It's occasionally important to treat fiction as if it's realistic and truth as if it's fabricated I think. At least that's what they taught me in school. Definitive strikes create signs to which meaning is attached for popularized agendas composed of particular events whose governing narrative forms a general conception. In this way we arrive at the truth and make executive decisions in relation to one of its specific interpretations and its collaborative polemic. Reason is a critical tool for such undertakings as it uses logic to evaluate hypotheses. The metaphorical dimension of collaborative interpretive polemics creates a layer of anti-truth from which the next generation of theories receives their political currency. Thinking about things in generational terms is somewhat of a mistake. Generations within generations germinate contradictory classifications assuming your economy is robust and permissive enough to absorb the fallout.
Jean-Luc Godard's Made in U.S.A terminates the truth with extreme flattery. A long list of manufactured expectations is subverted and traditional associations are disengaged from their cultural nuances apart from the idyllic feminine caricature represented by Paula Nelson (Anna Karina) in love. The Rolling Stones's "As Tear Goes By" reappears like Vinteuil's sonata interrogating the infantilization of the left by taking control of its means of production. An arrow flies throughout attaching itself to various established particularities which it accumulates and flattens through means of the continuous ironical disintegration of black and white agendas (like a long never ending line of aggregated kites establishing an evocative intellectual continuum). Suddenly there's a character, a motivation, a detective, murder. To the left to the right, there's no escape. Could it have been phrased differently? Seemingly random ideas and observations are more intriguing than structural designs when rationally designed according to the rhythms of a coordinated fluctuating poetic cinematic sensibility. Love that dress. May have mixed up the decades a bit in this review.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Red Riding Hood
Was excited regarding the release of Catherine Hardwicke's Red Riding Hood due to its examination of werewolves. But there are not many positive things to say about her film unfortunately. Yes, there is a werewolf, and it does star Gary Oldman and Lukas Haas, but apart from these facts it's one of the most sterile, wooden, nauseating teen melodramas I've seen, even more nauseating than New Moon. There's a beautiful woman betrothed to a man she doesn't love, desperately seeking to elope with her subject of desire. Her mother points out the financial benefits of making a good marriage and the rewards that come with financial security. The moon is cloaked in blood, the only time when werewolf bites can create new werewolves. A crusader's lust for victory turns him into the very monster he hopes to slay. The elements of an entertaining werewolf film are present but the execution lacks distinction. It's painful to watch as the predictable lines are heartily coated with sentimental prestige and hardwired blithering. I detected two moments where it seemed as if the film wasn't taking itself seriously, where I thought perhaps irony was its motivating factor and that it had therefore achieved a certain degree of redemption. But these moments pass quickly and fade into the night like crumbs sprinkled from a saltine delicately sleuthing their way through a living room's reconstituted equanimity. One for the money, two for the show. At least little Valerie (Amanda Seyfried) follows her heart.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Limitless
A struggling writer (Bradley Cooper as Eddie Mora) discovers he can access nearly 100% of his forgotten memories/observations after accidentally receiving a miracle drug from his ex-brother-in-law, and proceeds to excel. He finishes his novel in 4 days and afterwards sets out to make his fortune. The drug's side-effects are none to pleasant, however, and he soon experiences blackouts and debilitating nausea. But because he's functioning at such a high level, there are basically no professional consequences and he manages to maintain employment while suffering a dangerous breakdown. Thugs to whom he unfortunately gave the drug come calling for more and it soon becomes necessary to hire protection.
