Modium's Movie Blog

crisp filmy - 3 weeks of Metal Gear!

2008-06-22T22:50:00.000-04:00

The Big Steal (1949) - 5/5

Logan's Run (1976) - 4/5

A Bridge Too Far (1977) - 3/5

The Longest Day (1962) - 4/5

Hangmen Also Die! (1943) - 5/5

Blast of Silence (1961) - 4/5

Pierrot le Fou (1965) - 1/5

On the Beach (1959) - 2/5

Classe Tous Risques (1960) - 5/5

American Gangster (2007) - 3/5

crisp filmy - Week of 5/26/08

2008-06-01T22:27:00.000-04:00

Gone Baby Gone (2007) - 5/5

Walker (1987) - 1/5

Rivers and Tides (2001) - 5/5

Five (1951) - 3/5

I'm Not There (2007) - 2/5

The Naked Prey (1966) - 3/5

Mafioso (1962) - 5/5

crisp filmy - Weeks of 5/12/08 & 5/19/08

2008-05-27T16:59:00.001-04:00

Illegal (1955) - 3/5 -

Long Day's Journey Into Night (1962) - 5/5

3-Iron (2004) - 5/5

Youth Without Youth (2007) - 3/5

The Blair Witch Project (1999) - 5/5

Eastern Promises (2007) - 5/5 -

I Am Legend (2007) - 1/5

Stranger Than Paradise (1984) - 5/5

Once (2006) - 2/5

Harsh Times (2005) - 3/5

Miss Julie (1951) - 4/5

crisp filmy - Week of 5/5/08

2008-05-14T00:49:00.000-04:00

Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970) - 2/5 - I just cannot figure this one out. A large part of me believes that Roger Ebert is too smart and has too much film knowledge to knowingly make something this bad. It's a completely stupid movie and offers almost nothing rewarding, but at the same time, I can't help but wonder if it's some big inside joke that 99.99% of viewers won't get. I sort of enjoyed the nonsensical dialogue in spots and the sheer feeling of wondering what the hell I'm watching. But, other than that, nobody needs me to tell them what makes this thing suck so much.

Shadow of Forgotten Ancestors (1964) - 5/5 - Well, talk about an unconventional film. This is one of those rare films that seems to just re-invent cinematic language as it sees fit and yet seems to be have been largely ignored. Everything in Paradjanov's film seems unorthodox; the camera seems to pan and careen at extreme angles, framing the action in strange and beautiful ways, the Hutsul music makes everything sound so foreign and abstract, the camera lingers on odd moments, cutting whenever you least expect it. It's amazing that it all works so well, or perhaps it's because everything is so strange that it makes such a compelling whole. Sometimes, the film reminds me of Tarkovsky because I find myself entranced by the most normal, seemingly benign moments (the simple camera movements in a minor scene where a young boy and girl jump into a river is breathtaking). But, Paradjanov's closest cinematic kin seems to be Werner Herzog, to me. Both men present their art in a unique cinematic language that's unmistakable, finding beauty and truth in their own-off kilter worlds.

Two-Lane Blacktop (1971) - 4/5 - For so long, I thought this was just another one of those counter-culture drag-racing/road movies, so I was a bit surprised that it's actually a languid existential character study...sort of. For the most part, it works very well. The atmosphere is there, you get into its rhythm as you begin to feel like you're a part of this odyssey across Route 66. You admire the scenery as you hear the engines roar. But, sometime in the second half, I really started to lose interest. The focus seems to shift more towards the threadbare plot and away from the atmosphere and characterization. Unfortunately, most of the American movies from this era seem to be poorly dated, never really achieving that timeless feel of the true classics.

Pulse (2001) - 4/5 - Pulse/Kairo is a great example of how expectations can shape a first viewing. I'd heard a lot of raves about this terrifying Japanese horror film, only to discover it's anything but. I remember watching it, being bored, being confused, not feeling anything and, ultimately, not caring. I'd read a few pieces after returning the disc, realizing it's more of a meditation on loneliness and alienation than a straight horror movie. That said, I still ultimately thought it was just a bore. But, time went by (a lot of time, actually) and I felt the strange urge to see it again. I read more about it, here and there, and the themes started to click with me, so I gave it another rent.

The atmosphere is amazing. Knowing what to expect, understanding it and getting on the same wavelength, I found myself completely lost in the film's rhythm. Oddly enough, watching the movie this time was unsettling and left me petrified at moments. Once again, this shows that film is primarily based on feeling and emotion. The feelings of dread were based on the mood and more what the film suggested rather than showed. It does feel a bit slow in parts and leaves you feeling a bit lost and confused (not to mention hopeless and desperate), but I think that's the film's intent, anyway.

Repulsion (1965) - 5/5 - This UK import disc has been on my shelf for over a year, because that's just how I roll (I guess). The right moment came and I was just blown away, of course. Never before have I seen such a subjective film. It's shocking, unsettling, surreal and brilliant. The abstract visuals and sound work in perfect harmony, like the important stretches of silence, for example. There's one amazing moment where Carol walks down a hallway and the camera follows her at a much slower pace, then rockets towards her as she opens the door and just stops in place as she does- it's incredibly effective. There's not much else to say that hasn't been said before, it's just great and I'm glad I finally got around to experiencing it.

The X-Files (1998) - 4/5 - Feels like a few episodes from the best runs of the show, which is a very good thing. Lots of intrigue and thrills with quite a bit of fan service. A lot of what makes the show great and very little of what brings it down.

Cruel Story of Youth (1960) - 4/5 - I really kept going back and forth while watching this. The whole film seems to lack a sort of cohesion, not uncommon for films of the era. A few times, the cinematography looked excellent and I loved the details that Takashi Kawamata's camera picks up, but most of the time, it struck me as very bland and flat, lacking color and not making much good use of the 2.35:1 frame. The story starts out a bit slow and lackluster, but I found myself more fascinated as time went on and as the story got more tragic. I actually found that I liked the character or Makoto's sister the most, full of longing and discontent but continuing to struggle silently in the background of the film and society. I suppose Kiyoshi is one of cinema's great conflicted figures, though it is a bit excessive; for the most part, I have no idea why he did or said what he did, in any case.

The Siege (1998) - 3/5 - I was reading about Melville's Army of Shadows recently and never truly realized how powerful the opening images of the German troops marching down Champs-Élysées were for French audiences at the time. I suppose The Siege has that same sort of effect, it's quite a sight to see the mass of Army troops stationed in New York City during the film. Actually, there's a lot to like about the film, it explores a lot of great ideas regarding the nature of terrorism itself and the methods use to counter it. I hadn't noticed his name before the film, but Roger Deakins did the cinematography and it really shines when given the chance. Unfortunately, the whole film is clearly a product of the Hollywood system, so the whole thing loses a lot of the creative promise shown in parts. The plot is very trite and predictable, with all of the trademark 'twists-and-turns' intact and none of the performances go beyond what's expected of a modern thriller, which is a shame, because it feels like it could have been so much more.

Favorite Films - New and Revised!

2007-06-21T23:47:00.001-04:00

So, in case someone stumbles upon this and wants to know me a little better, here's my ~~32 39~~ 35 favorite films, in alphabetical order.

8 1/2 - Federico Fellini (1963)
The 400 Blows - Francois Truffaut (1959)
Annie Hall - Woody Allen (1977)
Apocalypse Now - Francis Ford Coppola (1979)
Bicycle Thieves - Vittorio De Sica (1948)
Breaking the Waves - Lars von Trier (1996)
Bringing Up Baby - Howard Hawks (1938)
Casablanca - Michael Curtiz (1942)
Clockwork Orange - Stanley Kubrick (1971)
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - Michel Gondry (2004)
Fanny and Alexander - Ingmar Bergman (1982)
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Terry Gilliam (1998)
Fight Club - David Fincher (1999)
Finding Nemo - Andrew Stanton, Lee Unkrich (2003)
Goodfellas - Martin Scorsese (1990)
Grizzly Man - Werner Herzog (2005)
Hedwig and the Angry Inch - John Cameron Mitchell (2001)
Ikiru - Akira Kurosawa (1952)
Kill Bill - Quentin Tarantino (2003/2004)
The Lady Vanishes - Alfred Hitchcock (1938)
A League of Their Own - Penny Marshall (1992)
The Mirror - Andrei Tarkovsky (1975)
My Life as a Dog - Lasse Hallstrom (1985)
Naked - Mike Leigh (1993)
Notorious - Alfred Hitchcock (1946)
Raging Bull - Martin Scorsese (1980)
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
Stalker - Andrei Tarkovsky (1979)
La Strada - Federico Fellini (1954)
Taxi Driver - Martin Scorsese (1976)
Le Trou - Jacques Becker (1960)
True Romance - Tony Scott (1993)
Werckmeister Harmonies - Bela Tarr (2000)
Whisper of the Heart - Yoshifumi Kondo (1995)
Wild Strawberries - Ingmar Bergman (1957)

Gates of Heaven (1978)

2007-02-27T02:51:00.000-05:00

Gates of Heaven (1978)

If you remember, over a year ago I posted my thoughts on a few works by documentary filmmaker Errol Morris. I've been in a cinema funk lately, which explains my lack of posts, but I thought it'd be interesting to revisit some of these films now and capture my thoughts on them.

Gates of Heaven should be a simple movie. A man opens up a pet cemetery, which has its own ups and downs. Halfway through Morris profiles another man who owns a pet cemetery and maintains it along with his sons. Interviews with pet owners are interspersed throughout. Yet, in Morris' hands, something so easy and safe becomes so much more, which is a testament to the power of cinema and moreover, the documentary.

On a basic level, the movie frustrates me to no end. In more than 20 years of watching movies, I've become accustomed to easy answers, and I think we all have. Even a lot of the masters of cinema make their films this way without even thinking. Seeing as how the majority of people would see film not as an artform but as entertainment, this isn't a truly bad thing. Even for others, film does hold that innate quality that makes it an easy escape, and a lot of films are so much better being just that. But Gates of Heaven, like all of Errol Morris' work, doesn't do the work for you, doesn't lay everything on the table, doesn't hold your hand and guide you. It would be easy for him to shoot a scene and say "okay, here's a character and here's what they say, which makes you feel this way and makes you think this" and leave it at that. Cinema in the hands of Morris retains its basic neutrality and presents the subjects and events in a frank and unadorned manner, leaving the viewer to think his own thoughts and feel his own emotions.

While part of my brain rejects this approach, another part is stimulated like it never has been before and immediately goes to work. On a basic emotional level, this results in confusion, frustration and apathy. It leaves me with a feeling that the work is incomplete, that it doesn't do its job. Of course, it takes little thought to realize that those immediate emotion betray and that if anything, Gates of Heaven does its job far too well.

Morris leaves any judgement in the hands of his viewers, which can potentially be disastrous. But, for his films, this works perfectly and is the idea that the rest of the work hangs upon. In Gates of Heaven, I see characters so real and true, like I've rarely seen in cinema, even most documentaries. Look at Cal Harberts and his two sons, Danny and Philip. Philip is older and seems to be an overachiever, motivational tidbits falling out of his mouth as he sits surrounded by his trophies. Yet, we cannot fault him. Danny strikes me as more of an outcast, he prefers to spend his time playing guitar, watching television and learning as much as he can about his trade. And yet, we cannot fault him. Even though we don't see them together or hear them talk much about each other, we know they are brothers, we instantly see their dynamic. This only emerges from Morris' simple, respectful portraits.

If I needed an underlying theme to tie it all together, I would choose the idea of pets, obviously. Seeing the few pet owners interviewed is tragic, silly and heartbreaking all at once. It's easy to laugh at the whole concept, but the movie forces you to think about animals, about pets, maybe about your own pets and forces you to realize how much you actually care for them. This ties you to these people and if you didn't identify with them before, you definitely do now.

I know Roger Ebert is an ecstatic fan of Gates of Heaven, so I've been looking up his writings on the film. Given that Gates of Heaven offers no easy answers, it makes perfect sense to see it on his Sight & Sound choices alongside another notoriously infuriating film, 2001:A Space Odyssey.

Merry Christmas to Luke - 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

2006-12-07T21:51:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas to Luke - 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

This is a new idea I have. Rather than (or sometimes, in addition to) giving something store-bought and material as a gift for the holidays, it's much better to give somebody a personalized blog about their film of choice. I could think of nobody better to inaugurate this little tradition than Monsieur Luke, my filmic partner-in-crime.

When I was a budding cinephile, I devoured Kubrick, cutting my teeth on a Clockwork Orange and becoming entranced by the Shining. When I picked up 2001 from Blockbuster, my mom gave me a stern warning- it was the worst movie she'd ever seen. Maybe that influenced me, but I couldn't help but agree. I liked the stuff with the monkeys, but everything after that put me to sleep and I never finished it. I rented the DVD again a couple years later, thinking maybe I wasn't ready for it. I made it to the end this time, and actually enjoyed it, but still thought that half of the movie could have been cut to make it much better (something I hate admitting that I actually thought about any movie). I even bought the DVD when it was on sale to try to complete my Kubrick collection, but that was that. At least, until ~~the monolith~~ Luke appeared. For months, and years, he begged me to see it again, seeing as how it was his favorite film of all-time and I never remembered enough to discuss it with him.

I'm surprised that my feelings on the film overall haven't changed much, although like anything, I can realize a lot more and get a lot more out of it now that I'm older. I love the first act, and the Jupiter Mission onward is almost all incredible. Unfortunately, between the primates and HAL does little other than to bore me out of my mind. It's not all bad, since it sets up this elaborate and detailed vision of the future and contains all the exposition in the entire 140+ minute film. But, the whole thing just seems dull and lifeless. I don't really care about anything anybody says, and the whole thing just seems so detatched and uninteresting.

But, all is not lost, because the surrounding reels are simply great. Of course it starts with the Dawn of Man, although still just a primate. We see what life must have been like for these early humanoids in stunning detail, which is what Kubrick does best. The magic of this part of the film is due to the ambition and creativity of Kubrick's vision and how he orchestrates it. We never see any close-ups, which hides any shortcomings the excellent costumes and makeup might have exhibited. Also, this gives us an excellent view of the landscape, and it's just so aesthetically pleasing. Even in 1968, I wonder how they managed to find such purity on Earth. So, this giant black monolith appears before the monkeys, and this is where the film gets really magical. Each appearance of the black slab is accompanied by this eerie vocalization, usually reserved for..well, I can't imagine what else it could ever be used for. But, it sends chills up and down my spine and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

After the monolith appears, one of the apes picks up a bone and goes wild with it, eventually killing off one of his brethren. Now, this brings us to the first major impasse in the film. The monolith is linked to human progress, so our first major progress in the film is learning to use tools and, subsequently, killing one another. Now, is this supposed to mean that we can only make progress through murder? But, as we've seen, the apes fought and killed one another before the monolith and before tools. So, instead, is this just something built into us, a flaw that's uniquely human?

Later, we find ourselves aboard the Discovery on mission to Jupiter, but nobody really knows why. Conveniently, the ship comes equipped with the most advanced computer yet, the HAL 9000, capable of mimicking human emotions and incapable of error. HAL goes a little crazy and the two cognizant passengers decide to disconnect him. In one of the most famous sequences in cinema, HAL learns of this by reading lips, which they should have totally seen coming. HAL kills them all, but can't keep a good Dave down, as he finally shuts down HAL and learns the 'why' of his mission- to investigate a signal sent from the monolith they unearthed on the Moon (see: exposition). Then, uh, some stuff happens.

The one thing that mostly everybody can agree with, in regards to 2001, is the technical mastery that Kubrick exhibits. Each shot and scene is done to perfection. His infamous attention to detail is also on display in every single aspect of the film. The models used in the outer-space photography are really incredible; there's not a flaw to be seen. Nearly 40 years later, they still look far better than anything modern technology can come up with, and I'm sure they will 40 years from now. Not only is it a technical masterpiece, but an artistic one, and a distinction must surely be drawn between the two. Kubrick lets nothing get between him and expressing his grand vision here. And thank Stan for that.

In keeping with Kubrick's attention to the little details, some of the biggest delights with 2001 lie in the little things. Stan could definitely create an atmosphere like no other, in more ways than one. In the scene where HAL locks Dave out of the ship, the sense of panic is very palpable, it's easy for one's muscles to tighten while watching it. I love the editing when the primate first picks up the bone in the beginning, the way it cuts between the triumph and the violence. But, Kubrick's moments are also like no others because nobody else does things anything like him. Take, for instance, the appearances of the monolith or the 'tunnel' towards the end. I've found that I feel so much at times like that; Terror, serenity, trepidation, hope, elation, triumph. I think that, because a lot of the film (and a lot of Kubrick's other films) feels so distant that this eruption of so many conflicting emotions can easily be confused with lack thereof.

As for the analyzation and meaning of the film, I still have no clue. There are a million different ideas I could branch out on, as evidenced by the hundreds of analyses and a cursory glance at a message board like 2001's on IMDb. As Roger Ebert said, 2001 isn't an easy film, it doesn't tell you what to think or how to feel, which, to me, represents something that is sorely needed in cinema. Sometimes, even most of the times, it's better to escape into a movie, to feel the ups and downs, like a rollercoaster, and come out unchanged. But, sometimes it's an utter necessity to have a film like 2001 to inspire thought and inspire those emotions and ideas that can't be put into words.

In the end, I still don't know that 2001 means. I'm sure that it does mean something, because it's far too important not to. Watching it, those wordless secrets of the cinema creep into your skin that let you know that this is something special, something worthy of your attention and thoughts. To give an easy answer would be a cop-out, it'd be against anything and everything that the film itself stands for. I've kept myself and my ideas on the film 'fresh' in order to write this, but I really can't wait to dive into ideas, analyses and discussions about it. I feel like the message is inside of a locked room that I don't quite have the key to. But, what's inside that room is important, it's essential.

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Part 4: The Virgin Spring

2006-12-02T00:20:00.000-05:00

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Part 4: The Virgin Spring

The Virgin Spring is just such a rich film. There's so much going on there to focus on. Technically, you've got Nykvist doing his thing (see below), Bergman's always-sublime direction, great acting all around (Sydow, of course, Birgitta Pettersson, Gunnel Lindblom, the herdsmen, not to mention the boy, who turns in one of the best, most nuanced child performances ever), the sparse but evocative music by Bergman regular Erik Nordgren. Then, you realize that, not only does the film tell a great story, full of details and well-developed characters, but it just gives you so much to think about. Bergman presents a complete world, encapsulated in 89 scant minutes, a world that seems to be in contention with itself; Christianity and paganism, purity and filth, pleasure and horror, guilt and redemption, good and evil, Heaven and Hell.

This was Nykvist's first collaboration with Bergman, aside from some minor work on Sawdust and Tinsel, but you wouldn't know it. From the start, the two men moved with such conviction and boldness that it seemed like they were brought together by destiny. He captures Bergman's world in conflict so elegantly that it's impossible to imagine the scenes being shot any other way. His lighting reflects the conflict in the film; there are many contrasts between light and dark, the natural and the baroque, the beautiful and the ugly. Just look at the expressions on the characters' faces here, all stripped bare, right down to their very soul. Yes, Nykvist as the master.

"...we are both utterly captivated by the problems of light, the gentle, dangerous, dreamlike, living, dead, clear, misty, hot, violent, bare, sudden, dark, springlike, falling, straight, slanting, sensual, subdued, limited, poisonous, calming, pale light. Light." - Ingmar Bergman on Sven Nykvist

Modium goes region free!

2006-11-27T21:24:00.000-05:00

UK DVDs courtesy of Amazon.co.uk (even though I paid for them). Veronique is obviously Region 1, but who can resist photographing something with Irene Jacob on it?

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Part 3: Crimes and Misdemeanors

2006-11-21T21:17:00.000-05:00

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Part 3: Crimes and Misdemeanors

Crimes and Misdemeanors has always been one of my favorite Woodys. I remember after I'd seen Match Point in theaters, I thought it covered a lot of the same ground that he'd traversed earlier in this film. But, watching it again, I see that Match Point has absolutely nothing on Crimes and Misdemeanors. It does one of the best things that a film can do; it explores ideas. Even better, it gives your mind enough of a kick-start to wander off on its own and give you plenty more to think about for days after the credits roll. It's a contemplation on the very ideas of crime and punishment (sup Dostoevsky) and the things that go along. Not only is it deep, but in the segments which Woody cast himself in, it's funny and touching. Not to mention, it's easily his most cynical work. Essentially, the rich, well-to-do upper class are able to get away with murder, meanwhile, those who can't catch a break are stripped of everything they care about and any dreams they may have. Yeah, I can see why I dig it.

It's always interesting to compare Nykvist's Bergman films with those he did with other directors. Not because they're inferior necessarily, but because the two men and their work are intrinsically linked. But, I think it speaks for Sven's talent that you never think of Bergman while watching one of his non-Bergman projects. In this film, his camera adapts to Allen's style, you can see it elegantly swooping and gliding around the environments, seeking out the point that will ensure the maximum emotional impact. And, of course, his lighting brings out some of the most genuinely moving moments in any of Allen's films (this also goes for Another Woman, which I actually enjoy more). Like I said, nobody could coax feeling out of a human face like Sven Nykvist.

The Departed (2006)

2006-10-11T18:41:00.000-04:00

The Departed (2006)

Luke called it a cinematic blessing. He couldn't have been more correct. Yet another cinematic blessing from Martin Scorsese, the patron saint of cinema.

I don't think Scorsese has ever exhibited such bravado in his staging. The film grabs you from the start and doesn't let go. The camera swings around, pans down long tables and bar counters, all for the film. Even the slower scenes have a frenzied undercurrent running through them; the opening scenes place Costello completely in the dark, until he steps forward to finally utter the tagline, "When you're facing a loaded gun, what's the difference?" It's a relentless assault on our emotions that we'll gladly take anytime. Thelma Schoonmaker has always been one of the best, and her editing here is breathless; scenes overlap, slide on top of one another, and finally, slam into place.

The opening title doesn't appear until the end of the first reel. The first 20 minutes are an exquisite setup; this scene is the KO suckerpunch. The two thumps from I'm Shipping Up to Boston by DKM slam down like mortar fire, the white-on-black title flickers across the screen, Sullivan soars while Costigan begins his descent, the camera pans slowly across the penitentiary. It could just be the thrill of a theatrical screening talking, but this is one of the best scenes in film history. It's certainly one of the most intense, and it shows how perfectly the elements of cinema can be blended to create pure emotion. The plot, the already-well-defined characters, the cinematography, the editing, the use of music, it can all come together to form pure poetry. It's intense and overwhelming and it puts you right where Marty wants you.

Speaking of the music, Exiled once mentioned the Constant-Jukebox effect in Scorsese's films. He'd be happy to know that there's not much of that in The Departed. I could only remember 3 off the top of my head, but I'm sure there weren't many more than that. Gimme Shelter is one of Marty's standbys, and it's used to set the same kind of mood. It's not bad, it's just more of the same. Like I mentioned before, I'm Shipping Up to Boston is used to amazing effect. It's played over the title card and again later in the film as Costello and co. speed down the highway. It reminds me of the opening episode of The Shield, where Kid Rock's Bawitdaba is played before a big bust. Both aren't particularly good songs, I don't even really like them, but when used to the right effect, they can really pump you up and establish the perfect mood for a scene.

