Please check out this link for a short film I’m working on. I think it’s a relatable concept and I’d really appreciate any support you can offer. It means a lot!
11 December, 2013
Mark and Jay Duplass exhibit the mundane elements of everyday life with The Puffy Chair, a road-trip film that explores these banalities as its self-centered characters go on a journey yet essentially do nothing extraordinary except watch television and disagree with each other. This quasi-documentary glimpse into the triteness of life utilizes naturalism and a low-budget style that diverges from conventional Hollywood filmmaking. The Duplass brothers satirize interpersonal issues when blurring the lines between their real and fictional relationships, with family members and significant others playing parts alongside Mark Duplass in this independent film. With breakdowns in communication, the duo mocks the quickness of romantic relationships in Hollywood films, questioning viewer’s acceptance for this hyper-compressed construction of time. Through presenting failures in communication as an antithesis to Hollywood conventions, The Duplass brothers’ mumblecore film anticlimactically and naturalistically shows the disintegration of romantic relationships.
With the approach toward naturalism, the camera often spins around in search of the action rather than knowing where the next moment takes place. Comparable to Dogma 95 films, no shots exist without the shakiness of the digital camera recording the action like a home video. Minimal sets and no special lighting also become evident, enhancing the sense of real life similar to other independent films of the 2000s like Half Nelson. In doing so, the Duplass brothers look at relationships through the comedy and entertainment that comes from moment-based, dysfunctional scenarios rather than life-altering, climactic events. Regarding relationships of even unlikable characters, this brings viewers a more genuine identification that Hollywood films cannot re-create without this unpredictable, home-video style.
Rhett and Amber’s relationship comes without much build-up. The film stops following them in what seems like an eventful day after they meet. Instead, it stays with Joel and Emily in all their dullness, watching television and talking. This does not further the plot other than exhibiting the unexceptional happenings of everyday life, not letting the film skip over any of these mundane activities in pursuit of something more interesting somewhere else. Viewers only see the promise of Rhett and Amber’s first encounter, yet the suddenness of their marriage forces the audience into dooming the relationship rather than interpreting it as a hopeful scenario. Joel also acknowledges the ridiculousness of the situation, yet he allows for suspending his disbelief during the surprise engagement party that escalates into becoming a wedding.
The Puffy Chair’s strength as an independent rather than big-budget, studio film comes from its improvisational style. This quality occurs not only with performances, but also with the cinematography. A camcorder aesthetic gives an impromptu sense of unscripted urgency when the camera, often refocusing and providing extreme close-up, gives viewers an intimacy with the characters while maintaining an atmosphere of movement and spontaneity. Though reliant on this spontaneity, this wedding scene makes an overt effort at scripting lines when Rhett repeats his wedding vows after what Joel dictates. Still, unlike the performances for typical, Hollywood films, Rhett cannot say the lines verbatim even within moments of Joel’s dictation. In this scene, Rhett also makes minor alterations to his brother’s words, exemplifying the immediate disconnect between the way the characters communicate in the film as well as Rhett’s incapability in promising commitment to Amber.
This scene also makes an anticlimactic parody of the fast-paced romances in Hollywood films; Rhett meets his wife and ends their relationship within a day. In her article, “Against Hollywood: American Independent Film as a Critical Cultural Movement,” Sherry B. Ortner says, “Where Hollywood films seek to provide escape and fantasy, independent films seek to tell realist or hyper(bolic)-realist stories about the world as it really is, in all its ugliness and cruelty, or all its weirdness and strangeness…” (Ortner 10-12). Ortner describes how Hollywood idealizes situations in a way unlike independent films. Emily, Joel’s girlfriend who deludes herself with romanticizing relationships, falls into this Hollywood mentality that separates her from Joel.
