BY JOEL SWANSON

In print | Published September 18, 2008

There are probably few more loathsome literary archetypes than the lonely, alienated heterosexual male chauvinist who views women not as actual humans with their own desires, but as mere objects on which to project his own unrealized longings and desires. This figure, seen in works everywhere from Hemingway to Bukowski, is rarely able to find any real contentment or companionship in life and is generally left searching for an elusive happiness that is perpetually beyond grasp. “Elegy,” a recent film by Spanish director Isabel Coixet, considers the pitfalls of such a character, but despite strong performances from the actors and actresses, the film ultimately proves too problematic to leave a positive lasting impression.

“Elegy,” based upon the Philip Roth novella “The Dying Animal,” tells the story of David Kepesh, an aging professor of literature and sometime public intellectual, played with appropriate ennui by Ben Kingsley. Kepesh is unable to maintain any lasting relationships with the women to whom he is attracted and instead spends his life moving hedonistically from one object of desire to the next, not stopping to form any real emotional attachment to any of them. We learn that he was married once, during the 1960s, but that he abandoned his wife and young son to pursue fleeting relationships with other women; he later claims to his son that this was the only honest option he had available at the time. When the film opens up, he is in a fairly long-term romantic rendezvous with a mistress whom he met under shady circumstances, but there is no evidence that their relationship consists of anything deeper than simply meeting once every few weeks for sex.

Kepesh’s world changes with the arrival of Consuela Castillo (Penélope Cruz), a student in one of his literature classes. At first, he seems to view her as nothing more than another opportunity for sexual conquest of a younger woman, as a sort of fountain of youth. Indeed, it appears that he has an entire process planned for wooing students of his; he holds a cocktail party for students in his classes after their grades have been handed in, as a means of socializing with students in whom he has taken a prurient interest. He is not shy about why he is doing this; he tells the viewers through narration that he is merely speaking to Castillo at this party because he wants to have sex with her. Soon after, the two develop a sort of romantic relationship, but for most of the time, he seems to view her as nothing more than a statue for him to admire and use. When she shows any signs of having desires of her own, he becomes intensely jealous and tries to follow her around to make sure she is not having any outside relationships — all the while maintaining his liaison with his longtime mistress. Such jealousy and disregard inevitably leads to the breakup of their relationship, but by the end of the movie, Kepesh has begun to show signs that for the first time in his life, he has learned to genuinely have feelings for someone as a unique individual.

The problem with all of this is that we are supposed to feel sympathy for Kepesh as someone who is desperately clinging to his lost youth and is unable to come to terms with his rapidly encroaching mortality. His attempts to form such connection with others, even if purely carnal in nature, are supposed to be if not laudable at least understandable. But it is difficult to feel much sympathy for a man who has obviously tossed aside any such chances for genuine human connection in favor of a chauvinistic, phallocentric view of interpersonal relations. We know very little about his relationship with his former wife, but his selfish, disdainful interactions with his son seem to indicate little desire to work for any meaningful familial relationships. His interactions with women are marked by a complete lack of any regard for their needs and desires. It is his own selfishness and inability to consider Castillo’s needs and wants that dooms his relationship with her. I found myself spending much of the movie wishing she would leave him sooner.

Thus, in the end, “Elegy” is a film that is easy to admire but difficult to connect with or enjoy. We spend nearly two hours watching the protagonist sabotage any efforts we might make to extend him any understanding. Ultimately, Kepesh is simply a pitiful man, too blinded by his own sexism to ever attain happiness in this life and too selfish to ever assume the responsibilities necessary to grow up and maintain adult relationships. Beneath every male chauvinist is a sniveling, overgrown shell of a boy.

Joel is a junior. You can reach him at jswanso1@swarthmore.edu.

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