In a Sunday NY Times column, movie critic A. O. Scott questioned whether Hollywood will react to the current economic hard times as well as it did during The Great Depression. In truth, the widely acknowledged Golden Age of Hollywood actually produced mostly mindless trash to divert Depression audiences from their troubles. The studios rarely exhibited an interest in making audiences think seriously about social problems, at least not in the sorts of conscious efforts that marked the post-war era of "realism" in the movies.
However, many in the creative workforce of the time were anxious to comment on conditions, and some even squeezed into their plots some sympathy with the New Deal. Despite the strictures imposed by commercial concerns and the tight censorship of radical social, sexual, and political notions, they managed to slip some fairly subversive philosophy into their storytelling. For instance, the "Forgotten Man" number of Busby Berkeley’s "Golddiggers of 1933" was a rare example in the most frivolous of forms, the Hollywood version of the Broadway musical. Warner Brothers, the studio responsible for that film, was known for its dramas on subjects "ripped from the headlines" like "I Am A Fugitive From A Chain Gang" and "Dead End". They even dared a movie exposing the KKK, "Dark Legion". The studio’s gangster staples likewise contained story arcs that worked as commentary about poverty and crime. Of course, John Ford’s "The Grapes Of Wrath" is the best known example of the kind of socially aware filmmaking that, by the time of the Cold War, was pointed to as proof of a conspiracy of leftist influence in the movie business.
It was in comedies, especially the screwball comedy form, that the socially aware writers found the most palatable vehicle for smuggling progressive notions into an entertaining and very commercial product. Depression audiences lapped up story lines that skewered the pompous mores of the monied classes that were seen as smugly inattentive to the privations of the masses. The writers, many of whom had sprung from journalistic roots, contrived plots woven around love fables that allowed them to make points about class inequality through wryly satirical voices.
Frank Capra’s output during the decade epitomized and made the most lasting impact on the genre. His films were cleverly designed to appeal to Depression audiences, who could identify with the protagonist a woman or man who was toughened by the hard times, but became involved in romances that exposed an idealistic core of uplifting values. Though Capra is best remembered for the formula, others also found success.
The first time Capra toyed with this formula was in "Platinum Blonde" (1932), in which a wise-cracking newsman (Robert Johnson) allows himself to be temporarily seduced into becoming a pet of a society girl (Jean Harlow). When ridiculed by his pals as the "Cinderella Man," he walks out and finds himself, with the aid of his working girl pal (Loretta Young), finally writing a play about his experiences. Johnson’s performance, laced with witty, sardonic asides that flayed the foibles of the rich, was highly praised by critics; but he died shortly after the premiere, and remains a sadly forgotten pioneer of the genre.
In 1934, Capra joined again with scenarist Robert Riskin (who had written the snappy dialogue for "Platinum Blonde") in "It Happened One Night," a film that has provided the template for innumerable road romances up to the present day. A frisky heiress (Claudette Colbert) dives from her yacht to escape her overprotective father (Walter Connelly), intending to marry an aviator. Naive about life’s difficulties, she is helped by a cynical newsman (Clark Gable). Among the hoi polloi on a night bus, she gives what money she has to a boy whose mother has fainted for lack of food while she is traveling to look for work. On the road, she learns the facts of life for ordinary people in hard times as they scramble to hitch rides, fight hunger. She finds that money can’t buy true love. Extremely popular, the film was the first to sweep the Academy Awards - best actor, actress, director, screenplay, and picture, it remains one of the few comedies to achieve that distinction.
Capra and Riskin followed up with "Mr. Deeds Goes To Town" (1936) in which Gary Cooper played a small town eccentric who suddenly inherits millions and finds himself living in a New York mansion, surrounded by sycophants, con artists, sneaky lawyers, and pompous socialites. Jean Arthur is the working girl of the story, a news hound who is assigned to write stories ridiculing the new "Cinderella Man," pretending to be an out of work shop girl, but of course soon falls as hard for him as he for her. Boy loses girl when he discovers her deception. Disillusioned, he plans to go home to his small town, but is waylaid by a jobless would be assassin who decries the Cinderella Man’s frivolous waste of wealth while so many are starving. Deeds feeds the man and devises a plan to give his fortune to men willing to work. For this he is deemed insane and must defend himself in court.
Also released in 1936, "My Man Godfrey" (directed by Gregory La Cava from a script by Morrie Ryskind) is often cited as the quintessential screwball comedy, starring the perfect screwball actress, Carole Lombard, as Irene Bullock, the slightly off center young socialite daughter of a troubled businessman (Eugene Pallette) and airhead mother (Alice Brady). Bored society butterflies conduct a scavenger hunt, seeking a "forgotten man" in the shacks by the river. Godfrey Smith (William Powell), a fallen son of an upper class family, now reduced to homelessness, is the prize. Despite his scathing denunciation of the shallowness of his sponsors, Irene hires him as the family butler. While love blossoms between Godfrey and Irene, he discovers a purpose to his life, opening a restaurant to employ his homeless friends and restore their dignity, while saving his employers from financial disaster.
"Easy Living" (1937), directed by Mitchell Liesen from a script by Preston Sturges (who would later refine the screwball genre with his masterpieces, "The Palm Beach Story," The Lady Eve," "The Miracle Of Morgan Creek" and "Sullivan’s Travels"), begins with a banker (Edward Arnold) throwing his wife’s latest extravagance, a mink coat, out of the window. It falls on the head of a working girl (Jean Arthur), triggering a set of screwy events typical of the genre. Thinking she is the mistress of the banker, she is offered a luxury hotel suite, a car, a wardrobe. She meets the banker’s son (Ray Milland) who is working in the automat to rebel against his father and somehow it all works out.
Morrie Ryskind (no relation to Robert Riskin) is credited as writer of "Easy Living" as well as the Marx Brothers’ classics, "Cocoanuts", "A Night At The Opera" and "Room Service." In 1938, he adapted the Ferber / Kaufman play, "Stage Door" for Katherine Hepburn and Ginger Rogers. Hepburn plays an heiress who wants to be an actress, moves into a residential hotel for starving aspiring actresses, learns about the travails of young women struggling for independence in a cutthroat Depression market. The ensemble of wise cracking gals included RKO contract girl Lucille Ball, Eve Arden, and Ann Miller.
Also in 1938, Capra released his film of Riskin’s adaptation of the Kaufman and Hart play, "You Can’t Take It With You" which won Capra’s second Oscars as best director and and for best picture. The film starred James Stewart as son of a banker (Edward Arnold), in love with his secretary (Jean Arthur), whose family is like a commune of free spirited screwballs, led by the patriarch (Lionel Barrymore) who long ago gave up the rat race to enjoy life. The class barrier between the families is broken when the son breaks free and the banker is converted to seek peace of mind.
Released the same year, "Holiday" was directed by George Cukor from a screenplay credited to Donald Ogden Stuart and Sidney Buchman from a Philip Barry play. Johnny Case (Cary Grant) is a hard working stock broker who is turning 30 and wants to quit the rat race to travel for a year to find the meaning of life. He falls for "Julia Seton", not knowing she is the daughter of a wealthy financier. While Julia and her father plan their life after the marriage to disabuse him of his radical notion of abandoning the chase for wealth, her sister, Linda (Katherine Hepburn) encourages his dream. With aid from his bohemian academic friends (Edward Everett Horton and Jean Dixon) and her alcoholic brother Ned (Lew Ayres), Linda opposes her sister and father, in the process falling in love with Johnny and sailing away with him.
Social commentary during the era didn’t always apply to wealth or class distinctions. In "Theodora Goes Wild," Irene Dunne’s first foray into comedy, she is the straight laced member of a small town family of blue nosed ladies who is chosen as a spokesperson to prevent serialization of a scandalously sexy novel in the town’s newspaper. In fact, Theodora has written the novel under a pseudonym as revealed when she enter’s the office of her New York publisher. While there she meets an artist (Melvyn Douglas) who falls for her and tries to loosen her morals by getting her pleasantly snockered and showing her his etchings. When Theodora escapes, he follows her to her town and threatens to expose her secret. Eventually, he succeeds in freeing her from her puritanical fears, allowing her to thumb her nose at those which are out of joint.
Two notable movies of the day found comedic fodder in Soviet Russia. In "Tovarich" (1937) Claudette Colbert and Charles Boyer are Russian aristocrats living in Paris after the revolution. They are impoverished, even though they possess the czar’s fortune, which was entrusted to them in the event of collapse of the Bolsheviks. Evicted from their shabby flat, they find refuge as butler and maid to a Parisian banker and his family. Of course, their taste and manners are far superior to their employers and much of the comedy comes from the couple’s humility as servants contrasted with pretensions of the nouveau riche family. When the family discovers their true identity, the social confusion of the upstairs - downstairs variety. A guest arrives (Basil Rathbone) who is the Bolshevik commissar who had tortured them, failing to secure the fortune. Despite their hatred for him and the Soviet, the couple decide to turn over the money in order to aid mother Russia and, unburdened, decide to continue their roles as servants to the family.
Billy Wilder collaborated with Charles Brackett and director Ernst Lubitch for "Ninotchka" in 1939, the film in which Garbo laughs. She plays a dour Soviet emissary who has come to Paris to recover the crown jewels and finds love with a Parisian man-about-town (Melvyn Douglas).
It will be interesting to see whether our movie makers will find relevant ways to help us through the hard times to come.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Revolutionary Road (2008)
This movie about a couple in the throes of marital crisis in the 1950's is strangely familiar to me. The Wheelers have turned 30, an age when you fear that you have become what you are always going to be - the potential for more than settled normality is slipping away. In desperation, they contrive to move to Paris to save themselves.
I was 31, Bjou 29 in 1974, when, after a year of marriage, we left our friends - who were having their houses and children, and our secure careers to which we were not yet irrevocably committed, and traveled the world for a year.
After four months in Asia, we lived in a house outside of Paris which belonged to Bijou’s uncle. After spending time with Bijou’s cousin and her husband and child, I wrote this in my journal:
"Last night was another with Gerard and Hélene. Being with them is an odd experience. I suppose it is what is meant by viewing another way of life. We have done a lot of that during our trip. One of the avowed purposes of the travel was to break out of our life style which we found lacking in something: maybe an environment of stimulation of growth, though I blush to use such clinical terms. We have viewed several other people who were sufficiently like us to allow us to step imaginatively into their roles and taste their wine. Some we envied, others felt superior to, all we found lacking in the final accounting, for our model.
"I guess the trouble is we do not know or cannot define what it is we really want and what we are willing to do to get it. We are naturally indecisive as individuals, and as a pair, we are both lazy and passive. Perhaps answers will come to us. We are intuitive, sensitive, bright, willing to learn and experience. We already have some answers and await, albeit impatiently, the rest."
The Wheelers also thought they deserved better than the life they had fallen into, but had neither the passion, talent, or courage to break away. April (Kate Winslet) is a failed actress, whose performance in a community production of "The Petrified Forest" as Gabrielle, the desert waitress with dreams of going to Paris begins her downfall. Now she must face the abyss of a life as a suburban housewife and mother, and all that implied in the 1950's. Her husband, Frank (Leonardo DiCaprio) is also trapped, commuting with the other men in grey flannel suits to a stultifyingly boring office job, where the only potential for diversion is a fling with a vulnerable young secretary (Zoe Kazan) and three martini lunches.
April, without a dream of her own, tries to escape what she senses to be a life of quiet desperation, devises the Paris plan to revive what attracted her to Frank, a sense that he wanted to be better than mediocre. Frank, tragically, doesn't have the courage, and April's disppointment is fatal.
Unlike the Wheelers, we had our time in Paris and returned, ready to resume our place in the swarm, but with a far greater confidence that we were in fact different from the others. The life became one we chose, after testing many others. Our experiences sealed a bond that made us far stronger than we would have been had we never broken free.
I was 31, Bjou 29 in 1974, when, after a year of marriage, we left our friends - who were having their houses and children, and our secure careers to which we were not yet irrevocably committed, and traveled the world for a year.
After four months in Asia, we lived in a house outside of Paris which belonged to Bijou’s uncle. After spending time with Bijou’s cousin and her husband and child, I wrote this in my journal:
"Last night was another with Gerard and Hélene. Being with them is an odd experience. I suppose it is what is meant by viewing another way of life. We have done a lot of that during our trip. One of the avowed purposes of the travel was to break out of our life style which we found lacking in something: maybe an environment of stimulation of growth, though I blush to use such clinical terms. We have viewed several other people who were sufficiently like us to allow us to step imaginatively into their roles and taste their wine. Some we envied, others felt superior to, all we found lacking in the final accounting, for our model.
"I guess the trouble is we do not know or cannot define what it is we really want and what we are willing to do to get it. We are naturally indecisive as individuals, and as a pair, we are both lazy and passive. Perhaps answers will come to us. We are intuitive, sensitive, bright, willing to learn and experience. We already have some answers and await, albeit impatiently, the rest."
The Wheelers also thought they deserved better than the life they had fallen into, but had neither the passion, talent, or courage to break away. April (Kate Winslet) is a failed actress, whose performance in a community production of "The Petrified Forest" as Gabrielle, the desert waitress with dreams of going to Paris begins her downfall. Now she must face the abyss of a life as a suburban housewife and mother, and all that implied in the 1950's. Her husband, Frank (Leonardo DiCaprio) is also trapped, commuting with the other men in grey flannel suits to a stultifyingly boring office job, where the only potential for diversion is a fling with a vulnerable young secretary (Zoe Kazan) and three martini lunches.
April, without a dream of her own, tries to escape what she senses to be a life of quiet desperation, devises the Paris plan to revive what attracted her to Frank, a sense that he wanted to be better than mediocre. Frank, tragically, doesn't have the courage, and April's disppointment is fatal.
Unlike the Wheelers, we had our time in Paris and returned, ready to resume our place in the swarm, but with a far greater confidence that we were in fact different from the others. The life became one we chose, after testing many others. Our experiences sealed a bond that made us far stronger than we would have been had we never broken free.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
"The Lovers" ("Les Amants") (1958) - you know it when you see it.
When I was in law school, the most controversial battleground of the 1st Amendment was not school prayer or press freedom or even religious preferences. It was censorship of the arts, focusing on the definition of "obscenity." States passed laws which tried to proscribe sexual content, especially in motion pictures, and particularly in the European imports that were infesting art houses all over the country.
Challenged by the commercial disaster of television, American filmmakers in the 1950's struggled to produce movies with "adult" content, stretching the boundaries of taste and "morals". But most of the studios didn’t dare to cross any lines. Douglas Sirk’s suburban melodramas talked about infidelity, but no filmmaker dared to show it in any explicit scene. The age-old devices of cameras pulling away from closing doors, showing waves crashing on the shore, and other heavily coded but well understood substitutes for sex scenes were still needed.
The rigid Hays Code, Legion of Decency, The Catholic Church and other arbiters of taste and morals, supported by laws in many states, were simply too powerful. While definitions of obscenity varied with each organization and statute, any nudity or showing of the act of sex was always covered.
In 1958, the U.S. Supreme Court, in Jacobellis v. Ohio, finally overturned Ohio’s ban on the release of a motion picture on grounds of obscenity. It is from this case, the Justice Potter Stewart’s often quoted concurring opinion was given. Stewart wrote that defining obscenity was an almost impossible task. He couldn’t do it with precision and without trampling on artistic freedom. In effect, he wrote, the most he could say was that he knew it when he saw it, and the film in question was definitely not obscene, even though it contained brief nudity and a sex scene.
The movie in question was called "The Lovers" ("Les Amants"), directed by Louis Malle. It had been a sensation in Europe and was a critical and commercial success. It made both the leading actress, Jeanne Moreau, and its director, superstars. Malle’s success at 25 heralded the "New Wave" of young French directors who followed in quick succession to revolutionize the art of film: Clouzot, Godard, Truffault.
I just watched "The Lovers" on DVD and, placed in its time, can understand what all the fuss was about. It is a rather mundane story of a provincial haute bourgeois marriage going sour. The young wife is bored with her inattentive older husband, travels frequently to Paris where she is having an affair with an attractive man of her own social set, who bores her somewhat less. The husband becomes annoyed with her frequent absences, and is possibly suspicious about an affair though he is too snooty to confront her. It is hinted that he too is meandering, with a woman who works for him. The husband insists that she invite her Paris friends to visit their country house. On the day they are to arrive, the wife’s car breaks down and she accepts a lift from a young man who has rejected his bourgeois roots and the social pretense that money and position afford. At first she is annoyed by the young man, but eventually he impresses her with his carefree air.
In a classically romantic sequence, she roams the gardens in the night and encounters the young man, who pursues her. They fall in love and decide to run away together. Back in the house, the wife kisses her young daughter in her bed, and dreamily takes her new lover to her bedroom There follows a passionate, though tastefully (by today’s standards quite mild) love scene in which the camera does not – as Malle commented — move to the window at the moment of truth, but rather lingers during the consummation of their love, including a close-up of Moreau’s face as she whispers repeatedly and more and more intensely, "Mon amour, mon amour," as she reaches orgasm. There are more scenes of the couple cuddling, in bed and in the bath and back in the bed until the sun rises. They then get into his car and leave.
Absent the historical context, the movie doesn’t qualify as a great film. Fifty years of sex filled movies about bored housewives having affairs have steeled me against this ancient relic, which contains the scenes I've seen so often that that I had to keep reminding myself that this movie created the clichés. Even considering that, it doesn’t do what Malle seems to have wanted. Moreau’s jump from unsatisfied ennui to passionate liberated woman seems too sudden. He fails to prepare us adequately for the gauzy romance that she finds in the idyllic garden. He stated that he wanted to capture love at first sight, but as the scene progressed, I kept thinking that this woman was playacting at love, doubted that she would follow through, despite her contented smiles. Her later work, especially as Catherine in "Jules And Jim", were far more convincing portrayals of the women she came to epitomize. Yet, as the first slap on the face to the bourgeois mind set, it is still retains some of its power.
European censors objected, not only to the explicit sex scene, which was perhaps the first of its kind in a mainstream popular release, but even more vehemently to the values expressed by the woman’s conduct, leaving her child behind while she pursues real love. Notably, it was not the story of adultery that was found objectionable, but rather the subversion of family values by a woman who dares to abandon her child in a loveless marriage and who appears to be content at the fade out, as if the filmmaker approved of her actions.
The story Malle chose was based on an 18th Century novel (written by a contemporary of LeClos, who wrote "Les Liaisons Dangereuses."). Although European literature contained a tradition of similar stories, notably "Madame Bovary" and "Anna Karenina," the opprobrium that this movie inspired is proof of just how hide-bound the culture had become in the 1950's.
Challenged by the commercial disaster of television, American filmmakers in the 1950's struggled to produce movies with "adult" content, stretching the boundaries of taste and "morals". But most of the studios didn’t dare to cross any lines. Douglas Sirk’s suburban melodramas talked about infidelity, but no filmmaker dared to show it in any explicit scene. The age-old devices of cameras pulling away from closing doors, showing waves crashing on the shore, and other heavily coded but well understood substitutes for sex scenes were still needed.
