Return

After a long, long, long absence from my invisible, but hopefully existent, readers, I have promised to return, and on a more permanent basis. I was caught up in work- both school and personal projects, and rarely had time to add anything here, spare one or two posts.

First, I plan to post regularly again, on the same schedule, and then on a still regular, but less frequent schedule come February. I have a few articles lined up and ready to go that are republishes from classes, but I certainly will put out some totally fresh pieces. I haven't been totally caught up on many new releases, but I have seen a few, and hope to get even more filled in during the next few days.

Second, I hope to share some video work of mine, since up until this point I have kept my writing and video separate. I have a few things to present that are lined up and finished, a project that I am currently editing that I am already quite proud of in many ways, and I plan to release by mid-April at the absolute latest, and a screenplay that I am fine-tuning and may shoot over the next month, although that could fall through of course, and even if it is shot, might not be complete for some time. Additionally, I am working on a few different screenplays of various quality, although I doubt f any of the features will be available through here, at least not before production.

I hope to follow through with these goals and promises, and I want to thank anyone out there that reads this, and especially if you appreciate my work.

BLOOD BROTHER (Steve Hoover, 2013)

       Documentaries are starting to have a real problem: They're all the same. Most directors prefer to stay a certain distance from their subject, even if they have every reason to move closer. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a secret committee who only approved of one type of documentary, forcing 99% of them to have the same construction.
       Blood Brother is a movie that's probably going to get a 98% on Rotten Tomatoes. Like most social documentaries, who wouldn't like it? It's a great story. Rocky Bratt, a  somewhat troubled young American, goes to India and finds himself loving his life at an HIV orphanage. Bratt really engages with the kids, gets his heart broken nearly as often as he succeeds, and loves the country in general.
       So what's not to like? The film seems empty, in a word. The entire opening is Rocky doing nothing in particular in America. The footage is great, but assembled in such a way that I don't know what the aim was? Rocky? The kids? Rocky's relationships? HIV? It's just bogged down, and deemphasizes the kids in such a way that it falls dangerously close to the "White Savior" treatment.
       The film's structure is just odd, having the imprint of a traditional narrative, but ultimately cannot put it all together. It's like a few strips of tape were slapped over the entire thing. Rocky is the only true character in the film. The kids are like props, occasionally being brought out and held up to the camera. The frustrating thing is that we certainly see enough footage that could really illustrate certain children and bring them to the spotlight. The one boy, who gets dangerously sick towards the end, is said to "always be around" yet we see him twice- in his sloppy introduction, and when he's near death.
       The music, combined with the editing, adds another depth of irritation to the film. The mythical Documentary Committee I mentioned earlier apparently only approves of films that have a few "happy" montages of people dancing and running, and scored by a strummy string quartet piece. If we're having a flashback, better have some animated sketches.
        Documentary has really become flavorless recently. Sure, there's exceptions that really try to do something interesting and "represent the truth"in an honest and engaging way- I'm thinking along the lines of Restrepo, Exit Through the Gift Shop, Smartest Guys in the Room, Inside Job and Waltz with Bashir. But the vast majority seem to fall under the vanilla production line aesthetic of Jiro Dreams of Sushi, Hell and Back Again, and now Blood Brother.
        The real tragedy of Blood Brother is not just that's its bland, typical, and out of focus, it's that it could easily be good. There are editors and directors that could take the innumerable hours of raw footage shot and make something truly engaging, intelligent and downright interesting. If  Blood Brother told a bad story, it wouldn't be as infuriating as its end result: A good story told in a bad way.

BLUE JASMINE (Woody Allen, 2013)

       Woody Allen has recently been quite hit-or-miss, but he truly makes whatever he wants, be it dramas (Match Point), vignettes (To Rome with Love) or experimental narratives (Melinda and Melinda). However, really nothing he has made has been terrible. Allen's last massive success was Midnight and Paris, a wackily set human comedy that drew great attention for its historical aspects, even though it had some weaknesses.
       However, with Blue Jasmine, Allen scores his best film in some time, and truthfully, one of his best period. Cate Blanchet's performance is simply unreal, and without a doubt the highlight of the film. It actually becomes uncomfortable to watch the nervous breakdowns of Jasmine about her state of life, relationship issues, and unsure future.
       Forced to move in with her sister after her husband is imprisoned for financial fraud a la Bernie Madoff, Jasmine moves to San Francisco, claiming she's out of money despite her first class plane ticket and refusal to sell her designer clothes. Alec Baldwin, in flashback, plays Jasmine's husband, and Baldwin may be the weakest link in the film. Not because of his performance, but  simply because of his underutilization. Baldwin doesn't do anything in particular, but really, this is an issue that only arises in retrospect.
       Great performances dot every minute of the film. Sally Hawkins is brilliant as Jasmine's meek "lower-class" sister. Bobby Cannavale is great as her current boyfriend, while her fling is portrayed by Louis C.K., who is good enough to not be completely distracting. However, the best performance in the film is by Andrew Dice Clay, the critical scorned abrasive comedian, as Jasmine's ex-brother-in-law, resentful towards his entirely family and emotionally reeling both times we see him- first trying to fit in with Jasmine's high society, and then hurt financially by Baldwin's money games. Michael Sturburg is both pathetic and unsettling as Jasmine's temporary employer.
       Allen structures the film in a certainly peculiar manner, abruptly changing from past to present. In fact, I was lost for a few seconds in a time change, although I quickly recovered and dove back into the film. Allen creates an interesting tone as well, mixing emotionally raw drama with dry humor, kind of like his typical style mixed with Cassavetes. It's a unique blend, and one I can't think of having seen before. Unflinchingly, I would declare Blue Jasmine as Allen's best film since (at least) Hannah and Her Sisters, which is no small feat, considering the strengths of Match Point, Mighty Aphrodite,  and Midnight in Paris. Allen creates a very real portrait of modern emotional turmoil with Blue Jasmine caused from betrayal, snootiness, and culture shock.

Spike Lee- Power through Freedom

       Currently a hugely controversial figure for his commentary and actions, Spike Lee is, for some reason, hated on the internet, although really, they should love him. Currently, it's hard for me to think of a filmmaker whose voice through his films is so loud and consistent throughout his body of work. However, that's not saying every film is the same, in fact, the truth couldn't be further from that.
       Lee's real-life, and thus cinematic, home is Brooklyn, and thus most of his films are not only set there, but reek of the attitude and life of Brooklyn. Lee got his start from independent filmmaking, and despite a relationship with Universal Pictures, has remained very much an independent filmmaker, denying the industry of content that would typically be consumed by the masses. Because of this, the "controversy" the internet brewed over his kickstarter is particularly absurd. The internet seemed to have zero problem with the Veronica Mars movie, even though that was being made by more people and asked for much more money. Lee has stated that he crowd-funded before Kickstarter existed, and that is very much true. 2012's Red Hook Summer was self-funded, and the film is truly very good.
      However, RHS, like much of Lee's work, features a trademark of his style some would see as a weakness- his pacing is a bit odd, and some aspects of the story are rushed or simply forgetten. FOr example, the revelation about the reverend in Red Hook Summer comes out of seemingly nowhere, while a building of a ten-year marriage of Bleek and Indigo in Mo' Better Blues is rushed at the end, allowing the story to end in a cycle, a neat technique but one that isn't needed.
         Lee is one of the rare modern filmmakers who constantly feels the need to innovate and experiment with his work, adding in odd camera angles and story structures. Perhaps one of the best example of this appears in Mo' Better, where Bleek calls the two women in his life by the others' name. the scene is shot as if they were in the same room, with Bleek turning different directions to address the different woman.
       Lee's career can be best defined by two films- Do the Right Thing, which I previously discussed at length, and Four Little Girls, a powerful documentary about the bombing of the Birmingham Baptist Church at the peak of the Civil Rights Movement. Lee understands this to a degree. After DtRT, Lee made MBM, certainly a good film, but far from the sprawling, powerful, and poignant the preceded it. Lee's career may have been in jeopardy if he followed Do the Right Thing with Jungle Fever, a similarly themed film that pales in comparison due to some hokey and goofy moments, despite some really great scenes and powerful performances.
        Lee does not get the reputation he deserves, often just criticized for controversial statements. Lee currently takes heavy heat because of his remaking of Oldboy, an inexplicably popular Korean film with a cheap, stupid ending. Even if one likes the original film, one should realize that it's not an unbridled masterpiece, and how interesting it would be to see Lee tell the story in his own way, with his own characteristic flair

MEDIUM COOL (Haskell Wexler, 1969)

