good.film
2 years ago
“I live alone! My swamp! Me! Nobody else! Understand? Nobody!”
- Shrek, 2001
Ahhhhhh - alone on the couch on a Friday night. You're staying in this time, ‘behaving yourself’, you say. You put the phone down - you don’t need to see what everyone else is doing tonight - and curl up under a blanket to re-watch your comfort show, or that trashy new Netflix docuseries that you’ll definitely forget about in a week. Sound familiar?
More importantly - it doesn’t sound lonely, does it? You don’t imagine yourself in that situation and feel sad for imaginary you. It sounds blissfully cosy. Like, so cosy that you’re already regretting those weekend plans you said ‘yes’ to.
To many, the idea of someone backing out of socialising might come with an assumption that they must be feeling sad or ‘not wanting to engage’. When that one friend who’s usually down for anything pulls out of a party, we could jump to the conclusion that they’re ‘not themselves’ that day… when actually, they might just need some time with themselves. Alone time doesn’t necessarily make you lonely - and to flip that, loneliness is so much more than simply ‘being alone’.
We spend so much of our time these days socialising - in person, online, at the shops, at work - that it’s no wonder we’re experiencing record levels of burnout worldwide. For many of us, disconnecting completely from time to time has become an important part of staying connected. Let’s be real, that virus-that-shall-not-be-named has brought us a whole new understanding of social decompression and fatigue.
Ah, lucky for you we already dove into that in the first of our article series - which you can (and should) read here. If you’re in a TL;DR kinda mood though, the long and short of it is that loneliness is the feeling that arises when our social expectations or needs are not met in some respect. That’s why you can feel blissful on the couch alone binge-watching Netflix: because all you’re ‘socially expecting or needing’ is some brain-off comfort food for your eyeballs. But it’s also the reason you can be surrounded by your closest friends, yet still feel lonely: because you aren’t up to date with all the in-jokes, and nobody’s noticed that you haven’t said a word in half an hour.
You got it! Four of ‘em, in fact.
That’s why we’ve curated this list of films that explore how loneliness can impact us in four unique ways and settings. There’s physical (the ‘being alone’ type), emotional (the ‘I need someone to love’ type), existential (the ‘am I the only person who sees the world like me?’ type), and social loneliness (the ‘how do I fit this community?’ type). And since we’re handing out suggestions like Christmas crackers, we’ve included a bonus one you can watch with your kids, nieces or nephews - to help them understand that their feelings of loneliness are normal, too.
Just in time for your next blissful by-yourself binge, here’s a fivesome of superb, solo-focused flicks we think speak to loneliness in the most poetic of ways.
Moon is a film starring Sam Rockwell and…. well, that’s pretty much it. It’s just Sam Rockwell. Sam Rockwell on the moon, by himself (and also with himself, but we’ll say no more). It’s lean, it’s minimalist, it’s spine-tinglingly unsettling, and it’s one of the best sci-fi films of all time.
It follows Rockwell as Sam Bell, an astronaut-slash-helium miner tasked with a three-year solo mission to send vital materials and information from the moon back to an energy-sapped Earth. Of course - as per usze in the outer universe - something catastrophic occurs. What, you were expecting smooth space sailing?
Over the course of the movie, we witness first-hand the impact physical isolation has on both Sam’s body and, more tellingly, his psyche. A three year stretch with nothing more for company than a talking computer and what are essentially trans-planetary Zoom meetings with his loved ones? It’s situational loneliness at its finest - something we can probably all relate to after recent events. (Interestingly, NASA’s Human Research Program developed a seven-point program, based on the experiences of isolated astronauts, to help people cope with the challenges of isolation during the COVID-19 pandemic. “The idea,” NASA states, “is to find ways that support our world while in isolation and feel more linked together through our contributions.” That’s what we call one giant leap for mankind.)
As Sam counts down the final 2 weeks of his stint within his hermetic moonbase, you can feel his desperate yearning for any kind of real connection. It all goes to illustrate the importance of physical human interaction, and the dangers in sequestering people from one another. Fair to say then, that a fresh viewing after a global lockdown makes for a startling new perspective that’s very close to home…
Shot in 33 days on a mere $5 million budget, Moon is a lo-fi testament to mining some serious psychological impact on screen. The fact that future Oscar-winner - and we might add, one helluva dancer - Sam Rockwell carries the 97 minute feature essentially solo is proof positive how gripping his performance is in this one. It’s truly the salt-shaker to Sandra Bullock’s pepper in Gravity, another solo-space mission gone awry that’d make a truly perfect double bill.
