Angels and Devils: A Gregg Araki Retrospective
By Mai Ly Hagan
Collage by Jasmine Romani-Romero
From his early indie films to his larger hits like Mysterious Skin, Araki has explored themes of sexuality, rebellion, and queerness through his films. Recurring motifs of his work include biblical references, alien invasions, blink-or-you’ll-miss-it color coding, a cast of apathetic and reckless young adults, and the coming of the apocalypse. His soundtracks heavily feature alternative rock, especially hits from the shoegazing scene of the early 90s, with groundbreaking acts like My Bloody Valentine, Blur, Radiohead, Hole, and Slowdive—to name a few. The mise-en-scène of his films is impeccably designed, and the outfits that his cast of characters wear could easily be found on a teenager’s Pinterest board nowadays. Araki creates vivid worlds in order to express his philosophy on sex, drugs, youth, and society; he embraces an experimental filmmaking philosophy. Despite his rich body of work and contributions to the New Queer Cinema Canon, Araki has yet to transcend cult status. Seeing as it is Pride Month, it seems right to revisit my personal favorite LGBT+ director.
Like the period where he planted his roots, Araki’s films are colorful, surreal, and delightfully nihilistic. The films are time capsules not only into the music, fashion, and lingo of the era, but also the attitudes and fears. I admire Gregg Araki’s authenticity in the vivid stories he tells—using nostalgia and pop culture to tackle timeless ideas. In this retrospective, I’ll be revisiting Araki’s significant contributions to the world of cinema and the themes surrounding these works.
The Living End, 1992
The Living End was the first successful showcase of Araki’s talent. The film did fairly well among critics, receiving a nomination for the Grand Jury Prize at the 1992 Sundance Film Festival. Even with the occasional awkward acting and choppy editing due to budget constraints, there is a shining authenticity to this film. The film is rife with pop culture from the not-so-distant past. As with all of Araki’s films, the music features a heavy mix of alternative rock. The title for the movie itself is even borrowed from a track on The Jesus & Mary Chain’s classic shoegaze album Psychocandy.
In The Living End, two men cross each other’s paths and embark on a life-changing adventure: Luke (Mike Dyitri), a gun-slinging hustler who constantly has an unlit cigarette in his mouth; and John (Craig Gilmore), a reserved film critic who entered a two-week-long depression when Echo & the Bunnymen broke up. They are both HIV-positive. After a string of crimes occur, the pair ultimately decides to make a run for it; the result is a violent and nihilistic road trip. The film is a character study of two young men who must confront their mortality. We know virtually nothing about the characters before the events of the film occur besides their sexual history and pop culture interests. While Luke acts as the emotional force, John is the logical brake. Together, they must navigate their relationship amid a bigoted society which seems to be out to get them.
The violent, unfriendly depiction of Los Angeles Araki creates for this film is unfortunately the reality for many queer youth. While the film is directly about the AIDS crisis, it also reflects the experience of being young and queer during the epidemic. The LGBT+ community was, and still is, haunted by the loss of life and social stigma brought on by the AIDS crisis; it was a period that left a mark on all queer people who lived through it, consequently influencing younger generations of LGBT+ people. Araki takes this tragedy and turns it into something hopeful: a gay, action-packed roadtrip. By placing these addled protagonists in this violent, yet beautiful world, Araki gives the viewer hope. Yes, the world may be cruel and it may feel like everyone is out to get you, but there are people out there like you. Even if it is cruel and full of death, you can still find love, you can still appreciate the beauty of mundane things, and listen to your favorite record while you still have the time.
The Living End is a rare gem of its time; a film that isn’t afraid to be explicitly queer. The story captures the nihilism of a generation of queer youth following the AIDS epidemic; the loneliness, isolation, and dread associated with being queer to this day. Watching the characters in this film come to terms with their own death beckons the audience. We are confronted with what we would do in their circumstance; I imagine many of us would go out gun blazing, as the characters in this film do.
The Teen Apocalypse Trilogy (1992–1997)
The Teenage Apocalypse trilogy is a series of three consecutive films directed by Gregg Araki. They are Totally Fucked Up (1992), The Doom Generation (1995), and Nowhere (1997). Each film is its own individual narrative, but when viewed as a whole, it becomes a thorough exploration into youth culture in the 90s. Sex, drugs, violence are at the forefront of all of these films, stylishly packaged in the alternative culture depicted in the films. His films are pensive and meditative, while also delightfully colorful and corny. It’s a new type of teen movie, one which had never been seen until this point. He took the tropes of popular teen movies and spun them upon themselves, revealing the dark underbelly of being an adolescent. Araki aims to explore the more existential and difficult aspects of being a teenager, particularly in an increasingly technological and globalized age. As our world moves closer to a dystopia, the absurd fantasies of Araki become mundane.
I think youth culture would now be massively different if any of the Teen Apocalypse films had reached the status of, Clueless or 10 Things I Hate About You. The film’s outlook is decisively different from other movies in the era, depicting a much more explicit (yet accurate) portrayal of teenage life. In later years, shows like Skins and Euphoria would reach widespread acclaim for their depictions of teen life, though I think the showrunners owe a debt to Araki and other indie filmmakers of this era.
