Something Requisitely Witty and Urbane

Required Viewing

Jim Emerson, the film critic who writes on RogerEbert.com, put together an interesting list.

This isn't like Roger Ebert's "Great Movies" series. It's not my idea of The Best Movies Ever Made (that would be a different list, though there's some overlap here), or that they were my favorites or the most important or influential films, but that they were the movies you just kind of figure everybody ought to have seen in order to have any sort of informed discussion about movies. They're what I like to think of as the common cultural currency of our time, the basic cinematic texts that everyone should know, at minimum, to be somewhat "movie-literate." I hope I can assume these movies are experiences we can all assume we share.

I try to explain to people why movies and music mean so much to me, but I'm beginning to think that, for those who already get it, there's no need to explain and, for those who don't get it, they won't really get it anyway.  Pop culture is more than just fun facts, it's a sort of communal language that those who understand can speak with one another.  Sometimes, watching a movie isn't about burning a couple of hours or providing myself with entertainment as much as it's about connecting myself to a collective consciousness.  The more I've seen, the more connected I'll be.

So, here's the list, I've added asterisks next to the ones that I've seen.

"2001: A Space Odyssey" (1968) Stanley Kubrick ***
"The 400 Blows" (1959) Francois Truffaut
"8 1/2" (1963) Federico Fellini ***
"Aguirre, the Wrath of God" (1972) Werner Herzog ***
"Alien" (1979) Ridley Scott ***
"All About Eve" (1950) Joseph L. Mankiewicz
"Annie Hall" (1977) Woody Allen ***
"Apocalypse Now" (1979) Francis Ford Coppola ***
"Bambi" (1942) Disney ***
"The Battleship Potemkin" (1925) Sergei Eisenstein
"The Best Years of Our Lives" (1946) William Wyler
"The Big Red One" (1980) Samuel Fuller
"The Bicycle Thief" (1949) Vittorio De Sica
"The Big Sleep" (1946) Howard Hawks
"Blade Runner" (1982) Ridley Scott ***
"Blowup" (1966) Michelangelo Antonioni
"Blue Velvet" (1986) David Lynch ***
"Bonnie and Clyde" (1967) Arthur Penn ***
"Breathless" (1959 Jean-Luc Godard
"Bringing Up Baby" (1938) Howard Hawks
"Carrie" (1975) Brian DePalma ***
"Casablanca" (1942) Michael Curtiz ***
"Un Chien Andalou" (1928) Luis Bunuel & Salvador Dali
"Children of Paradise" / "Les Enfants du Paradis" (1945) Marcel Carne
"Chinatown" (1974) Roman Polanski ***
"Citizen Kane" (1941) Orson Welles ***
"A Clockwork Orange" (1971) Stanley Kubrick ***
"The Crying Game" (1992) Neil Jordan ***
"The Day the Earth Stood Still" (1951) Robert Wise
"Days of Heaven" (1978) Terence Malick ***
"Dirty Harry" (1971) Don Siegel ***
"The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie" (1972) Luis Bunuel
"Do the Right Thing" (1989 Spike Lee ***
"La Dolce Vita" (1960) Federico Fellini
"Double Indemnity" (1944) Billy Wilder ***
"Dr. Strangelove" (1964) Stanley Kubrick ***
"Duck Soup" (1933) Leo McCarey
"E.T. -- The Extra-Terrestrial" (1982) Steven Spielberg ***
"Easy Rider" (1969) Dennis Hopper
"The Empire Strikes Back" (1980) Irvin Kershner ***
"The Exorcist" (1973) William Friedkin ***
"Fargo" (1995) Joel & Ethan Coen ***
"Fight Club" (1999) David Fincher ***
"Frankenstein" (1931) James Whale ***
"The General" (1927) Buster Keaton & Clyde Bruckman
"The Godfather," "The Godfather, Part II" (1972, 1974) Francis Ford Coppola ***
"Gone With the Wind" (1939) Victor Fleming ***
"GoodFellas" (1990) Martin Scorsese ***
"The Graduate" (1967) Mike Nichols ***
"Halloween" (1978) John Carpenter ***
"A Hard Day's Night" (1964) Richard Lester ***
"Intolerance" (1916) D.W. Griffith
"It's a Gift" (1934) Norman Z. McLeod
"It's a Wonderful Life" (1946) Frank Capra
"Jaws" (1975) Steven Spielberg ***
"The Lady Eve" (1941) Preston Sturges
"Lawrence of Arabia" (1962) David Lean ***
"M" (1931) Fritz Lang
"Mad Max 2" / "The Road Warrior" (1981) George Miller
"The Maltese Falcon" (1941) John Huston
"The Manchurian Candidate" (1962) John Frankenheimer ***
"Metropolis" (1926) Fritz Lang ***
"Modern Times" (1936) Charles Chaplin
"Monty Python and the Holy Grail" (1975) Terry Jones & Terry Gilliam ***
"Nashville" (1975) Robert Altman ***
"The Night of the Hunter" (1955) Charles Laughton
"Night of the Living Dead" (1968) George Romero
"North by Northwest" (1959) Alfred Hitchcock ***
"Nosferatu" (1922) F.W. Murnau
"On the Waterfront" (1954) Elia Kazan ***
"Once Upon a Time in the West" (1968) Sergio Leone
"Out of the Past" (1947) Jacques Tournier
"Persona" (1966) Ingmar Bergman
"Pink Flamingos" (1972) John Waters ***
"Psycho" (1960) Alfred Hitchcock ***
"Pulp Fiction" (1994) Quentin Tarantino ***
"Rashomon" (1950) Akira Kurosawa ***
"Rear Window" (1954) Alfred Hitchcock ***
"Rebel Without a Cause" (1955) Nicholas Ray ***
"Red River" (1948) Howard Hawks
"Repulsion" (1965) Roman Polanski
"The Rules of the Game" (1939) Jean Renoir
"Scarface" (1932) Howard Hawks
"The Scarlet Empress" (1934) Josef von Sternberg
"Schindler's List" (1993) Steven Spielberg ***
"The Searchers" (1956) John Ford ***
"The Seven Samurai" (1954) Akira Kurosawa ***
"Singin' in the Rain" (1952) Stanley Donen & Gene Kelly ***
"Some Like It Hot" (1959) Billy Wilder ***
"A Star Is Born" (1954) George Cukor
"A Streetcar Named Desire" (1951) Elia Kazan
"Sunset Boulevard" (1950) Billy Wilder
"Taxi Driver" (1976) Martin Scorsese ***
"The Third Man" (1949) Carol Reed
"Tokyo Story" (1953) Yasujiro Ozu
"Touch of Evil" (1958) Orson Welles
"The Treasure of the Sierra Madre" (1948) John Huston
"Trouble in Paradise" (1932) Ernst Lubitsch
"Vertigo" (1958) Alfred Hitchcock
"West Side Story" (1961) Jerome Robbins/Robert Wise ***
"The Wild Bunch" (1969) Sam Peckinpah
"The Wizard of Oz" (1939) Victor Fleming ***

