Saturday, April 30, 2005

The Black Stallion

Pauline Kael called this possibly the best kids movie ever made. She may not be far off. Unfortunately, I would imagine that kids today, after having been weaned on video games and generally sub-quality childrens entertainment, would probably fall asleep during the film. It's a hypnotic film that establishes an atmosphere early on and then sustains it for the remainder. The first half has very little dialogue and consists of a boy shipwrecked on an island with a beautiful but wild horse. The second half consists of the boy being rescued and learning to ride thanks to a generous, old farmer played in strongly professional performance by Mickey Rooney. But even the second half doesn't have much dialogue. It's a very visual film and a beautiful one. It's unfortunate that, with the possible exception of Pixar films, there are very few quality childrens films, and this is the kind that just hasn't been made in a long time.

Four of the Apocalypse

This is Lucio Fulci's unique perspective on that time honored genre of the spaghetti western. How can you resist, right? He made this film before he cemented himself in the horror genre, but he brings the same kind of gore that he would perfect later on. It both succeeds and fails because he doesn't offer a cheap retread of a Sergio Leone film. Succeeds because it is distinctly Fulci's voice. He makes films his way. Fails because he just isn't as a good of a director as Leone. It's not a very good film, but it is distinctly Fulci. Take that for whatever you want.

Friday, April 29, 2005

Love Happy

The Marx Brothers are responsible for some of the funniest comedies that this country has ever produced. Unfortunately, this is not one of their finest efforts. It will probably be remembered for two things: one, the fact that it was the brothers' last offical film, and second, it was the film that introduced the world to Marilyn Monroe. It's got some laughs thanks to the script co-written by Frank Tashlin, but not as brilliant and consistent as their best work. The film focues primarily on Chico and Harpo, while Groucho is little more than the film's narrator, and, as I understand, filmed and added after the fact. For now, we just smile and offer a laugh for old times sake.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

My Family

Francis Ford Coppola and his American Zoetrope took a risk on filmmaker Gregory Nava, and I think it paid off. It's a multi-generational story beginning in the 1930's and ending in the 1970's. It's the story of a Mexican family, the patriarch of which walked a whole year from Mexico to Los Angeles. They endure hardships on the journey and they endure hardships once they arrive. Jimmy Smits turns in a fine performance as the angry, youngest son of the family. It's both funny and touching and sort of reminds me of those old family stories that we all have. If you like honest, family saga's, this is probably a film for you.

Alfie

Having not seen the original, 1966 Michael Caine version, I found this updated version to be generally enjoyable. Jude Law is a fine actor who is excellent at being a loveable, charming cad and equally good at those moments when he appears emotionally vulnerable. He's a Manhattan bachelor-playboy who goes through life with a smile on his face, oblivious to the harm he's caused. While not pretending to be profound, the film does honor fidelity and is willing to address some of the consequences of promiscuity. Mostly it's just light hearted fun that enjoys taking a movie-like look at romantic relationships.

Tuesday, April 26, 2005

Stateside

An interesting little film about a young marine who falls in love with a schizophrenic actress. It probably suffers from being based too much on a true story. Val Kilmer in a bit role as the drill instructor proves that no one will ever touch R. Lee Ermey in Full Metal Jacket. I don't have too much to say about it.

The Healer

Agnieszka Holland's film starts out looking like it's going to be a probing insight into the nature of faith and miracles (from a distinctly Catholic point of view). A Russian man in Poland has the ability to heal people with his touch, and a Candian woman has just discovered that her son has cancer. Is the guy a fake? Is such a thing actually possible? For the first half, the film seems promising, however, it soon devolves into a kind of love story that makes you want to cringe. Soon the healer falls in love with the mother and wants to quit! It pains me to even try and describe it. This film probably could have been good if it had stuck to its original premise, but no.

Night and the City

Jules Dassin created this interesting little piece of film noir a few years before he made Rififi. Richard Widmark is at the top of his game playing a two-bit con man that's more clever and probably more likeable than your average hustler. Though not everyone thinks he's very likeable, because there seems to be a significant portion of the London underworld that wants him dead. It's amusing to watch Widmark playing all the angles. He's one of those guys who's got a surefire idea that'll make them all rich. It can't lose. One of them involves the fading arena of Greek-style wrestling. There's a wrestling match in the film between an aging wrestler and one of the pawn's of the "bad guy's", that's painfully hard to watch -- it feels more brutal than it really is. Also, the ending is just excellent, it's noir at its finest.