       Hollywood, eternally five years behind culture because of long production schedules, finally caught up to the social revolution in the late 1960's, birthing the New Hollywood movement with films like The Graduate and Easy Rider. Haskell Wexler, famed cinematographer, decided to get to the heart of the issue of America and start a revolution in film at the same time. The film tells the story of a devoted and moral cameraman, John, who is placed amongst real footage.
        Medium Cool revolutionary technique was fictional use of cinema verite, blended with real documentary footage that aided the plot, as well as Easy Rider-esque editing and structure. John attempts to get the footage he wants to shoot, not the footage his unscrupulous boss desires so it can be sold to the police and FBI.
        The film bluntly states its mission in one of the earliest scenes, which is a long, documentary styled sequence in which a party discusses the merits of television as a medium and the moral responsibilities of a camera man. The opening shows John and his sound cooly looking at a highway wreck, and only after getting footage so they call the police. At the film's abrupt conclusion, we are once again presented the situation. However, Wexler does not give us an answer explicitly, as we must find our own. Should a cameraman be more camera or more man?
       The first half is John operating as a camera, going to various locations and filming what he is assigned. However, his humanity undercuts everything, forcing him to focus on a human interest story of a black man who returns money found in the cab. The story is unpopular with the man's friends, who see him as interested in the man because of his race and accuse John of attempting to make a circus out of the act ("Human Interest? Are humans going to be interested by us, or we humans?") while John's television boss finds the story bland, and eventually fires John.
       The next half shows John's humanity, undercut with his profession. He falls for a woman, Eileen, with a young son, Harold, who he cares deeply for. John takes a break and falls in love with Eleen, although he stays interested in society. One incredibly scene involved shaky, free footage of a hippie nightclub, using bright colors and odd cuts in harmony.
       The film's most memorable scene is the very end, in which Harold runs off while Eileen looks for him amidst the Democratic National Convention Riots. While Eileen is there, we see real footage of police brutality. Wexler predicted a riot at the convention, yet not the fact the police instigated the incident. The riot sequence is more a historial document that a part of the film's narrative, though it feeds the environment and tone of the film. It is edited in such a way that we never forget where we are: The convention, yet still with Eileen. The plot still lives even through the reality of the footage, a feat nearly impossible to pull off.
       However, Medium Cool is mainly remembered as a time capsule rather than a work of film. Truthfully, I admire its structure greatly, as well as the risks it took. The film succeeds at its ambitious reach, standing as both a history and a work of art.

LIFEBOAT (Alfred Hitchcock, 1944)

       I must apologize, non-existent readers, for missing a few days. I'll be busier now, as I'm returning to University in a few days, but I'll try to keep up. And what a way to get back- Hitchcock's birthday. I figured since I looked at Bunuel (and hopefully I'll look at his films one by one soon) I should cover old Hitch, a director everyone should admire. Covering all of Hitchcock is too much, so for this week I'll look at a few of his films, starting with one of his strangest and weakest.
       Lifeboat instantly had me hooked with the premise- survivors from a  WWII attack are stuck on a lifeboat, and take on a German from the U-Boat that sunk them. Hitchcock utilizes the limited setting well, as one would expect, allowing us to grow attached to the characters and the setting. The film is well directed and shot certainly, like all of Hitchcock, but surprisingly it feels bare, and even downright ugly under the surface.
       Perhaps the biggest problem lies in the script, based on a story by John Steinbeck, although the acclaimed novelist was supposedly displeased by the adaptation. The film is solely a product of its time. Bill, the African-American man on the boat, or portrayed as a weak stereotype, forever grateful to his white saviors. Even for the forties, where a modern audience needs to have some patience with stereotypes on screen, its exhausting and off-putting.
       But the biggest issue is even more of a remnant- the total villainization of Germans. The U-Boat captain is simply an evil twisted man, but is meant to resemble all Germans in an incredibly ugly caricature. The Captain attempts to steer out boat directly to his own ship, leading all of the survivors into capture, and freeing himself, and also hoards water from the others. The film concludes shockingly, as the survivors straight up beat the man nearly, if not completely, to death, throw him off the boat, and bash him with an oar to prevent him from boarding.
        However, the ugliest and most dated scene of the film is when the lifeboat is spotted by a Nazi ship, which is soon bombed. The lifeboat picks up another German, a young sailor, who draws a gun on the survivors. Now, doing this is not only pathetic, but also cowardly, further bringing down the reputation of the German in Lifeboat. And of course, the German in ultimately weak when confronted, seen when the survivors strip him of the gun easily, leaving his fate to them as they swarm him, and ending with the question:

"What do you do with people like that?"

       Even for a piece of propaganda, that's pretty terrible, especially with the Hitchcock and Steinbeck names attached. I know I dealt mainly with the plot, which is unfair in a way, since the film itself, from a technical standpoint, is pretty outstanding, exploring a small space well and bouncing back between characters, and films like Birth of a Nation get passes for controversial content because of their merit. While I think that could be true and one needs to look at the time period to analyze a film, Lifeboat's importance isn't on par with BoaN. However, Lifeboat should still be seen as a technical piece and viewed through the lens that the film is a trumped up propaganda piece when analyzing the messages.
     

MONSIEUR VERDOUX (Charles Chaplin, 1947)

       Today, Charlie Chaplin is perhaps the most recognizable icon in film history, and at least silent film's most recognizable icon. Chaplin is pretty much only remembered for his tramp character, which he lived under for his entire career. Even his 1940 transition to talking pictures, The Great Dictator, a highly political comedy which satirizes Adolph Hitler, uses a tramp-look-alike, even though Chaplin insisted that this was not the tramp. Chaplin only completely left the charcter behind in the dark comedy Monsieur Verdoux.
       Chaplin is the title character, a french family man who, after being left jobless in the stock crash, began to wed and murder wealthy woman, feeling completely justified in his actions to acquire money for his family. The idea was first conceived by Orson Welles, who was very close to directing (and partially writing) the film, but Chaplin grew uncomfortable with the notion of not having total control. Welles later said that his version would have been better, not that Chaplin's was bad. Welles, I believe, was right on both counts.
       Chaplin, of course, shows his acting brilliance as Verdoux, and the film shines at several moments. Perhaps the most blatantly hilarious scene involves Verdoux trying to kill a wife while fishing, and failing miserably at every attempt. Some supporting characters, like the family of one of his victims, are just fantastic, as the entire family seems to be completely incompetent.
       However, Chaplin was not a great director, and is stuck in the silent era with his flat images and closed spaces. Sure, its not bad, but Welles could have certainly made a more visually interesting film. Chaplin also seemed to struggle with the other side of film creation, not knowing what to do with the story of the actors. The plot of Verdoux's family is woefully underdeveloped, and has zero closure. It's assumed they die, or at least leave, but we never know. They simply evaporate from the film. The beautiful swedish ex-convict has zero development, and we hardly know her. It is fine when Verdoux lets her go, but when she reappears at the film's end, it is hard to care about her now. Another issue lies with the ending. Like the Great Dictator, we have another monologue, this time in the form of a closing court statement, but it now seems detached from the film. Dictator's monologue is seperate from the film as well, but at least has some ties. The sweeping statement from Verdoux, where the character points out society's acceptance of war and soldiers but condemns those that murder "one, instead of millions" is powerful, but oddly inserted.
       It is easy to see why Verdoux was unpopular at the time and resulted in a hit to Chaplin's reputation. Not only is the hero a murderer and without remorse, he is anti-religious, anti-war, and anti-nationalist, and is depicted as a certain gentleman. Chapin was later exiled for his communist sympathies, after Limelight. Despite Verdoux's flaws, and the fact that it could have been a masterpiece with a Welles-Chaplin collaboration, it is still a solid and entertaining film.

ONLY GOD FORGIVES (Nicholas Winding Refn, 2013)

     

         Maximization is the easiest way to hide terrible craftmanship. If you have nothing except sex, you have porn. Nicholas Winding Refn tries to prove that with nothing but violence you have art. Well, in a way, of course you do. Porn is art as well.
        Now, Refn wants us to believe there is a deep meaning behind the pretentious mess that is Only God Forgives. Sure, there's some "symbolism" alluding to a man's anger towards an ultimately powerful God, and futile attempts to betray God, and an ultimate penance. However, everything is so blunt and obvious, it requires zero work from the audience member. Now, people claim OGF gets bashed because people didn't expect an art film. True critics can adapt their expectations, as I did, but OGF  is just shallow and full of itself. But really, that shouldn't shock me.
        Like Refn's other work, OGF is flooded with bright colors and pulsing electronic music. The characters talk stiffly, and here, its essentially a self-parody of the language in Drive and the awful Valhalla Rising. While not awful, I must say that Drive is not the masterpiece many claim it is. The atmosphere is cool as hell, but the film is pretentious and dopey, obviously striving to be remembered as the "unconvential classic" that college pot heads have posters of in their dorm rooms. OGF lacks the cool atmosphere. The color pallet actually becomes boring as hell. However, the soundtrack is interesting, but unfortunately its piled upon layers and layers of uninteresting. Its like a layered dip made of rancid meat, curdled sour cream, acidic and slimy beans, soggy chips, wilted lettuce, and some pretty good Cheddar. Who the hell cares if the cheese is good? No ones going to notice.
         The film is just so obvious yet striving to stay edgy and mysterious, its just goofy. The violence, most of the time, means nothing. The Kareokee scenes are just goddamn stupid, as are scenes of Chang, one of the blandest villains I've ever seen, possibly even trumping the gangsters in Mud. Yeah, he's a warlord, but look how he treats his daughter!!! I mean, how many times have we seen that? I don't even think it's possible to count.
        I don't even know how else to convey that this film is awful, yet I understood every goddamned second of it. It's so shallow, yet think's its the deep end, and you an practically imagine a stoned Refn sitting at an end of a bed, explaining to you while using his hands animatedly "Yeah, but, Chang, man, he's like a God, and Ryan Gossling, I mean Julian, man, he's like, I don't know, uh, working for Satan. His family, they're sinners, man, and he fights and fights, until he realizes 'Oh shit, man.' But then God, I mean, Chang, man, his brand of forgivness is sacrifice. His hands, man. I'm gonna show his hands, cuz that's all he has, man. Oh, and red. I'm gonna show a lot of red. And Blue. Because of, like, satan and god, man." I am actually offended that Refn wants people to buy into this obvious, insulting, exceedingly violent for violence's sake piece of neon coated shit, and just depressed that people do.
       Refn has proven to me, without a doubt in the world, that he is a hack. Refn's filmography is a bastardized orphan of Kubrick, Lynch, Michael Mann, and Quentin Tarantino, yet has no idea what to do with his influences, so throws everything into a blender and pours out goddamn messes every time. At least Drive is watchable, even re-watchable, despite it's flaws and annoying tendencies and tones, but OGF is just unbearable.

