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
Friday, July 30, 2004
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.
Friday, March 19, 2004
The Big E's
More on von Trier another time. Today belongs to ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND and ELEPHANT.
I've been chomping at the bit to see Gus Van Sant's ELEPHANT for some time. I went over the moon for GERRY, and then his subsequent film won the Palm D'Or at Cannes. Cue waiting, lots of waiting, until the film finally unspooled here today, about nine months after it took the prize in France. Watching ELEPHANT is not unlike that, lots of waiting and anticipation, although you trade excitement for dread.
Van Sant explores the day in the life of a high school, with it culminating in two students executing a Columbine-like attack on their teachers and peers. ELEPHANT is little more than a series of tracking shots that follow various students. We get small insights into their lives--John has an alcoholic dad, Elias is a budding photographer--but never become deeply acquainted with them. Van Sant also introduces us to the killers and shows how they prepare for the fateful day.
Naturally, this is combustible subject matter. The threat of death hovers over the film like the time-lapse clouds Van Sant returns to time and again. Some have accused Van Sant of exploiting the tragedy, but what makes school shootings off limits when other historical atrocities are fair game? To the director's credit, he is judicious in showing the violence. The audience knows what is happening and doesn't need to be bathed in blood and guts to get the effect.
What's most shocking is that ELEPHANT isn't shocking. The idea of teenage boys bringing guns to school to kill classmates isn't out of the ordinary. I got home from the film and found a story on the internet about a Nebraska teen with twenty homemade bombs and a rifle in the high school parking lot. (Another report on the story includes an incident in which two second-graders and an eleven-year-old in Montana hid weapons in a plan to shoot and stab a third-grade girl.)
Van Sant makes no effort to explain why this violence erupts. The usuals--feeling of insecurity from bullying, hatred of the popular, violent video games, fixation on guns, the devil, and Hitler--are trotted out, but none of these things are singled out as the reasons why these two boys choose this particular path. Non-judgemental observation is a key element in Van Sant's films, and that's how he approaches the characters in ELEPHANT. It's a wise choice. Viewers don't need to be spoonfed that what the killers are doing is wrong, and there's no mistaking that Van Sant abhors their actions. Where ELEPHANT comes up short, though, is in failing to provide insight for any of this. The deep truths are probably unknowable, but ELEPHANT frustrates in not making any conjectures. Simply, what happens happens. It's an existential perspective that worked for GERRY, a film where the characters are in search of something larger. In ELEPHANT, the message seems to be that bad things happen. While that's true, it isn't exactly news to anyone.
ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND features another brilliant Charlie Kaufman screenplay. Oh yeah, Michel Gondry's film lives up to it. More at another time...
I've been chomping at the bit to see Gus Van Sant's ELEPHANT for some time. I went over the moon for GERRY, and then his subsequent film won the Palm D'Or at Cannes. Cue waiting, lots of waiting, until the film finally unspooled here today, about nine months after it took the prize in France. Watching ELEPHANT is not unlike that, lots of waiting and anticipation, although you trade excitement for dread.
Van Sant explores the day in the life of a high school, with it culminating in two students executing a Columbine-like attack on their teachers and peers. ELEPHANT is little more than a series of tracking shots that follow various students. We get small insights into their lives--John has an alcoholic dad, Elias is a budding photographer--but never become deeply acquainted with them. Van Sant also introduces us to the killers and shows how they prepare for the fateful day.
Naturally, this is combustible subject matter. The threat of death hovers over the film like the time-lapse clouds Van Sant returns to time and again. Some have accused Van Sant of exploiting the tragedy, but what makes school shootings off limits when other historical atrocities are fair game? To the director's credit, he is judicious in showing the violence. The audience knows what is happening and doesn't need to be bathed in blood and guts to get the effect.