Monday, April 25, 2005

The Young Lions

Marlon Brando and Montgomery Clift in the same film?! It almost sounds too good to be true. But it's not. Too bad they don't have any scenes together. Brando plays a platinum blonde Nazi, but not the murderous psychopathic kind that we're accustomed to seeing in films. He's a misguided idealist who believes it will ultimately be to the world's advantage to have Europe united under one flag, but balks at the idea of unnecessary killing, which gets him in trouble with his superiors. Fortunately, however, he's also a good soldier and strategist. It's not one of his most remembered performances, but he plays the conscience-stricken Nazi with the same gusto and believeablilty as in the finest of his performances. Clift, on the other hand, is a painfully shy American Jew who is drafted into the army along with his friend played by Dean Martin. During the boot camp scenes, his character seems to be strikingly similary to his Robert E. Lee Prewitt in From Here to Eternity. Clift really is a remarkable actor. Every time the scene would shift to something else, he always left me wanting it to go back to his scenes. The films was directed by Edward Dmytryk -- a solid, though lesser-known director of primarily genre films, and at nearly three hours in length, he never lets it get too dull. But then again, with Brando and Clift, how could it?

The Interpreter

Sydney Pollack's latest outing as a director is probably one of his better films in recent memory. It's a semi-political thriller in the same vain as his Three Days of the Condor. It's a very safe film that hits most all the right marks, but is neither brilliantly successful nor a failure. Nicole Kidman looks as lovely as ever and proves that she can do just about anything. Sean Penn is unusually restrained, and it works to his benefit. Perhaps this could be the fourth entry into Joshua Sikora's legendary "New World" trilogy. We'll see.

Sunday, April 24, 2005

The Addiction

Abel Ferrara is a cinematic enigma. How can one appropriately describe his films? He utilizes some of the most bold imagery and symbolism that you're ever likely to find in a mainstream film, yet is still firmly rooted in his beginnings as a director of classy exploitation films. He's among the grittiest of directors. Violence and nudity seem to be an ingrained part of his artistry, yet it feels truthful and not exploitive. I haven't decided if his film Bad Lieutenant is profoundly disturbing or disturbingly profound. I think it's the latter. If so, this film, The Addiction, might also fall into that category. It's a horror film. Kind of. It's a kind of horror film I might like to make one day. It's a vampire film. Kind of. However, vampirism to this film means much more than just charming Europeans sucking the blood of attractive virgins in a semi-sexual ritual. Lili Taylor plays a philosophy grad student who becomes a child of the night. It seems to me that the vampirism of this film becomes a metaphor for original sin. Before attacking, the vampire approaches its victim and says something to the effect of, "Tell me to go away. Tell me like you mean it!" Yet invariably, the victim never does. It's the essence of temptation: when it approaches, we always have the option of turning away. The victims, like us, have free will, but fail to use it. Then, they become addicted. The thirst for blood becomes an addiction -- like drugs... or certain sins. One of the vampires points out their nature by quoting theologian R.C. Sproul, "We are not sinners because we sin; we sin because we are sinners." Therefore, they are not evil because they do evil; they do evil because they are evil. It is the fallen nature of man disguised as a vampire. In one of the most potent scenes, Taylor's character, after having become a vampire, accepts a tract from street preacher. Moments later we see her alone in room yelling violently, as if in an argument, "I will no submit! I will not submit!" as she tears at her clothes. For submission is the only way to control the addiction. I'm not sure what Ferrara's religious background is (Catholic, no doubt), but I understand that his frequent collaborator, Nicholas St. John, the writer, is a Christian. Probably the best scene in the movie is the one scene with Christopher Walken as a vampire who has managed to control his thirst and live a relatively normal life. It's a memorable role that he's perfect for. This is bold filmmaking, to be sure, almost as bold as Bad Lieutenant.

Friday, April 22, 2005

Vanity Fair

William Makepeace Thackeray's novels have seen some interesting incarnations over the years. First, in 1935, Rouben Mamoulian, one of early Hollywood's most underrated innovators, took the novel Vanity Fair and made the film Becky Sharp, the first film shot in 3-strip technicolor. Later, Stanley Kubrick took one of the authors lesser known books and made Barry Lyndon, one of the directors finest artist achievements. Now Vanity Fair has come along again, this time directed by Mira Nair. Poor Ms. Nair doesn't seem to realize that Becky Sharp isn't a character that we were ever meant to sympathize with. The whole purpose of the novel was to show what lengths a woman had to go to in order to achieve social status if she was born with none. She had to sell her soul, and while we might feel sorry for her, I don't think we were ever meant to like her. But with this film I want to like Becky Sharp, despite the fact that the film tends to gloss over her less-savory, more wretched characteristics in a desperate plea to have the audience empathize with her. Of course part of that is due to the fact that Reese Witherspoon is just so darn likeable as an actress. Despite that fairly significant criticism, it is also a generally enjoyable, handsome, lifeless period piece with an impressive cast of British character actors. Try films like Barry Lyndon or Dangerous Liaisons instead.

