As a seasoned viewer with a penchant for unraveling complex narratives and a deep appreciation for cinematic mastery, I found Alfonso Cuaron’s new series, Disclaimer, to be an intriguing puzzle that left me both captivated and slightly confounded.
In Alfonso Cuaron’s latest, celebrity-filled miniseries titled “Disclaimer“, the structure outshines the storyline, creating an intricate plot that, unfortunately, overshadows the substance of the tale itself.
Indeed, the storyline in this version of Renée Knight’s novel seems to emphasize that the process of storytelling can sometimes obscure reality itself… So, if you agree with that perspective, then it’s worth noting that Disclaimer, featuring captivating and enigmatic performances from Cate Blanchett and Kevin Kline, might be a production that stimulates intriguing discussions more than it does straightforward viewing. Critics may find themselves analyzing rather than just watching, in order to avoid revealing any spoilers during their reviews.
Sound frustrating? Perhaps a little.
Blanchett portrays Catherine Ravenscroft, a renowned documentary maker, married to Robert (played by Sacha Baron Cohen), a wealthy man without purpose, and a son named Nicholas (Kodi Smit-McPhee) who seems lost. The name ‘Catherine Ravenscroft’ carries an air of the mysterious gothic plot that unfolds. As she ponders her next project, Catherine unexpectedly receives a copy of a slim book titled “The Perfect Stranger“. Initially captivated by it, she soon becomes terrified. Eventually, she finds herself at the sink attempting to burn the book.
“She acknowledges it as herself,” she admits. In essence, Catherine believes the novel is centered around her, uncovering a 20-year-old secret she had wished remained hidden forever. “That book stirred up self-loathing within me once more.”
Stephen Brigstocke (Kline) intends to subject Catherine to more than just self-punishment. Previously a teacher, Stephen believes Catherine bears direct responsibility for the demise of his son Jonathan (Louis Partridge), and indirectly for the loss of his wife Nancy (Lesley Manville). His resolve is unwavering: he intends to exact retribution from Catherine. The question remains, what specific act or omission by Catherine warrants such retribution?
Without a hint of accident, the show starts off with Catherine receiving acclaim for her work that pierces through stories and structures concealing hidden realities. Spanning over seven captivating episodes, where Catherine’s profession seems puzzlingly unrelated to the plot, the series Disclaimer stirs viewers into a feverish quest for answers.
However, the narrator warns, “Be mindful of stories and structure; they have the potential to guide us towards truth, yet they can also serve as potent tools for manipulation.”
A disclaimer serves as a kind of transparent magic trick, similar to Penn & Teller’s performances where they openly explain their tricks, yet we are still left astonished. In this case, a disclaimer operates like that meta-yarn, spun with such enthusiasm that you feel manipulated, but paradoxically, you’re not just amazed, you’re also more conscious and even drawn to the manipulation itself rather than the outcome.
In my statement, I used “a narrator” since the narrative in question is told through different perspectives and styles at various instances. Catherine dominates the storyline, shifting between cryptic second-person narration, somewhat arrogant third-person omniscient narration, and eventually adopting a raw confessional style, complete with background sounds. Stephen’s voiceover switches between self-assured frankness and malevolent performance that perfectly complement Kline’s flamboyant portrayal of his character; the reserved widower finds new life in the pursuit of revenge, assuming various roles and using diverse body language and speech patterns for each person he manipulates into his intricate plot.
In this fantasy, no one is as deeply immersed or taking on multiple characters quite like Cuaron, the writer and director of each episode, apart from Stephen.
The vivid portrayal of the story The Perfect Stranger showcases Jonathan, a youthful and vigorous character, embarking on a European journey filled with erotic encounters with his flamboyant companion. Later, on an Italian beach, he encounters an older, wise woman (Leila George) who ignites the screen. Their steamy, escalating interactions unfold in a manner reminiscent of Penthouse Forum, raising questions about whether they are breathtakingly beautiful or suspiciously artificial due to the exaggerated sun-drenched atmosphere. The brief scenes from the novel — each marked by an iris-in and out transition — often last no more than a minute or two, creating suspense and prolonging the unfolding mystery, much like Scheherazade’s tales in the Arabian Nights, where she skillfully delayed revealing the pivotal transgression to avoid her own execution.
Despite the fictional nature that surrounds the portrayal of “The Perfect Stranger” within the series, every character seems to view it as factual. Could it be because there are damning photographs involved? In an era where AI has blurred the line between reality and photography, “Disclaimer” might be one of the final productions that gives such images credibility – a point perhaps deliberately made by Cuaron.
As a passionate viewer, I’ve been captivated by the masterful visual storytelling of Alfonso Cuarón in this series. Working with the exceptional cinematographic duo of Emmanuel Lubezki and Bruno Delbonnel, he pushes the boundaries of what we traditionally expect from television frames. If a character is seated near a window, you’ll find both a meticulously crafted silhouette upfront and a captivating scene unfolding outside, all in sharp focus. Televisions within rooms are not mere props; they play active roles in the narrative. Ambient sounds from adjacent rooms or conversations at nearby tables enhance the overall scene, serving as integral elements rather than background noise. Is Cuarón’s aim to distract or meticulously train us to pay heed to every detail of his storytelling toolkit, regardless of the medium? Absolutely, it’s both!
The cast provides depth and complexity, even when the narrative seems stagnant. Blanchett masterfully portrays Catherine as cold and then fragile as her life unravels, offering a detached demeanor that invites various perspectives and assessments of her character. Cohen, deserving of recognition for avoiding the one-dimensional “my wife” stereotype, delivers an uncertain, gullible performance, which any compelling narrative necessitates, encouraging audience identification or critique. Smit-McPhee gives a heartrending portrayal of a young man destined to be a secondary character in others’ stories. It took me several episodes to recognize HoYeon Jung, outstanding in her Emmy-nominated role in Squid Game, as Catherine’s assistant, whose profession is only significant thematically and not narratively.
Similar to Kline’s acting, the show “Disclaimer” is both captivating yet somewhat absurd. Watching the series felt predominantly captivating, but upon reflection, I found myself pondering if its narrative might have been better suited as a full-length feature, given the depth and breadth of the story it attempted to convey.
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2024-08-30 17:25