Emily spends her free time watching movies and hoping for pop-culture reenactments, like Joel holding speakers outside her window. These moments also show that other films exist as fictions and entertainment for parodies within the world of this Duplass brother’s mumblecore. In creating these Hollywood ideals, Emily convinces herself of the possibilities for an unrealistic, happy ending for Rhett and Amber even though the relationship disintegrates as fast as it ignited. Even the eBay-bought chair, which Rhett believes taints their group relationship, meets an anticlimactic end. Rhett lights it on fire and within that minute, a stranger extinguishes it, putting out the flames to a potentially dramatic instance without letting the moment build up.
The moment becomes prosaic in the same way Emily and Joel’s relationship dissolves without a grand payoff. In the opening scene, when Emily and Joel fight and she storms off, this dramatic occurrence fizzles when Joel walks back inside his house instead of chasing after her. Later in the film, Joel says, “There’s a lot of things in this world we pursue that seem really important to us and we get wrapped up in.” In a Hollywood film, one attributes this pursuit to winning over the significant other. In this film, Joel fights harder for the trivial upholstering of an unappealing chair than for his relationship.
The final scene also removes itself from Hollywood conventions by rejecting the happy ending. As Ortner writes, “…Hollywood films are in the business of fantasy and illusion, independent films… are usually highly realist; and finally, where Hollywood films classically have happy endings, independent films rarely do” (2). Here in the film’s final moments, Joel and Emily break up. While they argue with each other throughout the film, no big fight occurs within their splitting up. They make an amicable departure to their relationship, hugging each other for closure to a relationship they leave behind. Dissimilarly, Hollywood films prefer the happy, boy-gets-the-girl endings or scenes of aftermath in showing how characters cope with the break ups, like with He’s Just Not That Into You’s network narrative exemplifying each of these scenarios.
The Puffy Chair provides neither of those alternatives. Instead, it opts for authenticity, especially with Mark Duplass and Katie Aselton being a couple while playing the parts of two people in a relationship. In addition, the non-actor parents of Mark and Jay Duplass play Joel and Rhett’s parents in the film. By doing so, The Puffy Chair creates an overlap between real life and the fictitious plot of the film by blending actors and characters. This authenticity and naturalism gives viewers the impression of watching what happens in the real world rather than an upbeat ending one hopes for in a conventional, Hollywood comedy. If Hollywood films sugarcoat or sweep away the harsh realities of opposites attracting in relationships or sudden romance, independent films such as The Puffy Chair use tough love for reminding viewers of the problems present in these scenarios.
Unlike Hollywood films, The Puffy Chair approaches break-ups as the result of rushed relationships where characters lack commitment. The lack of communication between Emily and Joel exemplifies two people with different agendas. She wants marriage while he confronts her for unrealistic expectations of him. They stay together until the randomness of life happens on a road trip where they learn their differences, break up, and implicitly move on. The Duplass brothers mimic the naturalness of real-life disagreements, like neorealist films do in presenting the everyman and using non-professional actors for authenticity, instead of giving viewers an escape into the excitement of studio-concocted productions about finding everlasting love. In a way, The Puffy Chair even makes a joke of seeking excitement from Hollywood cinema when Rhett says, “So we pretty much have the whole day to do nothing,” which they do, so they go see a movie.
Half Nelson. Dir. Ryan Fleck. Screenplay by Ryan Fleck and Anna Boden. Perf. Ryan Gosling. Thinkfilm and Hunting Lane Films Present, 2006. DVD.
He’s Just Not That Into You. Dir. Ken Kwapis. Screenplay by Abby Kohn and Mark Silverstein. Prod. Drew Barrymore. Perf. Justin Long, Jennifer Aniston, Ben Affleck, and Bradley Cooper. Warner Bros., 2009. DVD.
Ortner, Sherry B. “Against Hollywood: American Independent Film as a Critical Cultural Movement.” HAU: Journal of Ethnographic Theory 2.2 (2012): 1-21. HAU Journal. Web. 6 Dec. 2013.