Talking about the use of music brings me to another point: the doubling. Kind of like what I discussed in Persona, there's a lot of duality in the picture. The two main pieces of music are both played in the beginning of the film, then repeated later on. There are two father-figures in the film, and both exert influence over Sullivan and Costigan. There's the wonderful scene late in the film where Sullivan calls Costigan's number, and they stay on the phone, silently, as the film cuts between them as they stay in the same spot in the frame. It makes perfect sense, as it's a story all about doubles; these are two men, both leading two lives (duh).

The acting, as everybody on the planet has said, is phenomenal. I don't think there's anybody here who didn't turn in the performance of their career in the film. As great as everybody is, the one who rises to the top is Leonardo DiCaprio. You can see it in his eyes from the very beginning, this is a man who is tortured even before the assignment. As he gets deeper and deeper into his double life, you can see it taking its toll on his soul. Of course, he has to maintain his cover at all times, because if he wavers for even a moment, he's dead. He really sells the danger that this assignment brings him. It really takes a huge talent to pull off a role with this many layers, and DiCaprio does an amazing job. Another standout is Martin Sheen. I really felt a pang of sadness when he died, and later on, my mom told me that she did as well. This is one of the more abstract assets that The Departed has in comparison to Infernal Affairs. As Americans, we've kind of grown up with Martin Sheen, we saw him way back when in Apocalypse Now, and we've since seen him stoic yet charismatic as President Bartlett on The West Wing. Before he even opens his mouth in the film, we already see him as a familiar presence, a grandfatherly type. Really makes you wonder what you miss out on when you see movies from other countries and time periods.

I honestly don't get filmgoers these days. I remember talking about it in regards to A History of Violence, but it annoyed me again here. I really don't get what's so funny about people getting shot in the face, blood spraying on people, and so on. But, that's just my generation, I suppose. I found the violence even more unexpected and horrific than anything Scorsese has done before. It's startling and brutal, the way all violence should really be portrayed.

Of course, it's a testament to the film's power that it didn't really get to me. I remember when the Warner Bros. logo came up on the screen, I was annoyed by the people chattering all around me. Not more than 60 seconds later, everything else faded away, and I nearly forgot all about everything outside of South Boston for 150 minutes. Really, can you ask for anything else from a movie?

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Day 2: Persona

2006-09-23T17:20:00.000-04:00

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Day 2: Persona

I've seen Persona 3 or 4 times, and it always has an amazing effect on me; every time, it feels completely new, as if I'm seeing it for the very first time. The most avant-garde of Bergman's films, Persona both defies and begs for explanation and analysis. From the opening frames, it calls attention to itself and announces that it won't play on the level, and it won't conform to any of the ideas about cinema that we've come to know and expect. Call it a dream, call it a hallucination, call it stylized, call it an allegory, call it art. One thing's for sure; this is not reality- this is pure film.

Persona is both Bergman and Nykvist at the heights of their creativity. This is one of the few films where Nykvist's camera calls attention to itself, but that's because it's completely necessary in the film. Everything here is stylized and like nothing we've ever seen before, or since. All throughout it, there's an uneasy feeling that attacks your senses and ensures that your mind and soul spend 83 minutes in completely uncharted territory.

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Day 1: What's Eating Gilbert Grape

2006-09-20T23:35:00.000-04:00

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Day 1: What's Eating Gilbert Grape

Between this, Chocolat and My Life as a Dog, Lasse Hallstrom has proved himself to be the master of the modern "intimate touching story where seemingly nothing happens, at least not to the casual viewer"-style story. Hallstrom captures the wistful feel of a small town that never was and never will be anything special to passers-by. Gilbert has two closest friends; one's ultimate ambition is to get a job at the new Burger Barn opening, the other works as a mortician and drives a hearse everywhere he goes. What we're seeing here is a prototype for just about every quirky indie-comedy being made today. Unlike most of them, though, What's Eating Gilbert Grape is excellent and genuinely touching.

The film wouldn't have nearly the same amount of power if it weren't for Sven Nykvist's cinematography. What I see here is exemplary of Nykvist's entire career; he elevates a film to emotional and spiritual heights beyond its creators' wildest dreams, while at the same time, almost never calling attention to itself.

Howards End (1992)

2006-09-11T00:14:00.000-04:00

Howards End (1992)

My buddy Luke saw Howards End and wasn't a fan. Since it was his first Merchant Ivory, I decided I'd make it mine too. When I told him I loved it, he called me crazy and demanded that I explain myself.

The film starts out a bit slow. There's some kind of debacle involving Helen and one of the upper-crust Wilcox boys that kind of disgraces her or something, I don't know. It gets a bit more interesting when she meets Leonard Bast. We get to observe the class structure at work, and there is an awful lot of life in these early scenes with Helen and Margaret. Things don't really get great, though, until Vanessa Redgrave's Ruth comes into the picture. The scene where she and Margaret talk is beautiful and full of poignancy. It's here that we first get to see a slice of great acting, both Redgrave and Emma Thompson are sublime here. This is the first time we've seen somebody seem to actually show emotion, as Ruth discusses how much Howards End means to her. She's such a great character, and we feel genuinely sad when she's gone. I love the dinner scene, where everybody at the table is babbling their inane chatter, but when Ruth begins to speak, everybody quiets down and listens. Not just because she's the elderly matriarch and it's what they're supposed to do, but because she's so open and warm, full of wisdom.

As the plot opens up, we begin to notice more of the great acting. Helena Bonham Carter really brings up the film. Essentially, she's the emotional center. She, Leonard, Ruth and, for a while, Margaret are our conduits as an audience. They are the dreamers, the ones who aspire to be and to feel more than society dictates, the tragedy is that, for some of them, their dreams stay dreams. I think that's where the heart of the film is, and where the meaning of Howards End itself lies. Here was this old woman who was such a caring person, and this house signified everything that she wanted and cared about and held dear. She meets another person like her in Margaret, and leaves her the house, hoping that it will mean as much to her. But, when her family gets wind of this, they decide she must have been mad, or it's some kind of swindle. Surely, one of their own family couldn't give in to their own emotions and put friendship and love above money and status. Margaret does eventually end up with Howards End, in a way, through her marriage to Henry, but it's used as nothing more than furniture storage. We're given a few short glimpses of what could have been when Margaret visits Howards End, like when Helen remarks that the carpet and sword fit perfectly, but Margaret has been changed by her new situation, as evidenced by her distancing away from Helen and the ideas she once held dear.

While there is no villain of course, Anthony Hopkins' Henry comes awfully close. He gives a very brutal performance, yet never lays a hand on anybody. It's rare that a character is created that you can really despise and find truly despicable. It's great how you can see Anthony Hopkins screwing everybody else over and just being so quiet and oblivious about it.

Of course, the ending is a happy one, about as happy as you could find in early-20th century Britan. Margaret has come to terms with the person she's become and realizes that the things she now has aren't the things that matter most to her. The bond between her and her sister is the strongest thing in the film, and although it wavers, it's strong again at the end of the film. Margaret will stay with Helen at Howards End to raise her child. As the camera pans up to reveal the lush greenery, we see Helen and child playing in the field and we feel a great sense of hope. The baby was created by the two dreamers, and now being raised by the two who seek more out of life. Now, at Howards End, maybe they can raise the child to be just as they are.

crisp filmy - Week of 8/28/06

2006-09-08T23:42:00.000-04:00

The Producers (1968) - 5/5 - The brilliant opening sets the tone perfectly. A wonderfully absurd and hilarious movie.

This Happy Breed (1944) - 3/5 - Brief Encounter is one of my favorite films, but this earlier Lean/Coward film doesn't do much for me. The best part was the technicolor photography; it's great to see 1940's London in all its 'colorful' glory.

Seduced and Abandoned (1964) - 5/5 - One of those great films where you can't wait to see what happens next. Even better, it's usually funny and entertaining. I enjoyed it a lot more than Germi's more popular Divorce, Italian Style. I love these glimpses into the silliness of society, no matter how far removed I am from it.

Asphalt (1929) - 4/5 - One of the better expressionist films I've seen, with a good plot and characters, and of course, gorgeous camerawork.

Deconstructing Harry (1997) - 4/5 - I was really loving this film for the first half or so. It's very, very Bergman-esque, with the artist condemning himself for cannibalizing his own life for art's sake and taking himself to task for all his flaws. Then, it basically just becomes a ripoff of Wild Strawberries, which is pretty annoying.

The Whistler (1944) - 3/5 - Fairly entertaining B-movie. It has such a great setup and premise, but it doesn't really deliver. But, it is short and pretty taut throughout.

To Be or Not To Be (1942) - 4/5 - Carole Lombard was never better nor more lovely than here in her last role. I really liked the way that everybody in the theater has to utilize their acting talents to foil the Nazi plan. Also, it's kind of funny.

The House on Telegraph Hill (1951) - 4/5 - Top-notch noir from Robert Wise. San Fransisco in the 40's and 50's was really a great setting for film noir. The mystery aspect of the film is Hitchcockian and very well done.

La Promesse (1996) - 5/5 - I really love those Dardenne boys. I didn't think this was as good as L'Enfant, but it is excellent. I think their work is kind of reminiscent of Italian Neorealism, because it shows people struggling simply to survive. Usually they have to do something to compromise their own morality and wind up paying the price for it, in many ways. I love this movie.

The Story of Adele H. (1975) - 4/5 - In some ways, it's typical Truffaut. In other ways, it's way out there. The camerawork is gliding and elegant, fairly different from Small Change or the 400 Blows. And yet, this smooth camerawork is capturing such a troubled, quixotic woman. I really didn't expect the story to play out the way it did.

Shane (1953) - 5/5 - A consummate western, filled with great, memorable characters. It, along with High Noon and the Naked Spur, ushered in the age of the psychological western, and it's easy to see why. The only thing that bothered me was that damn kid. I swear, if I had to hear him say "Hey, Shane!" one more time...

Update - 8/14/06, 8/21/06

2006-09-02T00:32:00.000-04:00

I'm trying somehing new. I used to do short write-ups of all the movies I'd seen throughout the week, so I'll try it again, and actually post them here on the blog this time. These are the past two weeks' worth, starting with Mondays, so expect new ones every Monday (hopefully)

8/14/06

Inside Man (2006) - 3/5 - Kind of typical thriller/heist thing rife with plot holes. Solid entertainment, but not too engaging or memorable. I expect more from you, Spike.

Jesus, You Know (2003) - 2/5 - I don't know why the hell I borrowed this. The idea of watching people in confession sounded intriguing, but they just stood there in church, aware of the camera, staring at it, blabbing on about their boring lives. (Hi livejournal!)

The Conformist (1970) - 4/5 - Finally got around to watching Bertolucci's opus (or one of them). First off, the photography is amazing. The colors, the giding camera movements..we need to see this one on DVD soon. The plot was good, I really like the idea of tracing somebody's behaviors back to events from their past. The film's biggest downfall is that it's just so damn European. A lot of it doesn't seem to make any sense and it really needs to be analyzed to be truly appreciated. But, I did like what I saw.

Love in the Afternoon (1972) - 5/5 - Wow. I loved the Rohmers I've seen thus far, but this one takes the cake. It's incredible. A friend lately told me that she saw von Trier's Breaking the Waves and saw something expressed in the film that she'd only she'd felt. I realized that never happens with me, but surprisingly, just happened here. Early on, when Frederic talks about how he feels about women, I kept thinking "wow, I thought I was the only one who felt like that." Even if the rest of the film didn't amount to much, it'd still be remarkable for that. But, of course, it's Rohmer, so it's filled with great characters, great conversation, and that amazing sense of emotional suspense.

Election (1999) - 4/5 - Reese is a revelation here. Her character doesn't really have a lot of depth, but it's more than enough. What pushes it over the top is how expressive she is, and how she follows through with her sublime characterization the whole way through. The story has a nice element of silly absurdity that works well.

Seconds (1966) - 4/5 - Luke made me watch it. Actually, I wonder why I hadn't heard of it before then. Paranoid b&w thriller from Frankenheimer, how could I miss it? It works for quite a while, as you're thrown into this mysterious plot just like Arthur is. Speaking of which, John Randolph does a great job early in the film, you can really see him weighing his options and deciding. About halfway through, when things get really weird, it loses steam, but the ending brings it all together again.

American Movie (1999) - 4/5 - I liked it, but I have a feeling that I laughed at it for all the wrong reasons. I felt like I was laughing at the people, not with them. But, I did get some laughs out of it, and the journey is a fun one to take. Plus, I love that old man. "It's all right! It's okay! There's something to live for! Jesus told me so!"

Brother's Keeper (1992) - 3/5 - I don't know. It wasn't too interesting to me. It was decent enough, but pretty boring.

L'Enfant (2005) - 5/5 - Simple awesome. Rosetta was very good, but the Dardennes have really peaked here. Like with Kerrigan's stuff, you're really thrown into the characters' world immediately. Aside from the story, it seems to be an examination of the differences of gender, how there are certain things men and women simply can't understand about one another. Also, it made me cry at the end.

The Palm Beach Story (1942) - 5/5 - Just a ton of fun from Sturges. Hilarious and outrageous, just how we like 'im. "You can't have a posse without dogs!" Add in some commentary on wealth and sexism and you've got a winner.

Two English Girls (1971) - 4/5 - Nobody can render the bittersweet beauty of young love like Truffaut. It's all so elegant and, well, French. Like the way Claude writes intelligent and emotional thoughts in his journal while his voice reads on the soundtrack about how he longs for girls. I really liked it, although it does suffer from Roche's Disease, like Jules and Jim: his female characters are batshit loco. They change their mind about the most important things on a whim and just go off on these emotional tangents, which drives the men around them crazy. It just annoys me.

A Star is Born (1954) - 4/5 - Pretty good stuff. A bit on the long side at 3 hours, but good throughout. Garland is great here, although I still always think of her as Dorothy. Kind of like My Fair Lady, inasmuch as it's a bloated widescreen film without a single interesting shot. I loved the Someone At Last performance, it's full of energy and joy. When it takes a turn for the melodramatic towards the end, I really enjoyed Judy's performance and her character's devotion.

Buena Vista Social Club (1999) - 3/5 - Very good music and a glimpse at the (subjectively) beautiful streets in Havana. But, if you compare it to something like the Last Waltz, it's so ininspired visually and there's nowhere near enough music.

8/21/06

Love Letters (1945) - 4/5 - I really loved it for the most part, but Jennifer Jones, cute as she may be, drags it down. In some shots, she winds up looking downright bizarre and psychotic, as if she's in an entirely different movie.

Where the Sidewalk Ends (1950) - 5/5 - Another damn fine noir. I really loved the lighting, the way parts of the frame are kept dark to heighten the tension.

A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) - 5/5 - Proof that Tennessee Williams was one of our best dramatists, and Kazan, of course, it incredible with actors. A classic in every sense. I found myself really loving the lighting and set design, both are perfect. You feel the thick New Orleans heat plastering the shirt to Brando's back, and you can see, in this cramped little apartment, there's no easy way out.

Crumb (1994) - 5/5 - A sublime example of what a documentary can and should be. Present a fascinating character, place us into their world and watch the layers unfold. Interesting, funny, poignant, what more can you ask for?

Starman (1984) - 4/5 - So, Johnny can do a semi-romantic drama successfully. The big downside here is how goddamn schmaltzy it gets. I like Jeff Bridges, but give him more to do than be a stereotypical alien and say "I. Send. Greet-ings."

Close-Up (1990) - 4/5 - My second brush with Kiarostami didn't go as bad as the first. I kept going back and forth with this one. I really liked its style- a mixture of documentary and obvious fiction mixed with some obvious truth. I liked the story it has to tell, and there are some moments of greatness. But, it just moves so, so slowly. It's more good than bad, but not great.

Radio Bikini (1987) - 4/5 - It's short, and it grips you from start to finish. And, of course, it's got the big finish.

The World of Apu (1959) - 4/5 - I was really loving it until the turn the plot took about halfway in. I think it has more to do with my not wanting the story to go where it did, which is a credit to Ray's craft. Still, the Apu trilogy is great stuff. It's overall length and scope gives it the feel of an epic story but with a warm, intimate tone.

Shakespeare Behind Bars (2005) - 5/5 - I can't believe it was as good as it was. Like I said about Crumb, just film fascinating stuff. I loved watching the inmates work out the parallels between their situation and Shakespeare's texts. Also, when one inmate we've grown to care for throughout the film admits his crime, I found myself looking away because I didn't want to make eye contact.

Wait Until Dark (1967) - 4/5 - Pretty good, almost run-of-the-mill thriller. I think I have a soft spot for films about people with disabilities, because it's a little more enveloping that way. I have to think "oh, okay, so she can't see that. Oh wait, but he can!" I'm obviously easily amused.

The White Diamond (2004) - 4/5 - Typical of a Herzog documentary, features an obsessive protagonist. It's actually typical standard Herzog fare throughout with some strange detours involving nature and natives. It's no Grizzly Man, but it's worthy.

Valley of the Dolls (1967) - 2/5 - Talk about trash. It's one of my mom's favorite movies, and I started to get into it in the beginning, but it just continually wears down on one's nerves as it goes on. Some parts of it can be taken as unintentional comedy, but not enough.

Steamboat Bill, Jr. (1928) - 4/5 - One thing that really got to me about the General was how much it worked as a drama as well as being a series of gags; during the train sequences, the suspense and thrills flow like wine. Compared to that, Steamboat Bill, Jr. feels a little flat. It's very good, and maybe it's not right of me to detract from the film because another of Keaton's is better, but meh.

War Photographer (2001) - 4/5 - I really expected to love this one, so I ended up mildly disappointed. It's still a very strong doc, and I really liked exploring the photography for myself, within the context of the movie. There's nothing wrong with it at all, it just didn't give me that gut feeling of a great movie.

She's Gotta Have It (1986) - 4/5 - See, now this is where we like to see Spike. He's completely confident in his abilities from the very first frame. He knows exactly what he's going for, and every stroke he builds with works towards that vision. Here, he creates some very memorable characters in addition to exploring modern sexuality and relationships.

Santa Sangre (1989) - 3/5 - Jodorowksy's filmo looms large before an intimidated newbie, so dare I ask; what's the fuss? To me, Santa Sangre seems like a mish-mash of genres and ideas, none of which fully come together. There are a few moments of strangely genuine emotion, but they seem to be all but lost in a sea of mediocrity and cliches.

Claire Dolan (1998)

2006-08-11T00:29:00.000-04:00

Claire Dolan (1998)

It all started when I saw something about Lodge Kerrigan's Keane on Henry Rollins' now-defunct IFC show. It seemed right up my alley, but of course, didn't come anywhere around here, so I was left counting the days until Netflix got the DVD in. Of course, I was floored by the film and kept Kerrigan's name in the back of my mind. Months later, when Criterion decided to release his first film, Clean Shaven, I decided it was time to look into Kerrigan's only other completed film, Claire Dolan. While not as satisfying or engrossing as Keane, it's still a great film.

What impresses me most here, as with Keane, is how great Kerrigan is at totally engrossing you into the story, into the character's mind and their life. Immediately we're pulled into Claire's world. Honestly, I don't really know how he pulls it off. In Keane, it was easier to see, since the camera was handheld and followed the titular character around as he frantically searched for his own daughter. But, in Claire, the style seems so opposite of that. It's completely detatched, much like Claire herself, just cold and distant. She accepts her role and acts almost as an observer, completely numb.

Of course, as typical movie logic would dictate, she soon meets a man (played by Vincent D'Onofrio) who isn't interested in her for sex. So, naturally, this should be a joyous event, which allows her to feel, and ultimately, to love again. But, the film up to now has been so psychological, so austere and deliberate that when the two are together, that we're constantly looking deeper, studying her expressions and trying to sense her emotions. In the film, sex isn't seen as pleasurable, but nor is it any kind of painful violation. Kerrigan strips it down to a rote, mechanical act, and even when she's with Elton, Claire seems to have the same lack of feeling as always.

I'm not really sure how to feel about D'Onofrio's character, or his acting for that matter. Part of him seems 'off' to me in the film. He seems a little too eager to please, a little too jumpy and nervous. It's very hard to explain. Honestly, I think it's just because Kerrigan does such a great job of engrossing us in Claire's world that it's impossible to get close to another character, kind of like Claire herself. Something about him just seems so alien and strange, neither Claire nor the viewer can accept him.

Cache (2005)

2006-07-24T00:43:00.000-04:00

Cache (2005)

It's been a month since I saw Cache and I still don't know what to make of it. From what I understand, this is pretty normal. Just your average, run-of-the-mill European art film with a sparse plot and no real conclusion. I doubt anybody visits my blog hoping to be swayed on what to rent at the video store, so there's not much point in discussing the film from a critical point of view, at least not for me.

The film's opening shot is like nothing we've seen before in cinema. A static shot of a French street as viewed from an alleyway, the people go about their business unaware. The opening credits come and go, and still the shot is held. Sometimes a shot lasts just long enough for the viewer to make connections. Sometimes, it lasts even longer, giving the viewer a chance to think about what they're seeing and why they're seeing it. Cache takes this idea and runs with it. This shot is held for an n enormous amount of time, and undoubtedly sets the tone for the rest of the film. This isn't a taut thriller a la Hitchcock or Clouzot, though it does pack some suspenseful moments. These aren't the result of a bomb under the table or a kidnapped child, they come from the interactions we have with others, specifically those we care most about.

It's somewhat obvious that the central theme isn't what you'd expect from a thriller. It's not that Haneke isn't concerned with the basics of suspense; he knows what the audience wants, and deliberately withholds information to create the desired effect. It's less about who the perpetrator is and more about the France/Algeria conflict, personified by two young boys, now grown up. It takes the standard whodunnit formula and turns it on its ear, forcing the audience to think about these countries' shared past. Of course, the downside to this is that, for anybody watching the film who isn't familiar with this slice of history, the entire point of it is lost. My knowledge is more or less limited to having seen The Battle of Algiers a couple of years ago. It's somewhat infuriating, because I understand that the film focuses on this conflict, but gives nearly no background information. It's not that the film is poorly made, it's just that the filmmakers knew who their target audience was while making the film, and unfortunately, I'm not in that group. Them's the breaks.

The film does pack one incredible sequence. The entire film moves as a glacier's pace, so one moment of violence is startlingly powerful in its context. Even though I was watching intently, I was caught so off guard that I had to rewind the film a few seconds to make sure I'd seen what I thought I saw. I even uttered an expletive. Shouted it, in fact, involuntarily. Ah, the power of cinema.

The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant (1972) Or: The Big Why

2006-07-11T18:32:00.000-04:00

I miss cinema. I'm so sorry I've been neglecting you. I'll get back to you one of these days, I promise. Once I get this other stuff out of the way.

I love diving into a film, though. The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant. For some reason, Fassbinder's films never really engage me on a visceral level, not that I don't appreciate them (and even love a couple). But, I seem to have to work at it when I'm watching his stuff. But, if I'm in the right mood, it's great. I love the decadence and the dilapidation. I love that long slow pan that begins on Petra and goes across the room, mostly out of focus, and comes to rest on Marlene just as she reacts to Petra's words. I'm thinking of Herzog's great quote, "Film should be looked at straight on, it is not the art of scholars but of illiterates." I remember I thought the idea of analyzing a film was terribly daunting, and I was watching Glenn Erickson's commentary on Night and the City, and he talked about how one of the characters was waiting in his office and the lighting made a pattern that looked like a spiderweb. So, he compared the character to a spider, waiting for everybody to be caught in his web. So simple, so perfect, so obvious. If it looks like a dog...

