Oscar Commentary

Published on March 9, 2010 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments

They’ve come and gone, and now it’s time for me to complain about them. Or maybe not, you won’t know until you read! As a sidebar, let me advise you that Number 18 on our list is…good. The review is in draft form right now, but it’s quality. You guys should be excited. Onwards!

First thing’s first, watch this. You WILL thank me. http://www.cracked.com/video_18156_a-trailer-every-academy-award-winning-movie-ever.html

Best Cinematography to Mauro Fiore, “Avatar”–I’m sure people scratched their heads a little at that win. I’m conflicted about it: on the one hand, the camera techniques they used were pretty cutting edge, and certainly cinematography played a major role. On the other, Cameron was most likely his own operator for a majority of the shoot, and you can’t deny that a lot of the “lighting” that happened was…in a computer. We have a separate Oscar for that. Was the key light on Sam Worthington in front of a blue screen really so impressive that it needed an Oscar?

Best Score to Michael Giacchino, “Up”–Sadly, I don’t agree with this one. If there was some way to give this guy an Oscar for his work on “Lost,” I would do it in a second…in fact, maybe that’s what the Academy’s really doing here. But the truth is, there were some really excellent scores this year, and “Up” wasn’t one of them. Clear winner should have been “Fantastic Mr. Fox,” the music for which was as integral an element as any other, licensed or composed. Really magical stuff. Believe it or not, an acceptable runner up would have been Hans Zimmer for “Sherlock Holmes.” Now the flick wasn’t much to remember, but the music was breathtaking. I am content that he was nominated though, it shows that people noticed his accomplishment. Indeed, Zimmer seems to do his best work with bad movies: his “Da Vinci Code” is elegant and mysterious, so is “Angels and Demons.” Go figure.

Best Visual Effects for “Avatar.” Like there’s any debate. It won and it deserved it, end of story. The sad thing is, both of the other nominees (”Star Trek” and “District 9″) would have been my shoe-ins if they had been released in any other year. “D9″ especially is pioneering in its ability to get top-notch VFX done on a relatively insignificant budget; their methods should be studied as the wave of the future. And “Star Trek” was just a masterpiece visually, there’s no other way to put it. It really is a shame they both had to come out in 2009.

Best Writing (Original) for Mark Boal, “The Hurt Locker.” Look, I love “The Hurt Locker,” but I don’t think the script was its strongest asset. Truth be told, the story kind of peters out in the late second act. “Locker” is a masterpiece on the strength of the gritty visual experience it provides, not necessarily because it could be mistaken for Arthur Miller.

Best Lead Actress to Sandra Bullock, “The Blind Side.” I haven’t seen the movie, but the woman earned that statue from a business perspective alone. “The Blind Side” would have been lost forever in the back room of a Blockbuster Video if it wasn’t for Sandra hefting it up on her pale little shoulders. From an acting perspective, I won’t comment authoritatively since I haven’t partaken yet, but I should note that a really great lead performance often sends shock waves. People talk about it, you hear about it, etc. I felt shock waves about Sandra, so I’m willing to bet she had this award coming.

Best Animated Feature to “Up.” Bite me Pixar, “Fantastic Mr. Fox” was twice the film “Up” was. I love you guys, but I’m sick of you grandfathering into the awards every time you make a movie featuring cute animals and a protagonist who learns the meaning of love. “Up” was one of your weaker efforts, only “A Bug’s Life” ranks lower, and I don’t think you needed this. Meanwhile, “Fox” was a daring throwback to stop motion with a complex, three dimensional story about a man (or a fox, as the case may be) learning to put his past behind him. It was an intelligent, mirthful, spirited ride through a genuine fantasy world, and it was snubbed.

Best Actor in a Supporting Role to Christoph Waltz, “Inglourious Basterds.” Absolutely.

Best Adapted Screenplay to Geoffery Fletcher, “Precious.” I have not seen “Precious,” so I can’t officially make a call here. Oh the hell with it, it’s not like I don’t get a pretty good sense of the damned thing from the trailer. It’s an inner city drama, right? Okay, then I get the drift enough to make an outside call. I mean does a Tyrannosaurus Rex appear in the third act and bite someone’s head off? No? Then there’s probably nothing in there I couldn’t reasonably see coming (although to be fair, that is most likely the fault of a blabber mouth trailer). “Up in the Air” should have taken it for crafting a story that is a mordant reflection on the economic crisis, and how it’s affected Americans psychologically. A funny, powerful, relevant script and it was also snubbed.

Best Director to Kathryn Bigelow, “The Hurt Locker.” A thousand times yes. This is the award they tend to get right more often than the others, and they couldn’t have nailed it more perfectly. James Cameron could have won and it would have been deserved, but I knew basic human nature on the part of the voters would keep him from being allowed to have that much success. No matter, Kathryn was just as deserving, and her win is a triumphant call to women around the world who want to get behind a camera. For too long white men have ruled the director’s chair, and it needs to change.

But even ignoring that, “The Hurt Locker” is a feat of directing. The script, as I said, is not perfect, and the actors are all good but they don’t carry the thing. This movie became what it was because a director had a vision and made it happen. Each palm-sweat-inducing suspense sequence was a masterpiece of Hitchcock-ian audience manipulation. Truly great work.

Best Lead Actor to Jeff Bridges, “Crazy Heart.” I mean, I think he had it coming for “The Big Lebowski,” so good on ya.

Best Picture to “The Hurt Locker.” Yeah, okay. For the record, Dear Reader, you may recall that I called this win, and was right. I’m just saying, bow before me. Anyway, “Locker” was a great movie, it was relevant for our times, and it wasn’t some stiff-necked drama, so I’m happy for it. A deserving winner, to be sure. My personal choice is still “Up in the Air,” because it has a tighter script, the direction is just as good, and the subject matter is even more relevant. But hey, that’s how these things go, you can’t always get what you want.

I’m realizing as I think about it that I’m saddened by “Inglourious Basterds” not winning in the script, directing, or picture department. That was a really bold, original film, and I’d become quite endeared to the notion that the Academy would embrace it for that. Oh well, I suspect it will earn a place next to Tarantino’s best remembered movies anyway.

A Brief Explanation

Published on March 4, 2010 in Uncategorized. 2 Comments

Before moving onto Number 18 on our list, I thought it was important to stop briefly and make a few points that have occurred to me as I’ve been writing. It’s one thing to list your favorite movies, it’s another thing entirely to spend time with them and really reflect on them. This process has been as new to me as it has been to you, Dear Reader, and I hope you’ll bear with my growing pains. Anyway, a couple of tidbits for your information before we proceed…

-Some movies have been omitted on purpose. It’s sad but true that there are a lot of films that deserve a place here and don’t get it due to external considerations, the most frequent being market saturation. Put more bluntly: obvious choices get left off. I wish that wasn’t true, Dear Reader, but at the end of the day, it’s simply not in my nature to afford the same love and admiration towards a piece of art that requires no defending. I am a lover of the under-appreciated (or what I perceive to be under-appreciated), and this colors my selection. There are several movies which were considered for this list; all of them had made lasting impressions on me, all of them were masterpieces, and yet I couldn’t justify reaffirming them while some poor misunderstood gem goes ignored. This in no way diminishes the validity of each movie’s position here, it’s not some kind of handicap that invalidates the ranking, it just means that I am usually biased towards movies that don’t get their due. Some examples of the victims of this system are:

-The Godfather (Parts I and II). I adore these movies passionately, but who in the hell doesn’t? Their craft and mastery left me speechless when I first witnessed them, and they are films of the highest order, but their unilateral popularity gets in the way of me embracing them in my heart. Sad but true.

