The Inner Life of Martin Frost (Paul Auster, 2007)

[John Cope]

As this was just released on DVD I wondered if anyone else had seen it yet. I was interested in it because I used to be a rather big fan of Auster, not so much now (more on that in a minute). Whatever the case, I still believe he is defiantly inventive enough to merit attention, though he seems intent on wearing down my good will.

For those who don't know, Martin Frost is yet another of Auster's narratives on the metaphysical travails of life as a novelist. I have to admit that it worked better for me the first six or seven times. Here we have a slightly dazed looking David Thewlis filling in as Auster's spiritual proxy, going through all the familiar motions of higher intellect neuroses. He retires to a country house where he can be undisturbed by outside influences (almost all of Auster's protagonists as far as I remember were somehow economically self-sufficient; the better to accommodate their, ahem, metaphysical travails); here he endures several minutes of pensive onscreen freedom of mind until suddenly he is joined in bed by a mysterious Irene Jacob. He reacts in shock--though fear not, this is not Auster's The Morning After. We are led to believe that Jacob is a doctoral student in philosophy (of course) who happened to have been offered the country house by coincidence (another Auster staple) for the same weekend as Martin. Naturally, there's more to it as it turns out her character shares the same last name as Martin's first name (hmmmmm) and she is supposedly infatuated with the reticent novelist. As though any further evidence were needed that this whole project was, at its core, Austerian wish fulfillment we are treated to several, increasingly arbitrary and laughable scenes the whole purpose of which seems to be to get Jacob's top off. Whether that is sufficient inducement for viewing is, obviously, up to you. FWIW, on those rare occasions when she is fully clothed Jacob takes to wearing a shirt with the word HUME emblazoned across the front.

Really, it's a pretty humiliating role and she does her best but there's very little support. Auster has no eye at all and he tries to film everything in a flat, static way to sort of acknowledge and make up for that I suppose (making some of the compositions in Lulu on the Bridge look radical by contrast). In other words, he doesn't bother much with aesthetics--at least I can't glean anything from such a presentation. This is a problem though as his narrative sorely needs this kind of propping up and embellishment. Without some sense of style of form the entire endeavor is a veritable flat line. Unfortunately, he is content to rely upon wearisome, whimsical details like naming two characters Jack and Diane. Thewlis meanwhile doesn't seem to know what the hell is going on and basically just tries to stay out of the way. A sound strategy as Auster's narrative starts to spiral out of control (as much as something this tightly wound can spiral at all). Jacob acts as a muse for Thewlis but, as he finishes his new fiction, she begins to sicken and we get the point that she is some kind of genuine celestial muse whose mortal condition is inherently connected to the completion of Frost's work. The metaphysical implications of this are of interest to me but, as has been the case in much of his recent fiction, Auster can't be bothered to actually follow through or make any attempt to systematize his ideas and so we are left with a bunch of scatter shot notions of nothing adding up to much, a general hollowed out malaise and, finally, a vaguely unsatiated sense of ultimate I-could-have-been-doing-something-else uselessness.

We are, however, treated to yet another one of those scenes of a writer having his work tossed to the winds (as in Celebrity and Wonder Boys for instance) as some lame illustration of liberation. But it's also meant as an indicator that the "socially maladjusted" writer figure can be saved (or in the case of Celebrity penalized) via a break with immersion in his vocation, which is ultimately depicted as an almost purely therapeutic preoccupation. The decision to salvage him is usually made by someone else who points toward a more viable life of appropriate social integration and supposedly renewed vitality. Auster should have taken the opportunity in this film to place a moratorium on this obnoxious cliche.

Having said all that there are a few compensations here in the form of two late appearing characters. Michael Imperioli plays a plumber with literary ambitions (of course) who stumbles (or maybe not!) into Frost's orbit. He's a pretty interesting character of the sort Auster used to actually know how to integrate into the work. And, mercifully, he's often funny as hell. Whether this was intended or something Imperioli had the good judgement to infuse into his portrayal I don't know without the script here in front of me. I suspect heavily it's the latter. I'm not entirely convinced Auster even realized the character was funny. Then there's the even later appearance of the confused muse for Imperioli (hence the fact that his writing is bad); the notion of this character is where we stretch the limitations of credibility for the whole scenario to their breaking point, as any clarity or coherence is basically tossed out the window. There's justification for this, however. Auster's daughter Sophie plays the part, though it would be more accurate to say that she really just embodies it. She isn't a particularly interesting actress but she does have the kind of radiance to her visage that must have been the intention for Jacob. Here at least he gets it right and can thank his dp for setting up the lights properly. I'm not crazy about Auster using this part as essentially an audition reel for his daughter, though given the vague wispiness of any actual role for her to speak of I guess it's a case of no harm no foul. The ultimate resolution to the story is, unfortunately, too ludicrous, mawkishly sentimental and haphazardly thrown together to have much impact. The score is excellent, however.

