The quickest way for me to bail on updating this blog on a regular basis is to hold myself to the impossible standard of writing about everything I see. Maybe I ought to hire that therapist Metallica used, except I can't spare the $40,000 a month he was charging them. (Speaking of which, I ought to unearth my METALLICA: SOME KIND OF MONSTER review and slap it up here.)
So, for my next trick, I will work toward that goal of writing about everything I've seen in the past week that I haven't commented upon. Perhaps then I can hash out a more thorough analysis of THE VILLAGE. For the time being, check out what my fellow Columbus critic John DeSando's cogent take on the M. Night Shyamalan film. Be warned, spoilers are plentiful, especially for those wanting to experience the film tabula rasa.
OK, time for the lightning round...
COLLATERAL (Michael Mann, 2004)
Michael Mann sure knows how to shoot Los Angeles, although Thom Andersen might beg to differ. He brings out great texture in film stock and DV to paint a beautiful nighttime portrait of the city. More talking and less rocking, the characters, like improvising jazz musicians, trade existential riffs around some fine action setpieces. The subway chase sequence doesn't match the one in THE FRENCH CONNECTION, but that's setting the bar pretty high.
Jamie Foxx plays the cabbie who doesn't know what he's getting himself into by agreeing to drive Tom Cruise's hitman around the city. Foxx has shown a lot of charm in other films that weren't worth the time of day. Here he gets his best role to date in his best film to date and demonstrates true leading man qualities. The film's opening shows how carefully he maintains his taxi and goes about his job. Then it segues into a lovely conversation between him and a lawyer played by Jada Pinkett Smith. As he wins her over, he wins us over. We want everything to turn out okay for him because Foxx turns on the charisma.
Cruise, in the flashier role, is good too. Frequently dismissed as an actor because of his looks and that million dollar smile, he's been pushing himself over the last few years, working with top directors like Kubrick, Crowe, and Spielberg and playing more complex characters. Even though he's a cold-blooded killer in COLLATERAL, he still snakes his way into our good graces when he flashes those teeth and gives those devilish justifications for his actions.
Grade: B
OPEN WATER (Chris Kentis, 2004)
A couple (Blanchard Ryan and Daniel Travis) go scuba diving and are left in the middle of the ocean by accident. Time passes. Sharks circle. Repeat.
Best decision in making this film: using real sharks instead of CGI. There's a palpable tension in the performances and in one's experience as a viewer in knowing that those sharks are really in the water with the actors. Kentis, who also edited OPEN WATER, builds terror through montage. The shots with sharks and humans sharing the frame are important, but the edits suggest proximity and actions that make the film more terrifying. Kentis does such an expert job of evoking the environment that one of the best sequences occurs during the night when we can't see anything except when the lightning flashes.
Worst decision in making this film: shooting on DV. OK, it most certainly made production easier, but where DV can look terrific (COLLATERAL, THE COMPANY), it can also look cruddy when blown up to big screen proportions. There are times when the image is much to pixellated for my taste.
The superficial characterizations and banal dialogue keep OPEN WATER from being a great film, but it's one of the scariest films I've seen in some time.
Grade: B
TIME OF THE WOLF (LE TEMPS DU LOUP) (Michael Haneke, 2003)
Michael Haneke's TIME OF THE WOLF (LE TEMPS DU LOUP) thrusts us into an unknown time and place unsettled by unclear events. A family seeks sanctuary at their countryhouse only to come upon squatters who kill the husband, take their provisions, and send them off to fend for themselves. Isabelle Huppert stars as Anna, the fiercely protective mother of two.
Haneke's formal mastery produces many striking images. Foremost among these is a nighttime shot in which Anna, in the foreground, lights a torch that burns briefly while in the great distance we see a fire burning where she left her daughter. Haneke evokes a remarkable sense of space swallowing them. Later he elicits claustrophobia in the train station where they await rescue.
Huppert was magnificent in Haneke's THE PIANO TEACHER (LA PIANISTE). Her part in TIME OF THE WOLF is just as central but not as predominant. Anna recedes into the pack for the sake of survival, but Huppert still stands out with her intensity.
The unknown often produces a greater fear than the known. (The Russian film THE RETURN (Vozvrashcheniye), which is also currently circulating on the art house circuit, got a lot of mileage keeping the audience in the dark.) Rumors abound at the station. Mystical theories that ordinarily wouldn't carry much weight are considered in the film's ungrounded world.
What ultimately matters isn't whether help is coming or will never arrive but how the people treat one another. Haneke finds humanity in a scenario lacking hope, an unexpected beacon of light in a gloomy film.
Grade: B+
Monday, August 09, 2004
The Adventures of Ociee Nash
I've let this review languish as a draft for two weeks, so it's high time it saw the light of day.
THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH (Kristen McGary, 2003)
Golly, it sure is mighty hard to shred a mild, well-meaning movie like THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH, but durn it all for being the sort of picture that gives the G-rated family film a bad reputation. The content is unobjectionable, which is all well and good, but watching this is like swallowing castor oil.
Nine-year-old tomboy Ociee Nash (Skyler Day) isn’t the least bit interested in being a proper young lady. The farm girl prefers dungarees to frilly dresses and horseplay with her brother over playing with dolls. Her mother is deceased, which leaves her father (Keith Carradine) concerned about the lack of female influence in her life. Her aunt Mamie (Mare Winningham) concurs, so Ociee is sent from rural Mississippi to live with her in Asheville, North Carolina.
Ociee’s 1898 adventures lead her to some Forrest Gump-like encounters. She meets Nellie Bly and helps solve an engineering dilemma the Wright Brothers are having with their flying machine. (TRADING SPACES fans will recognize carpenter Ty Pennington, who plays Wilbur Wright. He’s on screen for a minute tops.) Much is also made of Ociee inspiring President William McKinley’s saying “make haste slowly”. It struck me as an arcane quote, especially for a children‘s film. I wouldn't have paid any attention to it, but the film dwells on the line, going so far as to repeat it and having McKinley take note of the saying. Either the filmmakers didn’t do their research or assumed no one would realize that it comes from his March 4, 1897 inauguration speech. (Check the second paragraph.)
Ociee takes to her new home like a duck to water, even if she initially grouses about the wardrobe change that her dressmaking aunt institutes. She makes a new friend and helps a carriage driver woo prim Aunt Mamie. Except for missing her father and brothers, life in Asheville isn’t significantly different for Ociee. Which is precisely the problem. THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH is terribly dull because, for its approximate 100 minutes, it is virtually conflict-free.
Adapted from the book A FLOWER BLOOMS ON CHARLOTTE STREET, the film takes a methodical approach, breaking the non-action into distinct chapters. I can’t say how the film compares to the novel, but if you were reading this, you wouldn’t have a compelling reason to continue turning pages. Ociee is well adjusted and agreeable. Her penchant for climbing trees is what passes for mischievous behavior. While a MY FAIR LADY transformation might be anticipated and is briefly suggested, such work appears unnecessary. It isn’t imperative that Ociee should be deeply troubled, that she’s stealing from the general store and crying herself to sleep every night, but conflict is the storytelling engine. As admirable and desirable as good behavior and a relatively stress-free life are, these qualities alone don’t generate interesting viewing.
The title possibly suggests a parallel with Mark Twain’s THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER. THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH doesn’t come close to being as involving as Twain’s novel--an unfair comparison, to be sure--however, it inadvertently adheres to Twain’s introductory admonition to readers. He began the classic book with the warning that “persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.” Ociee Nash lacks motive and plot. While it upholds wholesomeness and good behavior, it lacks a concrete moral. Twain also mastered writing in dialect. THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH attempts to reflect the times, loaded as it is with southern aphorisms and slang, but the results are forced and clunky.
THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH was made in 2002 and is now rolling out regionally. Those in the Columbus area would do better to see HER MAJESTY, a 2001 film that played as part of the Drexel’s Summer Kids’ Series and is currently enjoying a regular engagement. In HER MAJESTY, a New Zealand girl befriends a Maori woman whose ramshackle home the townsfolk consider an eyesore, particularly with Queen Elizabeth’s imminent visit. The main characters in OCIEE NASH and HER MAJESTY are virtuous, but in HER MAJESTY it means something. Those without access to HER MAJESTY have better options in two great, overlooked films A LITTLE PRINCESS, from director Alfonso Cuaron, and Robert Mulligan’s THE MAN IN THE MOON.
Grade: D
THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH (Kristen McGary, 2003)
Golly, it sure is mighty hard to shred a mild, well-meaning movie like THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH, but durn it all for being the sort of picture that gives the G-rated family film a bad reputation. The content is unobjectionable, which is all well and good, but watching this is like swallowing castor oil.
Nine-year-old tomboy Ociee Nash (Skyler Day) isn’t the least bit interested in being a proper young lady. The farm girl prefers dungarees to frilly dresses and horseplay with her brother over playing with dolls. Her mother is deceased, which leaves her father (Keith Carradine) concerned about the lack of female influence in her life. Her aunt Mamie (Mare Winningham) concurs, so Ociee is sent from rural Mississippi to live with her in Asheville, North Carolina.
Ociee’s 1898 adventures lead her to some Forrest Gump-like encounters. She meets Nellie Bly and helps solve an engineering dilemma the Wright Brothers are having with their flying machine. (TRADING SPACES fans will recognize carpenter Ty Pennington, who plays Wilbur Wright. He’s on screen for a minute tops.) Much is also made of Ociee inspiring President William McKinley’s saying “make haste slowly”. It struck me as an arcane quote, especially for a children‘s film. I wouldn't have paid any attention to it, but the film dwells on the line, going so far as to repeat it and having McKinley take note of the saying. Either the filmmakers didn’t do their research or assumed no one would realize that it comes from his March 4, 1897 inauguration speech. (Check the second paragraph.)
Ociee takes to her new home like a duck to water, even if she initially grouses about the wardrobe change that her dressmaking aunt institutes. She makes a new friend and helps a carriage driver woo prim Aunt Mamie. Except for missing her father and brothers, life in Asheville isn’t significantly different for Ociee. Which is precisely the problem. THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH is terribly dull because, for its approximate 100 minutes, it is virtually conflict-free.
Adapted from the book A FLOWER BLOOMS ON CHARLOTTE STREET, the film takes a methodical approach, breaking the non-action into distinct chapters. I can’t say how the film compares to the novel, but if you were reading this, you wouldn’t have a compelling reason to continue turning pages. Ociee is well adjusted and agreeable. Her penchant for climbing trees is what passes for mischievous behavior. While a MY FAIR LADY transformation might be anticipated and is briefly suggested, such work appears unnecessary. It isn’t imperative that Ociee should be deeply troubled, that she’s stealing from the general store and crying herself to sleep every night, but conflict is the storytelling engine. As admirable and desirable as good behavior and a relatively stress-free life are, these qualities alone don’t generate interesting viewing.