The rigid Hays Code, Legion of Decency, The Catholic Church and other arbiters of taste and morals, supported by laws in many states, were simply too powerful. While definitions of obscenity varied with each organization and statute, any nudity or showing of the act of sex was always covered.
In 1958, the U.S. Supreme Court, in Jacobellis v. Ohio, finally overturned Ohio’s ban on the release of a motion picture on grounds of obscenity. It is from this case, the Justice Potter Stewart’s often quoted concurring opinion was given. Stewart wrote that defining obscenity was an almost impossible task. He couldn’t do it with precision and without trampling on artistic freedom. In effect, he wrote, the most he could say was that he knew it when he saw it, and the film in question was definitely not obscene, even though it contained brief nudity and a sex scene.
The movie in question was called "The Lovers" ("Les Amants"), directed by Louis Malle. It had been a sensation in Europe and was a critical and commercial success. It made both the leading actress, Jeanne Moreau, and its director, superstars. Malle’s success at 25 heralded the "New Wave" of young French directors who followed in quick succession to revolutionize the art of film: Clouzot, Godard, Truffault.
I just watched "The Lovers" on DVD and, placed in its time, can understand what all the fuss was about. It is a rather mundane story of a provincial haute bourgeois marriage going sour. The young wife is bored with her inattentive older husband, travels frequently to Paris where she is having an affair with an attractive man of her own social set, who bores her somewhat less. The husband becomes annoyed with her frequent absences, and is possibly suspicious about an affair though he is too snooty to confront her. It is hinted that he too is meandering, with a woman who works for him. The husband insists that she invite her Paris friends to visit their country house. On the day they are to arrive, the wife’s car breaks down and she accepts a lift from a young man who has rejected his bourgeois roots and the social pretense that money and position afford. At first she is annoyed by the young man, but eventually he impresses her with his carefree air.
In a classically romantic sequence, she roams the gardens in the night and encounters the young man, who pursues her. They fall in love and decide to run away together. Back in the house, the wife kisses her young daughter in her bed, and dreamily takes her new lover to her bedroom There follows a passionate, though tastefully (by today’s standards quite mild) love scene in which the camera does not – as Malle commented — move to the window at the moment of truth, but rather lingers during the consummation of their love, including a close-up of Moreau’s face as she whispers repeatedly and more and more intensely, "Mon amour, mon amour," as she reaches orgasm. There are more scenes of the couple cuddling, in bed and in the bath and back in the bed until the sun rises. They then get into his car and leave.
Absent the historical context, the movie doesn’t qualify as a great film. Fifty years of sex filled movies about bored housewives having affairs have steeled me against this ancient relic, which contains the scenes I've seen so often that that I had to keep reminding myself that this movie created the clichés. Even considering that, it doesn’t do what Malle seems to have wanted. Moreau’s jump from unsatisfied ennui to passionate liberated woman seems too sudden. He fails to prepare us adequately for the gauzy romance that she finds in the idyllic garden. He stated that he wanted to capture love at first sight, but as the scene progressed, I kept thinking that this woman was playacting at love, doubted that she would follow through, despite her contented smiles. Her later work, especially as Catherine in "Jules And Jim", were far more convincing portrayals of the women she came to epitomize. Yet, as the first slap on the face to the bourgeois mind set, it is still retains some of its power.
European censors objected, not only to the explicit sex scene, which was perhaps the first of its kind in a mainstream popular release, but even more vehemently to the values expressed by the woman’s conduct, leaving her child behind while she pursues real love. Notably, it was not the story of adultery that was found objectionable, but rather the subversion of family values by a woman who dares to abandon her child in a loveless marriage and who appears to be content at the fade out, as if the filmmaker approved of her actions.
The story Malle chose was based on an 18th Century novel (written by a contemporary of LeClos, who wrote "Les Liaisons Dangereuses."). Although European literature contained a tradition of similar stories, notably "Madame Bovary" and "Anna Karenina," the opprobrium that this movie inspired is proof of just how hide-bound the culture had become in the 1950's.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
The Cinema of politics and politics of cinema
"Gabriel Over The White House" (1933) might have been the primer on which Oliver Stone learned his ABZ's. At its heart, it is a political tract designed by William Randolph Hearst, purporting to tell the soon-to-be sworn in president Franklin Roosevelt how to beat The Depression and create world peace. It has been praised and condemned ever since - by the left and right - as protofascist, protocommunist, proto-benevolent dictatorship, and quasi-Christian propaganda.
It is as strange a film as a Hollywood Studio (MGM) ever produced. Gregory La Cava, better known for comedies (including W.C. Fields' movies), directed rather hurriedly, from a script credited to Cary Wilson, but based on a book by an Englishman who called himself Tweed. In fact, Hearst financed the film and is said to have personally written some of the speeches. Hearst supposedly submitted the script to FDR, who himself made some changes and signaled his approval to Hearst, who had supported his candidacy.
Walter Huston plays "Juddson Hammond," a party hack who wins the presidency the old fashioned way, by making promises he never intends to keep. He has a mistress (like Harding), refuses to be quoted by the press (like Coolidge), and considers every crisis, such as millions of unemployed marchers and rampant gangsterism, as "local problems" (like Hoover).
One day, he speeds his car over a cliff, and emerges from a coma a changed man, having seen a vision of Gabriel and / or Lincoln. He now fires his cabinet cronies, joins the masses of men marching on Washington, announcing the creation of an "Army Of Construction," a massive public works project to carry the nation's economy until private enterprise recovers.
When Congress rebels and threatens to impeach the president, he announces that Congress must "adjourn" or he will declare martial law. He admits to adopting dictatorial powers in order to preserve what he calls Jefferson's definition of democracy - goverment on behalf of the people.
He then invites to the White House the nation's leading gangster, offers to send him "home" to his country of origin, and when the gangster answers by sending a car full of henchment to riddle the White House with machinegun bullets, the president creates a federal police force which assaults the mobsters, tries them in military courts martial, free from "technicalities" like habeas corpus. They are quickly executed by firing squad in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty.
The president then calls the leaders of all nations to a conference aboard a U.S. naval warship and asks them to repay their war debts. When they plead poverty, he reminds them that they have used their resources to build armaments that will insure a future war. He threatens them with American military might. As a demonstration, American planes sink two obsolete battleships in view of the diplomats (like Billy Mitchell's demonstration in the 1920's).
The president demands that they sign a compact for world peace, predicting that the alternative will be a war that destroys all their cities and ends civilization.
As the nations all sign the document insuring lasting peace, the president's work is done. Gabriel calls once again and he dies, "one of the greatest men who ever lived."
As screwy as the plot is, the film accurately reflects the sentiments of a large portion of American thought at the time of its release. The Great Depression was at its depth, 25% or more unemployed; thousands of banks failing, taking uninsured life savings with them; farms and homes in foreclosure. Capitalism had no clue, democratic government was frozen in fear.
The crisis demanded new ideas, cries for any action, however radical. But the only new ideas that seemed to be feasible were those that made the trains run on time in fascist Italy, the five year plans of the Soviet Russian workers paradise, and the newly empowered National Socialism in Germany.
Mainstream political thinkers admitted the bankruptcy of the American consitutional system and conceded that a period of emergency dictatorial power was the only solution.
F.D.R.'s apparent approval of the notions expressed in the script of this film and the language he used in his Inaugural Address, referring to the need for emergency powers, seemed to signal his willingness to assume dicatorial powers. Indeed, over the 12 years of his presidency, the claim would be made many times that he had done so.
But the fact is that F.D.R. always used the democratic process to carry out his policies. He persuaded, created consensus, compromised over and over with Congress, business, local governments, foreign leaders, even his own wife who wanted quicker reforms. Unlike Hitler, he never burned his Reichstag, never resorted to a secret police.
F.D.R. ruled by sleight of hand rather than an iron fist. He was a "confidence man" in the literal sense, inspiring confidence even when all the evidence should have inspired fear. "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself" is a motto that was nonsensical on its face. But starving people cheered him.
In this trait, he equaled Hitler. Sarving Germans cheered Hitler, too, when he told them that though they had been defeated, humiliated, impoverished, they were a great nation which would rise to dominate the world.
"Gabriel Over The White House" was supposed to be Hearst's blueprint for an American saviour. F.D.R. conned Hearst but never succombed to the temptations of power as Hearst outlined. The megalomaniacal magnate quickly became disillusioned with F.D.R. and turned to Herr Hitler whose leadership style was more consistent with the Hearst way of doing things.
It is as strange a film as a Hollywood Studio (MGM) ever produced. Gregory La Cava, better known for comedies (including W.C. Fields' movies), directed rather hurriedly, from a script credited to Cary Wilson, but based on a book by an Englishman who called himself Tweed. In fact, Hearst financed the film and is said to have personally written some of the speeches. Hearst supposedly submitted the script to FDR, who himself made some changes and signaled his approval to Hearst, who had supported his candidacy.
Walter Huston plays "Juddson Hammond," a party hack who wins the presidency the old fashioned way, by making promises he never intends to keep. He has a mistress (like Harding), refuses to be quoted by the press (like Coolidge), and considers every crisis, such as millions of unemployed marchers and rampant gangsterism, as "local problems" (like Hoover).
One day, he speeds his car over a cliff, and emerges from a coma a changed man, having seen a vision of Gabriel and / or Lincoln. He now fires his cabinet cronies, joins the masses of men marching on Washington, announcing the creation of an "Army Of Construction," a massive public works project to carry the nation's economy until private enterprise recovers.
When Congress rebels and threatens to impeach the president, he announces that Congress must "adjourn" or he will declare martial law. He admits to adopting dictatorial powers in order to preserve what he calls Jefferson's definition of democracy - goverment on behalf of the people.
He then invites to the White House the nation's leading gangster, offers to send him "home" to his country of origin, and when the gangster answers by sending a car full of henchment to riddle the White House with machinegun bullets, the president creates a federal police force which assaults the mobsters, tries them in military courts martial, free from "technicalities" like habeas corpus. They are quickly executed by firing squad in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty.
The president then calls the leaders of all nations to a conference aboard a U.S. naval warship and asks them to repay their war debts. When they plead poverty, he reminds them that they have used their resources to build armaments that will insure a future war. He threatens them with American military might. As a demonstration, American planes sink two obsolete battleships in view of the diplomats (like Billy Mitchell's demonstration in the 1920's).
The president demands that they sign a compact for world peace, predicting that the alternative will be a war that destroys all their cities and ends civilization.
As the nations all sign the document insuring lasting peace, the president's work is done. Gabriel calls once again and he dies, "one of the greatest men who ever lived."
As screwy as the plot is, the film accurately reflects the sentiments of a large portion of American thought at the time of its release. The Great Depression was at its depth, 25% or more unemployed; thousands of banks failing, taking uninsured life savings with them; farms and homes in foreclosure. Capitalism had no clue, democratic government was frozen in fear.
The crisis demanded new ideas, cries for any action, however radical. But the only new ideas that seemed to be feasible were those that made the trains run on time in fascist Italy, the five year plans of the Soviet Russian workers paradise, and the newly empowered National Socialism in Germany.
Mainstream political thinkers admitted the bankruptcy of the American consitutional system and conceded that a period of emergency dictatorial power was the only solution.
F.D.R.'s apparent approval of the notions expressed in the script of this film and the language he used in his Inaugural Address, referring to the need for emergency powers, seemed to signal his willingness to assume dicatorial powers. Indeed, over the 12 years of his presidency, the claim would be made many times that he had done so.
But the fact is that F.D.R. always used the democratic process to carry out his policies. He persuaded, created consensus, compromised over and over with Congress, business, local governments, foreign leaders, even his own wife who wanted quicker reforms. Unlike Hitler, he never burned his Reichstag, never resorted to a secret police.
F.D.R. ruled by sleight of hand rather than an iron fist. He was a "confidence man" in the literal sense, inspiring confidence even when all the evidence should have inspired fear. "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself" is a motto that was nonsensical on its face. But starving people cheered him.
In this trait, he equaled Hitler. Sarving Germans cheered Hitler, too, when he told them that though they had been defeated, humiliated, impoverished, they were a great nation which would rise to dominate the world.
"Gabriel Over The White House" was supposed to be Hearst's blueprint for an American saviour. F.D.R. conned Hearst but never succombed to the temptations of power as Hearst outlined. The megalomaniacal magnate quickly became disillusioned with F.D.R. and turned to Herr Hitler whose leadership style was more consistent with the Hearst way of doing things.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Michael Clayton (2007)
I usually can’t stomach lawyer movies. Almost everyone I’ve seen is either offensively unrealistic or unrealistically offensive. I especially despise the films that purport to expose some real flaw in "the system" but distorts the facts or law claiming "artistic license" to make its point.
I don’t mind the "Perry Mason" kind of fantasy because they are so obviously kitchy, except that ever since that show, it has been necessary for judges to remind prospective jurors that it isn’t the obligation of defense lawyers to force the true guilty party to jump up and confess in the third act.
Now comes "Michael Clayton." This is a fairly typical lawyer movie in many ways. The big civil firm is defending an evil agri-chemical client in a billion dollar lawsuit against cancer victims. Thus, the lawyers are depicted as scum.
That’s to be expected. And the big event that triggers the plot crisis is a straight steal from Sidney Lumet’s classic, "Network." The lead litigator for the firm, after six years of battle, suddenly goes bananas — he’s mad as hell and he’s not gonna take it anymore. So in the middle of a deposition, he claims love for the plaintiff, strips off his clothes and chases her through the parking lot (or so we are told — the director had the good sense to withhold the scene of Tom Wilkenson naked.)
Later, the movie becomes a thriller, with surveillance, murder, a car bomb ... none of that is too interesting to me.
No, the one element I latched onto was the idea of the eponymous Michael Clayton, himself. See, he’s the guy in the firm who is given all the "dirty" jobs, we are told. He’s "the fixer," a self-described "janitor" who cleans up all the messes. When a well-heeled client is facing a scandal, he makes the payoff, does the cover-up. He fixes the tickets, presumably arranges bribes, does all the unethical stuff so the partners don’t dirty their manicured hands.
One of the things he does is refer cases to criminal lawyers. That’s something I know a bit about, because I have been one of the criminal lawyers to whom other lawyers have referred clients.
In my experience, there is nothing dirty or sinister about this practice. Most ordinary people don’t know criminal lawyers. Some do know civil lawyers. They’ve had divorces or other accidents of life and when they or someone they know get into trouble, they call the lawyer they know. Some of these lawyers are sensible enough to know how much they don’t know about the arcane specialty of criminal law, and so refer these cases to lawyers they know.
Now, I am sure that at a level far "higher" than my income bracket, there are those who look for criminal lawyers to "fix" problems. I’ve known a few who traveled a shadowy path, so close to dope dealers and pimps that they were engulfed into that world. It was a 60's & 70's fast lane thing for some and a few didn’t survive.
There were others who traded on reputations for being a "fixer" but were, in the end, pretenders. There was a guy who was famous in the small world of L.A. criminal lawyers. He was an outrageous appearing little man, even for the outrageous times, with purple shirt and lavender tie, high heel boots. In the old Hall of Justice, the elevator operators waited for him, greeted him and told everyone who he was. Around Christmas time, he tipped the girls $25. My boss in the PD office smiled slyly. "How much do you think he’s giving the clerks and the judges?"
One day, the lawyer strolled into the courtroom where I was working. We PD’s were waiting to get our cases heard and there were other private counsel waiting as well. But when this guy came in (let’s call him "Harry") the clerk called his case and the judge called him up to the bench for a private meeting.
"Harry" patted his frightened client on the back and went up to the bench. He whispered to the judge. I could hear him plainly from a few feet away. Harry told the judge the latest joke he’d heard. The judge laughed aloud. Harry walked back toward his client and winked, signaling slyly. The judge granted the extension to pay the fine or whatever it was that Harry was requesting. There was nothing unusual in this. The judge would have done it without the whispers. But Harry’s client and many in the audience were convinced that Harry had the "fix."
The more I watched George Clooney be "Michael Clayton," though, the more I thought of how many times I’ve felt like the "fixer." The tag is implied in social conversation, when acquaintances ask those annoying questions about how it feels to get a guilty person off.
It is fatiguing to know you’re admired by some for your skills at a dirty trade.
I don’t mind the "Perry Mason" kind of fantasy because they are so obviously kitchy, except that ever since that show, it has been necessary for judges to remind prospective jurors that it isn’t the obligation of defense lawyers to force the true guilty party to jump up and confess in the third act.
Now comes "Michael Clayton." This is a fairly typical lawyer movie in many ways. The big civil firm is defending an evil agri-chemical client in a billion dollar lawsuit against cancer victims. Thus, the lawyers are depicted as scum.
That’s to be expected. And the big event that triggers the plot crisis is a straight steal from Sidney Lumet’s classic, "Network." The lead litigator for the firm, after six years of battle, suddenly goes bananas — he’s mad as hell and he’s not gonna take it anymore. So in the middle of a deposition, he claims love for the plaintiff, strips off his clothes and chases her through the parking lot (or so we are told — the director had the good sense to withhold the scene of Tom Wilkenson naked.)
Later, the movie becomes a thriller, with surveillance, murder, a car bomb ... none of that is too interesting to me.
No, the one element I latched onto was the idea of the eponymous Michael Clayton, himself. See, he’s the guy in the firm who is given all the "dirty" jobs, we are told. He’s "the fixer," a self-described "janitor" who cleans up all the messes. When a well-heeled client is facing a scandal, he makes the payoff, does the cover-up. He fixes the tickets, presumably arranges bribes, does all the unethical stuff so the partners don’t dirty their manicured hands.
One of the things he does is refer cases to criminal lawyers. That’s something I know a bit about, because I have been one of the criminal lawyers to whom other lawyers have referred clients.
In my experience, there is nothing dirty or sinister about this practice. Most ordinary people don’t know criminal lawyers. Some do know civil lawyers. They’ve had divorces or other accidents of life and when they or someone they know get into trouble, they call the lawyer they know. Some of these lawyers are sensible enough to know how much they don’t know about the arcane specialty of criminal law, and so refer these cases to lawyers they know.
Now, I am sure that at a level far "higher" than my income bracket, there are those who look for criminal lawyers to "fix" problems. I’ve known a few who traveled a shadowy path, so close to dope dealers and pimps that they were engulfed into that world. It was a 60's & 70's fast lane thing for some and a few didn’t survive.
There were others who traded on reputations for being a "fixer" but were, in the end, pretenders. There was a guy who was famous in the small world of L.A. criminal lawyers. He was an outrageous appearing little man, even for the outrageous times, with purple shirt and lavender tie, high heel boots. In the old Hall of Justice, the elevator operators waited for him, greeted him and told everyone who he was. Around Christmas time, he tipped the girls $25. My boss in the PD office smiled slyly. "How much do you think he’s giving the clerks and the judges?"
