A down on his luck gambler partners with free spirit on a winning streak, but finds himself deep in debt. As a final act of desperation, he pawns most of his possessions and heads to Reno for the poker game of a lifetime.
Elliot Gould and George Segal shine in this affable comedy-drama about gambling addiction. The two make a great on screen pair, with Gould playing the fast-talking, easy, sleazy know-it-all against Segal's excitable but straight laced persona. Add to the mix Altman's meandering, multi-layered audio, long takes and tracking shots -- a perfect match for the film's loud, chaotic casino settings -- and you get a pretty unique buddy picture.
The story is pretty simple: an amateur gambler meets another and find they make perfectly profitable partners. Soon enough the pairing goes sour and the two must part ways. While Gould pretty much sticks to what he does best (re: wisecracks), Segal gets to stretch his chops a bit once he gets in too deep. The film doesn't really aim to make any poignant commentary -- one scene between a mournful Segal and a loud, foul-mouthed female alcoholic seems to make a statement on the blind nature of addiction -- but it does do some interesting things to the buddy picture, namely in the fall-out ending.
While not one of Altman's landmark pictures, California Split exhibits much of his trademark style and motifs at a more palatable pace for broader audiences. If you're new to Altman, this isn't a bad place to start. I'd recommend it for the Gould & Segal pairing as well.
A Harvard scientist conducts experiments on himself with a hallucinatory drug and an isolation chamber that may be causing him to regress genetically.
William Hurt makes his film debut in this 1980 sci-fi/horror thriller that poises itself as an intellectual dissertation on consciousness and slowly descends into absurdity by its last act. Directed by British filmmaker Ken Russell, the film meshes video art style with practical makeup and special effects. The film is sort of a cross between Cronenberg's The Fly and something like A Beautiful Mind. At the start it appears to be a drama revolving around post-radical 70's academic elites, but slowly it regresses (quite literally) as Hurt devolves into an ape like creature, and then some.
Russell is often criticized as being overly obsessed with sexuality and the church, and Altered States is no exception. Hurt's scientist is obsessed with restoring his faith and externalizing his past lives, and his hallucinations are often riddled with religious and allegorical imagery, from depictions of hell to himself on the cross. As he genetically retrogrades, the idea of man's progression from nothing becomes literal, and downright bizarre. Russell's direction treats these events so matter-of-factly that it's hard to take serious; the whole thing almost feels facetious, just short of camp. But the film's strangeness is its greatest asset; each twist and turn leads down an unexpected path until the ultimate WTF? climax is revealed.
Of course the films final message is that humanity is the ultimate truth - outside existence is merely a vast, impersonal nothingness. The film really strains to bring this idea to the forefront, and a lot of questions/absurdisms linger at the end. But if you're into so-heady-its-campy sci-fi or simply bizarre films, this one won't disappoint.
One would assume that this 1990 remake of George Romero's zombie apocalypse classic Night of the Living Dead exists for the same reason as Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead - advanced film-making techniques "update" a horror classic for modern audiences. There are only two problems with this theory: Tom Savini's amateur direction, coupled with his DIY special-effects aesthetic, are rudimentary even for early 90's standards.
Alas, the remake does the original little justice, and brings little new to the table. Aside from being filmed in color, everything seems a lot more routine this go-round, particularly in the shadows of Day and Dawn of the Dead. A few alterations are made to the plot of Romero's classic horror tale, including the survival of our hero Barbara, who doesn't make it out alive in the first film. Romero has gone on to amend and augment much of his zombie apocalypse universe, with Land of the Dead and other recent forrays, so the chance to revisit his pioneering classic was, and still is, presumably very tempting.
I'll give Savini some credit -- Living Dead is his directorial debut, and hand-made effects are always a delight. But it doesn't negate the fact that the film is, quite frankly, a pointless excursion.
Ultimately you're better off watching the original or one of it's earlier sequels. But if you're a splatter fan or zombie freak, you could do worse. It's better than Return of the Living Dead by a long shot.
Steamy tale of two Southern rivals and a sensuous 19-year-old virgin.