The title possibly suggests a parallel with Mark Twain’s THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER. THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH doesn’t come close to being as involving as Twain’s novel--an unfair comparison, to be sure--however, it inadvertently adheres to Twain’s introductory admonition to readers. He began the classic book with the warning that “persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.” Ociee Nash lacks motive and plot. While it upholds wholesomeness and good behavior, it lacks a concrete moral. Twain also mastered writing in dialect. THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH attempts to reflect the times, loaded as it is with southern aphorisms and slang, but the results are forced and clunky.
THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH was made in 2002 and is now rolling out regionally. Those in the Columbus area would do better to see HER MAJESTY, a 2001 film that played as part of the Drexel’s Summer Kids’ Series and is currently enjoying a regular engagement. In HER MAJESTY, a New Zealand girl befriends a Maori woman whose ramshackle home the townsfolk consider an eyesore, particularly with Queen Elizabeth’s imminent visit. The main characters in OCIEE NASH and HER MAJESTY are virtuous, but in HER MAJESTY it means something. Those without access to HER MAJESTY have better options in two great, overlooked films A LITTLE PRINCESS, from director Alfonso Cuaron, and Robert Mulligan’s THE MAN IN THE MOON.
Grade: D
Friday, August 06, 2004
Ego stroking
Out of curiosity I googled "reel times" and "Mark Pfeiffer" to see what results might turn up. (Don't look at me like that. You know you've searched for your own name too.) I was surprised to find that I have this page at Rotten Tomatoes and am quoted on The Criterion Collection page for THE LADY EVE. Kinda cool.
Thursday, August 05, 2004
A little brother, a little misunderstanding, and a big obsession
Some brief notes on the DVDs I've seen recently...
STEVIE (Steve James, 2002)
While attending Southern Illinois University Steve James was a Big Brother to Stevie Fielding. The director of HOOP DREAMS becomes a subject in his own film when he seeks to reconnect nearly ten years later with his Little Brother. Stevie's home life with his biological and foster families included abuse of some kind. So, it is unsurprising to James and the audience to learn that in the intervening years Stevie has been institutionalized and been arrested for various crimes.
James renews his relationship with Stevie but does not stay in regular contact with him, perhaps due to discomfort with the situation. Then Stevie gets into serious legal trouble. James is forced to make difficult choices regarding how he should be involved and, to a lesser extent, what role he now plays in the film.
The cynic might try to dismiss STEVIE as exploiting a poor family's problems and James as constructing a testament to his altruism. The Fieldings wouldn't be out of place on the daytime TV talk show circuit, but despite their faults, James displays great empathy for them in his filmmaking and personal actions. Although they are shown warts and all, STEVIE refuses to take a derisive view of these people. James may decline to bail Stevie out of prison, but he counsels him as best he can so that Stevie gets the legal and psychiatric help he urgently needs. While James again becomes an active participant in Stevie's life, he expresses reservations and wonders if the turmoil is why he distanced himself from his Little Brother after graduation and their reunion.
Ultimately STEVIE serves as a powerful depiction of what results from the cycle of abuse and how the system can't always succeed in saving troubled youth. The conclusion isn't a victory, yet it's probably the best for all parties involved.
Grade: B+
LOVE ME, LOVE MY MONEY (YAU CHING YAM SHUI BAAU) (Jing Wong, 2001)
In LOVE ME, LOVE MY MONEY (YAU CHING YAM SHUI BAAU), Tony Leung Chiu Wai and Qi Shu become amorously entangled due to a familiar romantic comedy case of mistaken identity. Leung plays Richard, a miserly business executive who wishes to find love with someone not blinded by his bank account. Complications set in motion by a vengeful ex-girlfriend leave Richard with no cash and no access to his credit cards. Choi (Qi) is acquainted with Richard but does not know his true identity. She encounters him at this low point, even seeing him beg for money from a pregnant woman.
A stockbroker whose main priority is divesting herself of a tubby admirer, Choi pretends that Richard is her boyfriend. She gets rid of her suitor, but word reaches her father that she is dating someone. Choi and Richard strike a deal in which she pays him to pose as her boyfriend so as to convince dear old dad.
Leung and Qi are appealing, but they're saddled with an inane script and an unconvincing romance. Their actions are functions of the screenplay rather than natural choices. Even when allowing for the coincidences the genre thrives on, Choi's discovery of Richard's true self stands as a major continuity error, if one wants to get picky. (And I do.) Conveniently a DV camera captures Richard's announcement of his desire to find a woman who isn't a golddigger. The morning after a big party at his house, which he explains away as a favor he collected from a filmmaker, she stumbles upon the camera and watches scenes of the night before, which also happen to have the film's soundtrack on them but nevermind. Then she sees him talking about women and his money, something that took place days before and wouldn't have been after the party scenes on the tape. It's representative of the carelessness in the film's plotting and direction.
If you don't speak Chinese, the DVD subtitles leave a lot to be desired. Sentences pick up in midstream with sometimes half of the dialogue lines seemingly omitted. The translation is imperfect too. For instance, "either" means "too", as far as I can tell.
Grade: C-
DAMAGE (Louis Malle, 1992)
Jeremy Irons and Juliette Binoche star in a tale of erotic obsession. Is there any other kind when a French director is on board?
The sparks are immediate when Anna Barton (Binoche) introduces herself to Parliament member Dr. Stephen Fleming (Irons). Problem is, she's dating his son Martyn (Rupert Graves). Or maybe it's not a problem. She calls Stephen. He arrives at her apartment. They engage in rough, dispassionate sex. They repeat this scenario many times, even after Anna and Martyn become engaged and plan their wedding.
DAMAGE is handsomely mounted and boasts fine, emotionally cool performances from Irons, Binoche, Graves, and Miranda Richardson as Fleming's wife. Malle rhymes an incident in Anna's past with an important third act development, so I get the point of obsession's senselessness and destructiveness. While I appreciated the formal aspects, I was never engaged with the film.
The DVD offers the R rated and unrated cut. (The unrated version is about a minute longer.) I assume that the vigorousness in one scene is what deemed some trims for an R. Granted, the film was released in 1992, but 1999's R-rated release of EYES WIDE SHUT contained more intensity and considerably more nudity than the unrated DAMAGE.
I'm aware that DAMAGE has a solid critical reputation, so the film may be worth revisiting at some point. For now, though...
Grade: C
STEVIE (Steve James, 2002)
While attending Southern Illinois University Steve James was a Big Brother to Stevie Fielding. The director of HOOP DREAMS becomes a subject in his own film when he seeks to reconnect nearly ten years later with his Little Brother. Stevie's home life with his biological and foster families included abuse of some kind. So, it is unsurprising to James and the audience to learn that in the intervening years Stevie has been institutionalized and been arrested for various crimes.
James renews his relationship with Stevie but does not stay in regular contact with him, perhaps due to discomfort with the situation. Then Stevie gets into serious legal trouble. James is forced to make difficult choices regarding how he should be involved and, to a lesser extent, what role he now plays in the film.
The cynic might try to dismiss STEVIE as exploiting a poor family's problems and James as constructing a testament to his altruism. The Fieldings wouldn't be out of place on the daytime TV talk show circuit, but despite their faults, James displays great empathy for them in his filmmaking and personal actions. Although they are shown warts and all, STEVIE refuses to take a derisive view of these people. James may decline to bail Stevie out of prison, but he counsels him as best he can so that Stevie gets the legal and psychiatric help he urgently needs. While James again becomes an active participant in Stevie's life, he expresses reservations and wonders if the turmoil is why he distanced himself from his Little Brother after graduation and their reunion.
Ultimately STEVIE serves as a powerful depiction of what results from the cycle of abuse and how the system can't always succeed in saving troubled youth. The conclusion isn't a victory, yet it's probably the best for all parties involved.
Grade: B+
LOVE ME, LOVE MY MONEY (YAU CHING YAM SHUI BAAU) (Jing Wong, 2001)
In LOVE ME, LOVE MY MONEY (YAU CHING YAM SHUI BAAU), Tony Leung Chiu Wai and Qi Shu become amorously entangled due to a familiar romantic comedy case of mistaken identity. Leung plays Richard, a miserly business executive who wishes to find love with someone not blinded by his bank account. Complications set in motion by a vengeful ex-girlfriend leave Richard with no cash and no access to his credit cards. Choi (Qi) is acquainted with Richard but does not know his true identity. She encounters him at this low point, even seeing him beg for money from a pregnant woman.
A stockbroker whose main priority is divesting herself of a tubby admirer, Choi pretends that Richard is her boyfriend. She gets rid of her suitor, but word reaches her father that she is dating someone. Choi and Richard strike a deal in which she pays him to pose as her boyfriend so as to convince dear old dad.
Leung and Qi are appealing, but they're saddled with an inane script and an unconvincing romance. Their actions are functions of the screenplay rather than natural choices. Even when allowing for the coincidences the genre thrives on, Choi's discovery of Richard's true self stands as a major continuity error, if one wants to get picky. (And I do.) Conveniently a DV camera captures Richard's announcement of his desire to find a woman who isn't a golddigger. The morning after a big party at his house, which he explains away as a favor he collected from a filmmaker, she stumbles upon the camera and watches scenes of the night before, which also happen to have the film's soundtrack on them but nevermind. Then she sees him talking about women and his money, something that took place days before and wouldn't have been after the party scenes on the tape. It's representative of the carelessness in the film's plotting and direction.
If you don't speak Chinese, the DVD subtitles leave a lot to be desired. Sentences pick up in midstream with sometimes half of the dialogue lines seemingly omitted. The translation is imperfect too. For instance, "either" means "too", as far as I can tell.
Grade: C-
DAMAGE (Louis Malle, 1992)
Jeremy Irons and Juliette Binoche star in a tale of erotic obsession. Is there any other kind when a French director is on board?
The sparks are immediate when Anna Barton (Binoche) introduces herself to Parliament member Dr. Stephen Fleming (Irons). Problem is, she's dating his son Martyn (Rupert Graves). Or maybe it's not a problem. She calls Stephen. He arrives at her apartment. They engage in rough, dispassionate sex. They repeat this scenario many times, even after Anna and Martyn become engaged and plan their wedding.
DAMAGE is handsomely mounted and boasts fine, emotionally cool performances from Irons, Binoche, Graves, and Miranda Richardson as Fleming's wife. Malle rhymes an incident in Anna's past with an important third act development, so I get the point of obsession's senselessness and destructiveness. While I appreciated the formal aspects, I was never engaged with the film.
The DVD offers the R rated and unrated cut. (The unrated version is about a minute longer.) I assume that the vigorousness in one scene is what deemed some trims for an R. Granted, the film was released in 1992, but 1999's R-rated release of EYES WIDE SHUT contained more intensity and considerably more nudity than the unrated DAMAGE.
I'm aware that DAMAGE has a solid critical reputation, so the film may be worth revisiting at some point. For now, though...
Grade: C
Sunday, August 01, 2004
Kerry/Edwards ticket and Affleck in Zanesville
Ben Affleck, John Kerry, John Edwards, Elizabeth Edwards and John Glenn at a rally in Zanesville, OH (July 31, 2004)
I went to the John Kerry rally in Zanesville and snapped this photo. Dead tired to talk about it right now, but here's a long distance look at some of what was taking place in front of the courthouse.