56 out of 102 for me.  That's a little better than I expected to do.  I'd be interested in seeing how many my readers have seen.  Do this on your blogs and trackback here, if you feel so inclined.

Crashing the Party

For whatever reason, in my real life, people come to me when they want to know about the current state of movies.  Though I've been woefully unqualified for this duty in the past year or so, today's conversations questions were pointed more towards my role as resident liberal rather than resident film buff.  "What is this Crash movie?  I thought Brokeback Mountain was supposed to win."

The conversation, I'm finding, isn't that easy.  Crash, by all accounts (and I haven't seen it, but will soon) is a powerful film.  I was surprised that it took the top award this year simply because I really didn't believe that the Hollywood establishment would feel the need this year to "champion" race as their pet issue.  Two years ago, if you believe the hype, was the year of the black actors.  Denzel got his Supporting trophy, and then Halle Berry self-importantly accepted the first black female Oscar, exclaiming, "This is so much bigger than me."

By the time last year's ceremony rolled around, race was barely mentioned when Jamie Foxx won his Oscar.  Did Academy voters suddenly, en masse, decide that they had already settled the race issue?  Of course not.

Because, despite the talking points, Hollywood really doesn't "try" to be the forward looking voice of tolerance... they simply take credit for it retroactively.  In fact, a decent argument can be made that the Academy rarely champions "issue" films unless they are universally accepted (Schindler's List) or star Tom Hanks.  Mostly, they champion great performances in great films.  Kung Fu Monkey (in a post that simply must be read in its entirety.  It's almost a shame to excerpt it here) wrote this fisking of a conservative making the "Hollywood is only about advancing a leftist agenda" argument:

JASON: This year the Academy is hot for left-leaning, ’social issue’ films: “North Country” (sexual harassment), “The Constant Gardener” (evil pharmaceutical companies), “Good Night, and Good Luck” (evil Republican Senators), --

KFM: -- I'm sorry, I just want to chime in here. Are you trying to play that McCarthy was just a well-meaning Senator who's just now being maligned by revisionist liberals, and that his vicious drunken smear tactics, abuse of his office and treason-mongering are only being made subject of the film because he's Republican?   Seriously, you want to live in that camp? ... oooookay.  Just checking.

JASON: --“Syriana” (’it’s all about oil’), “Brokeback Mountain” (gay cowboys), “Munich” (the ‘cycle of violence’), “Transamerica” (sex change operations), etc. --

KFM: wait ... Transamerica? What the hell category is that -- oh, Best Actress, Felicity Huffman. One nomination in the Big Six. Actually -- the only nomination the movie got. Is the Academy really "hot" for a movie it nominates only one performance for? Well, maybe it's indicative of the problem with all the nominees. Who else is in that category ....