One day, the lawyer strolled into the courtroom where I was working. We PD’s were waiting to get our cases heard and there were other private counsel waiting as well. But when this guy came in (let’s call him "Harry") the clerk called his case and the judge called him up to the bench for a private meeting.
"Harry" patted his frightened client on the back and went up to the bench. He whispered to the judge. I could hear him plainly from a few feet away. Harry told the judge the latest joke he’d heard. The judge laughed aloud. Harry walked back toward his client and winked, signaling slyly. The judge granted the extension to pay the fine or whatever it was that Harry was requesting. There was nothing unusual in this. The judge would have done it without the whispers. But Harry’s client and many in the audience were convinced that Harry had the "fix."
The more I watched George Clooney be "Michael Clayton," though, the more I thought of how many times I’ve felt like the "fixer." The tag is implied in social conversation, when acquaintances ask those annoying questions about how it feels to get a guilty person off.
It is fatiguing to know you’re admired by some for your skills at a dirty trade.
Monday, February 25, 2008
2007
These are my Netflix reviews for films already available on DVD and their Oscar results:
La Vie En Rose - best actress
I first admired Marion Cotillard in a startling French film called "Love Me If You Dare." She was also paired with Russell Crowe in "A Very Good Year," a ho-hum romance. But this one is an Oscar worthy tour de force. She becomes Piaf every bit as much as Jamie Foxx became "Ray" and Charlize Theron became "Monster." Piaf's voice, songs, and life intertwined like Judy Garland's, and Cotillard reaches into her character's soul. Formidable.
A Mighty Heart - nominated best actress
The documentary "The Journalist And The Jihadi", is much better, if the issue is finding the truth and global "macro" meaning of this incident. But the film has a different goal: making you feel what Marianne Pearl went through, the "micro" story. As cinematic drama, it succeeds at bringing you deeply inside this strong woman's heart. Jolie is grippingly credible, her cool and rational exterior shielding emotions barely checked beneath the surface until they finally explode, then followed by the need to find strength to go on. The direction and acting by the supporting cast is restrained rather than sensational, honest rather than sentimental, respectful of human emotions and tragedy rather than exploitative. A terrific film.
Once - best song
A new idea for a movie musical that works with young audiences raised on Nick Drake and Beck rather than Cole Porter. It is about time postmodern storytelling met up with music, which is so much a part of the lives of young people.
Ratatouille - best animation
Imagine the reaction to the pitch: "The star is a rat? In a kitchen? A French kitchen?" A delight all the way through. Original, surprising, and clever. This is the rare kind of film that you can really enjoy with the whole family without embarrassment or tedium.
Interview - nominated for best actress
Sienna Miller's role is perfectly suited to her: a spoiled bitchy t.v. & film star who needs to prove to a condescending, self-deceiving reporter that she is smarter than he is. Steve Buscemi is the reporter & directs this basically one set - two character play. The twist ending is a bit too smart, but Miller acts up a storm playing a part that seems made for her.
Overlooked by the Oscars:
Paris J’taime
Je t'adore this anthology. Some of these 5 minute films are like near perfect poems. Some are sketches leaving you wishing to see them in fuller form, others are fully realized stories. More filmmakers should be forced to such discipline.
Breach
Like "The Good Shepard," what is troubling about these spy profiles is that the central character is basically a boring personality, so buttoned up that he reveals little about his motivations and when we discover them, all we can do is shrug. Chris Cooper is fine, as always, with his menacing normality. The script cheats Ryan Phillipe by stinting on his character's relationship with his wife. Pity, their dilemma is glossed over, with the focus on catching the spy, a result we already know. And what about the spy's wife?
Superbad
HS comedies evolve from the same roots - not a shock,filmmakers are postgrad nerds. The urge to be cool, sexy, stoned never ends. "Fast Times At Ridgemont High" was the template. Rogan, Goldberg & buds are the latest to mine the vein with sharp dialogue, knowing sense of teen angst. Two minor players here, Kevin Corrigan & David Krumholtz were featured in a related gem, "Slums Of Beverly Hills."
300
If this is the future of film, I want none of it. What "2001, A Space Odyssey" suggested and "Sin City" foreshadowed, "300" nearly accomplishes: the computer rules the world. Graphic novels & video games provide the sets; superheroes are the character models, and the plot is as old and simple as mythology. Actors? Irrelevant puppets. Theme? Trite, nasty rehash of old ideas: freedom demands ruthlessness; war is glory.
La Vie En Rose - best actress
I first admired Marion Cotillard in a startling French film called "Love Me If You Dare." She was also paired with Russell Crowe in "A Very Good Year," a ho-hum romance. But this one is an Oscar worthy tour de force. She becomes Piaf every bit as much as Jamie Foxx became "Ray" and Charlize Theron became "Monster." Piaf's voice, songs, and life intertwined like Judy Garland's, and Cotillard reaches into her character's soul. Formidable.
A Mighty Heart - nominated best actress
The documentary "The Journalist And The Jihadi", is much better, if the issue is finding the truth and global "macro" meaning of this incident. But the film has a different goal: making you feel what Marianne Pearl went through, the "micro" story. As cinematic drama, it succeeds at bringing you deeply inside this strong woman's heart. Jolie is grippingly credible, her cool and rational exterior shielding emotions barely checked beneath the surface until they finally explode, then followed by the need to find strength to go on. The direction and acting by the supporting cast is restrained rather than sensational, honest rather than sentimental, respectful of human emotions and tragedy rather than exploitative. A terrific film.
Once - best song
A new idea for a movie musical that works with young audiences raised on Nick Drake and Beck rather than Cole Porter. It is about time postmodern storytelling met up with music, which is so much a part of the lives of young people.
Ratatouille - best animation
Imagine the reaction to the pitch: "The star is a rat? In a kitchen? A French kitchen?" A delight all the way through. Original, surprising, and clever. This is the rare kind of film that you can really enjoy with the whole family without embarrassment or tedium.
Interview - nominated for best actress
Sienna Miller's role is perfectly suited to her: a spoiled bitchy t.v. & film star who needs to prove to a condescending, self-deceiving reporter that she is smarter than he is. Steve Buscemi is the reporter & directs this basically one set - two character play. The twist ending is a bit too smart, but Miller acts up a storm playing a part that seems made for her.
Overlooked by the Oscars:
Paris J’taime
Je t'adore this anthology. Some of these 5 minute films are like near perfect poems. Some are sketches leaving you wishing to see them in fuller form, others are fully realized stories. More filmmakers should be forced to such discipline.
Breach
Like "The Good Shepard," what is troubling about these spy profiles is that the central character is basically a boring personality, so buttoned up that he reveals little about his motivations and when we discover them, all we can do is shrug. Chris Cooper is fine, as always, with his menacing normality. The script cheats Ryan Phillipe by stinting on his character's relationship with his wife. Pity, their dilemma is glossed over, with the focus on catching the spy, a result we already know. And what about the spy's wife?
Superbad
HS comedies evolve from the same roots - not a shock,filmmakers are postgrad nerds. The urge to be cool, sexy, stoned never ends. "Fast Times At Ridgemont High" was the template. Rogan, Goldberg & buds are the latest to mine the vein with sharp dialogue, knowing sense of teen angst. Two minor players here, Kevin Corrigan & David Krumholtz were featured in a related gem, "Slums Of Beverly Hills."
300
If this is the future of film, I want none of it. What "2001, A Space Odyssey" suggested and "Sin City" foreshadowed, "300" nearly accomplishes: the computer rules the world. Graphic novels & video games provide the sets; superheroes are the character models, and the plot is as old and simple as mythology. Actors? Irrelevant puppets. Theme? Trite, nasty rehash of old ideas: freedom demands ruthlessness; war is glory.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
"Lust, Caution" (2007)
Directed by Ang Lee, starring Tony Leung (Mr. Yee), Tang Wei (Mak Tai Tai / Wong Chia Chi) Joan Chen (Yee Tai Tai), Wang Leehom (Kuang Yu Min). Screenplay by Wang Hui Ling and James Schamus from a short story by Eileen Chang.
My first impression of this movie was to compare it to two previous films, one a famous classic in suspense ("Notorious" (1946), the other an overlooked near masterpiece of erotic cinema ("The Lover" (1992)).
The title, "Lust, Caution," itself, suggests the theme, a synthesis of two genres that expose characters to powerful emotions and forces.
The story follows a young woman who is persuaded to become a spy by a young man who is too timid, innocent and self-absorbed with patriotic heroism to sense that she wants to love him. She accepts the task of becoming the mistress of a Chinese military man who is collaborating with the occupying Japanese so that her friends in the "resistance" can gain intelligence and ultimately assassinate him.
Hitchcock’s classic, "Notorious," hung on a similar framework, but differed in important character and plot points as well as style. Ingrid Bergman’s "Alicia," though far from sexually innocent, is thrust into the role as mistress (then wife) of the target, "Sebastian" (Claude Rains), a Nazi, at the behest of her often painfully diffident lover, the federal agent, "Devlin " (Cary Grant).
While "Notorious" focused on Alicia’s feelings for Devlin and his ambivalence toward her, it mostly treats her dealings with "Sebastian" with superficial detachment. We assume that Alicia has consummated her marriage, but there is no show of affection between them other than the formalities, as was befitting the era of film censorship. Hitchcock characteristically seems more moved by Sebastian’s ties to his domineering mother.
"Wong Chia Chi," the heroine of "Lust, Caution," is initially innocent, virginal, and naive. But she is also shown to be an imaginative actress who inhabits her role with passion and deeply felt emotions. She fully commits herself to both needs of her task and this yields her eventual tragedy.
Lee is far more interested in her dealings with the dangerous "Mr. Yee" than her unrequited love for her young man. Tony Leung is best known for Wong Kar Wei’s excellent neo-noir "2046" and "In The Mood For Love." He is well cast here due to his persona as a Bogart-like world wary (I do mean wary, though he is also weary) man who treads the tightrope of intrigue. His is a powerful masculine presence opposite the young actress, Tang Wei, whose delicate face and slender body conceal turbulent passions ready to explode.
Through graphic sexual encounters that earned the film a NC-17, the pair move from his cruelly sadistic dominance to eventual tender love and interdependence, leading to the tragic conclusion when she is faced with the decisive moment - whether to warn him of the impending assassination.
Lee’s achievement is to meticulously document the risky journey each tread, from "caution" to "lust."
"The Lover,"Jean Jacques Annaud’s film of Marguerite Duras’ story / memoir of her sexual awakening as a teenage girl in Saigon in the 1920's, is also explicit in its depiction of a related theme.
The Girl (otherwise unnamed in the story, played by Jane March), begins a torrid affair with The Man (also unnamed, played by Tony Leung - not the same actor as in "Lust, Caution"), learning lessons far more useful in her life as a woman than those of her convent school.
Her family are impoverished French colonials and her lover’s family is wealthy Chinese, raising the issue of social tensions involving the taboos of each culture in their secret affair, especially as it evolves into something like love.
The arc of the explicit sex scenes in "The Lover" are almost the reverse of those in "Lust, Caution," here beginning tentatively and ending in a final, brutal, near rape. Yet, in both films, the sex scenes are the rare ones which prove the overused cliché that they are essential to the telling of the tale.
Like a modern musical in which the setpiece numbers advance the plot rather than interrupt it, these encounters provide understanding of the evolution of the relationships involved. The characters change because of what happens in the darkened rooms.
It is not original to note that Ang Lee's body of work, so seemingly diverse in styles and subject ("Sense And Sensibility;" "The Hulk;" "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon; "Brokeback Mountain") includes a common theme which this film shares: central characters who discover their true nature.
Yet, though all three films are excellent, I suspect that "Notorious" will remain the only one called "classic." The other two, because of their ratiings, had limited releases, and faced critics with the dilemma of admiring "pornography." Both are the dreaded "period pieces," demand patience with slow pacing, set in foreign locales. "Lust, Caution" is even subtitled, a fatal flaw.
But their DVD afterlives may provide new audiences who, in the privacy and leisure of bedrooms with remotes in hand, can discover these fine films.
My first impression of this movie was to compare it to two previous films, one a famous classic in suspense ("Notorious" (1946), the other an overlooked near masterpiece of erotic cinema ("The Lover" (1992)).
The title, "Lust, Caution," itself, suggests the theme, a synthesis of two genres that expose characters to powerful emotions and forces.
The story follows a young woman who is persuaded to become a spy by a young man who is too timid, innocent and self-absorbed with patriotic heroism to sense that she wants to love him. She accepts the task of becoming the mistress of a Chinese military man who is collaborating with the occupying Japanese so that her friends in the "resistance" can gain intelligence and ultimately assassinate him.
Hitchcock’s classic, "Notorious," hung on a similar framework, but differed in important character and plot points as well as style. Ingrid Bergman’s "Alicia," though far from sexually innocent, is thrust into the role as mistress (then wife) of the target, "Sebastian" (Claude Rains), a Nazi, at the behest of her often painfully diffident lover, the federal agent, "Devlin " (Cary Grant).
While "Notorious" focused on Alicia’s feelings for Devlin and his ambivalence toward her, it mostly treats her dealings with "Sebastian" with superficial detachment. We assume that Alicia has consummated her marriage, but there is no show of affection between them other than the formalities, as was befitting the era of film censorship. Hitchcock characteristically seems more moved by Sebastian’s ties to his domineering mother.
"Wong Chia Chi," the heroine of "Lust, Caution," is initially innocent, virginal, and naive. But she is also shown to be an imaginative actress who inhabits her role with passion and deeply felt emotions. She fully commits herself to both needs of her task and this yields her eventual tragedy.
Lee is far more interested in her dealings with the dangerous "Mr. Yee" than her unrequited love for her young man. Tony Leung is best known for Wong Kar Wei’s excellent neo-noir "2046" and "In The Mood For Love." He is well cast here due to his persona as a Bogart-like world wary (I do mean wary, though he is also weary) man who treads the tightrope of intrigue. His is a powerful masculine presence opposite the young actress, Tang Wei, whose delicate face and slender body conceal turbulent passions ready to explode.
Through graphic sexual encounters that earned the film a NC-17, the pair move from his cruelly sadistic dominance to eventual tender love and interdependence, leading to the tragic conclusion when she is faced with the decisive moment - whether to warn him of the impending assassination.
Lee’s achievement is to meticulously document the risky journey each tread, from "caution" to "lust."
"The Lover,"Jean Jacques Annaud’s film of Marguerite Duras’ story / memoir of her sexual awakening as a teenage girl in Saigon in the 1920's, is also explicit in its depiction of a related theme.
The Girl (otherwise unnamed in the story, played by Jane March), begins a torrid affair with The Man (also unnamed, played by Tony Leung - not the same actor as in "Lust, Caution"), learning lessons far more useful in her life as a woman than those of her convent school.
Her family are impoverished French colonials and her lover’s family is wealthy Chinese, raising the issue of social tensions involving the taboos of each culture in their secret affair, especially as it evolves into something like love.
The arc of the explicit sex scenes in "The Lover" are almost the reverse of those in "Lust, Caution," here beginning tentatively and ending in a final, brutal, near rape. Yet, in both films, the sex scenes are the rare ones which prove the overused cliché that they are essential to the telling of the tale.
Like a modern musical in which the setpiece numbers advance the plot rather than interrupt it, these encounters provide understanding of the evolution of the relationships involved. The characters change because of what happens in the darkened rooms.
It is not original to note that Ang Lee's body of work, so seemingly diverse in styles and subject ("Sense And Sensibility;" "The Hulk;" "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon; "Brokeback Mountain") includes a common theme which this film shares: central characters who discover their true nature.
Yet, though all three films are excellent, I suspect that "Notorious" will remain the only one called "classic." The other two, because of their ratiings, had limited releases, and faced critics with the dilemma of admiring "pornography." Both are the dreaded "period pieces," demand patience with slow pacing, set in foreign locales. "Lust, Caution" is even subtitled, a fatal flaw.
But their DVD afterlives may provide new audiences who, in the privacy and leisure of bedrooms with remotes in hand, can discover these fine films.
Friday, February 15, 2008
Knocked Up By The Proper Stranger
Last year’s megahit, "Knocked Up," shocked & awed critics & audiences with a combination of raunch dressing on top of an insubstantial salad.
Judd Apatow, the writer / director, had cut his teeth writing for "The Ben Stiller Show" and "Larry Sanders," found his voice with "Freaks And Geeks" and hit big with "The 40 Year Old Virgin." He is now a "brand." Echoing from the Hollywood Hills, you can hear producers shouting at writers from within their sealed window offices: "Make it more ‘Apatow’."
While Apatow's film was about a pregnancy, adult responsibility, and love - ingredients in Hollywood’s cook book since its beginning - part of the shock was that such an old dish could still be so yummy. The subject has been treated mostly as melodrama as far back as the silent era. In the 30's it was meat for the women’s weepies, Stanwyck, et. al. Mixing the drama with laughs was rare.
The one night stand -> pregnancy was the premise for another film, one I saw recently: "Love With The Proper Stranger," released in 1963. Comparing it with "Knocked Up," separated by 44 years, reveals something about our times that should also shock and awe.
In "Knocked Up," rotund stoner man child Ben Stone (Seth Rogan) gets lucky with hottie Alison Scott (Katherine Heigl) and she shows up weeks later with the news. Her motives are a bit fuzzy: abortion is barely considered even when she is reminded of the genetic risk when meeting Ben while she is sober. The rest of the movie consists of mutual embarrassment situations until Ben realizes that growing up is survivable after which she can accept him as a mate and father of her child.
"Love With The Proper Stranger" was a big budget studio film, a star vehicle for Natalie Wood and Steve McQueen, complete with the mandatory title song written by Johnny Mercer and sung by Jack Jones. The director was Richard Mulligan, following his success the prior year with "To Kill A Mockingbird". It was written by Arnold Schulman, who began as a writer of teleplays in the 1950's and had previously written "A Hole In The Head" for Sinatra.
Way back then as today (and if not, soon), technology was altering the moving picture business. Millions who ten years before had gone out to movie houses now stayed home to watch T.V. where they could see free dramas (live full length original ones written by the likes of Rod Serling and Paddy Chayefsky), comedy (live skits written by Carl Reiner, Mel Brooks, Woody Allen, Larry Gelbart), sitcoms, variety, talk, celebrities.
Hollywood had to scramble to show stories T.V. couldn’t touch.
One strategy was the epic spectacular, in wide screen, color, with casts of thousands. This novelty had worn off by 1960, when "Cleopatra" nearly bankrupted 20th Century Fox. A second route was the cheap exploitation drive-in teen slasher film. Small budgets but small, though sure profits. European films pointed to two more channels: realism and explicit sex.