Friday, July 30, 2004
French Friday
Today I saw two wildly different French films, Jacques Tati's 1967 masterpiece PLAYTIME and Yann Samuell's new, oddball romance LOVE ME IF YOU DARE. The titles are especially apt. The Tati film is a glorious romp. Samuell's pic rebuffs the attempts to embrace it, which I wasn' t eager to do after 93 minutes with the characters.
LOVE ME IF YOU DARE (JEUX D'ENFANTS) (Yann Samuell, 2003)
The twisted romantic comedy LOVE ME IF YOU DARE (JEUX D'ENFANTS) borrows the whimsical and fanciful nature of AMELIE in order to use and abuse it. Part melodramatic love story, part wicked subversion of such a thing, the film follows Julien (Guillaume Canet) and Sophie (Marion Cotillard) from childhood to their mid-30s as they play their game of dares.
Whoever possesses a tin box decorated as a carousel dares the other to do something often outrageous. Upon the task's completion, the box and the power change hands. The game progresses from grade school mischief, such as saying naughty words in class, to risktaking with serious stakes, like standing in front of an oncoming train and leaving a prospective bride at the altar).
These grand gestures are supposed to convince us of their great destined romance, but more often than not it signifies behavior ranging from perversely cruel to grossly immature. It's JACKASS rendered as a French romantic comedy. As children Julien and Sophie come across as a couple of brats. As adults they're world-class, self-absorbed jerks at best. Truthfully, stronger words than "jerks" come to mind.
Director Yann Samuell's anti-AMELIE echoes the distinctive look of Jean-Pierre Jeunet's film. Here, though, the saturated colors serve as an ironic gloss on an ugly little story. Unlike Amélie, who selflessly spread joy to the community, Julien and Sophie dredge up misery in one another and everyone they encounter. AMELIE'S fairy tale was prime material for being reworked as a cynic's account of obsessive love, but LOVE ME IF YOU DARE is not that film. Rather it is Laetitia Colombani's HE LOVES ME...HE LOVES ME NOT (À LA FOLIE...PAS DU TOUT), with Audrey Tautou putting a counterspin on her best-known role and film, that provides a palatable sourness to AMELIE'S sugary buzz.
Grade: D+
PLAYTIME (Jacques Tati, 1967)
I first saw Jacques Tati's PLAYTIME last summer as part of watching all the Monsieur Hulot films released as Criterion DVDs. M. HULOT'S HOLIDAY and MON ONCLE delighted me, but PLAYTIME was a tougher nut to crack. With much of the action taking place in large spaces, it is not well-suited for being viewed on television, especially on a 27" set. Seeing it projected in 70mm tonight at the Wexner Center was nothing short of a revelation.
Tati reprises his Hulot character, a genial fellow with a loping walk. (Rowan Atkinson's Mr. Bean could have descended from Hulot, although he's prone to mean-spirited outbursts that are unfathomable for Tati's kind soul.) Yet the film isn't about Hulot, or anyone in particular, for that matter. Instead PLAYTIME observes a day of the ordinary moments in modern life. People mill about a large airport terminal and various undistinguished buildings in the film's first half. Then they congregate for a raucous time at a Parisian restaurant's error-plagued opening night.
The bland, massive architectural structures dominate, blocking out the sun and the city landmarks. In one of PLAYTIME'S funniest recurring gags, travel posters to London, Mexico, Brazil, and Hawaii feature the same anonymous office building and a cultural appropriate symbol. 37 years later the joke is all too accurate.
Tati pokes fun at technology and its supposed efficiency. A security guard punches a series of buttons to inform someone that Hulot is there for an appointment. The man walks down a long hallway to usher Hulot into the room right behind where he had been sitting. In a masterful shot laying out a large office full of cubicles, two men communicate by telephone. One walks from his office to just outside the other's to retrieve account information. Then returns to his office and passes along the requested data.
Yet in spite of the implicit criticism Tati points toward bureaucracy, confusion, and the needless complexity in modern life, he is hopeful that people will adapt. Order and beauty can be found in the chaos. What is the film's joyful second half but an absurdist wink at technology's limitations and a joyful celebration of humanity's ability to make the best of a bad situation. Hulot accidentally tears part of the wall and ceiling, yet an American executive turns the damaged decorations into a gateway for a cozy party. A waiter with torn pants gives the good pieces of his uniform to the co-workers who come to him with a torn jacket and a sauce-drenched bowtie. The doorman perpetuates the illusion that one of the entrance doors remains.
If any doubt remains as to where Tati stands on contemporary society and construction, one of the final images compares the soft curves of flower stems and streetlights. Beauty is still being created, even if it is in concrete and glass.
PLAYTIME is one of the most complex visual feasts ever put on screen. Tati's orchestration of jokes in different areas of the frame is virtuoso work. This film demands multiple viewings, preferably of a 70mm print, to spot everything. Whether he's giving a priest an inadvertent halo or showing the unappetizing effect a green neon light has at a food counter, Tati's humor doesn't call attention to itself but asks the viewer to look closer.
Grade: A
LOVE ME IF YOU DARE (JEUX D'ENFANTS) (Yann Samuell, 2003)
The twisted romantic comedy LOVE ME IF YOU DARE (JEUX D'ENFANTS) borrows the whimsical and fanciful nature of AMELIE in order to use and abuse it. Part melodramatic love story, part wicked subversion of such a thing, the film follows Julien (Guillaume Canet) and Sophie (Marion Cotillard) from childhood to their mid-30s as they play their game of dares.
Whoever possesses a tin box decorated as a carousel dares the other to do something often outrageous. Upon the task's completion, the box and the power change hands. The game progresses from grade school mischief, such as saying naughty words in class, to risktaking with serious stakes, like standing in front of an oncoming train and leaving a prospective bride at the altar).
These grand gestures are supposed to convince us of their great destined romance, but more often than not it signifies behavior ranging from perversely cruel to grossly immature. It's JACKASS rendered as a French romantic comedy. As children Julien and Sophie come across as a couple of brats. As adults they're world-class, self-absorbed jerks at best. Truthfully, stronger words than "jerks" come to mind.
Director Yann Samuell's anti-AMELIE echoes the distinctive look of Jean-Pierre Jeunet's film. Here, though, the saturated colors serve as an ironic gloss on an ugly little story. Unlike Amélie, who selflessly spread joy to the community, Julien and Sophie dredge up misery in one another and everyone they encounter. AMELIE'S fairy tale was prime material for being reworked as a cynic's account of obsessive love, but LOVE ME IF YOU DARE is not that film. Rather it is Laetitia Colombani's HE LOVES ME...HE LOVES ME NOT (À LA FOLIE...PAS DU TOUT), with Audrey Tautou putting a counterspin on her best-known role and film, that provides a palatable sourness to AMELIE'S sugary buzz.
Grade: D+
PLAYTIME (Jacques Tati, 1967)
I first saw Jacques Tati's PLAYTIME last summer as part of watching all the Monsieur Hulot films released as Criterion DVDs. M. HULOT'S HOLIDAY and MON ONCLE delighted me, but PLAYTIME was a tougher nut to crack. With much of the action taking place in large spaces, it is not well-suited for being viewed on television, especially on a 27" set. Seeing it projected in 70mm tonight at the Wexner Center was nothing short of a revelation.
Tati reprises his Hulot character, a genial fellow with a loping walk. (Rowan Atkinson's Mr. Bean could have descended from Hulot, although he's prone to mean-spirited outbursts that are unfathomable for Tati's kind soul.) Yet the film isn't about Hulot, or anyone in particular, for that matter. Instead PLAYTIME observes a day of the ordinary moments in modern life. People mill about a large airport terminal and various undistinguished buildings in the film's first half. Then they congregate for a raucous time at a Parisian restaurant's error-plagued opening night.
The bland, massive architectural structures dominate, blocking out the sun and the city landmarks. In one of PLAYTIME'S funniest recurring gags, travel posters to London, Mexico, Brazil, and Hawaii feature the same anonymous office building and a cultural appropriate symbol. 37 years later the joke is all too accurate.
Tati pokes fun at technology and its supposed efficiency. A security guard punches a series of buttons to inform someone that Hulot is there for an appointment. The man walks down a long hallway to usher Hulot into the room right behind where he had been sitting. In a masterful shot laying out a large office full of cubicles, two men communicate by telephone. One walks from his office to just outside the other's to retrieve account information. Then returns to his office and passes along the requested data.
Yet in spite of the implicit criticism Tati points toward bureaucracy, confusion, and the needless complexity in modern life, he is hopeful that people will adapt. Order and beauty can be found in the chaos. What is the film's joyful second half but an absurdist wink at technology's limitations and a joyful celebration of humanity's ability to make the best of a bad situation. Hulot accidentally tears part of the wall and ceiling, yet an American executive turns the damaged decorations into a gateway for a cozy party. A waiter with torn pants gives the good pieces of his uniform to the co-workers who come to him with a torn jacket and a sauce-drenched bowtie. The doorman perpetuates the illusion that one of the entrance doors remains.
If any doubt remains as to where Tati stands on contemporary society and construction, one of the final images compares the soft curves of flower stems and streetlights. Beauty is still being created, even if it is in concrete and glass.
PLAYTIME is one of the most complex visual feasts ever put on screen. Tati's orchestration of jokes in different areas of the frame is virtuoso work. This film demands multiple viewings, preferably of a 70mm print, to spot everything. Whether he's giving a priest an inadvertent halo or showing the unappetizing effect a green neon light has at a food counter, Tati's humor doesn't call attention to itself but asks the viewer to look closer.
Grade: A
The Village
Is it midnight yet? Yes? OK, good.
Buena Vista has done all they can to keep reviews of M. Night Shyamalan's THE VILLAGE from going to press before opening day. For good reason, I should note. Surely the studio is concerned about piracy, but spoilers are deadlier to this film's box office health than a shaky camcorder MPEG video.
Shyamalan made his name on THE SIXTH SENSE'S late twist and has gone to great pains to ensure that little information is known about his films before they open. These days trailers and other aspects of the marketing campaigns reveal too much information. Viewers feel like they know everything that will happen before they see the films and, in actuality, probably do. Not for Shyamalan's movies. He gives us just enough to pique our interest and no more. I didn't know what UNBREAKABLE was about until seeing it at the press screening. That's a rare occurrence, especially with a big budget Hollywood film. Shyamalan has proven that he can deliver an audience based on his reputation and the general story idea. Thus, he gets to tease viewers with glimpses rather than cycle through every plot point in a two and a half minute advertisement.
I wasn't permitted to see the film until tonight, the night before opening day, at 9:00 p.m, and even then I, along with all other attendees, needed to present a photo ID to gain admittance to the screening. Fortunately a fingerprint, a blood sample, and a notarized letter of approval from my fourth grade teacher weren't necessary. So, now that it's July 30th, the embargo is no longer in effect.
