It's kind of unbelievable how good this movie gets in the third act. Not that it's bad before then, but even though you know it's going to explode eventually, even though you see it coming through the whole movie, when everything goes to shit it's still shocking. And wow could Harvey Keitel and Robert DeNiro act back then. Did they just get sick of it or something?
Also, even though Scorsese's never really gone quite the way of those two, there's a real anger (or something, something trying to get out) that I'm not sure is present in his more recent string of really good movies. Maybe should see the Departed again, just for comparison purposes.
It could be that there's just something I find inherently more interesting and powerful when you can tell a person's trying to figure out there craft, that explosion of creative energy and power when they're just starting see what they can do and are maybe even a little in awe of it themselves, more interesting in that case than the type of controlled mastery Scorsese's been showing off lately.
I still don't think this is quite as good as Taxi Driver, though, but it certainly erases any sense that Taxi Driver's whole understated opacity was just all Scorsese really knew how to do, which I think I kind of thought. Though a lot of this movie is just about as opaque as Taxi Driver was, there's not a whole lot about that's understated, I'd say.
Plus, who knew that Wes Anderson cribbed his whole slo-mo film w/pop music thing from Scorsese? Some of the times Scorsese does it in this almost made me think I was watching a Wes Anderson movie for a second, but of course there's not even a hint of that storybook cuteness that Anderson somehow gets in every single frame. (A lot of that probably has to do with the framing of the shots.) I wonder if Scorsese did that a lot in his other movies? I don't remember seeing it anywhere else before...
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
The Darjeeling Limited
This was certainly better than I thought it'd be, I guess because for some reason I was thinking Wes Anderson was bound to descend into a mid-career slump of crap for a while here... Not sure exactly where I got that idea. But I would say he hasn't exactly entered that phase of his career. Though he has got the point that I don't think he's really trying to figure out anything new; he's just working on perfecting what he's getting at. I'm worried he's getting close to arriving there, and I hope he knows where to go from there.
I'm not sure that I've ever seen a filmmaker aside from Kubrick who can actually control everything that you see in the frame to the extent that Anderson has managed to do at this point in his career. Even things you notice going on in the background have probably been consciously put there by Anderson, or at least taken into account. He goes about as far as it would be possible to go toward separating what he's shooting from reality. It's certainly a feat.
What does it mean that the main characters in this movie are probably the most mature main characters in any of his movies? And is that even true? I think it might be, except for maybe Anjelica Huston in Tenenbaums. It was great to see her pull off her character in this movie, too. There was no way she should have been able to make her character seem even remotely believable, but she ends storming into her scene like she's the only one with anything real going on. Wes Anderson should make a movie with Anjelica Huston as the main character. He owes it to the world. What he manages to get out of her is on a whole other level from everything else he's doing--even his resurrection of Bill Murray. Actually, I think that's a really good idea. Maybe it would allow him to escape from his little world of arrested development that, while certainly unique and interesting and entertaining, gets further and further from seeming like there's actually anything at stake in every film. I probably wouldn't even feel that way about it if it weren't for Anjelica Huston in this movie. But she really did seem more actually compelling than the three brothers during her brief intrusion into the movie.
***
(10/18)
The thing that bothered me the most about this movie, and it's something I tried to articulate to Elliot but that I also admitted to being uncomfortable with (it's a criticism I'm a little uncomfortable having) is the way the movie used the death of the Indian boy to trigger whatever "real" spiritual awakening the three brothers are supposed to have. First of all, it's just such an obvious move: the death of the Indian boy brings them out of themselves so they have to experience something beyond their own self-centered world; except that it's obviously the function of the death of the Indian boy to be that for them, so, for the movie, the death of the boy is just as much about them as everything else. I kept waiting for some moment when the audience would be forced to see the death as something outside of the symbolic world of the three brothers, but the movie never takes that step. I don't think it's just the fact that it's an Indian death triggering a spiritual experience for three white Americans: it's the fact that the narrative is so focused on the three brothers that really nothing outside of them can exist in and of itself, and this fact gives the audience permission to experience the boy's death as something purely functional and symbolic (along with everything else in the movie, of course...) And if a narrative is really nothing more than a creative presentation of thought or thinking, which it is, then this form of thinking encourages the audience to enclose experiences in symbolic trappings. I'm uncomfortable about this criticism because it's such a moralistic critique.
