directed by Christopher Nolan
Goodness, if you had enough life experience and long-term memory to not have your innocence or naivete but didn't have the ability to form new memories, you'd never close your eyes or keep from looking over your shoulder. That seems to be the premise of Nolan's mindfuck of a movie, MEMENTO, which dissects the motivations and subversions of three people who fight each other to use this disability to their own advantage. As far as I can tell, only one of them comes close to winning, and its apparent that one of them, from the get-go, clearly loses.
We know this because of the ingenious way in which this film is given to us. Scenes are shown backwards to forwards with just enough intersecting of events that you're reminded of what came before and you can start to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
Leonard (Guy Pearce) ends the story by shooting Teddy (Joe Pantilioni). Then, layer by layer, we figure out why Leonard would do this and we learn how culpable Teddy is, how every character (including Leonard himself) uses Leonard's disability for their own gain, and how Natalie (Carrie-Anne Moss) fits into all this.
Inbetween each scene is a series of linearly-placed black and white vignettes where Leonard sits on his hotel bed giving himself a tattoo while talking on the phone to an unknown caller about a certain Sammy who's lovelife puts Leonard's lack of one into perspective. As each scene ends and each vignette begins, we get a layer into Leonard's background and simultaneously begin to understand how what is happening here reflects what has happened and is being exposed throughout the rest of the film. Leonard tattoos his body with notes. When he doesn't leave a tattoo, he snaps a polaroid and labels it in a certain way. These mementos (hence the title) serve as Leonard's memory for him. The placement of each separate scene and vignette help us understand what Leonard's world is like for him. The result is pure cinematic genius. A true noir classic for the new millennium.
8.50/10
Friday, May 29, 2009
IRREVERSIBLE (2002)
directed by Gaspar Noe
This film is infamous for a rape scene in the middle of the movie. A gorgeous Alex (played in a skin-tight dress by Monica Bellucci) makes a bad decision by going taking a low-traffic underground tunnel to get to the subway (she was going to take a taxi, but a prostitute said, “Take the understreet passage. It's safer.”) It never occurs to Alex that a prostitute might view her with envy and contempt and might lead her down an unsafe path. Nor does it occur to Alex to use her common sense (taxi or underground passage... taxi or underground passage). It seems almost as if fate were pulling her into a certain direction. And once there, she discovers nothing but immense pain, followed by silence (she slips into a coma). Time destroys everything.
This point, “time destroys everything” is the theme of a movie that's well-made and yet reeks of desperation, immense pretension, and is also layered, just soaking in dreadful irony. This is a theme that is taken quite literally in places: the rape itself is done in one long eight-minute take. Our brazenly misogynistic rapist takes his sweet-ass time about, pausing occasionally to get high. In that entire time, only one person shows up in the tunnel (One person in eight fucking minutes? Seriously?) and they see what is happening and turn around and go back. Alex does everything she can to thwart her attacker... wait, no she doesn't. When the attacker appears, fighting and threatening Guillermo, a transvestite prostitute, Alex stands, shell-shocked, when she should be running for her life (which is exactly what Guillermo does when she realizes she can get away). The rapist flashes a blade at her, and that's pretty much that. Eight minutes later, not only does she have an ass full of blood and spunk, she's also had the everyloving shit kicked out her. And we were forced to sit and watch the whole damn thing start to finish. Shock-art. Yay.
To be honest, we've already been desensitized to the rape before we ever get there (the first of a few ironies in this film). The film has us backtracking from the events that happen just after the rape to the events that preceded. Had the film been edited consequentially, we would have been alighted upon Alex reading a book about fate and time in a meadow, we would have shared in good news with her, we would have watched with lustful delight as she plays around with her lover Vincent Cassel, would've laughed at the silly sophomoric musings of Pierre as they travel to a party on the subway, watched melodrama unfold in an almost reality-tv sense of banality as M has the good time normally reserved for swinging bachelors while Pierre tries to control him and Alex simply dances. The fight between Alex and M is quick and Alex's decision to leave by herself seems forced and unmotivated, and then suddenly the rape scene comes out of nowhere and we're shocked! Shocked!
But no, the film begins with two random dudes sitting on a bed talking about how one of them had sex with their nine-year-old daughter. Really. The other nods, declares that time destroys everything. The grotesque is racked with guilt but says the experience itself was pure bliss, while the pathetic reassures him that his guilt is unfounded: “there is no right, there is no wrong. There is what you do, and what you don't do.” (this is maybe the fourth or fifth ironic thing about this movie). Their inspirational conversation is interrupted by the sound of sirens. Below them, M and Pierre have ransacked a gay sex club known as the Rectum (is it ironic that they rape the Rectum in search of the rapist who raped Alex's rectum or is that just directorial paralellism?), gotten in a fight with a random stranger while searching for said rapist, and in the process pounded this guy's face into mush with a fire extinguisher (and yes, we are there for every minute of that as well).
Some people will claim this “from the ass to the mouth” cinematic path (oh goodness, another symbolic use of the true theme of the film, “anal rape”) is genuis. After giving it some thought (the thirty minutes required to write this review, though it is still thought), I think it's a bit chickenshit on Noe's part. How much more shocking would the rape scene have been if it had come out of nowhere? How would we have reacted to the vengeance that comes afterwards? What sort of emotional response would Noe have achieved? What would have been said had the final scene of the film been the final scene of the story? End with M on a stretcher, Pierre being arrested for murder, and two grotesques talking about the sheer bliss of incestuous pedophilia? Suddenly it goes from anal rape to a story about the making of a turd. Care to digest that, anyone?
6.46/10
This film is infamous for a rape scene in the middle of the movie. A gorgeous Alex (played in a skin-tight dress by Monica Bellucci) makes a bad decision by going taking a low-traffic underground tunnel to get to the subway (she was going to take a taxi, but a prostitute said, “Take the understreet passage. It's safer.”) It never occurs to Alex that a prostitute might view her with envy and contempt and might lead her down an unsafe path. Nor does it occur to Alex to use her common sense (taxi or underground passage... taxi or underground passage). It seems almost as if fate were pulling her into a certain direction. And once there, she discovers nothing but immense pain, followed by silence (she slips into a coma). Time destroys everything.
This point, “time destroys everything” is the theme of a movie that's well-made and yet reeks of desperation, immense pretension, and is also layered, just soaking in dreadful irony. This is a theme that is taken quite literally in places: the rape itself is done in one long eight-minute take. Our brazenly misogynistic rapist takes his sweet-ass time about, pausing occasionally to get high. In that entire time, only one person shows up in the tunnel (One person in eight fucking minutes? Seriously?) and they see what is happening and turn around and go back. Alex does everything she can to thwart her attacker... wait, no she doesn't. When the attacker appears, fighting and threatening Guillermo, a transvestite prostitute, Alex stands, shell-shocked, when she should be running for her life (which is exactly what Guillermo does when she realizes she can get away). The rapist flashes a blade at her, and that's pretty much that. Eight minutes later, not only does she have an ass full of blood and spunk, she's also had the everyloving shit kicked out her. And we were forced to sit and watch the whole damn thing start to finish. Shock-art. Yay.
To be honest, we've already been desensitized to the rape before we ever get there (the first of a few ironies in this film). The film has us backtracking from the events that happen just after the rape to the events that preceded. Had the film been edited consequentially, we would have been alighted upon Alex reading a book about fate and time in a meadow, we would have shared in good news with her, we would have watched with lustful delight as she plays around with her lover Vincent Cassel, would've laughed at the silly sophomoric musings of Pierre as they travel to a party on the subway, watched melodrama unfold in an almost reality-tv sense of banality as M has the good time normally reserved for swinging bachelors while Pierre tries to control him and Alex simply dances. The fight between Alex and M is quick and Alex's decision to leave by herself seems forced and unmotivated, and then suddenly the rape scene comes out of nowhere and we're shocked! Shocked!
