I watched Babylon for the first time last month, and the experience could only be described as moving, especially the finale. Of course it would. I don't simply enjoy films; I adore them. I owe my life and purpose to them. I've been fascinated by cinema since I was six years old, and I see it as an extension of myself, an artistic vessel through which I can bend reality to provide people with an escape. The concept of being able to create entire universes from scratch, to make people cry and care for characters that only exist in fiction, is beautiful. The limitless potential of cinema and its ability to touch people is like magic. Every hurdle in life, every moment of beauty—film has always served as a crutch, an omnipresent force that has picked up my fractured pieces. The need to create has always existed in me, and I understood from a young age that if I wanted to make it in the industry, I had to be willing to do whatever it took to succeed. As someone who is so deeply connected to filmmaking, it's no wonder that Babylon's finale had such a powerful impact on me.I was overcome with admiration, which is understandable given that Babylon's ending is, in many ways, a celebration of film's immortality. However, as the credits rolled, I felt a twinge of sadness. Because, while Babylon is a commemoration of cinema, it is also about death and rebirth and how nothing lasts forever. It made me reflect a lot, and I realised that, on the surface, Babylon is a celebration of movies, but essentially, the film is about making your mark in a constantly changing and terrifyingly fast world. Personally, it isn't about movies, Hollywood, or even creation. It's all about accepting that we're merely one frame in an eternal loop of celluloid and being at peace with it.

 

Damien Chazelle’s 2022 three-hour epic Babylon chronicles the decadence, depravity and outrageous excess that led to the emergence and collapse of Hollywood's ambitious dreamers during the transition from silent to sound cinema in the 1920s. Chazelle has described his film as a "love letter to cinema and a hate letter to Hollywood" with the entire cast's passion for their industry's heritage visibly pulsing throughout the film's veins. I was really disappointed that Babylon did not perform well financially or critically, because I believe this is a message that could have resonated well with mainstream audiences and young filmmakers. Many individuals seem to blame this on poor marketing efforts, claiming that while the picture appeared shocking, the promotional materials provided little information about the narrative or characters. However, regardless of promotional success or failure, the film should speak for itself at the premieres, except it didn’t. American critics panned Chazelle's picture as superficial, disturbing, self-serving, and shapeless, describing it as 'an indigestible, unsubtle disaster'. As much as I disagreed with these comments, what bothered me the most was the prudish attitude toward the film's nudity. Numerous critics appeared to have been turned off by the film's nakedness, characterising it as self-serving and unwarranted. I found this overly dramatic and immature, given that most, if not all, of the film's nudity occur during the film's first 20-minute party segment. I understand and comprehend the concept of filmmakers imposing naked scenes upon performers in exploitative ways; I'm sure we've all seen media that feels coercive and objectifying. However, there is a delicate balance between physical objectification and nudity in general. 

I decided to conduct additional research and was intrigued by Babylon's commercial and financial success in France, juxtaposed to its box office bomb in the United States. Historically, the US has been an outspoken advocate for censorship, particularly in relation to sex and nudity, which they believe are synonymous. Because of America's puritanical history of sexual shame by religious condemnation, combined with its physical isolation from countries with thousands of years of history, its citizens haven't changed much since their ancestors moved there. In contrast, Europe is dominated by cities with differing cultures within close proximity, resulting in a population exposed and open to a wide variety of ideas and differing perspectives. French culture, in particular, is built on sensuality. Everything the French do is for the enjoyment of the senses rather than inhibition, as is common in the States. They believe restricting oneself weakens experiences, which is evident in their fashion, food, art, media, and public spaces. The primary difference between European and American populations in terms of overall prudishness is how censorship is enforced. While it is acceptable in Europe to broadcast a full frontal nude scene in a movie or go to a beach topless, in the US, even a nipple visible through a damp tee shirt is prohibited. A recent example of this was in March 2023, when a parent referred to Michelangelo's David statue as "pornographic" when it was exhibited to sixth-grade students at Tallahassee Classical School in Florida, prompting the principal to resign. The incident perplexed Florentines and Renaissance art experts, as Michelangelo's masterful statue of David represents youthful beauty, humanist values, and strength. In response, Florence's mayor, Dario Nardella, invited the teacher to the city and its works of art, commenting on Twitter: "Mistaking art for pornography is simply ridiculous, art is civilisation and those who teach it deserve respect." This is a holdover from the blue-nosed censors' work of the 1930s. However, ironically, films featuring excessive violence are acceptable in the United States but not in Europe. So it's not that America is more culturally conservative; rather, their censorship is more severe. However, Babylon has already begun to gain a cult following and I believe that decades from now, the film will be revered as a cult classic and underrated gem.