The Puffy Chair. Dir. Jay Duplass and Mark Duplass. Screenplay by Mark Duplass and Jay Duplass. Perf. Mark Duplass, Katie Aselton, and Rhett Wilkins. Roadside Attractions, 2005. DVD.
OVERALL RATING: Do I really have to rate this? 0.5/4
This movie is so fascinating if you want to see obnoxious people do cocaine in a car, or cocaine in a club bathroom, or sit in a closet. There’s the added bonus of seeing repetitive security camera footage. Oh, and you’ll love all the paparazzi videos of no-talent celebrities that you never cared about seeing before. Cutting edge. Seriously, how much money did they give Harris Savides and Christopher Blauvelt to do this?
Vapid, obnoxious characters everywhere. I doubt their real-life counterparts fare any better, but this is a film. If an audience is going to spend money and 2 hours of their time watching these losers, then at least add some dynamics. None of their underdeveloped, pathetic backstories do anything for sympathy. I stand by my opinion that Emma Watson is not a very good actress. Her American accents create painful movie-going experiences and that goes against the fact that the person she portrays in this garbage probably cannot even articulate the alphabet. I’m not going to bother talking specifically about anyone else because they all bore me beyond belief.
The only director note this movie probably had was, “sound annoying and look busy by snorting cocaine.” At least Sofia Coppola stays behind the cameras nowadays. That’s the only kindness this film does for us, but we’ll still never forget The Godfather III. I’d expect a career of cinematic brilliance as an apology for that, but it seems like the joke is on everyone else for letting her make this film and reminding us that she doesn’t understand characters, not even in writing. There are more trips to Paris Hilton’s closet than character development in this film. We all know people take selfies but we really don’t need to see an entire movie of it. The film presents such an awkward structure as well, but
the nonlinear moments and voiceover cut-ins add nothing interesting. This entire film could’ve been 30 minutes long and still told the same dull story. It could’ve been 10 minutes long and maybe we’d have an interesting short film, or zero minutes because it shouldn’t exist in the first place.
The music is the only thing that works for this film… until the characters sing along to nearly every song.
On April 20th, 1999, two teenagers killed a teacher and twelve other students before taking their own lives in the infamous Columbine High School massacre. August 6th of that same year marked the release of David Fincher’s Fight Club.
Claudia Eller takes note of this in her Los Angeles Times article, “Controversy Could KO or Punch Up Fight Club”:
Despite some critics praising the film as a groundbreaking masterpiece, Fight Club is being released at a sensitive time… In the wake of the Columbine massacre and other violent outbreaks around the country… Fox executives are hoping audiences will look below the surface and connect with the film’s satirical, existential themes and overarching comment on the modern world and the dehumanizing influences of such things as consumerism. (Eller, pars. 2-4)
Pink soap then became the film’s iconic marketing image as opposed to a more violent, bloodied picture. Still, with Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction paving the way earlier in the decade, Fight Club itself stays true to a postmodern, remorseless, and highly masculine take on movie violence. In James Craine and Stuart C. Aitken’s article, “Street Fighting: Placing the Crisis of Masculinity in David Fincher’s Fight Club,” they write that, “…the crisis of masculinity is in large part about the marginalization of men” (Craine and Aitken 289). Craine and Aitken acknowledge that Fight Club’s narrator echoes frustration over this emasculation through his vicarious life as Tyler Durden, who tears down the constructs of his feminine, corporate society. For Craine and Aitken, Tyler’s destructive desires and “transcendental“ projects come from the need for revenge on society.