The second film pairing director Kazan with writer Tennessee Williams brought much controversy upon its release in 1956. Francis Cardinal Spellman condemned the film in a stunning attack from the pulpit of St. Patrick's Cathedral two days before the film opened, saying that the film had been "responsibly judged to be evil in concept" and was certain that it would "exert an immoral and corrupting influence on those who see it", and exhorted all Catholics to refrain from patronizing the film "under pain of sin". Cardinal Spellman's condemnation of the film led to the Legion of Decency's first-ever nationwide boycott of an American-made film produced by a major studio. All over the country, almost 20 million Catholics protested the film and picketed theaters that showed it. The Catholic boycott nearly killed the film; it was cancelled by 77% of theaters scheduled to show it, and it only made a meager $600,000 at the box office. The film was also condemned by Time Magazine, which called it the dirtiest American-made motion picture that had ever been legally exhibited.
Despite all the fuss, the Production Code Administration gave it a seal of approval, (which in many ways led to the PCA drifting farther and farther away from its traditional guidelines until it was replaced by the MPAA ratings system in 1968), and Baby Doll was nominated for four Oscars, included Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Actress for Carroll Baker.
By today's standards the film is a little less shocking, but its straight-forward approach to sex and violence still stings. Miss Baker struts around in a slip while Karl Malden's ineffectual male dishes innuendo after innuendo before Eli Wallach (in his first screen role) can swoop in and squeeze himself uncomfortably between the two. The acting is top-notch, and the tension starts on high and simply mounts with each progressive scene. A surprising amount of humor is wrung out as well; for all the seriousness going on, the film ultimately shapes itself as a sexual farce. The delta setting, including a dilapidated mansion, is gorgeously portrayed in detailed black and white.
Baby Doll is one of Kazan's forgotten masterpieces, a sort of sick sibling of Streetcar. Worth hunting down.
A Christlike figure wanders through bizarre, grotesque scenarios filled with religious and sacrilegious imagery.
An epic exploration of the connections between religious and socio-political trends, Jodorowsky's Holy Mountain aims to be a spiritual experience of its own. Mixing traditional religious narrative with shockingly grotesque imagery, the film attempts to expose art and religion as tools of mass-mind-control. As with many of Jodorowsky's films, the bombastic and eclectic imagery often overshadows the thematic intent, resulting in a film that is more fun to simply absorb rather than analyze. But Jodorowsky has a lot of ideas working in here, from the artificial nature of film to the corruptive powers of prominent social/religious stature and the fraudulent nature of spiritual guru's. Decoding all of the film's symbols would be a herculean task -- objects ranging from the solar system to a war between frogs and cameleons act as representative figures -- with much of the film's icons rooted in occultism, astronomy, and alchemy.
From a production standpoint, Holy Mountain is drop dead gorgeous, particularly aided by a 2006 restoration effort, which brings much of Jodorowsky's harrowing imagery to brighter, more detailed heights. Jodorowsky is a master of the surreal, and the restoration process certainly did this film justice. Dada would be proud.
Holy Mountain is an interesting experience chock full of controversial imagery and engaging ideas. While it may not be a spiritual experience that will rock you to your core, it will certainly leave a lasting impression, most likely different for every person.
Written by Robert Collector, Dana Olsen & William Goldman
Based on the book by H.F. Saint
After a freak accident, an invisible yuppie runs from a treacherous CIA official while trying to cope with his new life.
Horror master John Carpenter teams up with Chevy Chase in this bizarre effects-pushing adaptation of H.F. Saint's famous novel. Not quite a comedy (as Chase's presence would imply), not quite a horror film, and yet not quite a thriller, Memoirs is a bit of everything but not enough of anything. A fun film, but a weird one, it's not surprising audiences didn't connect with it during it's 1992 theatrical run. The tone is simply too scattered, and Chase too uncouth and indifferent a performer to keep it centered. I've always appreciated Chase's nonchalant style, but it feels really out of place here. Carpenter surrounds Chase with a bevy of quality supporting actors, but Sam Neil seems to be trying way too hard (it's almost like he's in a different movie), Darryl Hannah is just kind of there, and Michael McKean gets nothing to work with. The real highlight (at the time) must have been the invisible effects from Industrial Light & Magic. One year before Jurassic Park blew everyone's minds, ILM was tinkering with mixing CGI and practical effects on this film. Watch only if you're a fan of those involved, or have nothing better to do.
