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.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
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.
There Will be Blood
Paul Thomas Anderson's new film There Will be Blood is a chilling, relentless portrait of one man's incomparable brutality. The iconic entrepreneur, Daniel Plainview has the knowledge, the means, and the implacable constitution necessary to serendipitously succeed in the hard-boiled oil business. Brilliantly acted by Daniel Day-Lewis (who demonstrates that he's in the same league as Gary Oldman when it comes to consistently mining new depths of character), Plainview will stop at nothing to achieve his ends, will never back down from a confrontation, and will never even slightly consider the interests of anyone but himself. The insatiable maniac, Plainview's portrait is dark and sinister, malicious and diabolical, mostly because he succeeds, he wins. At first, I thought Anderson was spending to much time highlighting details that could have been easily left out with no effect on the plot's development (a lot of time is spent in the beginning of the film lensing Plainview's first strike [reminded me of the wedding at the beginning of The Deer Hunter]), but as the film gushes forth, every bit of the manifested minutia builds Plainview's bastard of a character, meticulously managing the menace, sleekly saluting the irascibility.
There Will be Blood insightfully examines one man's unilateral determination, cunningly illustrating the alluring qualities of the wicked. Robert Elswit's beautiful cinematography oddly accentuates Plainview's macabre character, ironically challenging the cultural image of the genial capitalist, perceived as the good, remembered, as the remarkable.
There Will be Blood insightfully examines one man's unilateral determination, cunningly illustrating the alluring qualities of the wicked. Robert Elswit's beautiful cinematography oddly accentuates Plainview's macabre character, ironically challenging the cultural image of the genial capitalist, perceived as the good, remembered, as the remarkable.
L'Âge des Ténèbres
There you have it. You're 29. You don't have a job. You're in school hoping you will find a job when your program is finished, but, more importantly, hoping you do not end up as despondent as Jean-Marc Leblanc (Marc Labrèche) in Denys Arcand's new film L'Âge des Ténèbres (after having found that job in the years to come). Jean-Marc has grown tired of existence, of being married to the top third realtor in the country, of his children, of his government job (where he can’t help people solve their problems), every day, amidst Feng Shui interventions, language hearings, motivational speakers, hard times for being late after an hour and a half commute: and his mother is dying. Things are pretty bleak, and, rather than doing anything about it, he's escaped into dreamland, wonderful daydreams, distracting daydreams, where he is emperor, writing famous novels, appearing on television, randy, promiscuous. But his ennui's so intense he can't even daydream successfully and his banal reality cripples his reveries as well. Very sad. Very pessimistic. Also, occasionally funny.
Arcand's film is dense and scathing. "We can characterize our times with one word: disintegration." "We have no answers for you. Your lives are to complicated, the situation to complex." The cynicism that dominates much of L'Âge des Ténèbres criticizes government departments, health care provision, the nuclear family, public school, municipal by-laws, bureaucratic strategies, linguistic authorities, road rage . . . It's difficult to know whether or not the focus is ironic, poking fun at 'gloom and doom' "this is what's wrong with society" people, genuine, trying to instigate political change, intentionally bleak, allegorically accentuating the realities of Leblanc's castrated lifestyle, or a synthesis of the previously mentioned options, spiraling and reverberating within a tragic, comedic vortex. The commoner must face the realities of his boast. The main purpose of a bureaucracy is to ensure its continuing survival. Is 'genuine' communication forged by a union of souls or a random physical action?
The film's complex, presenting unsettling realities in a fantastic frame. But what political system isn't overrun with legal inconsistencies and bureaucratic redundancy, and how does one go about addressing these issues in a practical manner (which is perhaps the principle point)? Nevertheless, L'Âge des Ténèbres presents insightful observations concerning complex social, ethical and political paradigms, competently portraying a convoluted cultural mosaic with delicate vulgarity and humourous solemnity.
What happens after Leblanc's wife takes off for Toronto is impressive. The lines uttered by Leblanc's co-workers are impressive. The film’s impressive. Even if it's a bit overwrought, the multi-dimensional remainder of L'Âge des Ténèbres illuminates the brightest intellectual darkness I've seen in a while, reminiscent of Five Easy Pieces, Falling Down, American Beauty and Billy Liar, ironically titled, considering its impact.
Arcand's film is dense and scathing. "We can characterize our times with one word: disintegration." "We have no answers for you. Your lives are to complicated, the situation to complex." The cynicism that dominates much of L'Âge des Ténèbres criticizes government departments, health care provision, the nuclear family, public school, municipal by-laws, bureaucratic strategies, linguistic authorities, road rage . . . It's difficult to know whether or not the focus is ironic, poking fun at 'gloom and doom' "this is what's wrong with society" people, genuine, trying to instigate political change, intentionally bleak, allegorically accentuating the realities of Leblanc's castrated lifestyle, or a synthesis of the previously mentioned options, spiraling and reverberating within a tragic, comedic vortex. The commoner must face the realities of his boast. The main purpose of a bureaucracy is to ensure its continuing survival. Is 'genuine' communication forged by a union of souls or a random physical action?
The film's complex, presenting unsettling realities in a fantastic frame. But what political system isn't overrun with legal inconsistencies and bureaucratic redundancy, and how does one go about addressing these issues in a practical manner (which is perhaps the principle point)? Nevertheless, L'Âge des Ténèbres presents insightful observations concerning complex social, ethical and political paradigms, competently portraying a convoluted cultural mosaic with delicate vulgarity and humourous solemnity.
What happens after Leblanc's wife takes off for Toronto is impressive. The lines uttered by Leblanc's co-workers are impressive. The film’s impressive. Even if it's a bit overwrought, the multi-dimensional remainder of L'Âge des Ténèbres illuminates the brightest intellectual darkness I've seen in a while, reminiscent of Five Easy Pieces, Falling Down, American Beauty and Billy Liar, ironically titled, considering its impact.
Blade Runner
Learned an important lesson from Blade Runner this evening. After Rick Deckard is almost killed by Leon, his boss Bryant arrives to jovially inform him that he looks like hell. At which point, I realized that when someone has been through hell, it's important not to pamper them, if you happen to be involved in a working relationship with them. What's more important, is belittling and ridiculing them, so they won't start thinking that perhaps they should be doing something else for a living. Belittling and ridiculing them reminds them how shitty things are and keeps them focused upon that particular version of how things are; pampering them tries to ease the pain, the pain which such heroes need in order to successfully perform their monumental tasks, and, without which, might make them think, hey this no-pain situation is nice, I'd like it to continue: wrong, hero, it can't continue, get used to the pain, the abuse, it's coming and it ain't lettin' up for no god-damn shits and giggles. Plus, it gives you the chance to tell your boss to go to hell, which is what working's all about.
Blade Runner really is an exceptional film. The mood, the pacing, the ambience, the monosyllabic dialogue, the phenomenal standout performances from the supporting characters, the sets, the attention to detail, the gloom, the hard-boiled humanity, the realism, and the poetic lines poignantly delivered by Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer), all contribute to the development of a cohesive aesthetic that never grows old. Like the themes of identity, birth, parenthood, labour, regeneration, and being that radiate throughout. All those moments will be lost in time like tears in the rain; it's a pity she won't live, but then again, who does?
Blade Runner really is an exceptional film. The mood, the pacing, the ambience, the monosyllabic dialogue, the phenomenal standout performances from the supporting characters, the sets, the attention to detail, the gloom, the hard-boiled humanity, the realism, and the poetic lines poignantly delivered by Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer), all contribute to the development of a cohesive aesthetic that never grows old. Like the themes of identity, birth, parenthood, labour, regeneration, and being that radiate throughout. All those moments will be lost in time like tears in the rain; it's a pity she won't live, but then again, who does?
La Brunante
One of the strongest films I've seen recently is Fernand Dansereau's La Brunante, a touching examination of an elderly Québecois woman's struggle with Alzheimer's disease. After discovering she has Alzheimer’s, the volatile Madeleine (Monique Mercure) decides to tour Québec one last time, visiting friends and family while contemplating suicide. In order to embark, she requires a driver, and fate provides her with Zoé (Suzanne Clément), a proud 32-year old down on her luck musician. The two travel throughout Montréal, Québec, and the Gaspé, entertaining each other's tempers and eccentricities. A tenacious dynamic is forged, and its shenanigans fuel La Brunante with an elegant, visceral, mischievousness, both hard-boiled and romantic, that critically and effectively examines the concept of Age. Just what is an epiphyte?, how does one procure cheap expensive wine?, how closely aligned are the concepts memory and identity? La Brunante explores these questions with subtle wit and jaunty resplendency, expertly illuminating the mysteries of life.
Into the Wild
Sean Penn's directorial debut transforms Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild into a feature length film. The film chronicles the disillusioned mid-twenties crisis of Christopher McCandless (Emile Hirsch). McCandless finishes University, decides not to study law at Harvard, and, much to his parent's dismay, begins a reclusive voyage across the United States (with the pseudonym Alexander Supertramp). His goal is to reach and live within the wilds of Alaska. Along the way, he encounters several free-spirited individuals including Catherine Keener, Hal Holbrook, and the always entertaining Vince Vaughn. Supertramp's travels are fun to watch, his gritty adventurous spirit a free flowing flame glowing throughout the American wilderness. His insights and observations are thought provoking as well, as he hitchhikes along, using quotations from his favourite authors to guide and frame his experience.
Into the Wild is a coming of age film, about life and different ways of approaching it. There are many paths that one can travel and choosing one is not easy. Supertramp seeks one that is natural, living in the woods like Thoreau as a way to confront and discover truth. His pursuit is both bold and naive, the simply complicated consequences of not knowing where or how to fit in. He cannot escape the memories of his parents’ problematic marriage, and his travels are thoroughly haunted by them. Penn's direction juxtaposes their impact with the increasing worries of his family and insights from his sister Carine (Jena Malone), thereby depicting the troubling effects of individuality, and the ways in which hardship transforms relationships. Solutions to these explorations are by no means stable, and Into the Wild illustrates that one's existence is inextricably qualified by their convoluted relations to others.
Into the Wild is a coming of age film, about life and different ways of approaching it. There are many paths that one can travel and choosing one is not easy. Supertramp seeks one that is natural, living in the woods like Thoreau as a way to confront and discover truth. His pursuit is both bold and naive, the simply complicated consequences of not knowing where or how to fit in. He cannot escape the memories of his parents’ problematic marriage, and his travels are thoroughly haunted by them. Penn's direction juxtaposes their impact with the increasing worries of his family and insights from his sister Carine (Jena Malone), thereby depicting the troubling effects of individuality, and the ways in which hardship transforms relationships. Solutions to these explorations are by no means stable, and Into the Wild illustrates that one's existence is inextricably qualified by their convoluted relations to others.
Puffball
Oldschool director Nicolas Roeg's new film Puffball presents a supernatural encounter with down home country living. Liffey (Kelly Reilly) has purchased a cottage in the British countryside. She is a professional architect and hopes to transform her new dwelling into a stunning home. But along the way, partner Richard (Oscar Pearce) impregnates her, which becomes confusing after she sleeps with neighbour Tucker (William Houston). Tucker's wife Mabs (Miranda Richardson) has been trying to have a baby with no luck. Mabs's mother has been trying to encourage her fertility by using a number of superstitious potions, with no success, leaving them to believe that the potion worked on Liffey by accident. As time passes, tension builds and only a guardian angel can ward off the demons.
Puffball's certainly not on par with Roeg's earlier work (Performance, The Man Who Fell to Earth), but its creepy alienated sensibility is well crafted. Throughout, Roeg explores themes of individuality, aging, birth, regeneration, revenge, and fidelity contextualized within a supernatural frame. And there's puffballs. I really don't know what's going on with the puffballs.
