BLOSSOM HAS BEEN OUT ON DVD SINCE JANUARY.
Mayim Bialik guest-starred on an episode of Saving Grace.
= Heaven.
Possible review to come: Away From Her, a dvd I just bought for 5 bucks. Directed by Sarah Polley, starring Julie Christie. Looks wrenching.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Capsules!
I have seriously neglected my movie reviews. I've been too excited to be living back in America to attend to my blogging duties. So, in brief, here are the movies I have seen in the past month:
Equinox Flower and Late Autumn, two Japaneze movies directed by Yasujiro Ozu that are already blurring together in my mind. That sounds like a bad thing, but it isn't. Ozu had a tendency, like Cassavetes, or Almodovar, or any other smart director, to use the same actors over and over, in similar roles. That causes the movies to run together in my mind, but insofar as they become larger than the sum of their parts: Ozu has created a bittersweet, wry, thoughtful portrait of Japanese postwar familial crises and the rising role of the modern, independent woman. My guess is that watching more of his late movies would only enrichen that portrait, without feeling redundant.
Nothing could stray farther from Ozu than Live Flesh, a tradmark Almodovar drama. The plot is so fantastic I can only tell you the first five minutes: A boy is born on a bus during a harrowing night in Madrid in 1970. Fast forward 20 years. He loses his virginity to a junkie; she makes a date with him. He calls her and she breaks her date. He confronts her and they tussle and he accidentally knocks her out. A neighbor, hearing the noise, calls the police. The cops are arguing and the driving cop is dead drunk (problems with his wife). They arrive on the scene, while in the meantime the boy has confiscated a gun from the junkie and, terrified that he'll get in trouble, takes the junkie hostage. The sober cop tries to talk him down, while the drunk cop antagonizes him. Finally the drunk cop attacks him to wrestle the gun away. The sober cop pulls the junkie towards him and away from the fight, and you can tell she's fallen in love with him at first sight. The boy and the cop tussle; the gun fires; and the sober cop is shot.
Then the story REALLY starts, and involves quite a few twists, as usual, with gorgeous cinematography and sensual liaisons and high drama in that way that Almodovar does so well. I loved this movie so much that instead of watching it for half an hour and going to sleep like a responsible person on a weeknight, I had to stay up for the whole thing and was exhausted at work the next day. It was worth it.
A comedy that rather surprised me was Role Models. I watched it because it was on in the living room and I had nothing better to do. I ended up laughing consistently throughout the movie. Paul Rudd is so, so funny, mostly because he is such an asshole in this movie. I'm not a huge fan of Sean William Scott (Stiffler! Ugh. American Pie.), but I love the boy he mentors in the movie. "Fuck you, Miss Daisy," is now one of my new favorite movie quotes. I highly recommend it, because it's got some really good jokes, and because it's part of this bizarre genre of movies that seems to be ever more popular, the bromance. I find them fascinating.
One movie I haven't seen since I was a child is The Gods Must Be Crazy. It is still so good! I can't believe this movie isn't more of a cult classic. I've never met anyone else who's seen it. I highly, highly recommend it. It's slapstick and mockumentary and delicious irreverence, long before Spinal Tap. It's a political satire of African postcolonialism and the malicious encroaching of modernity, with lots of Chaplinesque falls and sightgags. I laughed so hard at such timeless gags.
I re-watched An Affair to Remember. I can never see this movie too many times. I don't know how I'm so in love with Carey Grant, but I am. I can't tell if it's because he had great taste in picking roles or if he just makes all his roles that memorable, but I can't think of a movie where I haven't thorgoughly enjoyed him. I just love the sassy exchanges between him and Deborah Kerr. I also love that this movie is a truly High Romance. Directors like Almodovar reinterpret High Romance in their own kooky ways, but this is original. This is essential. It must be seen, if only for the moments when the two leads are inspecting their respective soon-to-be-insignificant-others as their boat pulls into port. It is priceless.
Lastly, I re-watched Magnificent Obsession. Rock Hudson. Jane Wyman. Less fabulous than All That Heaven Allows, but still agonizing if you don't know how it ends, and merely touching and beautiful if you do. I recommend watching All That Heaven Allows first, then seeing Magnificent Obsession for healthy comparison. Also has Agnes Moorehead, looking strange and forbidding as usual.
Equinox Flower and Late Autumn, two Japaneze movies directed by Yasujiro Ozu that are already blurring together in my mind. That sounds like a bad thing, but it isn't. Ozu had a tendency, like Cassavetes, or Almodovar, or any other smart director, to use the same actors over and over, in similar roles. That causes the movies to run together in my mind, but insofar as they become larger than the sum of their parts: Ozu has created a bittersweet, wry, thoughtful portrait of Japanese postwar familial crises and the rising role of the modern, independent woman. My guess is that watching more of his late movies would only enrichen that portrait, without feeling redundant.
Nothing could stray farther from Ozu than Live Flesh, a tradmark Almodovar drama. The plot is so fantastic I can only tell you the first five minutes: A boy is born on a bus during a harrowing night in Madrid in 1970. Fast forward 20 years. He loses his virginity to a junkie; she makes a date with him. He calls her and she breaks her date. He confronts her and they tussle and he accidentally knocks her out. A neighbor, hearing the noise, calls the police. The cops are arguing and the driving cop is dead drunk (problems with his wife). They arrive on the scene, while in the meantime the boy has confiscated a gun from the junkie and, terrified that he'll get in trouble, takes the junkie hostage. The sober cop tries to talk him down, while the drunk cop antagonizes him. Finally the drunk cop attacks him to wrestle the gun away. The sober cop pulls the junkie towards him and away from the fight, and you can tell she's fallen in love with him at first sight. The boy and the cop tussle; the gun fires; and the sober cop is shot.
Then the story REALLY starts, and involves quite a few twists, as usual, with gorgeous cinematography and sensual liaisons and high drama in that way that Almodovar does so well. I loved this movie so much that instead of watching it for half an hour and going to sleep like a responsible person on a weeknight, I had to stay up for the whole thing and was exhausted at work the next day. It was worth it.
A comedy that rather surprised me was Role Models. I watched it because it was on in the living room and I had nothing better to do. I ended up laughing consistently throughout the movie. Paul Rudd is so, so funny, mostly because he is such an asshole in this movie. I'm not a huge fan of Sean William Scott (Stiffler! Ugh. American Pie.), but I love the boy he mentors in the movie. "Fuck you, Miss Daisy," is now one of my new favorite movie quotes. I highly recommend it, because it's got some really good jokes, and because it's part of this bizarre genre of movies that seems to be ever more popular, the bromance. I find them fascinating.
One movie I haven't seen since I was a child is The Gods Must Be Crazy. It is still so good! I can't believe this movie isn't more of a cult classic. I've never met anyone else who's seen it. I highly, highly recommend it. It's slapstick and mockumentary and delicious irreverence, long before Spinal Tap. It's a political satire of African postcolonialism and the malicious encroaching of modernity, with lots of Chaplinesque falls and sightgags. I laughed so hard at such timeless gags.
I re-watched An Affair to Remember. I can never see this movie too many times. I don't know how I'm so in love with Carey Grant, but I am. I can't tell if it's because he had great taste in picking roles or if he just makes all his roles that memorable, but I can't think of a movie where I haven't thorgoughly enjoyed him. I just love the sassy exchanges between him and Deborah Kerr. I also love that this movie is a truly High Romance. Directors like Almodovar reinterpret High Romance in their own kooky ways, but this is original. This is essential. It must be seen, if only for the moments when the two leads are inspecting their respective soon-to-be-insignificant-others as their boat pulls into port. It is priceless.
Lastly, I re-watched Magnificent Obsession. Rock Hudson. Jane Wyman. Less fabulous than All That Heaven Allows, but still agonizing if you don't know how it ends, and merely touching and beautiful if you do. I recommend watching All That Heaven Allows first, then seeing Magnificent Obsession for healthy comparison. Also has Agnes Moorehead, looking strange and forbidding as usual.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
The Fisher King
I think I enjoyed watching The Fisher King, but I felt really...disappointed by the end. I guess one of the things I expect and perversely enjoy about Terry Gilliam movies is getting trumped out of a happy, well-resolved ending. I was surprised to find a sappy, happily-ever-after finish to a satisfyingly weird plot. Why would Mercedes Ruehl's character take back that schmuck (Jeff Bridges)? Why was Lydia okay with finding out Parry (Robin Williams) was a clinically insane hobo? The ending really jumped a plot point or two.
That said, I rather enjoyed all the performances, but especially Mercedes Ruehl. What a sass machine she is. I always seem to enjoy Mercedes Ruehl, and every time I see her in something, I remember I need to re-watch Lost in Yonkers, which I haven't seen since I was 9. I have a feeling I'll enjoy it more this time around. Amanda Plummer was quite convincing as Parry's weird, unfriendly love interest. Robin Williams didn't irritate me to death. I rather like Jeff Bridges, even when he's playing a sleazy character like this one. Of course, in any Gilliam movie the minor performances are the scene stealers. In this one it's Michael Jeter as the homeless, faggedy, cross-dressing cabaret singer with a death wish. He was marvelous. And Tom Waits has a cameo as a legless, philosophizing bum. In fact, if you ignore the saccharine mess of a plot this becomes and just focus on the homeless guys, this movie becomes an ode to the eccentric fabric of bums that carpets New York City.
Gilliam is not to blame for my problems with this movie. He does his trademark job with fisheye lenses and disorienting flights of fancy, and does it well. The problem rests with Richard LaGravenese's retarded screenplay manipulations. He's the guy who brought us that impossible-to-watch-without-cringing Living Out Loud and the load of sap that is Bridges of Madison County. He's also the reason why I have to cover my eyes through half of The Mirror Has Two Faces, and that's got Babs in it! Someday I'd like to meet this bloke just to shake my fist at him and ask him, "where are your balls, dude?"
That said, I rather enjoyed all the performances, but especially Mercedes Ruehl. What a sass machine she is. I always seem to enjoy Mercedes Ruehl, and every time I see her in something, I remember I need to re-watch Lost in Yonkers, which I haven't seen since I was 9. I have a feeling I'll enjoy it more this time around. Amanda Plummer was quite convincing as Parry's weird, unfriendly love interest. Robin Williams didn't irritate me to death. I rather like Jeff Bridges, even when he's playing a sleazy character like this one. Of course, in any Gilliam movie the minor performances are the scene stealers. In this one it's Michael Jeter as the homeless, faggedy, cross-dressing cabaret singer with a death wish. He was marvelous. And Tom Waits has a cameo as a legless, philosophizing bum. In fact, if you ignore the saccharine mess of a plot this becomes and just focus on the homeless guys, this movie becomes an ode to the eccentric fabric of bums that carpets New York City.