I agree that revenge is prominent in Fight Club and Project Mayhem, but I disagree when in their article, Craine and Aitken say that this is what the “lust” of Fincher’s film is about (290). Revenge is evidently at the violent surface, but the deeper catharsis for these working-class men with their rebellious fighting and mayhem is the search for redemption, justice, and freedom in a society that ironically consumes them by turning them into consumers. Complete freedom is this “lust” while revenge—such as the “I felt like destroying something beautiful” mentality from Fight Club—is simply the manifestation of seeking this freedom. Fight Club is not a film about just power-hungry, vengeance-seeking “marginalized” men. In addition, Craine and Aitken claim that Fight Club evolves into a destructive movement with a greater purpose. This movement is Project Mayhem, and it enables transcendence for the unnamed narrator. However, the narrator makes valiant efforts in the film’s third act–such as hiding Marla and deactivating bombs—for the undoing of Tyler’s destructive plan and leading to the narrator’s ultimate separation from Tyler and the imagined persona’s Marx-like endeavors. This suggests that Project Mayhem’s greater purpose is a misguided one. Taking the Fight Club revolution too far into becoming Project Mayhem leads the narrator into a confrontation between his own personalities, ending with the acceptance of a middle ground that completes his character arch for the better.
At the start of this character arch, the narrator from Jim Uhls’ screenplay reluctantly sifts through his life, which consists of product recall and “single-serving friends.” Edward Norton’s narrator with the humdrum voice-overs is nobody special, yet at the same time he is the everyman.
Craine and Aitken’s article acknowledges these innumerable, underdog males of society:
The crisis of masculinity within Fight Club suggests that men seek reassurance that other men think misanthropic thoughts. The film gratifies repressed rage and resentment simmering underneath men’s civilized chassis—it is a fantasy for the bookish males of the world that, if tested physically, they might surprisingly triumph. The film is about the lust for revenge and the worst kind of masculinity. (290)
These downtrodden men, as suggested, want victory through enacting revenge. They indulge in this vengeance-seeking attitude through the realization that other men feel the same; Craine and Aitken claim it is a common bond suggesting that revenge is okay if one is not alone in thinking so.
Here lies the cinematic echo of Friedrich Nietzsche’s herd ideas from The Gay Science:
Morality is herd instinct in the individual…throughout the longest era of humanity, there was nothing more frightful than feeling single. Being alone, perceiving as a single person, neither obeying nor ruling, constituting an individual…To be oneself…The inclination to do so would be perceive as madness, for being alone was bound up with every misery and every fear…the more unfreely one acted, the more that herd instinct rather than personal sense expressed itself in one’s action, the more moral one took oneself to be. (Nietzsche 138-9)
Nietzsche argues that following the community relinquishes individuality by enforcing the notion that morality comes from groupthink. Acting as a freethinking individual finds its equivalence in acting as an ignominious dissenter. Human evolution is a constant reminder that groups stick together and protect each other because they share common values. Even so, those in positions of power ultimately control thought. So for the powerless, white-collar workers in Uhls’ script, Tyler Durden says, “Advertisements have us chasing cars and clothes, working jobs we hate so we can buy shit we don’t need. We are the middle children of history, with no purpose or place.” These men reach a boiling point, but the irony is that the members of Fight Club eventually create a new, proletarian-like herd after breaking from the herd mentality of their emasculating, consumer society.
This herd is still not seeking the mere revenge that Craine and Aitken argue for because it does not wreak vengeful havoc at random by bringing Fight Club to fruition. No guidance or secret, males-only homework assignments are needed if throwing adult tantrums is the sole purpose of the members. The men need Tyler Durden before Fight Club can even exist. This cues the hero-worshiping of Tyler Durden after he rounds up his sheepish crew. In his Chicago Sun-Times review of Fight Club, Roger Ebert acknowledges Pitt’s character as, “…a shadowy, charismatic figure, able to inspire a legion of men …” (Ebert 305). Durden becomes the messiah for the culturally emasculated. The male character most literally reduced to femininity, Robert “Bob” Paulson, refers to Tyler as “…a great man,” and later in the film, Tyler vehemently states his claim on Project Mayhem; “We’re not killing anyone, man, we’re setting them free.” Pitt’s character wears his philosophies on the sleeves of his flashy, red-leather jacket, making him undoubtedly direct in nature, yet Tyler never says, “We are getting our revenge.” In fact, only once in Uhls’ script does the word “revenge” appear. Freedom is Tyler’s ultimate goal, but first the men—specifically the narrator—must find a certain kind of redemption.