Luis Bunuel Retrospective Pt. 3- LAST FILMS IN FRANCE

       After Simon of the Desert, a short personal film, Bunuel moved permanently went to work in France. Bunuel still lived in Mexico, but went back to France every few months to make a film. Here, Bunuel slowly became more avant-garde and unlearned much of his commercial narrative flair. This work is, in my opinion, his most daring, admirable and ambitious, and much of it has not been replicated since. All of Bunuel’s work from this period is preserved with high-quality prints, and is readily available, much of it published by the well-respected Criterion Collection.

       Belle de Jour and Tristana, both starring Catherine Deneuve, stick with rather traditional narratives, not that is in any way a bad thing. Denueve plays similar characters- repressed young woman restricted by their men. in Belle De Jour, Denueve is a sexually repressed housewife, while in Tristana, she is essentially held captive by her uncle, Fernando Rey in a role similar to Viridiana’s domineering uncle. Both films return to Bunuel’s themes of repression, and Tristana in particular features several religiously charged images, such as the massive bell over Toledo, showing the showing the power of religion over all.

       Bunuel’s late career is defined by a “trilogy” of absurd, abstract films he made in the late sixties and early seventies- The Milky Way, The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie, and The Phantom of Liberty. All three have loose, sprawling narratives, and are only linked thematically. The Milky Way deals exclusively with religion, showing Bunuel’s issue with the organization, not the belief in Christ or in Christ’s teaching.

       The Milky Way follows two pilgrims on the Way of St. James, making their way to see a shrine (The Way of St. James was the original title of the bright strip of stars in the sky, and thus the film’s title). The two come across various oddities, including blind fortune tellers, odd banquets, and executions. The two seem to traverse through time and space, meeting figures dressed in all kinds of garb, from modern suits, to fancy cloaks, to simple sheets like Romans. The film ends with a powerful scene, showing Christ, who we see throughout the film as a real human, laughing and such, heal two blind men and ignore their requests to have their first sights explained to them while he states that his mission on earth is to tear humanity apart with his beliefs. The healed blind men follow Christ with their walking sticks, unable to cross a ditch without feeling across it. Although they now have the power of sight, they can’t see the world better at all, which is Bunuel’s opinion on religious enlightenment.

        Discreet Charm broadened its attack, mocking the upper society’s ambitions and fears, still laying into Christianity, with the powerful character of the vengeful priest, forgiving his parents’ killer on the guy’s deathbed moments before blowing his head off. The plot travels through dreams, stories, and dreams within dreams, focusing on a group of upper class friends who want to dine together, but simply cannot. The film is widely regarded as Bunuel’s masterpiece, winning him the Best Foreign Language Film Academy Award, and finally thrusting him into the public forefront. Sure, Viridiana, Exterminating Angel and Belle de Jour were well known, but Discreet Charm surpasses them all in name recognition.

         Bunuel then returned to some good ol’ fashioned surrealism with the ever-bizarre and free Phantom of the Liberty, a sprawling series of loosely connected vignettes, some basically operating as ideas Bunuel found interesting or humorous, jotted down, and then filmed. He explores all of his favorite themes in depth, with a young man sleeping with his Aunt, priests drinking and gambling but repelled by sex, and a young girl reported missing despite being in the same room as her parents and the police, and all adults directly addressing her. Perhaps the funniest and strangest image is when Bunuel returns to dining, having a group of upper-class friends sit around the table on toilets, talking only about deification, while the mere mention of food is repulsive. One man pulls up his pants, excuses himself, and asks the maid quietly where the dining room is. He talk himself in a small stall and opens a cabinet, revealing a chicken dinner he cuts into. The vignette satirizes the criteria of social selection- easily we can see how eating could be considered gross, and we could be trained to accept pooping as normal. In fact, pooping is more natural than easting, and much more universal.

         Bunuel’s final film, That Obscure Object of Desire, returns to a more traditional narrative but with a good amount of experimentation. The film tells the story of an older man, Fernando Rey, who falls madly in love with a young woman, played by two different actresses in alternating scenes. One actress is kind to our hero, while the other one openly taunts him and denies him of sex actively. The film is undercut with a deeply paranoid plot of terrorist takeover, showing the certain triviality of Rey’s quest.

        Four years after Obscure Object, Bunuel died at age eighty-three. Although I wouldn’t say he was forgotten, many of his films have been overlooked and are essentially unavailable in America. Tristana was just made available this year, while only three films- Obscure Object, Tristana, and Belle de Jour are available on Blu-Ray in America (although one can easily get an import of Discreet Charm and L’Age D’or on the high definition disc). Besides that, many of his later films are on DVD, while many of his Mexican films, I’d even say the bulk, are not even on a major DVD. Many exist on terrible prints, and some are not even available on a torrent website. Bunuel certainly gets respect, but certainly demands more. I urge that some company work on getting this master’s prints and finally doing them justice. I know there are financial factors at play, but I’m sure that consumers exist, and if a company like Criterion picks up the rights, the market will be created with Criterion’s tendency to build up buzz for under-appreciated titled, like what it did with the Pierre Etiax collection earlier this year. Perhaps Bunuel’s “lesser” works can be collected in an eclipse set, while many could be stand-alone releases.

         Bunuel still hold audiences to this day. His style is very straight-forward and unpretentious, nearly invisible at times but always working and shocking audiences with powerful themes and imagery. Thirty Years after his death, Bunuel is still remembered fondly and loved by many, and hopefully major interest in him will grow in the upcoming years.

MCCABE AND MRS MILLER

  Robert Altman, one of the American masters of cinema, at least in my opinion, made a major impact on the Western genre by essentially grounding it in reality with McCabe and Mrs. Miller, taking several tired cliches, reverting them, and adding in a dose of realism. McCabe, an odd gambler and unconventional hero, attempts to build up a railroad town, bringing in prostitutes, gambling and pubs, turing the quiet snowy land into the quintessential wild west town, drawing eyes from major businesses. Mrs. Miller comes in with her own prostitutes to help McCabe, and the two embark on an ultimately doomed relationship.
        The film’s cinematography is absolutely gorgeous, using long takes and slightly overexposed film to give it a washed out, old-time sepia look. The film perfectly utilizes one of my favorite musicians, the incomparable singer-poet Leonard Cohen, using several tracks from his debut album. The rest of the sound, however, is the film’s greatest weakness. It seems Altman and his crew miked  every person, then decided to mix the track later, giving it a foggy, muddy noise.
       McCabe is essentially a dirt bag, unscrupulous and greedy, but falls for the opium addicted Mrs. Miller, who like-wise falls from him. Warren Beatty and Julie Christie are both fantastic, putting aside their real-life romance to portray two lovers who are completely incompatible.
       McCabe dooms himself by attempting to play hard ball with two representatives of a massive corporation, who resent his games and leave before he can accept their offer. The company sends a hulking man with two toughs to end McCabe, but unlike most brutes seen in Westerns, the huge man is sophisticated, intelligent, and suave, easily outsmarting and weakening McCabe psychologically and ruining his reputation in town. Now, McCabe is alone, and must defeat the enemies.
       But Beatty is no Gary Cooper, and does not march out into the streets to fight against his foes. McCabe is a weasel, and thus acts like one, or at least the audience would view him as cowardly if expecting a Western. Truthfully, it is just realistic. He shoots his enemies in their back, a major faux pas in Western lore, and sneaks in hide in the fresh falling snow.
       Christie, meanwhile, feeds her addiction, and smokes opium while McCabe defeats the leader of the posse, but dies in the process. Ultimately, the film is about the relation between the title characters, and its doomed, incompatible nature, having to end on the definitive note of McCabe dying alone in the snow.

