Based on my annual sms-survey of select friends, the following movie titles were suggested for ‘best’ film of 2008: “Atonement”, “Choke”, “Juno”, even “Quantum of Solace”. Predictably, the two overall most popular choices were the audience favourite “The Dark Knight” and the critics’ favourite “No Country for Old Men”. Taking a page from Ebert, I’m not doing a top ten list of 2008. I’ve seen too few films to really feel qualified to draft such a list in the first place. What I have is a top three (as I’ve on occasion had in previous years) and then a list of titles from 2008 in alphabetical order.
The best film of 2008 was “No Country for Old Men”. This layered, deeply satisfying crime thriller set in the New West presented some of the most cerebral, captivating viewing in recent memory. So, “NCFOM” is number one. The second best film of the year is the shockingly underappreciated “There Will Be Blood”, a gripping oil drama built on Daniel Day-Lewis’s towering performance. The third best film of 2008 is “Wall–E”. You’ve probably seen that one, so it’s not necessary to motivate that choice and position. These three films are all deserving 4* movies worthy of entries in cine-encyclopaedias.
As for some other top titles of 2008:
Atonement
Before the Devil Knows You're Dead
The Darjeeling Limited
The Dark Knight
Gone Baby Gone
In Bruges
Iron Man
Once
Sweeney Todd
Sympathy for Mr Vengeance
As more titles come to mind, I'll add them retroactively.
Monday, December 22, 2008
The Empire Strikes Back
The second season of “Rome” is more violent (often sexually so) and sensational than the first. For those unfamiliar with Roman history or the first season, please note that we are now entering spoiler territory.
For such a violent and spectacle driven show, it’s fitting that some its most memorable scenes involve the deathly demise of key characters: Brutus realising that all his efforts are in vain; Sevila’s curse; Cicero’s Stoic acceptance of his fate. Let us not forget that one of the main character trajectories that also ends, inevitably, in death, has to do with Mark Anthony and his time in Egypt with possibly the sexiest version of Cleopatra ever captured on screen.
Season 2 opens where the first season ended. Julius Caesar is dead, and succession follows. This involves mainly Mark Anthony and Octavian caught in a struggle for power in which each man will do what he has to to obtain control over the Empire. Meanwhile, Lucius Vorenus is mourning the death of his wife before assuming an important new role in controlling the gangs that run lower Rome. Titus Pullio and his new wife also return to Rome. With the inclusion and emphasis on Vorenus and Pullio it becomes clear that “Rome” really is a boy’s own adventure set in ancient times. The (mis)adventures of these two characters, though often severe, do not sit comfortably with the dealings of the ‘upper’ noble characters and their political schemes.
All in all “Rome” is well worth a watch, especially with the “All Roads Lead to Rome” function turned on to comment on and illuminate aspects of Roman life that the show itself cannot directly comment on. Considering how this season ends, it's a pity that the uber-expensive production could not survive into a third season dealing with Octavian's time as ruler of what was once the greatest city in the world.
For such a violent and spectacle driven show, it’s fitting that some its most memorable scenes involve the deathly demise of key characters: Brutus realising that all his efforts are in vain; Sevila’s curse; Cicero’s Stoic acceptance of his fate. Let us not forget that one of the main character trajectories that also ends, inevitably, in death, has to do with Mark Anthony and his time in Egypt with possibly the sexiest version of Cleopatra ever captured on screen.
Season 2 opens where the first season ended. Julius Caesar is dead, and succession follows. This involves mainly Mark Anthony and Octavian caught in a struggle for power in which each man will do what he has to to obtain control over the Empire. Meanwhile, Lucius Vorenus is mourning the death of his wife before assuming an important new role in controlling the gangs that run lower Rome. Titus Pullio and his new wife also return to Rome. With the inclusion and emphasis on Vorenus and Pullio it becomes clear that “Rome” really is a boy’s own adventure set in ancient times. The (mis)adventures of these two characters, though often severe, do not sit comfortably with the dealings of the ‘upper’ noble characters and their political schemes.
All in all “Rome” is well worth a watch, especially with the “All Roads Lead to Rome” function turned on to comment on and illuminate aspects of Roman life that the show itself cannot directly comment on. Considering how this season ends, it's a pity that the uber-expensive production could not survive into a third season dealing with Octavian's time as ruler of what was once the greatest city in the world.
Short Cuts
A few quick reviews.
Ang Lee is, if nothing else, a versatile filmmaker. The man that gave us a psychologically motivated “Hulk”, the Emma Thompson “Sense and Sensibility” adaptation and more recently “Brokeback Mountain”, the hetero love story with boys, now gives us the spy drama “Lust, Caution”. The film is a slow burning spy thriller, treading the same terrain as Verhoeven's "Zwartboek", and is written by collaborator James Schamus. It's a well crafted tale of deception and love in a time when it took both to survive, especially as a woman. The film's slow narrative won't sit well with most viewers and it's light on action, but Lee's drama yields rewards for those inclined to so-called 'art house' cinema.
Geek-favourite Neil Gaiman’s ("Stardust") film with long-time frequent collaborator Dave McKean, “Mirrormask”, is a visual mess that, ironically, and fatally for a film trying to be “imaginative”, loses the viewer the moment we exit reality to enter fantasy. Some appealing performances can only do so much to buoy this lame brained effort. Trite.
How unfortunate that Will Smith’s foray into the superhero genre ends up being the first half of a much better, never-to-be-seen feature film. Clocking in at 81 minutes, “Hancock” leaves everything barely explained. The film’s climactic battle ends up playing out as the foretelling of a much more significant confrontation with evil that never happens. A mildly entertaining wasted opportunity.
Ang Lee is, if nothing else, a versatile filmmaker. The man that gave us a psychologically motivated “Hulk”, the Emma Thompson “Sense and Sensibility” adaptation and more recently “Brokeback Mountain”, the hetero love story with boys, now gives us the spy drama “Lust, Caution”. The film is a slow burning spy thriller, treading the same terrain as Verhoeven's "Zwartboek", and is written by collaborator James Schamus. It's a well crafted tale of deception and love in a time when it took both to survive, especially as a woman. The film's slow narrative won't sit well with most viewers and it's light on action, but Lee's drama yields rewards for those inclined to so-called 'art house' cinema.
Geek-favourite Neil Gaiman’s ("Stardust") film with long-time frequent collaborator Dave McKean, “Mirrormask”, is a visual mess that, ironically, and fatally for a film trying to be “imaginative”, loses the viewer the moment we exit reality to enter fantasy. Some appealing performances can only do so much to buoy this lame brained effort. Trite.
How unfortunate that Will Smith’s foray into the superhero genre ends up being the first half of a much better, never-to-be-seen feature film. Clocking in at 81 minutes, “Hancock” leaves everything barely explained. The film’s climactic battle ends up playing out as the foretelling of a much more significant confrontation with evil that never happens. A mildly entertaining wasted opportunity.
B is not always for Bad
The label ‘B-movie’ is usually associated with a film that is bad, but often so in a way that suggests something akin to a guilty pleasure, the so-called “so bad it’s good”. (That ‘B-movie’ means ‘bad’ is a film myth but this is not the time to discuss that).
With that in mind I decided to have a B-movie Halloween in the company of a double dose of ridiculous shenanigans courtesy of Ed Neumeier’s SF “Starship Troopers 3: Marauder” (direct to DVD) and Greg Maclean’s “Rogue” (also direct to DVD).
“ST3:M” is worse than one might expect. It stars the original’s Casper van Dien returning as Johnny Rico, the ultimate alien arachnid fighter. Things go wrong on the planet of Roku San (or somewhere), and he’s in trouble. Meanwhile, a celebrity politician goes missing on a dangerous planet. Amazingly, I’ve just given away two-thirds of the plot. This film has no kickstart, no set pieces, no narrative flow – just a general plodding from one scene to another as we watch (1) a few truly entertaining “Would you like to know more?” infomercials; (2) bad special effects of plasticky giant arachnids hunting humans; (3) bizarre Christian ‘messages’; (4) topless South African model Tanya van Graan commenting on a guy’s penis size for a non-laugh. That, as they say, is that. And when the great villain of the piece is “revealed”, it is best to abandon attempts at self control and just laugh.
On the other hand, “Rogue” is a beautifully filmed creature feature from the director of the controversial 2006 horror favourite “Wolf Creek”. Despite starring Michael Vartan, “Rogue” – also featuring the amiable Rhadha Mitchell – is terrifyingly good, with a handful of solid scares up its sleeve. While showing Australia to be breathtaking, Maclean also gives us the man-eater crocodile that strands a tourist riverboat and its passengers on a very small island and picks them off one by one. The deaths are never gratuitously gory but are adequately brutal. In his favour, Maclean follows the “Jaws” way of not showing the full creature until the end, which features a suspenseful showdown between man and beast.
With that in mind I decided to have a B-movie Halloween in the company of a double dose of ridiculous shenanigans courtesy of Ed Neumeier’s SF “Starship Troopers 3: Marauder” (direct to DVD) and Greg Maclean’s “Rogue” (also direct to DVD).
“ST3:M” is worse than one might expect. It stars the original’s Casper van Dien returning as Johnny Rico, the ultimate alien arachnid fighter. Things go wrong on the planet of Roku San (or somewhere), and he’s in trouble. Meanwhile, a celebrity politician goes missing on a dangerous planet. Amazingly, I’ve just given away two-thirds of the plot. This film has no kickstart, no set pieces, no narrative flow – just a general plodding from one scene to another as we watch (1) a few truly entertaining “Would you like to know more?” infomercials; (2) bad special effects of plasticky giant arachnids hunting humans; (3) bizarre Christian ‘messages’; (4) topless South African model Tanya van Graan commenting on a guy’s penis size for a non-laugh. That, as they say, is that. And when the great villain of the piece is “revealed”, it is best to abandon attempts at self control and just laugh.
On the other hand, “Rogue” is a beautifully filmed creature feature from the director of the controversial 2006 horror favourite “Wolf Creek”. Despite starring Michael Vartan, “Rogue” – also featuring the amiable Rhadha Mitchell – is terrifyingly good, with a handful of solid scares up its sleeve. While showing Australia to be breathtaking, Maclean also gives us the man-eater crocodile that strands a tourist riverboat and its passengers on a very small island and picks them off one by one. The deaths are never gratuitously gory but are adequately brutal. In his favour, Maclean follows the “Jaws” way of not showing the full creature until the end, which features a suspenseful showdown between man and beast.
Heroic smackdown
Timur Bekmembetov’s “Wanted” is pretty but dumb, much like the character Fox played by Angelina Jolie. There’s a nifty, not-totally-unforeseen twist towards the end and James MacAvoy is a solid action lead, but for all the visual trickery and physics-defying stunts, “Wanted” remains underdeveloped in its execution.
Louis Leterrier’s “The Incredible Hulk” is a quasi-sequel-cum-reimagining of Ang Lee’s version from not too long ago. Replacing Eric Bana with Edward Norton as Bruce Banner, Leterrier also places the emphasis on sheer spectacle as the big green does what it does best: smash. William Hurt shows up as General Ross and this time there’s actually a real villain, the Abomination. The relationship between Banner and Betty Ross is again taken into consideration. For better and for worse though, this “Hulk” keeps the focus on smash. Compared to “Iron Man”, not to even mention “The Dark Knight”, this one falls short.
You'll find yourself wishing for the end as you endure Neil Marshall’s “Doomsday”, which stars Rhona Mitra and Bob Hoskins (!) in yet another apocalyptic tale of some virus that does something and bleeb blop gloop. After an hour, I just couldn’t care anymore. I’d heard awful dialogue (“You're going there? If there is such a thing as hell on earth, that's it”) and seen an extended cannibalism sequence. Yet I pressed on, because surely it would get better? I would not. As a major fan of the director, the man responsible for Brit-werewolf flick “Dog Soldiers” and the best horror in recent memory, “The Descent”, “Doomsday” is a pure stinker, so bad that it’s not even so bad it’s good.
Martin McDonough’s “In Bruges” is a delightful black comedy set in the preserved medieval town of Bruges (Brugge), featuring Brendan Gleeson and Colin Farrell as two hitmen waiting for the dust to settle back in London while questioning why on earth their employer (Ralph Fiennes) would send them to, of all places, this one. “In Bruges” uses Bruges as a breathtaking backdrop to the unravelling of the characters’ fates. In a year where the bat cast its shadow over everything else, even before its release (with Ledger’s death), it’s easy to neglect some of the gems that came out this year, and “In Bruges” is one of them.
Louis Leterrier’s “The Incredible Hulk” is a quasi-sequel-cum-reimagining of Ang Lee’s version from not too long ago. Replacing Eric Bana with Edward Norton as Bruce Banner, Leterrier also places the emphasis on sheer spectacle as the big green does what it does best: smash. William Hurt shows up as General Ross and this time there’s actually a real villain, the Abomination. The relationship between Banner and Betty Ross is again taken into consideration. For better and for worse though, this “Hulk” keeps the focus on smash. Compared to “Iron Man”, not to even mention “The Dark Knight”, this one falls short.
You'll find yourself wishing for the end as you endure Neil Marshall’s “Doomsday”, which stars Rhona Mitra and Bob Hoskins (!) in yet another apocalyptic tale of some virus that does something and bleeb blop gloop. After an hour, I just couldn’t care anymore. I’d heard awful dialogue (“You're going there? If there is such a thing as hell on earth, that's it”) and seen an extended cannibalism sequence. Yet I pressed on, because surely it would get better? I would not. As a major fan of the director, the man responsible for Brit-werewolf flick “Dog Soldiers” and the best horror in recent memory, “The Descent”, “Doomsday” is a pure stinker, so bad that it’s not even so bad it’s good.
Martin McDonough’s “In Bruges” is a delightful black comedy set in the preserved medieval town of Bruges (Brugge), featuring Brendan Gleeson and Colin Farrell as two hitmen waiting for the dust to settle back in London while questioning why on earth their employer (Ralph Fiennes) would send them to, of all places, this one. “In Bruges” uses Bruges as a breathtaking backdrop to the unravelling of the characters’ fates. In a year where the bat cast its shadow over everything else, even before its release (with Ledger’s death), it’s easy to neglect some of the gems that came out this year, and “In Bruges” is one of them.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Updating Issues
Issues of time related to the sheer amount of work I had to do - work which increases substantially from the end of November until mid December each year - have caused a severe lack of posts. I have seen a few films, some new, some old, and I'll put the reviews up somewhere before Christmas in one massive post. Included therein are the results of my annual "What's your best film of 2008" survey, which yielded rather predictable results.
I haven't even seen the new Bond yet, for crying out loud.
