SanTropez_Couch's Reviews

Carlito's Way (1993)

A gritty, worthy entertainment with two great performances, and an incredibly good ending

3 May 2003

Ten years after "Scarface," a movie I didn't think was successful beyond Pacino's nearly perfect performance, De Palma made this film, returning to the gangster genre after one more outing, the more classical (and vastly overrated) "The Untouchables." This film is like that other Pacino film only superficially. It bears a closer resemblance to "Boogie Nights" or even "GoodFellas," though it has the epic quality of neither. Though the film is nearly two and-a-half hours, we don't feel as if we've been subjected to a long slog. The only slow moments in the film come in the more tender moments between Pacino and the girl.

At the time, ten years ago, Pacino was still relevant, going on smoky tirades. Here, we see him enunciating his words like a cross between a Puerto Rican from Noo Yawk and a Southern Baptist minister preaching the gospel. He throws his voice around like a ventriloquist; he doesn't yell like he's known for now -- there are no blowup courtroom scenes here. (Actually, I'm lying. There is one at the very beginning, but it's fun, so don't worry.) And his voice-over narration never rises above a husky whisper. Most reviews I've seen have praised Pacino's work here, and they're right to. It's the opposite of something like "Scent of a Woman," a film I enjoyed, with a performance from Pacino that was terrific. Here, he's quieter, more soulful. (The beard was a big plus, somehow it makes him more huggable.)

Carlito (Pacino) has just been sprung from jail by his lawyer, Kleinfeld (Penn), and after he picks up $25,000 during a tense drug exchange, he decides to go into a club business with Saso, who's got gambling debts, until he can get $75,000 and get out of the life for good. Penn, in wiry glasses and a Jewfro, with his down-turned nose plays Kleinfeld as a coke-sniffing tough-guy wannabe. We watch as Kleinfeld drifts from the lawful to the criminal; or more aptly, we see more and more of his character come to surface. One of Kleinfeld's clients at Riker's prison barge insists that Kleinfeld, who he believes ripped him off of a million bucks, bust him out of jail or be killed. Carlito stands by Kleinfeld throughout the film, even when he gets dumped on by the police, his girl, and even Kleinfeld himself for doing so.

The supporting players are roundly interesting and well-played. In the first moments we meet a young up-and-comer Benny Blaco, and John Leguizamo plays him flamboyantly. Luis Guzmán plays one of Carlito's workers at the club. As Lalin, Viggo Mortensen makes a quick appearance -- probably helped along by Penn -- as a now-crippled, former suave heartbreaker turned into a sniveling embarrassment.

But really, all the innovation here comes from Penn. Look at how slowly, how slyly his character evolves. It's really a wonder to get such growth in a film performance.

The film is admittedly flawed. For instance, something simple like Carlito's ex-lover not instantly recognizing his very recognizable voice is unlikely. The entire secondary story with Carlito's ex-lover Gail could have been handled better, or another way. That's not to say she's completely useless: she provides the ending with a little oomph.

The film is vicious, ruthless, and the emotions run high. There's a strange honesty throughout the film, too, mainly through the dialogue, that's sort of indescribable. Also, there's always a sense of humor here, like when "You Are So Beautiful" plays while Carlito reaches out for Gail through a chained door. (It's either humor or a really, really bad grab at sentiment.) When the song is played again over the closing credits, that time around there's an entire history attached to it, and it's played for sad irony.

Ultimately, it's not a profound work, but it's a worthy entertainment. It's predictable, through to De Palma's credit he admits that even he knows this at the beginning of the film, with black and white images, a dreamy camera, and a sentimental score. In the film, De Palma's camera moves around, showing us what we're interested in taking a peek at, and it plays a pivotal role in building up the tension for an incredibly well-crafted climax at Grand Central Station, complete with an amazing, gliding, nearly floating tracking shot. The finale, the last twenty minutes or so, is some kind of masterpiece and definitely leaves you with a good aftertaste.

***1/2

3 out of 4 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

King of the Hill (1993)

Lovely hidden gem

19 April 2003

Steven Soderbergh is a talented, experimental, sometimes avant-garde filmmaker that doesn't make jokey movies (the Coen Brothers) or gimmicky ones (Christopher Nolan) or Tarantino ones. In even his more mainstream movies, he's distinguished. He's one of the few (relatively) young directors that makes "real" movies (not to knock the "fake" ones) about a wide array of subjects. He doesn't need to be cool or ambiguous all the time.

Set in St. Louis in 1933, "King of the Hill" is like a light kids version of "The Pianist" (it's even got Adrien Brody!). The film centers around the 12 year-old Aaron Kurlander, and his family -- his mother, father, and younger brother, Sullivan. The Depression is in full force, and Aaron's parents have come to the agreement that the only way to save money and be able to continue raising their two sons is to have young Sullivan shipped off on a Greyhound bus to live with his uncle. Soon thereafter, Aaron's mother is taken out of the picture when she has to go for a stay at a sanitarium. The family lives in a hotel run by a bank, and Aaron's father isn't paying the bills; soon he's out of the picture when he goes off looking for work, leaving Aaron on his own to fend for himself.

He makes friends with a rich nerdy kid at school when he rescues him from some school marble bullies, and comes up with schemes of how to make money, like having canary's mate, since a newborn will fetch three dollars. He spins tall tales in order to get by at school, like telling his teacher that his parents work for the government. His hunky, older pal also living in the hotel, Lester (Adrien Brody) helps him about; in one incident they end up stealing Aaron's father's car, and with Aaron too small to be able to reach the brake pedal, he ends up going on a scary trip around town.

When one girl from school invites him over for supper, he gets caught in his own web of deceit when the school kids, at an after-graduation party where Aaron wins a special prize, hear different stories about what his parents really are. (Government workers, archaeologists, pilots.) At the same party, he's exposed for what (they think) he is: a poor kid and a teacher's pet.

He befriends a gawky girl in his hotel with a crush on him when she invites him over for hot dogs and dancing, but ends up having some sort of fit on the floor. (Epileptic seizure?)

The cop out in the street is just looking to bust some young punk kid, and the hotel bellhop is just waiting for Aaron to slip up, so he can lock him out of his room. (Look fast for Lauryn Hill as the hotel elevator operator!)

The movie looks great, both in the set deco and the juicy, round cinematography. The music is a plus, and nearly all the performances are first-rate. Jesse Bradford, with his big, expressive eyes, is just terrific as Aaron. He's got an ultra-pleasant face to watch, and his acting is totally fresh, without any hint of affectation. (Unlike his father's strange accent.)

"King of the Hill" is a lovely, great-looking period piece. A sometimes heartwarming, sometimes heartbreaking dramedy without any pretensions to be anything other than a good little gem of a movie. And that it is.

****

6 out of 6 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Floating Weeds (1959)

Simple never felt so good

19 April 2003

Komajuro Arashi and his acting troupe arrive in a small fishing village on the coast of Japan. Komanjuro goes to visit a woman who runs a sake bar, and who, we learn, is a former lover, and with whom he fathered a child, though the child is unaware of this fact and believes him to be his uncle

Their son, Kiyoshi, has just finished high school, and Komanju comes to see him as much as his former lover. He hopes that Kiyoshi will be able to become something in his life and not end up like Komanju himself, a washed-up actor drawing small crowds for his failing samurai productions.

When Komajuro talks with his gorgeous young son, we can see the excitement in his eyes, in his face. The acting here is all rather flat, or better, it's reserved. (Ozu adds a little joke to this later in the film, when on a fishing boat Kiyoshi accuses his father of being "too muggy" in his performance.) This adds to the impact of the few emotional (and physical) outbursts later in the film.

The conflict in the film is that of Komajuro's double lives. When his current mistress, Miss Sumiko -- a jealous and conniving witch of a woman -- discovers that he's been seeing some other woman, she's enraged, and plots what she believes will be his sort of downfall. By hiring a young woman, Kayo, to seduce Kiyoshi and embarrass Komajuro, she plans on making the two seem like different generations of the same person, both relating with unimportant actresses, thereby ruining Komajuro's hopes of his son becoming somebody important.

Unlike most, Ozu is an auteur because of what he doesn't do. His unmoving camera, which is famous, sits placidly, observing the characters with interest. I do sometimes wish that the camera would move around curiously, interested in the conversations of the characters, but maybe Ozu's point was that his camera is (or we should be) too interested to move, and that the events of everyday life need not be jazzed up for entertainment purposes. (He seems to mock this idea when he has Komajuro say to Kiyoshi about his plays that, basically, modern audiences can't appreciate good drama.) The entire film is restrained; on the rare occasion when people cry, they cover their faces and softly whimper.

The ending shot of a dark blue sky, with red lights from a rolling train, reminds us that whether it's 2003 in North America or 1959 in a small Japanese fishing village, we're all the same people with the same problems.

In and of itself, the film is terrifically simple: a simple story, with simple acting, simple music, and made even more simple by the simplicity of the static camera. But what makes the film something special, rather than just some family drama, is the honesty. Ozu isn't after anything big here. Any enlightenment comes from Ozu's realization that the most important conflicts are in the home, the ones no one sees, the ones we all feel.

****

19 out of 31 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Gummo (1997)

I wanted to hate it, but I ended up loving it.

16 April 2003

Warning: Spoilers

I described "The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover" as part of the urine in a bucket movement of art. That's not quite fair -- Greenaway had an obvious craft, intelligence, and eye for stunning visual beauty. This film, however, is urine, with or without the bucket. Its makers would no doubt hide behind that mask of "realism," and that's fine. But does anyone who sees this movie come away with anything other than awfulness? That's what I asked myself about ten minutes into this film. Does the movie reveal great truths about us or the world in which we live? Maybe, though I'm not quite sure. If this movie has any value to the average moviegoer, that's it.

I'm sure that aspiring directors interested in cinema verite would gobble this up, as would the self-important proponents of the Dogme 95 movement. (Apparently, Korine's next film, which I have but haven't yet watched -- "Julien Donkey-Boy" -- is the first American film to use the Dogme 95 rules.)

I was ready to hate it. In fact, I wanted to hate it. I wanted to reject this as the bowel movement of some no-talent film graduate. But I couldn't, and I can't.

It's something like "Kids" (a film Korine wrote), or some other Larry Clark concoction. It's a hard-to-take movie that would probably anger most, intrigue some, and bore the rest. (I was angered only a few times, during the scenes of animal cruelty -- nothing gets me writhing in my seat quicker.)

The main idea or "story" here is just a stream-of-consciousness tracking of a number of white trash kids. The main character, Solomon, and the kid who plays him, Jacob Reynolds, is very interesting. It's a shame he hasn't been in anything since 1999, according to IMDb. The narrator, who to his/her credit (I never did figure out who it was) is only talking for a small amount of time, is extremely annoying. He/she is full of that fake out-of-breath gaspiness that sounds absolutely forced. It's the only part of the movie I really didn't like. (Well, I guess I could have done without the pretentious slow-mo.) There is no character or voice-over -- even that of the sometimes narrator -- to inform us about these characters. By the end of the movie, I knew some characters, briefly glimpsed others, and didn't quite know how they all fit together. This is a good thing.