The typical studio responses were the timid sex comedies in the Doris Day style, tepid variants of the stale screwball genre of the Thirties & Forties. But a few filmmakers of the time, working within the studio system, managed to mix the old reliable Hollywood romance with some serious issues treated realistically but with wit and a deft touch of style. Billy Wilder was a genius at this. His European sensibility, hovering between Lubitsch and Sunset Boulevard, led him to edgy comedies: "Some Like It Hot" with its transgender confusion and "the Apartment," about a corporate yes man who falls for his boss's suicidal mistress.
"Love With The Proper Stranger" is set and filmed on location in New York in the chill fall, a black and white unglamourous city of working class people who live in small apartments. It begins in a musician’s union hall where Rocky Papassano (Mc Queen) is conning himself into a job and avoiding one of his many girls. Angie Rossini (Wood) shows up and he barely remembers her from "The Mountains" where they had their one night together that summer. She needs his help to find a doctor. Rocky flops sometimes with a stripper (Edie Adams), who throws him out when he asks for her help with his problem.
Rocky isn’t much different from Ben Stone almost a half century later. Both begin as blissfully avoiding the responsibilities of manhood until faced with the crisis. Angie and Alison, though, seem to be distant sisters, living in different Ages.
Alison is a far more independent woman. Though she lives in her sister's pool house and views her marriage as a scary model, Alison has a career. Angie works the sales floor at Macy’s and lives with her mother and brothers in a tiny apartment with no privacy, trapped by the constraints of their demands that she marry, continue the old country traditions. While her fling was also a reckless whim, soon regretted, the consequences she faces are far more dire than Alison’s.
She and Rocky scrape together money for a back alley abortion, to be done by a shady couple on the floor of a vacant apartment in a condemned building. When Rocky protests and Angie breaks down, the romance begins with a saving embrace.
The script then reverses tone with a comic scene when Rocky takes Angie to sleep in his stripper friend’s bed. When Rocky returns with Angie’s brother (Herschel Bernardi) and a black eye, the men have solved the problem: Rocky is now willing to marry the girl to make it right.
Now is the time for Angie to grow up. She is not satisfied to do the traditional thing. She declares her independence, moves into her own apartment, and the romance can resume and end happily when Rocky realizes that, after all, he does love her (to the surprise of no one).
A final embrace in a crowd of curious real New Yorkers in the middle of 34th Street fittingly climaxes a film that makes skillful use of New York exteriors to create the mood approaching realism.
Of course, serious issues are completely irrelevant to the success of "Knocked Up." It thrives on clever dialogue funning the childishness of the boys — Ben and his crew of geeky stoner buds and Alison’s brother-in-law, Pete (Paul Rudd), who is suspected of an affair but turns out to be in a fantasy league with his pals.
The women in this our world of today are on serious career tracks while the boys are clinging desperately to their adolescence. It seems that forty years of sexual evolution have permitted the tentative Angies to morph into the secure Alisons of our time, but the Rocky’s of olden days haven’t kept step. In fact, they’ve regressed into Bens and Petes, soft and cuddly but barely adequate mate material.
Let’s face it, the battle of the sexes is over. And we lost.
Judd Apatow, the writer / director, had cut his teeth writing for "The Ben Stiller Show" and "Larry Sanders," found his voice with "Freaks And Geeks" and hit big with "The 40 Year Old Virgin." He is now a "brand." Echoing from the Hollywood Hills, you can hear producers shouting at writers from within their sealed window offices: "Make it more ‘Apatow’."
While Apatow's film was about a pregnancy, adult responsibility, and love - ingredients in Hollywood’s cook book since its beginning - part of the shock was that such an old dish could still be so yummy. The subject has been treated mostly as melodrama as far back as the silent era. In the 30's it was meat for the women’s weepies, Stanwyck, et. al. Mixing the drama with laughs was rare.
The one night stand -> pregnancy was the premise for another film, one I saw recently: "Love With The Proper Stranger," released in 1963. Comparing it with "Knocked Up," separated by 44 years, reveals something about our times that should also shock and awe.
In "Knocked Up," rotund stoner man child Ben Stone (Seth Rogan) gets lucky with hottie Alison Scott (Katherine Heigl) and she shows up weeks later with the news. Her motives are a bit fuzzy: abortion is barely considered even when she is reminded of the genetic risk when meeting Ben while she is sober. The rest of the movie consists of mutual embarrassment situations until Ben realizes that growing up is survivable after which she can accept him as a mate and father of her child.
"Love With The Proper Stranger" was a big budget studio film, a star vehicle for Natalie Wood and Steve McQueen, complete with the mandatory title song written by Johnny Mercer and sung by Jack Jones. The director was Richard Mulligan, following his success the prior year with "To Kill A Mockingbird". It was written by Arnold Schulman, who began as a writer of teleplays in the 1950's and had previously written "A Hole In The Head" for Sinatra.
Way back then as today (and if not, soon), technology was altering the moving picture business. Millions who ten years before had gone out to movie houses now stayed home to watch T.V. where they could see free dramas (live full length original ones written by the likes of Rod Serling and Paddy Chayefsky), comedy (live skits written by Carl Reiner, Mel Brooks, Woody Allen, Larry Gelbart), sitcoms, variety, talk, celebrities.
Hollywood had to scramble to show stories T.V. couldn’t touch.
One strategy was the epic spectacular, in wide screen, color, with casts of thousands. This novelty had worn off by 1960, when "Cleopatra" nearly bankrupted 20th Century Fox. A second route was the cheap exploitation drive-in teen slasher film. Small budgets but small, though sure profits. European films pointed to two more channels: realism and explicit sex.
The typical studio responses were the timid sex comedies in the Doris Day style, tepid variants of the stale screwball genre of the Thirties & Forties. But a few filmmakers of the time, working within the studio system, managed to mix the old reliable Hollywood romance with some serious issues treated realistically but with wit and a deft touch of style. Billy Wilder was a genius at this. His European sensibility, hovering between Lubitsch and Sunset Boulevard, led him to edgy comedies: "Some Like It Hot" with its transgender confusion and "the Apartment," about a corporate yes man who falls for his boss's suicidal mistress.
"Love With The Proper Stranger" is set and filmed on location in New York in the chill fall, a black and white unglamourous city of working class people who live in small apartments. It begins in a musician’s union hall where Rocky Papassano (Mc Queen) is conning himself into a job and avoiding one of his many girls. Angie Rossini (Wood) shows up and he barely remembers her from "The Mountains" where they had their one night together that summer. She needs his help to find a doctor. Rocky flops sometimes with a stripper (Edie Adams), who throws him out when he asks for her help with his problem.
Rocky isn’t much different from Ben Stone almost a half century later. Both begin as blissfully avoiding the responsibilities of manhood until faced with the crisis. Angie and Alison, though, seem to be distant sisters, living in different Ages.
Alison is a far more independent woman. Though she lives in her sister's pool house and views her marriage as a scary model, Alison has a career. Angie works the sales floor at Macy’s and lives with her mother and brothers in a tiny apartment with no privacy, trapped by the constraints of their demands that she marry, continue the old country traditions. While her fling was also a reckless whim, soon regretted, the consequences she faces are far more dire than Alison’s.
She and Rocky scrape together money for a back alley abortion, to be done by a shady couple on the floor of a vacant apartment in a condemned building. When Rocky protests and Angie breaks down, the romance begins with a saving embrace.
The script then reverses tone with a comic scene when Rocky takes Angie to sleep in his stripper friend’s bed. When Rocky returns with Angie’s brother (Herschel Bernardi) and a black eye, the men have solved the problem: Rocky is now willing to marry the girl to make it right.
Now is the time for Angie to grow up. She is not satisfied to do the traditional thing. She declares her independence, moves into her own apartment, and the romance can resume and end happily when Rocky realizes that, after all, he does love her (to the surprise of no one).
A final embrace in a crowd of curious real New Yorkers in the middle of 34th Street fittingly climaxes a film that makes skillful use of New York exteriors to create the mood approaching realism.
Of course, serious issues are completely irrelevant to the success of "Knocked Up." It thrives on clever dialogue funning the childishness of the boys — Ben and his crew of geeky stoner buds and Alison’s brother-in-law, Pete (Paul Rudd), who is suspected of an affair but turns out to be in a fantasy league with his pals.
The women in this our world of today are on serious career tracks while the boys are clinging desperately to their adolescence. It seems that forty years of sexual evolution have permitted the tentative Angies to morph into the secure Alisons of our time, but the Rocky’s of olden days haven’t kept step. In fact, they’ve regressed into Bens and Petes, soft and cuddly but barely adequate mate material.
Let’s face it, the battle of the sexes is over. And we lost.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
"No Country For Old Men"
Joel & Ethan Coen’s new entry in their library of films re-defining Americana is as bleak as the southwest Texas land it is set in. The arid vistas are reminiscent of the icy land of "Fargo." The deadened eyes and sardonic dialogue of its denizens are more despairing even than the protagonists in "Miller’s Crossing" or "Blood Simple."
"No Country For Old Men" digs deep into this parched soil and tries for deeper meaning, a result which is both good and bad for the audience. The Coens have always shown a fascination with Hollywood genres as vehicles for reworking American myth making.
They’ve explored, needled and skewered classic filmmakers like Capra ("The Hudsucker Proxy"), Sturges ("Intolerable Cruelty" and "O’ Brother, Where Art Thou") Huston / Hawks ("Miller’s Crossing" and "The Big Lebowski") and Wilder ("The Man Who Wasn’t There").
Now it seems they felt the need to take on the Western. "No Country" explodes any of the myths of the West left to us after such anti-Western Westerns as "The Unforgiven," in episodes so violent that even when only the aftermath is shown, we cringe.
In the classic Western, a hero faced down the hired gunslinger, no matter how cruel, evil, or tyrannical he seemed to be. "Shane" took down "Jack Wilson" (Jack Palance), Will Kane (Gary Cooper) killed Frank Miller (Ian McDonald) at "High Noon."
The Coens take for granted that the implacable hitman, Anton Chigurh (Javier Bardem), the modern gunslinger, wins every showdown. The Coens don’t even bother to show us the final bloodbath when we expect that the apparent "hero," Llewellyn Moss (Josh Brolin), will face down the evil.
In fact, as in the first scene of destruction, we are shown only the aftermath, and its depiction is so quick and spare that we can’t piece it together, as if we are teased — that our fascination with violence will not be sated this time. The truth is greater than those details and the truth lies not in who killed who and why.
The traditional Western hero of this yarn is Sheriff Ed Tom Bell (Tommy Lee Jones), whose weathered face and voice express his sadness of inevitable loss of all that he thought noble about the American West. He knows that all of his wisdom and calm courage means nothing in an age when chance, greed, and cruel savagery take every trick.
There is no place for heroes in this world. Winners are those who survive, not necessarily by being the cleverest, or fastest on the draw, but by predatory instinct, callousness, and sheer luck.
The post modern paradigm in control here is the coin toss. Like the noir heroes of an earlier film epoch, the hitman has a "code" that guides his actions. Just as Sam Spade’s code, which forced the denial of sentimentality to do his job, Anton Chigurh must pursue his victims by his own inexorable compass reading, deviating only to amuse himself occasionally by permitting chance to decide the fate of a tangential annoyance. Like a predatory cat, he can release a morsel or remorselessly squash it.
Against such power, the old hero knows he is "overmatched" as Sheriff Bell admits.
The Coens cannot escape their awareness of film history in setting scenes and action, quoting diverse sources as "Touch Of Evil," "North By Northwest" and even "The Terminator."
There is a conscious borrow from "High Noon" when Sheriff Bell bemoans his disillusionment with Ellis (Barry Corbin), a wheelchair bound former deputy, as Will Kane did with Martin (Lon Chaney, Jr.), the former sheriff.
It is the gift of the Coens (somewhat akin to Tarentino) to entertain us with these images and stories despite our revulsion, forcing us to laugh at the dark comedy about psychopaths and greedy, grimy, foolish people, maybe sensing that our lives could be touched at any time in similar insane ways if the coin flips the wrong way.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
100 Great American Movies - Revised
The AFI has produced another in the never ending chain of BEST 100 lists, this one no more definitive of BEST than any other. In 1998, the AFI produced its first such list, labeled “Best American Films of the 20th Century”. It did what was intended: generated conversation about movies and provided an excuse for a T.V. special. The new one will do no less and no more.
Ten years ago, I spent some time forming my opinions about inclusions and exclusions, rankings and implications. Now I recall those thoughts and add some new ones about the updated list.
My first thought is that then, as now, I have to admit that I agree with most inclusions, though some are not as “great” as others and I still quarrel with many rankings based on my own taste.
The latest list redressed some of my grievances, but not others. For example, I noted then that the list was too impressed with “importance,” as defined by Oscar success and grosses, political correctness, and apparent “newness” of style or technical breakthroughs, which I thought to be of historical rather than long-lasting significance.
On those grounds, the current list eliminated all of the following films (with their 1998 rankings):
39 Dr. Zhivago;
44 Birth Of A Nation [replaced in the new list by Griffith’s less inflammatory 49 Intolerance];
52 From Here To Eternity;
53 Amadeus;
54 All Quiet On The Western Front;
57 The Third Man [the one egregious exclusion];
58 Fantasia [replaced by Toy Story];
59 Rebel Without A Cause;
63 Stagecoach;
64 Close Encounters Of The Third Kind;
67 The Manchurian Candidate;
68 An American In Paris;
73 Wuthering Heights;
75 Dances With Wolves;
82 Giant [along with Rebel, eliminates James Dean from the list];
84 Fargo [eliminates any from the Coens];
86 Mutiny On The Bounty;
87 Frankenstein;
89 Patton;
90 The Jazz Singer;
91 My Fair Lady;
92 A Place In The Sun [the second George Stevens film removed];
99 Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner.
Some such movies were severely downgraded (1998/current):
(72/100) Ben-Hur;
(70/93) The French Connection;
(50/73): Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid;
(17/65) The African Queen;
(40/55) North By Northwest;
(13/36) Bridge Over The River Kwai;
(46/70) A Clockwork Orange.
Yet, overrated movies remain:
Gone With The Wind dropped only slightly, from 4 to 6.
Inexplicably, The Sound Of Music rose from 55 to 40 [while Bonnie And Clyde dropped from 27 to 42].
Films that are new to the list:
17 The Graduate;
18 The General [redressing the previous omission of Buster Keaton];
50 Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship Of The Ring [the most recently released movie on the list, 2001];
59 Nashville;
61 Sullivan’s Travels [reflecting the overdue recognition of Preston Sturges];
63 Cabaret [adding Bob Fosse’s most popular, if not best film work (All That Jazz)];
67 Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf? [a second by Mike Nichols, who previously was shut out];
71 Saving Private Ryan [Spielberg trades Close Encounters];
72 The Shawshank Redemption;
75 In The Heat Of The Night;
77 All The President’s Men;
81 Spartacus [Kirk Douglas’s only entry];
82 Sunrise [Murnau’s 1927 silent masterpiece];
83 Titanic;
85 A Night At The Opera [adding a second Marx Brothers classic to the list, with Duck Soup (85/60);
87 12 Angry Men;
89 The Sixth Sense;
90 Swing Time [adding an Astaire Rogers musical for the first time and a Stevens movie replacing two that are dropped];
91 Sophie’s Choice;
95 The Last Picture Show;
96 Do The Right Thing;
97 Blade Runner;
99 Toy Story.
Other films soared in esteem in the past 10 years.
Raging Bull rose from 24 to 4;
Vertigo from 61 to 9;
City Lights from 76 to 11;
The Searchers from 96 to 12.
In 1998, I felt that some films were too recent to be fairly evaluated because my standard for “great” requires aging, multiple viewing during your life. Some on the list seemed dated or tedious on later viewing, not as “important” or as much a breakthrough as they appeared when released, or just not as pleasurable when seen again. Because one of my personal standards for “greatness” is whether I want to see it again, and if so, how often, many would not be popped into my VCR / DVD.
Those I questioned then but accept now include
Pulp Fiction (1994), then ranked 95, now 94, which I now consider to be too low;
Fargo was then 84, now out of the top 100;
Goodfellas was 94, now 92, also underrated.
The Unforgiven was 98, now 68 - reflecting Clint Eastwood’s revisionist view of the Western preferred over John Ford’s [(63) Stagecoach drops out of the 100].
I still think these are overrated:
Platoon (83/86);
Doctor Zhivago (39/off);
Giant (82/off);
One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest (20/33);
Tootsie (62/69),
Dances With Wolves (75/off).
Maybe The Lord Of The Rings and Titanic will stand the test of time but certainly, if they deserve to make the list, how can Shakespeare In Love (1998) be neglected?
Ten years ago, some critics complained that the list was weighted toward recent films. I noted then that 21 of the top 40 were released before 1960. The new list increases it to 23.
But the “Golden Year” of 1939 has been tarnished.
GWTW and Wizard Of Oz (6/10) downrated; Stagecoach and Wuthering Heights omitted along with classics Goodbye, Mr. Chips and Gunga Din, which didn’t make the list in ‘98. Only Mr. Smith Goes To Washington improved position (29/26).
Another thing I noticed 10 years ago was the omission of films by some great stars — Laurel & Hardy, Shirley Temple, W.C. Fields, Garbo, Carole Lombard, Von Stroheim, King Vidor, Wellman, Lubitch. But I must admit that great moments, scenes or styles are what we remember and prize from those artists, rather than “great films”. It is difficult to name a “great film” associated with Laurel and Hardy, for instance, though they were certainly “great” comics. Adding Keaton’s The General, and Astaire/Rogers Swing Time are minor corrections.
A comparison of the genres represented on the old and new lists, are instructive [films which overlap genres are counted again]:
Musicals (10/8): removed: Amadeus, Fantasia, American In Paris, The Jazz Singer, My Fair Lady. Added: Nashville, Cabaret, Swing Time. Still didn’t make it: Gigi, The Band Wagon, Carousel, Top Hat/Shall We Dance, All That Jazz.
Westerns (8/6): Out - Stagecoach, Dances With Wolves. Left out again: Red River; My Darling Clementine; The Ox-Bow Incident, The Magnificent Seven.
War films (20/18). [Defined by me as including those in which a war is a major element in the drama, even if not labeled a war movie — thus I include a film like Casablanca.]
These films are appropriately numerous considering that wars or the threat of them were the most dramatic events of the 20th century. The list includes those which will provide a fitting chronicle — albeit somewhat skewed, sharply dramatized and often propagandized history — for the viewers of the next century of our nation’s wars.
Out = Birth Of A Nation, From Here To Eternity, All Quiet On The Western Front, Patton. Added = Saving Private Ryan, Spartacus. Ignored by both lists: Paths of Glory; A Walk in the Sun; 12 O’Clock High; Battleground; The Story of GI Joe; Porkchop Hill; The Big Parade; Red Badge of Courage and Fail-Safe.