When an ex-superhero is murdered, a vigilante named Rorschach begins an investigation into the murder, which begins to lead to a much more terrifying conclusion.
Long considered 'unfilmable', Watchmen is one of the most celebrated graphic novels of all time, and often credited for ushering in an era of more serious, cerebral, adult-themed comic books. Hollywood took stabs at bringing Alan Moore & Dave Gibbon's time-altering, mind-bending grit fest to the screen for nearly 3 decades, with everyone from Paul Greengrass to Terry Gilliam to Michael Bay set to direct. Zack Snyder finally succeeded in producing the film, which finally hit theaters this week after much fanboy anticipation.
Fanboys like myself, who fell in the love with the graphic novel's sharp thematic and formal critique of the medium, as well as it's intense philosophical and political exploration, engrossing characters and wonderfully rich universe. Watchmen the novel is as complete a package as one could ever expect or want; a vast and detailed world with no stone unturned tenderly committed to the page.
Which begs the question -- why make it into a movie at all? Particularly one that adheres so faithfully to it's source?
Of course, that's the question I asked myself before the movie was released, and after having seen it, I'm not sure I have a full answer. From a business standpoint, I could understand why the movie was made -- large built-in fan base, a film that paves the way for grittier, more difficult graphic novel adaptations, and lots of fanboy cred for the distributors. But artistically, what are the merits? It seems there are some, but mainly the film exists as a celebration of Moore & Gibbon's work.
To their credit, Warner Brothers and Mr. Snyder have delivered one balls to the walls, full-force, hard R, uncompromising vision of Watchmen. Like the comic's creators, they left no stone unturned in bringing this epic to the big screen, inserting as much possible detail with extra care. For those unfamiliar with Watchmen's source, the film must be a dizzying experience with many WTF? moments, but fanboys rejoice: never has there been such a detailed adaptation in the history of the medium.
Snyder's visual flair and special effects prowess certainly help bring the panels to exacting life. Some sequences, particularly the Dr. Manhattan chapter, the back-peddling opening credits and almost anything involving Rorschach, are undeniably brilliant. Others, such as the Silk Spectre father reveal and the tweaked ending, lack some of the emotional punch delivered in the novel, but are nonetheless visually arresting.
Perhaps my biggest problem with the film is that it could never replicate all that the novel contains. Much of the climate of the Watchmen universe -- the nuclear war paranoia, the aggression towards authority figures, the degrading of social moral -- is reduced to blanket statements and quick set ups. The majority of the second and third tier characters present in the novel, many of which establish and elaborate these themes to flesh out the temporal backdrop, are absent here. Likewise, many details surrounding the characters origins are trimmed down, making their screen counterparts feel somewhat incomplete.
The music, too, felt jarring to me. The film deserves it's own original score, not some smattering of pop songs that vaguely adhere thematically to the action. I think Warner Brothers were a tad afraid of mainstream audience reactions, and figured if they put some huge pop hits behind some of the more audacious sequences it would make them more palatable. Maybe -- but it also severely undermined the tone. I highly doubt Hendrix would be blasting while Rorcshach and Nite Owl scourge Antarctica for Ozymandias's hideaway.
But with that said, it's amazing how much Synder and his team managed to cram into this two and a half hour epic, and it's even more amazing that Warner Brothers was willing to see through on his vision. This is one bloody disgusting, gut-wrenching, depressing, dark as hell film. It's views on humanity and social decency make Dark Knight look like kiddie play time. As does the on-screen sex and violence.
Watching the origins of Dr. Manhattan unfold on screen will remain one of my favorite cinematic moments for a long time. Billy Crudup does an amazing job and really nails the character to the T. But seeing it come alive, watching it unfold in real time -- nothing will ever compare. It's breathtaking. And that alone makes Watchmen worthy of repeat viewings.
And I definitely think I need to see it again, now that the fanboy giddiness is out of my system. It's hard to really critically assess Snyder's formal elements in that malaise. There is too much immediate beauty in the imagery to really look deep into what Snyder uses to shape the story. Regardless, Watchmen remains a unique ride, one that will (probably) never be duplicated.