Much can be said about Neil Burger's Limitless. I thought it was an entertaining film whose execution lacked appeal yet still established several provocative dimensions which encourage further reflection. The ways in which Eddie handles his drug addiction for instance. It's like tobacco companies using their resources to find a cure for lung cancer or governments investing heavily in land reclamation technologies to make mining more environmentally friendly. Or drug addiction itself. Burger de/reconstructs the pharmaceutical industry throughout, evocatively investigating its extremes. The cult of the individual is presented existentially and communally as Eddie and Carl Van Loon (Robert De Niro) square off, and the ways in which critical synthetic intelligences (and pharmaceuticals) are valued by a knowledge based capitalist economy receives dramatic attention as well. Eddie's rise leaves behind a lot of plot-related baggage which can be justified by the fact that he's continually moving forward, the film moving to fast for its own internal construction, like a drug addict, but it still doesn't spend enough time examining the publication of his novel or the fact that he could have used his abilities to write something comparable to Proust. The film's writing also has a certain flair that disappears after Eddie abandons his writing career, including the introduction of the ex-brother-in-law. The lows Eddie hits and their consequent despair and paranoia are cultivated directly and poetically as he struggles to maintain, and I thought Burger did a good job of filmically distilling a bad hangover. Sort of funny how when he's a broke relatively sober writer everyone treats him like a drug addict but when he starts taking pharmaceuticals and gaining prestige he's revered. One of the morals suggests that beneficial drugs whose side-effects are curtailed can help you become a United States Senator if you hire shrewd lawyers to cover your ass while curtailing said side-effects and can outwit your enemies when they come to kill you. Libya of all countries is mentioned twice. I guess Gadhafi should have invested more in research . . .
Much can be said about Neil Burger's Limitless. I thought it was an entertaining film whose execution lacked appeal yet still established several provocative dimensions which encourage further reflection. The ways in which Eddie handles his drug addiction for instance. It's like tobacco companies using their resources to find a cure for lung cancer or governments investing heavily in land reclamation technologies to make mining more environmentally friendly. Or drug addiction itself. Burger de/reconstructs the pharmaceutical industry throughout, evocatively investigating its extremes. The cult of the individual is presented existentially and communally as Eddie and Carl Van Loon (Robert De Niro) square off, and the ways in which critical synthetic intelligences (and pharmaceuticals) are valued by a knowledge based capitalist economy receives dramatic attention as well. Eddie's rise leaves behind a lot of plot-related baggage which can be justified by the fact that he's continually moving forward, the film moving to fast for its own internal construction, like a drug addict, but it still doesn't spend enough time examining the publication of his novel or the fact that he could have used his abilities to write something comparable to Proust. The film's writing also has a certain flair that disappears after Eddie abandons his writing career, including the introduction of the ex-brother-in-law. The lows Eddie hits and their consequent despair and paranoia are cultivated directly and poetically as he struggles to maintain, and I thought Burger did a good job of filmically distilling a bad hangover. Sort of funny how when he's a broke relatively sober writer everyone treats him like a drug addict but when he starts taking pharmaceuticals and gaining prestige he's revered. One of the morals suggests that beneficial drugs whose side-effects are curtailed can help you become a United States Senator if you hire shrewd lawyers to cover your ass while curtailing said side-effects and can outwit your enemies when they come to kill you. Libya of all countries is mentioned twice. I guess Gadhafi should have invested more in research . . .
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Let the Right One In (Låt den rätte komma in)
Tomas Alfredson's Let the Right One In (Låt den rätte komma in) offers a discursive examination of exclusion which awkwardly yet agilely provides a malleable definition for the phenomenon. Little Eli (Lina Leandersson) has been 12 years old for some time and ensures her longevity by drinking the blood of the living. Little Oskar (Kåre Hedebrant) is picked on in school and must find a way to fight back against those who bully him. The two strike up a strange friendship full of silence and short conversations, Oskar learning to speak with girls, Eli reminding him that she is not one. As bodies pile up throughout town, Oskar strikes back against his foes, Eli's supplier of blood dries up, and a group of cats embrace their bellicose instinct. Friendship becomes vital to Eli and Oskar's perseverance as they duel with their enemies and carve a place for themselves in their culture's underground.
Awkwardness abounds in Let the Right One In and the film effectively examines what it means to be an outcast. Oskar's parents are divorced, he's thoughtful and quiet, bullies pick on him, and he doesn't have any friends. Hence, when he meets Eli it's awkward, especially since she possesses the confidence and personality he lacks, the two functioning as social and communal opposites. Alfredson captures the maladroit nature of a child's first encounter with a member of the opposite sex well and the sensibility that governs their interactions flows through the rest of his film. The teachers have awkward relationships with their students. Eli's discussions with 'guardian' Håkan (Per Ragnar) are awkward. The group of strangers Håkan tries to ignore are awkward and their awkwardness incrementally increases as the film unreels. All of this awkwardness never allows us to feel comfortable for more than a millisecond as it agilely transmits itself from scene to scene, developing a frustrated interminably visceral aesthetic whose parts shift to align and forge a chilling climax which detonates its disenfranchised integrity. Being a teenager can often be awkward, as can being a vampire. Let the Right One In distills said awkwardness into an irresistible piece of dexterous disenchantment, delegating its vanquished restrictions for days to come.
