The House Next Door

Archive: March, 2006

Blood and guts: Christopher Kelly sees art in mainstream splatter


While it's not unusual for a critic to find cultural resonance in B- and C-grade horror pictures (critics have been doing that for generations, often with an unearned swagger that pretends Pauline Kael's "Trash, Art and the Movies" never happened) it is unusual to see one do a full-Kael press and defend such works as, first and foremost, good movies. Yet that's what Fort Worth Star-Telegram film critic Christopher Kelly does in "Don't Expect to Escape Nightmares with a Smile on Your Face." Surveying the recent crop of glossy splatterflicks, Kelly starts with a proclamation that had me saying, out loud, to no one in particular, "You've got to be kidding me."

"The most gruesomely vivid, elegantly made horror movie in recent memory opened with little fanfare on Dec. 25, 2005 in approximately 1,500 theaters nationwide," Kelly wrote. "Titled 'Wolf Creek,' It's a low-budget shocker from 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre' old school, about three carefree twentysomethings whose hiking trip goes terribly awry after they are kidnapped by a maniacal serial killer in the Aussie outback. As is often the case with horror pictures, it was greeted by many critics like a Christmas present wrapped in soiled tissue paper. (Sample review, from Roger Ebert: 'There is a role for violence in film, but what the hell is the purpose of this sadistic celebration of pain and cruelty?') The fact that the movie announced the arrival of an immensely gifted new director named Greg McLean—whose patience, control and ability to play the audience like a very cheap fiddle would have done Alfred Hitchcock proud—seemed lost on most adult moviegoers."

In their link to the piece, Green Cine Daily described Kelly as throwing down a gauntlet, but that's an understatement; Kelly throws down two gauntlets, a ring-mail vest, a cat-o-nine tails and a halberd, then dares you not to join his dungeon party. He also has good things to say about "Hostel" and "Final Destination 3," and ties them to 30-plus years' worth of now-canonical (or at least noteworthy) shockers, including "Straw Dogs" and the original "Assault on Precinct 13" and "I Spit on Your Grave."

Intrigued, I wrote Kelly at the Star-Telegram and asked if he wanted to stop by The House Next Door this weekend and discuss and/or defend this piece in the comments section of this post. To my surprise, he agreed without hesitation. So let's play it this way: read Kelly's piece (linked above), post a comment or question, and he'll respond as necessary. We'll keep the thread going today and tomorrow and see what develops. Please remember three things, though. First, Kelly's my guest, so if you disagree, attack the piece rather than the writer (I hate being forced to moderate comments). Second, bear in mind that if you feel Kelly didn't cite specific enough examples to back up his claims about the filmmaking, it's not because he doesn't have any, it's because he writes for a major daily newspaper rather than, say, Cineaste, and can't always go as deep as he might wish; hopefully this comments thread will allow him to explain himself in more detail. Third, if you like what the man has to say, by all means, show him some love. There aren't many people hiking on this particular trail.




Tags:

82 Comments »

Festival business

At Filmmaking for the Poor (via Green Cine Daily), blog proprietor Sujewa Ekanayake poses two provocative questions: Should film festivals share some of their ticket sales for a given screening with the maker(s) of the film being screened? And what are the festivals that currently give film makers a share of the ticket sales?

Further down in the comments thread, he explains the reasoning behind his questions: "The goal is not to put fests out of business but to try to get filmmakers some cash (only fair, 'cause: no indie films = no indie film fests) from screenings of their work."

Sounds great in theory, but unfortunately most festivals aren't as well-funded as, say, the one pictured below. And even the fests that appear well-fattened may be scrambling behind-the-scenes. There's a wide spectrum of economic health. Some festivals I've attended as either filmmaker or critic (not too many, all told; I'm a bit of a homebody) looked to have a lot of crucial expenses taken care of. But that's just my guess, based on a tourist's appraisal of screening venues, affiliated hotels and event locations, and other outward signs, such as transportation to and from events. (I.e., are guests shuttled about by professional taxis—as was the case when I attended the 2005 Independent Film Festival of Boston—or by volunteers schlepping their own vehicles?)

Fact is, a lot of small and medium-sized festivals are shoestring operations—the festival equivalent of no-budget indie movies. Except for the uppermost ranks of festival staff, who might get a salary or perhaps some kind of weekly or monthly stipend, most of the people working there are likely to be volunteers—students, folks from the surrounding community and so forth. Which isn't to say that no festival can afford to give filmmakers a cut of ticket sales, just that most probably can't, and in any case, a particular festival's true position within that spectrum may not be discernible to outsiders.

David Wilson, codirector of the True/False Film Festival in Columbia, Mo., wrote to point out that screening fees add to the cost of running a festival. (Yet he also revealed this tidbit: "Almost no fest will admit to paying screening fees for some films. But almost all do.") Filmmaker Doug Block (of "51 Birch Street") concurred that many festivals will pay screening fees if asked, and will also cover the cost of tape dubs. A former festival organizer tells Sujewa, "European fests pay rentals (to filmmakers), but most of them have state support, which very few US festivals have."

A good read. Click here for more.




Tags:

9 Comments »

God's lonely man


Scorsese, De Niro and Paul Schrader buffs will want to check out the documentary "The Plot to Kill Reagan" (11 p.m., The History Channel)". While it doesn't exactly resist the cheese factor common to History Channel docs, it does find a fresh way into its chosen topic: demented would-be assassin John Hinckley's fascination with "Taxi Driver," the film that he claimed inspired him to stalk star Jodie Foster and hatch a plot to murder President Ronald Reagan.

Mixing talking head interviews, news footage and plentiful re-creations, this special takes the docudrama format about as far as it can go within The History Channel's narrow stylistic constraints. The true subject isn't Hinckley's Foster fixation or his attempt to kill the president, but the interior life of an insane man who wants to fill his empty personality with a beloved onscreen fiction. To that end, the filmmakers mimic iconic scenes and even specific camera moves in their speculative representation of Hinckley's life, including the famous "You talkin' to me?" scene, which Hinckley re-stages with a hair dryer instead of a pistol. To read my Star-Ledger review, click here.