I haven't even seen the new Bond yet, for crying out loud.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The only law is greed/power/desire
David Milch’s “Deadwood” remains the best written show yet screened on television as far as I’m concerned. The notion of a ‘slow burn’ was invented to describe this show. Having just finished Season 2 and with the third season waiting in the wings, I am hard pressed to think about any other show that features such well developed characters as this one. Often people use words like “colourful” and “eccentric” when referring to interesting characters. Those terms do not apply to the complexities and psychological dynamics that I’ve come to associate with this show.
For the uninitiated, “Deadwood” chronicles life in the famed town in the American West, emphasising power relations and politics more than anything else. There’s Seth Bullock (Timothy Olyphant), who became the town sheriff at the end of the first season, and Alma Garrett (Polly Walker), the object of his affection. There’s Cy Tolliver (Powers Boothe) and his gamblin’, whorin’ crew. Calamity Jane is somewhere, probably drunk; her acquaintance Utter also remains. The whores, Joanie and Trixie, have their own troubles to sort out. And then there’s the crown jewel: Al Swearengen (Ian McShane), one of the most well written, shaded and perfectly acted characters I’ve seen. As much as Michael Chiklis is Vic Mackey (“The Shield”) and Edward James Olmos disappears into Admiral Adama (“Battlestar Galactica”), no actor can rival McShane’s gritty, layered, apparently villainous Swearengen, who pretty much runs the town and sort out problems in his time, on his terms.
Season 1 opened with Bullock and then essentially followed his character trajectory while incorporating an ever-increasing amount of supporting characters. Season 2 abandons that clear narrative line and somewhat episodic plot for a more continuous, flowing narrative that gives equal screen shares to the vast majority of characters, with Swearengen being at the centre of activities (at least, that is, once the kidney stone passes – a gruelling scene indeed); here, Bullock is but one of many.
The main pleasure of the show remains: the Shakespearean screenplay. An understanding of Shakespeare’s work will illuminate “Deadwood” more than most readings.
Key highlights in season 2:
· Unexpected guests threaten Bullock and Garrett’s relationship;
· Tolliver getting increasingly cocky;
· The arrival of a geologist of sorts, one Mr. Walcott, who oozes trouble;
· The horse incident (beautifully edited);
· Swearengen’s never-ending battle to keep himself on the top of the pile;
Again, don’t expect gunfights and heroes reloading pistols at the speed of light. There is very little physical confrontation in the traditional sense. In a revisionist sense, however, there’s conflict and danger around every corner, even if nary a gun is fired.
For the uninitiated, “Deadwood” chronicles life in the famed town in the American West, emphasising power relations and politics more than anything else. There’s Seth Bullock (Timothy Olyphant), who became the town sheriff at the end of the first season, and Alma Garrett (Polly Walker), the object of his affection. There’s Cy Tolliver (Powers Boothe) and his gamblin’, whorin’ crew. Calamity Jane is somewhere, probably drunk; her acquaintance Utter also remains. The whores, Joanie and Trixie, have their own troubles to sort out. And then there’s the crown jewel: Al Swearengen (Ian McShane), one of the most well written, shaded and perfectly acted characters I’ve seen. As much as Michael Chiklis is Vic Mackey (“The Shield”) and Edward James Olmos disappears into Admiral Adama (“Battlestar Galactica”), no actor can rival McShane’s gritty, layered, apparently villainous Swearengen, who pretty much runs the town and sort out problems in his time, on his terms.
Season 1 opened with Bullock and then essentially followed his character trajectory while incorporating an ever-increasing amount of supporting characters. Season 2 abandons that clear narrative line and somewhat episodic plot for a more continuous, flowing narrative that gives equal screen shares to the vast majority of characters, with Swearengen being at the centre of activities (at least, that is, once the kidney stone passes – a gruelling scene indeed); here, Bullock is but one of many.
The main pleasure of the show remains: the Shakespearean screenplay. An understanding of Shakespeare’s work will illuminate “Deadwood” more than most readings.
Key highlights in season 2:
· Unexpected guests threaten Bullock and Garrett’s relationship;
· Tolliver getting increasingly cocky;
· The arrival of a geologist of sorts, one Mr. Walcott, who oozes trouble;
· The horse incident (beautifully edited);
· Swearengen’s never-ending battle to keep himself on the top of the pile;
Again, don’t expect gunfights and heroes reloading pistols at the speed of light. There is very little physical confrontation in the traditional sense. In a revisionist sense, however, there’s conflict and danger around every corner, even if nary a gun is fired.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
You can’t kill what’s already dead (it's a cliche)
That’s according to the tagline of the independent Brit-horror “Outpost”, directed by Steve Barker and starring the charismatic Ray Stevenson (from “Rome”). Stevenson, disappointingly sans charisma in this instance, headlines as the leader of a group of mercenaries that accompanies a ‘company representative’ on a reconnaissance mission. What this guy's looking for he won’t say (it's not hard to guess though) and it doesn’t take long for the viewer to suspect that they Eastern European bunker they end up exploring is a place where things go bump, bash and die in the night.
After 45 minutes of very little happening, the enemy is revealed; after 90 minutes, the movie’s over and you’re not sure what the point was to it all: mercenaries in and above bunker, enemy force identified, mercenaries picked off one by one (in a typical formulaic, unimaginative manner). That, as they say, is that. At least the film has downer of an ending though the aftermath is unnecessary.
“Outpost” is a cheerless horror with very little tension, and is even plain illogical at times (even for an Eastern European military undead horror). A bunker with darkened corridors is an excellent location for generating apprehension (the vastly superior “Session 9”, set in an abandoned asylum, comes to mind) but Barker doesn’t pull it off. This is a case of a workable horror concept in search of a screenplay, and is really not worth the effort. You can't shake the "seen it all before" feeling while you struggle with the "wish I were watching something else" feeling.
After 45 minutes of very little happening, the enemy is revealed; after 90 minutes, the movie’s over and you’re not sure what the point was to it all: mercenaries in and above bunker, enemy force identified, mercenaries picked off one by one (in a typical formulaic, unimaginative manner). That, as they say, is that. At least the film has downer of an ending though the aftermath is unnecessary.
“Outpost” is a cheerless horror with very little tension, and is even plain illogical at times (even for an Eastern European military undead horror). A bunker with darkened corridors is an excellent location for generating apprehension (the vastly superior “Session 9”, set in an abandoned asylum, comes to mind) but Barker doesn’t pull it off. This is a case of a workable horror concept in search of a screenplay, and is really not worth the effort. You can't shake the "seen it all before" feeling while you struggle with the "wish I were watching something else" feeling.
Travel with me to the early ‘90s, kung fu style
Somehow, the pairing of Jackie Chan and Jet Li has never appealed to me as much as the paring of, say, De Niro and Pacino (I’m referring to “Heat” here, not the forthcoming “Righteous Kill”). Yet, apparently fanboys wanted the two martial arts icons to join forces and here they are, together for the first time, in Rob Minkoff’s placid, harmless “Forbidden Kingdom”. Here is a film with such mediocre effects and far-from-dazzling wirework that it’s hard to believe that it was released in 2008, and not 1993. “Forbidden Kingdom” is a (unintended?) throwback to the cheesy, insipid slap & kick movies of the early 1990s. Watching this, I was reminded not only of “Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” but also of the vastly superior ‘80s actioner “Big Trouble in Little China”. And knowing what Chan and Li are capable of, it’s hard to think of “Forbidden Kingdom” as anything but sub-par.
The story has something to do with a hero who doesn’t know he’s a hero; a drunken master; a silent monk; a white haired woman warrior with a whip; ancient immortals who take lunch breaks every 500 years; a magic staff and a Monkey King (also, embarrassingly, Jet Li). There is even a training montage where a character gets to know his inner warrior by exhibiting outer skill. And yes, someone actually says: “It has been foretold…” At first I thought that the film was conscious of its position in pop culture, but at the end I was not convinced. I suspect that all involved set out to make a film worthy of inclusion in the pantheon of martial arts movies, and failed.
The story has something to do with a hero who doesn’t know he’s a hero; a drunken master; a silent monk; a white haired woman warrior with a whip; ancient immortals who take lunch breaks every 500 years; a magic staff and a Monkey King (also, embarrassingly, Jet Li). There is even a training montage where a character gets to know his inner warrior by exhibiting outer skill. And yes, someone actually says: “It has been foretold…” At first I thought that the film was conscious of its position in pop culture, but at the end I was not convinced. I suspect that all involved set out to make a film worthy of inclusion in the pantheon of martial arts movies, and failed.
Little temple of horrors
Scott Smith’s “The Ruins”, directed by Carter Smith, is set in Mexico where a group of travellers arrive at an ancient temple and find that they cannot leave. This is what is known as survival horror, one of the horror film subgenres that require us to root for the survival of the post-adolescent protagonists. “The Ruins” takes its time drawing you in, introducing you to characters who seem little different from the types we saw in, amongst other titles, “Turistas”. Halfway through the film, however, the characters are revealed to be more than just attractive bodies when the real desperation of the situation sets in.
Scott Smith is known for his novel “A Simple Plan”, beautifully filmed by pre-webcoward Sam Raimi. “The Ruins” emphasises human psychology – how would you react to the situation that the characters find themselves in? Would you be able to do what is necessary to survive? – but it’s pure horror regardless, pitting the characters against an inescapable foe. It is not my position to tell who or what this enemy is (if you’ve seen this film’s trailer, you already know) but it turns out to be more convincing and frightening than I’d anticipated. For example: the characters are lured into the temple by a ringing cell phone, possibly their only hope of getting away from the site. The revelation of the cell phone later in the film is craftily handled; in a lesser film, it would’ve been comical but in “The Ruins” it successfully adds an additional level of anxiety for both the characters and the viewer.
All in all, “The Ruins”, a well made and predictable horror, does not come close to equalling the sheer dread and tension of Neil Marshall’s “The Descent”, but it’s still an improvement over most horror entertainment available these days. Ironically, its middle act is its strongest – the first act takes its sweet time getting started, while the third act is a bit of a seen-it-coming cop out. “The Ruins” won’t keep you awake at night though it presents a pleasant diversion from run-of-the-mill slashers and torture porn.
Scott Smith is known for his novel “A Simple Plan”, beautifully filmed by pre-webcoward Sam Raimi. “The Ruins” emphasises human psychology – how would you react to the situation that the characters find themselves in? Would you be able to do what is necessary to survive? – but it’s pure horror regardless, pitting the characters against an inescapable foe. It is not my position to tell who or what this enemy is (if you’ve seen this film’s trailer, you already know) but it turns out to be more convincing and frightening than I’d anticipated. For example: the characters are lured into the temple by a ringing cell phone, possibly their only hope of getting away from the site. The revelation of the cell phone later in the film is craftily handled; in a lesser film, it would’ve been comical but in “The Ruins” it successfully adds an additional level of anxiety for both the characters and the viewer.
All in all, “The Ruins”, a well made and predictable horror, does not come close to equalling the sheer dread and tension of Neil Marshall’s “The Descent”, but it’s still an improvement over most horror entertainment available these days. Ironically, its middle act is its strongest – the first act takes its sweet time getting started, while the third act is a bit of a seen-it-coming cop out. “The Ruins” won’t keep you awake at night though it presents a pleasant diversion from run-of-the-mill slashers and torture porn.
May you be in heaven half an hour…
… “Before the devil knows you’re dead”. This thriller from veteran director Sidney Lumet – 83 at the time of directing this feature – forces upon the viewer the kind of tension that one associates with a steel band drawing increasingly tighter around one’s heart, with expiration coming ever closer. The film’s set-up is simple, but its telling is not. In a non-linear manner, “Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead” shows us two brothers, both desperately in need of money and willing to commit a criminal act to get it. Both seem smart enough to know better but the act is committed and has consequences that will shake even the most jaded crime drama fan.
Featuring top performances from Philip Seymour Hoffman, Ethan Hawke, Marisa Tomei and Albert Finney, the film is a study of desperation and vengeance without a redeemable character in sight. The characters are well written and believable and what happens to them is perfectly plausible in the world created by the film. The film opens with a scene of release and ends with another, different type of release in a way that indicates that it couldn’t possibly have ended another way. Taut and intelligent, “Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead” is a film of unexpected power. It seldom happens that I’m reeling from the impact of a film as I did with this one. Anyone looking for a cerebral thriller need to look no further.
Postscript: the current American financial crisis (aka Depression of Doom 2008) provides an interesting frame for reading this film as more than just a thriller.
Featuring top performances from Philip Seymour Hoffman, Ethan Hawke, Marisa Tomei and Albert Finney, the film is a study of desperation and vengeance without a redeemable character in sight. The characters are well written and believable and what happens to them is perfectly plausible in the world created by the film. The film opens with a scene of release and ends with another, different type of release in a way that indicates that it couldn’t possibly have ended another way. Taut and intelligent, “Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead” is a film of unexpected power. It seldom happens that I’m reeling from the impact of a film as I did with this one. Anyone looking for a cerebral thriller need to look no further.
Postscript: the current American financial crisis (aka Depression of Doom 2008) provides an interesting frame for reading this film as more than just a thriller.
In search of happiness. And food.
Chris McCandless, the real-life protagonist of Sean Penn’s “Into the Wild”, is full of himself. Brave and foolish, he sets out to leave behind society (which is, of course, repressive, bad for you, limiting, etc we’ve heard it all before) to find himself (at least that inane phrase isn’t used in this film) and his true purpose in nature. Shortly after graduating, McCandless (played by Emile Hirsch) sets off to Alaska for a life of solitude, at least for a while, accompanied only by his favourite books (Thoreau, Jack London). En route he meets some colourful characters including Catherine Keener’s hippie, Vince Vaughn’s agriculturalist and, heartbreakingly, Hal Holbrook’s elderly Ron.
McCandless reminded me a little of Timothy Treadwell (of course McCandless doesn’t exhibit anything close to the bear-man’s psychopathology) and the story isn’t fresh but to excite matters Penn presents the film as a series of chapters, intercut with McCandless already living in Alaska. The film is anchored by a strong physical and psychological performance by Hirsch, who makes McCandless believable but not heroic. Penn effectively exploits the breathtaking Alaskan nature to contrast it with the dull urbania McCandless flees from (he’s actually fleeing from his parents, but that’s another story).
“Into the Wild” is an imperfect film (it is overlong and early on too in love with framing McCandless/Hirsch), but it is an intelligent and well crafted movie. If nothing else, it makes you want to (re)visit Walden and start growing your own potatoes
McCandless reminded me a little of Timothy Treadwell (of course McCandless doesn’t exhibit anything close to the bear-man’s psychopathology) and the story isn’t fresh but to excite matters Penn presents the film as a series of chapters, intercut with McCandless already living in Alaska. The film is anchored by a strong physical and psychological performance by Hirsch, who makes McCandless believable but not heroic. Penn effectively exploits the breathtaking Alaskan nature to contrast it with the dull urbania McCandless flees from (he’s actually fleeing from his parents, but that’s another story).
