Woody Allen's Vicky Cristina Barcelona chronicles the liaisons of two American women summering in Spain. Vicky (Rebecca Hall) believes in monogamy while Cristina (Scarlett Johansson) is interested in experimentation. The insouciant hedonistic painter Juan Antonio (Javier Bardem) audaciously propositions them much to Vicky's shock and Christina's delight. As fate has it, Cristina receives food poisoning incapacitating her for the weekend, leaving Antonio and Vicky alone together. Vicky has trouble dealing with the aftermath, and melancholically resigns to watching Cristina, Antonio and Antonio's passionately temperamental ex-wife Maria Elena (Penélope Cruz) embrace their sensations. In the end, after both Maria and Vicky leave Antonio, he pleads with Vicky for one last assignation, having fallen victim to ancient laws of the heart, only Paris being able to slay Achilles. The girls return home, astute students of the senses, Christina still solely aware of that which she does not want, Vicky finding strength through fidelity. Another tale wherein ideological points of view are challenged by the heuristics of happenstance, where characters submit to either that which they long to possess or can never comprehend.
In the beginning, the narration is tedious, but, as the film progresses it becomes more endearing, thereby formally deconstructing the logic of first impressions. And Cruz's performance is outstanding, stealing each and every scene she graces, the wild chaotic impulsive destructive yet inspiring Latino genius, demanding her whims be worshipped, simultaneously driving and deflating Antonio's art.
Nice to see Woody Allen can still pull it off.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Appaloosa
Ed Harris takes the directorial reigns for the second time in Appaloosa, where "feelings get you killed." Within, Harris plays lawperson Virgil Cole, who, along with trusty right-hand-man Everett Hitch (Viggo Mortensen), agrees to administer Appaloosa's justice; after the town transfers all of their power and authority over to him. His presence is required for Randall Bragg (Jeremy Irons) has murdered Marshall Jack Bell (Bobby Jauregui) and his reckless goons are doing as they please with the town's commodities and food supply. Piano playing hostess Allison French (Renée Zellweger) steps off the train with one goal in mind: find the top dog and play fetch, which eventually leads to her kidnapping, a circumstance upon which she forthrightly capitalizes.
Hitch and Cole!
Appalossa's basically, yet, another, silly western, with plenty of battles and blood, corruption and collusion, etcetera. The relationship between Hitch and Cole saves the picture and if you find their stoic allegiance endearing, you'll enjoy the film. Cole is tough as nails, making his living with his gun, never backing down, always, vigilant. As is Hitch but Hitch needs Cole in the political forefront, talking the talk, as much as Cole needs Hitch in the background, helping him walk the walk. When a local member of the town council (Phil Olson played by Timothy Spall from the Harry Potter films [Peter Pettigrew]) explains to Hitch that his organization is worried about Cole's erratic behaviour, Hitch quickly shoots back, reminding him that people representing law and order by-any-means-necessary are on occasion not the most rational of individuals, because they must be ready to confront dangerous situations every second of every day, constantly dueling with reason's dastardly dark-side. When Cole becomes upset regarding French's infidelities, Hitch wisely explains that some women simply like being with important men and he should do his best to accept that, and use that acceptance to placate his expectations. But when her ambition seeks the company of reformed and pardoned Randall Bragg, glad handing dandy (Lynch and Frost, Twin Peaks Pilot), Hitch turns in his badge and prepares for High Afternoon.
The dialogue is very Westerny, but screenplay writers Robert Knott and Harris work in an amusing motif wherein Cole tries his best to improve both his langue and parole. The conversations between Cole and Hitch are full of laconic down-home pastoral charm, and will likely (occasionally) win over even the most hardened urban intellectual. And there's a great shootout where both Cole and Hitch take plenty of licks while providing their adversaries with one or two of their own. (Structurally, after Cole is wounded, he returns to Appaloosa only to find the town has changed, advancing at a pace that his new knee brace may not allow him to administer, reminding one of pesky Jake Gittes in Chinatown). Jeremy Irons struggles with the role (the ruthless yet polite and well-read British villain), although, his awkward presence fits Harris's offbeat styling, and does grow more homely as the film strides t'wards its horizon.
One thing to keep in mind when viewing Appaloosa is that Harris is an actor's director, and when such directors employ even a slight degree of competency (Clint Eastwood being one of the best), they can bring out the best from their cast (although Harris really should have taken a couple more takes for the opening scene).
Appaloosa's not the greatest film, but it's entertaining and thoughtful, addressing traditional western tropes in a playful albeit maniacal fashion. While not as quaintly kitschy as The Outlaw Josey Whales, or as rivetingly raunchy as Hud, Appaloosa still reigns in a wildly independent wherewithal, preventing the sun from setting on a weary, weathered coincidence.
[Note: on the political level, Cole is the leader of the Cole and Hitch duo. However, as mentioned previously, Cole cannot lead without Hitch's support, in the same way that political figureheads cannot function without competent bureaucrats writing, implementing, and interpreting their policies/etc. We find Hitch's bureaucratic prominence within the Cole/Hitch duo (his position as unsung hero) represented by the phonetics of their names, insofar as Hitch and Cole flows much more smoothly than Cole and Hitch].
Hitch and Cole!
Appalossa's basically, yet, another, silly western, with plenty of battles and blood, corruption and collusion, etcetera. The relationship between Hitch and Cole saves the picture and if you find their stoic allegiance endearing, you'll enjoy the film. Cole is tough as nails, making his living with his gun, never backing down, always, vigilant. As is Hitch but Hitch needs Cole in the political forefront, talking the talk, as much as Cole needs Hitch in the background, helping him walk the walk. When a local member of the town council (Phil Olson played by Timothy Spall from the Harry Potter films [Peter Pettigrew]) explains to Hitch that his organization is worried about Cole's erratic behaviour, Hitch quickly shoots back, reminding him that people representing law and order by-any-means-necessary are on occasion not the most rational of individuals, because they must be ready to confront dangerous situations every second of every day, constantly dueling with reason's dastardly dark-side. When Cole becomes upset regarding French's infidelities, Hitch wisely explains that some women simply like being with important men and he should do his best to accept that, and use that acceptance to placate his expectations. But when her ambition seeks the company of reformed and pardoned Randall Bragg, glad handing dandy (Lynch and Frost, Twin Peaks Pilot), Hitch turns in his badge and prepares for High Afternoon.
The dialogue is very Westerny, but screenplay writers Robert Knott and Harris work in an amusing motif wherein Cole tries his best to improve both his langue and parole. The conversations between Cole and Hitch are full of laconic down-home pastoral charm, and will likely (occasionally) win over even the most hardened urban intellectual. And there's a great shootout where both Cole and Hitch take plenty of licks while providing their adversaries with one or two of their own. (Structurally, after Cole is wounded, he returns to Appaloosa only to find the town has changed, advancing at a pace that his new knee brace may not allow him to administer, reminding one of pesky Jake Gittes in Chinatown). Jeremy Irons struggles with the role (the ruthless yet polite and well-read British villain), although, his awkward presence fits Harris's offbeat styling, and does grow more homely as the film strides t'wards its horizon.
One thing to keep in mind when viewing Appaloosa is that Harris is an actor's director, and when such directors employ even a slight degree of competency (Clint Eastwood being one of the best), they can bring out the best from their cast (although Harris really should have taken a couple more takes for the opening scene).
Appaloosa's not the greatest film, but it's entertaining and thoughtful, addressing traditional western tropes in a playful albeit maniacal fashion. While not as quaintly kitschy as The Outlaw Josey Whales, or as rivetingly raunchy as Hud, Appaloosa still reigns in a wildly independent wherewithal, preventing the sun from setting on a weary, weathered coincidence.
[Note: on the political level, Cole is the leader of the Cole and Hitch duo. However, as mentioned previously, Cole cannot lead without Hitch's support, in the same way that political figureheads cannot function without competent bureaucrats writing, implementing, and interpreting their policies/etc. We find Hitch's bureaucratic prominence within the Cole/Hitch duo (his position as unsung hero) represented by the phonetics of their names, insofar as Hitch and Cole flows much more smoothly than Cole and Hitch].
Burn After Reading
The Coen Brothers' Burn After Reading presents another tangled mess of lovesick lechers, vitriolic vixens, and hapless half-wits, with problems, which become worse, as time passes.
It's really well done.
The plot follows Osbourne Cox (John Malkovich) after his quasi-dismissal from the CIA (his boss being played by Sledgehammer lead David Rasche). His wife Katie (Tilda Swinton) is having an affair with fun-loving-sex-crazed Treasury Agent Harry Pfarrer (George Clooney), who has never fired his gun. A copy of Cox's memoirs accidentally ends up in the hands of Linda Litzke (Frances McDormand), who, with the help of fellow Hardbodies Gym employee Chad Feldheimer (Brad Pitt), decides to blackmail Cox based upon the information inside. In between, a lot of awkward, lonely, gentle, and narcissistic people end up in one embarrassing situation after another, often confused, occasionally, dead. Me found it to be preferable to No Country for Old Men and the Coen brothers' best since O Brother, Where Art Thou? However, as a pair, Burn After Reading and No Country for Old Men show the best of both sides of their oeuvre, one illustrating the conniving manners in which they amusingly nuance their tragedies, the other demonstrating the bitter, helpless mediocrity that dramatically distills their comedy.
I'm not sure if this was the intent in casting Brad Pitt and George Clooney, but note how within their opening scenes they each struggle to play a role that differs from those they've generically rendered in films such as the Ocean's 11 trilogy. However, as their screen-time increases, Clooney's character falls back into his traditional trajectory, but Pitt's becomes more and more endearing, tantalizingly reminiscent of his True Romance cameo. Note how Burn's plot structurally provides an outlandish portrait of Clooney's ego with unconscious retributive satisfaction (in regards to Pitt's multi-dimensional diversity), thereby covertly explaining why he received top billing, when it should have obviously gone to Malkovich.
A lot of people want to make a quick buck, but can't, and still try too anyways, all the time. A lot of people with authoritative positions don't really know what's going on, and, probably never will, yet, they have important decisions to make, many of which end up being wrong, yet are remembered with reverence. And if some people spent more time thinking about environmentally friendly ways of boosting the economy than they do about sex, we'd probably have a hell-of-a-lot less pollution, and really cheap clean-running fuel efficient cars (in which to have sex).
Think about it.
It's really well done.
The plot follows Osbourne Cox (John Malkovich) after his quasi-dismissal from the CIA (his boss being played by Sledgehammer lead David Rasche). His wife Katie (Tilda Swinton) is having an affair with fun-loving-sex-crazed Treasury Agent Harry Pfarrer (George Clooney), who has never fired his gun. A copy of Cox's memoirs accidentally ends up in the hands of Linda Litzke (Frances McDormand), who, with the help of fellow Hardbodies Gym employee Chad Feldheimer (Brad Pitt), decides to blackmail Cox based upon the information inside. In between, a lot of awkward, lonely, gentle, and narcissistic people end up in one embarrassing situation after another, often confused, occasionally, dead. Me found it to be preferable to No Country for Old Men and the Coen brothers' best since O Brother, Where Art Thou? However, as a pair, Burn After Reading and No Country for Old Men show the best of both sides of their oeuvre, one illustrating the conniving manners in which they amusingly nuance their tragedies, the other demonstrating the bitter, helpless mediocrity that dramatically distills their comedy.
I'm not sure if this was the intent in casting Brad Pitt and George Clooney, but note how within their opening scenes they each struggle to play a role that differs from those they've generically rendered in films such as the Ocean's 11 trilogy. However, as their screen-time increases, Clooney's character falls back into his traditional trajectory, but Pitt's becomes more and more endearing, tantalizingly reminiscent of his True Romance cameo. Note how Burn's plot structurally provides an outlandish portrait of Clooney's ego with unconscious retributive satisfaction (in regards to Pitt's multi-dimensional diversity), thereby covertly explaining why he received top billing, when it should have obviously gone to Malkovich.
A lot of people want to make a quick buck, but can't, and still try too anyways, all the time. A lot of people with authoritative positions don't really know what's going on, and, probably never will, yet, they have important decisions to make, many of which end up being wrong, yet are remembered with reverence. And if some people spent more time thinking about environmentally friendly ways of boosting the economy than they do about sex, we'd probably have a hell-of-a-lot less pollution, and really cheap clean-running fuel efficient cars (in which to have sex).
Think about it.
Frozen River
Courtney Hunt's Frozen River chronicles the lives of two down-on-their-luck mothers trying to catch a break. It's a week before Christmas, and Ray Eddy's (Melissa Leo) deadbeat husband grabs the family savings (which they were going to use to pay for a new house) and heads to Atlantic City (they have two children). Ray tries to find him only to accidentally meet Lila (Misty Upham) who has stolen his car. Lila tricks Ray into helping her transport immigrants illegally across the Canadian/U.S border (both sides of the border are Mohawk territory), by car, over a frozen river. Initially, Ray reacts in a hostile manner, but after being refused full-time employment at the dollar store where she's been working for two years (by a smug teenaged manager), she warms up to the idea, and the border runs increase.
Hunt's screen-play hauntingly captures the impoverished domain of these frustrated anti-heros. The language is stormy and the characters weathered; they aren't noble disney-esque 'hope-things-will-work-out-some-day-caricatures,' they're ruff-and-tumble derelict survivalists. Leo's performance is strong as she evocatively portrays a beaten-down wife attempting to competently balance several different social roles, including responsible mother, dedicated employee, concerned citizen, and caring wife, all the while suffering a perennial nervous breakdown. Her wager parallels that of her husband's insofar as she takes serious risks to make a buck; Lila provides bulletproof reasons which suggest those whom they transport across the border are not criminals, but she still can't shake the possibility. So she walks the hard-line between personal success and legal destitution, doing what she can to get by, suffering, staggering, surviving. Her relationship with her son (T. J. played by Charlie McDermott) is enough to remind many 30 year-old males that they were once an asshole, and the strength she shows after being fucked around one too many times courageously demonstrates a desperate rationality.
Lila's tough too, and when presented with an opportunity to take back her one-year old son she takes it, moving on. Regarding opportunity, neither of these women have much, but they make ends meet by whatever-means-necessary, continually crossing their frozen cultural rivers.
Hunt's screen-play hauntingly captures the impoverished domain of these frustrated anti-heros. The language is stormy and the characters weathered; they aren't noble disney-esque 'hope-things-will-work-out-some-day-caricatures,' they're ruff-and-tumble derelict survivalists. Leo's performance is strong as she evocatively portrays a beaten-down wife attempting to competently balance several different social roles, including responsible mother, dedicated employee, concerned citizen, and caring wife, all the while suffering a perennial nervous breakdown. Her wager parallels that of her husband's insofar as she takes serious risks to make a buck; Lila provides bulletproof reasons which suggest those whom they transport across the border are not criminals, but she still can't shake the possibility. So she walks the hard-line between personal success and legal destitution, doing what she can to get by, suffering, staggering, surviving. Her relationship with her son (T. J. played by Charlie McDermott) is enough to remind many 30 year-old males that they were once an asshole, and the strength she shows after being fucked around one too many times courageously demonstrates a desperate rationality.
Lila's tough too, and when presented with an opportunity to take back her one-year old son she takes it, moving on. Regarding opportunity, neither of these women have much, but they make ends meet by whatever-means-necessary, continually crossing their frozen cultural rivers.
Brick Lane
Sarah Gavron's Brick Lane overtly and covertly deconstructs the age old tradition/progression dialectic in a multidimensional manner. The story begins in a small Bangladeshi village where Nazneen (Tannishtha Chatterjee) prepares to travel to London's Brick Lane (also known as "Banglatown") and marry her arranged husband, Chanu Ahmed (Satish Kaushik). Nazneen's incomparable beauty is matched by her bucolic charm and her traditional devotion is eventually challenged by fiery young delivery boy Kirim (Christopher Simpson), who, after 9/11, becomes tired of the resultant bigotry, and believes the solution to Bangladeshi segregation is militaristic. The older and wiser Chanu understands the folly of his ways, or the inevitable beastly consequences of militant communal activism, having lived in Pakistan during a revolution where 3 million Muslims died, Muslims killing Muslims in order to valorize Islam (Catholics killing Protestants in order to valorize Ireland, . . .). Chanu's life is difficult: he devoutly upholds the principles of his faith and acts according to its tenants. He firmly believes that an educated man should find work, will be able to find work, and thereafter, support his family. However, after quitting his job due to the fact that another was promoted when he felt that he deserved the esteem, he cannot find another.
