First, the previous post on Michelangelo A failed to mention another key element of his films: the astounding cinematography. These films (L'Avventura, La Notte, L'Eclisse) feature countless frames that could be (and probably have been) placed on the walls of an art museum. Antonioni sees the scene like a painter, and his placement of the characters against architecture, or in frame, or half out of frame, is always deliberate, always meaningful, and frequently strikingly beautiful.
L'Eclisse: The third film in the loose trilogy begins with a couple breaking up. Riccardo and Vittoria (Monica Vitti) have come to the end, and the scene chronicling this separation is, as usual, stunningly presented. We learn many key details about each character, and the placement of the camera and the editing all speak this disconnection. Vittoria is set adrift, now, and the rest of the film follows that drift into, if not a new love (with a stockbroker played by Alain Delon, whom you may recognize from Melville's excellent Le Samourai), at least a new relationship. Another incredibly rich, beautiful film from Antonioni. You can read it straight, you can read it as social/societal critique, you can read the social critique as metaphor for human relationship, or leave it ambiguous in your head and just savor the many valencies of meaning. And I'll say no more about the striking close of the film other than that it will force you to frame it yourself, even more open than the ending of L'Avventura.
(Note: this is also the first film I've ever watched twice in a row. My friend David and I literally went back to the first scene to watch that scene again. Then watched another. Then another. And before we knew it we'd watched it again. And uncovered depths. How many films can stand up to that?)
I've got two more of Antonioni's films at home now, but I'm afraid. This trilogy is supposed to be his masterpiece. Will I be disappointed?
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Saturday, May 31, 2008
My Antonioni Devotion
Sometimes you need to be at the right time of your life to really appreciate a certain artist. Those times vary from person to person. An example: For most people, The Catcher in the Rye should be read in high school. For me, though, it was good that I didn't read it until later in life, when I was a little more comfortable with rebellion and the idea that adults weren't always (or even usually) right. But I would be sad if I'd never had the chance to appreciate The Catcher in the Rye.
My main point here, though, is to make sure that you're watching yourself, and staying vigilant to recognize just when it is that you should dive into the films of Michelangelo Antonioni. If you care about film at all, and what it can do to you, that time will come. His films move at their own rhythm, and in this case I don't (necessarily) mean slowly. But scenes move with a different beat. The camera lingers after characters leave the frame, or arrives on the scene well before them. We follow a character off one side of the screen, and when they reappear in the view of another character... it's not quite where we expected them. He uses sound, architecture, and unusual framing to accomplish fascinating psychological effects. (Why are we looking at the back of her head during this key emotional scene? Why, because we should be reflecting, looking into ourselves to find what emotions it might be that she is experiencing.) This is cinema that looks into you, expects you to bring your intellect and emotions both to the screen with you. And it is cinema that will reward you for the effort.
L'Avventura: In the course of just a few days last month, this film became one of my all-time favorites. The plot follows Claudia as she accompanies her friend Anna and Anna's boyfriend Sandro on an idle tour among the idle rich. It's all very idle, until Anna goes missing on an island in the middle of the Mediterranean. Claudia and Sandro commit themselves to the search, but must also struggle with the complexities of their own emotions. No plot summary could ever do justice to the subtlety and complexity of what's going on here. Sandro and Claudia are wondrously embodied by Gabriele Ferzetti and the luminous Monica Vitti respectively. Watch it twice.
La Notte: Second in a loose trilogy begun by L'Avventura, this film follows a writer and his wife through 22 or 23 pivotal hours in their relationship. This time it is Marcello Mastroianni and Jeanne Moreau in the lead roles. (Antonioni didn't have trouble getting good acting talent in his films.) It begins in a hospital with their dying friend, and ends at an all-night party thrown by a wealthy industrialist with designs on the writer's skills (and also perhaps his integrity?). This film is less oblique than its predecessor, with fewer pregnant pauses for the viewer to work to fill in, but it remains very rich, and the leads are marvelous. (As is Monica Vitti, again, in a key supporting role.) A warning: after you watch films like this, it can sometimes be a bit jarring (or even annoying) to go back to American films that bang you over the head with the point of each conversation and scene.
Blowup: The first time I saw this film, I was utterly mystified, and a little angry. The ending of this film has an effect on a lot of people. The second time I saw it (yes, I watched it again a few years later) I loved it. Yes, I understood the ending a little more. Not completely, but a little more. But I was better able to take the ride earlier in the film. It follows a photographer who seems utterly bored with life, glamorous though it may be. He wanders around trying to find... what? Even he seems unsure. Then he takes some pictures of a couple arguing in a park. The woman asks him to give her the film, and he refuses. Later she comes to his studio to try to get the film again. Now he (and we) begin to get curious. As with L'Avventura we should prepare ourselves for... well, something less than full-on American-style resolution.
So, in the end, what I'm saying is this: don't force it. It may not be your time for Antonioni yet. But someday, it probably will be. Pop in La Notte, or maybe L'Avventura, and see where he takes you. Bring your A game, don't passively consume (I know, I know, so difficult for us Americans!) and you'll be rewarded.
My main point here, though, is to make sure that you're watching yourself, and staying vigilant to recognize just when it is that you should dive into the films of Michelangelo Antonioni. If you care about film at all, and what it can do to you, that time will come. His films move at their own rhythm, and in this case I don't (necessarily) mean slowly. But scenes move with a different beat. The camera lingers after characters leave the frame, or arrives on the scene well before them. We follow a character off one side of the screen, and when they reappear in the view of another character... it's not quite where we expected them. He uses sound, architecture, and unusual framing to accomplish fascinating psychological effects. (Why are we looking at the back of her head during this key emotional scene? Why, because we should be reflecting, looking into ourselves to find what emotions it might be that she is experiencing.) This is cinema that looks into you, expects you to bring your intellect and emotions both to the screen with you. And it is cinema that will reward you for the effort.
L'Avventura: In the course of just a few days last month, this film became one of my all-time favorites. The plot follows Claudia as she accompanies her friend Anna and Anna's boyfriend Sandro on an idle tour among the idle rich. It's all very idle, until Anna goes missing on an island in the middle of the Mediterranean. Claudia and Sandro commit themselves to the search, but must also struggle with the complexities of their own emotions. No plot summary could ever do justice to the subtlety and complexity of what's going on here. Sandro and Claudia are wondrously embodied by Gabriele Ferzetti and the luminous Monica Vitti respectively. Watch it twice.
La Notte: Second in a loose trilogy begun by L'Avventura, this film follows a writer and his wife through 22 or 23 pivotal hours in their relationship. This time it is Marcello Mastroianni and Jeanne Moreau in the lead roles. (Antonioni didn't have trouble getting good acting talent in his films.) It begins in a hospital with their dying friend, and ends at an all-night party thrown by a wealthy industrialist with designs on the writer's skills (and also perhaps his integrity?). This film is less oblique than its predecessor, with fewer pregnant pauses for the viewer to work to fill in, but it remains very rich, and the leads are marvelous. (As is Monica Vitti, again, in a key supporting role.) A warning: after you watch films like this, it can sometimes be a bit jarring (or even annoying) to go back to American films that bang you over the head with the point of each conversation and scene.
Blowup: The first time I saw this film, I was utterly mystified, and a little angry. The ending of this film has an effect on a lot of people. The second time I saw it (yes, I watched it again a few years later) I loved it. Yes, I understood the ending a little more. Not completely, but a little more. But I was better able to take the ride earlier in the film. It follows a photographer who seems utterly bored with life, glamorous though it may be. He wanders around trying to find... what? Even he seems unsure. Then he takes some pictures of a couple arguing in a park. The woman asks him to give her the film, and he refuses. Later she comes to his studio to try to get the film again. Now he (and we) begin to get curious. As with L'Avventura we should prepare ourselves for... well, something less than full-on American-style resolution.
So, in the end, what I'm saying is this: don't force it. It may not be your time for Antonioni yet. But someday, it probably will be. Pop in La Notte, or maybe L'Avventura, and see where he takes you. Bring your A game, don't passively consume (I know, I know, so difficult for us Americans!) and you'll be rewarded.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
We need another New World...
Terrence Malick, in his moving film The New World, spares us many things. But he spares us only so the full impacts can strike home more powerfully. This is a film graced with moments of overwhelming beauty, yet it leaves us with a profound and desperate sense of loss. Malick argues that these beautiful moments, these shards of perfection, these emanations from a time before our innocence was lost, can somehow dampen the defeats that overwhelm us as life proceeds.
Does this film speak of romantic love in the face of responsibility and obstacles? Or is it rather the Edenic harmony with nature that we have shattered with modern life? What is it exactly that we have lost? Everything?