“Into the Wild” is an imperfect film (it is overlong and early on too in love with framing McCandless/Hirsch), but it is an intelligent and well crafted movie. If nothing else, it makes you want to (re)visit Walden and start growing your own potatoes
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Notes from the Netherlands
Paul Verhoeven’s “Zwartboek” (“Black Book”) is an engrossing World War II spy drama as Carice van Houten’s Jewess Rachel Stein becomes, in an attempt to survive the Nazi onslaught, the Dutch Ellis de Vries. As De Vries, she must spy for the Dutch Resistance on the local German officers, one of whom is Muntze (Sebastian Koch). “Zwartboek” turned out to be more old fashioned than I’d expected; a rather typical, well told story of wartime intrigue consisting mainly of betrayal and death. The key difference between this film and many others of its kind is its female protagonist, a woman who makes important choices and is fundamental in keeping some characters alive.
“Zwartboek” is Verhoeven's most skilful and effective thriller since his work in the early 1990s, by which I mean “Total Recall”, not “Basic Instinct”. After those films came “Showgirls” (not as bad as is generally suggested, but pretty bad nonetheless), “Starship Troopers” (a comically subversive sex ‘n’ space military soap opera) and the malicious “Hollow Man”. “Zwartboek” appears a full six years after that misfire, taking Verhoeven back to his home country, away from American studio interference.
Still, even away from American executives pounding on your door, a budget of 16 million Euros is nothing to sniff at, so Verhoeven plays it safe. The good guys are clearly good; the bad guys are often plain rotten, though they sometimes switch sides. The story (opening with that most awful of opening titles, “Inspired by True Events”) is played for entertainment. Stylistically and thematically, this is the opposite of “Der Untergang” (“Downfall”), and Verhoeven’s sure hand makes 140 minutes pass by without much lurching, even managing to work in three or four topless scenes (a Verhoeven film would not be a Verhoeven film without the obligatory, sometimes gratuitous nude scenes).
“Zwartboek” is Verhoeven's most skilful and effective thriller since his work in the early 1990s, by which I mean “Total Recall”, not “Basic Instinct”. After those films came “Showgirls” (not as bad as is generally suggested, but pretty bad nonetheless), “Starship Troopers” (a comically subversive sex ‘n’ space military soap opera) and the malicious “Hollow Man”. “Zwartboek” appears a full six years after that misfire, taking Verhoeven back to his home country, away from American studio interference.
Still, even away from American executives pounding on your door, a budget of 16 million Euros is nothing to sniff at, so Verhoeven plays it safe. The good guys are clearly good; the bad guys are often plain rotten, though they sometimes switch sides. The story (opening with that most awful of opening titles, “Inspired by True Events”) is played for entertainment. Stylistically and thematically, this is the opposite of “Der Untergang” (“Downfall”), and Verhoeven’s sure hand makes 140 minutes pass by without much lurching, even managing to work in three or four topless scenes (a Verhoeven film would not be a Verhoeven film without the obligatory, sometimes gratuitous nude scenes).
Memories
Japanese writer-director Hirokazu Kore-eda’s “After Life” presents a thought provoking setup. After the moment of your death, you arrive in what looks like an old school or office building. There you stay for a week; you must use your time there to reflect upon your life and select one single memory to take into the afterlife with you. That particular memory will be restaged, filmed and you’ll watch it in a small cinema. Then you leave the place, moving on to – something. Not hell. Maybe heaven.
“After Life” is a quiet film filled with interesting characters, some of whom participate actively in the memory selection process while others defy the ideas as whole. Unexpected relationships emerge, but not, as would be in a lesser film, a definite romantic ideal. The use of music is minimal and unobtrusive. Some of the images, such as one of the workers looking for locations in a bamboo forest and then in the city, are surprisingly mesmerising. Kore-eda manages to avoid potential pitfalls; we are not shown the filmed memories, for they are not ours to see.
Intelligent and in its way realistic, “After Life” is a metaphysical meditation from one of the proclaimed foremost figures of New Japanese Cinema.
“After Life” is a quiet film filled with interesting characters, some of whom participate actively in the memory selection process while others defy the ideas as whole. Unexpected relationships emerge, but not, as would be in a lesser film, a definite romantic ideal. The use of music is minimal and unobtrusive. Some of the images, such as one of the workers looking for locations in a bamboo forest and then in the city, are surprisingly mesmerising. Kore-eda manages to avoid potential pitfalls; we are not shown the filmed memories, for they are not ours to see.
Intelligent and in its way realistic, “After Life” is a metaphysical meditation from one of the proclaimed foremost figures of New Japanese Cinema.
The charm of Ed Wood, filmmaker
Ed Wood’s film “Plan 9 from Outer Space” may be the worst film ever made according to dozens of move resources, but having finally seen it I can set your mind at ease: it is far from the worst film ever made. The film has attained an almost mythical position in cinema history, and I can see how multiple viewings can provide great pleasures. Viewed with some critical perspective, “Plan 9”’s campiness is appealing in the way the “Thing from Oozing Swamp Beach” might be, and it is enjoyed, even valued, as a product of its time and master. To be sure, “Plan 9” is no “Citizen Kane” (Tim Burton’s “Ed Wood” features a delightful scene between Wood (Johnny Depp) and Orson Welles (Angus McFadyen) but its badness has been grossly exaggerated. Put this film next to “The Hottie and the Nottie”, or “Freddie Got Fingered”, or most Meg Ryan films and “Plan 9” still looks like the film with the most potential. In 20 years, “Plan 9” will still be part of the collective cinema consciousness, where all the others mentioned above… won’t.
“Plan 9” is about grave robbers from outer space, trouble with the sun, a dead husband and wife, actual war footage spliced between staged scenes, using Bela Lugosi’s unused footage for the film (Lugosi, a horror cinema legend, passed away before filming commenced), hubcaps to present flying saucers and dialogue so inept and so badly delivered that you cannot but help remember parts of it:
“Aliens attacked a town. Sure, it’s a small town, but one with people. People now dead!” (paraphrased).
May “Glen or Glenda” soon cross my path.
“Plan 9” is about grave robbers from outer space, trouble with the sun, a dead husband and wife, actual war footage spliced between staged scenes, using Bela Lugosi’s unused footage for the film (Lugosi, a horror cinema legend, passed away before filming commenced), hubcaps to present flying saucers and dialogue so inept and so badly delivered that you cannot but help remember parts of it:
“Aliens attacked a town. Sure, it’s a small town, but one with people. People now dead!” (paraphrased).
May “Glen or Glenda” soon cross my path.
War. What is it good for?
Deon Opperman’s “Ons vir Jou”, cowritten with Sean Else, who was partly behind the “De Lay Rey” song made famous by Bok van Blerk, is a visually spectacular chronicle of the Anglo Boer War as lived by the legendary General Koos de la Rey (played by opera celebrity Raoul Beukes) and his family, wife Nonnie (Michelle H Botha) and his two sons. After making it clear to pres. Kruger and his men that war with Britian is a bad idea, De la Rey finds himself in a conflict he did not want. Kudos to Opperman for giving us an Afrikaans hero figure who isn’t out for blood or, later, reckless vengeance. The creators of the show deserve further praise for the catchy songs and music, even giving the audience contemporary Afrikaans hits such as “Vergeet my nie meer nie” and the stirring “Ons vir Jou”. The play is well acted, features a stunning war scene and is clever in the way it manipulates its audience.
Precisely. “Ons vir Jou” has businesspeople working hard behind the scenes to put audience members in the seats, not to create great art or tell a historically accurate story. As usual, the facts shouldn’t hinder the story. The show milks audience sentiment on a variety of levels, so much so that a character’s death scene takes up a significant portion of the latter half of the production. Then there’s the one son of De la Rey’s, an overweight chap who is mostly played for laughs. It is a sad fact that the Fat Boy is an increasingly prominent part of the Afrikaans visual culture. In addition, poor Siener van Rensburg comes across, probably unintentionally, as a bit of a nutter.
The use of well established songs further reinforce the idea of “Ons vir Jou” as, first and foremost, a moneymaker. There is nothing wrong with intending for a production to be financially viable, even successful enough to turn a profit. The problem lies with its audience members who leave the show tearful, moved beyond rational thought, and who possibly will tell all their friends how breathtaking the production is without giving a second thought to its historical poetic license and its political non-impact.
Precisely. “Ons vir Jou” has businesspeople working hard behind the scenes to put audience members in the seats, not to create great art or tell a historically accurate story. As usual, the facts shouldn’t hinder the story. The show milks audience sentiment on a variety of levels, so much so that a character’s death scene takes up a significant portion of the latter half of the production. Then there’s the one son of De la Rey’s, an overweight chap who is mostly played for laughs. It is a sad fact that the Fat Boy is an increasingly prominent part of the Afrikaans visual culture. In addition, poor Siener van Rensburg comes across, probably unintentionally, as a bit of a nutter.
The use of well established songs further reinforce the idea of “Ons vir Jou” as, first and foremost, a moneymaker. There is nothing wrong with intending for a production to be financially viable, even successful enough to turn a profit. The problem lies with its audience members who leave the show tearful, moved beyond rational thought, and who possibly will tell all their friends how breathtaking the production is without giving a second thought to its historical poetic license and its political non-impact.
Badge of honour
The third season of “The Shield” is riveting and disturbing, a layered police drama with not a hero in sight. Instead, we have Vic Mackey (Michael Chiklis), leader of the Farmington precinct’s Strike Team. The series follows a general story arc involving Mackey and his men, including his number one guy Shane (Walton Goggins), which starts where the second season ended. The show gives smaller yet significant story arcs to several characters – Claudette (CCH Pounder) still looking to be promoted; Dutch (Jay Karnes) is in pursuit of a serial rapist – while each episode manages to be self-contained. As created and watched over by Shawn Ryan (whose wife stars as Mackey’s wife in the show), there is none of the glorified cop-heroism American television has been feeding audiences.
The tendency to downplay machismo for the sake of authenticity started with “Hill Street Blues” and bled into “NYPD Blue” as well as “Homicide”, but it’s in the gritty, nothing-is-for-certain world of “The Shield” that crime drama reaches its apotheosis. This violent moral morass sucks you in, takes hold of where it hurts and doesn’t let go until you’ve worked your way through the whole season. Television is seldom this harrowing and exhilarating.
Season 3 highlights include:
· Dutch crossing a psychological threshold;
· Guest directing by David Mamet and star Chiklis;
· Shocking, unexpected twists and turns in the ongoing Armenian money disaster;
· Numerous episode commentaries from key cast and crew members.
Note that only serious viewers need apply. Anyone else will be too shocked, bored or unable to follow what’s going to on to bother with this definitive cop show.
The tendency to downplay machismo for the sake of authenticity started with “Hill Street Blues” and bled into “NYPD Blue” as well as “Homicide”, but it’s in the gritty, nothing-is-for-certain world of “The Shield” that crime drama reaches its apotheosis. This violent moral morass sucks you in, takes hold of where it hurts and doesn’t let go until you’ve worked your way through the whole season. Television is seldom this harrowing and exhilarating.
Season 3 highlights include:
· Dutch crossing a psychological threshold;
· Guest directing by David Mamet and star Chiklis;
· Shocking, unexpected twists and turns in the ongoing Armenian money disaster;
· Numerous episode commentaries from key cast and crew members.
Note that only serious viewers need apply. Anyone else will be too shocked, bored or unable to follow what’s going to on to bother with this definitive cop show.
All roads
The HBO-BBC co-production “Rome” (Season 1), with solid Ciaran Hinds as Julius Caesar and Kevin McKidd as Lucius Vorenus, paints a vivid if sensational portrait of life in Rome at the time of Caesar’s rise to power. The 12-episode first season uses actual sets and CGI to bring the ancient city to life. But the characters, not the look of the show, is what made me watch this: the chance to see Caesar, Brutus, Mark Anthony, Pompey Magnus, Cato, Cicero and other key figures from Roman history orate, plan, deceive and die. Those figures are all part of the Roman elite, so the show gives us two plebs, soldiers Lucius Vorenus and Titus Pullo, who have their own narrative line that inevitably crosses with other characters’. There are historical records indicating the existence of an actual Vorenus and Pullo, but the characters in the show are pure studio fictions, forcing the men into a ‘buddy-movie’ hate-him-but-he’s-my-brother type of relationship. Indeed, it is unfortunate that many of the secondary characters are rather wooden and underwritten (as is the case with Mark Anthony – apparently, he gets his due in the second season).
With full frontal male and female nudity, a dash of lesbianism and plenty of graphic violence, this is far from the superior, civilised empire often taught in history lessons. This dirty, messy TV “Rome” is an Empire for the masses. Lavish and fast paced, it requires less patience than the superior “Deadwood” and more tolerance, from a critical perspective, of its emphasis on spectacle. All said and done, I cannot wait to get my hands on the second (and final; the show was ultimately too expensive to produce) season.
DVD extra features include episode commentaries; a shot-by-shot approach to two key scenes of the first season; and “All Roads Lead to Rome”, where, when activated, text boxes appear as an episode unfolds to clarify and elaborate upon religious, social, cultural and political life as lived in ancient Rome.
For interesting trivia about the show (spoiler warning), visit http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0384766/trivia.
With full frontal male and female nudity, a dash of lesbianism and plenty of graphic violence, this is far from the superior, civilised empire often taught in history lessons. This dirty, messy TV “Rome” is an Empire for the masses. Lavish and fast paced, it requires less patience than the superior “Deadwood” and more tolerance, from a critical perspective, of its emphasis on spectacle. All said and done, I cannot wait to get my hands on the second (and final; the show was ultimately too expensive to produce) season.
DVD extra features include episode commentaries; a shot-by-shot approach to two key scenes of the first season; and “All Roads Lead to Rome”, where, when activated, text boxes appear as an episode unfolds to clarify and elaborate upon religious, social, cultural and political life as lived in ancient Rome.
For interesting trivia about the show (spoiler warning), visit http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0384766/trivia.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
It’s a balloon. Here, I’ll show you.
I recently got the chance to watch the Afrikaans teen-romantic-comedy-with-a-moral-lesson “Bakgat!” and to be quite honest, I think that local critics were too harsh, too hasty in their unsparing damnation of yet "another vulgar, common” teen movie. Yes, but this time they swear, curse and get scatalogical in Afrikaans. Yes, parts of “Bakgat!” are common; other parts are vulgar. However, taken for what it attempts to be, “Bakgat!” is easily more accomplished than many local films.