Puffball certainly doesn't leave you feeling warm and fuzzy, or even mildly upbeat, but the characters are strong, the text multilayered, the red herrings salty, and the vision uniform. Great for the third day of rain or after an early 1980's Roger Waters marathon.
Puffball's certainly not on par with Roeg's earlier work (Performance, The Man Who Fell to Earth), but its creepy alienated sensibility is well crafted. Throughout, Roeg explores themes of individuality, aging, birth, regeneration, revenge, and fidelity contextualized within a supernatural frame. And there's puffballs. I really don't know what's going on with the puffballs.
Puffball certainly doesn't leave you feeling warm and fuzzy, or even mildly upbeat, but the characters are strong, the text multilayered, the red herrings salty, and the vision uniform. Great for the third day of rain or after an early 1980's Roger Waters marathon.
Across the Universe
Beatle's songs, Beatle's songs, and Beatle's songs. Beatle's songs abound in Julie Taymore's new film Across the Universe, a musical examination of 1960's America tailored by the insight's of John, Paul, George and Ringo. About 15 minutes in I remembered that musicals aren't really my thing, but I relaxed, ignored my pretensions, and slowly fell for Taymore's vivid visual style. It's a well choreographed musical melodrama, filled with blooming relationships, anti-war imagery, psychedelic surges, and corny cliches. All packed into some 15 odd music videos, some of which motivate the plot, others which praise the music for its own sake. Across the Universe caught me in its vision and I enjoyed watching the myriad musical numbers interrupt and reinterpret the narrative. The depth of its set-list and commendable costumes make up for its predictable plot, and even though its characters are hard to take at times, overall, they're a commendable bunch of confused individuals, trying to make ends meet practically and idealistically. Come for the music, stay for the theatrics, ignore the dialogue, and simply let it be.
Brand Upon the Brain!
Brand Upon the Brain! is a stunning feast of visual carnage and reminiscent mayhem. Jason Stracek's haunting score compliments Isabella Rossellini's incarnate interlocution in a twisted grotesque romantic detective story sprinting along an horrific high-wire. Nectar is ripe for the harvest. Everything that has happened before will happen again, twice. A hamster and a metronome can indeed mimic life. And what's a suicide attempt without a wedding?
A disturbed Guy Maddin returns to his childhood island home to paint his family's lighthouse with two fresh coats. Cover it up Guy. It's been thirty years since he's visited the hideaway, and the past assaults him with frenetic familiarities. As a boy, Guy's island home was an orphanage run by his sadistic parents. The children must avoid mother's vigilant eye and savage Tom's vicious black masses. The Lightbulb Kids (Chance and Wendy) arrive at the Old Black Notch Orphanage to secretly investigate mysterious holes found on the backs of the orphan's heads. Guy's sister Sis quickly falls for Wendy as she pretends to be her brother Chance, and Guy, having fallen for Wendy, can't avoid longing for Chance either. Much to mother's dismay. But Guy loves his mother, and The Case of the Face in the Lighthouse uncovers a salacious, seductive enthusiasm. After all, what's a little sadism without love?
Part fairy-tale, part hallucination, Brand Upon the Brain! delicately exfoliates expectations with a succinct, unified vision. It's a cinematic treat the likes of which I haven't encountered since Blue Velvet or The Enigma of Kasper Hauser. Originally screened with two foley artists and full orchestral accompaniment, Brand Upon the Brain! is presented with sharp, acute editing, designed to mimic the presence of memory. Which makes it all the more memorable.
A disturbed Guy Maddin returns to his childhood island home to paint his family's lighthouse with two fresh coats. Cover it up Guy. It's been thirty years since he's visited the hideaway, and the past assaults him with frenetic familiarities. As a boy, Guy's island home was an orphanage run by his sadistic parents. The children must avoid mother's vigilant eye and savage Tom's vicious black masses. The Lightbulb Kids (Chance and Wendy) arrive at the Old Black Notch Orphanage to secretly investigate mysterious holes found on the backs of the orphan's heads. Guy's sister Sis quickly falls for Wendy as she pretends to be her brother Chance, and Guy, having fallen for Wendy, can't avoid longing for Chance either. Much to mother's dismay. But Guy loves his mother, and The Case of the Face in the Lighthouse uncovers a salacious, seductive enthusiasm. After all, what's a little sadism without love?
Part fairy-tale, part hallucination, Brand Upon the Brain! delicately exfoliates expectations with a succinct, unified vision. It's a cinematic treat the likes of which I haven't encountered since Blue Velvet or The Enigma of Kasper Hauser. Originally screened with two foley artists and full orchestral accompaniment, Brand Upon the Brain! is presented with sharp, acute editing, designed to mimic the presence of memory. Which makes it all the more memorable.
Eastern Promises
David Cronenberg's new film Eastern Promises juxtaposes extreme violence and gentle tenderness in a subtly hypnotic fashion that transfixes your attention upon its natal brutality, like The Godfather meets Videodrome. A 14 year old Russian prostitute dies during childbirth leaving behind an incriminating diary. The on-duty midwife Anna (Naomi Watts) discovers the diary and enlists the assistance of a Russian caterer named Semyon (Armin Mueller-Stahl) to assist in its translation. Semyon is the mobster responsible for recruiting the young prostitute and after reading several of the diary's photocopied pages, decides that it's in his best interests to obtain it. Meanwhile, Anna's uncle is also translating the diary, Semyon's son Kirill (Vincent Cassel) has murdered the brother of a rival syndicate, and mild-mannered Nikolai (Viggo Mortensen), Semyon's chauffeur, is dispensing realistic bits of streetwise vernacular with a remarkably tranquil hard-boiled lucidity. Mortensen's performance is exceptional and one of the strongest of 2007. His Russian accent is borderline flawless and his character tenaciously charming. Steven Knight's script is diverse enough to allow Cronenberg to effectively display his grotesque humanism, and Naomi Watts turns in another stellar outing. It's nice to see Cronenberg successfully retuning his style at this stage in his career while continuing to invigorate his work with the same raw, macabre, pyrotechnic backbone that worked for him thirty years ago. Gave me shivers.
No End in Sight
Charles Ferguson's new documentary No End in Sight presents a coherent explanation for the chaotic situation in Iraq. Ferguson explores how bureaucratic incompetence, managerial inexperience, naive idealism, and short-sighted decision making have turned Iraq into a bloody, vicious war zone. With an estimated 600, 000 Iraqi citizens dead, the future of the Iraq conflict looks grim, and Ferguson places the blame on a relatively small number of high ranking members of the Bush administration who theorized a strategy to maintain order in Iraq without reference to any sense of practical detail. The most notable mistakes were the dismissal of the Iraqi army, taking away the jobs of 500, 000 skilled military personnel and replacing them with rhetoric, the disbanding of the government, taking away another 50, 000 jobs from people well versed in the intricate details of governing the Iraqi people (replacing them with recently graduated students with no knowledge of Arabic), and the fact that the American Army permitted the citizen's of Baghdad to loot the city from top to bottom, leaving the American occupational bureaucracy with little to no infrastructure to begin the extremely complicated business of administering a foreign country. Ferguson's interview's skillfully illustrate the disastrous consequences of acting before planning, of making split-second decisions affecting millions of lives without forethought. It's as if a small proportion of the Bush Administration decided to invade a country over breakfast, made up their plan for the invasion over lunch, stopped for a quick nap, and then executed their plan over dinner. The future for Iraq looks interminably grim, and, according to Ferguson’s presentation, it seems as if stability is something generations of innocent Iraqis will never have the pleasure of experiencing.
Goya's Ghosts
Milos Foreman's Goya's Ghosts features Stellan Skarsgard as the famous painter Francisco Goya. In the opening moments, his life is relatively tranquil as he spends his time painting brilliant portraits of the Spanish elite, but muse Ines Bilbatua (Natalie Portman) is soon wrongly imprisoned by the Spanish Inquisition for practicing the Jewish faith. Ines' father 'negotiates' with the treacherous monk Father Lorenzo (Javier Bardem) for the release of his daughter by torturing him during a modest dinner, thereby exposing the hypocrisy inherent in the Spanish Inquisition's manner of obtaining confessions. Lorenzo signs a document claiming that his parents were primates, humiliating himself in the eye's of the church, and forcing him to flee to France. But before his departure, he takes advantage of Ines while she is in prison, leaving her pregnant and destitute. The rest of the film deals with Goya's attempts to reunite Ines with her daughter, 15 years later, after the French have invaded Spain following the French Revolution. Lorenzo eventually returns as a prominent revolutionary, a married family man who is none to happy to learn that he has fathered another child.
Goya's Ghosts suffers in its pacing. Everything happens so quickly that we're never given the opportunity to bond with its characters. The scenes lack emotional depth and most of the actors, save Randy Quaid and Natalie Portman, cannot demonstrate any fluid multidimensional range or talent. Their lackluster performances are likely and ironically the result of Foreman's talent. Everything about this film suggests that it could have been a great movie. The subject matter is intense, the setting tragic, the historical period dynamic. But the scenes seem as if they were shot according to a strict production schedule that left little time for multiple takes, and, consequently, when we find ourselves caught in a moment where we should be emotionally involved with its subject matter, caring for the plight of its characters, we aren't, and we don't, Foreman struggling in his attempt to skillfully craft a tragic sensibility. Editing may be the problem here as well. Perhaps if another half an hour was added it would have given us more time to build an appreciation for the characters and their relationships with one another (it's as if we're supposed to immediately fall for them). But that extra time is not present, and without stronger performances by Bardem and Skarsgard, it likely wouldn't have made much of a difference.
Goya's Ghosts suffers in its pacing. Everything happens so quickly that we're never given the opportunity to bond with its characters. The scenes lack emotional depth and most of the actors, save Randy Quaid and Natalie Portman, cannot demonstrate any fluid multidimensional range or talent. Their lackluster performances are likely and ironically the result of Foreman's talent. Everything about this film suggests that it could have been a great movie. The subject matter is intense, the setting tragic, the historical period dynamic. But the scenes seem as if they were shot according to a strict production schedule that left little time for multiple takes, and, consequently, when we find ourselves caught in a moment where we should be emotionally involved with its subject matter, caring for the plight of its characters, we aren't, and we don't, Foreman struggling in his attempt to skillfully craft a tragic sensibility. Editing may be the problem here as well. Perhaps if another half an hour was added it would have given us more time to build an appreciation for the characters and their relationships with one another (it's as if we're supposed to immediately fall for them). But that extra time is not present, and without stronger performances by Bardem and Skarsgard, it likely wouldn't have made much of a difference.
Mr. Woodcock
Mr. Woodcock is what it sets out to be: a low-brow comedy full of plenty of cock jokes. If you'd like to see Billy Bob Thorton once again playing a one-dimensional superjock who doesn't take crap from anyone, then Mr. Woodcock is for you, although the jokes run as low-brow as they come and do not stop coming. John Farley (Sean William Scott) has written a best-selling novel regarding getting over the past entitled 'Letting Go: How to Get Past Your Past.' One of the principle agents of Farley's vanquished depression is Jasper Woodcock (Billy Bob Thornton), a callous gym teacher whose sarcastic wit has been lounging in Farley's subconscious for decades. When Farley's hometown of Forest Meadow decides to award him the coveted Corn-Cob-Kee at the town 'Cornivale,' Farley returns home to discover that his mother (Susan Sarandon) is marrying Woodcock. It takes Woodcock all of 10 minutes to drive Farley into a revenge ridden frenzy, as he quickly abandons all of his novel's advice and insanely attempts to break-up their engagement. What remains is like What About Bob? meets Dude Where's My Car?, a sloppy, predictable toilet bowl that's entertaining enough to not warrant a flush. Lines from Farley's book include, "the shortest distance between two people: communication," and "when you make a blame sandwich you've got to be prepared to eat it yourself," while Jasper Woodcock's best line is perhaps: "Farley, I'm just saying you showed some sack out there." Scott and Thornton work well together, fighting and insulting one another throughout, and Sarandon is convincing as Farley's lonely mom. But nothing can save Woodcock from its straight and narrow "Woodcock's having sex with your mom" focus, which encapsulates both the film's central dialogue and action.
