Modium's Movie Blog

crisp filmy - 3 weeks of Metal Gear!

2008-06-22T22:50:00.000-04:00

The Big Steal (1949) - 5/5

Logan's Run (1976) - 4/5

A Bridge Too Far (1977) - 3/5

The Longest Day (1962) - 4/5

Hangmen Also Die! (1943) - 5/5

Blast of Silence (1961) - 4/5

Pierrot le Fou (1965) - 1/5

On the Beach (1959) - 2/5

Classe Tous Risques (1960) - 5/5

American Gangster (2007) - 3/5

crisp filmy - Week of 5/26/08

2008-06-01T22:27:00.000-04:00

Gone Baby Gone (2007) - 5/5

Walker (1987) - 1/5

Rivers and Tides (2001) - 5/5

Five (1951) - 3/5

I'm Not There (2007) - 2/5

The Naked Prey (1966) - 3/5

Mafioso (1962) - 5/5

crisp filmy - Weeks of 5/12/08 & 5/19/08

2008-05-27T16:59:00.001-04:00

Illegal (1955) - 3/5 -

Long Day's Journey Into Night (1962) - 5/5

3-Iron (2004) - 5/5

Youth Without Youth (2007) - 3/5

The Blair Witch Project (1999) - 5/5

Eastern Promises (2007) - 5/5 -

I Am Legend (2007) - 1/5

Stranger Than Paradise (1984) - 5/5

Once (2006) - 2/5

Harsh Times (2005) - 3/5

Miss Julie (1951) - 4/5

crisp filmy - Week of 5/5/08

2008-05-14T00:49:00.000-04:00

Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1970) - 2/5 - I just cannot figure this one out. A large part of me believes that Roger Ebert is too smart and has too much film knowledge to knowingly make something this bad. It's a completely stupid movie and offers almost nothing rewarding, but at the same time, I can't help but wonder if it's some big inside joke that 99.99% of viewers won't get. I sort of enjoyed the nonsensical dialogue in spots and the sheer feeling of wondering what the hell I'm watching. But, other than that, nobody needs me to tell them what makes this thing suck so much.

Shadow of Forgotten Ancestors (1964) - 5/5 - Well, talk about an unconventional film. This is one of those rare films that seems to just re-invent cinematic language as it sees fit and yet seems to be have been largely ignored. Everything in Paradjanov's film seems unorthodox; the camera seems to pan and careen at extreme angles, framing the action in strange and beautiful ways, the Hutsul music makes everything sound so foreign and abstract, the camera lingers on odd moments, cutting whenever you least expect it. It's amazing that it all works so well, or perhaps it's because everything is so strange that it makes such a compelling whole. Sometimes, the film reminds me of Tarkovsky because I find myself entranced by the most normal, seemingly benign moments (the simple camera movements in a minor scene where a young boy and girl jump into a river is breathtaking). But, Paradjanov's closest cinematic kin seems to be Werner Herzog, to me. Both men present their art in a unique cinematic language that's unmistakable, finding beauty and truth in their own-off kilter worlds.

Two-Lane Blacktop (1971) - 4/5 - For so long, I thought this was just another one of those counter-culture drag-racing/road movies, so I was a bit surprised that it's actually a languid existential character study...sort of. For the most part, it works very well. The atmosphere is there, you get into its rhythm as you begin to feel like you're a part of this odyssey across Route 66. You admire the scenery as you hear the engines roar. But, sometime in the second half, I really started to lose interest. The focus seems to shift more towards the threadbare plot and away from the atmosphere and characterization. Unfortunately, most of the American movies from this era seem to be poorly dated, never really achieving that timeless feel of the true classics.

Pulse (2001) - 4/5 - Pulse/Kairo is a great example of how expectations can shape a first viewing. I'd heard a lot of raves about this terrifying Japanese horror film, only to discover it's anything but. I remember watching it, being bored, being confused, not feeling anything and, ultimately, not caring. I'd read a few pieces after returning the disc, realizing it's more of a meditation on loneliness and alienation than a straight horror movie. That said, I still ultimately thought it was just a bore. But, time went by (a lot of time, actually) and I felt the strange urge to see it again. I read more about it, here and there, and the themes started to click with me, so I gave it another rent.

The atmosphere is amazing. Knowing what to expect, understanding it and getting on the same wavelength, I found myself completely lost in the film's rhythm. Oddly enough, watching the movie this time was unsettling and left me petrified at moments. Once again, this shows that film is primarily based on feeling and emotion. The feelings of dread were based on the mood and more what the film suggested rather than showed. It does feel a bit slow in parts and leaves you feeling a bit lost and confused (not to mention hopeless and desperate), but I think that's the film's intent, anyway.

Repulsion (1965) - 5/5 - This UK import disc has been on my shelf for over a year, because that's just how I roll (I guess). The right moment came and I was just blown away, of course. Never before have I seen such a subjective film. It's shocking, unsettling, surreal and brilliant. The abstract visuals and sound work in perfect harmony, like the important stretches of silence, for example. There's one amazing moment where Carol walks down a hallway and the camera follows her at a much slower pace, then rockets towards her as she opens the door and just stops in place as she does- it's incredibly effective. There's not much else to say that hasn't been said before, it's just great and I'm glad I finally got around to experiencing it.

The X-Files (1998) - 4/5 - Feels like a few episodes from the best runs of the show, which is a very good thing. Lots of intrigue and thrills with quite a bit of fan service. A lot of what makes the show great and very little of what brings it down.

Cruel Story of Youth (1960) - 4/5 - I really kept going back and forth while watching this. The whole film seems to lack a sort of cohesion, not uncommon for films of the era. A few times, the cinematography looked excellent and I loved the details that Takashi Kawamata's camera picks up, but most of the time, it struck me as very bland and flat, lacking color and not making much good use of the 2.35:1 frame. The story starts out a bit slow and lackluster, but I found myself more fascinated as time went on and as the story got more tragic. I actually found that I liked the character or Makoto's sister the most, full of longing and discontent but continuing to struggle silently in the background of the film and society. I suppose Kiyoshi is one of cinema's great conflicted figures, though it is a bit excessive; for the most part, I have no idea why he did or said what he did, in any case.

The Siege (1998) - 3/5 - I was reading about Melville's Army of Shadows recently and never truly realized how powerful the opening images of the German troops marching down Champs-Élysées were for French audiences at the time. I suppose The Siege has that same sort of effect, it's quite a sight to see the mass of Army troops stationed in New York City during the film. Actually, there's a lot to like about the film, it explores a lot of great ideas regarding the nature of terrorism itself and the methods use to counter it. I hadn't noticed his name before the film, but Roger Deakins did the cinematography and it really shines when given the chance. Unfortunately, the whole film is clearly a product of the Hollywood system, so the whole thing loses a lot of the creative promise shown in parts. The plot is very trite and predictable, with all of the trademark 'twists-and-turns' intact and none of the performances go beyond what's expected of a modern thriller, which is a shame, because it feels like it could have been so much more.

Favorite Films - New and Revised!

2007-06-21T23:47:00.001-04:00

So, in case someone stumbles upon this and wants to know me a little better, here's my ~~32 39~~ 35 favorite films, in alphabetical order.

8 1/2 - Federico Fellini (1963)
The 400 Blows - Francois Truffaut (1959)
Annie Hall - Woody Allen (1977)
Apocalypse Now - Francis Ford Coppola (1979)
Bicycle Thieves - Vittorio De Sica (1948)
Breaking the Waves - Lars von Trier (1996)
Bringing Up Baby - Howard Hawks (1938)
Casablanca - Michael Curtiz (1942)
Clockwork Orange - Stanley Kubrick (1971)
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind - Michel Gondry (2004)
Fanny and Alexander - Ingmar Bergman (1982)
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Terry Gilliam (1998)
Fight Club - David Fincher (1999)
Finding Nemo - Andrew Stanton, Lee Unkrich (2003)
Goodfellas - Martin Scorsese (1990)
Grizzly Man - Werner Herzog (2005)
Hedwig and the Angry Inch - John Cameron Mitchell (2001)
Ikiru - Akira Kurosawa (1952)
Kill Bill - Quentin Tarantino (2003/2004)
The Lady Vanishes - Alfred Hitchcock (1938)
A League of Their Own - Penny Marshall (1992)
The Mirror - Andrei Tarkovsky (1975)
My Life as a Dog - Lasse Hallstrom (1985)
Naked - Mike Leigh (1993)
Notorious - Alfred Hitchcock (1946)
Raging Bull - Martin Scorsese (1980)
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937)
Stalker - Andrei Tarkovsky (1979)
La Strada - Federico Fellini (1954)
Taxi Driver - Martin Scorsese (1976)
Le Trou - Jacques Becker (1960)
True Romance - Tony Scott (1993)
Werckmeister Harmonies - Bela Tarr (2000)
Whisper of the Heart - Yoshifumi Kondo (1995)
Wild Strawberries - Ingmar Bergman (1957)

Gates of Heaven (1978)

2007-02-27T02:51:00.000-05:00

Gates of Heaven (1978)

If you remember, over a year ago I posted my thoughts on a few works by documentary filmmaker Errol Morris. I've been in a cinema funk lately, which explains my lack of posts, but I thought it'd be interesting to revisit some of these films now and capture my thoughts on them.