-Jaws. As a lover of sharks, I have some inner turmoil about loving the movie that damned the great white shark to near-extinction, but I can’t resist its three dimensional characters and old-school thrills. It’s a legendary movie, deserving of the highest regard, and it made a huge impact on me as a person. But it never really feels like mine.

-Anything Tarantino. I am a vigorous lover of “Kill Bill” and “Pulp Fiction,” and I’ve at least admired every other movie the man has made, but something about his reputation makes me distant from his work. With time, as they get less popular, you may see me change my tune. I’m just weird like that.

-Taxi Driver. Few movies have ever sent me so far over the edge, and few have ever left me with so many images and thoughts later on. Few endings have caught me more by surprise while still making sense. I think “Taxi Driver” is the most compelling portrait of urban paranoia ever conceived.

-Newcomers. There are also a lot of films that got left off because they simply haven’t done their time yet. I made an exception for the relatively new “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance,” but by and large I don’t let a movie enter this list until it draws me back to the well over the course of years. There are many movies I suspect will find their way onto this list in the future, but are simply not there yet as a matter of procedure. Here are a few of them:

-The Great Escape. I am sad to say I saw this only recently, but my reaction was immediate and profound. The film’s melding of carefree joy (note its famous main theme) and heartbreaking tragedy strikes me as a profound comment on the essential dichotomies of life. And Steve McQueen riding a motorcycle is just awesome. Expect this movie to become a member of the club in a year’s time. For the moment, though, I don’t know it quite well enough yet.

-36th Chamber of Shaolin. This one breaks my heart. I bought this on a recommendation and adored it, and I really wanted kung-fu represented on my list, but I simply haven’t given the movie enough time yet. It’s one of the greatest adventure flicks I’ve ever had the pleasure of watching, and nothing will sway me from its inclusion in the future, but for now the relationship is still growing.

-Nosferatu. This movie rocks my world—and frankly is still creepier than any other vampire movie—but again, I haven’t watched it enough.

-Miller’s Crossing. There is not a whole hell of a lot of Coen Brothers on my Top 25, which I admit confuses me, because they are among my favorite directors. It must be that their entire body of work is more important to me than any one film, but I’m still a little unnerved. I recently helped myself to a second viewing of “Miller’s Crossing” and discovered it was one of those movies that is actually better the second time you watch it, so I’m pretty sure this is going to be a thing in the future. For now, I’m in no hurry.

-Barton Fink. Same film makers as “Crossing,” same story. Give it time.

-High Fidelity. A movie that hits upon my personality almost exactly, so I’ve never understood why my relationship with it isn’t stronger. I think I’m going to buy it and see what multiple viewings does for me.

-The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters. I need more documentaries on this list. I actually love documentaries, I don’t know why they have so little presence here, but I do admit that I spend relatively little time investigating them. “The King of Kong,” a remarkable character piece about a gaming sub-culture, is as good a piece of entertainment as has ever been constructed. It’s a masterpiece. My hesitation is on two fronts: for one thing, I suspect I’m using it as a placeholder until someone (maybe me) makes the movie about gaming culture. Secondly, I’ve only seen it twice, and that just does not cut it.

It feels good to get that off of my chest. Expect number 18 to follow shortly.

Number 19

Published on February 28, 2010 in Uncategorized. 3 Comments

“What About Bob?” (1991, Directed by Frank Oz)

Although my aim in this list is always to represent the films that have most impacted me thus far in my life, I can’t deny that there’s a certain added bonus when I get to stand behind a movie I feel is underrated. “What About Bob?” is a comedy so blisteringly funny, and so adroitly composed, that its rapid fade into obscurity remains a mystery to me to this day. It deserves to be remembered as one of Bill Murray’s crowning achievements, and it also proves once and for all that Richard Dreyfuss is in possession of considerable comedic talents which are criminally underused. The director, Frank Oz, is not a man whose work impresses me very much; his strongest talent may be the ability to get the hell out of the way and let his performers work. But for this picture, his invisible technique is exactly right, and his admittedly solid understanding of composition and timing buttress the zanier elements of the film, keeping everything level. The movie goes off like a Swiss watch, clicking into place flawlessly without a forced beat or a stretched plot point. And it’s funny. Oh brother, is it funny.

You think he’s gone? He’s not gone. That’s the whole point: he’s never gone!

The story centers around Bob Wiley (Bill Murray), a lovable puppy dog of a man who is crippled by neuroses which make him extremely agoraphobic and paranoid. He is the textbook definition of “harmless,” but seems incapable of functioning normally in his life as a single man living in the city. Desperate for help, he turns to a psychiatrist named Leo Marvin (Richard Dreyfuss), whose career is taking off thanks to his new bestseller “Baby Steps.” Marvin meets with Wiley and diagnoses him (quite accurately) as needing family connections, but he’s distracted by his career and an impending vacation with his wife and two children, and doesn’t give Bob much thought. This proves to be a mistake, because Bob soon appears at the family’s lake house, earnestly seeking more guidance for his life and quietly ingratiating himself into Leo’s world.

The first thing to marvel at about this movie is the script. Even though Bill Murray allegedly improvised so much of his dialogue that an accurate screenplay could never really be written, the structure of the movie is still the product of obvious care and consideration. There is a delicate tight rope being walked between all three major characters: Bob, Leo, and Leo’s family. All three of them want different things, all of them must contend with one another to get them, and yet they must all remain intensely sympathetic to the audience. Bob in particular is a tricky subject: after all, he is in no small way stalking his psychiatrist, and yet he must never read as creepy or potentially dangerous. He must be persistent enough to warrant an interesting story, but innocent enough for the audience to like him. Leo Marvin is harder still: his hatred of Bob escalates to almost Biblical proportions, he is obviously a seriously flawed family man, and nothing about his psychiatry is particularly impressive. This is a man with almost no cards in his favor for sympathy, and yet if we cannot understand and appreciate why Bob is driving him so insane, the movie doesn’t mean anything. The script wins a victory here by sidestepping plays for sympathy and relying on fleshing Leo out as fully as possible: he is a three dimensional person with hopes, fears, and values that are clearly related to us. He’s ambitious, yes, and sometimes it gets the better of him, but he does not intend to neglect or marginalize his family. We see that he spends a great deal of time with them, and we see that they matter to him more than anything, but he is (quite ironically) not gifted at communicating with them. These are subtle character beats revealed in the tiniest wrinkles of plot and dialogue, and “What About Bob?” nails them. Leo is the hardest kind of character to sell, because he is the most realistic: he’s not a saint, but he’s not a bad man either—he’s just a person with flaws.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kBjfLE5uX0A&feature=related

Already you can begin to understand the complexity of the story that is evolving. For the movie to work, the audience must watch every scene from multiple distinct perspectives and sympathize immediately with both. There are three discrete narratives packed into each scene of the script: Bob’s wonderful vacation, Leo’s “Cape Fear” style nightmare, and the Marvin family’s amused encounters with an eccentric new friend. As each conflict happens, all three movies play out in real time, and we the audience constantly jump from one to the next. The reason “What About Bob?” is so incredibly funny is that we can never settle on which interpretation is actually “right.” They are all right. This may be the fundamental truth about life that the movie is dedicated to: everything is interpretation.

