This is a small, low-key, low budget indie movie with a brilliant color pallet and many artfully composed scenes. The filmography is exquisite, and if the acting seems wooden, and the dialogue feel's flat, that only adds to the sweet, homey vibe this motive gives off. Its director is the owner of the leading cycle--a lovely Moto Guzzi S-1000--and the other bikes are also classics. No Harleys here--this is about a motorcyclist club, not a biker gang. The protagonist is a visually striking woman, and her character's sassy, independent, anti-establishment attitude does not need a lot of acting skill to put across. The whole film is kind of like of "Big Chill" meets "Hair" meets "Girl On a Motorcycle" meets "Leather Boys." And if you don't know those flicks, why are you even reading this?
Reviews
29 Reviews
Jay and Silent Bob Reboot
(2019)
Great, funny, Kevin Smith retrospective...but probably fans only.
7 February 2020
If you like Kevin Smiths' main opus--Dogma, Clerks (1 and 2), Chasing Amy, Mall Rats, Jay and Bob Strike Back (I'm leaving out Walrus and Jersey Girl)--then this low-budget mix of self-serving retrospective, combined with self-deprecating irony will surely amuse and tickle. You have to stay focused to get all non-stop movie references, puns, and to recognize the (mostly) aging ensemble actors and actresses in their seemingly endless cameos. It really is a hoot. And then there is the huge, nearly indigestible chunk of family sentimentality that manages to be both sickeningly soppy and movingly heartfelt, all at the same. (BTW, Smith pokes fun at both Walrus and Jersey Girl, too.)
Prometheus
(I) (2012)
Too awful to rate
16 February 2013
Warning: Spoilers
There are not enough negative stars for me to adequately describe how bad this film is.
I'm sure it's no surprise by now to anyone that Prometheus is nothing more than a remake of Scott's own sci-fi/horror classic, Alien. Prometheus has the same line of action, the same characters, and the same design elements. It begins, after two limp prologues, the same way--with a ship in deep space--its crew in cryostat's; a human looking android with it's own agenda--dictated by a higher authority--who holds humans in contempt,; and a perky heroine increasingly on her own as the expendables drop off. The same design of the alien artifacts; the same girl stuck in a lifeboat with a parasitic alien. Scott even quotes his own images--like the android's severed head still talking, fluid dripping from its mouth. Yeah, Riddley, we get it. And ultimately, of course Scott ends the whole affair making it clear that the whole silly affair is not only a reprise of Alien, but its prequel.
Then there is all the malarkey. Prometheus has a standard sci-fi plot: life on earth was seeded by aliens, and an expedition goes back to find them. Indeed, the premise and the film's ending are lifted exactly from the 2000 film Mission to Mars. The science in Prometheus is dreadful--a hodge-podge of inconsistencies and non-sequiturs. For example, two expendables are attacked by the same alien parasite. One dies, the other is turned into a zombie. Why? And then David and Elizaeth also have different physiological reactions to being infected. And don't you just love the way the blasted ship falls back to the ground--so gently that the two women stranded there can stand and watch it, and then run away fro it. Hello, gravity accelerates falling bodies. Sheesh.
What is the first prelude supposed to suggest? And why would the engineers, choose as a way of wiping out humanity on earth, to export such vicious creatures, creatures they cannot control and that would, in effect would sterilize the whole planet, rendering it unfit for engineer habitation as well. Say what? Prometheus's end made me laugh out loud. Our heroin determines to track the engineers to their home-world and find out, "Why create us and then decide to kill us?" The android asks her why it matters. She replies that it matters to her because she's a human and not a robot. On the other hand, to the film's audience--comprising, we assume, humans and not robots-- it doesn't matter either.
I'm sure it's no surprise by now to anyone that Prometheus is nothing more than a remake of Scott's own sci-fi/horror classic, Alien. Prometheus has the same line of action, the same characters, and the same design elements. It begins, after two limp prologues, the same way--with a ship in deep space--its crew in cryostat's; a human looking android with it's own agenda--dictated by a higher authority--who holds humans in contempt,; and a perky heroine increasingly on her own as the expendables drop off. The same design of the alien artifacts; the same girl stuck in a lifeboat with a parasitic alien. Scott even quotes his own images--like the android's severed head still talking, fluid dripping from its mouth. Yeah, Riddley, we get it. And ultimately, of course Scott ends the whole affair making it clear that the whole silly affair is not only a reprise of Alien, but its prequel.
Then there is all the malarkey. Prometheus has a standard sci-fi plot: life on earth was seeded by aliens, and an expedition goes back to find them. Indeed, the premise and the film's ending are lifted exactly from the 2000 film Mission to Mars. The science in Prometheus is dreadful--a hodge-podge of inconsistencies and non-sequiturs. For example, two expendables are attacked by the same alien parasite. One dies, the other is turned into a zombie. Why? And then David and Elizaeth also have different physiological reactions to being infected. And don't you just love the way the blasted ship falls back to the ground--so gently that the two women stranded there can stand and watch it, and then run away fro it. Hello, gravity accelerates falling bodies. Sheesh.
What is the first prelude supposed to suggest? And why would the engineers, choose as a way of wiping out humanity on earth, to export such vicious creatures, creatures they cannot control and that would, in effect would sterilize the whole planet, rendering it unfit for engineer habitation as well. Say what? Prometheus's end made me laugh out loud. Our heroin determines to track the engineers to their home-world and find out, "Why create us and then decide to kill us?" The android asks her why it matters. She replies that it matters to her because she's a human and not a robot. On the other hand, to the film's audience--comprising, we assume, humans and not robots-- it doesn't matter either.
The Ten
(2007)
Nice mix of Classic Woody Allen and early Zucker/Abrahams
6 January 2013
Warning: Spoilers
Too bad I could only give this flick a 9. It could have been a 10; but there were a two somewhat lame stories, and the first episode is only so-so. But he rest were brilliant. This comedy doesn't do anything that hasn't been done before. It's very much in the vein of the earlier, zanier Woody Allen films like "Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex," and many of the better Zucker/Abrahams stuff, like "Top Secret" or "Airplane." Which is to say, the main humor comes from parodying movie genres, film techniques, and tired romantic plots. It's a pure delight to see these things yanked apart and roasted to well done.
What's particularly nice about "The Ten", though is its excellent cast who, with inspired direction and writing, can get deep into the material they are satirizing. The clever way the stories get (loosely) tied together is also nice.
Using the ten commandments as a frame, is a very tenuous hook. Though the frame itself, with its narrator adds something to the mix--a sort of story around the stories, so to speak. But don't expect any religious commentary or even irreverence. (Well, maybe a little irreverence. Jesus Christ as a Mexican lothario might be somewhat--no make that very--offensive to some people. Indeed I suspect the low ratings here on IMDb come mostly from people so tied to their sacred cows, be they philosophical or aesthetic, that all they can see is the crudeness that sometimes surrounds the humor, and don't get any of the sophisticated irony.) In the end, then, the link to any specific commandment is more a quick throwaway line than anything structural or moralistic. Which is part of the strength here: there is no attempt to delve into the commandment itself; it's just a convenient tag line, really.
This, then, is comedy strictly for film buffs--people who recognize a convention and the wit with which that convention is being skewered. In my opinion, there are just not enough movies of that kind around; and some of what we do have is pretty lame. ZAZ, for example have low production values. this film, can actually parody not just a plot or character convention, but a stylistic one as well.
Try it; if you have an critical faculty, you'll see what I mean.
What's particularly nice about "The Ten", though is its excellent cast who, with inspired direction and writing, can get deep into the material they are satirizing. The clever way the stories get (loosely) tied together is also nice.
Using the ten commandments as a frame, is a very tenuous hook. Though the frame itself, with its narrator adds something to the mix--a sort of story around the stories, so to speak. But don't expect any religious commentary or even irreverence. (Well, maybe a little irreverence. Jesus Christ as a Mexican lothario might be somewhat--no make that very--offensive to some people. Indeed I suspect the low ratings here on IMDb come mostly from people so tied to their sacred cows, be they philosophical or aesthetic, that all they can see is the crudeness that sometimes surrounds the humor, and don't get any of the sophisticated irony.) In the end, then, the link to any specific commandment is more a quick throwaway line than anything structural or moralistic. Which is part of the strength here: there is no attempt to delve into the commandment itself; it's just a convenient tag line, really.
This, then, is comedy strictly for film buffs--people who recognize a convention and the wit with which that convention is being skewered. In my opinion, there are just not enough movies of that kind around; and some of what we do have is pretty lame. ZAZ, for example have low production values. this film, can actually parody not just a plot or character convention, but a stylistic one as well.
Try it; if you have an critical faculty, you'll see what I mean.
Solitary
(II) (2011)
Based on A Short Story
27 December 2012
Warning: Spoilers
This film belongs--more or less--to the genre of the, "I'm already dead" film; probably the most well-known of which would be "The Sixth Sense." (See my review of "Donnie Darko" for a fuller list of moves that use this device.) What makes this movie a bit different, is that our protagonist is not exactly dead--she's in a coma, fantasizing her entire life and it's seemingly inexplicable oddities and terrors. Moreover, her psychiatrist in her fantasy is in reality the doctor presiding over her life support. The movie goes in for a bit of sci-fi, in that the doctor has some kind of techie wizardry that allows him to witness and participate in the patient's subconscious. The point of this "mind reading" is for the doctor to bring the patient to an understanding of her situation, so that she can choose either to stay on life support and live a dream life for the rest of her biological existence, or to die and move on. The rationality here is that it is the patient--not her loved ones--making the choice.
Sort of cool. But it's a dead steal from a science fiction story written at least 40 years ago, which used this exact same idea. The film makers could easily be sued for plagiarism if the original writer ever found out about the existence of this film. I don't remember the name of the story or it's author or even whether I read it in a magazine or a book all those years ago. But it just goes to show there is nothing new under the sun.
Sort of cool. But it's a dead steal from a science fiction story written at least 40 years ago, which used this exact same idea. The film makers could easily be sued for plagiarism if the original writer ever found out about the existence of this film. I don't remember the name of the story or it's author or even whether I read it in a magazine or a book all those years ago. But it just goes to show there is nothing new under the sun.
Mos Def is most definitely the strongest part of a weak film.
2 August 2011
Warning: Spoilers
First of all, "Journey To The End Of The Night" has nothing to do with the 1934 novel of the same title by Louis Ferdinand Celine. If the script writers borrowed Celine's title for some allusive reason, it escapes me.
The movie is an unremarkable and predictable crime thriller/family drama. The dimly-lit and grainy cinematography--set in the seamy red-light district of Sao Paulo, Brazil--is nothing special; and the sentimental sound track, weak plot, and un-inspired dialogue contribute nothing original to the genre.
The roles are thankless, and the actors in them give about the performances you'd expect from their B-class status. The worst by far is Brendan Frazer. He makes a fine Dudley Do-Right; but his performance as a ruthless crime lieutenant is laughable. Frazer's baby face, squeaky voice, and limited range couldn't convey threat, malice, or even the weak psychological conflict the script calls for--even on his best days. The other performers are just about as bad.