I'm not sure that I've ever seen a filmmaker aside from Kubrick who can actually control everything that you see in the frame to the extent that Anderson has managed to do at this point in his career. Even things you notice going on in the background have probably been consciously put there by Anderson, or at least taken into account. He goes about as far as it would be possible to go toward separating what he's shooting from reality. It's certainly a feat.
What does it mean that the main characters in this movie are probably the most mature main characters in any of his movies? And is that even true? I think it might be, except for maybe Anjelica Huston in Tenenbaums. It was great to see her pull off her character in this movie, too. There was no way she should have been able to make her character seem even remotely believable, but she ends storming into her scene like she's the only one with anything real going on. Wes Anderson should make a movie with Anjelica Huston as the main character. He owes it to the world. What he manages to get out of her is on a whole other level from everything else he's doing--even his resurrection of Bill Murray. Actually, I think that's a really good idea. Maybe it would allow him to escape from his little world of arrested development that, while certainly unique and interesting and entertaining, gets further and further from seeming like there's actually anything at stake in every film. I probably wouldn't even feel that way about it if it weren't for Anjelica Huston in this movie. But she really did seem more actually compelling than the three brothers during her brief intrusion into the movie.
***
(10/18)
The thing that bothered me the most about this movie, and it's something I tried to articulate to Elliot but that I also admitted to being uncomfortable with (it's a criticism I'm a little uncomfortable having) is the way the movie used the death of the Indian boy to trigger whatever "real" spiritual awakening the three brothers are supposed to have. First of all, it's just such an obvious move: the death of the Indian boy brings them out of themselves so they have to experience something beyond their own self-centered world; except that it's obviously the function of the death of the Indian boy to be that for them, so, for the movie, the death of the boy is just as much about them as everything else. I kept waiting for some moment when the audience would be forced to see the death as something outside of the symbolic world of the three brothers, but the movie never takes that step. I don't think it's just the fact that it's an Indian death triggering a spiritual experience for three white Americans: it's the fact that the narrative is so focused on the three brothers that really nothing outside of them can exist in and of itself, and this fact gives the audience permission to experience the boy's death as something purely functional and symbolic (along with everything else in the movie, of course...) And if a narrative is really nothing more than a creative presentation of thought or thinking, which it is, then this form of thinking encourages the audience to enclose experiences in symbolic trappings. I'm uncomfortable about this criticism because it's such a moralistic critique.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Escape from New York
There were things about this movie that were much better than I expected. The cinematography, especially was really pretty, with lots of lens flares and stuff done very well--it seems more than in most movies.
Particularly, the whole opening sequence, with its long tracking establishing shots, with Carpenter's characteristic music. And then Kurt Russell shows up with his eye patch and kind of tears a hole in that whole thing. So it was all very pretty to look at, for pretty much the whole movie, but I can't help but think they totally fucked Russell's costume in this. Maybe it's because I just watched Death Proof so recently, but I know Russell is capable of seeming way more rugged and cool than he ever does in this movie, and it starts with how shitty is costume is. The eye patch just looks silly, and then, what, is he wearing that Under Armour stuff? And his nicely combed hair... Obviously, someone on the set knew how to do costuming, because Romero is fucking awesome--really creepy and cool looking, and he manages to do the creepy laugh thing right, so it actually is kind of creepy. Other than Romero, though, most of the costume stuff that is supposed to be awesome is pretty much not awesome.
