What do you watch as part of the season? (Substitute holiday of your preference if you're not a Christmaser.) The sad fact is that most such films are pretty sappy and hard to take. But I'll admit that despite their (non-negligible) shortcomings in terms of cinema-as-art, I do enjoy the following: It's a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story, Christmas Vacation, and Miracle on 34th Street. Definitely Die Hard. (Remember it takes place during a Christmas party?) Oh, and I'd be quite remiss if I didn't mention Edward Scissorhands, which is not a film with shortcomings -- it's a masterpiece. (You can bet good money I'll be enjoying a generous helping of Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street this holiday season -- thanks for seconds, Depp and Burton!) Heck, The Nightmare Before Christmas is good too.
Anyway, go ahead and toss your holiday faves into the comments, open our eyes to the cinematic wonders of the season.
Let me finish with a huge recommendation of a short story that I like to read every year at this time. There's even been a film version made, but I doubt I'll ever see it, since the story itself is one of the most perfect works of art I've been lucky enough to experience. The story is, of course, "The Dead" by James Joyce, from his collection Dubliners. (You can find copies of the book for $2 or $3 at almost any used bookstore, or you can follow either link above to find the story and/or the book for free.) Don't be scared off by the name Joyce, this is early Joyce not the brilliant-but-very-challenging Joyce of Ulysses and Finnegans Wake. He plays it straight here and is utterly masterful in telling the tale of a Christmas party on a snowy night in Ireland. He captures the joys, the petty annoyances, the gravity, and the wistfulness of the season, and his psychological insight into the characters is just astounding. Some people say this may be the greatest short story every written (and on many days I would be one of them), but even if you don't end up thinking it's quite that good, I think you'll find it a nice addition to your holiday season.
Happy holidays, everyone!
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Offspring of Human Persons
Children of Men held up well to a second viewing. It's really more of a well-done suspense film than anything else, but the messianic overtones do add a certain enjoyable weight. (There's a reason this was our "Christmas movie".)
Most of our post-film discussion was spent analyzing various plot points and whether we bought the internal logic of the behavior of characters and groups of characters in the film. To me, it worked, at least in the flow of the narrative. It's interesting to quibble over afterwards, but nothing jarred me out of the flow during the viewing.
One jarring note that several people noted was the presence of droplets of blood on the camera lens during the last bit of an extended action sequence. It didn't bother me when I saw it in the theatre, but enough people have mentioned it to me since that it seems like a poor choice by the filmmakers to leave it in. There's no question they must have seen it. Perhaps they hadn't the budget to reset and retake the whole sequence. Or maybe they had many takes and this take was the best in a variety of other ways. Can anyone think of another reason why they might have chosen this? Maybe there's some postmodern cleverness I'm missing. (Even if there is, I'd be surprised if the cleverness was worth jarring so many people out of the narrative dream.)
I think this still stands as one of my top 3 from 2006, along with Pan's Labyrinth and The Fountain. I'll be putting together my Best List from 2007 soon, too, perhaps even before our next movie, so keep an eye out for that.
Most of our post-film discussion was spent analyzing various plot points and whether we bought the internal logic of the behavior of characters and groups of characters in the film. To me, it worked, at least in the flow of the narrative. It's interesting to quibble over afterwards, but nothing jarred me out of the flow during the viewing.
One jarring note that several people noted was the presence of droplets of blood on the camera lens during the last bit of an extended action sequence. It didn't bother me when I saw it in the theatre, but enough people have mentioned it to me since that it seems like a poor choice by the filmmakers to leave it in. There's no question they must have seen it. Perhaps they hadn't the budget to reset and retake the whole sequence. Or maybe they had many takes and this take was the best in a variety of other ways. Can anyone think of another reason why they might have chosen this? Maybe there's some postmodern cleverness I'm missing. (Even if there is, I'd be surprised if the cleverness was worth jarring so many people out of the narrative dream.)
I think this still stands as one of my top 3 from 2006, along with Pan's Labyrinth and The Fountain. I'll be putting together my Best List from 2007 soon, too, perhaps even before our next movie, so keep an eye out for that.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Excalibur and America
First, Excalibur is wonderful. Yes, it's dated in places. Yes, some of the acting is hammy, and some is downright amateurish. But it's so deeply felt, so serious. Maybe it is a product of the fact that so much story is crammed into the film, but each moment, every action is weighted with such importance, such significance.
And perhaps much of its weight is drawn from just how unkillable this material is. There is a reason we still dream of Arthur, still sketch him on screens large and small. These stories speak truths about our humanity. Think of the fact that Malory's Morte D'Arthur was completed in 1470, based on legends from much earlier. Think of what has changed about language, culture, humanity since then...
Now, what do we find in these stories? Hopes for peace destroyed by the petty human vices of those in power (pride, lust, revenge). Noble ideals falling into corruption and disappointment. The waste of good people in pursuit of hopeless quests. (Or seemingly hopeless quests.) These are themes we can relate to.
Recall the theme of the "body politic". Percival speaks to ailing Arthur: "You and the land are one." Arthur drinks from the Grail and replies, "I did not know how empty was my soul... until it was filled." He rises from his throne, mounts his horse at last to meet the corruption embodied in his incestuously conceived bastard Mordred, the land blossoming anew with his rejuvenation.