What's most shocking is that ELEPHANT isn't shocking. The idea of teenage boys bringing guns to school to kill classmates isn't out of the ordinary. I got home from the film and found a story on the internet about a Nebraska teen with twenty homemade bombs and a rifle in the high school parking lot. (Another report on the story includes an incident in which two second-graders and an eleven-year-old in Montana hid weapons in a plan to shoot and stab a third-grade girl.)
Van Sant makes no effort to explain why this violence erupts. The usuals--feeling of insecurity from bullying, hatred of the popular, violent video games, fixation on guns, the devil, and Hitler--are trotted out, but none of these things are singled out as the reasons why these two boys choose this particular path. Non-judgemental observation is a key element in Van Sant's films, and that's how he approaches the characters in ELEPHANT. It's a wise choice. Viewers don't need to be spoonfed that what the killers are doing is wrong, and there's no mistaking that Van Sant abhors their actions. Where ELEPHANT comes up short, though, is in failing to provide insight for any of this. The deep truths are probably unknowable, but ELEPHANT frustrates in not making any conjectures. Simply, what happens happens. It's an existential perspective that worked for GERRY, a film where the characters are in search of something larger. In ELEPHANT, the message seems to be that bad things happen. While that's true, it isn't exactly news to anyone.
ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND features another brilliant Charlie Kaufman screenplay. Oh yeah, Michel Gondry's film lives up to it. More at another time...
Thursday, March 18, 2004
More Danish Angst
(If time and energy permit, what follows will be revised. Just got back from these screenings, but I want to watch the UD-DePaul NCAA game that I've been taping. These are some preliminary thoughts.)
The Wexner Center's Lars von Trier retrospective wraps up next Thursday. That's good and bad. I'm now convinced that he is one of today's major filmmakers, so it's a little deflating that I've seen just about everything there is until his next project. (His miniseries THE KINGDOM hasn't been part of it, so that remains as something to track down.) On the other hand, these movies are such emotional workouts that I could use a break from these thrilling yet exhausting experiences.
Tonight's selections were MEDEA and DANCER IN THE DARK. I'd seen the latter when it was released a few years ago. I liked it more on this second viewing, although "liked" doesn't seem to be the appropriate word in connection with such a weighty film. The basics... Bjork plays the Czechoslovakian immigrant Selma. She works in a northwest US factory and is scraping together as much money as she can. Selma is going blind, but she isn't saving the money to improve her sight. She knows that her son has the same condition and wants him to have an operation to save him from suffering that fate. Since this is a von Trier film, we can expect that the heroine will be in for a rough go of it, and sure enough, she does not have it easy. But, hey, it's a musical!
Von Trier's best known films--BREAKING THE WAVES, DANCER IN THE DARK, and the upcoming DOGVILLE--are melodramas that shamelessly manipulate the audience's emotions. Each of these films have moments that will outrage viewers. The test is how one interprets von Trier's motives. One side could argue that he is a heartless bastard who revels in cruelty. On the contrary, I think that he is very much a religious filmmaker given to depicting the harsh realities of life and hinting at a greater reward that follows. DANCER IN THE DARK'S Selma talks about leaving musicals after the next to last song so that the film can go on forever. At the end of the film, von Trier places a message over the frame, something about this not having to be the last song if we don't want it to be, while the shot pedestals up. It's plainly evident to me this time that the shot indicates an ascension and the message lays out that faith in God allows us to leave after the next to last song.
The Wexner Center's Lars von Trier retrospective wraps up next Thursday. That's good and bad. I'm now convinced that he is one of today's major filmmakers, so it's a little deflating that I've seen just about everything there is until his next project. (His miniseries THE KINGDOM hasn't been part of it, so that remains as something to track down.) On the other hand, these movies are such emotional workouts that I could use a break from these thrilling yet exhausting experiences.
