United 93 (2006)

This post contains spoilers to the nth degree.

I wasn't interested in United 93 initially. Aside from some made-for-TV stuff, it's the first real picture dealing with the 9/11 attacks, and I'm sure plenty more will follow. The first one is usually the quick-and-dirty grab, so I couldn't care less about it. Then, something funny happened. Over at Rotten Tomatoes, the day it opened, it was getting some incredible marks, the kind usually reserved for end-of-the-year Oscar fodder. More than curious, I was excited for it. It took me nearly a week, but I finally got around to seeing it, and I'll say this; they were right.

I remember that day pretty well. I woke up, took care of my daily hygiene, and having nothing else to do, I sat down at my PC in the morning to play Black and White for a few hours. I had no TV in that room, which immersed me in the game pretty well. After I finished, it was mid-morning and I got up, I stretched, I went to the bathroom, I turned on the TV, I probably grabbed a snack. I say I only turned on the TV, because I just clicked it on and left the room to continue whatever I was doing. As I walked by, I saw some kind of news bulletin, kind of funny because the channels I'd usually watched wouldn't show any kind of news. So, it happened. The towers came down, there was a ton of confusion as to what happened. I remember being pretty numb about it. It was more symbolic than anything. Sure, it was a tragedy and all, but I think I was more concerned with DVD and video game shipments being interrupted than anything. I know, I sound like a heartless bastard, and I can assure you I am.

United 93 helps to put a face to the horrors that occurred, to fill in some of the blanks, and to tell what happened that day. It's well-written and very well-directed by Paul Greengrass. You can really tell that this was a labor, not necessarily of love, but one that was close to the hearts of those involved.

I have to wonder if this film were about something else, or if I didn't live in America, or wasn't as close to all of it, if the film would have been as effective. Truth be told, I don't know. I don't have the power to separate the film from the events portrayed, and because so much of cinema is based upon the viewer and what he brings to the film, I wouldn't want to try.

It starts out fairly slow. It shows the terrorists getting ready for their mission, the passengers hanging around, waiting for their flight, the pilots, controllers and flight attendants going about their jobs as usual. Obviously, we know what will happen, and in some morbid way, it makes the early section of the film somewhat boring. It's like Hitchcock once said about suspense; if you know a bomb is under the table, it makes you even more upset that the people there are oblivious and talking about something as pointless as baseball. You watch these people making their final preparations, gabbing on cellphones about meaningless things, going about their business. You know most of them are about to die, so you start to wonder why we're even seeing these stupid details at all. Why should they bother doing these things, and why should we bother watching? It goes to show you how fragile a human life is, how quickly it can be ended. I'm reminded of one of my favorite quotes on mortality from Clint Eastwood's Unforgiven, "Hell of a thing, killin' a man. Take away all he's got and all he's ever gonna have." Also, the world of international flight is usually pretty mundane. There's a lot of boring routine to go through, small talk to make, time to kill. Even though we know what's coming, because we've entered this realm of boring mundanity, it makes everything that occurs more shocking and brutal.

The film ramps up, and we see how unexpected the attacks really were. It starts with a single air traffic controller noticing that a single flight hasn't responded. It takes a commercial airplane flying into a skyscraper for people to actually begin to take the threat seriously, and by then, there's almost nothing left they can do. It gives you a helpless feeling, because the people on the ground can't really do anything, and the people in the air are either unable to act, or don't know anything is wrong.

The film is confined to the airplane, United 93, and various control rooms monitoring the events. I've seen the same news footage of the second plane hitting the tower on TV and online dozens, maybe hundreds of times. But, when they insert this footage into this film, all the hectic work of trying to figure out what's happening and how to stop it comes to a screeching halt. A deafening silence as the building explodes. In the context of the film, it gave me chills.