Maybe I'm becoming desensitized to grossness (or maybe this movie exists in only grossness, making individual bits of it hard to identify from one another), but an early scene in the movie, where a mother and (I think) daughter are trying to make their chest seem bigger with tape is sort of sweet.

There is a lot of offensive, amoral stuff here: a girl describes, in a voice over, being molested/raped by her own father; the two main character boys sell dead cats to a grocer; Solomon, who looks about 13, and his older friend pay a man to sleep with an overweight, dimwitted girl in her dollhouse-like bedroom. There's also a sort of murder. ("Sort of" because...well, you'll see what I mean when you watch the movie.)

I wanted to keep watching. I wasn't repulsed by the movie, which early on seems to wallow in its own filthiness. Some people maybe waited for something profound to occur, to "legitimize" the film, a la "Breaking the Waves." Well, I'll tell you now that there isn't. And there doesn't need to be. This movie is like the enemy of another I liked, "Joe the King" about poor children. That film was like "The 400 Blows" times ten -- it had hope for something better. This movie has no hope -- it sees nothing wrong with itself.

There's a criticism people like Charles Taylor throw around about filmmakers like Korine, that their characters are inspected like bugs caught in a glass jar, heartlessly. The only scene in this film that felt that way to me was one where two skinhead brothers are fighting with each other in a kitchen. Aside from that, the movie, I thought, was very inviting. It's just up to you to accept the invitation.

However, Korine walked a fine line here. Obviously, attempting humor is always a good thing, but when you're dealing with characters and subject matter such as this it would be so very easy to mock your characters, and no doubt some people misinterpreted Korine's few honest jokes as just that. (Like one hilarious moment, with Solomon in a grungy bathtub filled with black water, where he's served supper on a platter by his mother. He takes a drink of milk and instantly pats his mouth to make sure he remains presentable.) Linda Manz, that wonderfully elliptical philosopher from "Days of Heaven" plays Solomon's mother, the eccentric tap dancing kind.

There's a scene (and that's all the movie is -- a serious of scenes) when two boys shoot another boy with toy guns that seems to represent the darkest side of America. The shot boy, wearing pink bunny ears on his head, lays on the ground, frail, looking like a strange version of Jesus. It just really got to me. Another scene where a boy and a black dwarf (or midget, I don't know the difference -- something about proportionality) are sitting on a couch, and the black guy says he's gay, and then the other boy comes on to him. It sounds like a really bad SNL sketch, but it's somehow touching.

A lot of these characters I just wanted to give a hug. However hard it is to believe, this film is, in the end, bursting at the seams with love. The rather obvious and wrong-headed claim is that all this movie does is try to shock and disgust. That's not true. It shows a vision of reality, as Korine sees it, and asks its audience to accept it. Very simple.

If I had to guess, I'd say about 75 % of mainstream moviegoers, including the most sophisticated film buffs, would strongly dislike this movie. And judging by the IMDb rating and general consensus by most of the reviewers here, I think I'm pretty close to being right. The hate and writing-off that movies like this get, ultimately, perplexes me. I mean, I figure that if a 17 year-old, relatively basic moviegoer like me can wrestle with a movie to see its faults and its triumphs, then anyone else should be able to do the same. (I loved reading one review of "Julien" where the reviewer told the readers what Korine's fans liked about his movies, as if they're a group of non-thinking drones.)

I don't know who my top filmmakers are right now (I'm so under-viewed with movies in general that it's sad), but Korine, with this film, has a special place.

****

78 out of 101 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Panic Room (2002)

8/10

Worthy Fincher movie, on par with his lesser "The Game"

11 April 2003

The premise of "Panic Room" interested me. I've always created situations of getting stuck in an elevator or some such, and playing out all the different scenarios in my mind (usually when I'm taking a long elevator ride). The idea of small, constricting spaces where everything can go wrong, and most often does, appeals to me for some reason. So the idea that an (almost) entire movie take place within the confines of one room, without being something like "Tape" or Kiarostami's "Ten," seemed instantly promising.

And the movie fulfilled my expectations. I wasn't expecting some sort of masterpiece, or necessarily any better a movie than something Fincher's done before. As is stands, I still think "Se7en" is his best film, I was very interested in "Fight Club" for the most part, despite the obvious flaws, and enjoyed "The Game" thoroughly. This, for me, falls into "The Game" category. It's not nearly as polished as "Se7en," and not as intriguing, really, as "Fight Club." But both "Panic Room" and "The Game" work on somewhat of a gimmick level. I mean, does anyone NOT know how this movie is going to end? We want to see this movie because we want to get tense, and we do.

The basic idea here is that Jodie Foster and her daughter spend an entire movie within an impenetrable panic room, a hidden room placed in a home to protect from intruders. And whaddya know, when the two girls move in, the bad guys soon follow. So that's all there is, really. The choice of actors is interesting. I've never fell under the spell Foster has cast on some, but I have nothing against her. She's suitable in this movie, but someone else -- someone more capable of showing repressed anxiety could have been better. But no complaints. The bad guys -- Jared Leto, Forest Whitaker, and a masked Dwight Yoakam -- are fun. Leto is just annoying, but that's a small complaint in the context of the movie. Whitaker is someone I adore, and here you can't help but love the wacky-eyed guy. Yoakam, whose music I love, is a hoot.

Unlike "Se7en," which benefited enormously due to its distinctive look, "Panic Room," I think, is far too murky. The whole house is green! That one amazingly fluid tracking shot that glides through rails, keyholes, floors is fun to look at, but it's so much of a show-off piece that I can't believe it wasn't at least half computer-generated.

Of course, there are flaws here. The bad guys describe too much of what they're going to be doing, rather than doing. Jodie Foster talks to herself too much. Not only are the girls forced into the panic room, but it turns out Foster's daughter is diabetic. When people are bashed with sledgehammers, they rise again. Explosions don't seem to hurt people indiscriminately. But none of this matters, because we all know what we're getting into when we watch this movie.

And Fincher's craft gives it a little extra oomph.

***1/2

0 out of 1 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Cry-Baby (1990)

Slight Waters; nice for Depp fans

11 April 2003

I watched "Cry-Baby" for two reasons: it was Johnny Depp's breakthrough role, his first lead after the TV series he did; and after watching (and thoroughly enjoying) "Serial Mom," I wanted to see what else John Waters had to offer. For that first reason, I was satisfied. For the second reason, I guess I was also satisfied. "Serial Mom" was in no way a great movie, but it took such a giddy pleasure in itself that it could do no wrong (except maybe be too obvious). I didn't enjoy "Cry-Baby" as much, but it's still fun.

The idea here, a parody of the '50s, is that Johnny Depp play a character (Cry-Baby) that pokes fun at the James Dean image of the '50s. It's a great way for Depp to start, if you think about it -- he was inevitably going to be compared to Dean, so he might as well get it over with by playing with the idea. And that is really all that's here: Depp and his fellow juvenile delinquents -- the Drapes vs. the Squares. The girl he falls for (or maybe more appropriately, who falls for him) is a Square. And thus the much-needed CONFLICT is formed.

There are a number of interesting bits here: the massively overweight Ricki Lake, the hideous Hatchet-Face, a small role by Iggy Pop, Patricia Hearst playing a girl's mother, and a cheery crossing guard.

The whole cast is game for Waters' antics, and Depp is giving it his all (if not pulling it off completely). He gets the chance to sing and dance, grease up his hair and look very much the type of the early '50s era sensitive rebel.

Some other standouts are: the French-kissing; Depp's love interest's explaining that she was left orphaned when her parents, in different planes, both died in a crash; Depp's father the alphabet bomber; Willem Dafoe's cameo as a weird prison guard; and Depp's love interest drinking (presumably) a jar of his tears.

The songs are okay, and they keep the film flowing with Waters' light style, but at less than 90 minutes, ultimately the film is a slight diversion. Worth checking out if you're a Depp fan.

**1/2

1 out of 3 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

The Conversation (1974)

10/10

Coppola's most personal film. Proves him as the best director of the '70s.

11 April 2003

"The Conversation" is a great paranoid character study disguised as a thriller. And it works magnificently on either level. It's one of the finest, most interesting films out of the '70s, a great decade for movies. While I should probably see "The Godfather Pt. II" again, this film assures Coppola's position as THE filmmaker of the '70s. He somehow managed to take great art -- that was also wickedly entertaining -- and make it commercially viable. There's a sad moment during his commentary for the film where he reflects on never having attained that position again after the great, ambitious masterpiece "Apocalypse Now" was.

The opening shot of the movie, by Haskell Wexler, who, Coppola says, left the film due to artistic differences, is a great one. Shot with long lenses, we see a mime walking around a couple in a park area. He walks by a man who then proceeds to follow that same couple, observing. The man then leaves, goes over to a van, and gets in the back. He's a surveillance expert, we learn. A professional eavesdropper who's been hired to piece together the conversation between the couple in the park. In the van, the man, Harry Caul (Gene Hackman) checks on the other people surveying the couple. They're using things like gun microphones which can be aimed at objects from long distances and pick up specific noises. Also in the back of the van is Harry's partner, Stan (the late, wonderful character actor John Cazale).

The movie focuses on Harry. The conversation, of course, is important, but what's more important -- what Coppola (who also wrote the screenplay, inspired by Antonioni's "Blowup") is interested in is Harry's life. When Harry goes home, to his apartment, he opens the well-locked door to find a bottle of wine left by someone downstairs. He wonders how they got in, and we start to wonder if Harry is as smart as he seems to be. We see Harry's girlfriend Amy (Teri Garr), though she's not really a girlfriend; Harry just sees her at his own convenience, neglecting to tell her about himself.

At Harry's workspace (it looks like a caged section of an underground parking lot) he tries, rigorously, to piece together the elements of the conversation he and his assistants have recorded. When Stan starts to inquire as to what the couple is talking about, Harry becomes incensed, saying it's not important; that what's important is that he gets a good-quality tape to transfer to whom it is that hired him. Of course this is ridiculous, as Harry himself becomes more obsessed with the tape. And when he unscrambles one line in particular, "He'd kill us if he had the chance," he becomes infatuated beyond help.

The man who's hired him to record this conversation, we learn, is "the director," a head of some corporation. When Harry decides to turn the tapes over, the director's assistant (who'll appear later), played malevolently by Harrison Ford, motivates him to change his mind.

Harry is deeply religious, and we see him at a Cathedral, in confession, confessing that his tapes have gotten people in trouble before. We hear of one instance, in particular, that left a family murdered; one of Harry's recorded conversations made one man in a two-man scheme think the other had talked to someone.

At a surveillance convention, some of the background is given to us. Another surveillance expert, Moran, is thrown into the mix for coloring. He doesn't affect the plot that much (or does he?), but he adds some flavor to the film by "penning" Harry. When Harry's tapes mysteriously disappear, the movie kicks into gear. Everything up until now has been build-up.

