First off, let me just say that I've come to the realization that perhaps I watch far too many movies. I just can't seem to get caught up with all the films I've watched. It's February 03 and I'm writing a review for a film I saw eight days ago. That in and of itself isn't so bad except that within those eight days, I watched another four films (actually five but one of them I'm not going to bother with) that now need to be reviewed. I once read that the average person goes to the movies about two times per year. That's about how many times I go to the theater in a week.
Anyways, moving on ... The Visitor is another one of those films that I had resisted for the longest time. J. also commented that when she first heard about the film, there was very little that seemed appealing. Think about it for a second: a white person who's emotionally lost/damaged, finds solace and redemption by meeting a person of color and then learning to play African drums. Ever see Matt Damon/Will Smith in Bagger Vance? Ever see Patrick Swayze/Whoopie Goldberg in Ghost? Ever see just about any movie starring Morgan Freeman? This phenomenon, which Spike Lee once termed "the magical negro" (this was back in 2001 during a series of lectures he gave at Yale and at Washington State), is a familiar trope throughout American films. Of course, back in the 1990s, Toni Morrison traced it back even further in her lecture series, Playing in the Dark. She argues that throughout American political and cultural history, there has always been an Africanist presence that enables and sometimes even enobles white characters. If you want to see a gendered version of this argument, go look up Gynesis.
This has become a tired formula that really needs to be put to rest. I wouldn't mind it so much if the enabler just happened to be a person of color (like Danny Glover's character in the Lethal Weapon series ... those films are apalling on an entirely different level) but so often it's the very "ethnic" quality of that person that seems to be the great liberating factor. In Head of State, the sadly disappointing Chris Rock film (and, by the way, is there any Chris Rock film that isn't sadly disappointing? With someone as much comic genius as that guy, he just can't seem to find a movie to showcase that talent), there's a big finale in which all the uptight white people get loose and funky dancing to hip-hop. This, of course, makes the world a better place. Seriously now ... we have to stop this. Now.
In a major hypocritical moment, the film pokes fun at the prototypical white liberal collector of "ethnicity." A woman in a street market admires a set of handmade earrings. This white woman is dazzled just as much by the earrings as she is by the African woman who made them. She admires the African's name and asks where she might be from. There are plenty of white jewelry makers selling their ware on the streets. How many of them do you think get asked, "where are you from? What's your name" Oh, Betty ... that's such a beautiful name. What does it mean?" It's then revealed that this white woman has no real sense of Africa as she confuses two countries that are thousands of miles apart. For her, there is just a general Africanness that she finds interesting and exotic. Now, the protagonist, Walter, has an obviously more sincere relationship to the drums. For him, it's a personal experience in which he engages. It's not an item to purchase and hang on the wall. But, when looked at through the prism of the Africanist presence, it becomes clear that the drums are, in fact, simply just another set of interesting earrings.
J. and I ultimately decided to rent this film because it was up for an award (Richard Jenkins, lead actor) and because our friend, The Poet, kept talking it up. I should pause and mention that The Poet and I have a very adversarial relationship when it comes to films. I certainly respect The Poet's views and enjoy "debating" film choices no matter how much our respective choices may diverge. There are some films that we both enjoy (Lars and the Real Girl, for example) but most of the time we just have to agree to disagree. I'm not sure this is exactly one of those times but it's not that far off. Despite my political protestations to this film, I wouldn't grade it as being bad. But I also don't think it's particularly interesting or unique. Richard Jenkins surely deserves his Oscar nomination for what might be one of the most powerfully restrained acting roles I've seen in quite some time.
The Visitor is written and directed by Thomas McCarthy whose 2003 debut, The Station Agent, I enjoyed quite a bit. It had a slow, meditative pace that savored every moment without being overly languorous. It was also quirky without being overly cute (and as anyone who knows me or who has read enough of my reviews will surely know, there are few things in films that I despise more than quirky white characters whose affectations are meant to be perceived as cute eccentricities). Simply put, The Station Agent felt cinematic. The Visitor, on the other hand, felt flat. It was a fine story but not a finely told story. I felt that the movie was in such a hurry to explore Walter's transformation that it never let us experience his despair. In other words, to appreciate how much Walter changes we have to know where Walter begins.