Now consider the inversion we experience living in a democracy: instead of prosperity and life flowing downward from our ruler, we elect the ruler(s). Now the land (first) and the king are one, with the health or sickness of the land (read: people) flowing upward to the ruler(s). We have accepted the (relatively new, American) myth that this form will ever and necessarily always produce prosperity and freedom.
From what grail can we sip to cure this sickness and dread which pins us slumped, pallid, upon our throne?
And perhaps much of its weight is drawn from just how unkillable this material is. There is a reason we still dream of Arthur, still sketch him on screens large and small. These stories speak truths about our humanity. Think of the fact that Malory's Morte D'Arthur was completed in 1470, based on legends from much earlier. Think of what has changed about language, culture, humanity since then...
Now, what do we find in these stories? Hopes for peace destroyed by the petty human vices of those in power (pride, lust, revenge). Noble ideals falling into corruption and disappointment. The waste of good people in pursuit of hopeless quests. (Or seemingly hopeless quests.) These are themes we can relate to.
Recall the theme of the "body politic". Percival speaks to ailing Arthur: "You and the land are one." Arthur drinks from the Grail and replies, "I did not know how empty was my soul... until it was filled." He rises from his throne, mounts his horse at last to meet the corruption embodied in his incestuously conceived bastard Mordred, the land blossoming anew with his rejuvenation.
Now consider the inversion we experience living in a democracy: instead of prosperity and life flowing downward from our ruler, we elect the ruler(s). Now the land (first) and the king are one, with the health or sickness of the land (read: people) flowing upward to the ruler(s). We have accepted the (relatively new, American) myth that this form will ever and necessarily always produce prosperity and freedom.
From what grail can we sip to cure this sickness and dread which pins us slumped, pallid, upon our throne?
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
A Punch-Drunk Discussion
We wrangled over P.T. Anderson's film. We couldn't even agree what it was. Romantic comedy? Offbeat romantic comedy? Not romantic, but a comedy? Kind of?
Interesting also is how this film changes each time you see it. More than one of us felt that the "great love" theme of the film didn't resonate as much the second (or (n+1)st) time through. I am one of these, though I still quite enjoyed it. It is certainly (and by design) a much lighter film than Anderson's other work (Hard Eight, Boogie Nights, Magnolia).
And then there's the issue of Barry Egan (Sandler). He is indeed an unconventional leading man. Whether the film worked for you seemed to have a lot to do with whether you could find connection with him or not. On that note, a fraction of my personal history with Punch-Drunk Love (the film): I was highly disposed to reject the premise of this film when it first was released. Really the only thing that compelled me to see it was the fact that Anderson's Magnolia is one of my top five or ten favorites of all time. (As an aside, it is almost miraculous that in consecutive films Anderson managed to wring good, possibly even very good, performances from Tom Cruise and Adam Sandler. Despite that feat, I am glad he convinced Daniel Day-Lewis to be the centerpiece of his upcoming There Will Be Blood rather than Rob Schneider or Matthew McConaughey.) But I had a serious problem with a film that apparently romantically paired Adam Sandler, whom I loathed, with Emily Watson, whom I'd loved beyond words ever since watching her inexorable (and messianic) march to destruction in Lars von Trier's Breaking the Waves. (My love for Emily (and Daniel Day-Lewis, actually) even carried me along to loving The Boxer. I've never met another fan of the film, that I can recall. But it's really good, and if you don't think so, well, you're wrong. I think.)
But I digress. The point is this: I could not, would not like a film that paired Sandler and my beloved Emily Watson. But I was wrong. He was screwed up enough (and so was she) that they just... work. And maybe I'm just enough in touch with my inner rage that I could see enough of myself in Sandler's surprisingly non-incompetent performance to project myself into his obnoxiously blue suit. (As I mentioned in the TNFN invitation, it reminds me of Secretary a bit in just that way; two damaged people manage to find each other and help soothe the damage. Not to give away too much, since the more I think about it, this could be a good TNFN movie.)
Isn't that what we really want to understand, that we can be loved and valued despite how desperately screwed up and damaged we might be? Isn't that what we want to see?
I think that's why I like Punch-Drunk Love. And Magnolia. And Wes Anderson movies. Etc.
What do you all think?
Interesting also is how this film changes each time you see it. More than one of us felt that the "great love" theme of the film didn't resonate as much the second (or (n+1)st) time through. I am one of these, though I still quite enjoyed it. It is certainly (and by design) a much lighter film than Anderson's other work (Hard Eight, Boogie Nights, Magnolia).
And then there's the issue of Barry Egan (Sandler). He is indeed an unconventional leading man. Whether the film worked for you seemed to have a lot to do with whether you could find connection with him or not. On that note, a fraction of my personal history with Punch-Drunk Love (the film): I was highly disposed to reject the premise of this film when it first was released. Really the only thing that compelled me to see it was the fact that Anderson's Magnolia is one of my top five or ten favorites of all time. (As an aside, it is almost miraculous that in consecutive films Anderson managed to wring good, possibly even very good, performances from Tom Cruise and Adam Sandler. Despite that feat, I am glad he convinced Daniel Day-Lewis to be the centerpiece of his upcoming There Will Be Blood rather than Rob Schneider or Matthew McConaughey.) But I had a serious problem with a film that apparently romantically paired Adam Sandler, whom I loathed, with Emily Watson, whom I'd loved beyond words ever since watching her inexorable (and messianic) march to destruction in Lars von Trier's Breaking the Waves. (My love for Emily (and Daniel Day-Lewis, actually) even carried me along to loving The Boxer. I've never met another fan of the film, that I can recall. But it's really good, and if you don't think so, well, you're wrong. I think.)