Gilliam is not to blame for my problems with this movie. He does his trademark job with fisheye lenses and disorienting flights of fancy, and does it well. The problem rests with Richard LaGravenese's retarded screenplay manipulations. He's the guy who brought us that impossible-to-watch-without-cringing Living Out Loud and the load of sap that is Bridges of Madison County. He's also the reason why I have to cover my eyes through half of The Mirror Has Two Faces, and that's got Babs in it! Someday I'd like to meet this bloke just to shake my fist at him and ask him, "where are your balls, dude?"
The Diva Series
I watched a sort of Diva Series last week with my dear chum Brandi: Coal Miner's Daughter, What's Love Got To Do With It and Sweet Dreams. Though Brandi and I love love LOVE divas and the biopics that tell their oft-tragic stories, I had issues with Sweet Dreams. The other two were superb.
Coal Miner's Daughter is remarkable mostly for Sissy Spacek's incredible portrayal. That was some obsessive mimicry, and while her voice could never match the timbre of the real Loretta, her singing was sensational! The movie hooked Brandi and me in immediately, and casting Tommy Lee Jones--whom we both consider to be creepy in just about every role--as her husband was eerily convincing. Because the movie was made with Loretta's collaboration, and using her biography, we had to assume that the horrifying wedding night rape scene and subsequent violent and outrageous behavior exhibited by said hubby were true. The movie certainly made us uncomfortable, and made us yell at the screen like we should. Even though she's not exactly sassy, wacky, and sharp-witted like most divas, we agreed that Loretta is a diva in terms of making savvy business deals and being a self-made sensation. Also, her singing costumes are DIVINE. I approved of this as a well-made drama, a convincing biopic, and a substantial portrayal of a country legend near and dear to my heart, which does, I'm sorry to admit it, Loretta, have a tendency to come home a drinkin' with lovin' on my mind. I hope you can forgive me.
We had both seen What's Love Got To Do With It before, and it was so amazing that it was worth watching again. Talk about a self-made sensation: Tina not only had overcome adversity to make it in a racist, sexist recording industry, she had to kick her abusive, controlling husband to the curb. Lawrence Fishburn was another eerily convincing casting choice. He gives us both the creeps in real life, and that was quite necessary for you to hate Ike as viciously as we do. Angela Bassett SHOULD have won an Oscar for this stellar, heart-stopping performance. I say that, but I'm a hypocrite, because that particular Oscar went to Holly Hunter, and anyone who's met me knows how much I love The Piano. That said, Angela Bassett poured her soul into this role. My only qualm with this film--and believe me, it's silly--is that Angela Bassett is so fucking ripped she could have beat the shit out of Ike. She is literally so ripped that it pushes the limits of plot plausibility. Also, it's too distracting for a lesbian to watch a woman that ripped and still be emotionally engaged in the film. (my spurious criticisms are another backhanded compliment: I can't find anything actually wrong with this movie)
Sweet Dreams, on the other hand...ugh. Brandi liked it, even though she only got to watch the first half, but I watched the whole damn thing and I gotta say, it does not do ANY justice to Patsy. We both noted how odd it was that the girl who plays Patsy's sister looks much more like Patsy than Jessica Langue. Yes, I know an actress doesn't have to look exactly like the icon she portrays--but it certainly helps! Babs may not look like Fanny Brice, but they've both got funny, striking faces. Langue did not feel much like the Patsy I've seen in old footage, nor did the film's portrayal of her career rise seem at all accurate. Patsy was much more in control and cavalier about her recording career, whereas the biopic made it seem like it sort of just happened to her, and that she was constantly distracted by her marriage to Charlie Dick. Her marriage is my other big beef with the film--from all I've read, they had a pretty solid marriage, and nobody could push Patsy around. She was a beast. I did not get the feeling that the movie did that marriage justice. She said Charlie was the love of her life, and she said that after a failed marriage and a long-term affair left her feeling pretty desolate. I believe her over the movie, and I doubt she was such a victim. Also, there was an awesome twist to the tragic story of her death that was not even used in the movie! You'd think a dramatic interpretation of somebody's life would use some of the best foreshadowing to ACTUALLY HAPPEN. It is recorded that Patsy had several premonitions of her death, and even started giving away lots of her stuff to friends (including Loretta Lynn, whom she mentored). Why would that not be included in the movie? It just seemed like a weak movie in many ways, although Brandi had to note that Ed Harris is a hottie pachotch of hubby casting. I'll have to trust her on that.
Coal Miner's Daughter is remarkable mostly for Sissy Spacek's incredible portrayal. That was some obsessive mimicry, and while her voice could never match the timbre of the real Loretta, her singing was sensational! The movie hooked Brandi and me in immediately, and casting Tommy Lee Jones--whom we both consider to be creepy in just about every role--as her husband was eerily convincing. Because the movie was made with Loretta's collaboration, and using her biography, we had to assume that the horrifying wedding night rape scene and subsequent violent and outrageous behavior exhibited by said hubby were true. The movie certainly made us uncomfortable, and made us yell at the screen like we should. Even though she's not exactly sassy, wacky, and sharp-witted like most divas, we agreed that Loretta is a diva in terms of making savvy business deals and being a self-made sensation. Also, her singing costumes are DIVINE. I approved of this as a well-made drama, a convincing biopic, and a substantial portrayal of a country legend near and dear to my heart, which does, I'm sorry to admit it, Loretta, have a tendency to come home a drinkin' with lovin' on my mind. I hope you can forgive me.
We had both seen What's Love Got To Do With It before, and it was so amazing that it was worth watching again. Talk about a self-made sensation: Tina not only had overcome adversity to make it in a racist, sexist recording industry, she had to kick her abusive, controlling husband to the curb. Lawrence Fishburn was another eerily convincing casting choice. He gives us both the creeps in real life, and that was quite necessary for you to hate Ike as viciously as we do. Angela Bassett SHOULD have won an Oscar for this stellar, heart-stopping performance. I say that, but I'm a hypocrite, because that particular Oscar went to Holly Hunter, and anyone who's met me knows how much I love The Piano. That said, Angela Bassett poured her soul into this role. My only qualm with this film--and believe me, it's silly--is that Angela Bassett is so fucking ripped she could have beat the shit out of Ike. She is literally so ripped that it pushes the limits of plot plausibility. Also, it's too distracting for a lesbian to watch a woman that ripped and still be emotionally engaged in the film. (my spurious criticisms are another backhanded compliment: I can't find anything actually wrong with this movie)
Sweet Dreams, on the other hand...ugh. Brandi liked it, even though she only got to watch the first half, but I watched the whole damn thing and I gotta say, it does not do ANY justice to Patsy. We both noted how odd it was that the girl who plays Patsy's sister looks much more like Patsy than Jessica Langue. Yes, I know an actress doesn't have to look exactly like the icon she portrays--but it certainly helps! Babs may not look like Fanny Brice, but they've both got funny, striking faces. Langue did not feel much like the Patsy I've seen in old footage, nor did the film's portrayal of her career rise seem at all accurate. Patsy was much more in control and cavalier about her recording career, whereas the biopic made it seem like it sort of just happened to her, and that she was constantly distracted by her marriage to Charlie Dick. Her marriage is my other big beef with the film--from all I've read, they had a pretty solid marriage, and nobody could push Patsy around. She was a beast. I did not get the feeling that the movie did that marriage justice. She said Charlie was the love of her life, and she said that after a failed marriage and a long-term affair left her feeling pretty desolate. I believe her over the movie, and I doubt she was such a victim. Also, there was an awesome twist to the tragic story of her death that was not even used in the movie! You'd think a dramatic interpretation of somebody's life would use some of the best foreshadowing to ACTUALLY HAPPEN. It is recorded that Patsy had several premonitions of her death, and even started giving away lots of her stuff to friends (including Loretta Lynn, whom she mentored). Why would that not be included in the movie? It just seemed like a weak movie in many ways, although Brandi had to note that Ed Harris is a hottie pachotch of hubby casting. I'll have to trust her on that.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Hiroshima, mon amour
I have no idea why I hadn't seen this movie before. I feel like an idiot, always telling my people, "You haven't lived if you haven't seen this movie!" because I must not have lived myself.
During the viewing, I constantly compared the film to Shadows and Fog and Last Year at Marienbad, two other experimental films directed by Alain Resnais. The trio of films concerns trauma, and the aftermath of trauma. Shadows and Fog is a shattering documentary-poem that discusses the holocaust while panning over photos of the atrocities intercut with the present-day sites, already disappearing under fresh greenery.
Last Year at Marienbad, a baroque narrative, is as hollow as Shadows and Fog is laden with endless meaning. The Holocaust will always be the heaviest weight in cinematic depiction (and the easiest Oscar win), whereas Last Year at Marienbad concerns a mere encounter that may or may not have happened two the two characters the year before. Last Year often seems as though it will become laden with meaning, but that never happens. The dialogue is oblique and repetitive, constantly referring and accusing while relating little humanity, always hopelessly general, no matter how particularly they revisit each detail of their encounter: the color of her dress, his way of standing by a statue, a walk through the gardens. I think of Last Year at Marienbad as a wanky cinematic exercise that doesn't quite stand the test of time, except for wanky cinema nerds like myself who enjoy killing themselves reading Deleuze's interpretation and re-watching the film.
Hiroshima, mon amour seems to straddle both these films. The narrative, while oblique, is sensible: two lovers meet in Hiroshima. Both are laden with trauma: the Japanese man is, like any Japanese at the time, scarred by Hiroshima, emotionally and spiritually, if not physically; the French woman is wounded by the death of her German lover during the liberation. We witness the now-trademark Resnais technique of layering poetic musings over montages of places laden with trauma. I experienced real anxiety as these lovers met and parted, met and parted through the night. They are both "happily married" and I had no idea what I wanted the outcome to be--is there any "happy" outcome for such a film? I doubt it. No ending is entirely happy for anyone who has survived such horror as Hiroshima, an unspeakable loss.
My favorite thing about the film is probably how the synecdochic theme is wrapped-up in the last few lines of dialogue. Throughout, he describes his experience of her in relation to her birthplace, Nevers, and she describes her experience of him in relation to what she knows of Hiroshima, what she remembers of 1945. In the last few moments of the film, she says, "Hiroshima. Your name is Hiroshima." "My name is Hiroshima. And you, your name is Nevers. Nevers, in France."
Those last lines were just so good! They re-iterated how these characters will never be able to separate themselves from the synecdoche of their tragedy: he will always, in a way, be the horror of Hiroshima; she will always, in a way, be a bout of madness in Nevers.
So now I can say I've lived because I've seen this movie. I hope this kind of humbling happens often.
During the viewing, I constantly compared the film to Shadows and Fog and Last Year at Marienbad, two other experimental films directed by Alain Resnais. The trio of films concerns trauma, and the aftermath of trauma. Shadows and Fog is a shattering documentary-poem that discusses the holocaust while panning over photos of the atrocities intercut with the present-day sites, already disappearing under fresh greenery.