Tags:

No Comments »

Squirrels and devils


In this week's NYPress, I rave about "Ice Age 2: The Meltdown". This cartoon fable offers one comic-epic splendor after another; at its best, it recalls the Chuck Jones classic "What's Opera, Doc?" in its ability to both mock and satisfy the conventions of its source material—in this case, the symbolically charged epic journey movie. "This is not just a decent sequel, it's a cartoon animal comedy about fear of annihilation; in essence, 'War of the Worlds' for kids."

The biographical documentary "The Devil and Daniel Johnston" unnecessarily hypes its mentally ill musician-artist hero as a genius, but director Jeff Feuerzeig still delivers a penetrating and often stylistically striking nonfiction feature. "Bending the very structure of the film to reflect Johnston's worldview—which was fractured over time by schizophrenia and assorted drugs—'The Devil' feels like something a brilliant schizophrenic might produce during a rare period of clarity," I write. "Johnston's signature image, a bloody eyeball pulled free of its socket, describes the filmmaker's aesthetic: a hellishly funny vision, unmoored from reason's shell."

Also in the film section, Armond White praises "She's the Man" and dismisses "Brick." Meanwhile, Jennifer Merin interviews the latter's director, Rian Johnson, who says, "I fully expect the Coen Brothers to take legal action when they see 'Brick' because I stole so much from them. But they stole from Leone, so we're okay."




Tags:

26 Comments »

Last call for worst lists


For weeks now, my esteemed colleague Edward Copeland of Edward Copeland on Film has been soliciting ballots for his poll of the worst Best Picture Oscar winners of all time. Be a dear and help him out, won't you?

All you have to do is look through the list of Best Picture winners (Copeland helpfully provides one on his own web site; click here to see it) and then list the ten worst movies on that list, with 1 being the worst; then email your ballot to Mr. Copeland at eddiesworst@yahoo.com. You needn't have watched every Best Picture winner to vote; just assess what you've seen. Final deadline is midnight on Friday, March 31, after which point he'll begin tabulating the results.

You can read my ballot, followed by a whopping comments thread, by clicking here. Other posted ballots include:

* Self-Styled Siren, who picks "Going My Way" as the all-time worst: "A slobbery Great Dane cheek-lick to the Catholic clergy."

* Drifting Through the Grift awards the top slot to "Ordinary People," just because it beat "Raging Bull."

* The Reaction declares, ""Braveheart is the worst Best Picture winner of all time. Period."




Tags:

9 Comments »

Veronica + Logan 4-ever


UPN's teen detective series "Veronica Mars," which airs a strong new episode tonight at 9, at times seems unaware just how much of its energy is bound up in the relationship between Kristen Bell's title character and her ex-boyfriend, the wealthy, Byronically depressive antihero Logan Echolls (Jason Dohring). This second season has been frustrating in a number of ways, but I keep tuning in each week hoping for one more scene between Veronica and Logan, who share one of the weirdest, deepest bonds on network TV.

"Brilliantly played by Dohring, who has the young Mickey Rourke's self-aware swagger, Logan is one of the anchors of UPN's 'Veronica Mars,' a drama about a high school student in fictional Neptune, Calif., who moonlights as a gumshoe with help from her dad, Keith, an ex-cop turned private eye," I write in today's Star-Ledger. "Logan is Veronica's chief antagonist and perhaps her true soul mate. Like the tough dame Veronica, who navigates the town's treacherous social ladder to solve crimes each week, Logan is a teenager with an old soul, tragically aware of how cruel people can be, including himself. Veronica and Logan's prickly relationship holds this show's plot-crazy second season together even when it threatens to scatter like a jigsaw puzzle hurled against a wall."

To read the whole article, click here. Warning: high up, I spoil a significant (but I hope minor) plot point.




Tags:

25 Comments »

Brothers in sin: Abel Ferrara, Harvey Keitel and "Bad Lieutenant"


The movie that made Harvey Keitel an icon at last, and without sacrificing a molecule of his mulish integrity, Abel Ferrara's "Bad Lieutenant" (1992) was a high watermark for both men—an autopsy of a man's ruined life, and an examination of appetite and its consequences that fixed hell's location inside the human heart. The Lieutenant—whose real name is never revealed—is a worst-case scenario of hypermasculine weakness, a crooked, boozing, dope-shooting cop who hustles around New York trying to track down a couple of teenagers who raped a nun while simultaneously trying to avoid getting killed by gangsters to whom he owes hundreds of thousands of dollars in gambling debts. Judged purely as a spiral into darkness, it was damned hard to beat. Ferrara and Keitel were Bertolucci and Brando doing "Last Tango in New York," only this time, the suicidal hero fucked himself.

I first saw this movie when I was writing movie reviews for the Dallas Observer, and it didn't just impress me, it wiped me out. I believed then, and still believe now, that it's a classic, possibly Ferrara's purest and most direct statement of who he is and what his career has been about. In the repertory house of my imagination, I'd put it on a double bill with "Raging Bull," another study in rage, sexual dysfunction and Roman Catholic attraction-repulsion in the face of sin. Ferrara, I wrote in 1993 when the film finally played Dallas, "...is a spiritual man, but not traditionally religious. Raised Catholic, he has few good things to say about the church. Like Martin Scorsese, he's fascinated with sin, spirituality and redemption, but aside from that, he has little in common with Scorsese (except, perhaps, for the street milieu). Scorsese loves visual representations of sin; they make for gorgeous images, and he alternates between embracing them and jumping violently away from them. The visceral artist in him conflicts with the moralist, and this clash makes his detractors (and sometimes even his fans) livid."