On the surface, it appears as if Brick Lane is predominantly concerned with chronicling Nazneen's staggering transition, however, her adjustments are matched by those of Chanu as he tries to coordinate his lifestyle into an alien frame. In the beginning, it seems as if Chanu is being set up as the same old 'traditional male' who brutalizes the female members of his family as they seek freedom from servitude. But this isn't the case. Certainly, he enjoys all the privileges of having a docile, supple wife who takes care of his home, children, and has his meals ready upon his return home. This is how he was brought up to believe things should naturally be. But as his search for work becomes desperate, and his oldest daughter's petulant cheek more derisive, he doesn't take to drink or brutality; when he discovers his wife is having an affair, he doesn't react violently; when presented with an opportunity to join an organization which seeks 'justice' against the racist components of the system within which he can't find work, he criticizes them and will not sign-up; when his wife decides to remain in Brick Lane rather than move to Bangladesh with him, he breaks down, shedding tears that his code no doubt forbids him to expel; and he leaves without his family, a firm, solid Man, because, even though he has lost everything, his faith has remained in tact, and continues to provide his constitution with tranquil resolutions, through which he radiates peace (whose example provides a stoic representation of a strong religious individual who finds solace through faith). As the currents of Nazneen's affair flow more recklessly, he wisely tells her that "the thing about getting older, is you don't need everything to be possible anymore, you just need some things to be certain." This statement firmly establishes the ways in which his imaginary world has been destabilized by his culture's symbolism, in order to force him to accept its reality. Concurrently, when his daughter (Naeema Begum) ridicules their poverty, he poignantly reminds her, that outside their brick walls, her spoilt attitude will find no quarter.
Nazneen's life is difficult as well, torn between youthful passion and wizened old age, forced to mitigate her appetites. After she arrives in London, her banal existence is balanced by childhood memories of the village where she grew up (and wishes she had never left). Hence, even though part of her desires to stay with her husband, she remains in London, thereby ensuring that her daughters will not suffer as they mature from an equivalent sense of loss.
Brick Lane is a powerful film with a poignant message that liberally revitalizes the vibrant strength maintained by right of centre progressive conservatives. Moving to another country in order to cultivate a life certainly isn't easy, and Gavron's film gracefully portrays the perennial hardships associated with youth and age, the feminine and the masculine, the domestic and the foreign, the present and the future.
On the surface, it appears as if Brick Lane is predominantly concerned with chronicling Nazneen's staggering transition, however, her adjustments are matched by those of Chanu as he tries to coordinate his lifestyle into an alien frame. In the beginning, it seems as if Chanu is being set up as the same old 'traditional male' who brutalizes the female members of his family as they seek freedom from servitude. But this isn't the case. Certainly, he enjoys all the privileges of having a docile, supple wife who takes care of his home, children, and has his meals ready upon his return home. This is how he was brought up to believe things should naturally be. But as his search for work becomes desperate, and his oldest daughter's petulant cheek more derisive, he doesn't take to drink or brutality; when he discovers his wife is having an affair, he doesn't react violently; when presented with an opportunity to join an organization which seeks 'justice' against the racist components of the system within which he can't find work, he criticizes them and will not sign-up; when his wife decides to remain in Brick Lane rather than move to Bangladesh with him, he breaks down, shedding tears that his code no doubt forbids him to expel; and he leaves without his family, a firm, solid Man, because, even though he has lost everything, his faith has remained in tact, and continues to provide his constitution with tranquil resolutions, through which he radiates peace (whose example provides a stoic representation of a strong religious individual who finds solace through faith). As the currents of Nazneen's affair flow more recklessly, he wisely tells her that "the thing about getting older, is you don't need everything to be possible anymore, you just need some things to be certain." This statement firmly establishes the ways in which his imaginary world has been destabilized by his culture's symbolism, in order to force him to accept its reality. Concurrently, when his daughter (Naeema Begum) ridicules their poverty, he poignantly reminds her, that outside their brick walls, her spoilt attitude will find no quarter.
Nazneen's life is difficult as well, torn between youthful passion and wizened old age, forced to mitigate her appetites. After she arrives in London, her banal existence is balanced by childhood memories of the village where she grew up (and wishes she had never left). Hence, even though part of her desires to stay with her husband, she remains in London, thereby ensuring that her daughters will not suffer as they mature from an equivalent sense of loss.
Brick Lane is a powerful film with a poignant message that liberally revitalizes the vibrant strength maintained by right of centre progressive conservatives. Moving to another country in order to cultivate a life certainly isn't easy, and Gavron's film gracefully portrays the perennial hardships associated with youth and age, the feminine and the masculine, the domestic and the foreign, the present and the future.
Traitor
Jeffrey Nachmanoff's Traitor destabilizes the phenomenon of democratic patriotism from a variety of different angles, deconstructing its boundaries while reformulating them as well. The concept of friendship is also studied within, along with what it means to have faith, and the ways in which politics can problematize one's beliefs.
Samir Horn (Don Cheadle) is a devout Muslim who saw his father blown up by a car bomb as a child. He then moved to Chicago where he was expelled from high school for throttling 3 caucasian teenagers after they spoke none to kindly to an African American girl. Afterwards, he joined the military and when we meet him he is selling arms in Yemen. He is arrested during a raid which sends him to prison where his religious integrity wins him the admiration of Omar (Saïd Taghmaoui). After their escape, they join a terrorist organization and begin planning a series of strikes against the United States. And throughout this entire period, Horn has been working as a double agent for Governmental Representative Carter (Jeff Daniels) with the hopes of capturing said terrorist organization's kingpin.
Horn is pursued by Governmental Agents Roy Clayton (Guy Pearce) and Max Archer (Neal McDonough) (who are unaware of Carter's plan). Clayton's father was a baptist minister who would douse crosses set aflame by the Klu Klux Klan. When partner Archer wonders why every Arab Muslim in the United States is not automatically profiled, Clayton reminds him that millions of Muslims aren't Arab, making the action of racial profiling, ludicrous. Clayton believes the United States represents the good guys but Horn vociferously reminds him of their own terrorist activities. Every one is searching for the good while manifold persons are unwillingly sent to Heaven.
Horn's faith is the foundation of his being and he consistently reprimands religious hypocrites who forget God's authority. The same can be said for Clayton although his devotion is not as strict. They both seek the same ends, both tailoring their pursuits with ethical designs, one forced to live the harsh realities of his political allegiances, the other living within the political imagination of his faith. In the end, the African American leaves law enforcement behind and chooses to serve God at the local level, having realized that both national militaries and terrorist organizations exploit their soldier's faith for their own economic gain. The American of European descent continues to pursue his dreams, believing he is making a difference. Omar cannot accept his exploitation, and Horn must watch as his friend dies.
Nachmanoff melodramatically and coercively uses the relationship established between Horn and Clayton to suggest that peace can be achieved if one resigns themselves to democratic ideals, while simultaneously demonstrating the contradictory barriers standing in their way. On the one hand, terrorist activity seems futile insofar as governmental agencies possess records of everything you've ever done (and employ people capable of theorizing every thing you will likely ever do), on the other, those same agencies set up terrorist acts in order to place their spies in a position wherein they are capable of arresting individuals responsible for terrorist acts (whom they cannot locate). Within this matrix, the political manifestations of ethical ambitions intermingle and coalesce, highlighting the importance of acting locally, while stating that such positions cannot be postured without first having traveled the globe.
As a suspense film, Traitor suffers in its pacing, and never leaves its audience fearfully gripping the edge of their seats. At first I thought this was Nachmanoff's stylistic slip-up, but, upon further reflection, it seems that if one is to take the suspenseful content out of a political aesthetic, then creating a film full of suspenseful content which lacks a suspenseful form, serves to destabilize the prominent subliminal formal layer of many patriotic films (Mongol for instance), and broadcasts, and suggests that national politics would be much more patriotic if they could simply stop being so dramatic.
It's a hollywood film working within the sensationalistic terrorist tradition established by the Bush Administration which manages to overtly and covertly destabilize their paranoid cultural ethos, thereby working within the diluted frame it has inherited, to reinvigorate it's democratic commitment.
Samir Horn (Don Cheadle) is a devout Muslim who saw his father blown up by a car bomb as a child. He then moved to Chicago where he was expelled from high school for throttling 3 caucasian teenagers after they spoke none to kindly to an African American girl. Afterwards, he joined the military and when we meet him he is selling arms in Yemen. He is arrested during a raid which sends him to prison where his religious integrity wins him the admiration of Omar (Saïd Taghmaoui). After their escape, they join a terrorist organization and begin planning a series of strikes against the United States. And throughout this entire period, Horn has been working as a double agent for Governmental Representative Carter (Jeff Daniels) with the hopes of capturing said terrorist organization's kingpin.
Horn is pursued by Governmental Agents Roy Clayton (Guy Pearce) and Max Archer (Neal McDonough) (who are unaware of Carter's plan). Clayton's father was a baptist minister who would douse crosses set aflame by the Klu Klux Klan. When partner Archer wonders why every Arab Muslim in the United States is not automatically profiled, Clayton reminds him that millions of Muslims aren't Arab, making the action of racial profiling, ludicrous. Clayton believes the United States represents the good guys but Horn vociferously reminds him of their own terrorist activities. Every one is searching for the good while manifold persons are unwillingly sent to Heaven.
Horn's faith is the foundation of his being and he consistently reprimands religious hypocrites who forget God's authority. The same can be said for Clayton although his devotion is not as strict. They both seek the same ends, both tailoring their pursuits with ethical designs, one forced to live the harsh realities of his political allegiances, the other living within the political imagination of his faith. In the end, the African American leaves law enforcement behind and chooses to serve God at the local level, having realized that both national militaries and terrorist organizations exploit their soldier's faith for their own economic gain. The American of European descent continues to pursue his dreams, believing he is making a difference. Omar cannot accept his exploitation, and Horn must watch as his friend dies.
Nachmanoff melodramatically and coercively uses the relationship established between Horn and Clayton to suggest that peace can be achieved if one resigns themselves to democratic ideals, while simultaneously demonstrating the contradictory barriers standing in their way. On the one hand, terrorist activity seems futile insofar as governmental agencies possess records of everything you've ever done (and employ people capable of theorizing every thing you will likely ever do), on the other, those same agencies set up terrorist acts in order to place their spies in a position wherein they are capable of arresting individuals responsible for terrorist acts (whom they cannot locate). Within this matrix, the political manifestations of ethical ambitions intermingle and coalesce, highlighting the importance of acting locally, while stating that such positions cannot be postured without first having traveled the globe.
As a suspense film, Traitor suffers in its pacing, and never leaves its audience fearfully gripping the edge of their seats. At first I thought this was Nachmanoff's stylistic slip-up, but, upon further reflection, it seems that if one is to take the suspenseful content out of a political aesthetic, then creating a film full of suspenseful content which lacks a suspenseful form, serves to destabilize the prominent subliminal formal layer of many patriotic films (Mongol for instance), and broadcasts, and suggests that national politics would be much more patriotic if they could simply stop being so dramatic.
It's a hollywood film working within the sensationalistic terrorist tradition established by the Bush Administration which manages to overtly and covertly destabilize their paranoid cultural ethos, thereby working within the diluted frame it has inherited, to reinvigorate it's democratic commitment.
Another Planet (Másik Bolygó) (World Film Festival, Montréal)
Ferenc Moldoványi's documentary Another Planet is a jolting, quotidian examination of the harsh realities facing child labourers in Cambodia, Congo and Ecuador. One sells cigarettes in the streets at night, others work in scrap yards with dangerous machinery, some fight in wars, pick through garbage all day, or prostitute themselves to make ends meet. If you're searching for a film which provides living, breathing representatives of the humanistic articles occasionally featured in magazines such as National Geographic, representatives who stoically endure spiritual, cultural, familial, and social helplessness with the patience of Job and the resignation of Hephaestus, Another Planet is mandatory viewing, a stunning, cinematic triumph, whose existence is the product of Moldoványi's unwavering commitment. The footage is exceptional and as impressive as Herzog's best work in terms of seemingly insurmountable production obstacles overcome. Flames surround these children constantly and they can't stop in order to spot their source nor seek political means which would see them doused. My favourite scene shows a shoe shine boy gently holding a pigeon, taking a break, resting.
Summer Book (Tatil Kitabi) (World Film Festival, Montréal)
Seyfi Teoman's Summer Book portrays the complicated dynamics confronting a Turkish family after their eldest son (Veysel, played by Harun Ozuag) decides he no longer wishes to study at a military academy (an action which will likely ensure the stability of his future). Veysel fails to convince his father (Osman Inan) to let him continue his studies elsewhere and his supplication is supported by his less prosperous uncle, Hasan (Taner Birsel). Veysel's father eventually suffers a massive brain hemorrhage after which his uncle rethinks his position. During this time, Veysel's younger brother Ali (Tayfun Gunay) travels about town, suffering the abuse of older, nastier classmates (one of whom steals his highly cherished Summer Book). The slowly-paced and meandering cinematography effectively accentuates his lonely saunter, enabling its audience to both relive long forgotten youthful haunts and feel the pains of his sensitive spirit. As Veysel discovers the dangers facing Ali, he begins to realize those which will confront him outside of the academy as well, and is forced to question his idealistic goals. However, the idealistic life presented by a secure future is subtly lampooned, as dogmatic governmental proscriptions are consistently shown to be humbug, thereby frustrating the matter further, as Veysel's adolescence flutters away.
Summer Book's patient pace fittingly adorns its content, although the overall aesthetic is somewhat drowsy. Further, its realist style works all to well, at times, making me wish, I'd just, gone for a walk, through Parc Lafontaine, in order to read Benjamin, while thinking about gardening, swimming, festivals, and celebrations. But Teoman's uniform design fluidly captures a summer of change whose currents will be permanently tendered, simultaneously demonstrating the problematic nature of ideals and the complex social matrix maintaining their appeal.
Summer Book's patient pace fittingly adorns its content, although the overall aesthetic is somewhat drowsy. Further, its realist style works all to well, at times, making me wish, I'd just, gone for a walk, through Parc Lafontaine, in order to read Benjamin, while thinking about gardening, swimming, festivals, and celebrations. But Teoman's uniform design fluidly captures a summer of change whose currents will be permanently tendered, simultaneously demonstrating the problematic nature of ideals and the complex social matrix maintaining their appeal.
My Winnipeg
Guy Maddin's surrealist tribute to his dementedly prosperous relationship with Winnipeg is both a sustained reformulation of documentary motifs and a comedic critique of the techniques of Freudian psychology. The principle theme is identical to that found within Brand Upon the Brain!: a troubled man tries to find himself by reliving his childhood in a quest to discover his moment of castration, after which, he hopes to overcome it, or, doesn't. Maddin uses this theme to comedically/idealistically/awkwardly/ironically depict an interminable void within which the tortured learn to know that they cannot know themselves without attempting to discover that which no longer (and perhaps never) exists(ed), the picturesque and demonically productive consequences of never ending introspection: a tethered martlet. The principle trope throughout is that of meaning layered upon meaning, Native peoples believing that beneath the Red and Assiniboine rivers run parallel spiritual rivers, a complementary structure of back-roads and alleys (not listed on any map) are used to traverse the city, a bridge destined for the Nile ends up in Winnipeg, longing for its sunny paradise; when a demolition company attempts to destroy the Jets's former stadium, the original hull survives their first blast; actors are hired to play Maddin's family in a film shot in his childhood home, the goal being to discover his identity while indirectly delineating that of Winnipeg, and so on. His film challenges the conventions of the documentary by using a frame wherein it's difficult to tell whether or not anything he mentions is realistic or fantastic, while concurrently seeming quite truthful and frank, concretely mythologizing iconic Winnipeg citizens, groups, buildings, and traditions, as he travels throughout the city by train, always in winter, with bio-magnetic buffalo, wondering if he'll ever leave. Obviously, if he continues to relive his childhood in his childhood home with his overbearing mother he will never leave: he is quite aware of this. Obviously, documentaries attempt to supply a version of the truth while their styles distort it. Maddin responds to this tendency by overtly twisting the truth in order to unravel it, turning the genre upside down to pull its concrete insides out, outside of the cold, inflaming traditions, thereby donating to his community a host of peculiar legends, reminiscent of Greek and Norse ambition, within and without their culturo-historical austerity.