Tonight's selections were MEDEA and DANCER IN THE DARK. I'd seen the latter when it was released a few years ago. I liked it more on this second viewing, although "liked" doesn't seem to be the appropriate word in connection with such a weighty film. The basics... Bjork plays the Czechoslovakian immigrant Selma. She works in a northwest US factory and is scraping together as much money as she can. Selma is going blind, but she isn't saving the money to improve her sight. She knows that her son has the same condition and wants him to have an operation to save him from suffering that fate. Since this is a von Trier film, we can expect that the heroine will be in for a rough go of it, and sure enough, she does not have it easy. But, hey, it's a musical!
Von Trier's best known films--BREAKING THE WAVES, DANCER IN THE DARK, and the upcoming DOGVILLE--are melodramas that shamelessly manipulate the audience's emotions. Each of these films have moments that will outrage viewers. The test is how one interprets von Trier's motives. One side could argue that he is a heartless bastard who revels in cruelty. On the contrary, I think that he is very much a religious filmmaker given to depicting the harsh realities of life and hinting at a greater reward that follows. DANCER IN THE DARK'S Selma talks about leaving musicals after the next to last song so that the film can go on forever. At the end of the film, von Trier places a message over the frame, something about this not having to be the last song if we don't want it to be, while the shot pedestals up. It's plainly evident to me this time that the shot indicates an ascension and the message lays out that faith in God allows us to leave after the next to last song.
Monday, March 15, 2004
Stop them before they kill again!
Thrillers don't get much more incompetent than TAKING LIVES. The first indication that the filmmakers aren't paying attention to details comes with the sounds of U2's "Bad" over the opening sequence set in 1983. The song comes from the 1984 album THE UNFORGETTABLE FIRE, which is a nitpicky sort of thing that the average viewer probably won't notice. Admittedly, this isn't a big deal, but it shows a carelessness with which the rest of the film is assembled. (That the song is about heroin, has no application to the scene or the film, and is reprised at the end makes the choice more curious. Was it picked merely because the character being introduced is bad, making a song by that name seem like a good fit?)
Angelina Jolie, as FBI profiler Illeana Scott, plays up her tabloid publicized weirdness from the outset, being introduced laying in a grave to get a sense of the crime scene. Montreal construction workers find a body with the face smashed in and the hands cut off. Despite the protestations of two Quebecois investigators, Illeana is brought onto the case. TAKING LIVES never explains why an FBI agent would be called to Canada to help with an apparently routine murder case or how she would be permitted to stay on it. The film's nonsense logic continues.
Illeana finds a pattern in some unsolved killings and deduces that the suspect's methods permit him to assume the lives of his victim. Whenever he needs a new identity, he kills another person and makes the body unidentifiable.
A break in the case appears to come when the serial killer strikes again. This time there's a witness, a local artist named Costa (Ethan Hawke) who provides a sketch of the suspect. It soon becomes apparent, though, that with the police hot on his trail, the killer wants to shed his skin for another's, Costa's in fact.
TAKING LIVES is incredibly silly, building to a final scene that inspires laughter and incredulity. Granted, Illeana proves to be something of an oddball, but the ending is too much to accept even for her. Illeana is established as one of those agents who identifies with the victims to the extreme. She physically puts herself in their place, including a scene at the home at the killer's mother that makes absolutely no sense at all. (This film either endured extensive cuts that left the gaping holes or just never added up in the first place.) This conceit is eventually dropped in favor of standard policier twists.
The killer's identity is no mystery to anyone who has seen more than a couple of whodunits, particularly those in Ashley Judd's filmography. (Jolie, like Judd, is a capable actress with a knack for picking some really bad projects.) The misdirects are either very transparent or so befuddling that they fail to send us off course. Director D.J. Caruso may have inadvertently revealed the killer earlier than intended in a geography slip-up in dialogue. Considering the error-prone nature of the film, it's probably just one more mistake than a tip-off.
Although riddled with storytelling errors and other mistakes, TAKING LIVES gets it right in one place: truth in advertising. Audiences will have their lives taken, or at least the 90-odd minutes set aside for suffering through this mess.