But no, the film begins with two random dudes sitting on a bed talking about how one of them had sex with their nine-year-old daughter. Really. The other nods, declares that time destroys everything. The grotesque is racked with guilt but says the experience itself was pure bliss, while the pathetic reassures him that his guilt is unfounded: “there is no right, there is no wrong. There is what you do, and what you don't do.” (this is maybe the fourth or fifth ironic thing about this movie). Their inspirational conversation is interrupted by the sound of sirens. Below them, M and Pierre have ransacked a gay sex club known as the Rectum (is it ironic that they rape the Rectum in search of the rapist who raped Alex's rectum or is that just directorial paralellism?), gotten in a fight with a random stranger while searching for said rapist, and in the process pounded this guy's face into mush with a fire extinguisher (and yes, we are there for every minute of that as well).
Some people will claim this “from the ass to the mouth” cinematic path (oh goodness, another symbolic use of the true theme of the film, “anal rape”) is genuis. After giving it some thought (the thirty minutes required to write this review, though it is still thought), I think it's a bit chickenshit on Noe's part. How much more shocking would the rape scene have been if it had come out of nowhere? How would we have reacted to the vengeance that comes afterwards? What sort of emotional response would Noe have achieved? What would have been said had the final scene of the film been the final scene of the story? End with M on a stretcher, Pierre being arrested for murder, and two grotesques talking about the sheer bliss of incestuous pedophilia? Suddenly it goes from anal rape to a story about the making of a turd. Care to digest that, anyone?
6.46/10
BLACK CHRISTMAS (1974)
directed by Bob Clark
When I realized this horror film was directed by the same guy that made A CHRISTMAS STORY, a got all giggly inside. It's almost too sublime. And the best part is, both films are true to themselves, and not half bad. But enough about the wonders of Christmases and bb-guns. Let's talk murder.
BLACK CHRISTMAS came out around the same time as THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE, and while for some reason MASSACRE has become the well-known granddaddy of modern horror, the real breadwinner is hands-down BLACK CHRISTMAS. MASSACRE was about gross-out, creepy, fucked up individuals and the stupid, assholish youths who invade their territory... Rob Zombie sucked on its teat as a child. BLACK CHRISTMAS is about ordinary, flawed-but-sympathetic youths and the brainless menace that invades their territory. MASSACRE is sideshow macabre. BLACK CHRISTMAS is pure suspense and terror. HALLOWEEN should pay royalties.
Juliet and Lois Lane are members of a sorority... wait, lemme say that one more time: Olivia Hussey and Margot Kidder are members of a sorority. There's a crazy dude somewhere in their vicinity and we know this because we were just basically the crazy dude. The film essentially starts with a POV shot from the killer's perspective as he climbs the side of the house. Then the phone calls begin. The insane, almost unintelligible phone calls that sound like a cross between fart noises and pigs being slaughtered. You could almost dismiss them as harmless prank calls but for this underlying edge of dread. And then the nasty language and not-terribly-subtle innuendo. Then girls go to bed and you never hear from them again. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Oh, and they never catch the killer and you never really see him. That, to me, is the best part. I don't mind giving this away, cause it makes the film all that more unnervingly good. The abortion subplot/red herring (though ballsy, coming just a year after Roe v. Wade) isn't necessary and doesn't really do much more than add to the running time, but that's small criticism for a decidedly well-done horror film. Some of the latest poseurs could take a few lessons from it.
7.53/10
When I realized this horror film was directed by the same guy that made A CHRISTMAS STORY, a got all giggly inside. It's almost too sublime. And the best part is, both films are true to themselves, and not half bad. But enough about the wonders of Christmases and bb-guns. Let's talk murder.
BLACK CHRISTMAS came out around the same time as THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE, and while for some reason MASSACRE has become the well-known granddaddy of modern horror, the real breadwinner is hands-down BLACK CHRISTMAS. MASSACRE was about gross-out, creepy, fucked up individuals and the stupid, assholish youths who invade their territory... Rob Zombie sucked on its teat as a child. BLACK CHRISTMAS is about ordinary, flawed-but-sympathetic youths and the brainless menace that invades their territory. MASSACRE is sideshow macabre. BLACK CHRISTMAS is pure suspense and terror. HALLOWEEN should pay royalties.
Juliet and Lois Lane are members of a sorority... wait, lemme say that one more time: Olivia Hussey and Margot Kidder are members of a sorority. There's a crazy dude somewhere in their vicinity and we know this because we were just basically the crazy dude. The film essentially starts with a POV shot from the killer's perspective as he climbs the side of the house. Then the phone calls begin. The insane, almost unintelligible phone calls that sound like a cross between fart noises and pigs being slaughtered. You could almost dismiss them as harmless prank calls but for this underlying edge of dread. And then the nasty language and not-terribly-subtle innuendo. Then girls go to bed and you never hear from them again. Lather, rinse, repeat.
Oh, and they never catch the killer and you never really see him. That, to me, is the best part. I don't mind giving this away, cause it makes the film all that more unnervingly good. The abortion subplot/red herring (though ballsy, coming just a year after Roe v. Wade) isn't necessary and doesn't really do much more than add to the running time, but that's small criticism for a decidedly well-done horror film. Some of the latest poseurs could take a few lessons from it.
7.53/10
THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST (2004)
directed by Mel Gibson
Mel Gibson knows how to sell a movie. When this Jesus movie came out in 2004, churches bought the theatres and saw it in droves. I can't say that I blame them. They'd be waiting for a big-budget adaptation of Biblical anecdote for a while (I think the last time Hollywood money had bothered with rendering a somewhat faithful adaptation of the text was around the early '60s) and any effort at all since then has either been too out-there (see LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST), too cheap (did you get that copy of the Jesus docu-faux-movie-thing in the mail a decade ago? I didn't watch it either), or just mediocre at best (made-for-TV movie, anyone?)
So, yes, when Gibson announced he was making the prequel to BRAVEHEART, and it was starring Jesus, and it was going to be in a foreign language (American film + foreign language = authenticity), churchgoers went gaga. (to be fair, the other end of the tentpole had their own formula for moviegoing bliss that year: American documentary + liberal agenda = authenticity... see FAHRENHEIT 9/11).
So, Gibson had the talent, he had the budget, he had the built-in audience, he even had the Aramaic. So, what goes wrong here? Well, two things really: First, there's too much blood. And from a purely story perspective, far too much emphasis on it. The story goes that Christ died for our sins in a sort of sacrificial way by allowing himself to be executed. It is easy to get caught up in the physical aspects of this (and to be sure, PASSION would be the first Jesus film that even bothered to really mention the physical aspects at all...), but there's more to it than that. Jesus also suffered mental anguish, emotional anguish, and most importantly, spiritual anguish, and a lot of this was spread out over the course of the entire week. Now, you don't have include his entire life on film: this has been done before plenty of times and usually the filmmaker tries to include too many details and explain too many things and the theme of the film gets washed out in all that “history”. But a true passion play on film should comprise more than just the final prayer at Gethsemane (though it was a beautiful starting point), the trials, the beating, the walk, and the cross. There should be more emphasis on the last supper, the Temple appearances that week, the final parables, the final miracles, the continuous attempts by Jesus to try to get his disciples to understand what was about to happen, their almost complete lack of understanding anyway, their desertion of him in his time of need, his immense loneliness. But there's not of that. There's a few brief flashbacks (which I loved), there's Peter denial (which I also loved, but no denuement of this moment), there's Judas betrayal and suicide (I'll get to that in a bit), and there's blood. Lots and lots and lots and lots of blood. Fileted flesh, ribcage baring, slices and dices and hundreds of rounds of beating. No mortal man could've survived this. And Jesus was a mortal man. He was a living man. He had access to superhuman strength, but he chose not to use it. Any of it. And so, after Jesus has been whipped to the point where a normal man would've died four or five times already... he's flipped over and whipped some more. Then he's beaten some more. Then he's made to walk what appears to be miles upon miles with an entire cross on his back (the other two prisoners he's with just carry the cross-beam). So, my criticism isn't that there's blood or even that there's a lot of blood. It's that there's a ridiculous and absurd amount of blood. Jesus could not have possibly been tortured to the extent that he's tortured in this movie.