Gates of Heaven should be a simple movie. A man opens up a pet cemetery, which has its own ups and downs. Halfway through Morris profiles another man who owns a pet cemetery and maintains it along with his sons. Interviews with pet owners are interspersed throughout. Yet, in Morris' hands, something so easy and safe becomes so much more, which is a testament to the power of cinema and moreover, the documentary.

On a basic level, the movie frustrates me to no end. In more than 20 years of watching movies, I've become accustomed to easy answers, and I think we all have. Even a lot of the masters of cinema make their films this way without even thinking. Seeing as how the majority of people would see film not as an artform but as entertainment, this isn't a truly bad thing. Even for others, film does hold that innate quality that makes it an easy escape, and a lot of films are so much better being just that. But Gates of Heaven, like all of Errol Morris' work, doesn't do the work for you, doesn't lay everything on the table, doesn't hold your hand and guide you. It would be easy for him to shoot a scene and say "okay, here's a character and here's what they say, which makes you feel this way and makes you think this" and leave it at that. Cinema in the hands of Morris retains its basic neutrality and presents the subjects and events in a frank and unadorned manner, leaving the viewer to think his own thoughts and feel his own emotions.

While part of my brain rejects this approach, another part is stimulated like it never has been before and immediately goes to work. On a basic emotional level, this results in confusion, frustration and apathy. It leaves me with a feeling that the work is incomplete, that it doesn't do its job. Of course, it takes little thought to realize that those immediate emotion betray and that if anything, Gates of Heaven does its job far too well.

Morris leaves any judgement in the hands of his viewers, which can potentially be disastrous. But, for his films, this works perfectly and is the idea that the rest of the work hangs upon. In Gates of Heaven, I see characters so real and true, like I've rarely seen in cinema, even most documentaries. Look at Cal Harberts and his two sons, Danny and Philip. Philip is older and seems to be an overachiever, motivational tidbits falling out of his mouth as he sits surrounded by his trophies. Yet, we cannot fault him. Danny strikes me as more of an outcast, he prefers to spend his time playing guitar, watching television and learning as much as he can about his trade. And yet, we cannot fault him. Even though we don't see them together or hear them talk much about each other, we know they are brothers, we instantly see their dynamic. This only emerges from Morris' simple, respectful portraits.

If I needed an underlying theme to tie it all together, I would choose the idea of pets, obviously. Seeing the few pet owners interviewed is tragic, silly and heartbreaking all at once. It's easy to laugh at the whole concept, but the movie forces you to think about animals, about pets, maybe about your own pets and forces you to realize how much you actually care for them. This ties you to these people and if you didn't identify with them before, you definitely do now.

I know Roger Ebert is an ecstatic fan of Gates of Heaven, so I've been looking up his writings on the film. Given that Gates of Heaven offers no easy answers, it makes perfect sense to see it on his Sight & Sound choices alongside another notoriously infuriating film, 2001:A Space Odyssey.

Merry Christmas to Luke - 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

2006-12-07T21:51:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas to Luke - 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

This is a new idea I have. Rather than (or sometimes, in addition to) giving something store-bought and material as a gift for the holidays, it's much better to give somebody a personalized blog about their film of choice. I could think of nobody better to inaugurate this little tradition than Monsieur Luke, my filmic partner-in-crime.

When I was a budding cinephile, I devoured Kubrick, cutting my teeth on a Clockwork Orange and becoming entranced by the Shining. When I picked up 2001 from Blockbuster, my mom gave me a stern warning- it was the worst movie she'd ever seen. Maybe that influenced me, but I couldn't help but agree. I liked the stuff with the monkeys, but everything after that put me to sleep and I never finished it. I rented the DVD again a couple years later, thinking maybe I wasn't ready for it. I made it to the end this time, and actually enjoyed it, but still thought that half of the movie could have been cut to make it much better (something I hate admitting that I actually thought about any movie). I even bought the DVD when it was on sale to try to complete my Kubrick collection, but that was that. At least, until ~~the monolith~~ Luke appeared. For months, and years, he begged me to see it again, seeing as how it was his favorite film of all-time and I never remembered enough to discuss it with him.

I'm surprised that my feelings on the film overall haven't changed much, although like anything, I can realize a lot more and get a lot more out of it now that I'm older. I love the first act, and the Jupiter Mission onward is almost all incredible. Unfortunately, between the primates and HAL does little other than to bore me out of my mind. It's not all bad, since it sets up this elaborate and detailed vision of the future and contains all the exposition in the entire 140+ minute film. But, the whole thing just seems dull and lifeless. I don't really care about anything anybody says, and the whole thing just seems so detatched and uninteresting.

But, all is not lost, because the surrounding reels are simply great. Of course it starts with the Dawn of Man, although still just a primate. We see what life must have been like for these early humanoids in stunning detail, which is what Kubrick does best. The magic of this part of the film is due to the ambition and creativity of Kubrick's vision and how he orchestrates it. We never see any close-ups, which hides any shortcomings the excellent costumes and makeup might have exhibited. Also, this gives us an excellent view of the landscape, and it's just so aesthetically pleasing. Even in 1968, I wonder how they managed to find such purity on Earth. So, this giant black monolith appears before the monkeys, and this is where the film gets really magical. Each appearance of the black slab is accompanied by this eerie vocalization, usually reserved for..well, I can't imagine what else it could ever be used for. But, it sends chills up and down my spine and makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

After the monolith appears, one of the apes picks up a bone and goes wild with it, eventually killing off one of his brethren. Now, this brings us to the first major impasse in the film. The monolith is linked to human progress, so our first major progress in the film is learning to use tools and, subsequently, killing one another. Now, is this supposed to mean that we can only make progress through murder? But, as we've seen, the apes fought and killed one another before the monolith and before tools. So, instead, is this just something built into us, a flaw that's uniquely human?

Later, we find ourselves aboard the Discovery on mission to Jupiter, but nobody really knows why. Conveniently, the ship comes equipped with the most advanced computer yet, the HAL 9000, capable of mimicking human emotions and incapable of error. HAL goes a little crazy and the two cognizant passengers decide to disconnect him. In one of the most famous sequences in cinema, HAL learns of this by reading lips, which they should have totally seen coming. HAL kills them all, but can't keep a good Dave down, as he finally shuts down HAL and learns the 'why' of his mission- to investigate a signal sent from the monolith they unearthed on the Moon (see: exposition). Then, uh, some stuff happens.

The one thing that mostly everybody can agree with, in regards to 2001, is the technical mastery that Kubrick exhibits. Each shot and scene is done to perfection. His infamous attention to detail is also on display in every single aspect of the film. The models used in the outer-space photography are really incredible; there's not a flaw to be seen. Nearly 40 years later, they still look far better than anything modern technology can come up with, and I'm sure they will 40 years from now. Not only is it a technical masterpiece, but an artistic one, and a distinction must surely be drawn between the two. Kubrick lets nothing get between him and expressing his grand vision here. And thank Stan for that.

In keeping with Kubrick's attention to the little details, some of the biggest delights with 2001 lie in the little things. Stan could definitely create an atmosphere like no other, in more ways than one. In the scene where HAL locks Dave out of the ship, the sense of panic is very palpable, it's easy for one's muscles to tighten while watching it. I love the editing when the primate first picks up the bone in the beginning, the way it cuts between the triumph and the violence. But, Kubrick's moments are also like no others because nobody else does things anything like him. Take, for instance, the appearances of the monolith or the 'tunnel' towards the end. I've found that I feel so much at times like that; Terror, serenity, trepidation, hope, elation, triumph. I think that, because a lot of the film (and a lot of Kubrick's other films) feels so distant that this eruption of so many conflicting emotions can easily be confused with lack thereof.

As for the analyzation and meaning of the film, I still have no clue. There are a million different ideas I could branch out on, as evidenced by the hundreds of analyses and a cursory glance at a message board like 2001's on IMDb. As Roger Ebert said, 2001 isn't an easy film, it doesn't tell you what to think or how to feel, which, to me, represents something that is sorely needed in cinema. Sometimes, even most of the times, it's better to escape into a movie, to feel the ups and downs, like a rollercoaster, and come out unchanged. But, sometimes it's an utter necessity to have a film like 2001 to inspire thought and inspire those emotions and ideas that can't be put into words.