However, there is one astonishing exception to all this lack-luster ness; and that is the performance of rap artist Mos Def, who plays a Nigerian dishwasher turned drug courier (when the real courier--a genuine tough guy--drops dead while having sex with a transsexual prostitute.) Mos Def's character, Wemba, is a retiring young man, a meek, short-statured student with only the most modest of aspirations in life. When we first meet him, his drug-dealing boss asks him about his background. Mos Def replies laconically; but his dropped words, half-finished sentences, and subtle facial gestures convey his melancholy character and difficult and disappointed past to us at once. It's a beautiful morsel of acting.
Wemba takes on the job partly out of need, but mainly out of loyalty to his boss. While the written role of Wemba is hardly Shakespearian, Mos Def is brilliant in what he does with it. And while one could barely give a damn what happens to the rest of these flat and unappealing characters, Mos Def creates for his unenthusiastic but diligent courier a vivid, likable, three-dimensional figure--a simple soul who, when push comes to shove, shows unexpected courage—not because he has anything to back it up, but just because he is good guy--the sort of person who naturally does the right thing. He is not smart, or capable, or strong. And when he politely sticks to his guns (figuratively speaking, he is practically the only person in the film--other than the blind soothsayer and his dog--whose isn't popping a cap into someone at some point) and defies the people who threaten him, you know that he certainly won't be rescuing his own behind.
Fortunately, (for Wemba, if not for the movie) the writers have thrown a bit of magic and fate (predictable as always) into the story mix here. And it is only that little bit of luck that leaves Wemba as last man standing in this otherwise silly little drug-dealing bloodbath.
I know nothing of rap music, or Mos Def's career as a performer. But, if this part is any indication of his thespian potential, I'd say that boy can act!
The movie is an unremarkable and predictable crime thriller/family drama. The dimly-lit and grainy cinematography--set in the seamy red-light district of Sao Paulo, Brazil--is nothing special; and the sentimental sound track, weak plot, and un-inspired dialogue contribute nothing original to the genre.
The roles are thankless, and the actors in them give about the performances you'd expect from their B-class status. The worst by far is Brendan Frazer. He makes a fine Dudley Do-Right; but his performance as a ruthless crime lieutenant is laughable. Frazer's baby face, squeaky voice, and limited range couldn't convey threat, malice, or even the weak psychological conflict the script calls for--even on his best days. The other performers are just about as bad.
However, there is one astonishing exception to all this lack-luster ness; and that is the performance of rap artist Mos Def, who plays a Nigerian dishwasher turned drug courier (when the real courier--a genuine tough guy--drops dead while having sex with a transsexual prostitute.) Mos Def's character, Wemba, is a retiring young man, a meek, short-statured student with only the most modest of aspirations in life. When we first meet him, his drug-dealing boss asks him about his background. Mos Def replies laconically; but his dropped words, half-finished sentences, and subtle facial gestures convey his melancholy character and difficult and disappointed past to us at once. It's a beautiful morsel of acting.
Wemba takes on the job partly out of need, but mainly out of loyalty to his boss. While the written role of Wemba is hardly Shakespearian, Mos Def is brilliant in what he does with it. And while one could barely give a damn what happens to the rest of these flat and unappealing characters, Mos Def creates for his unenthusiastic but diligent courier a vivid, likable, three-dimensional figure--a simple soul who, when push comes to shove, shows unexpected courage—not because he has anything to back it up, but just because he is good guy--the sort of person who naturally does the right thing. He is not smart, or capable, or strong. And when he politely sticks to his guns (figuratively speaking, he is practically the only person in the film--other than the blind soothsayer and his dog--whose isn't popping a cap into someone at some point) and defies the people who threaten him, you know that he certainly won't be rescuing his own behind.
Fortunately, (for Wemba, if not for the movie) the writers have thrown a bit of magic and fate (predictable as always) into the story mix here. And it is only that little bit of luck that leaves Wemba as last man standing in this otherwise silly little drug-dealing bloodbath.
I know nothing of rap music, or Mos Def's career as a performer. But, if this part is any indication of his thespian potential, I'd say that boy can act!
The Road
(I) (2009)
Grim, predictable, unimaginative nonsense
10 December 2010
Warning: Spoilers
I make it a point to suffer, if at all possible, through even the worst of movies. One handy tip is to enable the captions and use your fast forward button. You can cut the movie's run time by maybe 20 or 30 percent and not miss a thing except the incidental music. Moreover, there is plenty of movie time in this turkey where there is no dialog at all, just the very predictable gloom of slogging through a devastated landscape, or running endlessly from the "bad guys"--as the younger of our two protagonists terms the cannibalistic refugees of this film. So you can even raise the forwarding speed a bit and still miss nothing.
However, let me say, I did watch probably 80% of this movie at normal speed, so this is a legitimate review.
But I digress. "The Road" is a particularly silly example of the already silly sci-fi genre of post-apocalyptic adventure. Cormack McCarthy, who is responsible for the story behind this dull movie adaptation, apparently thinks that by giving us the standard sci-fi "what-if" premise of "never mind that none of the plot makes any scientific sense just take it as read that somehow in some unexplained fashion the earth has come down to this" that he can then give us a story with plausible actions and emotions from a particular set of characters--in this case, a father-son pair of refugees.
I won't say this type of narrative set up never works, but what you have with this particular film is just another "remaining-humans versus a lot of flesh-eating zombies" plot. OK, so the zombies are not biologically different from the humans--and they don't shuffle along, decomposing as they walk--but they are essentially the same, and the horror thereby created is tediously familiar.
McCarthy gives us only these two kinds of characters: those who prey on others, and those who live in fear of them.
No great moral questions get answered. I'm not sure any even get asked. The boy is constantly trying to temper his father's ethos of self-protective, survivalist "do-unto-others-before-they-do-unto-you" behavior with a sense of charity, sharing, and trust. And...well, that's it.
The cinematography amounts to little more than familiar depictions of a post-apocalyptic wasteland, and the plot is mainly a series of close encounters with the "bad guys." The film tries to establish some sort of character for the father with flashbacks to his former life, both before and after the unexplained disaster. And, as a thoughtful viewer, you ask yourself in response: "Would I (or another person) react like that?" But you are forced to answer: "Who cares?" Indeed, children often pester their parents with similar sorts of hypothetical questions. Such as: "If a great white shark were about to eat me, mommy, and brother, and you could only save one, who would you save?" Your kids expect to learn something from your answer, and parents, do their best to answer thoughtfully. But the only answer to questions like this is: "No one knows for certain how he will act in a given situation; but there is no such situation as the one you propose, nor is one such even remotely plausible. So what is the point of trying to answer it? More importantly, there is much great narrative art based on placing characters in realistic situations. Moral quandaries abound in every-day life. Why attempt to ponder unimaginable ones?
However, let me say, I did watch probably 80% of this movie at normal speed, so this is a legitimate review.
But I digress. "The Road" is a particularly silly example of the already silly sci-fi genre of post-apocalyptic adventure. Cormack McCarthy, who is responsible for the story behind this dull movie adaptation, apparently thinks that by giving us the standard sci-fi "what-if" premise of "never mind that none of the plot makes any scientific sense just take it as read that somehow in some unexplained fashion the earth has come down to this" that he can then give us a story with plausible actions and emotions from a particular set of characters--in this case, a father-son pair of refugees.
I won't say this type of narrative set up never works, but what you have with this particular film is just another "remaining-humans versus a lot of flesh-eating zombies" plot. OK, so the zombies are not biologically different from the humans--and they don't shuffle along, decomposing as they walk--but they are essentially the same, and the horror thereby created is tediously familiar.
McCarthy gives us only these two kinds of characters: those who prey on others, and those who live in fear of them.
No great moral questions get answered. I'm not sure any even get asked. The boy is constantly trying to temper his father's ethos of self-protective, survivalist "do-unto-others-before-they-do-unto-you" behavior with a sense of charity, sharing, and trust. And...well, that's it.
The cinematography amounts to little more than familiar depictions of a post-apocalyptic wasteland, and the plot is mainly a series of close encounters with the "bad guys." The film tries to establish some sort of character for the father with flashbacks to his former life, both before and after the unexplained disaster. And, as a thoughtful viewer, you ask yourself in response: "Would I (or another person) react like that?" But you are forced to answer: "Who cares?" Indeed, children often pester their parents with similar sorts of hypothetical questions. Such as: "If a great white shark were about to eat me, mommy, and brother, and you could only save one, who would you save?" Your kids expect to learn something from your answer, and parents, do their best to answer thoughtfully. But the only answer to questions like this is: "No one knows for certain how he will act in a given situation; but there is no such situation as the one you propose, nor is one such even remotely plausible. So what is the point of trying to answer it? More importantly, there is much great narrative art based on placing characters in realistic situations. Moral quandaries abound in every-day life. Why attempt to ponder unimaginable ones?
Inland Empire
(2006)
You were expecting another "Mulholland Drive?"
29 September 2007
Let me start by saying I've admired every single Lynch film to date, and I've seen all his feature filmsnot only all the original work, but also the non-auteur stuff (like "Elephant man," "Straight Story," and "Dune") as well.
Moreover, "Mulholland Drive" is on my short list for best movie of all timea hands down perfect piece of art. And I really liked "Lost Highway" and even found "Eraserhead" engaging.
However, I must say the first 90 minutes of "Inland Empire" ranks as some of the most boring and pretentious film making in the short history of the art. I can't speak for the rest of the movie--as 90 minutes of unrelieved murky shots of Laura Dern looking distressed, while the dialogue-obscuring sound track of a B-movie organ drone desperately tries to create some kind of suspense--was all I could stand.
Lynch's images have always been arresting, sometimes even pretty. But he seems to want to play against that here, creating choppy, grainy, bad-home-video-style visuals that just beat down the viewer trying to let them flow. Hey! art should require its audience to work for its pleasure and meaning; but the effort required here is just too much for me.
I think film should tell a story with pictureshopefully a complex story with emotionally and intellectually engaging pictures. But this film is just ugly chaos.
Moreover, "Mulholland Drive" is on my short list for best movie of all timea hands down perfect piece of art. And I really liked "Lost Highway" and even found "Eraserhead" engaging.
However, I must say the first 90 minutes of "Inland Empire" ranks as some of the most boring and pretentious film making in the short history of the art. I can't speak for the rest of the movie--as 90 minutes of unrelieved murky shots of Laura Dern looking distressed, while the dialogue-obscuring sound track of a B-movie organ drone desperately tries to create some kind of suspense--was all I could stand.
Lynch's images have always been arresting, sometimes even pretty. But he seems to want to play against that here, creating choppy, grainy, bad-home-video-style visuals that just beat down the viewer trying to let them flow. Hey! art should require its audience to work for its pleasure and meaning; but the effort required here is just too much for me.
I think film should tell a story with pictureshopefully a complex story with emotionally and intellectually engaging pictures. But this film is just ugly chaos.
Pan's Labyrinth
(2006)
"Awful" doesn't begin to describe it...
29 June 2007
This movie could well be one of the worst films ever made. I only wish I could give it the negative-ten stars it richly deserves. Indeed, I only continued to watch it (after the first graphic and brutal murder) to see the depths to which film making of this type can sink.