Last Year at Marienbad, a baroque narrative, is as hollow as Shadows and Fog is laden with endless meaning. The Holocaust will always be the heaviest weight in cinematic depiction (and the easiest Oscar win), whereas Last Year at Marienbad concerns a mere encounter that may or may not have happened two the two characters the year before. Last Year often seems as though it will become laden with meaning, but that never happens. The dialogue is oblique and repetitive, constantly referring and accusing while relating little humanity, always hopelessly general, no matter how particularly they revisit each detail of their encounter: the color of her dress, his way of standing by a statue, a walk through the gardens. I think of Last Year at Marienbad as a wanky cinematic exercise that doesn't quite stand the test of time, except for wanky cinema nerds like myself who enjoy killing themselves reading Deleuze's interpretation and re-watching the film.
Hiroshima, mon amour seems to straddle both these films. The narrative, while oblique, is sensible: two lovers meet in Hiroshima. Both are laden with trauma: the Japanese man is, like any Japanese at the time, scarred by Hiroshima, emotionally and spiritually, if not physically; the French woman is wounded by the death of her German lover during the liberation. We witness the now-trademark Resnais technique of layering poetic musings over montages of places laden with trauma. I experienced real anxiety as these lovers met and parted, met and parted through the night. They are both "happily married" and I had no idea what I wanted the outcome to be--is there any "happy" outcome for such a film? I doubt it. No ending is entirely happy for anyone who has survived such horror as Hiroshima, an unspeakable loss.
My favorite thing about the film is probably how the synecdochic theme is wrapped-up in the last few lines of dialogue. Throughout, he describes his experience of her in relation to her birthplace, Nevers, and she describes her experience of him in relation to what she knows of Hiroshima, what she remembers of 1945. In the last few moments of the film, she says, "Hiroshima. Your name is Hiroshima." "My name is Hiroshima. And you, your name is Nevers. Nevers, in France."
Those last lines were just so good! They re-iterated how these characters will never be able to separate themselves from the synecdoche of their tragedy: he will always, in a way, be the horror of Hiroshima; she will always, in a way, be a bout of madness in Nevers.
So now I can say I've lived because I've seen this movie. I hope this kind of humbling happens often.
Friday, April 10, 2009
Isn't It Romantic?
This post is only tangentially related to film. This morning I opened the almost-floor-to-ceiling-windows of my tiny Parisian apartment to one of these. It was so darling and unexpected. The couple waved to me when they saw me leaning on the railing and smiling, and as I looked about, I noticed others doing the same in their cramped Haussmanian high-rises. Then I noticed the street-cleaners with their bright green, imitation plastic straw brooms, and women shaking out tablecloths on their balconies, and other Parisians going about their daily business, and was reminded of one of the most delightful movies I've ever seen, Love Me Tonight. Specifically the opening scene.
You think things like that aren't real, but they are! At least, they are in Paris. What a place to be in Springtime!
You think things like that aren't real, but they are! At least, they are in Paris. What a place to be in Springtime!
Monday, April 6, 2009
Suddenly, Last Summer
At this point I know I am enormous fan of Tennessee Williams, but I have never seen one of his plays, only film adaptations. Each film adaptation seems to trump the last. I liked A Streetcar Named Desire well enough. I only watched it once. Then I saw Night of the Iguana and was blown away. Then I watched Suddenly, Last Summer and I thought, "why do people make fun of Elizabeth Taylor? She's such a fantastic actress. She can act as kooky as she likes, for all I care. She's earned it." Then I watched Cat on a Hot Tin Roof and I FELL OFF THE COUCH. You think I'm exaggerating. Hmph.
At this point I can't even give any sort of coherent criticism because these movies are all just SO AWESOME. I could write essays, I suppose, on the constructions of fragile masculinity and the crazy homophobia and the strange sexless female characters and the skewed angular cinematography and how incendiary the feminine archetypes are when pitted against each other...but that's not necessary at the moment. Here is my list of awesomeness:
1. Night of the Iguana
2. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
3. Suddenly, Last Summer
4. A Streetcar Named Desire
So why is A Streetcar Named Desire the movie everybody sees? They're getting gypped. Seriously. Reevaluate your top ten lists, fellas. Consider how epic John Huston was. Imagine Ava Gardner in a wet t-shirt. Crippling sexual tension between Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Newman, for chrissakes! Katharine Hepburn playing a crazy faghag mother! Watch all these movies and tell me I'm wrong. I don't care if you disagree, but you've got to see them all.
Note: I still haven't seen The Glass Menagerie, but when I do, I will modify this list. And I'm pretty sure Jane Wyman won't disappoint if she's half as good as in a Douglas Sirk movie.
At this point I can't even give any sort of coherent criticism because these movies are all just SO AWESOME. I could write essays, I suppose, on the constructions of fragile masculinity and the crazy homophobia and the strange sexless female characters and the skewed angular cinematography and how incendiary the feminine archetypes are when pitted against each other...but that's not necessary at the moment. Here is my list of awesomeness:
1. Night of the Iguana
2. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
3. Suddenly, Last Summer
4. A Streetcar Named Desire
So why is A Streetcar Named Desire the movie everybody sees? They're getting gypped. Seriously. Reevaluate your top ten lists, fellas. Consider how epic John Huston was. Imagine Ava Gardner in a wet t-shirt. Crippling sexual tension between Elizabeth Taylor and Paul Newman, for chrissakes! Katharine Hepburn playing a crazy faghag mother! Watch all these movies and tell me I'm wrong. I don't care if you disagree, but you've got to see them all.
Note: I still haven't seen The Glass Menagerie, but when I do, I will modify this list. And I'm pretty sure Jane Wyman won't disappoint if she's half as good as in a Douglas Sirk movie.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Peau d'Ane (Donkey Skin)
Um...this is about as weird as a musical gets. First, the credits: Directed by Jacques Demy (The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, The Young Girls of Rochefort) and starring Catherine Deneuve (you may have heard of her), Jean Marais (Orpheus, Beauty and the Beast), Jacques Perrin (he was Deneuve's unsuspecting soulmate in The Young Girls of Rochefort), and Delphine Seyrig (Last Year at Marienbad).
Next, the story: Donkey Skin begins with a beautiful king, his beautiful queen, their beautiful daughter, and a prosperous kingdom. The kingdom is prosperous because of a magic donkey that shits gold. Really. The queen falls ill, and on her deathbed makes the king promise that he will only marry a woman more beautiful and "mieux faite" than her. He goes a little crazy from grief, and after rejecting many neighboring princesses, realizes his daughter fits the bill! He asks her to marry him, and she gets rather confused because she doesn't know if marrying her father fits under the category of filial devotion.
Luckily, her fairy godmother (played deliciously campy by Seyrig) steps in and advises her that this is not the case, and that she needs to get the hell out of there. After a few failed schemes, the princess flees the country, disguised in the skin of said magic donkey. She takes a job as a scullery maid in a nearby land, a prince falls madly in love with her, and the rest is evident.
Fucked up fairy tale aside, the magic of this movie is in the details. It is, in many ways, an homage to the cinematic tricks and styles of Jean Cocteau (perhaps one of the reasons why Marais did this film), as well as Cocteau's preoccupation with archetypes and fairy tales. The film is full of whimsical sets, rich sets, slow motion, reverse motion, and retro Méliès-style jump cuts. There are several anachronistic jokes, as well as references to other strange fairy tales penned by Charles Perrault.
Most importantly: this is a musical! Cocteau, if he had lived longer, might have graced us with a musical. We'll never know. But Demy does his best to rectify that with a catchy, eery score by Michel Legrand (he did several other Demy films, as well as pretty much everything else under the sun).
Lastly, the critique: Though this movie was entertaining and certainly original, it wasn't nearly as luminous or emotionally resonant as the Cocteau films it honors. Nor is it even up to par with other Demy films. I was genuinely amused by the satirical moments, but what I love about Cocteau's fantasies is the depth of absorption I experience, even in the most clichéd of tales, like Beauty and the Beast. Cocteau understands archetypes so well, and the proto-emotions that still ring true from fairy tales. Demy might have plumbed a lot more depth in this story than the facile Freudian jokes that are easily divined. There also were not nearly enough musical numbers...I believe there were only three or four, and several were reprises. Perhaps Demy was working on a tighter budget than in the 60s?
Next, the story: Donkey Skin begins with a beautiful king, his beautiful queen, their beautiful daughter, and a prosperous kingdom. The kingdom is prosperous because of a magic donkey that shits gold. Really. The queen falls ill, and on her deathbed makes the king promise that he will only marry a woman more beautiful and "mieux faite" than her. He goes a little crazy from grief, and after rejecting many neighboring princesses, realizes his daughter fits the bill! He asks her to marry him, and she gets rather confused because she doesn't know if marrying her father fits under the category of filial devotion.
Luckily, her fairy godmother (played deliciously campy by Seyrig) steps in and advises her that this is not the case, and that she needs to get the hell out of there. After a few failed schemes, the princess flees the country, disguised in the skin of said magic donkey. She takes a job as a scullery maid in a nearby land, a prince falls madly in love with her, and the rest is evident.
Fucked up fairy tale aside, the magic of this movie is in the details. It is, in many ways, an homage to the cinematic tricks and styles of Jean Cocteau (perhaps one of the reasons why Marais did this film), as well as Cocteau's preoccupation with archetypes and fairy tales. The film is full of whimsical sets, rich sets, slow motion, reverse motion, and retro Méliès-style jump cuts. There are several anachronistic jokes, as well as references to other strange fairy tales penned by Charles Perrault.
Most importantly: this is a musical! Cocteau, if he had lived longer, might have graced us with a musical. We'll never know. But Demy does his best to rectify that with a catchy, eery score by Michel Legrand (he did several other Demy films, as well as pretty much everything else under the sun).
Lastly, the critique: Though this movie was entertaining and certainly original, it wasn't nearly as luminous or emotionally resonant as the Cocteau films it honors. Nor is it even up to par with other Demy films. I was genuinely amused by the satirical moments, but what I love about Cocteau's fantasies is the depth of absorption I experience, even in the most clichéd of tales, like Beauty and the Beast. Cocteau understands archetypes so well, and the proto-emotions that still ring true from fairy tales. Demy might have plumbed a lot more depth in this story than the facile Freudian jokes that are easily divined. There also were not nearly enough musical numbers...I believe there were only three or four, and several were reprises. Perhaps Demy was working on a tighter budget than in the 60s?
Friday, April 3, 2009
Synecdoche, New York
Normally I would write my own review, but after an excruciating evening of watching this movie with Annie, I pretty much agree with everything Stephanie Zacharek says:
http://www.salon.com/ent/movies/review/2008/10/24/synecdoche/
Except for what she says about Claire--I think Kauffman actually wrote Claire to be a rather unsympathetic character, not someone fragile (nor do I think Williams is a "fragile" sort of actress), someone we're supposed to ridicule because she's the kind of theatre actress who isn't as smart as the plays she plays and because she has no idea how self-centered she is. That bugged me in the movie. It seemed petty.