But I digress. The point is this: I could not, would not like a film that paired Sandler and my beloved Emily Watson. But I was wrong. He was screwed up enough (and so was she) that they just... work. And maybe I'm just enough in touch with my inner rage that I could see enough of myself in Sandler's surprisingly non-incompetent performance to project myself into his obnoxiously blue suit. (As I mentioned in the TNFN invitation, it reminds me of Secretary a bit in just that way; two damaged people manage to find each other and help soothe the damage. Not to give away too much, since the more I think about it, this could be a good TNFN movie.)
Isn't that what we really want to understand, that we can be loved and valued despite how desperately screwed up and damaged we might be? Isn't that what we want to see?
I think that's why I like Punch-Drunk Love. And Magnolia. And Wes Anderson movies. Etc.
What do you all think?
Monday, December 3, 2007
Wings of Desire reaction
Seeing this film again forced me to think about why I like it, what I see in it. I think my first exposure to it came through U2, way back in the early 90s. They put the song "Stay (Faraway, So Close!)" on their Zooropa album, and the video featured the four of them as angels a la Wenders' angels. (The song itself was heard in Wenders' WoD sequel Faraway, So Close!) I still love (a lot of) U2('s music), but I was practically mainlining them at that point, so naturally I saw Wings of Desire.
Certainly it's not a particularly plot-driven movie. But then, anyone who's been paying attention to TNFN knows that's not a problem for me. Still, what does one answer when asked what this film is about?
It seems to me that, apart from the considerable aesthetic beauty of both the B&W and color cinematography, what is also beautiful and what lingers is the celebration of the importance of each human. God is distant (or at least out-of-frame) in the film, but each private emotion-wracked thought is felt by these angels who strive in their necessarily subtle way to bring comfort, or at the very least to bear witness. The love story between Damiel and Marion can strike the viewer as convincing or not; it's certainly very quickly sketched. But the success of that connection speaks (or at least tries to) of the abiding importance of love, the importance of romantic love even in the spiritual plane.
I don't think I'm done thinking about the film, though. Marion has gained a physical lover, and he may be the truest such she could ever have had, but in the process of gaining this new way of knowing one another, they've lost an intimacy they had before. Has Damiel acted selfishly? The final frames of the film are beautiful, as they show Damiel helping Marion in her acrobatic exercises, but they are also strikingly sad, as we see Damiel's friend Cassiel still in his B&W angelic existence watching them from the stairs, them in color, him in B&W. Damiel has abandoned his post, but Cassiel labors on, no doubt missing this companion with whom he once watched the continents ruled by animals, with whom he watched the first glimmerings of life emerge from the primordial soup. Will he remain ever thus? Will he follow his friend into mortality?
This reminds me of the last key pleasure of this film, and that is the way it awakens us to the joy of perception. Too often we grow used to the torrent of input our five (or more?) senses dump into our brain all day every day. But watching this film we are reminded of the beauty to be found even in the cold at our fingertips and the friction of rubbing our hands together, that first hot taste of coffee (ever or even of the morning), the beauty of a sky whether it be blue or foreboding purple-grey. We arrive at the end of this film hyper-sensitized anew, at least for a few moments or days (if we're lucky) to the sensual connection to our world that these bodies of ours provide us.
Savor it.
Certainly it's not a particularly plot-driven movie. But then, anyone who's been paying attention to TNFN knows that's not a problem for me. Still, what does one answer when asked what this film is about?
It seems to me that, apart from the considerable aesthetic beauty of both the B&W and color cinematography, what is also beautiful and what lingers is the celebration of the importance of each human. God is distant (or at least out-of-frame) in the film, but each private emotion-wracked thought is felt by these angels who strive in their necessarily subtle way to bring comfort, or at the very least to bear witness. The love story between Damiel and Marion can strike the viewer as convincing or not; it's certainly very quickly sketched. But the success of that connection speaks (or at least tries to) of the abiding importance of love, the importance of romantic love even in the spiritual plane.
I don't think I'm done thinking about the film, though. Marion has gained a physical lover, and he may be the truest such she could ever have had, but in the process of gaining this new way of knowing one another, they've lost an intimacy they had before. Has Damiel acted selfishly? The final frames of the film are beautiful, as they show Damiel helping Marion in her acrobatic exercises, but they are also strikingly sad, as we see Damiel's friend Cassiel still in his B&W angelic existence watching them from the stairs, them in color, him in B&W. Damiel has abandoned his post, but Cassiel labors on, no doubt missing this companion with whom he once watched the continents ruled by animals, with whom he watched the first glimmerings of life emerge from the primordial soup. Will he remain ever thus? Will he follow his friend into mortality?
This reminds me of the last key pleasure of this film, and that is the way it awakens us to the joy of perception. Too often we grow used to the torrent of input our five (or more?) senses dump into our brain all day every day. But watching this film we are reminded of the beauty to be found even in the cold at our fingertips and the friction of rubbing our hands together, that first hot taste of coffee (ever or even of the morning), the beauty of a sky whether it be blue or foreboding purple-grey. We arrive at the end of this film hyper-sensitized anew, at least for a few moments or days (if we're lucky) to the sensual connection to our world that these bodies of ours provide us.