Written & Directed by Ken Russell Based on the album by The Who
A deaf, dumb and blind boy becomes a master pinball player and the object of a religious cult.
Ken Russell's 1975 adaptation of the classic Who concept album is a psychedelic kaleidoscope, a smattering of elaborate set-pieces, insane costumes and cartoon colors set the tune of Pete Townsend's windmill licks. It's a lot of fun in that tripped out, self-important yet actually silly & superfluous 70's way. It features the band along with several name actors -- Oliver Reed, Ann-Margaret (in an Oscar nominated turn), Jack Nicholson -- as well as other musicians -- Eric Clapton, Elton John, Tina Turner -- as they tell the story of Tommy, the famed deaf/dumb/blind pinball wizard.
What strikes me most about this film is how it jumbles the story and song out of sequence from the album to bring its vision to life. They make a lot of changes to the source material and take the story down a path I had never truly envisioned in my own head. Tommy was my favorite album growing up -- I used to listen to it every night as I went to bed -- so you could say I have some personal attachment to it. Little details, like the fact that the song "1921" was changed to "1951" so the setting would make sense, seem like strange and unnecessary compromises, while other songs, like "Cousin Kevin", are put to image perfectly. Overall it's a fun film and certainly engaging visually (as Ken Russell films usually are), so it's worth a watch if you're a fan of The Who.
Directed by: Ludwig Berger Michael Powell Tim Whelan Alexander Korda(uncredited) Zoltan Korda (uncredited) William Cameron Menzies (uncredited)
Written by Miles Malleson
Prince Ahmad is the rightful King of Bagdad but has been blinded and cast out as a beggar. Together with Abu, the best thief in all Bagdad, the Prince sets out on a series of adventures that involve a Djinni in a bottle, a mechanical flying horse, an all-seeing magic jewel, a flying carpet and a beautiful princess in order to restore his kingdom from the wicked Grand Vizier Jaffar.
Old school Hollywood in all its splendor, The Thief of Bagdad features exotic locales (!), amazing special effects (!), beautiful women (!), and high-flying action (!), all in glorious Technicolor (!!!). Not to be confused with the (arguably better) 1924 silent film of the same name, this Thief cobbles its plot from a bunch of stories out of Arabian Nights, which makes for some spectacular sequences that were then re-imaged for the Disney animated film Aladdin.
The film is delightfully simple stuff -- easy to digest and fun to look at with a lot happening on screen but little going on up stairs. For some reason, none of the actors are Arab -- Sabu (who plays Abu in the film, why'd they even bother to change his name?) is the most famous actor here, and the most ethnic, having been one of the first Indian actors in Hollywood. It also marks John Justin's film debut, a British stage actor who occasionally dabbled in film. He sports a hilarious thin-lip-stache and struggles to hide his British roots throughout the film. We had a lot of fun making jokes at his expense while watching.
Legend has it that producer Alexander Korda was so demanding that he went through six directors during the making of this film, including his brother Zoltan Korda and leading art director William Cameron Menzies. Not shocking -- everything presented on screen, from the lavish set pieces to the extravagant effects to the pastel-saturated color scheme looks expensive as hell, especially considering the time. This is one of the best example of early big budget Hollywood movie-making one could find. Worth watching if you dig that sort of thing.
In Berlin, an alcoholic man, recently released from prison, joins his elderly friend and a prostitute in a determined dream to leave Germany and seek a better life in Wisconsin.
Herzog's second masterpiece with muse Bruno S., Stroszek is a deconstruction of the American Dream as it is confronted by reality, and (as always!) the inability to communicate. Bruno expects riches when he comes to the states, but he finds his girlfriend is still a whore and no one can understand him, nor he understand them. The film is sad, beautiful, and hilarious. Typical Herzog firing at all cylinders. A must see.
SPOILER: THIS IS THE FAMOUS ENDING SEQUENCE, WHICH IS GODDAMN AMAZING
In the Nineteenth Century, feared bandit Francisco Manoel da Silva (Cobra Verde) is sent to Almeria, in the West of Africa, to negotiate for slaves with the crazy African King Abomey, as opposition towards the trade grows.
