ESCAPE FROM TOMORROW (Randy Moore, 2013)

       It took me a little longer than I would have liked to see Escape from Tomorrow. I knew it about for a while. I had chances to see it. Hell, it was on Netflix for a while. It enticed me by its guerrilla filmmaking and use of Disney property. However, it seemed like a movie that only existed for that purpose. There was nearly no way it could actually be a good movie, right? I expected to see some fragmented looks at Disney, that was all. Some weird camera work, making fun of the mouse, and that's it. But, to my total shock, Randy Moore, in his debut film, didn't just make a good film, but made a great one, despite its flaws.
       Moore captures the hyperreality of Disney World that Jean Baudrillard discusses in Simulacra and Simulation. Disney World, Baudrillard argues, is a simulation of something that never existed- the perfect town in the perfect country where the perfect family can visit. This is key to understanding the complex hilarity of Escape from Tomorrow. Often, the film is incorrectly labeled as a horror movie. In fact, it's poster- Mickey's glove dripping blood- captures audiences and takes them on a totally unexpected ride. Jim, the film's struggling father, witnesses his world fall apart in Disney World, where his wife, children, and the Disney icons all seem to taunt him, and the entire world seems against him.
       Clearly, much of the film isn't real.In fact, we don't know what is real, and what is a product of Jim's imagination. Although this is fairly common in film, even mainstream film today, Escape takes it to a deeper level, with only a few sequences in the film clearly being a part of the absolute reality. Escape can best be described as a David Lynch family vacation.
       The film in't perfect, but what film is? Some things don't work, like the bizarre scene nearly an hour into the movie where strange science fiction elements are introduced and soon abandoned. Perhaps with better special effects the scene would be less goofy and out of place, but it serves its purpose and builds on the madness of Jim's world. The black and white digital photography is unexpectedly gorgeous and terrifying at the same. Because of it, we are constantly aware of the bizarre nature of the film. We aren't supposed to see Disney World in black and white. Disney World is color. Moore manipulates the park's surroundings, getting uncomfortably close and twisted with It's a Small World and superimposing naked women onto Soarin'.
       Technically, the film is just stunning. Anyone who is vaguely familiar with Disney will be floored that they could shoot full length scenes. The film contains multiple scenes, with full scripted dialogue, on the rides. Escape could exist solely because of Moore's ballsy feet, but instead, the film is all-around well crafted.
       Many criticize the films ending, claiming it makes no sense. However, when taking it with the hyperreality and the impossibility of a perfect existence- both for the world (or Disney World) and for Jim- the ending excels and ends the film on a perfect note. Although the final shot of the French teen fairies seems ridiculously out of place, given the somewhat grounded existence of the teen girls, it is forgiven after the excellent end sequence with Disney, or D(beep), hiding their park from the realities of life and seeming to create a perfect memory for the imperfect family. In many ways, Escape from Tomorrow just has to be seen to be believed, but it's more than the shock of the perversion of the brand. The film disassembles the magical fantasy of Disney, leaving behind the skeleton of a nightmare.

OBVIOUS CHILD (Gillian Robespierre, 2014)

       I'm really, really fighting the urge to make a joke on Obvious Child's title to lead off the article. By that, I mean that most of the film, of course, is pretty damn obvious. It's exactly what you would expect from an Indie Romantic Comedy, besides, you know, that abortion thing.
       Obvious Child, the feature film debut of Gillian Robespierre, is largely hit and miss. A lot of the humor misses, but the film's heart and handling of a ridiculously touchy topic is where it succeeds. Jenny Slate delivers a fine performance, although she is weighed down by fairly typical "quirky" jokes about farting and inappropriate comments. In 2014, it's pretty familiar, but not quite yet tired. Slate carries the film completely as Donna, and shines during the emotional climaxes: Donna's conversation with her mother, and the final stand-up routine, which honestly, isn't... really funny. At all. Sure, in a filmic sense the scene works as she confronts Max, the business man who impregnated her, her insecurities, and her apparent stage fright, but the audiences guffawing actually becomes distracting.
       The film handles Donna's complicated relationship with Max in a somewhat unique fashion, although it still neatly hits the conventional ups and downs of a romantic comedy. Max isn't really given a lot of dialogue, but Robespierre perfectly characterizes him by his fashion, sense of humor, and actions, most importantly his handling of Donna's abortion. The abortion is dealt with in a decidedly modern manner, completely refusing to moralize the decision, a route many films would take, and even sparing us the convention of Donna changing her mind. It's the modern world. Donna can't have a child. She knows it. Sure, there's some weight attached to the decision, but there are no last minute revelations. Donna's relationships through the film are all shaped by her decision, but in Obvious Child,  all are supportive and encouraging.
       Despite Max being a 'good character,' the film certainly suffers through the conventions of the romantic comedy. It seems strange how liberated Donna is in the film, yet the film its self is tied down to flat out boring romantic storytelling. The conventions are all there: Donna struggles in her job. She loses her boyfriend, and we are subjected to a scene where she waits outside of his door, counting sips in her coffee. The supporting cast is fairly generic. However, Gabby Hoffman is quite good in the "best girl friend" role. The scene where Donna waits on the pregnancy test while Hoffman's Nellie pees on the toilet is hilarious- until its shattered by another maddening indie rom-com convention, where Donna imagines herself as the DJ, and visualizes stylized flashbacks.
       However, the absolute worst part of the film is the borderline offensive inclusion of the "gay best friend." The gay fellow comedian is a by-the-book gay stereotype that's ridiculously outdated. It's absolutely strange that such a character, who can barely say a line without mentioning how gay he is, exists in a film that is otherwise so modern. The gay best friend is only in a few scenes, but is always there to point out how hot Max is, or how shocked people would be if he was pregnant! Because he's gay! Get it!?
        Robespierre's debut is certainly interesting, flawlessly taking on a incredibly difficult subject, and manages to find the humor of it, as well as the emotional core, all while refusing to moralize the situation in any way. the films flaws lie not in its tackling of the abortion, but in the secondary plots, relying on boring, even offensively boring, characters, and ultimately ending the love story on a weak open-ended note. However, despite the criticisms, Obvious Child earns its title as the Indie Comedy of the season. Robespierre makes an exciting debut, leaving me very excited for her future as a filmmaker, and boats a potentially star-making performance of Jenny Slate, although she should be lauded more for the dramatic performance than the comedic.