Goddamit, he's right!  Charlize Theron for North Country is in here!  This entire category has been co-opted.  Look, Keira Knightley in the socialist manifesto Pride and Prejudice!  Fiery narco-feminist Judy Dench playing an old English lady who runs a theater in Mrs. Henderson Presents!  Reese Witherspoon in WALK THE GODDAM LINE!  Did you see that? It was about how God and love saved Johhny Cash from drugs!  BASTARDS!

Of course, Ms. Huffman may win. When she does, it will because we are advancing our evil Hollywood agenda, not because her performance, in which she's an actual woman who manages to make you believe she's a man who's not a woman trying to be a woman and failing is in any way a particularly difficult or virtuoso piece of acting.  Please.

It is undeniable, however, that Hollywood is one of the more left-leaning cities in the country, so we get into a bit of a chicken/egg argument.  I'm much more willing to believe that Hollywood's liberal tendencies allow for roles like Felicity Huffman's in Transamerica to be accepted because of a general atmospheric tolerance than I am to believe that Hollywood is hellbent on pushing forward roles like Huffman's to force tolerance on the rest of the God-fearing country.  It may be semantics, but as semantics goes, it is important.

Which makes George Clooney's acceptance speech last night as harmless as it was classy.

I would say that, you know, we are a little bit out of touch in Hollywood every once in a while. I think it's probably a good thing. We're the ones who talk about AIDS when it was just being whispered, and we talked about civil rights when it wasn't really popular. And we, you know, we bring up subjects. This Academy, this group of people gave Hattie McDaniel an Oscar in 1939 when blacks were still sitting in the backs of theaters. I'm proud to be a part of this Academy. Proud to be part of this community, and proud to be out of touch.

The least noticed, but the most important word in that speech is "talked."  Hollywood talks about these things, and conversation is never a bad thing.

As Chuck points out, anyway, the Best Picture Award award this year went to a film who's politics aren't explicitly liberal, and who's caricatures border on the kinds of stereotyping that is the heart of its subject anyway.  The issue films that Hollywood chooses to argue are rarely the epic, Schindler's List type films, anyway.  They are almost always discussions of small portions of the larger issue.

So, the great gay-rights campaign didn't happen, last night, in a way that will suit the activists on either side of the issue.  The Academy did what it normally does: Honored a story they thought was good (Brokeback's Screenplay Award), honored a director they thought shot a beautiful film (Ang Lee's Directing Award), didn't honor Brokeback's acting, choosing instead to honor the man who had did the most important and highest cumulative quality work by giving him a charity award (George Clooney's Supporting Award) and then gave the best picture to the film that was more technically proficient, with a higher degree of storytelling difficulty (Crash's Best Picture Award).  The rest of the major awards went a fairly innocuous route.  Pretty much the same as it ever was.
 

Film and the Conspiracy Zeitgeist

NPR's Studio 360 got me thinking about something this past Sunday, and I've been mulling over this idea for the ensuing week.  I'm not sure if I've got it completely down or not, but here goes.

The show was about Conspiracies (listen to the show here).  During the late 60's and into the 70's, spurred by the JFK, RFK and MLK assassinations and then the Watergate scandal, the American public began embracing films which explored organized conspiracies.  There's a great recap of many of the conspiracy films of the 70's here, including the Pakula's Paranoia trilogy (Klute, The Parallax View, and then he just cut to the heart of the matter with All the President's Men).  Other films like Polanski's Chinatown and Coppola's The Conversation all indulged the country's willingness to believe that there were complex machinations going on behind the highest reaches of our country.

Of course, in the early to mid-seventies, it was easy to believe such a thing.  The country had watched it play out on our small screen broadcasts of the nightly news.  Shifting the locale from the couch to the movie theater wasn't that big a leap. Because the country knew from Watergate that conspiracies already existed, flights of Illuminati-esque fantasy no longer seemed like Manchurian tales of science fiction. 

In the ensuing 30 years, pop culture conspiracy theories have trended back towards the fantastic and even comical.  The X-Files, or Mel Gibson's bluntly named Conspiracy Theory didn't attempt realism, but inflected themselves as wild-eyed fantasies.  It's no surprise, then, that the only conspiracy film to take itself seriously (though how serious it actually was is a matter of opinion), Stone's JFK, took its subject straight from the conspiratorial 70's.

How relevant is this today?  Five years ago, a book swept the nation which told the story of a vast conspiracy to cover up a code which provides meaning to all existence.  It's realism (or lack thereof) was then and is today a matter of controversy.  Using what was certainly a Fargo-esque marketing ploy, the Da Vinci Code allowed millions of readers to convince themselves that maybe, just maybe, it makes sense that there is a benevolent power which humanity has gone to amazing lengths to cover up.

Perhaps, we are beginning to see a shift back towards conspiratorial acceptance based on current events.  With every major event that world event, a wild conspiracy theory pops up to replace the official explanation of events.  These are mostly laughed off, because, as Studio 360's guest, Jon Ronson, said, "The people who bombed the London tubes really are who we were told they were, and the Jews did not bring down the World Trade Center.  What we also know is that the war in Iraq was the result of secret meetings between George Bush and Tony Blair (The Downing Street Memos).  It's sad that conspiracies have become the template to world events."