Ultimately, J and I both enjoyed the film and were glad we saw it but we also felt unsatisfied ... like having a good dinner with a lousy wine and no desert. There was something good but not complete. To some extent, The Visitor felt like a very well-done HBO special and not really a "film." I think if I had watched this in a theater I would have been more disappointed.
For my nephew's sixth birthday, we took him out for a "day on the town." We started with an afternoon at the Aquarium and then after a little nap and dinner we went to see Hotel for Dogs. I was totally prepared to hate this film. I figured that, at best, this was preparing me for the day I might one day be a father and have to drag my sorry to but to really mediocre movies or sit in the car listening to mind-numbing music. Much to my great surprise, I found this thoroughly enjoyable film.
Now, I don't think I would ever recommend this to friends without children -- it's not that good -- but I would encourage any parent to take their child. To some extent, this is a contemporary version of E.T. (but with dogs instead of extra-terrestials). I'd go so far as to say that the director even cribbed some notes from Spielberg. Both films portray adults and authority figures as ogres who just can't understand or sympathize with what kids go through. The fascistic appearance of the military and men in radiation suits is replaced by sadistic dog-catchers in knee-high, Nazi-era leather boots. Never mind the fact most people who work for animal control usually tend to be people who care for animals. In the world of Hotel for Dogs, dog catchers live to inflict punishment. The plagiarizing (or "subtextual referencing") of E.T. gets even more blatant during the big chase scene. The music swells just like every John Williams composition. I don't know if John Williams actually did the music for this movie but he might as well have. It's cheesy enough.
Also fascinating, even for cynical adults, was all the Rube Goldberg type contraptions. I can definitely see a young child being fascinated by all the gadgets and gizmos. If I were a young lad, it would certainly inspire me to go home and fiddle with my legos and erector sets.
Judging children's films is always hard. These movies lack sophistication and are never nuanced but that's because they shouldn't be. That's what makes kids' films so hard to produce: how can you stick to the basics without being overly simple? Judging from the most recent Star Wars films (the animated features), George Lucas certainly hasn't figure that out (even my six-year old nephew -- a Star Wars geek in the making -- deemed The Clone Wars just "awful"). is not nearly as inventive as Hotel for Dogs as E.T. but, in a pinch, it certainly will do.
I had resisted seeing this film for quite some time because I was upset that it had beat out Guillermo del Toro's Pan's Labyrinth for the best foreign film Oscar in for 2006. Granted, I hadn't actually watched Lives of Others, but I was convinced that no other foreign film could be nearly as good as Pan's Labyrinth.
I realize that makes absolutely no sense: how could I say one was better than the other when I hadn't actually seen the "other" film? Well, I'm ashamed to say, "yeah, so what?"
Now that I've finally seen this film, I will say that it's a very good film and certainly Oscar-worthy. I still don't think it was nearly as good as Pan's Labyrinth, but I'm far less upset than I was two years ago. Boy, that would be rather sad and pathetic if I was still upset about this.
From a narrative point-of-view, Lives is amazingly well-crafted and it reveals so much that is wrong with Hollywood. The film focuses on a State Police interrogator, Wiesler, who patriotically terrorizes the citizenry of East Germany (this is set in pre-unification Germany) for what he believes to be the best for his country.
While being asked to spy on East Germany's post notable playwrite, Wiesel begins to lose faith in the government. He not only sees petty bureaucrats corrupting the system but he begins to relate to the playwrite, to see in the playwrite's life an alternative to his own cold, sterile existence. Wiesel is straight out of central casting: the stereotypical, cold-hearted German for whom even sex is simply an exercise.