But Ferrara, I wrote, seems to work "...more from his rational mind and less from his gut. Like Scorsese, his images are crude, kinetic and sometimes staggeringly beautiful, but his attitude toward them is more level-headed. He doesn't deal with sin and salvation, but with the idea of sin and salvation. Watching 'Bad Lieutenant.,' you find yourself keeping a mental tally of the protagonist's offenses. Ferrara's meticulous account of the lieutenant's descent into degradation, coupled with the film's distancing style—long, long takes; lots of medium shots; eerie silence punctuated by apocalyptic bursts of pop music—grants you a privileged, even godlike perspective." Ferrara's subject: a man's systematic self-destruction and partial redemption.

Which brings us to Keitel. Novelist and essayist Steve Erickson wrote in a rave review of "Twin Peaks: Fire Walk with Me" that one of the clearest measures of a committed artist was how willing he or she was to risk looking ridiculous. By that admittedly reductive yardstick, Keitel's performance is one of the most committed in movie history, so naked, in many senses of the word, that you can barely look at the screen. Yet miraculously, after two decades of always-a-scene-stealer, rarely-a-leading-man, the one-two punch of this film and Keitel's revelatory romantic lead in "The Piano" (he showed his penis in both!) finally made him a star. Or maybe the phrase is anti-star: a leading man with no fear, no shame and, it seemed, no limits. From 1993 onward, he stopped being underrated and became impossible to escape—a self-made lumpenprole icon, an American Gerard Depardieu. More than any of Keitel's early '90s career-reinvention projects—more than "Bugsy," "Thelma and Louise," even "Reservoir Dogs"—"Bad Lieutenant" cemented this shift.

Deeply Catholic filmmaker that he is, Ferrara's films often depict autonomous individuals getting lost in their own appetites, abasing themselves or being figuratively or literally destroyed (and often actively participating in that destruction). Yet this descent into hell is never just a sadomasochistic exercise, because the soul transcends the flesh. No matter what Ferrara's characters do to themselves or others, a spiritual flame never stops flickering.

Keitel's performance embodies Ferrara's preoccupations and more importantly, his temperament, which is more coolly analytical than his material might suggest. In the hands of a lesser filmmaker and lesser actor, this story could have been another self-indulgent exercise in Indie Edginess—the kind of movie that confirms its artsy bona fides by making every other scene a big Oscar clip setpiece and rubbing your face in blood and shit every five minutes. "Bad Lieutenant." has many such moments—when you remember the film, there's a good chance you picture the protagonist staggering around a nasty apartment, drunk and naked, weeping like a lost child, or seeing the apparition of Jesus in church and calling him a rat fuck. But upon repeat viewings, the lieutenant's self-awareness—his complicity in the destruction of his last shreds of dignity—becomes more clear. As I wrote in my original review, "Like Ferrara, Keitel's Lieutenant is interested in the abstract idea of corruption even as he wallows in it. Sometimes, when he's shooting up, cavorting with whores or peering at his cute kids as if they're alien beings, you sense something more than mere debasement: excitement at the idea that he's pushing the frontiers of evil, and repulsion at the realization that he's excited."
___________________________________________________
This essay was written for the Abel Ferrara Blog-a-Thon, coordinated by fellow film blogger Girish Shambu. For a complete lineup of Ferrara-related essays, click here and scroll down.




Tags:

53 Comments »

No houses, no exceptions

Criminals try not to take their work home with them, but somehow it sneaks in anyway. From the heist crews in Michael Mann's "Heat" to murderous family man Tony Soprano, they all have to learn this lesson the hard way. It'll be learned again in "Thief" (10 p.m. Tuesdays, FX Network), a somber but promising drama from writer-producer Norman Morrill ("The Visitor") about hard men trying to live respectable lives of crime.

"No houses, no exceptions," barks crew leader Nick Atwater (Andre Braugher), when his gang of fellow thieves shows up at his handsome New Orleans home to console him during a wrenching personal crisis. The crooks politely insist they were right to break the rules to help their leader. But Nick knows he's right, and sure enough, by evening's end, he's washing blood off his patio with a garden hose.

This is oft-trod terrain, and tonight's pilot, directed by up-and-coming Scottish filmmaker Paul McGuigan ("Gangster No.1"), isn't shy about admitting it. Many of the plot twists and visual devices are familiar from previous films and TV shows, from the opening split-screen montage of a heist in progress (a gimmick perfected in the original 1968 "Thomas Crown Affair") to the Zen pulp atmospherics (a Mann act), to the "Godfather"-style, business-vs.-private arguments that keep breaking out between Nick and his crew (a convincing bunch that includes Malik Yoba of "New York Undercover," Yancey Arias of "Kingpin" and Clifton Collins Jr. of "Capote").

The first three episodes sent out for review suggest the series has not yet found its own voice. But it's getting there. I appreciated how "Thief" strikes a tricky balance between stylized storytelling (the nighttime images of post-Katrina New Orleans make it look like a French New Wave film in color) and surprisingly realistic human interactions. I believed in Nick as the unquestioned leader of his crew, but I also appreciated the writers' intimation that Nick's soldiers are keeping their options open in case this partnership doesn't pan out. Despite their gung-ho camaraderie, they're like a bunch of talented free agents who just happen to be playing for the same team—a dynamic that's certified at the end of tonight's pilot, when they secretly agree they'd rather hurt Nick than die or go to jail. (No honor among thieves here.) I bought Nick's affection for his wife, Wanda (Dina Meyer), and his stepdaughter Tammi (Mae Whitman of "Arrested Development"), because he seems to genuinely enjoy their company, even when he's squabbling with them. And I like Nick's complicated relationship with his fence and confidant, Roz (Linda Hamilton). She insists on taking an interest in Nick's personal problems not just because she likes him, but because she knows his work will suffer and her own income will slip if his home life isn't stable.