Some quick impressions... Shyamalan's filmmaking continues to improve. THE VILLAGE is his best film because its power doesn't rely entirely on the end, although this one is sure to send heads spinning. He's a confident director who knows how to play the audience like a piano without pounding the keys. He uses the smallest gestures to great effect. The on-screen violence in THE VILLAGE is minimal and not at all graphic, but it pierces because of its direct, unblinking presentation. Shyamalan is patient, letting our minds fill in the empty spaces on the screen and the soundtrack to create a sense of dread. His lyrical direction and use of space display his growing formal control.
The cast is stellar from small, inconsequential players to the main cast. As the blind daughter of William Hurt's character, Bryce Dallas Howard, Ron Howard's daughter and star of Lars von Trier's upcoming MANDERLAY, announces herself as an actress to watch. Featured veterans include Joaquin Phoenix, Sigourney Weaver, Brendan Gleeson, Adrien Brody, and Cherry Jones. are featured. That's not to mention familiar faces whose names might not ring a bell, like Judy Greer, Michael Pitt, Frank Collison, and Liz Stauber.
Thematically, religion/spirituality is at the core of Shyamalan's work, and there's a lot in this area worth exploring in THE VILLAGE. This is also his most political film, which should lead to some fascinating discussion. Now, however, is not the time for that. I envy those who will see this great film for the first time and have no desire to spoil it. Deeper examination of it can wait, at least until this weekend.
Buena Vista has done all they can to keep reviews of M. Night Shyamalan's THE VILLAGE from going to press before opening day. For good reason, I should note. Surely the studio is concerned about piracy, but spoilers are deadlier to this film's box office health than a shaky camcorder MPEG video.
Shyamalan made his name on THE SIXTH SENSE'S late twist and has gone to great pains to ensure that little information is known about his films before they open. These days trailers and other aspects of the marketing campaigns reveal too much information. Viewers feel like they know everything that will happen before they see the films and, in actuality, probably do. Not for Shyamalan's movies. He gives us just enough to pique our interest and no more. I didn't know what UNBREAKABLE was about until seeing it at the press screening. That's a rare occurrence, especially with a big budget Hollywood film. Shyamalan has proven that he can deliver an audience based on his reputation and the general story idea. Thus, he gets to tease viewers with glimpses rather than cycle through every plot point in a two and a half minute advertisement.
I wasn't permitted to see the film until tonight, the night before opening day, at 9:00 p.m, and even then I, along with all other attendees, needed to present a photo ID to gain admittance to the screening. Fortunately a fingerprint, a blood sample, and a notarized letter of approval from my fourth grade teacher weren't necessary. So, now that it's July 30th, the embargo is no longer in effect.
Some quick impressions... Shyamalan's filmmaking continues to improve. THE VILLAGE is his best film because its power doesn't rely entirely on the end, although this one is sure to send heads spinning. He's a confident director who knows how to play the audience like a piano without pounding the keys. He uses the smallest gestures to great effect. The on-screen violence in THE VILLAGE is minimal and not at all graphic, but it pierces because of its direct, unblinking presentation. Shyamalan is patient, letting our minds fill in the empty spaces on the screen and the soundtrack to create a sense of dread. His lyrical direction and use of space display his growing formal control.
The cast is stellar from small, inconsequential players to the main cast. As the blind daughter of William Hurt's character, Bryce Dallas Howard, Ron Howard's daughter and star of Lars von Trier's upcoming MANDERLAY, announces herself as an actress to watch. Featured veterans include Joaquin Phoenix, Sigourney Weaver, Brendan Gleeson, Adrien Brody, and Cherry Jones. are featured. That's not to mention familiar faces whose names might not ring a bell, like Judy Greer, Michael Pitt, Frank Collison, and Liz Stauber.
Thematically, religion/spirituality is at the core of Shyamalan's work, and there's a lot in this area worth exploring in THE VILLAGE. This is also his most political film, which should lead to some fascinating discussion. Now, however, is not the time for that. I envy those who will see this great film for the first time and have no desire to spoil it. Deeper examination of it can wait, at least until this weekend.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Site additions
Just a note to let you all know that I've added a couple links and an e-mail address in the sidebar. All correspondence can be sent to reeltimesblog@yahoo.com. Also, comments have been enabled.
BTW, props to Blogger for improving the interface. This is much more flexible than the previous iteration.
Coming up: Is LITTLE BLACK BOOK the worst film of the year?
BTW, props to Blogger for improving the interface. This is much more flexible than the previous iteration.
Coming up: Is LITTLE BLACK BOOK the worst film of the year?
Wednesday, July 28, 2004
Housekeeping
As previous visitors have noticed, this blog has received a facelift. Slowly but surely, I'm getting back into the blogging groove, and why not, considering that blog talk is a hot media topic during the Democratic National Convention coverage. (That the mainstream media doesn't appear to understand it is something else entirely. Monday night Wolf Blitzer and the CNN crew reacted to a blog explainer piece as if they'd just been told that bloggers were uploading their thoughts from bioports a la the gamers in eXistenZ.)
I intend to activate user comments and post an e-mail address specifically for the blog. You know, make this interactive and stuff.
A review for THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH is finished, save for a few nips and tucks.
Cinematic food for thought...what parallels can be drawn between Francis Ford Coppola's THE CONVERSATION and Edgar Allen Poe's THE TELL-TALE HEART?
I intend to activate user comments and post an e-mail address specifically for the blog. You know, make this interactive and stuff.
A review for THE ADVENTURES OF OCIEE NASH is finished, save for a few nips and tucks.
Cinematic food for thought...what parallels can be drawn between Francis Ford Coppola's THE CONVERSATION and Edgar Allen Poe's THE TELL-TALE HEART?
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
Requiem for an E-mail Address
As I write this, my first e-mail address may finally be out of commission. R.I.P mpfeiffe@gcfn.org
I obtained the address in the spring of 1995 from the Greater Columbus Freenet. Actually, the first address was the unwieldy mpfeiffe@freenet.columbus.oh.us. (Somewhere along the line it was shortened.) I didn't have a strong conception of the internet at the time. In fact, I was wowed by the ability to see pages of text. A trip to the Westerville Public Library introduced me to the wonders of the Mosaic browser and the graphics that my freenet connection displayed only as [GIF] and [JPEG].
Like other net-related things, the so-called freenet became a pay service. The price wasn't much, but they claimed to need the nominal charges to keep it running. At the time I was still using this as my primary address and was willing to continue to do so, especially since I could check it for e-mail from anywhere. As the years intervened, though, the Pine e-mail program proved to be clunky and unfriendly to more common use of html coding in messages, although it was virus-proof. The spam increased to an alarming degree. (I estimate that I was getting three to four hundred spams a day.) Ultimately, it outlived its usefulness. With free e-mail available from Yahoo!, Hotmail, and the like, there was no reason to keep the address. Anyone who needs to get in touch with me should have one of my other addresses, so that justification for keeping it plugged in has fallen away.
But let that humble freenet e-mail address stand proud for many good years of service.
(Hey, I know this is the first item I've written here in some time, and it's about an e-mail address of all things. I have to ease back into the habit. Hold your breath for some thoughts on THE AMAZING RACE, the recent films of Steven Spielberg, and Francis Ford Coppola's startling run in the 70s. "He'd kill us if he got the chance.")
I obtained the address in the spring of 1995 from the Greater Columbus Freenet. Actually, the first address was the unwieldy mpfeiffe@freenet.columbus.oh.us. (Somewhere along the line it was shortened.) I didn't have a strong conception of the internet at the time. In fact, I was wowed by the ability to see pages of text. A trip to the Westerville Public Library introduced me to the wonders of the Mosaic browser and the graphics that my freenet connection displayed only as [GIF] and [JPEG].
Like other net-related things, the so-called freenet became a pay service. The price wasn't much, but they claimed to need the nominal charges to keep it running. At the time I was still using this as my primary address and was willing to continue to do so, especially since I could check it for e-mail from anywhere. As the years intervened, though, the Pine e-mail program proved to be clunky and unfriendly to more common use of html coding in messages, although it was virus-proof. The spam increased to an alarming degree. (I estimate that I was getting three to four hundred spams a day.) Ultimately, it outlived its usefulness. With free e-mail available from Yahoo!, Hotmail, and the like, there was no reason to keep the address. Anyone who needs to get in touch with me should have one of my other addresses, so that justification for keeping it plugged in has fallen away.
But let that humble freenet e-mail address stand proud for many good years of service.
(Hey, I know this is the first item I've written here in some time, and it's about an e-mail address of all things. I have to ease back into the habit. Hold your breath for some thoughts on THE AMAZING RACE, the recent films of Steven Spielberg, and Francis Ford Coppola's startling run in the 70s. "He'd kill us if he got the chance.")
Thursday, May 20, 2004
Norah Jones and Jhumpa Lahiri
Tickets for Norah Jones at Nationwide Arena go on sale in the morning. I wouldn't mind going. I've enjoyed her two albums well enough. Still, I'll probably pass.
Tickets range from $57 to $27.50 plus the exorbitant Ticketmaster fees, but let's face the facts. If you're not shelling out for the top seats--or can't get them--I'm not sure it's worth attending. Her style of music doesn't lend itself to an arena in the first place. She's best suited for a small club, a concert hall at the largest, where she can connect with the audience. An arena is going to swallow the sound, and I don't imagine that there's going to be much of a stage show for the folks in the rear. PJ Harvey opened for U2 when I saw them at Nationwide in 2001. Her set likely would have been electrifying up close, in the confines of a small venue, but watching long distance in a cavernous arena a lot of the impact was lost.
Permit me to object, mildly, to the ticket prices also. Ten years ago I saw the Rolling Stones at Municipal Stadium in Cleveland. I paid $60 for a seat, ten dollars over face value and the most I'd spent to see a concert, that was approximately a field's length away from the stage. (Unfortunately, I have since paid more--for U2 in 1997 and 2001--an overpriced ducat even if the concerts were worthwhile.) But it was the Rolling Stones, stadium pros who know how to play to the back rows and at least have earned the right to charge higher prices. Norah Jones has released two albums--the first ridiculously popular--and doesn't have the cachet the Stones do. This is how the music industry does things, though, so new artists and one album successes charge lofty concert ticket prices. I can't help but wonder if it doesn't hurt the performers in the long run, that they don't build loyal fan bases because higher ticket prices for all acts forces some tough decisions in the spending of one's entertainment dollars.
What, you say that Norah Jones isn't cool enough, so why do I bother considering this all? I think some of the backlash around the release of her FEELS LIKE HOME album was petty jealousy that COME AWAY WITH ME was a left field smash hit. Of course, the music is pleasant and unchallenging, which is part of its appeal and which makes it all the more open to criticism, but hey, I'm grooving on My Bloody Valentine's LOVELESS, so can I keep my indie cred?
Last night I finished Jhumpa Lahiri's debut collection of short stories, INTERPRETER OF MALADIES. The book won the Pulitzer Prize in 2000, an auspicious start for the writer. The award was well deserved. This collection ruminates on loneliness and being disconnected emotionally and physically. While an air of sadness lingers over all the stories, INTERPRETER OF MALADIES is an exhilirating read.