While there are no shortage of redemption narratives in Hollywood, most of those narratives involve major transformations in an individuals character. Think, for example, about a film like Family Man or The Fisher King. For changes to occur, there needs to be a tragic or miraculous change. By the end of the film, these troubled men find redemption and live happily ever after in their sweet domestic lives.
No such contrived ending for Wiesel. His act of bravery -- to protect the playwrite and subvert the communist apparatus -- goes barely noticed. His life becomes worse as he's demoted by his superiors. Once a powerful state police officer, he's now relegated to working in the mail room. Very little about his character has changed: he's still essentially the same person, changed only slightly. The minimal change is even more astounding when you consider the immense change occuring in society as the Berlin wall comes down during the period in which this film takes place.
Perhaps it's because as Americans we love the idea of change, of reinventing one's self. We like to think that whenever we're unhappy with who or what we are, we have the freedom and power to change that. This idea is core to our national imaginary; consequently, we hype this up in our cinema. Lives of Others than is a refreshing counterpoint to this, showing us just how little we really can and do change. With that said, however, I still think Pan's Labyrinth should have won the Oscar.
For all the talk there's been about the reunion of Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet, the truly significant return, I feel, is that of Sam Mendes to the suburbs. In 1999, Mendes exploded on the scene with his feature film debut, American Beauty. When it first came out, American Beauty, was considered an original and scathing condemnation of suburban America. To me, though, American Beauty, was always more about the failure of the boomers to live up to their ideals.
Ten years later, Mendes goes back to the suburbs but this time, the story takes place in the 1950s: the very era in which the boomers are born. Looking at Revolutionary Road as a sort of prequel to American Beauty, we can see in these two films a history of failure. In each case, it's not so much the suburbs in and of themselves that are the real "monsters" but the decisions that we make in order to live in the suburbs. Simply put, Mendes sees the American suburb as the space of compromise, a place of comfort and ease but one that comes at a cost.
Now, I'm not about to get into whether or not this is true. Sticking with Mendes' skills as a director, I'll simply say that Mendes paints a very power picture. While American Beauty was about a couple who had essentially sold their souls over a slow period of time, allowing themselves to become numb, Revolutionary Road is a couple who sense this numbing happening to them and are frantically trying to get out. The problem I have with both these films -- as well as most anti-suburb films in general -- is that they rarely show the other side. Would it really have been much better to stay in the city? Would their lives have significantly better?
Many many moons ago, the BBC documented the lives of several British youths (all age 7). The idea was to revisit them seven years later and see how each person's life turned out. The original documentary was called 7-Up. Seven years later, they released 14-Up, then 21-Up, then 28-Up, etc. The most recent installment is 48-Up and, from what I've heard, the next one, 56-Up is slated for release in 2011.
Each installment in and of itself is marginally interesting but what makes the series so fascinating, and worth watching as an entire series, is seeing the development of each person, seeing how much some individuals changed and others remained the same.
Nanette Burstein's documentary, American Teen, is not nearly as ambitious. Burstein simply wants to provide that "slice of life" picture of what the "typical" American teen experiences and while there are certainly some interesting moments in the documentary, there's hardly anything new or revelatory. High school is a caste system, people get punished for crossing lilnes, even the popular girls have problems, blah blah blah. Really, the only thing in this film that didn't come out of a 1908s John Hughes film was the realization that sometimes (just sometimes) the nerdy kick who gets picked on really desrves to get picked on.
Perhaps ten years from now, when they release special edition version of this film with follow-up interviews, American Teen might be of some interest. Where do these people go with their lives? As parents themselves, will they simply reinforce the very same caste system of which they were a part? Seeing this film made me think a lot of many of the student papers I receive: interesting at times, boring at times, but ultimately, while full of potential, not yet developed.
Here's a list of the Oscar nominees for best picture in 1990 (in alphabetical order):
*** Awakenings
*** Dances with Wolves
*** Ghost
*** Godfather Part III
*** Goodfellas
Ok, now guess which film won? If you guess Godfather Part III then you have some serious issues and should probably never watch another movie. In fact, you should just close this window and never come back to this web page ever again.