Comedies (17/19) [including its subcategory — romantic comedies.] Many of my favorites left out are: The Bank Dick (Fields); Born Yesterday ; Animal House; The Pink Panther/Shot in the Dark; His Girl Friday; The Awful Truth; 1,2,3; Mr. Roberts, Young Frankenstein / The 12 Chairs / The Producers / Blazing Saddles (as a Mel Brooks entry); The Court Jester.
Sci-fi/ Occult (5/5). Frankenstein (87), Close Encounters (64) were offed, The Sixth Sense (89) and Blade Runner (96)were added A genre that doesn’t lend itself to great films. Other classics left out: The Thing (Hawks version); The Day The Earth Stood Still; Invasion of the Body Snatchers [Siegel version].
Epics (12/10) Somewhat facetiously, this is a genre including any film with “a cast of thousands.” Saving Private Ryan, Titanic, Intolerance, The Lord Of The Rings replaced Dr. Z, Birth Of A Nation, From Here To Eternity, All Quiet, Mutiny, Patton.
Crime: mysteries / thriller / spy / gangster (20/22). Perhaps it is the genre most reflective of American society with our never waning attraction to violence.
This is the most broadly represented genre in terms of spanning eras and rankings, appropriately so as it is the most durable and popular of genres among ‘serious’ directors; the specialties of the best of film makers such as Wilder, Huston, Hitchcock, Coppola, Scorsese.
The Third Man, The Manchurian Candidate, Fargo, A Place In The Sun join previous neglected classics out of the top 100: Scarface [Hawks version], Public Enemy, From Russia With Love and Bullitt. All The President’s Men, Do The Right Thing, Sixth Sense, Heat Of The Night, Shawshank, 12 Angry Men are added.
Horror / Monster (non-sci-fi): (3/2). Frankenstein gone.
So few are “great,” perhaps because the formula is so easily hackneyed and the earlier classics so satisfied the standard. Bela Lugosi’s Dracula is unaccountably omitted, considering its influence, inspiration and captive themes for popular culture.
Also omitted are any of Lon Chaney’s silent classics, including the very influential Phantom Of The Opera. Also neglected are The Exorcist, The Omen, Rosemary’s Baby, The Shining.
Romances (love stories, not incidental to other genre plots) (5/5). Added - The Graduate, Titanic.
This genre is scarce in "greatness", though as an element, love stories are universal: (boy meets girl, etc being the oldest and most durable of all film formulas, but clearly one least susceptible to originality and whatever other criteria define “greatness”).
Great screen lovers like Gable, Garbo, Monroe, John Gilbert, Valentino, Bette Davis, Audrey Hepburn made few “great” films, many pleasant romances.
Notably left off both lists are Roman Holiday, When Harry Met Sally, You’ve Got Mail / Sleepless In Seattle.
Sports (2/2). One genre almost shut out, which reflects the truth that this genre rarely produces greatness. I am willing to wait for time to prove Field of Dreams, or Bull Durham worthy. Pride of the Yankees, though a sentimental, warm memory is not a “great” film in a sense. Only Rocky and Raging Bull on boxing make the list.
Adventure/ Fantasy (1/2) Another left out is Adventures of Robin Hood in the genre which includes Raiders of the Lost Ark but omits Gunga Din.
Some directors have fared better than others. Wilder and Hitchcock still have 4 each, but Ford now has 2. George Stevens had 3, lost 2, gained 1. Chaplin, Huston, FF Coppola, Kubrick, Scorsese, Spielberg, and Capra also 3. Wyler now has just one as does Cukor. Mike Nichols joins Kazan and Victor Fleming with 2. Spike Lee, Brian De Palma, Welles, Polanski, Milos Forman, Zinnemann, Griffith, Eastwood, and Howard Hawks are represented by only 1 film each.
It is also interesting which of the great stars, so important in Hollywood history, are represented in multiple films and which in fewer, or none at all:
It is probably not surprising that the most popular and durable Hollywood film star, James Stewart, leads with 5. The only surprise of stars with four on the list would be Holden, who is lightly regarded by critics, but whose persona and talent for comedy, irony, and action made him a favorite of Wilder and other good film makers. Also with 4: Bogart; De Niro; Brando, and now, Hoffman and Ford.
There are fewer actresses with multiple entries: (4) Katherine Hepburn; (3) Diane Keaton; Fay Dunaway.
The character actors /featured player with the most appearances is Robert Duvall with 6 movies in the top 100.
The other surprise is how many great stars are represented with only one film on the list, neglecting other “classics” they made:
H. Fonda: (no Mr. Roberts; Ox-Bow; Clementine; Lady Eve);
Cagney: (no Public Enemy; White Heat);
Gary Cooper: (left out: Capra’s Mr. Deeds Goes to Town; Meet John Doe; Sergeant York; The Westerner);
Audrey Hepburn: (left out: Roman Holiday, Donen’s Two For the Road, Sabrina, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Charade);
Fredric March: (out: Nothing Sacred, Inherit the Wind; Death of a Salesman);
Charles Laughton: (Advise and Consent).
Paul Newman
Olivier: (no Hamlet; Rebecca; Marathon Man);
Spencer Tracy (what about: Captains Courageous; Woman of the Year; Adam’s Rib; Test Pilot or Boom Town;
Sidney Poitier: Lillies of the Field; Blackboard Jungle, The Defiant Ones.
Barbara Stanwyck
Edward G. Robinson
Bette Davis
Kirk Douglas
Many were shut out:
Joan Crawford
Irene Dunne (Show Boat, The Awful Truth;)
Greer Garson (Mrs. Miniver; Goodbye, Mr. Chips);
Barbra Streisand (Funny Girl; The Way We Were)
Robert Mitchum (Night of the Hunter; Out of the Past; Story of GI Joe.)
Richard Widmark
Glen Ford (Gilda)
Glen Close
Walter Brennan (five Oscars and a million films)
William Hurt
William Powell
Jane Fonda
Carole Lombard.
Finally, it is obvious that the list is still top heavy in sentimentality although the intervening decade has increased our appreciation of darker visions.
It should not be surprising that many of the favorite well-executed American classics (that have remained popular to succeeding generations) are “beloved” because they touch our emotions about the way we wish love or families or friendship to be.
It is noteworthy that films and film makers expressing more “realistic,” even cynical views about people, America and life are as well represented.
Ten years ago, I spent some time forming my opinions about inclusions and exclusions, rankings and implications. Now I recall those thoughts and add some new ones about the updated list.
My first thought is that then, as now, I have to admit that I agree with most inclusions, though some are not as “great” as others and I still quarrel with many rankings based on my own taste.
The latest list redressed some of my grievances, but not others. For example, I noted then that the list was too impressed with “importance,” as defined by Oscar success and grosses, political correctness, and apparent “newness” of style or technical breakthroughs, which I thought to be of historical rather than long-lasting significance.
On those grounds, the current list eliminated all of the following films (with their 1998 rankings):
39 Dr. Zhivago;
44 Birth Of A Nation [replaced in the new list by Griffith’s less inflammatory 49 Intolerance];
52 From Here To Eternity;
53 Amadeus;
54 All Quiet On The Western Front;
57 The Third Man [the one egregious exclusion];
58 Fantasia [replaced by Toy Story];
59 Rebel Without A Cause;
63 Stagecoach;
64 Close Encounters Of The Third Kind;
67 The Manchurian Candidate;
68 An American In Paris;
73 Wuthering Heights;
75 Dances With Wolves;
82 Giant [along with Rebel, eliminates James Dean from the list];
84 Fargo [eliminates any from the Coens];
86 Mutiny On The Bounty;
87 Frankenstein;
89 Patton;
90 The Jazz Singer;
91 My Fair Lady;
92 A Place In The Sun [the second George Stevens film removed];
99 Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner.
Some such movies were severely downgraded (1998/current):
(72/100) Ben-Hur;
(70/93) The French Connection;
(50/73): Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid;
(17/65) The African Queen;
(40/55) North By Northwest;
(13/36) Bridge Over The River Kwai;
(46/70) A Clockwork Orange.
Yet, overrated movies remain:
Gone With The Wind dropped only slightly, from 4 to 6.
Inexplicably, The Sound Of Music rose from 55 to 40 [while Bonnie And Clyde dropped from 27 to 42].
Films that are new to the list:
17 The Graduate;
18 The General [redressing the previous omission of Buster Keaton];
50 Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship Of The Ring [the most recently released movie on the list, 2001];
59 Nashville;
61 Sullivan’s Travels [reflecting the overdue recognition of Preston Sturges];
63 Cabaret [adding Bob Fosse’s most popular, if not best film work (All That Jazz)];
67 Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf? [a second by Mike Nichols, who previously was shut out];
71 Saving Private Ryan [Spielberg trades Close Encounters];
72 The Shawshank Redemption;
75 In The Heat Of The Night;
77 All The President’s Men;
81 Spartacus [Kirk Douglas’s only entry];
82 Sunrise [Murnau’s 1927 silent masterpiece];
83 Titanic;
85 A Night At The Opera [adding a second Marx Brothers classic to the list, with Duck Soup (85/60);
87 12 Angry Men;
89 The Sixth Sense;
90 Swing Time [adding an Astaire Rogers musical for the first time and a Stevens movie replacing two that are dropped];
91 Sophie’s Choice;
95 The Last Picture Show;
96 Do The Right Thing;
97 Blade Runner;
99 Toy Story.
Other films soared in esteem in the past 10 years.
Raging Bull rose from 24 to 4;
Vertigo from 61 to 9;
City Lights from 76 to 11;
The Searchers from 96 to 12.
In 1998, I felt that some films were too recent to be fairly evaluated because my standard for “great” requires aging, multiple viewing during your life. Some on the list seemed dated or tedious on later viewing, not as “important” or as much a breakthrough as they appeared when released, or just not as pleasurable when seen again. Because one of my personal standards for “greatness” is whether I want to see it again, and if so, how often, many would not be popped into my VCR / DVD.
Those I questioned then but accept now include
Pulp Fiction (1994), then ranked 95, now 94, which I now consider to be too low;
Fargo was then 84, now out of the top 100;
Goodfellas was 94, now 92, also underrated.
The Unforgiven was 98, now 68 - reflecting Clint Eastwood’s revisionist view of the Western preferred over John Ford’s [(63) Stagecoach drops out of the 100].
I still think these are overrated:
Platoon (83/86);
Doctor Zhivago (39/off);
Giant (82/off);
One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest (20/33);
Tootsie (62/69),
Dances With Wolves (75/off).
Maybe The Lord Of The Rings and Titanic will stand the test of time but certainly, if they deserve to make the list, how can Shakespeare In Love (1998) be neglected?
Ten years ago, some critics complained that the list was weighted toward recent films. I noted then that 21 of the top 40 were released before 1960. The new list increases it to 23.
But the “Golden Year” of 1939 has been tarnished.
GWTW and Wizard Of Oz (6/10) downrated; Stagecoach and Wuthering Heights omitted along with classics Goodbye, Mr. Chips and Gunga Din, which didn’t make the list in ‘98. Only Mr. Smith Goes To Washington improved position (29/26).
Another thing I noticed 10 years ago was the omission of films by some great stars — Laurel & Hardy, Shirley Temple, W.C. Fields, Garbo, Carole Lombard, Von Stroheim, King Vidor, Wellman, Lubitch. But I must admit that great moments, scenes or styles are what we remember and prize from those artists, rather than “great films”. It is difficult to name a “great film” associated with Laurel and Hardy, for instance, though they were certainly “great” comics. Adding Keaton’s The General, and Astaire/Rogers Swing Time are minor corrections.
A comparison of the genres represented on the old and new lists, are instructive [films which overlap genres are counted again]:
Musicals (10/8): removed: Amadeus, Fantasia, American In Paris, The Jazz Singer, My Fair Lady. Added: Nashville, Cabaret, Swing Time. Still didn’t make it: Gigi, The Band Wagon, Carousel, Top Hat/Shall We Dance, All That Jazz.
Westerns (8/6): Out - Stagecoach, Dances With Wolves. Left out again: Red River; My Darling Clementine; The Ox-Bow Incident, The Magnificent Seven.
War films (20/18). [Defined by me as including those in which a war is a major element in the drama, even if not labeled a war movie — thus I include a film like Casablanca.]
These films are appropriately numerous considering that wars or the threat of them were the most dramatic events of the 20th century. The list includes those which will provide a fitting chronicle — albeit somewhat skewed, sharply dramatized and often propagandized history — for the viewers of the next century of our nation’s wars.
Out = Birth Of A Nation, From Here To Eternity, All Quiet On The Western Front, Patton. Added = Saving Private Ryan, Spartacus. Ignored by both lists: Paths of Glory; A Walk in the Sun; 12 O’Clock High; Battleground; The Story of GI Joe; Porkchop Hill; The Big Parade; Red Badge of Courage and Fail-Safe.
Comedies (17/19) [including its subcategory — romantic comedies.] Many of my favorites left out are: The Bank Dick (Fields); Born Yesterday ; Animal House; The Pink Panther/Shot in the Dark; His Girl Friday; The Awful Truth; 1,2,3; Mr. Roberts, Young Frankenstein / The 12 Chairs / The Producers / Blazing Saddles (as a Mel Brooks entry); The Court Jester.
Sci-fi/ Occult (5/5). Frankenstein (87), Close Encounters (64) were offed, The Sixth Sense (89) and Blade Runner (96)were added A genre that doesn’t lend itself to great films. Other classics left out: The Thing (Hawks version); The Day The Earth Stood Still; Invasion of the Body Snatchers [Siegel version].
Epics (12/10) Somewhat facetiously, this is a genre including any film with “a cast of thousands.” Saving Private Ryan, Titanic, Intolerance, The Lord Of The Rings replaced Dr. Z, Birth Of A Nation, From Here To Eternity, All Quiet, Mutiny, Patton.
Crime: mysteries / thriller / spy / gangster (20/22). Perhaps it is the genre most reflective of American society with our never waning attraction to violence.
This is the most broadly represented genre in terms of spanning eras and rankings, appropriately so as it is the most durable and popular of genres among ‘serious’ directors; the specialties of the best of film makers such as Wilder, Huston, Hitchcock, Coppola, Scorsese.
The Third Man, The Manchurian Candidate, Fargo, A Place In The Sun join previous neglected classics out of the top 100: Scarface [Hawks version], Public Enemy, From Russia With Love and Bullitt. All The President’s Men, Do The Right Thing, Sixth Sense, Heat Of The Night, Shawshank, 12 Angry Men are added.
Horror / Monster (non-sci-fi): (3/2). Frankenstein gone.
So few are “great,” perhaps because the formula is so easily hackneyed and the earlier classics so satisfied the standard. Bela Lugosi’s Dracula is unaccountably omitted, considering its influence, inspiration and captive themes for popular culture.
Also omitted are any of Lon Chaney’s silent classics, including the very influential Phantom Of The Opera. Also neglected are The Exorcist, The Omen, Rosemary’s Baby, The Shining.
Romances (love stories, not incidental to other genre plots) (5/5). Added - The Graduate, Titanic.
This genre is scarce in "greatness", though as an element, love stories are universal: (boy meets girl, etc being the oldest and most durable of all film formulas, but clearly one least susceptible to originality and whatever other criteria define “greatness”).
Great screen lovers like Gable, Garbo, Monroe, John Gilbert, Valentino, Bette Davis, Audrey Hepburn made few “great” films, many pleasant romances.
Notably left off both lists are Roman Holiday, When Harry Met Sally, You’ve Got Mail / Sleepless In Seattle.
Sports (2/2). One genre almost shut out, which reflects the truth that this genre rarely produces greatness. I am willing to wait for time to prove Field of Dreams, or Bull Durham worthy. Pride of the Yankees, though a sentimental, warm memory is not a “great” film in a sense. Only Rocky and Raging Bull on boxing make the list.
Adventure/ Fantasy (1/2) Another left out is Adventures of Robin Hood in the genre which includes Raiders of the Lost Ark but omits Gunga Din.
Some directors have fared better than others. Wilder and Hitchcock still have 4 each, but Ford now has 2. George Stevens had 3, lost 2, gained 1. Chaplin, Huston, FF Coppola, Kubrick, Scorsese, Spielberg, and Capra also 3. Wyler now has just one as does Cukor. Mike Nichols joins Kazan and Victor Fleming with 2. Spike Lee, Brian De Palma, Welles, Polanski, Milos Forman, Zinnemann, Griffith, Eastwood, and Howard Hawks are represented by only 1 film each.
It is also interesting which of the great stars, so important in Hollywood history, are represented in multiple films and which in fewer, or none at all:
It is probably not surprising that the most popular and durable Hollywood film star, James Stewart, leads with 5. The only surprise of stars with four on the list would be Holden, who is lightly regarded by critics, but whose persona and talent for comedy, irony, and action made him a favorite of Wilder and other good film makers. Also with 4: Bogart; De Niro; Brando, and now, Hoffman and Ford.
There are fewer actresses with multiple entries: (4) Katherine Hepburn; (3) Diane Keaton; Fay Dunaway.
The character actors /featured player with the most appearances is Robert Duvall with 6 movies in the top 100.
The other surprise is how many great stars are represented with only one film on the list, neglecting other “classics” they made:
H. Fonda: (no Mr. Roberts; Ox-Bow; Clementine; Lady Eve);
Cagney: (no Public Enemy; White Heat);
Gary Cooper: (left out: Capra’s Mr. Deeds Goes to Town; Meet John Doe; Sergeant York; The Westerner);
Audrey Hepburn: (left out: Roman Holiday, Donen’s Two For the Road, Sabrina, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Charade);
Fredric March: (out: Nothing Sacred, Inherit the Wind; Death of a Salesman);
Charles Laughton: (Advise and Consent).
Paul Newman
Olivier: (no Hamlet; Rebecca; Marathon Man);
Spencer Tracy (what about: Captains Courageous; Woman of the Year; Adam’s Rib; Test Pilot or Boom Town;
Sidney Poitier: Lillies of the Field; Blackboard Jungle, The Defiant Ones.
Barbara Stanwyck
Edward G. Robinson
Bette Davis
Kirk Douglas
Many were shut out:
Joan Crawford
Irene Dunne (Show Boat, The Awful Truth;)
Greer Garson (Mrs. Miniver; Goodbye, Mr. Chips);
Barbra Streisand (Funny Girl; The Way We Were)
Robert Mitchum (Night of the Hunter; Out of the Past; Story of GI Joe.)
Richard Widmark
Glen Ford (Gilda)
Glen Close
Walter Brennan (five Oscars and a million films)
William Hurt
William Powell
Jane Fonda
Carole Lombard.
Finally, it is obvious that the list is still top heavy in sentimentality although the intervening decade has increased our appreciation of darker visions.
It should not be surprising that many of the favorite well-executed American classics (that have remained popular to succeeding generations) are “beloved” because they touch our emotions about the way we wish love or families or friendship to be.