As a study of extreme loneliness wrapped in a sci-fi shell, Moon is considered by many to be a modern iso classic. We can’t give away much more without spoiling things, but if you haven’t seen this movie - you have to add it to your watchlist.
If you’ve somehow skipped Lost in Translation over the last two decades, you’re missing out on one of the 2000s most touching, ethereal and unique pieces of cinema. In only her second feature, writer-director Sofia Coppola (yes, daughter of Francis Ford, aka The Godfather of 70s cinema) took an upcoming ingénue and an ageing Ghostbuster and plonked them, fish-out-of-water style, amid the crazed neon and foreign customs of Tokyo, Japan. In doing so, she gifted us with a true serio-comic masterpiece about loneliness and connection.
“I just feel so alone, even when I'm surrounded by other people.”
Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson)
Bill Murray plays washed-up Hollywood star Bob Harris, in Tokyo on a soulless pay-for-play gig plugging a whiskey brand. Scarlett Johansson is Charlotte, a Yale grad and fellow American who’s aimlessly tagging along on her husband’s photography job. And while both are physically and culturally isolated - Charlotte staring from her hotel room window, Bob receiving endless faxes about home renovations from his wife - the elements of loneliness run deeper. Bob is navigating a midlife (and career) crisis, and fears his marriage has hit a dead end. Charlotte is lost, uncertain about her purpose or her passions.
They don't even exchange dialogue until 32 minutes into the film, when a chance late-night meeting in the hotel bar - neither can sleep - kicks Bob and Charlotte’s kinship into gear. “When the two come together, the profound sense of loneliness is replaced by one of joy” writes Tom McAdam. “They experience an almost spiritual sense of fulfilment, with each glance and smile seeming to rejuvenate the other.” From hospitals to shinto temples to karaoke bars, we follow the growing bond of this unlikely pair as they gradually fall in love: just not in the Hollywood way.
“It's not a physical romance, but an emotional one - Lost in Translation is about the intimacy of human connection. Through all of the love, loss, disorientation, and sleepless nights in a new place, being able to find someone who wants to understand you is a trip on its own.”
No Film School
Sure, it provided a convenient meet-cute, but our heroes’ insomnia has a factual medical connection to their loneliness too. Clinical Psychologist Dr. Meg Van Deusen explains: “Loneliness is a key cause and result of insomnia. When Charlotte says to Bob “I wish I could sleep” and he responds, “Me too” a bond begins to form… [as] the unlikely pair begin to share time and stories, they fall gently and innocently into slumber on Bob’s hotel room bed with no sexual contact or innuendo. Instead, the bedroom scene shows how genuine sharing between the two calms and connects them, allowing them to sleep naturally.”
Artistically, Lost in Translation’s lush, thrumming soundtrack and neon-soaked cinematography combine to put us in an otherworldly space; somewhere in between dream and reality. “Coppola chooses to use the bright neon colours of the lively Tokyo city and the lyrical loneliness that lies underneath those colours,” writes Afra Sampreety. “Despite being surrounded by people, lonesomeness takes over. It brilliantly captures the lingering feeling of displacement and the insatiable burning to belong.” Shot swiftly on high-speed film stock (and cheekily, without permits on Tokyo’s hectic streets), the undeniable lo-fi feel only adds to the film’s loose, disconnected vibe.
“Lost In Translation is a melodic visual translation of loneliness. The sensory experience happens to be one of the most beautiful explorations of isolation… and the lingering lonely vibe it leaves behind.”
Mashable
The ode to lonely travellers was an immediate critic’s darling, and Sofia Coppola became the first woman in Academy Awards history to be nominated for writing, directing and producing in the same year (picking up a well-deserved Best Original Screenplay Oscar for her efforts). Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson both won BAFTAs for their wry, gentle roles. But all three ended up with a greater prize: a gem of a film on their CVs that not only stands the test of time, but makes a profound statement on the human condition. Just like Bob and Charlotte in a Tokyo hotel bar, Lost in Translation connected deeply with audiences who recognize the characters’ sense of loneliness in their own lives. It’s an intimate story that leaves a lasting, dreamlike impression.