I don't exactly agree with Zacharek about the potential the movie had, because I really liked Eternal Sunshine and Adaptation. I think those movies did have emotional resonance, even as they got so meta they made my eyes roll. I think if Synecdoche had been reined in somewhat and taken one direction instead of another, I might have liked it more. Synecdoche reminds me, in that sense, of The Science of Sleep, which I still really like but feel is lacking in many ways. In both instances a very unique screenwriter took a hand at directing their own work and kind of ran away with themselves.
http://www.salon.com/ent/movies/review/2008/10/24/synecdoche/
Except for what she says about Claire--I think Kauffman actually wrote Claire to be a rather unsympathetic character, not someone fragile (nor do I think Williams is a "fragile" sort of actress), someone we're supposed to ridicule because she's the kind of theatre actress who isn't as smart as the plays she plays and because she has no idea how self-centered she is. That bugged me in the movie. It seemed petty.
I don't exactly agree with Zacharek about the potential the movie had, because I really liked Eternal Sunshine and Adaptation. I think those movies did have emotional resonance, even as they got so meta they made my eyes roll. I think if Synecdoche had been reined in somewhat and taken one direction instead of another, I might have liked it more. Synecdoche reminds me, in that sense, of The Science of Sleep, which I still really like but feel is lacking in many ways. In both instances a very unique screenwriter took a hand at directing their own work and kind of ran away with themselves.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Ghost Town
Ricky Gervais is invariably hilarious, and I rather like Téa Leoni, but why oh why did this movie have to get so unbearably sappy toward the end? It had a lot going for it, I liked the dynamic between them, and then the nausea kicked in. What a shame. If you can, watch the first hour and turn it off, and I'll tell you the shocking secret--they end up together at the end. The best part of a romantic comedy is the meet-cute, anyway, and that's no different in Ghost Town, despite the silly semi-supernatural plot.
Happy Go Lucky
The latest installment from Mike Leigh was not what I expected. Even after reading the reviews, I kept thinking, "something horrible has gotta happen...where's the social drama?" That ended up adding some serious suspense to two key moments in the movie, which I won't divulge because I hate giving away plot. It actually made the movie more exciting to watch, knowing the kind of movies Leigh has made previously and having my audience expectations subverted.
So what is Happy Go Lucky really about? It really is about being happy. The main character, Polly, played by Sally Hawkins (whom you may recognize from Vera Drake or a deliciously bad lesbian BBC miniseries, Fingersmith), is truly a happy person. Through interactions with her friends, flirting, confrontations with family, and especially when she's alone, we realize that we cannot rationalize away her happiness as we are wont to do, thinking to ourselves, "oh, she's just being cheerful...he's just repressing things...she's gotta be faking it." Polly really is happy, and the reactions of people around her are astonishingly accurate and damning.
Why do we hate happy people? Why do we think they're so smug, and that they're rubbing their happiness in our faces? Why do we balk whenever anyone asks, "Are you happy?" These are all questions Leigh tackles in Happy Go Lucky, and I really admire the sharp observations he makes. I also loved the tone of the movie...not a lot happens, but it's always engaging, and the dialogue is very well-written.
Two things I really, really liked about this movie, aside from the fact that somebody managed to make life-affirming movie that doesn't make me gag but has quite a bit of substance, are the Buffalo '66-esque scenes with the driving instructor, which become so tragic toward the end, and the rather poetic moments where Polly is alone and observing the world around her. Through most of the movie, Polly talks a mile a minute and says cringe-worthy, awkward-yet-charming things, and when she lets up from the barrage, it feels like a breath of fresh air, and in those moments Polly's character takes on such depth that I can't believe I ever thought she was one-dimensional.
I highly recommend this movie. It might be one of the best I've seen all year. It's so original and well-filmed and well-acted and unusual--a happy-go-lucky film that doesn't leave a bad taste in one's mouth afterwards. Definitely give it a try.
So what is Happy Go Lucky really about? It really is about being happy. The main character, Polly, played by Sally Hawkins (whom you may recognize from Vera Drake or a deliciously bad lesbian BBC miniseries, Fingersmith), is truly a happy person. Through interactions with her friends, flirting, confrontations with family, and especially when she's alone, we realize that we cannot rationalize away her happiness as we are wont to do, thinking to ourselves, "oh, she's just being cheerful...he's just repressing things...she's gotta be faking it." Polly really is happy, and the reactions of people around her are astonishingly accurate and damning.
Why do we hate happy people? Why do we think they're so smug, and that they're rubbing their happiness in our faces? Why do we balk whenever anyone asks, "Are you happy?" These are all questions Leigh tackles in Happy Go Lucky, and I really admire the sharp observations he makes. I also loved the tone of the movie...not a lot happens, but it's always engaging, and the dialogue is very well-written.
Two things I really, really liked about this movie, aside from the fact that somebody managed to make life-affirming movie that doesn't make me gag but has quite a bit of substance, are the Buffalo '66-esque scenes with the driving instructor, which become so tragic toward the end, and the rather poetic moments where Polly is alone and observing the world around her. Through most of the movie, Polly talks a mile a minute and says cringe-worthy, awkward-yet-charming things, and when she lets up from the barrage, it feels like a breath of fresh air, and in those moments Polly's character takes on such depth that I can't believe I ever thought she was one-dimensional.
I highly recommend this movie. It might be one of the best I've seen all year. It's so original and well-filmed and well-acted and unusual--a happy-go-lucky film that doesn't leave a bad taste in one's mouth afterwards. Definitely give it a try.
Gran Torino
I was surprised by how much I liked this movie. At this point I feel like the only roles Eastwood can profit from are the ones that deconstruct his persona. I can't imagine him playing a role that separates him from it, but a role that draws from it, and comments on it, and uses it wisely is immensely satisfying to watch. Eastwood's persona, and his deft directing of his own persona without loads of unnecessary ego (which only makes Clint Eastwood even more awesome), manage to streamline the characterization and distract from the kind of clumsy script and make the interaction between Hollywood's oldest and gruffest acting veteran and the two rookie leads incredibly moving instead of painfully sappy.
I kind of like the way Eastwood directs--it's nothing flashy, just sticks to basics, very well-controlled. It's easy to see his influences lie along the lines of John Ford and the classics. I wasn't a huge fan of the cinematography, but that may have been the streaming quality. The funny moments were the real gems of the movie: the casual interactions between Walt Kowalski (Eastwood) and his Hmong neighbors after his initial rebuttals. They were priceless. I also LOVE that they cast all nonprofessionals to play the Hmong in the movie. When they are directed well, nonprofessional actors can give such astonishing performances!
This movie also brought to light something that a lot of people may not realize about ethnic tensions in America: they won't be solved by policy in Washington. It takes baby steps in shitty Detroit suburbs and sometimes extraordinary circumstances for various ethnicities to see each other not as stereotypes, but as human beings. Gran Torino did a superb job of illustrating the plausibility of an incredibly bitter, bigoted Korean War vet actually befriending, and staunchly defending, his Asian neighbors. I really appreciated that message.
This movie also gets some points for making Annie and I cry at the end, simultaneously, so that we turned to each other and each got kind of embarrassed. It's a real tearjerker.
I kind of like the way Eastwood directs--it's nothing flashy, just sticks to basics, very well-controlled. It's easy to see his influences lie along the lines of John Ford and the classics. I wasn't a huge fan of the cinematography, but that may have been the streaming quality. The funny moments were the real gems of the movie: the casual interactions between Walt Kowalski (Eastwood) and his Hmong neighbors after his initial rebuttals. They were priceless. I also LOVE that they cast all nonprofessionals to play the Hmong in the movie. When they are directed well, nonprofessional actors can give such astonishing performances!
This movie also brought to light something that a lot of people may not realize about ethnic tensions in America: they won't be solved by policy in Washington. It takes baby steps in shitty Detroit suburbs and sometimes extraordinary circumstances for various ethnicities to see each other not as stereotypes, but as human beings. Gran Torino did a superb job of illustrating the plausibility of an incredibly bitter, bigoted Korean War vet actually befriending, and staunchly defending, his Asian neighbors. I really appreciated that message.
This movie also gets some points for making Annie and I cry at the end, simultaneously, so that we turned to each other and each got kind of embarrassed. It's a real tearjerker.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Nine Lives
Nine Lives is a more ambitious feature than Things You Can Tell Just by Looking at Her. Garcia's screenwriting is still quite the same--tightly written vignettes, centered around female characters--but cinematically, Nine Lives goes a step further. The movie is composed of 9 real-time steadicam shots, each about 10 minutes long. I LOVE that kind of filmmaking, but not unconditionally. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn't. When a movie is all style an no substance, those long takes are excruciating, but as anyone who had to listen to me when I was writing my senior thesis knows, my favorite filmmaker, Catherine Breillat, uses just that technique to astonishing effect.
The effect of the cinematography of Nine Lives is not exactly astonishing. In fact, you probably won't even notice that each scene is in real-time, or that the camera never cuts. You might experience a strange sensation as the camera swings back and forth between characters, or glides from room to room, because, I would argue, the way we identify with characters on screen and the way we inhabit their perspectives through narrative suturing is disrupted when we never visually cut from character to character. There are no cuts. There is drifting. We do not have a chance to experience that cut and re-set our attention to the other character. Instead, our attention shifts and is sometimes confused and overwhelmed.
That's just my opinion, however. It's not standard spectator theory. There's not enough spectator theory out there, but I bet this movie would be a good one to use in an essay about spectator relations and long takes.
So, wanky film theory aside, this movie was a serious tearjerker. I thought the acting was phenomenal. The cast includes some of my personal favorites, including Canadian actress Molly Parker, whom none of you know starred in a seriously odd movie, Kissed, about a necrophiliac. The movie also features veteran greats like Robin Wright Penn (Ebert and I agree that she was the most phenomenal thing in the movie), Sissy Spacek, Glenn Close (who seems like she's been the same age for the past 20 years...creepy), and Holly Hunter. Two actresses who might not stand out, but should, are Elpidia Carrillo and Amanda Seyfried. I think Carrillo is a much better actress than she probably gets credit for, and I remember her from high school Spanish class, when our teacher didn't feel like teaching and would let us watch La Familia over and over again. What an awesome movie that is. Seyfried, on the other hand, is someone I'm sure you'll recognize as the most vapid Plastic from Mean Girls and as Sophie from one of the most abominable movies of all time, Mamma Mia. I assumed Seyfried would be pathetic, but I guess I underestimated Garcia's talent as a director. Seyfried was surprisingly receptive and fluid, allowing me to see what her character might be experiencing, even though I doubt Seyfried had any idea herself. That was impressive.
I would highly recommend Nine Lives, and even though The Passengers, Garcia's latest flick, got bad reviews, I still think he's a director to follow.
The effect of the cinematography of Nine Lives is not exactly astonishing. In fact, you probably won't even notice that each scene is in real-time, or that the camera never cuts. You might experience a strange sensation as the camera swings back and forth between characters, or glides from room to room, because, I would argue, the way we identify with characters on screen and the way we inhabit their perspectives through narrative suturing is disrupted when we never visually cut from character to character. There are no cuts. There is drifting. We do not have a chance to experience that cut and re-set our attention to the other character. Instead, our attention shifts and is sometimes confused and overwhelmed.