I'd love to go through a film someday, any film (I mean, any good one) and just stop it every 5 seconds and ask why. Like in Petra, there's a shot of Petra and Marlene's (or Karin's) feet, only their feet, and it looks like they're dancing. It goes on for a while, and just ends. Why film only their feet? Why pick that song? Why dress them the way they're dressed? Any director worth his salt never does anything without a reason. So, I'd love to, just once, ask why about everything.

It's funny, I can't really relate to Fassbinder's use of space, in a physical sense. I mean, some people can drop you into a scene and compose it so perfectly that you understand the lay of the set almost instantly. You know where everything is. Kurosawa does this, and the transcendental directors (Ozu, Bresson, Dreyer, Tarkovsky) do it effortlessly. Even though Petra takes place entirely in one small room, I never really understand the geography of it. Because of my faith in cinema, I imagine this is intentional on Fassbinder's part.

We Rob Film Festivals

2006-06-29T05:18:00.000-04:00

Since I can't seem to find much to write about, I wanted to update with a couple of good blog posts I've read recently.

Luke has put up a god post about one of his favorites, Bonnie and Clyde. Good observations and as usual, a lot of personal style. Nice stuff.

Exiled recently updated with impressions from the 53rd Sydney Film festival. He checked out Starfish Hotel and The House of Sand. I haven't heard of either before this, but I suppose that's what film festivals are for. It's a great write-up, so check it out.

I'll have something new soon. :P

Finding Nemo (2003)

2006-05-29T22:26:00.000-04:00

Finding Nemo (2003)

I remember thinking a few days ago about the idea of films depicting the human condition. Someone, I think it was Capra, but I'm more than likely dead wrong, said that the only kind of movie that he wants to see is one about humanity. And it's true, if a film really shows humanity in its essence; the trials, the joys, the experiences, then it will truly be great. Funny that one of the best examples is a film about fish.

The guys at Pixar are creators in the true cinematic sense. They know how to tell a story and express their emotion in an artform that most people deem strictly for kids. In fact, Nemo contains plenty of stuff that seems to me to be well beyond children. For example; "WE ARE SWIMMING AROUND IN OUR OWN..." "Shhh, he's coming" Not to mention the idea of a shark support group and the numerous Hitchcock references.

I know that Pixar puts story above everything else when they set out to make a film, and how it shows. Of course, a story is nothing without characters, and their films are always chock full of them. Here, we've got Marlin, tortured by the loss of his wife and most of his children-to-be, he overcompensates by sheltering his surviving child, Nemo. Once Nemo gets taken, he forsakes everything else in his quest to find him. Nemo, who naturally seeks to rebel from Marlin's overbearing presence eventually learns that his father's actions are really for his own good. In the end, due to his efforts, he gains a deep respect for his father. It seems to saccharine when laid out on paper, but in the context of the film, it unfolds beautifully.

I remember somebody telling me that the film meant a lot to them because they were a parent and they could relate to that feeling whenever their child had gotten lost somewhere, in a store for example. It actually makes you think about your own life and your own role as a child, and maybe, as a parent too. This is really the essence of the film, that, even though we're watching fish, they're so human that we can relate to their struggles, their triumphs, their emotions. I admit, I still get teary-eyed towards the end when Dory says to Marlin, "I look at you, and I... and I'm home. Please... I don't want that to go away."

It is, of course, an entertaining film, and it never falters there either. In fact, it's one of the rare films that I can watch without paying attention to the timecode on my DVD player's display. Because of the nature of digital animation, they can really hone nearly every aspect of the picture at any point. This is the reason all of Pixar's films are so tight and engaging.

The film, of course, looks great. After watching the BBC series, The Blue Planet, it's obvious that Pixar did their research and it pays off. It's one of those hallmarks of a truly great film, it creates its own world. The ocean is a dangerous place, fo' real.

There are a few beautiful moments when Nemo uses dissolves and music to link Marlin's quest to Nemo's imprisonment, to segue from one scene to another. Not only is this an obvious cinematic device, it lets the emotion of the two scenes to become combined. Almost every scene melts into the next, creating a flowing stream of pure emotions. This, my friends, is pure cinema.

The Third Man (1949)

2006-05-12T01:15:00.000-04:00

The Third Man (1949)

The Third Man is a wonderful film. A wonderful fucking film. It's one of those 'magic of cinema' films that reminds you of how great a movie can be when everything comes together. And come together, it does. There's nary a weak link in the Third Man; great script, excellent pacing, fine direction, wonderfully skewed photography, blazing performances, and one of the best and most memorable scores ever laid down.

Even though I'd seen it before, I was almost instantly absorbed into the film. In the great noir tradition, Joseph Cotton plays Holly Martins with a certain smugness and curiosity that makes him a great protagonist. As we slowly descend into the underworld along with Holly, we begin to learn about him by the way he reacts to all of it; his moral compass is unraveled before us with every step.

I know that the Hollywood tradition is to find an exotic locale, photograph it beautifully, and toss in some plot to tie it all together. But, Vienna stands out as the perfect locale for Carol Reed's masterwork. The cobblestone streets, the various dilapidated buildings, the different parts of the city, which, eventually, trap the characters where they are, and, of course, the sewers!

If Vienna stands out as an obvious choice for a city in which to set a film noir, then the zither stands on the opposite end of the spectrum; an idea that's so hilariously wrong for the story at first glance, but, the more you think it, does fit the finished film like a glove. First off; it's catchy. Every time I see the Third Man, I always have the Harry Lime theme running through my head for a week afterwards. But, it functions like the cinematography, as something that calls attention to itself because it seems so out of place, which puts the viewer slightly off-kilter, ready for anything and everything to pop out of the fog.

The cinematography should be touched upon, too, since it's one of the best-looking films to come out of the 50's or any other time period. Sometimes, when shooting a film, the camera is placed at a skewed angle to throw the viewer's eye (and psyche) slightly off balance. But, Robert Krasker places the camera at a strange angle for nearly every shot in the film, so much that when cutting to a 'normal' angle, the entire film seems to be slightly off balance. Of course, Vienna's slick cobblestone streets and deep, foggy nights don't hurt either.

Even when you know it's coming, Harry Lime's appearance is almost always a surprise. You can see it coming a mile away; you know Welles is in the film, every other sentence spoken in it contains Harry's name, and then there's the business with the cat curling at his feet. Yet, Reed uses this anticipation to his advantage by holding Harry's reveal in suspense for a few extra moments. Finally, the old woman turns on her light and in a flash, Orson Welles is revealed. Prefiguring his mischievous turn as performer in his own F for Fake, he grins like an overgrown cherub, elated with all the fuss he's caused so far.

Even after that, the story doesn't let up until the end, as Holly and Harry are engaged in a kind of an epic struggle of, essentially, Good Vs. Evil. It's enough to remind you of why we watch movies in the first place.

United 93 (2006)

2006-05-05T19:00:00.000-04:00

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) or: Faith in Cinema

2006-05-03T23:15:00.000-04:00

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)

2006-05-02T00:17:00.000-04:00

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.

...Because you can't watch films all the time - Main listing

2006-04-13T23:31:00.000-04:00

These are my own thoughts on film-related books that I've been reading. I try to discuss everything I read, in groups of 10, whenever I feel like it. Check it.

...Because you can't watch films all the time - Vol. 1
1001 Movies You Must See Before You Die - Steven Jay Schneider
The Off-Hollywood Film Guide - Tom Weiner
TV Guide 2005 Film & Video Companion
Images: My Life in Film - Ingmar Bergman
The Magic Lantern: An Autobiography - Ingmar Bergman
Making Pictures: A Century of European Cinematography
The Cinema of Orson Welles - Peter Cowie
The Films in My Life - Francois Truffaut
Who the Hell's in it - Peter Bogdanovich
The Disappointment Artist and Other Essays - Jonathan Lethem

...Because you can't watch films all the time - Vol. 2
Andrei Tarkovsky - Sculpting in Time
Michaelangelo Antonioni - The Architecture of Vision
Roger Ebert - Great Movies
Roger Ebert - I Hated, Hated, Hated This Movie
Donald Richie - The Films of Akira Kurosawa
Frank Thompson - Lost Films: Important Movies that Disappeared
Geoff Andrew - The Director's Vision: A Concise Guide to the Art of 250 Great Filmmakers
Jonathan Rosenbaum - Essential Cinema: On the Necessity of Film Canons
Frank Miller - A Dame to Kill For
Mark Haddon - The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

...Because you can't watch films all the time - Vol. 3

Coming soon!

Scenes from a Marriage (1973)

2006-04-13T22:20:00.000-04:00

Scenes from a Marriage (1973)

I remember the first time I saw Scenes from a Marriage, shortly after the DVD arrived. I watches the television series, segmented, with my then-girlfriend, and it was one of the finest Bergman experiences I've had. I definitely noticed parallels between my relationship and the one shared by Johan and Marianne. Because I'd only seen Bergman's most popular works, I saw him in the same light that pop culture has, as the gloomy swede, the patron saint of angst. What stuck with me most was how biting and harsh Scenes from a Marriage was. Yet, on this second viewing, after I'm a little older, I know a bit more about Bergman and about life, what strikes me is what shining beauty and peace it manages to show. Yes, these two people are harsh to one another, but that's perfectly natural in any relationship, especially a marriage.

What strikes me most about the film is that Johan and Marianne are people. They don't seem like characters in a story. Because of Bergman's writing, Sven Nykvist's camerawork, and especially because of Liv Ullmann and Erland Josephson's wonderful acting, they transcend the screen and seem to be living beings. They have a past and a future. They have their own complex emotions, their own brains, their own imaginations. I don't think that I've ever felt this close to fictional characters.

Sven Nykvist and Bergman have always had a fantastic relationship: "we are both utterly captivated by the problems of light, the gentle, dangerous, dreamlike, living, dead, clear, misty, hot, violent, bare, sudden, dark, springlike, falling, straight, slanting, sensual, subdued, limited, poisonous, calming, pale light. Light." I don't think there can be a BEST film that Nykvist shot, because most of them are so stunningly beautiful, I wouldn't want to choose one over another. Nykvist's approach here isn't aesthetically beautiful, really, but it suits the work perfectly. These are some of the most amazing close-ups ever filmed. I've often heard that acting is done mostly with the eyes, but unfortunately, you can't really look into an actor's eyes during a film; most films don't you enough of a chance. But, looking into Liv Ullmann's eyes as her face fills my screen, I feel I'm looking right into the depths of her soul.

In fact, I'm reminded of Jenn, the first girl I ever really loved. I remember it felt so strange to kiss her, having somebody else's face that close to mine. I remember looking into her eyes, but hers wouldn't stop darting from left to right. She just laughed at me. I realize that it's simply because a person's eyes can only focus on one thing at a time, so she'd be looking from one of my eyes into the other. But, I'd never been that close to another face before, and it will always stick in my memory. This happens a few times in Scenes from a Marriage as well, Johan or Marianne look into one another's eyes while speaking, and their own eyes dart from left to right. It helps to fully immerse you into the scene, because you know that they're really looking at one another, playing off their emotions, and not simply looking off-camera pretending.

Before, I said that a feeling of optimism strikes me when I think of the film. In the last part, Johan slips away to meet his latest mistress, and of course, it's Marianne. It really feels great to see them together once again, and happy, at peace with one another. There are many ways to examine this outcome. We could say that the old adage has been proved, and absence really has made them fond of one another again. Maybe, we could say that only once Johan and Marianne have been freed from the restraints of married life, they are free to truly fall in love with one another. These are a couple of really good theories. But, personally, I just like to think that they're human, and in human life, sometimes things turn out this way.

YGGR.

2006-04-04T22:54:00.000-04:00

I've been reading an interesting book on film by Colin McGinn, The Power of Movies: How Screen and Mind Interact. One part towards the end really jumped out at me, and I wanted to share it with my fellow film nerds.

A well-known screenwriter of my acquiaintance once remarked to me, in trying to express the particular power of cinema, that a good film "fucks you." It gets to your most private parts and gives you a good going over. Watching a movie is like having sex, with the movie as the dominant partner.

This is a very interesting theory, and I really agree with it. Later on, he points what happens when you see a truly bad film, and that's when it hit me. There are a few films that I've hated so much that it seemed to ruin my entire day. Makes sense, because film can be so intimate with its viewer, and when the experience is bad, it leaves you feeling violated and dirty.

I am Curious, I'm looking in your direction.

Carnival of Souls (1962)

2006-03-27T22:58:00.000-05:00

Carnival of Souls (1962)

When I saw that Luke didn't like Carnival of Souls, I was a bit surprised. When I got around to seeing it myself, I didn't expect much. But, wow. Did we see the same movie? I wish I could say that, but I did notice a lot of the flaws that he noticed. Yes, there are some unintentionally hilarious gaffes in the film. The acting is pretty bad. The story isn't the most original or the most fascinating. On the whole, the entire film seems very amateurish. Not surprising, when you consider it was the only feature film made by a company that produced industrial and educational films. This is not the work of master craftsman by any means. But, all things considered, it's a great, haunting film.

I'm reminded of the work of Val Lewton, specifically Cat People. Like Herk Harvey and company, Lewton and his crews worked with miniscule budgets, relying on a more subtle, psychological horror. Lewton's films focused on darkness, relying on the idea that a person's imagination can be more frightening than anything he could have cooked up. Carnival of Souls is somewhat the same; Harvey does like darkness, but the mood invoked in this film is very psychological and unsettling. However, the biggest comparisons I can draw between the two works is what is under the outer surface of the film. Because Lewton worked with such small budgets, he had less restraints from RKO and could put some very risque themes into the films he produced, often revolving around sex or death. Carnival of Souls, I think does the same thing. Carnival of Souls is no more about ghouls chasing a woman than Cat People is about a cat-woman stalking her victims. In Cat People, Simone Simon's character is a young bride who is, essentially, afraid of her own sexuality. In Carnival of Souls, the protagonist, Mary, is consumed by loneliness and isolation.

There's a pretty frightening scene well into Carnival of Souls; Mary goes into a dressing room to change, and a strange dissolve takes place in the film. She leaves the room to buy the dress she had on and the saleswoman doesn't notice her, doesn't even acknowledge her existence. In fact, nobody in the store does. She leaves, distressed, and finds herself on a crowded street where a construction crew is working, she sees all kinds of machinery running and men jackhammering. Yet, she hears nothing, we hear nothing, only Gene Moore's moody organ score. Not only is she ignored by everyone around her, the busy world she inhabits has become completely silent to her. This is one of the most effective moments that I've ever seen in a film. Watching it, I was reminded of my own life, the loneliness that I feel each and every day. I've felt like that many times, as if I didn't exist to the world, and sometimes, that silence in your own head can become quite deafening.

I thought that this connection was unintentional, merely one of those strange coincidence that comes when an individual views any film. Afterwards, Mary is in a doctor's office, trying to explain what is happening to her. We've seen this a million times, the 'victim' of the film recounts his or her story to somebody who could possibly help. It can wear a little thin, recounting the events we've already seen, the doctor asking questions we already know. But, in Carnival of Souls, this scene is important for two reasons. Naturally, it gives us a moment to catch our breath after the horror of the previous scene. But, also, it lets us dwell on the events again and on Mary's character, noticing things that we didn't even pick up earlier. The doctor asks Mary if she has a boyfriend, and she tells him no, that she's not interested in men. She's not interested in any people at all. Suddenly, it all clicks into place. In the film we've never seen her close to anybody. Her boss at the church, her landlady, the man staying in the boarding house, they all try to get close, but Mary isn't interested. We don't know if this is the way she's always been, or if the accident at the beginning of the film was the catalyst, but we do know that Mary lives a lonely, empty existence at this point.

Loneliness is strange, because it can drive a person insane, and also force them to refuse the one thing that they crave the most- human contact. Mary is like this, her life is devoid of other people, devoid of emotion. It tortures her, but it also prevents her from changing this. Even after the scene with the doctor, she tries to get close to Mr. Linden, the lodger, but simply can't seem to form a connection. This is where the lack of talent in the film comes in handy. Candace Hilligoss, who plays Mary, has no chemistry with Mr. Linden or anybody else. Maybe Harvey knew this when he cast her, because it adds to her character even more. She is completely unable to form any kind of bond with another person, but, as is the case on her date with Mr. Linden, she's desperate to be with anybody, just as long as she's not alone. She knows if she's alone again, the ghouls will come for her.

One interesting thing I noted in the construction of the film is how much it disregards the language of film, at points. When Mary arrives in Utah, she asks the man at the gas station where her boarding house is. He points her in the direction and the camera follows his finger into the darkness. The blackness of the night hides a jump cut into the dark bedroom of the boarding house, just as a door opens. It's a pretty jarring cut, and, for the life of me, I can't seem to remember any similar cuts in other films. Also, the strange dissolves that show the world changing around Mary when the world goes silent seem pretty strange too. The whole film seems to be constructed of ingenious touches like this; not in accord with the true grammar of film, simply ideas being toyed with by people making their first, and only film.

One line that caught my ear early on, before Mary leaves for Utah, a man tells her she needs to put more of her soul into her playing. Later on, when she's compelled to play something, I imagine, isn't very church-like, her boss dismisses her and asks her if she even has a soul. Knowing the way the film ends, these two moments seem very telling, as in a film like Fight Club. But, when they occurred, they struck me, again, as having to do with loneliness. A soul is what we all have, it is our essence. When you say somebody is full of soul, you mean they are full of life. Mary, as pointed out by Mr. Linden, doesn't enjoy music, or drinking, or men, or anything else. Her life is without fulfillment, it is completely empty. Her life is no life at all, for she has no soul. This, obviously, can be taken literally, because we assume she's been dead in the car throughout the whole film, but I think it has a deeper psychological depth that most people don't even notice.

These are just my own thoughts and ideas on the film. That's one of the great things about film, different people interpret it different ways, get different things out of it. My theorizing is note entirely airtight. The ending, particularly, leaves me baffled, in the grand scheme of things. It seems kind of out of step with everything else about loneliness and isolation that I got from the rest of the film. You could argue that, in the end, she was consumed by her own loneliness, her own emptiness, or you could say that it's nothing more than a cheap trick, typical of a B-movie of this kind, one the audience was meant to forget halfway home from the drive-in.

Punishment Park (1971), Edvard Munch (1974)

2006-03-26T20:28:00.000-05:00

Punishment Park (1971)

(Note: I saw Punishment Park 2 months ago and only took a few scant notes, so my impressions are pretty lame.)

I became interested in Punishment Park after seeing it among Eureka's Masters of Cinema line. I haven't seen any of their discs because importing is expensive, but I like the films they've chosen. New Yorker Video has recently released a great edition of Punishment Park in R1, which seems to be on par with Eureka's efforts. I wasn't sure what to expect of the film, and, as I've found, that's the best way to go into almost any film.

The best way I can describe Punishment Park is to say it's Kafka meets The Most Dangerous Game with hippies done in a very effective documentary style. The film is fiction but it is meant to look like a documentary. Unlike most films of this nature, Punishment Park enjoys great success in this aspect. Too many films that make use of this style still manage to feel staged, which not only makes the choice pointless but serves to distract the viewer as well. In Punishment Park, Peter Watkins isn't afraid to let the characters all simply exist, rather than act. The result is a work with breathless realism.

The content of the film is a dystopic mix of fact and fiction in which a number of incarcerated radicals are given a choice between serving the rest of their sentence or competing in 'Punishment Park'. It's designed to be a training exercise for law enforcement officials, but any self-respecting conspiracy nut knows the score. The film is brimming with tension and suspense, laden with foreboding. Watching it, we simply cannot wait to see the conclusion. And, ultimately, the film satisfies our expectations on many levels.

A true masterpiece.

Edvard Munch (1974)

Edvard Munch is not an easy film to discuss. It's closest cinematic relative would be Tarkovsky's Andrei Rublev. But, the connections are scant; both are about artists and their lives, their passion, and both have long runtimes. There are more connections than this, of course, but they are far deeper. In terms of craft, Edvard Munch is nearly impossible to describe. Essentially, it's biographic retelling of Munch's years as a painter. It's loosely chronological in the grand scheme of things, but Watkins frequently intercuts scenes from the past, scenes from Munch's memories, 'interviews' with people in Munch's life.

Watching the film, you get the impression that it's comprised of many layers, both visually and aurally. Like I said, Watkins edits it with bravado with no regard for continuity or space. The film's soundtrack is unique because everything spills out all over everything else. You'll be watching somebody talking, but hear the audio of somebody else speaking in a separate interview, along with the sounds of Munch scratching on his canvas, or the atmospherical details from another scene. It's an entirely unique approach to filmmaking, and I can see it bothering a whole lot of people. But, to me, it proves that there is still a lot of untapped artistic potential in the film medium.

Films about artists are always uniquely fascinating. It's strange when you think about it, using one art form to explore another completely different artform. Here, Watkins uses film brilliantly, not only to inform the viewer, but to try to convey the emotions that Munch feels. It can feel a little bit slow when we're watching members of the Norwegian bohemian scene babble on about this and that, intercut with shots of Munch simply watching, making eyes with various women, but it all serves to clue the viewer into Munch's life and experiences. This makes the scenes where we see Munch creating all the more fascinating. It's amazing to watch, seeing Munch creating something, knowing what's going on in his head, watching how that influences every stroke on the canvas.

It's a certain kind of a masterpiece, but nonetheless, an undeniable masterpiece. It's films like Edvard Munch that show the unique elements that cinema can offer that cannot be duplicated in any other artform.

Next Tuesday, New Yorker Video continues with it's series of Peter Watkins DVDs with his 1969 film, The Gladiators. They've done a great job with their first two discs, so I'm sure The Gladiators will be a great film and a great DVD. Kudos to them, and I can only hope that more of Watkins' work comes out soon.

Taxi Driver (1976)

2006-01-29T21:56:00.000-05:00

Taxi Driver (1976)

Taxi Driver is my favorite film. It wasn't always. I remember I'd rented an old VHS copy of the film and watched it with my then-girlfriend. It was pretty good, but it didn't exactly wow me. What it did do, though, was stick with me. I found myself thinking more and more about the film and its impact. And, of course, Travis Bickle.

I'm pretty sure the reason that Taxi Driver perplexed me at first was just because it's so ambiguous. I didn't understand much of it, and some of it still puzzles me. I never really understood why Travis goes from laughing with Palantine to wanting to assassinate him. Considering this is one of the film's main plot points, it can have a frustrating effect on any viewer. But, this ambiguity is one of its strengths, ultimately. Most films spell everything out for you, in bold letters, it's refreshing to see such a film, one that engages the viewer and forces them to try and put things together for themselves. One point that was completely lost on me my first couple viewings was Travis' history. We know, from the opening, that he was in the Marines, and honorably discharged from, what we gather, was the midst of the Vietnam War. There's one very brief shot where we see Travis doing push-ups from above, and we see an odd-looking scar on his back. It's something that's very easy to miss, yet goes a very long way towards explaining who Travis is.