Like any great artist, Malick resists easy conclusions, and refuses to dictate to the audience. Some particularly beautiful moments occur as the three European ships arrive in the waters off Virginia. We see them first on the water, resplendent, beautiful, then we see them from the shore, over the shoulders of the Naturals (as the Native Americans are called in this film), through the trees. We watch them watch the ships in wonder, these huge masted canoes beyond their ken, we share their mix of wonder and fear, we notice how they must, must look at the ships, but also how they linger still behind the leaves of the trees. We feel their childlike innocence and note the clean lines of their lean bodies. When we cut to the ship we (if we are of European descent) recognize ourselves in these hairier, smellier and more stern fellows. (Much time could be spent on Malick's idealization of the Naturals' life, and to be sure at first it smacks of the facile "Native Americans good, Europeans bad" over-correction of modern multicultural education, but Malick's hunting bigger game here. This isn't about such small things, it's about the promise of humanity and the ways it always, always falls short. So be offended if you must, but be offended at turning everyone into metaphors (or metonyms) not at some hippie/boomer-type 6th grade history teacher revisionism.) Indeed, the Naturals sniff at the Europeans once they're ashore and the two groups mingle to inspect one another. Again, Malick captures a fresh view of this moment, portraying neither hostility nor open-armed welcome on either side, instead letting us balance at the knife-edge of exhilaration and caution on each side. (Note he takes care to move the camera as well, now over a European shoulder, now over a Natural's shoulder, again emphasizing that this time the camera (and by extension the film) will take no sides. Or, perhaps better, will take all sides.)
This works brilliantly for the narrative as well, for when violence erupts (as we know and dread it must) we feel the horror of it twice, once for the frightened dislocated Europeans, and once more for the once-friendly, now-threatened Naturals. We feel visceral disgust at the waste of violence and war. Someone once said it's impossible to make an anti-war film because the inherent drama and kinetic nature of filmed violence sweeps the viewer into it in a gripping way. I've never quite agreed with the statement, but understand the sentiment. Here Malick films and edits his action skillfully, yet it remains horrifying rather than exhilarating.
So, yes, the Naturals are idealized. Yes, the grimy smelly Europeans stand in for corruption and rot entering into the New World. But they are not demonized. It is more nuanced. The Europeans seek nonviolent interaction (though primarily so they’ll have someone to trade with if their crops don’t succeed). Of course, Malick is also setting up the natives as more in touch with nature.
Early on, John Smith’s voice-over speaks of this new land being a place where no one need suffer want, where no man need fall under the control of another. Pynchon worked some of this same ground in Mason & Dixon, though in far jokier ways. But it doesn’t matter. It strikes home. It hits you in the gut.
This film is littered with beautiful images and striking juxtapositions, but it would be wrong to finish this meditation upon it without mentioning the fine performances found within. No review went without lauding Q'orianka Kilcher, and rightfully so. She captures the innocence and slow maturation of Pocahontas with grace and subtlety. The wonder of young love as she falls for John Smith is convincing and heartbreaking. Colin Farrell is well-cast as John Smith. He's not an actor that I find generally impressive, but he's excellent here. Similarly solid are Christian Bale and Christopher Plummer. Sometimes in meditative, shot-to-the-hilt films like this the performances are overwhelmed or forgotten, but this time they keep it anchored. Malick understands his ideas will strike home more forcefully if we're given humanity to which they can be attached.
Does this film speak of romantic love in the face of responsibility and obstacles? Or is it rather the Edenic harmony with nature that we have shattered with modern life? What is it exactly that we have lost? Everything?
Like any great artist, Malick resists easy conclusions, and refuses to dictate to the audience. Some particularly beautiful moments occur as the three European ships arrive in the waters off Virginia. We see them first on the water, resplendent, beautiful, then we see them from the shore, over the shoulders of the Naturals (as the Native Americans are called in this film), through the trees. We watch them watch the ships in wonder, these huge masted canoes beyond their ken, we share their mix of wonder and fear, we notice how they must, must look at the ships, but also how they linger still behind the leaves of the trees. We feel their childlike innocence and note the clean lines of their lean bodies. When we cut to the ship we (if we are of European descent) recognize ourselves in these hairier, smellier and more stern fellows. (Much time could be spent on Malick's idealization of the Naturals' life, and to be sure at first it smacks of the facile "Native Americans good, Europeans bad" over-correction of modern multicultural education, but Malick's hunting bigger game here. This isn't about such small things, it's about the promise of humanity and the ways it always, always falls short. So be offended if you must, but be offended at turning everyone into metaphors (or metonyms) not at some hippie/boomer-type 6th grade history teacher revisionism.) Indeed, the Naturals sniff at the Europeans once they're ashore and the two groups mingle to inspect one another. Again, Malick captures a fresh view of this moment, portraying neither hostility nor open-armed welcome on either side, instead letting us balance at the knife-edge of exhilaration and caution on each side. (Note he takes care to move the camera as well, now over a European shoulder, now over a Natural's shoulder, again emphasizing that this time the camera (and by extension the film) will take no sides. Or, perhaps better, will take all sides.)
This works brilliantly for the narrative as well, for when violence erupts (as we know and dread it must) we feel the horror of it twice, once for the frightened dislocated Europeans, and once more for the once-friendly, now-threatened Naturals. We feel visceral disgust at the waste of violence and war. Someone once said it's impossible to make an anti-war film because the inherent drama and kinetic nature of filmed violence sweeps the viewer into it in a gripping way. I've never quite agreed with the statement, but understand the sentiment. Here Malick films and edits his action skillfully, yet it remains horrifying rather than exhilarating.
So, yes, the Naturals are idealized. Yes, the grimy smelly Europeans stand in for corruption and rot entering into the New World. But they are not demonized. It is more nuanced. The Europeans seek nonviolent interaction (though primarily so they’ll have someone to trade with if their crops don’t succeed). Of course, Malick is also setting up the natives as more in touch with nature.
Early on, John Smith’s voice-over speaks of this new land being a place where no one need suffer want, where no man need fall under the control of another. Pynchon worked some of this same ground in Mason & Dixon, though in far jokier ways. But it doesn’t matter. It strikes home. It hits you in the gut.
This film is littered with beautiful images and striking juxtapositions, but it would be wrong to finish this meditation upon it without mentioning the fine performances found within. No review went without lauding Q'orianka Kilcher, and rightfully so. She captures the innocence and slow maturation of Pocahontas with grace and subtlety. The wonder of young love as she falls for John Smith is convincing and heartbreaking. Colin Farrell is well-cast as John Smith. He's not an actor that I find generally impressive, but he's excellent here. Similarly solid are Christian Bale and Christopher Plummer. Sometimes in meditative, shot-to-the-hilt films like this the performances are overwhelmed or forgotten, but this time they keep it anchored. Malick understands his ideas will strike home more forcefully if we're given humanity to which they can be attached.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
21: Monument to Mediocrity
First off, yes, it does make me sad that 21 the only film I've seen in the theatres for the last couple months is this tub of tripe. My excuse is that the Math Club wanted to go see it as an activity, and I like to support the Math Club in their activities when possible. (Also, at least my ticket was discounted, so I only lost $6 and two hours, rather than $9 or $10 and two hours.)
I've seen many movies that are worse than 21. And I'll say that the first hour wasn't even that painful. It started out as a film that glorifies the life of the mind, that glorifies working hard and being smart. Heaven knows we could use more films (and music and books and TV shows, etc.) that do this. But then it just gets... mediocre.
In a way, I'm not sure why I'm bothering with writing about this film. I'll keep it short. But it really does exemplify something decadent and disturbing about America. Or, no, maybe it doesn't. I mean, it cost $35 mil, and the film's already made that back plus a lot more. So, ok, America has bad taste. We knew that already. This is the way the market works. This is why we get mediocre films like this.
But back to the mediocrity: lead actor is remarkably uneappealing, really no charisma at all; plot "twists" are painfully obvious; characters presented as smart do idiotic things often; Kevin Spacey grates as smarmy math prof (ok, that one's rather personal); lots of sub-CSI swooshy effects of chips stacking up and cards being dealt in slo-mo... I mean this thing is a veritable "How Not To..." guide for directors. (I see now that director Robert Luketic also directed Legally Blonde, Win a Date with Tad Hamilton, and (ye gods) Monster-In-Law, so what did I expect, right? (I mean, when your career has been a downward spiral since Legally Blonde? Ouch.)) He can't even be bothered to provide some sort of reason for the lead and romantic interest to fall in love? One minute she's deliberately not kissing him on the subway, making him feel awkward. The next minute she's straddling him in a strip club in Vegas telling him to come up to their suite so he can fondle her against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the strip. Chemistry? Zilch. I've seen waterlogged matchbooks generate more heat.
Sad to see some good actors wasted, too. Kevin Spacey's been wandering the wasteland for a while after such a promising early career (Glengarry Glen Ross, The Usual Suspects, American Beauty). And Laurence Fishburne? Buddy, you didn't make enough money from The Matrix (and the two embarrassingly bad sequels) to avoid disasters like this?