Harry becomes a part of a larger conspiracy. His phone number is suddenly made available, he fears that he may have become the surveyed, he doesn't know who to trust.

The two repeating themes of the movie are: repetition and eavesdropping. The principal tape from the opening is listened to again and again, at different times. The more we learn, the more the tapes begin to mean, the more they change meaning. The editing in the film is, as is often said, amazing. I didn't know how, going into the film, the editing could be anything special, but it really is. The way the initial conversation is edited into the film as it goes; as Harry listens to the tapes, we're shown the scenario in different angles, from different viewpoints again and again. As Harry deciphers the tape, the jumbled words (sounding like computer language) slowly come into form.

The sound in the film is extremely important; the subtlety of the tape, the sound of the voices. David Shire's soft, jazzy, haunting piano score is invaluable. Also, the camera is interesting. Aside from that terrific opening shot, some of the camera shots seem delayed, which is interesting. On the commentary, Coppola describes how he intended the camera to act as a surveillance object, moving as if it were automated.

The conspiratorial suspiciousness makes an interesting parallel to the Watergate scandal which was occurring (or about to occur) around the time the movie was released.

Hackman gives one of his best performances, understated, and intelligent. He plays Harry as a loner who's closest companion is his sax -- a close companion that, by the end, Harry might have been wise to get to know better (wink, wink).

Naked from the excess of "Apocalypse Now," and not as lush as "The Godfather," "The Conversation" may be Coppola's most important movie in terms of showing what he was capable of, alone, at his peak. All that, plus a great ending with the most freakishly horrific toilet flushing you're ever likely to see.

A masterwork of real suspense.

****

1 out of 2 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Vertigo (1958)

7/10

Good, but the greatness eludes me.

11 April 2003

The greatness of this film eludes me. It's certainly a good film, and I liked it, but whatever element this film has that makes it any better than the rest of Hitchcock's movies remains unseen by me. To be honest, the only idea that makes me value it any more than a standard Hitchcock thriller is its honesty -- that Jimmy Stewart's controlling nature over Kim Novak parallels Hitchcock's own controlling nature over his actresses.

The most thrilling moment of the entire film, for me, was the opening credits, with those classic spirals and the first hint of Bernard Herrmann's great score.

The story is simple: a cop (Jimmy Stewart), after watching one of his buddies fall to his death, contracts vertigo and acrophobia and leaves the force. Then, one day, when an old school friend calls him to keep an eye on his wife (Kim Novak) who's been acting strangely, believing she's someone else, he gets involved once more. Stewart falls in love with Novak, whom he saves from drowning in the San Francisco Bay, but her aloof nature and apparent psychological damage prevents her from returning the love.

Then something happens that would be criminal to give away.

I just don't see what makes this movie great, or stand out among Hitchcock's other work. Is it really because it's so personal? Maybe there's something I'm missing, maybe there are subtleties placed throughout the film that I didn't get and that I've completely misunderstood the point of the movie. As far as I can see, though, the film's "complex" message is that love is either one big trick or a perverted obsession. (Either that, or I'm forced to venture desperately into dream territory: "Oh, you know, everything after so-and-so was a dream, and that, therefore, makes the movie real complex.")

I admire the film's craft, and I didn't find it boring or anything, but I was expecting something very complex, much more than this. I also felt for the heartbroken Stewart, as well as the Midge character, his admirer. I could also sympathize with Novak's character, as she's manipulated by Stewart.

Aside from the opening credits, which I adore, my favorite part of the movie may well be the restaurant where we first see Novak. That incredibly red room must have influenced Peter Greenaway when he made "The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover." There are also a few camera moves that are nice, and thanks to the terrific transfer, the colors, images, and sounds (which are essential to the film's appeal) are impeccable.

While I want to understand what it is people feel that makes them call this movie great, and I'll see it again sometime, I'm not going to re-watch it just so I can "get" it. I'm generally not a fan of re-watching movies to discover their greatness -- I find most people who do that are, in effect, lying to themselves the second time, convinced that they "get" it. I hate to be part of the dissent, especially when favorites of mine like "Fargo" have an equally enthusiastic following that denounces them as completely unexceptional. But as it stands, this movie is just a well-crafted, more-personal-than-usual thriller.

***

3 out of 6 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Metropolis (1927)

10/10

Not really sci-fi at all, but a masterpiece nonetheless.

11 April 2003

"Metropolis" is, if nothing else, one of the most spectacular visual movies I've ever seen. Reportedly the most expensive German movie up to that time, Fritz Lang created an awesome city, totally memorable. I was lucky enough to see the restored version of the film -- listed as being 124 minutes, seeming like less -- in the theater with a group of about 70 people. Everyone seemed to enjoy the 75 year-old beast. (There was some clapping at the end -- a tradition that has always perplexed me. I mean, it's not like Fritz and his crew, or even those responsible for the wonderful restoration, are around to bask in the applause. Although, I guess, the applause was meant more for the theater that opted to bring the film here.)

This is definitely one for the big screen.

The story is heavy-handed by today's standards, but putting myself in the shoes of what I imagine the average audience of the time would have been like made me appreciate the ideas of the film more. (By no means, however, am I suggesting that a 1927 audience was less educated than we. They just didn't have the extra 75 years of movies we do.)

The subterranean workers of the great city threaten to overthrow its rulers, led by Joh Fredersen. Now, Joh's son, Freder, sees an angel of a girl, Maria, who shows him his "brothers" and the terrible conditions of his father's workers. Maria captivates Freder, and she preaches the message of love and peace. The film's message, stated through her, is that the mediator of the hand (workers) and the mind (leader) is the heart (Maria and Freder).

Freder goes below, to the "depths," where he poses as a worker. He discovers plans for a revolt (more like a strike) where the workers will leave their machines in the hopes of being granted better conditions.

But things get more complicated when Joh Fredersen has his scientist, Rotwang, who lives in an old barn-like house that the technical revolutions of the future have forgotten, design something for him. Rotwang has already created a machine man, modeled after Joh Fredersen's dead wife Hel (a sort of "replacement"), but Joh Fredersen has him affix Maria's face to the machine. Joh plans to use this machine to incite the workers to violence, by having her first get the workers' attention by doing a (not so) sexy gyspy dance. Of course they do, and the city is flooded. The moral at the end of the film is silly, but because the whole film is so unrealistic, so much like a fable, it didn't bother me. (I did, however, lean over to my friend and say in a Fred Rogers voice, "Won't you be my mediator?")

There really isn't much else you can say about "Metropolis." Those images are why you'd see this movie. The way it reflects (or maybe warns against) Nazi totalitarianism is interesting. (One image, in particular, where a machine explodes and turns into a giant devourer, has an unsettling similarity to gas chamber.) I like that Lang was interested both in the ideals of Freder and Maria, but also in a sense of order. With the uprising that does occur, of course, there are repercussions. The dialogues (or title cards) in the film express a protest of the sort of dictating aristocracy of Metropolis, but Lang's own spectacular sets and monumental vision seem to argue with that.

The sets and the images (including two memorable camera moves) just can't be overemphasized. Sometimes they look like models or Styrofoam or just plain goofy, but they're incredible and original and influential. Many a homage has been paid to this film, from "Dr. Strangelove" to more of a blatant rip-off in "The Fifth Element."

This is a vastly entertaining movie, made no less enjoyable by its sometimes silly premise. (It's not as if the acting in silent movies isn't wildly exaggerated -- and isn't that the appeal in the first place?) I'm completely ignorant when it comes to Lang -- this is the first movie of his I've seen. Nevertheless, this is a masterwork.

****

5 out of 5 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Say Anything (1989)

10/10

Ultra-charming, the height of '80s teen movies

5 April 2003

John Cusack is one of the most enjoyable actors alive. It's a shame that he's most well-known from semi-terrible action movies like "Con Air" (worth watching for an amazing cast -- Steve Buscemi, Nicolas Cage having fun with a bad southern accent, Ving Rhames, and John Malkovich chomping the scenery) and so-sweet-they'll-make-your-teeth-rot romantic comedies. When he's in a good, even great, role as he is here, the pleasures he brings are endless.

The so true tagline of the movie is: "To know Lloyd Dobler is to love him. Diane Court is about to know Lloyd Dobler." Cusack plays Lloyd Dobler as an optimistic, verbose charmer of a 19 year-old longing for Diane Court (Ione Skye). Diane is an overachiever -- not a snob, but she's afraid that people see her as "prissy." In the film, we never see her with her friends; rather, we see her working at her father's (John Mahoney) old folks home. Dobler, on the other hand, we see with his friends like the great Lily Taylor, as a forlorn girl who sings Angry Chick music -- 65 songs written about the guy who dumped her. (She encourages Dobler to be a man, not just some "guy.")

Diane's not a long-legged blonde or a bombshell by any means, but she is cute. She's a social outcast of sorts. While she's been accepted by a fellowship in England, she doesn't have a clue socially. When she reluctantly agrees to go out to an after-graduation party with Dobler (after one of the all-time classic phone calls, in a constraining bathroom space), she overdresses terribly for the occasion. Dobler isn't a stud, but he's instantly likeable and spending time with his presence is a joy.

As Diane's father, John Mahoney gives a subtle, hopelessly un-hip portrayal of an emotionally open father whose pride is his daughter (and will do whatever he can to secure her happiness). At first, he's indifferent towards Lloyd, although he does question Lloyd's career prospects (just as Lloyd's friends question why Diane is interested in him at all). In the most heartbreaking and perfectly handled scene in the movie, the divorced Mahoney tries to pull a Lloyd Dobler and charm a store clerk, only to have two credit cards denied, and have the clerk pity him by saying she won't confiscate his card as she's supposed to.

I've always had an affection for '80s teen movies (even though -- or maybe because -- I'm too young to remember them first first-hand). Many of them -- particularly those by the King of '80s teen movies, John Hughes -- have a strange self-awareness and a weirdness that's really unique. The two reining favourites remain "The Breakfast Club" and "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," both by Hughes. But "Say Anything..." wasn't a John Hughes movie, it was Cameron Crowe's first as a director. It doesn't have that weirdness of many '80s teen movies; instead, it's got an honest charm (as opposed to, I don't know, a goofball charm). It's genuinely funny (Cusack's dead-on timing is a major asset), and ultimately the perfect date movie. The only thing I'd worry about is your date falling in love too much with Lloyd and his bumbling eloquence. After watching "Say Anything...," she might see you as second rate.

There's one scene in the back of a car (yep, you guessed it) that seems as if it were directly thieved by James Cameron for his vastly overrated (but sill enjoyable) "Titanic." (I know it's not just some coincidence either -- there's more than one Bob Dylan line stolen and reworded for Cameron's film.) Also, I'm fairly certain that The Simpsons paid homage to "Say Anything..." and Diane's fear of flying, in an episode where Marge is calmed by Homer, naming all the completely ordinary plane noises. (Diana also retells a story in the film of how she screamed so loud that she and her father made a plane turn around -- in The Simpsons, it's actually shown.)