I wanted to finish this by tossing out the general question as to what others think of Auster's work, including his film work. As I said I have a great deal of respect for the early stuff, including the magnificent Art of Hunger and Invention of Solitude but so much of the more recent work feels like an indifferent, lazy retread. What is worse is that its quality calls into question just how inspired much of the earlier material actually was. I fear I might even be cool toward The New York Trilogy if I looked at it again. For me his last book of any real merit was the excellent, truly spectral Leviathan, though I do have a certain amount of affection for Timbuktu. Martin Frost actually originated as a reference within his torpid novel The Book of Illusions and was initially designed to play as a short feature; it might have succeeded as that. As to the rest of the film work, Smoke is by all accounts one of the finest possible blends of an iconoclastic authorial sensibility and the demands of cinematic presentation. The less said about the one off Blue in the Face, however, the better. Philip Haas' Music of Chance was a very good adaptation and I would have liked to have seen what Haas could have done with Frost (his essentially four character adaptation of The Blood Oranges was superb and amongst the best movies of the 90's). And, of course, I keep wondering whether I should go back to his flawed, fascinating Lulu on the Bridge. Certainly it has deep problems that are really irresolvable but it has great appeal to me as well, mostly because I admire what he's going for and the effervescent mood remains properly uncommunicable and ungraspable like a memory of a singular experience. Still, what's most interesting about that film is what did not make it in. I read the script for Lulu prior to seeing the film and was initially very disappointed that all the scenes of the movie-within-the-movie were cut--these scenes related to a new adaptation of Pandora's Box and seemed integral to me as they worked to situate what was happening in very precise terms; they acted as a dialogue-response to the Harvey Keitel scenes. I couldn't believe Auster had cut them, but then I saw them in the deleted footage and realized that in translation from text to screen they revealed themselves to be a different tenor than I expected and Auster was right to cut them. These weren't scenes that were poorly done; indeed a case could be made that they were individually the most effectively done in the whole picture and yet they did not work within the whole. I realize that the fact that some scenes don't transition well from page to screen is no news flash but what fascinated me was just how vital they seemed to be on the page and yet how much they would have dislocated the tone on screen.

Ultimately though, I would say Wang's Center of the World was the best thing Auster ever had anything to do with but, perhaps tellingly, he didn't have much to do with it at all.

[Dylan]

John, thanks for sharing your thoughts - a great read.

And, yes, after a year-long wait (two years if you count the week I first heard about the production) I Netflixed The Inner Life of Martin Frost the day it came out on DVD. I was thinking of starting a thread about it, but figured it would be a lost cause. The week it was released on DVD Amazon still didn't have any cover art on their page, the New Yorker website had zero information on the release and there were no DVD reviews to be found. In fact, until the day it arrived in the mail box from Netflix I had doubts that it was being released at all, but was enamored when it arrived.

It didn't make my top ten of 2007, but I liked it. It emanates a deeply relaxing aura, the score is lovely, the cosmic nature of the narrative is absorbing and the cast is magnificent. I love the idea of muses being "sent down," and what happens when the universe makes a mistake and sets an artist up with the wrong muse. Some of it is quite funny, too. The narrative feels too "free" by the end, drowning in its own universe, but I was still moved, and I watched it twice.

As for his other films, I enjoyed Smoke and didn't care for the others. I haven't seen Music of Chance. Apparently, Eva Green is set to star in a screen adaptation of In the Country of Last Things, which is either going to be shot later this year or is already in post-production (probably the former).