Thursday, April 21, 2005

Safe

Many consider Todd Haynes to be one of the finest filmmakers working today. But here's the thing, he's not. I've now seen three of his four or five films and they are all veneers of filmmaking past, with little below the surface -- at least, little that I can find. Safe is a strange movie that I can't seem to make anything of. The opening titles are excellently eerie with the kind of music that sets you up for a suspense film. In fact, the first hour or so of the film seems to be shot and scored as if it were a horror movie, but you can seem to find anything to be afraid of. Julianne Moore, however, gives a characteristically strong performance as a house wife who suddenly catches what is known as environmental illness, and becomes violently ill to everyday chemicals like milk, make-up, car exhaust, perfume and others of the like. I'm not sure if this is a superficial plea to be environmentally conscious or not, because the second half goes in a different direction. It feels like there should be something more beneath the surface (perhaps her illness is a metaphor for the decay of contemporary society?), but it doesn't make me want to find out what it is.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Schizopolis

It takes a little bit of watching to finally understand just what kind of film Steven Soderbergh's, Schizopolis is, and to try and explain it would be folly. The best I can do is to point to its cinematic ancestory, the classic, though underseen Kentucky Fried Movie directed by John Landis and scripted by David Zucker, Jim Abrahams, and Jerry Zucker of Airplaine! fame. Soderbergh's film is a comedy to be sure, and one of the most unusually funny films I've seen in a long time. Made for about a quarter of a million dollars, it feels like little more than an unusually creative student film -- which I point out as both a compliment and a fault. It's probably not everyone's kind of humor, but I imagine those who appreciate it will undoubtedly rank it among their favorite of all films.

Secrets and Lies

I've only seen two of Mike Leigh's films now, and I'm already willing to call him the best British director working today. This film is about exactly what its title implies, the secrets and lies that are about to be exposed and threaten to destroy a family that is already only holding on by a thread. Brenda Blethyn plays a 40-something single mother who seems to have just barely teetered off the edge into a breakdown with devestating intesity. Her character is both tragically and even annoyingly sympathetic. It's a truly fantastic performance. In fact, the performances all around are incredibly intelligent -- the kind which only Mike Leigh has managed to pull from mostly unknowns. The climactic scene in which everything is exposed, forcing the family to confront that which was once hidden has such power and emotional intensity that one can almost sense the ghost of John Cassavetes presiding over the set. Here is another film that I have no trouble calling one of the very finest films of the 90's.

Monday, April 18, 2005

The Bell's of St. Mary's

When thinking of the auteur's of the old Hollywood system, the name Leo McCarey probably isn't one of the first to come to mind, yet, I would argue, that he ranks in the pantheon of the finest. Bing Crosby plays the good natured, liberal-humanitarian Father O'Malley -- the new pastor of St. Mary's Catholic School -- a school that is soon to be condemned unless a miracle happens. Ingrid Bergman plays the head sister at the school, becoming yet another of Hollywood's fixation on the attractive nun (Deborah Kerr and Audrey Hepburn are only two of many). It has the kind of innocuous sentimentality that repeatedly brings us back to these films that makes us all nostalgic for the good ole' days that probably never existed. McCarey's sense of comedy and timing is impecable, which is probably why he is responsible for the Marx Brothers finest film, Duck Soup. Two scenes in particular stand out, the first being nun, Ingrid Bergman teaching a ten-year-old boy how to box and the second being the improvised Nativity play by a group of first graders (it's the kind of scene that's the essence of why we say "awwwww").

You're a Big Boy Now

After Dementia 13 and a handful of skin flicks, Francis Ford Coppola made this pre-The Graduate coming-of-age story. It has a light-hearted feel, but it isn't all that funny; and it's directed with an amateurish laissez-faire attitude, but it's far from displaying the promise that Coppola would show a few years later in The Rain People.

Rabid

David Cronenberg seems to be one of the few remaining legitimate horror directors. In fact you can't call him anything but a horror director because his films are rarely even suspenseful, but they are horrifying. Rabid, being his second feature as a director makes an appropriate counterpart to his first film, Shivers. I'm going to try to explain this, but you'll just have to ignore the lapses in scientific logic, and understand that to watch a Cronenberg film is to enter a world of one man's unusual fears and obsessions. After a motorcycle crash, a young woman is given an experimental, internal skin graft under her arm. Soon, she wakes up from a coma with a vagina like opening under her arm and a phallic-shaped (creature?) -- which resemebles the inner-mouth of the Alien -- that protrudes from it and stabs people to suck their blood. She becomes this pseudo-sexual vampire thing that turns her victims into rabid zombie creature which feed on flesh before dying. Soon the city of Montreal is overrun by these zombies and martial law is called in. Cronenberg's moral sense is dubious at best, but as I said, it is his unique body-centric fears that fascinate his audience. I'm not sure if he's trying to equate sexuality with vampirism, but as with most of his films, he's clearly trying to make a philosophical and psychological point with his films. It's clumsily directed at times and lacks the polish of his pre-The Brood films. He is clearly the reigning auteur of the horror film, but I'm not sure his world is the one I'd like to live in.

Cursed

With Wes Craven and Kevin Williamson's names attached to this film, I had to see it no matter how bad the reviews were. Honestly, this tale of werewolf-ism amongst teenage-20 something Los Angeles folk was kinda enjoyable. The pacing was severely off, no doubt courtesy of the last minute reshoots and forced cutting from what was supposed to be an intelligent, R-rated horror film into the typical weekly PG-13 fodder. Despite this, however, it was fun and occasionally even suspenseful, but severely dumbed down at points. It's just good enough to get me interested in what this film could have been.