12 YEARS A SLAVE (Steve McQueen, 2013) Stars and Representation

Note: Originally written and submitted as an essay on race.

Director Steve McQueen examines the brutality of slavery in a frankness that is rarely seen, especially in somewhat mainstream films, not softening the subject matter by using a “point-of-entry” white character or neglecting the more frightening sexual truths of slavery. McQueen, a black British filmmaker, used his status as an outsider to American culture to examine it more explicitly and refuse to lighten the tone of the film and show slavery in a less real and brutal light. McQueen’s film uses several recognizable actors and utilizes their star power for a unique effect of warping our expectations for the film. One of the uses is highly effective, unsettling and shocking the audience at the beginning of the film, while the other use of celebrity at the film’s end seems much too safe and predictable to be effective in the discussion of slavery.

Early in the film, soon after Solomon Northup is drugged, abducted, and sold into slavery, he talks to two other slaves while being transported to be sold. One of the slaves is played by Michael K. Williams, a highly recognizable actor who won several awards for his portrayal of Omar Little on The Wire. William’s character talks about starting a revolt and escaping from the ship, and seems to be willing to assist Solomon on gaining his freedom, going against the other enslaved man’s pleas to be quiet and focus on surviving. However, William’s character is stabbed to death after a few brief minutes of screentime, a shockingly brief role for such a well-known actor. The actor’s brief role and quick end reflect many of slavery’s horrors to a modern audience and mirror’s Solomon’s introduction to the slave trade. The possibility of death is real and can happen suddenly by the hand of a displeased slave owner. Solomon begins to see that he cannot simply convince a slave owner that he is a free man, but must attempt to keep his head down and avoid arousing suspicion, but Solomon has no desire to forfeit his dignity, like the other man on the ship who greets his master with praise and affection. The death of a recognizable actor relays the very real possibility of death Solomon faces to the audience watching the film, and forces them out of their comfort zone and shatters their expectations. From that point on, Solomon’s situation takes on a new reality that is often not seen in “mainstream” cinema.

Towards the end of the film, Solomon encounters Samuel Bass, played by Hollywood star Brad Pitt, a Canadian who vocalizes his disgust with slavery. Solomon is reluctant to trust Bass with delivering a message to his friends in New York, since a white man betrayed Solomon earlier. The first man, a field hand, was played by a relatively unknown actor, and thus the shock of the portrayal is not as great as it would have been if a star like Brad Pitt, who made a career playing the Hollywood “good guy,” turned in Solomon to the plantation owner. Solomon eventually opens up to Pitt, and Pitt’s character alerts Solomon’s family and friends, ultimately leading to his freedom. The fact that the film’s biggest star, albeit in a very brief appearance, allows Solomon Northup to regain his freedom seems almost too neat and convenient in a depiction of slavery. The film would have been much more suspenseful and effective in communicating the savagery and confusion of slavery if Pitt played the field hand who betrayed Soloman, reinforcing its communication of slavery’s brutality and destroying the audience’s comfort. Many expect a star like Pitt to show up and save the day, which he ultimately does. Shattering expectations set by years of Hollywood tradition would have created a seemingly harsher depiction of slavery where no one, not even Brad Pitt, is able to be trusted.

GRAVITY (Alfonso Cuaron, 2013) Experimentation and sound

Note: Originally written as a short post for a experimental video class.