How deep can it sink then? Very deep...deeper in fact than you can possibly imagine. This movie has not the slightest speck of originality, wit, or even meaning in it. From beginning to end, it is no more than a sadistic gore-fest masquerading as an art film. As for its vaunted production values, I find myself astounded that anyone would find them remarkable. Design? It's all been done before in any one of dozens of modern fantasy movies. (Here I must admit, however, that I am puzzled that modern movie goers still find that sort of thing interesting. Special effects have now reached a level of sophistication beyond which there can be little technical improvement. As a result, no bizarre fantasy, no matter how gloriously depicted, will ever enchant the intelligent viewer--unless the images can engender something more than a "gee, whiz" responsethat is, unless the images mean something.) Creating images with meaning is what good film making has always been all about. But the images in this film mean nothing. The story is bankrupt, too, with characterizations that are laughably cartoonish, and implied values that are hopelessly vague, jejune, or even outright contradictory.
However, even worse than the movie itself, perhaps, is the moronic praise that this piece of tripe has garnered in what (I am now realizing) is a depressingly demented world of film criticism.
Alas, further words fail me. But there are a good number of well-written reviews on this site that take the time to painstakingly spell out some of the many shortcomings of the film. So, if you despise this movie as much as I do, I heartily recommend perusing those reviews as an antidote to the pain and outrage you are feeling at, A) having wasted your time on this stuff, and B) having shaken your head to the point of a headache at the critical praise that has been heaped on it.
How deep can it sink then? Very deep...deeper in fact than you can possibly imagine. This movie has not the slightest speck of originality, wit, or even meaning in it. From beginning to end, it is no more than a sadistic gore-fest masquerading as an art film. As for its vaunted production values, I find myself astounded that anyone would find them remarkable. Design? It's all been done before in any one of dozens of modern fantasy movies. (Here I must admit, however, that I am puzzled that modern movie goers still find that sort of thing interesting. Special effects have now reached a level of sophistication beyond which there can be little technical improvement. As a result, no bizarre fantasy, no matter how gloriously depicted, will ever enchant the intelligent viewer--unless the images can engender something more than a "gee, whiz" responsethat is, unless the images mean something.) Creating images with meaning is what good film making has always been all about. But the images in this film mean nothing. The story is bankrupt, too, with characterizations that are laughably cartoonish, and implied values that are hopelessly vague, jejune, or even outright contradictory.
However, even worse than the movie itself, perhaps, is the moronic praise that this piece of tripe has garnered in what (I am now realizing) is a depressingly demented world of film criticism.
Alas, further words fail me. But there are a good number of well-written reviews on this site that take the time to painstakingly spell out some of the many shortcomings of the film. So, if you despise this movie as much as I do, I heartily recommend perusing those reviews as an antidote to the pain and outrage you are feeling at, A) having wasted your time on this stuff, and B) having shaken your head to the point of a headache at the critical praise that has been heaped on it.
On Our Merry Way
(1948)
Worth a look
24 June 2007
This three-vignettes-in-a-frame movie is not all bad. Indeed, the first segment features Henry Fonda and James Stewart in a brilliant comic pas de deux which leaves you wondering why they didn't become a cinematic pair. Given that the plot-ette they work with is unremarkable, their joint performance is even more of a miracle and a treat. Also fun is the little jazz score, which features not only Stewart doing his own tasteful piano comping, but also a guest appearance by Harry James, who not only provides the behind-the scenes music of the trumpet-playing "babe" but actually puts his mug in as well.
The second story is a bit weaker, though Dorothy Lamour does a song and dance number that sends up contemporary Hollywood clichés in a wittily sophisticated manner.
The last sequence, however, is truly lame: the pacing is slow and all the actors (especially child actor David Whorf) are annoying. The zany Hugh Herbert nicely finesses a small role but his little performance can't save the segment.
The frame itself is also uninspired, but not so deadly that it drags the film down.
Had the last two segments been as marvelous as the first, this entire movie would have been a classic. But in any case, you simply must see it for the Steward-Fonda collaboration. They command the film from the moment the camera turns on them and never disappoint.
The second story is a bit weaker, though Dorothy Lamour does a song and dance number that sends up contemporary Hollywood clichés in a wittily sophisticated manner.
The last sequence, however, is truly lame: the pacing is slow and all the actors (especially child actor David Whorf) are annoying. The zany Hugh Herbert nicely finesses a small role but his little performance can't save the segment.
The frame itself is also uninspired, but not so deadly that it drags the film down.
Had the last two segments been as marvelous as the first, this entire movie would have been a classic. But in any case, you simply must see it for the Steward-Fonda collaboration. They command the film from the moment the camera turns on them and never disappoint.
Flight of the Phoenix
(2004)
Typical Holllywood drivel
30 September 2006
Warning: Spoilers
The idea of building a flyable aircraft out of a plane wreck is a fine plot for a movie. Obviously so, I suppose, since this "Flight of The Phoenix" is a contemporary-setting remake of the classic 1960's film.
The film, however is effectively ruined by the actors, their lines, and the unbelievable characters they portray.
When we first meet Captain Towns (played, ineptly--as is his wont--by Dennis Quaid), he has no apparent redeeming qualities. He is sexist, heartless, overbearing, willful and utterly without judgment.
When faced with a severe sandstorm, he refuses to turn back to base because he would have to refuel "and who knows how long that will take." He and his obnoxious co-pilot berate the hapless oil crew they are pulling off their jobs, then proceed to make several more stupid decisions, at least one of them in the face of good advice. Then they crash the plane.
Towns refuses to allow the survivors to follow the advice of Elliotone of the passengers who clearly knows what he is talking about. Then, despite Towns's knowledge that there are dangerous marauders in the area, he decides later to try to parley with them.
When Elliot turns out to have credentials as an aircraft designer and suggests rebuilding the plane, Towns vetoes the planas if he has the authority to do so.
The copilot also threatens to kill Elliot if he mentions that it was Towns's poor judgment that caused the crash in the first place.
In short, the pair of aviators is irredeemably despicable. And yet, clearly we are supposed to see Towns as the macho hero, with the woman he disses falling all over herself complimenting him.
Meanwhile, Elliot--who at first seems sensible and deferential--begins acting like a spoiled brat--for no reason that is made clear--and is obviously supposed to be a loose cannon. His character, like that of most of the others, flip flops in unpredictable ways that have no discernible motivation. Indeed, the whole multi-ethnic, multi-class, multi-generation crew of characters is the same witless group that Hollywood has been using in war flicks since the thirtieswith a woman thrown in as a sop to modern feminist sensibilities.
The only things that save this picture are the desert scenery, the scenes of the ingenious construction of the Phoenix, and the aerial footage. The rest is pure B movie.
The film, however is effectively ruined by the actors, their lines, and the unbelievable characters they portray.
When we first meet Captain Towns (played, ineptly--as is his wont--by Dennis Quaid), he has no apparent redeeming qualities. He is sexist, heartless, overbearing, willful and utterly without judgment.
When faced with a severe sandstorm, he refuses to turn back to base because he would have to refuel "and who knows how long that will take." He and his obnoxious co-pilot berate the hapless oil crew they are pulling off their jobs, then proceed to make several more stupid decisions, at least one of them in the face of good advice. Then they crash the plane.
Towns refuses to allow the survivors to follow the advice of Elliotone of the passengers who clearly knows what he is talking about. Then, despite Towns's knowledge that there are dangerous marauders in the area, he decides later to try to parley with them.
When Elliot turns out to have credentials as an aircraft designer and suggests rebuilding the plane, Towns vetoes the planas if he has the authority to do so.
The copilot also threatens to kill Elliot if he mentions that it was Towns's poor judgment that caused the crash in the first place.
In short, the pair of aviators is irredeemably despicable. And yet, clearly we are supposed to see Towns as the macho hero, with the woman he disses falling all over herself complimenting him.
Meanwhile, Elliot--who at first seems sensible and deferential--begins acting like a spoiled brat--for no reason that is made clear--and is obviously supposed to be a loose cannon. His character, like that of most of the others, flip flops in unpredictable ways that have no discernible motivation. Indeed, the whole multi-ethnic, multi-class, multi-generation crew of characters is the same witless group that Hollywood has been using in war flicks since the thirtieswith a woman thrown in as a sop to modern feminist sensibilities.
The only things that save this picture are the desert scenery, the scenes of the ingenious construction of the Phoenix, and the aerial footage. The rest is pure B movie.
November
(I) (2004)
Not this stupid plot...again!
15 September 2006
Warning: Spoilers
For anyone who gave this movie a high rating, and thinks he is cleverer than those who gave it a low one; let me ask you this: have you ever seen the 1962 film "An Incident At Owl Creek Bridge."
No? I thought not. Perhaps, then, you've seen one of these four filmsand I list them in no particular order:
"Lulu On the Bridge"? "Final Approach"? "A Pure Formality"? "Sixth Sense"?
These are just the ones that come to me off the top of my head. They all have the same manipulative plot; and I'll bet if I had a dollar for every film in which the protagonist is dead but doesn't know it till the end of the film, I'd be a wealthy man.
I gave it a low rating, not because I didn't get it, but precisely because I did. In fact, the only reason I gave it any stars at all is because this version of the same old story is, admittedly, a stylish and well-constructed piece of cinema. Unfortunately, it's precision is also its downfall. There are so many clues that no seasoned cinema aficionado would fail to figure it out--long before the word "Acceptance" is flashed on the screen.
"November" resemblesmuch as "Sixth Sense" doesa pretty puzzle in which you are shown all the pieces--individually, and then in various groups--until at the end, in a flurry of prestidigitation, they are all put together so you can see the actual picture. But then, it all evaporates.
That kind of thing may be clever; but it makes for a film that is, at best (as in "Sixth Sense") charming; while at worst, it is merely a pointless exercise. Moreover, while some of these films have had me going for a while, half way through "November" I knew what was coming. There are just so many times you can set up an audience like that. It's a bit like all the recent movies that have been made since "The Sting" ("Ocean's Twelve" and "The Spanish Prisoner" leap to mind) in which the grift you are supposed to think is going down, is really something quite different. By now, it's just not a surprise, and--its like, you know--who cares?
There really ought to be a law against reusing these apparently irresistible (to even some seasoned directorsi.e., Polanski) ploys.
To close, let me compare this tidy and trite approach to film making with something like Lynch's "Mulholland Drive" or Resnais's "Last Year At Marienbad"or even "The Draughtsman's Contract". These are pictures that give you a mystery without the cheap "gottcha" at the end. I'll be thinking about "Mulholland Drive" for a long time, watching it over and over, discussing it, reading about it and writing about it. "November," on the other hand, is signed, sealed and delivered even before it ends. The picture on her wall of the outstretched arm that clomps so heavily throughout the film, for example? Just to make sure you get it, we are shown this (imaginary) picture one more time as our heroine's dying gaze falls on her lover's hand. Take that! And that! Cheese talk about beating you over the head
No? I thought not. Perhaps, then, you've seen one of these four filmsand I list them in no particular order:
"Lulu On the Bridge"? "Final Approach"? "A Pure Formality"? "Sixth Sense"?