Dooooccttooorrr Leeeeooooooo Maaarrrvvviinnnn

All of this would be nothing without great acting, but “Bob” has that in spades. Murray gives, to me, his best comedic performance bar none. I know choices like “Caddyshack” and “Ghostbusters” are more popular, but my heart will always belong to Bob Wiley. Dreyfuss is an astonishing physical and verbal comedian; he begins the movie getting laughs from the tiniest gestures, and by the end he is raving madman on par with any I’ve seen. Very, very few actors could have handled such a wide breadth of comedic performance, but Dreyfuss is on fire from start to finish. It’s sad that his job is a little thankless, but everyone who really loves this movie can quote Leo’s lines just as fast as Bob’s. Need proof? Watch the clip below, and wait for the 00:23 mark.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBNNKoX8GoA

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F5ZSyAuNMCM&feature=related (At 00:45, watch Bob quietly cycle through names for Leo, trying to find the one that doesn’t anger him)

The nice thing about a comedy is that its success is more easily measurable: if you laughed, it probably did its job. The trade-off is, however, that once the punch line has been revealed, return trips to the well often deliver diminishing returns. Not so here. The film hits some bizarre magic mark of immediately funny and yet even funnier on repeat viewings. The jokes seem pretty standard on the first spin, but somehow they just hit with more impact every time you see them again. I don’t know exactly how that’s accomplished; maybe it only happens when the comedy comes from deeply felt characters, whom we can relate to over and over. Or maybe some jokes are just so well-built that they last. Whatever the case, “What About Bob” is a comedic titan, avoiding all the pratfalls of lesser entries in the genre: gross out gags, sagging second acts, bizarrely serious climaxes, zany supporting characters that mess up the tone, etc. This is a precision engineered piece of entertainment, written and directed by people who know how to make comedy work. The craftsmanship of this film is designed to highlight the story and downplay the egos of the people making it. I find that kind of film rarer and rarer these days.

There’s a deeply buried psychosis to the film, and I must admit I find it fascinating. At its core, it’s a deeply tragic story about a man who is punished excessively by the Fates for his sins. Leo does not want for love of his family, he does not abuse or neglect them in any way, but he struggles with selfishness and seems limited in his capacity to accept them for who they are. Along comes Bob, who literally thrives on being part of a family, and soon poor Dr. Marvin is on the outside looking in, as if he doesn’t even belong in his own home. The movie never explicitly says so, but the real reason Leo grows to hate Bob so much isn’t just the annoyance: it’s the fact that Bob’s unselfish, giving nature is a painful reminder of everything he is not. The sting of seeing his family revitalized by this man is certainly disproportionate punishment for Leo’s crimes, but life is unfair. On some level, we could expect Leo to try and learn from Bob, but who among us would really do any better?

We can’t be expected to understand him, he is so far above us. We’re like ropes on the Goodyear blimp.

Human beings are deeply territorial by nature, we are naturally designed for monogamy and we jealously defend the people we lay claim to. Dr. Marvin has made a career from intellectualizing human emotions, breaking them down into little pieces and controlling them logically, but those skills are useless here. What Bob presents him with is an obstacle he is not trained for: a primal attack on his territory. It doesn’t matter whether or not Bob intends to take Leo’s family (most likely not, but we get hints that he is not blind to what’s going on), because if events are not altered that is simply what will happen. Countering this requires Leo to call upon his deeper, more primal passions, but this is a man not comfortable enough with himself to do so. Indeed, that disconnection from his baser instincts may be what holds back a more passionate relationship with his wife and family, or what restrains him from giving more freely of himself to others. Bob, meanwhile, is a lustful man by nature; he avoids logic almost entirely, using emotion as the rudder of his ship. He does not categorize who he is to this family, or give a name to what he wants from anyone, he is simply compelled forward by the force of his desires. He wants love, he wants companionship, and he seeks it honestly and openly. Leo’s attempts to prevent this intruder from taking his family are all pitiful, calling on the borders of society to hold his opponent back. When those fail, as they always eventually will, Leo reaches within himself and realizes how broken and crooked the mechanisms of communication with his deeper self are. The discovery rocks him to his core, and sends him over the edge.

I know it’s bizarre to say this, but “Bob” is a spiritual sibling with another film of a very different genre: Scorsese’s “Cape Fear.” Although I would argue this is the superior film of the two, both are masterful examinations of how modern society has made men docile, uncomfortable with our own selves, and crippled from calling on our primal resources to respond to threats on what is precious to us. Our relative safety becomes a curse, a handicap that mutes the passions we need to contend with the uncertainty of life. “What About Bob” milks this for comedy, “Cape Fear” uses it for suspense, and both work completely naturally.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=chDVWOvkWDU&feature=related

If there’s a lesson that I take away from “What About Bob,” it’s that you must hold onto what matters to you, and hold it yourself. Society has laws and rules of conduct which are fine, but there will always be a mild element of arbitrariness to them, and they will never really be able to protect you from the most basic parts of human nature. Leo is not in regular contact with the deepest wells of his emotions, so he cannot manage them, and they produce childish violence and rage. Bob, a wreck on the outside, is nonetheless a master of primal urges, and his comfort with them makes him Leo’s ultimate nemesis. At the end of the day, for all our sophistication and culture, we cannot leave behind our instinct, and instinct is never more important than in relationships. People want to feel a connection with one another that transcends societal boundaries. If we are to do this, we must make peace with the deeper and more mysterious parts of who we are, and we must reveal those dark corners to one another. Leo Marvin was a man who tried to hide from himself. Bob Wiley was God’s reply.

“Shutter Island” Review

Published on February 25, 2010 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments

(I make no promises that spoilers will not occur below. It is simply not possible to meaningfully discuss the film without them.)

There’s a much more interesting movie inside of “Shutter Island” that didn’t get made. The concrete basics of the story could have yielded endless fruit, but they are sabotaged by the script’s decision to reduce the entire film to a punch line. Martin Scorsese, working from a novel by Dennis Lehane, should be commended for undertaking cerebral horror, a genre rarely pursued and even more rarely done correctly. He eschews obvious scare tactics for slow burn dread, leaning heavily on atmosphere and tone to get under his audience’s skin; and since this is Marty, he does a pretty good job. The problem is, no matter how successfully he sinks his teeth into the suspense, he can’t get around the fact that “Shutter Island” doesn’t have a point of entry for the viewer. There is a protagonist, to be sure, but his emotional arc is told in such a way that we cannot really experience it with him. I wanted to love this film, but the sad truth is that I wasn’t invited to it.

