the platform
Feb. 18th, 2024 06:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cheez4/5 pretty interesting, made me think but in a good way. Didn't feel like one of those movies that's trying too hard to be deep and gets lost in the sauce. I liked the concept, the open ending, the medley of characters that were drawn almost intentionally like caricatures.
Watched this in the english dub, I think it would've been a little better in sub and much better if I understood spanish—there were many times when the translated english subtitles differed from the spoken dub and I wondered which was more true to the original. The emotions though, still felt like they came through for me, enough at least to feel a strange mixture of despair and hope at the MC's journey through this dark, disturbing world he threw himself into.
And maybe that was the most interesting part of it, that in some way this prison he'd found himself in was unbelievable and fantastical, impossible to fathom as reality, and in another way it could be taken as a reflection of the world we live in.
I'm generally don't try to read too far into metaphor, but I suppose this one was an exception. And maybe it was not so metaphorical at all: is it so far of a stretch to project from the levels in this bleak prison-like compound to the levels in society at large? Not really. There is something deeply cynical yet sadly just as believable about how all you might need is a little kindness to have enough for everyone, yet it's impossible to overcome human greed; how the random tier of society you are born into determines much more about your fate than you yourself. And even this cynicism is beset with its own cynicism—none of the prisoners truly know how many levels exist, they only have rumors, so how do they know that there's enough food for everyone even if they do restrict themselves? This is only what they've been told by "the Administration" (which I assume reads with a capital A and no one can tell me otherwise), and certainly no one trusts their motives. One part that sticks with me goes along the lines of, if we ever beat this experiment, they would learn how to stop us from doing it again.
Our MC Goreng is unique, because while he loses his innocence, he doesn't lose the principles he came in with, even if he tries to bury them beneath newfound cynicism. Goreng's first appearance is laughable—he came in to get a diploma and he brought a book to read. Trimagasi, his first roommate who curses those above and spits on those below, a very if-you-can't-beat-em-join-em guy, rightfully scoffs at him for his naivete, but they still strike up a friendship in the end. That is, until they are sent to a low level that gets little to no food, and Trimagasi decides that Goreng's meat is worth more than his friendship. To some extent, Trimagasi feels like a marker of the status quo: like most of the random cellmates above and below them, Trimagasi sees the selfishness of others and decides that he can't survive without being selfish himself. Maybe even enjoys the power he has to oppress those below him, since he knows that is all the power he will ever have.
Goreng is only saved because Miharu, a woman that rides down the platform every now and again to look for her son, frees him. Once freed, he kills Trimagasi in a fit of rage and eventually eats him. It feels like poetic justice and at the same time cursed inevitability. And strangely hopeful too, that even here someone might be looking for their child. That even here, someone might save you from death.
But as we learn soon, hope may be fleeting.
His next roommate Imoguiri, formerly a part of the organization who interviewed some of the people sent in and Goreng himself, is interesting in that she keeps trying to convince the people below her to share the food, in a very obnoxious, perscriptive way. She keeps repeating the same message in the same tone day after day, even though it's clear they won't listen to her and only find her irritating. It's not until Goreng tells them he'll shit in their food if they don't listen, that they start doing what she says. She's shocked at his methods even though they were much more effective than hers and accomplished the same goal, and affects some semblance of righteous indignation. I liken her to a mansplainer, a Karen of sorts. Even though her stance isn't wrong and she does want to help others with the last of her life—a noble goal and no one can take that away from her—she's only telling others what they already know, and without recognizing that her holier than thou attitude and position of privilege make her impossible to trust or sympathize with. She also seems to value the moral high ground over effectiveness, and when you look at it from that angle, her pleas about sharing food seem less about helping those below her and more about feeling like she's helping them. Self-satisfaction, really.
What's also interesting is that she questions why Goreng doesn't try to convince those above them to share the food, when she's never done that herself. It's a strange bit of hypocrisy, but also as if she subconsciously recognizes and possibly fears the power of those above them.
And like any good hypocrite, her "kindness" only lasts until she's hurt by the reality of their situation herself, as she witnesses her beloved dog being eaten by Miharu. I actually really enjoyed her character, since I feel like often it is so easy to tell someone else how they should solve their problems, without realizing how you would react in their shoes. She does do Goreng a final kindess though, by hanging herself so he can eat her body.
So now: why hope may be fleeting. Imoguiri tells Goreng that there's no children in the compound and that Miharu is a liar with no son, who rides down the platform to hurt others rather than help a child. She may be saying this out of spite for Miharu, but that doesn't seem likely—the details feel too specific to be a lie. However, it's interesting that the movie seems to leave it to us and Goreng to decide who we believe, or maybe, who we want to believe.