LONESOME (Paul Fejos, 1928)

       A major flaw with modern audiences' perception of film is the overemphasis on story and audiences' fixation of it even when it is unimportant and only aids a theme. Some films can have great visuals, yet not hold up at all because of the lack of story and the fact that it attempts to make the story important and a true fixture of the film, like a "traditional" film. A film like this would be Tarsem's The Fall, a shallow, stupid film with admittedly lovely issues.
       Two late silent era films are often criticized today for their lack of an interesting story, relying on old cliches of love. The first is Sunrise, which is certainly the more well-known of the two, but the second is Paul Fejos's often forgotten Lonesome. Lonesome was lost for many years, and could be criticized for its run-of-the-mill plot- two lonely individuals meet and fall in love, only by knowing each others first name, and soon are separated. The plot doesn't do much, but Lonesome is still a spectacle to behold today, with its unconventional structure, awesome tinting and hand-painting, and its odd use of sound and dialogue.
         Paul Fejos, a European who was a doctor and anthropologist as well as a filmmaker, builds the atmosphere of Lonesome by first dissecting New York city at a whole. Much of the film serves as a New York city symphony, which was an early documentary mode, most famously seen in Veratov's Man with the Movie Camera. The first inter-title describes New York as a machine, and we soon see its inner workings through an array of shots, and a good amount of superimpositions. This graphic structure itself is interesting, and makes up most of the film. A good portion of the film takes place at (presumably) Coney Island on the Fourth of July weekend, serving as an event documentary, displaying the sprawl of the city and its often dehumanizing effect. This theme aids the simple plot, and takes the weight of the theme off of the literal story.
       Tinting and hand-painting of old film is a technique that still impresses to this day, as one can really appreciate the amount of hard work one puts into the process. On top of that, it just looks beautiful. Fejos changes the color of the tint on a mid-shot of the two lovers multiple times, while a great sequence shows the gentle coloring and lighting of a two lovers, alone on a bench (despite the fact that the dock is always packed besides this scene, and in fact, the lovers almost lose each other in the herd, but is empty for this one shot, which works emotionally instead of literally-rare for such an old film) adorned in yellow amongst a dark blue surrounding, again showcasing a "us and them" mentality, separating lovers from the swamp around them.
       It is worth noting that Lonesome was an incredibly early sound film, I believe Universial's first, and only three or four scenes have spoken words. However, the dialogue is just bizarre, stilted, and hokey, reminding me of the great early sound parody "Tomatoes Another Day." The last sound sequence shows a confusing dialogue between the man and a cop, where the police commander speaks with sarcasm, but it is completely covert- and intended to be so, since our hero is upset. The dialogue is usually incredibly weak, but the one instance of deliberate toying with tone is an interesting direction experiment.
       Lonseome is far from perfect, and it certainly makes sense why it was forgotten for so long. It is a strange, strange film which doesn't ever really know what it wants to be. However, its indecision makes it incredibly interesting and certainly worth a watch. All in all, Lonesome's oddity warrants a watch for its history and sustained entertainment value.

Luis Bunuel Retrospective- Pt. 2- THE MEXICAN JOURNEYMAN

       Luis Bunuel was specifically brought in to Mexico to be a commercial director, and ultimately was, working mainly in melodrama, yet always including a personalized surreal touch that he had perfected. To quote the Swedish mater Ingmar Bergman, "Bunuel always made Bunuel films." Bunuel's style always surfaced in one way or another, be it in dream sequences, themes, or certain images. Bunuel made the bulk of his filmography in Mexico, from La Grand Casino to Simon of the Desert. 
        This is the area where Bunuel receives his distinction of under appreciated and often forgotten, at least in America. Many of these films are completely unavailable in America on DVD, or at least very, very, rare. I admittedly have not even seen the bulk of them since they are just unavailable. Terrible Mexican video companies own the rights to many of the films, and utterly refuse to sell them or even release them on DVD. The subtitles often have typos, and the image is a true travesty.
       Bunuel's earliest film of the period that garnered serious attention was Los Olvidados, a Bunuel-take on the neo-realist movement that was capturing world cinema. Bunuel takes his camera to the streets, using non-actors and real settings to show the plight of youths forgotten by society. Bunuel's major touch comes in the form of a dream sequence, with slow-motion feathers floating to the ground, a la Vigo's Zero du Conduit and a bloodied dead boy laughing on the ground. The sequence is truly stunning, and hides the otherwise bleak nature of the film for just a moment. Bunuel is brutal and relentless in his portrayal of poverty.
       Another major film for the period is El, returning to literally examine the theme of sexual repression and obsession, showing a man who loves the very idea of a woman so much he is willing to do anything to hold onto her. The film is stacked with Bunuel's religious iconography and carries serious criticism for the Catholic church, where a priest not only refuses to help the tortured heroine, but actually rats her out to her husband. This is an early direct example of Bunuel's treatment of religious hypocrisy, which was later visited time and time again.
       Again, I must lament the fact that so many of these films are unavailable, including Ensayo de un Crimen, Susana, Subida Au Cielo, and Wuthering Heights. It represents a huge blind spot in our consciousness of a great filmmaker who overcame producers to stay true to his vision. I dream that one day a company like Criterion will pick up these titles and finally do them justice.
       Bunuel's most acclaimed film of the period is Nazarin, a film that is thematically similar to his well-known follow-up. Nazarin follows Father Nazzario, an idealistic and certainly good Catholic priest who risks his reputation for a prostitute and constantly battles the church. The story is a critique of the cold church and of idealism and general, yet it also parodies the story of Christ. Nazario is often mistaken as a "second coming" type figure. Two of the prostitutes follow the man to the world's end, even though he urges them against it, saying he is just a humble man. Nazario arrives at a village where a young girl is sick. The villagers urge him to perform a miracle, which he refuses, but he does pray for the girl. The next morning, the woman praise the priest, but he insists God intervened. However, Nazario is silent when the group stumbles upon a massive disaster, and is unable to help anyone, even unable to hear a woman's confession as she is fixated only on seeing her lover. The film's final image is incredibly powerful, involving intense despair and a pineapple. Although I covered what seems like a good amount, much more is in store in the film and  do not wish to spoil.
       The follow-up was made not in Mexico, but was instead Bunuel's return to Spain. I don't mean to exaggerate, but Viridana may be my all-time favorite film, and is, in my opinion, cinematic perfection. The story is mainly a critique of idealism, but dives in against organized religion, obsession, lust, chastity, poverty, and sensitivity. It's a truly deep and spellbinding work that follows a cold young nun as she visits her uncle. Perhaps that may not sound thrilling, but I urge anyone to watch it. I do not wish to give away a single detail of the plot explicitly. The film's message is best seen in an odd image Bunuel presents to us- a character sees a dog tied to the bottom of a cart. The character is shocked, as if the tired Dog stops moving, it will be strangled. The character attempts to convince the owner to let the dog in the cart, and when  the owner refuses, the character outright buys the dog, much like what our heroine Viridiana does with the beggars. However, as out character walks away with the dog, another cart passes, which has another dog walking under it, tied to the axle. It's a hugely powerful and slightly abstract image that perfectly captures the film.
        Bunuel's next film, The Exterminating Angel, made again in Mexico but attempting to look like France, offers another abstract analogy, this time taking on the ruling class directly. A dinner party, for unknown reasons, cannot leave a room. In such a simple, absurd concept, Bunuel shows us his opinion of the human lab rats that make up the upper class, stuck in the regime of parties and excess. AT the film's end, the priest and church goers in a Catholic cathedral suffer the same fate.
        This period of Bunuel's career is characterized with his most accessible and straight-forward films, as they were made with the intention of profitability first and foremost. Bunuel's later career is defined by him attempting to unlearn the narrative trick of this period, creating more challenging and difficult films.
     