3:10 to Yuma
James Mangold's retooling of Delmer Daves' 3:10 to Yuma is but another silly western. And considering the lack of Westerns being produced within Hollywood at the moment, it’s just in time. Enter one Ben Wade (Russell Crowe), the poetic leader of a gang of thugs who make their living robbing stage coaches and trains. When Wade isn't preaching from the bible, philosophizing about the nature of good and evil, or taking care of his brutal business, he calmly sits back and draws pictures, leaving his designs carefully positioned throughout the country, sinister signatures upon a lounging landscape. Dan Evans (Christian Bale) is chief amongst the 'lawpersons' devoted to delivering Wade to a train in Bisbee, Arizona, after his capture. Evans is a poor farmer whose about to be thrown off his land since his landlord plans to sell his property to the incoming railroad. That same railroad offers Evans the small fortune of 200 dollars to assist in transporting Wade to the 3:10 to Yuma, and with no other economic prospects in sight, he begrudgingly complies.
Wade takes a liking to gentle Dan and the dialogue between the two, the classic good vs. evil, hero vs. villain Western dialogue, ties together the various action sequences. The style of Mangold's film is foreshadowed in the opening credits, the words "3:10 to Yuma" appearing explosively, one by one, before disappearing quickly. What follows is a gunslingin' shoot 'em up Western where numerous battle scenes mingle with stretches of deadpan dialogue.
Wade's character is strong enough to drive 3:10 to Yuma to its conclusion, even if the film staggers along the way. For instance, Wade and Pinkerton Byron McIlroy (Henry Fonda) have been injured, therefore, the modest veterinarian Doc Potter (Alan Tudyk) must accompany them for their ride through the desert. He provides some great comic relief, notably the fact that his character doesn't remain at home or argue about going on a treacherous desert trip while being pursued by a gang of thugs. And why does the gang of thugs pursue their leader? They've just robbed a stagecoach and made off with a fortune, why do they feel compelled to rescue their frontman, even after he shot one of them during the robbery? Wade graciously reminds them that there's no honour amongst thieves, but not until we've benefitted from this notoriously noble, albeit problematic plot-twist. At the same time, 3:10 to Yuma displays some surprising subtlety throughout, as a young Chinese labourer glares down equally young William Evans (Logan Lerman), a glare designed to remind him that his seemingly destitute situation could be much worse. And the ways in which the traditional caricatures of the hero and villain are deconstructed throughout are provocative, if not somewhat peculiar during the film's climax.
Wade takes a liking to gentle Dan and the dialogue between the two, the classic good vs. evil, hero vs. villain Western dialogue, ties together the various action sequences. The style of Mangold's film is foreshadowed in the opening credits, the words "3:10 to Yuma" appearing explosively, one by one, before disappearing quickly. What follows is a gunslingin' shoot 'em up Western where numerous battle scenes mingle with stretches of deadpan dialogue.
Wade's character is strong enough to drive 3:10 to Yuma to its conclusion, even if the film staggers along the way. For instance, Wade and Pinkerton Byron McIlroy (Henry Fonda) have been injured, therefore, the modest veterinarian Doc Potter (Alan Tudyk) must accompany them for their ride through the desert. He provides some great comic relief, notably the fact that his character doesn't remain at home or argue about going on a treacherous desert trip while being pursued by a gang of thugs. And why does the gang of thugs pursue their leader? They've just robbed a stagecoach and made off with a fortune, why do they feel compelled to rescue their frontman, even after he shot one of them during the robbery? Wade graciously reminds them that there's no honour amongst thieves, but not until we've benefitted from this notoriously noble, albeit problematic plot-twist. At the same time, 3:10 to Yuma displays some surprising subtlety throughout, as a young Chinese labourer glares down equally young William Evans (Logan Lerman), a glare designed to remind him that his seemingly destitute situation could be much worse. And the ways in which the traditional caricatures of the hero and villain are deconstructed throughout are provocative, if not somewhat peculiar during the film's climax.
Ten Canoes
Rolf de Heer and Peter Djigirr's 2006 film Ten Canoes is a playful piece of pastoral filmmaking. It's the first Australian film to be shot entirely in Indigenous languages (the Ganalbingu primarily) and every aspect of the production was assisted by Aboriginal guidance. Shot entirely on location in the Arafura Swamp of Arnhem Land, north of Darwin, near the village of Ramingining, Ten Canoes presents an introduction to one of Australia's ancestral Aboriginal legends. Two stories work hand in hand throughout: that of a modern day traditional hunt for the eggs of the magpie goose and that of an ancient legend concerning a brother who falls in love with the youngest of his older brother's three wives. Both stories combine to form a leisurely yet comprehensive geographical and cultural account of the people within Australia's Arnhem land. The light-hearted narrator's mirth complements the territory nicely, as we're introduced to a tribal way of life as told from their own viewpoint. We get to witness the construction of canoes, the collection of the magpie goose's eggs, and the creation of a campsite within waterlogged trees, built to avoid hungry crocodiles. Hopefully, the DVD contains a thirty-to-sixty minute making-of-feature that chronicles what it was like to film within the Outback; something akin to Les Blank's Burden of Dreams. Ten Canoes unravels like a comfortable tale quaintly woven at twilight in front of the coruscating waves of a sparkling campfire. Come for the story, stay for the legend, note how the characters chide one another about crocodiles, and enjoy the introduction to a traditional way of life.
Truffaut and Hamed
Truffaut's Day for Night has an uncanny knack for delivering witty, insightful, piquant one-liners. Several scenes end with these well-positioned phrases and they make the myriad transitions all the more compelling. Marwan Hamed's The Yacoubian Buildingparallels Day for Night in form insofar as both film's boast huge casts, quick, active editing, and layered, intricate story-lines which sprightly demand the viewer's attention. In The Yacoubian Building, the scenes are often brief yet comprehensive, covering a lot of narrative ground without using much dialogue or imagery. Consequently, the quality of the dialogue suffers beneath the weight of the amount of information expressed. Hence, a lot of ground is covered throughout Yacoubian's story, but the terse time limits allotted for each scene offer shortened, occasionally juvenile observations regarding complicated plot lines. If Hamed were able to maintain the tight grip he has on his melodrama while incorporating the insightful dialogue so aptly utilized in Truffaut's Day for Night, using it to motivate the plot rather than simply expressing observations, he would be an even more exceptionally gifted filmmaker, distinguishing his work while maintaining its pronounced mass appeal.
Superbad
The new teen-comedy Superbad (Greg Mottola, dir.) breaks away from its juvenile categorizations because of the onscreen chemistry of leads Jonah Hill and Michael Cera. Their dialogue focuses on important topics like life after high school, friendship, social phobias, popularity, and sex. I suppose the majority of their dialogue focuses on sex but sex is used as the vehicle that organizes Superbad's other areas of inquiry. Throughout, Hill's brazen, deadpan delivery functions as the perfect counter to Cera's thoughtful, intelligent musing, and the two carry the script with an energetic willingness that leaves us wishing they could continue suffering through high school forever. Along for the ride is Fogell "McLovin" (Christopher Mintz-Plasse), Hill and Cera's fake id bearing friend who spends most of the film galavanting around with Officers Slater (Bill Hader) and Michaels (Seth Rogan), the most inept and jaded comic policepersons this side of Supertroopers. If you need proof of the effort and time that was put into Seth Rogan and Evan Goldberg's quality script, you perhaps need look no further than the name McLovin itself, a name which resonates trivial destiny, paradoxically managing to remain both contemporary and historical. Superbad is definitely written for men, which could make it all the more appealing for women, it being a rare clinical evaluation of the American teenaged male, an evaluation which can be thought of as both lucid and gross. Come for the camaraderie, stay for the shenanigans, note that if you're looking for an entertaining hour and a half comedic break you're in luck, and, when it’s over, if there's time, pull out that old high school yearbook, and sigh.
Sunshine
Don't know how many claustrophobic spaceship films I've seen but there's been a bunch. Possibly 12. And Danny Boyle's new feature Sunshine fits somewhere in the middle. Aboard the Icarus II, a team of astronauts have a mission to fire a payload deep into the heart of the sun. They hope this payload will generate an explosion that will reignite its dying embers, thereby saving planet Earth. During their voyage, they encounter a distress beacon from their lost predecessor, the Icarus I, and decide to investigate. Within this investigation, lies both their personal doom and their eternal salvation.
Alex Garland's script showcases some of the typical sci-fi-thriller tropes. The tight quarters cause egos to erupt, leading to fighting amongst the crew. An evil force is encountered bent on destroying their mission. Love-play is absent as the crew have more serious matters to take care of, and recreation can be found in a room which manufactures whatever its inhabitant desires. Of these traits, I was somewhat disappointed by the introduction of the evil force. The villain certainly provides the heroes with plenty of opportunity to be heroic but couldn't these traits still be effectively displayed without the presence of a bloodthirsty lunatic?
Probably not, but it would be nice to see if the filmmakers could pull it off without being either excessively mundane or trivially over-the-top. I suppose I'm searching for another 2001 but even it had its own version of a monster.
Okay, perhaps you need monsters in science fiction thrillers of one kind or another, but I still don't like the demon that inhabits Sunshine. Nonetheless, it certainly doesn't take away from the script's interesting characteristics. The crew has recourse to a special room that offers them an extremely close up encounter with the rays of the sun, and, even though none of them seem that tanned, the image can represent research or the pursuit of knowledge. The maximum percentage of brightness that a viewer can be exposed to is somewhere around 3.1%, a statistic that represents knowledge's pursuit insofar as no matter how much we learn, there are always billions of other things we'll never know, each producing their own life breathing intensity. One death scene stands out as well, where the captain surrenders to the hopelessness of his predicament and burns up with the sun (after having rescued the ship). There he stands, alone against the universe after having sacrificed himself for the sake of humanity. His situation represents the end of a committed artist's life, to me, an ending which sees that artist forced to face the beautifully horrific details of life, up close and personal.
Alex Garland's script showcases some of the typical sci-fi-thriller tropes. The tight quarters cause egos to erupt, leading to fighting amongst the crew. An evil force is encountered bent on destroying their mission. Love-play is absent as the crew have more serious matters to take care of, and recreation can be found in a room which manufactures whatever its inhabitant desires. Of these traits, I was somewhat disappointed by the introduction of the evil force. The villain certainly provides the heroes with plenty of opportunity to be heroic but couldn't these traits still be effectively displayed without the presence of a bloodthirsty lunatic?
Probably not, but it would be nice to see if the filmmakers could pull it off without being either excessively mundane or trivially over-the-top. I suppose I'm searching for another 2001 but even it had its own version of a monster.