Second, it's layered with Catholicism. It's apparently taken less from the Gospels and more from an old medieval passion written by a nun. I can see it. The emphasis on Mary here is immense. Not only is she there, but one would think she is the window to Father God himself: every time Jesus feels he can't go on, he sees her by happenstance, and his strength is restored. Satan is portrayed by Death from Bergman's THE SEVENTH SEAL (though a wonderful touch having the part be androgynously played by a woman). Demons inhabit the corners and are right out of Renaissance Catholicism... there might as well have been a Hell-mouth, gaping behind the anti-semitically inspired Sanhedrin.
So, enjoy it all you want. It's a well-made film (though a tad draggy in spots). Watch it with an entire church. Provide whips for self-flaggelation and you'll get a helluva live show, like a Jesus freak cult viewing: The Rocky Horror Jesus Show. Just know what you're buying a ticket for: a wolfishly Medeival Holy Roman Passion Play hidden behind a sheepskin of pious authenticity. Might as well have been produced by the devil himself (or herself, if you prefer sugartits with your temptations). The road to hell is paved with good intentions. After this film, you'll have a greater understanding of what that means, while at the same time remaining terribly confused as to how Jesus' final week brought any hope to anyone.
7.15/10
Mel Gibson knows how to sell a movie. When this Jesus movie came out in 2004, churches bought the theatres and saw it in droves. I can't say that I blame them. They'd be waiting for a big-budget adaptation of Biblical anecdote for a while (I think the last time Hollywood money had bothered with rendering a somewhat faithful adaptation of the text was around the early '60s) and any effort at all since then has either been too out-there (see LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST), too cheap (did you get that copy of the Jesus docu-faux-movie-thing in the mail a decade ago? I didn't watch it either), or just mediocre at best (made-for-TV movie, anyone?)
So, yes, when Gibson announced he was making the prequel to BRAVEHEART, and it was starring Jesus, and it was going to be in a foreign language (American film + foreign language = authenticity), churchgoers went gaga. (to be fair, the other end of the tentpole had their own formula for moviegoing bliss that year: American documentary + liberal agenda = authenticity... see FAHRENHEIT 9/11).
So, Gibson had the talent, he had the budget, he had the built-in audience, he even had the Aramaic. So, what goes wrong here? Well, two things really: First, there's too much blood. And from a purely story perspective, far too much emphasis on it. The story goes that Christ died for our sins in a sort of sacrificial way by allowing himself to be executed. It is easy to get caught up in the physical aspects of this (and to be sure, PASSION would be the first Jesus film that even bothered to really mention the physical aspects at all...), but there's more to it than that. Jesus also suffered mental anguish, emotional anguish, and most importantly, spiritual anguish, and a lot of this was spread out over the course of the entire week. Now, you don't have include his entire life on film: this has been done before plenty of times and usually the filmmaker tries to include too many details and explain too many things and the theme of the film gets washed out in all that “history”. But a true passion play on film should comprise more than just the final prayer at Gethsemane (though it was a beautiful starting point), the trials, the beating, the walk, and the cross. There should be more emphasis on the last supper, the Temple appearances that week, the final parables, the final miracles, the continuous attempts by Jesus to try to get his disciples to understand what was about to happen, their almost complete lack of understanding anyway, their desertion of him in his time of need, his immense loneliness. But there's not of that. There's a few brief flashbacks (which I loved), there's Peter denial (which I also loved, but no denuement of this moment), there's Judas betrayal and suicide (I'll get to that in a bit), and there's blood. Lots and lots and lots and lots of blood. Fileted flesh, ribcage baring, slices and dices and hundreds of rounds of beating. No mortal man could've survived this. And Jesus was a mortal man. He was a living man. He had access to superhuman strength, but he chose not to use it. Any of it. And so, after Jesus has been whipped to the point where a normal man would've died four or five times already... he's flipped over and whipped some more. Then he's beaten some more. Then he's made to walk what appears to be miles upon miles with an entire cross on his back (the other two prisoners he's with just carry the cross-beam). So, my criticism isn't that there's blood or even that there's a lot of blood. It's that there's a ridiculous and absurd amount of blood. Jesus could not have possibly been tortured to the extent that he's tortured in this movie.
Second, it's layered with Catholicism. It's apparently taken less from the Gospels and more from an old medieval passion written by a nun. I can see it. The emphasis on Mary here is immense. Not only is she there, but one would think she is the window to Father God himself: every time Jesus feels he can't go on, he sees her by happenstance, and his strength is restored. Satan is portrayed by Death from Bergman's THE SEVENTH SEAL (though a wonderful touch having the part be androgynously played by a woman). Demons inhabit the corners and are right out of Renaissance Catholicism... there might as well have been a Hell-mouth, gaping behind the anti-semitically inspired Sanhedrin.
So, enjoy it all you want. It's a well-made film (though a tad draggy in spots). Watch it with an entire church. Provide whips for self-flaggelation and you'll get a helluva live show, like a Jesus freak cult viewing: The Rocky Horror Jesus Show. Just know what you're buying a ticket for: a wolfishly Medeival Holy Roman Passion Play hidden behind a sheepskin of pious authenticity. Might as well have been produced by the devil himself (or herself, if you prefer sugartits with your temptations). The road to hell is paved with good intentions. After this film, you'll have a greater understanding of what that means, while at the same time remaining terribly confused as to how Jesus' final week brought any hope to anyone.
7.15/10
WATCHMEN (2009)
directed by Zack Snyder
As far as this decade is concerned, WATCHMEN is the most brilliant, most cynical, and most unnecessary thing to come along since the Christian Coalition. A big heaping helpful of Cold War graphic novel that hopes its message maintains a relevance beyond the Obama administration. To be honest, the fall of the Berlin wall brought the fall of that relevance, and the alternate reality that WATCHMEN confines itself to turns into a type of fantasy period piece. It is in no way timely. However, WATCHMEN is quite watchable. It's the second best comic book movie ever (THE DARK KNIGHT is first). It's all subjective, of course, but here's the deal: WATCHMEN, in maintaining its literary purity, dilutes itself into a product of the comic book's time.
Ironic though it may be, what makes the movie brilliant is also what makes it cynical and unnecessary. The concept behind the characters, and the characters themselves, so fully transcend the genre that they provide myriad food for thought on the whole concept of superheros. Dr. Manhattan (played by Billy Crudup as a radiactive, muscular cross between Data and a smurf), is a frightening concoction, a true Superman who, in his near-infinite wisdom, develops a thoroughly creepy lack of humanity. The same can be said for nearly all of the characters, whose various stages of psychosis and emotional turmoil put each one through a ringer all their own: one becomes a flippant mysoginist of the worst kind, one becomes so smart and powerful that ideals mean more to him than individuals (like, say, Stalin or Hitler), and one sees so much of what is wrong with us as people that he becomes a shell of a human being, wearing a mask that cleverly allows you to see whatever you want to see.
I could go on and on about various little things I found less brilliant about it. The history is of a type one would find from thirty minutes of brainstorming and thirty seconds of rational thought, the soundtrack is so recognizable, it was probably picked off verbatim from a classic rock radio station... could the makeup department have done a worse job? Yes, but not much worse. These are not huge concerns. The film, at its core, is about the superheros and the superheros are what make the film. They are the film. And after the moral ambiguity of the THE DARK KNIGHT, the next step into discussion of “supermen” is most definitely along the lines of WATCHMEN. So, watch away and discuss. That's as timely as irrelevance gets in this decade.