That's just my opinion, however. It's not standard spectator theory. There's not enough spectator theory out there, but I bet this movie would be a good one to use in an essay about spectator relations and long takes.
So, wanky film theory aside, this movie was a serious tearjerker. I thought the acting was phenomenal. The cast includes some of my personal favorites, including Canadian actress Molly Parker, whom none of you know starred in a seriously odd movie, Kissed, about a necrophiliac. The movie also features veteran greats like Robin Wright Penn (Ebert and I agree that she was the most phenomenal thing in the movie), Sissy Spacek, Glenn Close (who seems like she's been the same age for the past 20 years...creepy), and Holly Hunter. Two actresses who might not stand out, but should, are Elpidia Carrillo and Amanda Seyfried. I think Carrillo is a much better actress than she probably gets credit for, and I remember her from high school Spanish class, when our teacher didn't feel like teaching and would let us watch La Familia over and over again. What an awesome movie that is. Seyfried, on the other hand, is someone I'm sure you'll recognize as the most vapid Plastic from Mean Girls and as Sophie from one of the most abominable movies of all time, Mamma Mia. I assumed Seyfried would be pathetic, but I guess I underestimated Garcia's talent as a director. Seyfried was surprisingly receptive and fluid, allowing me to see what her character might be experiencing, even though I doubt Seyfried had any idea herself. That was impressive.
I would highly recommend Nine Lives, and even though The Passengers, Garcia's latest flick, got bad reviews, I still think he's a director to follow.
The Fountainhead
King Vidor, Patricia Neal, Gary Cooper and Peter Lorre do a bang-up job making this movie thoroughly watchable, in spite of Ayn Rand's insipid, illogical, extremist, didactic script. Should you watch it? Only if you've got some time on your hands and would like to see some hilariously subversive sexual tension between Neal and Cooper.
I read The Fountainhead in high school, and it was a pretty entertaining novel, and I thought it had a lot of interesting ideas and a lot of messed up ideas, but it wasn't until I got to college and had to read real philosophy, real social theory, and real critical theory that I realized everything Ayn Rand wrote was a bunch of bullshit. So the script of this movie, if you have half a brain on your shoulders, will feel clunkier than Mighty Ducks 3, but the acting, and King Vidor's direction, won't disappoint. Just don't forget while you're watching that WE HATE COMMIES. DON'T LET THEM INFILTRATE. YAY CAPITALISM!
I read The Fountainhead in high school, and it was a pretty entertaining novel, and I thought it had a lot of interesting ideas and a lot of messed up ideas, but it wasn't until I got to college and had to read real philosophy, real social theory, and real critical theory that I realized everything Ayn Rand wrote was a bunch of bullshit. So the script of this movie, if you have half a brain on your shoulders, will feel clunkier than Mighty Ducks 3, but the acting, and King Vidor's direction, won't disappoint. Just don't forget while you're watching that WE HATE COMMIES. DON'T LET THEM INFILTRATE. YAY CAPITALISM!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Things You Can Tell Just By Looking At Her
Rodrigo Garcia wrote and directed this lovely, subtle film, the latest installment in the chick flick series. It has some regulars: Glenn Close (is she to chick flicks what Gerard Depardieu is to French flicks?), Holly Hunter, Amy Brenneman and Kathy Baker (who were both in The Jane Austen Book Club). The cinematographer is a pretty awesome guy who has some diverse movies on his rap sheet, from Like Water for Chocolate to Reality Bites to Meet Joe Black to Burn After Reading. The music is by Edward Shearmur, whom I remember from The Governess, one of the odder movies I've enjoyed despite it's many flaws, mostly due to his soundtrack, which is full of ethereal, beautiful Sephardic music.
The writing, cinematography, and directing only set the stage for the phenomenal acting showcased in the movie. Even Cameron Diaz, who generally irritates me, is startlingly funny. The movie itself is startlingly funny, even during the more tragic stories. So these are the things I love about Things You Can Tell, in order of importance:
1. The color burning and vignetting during many shots of the movie, most noticeable during Holly Hunter's storyline. I can't describe exactly what feeling it adds, but it's palpable, like some sort of malaise that's creeping down the frame.
2. Cameron Diaz's character. Diaz does a pretty great job of reading the lines, but the real credit goes to that fantastic writing! Every single character, no matter how minor, is so carefully etched. It's easy to see that the director is the son of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It really shows.
3. The loose-but-engaging interconnectedness of the stories. It irritates me when the interconnectedness of vignette-movies is too contrived, but it also irritates me when the interconnectedness is haphazard and uninteresting (see Paris, je t'aime). This movie strikes the perfect balance.
4. The male characters are neither perfect, nor villains. There is often a danger in chick flicks of the male characters being too one-dimensional. This doesn't necessarily bother me because in the rest of movies female characters are often one-dimensional. Garcia, however, has made every character interesting and nuanced, without giving too much away, because, after all, this is a movie about Things You Can Tell Just By Looking At Her, not by her telling you everything about herself.
5. I can't lie, I get such a thrill from the midget story, "Someone for Rose." I just can't stop giggling.
The writing, cinematography, and directing only set the stage for the phenomenal acting showcased in the movie. Even Cameron Diaz, who generally irritates me, is startlingly funny. The movie itself is startlingly funny, even during the more tragic stories. So these are the things I love about Things You Can Tell, in order of importance:
1. The color burning and vignetting during many shots of the movie, most noticeable during Holly Hunter's storyline. I can't describe exactly what feeling it adds, but it's palpable, like some sort of malaise that's creeping down the frame.
2. Cameron Diaz's character. Diaz does a pretty great job of reading the lines, but the real credit goes to that fantastic writing! Every single character, no matter how minor, is so carefully etched. It's easy to see that the director is the son of Gabriel Garcia Marquez. It really shows.
3. The loose-but-engaging interconnectedness of the stories. It irritates me when the interconnectedness of vignette-movies is too contrived, but it also irritates me when the interconnectedness is haphazard and uninteresting (see Paris, je t'aime). This movie strikes the perfect balance.
4. The male characters are neither perfect, nor villains. There is often a danger in chick flicks of the male characters being too one-dimensional. This doesn't necessarily bother me because in the rest of movies female characters are often one-dimensional. Garcia, however, has made every character interesting and nuanced, without giving too much away, because, after all, this is a movie about Things You Can Tell Just By Looking At Her, not by her telling you everything about herself.
5. I can't lie, I get such a thrill from the midget story, "Someone for Rose." I just can't stop giggling.
Evening
Evening was incredibly disappointing. It was another addition to the ongoing chick flick series I've been watching with Annie, but it was so subpar. I thought it could deliver some cheese, some embarrassment, and a few laughs, if only because it had SO many chick flick regulars: Vanessa Redgrave, Toni Collette, Natasha Richardson, Glenn Close, fucking MERYL STREEP, Hugh Dancy (from The Jane Austen Book Club! So cute!), Paul Wilson (ok, he's not necessarily a regular yet, but "Angels in America" was so gay it was a chick flick by default, right?) ...
Nope. Michael Cunningham (The Hours) was also involved, and even that didn't help. Claire Danes was in it, unfortunately, and Annie and I despise her both as an actress and on principle, because we are both fiercely loyal to Mary Louise-Parker and think Claire Danes is a homewrecker.
So, these are my problems with Evening, in order of importance:
1. Bastards stole the last scene from The Way We Were without adding anything interesting or unusual to it, or even bothering to make it an homage or commentary.
2. The flashback story that you're supposed to get into was flimsy and stupid and was never adequately related to the daughters, so it's really implausible that the daughters reconciliation was in any way connected to the flashback story.
3. Meryl Streep was only in the LAST TEN MINUTES. She was amazing, though, as usual.
4. Eileen Atkins was wasted, too.
5. The whole story seemed like it was gleaned from "The Jilting of Granny Weatherall," and translated from page to screen with as much incoherent stream-of-consciousness plotting. Hmph.
Nope. Michael Cunningham (The Hours) was also involved, and even that didn't help. Claire Danes was in it, unfortunately, and Annie and I despise her both as an actress and on principle, because we are both fiercely loyal to Mary Louise-Parker and think Claire Danes is a homewrecker.
So, these are my problems with Evening, in order of importance:
1. Bastards stole the last scene from The Way We Were without adding anything interesting or unusual to it, or even bothering to make it an homage or commentary.
2. The flashback story that you're supposed to get into was flimsy and stupid and was never adequately related to the daughters, so it's really implausible that the daughters reconciliation was in any way connected to the flashback story.
3. Meryl Streep was only in the LAST TEN MINUTES. She was amazing, though, as usual.
4. Eileen Atkins was wasted, too.
5. The whole story seemed like it was gleaned from "The Jilting of Granny Weatherall," and translated from page to screen with as much incoherent stream-of-consciousness plotting. Hmph.
Holiday
I don't even feel like I need to write any sort of review of Holiday because I can't think of a single thing to say about it that's not !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
and Katie Hepburn !!!!!!!!!!!!!
and Cary Grant !!!!!!!!!!!!!
and George Cukor !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This movie makes me chuckle and cry and knocks my skinny tie askew. It's so beautiful.
and Katie Hepburn !!!!!!!!!!!!!
and Cary Grant !!!!!!!!!!!!!
and George Cukor !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This movie makes me chuckle and cry and knocks my skinny tie askew. It's so beautiful.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Mystery Train
Stranger Than Paradise was the first Jim Jarmusch movie I ever saw, and no Jarmusch movie I've seen since has compared. They've all been awesome in their own ways, but for some reason they can't even compete with Stranger Than Paradise. Mystery Train is really enjoyable in its own right, but is not nearly as fabulous as Down by Law or Dead Man. That said, I would highly recommend it. I loved the way Memphis was shot, and I especially loved the very last shot of the movie, where the train carries everybody away through a jungle of kudzu. The South would not be the South without kudzu.
I also found the Nicoletta Braschi really charming, and I liked her story. It had such a sad undercurrent (you see her at the beginning of her story signing off for a coffin at the airport), but managed to be really funny, then touching again when she does something at the end of her story that reveals who died. Braschi was also in Down by Law and you probably saw her in Life is Beautiful (she's married to Roberto Benigni, a Jarmusch regular).
I was least interested in Joe Strummer's story--it was supposed to be the outright comedy in the movie, but I only found it funny occasionally, and the moments that were supposed to feel sad, empty, and touching in that Jarmuschian way left a lot to be desired. I feel like Buscemi was kind of wasted here. That said, I thought Joe Strummer was a perfect Jarmusch character--hip, kind of goofy, kind of retro. It makes perfect sense for him to be in a Jarmusch movie.