The story is seemingly simple, although engaging: Teddy Daniels and Chuck Aule (Leonardo DiCaprio and Mark Ruffalo) are 1950s G-men on their way to Ashecliffe, a mental institution for only the most dangerous patients, to investigate a missing patient. Daniels is immediately suspicious of what goes on around the island, and leads the more reluctant Chuck on a journey to uncover the truth. Meanwhile, a hurricane is bearing down on the island, trapping our heroes in a situation that goes from bad to worse. It’s probably not a spoiler to tell you that things on Shutter Island are not as they appear, and this seemingly straightforward narrative soon begins interweaving elements as disparate as post traumatic stress disorder, World War II, and psychopharmacology.

Criticizing an existential thriller for being off-putting is a little like telling the rain not to be wet, but I must remain firm in my conviction that “Shutter Island’s” biggest problem is a lack of connection with the audience. The masterpieces of this genre—films like “The Shining” and “Jacob’s Ladder”—worked with similarly bleak material, but each evolved dynamic systems which kept the viewer oriented and engaged. “Ladder” relied on an extremely sympathetic central character as the logic in the world around him fell apart, but that probably wouldn’t fit this movie quite right. “The Shining” never presented an identifiable character, but it did draw on universal imagery for its ghosts, playing on human discomfort with elemental things like twins, blood, and unbroken stares. The result is that the ghosts in that film bothered us in the abstract and within the context of the story, making them very effectively unsettling. “Shutter Island” haltingly attempts to use both of these maneuvers, but ends up neither fish nor fowl.

Sometimes the movie tries to get sympathy for Teddy, but again, the structure prevents it. We have no perspective on him as a man; the movie does a poor job compensating for the mystery of Teddy’s past with a clear sense of personality. Right at the top of the second act, Scorsese seems to catch on to this problem and starts hammering us with hallucinogenic sequences. Some of these are quite beautifully constructed: the editing, cinematography and especially sound design (which never gets its due) go into overdrive and render a final product that is several steps above what was on the page. Nonetheless, there end up being too many of them, and they start getting repetitious and predictable. Even worse, they are built from highly context-specific images which we are not permitted to understand until late in the movie, and they have little resonance on their own. There is a sense that Daniels is having a completely different experience witnessing them than we are, and so we are yanked even farther away from him and his story. And, if I can be frank here, many of them are simply not that scary. Scorsese doesn’t quite have the temperament for the kind of sl0w-burn terror Kubrick so effortlessly pulled off in his masterpiece; he’s impatient with the suspense, constantly trying to climax the tension of the scene before he should.

Without question, there are strong elements to “Shutter Island,” the most significant being the performances. Scorsese is able to elicit top-level talent on his projects, and this one is no exception: DiCaprio, Ruffalo, Ben Kingsley, Max Von Sydow, Jackie Earle Haley, and Ted Levine are all on call, and without exception they are all great. DiCaprio gives one of his best and most tortured performances, Ruffalo conveys a man with a terrible weight on his shoulders, and Kingsley, as usual, makes even the slightest gesture interesting. These guys are working overtime to make this movie come to life, but they are swimming against the current. DiCaprio especially is stuck with a character who begins the movie on one note and never leaves it, which is an acting/directing/storytelling 101 mistake, and yet he gets about as much from the role as anyone could.

When it’s all said and done, “Shutter Island” is an interesting movie more than it is a good one. For fans of existential terror, it’s a temporary refreshment in a perpetual drought, but it has very little emotional impact and I can’t help but wish the order in which the story gives us information had been changed. More than any other thing, “Island” may stand as a monument to the fact that all the talent in the world cannot help you when basic fundamentals of story are not quite in the right place.

Number 20

Published on February 24, 2010 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments

Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (1986, Directed by John Hughes)

For a few years in the 80s, a mysterious writer/director named John Hughes came out of nowhere and gave teenagers a voice. Most people think his gift was the ability to make realistic films about adolescence, but I disagree; even the most down-to-earth of them (”The Breakfast Club”) feels theatrical to me. What John did do better than anyone else was write teenagers the way they saw themselves. He captured a feeling of youth, as if he had never forgotten what it was like to be young. His movies were about the way teens saw things, which was a natural fit for the cinema, because at that age the world is big, exciting, terrifying, and fundamentally mysterious. This is the secret to a John Hughes film: they are always about the unknown, because his subjects are young enough not to be saddled by a lifetime of biased knowledge.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jIuD6YtaFxQ&feature=related (This is one of the best-edited scenes in comedy history. Watch how each element plays off of the other. “Do you have a kiss for daddy?”)

I have great respect for most of the films Hughes made, but “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” is easily my favorite. Aside from simply being funnier than anything else he ever did, “Bueller” wins my heart because it is purely magical. I have never known a movie whose spirit was so full of wonder and joy. It’s hard for me to even express in words how much my soul is lifted by the film’s relentless energy and constant, unyielding excellence. And let it not be forgotten that this is not some simple comedy whose aim is only to entertain: “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” has a very genuine and thoroughly developed world-view, and makes a bold statement about the things that are important in life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TO68zwTXFWk

The film uses a fourth-wall violation technique that I must admit I am particularly weak to. Ferris addresses the viewer as if they are his inner monologue, stepping away from the action of the scene to discuss things with us. I find this to be an incredibly absorbing tactic, especially since Matthew Broderick’s performance is so natural that I never question it for a second. We follow the titular hero’s thought process as he masterfully fakes sick to his parents and takes the aforementioned “day off.” From there, he scoops up his girlfriend and his borderline-catatonic best friend and heads into downtown Chicago for a day none of them will ever forget.

Ferris is one of the better written comic characters of his time, a fairly original blend of Falstaff mischief and Prince Hal intelligence. He forces his neurotic friend Cameron Frye (who is also faking sick but doesn’t think he’s faking), to crawl out of bed and come pick him up (Ferris doesn’t have a car…it’s a touchy subject). As if that wasn’t enough, he employs him to crank call the principal, even steals his father’s prized Ferrari. It is at this point we as the audience are allowed to ask: is Ferris Bueller the world’s biggest jerk? It would be easy to assume so, but then we have reason to sneakily suspect that Ferris has more on his mind than cutting class. Everything he, Sloan and Cameron do seems built to force his friend to man up and take chances. Ferris confides in us that he’s worried about he and his best friend’s chances of staying in touch once they graduate high school, and he bemoans the bad choices Cameron’s lack of self-respect might lead him to make down the road: “If things don’t change for him, he’s gonna marry the first girl he lays, and she’s gonna treat him like sh**, because she will have given him what he has built up in his mind as the end-all, be-all of human existence. She won’t respect him, ’cause you can’t respect somebody who kisses your a**. It just doesn’t work.”

