Ten Recent Views

Wild in the Streets (dir. Barry Shear, 1968) -
From the director of Across 110th Street comes this look at the youth movement of 1968, something viewed with a total fear and cynicism from its adult filmmakers. In it, a pop idol (who encourages racial and gender equality and is homo-friendly) creates a wave of political change across the nation by encouraging his youthful following to overthrow the adult authority ruling the country by pairing with an ambitious senator who helps pass legislation lowering the voting age to 14. Naturally, the film finds that once it happens and the youth begin altering national policy, their choices are foolish, quickly lowering things to a totalitarian state. Its contempt for youth is constantly highlighted by how shallow, selfish and stupid they're made to appear, while most of its adults seem similarly ridiculous and idiotic. A time capsule of reactionary forces speaking out in a progressive time.

The Tale of Despereaux (dir. Sam Fell/Robert Stevenhagen, 2008) -
I'm not sure if the pacing and structure is ingenious or unknowing. I think that a lot of the bad reviews for this films stem from the fact that you have a film about a cute little mouse in a swell hat and yet it doesn't kowtow to Disney-fied cuteness, doesn't pander to the audience and offer the adorable little hero they expected. That said, I think its ambitions outstrip its reality, taking on several subplots that don't entwine together, just sort of co-exist. It reminds me in this way of Bergman's Persona, which never seems to be able to make up its mind if it wants to be a heavy psycho-drama or an avant-garde experiment and ends up treading a somewhat unsuccessful line between the two, just as Tale of Despereaux still comes on charming and interesting without engaging as fully as it could (or should). It's never cloying and cutesy, so I appreciate that for sure, but it also never goes a step beyond and turns its bounty of ideas into something better.

Patrick (dir. Richard Franklin, 1978) -
Everything you need to know about this film is on the outer packaging. An Australian film about a telekinetically endowed young man in a coma, in which a nurse begins to suspect that he's not the vegetable that everyone else believes. Also important on the outer packaging is its rating - PG - which tells you about how intense they're going to allow it to get. Given that it's my namesake, I really hoped for more - I've actually had this movie in the back of my head since I first heard of it 31 years ago - and it just didn't deliver, despite a few interesting ideas and pieces. Good concept, but it builds endlessly toward a very anti-climactic climax. Ho-hum. Even Spielberg did more with a suspenseful idea and a PG rating.

Tropic Thunder (dir. Ben Stiller, 2008) -
When Stiller is the main creative force behind the characters and the story, he's approximately 6000 times funnier than when he's hired on as actor for someone else's film. Though he'll never be as artsy or experimental he reminds me of John Cassavetes, taking on mainstream work to make money to fund his more esoteric ventures that are always more interesting. This one's no exception, making character the central idea over plot - no surprise to me that Downey got a nod from the Academy for his work here even if I didn't think it was as great as they did; he took an idea and ran with it. But Stiller's brand of humor is all over this, starting with the great opening sequence of clips setting up each of the main characters and then developing them over the film, rather than just having one-note characters who have some change late in the film, as in so many so-so comedies out of Hollywood. And when it starts getting less funny and winding you up in the lives of the characters they've invested the time to make, it works there too. I prefer the goofy stuff of course - when Stiller is on stage in a drug lord's prison camp recreating a role his captors know from their only video tape they have for entertainment, you know they've made something special - but the fact that they don't only do pratfalls and kick-in-the-balls type of humor makes this different from most Hollywood fare.

The Last Wave (dir. Peter Weir, 1977) -
Probably the best of Weir's early films, beating out the L'Avventura Redux of Picnic at Hanging Rock for my tastes and way more coherent and thought through than The Cars That Ate Paris. Richard Chamberlain plays a lawyer hired to defend an Aboriginal accused of murder. As he gets deeper into the case things start to get weird, finding an apocalyptic prophecy and possible evidence of magic that seem tied into things - and into his own life. I like that it remains ambiguous, like the overall feel of the film, there's some great imagery - and I still think it's an interesting view without loving the film. But I'm sure I'll watch it again, for all the reasons listed above.