Luis Bunuel retrospective- Part 1- EARLY LIFE AND EXPERIMENTS

       July 29th, 1983 (30 years ago, today) marked the death of Luis Bunuel. To some who consider themselves fans of film, this may not mean anything, while it may mean everything to some. Luis Bunuel, despite his sterling reputation (for example, They Shoot Pictures lists him as one of the three "master" directors, meaning a perfect 10, along with Howard Hawks and Alfred Hitchcock), is criminally unwatched and undervalued among the general public. Many of his films are rare and hard to find, but I'll get into that later.
       Now, I have written on Bunuel much before, but now, I just don't want to republish something, which I've done on a few occasions. My writings on Bunuel earlier were academic and lengthy. Perhaps I will publish it at a later date, but for now, I will write new material. I may borrow from my previous writings, however.
       Now, perhaps a little bit of background on Bunuel is needed to truly understand him. Bunuel was born in 1901 in Spain, and grew up in a religious aristocratic family, two relations which run deeply through pretty much every film he has ever done. Additionally, Bunuel admits in his (excellent) biography that he was very sexually oppressed, another constant theme. When he was eighteen, he went of to University in Madrid, where he met several creative minds that like Federico Garcia Lorca and Salvador Dali, with whom he would be closely affiliated.
       Bunuel's artistic awakening came in Paris in the late 1920s. At this time, he allied with many of the surrelists, such as Max Ernst. One of the most fascinating parts of Bunuel's biography The Last Sigh is that the book works as a first-hand report of the surrealist movement, and Bunuel really dives into what the movement was in his eyes- less artistic, and more of a new system of reality which rejected everything society cherished. In Paris, Bunuel worked as an assistant for the early French silent director Jean Epstien.
       In 1929, Bunuel and Dali set out to make a film with funds Bunuel secured from his mother, despite her never actually seeing the film, and never expressing any interest in doing so. The result was Un Chien Andalou, which still is Bunuel's most popular film, although it does not show off the director's skills sufficiently. Bunuel's genius was in story-telling, and Un Chien  is pure non-narrative, and Bunuel stated several times that it is supposedly total nonsense. I must admit that when I was an early teenager I first heard of Bunuel through Un Chien, where he was essentially just "the guy that's not Dali."
       Un Chien Andalou had an instant and massive influence, specifically for its odd structure and bizarre images, which in fact does capture much of Bunuel's essence. Perhaps one of cinema's most iconic images is the woman being held by a man (who is actually Bunuel) as we see a cloud slice through the moon. Then we see an eye sliced (where, yes, the name of this blog comes from) with plasma oozing from the slit. It's instantly memorable, as is another fantastic image, of a man weighed down by a dead donkey, a grand piano, and two perplexed priests (one of whom was Dali), which represents a recurring Bunuel theme- the strains of upper society and religion on all aspects of one's life. Dali's influence can be felt in many of the images, such as ants crawling through a man's hand. Bunuel's dreams were much more rooted in a worldly reality than Dali's, which kept him grounded and decidely unpretentious.
       Next, Dali and Bunuel collaborated one more time before breaking their partnership permanently. This film was L'Age D'Or and is certainly much more Bunuel's than Dali's. The collaboration was fading quickly due to the emergence of Galla Dali, Dali's falling out with the surrealists, and that the duo simply wasn't as inspired together as they once were. The film was just over an hour long, and bore the distinction of being one of the earliest sound films made in France. The film is certainly a spiritual sequel to Un Chien and resembles it like no other part of Bunuel's filmography. Here, Bunuel revisits many of the same themes, but takes an extra blade out towards the church with the final scene, which is a reenactment of a scene from De Sade's 120 Days of Sodom with Jesus as the perverse duke. The Christ figure comforts a young girl, leads her back into the cave, and after a scream, he emerges, now without a beard. The final image is a cross adorned in scalps of women, which implies violence against woman is the trademark of church history.
        Compared to Bunuel's later filmography, his first two films are unique and worth visiting, but certainly do not reflect Bunuel's filmography at all. Bunuel was so much more than chocking imagery, and I have a tough time getting some people to watch any of his films if they are familiar and dislike his trademark eye slice. L'Age D'or shocked France so much that it caused riots and was banned by the government until 1980. Bunuel fled France, not returning until the 1960s. He went to Spain, where he filmed the thirty minute Las Hurdes, financed for a minimal amount of money.
        Las Hurdes receives a good amount of recognition for its status as an early documentary, and one of the earliest with such a political statement like showing the crippling poverty of regions in Spain. We see several shocking images again, but now, they are rooted within reality. We see close ups of a young girls mouth, as we hear that in a few days, the toddler will be dead. A donkey is stung to death by a hoard of bees while orchestral music and a dry narration goes forth. Bunuel again seizes an opportunity to attack a favorite target by focusing on a massive structure among this wasteland- a catholic cathedral, of course.
        Las Hurdes again caused huge controversy, halting Bunuel from making any films from years to come. Bunuel fled Spain for the United States on the heels of the Spanish Civil War, where he would have certainly been viewed as a political threat subject to assassination. Bunuel landed in Los Angeles at first, living with Charlie Chaplin for some time (Chaplin allegedly used to scare his daughter, Geraldine, by telling her images from Un Chien Andalou  before bedtime) and then worked at the studio. Eventually, his wife came over with his two sons, and the director moved to New York, where he was on the MoMa board before Communist ties forced him to resign. Bunuel was broke in New York with no job and no prospects, until an old friend living in Mexico contacted him with a directing opportunity. The year was 1947, and Bunuel had not been behind a camera in fifteen years, and had never even made a feature length narrative, but he accepted the job to make La Gran Calavera.

FRUITVALE STATION (2013, Ryan Coogler)

       Few directorial debuts have garnered as much attention as Ryan Coogler's Fruitvale Station, which won the top prize at Sundance as well as a huge amount of relevancy in the wake of the Trayvon Martin shooting. The film, which was just recently released nation-wide, tells the story of Oscar Grant, a young man who was unjustly shot by police early on New Year's Day. That is no spoiler, as the film assumes you know the story, which was national news a few years ago, and how the film markets itself as the last few hours in a man's life.
       Dealing with such an intimate and real-life situation such as Oscar Grant's death requires a great amount of polished talent to make the story dramatic and interesting. Coogler just doesn't have it, although he certainly shows flashes of potential. Too often the film aims too low, and the first hour simply shows how nice of a guy Oscar Grant is. Sure, he was a drug dealer and was in prison, but he's over that! In a particularly ridiculous early scene, Grant pets a dog at a gas station, and moments later when the dog is hit by a car, we see Grant moan and cry. Coogler is prodding us to go "Look, he cried about a dog, how nice!" Coogler seems unconfident that an audience would accept a former convict as a nice guy, so he pads the film with all sorts of ridiculous scenes showing off how damn nice this guy is, bluntly telling us rather than showing anything. However, despite the weaknesses of the writer-director, Michael B. Jordan does a fairly good job, especially given his hokey material.
      The cinematography is also a major issue, as Coogler and his D.P. resort to the current mark of current low-budget cinema- sloppy shallow focus. Fruitvale may be a prime example of the aestetic, where the D.P. shoots mainly in closeup and occasionally shifts focus for no reason (well, his reasoning is to show the "distorted nature of the scene", but really, it just looks cool. It's typically totally unneeded.) Nichol's Mud is another prime example of poor usage of this technique, while Ciranfrance's A Place Beyond the Pines uses it exceptionally well, shooting characters behind patterns and structures, letting the textures and not the open area be blurred.
       After an hour of Lifetime Movie-grade fluff, the film slowly grows into its own during a short, energetic scene of Oscar and his friends having a good time. The film shows a more realistic side of Oscar, as he's not helping people at every turn and talking to old women playing with flowers.
       The climax, where Oscar is shot, also carries a certain energy to it, and is well-shot and acted. Here, the film is at its absolute strongest. The sequence is heavily indebted to Spike Lee's Do The Right Thing, which still stands on its own. Afterward, we are truly kept in suspense through realistic operation scenes, but ultimately, the film whithers back to its sentimental roots. After a long speech by his mother that any viewer could see coming forty minutes ago, we see Oscar playing with his daughter again to an overexposed film. Of course. It's such a typical ending that it robs any emotional climb the last twenty minutes built.
       Fruitvale, quite simply, is poor melodrama which refuses to let its characters breathe and its audience watch on its own. The audience is taken by the hand and told directly how nice Oscar was despite his past, as we could never get that without seeing him cry over dead dogs, Grandmas picking flowers, sneaking his daughter fruitsnacks, and weepy mom-alogues. Despite good performance and a few bursts of creative potential, Fruitvale Station is a melodramatic film that insults its audience by hand-feeding them every detail, robbing any possibility of true drama and intrigue.