Lahiri evokes the smells and appearances of her settings with efficiency and grace. The reader is transported to these places, whether it's residing in a small Boston apartment or visiting a temple in India. Her delicate renderings of relationships, from the opening story's strained husband-wife dyad to the symbiotic agreement between building residents and the woman who cleans the steps, display a keen eye for the unspoken and the assumed.
I'm just getting started on THE NAMESAKE, her first novel, and am really looking forward to digging into it. Lahiri's voice may be one of the most captivating I've come across in some time.
Tickets range from $57 to $27.50 plus the exorbitant Ticketmaster fees, but let's face the facts. If you're not shelling out for the top seats--or can't get them--I'm not sure it's worth attending. Her style of music doesn't lend itself to an arena in the first place. She's best suited for a small club, a concert hall at the largest, where she can connect with the audience. An arena is going to swallow the sound, and I don't imagine that there's going to be much of a stage show for the folks in the rear. PJ Harvey opened for U2 when I saw them at Nationwide in 2001. Her set likely would have been electrifying up close, in the confines of a small venue, but watching long distance in a cavernous arena a lot of the impact was lost.
Permit me to object, mildly, to the ticket prices also. Ten years ago I saw the Rolling Stones at Municipal Stadium in Cleveland. I paid $60 for a seat, ten dollars over face value and the most I'd spent to see a concert, that was approximately a field's length away from the stage. (Unfortunately, I have since paid more--for U2 in 1997 and 2001--an overpriced ducat even if the concerts were worthwhile.) But it was the Rolling Stones, stadium pros who know how to play to the back rows and at least have earned the right to charge higher prices. Norah Jones has released two albums--the first ridiculously popular--and doesn't have the cachet the Stones do. This is how the music industry does things, though, so new artists and one album successes charge lofty concert ticket prices. I can't help but wonder if it doesn't hurt the performers in the long run, that they don't build loyal fan bases because higher ticket prices for all acts forces some tough decisions in the spending of one's entertainment dollars.
What, you say that Norah Jones isn't cool enough, so why do I bother considering this all? I think some of the backlash around the release of her FEELS LIKE HOME album was petty jealousy that COME AWAY WITH ME was a left field smash hit. Of course, the music is pleasant and unchallenging, which is part of its appeal and which makes it all the more open to criticism, but hey, I'm grooving on My Bloody Valentine's LOVELESS, so can I keep my indie cred?
Last night I finished Jhumpa Lahiri's debut collection of short stories, INTERPRETER OF MALADIES. The book won the Pulitzer Prize in 2000, an auspicious start for the writer. The award was well deserved. This collection ruminates on loneliness and being disconnected emotionally and physically. While an air of sadness lingers over all the stories, INTERPRETER OF MALADIES is an exhilirating read.
Lahiri evokes the smells and appearances of her settings with efficiency and grace. The reader is transported to these places, whether it's residing in a small Boston apartment or visiting a temple in India. Her delicate renderings of relationships, from the opening story's strained husband-wife dyad to the symbiotic agreement between building residents and the woman who cleans the steps, display a keen eye for the unspoken and the assumed.
I'm just getting started on THE NAMESAKE, her first novel, and am really looking forward to digging into it. Lahiri's voice may be one of the most captivating I've come across in some time.
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Various items
Yeah, yeah, yeah, my final Ebertfest updates still haven't appeared. Those faithful readers who recall the promise of a FOURTEEN HOURS review are still waiting. (It's done but must be transferred from ink and paper to computer.) Now you know why I wanted to post while at the festival...
Hooray, ALIAS will return for a fourth season! The catch is that the new season won't start until more than six months after the completion of season three. Recent years have found the new fall TV season being pushed back later and later, sometimes to avoid competing with the Olympics or World Series. (For that matter, the idea of the TV season starting in the fall is becoming outmoded, and I wouldn't be surprised to see more of a year-round cycle within five years.) The new Halloween episode of THE SIMPSONS debuted before the season premiere this season, didn't it? So this isn't out of the ordinary, although it is an irritant for fans like me.
Still, waiting an extra two or three months isn't so bad when cancellation is a possibility. I didn't expect that to happen. Even if it doesn't pull top ratings, ALIAS is the rare buzz show on ABC. Although the media attention given the show and Jennifer Garner hasn't translated into a Nielsen hit, I expect that the tie-in merchandise (DVDs, books, magazines, video games) makes it profitable. The wait may help attract new fans. The third season DVDs will arrive in early September, so those new to or catching up on ALIAS will have some time to do so.
How about some film talk? THE LOST SKELETON OF CADAVRA is a bad movie. It's intended to be. A goof on the unintentionally funny horror and sci-fi films of the 50s and 60s, THE LOST SKELETON OF CADAVRA is as silly as the films it recreates and mocks. Unlike those duds, though, it isn't funny.
It's a short film idea stretched to an unbearable feature film length. The trailer is quite good at recreating the purple dialogue and narration, although it left me with the sneaking suspicion that the film could only disappoint. Whereas the trailer is succinct and punchy, the film is long and tedious. The same tepid jokes are flogged time and time again within the same scene.
The biggest problem is that the filmmakers set out to make a bad movie. If you look at those bad old films, they are completely serious. One suspects that the makers strove to make good films, even if the projects went horribly awry. It's the conviction behind the badness that makes them funny. The performers in THE LOST SKELETON OF CADAVRA don't literally wink at the audience, but the direction and performances are dripping with postmodern irony. That's precisely why it isn't funny. Rather than making a film that is funny because it is terrible, they've made a film that is terrible because it isn't funny, because it is too self-aware.
Hooray, ALIAS will return for a fourth season! The catch is that the new season won't start until more than six months after the completion of season three. Recent years have found the new fall TV season being pushed back later and later, sometimes to avoid competing with the Olympics or World Series. (For that matter, the idea of the TV season starting in the fall is becoming outmoded, and I wouldn't be surprised to see more of a year-round cycle within five years.) The new Halloween episode of THE SIMPSONS debuted before the season premiere this season, didn't it? So this isn't out of the ordinary, although it is an irritant for fans like me.
Still, waiting an extra two or three months isn't so bad when cancellation is a possibility. I didn't expect that to happen. Even if it doesn't pull top ratings, ALIAS is the rare buzz show on ABC. Although the media attention given the show and Jennifer Garner hasn't translated into a Nielsen hit, I expect that the tie-in merchandise (DVDs, books, magazines, video games) makes it profitable. The wait may help attract new fans. The third season DVDs will arrive in early September, so those new to or catching up on ALIAS will have some time to do so.
How about some film talk? THE LOST SKELETON OF CADAVRA is a bad movie. It's intended to be. A goof on the unintentionally funny horror and sci-fi films of the 50s and 60s, THE LOST SKELETON OF CADAVRA is as silly as the films it recreates and mocks. Unlike those duds, though, it isn't funny.
It's a short film idea stretched to an unbearable feature film length. The trailer is quite good at recreating the purple dialogue and narration, although it left me with the sneaking suspicion that the film could only disappoint. Whereas the trailer is succinct and punchy, the film is long and tedious. The same tepid jokes are flogged time and time again within the same scene.
The biggest problem is that the filmmakers set out to make a bad movie. If you look at those bad old films, they are completely serious. One suspects that the makers strove to make good films, even if the projects went horribly awry. It's the conviction behind the badness that makes them funny. The performers in THE LOST SKELETON OF CADAVRA don't literally wink at the audience, but the direction and performances are dripping with postmodern irony. That's precisely why it isn't funny. Rather than making a film that is funny because it is terrible, they've made a film that is terrible because it isn't funny, because it is too self-aware.
Sunday, April 25, 2004
Stay Awake All Night
By some fluke of nature I'm still awake after a very long day at Ebertfest. (I said awake, not lucid, so keep that in mind.) Rather than break down the day film by film, an undertaking best left for later, I'll pinpoint some of the top moments.
Since it's too late to order a pizza, I've come to Steak 'n Shake, which, as I write this at 2:00 a.m. (posting at 3:00), is almost full with what looks to be the post-prom crowd. The two nights I've been here I haven't run into Ebert with guests in tow. There, now the environment is set.
The night was capped with Werner Herzog's most recent feature INVINCIBLE and a post-film discussion with the legendary German director. It seems a cruel trick of scheduling that the longest film of the day comes at the end, starting at 10:00 p.m. even. Somehow, though, I felt pretty good at a point in the festival when I usually need to pry open my eyelids with toothpicks. All right, so I did start to get drowsy with thirty minutes to go. But a funny thing happened when Ebert and Herzog took the stage. I was transfixed to their conversation, and the rest of the audience seemed to be as well. Virtually no one left despite the late hour. Critic and director stayed on stage for an hour and a quarter, yet no complaints would have been voiced if they continued.
Herzog, of course, had a number of fascinating anecdotes about his childhood, moviemaking career, and experiences with Klaus Kinski. Some were familiar--the Kinski stories in MY BEST FIEND, for instance. The others, well, you'll just have to trust me. It's hard enough this time of night remembering to look for the traffic lights off to the side here, let alone recalling Herzog's long stories. Suffice it to say that he did not disappoint.
Herzog the man is what you would expect from his films. The films are him. That's also the impression I had of Errol Morris, who was here with GATES OF HEAVEN. Having renowned filmmakers like this at the festival, on the same day no less, makes it a must for the film buff. Throw in Al Pacino via telephone from Los Angeles, Enzo (the dog from FRASIER and, more relevantly, fest selection MY DOG SKIP, and previous festival guests Eric Byler (CHARLOTTE SOMETIMES director, STONE READER subject Dow Mossman, and AMERICAN MOVIE'S Mark Borchardt and Mike Shank, and you know that something special is happening. And I didn't even mention the day's two other directors, noted publicist Bobby Zarem, and Sony Pictures Classics co-president Michael Barker.
OK, so the audience portion of the post-film discussions mostly range from rambling statements of appreciation/adoration to incredibly convoluted questions that no one can make sense of. One guy provided a lengthy explanation of how GATES OF HEAVEN reminded him of the novel THE LITTLE PRINCE and wondered if Morris had that in mind when making the film. Morris' amusing answer was a slyly sarcastic yes.
It's the rare opportunity, though, to see these films and their filmmakers in a great theater with a respectful and enthusiastic audience that makes Roger Ebert's Overlooked Film Festival a highlight of my moviegoing year.
This will be my last update from the Urbana Eastland Suites' lounge. More festival info, reflections, and ephemera to come later on Sunday at the earliest.
Since it's too late to order a pizza, I've come to Steak 'n Shake, which, as I write this at 2:00 a.m. (posting at 3:00), is almost full with what looks to be the post-prom crowd. The two nights I've been here I haven't run into Ebert with guests in tow. There, now the environment is set.