It takes a few viewings to notice, but eventually one realizes that Ferris’ “day off” is all about Cameron. He is raging against the dying of the light, trying to heal his suffering friend before they lose each other forever. Cameron has never experienced love from his parents, who are cold and distant, and he has never had a girlfriend. Ferris is the only connection he has. About half way through the movie, Bueller disappears for a few minutes, and his girlfriend Sloan gets a few minutes alone with Frye. She is tender with him, and he opens up and confides in her; perhaps Ferris knew that would happen, too. And then there is the climactic showdown between Cameron and his father’s car, which has replaced him as the object of love and affection in the family. It’s a heart-wrenching scene, movingly performed by all three actors, and a serious emotional climax for an otherwise giddy and lighthearted film. It’s unlikely that Bueller had this kind of event in mind when he set out to exorcise his friend’s demons, but it was what needed to happen. When he and Sloan have left Cameron to deal with the consequences, she asks Ferris if his friend will be all right. He smiles and replies, “Yeah. For the first time in his life, I think he’s going to be just fine.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MB7XtQeaBwo&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CdcFYNe9U7A

Ferris, like any good hero, has a number of sworn enemies. Principal Rooney, the uptight, dimwitted jerk who runs the high school, makes the terrible mistake of attaching his entire self-worth to the successful apprehension of his wayward student. At every turn, he grows more desperate (and more unprofessional) to subdue Bueller, to extinguish the fire of youth that stands as a painful reminder of how old he’s become. Ferris’ sister Jeannie is constantly antagonized by the prim rose path her brother gets to walk through life. I find her to be a fascinating character, because there’s a fundamental “chicken or egg” question hiding in the fact that Jeannie hates everyone because everyone hates her. In her eyes, she is hated so she hates, but to the world it goes the other way around. I have known many people like this. There is no question that Ferris is the favorite in the family, and that Jeannie has probably lived her entire life in second place. I also think she’s a more relatable character than she appears: we have all known people who seem incapable of doing wrong in the eyes of others, and we have all felt unloved by comparison. Jeannie’s journey from a girl who cannot let go to a woman who makes peace is as satisfying as anything in the film. And Charlie Sheen’s cameo is almost worth the price of admission.

At the end of the day, however, “Bueller” is a comedy first and foremost, and a masterful one; not a single joke falls flat. Its punchlines come almost unrelentingly, a deft mix of physical slapstick, dry wit, situational comedy, dramatic irony, screwball and melancholy. Only a film about youth could contain this many tones without bursting at the seams. “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” is more than just a great comedy and an insightful character drama, it’s a key to those things in our heart that get buried with time and age. This is no mere film; it may be the closest cinematic equivalent to the fountain of youth.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RdIBN_hf4DQ&feature=related

Number 21

Published on February 22, 2010 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments

“Bound” (1996, Directed by The Wachowski Brothers)

(Again we come to a movie whose subject matter is not for everyone. You have been advised, and you read on at your own peril)

Before the Wachowski Brothers rose to international acclaim for creating one of the definitive science fiction movies of all time, they slammed together a little $4 million movie called “Bound,” ostensibly in order to prove they were capable directors. What they created is, in my opinion, the mecca of commercially minded, independent cinema. They chose a story they could tell with a small cast, in very few highly controllable locations, and as a result the measly sum they spent producing the picture is completely irrelevant. “Bound” never needs another cent, the movie is a complete victory on its own terms.

“Bound” is first and foremost a neo-Hitchcock thriller. It centers around Corky, a recently released female ex-convict who has moved into a barren apartment in order to fix its plumbing. She quickly discovers that she has been placed within a social circle that ex-convicts frequent, and by no coincidence is living next door to a mid-level mob boss named Caesar. Caesar has a live-in girlfriend named Violet, and within minutes of the film’s opening credits, Corky and Violet are romantically involved. Their relationship constitutes about the first twenty minutes of the movie, before a hefty sum of recently recovered mafia cash comes into play. It is at this point we learn that Corky did time for being a thief, and Violet is having second thoughts about her relationship with Caesar.

What? Oh come on, I didn’t use one of the good towels!

I hesitated to put “Bound” on this list for a long time, because it deals with sexuality in a way I don’t particularly enjoy. That Corky and Violet are lesbians isn’t really a problem for me, but the casual sex ethics that the film espouses are contrary to my nature. I have no problem liking a movie I disagree with, but I reserve the right to deny it entrance to the hallowed halls of my esteem. Why, then, does “Bound” get away with it? Two reasons. First of all, because literally every other thing about the movie is that good. Secondly, noir. “Bound” is a noir, and by definition one of that genre’s most defining characteristics is unsympathetic protagonists. Unlike many other breeds of story, hard-boiled narratives do not rest on or even seek your approval of their heroes. For this reason, I am able to keep “Bound” from being irreparably damaged in my mind. Yes, the movie’s leads get all preachy about the wonderful (and completely $%*#ing imaginary I might add) world of recreational intercourse, but they’re anti-heroes anyway. The whole movie is about them teaming up to steal dirty money from the mafia, why would I assume these were moral, upright women? If they actually existed, I can buy that this is how they’d think.

Anyway, let’s get back to what makes this movie so great. After the somewhat laborious opening stretch, “Bound” kicks into high-gear with a nonstop barrage of thrills and excitement. The writing at play here is not good, it’s masterful; it understands the unpredictability of the human mind. Much of the film is centered around detailing complex plans, each of which seems to be perfect in the abstract, but when let loose into the wild, real human reactions throw everything out the window. If the girls want to evoke anger from a certain person, they are likely to succeed at doing it, but how sure are they about what that emotion will cause?

The central theme—and the primary plot motivator—of the movie is the fundamental mysteriousness of human nature, and how elusive and difficult it is to really know a person or be able to anticipate them. Violet has been in a relationship with Caesar much of her adult life, and yet he has no idea she’s a lesbian, and she is beginning to see a side of him she never knew of before. Corky was locked up, we discover, because a partner whom she thought she could trust betrayed her. Violet claims to want her help, but it is just as possible that she is using an outsider for her own purposes. (SPOILER. I KNOW MANY OF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THIS MOVIE, PLEASE DON’T RUIN IT) The film’s entire climax centers around Caesar trying to understand Violet’s behavior, culminating with her holding him at gunpoint, and he assuring her that she will not fire. Her reply, and the film’s basic message, is “Caesar, you don’t know s**t.” (SPOILER OVER) Over and over, we see “Bound” fixated on the beguiling ambiguity of human motivations. We can never really know one another, we can never really be sure what those closest to us might do.

If I was you, I would’ve shot me the night I came home with the money. But you didn’t.

And then there’s Caesar, my favorite character in the film, expertly portrayed by the indomitable Joe Pantoliano. Whatever plans Corky and Violet have, they all rest on being able to anticipate this one man. It should be a cakewalk, Violet has known him for years, and yet what makes “Bound” such a tour de force is the ways in which his reactions are so unexpected, and so logical. We are breathless as each frame passes, wincing as the machinations of the girls’ plans gently go wrong.

In the hands of almost any other writer, Caesar would have been a flat villain, but the brothers Wachowski turn him into a real, tactile person. He functions wonderfully as an antagonist, but I suspect he plays far more sympathetically than the script ever intended, because Pantoliano imbues him with such a sense of personality. He is loyal to his superiors, he can be counted on, he is reliable. We understand implicitly that his love for Violet is genuine, and—perhaps more tragically—that he trusts her deeply. He confides in her, depends on her, and likes her as a person. Certainly he expects a certain docile contentment from his lady, but that does not diminish his sincere affection. He is also relatively fair-minded, preferring thought and reason to violence, unlike his brutal and moronic colleague Johnnie Marzzone. Notice here an interesting tactic: the script introduces Johnnie, a thuggish moron who is in every way Caesar’s opposite, at about the midway point. This spoiled brat’s only interests seem to be trying to bed Violet and inflicting physical pain on others. He is beyond sympathy, and Caesar’s revulsion at everything about him makes us identify much more with him. It seems a strange move to deliberately exonerate your primary antagonist in such a way, most writers would do everything they could to make Caesar the meanest thug who ever lived. But that would simply be a less interesting movie. Instead, he is a real character with actual feelings, and betraying him is not so easy. It is perhaps “Bound’s” greatest victory.