Okay, perhaps you need monsters in science fiction thrillers of one kind or another, but I still don't like the demon that inhabits Sunshine. Nonetheless, it certainly doesn't take away from the script's interesting characteristics. The crew has recourse to a special room that offers them an extremely close up encounter with the rays of the sun, and, even though none of them seem that tanned, the image can represent research or the pursuit of knowledge. The maximum percentage of brightness that a viewer can be exposed to is somewhere around 3.1%, a statistic that represents knowledge's pursuit insofar as no matter how much we learn, there are always billions of other things we'll never know, each producing their own life breathing intensity. One death scene stands out as well, where the captain surrenders to the hopelessness of his predicament and burns up with the sun (after having rescued the ship). There he stands, alone against the universe after having sacrificed himself for the sake of humanity. His situation represents the end of a committed artist's life, to me, an ending which sees that artist forced to face the beautifully horrific details of life, up close and personal.
Our Daily Bread
Our Daily Bread presents an intimate encounter with agriculture. We're shown a series of different agricultural operations, each depicting various facets of how food is manicured and processed. If you're considering vegetarianism, Daily Bread's examination of the ways in which pigs, cattle, and chickens are slaughtered may help to buffer your enthusiasm. In one scene a newborn calf is ripped from a hole cut into its mother's side. In another, screaming baby pigs are forced into a vice-like instrument where they receive their introductory branding. Various types of produce bathing in artificial light and pesticides are featured as well. Director Nikolaus Geyrhalter's unflinching camera captures working moments of camaraderie, boredom, tedium, and complacency, as he travels from job-site to job-site monitoring the toil. Fortunately, Our Daily Bread contains no narration, allowing the images captured to speak for themselves. I found this technique to be powerful for in the end I was forced to critique my own relationship with mealtime rather than someone else's carefully positioned politicized commentary. Our Daily Bread contains its harsh moments, but these scenes are carefully and intelligently interwoven with less traumatizing imagery, giving you time to regroup before slugging back another shot of reality. If you are someone who eats, try some Daily Bread on for size and challenge your taste-buds to a tidbit of truth.
The Bourne Vacation
After viewing The Bourne Ultimatum, I've come to the conclusion that what Bourne really needs is a vacation. Some time off to relax and rejuvenate. Ultimatum plays out like a typical revenge flick with several of the chase scenes predictable and lengthy enough to warrant some serious nap time. We learn that Bourne feels remorse and wants to discover who he is, why he is doing what he is doing, what was it that made him what he is: um, isn't this exactly what happened in the first two Bourne films? So I suggest, if individuals are to capitalize on the enormous enthusiasm the public has for this franchise, and Bourne is to return, again, he takes a break from his typical soul searching, and, instead, chills out on a beach somewhere with Vince Vaughn and Ben Stiller. Sure he still has to waste a couple of no-good-nics, but throughout, we're treated to death-defying feats of hilarity as Damon and Stiller are continually bested by the cunning and conniving Vaughn.
The Yacoubian Building
Eygptian filmmaker Marwan Hamed's The Yacoubian Building insightfully examines the vibrant culture of Cairo. Yacoubian smoothly intertwines several narrative threads, creating a realist mosaic which seductively highlights the hardships confronting the haves and have-nots within Cairo. Everyone has their price, and Yacoubian's chilling conclusions soberly elucidate the complicated consequences of either living or contradicting some version of a pious life. A coming of age tale that challenges the nature of coming of age itself, The Yacoubian Building houses poignant characters and sinister resolutions, its stories packed with controversial ideas which challenge the foundations of modern Cairo.
Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix
I've fallen for the Harry Potter series in recent weeks, burning through 1300 pages in the last 10 days, finishing both The Order of the Phoenix and The Half-Blood Prince. I've been on the jones to check out David Yates's adaptation of The Order of the Phoenix since and finally found the time this evening. While Yates crams most of the novel's highlights into his feature, his film suffers from too much detail and not enough divination, reminding one of the meandering Chamber of Secrets rather than the tumultuous Goblet of Fire.
At the same time, the details were definitely appreciated. I was hoping to see Seamus (Devon Murray) and Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) confront one another, watch Fred and George (James and Oliver Phelps) test their Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, view the Black family tree, listen to Luna Loovegood's (Evanna Lynch) oddly poignant points of view, and cheer while Neville Longbottom (Matthew Lewis) threatens Bellatrix Lestrange (Helena Bonham Carter). But the details kept bombarding, leaving me with galleons of information to bank in a knut's worth of time. It’s refreshing to encounter all of these nuances and see the characters given their two to three minutes of screen time, but removing some of their dialogue and focusing more intently on a fewer number of plot threads would have given The Order the chance to build to a strong finish, rather than meandering onwards towards a lacklustre climax. I suppose this problem was to be expected due to the 700 plus pages in the book, but sometimes including terse tidbits of tenaciously constructed literary action causes the scenes displayed to lose much of their emotional depth, notably the infantilized centaurs, the confrontation between Professor McGonagall (Maggie Smith) and Dolores Umbridge (Imelda Staunton), and every scene involving Sybil Trelawney (Emma Thompson).
I suppose The Order of the Phoenix delivers another entertaining escape into the Potter realm, even if it's somewhat hasty. And it certainly enhanced my crush on Luna Loovegood, leaving me comfortably daydreaming about a stroll past a lakeside beech tree, just in time to watch a Giant Squid frustrate some Merpeople. But it could use a spontaneous difference, an extended unexpected break in the magical material, to round out its structure and diversify its focus.
At the same time, the details were definitely appreciated. I was hoping to see Seamus (Devon Murray) and Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) confront one another, watch Fred and George (James and Oliver Phelps) test their Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, view the Black family tree, listen to Luna Loovegood's (Evanna Lynch) oddly poignant points of view, and cheer while Neville Longbottom (Matthew Lewis) threatens Bellatrix Lestrange (Helena Bonham Carter). But the details kept bombarding, leaving me with galleons of information to bank in a knut's worth of time. It’s refreshing to encounter all of these nuances and see the characters given their two to three minutes of screen time, but removing some of their dialogue and focusing more intently on a fewer number of plot threads would have given The Order the chance to build to a strong finish, rather than meandering onwards towards a lacklustre climax. I suppose this problem was to be expected due to the 700 plus pages in the book, but sometimes including terse tidbits of tenaciously constructed literary action causes the scenes displayed to lose much of their emotional depth, notably the infantilized centaurs, the confrontation between Professor McGonagall (Maggie Smith) and Dolores Umbridge (Imelda Staunton), and every scene involving Sybil Trelawney (Emma Thompson).
I suppose The Order of the Phoenix delivers another entertaining escape into the Potter realm, even if it's somewhat hasty. And it certainly enhanced my crush on Luna Loovegood, leaving me comfortably daydreaming about a stroll past a lakeside beech tree, just in time to watch a Giant Squid frustrate some Merpeople. But it could use a spontaneous difference, an extended unexpected break in the magical material, to round out its structure and diversify its focus.
We Are the Strange (Fantasia Fest 2007)
M dot Strange's new film We are the Strange is sincerely bizarre. A battle between the forces of good and evil is being waged in Stopmo City, the sinister chauvinist Him taking on noble outcasts Rain, eMMM and Blue. Blue has a disease of sorts that causes her skin to break out in scales whenever she speaks and eMMM is in search of cataclysmic ice cream. The battle scenes are intense, as is the scenery. The amount of depth worked into each of these split second scenes is incredible, leaving the hungry critic with an arsenal of symbolic material to analyze. While I wasn't too impressed with most of the dialogue, the following line is one of the most inspiring I've encountered in some time (concerning the saviour): "He will return and strike down evil with a fist made of aluminum foil. Then we will eat many scoops of ice cream."
Weird.
Weird.
Mulberry Street (Fantasia Fest 2007)
Mulberry Street is a really touching horror film. It’s one of the few horror flicks where I found myself genuinely caring for the characters and legitimately crushed when some of them bit it. Director Jim Mickle co-wrote the script with Nick Damici who also stars as Clutch, and the two manage to imbue the work with a romantic depth and gentle sensibility that one doesn't expect to find in a film about infected rats biting the citizens of Manhatten, turning them into blood sucking rat zombies. Mickle also tackles the process of gentrification within, deftly pointing out that reconstructing a neighbourhood has dire consequences for its impoverished residents. The rats come across like wealthy developers poisoning the region's humanity, turning friends against one another, leaving the poor with nothing to do but devour each other. A powerful horror flick with a poignant message, hang a right down Mulberry Street if you get the chance, and stay for a cup of delicately brewed scorching hot rat blood.
The Fox Family (Fantasia Fest 2007)
When I heard about a new Korean film where a pack of foxes is transformed into a human family by a magic spell in order so that they can devour human livers during a lunar eclipse, livers which will provide them with the nourishment they require to maintain their human form, a chance they are only offered once in a thousand years, I figured I was in for a treat. And I figured correctly. Director Lee Hyung-Gon's The Fox Family delivers an hilarious, gruesome, off kilter horror/comedy/musical/romance that leaves most North American flicks cowering in their burrows. Sort of reminded me of Dead Alive. The Kumiho family has 30 days to figure out how to live amongst humans so that they can be guaranteed access to fresh livers on the night of the lunar eclipse. And how do they intend to obtain their meal? Why, opening up a circus of course! Their nimbly foxiness predisposes them to the acrobatic arts and soon they find themselves performing for kiddies in an urban centre, with one skit having the older sister's arms chainsawed off, squirting stump blood all over the crowd. Somewhat off-kilter.
I was a bit worried when I read that The Fox Family was a musical because I rarely take to such films but some of the numbers aren't bad, notably the lighthearted love songs. The song which accompanies the troupe's first experiences in the working world was a bit much, but it was overshadowed by the number which explores their attempts to get livers to join their entourage. The choreography is solid and one wonders how money was left over in the budget to create sprightly little special effects regarding humanoid foxlike behaviour.
Ki-Dong adds quite a lot to The Fox Family as he falls in love with the elder sister even though he knows she plans to feast upon his liver. It certainly doesn't stop him from pursuing some fertile fervid felicitous fox action. He remains with the family with the hopes of filming them in fox form, thereby providing the world with its first encounter with human-fox video, whereby he can earn enough scratch to pay off some goons. Like skirting the realms of heroine addiction in order to create some artistic legend before succumbing to devastation. And his comedic presence gives the film that extra bit of ridiculous depth which saves it two thirds of the way through as it starts to drag.
If you can get your hands on a copy, don't hold out on this hidden Korean gem. Come for the acrobatics and cringe whenever the motif of lips eating something disgusting reappears. It’s worth it for the ways in which it nurtures comedic insight, if not simply for the perfectly placed jilting opening line: "where can we find a lot of humans." I really don't know how to answer that question.
I was a bit worried when I read that The Fox Family was a musical because I rarely take to such films but some of the numbers aren't bad, notably the lighthearted love songs. The song which accompanies the troupe's first experiences in the working world was a bit much, but it was overshadowed by the number which explores their attempts to get livers to join their entourage. The choreography is solid and one wonders how money was left over in the budget to create sprightly little special effects regarding humanoid foxlike behaviour.
Ki-Dong adds quite a lot to The Fox Family as he falls in love with the elder sister even though he knows she plans to feast upon his liver. It certainly doesn't stop him from pursuing some fertile fervid felicitous fox action. He remains with the family with the hopes of filming them in fox form, thereby providing the world with its first encounter with human-fox video, whereby he can earn enough scratch to pay off some goons. Like skirting the realms of heroine addiction in order to create some artistic legend before succumbing to devastation. And his comedic presence gives the film that extra bit of ridiculous depth which saves it two thirds of the way through as it starts to drag.
If you can get your hands on a copy, don't hold out on this hidden Korean gem. Come for the acrobatics and cringe whenever the motif of lips eating something disgusting reappears. It’s worth it for the ways in which it nurtures comedic insight, if not simply for the perfectly placed jilting opening line: "where can we find a lot of humans." I really don't know how to answer that question.
