A fic-review of White Noise (2022), produced by Uri Singer,
directed by Noah Baumbach and based on the novel by Don DeLillo
Before
I begin this report,
let me introduce
myself. My name is Alex
Gold. I’m a
Brooklyn guy now living
in Manhattan’s
West Village and an NYU
alumnus with a degree
in film directing.
I’ve made a few
shorts, directed two
episodes of a flopped
TV series, and shot a
pilot that will never
see the light of day.
That said, let’s
get to the point: the
text.
Once upon a time, I was
walking along Sixth
Avenue in the Village,
soaking in the
street’s
symphony: people
talking, cars honking,
a fire truck siren
wailing, the
subway’s rumble
echoing through a
manhole. But what truly
caught my attention was
a man cosplaying as
Elvis Presley. Maybe he
was heading to Times
Square to make money
like Spider-Man, Elmo,
Super Mario, and other
pop-culture characters.
I kept walking, and
just ahead two men were
arguing about the great
subway game last night
at Citi Field. A few
steps later, I heard a
man on an Uber bike
pedaling past, singing
Sondheim’s
“Send in the
Clowns.” Not far
after that, two Latina
women were complaining
about the weather. A
little further on,
three beautiful girls
were recording videos
for their social media,
dancing and talking
nonsense to no one in
particular, messages
that, ironically,
countless people would
later view. Then it
struck me: when I die,
will I lose all that
sound, or not?
I stepped into Bar
Pitti, tucked between
West 11th and West 10th
Streets. The host led
me to a small wooden
table, where I ordered
a glass of wine along
with my usual: the
Pappardelle alla
Fiesolana.
While I was savoring my
meal, I caught
fragments of two
conversations around
me. At the table to my
left, two men were deep
in talk about Wall
Street. To my right, a
bearded man leaned
toward a woman,
explaining how he had
learned German in order
to study the
monstrosities the
Führer committed
against the Jewish
people. A few minutes
later, the two
businessmen finished
their lunch and walked
out, leaving only the
echo of their words
behind. The bearded man
and the woman remained,
speaking of the many
events that had
hecatombed the world in
the postwar years.
After finishing my
pasta and wine, I
ordered a drip coffee.
Just then, the host led
a couple to the table
beside mine, the very
one where the Wall
Street men had been
sitting. As they
settled in, I realized
I had seen them before.
They were the movie
couple from the cinema,
Noah Baumbach and Greta
Gerwig. They placed
their order and, while
waiting, began to talk
about life, love, loss,
and everything in
between.
Their words drifted
across the narrow space
between our tables, and
I couldn’t help
but listen. I’ll
attempt to reproduce
the dialogue: Noah
said, “It's
an interesting
exercise. A mental
inventory of what's
left. The mind is a
marvelous
instrument.”
Greta replied, “I
don't want to think
about it. I want to
think about things we
have. The kids. The
supermarket”.
Noah continued,
“We have those
things because we
don't know
what's coming. We
build these systems of
comfort. But they all
lead back to the same
question.” And
then Greta said,
“Jack, promise
me…” But
just as she spoke, the
waiter approached to
refill my coffee, and I
couldn’t hear the
rest. Still, that word
“Jack”
lingered in my mind.
Who’s Jack?
A few days later, I was
in my apartment on
Grove Street, reading
White Noise by Don
DeLillo, when I
realized that the
conversation I had
overheard between Noah
and Greta was lifted
straight from the
novel. That’s
when I understood
Baumbach’s
proposal: to adapt not
only the book’s
words but also its
sounds to the screen,
giving deeper meaning
to the transposition of
a literary work into
cinema. The director
didn’t just
capture dialogue; he
captured the sounds
that surround us, the
ones that shape and
sustain our identity.
Hear, hear, hear…
a film that deserves a
second look, or rather,
a second listen.
END
Note: The movie
is available on
Netflix, and the book
can be found on Amazon,
Barnes & Noble,
Strand Bookstore, the
Drama Book Shop, and
many other places.
IMDb: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt6160448/?ref_=ext_shr_lnk
Photos: Netflix
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