These are just the ones that come to me off the top of my head. They all have the same manipulative plot; and I'll bet if I had a dollar for every film in which the protagonist is dead but doesn't know it till the end of the film, I'd be a wealthy man.
I gave it a low rating, not because I didn't get it, but precisely because I did. In fact, the only reason I gave it any stars at all is because this version of the same old story is, admittedly, a stylish and well-constructed piece of cinema. Unfortunately, it's precision is also its downfall. There are so many clues that no seasoned cinema aficionado would fail to figure it out--long before the word "Acceptance" is flashed on the screen.
"November" resemblesmuch as "Sixth Sense" doesa pretty puzzle in which you are shown all the pieces--individually, and then in various groups--until at the end, in a flurry of prestidigitation, they are all put together so you can see the actual picture. But then, it all evaporates.
That kind of thing may be clever; but it makes for a film that is, at best (as in "Sixth Sense") charming; while at worst, it is merely a pointless exercise. Moreover, while some of these films have had me going for a while, half way through "November" I knew what was coming. There are just so many times you can set up an audience like that. It's a bit like all the recent movies that have been made since "The Sting" ("Ocean's Twelve" and "The Spanish Prisoner" leap to mind) in which the grift you are supposed to think is going down, is really something quite different. By now, it's just not a surprise, and--its like, you know--who cares?
There really ought to be a law against reusing these apparently irresistible (to even some seasoned directorsi.e., Polanski) ploys.
To close, let me compare this tidy and trite approach to film making with something like Lynch's "Mulholland Drive" or Resnais's "Last Year At Marienbad"or even "The Draughtsman's Contract". These are pictures that give you a mystery without the cheap "gottcha" at the end. I'll be thinking about "Mulholland Drive" for a long time, watching it over and over, discussing it, reading about it and writing about it. "November," on the other hand, is signed, sealed and delivered even before it ends. The picture on her wall of the outstretched arm that clomps so heavily throughout the film, for example? Just to make sure you get it, we are shown this (imaginary) picture one more time as our heroine's dying gaze falls on her lover's hand. Take that! And that! Cheese talk about beating you over the head
Long Way Round
(2004–2010)
A poor documentary of a dubious adventure
5 July 2006
Warning: Spoilers
The account of this round-the-world motorcycle trip was extremely disappointing. I gave it two stars only because there are a few funny moments and a couple of thought-provoking sequences. But, on the whole, I found the journey itself lackluster and the documentation haphazard and artless.
First (and worst) is the "reality TV" format. In this style, the entire documentary is made up of sound bitesfew scenes lasting for more than 10 seconds, and most for only a fraction of that. This is a poor format for any kind of documentary reportingbut for a road tripwhich consists largely of views and experiences long and deep (rather than short and shallow) it must be the worst way to present the ambiance of such an adventure.
The second disappointment is with the event itself. Travel accounts are generally by and about a single traveler. This adventure, however, is more of a traditional expedition. The principals (actors Charley Boorman and Ewan McGregor) are not alone on their voyage. They are attended by at least three 4-wheel support vehicles and a huge crew. The plan was for the riders to stay ahead of the crew and rely on them only for assistance at border crossings; but it hardly works out that way, and the motorcyclists rely heavily on the crew vehicles for all kinds of support.
Boorman and McGregor are also accompanied by a third rider, the principal photographer (known only as Claudio) who presumably shares all their experiences but is almost never seen or heard from. I was never sure of his nationality but he spoke a heavily-accented English. He was brought on at the last minute and had no say in the planning of the trip, nor did he have any of the training that the two principals underwent before the ride. Indeed the relationship of these three riders must have been odd: two mates who make the trip as best friends plus a stranger who stands outside their experience and documents it. The viewer can't help but wonder: was the photographer included in their intimate evening conversation? Did they care about his thoughts or observations? Was he treated like a gentleman's gentleman rather than a fellow traveler? In the end, though Claudio has ridden the very same roads and suffered the very same hardships as Boorman and McGregor, he does not join in their victory celebration. Knowing he is there, but is being kept literally out of the picture puts a strange cast over the entire proceedings and adds to the viewer's feeling that the whole expedition is more like a stunt than a true journey.
The two actors know almost nothing about motorcycle mechanics. Indeed, they have chosen for their trip overly large and highly sophisticated motor cyclesbikes they cannot maintain or repair. As it turns out, the photographer's mount is damaged and finally abandoned for a basic Russian model that seems better suited to the task. It is interesting to note that Ted Simon, a man who traveled over the entire world (not just circumnavigating the relatively short 50th parallel) learned to strip and rebuild his bike before leaving on his four year solo journey. Indeed, Simon repeated the trip again at the age of 70, and Boorman and McGregor actually meet him in one brief scene.
The preparation for the journey is undertaken, not by the two bikers, but by an enormous staff of secretaries, facilitators, and specialists. The budget for the trip itselfexclusive of filming costs--must have been in the millionsnot counting the support of sponsors such as the bike manufacturer and others. Boorman and McGregor have literally hordes of lackeys to arrange for the travel documents and other necessities, producers who get them appointments with ambassadors and trainers of various kindsthey even rent and remodel an entire building to serve as an operating and outfitting center. Shakeltonthe 19th century Antarctic explorer--probably did more of his own preparation that these two did; and countless unrecorded travelers have made much more remarkable journeys with far less outside support
Lastly--and perhaps "worstly"--is the amazing inarticulateness of Boorman and McGregor. They speak no foreign languages, have little or no knowledge of the geography, history, the flora or fauna, or the cultures of the places through which they travel. As a result, all they can do is look happy or sad--depending on the difficulty of the road. "It's fantastic" is about all they can utter as they try to describe the scenery or the people. They sound more like a couple of uneducated pot heads than a pair of observant travelers. ("All the wildlife we've seen!" McGregor enthuses in one scene, as the film cuts to a one-second image of a crow sitting on a post.)
I gave the film two stars, however, so here is what I liked. The travelers did, in fact meet many people who helped thempeople who had no idea who they were, or how big and obscenely funded their expedition really was, and I was genuinely moved by what would seem to be the basic goodness of common people everywhere.
Another engaging sequence was their travail in eastern Russia, on the so-called "Road of Bones" where the entire expedition would have been stopped in its tracks, except for the assistance of Russian truck drivers in extremely tall and rugged vehicles who help them across rivers and patches of seemingly unsurpassable terrain. What is engaging about these sequences is that the expedition members and the truck drivers labor side by side to create passable fords, or build log bridges. It is probably the only time on the trip that the two dandies and their friends ever do any real work.
A film has been made of Ted Simon's journeysa camera crew following him on one leg of his second trip, with fabricated flashbacks to the earlier journey. I have not yet seen it, but I am sure it would make an interesting comparison.
First (and worst) is the "reality TV" format. In this style, the entire documentary is made up of sound bitesfew scenes lasting for more than 10 seconds, and most for only a fraction of that. This is a poor format for any kind of documentary reportingbut for a road tripwhich consists largely of views and experiences long and deep (rather than short and shallow) it must be the worst way to present the ambiance of such an adventure.
The second disappointment is with the event itself. Travel accounts are generally by and about a single traveler. This adventure, however, is more of a traditional expedition. The principals (actors Charley Boorman and Ewan McGregor) are not alone on their voyage. They are attended by at least three 4-wheel support vehicles and a huge crew. The plan was for the riders to stay ahead of the crew and rely on them only for assistance at border crossings; but it hardly works out that way, and the motorcyclists rely heavily on the crew vehicles for all kinds of support.
Boorman and McGregor are also accompanied by a third rider, the principal photographer (known only as Claudio) who presumably shares all their experiences but is almost never seen or heard from. I was never sure of his nationality but he spoke a heavily-accented English. He was brought on at the last minute and had no say in the planning of the trip, nor did he have any of the training that the two principals underwent before the ride. Indeed the relationship of these three riders must have been odd: two mates who make the trip as best friends plus a stranger who stands outside their experience and documents it. The viewer can't help but wonder: was the photographer included in their intimate evening conversation? Did they care about his thoughts or observations? Was he treated like a gentleman's gentleman rather than a fellow traveler? In the end, though Claudio has ridden the very same roads and suffered the very same hardships as Boorman and McGregor, he does not join in their victory celebration. Knowing he is there, but is being kept literally out of the picture puts a strange cast over the entire proceedings and adds to the viewer's feeling that the whole expedition is more like a stunt than a true journey.
The two actors know almost nothing about motorcycle mechanics. Indeed, they have chosen for their trip overly large and highly sophisticated motor cyclesbikes they cannot maintain or repair. As it turns out, the photographer's mount is damaged and finally abandoned for a basic Russian model that seems better suited to the task. It is interesting to note that Ted Simon, a man who traveled over the entire world (not just circumnavigating the relatively short 50th parallel) learned to strip and rebuild his bike before leaving on his four year solo journey. Indeed, Simon repeated the trip again at the age of 70, and Boorman and McGregor actually meet him in one brief scene.
The preparation for the journey is undertaken, not by the two bikers, but by an enormous staff of secretaries, facilitators, and specialists. The budget for the trip itselfexclusive of filming costs--must have been in the millionsnot counting the support of sponsors such as the bike manufacturer and others. Boorman and McGregor have literally hordes of lackeys to arrange for the travel documents and other necessities, producers who get them appointments with ambassadors and trainers of various kindsthey even rent and remodel an entire building to serve as an operating and outfitting center. Shakeltonthe 19th century Antarctic explorer--probably did more of his own preparation that these two did; and countless unrecorded travelers have made much more remarkable journeys with far less outside support
Lastly--and perhaps "worstly"--is the amazing inarticulateness of Boorman and McGregor. They speak no foreign languages, have little or no knowledge of the geography, history, the flora or fauna, or the cultures of the places through which they travel. As a result, all they can do is look happy or sad--depending on the difficulty of the road. "It's fantastic" is about all they can utter as they try to describe the scenery or the people. They sound more like a couple of uneducated pot heads than a pair of observant travelers. ("All the wildlife we've seen!" McGregor enthuses in one scene, as the film cuts to a one-second image of a crow sitting on a post.)
I gave the film two stars, however, so here is what I liked. The travelers did, in fact meet many people who helped thempeople who had no idea who they were, or how big and obscenely funded their expedition really was, and I was genuinely moved by what would seem to be the basic goodness of common people everywhere.
Another engaging sequence was their travail in eastern Russia, on the so-called "Road of Bones" where the entire expedition would have been stopped in its tracks, except for the assistance of Russian truck drivers in extremely tall and rugged vehicles who help them across rivers and patches of seemingly unsurpassable terrain. What is engaging about these sequences is that the expedition members and the truck drivers labor side by side to create passable fords, or build log bridges. It is probably the only time on the trip that the two dandies and their friends ever do any real work.
A film has been made of Ted Simon's journeysa camera crew following him on one leg of his second trip, with fabricated flashbacks to the earlier journey. I have not yet seen it, but I am sure it would make an interesting comparison.