This film is a tough one, especially for Herzog, who tries to combine his typical 'portrait of the insane' with the beauty of nature while discussing the most deplorable African slave trade. Klaus Kinski plays the bandit Cobra Verde -- his atypical step-behind-the-times-totally-batshit-crazy type character -- who is injected into the slave trade at the end of it's run. Language plays a major theme, as it does in many of Herzog's films -- the film stresses the difficulty of global communication in the 19th century and deals with cross-cultural miscommunication and misunderstanding. But ultimately the film suffers from the weight of its subject matter -- it can't help escape a sort of 'been there, done that' feeling for all the major players, and the deplorable nature of the slave trade overshadows the struggles of the titular character, no matter how insane we already know he may be. Aside from the fantastic end sequence (which I've posted below), and some gorgeous shots of the African landscape and peoples, the film fails to tread any new ground for it's director or performer.
Written by Justin Haythe Based on the novel by Richard Yates
A young couple living in a Connecticut suburb during the mid-1950s struggle to come to terms with their personal problems while trying to raise their two children.
This talky drama often feels more like a play than a film, but considering the talent of all involved that's not necessarily a bad thing. Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet, and Kathy Bates reunite for the first time in ten years since 1998's Titanic in this stirring drama, deftly handled by Winselt's husband and Oscar winner Sam Mendes (American Beauty, Road to Perdition).
The script is a little overt at times -- there's a lot of yelling about 'dissatisfaction' and 'this empty/hopeless/bleak life' -- but the performers have such natural chemistry and talent that they manage to elevate some of the more leaden dialogue into something more honest and heart-wrenching. Particularly impressive is veteran stage actor and Bug star Michael Shannon, who's electric, albeit brief turn as the so considered 'insane' son of Kathy Bates literally tears the screen apart. This is some of the finest acting you'll see all year, and it's a shame Shannon's screen time is so brief, or he'd be a shoo-in Oscar contender.
What struck me most about this film was the amount of humor it managed to wring out of such bleak, serious material. I'm not talking inappropriate laughs, either -- there were some genuinely humorous moments in this film. A lot of this can be attributed to the talented performers, who create real people with real struggles, rather than stage performances or succumb to their star qualities.
The film is, ultimately, a condemnation of American conformity in the 1950's. Another reason for some of the weightiness of the dialogue is that the film begins with a couple already past their breaking point. April's acting aspirations are revealed and cut down immediately in the opening scenes -- from here on out we are meant to understand her sacrifice to Frank and their suburban lifestyle. Frank, on the other hand, has no real aspirations of his own, and so his inability to look beyond the life they've already established is a natural track. Doing the minimum to get by at work without developing any alternative self, Frank finds himself earning a promotion -- a damning hypocrisy of the American workplace -- in contrast with April's taking concrete steps to accomplish their move to Paris. When that plan falls through, April becomes distraught, disillusioned, and broken -- the American dream is dead.
Winslet won a Golden Globe for her performance and is the front runner tapped for this year's Oscar -- much deserved. The film is carried by the actor's performances and hers is an especially difficult role. It's a crying shame to me that Mr. Shannon isn't receiving the same sort of accolades, but the mere fact that he can hold his weight with such heavy hitters shows a lot of promise for the future.
While not the best film of the year, or even the best condemnation of American conformity put to celluloid, Revolutionary Road is a good film, one worth seeking out if only for the performances. It also really makes me want to read the book by Richard Yates -- anything that makes me want to read I figure is a good thing.
Based upon the true and mysterious story of Kaspar Hauser, a young man suddenly appears in Nuremberg in 1828, barely able to speak or walk. His benefactor attempts to integrate him into society, with intriguing results.
Herzog's Kasper Hauser tackles the German equivalent of the French L'Enfant sauvage -- a real life wild child, abandoned at birth and void of any linguistic or cultural understanding of the world. As doctors, scientists, and the cultural elite try to 'educate' the boy, tension mounts, and the child ultimately rejects civilization, preferring to run amok in nature.
But where Truffaut's L'Enfant Sauvage focuses on the struggles of the educator (indulgently, I might add, as Truffaut cast himself in the role of Dr. Itard), Herzog's film uses Hauser as a tool to question language, religion, and society as a whole.