Instead of Craine and Aitken’s argument for revenge is a need for this redemption, which manifests at the start of many brutal and voluntary beatings. From what could Edward Norton’s narrator, a white-collar employee with a strong case of insomnia, want redemption? The answer is his life—which he experiences dreary eyed at Xerox machines or with subliminal flashes of Tyler. This indicates that Norton’s character loses his mind to the dullness of his reality; sparks of a new reality, along with a surrogate personality, flicker in his dissociating mind. Until the spark of the narrator’s Tyler personality sets fire to his ostentatious apartment, his very existence is polluted with materialism over necessity. In a surreal and creative mise-en-scène walk-through of his apartment five minutes after the film’s start, the narrator exhibits his dwellings like a virtual furniture catalog, calling himself a, “slave to the Ikea-nesting syndrome.” This scene suggests that material objects define him. When this very apartment becomes the site of a seemingly random explosion, the ruinous setting symbolizes what happens in the narrator’s mind; his overindulgent, consumer subconscious throws itself away into the scattered rubble.
He then calls Tyler and begins a downgraded life, frequenting the basements of seedy bars and, as Craine and Aitken mention, living in a desolate, “…dilapidated house on a toxic waste site at the edge of town…” on Paper Street where the lights eerily flicker and the running water is as nauseating as the film’s yellowish-green color scheme (290). This setting also reflects the narrator’s newfound state of mind, which Craine and Aitken do not analyze. The house is always dark and in disarray, much like the narrator’s mind and hazy, double life. The setting is isolated and toxic, just as the narrator’s relationship with Tyler becomes. There is figurative meaning to this setting, just as Tyler is more than just a host to the newly homeless narrator. In his review, Ebert writes, “[The narrator] turns to Tyler for shelter…he gets more than that,” (305). As Tyler, the narrator destroys
his own apartment for redemption because material destruction is the instigating act of a man saving himself from the error of his corporately enslaved ways.
This idea of servitude to consumerist culture is why men join Fight Club, escaping from their regular routines. The men are all the same with, as Tyler says while the members encircle him and the camera follows his pacing, “all this potential…squandered…an entire generation pumping gas, waiting tables – slaves with white collars…” The focus is on Tyler because his words embody the psyche of the generation of men around him: men who fight each other in an unattractive basement until blood spews and they bruise internally like the violence is a support group activity that brings catharsis. Tyler the Messiah lays out his Fight Club commandments and illuminates the injustices of society. The camera zooms in on only Tyler’s close-up while he plays directly with the emotions of the crowd saying, “We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars, but we won’t. We’re slowly learning that fact. And we’re very, very pissed off.” This cinematography suggests that all attention is on Tyler, without showing other’s reactions, because he speaks for the group. He is not only speaking from the narrator’s subconscious, but for everyone else’s as well. Members then beat each other, fighting what they each represent: the slavery. This is justice. The next step is freedom, where Tyler Durden is Nietzsche’s ideal man from The Gay Science.
In section 283 of The Gay Science, Nietzsche elaborates on his concept of the “Overman,” discussing how an “Overman” should live:
…This requires many preparatory, brave human beings, who certainly cannot arise from nothing…who have an inner penchant for seeking in all things what is to be overcome in them…more endangered human beings…happier human beings! For, believe me, the secret to reaping the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment from existence is to live dangerously! …Send your ships into unexplored seas! …Be robbers and conquerors so long as you cannot be rulers or possessors, you knowing ones! (143)
Taking chances, being a leader, and lacking a fear of death, loss, or self-analysis are essential for an “Overman.” Society should not predetermine the life of the individual. Life is a waste without experiences of merit, so “living dangerously” is the subtext to Uhls’ script whenever Tyler says, “How much can you know about yourself if you‘ve never been in a fight? I don’t want to die without any scars,” or, “God Damn! We just had a near-life experience, fellas.” This “Overman” is Tyler, free in every way and ambitious without being driven by any Christian morals or notions. Ebert’s attacks the violence of Fight Club in his review, but summarizes Nietzsche’s philosophical influence in saying Fight Club is, “…a secret society of men who meet in order to find freedom and self-realization…” (305). In this way, freedom lies in finally becoming what one always hoped for. This is especially exemplified in the scene where the narrator realizes that him and Tyler Durden are one person.
