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.
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