Winnipeg is very nice in Summer.
Winnipeg is very nice in Summer.
Hancock
It's nice to see Will Smith starring in a straight-up mainstream smash and bash 'em trash flick which should have been screened at Montréal's Fantasia Fest. Hancock plays on the old "let's bring in an alcoholic anti-hero who everyone loves to hate and then try and reform him" plot device that worked so well in films such as Clint Eastwood's The Outlaw Josey Whales or Tony Scott's The Last Boy Scout. Thus, Will Smith plays Hancock, a god suffering from amnesia who drinks straight whiskey all day and cares not for the reckless means he employs to thwart villains as they engage in their acts of villainy. Enter Jason Bateman playing a suburban dad who works in public relations, his main focus being to convince corporations to begin acting kindly by giving things away for free. His character is identical to Arrested Development's Michael Bluth with surly Hancock substituted for his spoilt, decadent family.
Bateman (Ray Embrey) attempts to help Hancock reform by convincing him to turn himself in and do time for his crimes. While in jail, Hancock attends a self-help group wherein inmates discuss their problems in order to convalesce, writers Vincent Ngo and Vince Gilligan borrowing heavily from similar scenes (which were actually successful) in Mike Myer's Austin Powers and David Dobkin's Fred Claus. Eventually, Smith discovers his divine female counterpart with whom he has been eternally engaged. However, whenever they meet their powers begin to disappear, this natural law functioning as a symbolic representation of successful professionals who are firmly in love and attempting to live together. They reunite just as a number of Hancock's defeated foes escape from prison, giving mere mortal villains a chance to take down a god.
Will Jason Bateman save the day in the end? Will Hancock give up saving the world in order to selfishly pursue his own desire, choosing personal love over communal sacrifice?
I really don't know, but if you're looking to shut off your brain and watch Michael Bluth try and reform a subdued yet belligerent Will Smith for 90 minutes, you may find Hancock mildly entertaining, the tortured cradle of a god who can have everything he wants besides that which he truly desires.
Bateman (Ray Embrey) attempts to help Hancock reform by convincing him to turn himself in and do time for his crimes. While in jail, Hancock attends a self-help group wherein inmates discuss their problems in order to convalesce, writers Vincent Ngo and Vince Gilligan borrowing heavily from similar scenes (which were actually successful) in Mike Myer's Austin Powers and David Dobkin's Fred Claus. Eventually, Smith discovers his divine female counterpart with whom he has been eternally engaged. However, whenever they meet their powers begin to disappear, this natural law functioning as a symbolic representation of successful professionals who are firmly in love and attempting to live together. They reunite just as a number of Hancock's defeated foes escape from prison, giving mere mortal villains a chance to take down a god.
Will Jason Bateman save the day in the end? Will Hancock give up saving the world in order to selfishly pursue his own desire, choosing personal love over communal sacrifice?
I really don't know, but if you're looking to shut off your brain and watch Michael Bluth try and reform a subdued yet belligerent Will Smith for 90 minutes, you may find Hancock mildly entertaining, the tortured cradle of a god who can have everything he wants besides that which he truly desires.
Red (Fantasia Fest 2008)
For years, Brian Cox has been performing exceptionally well as a supporting actor, putting in strong appearances in films such as Zodiak, Troy, Rushmore, and Kiss the Girls. In Red, directed by Trygve Allister Diesen and Lucky McKee, Cox is given the chance to see whether or not he has leading person potential, as he takes on the role of down-on-his-luck widower Avery Ludlow. Red follows the tradition of many other films who provide actors who are generally typecast with the chance to play someone different, films such as Paul Thomas Anderson's Punch Drunk Love (Adam Sandler, Emily Watson, and Luis Guzmán), Paul Haggis's Crash (Sandra Bullock, Don Cheadle, Tony Danza), Larry Charles's Masked and Anonymous (Fred Ward, Chris Penn, Christian Slater, Mickey Rourke, Bruce Dern), and, of course, multiple Robert Altman films, notably Short Cuts and the 'anti-Altman' Altman film, Secret Honor (Phillip Baker Hall). Red provides Tom Sizemore (Michael McCormack), Amanda Plummer (Mrs. Doust), and Freddy Krueger himself, Robert Englund (Willie Doust) with somewhat different roles, and it's nice to see their familiar faces with either a more prominent responsibility (Sizemore playing the secondary villain), or a different assignment (Englund and Plummer playing an impoverished alcoholic couple). I'm still not sure if Red was made for television, since its production values and opening credits appropriately embody such an aesthetic (appropriate since the film, while definitely situating itself within the revenge genre, is full of down-home bucolic charm). And if it was, Cox is bound to win an Emmy for his powerful portrayal of a strong poor man fighting back against oligarchic hypocrisy, seeking just retribution for reprehensible crimes.
What happens is this: Ludlow goes fishing, three teenaged hunters run into him and he provides one of them (Danny McCormack played by Noel Fisher) with avuncular advice regarding his technique. Danny takes none to kindly to this and shoots his dog, Red, killing him. Ludlow, whose family was torn apart by his reckless irresponsible son, luckily discovers the youth's identity, and proceeds to ask his father (Tom Sizemore) to reprimand him. When Danny denies the accusation, his father defends him, forcing Ludlow to seek legal and televisual assistance. When none of these outlets bear retributive fruit, he tricks volatile Danny into assaulting him in front of several witnesses, after which his store is burned to the ground, after which, things become rather ugly.
Ludlow is a modest, hard-working war veteran whose only remaining joy is his dog. When this is taken away from him, and no punishment is administered to the culprit, he takes matters into his own hands. The ending is a little far-fetched, and the situation is somewhat larger than life (sort of like a Van Damme film starring a talented actor, written and produced by the Murder She Wrote team), but Red provides a powerful character study of an honest poor man doing what it takes to outwit his nefarious adversaries, thereby symbolically functioning as a representation of democracy.
Additional Note: directors Trygve Allister Diesen and Lucky McKee pay tribute to Robert Shaw's famous soliloquy within Jaws, giving Cox an extended speech wherein he pours his heart out to genial reporter Molly Flick (Lauren Birkell). And Cox hammers it home, displaying the wide variety of emotion he is rarely given the chance to unleash, pulling us into his character, making us see the world through his battered eyes.
What happens is this: Ludlow goes fishing, three teenaged hunters run into him and he provides one of them (Danny McCormack played by Noel Fisher) with avuncular advice regarding his technique. Danny takes none to kindly to this and shoots his dog, Red, killing him. Ludlow, whose family was torn apart by his reckless irresponsible son, luckily discovers the youth's identity, and proceeds to ask his father (Tom Sizemore) to reprimand him. When Danny denies the accusation, his father defends him, forcing Ludlow to seek legal and televisual assistance. When none of these outlets bear retributive fruit, he tricks volatile Danny into assaulting him in front of several witnesses, after which his store is burned to the ground, after which, things become rather ugly.
Ludlow is a modest, hard-working war veteran whose only remaining joy is his dog. When this is taken away from him, and no punishment is administered to the culprit, he takes matters into his own hands. The ending is a little far-fetched, and the situation is somewhat larger than life (sort of like a Van Damme film starring a talented actor, written and produced by the Murder She Wrote team), but Red provides a powerful character study of an honest poor man doing what it takes to outwit his nefarious adversaries, thereby symbolically functioning as a representation of democracy.
Additional Note: directors Trygve Allister Diesen and Lucky McKee pay tribute to Robert Shaw's famous soliloquy within Jaws, giving Cox an extended speech wherein he pours his heart out to genial reporter Molly Flick (Lauren Birkell). And Cox hammers it home, displaying the wide variety of emotion he is rarely given the chance to unleash, pulling us into his character, making us see the world through his battered eyes.
Chanbara Beauty (Fantasia Fest 2008)
If you're looking for a zombie flick starring two of the hottest zombie slaying babes to ever slice and dice legions of the undead, Yohei Fokuda's Chanbara Beauty will diplomatically detonate your appetite.
Based on a series of video games from Japanese publisher Tamsoft and D3, Chanbara Beauty unravels in a world populated by the living dead, created in (larger-than-life) mad-scientist Sugita's laboratories. Sugita believes the ancient and purebred blood of a prominent Japanese family will supply him with the ingredient he needs to create obedient super-zombies with whom he can rule the world. In order to do this, he lures Saki (Chise Nakamura), the clan's jealous younger sister, into a sinister plot whereby she becomes his Queen after he murders her unsuspecting father. In retaliation, her older and more talented sister Aya (Eri Otoguro) embarks upon a unilateral and ferociously focused quest for revenge, with the accompaniment of motorcycle-riding-machine-gun-toting Reiko (Manami Hashimoto) and the only Japanese man who eats once every three days and still weighs 280+ pounds.
The secret to Chanbara's beauty is its complete lack of pretension. Inconsequential logical inconsistencies abound which make it evermore the endearing each and every time Aya flips off her dainty cape to reveal her sultry bikini-clad cowboy-hat-wearing frame, in the middle of battle. Reiko's hot too, as is the treacherous Saki, who, during the film's dénouement demonstrates that even the living dead can embody the tenacious and transcendent spirit from whom their lineage was cast.
Do members of the aristocracy possess a god-like heritage which legitimizes their political prowess? Are zombies symbolic representations of the working class and those who attempt to harness their power symbolic dictators who care not for their impoverished needs?
These are questions which Chanbara Beauty thankfully does not try to answer, insofar as their intellectual assiduity would have crushed its kitschy commerce. Some may say it’s just a fun, dumb, run of the schlock zombie flick, with hot babes, and zombie's whom bullets cannot kill, but others, possessing more insight, looking towards the future, will likely note Chanbara's evanescent essence, wherein the entertainment provided by both video games and films are inflamed.
Favourite scene: in the opening moments when Aya leaps into the air and then balances herself by placing each of her high heels into a different zombie's face.
Based on a series of video games from Japanese publisher Tamsoft and D3, Chanbara Beauty unravels in a world populated by the living dead, created in (larger-than-life) mad-scientist Sugita's laboratories. Sugita believes the ancient and purebred blood of a prominent Japanese family will supply him with the ingredient he needs to create obedient super-zombies with whom he can rule the world. In order to do this, he lures Saki (Chise Nakamura), the clan's jealous younger sister, into a sinister plot whereby she becomes his Queen after he murders her unsuspecting father. In retaliation, her older and more talented sister Aya (Eri Otoguro) embarks upon a unilateral and ferociously focused quest for revenge, with the accompaniment of motorcycle-riding-machine-gun-toting Reiko (Manami Hashimoto) and the only Japanese man who eats once every three days and still weighs 280+ pounds.
The secret to Chanbara's beauty is its complete lack of pretension. Inconsequential logical inconsistencies abound which make it evermore the endearing each and every time Aya flips off her dainty cape to reveal her sultry bikini-clad cowboy-hat-wearing frame, in the middle of battle. Reiko's hot too, as is the treacherous Saki, who, during the film's dénouement demonstrates that even the living dead can embody the tenacious and transcendent spirit from whom their lineage was cast.
Do members of the aristocracy possess a god-like heritage which legitimizes their political prowess? Are zombies symbolic representations of the working class and those who attempt to harness their power symbolic dictators who care not for their impoverished needs?
These are questions which Chanbara Beauty thankfully does not try to answer, insofar as their intellectual assiduity would have crushed its kitschy commerce. Some may say it’s just a fun, dumb, run of the schlock zombie flick, with hot babes, and zombie's whom bullets cannot kill, but others, possessing more insight, looking towards the future, will likely note Chanbara's evanescent essence, wherein the entertainment provided by both video games and films are inflamed.
Favourite scene: in the opening moments when Aya leaps into the air and then balances herself by placing each of her high heels into a different zombie's face.
Sukiyaki Western Django (Fantasia Fest 2008)
With enough intertextuality to rival an Angela Carter novel, Takashi Miike blitzkriegs his way into the traditional American western, blasting through its chest to lacerate lungs, spleens, livers, pancreases, hot-pumping blood-frothing black and white hearts, leaving enough blood viscidly slithering in its reels to satisfy legions of cinophiliatic sadists, masochists too, craving construction, conflagration, annihilation, irons, flowers, prurience, self-indulgence, honour, death, love, viciously and communally feasting upon one another, in a beautiful beastial banquet of carnally re-formulated comedic and romantic horror, leaving no trope untethered, in a search for individual purity (whose owner wants nothing to do with it). If you are searching for another Western, and only seek to see one and only one ever again, ensure that your pick is Sukiyaki Western Django: there's more artistry in 35 seconds of this searing bloodbath than 56 minutes of 3:10 to Yuma or The Assanination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, although these films seek to achieve objective reverberations of a different breed.
Two Japanese clans meet. In Nevada. They fight, they forage, they flicker and fuck, ravaging culture for idyllic muck, breaking through history's presence in stone, growing a bleeding, convulsing, pulsing, impoverished, unleashed, brazen, tome.
Two Japanese clans meet. In Nevada. They fight, they forage, they flicker and fuck, ravaging culture for idyllic muck, breaking through history's presence in stone, growing a bleeding, convulsing, pulsing, impoverished, unleashed, brazen, tome.
Mongol
The leader, Genghis Khan, aware of his destiny, with uncompromising faith, purity of intent, and divine cognition, against all.
Sergei Bodrov's Mongol chronicles the early life of the legend of Genghis Khan, known as Temudgin, who united the disparate peoples of Mongolia and conquered half the known world in the 13th century. The maintenance of his rule was supported by the strict adherence to an unwritten set of principles orally upheld by the just within his domain, with only one exception. Temudjin (Tadanobu Asano) pursues his childhood love Börte (Khulan Chuluun) forever and for always, recognizing the value of her companionship and the unflinching resolution of her courage. In order to be together they face war, slavery, betrayal and vengeance, but in the end, when Temudjin demonstrates that he has conquered his people's most revered natural fear, their union finds the stability to endure.
Through the ages.
Like many epic films attempting to portray the conflicting legendary accounts of the identity of a conquerer, Mongol is divided into a series of concise, precise episodes, rich in symbolism and terse in dialogue, each movement supporting and challenging the next, the successful epic, like the successful conquerer, synthesizing their balance with an analytical purpose. Bodrov's purpose is to lay siege to the historical traditions that have portrayed Genghis as a monster, and throughout this enticing fairy tale, and within its filmic domain, he assuredly succeeds.
Temudgin's best friend is Jamukha (Honglei Sun), who rescued him as a child after his father, the Khan of his people, was poisoned by an enemy (the rebellious Targutai [Amadu Mamadakov] taking the Khanship by force afterwards while humiliating the usurped Temudgin). Jamukha and Temudgin become blood brothers but eventually find themselves at odds, having amassed the two largest armies in Mongolia. Temudgin's forces are victorious and his moral fibre will not permit him to slay his defeated brother. While Jamukha would have certainly killed Temudgin, and has no respect for feminine strength, Temudgin has found peace by maintaining childhood pacts, the confident man whose persisting progress is dependent upon consciously breathing the past in the present. Temudgin's forgiveness is heralded in an earlier scene where he and Jamukha lay on the ground beside one another, their position suggesting that in order for these two giants to remain brothers, they must be dreaming. In the concluding moments, his dominance solidified, his hardships endured, Temudgin's character perfectly aligns wisdom, courage, and moderation, never doubting the legitimacy of his actions, wherein the justice of his ethical dreams finds its political realization.