As for Paul Auster the writer, I admire him. The Book of Illusions is very good, and I enjoyed In the Country of Last Things, The Art of Hunger, The Invention of Solitude, Oracle Night, The New York Trilogy, Brooklyn Follies . The man is also a very eloquent, intelligent speaker, with a wonderful voice. Siri Hustvedt is also a good writer, and their daughter Sophie is an extraordinary singer (her Acappella in Martin Frost is kind of charming but it doesn't do her talents justice - look up her songs Le Pont Mirabeau, The Swimmer and Word Heat to give you an idea of what she's really capable of).

Auster's daughter Sophie plays the part, though it would be more accurate to say that she really just embodies it. She isn't a particularly interesting actress but she does have the kind of radiance to her visage that must have been the intention for Jacob. Here at least he gets it right and can thank his dp for setting up the lights properly. I'm not crazy about Auster using this part as essentially an audition reel for his daughter, though given the vague wispiness of any actual role for her to speak of I guess it's a case of no harm no foul.

It's a role that seems preeminently crafted for her to demonstrate her talents, but it's her first film (shot two years ago) and of course, it's a role her father wrote for her. I think she's fine, but she doesn't do very much. Since this was shot, Sophie has become an A-list model and something of a pop culture icon in Spain and France. This year she's filming a few different projects in Spain, and I've also heard a little bit about some involvement with Pedro Almodovar (though it may just be something he's producing), but either way this certainly won't be the last time we see her.

Ultimately though, I would say Wang's Center of the World was the best thing Auster ever had anything to do with but, perhaps tellingly, he didn't have much to do with it at all.

Paul Auster and his wife Siri wrote the original screenplay based on a small treatment Wang had written, but what ended up on the screen is apparently 180 degrees different from that script, and apparently (from what I've read) most of the film is improvised. Paul Auster and Wang then had a falling out, and Auster has disowned the film. Your blurb is certainly the only kind thing I've read about it, but I don't know, maybe I'd enjoy it. It sounds kind of interesting.

Martin Frost actually originated as a reference within his torpid novel The Book of Illusions and was initially designed to play as a short feature

Yes, in Book of Illusions, The Inner Life of Martin Frost is a fictitious long lost silent film that the protagonist unearths and eventually screens (where, in the novel, we are treated to a vivid description of the film as he's watching it, and it's very much like the script Auster filmed).

However, I disagree with your summation of Book of Illusions being torpid, as I do believe one of his best.

[John Cope]

Excellent observations, Dylan. I'm glad to know another Auster fan, though these days you may have to remind me why I was such a fervent one years ago. I don't mean to make that sound dismissive and I really appreciate your insights. It's just that, for me, something about his work feels as though it has simply stagnated. I must admit that I have not read the new Travels in the Scriptorium and had no intention to but I may give it a try given your contagious enthusiasm for late Auster. I really want to like his stuff again and it saddens me that so much of it (yes, even Book of Illusions) just leaves me cold and dissatisfied these days. Perhaps it's some change in me, but I really don't think that's it. Auster doesn't seem to have developed on the foundations of his craft--there's just so little that feels like an advance beyond where he was before. Now, admittedly, maybe we don't need him to advance per se but, for me, the tropes of his fiction have such a deadeningly familiar ring to them anymore that I can't be moved or captivated much. I would really like to know what lies behind your enthusiasm for Book of Illusions as I have to be honest and tell you that was the one that finally pushed me over the limit. I remember thinking at the time that it felt like a chore to get through and his work never made me feel like that before.

It doesn't sound like you're as enamored of the film adaptations. I certainly agree with you there. I would rather be reading his books (well, the early ones anyway); however, I would highly recommend that you check out Music of Chance as that one captures Auster's unique tone better than anything else--while you're at it, do seek out The Blood Oranges as well; seriously, that's a genuine masterpiece. Center of the World is another, in my opinion at least, but it is true that it doesn't feel like an Auster work.

I did see Auster at a reading here in Milwaukee a number of years ago (for Timbuktu actually) and I agree that he is wonderful to listen to. He certainly comes across as a very private person, generous and considerate with those of us who waited in line to get books signed but you could easily tell that this was not his favorite part of life. Contrast that to somebody like Chuck Palahniuk who plays happy ringmaster for his cult of personality (and that's not meant as a slap; I genuinely like Chuck, though my problem with his fiction is exactly the same as my problem with Auster's). As to other authors in person, I remember that Paul Theroux came across as something of a jackass but I was living in Portland, Oregon at the time and he was promoting Hotel Honolulu; maybe he didn't like the Portland weather (I remember he made a joke about it).

