I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted. It’s been a crazy week, bear with me.
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…
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.
(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.
(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.
A few of you have asked for the skinny on “Percy Jackson and the Olympians: The Lightning Thief,” an upcoming family fantasy flick based on a popular series of young adult lit novels. The two second lowdown is this: the novels center around the titular hero, a young boy who discovers a couple of shocking things at once: a) the Greek gods and monsters are all real, and b) he’s the son of Poseidon. Using clever updates of the classic myths—like Olympus being located on the 600th floor of the Empire State Building—the novels put a modern twist on the classic stories.
Boom.
Now the movie is something else. The director is Chris Columbus, who handled the first two “Harry Potter” flicks. He’s not consistently loved, and with good reason: although talented, his style comes across like a watered down Spielberg. I’m pretty sure the best movie in his catalog is “Home Alone 2,” so take that into consideration. The screenwriter is also dubious, he’s responsible for venerable works like “Cheaper by the Dozen” and “Scooby Doo.” Not thrilling stuff. That said, the trailers look punchy and interesting, and the source material isn’t bad, so do what you have to do, Dear Reader.
Fortunately, my saintly wife happens to be reading “The Lightning Thief” at this very moment. She’s enjoying it quite a bit I think, so in a first-time exclusive for this blog, I’ve invited her to write a guest spot with her own analysis. Take it away, my love!
Corelyn: It’s a good book, I like it a lot. Fun for the whole family. It’s missing something, though, and I can’t put my finger on what it is. No wait, I know: the Batmobile. It just needs a Batmobile. I mean, I’ve noticed that’s a deficiency of Shakespeare’s, too. Where’s the Batplane, huh, Bard? I don’t consider anything classic until a character with a cape and mask growls “I am the night” and vanishes into a darkened cityscape. I must go now, to read more Batman comic books. Andrew is the greatest man alive. Goodbye.
Well, you heard it folks!
…
What? Why are you looking at me like that, Dear Reader?
Okay, I have a confession: that was not Corelyn, but I’m pretty sure that’s what she would have said if she wasn’t asleep right now. I mean, you have to admit you were seeing double with that impersonation. It’s okay to be impressed. A few other tidbits and I’ll get out of your hair:
-”The Last Airbinder” looks…er…good. I can’t believe I’m saying that, but I saw the Super Bowl spot and liked it. Not bad work. I mean that’s what I said about the trailer for “The Village,” so who the hell knows, but maybe ol’ M. Night Shamwow (as Penny Arcade dubbed him) has finally stopped drinking crazy juice. Maybe.
-They’re considering making a new “Shadow” movie with Sam Raimi at the helm. Please Lord, yes. Please. The original “Shadow” remake was my first PG-13 cinematic experience, which was notable because I was only about 8 at the time. I was escorted by Brady, who winningly intervened on my behalf with mom and dad, went with me to see it, and bought my ticket. I love my brother. It was the perfect leap into adult waters: scary without being too violent, sexy without being too raunchy, dark without being twisted, and fun without being too stupid. I spent the whole running time glued to my seat, alternating between terrified and overjoyed. It is to this day one of the best experiences I’ve had in a movie. I know Sam Raimi was bummed he couldn’t direct it back then, so I’m sure he’s eager for another shot. Here’s hoping he gets it.
24. The Passion of the Christ (2004, Directed by Mel Gibson)
A controversial movie in all the best ways, “The Passion of the Christ” is one of the most unique pieces of American film making ever. Gibson’s legacy as an actor is debatable to me; he’s unquestionably talented, but he brings few new ideas to his craft. As a director, however, he has been a consistent trailblazer, fusing the daring subject matter of independent cinema with the high-budget, high-visibility mainstream. “Braveheart” was arguably a warm-up lap, more conventional than his later work, but I dare you to find another actor who so gracefully made the leap into the director’s chair (we’ll ignore “The Man Without a Face” for now). He took on sweeping battle scenes, intimate romance, and political intrigue, and by any reasonable standard aced it. Plus, he brought a distinctive style to the action film, merging the sweeping grandiosity of David Lean with the bloody grit of Peckinpah. Traditionally, a visceral movie is also quite cynical, maybe to offer the audience some emotional protection, but Gibson charges in with both hands, compromising neither sentimentality nor carnage. It doesn’t sound like an appealing mix, but he chooses his stories carefully, creating movies that are suited to both. He looks right into the eyes of violence and refuses to flinch or fall back on cynicism to try and soften the blow. It is what it is.