In the end, I still don't know that 2001 means. I'm sure that it does mean something, because it's far too important not to. Watching it, those wordless secrets of the cinema creep into your skin that let you know that this is something special, something worthy of your attention and thoughts. To give an easy answer would be a cop-out, it'd be against anything and everything that the film itself stands for. I've kept myself and my ideas on the film 'fresh' in order to write this, but I really can't wait to dive into ideas, analyses and discussions about it. I feel like the message is inside of a locked room that I don't quite have the key to. But, what's inside that room is important, it's essential.

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Part 4: The Virgin Spring

2006-12-02T00:20:00.000-05:00

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Part 4: The Virgin Spring

The Virgin Spring is just such a rich film. There's so much going on there to focus on. Technically, you've got Nykvist doing his thing (see below), Bergman's always-sublime direction, great acting all around (Sydow, of course, Birgitta Pettersson, Gunnel Lindblom, the herdsmen, not to mention the boy, who turns in one of the best, most nuanced child performances ever), the sparse but evocative music by Bergman regular Erik Nordgren. Then, you realize that, not only does the film tell a great story, full of details and well-developed characters, but it just gives you so much to think about. Bergman presents a complete world, encapsulated in 89 scant minutes, a world that seems to be in contention with itself; Christianity and paganism, purity and filth, pleasure and horror, guilt and redemption, good and evil, Heaven and Hell.

This was Nykvist's first collaboration with Bergman, aside from some minor work on Sawdust and Tinsel, but you wouldn't know it. From the start, the two men moved with such conviction and boldness that it seemed like they were brought together by destiny. He captures Bergman's world in conflict so elegantly that it's impossible to imagine the scenes being shot any other way. His lighting reflects the conflict in the film; there are many contrasts between light and dark, the natural and the baroque, the beautiful and the ugly. Just look at the expressions on the characters' faces here, all stripped bare, right down to their very soul. Yes, Nykvist as the master.

"...we are both utterly captivated by the problems of light, the gentle, dangerous, dreamlike, living, dead, clear, misty, hot, violent, bare, sudden, dark, springlike, falling, straight, slanting, sensual, subdued, limited, poisonous, calming, pale light. Light." - Ingmar Bergman on Sven Nykvist

Modium goes region free!

2006-11-27T21:24:00.000-05:00

UK DVDs courtesy of Amazon.co.uk (even though I paid for them). Veronique is obviously Region 1, but who can resist photographing something with Irene Jacob on it?

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Part 3: Crimes and Misdemeanors

2006-11-21T21:17:00.000-05:00

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Part 3: Crimes and Misdemeanors

Crimes and Misdemeanors has always been one of my favorite Woodys. I remember after I'd seen Match Point in theaters, I thought it covered a lot of the same ground that he'd traversed earlier in this film. But, watching it again, I see that Match Point has absolutely nothing on Crimes and Misdemeanors. It does one of the best things that a film can do; it explores ideas. Even better, it gives your mind enough of a kick-start to wander off on its own and give you plenty more to think about for days after the credits roll. It's a contemplation on the very ideas of crime and punishment (sup Dostoevsky) and the things that go along. Not only is it deep, but in the segments which Woody cast himself in, it's funny and touching. Not to mention, it's easily his most cynical work. Essentially, the rich, well-to-do upper class are able to get away with murder, meanwhile, those who can't catch a break are stripped of everything they care about and any dreams they may have. Yeah, I can see why I dig it.

It's always interesting to compare Nykvist's Bergman films with those he did with other directors. Not because they're inferior necessarily, but because the two men and their work are intrinsically linked. But, I think it speaks for Sven's talent that you never think of Bergman while watching one of his non-Bergman projects. In this film, his camera adapts to Allen's style, you can see it elegantly swooping and gliding around the environments, seeking out the point that will ensure the maximum emotional impact. And, of course, his lighting brings out some of the most genuinely moving moments in any of Allen's films (this also goes for Another Woman, which I actually enjoy more). Like I said, nobody could coax feeling out of a human face like Sven Nykvist.

The Departed (2006)

2006-10-11T18:41:00.000-04:00

The Departed (2006)

Luke called it a cinematic blessing. He couldn't have been more correct. Yet another cinematic blessing from Martin Scorsese, the patron saint of cinema.

I don't think Scorsese has ever exhibited such bravado in his staging. The film grabs you from the start and doesn't let go. The camera swings around, pans down long tables and bar counters, all for the film. Even the slower scenes have a frenzied undercurrent running through them; the opening scenes place Costello completely in the dark, until he steps forward to finally utter the tagline, "When you're facing a loaded gun, what's the difference?" It's a relentless assault on our emotions that we'll gladly take anytime. Thelma Schoonmaker has always been one of the best, and her editing here is breathless; scenes overlap, slide on top of one another, and finally, slam into place.

The opening title doesn't appear until the end of the first reel. The first 20 minutes are an exquisite setup; this scene is the KO suckerpunch. The two thumps from I'm Shipping Up to Boston by DKM slam down like mortar fire, the white-on-black title flickers across the screen, Sullivan soars while Costigan begins his descent, the camera pans slowly across the penitentiary. It could just be the thrill of a theatrical screening talking, but this is one of the best scenes in film history. It's certainly one of the most intense, and it shows how perfectly the elements of cinema can be blended to create pure emotion. The plot, the already-well-defined characters, the cinematography, the editing, the use of music, it can all come together to form pure poetry. It's intense and overwhelming and it puts you right where Marty wants you.

Speaking of the music, Exiled once mentioned the Constant-Jukebox effect in Scorsese's films. He'd be happy to know that there's not much of that in The Departed. I could only remember 3 off the top of my head, but I'm sure there weren't many more than that. Gimme Shelter is one of Marty's standbys, and it's used to set the same kind of mood. It's not bad, it's just more of the same. Like I mentioned before, I'm Shipping Up to Boston is used to amazing effect. It's played over the title card and again later in the film as Costello and co. speed down the highway. It reminds me of the opening episode of The Shield, where Kid Rock's Bawitdaba is played before a big bust. Both aren't particularly good songs, I don't even really like them, but when used to the right effect, they can really pump you up and establish the perfect mood for a scene.

Talking about the use of music brings me to another point: the doubling. Kind of like what I discussed in Persona, there's a lot of duality in the picture. The two main pieces of music are both played in the beginning of the film, then repeated later on. There are two father-figures in the film, and both exert influence over Sullivan and Costigan. There's the wonderful scene late in the film where Sullivan calls Costigan's number, and they stay on the phone, silently, as the film cuts between them as they stay in the same spot in the frame. It makes perfect sense, as it's a story all about doubles; these are two men, both leading two lives (duh).

The acting, as everybody on the planet has said, is phenomenal. I don't think there's anybody here who didn't turn in the performance of their career in the film. As great as everybody is, the one who rises to the top is Leonardo DiCaprio. You can see it in his eyes from the very beginning, this is a man who is tortured even before the assignment. As he gets deeper and deeper into his double life, you can see it taking its toll on his soul. Of course, he has to maintain his cover at all times, because if he wavers for even a moment, he's dead. He really sells the danger that this assignment brings him. It really takes a huge talent to pull off a role with this many layers, and DiCaprio does an amazing job. Another standout is Martin Sheen. I really felt a pang of sadness when he died, and later on, my mom told me that she did as well. This is one of the more abstract assets that The Departed has in comparison to Infernal Affairs. As Americans, we've kind of grown up with Martin Sheen, we saw him way back when in Apocalypse Now, and we've since seen him stoic yet charismatic as President Bartlett on The West Wing. Before he even opens his mouth in the film, we already see him as a familiar presence, a grandfatherly type. Really makes you wonder what you miss out on when you see movies from other countries and time periods.

I honestly don't get filmgoers these days. I remember talking about it in regards to A History of Violence, but it annoyed me again here. I really don't get what's so funny about people getting shot in the face, blood spraying on people, and so on. But, that's just my generation, I suppose. I found the violence even more unexpected and horrific than anything Scorsese has done before. It's startling and brutal, the way all violence should really be portrayed.

Of course, it's a testament to the film's power that it didn't really get to me. I remember when the Warner Bros. logo came up on the screen, I was annoyed by the people chattering all around me. Not more than 60 seconds later, everything else faded away, and I nearly forgot all about everything outside of South Boston for 150 minutes. Really, can you ask for anything else from a movie?

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Day 2: Persona

2006-09-23T17:20:00.000-04:00

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Day 2: Persona

I've seen Persona 3 or 4 times, and it always has an amazing effect on me; every time, it feels completely new, as if I'm seeing it for the very first time. The most avant-garde of Bergman's films, Persona both defies and begs for explanation and analysis. From the opening frames, it calls attention to itself and announces that it won't play on the level, and it won't conform to any of the ideas about cinema that we've come to know and expect. Call it a dream, call it a hallucination, call it stylized, call it an allegory, call it art. One thing's for sure; this is not reality- this is pure film.