My point is this: Since the beginning of the Iraq war, the great national discussion has been about how much of the rationales for war were made up to convince the country and how much of it was actually believed by the powers that be.  Slowly, public sentiment has shifted.  WMD's were not found, and the administration has continued to insist on painting a rosy picture when the public perception of the reality is much different.

And, while we are still not sure if what the public actually believes, perhaps the success of the Da Vinci Code, as a book, stands as a better measuring stick for the current American mood than public opinion polls to tell us that America is willing to exist in that conspiratorial mindset again.  If so, the upcoming film version might foreshadow a resurgence of conspiratorial realistic films.   If the current Zeitgeist is amenable to it, then it might be an indication that the public is ready to reassert themselves as a force against the powers which have conspired to make the past 5 years uncertain and chaotic.  Though conspiracies are most often malicious, the public is willing to latch on to them because they make sense, and when a public tries to make sense of the realities surrounding them, there is really no limit to what might be around the historical corner.

ADDITIONAL READING: Documenting Conspiracy - The Chutry Experiment (About the film Loose Change, which is about the conspiracy theories surrounding 9/11 and is streaming for free, also check Chuck's comments for other conspiracy sites), The Paranoid Style in American Cinema - Richard Hofsteder in Harper's Magazine, 1964.

Rent

I'm in a strange position when it comes to "Rent."

About five years ago, for a six month block of time, I basically did nothing but listen to the original cast recording.  I have not, however, seen it staged, so my knowledge of the story is solely through the music. Through that time, I came to know the music intimately.  Jonathan Larson's music is nuanced and layered even as it is, at times, obvious.  For some reason, listening to the music, it's intentional operatic tendencies which set the tone for the story make its occasional overreaching forgivable.  Admittedly, Jonathan Larson's death gave the show a Kurt Cobain element it wouldn't otherwise have had, but that belittles the touching, unique and surprisingly realistic message that it often achieves.  Put "Rent" at the end of a double-feature with Kushner's "Angels in America" and you'd have a stunning, dramatic and insightful look into the culture of the 80's, the most important element of which, the outbreak of the AIDS epidemic, has only really begun to be discussed in any real fashion.

Unfortunately, the film version of "Rent" doesn't work on the screen the way that the adaptation of "Angels" did.  The film adaptation of "Rent" has an identity crisis.  It almost seemed as if director Chris Columbus, who was so adept at putting the early Harry Potter films together, has decided to bare bones it.  He takes a film which, despite it's meager settings, should be lavish, strips it down to seem a bit more realistic, and then relies on the music alone to move.

And it's not that the music fails, but it's that the music still relies on its theatrical sensibilities to be effective while, at the same time, Columbus tries to treat it as a grim, gritty docu-drama.  For instance, the dialog, which in the stage version is all sung recitative style (ahhh... finally my days as a music major are paying dividends), is now spoken.  The recitative helped establish the operatic style which allows a viewer to suspend disbelief and accept that the sung word is the same as the spoken word.

When done effectively, musicals like this can move in a way that regular dialog cannot.  The great thing about "Chicago" was that it showed that a film treatment of a stage musical can still seem like a stage musical and still be visually arresting.  In a time when it seemed that the only way a modern audience could enjoy the movie musical was if it used a gimmick (e.g. "Dancer in the Dark" - music as hallucination or "Moulin Rouge" - pop music refashioned), "Rent" was a rock opera which was more operatic than rock.

Unfortunately, in this particular story, it is vital that the audience accept its heightened nature because, if the film fails on that level, the ending becomes hokey and cheesy.  I honestly wanted to see the moment when Mimi is brought back to life by the mere essence of Roger's long sought after song, but by the time I got there, I'd spent enough time cringing at lame moments that I just wanted to throw something at the screen when her hand began to twitch in a stunning example of cinematic cliche.

That's not to say that there weren't some terribly effective moments.  "Will I Lose My Dignity..." is one of the few moments when Columbus allows himself even the the slightest bit of visual interpretation, and it works.  Equally so, Jesse Martin's moving revamp of "I'll Cover You" at Angel's funeral was the high point of the film.

But the moving moments are overshadowed by the clumsy ones.  Showstoppers such as "La Vie Boheme" just fall flat (as well as being incredibly difficult to hear).

It's a shame, too.  At it's best, "Rent" is one of those stories that can make people think, can make middle America care about AIDS victims and kind-hearted transvestites, and can make people yearn for a bit of that bohemian lifestyle which seems to foster "being an us, for once, instead of a them."  Columbus let's us down in his interpretation and, in turn, let's down the intent of Larson's original and passionate script.

Rent

This is going to betray some bit of geeky.... stuff... about me and my past (as if you didn't know), but I am completely giddy with anticipation for the film version of Rent.

