Audition begins as a
quiet, thoughtful character study. You may be reminded of
Ordinary People, the under-rated late-60’s drama
Rachel, Rachel, even a serious variation on
Sleepless in Seattle. Each with its story
of someone trying to make a connection.
It ends with the worst violence most of us
ever experienced. At several premieres, much of the audience
walked out on this scene. It would be a shame if people
experienced Audition only as a schlocky
exploitation movie. Or if it angered viewers, unable to
accept this much violence—calling it “unjustified,” for
example. In condemning the movie they would be missing
the many powerful themes that
Audition explores. Less violent themes but
equally painful. Only the lonely know.
The day after I watched
Audition, a suburban man shot and killed three
women in a health club. His blog was on the Internet by
suppertime; full of loneliness, loneliness fermenting to intense
pain; pain and hatred. Anyone with any imagination can
free-associate; think of movies, novels, news stories, songs, even
episodes of TV shows sharing these same themes.
The excellent recent drama
Little Children; The quiet horror of
child-molester Ronnie’s disastrous blind date.
Taxi Driver. Play Misty for Me. Eleanor
Rigby
with its unanswered question; “All the lonely people/Where
do they all come from?”
Okay. What are these major themes overshadowed
by the violence to come? First of all: When two needy
people do find each other, how will they cope with the
baggage the other one carries?
What has this new person been doing till now to
survive their loneliness? For many, it’s a scary
question. We want to ask, but desperately fear the
answer. To me, this question of baggage is such a
universal one that it continues to fascinate us; intrigue us,
mystify us, frighten us.
A basic plot summary is overdue. Okay.
The story seems straightforward enough…at least at first.
You watch Aoyama lose his young wife to illness. Clearly the
marriage was happy, and the couple had been good parents to their
young son, Shikehiko.
Seven years pass. Shikehiko is now a teenager,
shy, good- hearted, making the adjustment. Watching his son
grow increasingly independent, Aoyama focuses on his own
loneliness. He tells Yoshikawa, his buddy at work, that he feels
too old to re-enter the dating scene.
Yoshikawa’s plan is simple but ingenious. The
two men can stage an audition for a TV-movie; both are executives
for a major TV network. Later on they’ll tell the women
about financial problems; that the movie probably will never be
produced. But Aoyama will get an “accidental” opportunity to
meet an attractive, talented young woman.
Aoyama feels guilty about the deception. But
loneliness can make you do things you don’t feel right
about. His first job; narrow down several dozen resumes to
30.
This scene reveals much more than it
appears. I may be examining it under a microscope, but I
feel this is warranted. One resume makes a deep
impression. The woman’s name is Asami. Her resume
reveals sadness, a willingness to experience disappointment and
still make a new start, much vulnerability, sensitivity, and a
strong hint of something else which attracts him: neediness.
But be fair. He is not searching so much for
someone in need of him as someone able to identify with
the pain he has experienced. Later on, he will
understand more about the power he holds by simply being a man and
a TV producer. For the moment, he is swept up in the
possibility of his first romance in years.
In Asami, he senses a woman able to see past money,
power and status. Someone with a life shaped by dreams and
deep disappointment; the way he sees himself. He respects
Asami’s awareness and courage.
Is his view of Asami more his own projection than
the person she really is? Probably. One way the movie
hooks us; its use of sad, beautiful music as Aoyama finds Asami’s
resume and devours it. Like Aoyama, we want his projection
to be true.
The women who come are poised, attractive,
confident, but ooze a superficial quality, almost
emptiness. By the time Asami shows up, Aoyama is seeing what
he wants to see.
Asami waiting her turn
Two themes. First, Aoyama is moving
ahead too fast. Second, he is missing some warning signs, some
small, some real creepy.
Many of us know how he feels. You avoid making
The Ten Worst First Date Turn-offs; things go according to
plan. Aoyama phones Asami, identifying himself as “Producer
Aoyama.” (To avoid being too informal, or to underline his
status?) Whichever, he makes a date and is delighted.
Moments later, Yoshikawa calls, telling him that none
of Asami’s references check out. We tell ourselves that
Yoshikawa is a cynic, perhaps jealous. But we get a glimpse
of something that Aoyama doesn’t.
Asami’s apartment. A telephone lies on the
floor; it appears to dominate the room. She looks like she
is camped out next to her phone, sleeping near it, like a lost
hiker in sub-zero weather, whose only lifeline is a tiny campfire
she must protect at all costs.
A large cloth sack lies close by, on the
floor. When the phone rings (not a state-of-the-art buzz or
tacky melody, but a loud, old-fashioned ring)…we watch
the bag jump.
Secrets Aoyama does not know
And yet the dates go the way we hoped.
Asami has a brief, fairly convincing explanation about her
references—she never stammers, or freezes. The music changes
again; it actually may remind you of the romantic 60’s movie
A Man and a Woman. When Aoyama tells her
the movie has been put on hold, Asami takes the news in stride; no
signs of irrational anger. She says she is still glad they
met.
Aoyama’s personal tragedy helps him to sympathize with the
disappointments in Asami’s life
Although Aoyama’s plan to propose marriage to
Asami seems too scripted, not spontaneous enough, we can’t fault
him much—we may be more like him than we admit. He takes her
to a seaside resort, cold, formal, yet beautiful too.