7.69/10
As far as this decade is concerned, WATCHMEN is the most brilliant, most cynical, and most unnecessary thing to come along since the Christian Coalition. A big heaping helpful of Cold War graphic novel that hopes its message maintains a relevance beyond the Obama administration. To be honest, the fall of the Berlin wall brought the fall of that relevance, and the alternate reality that WATCHMEN confines itself to turns into a type of fantasy period piece. It is in no way timely. However, WATCHMEN is quite watchable. It's the second best comic book movie ever (THE DARK KNIGHT is first). It's all subjective, of course, but here's the deal: WATCHMEN, in maintaining its literary purity, dilutes itself into a product of the comic book's time.
Ironic though it may be, what makes the movie brilliant is also what makes it cynical and unnecessary. The concept behind the characters, and the characters themselves, so fully transcend the genre that they provide myriad food for thought on the whole concept of superheros. Dr. Manhattan (played by Billy Crudup as a radiactive, muscular cross between Data and a smurf), is a frightening concoction, a true Superman who, in his near-infinite wisdom, develops a thoroughly creepy lack of humanity. The same can be said for nearly all of the characters, whose various stages of psychosis and emotional turmoil put each one through a ringer all their own: one becomes a flippant mysoginist of the worst kind, one becomes so smart and powerful that ideals mean more to him than individuals (like, say, Stalin or Hitler), and one sees so much of what is wrong with us as people that he becomes a shell of a human being, wearing a mask that cleverly allows you to see whatever you want to see.
I could go on and on about various little things I found less brilliant about it. The history is of a type one would find from thirty minutes of brainstorming and thirty seconds of rational thought, the soundtrack is so recognizable, it was probably picked off verbatim from a classic rock radio station... could the makeup department have done a worse job? Yes, but not much worse. These are not huge concerns. The film, at its core, is about the superheros and the superheros are what make the film. They are the film. And after the moral ambiguity of the THE DARK KNIGHT, the next step into discussion of “supermen” is most definitely along the lines of WATCHMEN. So, watch away and discuss. That's as timely as irrelevance gets in this decade.
7.69/10
SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE (2008)
director: Danny Boyle
There's something about SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE that left a bad taste in my mouth. It's not the film itself, which is made in top-notch quality, boasts a lovely handful of new and veteran Bollywood talent, and sets a smile on your face at the end of it which will have you leaving your seat with an air of satisfaction that can only be acquired through a supreme Bollywood dance number (this one ends on a lighter version of one).
Perhaps the bad taste came from the glossy shellacked bagel-bite of social apathy that seems to seethe through the cracks of this film. It sure looks like an Indian film, but hold on there a second... why is it obviously being marketed to an English-speaking audience?... Oh, it's a British film, that's why. Essentially the British are reaping economic and artistic awards off the backs of India. And here I was thinking they gave up sovereignty over a century ago.
To be sure, the story is inspiring enough. Essentially a lower-class, uneducated citizen manages to go from just that to an almost mythic hero overnight thanks to a televised game show. The draw is rendered thus: How did the slumdog win a million? It's a multiple choice question, and the answer is, of course, D: 'it is written' or, if you're secular 'it is destiny'. The rags-to-riches story introduces us to Dev Patel, sitting in his contestants chair, being handed questions from the host, but really from God, as the kid had not only already answered each question at some point in his life, but had answered each question in sequential order. I suppose this is more for our benefit than his, as the movie seems less concerned with showing us his winning effort and more concerned with giving us a look at a “slumdog's” life. Essentially you grow up to be orphaned at a young age, exploited in every possible way, and to even have the few good things in your life be stolen away from you (usually by those closest to you). At the end of the movie everybody redeems themselves, or dies... or both. And then there is a lovely kiss and a nice Bollywood dance number and everyone goes home happy. It's like cotton candy dipped in shit and come up smelling like roses. You just keep telling yourself its chocolate... or something.
7.66/10
There's something about SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE that left a bad taste in my mouth. It's not the film itself, which is made in top-notch quality, boasts a lovely handful of new and veteran Bollywood talent, and sets a smile on your face at the end of it which will have you leaving your seat with an air of satisfaction that can only be acquired through a supreme Bollywood dance number (this one ends on a lighter version of one).
Perhaps the bad taste came from the glossy shellacked bagel-bite of social apathy that seems to seethe through the cracks of this film. It sure looks like an Indian film, but hold on there a second... why is it obviously being marketed to an English-speaking audience?... Oh, it's a British film, that's why. Essentially the British are reaping economic and artistic awards off the backs of India. And here I was thinking they gave up sovereignty over a century ago.
To be sure, the story is inspiring enough. Essentially a lower-class, uneducated citizen manages to go from just that to an almost mythic hero overnight thanks to a televised game show. The draw is rendered thus: How did the slumdog win a million? It's a multiple choice question, and the answer is, of course, D: 'it is written' or, if you're secular 'it is destiny'. The rags-to-riches story introduces us to Dev Patel, sitting in his contestants chair, being handed questions from the host, but really from God, as the kid had not only already answered each question at some point in his life, but had answered each question in sequential order. I suppose this is more for our benefit than his, as the movie seems less concerned with showing us his winning effort and more concerned with giving us a look at a “slumdog's” life. Essentially you grow up to be orphaned at a young age, exploited in every possible way, and to even have the few good things in your life be stolen away from you (usually by those closest to you). At the end of the movie everybody redeems themselves, or dies... or both. And then there is a lovely kiss and a nice Bollywood dance number and everyone goes home happy. It's like cotton candy dipped in shit and come up smelling like roses. You just keep telling yourself its chocolate... or something.
7.66/10
DRAG ME TO HELL (2009)
directed by Sam Raimi
Old school horror is finally back! Finally! After all the torture porn of the last few years, the closest we've been able to come from having something worth the price of admission that wouldn't leave us feeling like we just watched a snuff film was THE DESCENT.
It's a very simple story and that's one of the best things about it. It doesn't complicate itself looking for ways to trick us up. It just does the same things other horror films do better. There's nothing like watching an experienced filmmaker do things other filmmakers try and invariably suck at.
It's unfortunate Sam Raimi doesn't think he's got anything terribly special here. He inserts lots of unnecessary gross-out moments (they're unnecessary because they serve the story any at all, not because I didn't squirm with glee when they came); he also just can't help but pay homage to the Evil Dead films with one of his patented "flying possessed/demon" moments. It's the silliest moment in a movie he probably felt needed some silly moments. The scary moments will genuinely scare the living shit out of you.
At least the ending is dead-on. A great time at the movies all the same!
7.83/10
Old school horror is finally back! Finally! After all the torture porn of the last few years, the closest we've been able to come from having something worth the price of admission that wouldn't leave us feeling like we just watched a snuff film was THE DESCENT.
It's a very simple story and that's one of the best things about it. It doesn't complicate itself looking for ways to trick us up. It just does the same things other horror films do better. There's nothing like watching an experienced filmmaker do things other filmmakers try and invariably suck at.
It's unfortunate Sam Raimi doesn't think he's got anything terribly special here. He inserts lots of unnecessary gross-out moments (they're unnecessary because they serve the story any at all, not because I didn't squirm with glee when they came); he also just can't help but pay homage to the Evil Dead films with one of his patented "flying possessed/demon" moments. It's the silliest moment in a movie he probably felt needed some silly moments. The scary moments will genuinely scare the living shit out of you.
At least the ending is dead-on. A great time at the movies all the same!
7.83/10
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
MILK (2008)
directed by Gus van Sant
I find it difficult to decide how good or not good this film is. It's not bad. It's a bio-film, and a message film, but how prescient the message is right now is a bit cloudy as well. Would it have made more of an impact a few years ago? Or was the world not ready to see it until now? And should you show something to the world when the world has adjusted to the issue or should you show something when it needs to be shown and let the world adjust to it?