Savor it.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Openings that overshadow what follows
So, I've had a couple conversations recently about films that had such striking and memorable opening moments that the rest of the film couldn't measure up, even if it was good. Here are a few examples, then you can tell me about your nominations in the comments.
28 Weeks Later: This sequel is a decent suspense film, though not as rich as the original, 28 Days Later. (Apparently 28 Months Later is planned.) But the first 10 minutes or so are absolutely riveting. You probably need to have seen the original to fully understand the intensity of these moments. But this is absolutely perfect suspense/action filmmaking, where each second matters, every decision is hurried yet vital, and death is all around you. Would you be able to choose life over all the things you thought mattered to you? Could you outrun bloody death at your heels? If only the inventiveness and intensity could have been sustained through the whole film.
Dawn of the Dead (remake, 2004): I am an aficionado of zombie films. I love the George A. Romero originals, in all their pretentious and overly symbolic glory. This remake by Zack Snyder is solid throughout, and definitely delivers the thrills and chills one expects of such a film. But, again, the opening is so brilliant, and so thrilling, that the rest can't help but pale a bit in comparison. Watching the world transform from what Sarah Polley's character (and we) know into something more horrific than her worst nightmares in just moments is utterly harrowing and a great example of what cinema can accomplish. Enjoy!
Saving Private Ryan: No, I don't mean the absolutely atrocious, dreadful framing device of Old Guy at Cemetery. (I'll probably post someday on what an awful thing that framing device is, just to purge myself of the bitterness of it. It fails on nearly every level.) I mean, of course, the 20 minutes of D-Day. Stylized, yet somehow more real than real. I felt myself ducking in the theatre, almost expecting the bullets to find me. Never have I been more grateful to be spared the firsthand horror of war. Sadly, the rest of the film, though solid, rarely rises to this level, with the possible exception of the whisper-filled knife-struggle near the end. (You know which one I mean. I still can't forget it.) And, do yourself a favor and just skip watching the Old Guy at Cemetery crapola at the beginning and the end. Ay carumba.
Casino Royale (new version, 2006): You know where I'm going with this one, so I'll keep it short. But you agree with me right? I mean, that first chase scene, with Daniel Craig's version of Bond chasing the free running dude through the construction site? Cinematic brilliance. Suspenseful, balletic, beautiful, hair-raising, and filmed with utter clarity. How many action scenes can you say that about these post-Michael-Bay days? The rest is fun, but the film never matches the nitrous-oxide high of that first chase scene.
If I was really cool, I'd have tried to figure out a way to make the opening of this post awesome, while the rest of it was just okay. Pretend I did that.
So, what are your nominations?
28 Weeks Later: This sequel is a decent suspense film, though not as rich as the original, 28 Days Later. (Apparently 28 Months Later is planned.) But the first 10 minutes or so are absolutely riveting. You probably need to have seen the original to fully understand the intensity of these moments. But this is absolutely perfect suspense/action filmmaking, where each second matters, every decision is hurried yet vital, and death is all around you. Would you be able to choose life over all the things you thought mattered to you? Could you outrun bloody death at your heels? If only the inventiveness and intensity could have been sustained through the whole film.
Dawn of the Dead (remake, 2004): I am an aficionado of zombie films. I love the George A. Romero originals, in all their pretentious and overly symbolic glory. This remake by Zack Snyder is solid throughout, and definitely delivers the thrills and chills one expects of such a film. But, again, the opening is so brilliant, and so thrilling, that the rest can't help but pale a bit in comparison. Watching the world transform from what Sarah Polley's character (and we) know into something more horrific than her worst nightmares in just moments is utterly harrowing and a great example of what cinema can accomplish. Enjoy!
Saving Private Ryan: No, I don't mean the absolutely atrocious, dreadful framing device of Old Guy at Cemetery. (I'll probably post someday on what an awful thing that framing device is, just to purge myself of the bitterness of it. It fails on nearly every level.) I mean, of course, the 20 minutes of D-Day. Stylized, yet somehow more real than real. I felt myself ducking in the theatre, almost expecting the bullets to find me. Never have I been more grateful to be spared the firsthand horror of war. Sadly, the rest of the film, though solid, rarely rises to this level, with the possible exception of the whisper-filled knife-struggle near the end. (You know which one I mean. I still can't forget it.) And, do yourself a favor and just skip watching the Old Guy at Cemetery crapola at the beginning and the end. Ay carumba.
Casino Royale (new version, 2006): You know where I'm going with this one, so I'll keep it short. But you agree with me right? I mean, that first chase scene, with Daniel Craig's version of Bond chasing the free running dude through the construction site? Cinematic brilliance. Suspenseful, balletic, beautiful, hair-raising, and filmed with utter clarity. How many action scenes can you say that about these post-Michael-Bay days? The rest is fun, but the film never matches the nitrous-oxide high of that first chase scene.
If I was really cool, I'd have tried to figure out a way to make the opening of this post awesome, while the rest of it was just okay. Pretend I did that.
So, what are your nominations?
Saturday, November 17, 2007
No Country For Old Men (spoiler free)
This pitiless, impeccably crafted film is indeed the hoped-for return to form for the Coen Brothers. Every performance is spot-on, from the terrifying Javier Bardem on down through to the usually annoying Woody Harrelson. The suspense is nearly unbearable for considerable stretches of the film, and the plot is beautifully sketched without being labored. The Coens (and Cormac McCarthy's novel before them) trust the viewers to keep up. As always, Roger Deakins' photography is brilliant and beautiful. All in all, this is a masterpiece.