But there are plenty of trouble spots. You know right away that a seemingly unrelated plotline—the decline and fall of a dirty cop, played by Michael Rooker—will eventually dovetail with the thieves' arc. But the show takes too long setting the stories on a collision course, and Rooker's performance is so one-note intense that it disrupts the show's cool cat vibe. And for all its surface smarts, the series can't seem to decide if it's set in the real world or fantasyland. In tonight's pilot, when Nick's crew steals some money that belongs to a Chinese gang, he rightly worries about retaliation, but in the follow-up episode, he and his crew seem awfully cavalier about stealing millions earmarked for extra-Constitutional commando missions. (If Nick fears Chinese smugglers more than he fears the Pentagon, he's not as smart as he looks.)

And I'm sorry to say this, but Braugher's performance isn't there yet. At times this phenomenal actor, who hot-wired and stole every other episode of NBC's "Homicide," doesn't trust his own capacity to charm. He often seems to equate smiley-faced cheer with "likability." But Braugher's a sharp actor, and by the third episode, you can already see him settling into Nick's character and honing his barbed charisma. I suspect that by episode four or five, he'll be one of TV's most mesmerizing characters.

Intriguingly, "Thief" shares a title and numerous plot elements with Michael Mann's 1981 debut feature, an intense crime drama starring James Caan. Both Mann's "Thief" and this FX show revolve around a recently incarcerated burglar who leads a gang of hardcase pals in a series of big scores while pining after a respectable family life and investing his loot in outwardly legit businesses. (Both Nick and Caan's character own auto dealerships.) And both tales contrast the hero's supercool, supercompetent facade and the volcanic temper that simmers just below the surface. Late in the pilot, Nick waves off Roz's friendly inquiries by telling her, "It's all under control." The next shot is Nick demolishing a car with a sledgehammer. If that's control, I can't wait to see chaos.
______________________________________________

Originally published in the Star-Ledger, March 28, 2006.




Tags:

6 Comments »

Attention, greater Boston: see this movie


Boston-area filmmaker Alex Karpovsky's debut feature "The Hole Story," which I really, really like, will play at the Harvard Film Archive at 7pm this Friday, March 31. To find out more about the movie, or to watch the trailer, visit the official website. My review of "The Hole Story" is here. Critic Chuck Tryon's review is here. The address is the Harvard Film Archive, Carpenter Center for the Visual Arts, 24 Quincy Street, in Cambridge, Mass. Admission is $8 ($6 for students and senior citizens). Karpovsky will be in attendance.




Tags:

3 Comments »

The Sopranos Mondays: Season 6, Ep. 3, "Mayham"

The most important scene in Sunday's "Sopranos" episode came during Carmela's surprise visit with Tony's therapist, Dr. Melfi. Poring over her conflicted feelings toward Tony, who was still incapacitated from a gunshot wound, Carmela admitted that from the very start of their relationship, she knew he was a criminal. But she chose not to think about it. "I don't know if I loved him in spite of it, or because of it," she said.

Throughout the show's long run, fans have periodically been forced to ask themselves that question—but rarely for long. David Chase's series, a rude social satire disguised as a gangster soap, was usually so preoccupied with power plays, domestic melodrama and cavalier injections of comic sadism—and so inclined to let its murderous heroes err on the side of crackpot lovability—that you couldn't stay conflicted. For all its metacritical self-analysis, in the end "The Sopranos" was usually content to be seen, first and foremost, as a bloody good show, emphasis on show.

But now, in the home stretch, the emphasis seems to be changing; or at least it looks that way from the first four episodes. (Yes, I've seen the fourth installment, but since most of you haven't, I'll write around it for now.) The tricky moral calculus that informs all gangster stories has been foregrounded in almost every scene of episodes one, two and three. A cloud hangs over everything, a sense that a lot of bills are coming due, one after the other. The question is, how many of Chase's characters will grasp this fact and pay up before the universe collects at gunpoint? Not Carmela, I'm guessing. She told Melfi that over the decades, she'd confessed her deepest fears of a compromised life to friends and advisors. And she admitted that Tony's shooting, a local media event, had forced her now-adult children, Meadow and Anthony, Jr., to "face all these years of facade-ing." (Facade-ing isn't a word, but you knew what she meant.) Then she executed a typical about-face and suggested that Tony's gangsterism was a speck on the world's moral radar. Her admissions of guilt, she told Melfi, were "bullshit, because there are far bigger crooks than my husband." Melfi kept mostly silent during Carmela's session, but she did manage to interject what might prove to be the most significant three-syllable word in the show's history: "Complicit."

Complicit in what, exactly? Not just Tony's life of crime, but also a generalized (and, Chase suggests, very American) tendency to put one's own self-interest ahead of everything and everyone else. To look out for Number One. Except for Melfi, whose Talmudic scrutiny of her patients' rationalizations makes her Chase's true dramatic surrogate, every major "Sopranos" character is supremely selfish, even when they present themselves as compassionate.

Silvio, who was conveniently revealed as a secret athsmatic so he could suffer an eleventh-hour respiratory attack, stepped up to play boss in Tony's stead, and warned his wife not to ask self-interested questions about the future; but she still asked, and he listened. The day before Silvio's athsma attack, Uncle Junior's caretaker Bobby Bacala pressed him to rule on how to distribute proceeds that used to go to Junior; Bobby arrived at Silvio's house the next morning as he was being loaded into the back of an ambulance, just in time to whine: "I didn't hear from you!" Slimmed-down Vito unsubtly suggested that he'd make a pretty good boss himself, and collaborated with Paulie Walnuts, his partner in a nasty robbery of Columbia drug dealers, to avoid giving Tony's mob-mandated kickback to Carmela; then, after Tony unexpectedly awakened from his coma, they cobbled a bag of cash and handed it to Mrs. Soprano, making a big show of their generosity. ("We're here if you need anything," Vito told her.) Tony's quick exit from Coma Land was spurred by the sound of Paulie's selfish drone, which pushed him into cardiac arrest; asked by Carmela to sit by her husband's bedside and talk to him, the silver-haired capo blathered on about himself, at one point regaling Tony with an account of his three-peat victory in a military chin-up contest. Afterward, when the big boss was awake but barely functioning, Chris stopped by long enough to tell Tony he expected him to invest Chris' first venture as a movie producer, a digital horror flick about an eviscerated mobster who reassembles himself and goes after his killers with a meat cleaver. Grotesquely invoking the memory of his slain former wife Adriana, whom Chris gave up as a snitch, he said, "You owe me this."