 

The movie explores Hollywood's shift from silent films to talkies, focusing on four characters and their lives throughout this period. Jack Conrad, the silent film star; Nelly Leroy, the up-and-coming A Lister; Manny Torres, a Mexican immigrant attempting to break into the industry as a director and producer; and Sidney Palmer, an African-American jazz musician with big ambitions that conflict with the prejudices of early Hollywood. Babylon's greatest strength is its ability to balance themes and characters over such a complex storyline. People complained that the film was superficial or shapeless, but I couldn’t disagree more. If anything, I think the film's layout and editing are excellent, achieving a wonderful balance of fast-paced debauchery and authentic intimacy. On the surface, Babylon is about the film industry, specifically the transition from silent pictures to talkies and how it impacted the world. It's about the beauty and ugliness of creation, as well as why cinema is such a powerful medium. Beneath that is the underlying concept of death and immortality, a nihilistic lens onto the immortal but equally ever-dying concept of art itself. 

 

Each character has distinct but interwoven tales that reflect and develop the film's key concepts while also having its own standalone arc. Nelly is enamoured with movies as she desires success, fame, and everything that comes with the lifestyle. She's introduced as attempting to break into Kinoscope Studios executive Don Wallach's estate for a debauched bacchanal. Manny, who works as the party's staff, allows her entry, enamoured with her presence. As they make their way into the party, Nelly declares that she is a star despite the fact that she has yet to act in a movie. Manny corrects her, stating she wants to be a star, to which she argues, "Honey, you don't become a star. You’re either one or you ain’t. I am." Margot Robbie plays Nellie LaRoy, a hedonistic wild child inspired by Clara Bow, the silent film star and sex symbol who was born and raised in Brooklyn, New York. The two share numerous characteristics, including childhood neglect, poor education, physical abuse and drug addiction. Nellie has a broad New Jersey accent, a family history of mental illness, a sleazy father and rejection by the Hollywood elite during the transition to sound. Nellie can cry on cue—a signature talent of Bow's—and she mimics Bow's real-life explanation of how it's done, which was, "I think of home." 

 

Jack Conrad is an alcoholic and womaniser who sees sound as an essential component of cinema. However, his faith in sound eventually leads to his demise. Conrad is based on John Gilbert, often known as "The Great Lover," who's frequently mentioned as an example of an actor who struggled to shift to talkies. Gilbert's "light" voice, drinking problem and old-fashioned performance style are said to have derailed his talkie career. However, many believe Gilbert's career was sabotaged by MGM president Louis B. Mayer, who loathed the wayward and womanising Gilbert and supposedly destroyed the actor's early sound efforts by saddling him with inferior material. In the film, Jack is the most affected by the change in cinema. He craves evolution, but when it finally arrives, he's washed up and is forced to confront the possibility that he never actually mattered. Babylon depicts how the transition shattered people's lives, leaving them completely lost without the one thing they had based their entire existence and identities around. In one of my favourite exchanges in the film, gossip columnist Elinor St. John questions Conrad about his transition to talkies, to which he responds with a vague assurance that he would learn to adapt. She then poses a question that causes Conrad to stop in his tracks. "Do you miss the silence?" He pauses for a moment before solemnly answering, "No...shouldn't stand in the way of progress." It's Jack's quiet acknowledgement that, while he wants the art form to evolve with time, he knows he won't survive its transformation. Conrad is directly confronted by this after his first talkie bombs with Elinor St. John, played by Jean Smart, publishing a brutal review commenting on the audience's laughter and mockery aimed at Conrad's performance. Conrad bursts into her office, offended and questions why she wrote it, to which she responds, "You mean, why did they laugh?" Jack falls silent, waiting for an explanation, to which she coldly responds that it's over and has been for some time. In denial, Jack compares Elinor to a cockroach, claiming that she merely peddles gossip and doesn't have the courage to "put yourself out there." She shares an analogy explaining the reason roaches survive house fires but humans don't is because they understand that the house doesn't need them to survive. Jack stupidly assumed the house needed him, but it doesn't; it's bigger than him. Jack is visibly moved by this, but before he leaves, Elinor approaches him and offers an extraordinary monologue that encapsulates the entire film. “In 100 years when you and I are both long gone, anytime someone threads a frame of yours through a sprocket, you'll be alive again…One day every person on every film shot this year will be dead and one day all of those films will be pulled from the vaults, and all of their ghosts will dine together, adventure together, go to the jungle together. A child born in 50 years will stumble across your image flickering on a screen and feel he knows you like a friend. Though you breathed your last before he breathed his first. You've been given a gift; be grateful. Your time today is through but you'll spend eternity with angels and ghosts.” 