Milk (dir. Gus Van Sant, 2008) -
I should love it as a film and I don't - it's a little too obvious in spots - but as a social document I have to give it major props. It's a fairly uncompromised view of the gay world that's making major inroads to all kinds of viewers, not just a ghettoized version that stays within a gay (and gay-friendly) viewership. Like a lot of Gus Van Sant's films, especially recent ones, there's an underlying (implied) motif of the violence resulting from repressed homosexuality - in this case, that of Dan White, who murdered both Mayor Moscone and Harvey Milk. Van Sant's been more effective recently, but I guess his reigned in/more audience friendly version of the stories that have been fascinating him lately - less experimental than Elephant and Last Days and Gerry for sure, even if it's related - still tells a story worth telling (and seeing, of course), and the fact that it's gotten such a great reception is gratifying and encouraging. Not my favorite Van Sant, but if you don't know the Harvey Milk story, this is a good dramatic representation of it. Proceed directly from here to the documentary The Times of Harvey Milk. And as a last note, Sean Penn deserves major props for his representation of Milk here - there was not a moment of the film that I thought of it as Penn playing a character, he simply vanishes into the role.

Iron Man (dir. Jon Favreau, 2008) -
Self-deprecating humor throughout, and Downey is great in the title role. It's "just" entertainment of course, nothing loftier but if you wanna see A) shit blowin' up real good and B) and enjoyable couple hours of well made popcorn movie, you've got a fine pick on your hands here. Comic book reading is not a pre-requisite, either, you can walk into this without knowing the name Tony Stark and still have fun with it - if fun's what you're looking for. I think you'd be stretching things beyond their substance to try to read anything about a political situation into this, other than a generalized set of ideas about current concepts of war and the role of industrialized warfare in the U.S.

Kung Fu Panda (dir. Mark Osborne/John Stevenson, 2008) -
Not bad, I guess for an animated set of watered down eastern-isms. I just wish that they'd made it funnier than it was, or more serious, or maybe just less predictable. Fluffy, and if I had kids it might be the way i'd introduce them to concepts that I'd be forcing on them more and more later. But I don't have kids, so the likelihood of me watching again is pretty damn slim.

Onibaba (dir. Kaneto Shindô, 1964) -
A strange little story of evil and demons and human desperation that probably has a lot more resonance with people who might've grown up with a background that included the folk tale(s) that formed part of the story - or at least studied them first - than it did with me. That said, it's a great visual story and a really engrossing - albeit grim - tale of people living in dire straits, carving out their survival by any means they can in a surprisingly brutal and frank manner (especially for the time). There's a lot going on here that I feel went over my head on the first viewing and it's definitely a film I'll be going back to.

Big House, U.S.A. (dir. Howard W. Koch, 1955) -
Lots of nice Colorado footage here - always a plus for me - but the story's really the thing that powers this. Ralph Meeker plays an opportunistic sociopath who kidnaps a lost boy when he finds out the kid's family has money and ultimately is tracked down and ends up in jail, denying his involvement all the while. He's pretty great as the absolutely cold-blooded criminal, perfectly illuminating the character he's given - nicknamed "Ice Man" for his cool demeanor and refusal to crack under pressure from the feds once he's inside - but Broderick Crawford is given a great role here and steals the show as a crime kingpin. He's planning a jailbreak and Meeker's Ice Man being dropped into things only means his plans need to be altered slightly, with or without Ice Man's acquiescence. The breakout and subsequent action are where it's at though, even if the lead-up feels nicely gritty and intense. Lots of fun, even if nothing incredibly special.