One thing's for sure, this film came out at least six months too late. California has voted, and decided not to allow gays to marry, and then this film is released and everyone feels a little ashamed of themselves (though Harvey Milk is presented as the sort of pre-AIDS fella that would pick a guy up off the street corner, and that's not really good for the business of scoring sympathy points with conservatives).
But enough about the politics. How good is the film? It's solid. It's slightly operatic in random places that seem to work in spite of themselves. You walk away feeling like the film is important and you wonder why you never knew Harvey Milk existed before this film came out. And... so I both rooted for the man and wondered how he kept himself out of trouble, since he picks guys up in public places with his exceptionally well-honed gaydar.
8.18/10
I find it difficult to decide how good or not good this film is. It's not bad. It's a bio-film, and a message film, but how prescient the message is right now is a bit cloudy as well. Would it have made more of an impact a few years ago? Or was the world not ready to see it until now? And should you show something to the world when the world has adjusted to the issue or should you show something when it needs to be shown and let the world adjust to it?
One thing's for sure, this film came out at least six months too late. California has voted, and decided not to allow gays to marry, and then this film is released and everyone feels a little ashamed of themselves (though Harvey Milk is presented as the sort of pre-AIDS fella that would pick a guy up off the street corner, and that's not really good for the business of scoring sympathy points with conservatives).
But enough about the politics. How good is the film? It's solid. It's slightly operatic in random places that seem to work in spite of themselves. You walk away feeling like the film is important and you wonder why you never knew Harvey Milk existed before this film came out. And... so I both rooted for the man and wondered how he kept himself out of trouble, since he picks guys up in public places with his exceptionally well-honed gaydar.
8.18/10
Sunday, May 24, 2009
LYING (2009)
directed by M. Blash
This is the most pretentious film I've ever seen and maybe ever will. Most of the time when a film is hideously pretentious, there's at least some creativity to it. Here, there's a pretty location, and some semi-famous chicks (Chloe Sevigny, Jena Malone, and Leelee Sobieski). Here's the plot: writer wants to write about someone who lies and use this awesome house where he went to a party once. He doesn't get permission to use the house, but the daughter of the house's owner wants to be in a movie, so they're willing to put up some financing and if he wants the house, here's the architect's name, he can find a house similar to it. He does. He puts the daughter in the movie, has the entreprenurial flair to at least get Chloe, Jena, and Leelee attached to it, writes a 26-page scriptment which is the basis for what's essentially a 90-minute improvisational effort on the part of the actresses' involved. Mind you, it doesn't appear that any of them have any training in improv. (by the way, if you're going to improv... have training in improv. Please.) Every scene is overwraught, the dialogue is pedestrian at best. The character's are barely explained and have almost no relationship to one another.
I'll give it this: for the sheer sake of unpredictability, it was compelling. I had no idea what was happening or why, and longed to know what the director's angle was. Was everything symbolic? Was it actually a comedy, like a giant in-joke? Would any of the girls make out? The answers to those questions were: No, I mean, I guess not, I hadn't thought of that, that's interesting, okay, sure, yeah, it's all symbolic. I'll let you come up with why.... A giant in-joke? Oh, what a great idea. Maybe it is all a giant in-joke. I find it pretty funny in places.... Lesbians? No, that's so cliche and sophomoric. I'm not going to put my actresses through that. Well, I mean, if they wanted to do it, sure, but in the scriptment for this scene, I have them putting on clothes like grandma's attic and then they hear a voice singing opera and they go look for it. I love Chloe's idea to not like the music and make Jena change the music right before the opera starts. That's brilliant, that puts you into the mode of listening to the music. I made this scene ten minutes long because there are so many beautiful rooms to look for the music in. Isn't this a beautiful house?
I hate this movie because it was made, and it seems to have been made by an amateur with great resources at his disposal, but with little very little notion or care to story. I would have an open mind about it if he perhaps he had a performance art angle to it, had some sense of passion about it, but here is an instant where a person decided to make a movie but had no grand desire for how it was made. It basically had to have a character that lied all the time and a house. That was all he was after. He financed this? Apparently, one of the financers wanted potty humor in it. Wouldn't do it unless there was potty humor. I hate this movie, I hate any crew member that had direct creative input, and I really resent Jena and Leelee for giving this movie the publicity edge to get it in my girlfriend's line of sight at Movie Gallery.
4.90/10
This is the most pretentious film I've ever seen and maybe ever will. Most of the time when a film is hideously pretentious, there's at least some creativity to it. Here, there's a pretty location, and some semi-famous chicks (Chloe Sevigny, Jena Malone, and Leelee Sobieski). Here's the plot: writer wants to write about someone who lies and use this awesome house where he went to a party once. He doesn't get permission to use the house, but the daughter of the house's owner wants to be in a movie, so they're willing to put up some financing and if he wants the house, here's the architect's name, he can find a house similar to it. He does. He puts the daughter in the movie, has the entreprenurial flair to at least get Chloe, Jena, and Leelee attached to it, writes a 26-page scriptment which is the basis for what's essentially a 90-minute improvisational effort on the part of the actresses' involved. Mind you, it doesn't appear that any of them have any training in improv. (by the way, if you're going to improv... have training in improv. Please.) Every scene is overwraught, the dialogue is pedestrian at best. The character's are barely explained and have almost no relationship to one another.
I'll give it this: for the sheer sake of unpredictability, it was compelling. I had no idea what was happening or why, and longed to know what the director's angle was. Was everything symbolic? Was it actually a comedy, like a giant in-joke? Would any of the girls make out? The answers to those questions were: No, I mean, I guess not, I hadn't thought of that, that's interesting, okay, sure, yeah, it's all symbolic. I'll let you come up with why.... A giant in-joke? Oh, what a great idea. Maybe it is all a giant in-joke. I find it pretty funny in places.... Lesbians? No, that's so cliche and sophomoric. I'm not going to put my actresses through that. Well, I mean, if they wanted to do it, sure, but in the scriptment for this scene, I have them putting on clothes like grandma's attic and then they hear a voice singing opera and they go look for it. I love Chloe's idea to not like the music and make Jena change the music right before the opera starts. That's brilliant, that puts you into the mode of listening to the music. I made this scene ten minutes long because there are so many beautiful rooms to look for the music in. Isn't this a beautiful house?
I hate this movie because it was made, and it seems to have been made by an amateur with great resources at his disposal, but with little very little notion or care to story. I would have an open mind about it if he perhaps he had a performance art angle to it, had some sense of passion about it, but here is an instant where a person decided to make a movie but had no grand desire for how it was made. It basically had to have a character that lied all the time and a house. That was all he was after. He financed this? Apparently, one of the financers wanted potty humor in it. Wouldn't do it unless there was potty humor. I hate this movie, I hate any crew member that had direct creative input, and I really resent Jena and Leelee for giving this movie the publicity edge to get it in my girlfriend's line of sight at Movie Gallery.
4.90/10
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
THE DARK KNIGHT (2008)
directed by Christopher Nolan
There's something about THE DARK KNIGHT that manages, while amazing you, to both confuse the shit out of you on a second thought and tire the hell out of you pretty much every time you watch it.
Even the first time you watch it, by the last twenty minutes, you're kinda wondering how much longer it is. It's not that it's not compelling. It's a helluva yarn! But by the time the end credits roll, there's a let-down. You know this is a great movie, you feel it in your bones (or you're a huge fan and you're willing to really, really wish it into being).