The Far Side of the Moon
(2003)
Nearly perfect
4 June 2006
I would have liked to have given this film a 9.99, since there were two scenes which I felt were just a bit too long. Since it is closer to a perfect ten than a perfect 9, however, I had to give it a 10.
"Far Side of The Moon" is an absolute gem of a film. Robert Lepage is another one of those depressingly competent people who writes, directs and stars in his own films. It is so enchanting that its length (under an hour and three quarters) seems even shorter than it is.
"Far Side..." is chock full of the most carefully constructed sequences I have ever seen in the cinema. There is literally not one frame that has not been carefully nurtured and coaxed into place--like a piece of a brightly colored mosaic--to create what must be one of the most seamlessly engineered set of images in film history.
There are no "stock" shots in this film. Not one shot is ever simply thrown in to get on with the plot. Each scene segues beautifully into the next, each is composed with the utmost care. This is what film making should be.
While the movie relies servilely on (often complex)special effects for the realization of its vision, these techniques are not there just for the "wow" factor; rather they are all in the service of a unified directorial vision, full of resonant symbols and painterly motifs that seem always to reach toward each other as if in a dance.
You would think that this obsessive attention to setting and color and detail would make the movie stiff and formal. But it does not. First of all, Lepage (and his character Philippe) are full of such self-deprecating irony that there are almost as many laughs as there are sighs of wonder in the movie.
But moreover, the film is a supremely dramatic and melancholic tale, . Lepage has created in his character Philippe probably the greatest sad sack since Nabokov's Pnin. You can't help but feel for the poor helpless loser, tricked by his hyperactive and poetic imagination into a failed marriage, a failed university degree, and a failed relation with the only two family members he has.
Funny, tragic, witty, and visually splendid. Why don't more moves like this get made?
Numer of car chases: 0 Number of gun shots: 0 Number of psychopathic killers: 0 Number of action heroes: 0
"Far Side of The Moon" is an absolute gem of a film. Robert Lepage is another one of those depressingly competent people who writes, directs and stars in his own films. It is so enchanting that its length (under an hour and three quarters) seems even shorter than it is.
"Far Side..." is chock full of the most carefully constructed sequences I have ever seen in the cinema. There is literally not one frame that has not been carefully nurtured and coaxed into place--like a piece of a brightly colored mosaic--to create what must be one of the most seamlessly engineered set of images in film history.
There are no "stock" shots in this film. Not one shot is ever simply thrown in to get on with the plot. Each scene segues beautifully into the next, each is composed with the utmost care. This is what film making should be.
While the movie relies servilely on (often complex)special effects for the realization of its vision, these techniques are not there just for the "wow" factor; rather they are all in the service of a unified directorial vision, full of resonant symbols and painterly motifs that seem always to reach toward each other as if in a dance.
You would think that this obsessive attention to setting and color and detail would make the movie stiff and formal. But it does not. First of all, Lepage (and his character Philippe) are full of such self-deprecating irony that there are almost as many laughs as there are sighs of wonder in the movie.
But moreover, the film is a supremely dramatic and melancholic tale, . Lepage has created in his character Philippe probably the greatest sad sack since Nabokov's Pnin. You can't help but feel for the poor helpless loser, tricked by his hyperactive and poetic imagination into a failed marriage, a failed university degree, and a failed relation with the only two family members he has.
Funny, tragic, witty, and visually splendid. Why don't more moves like this get made?
Numer of car chases: 0 Number of gun shots: 0 Number of psychopathic killers: 0 Number of action heroes: 0
The Cooler
(2003)
Plot Analysis and commentary--Spoilers ahead
7 March 2006
Warning: Spoilers
I am going to address my comments only to the criticism of the last 30 minutes of the film. According to many of the commentators, the ending is "unbelievable." I think what these viewers are missing is that the movie is not meant to be believable, it is pure myth. Moreover, Bernie does not talk Shelly into having a change of heart. To think that would be to miss the entire point of the Shelly character and of the movie.
It is a credit to the film makers that they do not hit us over the head with it, but in fact, all along, Shelly is not an SOB using his best friend and destroying those who get in his way. In fact, it is the exact opposite: all of Shelly's actions are designed to help Bernie.
You have to get involved in the back story to work this all out. Recall that Shelly and Bernie have been friends a long timepartners in crime when they were both grifters. We learn that Shelly has had Bernie kneecapped. Natalie expresses horror at this revelation; but Bernie explains that he was addicted to gambling and was in debt to the casinos for more than he could pay. Shelly's seemingly heartless act has cured Bernie of his disease ("Anytime I think of gambling," he says, "I just reach down and feel what's left of my cartilage and the feeling passes") and puts him in a position to pay back the debtthereby saving his life.
Time passes, Bernie's obligation is up and he wants to move on. Then Bernie "by chance" runs into his son (clearly a bad egg if ever here was one) In one of the most horrible scenes, however, we watch appalled as Shelly proceeds to threaten the life of Mike and his bride and unborn daughter. Indeed, in an unimaginable act of brutality, Shelly viscously kicks the pregnant woman in the stomach, only to reveal the pillow she has been hiding, thereby unmasking the perfidy of the couple, who have intended all along to bilk Bernie. Shelly kneecaps Mikey, which at first seems horrible, but in reality probably puts him off taking on his father again. In other wordsit's the myth of Texas justicei.e. the illegality of the act is not in question--the jury are to consider only whether or not the SOB had it coming to him.
Natalie starts going out with Bernie; then we find that Shelly has hired her to hustle and romance the poor slob, just to keep him in Vegas. When it seems like his plan has backfiredthat the two have really fallen in love with each otherShelly again commits unspeakable violence, this time to Natalie, which violence, however, only makes her love Bernie more. Convinced now that love has given him luck, he confronts Shelly on the roof top of the Casino. Shelly professes to be unmoved. But then, Bernie goes on to win at craps, aided, as we note, by Shelly's curious power (which we saw earlier when he jinxes Mike's crapshoot) of giving the dice the eye, to make them turn up as he wants. We know now--having suspected it in the earlier scene with Mike's shoot where it is Shelly, not Bernie who clearly turns the tablesthat it is really Shelly who is the cooler. Shelly does not need, and has never needed Bernie. Bernie is a loser indeedbut only because of his own weakness of character.
With the power of love behind him, Bernie really does have luck on his side, but it is clear he doubts this luck, as he keeps looking nervously at Shelly who is standing over the final game with this inscrutable look on his face. But Shelly gives Bernie the win, and even takes out one of the real Bad guys (symbolized, as is pretty common, by the young educated Turk with all brains and no heart.) So are we being asked to believe that Bernie's rooftop eloquence has finally turned the hard heart of Shelly? Certainly not. Indeed we must see Shelly as the very conscious force that has only ever had one goalto see Bernie "get everything he deserves." All of Shelly's seeming barbarities only help to further the escape of Bernie from his life-long doldrums. Shelly really has been his friend all alonga sort of Machiavellian Genie in the bottleif you'll pardon the mixed metaphor.
Shelly does, of course have his own agenda as well. Knowing full well that he, like his singer friend (whom he euthanizesagain it seems villainous, but don't forget the singer is a drug addict about to be driven out anywaythe story of the lion pride is clear to all the parties.) But Shelly is an old lion, too, and he wants to go out fighting. He knows he is going outhas known it since before the boss and his two hirelings came in the door.
So what we really have in the last portion of the story is not an improbable change of heart, but instead the final move in a craftily constructed, seamless web of altruistic machination, coupled with the heroic/mythic "blaze of glory" theme. The screenwriters are to be given credit that they don't make this obvious. They make us work for the satisfaction. If the viewer doesn't put it together we get cheated by what looks like an unlikely turn of events.
Watch it again, and you'll see what I'm saying is true.
It is a credit to the film makers that they do not hit us over the head with it, but in fact, all along, Shelly is not an SOB using his best friend and destroying those who get in his way. In fact, it is the exact opposite: all of Shelly's actions are designed to help Bernie.
You have to get involved in the back story to work this all out. Recall that Shelly and Bernie have been friends a long timepartners in crime when they were both grifters. We learn that Shelly has had Bernie kneecapped. Natalie expresses horror at this revelation; but Bernie explains that he was addicted to gambling and was in debt to the casinos for more than he could pay. Shelly's seemingly heartless act has cured Bernie of his disease ("Anytime I think of gambling," he says, "I just reach down and feel what's left of my cartilage and the feeling passes") and puts him in a position to pay back the debtthereby saving his life.
Time passes, Bernie's obligation is up and he wants to move on. Then Bernie "by chance" runs into his son (clearly a bad egg if ever here was one) In one of the most horrible scenes, however, we watch appalled as Shelly proceeds to threaten the life of Mike and his bride and unborn daughter. Indeed, in an unimaginable act of brutality, Shelly viscously kicks the pregnant woman in the stomach, only to reveal the pillow she has been hiding, thereby unmasking the perfidy of the couple, who have intended all along to bilk Bernie. Shelly kneecaps Mikey, which at first seems horrible, but in reality probably puts him off taking on his father again. In other wordsit's the myth of Texas justicei.e. the illegality of the act is not in question--the jury are to consider only whether or not the SOB had it coming to him.
Natalie starts going out with Bernie; then we find that Shelly has hired her to hustle and romance the poor slob, just to keep him in Vegas. When it seems like his plan has backfiredthat the two have really fallen in love with each otherShelly again commits unspeakable violence, this time to Natalie, which violence, however, only makes her love Bernie more. Convinced now that love has given him luck, he confronts Shelly on the roof top of the Casino. Shelly professes to be unmoved. But then, Bernie goes on to win at craps, aided, as we note, by Shelly's curious power (which we saw earlier when he jinxes Mike's crapshoot) of giving the dice the eye, to make them turn up as he wants. We know now--having suspected it in the earlier scene with Mike's shoot where it is Shelly, not Bernie who clearly turns the tablesthat it is really Shelly who is the cooler. Shelly does not need, and has never needed Bernie. Bernie is a loser indeedbut only because of his own weakness of character.
With the power of love behind him, Bernie really does have luck on his side, but it is clear he doubts this luck, as he keeps looking nervously at Shelly who is standing over the final game with this inscrutable look on his face. But Shelly gives Bernie the win, and even takes out one of the real Bad guys (symbolized, as is pretty common, by the young educated Turk with all brains and no heart.) So are we being asked to believe that Bernie's rooftop eloquence has finally turned the hard heart of Shelly? Certainly not. Indeed we must see Shelly as the very conscious force that has only ever had one goalto see Bernie "get everything he deserves." All of Shelly's seeming barbarities only help to further the escape of Bernie from his life-long doldrums. Shelly really has been his friend all alonga sort of Machiavellian Genie in the bottleif you'll pardon the mixed metaphor.
Shelly does, of course have his own agenda as well. Knowing full well that he, like his singer friend (whom he euthanizesagain it seems villainous, but don't forget the singer is a drug addict about to be driven out anywaythe story of the lion pride is clear to all the parties.) But Shelly is an old lion, too, and he wants to go out fighting. He knows he is going outhas known it since before the boss and his two hirelings came in the door.