Top Fifteen of the Last Fifteen

Taking my pass, in honor of the greatest website in the history of the internet's 15th anniversary, at my top fifteen films of the past fifteen years.  My first pass through netted me thirty films, so I had to pare them down.  The trouble picking any greatest list, is that sometimes the more obvious choices are the ones which rise to the top, and it leaves behind some great, but lesser known films.  This list is simply my personal favorites, and not meant to be definitive or exhaustive.

In no particular order:

• The Shawshank Redemption (1994) - The film that started off Frank Darabont's unique specialty of directing films set in prison's adapted from Stephen King stories, Shawshank was the unknown film everyone wanted to tell their friends about only to find they'd seen it already.  With the possible exception of The Hudsucker Proxy, the best work Tim Robbins has ever done.  Maybe Morgan Freeman too.
• Magnolia (1999) - The magnum opus by, perhaps, the greatest auteur working today.  This is a film you either love or you hate, and as one who loves it, I'm hard pressed not to call it my favorite film of all time.  For a three hour movie, it is immaculately paced, layered and acted (and one of the early films that made people realize that Phillip Seymour Hoffman was something special).  It methodically does the work required to earn its fantastical ending, which, if you let it, heightens the emotional impact of a film filled with it already.
• Chasing Amy (1997) - I'm a big fan of Kevin Smith's, but, like most Kevin Smith fans, my affection is in spite of his shortcomings as a filmmaker.  His great strengths as a dialog writer makes it easy to want to cut him some slack.  Chasing Amy was the one great film he's made.  It's edgy, even eight years later, it's smart, and the proposition at the end has found a place in the pop culture consciousness.  Though seen by some as a 90-minute argument that all any lesbian needs is a good deep-dicking, that betrays the films thoughtful maturity, quite an achievement considering it shares celluloid with conversations about oral sex injuries, woman on horse pornography, and the possible racist implications of the Star Wars films.
• Almost Famous (2000) - I can start this film at any point, and my mood lightens within minutes.  Robert Wilonsky once described the film as, "...like a classic-rock radio station programmed by an alt-rocker with a hard-on for deep cuts."  It's a series of tone poems, each of which resemble a three minute pop song whose melodies still linger in the air even as the next one begins.  May also end up being notable for being the best work Kate Hudson will ever do.
• Boogie Nights (1997) - I've heard people argue that the famous "unveiling" at the end of Boogie Nights was gratuitous and there merely for shock value, but for a story which doesn't exist without a young boy and his big dick, you have to wonder how you could leave it out.  A film so good that every scene that goes by replaces the previous one as your favorite.
• Amelie (2001) - A film so happy it could only be French.  That seems like a contradiction in terms until you've actually seen the film.
• The Fog of War (2003) - In a post I wrote about Errol Morris' look into the life of Robert McNamara, I said that it's, "[a]s if the two of them just sat around a table one day and hashed it all out, and the cameras that were rolling were incidental."  This film touches on thoughts and engages in subjects which only McNamara can truly describe, and only Morris can draw out of him.
• Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004) - Picking which Charlie Kaufman penned film to include in this list is difficult.  "Eternal Sunshine..." gets the nod for the sheer originality and images that leave impressions.
• American Beauty (1999) - I had a little difficulty including this one on the list.  It is undeniably a classic, but I'm not sure that it has aged well.  I have to let myself remember what I felt when I left the theater after seeing this for the first time, and this is one of those films that made me want to live a better life.
• The Apostle (1997) - I know this film is critically acclaimed, but I can't believe more people don't talk about this as one of the best character studies ever made.  Not to take anything away from Robert Duvall's directing, but it's pretty easy to direct a great film when you get a performance out of your lead actor like Duvall got out of himself.
• Hoop Dreams (1994) - Great documentaries show us a side of society that aren't normally portrayed.  Hoop Dreams took it's initial concept, following two young basketball players who hope to make it to the NBA, and used it to give us a real insight into the life of poor, working families who hope for a better life.  The best documentary I've ever seen.
• Pulp Fiction (1994) - It's obligatory, I know, but there hasn't been another film in the past 20 years who's mere creation changed the direction of the entirety of pop culture.  Referential filmmaking found a champion in Quentin Tarantino.
• Malcolm X (1992) - Spike Lee has taken a lot of heat over the years for some controversial stances on race issues, but those aren't as present in his films as his critics like to imply.  Lee is, above all, a fair filmmaker.  His ambitious tackling of one of the most polarizing figures in modern American history didn't show a prophet or a demagogue, but the journey of a man who's innate passion both harmed and helped him.  Lee's films pull no punches, and this film is no exception.
• High Fidelity (2000) - I'm sure I love this because it is a film about people like me.  There are people that watch films and listen to music with very little though, and then there are people who define themselves by the films they watch and the music they listen to.  It may be a little pathetic and it may be a waste of time, but we exist and this is the only film I've ever seen that was written for us.
• Three Kings (1999) - It's easy to find fault in David O. Russell's films, but I'm not sure that there is a filmmaker who's ideas are more fully formed when he puts them on film.  Here he takes on the first Gulf War, and it has earned a rebirth because of current events.  It is also one of the few films that I ever remember being fooled by its ad campaign.  I suspect that lots of guys went to see it on a Friday night expecting a heist film set in the backdrop of shoot 'em up war.  What they got was a film which confronts the premise of the Gulf War, the methods of the media, and comes out the other side giving a much more complete idea of what war does to all of its combatants.  We could use more stories like this today.