SPING BREAKERS (Harmony Korine, 2013)

       Harmony Korine, the low budgeted, inventive, and likely crazy auteur known for semi-experimental films such as Julien Donkey-Boy, Gummo, Mr. Lonely and Trash Humpers shocked the film community by announcing Spring Breakers, utilizing several former Disney stars and documenting a Spring Break party lifestyle.
       Even though it still had a small budget, the film drew in many high-profile stars, such as former Disney products Selena Gomez (who still has ties with the mouse, so plays the moral center of the group), and Vanessa Hudgens, as well as ABC Family star Ashley Benson. The girls, along with Rachel Corine, are "typical" college girls who declare that they need a break from getting drunk and high at school by getting drunk and high in Florida, and to raise funds, rob a restaurant.
       Korine already is presenting something atypical and unexpected, even to those who think they know what they are getting in to. The structure itself is especially bizarre, since the plot focuses on the group on break at first, before even introducing the main catalyst of the plot, Alien.
       The editing style is particularly noteworthy, as it often functions in an upfront and direct manner. Honestly, it is hard for me to explain in words what Korine does, but I can compare it to Dennis Hopper's work on Easy Rider, where he flashes several images to bridge scenes, and in one instance, shows an event well into the future. Korine plays with the chronology frequently, for example, showing a character bleeding and crying from a gunshot wound before the shot is even fired.
       The film at a whole is just very strange, starting from its story and language. The film operates very symbolically and covertly, often color coding the information and working in layers of meaning. However, sometimes the story can be just much too blunt and straightforward by how absurd the images and characters are supposed to be, yet it doesn't give the sense it even know it.
       The film's biggest star arrives nearly halfway through the film in James Franco, playing a crazy drug dealer, Alien, who very well could be a stand in for Korine himself, injecting a level of chaos and insanity into the already bizarre adventures of our main characters while we can practically hear Harmony Korine cackle off screen.
       Alien certainly brings the issue of good and evil into our minds, but why? We already know what the girls are capable of after the early robbery. Perhaps we are meant to see how low they went, and how some of them will attempt to escpae, drawing out of the chaos. Morality? Injury? Both play a role in some of the girls' insistance to stop the experiment. The film represents how different people react when a situation is escalated to absurd extremes, yet is less of a character piece than it is a study of the "party" mindset that thrives in many youths. Spring Breakers can sometime be a bit meandering and sometimes too spoken-out and obvious, but it is truly beautifully and originally shot, and offers up a fresh take on college films, in a way that certainly isn't intended for its subjects.

The growing distance between film and television

       Television, with the birth of original, in-depth programming such as Breaking Bad, has been seen as a more artistic and in depth story telling medium than ever before. Content is riskier and freer than what broadcast television could ever offer. Shows can now tell completely inter-connected stories without trying to bring in new viewers week after week. Now, with the internet, viewers can get caught up to date on their own time.
       Some even argue that television is the new place to tell in-depth dramatic stories, and film is becoming a mix of two extremes- low-budget indies, and high-budget popcorn fare. Studios no longer want to take the risk on higher budget dramas, and the public suggests that television is the place to tell them. If Game of Thrones was published ten years earlier, it would likely be a movie series. To many, television is the medium to tell new dramatic stories. It makes sense in a way- you can obviously go so much more in depth by telling a story over twelve hours than in two or three.
       Now, I don't mean to generalize here- there have been some great higher budget dramatic films in the last few years, such as Lincoln, and the superiority of television is a pretty controversial opinion, even though many serious writers now swear by it. People seem to want to write for TV much more than film today, and see it as not only either to get into, but more exciting and free to work for.
       Film, to me at least, is more effective than television because of its brevity. The longest of (commercial) films run about 3 hours. Every frame holds so much power and meaning. Stories must be completely fulfilling within the small time frame, while an episode of a TV show must complete a small arch but is expected to leave many answers that can be picked up on. Sure, some films have sequels, but usually they are unexpected and only leave a few questions.
       Film, I also argue, is most certainly freer. A single 2-hour film can be made much cheaper than a small run of episodes for a television show that will garner serious attention. Film, when made on a small budget or with total freedom, can be much more experimental and adventurous. Television, I believe, will always be narrative. There will likely never be an experimental television show, and Television's modern rebirth simply means telling much more adults plots, like those on The Sopranos and Breaking Bad.
       In a lot of ways, the brevity and smaller scale (which lends to freedom) of film can never be replicated in an episodic television show, at least in its typical format that can be expanded upon for years and years. Mini-series are an entirely different case, like Fassbinder's Berlin Alexanderplatz, but there could never be a Season two of something as sprawling and unusual as that. As great as something like Breaking Bad, The Sopranos, or The Wire, I don't think its even possible to compare it to a two or three hour film. I won't say one is better than another, but simply different, and as a writer and filmmaker myself, I feel more comfortable and free working within a time frame that forces a critical exclusive editing process as intense as a film screenplay and feature film. Obviously, this is just an opinion, but I assert that the two mediums are simply incomparable, and their only shared similarity is that they are watched on the same screen.

DR STRANGELOVE (Stanley Kubrick, 1964)

        As relevant as it was in 1964 since the threat of nuclear war has not withered, Stanley Kubrick's first great film still is relatable, hilarious, terrifying and thrilling at the same time. Since I yet again am incredibly busy and poorly managed my time over the weekend, yet still want to keep the blog running at its rampant pace (even though, let's face it, no one fucking reads this, at least at the moment), I yet again have decided to republish an older essay.




        Throughout  Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 black comedy Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, Kubrick presents a bleak vision for the world’s demise: Nuclear weapons placed in the hands of bumbling, incompetent governments. However, Kubrick proposes that sex drives all decisions, including, or perhaps especially, matters concerning warfare, politics and public safety. Kubrick shows, through the framing of shots and the actions of the characters, that primitive male sexuality is to blame for much of war, and even directly compares war to the act of making love. Kubrick, through the use of complicated film language, creates a frighteningly possible scenario under the arms race, and critiques the world that allows such absurdities to occur.
Kubrick first introduces the concept of sex controlling the government with General Buck Turgidson, who is called into the war room while with his secretary and mistress. At first, the secretary alone occupies the frame, with Turgidson yelling back his responses. Then, Turgidson appears in a mirror behind his secretary. The shot displays the prominence of sex in politics, but also conveys how personal experiences and relationships often eclipse judgment and decisions. Later in film, Turgidson ignores the president discussing the grave situation at hand to field a phone call from his secretary, further proving the point suggested by Turgidson appearing far off in the mirrors. However, the most serious example of Turgidson putting his personal feelings and opinions first are shown when he must talk to the Soviet Ambassador. Turgidson is immediately distrustful, repeatedly mocks the ambassador politically and personally and refuses to civilly acknowledge him. Turgidson’s personal beliefs again take forefront, with rationality being forced in the background, at the film’s conclusion, when Turgidson describes how well pilots can jam radars. Turgidson excitedly explains that the pilots are trained to do so, failing to realize that if the pilots jam the radar and drop the bomb, the world is doomed. The general puts his arms out like airplane wings, and begins to demonstrate, before adamantly declaring that the bomber has a very good chance of getting through, before the reality of the situation hits him. Turgidson’s emotion based decisions is a sinister breed of ultra-patriotism, and relates back to Kubrick's image of a young, beautiful woman lounging in the foreground, with the half-naked general in the back, distorted from the reflection.
Similar to Turgidson, Jack D. Ripper, the renegade general, is motivated by similar thoughts of sexulaity and ultra-patriotism. Ripper is obsessed with the concept of “bodily fluids,” and his conspiracy theory that the Soviets were poisoning them with the fluoridation of water. Ripper says he first realized that his bodily fluids were tainted during sex, essentially meaning Ripper ordered a fleet of jets to bomb Russia, eventually destroying the world, because he experienced problems in bed. As Ripper first explains his theory, he is shot from an extreme low angle, with a cigar limply hanging from his lips, symbolizing his bedroom troubles. Ripper’s belief that the Russians poisoned America’s water supply in order to sap males of their sexual power is a display of “penis envy,”according to film critic Michael Hollister. Ripper’s belief that the jealous Russians want to deplete the sexual power of the American male is symbolic of the cold war itself, which Hollister explains is depicted in Dr. Strangelove as penis envy, where the two major world powers developed bigger and more powerful weapons, culminating in the doomsday machine. When the war room hears of the doomsday machine, the occupants are not disgusted and horrified, but instead ask why America has not developed a doomsday machine. Kubrick shows that much of politics consists of male-oriented envy and endless rounds of deadly competitions in order to show who is stronger, smarter, and ultimately, who has the biggest penis.
Ultimately, Dr. Strangelove in its entirety serves as an allegory for sex, according to film critic Tony Macklin. Beginning with the film’s opening titles, Kubrick’s film closely relates war to sex. As the opening titles roll, footage plays of two jets refueling in air. The imagery is obvious, as one jet hovers above the other and extends a long, stiff pole into to gas tank of the other. According to writer and filmmaker Chris Sheridan, the guns and planes in the film are direct reference to sex, further aiding Hollister’s theory of penile envy causing the film’s war and destruction. With the vessel being the penis, its ammunition acts as the ejaculate, further adding to Kubrick’s sex-focused interpretation of the arms race. As the film progresses, the penises and ejaculates become larger and larger, beginning with guns, then progressing to tanks, before turning to bombs. Near the film’s end, Major Kong straddles the hydrogen bomb between his legs and rides the weapon down to Russia, which is, as Sheridan explains “the largest penis and ejaculation imaginable.” The film end directly mirrors the foreplay of the beginning. As doomsday machine is triggered, atomic bombs detonate all over the world, signaling the ultimate orgasm. Throughout the course of the film, Kubrick mirrors war with the act of sex, beginning with foreplay and initial intercourse, ejaculation, and ending the film with the earth-shattering, universal orgasm.
Stanley Kubrick’s film serves as a critique of societies that support the notion of Mutually Assured Destruction, the theory that no nation will drop an atomic bomb, since an attack will always mean a counter-strike. Kubrick paints sex-obsessed characters, who are primarily motivated and controlled by sex, suggesting the primitive nature of man. However, when viewed as a whole, the entire film mirrors the physical act of making love, further demonstrating Kubrick’s view that war is ruthless, primitive, and, in some sense, natural. Kubrick recognized war as an essential aspect of human nature, albeit an ugly and undesirable one. Kubrick took solemn, grim topics, and even adapted Peter George’s Red Alert, a serious novel, into a peice of satire which shows the primitive, absurd nature of war.