So what we really have in the last portion of the story is not an improbable change of heart, but instead the final move in a craftily constructed, seamless web of altruistic machination, coupled with the heroic/mythic "blaze of glory" theme. The screenwriters are to be given credit that they don't make this obvious. They make us work for the satisfaction. If the viewer doesn't put it together we get cheated by what looks like an unlikely turn of events.
Watch it again, and you'll see what I'm saying is true.
Kung Fu Hustle
(2004)
If you don't like this film, you haven't been to the movies enough!
6 March 2006
"Kung Fu Hustle" is a movie-lovers movie. It is also a nearly perfect film. A terrific parody of action-film makingpast and presentwhile at the same time being just as slick and glossy as those modern films themselves. There are plenty of computer- generated special effects, but Chow choreographs some brilliant, straight-ahead stuff as well, with plain old stop-action and clever cutting to thrill us, not just with the slam bam, but with the pleasure of a subtly used camera as well.
Some, but by no means all, of the films and film styles that Chow simultaneously roasts and pays homage too include, in order of most heavily drawn from include:
Sergio Leone's "Once Upon A Time In The West," the Italian director's broad, operatic, and slightly surreal epic of good, evil, and revenge in frontier America.
The so-called "Chinese sword movie" of the late 60's and early 70's. This genre is not to be confused with the pale and anemic contemporary versions, such as "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon." The Taiwanese productions of the earlier era were meant strictly for Chinese audiences. Only a few dedicated art houses and the public theaters in the Chinatowns of America's big cities ever showed these films. They had plenty of razzle dazzle and fantasy-style fight scenes; but the plots of these early Asian films were complex and clearly drawn from the rich Chinese mythology, with literary-quality characterizations, themes and plot construction.
The slapstick and pratfall-laden "action comedies" of the silent eratypified best of course, by the films of Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd.
Chuck Jones and his classic Roadrunner cartoonsbrilliantly recreated in a live-action sequence that had me doubled over on the floor.
Contemporary, humorless, overly-special-effects-driven drivel like "The Matrix," and the afore-mentioned "Crouching Tiger."
The wonderful musicals of Fred Astair. And if the homage isn't clear, there is actually a scene where two actors are locked in a villain/victim embrace in front of a poster advertising an Astair/Rogers flick in which the postures of the two dancers parallel the ones in the foregrounda treat of directorial reference that lasts but a few seconds.
The films of independent director Hal Hartleywhere characters are suddenly and inexplicably (and briefly) placed in a chorus line for a brief dance that is essentially unrelated to the film.
Gangster movies of the forties, and--at least in once scene"The Godfather."
Chow even manages to work some heart (not to say sentimentality) into a story that is mostly satiric. Stephen Chow wrote, directed, produced and starred in this thinga real wonder boy and a true heir to Chaplin, Keaton, and Harold Lloyd.
If you don't like this film, you haven't been to the movies enough.
Some, but by no means all, of the films and film styles that Chow simultaneously roasts and pays homage too include, in order of most heavily drawn from include:
Sergio Leone's "Once Upon A Time In The West," the Italian director's broad, operatic, and slightly surreal epic of good, evil, and revenge in frontier America.
The so-called "Chinese sword movie" of the late 60's and early 70's. This genre is not to be confused with the pale and anemic contemporary versions, such as "Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon." The Taiwanese productions of the earlier era were meant strictly for Chinese audiences. Only a few dedicated art houses and the public theaters in the Chinatowns of America's big cities ever showed these films. They had plenty of razzle dazzle and fantasy-style fight scenes; but the plots of these early Asian films were complex and clearly drawn from the rich Chinese mythology, with literary-quality characterizations, themes and plot construction.
The slapstick and pratfall-laden "action comedies" of the silent eratypified best of course, by the films of Chaplin, Keaton, and Lloyd.
Chuck Jones and his classic Roadrunner cartoonsbrilliantly recreated in a live-action sequence that had me doubled over on the floor.
Contemporary, humorless, overly-special-effects-driven drivel like "The Matrix," and the afore-mentioned "Crouching Tiger."
The wonderful musicals of Fred Astair. And if the homage isn't clear, there is actually a scene where two actors are locked in a villain/victim embrace in front of a poster advertising an Astair/Rogers flick in which the postures of the two dancers parallel the ones in the foregrounda treat of directorial reference that lasts but a few seconds.
The films of independent director Hal Hartleywhere characters are suddenly and inexplicably (and briefly) placed in a chorus line for a brief dance that is essentially unrelated to the film.
Gangster movies of the forties, and--at least in once scene"The Godfather."
Chow even manages to work some heart (not to say sentimentality) into a story that is mostly satiric. Stephen Chow wrote, directed, produced and starred in this thinga real wonder boy and a true heir to Chaplin, Keaton, and Harold Lloyd.
If you don't like this film, you haven't been to the movies enough.
The Girl from Monday
(2005)
Not Hartley's best--by a long shot
23 January 2006
"Simple Men," "Amateur," and "Henry Fool" are among the films of Hal Hartley--one of the wittiest and most sophisticated independent directors working in America today.
After seeing "Simple Men," I eagerly waited the release on video of each new Hartley film, and relentlessly hunted down his early work and short films as well. Mostly, I found his movies to be totally and refreshingly offbeat, unpredictable, and irreverent--yet also very watchable--with great plots, likable characters, and a sense of humor that was wry and goofy by turns.
His photographic style was crisp and painterly; and though it may it may have looked conventional, its flat lighting and muted colors, coupled with deadpan dialogue and the movement and ear of a good play, it was obvious to anyone that this was genuine "auteur" direction.
But Hartley's more recent work"The Book of Life," "No Such Thing," and now "The Girl from Monday," has failed to stir in me even the slightest interest. There are vestiges in these films of vintage Hartley; but the thrill is definitely gone.
As he did in "The Book of Life," Hartley once again decides to offset the horizon in almost every scenea few degrees to the left, a few degrees to the rightand he indulges in other eccentricities as well, like cutting out frames to make the motion jagged, or moving the camera in and out of focusin short adding disruption after disruption--all to no purpose that I can discover. Personally, I find nothing interesting and nothing functional in this new, crabbed style of his.
The plot of "Girl" is jejune in the extremeyet another distopic look at a future of totalitarian rule, with a bit of alien intervention to muddy the mix still further. (Someone on this list compared the sci-fi facet to "The Man Who Fell To Earth." Indeed, the theft is so blatant, Roeg should have been mentioned in the credits.) This movie has little to recommend iteven for a Hartley enthusiast like I (was).
After seeing "Simple Men," I eagerly waited the release on video of each new Hartley film, and relentlessly hunted down his early work and short films as well. Mostly, I found his movies to be totally and refreshingly offbeat, unpredictable, and irreverent--yet also very watchable--with great plots, likable characters, and a sense of humor that was wry and goofy by turns.
His photographic style was crisp and painterly; and though it may it may have looked conventional, its flat lighting and muted colors, coupled with deadpan dialogue and the movement and ear of a good play, it was obvious to anyone that this was genuine "auteur" direction.
But Hartley's more recent work"The Book of Life," "No Such Thing," and now "The Girl from Monday," has failed to stir in me even the slightest interest. There are vestiges in these films of vintage Hartley; but the thrill is definitely gone.
As he did in "The Book of Life," Hartley once again decides to offset the horizon in almost every scenea few degrees to the left, a few degrees to the rightand he indulges in other eccentricities as well, like cutting out frames to make the motion jagged, or moving the camera in and out of focusin short adding disruption after disruption--all to no purpose that I can discover. Personally, I find nothing interesting and nothing functional in this new, crabbed style of his.
The plot of "Girl" is jejune in the extremeyet another distopic look at a future of totalitarian rule, with a bit of alien intervention to muddy the mix still further. (Someone on this list compared the sci-fi facet to "The Man Who Fell To Earth." Indeed, the theft is so blatant, Roeg should have been mentioned in the credits.) This movie has little to recommend iteven for a Hartley enthusiast like I (was).
The Jacket
(2005)
Nice Supernatural Thriller
10 October 2005
Warning: Spoilers
Imagine a sort of mix of "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest," "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," "Sixth Sense," and "D.O.A.;" toss it in with "The Time Machine," and you've about got "The Jacket." This is an entertaining bit of film making, a nice little ghost story which is a bit like those other films, but mostly an original piece of work. Despite the rather meandering seeming beginning, it tightens up like a knot about halfway through and keeps you guessing right up to the end.
The camera work is unremarkable, and the film has a grainy, documentary-style texture to it that makes the atmosphere seem ambiguous at times. The Vermont-in-winter setting, however, with its unromantic and grubby environs, probably helps push what little character development we get into the foreground.
This is a neat little movie.
The camera work is unremarkable, and the film has a grainy, documentary-style texture to it that makes the atmosphere seem ambiguous at times. The Vermont-in-winter setting, however, with its unromantic and grubby environs, probably helps push what little character development we get into the foreground.
This is a neat little movie.
De-Lovely
(2004)
A Mixed bag, both as music and as movie
8 January 2005
This MGM extravaganza is not entirely without merit as a film. Nor is it entirely without merit as a review of the music of one of the best songwriters of all time.
Cole Porter was one of only two significant American composers (Irving Berlin was the other) who wrote both the music and the lyrics to their songs.
And what songs they were. Porter was, along with the Gershwin Brothers and Rogers & Hart, the author of some of the most enduring American popular songs of all time. This is evidenced by the extraordinary number of "covers" these songs receive every year--especially by jazz musicians and singers. In fact, these songs are referred to by musicians as "standards"--tunes that are a regular part every performing musician's, or singer's repertoire.
With so many excellent renditions of these songs available on recordings, or performed live any day of the week in any town of respectable size, it is an ambitious undertaking to attempt to create a memorable, stand-alone setting for each of the songs in the show. (Indeed, there are more than a dozen songs performed in their entirety and maybe another dozen or so performed at least in part.) However, one has only to listen to the performances on the sound track CD to realize that, in this respect, the movie has only very limited success. I found only a few of the songs were sung with sufficient clarity and power, and with sufficiently creative arrangements to merit repeat listenings.
But actually watching the singers perform on "stage" was quite a treat--even if, like me you didn't immediately recognize the famous singers like Elvis Costello, Natalie Cole, Diana Krall and others whose voices are more well known than their faces.
Most of these performances were gutsy and energetic. In particular, Robbie Williams' rendition of "It's De-lovely" is --well, "de-lovely;" and Costello's "Let's Misbehave" is both kinky and cool. The other solos were also original and tasteful, and the chorus numbers--like "Be A Clown" and the rousing finale, "Blow Gabriel Blow"--are what musicals are all about.
One glaring exception, however, was "Begin the Beguine," which the music director felt compelled to transpose into a minor key, thereby changing not only all the harmonies, but most of the melody as well. I don't want to be sanctimonious, but you really shouldn't do that to a classic--even a pop classic.
Then too, some of the movie is cinematically interesting--at least in theory. For example, the sequence in "Love for Sale" is shot in a single steady-cam take--a tour-de-force you would likely not notice if it weren't revealed as such in the DVD "extra features."