Sunday, April 17, 2005

The Times of Harvey Milk

This Academy Award winning documentary tells of San Francisco's first gay official elected to the city council and his life leading up to his assassination in the late 1970's. Harvey Milk seems like nice, ordinary guy with a talent for self-promotion. For the most part, it's an even minded documentary that probably won't offend those who are against the kind of gay rights Milk was such a vocal supporter of. Only towards the end of the film do its biases begin to show. Generally, though, a well done documentary about a controversial public figure. I really don't have a lot to say about it.

Conquest

On the heals of Conan the Barbarian and the sword and sorcery craze of the 1970's and early 1980's, the Italian maestro of gore, Lucio Fulci, decided to throw his two-cents into the pot. Word of advice: don't eat salsa while watching this because the human entrails look similar to salsa, and if you're eating it, you might end up with some unnatural associations. This is low-budget, b-fantasy at its finest (for whatever that's worth). It's the kind of film where they save money on wardrobe by not giving any to the female participants. It has its share of gore, like when this guy gets ripped in half from the groin up. The film is shot with some kind of haze filter so it always looks foggy -- perhaps to make it looks dream-like? And it has one of those great, pulsing synth scores that lets you know exactly the kind of film you're watching. Yeah, it's cheese and camp, but with a distinctly Italian sense of style.

Straw Dogs and Home Alone: The Violence of the Male Psyche

The following is a paper I wrote for my 70's cinema class. It's actually pretty ridiculous, but hopefully interesting at the same time. Enjoy.



On the surface, one almost has to laugh at the thought of comparing such radically
different films as Straw Dogs and Home Alone. But, just how different are they really? Sam Peckinpah’s film is bathed in machismo, repression, and sexual violence, while Chris Columbus’ film is a holiday favorite – a wholesome treat for the whole family, and one of the highest grossing films of its kind. Is there really a connection? Nearly twenty years separated, the times (not to mention genre and intention) have taken their toll and transformed a probing look into the male psyche into innocuous, family fun. But is that actually a healthy transition? Straw Dogs and Home Alone are two films that are strangely similar – in some ways united in character and theme, but differing in method, intention, and audience. However, when it is all said and done, both films can be seen as equally dangerous, though Straw Dogs is honest, where Home Alone is a lie.

There are at least two different ways to read Sam Peckinpah’s, Straw Dogs, and the more common of the two, I fear, is, perhaps, the least accurate to Peckinpah’s intentions, and the most dangerous. Dustin Hoffman plays, David, a mild-mannered mathematician, who seems to be everything abhorrently and annoyingly weak with the intellectual, immascualted male culture. He and his sex-kitten, Lolita-like wife, Amy, played by Susan George, have moved into an English manor so David can use his grant money to do some research. The village locals are like character actors from hell who attempt to flaunt their mindless manhood over the weaker David and stare lustfully at Amy’s sexy displays. A number of strange incidences (including two brutally erotic rape scenes) occur, leading up to the moment where the village idiot, who is on the run from the townsfolk, crosses paths with David and Amy who offer him shelter in their home. The resulting events are 20+ minutes of nonstop siege in which the villagers outside attempt to get inside while David, stripped of his mild pacifism, violently defends his home in some very creative ways. Anyone who has seen The Wild Bunch or any of Peckinpah’s other Westerns, knows that he has an almost beatific obsession with violence. However, in this film he takes it even a step farther and points out what he sees to be the inherent link between violence and eroticism – a fascinating theme and idea that I will not get into because, as far as I can tell, it is not shared in Home Alone.

I mentioned two interpretations of the film. The first, and most common, is summed up when Pauline Kael wrote in her review of the film, ". . . the movie intends to demonstrate not merely that there is a point at which a man will fight but that he is a better man for it – a real man at last. The goal of the movie is to demonstrate that David enjoys the killing, and achieves his manhood in that self-recognition. David experiences no shock, no horror at what he has done but only a new self-assurance and pleasure." Beyond that, we are to applaud David’s self-realization and encourage his violent nature. Kael also points out that, "Not surprisingly, the audience cheers David’s kills; it is, after all, a classic example of the worm turning. It’s mild-mannered Destry putting on his guns, it’s the triumph of a superior man who is fighting for basic civilized principles over men who are presented as mindless human garbage." It is the semi-barbaric view that men (as a sex, not a species) are little more than animals, and to deny one’s killer instinct is to deny oneself and become a hypocrite. Finally, Kael goes on to make the statement that has most commonly been used to describe the film, "Sam Peckinpah, who is an artist, has, with Straw Dogs, made the first American film that is a fascist work of art." And Roger Ebert, who disliked it for these very reasons, points out that, "The most offensive thing about the movie is its hypocrisy; it is totally committed to the pornography of violence, but lays on the moral outrage with a shovel." But is its use of violence pornographic? Is the film essentially fascist?