He has directed four movies so far, and three of them have been masterpieces, but the crown jewel is also his best-known and most controversial work, “The Passion of the Christ.” Dogged by ridiculous charges of anti-Semitism, usually by people who couldn’t bother to actually watch the damned thing, “The Passion” pulls quite literally from all four gospels to create the film equivalent of an epic poem. Its beats and structure are classical, its plot is not comparable to 90% of Western cinema, but it speaks with brutal clarity that transcends genres. This is one of the most difficult types of films to make, and rarely has it been accomplished so successfully.
Although “The Passion” has a Scriptural debt to the Gospels (John in particular), the movie that I think it owes the most to is “2001: A Space Odyssey.” Both are films that seek to escape the conventional, character-arc based plot structures that dominate Western fiction. They are designed as experiences, sustained moments of philosophical inquiry meant to elicit extreme (and almost unpleasant) waves of emotion. And they are also both profoundly filmic; reading the script for either would get you nowhere near the experience of the movie (you’ll hear me say that a lot on this list).
“The Passion” is strangely at odds with reality: its depiction of Roman culture, slavish adherence to ancient dialects, and refusal to stock Jerusalem full of white people like everyone else, make it a uniquely sharp view of history. And yet its pace and tone are deliberately surreal: its use of music, exaggerated lighting, slow motion, and dramatic hyperbole land it squarely in the realm of dream-like (or nightmarish). This is not a documentary-style film. I believe the events it depicts to be historical fact, but I do not consider the movie even slightly “realistic.” Were I to go back in time, this is not how the events would look, and that is one of the highest compliments you can pay to the film. Gibson is not content to roll the camera on a blank reading from the King James, and the movies that have done that are mostly forgotten. Instead, he dips the story in myth and hyperbole, elevating Jesus from a suffering man to a unified Godhead carrying the weight of sin on His back. The story isn’t particularly concerned with Christ Himself, but with the people around Him, and how His sufferings serve to reflect the content of their souls.
Of course, no discussion of “The Passion” is complete without acknowledging that the film is hugely unpopular in some circles. It’s not a coincidence that its astronomical box office success has been followed with almost no imitators of any kind, because like the success of Tyler Perry, Hollywood liberal culture simply doesn’t want to hear it. They saw the numbers like everyone else, but they have elected to plug their ears and sing “lalala.” Most people I know in the film community have open contempt for the picture, either because of its honest spirituality, its unrelenting violence, or personal problems with Gibson himself. I find these reactions to be defensive and culturally motivated, built from negative associations with Christianity and Mel Gibson, not an intelligent discourse on the content of the picture. The movie makes a lot of people uncomfortable simply by existing, which is a sign that it’s probably doing something right. “The Passion” has become some kind of symbolic battleground, a target to take aim at, and even though that’s a kind of compliment, it’s frustrating when one tries to make a case for its value as a piece of art.
And art it is. Every previous attempt to depict Jesus on celluloid looks hopelessly flaccid by comparison. Scorsese tried admirably to personalize Christ, but aside from a breathtaking climax that really should have been a short film of its own, the rest of the movie creates a man that simply would not warrant the legendary status Jesus has achieved. “The Passion” avoids trying to make a Western-style character of Christ, He’s a force of nature more than anything else, and for this reason His mystique and power remain intact. We look at Him and sense that He’s playing every situation close to the chest, like His view of what’s happening is unique from ours. Meanwhile, His disciples struggle with betrayal and cowardice and His movement falls apart around Him, leaving some dejected and some furious. With every blow He takes, the magic and meaning of the words He convinced so many to believe is destroyed. The hard, cold reality of Roman occupation has won again, and seeing how each disciple handles this crisis of faith reveals the deepest parts of their humanity. The two Marys are the only ones who never lose hope; their grief is personal, the death of the message is beside the point, they are trying to weep for Christ the man. But Jesus won’t let them, He is distant from their sorrow, because a man is simply not the totality of what He is. They are mourning an incomplete version of the truth.
