’s relation to the body beyond its tendency to leave a residual amount behind, more than likely as a defense against draining the body of the emotional investment needed to chew food and breathe. What the movie believes is clear – the soul is necessary for the body to feel. We are not ourselves without our souls. Those who have souls transplanted experience memories and visions fundamental to the person who formed the soul into whichever shape it takes, chick-pea or charcoal sized.
The poet John Keats believed that life was a process of soul-making, and “Cold Souls” seems to agree, at least to the degree to which it makes the soul a product of experience and trauma. Paul needs a poet’s soul to play his role, but he needs his own soul to be Paul. His wife (Emily Watson) notices a change in the way he feels, looks and smells. The soul is bound to those we choose to share it with, and they contribute to the other’s soul in turn. We are the result of a very specific equation, and if one element is removed, we just don’t add up.
Appropriately, the film is very Russian in atmosphere and structure, with characters who seem to thrive on bleakness, grey tones and less-than-ideal conclusions. A Japanese soul trafficking operation would have made “Cold Souls” a very different film. “Uncle Vanya” is a play about a man who rails against his dissatisfaction with the person he becomes, all the while suffering under the irony that he is invariably who he is. Actors are in the business of becoming different people for a short time. Paul is desperately in need of a look at himself before his character becomes him.
“Cold Souls” is the first feature written and directed by Sophie Barthes, who approaches her material with the slanted metaphysical view of Charlie Kaufman and the black humour of Jim Jarmusch. These directors are simply adjectives to describe her style, which will no doubt develop into something wholly her own in time. Her first effort is a doozy.
I cannot even put into words that describe how beautiful this film is. The film’s fantastic until he puts on those glasses; only then did the film become a lot more real and weighted in its beauty and in relation to the way I saw things.