Now, for the rest of you, which of the four actually watchable movies won? If you are currently under the age of 30, I'm willing to bet you guessed either Ghost or Goodfellas. Why? Because of all the nominees those two are the ones people still watch, that people still adore. Awakenings is proudly sitting in the cut-out, bargain bin of your local video store and Dances with Wolves is probably a footnote referring back to a time when Kevin Costner wasn't a complete tool.
Of course, neither Ghost nor Goodfellas won. It was, in fact, Dances with Wolves, which is by no means a horrible film. At the time, it really seemed to be up in the air which would be the better film. People were throwing around superlatives like "genius" to describe Kevin Costner's acting and directing. Seriously. Nearly twenty years later, it's hard to fathom: how could Goodfellas not be a better movie than Dances with Wolves? It's so obvoius.
In 1998, people were all aflutter about Shakespeare in Love -- yeah, when was the last time anyone talked about that movie (except when talking about Oscar mistakes)? Want to guess what movies Shakespare beat out? Saving Private Ryan, Elizabeth, and The Thin Red Line (I'm purposely not mentioning Life is Beautiful because that's also fallen into the waste bin of irrelevancy).
I mention these past Oscar horrors because ... well, I have this nagging feeling that ten years from now, some young person will look back at the 2008 Oscars and ask, "Really? Slumdog Millionaire won? Does anyone watch that movie anymore?"
Don't get me wrong. I actually like this film quite a bit and I've always been a big fan of Danny Boyle (see my review of SUNSHINE in the DECEMBER archives). Right now, of the five nominees, I think it might have the best chance of winning (the other top contenders being MILK and BENJAMIN BUTTON). This is such a huge difference from last year. All five films were pretty amazing and two of them (No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood) were destined to become legendary classics. This year, the field is a lot weaker.
If there's one thing this movie has going for it is this: I went to see this flm with Grumpy Old Guy (GOG). Now GOG got his name for a specific reason (and doesn't have to do with age). Despite that, however, he felt emotionally drawn to this film and, as he said to me a week later, "the more I think about this movie, the more I really like it."
I would have to agree with GOG. Slumdog Millionaire does an amazing job of being sentimental without being saccharine. Few movies can really pull that off. Additionally, while the plot, on its surface, is incredibly absurd, there's a certain magical realism that makes you want to believe in the improbable.
But, with all that said, I can't really believe in the film itself. I see it as being very much of its time -- perhaps the hope in a world of destitute hopelessness appeals to the Zeitgeist? For whatever reason, I'm convinced that Slumdog is going to be the Dances of Wolves of 2008 and that kind of bums me out.
For the longest time, I really didn't want to see this movie because of Sean Penn's voice. Like most film buffs, I truly believe that Penn is one of the best actors of his generation but even great actors make bad movies and, in the case of Mr. Penn, it doesn't get much worse than I am Sam.
The voice that Penn adopted to play Harvey Milk is just a bit too close to the voice for Sam. I had seen the Epstein documentary The Times of Harvey Milk and so was familiar with his voice. Penn isn't completely off in his interpretation but because the stink of Sam still lingers in the air, it's hard not to make that association.
Despite my initial hesitation, J and I finally got around to watching it and we were not disappointed. Josh Brolin has been having one hell of a second act. Ever since he did No Country for Old Men, he's been in one high-profile gig after another. It may be Sean Penn's name on the marquee but Brolin's portrayal of Dan White was strong. James Franco also put it in a surprising performance. Definitely nothing to write home about, but considering that most of his roles have involved superheroes or potheads, it was nice to see him play a straight, dramatic role (no pun intended).
But the big award has to go to Gus Van Sant. In my re-view review (no, that's not a typo) of Bottle Rocket, I mentioned that VanSant was one of the three most important directors to emerge out of the 1980s (the other two being Steven Soderbergh and Spike Lee). While Lee and Soderbergh may have made the more noteworthy (or attention-grabbing) films since their respective debuts, VanSant has quietly been developing his craft. Most people know him for My Own Private Idaho, Goodwill Hunting, Drugstore Cowboy, and now Milk. But his most intriguing works have been, for lack of a better term, visual meditations like Elephant, Paranoid Park, and Last Days.