Transformers
Michael Bay's new film Transformers unravels a teenaged synthesis of hormones, military paranoia, and tryin' too hard comedy. The Decepticons and Autobots are back in another epic battle, fighting over the Allspark, a giant cube with the power to create or destroy worlds. Along for the ride are a number of would be high school heroes, numerous military personnel, cranky, mind-your-own-business parents, and the ever weird and wonderful John Turturro. The action sequences are slight, the offbeat comedy tedious (except for the masturbation bit), and Roberto Orci and Alex Kurtzman's script borrows heavily from every big time blockbuster this side of Cybertron. Focusing primarily on the myriad humanoid characters, Transformers forgets the main reason behind Transformers: Transformers. Instead of providing us with an elaborate narrative, transporting the Hasbroian folklore to another dimension, Bay caters too intensely to his earthly plot devices and quickly drowns his tale in banal political mumbo jumbo (note that Iranian scientists are not to be credited but North Korea's military is on par with that of China). Optimus Prime does wax quixotic about goodness and we are briefly reintroduced to Megatron's acerbic abuse of Starscream, but their scenes are far to brief, making me wish I'd simply rented seasons one through three, as well as the first full-length feature film.
Sicko
Michael Moore's new film Sicko presents a critical examination of American Health Care. The style Moore employs is similar to that found in his other films, simultaneously tragic and comedic. If you haven't seen the film the following contains spoilers regarding its ending.
I for one am in complete agreement with Moore's message. While I haven't researched the subject vigorously, and know that universal health care systems are expensive, these expenses maximize a population’s health without supplying it with any significantly increased financial burdens. The picture Moore paints of the state of the American Health Care system is grim to say the least; grim isn't really the right word to be using here, but it seems as if American HMO's are much more concerned with maximizing profits than taking care of the sick. Since I've grown up with universal health care, trying to imagine what it’s like living in a country where access to medical care is a burden upon those responsible for its delivery is difficult, and witnessing the stories Moore showcases within is frankly revolting, especially since America is such a diverse, wealthy country.
But points regarding health care aside, the rest of this piece is about Michael Moore the filmmaker. In the end of Sicko, Moore makes a monumental move that instantly reminded me of Werner Herzog's commitment within Fitzcarraldo, Moore's move resonating with inspired political audacity, Herzog's with ideal artistic integrity. We don't know how they arrive there, but during his research Moore discovers that the prisoners at Guantanamo Bay are receiving first rate health care free of charge, and decides to travel there with several sick Americans, some of them rescue workers from ground zero, 9/11, who have no health insurance. After they are denied access to Guantanamo, Moore decides to seek assistance within Cuba where he is greeted warmly (apparently prescription drugs that cost 120 dollars in the States can be purchased in Cuba for 3.2 pesos). Moore's examination of the Cuban Health Care System and the ways in which he gallantly includes them within his film (at great risk to his own personal freedom back home I'm sure) is an act worthy of sincere applause. What balls!
I for one am in complete agreement with Moore's message. While I haven't researched the subject vigorously, and know that universal health care systems are expensive, these expenses maximize a population’s health without supplying it with any significantly increased financial burdens. The picture Moore paints of the state of the American Health Care system is grim to say the least; grim isn't really the right word to be using here, but it seems as if American HMO's are much more concerned with maximizing profits than taking care of the sick. Since I've grown up with universal health care, trying to imagine what it’s like living in a country where access to medical care is a burden upon those responsible for its delivery is difficult, and witnessing the stories Moore showcases within is frankly revolting, especially since America is such a diverse, wealthy country.
But points regarding health care aside, the rest of this piece is about Michael Moore the filmmaker. In the end of Sicko, Moore makes a monumental move that instantly reminded me of Werner Herzog's commitment within Fitzcarraldo, Moore's move resonating with inspired political audacity, Herzog's with ideal artistic integrity. We don't know how they arrive there, but during his research Moore discovers that the prisoners at Guantanamo Bay are receiving first rate health care free of charge, and decides to travel there with several sick Americans, some of them rescue workers from ground zero, 9/11, who have no health insurance. After they are denied access to Guantanamo, Moore decides to seek assistance within Cuba where he is greeted warmly (apparently prescription drugs that cost 120 dollars in the States can be purchased in Cuba for 3.2 pesos). Moore's examination of the Cuban Health Care System and the ways in which he gallantly includes them within his film (at great risk to his own personal freedom back home I'm sure) is an act worthy of sincere applause. What balls!
Stroszek
In Stroszek, Werner Herzog once again examines an impoverished individual's descent into madness. Stroszek is the tale of Bruno S. who also appeared in Herzog's The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser and almost took the lead role in Woyzeck. Bruno S. was reportedly so disappointed at having not received the role of Woyzeck that Herzog wrote Stroszek specifically for him, and many of Stroszek's stories and locations are taken directly from Bruno S.'s experience.
I love the ways in which Herzog's films often focus upon the disenfranchised amongst us. His heroes are neither rich nor well dressed nor clean cut nor opportunistically swift but their humanity is rich in ethical substance and their suffering packed with disenfranchised grittiness. Stroszek has spent most of his life in and out of institutions where things have been miserable at best. Upon being released from jail, he is presented with an opportunity to leave Germany (where two pimps harass him daily) and start a new life in America (to which he departs with his prostitute girlfriend).
Of the numerous images and allegories that Herzog presents throughout, there are three of which I took note. First off, while still in Germany Stroszek visits a hospital to discuss the problems he is having reintroducing himself to society with a benevolent doctor. During the scene, the doctor laments the inadequate ways in which he is able to respond to Stroszek's inquiries and decides to illustrate how everyone experiences such hardships. In order to do this, he shows Stroszek a baby, born prematurely, who suffers from a particularly troublesome ailment. Herzog holds his camera on this shrieking newborn for an extended period of time, allowing us to soak up the image. While viewing this image, I was struck with the ancient idea how can there be so much suffering in a world as beautiful as this?, and how can something as innocent as this helpless baby grow up to be tormented in a fashion similar to that of Stroszek? That's only one way of examining the scene of course, and as the film progresses and Stroszek's torment evolves we're left wondering if he'll accept the doctor's advice, recommending patience and goodwill, or finally snap.
Second, Stroszek is introduced wrapped beneath a sanitary, institutional robe. The image subtly introduces us to his character and challenges us to consider whether or not someone who has experienced so much state sponsored care will ever be able to transcend their history. And third, there is an interesting scene that takes place after Stroszek arrives in Wisconsin, where two farmers are fighting over a piece of land, shotgun at the ready, to ensure that no one cultivates the land dividing their properties. The middle ground over which the farmer's are fighting can be thought of as representing Stroszek or the modest individual, those who are too damned nice and don't know how to stand up for themselves, silently waiting to be caught in the cross fire.
Stroszek is a powerful film and an insightful study of the detrimental effects of rehabilitation. Experience can be difficult to overcome once it becomes an inveterate, immutable, reality.
I love the ways in which Herzog's films often focus upon the disenfranchised amongst us. His heroes are neither rich nor well dressed nor clean cut nor opportunistically swift but their humanity is rich in ethical substance and their suffering packed with disenfranchised grittiness. Stroszek has spent most of his life in and out of institutions where things have been miserable at best. Upon being released from jail, he is presented with an opportunity to leave Germany (where two pimps harass him daily) and start a new life in America (to which he departs with his prostitute girlfriend).
Of the numerous images and allegories that Herzog presents throughout, there are three of which I took note. First off, while still in Germany Stroszek visits a hospital to discuss the problems he is having reintroducing himself to society with a benevolent doctor. During the scene, the doctor laments the inadequate ways in which he is able to respond to Stroszek's inquiries and decides to illustrate how everyone experiences such hardships. In order to do this, he shows Stroszek a baby, born prematurely, who suffers from a particularly troublesome ailment. Herzog holds his camera on this shrieking newborn for an extended period of time, allowing us to soak up the image. While viewing this image, I was struck with the ancient idea how can there be so much suffering in a world as beautiful as this?, and how can something as innocent as this helpless baby grow up to be tormented in a fashion similar to that of Stroszek? That's only one way of examining the scene of course, and as the film progresses and Stroszek's torment evolves we're left wondering if he'll accept the doctor's advice, recommending patience and goodwill, or finally snap.
Second, Stroszek is introduced wrapped beneath a sanitary, institutional robe. The image subtly introduces us to his character and challenges us to consider whether or not someone who has experienced so much state sponsored care will ever be able to transcend their history. And third, there is an interesting scene that takes place after Stroszek arrives in Wisconsin, where two farmers are fighting over a piece of land, shotgun at the ready, to ensure that no one cultivates the land dividing their properties. The middle ground over which the farmer's are fighting can be thought of as representing Stroszek or the modest individual, those who are too damned nice and don't know how to stand up for themselves, silently waiting to be caught in the cross fire.
Stroszek is a powerful film and an insightful study of the detrimental effects of rehabilitation. Experience can be difficult to overcome once it becomes an inveterate, immutable, reality.
Live Free or Die Hard
I remember watching the first Die Hard flick as a child and instantly becoming addicted. It rivals Robocop and the Terminator for best action film and continues to deliver a strong mix of solid pounding timeless one liners and thrilling death defying situations to this day. I was slightly distraught after hearing that the fourth installment in the Die Hard series was being released since the fourth installment in a franchise is often a slipshod affair, thrown together to make a quick and careless buck at the expense of its loyal fans (Hellraiser: Bloodline, Star Trek IV, and Alien Resurrection stand as exceptions). But after viewing Live Free or Die Hard, I sit content, happy in the knowledge that director Len Wiseman (Underworld) and screenwriter Mark Bomback (The Night Caller) crafted an entertaining film that has me hoping that one day we may be fortunate enough to see Die Hard 5: I Just Want Another Cigarette.
The fourth installment in a series is often free to discover a completely new situation for its characters, one that strays from the narrative threads that closely linked the first three films/novels/texts (God Emperor of Dune for instance). Live Free or Die Hard recognizes this potential and delivers a fresh situation full of politically relevant commentary, intriguing new characters, and delicate action sequences etched on rationally chaotic backdrops. It’s another acute adventure for street wise John McClane of the NYPD. And fortunately Bruce Willis delivers the goods, discovering that crisp, charming character he's crafted for years (to which he adds a fatherly nuance that can only be described as abrasively benign).
In 1988, not possessing an intricate knowledge of computers and the internet didn't stop John McClane from outwitting Hans Gruber, but in 2007, McClane's technological illiteracy leaves him handicapped. Fortunately, hacker Matt Farrell (Justin Long) tags along, providing McClane with the cyber-related-know-how he needs to save the world from brilliant computer programmer Thomas Gabriel (Timothy Olyphant). Gabriel has launched a Fire Sale attack on the United States which proceeds in three stages: eliminating the structures that facilitate a nation's transportation, erasing the nation’s financial records, and disengaging its utilities. The dynamic established between Willis and Long is cohesive enough to overcome Olyphant's solid but one-dimensional villainy, and their witty dialogues quaintly yet corrosively accentuates their generational and psychological fissures.
The message of the Die Hard films seem to be that life is rough and things often don't work out the way you won't them to, but, nevertheless, when you find yourself confronted with such realities, you've still gotta, what’s the phrase, keep on keeping on?
Note that the relationship between McClane and grown daughter Lucy McClane (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) provides Live Free or Die Hard with the same familial punch that gave the first two films their endearing touch, and there's a subtle reference to FBI agents Johnson and Johnson from the original. And McClane can now fly a helicopter.
Not bad.