It is noteworthy that films and film makers expressing more “realistic,” even cynical views about people, America and life are as well represented.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
The Good German (2006)
Directed by Steven Soderbergh; written by Paul Attanasio, based on the novel by Joseph Kanon; director of photography, Mr. Soderbergh (under the name Peter Andrews); editor, Mr. Soderbergh (under the name Mary Ann Bernard); music by Thomas Newman; production designer, Philip Messina; produced by Ben Cosgrove and Gregory Jacobs; released by Warner Brothers Pictures. Running time: 105 minutes.
WITH: George Clooney (Jake Geismer), Cate Blanchett (Lena Brandt), Tobey Maguire (Tully), Beau Bridges (Colonel Muller), Tony Curran (Danny), Leland Orser (Bernie), Jack Thompson (Congressman Breimer), Robin Weigert (Hannelore) and Ravil Isyanov (General Sikorsky).
Like other contemporary film people, Soderburgh has alternating careers. His makes entertainments that provide the freedom for his independent experiments. Clooney has become the Mastroianni to his Fellini, abetting many of these projects. So, for every opening of an “Ocean’s #,” there is a “Syriana,” “Full Frontal” or “Bubble”. Soderburgh has tacked this zig-zag course for a long time. “Sex, Lies & Videotape” (1989), “Out Of Sight” (1998), “Erin Brockovich” (2000), “Solaris” (2002), etc.
Also like others, Soderburgh’s “experiments” can devolve into self-indulgent vanity projects, wish fulfillment that, as one critic observed, cares little about the audience. The dictum that an artist’s only duty is to please himself is usually a refuge of artists embittered by audience derision. Soderburgh is among the fortunate elite who can truly brag, “Oh I could be popular if I wanted to” and also can claim to produce “Art for its own sake”.
“The Good German” is a cute experiment that tries to bridge the gap to popular acceptance. The concept is to make a film the way the Studio made it back in the day — like “Casablanca”, but with a contemporary freedom to tell it like it REALLY was. Tell the unsentimental truth about love and war and the American Way, using the Studio crafts that created the myths back then — an anti-“Casablanca”. He also tries to recapture the mood of Carol Reed’s “The Third Man”, the “Neo-Realism” of Rossellini’s “Open City” and “Germany Year Zero” and some of the cynicism of Wilder’s “A Foreign Affair.” (Apparently, Soderburgh screened the film for critics paired with John Huston’s “The Maltese Falcon.”)
Many loved the idea and were licking our chops at the thought of seeing Clooney’s spin on Bogie; Blanchett’s on Bergman, Soderburgh’s on Curtiz and all those others. He fails miserably. And it is too bad.
It fails for a lot of reasons. First in my view, Attanasio’s script lacks polish, coherence, wit and surprise. Second, the acting is a disappointment: Clooney seems unsure of himself in every scene. Soderburgh’s instruction was to act like a contract player of the ‘40's, dropping the internalized modern acting. Clooney, who seems the most traditional of today’s screen personalities, apparently interpreted the direction as elimination of all Cloonyisms. Thus, we get no self-deprecating winks or stammered anger, no personality at all. The actor was more charming as Fred Friendly.
Blanchett is trapped in a “Deitrich” accent and faux fatale look that provokes comparison with her caricature of Hepburn in “The Aviator” crossed with Natasha of “Rocky And Bullwinkle”. The high contrast black and white close-ups are the antithesis of 40's glamour photography and the unflattering hard look, accentuated by the deep voiced German accent and her burnt out flat delivery fails to hint at the woman she was before the war that is now lost in her fight to survive.
And there is absolutely no chemistry between the stars. Clooney earned his star stripes in a car trunk and hotel room with J-Lo in "Out Of Sight." Here, we get a blackened screen kiss and quick cut back to plot.
Neither character, the "world weary reporter" returning to recapture his love, or the bitter survivor, is written, directed or acted with enough passion to make us care very much.
Sentimentality is overwrought emotion. Anti-sentimentality is not the absence of any feeling.
In “Casablanca,” the chemistry was carefully cultivated during the flashback sequence showing pre-war innocent intimacy between the lovers that has been lost. Soderburgh could not bring himself to insert such a now-hackneyed device and he finds no substitute. When he does use a brief flashback, it is to show Lena being raped and shooting a Russian officer to explain her frigidity and fear of the Russian Zone, while he conceals her deeper secret until the very end.
Jake’s obsession with Lena should be like Rick’s with Ilsa, repressing his cynicism for one last stab at redemptive love or at least self-sacrificing nobility. The script wants Lena to seem like a hardened femme fatale with a soft heart or is it vice versa? But neither the plot nor the style nor the pace nor the acting successfully conveys any of this feeling to the audience.
Soderburgh hopes that his stylish photography and cutting will carry the day. He wants to be a heroic auteur like Huston, Reed, Curtiz, Welles, overcoming trite material and studio strictures to create distinctive and personal art. He is correct that those classic directors had style, but he ignores the fact that for the most part, their work was intended to and did enhance the mood, to tell the story and make the audience feel.
Every movie of this kind tells both a micro and macro story — in the breathless Studio trailer parlance: “a love story set against a backdrop of intrigue and danger.” The macro story is the postwar beginnings of the Cold War, the rush to capture German scientists amid the wreckage of Berlin ... “where everything and everyone has a price...”
Lena’s husband is a mathematician who aided the leader of Camp Dora, the concentration camp / project to build the V-2 rockets. “Emile Brandt” is a composite of real figures including Arthur Rudolph, and his boss, “Franz Bettmann,” is based on Wernher Von Braun. Both Rudolph and Von Braun were captured by the US Army and hustled to America in Operation Overcast / Paperclip, evading war crimes trials for abuse of slave laborers, at least 20,000 of whom were killed (more than were victimized when the rockets exploded in England).
The script rather transparently mimics wartime and immediate postwar liberal sentiment. Jake is a reporter for “The New Republic” and he wants to uncover the nasty truth that America is willing to use Nazis and Nazi methods to survive the rocket age. His adversaries are American soldiers named “Muller” and “Shaeffer,” and a Congressman named “Breimer” while an officer who helps him is a Jew trying to gain evidence to punish war crimes. But there will be no happy ending in this re-write of history. The truth will be suppressed on the grounds of national survival.
The last scene is obviously intended to mimic and undercut “Casablanca’s” famous airport finale. Everyone who has tried to act nobly has failed. Emile's secret dies with him. Lena's guilt remains. Jake has traded suppression of the truth for Lena’s safe passage out of Berlin. Now he wants to know why she is so desperate to leave Berlin. She confesses that she is a war criminal; she turned in twelve of her fellow Jews to the Gestapo. This is meant to be a shock, a crescendo that reveals her corruption and the end of possibilities for redemption.
Like Rick, Jake will give up the love of his life. But not in order to continue any noble fight alone; not because she is worthy. Maybe because she is no good and Jake feels — well, we don’t know exactly what — disappointment, disgust, resignation, disillusionment, guilt?
The scene falls flat. You can almost hear the audience murmuring: “so what?” With what we now know about what everyone did to survive the Holocaust and The War and The Post War, Lena’s revelation seems almost trivial.
A better, more dramatic re-write would have echoed “The Maltese Falcon’s” climactic scene, allowing Jake to disclose his knowledge of the truth about her, cruelly forcing her to confess.
Alternate endings could then follow. (1) He could have done the sentimental thing: said something like, “Go ahead, get out of my sight. I can’t stand to look at you.”
Or (2) he could have said something really shocking and unsentimental: (With A Shrug) “Okay babe, it doesn’t matter. I want you anyway. Maybe you'll look better in Technicolor. Besides, who am I to judge? I spent the war getting drunk in London.”
WITH: George Clooney (Jake Geismer), Cate Blanchett (Lena Brandt), Tobey Maguire (Tully), Beau Bridges (Colonel Muller), Tony Curran (Danny), Leland Orser (Bernie), Jack Thompson (Congressman Breimer), Robin Weigert (Hannelore) and Ravil Isyanov (General Sikorsky).
Like other contemporary film people, Soderburgh has alternating careers. His makes entertainments that provide the freedom for his independent experiments. Clooney has become the Mastroianni to his Fellini, abetting many of these projects. So, for every opening of an “Ocean’s #,” there is a “Syriana,” “Full Frontal” or “Bubble”. Soderburgh has tacked this zig-zag course for a long time. “Sex, Lies & Videotape” (1989), “Out Of Sight” (1998), “Erin Brockovich” (2000), “Solaris” (2002), etc.
Also like others, Soderburgh’s “experiments” can devolve into self-indulgent vanity projects, wish fulfillment that, as one critic observed, cares little about the audience. The dictum that an artist’s only duty is to please himself is usually a refuge of artists embittered by audience derision. Soderburgh is among the fortunate elite who can truly brag, “Oh I could be popular if I wanted to” and also can claim to produce “Art for its own sake”.
“The Good German” is a cute experiment that tries to bridge the gap to popular acceptance. The concept is to make a film the way the Studio made it back in the day — like “Casablanca”, but with a contemporary freedom to tell it like it REALLY was. Tell the unsentimental truth about love and war and the American Way, using the Studio crafts that created the myths back then — an anti-“Casablanca”. He also tries to recapture the mood of Carol Reed’s “The Third Man”, the “Neo-Realism” of Rossellini’s “Open City” and “Germany Year Zero” and some of the cynicism of Wilder’s “A Foreign Affair.” (Apparently, Soderburgh screened the film for critics paired with John Huston’s “The Maltese Falcon.”)
Many loved the idea and were licking our chops at the thought of seeing Clooney’s spin on Bogie; Blanchett’s on Bergman, Soderburgh’s on Curtiz and all those others. He fails miserably. And it is too bad.
It fails for a lot of reasons. First in my view, Attanasio’s script lacks polish, coherence, wit and surprise. Second, the acting is a disappointment: Clooney seems unsure of himself in every scene. Soderburgh’s instruction was to act like a contract player of the ‘40's, dropping the internalized modern acting. Clooney, who seems the most traditional of today’s screen personalities, apparently interpreted the direction as elimination of all Cloonyisms. Thus, we get no self-deprecating winks or stammered anger, no personality at all. The actor was more charming as Fred Friendly.
Blanchett is trapped in a “Deitrich” accent and faux fatale look that provokes comparison with her caricature of Hepburn in “The Aviator” crossed with Natasha of “Rocky And Bullwinkle”. The high contrast black and white close-ups are the antithesis of 40's glamour photography and the unflattering hard look, accentuated by the deep voiced German accent and her burnt out flat delivery fails to hint at the woman she was before the war that is now lost in her fight to survive.
And there is absolutely no chemistry between the stars. Clooney earned his star stripes in a car trunk and hotel room with J-Lo in "Out Of Sight." Here, we get a blackened screen kiss and quick cut back to plot.
Neither character, the "world weary reporter" returning to recapture his love, or the bitter survivor, is written, directed or acted with enough passion to make us care very much.
Sentimentality is overwrought emotion. Anti-sentimentality is not the absence of any feeling.
In “Casablanca,” the chemistry was carefully cultivated during the flashback sequence showing pre-war innocent intimacy between the lovers that has been lost. Soderburgh could not bring himself to insert such a now-hackneyed device and he finds no substitute. When he does use a brief flashback, it is to show Lena being raped and shooting a Russian officer to explain her frigidity and fear of the Russian Zone, while he conceals her deeper secret until the very end.
Jake’s obsession with Lena should be like Rick’s with Ilsa, repressing his cynicism for one last stab at redemptive love or at least self-sacrificing nobility. The script wants Lena to seem like a hardened femme fatale with a soft heart or is it vice versa? But neither the plot nor the style nor the pace nor the acting successfully conveys any of this feeling to the audience.
Soderburgh hopes that his stylish photography and cutting will carry the day. He wants to be a heroic auteur like Huston, Reed, Curtiz, Welles, overcoming trite material and studio strictures to create distinctive and personal art. He is correct that those classic directors had style, but he ignores the fact that for the most part, their work was intended to and did enhance the mood, to tell the story and make the audience feel.
Every movie of this kind tells both a micro and macro story — in the breathless Studio trailer parlance: “a love story set against a backdrop of intrigue and danger.” The macro story is the postwar beginnings of the Cold War, the rush to capture German scientists amid the wreckage of Berlin ... “where everything and everyone has a price...”
Lena’s husband is a mathematician who aided the leader of Camp Dora, the concentration camp / project to build the V-2 rockets. “Emile Brandt” is a composite of real figures including Arthur Rudolph, and his boss, “Franz Bettmann,” is based on Wernher Von Braun. Both Rudolph and Von Braun were captured by the US Army and hustled to America in Operation Overcast / Paperclip, evading war crimes trials for abuse of slave laborers, at least 20,000 of whom were killed (more than were victimized when the rockets exploded in England).
The script rather transparently mimics wartime and immediate postwar liberal sentiment. Jake is a reporter for “The New Republic” and he wants to uncover the nasty truth that America is willing to use Nazis and Nazi methods to survive the rocket age. His adversaries are American soldiers named “Muller” and “Shaeffer,” and a Congressman named “Breimer” while an officer who helps him is a Jew trying to gain evidence to punish war crimes. But there will be no happy ending in this re-write of history. The truth will be suppressed on the grounds of national survival.
The last scene is obviously intended to mimic and undercut “Casablanca’s” famous airport finale. Everyone who has tried to act nobly has failed. Emile's secret dies with him. Lena's guilt remains. Jake has traded suppression of the truth for Lena’s safe passage out of Berlin. Now he wants to know why she is so desperate to leave Berlin. She confesses that she is a war criminal; she turned in twelve of her fellow Jews to the Gestapo. This is meant to be a shock, a crescendo that reveals her corruption and the end of possibilities for redemption.
Like Rick, Jake will give up the love of his life. But not in order to continue any noble fight alone; not because she is worthy. Maybe because she is no good and Jake feels — well, we don’t know exactly what — disappointment, disgust, resignation, disillusionment, guilt?
The scene falls flat. You can almost hear the audience murmuring: “so what?” With what we now know about what everyone did to survive the Holocaust and The War and The Post War, Lena’s revelation seems almost trivial.
A better, more dramatic re-write would have echoed “The Maltese Falcon’s” climactic scene, allowing Jake to disclose his knowledge of the truth about her, cruelly forcing her to confess.
Alternate endings could then follow. (1) He could have done the sentimental thing: said something like, “Go ahead, get out of my sight. I can’t stand to look at you.”
Or (2) he could have said something really shocking and unsentimental: (With A Shrug) “Okay babe, it doesn’t matter. I want you anyway. Maybe you'll look better in Technicolor. Besides, who am I to judge? I spent the war getting drunk in London.”
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Stranger Than Fiction (2006)
Directed by Marc Forster from a screenplay by Zach Helm.
Starring: Will Ferrell (Harold Crick); Emma Thompson (Karen Eiffel); Maggie Gyllenhaal (Ana Pascal); Dustin Hoffman (Prof.), Queen Latifah (Penny).
This is a comfortable movie to watch because, although it raises issues that purport to prod you into examining your life, it is only a “movie,” an unreal fantasy that is separated from real life. Thus, it makes you think, but not so deeply that you want to kill yourself.
It is the kind of movie made of compromise, using a “new” style to tell an old story (boy meets girl) and sell an older moral (carpe diem). It is derivative as hell but charmingly acted so as to be palatable. The actors act as if accepting the premise of the joke and willingly participate in the subdued ironic mood, each with a slight knowing smile that lets you off the hook in case you were tempted to take them seriously.
The premise plays on the commonly held neurotic fear that we might be characters in some cosmic novel. Suppose a guy really was such a character, a really dull guy, now forced to examine his life because he discovers that the novelist intends to “kill” him. It permits some amusing musing on literary convention as metaphors for life. Is our life meant to be comedy or tragedy? Are we controlled by the “omniscient” creator, or can we direct own lives?
Because of the expenditure of energy on the cool premise, the working out of “plot” to realize it is a bit thin on newness. The character’s arc — from buttoned up IRS auditor to free spirited guitar player — impelled by his love of a Bohemian girl baker who teaches him to break the rules and eat cookies, is the oldest of romance movie forms.
This is certainly a “movie movie” which, while claiming a literary heritage, is really indebted more to movies. Charlie Kaufman’s films, “Adaptation”, “Eternal Sunshine..”, and “Being John Malkovich”, all will come to mind. So, too, Woody Allen’s “Purple Rose Of Cairo.” You can even reach further back to Pirandello’s “Six Characters In Search Of An Author.” And the resolution smells of “It’s A Wonderful Life.”
Marc Forster was a decent choice as director. His previous experience with “Finding Neverland” showed a nimble visual handling of the creative process. (He was less successful with a not dissimilar variant — the psychodrama fantasy in which the action is played out in the protagonist’s mind — in the muddled “Stay”.) Here, he copies tricks with graphics that Spike Jonze introduced in “Fight Club” for the same purpose — to show how his character’s life is circumscribed by data. Otherwise, he plays it pretty straight, letting his actors breathe something like life into their characters.
Dustin Hoffman continues to show his limitations. His underplaying as a ploy for ironic wit tires and his line readings sound more like readthroughs than commitment. Emma Thompson is first rate as the novelist struggling with her duty to the character she created. Gyllenhaal has the intelligence and presence to make her character’s eccentricities seem interesting.
Ferrell surprised me. At first, he seemed to be simply following the familiar path of the dialed down comic who plays serious by flattening his affect. Robin Williams, Jim Carrey, Adam Sandler are the latest clowns to try this. They deepen their voices, hide their smiles, narrow their shoulders — they are medicated crazies, made sadly dull.
But Ferrell actually draws some felt emotions as his character’s dilemma becomes apparent. His newfound self-awareness leads him to self-examination, love, change, and regret. He conveys these changes with some subtlety and credibility, although he never completely convinces us that his character is much more than that — a cipher, an everyman, who exists only in a movie.
Ferrell’s “Harold” and Carrey’s “Joel” (of "Eternal Sunshine") are both freed from their chains by the female lifeforces who love them. Ferrell’s likeability makes you root for him while Carrey’s edgier persona distances him. Which is more “real” is a matter of taste: I tend to think Carrey’s is the far more human.
Charlie Hoffman’s end lines voiced by Carrey are more in line with my understanding about how love works than the standard treacly compromise ending Zach Helm’s script provides. Joel tells Clementine that he knows they’re doomed to fail, but the trip is worth it even if it produces excruciating memories along with the treasured ones.
That's a nice twist on the happy ending.
Starring: Will Ferrell (Harold Crick); Emma Thompson (Karen Eiffel); Maggie Gyllenhaal (Ana Pascal); Dustin Hoffman (Prof.), Queen Latifah (Penny).
This is a comfortable movie to watch because, although it raises issues that purport to prod you into examining your life, it is only a “movie,” an unreal fantasy that is separated from real life. Thus, it makes you think, but not so deeply that you want to kill yourself.