Awkwardness abounds in Let the Right One In and the film effectively examines what it means to be an outcast. Oskar's parents are divorced, he's thoughtful and quiet, bullies pick on him, and he doesn't have any friends. Hence, when he meets Eli it's awkward, especially since she possesses the confidence and personality he lacks, the two functioning as social and communal opposites. Alfredson captures the maladroit nature of a child's first encounter with a member of the opposite sex well and the sensibility that governs their interactions flows through the rest of his film. The teachers have awkward relationships with their students. Eli's discussions with 'guardian' Håkan (Per Ragnar) are awkward. The group of strangers Håkan tries to ignore are awkward and their awkwardness incrementally increases as the film unreels. All of this awkwardness never allows us to feel comfortable for more than a millisecond as it agilely transmits itself from scene to scene, developing a frustrated interminably visceral aesthetic whose parts shift to align and forge a chilling climax which detonates its disenfranchised integrity. Being a teenager can often be awkward, as can being a vampire. Let the Right One In distills said awkwardness into an irresistible piece of dexterous disenchantment, delegating its vanquished restrictions for days to come.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Sympathy for the Devil
Showcasing The Rolling Stones (1968) as they record different versions of "Sympathy for the Devil," Jean-Luc Godard's Sympathy for the Devil tamely presents the to-be-legendary band while interspersing footage of the Black Panthers, a verdant interview, and an idealistic book shop. Political verse read from different texts is interjected throughout as graffiti artists championing the left take to the streets. Rich with ambiguous irony and multidimensional interpretive layers, Godard phantasmagorically makes several points which, as far as I can tell, seek to establish, amongst other things, a Marxist film industry in the West and a legion of intellectuals who pursue their activity by abandoning traditional paradigms, creating new compelling forms to provocatively distribute their countercultural content, i.e., The Rolling Stones's "Sympathy for the Devil," communism being demonic in Western eyes precisely because it attempts to politicize the teachings of Jesus Christ while giving birth to monsters like Stalin. Are artists using the internet to create a politico-economic infrastructure that can effectively sustain Marxism in order to promote a more peaceful egalitarian culture that doesn't pervert its altruistic ideals while specific outlets continue to foster a divisive mainstream capitalist agenda? In Sympathy for the Devil, Godard sets up culture and art in opposition so the aforementioned could lead to a material synthesis of some kind (a Dharma Punx video game?). The verdant interview depicts a woman named Eve Democracy (Anne Wiazemsky) being asked wide ranging questions in a forest to which she only answers "yes" or "no," which, according to my interpretation, states that 1960s women were politically situated within a wild uncultivated box that limited their productivity to monosyllabic replies which men preferred and ignored because they possessed no elaboration but still provided the illusion of a voice. The Black Panthers make sharp points concerning language and communication etc., notably in regards to semantics and the ways in which different groups can speak the same language and have no idea what the other is trying to say. A lot more could have been illustrated in the film if The Rolling Stones weren't consistently brought back to the forefront, although, since they're one of my favourite bands and their consistent return represents form working hand in hand with content, it's not such a bad thing. Whether or not they forged and continue to forge a countercultural realm in line with Godard's vision could be the anti-intellectual subject of a poetic montage worked into the chorus of a new podcast.
Rango
Having accidentally escaped from his comfy aquarium, the theatrical Rango (Johnny Depp) is thrust upon the real world's stage. Finding himself in the small Western town of Dirt, he must instantaneously invent a hard-boiled character and deliver a stunning performance. When challenged he doesn't back down and fate consequently hands him a thunderous climax. His reward: the job of town Sheriff. His duty: protect the people of Dirt from ne'er do wells and bring back the water. The town has been drying up and the water that used to vigorously flow has stopped delivering its revitalizing bounty. As necessity demands action and circumstances require trust, Rango mystically discovers his edge and instinctively prepares for the final countdown.