Much to the dismay of his neighbouring kingdoms.
Mongol is certainly far-fetched and ludicrously implausible, Genghis Khan, the war-like proto-feminist messiah building a civilization from the wastes of his cultural dune. The legends of Genghis's brutality may be exaggerated, but how often do individual's attain positions such as his without recourse to brutality? By presenting a perfect leader with the wizened and fair soul of a child (in a thoroughly entertaining fashion), a filmmaker can make everyone who follows the rules feel as if they too are a leader. Assuredly, it's a great feeling, and Bodrov subtly crafts this subliminal layer while frankly displaying enough heroic hyperbole to disengage its realistic relationship, thereby formally portraying the objective reality of democratic freedom.
Was Genghis Khan brutal? Probably. Kind? To his followers and family, most likely. Almost anyone in a position of power leaves themselves open to constant charges of being either good or evil, and attempting to attach a definitive judgment to their character is as historically fleeting as any world empire. Mongol effectively yet outrageously presents an extreme refutation of those who would platonically vilify the great leader, while engaging in the same tactics used by its propagandistic opponents. Is Bordov's narrative Temudgin and his combatant's Jamukha, the two separating into various ideological camps and polemically waging their conceptions to support their intellectual/popular markets? Because if this is the case, Bordov's potential usurpers have a significant battle to fight if they are to deconstruct his design in a commensurately tantalizing fashion.
Sergei Bodrov's Mongol chronicles the early life of the legend of Genghis Khan, known as Temudgin, who united the disparate peoples of Mongolia and conquered half the known world in the 13th century. The maintenance of his rule was supported by the strict adherence to an unwritten set of principles orally upheld by the just within his domain, with only one exception. Temudjin (Tadanobu Asano) pursues his childhood love Börte (Khulan Chuluun) forever and for always, recognizing the value of her companionship and the unflinching resolution of her courage. In order to be together they face war, slavery, betrayal and vengeance, but in the end, when Temudjin demonstrates that he has conquered his people's most revered natural fear, their union finds the stability to endure.
Through the ages.
Like many epic films attempting to portray the conflicting legendary accounts of the identity of a conquerer, Mongol is divided into a series of concise, precise episodes, rich in symbolism and terse in dialogue, each movement supporting and challenging the next, the successful epic, like the successful conquerer, synthesizing their balance with an analytical purpose. Bodrov's purpose is to lay siege to the historical traditions that have portrayed Genghis as a monster, and throughout this enticing fairy tale, and within its filmic domain, he assuredly succeeds.
Temudgin's best friend is Jamukha (Honglei Sun), who rescued him as a child after his father, the Khan of his people, was poisoned by an enemy (the rebellious Targutai [Amadu Mamadakov] taking the Khanship by force afterwards while humiliating the usurped Temudgin). Jamukha and Temudgin become blood brothers but eventually find themselves at odds, having amassed the two largest armies in Mongolia. Temudgin's forces are victorious and his moral fibre will not permit him to slay his defeated brother. While Jamukha would have certainly killed Temudgin, and has no respect for feminine strength, Temudgin has found peace by maintaining childhood pacts, the confident man whose persisting progress is dependent upon consciously breathing the past in the present. Temudgin's forgiveness is heralded in an earlier scene where he and Jamukha lay on the ground beside one another, their position suggesting that in order for these two giants to remain brothers, they must be dreaming. In the concluding moments, his dominance solidified, his hardships endured, Temudgin's character perfectly aligns wisdom, courage, and moderation, never doubting the legitimacy of his actions, wherein the justice of his ethical dreams finds its political realization.
Much to the dismay of his neighbouring kingdoms.
Mongol is certainly far-fetched and ludicrously implausible, Genghis Khan, the war-like proto-feminist messiah building a civilization from the wastes of his cultural dune. The legends of Genghis's brutality may be exaggerated, but how often do individual's attain positions such as his without recourse to brutality? By presenting a perfect leader with the wizened and fair soul of a child (in a thoroughly entertaining fashion), a filmmaker can make everyone who follows the rules feel as if they too are a leader. Assuredly, it's a great feeling, and Bodrov subtly crafts this subliminal layer while frankly displaying enough heroic hyperbole to disengage its realistic relationship, thereby formally portraying the objective reality of democratic freedom.
Was Genghis Khan brutal? Probably. Kind? To his followers and family, most likely. Almost anyone in a position of power leaves themselves open to constant charges of being either good or evil, and attempting to attach a definitive judgment to their character is as historically fleeting as any world empire. Mongol effectively yet outrageously presents an extreme refutation of those who would platonically vilify the great leader, while engaging in the same tactics used by its propagandistic opponents. Is Bordov's narrative Temudgin and his combatant's Jamukha, the two separating into various ideological camps and polemically waging their conceptions to support their intellectual/popular markets? Because if this is the case, Bordov's potential usurpers have a significant battle to fight if they are to deconstruct his design in a commensurately tantalizing fashion.
Four Minutes
People born with gifts often don't have an easy time with them, and Chris Kraus's Four Minutes (Vier Minuten) expressly explores the dark side of disenfranchised genius.
Jenny von Loeben (Hannah Herzprung) is a piano prodigy suffering in a women's prison after taking the murder wrap for her deadbeat boyfriend. Traude Krüger (Monica Bleibtreu) is her temporally paralyzed coach, having spent her life teaching piano to incarcerated women in memory of her lesbian lover, who was hung by a piano wire because of her ethnicity during the final days of World War II. Mütze (Sven Pippig) is the iconic lagging student, devoted to his patronage but unable to accept Jenny's privilege, especially after she sends him to the hospital for reconstructive surgery. Revenge, jealousy, cruelty, and loss loom large in this hard-boiled script, where no one is spared from Jenny's wanton precision. Her rage is poignantly juxtaposed with Krüger's crystallized loneliness and Kraus soothes the overt mania by interweaving tender moments from Krüger's youthful affair. Every character executes their designs to the best of their abilities in a convoluted deconstruction of what it means to forgive. Imprisoned lives and disadvantaged dreams attempting to stoically adjust to political postures that consistently crush them, where love is fleetingly permanent and trust a compromised conception. Four Minutes lays on the extremes and some of the situations are slightly far fetched, but within the evocative melodrama Herzprung and Bleibtrau provide powerful portrayals of the brutally alacric midpoint where devotion and corruption collide.
Jenny is given her chance, four minutes for fame, praised by the bourgeoise, arrested through the tradition. The dénouement presents a powerful critique of systematic condemnation while inherent within Jenny's rhythm lies a passionate orchestration of derelict cultural prodigy.
Jenny von Loeben (Hannah Herzprung) is a piano prodigy suffering in a women's prison after taking the murder wrap for her deadbeat boyfriend. Traude Krüger (Monica Bleibtreu) is her temporally paralyzed coach, having spent her life teaching piano to incarcerated women in memory of her lesbian lover, who was hung by a piano wire because of her ethnicity during the final days of World War II. Mütze (Sven Pippig) is the iconic lagging student, devoted to his patronage but unable to accept Jenny's privilege, especially after she sends him to the hospital for reconstructive surgery. Revenge, jealousy, cruelty, and loss loom large in this hard-boiled script, where no one is spared from Jenny's wanton precision. Her rage is poignantly juxtaposed with Krüger's crystallized loneliness and Kraus soothes the overt mania by interweaving tender moments from Krüger's youthful affair. Every character executes their designs to the best of their abilities in a convoluted deconstruction of what it means to forgive. Imprisoned lives and disadvantaged dreams attempting to stoically adjust to political postures that consistently crush them, where love is fleetingly permanent and trust a compromised conception. Four Minutes lays on the extremes and some of the situations are slightly far fetched, but within the evocative melodrama Herzprung and Bleibtrau provide powerful portrayals of the brutally alacric midpoint where devotion and corruption collide.
Jenny is given her chance, four minutes for fame, praised by the bourgeoise, arrested through the tradition. The dénouement presents a powerful critique of systematic condemnation while inherent within Jenny's rhythm lies a passionate orchestration of derelict cultural prodigy.
XXY
Lucia Puenzo's XXY examines the life of Alex (Inés Efron), a teenage inter-sex individual living as a girl. Her father (Néstor Kraken played by Ricardo Darin) is a marine biologist who makes a living examining and saving sea turtles caught accidentally by local fishermen. Their family has moved to a small coastal village in Uruguay, leaving behind the bigotry they were faced with in Buenos Aires. Alex is presented with the choice of having an operation to become either male or female and her parents leave her to make the decision on her own. Complicating things further, Kraken invites a plastic surgeon to come stay with them, hoping that he can perform the operation if Alex should want it, and Alex becomes sexually involved with their homosexual son, Álvaro (Martin Piroyansky). Álvaro's father (Ramiro played by German Palacios) is none to happy when he discovers that his son is gay; Kraken is none to happy when a village boy whom Alex befriends tells everyone her secret; Álvaro is none to happy when his father belittles him and he is rejected by Alex; and Alex is none to happy as the community turns her into a freak, once again.
At first, the villagers provide Kraken with injured turtles even though some see no point to his work and think he should accept their extinction. After Alex's secret is discovered, they kill his turtles, leaving only a shell behind. Here, Puenzo shows the cultural, professional, and personal challenges facing an ideological and understanding individual, i.e., a nice person. By trying to save an endangered species and protect a child who is different, he is labelled as different and tolerated. As he fights back against those who torture his daughter, the community fights back by suffocating his profession (the minority who attempts to recognize their rights is no longer tolerated). And since he is nice, the act of fighting back causes him personal turmoil. Alex's turmoil is more or less constant, occasionally letting up for brief, beautiful moments, before descending once again into the tumultuous psychological consequences of being an outcast. She tortures Álvaro like the community tortures her, Puenzo effectively highlighting why some of the most passionate racists are often from minority groups, for they understand the impoverished and brutally schizophrenic structure of disenfranchised Lacanian Reality, locked in glass booths, their ethical integrity shaking in an abandoned, empty shell (they had no other choice).
XXY deals with difficult subject matter and while some of its scenes drag on and seem unnecessary in relation to the development of the plot, by including them, Puenzo formally interrogates what it means to be necessary, that is, if we are expecting a plot to unfold in a specific way and abide by specific guidelines, we are placing plot development within a box, the same kind of box that is used to segregate people, and, therefore, hesitation should be employed when critiquing a specific scene for not 'going with the flow,' and the critic should find a way to position that scene within the plot's development, in the same way that a psychiatrist uses past events to analyze your present personality, if they are vilifying bigots for engaging in their bigotry.
XXY also reminded me how nice it is to see a film where many of the scenes lack emotion determining musical accompaniment.
At first, the villagers provide Kraken with injured turtles even though some see no point to his work and think he should accept their extinction. After Alex's secret is discovered, they kill his turtles, leaving only a shell behind. Here, Puenzo shows the cultural, professional, and personal challenges facing an ideological and understanding individual, i.e., a nice person. By trying to save an endangered species and protect a child who is different, he is labelled as different and tolerated. As he fights back against those who torture his daughter, the community fights back by suffocating his profession (the minority who attempts to recognize their rights is no longer tolerated). And since he is nice, the act of fighting back causes him personal turmoil. Alex's turmoil is more or less constant, occasionally letting up for brief, beautiful moments, before descending once again into the tumultuous psychological consequences of being an outcast. She tortures Álvaro like the community tortures her, Puenzo effectively highlighting why some of the most passionate racists are often from minority groups, for they understand the impoverished and brutally schizophrenic structure of disenfranchised Lacanian Reality, locked in glass booths, their ethical integrity shaking in an abandoned, empty shell (they had no other choice).
XXY deals with difficult subject matter and while some of its scenes drag on and seem unnecessary in relation to the development of the plot, by including them, Puenzo formally interrogates what it means to be necessary, that is, if we are expecting a plot to unfold in a specific way and abide by specific guidelines, we are placing plot development within a box, the same kind of box that is used to segregate people, and, therefore, hesitation should be employed when critiquing a specific scene for not 'going with the flow,' and the critic should find a way to position that scene within the plot's development, in the same way that a psychiatrist uses past events to analyze your present personality, if they are vilifying bigots for engaging in their bigotry.
XXY also reminded me how nice it is to see a film where many of the scenes lack emotion determining musical accompaniment.
The World According to Monsanto
Brazen documentary filmmaker Marie-Monique Robin has crafted a lucidly vitriolic critique of the politics of big business in her new film The World According to Monsanto. Within, you'll find live footage of George Bush Sr. saying he's in the de-regulation business, the business that makes it possible for genetically modified products to be harvested and distributed to mass markets without having their side-effects seriously tested beforehand. One could argue, based upon the compelling evidence presented within Robin's film (and Eric Schlosser's Fast Food Nation), that thanks to the de-regulation business, a somewhat bizarre climate has developed where conscientious objectors who critique the development of GMPs and their associated counterparts (Monsanto's Pesticide Roundup) are instantly fired, in democratic countries like Scotland, Canada, and the United States, for not playing ball and treating the general consumer, i.e., everyone who eats, like a lab-rat, although, such arguments may find ironic opposition from companies who use rhetoric rather than science to support the enlightened nature of their bio-technical innovations. But this is, of course, simply just a supposition.
According to Robin's film, Monsanto barely even test some of their products on lab-rats. To a certain extant, The World According to Monsanto places America's economic infrastructure within a de-regulated free for all where the American people are free to be exposed to experimental products and are not free to receive a label on packages indicating whether or not the product in question was genetically adjusted. An individual who exposed one of Monsanto's hiccups couldn't even testify during his trial because he was told that if any of his testimony gave away company secrets they would sue him. How the hell is that legal? Robin interviews American farmers who claim they use Monsanto's seeds and can't save any of them after a specific date, and that Monsanto has a squad of individuals that hounds them if they think they have saved seeds. This squad also encourages 'good farmers' to inform upon rule breaking 'bad farmers', which, if I remember correctly, is a totalitarian tactic employed ruthlessly well by Russian and East-German Communists.
Robin succinctly demonstrates (through the use of a series of Google searches) how genetically modified products have received the American government's blessing due to the creation of the Principle of Substantial Equivalence. According to this principle, if a genetically modified product is thought to be genetically similar to its natural counterpart, then, it is substantially equivalent, and production can proceed unabashed. Imagine this concept applied to the sale of precious gems, or fingerprinting, or appraisal generally. It's like Dr. Hoffman's infernal desire machine living and breathing off soy nut fumes.
Every scientist interviewed within whom reviewed Monsanto's research has serious questions regarding their methods. Many of the individuals who drafted the legislation at the Food and Drug Administration (which keeps genetically modified products from being labeled and supports the Principles of Substantial Equivalence) were former Monsanto employees. In Canada, we banned Bovine Growth Hormone and our decision prompted the European Parliament to ban it as well. One can only imagine how many similar products slipped through and how many more will if the extremely right wing North American climate of unfettered big business continues to proceed without a potent public threat.
The counter-argument proceeds as follows: the world's population is growing at unprecedented rates. If we regulate food production, we won't be able to feed everyone or supplement the oil and gas industries with bio-fuels. The environmentalists and others who want to make sure products aren't carcinogenic are wishy-washy commies and terrorists who want to prevent the enlightenment from progressing. They have the nerve to want their food products to be tested before we sell them, as if a loving caring company like ours would ever sell them something harmful. Because we don't create harmful products, and we guarantee that by not rigorously searching for side-effects and firing and harassing anyone with the nerve to broadcast potential side-effects. Hey, if you think it's healthy, it's healthy. And who knows, after one generation develops all kinds of crazy cancers, then the next generation will likely develop immunities to those cancers, and everything will be fine, just in time for our new line of . . . And if you develop any psychological side-effects, the de-regulated(?) pharmaceutical industry can . . .
I'm not saying that that's what it's like, but that's the impression I got from The World According to Monsanto and I will definitely be staying away from non-organic soy nuts for-the-next-ever. It's my free choice. Hey, maybe I'll get cancer from organic soy nuts because my body's such a toxic waste dump that it needs disease to survive.