The moment the attack starts on the flight, it's nearly unwatchable. Things were suspenseful, but still rather calm. All of a sudden, the hijackers jump up and go to work; the youngest-looking one at the back of the plane begins to stab the man sitting in front of him. It's pure chaos, and even though I've "seen it all", I was compelled to look away. In all honesty, it's extremely hard to handle. The rest of the film is on this same level, as we watch people saying their farewells, nearly helpless, knowing they're about to die. It's really just gut-wrenching. All this makes it seem all the more heroic when the passengers eventually realize what is going on and make an effort to foil the hijackers' plans. These are just ordinary people, more-average-than-average humans who decided to take action when they saw it was up to them.

There's a scene at the end of the film, before the passengers make their last stand. They are saying the Holy prayer in English, the camera shows them one by one, searching for faith. Then, it's cross-cutted with the hijackers doing the same thing, praying to their God for strength. It's a strange moment, but very powerful. If one believes, then it becomes a battle of deities; whose God is more powerful, or even non-existent? Due to my beliefs, and the fact that I don't want to cause any unnecessary grief in something as frivolous as a Movie Blog, I won't preach my own ideals. But, the feeling that I get from the film is that faith exists in the heart of whomever believes. Say a man is trapped in a cave for weeks, praying to his God for the strength to carry on, and miraculously, he survives. This isn't proof of any higher power, but, I think, that through his own faith, he was able to find the strength within himself to survive. Individual strength is one of the most powerful things in the world.

One thing I think the film does a great job of showing is how slow information really travels, despite our obsession with technology. I'm reminded of my experience that morning; it was hours before we even know why the towers fell, that jets were flown into them. It was even longer, even days before the public learned of al-Queda and actually WHY it happened in the first place. I'm not saying technology is bad, because it obviously manages to protect us and help us every single day, but even in this jungle of wire and circuit board, information can take far too long to reach where it needs to be.

The film is very objective, which I am happy with, because I'd rather not have to think much about the politics and endless debating that it could come with. The film doesn't seem to have a political agenda. Of course, through watching it, we're forced to wonder about the responsibility of the events. Who is to blame? Is the entire Arab world to blame? Of course not. Is our government to blame for not protecting us? Not necessarily. The way I see it, if somebody wants to cause a catastrophe, they will, no matter how well-protected we are. Sure, we've cracked down on airport security since 9/11, but that won't last forever, and we have to keep in mind, that the next terrorist act (if any) that comes our way will probably not be via the airline industry. Our country is so large, and we have so many people and land that it's impossible for any kind of government to keep all of us safe from any potential harm. So, are Americans to blame, for somehow provoking this attack? I doubt it. It's my personal philosophy that every man is responsible for his own actions. It's important to keep in mind that 9/11 was the work of a small group of people who wishes to punish us for what they perceived as living blasphemously. If the film has shown us one thing, it's that this act was carried out by a group of people with immense hatred in their hearts. I don't think they're representative of any kind of religious group or any other kind, but simply a number of people, like I said, with immense hatred in their hearts.

The film ends perfectly. They may not have saved themselves, but the passengers have prevents an even worse catastrophe. The camera is in the cockpit, and we get a first-person view as the plane spirals down into the Pennsylvania farmland. There is no crash, no explosion. That would be in pretty poor taste. Instead, a fade to white, and pure silence. A few screens of text display a few final bits of information, and dedicate the film to those who lost their lives on September 11. Even though the audience I was there with was pretty quiet, there was utter silence in the theater at that moment.

The Passenger (1975)

As a rule, I've been trying to avoid talking about first viewings on the ol' blog here, but I can't resist babbling about Antonioni film The Passenger (Professione: reporter), which makes its DVD debut this week. Or last week, whatever.

I always seem to manage blogging about Antonioni. He's one of my personal favorite directors; he's kind of my underdog. I'd call him misunderstood, but that's not the correct way of putting it. I think those who give him a chance (which is fewer than you'd think) do understand what he's trying to say, but become completely frustrated by the way he expresses it cinematically. It's not a case of elitism, it's just a matter of taste.

In some ways, The Passenger is typical Antonioni, in other ways, it's vastly different. But, at it's heart, it's still Antonioni, which means the 'plot' moves at a glacier's pace and it will bore most of the people who see it. ;) The different; it has a big American star in Jack Nicholson, a globe-trotting yarn, and a semi-intriguing plot. But, like I said, the bulk of the film is pure Michelangelo; exploration of alienation in modern society, obsession with architecture (and its psychological implications), long, fluid camera moves, and beautiful, yet desolate, landscapes.