It’s relevant to notice that the Resurrection, which is the most important part of the Christ story, is saved for a single shot at the very end. It’s bizarre to think of a movie about Jesus where His conquering of death is shoehorned in such a way, but hope is not the subject of this movie. “The Passion” is about the victories we win that we cannot feel, the blows we strike against evil that sting us as much as our target. Not even Jesus can elevate His perspective above the suffering He is enduring; He must constantly ready His heart for it, and He comes desperately close to breaking several times. His story arc is a protracted fight for survival, to cherish and retain the soul as the body is scourged. Jim Caviezel’s selfless performance shows us every step of the battle: sometimes He takes the pain, sometimes the pain takes Him. What is that part of Him, we wonder, that endures even as His body fails? What in this man makes Him push forward when every fiber of His being has failed? What is He if not His body? These are questions we may all ask of ourselves, because in our better moments, we too can violate the walls of our corporeal existence. It is in these moments that Jesus is paradoxically the most divine and the most human.
Like “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance,” “The Passion” should not be viewed by everyone. It is a harsh experience to put it mildly, probably the most horrific thing I have ever watched. But the singular achievement of Gibson’s masterpiece is its ability to use incredibly old story techniques to find a visual language for Christian philosophy. There’s a place for Cecil B. Demille, don’t get me wrong, but the Bible has thus far rarely been effectively translated into an American movie. Perhaps this is because the Bible refutes many basic storytelling conventions, relying on a more surreal and subconscious form of storytelling that thrives on being vague. Or perhaps it’s because so few filmmakers set out with the real intention of doing the Book any credit. Mel Gibson is an exception to that rule: he set out to make a Christian movie about sin and death, and he succeeded.
We have many things to discuss, Dear Reader! First and most pressing, of course, is the Oscar nominations. Let’s just get right down to it:
Best Picture:
Avatar–Makes sense. I mean, who is surprised there? But I don’t think it should win. As good a movie as it is, and God knows I love the thing, its technological advances can’t hide the overt simplicity of the story itself. A “Best Picture” needs to be something a little deeper.
The Blind Side–Still haven’t seen it, but I think a fair choice. The Academy is obviously sensitive to alienating people, and they know that if this movie isn’t nominated, a lot of America is going to flip them off and watch something else. Scoff all you like, and most of my professors do, but the people love it. If only this kind of open-mindedness was there for “The Dark Knight,” whose snub last year is made all the worse by the fact that with ten nominees, it almost certainly would have gotten the nomination. I will never get over that.
District 9–And here we get them filling up space, this is not a good enough movie to be “Best Picture.” It’s a fad that died off once everyone realized the movie had no third act. I like “District 9,” especially for its new and exciting take on sci-fi, but it’s problems are too significant to ignore.
An Education–Haven’t seen it, but I hear great things. A pretty obvious Hollywood choice, I’m sure it would’ve been nominated even with 5 slots. It won’t win, though, and everyone involved in it knows that. Because the Oscars are more than any other thing a television program, and television programs need exciting upsets and huge, record-breaking sweeps. A lesser known up-and-comer winning the big prize would elicit a giant shrug from too many people. It’s not happening.
The Hurt Locker–My current pick for the Best Picture win, and a deserving contender. I really like “The Hurt Locker,” but I must admit that I’ve been avoiding a second viewing, because I have this nagging sense that its muddled third quarter—especially the scene where Jeremy Renner breaks into that house for some reason—will bother me even more than it did the first time. Like “District 9,” it’s a movie whose strengths are big and hard to miss, while its weaknesses are whispering in your ear while you leave the theater. I’m not saying it shouldn’t be nominated or even that it shouldn’t win, but as a character study I do find it imperfect.