The fourth installment in a series is often free to discover a completely new situation for its characters, one that strays from the narrative threads that closely linked the first three films/novels/texts (God Emperor of Dune for instance). Live Free or Die Hard recognizes this potential and delivers a fresh situation full of politically relevant commentary, intriguing new characters, and delicate action sequences etched on rationally chaotic backdrops. It’s another acute adventure for street wise John McClane of the NYPD. And fortunately Bruce Willis delivers the goods, discovering that crisp, charming character he's crafted for years (to which he adds a fatherly nuance that can only be described as abrasively benign).
In 1988, not possessing an intricate knowledge of computers and the internet didn't stop John McClane from outwitting Hans Gruber, but in 2007, McClane's technological illiteracy leaves him handicapped. Fortunately, hacker Matt Farrell (Justin Long) tags along, providing McClane with the cyber-related-know-how he needs to save the world from brilliant computer programmer Thomas Gabriel (Timothy Olyphant). Gabriel has launched a Fire Sale attack on the United States which proceeds in three stages: eliminating the structures that facilitate a nation's transportation, erasing the nation’s financial records, and disengaging its utilities. The dynamic established between Willis and Long is cohesive enough to overcome Olyphant's solid but one-dimensional villainy, and their witty dialogues quaintly yet corrosively accentuates their generational and psychological fissures.
The message of the Die Hard films seem to be that life is rough and things often don't work out the way you won't them to, but, nevertheless, when you find yourself confronted with such realities, you've still gotta, what’s the phrase, keep on keeping on?
Note that the relationship between McClane and grown daughter Lucy McClane (Mary Elizabeth Winstead) provides Live Free or Die Hard with the same familial punch that gave the first two films their endearing touch, and there's a subtle reference to FBI agents Johnson and Johnson from the original. And McClane can now fly a helicopter.
Not bad.
Fitzcarraldo
Fitzcarraldo is one of the best films I've seen and most of my initial reactions have likely already been observed, so here I'd like to focus simply on the ways in which Herzog films the oncoming night sky. Herzog's films generally have a relaxing bucolic feel to them as he patiently holds the camera upon a quiet countryside, a mountain or a pasture, accompanied by a light, swaying, pastoral soundtrack, gently allowing the viewer time to take in the scene and analyze it pensively and leisurely. This Herzogian feature abounds in Fitzcarraldo, and the ways in which he uses it to film various manifestations of dusk caught my attention, first, for the sheer beauty of the scenes themselves, second, by discovering the ways in which they symbolically depict Fitzcarraldo's dream of bringing the apex of opera to his jungle town of Iquitos. His dream is eccentric and grand, as sublime and gallant as it is foolhardy and questionable, and any predictions that could be made about his endeavours are etched upon the uncertainty of the night sky (after having been created during the preceding, transient, radiant evening). Whether they are the predictions of the seasoned, cynical rubber barons, or dreamy, idyllic Brian Sweeney Fitzgerald himself, they are both framed by ambition and cast courageously in the darkness.
1408
The latest Stephen King text to find its way to the big screen is 1408, an adaptation of the second short story found in the audiobook Blood and Smoke. Director Mikael Hafstrom delivers some genuine chills and pertinent thrills although the overall product warrants its PG-13 rating.
Nice to see John Cusack in a thriller. For a while, I figured Cusack's career would interminably churn out romantic-comedy after romantic-comedy, but, low and behold, the fates stepped in and provided us with 2005's The Ice Harvest, and, now, 1408. The thriller can occasionally till troubled ground for a performer's career, but a script like 1408's gives the actor in question enough room to competently maneuver (if she or he can resiliently respond to its frequent gesticulations). And Cusack sophisticatedly uses every second as disgruntled, sort of married, bitter, writer, Mike Enslin, whose life became a 24 hour misery after the death of his daughter. Enslin works as a travel writer who spends his time visiting hotel rooms that are reputed to be haunted, chronicling his visits in bargain bin novels that keep his surfboard afloat. When he discovers the Dolphin Hotel's fabled room 1408, with over 50 recorded deaths, he sets out for his first real encounter with the terrifying affects of the paranormal.
Which situates 1408 within the fable category of the thriller/horror genre. Rather than horror for horror's sake (see Rob Zombie's Halloween later this summer), 1408 has a moral dimension that its protagonist must face in order to challenge his nightmare. This moral dimension synthesizes well with the tame and frightening drama and allows 1408 to function as a successful introductory fright flick for those curious about the genre. While the ending can be thought of as a more docile version of John Carpenter's Prince of Darkness, the ambience established throughout is of the cutesy variety that contains an horrific agenda of its own, depending upon the status of your belief in biblical good and evil, or, the intensity of your faith.
Nice to see John Cusack in a thriller. For a while, I figured Cusack's career would interminably churn out romantic-comedy after romantic-comedy, but, low and behold, the fates stepped in and provided us with 2005's The Ice Harvest, and, now, 1408. The thriller can occasionally till troubled ground for a performer's career, but a script like 1408's gives the actor in question enough room to competently maneuver (if she or he can resiliently respond to its frequent gesticulations). And Cusack sophisticatedly uses every second as disgruntled, sort of married, bitter, writer, Mike Enslin, whose life became a 24 hour misery after the death of his daughter. Enslin works as a travel writer who spends his time visiting hotel rooms that are reputed to be haunted, chronicling his visits in bargain bin novels that keep his surfboard afloat. When he discovers the Dolphin Hotel's fabled room 1408, with over 50 recorded deaths, he sets out for his first real encounter with the terrifying affects of the paranormal.
Which situates 1408 within the fable category of the thriller/horror genre. Rather than horror for horror's sake (see Rob Zombie's Halloween later this summer), 1408 has a moral dimension that its protagonist must face in order to challenge his nightmare. This moral dimension synthesizes well with the tame and frightening drama and allows 1408 to function as a successful introductory fright flick for those curious about the genre. While the ending can be thought of as a more docile version of John Carpenter's Prince of Darkness, the ambience established throughout is of the cutesy variety that contains an horrific agenda of its own, depending upon the status of your belief in biblical good and evil, or, the intensity of your faith.
Azumi
Ryuhei Kitamura's samurai film Azumi delivers the blood and gut goods. From beginning to end, we're treated to bloodthirsty bitchin' battles, the confusing samurai ethical code, and mellow, strained guitar riffs, that come across as a mix between the soundtrack for Y tu Mama Tambien and a subdued Joe Satriani. The music is occasionally vexing but unyielding in the development of its aesthetic. Azumi (Aya Ueto) is discovered by samurai master Gessai (Yoshio Harada) as a young girl, after her mother has died, and she is subsequently trained with 9 other youths to become elite assassins. Their training is idyllic: they grow up in a pastoral paradise, aliens to town or even village life, consumed by their samurai commitment, unaware of their mission to come. Master Gessai is training them to kill warlords before they plunge Japan into another bloody civil conflict; Gessai was provided with this task at the end of the Battle of Sekigahara, a particularly brutal affair that led both Gessai and his master to devote their lives to ending such bloodbaths ahead of time. But before Gessai can begin beginning to end such conflicts, he needs to prepare his young students for the conflict awaiting them, and, consequently, orders them to pair up with their best friend in a fight to the death, the winners possessing the iron constitution necessary to cleanse Japan of its warlike virulence. This death battle is a little difficult to take and leaves an unsettling feeling in the viewer, especially near the end when Azumi herself squares off against the effete killing machine Bigomaru Mogami (Joe Odagiri), amidst a contingency of corpses (that closely resembles that from Sekigahara, a scene which provides Azumi with the same ethical concerns found within Peckinpah's The Wild Bunch or Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia). Was it better to kill off five elite warriors hours before heading out on their first assignment, better than taking them along on the mission where their presence would have likely had positive results? This question haunts Azumi's background and provides its ethical dimension with a strong examination of what it means to be a hero.
Evan Almighty
Tom Shadyac's Evan Almighty proceeds at a fast pace. Evan Baxter (Steve Carell) is elected to Congress, moves his family to Huntsville, and is visited by God who tasks him with building an Ark. While trying to deal with his new job, Evan takes God's suggestions lightly until his beard grows in permanently and several bird species roost. Evan's boss, Congressman Long (John Goodman), is dedicated to passing Bill HR7124 which hopes to open up public Parklands for private development (and he shines none to brightly to Evan's change of pace). Unfortunately, neither does Steve Carell and he's left spending most of his screen-time in a stressed out state where his character isn't given much room to develop. At the same time, as he begins to come to grips with being a Noahesque avatar, we are treated to a couple of lighthearted biblical moments which allow Carell's charm to come through. The same one-dimensional direction allows neither John Goodman nor Evan's wife Joan (Lauren Graham) much room for development, however, minor characters played by Wanda Sykes, John Michael Higgins, Jonah Hill and Morgan Freeman prosper comedically within.
My favourite scenes within Evan Almighty feature creatures of the four legged variety and if you're an animal enthusiast it doesn't disappoint. I was worried that the bear representation would be weak but we are treated to scenes with Polar, Panda, Black, and Grizzly Bears, the Grizzlies being the last of Evan's animals to enter his Ark. The cutesy animal scenes do little to elucidate the dangerous nature of many of these beasts, but they do provide Evan with enough domestic appeal to make it an excellent family film. Further, its overall meaning is cloaked in positive communal sentiments that challenge one to be a kinder, more loving human being; a friendly message with a healthy heart.
My favourite scenes within Evan Almighty feature creatures of the four legged variety and if you're an animal enthusiast it doesn't disappoint. I was worried that the bear representation would be weak but we are treated to scenes with Polar, Panda, Black, and Grizzly Bears, the Grizzlies being the last of Evan's animals to enter his Ark. The cutesy animal scenes do little to elucidate the dangerous nature of many of these beasts, but they do provide Evan with enough domestic appeal to make it an excellent family film. Further, its overall meaning is cloaked in positive communal sentiments that challenge one to be a kinder, more loving human being; a friendly message with a healthy heart.
Red Road
Andrea Arnold's Red Road unwraps the hidden obsession lying dormant within its heroine. Kate Dickie plays Jackie who monitors a number of cameras which watch over a run down neighbourhood in Glasgow. One day, Jackie discovers a criminal who is inextricably linked to her past upon one of her screens and becomes obsessed with locating him. Her focus upon Clyde (Tony Curran) soon becomes destructive as she begins to spend more and more time viewing his life and less focusing on the community around her. Within Jackie's quiet desperate desire Arnold paints an intriguing portrait upon an ethical canvas, skillfully interrogating morality while deconstructing the dichotomy established between criminal and security officer, her finished product highlighting the difficulties one experiences in keeping the peace from psychological, communal, economic, and familial viewpoints. Sanity is for the sane and Red Road subtly and playfully challenges the concept of the normal while Dickie's poignant Jackie reminds us of the consequences of absolute loss.
Ocean's 13
Oceans 13's plot is so far gone it's outrageous. I suppose this is an action-adventure-crime flick but it plays more like a comic book. Since it's the third installment in a trilogy, off-the-wall extremely offbeat plot twists should be expected.
So, if I get this right, in order for the Ocean's gang to successfully pull off this farce all they have to do is successfully organize a worker's revolt at a dice manufacturing plant in Mexico, order two giant underground drills to simulate an earthquake in downtown Las Vegas, convince pseudo-nemesis Terry Benedict (Andy Garcia) to loan them 26 million plus, all the while finding a way to break down the most sophisticated casino security system ever conceived, during which time they intend to earn a comfortable 500 million. These realizations make it sound preposterous, and it is, preposterous, but, while viewing the film I was tricked by the conniving cast into believing their far-fetched shenanigans were legit, and I sit here three days later applauding their designs. The plot is as intense and demanding as it is chaotic and staggering so drink a long tall espresso before diving in. And of all the predictable performances, I'm givin' props to Scott Caan as Turk Malloy, who overtly steals scene after scene with his gritty working class charm.