As my Star-Ledger colleague Alan Sepinwall observed, "The Keystone Kops antics of Silvio and company also neatly illustrate how much smarter Tony is than the rest of his army combined. These are dumb, dumb people, and a world without Tony telling them what to do would be a grim future indeed."

Compared to the first couple of episodes, this one meandered and occasionally ran into a ditch and spun its wheels. And there were more than a few cringe-inducing moments—particularly Paulie's groin injury ("My fuckin' balls!"), Vito's cliched predatory homosexuality (very 1970s) and the predictably crude decision to stage a dramatically significant Vito-Paulie-Silvio conference in a hospital men's room while Silvio was unburdening himself in a stall. (My brother Richard observed that on "The Sopranos," "You always know there's gonna be trouble if somebody's taking a shit.") In the end, the drama cohered (barely) thanks mainly to powerful performances by Edie Falco and James Gandolfini (whose winsome Coma Land performance as average guy Kevin Finnerty suggested he'll have a long life as an Everyman character actor) and by the show's bemused contempt for venality in all its forms.

Chase and his writers are so cynical about people that they make Luis Bunuel seem like Frank Capra; they expect the worst of humanity and show humanity at its worst. Even most of the one-off characters are scumbags, hustlers and swine (including Timothy Daly's pretentious screenwriter J.T. Dolan, who's writing Chris' horror movie to pay off a gambling debt). And the series routinely makes room for condemnations of whole classes of entertainment industry types -- no small feat for a drama set in suburban New Jersey. Chris describes indie moviemakers as "Douchebags who never made a film before," and when his henchman drag Dolan out of a Writers' Guild class, the blank-faced would-be William Goldmans don't even get up from their seats. "An entire room full of writers, and you did nothing!" Dolan moans.

Say this for the "Sopranos" writers: they're equal-opportunity misanthropists. They see the bad in everyone, themselves included.

As for the dream/hallucination/afterlife imagery, I am not quite sure what to make of the final scene of Tony standing outside of the Finnerty home, making cryptic small talk with the gatekeeper (Steve Buscemi, who played Tony's most recent shooting victim, mobbed-up cousin Tony Blundetto) and hesitating to enter. Both times I watched the episode, I saw it as a surreal and rather beguiling "Godfather" riff—business vs. personal, the family vs. The Family; Tony can't enter the domicile and be a real husband and father until he sets aside business (symbolized by Finnerty's briefcase). That's in addition to the obvious interpretation: Tony was in purgatory, the house is heaven, and he's called back to earth before he can step through the front door. There also seemed a faint suggestion that to get into heaven, i.e. to finally merge with, and be safe with, his true family, Tony will have to literally give up his business family—meaning rat them out. Given what we know about Tony Soprano, that seems unlikely. But perhaps not impossible. Those voices rustling in the trees might be the children he never spent enough time with, or they could be the spirits of people he killed. At this point, we just don't know, and I'm fairly sure that Chase, being Chase, won't tell us.




Tags: , , ,

39 Comments »

Wim Wenders' New World

I'd heard elsewhere that New German Cinema hero Wim Wenders (see below) loved Terrence Malick's "The New World," but apparently he really, really, really loved it, because he's talking it up every chance he gets. (Thanks to Mark for the heads-up.) Wenders told Annie Brodie of Monsters and Movie Critics that when he first saw the film "...my jaw was on the ground from the beginning to end, it was so wonderful. It is all about nature and space and air. It's unbelievable that it didn't win any Oscars it should have. It is a total masterpiece." He told Jeffrey M. Anderson of Cinematical, "I saw one of the greatest films of my life not so long ago, and I've now seen it four times. For me it's one of those movies above everything in the Oscars, and there were some great movies, but it was in a class by itself, way above all of it, and that was 'The New World,' Terrence Malick's movie. That was one monster movie, and it was so good that nobody could even grasp it. It got nominated just for best cinematography [at the Oscars] and it should have won that by a landslide. I don't know why it completely disappeared. In 10 years it will be a classic and everybody will say, 'That was the movie that mattered in 2005.'"




Tags:

36 Comments »

Saber rattling: Ryan vs. Dorkman

In the immortal words of pioneering film theorist Vachel Lindsay, this is fucking awesome: Ryan Wieber vs. Michael "Dorkman" Scott in "Ryan vs. Dorkman," a lightsaber duel to the death. (The Google Video link is here, and you can also find it on other sites by seaching for "Ryan vs. Dorkman.") The effects are convincing, but I'm more impressed by the filmmaking, which not only replicates Lucas' directorial tics, but exuberantly celebrates them. Check out the low-angled master shots, the slow-circling closeups, and the way the lightsabers smear the air when they're whipped around at high speed. And the ending gag is really funny.

If I were 15 and had access to the software required to make this, I don't think I would have spent another second in school. I just would have cranked out "Star Wars" fan films until my family ordered me to stop.




Tags:

20 Comments »

Some links, for now

In "The New Yorker," Joan Acocella treats a review of "The Playmate Book: Six Decades of Centerfolds" as starting point for a lively, free-ranging essay on Playboy as cultural document—a monthly anthropological survey of American male heterosexual standards. Her take on the playmate's changing physique is especially sharp; between the 1950s and today, the post-World War II feminine ideal (the pillowy-ripe gal next door) gave way to flower-child-nymph stylings, disco cheer and then, post-'80s, to a more sculpted, even fabricated norm. "In the nineteen-eighties and thereafter, the artificiality only increased, as did that of all American mass media," Acocella writes. "The most obvious change is in the body, which has now been to the gym. Before, you could often see the Playmates sucking in their stomachs. Now they don't have to. The waist is nipped, the bottom tidy, and the breasts are a thing of wonder. The first mention of a 'boob job' in 'The Playmate Book' has to do with Miss April 1965, but, like hair coloring, breast enlargement underwent a change of meaning, and hence of design, in the seventies and eighties. At first, its purpose was to correct nature, and fool people into thinking that this was what nature made. But over time the augmented bosom became confessedly an artifice."