In this, one of the great romantic-teen-comedies -- a masterwork, and Crowe's crowning achievement with "Almost Famous" trailing close behind -- it's great fun getting to know Lloyd Dobler.

****

2 out of 3 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Walkabout (1971)

10/10

Fascinating masterwork; one of the best of the '70s

5 April 2003

In Australia (where the movie takes place), when a male Aborigine turns 16 he is sent out on the land to survive by himself.

When I looked at the cover art of the DVD and heard David Gordon Green mention this film on an episode of Charlie Rose, I immediately started imagining what the movie would be like. I had envisioned something of a cross between the visual splendour and muted emotions of "Days of Heaven" and the subject matter and politics of "Rabbit-Proof Fence." And that turned out to be a pretty good assumption.

In the opening shots of the movie, which take place in a modern city, there's a didgeridoo in the background. Right away we can tell that Roeg (this is my introduction to him) is a visual storyteller, shunning traditional narrative. There's no dialogue -- the only words come from a weird radio show that must be educational (the host talks about cutlery and dinner etiquette) -- and the camera focuses on two children coming home from school.

Once the two children get home (a young boy and a gorgeous adolescent girl who seem to be English, not Australian), the father takes them on a picnic in the Australian outback. He seems to have a strange relationship with the children, and when his son mock-shoots him with a water gun, the father inexplicably abandons the two, permanently.

From here, the film gets more mystical: the children come across a tree and water site, and the boy eats a berry from the tree, saying, "Tastes like meat." Roeg puts us in an almost surreal, dreamlike state, and I found myself questioning almost everything I was seeing. When an Aborigine comes jogging down a sandy hill, I wasn't quite sure if he was real or a mirage. Turns out he is real, and obviously he's the boy on his walkabout, though the film is more about the walkabout of the two children, than of the Aborigine that finds them.

There's a failure to communicate between the children and the Aborigine, though the boy is able to understand him more than the girl. I liked that the kids had no prejudice towards the Aborigine, too, even if the girl has a little English snobbery (and some possible sexual shyness). On the surface, we're just shown the everyday doings of the three for the majority of the film, until suddenly, one day the Aborigine starts acting strangely around the girl. He starts doing a dance that indicates something we'll see later on.

There isn't anything to give away. It's not a movie that has any real emphasis on plot, and I like that. Roeg is interested in his images and his quirks, like when the boy tells the Aborigine a story, and Roeg decides to edit that sequence by wiping away with a turning page from a book.

I couldn't stand seeing the animals being killed and beaten for the purposes of a movie, no matter how good. I hope that the Aborigine actor (David Gulpilil), who made his film debut here (and who, coincidentally, played the tracker in `Rabbit-Proof Fence'), was actually a traditional Aborigine like the character he plays, and that Roeg merely filmed his regular activities.

Roeg's influences are curious. More than once I felt the inspiration of The Lord of the Flies, though that may be more due to the novel or screenplay (which Roeg didn't write). The children here, however, are unlike those in The Lord of the Flies in that they remain civilized (although the girl does become monotonously serene near the end). While Roeg's contemporary is probably the less prolific Malick, he's differentiated, in one way, because he, unlike Malick, has no narrator (except for the very end, where he has some unseen man reading poetry to make sure we understand the profound nature of what we've seen -- a rare misstep). Like Malick, he relies on visuals, as well as an enigmatic narrative (and a an absence of a clear timeframe). In some instances, Roeg seems almost like a scientist. Whereas Malick would focus on the lush greenery of trees, and animals dying nobly somehow, Roeg focuses on creepy crawlies and more graphic sights, like an animal being opened at the gut, having a hunter stick his hand inside and feel around some organs, and having its blood drain out. Roeg, who did his own (incredible) cinematography makes the barren land look remarkably striking.

Early in the film, Roeg's direction is often like that of Kubrick's in the scarier moments of "2001." There are a number of long zoom-ins in the film, as well, that remind me of Kubrick. Another similarity is the buzzing insects highlighted a few times in the film that sound like the horrible noise that comes with the appearance of the monolith in "2001." Roeg's direction makes the early part of the movie fascinating -- I had no idea where he was going. It could have turned into as weird a movie as "2001" at any moment. He symbolically shows a wall, a setting sun, and I really have no idea what it means (if anything).

To be honest, there's a handful of heavy-handed symbolism, like one scene where the Aborigine's preparation of a piece of meat is paralleled by that of a modern butcher preparing a piece of meat. The blatantly obvious theme of the movie, that of aboriginal vs. modern industrial, is sometimes interesting, sometimes tedious. Thankfully the movie is much more than a simple summary. Some bits seem to serve no real purpose; we see a group of scientists or meteorologists or archaeologists that seem to exist only so the boy can find one of their escaped weather balloons. One group of hunters (possibly related to the group of scientists) destroy, with heavy gunfire, a number of wild animals, only to leave them to rot.

But what makes this a masterwork is what can't be explained.

For all movies like this, that aren't really `about' anything, but essentially seem to encompass everything, it doesn't really matter what you say -- you won't have any idea until you see.

****

8 out of 16 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

In the Bedroom (2001)

10/10

Devastating and sickeningly tense

4 April 2003

I don't know exactly what this movies is. It's too heavy to be considered an entertainment, although it is transfixing throughout. It's not self-consciously artistic, so it can't be an art house drama. Some people criticized it as something that would play as well as a TV movie. Well, the made-for-TV criticism (if it is one) is lousy. I don't know what that's supposed to mean, really. Does it mean that all TV movies are crappy, and this is too, so it should have played on Lifetime? If that's what it means, then it's wrong. If it means that the movie isn't very focused on images, and isn't terribly cinematic, I might see the point. But this is far too emotional and lacking in sentimentality to be written off. Maybe any movie that deals honestly with people and their lives is bound to be attacked.

The set-up here isn't much: Frank Fowler (Nick Stahl), the college-age son, is seeing Natalie (Marisa Tomei), the older and formerly married mother of two, to the quiet delight of his father Matt (Tom Wilkinson) and the equally hushed scorn of his mother Ruth (Sissy Spacek). Natalie's ex, Richard (William Mapother) still feels attached to Natalie and causes some trouble (his mullet-like bleached hair making him seem even more evil).

The performances are all very fine. Stahl, an increasingly interesting actor (the bully in Larry Clark's "Bully"), is a successful choice as the son. He's set apart, predominantly, from the plethora of young actors because he doesn't look like Josh Hartnett or Heath Ledger. Tomei gives a wonderful supporting performance, and I loved her affected accent. The main criticism Spacek got was that she was in a role "any woman over 40 could play." What an offensively incorrect statement. Spacek has a fractured voice and a vulnerability that suits Ruth, and moment to moment she makes her completely authentic. But ultimately it's Wilkinson who owns the movie. (It's also amusing that the lone foreigner has the most convincing American accent.)

The tension is built up to an almost sickening level after, and just before, a monumental tragedy occurs about 45 minutes in. The next 45 minutes or so is devoted to the altered lives of the characters. In between the slice-of-life straightforwardness, we see segues of Spacek, a school music teacher, directing a choir singing dirge-like chant-hymns (a nice touch, like Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's poem "My Lost Youth" that's recited by one of Matt's friends: "A boy's will is the wind's will/And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts"). In the middle segment, the film has a lot of slice-of-life scenes, like Wilkinson and Spacek watching Craig Kilborn, and it's nice whenever a movie has those. They allow us to soak up the atmosphere and story, and it's a pleasant treat to have scenes and dialogues that don't exist simply to propel the plot.

After the tragedy (I'm tiptoeing here), we see how generous and forgiving Matt and Ruth are to their friends, co-workers and students, and how destructive they are to each other, at home ("Like a rest in music -- no sound but so loud"). Beneath the surface, Matt's a nervous wreck; when he goes to see his lawyer he can only focus on his hand annoyingly shuffling change in his pocket. Ruth becomes the type of woman you'd hate to be around, twisting rational questions and biting back with bitterly sarcastic snaps.

I expect the subject, the emotions, and the pain in the movie will strike a note with many middleclass suburbanites, and may be unbearably painful for any family who's gone through a similar tragedy, or who's had to deal with the ineptitude of the law system. It racks up the tension to an excruciating degree -- the best kind of sombre drama that fills your stomach with nervousness and anxiety until you can't take any more. In the closing 45 minutes, there's a sort of vigilante message that's imparted, and someone could write a series of essays on the subject of that message (well, not exactly "message," but you know what I mean), but in the context of the film, I wouldn't argue that something had to be done, and that no one should be cursed because of it.

I found myself asking, "Why are movies like these important?" Because they make us feel, and isn't that what makes us human? (That and opposable thumbs, I guess.) They awaken the senses and keep them fresh, and on a larger scale, specifically, because they show us people's concealed private lives that go unseen (but experienced) by many.

The film is much less heavy-handed than its 2001 counterpart "Monster's Ball"; more realistic, but also less graphic; tenser, but less arty. Unlike that film, "In the Bedroom" is simple; it's impact comes from its simplicity. "Monster's Ball" starts with impact and then tries to work in the simple realism and character.

The film's final image is humbling, and Andrew O'Hehir described it rather eloquently as: "Matt lying stone-faced in bed, half naked, with cigarette smoke rising from his chest, looking as if his heart were on fire."

****

4 out of 6 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Road to Perdition (2002)

7/10

Oh so professional

3 April 2003

If for no other reason, any budding cinematographer should see the movie for Conrad Hall's painterly images. There's also Paul Newman, but I'll get to him later. The usually excellent Jude Law? A caricature. Jennifer Jason Leigh? Non-existent. Tom Hanks? Well, it's one of those times when a sometimes sublime actor ("Forrest Gump," any number of his honest-to-goodness funny comedies) takes himself too seriously, or tries to spread his wings into an area he doesn't normally touch (in this case, a bad guy -- don't worry he's not that bad), and ends up forfeiting the reasons we like him best.

Hanks isn't wrong for the role necessarily, but he brings with him a sense of pedigree that isn't always beneficial -- it seems like his presence stamps a movie as Very Important. Imagine Gabriel Byrne in his place, and you'd get a sense of someone with an edge that could have raised the movie above the level of admirable professionalism. Well, not quite, since the movie's real problem lies with Mendes.

The movie offers an annoyingly idealized version of life, even more so when we consider the subject matter -- no one has blood on their hands. The violence is all off-screen, as if to make it all perfectly acceptable to those in the audience who might be offended. After all, who goes to see a gangster movie to see blood or be at all emotionally conflicted? Whether or not Mendes thought that this approach would make his film more artistic or more acceptable to some unnamed highbrow viewer is just a part of the emotional remoteness of the film. I don't have a problem with an observational approach as a rule -- many of my favorite movies could be called "cold" -- but in a film that's theme is fathers and sons (and you better believe it's hammered home) you'd expect a little more heart.