STORIES THEY TELL (Sarah Polley, 2013)

       Sarah Polley's personal documentary Stories We Tell draws off of many influences, yet comes up with something truly original. Obviously Polley drew off a wide array of documentaries such as Capturing the Friedmans, Nobody's Business, and the works of Errol Morris, such as Thin Blue Line. Polley blends documentary and fiction in a twisting tale of domestic drama that makes us question commonly regarded facts of our own lives and always puts into doubt what we are seeing.
       Polley tells the story of her family, specifically her late mother, and her conception from an extra-martial affair. The story tells like a thriller, and every person has a unique angle to add- "both" of her fathers (biological and adoptive), siblings, and friends of her mother. The story is fresh and very interesting, despite being so personal, which usually does not make for good cinema. In reality, as the end reveals, Polley originally did not think this would be a publicly released feature.
       The way Polley compiles the film is truly fascinating. She conducts interviews with her family and friends in a playful manner, but when needed, can ask direct questions. Since we hear her questions, it is a prime example of how to conduct an interview with people you actually know- let them speak, be kind, but keep them focused and on track.
       Much of the film consists of "found footage." In reality, while some of it is legitimate, much is freshly shot footage on 16mm film. Actors were hired to play her younger family members, and in a particularly great sequence near the end, we see footage of Polley directing her family. Consistent with the real footage, there is no sound, and narration covers the reenactments, even in a reenacted scene that took place less than 10 years ago- where there was no reason to use 16mm or shoot without sound. I'm not complaining about a lack of authenticity, but simply marveling at the style Polley used.
       Polley also uses a scripted, rehearsed, and professionally recorded story that her adoptive father, who she still calls Dad, written with a developed literary flair. The shows Michael Polley in the recording studio and also runs footage over his narration, which is distinct from his interview. Sarah often instructs her father to read back lines, breaking our immersion in the film in a even more captivating way. Stories We Tell is a shining example of the successes when one makes a self-aware, conscious film.
       However, the film is really far from perfect. The last act drags on much to long- we know who her father is, we know how both families react, and we see reactions to the film, by this point. However, the film drags on and on, falsely sending about 5 times. Oh, there's a fade to black. Here's the end. Nope. Oh, a long pop song and we see every family members reaction, this is it. Nope. Okay, a touching monologue by her father, there's no way in hell this can continue, right? Wrong. I usually don't get bored in films, but really, the last third dragged on for infinity, and it was marginally entertaining at least. Most of it could be completed cut without any loss to the plot, and it was just frustrating to sit through. However, it really can't destroy the power and genius of the proceeded Hour and a half, but really tries its best.
      Despite that, Stories We Tell is a great, innovative documentary. Polley uses the form of film to her advantage to tell a captivating story that can only be told, at least this effectively, through film, bringing in many different modes to tell her story. The film is destined to be screened in film classes until the end of time, and I mean that in a good way. I just feel bad for the students around the hour-thirty mark.
     

ASHES AND DIAMONDS (Andrzej Wadja, 1958)

       Despite being critically praised, the films of Andrzej Wadja are criminally underwatched, and largely forgotten. Unlike the other underwatched filmmaker I constantly laud, Luis Bunuel, Wadja carries little name recognition despite the truly marvelous work that he often does. Ashes and Diamonds, made in the height of communist Poland in 1958, captures the tumultuous period of the nation at the tail end of WWII.
       From the first scene, the audience is instantly drawn in by three soldiers- a hardened commander, a double agent who also works for the communist leaning mayor, and Maciek, a young aloof soldier- and their botched attempt to assassinate a communist official. However, although we see most of film through Republican soldiers, the film refuses to make the targeted communist official a villian. We even see him attempting to rescue his long lost son from imprisonment, a move that ultimately seals his fate but allows us to view him in a very sympatetic light.
       When viewing Ashes and Diamonds, it is obvious that Wadja watched many American films of the time, notably Citizen Kane. Wadja utilizes deep focus in ways similar to Wells and constantly uses low angles and shadowy surroundings to emphasize the action. The film's climax just looks stunning, as the action occurs as fireworks celebrating German surrender explode in the background. One would think that sequence would only truly work in color so we could see the bright lights of the explosions, but I don't think that's true after seeing it. The white sparks against the black sky and grey figures is such a captivating memorable image, especially with the tense long take delivering the film's narrative climax.
       The film's strongest dynamic comes from its three leads. Maciek, the dreaming, relaxed, sunglass-wearing young man, falls in love and is quickly torn between his country and himself. Maciek shines in an early scene where he manipulates an old hotel clerk to give him a premium hotel room by discussing the old days of Warsaw, before the Uprising and destruction of most of the city. Maciek still has his eyes on using the old man, but is truly lost in the memories of the old city.
        However, perhaps the most entertaining storyline regards the double agent, as he lets an old drunkard in to an exclusive government engagement, and likely loses his job in the ensuing chaos. Drewnowski, uptight and seen as stupid by Maciek and Andrzej, the senior officer, allows himself to celebrate the German defeat and is soon coaxed in to drinking heavily by an old dunk man. Drewnowski, while intoxicated, can no longer keep his double life separate, and causes a scene by insulting the lauded mayor and allowing the old man to flip over tables. He loses his job, but when drunk, he doesn't care. We never get to see his reaction when he comes to the next morning, but that is a great thing. We get to debate ourselves what he thinks. Is he upset? Relieved? The character is so well written it could go either way.
        Wadja's film deserves to be seen more frequently. While it takes much from American cinema, cinema at a whole has taken much from it. It's loose structure, multitude of characters yet contained setting can be seen in many modern film, such as the work of Robert Altman. Ashes and Diamonds is a all around great film, whose influence is greater than its current recognition.

DO THE RIGHT THING (Spike Lee, 1989) and Trayvon Martin

       With the events of the past few days involving the Trayvon Martin-George Zimmerman trial, it only feels natural to discuss this film, and what it implies for race in America, and what it really means in relation to the trial. I've already heard it mentioned in regards to the "Not Guilty" verdict, a comparison I believe is wholly inaccurate.
       First, let's discuss the film's construction at a whole, trying to keep it spoiler free. Do The Right Thing, along with 12 Angry Men, uses heat in such a visible way to keep the tension high and rising that it is practically a character. People are quicker to anger, and speak more directly than they probably should. Lee's character Mookie walks around a Brooklyn neighborhood delivering pizza, trying to stay cool, physically and emotionally, as a minor protest is formed in front of Sal's pizzeria where he works, based on the race of the members of "the wall of fame."
       Race rears its head in many ways- ownership of the neighborhood, interracial romances, and racial ownership of ideas. But as the film progresses, its clear that Lee sees the world as Asians, African-Americans, Hispanic, and etc. against the white community. Sure, like the United States, whites are outnumbered in the neighborhood, but they still hold the power. The have the businesses. They have the antique brownstones. The still are the the power. For the record, as a white man, I completely belive this is true, and is even more confusing recently than it ever is. Black culture has been for nearly 100 years the cool scene in America, yet those that dictate the in, the cool, and the now are mainly white, and are very influenced by the caucasian power.
         The film builds as the heat rises in Brooklyn, and its climax falls just after sunset. A fight ends with police intervention and the murder of a young black man. Silence cuts through the street. Eyes are on Sal, who started the fight with racial slurs and insults. And then, Mookie, our relatable, likable, kindly hero, picks up a trashcan and hurls it through the window of the pizzeria- the crowd follows his action, and soon the pizzeria is a pile of ashes. Audiences are often repelled by the action, mainly because Mookie is the film's hero, and is definitely seen as a good person. But in the end of the day, its a pizzeria against a human life, and not just that, a human life that ended moments before, and one of Mookie's best friends.
        And it saddens me to hear this iconic and poignant scene in cinema brought up with the Martin-Zimmerman verdict. There are superficial similarities- neither victim was truly innocent, but neither deserved to die.  That's not even debatable in my mind. But now with the verdict? It is true Justice. We don't always get it. The world is a complicated place with complicated laws. I believe in the American Justice system, and it states that one must be guilty without reasonable doubt. There was doubt, twelve random citizens decided. And he is free.
        And you may not like it. But what do you know? Really, how do you know about this case? You only know what you are told. The jury has received the details of the case undiluted, without any bias, and thus they possess better judgment than anyone else hearing months of opinionated releases. It is still devastatingly sad, but that is all.
       Now, I hear people talk about Mookie throwing that trash can, and calling us to throw the trashcan at Zimmerman. Mookie's act was not meditated. There was barely a minute to think, and not months of nonsense reporting feeding him. People argue that Mookie threw the trash can to defend Sal and his sons, but I don't really buy that, not was that Lee's intentions. He threw the can in rage, plain and simple, and a rightful rage at that.
      Mookie attacked a store, deciding that human lives were less important. But what are those advocating violence against Zimmerman promoting? They want others to suffer what they feel. They are saying Zimmerman is less important than Trayvon Martin, which is simply untrue. Mookie really did the right thing with his trashcan through the window of Sal's. But action against Zimmerman, or just in the name of Trayvon months later just to make one feel better is just wrong.