Alfonso Cuaron’s Gravity contained a surprising amount of experimentation for an $80 million Warner Bros. film. First, the film features just two actors, and focuses mostly on Sandra Bollock’s character, completely isolating her for the bulk of the film. Although the two actors are two of the most bankable stars working today, the film toys with audience’s expectations greatly, removing George Clooney from the film around the halfway point, leaving Sandra Bollock, the lesser of the two personalities (both off-screen, and even on-screen, as Bollock’s character is nervous and soft-spoken, unlike Clooney’s charismatic natural leader) to carry the rest of the film.

 Cinematically, the camera flows loosely through the film, flipping with the characters sometimes, and other times locked onto them. The film begins with a seventeen minute long take, guiding the viewer through space, starting focusing on the different angles of the ship, alerting us to the subjectivity of direction and orientation in a zero-gravity environment.

The film’s most fascinating, and ultimately most frustrating, aspect is its use of sound, based heavily on how sound acts in space. Unlike the traditional space film, explosions, destruction, and movement make no sound on the film. The film’s promotional trailers actually include the typical booms of explosions in space. The film’s microphone seems to be within Bollock’s helmet, providing some noise to the environment- beeps from her oxygen tank, hisses, breathing, and radio cracks. The use of sound here works thematically and aesthetically- the film is about Bollock and her experience, at one point even using a hallucination, so it makes sense that we hear what she hears and not the harsh “true silence” of space. In a climatic scene, Bollock struggles to enter a ship while her surroundings are destroyed by space junk. We hear Bollock’s panicked breathes and some whirring, but not the typical booms and crashed.

However, in that scene, and many others throughout the film, we hear a loud orchestral score, there to soften the film’s tone and make it more conventional. However, the score takes away from the power of the image and the originality of the environment. It would not surprise me if some people didn’t notice the film’s lack of booms and crashes  because the score was so overbearing and conventional, even though the rest of the film seemed to defy convention.

HER (2013, Spike Jonze)

     

        Well, it seems that I ultimately broke my promise of regular writing on here, but now it's time to remedy that. Last night, I saw a film I badly wanted to see for some time, Spike Jonze's "Her." Jonze directed several great films, yet he is rarely seen as a great director. Part of this problem is because his first two films were written by Charlie Kaufman, a bright and original voice that dominated the films entirely. "Being John Malkoich" and "Adaptation" are much more owned by Kaufman than Jonze. His third film, the dark adaptation of the children's classic "Where the Wild Things Are" drew equal acclaim and criticism, yet I believe it is fairly good. In many ways, Jonze had a lot to prove with "Her," which already gained critical acclaim elsewhere.
       It many ways "Her" is very similar to Paul Thomas Anderson's "The Master," a film that split opinions yet instantly won my heart. Joaquin Phoenix and Amy Adams star, and are stellar as always. The film deals with heavy topics, such as the nature and the need of human relationships, and ultimately asks what it means to be human.
       The difference is, really, that The Master was about something. It had a story that could be understood, and we could relate to, even though we do not understand the inner-workings of a cult. We see the relationship between Freddie and Dodd with clarity, and it makes total sense. The central relationship of Her, does not work. Unlike pretty much every other film relationship, it's not a lack of  chemistry, because Samantha, the Scarlett Johanson voiced OS,  is seemingly designed to mesh with the nerdy and repressed Theodore. Her just makes no sense in design.
        Spike Jonze had the ability to essentially make up logic for the innerworkings of the film, and failed to produce a believable and sensical product. Yes, the film is supposed to raise questions on  what it means to be human, but really, he doesn't give any answers. The premise itself is as thought-provoking as the entire film, and at points, it feels like Jonze is making things up as he goes along. You can almost hear Jonze yell "Fuck it!"when Samantha begins to evolve quickly, ultimately becoming a 'greater being or something like that shit.' What the scatterbrained approach to the story and logic indicates is that Jonze just couldn't control the film, couldn't confront his techno-philosophical questions, and really, the film just isn't well written. "Her," could have been great, honestly, and part of it is there, clearly and passionately, but it doesn't come together at all, and crumbles in Jonze's hands, making me really wish someone like Charlie Kaufman could have helped him out with the story.
        Her, at the end of the day, just didn't click with me at all, in such a powerful way that I fear it could have just been me not having the right mindset, and in a way that warrants a revisit. The acting was superb, and the cinematography, which is being universally praised, didn't completely work for me either. It seemed much too cold and manufactured, which betrays what I felt Jonze was attempting to do with Samantha and Theo's relationship, another baffling inconsistency that trapped and puzzled me. The nature scenes, with ample lens flares and overexposures reeked of modern indie cliches.
       But like most films, Her lived and died with its story, which was unable to get past the logistics of such a complicated premise, ultimately making no sense, and ending with a quick and ridiculous ending that completely soured the entire film. This was Jonze's ultimate "fuck it" moment, and he felt the need to give us a simple analogy to explain Samantha's thought and her need to develop, but not any explanation for whatever the fuck was supposed to happen. Her, like The Master, relied heavily on analogies and symbols for the human experience, but was unable to root its heavy symbolism and overall 'importance' in anything at all, resulting in a film that either falls apart or floats away. Either way, nothing is really there.