And I rarely say such a thing, but I think in this case I wish I hadn't already read the book. As harrowingly good a read as it was, I wish I could have experienced the suspense of the film without the outlines of the plot so well know to me.
Much has been made about the violence in the film, and there is violence, to be sure. But two points should be made about the violence. First, yes, some violence is shown on screen, and it isn't easy to watch, but many of the violent moments (upon reflection) are implied rather than made explicit. (Of course, this discretion only heightens the horror.) Second, each act of violence is full of horror and disgust. This is violence that is portrayed with full awareness of what is lost when a person dies, no matter how high or low, rich or poor that person is. This is, of course, an indictment of most Hollywood films, especially action films which generally are much, much more violent that No Country For Old Men, but clothe that violence in post-killing jokes or by disguising those marked for death as shallow cardboard cutouts or videogame shooting gallery targets.
I'll save further thoughts until I've seen it again. Which will apparently be sometime in the next few hours.
-----------------------------
Update: Okay, so it really is rather violent and bloody. The fact that some of the acts of violence are handled with discretion doesn't remove the fact that some are very explicit. So, be warned. (I stand by my comments about the gravity with which the violence is handled.)
And I rarely say such a thing, but I think in this case I wish I hadn't already read the book. As harrowingly good a read as it was, I wish I could have experienced the suspense of the film without the outlines of the plot so well know to me.
Much has been made about the violence in the film, and there is violence, to be sure. But two points should be made about the violence. First, yes, some violence is shown on screen, and it isn't easy to watch, but many of the violent moments (upon reflection) are implied rather than made explicit. (Of course, this discretion only heightens the horror.) Second, each act of violence is full of horror and disgust. This is violence that is portrayed with full awareness of what is lost when a person dies, no matter how high or low, rich or poor that person is. This is, of course, an indictment of most Hollywood films, especially action films which generally are much, much more violent that No Country For Old Men, but clothe that violence in post-killing jokes or by disguising those marked for death as shallow cardboard cutouts or videogame shooting gallery targets.
I'll save further thoughts until I've seen it again. Which will apparently be sometime in the next few hours.
-----------------------------
Update: Okay, so it really is rather violent and bloody. The fact that some of the acts of violence are handled with discretion doesn't remove the fact that some are very explicit. So, be warned. (I stand by my comments about the gravity with which the violence is handled.)
Thursday, November 15, 2007
The 9th Rule of Fight Club is...
Never talk about how the film loses some steam in the last third.
[SPOILERS AHEAD]
And, I mean, come on, when your film loses steam despite the fact that you have your protagonist shoot himself in the mouth just before he (or at the very least his psychic-split alter ego) blows up like five or six skyscrapers full of financial records.
So, yeah, some third (or is it fifth?) act problems there, but that said the film holds up pretty well. And frankly those visuals of the skyscrapers falling are even a bit more chilling than they used to be, for obvious reasons.
It seems to me the film is still a visceral experience, that it does a good job of calling into question certain priorities/assumptions that we (Americans) have/make about what really matters.
This strikes me as a religious film. (Big shock, right, after I turned Good/Bad/Ugly into a Catholic film?) Fight club itself spreads like a cult, of course, and there are certainly some messianic overtones to Tyler Durden along the way (especially when he's letting himself get beaten to a pulp, arms outstretched, buying their meeting space with his blood). No shock there, right, we're in the western tradition, of course there will be Christ figures rearing their heads. But what came through to me more clearly this time was the fact that many of the critiques of materialism resonate really well with the teachings of Jesus, and also the Judaic principle of jubilee. (If I get too theological on you, feel free to skip to the next paragraph. I'm not trying to convert anyone here.) Jubilee, of course, is an idea resurrected (ha) by Bono and others in the last few years as a catchphrase for Third World debt forgiveness. Historically (Old Testamentally) it was the idea that every 50 years (or was it 49 -- oh, even the scholars aren't sure) all the indentured servants got set free, all the land got thrown back to the original owners or their heirs (or something like that). So Durden's really trying to bring about a jubilee in his quest to destroy credit. Back to zero. This twins nicely with his desire to set men free from their work at "jobs they hate to buy things they don't need". There's a lot of the ascetic tradition tossed in there, too, of course, with the body being punished to help purify the soul. Anyway, what do you think? Are Fincher and Palahniuk presenting some God-free version of religion? What would their Ten Commandments look like?
Now that I think of it, damage to the body to purify the soul is naturally extended to damage to the (monetary infrastructure of) the country to purify the country's soul. I think this is an interesting idea. External stresses can bring out the best or worst in nations. Sadly, the last 150 years haven't been too great at getting the best to come out (with a few exceptions, of course).
So is Fight Club just some incoherent pseudo-Marxist critique of capitalism, or is it more subtle than that? (I'm really asking. I can't quite decide.) Is it popular as a brief stopping place along the way to acquiescing to the bourgeois assumptions of our age, a nice little last rebellious pose for adolescents of whatever age (and I should perhaps still include myself, home-ownership notwithstanding) before slouching off to drudgery and Ikea-addiction? I was half-joking about it being the Catcher in the Rye of the '90s and '00s, but it actually functions in a similar way, it seems to me, railing against the phonies and jerks who just can't see as clearly as the protagonist can.