In this Fight Club scene, Pitt’s Tyler tells Norton’s narrator, “You were looking for a way to change your life. You could not do this on your own. All the ways you wish you could be, that’s me. I look like you want to look, I fuck like you want to fuck, I am smart, capable, and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not.” They face each other in this twisted encounter where the narrator is actually confronting himself while the Dust Brother’s score plays subtly beneath the dialogue, mocking at the narrator’s state of mind and oncoming, head-spinning blackout. In discussing this scene, Craine and Aitken refer to Tyler as, “…the insane ideal ego of the liberal existential subject…” (292). Tyler is this “ideal ego,” but all of his actions come with logic and stem from the narrator’s own subconscious, which rationalizes Tyler as the fulfiller of all that lacks in the narrator’s life. Tyler merely has a strong sense of freedom and complete lack of restraint. When accused of insanity in Fight Club, Tyler wittingly retorts, “No, you’re insane.”
Tyler states these claims on being freer than the narrator, yet Craine and Aitken still refer to Tyler’s efforts as revenge-driven. Specifically, the two turn attention toward Project Mayhem, calling it a revenge mission of sorts by saying, “Project Mayhem is [the narrator’s] revenge, an avenue for anger at a system that contrives, and is contrived by, patriarchally-based hegemonic masculinity,” (293). Craine and Aitken argue that Project Mayhem is, “…more purposeful…escalating mischief…a finale of spectacular urban violence that…fosters a return of the sense of individual power lost to men through their marginalization in society,” (289). I disagree. Project Mayhem does not serve a higher purpose. What does it accomplish? The narrator, in fact, tries to undo the tangled mess of potential damage of Project Mayhem. Project Mayhem is now the Fight Club evolution taken too far.
Craine and Aitken suggest that this use of extravagant, “…spectacularization of violence” allows the narrator “to transcend…limitations” (291). I agree that Project Mayhem is extreme, since it vanquishes credit scores and gets members killed, but it is not a positive undertaking for the narrator. The only positive outcome of Project Mayhem is that the narrator realizes the absurdity of it and ultimately rejects Tyler. Norton’s character does dissolve habit and break away from his mundane, daily routine, which Craine and Atiken acknowledge, but this does not mean that he transcends because the narrator does not fully become Tyler. By the end of the film, when the financial towers crumble and in the unconventional romance of Fight Club, Edward Norton’s narrator ends up with Helena Bonham Carter’s Marla, the narrator finds an area of compromise in himself. The narrator is not the same man from the start of the film, nor is he at the extreme of being Tyler Durden.
Jean-Paul Sartre, in his Freedom and Responsibility section of Being and Nothingness, explains this:
…Man being condemned to be free carries the weight of the world on his shoulders; he is responsible for the world and for himself as a way of being…Anyway you look at it, it is a matter of choice…to live this…is to choose myself through it and to choose it through my choice of myself…if it is going to be four empty years, then it is I who bear the responsibility of this. (Sartre 252-4)
If Tyler Durden embodies the ideas of Nietzsche, then here, the narrator exemplifies Sartre.