So... by now, pretty much anyone interested in this movie is already aware of what makes it awesome. Heath Ledger's version of the Joker is both extremely removed from the archetype, but also fits the mold in a way that makes all previous versions (even Nicholson's) seem somewhat incomplete (they aren't necessarily, they're just saying different things, and each one works with its environment. Heath Ledger's Joker wouldn't work in the campy TV version, and it would be practically an assisted suicide in the grand operatic mood piece that is the '89 Batman (somehow, Nicholson and Prince add just enough pomp and circus to the gloom that you find yourself giggling whenever either one enters the room (or the speakers), no matter what dead bodies are lying in state).
Once you go over the Joker's antics, things start falling apart. He seems to know exactly what happens all the time, has resources nobody aside from Bruce Wayne could possibly have, and has contingency plan upon contingency plan upon contingency plan. While the logical possibilities are there, that's a fun piece for a fanboy somewhere out there. (I'll google-search it later and provide a link). For the benefits of this, it's enough to know that it doesn't matter for the film. The Joker has no history, no identification, no fingerprints, and no concrete motives. He is a Mephistopheles, a Devil-Figure, a Commedia del'Arte offshoot, a medieval Satan mixed with a court jester, up from a makeshift Hellmouth somewhere, brought to this earth for one purpose: to fuck shit up. He's the fantasy-ghoul that we subconsciously made of our terrorist threats, before we knew exactly what we were facing, before we really wanted anything more than a target for our revenge. We are both mesmerized and mortified by him, as we are by every mythic figure of our collective unknown. He says plenty of things, but you shouldn't believe more than a nugget of any of it.
Christian Bale's Batman is considerably over-matched by this guy. (not that that's a big deal: all superhero's are clinically over-matched; it wouldn't be any fun if they weren't). In fact, all of our heroes are over-matched: James Gordon (Gary Oldman) and Gotham's White Knight Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart). And each one is collectively more at risk of a mighty fall based on their prospective levels of confidence in themselves. Gordon knows he's in over his head, and comes out scared but unscathed. Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal) is constantly in over her head, but jumps in anyway, because she's an activist, so have fun with that if you haven't seen the movie. Wayne thinks he's invincible, but has a collective conscious wrapped up in his butler Alfred (Michael Caine) and his CEO Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman) that constantly keep him in check (or try to). The only one that's basically on his own and seems to think he's perfectly fine in that regard is Harvey Dent. Again... have fun with that if you've been living under a rock. Each one's over-confidence (or under-confidence, Lieutenant Gordon?), and general lack of faith in each other, each one's collective distrust of the system they're working for, compels them to keep secrets from each other, to keep things "close to the chest" as they continuously like to put it. As such, the only one who's constantly in the know is the one who's got spies in every department of every establishment and every building, and who's been staying under the radar because he's too elusive to catch and isn't the mob. Again, I'll google-search for the complete explanation, which may or may not be necessary to those who are down with the Mephistopheles explanation.
This all plays out wonderfully and makes for a splendid picture show. The main drawback is that we're watching two films that have been squeezed into one. The movie is two and half hours long, and that's not a problem, but there's so much going on and hardly any room to breath. The best, most resonating scenes in the film, in fact, are the quietest ones: the "double dating" scene in the restaurant, the moments between Alfred and Wayne in the underground bunker, and... actually, those are basically the only quiet scenes in the film. Somewhere around the point where Caesar is thrown around with palindromes secretly hidden in the names of street corners ("250 52nd street" and "the corner of Avenue X and Cicero"), there were a few moments where the action cooled down for a spell and everything should have set things up for a third film. Stretch out the scenes they had, make things more poignant, roll the credits, and have the third film shot before the second's gone to print.
Instead, we have the most rushed and overlong film to ever be dubbed "greatest film ever made". At least GODFATHER, PART II took its sweet-ass time, and nobody's accusing RETURN OF THE KING of not enjoying its moments.
****
On second thought, instead of turning this into two films, they should add 30 quiet, poignant, emotional, character-developing minutes to it (a scene with Gordon and his family maybe, one that doesn't seem like preconditioned foreshadowing in retrospect; one of Dent and Dawes that isn't a rushed between scene bit of nothing; nothing between Wayne and Alfred, since I really get the impression that their lives are nothing more than you see). I've followed 3-4 films without getting tired because the pacing was perfectly constructed. This one falls short of a masterpiece because it tries to do too much, and doesn't leave itself time to breathe.
8.16/10
There's something about THE DARK KNIGHT that manages, while amazing you, to both confuse the shit out of you on a second thought and tire the hell out of you pretty much every time you watch it.
Even the first time you watch it, by the last twenty minutes, you're kinda wondering how much longer it is. It's not that it's not compelling. It's a helluva yarn! But by the time the end credits roll, there's a let-down. You know this is a great movie, you feel it in your bones (or you're a huge fan and you're willing to really, really wish it into being).
So... by now, pretty much anyone interested in this movie is already aware of what makes it awesome. Heath Ledger's version of the Joker is both extremely removed from the archetype, but also fits the mold in a way that makes all previous versions (even Nicholson's) seem somewhat incomplete (they aren't necessarily, they're just saying different things, and each one works with its environment. Heath Ledger's Joker wouldn't work in the campy TV version, and it would be practically an assisted suicide in the grand operatic mood piece that is the '89 Batman (somehow, Nicholson and Prince add just enough pomp and circus to the gloom that you find yourself giggling whenever either one enters the room (or the speakers), no matter what dead bodies are lying in state).
Once you go over the Joker's antics, things start falling apart. He seems to know exactly what happens all the time, has resources nobody aside from Bruce Wayne could possibly have, and has contingency plan upon contingency plan upon contingency plan. While the logical possibilities are there, that's a fun piece for a fanboy somewhere out there. (I'll google-search it later and provide a link). For the benefits of this, it's enough to know that it doesn't matter for the film. The Joker has no history, no identification, no fingerprints, and no concrete motives. He is a Mephistopheles, a Devil-Figure, a Commedia del'Arte offshoot, a medieval Satan mixed with a court jester, up from a makeshift Hellmouth somewhere, brought to this earth for one purpose: to fuck shit up. He's the fantasy-ghoul that we subconsciously made of our terrorist threats, before we knew exactly what we were facing, before we really wanted anything more than a target for our revenge. We are both mesmerized and mortified by him, as we are by every mythic figure of our collective unknown. He says plenty of things, but you shouldn't believe more than a nugget of any of it.
Christian Bale's Batman is considerably over-matched by this guy. (not that that's a big deal: all superhero's are clinically over-matched; it wouldn't be any fun if they weren't). In fact, all of our heroes are over-matched: James Gordon (Gary Oldman) and Gotham's White Knight Harvey Dent (Aaron Eckhart). And each one is collectively more at risk of a mighty fall based on their prospective levels of confidence in themselves. Gordon knows he's in over his head, and comes out scared but unscathed. Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal) is constantly in over her head, but jumps in anyway, because she's an activist, so have fun with that if you haven't seen the movie. Wayne thinks he's invincible, but has a collective conscious wrapped up in his butler Alfred (Michael Caine) and his CEO Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman) that constantly keep him in check (or try to). The only one that's basically on his own and seems to think he's perfectly fine in that regard is Harvey Dent. Again... have fun with that if you've been living under a rock. Each one's over-confidence (or under-confidence, Lieutenant Gordon?), and general lack of faith in each other, each one's collective distrust of the system they're working for, compels them to keep secrets from each other, to keep things "close to the chest" as they continuously like to put it. As such, the only one who's constantly in the know is the one who's got spies in every department of every establishment and every building, and who's been staying under the radar because he's too elusive to catch and isn't the mob. Again, I'll google-search for the complete explanation, which may or may not be necessary to those who are down with the Mephistopheles explanation.