Inglourious Basterds–A wonderful nomination, and one of the fruits of the ten-slot changeover, because it surely would have been left in the cold a year ago. This is a brazen, interesting film that gave people a genuinely new experience, and that alone is something. It breaks a lot of basic storytelling rules, which “Pulp Fiction” also did, but I don’t think it gets away with it quite as cleanly as that film did. It’s a great movie, I’m glad to see it here, but the pace is occasionally a bit cumbersome and not every subplot resolves in a worthy manner.
As far as its chances of winning, I think they’re decent, but I’d put money on “Locker” and “Avatar” first. This is kind of the “Benjamin Button” of 2009, and although everyone is happy to see it at the dance, I don’t think we’re taking it home with us.
Precious–Admittedly, this one managed to generate a lot of heat for awhile, and I think its lead will probably go home with a statue, but the movie itself has gone the way of “Juno” and started losing momentum before the ceremony rolled around. It’s not winning.
A Serious Man–God knows I hate to be arrayed against my beloved Coen Brothers, but in my opinion this is one of their weaker films. Its script wouldn’t get past an undergraduate screenwriting class, its protagonist fails to elicit sympathy, and the plot is dramatically unsatisfying. The most interesting character, the main character’s son, is awkwardly thrust into the limelight in the 3rd act to try and engage the audience, but what the stoned bar mitzvah sequence is supposed to mean is never made clear. As filmmakers, their craft is as good as its ever been, but here they stray too far off the reservation. The one redeeming feature is a spine-tingling last frame, which calls out like a phantom limb from the movie “A Serious Man” could have been, but isn’t.
As for its chances…don’t count on it. I have a theory that no one actually likes “A Serious Man” that much, and given the swirling protestations of anti-Semitism (which are ridiculous as usual), I don’t think it’s got the legs to make the jump. And it doesn’t deserve it, anyway.
Up–A good enough film that isn’t great, no matter what anyone says. Stellar opening, incredibly tepid middle, enjoyable but shrug-worthy conclusion. Funny and spirited, but the audience is ahead of the characters the whole time.
Up in the Air–I said I thought “The Hurt Locker” would win, but if I could work my will, here is the one that should win. In terms of likelihood of taking the prize, I’d say it’s about equal with anything here. This is the best movie of the ten, hands down. It’s more topical than “Locker,” sweeter than “Up,” and more brutally honest than “Precious” or “A Serious Man.” Reitman earned his nomination for “Juno,” but no matter how wonderful that film was, I don’t think anyone was comfortable calling it “Best Picture.” “Up in the Air” feels born to be.
So there you have it. As a quick break-down, let me list the movies I would be happy to see win:
Up in the Air
The Hurt Locker
Inglourious Basterds
Here are the ones I would be okay with winning, but not thrilled about:
Avatar
Up
And the ones that would actively annoy me:
District 9
A Serious Man
The others I can’t comment on, having not seen them.
I’d also like to point out that this year is a surprisingly weak year for storytelling. Many of these movies are on here for cultural significance or popularity, when their actual scripts are draft material. I notice a particular Achilles’ heel in the third acts of movies like “District 9,” “Up,” “The Hurt Locker,” and “A Serious Man,” all films which fumble awkwardly at their resolutions. When I’m considering who I want to take the ultimate prize, the thing I’m obsessed with is a shiny, glistening story: paced with elegance, nuanced, powerful, and authentic. “Up in the Air” displays all of this and still manages to be funny, sad, fascinating, and the most relevant film for our times. 3-D technology is great, James, but it doesn’t mean anything for me as a human being. “Air” is talking about the American spirit as it is right now with an almost relentless clarity.
A few other things that struck me:
-Cameron is taking the Best Director prize, I guarantee you. But he can’t have that and Best Picture, I don’t think the Academy will swallow that, so that says to me that “Avatar” isn’t taking the statue. Cameron absolutely deserves it in a way, but on the other hand, I sometimes think the technical aspect of directing overwhelms what the job is really about: story, tone and performances. In those respects, “Avatar” is only good, not great. For me, the most visionary control of performances and story I saw this year were brought to us by Kathryn Bigelow (Cameron’s ex-wife, funny side note) and Jason Reitman. Both of their movies, whatever flaws were present, had that feel of someone making real decisions behind the camera.