This Sartre passage suggests that responsibility for freedom is a demanding choice and one is equally as responsible for that choice itself. Applied to the narrator, this means that he cannot continue living a vicarious life through Tyler Durden because he must acknowledge that he is responsible for his own actions. If one considers Tyler’s assignments as levels of a 12-step, support-group program, Project Mayhem should not be the narrator’s the final step toward an ultimate goal. In actuality, he tries separating himself from Tyler’s unconventional therapy as much as he can by the film’s end, leading to a climactic pseudo-suicide as a last resort. The narrator returns to reality without Tyler Durden: a reality that is not filled with a hyper-surreal world of violence and a foggy sense of insomnia.
Fight Club is not a revenge film, nor is it a film that says, “Be someone else and do anything at all.” Fight Club is about fully being oneself, unconsumed by other external factors, and living freely in each of life’s moments, with full consciousness of that choice. There are consequences to actions and avoiding responsibilities, and Fight Club ends with that reminder. Uhls ends Fight Club with a punch line when the narrator, with his bleeding cheek, raspy voice, and hand reaching out for Marla, says to her, “You met me at a very strange time in my life,” while Fincher has the pair stare off into an evening of destruction, signifying Tyler’s last word for society. Likewise, when the film reel, like one of Tyler’s part-time-job tricks, shows signs of needing a projector change preceding an unexpected, obscene flash, the audience is left wondering whether or not the influence of Tyler Durden ever really dies. Then, in the perfectly appropriate Pixies song, “Where is my mind?” Black Francis sings, “Your head will collapse/but there’s nothing in it/and you’ll ask yourself/where is my mind?” The narrator rids the presence of Tyler from his subconscious, but these lyrics in Fight Club’s finale suggest questioning where Tyler disappears to, if he is still lurking in the crevices of the narrator’s mind, and if he will ever make an unconscious return.
Thank you for reading! If you have a few extra minutes, please check out the link for a film I’m working on.
Craine, James, and Stuart C. Aitken. “Street Fighting: Placing the Crisis of Masculinity in David “Fincher’s Fight Club.” GeoJournal 59.4 (2004): 289-96. JSTOR. Web. 25 Mar. 2012. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/41147853?origin=JSTOR-pdf>.
Ebert, Roger. Fight Club. 1999. Writing in the Works. 3rd ed. Boston: Wadsworth Pub, 2012. 304-06. Print.
Eller, Claudia. “Controversy Could KO or Punch Up ‘Fight Club'” Los Angeles Times.
Los Angeles Times, 15 Oct. 1999. Web. 2 Apr. 2012. <http://articles.latimes.com/1999/oct/15/business/fi-22483>.
Fight Club. Dir. David Fincher. Screenplay by Jim Uhls. By Chuck Palahniuk. Prod. Ross G. Bell, Ceán Chaffin, and Art Linson. Perf. Edward Norton and Brad Pitt. 20th Century Fox, 1999. DVD.
Francis, Black. “Where Is My Mind?” By Black Francis. Perf. Kim Deal, David Lovering, Joey Santiago, and Black Francis. Rec. 1987. Surfer Rosa. Pixies. Steve Albini, 1988. MP3.
Nietzsche, Friedrich. The Gay Science. 1882. Existentialism: Basic Writings. By Charles B. Guignon and Derk Pereboom. 2nd ed. Indianapolis: Hackett, 1995. 123-71. Print.
Pulp Fiction. Dir. Quentin Tarantino. Screenplay by Quentin Tarantino. Prod. Danny DeVito and Lawrence Bender. Perf. John Travolta and Samuel L. Jackson. Miramax Films, 1994. DVD.
Reservoir Dogs. Dir. Quentin Tarantino. Screenplay by Quentin Tarantino. Prod. Lawrence Bender. Perf. Tim Roth and Harvey Keitel. Miramax Films, 1992. DVD.
Sartre, Jean. “Being and Nothingness.” 1943. Existentialism: Basic Writings. By Charles B. Guignon and Derk Pereboom. 2nd ed. Indianapolis: Hackett, 2001. 352-53. Print.