Persona is both Bergman and Nykvist at the heights of their creativity. This is one of the few films where Nykvist's camera calls attention to itself, but that's because it's completely necessary in the film. Everything here is stylized and like nothing we've ever seen before, or since. All throughout it, there's an uneasy feeling that attacks your senses and ensures that your mind and soul spend 83 minutes in completely uncharted territory.

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Day 1: What's Eating Gilbert Grape

2006-09-20T23:35:00.000-04:00

Sven Nykvist Memorial - Day 1: What's Eating Gilbert Grape

Between this, Chocolat and My Life as a Dog, Lasse Hallstrom has proved himself to be the master of the modern "intimate touching story where seemingly nothing happens, at least not to the casual viewer"-style story. Hallstrom captures the wistful feel of a small town that never was and never will be anything special to passers-by. Gilbert has two closest friends; one's ultimate ambition is to get a job at the new Burger Barn opening, the other works as a mortician and drives a hearse everywhere he goes. What we're seeing here is a prototype for just about every quirky indie-comedy being made today. Unlike most of them, though, What's Eating Gilbert Grape is excellent and genuinely touching.

The film wouldn't have nearly the same amount of power if it weren't for Sven Nykvist's cinematography. What I see here is exemplary of Nykvist's entire career; he elevates a film to emotional and spiritual heights beyond its creators' wildest dreams, while at the same time, almost never calling attention to itself.

Howards End (1992)

2006-09-11T00:14:00.000-04:00

Howards End (1992)

My buddy Luke saw Howards End and wasn't a fan. Since it was his first Merchant Ivory, I decided I'd make it mine too. When I told him I loved it, he called me crazy and demanded that I explain myself.

The film starts out a bit slow. There's some kind of debacle involving Helen and one of the upper-crust Wilcox boys that kind of disgraces her or something, I don't know. It gets a bit more interesting when she meets Leonard Bast. We get to observe the class structure at work, and there is an awful lot of life in these early scenes with Helen and Margaret. Things don't really get great, though, until Vanessa Redgrave's Ruth comes into the picture. The scene where she and Margaret talk is beautiful and full of poignancy. It's here that we first get to see a slice of great acting, both Redgrave and Emma Thompson are sublime here. This is the first time we've seen somebody seem to actually show emotion, as Ruth discusses how much Howards End means to her. She's such a great character, and we feel genuinely sad when she's gone. I love the dinner scene, where everybody at the table is babbling their inane chatter, but when Ruth begins to speak, everybody quiets down and listens. Not just because she's the elderly matriarch and it's what they're supposed to do, but because she's so open and warm, full of wisdom.

As the plot opens up, we begin to notice more of the great acting. Helena Bonham Carter really brings up the film. Essentially, she's the emotional center. She, Leonard, Ruth and, for a while, Margaret are our conduits as an audience. They are the dreamers, the ones who aspire to be and to feel more than society dictates, the tragedy is that, for some of them, their dreams stay dreams. I think that's where the heart of the film is, and where the meaning of Howards End itself lies. Here was this old woman who was such a caring person, and this house signified everything that she wanted and cared about and held dear. She meets another person like her in Margaret, and leaves her the house, hoping that it will mean as much to her. But, when her family gets wind of this, they decide she must have been mad, or it's some kind of swindle. Surely, one of their own family couldn't give in to their own emotions and put friendship and love above money and status. Margaret does eventually end up with Howards End, in a way, through her marriage to Henry, but it's used as nothing more than furniture storage. We're given a few short glimpses of what could have been when Margaret visits Howards End, like when Helen remarks that the carpet and sword fit perfectly, but Margaret has been changed by her new situation, as evidenced by her distancing away from Helen and the ideas she once held dear.

While there is no villain of course, Anthony Hopkins' Henry comes awfully close. He gives a very brutal performance, yet never lays a hand on anybody. It's rare that a character is created that you can really despise and find truly despicable. It's great how you can see Anthony Hopkins screwing everybody else over and just being so quiet and oblivious about it.

Of course, the ending is a happy one, about as happy as you could find in early-20th century Britan. Margaret has come to terms with the person she's become and realizes that the things she now has aren't the things that matter most to her. The bond between her and her sister is the strongest thing in the film, and although it wavers, it's strong again at the end of the film. Margaret will stay with Helen at Howards End to raise her child. As the camera pans up to reveal the lush greenery, we see Helen and child playing in the field and we feel a great sense of hope. The baby was created by the two dreamers, and now being raised by the two who seek more out of life. Now, at Howards End, maybe they can raise the child to be just as they are.

crisp filmy - Week of 8/28/06

2006-09-08T23:42:00.000-04:00

The Producers (1968) - 5/5 - The brilliant opening sets the tone perfectly. A wonderfully absurd and hilarious movie.

This Happy Breed (1944) - 3/5 - Brief Encounter is one of my favorite films, but this earlier Lean/Coward film doesn't do much for me. The best part was the technicolor photography; it's great to see 1940's London in all its 'colorful' glory.

Seduced and Abandoned (1964) - 5/5 - One of those great films where you can't wait to see what happens next. Even better, it's usually funny and entertaining. I enjoyed it a lot more than Germi's more popular Divorce, Italian Style. I love these glimpses into the silliness of society, no matter how far removed I am from it.

Asphalt (1929) - 4/5 - One of the better expressionist films I've seen, with a good plot and characters, and of course, gorgeous camerawork.

Deconstructing Harry (1997) - 4/5 - I was really loving this film for the first half or so. It's very, very Bergman-esque, with the artist condemning himself for cannibalizing his own life for art's sake and taking himself to task for all his flaws. Then, it basically just becomes a ripoff of Wild Strawberries, which is pretty annoying.

The Whistler (1944) - 3/5 - Fairly entertaining B-movie. It has such a great setup and premise, but it doesn't really deliver. But, it is short and pretty taut throughout.

To Be or Not To Be (1942) - 4/5 - Carole Lombard was never better nor more lovely than here in her last role. I really liked the way that everybody in the theater has to utilize their acting talents to foil the Nazi plan. Also, it's kind of funny.

The House on Telegraph Hill (1951) - 4/5 - Top-notch noir from Robert Wise. San Fransisco in the 40's and 50's was really a great setting for film noir. The mystery aspect of the film is Hitchcockian and very well done.

La Promesse (1996) - 5/5 - I really love those Dardenne boys. I didn't think this was as good as L'Enfant, but it is excellent. I think their work is kind of reminiscent of Italian Neorealism, because it shows people struggling simply to survive. Usually they have to do something to compromise their own morality and wind up paying the price for it, in many ways. I love this movie.

The Story of Adele H. (1975) - 4/5 - In some ways, it's typical Truffaut. In other ways, it's way out there. The camerawork is gliding and elegant, fairly different from Small Change or the 400 Blows. And yet, this smooth camerawork is capturing such a troubled, quixotic woman. I really didn't expect the story to play out the way it did.

Shane (1953) - 5/5 - A consummate western, filled with great, memorable characters. It, along with High Noon and the Naked Spur, ushered in the age of the psychological western, and it's easy to see why. The only thing that bothered me was that damn kid. I swear, if I had to hear him say "Hey, Shane!" one more time...

Update - 8/14/06, 8/21/06

2006-09-02T00:32:00.000-04:00

I'm trying somehing new. I used to do short write-ups of all the movies I'd seen throughout the week, so I'll try it again, and actually post them here on the blog this time. These are the past two weeks' worth, starting with Mondays, so expect new ones every Monday (hopefully)

8/14/06

Inside Man (2006) - 3/5 - Kind of typical thriller/heist thing rife with plot holes. Solid entertainment, but not too engaging or memorable. I expect more from you, Spike.

Jesus, You Know (2003) - 2/5 - I don't know why the hell I borrowed this. The idea of watching people in confession sounded intriguing, but they just stood there in church, aware of the camera, staring at it, blabbing on about their boring lives. (Hi livejournal!)

The Conformist (1970) - 4/5 - Finally got around to watching Bertolucci's opus (or one of them). First off, the photography is amazing. The colors, the giding camera movements..we need to see this one on DVD soon. The plot was good, I really like the idea of tracing somebody's behaviors back to events from their past. The film's biggest downfall is that it's just so damn European. A lot of it doesn't seem to make any sense and it really needs to be analyzed to be truly appreciated. But, I did like what I saw.

Love in the Afternoon (1972) - 5/5 - Wow. I loved the Rohmers I've seen thus far, but this one takes the cake. It's incredible. A friend lately told me that she saw von Trier's Breaking the Waves and saw something expressed in the film that she'd only she'd felt. I realized that never happens with me, but surprisingly, just happened here. Early on, when Frederic talks about how he feels about women, I kept thinking "wow, I thought I was the only one who felt like that." Even if the rest of the film didn't amount to much, it'd still be remarkable for that. But, of course, it's Rohmer, so it's filled with great characters, great conversation, and that amazing sense of emotional suspense.