In the same issue, though, Anthony Lane muffs a potentially insightful review of Spike Lee's bank heist thriller "Inside Man" by digressing into his usual cocktail party standup routine. Scrutinizing Russell Gerwitz's admittedly unwieldy, half-real/half-genre-fantasy screenplay, Lane lists "mistakes" that take us out of the movie. "These include: (1) Voice recognition. [Clive Owen's bank robber] Russell may be clad in shades and a white balaclava, but he converses with [Denzel Washington's detective] Frazier in person, and, given that Owen's American accent keeps slipping like an old sock, it should not be hard to pick him out of a lineup. (2) If you own a document that could annihilate your reputation, why keep it in a bank for more than sixty years rather than, say, tossing it in the fire? (3) The document in question, as we learn early in the film, shows that [bank owner] Arthur Case had links with the Nazis. This cannot be true, for one reason: he is played by Christopher Plummer, and, excuse me, but Christopher Plummer does not make friends with Nazis. He sings at them! He plays guitar at them! In a daring, nun-assisted escape, he flees from them over the hills with an annoying child on his back! Come on." I admit that (2) is pretty dumb, but objections (1) and (3) presuppose that every viewer is as loftily bemused by movies as Lane, and as seemingly incapable of suspending disbelief while watching a glossy Hollywood genre flick stocked with big-name actors. Beneath this review's breezily charming veneer lies a disquieting presumption: that stars should stick to roles like the ones that made them famous. If Lane ran Hollywood in the '50s, James Stewart would never have gotten anywhere near Alfred Hitchcock or Anthony Mann.

Time magazine's lengthy feature on cinema's digital future quotes most of the big names you want to hear from (George Lucas, Steven Spielberg, Robert Rodriguez, Michael Mann) and covers a lot of technological and historical ground. But writer Richard Corliss errs, I think, by presenting the film-to-digital changeover as the latest in a long line of technological shifts and implying that anyone who laments it is a fuddy-duddy. Yes, digital filmmaking has made real leaps in the past five years; my own feature "Home" was shot, edited and shown digitally, and could not have affordably finished without that technology, which allowed me to shoot with multiple cameras and edit the whole thing in my house. But as my colleague Godfrey Cheshire observed in his prescient 1999 NYPress piece "The Death of Film/The Decay of Cinema," video will never replicate the flickering chemical radiance of film, it will only approximate it. Plus, there are practical objections to the changeover that Corliss fails to address. One is the notion (endorsed by Corliss) that digital is a sturdier format than film, an assertion that depends on your definition of sturdy. Yes, film stock tends to scratch, and when improperly stored, it degrades. (As a film archivist in college, I had to throw out donated 16mm and 35mm prints that disintegrated when I removed them from the cans.) But on the other hand, properly stored motion picture film stock preserves its information (picture and sound) much more reliably than digital formats, which tend to be more susceptible to data corruption—and more vulnerable to sudden tech fads that render today's industry standard obsolete tomorrow.

Meanwhile, over at Reverse Shot, Robbiefreeling gives "L'Enfant" the most ringing endorsement I've read yet. "How good is it? Let me put it this way: I was walking down the street during lunch break yesterday on this particularly sun-dappled afternoon, and suddenly my mind spontaneously jumped to 'L'Enfant,' which I first had seen last fall at the New York Film Festival. The quick recall of the film made me overwrought with emotion, and just the recollection of its encompassing power made me momentarily lose my senses, pass in front of a red streetlight, and almost walk into an oncoming speeding car." And Clarencecarter defends "V for Vendetta" as both anti-Bush agitprop and (more intriguingly) as one of "the most openly pro-gay blockbusters ever." A politically-charged comments thread ensues. Similarly, Larry Gross at Movie City News begins his own piece with the proposition, "V is about the gayest superhero of all time." Meanwhile, Slate's Matt Feeney unfavorably compares "V for Vendetta" with Terry Gilliam's "Brazil" and dissects Gilliam's more complex portrait of totalitarian rule. "Whereas 'V for Vendetta' adopts the highly movieish perspective of an avenging Übermensch who has himself escaped the tyranny that ensnares everyone else, 'Brazil' observes the totalitarian order from within. It presents the subjective experience of administrative tyranny. And it presents this tyranny not as expressing the conscious design of an evil omnipotent dictator everyone can wholesomely hate, but as an inexorable process that slowly envelops the individual trying to navigate it. "




Tags:

39 Comments »

"It's alive!" : "Puzzlehead" director James Bai on identity politics, "Frankenstein," and robot love

Writer-director James Bai's "Puzzlehead," which shows this week at the Two Boots Pioneer Theater, proves that ingenuity is currency. Elegantly photographed on Super 16mm on depopulated Brooklyn streets, this poverty-row sci-fi thriller about an android and his creator in a plague-ridden city casts an eerie spell. The magic lies not in the film's sparing but effective use of digital effects and prosthetic makeup, but in Bai's elliptical script and direction and the cast's stripped-down performances, which recall the anesthetized deadpan vibe of David Lynch's "Eraserhead." (To read my NYPress review of "Puzzlehead," click here.) It's not a crash-and-burn action picture or a gory shocker; rather, it's an unsettling psychological drama, scored with a mournful harpsichord, that reimagines "Frankenstein" as an existential potboiler about a coldly patriarchial scientist who invents monstrous-yet-childlike servant and heir named Puzzlehead. (Both Walter and Puzzlehead are played by Stephen Galaida, pictured above, at the right Hammer-horror-film pitch.)