The comparisons to "The Godfather" are ludicrous. That film had one of the most amazing casts ever assembled and was treated as a bloody soap opera. It was tense and exciting and, above all, involving -- it took us along for the ride. "Road to Perdition" (just compare the titles of the two films and you'll get a sense of the difference) stands back from its subject and its characters. The only other real criticism I have is that we know Hank's future, as well as Newman's. There are no real surprises.

The two Newmans bring something extra to the movie. Thomas Newman's score is very similar to his for "The Shawshank Redemption" and it gives a touch of feeling that Mendes has left out. Paul Newman is what gives the film all of its (little) emotional impact. His raspy voice argues with his natural dignity, and he comes away with the most complex character in the film. In the most memorable scene in the movie, the look on Newman's face is heartbreaking.

Jude Law is very eager -- not ridiculously over-the-top, but somewhat cartoonish (and in the end, he's more memorable than Hanks and his mustache made to make him look -- I guess -- Irish).

Technically, the film is beautiful. The pastel cinematography is lovely -- I just wish Mendes would have wanted a story, some characters and an overall mood as rich as the colors.

***

0 out of 0 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Raising Arizona (1987)

7/10

Coens' at their most charming

3 April 2003

The Coen's second movie has an innocence that makes it endearing, especially to a non-Coen fan. (I am one, I'm just saying for those haters out there.) The language takes a joy in itself and is very Coen-esque, although overall I was left with the feeling more of Sam Raimi. Some camera moments are like "Blood Simple," like when a dude on a motorcycle drives over a car (directly reminiscent of that camera rising above a body on the bar in "Blood Simple") or those energetic, rapid steadicam shots that are lifted from Raimi.

It's a charming, guilt-free comedy at no one's expense (unlike the mean-spiritedness and superior snobbery of films like "Fargo," where Jonathan Rosenbaum dubbed Frances McDormand's character the Coens' "pet hick"). It's shameless slapstick.

When Cage (the ex-con) and Hunter (the ex-cop) get hitched, they decide to snatch one of Nathan Arizona's little quintets; after all five is much too much for one family. The two get attached to little Nathan Jr., and Cage (his name is "H.I.," as in Hudsucker Industries) has these two buddies (John Goodman and a porky, hilarious William Forsythe), escaped convicts almost literally burped out of the ground, that have their eyes set on Nathan Jr. as well.

Cage is wacky and offbeat, a young, virtually unknown at the time the film was made (probably still trying to shake off the nasal Gumbi accent from "Peggy Sue Got Married"). He's still got that renegade actor quality to him, that over-the-topness that's not quite honed enough, but it fits the material perfectly.

The film is in the tradition of their goofball charmers like "The Big Lebowski" and "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" -- not as hilarious as the first, and not as episodically plotted (or clever) as the second.

The pleasures here are in the innocent sight gags and dialogue -- Cage's grungy, just-about-mullet and mustache, Goodman's sideburns, Frances McDormand's quick appearance as a white trash wife to Cage's boss. Then there's this oil-covered, apocalyptic bounty hunter intent on collecting the reward for the stolen baby.

By the time the movie's over (it's a quick 90 or so minutes), a baby's been stolen, some animals have been shot, a man's been attacked by dogs, some people have been shot at, and someone held a grenade too long -- and it's the Coens' most innocent movie to date. You could almost say it's tender and sweet.

***

2 out of 2 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Heavenly Creatures (1994)

8/10

They'll Never Walk Alone

9 March 2003

Why do so many love stories in film end in bloodshed? Well, for one thing it gives dramatic impact, and if the death takes place at the end it leaves us with a shock, even if we already knew it was coming. Sometimes in films, a person's death at the finish seems so tacked on and contrived that it feels like a last ditch effort by the filmmakers to give their film some importance. This is one of those times where it seems like the only fitting end without feeling like everything was worked-out in advance. Sure, the film is based on a true story, but even still, any part of the film could have been altered for a more exciting story -- I would never look to a film for a recounting of real-life events (it's too important for that). This isn't a film that exists solely for the purpose of letting the world know that specific events occurred, it works on a basic level of the obsession two people can have for each other.

The story takes place in the early-to-mid 1950s in New Zealand. Juliet (Kate Winslet) is new in town and to the Christchurch Girls High School. She's an intelligent, imaginative daughter of a well-to-do family and she's a little snotty. When she corrects the teacher in French class, Pauline (Melanie Lynskey) just knows that this chick is going to be her new best friend.

They quickly become close, trading off each others' flesh wounds. Pauline has a long scar on her leg that forced her to stay in bed as a youth while doctors drained fluid out for two years, and Juliet has scars on her lungs from a respiratory illness she had as a child. Her parents went so far as to send her to the Bahamas so she could be in a warmer climate -- and left her there for fives years (twice later in the film, when her parents tell her of travel plans they have, and when they send her to stay in a hospital due to tuberculosis without canceling their travel plans, she's understandably upset). Pauline enjoys spending time with Juliet and her parents (she's embarrassed by her folks -- they rent rooms in the house to boarders).

The two girls spend more and more time together and become inseparable. They share a love for Mario Lanza and old movie stars like James Mason. They both write and Pauline records her thoughts in her diary. The two create a fantasy land, the Fourth World, that they'll go to when they die. Two days a year they can use a key -- an extra part of their brain that only about ten people have -- to visit the Fourth World through a passage in the clouds. (The morphing effects transplanting the girls to their Eden -- not to mention the life-size clay sculptures that thwack bible thumpers -- are seamless, especially for 1994, just a year after "Jurassic Park.")

Eventually, the parents of Juliet fear that the two may be forming an unhealthy relationship and try to separate them. To make a bad thing worse, Juliet's parents (who have their own marital troubles, as well) decide to send her away to South Africa for the good of her health. So the two girls, even more infatuated with each other, vow to do whatever they can to stay together. The finale, even though we know and are indeed told it's coming, is no less brutal or gruesome. It had me cringing, to be sure.

What's interesting about the film -- what elevates it beyond the level of an interesting crime-drama -- is Jackson's direction, which isn't to overlook the accomplished acting in the film, particularly from Winslet, one of the most compellingly different actresses we have. Those trips to the girls' Eden, the place that makes them so elated that they're willing to do anything to secure it, give the film something extra. The feel of the film, almost like a "Degrassi High" episode half the time, is awfully unique. The soft-focus photography that looks like "JFK" gives the film the impression of being as dreamy as the journeys to the Fourth World.

***1/2

1 out of 2 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover (1989)

10/10

It all comes out the same way in the end

9 March 2003

If you can make it through the opening -- Albert Spica (The Thief), Michael Gambon), that piggish oaf and his cronies grabbing a man at the back of a restaurant, undressing him, covering him with feces and urinating on him -- then the rest of the film should be a walk in the park. That's basically all the film is about. Well, there's a little more to it: Georgina, Albert's wife (The Wife, Helen Mirren), meets up with Michael (The Lover, Alan Howard) out in the hallway of the restaurant and the two start up an affair. And The Cook, Richard Borst (Richard Bohringer) prepares a bunch of meals that Albert crams down his throat while blurting out whatever comes to his mind.

It's the kind of film loaded with allegorical meanings and symbolism that's wasted, because the very people the film's "message" would be aimed at are the precise people who'll never see it (and people like me who do see it don't care). The film is full of contempt and derision, and Greenaway seems like he'd be the type of person who gets his thrills from mocking anyone in kicking distance.

But for all that, I didn't dislike the film. The film works in the artistic preciousness of proper British sensibilities and in the excessive tastelessness unique to America. It's like "Blue Velvet" (a film Greenaway admires), told from the English perspective. One of the things I liked was that we know that in this film anything could happen (and does). The lavish, visual elegance of the film (let's not forget Mirren's magical, color-changing dress) and the excessively detailed and precise set design really is a feast for the eyes. While the colors -- mainly reds and blues -- are enthralling, the camerawork does become a bit repetitious inside the restaurant, gliding along from side to side. The music -- leaving out that high-pitched screaming of the choirboy -- is wonderful, as well. It works best as an exercise in style and edginess than of anything else.

There are some thrilling moments here, most notably in two scenes where Albert comes looking for Georgina. Some of the most interesting, for me, however, were the behind-the-scenes moments in the kitchen, watching Richard and his crew prepare the meals, slicing up onions at light speed, and plucking a duck. There are interesting quirks in the film: the forking, the shirtless kitchen staff member, the rotting, worm-infested fish and meat that's never really explained.

This is the first Greenaway film I've seen and I doubt he could top it. (I caught about five minutes of "The Pillow Book," but it looked like Japanese porn, so I shut it off.) It seems to me that Greenaway would be wildly inconsistent; that if he were left to his own devices, he'd make a terrible mess of a film.

"The Cook, The Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover" is an extreme, sometimes vile film that's fairly accessible. With all its pretentiousness, it's not cold, either. In fact, it's bubbling over.

****

1 out of 4 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Raging Bull (1980)

10/10

The Himalayan highpoint of Scorsese and De Niro

8 March 2003

I've experienced a lot of things watching Martin Scorsese's movies, but I've never been moved. Granted I haven't seen his "woman picture" ("Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore") or his period piece ("The Age of Innocence"), and the ones I have seen -- maybe with the exception of "The Last Temptation of Christ" -- don't deal with feelings as much as they do with repressed and let-loose emotions. This is the first time I finished watching one of his movies and sat for a second thinking about the story, the characters and my own feelings, as well as Scorsese's virtuoso filmmaking technique.

It's not a sports movie or a movie about boxing. It's actually more akin to an intense family drama than it would be to "Rocky." Scorsese is most interested in his characters. I'm not taking away from the superbly composed boxing scenes -- in fact, it's a testament to the greatness of the film that something in the film could actually top them (I don't think I'll ever forget the spit, sweat, water and blood spraying off the boxers' faces). The editing of these scenes, and the entire film, is significant.

Scorsese shows us the private lives of the characters. Jake La Motta (Robert De Niro) yelling at his wife for overcooking a steak; Jake meeting his future wife (Cathy Moriarty) at an outdoor swimming pool and offering to take her for a ride (he wastes no time with her, either). Scorsese skims over details of Jake's career and shows many fights in montage or stills. What he's interested in is Jake's home life, which is a bigger battleground than inside the ring. The fully fleshed-out scenes that show Jake's ever-increasing paranoia about the loyalty of his wife, and ultimately of his brother Joey (Joe Pesci). The simple mentioning by Jake's wife that one of his opponents is an attractive, popular fighter is enough to set things in motion in Jake's mind. That Joey would include himself when he mentions others on Jake's bad side, fed up with his obsessive mistrust, is sufficient reason for Jake to explode into violence.

It's hard to talk about the individual scenes because so many of them are perfect. It's an extremely rare occasion where you wouldn't want to touch up any of these quieter moments, and this is one.