Probably the biggest disappointment in the film is its lead. Kevin Kline's interpretation of Porter was a big disappointment to me. There is nothing to distinguish his Cole Porter from the characters he played in movies like in "In and Out" or "Soap Dish." Kline's Porter is a kind of spacey, uncomplicated character who mostly goes around looking either happily bewildered when things are going well--or dull and stunned in the later scenes as his life unravels.
Mind you, Kline is a wonderful comic actor. His Pirate King in "Pirates ofPenzance" and his Bottom in "Midsummer Night's Dream"--not to mention his character, Otto (the goon in "A Fish Called Wanda")--are all comic tour de forces. But I'm afraid Kline just isn't the man for any kind of pathos. (I am reminded that his "Hamlet" was unremarkable, except for the comic moments he plays in his "madness.") Kline was a poor choice for the lead, I fear--despite that fact that he can both sing and play the piano. (And speaking of insider information, it was nice to learn from the DVD that Kevin Kline does his own piano playing on screen.) So in a way this musical is not unlike a lot of MGM's classical musicals from the thirties and forties, which always leave you wanting to fast forward though the silly plots and predictable sentimentality to get to the good stuff--Astair dancing.
Cole Porter was one of only two significant American composers (Irving Berlin was the other) who wrote both the music and the lyrics to their songs.
And what songs they were. Porter was, along with the Gershwin Brothers and Rogers & Hart, the author of some of the most enduring American popular songs of all time. This is evidenced by the extraordinary number of "covers" these songs receive every year--especially by jazz musicians and singers. In fact, these songs are referred to by musicians as "standards"--tunes that are a regular part every performing musician's, or singer's repertoire.
With so many excellent renditions of these songs available on recordings, or performed live any day of the week in any town of respectable size, it is an ambitious undertaking to attempt to create a memorable, stand-alone setting for each of the songs in the show. (Indeed, there are more than a dozen songs performed in their entirety and maybe another dozen or so performed at least in part.) However, one has only to listen to the performances on the sound track CD to realize that, in this respect, the movie has only very limited success. I found only a few of the songs were sung with sufficient clarity and power, and with sufficiently creative arrangements to merit repeat listenings.
But actually watching the singers perform on "stage" was quite a treat--even if, like me you didn't immediately recognize the famous singers like Elvis Costello, Natalie Cole, Diana Krall and others whose voices are more well known than their faces.
Most of these performances were gutsy and energetic. In particular, Robbie Williams' rendition of "It's De-lovely" is --well, "de-lovely;" and Costello's "Let's Misbehave" is both kinky and cool. The other solos were also original and tasteful, and the chorus numbers--like "Be A Clown" and the rousing finale, "Blow Gabriel Blow"--are what musicals are all about.
One glaring exception, however, was "Begin the Beguine," which the music director felt compelled to transpose into a minor key, thereby changing not only all the harmonies, but most of the melody as well. I don't want to be sanctimonious, but you really shouldn't do that to a classic--even a pop classic.
Then too, some of the movie is cinematically interesting--at least in theory. For example, the sequence in "Love for Sale" is shot in a single steady-cam take--a tour-de-force you would likely not notice if it weren't revealed as such in the DVD "extra features."
Probably the biggest disappointment in the film is its lead. Kevin Kline's interpretation of Porter was a big disappointment to me. There is nothing to distinguish his Cole Porter from the characters he played in movies like in "In and Out" or "Soap Dish." Kline's Porter is a kind of spacey, uncomplicated character who mostly goes around looking either happily bewildered when things are going well--or dull and stunned in the later scenes as his life unravels.
Mind you, Kline is a wonderful comic actor. His Pirate King in "Pirates ofPenzance" and his Bottom in "Midsummer Night's Dream"--not to mention his character, Otto (the goon in "A Fish Called Wanda")--are all comic tour de forces. But I'm afraid Kline just isn't the man for any kind of pathos. (I am reminded that his "Hamlet" was unremarkable, except for the comic moments he plays in his "madness.") Kline was a poor choice for the lead, I fear--despite that fact that he can both sing and play the piano. (And speaking of insider information, it was nice to learn from the DVD that Kevin Kline does his own piano playing on screen.) So in a way this musical is not unlike a lot of MGM's classical musicals from the thirties and forties, which always leave you wanting to fast forward though the silly plots and predictable sentimentality to get to the good stuff--Astair dancing.
Jersey Girl
(2004)
Kevin Smith sells out
22 October 2004
OK, I'm wading in with the disappointed Kevin Smith fans. 'Jersey Girl' is indeed trite Hollywood stuff, with only a the barest hint of Smith's flair for goofy situations, zingy dialogue, and crypt-kicking attitude to boost it to a meagre 3-star level.
Of course, there would be no fairness in trying to compare 'Jersey Girl' to one of Smith's more outrageous creations, like 'Dogma' or '...Strike Back.' 'Jersey Girl' isn't intended to jolt us; so I can't fault the film for being more melodrama than screwball fantasy.
On the contrary, Smith is perfectly capable of stamping his own style on 'realistic' stories, too. Take a film like 'Chasing Amy,' which has arguably no more adventurous a plot than 'boy meets girl, boy gets girl, boy loses girl.' However, in '...Amy,' Smith uses his special blend of off-beat characters, rude humor, and engaging dialogue to turn a simple romantic comedy into a complex, nicely nuanced, and very original take on love, friendship, and the wages of jealousy.
But 'Jersey Girl' is pure Disney-style sentiment. And while there is some relief here and there from the thoroughly mawkish family-values stuff (Liv Tyler--a perfect Smith-style ingenue-has a few quirky scenes and some some funny in-your-face repartee; and there is a terrific scene where Dad and Daughter take turns reading the riot act to each other over how to behave with the opposite sex) nothing can rescue the film from its stupefying sentimentality and its hackneyed and tiresomely contrived angst about careers versus kids.
A sad end for a promising indie director.
Of course, there would be no fairness in trying to compare 'Jersey Girl' to one of Smith's more outrageous creations, like 'Dogma' or '...Strike Back.' 'Jersey Girl' isn't intended to jolt us; so I can't fault the film for being more melodrama than screwball fantasy.
On the contrary, Smith is perfectly capable of stamping his own style on 'realistic' stories, too. Take a film like 'Chasing Amy,' which has arguably no more adventurous a plot than 'boy meets girl, boy gets girl, boy loses girl.' However, in '...Amy,' Smith uses his special blend of off-beat characters, rude humor, and engaging dialogue to turn a simple romantic comedy into a complex, nicely nuanced, and very original take on love, friendship, and the wages of jealousy.
But 'Jersey Girl' is pure Disney-style sentiment. And while there is some relief here and there from the thoroughly mawkish family-values stuff (Liv Tyler--a perfect Smith-style ingenue-has a few quirky scenes and some some funny in-your-face repartee; and there is a terrific scene where Dad and Daughter take turns reading the riot act to each other over how to behave with the opposite sex) nothing can rescue the film from its stupefying sentimentality and its hackneyed and tiresomely contrived angst about careers versus kids.
A sad end for a promising indie director.
Northfork
(2003)
Refreshing
11 January 2004
It's a shame this movie is rated PG 13--it is really quite suitable for anyone--though young kids might not follow it too well.
It belongs to that wonderful genre of serio-comic ghost/angel stories that would have to include everything from Capra's "It's A Wonderful Life" to Wenders's "Wings of Desire."
The photography is stunning, the acting first rate, and--wonder of wonders--the tone is uplifting.
My only criticism is that there is not much ambiguity in the film. The two interwoven stories seem intriguingly mysterious at first; but they resolve themselves a little too nicely for my taste. As the director points out in his commentary on the DVD, all the ingredients of Irwin's story are on his bedside table. The symbolism is just a trifle too pat for me.
But what a lark! My favorite scene has to be when the relocation team tries to get breakfast at a diner. This is practically theatrical in its magic--a tour de force of witty acting--subtle, playful, and positively rhythmic--coupled with striking cinematography and an acute eye for the grotesque.
"Northfork" is funny, touching, gorgeous to look at, magical (with the above reservations) and has not one single car-chase.
An easy nine stars.
It belongs to that wonderful genre of serio-comic ghost/angel stories that would have to include everything from Capra's "It's A Wonderful Life" to Wenders's "Wings of Desire."
The photography is stunning, the acting first rate, and--wonder of wonders--the tone is uplifting.
My only criticism is that there is not much ambiguity in the film. The two interwoven stories seem intriguingly mysterious at first; but they resolve themselves a little too nicely for my taste. As the director points out in his commentary on the DVD, all the ingredients of Irwin's story are on his bedside table. The symbolism is just a trifle too pat for me.
But what a lark! My favorite scene has to be when the relocation team tries to get breakfast at a diner. This is practically theatrical in its magic--a tour de force of witty acting--subtle, playful, and positively rhythmic--coupled with striking cinematography and an acute eye for the grotesque.
"Northfork" is funny, touching, gorgeous to look at, magical (with the above reservations) and has not one single car-chase.
An easy nine stars.
Donnie Darko
(2001)
Caution: Spoilers ahead!
19 March 2003
Warning: Spoilers
The main problem with Donnie Darko, is that the basic plot structure has by now become trite. I can list a number of movies, starting from the most recent, that use this particular `surprise ending.' There's Shamalayan's `Sixth Sense' and Polanski's `A Pure Formality,' as well as the relatively unknown `Final Approach,' and no doubt a host of others where the whole movie takes place because its protagonist is really already dead. (The grandaddy of this genre may well be the award-winning sixties short film, "Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge.")
The use of this tired plot device is a fault in itself; but there is a big plot hole as well. It seems the anomalous falling jet engine that misses/kills our hero was supposed to be from the future, from a plane his mother and sister are on. Yet in the wrap-up, the whole family turns out to be in the house, and not on the plane after all.
There is an attempt to evade this plot hole but positing that, by some goofy, sci-fi, time-travel sleight-of-hand, we are dealing, not with a post-death experience, but with an alternate universe in which Donnie has: A) survived in order to prevent the alt.real. from occurring; or B) has caused it by not dying. In any case, the fix is to go back in time and die and make it all better. This may sound original, but it is really just `It's A Wonderful Life' stood on its head.
Other well-chewed bits include the reliance on the old horror motif of `the kids at a Halloween party', which becomes and excuse to create rather easy images and metaphors of confused-identity. Worst of all, the film has a miscellaneous sort of sound track which often obscures the dialogue.
Having said all that negative stuff, let me add that the film (without the trick this-explains-it-all ending) is not a chore to watch, though the pacing is uneven. Better still, along the way there is some very nice film making: fine acting (I loved Donnie's mom); some good shooting (though nothing as wonderful as the Lynch-like opening shot); and quite a bit of witty political and social satire, as well as some relatively sensitive philosophical musing and characters you care about. Plus, there is plenty of tongue-in-cheek references to other films--not the least of which, is of course, the nod to `Harvey,' the only other film I know of with a giant invisible rabbit driving the plot.