The night was capped with Werner Herzog's most recent feature INVINCIBLE and a post-film discussion with the legendary German director. It seems a cruel trick of scheduling that the longest film of the day comes at the end, starting at 10:00 p.m. even. Somehow, though, I felt pretty good at a point in the festival when I usually need to pry open my eyelids with toothpicks. All right, so I did start to get drowsy with thirty minutes to go. But a funny thing happened when Ebert and Herzog took the stage. I was transfixed to their conversation, and the rest of the audience seemed to be as well. Virtually no one left despite the late hour. Critic and director stayed on stage for an hour and a quarter, yet no complaints would have been voiced if they continued.
Herzog, of course, had a number of fascinating anecdotes about his childhood, moviemaking career, and experiences with Klaus Kinski. Some were familiar--the Kinski stories in MY BEST FIEND, for instance. The others, well, you'll just have to trust me. It's hard enough this time of night remembering to look for the traffic lights off to the side here, let alone recalling Herzog's long stories. Suffice it to say that he did not disappoint.
Herzog the man is what you would expect from his films. The films are him. That's also the impression I had of Errol Morris, who was here with GATES OF HEAVEN. Having renowned filmmakers like this at the festival, on the same day no less, makes it a must for the film buff. Throw in Al Pacino via telephone from Los Angeles, Enzo (the dog from FRASIER and, more relevantly, fest selection MY DOG SKIP, and previous festival guests Eric Byler (CHARLOTTE SOMETIMES director, STONE READER subject Dow Mossman, and AMERICAN MOVIE'S Mark Borchardt and Mike Shank, and you know that something special is happening. And I didn't even mention the day's two other directors, noted publicist Bobby Zarem, and Sony Pictures Classics co-president Michael Barker.
OK, so the audience portion of the post-film discussions mostly range from rambling statements of appreciation/adoration to incredibly convoluted questions that no one can make sense of. One guy provided a lengthy explanation of how GATES OF HEAVEN reminded him of the novel THE LITTLE PRINCE and wondered if Morris had that in mind when making the film. Morris' amusing answer was a slyly sarcastic yes.
It's the rare opportunity, though, to see these films and their filmmakers in a great theater with a respectful and enthusiastic audience that makes Roger Ebert's Overlooked Film Festival a highlight of my moviegoing year.
This will be my last update from the Urbana Eastland Suites' lounge. More festival info, reflections, and ephemera to come later on Sunday at the earliest.
Saturday, April 24, 2004
Posting Delays
I hit the proverbial wall last night--drop dead tired and needing to sleep--so my Friday report will be delayed until late tonight or sometime on Sunday. Expect the latter. I've handwritten about much of yesterday's goings-on, but computer access and time are very limited. I blew off this morning's panel so I could get around eight hours of sleep. For another site with reports on Ebertfest, check out the local newspaper.
Friday, April 23, 2004
Leftovers
A couple items from the first two days that I haven't found room for previously...
TARNATION'S Jonathan Caouette mentioned that he intends for his next film to be a parapsychological horror film. He may shoot it with a new camera that uses Memory Sticks that mimic 35mm film.
Anne V. Coates told the story of the LAWRENCE OF ARABIA dailies showing up with fingerprints all over them. Producer Sam Spigelman had everyone on the camera crew fingerprinted but none matched. He then had everyone at the lab fingerprinted, but still none of the prints matched. Finally, he had those at the Eastman Kodak plant in Rochester, New York fingerprinted. Bingo! Apparently a new employee there, who was working in the dark, would periodically grad hold of the film to make sure that it was where it needed to be, leaving his fingerprints all over the film. Coates pointed out that she could still see one of the fingerprints in the print that showed Wednesday night.
Walking from the Illini Union to my car, I heard the noontime university bells playing..."Fly Me to the Moon". Not exactly what one would expect.
Two morning panels and TULLY, Buster Keaton's THE GENERAL with The Alloy Orchestra's live accompaniment, the Keaton homage short THE SCAPEGOAT, and EL NORTE are on tap today.
TARNATION'S Jonathan Caouette mentioned that he intends for his next film to be a parapsychological horror film. He may shoot it with a new camera that uses Memory Sticks that mimic 35mm film.
Anne V. Coates told the story of the LAWRENCE OF ARABIA dailies showing up with fingerprints all over them. Producer Sam Spigelman had everyone on the camera crew fingerprinted but none matched. He then had everyone at the lab fingerprinted, but still none of the prints matched. Finally, he had those at the Eastman Kodak plant in Rochester, New York fingerprinted. Bingo! Apparently a new employee there, who was working in the dark, would periodically grad hold of the film to make sure that it was where it needed to be, leaving his fingerprints all over the film. Coates pointed out that she could still see one of the fingerprints in the print that showed Wednesday night.
Walking from the Illini Union to my car, I heard the noontime university bells playing..."Fly Me to the Moon". Not exactly what one would expect.
Two morning panels and TULLY, Buster Keaton's THE GENERAL with The Alloy Orchestra's live accompaniment, the Keaton homage short THE SCAPEGOAT, and EL NORTE are on tap today.
Ebertfest, Day 2
Day 2, the first full day of the festival, produced a brisk and wet spring morning, establishing the kind of day that makes you glad you're spending most of it inside a movie theater. Two academic discussions were held at the Illini Union. Much to my surprise, all of the good seats in the Pine Lounge were taken by the time of my arrival (about fifteen minutes before the discussions were to start). The Elderhostel attendees were out in full force, making a campus event look like it was being held at a senior center.
I had forgotten that that this festival tends to be attended by an older crowd than one would expect, especially since it is put on in conjunction with the university. I had also forgotten--or simply not realized--that most of the audience is comprised of locals rather than out-of-towners. The C-U residents still seem surprised that people like me know of the event and travel distances to get here. This lends the festival an intimate, small town atmosphere that provides a large part of its charm.
But back to the panels, briefly. The first, entitled "How to Make a Movie for Peanuts", was generally interesting. Many of the festival guests spoke about their experiences, with Ebert moderating the discussion. Gregory Nava and Anna Thomas, here with EL NORTE, shared anecdotes about the problems they encountered making the film. Primarily, Mexican gunmen took the negative during production and held it for ransom. Nava's father smuggled thirty thousand dollars in his socks over theh Mexican border so they could get the negative back. Anson Mount, star of TULLY pointed out that he has heard that dentists rank tops among the professions that fund independent films. Passion to tell one's story was stressed--and is quickly becoming a festival theme--as a key ingredient to getting one's film made.
Passion was also evident in the second discussion. MPAA President Jack Valenti spoke about piracy in the digital age. He delivered a speech that I expect he's given many times, but give him credit for being well spoken. (As an aside, he's very short.) The audience's questions, when they weren't combative position statements opposing Valenti's views, were pointed. All in all, it made for a lively discussion.
Onto the Virginia... I met with Jarod Musgrave, whose writing you might have come across at one point or another at DVD File. On the filmmaker spotting front, Mark Moskowitz, director of last year's Overlooked selection STONE READER, is here even though he doesn't have a proverbial horse in the race. I could have sworn I saw MY ARCHITECT director Nathaniel Kahn after the showing of THE SON (LE FILS). He introduced and participated in a Q&A for his Oscar-nominated documentary just this past Sunday at the Wexner Center, so I'm aware of what he looks like. I'll have to try and confirm this on Friday.
Today featured only three films. In other years, four films played each day Thursday through Saturday. As much as I love seeing as many different films as possible, the longer break meant I could get a decent sit down meal. Eating is underrated and, yes, overlooked when it comes to the festival. A late, late lunch (8:00 p.m.) of coconut chicken really hit the spot. It was a far cry better than last night's post-blog entry publishing meal of an orange Crush and some miniature Reese's Cups.
I should point out that I snatched, at best, five hours of sleep last night after posting here. I fear reading these reports in the light of day because they're probably very disjointed and rambling. Still, I want to get the flavor and the urgency of writing "against deadline" at Ebertfest. Perhaps it won't be great or meaningful writing, but I hope I can translate the bleary-eyed experience.
OK, the films... I sat in the front row for TARNATION but moved, for the first time in my fourth year of attendance, to the balcony for THE SON. Having seen the Dardenne Brothers' film before, I knew that I would be susceptible to getting motion sickness watching the handheld camerawork being that close to the screen. My view was partially obstructed--no, it wasn't a condition Lars von Trier set for me--by a plexiglass shield, but that was par for the course during the morning discussions. (I had the Bob Uekeresque behind-the-column seat, leaving me to hear, not see, Valenti.) I moved back to the floor and a distant six rows back for ONCE UPON A TIME...WHEN WE WERE COLORED.
OK, the films... Since I need to be getting to bed, go to the Ebertfest site for plot summaries. You can also check out the official festival blog for more information. I'd like to get in bed by 2:15--fifteen minutes from now--so I'll use this blog as I've always intended, that is, as a notebook. Here are some of the things I've jotted down about today's films.
TARNATION
-Portrait of three generations in this dysfunctional family that is free of the anger that typically marks this kind of confessional film.
-Emotionally naked and fearless. Director, editor, and the film's protagonist Jonathan Caouette puts himself out there for all to see to a startling degree.
-This is very much a director's and editor's film. Caouette, who made this on iMovie, proves he has the chops. This is a dazzling piece of work that proves that imagination is not limited by lack of money. (The film "cost" $218, although it required several hundred thousand dollars to clear the music and film/TV clips in it. Talk about an interesting tie-in to the argument regarding fair use in Valenti's morning talk.)
-Caouette uses music quite well, particularly "Wichita Lineman".
-His bathroom monologue near the film's end is quite moving. The rhyming scenes explaining the indentation on the upper lip and showing Caouette touching this on his mother are integrated in a remarkable fashion.
THE SON (LE FILS)
-Powerful depiction of the Christian ethos in practice.
-Seeing this for the second time I realized how little dialogue there is, but the words that are spoken pack a wallop. Seven words that Olivier says to the boy send a chill through the room. This minimal dialogue also is representative of how people slowly reveal things in conversation.
-Olivier Gourmet's controlled interior performance looks a lot easier than it must be. He is so natural, and paired with the film's style, you could be forgiven thinking that it is a documentary.
-I must have already known too much about THE SON when I saw it the first time as I didn't pick up on the thriller undercurrent that runs through it, even though it isn't that type of film at all.
ONCE UPON A TIME...WHEN WE WERE COLORED
-This slice of life in the black community during segregation is a celebration and reflection of ordinary people doing what they must to get by. It's full of pride rather than anger, which is a far different tack than we're used to seeing in film's about this period. (Actually, the lack of vicitimization echoes through the day's other two films.)
-Strongly evokes a time and place and juggles many characters well. While it's told from one person's viewpoint, this is a community's story, not an individual's.
-Tim Reid mentioned that the Hallmark Hall of Fame turned it down for being "too soft".
That's all for tonight. More to come about 24 hours from now...
I had forgotten that that this festival tends to be attended by an older crowd than one would expect, especially since it is put on in conjunction with the university. I had also forgotten--or simply not realized--that most of the audience is comprised of locals rather than out-of-towners. The C-U residents still seem surprised that people like me know of the event and travel distances to get here. This lends the festival an intimate, small town atmosphere that provides a large part of its charm.