Bai, 40, was born in Columbia, Missouri and raised in southern California. He studied business marketing in college and played guitar in rock bands. After whiling away the hours at an accounting job by devising an animated short on Post-It notes, Bai attended Columbia University's School of Film at the urging of his filmmaker brother, Stephen, an NYU film student (and future "Puzzlehead" coproducer). Bai's studies yielded several award-winning student shorts. "Puzzlehead" is his first feature. He lives in Westchester, N.Y., with his wife and one-year-old son.
__________________________________________________

MZS: Which came first, the science fiction or the plot?

JB: The plot. I knew the movie had sci-fi elements, but I didn't start promoting it as a sci-fi movie until it went on the festival circuit. I saw it as a psychological thriller. I saw it as a drama, actually.

MZS: Did you think of it as a Frankenstein movie from the beginning?

JB: Not at the beginning. When I was first writing it, I was actually dealing with my identity issues as a Korean-American, and wanting to reflect that dichotomy of this Americanized personality that I have, and the Korean personality that I wasn't sure existed. In philosophizing about this, I came to the conclusion that my Korean-American identity was a creation that eventually took the place of whatever identity was there beforehand, if there was one. I didn't want to do a James Bai, you know, biopic, a Saturday afternoon, Korean-kid-growing-up-in-America kind of thing. That felt too goofy to me. I wanted to something where I could have characters that personified these sides of me and illustrated the conflict between them. I had this image, almost kind of a dream, about a robot, and a man that looked just like him. I wrote the first act of the screenplay as part of a requirement for a writing class at Columbia graduate film school, during my second year. I actually didn't finish it. I had an incomplete all the way through to my last semester. I had to finish it to graduate, so I did finish the first act, and then I graduated, and I was lost. Once I was out of school, I had no structure in my life. I had no idea what to do, so I went to Alaska, and I started continuing to write the screenplay. They had a great public library up there, so I read a lot of books, drank a lot of beer, smoked a lot of cigarettes, and taught myself how to play the piano at a church nearby. I was renting a room in a house, and I would play my CD in the room, memorize the music—I was learning Bach—and then I'd go to the church and try to figure out how to play it. Sometimes I'd forget as soon as I got there. It was a very laborious process, but these were the things I was doing. And it was in Alaska that I read Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein."

MZS: It's wonderful that you first read that book in Alaska, because if I remember correctly, the story actually begins on an ice floe.

JB: I didn't even think of that. The reason I read it was because I realized, "There is no way I can make this movie without knowing what's in the original book." I had heard that the various movies were not exactly like the book, but I didn't know in what way. When I read Mary Shelley's book, I was blown away not just by how different it was from all the movies, but also by how good the book was.

MZS: Did you think about casting the movie with Asian actors?

JB: Yeah. That was the original idea. I auditioned Daniel Dae-Kim, who's now on "Lost," and Lucy Lui, both of whom are quite famous now, though at the time they were undiscovered. But I was struggling with the idea of having Asian actors in this particular film. Most minority filmmakers have this feeling of wanting to uplift the race by putting people on the silver screen. I wanted to contribute to that, too, but because there are so few characters in the movie, I felt that casting it all Asian would lead audiences to read a fairly narrow racial-political message into the movie.

MZS: Were you concerned that if you cast it that way, suddenly the movie would just be about you?

JB: Too much about me. And also it would have naturally led people to wrong conclusions, like, "Is he trying to say that being Asian-American is an alienating experience?" Or, "Is he saying being Asian turns you into a robot man, or makes you inhuman?" I didn't want them to go down those roads. And there were even more racial-political issues that have to do with specific elements in the story. For instance, Walter's relationship with Julia [the deli clerk who comes between creator and creature, played by Robbie Shapiro, left] would have been construed as a comment on the patriarchal way that Asian men treat women or something. I just wanted people to be able to connect with the story without having to dig past that stuff....[But] what I've been realizing, as I show this movie and talk about it, is that even though this is a deeply personal film for me, my experiences are not just my experiences, you know? They are things that everyone experiences to some degree, and based on your own life, your own viewpoint, there are a variety of ways you can interpret the story and characters. After a certain point I started to realize, "Well, I guess this is a universal theme. Everybody has to construct an identity, everyone has to define himself in opposition to someone or something, everyone has to go out and face the world."

MZS: Was there a conscious aesthetic strategy from the beginning that's reflected in the finished film? Or was the aesthetic determined by your resources, by your situation as you shot?

JB: There is a huge part of it that was consciously determined beforehand and then executed to various degrees. The cinematographer, the production designer and I would go to the Frick museum on many occasions and look at Rembrandts and Vermeers to work out the color palette and the lighting. But a lot of things did come about because of the budget. We couldn't afford to have nonstop visually composited shots because we didn't have the money. We had to be judicious. I ended up having just 15 digital effects shots in the film.

MZS: Talk about the point-of-view shots that show us what the creature sees. You have some pretty grainy video in there at the beginning, but as it goes on, the image gains resolution, right?

JB: I wanted to communicate Puzzlehead's mental development through his point-of-view. So throughout the first act of the film, the visual quality of his point-of-view goes from scratchy black-and-white to out-of-focus black-and-white to color video, and then ultimately becomes Super 16mm film. The final format symbolizes that his point-of-view on the world is on par with that of a human. Hopefully it's a subtle change as the movie goes on. But we wanted people to notice the low quality of the point-of-view shots at the very beginning of the story, so we shot those early images on very low quality video—Hi-8, actually—and then we pumped it through a cheap black-and-white TV and cranked the VHF knob to make it look all scraggly. Then we took a film camera and filmed that image off the TV, to give Puzzlehead's POV a really rough starting point.

MZS: You have a lot of very dramatically important moments in the movie that are conveyed not in wide master shots, but in a series of quickly edited, very tight inserts, almost a rebus-like series of images. It often seems that when the emotions inherent to the story are theoretically at their peak, that's when the movie turns most abstract and mathematical. For example, a suicide attempt is conveyed through three tight shots: a razor on the edge of a sink, a closeup of the face of the person lying in the tub, and a shot of legs in water just before it turns bloody.