By basing the film on the Hollywood narrative previously encountered in “She’s All That” and “American Pie” (and many, many others), writer-director Henk Pretorius must’ve known that he was walking into the jaws of the lion from a critical point of view. The movie opens with one piece of clichéd dialogue after the other. Actually, it opens with a statement about how the participating high schools, Waterkloof and Eldoraigne, supported the film’s making in the name of Afrikaans culture – make of that what you want – and then the dialogue begins, along with some typically South African rugby shots. Characters are quickly established, using stereotypes as shortcuts to tell us who to root for and who to dislike. There’s the school honey, the nerd, the rugby overlord, the dimwit girlfriends, the two guys whose aim in teen life is to score.
I liked the way the film poked fun at the snobbish Easterlings of the city and some of the film is surprisingly enjoyable (an antidote to the crime and HIV-driven films that usually get funding in South Africa) and well made. There is no attempt at any notion of realism here; “Bakgat” proceeds to tell its story in an almost exclusively all-white Pretoria, while the only gay guy in the film is played only (and embarrassingly so) for cheap laughs. Of course, the point of this film was never to be ‘realistic’, but to appropriate a global model for telling simple stories to and for a minority group.
For better and for worse, it paid off. A sequel is rumoured to be planned for a festive season release.
By basing the film on the Hollywood narrative previously encountered in “She’s All That” and “American Pie” (and many, many others), writer-director Henk Pretorius must’ve known that he was walking into the jaws of the lion from a critical point of view. The movie opens with one piece of clichéd dialogue after the other. Actually, it opens with a statement about how the participating high schools, Waterkloof and Eldoraigne, supported the film’s making in the name of Afrikaans culture – make of that what you want – and then the dialogue begins, along with some typically South African rugby shots. Characters are quickly established, using stereotypes as shortcuts to tell us who to root for and who to dislike. There’s the school honey, the nerd, the rugby overlord, the dimwit girlfriends, the two guys whose aim in teen life is to score.
I liked the way the film poked fun at the snobbish Easterlings of the city and some of the film is surprisingly enjoyable (an antidote to the crime and HIV-driven films that usually get funding in South Africa) and well made. There is no attempt at any notion of realism here; “Bakgat” proceeds to tell its story in an almost exclusively all-white Pretoria, while the only gay guy in the film is played only (and embarrassingly so) for cheap laughs. Of course, the point of this film was never to be ‘realistic’, but to appropriate a global model for telling simple stories to and for a minority group.
For better and for worse, it paid off. A sequel is rumoured to be planned for a festive season release.
Sellers
Decades after its release, the Peter Sellers-Blake Edwards comedy “The Party” has finally become part of my DVD collection. My first reaction to revisiting this classic was a realisation of how predictable and banal contemporary farces and slapstick comedies have become. Witness “The Party”, about 40 years old, a funnier comedy than most “riotous laugh-fests” (what awful hyperbole) released since.
Of course, the Ashton Kutchers of the world are no real competition for Peter Sellers, the comic giant who carved himself into film history not only in his multiple roles in Kubrick’s “Dr. Strangelove” but with his 'serious' acting turn in the same visionary director’s “Lolita”. Here, Sellers is taking it easy, and still makes another character his own: an Indian want-to-be actor who mistakenly receives an invitation to a dinner party hosted by a powerful Hollywood player.
To give away what happens in this film would be to spoil it for anyone attending for the first time. That said, let me say this: shoes float, waiters are troublesome, forced small talk is difficult for anyone and, of course, birdie num-num. There are those who will view this film as slow, dated and old; yet those critics are the ones weaned on a diet of exactly the type of comedy that I complained about earlier in this post.
Of course, the Ashton Kutchers of the world are no real competition for Peter Sellers, the comic giant who carved himself into film history not only in his multiple roles in Kubrick’s “Dr. Strangelove” but with his 'serious' acting turn in the same visionary director’s “Lolita”. Here, Sellers is taking it easy, and still makes another character his own: an Indian want-to-be actor who mistakenly receives an invitation to a dinner party hosted by a powerful Hollywood player.
To give away what happens in this film would be to spoil it for anyone attending for the first time. That said, let me say this: shoes float, waiters are troublesome, forced small talk is difficult for anyone and, of course, birdie num-num. There are those who will view this film as slow, dated and old; yet those critics are the ones weaned on a diet of exactly the type of comedy that I complained about earlier in this post.
Have broom, will travel
“Kiki’s Delivery Service” is a vintage Miyazaki coming-of-age story set in a Europe where, according to the master animator-director, “World War II never happened”. The film opens with 13-year old Kiki (voiced by Kirsten Dunst in the dubbed US release) becoming a witch. As part of her training, she has to move to another town where she has to help people out for a year. Seeing as her only real skill seems to be flying, Kiki decides to offer her assistance to a kindly baker.
There is no villain in “Kiki’s Delivery Service” and little suspense, but it’s as gorgeously animated as it was upon its initial release in 1989, and the story and characters are sweet and charming. Whimsical and surprisingly low on magic, this is a fully protagonist driven feature, with a rather odd cat thrown in for measure.
There is no villain in “Kiki’s Delivery Service” and little suspense, but it’s as gorgeously animated as it was upon its initial release in 1989, and the story and characters are sweet and charming. Whimsical and surprisingly low on magic, this is a fully protagonist driven feature, with a rather odd cat thrown in for measure.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Oil!
Paul Thomas Anderson’s “There Will Be Blood” is a superlative depiction of greed-driven insanity and insane greed. It stands alongside “No Country for Old Men” as the definitive American films of the year – all that follow will be measured against these two titles. “There Will Be Blood” presents Daniel Day-Lewis as Daniel Plainview, a man who will stop at nothing to become an oil magnate. Through the film’s running time of about 2½ hours we see how Plainview goes from utterly determined (successfully staking a claim in spite of a broken leg) to pathologically mad. Essentially, the film is about Plainview against the world, the same world he’s trying to control. He has a son, H.W., who complicates his life unexpectedly, and then there’s Eli (Paul Dano), a charismatic local lay preacher. Some of the film’s most intense scenes are between these two figures, and at the end, a reunion of sorts occurs wherein each man is finally stripped from whatever pretence and persona there had been, and Anderson delivers some of the most memorable, astonishing dialogue in a long while.
“There Will Be Blood” is long and tough but rewarding, presenting scenes of the American frontier that make it look positively apocalyptic. There is not a single scene I would cut; each is meticulously staged, superbly acted and well written. The oil-fire scene alone is worth watching the film for. The musical score by Radiohead’s Johnny Greenwood is one of the most successfully utilised scores I’ve heard in some time, perfectly underscoring the tensions on screen to near breaking point. The screenplay delves deep into the psyche of a man for whom there is no middle ground, using the camera and other characters to comment and highlight the workings of Plainview’s mind. What blessings that we should have two masterpieces (a term that I do not use lightly) so close to one another.
“There Will Be Blood” is long and tough but rewarding, presenting scenes of the American frontier that make it look positively apocalyptic. There is not a single scene I would cut; each is meticulously staged, superbly acted and well written. The oil-fire scene alone is worth watching the film for. The musical score by Radiohead’s Johnny Greenwood is one of the most successfully utilised scores I’ve heard in some time, perfectly underscoring the tensions on screen to near breaking point. The screenplay delves deep into the psyche of a man for whom there is no middle ground, using the camera and other characters to comment and highlight the workings of Plainview’s mind. What blessings that we should have two masterpieces (a term that I do not use lightly) so close to one another.
Big lizard
After much hype, viral marketing and clever secrecy by mastermind J.J. Abrams, I finally got around to watching “Cloverfield”, aka “Blair Witch Project” meets “The Host” meets “Godzilla” meets footage from 9/11. In Matt Reeves’s underwhelming film, we meet a host of characters during a farewell party for one of their members. Suddenly there’s a boom, the lights flicker, and the head of the Statue of Liberty lands in the street. We are involved in all this and ain all that follow because one of the partygoers had the good sense to keep recording events as they unfold, which means that we get QuesiCam footage of the destruction of Manhattan for almost an hour and a half.
“Cloverfield” opens with a tedious stretch (the party), delivers a few well realised, tense scenes (involving night vision and sudden death) and then ends. Thrown in is an unnecessary romance subplot. Regarding the camerawork, I must admit that, though I’ve never suffered from any motion sickness in any context, “Cloverfield”s shake, roll and twirl kinetics made even me quite nauseated. An interesting, yet ultimately failed catastrophe movie.
“Cloverfield” opens with a tedious stretch (the party), delivers a few well realised, tense scenes (involving night vision and sudden death) and then ends. Thrown in is an unnecessary romance subplot. Regarding the camerawork, I must admit that, though I’ve never suffered from any motion sickness in any context, “Cloverfield”s shake, roll and twirl kinetics made even me quite nauseated. An interesting, yet ultimately failed catastrophe movie.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Fourth blood
John Rambo, macho action hero and post-Vietnam icon, is alive and well in Thailand, having renounced his country of origin. He lumbers through the jungles, catching snakes and working iron for a living, until a group of Christian missionaries show up and ask him to take them up river into Burmese territory. At first, Rambo, who knows the heart of darkness, refuses; he tells them, “go home”. However, the pretty blonde (Julie Benz) convinces him that there may be goodness in the world still, and up the river they go. Of course, things go wrong for the missionaries, and Rambo needs to clean up the mess. We learn that Rambo can still use his bow and arrow, and that death is imminent for many.
As in the first film, Rambo is a conflicted man, uncertain still about his place in the world. He is as complex as a Rambo can be, which doesn’t say much. At least he’s more developed than the men of the Burmese military, who are without exception murderous, sadistic bastards. The worst of them is the shades-wearing, smoking (so he must be evil) general/commander/chief (I don’t know) with a penchant for young boys. I have a problem with movies using actual war crimes as springboards for spectacle-driven, mindless slaughter. Put this film next to Joffe’s “The Killing Fields” for some perspective. In a DVD extra feature, Stallone explains that the film raised awareness about the real situation in Myanmar (maybe it did, maybe it didn’t; would the fans care?); that doesn’t excuse the film from using that gruesome conflict for a cash-in on a two decade old franchise. Socio-political qualms aside, the film has lots of action and gore, but when all is said and done, barely 80 minutes have passed (in fact, I think it’s closer to 75 minutes) and, like one of Rambo’s numerous victims, you can’t help feeling that you’ve been done in.
As in the first film, Rambo is a conflicted man, uncertain still about his place in the world. He is as complex as a Rambo can be, which doesn’t say much. At least he’s more developed than the men of the Burmese military, who are without exception murderous, sadistic bastards. The worst of them is the shades-wearing, smoking (so he must be evil) general/commander/chief (I don’t know) with a penchant for young boys. I have a problem with movies using actual war crimes as springboards for spectacle-driven, mindless slaughter. Put this film next to Joffe’s “The Killing Fields” for some perspective. In a DVD extra feature, Stallone explains that the film raised awareness about the real situation in Myanmar (maybe it did, maybe it didn’t; would the fans care?); that doesn’t excuse the film from using that gruesome conflict for a cash-in on a two decade old franchise. Socio-political qualms aside, the film has lots of action and gore, but when all is said and done, barely 80 minutes have passed (in fact, I think it’s closer to 75 minutes) and, like one of Rambo’s numerous victims, you can’t help feeling that you’ve been done in.
Oozing, still moving
Robert Rodriquez’s “Planet Terror” is all you could hope for in a “Grindhouse”-style semi-apocalyptic zombie movie driven by wonderfully clichéd characters and a never-ending river of blood and pus. Released together with Tarantino’s “Death Proof”, which seemed to enjoy the most positive criticism, “Planet Terror” has a number of things going for it, most notably a stunning Rose McGowan (who also played the blonde victim in Stuntman Mike’s first ride in “Death Proof”). Her character, Cherry Darling, is a sexy, strong minded individual – considering this is a “Grindhouse” title – who loses a leg early on in the film. If you haven’t seen the trailers or posters for the film, then let it be said that Rodriquez’s use for her leftover stump is rather innovative. In addition to McGowan, Freddie Rodriquez makes a solid action hero (like in the ‘70s and ‘80s, he’s a hero with a past that few know of…) while Marley Shelton and Josh Brolin (who’s had a glorious time in cinema for the past two years) deliver able support.
The look of the film is pure Grindhouse: scratched prints; missing reels; colour bleeding across the whole film; and camerawork that adores the female frame, although Rodriquez’s lens is admittedly even fonder of the viscera splattering everywhere. “Planet Terror” has moments of true humour and horror that exist side by side with parody, pastiche and gore so exaggerated that it cannot be taken seriously for a second. I suspect that few South Africans are familiar with “Grindhouse” style movies, and I suspect that “Planet Terror” will win over few fans. Seeing that this “Grindhouse” endeavour by the Weinstein Company was a financial disaster, I further suspect that we won’t be seeing more of these, so we should enjoy what we have.
Note: there’s a trailer for a film called “Machete” before “Planet Terror” (“Our Feature Presentation”) begins, and oh, how I wished it could be this year’s actual “Grindhouse” release. The trailer is, of course, a faked trailer for a film that doesn’t exist. Note again: the single disc edition available in South Africa has only a handful of extra features. If time is limited but you really want to know how Rodriquez and his team created the visuals for “Planet Terror”, set aside the required time to watch the “10 Minute Film School” feature.
The look of the film is pure Grindhouse: scratched prints; missing reels; colour bleeding across the whole film; and camerawork that adores the female frame, although Rodriquez’s lens is admittedly even fonder of the viscera splattering everywhere. “Planet Terror” has moments of true humour and horror that exist side by side with parody, pastiche and gore so exaggerated that it cannot be taken seriously for a second. I suspect that few South Africans are familiar with “Grindhouse” style movies, and I suspect that “Planet Terror” will win over few fans. Seeing that this “Grindhouse” endeavour by the Weinstein Company was a financial disaster, I further suspect that we won’t be seeing more of these, so we should enjoy what we have.
Note: there’s a trailer for a film called “Machete” before “Planet Terror” (“Our Feature Presentation”) begins, and oh, how I wished it could be this year’s actual “Grindhouse” release. The trailer is, of course, a faked trailer for a film that doesn’t exist. Note again: the single disc edition available in South Africa has only a handful of extra features. If time is limited but you really want to know how Rodriquez and his team created the visuals for “Planet Terror”, set aside the required time to watch the “10 Minute Film School” feature.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Of reason and destruction
“The Dark Knight” plays like a gritty crime drama inspired by Scorsese and assembled to play like philosophy-as-spectacle. It works; this is a supremely well made film. Christian Bale returns as Batman, while Heath Ledger’s blood chilling Joker is a most formidable enemy. This is logic against chaos, order against anarchy, and caught up in it is Aaron Eckhart’s Harvey Dent, a so-called “white knight” District Attorney aiming to rid Gotham City (which is stunningly realised in this film) of its suspicious Mafia elements. Let it be said that Ledger is truly magnificent, but much credit should go to the character himself, possessing no history, no origin, but who possesses a very particular view of human nature and brilliantly exploits it. Everyone – Bale, Eckhart, Maggie Gyllenhaal’s Rachel, Morgan Freeman, Michael Caine and an award worthy Gary Oldman – is at their best. They take the film and its themes seriously (and whew, there are many themes addressed here) and so do we.