-I don’t think any of the original screenplay noms really leap out at me as “winners,” they all strike me as movies who will win and then you’ll be surprised ten years later to find that out. The adapted category is full of quality, though.
-Let Sandra have Best Lead Actress. She deserves it. The woman carried that film on her back in a way very few actresses can. The fact that she made Americans love and relate to her character is a crucial ingredient in the movie’s success, and it must be recognized. It must be.
-”Fantastic Mr. Fox” better win Animated, it’s twice the movie “Up” is, and if there was justice in this world it’d be swimming in the big boy’s pool with a Best Picture nom.
-My personal favorites for Best Score are Hans Zimmer’s “Sherlock Holmes” and Alexandre Desplat’s “Fantastic Mr. Fox.” Both were defining components of their film’s personality. I almost want Has to win between the two, since he took a weak film and brought it up a notch with his music. He seems to specialize in that, often doing his best work in crap flicks like “The Da Vinci Code.” I guess he likes the challenge.
But in fairness, Desplat is just as deserving, because the music in “Fox” was integral to the proceedings in a way “Holmes” does not mimic, and he so perfectly rose to that challenge.
-I know it’s a pipe dream, but I’d love to see Bruno Delbonnel win for his lensing of “Harry Potter.” The film was jaw-droppingly gorgeous.
Anyway,
The “Lost” season premiere was, by all accounts, a smashing success. Bad “Lost” episodes are frustrating, giving out too little information and annoying the audience, but this one was always teasing you just the right amount. There was a constant sense of a logic working behind the scenes that you could just barely not see. Beautifully done. The “new” John Locke who manipulated Ben so adroitly is one of the series’ most interesting characters, but I do think they owe the original a more thorough resolution than he got. I’ve enjoyed the disillusionment they’ve milked from John’s bizarre and untimely passing, but it’s beginning to strike me as unsatisfying. You can’t carry us this far with that guy and just leave him in the dust.
No one knows what to make of this apparent alternate reality. I for one am not convinced it is alternate yet, because you never want to assume with “Lost.” I don’t know what it is. I do know that it’s given the show an energy that is going to send it into that big goodnight with momentum to spare. Thank God you’re back, “Lost.” We have missed you.
Yes, before you ask, the top 25 will continue, I just feel like spreading it out a little will a) build the tension b) make people start reading this again. Meanwhile, there are various stories of interest to discuss.
Corelyn has led a successful skirmish against our living room, suppressing its defensive reflexes and reforming it into the thing she desires. Our closet had heretofore (I love that word) been a kind of material purgatory, a way station where possessions we could not systematize waited in the dark for a house fire to end their torment. Corelyn never really intended for this, she had plans for that closet, but I was in charge of unpacking on a fateful afternoon, and my Xbox suggested to me that time was a-wasting.
No offense, but the “Black Hole” theory of closet space is defiantly Allen. Growing up, we always had…that room, that place where you just did not want to go. It was an ugly little remainder in the long division equation of our family, the seedy underbelly that made the otherwise pleasant appearance of our house possible. I have to admit, every time I visit Brady and Holly, I search for their Room of Torment, so far without success. I can’t decide if they just don’t have one or if it’s so bad they use black magic to cover it up.
To me, junk was always just a natural state of affairs. I appreciate clean rooms, they make me feel happier than messy ones, but I could never seem to consistently will them into existence. Most people who know me are vaguely aware that I am far from a details-oriented person, despite what I say on any job application ever. I am an idea person, a grand scheme thinker, my fascination is with the big picture, so there’s something borderline comical to me about spending ten hours a week relocating a dozen trinkets to their arbitrarily appointed “places.” They’re just going to move again, what is the point of this?