Who knows.
Seriously, check out this film. Robin's points are coherent as are her critiques of the 'scientific' decisions that made these developments possible. Hard-hitting reason demonstrating the financial rhetorical blindfold attempting to layer the subconscious of democratic North America.
According to Robin's film, Monsanto barely even test some of their products on lab-rats. To a certain extant, The World According to Monsanto places America's economic infrastructure within a de-regulated free for all where the American people are free to be exposed to experimental products and are not free to receive a label on packages indicating whether or not the product in question was genetically adjusted. An individual who exposed one of Monsanto's hiccups couldn't even testify during his trial because he was told that if any of his testimony gave away company secrets they would sue him. How the hell is that legal? Robin interviews American farmers who claim they use Monsanto's seeds and can't save any of them after a specific date, and that Monsanto has a squad of individuals that hounds them if they think they have saved seeds. This squad also encourages 'good farmers' to inform upon rule breaking 'bad farmers', which, if I remember correctly, is a totalitarian tactic employed ruthlessly well by Russian and East-German Communists.
Robin succinctly demonstrates (through the use of a series of Google searches) how genetically modified products have received the American government's blessing due to the creation of the Principle of Substantial Equivalence. According to this principle, if a genetically modified product is thought to be genetically similar to its natural counterpart, then, it is substantially equivalent, and production can proceed unabashed. Imagine this concept applied to the sale of precious gems, or fingerprinting, or appraisal generally. It's like Dr. Hoffman's infernal desire machine living and breathing off soy nut fumes.
Every scientist interviewed within whom reviewed Monsanto's research has serious questions regarding their methods. Many of the individuals who drafted the legislation at the Food and Drug Administration (which keeps genetically modified products from being labeled and supports the Principles of Substantial Equivalence) were former Monsanto employees. In Canada, we banned Bovine Growth Hormone and our decision prompted the European Parliament to ban it as well. One can only imagine how many similar products slipped through and how many more will if the extremely right wing North American climate of unfettered big business continues to proceed without a potent public threat.
The counter-argument proceeds as follows: the world's population is growing at unprecedented rates. If we regulate food production, we won't be able to feed everyone or supplement the oil and gas industries with bio-fuels. The environmentalists and others who want to make sure products aren't carcinogenic are wishy-washy commies and terrorists who want to prevent the enlightenment from progressing. They have the nerve to want their food products to be tested before we sell them, as if a loving caring company like ours would ever sell them something harmful. Because we don't create harmful products, and we guarantee that by not rigorously searching for side-effects and firing and harassing anyone with the nerve to broadcast potential side-effects. Hey, if you think it's healthy, it's healthy. And who knows, after one generation develops all kinds of crazy cancers, then the next generation will likely develop immunities to those cancers, and everything will be fine, just in time for our new line of . . . And if you develop any psychological side-effects, the de-regulated(?) pharmaceutical industry can . . .
I'm not saying that that's what it's like, but that's the impression I got from The World According to Monsanto and I will definitely be staying away from non-organic soy nuts for-the-next-ever. It's my free choice. Hey, maybe I'll get cancer from organic soy nuts because my body's such a toxic waste dump that it needs disease to survive.
Who knows.
Seriously, check out this film. Robin's points are coherent as are her critiques of the 'scientific' decisions that made these developments possible. Hard-hitting reason demonstrating the financial rhetorical blindfold attempting to layer the subconscious of democratic North America.
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
Was pretty surprised last year when Live Free or Die Hard turned out to be a fun movie. I was expecting a hackneyed, meandering, pointless attempt to rekindle a flame that extinguished 12 years ago, and, as it unrelt, I was glad to have brought some smores with my popcorn. Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, unfortunately, quickly snaps its flint, and the residual warmth left over from The Last Crusade is doused in a misguided homage to Raiders of the Lost Ark. In the opening moments, we return to the warehouse where the Ark was placed at the end of Raiders and catch a glimpse of the Ark itself; Karen Allen is back as Marion Ravenwood, and it’s nice to see her again, but I would have preferred it if she'd been left out of the script entirely, since their reunion lacks every piece of feisty bravado that made their relationship the only one to stand out in the original trilogy (note how the Die Hard series avoided this temptation to its advantage). And speaking of characters who should have been removed from the script, whose idea was it to keep the insufferable 'Mac' George McHale (Ray Winstone)? He’s initially set up as a treacherous foe against whom Indiana must battle, but then he's transformed into comic relief that is anything but funny. I love red-herrings and things that don't really have anything to do with anything else. But there needs to be some kind of witty charm built into the purposeless purpose for this kind of plot device to work, and after hearing 'Mac' say 'Jonesy' for the 15th time I was ready to let a den of cobras fill me with poison before leaving me to be devoured by a pack of particularly sadistic hyenas. John Hurt's character (Prof. 'Ox' Oxley) is wasted as well and while Cate Blanchett (Irina Spalko) puts in a strong performance, I'm surprised she didn't bail after her first reading of the script.
But it's not all bad. Lucas and Spielberg keep the laughs coming throughout although their commitment to comedy ruins the adventure (which is why Raiders of the Lost Ark is so much better). It was cheerful and lovey-dovey to the point that I never felt the heroes were in any danger. Shia LeBeouf (Mutt Williams) staggers and stammers his way through a passable performance, but don't count on him taking over the franchise just yet.
One scene struck me as the antithesis to the ridiculous opening to James Bond’s Goldeneye, where Pierce Brosnan moves faster than gravity to catch up with a falling plane. While this scene ruined Goldeneye by directly turning Bond into an impossibility, the scene where Indiana survives a nuclear blast almost saves Crystal Skull, since it seems impossible but still maintains a resonant proportion of possibility (the realm wherein successful comic-book-fantasies thrive). Ridiculous but fun, not ridiculous and ludicrous.
Oh, and along racist lines, the ending of the film embraces the extremely racist theory that aliens taught the Incas and the Mayans everything they know. Note as well that no mention is made of Sallah (John Rhys-Davies), Indy's Arab friend, even though they could have easily brought him in for a cameo in the concluding moments. In a film that takes the time to pay tribute to Denholm Elliot (Marcus Brady) and Sean Connery while doing its best to throw in every little 'we're a loving family' moment it can, it’s odd that they wouldn't make one reference to Sallah (obviously he couldn't come along for the journey, they're in South America, not the Middle-East, but why wouldn't they bring him in for the ending? It’s like not having Robert Duvall in Godfather III).
But it's not all bad. Lucas and Spielberg keep the laughs coming throughout although their commitment to comedy ruins the adventure (which is why Raiders of the Lost Ark is so much better). It was cheerful and lovey-dovey to the point that I never felt the heroes were in any danger. Shia LeBeouf (Mutt Williams) staggers and stammers his way through a passable performance, but don't count on him taking over the franchise just yet.
One scene struck me as the antithesis to the ridiculous opening to James Bond’s Goldeneye, where Pierce Brosnan moves faster than gravity to catch up with a falling plane. While this scene ruined Goldeneye by directly turning Bond into an impossibility, the scene where Indiana survives a nuclear blast almost saves Crystal Skull, since it seems impossible but still maintains a resonant proportion of possibility (the realm wherein successful comic-book-fantasies thrive). Ridiculous but fun, not ridiculous and ludicrous.
Oh, and along racist lines, the ending of the film embraces the extremely racist theory that aliens taught the Incas and the Mayans everything they know. Note as well that no mention is made of Sallah (John Rhys-Davies), Indy's Arab friend, even though they could have easily brought him in for a cameo in the concluding moments. In a film that takes the time to pay tribute to Denholm Elliot (Marcus Brady) and Sean Connery while doing its best to throw in every little 'we're a loving family' moment it can, it’s odd that they wouldn't make one reference to Sallah (obviously he couldn't come along for the journey, they're in South America, not the Middle-East, but why wouldn't they bring him in for the ending? It’s like not having Robert Duvall in Godfather III).
Prince Caspian
Tried hard to resist the temptation to see Andrew Adamson's second envisioning of C. S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia series, Prince Caspian, but buckled as soon as I saw that it was 3 hours long. Figured three hours of vegin' out while watching talking animals and trees battle imperialist dogs would be fun, more fun than staring at the wall wondering which book I should be reading. Note that the bear representation was not as strong as I was hoping, but there were two bears featured within the narrative and a chivalrous mouse named Reepicheep voiced by Eddie Izzard.
Prince Caspian struck me as the iconic 3 out of 5 stars film. It's nothing special, a lot of the acting is brutal, good enough to spout one-dimensional lines about leadership and victory, not too strong when it comes to dealing with the complex subtleties of historic emotion, although the plot proceeds too quickly to allow for such developments.
Yup, 3 out of 5. I didn't dislike it, I could watch it with my family, and if I was 10, I'd probably continue to think it's exceptional until I was at least 17. A lot of the scenes are ridiculous, some of them are kind of fun, and Anna Popplewell has a fletching beauty that causes one to quiver more and more intensely with every drawn arrow. On the ideological side, the story seems to be saying that talking animals and environmental activism are playthings for children, and that when one grows up, they will 'austerely' leave these subjects behind. And that British children are capable of leading a successful revolution against tyrannical monarchs but can only succeed with the help of a magical lion. It would be nice if an auteur would transform one of these legendary narratives into something bizzare, rather than sticking to the conventional plot designs. Return of the King directed by Guy Maddin. Now there's a best picture.
Prince Caspian struck me as the iconic 3 out of 5 stars film. It's nothing special, a lot of the acting is brutal, good enough to spout one-dimensional lines about leadership and victory, not too strong when it comes to dealing with the complex subtleties of historic emotion, although the plot proceeds too quickly to allow for such developments.
Yup, 3 out of 5. I didn't dislike it, I could watch it with my family, and if I was 10, I'd probably continue to think it's exceptional until I was at least 17. A lot of the scenes are ridiculous, some of them are kind of fun, and Anna Popplewell has a fletching beauty that causes one to quiver more and more intensely with every drawn arrow. On the ideological side, the story seems to be saying that talking animals and environmental activism are playthings for children, and that when one grows up, they will 'austerely' leave these subjects behind. And that British children are capable of leading a successful revolution against tyrannical monarchs but can only succeed with the help of a magical lion. It would be nice if an auteur would transform one of these legendary narratives into something bizzare, rather than sticking to the conventional plot designs. Return of the King directed by Guy Maddin. Now there's a best picture.
Iron Man
Pretty surprised by Jon Favreau's new flick Iron Man. I was expecting another boring hyped-up piece of sensationalized gobblygook and was pleased to view an entertaining, multidimensional narrative, packed with an explosive punch.
The buzz surrounding Robert Downey Jr.'s performance is bang on: he really is exceptional. The supporting cast is solid as well but it's hard to imagine what this film would have been without Downey's charisma holding it together. In many ways, the plot is quite formulaic with the usual touch of frustrating militaristic bravado. But Favreau skillfully and subtly plays with the ideological conventions built into this formula, delivering a profound critique of its conventions, while reasserting them as well. The four conventions I'd like to examine here are misogyny, the military, individuality, and fantasy, critically cast in a mold of socialist iron.
Note that I've never read the comic book and don't plan on drawing a comparison between the two.
Within action movies, female characters tend to be both beautiful and promiscuous (Bad Bond Girls), or beautiful and somewhat chaste (Miss Moneypenny and Good Bond Girls). Rarely does a female lead who isn't uber-attractive score one of these parts (accept perhaps for Grace Jones), and if they find their way into the film they usually have backup roles (note the woman who looks like a man in Iron Man's opening moments). The male lead sleeps with the bad girl who is aggressive and daring (and consequently evil within the eyes of the patriarchy) in the opening moments and saves his hot feisty encounter with the good-domestic girl until the end of the film (she takes care of the hero and keeps him safe and only receives his affections after he has returned from work [wherein we discover the brilliance underlying the plot of Martin Campbell's Casino Royale]). Within Iron Man, Pepper Pots (Gwyneth Paltrow) keeps Tony Stark's life together while he is busy applying his genius to the production of weapons, and has scruples when it comes to dating her boss. Christine Everhart (Leslie Bibb) critiques Stark's way of life but instantly swoons when propositioned (she was only propositioned because of her looks). Hence, within Iron Man we have traditional eye-dropping superbabes playing stereotypical roles patriarchically carved out for them centuries ago, and the hero manipulates them (sexually with the bad girl, domestically with the good one) while manufacturing weapons to ensure America's global predominance. Simultaneously, however, without the assistance and persistence of these women, Tony Stark's turnaround would not have been possible. Moreover, when he begins to consider that being a Master of War is somewhat scurrilous (I love how the military always takes credit for medical advances, as if there wouldn't be advances in medical technology without war, and as if it doesn't create situations that demand medical advances based upon the catastrophic effects of its designs), it's the 'bad girl' (the independent lefty) who causes him to change his ways and the 'good girl' who has trouble accepting the change (Favreau pointing out the paradox within which the stereotypical good ‘bond-girl’ functions: she feels good serving her Master as long as he's a promiscuous monster and can't deal with the reality brought about by his reversal of fortune [note that his point would have been stronger if both these girls weren't drop-dead gorgeous]).
Manifest Destiny (the world has become the west coast) finds its stripes in the sale of weapons. Tony Stark is appalled to discover that his weapons are being sold to other countries and supporting the terrorist networks he designed them to thwart (how could a genius be that naïve?). He is captured by Afghani rebels, one who saves his life with an ingenious device that hooks his heart up to a car battery. In order to help Tony escape his saviour must die, allegorically pointing out that many foreigners will die in the pursuit of the American dream, even one's who support their interests. Jim Rhodes (Terrence Howard) stands for the military and his character is used to point out how socialist politics have been transferred to it, the united military standing as one, i.e., don't stand as one to receive universal health care, higher wages, and cheaper education, stand as one within the army. Favreau demonstrates how the sale of American weapons throughout the globe supports the terroristic infrastructure they have set out to destroy, while using Tony Stark as a symbol of change, i.e., we need to stop supporting an aggressive military, treating it as if its motives embody a divine altruistic panacea. In order to destroy the weapons he has manufactured, Tony Stark builds another weapon, and his nemesis/quasi-Oedipal foe (Jeff Bridges) points out the irony of his situation during their final battle (by pointing out this irony, Favreau skillfully critiques ideologues who find progressive outcomes through the manufacture of bigger and better weapons [eventually no one will go to war because everyone will have the atomic bomb!]). Within this battle, we have a young, new vision for the military symbolically represented by Tony Stark (the son) fighting against the patriarchal father figure (Obadiah Stane). In the film's concluding moments, the military asks Tony to simply read from a script and not reveal his identity as Iron Man. Instead, he ignores the script and tells the press that he is Iron Man, a bold move, for within comic book fantasies it's usually essential that the hero maintain his or her secret identity. By doing this, Stark deconstructs the fantastic elements of his lifestyle by actually telling the truth to the people, thereby symbolically representing a new, young American political ethos that isn't afraid to acknowledge the brutal contradictions of its imperialist legacy, Favreau championing a future where American political ideals match American political practices. Stark plays by his own rules and doesn't follow the script that has been traditionally cast for him. The main problem with his role is that he is only one man, and in order for universal social programs to be created within the United States the many must align as one in order to demand access to health care, higher wages, and a decrease in their military spending. Stark's character demonstrates the power of American individuality and the progress that can be achieved by individuals willing to stand up to the administration (Martin Luther King, Jr. for instance). Unfortunately, the film ends before we can see whether or not anyone is willing to join him.