The film opens with a bank robbery and for the next 145 minutes, the film oscillates between character driven moments with some sharp dialogue and the sheer spectacle of the action sequences; regarding the latter, the “transportation sequence” across the dark streets of Gotham rates as the most well crafted, well edited action set piece since Michael Mann’s “Heat” set the standard in 1995. There is time for reflection on the thematic content of the film but the movie is so packed with characters and intertwined events that the full impact of the film’s intellectual dimension only really dawned on me when I was out of the theatre. This is an achievement: intelligent entertainment on an epic scale, followed by discussions on the movie stimulated by the movie that go beyond the design of the Batsuit. (A minor – minor – complaint is that the film is so kinetic that it’s almost overwhelming.)
“Batman Begins” revitalised the tired franchise thanks to a detailed view at the vigilante’s origin, in particular the character’s psychology. “The Dark Knight” devotes no time to background information; it heads into action with all its pieces in place. We know the blues-and-blacks of Gotham, we know the stalwart Gordon, and we know how things ended with Rachel. Now things get worse. Everything action has a reaction, and here it ends in destruction and death. “The Dark Knight” seems to work in absolutes, at least according to what the characters say. However, based on what we see the film itself suggests a world that’s far more grey than black or white.
The film opens with a bank robbery and for the next 145 minutes, the film oscillates between character driven moments with some sharp dialogue and the sheer spectacle of the action sequences; regarding the latter, the “transportation sequence” across the dark streets of Gotham rates as the most well crafted, well edited action set piece since Michael Mann’s “Heat” set the standard in 1995. There is time for reflection on the thematic content of the film but the movie is so packed with characters and intertwined events that the full impact of the film’s intellectual dimension only really dawned on me when I was out of the theatre. This is an achievement: intelligent entertainment on an epic scale, followed by discussions on the movie stimulated by the movie that go beyond the design of the Batsuit. (A minor – minor – complaint is that the film is so kinetic that it’s almost overwhelming.)
“Batman Begins” revitalised the tired franchise thanks to a detailed view at the vigilante’s origin, in particular the character’s psychology. “The Dark Knight” devotes no time to background information; it heads into action with all its pieces in place. We know the blues-and-blacks of Gotham, we know the stalwart Gordon, and we know how things ended with Rachel. Now things get worse. Everything action has a reaction, and here it ends in destruction and death. “The Dark Knight” seems to work in absolutes, at least according to what the characters say. However, based on what we see the film itself suggests a world that’s far more grey than black or white.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Full frontal classic?
Nagisa Oshima’s “Ai No Corrida” (“(In) The Realm of the Senses”) is a joyless, soulless and worst of all pointless film. Released in 1976, the film caused major controversy due to its graphic (even by today’s standards) depiction of sexual obsession. The narrative revolves around a prostitute who falls in lust with the brothel owner’s husband, and the two strike up quite the affair. To be sure, there’s barely a scene where the two of them aren’t indulging in some sexual pleasure (a relative term) or another. We learn that the events are set in 1936, but only at the film’s end, courtesy of an abrupt voice over. There’s a shot of the male character walking down the road as troops march past, but that’s it – he is no more oblivious to their presence than the film itself.
The film inspires a revisit of that classic debate, “is it erotica or porn”? Erotica is as subjective an experience as humour, and that usually ends the debate for me. However, I find it hard to believe that anyone could really make an argument for the film as a work of erotica. It’s not porn, I think; Oshima’s camera is too detached, too unconcerned with angles, to be seen as arousing in the way porn is supposed to be arousing. Yet this doesn’t mean that the film is erotic; it is far too cold and dead to be that. I’m not even sure if the film explores sexual obsession, as has been claimed. “Last Tango in Paris” did that, and successfully so (also in the ‘70s – what an era!) but “Ai No Corrida” seems more like an uninvolved, mechanistic recording of sexual acts that become increasingly dangerous/perverted/sublime (take your pick).
In the end, Oshima’s film amounts to little more than a historical curio for the cineaste to see what exactly had sent censors into a spin more than three decades ago. Once I’d seen it, I knew (it was probably the insertion of the egg into the vagina that clinched it), and was otherwise none the richer for it. Rape, mutilation, asphyxiation – is it supposed to be a social commentary? Yes? On what? Oshima’s so concerned with shots of erect penises (penii?) that by the time the film’s done, he’s all spent, with nothing else to show.
“Ai No Corrida”. Enter at own risk.
The film inspires a revisit of that classic debate, “is it erotica or porn”? Erotica is as subjective an experience as humour, and that usually ends the debate for me. However, I find it hard to believe that anyone could really make an argument for the film as a work of erotica. It’s not porn, I think; Oshima’s camera is too detached, too unconcerned with angles, to be seen as arousing in the way porn is supposed to be arousing. Yet this doesn’t mean that the film is erotic; it is far too cold and dead to be that. I’m not even sure if the film explores sexual obsession, as has been claimed. “Last Tango in Paris” did that, and successfully so (also in the ‘70s – what an era!) but “Ai No Corrida” seems more like an uninvolved, mechanistic recording of sexual acts that become increasingly dangerous/perverted/sublime (take your pick).
In the end, Oshima’s film amounts to little more than a historical curio for the cineaste to see what exactly had sent censors into a spin more than three decades ago. Once I’d seen it, I knew (it was probably the insertion of the egg into the vagina that clinched it), and was otherwise none the richer for it. Rape, mutilation, asphyxiation – is it supposed to be a social commentary? Yes? On what? Oshima’s so concerned with shots of erect penises (penii?) that by the time the film’s done, he’s all spent, with nothing else to show.
“Ai No Corrida”. Enter at own risk.
Wall-E
A delightful and profound Pixar film featuring a better story, characters and technology than its audiences deserve. It’s a stunning feat (few expected a dialogue-free opening act), both a touching love story (not a romance; there’s a difference) and a cautionary tale (not a warning; there’s a difference). Regardless of the film’s politics, it also simply succeeds as superlative craftsmanship, and is a more than worthy follow up to “Ratatouille”. We all benefit from the end result when Pixar decides to push the boundaries and twist a few cinematic conventions. I cannot wait for "Up".
Monday, July 21, 2008
Too many movies seen
Somehow during two days of vacation and almost two weeks of illness I managed to watch a few DVDs. I avoided the cinema as the school holiday was on and there's nothing worse than children in movies, if you ask me, except maybe adolescents. Here are capsule reviews of what I watched, with ratings out of ****.
Robert Zemeckis’s “Beowulf”
I finally managed to catch the much-hyped and disliked CGI epic on DVD. The motion capturing technology is not yet perfect, but I was, strangely, not alienated by that. Maybe it’s the astonishing visual design; maybe it’s the brutal, gripping story as skilfully adapted by Neil Gaiman and Roger Avary; I suspect I'm in the minority here, but I thought it was brilliant. (***½)
Wes Anderson’s “The Darjeeling Limited”
Whimsical yet quite profound tale of three brothers travelling through India on the titular train. Anderson’s is an acquired taste; even those who loved “Rushmore” often derided “The Life Aquatic”. Absolutely not for Adam Sandler fans. (***½)
Andrew Currie’s “Fido”
Instead of a dog, little Timmy here has a domesticated zombie (courtesy of a high-tech collar) that does his bidding in Currie’s failed attempt at satire. Set in the 1950s, the movie gets the look right for most part but the feel and the humor are left for dead. A wasted opportunity. Rather revisit “Shaun of the Dead”. (**)
Park Chan–wook’s “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance”
I’ve finally experienced the South Korean filmmaker’s lauded “Vengeance Trilogy” as a whole. Where “Oldboy” (part two) was the Greek tragedy and “Lady Vengeance” (part three) the female-driven exploration of collective capacities for violence, “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance” has all the visual power of those two films plus some haunting imagery laced with moral and ethical quandaries. (****)
Takeshi Miike’s “Zatoichi”
The Blind Swordsman, a popular figure from Japanese visual culture, is revamped by cult director/actor “Beat” Takeshi Kitano as a masseur who possesses great swordsmanship skills. A bit tonally uneven and cartoony, but with Miike involved that was obviously the point. (***)
Ben Affleck’s “Gone Baby Gone”
Gripping, character driven crime drama that exhibits great promise for Ben Affleck’s directorial career. Based on the novel of Dennis Lehane, Casey Affleck investigates the kidnapping of a young girl as he traverses one moral quandary after another. Superlative entertainment, and less self-conscious than the much-acclaimed other Lehane adaptation, “Mystic River”. (***½)
Michael Winterbottom’s “Tristam Shandy: A Cock & Bull Story”
A delightfully clever quasi-adaptation of Laurence Sterne’s “The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy” from one of Britain’s most versatile directors (Winterbottom has also directed “Road to Guantanamo”, “In This World” and the Chris Eccleston-Kate Winslet version of “Jude”, which remains a favourite of mine since first seen in high school). Actor Steve Coogan stars as the leading actor working on the above adaptation, and we are witness to both the ‘film’ as it is made and the ‘film’ about the film team making said film. (***½)
Gus van Sant’s “Elephant”
I think I ‘get’ “Elephant”. I ‘get’ Van Sant. Yet this guerrilla drama about the Columbine shooting is tedious on a visual, narrative and thematic level. I can understand the purpose of the structure – characters’ lives interweave over a single day as the film shows us the same event from up to three perspectives – but there’s not point to following a character walking down a corridor for 90 seconds just because the corridor takes that long to walk. And this won Cannes accolades? (**)
Henri Georg-Clouzot’s “The Wages of Fear”
Long termed a classic and much loved, this black and white suspense drama does not live up to its proclaimed status. The first 50 minutes of the film are painfully slow, highlighting character relationships in an almost amateur manner. When the suspense kicks in – four men must drive two trucks carrying nitrogen almost 300 miles – the film delivers only two scenes of real interest: one where the trucks need to manoeuvre dangerously and one where one of the trucks hits a pool of oil. For what it’s worth, the ending is perfect. But 2½ hours is far too long for this adventure to go on. (**)
Andrew Dominik’s “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford”
Roger Deakins’s cinematography is once again at its most magnificent in this visually opulent, overlong anti-Western. Casey Affleck owns the film as the titular coward, holding his own scene by scene against Brad Pitt’s enigmatic and flawed Jesse James. The film is introspective and demystifies the West as far as it goes, even including famed playwright Sam Shepard in its cast as a James brother. While some subplots seem rather unnecessary, if marginally interesting, the final half hour is utterly gripping. (***)
Neil Marshall’s “Dog Soldiers”
Before the superior “The Descent”, Marshall made this Brit-werewolf flick. Cliched and hammy at times, the film has a committed cast (they take it seriously, all this werewolf fighting and stuff) and a few surprises and genuine scares. Clearly low budget, the film turns out to be better than one would expect a B-horror to be. Nothing original, but a solid genre entry that’s at least visually more inventive than the usual fare. (**½)
Robert Zemeckis’s “Beowulf”
I finally managed to catch the much-hyped and disliked CGI epic on DVD. The motion capturing technology is not yet perfect, but I was, strangely, not alienated by that. Maybe it’s the astonishing visual design; maybe it’s the brutal, gripping story as skilfully adapted by Neil Gaiman and Roger Avary; I suspect I'm in the minority here, but I thought it was brilliant. (***½)
Wes Anderson’s “The Darjeeling Limited”
Whimsical yet quite profound tale of three brothers travelling through India on the titular train. Anderson’s is an acquired taste; even those who loved “Rushmore” often derided “The Life Aquatic”. Absolutely not for Adam Sandler fans. (***½)
Andrew Currie’s “Fido”
Instead of a dog, little Timmy here has a domesticated zombie (courtesy of a high-tech collar) that does his bidding in Currie’s failed attempt at satire. Set in the 1950s, the movie gets the look right for most part but the feel and the humor are left for dead. A wasted opportunity. Rather revisit “Shaun of the Dead”. (**)
Park Chan–wook’s “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance”
I’ve finally experienced the South Korean filmmaker’s lauded “Vengeance Trilogy” as a whole. Where “Oldboy” (part two) was the Greek tragedy and “Lady Vengeance” (part three) the female-driven exploration of collective capacities for violence, “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance” has all the visual power of those two films plus some haunting imagery laced with moral and ethical quandaries. (****)
Takeshi Miike’s “Zatoichi”
The Blind Swordsman, a popular figure from Japanese visual culture, is revamped by cult director/actor “Beat” Takeshi Kitano as a masseur who possesses great swordsmanship skills. A bit tonally uneven and cartoony, but with Miike involved that was obviously the point. (***)
Ben Affleck’s “Gone Baby Gone”
Gripping, character driven crime drama that exhibits great promise for Ben Affleck’s directorial career. Based on the novel of Dennis Lehane, Casey Affleck investigates the kidnapping of a young girl as he traverses one moral quandary after another. Superlative entertainment, and less self-conscious than the much-acclaimed other Lehane adaptation, “Mystic River”. (***½)
Michael Winterbottom’s “Tristam Shandy: A Cock & Bull Story”
A delightfully clever quasi-adaptation of Laurence Sterne’s “The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy” from one of Britain’s most versatile directors (Winterbottom has also directed “Road to Guantanamo”, “In This World” and the Chris Eccleston-Kate Winslet version of “Jude”, which remains a favourite of mine since first seen in high school). Actor Steve Coogan stars as the leading actor working on the above adaptation, and we are witness to both the ‘film’ as it is made and the ‘film’ about the film team making said film. (***½)
Gus van Sant’s “Elephant”
I think I ‘get’ “Elephant”. I ‘get’ Van Sant. Yet this guerrilla drama about the Columbine shooting is tedious on a visual, narrative and thematic level. I can understand the purpose of the structure – characters’ lives interweave over a single day as the film shows us the same event from up to three perspectives – but there’s not point to following a character walking down a corridor for 90 seconds just because the corridor takes that long to walk. And this won Cannes accolades? (**)
Henri Georg-Clouzot’s “The Wages of Fear”
Long termed a classic and much loved, this black and white suspense drama does not live up to its proclaimed status. The first 50 minutes of the film are painfully slow, highlighting character relationships in an almost amateur manner. When the suspense kicks in – four men must drive two trucks carrying nitrogen almost 300 miles – the film delivers only two scenes of real interest: one where the trucks need to manoeuvre dangerously and one where one of the trucks hits a pool of oil. For what it’s worth, the ending is perfect. But 2½ hours is far too long for this adventure to go on. (**)
Andrew Dominik’s “The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford”
Roger Deakins’s cinematography is once again at its most magnificent in this visually opulent, overlong anti-Western. Casey Affleck owns the film as the titular coward, holding his own scene by scene against Brad Pitt’s enigmatic and flawed Jesse James. The film is introspective and demystifies the West as far as it goes, even including famed playwright Sam Shepard in its cast as a James brother. While some subplots seem rather unnecessary, if marginally interesting, the final half hour is utterly gripping. (***)
Neil Marshall’s “Dog Soldiers”
Before the superior “The Descent”, Marshall made this Brit-werewolf flick. Cliched and hammy at times, the film has a committed cast (they take it seriously, all this werewolf fighting and stuff) and a few surprises and genuine scares. Clearly low budget, the film turns out to be better than one would expect a B-horror to be. Nothing original, but a solid genre entry that’s at least visually more inventive than the usual fare. (**½)
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
RIP Stan Winston
Visual effects pioneer Stan Winston passed away on 15 June 2008. His legacy includes the f/x designs for "The Terminator", "Jurassic Park", both "Alien" and "Predator", and even the hillbillies of "Wrong Turn". His most recent work was on the superlative "Iron Man".