One of the ideas that the film explores, from what I could tell, is the idea of identity. Locke (Nicholson's character, for real) assumes Richardson's identity. This is fairly normal in most spy/thriller-style cinema, but it takes a long time for us to understand why he even does it in the first place. It's really a mystery at its heart, since who Locke really is, what kind of a life he led, and his motivations aren't all known early on; the things that should be revealed in the beginning of the film are kept from the viewer until about halfway in. But, there's a moment shortly after Locke assumes Richardson's identity, when the hotel manager is asking him (Locke) about Richardson(whom he thinks is actually Locke)'s life. He asks him if Locke would have wanted a religious burial. For a moment, you can see Nicholson looking bewildered, searching for the answer. He knows what Locke (himself) would have wanted, but what would Richardson would have wanted; and would it blow his own cover? Although, it's entirely possible that I interpreted this gesture as such because it's what I was thinking. Maybe Antonioni and Nicholson had something else in mind, or maybe they didn't even notice. But, for a film that makes the viewer an active participant, what the viewer perceives is important, even if it's not essentially "true".

I'll admit, the film isn't exciting. In fact, there were parts when even I was bored. Me, the Grand Antonioni Apologist! But, no film is perfect, and I think the Passenger more than makes up for its boring stretches with the emotional and intellectual content it does contain. The camerawork, as expected, is wonderful. There are a few great moments where Antonioni plays with the ideas of time and space. After he discovers Richardson's body, Locke plays back an audio recording he made of the two of them conversing. While listening to the tape, the camera pans across the room, and eventually arrives at a window. We see Richardson come into view outside, speaking, and Locke walks into frame as well. The conversation continues, the camera pans back, and we see Locke again, listening to the tape in the present tense. It's been done many times, it's a very easy effect to achieve, but here it's used very well, to create an ambiance, to disorient, and to explore the idea of identity.

Of course, where Locke stops the tape is important. We learn some minor details about he and Richardson, but it amounts to nothing more than small talk, and he stops the tape. Later on, Locke's wife starts the tape from where he left off. In the film's span, this is over an hour later. We hear Locke on the tape, talking about how he wishes he could just leave his own life behind. It's only now, more than halfway in, that we really find out WHY he did it, even though it was only a few seconds more into the tape. I'm sure it means something, but I can't tell what.

There are a couple great moments, which are assumed to be footage that Locke shot for the documentary he was working on at the film's outset. One, I learned later, was an actual execution filmed by the crew on location. I had a suspicion that it was actual footage, because it has that kind of gruesome, understated authenticity, much like the animal sacrifice in Apocalypse Now. Also, another scene, which harkens back to the theme of identity; Locke is interviewing a witch doctor, who tells him that he can't answer his questions. Instead, he turns the camera onto Locke himself, and says only then can he speak. Of course, in his professional career, Locke is used to being behind the camera; we've seen a moment like this in many a film, it duplicates the role of a director and his identity, how he expresses himself without being seen.

The final shot is a 6+ minute take. Don't most films start or begin with huge, extended single takes? :P But, the Passenger's is no exception, since it is Antonioni, and it's breathtaking. The camera shows Locke in bed in the hotel, people in the courtyard outside, through the window. The camera very slowly tracks forward until Locke is out of frame, eventually moving through the bars on the window itself (a la Citizen Kane) and follows the authorities and Locke's wife as they arrive. The camera pans to show them all entering the hotel, then tracks back along the same path, arriving outside of Locke's hotel room, where he is lying dead on the bed. Apparently, there is a gunshot to be heard somewhere during this scene, but I've only read about it after the fact, and didn't notice it when I saw the film. More than just a pretty show, we have to assume that this shot itself has a strong significance. The camera, which is to say, the viewer, has gone from inside the hotel room, looking out, through the window, only to peer back inside the room, from the outside. We started from the inside, but ended up on the outside, looking in, separated and locked out. The significance, I really can't make heads or tails of, but I have gotten a start. Besides, what good would a film be if it revealed all its deepest secrets in the first viewing?