After all, what would happen if a person had no concept of speech, of writing, of God? How would he react when presented with such things? Herzog tackles all these issues through Hauser's 'education', and, in typical Herzog fashion, they provide a springboard for some beautiful natural imagery and a condemnation of the 'unnatural' acts of man.
As always, Herzog's camera is constantly probing the Earth, and we get some beautiful shots here -- a gull picking apart a frog, plants spiraling out of the ground, shimmering lakes and stormy deserts. Likewise, Herzog cast the perfect actor as his idiot child -- Bruno S., the real life abandoned musician whose broken speech and awkward mannerisms blur the lines of reality and fiction. The New York Times published an amazing profile on Bruno S., Herzog's former muse and the start of Kasper Hauser. Check it out: Bruno S. NY Times Profile: From Berlin's Hole of Forgottenness, A Spell of Songs
Ultimately, I prefer Herzog's film over Truffaut's. Then again, I prefer Herzog over Truffaut in general. But where Truffaut saw drama in a doctor's attempt to conquer nature, Herzog found a character who could question the very fabric of life itself. The result is a much more profound and interesting film, one that challenges our conceptions of language and nature. Worth a gander.
A man is stricken with a bizarre condition and forced to go through life aging backwards.
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button is really long. And boring. And nothing like the book at all.
It's a shame too, because I really like Dave Fincher. Fight Club and Se7en are both wildly entertaining, and Zodiac is one of the most criminally under-appreciated masterpieces of all time. He's got a sharp, distinct visual style and a gritty sense of story. None of which serve this film in any real way.
Oh sure, Benjamin Button is pretty. The cinematography is gorgeous, lighting incredible, effects are grand, and Cate Blanchett looks damn fine in that leotard. But the film is all gloss and no depth; it's so vacant it makes Postal seem like an honest treatise on the sociological effects of 9-11 on American Imperialism and suburban violence.
NOTHING happens in this movie. Nothing worth noting at least. Benjamin ages backwards, but it doesn't seem to matter -- when he's old (young), people just make cracks about how spry he is, and when he's young (old), people just seem to want to sleep with him. Brad Pitt provides his pretty face but not much more in terms of emotions; he seems to just waltz through the movie as if nothing is even happening.
Part of the reason for that is the terrible, terrible script. The whole "aging backwards" thing is basically treated like a special effect -- if you took it out, you'd lose nothing but a few quips, a handful of jokes, and some cool special effects. Eric Roth took a fantastically funny short story, ran it through a shredder, mixed it up with some scenes that got cut from Forrest Gump, put it together with some duck tape and handed it to execs with the pretense that it's some big "meditation on life and death". What a crock of horse shit -- really it's a meandering mess that has absolutely no focus with a dash of pretension and a butt load of basic Hollywood romance.
None of which services Fincher's abilities. The guy can piggy back of most 70's era filmmakers, but Button is clearly old Hollywood, and Fincher flounders. The film doesn't know if it wants be a somber tale of woe, a fantasy epic, or a comedy, and it fails at all three. Fincher's dark color palate and brooding camera doesn't make it any more clear.
My advice: don't waste your time with this one. It commits the worst of movie crimes -- it's over 3 hours long and boring as hell. You're seriously better off watching Postal. Not joking.
Of Synechdoche, New York, Manohla Dargis of the New York Times writes: "To say that Charlie Kaufman’s “Synecdoche, New York” is one of the best films of the year or even one closest to my heart is such a pathetic response to its soaring ambition that I might as well pack it in right now."
I wish I shared her enthusiasm.
Synechdoche is ambitious, for sure, but that doesn't make it good. Mr. Kaufman misses the mark so spectacularly it's surprising he hasn't committed suicide yet.
I don't say that because the film isn't well made -- it is, particularly for a debut director, technically impressive. But the ideology behind it is so sickening and sad that it prohibits me from appreciating it. Synechdoche isn't a reflection or exploration of life -- it's an active stance against it.
Philip Seymour Hoffman plays an unsuccessful theater director named Caden Cotard. Being a Kaufman film, we know from the very first frame that this character is doomed. Doomed from the start. As he struggles with his creative bankruptcy, Caden opts to analyze every instance of his life through recreation and reenactment, thanks to the help of a sizable grant and a cast of dedicated actors. This would be fine, if it weren't a tactic deployed by depressed teenagers everywhere, and Caden were a likable character. He's not.