Totally Fucked Up, 1992
Totally Fucked Up feels almost like a serial compilation: various episodes following six queer teenagers who form a family unit after being ostracized by their own families. In an interview, Araki described Totally Fucked Up as "a rag-tag story of the fag-and-dyke teen underground ... a kinda cross between avant-garde experimental cinema and a queer John Hughes flick." The shots are woven together through pop culture tidbits (even the more auxiliary aspects of pop culture like Public Health ads and gay porn magazines) and creative mise-en-scène. The result is an intimate look into the queer concept of found family, slowly unraveling through the various glimpses we see of the characters lives, interests, and fantasies.
The Doom Generation, 1995
“There’s a thing around Hollywood that if the name (of your film) is kind of ominous, like chaos or disaster, then shit always happens. So you’re calling the gods to bring it when you call it Doom Generation,” said Gregg Araki for Dazed Magazine, in a foreboding prediction. When The Doom Generation showed at festivals, it fervently divided critics. Nevertheless, decades later, we can appreciate The Doom Generation for its unique take on the film, as well as unforgettable shots and bluntly delivered one-liners. (My personal favorite is: “You're not even human, are you? You're like a life-support system for a cock!”)
When Amy Blue (Rose McGowan) and Jordan White (Jamed Duval) meet Xavier Red (Johnathan Schaech,) they begin a series of misadventures—complete with plenty of lust and gore. The film reminds me of remnants of The Living End intermixed with the narrative structure of Park Chan Wook’s Oldboy (2003). Both films immerse our main characters and their companions in a nightmarish underworld filled with unexplained death and violence. Likewise, both films culminate in shocking and grotesque finales, certainly leaving an impact on the viewer for ages to come. However, while the horrific trials in Oldboy are explained to be a revenge plot; in The Doom Generation, the point isn’t to find an explanation, rather to revel in the chaos and insanity. The opening track of the film perfectly captures the movie we are getting ourselves into. The chorus could practically be the theme song to this movie: “God is dead / And no one cares / If there is a hell / I'll see you there.” The Doom Generation is barren and nihilistic; the perfect teen angst film, in my opinion.
Nowhere, 1997
Nowhere is described by its creators as “90210 on acid,” and I completely agree with that description. It feels like a slice of a much larger story; an intricate world separate from ours that we only witness a glimpse of in Nowhere. We are whisked right into the daily routines of these uber-cool LA teens. There isn’t really a plot, more like a series of events that unfold before our eyes. The film feels like an acid trip itself: a period of normalcy where you think “Is anything really happening?” Then suddenly the acid comes up and you’re left in a nightmarescape of a film.
Of all the films in this trilogy, Nowhere is the most visually stunning. The film is outfitted with plenty of meticulously-planned shots. With greater resources than his previous films, Araki was finally able to create the sceneries he wanted. The result is a fantastic, intricate set that feels like a saturated alternate reality. Like the title itself and the teens which we follow, the focus seems to be on nowhere. Araki presents us a world, and we must process it. Nowhere feels more like a surreal documentary; displaying found footage for us to decipher and make sense of.
If the images don’t convince you, maybe the music will. If you’re looking to get into 90s alternative rock, Gregg Araki films are a great place to start. Nowhere in particular has all the mainstream and underground classics of the era, featuring everything from Britpop, electronic, Radiohead, grunge and, of course, plenty of shoegaze.
This is How the World Ends, 2000
This Is How the World Ends was a rejected MTV pilot. The pilot follows a cast of wealthy LA teens going about their daily routines, though very much executed in an Araki fashion. The outfits, the incredible set designs, rich soundtrack, and one-liners are still there. This Is How the World Ends is a contender to be the fourth addition to the Teen Apocalypse trilogy, with its exploration of the same themes and following a similarly apathetic and reckless group of teenagers. The show is indulgent, vivid, and undeniably cool—if I were to be a teen watching it in the early 2000s, I could imagine this show having a major influence on me. It’s a shame the pilot didn’t become a show as I imagine the landscape of early 2000s teen television would be drastically different with this show. Luckily, the pilot is on YouTube for future generations to enjoy.
Mysterious Skin, 2004
Of all of Araki’s films, Mysterious Skin is the most acclaimed and widely known. It is a film that is impossible to forget; it sinks under your skin and reemerges when you least expect it. Mysterious Skin is a coming-of-age drama told through two characters. Brian (played by Brady Corbert) is an introverted man who struggles to find his path to independence. After watching a television program on aliens, he is convinced that he was abducted by aliens as a child, thus explaining the loss of some of his childhood memories. Meanwhile, Neil (played by Joseph Gordon Levitt) is a confident and brazen teen prostitute. Neil was sexually abused as a child, but views it as a sexual awakening rather than a traumatic experience. Despite the disparity between these characters, their dual narratives interweave to create a haunting tale about the lasting effects of childhood trauma onto our adult selves.