Nothing comes without a price. Love, one of
life’s treasures, comes with an especially high price.
Aoyama abruptly finds his scripting won’t change reality.
Asami takes off all her clothes, gets into bed, asks
him to look at her. One of her thighs has deep scars; she
tells him they are from serious burns she got in childhood.
Quietly, she says to him, “Love me, only. Only me.” In
an indirect way, she refers to “others” who failed to keep
promises to her.
You may remember the old thriller
Play Misty for Me. How the insane Evelyn
(Jessica Walter) twists a line of poetry from Edgar Allan Poe’s
beautiful Annabelle Lee (“And this maiden/she
lived with no other thought/than to love, and be loved by me.”)
into a death threat.
The same themes…what kind of baggage she
carries, what has it done to her. The injury that ended her dreams
of dancing, possible physical abuse, emotional abuse…who knows
what else. All part of her. Can she look at the man
who loves her now, and not see all the faces of those
who’ve hurt her?
Aoyama is ready to take the whole risk. He gets
into bed; they make love.
It’s here that Audition leaves
Ordinary People territory and heads into
horror-movie land. Aoyama begins to leave his conventional
world behind, forced into wilderness better left to Bruce Willis
or Tom Cruise. Dazed, he wakes to a phone call telling him
Asami has checked out. He realizes he has never even known
her address.
Already he knows that most of her resume only yields
dead ends. But other names she mentioned lead him to strange
places. A ballet academy, now shut down, lights turned
off. A man plays the piano, his smile mean,
borderline-sinister. Suggestions that he was the one who
scarred Asami. He tells Aoyama, “Go home.”
Shaken, Aoyama returns to the safety of his house,
and seeks refuge in whiskey. His past, secure world has
suddenly vaporized. He re-lives that first date with Asami.
He had asked about her family…and had gotten bland,
reassuring answers. This time, her words are danger signs:
her parents divorced, forcing her to live with an uncle and aunt
who abused her physically. Ballet became her only salvation.
A weird sex fantasy. But more terrifying—Aoyama
finds himself on the floor of Asami’s apartment…next to the
sack. You need to see this for yourself.
Worse is to come. Aoyama on his apartment
floor, paralyzed. In the hallway, his dog lies dead.
Asami comes in, dressed in black leather. She tells Aoyama
he is paralyzed but fully able to feel pain. She begins
torturing him. Never have we seen her face so alive.
In the midst of all this, we might be asking, “But
why him? He’s been such a nice guy.” The
obvious answer (not that there aren’t more)—we want to believe
we are like Aoyama.
Of course, there are people who frankly admit, “I’m
just looking for pussy (or cock).”
But they are the exceptions. We want to think
we’re good, decent people, and seeing Aoyama get
tortured, it hits us that much harder.
Again, many walked out on this scene.
Worse, Asami hints that she knows Aoyama’s son will be home
soon—and he’s next.
Aoyama is already badly injured when he suddenly
wakes—back in the hotel bed with Asami. She sleeps
peacefully, her face beautiful. Aoyama first looks to see if
his injuries are real. He sees none…but still un-nerved,
stumbles into the bathroom to splash his face.
Suddenly Asami stands behind him, asking if he is all
right. A subtle difference, an Asami you haven’t seen
before. Not the monster in black leather, not the rather
fragile woman he dated. But a real adult, with real
feelings.
She tells him she will answer his proposal; “I
accept.” He’s so devastated he literally doesn’t know what
she’s talking about (marriage).
“It’s like a dream. I’m so happy,” she
says. But possibly, something in him has abruptly
changed. A wall between them.
Back to the torture scene. (The movie never
explains these transitions.) Aoyama’s son walks in; Asami does her
best to cripple him. He runs. I won’t ruin the ending.
One critic’s bizarre, yet strangely convincing take
on Audition: Except for the scene where
Aoyama wakes up with Asami and looks in panic to see if he’s
injured; everything else following the sex scene was his
dream, including all the torture. In other words, the scenes
where he wakes up and walks into the bathroom were the exceptions,
the only scenes not part of his dream.
But in the larger picture, exactly
what(and when) is a dream is not what counts. What
counts is what we all know…that people get hurt, and may hurt
someone else, in proportion to that hurt. And we may not
see far enough into someone we think we love.
Think of the Elton John song,
Someone Saved My life Tonight; that bleak
snapshot of living with the “princess perched on her electric
chair.” No one wants to be the heartless one, the one who
abandons someone who loves them. But how painful will it be
to stay?
Audition crystallizes that ultimate
nightmare, the absolute worst outcome. We sit devastated,
asking ourselves who the real Asami was. The subdued,
mysterious woman during the dates? The grinning serial
killer in black leather? Or perhaps the woman with the kind
voice and face who asks Aoyama if he is all right, as he stares in
the mirror trying to forget his nightmare? We just don’t
know.
The real Asami…or possibly only a bad dream
Audition’s incredible power
lies in what we do know; that so many traumatized
children grow up, eventually find someone to love them.
Only the one who loves them may find they can’t be
fixed. Some will find a path out of the pain that cut them
so deeply. Plenty will not. You say to yourself, my
heart is a good heart…like Aoyama’s.
But who have you given your heart to?
That is the question that terrifies. Forget the
question of what is a dream. The real terror, either way, is
looking deep into someone else’s heart.