Election (1999) - 4/5 - Reese is a revelation here. Her character doesn't really have a lot of depth, but it's more than enough. What pushes it over the top is how expressive she is, and how she follows through with her sublime characterization the whole way through. The story has a nice element of silly absurdity that works well.

Seconds (1966) - 4/5 - Luke made me watch it. Actually, I wonder why I hadn't heard of it before then. Paranoid b&w thriller from Frankenheimer, how could I miss it? It works for quite a while, as you're thrown into this mysterious plot just like Arthur is. Speaking of which, John Randolph does a great job early in the film, you can really see him weighing his options and deciding. About halfway through, when things get really weird, it loses steam, but the ending brings it all together again.

American Movie (1999) - 4/5 - I liked it, but I have a feeling that I laughed at it for all the wrong reasons. I felt like I was laughing at the people, not with them. But, I did get some laughs out of it, and the journey is a fun one to take. Plus, I love that old man. "It's all right! It's okay! There's something to live for! Jesus told me so!"

Brother's Keeper (1992) - 3/5 - I don't know. It wasn't too interesting to me. It was decent enough, but pretty boring.

L'Enfant (2005) - 5/5 - Simple awesome. Rosetta was very good, but the Dardennes have really peaked here. Like with Kerrigan's stuff, you're really thrown into the characters' world immediately. Aside from the story, it seems to be an examination of the differences of gender, how there are certain things men and women simply can't understand about one another. Also, it made me cry at the end.

The Palm Beach Story (1942) - 5/5 - Just a ton of fun from Sturges. Hilarious and outrageous, just how we like 'im. "You can't have a posse without dogs!" Add in some commentary on wealth and sexism and you've got a winner.

Two English Girls (1971) - 4/5 - Nobody can render the bittersweet beauty of young love like Truffaut. It's all so elegant and, well, French. Like the way Claude writes intelligent and emotional thoughts in his journal while his voice reads on the soundtrack about how he longs for girls. I really liked it, although it does suffer from Roche's Disease, like Jules and Jim: his female characters are batshit loco. They change their mind about the most important things on a whim and just go off on these emotional tangents, which drives the men around them crazy. It just annoys me.

A Star is Born (1954) - 4/5 - Pretty good stuff. A bit on the long side at 3 hours, but good throughout. Garland is great here, although I still always think of her as Dorothy. Kind of like My Fair Lady, inasmuch as it's a bloated widescreen film without a single interesting shot. I loved the Someone At Last performance, it's full of energy and joy. When it takes a turn for the melodramatic towards the end, I really enjoyed Judy's performance and her character's devotion.

Buena Vista Social Club (1999) - 3/5 - Very good music and a glimpse at the (subjectively) beautiful streets in Havana. But, if you compare it to something like the Last Waltz, it's so ininspired visually and there's nowhere near enough music.

8/21/06

Love Letters (1945) - 4/5 - I really loved it for the most part, but Jennifer Jones, cute as she may be, drags it down. In some shots, she winds up looking downright bizarre and psychotic, as if she's in an entirely different movie.

Where the Sidewalk Ends (1950) - 5/5 - Another damn fine noir. I really loved the lighting, the way parts of the frame are kept dark to heighten the tension.

A Streetcar Named Desire (1951) - 5/5 - Proof that Tennessee Williams was one of our best dramatists, and Kazan, of course, it incredible with actors. A classic in every sense. I found myself really loving the lighting and set design, both are perfect. You feel the thick New Orleans heat plastering the shirt to Brando's back, and you can see, in this cramped little apartment, there's no easy way out.

Crumb (1994) - 5/5 - A sublime example of what a documentary can and should be. Present a fascinating character, place us into their world and watch the layers unfold. Interesting, funny, poignant, what more can you ask for?

Starman (1984) - 4/5 - So, Johnny can do a semi-romantic drama successfully. The big downside here is how goddamn schmaltzy it gets. I like Jeff Bridges, but give him more to do than be a stereotypical alien and say "I. Send. Greet-ings."

Close-Up (1990) - 4/5 - My second brush with Kiarostami didn't go as bad as the first. I kept going back and forth with this one. I really liked its style- a mixture of documentary and obvious fiction mixed with some obvious truth. I liked the story it has to tell, and there are some moments of greatness. But, it just moves so, so slowly. It's more good than bad, but not great.

Radio Bikini (1987) - 4/5 - It's short, and it grips you from start to finish. And, of course, it's got the big finish.

The World of Apu (1959) - 4/5 - I was really loving it until the turn the plot took about halfway in. I think it has more to do with my not wanting the story to go where it did, which is a credit to Ray's craft. Still, the Apu trilogy is great stuff. It's overall length and scope gives it the feel of an epic story but with a warm, intimate tone.

Shakespeare Behind Bars (2005) - 5/5 - I can't believe it was as good as it was. Like I said about Crumb, just film fascinating stuff. I loved watching the inmates work out the parallels between their situation and Shakespeare's texts. Also, when one inmate we've grown to care for throughout the film admits his crime, I found myself looking away because I didn't want to make eye contact.

Wait Until Dark (1967) - 4/5 - Pretty good, almost run-of-the-mill thriller. I think I have a soft spot for films about people with disabilities, because it's a little more enveloping that way. I have to think "oh, okay, so she can't see that. Oh wait, but he can!" I'm obviously easily amused.

The White Diamond (2004) - 4/5 - Typical of a Herzog documentary, features an obsessive protagonist. It's actually typical standard Herzog fare throughout with some strange detours involving nature and natives. It's no Grizzly Man, but it's worthy.

Valley of the Dolls (1967) - 2/5 - Talk about trash. It's one of my mom's favorite movies, and I started to get into it in the beginning, but it just continually wears down on one's nerves as it goes on. Some parts of it can be taken as unintentional comedy, but not enough.

Steamboat Bill, Jr. (1928) - 4/5 - One thing that really got to me about the General was how much it worked as a drama as well as being a series of gags; during the train sequences, the suspense and thrills flow like wine. Compared to that, Steamboat Bill, Jr. feels a little flat. It's very good, and maybe it's not right of me to detract from the film because another of Keaton's is better, but meh.

War Photographer (2001) - 4/5 - I really expected to love this one, so I ended up mildly disappointed. It's still a very strong doc, and I really liked exploring the photography for myself, within the context of the movie. There's nothing wrong with it at all, it just didn't give me that gut feeling of a great movie.

She's Gotta Have It (1986) - 4/5 - See, now this is where we like to see Spike. He's completely confident in his abilities from the very first frame. He knows exactly what he's going for, and every stroke he builds with works towards that vision. Here, he creates some very memorable characters in addition to exploring modern sexuality and relationships.

Santa Sangre (1989) - 3/5 - Jodorowksy's filmo looms large before an intimidated newbie, so dare I ask; what's the fuss? To me, Santa Sangre seems like a mish-mash of genres and ideas, none of which fully come together. There are a few moments of strangely genuine emotion, but they seem to be all but lost in a sea of mediocrity and cliches.

Claire Dolan (1998)

2006-08-11T00:29:00.000-04:00

Claire Dolan (1998)

It all started when I saw something about Lodge Kerrigan's Keane on Henry Rollins' now-defunct IFC show. It seemed right up my alley, but of course, didn't come anywhere around here, so I was left counting the days until Netflix got the DVD in. Of course, I was floored by the film and kept Kerrigan's name in the back of my mind. Months later, when Criterion decided to release his first film, Clean Shaven, I decided it was time to look into Kerrigan's only other completed film, Claire Dolan. While not as satisfying or engrossing as Keane, it's still a great film.

What impresses me most here, as with Keane, is how great Kerrigan is at totally engrossing you into the story, into the character's mind and their life. Immediately we're pulled into Claire's world. Honestly, I don't really know how he pulls it off. In Keane, it was easier to see, since the camera was handheld and followed the titular character around as he frantically searched for his own daughter. But, in Claire, the style seems so opposite of that. It's completely detatched, much like Claire herself, just cold and distant. She accepts her role and acts almost as an observer, completely numb.

Of course, as typical movie logic would dictate, she soon meets a man (played by Vincent D'Onofrio) who isn't interested in her for sex. So, naturally, this should be a joyous event, which allows her to feel, and ultimately, to love again. But, the film up to now has been so psychological, so austere and deliberate that when the two are together, that we're constantly looking deeper, studying her expressions and trying to sense her emotions. In the film, sex isn't seen as pleasurable, but nor is it any kind of painful violation. Kerrigan strips it down to a rote, mechanical act, and even when she's with Elton, Claire seems to have the same lack of feeling as always.

I'm not really sure how to feel about D'Onofrio's character, or his acting for that matter. Part of him seems 'off' to me in the film. He seems a little too eager to please, a little too jumpy and nervous. It's very hard to explain. Honestly, I think it's just because Kerrigan does such a great job of engrossing us in Claire's world that it's impossible to get close to another character, kind of like Claire herself. Something about him just seems so alien and strange, neither Claire nor the viewer can accept him.