But back to the panels, briefly. The first, entitled "How to Make a Movie for Peanuts", was generally interesting. Many of the festival guests spoke about their experiences, with Ebert moderating the discussion. Gregory Nava and Anna Thomas, here with EL NORTE, shared anecdotes about the problems they encountered making the film. Primarily, Mexican gunmen took the negative during production and held it for ransom. Nava's father smuggled thirty thousand dollars in his socks over theh Mexican border so they could get the negative back. Anson Mount, star of TULLY pointed out that he has heard that dentists rank tops among the professions that fund independent films. Passion to tell one's story was stressed--and is quickly becoming a festival theme--as a key ingredient to getting one's film made.
Passion was also evident in the second discussion. MPAA President Jack Valenti spoke about piracy in the digital age. He delivered a speech that I expect he's given many times, but give him credit for being well spoken. (As an aside, he's very short.) The audience's questions, when they weren't combative position statements opposing Valenti's views, were pointed. All in all, it made for a lively discussion.
Onto the Virginia... I met with Jarod Musgrave, whose writing you might have come across at one point or another at DVD File. On the filmmaker spotting front, Mark Moskowitz, director of last year's Overlooked selection STONE READER, is here even though he doesn't have a proverbial horse in the race. I could have sworn I saw MY ARCHITECT director Nathaniel Kahn after the showing of THE SON (LE FILS). He introduced and participated in a Q&A for his Oscar-nominated documentary just this past Sunday at the Wexner Center, so I'm aware of what he looks like. I'll have to try and confirm this on Friday.
Today featured only three films. In other years, four films played each day Thursday through Saturday. As much as I love seeing as many different films as possible, the longer break meant I could get a decent sit down meal. Eating is underrated and, yes, overlooked when it comes to the festival. A late, late lunch (8:00 p.m.) of coconut chicken really hit the spot. It was a far cry better than last night's post-blog entry publishing meal of an orange Crush and some miniature Reese's Cups.
I should point out that I snatched, at best, five hours of sleep last night after posting here. I fear reading these reports in the light of day because they're probably very disjointed and rambling. Still, I want to get the flavor and the urgency of writing "against deadline" at Ebertfest. Perhaps it won't be great or meaningful writing, but I hope I can translate the bleary-eyed experience.
OK, the films... I sat in the front row for TARNATION but moved, for the first time in my fourth year of attendance, to the balcony for THE SON. Having seen the Dardenne Brothers' film before, I knew that I would be susceptible to getting motion sickness watching the handheld camerawork being that close to the screen. My view was partially obstructed--no, it wasn't a condition Lars von Trier set for me--by a plexiglass shield, but that was par for the course during the morning discussions. (I had the Bob Uekeresque behind-the-column seat, leaving me to hear, not see, Valenti.) I moved back to the floor and a distant six rows back for ONCE UPON A TIME...WHEN WE WERE COLORED.
OK, the films... Since I need to be getting to bed, go to the Ebertfest site for plot summaries. You can also check out the official festival blog for more information. I'd like to get in bed by 2:15--fifteen minutes from now--so I'll use this blog as I've always intended, that is, as a notebook. Here are some of the things I've jotted down about today's films.
TARNATION
-Portrait of three generations in this dysfunctional family that is free of the anger that typically marks this kind of confessional film.
-Emotionally naked and fearless. Director, editor, and the film's protagonist Jonathan Caouette puts himself out there for all to see to a startling degree.
-This is very much a director's and editor's film. Caouette, who made this on iMovie, proves he has the chops. This is a dazzling piece of work that proves that imagination is not limited by lack of money. (The film "cost" $218, although it required several hundred thousand dollars to clear the music and film/TV clips in it. Talk about an interesting tie-in to the argument regarding fair use in Valenti's morning talk.)
-Caouette uses music quite well, particularly "Wichita Lineman".
-His bathroom monologue near the film's end is quite moving. The rhyming scenes explaining the indentation on the upper lip and showing Caouette touching this on his mother are integrated in a remarkable fashion.
THE SON (LE FILS)
-Powerful depiction of the Christian ethos in practice.
-Seeing this for the second time I realized how little dialogue there is, but the words that are spoken pack a wallop. Seven words that Olivier says to the boy send a chill through the room. This minimal dialogue also is representative of how people slowly reveal things in conversation.
-Olivier Gourmet's controlled interior performance looks a lot easier than it must be. He is so natural, and paired with the film's style, you could be forgiven thinking that it is a documentary.
-I must have already known too much about THE SON when I saw it the first time as I didn't pick up on the thriller undercurrent that runs through it, even though it isn't that type of film at all.
ONCE UPON A TIME...WHEN WE WERE COLORED
-This slice of life in the black community during segregation is a celebration and reflection of ordinary people doing what they must to get by. It's full of pride rather than anger, which is a far different tack than we're used to seeing in film's about this period. (Actually, the lack of vicitimization echoes through the day's other two films.)
-Strongly evokes a time and place and juggles many characters well. While it's told from one person's viewpoint, this is a community's story, not an individual's.
-Tim Reid mentioned that the Hallmark Hall of Fame turned it down for being "too soft".
That's all for tonight. More to come about 24 hours from now...
Thursday, April 22, 2004
Opening Night at Ebertfest
I'll keep this brief as my bed beckons me. Also, I'm writing this from the hotel lounge computer, so I don't want to hog it, not that there's going to be great demand at almost 1:30 a.m.
Prior to the screening of LAWRENCE OF ARABIA, Roger Ebert talked on stage with Jack Valenti, the longtime head of the Motion Picture Association of America, for ten to fifteen minutes. Valenti has come under fire for the ratings system and the MPAA crackdown on file sharing, stances which earned him a few scattered hisses from the audience. The majority politely listened and clapped at various moments. As a special guest, Valenti received the first of this year's Silver Thumbs, a trophy that appears to be modeled on a life-size reproduction of Ebert's right hand giving a thumbs up.
The two friends bandied about a few issues, familiar stuff like the ratings system, piracy, and American films as exports. Nothing all that surprising to hear, although apparently an area theater chain is offering an "R card" that would allow parents to give their approval for their underage teenagers to attend R rated movies. The teens would receive a photo ID indicating that they were permitted to see such films. Valenti and Ebert object to the idea, for what it's worth.
There's no need for me to recap LAWRENCE OF ARABIA, but I do have a few thoughts on the film. The pristine 70mm print was a sight to behold. DVD is great and all, but it simply cannot compare to the theatrical experience, especially in a case like this. In LAWRENCE OF ARABIA there are several scenes in which a key person or image is the maybe six inches tall on the screen, and that's on the big screen at the Virginia Theater. Needless to say, those portions of the picture are impossible to see at home, even if you have a big screen TV.
Computer generated effects are de rigeur in contemporary Hollywood and won't be going away, but there's something to be said for seeing the real thing. David Lean used hundreds--or was it thousands--of real extras, as opposed to their modern day CG brothers. There's a palpable difference in seeing the scope of the shots and the action actually unfolding in them. The first siege that Lawrence leads, seen in long shot, is a breathtaking sequence that would lose something with a bunch of ones and zeroes scurrying around in the background.
The classical filmmaking approach of LAWRENCE OF ARABIA puts forward a strong argument against the current trend of hyper editing. Lean creates a stronger sense of space and time through long takes of master shots and extreme wide shots. There's little room for this kind of pacing in today's mainstream films, perhaps from fear of waning audience attention spans, yet the luxurious pacing of Lean's never feels slow or drudgerous. Instead it begs to be paid attention.
Joining Ebert on stage for the post-film discussion were Robert Harris, a noted film restorationist who saved LAWRENCE OF ARABIA from disappearing forever, and the film's editor, the great Anne V. Coates. Coates was something of a surprise guest and a real treat for the cineastes in attendance. Take a look at her IMDB filmography to see the many wonderful films on which she has worked.
A couple of tidbits from this discussion...LAWRENCE OF ARABIA had a shooting ratio of 9:1. The original negative and original continuity could not be located when Harris went to restore the film, so Coates' participation was extremely important in making sure it could survive.
Time for me to hit the sack. TARNATION, THE SON (LE FILS), and ONCE UPON A TIME...WHEN WE WERE COLORED are all on tap for Thursday, as well as a couple morning panels for which I'll drag myself out of bed early.
Prior to the screening of LAWRENCE OF ARABIA, Roger Ebert talked on stage with Jack Valenti, the longtime head of the Motion Picture Association of America, for ten to fifteen minutes. Valenti has come under fire for the ratings system and the MPAA crackdown on file sharing, stances which earned him a few scattered hisses from the audience. The majority politely listened and clapped at various moments. As a special guest, Valenti received the first of this year's Silver Thumbs, a trophy that appears to be modeled on a life-size reproduction of Ebert's right hand giving a thumbs up.
The two friends bandied about a few issues, familiar stuff like the ratings system, piracy, and American films as exports. Nothing all that surprising to hear, although apparently an area theater chain is offering an "R card" that would allow parents to give their approval for their underage teenagers to attend R rated movies. The teens would receive a photo ID indicating that they were permitted to see such films. Valenti and Ebert object to the idea, for what it's worth.
There's no need for me to recap LAWRENCE OF ARABIA, but I do have a few thoughts on the film. The pristine 70mm print was a sight to behold. DVD is great and all, but it simply cannot compare to the theatrical experience, especially in a case like this. In LAWRENCE OF ARABIA there are several scenes in which a key person or image is the maybe six inches tall on the screen, and that's on the big screen at the Virginia Theater. Needless to say, those portions of the picture are impossible to see at home, even if you have a big screen TV.
Computer generated effects are de rigeur in contemporary Hollywood and won't be going away, but there's something to be said for seeing the real thing. David Lean used hundreds--or was it thousands--of real extras, as opposed to their modern day CG brothers. There's a palpable difference in seeing the scope of the shots and the action actually unfolding in them. The first siege that Lawrence leads, seen in long shot, is a breathtaking sequence that would lose something with a bunch of ones and zeroes scurrying around in the background.
The classical filmmaking approach of LAWRENCE OF ARABIA puts forward a strong argument against the current trend of hyper editing. Lean creates a stronger sense of space and time through long takes of master shots and extreme wide shots. There's little room for this kind of pacing in today's mainstream films, perhaps from fear of waning audience attention spans, yet the luxurious pacing of Lean's never feels slow or drudgerous. Instead it begs to be paid attention.
Joining Ebert on stage for the post-film discussion were Robert Harris, a noted film restorationist who saved LAWRENCE OF ARABIA from disappearing forever, and the film's editor, the great Anne V. Coates. Coates was something of a surprise guest and a real treat for the cineastes in attendance. Take a look at her IMDB filmography to see the many wonderful films on which she has worked.
A couple of tidbits from this discussion...LAWRENCE OF ARABIA had a shooting ratio of 9:1. The original negative and original continuity could not be located when Harris went to restore the film, so Coates' participation was extremely important in making sure it could survive.
Time for me to hit the sack. TARNATION, THE SON (LE FILS), and ONCE UPON A TIME...WHEN WE WERE COLORED are all on tap for Thursday, as well as a couple morning panels for which I'll drag myself out of bed early.
