Rating:
by Derek Smith 7/22/05

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The final film of Gus Van Sant's trilogy of minimalist, existential films (each loosely based on true stories), Last Days confronts death even more directly than his two previous efforts, Gerry and Elephant.  Set in a remote stone house whose deteriorating interior and cold, foreboding exterior mirrors the state Blake, who wonders around mumbling to himself and avoiding band mates and visitors while making the literal transition mentioned in his song, "From Death to Birth".  His obvious similarities to Kurt Cobain should be taken into account, but Van Sant is using the icon and his notorious suicide as a starting point - the film is entirely fictional - from which he explores a wide array of issues from spiritual longing to the death of artistic creativity.  But Van Sant again sidesteps typical narrative trappings and his style is clearly a justification of its own existence.  Time-looping, a technique featured even more prominently in Elephant, is used throughout to recontexualize certain moments and events, offering different ways of seeing and pinpointing the extreme subjectivity that would drive a more traditional narrative film into banality and gross oversimplifications.  The camera is ever-observant, yet never judgmental, leaving ample room for the viewer to roam and interact with the images and emotions that are brought to the screen.  As a film focusing on a suicidal rock musician, the complexity of the sound design adds even more resonance.  From distant church bells to serene noises of nature to the few rock music pieces that do show up, there is a constant interplay between sound and image, at times presenting Blake's junk induced reality and other times fighting against what we see.  As empty and disinterested as the film may seem at first glance, once the viewer makes the initial jump, it's quite an invigorating and rewarding experience.

From the opening scene with Blake roaming through the forest, stopping for a moment to dive into the water and take a piss, there is a sense that he is only a shell of his former self trying to dealing with the ramifications of a lifestyle that has slowly destroyed him.  The retreat to his remote cottage is not for recovery, but to peacefully slip away without being bothered.  Van Sant's detached approach is not only unassuming and fitting for the subject matter, but portrays a ghostlike figure whose social isolation and internal struggles have left him weary and depressed.  His drug induced state is not an escape, but a reality like that of a William S. Burroughs novel.  As in Elephant, Last Days focuses less on causes than effects, the events themselves rather than the psychology behind them, thus forcing the viewer to account for their significance and carefully construct their own opinions of Blake, what lead him here, and what is eating away at him.  There are times when we are pointed in one direction or another - a band mate leeches off of him for money, his manager stops by to guilt trip him into returning home to care for his daughter, his agent calls pushing him to commit to several months of touring - but like the specifics in Elephant, they are only tiny fragments of a deeper whole that leads to the tragic outcome.  Individual scenes could be described as banal in that they would not serve a story or develop a character in a traditional sense, but they are carefully constructed and the interplay between sound and image and the juxtaposition of scenes in nonchronological order create an increasing sense of chaos and despair that build up to the inevitable conclusion. 

Last Days confronts its issues by way of the emotions and feelings under the surface and further complicates them through the complex use of sound and visualization of Blake stumbling through, what has now become, a maze-like setting.  Fame and drug use are hinted at a few times and it was a wise decision to also keep these among the films uncertainties, leaving us with only aspects that can truly lead to a greater understanding of the film's world and characters.  It is spare only because it cuts out all of the bullshit filled in most bio-pics and, in turn, ends up being a powerful, artistic statement worthy of the man to which it was dedicated.  One of the best scenes in the film, involving a time loop, illustrates the genius of Van Sant's method - Blake is sitting behind the drums barely managed to eat the macaroni & cheese he struggled to prepare while Luke, another member of the band, scoots his seat closer and closer as he describes an event in Japan and the song it led him to write.  There is an honest attempt to engage Blake, while at the same time get his help, before another band mate interrupts, whispering to Luke that he should be leaving him alone and come upstairs.  The camera follows the two upstairs and as they undress and begin making out, the beginning of an acoustic song can barely be heard in the distance.  Later in the film, the beginning part of the scene is replayed, but when the other two leave, the camera remains on Blake.  Left alone in a room with musical equipment scattered about the floor and no one to listen, Blake breaks out into a wonderfully emotional song, the only time he externalizes the beauty and frustration still inside him.  One could imagine that this was a room once filled with the bands creative energy and a sense of togetherness and mutual purpose, but now it only offers Blake a place where his songs turn to echoes before trailing off into silence and a reminder of the emptiness that pervades his life.  As the film's time constantly folds back on itself only to bolt forward and jump back again, the immense complexity of even the most simple setups in the film become evident and Van Sant's decision to present only their essence rather than placing them within an overarching rigid and definitive context shows him as both supremely generous and artfully brilliant.