The more I think about it the more it feels like it didn't even rise to the level of mediocre. As it went along I had to try harder and harder to keep from snorting my derision. (I rarely do this in a theatre, out of respect for my fellow patrons. Though I'll confess that eventually Mission to Mars broke down that respect to the point where I was laughing aloud by the end. I know Volcano did the same thing, too. Now that's a funny movie.)
Times like this I wish we were constructed, as a biological entity, to be able to be entertained by a film like this: Investors take $34 million into area where it could make a huge difference in improving the lives of the people there, sending along a film crew or two with a filming budget of $1 million to record the process of improving lives. Wouldn't it be great if that movie made $24 million in its first weekend and was profitable for the investors by the second week?
Well, wishes/horses/beggars/ride, right?
I've seen many movies that are worse than 21. And I'll say that the first hour wasn't even that painful. It started out as a film that glorifies the life of the mind, that glorifies working hard and being smart. Heaven knows we could use more films (and music and books and TV shows, etc.) that do this. But then it just gets... mediocre.
In a way, I'm not sure why I'm bothering with writing about this film. I'll keep it short. But it really does exemplify something decadent and disturbing about America. Or, no, maybe it doesn't. I mean, it cost $35 mil, and the film's already made that back plus a lot more. So, ok, America has bad taste. We knew that already. This is the way the market works. This is why we get mediocre films like this.
But back to the mediocrity: lead actor is remarkably uneappealing, really no charisma at all; plot "twists" are painfully obvious; characters presented as smart do idiotic things often; Kevin Spacey grates as smarmy math prof (ok, that one's rather personal); lots of sub-CSI swooshy effects of chips stacking up and cards being dealt in slo-mo... I mean this thing is a veritable "How Not To..." guide for directors. (I see now that director Robert Luketic also directed Legally Blonde, Win a Date with Tad Hamilton, and (ye gods) Monster-In-Law, so what did I expect, right? (I mean, when your career has been a downward spiral since Legally Blonde? Ouch.)) He can't even be bothered to provide some sort of reason for the lead and romantic interest to fall in love? One minute she's deliberately not kissing him on the subway, making him feel awkward. The next minute she's straddling him in a strip club in Vegas telling him to come up to their suite so he can fondle her against the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the strip. Chemistry? Zilch. I've seen waterlogged matchbooks generate more heat.
Sad to see some good actors wasted, too. Kevin Spacey's been wandering the wasteland for a while after such a promising early career (Glengarry Glen Ross, The Usual Suspects, American Beauty). And Laurence Fishburne? Buddy, you didn't make enough money from The Matrix (and the two embarrassingly bad sequels) to avoid disasters like this?
The more I think about it the more it feels like it didn't even rise to the level of mediocre. As it went along I had to try harder and harder to keep from snorting my derision. (I rarely do this in a theatre, out of respect for my fellow patrons. Though I'll confess that eventually Mission to Mars broke down that respect to the point where I was laughing aloud by the end. I know Volcano did the same thing, too. Now that's a funny movie.)
Times like this I wish we were constructed, as a biological entity, to be able to be entertained by a film like this: Investors take $34 million into area where it could make a huge difference in improving the lives of the people there, sending along a film crew or two with a filming budget of $1 million to record the process of improving lives. Wouldn't it be great if that movie made $24 million in its first weekend and was profitable for the investors by the second week?
Well, wishes/horses/beggars/ride, right?
Saturday, April 12, 2008
One more thought on American Beauty
Recall Ricky Fitts's video of the empty white plastic bag, spinning and dancing on the breeze. We twice watch this video in the course of the film, and it is beautiful, but keep thinking about it. Would this bag be beautiful if it still had purchased items within it? No, it would be weighed down, lifeless, perhaps twitching pathetically in the breeze but nothing more. Only when the merchandise, the things are removed, only then does it achieve the lightness necessary to rise, to spin, to dance and be sublimely beautiful.
Keep yourself light. Always.
Keep yourself light. Always.
Defending American Beauty [spoilers]
A recent repeat viewing of American Beauty, directed by Sam Mendes, reminded me of some complaints about the film. Now, I'm sympathetic to complaints that the film was a bit overrated. This happens almost every year, it seems, that some film that might have been pretty good ends up annoying everyone because when Oscar season rolls around it gets puffed up far beyond its worth. (I may take a few slings and arrows, here, but I'd put Paul Haggis's Crash in this category, because, frankly, it had a few really good scenes. But it's hard to even enjoy those scenes now because so much of the rest of the film is too blatantly manipulative and ridiculously coincidental and these flaws should have utterly disqualified the film from even being nominated. And the damn thing won! See, even now, it falls further in my estimation because of its being overvalued. But I digress.)
But I'm not sympathetic to all the criticisms of American Beauty. Are these clichéd characters? Perhaps they begin this way. It might be better to call them stock characters. But the film then spins them in strange directions, and portrays them in ways we have not (often) seen before. Also, the performances are angled and pitched uniquely, and this too allows the familiar nature of the characters to be transcended. (Annette Bening does particularly vital work, as her character is one of the most thinly written, and dances the closest to caricature throughout.)
This film is not realistic? Of course not. It's extremely stylized. What's wrong with that? You expect art to be realistic? All art is stylized, it shouldn't bother you that this one wears it a little more plainly on its sleeve.
Something that hit me in the gut this time through the film was the intense tragedy of the Chris Cooper's ex-marine character, Frank Fitts. In previous viewings I've been so caught up in Kevin Spacey's Lester Burnham, and his fitful efforts to find some sort of authenticity, that his death at Fitts' hand has always filled me with anger at the Fitts character. (This despite the fact that Lester tells us, in his film-opening voice-over monologue, that he will be dead very soon.) But not this time. This time I was finally able to see the deep need, the horror of having been locked down and locked away from his own desires that finally caused Fitts to snap. This final sequence is also one of the film's most brilliant twists, as we expect him to kill Lester for being involved with his son, and instead Fitts steps in out of the pounding rain to embrace Lester and then kiss Lester. Is he inspired by the courage of his son to do what he never could? Whatever the case, this is a courage he's never been able to muster before, and the kiss is not returned, is rebuffed, gently yes, but rebuffed, and now what can he do? Now the thing he has crushed down within himself his entire life is known, and we know what must now happen. Lester must be killed as the keeper of this knowledge.
And every character is the same. They're all so filled with need. Different needs, but also the same. They all need connection of some sort, and find themselves awash in a culture that would have them bury these needs under things (clothes, house, garden, car, drugs, rumors of sexual prowess). The style of the film captures this well, too, with so much focus on the surfaces (screens, cameras, mirrors, windows). In the end, all the illusions have fallen away, and this leads to violence and death, but also to freedom for some of the characters.
And even Lester finds freedom. We see the bemused smile (reflected in his own blood) on his dead face, and we feel the truth in his confession to Mena Suvari's Angela character that he is happy. He finally saw the beauty in that final second.
We should take to heart, too, the admonition to be genuine, to not be content with the surface. And more, we should also strive to savor the beauty, the beauty all around us even in the ugly things, even in the people we may write off as shallow or stock. In a culture that calls us to value the surface of things, to judge by how things look and what they can do for us, finding beauty in the other things is a subversive (holy?) act.
----------------------------
Note: We'd be remiss to close without mentioning Thomas Newman's excellent soundtrack. It's brilliant, and works very hard to help the film transcend, again, the stock nature of some of its elements.
But I'm not sympathetic to all the criticisms of American Beauty. Are these clichéd characters? Perhaps they begin this way. It might be better to call them stock characters. But the film then spins them in strange directions, and portrays them in ways we have not (often) seen before. Also, the performances are angled and pitched uniquely, and this too allows the familiar nature of the characters to be transcended. (Annette Bening does particularly vital work, as her character is one of the most thinly written, and dances the closest to caricature throughout.)
This film is not realistic? Of course not. It's extremely stylized. What's wrong with that? You expect art to be realistic? All art is stylized, it shouldn't bother you that this one wears it a little more plainly on its sleeve.
Something that hit me in the gut this time through the film was the intense tragedy of the Chris Cooper's ex-marine character, Frank Fitts. In previous viewings I've been so caught up in Kevin Spacey's Lester Burnham, and his fitful efforts to find some sort of authenticity, that his death at Fitts' hand has always filled me with anger at the Fitts character. (This despite the fact that Lester tells us, in his film-opening voice-over monologue, that he will be dead very soon.) But not this time. This time I was finally able to see the deep need, the horror of having been locked down and locked away from his own desires that finally caused Fitts to snap. This final sequence is also one of the film's most brilliant twists, as we expect him to kill Lester for being involved with his son, and instead Fitts steps in out of the pounding rain to embrace Lester and then kiss Lester. Is he inspired by the courage of his son to do what he never could? Whatever the case, this is a courage he's never been able to muster before, and the kiss is not returned, is rebuffed, gently yes, but rebuffed, and now what can he do? Now the thing he has crushed down within himself his entire life is known, and we know what must now happen. Lester must be killed as the keeper of this knowledge.