Wednesday, April 21, 2004
The Pre-Show Countdown
No problems getting to the Champaign-Urbana area for Roger Ebert's Overlooked Film Festival tonight, but I have encountered a couple obstacles in posting from the road. One of the three-pronged outlets in my room has a prong broken off in it, so I had to borrow a power strip from the front desk. That problem averted, my computer won't recognize my CD-ROM drive. That'll be something to work on later tonight as I most certainly won't do what I'm doing now (dialing in long distance to my ISP back home). All in all, though, I should be good to keep the updates coming over the next four days.
The News-Gazette reports that the entire festival is sold out, the first time in its history that all tickets have been sold before the opening night. The early bird does get the worm.
The News-Gazette reports that the entire festival is sold out, the first time in its history that all tickets have been sold before the opening night. The early bird does get the worm.
The United States of Vengeance
Q: Determine what the following films have in common: WALKING TALL, KILL BILL VOL. 2, THE PUNISHER, MAN ON FIRE.
A: Two things. All will have opened theatrically in April, and all are concerned with taking revenge with one's own hands.
Taken collectively, this streak of anger doesn't exactly restore one's faith in humankind, especially when a preview audience is laughing and applauding Denzel Washington's merciless avenger in MAN ON FIRE.
The premise of Tony Scott's film puts Washington's Creasy, an alcoholic former Special Ops soldier, in protection of a Mexican businessman's daughter Pita (Dakota Fanning, not as cloying here as usual, although she still comes off as some kind of alien or futuristic Hollywood genetic experiment rather than a child). Initially he rejects her desire to be friends, but eventually he warms up to her and finds a reason to keep living. Inevitably she gets abducted. Creasy vows to kill everyone involved in the plot to take her from her family.
And strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger he does. Creasy may read the Bible, but he is also one pissed off mofo. Christopher Walken plays a colleague who relates that Creasy possesses an artistry for death and that his rampage in Mexico City will be his masterpiece. Creasy certainly holds no qualms about being as brutal as possible in extracting the information he wants from the bad guys and then disposing of them. As he prepares to kill the leader of corrupt cops, Creasy remarks, "Forgiveness is between them and God. It's my job to arrange the meeting." As played by the likeable and charismatic Washington, Creasy wields a dark sense of humor about exacting revenge. The audience is supposed to share Creasy's pleasure in doling out his brand of justice.
There's something very troublesome about this trend of stirring the audience's taste for vigilanteism. It's not so much the acts of gaining revenge but the pernicious satisfaction in reveling in it. Instead of understanding Creasy's actions from a distance, we're supposed to applaud him for them and callously engage in them.
Considering that I'm a big supporter of Quentin Tarantino's revenge fantasies KILL BILL VOL. 1 and VOL. 2, it might seem odd that I'd object so strongly to MAN ON FIRE. Yet Tarantino's films couldn't be more different from MAN ON FIRE and these other new vigilante pictures, not the least of which being that they occur within a movie universe as opposed to the others' real world settings. KILL BILL also has a moral code--call it the way of the samurai--whereas these other films are merely about satisfying bloodlust that the system can't. KILL BILL thrills the viewer with dazzling fight sequences. That the Bride kills her adversaries is almost secondary. (Obviously it's important to the character, but whether her opponents die is of less significance to the viewer.) In MAN ON FIRE and THE PUNISHER, the complete obliteration of the villains is to be enjoyed with the sadistic glee the heroes display. The murders--and these killings are most certainly that--are the only payoffs.
As for an overall take on MAN ON FIRE, it's thoroughly watchable even though Scott's hyper editing and deployment of subtitles like advertising text come across like desperate tactics to energize the film. In the nitpicking department, why is Creasy's name said about a million times in this movie, especially in the first hour? It's almost comical to the point of distraction. (Plus, it's pronounced in various ways: creasy, creazy, gracie. And what's up with the accent of indeterminate origin used by Radha Mitchell as the willowy American mother of Pita?) Washington is a commanding presence, and it's hard not to like him even if you object to his character and the film as a whole. I have strong reservations about the film's philosophy. Coupled with the overblown style, this isn't a film I can get behind artistically or politically.
Assuming I read one of the opening notes correctly, the film claims that in Latin America an abduction takes place every hour. It seems hard to believe, but okay, I'll go along with that. What I can't believe, though, is "a very special thanks to Mexico City, a very special place", a bone preceding the end credits that is thrown to the city. Did the filmmakers feel the need to apologize considering that the picture they paint is of a dangerous place riddled with corruption in all levels of Mexican society and government? Films don't need to be visitor's bureau pieces for their settings, but MAN ON FIRE strikes me as an unfair portrayal of the city and its people. That note tacked onto the end of the film appears that perhaps the filmmakers realized the same after the fact.
A: Two things. All will have opened theatrically in April, and all are concerned with taking revenge with one's own hands.
Taken collectively, this streak of anger doesn't exactly restore one's faith in humankind, especially when a preview audience is laughing and applauding Denzel Washington's merciless avenger in MAN ON FIRE.
The premise of Tony Scott's film puts Washington's Creasy, an alcoholic former Special Ops soldier, in protection of a Mexican businessman's daughter Pita (Dakota Fanning, not as cloying here as usual, although she still comes off as some kind of alien or futuristic Hollywood genetic experiment rather than a child). Initially he rejects her desire to be friends, but eventually he warms up to her and finds a reason to keep living. Inevitably she gets abducted. Creasy vows to kill everyone involved in the plot to take her from her family.
And strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger he does. Creasy may read the Bible, but he is also one pissed off mofo. Christopher Walken plays a colleague who relates that Creasy possesses an artistry for death and that his rampage in Mexico City will be his masterpiece. Creasy certainly holds no qualms about being as brutal as possible in extracting the information he wants from the bad guys and then disposing of them. As he prepares to kill the leader of corrupt cops, Creasy remarks, "Forgiveness is between them and God. It's my job to arrange the meeting." As played by the likeable and charismatic Washington, Creasy wields a dark sense of humor about exacting revenge. The audience is supposed to share Creasy's pleasure in doling out his brand of justice.
There's something very troublesome about this trend of stirring the audience's taste for vigilanteism. It's not so much the acts of gaining revenge but the pernicious satisfaction in reveling in it. Instead of understanding Creasy's actions from a distance, we're supposed to applaud him for them and callously engage in them.
Considering that I'm a big supporter of Quentin Tarantino's revenge fantasies KILL BILL VOL. 1 and VOL. 2, it might seem odd that I'd object so strongly to MAN ON FIRE. Yet Tarantino's films couldn't be more different from MAN ON FIRE and these other new vigilante pictures, not the least of which being that they occur within a movie universe as opposed to the others' real world settings. KILL BILL also has a moral code--call it the way of the samurai--whereas these other films are merely about satisfying bloodlust that the system can't. KILL BILL thrills the viewer with dazzling fight sequences. That the Bride kills her adversaries is almost secondary. (Obviously it's important to the character, but whether her opponents die is of less significance to the viewer.) In MAN ON FIRE and THE PUNISHER, the complete obliteration of the villains is to be enjoyed with the sadistic glee the heroes display. The murders--and these killings are most certainly that--are the only payoffs.
As for an overall take on MAN ON FIRE, it's thoroughly watchable even though Scott's hyper editing and deployment of subtitles like advertising text come across like desperate tactics to energize the film. In the nitpicking department, why is Creasy's name said about a million times in this movie, especially in the first hour? It's almost comical to the point of distraction. (Plus, it's pronounced in various ways: creasy, creazy, gracie. And what's up with the accent of indeterminate origin used by Radha Mitchell as the willowy American mother of Pita?) Washington is a commanding presence, and it's hard not to like him even if you object to his character and the film as a whole. I have strong reservations about the film's philosophy. Coupled with the overblown style, this isn't a film I can get behind artistically or politically.
Assuming I read one of the opening notes correctly, the film claims that in Latin America an abduction takes place every hour. It seems hard to believe, but okay, I'll go along with that. What I can't believe, though, is "a very special thanks to Mexico City, a very special place", a bone preceding the end credits that is thrown to the city. Did the filmmakers feel the need to apologize considering that the picture they paint is of a dangerous place riddled with corruption in all levels of Mexican society and government? Films don't need to be visitor's bureau pieces for their settings, but MAN ON FIRE strikes me as an unfair portrayal of the city and its people. That note tacked onto the end of the film appears that perhaps the filmmakers realized the same after the fact.
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Elephant redux
I've been racking up the films but haven't written much of late. I have some capsule reviews that I'll get around to posting eventually. I did want to revisit what I said about ELEPHANT as I "figured it out" after I wrote the preceding entry. The key is seeing that many of the other students have their own problems but choose different ways of dealing with them. The scene most crucial to the film is the gay-straight alliance student meeting. Although their topic of conversation is how or if you can tell who is gay just by looking at them, it may as well be how can you identify by appearances who might lash out in violence.
ELEPHANT offers no answers to the reasons for school shootings, but this assessment on Slate, arriving on the Columbine anniversary, provides potential reasons. It's an interesting read, especially in light of the fact that I just finished reading Erik Larson's THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY. One of the main characters in this non-fiction book about the 1893 World's Fair is a psychopath. The book illustrates the word's meaning beyond the connotations of craziness and insanity. In the Slate piece, one of the killers is also designated, ex post facto, a psychopath. In light of what the book taught me about psychopaths, this conclusion seems to be a plausible answer for the Columbine tragedy.
(I know that I have blurred THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY into all of that and could be giving a wrong impression of the book. It's a fascinating read about the nation aspiring to something greater and all of the innovations that came out of the fair.)
Starting tomorrow, I intend to write updates from Roger Ebert's Overlooked Film Festival while in Champaign-Urbana. Even if my desktop computer were to fail in transit--not that there is any reason it should--the hotel has a computer available to guests. It should be a lot of fun, and hopefully writing in the midst of the festival will produce better results than past attempts to summarize the experience after returning home.
ELEPHANT offers no answers to the reasons for school shootings, but this assessment on Slate, arriving on the Columbine anniversary, provides potential reasons. It's an interesting read, especially in light of the fact that I just finished reading Erik Larson's THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY. One of the main characters in this non-fiction book about the 1893 World's Fair is a psychopath. The book illustrates the word's meaning beyond the connotations of craziness and insanity. In the Slate piece, one of the killers is also designated, ex post facto, a psychopath. In light of what the book taught me about psychopaths, this conclusion seems to be a plausible answer for the Columbine tragedy.
(I know that I have blurred THE DEVIL IN THE WHITE CITY into all of that and could be giving a wrong impression of the book. It's a fascinating read about the nation aspiring to something greater and all of the innovations that came out of the fair.)
Starting tomorrow, I intend to write updates from Roger Ebert's Overlooked Film Festival while in Champaign-Urbana. Even if my desktop computer were to fail in transit--not that there is any reason it should--the hotel has a computer available to guests. It should be a lot of fun, and hopefully writing in the midst of the festival will produce better results than past attempts to summarize the experience after returning home.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)