Ten recent reviews

Grand Hotel (dir. Edmund Goulding, 1932) -

Excellent ensemble drama, with Garbo fine enough, but even her role as a diva ballerina is upstaged here by both John Barrymore and Joan Crawford in less flashy roles given sharper dialogue. But this one's more about ensemble acting than any individual's role, fine as many of those individuals may be. A ritzy hotel in Berlin is the epicenter of several stories that intertwine and tangle together, including the two most compelling: that of a refined thief after a wealthy (and moody) ballerina's jewels, and a secretary who can't stand the businessman she works for but is too professional to let him realize it. Drama and comedy build out of there, both pretty damn brilliantly, I might add, with neither one taking the dominant role in the proceedings, each always making room for the other. It's just another great one from Golden Age Hollywood, and this is the sort of film that helps you understand why it's called that.

Phantom (dir. F.W. Murnau, 1922) -

Like Val Lewton's Ghost Ship, I could not hide my initial disappointment over the fact that I was watching a film by an acknowledged master of suspense, horror, and the otherworldly and the current viewing had nothing to do with dead spirits. But just as with Lewton's film, this one won me over with its drama of a deluded would-be poet lead on by a mentor to believe that he's a surefire success and can proceed directly from dire poverty to the high life. Needless to say, things don't work out as planned, and Murnau's expressionistic approach to showing the poor guy's mental collapse (OK, it's not quite as extreme as that) is fine filmmaking. Don't go in looking for a sinister follow-up to Nosferatu and you'll do just fine.

Let the Right One In (dir. Tomas Anderson, 2008) -

As with any film combining vampire mythology and coming-of-age stories - oh wait, there aren't any beside this one! That alone of course is not reason to praise this and for a good half hour of the film I wasn't sure I liked it, but as it adds on layers, gets to know both central character and vampire better, as it reveals its sly sense of humor, I really got there with it. The visual sense of the film is probably my least favorite aspect - it's somewhat cold and flat, though that's also something of the tone of the drama for the first portion, so I guess it's fitting. Let me rephrase - a vampire film/coming-of-age story shot like a police procedural film imbued with a subtle humor that masks the cold reality of the central relationship is what the film promises. And accomplishes nicely I'd say. A good one.

Il Bidone (dir. Federico Fellini, 1955) -

Broderick Crawford is the best part of the film - the sorta leader of a group of hustlers who mostly prey on hicks in the rural regions who fall for their shenanigans. I wish Fellini had taken the time to develop his relationship with his daughter more - it provides such a turning point for his character that it feels a little underbaked to me. Crawford makes the best of what little screen time he has across from her though, saying almost enough just with his pained look that maybe if Fellini had even just lingered on him with one more heartbroken shot it might have made the whole third act development totally believable for me. Even so, I can accept it in the context of the film and move on - it's very nearly an excellent film even in spite of this. Maybe this is why he stopped relying on plot to move his characters around, realized that they were interesting enough in his hands that we're fine just spending the time being around them and that their problems got through to us by osmosis without having to be spelled out.

The Cars That Ate Paris (dir. Peter Weir, 1974) -

Part of Weir's weird (not-exactly)-trilogy, preceding both Picnic at Hanging Rock and The Last Wave and far stranger than either. Far less successful, too, though certainly not for lack of ambition. Here's a film about a small town in a remote area of Australia where the entire GNP of the town seems to stem from running strangers off the road and salvaging their belongings, lobotomizing those who happen to survive the "accidents." That's quite enough for a weird little film, but Weir wants more - there's some sort of odd, 18th century quality to the way things are run in the town with its paternal mayor; there's an undeveloped story in which said mayor wants to "adopt" one of the survivors as his own, possibly grooming him for future leadership of the town's enterprise; and there's also a brewing conflict between the town's elders and the rambunctious youth of the town who participate in the running of things, but seem to be brewing their own Mad Max styled gang of costumed thugs and souped-up vehicles loaded with weapons (though this precedes George Miller's film by about 5 years). I mean, it's not that it's not an interesting mix of ideas, it's just that they never jell into a cohesive whole - it'd be nice if Weir picked one of these ideas and ran with it, saving the others for future films or just paring it down to the strongest stuff and letting it lie. Fun, sure, and really strange, but not great - Weir got better quickly.