It is the kind of movie made of compromise, using a “new” style to tell an old story (boy meets girl) and sell an older moral (carpe diem). It is derivative as hell but charmingly acted so as to be palatable. The actors act as if accepting the premise of the joke and willingly participate in the subdued ironic mood, each with a slight knowing smile that lets you off the hook in case you were tempted to take them seriously.
The premise plays on the commonly held neurotic fear that we might be characters in some cosmic novel. Suppose a guy really was such a character, a really dull guy, now forced to examine his life because he discovers that the novelist intends to “kill” him. It permits some amusing musing on literary convention as metaphors for life. Is our life meant to be comedy or tragedy? Are we controlled by the “omniscient” creator, or can we direct own lives?
Because of the expenditure of energy on the cool premise, the working out of “plot” to realize it is a bit thin on newness. The character’s arc — from buttoned up IRS auditor to free spirited guitar player — impelled by his love of a Bohemian girl baker who teaches him to break the rules and eat cookies, is the oldest of romance movie forms.
This is certainly a “movie movie” which, while claiming a literary heritage, is really indebted more to movies. Charlie Kaufman’s films, “Adaptation”, “Eternal Sunshine..”, and “Being John Malkovich”, all will come to mind. So, too, Woody Allen’s “Purple Rose Of Cairo.” You can even reach further back to Pirandello’s “Six Characters In Search Of An Author.” And the resolution smells of “It’s A Wonderful Life.”
Marc Forster was a decent choice as director. His previous experience with “Finding Neverland” showed a nimble visual handling of the creative process. (He was less successful with a not dissimilar variant — the psychodrama fantasy in which the action is played out in the protagonist’s mind — in the muddled “Stay”.) Here, he copies tricks with graphics that Spike Jonze introduced in “Fight Club” for the same purpose — to show how his character’s life is circumscribed by data. Otherwise, he plays it pretty straight, letting his actors breathe something like life into their characters.
Dustin Hoffman continues to show his limitations. His underplaying as a ploy for ironic wit tires and his line readings sound more like readthroughs than commitment. Emma Thompson is first rate as the novelist struggling with her duty to the character she created. Gyllenhaal has the intelligence and presence to make her character’s eccentricities seem interesting.
Ferrell surprised me. At first, he seemed to be simply following the familiar path of the dialed down comic who plays serious by flattening his affect. Robin Williams, Jim Carrey, Adam Sandler are the latest clowns to try this. They deepen their voices, hide their smiles, narrow their shoulders — they are medicated crazies, made sadly dull.
But Ferrell actually draws some felt emotions as his character’s dilemma becomes apparent. His newfound self-awareness leads him to self-examination, love, change, and regret. He conveys these changes with some subtlety and credibility, although he never completely convinces us that his character is much more than that — a cipher, an everyman, who exists only in a movie.
Ferrell’s “Harold” and Carrey’s “Joel” (of "Eternal Sunshine") are both freed from their chains by the female lifeforces who love them. Ferrell’s likeability makes you root for him while Carrey’s edgier persona distances him. Which is more “real” is a matter of taste: I tend to think Carrey’s is the far more human.
Charlie Hoffman’s end lines voiced by Carrey are more in line with my understanding about how love works than the standard treacly compromise ending Zach Helm’s script provides. Joel tells Clementine that he knows they’re doomed to fail, but the trip is worth it even if it produces excruciating memories along with the treasured ones.
That's a nice twist on the happy ending.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Ann Of A Thousand Movies
For some reason, the name Ann or Anne (or Anna, or Annie) keeps coming up as one of the most popular girl’s name in movies. Here are the ones I’ve gathered so far.
There are dozens of film versions of Anna Karenina, and a few of Anna And The King Of Siam. There is Annie Hall and The Diary Of Anne Frank and (Little Orphan) Annie. as well as Anne (Bolyn) Of The Thousand Days.
So why, huh? All these Annes seem to have one trait in common: spunk. Whether she survives or not, she’s got strength as well as a certain presence that the name somehow embodies for writers and audiences.
In fact, Ann is a popular name for regal characters or the actresses who have that name.
Audrey Hepburn was Princess Ann in Roman Holiday. Julia Roberts was Anna in Notting Hill. Mandy Moore was Anna, the president’s daughter in Chasing Liberty. Nicole Kidman was Anna in Birth. Naomi Watts was Ann Darrow in King Kong.
I’m not counting Anne Hathaway who starred as The Princess Bride. Or Anne Bancroft, Anne Baxter, Ann Sheridan, but they all had spunk.
And what about Annie Savoy (Bull Durham). She had almost everything.
There are dozens of film versions of Anna Karenina, and a few of Anna And The King Of Siam. There is Annie Hall and The Diary Of Anne Frank and (Little Orphan) Annie. as well as Anne (Bolyn) Of The Thousand Days.
So why, huh? All these Annes seem to have one trait in common: spunk. Whether she survives or not, she’s got strength as well as a certain presence that the name somehow embodies for writers and audiences.
In fact, Ann is a popular name for regal characters or the actresses who have that name.
Audrey Hepburn was Princess Ann in Roman Holiday. Julia Roberts was Anna in Notting Hill. Mandy Moore was Anna, the president’s daughter in Chasing Liberty. Nicole Kidman was Anna in Birth. Naomi Watts was Ann Darrow in King Kong.
I’m not counting Anne Hathaway who starred as The Princess Bride. Or Anne Bancroft, Anne Baxter, Ann Sheridan, but they all had spunk.
And what about Annie Savoy (Bull Durham). She had almost everything.
Voice Of Her Generation: Sofia Coppola
In just three films - The Virgin Suicides (1999), Lost In Translation (2003), and last year's Marie Antoinette, Sofia Coppola has carved a niche for herself as the voice of her generation in the same way F.Scott Fitzgerald was of his.
Both generations are "lost," and for many of the same reasons.
Well, let me amend that. Coppola is at least the voice of her generation of girls while Quentin Tarantino is the voice of his generation of boys - which explains why Coppola's females feel so depressed.
Ms. Coppola's girls no longer live in the movie world of boy meets girl. They are confused - alienated from the old conventions but as yet without new rules. They are intelligent young women, but their intelligence makes them sadly aware of their predicament.
To rebel against the rules set for them by society (i.e., by their parents' male-centric generation) and therefore risk destruction; or to tolerate them, assuring a life of stultifying boredom? Other choices seem to be beyond them.
They can't decide what to do with sex, with love, with boys or men. And they have not much ambition to be useful or productive.
What they clearly get is style as an expression of self, and willingly indulge and overindulge ... until something important might come along. Their lives lack drama and they strive to create some. That drive is the center of the universe of pop culture.
If Coppola's social philosophy can be labeled as post-feminist (or as one critic wrote, post post-feminist), her story-telling style is anti-narrative post-modern.
She eschews plot, seems only faintly interested in dialogue as a vehicle to carry ideas. She prefers to slow the pace of her scenes to linger until the viewer is as bored as her characters - seemingly a way to create the sludgy mood of ennui and indecision that she is mostly interested in.
It is that mood that her audience most identifies with - the time of life when time wasting is a full time pre-occupation.
The girls in The Virgin Suicides are trapped in their suburban home in the 1970's with unsatisfactory parents and not much hope.
Coppola is not much interested in the question of why the five girls choose death, but rather wants to create a surrealistic comedic mood that seems to ask why not - why don't all girls, of that age at least, say fuck it and die.
Kirsten Dunst played the sister, Lux, who is the center of the tale, and other sisters are named Marie and Therese. Coppola chose Dunst to portray Marie Antoinette, who incidentally had a mother and daughter named Marie Therese. She chose Marianne Faithfull, an icon of 60's pop indulgence, to portray Marie's mother, who advises her daughter on the perils of fame.
Marie Antoinette's dilemma, as Ms. Coppola sees it, is not much different from Paris Hilton or any celebutante today.
Marie's lap dogs mirror any photo of Paris with her purse pups. The shoe montage, anachronistic teenage girlish conversations, and pop soundtrack choices make her point with a wink.
Today’s girl identifies easily with Coppola's Marie. She expresses herself by creating an image — in fashion and shopping, partying with cool friends. Her palaces were like our college campuses, dance clubs, dorms. She has style and as much independence as her position in society — i.e., her celebrity — allows.
Today’s girl accepts celebrity indulgence and extravagance as leadership qualities. The language of social responsibility is off her radar (or ipod) screen. She finds nothing wrong with spending on Manolos while African children go barefoot; binge eating and drinking despite starvation rampant on the other side of the palace moat. Modish charitable causes are merely effective PR excuses for red carpet exposure and parties till dawn.
Charlotte of Lost In Translation might as well be stranded in Versailles as in Tokyo. Her husband (played by Giovanni Ribisi) is close in type to Louis Auguste (played by Jason Schwartzman), both boys who are not quite satisfactory men, more interested in their toys and pals than in being lover or companion to their girls.
Bored, lonely, depressed, Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) meets Bob (Bill Murray), who is in a similar state if not the same stage of life. Charlotte, like Bob, is too smart for the room, looking for something to be passionate about. She is instantly attracted to Bob, who is the opposite of all the young, attractive, aimless and humorless people she knows. He is old, weatherbeaten, aimless - but funny. The fact that Bob is a minor celebrity doesn't hurt her interest in him either.
I think what the audience latched onto was the sense of apartness that these two misfits share. They are aliens in a strange world (as are Marie and the Lisbon sisters) in which rituals and conventions are confusing, communication by articulated speech is laughably ineffective.
Charlotte is too mature for her age group, and Bill wants to still be silly and happy, instead of slowing down in his practical, settling-for-mediocrity middle age. They meet each other half way into their terrifying spins and hold hands for the time it takes for the movie to play, then very reluctantly part.
Coppola is less interested in what they say to each other than the mood they let themselves indulge - a sleepless but dreamy half-conscious state of faint amusement about their lives.
Except for one scene in which the couple try to sleep side by side barely touching each other and talk vaguely about life, the scenes and dialogue are pointedly pointless.
She allows Murray to riff in his usual anarchic way, gently funning all the quaint Japanese thingies, while Johansson chuckles appreciatively at his liberating wit.
In the end, the experience seems to help Charlotte a little bit, though none of her problems are solved.
And that's okay with the audience. They've got nothing but time to kill.
Both generations are "lost," and for many of the same reasons.
Well, let me amend that. Coppola is at least the voice of her generation of girls while Quentin Tarantino is the voice of his generation of boys - which explains why Coppola's females feel so depressed.
Ms. Coppola's girls no longer live in the movie world of boy meets girl. They are confused - alienated from the old conventions but as yet without new rules. They are intelligent young women, but their intelligence makes them sadly aware of their predicament.
To rebel against the rules set for them by society (i.e., by their parents' male-centric generation) and therefore risk destruction; or to tolerate them, assuring a life of stultifying boredom? Other choices seem to be beyond them.
They can't decide what to do with sex, with love, with boys or men. And they have not much ambition to be useful or productive.
What they clearly get is style as an expression of self, and willingly indulge and overindulge ... until something important might come along. Their lives lack drama and they strive to create some. That drive is the center of the universe of pop culture.
If Coppola's social philosophy can be labeled as post-feminist (or as one critic wrote, post post-feminist), her story-telling style is anti-narrative post-modern.
She eschews plot, seems only faintly interested in dialogue as a vehicle to carry ideas. She prefers to slow the pace of her scenes to linger until the viewer is as bored as her characters - seemingly a way to create the sludgy mood of ennui and indecision that she is mostly interested in.
It is that mood that her audience most identifies with - the time of life when time wasting is a full time pre-occupation.
The girls in The Virgin Suicides are trapped in their suburban home in the 1970's with unsatisfactory parents and not much hope.
Coppola is not much interested in the question of why the five girls choose death, but rather wants to create a surrealistic comedic mood that seems to ask why not - why don't all girls, of that age at least, say fuck it and die.
Kirsten Dunst played the sister, Lux, who is the center of the tale, and other sisters are named Marie and Therese. Coppola chose Dunst to portray Marie Antoinette, who incidentally had a mother and daughter named Marie Therese. She chose Marianne Faithfull, an icon of 60's pop indulgence, to portray Marie's mother, who advises her daughter on the perils of fame.
Marie Antoinette's dilemma, as Ms. Coppola sees it, is not much different from Paris Hilton or any celebutante today.
Marie's lap dogs mirror any photo of Paris with her purse pups. The shoe montage, anachronistic teenage girlish conversations, and pop soundtrack choices make her point with a wink.
Today’s girl identifies easily with Coppola's Marie. She expresses herself by creating an image — in fashion and shopping, partying with cool friends. Her palaces were like our college campuses, dance clubs, dorms. She has style and as much independence as her position in society — i.e., her celebrity — allows.
Today’s girl accepts celebrity indulgence and extravagance as leadership qualities. The language of social responsibility is off her radar (or ipod) screen. She finds nothing wrong with spending on Manolos while African children go barefoot; binge eating and drinking despite starvation rampant on the other side of the palace moat. Modish charitable causes are merely effective PR excuses for red carpet exposure and parties till dawn.
Charlotte of Lost In Translation might as well be stranded in Versailles as in Tokyo. Her husband (played by Giovanni Ribisi) is close in type to Louis Auguste (played by Jason Schwartzman), both boys who are not quite satisfactory men, more interested in their toys and pals than in being lover or companion to their girls.
Bored, lonely, depressed, Charlotte (Scarlett Johansson) meets Bob (Bill Murray), who is in a similar state if not the same stage of life. Charlotte, like Bob, is too smart for the room, looking for something to be passionate about. She is instantly attracted to Bob, who is the opposite of all the young, attractive, aimless and humorless people she knows. He is old, weatherbeaten, aimless - but funny. The fact that Bob is a minor celebrity doesn't hurt her interest in him either.
I think what the audience latched onto was the sense of apartness that these two misfits share. They are aliens in a strange world (as are Marie and the Lisbon sisters) in which rituals and conventions are confusing, communication by articulated speech is laughably ineffective.
Charlotte is too mature for her age group, and Bill wants to still be silly and happy, instead of slowing down in his practical, settling-for-mediocrity middle age. They meet each other half way into their terrifying spins and hold hands for the time it takes for the movie to play, then very reluctantly part.
Coppola is less interested in what they say to each other than the mood they let themselves indulge - a sleepless but dreamy half-conscious state of faint amusement about their lives.
Except for one scene in which the couple try to sleep side by side barely touching each other and talk vaguely about life, the scenes and dialogue are pointedly pointless.
She allows Murray to riff in his usual anarchic way, gently funning all the quaint Japanese thingies, while Johansson chuckles appreciatively at his liberating wit.
In the end, the experience seems to help Charlotte a little bit, though none of her problems are solved.
And that's okay with the audience. They've got nothing but time to kill.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
Deconstructing Woody
Woody Allen's latest efforts, "Match Point" and "Scoop" were disappointing but his work is always worth thinking about. He made his masterpiece, "Annie Hall" in 1977, and in the 1980's seemed to have gotten stuck in a rut of his own obsessions which limited his audiences. But in the 1990's, he made a lot of films that demand a second look.
Deconstructing Harry (1997)
Woody addresses the dilemma of a writer whose life is his subject matter. It is Allen’s wry explanation and apology for the subjectivity and self-consciousness of his work.
He explains how his many faults -- his ego, his self-deception, his prejudices -- affect his work and his life. He reveals his awareness of his selfishness, his irrational obsessiveness, manipulativeness, immaturity, his cruelty and disloyalty to people who love him, his inability to love and allow himself to be loved. Pretty funny stuff.
Like much of his work, there is an uncomfortable nastiness about his “lessers” that permeates this film. His acerbic wit spits out biting gags and spiteful caricatures at the expense of his usual foils: psychiatrists, fans, actors, women, children, parents, Jews, Gentiles, God, marriage, religion, trendy popular movements of any kind.
But, surprisingly, in the end there is a sense of backing off, a questioning of his harsh judgments, a confrontation with the reality that his whiny complaints about everyone else in his life are, just possibly, an unjustified reflection of his own fears and neuroses.
The point is masked in some talk about his “art” and “creations” and his “love” of his characters which Allen would skewer as pretentious if spoken by one of the “arty” characters in his other films.
Allen seems to say to us, in his whiny voice: “Yes, I know I am not a nice person, but at least I have talent and a willingness to lay myself, with all my faults, open in my work to you. Judge me by my art, not by my faults.”
The problem, Woody, is that your life is your “art,” so both are fair for judgment. An another thing: because you are self-deceiving, how can we trust the “truth” of your “art?”
Celebrity (1998)
Typical Woody in several respects. It is shot in black and white — by Sven Nykvist, Bergman’s cinematographer. It is about New York chic and, of course, the absurdity of celebrity.
Like other Allen films, the visual style and structure is derivative of another director. In the past he has emulated Fellini and Bergman. Now, he tries Robert Altman’s ensemble technique, splicing interlocking, overlapping stories with a notable cast, while the mood takes some from "La Dolce Vita."
Woody has enticed many stars and “famous” people to appear in small roles and cameos, including Bebe Neuwirth as a hooker looking for a book deal; Charlize Theron as a super model; Leonardo DiCaprio as a coked up, abusive film star (and Gretchen Mol as his moll); Melanie Griffith as a star; Winona Ryder as an aspiring actress. Donald Trump and the Buttafuccos, among others, are seen.
The story tracks Kenneth Branagh as a magazine writer who interviews celebrities and aspires to be one, and Judy Davis as his ex-wife, who becomes a celebrity while aspiring to be “real.” The very British Branagh adopted a New York accent and mouths Woody’s familiar speech pattern of stammering, self-deceiving, selfish, pseudo-sensitive lines with an impressionist’s master timing. He shares Woody’s fear of being naked, and spouts some of his favorite lines, especially about sex: “I’m polymorphously perverse.”
As all Woody’s message films, this one can be a bit heavy handed, though he thankfully eschews drama and keeps some good gags. We are shown the silliness of our obsession with celebrity in all its manifestations.
There is a scene in a pop plastic surgeon’s office. There is a film premiere, scenes at parties, clubs, book previews. There is a “reality” TV show, including episodes about “overweight achievers,” another with a confrontation between a rabbi, a skinhead, Klansmen, mobsters, and Black Muslims, all of whom share donuts and agents. There is a corrupt senator, a real estate agent to the stars, and show biz peripherals galore.
There are laughs about scripts to remake Birth of A Nation with an all black cast. Neuwirth chokes on a banana while showing Davis how to give a blow job. A cop asks DiCaprio for his autograph while arresting him for domestic violence. There is enthusiastic talk of a film which is “an adaptation of a sequel of a remake.”
Woody’s ear and eye for the lies, the polite insincerity of social intercourse, the concealment and self-deception that flows like white wine at all social gatherings with celebrities and celebrity sniffers; for the superficial bullshit that reeks in society, is unerringly true. Underlying all, is the aura of sadness about the fact that in our values, failure is defined as not being famous and fame delineates success.