So, if I get this right, in order for the Ocean's gang to successfully pull off this farce all they have to do is successfully organize a worker's revolt at a dice manufacturing plant in Mexico, order two giant underground drills to simulate an earthquake in downtown Las Vegas, convince pseudo-nemesis Terry Benedict (Andy Garcia) to loan them 26 million plus, all the while finding a way to break down the most sophisticated casino security system ever conceived, during which time they intend to earn a comfortable 500 million. These realizations make it sound preposterous, and it is, preposterous, but, while viewing the film I was tricked by the conniving cast into believing their far-fetched shenanigans were legit, and I sit here three days later applauding their designs. The plot is as intense and demanding as it is chaotic and staggering so drink a long tall espresso before diving in. And of all the predictable performances, I'm givin' props to Scott Caan as Turk Malloy, who overtly steals scene after scene with his gritty working class charm.
Spider Man 3
I was surprised that Spider Man 3 wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I'm usually weary when I hear people claim that a film is good according to what it is because this comment often denotes that the film is a successful piece of crap. I like the odd crappy film, but when a big budget sequel extravaganza like Spider Man 3 gets the crap plug, one wonders if it's worth the time. But after viewing it, I have to admit that it is in fact good according to what it is, the third melodramatic installment in a teenybopper comic book franchise that skillfully juxtaposes the maudlin with the macabre, the morality with the mystery. The film is fun and entertaining and is not really trying to deliver any profound philosophical message so searching for one outside of the symbolism is likely unfair. And the way in which it skillfully employs its plethora of minor characters really helps maintain one's interest throughout, notably Bruce Campbell's scene as well as the interactions between Peter Parker and his landlord's family. Spider Man 3 lasts for almost two and a half hours but the pace is tight and when the final reels had played I felt like I'd just seen a typical 90 minute flick. And wow bob wow, J. Jonah Jameson steals the show, adding beautifully crafted stylistic breaks which briefly send one's perception into a ridiculously sublime filmic wonderland.
The Abandoned
Horror films can be a tasty treat when sweetened astutely and Nacho Cerda's The Abandoned is seductively saccharine. It’s about a demonic homecoming, a past whose stones were best left unturned, an impiate encounter with one's family roots. The heroine is an American movie producer who is suddenly and unexpectedly notified that she owns land in the Russian woods upon which stands her lost family's home. She travels there only to discover that it has a life of its own and is inhabited by her hitherto unknown twin brother. While they get to know each other, they are plagued by the presence of doppelgängers along with eerie visions of the event that irrevocably ruptured their parent's marriage. The grotesque imagery with which they duel is steadfastly maintained and Cerda ensures that his terror is neither kitschy nor compromised.
The Abandoned helped me to understand an important quality of the horror genre, the hows and the whys. While watching some films, why something happens or how something happens is often important, alluring, enticing. But a successful horror film reminds us that within such narratives these questions can intriguingly be left unanswered. I can't explain the contradiction that exists between the fact that the heroine's brother is alive throughout the film even though his infant corpse is discovered, nor how this house is able to cultivate its demonic presence, but that presence is so frightening and disconcerting that it competently forces you to feel its horrific reality, leading me to believe that an integral component of the successful horror film lies not in its rational coherency, but instead, in the intensity of its macabre ambience.
The Abandoned helped me to understand an important quality of the horror genre, the hows and the whys. While watching some films, why something happens or how something happens is often important, alluring, enticing. But a successful horror film reminds us that within such narratives these questions can intriguingly be left unanswered. I can't explain the contradiction that exists between the fact that the heroine's brother is alive throughout the film even though his infant corpse is discovered, nor how this house is able to cultivate its demonic presence, but that presence is so frightening and disconcerting that it competently forces you to feel its horrific reality, leading me to believe that an integral component of the successful horror film lies not in its rational coherency, but instead, in the intensity of its macabre ambience.
Inland Empire
Just finished David Lynch's Inland Empire and here are some initial impressions: the film begins by settling us into a darkly surreal landscape, reacquainting us with Grace Zabriskie who plays Laura Dern's portentous neighbour. She sets up the film's phantasmagorical relationship with linearity before fading into the background. Zabriskie is one of several characters whom I would have liked to have seen provided with a bigger role. In fact, my principle critique is the quality that I usually love so dearly within Lynch's texts: its weirdness. Rather than taking the time to firmly develop a number of characters throughout, Lynch introduces several characters, has them utter mysterious one-liners, and then trail off into the dreamscape. The mysterious nature of the film's compelling, kind of like an ontological detective story; but it would have been more so if we didn't lose Justin Theroux, Harry Dean Stanton, Jeremy Irons and Grace Zabriskie half way through (Irons and Stanton return briefly near the end). Instead, Laura Dern liaises with a number of identities before disappearing and reappearing in a variety of different puzzling contexts, the realities of which are difficult to penetrate to say the least (do her multiple identities reflect an artistic actors torment, the feeling they acquire from trying to BE so many different people correctly, in the context of their various stories?), and the rest of the cast is forgotten. What made Blue Velvet, Wild at Heart and Mulholland Drive so mesmerizing were the different characters caught up in the enigma, the different opaque perspectives within. Inland Empire suffers by not providing more of its principle characters with a chance to flesh out their identities, while, fittingly enough, the lead character experiences a severe crisis regarding her in/abilities to do so.
Zodiac
I read some harsh reviews regarding David Fincher's new film Zodiac before viewing and am pleasantly content to contradict them. Fincher's filmmaking is top notch so it’s no wonder he didn't have any qualms releasing a 2 hour and forty minute research thriller.
Zodiak’s opening image is astutely assigned, that being firecrackers bursting in the sky. They instantly reflect the psyche of a serial killer, the killer vainly creating a spot for themself in humanity's cultural pantheon, a transient constellation in the summer sky (although the fact that Zodiac exists as a film somewhat destabilizes the image's effect, unless we consider its essence to be allegorically reflective of the serial killer's plight universally, always pestiferously seeking the prestige of a doctor, a professional athlete, a gifted tenor [professionals with images platonically pasted in the sky]).
The first conversation between Mark Ruffalo and Anthony Edwards is hard-boiled banter at its best and Fincher's casting top notch. Mark Ruffalo and Jake Gyllenhaal are given an outstanding opportunity to display their talent, Dermot Mulroney steals a number of scenes for the first time since Young Guns, Anthony Edwards is dryly comedic and sternly subversive, and Robert Downey Jr. excels. Excellent stuff.
Zodiak’s opening image is astutely assigned, that being firecrackers bursting in the sky. They instantly reflect the psyche of a serial killer, the killer vainly creating a spot for themself in humanity's cultural pantheon, a transient constellation in the summer sky (although the fact that Zodiac exists as a film somewhat destabilizes the image's effect, unless we consider its essence to be allegorically reflective of the serial killer's plight universally, always pestiferously seeking the prestige of a doctor, a professional athlete, a gifted tenor [professionals with images platonically pasted in the sky]).
The first conversation between Mark Ruffalo and Anthony Edwards is hard-boiled banter at its best and Fincher's casting top notch. Mark Ruffalo and Jake Gyllenhaal are given an outstanding opportunity to display their talent, Dermot Mulroney steals a number of scenes for the first time since Young Guns, Anthony Edwards is dryly comedic and sternly subversive, and Robert Downey Jr. excels. Excellent stuff.
300
300 packs a solid camp punch but no one collected any kindling. The trite, hackneyed, anachronistic dialogue is so ludicrously over-the-top that it’s sickeningly entertaining. But the racist overtones are disturbing, the consistent narration irritating, and the 'pure' nature of the heroes frightening. A film for teenagers searching for T & A and predictable cliches. Tyler Bates' music is viscid, Gerard Butler's King Leonidas is solid, and the film's over-the-top characteristics detach the reality from its narrative, making one less timid during the battle scenes (i.e., who cares). But one finds oneself laughing where there should be tears, scoffing where there should be allegiance, and rebelling amongst submissive persuasions. 300 may find a home in the Midnight Movies' circuit thanks to its off beat comic dimension and scintillating visuals, but as far as serious fantasy flicks spoil, this sortie is no Excalibur.
The Hour of the Wolf
Finished my second viewing of Bergman's The Hour of the Wolf today and decided to read it platonically. In the end, artist Johan Borg loses his battle with insanity, his demons steadfastly claiming his reason. Borg is living upon an island where his imagination has conjured up a band of puerile aristocrats with nothing better to do than torture one another and whomever they happen to encounter. In years past, Borg had a sultry affair with one Veronica Volger, within which the passionate participants had to keep things hushed up to avoid arousing public shock and condemnation. Borg's desire for this icon of pleasure, the-worst-possible-treatment for his sanity, the best for his art, fuels his artistic integrity while ruining his drive. Eventually, Borg murders the living creating child within (whose vibrant presence inspires his texts) and confronts his appetite for Veronica within his manufactured hallucination. The aristocrats, functioning as perverted reason, cheer him on, producing an abject audience, reveling in their abomination, utterly humiliating Johan (platonically, passion united with the appetites leads to the flaking of wisdom). Afterwards, defenseless, his reason having abandoned him, he travels to the woods to perish, amongst the flowers and the fauna, the streams and the breeze.
Listen closely and you'll hear them coming, if you have any talent, any off-beat goals that you know you can achieve while they continually attempt to break your confidence. Just try not to hear what they say, crush the headaches, persevere.
Through the hour of the wolf.
Listen closely and you'll hear them coming, if you have any talent, any off-beat goals that you know you can achieve while they continually attempt to break your confidence. Just try not to hear what they say, crush the headaches, persevere.
Through the hour of the wolf.
The Fountain
At some point, the tortoise catches up. Slowly plodding away, taking his or her time. It’s a matter of effort, avoiding the rumours, and sticking to your choice, elobo solo, the lone wolves. Or tortoises, in this instance. Then again, in this crazy age of genetic experimentation, we can have tortoise wolves, or wolf tortoises, or wolf-tortoise-hares.
Darren Aronofsky's The Fountain relives ye olde Tortoise and the Hare myth romantically and stylistically. Its point is the search for enlightenment, emphasizing patience. Patience throughout the centuries, assuming you believe in reincarnation. Within there are three vignettes interwoven with one another ala Star Trek: All Good Things . . . and Hellbound: Hellraiser IV. Within each, Hugh Jackman seeks Rachel Weiz's heart only to be consistently thwarted by some kind of natural or technological barrier.
Which is a comment on completeness, on the desire for completion. Completion was great before we recognized the I, the “I want this,” the “I need that,” and so forth. Lacking in completion is the problem, being unable to embrace the lack, the symptom, being unable to placate the symptom, the disease, being unable to recognize the disease, the dementia. There’s no dementia to be found within Thomas, for he approaches the confines of reality confidently, seeking a solution to his personal dilemmas, recognizing life’s struggles and pursuits as allies, confidants, compatriots, and friends.
Elated bliss, purity of love, of knowledge within and without a culture. In The Fountain first vignette, Thomas discovers the path to enlightenment through the sword, through raw unraveled determination, in the interests of love. But as it unravels, it consumes him, the maddening price of being confronted with absolute knowledge with no means of being able to understand it. A television in ancient Greece. Hence, the woods subsume his body and he becomes one with nature. In the final vignette, after having been reborn time and time again, he discovers the cure for his spiritual ailment, the culmination of his pursuits, a moment of divinity, of temporal transcendency. Consequently, his reality’s implode like those of the Phoenix or Quetzalcoatl, the tortoise having reached the end of the race, and won, the ethical divinely embracing the political. For a beautiful moment, an instance of knowledge, Apollonian reason and Dionysian hearts.