Iron Man's central symbol is Tony Stark's heart, a technological circular wonder with a luminescent glow. This heart can be thought of as representing the circular nature of political dynamics, or, the fact that governments throughout the ages have continued to reassert and revitalize peace through military conflict. By including this symbol (and focusing upon it so intently), does Favreau mean that the American political landscape can be revitalized by innovative individuals who no longer support the military, and that if these individuals find their way into the political spectrum, perhaps the circular nature of its imperialist center can in fact begin to embody a glowing peaceful spirit? Or is he just playing with the old stereotypes and trying to make his traditional vision seem innovative by not killing the promiscuous woman and showcasing a hero who isn't afraid of coming out of the closet, in Walter Benjamin's terms, rendering a political situation where the individual can experience their own destruction as a pleasure of the first order? I really don't know, and don't have the time or the money to figure it out, but he has created a multi-layered film that doesn't offer any easy answers and is open to polemical interpretations, made, elfishly, for swingers.
The buzz surrounding Robert Downey Jr.'s performance is bang on: he really is exceptional. The supporting cast is solid as well but it's hard to imagine what this film would have been without Downey's charisma holding it together. In many ways, the plot is quite formulaic with the usual touch of frustrating militaristic bravado. But Favreau skillfully and subtly plays with the ideological conventions built into this formula, delivering a profound critique of its conventions, while reasserting them as well. The four conventions I'd like to examine here are misogyny, the military, individuality, and fantasy, critically cast in a mold of socialist iron.
Note that I've never read the comic book and don't plan on drawing a comparison between the two.
Within action movies, female characters tend to be both beautiful and promiscuous (Bad Bond Girls), or beautiful and somewhat chaste (Miss Moneypenny and Good Bond Girls). Rarely does a female lead who isn't uber-attractive score one of these parts (accept perhaps for Grace Jones), and if they find their way into the film they usually have backup roles (note the woman who looks like a man in Iron Man's opening moments). The male lead sleeps with the bad girl who is aggressive and daring (and consequently evil within the eyes of the patriarchy) in the opening moments and saves his hot feisty encounter with the good-domestic girl until the end of the film (she takes care of the hero and keeps him safe and only receives his affections after he has returned from work [wherein we discover the brilliance underlying the plot of Martin Campbell's Casino Royale]). Within Iron Man, Pepper Pots (Gwyneth Paltrow) keeps Tony Stark's life together while he is busy applying his genius to the production of weapons, and has scruples when it comes to dating her boss. Christine Everhart (Leslie Bibb) critiques Stark's way of life but instantly swoons when propositioned (she was only propositioned because of her looks). Hence, within Iron Man we have traditional eye-dropping superbabes playing stereotypical roles patriarchically carved out for them centuries ago, and the hero manipulates them (sexually with the bad girl, domestically with the good one) while manufacturing weapons to ensure America's global predominance. Simultaneously, however, without the assistance and persistence of these women, Tony Stark's turnaround would not have been possible. Moreover, when he begins to consider that being a Master of War is somewhat scurrilous (I love how the military always takes credit for medical advances, as if there wouldn't be advances in medical technology without war, and as if it doesn't create situations that demand medical advances based upon the catastrophic effects of its designs), it's the 'bad girl' (the independent lefty) who causes him to change his ways and the 'good girl' who has trouble accepting the change (Favreau pointing out the paradox within which the stereotypical good ‘bond-girl’ functions: she feels good serving her Master as long as he's a promiscuous monster and can't deal with the reality brought about by his reversal of fortune [note that his point would have been stronger if both these girls weren't drop-dead gorgeous]).
Manifest Destiny (the world has become the west coast) finds its stripes in the sale of weapons. Tony Stark is appalled to discover that his weapons are being sold to other countries and supporting the terrorist networks he designed them to thwart (how could a genius be that naïve?). He is captured by Afghani rebels, one who saves his life with an ingenious device that hooks his heart up to a car battery. In order to help Tony escape his saviour must die, allegorically pointing out that many foreigners will die in the pursuit of the American dream, even one's who support their interests. Jim Rhodes (Terrence Howard) stands for the military and his character is used to point out how socialist politics have been transferred to it, the united military standing as one, i.e., don't stand as one to receive universal health care, higher wages, and cheaper education, stand as one within the army. Favreau demonstrates how the sale of American weapons throughout the globe supports the terroristic infrastructure they have set out to destroy, while using Tony Stark as a symbol of change, i.e., we need to stop supporting an aggressive military, treating it as if its motives embody a divine altruistic panacea. In order to destroy the weapons he has manufactured, Tony Stark builds another weapon, and his nemesis/quasi-Oedipal foe (Jeff Bridges) points out the irony of his situation during their final battle (by pointing out this irony, Favreau skillfully critiques ideologues who find progressive outcomes through the manufacture of bigger and better weapons [eventually no one will go to war because everyone will have the atomic bomb!]). Within this battle, we have a young, new vision for the military symbolically represented by Tony Stark (the son) fighting against the patriarchal father figure (Obadiah Stane). In the film's concluding moments, the military asks Tony to simply read from a script and not reveal his identity as Iron Man. Instead, he ignores the script and tells the press that he is Iron Man, a bold move, for within comic book fantasies it's usually essential that the hero maintain his or her secret identity. By doing this, Stark deconstructs the fantastic elements of his lifestyle by actually telling the truth to the people, thereby symbolically representing a new, young American political ethos that isn't afraid to acknowledge the brutal contradictions of its imperialist legacy, Favreau championing a future where American political ideals match American political practices. Stark plays by his own rules and doesn't follow the script that has been traditionally cast for him. The main problem with his role is that he is only one man, and in order for universal social programs to be created within the United States the many must align as one in order to demand access to health care, higher wages, and a decrease in their military spending. Stark's character demonstrates the power of American individuality and the progress that can be achieved by individuals willing to stand up to the administration (Martin Luther King, Jr. for instance). Unfortunately, the film ends before we can see whether or not anyone is willing to join him.
Iron Man's central symbol is Tony Stark's heart, a technological circular wonder with a luminescent glow. This heart can be thought of as representing the circular nature of political dynamics, or, the fact that governments throughout the ages have continued to reassert and revitalize peace through military conflict. By including this symbol (and focusing upon it so intently), does Favreau mean that the American political landscape can be revitalized by innovative individuals who no longer support the military, and that if these individuals find their way into the political spectrum, perhaps the circular nature of its imperialist center can in fact begin to embody a glowing peaceful spirit? Or is he just playing with the old stereotypes and trying to make his traditional vision seem innovative by not killing the promiscuous woman and showcasing a hero who isn't afraid of coming out of the closet, in Walter Benjamin's terms, rendering a political situation where the individual can experience their own destruction as a pleasure of the first order? I really don't know, and don't have the time or the money to figure it out, but he has created a multi-layered film that doesn't offer any easy answers and is open to polemical interpretations, made, elfishly, for swingers.
Ben X
Nic Balthazar's first feature film Ben X looks at life through the eyes of a tortured autistic teenager. Ben (Greg Timmermans) doesn't say much or do much to defend himself. Consequently, his rotten classmates do their best to make his life even more miserable. Ben has retreated deep into himself and rarely leaves his cocoon because whenever he does (outside of the presence of his family) he is greeted with derision and contempt. His world consists of online gaming, odd encounters with religious iconography, and split-second glimpses of obscure pieces of reality which no one else is capable of seeing, his particular disposition rendering them personally objective, saliently shot by cinematographer Lou Berghmans. As things deteriorate, a girl (Scarlite played by Laura Verlinden) enters his online domain who challenges him to speak, to bloom. His resultant desire brings about a remarkable metamorphosis which demonstrates how one moment of extroverted introversion can trump millions of hackneyed catch phrases, objectifying the eternal beauty of peace, brought about through social castration.
Whether or not any of this occurs is a matter for debate, and Balthazar is no slouch when it comes to layering the ambiguity. While this ambiguity may leave you feeling ill, its presence is likely a by-product of every instance in which you partake in acts similar to those engaged in by Ben's classmates, an encounter with the other side, the disenfranchised, the consequences. Ben X unravels the ironic dimension of militaristic bravado, pointing out how easy it is to be brutal and follow cantankerous commands.
While showing how much stronger the people are who peacefully, critically, and artistically stand up against it, the stentorian courage found within the coward who rebels, the derelict strength of a disembodied, ethereal, event.
Filmed in Belgium in Dutch.
Whether or not any of this occurs is a matter for debate, and Balthazar is no slouch when it comes to layering the ambiguity. While this ambiguity may leave you feeling ill, its presence is likely a by-product of every instance in which you partake in acts similar to those engaged in by Ben's classmates, an encounter with the other side, the disenfranchised, the consequences. Ben X unravels the ironic dimension of militaristic bravado, pointing out how easy it is to be brutal and follow cantankerous commands.
While showing how much stronger the people are who peacefully, critically, and artistically stand up against it, the stentorian courage found within the coward who rebels, the derelict strength of a disembodied, ethereal, event.
Filmed in Belgium in Dutch.
Shine a Light
In 1993 I purchased a ticket to see the Rolling Stones' Voodoo Lounge tour. I thought it best to spend the little money I had on the ticket in order to ensure that I had the chance of seeing them live before one of them died.
Shit was I wrong.
But I did get to see a solid performance from my favourite band and was able to see them again in 1996. In the meantime, I've seen most of Martin Scorsese's films and taken note of the ways in which he usually incorporates my favourite forgotten Stones tunes into his soundtracks, Let it Loose in The Departed for instance. Needless to say, I was pretty frickin' happy to discover that his latest film is a concert from the Stones' A Bigger Bang tour and that this concert can be viewed in IMAX form.
Critics are referring to Scorsese as being 'lame' for having shot this film. And I really don't think they understand what he's done. Throughout, we are shown a concert in New York's Beacon theatre, with the opening act briefly pointing out some of the problems associated with trying to organize the shot. Scorcese brazenly situates himself in the forefront by inserting the words "Martin Scorsese Presents" immediately after the Stones count down to begin rehearsing: 4, 3, 2, 1, Martin Scorsese!
And why the hell shouldn't he? He's a huge fan, he has the resources to bring a concert to a huge audience who likely didn't have a chance to see the Stones last time round, tickets being rather pricey these days, and he wants to ironically share in their mythos for a split-second. Like Ricky Gervais in Extras, he's delighting in the fact that he is able to meet and greet some of his favourite stars while humbly making himself look silly in the process. And in a salute to humility, one of the most prominent features of Shine a Light is the footage of Stones drummer, Charlie Watts. Charlie has been there since the beginning and he rarely gets to emerge from Mick and Kieth's shadow. But Scorsese makes sure that Charlie gets plenty of screen-time in order to pay tribute to the Stones' unsung backbone.
The majority of the film consists of the aforementioned concert, but interviews from the 60s and 70s are intercut throughout (the Stones in Germany, Japan, France). A lot of this footage shows the Stones answering questions regarding how long they think they'll be able to tour, create, survive. By mixing these interviews in, Scorsese presents an objective answer while the Stones's performance illustrates that the same youthful intensity that gave them their start 40+ years ago is alive and well. As if God had sympathy for a bunch of devils and shone a light upon them, making every song they sing their favourite tune. Within the subnarrative lies the youthful intensity Scorsese has garnered from the Stones' music and his extreme delight in having situated himself within their legend. Note how in the end we see him directing the Stones offstage at two different points (while their progress is linear), thereby accentuating his longing to be a part of their aura by doubling his presence within their theatrical exit (extending his presence within for as long as possible).
For the Stones themselves, it's astounding how well they continue to play. Kieth playing on intuition, Mick stretching the strut, Charlie plugging away, Ronnie dexterously exchanging licks, Chuck Leavell rocking the keys, Darryl Jones pumping the bass, and Bobby Keys sucking back that sax like it's a quarter past Sunday. They blast out a bunch of background classics like All the Down the Line, Lovin' Cup (with Jack White), Live with Me (with Christina Aguilera), Some Girls, and You've Got the Silver (sung by Keith Richards), while performing a number of favourites like Satisfaction, Start Me Up, Shattered, and Jumpin' Jack Flash.
If you're a fan of the band, and it’s playing in a theatre near you, check out Shine a Light for the ways in which it pays tribute to a solid rock 'n' roll act flickin' the switch on their 19th nervous breakdown. And the next time the Stones are in town I'll have to spend what little money I have (looking for work here . . .) on a ticket, even though I'm sure there will be plenty more opportunity to see them. Because they're clones.
They probably aren't clones.
Whatever, they could be clones.
Shit was I wrong.
But I did get to see a solid performance from my favourite band and was able to see them again in 1996. In the meantime, I've seen most of Martin Scorsese's films and taken note of the ways in which he usually incorporates my favourite forgotten Stones tunes into his soundtracks, Let it Loose in The Departed for instance. Needless to say, I was pretty frickin' happy to discover that his latest film is a concert from the Stones' A Bigger Bang tour and that this concert can be viewed in IMAX form.
Critics are referring to Scorsese as being 'lame' for having shot this film. And I really don't think they understand what he's done. Throughout, we are shown a concert in New York's Beacon theatre, with the opening act briefly pointing out some of the problems associated with trying to organize the shot. Scorcese brazenly situates himself in the forefront by inserting the words "Martin Scorsese Presents" immediately after the Stones count down to begin rehearsing: 4, 3, 2, 1, Martin Scorsese!
And why the hell shouldn't he? He's a huge fan, he has the resources to bring a concert to a huge audience who likely didn't have a chance to see the Stones last time round, tickets being rather pricey these days, and he wants to ironically share in their mythos for a split-second. Like Ricky Gervais in Extras, he's delighting in the fact that he is able to meet and greet some of his favourite stars while humbly making himself look silly in the process. And in a salute to humility, one of the most prominent features of Shine a Light is the footage of Stones drummer, Charlie Watts. Charlie has been there since the beginning and he rarely gets to emerge from Mick and Kieth's shadow. But Scorsese makes sure that Charlie gets plenty of screen-time in order to pay tribute to the Stones' unsung backbone.
The majority of the film consists of the aforementioned concert, but interviews from the 60s and 70s are intercut throughout (the Stones in Germany, Japan, France). A lot of this footage shows the Stones answering questions regarding how long they think they'll be able to tour, create, survive. By mixing these interviews in, Scorsese presents an objective answer while the Stones's performance illustrates that the same youthful intensity that gave them their start 40+ years ago is alive and well. As if God had sympathy for a bunch of devils and shone a light upon them, making every song they sing their favourite tune. Within the subnarrative lies the youthful intensity Scorsese has garnered from the Stones' music and his extreme delight in having situated himself within their legend. Note how in the end we see him directing the Stones offstage at two different points (while their progress is linear), thereby accentuating his longing to be a part of their aura by doubling his presence within their theatrical exit (extending his presence within for as long as possible).
For the Stones themselves, it's astounding how well they continue to play. Kieth playing on intuition, Mick stretching the strut, Charlie plugging away, Ronnie dexterously exchanging licks, Chuck Leavell rocking the keys, Darryl Jones pumping the bass, and Bobby Keys sucking back that sax like it's a quarter past Sunday. They blast out a bunch of background classics like All the Down the Line, Lovin' Cup (with Jack White), Live with Me (with Christina Aguilera), Some Girls, and You've Got the Silver (sung by Keith Richards), while performing a number of favourites like Satisfaction, Start Me Up, Shattered, and Jumpin' Jack Flash.
If you're a fan of the band, and it’s playing in a theatre near you, check out Shine a Light for the ways in which it pays tribute to a solid rock 'n' roll act flickin' the switch on their 19th nervous breakdown. And the next time the Stones are in town I'll have to spend what little money I have (looking for work here . . .) on a ticket, even though I'm sure there will be plenty more opportunity to see them. Because they're clones.
They probably aren't clones.
Whatever, they could be clones.
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford
The entertainment industry's propensity to reinvestigate saintly and criminal cultural (and pop-cultural) icons is substantial. Again and again and again. Superman in high school, the Joker's back, the Legend of the Omega Man. I personally love how Space Ghost from Coast to Coast and The Brak Show interfilmically respond to this tendency using staple Western narrative tropes like “Hamlet” and “Psycho” to playfully expand the sublimely inter-dimensional terrain (we don't have to always focus upon Superman or Batman if we're not going to invent new characters). Andrew Dominik's The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford examines this propensity and exposes the formal underpinnings regarding the ethico-historical content of supposed criminals. By engaging in this dialogue, Dominik manages to draw a sharp parallel between Jesse James and Jesus Christ, while also showing how the ethical formal influence of the tragedy of Jesus's life and times can be reformulated politically (with seemingly contradictory content).