Goreng's final roommate is Baharat, a man with hopes to climb up to the top of the compound. He seems to believe that if he can get to the top he can escape, even though no one else has ever mentioned this possibility. He's a pretty straightforward allegory for glass ceilings: though he's so close to the top, the cruelty and racism of the ones above him keeps him down. Upon realizing that he'll never make it to the top unless he's directly sent there, he goes on a mad quest with Goreng to feed all the other prisoners below them, just to prove a point. That the system doesn't have to work this way. That it can be done.
They meet an old man on the way who tells them they must save a bit of the food to send up back, so that the 'Administration' knows that the impossible has happened. This is the only way to make their mad quest mean something, he says. Because if the 'Administration' doesn't find out, it'll be as if nothing happened at all. Another interesting take when today we present so much across social media, but it did make me wonder about the differences in effectiveness between action and demonstration, and feel a little sad that sometimes our good deeds only truly matter if they're seen by the "right people". And that even then it is up to those people to decide our fate—there's no telling what kind of change this would affect in the "Administration": it seemed more likely that they'd increase division between the levels than help anyone within.
They see Miharu being attacked on the way down and jump off to try to save her despite now knowing she may be a liar, but Goreng can't do for her what she did for him. They kill her assailants, but only after she's been killed herself. And it's interesting to me also the level of emotion Goreng feels toward her, despite the possibility that she's betrayed his trust. In some way he seems to be willing to forgive her lies, or understand the desire for them, or maybe he only still wants to believe them himself.
At the final level, much lower than Imoguiri believed, level 333 to be exact, they encounter the miracle of all miracles, a child, healthy, alive, innocent. They have to choose between their food, their "message", and feeding the child, and in the end choose to feed the child. Baharat dies, Goreng steps off the platform, seemingly also to meet with his end, and the girl is sent back up the platform as the new "message".
I really liked the ending because they never tried to clarify the truth. It could've been a possible redemption for Miharu, if the child was hers. Goreng seemed to want to believe so, anyway, though the child was a girl, not a boy. If it was truly her bringing down food each month for her child, that would be proof that love and kindness had the power to break the unending cycle of selfishness, cruelty, and power that the platform created. But it was just as likely that Goreng, beaten, close to death, seeing hallucinations, could've dreamed up the whole thing. That there was never a child, only an illusion borne of his hopes. That he died in the false comfort of these hopes because he could no longer face a darker reality.
Watched this in the english dub, I think it would've been a little better in sub and much better if I understood spanish—there were many times when the translated english subtitles differed from the spoken dub and I wondered which was more true to the original. The emotions though, still felt like they came through for me, enough at least to feel a strange mixture of despair and hope at the MC's journey through this dark, disturbing world he threw himself into.
And maybe that was the most interesting part of it, that in some way this prison he'd found himself in was unbelievable and fantastical, impossible to fathom as reality, and in another way it could be taken as a reflection of the world we live in.
I'm generally don't try to read too far into metaphor, but I suppose this one was an exception. And maybe it was not so metaphorical at all: is it so far of a stretch to project from the levels in this bleak prison-like compound to the levels in society at large? Not really. There is something deeply cynical yet sadly just as believable about how all you might need is a little kindness to have enough for everyone, yet it's impossible to overcome human greed; how the random tier of society you are born into determines much more about your fate than you yourself. And even this cynicism is beset with its own cynicism—none of the prisoners truly know how many levels exist, they only have rumors, so how do they know that there's enough food for everyone even if they do restrict themselves? This is only what they've been told by "the Administration" (which I assume reads with a capital A and no one can tell me otherwise), and certainly no one trusts their motives. One part that sticks with me goes along the lines of, if we ever beat this experiment, they would learn how to stop us from doing it again.
Our MC Goreng is unique, because while he loses his innocence, he doesn't lose the principles he came in with, even if he tries to bury them beneath newfound cynicism. Goreng's first appearance is laughable—he came in to get a diploma and he brought a book to read. Trimagasi, his first roommate who curses those above and spits on those below, a very if-you-can't-beat-em-join-em guy, rightfully scoffs at him for his naivete, but they still strike up a friendship in the end. That is, until they are sent to a low level that gets little to no food, and Trimagasi decides that Goreng's meat is worth more than his friendship. To some extent, Trimagasi feels like a marker of the status quo: like most of the random cellmates above and below them, Trimagasi sees the selfishness of others and decides that he can't survive without being selfish himself. Maybe even enjoys the power he has to oppress those below him, since he knows that is all the power he will ever have.