The BEST THING EVER. Hands down. Is Screamin' Jay Hawkins. Man oh man were the scenes between him and the bellhop hilarious. They barely did anything the entire movie but sit at that desk together, but they were so unbelievably funny. I loved that Jarmusch cut to them all the time, even when they weren't doing anything. It gave the movie even more structure (and one thing I love about Jarmusch is how beautifully structured his movies are, how clean and precise) and it was obviously done because Jarmusch is such a fan. Sometimes singers can't act and are put in movies anyway, just because the director's a fan, but Jarmusch is discriminating: Joe Strummer really can act, in a lumbering sort of way, and Hawkins doesn't even HAVE to act. All he has to do is sit there and look tired or surprised, and he's incredibly funny. He's got a great filmic presence. That's not to brush aside Cinqué Lee, little brother of Spike Lee, who is pretty adorable as the bellhop. He and Hawkins work wonderfully against each other.
The story that surprised me the most, however, was "Far from Yokohama." Two Japanese teenagers, obsessed with rockabilly and Elvis Presley, come to Memphis, barely speak a lick of English, and spend a lot of time in their hotel room not relating to each other. I thought the writing here was just beautiful--very few words spoke volumes about their relationship, their alienation from each other, and their strange affection for Memphis, a place where they are so obviously dis-placed and could never fit. Their story was somehow quite sad and touching, much like that of the Italian displaced in Memphis for a night.
The last reason why I would recommend Mystery Train is the atmosphere, the sense of place. It's got some of the most depressing shots of Memphis, so depressing it'll make you want to take a road trip there right afterwards, listening to Carl Perkins and Roy Orbison along the way. The shots alone might not have accomplished that, but Jarmusch is aware of how much the soundtrack creates atmosphere. Jarmusch regular John Lurie did the soundtrack and it was lovely, as per usual. I always love the soundtracks of Jarmusch movies, because they lend so much emotional weight to what would otherwise be underwhelming scenes of emptiness. Melancholy, spaced-out rockabilly underscores long takes of the various displaced characters walking through the empty, overgrown, faded streets of Memphis.
I also found the Nicoletta Braschi really charming, and I liked her story. It had such a sad undercurrent (you see her at the beginning of her story signing off for a coffin at the airport), but managed to be really funny, then touching again when she does something at the end of her story that reveals who died. Braschi was also in Down by Law and you probably saw her in Life is Beautiful (she's married to Roberto Benigni, a Jarmusch regular).
I was least interested in Joe Strummer's story--it was supposed to be the outright comedy in the movie, but I only found it funny occasionally, and the moments that were supposed to feel sad, empty, and touching in that Jarmuschian way left a lot to be desired. I feel like Buscemi was kind of wasted here. That said, I thought Joe Strummer was a perfect Jarmusch character--hip, kind of goofy, kind of retro. It makes perfect sense for him to be in a Jarmusch movie.
The BEST THING EVER. Hands down. Is Screamin' Jay Hawkins. Man oh man were the scenes between him and the bellhop hilarious. They barely did anything the entire movie but sit at that desk together, but they were so unbelievably funny. I loved that Jarmusch cut to them all the time, even when they weren't doing anything. It gave the movie even more structure (and one thing I love about Jarmusch is how beautifully structured his movies are, how clean and precise) and it was obviously done because Jarmusch is such a fan. Sometimes singers can't act and are put in movies anyway, just because the director's a fan, but Jarmusch is discriminating: Joe Strummer really can act, in a lumbering sort of way, and Hawkins doesn't even HAVE to act. All he has to do is sit there and look tired or surprised, and he's incredibly funny. He's got a great filmic presence. That's not to brush aside Cinqué Lee, little brother of Spike Lee, who is pretty adorable as the bellhop. He and Hawkins work wonderfully against each other.
The story that surprised me the most, however, was "Far from Yokohama." Two Japanese teenagers, obsessed with rockabilly and Elvis Presley, come to Memphis, barely speak a lick of English, and spend a lot of time in their hotel room not relating to each other. I thought the writing here was just beautiful--very few words spoke volumes about their relationship, their alienation from each other, and their strange affection for Memphis, a place where they are so obviously dis-placed and could never fit. Their story was somehow quite sad and touching, much like that of the Italian displaced in Memphis for a night.
The last reason why I would recommend Mystery Train is the atmosphere, the sense of place. It's got some of the most depressing shots of Memphis, so depressing it'll make you want to take a road trip there right afterwards, listening to Carl Perkins and Roy Orbison along the way. The shots alone might not have accomplished that, but Jarmusch is aware of how much the soundtrack creates atmosphere. Jarmusch regular John Lurie did the soundtrack and it was lovely, as per usual. I always love the soundtracks of Jarmusch movies, because they lend so much emotional weight to what would otherwise be underwhelming scenes of emptiness. Melancholy, spaced-out rockabilly underscores long takes of the various displaced characters walking through the empty, overgrown, faded streets of Memphis.
Lady for a Day
There's quite a backstory to this picture, and knowing it makes the picture more interesting. Frank Capra directed it with only B-list stars and some actual homeless people he picked off the streets of Los Angeles. He really wanted to win an Oscar, and tried his damnedest with the sentimental tripe that permeates an otherwise rather funny movie. He failed, and although it was nominated several times, Lady for a Day lost in every category.
Then, of course, Capra went on to sweep the Oscars with It Happened One Night, a far superior film that I could watch a hundred times. I like to watch the less famous films of directors I like, just to make sure they're not underrated and unduly ignored, because sometimes those films turn out to be hidden gems. I can see why Lady for a Day, while an admirable attempt, isn't a classic like It's a Wonderful Life or Arsenic and Old Lace. The movie did have some funny moments, but I was not touched by the sentimentality and the entire time I was watching the movie, I found myself waiting for those beautiful Frank Capra moments, which never seemed to arrive. I wouldn't recommend Lady for a Day unless you want to see every Frank Capra movie.
Then, of course, Capra went on to sweep the Oscars with It Happened One Night, a far superior film that I could watch a hundred times. I like to watch the less famous films of directors I like, just to make sure they're not underrated and unduly ignored, because sometimes those films turn out to be hidden gems. I can see why Lady for a Day, while an admirable attempt, isn't a classic like It's a Wonderful Life or Arsenic and Old Lace. The movie did have some funny moments, but I was not touched by the sentimentality and the entire time I was watching the movie, I found myself waiting for those beautiful Frank Capra moments, which never seemed to arrive. I wouldn't recommend Lady for a Day unless you want to see every Frank Capra movie.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
A Date With Judy
A Date With Judy was a fluffy musical from 1949, which, though underwhelming as a musical, did feature some surprising stars. Elizabeth Taylor is notable in her first grown-up sex-kitten role, doing some serious eyelash batting and scene-stealing from the corners. Robert Stack plays a hunky sodajerk with high morals. Wallace Beery (of whom I'm really not a fan) got me to laugh several times as he attempted to learn the rumba from Carmen Miranda (!). Miranda is totally the best thing in this film. I feel the same way about Carmen Miranda as I do about Marilyn Monroe, although Miranda seems to have had much more agency in her career. They both are somewhat exploited, somewhat pigeonholed stars who exuded so much warmth and charm in even their most stereotypical roles that I've really grown to love them both.
Unless you're an ardent fan of one or all of the above, I don't recommend this movie. The story is dull, Jane Powell is pretty irritating, there are lots of dated teenage and family problems that don't entertain like they did in Bye Bye Birdie and don't relate emotionally like they still do in Douglas Sirk movies, and the musical numbers are not memorable. The direction is also kind of weak and uninspired.
Unless you're an ardent fan of one or all of the above, I don't recommend this movie. The story is dull, Jane Powell is pretty irritating, there are lots of dated teenage and family problems that don't entertain like they did in Bye Bye Birdie and don't relate emotionally like they still do in Douglas Sirk movies, and the musical numbers are not memorable. The direction is also kind of weak and uninspired.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Saving Grace
I started out watching "Saving Grace" (the TV series, not the movie, although the movie is a rare gem--something so funny but not-too-shocking that I could watch with my mother) solely for Holly Hunter. I will watch pretty much anything for Holly Hunter. She is one of the best actresses. Ever. I figured even if she's on a stupid TNT cop drama she'll still bring enough oddity and intensity to the part for me to enjoy it.
That did turn out to be true. Holly Hunter is totally awesome and even when the writing is horribly clichéd and uninspired and nauseatingly uplifting, she makes Grace such a tough, wry, earthy character, so I keep watching. The other actors are not half bad, and I rather like Laura San Giacomo, but I pretty much only watch for Holly Hunter.
One thing I do like is how unabashedly Southern the show is. It really utilizes expressions and stories that would come out of Oklahoma City, and doesn't devolve into Oklahoma City-but-really-it's-just-Southern California, which many shows do. The sense of place is very palpable. Part of that is due to the writer/creator, Nancy Miller, who is from Oklahoma City, and part of it is due to Holly Hunter's delicious Georgia drawl.
The writing has improved much in the second season, and the humorous notes really do make me chuckle. The only thing that has grown increasingly alarming is Holly Hunter's musculature. Is she doing the same scary yoga routine as Madonna? She's more ripped than a detective ever needed to be. Sometimes her biceps scare me.
That did turn out to be true. Holly Hunter is totally awesome and even when the writing is horribly clichéd and uninspired and nauseatingly uplifting, she makes Grace such a tough, wry, earthy character, so I keep watching. The other actors are not half bad, and I rather like Laura San Giacomo, but I pretty much only watch for Holly Hunter.
One thing I do like is how unabashedly Southern the show is. It really utilizes expressions and stories that would come out of Oklahoma City, and doesn't devolve into Oklahoma City-but-really-it's-just-Southern California, which many shows do. The sense of place is very palpable. Part of that is due to the writer/creator, Nancy Miller, who is from Oklahoma City, and part of it is due to Holly Hunter's delicious Georgia drawl.
The writing has improved much in the second season, and the humorous notes really do make me chuckle. The only thing that has grown increasingly alarming is Holly Hunter's musculature. Is she doing the same scary yoga routine as Madonna? She's more ripped than a detective ever needed to be. Sometimes her biceps scare me.
Jane Austen Book Club
Annie had a craving for a real chick flick. I suggested The Jane Austen Book Club, which I hadn't seen, but which seemed to fit all the requirements: largely female cast, female writer/director, Jane Austen. The movie soundly delivers as a chick flick, but satisfies little else.
The plot is appropriately contrived, cute, corny, and comfortably wrapped up at the end.
The directing is uninspired but does allow the actors to shine when they can--Maria Bello in particular is hugely underrated, and Hugh Dancy's comedic turns are pretty adorable. Also HOW IS HIS NAME HUGH DANCY!? Doesn't that sound like a joke? It made me giggle when I watched the credits, beginning and end.
The characters are, for the most part, interesting and multifaceted, and the relevance between Jane Austen's books and their lives is interestingly explored and amusingly discussed within the film itself.