And every character is the same. They're all so filled with need. Different needs, but also the same. They all need connection of some sort, and find themselves awash in a culture that would have them bury these needs under things (clothes, house, garden, car, drugs, rumors of sexual prowess). The style of the film captures this well, too, with so much focus on the surfaces (screens, cameras, mirrors, windows). In the end, all the illusions have fallen away, and this leads to violence and death, but also to freedom for some of the characters.
And even Lester finds freedom. We see the bemused smile (reflected in his own blood) on his dead face, and we feel the truth in his confession to Mena Suvari's Angela character that he is happy. He finally saw the beauty in that final second.
We should take to heart, too, the admonition to be genuine, to not be content with the surface. And more, we should also strive to savor the beauty, the beauty all around us even in the ugly things, even in the people we may write off as shallow or stock. In a culture that calls us to value the surface of things, to judge by how things look and what they can do for us, finding beauty in the other things is a subversive (holy?) act.
----------------------------
Note: We'd be remiss to close without mentioning Thomas Newman's excellent soundtrack. It's brilliant, and works very hard to help the film transcend, again, the stock nature of some of its elements.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Get Michael Caine!
We often say, upon reaching the end of a movie made long ago, "Well, they don't make them like that anymore." Sometimes this is a compliment for the movie, or a dig at the shoddy crap shoveled into most theatres most of the time these days. Sometimes we deliver it with an eye-roll and a shrug, as in, "Thank God they don't make them like that anymore."
It seems to me they don't often make movies like Mike Hodges' 1971 film Get Carter anymore. And it is a shame. Not to say it is a perfect film, nor even to claim that it somehow enlarges our understanding of humanity. But it explores a certain layer of society, and a place, and a time, that few of us have known.
The plot is so diffuse, it would be difficult to spoil it, even if I tried. Jack Carter, hood henchman to a London gangster, returns home to Newcastle to find out how, and why, his brother really died. He's reading Farewell, My Lovely on the train to Newcastle, and it's a nice touch. He pursues the truth like Philip Marlowe, wandering through the milieu, tugging at loose threads where he finds them, talking and toughing his way out of it when necessary. (If you've never read any of Chandler's fiction, do yourself a favor and hie thee to the library ASAP. Read one or two early novels (say, The Big Sleep and Farewell, My Lovely) to familiarize yourself with Chandler and Marlowe, then grab The Long Goodbye, which is a stone-cold, genre-transcending masterpiece.)
But of course, Jack Carter's no Philip Marlowe. He's a nasty bit of business, and that's the other charm of this film. He's a gangster, and we're never allowed to forget it. We may be pulling for him, because it seems he's got a little bit of kindness in him, and the others around him seem generally worse, but his rough edges are always in evidence. He's not all that careful about those around him, he enjoys women but is perfectly content to use them along the way. He's pretty smart, or maybe canny is a better word. He knows how this world works, and that makes him able to circle in towards the truth. These days when star actors play bad people, it's often Oscar bait (Denzel in Training Day) or as a chance to embody some Important Idea being expressed by the movie. I can enjoy either of those things, but here Michael Caine's just embodying a character, and it's refreshing.
Also refreshing is the gritty style of the film, the lovingly presented bleakness and grime of Newcastle, reminding us of the bleak, grimy soul of our protagonist, and indeed nearly every other soul in the film.
No, they don't often make films like this one anymore. More's the shame.
--------------------------------------
Note 1: I've heard the 2000 remake starring Sylvester Stallone is awful. Beware.
Note 2: Mike Hodges also directed Clive Owen in 1998's Croupier. I haven't seen it since then, but I remember it being good, and similarly unsentimental for the most part. Perhaps it is time for another viewing.
It seems to me they don't often make movies like Mike Hodges' 1971 film Get Carter anymore. And it is a shame. Not to say it is a perfect film, nor even to claim that it somehow enlarges our understanding of humanity. But it explores a certain layer of society, and a place, and a time, that few of us have known.
The plot is so diffuse, it would be difficult to spoil it, even if I tried. Jack Carter, hood henchman to a London gangster, returns home to Newcastle to find out how, and why, his brother really died. He's reading Farewell, My Lovely on the train to Newcastle, and it's a nice touch. He pursues the truth like Philip Marlowe, wandering through the milieu, tugging at loose threads where he finds them, talking and toughing his way out of it when necessary. (If you've never read any of Chandler's fiction, do yourself a favor and hie thee to the library ASAP. Read one or two early novels (say, The Big Sleep and Farewell, My Lovely) to familiarize yourself with Chandler and Marlowe, then grab The Long Goodbye, which is a stone-cold, genre-transcending masterpiece.)
But of course, Jack Carter's no Philip Marlowe. He's a nasty bit of business, and that's the other charm of this film. He's a gangster, and we're never allowed to forget it. We may be pulling for him, because it seems he's got a little bit of kindness in him, and the others around him seem generally worse, but his rough edges are always in evidence. He's not all that careful about those around him, he enjoys women but is perfectly content to use them along the way. He's pretty smart, or maybe canny is a better word. He knows how this world works, and that makes him able to circle in towards the truth. These days when star actors play bad people, it's often Oscar bait (Denzel in Training Day) or as a chance to embody some Important Idea being expressed by the movie. I can enjoy either of those things, but here Michael Caine's just embodying a character, and it's refreshing.
Also refreshing is the gritty style of the film, the lovingly presented bleakness and grime of Newcastle, reminding us of the bleak, grimy soul of our protagonist, and indeed nearly every other soul in the film.
No, they don't often make films like this one anymore. More's the shame.
--------------------------------------
Note 1: I've heard the 2000 remake starring Sylvester Stallone is awful. Beware.
Note 2: Mike Hodges also directed Clive Owen in 1998's Croupier. I haven't seen it since then, but I remember it being good, and similarly unsentimental for the most part. Perhaps it is time for another viewing.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Richard Matheson's Curse
I was going to begin this post with the observation that perhaps it is best that Richard Matheson has departed this dimension for the next. But I find that in fact he lives still, and I'm sure he's grateful for that fact. What must certainly peeve him, though, is the fact that despite three attempts (and three different titles!) the movie biz has failed to craft a worthy film version of his classic sci-fi/horror novel I Am Legend. I admit my memory of the novel being a roaring scary yarn may be at least partly aided by the fact that, as a high school sophomore, I read it in one day, in the midst of a raging fever that kept me home from school for my only sick day between 5th grade and the end of college.
But it is impossible to believe that any of the three film versions could have held a candle to the book, even had I watched them in the grip of a brain-damage-risking fever.
You should read the book, and perhaps might enjoy this page dedicated to it. But I'm sure at least one of you, dear readers, is on the verge of screaming at the computer screen: you are writing a movie blog! To be sure, to be sure. So, to the task at hand:
First attempt, 1964: The Last Man on Earth, starring Vincent Price. Filmed in black and white, for seemingly not much budget, this version is actually relatively faithful to the book. The fractured chronology works well, and there are some rather horrific moments along the way, but in the end the B-film hammy over-acting, some pacing problems in the middle, and a rather disastrously silly climactic action sequence derail initial optimism in the viewer. Still, on the whole, it may have to be judged the most successful adaptation.
Second attempt, 1971: The Omega Man, starring Charlton Heston. Bright beautiful color, some excellent shots of empty Los Angeles, and a much bigger budget again raise hopes that perhaps this, then, will be a worthy film of the terrifying book. Heston is in full scenery-chewing mode, but maybe it will work in this context. After all, he has the scenery to himself for much of the running time. But his vampiric foes have now been transformed into hooded Manson-family-esque cult-members with an aversion to bright light, and oozing sores on their faces. They see the plague as punishment for humanity's embrace of technology, and thus restrict themselves to attacking Neville (Heston) with sticks and stones, fire, and the occasional spear. (Isn't affixing metal to the end of a stick technology?) This makes the action scenes rather unsporting, mostly consisting of Neville machine-gunning robed figures brandishing clubs, or crashing his vehicle through screaming crowds. Crowds of robed figures. Brandishing clubs. And the occasional torch. Add in a seriously dated soundtrack (I know, should I really hold that against the film? It doesn't matter whether I should or not, I do.), some lame hippie-ish overtones, and some beat-you-over-the-head messianic imagery at the end (killed by a spear, blood saving the remainder of humanity, arms spread wide in crucifix pose) and it's another failed attempt. (Go rent Planet of the Apes instead. Now there's a sci-fi movie: "We finally really did it. [screaming] You maniacs! You blew it up. Ah, damn you. God damn you all to hell!" Now that's a scene built for Heston's kind of scenery chewing. Beautiful.)