Cache (2005)

2006-07-24T00:43:00.000-04:00

Cache (2005)

It's been a month since I saw Cache and I still don't know what to make of it. From what I understand, this is pretty normal. Just your average, run-of-the-mill European art film with a sparse plot and no real conclusion. I doubt anybody visits my blog hoping to be swayed on what to rent at the video store, so there's not much point in discussing the film from a critical point of view, at least not for me.

The film's opening shot is like nothing we've seen before in cinema. A static shot of a French street as viewed from an alleyway, the people go about their business unaware. The opening credits come and go, and still the shot is held. Sometimes a shot lasts just long enough for the viewer to make connections. Sometimes, it lasts even longer, giving the viewer a chance to think about what they're seeing and why they're seeing it. Cache takes this idea and runs with it. This shot is held for an n enormous amount of time, and undoubtedly sets the tone for the rest of the film. This isn't a taut thriller a la Hitchcock or Clouzot, though it does pack some suspenseful moments. These aren't the result of a bomb under the table or a kidnapped child, they come from the interactions we have with others, specifically those we care most about.

It's somewhat obvious that the central theme isn't what you'd expect from a thriller. It's not that Haneke isn't concerned with the basics of suspense; he knows what the audience wants, and deliberately withholds information to create the desired effect. It's less about who the perpetrator is and more about the France/Algeria conflict, personified by two young boys, now grown up. It takes the standard whodunnit formula and turns it on its ear, forcing the audience to think about these countries' shared past. Of course, the downside to this is that, for anybody watching the film who isn't familiar with this slice of history, the entire point of it is lost. My knowledge is more or less limited to having seen The Battle of Algiers a couple of years ago. It's somewhat infuriating, because I understand that the film focuses on this conflict, but gives nearly no background information. It's not that the film is poorly made, it's just that the filmmakers knew who their target audience was while making the film, and unfortunately, I'm not in that group. Them's the breaks.

The film does pack one incredible sequence. The entire film moves as a glacier's pace, so one moment of violence is startlingly powerful in its context. Even though I was watching intently, I was caught so off guard that I had to rewind the film a few seconds to make sure I'd seen what I thought I saw. I even uttered an expletive. Shouted it, in fact, involuntarily. Ah, the power of cinema.

The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant (1972) Or: The Big Why

2006-07-11T18:32:00.000-04:00

I miss cinema. I'm so sorry I've been neglecting you. I'll get back to you one of these days, I promise. Once I get this other stuff out of the way.

I love diving into a film, though. The Bitter Tears of Petra Von Kant. For some reason, Fassbinder's films never really engage me on a visceral level, not that I don't appreciate them (and even love a couple). But, I seem to have to work at it when I'm watching his stuff. But, if I'm in the right mood, it's great. I love the decadence and the dilapidation. I love that long slow pan that begins on Petra and goes across the room, mostly out of focus, and comes to rest on Marlene just as she reacts to Petra's words. I'm thinking of Herzog's great quote, "Film should be looked at straight on, it is not the art of scholars but of illiterates." I remember I thought the idea of analyzing a film was terribly daunting, and I was watching Glenn Erickson's commentary on Night and the City, and he talked about how one of the characters was waiting in his office and the lighting made a pattern that looked like a spiderweb. So, he compared the character to a spider, waiting for everybody to be caught in his web. So simple, so perfect, so obvious. If it looks like a dog...

I'd love to go through a film someday, any film (I mean, any good one) and just stop it every 5 seconds and ask why. Like in Petra, there's a shot of Petra and Marlene's (or Karin's) feet, only their feet, and it looks like they're dancing. It goes on for a while, and just ends. Why film only their feet? Why pick that song? Why dress them the way they're dressed? Any director worth his salt never does anything without a reason. So, I'd love to, just once, ask why about everything.

It's funny, I can't really relate to Fassbinder's use of space, in a physical sense. I mean, some people can drop you into a scene and compose it so perfectly that you understand the lay of the set almost instantly. You know where everything is. Kurosawa does this, and the transcendental directors (Ozu, Bresson, Dreyer, Tarkovsky) do it effortlessly. Even though Petra takes place entirely in one small room, I never really understand the geography of it. Because of my faith in cinema, I imagine this is intentional on Fassbinder's part.

We Rob Film Festivals

2006-06-29T05:18:00.000-04:00

Since I can't seem to find much to write about, I wanted to update with a couple of good blog posts I've read recently.

Luke has put up a god post about one of his favorites, Bonnie and Clyde. Good observations and as usual, a lot of personal style. Nice stuff.

Exiled recently updated with impressions from the 53rd Sydney Film festival. He checked out Starfish Hotel and The House of Sand. I haven't heard of either before this, but I suppose that's what film festivals are for. It's a great write-up, so check it out.

I'll have something new soon. :P

Finding Nemo (2003)

2006-05-29T22:26:00.000-04:00

Finding Nemo (2003)

I remember thinking a few days ago about the idea of films depicting the human condition. Someone, I think it was Capra, but I'm more than likely dead wrong, said that the only kind of movie that he wants to see is one about humanity. And it's true, if a film really shows humanity in its essence; the trials, the joys, the experiences, then it will truly be great. Funny that one of the best examples is a film about fish.

The guys at Pixar are creators in the true cinematic sense. They know how to tell a story and express their emotion in an artform that most people deem strictly for kids. In fact, Nemo contains plenty of stuff that seems to me to be well beyond children. For example; "WE ARE SWIMMING AROUND IN OUR OWN..." "Shhh, he's coming" Not to mention the idea of a shark support group and the numerous Hitchcock references.

I know that Pixar puts story above everything else when they set out to make a film, and how it shows. Of course, a story is nothing without characters, and their films are always chock full of them. Here, we've got Marlin, tortured by the loss of his wife and most of his children-to-be, he overcompensates by sheltering his surviving child, Nemo. Once Nemo gets taken, he forsakes everything else in his quest to find him. Nemo, who naturally seeks to rebel from Marlin's overbearing presence eventually learns that his father's actions are really for his own good. In the end, due to his efforts, he gains a deep respect for his father. It seems to saccharine when laid out on paper, but in the context of the film, it unfolds beautifully.

I remember somebody telling me that the film meant a lot to them because they were a parent and they could relate to that feeling whenever their child had gotten lost somewhere, in a store for example. It actually makes you think about your own life and your own role as a child, and maybe, as a parent too. This is really the essence of the film, that, even though we're watching fish, they're so human that we can relate to their struggles, their triumphs, their emotions. I admit, I still get teary-eyed towards the end when Dory says to Marlin, "I look at you, and I... and I'm home. Please... I don't want that to go away."

It is, of course, an entertaining film, and it never falters there either. In fact, it's one of the rare films that I can watch without paying attention to the timecode on my DVD player's display. Because of the nature of digital animation, they can really hone nearly every aspect of the picture at any point. This is the reason all of Pixar's films are so tight and engaging.

The film, of course, looks great. After watching the BBC series, The Blue Planet, it's obvious that Pixar did their research and it pays off. It's one of those hallmarks of a truly great film, it creates its own world. The ocean is a dangerous place, fo' real.

There are a few beautiful moments when Nemo uses dissolves and music to link Marlin's quest to Nemo's imprisonment, to segue from one scene to another. Not only is this an obvious cinematic device, it lets the emotion of the two scenes to become combined. Almost every scene melts into the next, creating a flowing stream of pure emotions. This, my friends, is pure cinema.

The Third Man (1949)

2006-05-12T01:15:00.000-04:00

The Third Man (1949)

The Third Man is a wonderful film. A wonderful fucking film. It's one of those 'magic of cinema' films that reminds you of how great a movie can be when everything comes together. And come together, it does. There's nary a weak link in the Third Man; great script, excellent pacing, fine direction, wonderfully skewed photography, blazing performances, and one of the best and most memorable scores ever laid down.

Even though I'd seen it before, I was almost instantly absorbed into the film. In the great noir tradition, Joseph Cotton plays Holly Martins with a certain smugness and curiosity that makes him a great protagonist. As we slowly descend into the underworld along with Holly, we begin to learn about him by the way he reacts to all of it; his moral compass is unraveled before us with every step.

I know that the Hollywood tradition is to find an exotic locale, photograph it beautifully, and toss in some plot to tie it all together. But, Vienna stands out as the perfect locale for Carol Reed's masterwork. The cobblestone streets, the various dilapidated buildings, the different parts of the city, which, eventually, trap the characters where they are, and, of course, the sewers!