JB: Throughout the movie, I tried to employ a lot of different syntactical methods: parallel action, master shot sequence, slow disclosure. The bathroom sequence was inspired by "Psycho," the way Hitchcock took the most important sequence in the movie and fragmented it.

MZS: Describe the difficulties of shooting a movie with no budget where one actor plays two characters that appear together in the same scenes all through the story.

JB: First of all, because of the low budget, we had a very limited number of effects shots where one actor could be composited [twice] into the same frame. There are only two or three shots in the movie where you see both characters together at the same time. There was also another problem, which is that Walter has a beard through much of the film and then shaves it off. We had to do all the shots where Walter has a beard, then have him shave it off and do all the shots where he doesn't have a beard...It's very difficult to shoot a story like this on a low budget because usually when you shoot a scene, you light the whole scene, you shoot everything you need, and then you're done with it. In this movie, we shot some scenes, then came back weeks later and re-lit the same scene to get the rest of what we needed. That adds a tremendous amount of production time, simply because of having to return to the same location and set up lights again. The gaffer had to draw plots to remember where all the lights were so that when we cut all the shots together at the end, the lighting throughout the scene would be consistent. Some days the conversations were like, "Okay, we had a C-stand two feet from this wall, and another one three feet from this wall, six feet high, with a 2K light pointed down at a 35 degree angle." We'd have to map all that out so we could re-create it.

Then, once were done with all that, because we were so poor we didn't have the money to pay for a video tap and couldn't check our work on the set [or go back and look at what we'd shot earlier], I'd have to work through the scenes shot by shot with the actor, and say, "Okay...When you were playing the other guy three weeks ago, did you say this particular line this way, or that way?"

MZS: So you've got a movie here that's a combination of fetishistic planning—

JB: Compulsive, I would call it--

MZS: --but then there's also an enormous element of just, risk, where you just sort of had to forge ahead and hope that things would work.

JB: Every time the editor and I rough-cut a scene and it worked, I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I had no idea if any of the scenes with Walter and Puzzlehead would cut together until we got to the editing room. There was just no way to know.

MZS: Were there any previous works of science fiction or fantasy that influenced this movie?

JB: "The Twilight Zone" is pretty much the number one thing that influenced the film. Not just the visuals, but the tone, the sense of it being set in no time, no place. I grew up watching tons of "Twilight Zone" episodes, and a lot of them had robots. I was particularly thinking of the one where the guy has a daughter who's very upset about the fact that he has all these robot servants, and wants them out of her life because she feels they're bad, and then he shuts down his robots and she figures out that she, too, is a robot, and then he makes her their maid.

MZS: Many of the "Twilight Zone" episodes were presented as myths or parables of some sort. Was that also an influence on the tone?

JB: On the tone, the story, everything, yeah.

MZS: Are you a fan of "Blade Runner" or "A.I."?

JB: When I was working on the first act of the screenplay, I was aware of the fact that Kubrick was making a movie called, "A.I." And I almost thought about not making this movie, because I figured there was no chance that James Bai and "Puzzlehead" could have an impact in the same world with Stanley Kubrick's "A.I." Then Kubrick passed away, which was very much of a bummer for me because he's a huge influence, easily one of my favorite filmmakers. But I moved ahead. Then somewhere in the middle of postproduction, I found out that Steven Spielberg had taken over for Kubrick. I was afraid to see the film because I was afraid I'd be disheartened and think there was no point to my movie. [But] after I saw it, I thought there was still some room left. For me, "Terminator," "Terminator 2," "Blade Runner" and "A.I." were all influences on the film. They're very different movies, but the common thread is that you have androids that look like people and have their own personalities. I lifted a lot of stuff from those movies. "Puzzlehead" is standing on the foundation of all the other android sci-fi movies that came before.

MZS: In all the times you've watched your own movie, have you ever thought about the parallels between creating a movie and creating a monster? I mean, it occurred to me that the scene in "Puzzlehead" where the father sends the son out into the dangerous world on his own for the first time--

JB: It is very much like that. In fact, it's the same thing. You create something, and once you're done with it, you have very little control over what it's going to do. But you care about it the same way you care about a child, or anything you preciously created.




Tags:

21 Comments »

Worst picture


My esteemed colleague Edward Copeland is still soliciting ballots for his poll to determine the worst best picture winners of all time. Here is my ballot, ranked in order from 1 to 10, with 1 being the worst.

1. "Crash" (2005) Anything but this.
2. "Around the World in 80 Days." (1956) A deal memo in Technicolor.
3. "The Greatest Show on Earth." (1952) Makes the circus seem boring.
4. "Gentleman's Agreement." (1946) Feh.
5. "Grand Hotel." (1931/32) Lumpy porridge.
6. "All the King's Men." (1949) A ninth grade term paper on Southern political corruption, read aloud by professional actors.
7. "A Beautiful Mind." (2001) Quite bad. Somehow its innate belief in its own decency makes it worse.
8. "Going My Way." (1944) A quivering slab of raw heart, lightly glazed with banter.
9. "Rain Man." (1988) Piercing and lovely for the first hour. Then they go to Vegas and it turns into just another gleaming, shitty '80s movie.
10. "Gladiator." (2000) Aspires to be "Spartacus" by way of "The Godfather," but its production values, moral intelligence and strong cast can't overcome a certain trash-and-flash factor. Ridley Scott directed it, but brother Tony's spirit hovers nearby.

Qualifiers: I have never seen "Cavalcade" or "The Broadway Melody."

The final deadline is March 31. For a list of previous best picture Oscar winners, click here. In the interests of promoting a safe and secure democracy, Mr. Copeland asks that you email your 10 ranked choices directly to him, at eddiesworst@yahoo.com.




Tags:

106 Comments »