One last thing I wanted to touch upon is a strange thing; faith in cinema. It's not what you think. You see, as an audience, we trust a film. It may begin in a strange place. We don't understand where we are? Who is that guy, and what is he doing? Why is he hiding? What clue did the killer leave behind? What's is in the pivotal envelope? We do not mind when a film presents such mysteries, because we have faith that the film itself will fill in the empty spaces before it is over. Some filmmakers, like Kubrick, Lynch and Antonioni take such a delight in these moments, which can infuriate some viewers and appetize others. Sometimes, when watching a film, we don't even notice these things, because we assume that once the scene is over, we won't have to think of it again until we are reminded of it when it is explained later on. But, how easy it is to 'abuse' this faith. Although I rarely notice, there are plenty of such occurrences in the films I see. We can all blame our attention spans, or our faith in the cinematic form itself. But, it seems like it'd be so easy to pick apart a film like the Passenger scene by scene and find traces of this; things that are touched upon, but never explained or explored. You could probably do it for most films that have a tinge of ambition within them, but I lack the patience to try and find out.

Invincible (2001)

I don't really have a whole lot to say about Invincible. It's been about two weeks since I've seen it, but it's still sloshing around in my noggin, so what the heck.

The film almost seems un-Herzog-ian (too many hyphens), but the tone and mood are unmistakable. It concerns a Jewish strongman, played by Jouko Ahola, an actual strongman who did all his own..feats. He becomes a popular act in a nightclub owned by Tim Roth's character. His ethnicity and religion are a problem, so he is passed off as an Aryan and draws huge crowds. It seems rather cliche, but it is mostly fascinating. Of course, there's the typical Herzog themes, it explores obsession, drive, madness and power.

It's not Herzog's best work, but, like all the great artists, his sub-par is well above most other films. Like all of his other films, it has an indescribable magic to it, and it's practically entrancing. Herzog certainly has a gift for finding images.

One of the most intriguing parts of the film concerns Tim Roth's character, Hanussen. Supposedly, he is clairvoyant, and he uses this as his club's main draw. Towards the end of the film, Zishe unmasks him as a fraud, not only because he isn't Aryan, but because his entire act is a trick (much like in Nightmare Alley). Fairly normal stuff for a film, but later, Zishe begins to have visions of his people being oppressed, and wonders if Hanussen's powers have transferred to him. Yet, he just denounced them as a fraud a little while ago, which makes you wonder about Zishe's visions.

One of my favorite parts stems from how well I know Herzog. I've been talking with my mom about Hitchcock lately, and I always tell her that I have a hard time spotting his cameos, because I'm so wrapped up in the film. Because Herzog is such an overwhelming presence, often narrating his own films, and of course, being featured in documentaries, I feel like I know him even more than I know his films. During the past when a man is addressing the crowd at the nightclub, you hear a man scream out "Swindler! You swindler! It is unthinkable that a Jew has such strength!" Of course, I instantly recognized it as Herzog, and I replayed the scene three or four times, because he's got a great voice.

Probably the best part of the film is the ending. Because we've gone through this whole ordeal, we've seen Zishe's strength, his vulnerability and his humanity, we feel a deep empathy for him. We've seen him actually lifting 900 pounds (here's where Ahola's real-life training comes in handy). At the end of the film, when he gets infected, we have a feeling that something will happen to him, and we dread it, because not only have we grown to care for him, we're able to see that his visions will come true shortly, and we hope he would be able to lead his people. It's strange, because most filmmakers would probably milk this situation, make the entire film about a man who was so strong, who ends up completely helpless. But, with Invincible, Herzog has tacked it on, almost as an afterthought. "By the way, after all that happens, then this happens at the end..." The film is rich and satisfying as it is, but this final touch in the story really makes it all the more fulfilling. Not only does it entertain, but it leaves you with some thought-provoking ideas to bring into the real world.