Angelina Jolie, as FBI profiler Illeana Scott, plays up her tabloid publicized weirdness from the outset, being introduced laying in a grave to get a sense of the crime scene. Montreal construction workers find a body with the face smashed in and the hands cut off. Despite the protestations of two Quebecois investigators, Illeana is brought onto the case. TAKING LIVES never explains why an FBI agent would be called to Canada to help with an apparently routine murder case or how she would be permitted to stay on it. The film's nonsense logic continues.
Illeana finds a pattern in some unsolved killings and deduces that the suspect's methods permit him to assume the lives of his victim. Whenever he needs a new identity, he kills another person and makes the body unidentifiable.
A break in the case appears to come when the serial killer strikes again. This time there's a witness, a local artist named Costa (Ethan Hawke) who provides a sketch of the suspect. It soon becomes apparent, though, that with the police hot on his trail, the killer wants to shed his skin for another's, Costa's in fact.
TAKING LIVES is incredibly silly, building to a final scene that inspires laughter and incredulity. Granted, Illeana proves to be something of an oddball, but the ending is too much to accept even for her. Illeana is established as one of those agents who identifies with the victims to the extreme. She physically puts herself in their place, including a scene at the home at the killer's mother that makes absolutely no sense at all. (This film either endured extensive cuts that left the gaping holes or just never added up in the first place.) This conceit is eventually dropped in favor of standard policier twists.
The killer's identity is no mystery to anyone who has seen more than a couple of whodunits, particularly those in Ashley Judd's filmography. (Jolie, like Judd, is a capable actress with a knack for picking some really bad projects.) The misdirects are either very transparent or so befuddling that they fail to send us off course. Director D.J. Caruso may have inadvertently revealed the killer earlier than intended in a geography slip-up in dialogue. Considering the error-prone nature of the film, it's probably just one more mistake than a tip-off.
Although riddled with storytelling errors and other mistakes, TAKING LIVES gets it right in one place: truth in advertising. Audiences will have their lives taken, or at least the 90-odd minutes set aside for suffering through this mess.
Saturday, March 13, 2004
Something's in the Air
Driving east on Interstate 70 on the way back from the Atlantic 10 tournament semifinals, I tried to find a sports talk station on the radio. My friend Scott wanted to hear the NBA scores since the Cavs are contending for the playoffs. I picked up such far flung stations as WBEZ in Boston, what I believe was KMOX out of St. Louis, WBBM in Chicago, WCBS and another station (WFAN?) from New York City, WSM out of Nashville, and WHO in Des Moines, Iowa. Oddly, I had trouble tuning in local stations, like 980 out of Dayton. Columbus' 1460 didn't come in very well either, yet there was this Des Moines station clear as could be. So very strange.
Dayton won tonight, although they nearly blew it. Go Flyers versus the dreaded Xavier Musketeers and their furry, blobby blue mascot.
Dayton won tonight, although they nearly blew it. Go Flyers versus the dreaded Xavier Musketeers and their furry, blobby blue mascot.
Thursday, March 11, 2004
More von Trier
In my eruption of comments on DOGVILLE I left out some things that I'd meant to say regarding Kidman's acting and a scene in the back of a truck. I'll save those for another time since I caught tonight's two entries in the Lars von Trier retrospective.
First up was THE IDIOTS, the controversial 1998 Dogme 95 film in which a group of people go around acting like they're mentally retarded, "spassing" as they call it. Von Trier so loves to pull the rug out from under his audience, and he does it again here.
My initial impression is that THE IDIOTS is an allegory for the death of communism. The apparent group leader Stoffer decries bourgeois things, pillories fellow Idiots who hang onto aspects of middle class life, and screams "fascist" at a councilman who wants the group's communal home to be considered part of a different district. The Idiot ideals are shown to work within their bubble of existence, but outside of their sphere, the philosophy looks foolish and offensive.