Third attempt, 2007: I Am Legend, starring Will Smith. Now this is the most perplexing of the bunch. First the good: Will Smith is actually quite excellent in this role. You fully believe he could be this competent and strong, and also fully believe the growing signs of strain on his psyche. And this film starts very strong. Very strong. In fact, on a ten-point scale, I'd give the first hour at least an 8. Suspenseful, mysterious, even moving. I sat in the theatre, hope beginning to swell in my breast. [MILD SPOILER AHEAD.] And then it all goes to hell. And not in the "Wow, this is so scary as it all goes to hell" sense. No, rather in the "Wow, this director just forgot everything he ever learned about his craft and also fell on his head and then had his damaged brain replaced by half the brain of a rabbit" sense. Or something. I mean, once the dog dies it just completely jumps the rails. (Yes, that's right. The dog dies. It's a very moving scene, which is good since it's the last thing that makes a lick of sense in the film.) I'm not going to waste my time, or yours, listing off all the narrative problems from here on in, nor all the horrifically wasted opportunities to mine the rich irony of the haunting finale of the book. No, buy me a beer some time and I'll rant to the bottom of the pint for you. Last 30 minutes of the movie gets a 1 out of 10. Or less. It should be less because of how it squanders the good work of the first hour. Sigh. I'm depressed all over again. Why did I write this post?
Oh yeah, to tell you to read the book. It's great. Maybe someday, in another 10 or 20 years, they'll actually film the thing right.
---------------------------------
Special effects note: 1971 version is hilarious because Heston's stunt double is about a foot shorter than him, and Heston's hair is thin enough that the bushy Heston-color wig on the stunt double makes him look more like Hannibal on The A-Team than Heston. (I'm pretty sure it wasn't actually George Peppard, though.) 2007 version suffers terribly from the current obsession with CGI effects. Using actual physical actors in decent makeup for the vampires/zombies might have raised the last 30 minutes up to 2/10. But probably not. Sigh.
But it is impossible to believe that any of the three film versions could have held a candle to the book, even had I watched them in the grip of a brain-damage-risking fever.
You should read the book, and perhaps might enjoy this page dedicated to it. But I'm sure at least one of you, dear readers, is on the verge of screaming at the computer screen: you are writing a movie blog! To be sure, to be sure. So, to the task at hand:
First attempt, 1964: The Last Man on Earth, starring Vincent Price. Filmed in black and white, for seemingly not much budget, this version is actually relatively faithful to the book. The fractured chronology works well, and there are some rather horrific moments along the way, but in the end the B-film hammy over-acting, some pacing problems in the middle, and a rather disastrously silly climactic action sequence derail initial optimism in the viewer. Still, on the whole, it may have to be judged the most successful adaptation.
Second attempt, 1971: The Omega Man, starring Charlton Heston. Bright beautiful color, some excellent shots of empty Los Angeles, and a much bigger budget again raise hopes that perhaps this, then, will be a worthy film of the terrifying book. Heston is in full scenery-chewing mode, but maybe it will work in this context. After all, he has the scenery to himself for much of the running time. But his vampiric foes have now been transformed into hooded Manson-family-esque cult-members with an aversion to bright light, and oozing sores on their faces. They see the plague as punishment for humanity's embrace of technology, and thus restrict themselves to attacking Neville (Heston) with sticks and stones, fire, and the occasional spear. (Isn't affixing metal to the end of a stick technology?) This makes the action scenes rather unsporting, mostly consisting of Neville machine-gunning robed figures brandishing clubs, or crashing his vehicle through screaming crowds. Crowds of robed figures. Brandishing clubs. And the occasional torch. Add in a seriously dated soundtrack (I know, should I really hold that against the film? It doesn't matter whether I should or not, I do.), some lame hippie-ish overtones, and some beat-you-over-the-head messianic imagery at the end (killed by a spear, blood saving the remainder of humanity, arms spread wide in crucifix pose) and it's another failed attempt. (Go rent Planet of the Apes instead. Now there's a sci-fi movie: "We finally really did it. [screaming] You maniacs! You blew it up. Ah, damn you. God damn you all to hell!" Now that's a scene built for Heston's kind of scenery chewing. Beautiful.)
Third attempt, 2007: I Am Legend, starring Will Smith. Now this is the most perplexing of the bunch. First the good: Will Smith is actually quite excellent in this role. You fully believe he could be this competent and strong, and also fully believe the growing signs of strain on his psyche. And this film starts very strong. Very strong. In fact, on a ten-point scale, I'd give the first hour at least an 8. Suspenseful, mysterious, even moving. I sat in the theatre, hope beginning to swell in my breast. [MILD SPOILER AHEAD.] And then it all goes to hell. And not in the "Wow, this is so scary as it all goes to hell" sense. No, rather in the "Wow, this director just forgot everything he ever learned about his craft and also fell on his head and then had his damaged brain replaced by half the brain of a rabbit" sense. Or something. I mean, once the dog dies it just completely jumps the rails. (Yes, that's right. The dog dies. It's a very moving scene, which is good since it's the last thing that makes a lick of sense in the film.) I'm not going to waste my time, or yours, listing off all the narrative problems from here on in, nor all the horrifically wasted opportunities to mine the rich irony of the haunting finale of the book. No, buy me a beer some time and I'll rant to the bottom of the pint for you. Last 30 minutes of the movie gets a 1 out of 10. Or less. It should be less because of how it squanders the good work of the first hour. Sigh. I'm depressed all over again. Why did I write this post?
Oh yeah, to tell you to read the book. It's great. Maybe someday, in another 10 or 20 years, they'll actually film the thing right.
---------------------------------
Special effects note: 1971 version is hilarious because Heston's stunt double is about a foot shorter than him, and Heston's hair is thin enough that the bushy Heston-color wig on the stunt double makes him look more like Hannibal on The A-Team than Heston. (I'm pretty sure it wasn't actually George Peppard, though.) 2007 version suffers terribly from the current obsession with CGI effects. Using actual physical actors in decent makeup for the vampires/zombies might have raised the last 30 minutes up to 2/10. But probably not. Sigh.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Buffalo '66: Means justify the end. [mild spoilers]
This film, written by, directed by, and starring Vincent Gallo, was even better than I remembered it. It's a very unlikely premise, and a great setup. Gallo's character, Billy Brown, zags between paranoia, fury, childlike terror, and violence. Yet somehow we still sympathize with him at some level. It's an excellent job of acting, very physical, very unfiltered.
But what struck me most about the film [mild spoilers ahead] was the fact that if you looked merely at the end of the film, it's an almost embarrassingly trite "messed-up dude redeemed by the love of a good woman" ending. I mean, really? He's just suddenly fine? And giving? And excited about life? I mean, this ending probably would seem over the top in a Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks pairing. (And, yes, I'll admit it, I've enjoyed some of those.) But in this case, the means have justified the end. There's been so much pain, so much discomfort, so much violent talk, so many screwed-up lives along the way. There's been so much time invested in us somehow finding compassion within ourselves for this loser that when the violent ending turns out merely to have been a figment of his imagination, and he chooses to go back to Layla, and suddenly it seems like everything might be okay... well somehow the fairy tale ending seems to have been earned in this case. (Warning to future filmmakers: you should still try to resist the fairy tale ending.)
It would be silly to sign off without mentioning Christina Ricci's wonderful performance as Layla. It's a challenging role, with real danger of the character merely being a cipher throughout. But the slow-dawning compassion and forgiveness she's able to communicate through her eyes and face give the character a depth and help justify some rather inexplicable choices along the way.
(Oh, and I'd not seen many (any?) David Lynch films before I saw this the first time, so the Lynchian elements had escaped me. Not this time. Luckily they worked too. Really a strange, moving film.)
But what struck me most about the film [mild spoilers ahead] was the fact that if you looked merely at the end of the film, it's an almost embarrassingly trite "messed-up dude redeemed by the love of a good woman" ending. I mean, really? He's just suddenly fine? And giving? And excited about life? I mean, this ending probably would seem over the top in a Meg Ryan/Tom Hanks pairing. (And, yes, I'll admit it, I've enjoyed some of those.) But in this case, the means have justified the end. There's been so much pain, so much discomfort, so much violent talk, so many screwed-up lives along the way. There's been so much time invested in us somehow finding compassion within ourselves for this loser that when the violent ending turns out merely to have been a figment of his imagination, and he chooses to go back to Layla, and suddenly it seems like everything might be okay... well somehow the fairy tale ending seems to have been earned in this case. (Warning to future filmmakers: you should still try to resist the fairy tale ending.)
It would be silly to sign off without mentioning Christina Ricci's wonderful performance as Layla. It's a challenging role, with real danger of the character merely being a cipher throughout. But the slow-dawning compassion and forgiveness she's able to communicate through her eyes and face give the character a depth and help justify some rather inexplicable choices along the way.
(Oh, and I'd not seen many (any?) David Lynch films before I saw this the first time, so the Lynchian elements had escaped me. Not this time. Luckily they worked too. Really a strange, moving film.)
Friday, February 8, 2008
Alien 3: Special Edition
I recently rewatched the third film in the Alien series. (Q: Should we just call it a trilogy and disregard the later films? Even when they're okay (Alien Resurrection, AvP) they fall so far short of the first two films that it just makes one vaguely sad.) In particular, I watched the 2003 Special Edition.