My only real critique--because by and large, this movie is successful within its modest genre--is the highly unnecessary and incredibly embarrassing lesbian subplot. The lesbian character is the least nuanced in the movie, but according to Annie every character played by Maggie Grace is that annoying, so we concluded that it must be the actress's fault that her character is so irritating and unsympathetic. I just get unreasonably angry about Gratuitous Lesbian Subplots. It really didn't need to be in the movie, and only made Annie and I squirm and roll our eyes, and not in the good way that the rest of the movie does.
That said, the movie itself was highly entertaining and engaging, especially for an Austen fan. I have no idea how entertaining it would be for someone who's not a fan, but I imagine it would still bring some pleasure.
The plot is appropriately contrived, cute, corny, and comfortably wrapped up at the end.
The directing is uninspired but does allow the actors to shine when they can--Maria Bello in particular is hugely underrated, and Hugh Dancy's comedic turns are pretty adorable. Also HOW IS HIS NAME HUGH DANCY!? Doesn't that sound like a joke? It made me giggle when I watched the credits, beginning and end.
The characters are, for the most part, interesting and multifaceted, and the relevance between Jane Austen's books and their lives is interestingly explored and amusingly discussed within the film itself.
My only real critique--because by and large, this movie is successful within its modest genre--is the highly unnecessary and incredibly embarrassing lesbian subplot. The lesbian character is the least nuanced in the movie, but according to Annie every character played by Maggie Grace is that annoying, so we concluded that it must be the actress's fault that her character is so irritating and unsympathetic. I just get unreasonably angry about Gratuitous Lesbian Subplots. It really didn't need to be in the movie, and only made Annie and I squirm and roll our eyes, and not in the good way that the rest of the movie does.
That said, the movie itself was highly entertaining and engaging, especially for an Austen fan. I have no idea how entertaining it would be for someone who's not a fan, but I imagine it would still bring some pleasure.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Slumdog Millionaire
Just because it's the feel-good movie of the year doesn't mean it's any good. Some critics have said that if you don't like Slumdog Millionaire, you must not have a soul. That is just plain stupid. Slumdog Millionaire may be populated by actual slumdogs, which is admirable, and it may have been actually shot in the slums of Mumbai, which is admirable, but it's not like that makes it a landmark of social realism. Why is everyone touting this and not Salaam Bombay! which was SO FAR SUPERIOR? Salaam Bombay! was nominated for an Oscar, too. But nobody saw it.
Danny Boyle frustrates me. He knows how to make entertaining movies that are interesting to watch even as their clichés and retarded characterization make me want to scream. I had so many problems with Trainspotting and A Life Less Ordinary really is a bad movie. The only reason I've seen it multiple times is because Holly Hunter's scenes are magnificent. Slumdog Millionaire was no different--sleekly packaged, easy-to-handle "social realism" reminiscent of City of God, another movie that made me really angry.
I might not even have gotten so annoyed with Slumdog if I had turned it off before the last five minutes, but unfortunately I watched them. Why did it devolve more and more into a Bollywood ending? Was that really necessary? Why do movies like Trainspotting, City of God, and Slumdog Millionaire feel the need to glamorize something that really, truly, is not glamorous? I'll take something like Maria Full of Grace any day.
When I want to watch a beautiful movie that'll tug at my heart strings, without making me vomit, I'll watch Children of Heaven. I suggest you do so too.
Danny Boyle frustrates me. He knows how to make entertaining movies that are interesting to watch even as their clichés and retarded characterization make me want to scream. I had so many problems with Trainspotting and A Life Less Ordinary really is a bad movie. The only reason I've seen it multiple times is because Holly Hunter's scenes are magnificent. Slumdog Millionaire was no different--sleekly packaged, easy-to-handle "social realism" reminiscent of City of God, another movie that made me really angry.
I might not even have gotten so annoyed with Slumdog if I had turned it off before the last five minutes, but unfortunately I watched them. Why did it devolve more and more into a Bollywood ending? Was that really necessary? Why do movies like Trainspotting, City of God, and Slumdog Millionaire feel the need to glamorize something that really, truly, is not glamorous? I'll take something like Maria Full of Grace any day.
When I want to watch a beautiful movie that'll tug at my heart strings, without making me vomit, I'll watch Children of Heaven. I suggest you do so too.
Bam Bam and Celeste
Margaret Cho's debut as a screenwriter is a movie I wish I had watched when I was high. I would've been much more forgiving of its faults (of which there are many) and more amused by its jokes (some of which are pedestrian, many of which are just so odd they just had to make me laugh). The film boasts a stellar little trio of comedic supporting actors: Jane Lynch as a dykey Davy Crockett, Kathy Najimy as a fortune teller (she reminded me of Rosanne in Even Cowgirls Get the Blues, one of the worst movies I've ever seen with one of the most amazing casts), and Alan Cumming as Cho's dorky love interest.
I can't be overly critical of Bam Bam and Celeste because I think everyone involved was aware of what a bad movie it is, even as they were making it. It has the camp feel of a John Waters movie, without enough of the outrageous edge to make it a real success. It also has a bit too much heart, too didactically presented. If the theme of the movie hadn't hit me over the head so many times, it might not have made me roll my eyes so much at the end when Cho's character achieves self-actualization.
That said, there are some real gems in this honestly awful movie. Most of them are Cho playing her mother. I think Margaret Cho's mother must be one of the most entertaining people on the planet. I'm incredibly jealous that Margaret gets to have frustrating phone conversations with her on a regular basis!
I can't be overly critical of Bam Bam and Celeste because I think everyone involved was aware of what a bad movie it is, even as they were making it. It has the camp feel of a John Waters movie, without enough of the outrageous edge to make it a real success. It also has a bit too much heart, too didactically presented. If the theme of the movie hadn't hit me over the head so many times, it might not have made me roll my eyes so much at the end when Cho's character achieves self-actualization.
That said, there are some real gems in this honestly awful movie. Most of them are Cho playing her mother. I think Margaret Cho's mother must be one of the most entertaining people on the planet. I'm incredibly jealous that Margaret gets to have frustrating phone conversations with her on a regular basis!
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Frozen River
Generally I am ambivalent about watching Sundance movies. I find their formulaic tearjerking often has the opposite effect than intended. Frozen River felt quite different from the usual Sundance fare, despite being a gritty, low-budget movie about important social issues.
What surprised me most about the movie was how economical the script was. It had the refinement of a short story, perfectly detailed without overly padding the characters. It left me wanting to know much more about them, rather than merely feeling informed about their "type." The movie deals with issues of race and economic class by showing just how individuals within their race or class can act against stereotype, perhaps from desperation, or perhaps just from uniqueness.
That element of taut characterization was especially apt in the formulation of the Mohawk community within the film. In an interview the director, Courtney Hunt, said she didn't want the Native American element of the film to devolve into an exposition, so she gave us just enough to understand that Lila, one of the main characters in the film, feels both alienated from whites, mainstream American culture, and her own community. We understand enough about the disparity between Mohawk law and US law to realize there is too much murky territory for there not to be crime and confusion.
The filming itself, while not particularly interesting--and shot entirely on somber, washed-out DV--does what it can. Close-ups are not gratuitous, the sense of location is palpable, and the cinematography evokes the anxiety, desolation, and economic depression that permeate the story of the film.
The best thing about Frozen River is by far the narrative. In the aforementioned interview, Hunt also mentioned that it was vital to her that she keep her audience engaged, that there had to be a story, not just a message or a feeling (and Sweet Moses to I hate message films), and she had probably been influenced by her father in that regard, who was always watching Westerns when she was growing up. Frozen River utilizes several tropes of the Western but transports them to upstate New York in the dead of winter. We have the murky borders where the law may not apply, tensions between whites and Native Americans, smuggling (though in this case people and not money or guns), and a morally conflicted protagonist whose heart is in the right place. Putting a Western in the disguise of a low-budget socially-aware thriller was some brilliant genre bending, seriously.
What surprised me most about the movie was how economical the script was. It had the refinement of a short story, perfectly detailed without overly padding the characters. It left me wanting to know much more about them, rather than merely feeling informed about their "type." The movie deals with issues of race and economic class by showing just how individuals within their race or class can act against stereotype, perhaps from desperation, or perhaps just from uniqueness.
That element of taut characterization was especially apt in the formulation of the Mohawk community within the film. In an interview the director, Courtney Hunt, said she didn't want the Native American element of the film to devolve into an exposition, so she gave us just enough to understand that Lila, one of the main characters in the film, feels both alienated from whites, mainstream American culture, and her own community. We understand enough about the disparity between Mohawk law and US law to realize there is too much murky territory for there not to be crime and confusion.
The filming itself, while not particularly interesting--and shot entirely on somber, washed-out DV--does what it can. Close-ups are not gratuitous, the sense of location is palpable, and the cinematography evokes the anxiety, desolation, and economic depression that permeate the story of the film.
The best thing about Frozen River is by far the narrative. In the aforementioned interview, Hunt also mentioned that it was vital to her that she keep her audience engaged, that there had to be a story, not just a message or a feeling (and Sweet Moses to I hate message films), and she had probably been influenced by her father in that regard, who was always watching Westerns when she was growing up. Frozen River utilizes several tropes of the Western but transports them to upstate New York in the dead of winter. We have the murky borders where the law may not apply, tensions between whites and Native Americans, smuggling (though in this case people and not money or guns), and a morally conflicted protagonist whose heart is in the right place. Putting a Western in the disguise of a low-budget socially-aware thriller was some brilliant genre bending, seriously.
Friday, February 20, 2009
The Tango Lesson
Sally Potter is one of my favorite filmmakers. I've seen almost all of her movies, but until last week I hadn't yet seen The Tango Lesson. So I made the awkward decision to go see it alone on Valentine's Day at the "Festival du Cinema Romantique." Seeing a Sally Potter movie on the silver screen is an exceptional visual pleasure. She knows how to work a philosophical and visual thrill together into a dynamic shock for a receptive viewer.
The Tango Lesson is a meta-movie, but don't let that deter you. Sally Potter has none of the ego or arrogance that makes meta-movies painful to watch. She plays herself, lonely and quietly, as she attempts to write a script. Fighting writer's block, she begins taking tango lessons and there learns about rhythm, the lead-and-follow dance of romance and work and gender roles. Instead of discussing all that to death, as the French are often wont to do, Potter instead relates these realizations visually, through extended black-and-white sequences of her pacing her bare white apartment, dancing increasingly ably with her partner and somewhat-lover, Pablo Veron, and wandering around Paris and Versailles.
Potter utilizes one of my absolute favorite visual tricks, mixing somber black-and-white with brief shocks of vivid color film. The black-and-white film is the meta-story, the story-of-writing, and the shocks of color are the story itself as it plays through her head. I have recently read that these tantalizing snippets of a movie that is never realized in The Tango Lesson have been re-cast and altered as Potter's newest film, Rage, recently premiered at the Berlin Film Festival. After watching The Tango Lesson I am so incredibly excited to see how she expands these lush sequences and snatches of terror into what I'm sure will be a philosophical and political allegory to rival Yes, my favorite movie of 2004.