 

Manny's plot revolves around the American dream. He can do anything if he works hard enough, but it's certain to come at a high cost. In the process, Manuel cuts links with his Mexican roots—despite the fact that they live in Los Angeles, he never visits them. He also Americanizes his name to Manny, presenting himself as a Spaniard at a party hosted by William Randolph Hearst. Manuel becomes seduced by his proximity to Hollywood's white capitalistic avarice and, to a lesser extent, the American dream of upward mobility, causing him to navigate a precarious identity. Manny's erasure of his identity is spurred by his fantasy affair with Nellie LaRoy, who embodies everything he loves about Hollywood. An elusive magical quality, picturesque bliss, and the power to firmly define oneself. Diego Calva's Manny Torres appears to be mostly fictional; but, during the film, Manny recalls Gilbert Roland, the Mexican American actor who had a romance with Clara Bow and remained in touch with her for many years after their affair ended. 

 

Jovan Adepo's Sidney Palmer pays homage to several Black jazz musicians from the 1920s, notably Sidney Easton, a multi-talented performer who began his career in burlesque, carnivals, and minstrel shows. He appeared in a few films and was a playwright and actor before leaving Hollywood to return to his jazz club roots, similar to Sidney Palmer's decision to leave after studio executives insist he wear blackface while filming a jazz short so that the lighting on set did not lighten his complexion in the finished product. He doesn't care about the stars or the cars. He’s in it for the art, and Hollywood serves as a means to an end for him. So, when Hollywood asks him to cross a line, he promptly cashes his cheque and leaves. He doesn't want to play the game; he purely wants to play jazz. 

 

As a film student, I appreciated all of the tributes and references to films I studied in school, but they felt like a thin layer of icing on top of what this picture was about: Hell, perdition, and Inferno. It's Hollywood's underworld and the cinematic setting of Babylon. Babylon has evolved over time into more of a metaphor than a physical location. It represents intimidation and tyranny for evil and Satan. It encapsulates hubris; the biblical Book of Revelation appears to associate it with the Roman Empire and messages concerning the "Whore of Babylon." It's also a sign of decadence, one that links ecstasy with sorrow. Babylon is not concerned if you get lost in its depths and in fact it encourages it. 

One of the most dramatic scenes in the film occurs in the opening hour, when we are exposed to the early Hollywood industry as the ensemble cast shoots movies in the California desert. Tons of silent films are being captured; we move from a bar set to a violent war scene, and this 45-minute segment is edited in an exciting yet anxiety-inducing manner that kept my heart racing. Amidst the chaos, a set catches fire and while this is a humorous scene that exemplifies the pure circus of film sets, it also serves as a representation of two distinct entities. Genesis 19:24 describes how the downpour of fire and brimstone destroyed the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. God destroyed these towns because they were notoriously immoral, demonstrating his feelings towards overt evil while also establishing a permanent analogy. After Genesis 19:24, the sight of fire, brimstone, Sodom, or Gomorrah immediately puts the reader into the context of God's judgement, which in Babylon's case can be interpreted as sex, drugs, and other "sinful" behaviours. However, such an emotionally charged symbol has difficulty escaping its gravity. This fiery vision may impede, rather than progress, its objective. Fire and brimstone describe some aspects of the underworld, but not all of hell. Extreme heat was a constant presence throughout the film; another significant instance where heat was actually torturous was Nellie's first day on location for a talkie. The transition from silent to talking films is difficult, and Nellie, combined with the rest of the crew's clumsiness and strain, causes the entire process of shooting a simple scene to take hours. While the team is finishing a usable take, the DOP collapses and dies from heat exhaustion in the camera booth. This individual was not a major character, which demonstrates the cruelty of Hollywood and Babylon. You're merely a pawn in the effervescent battle of producing art.

 

As previously stated, the "Whore of Babylon" is one of the most well-known features of God's eternal city. The "Whore of Babylon," also known as "Babylon the Great," is an allegorical feminine character and a source of wickedness mentioned in the Book of Revelation. Revelation 17 refers to her as "Mystery, Babylon the Great, the Mother of Harlots and Abominations of the Earth." Nellie Laroy plays this role in Chazelle's fanciful Californian Babylon. Nellie's character is noteworthy since she is more than just a "whore." She's a phenomenal actress who has taken the industry by storm by capitalising on her sensual allure. While her sexuality makes her easily identifiable at the start of the film, her character evolves as the film develops and she falls into deeper problems. She becomes a symbol for a false god. Her character development demonstrates Chazelle's cynicism against the worship of Hollywood celebrities as if they are gods, which is why he created Nellie so imperfect. She has drug issues, is impulsive and manipulative with awful decorum and puts others in danger in order to save herself from her own careless mistakes. The Babylon poster depicts her in a radiance that mirrors Jesus' ascension. Her story culminates when she is discovered dead at the age of 34 after fleeing the spotlight, which is around the age at which Jesus died on the cross. Except Nellie is not going to die for anyone's sins. 

