Babel: The Space Between Us

The Greek philosopher Zeno postulated many paradoxes of motion, the general idea being that if we set off from some place, A, to another, B, we will never complete the trip because we would first have to walk half the distance between A and B and then half that distance and then half of that, so on and so forth...thereby actually never reaching point B. Although this idea does not entirely fit the concept of my discussion today, it brings up a crucial point about humanity and its plethora of races and cultures, one that is so scathingly, yet tenderly, explored in Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu's 2006 film, Babel. It is a parable of the vast distances between groups of people who were raised in different cultures, who grow up to construct colossally different perceptions of reality. Inarritu elegantly constructs a narrative based on chance, but the power of his story lies in the ways in which the characters deal with these chance happenings they cannot fully understand. The ways in which the characters deal with the situations presented before them is the motor of the film, as we observe the disconnect they have towards each other in terms of language, perceptions of reality, and what Roger Ebert so beautifully describes in his essay on the film as a certain cultural residue each character carries - almost unbeknownst to them. An example of this residue would be the scene where the nanny Amelia and her nephew are crossing the border after the wedding of Amelia's son. She had taken the two kids who she is responsible for to the wedding, which happen to be the kids of two other characters in the film (played by Brad Pitt and Cate Blanchett). It is very late at night when they reach the border guard. When the guards scan the vehicle and spot the kids, two white kids, their suspicion is aroused and further inquiry is necessitated, leading to far more unfortunate events. It is not the fault of the kids for being white in contrast to Amelia and her nephew who are Mexican, but rather with this contrast, the guard is forced to perform his duty with unforeseeable tragic results.

This cultural residue is the defining facet of Babel's thematic power, because it lays out the way in which the filmmakers wanted to visualize such a story. Yes, the narrative is propelled by coincidental actions that affect many characters across the globe, showcasing how one small event in one place can lead to serious consequences in another land thousands of miles away. But this is not the point of the film; we must focus our attention on a theme of the film I have already mentioned: the way in which different people from different cultures handle specific situations. This sort of narrative element is used to emphasize the distances that seem to exist between different peoples. For example, when Cate Blanchett's character is shot, due to the immaturity of a kid, we see the US government react as if it was a terrorist attack and the Moroccan police respond accordingly in their search for the culprit. Because of this unfortunate event, the aforementioned kids, who are looked over by Amelia, must stay with Ameila because she cannot find anyone else to take care of them as she goes to her son's wedding; the kids go along with her. Consequently, these kids observe and even participate in Mexican culture, so foreign to them on many levels, as brutal and exciting all at once. When they hear celebratory gunshots fired in the air their faces immediately display a change in disposition to that of despair and sullenness. It is not the fault of the Mexican family celebrating a wedding in the way they always do and it is not the fault of the kids for being so scared of what they see. It is just that they are significantly dissimilar and this dissimilarity becomes more potent when they come together, a paradox, I sense, in the minds of many (I'll get to that at the end of this piece).

Much of the emotional power comes from the contemplative camera of Rodrigo Prieto. This may sound strange for those of you who have seen the film since much of the camerawork is rugged, unstable, and fluctuating, coupled with bombastic editing. Yet, there are shots so elaborately and serenely laid out that we look upon them with far more care than other, quicker, shots. Consider the one above; an extreme long shot in which the vast expanse of the American desert engulfs Amelia and the children (she is carrying the daughter, played by a very young Elle Fanning) as they appear only as specks of a larger, uncontrollable environment. Abandoned by Amelia's nephew amid a police chase, this shot details the contradiction of their relationship; though the American kids and the Mexican woman are physically very close together, maybe even the closest they have ever been, it is their cultural perceptions that drive them away from each other. The kids have no idea why they are in the situation they are in and it is something Amelia could not really explain to them because, after all, what is really definitive of their situation?

Consider another example when Cheiko, a deaf Japanese girl, enters a nightclub. This scene is fascinating in many ways (though those that get antsy with a barrage of flashing lights should be careful with this visually intense episode). There is a point where the thumping music, a remix of Earth, Wind and Fire's 'September,' pounds in the background. We cut to Cheiko's perspective of what the nightclub is like, a wavering point -of-view shot. What makes it so powerful is that the cut to her perspective occurs right as the singing starts and, if you know the song, there is a sense of tension built around that one cut but it makes so much sense because it allows us to clearly understand the difference in worlds between Cheiko and those around her. Now, this scene is filmed much differently than that of Amelia and the children in the desert. Chaos and instability ensue with, again, the neurotic flashes of light. Yet, it preaches the same theme of disconnect. Instead of cultural barriers, we have a physical disability altering the girls perspective on reality, though she is in extreme proximity with others of her own ethnicity. For a short time, she made connections with people from another world, the world of sound, yet, when she is as close as she is going to get, the distance materializes and melancholy takes hold. What once was a day of activity and excited uncertainty now becomes a lonely void. Both the nightclub and the desert provide their own constitution of loneliness.