In what can only be described as one of the best comedy-dramas of all time, Jim Carrey’s award-winning performance as Truman Burbank - an unwitting television star that begins to question the nature of his entire existence - is one that resonates so hard with us that… [blinks, sniffs, swallows hard]... sorry, we’re getting all choked up.
Why did we pick The Truman Show for ‘existential’ loneliness? Because Truman doesn’t believe he has anyone who understands the world the same way that he does - his social needs are completely manufactured, and he has no psychological counterparts. He’s revered by everyone watching him - and he’s unwittingly the centre of the universe to everyone he interacts with - but living inside a fake bubble of deception for 30 years, surrounded by actors (including his wife and mother!), renders Truman uniquely, heartbreakingly alone.
A truly genius story about existentialism, isolation and reality television - for 1998, the prescience is almost spooky - this movie explores loneliness in a uniquely heady way. It looks at how we interact with each other in an increasingly tech-reliant world, pointing the finger at our fixation on those we don’t really know (hello, influencers!) and suggesting that maybe we should focus more on genuine connection, not just people on a screen.
Andrew Niccol’s clever screenplay examines how the existential thoughts we usually bury can act as a means of looking for what really matters in life. Truman’s grapple with reality begins when a movie set light crashes right in front of him, and it seems as though it fell from the sky… or was it a studio ceiling? It sets in motion Truman’s peek behind the curtain of societal niceties and fake connections (he lives inside a giant studio set, after all), and sets out to find purpose, truth, and people with whom he can forge meaningful relationships.
The urge to break free of his psychological (and physical) prison builds to a mighty crescendo in Truman - and us the audience - but to say any more would do a disservice to Peter Weir’s triumphant film. Let’s just say, Truman takes a bow in the most redemptive of fashions.
Of all the Best Original Screenplay Oscars handed out over the years, we think the story for 2013’s Her might qualify as the most original of them all (is it too late to re-engrave the trophy?). Writer-director Spike Jonze’s impossible fairy tale of a quiet man who falls in love with his AI operating system is, ironically, imbued with qualities a ‘computer’ could only dream of: it’s warm, authentic and achingly human.
“Her is a delicate and intimate look at the core of human desire; loneliness and connection.”
No Film School
It’s the slightly distant future. No silver jumpsuits and hovercars, though: the biggest changes seem to be that humanity has evolved past needing belts and collars. Oh, and computer software has become even more ingrained in our everyday lives. By day, gifted writer Theodore Twombly dictates heartfelt letters and love notes for strangers, which are printed out in the client’s handwriting and passed off as their own. It’s the first reference to the transactional nature of technology, and how it can be used (or misused?) to mask and even fake genuine human emotion. At dusk, he strolls the streets of a twinkling futuristic city alone, before returning to his apartment to play video games - a distraction from his impending divorce.
“The film has a kind of lyrical loneliness… [a] supernatural ability to wrap those that feel lost or hopeless in a warm blanket that tells them that they’re not alone”
Davis Dart
In this society, technology and connection intertwine; Theodore tries an instant sex-chat service, but the results are… mixed. On a whim, he updates his computer OS with a new AI technology - one that promises a seamless hybrid of personal assistant and helpful companion. “She” chooses her own identity (after scanning thousands of baby names in an instant): Samantha. And as Samantha and Theodore get to know each other, their relationship blossoms in delightful and complicated ways.
Samantha combs Theodore’s work letters and sends them to a publisher; to his delight, he lands a book deal. They walk the city together, opening up on their feelings and discussing their existence. She is literally the supportive voice in his ear. By the time they double-date with a (real) couple, Theodore has fallen completely in love. But when Samantha arranges a sensual ‘surrogate’ service (aka a real, human woman) to express that love physically, Theodore is weirded out and wounded. He wants only Samantha - despite her having no physical form at all. It prods us to ask the question: is technology easing Theo’s loneliness, or increasing it?