 

Manny Torres, a hard-working, optimistic young man who is suddenly thrown into a hedonistic circus and becomes bound to Jack Conrad and enamoured with Nellie, is the character who suffers the most from Nellie's actions. Jack and Manny serve as mirrors of one another. As Jack’s career dies, Manny’s explodes. However, this journey is not positive. As Manny becomes more powerful, he makes selfish choices in the name of "cinema." He fires his actress friend, Lady Fay Zhu, and forces another former colleague, Sidney Palmer, to don blackface. Manny is continually making deals with others in the profession, which is a form of selling his soul. As he advances in his career, his moral compasse weakens. Manny's yielding to the seductiveness of Hollywood's false promises eventually comes back to haunt him in the film's most horrific scene. After agreeing to help Nellie after she incurs huge gambling debts, Manny finds himself in need of $8,500 quickly in order to repay James McKay, played by Tobey Maguire. What began as a handover scene transforms into something incredibly demonic. Manny's meeting with James returns the film to the carnality that it cultivated in the first two acts. But now the air is filled with tension, especially since The Count, who is accompanying Manny to the handoff and has assured Manny he has the cash, discloses that the money used to pay James is prop money. James MacKay wants to get into the movie business and presents some ideas to Manny, who can't concentrate because he knows the money is phoney. One of his fantasy projects involves a man "you must see to believe" and there's only one place to watch him in action: "the asshole of Los Angeles." Babylon depicts what James saw as the last dedicated party area that harkened back to the days seen in the opening sequences. Chazelle takes the picture back to a time when gigantic creatures may roam among drugs and sex acts, and liquor flowed like water; the journey finishes with a terrifying man eating a live rat in front of a menacing mob. Unfortunately, James discovers the money to be fake and, outraged by this deception, tries to murder Manny and The Count. The two barely make it out of the situation, which, when analysed through a biblical lens, depicts Manny progressing deeper into the levels of hell, with James symbolising Satan. Chazelle reminds us that the spectacles in the "arsehole of Los Angeles" used to be a source of amusement for the public. The freakshow culture is where Hollywood got its start. Its main adversary was the stage for the proletariats, and Babylon demonstrates the metamorphosis in that directive.

 

However, the ending. The extreme change of pace is so emotional and breathtaking, with the editing in Babylon's final few minutes formulating a chaotic mess, which I believe is the intent. What we're watching is beautiful, but it's also broken and ugly in many ways. The decision to conclude the film after a montage rather than with Manny crying in the audience is captivating, as the first alternative is objectively the safer ending. But I believe the finale Chazelle chose for this crazy, fractured, bizarre, LSD-infused sequence is far more symbolic of the film as a whole and the themes it represents. It may not be a romantic ending, but isn't that the idea of Babylon? Nothing is as romantic as it seems. It’s about the birth and circular flow of film and life as well as the near-maddening desire to create art. Of course there's some weird, crazy, surreal stuff on screen, but isn't that just like life at times? The film's visuals and design are highly interesting, as they do not always reflect the time accurately. Babylon is, of course, shot on film, but it has a stylistic quality that evokes visual poeticism and romance. Even shots that mimic the appearance of older films are rarely realistic. The outfits are typically stylistic, the makeup isn't of the era, and the production design is rich and exaggerated. Even the music, a driving force in Babylon and all of Chazelle's films, is an eccentric blend of traditional jazz and modern techno. Nothing is completely time accurate and this is a purposeful decision. Chazelle sought to immortalise his own film. He wants it to feel like a story of the past told in the present that also reflects the future. The way the film looks and feels tells us that while all of this was happening then, it's also all happening now, and it will also all continue to happen forever and ever. 

 

In many respects, watching Babylon is a terrifying experience for me because the film focuses on how the film industry isn't as glamorous as it appears and how heartbreaking the movie machine can be. But as I watch the scenes of life on set and the chaos of creating films, I feel the fire inside of me grow greater than before. I find myself craving this reality, which is ironic and foolish given that the entire point of the film is that things are not as they seem and that perhaps we shouldn't desire them at all. But I wonder if Damien Chazelle feels the same way. It's possible that everyone in the film industry feels this way, because we all know the dark truths about the industry—that it’s happening all the time—but we continue anyway. It is not truly a choice. People are born artists and that desire to create isn't something you can escape. Babylon is a condemnation of the Hollywood machine that crushes everybody with equitable cruelty and an ode to the innovative artistry and ineffable magic of movies, whose siren call continues to lure audiences and filmmakers in towards its warm glow. You're in love with it and all its flaws because that's the reality of filmmaking. It's nasty yet also beautiful. But more than anything, it's a fucking drug. 

 

JACK CONRAD

Have you ever been on a movie set before?

 

MANNY

No.

 

JACK CONRAD

You’ll see. Its the most magical place in the world.