This all plays out wonderfully and makes for a splendid picture show. The main drawback is that we're watching two films that have been squeezed into one. The movie is two and half hours long, and that's not a problem, but there's so much going on and hardly any room to breath. The best, most resonating scenes in the film, in fact, are the quietest ones: the "double dating" scene in the restaurant, the moments between Alfred and Wayne in the underground bunker, and... actually, those are basically the only quiet scenes in the film. Somewhere around the point where Caesar is thrown around with palindromes secretly hidden in the names of street corners ("250 52nd street" and "the corner of Avenue X and Cicero"), there were a few moments where the action cooled down for a spell and everything should have set things up for a third film. Stretch out the scenes they had, make things more poignant, roll the credits, and have the third film shot before the second's gone to print.
Instead, we have the most rushed and overlong film to ever be dubbed "greatest film ever made". At least GODFATHER, PART II took its sweet-ass time, and nobody's accusing RETURN OF THE KING of not enjoying its moments.
****
On second thought, instead of turning this into two films, they should add 30 quiet, poignant, emotional, character-developing minutes to it (a scene with Gordon and his family maybe, one that doesn't seem like preconditioned foreshadowing in retrospect; one of Dent and Dawes that isn't a rushed between scene bit of nothing; nothing between Wayne and Alfred, since I really get the impression that their lives are nothing more than you see). I've followed 3-4 films without getting tired because the pacing was perfectly constructed. This one falls short of a masterpiece because it tries to do too much, and doesn't leave itself time to breathe.
8.16/10
Thursday, May 14, 2009
STAR TREK (2009)
directed by J.J. Abrams
You have to be impressed by a film that has the balls to be both a prequel AND a sequel AND a complete reboot, while managing to be the eleventh film in a series, but really the eighth, and since its an alternate universe also the first. Science fiction can do that.
Its a good film on its own right. To be honest, I'm thoroughly against the idea that any film featuring a recurring character could ever be the greatest film ever made, so any Trekkie that goes into Dark Knight territory with talk of this being the "greatest movie ever made," don't bother arguing with them, just slowly walk away. But this is a damn good film. Even better knowing that it's playing with what came before it and finding a way to contain those elements into something fresh, coherent, and absorbing. And what a coup to pay homage to those elements by bringing in an actor from the old series and making his entry into the storyline relevant and prescient! Fantastic filmmaking...
If you're familiar with the characters and the series, then you don't need to know anything more. If you were born in the vast reaches of the jungle and didn't even know there was such a thing as a TV, then perhaps you haven't heard of Star Trek... but that's okay, you don't need to know anything more about this either. You will be both discombobulated by about half the movie, and enraptured by it as well.
The Trekkies that watched it with me were in worshipful adoration. Normally I self-righteously roll my eyes at people when they do that, but this time, instead, I chuckled. I kinda got where they were coming from.
8.46/10
You have to be impressed by a film that has the balls to be both a prequel AND a sequel AND a complete reboot, while managing to be the eleventh film in a series, but really the eighth, and since its an alternate universe also the first. Science fiction can do that.
Its a good film on its own right. To be honest, I'm thoroughly against the idea that any film featuring a recurring character could ever be the greatest film ever made, so any Trekkie that goes into Dark Knight territory with talk of this being the "greatest movie ever made," don't bother arguing with them, just slowly walk away. But this is a damn good film. Even better knowing that it's playing with what came before it and finding a way to contain those elements into something fresh, coherent, and absorbing. And what a coup to pay homage to those elements by bringing in an actor from the old series and making his entry into the storyline relevant and prescient! Fantastic filmmaking...
If you're familiar with the characters and the series, then you don't need to know anything more. If you were born in the vast reaches of the jungle and didn't even know there was such a thing as a TV, then perhaps you haven't heard of Star Trek... but that's okay, you don't need to know anything more about this either. You will be both discombobulated by about half the movie, and enraptured by it as well.
The Trekkies that watched it with me were in worshipful adoration. Normally I self-righteously roll my eyes at people when they do that, but this time, instead, I chuckled. I kinda got where they were coming from.
8.46/10
INTOLERANCE (1916)
Directed by D.W. Griffith
I often wonder what people were used to watching back in the olden days of cinema. This is called spectacular, and in some ways it is, though if anything was released today nearing its sense of pacing and editing, it would be ISHTAR-ed right out of town.
Why Griffith decided to make this, I know only from what I've researched on it. Apparently, THE BIRTH OF A NATION (1915), now considered infamous due to its racist foundations and glorifying of the Ku Klux Klan, made a killing at the box-office and also inadvertently caused a rebirth of racist hatred in the United States. Griffith felt shitty about this, and decided to take an anti-moralist film he was working on, THE MOTHER AND THE LAW, and expand it into an epic four storied piece interwoven with the symbolic shot of Lillian Gish rocking the cradle of humanity.
The real shame here is that the modern story is far and away the most compelling of the four. While the sets of the other three are amazing by any standards (the film supposedly cost Griffith $40-50 million in today's dollars... I'm guessing all of it was spent on the sets and practically none of it on the cast of thousands), the stories are only somewhat... I'd wager if each were its own separate short piece, I'd have been able to sit through each one. Spliced together the way there are, it makes the whole thing tiring.
But, of course, the version I saw was 150 minutes long, with an apparent mix of classical music thrown in (with no sense of mood or timing). I'll still take this over a Carl Davis synth score any day of the week, but with half an hour cut out of it (I'd wager the Jesus story, since my version included, at most, 15 minutes worth of Christ), I can't review the editing, since its obviously been tampered with. I can't review the music either, since there isn't really any.
What I can review is the story (or -ies, what have you), the production designs, the acting, and the cinematography. The historical significance of this is essentially set in stone. Interweaving stories had never been done before and was ahead of its time (we can agree on this with confidence because the film flopped in supreme ISHTAR fashion, bankrupting Griffith's studio). It's been called "the greatest movie ever made" (I would agree that it's better than the best of what came before it: THE BIRTH OF A NATION, and that it held this title until, oh, BATTLESHIP POTEMKIN... so, what's that, 9 years?) "the only film fugue" which it could be, I dunno, I doubt it, since "fugue" is not entirely limiting enough for one hundred years of cinema to have only accidentally produced "one" of them. A masterpiece along the lines of Beethoven's Fifth and Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel? Hell no. Kubrick's 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY comes closer, and even that, with its moments of sheer brilliance, is still far from perfect. We haven't seen that work of majesty yet. Too many elements, too many deadlines, too many chances to compromise the artform.
So, INTOLERANCE does do its part to be placed among the greatest films ever made for its time. For all time? The titles are simply too pretentious, the acting too over-expressive, the characters caught between human complexities and archetypal broad strokes, and the pacing too intent on wallowing in the spectacle of it all. Babylon is awesome. But there's so much irony in us being asked to be awe-inspired by the settings and the revelry, while the revelry itself is what ends up wrenching victory from the hands of the on-again, off-again protagonists. A title card directs us to look at this "intolerance" (oh the drinking games that could be played off the over-insertion of that word!), then notes at the bottom how amazingly amazing the set is, lest the camera not be up to task in rendering us speechless. In France, the "evil ruling Catholics" slaughter the peaceful Huguenots (read: Protestants... and by read, I mean literally, you will read that Huguenot means "Protestant" (read: WASP)). Catherine is essentially doing what the modern antagonists, the Uplifters, as they're called, would be doing to the "drinkers and poor partygoers"if they could, and to drill the point home that we're not supposed to like her, her cohort holds a little puppy and is addressed in the text as "effeminate" (read: gay). Later on, Belshazzar, before committing suicide shares a kiss with his main general. The connotations here are a bizarre mix of biases and prejudices, and the filmmaker is brutally intolerant in deciding who we should be tolerant of.