And how are we to feel at the end of Fight Club? Is it defeat that Tyler is killed/banished? Or has he won now that the buildings are falling? The first time I saw the film I was horrified by the falling buildings. This time it felt like hope. Don't we need a Jubilee?
Am I a monster?
[SPOILERS AHEAD]
And, I mean, come on, when your film loses steam despite the fact that you have your protagonist shoot himself in the mouth just before he (or at the very least his psychic-split alter ego) blows up like five or six skyscrapers full of financial records.
So, yeah, some third (or is it fifth?) act problems there, but that said the film holds up pretty well. And frankly those visuals of the skyscrapers falling are even a bit more chilling than they used to be, for obvious reasons.
It seems to me the film is still a visceral experience, that it does a good job of calling into question certain priorities/assumptions that we (Americans) have/make about what really matters.
This strikes me as a religious film. (Big shock, right, after I turned Good/Bad/Ugly into a Catholic film?) Fight club itself spreads like a cult, of course, and there are certainly some messianic overtones to Tyler Durden along the way (especially when he's letting himself get beaten to a pulp, arms outstretched, buying their meeting space with his blood). No shock there, right, we're in the western tradition, of course there will be Christ figures rearing their heads. But what came through to me more clearly this time was the fact that many of the critiques of materialism resonate really well with the teachings of Jesus, and also the Judaic principle of jubilee. (If I get too theological on you, feel free to skip to the next paragraph. I'm not trying to convert anyone here.) Jubilee, of course, is an idea resurrected (ha) by Bono and others in the last few years as a catchphrase for Third World debt forgiveness. Historically (Old Testamentally) it was the idea that every 50 years (or was it 49 -- oh, even the scholars aren't sure) all the indentured servants got set free, all the land got thrown back to the original owners or their heirs (or something like that). So Durden's really trying to bring about a jubilee in his quest to destroy credit. Back to zero. This twins nicely with his desire to set men free from their work at "jobs they hate to buy things they don't need". There's a lot of the ascetic tradition tossed in there, too, of course, with the body being punished to help purify the soul. Anyway, what do you think? Are Fincher and Palahniuk presenting some God-free version of religion? What would their Ten Commandments look like?
Now that I think of it, damage to the body to purify the soul is naturally extended to damage to the (monetary infrastructure of) the country to purify the country's soul. I think this is an interesting idea. External stresses can bring out the best or worst in nations. Sadly, the last 150 years haven't been too great at getting the best to come out (with a few exceptions, of course).
So is Fight Club just some incoherent pseudo-Marxist critique of capitalism, or is it more subtle than that? (I'm really asking. I can't quite decide.) Is it popular as a brief stopping place along the way to acquiescing to the bourgeois assumptions of our age, a nice little last rebellious pose for adolescents of whatever age (and I should perhaps still include myself, home-ownership notwithstanding) before slouching off to drudgery and Ikea-addiction? I was half-joking about it being the Catcher in the Rye of the '90s and '00s, but it actually functions in a similar way, it seems to me, railing against the phonies and jerks who just can't see as clearly as the protagonist can.
And how are we to feel at the end of Fight Club? Is it defeat that Tyler is killed/banished? Or has he won now that the buildings are falling? The first time I saw the film I was horrified by the falling buildings. This time it felt like hope. Don't we need a Jubilee?
Am I a monster?
Monday, November 5, 2007
Other Jarmusch Thoughts
I'm no Jim Jarmusch expert, but I thought I'd blurb a little on the movies of his I have seen:
Broken Flowers: Another deadpan Bill Murray performance, this could be a nice double-feature viewing with Rushmore. Bill's character finds out he may have a son and so he delves back into his romantic past, trying to determine with whom he planted his seed. It's a little more narrative-driven than some of Jarmusch's other work, but still has a lot to like. Quirky characters galore.
Dead Man: This might be my favorite movie ever that I didn't really like. But don't get me wrong, I love it. If I hadn't overloaded TNFN with westerns early on we would have watched this by now, but it's not just a western, it's an aggressively static and episodic western, filled with poetry and brutality. Johnny Depp is a traveler named William Blake who moves ever westward with violence and death swirling around and through him. This is most definitely a post-western or neo-western, or something, and it's haunted by a nightmarish (and appropriate) Neil Young guitar soundtrack. We'll probably see this one sometime in the winter, but feel free to watch it now, because you'll have a weird reaction to it the first time, followed by a slowly building irresistible desire to see it again. The film also stars Lance Henriksen (Bishop from Aliens, etc.), Robert Mitchum, Gabriel Byrne, and a host of other familiar faces, very few of which are around long at all, except Depp. I want to go watch it right now...
Down By Law: This is probably a great place to start with Jarmusch. It captures his deadpan humor and the strange ways he lets scenes just sit there. It is in black and white, and if you're a Tom Waits fan like me it's a hoot to watch young lean Tom rasp and ramble his way through a tale of the south and prison and swamps and the journey. Filled with surprising and offbeat moments, you'll remember this one.
Ghost Dog: Way of the Samurai: Forest Whitaker is an almost silent killer with a code. I remember liking this film, but remember few details. I've since seen Melville's Le Samourai (great film) which Jarmusch was supposedly riffing off for this film, so I'm looking forward to the next time I see this one.