It's interesting to note (or maybe it isn't) that of the five Best Picture nominees at the Oscars that year, two were in black and white (this film is completely, not including less than a handful of home video footage). And both of those films are much better remembered masterpieces, from two of the most distinctive auteurs of the second half of the twentieth century, than the film that won. And as long as we're on Oscars, Joe Pesci probably deserved another for his work here. Heck, Moriarty earned one, too.

Pauline Kael was right when she said De Niro was never the same after this. Up to 1980, he was a lean, mean ferociously talented acting machine. After this film, no matter how hard he may have tried or in what role he was in, he seemed lazy. He was still good -- one of the most brilliantly physical actors on a so-so day is still better than a mediocre actor with no physical presence -- but he was never again what he was up until "Raging Bull." And I'd be hard pressed to think of another "final" performance to showcase an actor's full talent.

In Jake La Motta, De Niro found his signature character (even if Travis Bickle gets more name recognition). Like many of his films, Scorsese here frames the film with an opening taken from a little past the midpoint of the film, and with the closing, we get the treat of seeing De Niro playing La Motta playing Brando playing Malloy.

This is my favorite Scorsese film, probably his best, an undeniable masterwork, and to top it off, the gorgeous black and white will seal it forever.

****

1 out of 2 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Last Tango in Paris (1972)

7/10

Focus on the dead rat, not the butter

8 March 2003

This is my first Bertolucci movie, and I'm betting if I see his other, later movies I might fall asleep. I wanted to like this movie so much. I was hoping that this would be the one film that would fully indulge Brando, while remaining wholly artistic. But this is more artistic in that Urine in a Bucket movement. It's strange that Pauline Kael loved this movie: it's pretentious, drawn-out and completely lacking in the kitsch she normally championed. But is has sex, one of the two things Kael looked for in a movie.

Paul (Marlon Brando) and Jeanne (Maria Schneider) meet in an apartment, sort of by coincidence and quickly have severe, rough sex. They'll continue to meet there and the rule is: no names. They've both got their reasons, made clear to us later on.

That first sex scene happens so quickly that it's implausible and clumsy. Hardly erotic or sensual. But that's not the purpose of the movie, anyway. It's really about a lonely man in the pits of despair, but reputed only for its sex. And joyless sex, at that. (There is one terrific sex scene, in which Jeanne proposes that the two of them try to climax without touching.)

There is something that stayed in my mind about that first meeting: how Jeanne rolled on the floor after they finished. Maybe she's just a roller, but to me it was as if she was rolling away from Paul, disgraced at herself. But not disgraced enough not to go back, of course. The direction of the film is blunt, and it's got something to it. Never before have I been so distinctly aware of a previous scene as I was when Jeanne comes out of the apartment, and runs toward a train carrying her boyfriend Tom (Jean-Pierre Leaud). Here she is, she's just had sex and none of the passersby know.

Scenes open strangely, or under false pretenses. Tom meets Jeanne and kisses her wildly, only for us to discover that he's making a film. The next scene shows a woman sopping up blood in a hotel room. The woman is telling Paul a story about a woman that killed herself. It's a puzzling scene that exists only to inform us that Paul's wife Rosa has just committed suicide, but it's presented in a brilliant way.

Brando's work here is remarkably fresh and open. It's lacking the Method quirks that bother some people and his vocalizations aren't nearly as affected as they can sometimes be. His pauses in speech, where he's trying to think of words to articulate his feelings, are nothing short of genius. It's an utterly raw performance -- Brando virtually cracks open his soul and lets us take what we want from it. It makes his great iconic work in "The Godfather" seem like a gimmick. This isn't merely an exercise in style or trickery. Brando must have felt a personal connection to the material. (For one, he tells Jeanne his parents were drunks, and Brando's were, as well.)

Another scene, where Jeanne lets slip the name of her first love is also wonderful: "No!!! I'm going to get a hemorrhoid if you keep telling me names." In yet another great little scene, Jeanne comes screaming out of a room because there's a dead rat on the bed. Paul's vulgar dialogue is great fun. (He likes rat with mayonnaise, and promises to save the A-hole for Jeanne.) It's these simple moments that make the film worth watching. (In one of the scenes with Tom that isn't boring and confused, there's a conversation of "pop marriage," an in-joke about one of Leaud's mentors, Jean-Luc Godard, the king of all that's pop.)

In the stranger moments, however, the film loses something. There's one scene where Paul turns out the lights in the hotel that he and his late wife owned, to scare his mother-in-law, who's there to visit her dead daughter, that shows his goofy psychotic side.

After that, Marcel walks by, who we learn was Rosa's former lover. Later Paul goes to visit him (they've got the same bathrobes) and it propels Paul to go visit his dead wife. Brando has many moments where he erupts in anger and emotion (like when a frequent patron, a prostitute, comes to the hotel with a client who runs away and Paul chases him down and beats him) and I agree with the praise given to Brando's acting next to his dead wife, but his most free work comes with his casual mumblings.

Jeanne's reason for meeting Paul is that she's tired of her boyfriend's stupid games, but Paul's reasons are more important (and Bertolucci saw them as more important too). In one conversation with Jeanne, Paul says of women, "Either they always pretend to know who I am, or they pretend that I don't know who they are." He's angry at what his wife did to herself and to him and he uses Jeanne as a coping device.

The infamous Butter Scene isn't so much about the butter at all, it's more focused on, well, the scene. It's a harsh scene, but the most putrid moment of the film comes shortly thereafter, when Paul insists that Jeanne cut one of her nails in preparation for some work her finger is going to be doing. It's completely unnecessary and vile.

The third act is the best. Jeanne goes to the apartment and finds the furniture gone and Paul nowhere to be found. So she focuses on her fiancé only to have Paul come back, changed (he wants to know her name!). He takes her to the tango hall and the two dance drunkenly. And the ending, to anyone who's been paying attention, is an obvious one. Even though it's my favorite part of the movie, the ending reveals the movie to be a failed exercise in experimentation.

While I do think the film is ultimately a failure -- and it certainly has its share of boring stretches -- I have an admiration for it. It's still daring, to some extent, today, and it's worth watching for those quiet moments between Paul and Jeanne, making faces and naming each other with grunts.

***

1 out of 3 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

The Heiress (1949)

8/10

Soapy good movie that's a great start for Clift fans

7 March 2003

Warning: Spoilers

Possible spoilers

If the movie was made today (and it was remade in a movie I haven't seen, Agnieszka Holland's 1997 film "Washington Square"), it would be hard to get it out of the soap level. But for some reason, maybe because of the time it was made and that it was made in black and white, it works beautifully. The setup is simple: an insecure, but amiable girl (Olivia de Havilland) meets a gorgeous young man (Montgomery Clift), who's interested in her, but for reasons the girl's father deems suspect.

The girl's father, Dr. Austin Sloper (Ralph Richardson), tells her that he's not really interested in her but she refuses to believe him. He tells her, somewhat contemptibly, that she has no poise, no grace, no gift for eloquence or quick-wit and that anyone as good-looking as Morris Townsend (Clift) is surely only interested in her money. So he makes her come with him to Europe, in the hopes that by the time she returns she will have forgotten Morris. He's a little cruel, but we can empathize with him: his daughter is just too gullible. He holds high standards for his daughter, indeed he holds her up to the light of his deceased wife.

When Austin tells his daughter Catherine plainly that she'd never catch someone like Morris without there being strings attached, she becomes determined to live without her father and his money. She tells Morris and he vows to come back for her later in the night so that the two may elope, and so Catherine waits. And waits. And waits. It's finally when her aunt Lavinia (Miriam Hopkins) tells her that she shouldn't have told Morris of her plans to be independent of her father that Catherine realizes he was right all along.

When her father tells her that he may die soon, and that his health troubles are more than a mere congestion, he wants her to take his inheritance. He tries to mend the two's relationship and Catherine becomes enraged, saying that he never loved her and that even if Morris doesn't love her, at least she'll have his good-looks. She'd rather buy love from a husband than spend twenty years not knowing her own father didn't love her.

After this, she gets a tongue. It's why de Havilland won an Oscar -- it's a complete change without being two separate performances. A new side shows itself and Catherine grows. When a maid compliments her dress and then asks to go out for a stroll, Catherine snaps back that she need not give her false compliments in order to get something in return. After a long time passes and Catherine's aunt tells her that she's seen Morris in the city and that she's brought him along with her to the house, Catherine at first tells her to say she's not there. Then, as she hears Morris' voice and the camera stays on her face, she invites him in.

The ending of the film is almost a feminist one ("The first time he only wanted my money, this time he wants my love, too.") and the last scene is now sort of anti-climactic. It ends a little too soon, I thought. But that's hardly a big complaint. It left me wanting more.

The film holds up very well, as many period movies do (it's set "100 years ago" and the film was made in 1949), and it approaches the subject matter in a melodramatic, soap opera-y way. It's all bubbly. (That's a good thing.) Richardson is a refined presence and his scenes with Clift are terrific. The two riff off each other wonderfully. As Catherine, de Havilland is very memorable and her shift in character seems wholly plausible. The real gem of the movie is, I think, Montgomery Clift. His voice and mannerisms seem New York and downright modern. The performance has aged perfectly. (Well, there are a few of those kiss scenes -- "Oh Catherine!" -- that wouldn't happen today, but those are just classic movie isms.)

Very well-crafted movie that's recommended, especially for someone, like me, interested in seeing what Clift had to offer.

***1/2

1 out of 3 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000)

8/10

Jesus isn't the only guy who can walk on water

2 March 2003

Warning: Spoilers

No real spoilers, but warning anyway

I'm a novice when it comes to this stuff. I know nothing about Asian lifestyle or Asian cinema and for anyone like me, this is a perfect movie to get started with. It's a blockbuster Chinese movie clearly made for mass consumption. Don't worry that it's foreign either, dear neophyte, nothing esoteric here.

Master Li Mu Bai (Chow Yun Fat) comes down from a mountain where he has been meditating and wants to give up his sword Green Destiny, so he goes with Yu Shu Lien (Michelle Yeoh), a fellow martial arts master, to deliver it personally to Sir Te (Sihung Lung) in Peking. Also at Sir Te's compound are Governor Yu (Fa Zeng Li) and his daughter Jen Yu (Ziyi Zhang).

We learn that years ago Jade Fox (Pei-pei Cheng) killed Li Mu Bai's master and that he longs to avenge his death before he leaves the warrior lifestyle. Jade Fox must die by Green Destiny's blade. In the night, what looks to be a ninja steals Green Destiny from the compound. This is where the first scuffle comes into play, between Shu Lien and the thief. It gives nothing away to say who the thief is. We, as well as Shu Lien, suspect Jen and in one of the few missteps in the film, Shu Lien none-too-slyly insinuates Jen may be the thief. While watching her do calligraphy, she practically says to Jen, "Say, your writing is a lot like FENCING. You write like a warrior fights...SWORD."