You know what the difference is between you and me, Violet? Me neither.

And then of course, there are the technical credits. The marvelously talented Bill Pope shot the picture, and he makes each frame absolutely simmer with whiskey golds, vodka silvers, and oil blacks. In my opinion, this and “The Matrix” are his masterpieces. Don Davis contributes a wonderful score, always layered in the background and building the tension; his use of piano is especially deft. And the Wachowskis direct their actors with the comfort of old salts, eliciting winning performances from Gina Gershon and Jennifer Tilly, both of whom have floundered horribly in other pictures. Every piece of the movie moves together and works, making the whole thing look bizarrely easy.

The story goes that Warner Brothers saw “Bound” just after they had undertaken a horrible remake of “Diabolique” (we may see the original on this list), which was of a similar genre. They immediately chastised themselves for spending three times as much money to make a film that wasn’t half as sexy, energetic or enjoyable as “Bound.” After that, the prospect of these guys directing their magnum opus—a little science fiction flick called “The Matrix”—became a lot more appealing. The rest, as they say, is history.

Sorry for the Delay Folks

Published on February 19, 2010 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments

I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted. It’s been a crazy week, bear with me.

Number 22

Published on February 12, 2010 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments

Ronin (1998, Directed by John Frankenheimer)

(I’m also going to start randomly inserting great quotes from the movies. It’ll be cool)

Of course I’m scared, you think I’m reluctant because I’m happy?

I have a clear memory of the first time I heard of “Ronin.” I wasn’t very old, probably in middle school, and I was sitting in a barber shop waiting for a haircut. I was reading People magazine—a mistake I have rarely repeated—and they reviewed it in their “Movies” section. The production photo they chose had Robert De Niro shouldering a massive automatic weapon next to a destroyed BMW, blowing the hell out of a European cafe. Up until that point, my cinematic diet had been largely prepared by Jerry Bruckheimer, and this to me was so…different. I seem to recall that the review boiled down to a simple sentence: “A thinking man’s thriller.”

A thinking man’s thriller.

At that age, I don’t know if the concept had occurred to me. I love my family, but it was not a cinematic household; we all liked movies, we all watched movies, but there was no one amongst us at the time whom I would fairly call a film buff. I was fortunate in that my family were all quite discerning film goers, they had an acute sense of what was good and balked at poor quality, but no one was sitting me down with a copy of “400 Blows” and telling me I had to watch it. So when People magazine came along and told me about a thriller with a brain, I knew that I had to see what such a film would be like. My desire was furthered by a gorgeous cardboard display propped up at my local movie theater, each actor in a large ensemble given their own square cut-out. I remember Jonathan Pryce, his eyes fixed over my head, looking focused and determined; Natascha McElhone, whom my sister referred to as “a prettier Uma Thurman” (I think they’re both pretty), glancing over her shoulder, looking tough and wounded at the same time. And De Niro. Even before watching the films that made him who he was, I understood this man’s power, his gravitas. He was a god, I could sense that the American moviegoer had already enjoyed a long relationship with him before I arrived. I was entranced. I had to see “Ronin.”

Of course, it was rated R, so that did not happen. When it finally arrived on VHS, I managed to make a compelling case to my father that this was a “soft R.” Probably one too many F-bombs, but definitely no sex scenes or gruesome fatalities. After examining the cassette, turning it over in his hand and reading the back (in that way that only fathers can do), he shrugged and relented. I now know that my father’s fondness for old classics like “The French Connection” probably hurried him in this decision, and I’m grateful for that. When I got the movie home and put it in my VCR, I was so excited I could barely sit still. A thinking man’s thriller.

I’m sure it would be a more interesting story to tell you that I was disappointed by what I saw, but instead I was blown away. From the opening line of dialog, I never understood a single thing that transpired on the screen. Sean Bean’s Spencer asks De Niro’s Sam: “You ever kill anybody?” Sam shrugs and replies, “I hurt somebody’s feelings once.” What in the hell did that mean? Jean Reno’s Vincent gives Sam a cigarette. Sam accepts, then asks: “You labor or management?” Vincent chuckles, “If I was management, I wouldn’t have given you a cigarette.” They smirk. Huh? What are these people talking about? And then the worst one was the ambush scene. Oh, how I puzzled over the ambush scene. (It’s the very beginning of the clip below)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SDD_C1LTcwI&feature=related

…But…what? What on Earth just happened? Something…bad? I don’t get it (I get it now, no explanations in the comments section please). And yet in a strange way, I liked that fact. I think there were two reasons: firstly, because I was growing up in a house full of older people, and I got quite used to not understanding what was transpiring around me. Second, it didn’t seem random, everything seemed to be communicating information, I just couldn’t put together exactly what that information was. And I found that ambiguity, that sense of a puzzle to be penetrated, utterly fascinating. I’m always intrigued by shorthand, things that can go unsaid between people within certain circles, and perhaps I covet that knowledge above all other types.

Whatever the case, this was certainly something new. The rhythm of the dialog was, shall we say, a little different from “Armageddon.” And then came the action scenes. Holy mercy, the action scenes. I had watched people chase each other in cars before, but I had never noticed that most sequences are cut in such a way as to confuse, mislead, and downplay. Truth be told, the average action movie budget is trying to cut corners wherever possible, so the so-called “chase” you’re being sold on is usually two cars going 30 mph down an open road. I immediately understood that “Ronin” was different. The edit was elegant, there was a breath before each cut, I was meant to really see what the hell was going on. I was genuinely on edge throughout the whole scene, a feeling that was completely new to me.

You’re great in the locker room, pal, and your reflexes might die hard, but you’re weak when you put your spikes on.

“Ronin” also introduced the concept of a MacGuffin to me, by distilling it to its purest form. The plot centers around several groups of armed criminals chasing after a mysterious briefcase (actually it’s a case for ice skates, but that’s neither here nor there) which is so valuable that anyone will do anything to get it. The catch is—and I have to admit I was so absorbed in the story that I didn’t notice this the first time—that we never find out what’s in the case. It’s in moves like this that “Ronin” elevates itself, these little touches of class that are so unheard of in action films. I was beguiled endlessly by this open-ended technique, and quickly realized that by never revealing its contents, the case became more valuable. It became a thing to quest after, an object worth possessing at any cost, a plot device Hitchcock dubbed “the MacGuffin.”