The thing that probably changed my attitude towards cleanliness forever was living with male roommates my senior year of college. It was a sharp, sobering experience not unlike that “Scared Straight” show they used to do. I had to see for myself how bad it could get, I had to live it firsthand before the practice of sanitizing a bathroom or dusting off a coffee table had any meaning to me. I remember that the walls were just blank: no decorations, no pictures. There were a few pieces of furniture across from a television in the living room, but they honestly looked like they had been placed by men with blindfolds, and it was too much to hope their colors matched in any way. The lavatories were war zones, I don’t really want to get into that. Corelyn would come to visit and leave with post traumatic stress disorder.
Anyway, the point is, Corelyn had many enemies in our living room: a computer desk that was too wide, too tall, and jutted uncomfortably into her dining space; a lack of seating space; an awkwardly placed couch; a closet that was a demilitarized zone. These were formidable adversaries, and they are all dead—not just vanquished, dead. Her only remaining obstacle is the one she isn’t allowed to murder: me. I’m not an idiot, I appreciate the distinction between a good room and a bad one, but I have a rare talent for survival, and will content myself in almost any living space that isn’t too warm or too small. Waking up my aesthetic sense and putting it to work on my home is kind of like smacking your arm over and over when it falls to sleep.
Moving along,
“Mass Effect 2″ is great and getting better. My early misgivings about it have given way to wholehearted embrace, in the same sense that a strung-out rock star embraces cocaine. I’ve logged over 2o hours into it so far, which is incredible to me because that’s nearly an entire day. I haven’t owned the game for longer than a week, and it has already removed an entire unit of time from my life.
The secret to “Mass Effect 2′s” domination of my heart and soul is really its story. Video games have always been addictive on some mindless level, but aside from deranged nerds, most of us could only take so much of a plumber tripping on mushrooms and fighting turtles before we needed to go back to grown up land. This new generation of story-based games insist on stirring two teaspoons of story into the mix, metering out compelling characters, shocking plot revelations, and philosophical observations for each hour of game play. “Super Metroid” used to give you points or extra lives when you conquered a foe, but now the reward for level completion is a lesson in life and love.
Movies are my passion, but I do admit that games and television have a key narrative advantage: they have more time. You can only build so many characters in three hours, but if you have 40 or 50, you can construct a living, breathing world. Gaming has the advantage over both in that the player is allowed to determine the pace and order of the story they absorb, letting each person tailor it to their liking far better than any artist(s) could. When you make a movie, you have to try and guess what the audience is going to care about and emphasize that, but in a game like “Mass Effect 2″ you can sit back and let them decide.
When I first popped “ME2″ in the tray, I was stunned at the absence of RPG elements. There was no inventory anymore, hardly any looting, only occasional collecting of precious “XP” (I still think that one is a mistake), no more Mako, far simpler character trees. Tycho at Penny Arcade wisely compared it to “Deus Ex’s” much-hated sequel, but there’s one key difference: here it works. It’s a weird experience to lose things in a sequel you got used to in the original, but once you get past it, the game is tighter and more satisfying.
Corelyn hates video games, there’s no two ways about that fact, but it saddens me that I’ll never be able to distill “ME2′s” story into a form she would permit, because I think she might like it. Its tone is a combination of any of the following:
1. Heinlein, especially the socio-political yet action-heavy style of “Starship Troopers.” Also toss in a touch of the existential philosophy and character-based drama a la ”Stranger in a Strange Land.”
2. The morality play dynamic of “Star Wars.”
3. The gritty, real-world psychosis of “Ender’s Game” or “Speaker for the Dead.” Also a fascination with the military, which is depicted in a grounded and relatable fashion.
Mix that with a potent cocktail of cover-based combat and RPG elements, you end up with the gift that keeps on giving until you don’t have a life and can’t remember your name. I think I just need to beat this game and bury it somewhere where I can’t reach it anymore.
And now, without further ado, the Top 25 begins.
25. Boksuneun naui geot (2002, Directed by Chan-wook Park)
AKA: “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance”
We begin the countdown with a movie which serves to teach a very valuable lesson that will apply itself regularly as we continue: not everything on here should be taken as a recommendation. “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance” is an engrossing cinematic experience, but it is also very Korean, quite methodical, and incredibly brutal. That I adore the film does not alter the fact that many of you reading should not seek it out.