Played in chronological order, these scenes play out thus (and I'm gonna go ahead and tell the ending to all but the modern story, since that's the only one Griffith truly gives a second thought about): In Babylon, a Rhapsode (read: pussy) falls in love with a Mountain Girl (read: feminist). She in turn falls in love with the king, who saves her from being married off by preposterously giving her a card of feminine independence (I shit you not). This leaves her free to trick the Rhapsode into letting her in on the secret that the priests, pissed that the king has abandoned their religion for that of his future queen's, are going to conspire with Cyrus of Persia to conquer Babylon (which from history, we know he did). Mountain Girl tries to warn the king, but the revelrous and licentious horde gets in her way and she doesn't make it in time. Everyone dies.
In the next story, Jesus hangs out with sinners while the Pharisees judge him. He says awesome things, and then (in this version, anyway), is summarily executed for no damn good reason whatsoever. He dies.
In the third story, the gay Catholics notice that a noble visitor is more impressed by the white Protestants. So they kill all the Protestants. (That's basically it).
In the modern story, the Uplifters, presented as rich old women who are fine with frolicking about until they realize one day that men no longer find them attractive, snuff out "immorality" in society with an unbridled sense of hypocrisy, self-righteous quick-triggered judgment, and INTOLERANCE. The protagonist of the story is mowed down in their crusade and goes from living a poor, but happy life with a little garden and a daddy who loves her into living in a rundown apartment, her baby in social services, and her husband in jail. Further complications will ensue, but I leave those to the viewer.
The message here is simple: Partying it up is awesome... unless you're rich, and then you're a capitalist/monarchist whore (no, wait, that's not it).... Bad people are easily identified by their money, hypocritical nature, shrewishness, effeminancy, and general non-Protestant religious tendencies, while good people are easily identifiable because they're young, Protestant (although I think Griffith tried to cover this by making his modern girl protagonist vaguely Catholic), and in love.
Actually, the only message here is: "Why can't we all just quit fighting and get along?" Nobody went to see this film because the question was already answered the year before, when Griffith made this little movie about how life would be great if the North hadn't fought the South and then put the evil slaves in power over them to steal their lands and rape their women. It's not the bigotries you see that you're danger of... it's the millions that you assume don't exist.
6.92/10
I often wonder what people were used to watching back in the olden days of cinema. This is called spectacular, and in some ways it is, though if anything was released today nearing its sense of pacing and editing, it would be ISHTAR-ed right out of town.
Why Griffith decided to make this, I know only from what I've researched on it. Apparently, THE BIRTH OF A NATION (1915), now considered infamous due to its racist foundations and glorifying of the Ku Klux Klan, made a killing at the box-office and also inadvertently caused a rebirth of racist hatred in the United States. Griffith felt shitty about this, and decided to take an anti-moralist film he was working on, THE MOTHER AND THE LAW, and expand it into an epic four storied piece interwoven with the symbolic shot of Lillian Gish rocking the cradle of humanity.
The real shame here is that the modern story is far and away the most compelling of the four. While the sets of the other three are amazing by any standards (the film supposedly cost Griffith $40-50 million in today's dollars... I'm guessing all of it was spent on the sets and practically none of it on the cast of thousands), the stories are only somewhat... I'd wager if each were its own separate short piece, I'd have been able to sit through each one. Spliced together the way there are, it makes the whole thing tiring.
But, of course, the version I saw was 150 minutes long, with an apparent mix of classical music thrown in (with no sense of mood or timing). I'll still take this over a Carl Davis synth score any day of the week, but with half an hour cut out of it (I'd wager the Jesus story, since my version included, at most, 15 minutes worth of Christ), I can't review the editing, since its obviously been tampered with. I can't review the music either, since there isn't really any.
What I can review is the story (or -ies, what have you), the production designs, the acting, and the cinematography. The historical significance of this is essentially set in stone. Interweaving stories had never been done before and was ahead of its time (we can agree on this with confidence because the film flopped in supreme ISHTAR fashion, bankrupting Griffith's studio). It's been called "the greatest movie ever made" (I would agree that it's better than the best of what came before it: THE BIRTH OF A NATION, and that it held this title until, oh, BATTLESHIP POTEMKIN... so, what's that, 9 years?) "the only film fugue" which it could be, I dunno, I doubt it, since "fugue" is not entirely limiting enough for one hundred years of cinema to have only accidentally produced "one" of them. A masterpiece along the lines of Beethoven's Fifth and Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel? Hell no. Kubrick's 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY comes closer, and even that, with its moments of sheer brilliance, is still far from perfect. We haven't seen that work of majesty yet. Too many elements, too many deadlines, too many chances to compromise the artform.
So, INTOLERANCE does do its part to be placed among the greatest films ever made for its time. For all time? The titles are simply too pretentious, the acting too over-expressive, the characters caught between human complexities and archetypal broad strokes, and the pacing too intent on wallowing in the spectacle of it all. Babylon is awesome. But there's so much irony in us being asked to be awe-inspired by the settings and the revelry, while the revelry itself is what ends up wrenching victory from the hands of the on-again, off-again protagonists. A title card directs us to look at this "intolerance" (oh the drinking games that could be played off the over-insertion of that word!), then notes at the bottom how amazingly amazing the set is, lest the camera not be up to task in rendering us speechless. In France, the "evil ruling Catholics" slaughter the peaceful Huguenots (read: Protestants... and by read, I mean literally, you will read that Huguenot means "Protestant" (read: WASP)). Catherine is essentially doing what the modern antagonists, the Uplifters, as they're called, would be doing to the "drinkers and poor partygoers"if they could, and to drill the point home that we're not supposed to like her, her cohort holds a little puppy and is addressed in the text as "effeminate" (read: gay). Later on, Belshazzar, before committing suicide shares a kiss with his main general. The connotations here are a bizarre mix of biases and prejudices, and the filmmaker is brutally intolerant in deciding who we should be tolerant of.
Played in chronological order, these scenes play out thus (and I'm gonna go ahead and tell the ending to all but the modern story, since that's the only one Griffith truly gives a second thought about): In Babylon, a Rhapsode (read: pussy) falls in love with a Mountain Girl (read: feminist). She in turn falls in love with the king, who saves her from being married off by preposterously giving her a card of feminine independence (I shit you not). This leaves her free to trick the Rhapsode into letting her in on the secret that the priests, pissed that the king has abandoned their religion for that of his future queen's, are going to conspire with Cyrus of Persia to conquer Babylon (which from history, we know he did). Mountain Girl tries to warn the king, but the revelrous and licentious horde gets in her way and she doesn't make it in time. Everyone dies.
In the next story, Jesus hangs out with sinners while the Pharisees judge him. He says awesome things, and then (in this version, anyway), is summarily executed for no damn good reason whatsoever. He dies.
In the third story, the gay Catholics notice that a noble visitor is more impressed by the white Protestants. So they kill all the Protestants. (That's basically it).
In the modern story, the Uplifters, presented as rich old women who are fine with frolicking about until they realize one day that men no longer find them attractive, snuff out "immorality" in society with an unbridled sense of hypocrisy, self-righteous quick-triggered judgment, and INTOLERANCE. The protagonist of the story is mowed down in their crusade and goes from living a poor, but happy life with a little garden and a daddy who loves her into living in a rundown apartment, her baby in social services, and her husband in jail. Further complications will ensue, but I leave those to the viewer.
The message here is simple: Partying it up is awesome... unless you're rich, and then you're a capitalist/monarchist whore (no, wait, that's not it).... Bad people are easily identified by their money, hypocritical nature, shrewishness, effeminancy, and general non-Protestant religious tendencies, while good people are easily identifiable because they're young, Protestant (although I think Griffith tried to cover this by making his modern girl protagonist vaguely Catholic), and in love.
Actually, the only message here is: "Why can't we all just quit fighting and get along?" Nobody went to see this film because the question was already answered the year before, when Griffith made this little movie about how life would be great if the North hadn't fought the South and then put the evil slaves in power over them to steal their lands and rape their women. It's not the bigotries you see that you're danger of... it's the millions that you assume don't exist.
6.92/10
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