While not necessarily abstract, these films are held by a very loose narrative. Rather than having a structure that tries to get from point A to point B, VanSant's meditations slow the films down so that we can understand those spaces that exist between as well as make possible A and B. In Elephant, for example, we already know that a Columbine-like shooting is about to occur. There's no drama or inner psychology. These films are not meant to understand why someone did something. Instead, Elephant gives us nearly 90 minutes of seeming slow-motion movement only to be interrupted by the arrival of the shooters.
Milk is not anything like Elephant. Milk is a far more traditional narrative film; however, VanSant has seemingly learned from these meditative films and brought elements into Milk. Try to imagine Goodwill Hunting directed more in the vein of Drugstore Cowboy. When Dan White sets out to kill Milk as well as Mayor Moscone (and really, if I'm "giving the plot away" at this point, you really need to spend more time reading something other than stupid film blogs), the scenes are not accompanied by some throbbing cello to underscore the tension. You know Dan White is about to shoot Milk but just as he does, the camera cuts away to an office down the hall so that all you hear are soft muffled pops that could just as well be a book falling of a desk. All this isn't to say the scene doesn't contain intense drama but by pulling away from the action at just the right time, VanSant is able to bring us closer to what's happening. It's a difficult technique to pull off and most directors wouldn't even attempt it but would probably have chosen to do a much more conventional shooting involving lots of blood and loud noises.
I'm not sure if Milk is really deserving of best picture but, thus far, VanSant is definitely my pick for best director.
Serious film goers generally fall into one of two categories: those who focus on directors and those who focus on actors. J, for example, is of the latter group and I'm always amazed at her name/face recognition. Sure, I know who Brad Pitt is but I'm usually at a loss when it comes to "oh, that guy, the one who always shows up playing the tough dude." J can usually be counted on to not only name the person but also identify other films that said person might have appeared in. I, on the other hand, am a fan of directors. I generally won't see a film because of who is in it. Instead, I see a film because of who made it. Conversely, I also generally avoid films because of the director (yeah, I'm talking about you, McG and Michael Bay). All this isn't to say that I can't appreciate a good performance by an actor just as J is more than capable of appreciating good direction. It's all a matter of where we put our priorities.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was one of those films that satiated both our needs: it has a big-name cast and it's directed by a big-name director (David Fincher). I've always like Fincher although I would put him on a second-tier (which is still a pretty exclusive group). I don't think of Fincher in the same way I look at Anderson, Soderbergh, or the Coen brothers. Rather, I see him along the same lines as Danny Boyle and Bryan Singer. With that said, I think the one thing that Fincher does just about better than anyone else is create exciting visuals. Fincher first made his name as a music video director but unlike a hack like McG, Fincher made good music videos (most notably, those Nine Inch Nails videos). While Button doesn't have the same visual flair as early Fincher films like Seven and Fight Club (two other Pitt collaborations), Fincher does show a great deal of growth and film-making maturity.
The movie, based on a short story by F. Scott Fitzgerald, falls into that rare category of "movies that are much better than the original material." Both works focus on Benjamin Button and his reverse aging. Born with the appearance of an old man, as he ages he becomes younger. Fitzgerald's story tends to exploit the more comic elements of this premise while Fincher transforms the story into a much more dramatic narrative that very little resembles the original short story. Time, place, etc. are all changed as are the circumstances of Button's life. For example, in Fitzgerald's version, Button is born in the 1860s and raised by a disdainful father who feels embarassed by his son's appearance. Fincher shifts the time so that Button is born right after World War I. Also, Button is abandoned by his father and raised by a black woman who runs a retirement home.