Early on we learn that Jen is working with Jade, that foe of all that screams like a banshee. We discover that Jen has been hiding things from her master Jade, and that since the time she was ten she's been developing past her in terms of technique. In fact, she's so skillful people mistake her for a disciple of Li Mu Bai's. (This Jade Fox gets around. There's another family that she's robbed a mother and a wife of, who get in the second battle of the film with her.)

In one fight, Jen tells Li Mu Bai to stop talking like a monk, but I wished he would get more philosophical. It's what, I think, could push this over into the level of greatness. But instead we've got semi-profound lines like "Only by letting go can we truly possess what is real" or "To repress one's feelings only makes them stronger." Some of this may be the fault of poor translation. (Is "fliers" the most appropriate word?) If Lee had been more willing to really delve into the nature of the Giang Hu lifestyle, this could have been one of the most spectacular films ever. It seems like a warrior movie done for the masses; indeed I never realized the difference between them all. It's still a very good film but notable mainly for those astonishing action scenes.

The warrior characters glide through the air, weightless. It's all very impressive (there's even an underwater scene). The martial arts masters can virtually fly (in that first fight, Shu Lien keeps having to pin down the thief so she doesn't fly away). When Jen tests out her skills in a restaurant, the wood crumbles like rotten planks. Little Jen, with a face like a porcelain doll, is the one match for the two members of the old guard, Shu Lien and Li Mu Bai.

Intertwined with the fight scenes are the love stories. It's not a romance by any means. It's just seasoning. It's the final seal around the movie. We are told that Shu Lien was engaged to Li Mu Bai's oath brother, who was killed by Bai's enemy (we assume that's Jade Fox). There's a longish flashback that, at first, I thought served no point, but it gives us background on Jen's character and her drive to be a warrior. It also shows her hypocrisy: she chases after a bandit, Lo (Chen Chang) who's stolen her comb, yet freely steals Li Mu Bai's sword. Also, through the flashback -- after they fall for each other -- it's rammed home that Jen and Lo are the young version of Li Mu Bai and Shu Lien who, we hear a few times, have repressed feelings for each other. Lo has come back for Jen, in the hopes of getting her back before she is to be married. There are some clichés here (how many movies must feature a fight between two people rolling around on the floor, only to end up -- ho-hum -- with them having sex?). But, when the girl's as immaculately gorgeous as Jen's actor Ziyi Zhang, I can't complain.

Even though the film features the obligatory speech-deaths, it's not an epic. It's done on a very intimate scale and it works best that way, I think. It matches the fluid, nimble delicacy of the warrior's moves during the action sequences. I really don't want to call them action sequences because everything is so graceful. The actors move as elegantly as Jen's calligraphy brush. Also, there's very little blood or gore. A scene or two and it's hardly noticeable. Peter Pau won an Oscar for his camerawork, which I didn't think was that great. If the movie looks fantastic, credit the men and women who made the characters' flying seem realistic. The soundtrack music, principally Yo-Yo Ma's cello work, is very beautifully noble.

***1/2

0 out of 0 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

The Searchers (1956)

10/10

Monumental Western

2 March 2003

Warning: Spoilers

Possible Spoilers

Ethan Edwards (John Wayne), the little-seen uncle comes back to town to visit his brother, Aaron and his wife Martha and their children Lucy, Debbie and Ben. The appearance of Martin Pawley (Jeffrey Hunter), who's been taken in by the family, gives us our first hint of Ethan's racism. He greets him saying he could, "Mistake [him] for a half-breed." If this racism is intentional -- and most likely it is -- it suits Wayne's character. I've seen some comments saying how Wayne isn't racist, he's just vengeful. Bull. He's racist and vengeful and this welcoming proves it. Either way, it in no way diminishes this film as one of the great American films and one of the greatest of all Westerns.

The next day (I think) while Ethan is away, the house is massacred by Comanche Indians. The night of the massacre it's dark and ominous at dusk. The boys are presumed dead and the girls possibly alive. Ethan, Martin, and Lucy's beau Brad Jorgenson begin their search to bring back whoever's still alive.

We hear the Rev. Clayton, who also operates as a Captain, say of Ethan that he "fits a lot of descriptions." He's not a straight hero and I think Ford recognized this. Certainly other characters in the film, notably Hunter's, won't put up with his ignorant garbage. Ethan is a mix of cold-blooded, vicious killer and good ol' boy. He goes around venturing and seeing old friends, promises to get Mose Harper a rocking chair but also shoots the eyes out of a dead Indian so he can't enter the spirit world. He's a flawed hero and his racism isn't supposed to be taken as proper.

After Ethan disappears for a while and once he's pushed by Brad to tell him what happens and what he's seen, Wayne bursts into a fiery rage -- one of the best moments of the film and roars, "Don't ever ask me more!" It's a towering performance. There are people who think Wayne isn't a good actor, but I think they're confusing his acting and his voice. His casual mannerisms and voice are distinctive and oft-imitated but whenever he gets emotional, it comes through. A common misunderstanding people have, I think, is that a peculiar voice or an accent equals bad acting. Of course that's not true. Emotional truths and subtleties in character come through the speech. It's just such an obvious critique -- like the blanket heads (I don't even know what that means -- I hope it isn't racist) who think Bob Dylan is a bad singer. Untrue. He's got a voice some people may not like but he uses what he's got better than Whitney Houston.

Juxtaposed against the arduous five-year search is the home life of the Jorgenson family. Brad Jorgenson, the son, is no longer a part of the trio of searchers. Ethan and Martin stayed for a night at the household and Laurie, the daughter, had fallen for Martin, naked in a bathtub. Part of the story is told through a letter Martin wrote to Laurie, and the search is shown counter to Laurie at home, waiting for Martin to come back.

When Ethan and Martin do find some whites, the girls they see have gone insane. As Ethan sees it, once you go Comanche, you never come back. He'd rather see someone dead than be turned onto the Comanche's side. When it comes to the Comanche, Wayne spouts lines like, "You speak pretty good American, for a Comanche." (Always without the "ee").

There's some comedy in the film, maybe it's comic relief, I don't know. Either way, when it involves Wayne, it's funny ("What if you'd missed?" "Never occurred to me.").

The cinematography is absolutely stunning with a gorgeous baby blue sky, white clouds and the brown rock formations of Monument Valley. And that final shot, as Leonard Maltin warned me about, is a great one. It's one of those sum-up shots where everything is read on the actor's face and body language, such as the case with "The 400 Blows." It's the final shot of a masterwork.

Will there ever be a Western to top this one? That'll be the day.

****

5 out of 9 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920)

9/10

I'd say its influence is everywhere

2 March 2003

Warning: Spoilers

Francis (Friedrich Feher) and an old man are sitting and Francis begins to tell him a story, hoping to top the one the man just told him. The story is about a fair that came to his hometown of Hostenwall and a man, Dr. Caligari who was one of the vendors. Caligari's submission to the fair is his somnambulist, Cesare (Conrad Veidt) who has been asleep for 25 years and, under Dr. Caligari's willing, is about to awaken. He does and Dr. Caligari tells the crowd to ask him a question, for he knows the future. Francis is there with his friend Alan (Hans Heinrich von Twardowski), and Alan walks up and asks Cesare how long he'll live, to which Cesare replies that he'll be dead by dawn.

Alan and Francis both long for the same woman, Jane (Lil Dagover) and after they all three go home, we see, inside Alan's house, the shadows of he and his killer fighting on his bedroom wall. Francis goes to tell the police after he realizes the somnambulist's prophecy has come true. Back at Dr. Caligari's place, we see him feeding gruel to Cesare as he lay in a coffin. Another attempted murder takes place but turns out to be the work of a common crook not involved with Cesare and Dr. Caligari. More happens that's not really important. Francis goes to an insane asylum to see if the fled Dr. Caligari is a patient there but the worker he speaks with tells him he must go see the head of the institute for patient information, as he's not allowed to divulge that sort of thing. So Francis goes to the head's office (a skeleton stands upright in the corner) and it turns out to be Dr. Caligari himself.

Francis gets the police over there and after looking through his books, they discover a historical book about the mythical Caligari, who did just what Dr. Caligari is doing now, back in 1093. When Dr. Caligaru arrives he goes insane, saying he must become Caligari and doctors in the institute put him in a straight jacket. Then the telling of the story is done. The film adds a framing device, though, in the present with Francis and the man he's told the story to.

The two go back to the institute, Cesare is in the corner and Francis warns the old man not to accept one of his prophesies, for he should surely die. Jane is there also, and when Francis asks her to marry him, she says she cannot marry someone not of royal blood (huh?). Then down the stairs comes Dr. Caligari, whom Francis quickly gets in a scuffle with. He's grabbed by the doctors and taken upstairs. Dr. Caligari comes to the conclusion that Francis is manic and that his mania is caused by his delusion that Dr. Caligari is in fact the mythic Caligari who would wander from town to town with Cesare killing townsfolk. The last scene is of Dr. Caligari saying he has a sure-fire cure for Francis' mania.

So was Francis the real Caligari? Did Francis kill Alan in the hopes of getting Jane to marry him? (After all, we never do see his killer.) With this appended narrative twist, the entire story comes into question. I have a feeling a lot of people would hate this but I found it very interesting, maybe even historic.

The film is very dreamlike. All silent films are sort of spooky, but this one is more otherworldly. Everything is distorted and the camera, with that strange blackening, gives it an unstable touch like our most vivid dreams have. It's like something's been placed over the lens in order to highlight certain characters or visuals and cover up something else. I'm assuming the film used on-set camera tricks.

The expressionist sets consist of slanted walls, crooked doors, weirdly misshapen glasses, paint splashed on stairs that bend. A background that is clearly a wall with painting. Trees that look like wires. The characters' faces are all pale white and the blacks are all stark. Cesare, specifically, looks like a cross between Frankenstein's Monster and Edward Scissorhands. The houses don't look like houses, they look like pieces of wood painted to look like a stage set.

I can see influence from this film in the set designs of Tim Burton especially, and the narrative twist at the end must have influenced David Lynch in "Mulholland Drive."

The print I saw was from 1992 and for a movie that's 83 years old, I was very impressed. There was very little grain and the lighting was fine. The only complaint I had was that some of the handwriting from Dr. Caligari's writings was a bit difficult to read and that has nothing to do with the print. The music is all organ that comes booming in whenever something evil -- usually Dr. Caligari -- is onscreen.

It's hard to judge movies like these, but the visuals are wonderful, the music is spooky, the acting suitable and the pacing fine (it's a little over an hour). I would say this is an essential film, and unlike many "groundbreaking" classics, it's like nothing else you've seen.

***1/2

50 out of 64 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

Crash (1996)

8/10

"...sex and car crashes" Plus: Cronenberg, one of the most daring of all older filmmakers

1 March 2003

Every few years a movie like this comes along that is like no other, probably only one filmmaker could have made it, is made with fresh audacity and seems utterly confident.

