The Wall

THE WALL (Doug Liman, 2017)

The Iraq War is officially winding down in 2007 in THE WALL, but fulfilling their duties are no less dangerous for Staff Sergeant Shane Matthews (John Cena) and his spotter Allan Isaac (Aaron Taylor-Johnson). The pair are summoned near a pipeline under construction where an Iraqi sniper has been picking off contractors. They are on the scene to ascertain whether there are any survivors and if they can find the enemy responsible for killing with surgical precision.

Scanning the site from a distance while camouflaged, they determine that no one is alive but are less certain if the gunman might still be in the vicinity. Matthews grows tired of waiting and approaches the construction scene. It’s not long before a bullet strikes him and brings him down. Isaac attempts to come to his help, but unable to locate the sniper, he is also shot and is forced to take shelter behind a crumbling wall. His radio is damaged in the exchange, so when he is able to make contact with his communications device, the voice on the other end belongs to Juba (Laith Nakli), the hidden Iraqi responsible for all of these casualties.

THE WALL provides a good example of how direction and editing can enhance what is on the page. The screenplay by Dwain Worrell could be realized as a stage play mounted on a shoestring budget and not lose its essence. That quality doesn’t inherently detract from the film but reveals its limitations. THE WALL is primarily a dialogue between Iraq War counterparts that hits familiar notes about soldiers on opposite sides of a conflict. The film feels most vital when the conversation is about the matter at hand and digs into the cat-and-mouse tactics each man employs to gain advantages. Exploring this single faceoff as emblematic of the larger conflict yields more ordinary observations.

What Worrell brings to the film isn’t to be discounted, but director Doug Liman keeps this showdown tense when the story and dialogue fade in urgency. THE WALL has something of an exercise or challenge aspect to the production. It’s as though it is being made under limitations for the sake of prompting more creative decisions. Liman and editor Julia Bloch are up to the task as they never lose sight of the real-time (or mostly real-time) pressures and constrain the film’s perspective to what Isaac can see with the naked eye or his busted scope.

With Juba existing as a disembodied voice, he assumes the mantle of confessor and executioner. Isaac continues to live not out of mercy but so he can account for his and his country’s sins while receiving no promise of absolution for either. The desert setting lends to the impression of Isaac and Juba’s interaction harkening to a stark, primitive time when man felt more deeply vulnerable to an unseen interlocutor in control of his fate. THE WALL is not obliged to resolve the issues it inspects about this particular war, but its bitter conclusion smacks of a beginner’s casual understanding of nihilism. The pessimism isn’t necessarily uncalled for; it just seems like the easiest way out.

Grade: B-

Ebertfest 2010: Opening Night

Film festivals are often mad adventures in which one gorges on films and purges sleep. Getting back to my hotel room at 1 a.m. to begin writing this Ebertfest Opening Night recap--and with an eye on a panel discussion I plan to attend at 9:30--means a few things have to go: sleep and a perfectionist's research and editing. Add in that this is 2 a.m. in Ohio and that I just took a muscle relaxant to loosen up my neck from a car accident a couple months ago and, well, this could be interesting. I'm about the last person one would compare to Hunter S. Thompson, so don't expect the rest of this entry to spin off into depraved tales of Champaign-Urbana after hours.

The 12th annual Roger Ebert's Film Festival kicked off with a visit from the Illinois governor to proclaim this Ebertfest Day (or something to that affect). Fine, fine, but get on with it, governor. We have two films to watch.

It's become tradition for the festival to open with a film in 70mm. Tonight's first selection was intended to be projected in that format, but apparently the print was pink. That tint would have been ironically fitting considering that the film was PINK FLOYD THE WALL. Luckily a 35mm print--and a pristine one at that--was obtained in time so that the visual experience wasn't clouded by faded layers of celluloid.

I don't think I've listened to Pink Floyd's concept album since I was in college, if not high school, and I'd not seen director Alan Parker's film until tonight. Classic rock radio has burned several of these songs into my brain, but they take on different associations, not always for the best, in this rock and roll art film.