Taxi Driver is full of these little details. Scorsese, Schrader and everybody else involved have injected this film with so much life and energy, so many ideas, such richness, that it's easy admire. It's a film that I can imagine myself watching many more times, picking up small details, examining Travis and the life he lives and ultimately identifying with him.

Identification is probably what Taxi Driver holds for me, that makes it so much better than other films. Travis is a creation, but as a character, as a person, I see so much of myself in him, and so much of him in myself. Ultimately, Taxi Driver is about loneliness. It's about a man who cannot connect with any of his fellow human beings. He tries his best, he approaches people, makes conversation, friendly gestures, but he simply cannot form any kind of a bond with anybody. It occurred to me, watching the film again tonight, that this may not be any fault of his. Every other time I've seen it, the film has given me the impression that Travis is completely alone, and that there is something wrong with him, something that inhibits his ability to connect with people. But, tonight, the film gave me a different impression. Travis tries his best, as we all do, to no avail. But, what if it makes no difference? Maybe this world is so cold that it's impossible to really communicate with anybody else, regardless if you're Travis Bickle or not. You'd think that this would have an adverse effect, but if anything, it makes me empathize with Travis even more, because I've experienced the coldness of the world myself. Maybe me and Travis aren't the problem, maybe the problem is with this world that Scorsese and Schrader have so vividly re-created.

If you haven't guessed, I think Travis Bickle is, not only a kindred spirit, but a fascinating character. Like I said, you're never given too much insight into what really makes him tick, and that's what makes the film so amazing. You have to think for yourself and ask yourself, "Why is he doing this?" Of course, it's never easy. Just like Betsy says, when she quotes the song, he's a walking contradiction. The things that he has the most vehement hatred for, sex and violence, are also the things which most intrigue and excite him. He's frustrated and conflicted, and DeNiro plays it perfectly, giving Travis an incredible look of inner turmoil. There's a beautiful moment, early in the film, when Travis talks to his fellow cabbies in a diner. One of them asks Travis, "How's it hangin'?" The look on his face, in response, is so strange. The easy explanation would be that he's simply lost in thought. But, so me, it seems as if human contact, actual conversation, is completely foreign and alien to him, that he's not quite sure of what to do next.

Bernard Hermann's score, of course, is masterful. Whenever I hear it or think about it, it conjures up the essence of loneliness. Though, it's a strange piece of scoring, since it's light and jazzy. But, that's one of the things that can happen when you marry a piece of music and film together, they effect each other in very strange ways. What I noticed about the music is how well it adapts itself to the situation, yet never changing much. When it wants to be, it's very foreboding and tense. Later, it's dreamy, almost romantic. Other times, it's simply horrific in nature. Hermann was one of the greats, and Taxi Driver is a beautiful way to end his illustrious career.

The ending has always thrown viewers for a loop. The first time I saw it, I accepted it merely at face value, thinking it was a pretty cheesy way to end the story. It wasn't until my second or third viewing that I really began to comprehend it. The most widely accepted theory is, of course, that the epilogue of the film is merely a dream or fantasy Travis has as he is dying. I think this is pretty much accurate, and I know it's the way that I accept it. One thing I love about the ending, that supports the theory, is how surreal and dream-like the shootout is. It's played without music, and the dingy hallways give the voices and sound effects a deep echo. It makes it all feel like a dream or hallucination. And one of the single best moments of the film comes right before the credits roll. In this dream that Travis has concocted for himself, where he plays the hero, finally, he doesn't charge Betsy for the ride and drives away. In another nearly imperceptible moment, he frantically glances into his rear-view mirror, as if the horrors in his mind have caught up with him, yet again. A fitting end for such a wonderfully paranoid American masterpiece.

...Because you can't watch films all the time - Vol. 2

2005-12-01T01:25:00.000-05:00

Andrei Tarkovsky - Sculpting in Time It's Tarkovsky, need I say more? But, I probably should, no less. It's a fascinating book, one of the best I've ever read, on any topic. Tarkovsky is as good a writer as he is a filmmaker, maybe because his ideas were all distilled into this one book, much like his film output is represented in only 7 features. He covers not only filmmaking, but all forms of art, and its very nature. It's not an easy read, I find I need to devote total concentration to comprehending his writing, and even taking time afterwards just to digest it. But, it's definitely worth it, as his writing is very intellectual and never short of fascinating.

Michaelangelo Antonioni - The Architecture of Vision I really love Antonioni's films, so it's interesting to read this, a collection of interviews and writings. But, at the same time, his style of speaking is very dry and straightforward, so it makes for a somewhat boring read. Though, this might also be blamed on the translation job, I'm not sure. I'm sure there's some kind of joke to be made about the dryness of his films in relation, but I'm too tired for that.

Roger Ebert - Great Movies It's surprising to see the negative stigma surrounding Roger Ebert, especially among cinephiles, mainly because no other critic has made as much of a case for film as art as much as Ebert has. That said, this collection of 100 essays is a great read. Ebert's writings are concise, but at the same time, very insightful. A sure recommendation for film buffs and casual viewers alike.

Roger Ebert - I Hated, Hated, Hated This Movie This is a fairly funny book. It's a collection of Ebert's reviews of films that he, get ready for this, hated! This is the one time that I have no problem reading about films that I've never seen, because I don't plan on seeing many in this collection. Although it's great to hear him rip on some of my 'favorites' like I Am Curious, it is pretty annoying to see him tear into a film you like, like Blue Velvet. In fact, the reasons he cites for disliking Blue Velvet aren't even related to the film itself, so it's very off-putting to hear him dissing a great film for reasons that are purely personal. Luckily, most of the rest of the book is pure crap, so it's still pretty fun.

Donald Richie - The Films of Akira Kurosawa I never thought a filmmaker whose appeal is so broad like Kurosawa's would benefit much from an in-depth analysis, but thank goodness Mr. Richie has proved me wrong. Simply put, this book is a nearly-essential asset to understanding Kurosawa's work. Richie goes very deep into every single film, and the amount of information he presents is almost overwhelming. Highly recommended

Frank Thompson - Lost Films: Important Movies that Disappeared - It really sucks when you're reading about film and half the titles you come across you simply can't find anywhere, DVD or otherwise. So, I saw this book on the shelf and it was a great moment- films that NOBODY can see! This book covers almost thirty films from the silent era that have been completely lost, and in pretty good detail. Thompson has gathered from plenty of sources and gives plenty of information about each film's production, plot and critical reception. Although sometimes the films themselves aren't too interesting sounding, just the fact that a book like this (and others, I'm told) exists is great, and makes a great resource as well as a great argument for the preservation of film.

Geoff Andrew - The Director's Vision: A Concise Guide to the Art of 250 Great Filmmakers - I didn't much like this book. I suppose when you've got 250 filmmakers to cover, you really can't go too in depth, which is the book's largest flaw. Andrew chooses one film from each filmmaker to focus on, and that takes up half of the text on the page (which, by the way, isn't much, considering the photos on each page are huge), with the rest of the text covering mostly biographical info. C'mon man, I can get that stuff from IMDB!

Jonathan Rosenbaum - Essential Cinema: On the Necessity of Film Canons - I didn't get a chance to read more than a few chapters of Rosenbaum's book, but it seems to be a pretty good read. I've always been into canons and lists, despite what some might say, so Rosenbaum's collection seems to be something that'd be right down my alley. He covers a very wide spread of film, judging from the table of contents. Hopefully I can get around to reading the rest of the book soon.

Frank Miller - A Dame to Kill For- I loved Sin City, so it's only natural I'd check out some of Miller's original works sooner or later. A Dame to Kill For isn't one of the stories adapted in the film, but it does, of course, take place in the world, and features a few of the same characters. What surprised me most was how true to the art Rodriguez's film really is. I've heard it plenty before, but once you see Miller's stories on the page for yourself, it's striking how well the essence was captured in the film.

Mark Haddon - The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time - This book has nothing to do with film, but I'm including it for two reasons: 1. Because it's just a great read, and 2. because it might help to illustrate how watching too many films can potentially be a problem. Most of the time, when I read a novel, I'll tend to imagine it in my head like a movie, for the most part. I suppose this is normal, because that's just imagination bringing the story to life. But, after a while, usually, I begin to imagine the story as a real movie, if and how it would play out, how the narrative might work. This book struck me because of its narrative- it takes place entirely through the eyes of an autistic child. I really can't see it working well as a film, just because the story depends so much on its particular style of narration, the little quirks that the child has and how they affect the way he sees things and the way he reacts to the world around him. It's really a fascinating and very entertaining book, and as a welcome change of pace here, one that everyone can enjoy, film nerd or not.

My Robert A. Harris post

2005-11-27T00:18:00.000-05:00

I apologize in advance for gushing far too much, but my excitement is hard to contain. I stuck to only 6 Criterion releases during the previous DDD sale, and they all came in the mail today.

Renoir's Rules of the Game is nothing short of a masterpiece. It's been a while since I've seen it, but I can't wait to revisit the film. The packaging is elegant and suits the film perfectly. It's a great example of Criterion blending the old and classic with the new and cutting-edge. The amount of supplemental material on the first disc alone is a testament of Criterion's commitment to film, not to mention the packed second disc.

I popped in La Strada just to check out the supplements. A little on the lean side, with only an hour-long Fellini documentary, commentary and intro from Scorsese. But the film is beautifully restored. I forgot what a magical movie La Strada is. I had to turn off the film when Gelsomina was playing her trumpet at the convent, I was so overwhelmed with beauty.

Kagemusha isn't my favorite Kurosawa, but it is a terrific movie. I love Kurosawa's artwork and can't wait to watch the re-creation of the film through his paintings on disc 2. The book that comes with the set is elegant, once again featuring Kurosawa's paintings.

I really liked Jules and Jim when I saw it way back, via Fox Lorber's shoddy DVD. Some aspects of the story bothered me, so I didn't care for it as much as I could have, so it's always been somewhat of a disappointment. But, unlike most of the time when you feel the film has let you down, I feel like I've let Truffaut's work down by not liking it as much. But, scanning the film on disc 1 to check out the transfer, and pausing to listen to the song Jeanne Moreau sings in the house, I think I'm going to find it hard not to fall in love with the movie. Checking out the supplements on disc 2, there are SIX interviews with Truffaut, and numerous other goodies. When you add that to the two commentaries and the 30-minute documentary on the novel on disc 1, you've got one hell of a loaded package. It's no wonder Laura Truffaut was so pleased with the package.

Hoop Dreams is a landmark documentary, without a doubt. Not only is it important, it's infinitely fascinating to watch. As a single-discer, it's not as loaded with extras as the others, but what's here seems to be great. Especially true when you flip through the enclosed booklet and note the wealth of information contained and the care taken every step of the way.

Ugetsu is a great film, and even though it's the only film of his I've seen, it's great to have him represented in the collection. The film itself isn't perfect, and if you've seen the earlier Kurosawa films, you know how scratchy those prints are. But, the cleanup job here is phenomenal, and looks a million times better than the old VHS print I first saw. In addition, there's a 150-minute documentary on Mizoguchi. The packaging is, once again, beautiful. Each disc has its own small digipak case and the book (note I didn't say 'booklet') included is simply great as well, featuring reproductions of the short stories the film is based on.

YouWe can whine and whine all about how the discs are expensive and how much Criterion sucks for releasing X-movie, which you hated, but ignored Y-movie, which is the greatest thing ever put to celluloid. But, as the discs I got in the mail today confirmed, they are worth every penny.

George Washington or: Why I'd Never Be a Good Critic

2005-11-09T22:08:00.000-05:00

George Washington (2000)

I watched David Gordon Green's fascinating debut, George Washington, today, and it inspired me to put some of my ideas on film into writing. It has little to do with the film, really, but was inspired by the world Green has created in it. The film itself really impressed me. It's filled with fascinating characters dealing with complex, thought-provoking problems. The cinematography has a natural splendor about it, a beautiful simplicity that fits the film perfectly. I'd highly recommend it.

I don't usually think about what makes a movie bad. The acting might be a little off. There's no action. There's not a whole lot of drive to the narrative. There may or may not be continuity errors. Not enough attention is paid to the historical context of the film. Not all the supporting cast is as well-defined. There's too much or too little symbolism.

I almost never notice these things. I never make these acute observations that professional reviewers can. It doesn't bother me, though. I'm not critical, because I'd much rather see the good in work than the bad. I don't ruminate on how much better a film could be with different casting, a larger budget, a different producer, more time spent on the script, more action in the fifth reel. I accept films as they are. It just seems so obvious to me. A film is what it is, nothing else. It's a document, a record, for better or for worse. I accept the characters as they are written, directed, acted, lit and edited around one another. I accept that they are who they are and that they do what they do and don't do what they don't do.

I've always had trouble trying to accurately review media. Music is tough, because it's easy enough to enjoy, and even the worst artists have their own fans. Film is the same, in some ways. I would have argued otherwise a while back, when I thought of film as strictly a storytelling medium. But, some of the greatest artists in the medium don't try to tell a story as much as they express themselves or create their own works of art. See Bergman, Tarkovsky, Kubrick, Bresson, et al.

Not to say that I love every single film I see. I'm still a human being with my own tastes and my own vices. I do notice if a film bores me, doesn't engage me, doesn't move me on an emotional level, annoys me, or just plain sucks.

I don't think that I'm necessarily easy to please, I just think that I'm accepting. It's easy to speculate endlessly on a any particular film and the ways it could have been improved. For me, though, it's a pointless exercise, most of the time. I accept them for what they are and do my best to explore the worlds that they create.

Goodfellas (1990)

2005-10-27T15:27:00.000-04:00

Goodfellas (1990)

I remember, for years, my Mom had been telling me to watch Goodfellas. She hounded me about it for a while, and I eventually broke down and rented the original DVD release. This was in my formative years, when I thought Fight Club was far and away the best film ever made. I watched it and liked it, but didn't think it was anything special. It was entertaining enough, but didn't do much to endear me. Then, a funny thing happened- it kept popping into my mind. I remembered specific moments, plot points, lines of dialogue, particular shots. It didn't dominate my mind, but it did pop into my mind as often as other films that had a bigger impact on me. By the time the Martin Scorsese Collection came out, I couldn't wait to see the film again. As soon as I got it in my hands, I popped in Goodfellas and loved every moment of it. Now, I have to rank it among my favorite films of all time.

Goodfellas has actually had quite an effect on my life in very small places. It's infinitely quotable, something that's exploited in my family for all it's worth. When me and my Mother discuss particularly busy days, it's not uncommon for someone to throw in, among the mundane errands to be run, "and stir the sauce, and deliver the guns to Jimmy..."

For me, there's much to admire in Goodfellas. I remember thinking that the different techniques used in the storytelling, like the voiceovers or the freeze-frames, seemed kind of random and out of place. But, as my personal experience can attest to, they really go a long way towards making the film stick into your mind and emphasizing different moments and emotional climaxes in the story. I remember hearing Scorsese say one time that the French New Wave was too hip for him, that he admired their spirit but the films pretty much blew by him because he was far more old-school in his sentiments. But, watching Goodfellas, I think he's joking, because it's certainly one of the most stylish films to come out in the past few decades.

Much has been made of Scorsese and the violent content of his films. Like most, I'd have to disagree and toss out the cliche that they're simply misunderstood. The startling moments of violence in his films spring to mind when one thinks of his work, but looking down his filmography from an objective standpoint, there's really not much there. Much like the works of Hitchcock and others, the moments of brutality stand out in your mind because they're meant to, not because they're frequent or gratuitous. In Goodfellas, the violence comes at some of the least likely moments, not only for the viewer, but for the characters as well. It's like Ray Liotta's Henry Hill mentions in the film, it comes swiftly and without warning. It keeps the viewers on their toes, making them feel much like the the wiseguys portrayed felt. And it's because the moments of violence are so startling and unexpected, that it sticks out in one's memory.

The violence in Goodfellas illustrates well the danger of life as a wiseguy. This is one of the many ways that Scorsese paints a vivid picture of 'the life'. In fact, that seems to be the main goal of the film. Not to tell a morality tale or anything like that, simply to show the way of life for these gangsters, their trials and tribulations, as well as their rewards. Told through the eyes of Henry Hill, it's extremely glamourized, because that's the way that he saw it. From the first moments of the film, when Hill says that as far back as he could remember he always wanted to be a gangster, it's clear that this is what he loves to do. The beautiful tracking shot halfway through the film shows this wonderfully, as the camera pans and swoops all around in one continuous take, showing Henry and Karen reaping the benefits of the life. This is the heart of the film, the way of life. Scorsese has shown it like a tapestry, illustrating every aspect of it, simultaneously informing and romanticizing. This is the life he chose and he loved every moment of it. That's why the film's biggest tragedy is that he's forced to give it up and become a regular schmuck. Of all the tragedies and deaths to befall the characters in the film, we feel the most resonance at the end when Henry Hill lifelessly picks up the paper in front of his ordinary house. He's given up the one thing he ever wanted to do in life.

Ben-Hur (1959)

2005-10-17T03:31:00.000-04:00

Ben-Hur (1959)

I don't usually go for the big, epic films. I mean, they're decent, but they're far too overblown and corny for my tastes. But, surprisingly, I really liked Ben-Hur. Despite its production values and scale, it tells a very small, very personal tale that's easy to become absorbed in.

There's a moment early on, kind of a catalyst, where his sister accidentally knocks a clay tile off of a roof. This is naturally perceived as an attempted attack on the governor and him, his mother and his sister are all taken into custody, with Ben-Hur himself being sold into slavery. Usually, epic films like this don't draw you in, but starting with the tile incident, I was really absorbed in the story. I loved following his journey as a slave on a big ol' ship, then afterwards, as he did everything in his power to seek out his mother and sister. His character is believable, and most of all, admirable. Heston's performance is, once again, surprisingly good. He brings a great feeling of determination to the character that makes you believe that he'd be willing to go to the ends of the Earth for his family.

Not only that, the film has a great resonance. I remember, when Ben-Hur was in the boat, and all the slaves were rowing, being commanded and whipped. The feeling in that scene, that whole stretch of the film was great, really giving me a sense of what it must have been like to do something so strenuous for so long. In fact, it even got me pondering their lives fairly deeply for a while, until the plot managed to draw my attention away again.

Hey, I liked it. Wow!

Ugetsu (1953)

2005-10-17T03:22:00.000-04:00

Ugetsu (1953)

I saw Ugetsu a while back, when IFC ran it as part of their Samurai Saturday lineup. It was rumored to be a future Criterion release, so I figured I'd give it a shot. Then, months later, I realized I remembered nothing about it. I remembered some of the plot, but nothing else at all about the film. Then, I learned about Mizoguchi's stature in the film world, so I figured a re-watching was in order, and this time, I think I'll be remembering it.

It's really kind of a simple story. Two men from a small village decide to pursue their dreams in the big city. One man wishes to become a samurai, much to everyone's chagrin. The other wishes to become prosperous, working hard to make clay bowls and selling them in the town. He's pretty successful, making enough money to buy his living wife nice things. But, before long, his ambition takes over as well, as he worries more about his pottery than his own life when bandits begin to raid. Then, of course, he falls in love with a mysterious woman who lives in a nearby castle. Yeah, pretty sure where this one is going.

The imagery of the film is beautiful though, as are the atosphere and feel. In fact, even the plot is well done, I thought. Mizogushi does a fantastic job of not only filling the film with beauty and emotion, but actually making you care about the plot. I can't wait to track down more of his films to see if they're a good as Ugetsu.

Testament of Orpheus (1959)

2005-10-17T03:02:00.000-04:00

Testament of Orpheus (1959)

Jean Cocteau's Testament of Orpheus is a pretty difficult film to write about. It's not traditional in the way that Orpheus was. It more closely resembles Blood of a Poet, but where the first film was mostly experiemental, Testament has a confidence about it. Cocteau knew exactly what he was doing, making a cinematic poem, exploring the depths of the media itself, and basically, having fun. He seems to be having a blast here, the film's very playful and self-referential, and Cocteau is not above poking fun at himself and his earlier works. It's not as good as the first two films in the Orphic trilogy, but it's still a great piece of work, and an proper sendoff of Cocteau's brief film career.

Naked (1993)

2005-10-17T02:57:00.000-04:00

Naked (1993)

I really wasn't sure what to expect from Naked. Here it is, over a week later (due to my procrastination) and it's still sitting inside of my brain. I didn't take any notes on it, for whatever reason, but it really is a fantastic film, that seems to get better the more I think about it. At this rate, the DVD will be at the top of my must-have list by the end of the year.

I think the main character, Johnny, played brilliantly by David Thewlis is what sticks with me the most. He's got such depth to him, and he's so charismatic, but at the same time, completely repulsive. He's very smart, can express himself well, but he never does anything with these abilities, instead choosing to float along in life. He's one of the great, complex, conflicted characters in cinema. Thewlis' delivery is wonderfully unique, and I can still hear snatches of his many speeches rattling around in my head.

Leigh's film paints a brilliant portrait of this man, with expert strokes throughout. I really don't know what else to say about it. For the most part, I'm left speechless.

The Double Life of Veronique (1991)

2005-10-17T02:42:00.000-04:00

The Double Life of Veronique (1991)

So, I didn't like Camera Buff much, but I thought Veronique was great. Really, on par with Kieslowski's Three Colors trilogy. I've still got the rest of his work to check out, but maybe I just prefer his later, more mature works like this, Three Colors and The Decalogue.

It's hard to describe what makes Veronique such a beautiful film. Visually, it's very arresting. Kieslowski uses some gorgeous filters and colors to give the film a look that's real and surreal at the same time. I really don't know, it's just a beautiful, atmospheric film. And it doesn't hurt that Irene Jacob is pretty much perfection embodied in a woman.

Kieslowski seems to love finding the quirky, normal events in ordinary life, and showing their beauty. Much like Jeunet's characters are delighted by the small things in life, so is Veronique, although it's nowhere near as obvious. Kieslowski simply has a great ability for finding the beauty in the banal.

Kwaidan (1965)

2005-10-11T19:34:00.000-04:00

Kwaidan (1965)

Kwaidan is one of those films I always wanted to see. In fact, quite a few times I've come this close to blind-buying it, but my willpower miraculously swelled up and prevented it. Finally I get to see it, and surprisingly, it's very much worth the wait.

It's basically an anthology of four short works of Japanese horror. In fact, it reminded me of the Scary Stories books that I used to read in elementary school. But, the stories themselves are told in a very distinctly Japanese style, and it works extremely well. Each segment is brooding and unnerving, and hits all the right notes. The stories function almost like fables, as a man learns the hard way to respect his wife, while another man learns to respect the dead. But, the films are more terrifying than preachy. I can't stress enough how well the mood is developed. They're very Japanese in terms of pacing and atmosphere, that is to say many long, still shots and minimal music and decoration. But, because things are usually so still and silent, the moments of shock and horror are that much more effective, punctuated by a brash note on the flute or biwa.

The sets aren't very realistic, the backdrops especially, but they work very well in the context of the film. This is a world that accepts spirits and ghosts as they intermingle with ordinary human beings, so having a backdrop that looks otherworldly perfectly establishes this universe.