In Rango, Gore Verbinksi works within the Western tradition in order to try and democratize its black and white contours. A monopoly has been sinisterly established thereby preventing the fair and equitable distribution of wealth. A comical hero strikes back, affirming the rights of his citizens in the hopes of restoring their dignity. Aided by a shapeshifting divinity, he develops the confidence he never knew he had and learns to sublimate his fears. Unfortunately, while the basic plot attempts to champion democracy, the formal elements are conservative as they come. The lead female character (Abigail Breslin as Priscilla) is wooden and static, occasionally lapsing into comatose trances when overwhelmed, and doesn't exactly disseminate a multidimensional presence. The people are capable of understanding Rango's idiosyncratic diction but they are still portrayed as foolish and inconsequential in their attempts to do so. Rango does possess an intriguing degree of self-awareness insofar as Rango is aware that he is on a peculiar quest that is being mythologized by a musical group of owls, and from time to time the film highlights its self-referentiality (ambiguously suggesting that Rango never left his aquarium). But at sundown, the quest and story are predominantly Rango's, not the people of Dirt's, even though Rango's purpose is to save the town and provide its inhabitants with a decent standard of living. More scenes showcasing the personalities of the townsfolk would have increased the democratic value of Rango's currency ten-fold.
In Rango, Gore Verbinksi works within the Western tradition in order to try and democratize its black and white contours. A monopoly has been sinisterly established thereby preventing the fair and equitable distribution of wealth. A comical hero strikes back, affirming the rights of his citizens in the hopes of restoring their dignity. Aided by a shapeshifting divinity, he develops the confidence he never knew he had and learns to sublimate his fears. Unfortunately, while the basic plot attempts to champion democracy, the formal elements are conservative as they come. The lead female character (Abigail Breslin as Priscilla) is wooden and static, occasionally lapsing into comatose trances when overwhelmed, and doesn't exactly disseminate a multidimensional presence. The people are capable of understanding Rango's idiosyncratic diction but they are still portrayed as foolish and inconsequential in their attempts to do so. Rango does possess an intriguing degree of self-awareness insofar as Rango is aware that he is on a peculiar quest that is being mythologized by a musical group of owls, and from time to time the film highlights its self-referentiality (ambiguously suggesting that Rango never left his aquarium). But at sundown, the quest and story are predominantly Rango's, not the people of Dirt's, even though Rango's purpose is to save the town and provide its inhabitants with a decent standard of living. More scenes showcasing the personalities of the townsfolk would have increased the democratic value of Rango's currency ten-fold.
Monday, March 7, 2011
La Captive
Imprisoned by his theories, obsessively recycling miserable forecasts regarding his relationship's future, driven by jealousy, and tortured by ideals, Simon (Stanislas Merhar) interrogates his desire in Chantal Akerman's La Captive as Ariane (Sylvie Testud) helplessly perseveres. At least that's what happens in In Search of Lost Time and La Captive follows the text closely enough to suggest that this is what's happening in the film. Bored and frustrated by his inability to create, Simon abandons his attempts to prove himself intellectually and focuses his attention on Ariane's past. Convinced he can understand her present motivations through recourse to her anecdotes and observations, he pursues his goal of categorizing her purity. Being incapable of distinguishing fact from subterfuge, his objective investigations quizzically qualify the labyrinthine other. Leave it alone, let bygones be bygones, just have a good time. Take it easy, relax, drink some wine, she's likely done everything you're considering, twice. Without the guidance of American pop culture to rely upon, Simon sinks deeper and deeper into the abyss. In the end, Ariane does the only thing she can to allow him to find an answer as he assiduously scours the ocean searching for his peace of mind.