IL POSTO (Ermanno Olmi, 1961)- Coffee

       Il Posto, a criminally overlooked film by criminally overlooked Italian director Ermanno Olmi is in a lot of ways the anti-Bicycle Thieves (a film I hope to discuss soon). While Di Sicca's acclaimed masterpiece shows the dehumanizing effects of being in deep poverty, Il Posto shows the dehumanization that goes with a life-long, steady job. Truthfully, there is much more I could say about this film, and hope to compare it directly to The Bicycle Thief (personally, my preferred title. It's amazing I could write just about the film's title!) and many other neorealist films soon, as I see it as a reaction against the themes of the movement.
       However, this is actually an older essay of mine, which deconstructs a pivotal scene in the film. Hopefully, I will look at it on a wider scale (although this is still written with the rest of the film in mind, and is not a reading of a detached scene) and link it more closely to other films and related styles.






        Ermanno Olmi’s 1961 film Il Posto deals with the themes of corporate dehumanization and loss of personal identity. The film follows Domenico, a young Italian man (who bears more than a passing resemblance to influential Czech writer Franz Kafka, which given the film's message and content, is just too perfect to be chalked up as an amazing coincidence), as he seeks to get a job in a large corporation. Near the middle of the film, Domenico is called in to speak with the corporate supervisor about his job. The corporation promised him a job, but he does not know of his position.  Domenico's meeting with his supervisor is the first communication he has within the company. The meeting marks Domenico's official initiation into the company, and though the scene’s makeup and cinematography, Olmi reveals Domenico's future employment in the company, as well as the rest of his life.

       As Domenico enters the office, he stands in front of the supervisors desk. He is not officially a part of the company, and is unsure what to do in the office. He looms over the supervisor, who is sitting down at his desk. However, as soon as Domenico sits down, he is a part of the company, and placed near the bottom of the pyramid, well below the supervisor. Domenico’s chair is much lower than the supervisor’s, showing great power the supervisor has over Domenico. Domenico’s chair is also at a peculiar angle. He has such little power in the corporation, that he is not even allowed to directly face the supervisor. However, the problem is not unique to Domenico. Behind the protagonist is a line of chairs pressed up against the wall. However, the wall, as well as the chairs, are at a forty-five degree angle from the desk. The  corporation’s inequality applies not only to young adults just beginning their career like Domenico, but to very common worker in the corporation. Domenico  will probably never be supervisor due to the corporations structural inequality.

       Although Olmi makes clear through the film’s visuals that Domenico will most likely never rise to become a supervisor, Domenico seems to be unaware of that fact during this scene in the film. During the meeting, another employee enters the room near the back of the frame, and walks to the supervisor’s desk. His long walk is reminiscent of Domenico’s just minutes prior, when the protagonist walked the long, nondescript hallway alone to the supervisor’s office. The similar images further point to the fact that one’s position within the company never changes. The man hands the supervisor his coffee and walks away, leaving the supervisor alone in the foreground. The focus shifts to Domenico, sitting in the frame’s middle, staring at the supervisor drinking his coffee. Earlier in the film, Domenico goes into a coffee shop, where he is visibly uncomfortable and confused in the bustling environment, seemingly having no idea what to do while drinking his coffee. Now, Domenico watches the supervisor comfortably drink his coffee at a large desk in his own massive office. Domenico stares at the man drink his coffee for several seconds. Domenico aspires to be in his own office one day, comfortably drinking coffee delivered to him instead of ordering a cup in the shop and having to wait in line then move through the crowded shop to a seat. However, the supervisor and his coffee, representing Domenico’s dream, are out of focus for the office, symbolizing they are out of reach for Domenico.

       Soon after the supervisor finishes his coffee, a woman enters and gives the supervisor a written excuse for being late to work. The supervisor briefly chastises her, telling her her children are old enough to take care of herself. Domenico, who is uninvolved in the conversation, is captured in  a closeup. Domenico’s mouth is open, apparently deeply interested in the woman’s situation, and is turning his head in order to look at both subjects. Then, the supervisor returns the excuse to the woman, and his hand juts out of the foreground. The out of focus hand and paper block Domenico’s face. Momentarily, Domenico’s face is the peice of paper, representing his grim status within the corporation: Another faceless worker, without an identity. The fact that the paper is an excuse symbolizes Domenico’s sole purpose in the corporation: work. His identity is not only unimportant, but is also in a position to hurt the company, as the woman just did by being late to tend to her children. For the company, it would be best if Domenico had no personality at all.

       Throughout a seemingly simple scene in Il Posto where Domenico is told he must temporarily work in another position until a job opens up in his field, Olmi reveals complex information about Domenico’s future through images. Domenico needs a job urgently, so his fate is working at the corporation, where he will have a decent paying job for life. However, Domenico must face inequality within the corporation, seemingly little possibility for a promotion, and an eventual loss of identity. These ideas greatly impact the message of Il Posto,  turning a coming-of-age story into a grim prediction of a likely hopeless future.

DJANGO UNCHAINED (2012, Quentin Tarantino)

       The reputation of Quentin Tarantino is certainly glowing. After his 1994 hit Pulp Fiction, Tarantino has experimented with various genres, although sticking to his typical style. However, Tarantino's career has been slipping, and a statement which not many would agree. He followed Pulp Fiction with the genre caper Jackie Brown, and while it's certainly good, it's nowhere near Pulp Fiction's ambitious style and flair. However, it doesn't really even try to be, and Tarantino plays it somewhat traditional.
       Tarantino followed with Kill Bill and Death Proof, which I lump together, but not many would. Personally, I prefer Death Proof to the Kill Bill films. Kill Bill is popcorn cinema in disguise. The popcorn aspect is not the problem- that's what make Death Proof so enjoyable. The disguise is where my concern lies, as it is essentially a pair of Groucho glasses. Tarantino ropes us along for three hours in a fake blood extravaganza, yet the film is so self aware, its essentially a parody. But then Tarantino layers it with lofty, lengthy conversations about seemingly nothing- a trademark of his style, but it's out of place and pointless here.
       Tarantino followed with Inglourious Basterds, which is a return to form to Pulp Fiction quality. Yes, it's violent, over the top, and absurd, but now, there's a point to it. Tarantino mocks historical and war films, the winning sides treatment of history, and war and violence at a whole. It's a ton of fun, but it also packs a lot of meaning to it.
        Django, frankly, is a two hour mess that has no idea what it is trying to do. While the cinematography is great, that's about the only thing it has going. Tarantino tops Kill Bill in regards to self parody and overall confusion of tone, while his Oscar-winning screenplay is just an overloaded mess. Additionally, the absence of the late Sally Menke is certainly felt in the editing room, robbing Tarantino of his style's fluidity  The first hour of the film is downright meandering, which honestly isn't even a bad thing, but so much time is wasted by backstory details.
        Tarantino's fixation with fake blood and over the top, just distracting violence continues as endless hordes of baddies are shot by Jamie Foxx's dully portrayed Django. Foxx just floats from scene to scene, adding very little depth to the character, showing one emotion: a flat, monotone anger. The screenplay, which bafflingly won an Academy Award, is just tired and uneven, and is the film's greatest flaw. The pace is completely uneven, and the film kills its momentum with about forty minutes to go. The conclusion is completely boring and utterly predictable. Django's plan for recapturing his love is completely over plotted and over-complicated, with tons of holes forming in his, and Schultz, Django's partner in bounty hunting, reasoning in logic. Holes and logic, if not explainable by character, are just a sign of poor writing, and their is no reason Django would find this plan acceptable. The editing is just the final nail in the coffin for Django Unchained. The film just feels choppy, and its assembly allows one to see the duct tape holding it together. So much just feels out of place, and the rapid fire of shots in one of the many action scenes just comes off as overdone and ineffective.
       Leonardo DiCaprio an Christoph Waltz certainly are the film's greatest assets. Waltz, who won an Oscar for his gentleman bounty hunter, returns with as many dry and snarling quips as in Basterds but now applies them to a decent human being, with interesting results. We have a similar character, but only with mainly good intentions. DiCaprio is good, but far from great, in his over the top portrayal of a false gentleman slave owner. DiCaprio is just distracting at times, but still shines, yet occasionally doesn't fit in the world Tarantino creates, just another inconsistency in Django.
       Django Unchained is perhaps Tarantino's weakest film, a title it almost shares with Kill Bill. The two (or three) film's share many similarities- neither know what they really want to do, and as a result, are rambling and totally inconsistant.