I have found that Peckinpah, throughout his career, has fought too many of his own demons in relationship to violence, to make a film that turns it into the cheap thrills of pornography. "He is an artist in conflict with himself," and that is the beginning of, what I believe to be the real meaning behind Straw Dogs. Peckinpah was notorious for being a harsh talker and a strong drinker – a vice that is, at least, partially responsible for leading him to an early grave. Through films like The Wild Bunch and Straw Dogs, he appears to be battling his own demons – fighting what he seems to think is his own violent nature. If the first interpretation is correct then Amy is nothing more than a childish tart who deserves what she gets, and David is a weakling who becomes a man through killing and we rejoice. In other words, Amy, in some way, is a villainess (or less worthy of respect) and David ultimately becomes the hero. I believe that it is the other way around – Amy is the character to be identified with and David is the film’s villain. Amy is constantly attempting to establish intimacy with David – both emotional and physical, but David pulls away. Her husband is not meeting her needs, so she seeks attention from others. I can’t condone the morality of her choice, but I can understand it, which makes her an empathetic character and not merely a tart. David, I fear, is a violent man just waiting to be unleashed. Throughout the film there are subtle, telltale signs that point to his true nature which he has so calculatingly hidden. Notice the way he treats his wife, he is not an impotent victim of her sexuality, he knows exactly what he’s doing when he acts uninterested – he wants to dominate her. During the final siege, she sees his true self and is afraid as he smiles. So, this could be seen as a film that attempts to justify and glorify violence and, in the process, becomes a semi-fascist masterpiece; or it could be seen as a film that condemns violence. Knowing Peckinpah’s body of work, I believe it to be the latter. That brings up the point, that if I am, in fact, correct about my interpretation, then the clarity of his theme must be brought into question. This film is almost always interpreted as a glorification of violence, and, as such, could become very easy to make a dangerous misinterpretation. So, it either is a dangerous film, or it can far to easily be misinterpreted into a dangerous film. This is the film’s greatest flaw, and one not to be taken lightly.

Home Alone, on the other hand, is every kids dream (or nightmare) – a boy, Kevin, being left by himself, with no parents or authority – free to do whatever he wants. However, there is a price to pay – the house is going to be burgled with him in it by himself. The film follows young Kevin as he indulges his new freedom in some amusing ways, but it also follows two burglars as they stake out the neighborhood and ultimately decide on robbing Kevin’s house. When he discovers that his house is going to be robbed, he decides to fight back and defend what is rightfully his (or his family’s). All of this leads up to an extended sequence that could be described as a "siege" of the house where the burglars attempt to get in and Kevin uses every means at his disposal to keep them out. Roger Ebert points out that, "When the burglar’s invade Kevin’s home, they find themselves running a gamut of booby traps so elaborate they could have been concocted by Rube Goldberg – or the berserk father in The Last House on the Left (another 70's film about violence with semi-fascist undertones)." It’s very a funny sequence. Herein, though, lies the problem. If not for the humor of the film, this sequence could easily be described as brutally violent and perhaps even disturbing. In fact, it’s not too far removed from some of the methods that David utilizes when defending his home in Straw Dogs. Now, Pauline Kael makes a good point that could appropriately describe either film, "The question asked here is ‘What would you do if someone tried to invade your house to kill an innocent person (or just rob your house)?’ In such extreme circumstances, probably most of us would use whatever means came to hand and brain, and if we won by violence we would be glad to have won but be sickened and disgusted at the choice forced upon us. We would be robbed of part of our humanity..." By the end of Home Alone, Kevin has "grown up" – he is on his way to becoming a man. Is that because he tortured a couple of incompetent burglars or because he defended his home and caught the bad guys? Take your pick.

I have to ask myself, that if it had been a girl in Kevin’s place, would she have resorted to the same methods. The answer, in most cases, would probably be no. I believe this is the major connection between the two films, that we have a tendency, whether accurately or inaccurately, to associate manhood with violence. It is a rite of passage. Kevin, as a boy, grew up and David, as a grownup, became a man. The director of Home Alone, Chris Columbus, succeeds at making a film which has become a family and holiday classic, but at what cost? Are we ultimately asked to laugh at, or, at least, ignore the fact that what may really be going on is Kevin’s dehumanization through violence?

Don’t misunderstand, I believe in the defense of one’s home and property, through violent means if necessary, but where Home Alone fails is in the fact that it never acknowledges the inherent violence of its narrative and theme. As Kael pointed out, "...we would be glad to have won but be sickened and disgusted at the choice forced upon us." Home Alone never acknowledges that choice, and that is dangerous. However, in the case of Straw Dogs we are disgusted exactly because David never acknowledges that choice, and rather than being sickened, he is aroused.