Films that it pains me to leave off this list : In the Bedroom, City of God, Waking Life, Wonder Boys, Fight Club, Your Friends and Neighbors.

Films that probably would have made the list if I was being more definitive: Goodfellas, JFK, LA Confidential.

(First seen, and promptly avoided for fear of cross-contamination, at Chuck's place).

"Good Night, and Good Luck"

I used to say that Steven Soderbergh has done wonders for George Clooney's career, but I'm beginning to wonder if the reverse isn't true.  Clooney has proven himself to be a vivid, insightful and fresh filmmaker who is capable of directing an interesting film even when the script isn't written by Charlie Kaufman.

Before jumping into the film itself, it is worthwhile to mention that "Good Night, and Good Luck" has immediately placed itself in a small group of modern films which have chosen black and white.  Watch "Raging Bull", "The Man Who Wasn't There" and "Pleasantville" (which you could, understandably, remove from this list, as it's use of black and white is a gimmick, even if a highly effective one), and "Good Night..." and you have all the proof you need that color is not a prerequisite for a film to be visually arresting.  Clooney, together with Cinematographer Robert Elswit, have made a film which is so pleasing, visually, that you almost hate it when they have to move to establishing shots.  That's not to say that there is anything particularly innovative done here.  It is filmed and edited in a language that modern cinema-goers will automatically recognize and feel at home with, despite the film's unmodern look.

But this isn't just a technically proficient film, it's also engrossing and informative, even as it raises questions about its own point of view and authenticity.  There are those who argue that the film unfairly and incorrectly implies that, in Erin Brockovich-esque fashion, Murrow single-handedly took down McCarthy.  It is, of course, not true.  McCarthy overreached, and was largely responsible for taking himself down.  Murrow, however, has forever been associated with McCarthy and with an evolutionary change in journalism.  How strange, then, that a film who's subject matter is the difficulties involved in ethical journalism, especially when it comes to loggerheads with things like terrorism, patriotism, and elected officials, might itself be questioned along those same grounds.  Could it be in any way intentional?  With a lesser filmmaker, I might be inclined to say no, but Clooney has proved, to me at least, that he is not a lesser filmmaker, but a deliberate and thoughtful one.

As has been often mentioned, McCarthy plays himself through an excellent use of archival footage.  It's not Forrest Gump-like trickery, either, but a skillful use of all of McCarthy's television appearances which can only be achieved from a complete knowledge of what there is to choose from.  During McCarthy's famous appearance on Murrow's show (which serves as a stark contrast to journalism today.  They "gave" him the show with no comment or questioning, something which would never happen today), Clooney zooms in on McCarthy's face.  This has the opposite affect than you'd imagine.  Instead of bringing us closer to McCarthy, what is highlighted is the static and visual distortion from the old archival footage, and the fact that you are watching one of the most important and formative moments in the history of early television is inescapable. If John Kennedy was the first to understand the power that television could have in governing, it was only because McCarthy and Murrow had made television important long before.

Chuck's post (which is a clearinghouse of links to some great additional reading on the subject) points out that the film is really multifaceted, in that it takes on the obvious (McCarthyism, advocacy journalism), but also the parallels to the issues of today (terrorism, dissent, the PATRIOT Act, etc).  It's one of the problems with journalists today: They are so used to, when taking a side (despite if the story merits a one-sided portrayal), getting lambasted by one political party or the other for being a mouthpiece.  We've arrived at a point where journalists aren't willing to take on domestic stories which might be controversial.  Point out the dictatorial tendencies of a middle eastern or African government in a country which no one ever heard of, win a Pulitzer.  Point it out about your own government, and you'll receive the ire of politicians and gasbags with talk radio shows (on both sides of the aisle).

The film is bookended by a speech that Murrow gave when receiving an award from the Radio Television News Directors Association, and his parting words are really the theme of the film and the lesson for today's journalists:

To those who say people wouldn't look; they wouldn't be interested; they're   too complacent, indifferent and insulated, I can only reply: There is, in one   reporter's opinion, considerable evidence against that contention. But even   if they are right, what have they got to lose? Because if they are right, and   this instrument is good for nothing but to entertain, amuse and insulate, then   the tube is flickering now and we will soon see that the whole struggle is lost.

This instrument can teach, it can illuminate; yes, and it can even inspire.   But it can do so only to the extent that humans are determined to use it to   those ends. Otherwise it is merely wires and lights in a box. There is a great   and perhaps decisive battle to be fought against ignorance, intolerance and   indifference. This weapon of television could be useful.