Night and the Non-event
I am intimately familiar with the films of M. Night Shyamalan, and with the people who populate them. From “The Sixth Sense” to the sombre “Unbreakable”, the apocalyptic “Signs” and riveting “Village” (apologies for the adjective overload), he’d carved himself a niche as nouveau thriller director with a penchant for attractive mise-en-scene. His heroes are always multidimensional, dark and even despairing men who embark on spiritual journeys via the narratives. Even “Lady in the Water”, his much despised (not by me) fairy tale that almost brought an end to his career, if certain commentators can be believed, is far better than one would expect. (It features another strong performance by Paul Giamatti as well as a wonderfully innovative closing shot filmed in water.) Yet here we have “The Happening”, a film that fails as both a thriller and as a Shyamalan film.
I will assume that you have seen the film. I guess I could post a spoiler warning, but there’s nothing to spoil, really. “The Happening” is the non-event of the year, to cite Leon van Nierop. The film opens with some well rendered shots of dynamic cloud formations. Once the credits are done with (“Written, produced and directed by M. Night Shyamalan”) we see the first of the suicides as a young woman reading a book she’s not that interested in takes her hairpin and proceeds to stab herself through the neck. A policeman shoots himself in the head. Men fling themselves from the roof of a building. We meet Mark Wahlberg’s character, Elliot, who is as bland a protagonist as one can get, who has trouble with his wife Alma (Zooey Deschanel, who has never been worse despite her icy blue eyed stares). They realise that something’s wrong; the television news informs them and us that some kind of airborne toxin has been used in a terrorist attack. So far, so so-so. This is the first act of the film.
The second act has the main characters flee from the threat (where to?) as they ponder why and how ‘the event’ could’ve occurred. A kooky character (Horace from “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman”) is there to supply an answer: it’s the plants, you see, who are giving humans some of our own medicine. We destroy the planet, so they take violent steps against us. Their poison is in the grass, the trees, and the flowers and in those tasty smoothies served art Kuai. We see people running through grass. The film dispatches some of them in rather shocking ways (the most violent yet in a Shyamalan film). The third act has the survivors hole up with a batty old lady (Betty Buckely) who seems like she’s walked into the wrong movie, having gotten lost on her way to the “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” audition. Cue more frowning (Wahlberg) and staring (Deschanel). The lady’s house has an outbuilding used as a slave house. There is a pipe that carries crystal clear sound between these buildings. The only reason this house has a slave house and that sound pipe is so that Shyamalan can set up a supposedly dramatic reunion of sorts between key characters. These scenes are similar to other Shyamalan movies where the sense of climax is so strong it practically has you by the throat.
Then the movie ends. Nothing happens to, with or between the characters and there’s a fade to black. Fade-in: the characters again, now one big happy family. We’ve been warned, intones a scientist on a nearby TV; we’d better take care of our planet or who knows what it could do to us next? I envision trees grabbing pedestrians a la “Evil Dead”, Whomping Willows bashing men senseless and sharp blades of grass cutting joggers’ feet. Then, just as we think humanity’s safe, the film cuts to Paris, where the next ‘event’ is about to being. End of film at a quite brisk 90 minutes.
“The Happening” has some solid death scenes, but doesn’t this simply make it Shyamalan’s “Final Destination 4: Planet Terror”? I kept waiting to see, perversely, how characters would be killed off. There’s tension at the beginning, but shot after shot of ominous leave-rustling and dangerous-looking grass-swaying accomplish little in the end, where things culminate in a whimper instead of a bang. A key element missing here is the emotional punch of the previous films related to the hero’s psychological maturation throughout the film. In Shyamalan’s earlier films, the plot comes together at the moment that the hero actualises his psychological ‘whole’. (This is not necessarily dependent on a ‘twist’, as “Lady in the Water” proved.) In “The Happening”, Wahlberg barely registers as a character, let alone a hero. Such an underwritten protagonist cannot be expected to anchor the film, even though Walhberg tries his best. In a supporting role, John Leguizamo is effective as a colleague of Elliot’s, but he doesn’t last long.
A few well crafted scenes and shots do not make a good film, particularly not if the screenplay isn’t effective at sustaining tension or if it contains hammy, forced dialogue or if it contains no surprises whatsoever. This is the first misfire from Shyamalan. It is said that all great directors make at least one really bad movie in their careers, and in that sense, there’s hope for the writer-director yet.
I will assume that you have seen the film. I guess I could post a spoiler warning, but there’s nothing to spoil, really. “The Happening” is the non-event of the year, to cite Leon van Nierop. The film opens with some well rendered shots of dynamic cloud formations. Once the credits are done with (“Written, produced and directed by M. Night Shyamalan”) we see the first of the suicides as a young woman reading a book she’s not that interested in takes her hairpin and proceeds to stab herself through the neck. A policeman shoots himself in the head. Men fling themselves from the roof of a building. We meet Mark Wahlberg’s character, Elliot, who is as bland a protagonist as one can get, who has trouble with his wife Alma (Zooey Deschanel, who has never been worse despite her icy blue eyed stares). They realise that something’s wrong; the television news informs them and us that some kind of airborne toxin has been used in a terrorist attack. So far, so so-so. This is the first act of the film.
The second act has the main characters flee from the threat (where to?) as they ponder why and how ‘the event’ could’ve occurred. A kooky character (Horace from “Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman”) is there to supply an answer: it’s the plants, you see, who are giving humans some of our own medicine. We destroy the planet, so they take violent steps against us. Their poison is in the grass, the trees, and the flowers and in those tasty smoothies served art Kuai. We see people running through grass. The film dispatches some of them in rather shocking ways (the most violent yet in a Shyamalan film). The third act has the survivors hole up with a batty old lady (Betty Buckely) who seems like she’s walked into the wrong movie, having gotten lost on her way to the “Texas Chainsaw Massacre” audition. Cue more frowning (Wahlberg) and staring (Deschanel). The lady’s house has an outbuilding used as a slave house. There is a pipe that carries crystal clear sound between these buildings. The only reason this house has a slave house and that sound pipe is so that Shyamalan can set up a supposedly dramatic reunion of sorts between key characters. These scenes are similar to other Shyamalan movies where the sense of climax is so strong it practically has you by the throat.
Then the movie ends. Nothing happens to, with or between the characters and there’s a fade to black. Fade-in: the characters again, now one big happy family. We’ve been warned, intones a scientist on a nearby TV; we’d better take care of our planet or who knows what it could do to us next? I envision trees grabbing pedestrians a la “Evil Dead”, Whomping Willows bashing men senseless and sharp blades of grass cutting joggers’ feet. Then, just as we think humanity’s safe, the film cuts to Paris, where the next ‘event’ is about to being. End of film at a quite brisk 90 minutes.
“The Happening” has some solid death scenes, but doesn’t this simply make it Shyamalan’s “Final Destination 4: Planet Terror”? I kept waiting to see, perversely, how characters would be killed off. There’s tension at the beginning, but shot after shot of ominous leave-rustling and dangerous-looking grass-swaying accomplish little in the end, where things culminate in a whimper instead of a bang. A key element missing here is the emotional punch of the previous films related to the hero’s psychological maturation throughout the film. In Shyamalan’s earlier films, the plot comes together at the moment that the hero actualises his psychological ‘whole’. (This is not necessarily dependent on a ‘twist’, as “Lady in the Water” proved.) In “The Happening”, Wahlberg barely registers as a character, let alone a hero. Such an underwritten protagonist cannot be expected to anchor the film, even though Walhberg tries his best. In a supporting role, John Leguizamo is effective as a colleague of Elliot’s, but he doesn’t last long.
A few well crafted scenes and shots do not make a good film, particularly not if the screenplay isn’t effective at sustaining tension or if it contains hammy, forced dialogue or if it contains no surprises whatsoever. This is the first misfire from Shyamalan. It is said that all great directors make at least one really bad movie in their careers, and in that sense, there’s hope for the writer-director yet.
An American Hero for the Now
Jon Favreau’s supremely entertaining “Iron Man” is better than that type of film deserves to be. Instead of big and bloated with more villains than it can handle, the film is more introspective and sensitive, though not in the cringe-inducing Ang Lee “Hulk” kind of way. Much of the film’s success comes down to Robert Downey Jr’s performance as arrogant weaponmonger-cum-metal clad lawbringer Tony Stark, the titular hero. Kudos to both Gwyneth Paltrow’s Pepper, who is supposed to be some kind of love interest and in a lesser movie would have been Mary Jane 2.0, and the great Lebowski himself, Jeff Bridges, who gives filmdom one of the finest, most feasibly human villains yet, Obediah Stane.
It being an origins story, “Iron Man” contains less action than one might expect, but this simply sharpens the film’s focus more onto its characters and developing their relationships. Much has been made of the film’s anti-weapon statements, yet “Iron Man” remains first and foremost a proud comic book hero movie that takes itself seriously. It deserves to join “Batman Begins”, “X2” and “Hellboy” as the best of the batch. Unsurprisingly, a sequel is already in the pipeline.
It being an origins story, “Iron Man” contains less action than one might expect, but this simply sharpens the film’s focus more onto its characters and developing their relationships. Much has been made of the film’s anti-weapon statements, yet “Iron Man” remains first and foremost a proud comic book hero movie that takes itself seriously. It deserves to join “Batman Begins”, “X2” and “Hellboy” as the best of the batch. Unsurprisingly, a sequel is already in the pipeline.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Sex and the Shitty?
Yes, that's a bad pun, but the "Sex and the City" movie - unseen by me, and so it will stay - seems to deserve nothing less. James Berardinelli claims that the film's funniest scene is a now famous stomach-incident. That this is the funniest scene is a new low for films directed at women. Jim Emerson has fuelled my anti-"SatC", anti-materialist fury with his recent post available at http://blogs.suntimes.com/scanners/2008/06/sex_and_the_city_girls_do_poop.html.
Emerson does a good job of placing the film in the context it deserves, which is scatalogical adolescent entertainment. Says Emerson:
"I don't know any women (grown-up or otherwise) who liked the show or plan to see the movie. At least they're not telling me about it".
I cannot say the same.
And Emerson, to my joy, also addresses the "fashion" that the show and now the movie are renowned for:
"[T]ake a look at that hilarious 'flower' Sarah Jessica Parker is wearing ... Not unlike one of those enormous 'power bows' attached to the front of polyester business suits worn by Dress For Success career women in the 1980s."
There you have it. Thanks Jim.
Emerson does a good job of placing the film in the context it deserves, which is scatalogical adolescent entertainment. Says Emerson:
"I don't know any women (grown-up or otherwise) who liked the show or plan to see the movie. At least they're not telling me about it".
I cannot say the same.
And Emerson, to my joy, also addresses the "fashion" that the show and now the movie are renowned for:
"[T]ake a look at that hilarious 'flower' Sarah Jessica Parker is wearing ... Not unlike one of those enormous 'power bows' attached to the front of polyester business suits worn by Dress For Success career women in the 1980s."
There you have it. Thanks Jim.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
There’s a whip and a fedora, and a crystal skull
Warning: spoilers follow.
I watched “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” yesterday for the first time. I was unable to avoid a certain amount of spoilers beforehand, and I knew that some saw the film's box office performance as disappointing (these people need to have their credentials checked) and that many others were disappointed in the film itself. Then again, many critics loved it.
I didn’t go into the cinema completely unbiased. Yet, disappointment with any over hyped film, such as this one, is inevitable for many people and shouldn’t influence one’s own judgment. George Lucas experienced mass fan disappointment first hand with especially “The Phantom Menace”, though for me it was “Attack of the Clones” that was the series’ nadir. To say that “Indy 4”has disappointed some people is an accurate statement and an inevitable one. To say that one was disappointed by the film is not criticism and is rather meaningless in itself.
However, to say that “Indy 4”betrayed itself, well, that’s a different, more valid route. That is my point of departure for the following discussion of the film.
Spielberg, whom I hold in almost unequalled respect and admiration as an American filmmaker, managed to make the film too Spielbergian and not ‘Indy’ enough. Sure, the iconography is present – whip, fedora, by-the-numbers villains – and the iconic soundtrack is used to rousing effect. The first two thirds of the film is vintage Indy, with the good doctor fleeing Russians and encountering one of the great American dangers of the 1950s. The character has grown older and moved on with the times, as has the series itself, eschewing a nostalgia-themed opening (see “Temple of Doom”) for something quite political. In this opening scene I realized that the laws of physics, which have never been taken seriously by the Indy franchise, were completely dismissed by the fourth entry. Not a problem; this is after all, an Indiana Jones movie. And to the film’s credit, Indy is in almost every scene, delivering more trademark dry one-liners and pulling off breathtaking stunts. Harrison Ford once more gives us a solid, old-fashioned action hero whom we want to believe in.
Then Indy meets a young man, Mutt, played by Shia LeBeouf, and the two set off on an adventure that sends them to South America, where a ghost from the past shows up unexpectedly (unexpectedly, that is, if you haven’t seen the trailer or been online for the past year). There are some excellent series moments set in Peru before the film collapses into itself thanks to something that only the Spielberg-Lucas teaming can be responsible for: an alien conspiracy theory. All those stories about alien beings handing down knowledge to certain South American civilizations long gone turn out to be true. Spielberg and Lucas have been responsible for the key SF films of our time, and they just couldn’t resist making an Indy adventure film another one of those. There’s a great reference to “Raiders of the Lost Ark” early in “Indy 4”, in retrospect setting the film up to fail from the get go. No alien ship breaking free from a mountain with Indy looking on passively could ever be as impressive as people melting in the presence of the open Ark of the Covenant, escaping the Thuggees, or traversing multiple traps to get to the Holy Grail.