Now, I've always been someone who felt that Alien 3 got a bit of a raw deal. Yes, certainly, it falls short of the incredibly high mark set by the first two films. Alien is a brilliant sci-fi horror film, perhaps the best there's been. It still holds up very well today. (Again, I've said it before, but wow did Ridley Scott have a could few years there between Alien and Blade Runner.) Aliens dates from before James Cameron became a world-swallowing ego (or anyway, from before that world-swallowing ego of his destroyed his art) and is a brilliant sci-fi action/suspense film. Each is an almost perfect example of the heights the form can rise to. (That's not to say that you'll necessarily even like either film. I think that these are cases where if you don't care for the genre, that prejudice may be tough for the films to transcend.) Following on the heels of those two home runs, Alien 3 has a tough (impossible?) act to follow.
But David Fincher's film certainly had its moments, and you have to hand it to a film that manages to be significantly darker than two of the darkest sci-fi films ever made. The few quiet moments that Ripley shares with Clemens are rather touching, especially what we know she's been through in the previous two films. The ending is beautifully operatic.
To the problems: in the original version, the prisoners on the planet were rather indistinguishable, and thus we weren't as moved as perhaps we might have been as they one by one (and sometimes in twos and threes!) met their demise. The movie also always felt a little more talky than it probably needed to be. The pacing felt off in the last third, or perhaps even the last half. The 2003 Special Edition includes more moments of development of the various prisoners, and it makes a world of difference in how we relate to those characters. This is a significant improvement. Sadly, the inclusion of so much more character development tends to exacerbate the pacing problems present in the original version, and the film feels much longer than its 145 minutes. (There are quite a few differences, even in plot details, in this version. But I'll keep from being spoilerish, and leave those for the interested to discover.)
In the end, it's still worth seeing, and it certainly is the point at which the series should have ended, but even I must admit it fails to match up to the first two.
Now, I've always been someone who felt that Alien 3 got a bit of a raw deal. Yes, certainly, it falls short of the incredibly high mark set by the first two films. Alien is a brilliant sci-fi horror film, perhaps the best there's been. It still holds up very well today. (Again, I've said it before, but wow did Ridley Scott have a could few years there between Alien and Blade Runner.) Aliens dates from before James Cameron became a world-swallowing ego (or anyway, from before that world-swallowing ego of his destroyed his art) and is a brilliant sci-fi action/suspense film. Each is an almost perfect example of the heights the form can rise to. (That's not to say that you'll necessarily even like either film. I think that these are cases where if you don't care for the genre, that prejudice may be tough for the films to transcend.) Following on the heels of those two home runs, Alien 3 has a tough (impossible?) act to follow.
But David Fincher's film certainly had its moments, and you have to hand it to a film that manages to be significantly darker than two of the darkest sci-fi films ever made. The few quiet moments that Ripley shares with Clemens are rather touching, especially what we know she's been through in the previous two films. The ending is beautifully operatic.
To the problems: in the original version, the prisoners on the planet were rather indistinguishable, and thus we weren't as moved as perhaps we might have been as they one by one (and sometimes in twos and threes!) met their demise. The movie also always felt a little more talky than it probably needed to be. The pacing felt off in the last third, or perhaps even the last half. The 2003 Special Edition includes more moments of development of the various prisoners, and it makes a world of difference in how we relate to those characters. This is a significant improvement. Sadly, the inclusion of so much more character development tends to exacerbate the pacing problems present in the original version, and the film feels much longer than its 145 minutes. (There are quite a few differences, even in plot details, in this version. But I'll keep from being spoilerish, and leave those for the interested to discover.)
In the end, it's still worth seeing, and it certainly is the point at which the series should have ended, but even I must admit it fails to match up to the first two.
Short Takes on Recent TNFN Films
The Limey: Steven Soderbergh hits all the right notes in this tale of vengeance. After first testing radical intercutting of scenes in Out of Sight, Soderbergh raises the practice to a new level in this film, and it works beautifully. This film is also unpredictable and surprising at several different points, something which can be said of very few action/suspense films in these times. (Alas.) [I should add, if you've never seen the aforementioned Out of Sight, it's a masterful thriller romance based on a novel by Elmore Leonard. Much better than the more well known Leonard-based Get Shorty (which is still a cute movie), you owe it to yourself to rent O.o.S. ASAP if you haven't seen it already.]
Delicatessen: Jeunet and Caro collaborated first on this ultra-odd comedy of limited foodstuffs. Dominique Pinon is quite charming as the former clown and now handyman of a very strange apartment building. I'm not sure I learned anything new by watching this film again, but it certainly put a smile on my face.
Delicatessen: Jeunet and Caro collaborated first on this ultra-odd comedy of limited foodstuffs. Dominique Pinon is quite charming as the former clown and now handyman of a very strange apartment building. I'm not sure I learned anything new by watching this film again, but it certainly put a smile on my face.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Good/interesting 2007 films that didn't quite rise to "Best of" level, Part II
More from 2007:
Black Book: This Paul Verhoeven film about the survival of a Jewish woman during WWII is a pretty gutsy film. The approach it takes is quite different from other movies with similar subject matter, and the lead performance by Carice van Hoeten is brave and striking. In the end, it gets a little melodramatic at times, and I'm not sure the framing device was necessary or helped much (though it's worlds better than the atrocious and embarrassing framing device in Saving Private Ryan) but it remains gripping throughout, and admirably subverts our expectations.
Grindhouse (Planet Terror/Death Proof): Yeah, it's a stunt. Yeah, we may be a little weary of Quentin Tarantino's insatiable desire to fetishize Z-grade 70s exploitation films. Yeah, yeah, yeah. But this was still a gonzo trip to the movies. Robert Rodriguez's front half, the zombie film Planet Terror, is decent little thrill ride with some admirably perverse grossout effects, but it left me wishing for an actual Z-grade film. Do we have to spend so much money to imitate super-cheap films? Tarantino's half is awful talky for the first 2/3, but he makes up for it by finishing with one of the most insane sustained stunt/chase/action sequences I've ever seen. It also helps that a demonic Kurt Russell gleefully chews scenery like he hasn't since the Escape From movies.
The Wind that Shakes the Barley: The Irish begin to fight back against English oppression in the early 20th century. It'll make you angry, and it'll make you think hard about war as a solution. Those are both good things in these times.
Weird/avant garde section:
Brand Upon the Brain!: Guy Maddin is back with another strange silent film. This time we have strange experiments on a remote island, and the vagaries of memory. As usual, he weaves a dreamlike state onto film, and the effects linger (like a brand upon the brain!) long afterwards. (His The Saddest Music in the World or Cowards Bend the Knee are probably better places to start with his oeuvre.)
What is it?: Crispin Glover's first film in his "It" Trilogy is... well, who knows what it is. It freaks me out. It's disturbing and anti-narrative, but it contains some rather indelible (for better or worse) imagery. I've gleaned, from his Q&A sessions he gives after showing this (and other "It" films) that his main purpose in this film is exploding the various taboos that have crept into American filmmaking. Yeah. He explodes them. This one's hard to see, since he only shows it in person, but it's an... experience. (He also does a slide show of his odd books before each showing. You can see one of these marvelously strange performances here.)
It is Fine. Everything is Fine!: Crispin Glover is back for Part II of the "It" Trilogy, this one written by Steven Stewart, a man afflicted with cerebral palsy, who also starred in the film, and who died about a month after completing filming. Again, Glover pushes our buttons, but this time there's much more of a narrative flow. Still, it's unlike anything you've ever seen before, a nightmare that forces us to explore the reality of life for the disabled. Many members of the audience squirmed and/or giggled uncomfortably at various points, so be ready, if you ever have the chance to see this one. (Glover doesn't expect to even begin the third film in the trilogy (It is Mine) for about a decade.) (Also, technically I saw this in 2008, but it's a 2007 film, and it makes sense to write about it in tandem with What is It?.)
Films I missed but expect to like (or at least find interesting):
Day Night Day Night, The Savages, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Michael Clayton, Sweeney Todd, Southland Tales, Into Great Silence, Killer of Sheep.
Black Book: This Paul Verhoeven film about the survival of a Jewish woman during WWII is a pretty gutsy film. The approach it takes is quite different from other movies with similar subject matter, and the lead performance by Carice van Hoeten is brave and striking. In the end, it gets a little melodramatic at times, and I'm not sure the framing device was necessary or helped much (though it's worlds better than the atrocious and embarrassing framing device in Saving Private Ryan) but it remains gripping throughout, and admirably subverts our expectations.
Grindhouse (Planet Terror/Death Proof): Yeah, it's a stunt. Yeah, we may be a little weary of Quentin Tarantino's insatiable desire to fetishize Z-grade 70s exploitation films. Yeah, yeah, yeah. But this was still a gonzo trip to the movies. Robert Rodriguez's front half, the zombie film Planet Terror, is decent little thrill ride with some admirably perverse grossout effects, but it left me wishing for an actual Z-grade film. Do we have to spend so much money to imitate super-cheap films? Tarantino's half is awful talky for the first 2/3, but he makes up for it by finishing with one of the most insane sustained stunt/chase/action sequences I've ever seen. It also helps that a demonic Kurt Russell gleefully chews scenery like he hasn't since the Escape From movies.