It's as if Dominik's stating that the crowd loves an outlaw and the elite love exploiting the crowd.
Within Dominik's film, we are introduced to a gang of crooks lead by the James Brothers (Brad Pitt and Sam Shephard). They are contrasted with the more cowardly Ford Brothers (Robert - Casey Afflek and Charley - Sam Rockwell) who end up killing Jesse. Further, while Jesse is a God-fearing religious man when he's not robbing trains, Robert is a weaselly opportunistic wretch. Throughout, we see Jesse's dementia getting worse and worse and the film subtly suggests that Jesse tricked Robert into shooting him (having grown tired of living like an outlaw, knowing his final years would be drenched in madness) (hence, Jesse isn't shot in the back, he's shot in the back while looking in the mirror). Solid performances all around, played to a haunting, morose score which simultaneously reminds one of Aranofsky's Requiem for a Dream and a made for t.v. historical drama (music being used to ironically deconstruct the seriousness of Dominik's content?). Affleck's performance also juxtaposes the austere and the commercial, at moments poignantly portraying the conflicted, tortured Ford, at others, coming across like an out-of-place, starving hack (is Dominik encouraging this juxtaposition in order to suggest that fluctuation leads to cowardice?).
In the end, Robert Ford is set up like a Judas: the coward who murdered his friend. Jesse James becomes somewhat of a legend, simultaneously revered, feared, and cheered, a heroic outlaw for the people. Ford, having murdered this figure, is outcasted, and his murderer eventually pardoned and released. The people asked Pilate to free Barabbas thereby condemning Jesus. Jesus was condemned and his memory resonates prominently to this day, his betrayer’s name eternally contemptuous. But within the legend we have Pilate (politics) asking the people (ethics) to free either a sinner or a saint (remarkable individuals, regardless of whether they are wicked or just). If the saint dies, his murderer is derided. But, as Dominik relates, if the criminal dies the perfidy of his betrayer results in his derision as well (popular criminals becoming Saintly). Dominik has picked up on the ancient cult of the exception, the cult of the wicked: treachery is still treachery in any state or form, and culture is generally unkind to the treacherous.
In some ways, it's a shame that Dominik took on this project, seeing how his debut Chopper chronicled the contemporary beginnings of a legendary outlaw, thereby tilling the ground from which subsequent subjective interpretations can be planted and objectified (rather than situating himself in an old-fashioned crop whose tradition has been cultivated for over a century). But his presentation of the legend does lend itself to meta-legendary insight, cutting the head off of snakes, shot in the back while looking in the mirror.
The cinematography by Roger Deakins is brilliant as well, but I've grown tired of qualifying films shot in gorgeous mountainous regions as having brilliant cinematography. If you chill in the country for a prolonged period with a photographer's eye, it isn't hard to shoot pristine shot after pristine shot. Afterwards, the beauty of these shots is exaggerated by urbanites who don't get to spend much time in the country and forget that solid cinematography comes from applying an artistic filmically-photographic eye to a seemingly empty panorama, coaxing split-second beauty from a derelict domain, a seemingly hollow yet enlivened reverberation.
Then again, I suppose this is precisely what Deakins was doing when he filmed the fish swimming beneath the ice.
It's as if Dominik's stating that the crowd loves an outlaw and the elite love exploiting the crowd.
Within Dominik's film, we are introduced to a gang of crooks lead by the James Brothers (Brad Pitt and Sam Shephard). They are contrasted with the more cowardly Ford Brothers (Robert - Casey Afflek and Charley - Sam Rockwell) who end up killing Jesse. Further, while Jesse is a God-fearing religious man when he's not robbing trains, Robert is a weaselly opportunistic wretch. Throughout, we see Jesse's dementia getting worse and worse and the film subtly suggests that Jesse tricked Robert into shooting him (having grown tired of living like an outlaw, knowing his final years would be drenched in madness) (hence, Jesse isn't shot in the back, he's shot in the back while looking in the mirror). Solid performances all around, played to a haunting, morose score which simultaneously reminds one of Aranofsky's Requiem for a Dream and a made for t.v. historical drama (music being used to ironically deconstruct the seriousness of Dominik's content?). Affleck's performance also juxtaposes the austere and the commercial, at moments poignantly portraying the conflicted, tortured Ford, at others, coming across like an out-of-place, starving hack (is Dominik encouraging this juxtaposition in order to suggest that fluctuation leads to cowardice?).
In the end, Robert Ford is set up like a Judas: the coward who murdered his friend. Jesse James becomes somewhat of a legend, simultaneously revered, feared, and cheered, a heroic outlaw for the people. Ford, having murdered this figure, is outcasted, and his murderer eventually pardoned and released. The people asked Pilate to free Barabbas thereby condemning Jesus. Jesus was condemned and his memory resonates prominently to this day, his betrayer’s name eternally contemptuous. But within the legend we have Pilate (politics) asking the people (ethics) to free either a sinner or a saint (remarkable individuals, regardless of whether they are wicked or just). If the saint dies, his murderer is derided. But, as Dominik relates, if the criminal dies the perfidy of his betrayer results in his derision as well (popular criminals becoming Saintly). Dominik has picked up on the ancient cult of the exception, the cult of the wicked: treachery is still treachery in any state or form, and culture is generally unkind to the treacherous.
In some ways, it's a shame that Dominik took on this project, seeing how his debut Chopper chronicled the contemporary beginnings of a legendary outlaw, thereby tilling the ground from which subsequent subjective interpretations can be planted and objectified (rather than situating himself in an old-fashioned crop whose tradition has been cultivated for over a century). But his presentation of the legend does lend itself to meta-legendary insight, cutting the head off of snakes, shot in the back while looking in the mirror.
The cinematography by Roger Deakins is brilliant as well, but I've grown tired of qualifying films shot in gorgeous mountainous regions as having brilliant cinematography. If you chill in the country for a prolonged period with a photographer's eye, it isn't hard to shoot pristine shot after pristine shot. Afterwards, the beauty of these shots is exaggerated by urbanites who don't get to spend much time in the country and forget that solid cinematography comes from applying an artistic filmically-photographic eye to a seemingly empty panorama, coaxing split-second beauty from a derelict domain, a seemingly hollow yet enlivened reverberation.
Then again, I suppose this is precisely what Deakins was doing when he filmed the fish swimming beneath the ice.
Travelling Light: Artists on the Move
Artists on the move. Searching, dreaming, defining, changing, creating. Blowin' in the wind. Breezy and contemplative, subjectively seductive, alive. Change motivates the five artists showcased within Támas Wormser's Travelling Light: Artists on the Move, a film which presents genuinely discursive characters seeking inspiration throughout the globe. Occasionally maudlin, often poignant, the provocative thoughts presented by these bohemians will reverberate vivaciously within any (de)centralized soul, who is seeking meaning from unmitigated migration. Art through intuition, reified fluctuation, and unified disintegration, a must see for anyone seeking solid representations of the free-flowing artistic lifestyle. And others as well.
Travelling Light opens with a number of moving images whose formal motion influences the content of the film. But their presence is somewhat obvious and lacks the formal subtlety enacted by the resident artists. My comments may be to hasty, however, for the film seems to have taken this criticism into account by metaphorically traveling light.
Travelling Light opens with a number of moving images whose formal motion influences the content of the film. But their presence is somewhat obvious and lacks the formal subtlety enacted by the resident artists. My comments may be to hasty, however, for the film seems to have taken this criticism into account by metaphorically traveling light.
Paranoid Park
Gus van Sant's Paranoid Park examines the process of creative writing. Within, we enter Alex's (Gabe Nevins) dreamland wherein the boundaries between reality and fiction fluctuate, oscillating within a non-linear structure that closely resembles a skateboarding park. Paranoid is really well crafted and the only component that truncates its performance is inherent in its form. A form which, mischievously enough, has found a way to blame the viewer for their own boredom. Within the film's content, we enter Alex's mind as he tries to write a story. We are then challenged to fill in the details of the story ourselves, as the sustained close-ups and long, drawn out pauses suggest (or the scenes where the music frequently changes). Hence, if you cannot create your own story to fit between the frames, you will likely find this feature dull, for which you only have your dull imagination to blame. Within this frame, van Sant has managed to actively represent what it means to engage in creative writing, criticism, painting, thereby providing his viewers with a split-second crash course in imagination, a masterful display of formative genius.
Semi-Pro
Semi-Pro. The title's even mediocre and obvious. Sometimes this style of comedy works for me, notably Dodgeball, Zoolander, and Old School, but Semi-Pro is everything these comedic standouts are not, almost every joke and situation falling flat, even the scene where Jackie Moon (Will Ferrell) wrestles a bear.
The fundamental sporting comedy plot devices are in place, literally and structurally: a number of small town guys get together as a team and from that team find purpose and meaning for their lives; at the same time, a core group of sort-of-funny comedic actors who can be easily identified (Tim Meadows, Will Arnett, Rob Corddry, Matt Walsh) provide a familiar presence that brings with it some warm and friendly charm, as they fire an unloaded gun at one another while referring to the horrible realities underlying their past and present relationships. But the form needs content, and the content in this film is definitely semi-pro. It’s just awful, nothing works, there's no unity, no feeling, as if they shot the entire film in two weeks, partying hard throughout, but not the good kind of partying, the kind that produced albums like Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main St., the bad kind, the kind that produced It's Only Rock and Roll and Emotional Rescue. Perhaps the most touching moment comes when Woody Harrelson (Monix) teaches Jackie to puke. Yes, I was seriously reminded why its best to steer clear from this genre, from time to time, especially when the film in question doesn't have much of an advertising campaign, and wish I'd seen The Counterfeiters or Up the Yantgze instead. But I was in the mood for brain numbing comedy, of the funny I'm 15 again variety, funny brain numbing comedy, not the stupid and not funny kind, that kind.
The way in which the film proceeds is troubled as well: all of the details describing how Jackie Moon obtained his fortune are mentioned during the opening credits. The audience wants to see these details unfold during the film, quickly, at the beginning, like in Blades of Glory or The Life Aquatic. Also, you need a prominent human villain in the script. This script's villain (Woody Harrelson) was part of the basketball team and ends up being everyone's friend. Unfortunately, this 'spin-move' didn't work and should only be employed if your film also has a strong villain. (The collapse of the league can be seen as a villain as well, but this villain certainly didn't utter any zippy one-liners).
Oh yes, the film is about a struggling B-league basketball team trying to finish in 4th place so that their franchise can be one of four that is permitted to merge with the NBA.
I did like the allegory within one scene however: the American Basketball Association is trying to merge with the NBA so they want to keep a clean image. However, the players want to brawl in every game. Hence, in order to make sure their image remains clean, they save their brawling for commercial breaks, allegorically highlighting the underlying dimension of the prim and proper finished product (a successful presentation delivered by the CEO, a family managing to hide their craziness from one of their children's love interests, . . . ).
The fundamental sporting comedy plot devices are in place, literally and structurally: a number of small town guys get together as a team and from that team find purpose and meaning for their lives; at the same time, a core group of sort-of-funny comedic actors who can be easily identified (Tim Meadows, Will Arnett, Rob Corddry, Matt Walsh) provide a familiar presence that brings with it some warm and friendly charm, as they fire an unloaded gun at one another while referring to the horrible realities underlying their past and present relationships. But the form needs content, and the content in this film is definitely semi-pro. It’s just awful, nothing works, there's no unity, no feeling, as if they shot the entire film in two weeks, partying hard throughout, but not the good kind of partying, the kind that produced albums like Sticky Fingers and Exile on Main St., the bad kind, the kind that produced It's Only Rock and Roll and Emotional Rescue. Perhaps the most touching moment comes when Woody Harrelson (Monix) teaches Jackie to puke. Yes, I was seriously reminded why its best to steer clear from this genre, from time to time, especially when the film in question doesn't have much of an advertising campaign, and wish I'd seen The Counterfeiters or Up the Yantgze instead. But I was in the mood for brain numbing comedy, of the funny I'm 15 again variety, funny brain numbing comedy, not the stupid and not funny kind, that kind.
The way in which the film proceeds is troubled as well: all of the details describing how Jackie Moon obtained his fortune are mentioned during the opening credits. The audience wants to see these details unfold during the film, quickly, at the beginning, like in Blades of Glory or The Life Aquatic. Also, you need a prominent human villain in the script. This script's villain (Woody Harrelson) was part of the basketball team and ends up being everyone's friend. Unfortunately, this 'spin-move' didn't work and should only be employed if your film also has a strong villain. (The collapse of the league can be seen as a villain as well, but this villain certainly didn't utter any zippy one-liners).
Oh yes, the film is about a struggling B-league basketball team trying to finish in 4th place so that their franchise can be one of four that is permitted to merge with the NBA.
I did like the allegory within one scene however: the American Basketball Association is trying to merge with the NBA so they want to keep a clean image. However, the players want to brawl in every game. Hence, in order to make sure their image remains clean, they save their brawling for commercial breaks, allegorically highlighting the underlying dimension of the prim and proper finished product (a successful presentation delivered by the CEO, a family managing to hide their craziness from one of their children's love interests, . . . ).
Be Kind Rewind
In Michel Gondry's Be Kind Rewind, two down on their luck eccentric individuals decide it's time to sabotage a local power plant. Jerry (Jack Black) is convinced that the government is using that power plant to manipulate minds, and, ironically enough, after Mike (Mos Def) abandons him during the act, a bolt of electromagnetic something or other blasts him, magnetizing his brain. Which wouldn't be all that bad, but Mike works at Be Kind Rewind, a struggling video store in New Jersey which only has two months to bring its building up to code and avoid demolition. Jerry's new brain erases all of Be Kind's inventory, leaving them with only one way to get around bothering vacationing store owner Mr. Fletcher (Danny Glover) with the bad news: create their own home videos as quickly as they can and supply them to their customers as alternative versions (what they call "sweded") of their favourite films. At first the idea seems ludicrous, but as Ghostbusters, Robocop, and Rush Hour II come off without a hitch, their revolutionary idea pulls ahead full-throttle.
Be Kind Rewind seems ridiculous but its intellectual salute to forms of disenfranchised discourse demonstrates how the poor can take back the means of production and forge for themselves a dignified existence, where their insights and means of expression matter (a manifestation of what Žižek refers to as 'The Art of the Ridiculous Sublime'). It’s slightly off-beat but ludicrously effectively, emphasizing the value of friendship and the benefits of creativity.
Be Kind Rewind seems ridiculous but its intellectual salute to forms of disenfranchised discourse demonstrates how the poor can take back the means of production and forge for themselves a dignified existence, where their insights and means of expression matter (a manifestation of what Žižek refers to as 'The Art of the Ridiculous Sublime'). It’s slightly off-beat but ludicrously effectively, emphasizing the value of friendship and the benefits of creativity.
Juno
Jason Reitman's Juno is a fun and engaging film containing quaint down-to-earth characters. There's the docile air conditioning and heater installing ex-military dad (J. K. Simmons), the can't-grow-up perennially juvenile heart throb (Jason Bateman), the cool, tough, and acerbic stepmom (Allison Janney), and the hopeful, grown-up, pre-matronly mom (Jennifer Garner). These characters are all given their chance to shine but Juno MacGuff steals the show, unilaterally portraying a troubled and confused artistic pregnant teenager.
Don't really know whether or not she's artistic, but she's funny and different, and thoughtful and independent, and the way in which she informs her impregnater Paulie Bleeker (Michael Cera) of her pregnancy is intelligent, and witty, and damned impressive.
Juno is a tough little working class suburban darling, who deals with shattering developments with the calm, tranquil repose of a successful CEO. Her observations are occasionally confused, often adolescent, and frequently forgetful, like most of your highschoolic philosophy, wherein lies her beauty, her presence, her terms of endearment. She's 17 stuck dealing with the demands of a professional, yet she doesn't miss a beat; she keeps her self perfectly in tact, leaving you certain that if she were to raise this child on her own, he or she would definitely have a wonderful mother.