There is no reason why the big finale had to involve aliens, and why, as a result, the main villain – a perfectly cheesy Cate Blanchett as Russian psychic researcher and soldier (try saying that without grinning) – is dispatched with in such an unspectacular manner. The alien narrative, to me, unfolds upon the viewer like a saucer-shaped sellout, a last option, a big reveal that falls flat. (To put it into perspective, when that ‘alien knowledge-scene’ played out I inadvertently thought of “Mission to Mars”. Yes, “Mission to Mars”.)
I need to be clear that my complaints don’t come from the fact that the film isn’t “my” Indy movie, the one I’d like to have made or seen, but from a critique of the actual film as part of a ridiculously enjoyable, well crafted series of pulp-fuelled adventure films. So what worked in the film? The Indy-Mutt combination. Regarding Mutt’s entrance, I will fondly remember the Brando-reference when I revisit the film on DVD. The opening action set piece and the chase sequence in the city both got me to lean forward. (The chase that ends in the university library and the dialogue that follows, is a highlight.) Actually, a lot of everything worked until the ‘real meaning’ of the Crystal Skull kicked in, even though the film stole visually from “Last Crusade”.
What didn’t work? The alien narrative, as should be clear. Brendan Gleeson’s semi-sidekick, who is made out of British cardboard. John Hurt’s Oxley, whose dementia disappears inexplicably, even in terms of Indy movie-causality. I’m not complaining about the dodgy forest effects because dodgy visual effects, particularly rear projection visuals, are a staple of the Indy movies and just add to the fun, even here. And when the effects are good, they’re great, as in the ‘attack of the ants’ sequence. Undermining all the fun is the alien skull.
When I watch the film again, I’ll watch it knowing that it all comes to an inglorious, vapid end, with little to look forward to, something ripped off of both “Raiders” and “Last Crusade” but not nearly as potent. This isn’t just the weakest film of the four; it’s also a personal low for Spielberg, who should have known better. It’s a fine adventure film, but as an Indy film “Crystal Skull” is deeply flawed. As the film ends, Indy says something about “their treasure was knowledge”, thereby highlighting the film’s MacGuffin-defying plot device, and I thought, “Bollocks”. I suppose one can read the whole alien thing as Spielberg’s homage to the SF films of the 1950s (the saucer seems to fit the design) but that will again simply emphasise the lack of real ideas that the final 30 minutes of this film spurts out.
The authorative Roger Ebert writes in his review, “I can say that if you liked the other Indiana Jones movies, you will like this one, and that if you did not, there is no talking to you. And I can also say that a critic trying to place it into a hierarchy with the others would probably keep a straight face while recommending the second pound of sausage.“ I agree. Even with all its faults, “Indy 4” is impossible not to like. And no-one talks about “Indy” in terms of the “best”, but rather in terms of personal favourites. It is now certain that “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” is not my favourite.
I watched “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” yesterday for the first time. I was unable to avoid a certain amount of spoilers beforehand, and I knew that some saw the film's box office performance as disappointing (these people need to have their credentials checked) and that many others were disappointed in the film itself. Then again, many critics loved it.
I didn’t go into the cinema completely unbiased. Yet, disappointment with any over hyped film, such as this one, is inevitable for many people and shouldn’t influence one’s own judgment. George Lucas experienced mass fan disappointment first hand with especially “The Phantom Menace”, though for me it was “Attack of the Clones” that was the series’ nadir. To say that “Indy 4”has disappointed some people is an accurate statement and an inevitable one. To say that one was disappointed by the film is not criticism and is rather meaningless in itself.
However, to say that “Indy 4”betrayed itself, well, that’s a different, more valid route. That is my point of departure for the following discussion of the film.
Spielberg, whom I hold in almost unequalled respect and admiration as an American filmmaker, managed to make the film too Spielbergian and not ‘Indy’ enough. Sure, the iconography is present – whip, fedora, by-the-numbers villains – and the iconic soundtrack is used to rousing effect. The first two thirds of the film is vintage Indy, with the good doctor fleeing Russians and encountering one of the great American dangers of the 1950s. The character has grown older and moved on with the times, as has the series itself, eschewing a nostalgia-themed opening (see “Temple of Doom”) for something quite political. In this opening scene I realized that the laws of physics, which have never been taken seriously by the Indy franchise, were completely dismissed by the fourth entry. Not a problem; this is after all, an Indiana Jones movie. And to the film’s credit, Indy is in almost every scene, delivering more trademark dry one-liners and pulling off breathtaking stunts. Harrison Ford once more gives us a solid, old-fashioned action hero whom we want to believe in.
Then Indy meets a young man, Mutt, played by Shia LeBeouf, and the two set off on an adventure that sends them to South America, where a ghost from the past shows up unexpectedly (unexpectedly, that is, if you haven’t seen the trailer or been online for the past year). There are some excellent series moments set in Peru before the film collapses into itself thanks to something that only the Spielberg-Lucas teaming can be responsible for: an alien conspiracy theory. All those stories about alien beings handing down knowledge to certain South American civilizations long gone turn out to be true. Spielberg and Lucas have been responsible for the key SF films of our time, and they just couldn’t resist making an Indy adventure film another one of those. There’s a great reference to “Raiders of the Lost Ark” early in “Indy 4”, in retrospect setting the film up to fail from the get go. No alien ship breaking free from a mountain with Indy looking on passively could ever be as impressive as people melting in the presence of the open Ark of the Covenant, escaping the Thuggees, or traversing multiple traps to get to the Holy Grail.
There is no reason why the big finale had to involve aliens, and why, as a result, the main villain – a perfectly cheesy Cate Blanchett as Russian psychic researcher and soldier (try saying that without grinning) – is dispatched with in such an unspectacular manner. The alien narrative, to me, unfolds upon the viewer like a saucer-shaped sellout, a last option, a big reveal that falls flat. (To put it into perspective, when that ‘alien knowledge-scene’ played out I inadvertently thought of “Mission to Mars”. Yes, “Mission to Mars”.)
I need to be clear that my complaints don’t come from the fact that the film isn’t “my” Indy movie, the one I’d like to have made or seen, but from a critique of the actual film as part of a ridiculously enjoyable, well crafted series of pulp-fuelled adventure films. So what worked in the film? The Indy-Mutt combination. Regarding Mutt’s entrance, I will fondly remember the Brando-reference when I revisit the film on DVD. The opening action set piece and the chase sequence in the city both got me to lean forward. (The chase that ends in the university library and the dialogue that follows, is a highlight.) Actually, a lot of everything worked until the ‘real meaning’ of the Crystal Skull kicked in, even though the film stole visually from “Last Crusade”.
What didn’t work? The alien narrative, as should be clear. Brendan Gleeson’s semi-sidekick, who is made out of British cardboard. John Hurt’s Oxley, whose dementia disappears inexplicably, even in terms of Indy movie-causality. I’m not complaining about the dodgy forest effects because dodgy visual effects, particularly rear projection visuals, are a staple of the Indy movies and just add to the fun, even here. And when the effects are good, they’re great, as in the ‘attack of the ants’ sequence. Undermining all the fun is the alien skull.
When I watch the film again, I’ll watch it knowing that it all comes to an inglorious, vapid end, with little to look forward to, something ripped off of both “Raiders” and “Last Crusade” but not nearly as potent. This isn’t just the weakest film of the four; it’s also a personal low for Spielberg, who should have known better. It’s a fine adventure film, but as an Indy film “Crystal Skull” is deeply flawed. As the film ends, Indy says something about “their treasure was knowledge”, thereby highlighting the film’s MacGuffin-defying plot device, and I thought, “Bollocks”. I suppose one can read the whole alien thing as Spielberg’s homage to the SF films of the 1950s (the saucer seems to fit the design) but that will again simply emphasise the lack of real ideas that the final 30 minutes of this film spurts out.
The authorative Roger Ebert writes in his review, “I can say that if you liked the other Indiana Jones movies, you will like this one, and that if you did not, there is no talking to you. And I can also say that a critic trying to place it into a hierarchy with the others would probably keep a straight face while recommending the second pound of sausage.“ I agree. Even with all its faults, “Indy 4” is impossible not to like. And no-one talks about “Indy” in terms of the “best”, but rather in terms of personal favourites. It is now certain that “Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull” is not my favourite.
Call it, friendo
The Coen brothers’ much lauded “No Country for Old Men” (“NCFOM”), finally seen by me only after having read Cormac McCarthy’s novel “The Road”, is a stunning piece of filmmaking. It’s difficult to talk about the movie in the traditional review format – who made it and why, what the basic plot mechanisms are, who plays who, and so on. Rather, I’ll make a few observations on what the film is and how it is and probably leave it at that for the time being.
Javier Bardem may have won the Oscar, deservedly so, for his portrayal of Chigurgh, but everyone in this film is in top form. Tommy Lee Jones as the sheriff, Ed Tom Bell (a perfect name for an American lawman, if you ask me); Josh Brolin as Moss, who finds a case of money in the aftermath of a drug-related bloodbath. There are smaller yet vitally important performances: Kelly Macdonald, who plays Mrs. Moss, seems rather simple at the outset, yet she is the one who resists Chigurgh’s sense of order; Barry Corbin, nearly unrecognizable, shows up late in the film as an acquaintance of Bell’s whose dialogue brings together some important thematic strands in a grand way; Woody Harrelson as the corporate fixer-of-sorts who has seen Chigurgh and lived but also knows that, as the movie keeps reminding us, “you can’t stop what’s coming”.
Chigurgh.
Age.
Death.
From its opening shots – a beautiful arrangement courtesy of Roger Deakins – “NCFOM” has an air of menace that is almost breathable. How apt that it’s Bell’s narration that opens the film, and brings everything to an end as well, functioning as a solid yet fluid bookending. Chigurgh, who is said by some to be the film’s villain, kills his first victim barely five minutes in. Many more die, and you realise that any character can face death at any moment in the film. There is a scene, one of the film’s best, one of the year’s best, between Chigurgh and a gas station manager that tells us all we need to know about Chigurgh and the constant negotiation between life and death that makes up human existence.
With this in mind, Jim Emerson has loosely referred to “NCFOM” as an “existentialist thriller”, but he and other critics acknowledge that you cannot squeeze the movie into a genre, label it and put it away. What may seem to be a crime thriller, straight and simple, is a complex treatment of existence and fate – everything is a coin toss, every decision has an unavoidable outcome. All the characters come to know this. And it is further problematic to label the characters, too, since none of them fit a certain stereotype. Bell is not a typical policeman; he’s contemplative, reflective, and knows what’s in store for him (see the clever showdown set-up for a showdown that never happens close to the film’s end).
Bell does have a strong sense of justice, but then so does Chigurgh, who is a rather moral character and who is the most potent screen psychopath since Frank Boothe donned an oxygen mask in “Blue Velvet” in 1986. Yes, I purposefully omit the eponymous dr. Lecter; Hannibal has nothing on Chigurgh. Lecter you can analyse, you can find motives in his past and future that drive him (see the lesser prequels), you can even use his intellect to direct an investigation. You cannot do any of that with Chigurgh because you can’t and don’t understand Chigurgh. He doesn’t have the audience-friendly traits that we’ve come to associate with movie killers in the post-Lecter era. Depending on who you agree with, Chigurgh is (a) Death, (b) a supernatural force such as a ghost, (c) a living, breathing psychopath who has come to be (or was born) pure evil, or (d) all of the above.
Isn’t Moss the main character of the film? To an extent yes, but mostly as an example of what happens when you try to avoid “what’s coming” before he disappears. The relationship between Moss, who makes an active decision and then attempts to deny the consequences, Bell and Chigurgh, is what mainly constitutes the philosophical frame of the film.
The characters, themes and philosophy of “NCFOM” may come from McCarthy’s prose, but the Coen brothers make the text their own by giving it powerful visual life. These are master craftsmen at work. We have witnessed their talents over a variety of films, many of which are cult classics – the pacifist-bowling comedy “The Big Lebowski”, the men of constant sorrow in the hilarious “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”, the blood-soaked snowscapes of “Fargo”. But the brothers have usually been best working with more somber material – witness the ‘mobster drama’ “Miller’s Crossing”. “NCFOM” is a crowning achievement coming after so much work. The visual motifs alone in this film are worth a dozen discussions – the coin(s), doors (exits/entrances), invasions, feet (of dead men, of live men, of wounded men); there is so much blood in the film (though never gratuitous) that it too becomes a visual metaphor for life, death, loss, waste and taint. Jim Emerson and his perceptive readers have discussed the above sufficiently.
“NCFOM” brings much to the table worthy of discussion, which alone makes it worth seeing. At the risk of sounding clichéd, it’s an experience not easily shaken and demanding multiple viewings. Many films, good and bad, have dealt with similar themes before, but seldom with such perfect timing, performances, writing and execution, and seldom in such rich, elegiac form.
Javier Bardem may have won the Oscar, deservedly so, for his portrayal of Chigurgh, but everyone in this film is in top form. Tommy Lee Jones as the sheriff, Ed Tom Bell (a perfect name for an American lawman, if you ask me); Josh Brolin as Moss, who finds a case of money in the aftermath of a drug-related bloodbath. There are smaller yet vitally important performances: Kelly Macdonald, who plays Mrs. Moss, seems rather simple at the outset, yet she is the one who resists Chigurgh’s sense of order; Barry Corbin, nearly unrecognizable, shows up late in the film as an acquaintance of Bell’s whose dialogue brings together some important thematic strands in a grand way; Woody Harrelson as the corporate fixer-of-sorts who has seen Chigurgh and lived but also knows that, as the movie keeps reminding us, “you can’t stop what’s coming”.
Chigurgh.
Age.
Death.
From its opening shots – a beautiful arrangement courtesy of Roger Deakins – “NCFOM” has an air of menace that is almost breathable. How apt that it’s Bell’s narration that opens the film, and brings everything to an end as well, functioning as a solid yet fluid bookending. Chigurgh, who is said by some to be the film’s villain, kills his first victim barely five minutes in. Many more die, and you realise that any character can face death at any moment in the film. There is a scene, one of the film’s best, one of the year’s best, between Chigurgh and a gas station manager that tells us all we need to know about Chigurgh and the constant negotiation between life and death that makes up human existence.
With this in mind, Jim Emerson has loosely referred to “NCFOM” as an “existentialist thriller”, but he and other critics acknowledge that you cannot squeeze the movie into a genre, label it and put it away. What may seem to be a crime thriller, straight and simple, is a complex treatment of existence and fate – everything is a coin toss, every decision has an unavoidable outcome. All the characters come to know this. And it is further problematic to label the characters, too, since none of them fit a certain stereotype. Bell is not a typical policeman; he’s contemplative, reflective, and knows what’s in store for him (see the clever showdown set-up for a showdown that never happens close to the film’s end).