Bob Geldof acts out the role of Pink, a rocker who has barricaded himself in his hotel room while having a nervous breakdown and overdosing on drugs. The film doesn't so much as follow Pink's storyline as it sifts through whatever Roger Waters vomits up in regard to feelings about his father's death during World War II, the relationship with his mother, his animosity toward the system/the establishment, fascism, violence, the push/pull dynamic between performer and audience, and sex, drugs, rock and roll.

For as meticulously arranged and played as the band's music is, the film is raw and messy in uncovering the pain, horror, and disgust residing beneath the clean sounding surfaces of the songs. The spilled blood, weak flesh, and sexual anxiety are like something out of a teen's nightmarish fantasy (or David Cronenberg's filmography).

PINK FLOYD THE WALL can play like an adolescent's bilious railing against the unfairness of life. That's what makes this primal scream of a film so vivid. Whether it's schoolchildren being put in a meat grinder or Pink's new identity as a fascist leader emerging from a body that looks as though it is encased inside an enormous tumor, the lack of restraint in producing these hideous but striking images is where the material draws its power.

The danger of indulging the rantings of a disaffected youth who thinks he's the only one who ever felt this way is that can seem juvenile. Spare me the moans about the uncaring teachers and crookedness of everybody, junior. There's a reason why the album speaks to those that age from generation to generation and why it seems at least a tad overly melodramatic to me.

One more note about the imagery... The most memorable part to me was when Pink is sitting alone in a clean, empty room and then is pursued by a giant animated snake/dragon. The utilization of space and scale is pretty fantastic.

As for a couple stray observations that don't have much to do with anything, how about Bob Hoskins chowing down on a pineapple sliced in half during "Young Lust"? I also thought it was pretty funny to see a big ad with Mike Schmidt beside the words "Feeling 7Up" while the fascist force beats the scattering fans. Did anyone else think Pink's posture in front of the television was reminiscent of those old Memorex ads?

If that wasn't enough grimness for one night, how about Roy Andersson's YOU, THE LIVING (DU LEVANDE) as a late night cinematic chaser? It's actually a pretty good pairing with THE WALL as both films are populated with people who think that no one can understand the hurt inside of them and despair at what this means for the present and the future.

I put the film on my list of Honorable Mentions for the Best Films of 2009. Here's what I had to say then:

Swedish director Roy Andersson follows up his 2000 surrealist comedy SONGS FROM THE SECOND FLOOR (SÅNGER FRÅN ANDRA VÅNINGEN) with more darkly humorous sketches about the dilemmas of human existence. Laughs catch in the throat, although this time a bit more optimism underlies the drollness and Scandinavian emotional coolness. Andersson favors gorgeous, deep focus compositions that establish scenes in which the jokes trickle out in unbroken shots. The meticulous craftsmanship and impeccable timing in YOU, THE LIVING show an artist in full command of his distinctive voice.

On a second go-round the film seems akin to what I remember being a theme in Kurt Vonnegut's writings. Assuming I'm not thinking of someone else or getting this completely wrong, he stressed that life is short, so it's best to be kind to one another during the time we have as it could all end tomorrow.

I marvel at the formal command that Andersson has as a filmmaker. The strong vertical and horizontal lines box in his put-upon characters. The camera, positioned at something akin to a medium wide shot (for lack of a better term) zoomed out all the way, is merciless in its probing examination of these people. Am I not mistaken in seeing that he has most of the poor souls populating his films in a kind of whiteface to make them look more sickly?

The post-film panel came up with plenty of excellent comparisons for describing Andersson's work. Elvis Mitchell likened it to a cross of Gary Larson's THE FAR SIDE comic strips and Ingmar Bergman's work. I would like to propose that although Mike Judge's filmmaking style (or rigor) is the same as Andersson's, he's the closest American director that I think is a kindred spirit.

-PINK FLOYD THE WALL: B-/62

-YOU, THE LIVING: B+/74

Tomorrow: a panel (if I can make it), MUNYURANGABO, THE NEW AGE, and APOCALYPSE NOW REDUX.