When the dust settles, Sam Peckinpah’s Straw Dogs is an honest, and personally felt depiction of the male psyche, that, like Amy, leaves us disgusted both by the violence and by David’s lack of reaction to the violence. Chris Columbus’ Home Alone is a lie because it attempts to associate Kevin’s maturity with his defensive of the home, but refuses to acknowledge the violence one way or another. Both films could be viewed as dangerous, but is it more dangerous to expose violence for what it is, or to wrap it in the guise of family entertainment?

Sawdust and Tinsel (aka The Naked Night)

If I didn't already know that this was a Bergman film I could easily have mistaken it for an early Fellini film with some unusual trace amounts of Hitchcock. It's pretty bleak, even by Bergman standards. There doesn't seem to be hope for anyone here. Like Summer With Monika, this is Bergman before he matured as an artist and filmmaker and before he really began exploring the themes that seem to dominate his obsessions. Some critics call this his first real film, but I still think his real films were another couple of years off. Two scenes stick out in my mind, though -- an opening scene that feels like a dream in a Fellini film, and a fight scene that, despite it's clumsiness is painfully hard to watch. You can see Bergman beginning to emerge, but he's not quite there yet.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Summer With Monika

a.k.a. Monika: The Story of a Bad Girl. This early Ingmar Bergman film shows workings of a master before he developed his style. Tells the story of young lovers who run away and spend the summer together on a boat and later get married. The character of Monika is the kind of ambivalent, amusing youth that Godard and Truffaut would make famous a few years later with the boom of the French New Wave. This lacks the spiritual angst and also the profundity of his finest works. This may also be his most sexual film, despite its mid-1950's release. Features some of his other themes of female sexuality, complications of relationships, and male-female communication.

D.O.A.

Frank Bigelow: I want to report a murder.
Detective: Where was this murder committed?
Frank Bigelow: San Francisco, last night.
Detective: Who was murdered?
Frank Bigelow: I was.

So begins Rudolf Mate's classic film noir. Edmond O'Brien plays a traveling businessman who gets poisoned for knowing something that he didn't know he knew. It may sound confusing, but it all makes sense in the black and white world of film noir. The poison is slow -- taking a few days to finish off its victim, and there is no cure. O'Brien then becomes a man with nothing left to lose, because, after all, he's already dead -- a walking murder victim. He's not afraid to talk to villains in ways that they are not used to being talked to, because he's going to die anyway. This is a fine film marred by Dimitri Tiomkin's score which plays an annoying note everytime he notices an attractive girl -- the kind of sound that cartoons had the integrity to avoid. Mate' was a lesser known director, but a master cinematographer who worked with Carl Dreyer on some of his finest films, The Passion of Joan of Arc and Vampyr. He didn't shoot this film, but shows that he was a competent director, but probably little more.

Eros

What happens when three of the world's most renowned directors get together to make segments of a film (arguably) about eroticism? Well, I guess something like this. Since this consists of three short films, I will address each of them individually.

The Hand
Wong Kar-Wai's entry seems to be the only of the three worthy of the overarching title, Eros, considering it is the only of the lot that could be described as erotic, and interestingly, the only one with nudity to speak of. The presence of the lovely Gong Li and Christopher Doyle's sensuous cinematography certainly don't hurt in its appeal. However, the problem of this film is that it's about a half hour long, yet it's supposed to take place over a span of a few years. I didn't buy the jumps in time. That's okay, though, because this is probably the finest of the three entries and the scene in which one might come to understand the title is, how shall I put it?... Arousing?

Equilibrium
Steven Soderbergh's entry is the one that works best as a short film. It mostly consists of Robert Downey Jr. talking to his psychiatrist, Alan Arkin about a recurring erotic dream he has. The film itself is not very erotic, but then again, I don't think it was meant to be. Downey is excellent as the semi-neurotic patient (he should be in a Woody Allen film), and Arkin is amusing as the shrink who voyeuristically watches people in another building as he listens to Downey telling the story. Peter Andrews pulls a Preminger by shooting the waking scenes in black and white and the dream sequences in living color, and it looks very good.

The Dangerous Thread of Things
Michelangelo Antonioni, along with Bergman and Godard probably ranks among the world's five greatest living directors. In fact, this entire film was made in Antonioni's honor. Soderbergh said he just wanted his name to be on the same poster with Antionioni. That said, twenty years removed from a stroke, the legendary Italian director is definitely off his game. This is easily the least of the three entries. But I forgive him, because at 93 years of age, and with a number of masterpieces already under his belt, I think he's earned the right to make all the bad films he wants. The is the most sexual of the three. You'd think that a film in which two women are either topless or completely naked throughout would be more exciting, but it's not. So, we just respectfully nod our heads and remember who Antonioni used to be.