Stranger Than Paradise: This one's interesting, too, and is often mentioned as "where it all started". I saw it after Down By Law and felt like it hit some of the same notes (but in a much less colorful milieu -- which is strange to say about a black and white film), but not as well. Definitely worth seeing, but, well, I guess I just liked DBL better.
Anyone else have thoughts on Jarmusch?
Broken Flowers: Another deadpan Bill Murray performance, this could be a nice double-feature viewing with Rushmore. Bill's character finds out he may have a son and so he delves back into his romantic past, trying to determine with whom he planted his seed. It's a little more narrative-driven than some of Jarmusch's other work, but still has a lot to like. Quirky characters galore.
Dead Man: This might be my favorite movie ever that I didn't really like. But don't get me wrong, I love it. If I hadn't overloaded TNFN with westerns early on we would have watched this by now, but it's not just a western, it's an aggressively static and episodic western, filled with poetry and brutality. Johnny Depp is a traveler named William Blake who moves ever westward with violence and death swirling around and through him. This is most definitely a post-western or neo-western, or something, and it's haunted by a nightmarish (and appropriate) Neil Young guitar soundtrack. We'll probably see this one sometime in the winter, but feel free to watch it now, because you'll have a weird reaction to it the first time, followed by a slowly building irresistible desire to see it again. The film also stars Lance Henriksen (Bishop from Aliens, etc.), Robert Mitchum, Gabriel Byrne, and a host of other familiar faces, very few of which are around long at all, except Depp. I want to go watch it right now...
Down By Law: This is probably a great place to start with Jarmusch. It captures his deadpan humor and the strange ways he lets scenes just sit there. It is in black and white, and if you're a Tom Waits fan like me it's a hoot to watch young lean Tom rasp and ramble his way through a tale of the south and prison and swamps and the journey. Filled with surprising and offbeat moments, you'll remember this one.
Ghost Dog: Way of the Samurai: Forest Whitaker is an almost silent killer with a code. I remember liking this film, but remember few details. I've since seen Melville's Le Samourai (great film) which Jarmusch was supposedly riffing off for this film, so I'm looking forward to the next time I see this one.
Stranger Than Paradise: This one's interesting, too, and is often mentioned as "where it all started". I saw it after Down By Law and felt like it hit some of the same notes (but in a much less colorful milieu -- which is strange to say about a black and white film), but not as well. Definitely worth seeing, but, well, I guess I just liked DBL better.
Anyone else have thoughts on Jarmusch?
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Blade Runner Thoughts (with spoilers)
Welcome to the first post of the TNFN:AEoF blog. I'm moving most of my movie thoughts here from now on, with short blurbs in the emails. But I think this could be a cool place to continue our filmic de- and reconstructions. So, let's start it up with our Cinerama adventure last night:
Comments after our viewing of Blade Runner last night:
1) This film holds up quite well 25 years later. The soundtrack is very much, ahem, of its time, but is only really obnoxious in the love scene, when it devolves into the worst sort of '80s sax fugue. (A shame, since that scene is extremely interesting.) The effects are mostly good, too, supporting the oppressive atmosphere Scott was attempting to create. (Love the green monochrome computer monitors, though.)
2) Ridley Scott had done Alien in 1979, then Blade Runner in 1982. He's made some decent films since (Thelma & Louise, Gladiator, Black Hawk Down) but not quite the masterpieces we might have hoped based on those two early works. (I see he's working on a film adaptation of Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy. I'm not sure he has the subtlety to do that brilliant novel justice. But maybe no one does. I'd like to see Darren Aronofsky try it. Though I guess he's not too subtle either, usually.)
3) The love scene: Again, a shame about the music. But this is a key scene. She never knew she was a replicant. She's already asked whether he's ever taken his own test. So we may read this scene as him trying to teach her how to love. (In a rather rough way that perhaps even disturbs as as she tries to leave and he forces her to stay. But then we remember she's just a replicant. (Note even that phrasing: "just a replicant".) So how does consent work (or not work) with a replicant? And what if then we include the consideration that perhaps he too is a replicant? By what justification to we apply the human moral code to replicants? Is this maybe the whole point of the scene?)
4) Subversion of expectations: I think it's hard to come to this film, the first time, without heroic expectations for the character played by Harrison Ford (Deckard). He is the movie star. He is the Humphrey Bogart of the film, right away. (This was made even more clear by the lamentable voice-over narration of the original version.) And he's on the trail of the powerful, intelligent killers. Yeah! Then, slowly, the discomfort sets in. These killers have memories, they want to live, really. Their whole goal is to somehow live longer. They show fear, they run, they panic and die just the same as us. Their deaths, one by one, are each horrible. (Recall Pris placing the veil over her face, like a bridal veil, waiting for her dying true love to return to her, for perhaps just another day or two of their desperate love, only to have her home invaded by the gun-wielding man who kills her, messily, clumsily, slowly, just before her lover can return to save her.) Why are we rooting for this man? (And of course, by this point we're not even sure he is a (hu)man.) So even before we get the confrontation with Roy Batty we're a little destabilized by the whole thing. But then we start to feel like, okay, I've got a bead on this scene. Batty killed Sebastian, and he was just a sweet little guy, so I'm clearly still supposed to be rooting for Deckard here, even if he is a bit if a small-minded jerk. But one last time the film subverts our expectations, with Deckard battered from the start, just fleeing for his life, Batty with any number of chances to finish him off. And in the end Batty saves him. Why? Again, we have many options. Did he know he was dying and not want to die alone? Did he know that Deckard was a replicant and want to leave him alive for that reason? Did he feel like by sharing his memories with Deckard at least those few tears wouldn't be "lost...in rain"? (Thumbs-up to the screenwriters, by the way, for choosing "like tears in rain" over "like tears in the rain". The first is poetic, the second cliche.) Was it perhaps some combination of the three reasons?