Von Trier has gone out of his way to rub our noses in the Idiots' behavior while also subverting it. We may laugh along with their refusal to conform to what society deems proper, but von Trier is slowly hoisting the Idiots and the complicit audience by its own petard. He aims to shock too. Had the film been released with a rating, it most assuredly would have received the NC-17, although the nudity is not here for titillation.
Made in accordance with Dogme 95, THE IDIOTS effectively uses the rules that demand naturalism in cinema. It's a crudely made film, with herky jerky handheld camerawork that often goes out of focus and an intentional sloppiness that, on a couple occasions, catches the boom microphone in the shot. I wouldn't call it pleasant to watch, but after von Trier puts all his cards on the table, I realized I had a certain admiration for his persistence of vision. THE IDIOTS isn't on the level of his best work--it's too slapdash and inconsistent--but in transforming the film from a piece of empty provocation into a political critique, von Trier demonstrates his command of the medium.
ZENTROPA was the second half of the bill. This dream-like film sends its American protagonist of German heritage to post-World War II Germany to take a job as a sleeping car conductor. Leopold refrains from taking sides but finds himself caught between them. Jesus' statement in Revelation about preferring that one be hot or cold rather than lukewarm informs the film, as Leopold proves himself worthy of being spewed out.
A paranoid mix of noir, Hitchcock, and the occasional surrealist flourish, ZENTROPA is like a nightmare from which one cannot awake. Max von Sydow's hypnotic narration implores Leopold to go deeper. Even though he refuses, he cannot avoid being dragged down.
ZENTROPA is mostly in black and white, an appropriate visual theme considering its demand for commitment to an ideology. Von Trier uses color sparingly and strongly, dabbing it into the frame to highlight blood in the water or pallid skin tones.
First up was THE IDIOTS, the controversial 1998 Dogme 95 film in which a group of people go around acting like they're mentally retarded, "spassing" as they call it. Von Trier so loves to pull the rug out from under his audience, and he does it again here.
My initial impression is that THE IDIOTS is an allegory for the death of communism. The apparent group leader Stoffer decries bourgeois things, pillories fellow Idiots who hang onto aspects of middle class life, and screams "fascist" at a councilman who wants the group's communal home to be considered part of a different district. The Idiot ideals are shown to work within their bubble of existence, but outside of their sphere, the philosophy looks foolish and offensive.
Von Trier has gone out of his way to rub our noses in the Idiots' behavior while also subverting it. We may laugh along with their refusal to conform to what society deems proper, but von Trier is slowly hoisting the Idiots and the complicit audience by its own petard. He aims to shock too. Had the film been released with a rating, it most assuredly would have received the NC-17, although the nudity is not here for titillation.
Made in accordance with Dogme 95, THE IDIOTS effectively uses the rules that demand naturalism in cinema. It's a crudely made film, with herky jerky handheld camerawork that often goes out of focus and an intentional sloppiness that, on a couple occasions, catches the boom microphone in the shot. I wouldn't call it pleasant to watch, but after von Trier puts all his cards on the table, I realized I had a certain admiration for his persistence of vision. THE IDIOTS isn't on the level of his best work--it's too slapdash and inconsistent--but in transforming the film from a piece of empty provocation into a political critique, von Trier demonstrates his command of the medium.
ZENTROPA was the second half of the bill. This dream-like film sends its American protagonist of German heritage to post-World War II Germany to take a job as a sleeping car conductor. Leopold refrains from taking sides but finds himself caught between them. Jesus' statement in Revelation about preferring that one be hot or cold rather than lukewarm informs the film, as Leopold proves himself worthy of being spewed out.
A paranoid mix of noir, Hitchcock, and the occasional surrealist flourish, ZENTROPA is like a nightmare from which one cannot awake. Max von Sydow's hypnotic narration implores Leopold to go deeper. Even though he refuses, he cannot avoid being dragged down.
ZENTROPA is mostly in black and white, an appropriate visual theme considering its demand for commitment to an ideology. Von Trier uses color sparingly and strongly, dabbing it into the frame to highlight blood in the water or pallid skin tones.
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