When I watch “Ronin” now, I am still enthralled by its every nuance. I understand the tiny rhythms of the script, and am even more amazed that an action film with such an art house style ever got produced. The car chases are, for my money, still the best ever committed to celluloid, period. I’ve come to learn a great deal about how they were filmed, and director John Frankenheimer’s methods—the emphasis on real speed, refusal to use green screen or camera tricks, the fidelity to authentic engine noise—have remained a benchmark for the discerning enthusiast. I warn you that repeat viewing of the chases in “Ronin” will ruin garbage like “Gone in Sixty Seconds” for you, because your eye will learn what a car going 90 mph actually looks like; how it handles, the way inertia whacks the frame when it takes too hard a turn, and the furious gallop of the tires when the gas is hammered to the floor. If you’re going to do an action scene, you should make something out of it. “Ronin” turns the car chase into an art form.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DlgorBs7Q0w&feature=related (Wait for the chase, it is worth it)

The more films I see, the more I realize how rare “Ronin” is. Hollywood doesn’t believe in movies like this anymore: the MTV generation wants whiz-bang excuses to sell toys that overstuff their brief running times with sex and mindless violence. Some critics derisively call this “video game” style, but I’m insulted by that term, and I suspect the people who use it never played a video game. God knows the folks who made “Bioshock” and “Halo 3″ have a far keener understanding of pacing and development than these crass jerks who pump out stupid action movies ever will. Rather than look down on gamers, Hollywood could stand to learn something from them. But I digress.

What happened to movies like this, Dear Reader? Watching “Ronin” feels like having a sip of fine cognac after being forced to subsist on a diet of fruit roll ups and Tang. What happened to the thinking man’s thriller? I cherish movies with relatively few action scenes, because when the story is paced correctly, those moments end up being more valuable than the garbage that gets thrown at you by hacks who should stick to music videos. When I go to see an action movie, I still want to see a freaking movie. I want to know some characters, and relate to their struggles, and ponder the consequences of their actions. It’s an open secret that this movie was scripted by David Mamet, and his signature touch adds so much weight to the proceedings.

Frankenheimer presents here a slower picture, an old-school thrill ride that builds steadily up to a much smaller number of action scenes, each one carried off with loving precision. The sad irony is, for all the former’s desperation to maintain a constant climax, they end up being far more boring pictures. “Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen” isn’t half as exciting as “Ronin,” even though it cost three times as much to produce. You cannot buy excitement from an audience, you must earn it. It doesn’t matter how many pyramids you blow up, or weapons you unleash, or monuments you destroy; we will always get more excited when story and pacing are implemented. When you have our hearts and our minds, we give endlessly to the picture, volunteering our sincerest hopes and deepest fears. A picture like “Ronin” is about trusting the audience, respecting their intelligence, and offering them a refined, classy experience.

And it’s about driving some hot cars so fast they melt your face off.

You understand that there is something outside yourself that must be served. And when that need is gone, when belief has died, what are you but a man without a master?

PS: If you want to see a real thriller, the way they used to be made, jump to the 5:00 mark on this clip. This scene cost a fraction of what they spent to make “GI Joe: The Rise of Cobra,” and yet I give you my word you will be more nervous, apprehensive, terrified, and then relieved than you would be in twelve of the stupid blockbusters that pass for entertainment these days.

If you dare…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v0XJunOAGgs&feature=related

When You’ve Got a Good Thing…

Published on February 9, 2010 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments

You don’t mess with it, apparently. Warner Bros is not a perfect studio—in fact they’re a bit of an old boys’ club in the eyes of some—but I do admire the way they acquire and stay loyal to talent. They took the Wachowskis in from the cold on a good script and an indie lesbian mob movie, and got paid back with one of their biggest hits. They put Tim Burton in the chair on “Batman,” even let him cast Mr. Mom, and again they struck solid gold. And they let a promising indie director revive the franchise on the strength of a strong pitch and a positive experience making a Pacino thriller. The result? The third highest grossing American film ever. Well done, guys. Someone in your talent department is doing their job.

Never ones to let a good thing slip by, WB is not only bankrolling Nolan’s massive “Inception,” it was announced today that they’re also taking him on to “mentor” a Superman reboot. He won’t write or direct it, but he will be keeping his eye on the creative team. This spooks me just a tiny bit because we don’t have direct confirmation that he’s directing “Batman 3.” And why would they announce this before they make that official? The following eventuality frightens me…

-Nolan oversees “Superman” as part of an exit deal from Bat-franchise. I know it’s paranoid, but here me out: Chris doesn’t want to do “Bat 3.” WB says “pretty please,” he still says no. He does want to do “Inception,” though. WB tells him if he doesn’t make Batman, his sci-fi action flick isn’t happening. Now it couldn’t have gone too far, because Deadline Hollywood reports that no other studio even got a whiff of this script. That means he didn’t shop it, so maybe WB kept him close. Perhaps they agreed with a reduced budget, something more manageable, but Chris disagreed; we do know that when he makes a blockbuster, he insists on outdoing himself. They dance around each other a bit, and eventually come to an understanding: WB bankrolls “Inception” at full price, in exchange for Chris Nolan exec producing Batman AND Superman franchises, and his brother Jonah and David Goyer still pen the script. Not a bad deal for all parties: Chris gets to move on, WB gets most of the same creative team behind Batman, AND they get his watchful eye on a new franchise.

See? See why I’m worried? Or it could be this…

-Nolan gets “Inception” upon agreement for “Bat 3″ and “Superman.” If you slightly weaken Chris’ bargaining position by emphasizing the fact that “Inception” costs the GDP of a small country to make, you could argue that this thing was not such a cinch to green light. I’ve heard from some inside sources (yes, I actually have a SOURCE this time) that this not a “we have to make it” script; it’s confusing, and only Chris really understands what it means. They didn’t give him this movie because it just had to be made. Perhaps Chris needed to bargain the picture into existence. There is no doubt in mind—I can’t emphasize this enough—that at some point, WB tried to get Chris to direct this new “Superman.” I don’t see how that fact is avoidable. They probably told him, “Give me Superman and Batman, you can do whatever you want.” He probably came back at them with, “I’ll take the picture somewhere else.” At this point, WB likely decided that this guy was too talented to risk “Inception” being made by Paramount and becoming a huge smash; plus, they wanted to keep a good relationship with him. So what did they do? They said, “Look, just write Superman, okay? Write it.” He said no. “Okay executive produce it. Mentor it. Just come tell us if it sucks.” And to that, he said yes.

Mind you, that’s just another possibility. I can foresee a third eventuality as well…

-Chris gets “Inception” for “Batman 3,” and then agrees to “Superman.” It’s the least intriguing rendition, but Occam’s razor may make it the most likely. Before today, we all assumed that “Inception” was a small price to pay for “Bat 3,” and in truth it is. First of all, it’s likely to be a hit, so there you go. Second of all, even if it totally bombed (which is nearly impossible in my view), a viable franchise is worth one tremendous failure, and Chris is essential to maintaining that franchise. You can’t overestimate how lost WB was when Nolan came on board. They knew “Batman and Robin” was a mistake, but where to go? They were getting wild pitches, everything from Wolfgang Peterson’s “Batman versus Superman” (that one came THIS CLOSE to getting made) to Darren Aaronofsky’s bizarre “Batman as a homeless guy” idea. Nolan strolls in with a model Batmobile already completed, and a clear vision for a viable hit. When your guy is making it rain, you don’t mess with him.