Bell does have a strong sense of justice, but then so does Chigurgh, who is a rather moral character and who is the most potent screen psychopath since Frank Boothe donned an oxygen mask in “Blue Velvet” in 1986. Yes, I purposefully omit the eponymous dr. Lecter; Hannibal has nothing on Chigurgh. Lecter you can analyse, you can find motives in his past and future that drive him (see the lesser prequels), you can even use his intellect to direct an investigation. You cannot do any of that with Chigurgh because you can’t and don’t understand Chigurgh. He doesn’t have the audience-friendly traits that we’ve come to associate with movie killers in the post-Lecter era. Depending on who you agree with, Chigurgh is (a) Death, (b) a supernatural force such as a ghost, (c) a living, breathing psychopath who has come to be (or was born) pure evil, or (d) all of the above.
Isn’t Moss the main character of the film? To an extent yes, but mostly as an example of what happens when you try to avoid “what’s coming” before he disappears. The relationship between Moss, who makes an active decision and then attempts to deny the consequences, Bell and Chigurgh, is what mainly constitutes the philosophical frame of the film.
The characters, themes and philosophy of “NCFOM” may come from McCarthy’s prose, but the Coen brothers make the text their own by giving it powerful visual life. These are master craftsmen at work. We have witnessed their talents over a variety of films, many of which are cult classics – the pacifist-bowling comedy “The Big Lebowski”, the men of constant sorrow in the hilarious “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”, the blood-soaked snowscapes of “Fargo”. But the brothers have usually been best working with more somber material – witness the ‘mobster drama’ “Miller’s Crossing”. “NCFOM” is a crowning achievement coming after so much work. The visual motifs alone in this film are worth a dozen discussions – the coin(s), doors (exits/entrances), invasions, feet (of dead men, of live men, of wounded men); there is so much blood in the film (though never gratuitous) that it too becomes a visual metaphor for life, death, loss, waste and taint. Jim Emerson and his perceptive readers have discussed the above sufficiently.
“NCFOM” brings much to the table worthy of discussion, which alone makes it worth seeing. At the risk of sounding clichéd, it’s an experience not easily shaken and demanding multiple viewings. Many films, good and bad, have dealt with similar themes before, but seldom with such perfect timing, performances, writing and execution, and seldom in such rich, elegiac form.
Each of them an expert
Views on the value of film critics and their reviews differ, naturally; some people don’t read critics at all (bad idea), some read reviews after seeing the film (good idea, especially when you find that you violently disagree with Critic X’s complete drubbing of “A.I.”) and some read reviews before seeing the movie (sometimes ok, but mainly so if you don’t plan on seeing the film). Some only look at the point scale as indicated by a point out of 10 or on a four star scale. Often people who actually read the reviews don’t read the whole text but only the opening and closing paragraphs to get the gist of the review.
My main gripe is, at least for the moment, with those who don’t read critics at all. It is mainly the attitudes and motivations of those people that I’d like to take a brief look at. “Who cares what a critic has to say?” these people might ask when prompted as to why they don’t bother reading reviews. People seem to think that, because they can watch a movie just like anyone else, and everyone ends up seeing the same film, their opinion is set in gold and topped with Nubian rubies. According to this view, a splinter of that rather annoying thing called relativism, is that dope-smoking, binge-drinker Joe-Bob’s views on Coppola’s latest are as valid as the views of esteemed “Time” critic Richard Schickel on the same film.
“My opinion is true”, says Joe-Bob, wiping some spittle off of his chin, “because it is true for me.” For me. That’s just not good enough. This “It’s true for me/ it works for me”–view is the view of the Ignorant. How else to explain the moderate success of some recent mediocre titles such as “Sydney White and the Seven Dorks”? I’m not saying that “Sydney White” should be judged and deemed an awful film by everyone who sees it; my point is that the opinion of the Joe-Bobs of the world is, most of the time, uncritical, uninformed and inadequately motivated. By those standards, Joe-Bob, you are a misguided self-deluded fool. (Disclaimer: my use of the name Joe-Bob is meant to exclude any reference to that truly entertaining and informed critic of drive-in cinema, Mr. Joe–Bob Briggs, whose views on splatter and schlock cinema have enriched pop culture appreciation for some time.)
The notion that everyone’s a critic has become a horribly twisted line that seems to suggest to the viewer that s/he can say anything and it’ll be valid – if you can think it, you can say/write it, and therefore it’s valid. It’s not. Consider the medical doctor. The doctor studies for seven straight years to enable him (I’m dropping the gender-neutral stuff from now on) to give you the best possible view on what might be wrong with you, seeing as your stomach hurts. You disagree with the professional diagnosis – that you have an acute stomach lining infection – but you take the prescribed medicine and enjoy two days’ bed rest. After two days, you feel better. Notice how, although you disagreed with the diagnosis – you thought that it was the funky sushi that had simply upset your bowels – the doctor’s assessment was far more valid than your own. His diagnosis was informed and motivated by a sensible argument, while yours was not. You simply reacted to the fact that you didn’t like the stomach pain, i.e. you didn’t enjoy it. The doctor was the one, however, to correctly evaluate the condition.
When asked about the architecture of certain buildings or the precedents of certain art styles, people are (at least in my experience) careful not to let on how little they might know about architecture or art history, so they don’t say much. Both are often considered to be “expert fields”. Of course, those people can still have an appreciation of good architecture and Portchie (if that’s your thing), but those people never seem to realise that appreciation (for current purposes, appreciation has to do with the enjoyment factor attached to a text) does not equal or replace an informed reading of something.
An informed reading involves a critical reflection of the film, an awareness of its dynamics or mechanics – much more than “I liked it!” or “I didn’t like it”. Consider:
I like movies.
“The Hottie or the Nottie” is a movie.
Therefore I like “The Hottie or the Nottie”.
No awareness, no reflection. You can show some people anything on a screen projected at 24 frames per second and they’ll be happy. (That’s really true – that’s how Rob Schneider’s career has made it so far).
Note that the amount of movies watched is not indicative of how informed the reading of the film is. If the viewer is not conscious of an own life, is not examining existence and all its dimensions, then how can that person, who sees 52 movies a year (let’s go with the one-a-week example) really read a film in an informed manner? Roger Ebert, the Pulitzer Prize-winning Chicago Sun-Times film critic, has seen tens of thousands of films, but that’s only one part of his ‘qualification’ – his interests include cosmology, great literature, evolution and a variety of other stimulating topics. Without name dropping or being conspicuous about it, he regularly evokes some philosophical, moral or ethical notion related to a certain film. It helps that he is an incredibly gifted writer. Ebert gave “The Bucket List” a single star out of a possible four. Because he rated the film so low, I will avoid it until it gets shown on the public broadcaster late on a Sunday night and I have a compulsion to see all Morgan Freeman films. Does it mean that the millions of people, who did enjoy “The Bucket List” and who will give it at least 2½ stars out of four, are wrong? Of course they are.
While film enjoyment is utterly subjective (I recently joined Bruce “The Chin” Campbell in his second trip to the cabin in the woods courtesy of Sam Raimi and enjoyed the living dead out of it), it’s more difficult to make a case for quality in the same way. Quality is not really subjective. People can enjoy “The Bucket List”, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good movie. Following this, it’s difficult to “enjoy” Michael Haneke’s films, yet his movies are generally brilliant.
Someone who is able to deliver an informed reading is someone who can clearly articulate his thoughts and base an opinion in a sound conceptual framework. Most people are unable to do this – bloggers and Facebook users in particular. “Awesome” and “great” are just some of the pointless terms thrown around by would-be critics in an attempt to show others that they pose no threat to actual film critics. Enjoying movies is everyone’s game. You should be free to watch what you like, I guess (though that’s another essay). But leave the criticism, assessment and evaluation for those who have seen beyond “10,000 BC” and read beyond Dean Koontz, such as…
… these strongly recommended film critics:
o Roger Ebert – classy, cultured, always highly readable. Consider his response to a reader’s advice that he, Ebert, should watch a season or two of “Sex and the City” on DVD: “I regret, Ian, that I will never have the opportunity. Wild horses could not drag me to the opportunity. SATC is so definitely not my cup of tea that, for me, it is not tea at all, and does not come in a cup.” I could not have said it better myself.
o James Berardinelli – straightforward and to the point. www.reelviews.net
o A.O. Scott – very articulate.
o Jonathan Rosenbaum – not one to go with the flow.
o David Poland – runs moviecitynews.com, had major problems with “Passion of the Christ”.
o (The late) Pauline Kael – see her reviews of “The Sound of Music” and “Last Tango in Paris”.
o Outlaw Vern – loves Steven Seagal movies, thinks Lundgren is good on occasion.
o David Bordwell – has seen every film ever made, has written a book on Ozu.
o Jim Emerson – has a great blog by the name of Scanners (link there via www.rogerebert.com) Glenn Kenny – writes for the American Premiere magazine.
My main gripe is, at least for the moment, with those who don’t read critics at all. It is mainly the attitudes and motivations of those people that I’d like to take a brief look at. “Who cares what a critic has to say?” these people might ask when prompted as to why they don’t bother reading reviews. People seem to think that, because they can watch a movie just like anyone else, and everyone ends up seeing the same film, their opinion is set in gold and topped with Nubian rubies. According to this view, a splinter of that rather annoying thing called relativism, is that dope-smoking, binge-drinker Joe-Bob’s views on Coppola’s latest are as valid as the views of esteemed “Time” critic Richard Schickel on the same film.
“My opinion is true”, says Joe-Bob, wiping some spittle off of his chin, “because it is true for me.” For me. That’s just not good enough. This “It’s true for me/ it works for me”–view is the view of the Ignorant. How else to explain the moderate success of some recent mediocre titles such as “Sydney White and the Seven Dorks”? I’m not saying that “Sydney White” should be judged and deemed an awful film by everyone who sees it; my point is that the opinion of the Joe-Bobs of the world is, most of the time, uncritical, uninformed and inadequately motivated. By those standards, Joe-Bob, you are a misguided self-deluded fool. (Disclaimer: my use of the name Joe-Bob is meant to exclude any reference to that truly entertaining and informed critic of drive-in cinema, Mr. Joe–Bob Briggs, whose views on splatter and schlock cinema have enriched pop culture appreciation for some time.)
The notion that everyone’s a critic has become a horribly twisted line that seems to suggest to the viewer that s/he can say anything and it’ll be valid – if you can think it, you can say/write it, and therefore it’s valid. It’s not. Consider the medical doctor. The doctor studies for seven straight years to enable him (I’m dropping the gender-neutral stuff from now on) to give you the best possible view on what might be wrong with you, seeing as your stomach hurts. You disagree with the professional diagnosis – that you have an acute stomach lining infection – but you take the prescribed medicine and enjoy two days’ bed rest. After two days, you feel better. Notice how, although you disagreed with the diagnosis – you thought that it was the funky sushi that had simply upset your bowels – the doctor’s assessment was far more valid than your own. His diagnosis was informed and motivated by a sensible argument, while yours was not. You simply reacted to the fact that you didn’t like the stomach pain, i.e. you didn’t enjoy it. The doctor was the one, however, to correctly evaluate the condition.
When asked about the architecture of certain buildings or the precedents of certain art styles, people are (at least in my experience) careful not to let on how little they might know about architecture or art history, so they don’t say much. Both are often considered to be “expert fields”. Of course, those people can still have an appreciation of good architecture and Portchie (if that’s your thing), but those people never seem to realise that appreciation (for current purposes, appreciation has to do with the enjoyment factor attached to a text) does not equal or replace an informed reading of something.
An informed reading involves a critical reflection of the film, an awareness of its dynamics or mechanics – much more than “I liked it!” or “I didn’t like it”. Consider:
I like movies.
“The Hottie or the Nottie” is a movie.
Therefore I like “The Hottie or the Nottie”.
No awareness, no reflection. You can show some people anything on a screen projected at 24 frames per second and they’ll be happy. (That’s really true – that’s how Rob Schneider’s career has made it so far).
Note that the amount of movies watched is not indicative of how informed the reading of the film is. If the viewer is not conscious of an own life, is not examining existence and all its dimensions, then how can that person, who sees 52 movies a year (let’s go with the one-a-week example) really read a film in an informed manner? Roger Ebert, the Pulitzer Prize-winning Chicago Sun-Times film critic, has seen tens of thousands of films, but that’s only one part of his ‘qualification’ – his interests include cosmology, great literature, evolution and a variety of other stimulating topics. Without name dropping or being conspicuous about it, he regularly evokes some philosophical, moral or ethical notion related to a certain film. It helps that he is an incredibly gifted writer. Ebert gave “The Bucket List” a single star out of a possible four. Because he rated the film so low, I will avoid it until it gets shown on the public broadcaster late on a Sunday night and I have a compulsion to see all Morgan Freeman films. Does it mean that the millions of people, who did enjoy “The Bucket List” and who will give it at least 2½ stars out of four, are wrong? Of course they are.
While film enjoyment is utterly subjective (I recently joined Bruce “The Chin” Campbell in his second trip to the cabin in the woods courtesy of Sam Raimi and enjoyed the living dead out of it), it’s more difficult to make a case for quality in the same way. Quality is not really subjective. People can enjoy “The Bucket List”, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good movie. Following this, it’s difficult to “enjoy” Michael Haneke’s films, yet his movies are generally brilliant.
Someone who is able to deliver an informed reading is someone who can clearly articulate his thoughts and base an opinion in a sound conceptual framework. Most people are unable to do this – bloggers and Facebook users in particular. “Awesome” and “great” are just some of the pointless terms thrown around by would-be critics in an attempt to show others that they pose no threat to actual film critics. Enjoying movies is everyone’s game. You should be free to watch what you like, I guess (though that’s another essay). But leave the criticism, assessment and evaluation for those who have seen beyond “10,000 BC” and read beyond Dean Koontz, such as…
… these strongly recommended film critics:
o Roger Ebert – classy, cultured, always highly readable. Consider his response to a reader’s advice that he, Ebert, should watch a season or two of “Sex and the City” on DVD: “I regret, Ian, that I will never have the opportunity. Wild horses could not drag me to the opportunity. SATC is so definitely not my cup of tea that, for me, it is not tea at all, and does not come in a cup.” I could not have said it better myself.
o James Berardinelli – straightforward and to the point. www.reelviews.net
o A.O. Scott – very articulate.
o Jonathan Rosenbaum – not one to go with the flow.
o David Poland – runs moviecitynews.com, had major problems with “Passion of the Christ”.
o (The late) Pauline Kael – see her reviews of “The Sound of Music” and “Last Tango in Paris”.
o Outlaw Vern – loves Steven Seagal movies, thinks Lundgren is good on occasion.
o David Bordwell – has seen every film ever made, has written a book on Ozu.
o Jim Emerson – has a great blog by the name of Scanners (link there via www.rogerebert.com) Glenn Kenny – writes for the American Premiere magazine.
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