Despite its darkness, there is still a dreaminess that pervades the movie; this feeling of otherworldliness. It may be in part due to the soundtrack, which was composed by Robin Guthrie of Cocteau Twins and acclaimed composer Harold Budd. However, I’ve always been more drawn to the tracks Araki picks from popular artists, as I’ve found this man has impeccable taste when it comes to alternative rock. There is no greater pairing out there than Gregg Araki and Slowdive (whose tracks make an appearance in practically every Araki film). Luckily, Mysterious Skin features not just one, but two Slowdive tracks. In particular, Catch the Breeze from Slowdive’s debut album Just for a Day, captures the melancholia of the film. As Neil Halstead and Rachel Goswell sing:
Feels like all the days are gone
Just catch the breeze
You know you've had your fun
Rain washes waves down
And I, I want the world to cry
And I, I watch the winds you fly
The explosion of guitar mixed with Halstead’s introspective lyrics and Goswell’s ethereal vocals evokes a feeling of longing for a paradise that never was; a bittersweet type of wanderlust that perfectly suits the internal struggles of the two characters, frozen in their past while longing to break free.
As said in narration: “I wished with all my heart that we could just leave this world behind, rise like two angels in the night and magically disappear.”
Mysterious Skin feels noticeably more mature than its predecessors. Given the subject matter of the film, Araki removes the satire and fantasy from this film and to write it as a straight drama. Unlike other films by Araki where the evil and violence is attributed to supernatural or god-like forces, the true evil here are other humans. These shifts in writing give the work itself a much more serious and bleak worldview. Araki presents us an all-too-familiar study of evil: the man-made kind (also the most sinister form of evil, because it is the one that festers in all of our lives). There is no omniscient force, no guardian angels to save these children; only the monstrosity of humankind. We are not given an explanation to the actions of those who harm the characters, we only see the effects of these evils on the victims. The human weight is what makes this film unforgettable.
While the story is about the horrors of grooming, it addresses a wider societal theme of trauma. Trauma is unavoidable and a part of living. The pain we feel in this film lies within ourselves and our own trauma that we cannot forget. The polarity between Neil and Brian means we are able to find aspects of ourselves (and our inner child) in both characters. We can choose to either fight (like Neil) or fly (like Brian.) Unfortunately, no matter which path you take, you must eventually address the root of your trauma and pain.
Smiley Face, 2007
After the haunting Mysterious Skin, Smiley Face is a 180 spin. If Mysterious Skin was a straight drama, Smiley Face is a straight comedy. Aside from some occasional creative editing and the Araki-esque imagery, the film is pretty much your standard stoner comedy. A cheerful, colorful film that is a deserved break from Mysterious Skin.
This film stars the likes of Anna Faris, John Krakinski (The Office), Danny Masterson (That 70s Show), and John Cho (of Harold and Kumar fame, another quality stoner comedy). The premise is that a stoner with munchies eats an entire plate of cupcakes without knowing they’re pot brownies. In a THC-filled haze, Anna Faris must go through her tasks and responsibilities through the day while stoned out of her mind. Smiley Face has been compared to the 2019 hit, Uncut Gems (directed by the Safdie Brothers) in terms of its narrative structure, and I wholeheartedly concur. Both films start off with a character who is content in life but wants something more (whether it be millions of dollars or some cupcakes they’re not allowed to eat). In the character’s efforts to get what they desire, they end up entangled in a series of catastrophes that only get worse as the story goes along, leading to some Araki-esque moments, like Anna Faris bearing the Communist Manifesto and some unexpected skull-fucking.
Smiley Face is one entertaining trainwreck, complete with plenty of weed jokes and celebrity cameos. Plus, Anna Faris is as hilarious as a bumbling stoner and Roscoe Lee Brown stars as himself. It’s definitely more of a casual, turn-off-your-brain-and-enjoy film, exactly as Araki intended.
The Now Apocalypse, 2019
Gregg Araki has recently re-entered the world of television. Araki is a co-writer and co-producer of the show, and you can absolutely see his artistic flair even in the trailer. The show has gotten mixed reviews, with critics mainly hating it, but the fans love it. If it interests you, check it out. I haven’t watched it, so no further comment.
I’ve always enjoyed listening to people write about what they love. I’d rather read a thoughtful veneration of your favorite artist than another scathing review. Art truly reflects the spectator; we learn so much about people from the way they interpret art. What viewers choose to remember, and choose to write about, says so much about who they are—a testament to the power of artistic and individual expression. Most people discover an artist during their teen years that fundamentally changes their worldview. Sometimes, an artist affects you enough for you to write meandering retrospectives about them. To me, Gregg Araki is that special director. I just happened to watch Mysterious Skin and the Teen Apocalypse trilogy at the right time in my life—the time when I needed it, which made all the difference. In the end, this article has really just been a meditation into a director who I really admire. Sometimes, that’s all an article needs. I’ll end this by asking you: What is it you love about the directors you love? Is it their life story? Their messages? Or maybe it’s something deeper, something intrinsic? How has their work affected you as a person? Would you be the same without them? Art has, and will be, until the end of the world, a way for people to truly understand who they are; to understand the circumstances of the world.