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Sense and Sensibility

I'm in the process of reading Pride and Prejudice right now, so I feel the need to try to understand Jane Austen's world a little bit better. I think I understand it, but it's leaves me fluxuating between boredom and amusement. Ang Lee's film is certainly handsome and well acted by some of England's finest, but it's just not for me.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

Stage Fright

Despite the ideal Hitchcock title, this is not the ideal Hitchcock film. It's by no means a bad film, in fact it's a good one, just one of Hitchcock's more justifiably forgotten films. It's generally entertaining and enjoyable, but never reaches the point of being suspenseful, and certainly never scarey. Hitchcock later lamented his use of the false flashback in this film, which drives the narrative. Alastair Sim steals his scenes as the amateur detective father, and has some amusing scenes and one-liners. Actually, this has some of Hitchcock's finest comic moments despite not being known as one of his more comic films.

Purple Butterfly

I'm confident that there was a story or an idea going on in this film, but it seems that the director was too frightened to let anyone know what it was. Instead, he substitutes narrative for painfully long stretches of silence perpetuated by anguished close-up's on people when we have no idea why they are wearing such expressions. Even the presence of the ethereally beautiful Zhang Ziyi can't save this one.

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

Suddenly, Last Summer

Homosexuality, madness, pedophilia, incest, cannibalism, New Orleans -- must be Tennessee Williams. Freud and Williams are probably more responsible for the 20th century view of sexuality than any others. Williams' work always feels deeply personal and, underneath the surface, utterly disturbing. However, Joseph L. Mankewicz was probably the wrong man to direct this sultry descent into psycho-sexual madness. Katharine Hepburn throws all the punches as an aging Southern woman who seems to have an unnatural obesession (and attraction?) to her poet son that died while overseas last summer. Sebastian, the son (that is never seen, only talked about to mythic proportions) is implied to be, though never explicitly declared and homosexual and perhaps even a pedophile. Elizabeth Taylor is Hepburns neice, put away in an asylum because she witnessed Sebastian's death and "hasn't been the same since." Finally, Montgomery Clift, who seems unfortuately miscast, is the neurosurgeon/psychologist/detective, who must get to the bottom of Taylor's madness. It feels like gothic horror, but it's just Tennessee Williams doing what he knows best, though not as well as in say A Streetcar Named Desire.

Millions

This is an excellent family movie in the best sense of the term. Danny Boyle brings directoral flair and a real heart to this tale of a young boy who comes onto a large sum of money. He thinks it's from God, and as such, feels the need to give it to the poor and do good with it as God would want him to. Alex Etel plays the boy, Damian, and becomes one of the most memorable and well-conceived child characters in recent memory. This is a story about faith -- the faith of a child that Jesus beckoned to Him.

Sunday, April 10, 2005

Smoke Signals

This can join the disappointingly small of ranks of films such as, Powwow Highway, as being among the finest films by and about Native Americans. The direction in both films is borderline amateurish, but the passion is there. Watching this you realize that the filmmakers know what they're talking about. I don't what I can say about this film that I didn't already say in my blurb about Powwow Highway (which you can also find on this blog), because the two films are very similar, but they don't repeat themselves. I must, however, once again mention the performance of Gary Farmer who really is a fine actor, that, one day, I hope will given an opportunity to utilize his talents outside of the limited context of Native American reservations, but, then again, maybe he doesn't want to. This is a film I recommend for the interest in a culture that is all but lost in modern society when we no longer have need for a warrior.

Melinda and Melinda

For the last 35+ years, Woody Allen has been consistently churning about about a film a year. No American director has been more faithful and consistent, and consistently honest about himself than Allen. You have to wonder how he hasn't run out of jokes yet. It opens in typical Allen fashion in a small restaurant where a couple of intellectual playwrites are debating over whether the world is by nature comic or tragic. And then, he utilizes and idea that I would have liked to try: the two writers begin to tell the same story filtered through each of their perspectives -- comic and tragic. Rhada Mitchell play Melinda in both stories, but, besides that, there are no overlapping characters. Mitchell, who was Johnny Depp's wife in Finding Neverland gives a stunning performance that, if it's not too early for me to say, should earn her an Academy Award nomination. Will Ferrell plays the character that Woody Allen himself would have played once upon a time in the comic version of the story, and he's got it down from the speech patterns to the movements and neuroses. It may not be his most profound or funniest film, but it was immensely enjoyable because by this time we've gotten to know him so well that you can almost anticipate the next line which leaves a smile on your face when it finally arrives. This is probably his best film in at least a decade.

Short Eyes

Based on Miguel Pina's play, this is almost certainly the most accurate and realistic portrayal of prison life ever put on screen. Gone are the pseudo-liberal/humanitarian themes of the decent prisoner desperately struggling to maintain his humanity in an inhumane environment where the real enemey is the guards and the system. In this film the prisoners recognize that they are violent, brutal, and vile and they rejoice in it. It is their standard of "cool" and "power", which makes it endlessly frightening, especially for the more meek prisoners. Bruce Davison gives an excellent performance as a middle class, white man placed in a men's house of detention for child molestation -- the one crime which repulses even the prisoners. It's a sobering and occasionally horrifying look on in the inside of the big house.

