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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