Sally Potter just does everything that makes me love movies perfectly, and in an elegant balance, like a well-ordered mathematical equation: lush visual pleasures (but not at the expense of substance), complex emotional and philosophical meanings embedded in said pleasures (but not dogmatically or didactically), gorgeous musical counterpoint (her trademark atmospheric vocals juxtaposed with staccato tango), and unbelievably elegant simplicity of composition, design, and narrative focus. Simply marvelous.
The Tango Lesson is a meta-movie, but don't let that deter you. Sally Potter has none of the ego or arrogance that makes meta-movies painful to watch. She plays herself, lonely and quietly, as she attempts to write a script. Fighting writer's block, she begins taking tango lessons and there learns about rhythm, the lead-and-follow dance of romance and work and gender roles. Instead of discussing all that to death, as the French are often wont to do, Potter instead relates these realizations visually, through extended black-and-white sequences of her pacing her bare white apartment, dancing increasingly ably with her partner and somewhat-lover, Pablo Veron, and wandering around Paris and Versailles.
Potter utilizes one of my absolute favorite visual tricks, mixing somber black-and-white with brief shocks of vivid color film. The black-and-white film is the meta-story, the story-of-writing, and the shocks of color are the story itself as it plays through her head. I have recently read that these tantalizing snippets of a movie that is never realized in The Tango Lesson have been re-cast and altered as Potter's newest film, Rage, recently premiered at the Berlin Film Festival. After watching The Tango Lesson I am so incredibly excited to see how she expands these lush sequences and snatches of terror into what I'm sure will be a philosophical and political allegory to rival Yes, my favorite movie of 2004.
Sally Potter just does everything that makes me love movies perfectly, and in an elegant balance, like a well-ordered mathematical equation: lush visual pleasures (but not at the expense of substance), complex emotional and philosophical meanings embedded in said pleasures (but not dogmatically or didactically), gorgeous musical counterpoint (her trademark atmospheric vocals juxtaposed with staccato tango), and unbelievably elegant simplicity of composition, design, and narrative focus. Simply marvelous.
Sita Sings the Blues
A couple weeks ago Kim and I went to see Sita Sings the Blues, an animated feminist musical interpretation of the Ramayana, told from the perspective of Rama's wife, Sita. I've been looking forward to this wacky project ever since seeing some excerpts at an animation festival several years ago. The full-length version did not disappoint.
The cartoon was written, created, and animated entirely by Nina Paley, who teaches at Parsons School of Design and has created several other intriguing and funny animated shorts. It weaves together the story of the Ramayana, told and discussed by several hilarious shadow puppets in a more cerebral and less irritating Mystery Science manner, with the story of Paley's tragic trip to India and subsequent divorce from her husband. The incredible diversity of animation and storytelling style makes for a dynamic and engaging tale that never attempts to answer the fascinating questions it raises about feminism, love, sacrifice, devotion, and interpretation. Instead, the shadow puppet chorus bickers amongst themselves and comments on the action in a way that, to me, allows a humorous and emotional connection to the tale that also walks a fine line when it comes to respecting the tenets of classic Indian mythology.
While the movie sounds complicated enough already, Paley has taken the anachronistic mishmash of the plot a step further and inserted a slew of musical numbers in the most dramatic moments of the story of the Ramayana, sung by a singer of old standards, Annette Hanshaw. The numbers are funny and charming and full of visual irony as cartoonish violence punctuates bittersweet tunes like "Mean to Me" and "Can't Help Lovin' That Man," and underscores the absurdity that surrounds the poignant emotional dimensions of the tale.
Despite the carefully respectful irreverence of the comedic telling, Paley has received numerous death threats and countless hateful criticisms of her award-winning film. Ignore them. It's a fantastic movie and deserves to be seen by all. Much to my (and your future) delight, that will soon be possible: Paley is fighting to pay off all the copyrights in order to host her movie for free online so anyone can download it or stream it if they like. For Paley, Sita Sings the Blues was a labor of love that took over five years to realize, and she doesn't give a damn about making money off it. That's pretty fabulous.
The cartoon was written, created, and animated entirely by Nina Paley, who teaches at Parsons School of Design and has created several other intriguing and funny animated shorts. It weaves together the story of the Ramayana, told and discussed by several hilarious shadow puppets in a more cerebral and less irritating Mystery Science manner, with the story of Paley's tragic trip to India and subsequent divorce from her husband. The incredible diversity of animation and storytelling style makes for a dynamic and engaging tale that never attempts to answer the fascinating questions it raises about feminism, love, sacrifice, devotion, and interpretation. Instead, the shadow puppet chorus bickers amongst themselves and comments on the action in a way that, to me, allows a humorous and emotional connection to the tale that also walks a fine line when it comes to respecting the tenets of classic Indian mythology.
While the movie sounds complicated enough already, Paley has taken the anachronistic mishmash of the plot a step further and inserted a slew of musical numbers in the most dramatic moments of the story of the Ramayana, sung by a singer of old standards, Annette Hanshaw. The numbers are funny and charming and full of visual irony as cartoonish violence punctuates bittersweet tunes like "Mean to Me" and "Can't Help Lovin' That Man," and underscores the absurdity that surrounds the poignant emotional dimensions of the tale.
Despite the carefully respectful irreverence of the comedic telling, Paley has received numerous death threats and countless hateful criticisms of her award-winning film. Ignore them. It's a fantastic movie and deserves to be seen by all. Much to my (and your future) delight, that will soon be possible: Paley is fighting to pay off all the copyrights in order to host her movie for free online so anyone can download it or stream it if they like. For Paley, Sita Sings the Blues was a labor of love that took over five years to realize, and she doesn't give a damn about making money off it. That's pretty fabulous.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
The United States of Tara
Diablo Cody, the Oscar-winning writer of Juno, has created a new show for Showtime called "The United States of Tara." Produced by Steven Spielberg and starring Toni Collette (famous for a variety of stellar performances in Little Miss Sunshine, The Sixth Sense, and the unforgettably uncomfortable Muriel's Wedding) and John Corbett (famous mostly for playing Aidan on "Sex and the City," but older television viewers might remember him on "Northern Exposure"), "The United States of Tara" has quite an unusual premise for a half-hour dramedy.
Tara, a cynical interior designer, is married to Max, an unflappable landscaper. They have two kids. Kate is an incredibly self-conscious and outspoken 15-year-old with a tendency to date loser Japanijunkies. Marshall is her faggedy cinephile little brother. He drinks chai, listens to classic jazz and sleeps on zebra-print pillows. Diablo Cody probably could've constructed a comedy full of overstylized, zippy one-liners about a dysfunctional middle class family...and the show would've retained my interest for about 10 minutes.
Instead, that wacky ex-stripper had a stroke of genius: Tara also suffers from Dissociative Identity Disorder. She has multiple personalities, and they are all hilarious. Much more fascinating than Tara herself. T is a 15-year-old who is tacky, wildly inappropriate, and the polar opposite of Alice, a 1950's type-A housewife who gets unbearable urges to iron Max's dungarees ("Don't put creases in my jeans, Alice!") and bakes an elaborate, kind of racist cake for a school bake sale benefiting Brazilian starving children or something. Alice is Donna Reed with a ticking time-bomb in the background.
The best by far, however, is Buck: a gun-loving, chainsmoking, homophobic hillbilly. Buck loves teasing Marshall and hitting on every female in sight, swaggering around in a cut-off flannel shirt and filthy baseball cap. While Toni Collette has already proven to us that she is a quality actress who really absorbs a role, she has blown me away with Buck. Collette plays these four characters so convincingly that one can watch Tara transitioning from one personality to another solely through body language, before Collette even changes costume. It's marvelous to watch.
In fact, the almost commonplace treatment of Tara's DID is what makes "The United States of Tara" such a remarkable show. The subject matter is really off-the-wall, but it's treated as logically as any other problem one might find in a "normal" middle class American family, be it an alcoholic mother or a depressive father or a host of other problems. The show, while containing this element of crazy, instead focuses on how it affects the family on a quotidian level, and finds very refreshing, very unusual humor there. For example, which alter-identity is her daughter's favorite? Her husband's? Her son's? What are we to make of the possibility that these alter-identities, even while wreaking havoc on her children's reputations in school, are actually helping Tara mother her children when she feels most unable?
The show raises so many interesting questions, and is so much less stylized and irritating than Juno (don't get me wrong, I loved Juno, but to me it did not hit at the kind of realism and emotional immediacy that makes me want to continue watching a family dramedy). Having only watched three episodes, I am completely hooked. Highly recommended.
Tara, a cynical interior designer, is married to Max, an unflappable landscaper. They have two kids. Kate is an incredibly self-conscious and outspoken 15-year-old with a tendency to date loser Japanijunkies. Marshall is her faggedy cinephile little brother. He drinks chai, listens to classic jazz and sleeps on zebra-print pillows. Diablo Cody probably could've constructed a comedy full of overstylized, zippy one-liners about a dysfunctional middle class family...and the show would've retained my interest for about 10 minutes.
Instead, that wacky ex-stripper had a stroke of genius: Tara also suffers from Dissociative Identity Disorder. She has multiple personalities, and they are all hilarious. Much more fascinating than Tara herself. T is a 15-year-old who is tacky, wildly inappropriate, and the polar opposite of Alice, a 1950's type-A housewife who gets unbearable urges to iron Max's dungarees ("Don't put creases in my jeans, Alice!") and bakes an elaborate, kind of racist cake for a school bake sale benefiting Brazilian starving children or something. Alice is Donna Reed with a ticking time-bomb in the background.
The best by far, however, is Buck: a gun-loving, chainsmoking, homophobic hillbilly. Buck loves teasing Marshall and hitting on every female in sight, swaggering around in a cut-off flannel shirt and filthy baseball cap. While Toni Collette has already proven to us that she is a quality actress who really absorbs a role, she has blown me away with Buck. Collette plays these four characters so convincingly that one can watch Tara transitioning from one personality to another solely through body language, before Collette even changes costume. It's marvelous to watch.
In fact, the almost commonplace treatment of Tara's DID is what makes "The United States of Tara" such a remarkable show. The subject matter is really off-the-wall, but it's treated as logically as any other problem one might find in a "normal" middle class American family, be it an alcoholic mother or a depressive father or a host of other problems. The show, while containing this element of crazy, instead focuses on how it affects the family on a quotidian level, and finds very refreshing, very unusual humor there. For example, which alter-identity is her daughter's favorite? Her husband's? Her son's? What are we to make of the possibility that these alter-identities, even while wreaking havoc on her children's reputations in school, are actually helping Tara mother her children when she feels most unable?
The show raises so many interesting questions, and is so much less stylized and irritating than Juno (don't get me wrong, I loved Juno, but to me it did not hit at the kind of realism and emotional immediacy that makes me want to continue watching a family dramedy). Having only watched three episodes, I am completely hooked. Highly recommended.
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