The Wind that Shakes the Barley: The Irish begin to fight back against English oppression in the early 20th century. It'll make you angry, and it'll make you think hard about war as a solution. Those are both good things in these times.
Weird/avant garde section:
Brand Upon the Brain!: Guy Maddin is back with another strange silent film. This time we have strange experiments on a remote island, and the vagaries of memory. As usual, he weaves a dreamlike state onto film, and the effects linger (like a brand upon the brain!) long afterwards. (His The Saddest Music in the World or Cowards Bend the Knee are probably better places to start with his oeuvre.)
What is it?: Crispin Glover's first film in his "It" Trilogy is... well, who knows what it is. It freaks me out. It's disturbing and anti-narrative, but it contains some rather indelible (for better or worse) imagery. I've gleaned, from his Q&A sessions he gives after showing this (and other "It" films) that his main purpose in this film is exploding the various taboos that have crept into American filmmaking. Yeah. He explodes them. This one's hard to see, since he only shows it in person, but it's an... experience. (He also does a slide show of his odd books before each showing. You can see one of these marvelously strange performances here.)
It is Fine. Everything is Fine!: Crispin Glover is back for Part II of the "It" Trilogy, this one written by Steven Stewart, a man afflicted with cerebral palsy, who also starred in the film, and who died about a month after completing filming. Again, Glover pushes our buttons, but this time there's much more of a narrative flow. Still, it's unlike anything you've ever seen before, a nightmare that forces us to explore the reality of life for the disabled. Many members of the audience squirmed and/or giggled uncomfortably at various points, so be ready, if you ever have the chance to see this one. (Glover doesn't expect to even begin the third film in the trilogy (It is Mine) for about a decade.) (Also, technically I saw this in 2008, but it's a 2007 film, and it makes sense to write about it in tandem with What is It?.)
Films I missed but expect to like (or at least find interesting):
Day Night Day Night, The Savages, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Michael Clayton, Sweeney Todd, Southland Tales, Into Great Silence, Killer of Sheep.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Good/interesting 2007 films that didn't quite rise to "Best of" level, Part I
These ones might not make the pantheon (for me) but each had either some great elements or some strikingly fresh approaches and/or subjects:
The Darjeeling Limited: Strange for me to leave a Wes Anderson film off the "Best of", I know. And it's not that there's anything wrong with this film, so much as that it feels so much less fresh now. Even with a few new touches here and there, even with the exotic locales, it still felt familiar. That said, it still contained some fantastic moments, and the short film prologue (sometimes shown before the film, sometimes not) Hotel Chevalier is absolutely fantastic.
Bug: This is an intense disturbing little descent of a film. Ashley Judd delivers a raw performance and Harry Connick Jr. is terrifying as her ex-con boyfriend. Danger and paranoia just oozes from the screen, and the finale doesn't cheat you.
The Host: This is a great monster movie import from South Korea. Suspenseful, surprising, and, as with most of the best scary movies, packing some rather cutting social/global critique beneath the chills.
Eastern Promises: Viggo Mortensen and David Cronenberg team up again on this film about a lonely nurse, a baby, the flesh trade, and the Russian mob. There are fewer missteps in this film than in their A History of Violence, but it's also less formally inventive. It's a solid crime thriller, though, with many unexpected moments, and the most armrest-grippingly unbearably intense fight scene ever filmed when Viggo's character has to take on two knife-wielding foes naked in a steam room. (Also, though I can't judge this for myself, I've heard that Viggo's Russian accent is flawless.)
Zodiac: David Fincher's latest found him expertly balancing style and substance. (Some might whisper to themselves, "At last!") The police procedural/serial killer might seem like something that's pretty played out at this point, but Fincher's exploration of an unsolved case brilliantly maps (and models) those times in life when the answers remain elusive, and there are too many possibilities, rather than too few. He also expertly manipulates and plays upon our expectations to generate suspense and suspicion. Add in a good performance from Jake Gyllenhaal and a fantastic performance from Robert Downey Jr. (do you remember how good he can be?) and you've got a worthy flick.
To be continued...
The Darjeeling Limited: Strange for me to leave a Wes Anderson film off the "Best of", I know. And it's not that there's anything wrong with this film, so much as that it feels so much less fresh now. Even with a few new touches here and there, even with the exotic locales, it still felt familiar. That said, it still contained some fantastic moments, and the short film prologue (sometimes shown before the film, sometimes not) Hotel Chevalier is absolutely fantastic.
Bug: This is an intense disturbing little descent of a film. Ashley Judd delivers a raw performance and Harry Connick Jr. is terrifying as her ex-con boyfriend. Danger and paranoia just oozes from the screen, and the finale doesn't cheat you.
The Host: This is a great monster movie import from South Korea. Suspenseful, surprising, and, as with most of the best scary movies, packing some rather cutting social/global critique beneath the chills.
Eastern Promises: Viggo Mortensen and David Cronenberg team up again on this film about a lonely nurse, a baby, the flesh trade, and the Russian mob. There are fewer missteps in this film than in their A History of Violence, but it's also less formally inventive. It's a solid crime thriller, though, with many unexpected moments, and the most armrest-grippingly unbearably intense fight scene ever filmed when Viggo's character has to take on two knife-wielding foes naked in a steam room. (Also, though I can't judge this for myself, I've heard that Viggo's Russian accent is flawless.)
Zodiac: David Fincher's latest found him expertly balancing style and substance. (Some might whisper to themselves, "At last!") The police procedural/serial killer might seem like something that's pretty played out at this point, but Fincher's exploration of an unsolved case brilliantly maps (and models) those times in life when the answers remain elusive, and there are too many possibilities, rather than too few. He also expertly manipulates and plays upon our expectations to generate suspense and suspicion. Add in a good performance from Jake Gyllenhaal and a fantastic performance from Robert Downey Jr. (do you remember how good he can be?) and you've got a worthy flick.
To be continued...
Friday, January 18, 2008
Eddie the _____ vs. Loan _____
After months of hype, our long-awaited viewing of Eagle vs. Shark somehow managed to justify the hype. Not only did we set a TNFN attendance record, but the film itself transcended its own quirkiness to actually have a bit of an emotional impact by the end.
Not the first film to match a clueless (unworthy?) boy (Jarrod) with a semi-clueless but decidedly-more-worthy girl (Lily), to be sure. (And should we not perhaps one day have a discussion of that ragged cliche? Or is this part of a vast unworthy-boy-hatched conspiracy to convince the women of the world that the right thing to do is select one of these boorish, self-centered Peter-Pans so that the happy ending of the film can happen for them too? Only then what, when Peter-Pan keeps his (literal or metaphorical/emotional) mullet and keeps on playing video games? But again, that's probably a discussion for another day.) And maybe in the end it was mostly just the Kiwi element that kept this incarnation feeling so fresh, but it did feel fresh, and it did feel sweet amidst all the awkwardness and confusion.
We compared this unworthy boy to the unworthy boy played by Adam Sandler in Punch-Drunk Love and wondered why it was that (some of us) could better root for Jarrod. As I thought about it more it seemed to me that we were given a much more compelling (or at least more explicit) justification for Jarrod's damage. The lost brother looms large in this story, and that absence is what gives it, in the end, some weight. Yes, these are all misfits, lost and clueless. Yes, they probably all would have been lost and clueless regardless. Yes, even the lost brother appeared rather lost and clueless (if a little better at sports). But that unexplained suicide left a crater that they're all unable to see beyond, now. They're all kind of just living in there. Even Lily finds it difficult to get out once she's tumbled in, but you get the sense that maybe her presence there somehow reminds them all that there is something up there, beyond the lip of the crater, and that up there the horizon isn't so near.
Finally, we must salute Loren Horsley's fantastic performance as Lily. Has anyone ever managed to pack so much awkwardness, sweetness, and cuteness into such a tiny little film? She's maybe a little too good to be true, maybe not very so convincingly messed-up. (I mean, isn't just about the only evidence that she's messed-up the fact that she falls for Jarrod?) But she takes the part as it's written and inhabits it. Here's hoping more directors figure out how to use her.
Oh, and one other thing: I'm not going to go fish through reviews, but all those annoying critics that always whine about how the Coen brothers supposedly "make fun of" or "condescend to" their regional characters better have written the same things in their reviews of this movie. I don't think it's true of this movie either, but it's pretty much the template the Coens always get dinged for. (Goofy track suits! Bad haircuts! Cheesy video games! Ha ha.)
Question of the day: Better or worse than Napoleon Dynamite, and why?