[Dylan]

The Book of Illusions was my first Auster novel, so perhaps that has something to do with it, but I certainly loved every page (I read six or seven Auster books in a row upon finishing it, so I must've loved it!). I'll have to come back to it once I've read everything. Oddly, I haven't read Leviathan or Timbuktu yet. What stays with me constantly is The Art of Hunger, which I found moving and terribly inspiring. Many, many of his true stories in other volumes stay with me as well, a few I think about all the time.

I read Travels in the Scriptorium around the time I went on my Auster binge, and I enjoyed it, but I would also classify it as lesser Auster, so perhaps that isn't the best place to start if you're looking to get back into him. Did you read his comedy, Brooklyn Follies (which he dedicated to Sophie)? I really enjoyed that one, and it has a killer final line. He seems to have a new novel out every year or two, his next one Man in the Dark will be out in September.

I'll have to check out Music of Chance and The Blood Oranges, both sound very, very good.

Paul Auster on Center of the World:

It was a sad conclusion to a great partnership. What happened was that he wanted to make a new film [The Center of the World]. It was his idea. He wanted to do it with a very low budget on digital video. He had all the financing in place but just an idea. Then he came to me and my wife [author Siri Hustvedt]. I was reluctant to do it, it wasn’t a subject I would have tackled on my own. But out of friendship I wanted to help. Siri and I sat down and wrote a script that I thought was really quite good. In the end I was pleased with what we had done given the restrictions that had been imposed on us. But then as the filming went on, Wayne went in a different direction. The film just took off in ways that I didn’t like very much. So we took our names off the screenplay. It’s really not our work. These things happen in movies all the time

I would love to read the original screenplay, as eroticism isn't something Auster has tackled very often (though Siri Hustedt certainly has, and well, too). I still might see the film, as my curiousity's pretty high. Meanwhile, Wang's career certainly plummeted after splitting with Auster: Maid in Manhattan, Because of Winn-Dixie, The Last Holiday...goodness...

I haven't seen Auster in person (yet...if he comes to Seattle you can bet I'll be there, though), but I have seen and listened to many interviews. I liked the presence of his voice in Martin Frost (though it does cease in the last third), and the fact that in the movie pictures of he, Siri and Sophie are all over the house.

[Scharphedin2]

It appears that people who pick up Auster, read a lot of his work, and stick with him, hoping to experience again some of that initial joy of reading his books.

John's experience with Auster is similar to my own. My first Auster book was either Music of Chance or Moon Palace, and I went on to read the other books that he had written at the time (although I admit that I never made it through all the poetry). Subsequently, I have continued to pick up each new book. For some reason, I still get that same rush, when I see a new book of his on the shelf of a bookstore, and although I agree that most of his work in the last 10-15 years come off as Auster doing Auster (or Beckett, as in the latest short novel), there is usually always something that I enjoy in each of the books. I suppose it is the general style of Auster's writing, and probably the fact that I have followed him for so many years that there is a recognition and familiarity in stepping into his universe that is always a pleasure.

That said, his latest book (Travels in the Scriptorium) really did disappoint me. Auster wrote somewhere along the way that Beckett stood in his way as an author for many years, until he found his own theme and voice. However, the latest book felt like Auster surrendering to Beckett. There was a moment after finishing it that I thought I would never touch another thing by Auster. Then the Frost DVD was announced, and of course I have it on order from DVDEmpire. Reading the above at least will spare me from being very disappointed.

Hustvedt's books have felt very similar to Auster's. I can see the two of them sitting in the same room, writing and occasionally exchanging thoughts and ideas. Actually, when her first book came out, I was fairly certain that it was a literary trick, and that Auster was the actual author. That is of course extremely unfair to Siri. Her books are very readable and enjoyable.

Another author that I discovered through Auster, is Don Delillo. As with Auster, I have read all of his books over the years, and like Auster, he has become less interesting to me with time, although at his best, he is the greater author when compared to Auster. Delillo's world is bigger, and his concerns more varied and complex. The early works are exciting reads, leading on to the truly excellent Libra, The Names and Mao II, and culminating with what I believe is one of the greatest American books of the latter half of the twentieth century -- Underworld.