And father, potentially. I don't why Juno was nominated for best picture when similarly touching films such as The Station Agent, Elephant, and La Grande Séduction were not, but hopefully its nomination represents a new trend within Hollywood, one which recognizes comedies that deal with disenfranchised life, valuing its vigorous, universal qualities, sticking up for lifestyles that aren't represented by the opening moments of an episode of Desperate Housewives. It's a great film representing many different sociological threads that one can encounter as time goes by, while offering a number of positive role models for such sartorial circumstances. Worth checking out.
Don't really know whether or not she's artistic, but she's funny and different, and thoughtful and independent, and the way in which she informs her impregnater Paulie Bleeker (Michael Cera) of her pregnancy is intelligent, and witty, and damned impressive.
Juno is a tough little working class suburban darling, who deals with shattering developments with the calm, tranquil repose of a successful CEO. Her observations are occasionally confused, often adolescent, and frequently forgetful, like most of your highschoolic philosophy, wherein lies her beauty, her presence, her terms of endearment. She's 17 stuck dealing with the demands of a professional, yet she doesn't miss a beat; she keeps her self perfectly in tact, leaving you certain that if she were to raise this child on her own, he or she would definitely have a wonderful mother.
And father, potentially. I don't why Juno was nominated for best picture when similarly touching films such as The Station Agent, Elephant, and La Grande Séduction were not, but hopefully its nomination represents a new trend within Hollywood, one which recognizes comedies that deal with disenfranchised life, valuing its vigorous, universal qualities, sticking up for lifestyles that aren't represented by the opening moments of an episode of Desperate Housewives. It's a great film representing many different sociological threads that one can encounter as time goes by, while offering a number of positive role models for such sartorial circumstances. Worth checking out.
Rambo
Rambo. Frickin' Rambo.
Rambo's back in Rambo, the third sequel to the classic action film First Blood. While departing for “Rambo,” I was preparing myself for a huge laugh fest and was quite surprised to find that, while the film itself is nothing special, the ideological relevance the narrative dynamics share with the current Republican American politico-ethical scene (seen through the eyes of Noam Chomsky) is concurrent, bang-on, and frightening.
Like good ole' Rambo himself.
This time, Rambo is living in the jungles of Thailand, earning his primary living by catching snakes. Rambo: America, doing its best to mind its own business and live a peaceful, tranquil life (while still managing to catch a few snakes). A group of missionaries show up, hoping that Rambo will take them to Burma so that they can provide the Burmese people with spiritual and medical attention (idealist wimpy peace-not-war Americans). Rambo quickly informs them that their mission is pointless and that they should go home, but feisty Sarah (Julie Benz) won't hear of it and she convinces Rambo to drive them into the heart of the Burmese jungle. While driving them in, Rambo must blast his way through a nest of pirates, after which he hears the ethical "you-shouldn't-kill-anyone-under-any-circumstances" line from Sarah's partner Michael Burnett (Paul Schulze [Ryan Chappelle on 24]). At this point in the film, Sarah looks to be falling for Rambo's natural He-Manic charisma, much to partner Michael's dismay.
After the missionaries are kidnapped, Rambo hears the bad news, and agrees to transport a group of mercenaries into the jungle for a rescue operation. Enter the British Empire: an international group lead by the British soldier Lewis (Graham McTavish). Lewis reiterates many of the points Rambo made earlier in the film although he is much less graceful in his elocution. Thus we have the randy, foolish Brit facing off against the calm, laconic, American, both imperialistic icons, one having lost its position of power, the other, ironically tagging along (note that the Brits have to be paid: for Rambo, it's a matter of honour). Shortly thereafter, Rambo is leading the show, having defeated a small group of soldiers with a homemade bow and arrow, and tautly told Lewis where to stick his suggestions (note that in this scene Rambo rescues a number of peasants whom Lewis didn't want to save because he was afraid of being detected: ideologically, American might knows no fear).
And they continue on, rescuing the imprisoned missionaries, only to be tenaciously hunted the next day by their Burmese opponents. Lewis's leg is seriously injured and the British Empire is captured, only to be saved from the firing squad by the resolute Rambo. In an unexpected turn of events, the Burmese rebels show up and save the day (Stallone's way of saluting the courageous stand of the Burmese people last fall), although, Rambo continues to play a huge role as the Burmese rebels fight on. And, low and behold, "you-should-never-kill-anyone" Michael Burnett clubs a Burmese soldier to death with a rock, after which, Sarah has fallen in love with him again, since he has demonstrated that he has overcome his childish hatred of violence and accepted the ways of the world.
But while Michael lives, the only soldier to praise the missionaries's trip into Burma dies, the idealistic student-become-mercenary, subtly questioning the nature of pacifist ideals.
And Rambo returns home, the humble individual, having done good, with a little help from his friends, an unheralded hero, the antithesis to American foreign policy under the Bush Administration. Stallone (who wrote and directed as well) obviously finds grace and dignity in the warrior's life, but where he sits regarding how his country exploits that life is a question left unanswered. First Blood was an insightful look at Left Wing hypocrisy and the problems it engenders. But all I'm getting from Rambo is the idea that might is right, and that military campaigns create practical and beneficial results that diplomacy can't, which is something the American public hopefully challenges in the years to come.
Rambo's back in Rambo, the third sequel to the classic action film First Blood. While departing for “Rambo,” I was preparing myself for a huge laugh fest and was quite surprised to find that, while the film itself is nothing special, the ideological relevance the narrative dynamics share with the current Republican American politico-ethical scene (seen through the eyes of Noam Chomsky) is concurrent, bang-on, and frightening.
Like good ole' Rambo himself.
This time, Rambo is living in the jungles of Thailand, earning his primary living by catching snakes. Rambo: America, doing its best to mind its own business and live a peaceful, tranquil life (while still managing to catch a few snakes). A group of missionaries show up, hoping that Rambo will take them to Burma so that they can provide the Burmese people with spiritual and medical attention (idealist wimpy peace-not-war Americans). Rambo quickly informs them that their mission is pointless and that they should go home, but feisty Sarah (Julie Benz) won't hear of it and she convinces Rambo to drive them into the heart of the Burmese jungle. While driving them in, Rambo must blast his way through a nest of pirates, after which he hears the ethical "you-shouldn't-kill-anyone-under-any-circumstances" line from Sarah's partner Michael Burnett (Paul Schulze [Ryan Chappelle on 24]). At this point in the film, Sarah looks to be falling for Rambo's natural He-Manic charisma, much to partner Michael's dismay.
After the missionaries are kidnapped, Rambo hears the bad news, and agrees to transport a group of mercenaries into the jungle for a rescue operation. Enter the British Empire: an international group lead by the British soldier Lewis (Graham McTavish). Lewis reiterates many of the points Rambo made earlier in the film although he is much less graceful in his elocution. Thus we have the randy, foolish Brit facing off against the calm, laconic, American, both imperialistic icons, one having lost its position of power, the other, ironically tagging along (note that the Brits have to be paid: for Rambo, it's a matter of honour). Shortly thereafter, Rambo is leading the show, having defeated a small group of soldiers with a homemade bow and arrow, and tautly told Lewis where to stick his suggestions (note that in this scene Rambo rescues a number of peasants whom Lewis didn't want to save because he was afraid of being detected: ideologically, American might knows no fear).
And they continue on, rescuing the imprisoned missionaries, only to be tenaciously hunted the next day by their Burmese opponents. Lewis's leg is seriously injured and the British Empire is captured, only to be saved from the firing squad by the resolute Rambo. In an unexpected turn of events, the Burmese rebels show up and save the day (Stallone's way of saluting the courageous stand of the Burmese people last fall), although, Rambo continues to play a huge role as the Burmese rebels fight on. And, low and behold, "you-should-never-kill-anyone" Michael Burnett clubs a Burmese soldier to death with a rock, after which, Sarah has fallen in love with him again, since he has demonstrated that he has overcome his childish hatred of violence and accepted the ways of the world.
But while Michael lives, the only soldier to praise the missionaries's trip into Burma dies, the idealistic student-become-mercenary, subtly questioning the nature of pacifist ideals.
And Rambo returns home, the humble individual, having done good, with a little help from his friends, an unheralded hero, the antithesis to American foreign policy under the Bush Administration. Stallone (who wrote and directed as well) obviously finds grace and dignity in the warrior's life, but where he sits regarding how his country exploits that life is a question left unanswered. First Blood was an insightful look at Left Wing hypocrisy and the problems it engenders. But all I'm getting from Rambo is the idea that might is right, and that military campaigns create practical and beneficial results that diplomacy can't, which is something the American public hopefully challenges in the years to come.
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly
Julian Schnabel's latest portrayal of the life of a famous artist examines the process whereby Jean-Dominque Bauby wrote his novel The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Le Scaphandre et le Papillon). In the opening moments, Janusz Kaminski's delicate cinematography brilliantly accentuates life through the eyes of a paralyzed man who wakes up to discover he can think, hear, and understand, but cannot move or speak. Diagnosed with locked-in syndrome, Jean-Dominque (Mathieu Amalric) suffers in the immediate aftermath but quickly learns to use his imagination to revitalize his life. A speech therapist helps him to express himself with the aid of a linguistic technique whereby she recites the letters of the alphabet and he blinks whenever the letter uttered corresponds to that for which he is searching. By engaging in this process, Jean-Dominque is able to communicate with the outside world and produce his first novel, a testament to the strength and endurance of the human spirit.
There were several points during the last 40 minutes where Diving Bell could have concluded successfully, and this feature was likely deliberately stitched into the narrative, symbolically highlighting the fact that Bauby's novel (and life) could have ended at many points had his intransigent imagination not held true to his vision. Certainly sad, definitely daunting, if a paralyzed man who can only communicate with the movement of his right eye can manifest his chef d'oeuvre, anyone can. All it requires, is a little less self-pity, and a little more self-realization.
There were several points during the last 40 minutes where Diving Bell could have concluded successfully, and this feature was likely deliberately stitched into the narrative, symbolically highlighting the fact that Bauby's novel (and life) could have ended at many points had his intransigent imagination not held true to his vision. Certainly sad, definitely daunting, if a paralyzed man who can only communicate with the movement of his right eye can manifest his chef d'oeuvre, anyone can. All it requires, is a little less self-pity, and a little more self-realization.
Persepolis
The film adaptation of Marjane Satrapi's autobiographical graphic novel series Persepolis is bold, challenging, touching, and full of life. Growing up in Iran during the 70s and 80s, Satrapi bears witness to the effects wrought upon her culture by the Islamic Revolution and Iran's war with Iraq. Difficult choices must be made: Satrapi's parents decide to stay in Iran rather than move away and find menial work; parties must still be attended to maintain some semblance of sanity, although being caught drunk or in possession of alcohol leads to severe punishment; upholding one's beliefs when they oppose the government's doctrines leads to imprisonment, torture, death and/or exile; and absurd rules develop governing the public relationships between women and men, one of which tricks Satrapi into a hasty marriage. She spends much of her childhood isolated while studying in Vienna and eventually returns home. But after a number of years back in Iran, her national spirit is crushed by an absurd brand of patriotism, and she leaves for France once and for all.
Directed by Satrapi and Vincent Paronnoud, Persepolis presents an enormous number of poignant insights regarding life as one tries to live it. For instance, dating can be problematic, attempting to promote your ideals when they differ from those of the dominant regime, difficult, international political realities which colonially structure your culture's post-revolutionary life, shitty, living as a boarder in a foreign country where you have no finances, complicated. Fortunately for Satrapi, she has a loving supportive family and a feisty independent Grandmother who help her along the way, assisting her spirits in overcoming the bitterness.
The realities Persepolis presents are harsh but the manner in which they are presented is tranquil, playful, passive (the animation is very cute and homely). At first glance, it seems as if the form employed by Persepolis directly contradicts the subject matter, but I'm convinced that this form is used in order to promote the 'don't-lose-hope-and-become-bitter' message that can also be found within Paradise Now. Even when faced with harsh political realities, it is important to continue to notice the sublime, whether it's the sun's rays striking through an unusually corrugated cloud formation, or a soldier willing to bend the rules, letting you off for some minor malfeasance (carrying a particularly unproportional penalty). Of course, this is very, very, hard, to do. Thus, as Satrapi's scrappy grandma states, you must be strong, and can't let the judgments of your surrounding community destabilize your confidence.
Persepolis also does what few films (apart from Goodbye Lenin) currently do: it employs a subtext which places socialism in a positive light. It’s refreshing to see a film which doesn't shy away from socialist politics, astutely reminding the public that capitalists cannot function without your labour.
A surprisingly acute examination of what it's like to mature on the Iranian left, Persepolis reminds us that going about this business of living requires a firm constitution that can absorb various contradictory actions as new circumstances challenge and reconstruct its integrity. Ignore the stereotypes, critically challenge, live, love, laugh, subvert, grow. Who knows, certainly not Satrapi, but she is curious enough to try and find out, which makes her adventure worth discovering.
Directed by Satrapi and Vincent Paronnoud, Persepolis presents an enormous number of poignant insights regarding life as one tries to live it. For instance, dating can be problematic, attempting to promote your ideals when they differ from those of the dominant regime, difficult, international political realities which colonially structure your culture's post-revolutionary life, shitty, living as a boarder in a foreign country where you have no finances, complicated. Fortunately for Satrapi, she has a loving supportive family and a feisty independent Grandmother who help her along the way, assisting her spirits in overcoming the bitterness.
The realities Persepolis presents are harsh but the manner in which they are presented is tranquil, playful, passive (the animation is very cute and homely). At first glance, it seems as if the form employed by Persepolis directly contradicts the subject matter, but I'm convinced that this form is used in order to promote the 'don't-lose-hope-and-become-bitter' message that can also be found within Paradise Now. Even when faced with harsh political realities, it is important to continue to notice the sublime, whether it's the sun's rays striking through an unusually corrugated cloud formation, or a soldier willing to bend the rules, letting you off for some minor malfeasance (carrying a particularly unproportional penalty). Of course, this is very, very, hard, to do. Thus, as Satrapi's scrappy grandma states, you must be strong, and can't let the judgments of your surrounding community destabilize your confidence.
Persepolis also does what few films (apart from Goodbye Lenin) currently do: it employs a subtext which places socialism in a positive light. It’s refreshing to see a film which doesn't shy away from socialist politics, astutely reminding the public that capitalists cannot function without your labour.
A surprisingly acute examination of what it's like to mature on the Iranian left, Persepolis reminds us that going about this business of living requires a firm constitution that can absorb various contradictory actions as new circumstances challenge and reconstruct its integrity. Ignore the stereotypes, critically challenge, live, love, laugh, subvert, grow. Who knows, certainly not Satrapi, but she is curious enough to try and find out, which makes her adventure worth discovering.
I'm Not There
Bob Dylan. Many different roads, many different worlds. Impossible to capture the essence of such a multifarious individual (or any individual really) within a film, wherein lies the strength of Todd Haynes's I'm Not There. Haynes takes several events from Dylan's life and weaves them into a fascinating biographical mosaic, challenging, creating, and invigorating different characteristics of Dylan's character (and caricatures), using intertextual, non-linear, subterranean, and heuristic devices to skillfully construct and deconstruct the myth. Different people live different lives at different points throughout their life, throughout their days, and I'm Not There aptly highlights this ontological feature. There are six Dylans, each with a different name, some with a different race or gender, each qualifying a different nuance of the legend, potently examining the potential reality within a fluctuating fantastic frame. At the same time, Haynes's portrait comprehensively analyzes what it means to be biographical, real, historical. Random quotes are interspersed throughout, riddles within conundrums within denotations, and several of them cater to Dylan's uncanny ability to simply chronicle the convoluted vicissitudes of life. Definitely long, definitely complicated, certainly challenging, positively electrifying, in a folksy kind of way, I'm Not There's not one to miss and will inspire new interpretations with each subsequent viewing.
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