One of the criticisms the film got was that, "sure it's daring but it has no point." I would rarely ever say what a film's point is -- it's different for all of us -- and I often find that when a film is so obviously made only to illustrate a point or reflect something in modern society that it really misses the mark on what filmmaking is all about. However, is the film only about "...sex and car crashes," like Janet Maslin would have us believe? On a somewhat superficial level, I'm sure this movie is about just that -- people whose fetish happens to involve wrecked cars. The sleek, metallic surface; the revving engine; the Pulsating Power of the Pistons turns them on. On another, attached, level it's about the link sex and cars have had since the 40s or whenever cars became a popular location for teenage coitus. It's also about the fetishizing (it's a word) of cars, and machinery in general. It may also be, as a reviewer on this site mentioned, a comment on film sex.

The film briefly addresses car crashes and a more normal impact they have on the driver. Spader says, "There seems to be three times as many cars as there were before the accident." In Spader's first drives after the accident, Cronenberg really captures the tense unease of post-crash driving. Soon after, however, the characters are driving recklessly down freeways, bashing into each other.

Someone also criticized the film for having no character development. Now, I'm all for growth and change, but isn't it more likely that a character will stay basically who he is? I mean, I speak the same today as I did yesterday.

Some people have also noted -- and I agree with them -- that the characters in the film aren't really heterosexual, bisexual or homosexual, that they're just sexual beings looking to get off and that the gender of the partner (or their own) doesn't matter. I think the film is sexy despite itself. It's as if it tries its damnedest to show graphic sex and have it be completely anti-erotic, that we're lifted onto a platform of intensely erotic sexuality. I can completely understand why people would be bothered by this and the film. I mean, we've got Unger describing the scene of a car crash to Spader as she manually jerks his stick shift and Spader and Koteas licking each other's car-related tattoos. And autoeroticism (hee hee) isn't enough for these characters, they actually have to re-enact famous car crashes. And for all the hubbub made about Spader and Koteas' sex scene, Hunter and Arquette also have a go at each other in the backseat of a car.

The actors here are all brave and they each have their distinctive qualities. Hunter looks as if she's missing something (or someone) and substituting sex for whatever it is she's lost. Unger reminded me of Patricia Arquette in that damaged type of innocence. Koteas is the most evil-looking of all the characters, probably because of his long laceration scars. Arquette (that's Rosanna), has her screwed up legs and Spader, amongst these people, is the most attractive of the bunch. He's got his usual seediness and sexually ambiguous secrecy.

Aside from the fact that it may be the most famous celebrity car crash ever, the James Dean crash in the film holds a special significance, I think. For anyone who's read up on him and is familiar with the rumors of sexual deviance, the film, I think, draws an interesting parallel with the film's characters and him, most likely unintended. (Or maybe intended -- I've read and seen Cronenberg speak in interviews and he's practically the film world's biochemist -- I'm sure he thought out every avenue.)

Now, I haven't read Ballard's book so I don't know if this is based somewhat on actual events, or if naming characters after him and his wife was a joke or if it was a metaphor for what was going on in Ballard's brain. As if he named the characters after himself and his wife because that's who he is in his mind, just unwilling to actually act out on his fantasies.

The look of the film is silvery and gleaming, mixed with purples and blues and reds that look like the bruises on Spader's face. The way Cronenberg films the cars driving -- often with the camera attached (I'm assuming) to the front side of the cars -- is memorable.

Cronenberg made this film when he was in his early 50s. Here's someone who doesn't mellow as he ages, he just becomes more polished. The coldness of the film is reminiscent of Kubrick, I thought, and specifically "A Clockwork Orange," probably because of the sex in either film. His dedication to disease is like Lynch and I felt the presence of Atom Egoyan in a few of the frames, someone who's probably influenced heavily by Cronenberg. I'd recommend this to anyone interested in Cronenberg, weird films, or anyone interested in seeing cars go fast and get banged up. If that was the film's tagline, I'm sure it would have made twice as much as "Speed" or "Gone in Sixty Seconds." And this one's got sex to boot.

***1/2

2 out of 4 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

House of Games (1987)

7/10

Good but stagy, improbably but entertaining

1 March 2003

Here's my first David Mamet directed film. Fitting, since it was his first, as well.

The story here is uneven and it moves along like any con movie, from the little cons to the big cons to the all-encompassing con. It's like "The Grifters," but without that film's level of acting. (In that film, John Cusack was sort of bland but that was the nature of his character.) The acting here is very flat (I sometimes wondered if the bland acting by Crouse was supposed to be some sort of attack on psychoanalysis). At least in the beginning. It never gets really good, but it evolves beyond painfully stiff line reading after about ten minutes. Early in the film, some of Lindsay Crouse's lines -- the way she reads them -- sound as if they're inner monologue or narration, which they aren't. With the arrival of Mantegna things pick up.

The dialogue here isn't as fun as it should be. I was expecting crackerjack ring-a-ding-ding lines that roll off the tongue, but these ones don't. It all sounds very read, rather than spoken. Maybe Mamet evolved after this film and loosened up, but if not, then maybe he should let others direct his words. He's far too precious with them here and as a result, they lose their rhythmic, jazzy quality. What's more strange is that other than this, the film doesn't look or feel like a play. The camera is very cinematic. My only problem with "Glengarry Glen Ross" was that it looked too much like filmed theatre, but in that film the actors were not only accomplished, but relaxed and free. Everything flowed.

I wouldn't mind so much if it sounded like movie characters speaking movie lines -- or even play characters speaking play lines -- but here it sounds like movie (or even book) characters speaking play lines. It's a weird jumble of theatre and film that just doesn't work. That doesn't mean the movie is bad -- it isn't, it's often extremely entertaining. The best chunk is in the middle.

It's standard con movie stuff: the new guy (in this case, girl) Margaret Ford (Lindsay Crouse) gets involved in the seedy con underworld. How she gets involved is: she's a psychiatrist and one of her patients, Billy is a compulsive gambler. She wants to help him out with his gambling debt, so she walks into The House of Games, a dingy game room where con men work in a back room. I'll admit the setup is pretty improbable. (Were they just expecting Crouse to come in? Were they expecting she'd write a cheque? Was Billy in on it? One of these questions is definitely answered by the end, however.)

And from here the cons are start to roll out. I found the beginning ones -- the little learner ones -- to be the most fun. We're getting a lesson in the art of the con as much as Crouse is.

We see the ending coming, and then we didn't see the second ending coming, and then the real ending I didn't see coming but maybe you did. The ball just keeps bouncing back and forth and by the last scene in the movie we realize that the second Crouse walked into The House of Games she found her true calling.

I'm going to forgive the annoying opening, the improbable bits and the strange line-reading because there are many good things here. If the first part of the movie seems stagy, stick with it. After the half-hour mark it does really get a momentum going. If you want a fun con movie, then here she is. If you want Mamet, go watch "Glengarry Glen Ross" again -- James Foley did him better.

***

9 out of 17 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

The Good Son (1993)

3/10

(Okay, I'll bite) "The Bad Movie" (that was lame)

28 February 2003

I re-watched this movie on TV, on one of those digital channels that doesn't have commercials and almost always has pitch-perfect picture, but it for some reason this movie looked stretched out. And thus it begins.

The story is: a young boy (Elijah Wood) has just lost his mother to some sickness. His father (the incomparable David Morse, totally wasted by not being in more than the very beginning, maybe five minutes) drops him off at his brother's house, while he goes to make a business deal so the two can be financially satisfied and be together again. It starts off somewhat sentimentally, but with a kid with a face like Wood's it's kinda hard not to be. Oh yeah, his brother has a kid (Macaulay Culkin) who gives one of the 90's best performances as Satan himself. Well, he doesn't play Lucifer, but that's basically what he's asked to act like. And damned if the two boys aren't good (I love talking about child actors as if they're kids, even when, as is the case here, they're older than me). Too bad the movie isn't.

(For example: Mark says to his father that his mother will come back, maybe in another form. And whaddya know, about five minutes later his beautiful, kind aunt comes into the picture. As far as subtlety is concerned, this isn't exactly winning awards.)

Culkin was a part of my childhood and the childhoods of most people my age. His Henry sounds intelligent beyond his age without sounding very phony. In place of phoniness comes a creepy smarminess. Henry's an evil little freak, a precocious young boy with a penchant for blackmail. And he plays the character with an impassivity that's equally annoying as it is frightening.

Henry's playful with Mark. He helps him deal with the pain of his recently lost mother by doing rough, childlike things. They engage in typically destructive childhood activities like throwing rocks through the windows of old buildings and shooting bolts at animals. You know, the usual.

Along with movies like "The Land Before Time," "The NeverEnding Story," "The Secret of NIMH" and "Flight of the Navigator," (though I grew up in the early nineties, I guess my mom looked for the classics of that wonderful decade -- the 80s) this film is a part of my nostalgic childhood memory vault, so I was worried that it might be hard to be objective. Ha ha. I wanted to re-watch the film and be able to prove Roger Ebert wrong, who basically called the movie sick. I wish I could argue with him.

The big contrast in the movie, of course, is between the "good" Mark and the "evil" Henry. For Christ's sake, there's even a discussion with a psychiatrist about what evil really is. Mark thinks his mother dying of a sickness was somehow his fault and is ready to take full responsibility for it, while Henry, that little devil, takes pleasure in causing death.

The film episodically moves from bad act to worse act (that's "act" as in "deed," but the film does get progressively worse, so the double meaning of screenplay act is strangely appropriate). By the end, it turns into an actioner complete with sounding horns and wild African drumming to make sure your heart is a-pumping.

Early in the film, before it got ludicrous and asked her to completely debase her character, I thought the mother Susan (Wendy Crewson) was interesting. I checked her out on IMDb and while she hasn't been in anything really noteworthy (although playing the wife in "Air Force One" is probably why I recognized her), I found out that she's from my Canadian city and went to a school I know! (I do get joy from the little things.)

After about forty-five minutes I really wanted David Morse to come back. After him, the most interesting and plausible character was, at least I thought, the psychiatrist, who's in the film for maybe five minutes.

It's not just that the movie doesn't work, it's that it combines not working with that conspiratorial cliché of the good guy being framed by the evil guy and the good guy trying to prove that he's being framed by the evil guy and having no one believe him -- and topping it all off with a dose of immorality. (It doesn't help when we've got cheese ball lines like "I guess I'll always wonder, but I know I'll never ask.") This stuff happens in life, but why make a movie about it for entertainment purposes? (Cause it sure as hell isn't art.)

What's really upsetting is that when the credits roll, with the theme music that suggests the promise of the opening moments, we realize that had the director scrapped everything after the first five minutes with Morse and Wood this could have been one of those great "little" movies, in this case about a child grappling and coming to terms with the death of his mother. Something in the vein of "What's Eating Gilbert Grape," "Nobody's Fool" or even that other one Wood was in, "The Ice Storm."

Instead we've got ten year-old Macaulay Culkin saying, "Don't f--- with me."

*1/2

3 out of 11 found this helpful. Was this review helpful? Sign in to vote.
Permalink

SanTropez_Couch

Reviews

Tell Your Friends

Recently Viewed