Not the first film to match a clueless (unworthy?) boy (Jarrod) with a semi-clueless but decidedly-more-worthy girl (Lily), to be sure. (And should we not perhaps one day have a discussion of that ragged cliche? Or is this part of a vast unworthy-boy-hatched conspiracy to convince the women of the world that the right thing to do is select one of these boorish, self-centered Peter-Pans so that the happy ending of the film can happen for them too? Only then what, when Peter-Pan keeps his (literal or metaphorical/emotional) mullet and keeps on playing video games? But again, that's probably a discussion for another day.) And maybe in the end it was mostly just the Kiwi element that kept this incarnation feeling so fresh, but it did feel fresh, and it did feel sweet amidst all the awkwardness and confusion.
We compared this unworthy boy to the unworthy boy played by Adam Sandler in Punch-Drunk Love and wondered why it was that (some of us) could better root for Jarrod. As I thought about it more it seemed to me that we were given a much more compelling (or at least more explicit) justification for Jarrod's damage. The lost brother looms large in this story, and that absence is what gives it, in the end, some weight. Yes, these are all misfits, lost and clueless. Yes, they probably all would have been lost and clueless regardless. Yes, even the lost brother appeared rather lost and clueless (if a little better at sports). But that unexplained suicide left a crater that they're all unable to see beyond, now. They're all kind of just living in there. Even Lily finds it difficult to get out once she's tumbled in, but you get the sense that maybe her presence there somehow reminds them all that there is something up there, beyond the lip of the crater, and that up there the horizon isn't so near.
Finally, we must salute Loren Horsley's fantastic performance as Lily. Has anyone ever managed to pack so much awkwardness, sweetness, and cuteness into such a tiny little film? She's maybe a little too good to be true, maybe not very so convincingly messed-up. (I mean, isn't just about the only evidence that she's messed-up the fact that she falls for Jarrod?) But she takes the part as it's written and inhabits it. Here's hoping more directors figure out how to use her.
Oh, and one other thing: I'm not going to go fish through reviews, but all those annoying critics that always whine about how the Coen brothers supposedly "make fun of" or "condescend to" their regional characters better have written the same things in their reviews of this movie. I don't think it's true of this movie either, but it's pretty much the template the Coens always get dinged for. (Goofy track suits! Bad haircuts! Cheesy video games! Ha ha.)
Question of the day: Better or worse than Napoleon Dynamite, and why?
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Best of 2007, Part II
Juno: Many (but far from all) of the snappiest lines are in the trailer for this comedy about a pregnant teen, but in a way this just allows it to sneak up on you more effectively. Amidst all the laughs are well-observed characters that ring true. By the time major choices need to be made you've become thoroughly invested in the possible outcomes. This is an exceptionally well-written movie (by Diablo Cody), and is also nicely acted by a wide array of actors. (Ellen Page could have carried the picture with her utterly winning (and bracingly sarcastic) Juno, but JK Simmons, Alison Janney, Michael Cera, Jennifer Garner, and Jason Bateman all nail their scenes too.)
Margot at the Wedding: This is a chilly, talky, very dark comedy. It's spawned from the same DNA as director/writer Noah Baumbach's last film, the stunning The Squid and the Whale, but this time the characters are even more self-involved and destructive. It's a good thing they're also so funny. Nicole Kidman gives an amazing performance as Margot, brittle and biting. I should probably at this point state that I'm a big fan of Eric Rohmer (Claire's Knee, Love in the Afternoon), and this seems like a film Rohmer might have made if he were American, a little funnier, and a little more bitter. (Read: if you don't like Rohmer, you might want to take a pass on this one.)
The Lives of Others: Technically this is an older film, but it didn't open in Seattle until 2007, so I'll note it here. It won the foreign language Oscar in 2007, so it should be easy to find in the video store. This is a fascinating, suspenseful, and ultimately quite touching portrayal of the horrors of living in a totalitarian state and the difference that small kindnesses can make. Don't miss it.
Margot at the Wedding: This is a chilly, talky, very dark comedy. It's spawned from the same DNA as director/writer Noah Baumbach's last film, the stunning The Squid and the Whale, but this time the characters are even more self-involved and destructive. It's a good thing they're also so funny. Nicole Kidman gives an amazing performance as Margot, brittle and biting. I should probably at this point state that I'm a big fan of Eric Rohmer (Claire's Knee, Love in the Afternoon), and this seems like a film Rohmer might have made if he were American, a little funnier, and a little more bitter. (Read: if you don't like Rohmer, you might want to take a pass on this one.)
The Lives of Others: Technically this is an older film, but it didn't open in Seattle until 2007, so I'll note it here. It won the foreign language Oscar in 2007, so it should be easy to find in the video store. This is a fascinating, suspenseful, and ultimately quite touching portrayal of the horrors of living in a totalitarian state and the difference that small kindnesses can make. Don't miss it.
Best of 2007, Part I
Such lists are a little silly of course, it being impossible to tell in this moment which films will stand the test of time, but here is my first attempt at listing what I felt were the great films of 2007:
There Will Be Blood: Director Paul Thomas Anderson (Magnolia, Boogie Nights) and star Daniel Day-Lewis deliver a unique and powerful portrait of capitalism and ambition. Anderson reins in many of his more showy techniques for this film, but the central character of Daniel Plainview commands plenty of attention anyway. Feel free to bet the farm that Day-Lewis will be nominated for an Oscar. A word of warning: this film doesn't telegraph to the viewer just what to feel, which can be a little unsettling at times. But the actions and fates of the various characters linger in the mind long after the final notes of the brilliant soundtrack fade. (Jonny Greenwood, lead guitar for Radiohead, composed the score, though you'd never have guessed he's in a rock band. Like the director, he seems able to stamp down his own idiosyncrasies when the project needs it.)
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford: This film surprised me with its power. Brad Pitt's performance as Jesse James is somewhat inscrutable, but this is the point, in a way. Casey Affleck does an incredible job as Robert Ford, a starstruck hanger-on whose eventual disillusionment can be read a number of different interesting ways. This is another film that is beautifully and fully realized. The soundtrack is by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis is fantastic and absolutely vital to the mood and tone the film creates. (They also wrote a strong (but not this strong) soundtrack for The Proposition last year.) Roger Deakins' cinematography is absolutely fantastic. But in the end it's the heartbreaking (self-imposed?) isolation of the major characters that sticks with you. Director Andrew Dominik is clearly one to watch.
No Country for Old Men: The Coens perfectly capture the doom-soaked heart of Cormac McCarthy's novel. More fantastic performances here, and the suspense just keeps ratcheting higher. There are some challenging narrative choices made near the end (in keeping with the McCarthy novel) but I would contend that these narrative choices are precisely that which raises the whole affair from being merely a supremely well-made entertainment to being art. We leave the theatre forced into contemplation of what is important, what endures (or doesn't), and the nature of evil. (I should mention that Roger Deakins also shot this film, again brilliantly. The only way he loses the cinematography Oscar next year is if he gets nominated for both films (as he should) and somehow splits his voting block.)
There Will Be Blood: Director Paul Thomas Anderson (Magnolia, Boogie Nights) and star Daniel Day-Lewis deliver a unique and powerful portrait of capitalism and ambition. Anderson reins in many of his more showy techniques for this film, but the central character of Daniel Plainview commands plenty of attention anyway. Feel free to bet the farm that Day-Lewis will be nominated for an Oscar. A word of warning: this film doesn't telegraph to the viewer just what to feel, which can be a little unsettling at times. But the actions and fates of the various characters linger in the mind long after the final notes of the brilliant soundtrack fade. (Jonny Greenwood, lead guitar for Radiohead, composed the score, though you'd never have guessed he's in a rock band. Like the director, he seems able to stamp down his own idiosyncrasies when the project needs it.)
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford: This film surprised me with its power. Brad Pitt's performance as Jesse James is somewhat inscrutable, but this is the point, in a way. Casey Affleck does an incredible job as Robert Ford, a starstruck hanger-on whose eventual disillusionment can be read a number of different interesting ways. This is another film that is beautifully and fully realized. The soundtrack is by Nick Cave and Warren Ellis is fantastic and absolutely vital to the mood and tone the film creates. (They also wrote a strong (but not this strong) soundtrack for The Proposition last year.) Roger Deakins' cinematography is absolutely fantastic. But in the end it's the heartbreaking (self-imposed?) isolation of the major characters that sticks with you. Director Andrew Dominik is clearly one to watch.
No Country for Old Men: The Coens perfectly capture the doom-soaked heart of Cormac McCarthy's novel. More fantastic performances here, and the suspense just keeps ratcheting higher. There are some challenging narrative choices made near the end (in keeping with the McCarthy novel) but I would contend that these narrative choices are precisely that which raises the whole affair from being merely a supremely well-made entertainment to being art. We leave the theatre forced into contemplation of what is important, what endures (or doesn't), and the nature of evil. (I should mention that Roger Deakins also shot this film, again brilliantly. The only way he loses the cinematography Oscar next year is if he gets nominated for both films (as he should) and somehow splits his voting block.)
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