Thinking and beating together.
Darren Aronofsky's The Fountain relives ye olde Tortoise and the Hare myth romantically and stylistically. Its point is the search for enlightenment, emphasizing patience. Patience throughout the centuries, assuming you believe in reincarnation. Within there are three vignettes interwoven with one another ala Star Trek: All Good Things . . . and Hellbound: Hellraiser IV. Within each, Hugh Jackman seeks Rachel Weiz's heart only to be consistently thwarted by some kind of natural or technological barrier.
Which is a comment on completeness, on the desire for completion. Completion was great before we recognized the I, the “I want this,” the “I need that,” and so forth. Lacking in completion is the problem, being unable to embrace the lack, the symptom, being unable to placate the symptom, the disease, being unable to recognize the disease, the dementia. There’s no dementia to be found within Thomas, for he approaches the confines of reality confidently, seeking a solution to his personal dilemmas, recognizing life’s struggles and pursuits as allies, confidants, compatriots, and friends.
Elated bliss, purity of love, of knowledge within and without a culture. In The Fountain first vignette, Thomas discovers the path to enlightenment through the sword, through raw unraveled determination, in the interests of love. But as it unravels, it consumes him, the maddening price of being confronted with absolute knowledge with no means of being able to understand it. A television in ancient Greece. Hence, the woods subsume his body and he becomes one with nature. In the final vignette, after having been reborn time and time again, he discovers the cure for his spiritual ailment, the culmination of his pursuits, a moment of divinity, of temporal transcendency. Consequently, his reality’s implode like those of the Phoenix or Quetzalcoatl, the tortoise having reached the end of the race, and won, the ethical divinely embracing the political. For a beautiful moment, an instance of knowledge, Apollonian reason and Dionysian hearts.
Thinking and beating together.
Casino Royale
As a child James Bond films were the best. Bond after Bond after Bond, he kept winning, outwitting and defeating villain after villain, nemesis after nemesis, until their was nothing left but Pierce Brosnan. By which time I'd grown critical. I really tried to enjoy those films, tried hard, terribly unqualified for my job yet still at work givin’ my all everyday; but it simply couldn't happen. Those films capital Sucked, hold the bacon, and pretty much ruined the franchise for me. That and becoming critically aware of the rampant imperialistic misogyny within its subnarrative.
Nevertheless, David Craig is an excellent Bond and Casino Royale's well crafted. I'm not sure if it's Craig's gritty working class edge (that immediately distinguishes him from Brosnan's pretentious aristocratic qualities), the quick witty dialogue, the fact that this is one of the only Bond films where Bond is permitted a license to display some humanity, or his charming, enticing smile, but Craig's got what it takes to play Bond and may just be able to bring some respectability back to the franchise. The scene where he's tortured allows him to display a degree of emotion never reached by Sean Connery or Roger Moore. Damned intense. The intensity is magnified by Mads Mikkelsen's chilling portrait of Le Chiffre, one of the only Bond villains to lose his agency half way through the film, adding a surprisingly human quality to his character. Le Chiffre quaintly tortures Bond after having lost everything to his resilient rival, filling the scene with that raw kind of cornered-wild-animal charisma that few get the chance to revel within.
Other interesting moments: Bond relishes in his womanizing only to be reprimanded narratively later on after one of his conquests ends up in a body bag. Morality within Bond? Editing used to display meaning within Bond? A direct critique of womanizing within director Martin Campbell's text? Also effective is the scene where Bond's honest love interest is found crying in the shower, unable to deal with his hardboiled realities, only to be comforted by Bond, once again displaying emotions his character is generally denied. We also learn how he came up with his signature drink and see him lounging throughout Venice in a moment that takes us back to the closing scenes of From Russia with Love. Tight paced acute action throughout intermingled with human beings attaining superhuman heights, with more of a focus on character than flesh.
But come on! How can M miss the cold war if this film takes place before Dr. No? How can Felix Leiter be walking? It’s nice to see him again, but it doesn't make any sense. I love seeing Judi Dench play M but how can she fill the pre-Dr. No and post-Die Another Day roles unless M isn't only a designation managed by one individual but is in fact maintained by several people, working unbeknownst as to the identities of the others?
Okay. Enough said. Don't know what more to say. It’s taken us 21 films to finally get to know why Bond is the way he is, and now, in the end, which is the beginning, the question remains regarding whether or not the exposed version of Bond will be as popular as his predecessors, a different version of my theory that if the Leafs finally win the Stanley Cup, everyone in Toronto won't know what to do, and may stop attending games; hence it’s in management's best interests to never win the Cup, so that their profitable pattern is never interrupted (in the same way your partner loses interest in you once you provide answers to the questions you stubbornly refused to answer before: your partner will likely know the answer already but appreciate playing fantasy with you throughout the years as you pretend to contain a clandestine dimension to your thoroughly penetrated personality; hence, if you spoil the fantasy with reality, the mythology governing your relationship comes crashing down).
It’s likely that Bond films will continue to make millions of dollars, the Leafs will continue to sell tickets after winning the Stanley Cup, and you and your partner will find different fantasies to embrace after unravelling your romantic dreamscape, adapting, researching, growing.
Nevertheless, David Craig is an excellent Bond and Casino Royale's well crafted. I'm not sure if it's Craig's gritty working class edge (that immediately distinguishes him from Brosnan's pretentious aristocratic qualities), the quick witty dialogue, the fact that this is one of the only Bond films where Bond is permitted a license to display some humanity, or his charming, enticing smile, but Craig's got what it takes to play Bond and may just be able to bring some respectability back to the franchise. The scene where he's tortured allows him to display a degree of emotion never reached by Sean Connery or Roger Moore. Damned intense. The intensity is magnified by Mads Mikkelsen's chilling portrait of Le Chiffre, one of the only Bond villains to lose his agency half way through the film, adding a surprisingly human quality to his character. Le Chiffre quaintly tortures Bond after having lost everything to his resilient rival, filling the scene with that raw kind of cornered-wild-animal charisma that few get the chance to revel within.
Other interesting moments: Bond relishes in his womanizing only to be reprimanded narratively later on after one of his conquests ends up in a body bag. Morality within Bond? Editing used to display meaning within Bond? A direct critique of womanizing within director Martin Campbell's text? Also effective is the scene where Bond's honest love interest is found crying in the shower, unable to deal with his hardboiled realities, only to be comforted by Bond, once again displaying emotions his character is generally denied. We also learn how he came up with his signature drink and see him lounging throughout Venice in a moment that takes us back to the closing scenes of From Russia with Love. Tight paced acute action throughout intermingled with human beings attaining superhuman heights, with more of a focus on character than flesh.
But come on! How can M miss the cold war if this film takes place before Dr. No? How can Felix Leiter be walking? It’s nice to see him again, but it doesn't make any sense. I love seeing Judi Dench play M but how can she fill the pre-Dr. No and post-Die Another Day roles unless M isn't only a designation managed by one individual but is in fact maintained by several people, working unbeknownst as to the identities of the others?
Okay. Enough said. Don't know what more to say. It’s taken us 21 films to finally get to know why Bond is the way he is, and now, in the end, which is the beginning, the question remains regarding whether or not the exposed version of Bond will be as popular as his predecessors, a different version of my theory that if the Leafs finally win the Stanley Cup, everyone in Toronto won't know what to do, and may stop attending games; hence it’s in management's best interests to never win the Cup, so that their profitable pattern is never interrupted (in the same way your partner loses interest in you once you provide answers to the questions you stubbornly refused to answer before: your partner will likely know the answer already but appreciate playing fantasy with you throughout the years as you pretend to contain a clandestine dimension to your thoroughly penetrated personality; hence, if you spoil the fantasy with reality, the mythology governing your relationship comes crashing down).
It’s likely that Bond films will continue to make millions of dollars, the Leafs will continue to sell tickets after winning the Stanley Cup, and you and your partner will find different fantasies to embrace after unravelling your romantic dreamscape, adapting, researching, growing.
Keeping Mum
I certainly hate being a nice person. You're constantly turning the other cheek when jerks take advantage of you, and you get screwed over on a regular basis (until you join some kind of secret organization that grants you safe passage through the art of nepotism). Yup, bein' nice ain't pretty without some kind of supportive underground institution at your back, which is something Grace Hawkins' doesn’t possess during the opening moments of Niall Johnson's new black comedy Keeping Mum. We are introduced to Grace's delightfully polite persona riding a train through the quaint English countryside after having hacked her husband and his mistress to pieces. Convicted of manslaughter, and lacking the direct saving graces of a powerful nepository, she is indirectly saved by being sent to a mental institution. At this point, the stage is set for some tightly paced relatively anti-climatic Mary Poppins pastiching, complete with a supporting role by one Patrick Swayze.
The Goodfellow family consists of a number of somewhat troubled people confronting the vicious polarity established between desire and reason. Reverend Walter (Rowan Atkinson) is so caught up with mundane minutia that he's been neglecting his wife Gloria (Kristin Scott Thomas) for some time. His distracted, clumsy, scholarly nature is highlighted symbolically during his first scene, when his wife attempts to schedule an intimate appointment. Instead of responding energetically, Walter haplessly stares out through the small kitchen window, our severed image of his person highlighting his skewed conjugal perceptions.
The Goodfellow family interacts together as best they can until Grace Hawkins (Maggie Smith) lands in their midst, dispensing advice and neighbours with a commensurate degree of clandestine clarity.
It's a bit strange, with plenty of potent punishment, love, strong family bonding, romance, and a nasty speedo. The ending's like a toned down version of Cronenberg's Shivers or Polanski's Macbeth, and look for a cameo from James Booth, aka, Ernie Niles from Twin Peaks.
The Goodfellow family consists of a number of somewhat troubled people confronting the vicious polarity established between desire and reason. Reverend Walter (Rowan Atkinson) is so caught up with mundane minutia that he's been neglecting his wife Gloria (Kristin Scott Thomas) for some time. His distracted, clumsy, scholarly nature is highlighted symbolically during his first scene, when his wife attempts to schedule an intimate appointment. Instead of responding energetically, Walter haplessly stares out through the small kitchen window, our severed image of his person highlighting his skewed conjugal perceptions.
The Goodfellow family interacts together as best they can until Grace Hawkins (Maggie Smith) lands in their midst, dispensing advice and neighbours with a commensurate degree of clandestine clarity.
It's a bit strange, with plenty of potent punishment, love, strong family bonding, romance, and a nasty speedo. The ending's like a toned down version of Cronenberg's Shivers or Polanski's Macbeth, and look for a cameo from James Booth, aka, Ernie Niles from Twin Peaks.
The Last King of Scotland
Enjoyed Kevin MacDonald's The Last King of Scotland. Can't go to in-depth at this point, but I will point out that it’s nice to see a film that displays the exceptional acting talents of both Gillian Anderson and Forest Whitaker. I haven't seen Anderson in anything since the X-Files ended, and her brief role within The Last King demonstrates her diversity. Always great to see an actor who has been slotted into a particular role for over a decade provide us with a performance that helps to completely redefine their image (similar to Brad Dourif within Deadwood). The same can be said for Whitaker's performance which is brilliantly mad and creepy. I've been a Whitaker backer since The Crying Game and it’s great to see his voracious appetite for new levels of achievement on full display within. He provides a chilling portrait of a tyrant, a gripping encounter with the tragically political, and an unsettlingly clear view of a translucent megalomaniac, like Brando in Apocalyse Now, or those guys who played The Kray Brothers in The Krays.
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