So we’ve established that “Inception” for “Bat 3″ makes some sense. If that’s the case, then it’s very possible that this “Superman” issue, for however long it’s been on the table, has just been another talking point between friends. I see a lot of evidence for the fact that Nolan and WB get along, as far back as “Insomnia,” which Chris rescued from a late-stage director drop-out. Maybe execs were dropping by the office during pre-production for “Inception” and running ideas by him, and maybe Nolan was listening. Eventually they asked him to direct, it’s just impossible to me that they didn’t, but that conversation went nowhere. We all know it’s been hard keeping Nolan tied down to Batman this long, so another superhero franchise isn’t happening. At some point, in the name of keeping things amicable, Chris shrugs and agrees to keep his eye on where “Superman” goes.

So there you have it, my little dissertation on this new development. I do think we should bear one element strongly in mind though, an element I call “The X Factor.” We don’t know what Chris’ next movie is. We don’t know what his plans for the future are. “Inception” and “The Prestige” had both been around as ideas for years before he made “Batman Begins,” and it seems likely to me he’s got other things on the table as well. Maybe doing this Superman thing is giving him a leg up on a situation we don’t yet know about.

Either way, let me just say kudos to Warner Bros for this savvy move. They have instantly put a great deal of faith back in their Superman franchise, they’ve got a great new sci-fi hit coming out this summer, and most likely their man is back in the director’s chair for a third “Batman.” By any reasonable standard, they’ve done a great job keeping him happy and letting him make money for them. Well done, guys.

Number 23

Published on February 7, 2010 in Uncategorized. 0 Comments

(Starting now, I’m going to provide YouTube links to clips of the movies that I like. That’ll be fun)

23. Primer (2004, Written and Directed by Shane Carruth)

It is crucially important to me that you understand something about this list, Dear Reader: it is not a compilation of the 25 most perfect films I have ever seen. Flaws or potential flaws are a part of the arts, but never are they more inevitable than in film. Movie making is an extraordinarily bizarre process: unlike theater, you’re totally disconnected from your audience and cannot modify your performance to their reactions; you must compose in an isolation chamber, and then release the naive monster of your creation into a cold world. The script you write must be brought to life by dozens of actors and technicians, all of whom will (intentionally or not) change the thing they are making along the way. And perhaps most troubling of all, what film making sets out to do is fundamentally absurd: we capture a scene from three or four different angles and ask you to believe that cuts between them are instantaneous, but somehow we are never able to keep God from meddling with our canvas. Whole departments strive to monitor each actor’s hair do, their clothes, their position on the screen, and then the simplest discontinuity reveals us for the charlatans we are. If the biggest flaw in a scene is that a cigarette magically appears and disappears from an actor’s mouth—something that would be ludicrous in any other art form trying to be realistic—than we count ourselves as lucky. Film simply does not permit perfectionism (at least not live action film), you cannot control your canvas with the iron authority of a novel.

“Primer” is, by some standards, the most imperfect movie on this list. Although a huge hit at Sundance, there is a sizable body of detractors who insist this movie is a mess, and they are not altogether wrong. It’s made for under ten grand and looks like it, a few scenes demonstrably suffer from a lack of financial resources to sell crucial plot elements. It can’t be bothered by exposition, and although the main characters have an arc, its hardly the strict definition of dramatically satisfying. To call its third act incomprehensible is an insult to incomprehensible things. This is not a nice, clean, neat movie.

But it’s an absolutely stunning one anyway.

“Primer” is the simple story of two young entrepreneurial engineers, toiling away in their garages, who one day invent something they cannot handle. The first act is a loving rendering of that moment of discovery, expressing every little event, every twinge of emotion, that builds up to something no man on Earth is prepared for. The second act consists of these two men employing their new device, trying to understand it, maybe even testing philosophies about its use and purpose in the world. They are fumbling awkwardly with Prometheus’ fire. The third act is a jumble of plot elements (which have been helpfully sorted out by a color graph on Wikipedia), but it doesn’t matter, because what it means is perfectly clear: the inevitable descent into madness. Abe and Aaron—those are their names—do not actually go crazy, that would be the kind of cheap out that “Donnie Darko” employs. They go human. Their destructive behavior is completely rational, in fact some of it is almost common sense. They evaluate an extraordinary situation, and move to systematically reduce risk and elevate likelihood of safety and security; they don’t even lust for power or money, for heaven’s sake. But a film like “Primer” forces you to acknowledge how primitive mankind’s view of reality is. We simply do not have the perspective to handle such a situation.

“Primer” is a revelation to me. It is the most naturalistic film I have ever seen, aside from several European movies that sucked. There is no “dialog” in the traditional sense (except for a mildly crummy voice over), no one makes speeches and then waits for their next line. Aaron (portrayed by writer/director Carruth) and Abe (David Sullivan) have an interchange that is effortless, the actors fool us into thinking these men have worked together for years. When they talk and argue, their conversations are full of wrinkles and arhythmic pulses that are so authentic it’s actually uncomfortable. The suspension of disbelief that results is unfair, allowing “Primer” to get away with out-and-out absurdities. No matter what happens, or how lost we get, these two lead actors are so damned convincing that we cannot make ourselves stop believing. It must be real.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPflrB1jRq8&feature=related

(For one of the best moments in the movie, skip to about the 6:00 mark on the video above)

I cannot imagine the bravery it would have taken to submit this thing, in the form it currently exists, for the world to watch. Its tone is punishing, unforgiving: nothing is ever explained to the audience, you are expected to keep up or shut up. Information washes over you faster than you can process it. Millions of Americans, I think, would not sit through ten minutes of this thing, because it is not our custom in Western storytelling to act as if the audience is truly not there. I’ve seen and heard about countless frustrated sci-fi fans squinting angrily at this movie and then snapping it off. It’s their loss.

Watching “Primer” successfully requires a willingness to release control, like putting your hands in the air on a roller coaster. If you try to consciously process what’s happening, the movie will keep moving past you. But if you simply watch, and listen, and absorb, the movie will begin communicating vast amounts of information on the subconscious level. The details will disappear and all that will be left is an authentic sense that you are a part of something, that you are seeing the most secret, dangerous discovery in the history of science. Like “Blade Runner” and “2001: A Space Odyssey,” “Primer” is about moods, emotions, images, and (above all) ideas. It is a philosophical encounter with your eyes, meant to be processed below your rational thought. Watching it is hypnotic.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2dfaVQFgWs4&feature=related

The movie’s practical relevance in our world is obvious. The conditions it depicts are identical to those in which the personal computer was created. Labs and white coats are no longer required to push the boundaries of science. As technology democratizes information, we are forced to contend with the fact that anyone with enough drive could roll up their sleeves and alter world history. Even thirty years ago, an audience might have scoffed at “Primer,” but no one would dare do so now. History has taught us too much.

What this film is ultimately about is not “man pushes science too far” (a frankly overplayed theme), but simply “man pushes himself too far.” Abe and Aaron get a good enough view of the reality of time for it to tear down their lives as they know it. Darren Aaronofsky’s masterful “Pi: Faith in Chaos” is this film’s brother in that respect: both contend with low-income, high intelligence individuals whose lonely lifestyles drive them into the arms of the unknown while the world isn’t watching. But whereas “Pi” is a vicious psychological thriller, “Primer” is a science fiction odyssey; a lyrical visual piece about how dim the light of our understanding is in the darkness of reality.