A lot of the depth from the fifth part of Proust's novel is lost in La Captive's translation. Françoise (Liliane Rovère) and Simon's Grandmother (Françoise Bertin) don't make an impact and Mme Verdurin's famous snub of M. de Charlus is absent. I don't know how you could have worked the later into a film that's less than three hours and doesn't include some kind of internal narration but an attempt would have been nice. At least a scene with M. de Charlus. The long empty corridors and lengthy nocturnal shots point to Simon's troubles within the novel but without more material it's difficult to capture Proust's incessant meticulous analysis (but it was still fun to write about it as if it's there). But La Captive isn't meant to relate to In Search of Lost Time religiously since it's a film that is only based on the novel. Bearing this in mind, greater liberties with Proust's masterpiece could have been taken (although it's so revered taking such liberties requires disciplined audacity! [I suppose Simon's Grandmother does die in The Guermantes Way]). But Akerman's probably sick and tired of hearing devotees of the novel complain about what's missing in her well-crafted film and it does possess a morosely anxious distraught internal consistency that's rigidly maintained throughout. The moral: don't try and ever love anyone while consistently falling in love. And have multiple extensive lies which you trust ready by your side when loving so that one day you can convince yourself that you've found something to hold onto.
A lot of the depth from the fifth part of Proust's novel is lost in La Captive's translation. Françoise (Liliane Rovère) and Simon's Grandmother (Françoise Bertin) don't make an impact and Mme Verdurin's famous snub of M. de Charlus is absent. I don't know how you could have worked the later into a film that's less than three hours and doesn't include some kind of internal narration but an attempt would have been nice. At least a scene with M. de Charlus. The long empty corridors and lengthy nocturnal shots point to Simon's troubles within the novel but without more material it's difficult to capture Proust's incessant meticulous analysis (but it was still fun to write about it as if it's there). But La Captive isn't meant to relate to In Search of Lost Time religiously since it's a film that is only based on the novel. Bearing this in mind, greater liberties with Proust's masterpiece could have been taken (although it's so revered taking such liberties requires disciplined audacity! [I suppose Simon's Grandmother does die in The Guermantes Way]). But Akerman's probably sick and tired of hearing devotees of the novel complain about what's missing in her well-crafted film and it does possess a morosely anxious distraught internal consistency that's rigidly maintained throughout. The moral: don't try and ever love anyone while consistently falling in love. And have multiple extensive lies which you trust ready by your side when loving so that one day you can convince yourself that you've found something to hold onto.
Hall Pass
Two sex crazed men get a week off from marriage in the Farrelly Brothers's Hall Pass, a mildly entertaining comedy that can't decide if it's a James L. Brooks film or an episode of Family Guy. Some of the scenes are hilarious but their affects don't travel well beyond their borders, which results in a sticky, disjointed, shapeless mess. This mess aptly reflects the psyches of principle characters Rick (Owen Wilson) and Fred (Jason Sudeikis) as their desire continually confuses their conscience. They simply can't decide whether or not they're trying to revitalize their youth, actually want to pick up, or enjoy being married, and having a hall pass (a week off from marriage) tricks them into having to categorize their feelings. The wives responsible for setting this trap (Jenna Fischer as Maggie and Christina Applegate as Grace) find themselves in a similar situation and have to decide if they're going to play it faithful or make some spur of the moment adjustments.
Pot brownies, Nicky Whelan, psychotic baristas, this film could have been so much more. Its principle problem is that it tries to have a point while nonsensically cavaliering. While Kingpin cavaliered nonsensically, the point was secondary to the slop, and the slop was frenetically flavoured and recklessly spiced, never dishing itself out with clumps of thoughtfulness. Some of the thoughtful points, like the lines regarding hiring uttered by Wilson, settle sharply while dispensing suburban grit, and break up the maudlin motivations. But when so many solid scatological jokes are mixed with these attempts to be poignant, I couldn't help but want to throw up, in a bucket somewhere, and then go relax with Ugly Americans. Which is no longer on on Fridays at 9:30 on the Comedy Network. Which sucks.
Pot brownies, Nicky Whelan, psychotic baristas, this film could have been so much more. Its principle problem is that it tries to have a point while nonsensically cavaliering. While Kingpin cavaliered nonsensically, the point was secondary to the slop, and the slop was frenetically flavoured and recklessly spiced, never dishing itself out with clumps of thoughtfulness. Some of the thoughtful points, like the lines regarding hiring uttered by Wilson, settle sharply while dispensing suburban grit, and break up the maudlin motivations. But when so many solid scatological jokes are mixed with these attempts to be poignant, I couldn't help but want to throw up, in a bucket somewhere, and then go relax with Ugly Americans. Which is no longer on on Fridays at 9:30 on the Comedy Network. Which sucks.
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