5) Limitations: Well, as mentioned, parts of the soundtrack are overblown or downright cheesy. The effects, though good, are allowed to dominate a few too many scenes. (Flying cars are cool. We get it.) Sean Young may be a good choice to play a non-human, but maybe a more skilled actress might have been better able to play a "more human than human" replicant. M. Emmet Walsh is a great actor (see Blood Simple if you haven't already -- or wait, since it's a Coen film it's sure to get shown sooner or later on a Tuesday night) but his role as the chief is pretty by the numbers.
But all in all, it's a pretty cool film, that actually preserves much of the "what is the nature of reality" and "what really is consciousness" explorations that one should expect from any good Philip K. Dick adaptation. (Even if you've seen the movie, Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? is well worth reading. Quick one, too.)
Please, join the discussion in the comments. Or just stay tuned for future intros and discussions.
Comments after our viewing of Blade Runner last night:
1) This film holds up quite well 25 years later. The soundtrack is very much, ahem, of its time, but is only really obnoxious in the love scene, when it devolves into the worst sort of '80s sax fugue. (A shame, since that scene is extremely interesting.) The effects are mostly good, too, supporting the oppressive atmosphere Scott was attempting to create. (Love the green monochrome computer monitors, though.)
2) Ridley Scott had done Alien in 1979, then Blade Runner in 1982. He's made some decent films since (Thelma & Louise, Gladiator, Black Hawk Down) but not quite the masterpieces we might have hoped based on those two early works. (I see he's working on a film adaptation of Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy. I'm not sure he has the subtlety to do that brilliant novel justice. But maybe no one does. I'd like to see Darren Aronofsky try it. Though I guess he's not too subtle either, usually.)
3) The love scene: Again, a shame about the music. But this is a key scene. She never knew she was a replicant. She's already asked whether he's ever taken his own test. So we may read this scene as him trying to teach her how to love. (In a rather rough way that perhaps even disturbs as as she tries to leave and he forces her to stay. But then we remember she's just a replicant. (Note even that phrasing: "just a replicant".) So how does consent work (or not work) with a replicant? And what if then we include the consideration that perhaps he too is a replicant? By what justification to we apply the human moral code to replicants? Is this maybe the whole point of the scene?)
4) Subversion of expectations: I think it's hard to come to this film, the first time, without heroic expectations for the character played by Harrison Ford (Deckard). He is the movie star. He is the Humphrey Bogart of the film, right away. (This was made even more clear by the lamentable voice-over narration of the original version.) And he's on the trail of the powerful, intelligent killers. Yeah! Then, slowly, the discomfort sets in. These killers have memories, they want to live, really. Their whole goal is to somehow live longer. They show fear, they run, they panic and die just the same as us. Their deaths, one by one, are each horrible. (Recall Pris placing the veil over her face, like a bridal veil, waiting for her dying true love to return to her, for perhaps just another day or two of their desperate love, only to have her home invaded by the gun-wielding man who kills her, messily, clumsily, slowly, just before her lover can return to save her.) Why are we rooting for this man? (And of course, by this point we're not even sure he is a (hu)man.) So even before we get the confrontation with Roy Batty we're a little destabilized by the whole thing. But then we start to feel like, okay, I've got a bead on this scene. Batty killed Sebastian, and he was just a sweet little guy, so I'm clearly still supposed to be rooting for Deckard here, even if he is a bit if a small-minded jerk. But one last time the film subverts our expectations, with Deckard battered from the start, just fleeing for his life, Batty with any number of chances to finish him off. And in the end Batty saves him. Why? Again, we have many options. Did he know he was dying and not want to die alone? Did he know that Deckard was a replicant and want to leave him alive for that reason? Did he feel like by sharing his memories with Deckard at least those few tears wouldn't be "lost...in rain"? (Thumbs-up to the screenwriters, by the way, for choosing "like tears in rain" over "like tears in the rain". The first is poetic, the second cliche.) Was it perhaps some combination of the three reasons?
5) Limitations: Well, as mentioned, parts of the soundtrack are overblown or downright cheesy. The effects, though good, are allowed to dominate a few too many scenes. (Flying cars are cool. We get it.) Sean Young may be a good choice to play a non-human, but maybe a more skilled actress might have been better able to play a "more human than human" replicant. M. Emmet Walsh is a great actor (see Blood Simple if you haven't already -- or wait, since it's a Coen film it's sure to get shown sooner or later on a Tuesday night) but his role as the chief is pretty by the numbers.
But all in all, it's a pretty cool film, that actually preserves much of the "what is the nature of reality" and "what really is consciousness" explorations that one should expect from any good Philip K. Dick adaptation. (Even if you've seen the movie, Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? is well worth reading. Quick one, too.)
Please, join the discussion in the comments. Or just stay tuned for future intros and discussions.
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