Caden is depressed, you see. Understandable. His life sucks and he is doomed. Perhaps if there were some light at the end of the tunnel he might cheer up a bit (and so would the audience). But there isn't any -- only death. And so it goes, over and over, with a dab of surrealism here and there to keep things interesting (and confusing. What the hell was the burning house metaphor for? It appears in the film at least three times and seems to be a differently symbol each time, but for what? Nothing as far as I can tell).
Ultimately the film is about life, death, and trying to make your mark. Caden fails, miserably, to impact the people and world around him because he is selfish, self-absorbed, and scared. He's an asshole. That's fine, but I don't want to watch that character get nowhere for 3 hours of my life. I could use that time for something else.
That's my biggest beef with this film -- ideologically it's so bleak and asinine that I don't understand why anyone would want to watch it to begin with. The character appears to be trying to make something of himself, but his tactics are so childish and futile it prevents him from moving forward. He is stagnant from the first frame onward, and in turn the film is stagnant.
There is some humor in there -- especially in the beginning -- but it wears thin as the film moves towards its final act. By the last third, I was just bored. I didn't care about Caden, I didn't care about his play, and I didn't care about the movie.
Interestingly enough, a lot of this years big movies have dealt with the concept of life and death -- Benjamin Button and The Wrestler, being two standouts. While The Wrestler was equally depressing, I found myself rooting for the main character. I couldn't do that with Synechdoche -- there is simply no one or nowhere to latch on to.
Several film critics have pointed out that this is a film that demands multiple viewings, and it will be analyzed and scrutinized by film students for years to come. I only have one question for those people: Why?
A cocaine dealer who begins to realize that his life will soon end with either prison or death decides to build an escape by making his biggest deal yet.
Super Fly is not a good movie. It's a trashy, poorly shot, sloppy, boring, silly, incoherent mess. There's little to no action, tons of slow, extended sequences, terrible acting, and still image montages galore. That said, there are two redeeming factors to this film. One is Curtis Mayfield's soundtrack, which made him super-famous and stands today as one of the best soundtracks of all time. Mental Defective's Tim Slowikowski recently compiled a list of the best music moments in film and how this one is not included is beyond me. It's one of the major centerpieces, and the song appears at least 12 times throughout the film, which would be annoying if it weren't so damn good.
The second redeeming aspect is the long takes, which make for some of the most boring yet bizarrely engrossing moments in the film. The best example of this is an extended sex scene, which I can't seem to find online, but it's unmissable if you catch the film. It goes on for like 10 minutes and there are so many close ups it's almost obscene.
Super Fly was director Gordon Parks Jr.'s follow up to his debut film Shaft, a classic blaxploitation film. According to legend, the script for Super Fly was only 45 pages long, hence all the still images, cut aways and extended slow motion sequences. If you're a fan of blaxploitation, you've probably already seen this film, but if you're new to the genre, I wouldn't recommend this as the place to start.
Written by: Allen Baron (writer), Waldo Salt (narration written by)
Having been 'away' for some time professional killer Frankie Bono returns to New York to do another job: assassinate some mid-level mobster. Although intending to avoid unnecessary 'contact' while carefully stalking his victim Bono is recognized by an old fellow from the orphanage, whose calm and unambitious citizen's life and happy marriage contrast heavily with Bono's solitary and haunted existence. Exhausted and distracted Bono makes another mistake, but his contract is not one to back out of.
Though film-noir was a relatively dead genre by 1960, this film by Allen Baron is often cited as a classic example of the genre. Not a revisionist work like, say, Cassavete's Killing of a Chinese Bookie, Blast of Silence relies on more traditional noir elements to resounding effect.
Voice-Over narration, written by then black-listed writer Waldo Salt (Midnight Cowboy), provides the meat of the story. While the film is famed for this narration, and it is a tradition of the genre, I found it particularly distracting. I'll admit there's a handful of lines in there that are absolute gold ("Pay for the woman, and take her to a dark corner -- where no one can see your face"), it's pretty unnecessary.