Shadows (dir. John Cassavetes, 1959) -

Same year as Breathless, much of the same hand-held immediacy, ground-level realism, and somewhat amateur charm, though Cassavetes still wants you to remain within his drama - no Brechtian address to the audience to remind you you're watching a film. Also no Raoul Coutard to aestheticize the experience, making it - for me - impact that much more. I've seen Breathless maybe twenty times and I still think it's a revolutionary piece of work, seen this only once and I'm absolutely blown away that in a completely separate country, with a different set of principles - though one that very well could have been informed by the writings of the Cahiers du Cinema crowd - Cassavetes and his group have made a work equally revolutionary, every bit as important, and, to be frank, considerably humbler about being such a breakthrough and also refreshingly devoid of Godard's hang-ups about women. I've loved the later Cassavetes films I've seen, but this one's the one that set his shit all in motion. I don't come to this to bury Godard, but I expect to be re-watching this one a lot more for some time.

Orphans of the Storm (dir. D.W. Griffith, 1921) -

Two sisters torn apart in Revolutionary France - makes for a great Griffith film that allows a large canvas for huge scenes (the Revolutionary aspects) and small, personalized touches (meaning the persons of the characters, not so much Griffith's own emotional investment). It's a compelling story, smartly rendered and beautifully shot. Plus, Lillian and Dorothy Gish are superb in the title roles - hard to say one is better than the other because they're both fantastic. It's loaded with beautiful moments too, the kinds of images that stick with you in a way only film can. Historical accuracy may go out the window in favor of the story he wanted to tell, but I for one am in favor of never letting the truth get in the way of a good story. Or a great one.

Slumdog Millionaire (dir. Danny Boyle, 2008) -

Let me keep this short, because I could easily go on about it. I've seen a lot of good and even great films about poor kids living in the streets. This would not rank in or probably even near my top ten of such films, despite reasonably good performances and cinematography. The primary reason it will not is because the story sinks into tediousness for about an hour in the middle - forgetting even about the "destiny" conceit that I knew immediately I was going to just have to swallow as soon as it surfaced. Did it earn the big ending that made the audience break out into applause? No, it absolutely did not earn it, betraying the audience by offering up some decent scenes early on and then winding through a whole lot of nothing until the big ending that apparently caused spontaneous applause amongst many audience members. I don't like reacting to or against hype, I like to just watch a film for its own merits. But the excess of hype around this on invites some reaction - about the film all I can say is "Blah."

The Innocents (dir. Jack Clayton, 1961) -

Now here's the ghost story I wanted both Phantom and Ghost Ship to be! It's good like a filmed ghost story should be, all Gothic design and creepy atmosphere and canted angles and two terrifically cast little kids who must have set the tone for all those dumb "creepy ghost kid voice" films that have come pouring out of Hollywood these days. And this one goes even a notch better than most ghost stories by making it ambiguous - if you can tell me with any certainty that there are ghosts in this film and that it's not all in Deborah Kerr's character's head, you win a special prize. I know that Turn of the Screw makes it clear, but I think the ambiguity here is a strength of the film that is perhaps lacking in the Gothic love story of the novel. It's not perfect, but it's exactly what I wanted.

Edvard Munch (dir. Peter Watkins, 1974) -

Better, I think than the angrily lefty Punishment Park in that it couches its politics - largely concerning women's equality - in a story ostensibly about something else entirely. I also love the structure - a 3+ hour biography about the Norwegian painter Munch intersperses real biographical information alongside speculative dramatic recreations of his life in a mixed up chronology that's shot in documentary style, as though these cameras were present at all the formative moments of his life. But again, I reiterate - while it tells you a lot about Munch, it also tells you as much about the women in his life, their lot in the world and how both the reactionary forces of conservative society and the surprisingly conservative art world Munch travelled in spoke out against strong and independent-minded women, a topic that Munch seems ever on the fence about. And though I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised to see something like this coming from Watkins, I guess I was - the life of Edvard Munch did not seem a likely vehicle for an examination of feminism. That'll teach me to try to pigeonhole Watkins as just one type of radical artist.