 

Underrating Jackie Brown

In a post defending Quentin Tarantino, Matt "Yglesias Award" Yglesias says this:

If you think Reservoir Dogs is a classic (and I agree that it is) then how much sense does it make to say that Tarantino is overrated? It seems to me that one classic film is sufficient achievement to merit a high rating. Think about it the other way 'round. Jackie Brown is incredibly awful. But fifty years from now, who would care if it had been slightly-above-average instead?

The "Jackie Brown is Tarantino's one major mistake as a filmmaker" sentiment is one that I've heard for years, and one that I just don't understand.  There are interesting characters (some of which have become fairly iconic), memorable lines ("AK-47! When you absolutely, positively have to kill every motherfucker in the room... accept no substitutes."  Still makes me laugh), a genuinely interesting plot (it's one of Elmore Leonard's better stories), and it was shot in an understated Tarantinian style that proved he was more than flashy style and pop culture references.  This was the story that proved he could direct something other than his own material and that he could direct a different kind of story.

This was the movie that proved he could direct.  Period.

One of the more overlooked aspects of Pulp Fiction, despite the innovative and interesting way the varying timelines, Rashomon-style structure, and intermingling plots danced with each other, was that, ultimately, they were a parlor trick.  The stories, though connected in ways that make fanboys go crazy on internet message boards, dissecting the intricacies of "What was in the briefcase?", really could have been told with no connection at all and still made an interesting film.  In pure storytelling terms, however, Tarantino cheated the hardest work in screenwriting: Writing interesting and believable connections between characters for the purposes of fleshing out a plot which, taken in a vacuum, is actually pretty weak.

Jackie Brown, however, showed a director who had grown up and was now able to take an intricate story, with multiple threads and a large ensemble cast, and make a smooth, interesting narrative while still applying his own trademark referential style.

And let's not forget that the film was strong enough to re-energize two failing Hollywood careers (Robert Forrester and Pam Grier).

Jackie Brown gets a bad rap, and I'm not sure why.  Probably because it was the first film he did after the juggernaut of Pulp Fiction.  Those who saw it only because of Pulp Fiction probably felt like it was Tarantino-lite: that the film was too similar to normal, "beginning-middle-end" Hollywood crime stories.   The others who came to see if the director had matured saw something that they thought wasn't different enough: The arrogance of an auteur, that he thought he could make take a beloved novelist's work and turn it into a pop-culture editfest.

What gets lost is that, for the first time, Tarantino made a REAL film which was touching, funny, supspensful, and human all in one.  Jackie Brown herself takes a real journey through the course of that film, and it was a subtle and evocative performance.

The truth is, Elmore Leonard's texts evoke interesting takes from the directors who take on his work.  If you want a lesson in what a director does, watch Soderbergh's Out of Sight, Tarantino's Jackie Brown, and Sonnenfeld's Get Shorty.  Three entirely different takes on novels that were written in similar styles.

I, for one, am looking forward to the day when Jackie Brown gets the credit

The Brown Bunny

I wasn't sure what to expect from Vincent Gallo's newest, and most controversial, film.  I'm a little ambivalent about "Buffalo '66."  Though I appreciate his minimalist style, to me the film just tried to be too cool without any real substance.

I say that, but the performances in that film (including Gallo's himself) are very natural, with a lot of depth.  Gallo, Christina Ricci and Angelica Huston's performances do have a way of drawing you in.

Yeah, I guess you could say that, going into "The Brown Bunny", I was a bit conflicted.

Those of you who have heard of the film know about the most controversial part of the film, which I'll talk about later, and if you've heard of the controversy, then you probably kept tabs on the film as it went through the festival circuit.  For those who haven't, a good summary by Roger Ebert (who was intimately involved in the buzz surrounding it at Cannes) is contained in his review of the theatrical release of the film. The hullabaloo is also spelled out in Ebert's film festival diaries (and, looking back, what a great festival that was: "The Brown Bunny", "Mystic River", "The Fog of War" and "Elephant" all premiered there) but here's the long and short of it:

"The Brown Bunny" premieres and has a truly disastrous screening.  It is cut very long, people laugh at the screen and walk out... it completely bombs.  Roger Ebert, in the lobby, tells a reporter that it is the worst film in the history of the festival.  The next day, Gallo responds at a press junket by calling Ebert a fat pig.  Ebert, trying to be witty, tells another reporter that he may be fat, but he can go on a diet, but Vincent Gallo will always be the director of "The Brown Bunny."  Hilarity ensues.

Months later, the theatrical release all but stalls out, shown mostly in art houses, and then goes away.

But, apparently, a funny thing happened by the time the film hit the theatres: He'd also hit an editing room.  The theatrical release had over 26 minutes cut from the film, and this cut is universally praised, even by Ebert himself.

So, on to my thoughts. (spoilers ahead).