Why? Because Baron - a first time director - gets the most out of his camera and his actors. Baron himself plays the lead, the unraveling hitman, to startling effect. Larry Tucker (most well know as the writer partner of Paul Mazursky) gives a commanding and incredibly enjoyable performance as Big Ralph, an overweight seedy gun salesman. But most impressive is Baron's camera, which captures some amazing shots of New York City. The film is downright gorgeous. And it tells us everything we need to know - without the VO.
Criterion recently put out a great remastered version of this flick, which Martin Scorsese often cites as his favorite New York City film. If you're a fan of the genre, this is a must see. And at a mere 77 minutes, it's a swift, easy watch.
Been a while since I've posted on here, but this news item prompted me out of retirement. Mike Nichols (Closer, The Graduate) and David Mamet (Glengarry Glen Ross) plan on remaking Kurosawa's classic 1963 drama High & Low. The remake is supposedly going to be produced by Scott Rudin and Martin Scorsese.
This is probably my favorite Kurosawa film, one that's made with a lot of heart and technical skill. The film tells the story of a rich man who must pay ransom for the son of one of his employees. It explores the economic disparity between rich & poor in post-war Japan. Kurosawa's first film to be shot in widescreen, his staging is absolutely incredible. He knew just where to put his actors to maximize each shots impact. And the presentation of geography and the city landscape is also unbelievable.
Normally I'm flat out against remakes of perfect films (and this film is perfect), but my feelings are mixed on this one. While it could never hold a candle to the original, it could be very interesting thematically, considering the current political and economic climate.
Give the original film a look, if you haven't already. You won't be disappointed.
Also, expect more regular posts from here on out. I'm watching more movies and want to make a better record of what I've seen.
Starring two of the genre’s biggest names – John Wayne and Jimmy Stewart – The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance strips the Western of its window dressing, providing a reflection on the motifs and common themes that only a director as experienced in the genre as John Ford could produce. However, perhaps most striking are its competing protagonists who, through their dual natures, become a commentary on the Western hero and on the power of mythmaking, the film’s central theme.
Liberty Valance makes its dual protagonist structure quite clear from the very beginning. Stewart’s character, an established politician named Ransom Stoddard, heads to the small town of Shinbone for a funeral. Acting as narrator, he recounts the story of the deceased – John Wayne as Tom Doniphan – through flashback. This structure, coupled with the billing of two top stars, immediately implies dual protagonists.
Doniphan, “the toughest man south of the Picketwire”, is pragmatic and bound to nothing. Like Shane, he represents the savage side of the West: he lives in a house well outside of town, is nomadic and authoritative, and, most importantly, believes in the power of a gun. Doniphan doesn’t see much use for the law books and school teaching that Stoddard brings to the town of Shinbone. Stewart’s character represents civilization in its most pure, democratic, idealized form. A young lawyer from the East headed west to strike it big, Stoddard’s knowledge of the law, ability to read and write, and sheer idealism prove to be quite useful. However, over the course of the film, Stoddard finds that he needs to adapt to Doniphan’s more savage ways to survive. In the end, he comes out on top, remembered forever as “the man who shot Liberty Valance.”
This myth is the central point of the film: while Stoddard is memorialized for ending Valance’s reign, it was Doniphan who actually did the deed. Liberty Valance pits these two characters in direct competition and uses this structure to comment upon the myth-making abilities of the West. The fact that Stoddard is remembered for Valance’s death, and not Doniphan, shows how the West as an open frontier was rife with possibility for a man to prove himself – and how rumors could easily become truths by way of the press. As Maxwell Scott, editor of a now civilized Shinbone Star says, “When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.”
Doniphan is forgotten by nearly everyone at the end of the film. Unlike Shane, his valiant efforts and self-sacrifice are not lauded or memorialized, but hidden, rejected by those who control the myth-making process for the sake of civil progress. However, Stoddard’s civility is not portrayed as cut-and-dry as that in Shane either. Stoddard lapses into savage ways, and finds his well-intended career built on a myth. It is in such a way that the themes of Liberty Valance differs from that of Shane; whereas one films finds honor in the Western Hero, the other exposes a bittersweet reality.