The opening volley of Park’s “Vengeance Trilogy,” “Vengeance” is typically overshadowed by its better known older sibling, “Oldboy.” While the latter film is also a powerful experience (and features one of the best fight scenes ever filmed), I connect much more with this story. It starts quite slowly, almost gracefully, as we meet a deaf young man named Ryu, whose sister is struggling with a serious medical condition. Desperate for the money to pay for her operation, Ryu turns to his best friend, Cha Yeong-mi, a rebellious political activist, and she advises him to orchestrate a very careful kidnapping (her ideals make her comfortable with robbing a corporate fat-cat). The plan is simple: abduct a young girl from a rich man, treat her kindly while making the demands, and return her before she has any idea of what was going on. Practically a victimless crime, until things begin to go wrong.
Park claims that all three of his vengeance movies (this one, “Oldboy,” and “Lady Vengeance”) are about the futility and amorality of seeking revenge, but only this one really sends that message home. The moral of the film is that retribution steals your free will, your ability to make a conscious decision about how you will react to events. The characters is “Vengeance” all intend to pay back how they were wronged in proportion, but inevitably the equation becomes unbalanced, and they must go to greater and more unreasonable lengths for their satisfaction. By the closing credits, three lives have been consumed by violence and grief.
Tonally, the script is somewhere between Shakespeare’s tragedies and Hitchcock’s most twisted thrillers, blending the grandiosity of the former with the maddening psychoses and shock-tactics of the latter. The visual language of the film is sublime: Park composes his frames as if he painted each one by hand, avoiding long tracts of dialogue in favor of soaking his audience in atmosphere. Like most great cinema, “Vengeance” finds the filmic quality of its story, telling it in a style that would not convey in a novel, play, or even a television show. Reading the script wouldn’t even get you close to the experience of the movie.
The violence is horrific, although unlike a lot of the Asian cinema I have seen, it does not serve to entice excitement. Kubrick used to complain that people were only shocked by “A Clockwork Orange” because they expected sanitized violence, which he refused to provide, and the same is true here. The body count is far lower than any Bond film, as is the screen time spent on physical conflict, but what time Park does employ he uses. Killing is not done by professionals in this movie, it is not clean or polite, and when it’s over, we share in the emptiness the characters experience. The point is for you to not like it.
Ryu is clumsy and foolish, so he might not seem a compelling lead, but his purity of heart and unselfish devotion to his sister are compelling. Cha Yeong-mi provides an interesting foil and romantic interest for him, but they are exactly the kinds of criminals that end up on the nightly news.
Park Dong-jin, the rich executive at the center of their plot, is the other end of the spectrum: a need for retaliation turns him cold, unfeeling, unrelenting. Everything he sets out to do he accomplishes, but he never stops to consider what sort of bedfellow his mindless devotion will make once the quest is complete. His feelings are understandable, any father would want to react that way to his daughter being kidnapped, but by completing our dark fantasies, he shows us how truly ignorant a human being can be to the meaning of justice. His story is the reality-check version of “Taken,” an enjoyable but utterly ridiculous movie which has little regard for the moral price of taking life. Although “Vengeance” is more violent, “Taken” embraces violence.
I’ve only seen this movie twice, both times were very recent, but it made an immediate impression on me. With a few more years, no doubt it will scale the list as I grow to know it better. For now, my Top 25 remains something of an old boys’ club, so “Vengeance” will have to be content where it is.
CONGRATULATIONS BRADY AND HOLLY ON THE BIRTH OF PARKER WEST!! WHOO!!
Moving along,
Ahem.
Attention, Dear Reader. “Mass Effect 2″ has consumed my life. It has the robust, engaging narrative of a great novel, the action of a shooter, and the dizzying special effects of a sci-fi blockbuster. Its mandibles have clenched around me and I cannot move. If you have any pity, call the police or something to come pry me off my couch with a crow bar, and drag me kicking and screaming into a rehabilitation clinic.
Merciful Heaven, this is a great game.