Both J and I felt the movie to be remarkably entertaining; however, when we thought about what awards the film might merit, we were hard pressed to think of any except technical ones (such as best visual effects). While the performances were all very solid, neither Pitt nor Blanchett were particularly remarkable although Taraji Henson gave a very good supporting performance (she's probably best known as Shug from Hustle and Flow). Fincher once again created a great visual experience but I just didn't see anything remarkable about the way the film was put together (and definitely not as interesting as his last film, Zodiac).
Don't get me wrong. I think Button is a fine film and I wouldn't mind seeing it again but I don't feel compelled by it. Of course, there hasn't been much that I've felt particularly compelled by this year. Perhaps it's all a big let down from the big whammie of last year (really, when was the last time you had two amazing films like No Country for Old Men and There WIll Be Blood coming out the same year?)
Jonathan Demme has had a rather fascinating career. After spending ten years toiling away in television and B-movies, Demme came on strong in the mid-80s with the Talking Heads concert film Stop Making Sense and the surprising Something Wild. After a commercial peak in the 90s with Philadelphia and Silence of the Lambs, Demme essentially put aside narrative film making in order to concentrate on documentaries. To put this in perspective, this would be like Missy Elliot deciding to leave hip-hop so that she can pursue a career Brazilian folk music. Sure, there's still a career there but on a miniature scale compared to what came before.
Rachel Getting Married is Demme's first feature in four years and it may be his best. While it certainly won't have the commercial appeal of something like Silence of the Lambs, Rachel feels like solid, old-fashioned film making in a vein similar to film makers like John Cassavetes and Samuel Fuller. Filmed on high-res digital stadi-cams, most of the movie takes place in a 48 hour time period inside a house. Within the cramped confines, Demme beautifully unpacks a family's entire history. Walking that fine line between heart-wrenching sentimentality and saccharine melodrama, Demme seems to know when to pull back and let the actors do their thing. There is an authenticity to these performances and while most of the attention will be given to Anne Hathaway, i think Rosemarie DeWitt (who plays the title character) is the true unsung hero of the film. She plays bitchy in a way that doesn't fall into camp. Yes, Rachel can be terribly mean to her sister but that disdain is something borne out of a long history of pain. I think the cast of Gossip Girls could really learn some valuable lessons from watching this performance.
This quarter, I'm showing Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing to one of my classes. I've probably seen this film about twenty times and while I've enjoyed each viewing (and I always come away with something new), it can never match the impact of seeing it the first time back in 1989. For young film viewers today, I think it's hard to really appreciate how revolutionary this film really was. Spike Lee, along with Steven Soderbergh (whose Sex, Lies, and Videotape was also released in 1989) gave birth to the modern independent film movement. While Tarantino may have exploded the scene a few years later, Lee, Soderbergh, and to a lesser extent Gus Van Sant (Drugstore Cowboy, also released in 1989) really laid the foundation for the great renaissance in American cinema during the 1990s.
One product of this renaissance was Wes Anderson whose 1996 film Bottle Rockets became a festival favorite. A couple of years later, Rushmore would become a hugely succesful hit (on an indie scale, that is) and help bring back Bill Murray to popular consciousness. When I first saw this film in the theater, I was stunned. While not quite as revolutionary as Do the Right Thing or Sex, Lies, and Videotape, it was still incredibly fresh and new. Watching it again thirteen years later, the film has aged well (although one might argue the Wilson brothers, Owen and Luke, the two main stars of the film, have not had the same fortune).
The cinematography is incredibly clean and sharp. This is in stark contrast to everything else Anderson has done. Perhaps, he was limited by a smaller budget but the composition of each shot seemed so much more fully thought out. Anderson's later films, such as The Royal Tenenbaums, tend to be visually overwhelming. Anderson clearly prefers a manufactured, artifical world and there's certainly nothing wrong with that but in his later films, those worlds tend to be OVER manufactured. Similarly, the comic elements of Bottle Rockets works much better as well. In The Royal Tenenbaums, the characters seem too precious, too aware of themselves and their quirky nature. It feels insincere and affected. The characters in Bottle Rockets, on the other hand, simply are quirky.
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