Goreng is only saved because Miharu, a woman that rides down the platform every now and again to look for her son, frees him. Once freed, he kills Trimagasi in a fit of rage and eventually eats him. It feels like poetic justice and at the same time cursed inevitability. And strangely hopeful too, that even here someone might be looking for their child. That even here, someone might save you from death.
But as we learn soon, hope may be fleeting.
His next roommate Imoguiri, formerly a part of the organization who interviewed some of the people sent in and Goreng himself, is interesting in that she keeps trying to convince the people below her to share the food, in a very obnoxious, perscriptive way. She keeps repeating the same message in the same tone day after day, even though it's clear they won't listen to her and only find her irritating. It's not until Goreng tells them he'll shit in their food if they don't listen, that they start doing what she says. She's shocked at his methods even though they were much more effective than hers and accomplished the same goal, and affects some semblance of righteous indignation. I liken her to a mansplainer, a Karen of sorts. Even though her stance isn't wrong and she does want to help others with the last of her life—a noble goal and no one can take that away from her—she's only telling others what they already know, and without recognizing that her holier than thou attitude and position of privilege make her impossible to trust or sympathize with. She also seems to value the moral high ground over effectiveness, and when you look at it from that angle, her pleas about sharing food seem less about helping those below her and more about feeling like she's helping them. Self-satisfaction, really.
What's also interesting is that she questions why Goreng doesn't try to convince those above them to share the food, when she's never done that herself. It's a strange bit of hypocrisy, but also as if she subconsciously recognizes and possibly fears the power of those above them.
And like any good hypocrite, her "kindness" only lasts until she's hurt by the reality of their situation herself, as she witnesses her beloved dog being eaten by Miharu. I actually really enjoyed her character, since I feel like often it is so easy to tell someone else how they should solve their problems, without realizing how you would react in their shoes. She does do Goreng a final kindess though, by hanging herself so he can eat her body.
So now: why hope may be fleeting. Imoguiri tells Goreng that there's no children in the compound and that Miharu is a liar with no son, who rides down the platform to hurt others rather than help a child. She may be saying this out of spite for Miharu, but that doesn't seem likely—the details feel too specific to be a lie. However, it's interesting that the movie seems to leave it to us and Goreng to decide who we believe, or maybe, who we want to believe.
Goreng's final roommate is Baharat, a man with hopes to climb up to the top of the compound. He seems to believe that if he can get to the top he can escape, even though no one else has ever mentioned this possibility. He's a pretty straightforward allegory for glass ceilings: though he's so close to the top, the cruelty and racism of the ones above him keeps him down. Upon realizing that he'll never make it to the top unless he's directly sent there, he goes on a mad quest with Goreng to feed all the other prisoners below them, just to prove a point. That the system doesn't have to work this way. That it can be done.
They meet an old man on the way who tells them they must save a bit of the food to send up back, so that the 'Administration' knows that the impossible has happened. This is the only way to make their mad quest mean something, he says. Because if the 'Administration' doesn't find out, it'll be as if nothing happened at all. Another interesting take when today we present so much across social media, but it did make me wonder about the differences in effectiveness between action and demonstration, and feel a little sad that sometimes our good deeds only truly matter if they're seen by the "right people". And that even then it is up to those people to decide our fate—there's no telling what kind of change this would affect in the "Administration": it seemed more likely that they'd increase division between the levels than help anyone within.
They see Miharu being attacked on the way down and jump off to try to save her despite now knowing she may be a liar, but Goreng can't do for her what she did for him. They kill her assailants, but only after she's been killed herself. And it's interesting to me also the level of emotion Goreng feels toward her, despite the possibility that she's betrayed his trust. In some way he seems to be willing to forgive her lies, or understand the desire for them, or maybe he only still wants to believe them himself.
At the final level, much lower than Imoguiri believed, level 333 to be exact, they encounter the miracle of all miracles, a child, healthy, alive, innocent. They have to choose between their food, their "message", and feeding the child, and in the end choose to feed the child. Baharat dies, Goreng steps off the platform, seemingly also to meet with his end, and the girl is sent back up the platform as the new "message".
I really liked the ending because they never tried to clarify the truth. It could've been a possible redemption for Miharu, if the child was hers. Goreng seemed to want to believe so, anyway, though the child was a girl, not a boy. If it was truly her bringing down food each month for her child, that would be proof that love and kindness had the power to break the unending cycle of selfishness, cruelty, and power that the platform created. But it was just as likely that Goreng, beaten, close to death, seeing hallucinations, could've dreamed up the whole thing. That there was never a child, only an illusion borne of his hopes. That he died in the false comfort of these hopes because he could no longer face a darker reality.