If Vienna stands out as an obvious choice for a city in which to set a film noir, then the zither stands on the opposite end of the spectrum; an idea that's so hilariously wrong for the story at first glance, but, the more you think it, does fit the finished film like a glove. First off; it's catchy. Every time I see the Third Man, I always have the Harry Lime theme running through my head for a week afterwards. But, it functions like the cinematography, as something that calls attention to itself because it seems so out of place, which puts the viewer slightly off-kilter, ready for anything and everything to pop out of the fog.

The cinematography should be touched upon, too, since it's one of the best-looking films to come out of the 50's or any other time period. Sometimes, when shooting a film, the camera is placed at a skewed angle to throw the viewer's eye (and psyche) slightly off balance. But, Robert Krasker places the camera at a strange angle for nearly every shot in the film, so much that when cutting to a 'normal' angle, the entire film seems to be slightly off balance. Of course, Vienna's slick cobblestone streets and deep, foggy nights don't hurt either.

Even when you know it's coming, Harry Lime's appearance is almost always a surprise. You can see it coming a mile away; you know Welles is in the film, every other sentence spoken in it contains Harry's name, and then there's the business with the cat curling at his feet. Yet, Reed uses this anticipation to his advantage by holding Harry's reveal in suspense for a few extra moments. Finally, the old woman turns on her light and in a flash, Orson Welles is revealed. Prefiguring his mischievous turn as performer in his own F for Fake, he grins like an overgrown cherub, elated with all the fuss he's caused so far.

Even after that, the story doesn't let up until the end, as Holly and Harry are engaged in a kind of an epic struggle of, essentially, Good Vs. Evil. It's enough to remind you of why we watch movies in the first place.

United 93 (2006)

2006-05-05T19:00:00.000-04:00

United 93 (2006)

This post contains spoilers to the nth degree.

I wasn't interested in United 93 initially. Aside from some made-for-TV stuff, it's the first real picture dealing with the 9/11 attacks, and I'm sure plenty more will follow. The first one is usually the quick-and-dirty grab, so I couldn't care less about it. Then, something funny happened. Over at Rotten Tomatoes, the day it opened, it was getting some incredible marks, the kind usually reserved for end-of-the-year Oscar fodder. More than curious, I was excited for it. It took me nearly a week, but I finally got around to seeing it, and I'll say this; they were right.

I remember that day pretty well. I woke up, took care of my daily hygiene, and having nothing else to do, I sat down at my PC in the morning to play Black and White for a few hours. I had no TV in that room, which immersed me in the game pretty well. After I finished, it was mid-morning and I got up, I stretched, I went to the bathroom, I turned on the TV, I probably grabbed a snack. I say I only turned on the TV, because I just clicked it on and left the room to continue whatever I was doing. As I walked by, I saw some kind of news bulletin, kind of funny because the channels I'd usually watched wouldn't show any kind of news. So, it happened. The towers came down, there was a ton of confusion as to what happened. I remember being pretty numb about it. It was more symbolic than anything. Sure, it was a tragedy and all, but I think I was more concerned with DVD and video game shipments being interrupted than anything. I know, I sound like a heartless bastard, and I can assure you I am.

United 93 helps to put a face to the horrors that occurred, to fill in some of the blanks, and to tell what happened that day. It's well-written and very well-directed by Paul Greengrass. You can really tell that this was a labor, not necessarily of love, but one that was close to the hearts of those involved.

I have to wonder if this film were about something else, or if I didn't live in America, or wasn't as close to all of it, if the film would have been as effective. Truth be told, I don't know. I don't have the power to separate the film from the events portrayed, and because so much of cinema is based upon the viewer and what he brings to the film, I wouldn't want to try.

It starts out fairly slow. It shows the terrorists getting ready for their mission, the passengers hanging around, waiting for their flight, the pilots, controllers and flight attendants going about their jobs as usual. Obviously, we know what will happen, and in some morbid way, it makes the early section of the film somewhat boring. It's like Hitchcock once said about suspense; if you know a bomb is under the table, it makes you even more upset that the people there are oblivious and talking about something as pointless as baseball. You watch these people making their final preparations, gabbing on cellphones about meaningless things, going about their business. You know most of them are about to die, so you start to wonder why we're even seeing these stupid details at all. Why should they bother doing these things, and why should we bother watching? It goes to show you how fragile a human life is, how quickly it can be ended. I'm reminded of one of my favorite quotes on mortality from Clint Eastwood's Unforgiven, "Hell of a thing, killin' a man. Take away all he's got and all he's ever gonna have." Also, the world of international flight is usually pretty mundane. There's a lot of boring routine to go through, small talk to make, time to kill. Even though we know what's coming, because we've entered this realm of boring mundanity, it makes everything that occurs more shocking and brutal.

The film ramps up, and we see how unexpected the attacks really were. It starts with a single air traffic controller noticing that a single flight hasn't responded. It takes a commercial airplane flying into a skyscraper for people to actually begin to take the threat seriously, and by then, there's almost nothing left they can do. It gives you a helpless feeling, because the people on the ground can't really do anything, and the people in the air are either unable to act, or don't know anything is wrong.

The film is confined to the airplane, United 93, and various control rooms monitoring the events. I've seen the same news footage of the second plane hitting the tower on TV and online dozens, maybe hundreds of times. But, when they insert this footage into this film, all the hectic work of trying to figure out what's happening and how to stop it comes to a screeching halt. A deafening silence as the building explodes. In the context of the film, it gave me chills.

The moment the attack starts on the flight, it's nearly unwatchable. Things were suspenseful, but still rather calm. All of a sudden, the hijackers jump up and go to work; the youngest-looking one at the back of the plane begins to stab the man sitting in front of him. It's pure chaos, and even though I've "seen it all", I was compelled to look away. In all honesty, it's extremely hard to handle. The rest of the film is on this same level, as we watch people saying their farewells, nearly helpless, knowing they're about to die. It's really just gut-wrenching. All this makes it seem all the more heroic when the passengers eventually realize what is going on and make an effort to foil the hijackers' plans. These are just ordinary people, more-average-than-average humans who decided to take action when they saw it was up to them.

There's a scene at the end of the film, before the passengers make their last stand. They are saying the Holy prayer in English, the camera shows them one by one, searching for faith. Then, it's cross-cutted with the hijackers doing the same thing, praying to their God for strength. It's a strange moment, but very powerful. If one believes, then it becomes a battle of deities; whose God is more powerful, or even non-existent? Due to my beliefs, and the fact that I don't want to cause any unnecessary grief in something as frivolous as a Movie Blog, I won't preach my own ideals. But, the feeling that I get from the film is that faith exists in the heart of whomever believes. Say a man is trapped in a cave for weeks, praying to his God for the strength to carry on, and miraculously, he survives. This isn't proof of any higher power, but, I think, that through his own faith, he was able to find the strength within himself to survive. Individual strength is one of the most powerful things in the world.

One thing I think the film does a great job of showing is how slow information really travels, despite our obsession with technology. I'm reminded of my experience that morning; it was hours before we even know why the towers fell, that jets were flown into them. It was even longer, even days before the public learned of al-Queda and actually WHY it happened in the first place. I'm not saying technology is bad, because it obviously manages to protect us and help us every single day, but even in this jungle of wire and circuit board, information can take far too long to reach where it needs to be.

The film is very objective, which I am happy with, because I'd rather not have to think much about the politics and endless debating that it could come with. The film doesn't seem to have a political agenda. Of course, through watching it, we're forced to wonder about the responsibility of the events. Who is to blame? Is the entire Arab world to blame? Of course not. Is our government to blame for not protecting us? Not necessarily. The way I see it, if somebody wants to cause a catastrophe, they will, no matter how well-protected we are. Sure, we've cracked down on airport security since 9/11, but that won't last forever, and we have to keep in mind, that the next terrorist act (if any) that comes our way will probably not be via the airline industry. Our country is so large, and we have so many people and land that it's impossible for any kind of government to keep all of us safe from any potential harm. So, are Americans to blame, for somehow provoking this attack? I doubt it. It's my personal philosophy that every man is responsible for his own actions. It's important to keep in mind that 9/11 was the work of a small group of people who wishes to punish us for what they perceived as living blasphemously. If the film has shown us one thing, it's that this act was carried out by a group of people with immense hatred in their hearts. I don't think they're representative of any kind of religious group or any other kind, but simply a number of people, like I said, with immense hatred in their hearts.

The film ends perfectly. They may not have saved themselves, but the passengers have prevents an even worse catastrophe. The camera is in the cockpit, and we get a first-person view as the plane spirals down into the Pennsylvania farmland. There is no crash, no explosion. That would be in pretty poor taste. Instead, a fade to white, and pure silence. A few screens of text display a few final bits of information, and dedicate the film to those who lost their lives on September 11. Even though the audience I was there with was pretty quiet, there was utter silence in the theater at that moment.