The editing rhythms are great, I noticed. There's one scene early on, after a man has left his wife and takes up living with another, wealthier woman. He's riding a horse, participating in some kind of athletic competition, and the action is beautifully contrasted with the man's vivid memories of his previous life, his home and his wife. Essentially, we're seeing him consumed by his memories and his own guilt. It's great, great stuff.

Hard Boiled (1992)

2005-10-09T08:29:00.000-04:00

Hard Boiled (1992)

I remember seeing The Killer in my formative years. It was one of the first foreign films I saw, I think it was a subtitled pan & scan VHS version. But, I wasn't very impressed with it, so it took me a while to seek out Criterion's other John Woo film, Hard Boiled. Netflix has the Mei Ah disc for rent, which should only be watched if it's your last option. The A/V isn't bad, a slightly problematic anamorphic transfer and DTS audio that sounds almost completely mono. The worst part, by far, is the subtitles. They're laughably bad, and really ruin the effect of most of the scenes. It's hard to take Chow Yun Fat seriously when he's just called somebody a "motherful," or when his girlfriend says "Thanks you very much!"

That said, it's hard to judge the movie fairly, since it's really hard to note the film's merits when you're giggling over the subtitles. Mostly, the film isn't bad for what it is. The plot is very flimsy, merely a loose bridge from one outrageous gunfight to the next. Early on, most of the gunplay wasn't even too impressive, but during the second half of the movie, when the action shifts towards the hospital, the action gets surprisingly good. You can really see how Woo considers his gunfights more along the lines of a ballet.

So, plot is nonexistant, but the action in the second half is very solid. A decent flick if you can turn your brain off. And if not, the Mei Ah subtitles are incredibly hilarious. So, y'know, there's always that.

Nostalghia (1983)

2005-10-09T01:30:00.000-04:00

Nostalghia (1983)

Another day, another new Tarkovsky. I'm actually pretty sad that my Tarkovsky pile is thinning, but I know that as magical the first viewing is, his films are so incredible that repeat viewings are just as good, if not even better. You inhabit this world that's so surreal and at the same time so vivid, you ponder its mysteries and succumb to its beauty.

What first struck me about Nostalghia is how personal it is, for Tarkovsky. Obviously, all of his films are intensely personal, as all good art should be, but while Tarkovsky's films are usually abstract, Nostalghia is very literal in this respect. It obviously deals with the nostalgia that he felt for his home country while living abroad due to censorship. In the same way that he used the character of Andrei Rublev as a conduit to show the relationship between the artist and his work, he uses the lead character in Nostalghia to show his longing for his own country.

I love Tarkovsky's use of the natural elements in his films. There's always water, most present here and in most of Solaris. Wind plays a large part in setting the mood of Tarkovsky's films, as it's hard to imagine his films without such beautiful shots of Russian farmland swaying in the breeze. Fire is there, like the houses burning in Sacrifice and Mirror, the hand in front of the fire in Mirror and here, the everpresent lighters, sparking up cigarettes. Earth is a toughie, somewhat, but in Tarkovsky's films, it's literally so abundant, you get so used to it that you forget it's there. The Earth itself is Tarkovsky's focus, the world, nature, life, all of it. It's this reason that Tarkovsky's films have a very natural and timeless quality. It's because they plumb the depths of the soul, of human existence, they will continue to ask the questions that will always be ready to be explored, regardless of time and place.

"When film is not a document, it is a dream. That is why Tarkovsky is the greatest of them all. He moves with such naturalness in the room of dreams. He doesn't explain. What should he explain anyhow? He is a spectator, capable staging his visions in the most unwieldy but, in a way, the most willing of media. All my life I have hammered on the doors of the rooms in which he moves so naturally." - Ingmar Bergman, The Magic Lantern

This quote sums it up just about perfectly for me. Tarkovsky is merely an observer in these fantastic visions, simply capturing them on film as documenting a human being's subconscious. He doesn't judge, nor does he try to conform to what people expect to see, in terms of images and events. He's one of the true masters of cinema, and I really don't know what else to say.

Junk Drawer

2005-10-07T04:46:00.000-04:00

Welcome to my junk drawer. I wasn't kidding. These are the posts I make that aren't related to specific movies, really. I'll actually describe them when I'm not so exhausted.

Da list. - 7/16/05 - This is long out of date, but it's a list of all the films I own but haven't seen. I've since added a bunch, but watched a bunch too. Hopefully, soon, this list won't exist.

The Complete Monterey Pop Festival - 7/18/05 - My thoughts on Criterion's Complete Monterey Pop Festival set.

New flix - 7/21/05 - I bragged about some films I'd gotten recently. It's only here for posterity.

Favorite Films (always changing) - First posted 7/24/05, revised 3/31/06 - Yup, my favorites.

ZOMFG one month annnie-vercityz!!11 - 7/31/05 - Musings on my first month of blogging.

Errol Morris - 8/04/05 - An assesment of a bunch the work of documentary filmmaker Errol Morris. One of my favorites that I've written.

Me and Ingmar Down by the Schoolyard - 8/10/05 - I talk all about how much I love Ingmar Bergman and how his films relate to myself.

I just couldn't help myself. - 8/20/05 - It speaks for itself, I have no self-control.

...Because You Can't Watch Films All the Time - Vol. 1 - 9/01/05 - Vol. 1 of my thoughts on film books I've read.

Notes on Juliet of the Spirits - 9/15/05 - A transcription of notes I took while watching Fellini's Juliet of the Spirits, which made no sense to me when I tried to write about the film.

State of the Blog Address - 10/3/05 - I babble on about stuff relating to the most popular blog on the interbutt, mine.

George Washington or: Why I'd Never Be a Good Critic - 11/09/05 - Very interesting piece where I discuss George Washington and my own thoughts on film criticism and how I view films.

My Robert A. Harris Post - 11/27/05 - I gush over great DVDs I've bought; I try to do it as well as Robert A. Harris does; I don't.

...Because you can't watch films all the time - Vol. 2 - 12/01/05 - Vol. 2 of my thoughts on film books I've read.

YGGR. - 4/04/06 - A fascinating quote and theory that I had to share with my fellow cineastes.

The Return (2003)

2005-10-07T04:20:00.000-04:00

The Return (2003)

Once again, Exiled has convinced me. This time, it's the debut of Andrei Zvyagintsev. He compared it to Tarkovsky, so how could I resist? And, if you read his comments on the film, whether you know who Tarkovsky is (and can't see his somnolent genius), it's doubtful you'd be able to resist.

As far as the film goes, I was very, very impressed. It's got that languid pacing, that meditative, hypnotic feeling that all of Tarkovsky's masterpieces have. And, at the same time, it feels somewhat mainstream. Mostly, due to its plot and traditional style of storytelling (well, traditional in comparison to most art-film). But, it doesn't suffer because of this, it's only enriched by its deep and enigmatic story. And hey, if it uses this to draw in a viewer and potential open his or her eyes to great cinema, then I'm all for it.

Despite its rich detail, beautiful atmosphere and incredible emotional resonance, I may have to say its strongest suit is its ending. It's funny, because it's bound to frustrate a lot who see it, and rightfully so, but I really loved it, and all the questions it raised. It really leaves a lot to the imagination, and while sometimes the technique can make a film fall flat on its face, here it's a true asset to the work. What I love is that everyone has their unique interpretations as to what happened, if anything even happened at all. You're forced to think, forced to plumb the depths of your mind and your soul to comprehend what you've just seen, and try to put all the pieces together on your own.

A beautiful moment in the film is one of the last scenes, where their Father dies. Up to this time, we've seen the film through the childrens' eyes because the Father has been a prick, for the most part, and we emphasize with them. Yet, it's during this scene that our sympathies lie with the Father, because we really see how irrational and unfairly young Ivan is acting towards him. It's a great moment, because we can look back and see that he has been fairly harsh throughout the film, but it's only now that our sympathies shift ever so slightly, that we see it. Then, moments later, the tragedy occurs.

Of course, the ending is ambiguous, so did a tragedy really occur? Were they looking at an alternate photo, or did the Father never even really exist? And what was with the phone calls and the mysterious box he put into the boat? Was he trying to tell them something, or was this just their imaginations being overactive.

While I'm thinking about it, the entire subplot involving the Father's work was well-done. The scene where he is on the phone while his sons get mugged out on the street, it's perfectly intercut. While watching, your mind immediately becomes preoccupied with the children, because you hope they don't get hurt at all. The intercutting is so well, that most viewers might completely forget all about the phone call in retrospect, because they were far more concerned with the kids' well-being. The film is full of little touches like that, slight, subtle manipulations that really play with the audience and force them to think more.

Despite the ending potentially ruining theories on the Father, I still thought the concept was very interesting. This is what amounts to a miracle for the kids, their Father has returned out of the blue. While it's miraculous, it's very mysterious at the same time. Of course, it turns out not to be so much a blessing, as the Father treats them pretty badly (but, your interpretation of the ending could potentially justify him, again.) It reminds me of a line from Fight Club: "Our Fathers were our models for God. If our Fathers failed us, what does that tell you about God?" I think it has some significance here, because, generally, a Father is supposed to be a wonderous person, who leads you down all the right path, encourages you and inspires you, and does all he can for you. Yet, these kids, who have been lacking this for so long, are stuck with this complete stranger offering none of these things.

I really don't know what else to say about The Return. It's a haunting masterpiece, and I can't believe it's only a debut. I really hope to see more from Zvyagintsev, and I hope to see it theatrically, to boot.

La Dolce Vita (1960)

2005-10-06T14:30:00.000-04:00

La Dolce Vita (1960)

So, La Dolce Vita. Fellini's grand masterwork, at least one of them. It's a great film, but to me, felt a little long. I'm not one to complain, but I'm just not a fan of long stories. And it's funny, I don't really think that there was anything unnecessary in La Dolce Vita, nothing I think stood out enough for me to say it should have been edited out, it's just that the entire film seems a little too long. But, it is what it is, and it's a great film no less, a tour de force if you will.

I guess Marcello, the lead character, is in search for something more in his life. It's strictly implied by Fellini, which helps the movie along far more than something heavy-handed would. He's sometimes asked about the book that he's been working on, but we never really know anything about it, and Marcello himself shrugs it off. What I found most interesting was the struggle between his searching for something more and simply miring in 'la dolce vita'. Really, there is no struggle, as you'd expect. It's very slight, something that manifests itself sometimes. Most of the time, Marcello's decision is already made, and he's simply living this empty life, content to be drunk and ignorant.

L'Atalante (1934)

2005-10-05T23:22:00.000-04:00

L'Atalante (1934)

I first really started paying attention to L'Atalante when I read Truffaut's book, The Films In My Life. He wrote a great chapter on Jean Vigo, who unfortunately died at 29 after only making 3 films. Truffaut had nothing but praise for Vigo's films, especially L'Atalante. In fact, he never shut up about it.

I don't know why, maybe it's the generation gap, but L'Atalante didn't do much for me, emotionally nor did it do much to hold my interest. The storyline was intriguing enough, and I love a good romantic drama, but the film just felt dated to me, I suppose. Kind of antiquated. Which is strange, because, by comparison, Renoir's films feel very fresh and lush to me.

Although, I did enjoy seeing Juliette's turmoil in the film. Here, she thought that she was marrying this seafaring man and going to travel to grand places and have adventures. But, instead, she's left to languish on the stuffy ship, performing menial chores. Finally, she meets a Parisian entertainer who, in so many words, offers her everything that she's been wishing for. Oh, what's a girl to do?

The high point of the film, of course, is Michel Simon's fantastic performance as Pere Jules, the ship's first mate (?) He really steals the show, and dominates just about every scene he's in. It's not really an attention-grabbing role though, so it doesn't ruin the picture, just accentuates it and adds to it.

State of the Blog Address

2005-10-03T02:42:00.000-04:00

My fellow Interneticans...My thoughts on some recent rumblings in regards to this blog.

I haven't been writing much lately. It's mostly due to laziness, but I have been hit by the flu, which really affected my desire to sit on the PC and type. But, as you'd imagine, my desire to lie back and enjoy the film was unaffected. I'm just about all caught up with every film I've seen now, so hopefully, things are back to normal.

The image at your left is a little logo-type thing I whipped up in a few minutes. It's mostly for my own use, printing up small cards to hand out to people I chat with about film, but feel free to do what you wish with it.

I'm going to be introducing a new page soon, something along the lines of a junk drawer. Basically, just an archive of things I write that aren't about specific films that would go in the archive. No big whoop.

This site can now be reached through typing up modium.org or www.modium.org. Two bucks a year, thanks Yahoo!

In case you haven't noticed, I've been adding screens of films to go along with my writings. Just another little thing I'm trying out, and I think it works pretty well. I try to choose an image that spoke most to me during the film, without being too heavy on the spoilers. Hope you enjoy.

I've been hitting the theater a whole lot more lately, and I don't think that's going to change anytime soon. So, you can look forward to my thoughts on some far more current films. Yeehaw.

I know I'm a little late, but I'd like to observe the death of legendary director and editor Robert Wise. I haven't seen many of his films, but those I have seen (The Day the Earth Stood Still, The Set-Up, The Haunting) have been nothing short of great. Not to mention his brilliant editing work on Citizen Kane and other great films. Rest in Peace, Robert Wise.

Some ideas I'm cooking up for the future: Some film festivals, basically just a week or more of particular directors' works, notably Kurosawa, Kubrick and Tarkovsky. Also, I'm considering doing a week or maybe a few days of nothing but reader requests. Yes, you tell me what to watch and I'll watch it and babble about it just for you. Just an idea, but feel free to let me know your thoughts on them, or anything else I've babbled about here.

Pinocchio (1940)

2005-10-03T02:26:00.000-04:00

Pinocchio (1940)

Now, I've already covered my Disney history in my Toy Story post. Truthfully, it's hard for me to find much to say about Pinocchio. Well, I could go on for hours talking about each little gag that I loved, but I doubt anyone would want to read that. The truth is that Pinocchio, like the best of Uncle Walt's work, put a smile on this cynical old coot's face for a solid 88 minutes.

What I love most about Disney films is the amount of detail in every scene, in every frame. They're all so lovingly animated, so full of life. It's impossible to describe the way the characters move in a Disney film, but it's always instantly recognizable to the eye. The films, and Pinocchio being one of the best and certainly one of the best examples of this, are always incredibly full of life. There's so many little gags going on, like Figaro swiping at just about everything, Cleo's shy flirtations, Jiminy Cricket's affable nature. I can't help but love every single moment of Pinocchio. I can't help but feel that anyone who thinks otherwise must be made of wood. (Bad pun, I know.)

The Cutting Edge: The Magic of Movie Editing (2004)

2005-10-03T02:20:00.000-04:00

The Cutting Edge: The Magic of Movie Editing (2004)

There's not much I can say about a documentary about making movies. I can say, though, that it's a fantastic, engaging and very informing look into the work of the unsung heroes of film; the editors. No matter how much you may know about cinema, you'll probably still be humbled by the tremendous effect that even the subtlest of editing work can have on a movie. And if you know nothing about the art of film, it's one of the best places you can start and come out with a great understanding of this 'art with no future.' (Audible wink)

Terminal Station (1953)

2005-10-03T02:11:00.000-04:00

Terminal Station (1953)

What a long journey it has been. It took me a long time to find De Sica's original cut of Indiscretion of an American Wife. Went through two online rental services and came up empty-handed. Considered shelling out $25 for the film when my library surprised me by getting the Criterion DVD in.

The story of the production is nearly as interesting as the film itself. Selznick wanted De Sica to make a typical Selznick-style film, or read the original treatment for the film, I'm not sure which came first. Either way, they worked together, and De Sica made his film. Selznick test screened it to poor results, so he took it upon himself to cut the 89-minute film down to 63 minutes, and add a few random songs because, hey, we're told people like songs. Yes, David O. "don't you dare touch my 4-hour Gone With the Wind!" Selznick. I didn't watch Indiscretion of an American Wife, Selznick's cut, so I can't compare the two.

As a film, it struck me as very melodramatic. In fact, it feels very Hollywood to me, mostly due to the extremely obtrusive music score. It felt very far removed from De Sica's earlier Neorealist films. Thinking more about it, I can see the touches, such as filming entirely on location in the train station, and the struggle of the characters. But, Neorealism was more about man vs. society, whereas Terminal Station is about man vs. his or her own desires.

I have to wonder about the treatment of Italian men in Italian cinema. Of course, in films like the Bicycle Thieves, the male lead is a dignified hero of sorts. But, in films based on romantic situations or, for example, those by Antonioni, the Italian male is often categorized as brutish with a complete lack of understanding. Examples are La Strada, Il Grido, and Divorce Italian Style to name a few. Clift, one of my favorite screen actors, is an Italian-American, and he's not very understanding for most of the film. Towards the end of the film, he wises up a little, just enough to earn some synpathy from the audience. But, really, what gives, Italy?

All or Nothing (2002)

2005-10-03T01:56:00.000-04:00

All or Nothing (2002)

So, with Criterion's upcoming...well, Criterion's new release of Naked (damn, that one snuck up on me), I decided to go back to some of Mike Leigh's films. I'd already seen Vera Drake, which was very good, and despite my not writing about it, it was one of the films that inspired me to start this blog. I decided on All or Nothing rather than Secrets and Lies, simply because it sounded more interesting to me at the time. And lucky me, I found All or Nothing to be a really enjoyable, emotional look into the lives of people who could easily be real.

It presents a very real, very honest portrait of lower-middle-class folks living in the UK. What impressed me most was the mundanity of the characters in the film. None of them are glamourized or romantic in any way, they're just normal people with their own share of faults. In fact, most of them don't do much to win our sympathy, because they're mostly all pretty selfish and stuck up. But, it's a testament to the reality of the story that despite that, we do feel for them when tragedy befalls them.

There's this great moment late in the film, after Phil and Penny have exchanged words, where Penny retreats upstairs to her daughter, Rachel, for comfort. She asks Rachel if she does talk to Phil like he claimed, and she tells her honestly that it's true. Instead of placating her mother, she tells her the bare truth, knowing that it's the best thing to do in the long run. Penny gets up, realizing that she's been wrong, then hesitates. She decides against it and continues to walk away. This is a small gesture that just feels so real, and speaks volumes about her character, more than any amount of dialogue could.

Harakiri (1962)

2005-10-02T09:10:00.000-04:00

Harakiri (1962)

I've heard great things about Harakiri, so despite the USPS's fumblings, I finally procured a copy! And that said, it's truly an awesome piece of filmmaking. For the longest time, I've wanted to see Kobayashi's Kwaidan, but for one reason or another, I still haven't. Kind of funny that I'm seeing a DVD released years after I wanted to see Kwaidan, before Kwaidan. But Criterion, she is a cruel and fickle mistress.

It seems to me that most Japanese films, and not just those by Ozu, are filled with a certain stillness. It just seems to be a natural characteristic, and definitely lends them a unique feel. Harakiri is no different, and the sense of stillness, in terms of editing and camerawork, even spilling over into the performances, really does a lot for the tension. I'll have to say that it's one of the most suspenseful films I've seen in a while. I really couldn't wait to see how everything unfolded, right until the credits rolled. But, it's very story-based, and as interesting as it is to see it all play out, I have to wonder how it would hold up under repeat viewings. But, that's probably just a moot point.

Most interesting to me was the ritual of harakiri itself, of seppuku in Japanese. I knew some things about it, but the sense of ritual in the film is fascinating. They have to lay out a mat for the samurai, with a second samurai waiting beside him. He reaches towards a wooden stool, picks up his sword, and plunges it into his stomach. He then pulls it to the side, literally spilling his guts out in front of him. When the second is satisfied that he's sacrificed enough, he cleanly decapitates him, ending his suffering. Wow. Just wow.

The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara (2003)

2005-10-02T08:59:00.000-04:00

The Fog of War: Eleven Lessons from the Life of Robert S. McNamara (2003)

So, it's already been documented that I love Errol Morris' work. So, it's weird for me to have to think about Fog of War. I have to approach it from a detatched point of view, because personally, while watching the film, it didn't hold my interest much, probably because of the subject matter. But, it's definitely a well-made documentary, and despite its subject matter, overall, it is very interesting.

McNamara has led a long and interesting life, so he's got plenty of stories to tell and, believe it or not, lessons to impart. The film paints a very level portrait of McNamara, a man who most would consider a monster. It shows him for what he is, just a human being, for better or worse. He comes off as very professional and detatched from his feelings, which is probably essential for a job like his. Even so, it's hard to hear him complaining because his soldiers are afraid of death. But, it's a testament to Morris' skill that you can understand where McNamara is coming from, even if you completely disagree with him.

And I'll say this; all these years later, that grainy footage is still harrowing and disturbing.

Elephant (2003)

2005-10-02T00:27:00.000-04:00

Elephant (2003)

So, continuing with Gus Van Sant's trilogy, I watched Elephant, as per Exiled's recommendation. For those of you keeping track at home, I despised Gerry. Thankfully, that's not the case with Elephant. A great, hauntingly beautiful film.

In fact, I have to wonder why I disliked Gerry so much, yet felt so differently towards Elephant. There are some long stretches of Elephant without dialogue or plot, really. But, I think in Elephant, they add to the mood of the film effectively, whereas in Gerry, they really hinder the film. Why, I have no idea, but that's just the feelings I get.

The longest scene in Elephant is gorgeous. The camera is still, and we see some students playing different sports in the background. People walk in front of the camera, and one girl even stops and looks around, as if looking to uncover the mystery of this spot. Maybe she's straining to hear Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, which has always been a favorite of mine, which also makes an appearance here. Eventually, a guy walks in front of the camera, pulls on a jacket, and walks off with the camera following him. He makes his way through different parts of the school grounds as we observe the daily routines for these kids. It's almost strictly a mood-setting shot, but it's stunningly gorgeous.

I read somewhere that it involved a re-telling of the Columbine Massacre, which stayed in the back of my mind. I wondered if it was just some false information after a while, until John is walking out of the school and you see the two kids with duffel bags and fatigues. At that moment, it's a jolt to your heart, and before you realize it's just a movie, fear takes over and paralyzes you for just a moment, but long enough to stick with you.

I remember after the Columbine incident, everything was changed in US schools. Previously, I'd been bullied to no end in school, and very little had been done about it. I'd just had to grow thick skin and try to avoid it when I could. After Columbine, security in all schools was ramped up to an insane degree. I remember a friend of mine was suspended because someone stole her pen and she snatched it back, playfully remarking that she was going to kill him. There was a big push for counseling, too. Nobody wanted it to happen again, so they were always encouraging people to talk to someone if they had a problem. Me? Everyone was afraid of me at that point, and I was left alone. I didn't mind, it gave me time to myself, where I could read, write, study and daydream.

So, what makes me different from me and the kids who took matters into their own hands? The film explores this, but never tries to offer any explanations, because there really are none. My opinion, isn't that it's the fault of computer games or Nazism or even bullying. I think it's just a matter of not being able to separate fantasy from reality. There's a shot when the kids are stalking around the halls, a first-person shot with the gun at the bottom of the frame. It's brief, but it echoes an earlier scene where they play an FPS on a laptop. Alex's demeanor is what really convinces me. Both of them approach it as if it's nothing more than a game, very playfully, as it's just a fun activity. But, there's an eerie calm about them. It's frightening. They know what they're doing and they have no regrets.