Bud Clay is a motorcycle racer, who travels around the country in a black van from race to race.  With long (looooooooooong) shots (including one which focuses on Bud's ear, tipping us off that we are being drawn into his head), we get pulled into his lonely world.

Gallo paints this world as if Bud is just one of those people who wander through their life with no home.  The world is fully of these roamers.  There are many reasons why these people are trapped in this life.  Some of them have jobs which require them to be constantly on the road (like Bud), some of them are hookers, some of them are simply transients. Gallo creates a world where we begin to understand the fraternity and connection that these roamers feel for each other.

In an early scene, Bud goes to a convenience store and has a small conversation (all conversations with Bud are small) with the female clerk.  She is already considering leaving with him before he even approaches (a great performance by the clerk), and Bud asks her if she wants to go to California with him.  She hesitates, but agrees.  They leave the store, and he takes her to her house to pick up some things.

In the car, outside the house, there is a scene of great tenderness as he strokes her cheek, and then sends her inside.  He waits for a moment, and then drives off.  He is sparing her the life that he is resigned to.

I won't spell out all the stops he makes (though I could - there aren't many in this sparse film), but there is one amazing, and unspoken scene when Bud sees a woman at a truck stop (played by Cheryl Tiegs), and they have a quiet and touching moment together that is so right for the film that it is instantly understood.

We don't know what circumstances have led Bud to his life on the road until late in the film, in a much talked about scene with Chloe Sevigny.  Yes, Sevigny ACTUALLY gives Gallo a blow job to completion (if it wasn't completed, then it is incredibly edited) that is visible on film.  Yes, it is jarring, even when you know it is coming.  But there's something about the whole scene that really works.  The reasons why she is there, I'll leave to those who haven't seen the film, but this is one of those scenes that walks that fine line between exploitation and art.  It is certainly worth debating, which was probably its intent anyway.

I don't know.  I'm kind of ambivalent about this film too.  It is really a very moving little film, and I think the explicit moments in the film sort of work, even if it is trying a bit to hard to have a Dirk Diggler moment.  Gallo remains in a strange realm of today's filmmakers: He's not good, per say, but he doesn't have to be to make his film interesting.  I normally applaud filmmakers like this, and I want to applaud Gallo too, but two films in, I'm not sure if I can.  His style wants to tell an important story, and I'm just not sure if he's written the right story yet.

Stacy Peralta

When I was a kid, and skateboard was becoming a bona fide trend, I jumped on board with everyone else.  My skating was no more than rolling up and down the driveway on the surfboard on wheels that someone gave me for Christmas.  I never really bought in, fully, but I wanted to look like I had.

There were two brands at the time that were the epitome of skating: Vision (with "Gator" Rogowski) and Powell/Peralta.

Stacy Peralta was one of the original Venice Beach skaters, and he made his name by becoming a pioneer of the Skate Video craze.  He's managed to turn that into a full-fledged film career, now.  He's made two great documentaries: Dogtown and the Z Boys and Riding Giants.  They are both similar in their tone and style, but that doesn't make one any less interesting than the other.

They both highlight sports which were underground at best (despite the fact that both of them had massive peaks of popularity) but the films don't try to dazzle us with "awesome thrashing action" so much as they try to tell us about the people and pioneers involved in their origins.  Of course, the fact that the original skaters and surfers were merely kids themselves makes it all the more fascinating.

"Dogtown" takes the Venice Beach surfers, and shows their evolution from surfer bums to "land-surfers" to bona fide stars.  Watching the film now, with interviews with the originals looking back on it all, you get a real understanding that these were just kids who didn't fit in, didn't want to do organized sports, and found out that they were really good at something that no one else even knew existed.

It would be as if one of the games you and your friends made up when you were kids suddenly became the biggest, and most hip thing on the planet.

The one quote from the film that always stuck out for me was from Tony Alva, talking about how they used to bring in gas-powered pumps, pump the water out of some unsuspecting suburbanite's pool, saying "You just didn't know how long you'd be able to be there before the cops showed up.  So, when a pool opened up, you couldn't sit there and be scared... you had to skate that shit!"

"Riding Giants" is not a stretch for Peralta, as skateboarding cropped up out of surfing to begin with.  Peralta turns his camera on the Big Wave surfers, first in Hawaii, with Mark Fu, to Southern California, and then finally to tow-in surfing with Laird Hamilton.

What becomes apparent in the film is that the people involved did it because they didn't want to live a life of regret.  If you saw that wave come crest, and you weren't out there because you were too scared, you'd regret it for the rest of your life.  The film's finale highlight's a moment when Laird Hamilton caught and rode the greatest wave that anyone has ever seen ridden.  He went in the pipe, and then came out the other side a humbled legend.

These are intensely interesting films, and Peralta has carved out a place for himself in this genre.  He's got a way of capturing the attitude and atmosphere surrounding his subjects rather than just capturing the subjects themselves and it legitimizes the activities that might otherwise have been considered wastes of time.