Friday, April 08, 2005

Stay Hungry

Bob Rafelson may not be one of the most immediately recognizable names to come out of the 1970's, but he was responsible for some of the decade's quintessential films like, Five Easy Pieces and Easy Rider, the latter of which he produced. And Stay Hungry isn't even one of Rafelson's most instantly recognizable films. It stars Jeff Bridges and Sally Field, but it will probably always be remembered as the screen debut of this really interesting Austrian body builder, perhaps you've heard of him, his name is Arnold Schwarzenegger. No? Doesn't ring a bell? It's an enjoyable film with no real plot to speak of, but some very interesting and amusing characters. It's worth it just to see bunch of body builders running half-naked through the streets of Birmingham, Alabama (not in a gay way) or to see Schwarzenegger playing the fiddle in a blue-grass band.

The Sweet Hereafter

This was my first experience with Canadian director, Atom Egoyan, and one I hope to not forget anytime soon. It's a deeply sad film without being depressing. In fact, I was planning to watch another film after this, but once it was over, I just couldn't bring myself to do that. Ian Holm gives an incredibly complex performance as a trial lawyer investigating a school bus accident in a small town that leaves many of the town's children dead. At the same time, he is dealing with his own daughter who has run away and is on drugs, and ocassionally calls him for money. The various story lines blend together seamlessly and with such a natural grace as to make it seem easy. All throughout the film, bits and pieces of The Pied Piper of Hamlin are read, leading to an obvious though interesting parallel to the stories, with gives the film an almost transcendant quality. It's a very multi-layered film that I can't do justice to in a short space, so I won't try. I don't think that it would be an overly bold statement to call this one of the finest films of the 90's.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

Sin City

Sin City is Robert Rodriguez's finest film. You can take that to mean whatever you'd like. His style is clearly reminiscent of Tarantino, yet it's not as focused and mature, nor is it backed with the level of talent that Tarantino has. However, Rodriguez manages to capture the feel and style of comic book film noir, which, more or less, is what the actual comics were. But it's film noir that looks good, but lack its true, underlying substance. Much has been made of the film's content, which was extreme, but never seemed to affect me one way or the other. Of course, that could say more about me than it does about the film. It was generally entertaining, but not thoroughly. It was never really boring. But then again, I'm of the opinion that any film with Rutger Hauer is worth watching. Plus, when you throw in Mickey Rourke, Benicio Del Toro, and Clive Owen, you've got a good cast that looks and acts pretty cool, but doesn't have an effective place to put their machismo. Honestly, I really don't have any idea what I think of this film.

Wednesday, April 06, 2005

Death Race 2000

Admit it, we've all thought about it before. No, not sex, but racking up point for hitting pedestrians in our car. Extra points for the guy who hits a pregnant nun. Well, take that idea and set it in the future (now it's the past, but 2000 was the future in 1974), and you have this film. Roger Corman produced it on a budget of 300,000. And just when you thought it couldn't get any better, it stars David Carradine and Sylvester Stallone in a pre-Rocky performance. It the future, this is the national sport. It's not uncommon for sci-fi films to propose a futures with a semi-fascist government that lulls the masses by satisfying their blood lust with violent games (Rollerball, The Running Man). The Romans did it once upon a time. Actually, had this film made the mistake of taking itself seriously it would be horrifyingly violent. As it is, however, it is cheap satire, and the kind of low budget exploitation thrills that we all love and wish we could make (at least I do).

Seven Year Itch

All anyone really remembers from this movie anymore is Marilyn Monroe's dress blowing up when she stands on a subway vent, and I have to ask myself if even that was worth remembering. This has to be one of Billy Wilder's most annoying comedies. George Axelrod adapted his own play, and must have used it line for line, complete with the main character alone in a room speaking aloud every thought that comes into his mind -- and not an interesting stream-of-consciousness, mind you. After watching this I have to thank God that there are very few men like the "everyman" male protagonist of the film. Monroe brings her characteristic innocence and naivte, but it's not one of her best roles. Definitely one of Wilder's most overrated films. Best line (and image Marilyn Monroe saying it with her distinct speech pattern) "This is what they call classical music, isn't it? I can tell because there's no lyrics."

Tuesday, April 05, 2005

Indiscretion of an American Wife

One of Hollywood's most successful and demanding producers, David O. Selznik, and one of Italy's (and the world's) most distinguished artists, Vittorio De Sica teamed up for this little known film. I can only imagine than these two didn't get along very well, but I don't really know. The result is this compact (63 minutes) film that feels like a giant, prolonged climax. But a dull one. It feels like the ending of a much longer film and not a whole film unto itself. The story is reminiscent of David Lean's superior, Brief Encounter (itself a fairly over rated film). To be honest, I was unaware of both Selznik and De Sica's involvement in this film, I saw it primarily because of one its stars, Montgomery Clift, who is constantly affirming himself as one of my five favorite actors of all time. He is always interesting and in a time before actors ever were very "interesting". I would like to make a couple of hours worth of a film and then place this at the end of it, so that it might be more complete and worth the time it takes to watch.