Barton Fink (1991)

2005-10-01T23:54:00.000-04:00

Barton Fink (1991)

Barton Fink just may be my favorite Coen Bros. movie. Well, maybe not better than Fargo, because, I mean, c'mon. Oh yeah, Big Lebowski, too. Almost forgot Raising Arizona. Yeah, that sums up how good the Coens are.

Barton Fink is funny, intriguing and very well-written. It's a nice jab at Hollywood values and an interesting look into the mind of a writer, a very typical 'hired gun' in Hollywood. The mood of the film, is strange. It's got the dry Coen Bros. sense of humor, but the whole film has this very suspenseful, eerie atmosphere about it that gives it an almost otherworldly feel. When Barton enters the hotel and rings the service bell, it keeps echoing for a really long time, very eerie stuff. And who else would pop up from under the desk after this, but Steve Buscemi? Also, John Goodman's entrance is great. The Coens' play it in the next room, as he gets the call from the front desk and storms out of his room, the camera following him, unseen, through the wall. He pounds on the door, furiously, and it's startling. See John Carpenter's The Fog for another good example of atmospheric knocking.

John Goodman is great, especially here, and it's always nice to discover somebody with great depth of character in unexpected places. He plays so many different notes here, from frightening and imposing, to warm, friendly and oafish, to, once again, frightening and imposing. Turturro is also great, bringing an enthusiastic spark to his character as he spits out his idealistic values.

Netflix makes note of Barton Fink's Eraserhead hairdo in their synopsis, which is not only inaccurate, but has nothing to do with the film at all. Nonetheless, the idea stuck with me, and I found one great parallel between the two films. In Eraserhead, and something Mark Zimmer touches upon in his great review, is the fact that the child that the baby is horrible, literal manifestation of every parent's worst nightmare, that their child will end up being a monster. And, in Barton Fink, something along the same lines happens. The writer's paranoia and fear of deadlines takes on a grotesque, literal fear as he winds up being chased by a madman and hunted by the police, in a strange turn of events. I probably haven't explained it too well, but it makes some sense to me.

The Big Red One (1980)

2005-10-01T21:38:00.000-04:00

The Big Red One (1980)

I'm not usually a big fan of war films. They all seem to blend into one another after a while, for me. Like any genre, there are some great works that transcend their respective genres, though. And, even if not, there are some great films set in the overall genre, nonetheless. The Big Red One, from what I understand, has been sorely neglected since its release, subsequently cut and recut by studios. Finally, thanks to Warner and Fuller's good friend Richard Schickel, we can now experience something close to Fuller's original vision of this very personal film.

The Big Red One's main focus is the camaraderie that develops between fellow soldiers during the war. It's important for a war film to have a specific focus, since war is such a vast subject, no single work can even begin to describe all the aspects of it in any kind of coherent detail. But, the relationship between the men in the Big Red One is the heart of the film. Just as the men themselves get to know and become fond of one another, so does the audience. And, Lee Marvin is great, stone-faced as usual, playing the sergeant who, in not so many words, becomes the surrogate father to these four young men. It's never spoken, but it's very easy to see it in their relationships, the Sarge abides, watching over all of them, letting them learn from their own mistakes, but always protecting them.

A key moment in the film, in some ways, one that turns it on its ear, I've used as my still. Griff is securing the perimeter, as they say, and he opens a metal grate to find an enemy soldier prone, his rifle aimed out of the grate. The look on his face is one of madness, as he squeezes his trigger endlessly, yet has no ammo. Griff, further illustrating the brotherhood of soldierdom, recognizes this deranged action and mimics it continuously. Of course, his chamber is still full of bullets, but by now, he's too far gone to notice this. It's a brilliant, effecting scene that shows that a brotherhood develops between not only those fighting alongside one another, but those on opposite sides of a conflict.

Samurai I - Musashi Miyamoto (1954)

2005-10-01T21:23:00.000-04:00

Samurai I - Musashi Miyamoto (1954)

I saw Samurai I a while ago. Netflix proves it. Yet, when it came time to man up and finish the trilogy, I found I remembered nothing of the first film. So, I re-watched it, and sure enough, it was a completely alien experience. The very end of the film held a feeling of deja vu, but I'm surprised I remembered nothing of the film. But, it's better that way, I suppose. Amnesia: Great value!

The trilogy is based on a book that's called Japan's Gone With the Wind. It's easy to see why, a very sentimental story set in a country undergoing tenuous times and great change. Splitting it into 3 films is pretty wise to me, since Gone With the Wind is very, very long. But, as far as Samurai I goes, some of the film struck me as better read than performed. But, that's just me.

Mifune turns in a very good performance, as per usual. He's often accused of overacting, and I can see that to some degree. And yes, there's some of it here. But, for the most part, he hits all the right emotional notes key to his character. He hams it up, but he wouldn't be Mifune if he didn't.

A nice start, especially when it ramps up at the end. Way to leave me hanging, Inagaki!

Forbidden Games (1952)

2005-10-01T21:17:00.000-04:00

Forbidden Games (1952)

Forbidden Games. Boy, those French love making films about kids. But, seriously, I dug Forbidden Games. Not 400 Blows dug, but dug it nonetheless.

Actually, the film's kind of strange. I thought it would be an account of the childrens' struggle to survive during the war. But, it's actually more about them forming a bond and growing together. In fact, the film's most telling moment is the very end. Paulette is kept at the Red Cross and she's forced to confront the fact that her parents are gone. She looks around and sees nothing but children crying and dealing with emotional pain. It's then that you realize her stay with Michel has been a reprieve. It's her own way of dealing with her loss, as a child. And, it's debatable as to whether she was better off with Michel, enjoying her childhood or actually dealing with her loss. Clement's film is pretty sentimental, so it's obvious his feelings lie more with Michel, but it leaves the final decision up to the viewer.

It does a good job of showing childhood. Her parents have just died, but Paulette cares more about toting around her dead puppy, for whatever reason. It takes Michel to finally convince her to let go. Also, there are the childish infatuations and misunderstandings. They steal all the crosses they can find, to give their dead animals a better afterlife. Their symbolism to the church doesn't matter at all, they just want to build their perfect vision of a graveyard. Ideas like this are so great and so universal that it's hard to imagine that they haven't really been exploited heavily throughout the history of cinema. Well, at least not yet.

The Pornographers (1966)

2005-10-01T20:48:00.000-04:00

The Pornographers (1966)

Kinky exploits, indeed! I enjoyed the Pornographers, for the most part. Not a life-changing experience, but an entertaining film and definitely a welcome change of pace. Pretty funny, in a very absurd way. You know, I don't really know what else to say about the Pornographers. It's good and it's got a weird-looking fish in it.

A History of Violence (2005)

2005-10-01T20:43:00.000-04:00

A History of Violence (2005)

Thanks to the always-kind folks at the Providence Phoenix magazine, I was invited to a free advance screening of Cronenberg's latest work, A History of Violence. It was actually a few days before the film's opening, but because of my huge backlog, it's been out since yesterday as of this writing. D'oh!

As a film, it was slightly disappointing, actually. But, the more I think about it, in retrospect, the more it stays with me. But, the film, for me, was a great chance for some deep and intelligent explorations of the very nature of violence. While it does do that to some extent, most of the film falls into a pretty standard Hitchcockian thriller mold. While it's better than 99% of the crap Hollywood's producing, it seems like they dropped the ball in really exploring these themes as deep as they could have. But, I guess that's the compromise between intelligent filmmaking and entertaining the masses.

The scenes with Tom's son felt very cheesy to me, like they were straight out of an after-school special. And this is coming from someone with plenty of bully experience in High School, heh. But, it's interesting to see him go off the handle, suggesting the possible inheritance of a violent nature, conjuring up the title.

There are a couple of sex scenes that seem extremely forced, which isn't surprising, given this is Cronenberg. But, they seem out of place, and honestly, I felt uncomfortable watching them. The first scene isn't too tasteful, but it seems normal enough, a young married couple enjoying a night alone. But, the second scene begins with her fleeing from Tom in terror, and he pins her on the staircase and pretty much rapes her, as her guard is slowly let down, ultimately consenting. This says something about the nature of violence and its relation to sexuality, as well as how much of a turn on brutish, masculine power is. But, it still seems really out of place in the film.

But, like I said, the more I think about it, especially in today's moviegoing climate, the more the film grows upon me. It's another great film from Cronenberg.

Masculin feminin (1966)

2005-10-01T20:07:00.000-04:00

Masculin feminin (1966)

So, Godard. I've actually enjoyed most of his work, despite its emptiness. I read an interview with Ingmar Bergman a while back where he just bashed Godard to no end, and even though I like Godard, it was still pretty funny and he made some good points. He singled out Masculin Feminin, probably because, for some asinine reason, it was shot in Sweden. Bergman called it mind-numbingly boring. Try as I might to like it, I can't help but agree with him.

Maybe it's the Swedish setting, but I'm reminded of the I am Curious films. Godard seems to like to throw random intertitles into conversation for no reason at all, and it's very distracting and pretentious. There's a scene early on where Jean-Pierre Leaud is talking to Chantal Goya and they're basically just babbling, then she asks him a very deep question, one that I was interested in. Leaud's reaction is shock, he can't believe that this girl actually wants to hold an intelligent conversation and explore something meaningful. And if that's not a reflection of Godard's style, I don't know what is. The film is just meaningless conversations, a completely empty style with no soul whatsoever.

French Cancan (1955)

2005-10-01T19:38:00.000-04:00

French Cancan (1955)

Now this is more like it! I didn't like Elena and Her Men, but French Cancan is, thankfully, another success for Renoir. Like all Renoir films, upon first viewing, it's hard to explain why I love the film. It's just got a very friendly, easygoing vibe that casts a spell on you. But, that's Renoir's awesomeness for you.

The driving force behind the story is the conception of the famed Moulin Rouge, and, for me, the dancers' preparations for their show. In the tradition of many a sports film, you get to see them start as novices, and through the inevitable montage, you see them progress, and it's hard not to get swept up in their story and be won over by their cheerful determination. Heck, that interested me far more than the romance/jealousy part of the plot.

It's fun. It's really, really fun. Awesome.

I Fidanzati (1962)

2005-10-01T19:09:00.000-04:00

I Fidanzati (1962)

I love Olmi's Il Posto. For me, it's one of the little-known gems in the Criterion Collection. I've been waiting to see I Fidanzati for a while, since it's impossible to find anything else by him. That said, I don't really know how to feel about the film. The good part is that it's very emotional, very true, very tender, and it's extremely thought-provoking. But, it didn't do much to engage me. In fact, despite its strengths, it was kind of boring to me. I think it's strange that I can be bored by a film, but still have it make an emotional impact on me.

I Fidanzati is a simple story, a young couple is separated due to the man's work, offering him an opportunity to make more money working in a Milan. The film covers their partition and the emotions that they feel, once apart. Without one another, all alone, there's a sense of a banal monotony, also something Olmi covered in Il Posto. The man tries his hardest to settle into Milan, and even though it was his own choice, he just can't seem to become comfortable in his surroundings.

Some of the most impressive parts of the film are the slow, seemingly meaningless stretches. During these, because the film is all about the couple, you find yourself thinking about them, wondering what they're thinking about, wondering what memories they're conjuring up to try to comfort themselves. It's a great example of the less-is-more principle of filmmaking. Somehow, this gives the feeling a very genuine feeling of emotion, and personally, it had a big impact on yours truly.

Crash (2004)

2005-10-01T18:57:00.000-04:00

Crash (2004)

I tried to catch Crash in its initial run, but it was pretty much impossible. Then word of mouth spread and it hit #52 on IMDB. After seeing the film, I have no idea. It's not a bad movie, it's very well done. It raises a few interesting questions and explores a tough topic, but all in all, it feels a little stale and the tone of the film seems very counterproductive to me.

In the film, almost everyone is angry. There's this pervading intensity in the film that almost never lets up, and naturally, leads to a lot of unnecessary tragedy. But, everyone is just brimming with anger, and it seems a bit too contrived and convenient to the story. To compare it to another film tackling racism in America, Do the Right Thing, which slowly introduces all its characters and lets you get to know them intimately and care for them, whereas in Crash, you don't really like any of the characters, and you only feel bad for them because they're victims of racism. But, they're different films that handle the subject in different ways, I suppose. In fact, it's been 15 years, and a lot can change in that time.

But, that aside, the film is very well done, and certainly makes a good case for racism. Maybe the constant anger makes its point against racism best, I'm not the definitive judge. Haggis has made a very powerful, if flawed statement that will hopefully open a few American minds. We can only hope.

Camera Buff (1979)

2005-10-01T11:35:00.000-04:00

Camera Buff (1979)

I've really liked all the Kieslowski I've seen. Blue is a beautiful masterpiece, White and Red are both great, the Decalogue is great and a Short Film About Love is very good, but admittedly worked better as a 1-hour part of the Decalogue. I don't know why, but I didn't like Camera Buff much. I really had high hopes for it, very high hopes, but it just kind of rubbed me the wrong way.

The storyline is pretty intriguing and ends up working pretty well. The biggest problem I had, I guess, is that I couldn't understand the way Filip's wife was acting. I don't understand why she was getting so upset over the fact that he found a hobby. He didn't seem obsessed with it, and it wasn't destructive or harmful in any way. Also, he seemed to be okay with the fact that she was trying to sabotage his aspirations, like she was justified.

It's kind of silly to blame my dislike of the film on one little aspect of the story, but it's really all I can remember not liking. It's a good film, but only slightly better than average to me. Cinema sure is funny

Story of a Prostitute (1965)

2005-10-01T11:34:00.000-04:00

Story of a Prostitute (1965)

Story of a Prostitute is a very melodramatic film from freewheeling Japanese director Seijun Suzuki. Almost all of his films deal with gangsters or the Japanese yakuza, so it's strange to see him helming a film of such a different nature. Honestly, I think he worked better with the gangster films, simply because he knew them best.

Story of a Prostitute isn't a bad film, it's more than entertaining. But, it feels extremely manipulative. It relies on some fairly cheap tactics in terms of setting and music/editing to further it's emotional impact, which some people don't mind, but it bothers me to no end.

Visually, the style is very bold and effective. Many Japanese directors, most notably Suzuki, have great command of the 2.35:1, aka Scope, frame. Suzuki frequently places people on opposite sides of the frame during conversations, or places action off to one corner of the screen when it could very easily be shown in the center. One one hand, it shows a ton of bravura and looks very pleasing to the eye. On the other hand, it may seem kind of shallow and definitely calls attention to itself, which some might say is the biggest no-no in shooting film.

The plot, actually, reminds me a lot of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. Actually, reminds me of how I feel about Romeo and Juliet, rather. There are many different ways of interpreting any work of art, so my views are simply my own. But, for my money, Romeo and Juliet were never in love. Look at Romeo, he's a mopey emo kid whining about how his ex left him. Then, there's Juliet, wishing for something more in her idyllic but ultimately dreary life. They meet, and it's strictly puppy love. They get so worked up over it that they take it to the extreme and kill themselves. Heck, I know I've acted impulsively under the influence of young love, and still do. But, therein lies the tragedy and effect of Shakespeare's story. That's what Story of a Prostitute reminds me of; two people that blindly fall for one another out of circumstance, with tragic consequences.

Grizzly Man (2005)

2005-09-29T02:27:00.000-04:00

Grizzly Man (2005)

I've wanted to check out Grizzly Man for a while, and have been waiting endlessly for a theater nearby to show it. The small, artsy theater downtown finally stopped holding over Broken Flowers for 'one more week!' and decided to bless us with Herzog's latest masterpiece. And yes, I said masterpiece. Watching the film, I was completely enthralled, and my mind never once wandered, and was always kept completely occupied. Naturally, I thought it was great, but a few days afterwards, it lingered with me. Sure, some films stay with you for a while afterwards, once in a while popping into your thoughts. But, Grizzly Man held a lot of space in my mind, and still does, almost a week later. A good way to describe it is when you're trying to forget a lover, yet you can't get them out of your head.

So, I have to wonder, what is so special about Grizzly Man, that it has this effect on me? It's not the bears, as I've no leaning for or against them, really. Of course, technically, it's all top-notch. But, what I keep coming back to is the fact that it makes me think. It may not have the same effect on anyone else, but the film continues to make me think about it, to try and ponder its questions, argue them in my own head, ask others their opinions, and try to put myself in the shoes of those presented in the film.

Of course, the film is about Timothy Treadwell, a man who spent 13 summers living with the grizzly bears in Alaska. He spent a lot of his free time speaking at elementary and high schools around the country, telling stories and facts all about the bears he knew so closely, and all pro bono. If you read anything on the film, it comes as no surprise, a few moments in, when it's revealed that Treadwell was killed by a bear on his last trip to Alaska. I didn't think this had much bearing on the film, but it obviously does, the more I think about it, because you know that no matter what, he's still going to end up dead at the end of the story. So, when you see him getting along with bears and trying to assimilate, no matter how much progress he might be making, you still know he died at the hands (paws?) of one of them. Of course, that raises a whole bunch of rhetorical questions that the film explores.

Why did Treadwell die, after all he did for these bears? One man interviewed said that Treadwell crossed an invisible boundary and that it was an inevitability, but those who knew and loved Treadwell offer other possible explanations. Then, of course, you have to wonder about the intelligence of the bears, did they have any idea that Treadwell was trying to help them, or did they simply see him as an intruder after all this time? Naturally, your brain starts working on the next line of questioning, are we really that different from bears? What would happen if a bear tried to assimilate into our culture, as silly as it sounds? Even now, my mind keeps branching off, attempting to think about all of these different ideas.

From the moment I first saw a Herzog film, I knew that he was a man obsessed with obsession. He allowed himself to be consumed entirely by his works, and his works usually centered on those consumed with their own works, notably Brian Sweeny Fitzgerald in Fitzcarraldo. And, it's interesting to note the parallels between Herzog's work and Treadwell's work. In fact, if it weren't a documentary, I'd be certain that Treadwell was a creation of Herzog's, through and through. In fact, I started to doubt the validity of the film in some parts, and still do, just because it's Herzog, ever the phrankster. He did the same thing with Incident at Loch Ness, but that was incredibly funny and mostly opaque, while Grizzly Man is mainly a serious examination of Treadwell's life and death.

Timothy himself is a mixed bag. He's very charismatic, and it's hard not to be won over by his enthusiasm, his friendly nature and his generosity. Yet, there's a sense of uneasiness about him. As you watch him, you can sense the dread, simply because he's so consumed with his obsession, you're sure it will be his downfall. I was impressed most with his love for the bears. Obviously, he loves them, but it's something more than that, and though it may not be the right way to describe it, it reminds me much of Faith. These bears have done absolutely nothing for him, really, yet he's making it his life's work to study them, live with them, and protect them the best he can, and he asks nothing in return, except for their safety and happiness.

There are quite a few funny parts in the film, like Treadwell's rant on the park service (you'd think Scorsese wrote the dialogue here), his constant compulsive perfectionism as he tries to get parts of his footage just right, and a moment where a fox runs off with his hat. In fact, the foxes add a great touch, as they're very cute and it's heartwarming to see Treadwell getting along with them.

It's not entirely one-sided, though. There are a few people who disagreed with what Treadwell was doing. Even the people closest to him, who loved him, ultimately paint an unflattering portrait of him, even his own parents, citing his bout with alcoholism. Yet, that's one of Grizzly Man's themes, an honest portrait of a man doing what he thought was right, for better or worse.

Kontroll (2003)

2005-09-28T02:31:00.000-04:00

Kontroll (2003)

Kontroll is an interesting little film that I found when looking for Bela Tarr's work on Netflix. It sounded pretty good, so I went ahead and took the plunge. I wasn't disappointed at all, as it's a very fun, fast-paced, exhuberant gem of a film. Even more surprising, it's a debut, this one from Nimrod Antal. Certainly one Hungarian filmmaker to keep an eye on! But I digress...

The film is somewhat like a day-in-the-life, the subjects being a group of young adults working as ticket checkers in a train station inm Hungary. Because of the language barrier, the one word that applies most that is never used, would have to be "slacker". In fact, some of their exploits reminded me a bit of Clerks, but in a very different, far less raunchy way. Like Clerks, it also seems to relish the hell they have to put up with in order to make a living. And as Sarte said, Hell is other people. They're confronted with the most incompetant mix of customers you could ever hope for, from a pimp who offers one of his hos as payment, to a gaggle of Japanese tourists, from insane junkies, to more insane witches. Focusing on the universal truth; when you're working, customers suck.

It's an extremely stylish film, in terms of lighting, editing and plot development. Although there is quite a bit of substance to back it up, it's nothing compared to the juggernauts of cinema history. Then again, nobody asks Kontroll to do that. It's a very entertaining, very energetic film, and it stands on its own legs.

Amarcord (1974)

2005-09-28T02:18:00.000-04:00

Amarcord (1974)

So, Amarcord. I remember Amarcord being one of Bergman's favorite Fellini films, and though it's hard to explain why, it's easy to see. Both Amarcord and Bergman's best works share a very personal feel, both full of recollections and memories. I really liked Amarcord, but it's lack of cohesion holds it back from being as good as the rest of Fellini's work. It's really just a loose collection of childhood memories. Although it's really fun and not boring in the least, it lacks a sense of fullness that you get in, say, 8 1/2 or La Strada.

It's strange, all of the characters are easy to identify with. They all have a lot of basic traits, and are going through things that are universal and very relatable. Yet, they're often hard to tell apart, simply because Fellini throws a lot at you early on, and your brain isn't sure who and what to disregard as immaterial in terms of plot. There's also a big political message here that's mostly lost on me, simply because I'm not a political person, nor am I an historical person, so I'm certainly not one for politics from 30 years ago, despite how relevant they may be today. Amarcord's political message isn't so obvious that a layman like me understands it, but there's no denying it's there, so it's probably a good trait to have in the film.

The sense of wonder and recollection are extremely vivid in Amarcord, and it does a great job of transporting you into the time and place. In fact, at certain points, I could practically smell the soft breeze as a family travelled through the country. If the film even slightly resembles what actually was Fellini's youth, then it's not hard to imagine why his films are the way they are.

The Constant Gardener (2005)

2005-09-24T19:34:00.000-04:00

The Constant Gardener (2005)

Monsieur Luke said it was "outstanding" so, I couldn't resist. A little bit of trivia about yours truly, the last time I saw a film in a theater was December 12, 2004. Yup, it's been a hectic (not to mention mostly unimpressive) year. But, I'm turning things around now, starting with The Constant Gardener, and what a way to start.

The funny thing about the film is that, once it gets going, it's most like a run-of-the-mill thriller. Going into the film cold, you might think it's a drama, or even a political statement on pharmaceutical companies. While it encompasses those things, it's far more than that, and it is, indeed, outstanding.

I really enjoyed Mierelles' previous film, City of God, and it's interesting to see him succeed again with The Constant Gardener, but also to see him beginning to develop his own cinematic style. It's mostly a feeling of atmosphere and great storytelling, but you can really feel some similarities between the two films in terms of editing. Between some scenes, there are these great, energetic montages that hurtle you into the next scene.