Babel is all about how these characters come together to make prospective connections with each other and, just as crucially, how these connections are severed. Just as Cheiko's connection with boys who could hear was severed when she enters the nightclub, Brad Pitt's character, Richard Jones, connects with a Moroccan tour guide only soon to find their bond severed. Stranded in the hometown of the guide with his badly injured wife waiting for an ambulance, Richard befriends this tour guide in a way that is dominated by understanding in plight. In other words, not many words were shared (Richard even cusses the poor man out) but they stick together and trust each other through common understanding of emotions. Below is a scene of rare gentleness. A relatively static frame encloses the two in a small room, away from the outside fervor, albeit only briefly. They sit at opposite ends of the room, a clear indication of distance, but it simultaneously suggests closeness. Richard's wife serves as the unfortunate focal point in the composition, the commonality of strife that had brought them together in the first place. A strong connection is made, though, when they begin to talk about their kids, and the action of Richard throwing his wallet across the room exemplifies this by allowing for the tour guide to see a picture of his kids. What makes it as casual of a scene as your gonna get in this film is when Richard inquires, with slight sarcasm, as to how many wives the tour guide has, and in response the tour guide says he can only afford one. This is really the first time cultural differences are brought forth in plain view and discussed. More intriguingly, it is discussed with relative nonchalance as if these cultural differences don't matter. Well, they don't to an extent, it is just, for the most part, in their surroundings these differences determine how people from one culture view and act towards another. Their relationship is ultimately severed by the end of the film, without any melodramatic or revelatory touches; Richard needs to get his wife to the hospital so there is no time. That's the end of that. But the significance is that now a paramount spatial difference will separate them. I doubt they will ever meet each other again.

Nonetheless, this subtle yet definitive scene heralds cultural diversity through confrontation and discussion. Nowhere else in the film does this happen because, as the bulk of the film shows, we have constructed outlines of other cultures, and arrays of their motives and responses, but we have formulated our own feelings towards those other cultures without once confronting them. The two kids, at the beginning of the film, who end up shooting the bus, thereby shooting Mrs. Jones, are in complete isolation, but thousands of miles away people have already formulated their own feelings about them. Their actions with the gun are only an ignition to release those predetermined feelings, or a passage of ventilation, which causes the American government to announce it as a terrorist attack and which also causes the Moroccan police to overreact when investigating. Look at the story of Amelia and the children; America's built up feelings towards Mexican aliens have created the border guard as well as the predetermined suspicion when the guard looked to find two white children in the back seat. Looking at Cheiko, her unstable relationship with boys and also her estrange father, most likely due to the fact of the passing of her mother, are due to these same presuppositions of deaf girls. Sexual frustration coupled with teenage angst create an almost impenetrable shell in which Cheiko, herself, creates an outline of how people view her. This leads to something even more intriguing. While the two Moroccan boys have no bearing on what others think due to their isolation from the rest of the world (notice their room which is only made up of several newspapers of a local soccer team) and, thus, create no outlines of feeling upon other cultures (which could be why they chose to act in such a foolish way), Cheiko is constantly around people different from her and is continuously creating outlines and arrays of feelings that are either being shot down (when her ideals and fantasy are being taken away from her) or constantly reinforced (when she always comes to the realization that no boy can like her for being deaf).

So let us return to Zeno's paradox. In a world where many groups of people create these walls of assumptive feelings and predetermined courses of action through those feelings, can we ever come together as different cultures? Or will we just get closer and closer, retaining a distance without a confrontation and discussion of differences. For all of these constructed feelings, we tend to forget that what separates us most is our perception of reality. If we can make genuine connections in which these differences of perception are laid out in a manner in which they can be respected, and conversed about, we will have succeeded in making the first step to understanding each other. This is what Babel is all about. It is not about racism, a theme some people would make themselves believe it potent in this narrative. The film's tragedy lies in this spatial and cultural paradox. Through its narrative construction (how the actions of others, not motivated by racial tension, exposes racial and cultural tension) and revealing cinematography, Babel shows us just how different we are, something many of us take for granted when we splurge an assumption about another group of people or ask, "Why would they do such a thing?" and never think about the question afterwards. The film implores us to think about that question. Neglecting such a question and trying to 'mend' these difference may cause a backlash or even more uncertainty. My economics teacher recently wrote about the initiative of multiculturalism, particularly in universities here. There should never be a moment in time to force diversity upon people while at the same time claiming that we are all the same. It totally ignores not only the individual, but in relation to this film, the difference in how we perceive reality.

I consider Babel to be one of the most important films in the last fifteen years by one of the most important filmmakers, Inarritu. Again, I applaud this film for not only making us feel, but also making us think. What separates us as people? What makes us so different? How different are we? Inuarritu illustrates the distance between us all but, through feeling evoked so intensely throughout the course of this daring work, there is a commonality of suffering, hope, and determination.

edited by Peter Berris