Discussing his intent behind the film, director Jonze said in 2013: “We’ve always had ways of hiding from really connecting and revealing ourselves to each other. I wanted to look at the micro, this one strange romance, and the bigger picture, the macro — the struggle for intimacy, the longing for love, wrestling with the things inside ourselves that prevent real intimacy.” Or, as Gizmodo summarizes, “Her isn't really a movie about falling in love with computers. It's a movie about the loneliness we all share… and our attempt to pacify that yearning with technology.”
From its vast cityscapes to its intimate, soft-focus close-ups, Her manages to capture those late-night lonely feels better than almost any other. But this most high-concept of love stories soon envelops us in a different emotion. The film’s gentle humour and gorgeous design, along with Joaquin Phoenix’s affecting performance, combine to fill us with the warm reminder that our own operating systems are programmed for connection, in all its forms.
“HER asks what it is to connect - and what it means to love. This near-future romance is a profoundly relevant valentine to today's world - this is art at its most powerful”.
AFI
Look at that little guy. Our heart! How did Pixar manage to convey such genuine expressions of longing, solitude and open-heartedness… with not much more than a pair of metal binoculars on top of a lunchbox?! To us, WALL·E remains a feat of pure animation wonder.
Coming off the back off the previous year’s Ratatouille, and before 2009’s glorious Up, WALL·E heralded somewhat of a late 2000’s glory run for the famed animation studio. And while those other films explored loneliness too - with stories of ‘not fitting the mould’ and widowers’ grief, respectively - the theme of solitude was surely no more stark than here, as we witness little WALL·E chugging amidst the towering trash piles of a deserted Earth, with nothing more than a cheeky cockroach for company.
Virtually wordless for the first half an hour of its runtime, we instead learn the machinations (pun intended) of WALL·E’s daily routine through a glorious montage that’s equal parts humorous and heartbreaking. His “job” is monotonous: stacking gargantuan piles of garbage on the future wasteland of an Earth that’s been trashed and abandoned by humanity. Not a soul remains - even the other “Waste Allocation Load Lifter: Earth-class” models that might have provided a little robo-friendship have long since malfunctioned, lying stricken and rusting.
“...the story is told through pantomime as the accident-prone WALL-E investigates the junk left behind. The absence of dialogue is a bold move that communicates the central character’s isolation and acute loneliness.”
HeadStuff
After a long day of rubbish shuffling, WALL·E returns to his shed to sort through odd human trinkets he’s found, and watch Hello, Dolly! on an ancient VHS system he’s brought to life. And as WALL·E watches with yearning as the dancers sing, embrace and announce their love, his stark loneliness becomes desperately clear - this thoughtful little robot longs to simply hold a hand.
Enter: EVE, the sleek seeker-bot looking for signs of plant life, who turns WALL·E’s humdrum life upside down (there’s quite literally a spark between them). They say love makes you do crazy things, and timid little WALL·E soon finds himself blasted into the galaxy clinging to EVE’s rescue rocket, joining her quest to deliver the precious plant she’s found, and - with the help of a whooshing fire extinguisher - dancing with EVE among the stars. After countless viewings of Hello, Dolly! back on Earth, WALL·E finally got his wish.
“WALL*E is almost unaware of how lonely he has become until he meets EVE – a robot whose sleek design and technological capabilities captivate him. WALL*E’s sense of duty is immediately reassigned from waste allocation to his relationship with EVE… because, just like humans, this little robot longs for meaningful relationships.”
Fuller Studio
The power of WALL·E lies in its magical ability to tap into genuine human emotion: WALL·E’s palpable longing, his terror of losing EVE, the thrill of their connection. We feel it all through Pixar’s combination of beautiful design, poignant character animation and Thomas Newman’s Oscar-nominated score (fun fact: one of our own here at good.film HQ witnessed his bride walk down the aisle to the soaring ‘Define Dancing’ cue from WALL·E’s soundtrack!)
“Director Andrew Stanton—the same man that once said that loneliness was our biggest fear, whether we were conscious of it or not—tells us that Wall-E craves something beyond his reach.”
Vice
For little ones, the message is optimistic: connection is our greatest human value. Our existence shouldn’t be defined by how many garbage cubes we stack along the way (metaphorically, of course). Dedication is admirable, but life’s true joie de vivre comes from sharing the magic moments with those who mean the most to us. How ironic, then, that the wunderkinds at Pixar used robots built from ones and zeroes to remind us what we humans prize above all else: a true sense of belonging.
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