One thing that I was thinking about during the film is Justin's overall journey. Sure, it's interesting that he suspects his wife of cheating, then realizes she was really on this secret, noble quest. Towards the end, he strives to follow in her footsteps and finish what she'd started, and obviously, try to avenge her death. But, I couldn't help but think there was something else propelling him. Kind of like in George Sluizer's The Vanishing (Spoorloos), it's man's basic curiosity. It's easy to understand, he's curious, he wants to know all there is to know, all that his wife couldn't find out. It's explored far deeper and more implicitly in Sluizer's film, but I think that it's also buried underneath the surface in The Constant Gardener.

The plot develops very well, and despite some of the secondary characters remaining mostly two-dimensional, the characters are all well-defined, especially Fiennes', due in no small part to his acting. It's a very strong, very involving film. I think you'd be hard pressed to find somebody disappointed by the movie.

Shoot the Piano Player (1960)

2005-09-24T18:50:00.000-04:00

Shoot the Piano Player (1960)

So, me and Truffaut have this kind of love/hate thing going on. Actually, it's more like I really like most of his work, but I don't think that I like it as much as I should. This, and only this, keeps me up at night. Only, not really. But, since reading his collection of writings, The Films In My Life, I think I have a better understanding of why he made films and why they are the way they are. He once said, and I'm paraphrasing of course, that he didn't like a film unless it expressed the joy or fun of making a film, and that's something that always sticks out in my mind when I see one of his works. You can really sense his joy behind the camera, freewheeling his way through a film, no matter what.

Shoot the Piano Player is, in some ways, a very conventional gangster/noir film. But, there's really not much darkness or cynicism that you can see in traditional films, but there's a strong sense of character and emotional undercurrent that is often lacking, not only in films of the genre, but in most film. I was struck with how unpredictable the narrative was, and despite having seen many many films of the genre before, I had no idea what was coming next in Piano Player.

I really noticed Truffaut's views on women in the film. In the car, the gangsters are talking to Charlie and Lena, and they say that women secretly love the attention that men give them on the streets and they try their hardest to attract it. Later on, they say something along the lines of, "no wonder women are always horny, their legs are always rubbing together under their skirts!" Between this, Jean-Pierre Leuad's constant questioning in Day for Night ("Are women magic?" "No, but their legs are") and the famous line in Jules et Jim, "Your breasts are the only bombs I've ever loved," I really get a feeling Francois had a deep admiration for the female form. But, not in a dirty, lecherous way. And even if you feel that way, you can't hold it against the little guy.

Gerry (2002)

2005-09-21T17:36:00.000-04:00

Gerry (2002)

So, my good mate Exiled recently wrote about Gus Van Sant's Elephant and had a lot of good things to say about it. Little did I know that it's part of a trilogy, starting with Gerry and ending with Last Days, which I've read some pretty dismal reviews of. Yet, reading about Gerry, I was immediately drawn to it, just because it seems like something that's right down my alley. I've read almost nothing but praise for it. So, I certainly wasn't prepared for a film that was such a boring, dare I say..chore to watch.

I have nothing but admiration for Van Sant's film, though. He's done something completely different and original in a time where it's hard to find a dozen films worth seeing a year. It's very unconventional, and the tone of the film is great. But, it's just so incredibly boring. There are a few long, unbroken takes of the two guys simply walking in the desert. No dialogue, nothing happening at all, they're just walking. I'm all for setting the right mood in a film, but to me, it just seemed like most of it serves no purpose whatsoever.

What's intriguing though, is that you never learn anything substantial about either character. In fact, we never even know who they actually are. In that respect, it reminds me of a kind of cinematic ink blot test, where you could show it to many different people and get many different responses. Are they friends, are they brothers, are they lovers, are they enemies, are they strangers? Heck, do they even really exist?

Personally, I didn't like it, but a film like Gerry is extremely subjective, and I firmly believe in the axiom that one man's trash is another man's treasure. The reasons that I disliked the film could be precisely the same reasons you love it. And hey, I said the same things about 2001 the first time I saw it on a pan&scan VHS tape years ago, so you never know.

The Golden Coach (1953)

2005-09-21T17:27:00.000-04:00

The Golden Coach (1953)

I don't know how he does it, but Renoir is awesome. Every film I see is great, it's not even arguable. And yet, he's not even over the top about it at all. He just makes it look so easy, so effortless, that you can't help but admire his talent.

Right from the start, The Golden Coach is filled with theatrical touches, never hiding the truth for one moment, that it's a production in the truest sense. And yet, it's about the theater itself, so it's got that self-referential thing going on, too. The film itself is a celebration of all arts, especially the theater and the cinema. But, that phrase struck me the most overall, that it is, above all, a celebration.

I've always loved Anna Magnani. She's not particularly attractive, in fact, kind of old and frumpy-looking. She's loud and brash, assertive and quick to shout. She seems to be most of the things that a man (or at least this man) wouldn't want in a woman. Yet, she's still got an incredible amount of talent, and most of all, sex appeal. I don't even know what it is, but she's one of those people who lights up the screen whenever she appears. Just watching her in the film, slowly falling in love, going through a whirl of emotions, and her exhilaration from finally winning over her audience, it's great.

Yet, the picture is very adult in its frankness and its appeal. It tries to explore some very complex themes, especially relating to the theater. Many people have examined acting as a craft, and how it carries over to an artist's life off of the stage. Magnani asks, "Where does the theater end and real life begin?"

Badlands (1973)

2005-09-21T17:08:00.000-04:00

Badlands (1973)

I originally wanted to see Badlands because I love True Romance and Hans Zimmer lifted the main theme of Badlands for part his True Romance score. If you've noticed, True Romance is one of my favorites, most likely due to its effects on me personally moreso than the quality of the film itself. But then again, that's what cinema's all about, right?

I paid little attention to Malick, especially since I didn't care much for the Thin Red Line, though it is due for a re-viewing. But Badlands, I don't know. It's pretty good, for what it is. Good, solid characters and plot, but it didn't leave too big an impression on me.

The similarities to True Romance are pretty obvious. The xylophone theme is very romantic in a quirky, unsentimental way, and serves both films very well. Both films use a female protagonist, narrating at key points in the film, with a southern accent. Both of them state, in the beginning of the film, that they had no idea how things would end up. But, that's what they're both about. Neither woman realized that one day their lives would change so suddenly and inexorably. Yet, they got roped up in such curcumstances simply because of love.

I have to wonder, again, about Sissy Spacek's character, Holly, and what she's really like, like before she met Kit. We know a bit about her upbringing due to her character and environment, but not much else. But, I suppose that's the point, that we get to know her through the events of the film, not through previous exposition. I will say, though, Kit is one helluva likable guy, for a fairly ruthless killer. Heck, even the officers who arrest him fall under his charm. So, really, what chance did Holly stand?

The Prefab People (1982)

2005-09-21T05:18:00.000-04:00

The Prefab People (1982)

So, more Bela Tarr. I actually liked this one a bit more than Family Nest, but not by much, unfortunately. I really liked it for the first few scenes, but then it started to get really boring and once again dragged on and on. There are a few very good moments, but they're like islands in the middle of an ocean of endlessly boring scenes.

The film is smaller in scope than Family Nest, and centers almost exclusively on a young couple. In Family Nest, the fact that there's a whole family in close-quarters, all bickering, with disorienting closeups and poor subtitles really made it hard to differentiate between the characters themselves and to follow the story of the film. But, Prefab People has a much more intimate feel, which it seems Tarr handles far better. The characters still feel very real, which is good, because I think everyone can relate to couples arguing over things like money, if not themselves, then something they've witnessed firsthand.

The film has no regard for time and/or explanation. Tarr jumps from one scene to another without explaining where or when they are, and for all we know, it could be a flashback, a fantasy, or simply a future event. This both helps and hinders the film, I think, but you can really argue it either way. The film begins and ends with nearly-identical scenes of the man trying to move out of the house, suddenly. I say nearly-identical, because I can't tell if they're exactly the same, and they felt kind of different to me. But, Tarantino and Kubrick both used the flashback-with-different-events trick. I think this probably says something about the inescapable nature of the lives we live, how we can bicker and argue and try to leave, but we just can't, no matter what.

Quai des Orfevres (1947)

2005-09-20T21:08:00.000-04:00

Quai des Orfevres (1947)

Clouzot is an interesting filmmaker. His work's often compared to Hitchcock, yet he gets nowhere near the same amount of acclaim as Hitchcock, nor his French contemporaries. His films aren't unneccessarily deep, meaning that they're just as deep as they need to be and no more. This isn't really a bad thing, especially not if you're in the mood for an entertaining thriller, which is precisely what Quai des Orfevres is.

It's hard to find things to say about it, because it's simply a very good film. The film starts out slowly, plotwise, but draws the viewer into its world with its characters and very witty dialogue. Before long, the tension begins to build and never really lets up until the climax. There are a few great scenes that really stick out in your memory, like when the inspector uses the piece of paper with Brignon's address on it, and you're hoping that he doesn't see the address. Or, another great one, when the cabbie comes down to identify the blonde woman he gave a ride to, and the camera pans past them, one by one, as they all react, of course, except for Dora, the guilty party.

It's not going to change your life or make you ponder deep questions about the nature of the universe, but it's a damn fun ride.

Red Desert (1964)

2005-09-19T17:10:00.000-04:00

Red Desert (1964)

Unfortunately, Red Desert is the last Antonioni film I'm likely to see for a while, as I've exhausted all of his available films. It's considered one of his best, yet isn't out on DVD, save for an over-expensive OOP Image release, that seems to have a print run of dozens. It's strange, I really love most of it, but some parts of it left me a little cold.

Its opening credits are underlined with music that initially sounds very alien, almost as it was ripped from a sci-fi film. Yet, as we listen, we discover it's just normal machinery echoing in a factory. A woman warbles a tune, but she does it in a way that she sounds like a theremin, which of course is the instrument of choice for creating otherworldly soundtracks. This, I think is the theme of Red Desert, shown simply in the music of the opening credits; a modern, mechanized world that serves only to completely alienate. Yes, if this sounds familiar, it's pretty much the theme of EVERY SINGLE ANTONIONI FILM. Yet, he pulls it off so well that we forgive ol' Mike.

Antonioni uses a lot of very warm colors, which serve the Desert aspect of the film, but also add to the alienating effect of the film, somehow. The lighting seems to be very atypical. Everytime I'd see Monica Vitti in her distracting brunette wig, I can't help but wonder how a different director would have lit her, more glamorously, for sure. In fact, her entire performance, wig aside, is great, and most likely the best of hers that I've seen. It's incredibly nuanced, as you try to figure out if she's 'okay', if we're witnessing hallucinations or skewed events, how she's going to take things. Slowly, as the film goes on, we realize that we're witnessing a mental collapse of her character, as she acts more and more irrationally. The climax, I think, is a brilliant moment where the fog envelops all of the characters, as you see them all slowly fade away, as if they're ghosts of something that Giuliana will never have; comfort, understanding and closeness.

I think that Corrado is an atypical Antonioni male. Yes, he doesn't understand for the most part, and ends up using Giuliana (I think?), but Antonioni seemed to imbue him with a lot of his own traits and his own emotions. He does this in all of his pictures, but it's almost always with the women and very rarely with the men. Yet, when Corrado makes his speech, illustrating how progress is more important in today's world, than justice, I can't help but imagining the celebrated director putting himself up on the screen.

The drug scene, or what I believe is the drug scene, is strange, to me. It seems kind of out of place, and the characters all seem to act very erratically. Maybe it's Antonioni's way of showing how we fill the voids within ourselves, with things like possessions and drug experiences. But, I didn't really care much for the whole sequence, though it does have its nice moments, especially Vitti's acting, where she displays her character's inability to connect and her further breakdown.

The drug scene, and the final 'love' scene between Corrado and Giuliana, the best way I can describe them is grotesquely erotic. They're sexy and enticing, visually and mentally stimulating and tantalizing, yet at the same time, it's horrible to watch and seems to be disgusting. The scene between Corrado and Giuliana is great, though, because it's very abstract, both visually and thematically. I felt my brain working feverishly to try to figure out, not only what was going on onscreen, but what it meant and why it was happening. It's sad that, these days, films very rarely let you think about things for yourself, and work things out on your own, because, personally, I love that.

Pather Panchali (1955)

2005-09-19T16:43:00.000-04:00

Pather Panchali (1955)

Yeah, I finally saw a Satyajit Ray film. It was somewhat intimidating, because of Ray's and the film's high stature, but it's a very engaging and touching portrait of family life, and growing up and coming of age amidst suffering and hardships.

I was reminded somewhat of Truffaut's The 400 Blows, early on, because they both detail a child's life, growing up, in their own corners of the Earth at their own times. Yet, bulk of the stories are completely different, the underlying theme is still somewhat similar. Most of all though, I was reminded of Renoir's work, and that of French poetic realism. The world is shown very frankly, very realistically, though there is a lyricism and an undercurrent of hope running throughout. The way that Ray makes the film is not with grand gestures, but with small, deft strokes.

I liked the way that the film showed seemingly insignificant events, like the candy man coming around, that adults really ignore, but from a child's view, they are key highlights and go far towards establishing their memories and determining their personas throughout life. I'm thinking of the scene where Apu breaks into his sister's toy box, and knows he's been caught. Instead of terror, when she chases him, he's enjoying it, he's having a lot of fun running around being chased. Until the moment where he's caught and in trouble, he's enjoying every moment. I think that Apu himself represents his parents' hopes and dreams, as most children do for their own parents. We want our children to grow up and be what we never were, achieve what we didn't and live up to their full potential. And, since it's a trilogy, I actually look forward to seeing how wee Apu makes out.

The Sweet Hereafter (1997)

2005-09-19T16:18:00.000-04:00

The Sweet Hereafter (1997)

The Sweet Hereafter is one of those films that I'd never even heard of until everyone and their brother recommended it to me. Still, it took me a while to see, but eventually climbed its way to the top of my Netflix queue, triumphantly. Although I loved it and thought it was a great film, some aspects of it were a mixed bag, and I can't figure out if that's intentional or not.

Mitchell, the lead, played by Ian Holm, is a lawyer who treks to a small Canadian town in hopes of representing its citizens in a trial after an earlier school bus accident claims many children's lives. Now, he's the main character, so it's important to establish sympathy for him, make sure the audience connects with him. While a good job is done with flashbacks to his early days as a Father and his tenuous relationship with his addict daughter, when he speaks to the people in the town, he seems very smarmy, like a typical lawyer. He uses a lot of lawyer-speak cliches and pushes them all to reveal intimate details of a horrible event in hopes that they'll get closure through money. Yet, his reflection is all done years later, if I remember correctly, so it's possible the events in the small town left him changed. I really want to see it again soon, to try and work things out in my head.

The style of the film is subtle, but very effective. Egoyan does a great job of letting most of the film speak for itself, and only punctuating key moments with stylistic flourishes. I admired the way that the film unfolds, in the future, yet flashing back to the very beginning, moving forward in time. The way that the movie is balanced between the soft, affecting moments and the very rare 'emergency' moments, I really dug.

It took me a long while to really understand the significance of the pied piper story that is read throughout the film, but it clicked at the end. Nicole's Father is a sort of pied piper, in that he controls his own daughter and, essentially I suppose, charms her. He leads her along, telling her to lie and cover these things up, and she does because of the gentle domination he has over her. Slowly, she realizes what's more important to her, and she reveals it all at the one junction where it really matters, leaving everyone else dumbfounded. It's kind of confusing, in some ways, because the film doesn't reveal instantly whose story is really true, but if you've been paying attention to the emotions running through the film, it's very obvious.

Elena and Her Men (1956)

2005-09-18T02:40:00.000-04:00

Elena and Her Men (1956)

I've loved Ingrid Bergman for a long time. I first saw her in Notorious, and back then, I couldn't tell one musty old Hitchcock leading lady from the next. Yet, when I saw Casablanca, when she walked into Rick's Cafe Americane, I was floored. In an instant, her beautiful face and great performance in Notorious all came back to me. I've seen around 12 of her films now, give or take, and she's probably my personal favorite actress of all-time. However, seeing some of her early, lesser-quality Swedish films and reading in Ingmar Bergman's autobiography how difficult and ignorant she was to work with, my interest has waned. But maybe I need some Ilsa Lund to rekindle my spirits?

Elena and Her Men is a huge misstep for Renoir and Bergman, or My Ingie as I used to refer to her (only in the company of my ex, I assure you). It's not a bad film, but it's not a good one either. It has a few good, funny moments, such as her husband's horny son who hits on everyone but the girl he's to be married to, and some great character beats between Elena and, surprise surprise, her men. But, mostly, it's just a formulaic, muddled hodgepodge of lackluster plotting and poor political intrigue. Bergman plays Elena with a great depth, surprisingly, but it's unfortunate that her character isn't written with half of the personality that she brings to the table.

Family Nest (1979)

2005-09-16T19:37:00.000-04:00

Family Nest (1979)

My good pal Exiled recommended Bela Tarr's films to me, saying that he's frequently compared to Tarkovsky. The only films that I can find, anywhere, are his first 3, recently released in terrible quality by Facets. Little did I know that his earlier films were more Cassavetes than Tarkovsky, as evidenced by Family Nest, which feels more like a Cassavetes than some Cassavetes do. And, well, you know me and Cassavetes.

The film is shot in a documentary style, and for the most part, it's very effective and believable. The characters all feel very real, probably due to an improvisational style, similar to Cassavetes'. The bulk of the film takes place in a small apartment shared by a large number of members of the same family. Some of them, notably a young couple, try their hardest to get their own flat through the government, yet straits are so dire in Hungary at this time, that it's impossible. Adding to the tension, the man's Father is convinced that she's cheating on his son.

The Father is a strange character, to me. He's probably the most developed of all the characters, but he still felt kind of incomplete to me. I don't really see how he can give his daughter-in-law all this guff because he has suspicions, yet go out and chase women and try to bully them into sleeping with him, the way he does. Maybe it's Tarr's take on the hypocrisy of people, I don't know, but something about it rubbed me the wrong way.

The film derives most of its emotional impact from the poor living conditions of their apartment, and country to some respect. This, to me, seems kind of hollow, like it's a form of 'cheating' as opposed to actually developing the characters well. It seems like these could be any people living in Hungary, and you don't really get to know them much. But, I don't know, maybe that was Tarr's intent, similar to Italian Neorealism, to show the conditions in his own country.

Juliet of the Spirits (1965)

2005-09-16T19:23:00.000-04:00

Juliet of the Spirits (1965)

So, Fellini is kind of hit-or-miss with me. Well, he's Fellini, so it's more like hit-or-lesser-hit, heh. Juliet isn't my favorite Fellini. For me, it's got nothing on La Strada or 8 1/2. It's around Nights of Cabiria, maybe a little below, but not as low as I Vitelloni.

The film started out pretty strangely, and seemed to be struggling to find some direction. For the first half or so, I couldn't really get into it, it felt very distancing. But then, slowly, I began to get wrapped up in the plot and the mood of the film, and really enjoyed it.

It seems to be Fellini's exploration of a woman's psyche, just as 8 1/2 was an exploration of his own, or man's in general. When Giulietta suspects that her husband is cheating, Fellini does a great job of showing the myriad of emotions that she goes through. Also, due in no small part to Masini's great performance. Her face is the centerpiece, the one foot planted on the ground as a dizzying mix of emotions and spirits whirl around her, ultimately inspiring her to make some decisions and choose her own path in live.

Sandra Milo plays Suzy, her next-door neighbor, as well as her Grandfather's mistress in a flashback. As usual, Fellini uses his unique talents to make her look as whorish as possible, and he succeeds! She, as well, serves as an inspiration for Giulietta, because she enjoys the freedom that Giulietta wishes for. She's independent, spontaneous, desired, whimsical, fun, and most of all, free. It's Suzy that serves as the final push that Giulietta needs to grasp for her own freedom. And in the end, she succeeds...I think?

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966)

2005-09-15T02:08:00.000-04:00

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966)

My wonderful friend Nichole recently got Netflix, so we went back and forth for the better part of a night, recommending films to one another. I filled hers with Bergman, Cronenberg and Godard, while she insisted that I MUST MUST MUST see Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? I'd wanted to see it anyway, so with a push like that, i was off and running.

What struck me most about the film was its sheer power. Some films try too hard to adopt a faux-documentary style to make things seem more real. Yet, Virginia Woolf owes its level of reality to great acting, well-defined characters and an unobtrusive style. Sometimes, you can tell when a story was adapted from a stage work. I suppose you could say the same about Virgina Woolf, but you're so absorbed in the film that you don't notice. I really got the feeling that was watching the disintegration of a marriage right before my own eyes.

We're left to wonder what happened at the end. Did Martha and George behave like this because they were drunk, or is this their normal way of behavior? Is it all simply a result of Martha letting a small secret slip? Is this something that's been building up? It could be any combination of these things, really, and the joy of the film is trying to decide for yourself why these things happened. I use the word 'joy' hesitantly, because there's no joy in the film. It's a draining experience to go through.

Towards the end of the film, after Martha and Nick have slept together, she drifts back to George, as they go back to laughing and hurling verbal javelins at one another. They've re-aligned, as the audience assumes they always do, and have left Nick and his marriage on unstable ground. They joke around with each other, making up elaborate facades, and the following exchange takes place:

Martha: That is not true. That is such a lie!
George: You must not call everything a lie, Martha. Must she?
Nick: I don't know when you people are lying or what.
Martha: You're damn right!
George: You're not supposed to.

The frame from the film, above, shows the skewed camera angle during this moment, heightening the abstract and frightening effect they have on Nick. Though, it also serves as a subliminal landmark for the viewer, as the idea of lying is about to come into question, when the fate of their child is revealed.

After all is revealed, Nick and Honey exit and the camera shoots everyone from a high angle. The camera adopts a very subjective angle, looking down on the characters, as they've got nothing left to hide. Also, it serves to show the horrible state that the characters and their environment are left in, the physical and psychological mess that they now have to deal with.

Notes on Juliet of the Spirits

2005-09-15T01:39:00.000-04:00

Consider this a behind-the-scenes look at modium.org. I usually take notes while I watch a film, to remember important points or thoughts that ran across my mind. Occasionally, I'll watch a film and not blog about it for a few days. After that, it gets fuzzy and I forget what the shorthand I've used means. I'm sitting here, trying to make sense of my notes on Fellini's Juliet of the Spirits, and some of the stuff just plain baffles me. Take a look:

Dizzying, mirrors, no face - Auto. - spirits inspiring - unexpect. distancing - Suzy, ideal, everything J. wants - Lesbian? - Womans psyche - 1st half, struggling direcion - flashlight, least expected

I mean, really, WTF?

The Thief of Bagdad (1940)

2005-09-15T01:34:00.000-04:00

The Thief of Bagdad (1940)

I don't really know why, but Thief of Bagdad didn't do much for me. It reminds me a lot of Selznik's epics from the early Hollywood days. Movies with a lot of spectacle but ultimately hollow. Not that the Thief of Bagdad is a bad movie, it's pretty good as far as entertainment value, especially for young kids, but it just didn't have much effect on me. There wasn't much excitement or personality to the film, and the acting was so terrible that it distracted me from the film quite a bit.

The Last Wave (1977)

2005-09-12T17:25:00.000-04:00

The Last Wave (1977)

Well, another Aussie flick in honor of Exiled at 24fps, heh. I really like Weir's Hollywood films, Truman Show, Master and Commander, so I've wanted to check out his ol' Aussie films for a while. I decided to go with The Last Wave and was really impressed. In some ways, it's a standard supernatural/psychological thriller/mystery, you know, that genre. But, it really transcends it to become a nightmarish adventure of a film.