The Passenger (1975) or: Faith in Cinema

2006-05-03T23:15:00.000-04:00

The Passenger (1975)

As a rule, I've been trying to avoid talking about first viewings on the ol' blog here, but I can't resist babbling about Antonioni film The Passenger (Professione: reporter), which makes its DVD debut this week. Or last week, whatever.

I always seem to manage blogging about Antonioni. He's one of my personal favorite directors; he's kind of my underdog. I'd call him misunderstood, but that's not the correct way of putting it. I think those who give him a chance (which is fewer than you'd think) do understand what he's trying to say, but become completely frustrated by the way he expresses it cinematically. It's not a case of elitism, it's just a matter of taste.

In some ways, The Passenger is typical Antonioni, in other ways, it's vastly different. But, at it's heart, it's still Antonioni, which means the 'plot' moves at a glacier's pace and it will bore most of the people who see it. ;) The different; it has a big American star in Jack Nicholson, a globe-trotting yarn, and a semi-intriguing plot. But, like I said, the bulk of the film is pure Michelangelo; exploration of alienation in modern society, obsession with architecture (and its psychological implications), long, fluid camera moves, and beautiful, yet desolate, landscapes.

One of the ideas that the film explores, from what I could tell, is the idea of identity. Locke (Nicholson's character, for real) assumes Richardson's identity. This is fairly normal in most spy/thriller-style cinema, but it takes a long time for us to understand why he even does it in the first place. It's really a mystery at its heart, since who Locke really is, what kind of a life he led, and his motivations aren't all known early on; the things that should be revealed in the beginning of the film are kept from the viewer until about halfway in. But, there's a moment shortly after Locke assumes Richardson's identity, when the hotel manager is asking him (Locke) about Richardson(whom he thinks is actually Locke)'s life. He asks him if Locke would have wanted a religious burial. For a moment, you can see Nicholson looking bewildered, searching for the answer. He knows what Locke (himself) would have wanted, but what would Richardson would have wanted; and would it blow his own cover? Although, it's entirely possible that I interpreted this gesture as such because it's what I was thinking. Maybe Antonioni and Nicholson had something else in mind, or maybe they didn't even notice. But, for a film that makes the viewer an active participant, what the viewer perceives is important, even if it's not essentially "true".

I'll admit, the film isn't exciting. In fact, there were parts when even I was bored. Me, the Grand Antonioni Apologist! But, no film is perfect, and I think the Passenger more than makes up for its boring stretches with the emotional and intellectual content it does contain. The camerawork, as expected, is wonderful. There are a few great moments where Antonioni plays with the ideas of time and space. After he discovers Richardson's body, Locke plays back an audio recording he made of the two of them conversing. While listening to the tape, the camera pans across the room, and eventually arrives at a window. We see Richardson come into view outside, speaking, and Locke walks into frame as well. The conversation continues, the camera pans back, and we see Locke again, listening to the tape in the present tense. It's been done many times, it's a very easy effect to achieve, but here it's used very well, to create an ambiance, to disorient, and to explore the idea of identity.

Of course, where Locke stops the tape is important. We learn some minor details about he and Richardson, but it amounts to nothing more than small talk, and he stops the tape. Later on, Locke's wife starts the tape from where he left off. In the film's span, this is over an hour later. We hear Locke on the tape, talking about how he wishes he could just leave his own life behind. It's only now, more than halfway in, that we really find out WHY he did it, even though it was only a few seconds more into the tape. I'm sure it means something, but I can't tell what.

There are a couple great moments, which are assumed to be footage that Locke shot for the documentary he was working on at the film's outset. One, I learned later, was an actual execution filmed by the crew on location. I had a suspicion that it was actual footage, because it has that kind of gruesome, understated authenticity, much like the animal sacrifice in Apocalypse Now. Also, another scene, which harkens back to the theme of identity; Locke is interviewing a witch doctor, who tells him that he can't answer his questions. Instead, he turns the camera onto Locke himself, and says only then can he speak. Of course, in his professional career, Locke is used to being behind the camera; we've seen a moment like this in many a film, it duplicates the role of a director and his identity, how he expresses himself without being seen.

The final shot is a 6+ minute take. Don't most films start or begin with huge, extended single takes? :P But, the Passenger's is no exception, since it is Antonioni, and it's breathtaking. The camera shows Locke in bed in the hotel, people in the courtyard outside, through the window. The camera very slowly tracks forward until Locke is out of frame, eventually moving through the bars on the window itself (a la Citizen Kane) and follows the authorities and Locke's wife as they arrive. The camera pans to show them all entering the hotel, then tracks back along the same path, arriving outside of Locke's hotel room, where he is lying dead on the bed. Apparently, there is a gunshot to be heard somewhere during this scene, but I've only read about it after the fact, and didn't notice it when I saw the film. More than just a pretty show, we have to assume that this shot itself has a strong significance. The camera, which is to say, the viewer, has gone from inside the hotel room, looking out, through the window, only to peer back inside the room, from the outside. We started from the inside, but ended up on the outside, looking in, separated and locked out. The significance, I really can't make heads or tails of, but I have gotten a start. Besides, what good would a film be if it revealed all its deepest secrets in the first viewing?

One last thing I wanted to touch upon is a strange thing; faith in cinema. It's not what you think. You see, as an audience, we trust a film. It may begin in a strange place. We don't understand where we are? Who is that guy, and what is he doing? Why is he hiding? What clue did the killer leave behind? What's is in the pivotal envelope? We do not mind when a film presents such mysteries, because we have faith that the film itself will fill in the empty spaces before it is over. Some filmmakers, like Kubrick, Lynch and Antonioni take such a delight in these moments, which can infuriate some viewers and appetize others. Sometimes, when watching a film, we don't even notice these things, because we assume that once the scene is over, we won't have to think of it again until we are reminded of it when it is explained later on. But, how easy it is to 'abuse' this faith. Although I rarely notice, there are plenty of such occurrences in the films I see. We can all blame our attention spans, or our faith in the cinematic form itself. But, it seems like it'd be so easy to pick apart a film like the Passenger scene by scene and find traces of this; things that are touched upon, but never explained or explored. You could probably do it for most films that have a tinge of ambition within them, but I lack the patience to try and find out.

Invincible (2001)

2006-05-02T00:17:00.000-04:00

Invincible (2001)

I don't really have a whole lot to say about Invincible. It's been about two weeks since I've seen it, but it's still sloshing around in my noggin, so what the heck.

The film almost seems un-Herzog-ian (too many hyphens), but the tone and mood are unmistakable. It concerns a Jewish strongman, played by Jouko Ahola, an actual strongman who did all his own..feats. He becomes a popular act in a nightclub owned by Tim Roth's character. His ethnicity and religion are a problem, so he is passed off as an Aryan and draws huge crowds. It seems rather cliche, but it is mostly fascinating. Of course, there's the typical Herzog themes, it explores obsession, drive, madness and power.

It's not Herzog's best work, but, like all the great artists, his sub-par is well above most other films. Like all of his other films, it has an indescribable magic to it, and it's practically entrancing. Herzog certainly has a gift for finding images.

One of the most intriguing parts of the film concerns Tim Roth's character, Hanussen. Supposedly, he is clairvoyant, and he uses this as his club's main draw. Towards the end of the film, Zishe unmasks him as a fraud, not only because he isn't Aryan, but because his entire act is a trick (much like in Nightmare Alley). Fairly normal stuff for a film, but later, Zishe begins to have visions of his people being oppressed, and wonders if Hanussen's powers have transferred to him. Yet, he just denounced them as a fraud a little while ago, which makes you wonder about Zishe's visions.

One of my favorite parts stems from how well I know Herzog. I've been talking with my mom about Hitchcock lately, and I always tell her that I have a hard time spotting his cameos, because I'm so wrapped up in the film. Because Herzog is such an overwhelming presence, often narrating his own films, and of course, being featured in documentaries, I feel like I know him even more than I know his films. During the past when a man is addressing the crowd at the nightclub, you hear a man scream out "Swindler! You swindler! It is unthinkable that a Jew has such strength!" Of course, I instantly recognized it as Herzog, and I replayed the scene three or four times, because he's got a great voice.

Probably the best part of the film is the ending. Because we've gone through this whole ordeal, we've seen Zishe's strength, his vulnerability and his humanity, we feel a deep empathy for him. We've seen him actually lifting 900 pounds (here's where Ahola's real-life training comes in handy). At the end of the film, when he gets infected, we have a feeling that something will happen to him, and we dread it, because not only have we grown to care for him, we're able to see that his visions will come true shortly, and we hope he would be able to lead his people. It's strange, because most filmmakers would probably milk this situation, make the entire film about a man who was so strong, who ends up completely helpless. But, with Invincible, Herzog has tacked it on, almost as an afterthought. "By the way, after all that happens, then this happens at the end..." The film is rich and satisfying as it is, but this final touch in the story really makes it all the more fulfilling. Not only does it entertain, but it leaves you with some thought-provoking ideas to bring into the real world.