I hope Director Richard Kelly gets another shot at making a film, because he's got style. But I fear that we can get a good idea of where Kelly might actually be going if we look at his contemporary, M. Shamalayan. I'm not sure that a good eye, a bit of wit, a warm heart, and a surprise ending are enough to build a career on. `Sixth Sense' was both moving and kind of cool. But `Unbreakable' was a limper attempt at a similar sort of thing, and `Signs' was a flat-out embarrassing serving of less of more-of-the-same. I hope Shamalayan has discovered that long, tense, moody shots, full of spooky ambiguity can do a lot in the hands of someone like David Lynch. But a director had better have the artistic and intellectual cojones to back it up, or he's going to look silly.
The use of this tired plot device is a fault in itself; but there is a big plot hole as well. It seems the anomalous falling jet engine that misses/kills our hero was supposed to be from the future, from a plane his mother and sister are on. Yet in the wrap-up, the whole family turns out to be in the house, and not on the plane after all.
There is an attempt to evade this plot hole but positing that, by some goofy, sci-fi, time-travel sleight-of-hand, we are dealing, not with a post-death experience, but with an alternate universe in which Donnie has: A) survived in order to prevent the alt.real. from occurring; or B) has caused it by not dying. In any case, the fix is to go back in time and die and make it all better. This may sound original, but it is really just `It's A Wonderful Life' stood on its head.
Other well-chewed bits include the reliance on the old horror motif of `the kids at a Halloween party', which becomes and excuse to create rather easy images and metaphors of confused-identity. Worst of all, the film has a miscellaneous sort of sound track which often obscures the dialogue.
Having said all that negative stuff, let me add that the film (without the trick this-explains-it-all ending) is not a chore to watch, though the pacing is uneven. Better still, along the way there is some very nice film making: fine acting (I loved Donnie's mom); some good shooting (though nothing as wonderful as the Lynch-like opening shot); and quite a bit of witty political and social satire, as well as some relatively sensitive philosophical musing and characters you care about. Plus, there is plenty of tongue-in-cheek references to other films--not the least of which, is of course, the nod to `Harvey,' the only other film I know of with a giant invisible rabbit driving the plot.
I hope Director Richard Kelly gets another shot at making a film, because he's got style. But I fear that we can get a good idea of where Kelly might actually be going if we look at his contemporary, M. Shamalayan. I'm not sure that a good eye, a bit of wit, a warm heart, and a surprise ending are enough to build a career on. `Sixth Sense' was both moving and kind of cool. But `Unbreakable' was a limper attempt at a similar sort of thing, and `Signs' was a flat-out embarrassing serving of less of more-of-the-same. I hope Shamalayan has discovered that long, tense, moody shots, full of spooky ambiguity can do a lot in the hands of someone like David Lynch. But a director had better have the artistic and intellectual cojones to back it up, or he's going to look silly.
Novocaine
(2001)
On a scale from novocaine to laughing gas...
2 March 2003
...this comedy rates a "mildly amusing." Yes, it is wry and clever; but it is not particularly innovative. There are plenty of plot twists to keep you guessing. But every comic action is played down, as if the director were afraid that if he made it too funny, it wouldn't work as a thriller or mystery. And all the tense bits gets played down, too, by the odd insouciance of every character--especially our hero--as if the director was afraid to get the comedy too dark.
I have to think that 'Novocaine' is either a perfect Steve Martin vehicle, or that somehow Steve Martin lends a peculiar flavor to all the movies he appears in--a sort of overpowering blandness that makes all the comedy seem somehow flaccid, and all the romance seem flat.
Better than a root canal but not as good as a hit of nitrous oxide.
I have to think that 'Novocaine' is either a perfect Steve Martin vehicle, or that somehow Steve Martin lends a peculiar flavor to all the movies he appears in--a sort of overpowering blandness that makes all the comedy seem somehow flaccid, and all the romance seem flat.
Better than a root canal but not as good as a hit of nitrous oxide.
Cold Heaven
(1991)
A good film with a neat "punch line"
13 February 2003
After reading the other tepid reviews and comments, I felt I had to come to bat for this movie.
Roeg's films tend to have little to do with one another, and expecting this one to be like one of his you liked is probably off the mark.
What this film is is a thoughtful and unabashed look at religious faith. The only other film like it-in terms of its religious message-would have to be Tolkin's `The Rapture.'
I am astonished that anyone could say the story is muddled or supernatural. It is a simple movie about Catholic faith, miracles, and redemption--though you would never guess it till the end. It is also the only movie I can think of whose resolution turns, literally, on a pun.
As a (happily) fallen Catholic myself, I know what the movie is about, and I find a sort of fondness in its ultimate innocence about the relation between God and man. But if you are not familiar with the kind of theology on which the film is based, then it will go right over you head.
As a film-as opposed to a story-`Cold Heaven' it is not ground-breaking. While `The Rapture' is heavy with pictorial significance and cinematic imagery, `Cold Heaven' downplays its own cinematic qualities. There are no striking shots, no edgy effects, no attempts to fit the content to the form. It is workmanlike shooting, but subdued. Nor does it have dialogue or acting to put it in a class of high drama. It is a simple story that unfolds simply. It may seem odd; but at the end the mystery is revealed. It looks ambiguous; but with a single line the ambiguity vanishes in a puff of Catholic dogma.
In this regard, `Cold Heaven' has at its heart exactly the same sort of thing that drives a movie like `The Sting,' or `The Sixth Sense,' or `Final Descent,' or Polanski's `A Pure Formality.' All of these are films with a trick up their sleeves. They may frustrate you along the way, but they have a point-an obvious one, indeed--but the fun is, at least in part, in having been taken in.
Still, even if it seems like little more than a shaggy dog story with a punch line, it is worth watching for way it directs-and misdirects-you. Try it-especially if you are, or have ever been, a Catholic.
Roeg's films tend to have little to do with one another, and expecting this one to be like one of his you liked is probably off the mark.
What this film is is a thoughtful and unabashed look at religious faith. The only other film like it-in terms of its religious message-would have to be Tolkin's `The Rapture.'
I am astonished that anyone could say the story is muddled or supernatural. It is a simple movie about Catholic faith, miracles, and redemption--though you would never guess it till the end. It is also the only movie I can think of whose resolution turns, literally, on a pun.
As a (happily) fallen Catholic myself, I know what the movie is about, and I find a sort of fondness in its ultimate innocence about the relation between God and man. But if you are not familiar with the kind of theology on which the film is based, then it will go right over you head.
As a film-as opposed to a story-`Cold Heaven' it is not ground-breaking. While `The Rapture' is heavy with pictorial significance and cinematic imagery, `Cold Heaven' downplays its own cinematic qualities. There are no striking shots, no edgy effects, no attempts to fit the content to the form. It is workmanlike shooting, but subdued. Nor does it have dialogue or acting to put it in a class of high drama. It is a simple story that unfolds simply. It may seem odd; but at the end the mystery is revealed. It looks ambiguous; but with a single line the ambiguity vanishes in a puff of Catholic dogma.
In this regard, `Cold Heaven' has at its heart exactly the same sort of thing that drives a movie like `The Sting,' or `The Sixth Sense,' or `Final Descent,' or Polanski's `A Pure Formality.' All of these are films with a trick up their sleeves. They may frustrate you along the way, but they have a point-an obvious one, indeed--but the fun is, at least in part, in having been taken in.
Still, even if it seems like little more than a shaggy dog story with a punch line, it is worth watching for way it directs-and misdirects-you. Try it-especially if you are, or have ever been, a Catholic.
Into the West
(1992)
`Into The West' is a beautifully made film:
31 January 2003
`Into The West' is a beautifully made film: that it is also a wonderful children's move is only an added delight.
This film is a ghost story of love, loss, redemption, and the power of both myth and family to endure (if not exactly overcome) the twin bedevilments of a well-intentioned but meddling socialism, on the one hand, and privileged and greedy capitalism on the other. It is a modern fairy tale (with ties to traditional Irish mythology); but remarkably, it is also an honest, gritty look at the lives of not only the urban poor, but also of that most marginalized and enigmatic of socio-ethnic groups-the contemporary gypsies (or `travelers,' as they call themselves)--who eke out a meager but defiant existence in a world of the `settled.'
The movie is sympathetic to these people, but never over-romanticizes them. Around their campfire is not only joyous traditional Irish music and dancing, but also a television going full blast. And while their children are as happy as children anywhere, their camps are not idyllic picnics, but cold and grubby landfalls.
The story itself is not overly complicated. A strange white horse appears out of seemingly nowhere and is drawn to the two young sons of a widowed traveler, the death of whose wife has driven him to reject the gypsy life and embrace the bottle.
The horse, which has a preternatural jumping ability, is stolen and sold buy a corrupt police officer, then retaken by the boys, who then find themselves led westward by the horse, followed by both their father and the authorities.
All such journeys, of course, are journeys into both history and self knowledge; and it is here the film excels, gradually spinning out for us, with as few words as possible, the tale of a lost wife and mother, while showing us how the uncertain quest brings both father and sons to a better understanding of themselves, their history, and each other.
The film is painterly, well-acted (with especial kudos to the children) and splendidly edited--with no endless chase scenes (no more than necessary, anyway)--and with one of the most perfect and revealing climactic shots ever filmed--full of magic and metaphor--with never a word or a heavy-handed image.
`Into The West' is the perfect film for discriminating film lovers who want to watch some superb cinema with their kids-or without them.
P.S. My seven-year-old daughter loved it.
This film is a ghost story of love, loss, redemption, and the power of both myth and family to endure (if not exactly overcome) the twin bedevilments of a well-intentioned but meddling socialism, on the one hand, and privileged and greedy capitalism on the other. It is a modern fairy tale (with ties to traditional Irish mythology); but remarkably, it is also an honest, gritty look at the lives of not only the urban poor, but also of that most marginalized and enigmatic of socio-ethnic groups-the contemporary gypsies (or `travelers,' as they call themselves)--who eke out a meager but defiant existence in a world of the `settled.'
The movie is sympathetic to these people, but never over-romanticizes them. Around their campfire is not only joyous traditional Irish music and dancing, but also a television going full blast. And while their children are as happy as children anywhere, their camps are not idyllic picnics, but cold and grubby landfalls.
The story itself is not overly complicated. A strange white horse appears out of seemingly nowhere and is drawn to the two young sons of a widowed traveler, the death of whose wife has driven him to reject the gypsy life and embrace the bottle.
The horse, which has a preternatural jumping ability, is stolen and sold buy a corrupt police officer, then retaken by the boys, who then find themselves led westward by the horse, followed by both their father and the authorities.
All such journeys, of course, are journeys into both history and self knowledge; and it is here the film excels, gradually spinning out for us, with as few words as possible, the tale of a lost wife and mother, while showing us how the uncertain quest brings both father and sons to a better understanding of themselves, their history, and each other.
The film is painterly, well-acted (with especial kudos to the children) and splendidly edited--with no endless chase scenes (no more than necessary, anyway)--and with one of the most perfect and revealing climactic shots ever filmed--full of magic and metaphor--with never a word or a heavy-handed image.
`Into The West' is the perfect film for discriminating film lovers who want to watch some superb cinema with their kids-or without them.
P.S. My seven-year-old daughter loved it.
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