I like the way that you're not beaten over the head with the Burton/water connection early on. In fact, if you go into the film without much prior knowledge, it just might go unnoticed until late in. All of the rain, water, drizzle, hail, puddles, are all well-photographed, evoking not only horror in parts, but beauty as well. It must have been extremely hard to work with so much water, but the effect is stunning.

I loved the beginning of the film, the school that gets bombarded with rain, hail and wind. It really seems like complete chaos has been unleashed, and is a great note on which to start off such an unusual film .

The theme of the film seems to be nature meets civilization, the way the tribes operate in the city unnoticed, and the way the natural elements like wind and rain tear through the man-made city. Kind of reminded me of Reggio's brilliant Koyaanisqatsi. But, the message, if it has any, is kind of unclear. But, I don't think that Weir is really trying to say much with The Last Wave, just telling a very compelling story. And at that, he really succeeds here.

That Obscure Object of Desire (1977)

2005-09-12T17:01:00.000-04:00

That Obscure Object of Desire (1977)

I'm not a big fan of the late-career Bunuels, pretty much everything after Belle de Jour. Not that they're bad films, I like them, only they pale in comparison to his earlier, more surrealist stuff. Maybe I'm warming up to them, but I'm liking each late Bunuel more than the last. His last film, That Obscure Object of Desire is right up there with the Exterminating Angel and the rest of Bunuel's early masterpieces.

Broken down, it's the story of an older man who becomes completely obsessed with a young woman, his maid. She seems very fickle about him, one moment she loves him, the next she never wants to see him again, then she's back in love with him, and so on. It's kind of amusing at first, and somewhat annoying as you can see it coming even though Mateo is blinded by his own desire for Conchita. However, the annoyance isn't due to poor filmmaking, as that's how Bunuel wanted the story to go. By the end, when she arranges for Mateo to watch her make love with another man, the effect is horrifying, as you've witnessed her completely ruin this man entirely. Or, maybe it was just me.

The capriciousness of women seems to be a favorite subject of Bunuel's, especially if you remember back to L'Age D'Or. Though, Bunuel isn't really a misogynist, as Belle de Jour could prove. In fact, it seems like anytime you try to pigeonhole Bunuel's work, or make any claims, the films seem to dance around them. Bunuel, for all his angst and attacks on just about everything, still remains playful in his work. You can get a sense of this in his films, as even the most serious of subjects are poked fun at. Bunuel's the kind of guy that you could imagine saying the most despicable things, then saying "Just kidding!" and you'd forgive him.

I realized that the desire is what drove Mateo on throughout the film, something that seemed within his grasp, yet always slightly out of reach. This is touched on by Conchita, and though he denies it, I think it's true. What's fascinating is, in the interview included with the Criterion disc, Bunuel seems to refute any attempts to analyze his work. There's a scene early on in the train, after Mateo has dumped a bucket of water on Conchita and the passengers try to figure out why he's done it. This seems to be the most autobiographical part of any Bunuel film, to me. People around him trying desperately to figure out the 'why', while he just sits back and grins.

The Virgin Spring (1960)

2005-09-12T01:32:00.000-04:00

The Virgin Spring (1960)

A while back, I used to write for a few gaming sites; Gaming-Legacy.net and EndoNintendo, just pretend you've heard of them. It was strictly pro bono, just to get my voice out there, to sharpen my skills and write about stuff I enjoyed. I remember writing a review for a GBA game, GT Advance, which I'd bought at launch. It was a very good game, overall, but had one fatal flaw, it had no battery-backup, and therefore, required an extremely long password to be put in anytime you wanted to play. I remember trying to judge the game fairly, but I kept coming back to the password problem, which detracted from almost every aspect of the game.

Now, I feel the same way, somewhat, because the only copy of Bergman's The Virgin Spring I could find was dubbed into English. Normally, I wouldn't bother, but it's Bergman, and I really could NOT find a subtitled copy. It's not Bergman's fault that it was dubbed, but Embassy Video, who released said VHS tape many years ago and surely are long out of business. Yet, despite that, it detracted quite a bit from the experience, unfortunately. It's hard to stay fair, but I think I did pretty well. The dub isn't too terrible, and the film isn't as dialogue-heavy as, say, a Godard film.

In some ways, it's different from most of Bergman's other films, but which one isn't different from the rest, really? But, the Virgin Spring was later remade by Wes Craven as Last House on the Left, which I completely abhored. bergman's film, is different from the rest, though, because it's driven more by events rather than characters. In the beginning, there's a sense that the plot is building up, and you're driven to watch simply to see what will happen next.

Bergman seems to focus a lot more on the Father character than on the daughter, Karin. Plenty of focus is given to Karin in the beginning, of course, but it's only late in the film, when the parents take center stage, that the story really comes into fruition. Likewise, Craven seems to focus a lot more on the rape in itself, and makes the rest of the film seem like merely an afterthought or an obligation.

Early on, Bergman emphasizes Karin's innocence, and her father's love for her. Obviously, this makes her murder all the more effective, and subsequently, her father's revenge. Yet, at the same time, Bergman gives her plenty of less-than-flattering traits, such as her stubbornness to wake up, showing that she's pretty spoiled by her parents, and they let her get away with far more. This gives the Ingeri character a lot more depth, as you wonder why she doesn't help Karin when she sees her getting hurt. When Ingeri explains why she prayed for something to happen to Karin, you see her side as well, and at least understand where she's coming from, if you don't agree. Yet, depending upon the viewer's faith, they may or may not believe that her prayers factored into Karin's death.

The film really comes to a head when the father takes his revenge on the herdsmen. When the first one is killed, he runs towards the window and, concordantly, the camera, when Von Sydow's character murders him. It's a beautiful movement, as you can almost see the life being drained from him, slowly. Then, as he murders the second herdsman, Nykvist shoots them both through the bonfire. You get a sense that both murderers are now burning in Hell, or will soon be. Nykvist's camera is elegant all throughout, often times seemingly invading the characters and their own space, showing them in a very candid, naked way.

Un Chien Andalou (1929)

2005-09-12T01:20:00.000-04:00

Un Chien Andalou (1929)

So, I finally saw Un Chien Andalou. I'd have to say that it made no sense whatsoever. I'd also have to say that I loved it. Obviously, that sounds like a stupid statement, but I don't think Bunuel meant for it to have any kind of significance. It's just like a dream, a stream of surreal images flowing alone with no regard for comprehension. It's funny, you can almost get a sense of the enthusiasm that Bunuel and Dali had when making the film. Two young guys, at the height of their creativity, drunk on power, simply creating.

I'm not going to pretend to understand it, because I didn't, and I think it defies comprehension. Simply a great, surreal work of art.

The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser (1974)

2005-09-11T02:16:00.000-04:00

The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser (1974)

From the first time I saw Aguirre, I knew Werner Herzog was a filmmaker I can really identify with. Aguirre is long overdue for a re-viewing, so I'll hold off on my in-depth thoughts, and the same goes for Fitzcarraldo. I've also seen My Best Fiend, Burden of Dreams and Incident at Loch Ness, and despite all their greatness, they're documentaries about or starring Herr Herzog, so I'm not sure if they'd count towards the 'real' Herzog count. When I first read the synopsis for The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser, I knew it was a film I'd have to see ASAP. It was one of those films that, just from the synopsis, I thought it would be amazing and would immediately become one of my favorites. Well, Kaspar Hauser doesn't quite have that impact at first. In fact, about halfway through, I was kind of unsure if it was an amazing piece of work, or merely average. Though, it really gets under your skin and sticks in your head.

Supposedly, it's a true story, but Herzog also said the same thing about Aguirre, so we know better than to trust him. In essence, it functions almost like a fable, with an intriguing story, with plenty of metaphor underneath its surface. Probably the best aspect of the movie is the performance by Bruno S., a street performer, 'found' by Herzog, who turns in an incredible performance. It's not so much a performance as it is simply his presence. He's got this really intense stare, and you can almost see right into his soul sometimes.

Most of the film is incredibly detailed, especially in the beginning, which might turn some off, but really adds to the mood of the film. Herzog shows his 'education' in really long takes that are sure to try some viewers' patience, but really characterize Kaspar. The same goes for a later scene, in which the authorities rifle through Kaspar's belongings, examining each little thing for clues.

I really liked seeing Kaspar's thoughts on some things. He grew up inside of a tower, and later returning, he concludes that the tower is not where he grew up, because when he was inside, he saw walls all around, but outside, he sees no walls. Yes, it sounds insane, but to hear Kaspar explain it, it somehow makes sense. And then he asks why he can't play the piano like somebody else can. He can do other things just as easily, so why not the piano? It's extremely strange logic, because we're used to seeing things our own way, but if you really open your mind and try to see through his eyes, it makes a lot of sense, in a way.

The entire film is a mystery, and despite its ending, which offers up a fairly clear-cut solution, nothing is really solved, when you think about it. Many would simply accept it, the initial letter outlining Kaspar's situation, the final letter, the ending sequence where we learn why Kaspar was the way he was. Yet, who's to say either letter is real? And, does simply examining his brain, physically, really explain why Kaspar is Kaspar?

3 Women (1977)

2005-09-10T02:53:00.000-04:00

3 Women (1977)

Speaking of thoughts on Altman, after Tanner '88, I was still kind of on the fence. Now, thank you viewers, for returning to witness the second part of our show. 3 Women is an amazing film. It's definitely one of those films that glides along, as if it were a dream. It's immensely deep and yet grabs your attention and holds it throughout.

Right from the start, I noticed a twins motif, but didn't know what would come of it, as the title is 3 Women, not 2 Women. The opening omages of elderly people walking around a pool, being helped by their younger counterparts, all these couples manuvering around in the water. Not to mention the twins that work at the Center. But, the third woman, Willie, is definitely far less involved in the overall plot than Millie or Pinky. In fact, they are pretty much the sole characters in the film, they garner far more screen time than anyone else.

These two characters, Millie and Pinky, both interested me to no end. Millie is very overbearing and Pinky obviously looks up to her a great deal, accepting her somewhat-domineering nature. She's enamored with Millie and you can tell, sometimes, she's simply basking in her presence. Pinky doesn't seem to notice that Millie is almost all talk, as many of the men she flirts with and comes on to have no interest whatsoever. You have to wonder if she's too dense to even notice this. Then, in one moment, when she calls down to a man from their apartment complex, up on the balcony, he pretends not to hear her and in one expression from Shelly Duvall, you know that she knows. Yet, she sucks it up and keeps pushing on, determined to be noticed and appreciated, yet the only man we ever really see her with is Willie's lecherous husband.

The film really was spellbinding for me, in many unexpected ways. For example, when Pinky is upstairs, reading Millie's diary and she starts coming up the stairs, I was really nervous, hoping that she wouldn't get caught. When Pinky accidentally (or maybe not...check out the next paragraph) punches Millie's card at work, it immediately registers as being a catastrophic event at work and I remember saying "oh no" out loud when she did it.

I have to wonder what Pinky was like before coming out to California. Was she the same shy, reserved person? And did she have any friends back home? And if so, did she cling to them the same way she clings to Millie? In fact, I have to wonder about the 'transference' of personalities that takes place. Is she simply being malicious because of the things she's read in Millie's diary and the way she's been treated, or is there something supernatural, something unexplainable at work? Has this been her plan all along, to inspire guilt in Millie for mistreating her by attempting suicide? And what of the Social Security number, was it an innocent blunder taken too far, or was Pinky's motive far more sinister?

After Pinky's injury, there's a shot of Millie looking into her ICU room, and her reflection in the glass is doubled. My first instinct, of course, was the whole Two Women in One Body theory. And, maybe it's true in 3 Women. Yet, something that can either make or break that idea is the end of the film. All three women have been entangled into this web, and their personalities have all been transferred. Nobody acts like anybody else in the ending sequence, but they all act strangely. To me, it seemed like all three women, together, made up one entire woman, and throughout the film, they exchange traits at points from the same pool of this 'entire woman'. That would explain Willie's speaking at the end, Pinky's childish demeanor and Millie's maternal presence. Truthfully, I have no idea, but I can't wait to see it again.

Jubilee (1978)

2005-09-10T02:21:00.000-04:00

Jubilee (1978)

Jubilee, I'm not quite sure what to make of. It's definitely entertaining, filled with plenty of unforgettable moments and images. Yet, the overall message of the film, if it has any, is lost on me. I mean, sitting down to think what was trying to be said in the film, I'm baffled. Maybe it spoke more to its own generation, 27 years ago in England, than here and now. It's not a bad film, definitely entertaining, one to come back to later in a few months or years. But I will say this, Borgia Ginz, played by Orlando, is very very scary.

Kiki's Delivery Service (1989)

2005-09-10T02:10:00.000-04:00

Kiki's Delivery Service (1989)

Another day, another Miyazaki to discover. As usual, I loved Kiki's Delivery Service. As opposed to the rest of Miyazaki's work, at least what I've seen, it's a lot smaller in scope. There's no huge, world-destroying monsters to take down, just a young witch trying to hone her skills. The film actually works a lot better this way, as you really get to know Kiki and see her come of age during the film. Early on, before she leaves home, she makes a big deal about her dress and broom, wishing that they were more stylish. Essentially, acting childish. Yet, by the end, she's more confident in herself with a greater sense of what's really important.

So, there are no incredible, mythical creatues, so Miyazaki's imagination isn't really stretched as far as usual here. But, the world of Kiki's Delivery Service is incredibly detailed, vibrant and filled with life. It's extremely immersive, and the viewer really feels like he or she could spend the rest of their lives there. Alas, that's not possible. Curse you, Hiyao!

Also, there's Jiji, the black cat. I have a thing for cats. Some people are more attuned with dogs, but growing up mainly in apartments, I've always had cats. So I'm a sucker for a cute cat, and Jiji is one of the cutest. It's not uncommon to hear grown men "aww" at Jiji in the film, licking up the milk, hopping onto Kiki's shoulders, falling in love. Yeah, they got me, hook, line and sinker.

Toy Story (1995)

2005-09-09T02:11:00.000-04:00

Toy Story (1995)

Growing up, I always had a lot of freedom. I was always given the option of making my own decisions and rarely had anything forced upon me. Like anything else, this has its own good and bad points. The good are obvious and so are the bad. One thing I noticed, though, was that I was never made to watch Disney films when I was young. I had the option, but was never really too interested, and never had them forced upon me. Only in the last few years, in my growing cineaste-ism (is that a word?), have I fallen in love with Disney. Maybe it's better this way, as I'm older and can really appreciate the beauty in Uncle Walt's masterworks.

I remember I saw Toy Story at someone's house, helping them look after kids, maybe 5 or 6 years ago. I don't remember much, as my recent viewing has shown.

It's nearly impossible to watch Toy Story and not have a permanent smile etched across your face. It all fits so perfectly, the animation, the voices, the light music, the family-friendly yet still hilarious jokes and gags, the story, the themes. I think it's because all Pixar Films, especially Toy Story touch on a lot of universal themes. Growing up, who didn't play with toys? And, who didn't wonder what your toys did while you were asleep or at school? Toy Story takes the idea and runs with it.

Not only that, but there's the universal theme of friendship and camaraderie. Respect and humility earned through experience and understanding. Yes, Woody is a huge jerk early on, but slowly, realizes the error of his ways and completely redeems himself in the eyes of his fellow toys and of the audience. Buzz realizes that he's just a toy (just a kid, just a desk worker, just an old man...universal themes coming in yet?) and then realizes, "Hey, there's a whole lot this toy can do!" as the music surges and he overcomes his own inadequacies.

Normally, this is the kind of stuff that kids eat up and adults roll their eyes at. Yet, everyone loves Toy Story, everyone identifies with the characters and the situations, and everyone is moved by the film. Toy Story, like the rest of Pixar's later work, succeeds because it beautifully and easily illustrates such intrinsic truths.

Il Grido (1957)

2005-09-09T01:57:00.000-04:00

Il Grido (1957)

Another week, another Antonioni film. Truth be told, this is one of his best, right up there next to L'Avventura. It's hypnotizing throughout. In true Antonioni form, it's not so much about events, but far more about the mood and the emotions expressed throughout.

Early on, we follow a woman around, Irma, as she learns about her husband's death and fights with her current beau about the status of their relationship. She wants to break it off, despite the fact that they've already had a child. The man, Aldo, simply does not understand. This is fairly typical of Antonioni, as he seems to be fond of showing the differences in attitudes between men and women. Irma needs a change, she needs to do what's best for her, pursue what she wants. Aldo simply CANNOT comprehend this. He comes off kind of stubborn, but after years, who would be hasty to let go of such a deep relationship?

Aldo decides to up and leave, taking their daughter with him. In typical Antonioni fashion, the film follows his journey instead of Irma's, who we've already been identifying with. Yup, Antonioni stuck us with the bum. The viewer, though, is drawn into his life on the road without realizing, and begins to identify with him and lends Aldo his own sympathies.

The breakup is obviously the catalyst for a change, but the change seems to be much deeper than that. It's made Aldo rethink everything in his life, especially his priorities, and doubt things that he once had so much faith in. He's now drifting around the barren landscape, searching for a new place, a place to start over and care for his daughter. He realizes he can't really care for her, so he sends her back home to her Mother and continues searching, as all Antonioni's leads do.

It's also where the basis for all of Antonioni's later, more mature works lies. Aldo can't connect with people, he's perpetually searching not only the landscape, but his own heart as well. The world is a cold, desolate place, and life is nothing but ennui on top of boredom on top of listlessness on top of despair. We can see Antonioni feeling his way around this world, and it's intoxicating. The later films may be more polished, but Il Grido is where it all started.

Shame (1968)

2005-09-09T01:40:00.000-04:00

Shame (1968)

Me and Ingmar Down by the Schoolyard

I realized that I haven't seen any true Bergman films since starting this blog. I saw the final part of Fanny & Alexander, but it's such a huge work that it's hard to say much about it. And the Making of, well, that kind of speaks for itself, though I did make an effort. But Shame, I'd never seen before, and, surprise surprise, I really enjoyed it.

It's kind of a war movie from Bergman. Oddly enough, he never made any films dealing directly with war, apart from Shame. What I realized towards the end of Shame is that this isn't an anti-war film at all. Nor is it a pro-war film. It simply accepts war as an inevitability and offers up a portrait of two civilians caught in the middle of it, trying to survive. Under the opening credits, we hear gunfire and foreign radio chatter. The way it's designed lends the film an unsettling tone early on, and later, the gunshots and explosions give it an atmosphere that's almost unworldly.

In Bergman films, it's always interesting to examine the characters, and Shame is no exception. Between Jan and Eva, the roles of traditionally strong and stable husband and meek wife have been switched. Although I think it has a lot to do with personalities, Jan's illness also is a factor. The film is very ambiguous as to what his illness is, but it's believed to be mental in nature. Because of this, Eva is forced to take care of Jan at many points, and he relies on her.

On the other hand, Eva has to be completely strong in the relationship. She wakes up first, gets things ready, prods her husband along and cares for him when his illness manifests. Although she does care for Jan, her tone comes off as harsh sometimes, as she sometimes condescends to him out of frustration. It's with this attitude that she takes charge in the situation and decides to sleep with Jacobi for the money. Though, we have to wonder, why did she need the money in the first place? Most likely to attempt an escape, but is that really why? Could it just be simple frustration with Jan that drives her to extreme measures, and, coincidentally, gives her some extra money?

After this, Jan's character changes, he takes control, becomes demanding and forceful with Eva. After that, he murders a young soldier brutally. Is this frustration all because of Eva? Of course not, it's built up through the events of the movie, culminating in this one moment. Despite all of his flaws, he's still remained innocent up until this point.

At the end, they escape on a boat with Jacobi's money. Yet, Nykvist's camera pulls out to reveal the tiny boat, floating, dwarfed by the endless ocean. We have to wonder, did they really escape? The events they've witnessed and taken part in, the murder, the bombings, the ripping apart and subsequent burning of their house, Jan sleeping with Jacobi, these bitter memories they'll carry with them forever. So, have they really escaped?

Tanner '88 (1988)

2005-09-08T03:34:00.000-04:00

Tanner '88 (1988)

I hadn't intended to blog about Tanner '88 here, but with my thoughts on Altman documented, I figured I should. Plus, I found a few things to ~~grumble about~~ offer constructive criticism on. I liked Tanner '88. I didn't love it, but I enjoyed it and was entertained. Heck, I learned a whole lot about politics, especially the campaign road to presidency. I really liked the first handful of episodes, namely the first disc of the set, but it started to wear thin by the other disc.

First of all, the show degenerates into something that resembles a sitcom most of the time. At first it was cute to watch, because these are people trying to get a man elected president (not to mention said man), but after a while, it really began to wear thin. Far too many gags used for comedic value, and too many contrived situations. Most of the show is intelligent, entertaining and really informative, so it really shouldn't have to fall back on such banalities.

There's an episode early on the second disc, I believe called "The Girlfriend Factor," where the tone of the whole series really does a 180 and doesn't quite recover. The series, despite being heavily steeped in something as serious as American politics (zing?), has a very jovial tone, due to the caricatured characters and zany situations. Therefore, halfway through the episode, when the brakes are firmly applied to Tanner '88 to allow for a discussion with those living in inner-city Detroit, who tell tales about having little children dying in the streets, it's extremely alienating to the viewer. While I agree that it's a problem that most politicians should be focusing on, it really has no place in Tanner '88, especially not where it occurs. It's like splicing a few minutes of a snuff film into an episode of Malcolm in the Middle. After this, the series never feels the same, and the gags all seem to fall flat and feel very immature after the viewer has had to deal with such a harrowing topic.

Still, I'm on the fence about Altman. I didn't think Tanner '88 would really sway me, though. It's hard to gauge a director's talent and style from an American-produced miniseries.

Orpheus (1949)

2005-09-06T16:22:00.000-04:00

Orpheus (1949)

I'm not really familiar with the Orphic myth (though I'm sure I will be after checking it on Wiki) but I can just tell that Jean Cocteau's retelling is a fantastic translation. He's changed the setting to modern-day (at least in the late 40's) Paris and added a ton of his favorite thematic touches, like the mirrored portal to another world. The result is a stunning, otherworldly piece of art.

Orpheus actually starts out pretty normal. Some poets hang around a Paris cafe, looking for inspiration and recognition, when a big fight breaks out. Then, as Orpheus rides along with the Princess after the accident, the tone changes, as a feeling of unease creeps in, the Princess instructs Orpheus not to ask any questions. Then you start thinking, "oh yeah, now it's gonna get gooooood."

There are many references to sleeping, or being asleep, or dreaming in general. Like, when Orpheus says he wants to sleep or is asleep, and when the reporter says to him "Oh, still asleep?" This is most likely Cocteau's way of tying dreams into creation, other worlds and poetry. The whole film, in fact, feels like a dream, because the characters seem to accept this fantastic series of events and deal with them, as opposed to people in reality, who'd probably flip out.

Orpheus is an incredible feat of cinema. A fantastic, dream-like journey into other realms, real and imagined. A story that could only be told on film and only truly realized by Jean Cocteau.