Everyone Says I Love You (1996)
Cinema is the province of fantasy. Woody Allen has always used his films to let us in on his imaginative and self-indulgent longings. He has pictured himself as witty, charming, sexy, all of which requires a suspension of disbelief. He is a romantic at heart. Underneath the whining wisecracks, he has a sentimental streak a mile wide.
He has always indulged his loves in his films: New York, tall young girls and vulnerable women who need someone to teach them to laugh. He loves jazz, the Marx Brothers anti-pomposity gags, and romantic American standards (note the paean to Gershwin in "Manhattan"). He also loves nostalgia, especially the 1930's and 40's: tough guys ("Play It Again, Sam," "Curse of The Jade Scorpion"), radio ("Radio Days"), gangsters ("Bullets Over Broadway"). And he loves films and the romantic illusions they indulge.
He has also tried his hand at making films in the style of the film stylists he admires: Fellini, Bergman, Altman, Bob Hope, The Marx Brothers. It should therefore have been no surprise that he should tackle the movie musical to tell one of his tales of ensemble romantic neurotic foolishness, or that he should have chosen an imaginative and movie magic style to present his story through song and dance on the streets of New York, Venice, and Paris.
It is also never a surprise that many worthy actors are willing to expose themselves to the risk of falling on their faces working in his films. Here we have a basically non-singing and dancing cast trying their best with standards by Cole Porter, Kalmar and Ruby, and others. Ed Norton, Julia Roberts, Alan Alda, Tim Roth, Drew Barrymore, and Woody himself, all possess thin voices and none of the skill, talent, training, polish, or magic of Astaire, Kelly or Garland. None look or sound completely at ease while tiptoeing through the lyrics and melodies of these mostly familiar songs.
Only Goldie Hawn, who has training and a modicum of musical talent, shows confidence with the music. The rest are sometimes merely adequate (Barrymore, Roth, Alda), occasionally somewhat charming (Norton), sometimes embarrassingly off key (Roberts), sometimes amateurish (all).
A few of the numbers are performed by real “dancers,” in fantasy sequences: in a hospital — with staff and pregnant patients singing and dancing “Makin’ Whoopee;” and ghosts in a funeral parlor doing “It’s Later Than You Think.” Woody allows himself a turn with Goldie on a Paris quay in which she floats and flies gracefully around him. The thought occurs that Goldie was born a generation too late; she would have been a worthy understudy to Shirley MacLaine.
About 20 years ago, Bogdanavich tried an homage / send up of Cole Porter screwball 30's musicals with "At Long Last Love," which foundered on the humiliating self-conscious attempts by Burt Reynolds and Cybil Shepard in the elaborately staged numbers (though in retrospect, Shepard showed she could have handled the stuff if Minnelli or Donen had been there to guide her).
This film’s failure at the box office may be ascribable to a similar discomfort, the audience not quite “getting” whether this is an homage or a satire of the genre.
Or it may be due to something more sinister. A girl I knew despised musicals because, she said, she could not “get” why people suddenly began singing and dancing in the midst of dialogue. Compare that attitude with Bijou, who was of my generation. When we were in the Piazza San Marco in Venice, sipping tea on a chill sunny afternoon, watching the elegant strollers amongst the pigeons and listening to the orchestra playing, Bijou said she had a recurring wish that all the strollers would suddenly couple up and begin waltzing around the plaza.
That is the sentimental imagination needed to appreciate it when Woody begins to croon, “I’m Through With Love.” It is what impelled me to splash around in puddles while dating Bijou, after watching "Singin’ In The Rain" at the Encore Theater.
Only the recent "Moulin Rouge" and "Chicago" have risked reviving the mood of unreality that musicals require. Whether this generation can deal with it is yet to be seen.
Bullets Over Broadway (1994)
I recently watched this 1994 Woody Allen film again on cable and laughed more than I had the first time. I think that it is at least equal to Annie Hall among Allen’s work and maybe better for a number of reasons.
Like measures of baseball skills, movie making contains many elements. A ballplayer is measured on 5 skills: hitting for average, power, throwing, fielding, running. The unspoken 6th skill is “heart” which manifests in clutch performance in big situations, baseball smarts and guts.
I measure films by their scope, atmosphere, writing, editing, cinematography, acting. The intangibles I value include powerful imagery, surprise. I ask whether I am moved to strong emotions: laughter, tears, hate, fear; have I been caught up in the characters, story. The film need not “teach me something” but if it does, I want to know what the point is, and how well it has been made.
Allen has always been a film maker with a limited number of skills, but what skills he possesses are prodigious. He has always been able to make us laugh, maybe to laugh as hard as any film maker ever. He has created a character which when created was original, funny, and identifiably human, the “Woody Allen” character which was so perfectly realized in "Annie Hall."
This persona is as vivid and memorable in film history as Chaplin’s tramp, Lemmon’s schnook. His films created a genre, the New York minded intelligent romantic neurotic love story. Without him there would be no Billy Crystal, Steve Martin, Sara Jessica Parker, Ben Stiller or any number of independent comedy films, including the Coens’ and Farellys’ work. Jon Favreau wouldn’t exist without Woody as a guide.
But over the years that character has aged without much change and has become tiresome to us. In some, "The Curse of the Jade Scorpion" and "Happy Ending," his character’s idiosyncrasies became unbearable. His trademark whining, which had been tolerable from a New York Jewish intellectual guy in his thirties who was trying to deal with the inadequacy of his life, is too much from a 65 year old man. As a possible love interest for Helen Hunt, Charlize Theron, and Tèa Leoni, he is absurdly miscast.
The scope of Allen’s films has always been “small” except for "Love and Death," which satirizes big thoughts like war and the meaning of life, philosophizing that cowardice is a virtue except in sex. He has always ridiculed pretense and “deep depth” as he called it, as well as trendy psycho-babble, but he has too often fallen prey to these.
He has always had awkward footing; rooted in Brooklyn, the Catskills, 30's movies and radio, 50's television and standup comedy, but drawn to the seriousness of Bergman and Fellini. Like all satirists, Allen has a mean spirited side to his wit. Unlike most, he often doesn’t restrain his (one of the defects of “auteurism”). His dramas fall flat, the characters wooden, the serious doings seem drab and forced.
Writing very funny and insightful gags has always been his strength. As he himself admits, gag writing comes easy to him, like drawing to an artist. But like all “artists” he strives to prove to himself that his talents are deeper. So he tries to write “serious.” Like his clarinet playing, his intelligence, diligence, and ability to learn the notes makes his serious films faintly interesting, more interesting than if done by lessers, but without the spark of genius which his gags have.
That is the theme of "Bullets Over Broadway." John Cusak is a playwright, a deep thinker and a conscientious and self-conscious “artist” who can talk for hours about “reality,” “truth,” and “integrity” in his writing. Chazz Parmentieri is a mob hit man who kills without remorse. Yet, Chazz has the talent, the gift of understanding and articulation required for great playwriting, and the integrity to insist on uncompromising adherence to his work. Irony and hypocrisy have always been concepts for which Allen’s wit are well designed.
Cusak represents Allen in the story. He is the whiney, muddled, striving artist with skill but limited talent. Without Woody in the lead, the film flies. It is perfectly cast and performed, with Diane Wiest and Jennifer Tilly chewing scenery and getting most of the laughs.
The intellectual theme is reminiscent of "Amadeus" in which Salieri has the passion and skill and Mozart the careless genius. But "Bullets" is a lot funnier.
Woody's work in the decade also included "Mighty Aphrodite" and "Sweet And Lowdown," both of which merit encores.
Deconstructing Harry (1997)
Woody addresses the dilemma of a writer whose life is his subject matter. It is Allen’s wry explanation and apology for the subjectivity and self-consciousness of his work.
He explains how his many faults -- his ego, his self-deception, his prejudices -- affect his work and his life. He reveals his awareness of his selfishness, his irrational obsessiveness, manipulativeness, immaturity, his cruelty and disloyalty to people who love him, his inability to love and allow himself to be loved. Pretty funny stuff.
Like much of his work, there is an uncomfortable nastiness about his “lessers” that permeates this film. His acerbic wit spits out biting gags and spiteful caricatures at the expense of his usual foils: psychiatrists, fans, actors, women, children, parents, Jews, Gentiles, God, marriage, religion, trendy popular movements of any kind.
But, surprisingly, in the end there is a sense of backing off, a questioning of his harsh judgments, a confrontation with the reality that his whiny complaints about everyone else in his life are, just possibly, an unjustified reflection of his own fears and neuroses.
The point is masked in some talk about his “art” and “creations” and his “love” of his characters which Allen would skewer as pretentious if spoken by one of the “arty” characters in his other films.
Allen seems to say to us, in his whiny voice: “Yes, I know I am not a nice person, but at least I have talent and a willingness to lay myself, with all my faults, open in my work to you. Judge me by my art, not by my faults.”
The problem, Woody, is that your life is your “art,” so both are fair for judgment. An another thing: because you are self-deceiving, how can we trust the “truth” of your “art?”
Celebrity (1998)
Typical Woody in several respects. It is shot in black and white — by Sven Nykvist, Bergman’s cinematographer. It is about New York chic and, of course, the absurdity of celebrity.
Like other Allen films, the visual style and structure is derivative of another director. In the past he has emulated Fellini and Bergman. Now, he tries Robert Altman’s ensemble technique, splicing interlocking, overlapping stories with a notable cast, while the mood takes some from "La Dolce Vita."
Woody has enticed many stars and “famous” people to appear in small roles and cameos, including Bebe Neuwirth as a hooker looking for a book deal; Charlize Theron as a super model; Leonardo DiCaprio as a coked up, abusive film star (and Gretchen Mol as his moll); Melanie Griffith as a star; Winona Ryder as an aspiring actress. Donald Trump and the Buttafuccos, among others, are seen.
The story tracks Kenneth Branagh as a magazine writer who interviews celebrities and aspires to be one, and Judy Davis as his ex-wife, who becomes a celebrity while aspiring to be “real.” The very British Branagh adopted a New York accent and mouths Woody’s familiar speech pattern of stammering, self-deceiving, selfish, pseudo-sensitive lines with an impressionist’s master timing. He shares Woody’s fear of being naked, and spouts some of his favorite lines, especially about sex: “I’m polymorphously perverse.”
As all Woody’s message films, this one can be a bit heavy handed, though he thankfully eschews drama and keeps some good gags. We are shown the silliness of our obsession with celebrity in all its manifestations.
There is a scene in a pop plastic surgeon’s office. There is a film premiere, scenes at parties, clubs, book previews. There is a “reality” TV show, including episodes about “overweight achievers,” another with a confrontation between a rabbi, a skinhead, Klansmen, mobsters, and Black Muslims, all of whom share donuts and agents. There is a corrupt senator, a real estate agent to the stars, and show biz peripherals galore.
There are laughs about scripts to remake Birth of A Nation with an all black cast. Neuwirth chokes on a banana while showing Davis how to give a blow job. A cop asks DiCaprio for his autograph while arresting him for domestic violence. There is enthusiastic talk of a film which is “an adaptation of a sequel of a remake.”
Woody’s ear and eye for the lies, the polite insincerity of social intercourse, the concealment and self-deception that flows like white wine at all social gatherings with celebrities and celebrity sniffers; for the superficial bullshit that reeks in society, is unerringly true. Underlying all, is the aura of sadness about the fact that in our values, failure is defined as not being famous and fame delineates success.
Everyone Says I Love You (1996)
Cinema is the province of fantasy. Woody Allen has always used his films to let us in on his imaginative and self-indulgent longings. He has pictured himself as witty, charming, sexy, all of which requires a suspension of disbelief. He is a romantic at heart. Underneath the whining wisecracks, he has a sentimental streak a mile wide.
He has always indulged his loves in his films: New York, tall young girls and vulnerable women who need someone to teach them to laugh. He loves jazz, the Marx Brothers anti-pomposity gags, and romantic American standards (note the paean to Gershwin in "Manhattan"). He also loves nostalgia, especially the 1930's and 40's: tough guys ("Play It Again, Sam," "Curse of The Jade Scorpion"), radio ("Radio Days"), gangsters ("Bullets Over Broadway"). And he loves films and the romantic illusions they indulge.
He has also tried his hand at making films in the style of the film stylists he admires: Fellini, Bergman, Altman, Bob Hope, The Marx Brothers. It should therefore have been no surprise that he should tackle the movie musical to tell one of his tales of ensemble romantic neurotic foolishness, or that he should have chosen an imaginative and movie magic style to present his story through song and dance on the streets of New York, Venice, and Paris.
It is also never a surprise that many worthy actors are willing to expose themselves to the risk of falling on their faces working in his films. Here we have a basically non-singing and dancing cast trying their best with standards by Cole Porter, Kalmar and Ruby, and others. Ed Norton, Julia Roberts, Alan Alda, Tim Roth, Drew Barrymore, and Woody himself, all possess thin voices and none of the skill, talent, training, polish, or magic of Astaire, Kelly or Garland. None look or sound completely at ease while tiptoeing through the lyrics and melodies of these mostly familiar songs.
Only Goldie Hawn, who has training and a modicum of musical talent, shows confidence with the music. The rest are sometimes merely adequate (Barrymore, Roth, Alda), occasionally somewhat charming (Norton), sometimes embarrassingly off key (Roberts), sometimes amateurish (all).
A few of the numbers are performed by real “dancers,” in fantasy sequences: in a hospital — with staff and pregnant patients singing and dancing “Makin’ Whoopee;” and ghosts in a funeral parlor doing “It’s Later Than You Think.” Woody allows himself a turn with Goldie on a Paris quay in which she floats and flies gracefully around him. The thought occurs that Goldie was born a generation too late; she would have been a worthy understudy to Shirley MacLaine.
About 20 years ago, Bogdanavich tried an homage / send up of Cole Porter screwball 30's musicals with "At Long Last Love," which foundered on the humiliating self-conscious attempts by Burt Reynolds and Cybil Shepard in the elaborately staged numbers (though in retrospect, Shepard showed she could have handled the stuff if Minnelli or Donen had been there to guide her).
This film’s failure at the box office may be ascribable to a similar discomfort, the audience not quite “getting” whether this is an homage or a satire of the genre.
Or it may be due to something more sinister. A girl I knew despised musicals because, she said, she could not “get” why people suddenly began singing and dancing in the midst of dialogue. Compare that attitude with Bijou, who was of my generation. When we were in the Piazza San Marco in Venice, sipping tea on a chill sunny afternoon, watching the elegant strollers amongst the pigeons and listening to the orchestra playing, Bijou said she had a recurring wish that all the strollers would suddenly couple up and begin waltzing around the plaza.
That is the sentimental imagination needed to appreciate it when Woody begins to croon, “I’m Through With Love.” It is what impelled me to splash around in puddles while dating Bijou, after watching "Singin’ In The Rain" at the Encore Theater.
Only the recent "Moulin Rouge" and "Chicago" have risked reviving the mood of unreality that musicals require. Whether this generation can deal with it is yet to be seen.
Bullets Over Broadway (1994)
I recently watched this 1994 Woody Allen film again on cable and laughed more than I had the first time. I think that it is at least equal to Annie Hall among Allen’s work and maybe better for a number of reasons.
Like measures of baseball skills, movie making contains many elements. A ballplayer is measured on 5 skills: hitting for average, power, throwing, fielding, running. The unspoken 6th skill is “heart” which manifests in clutch performance in big situations, baseball smarts and guts.
I measure films by their scope, atmosphere, writing, editing, cinematography, acting. The intangibles I value include powerful imagery, surprise. I ask whether I am moved to strong emotions: laughter, tears, hate, fear; have I been caught up in the characters, story. The film need not “teach me something” but if it does, I want to know what the point is, and how well it has been made.
Allen has always been a film maker with a limited number of skills, but what skills he possesses are prodigious. He has always been able to make us laugh, maybe to laugh as hard as any film maker ever. He has created a character which when created was original, funny, and identifiably human, the “Woody Allen” character which was so perfectly realized in "Annie Hall."
This persona is as vivid and memorable in film history as Chaplin’s tramp, Lemmon’s schnook. His films created a genre, the New York minded intelligent romantic neurotic love story. Without him there would be no Billy Crystal, Steve Martin, Sara Jessica Parker, Ben Stiller or any number of independent comedy films, including the Coens’ and Farellys’ work. Jon Favreau wouldn’t exist without Woody as a guide.
But over the years that character has aged without much change and has become tiresome to us. In some, "The Curse of the Jade Scorpion" and "Happy Ending," his character’s idiosyncrasies became unbearable. His trademark whining, which had been tolerable from a New York Jewish intellectual guy in his thirties who was trying to deal with the inadequacy of his life, is too much from a 65 year old man. As a possible love interest for Helen Hunt, Charlize Theron, and Tèa Leoni, he is absurdly miscast.
The scope of Allen’s films has always been “small” except for "Love and Death," which satirizes big thoughts like war and the meaning of life, philosophizing that cowardice is a virtue except in sex. He has always ridiculed pretense and “deep depth” as he called it, as well as trendy psycho-babble, but he has too often fallen prey to these.
He has always had awkward footing; rooted in Brooklyn, the Catskills, 30's movies and radio, 50's television and standup comedy, but drawn to the seriousness of Bergman and Fellini. Like all satirists, Allen has a mean spirited side to his wit. Unlike most, he often doesn’t restrain his (one of the defects of “auteurism”). His dramas fall flat, the characters wooden, the serious doings seem drab and forced.
Writing very funny and insightful gags has always been his strength. As he himself admits, gag writing comes easy to him, like drawing to an artist. But like all “artists” he strives to prove to himself that his talents are deeper. So he tries to write “serious.” Like his clarinet playing, his intelligence, diligence, and ability to learn the notes makes his serious films faintly interesting, more interesting than if done by lessers, but without the spark of genius which his gags have.
That is the theme of "Bullets Over Broadway." John Cusak is a playwright, a deep thinker and a conscientious and self-conscious “artist” who can talk for hours about “reality,” “truth,” and “integrity” in his writing. Chazz Parmentieri is a mob hit man who kills without remorse. Yet, Chazz has the talent, the gift of understanding and articulation required for great playwriting, and the integrity to insist on uncompromising adherence to his work. Irony and hypocrisy have always been concepts for which Allen’s wit are well designed.
Cusak represents Allen in the story. He is the whiney, muddled, striving artist with skill but limited talent. Without Woody in the lead, the film flies. It is perfectly cast and performed, with Diane Wiest and Jennifer Tilly chewing scenery and getting most of the laughs.
The intellectual theme is reminiscent of "Amadeus" in which Salieri has the passion and skill and Mozart the careless genius. But "Bullets" is a lot funnier.
Woody's work in the decade also included "Mighty Aphrodite" and "Sweet And Lowdown," both of which merit encores.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