What especially doesn't work is the script, which is so bad you'd almost think it must have been created just as a challenge for the actors--and a challenge that none of them are particularly up for, save Harry Dean Stanton. Even he obviously struggle to put something into the words, but at least a few times he manages to deliver effectively. Oh, yeah, and also Romero. Was someone else just in charge of everything involving Romero, or something?
I can't forget, either, the part when Russell (or Snake... oooohhh!! Snake!) floats into NY on his glider, the music playing is a Carpenterized La Cathédrale Engloutie! It was really pretty perfect actually. Which is exactly the embodiment of what is so weird about this movie. There are some things about it that are done so well, especially the cinematography, and basically all the scenes except for the fight scene when nobody's talking... But as soon as it comes to directing the actors or the action sets, it's just all so flat. Which is especially weird, because wasn't Carpenter supposed to be like an action director? Has the action in action movies really gotten so much better since 1981?
Actually, the establishing shots and all the longer takes and everything made me think, once again, that film vocabulary, as far as how you film a scene and set up the players and everything, was significantly better in the late seventies and into the very early eighties than it is now. Not that I want to be one of those people who's always complaining about all the quick cuts in movies now or anything, but they are a technique that is overused, for sure. It's so much more compelling when things are captured in one shot, generally, than a bunch of cuts. Specifically, here, when Snake and Brain and the Prez and Maggie (?) all come out of the room where the President was being held, after killing Romero, they run across a fairly wide shot, and as the camera pans to follow them, the shot is interrupted by a guy in the foreground shadows, who watches them run off. I think in most contemporary movies that would've been accomplished with a cut, but there's something so much more interesting about doing it the way they did it here, I think.
Particularly, the whole opening sequence, with its long tracking establishing shots, with Carpenter's characteristic music. And then Kurt Russell shows up with his eye patch and kind of tears a hole in that whole thing. So it was all very pretty to look at, for pretty much the whole movie, but I can't help but think they totally fucked Russell's costume in this. Maybe it's because I just watched Death Proof so recently, but I know Russell is capable of seeming way more rugged and cool than he ever does in this movie, and it starts with how shitty is costume is. The eye patch just looks silly, and then, what, is he wearing that Under Armour stuff? And his nicely combed hair... Obviously, someone on the set knew how to do costuming, because Romero is fucking awesome--really creepy and cool looking, and he manages to do the creepy laugh thing right, so it actually is kind of creepy. Other than Romero, though, most of the costume stuff that is supposed to be awesome is pretty much not awesome.
What especially doesn't work is the script, which is so bad you'd almost think it must have been created just as a challenge for the actors--and a challenge that none of them are particularly up for, save Harry Dean Stanton. Even he obviously struggle to put something into the words, but at least a few times he manages to deliver effectively. Oh, yeah, and also Romero. Was someone else just in charge of everything involving Romero, or something?
I can't forget, either, the part when Russell (or Snake... oooohhh!! Snake!) floats into NY on his glider, the music playing is a Carpenterized La Cathédrale Engloutie! It was really pretty perfect actually. Which is exactly the embodiment of what is so weird about this movie. There are some things about it that are done so well, especially the cinematography, and basically all the scenes except for the fight scene when nobody's talking... But as soon as it comes to directing the actors or the action sets, it's just all so flat. Which is especially weird, because wasn't Carpenter supposed to be like an action director? Has the action in action movies really gotten so much better since 1981?
Actually, the establishing shots and all the longer takes and everything made me think, once again, that film vocabulary, as far as how you film a scene and set up the players and everything, was significantly better in the late seventies and into the very early eighties than it is now. Not that I want to be one of those people who's always complaining about all the quick cuts in movies now or anything, but they are a technique that is overused, for sure. It's so much more compelling when things are captured in one shot, generally, than a bunch of cuts. Specifically, here, when Snake and Brain and the Prez and Maggie (?) all come out of the room where the President was being held, after killing Romero, they run across a fairly wide shot, and as the camera pans to follow them, the shot is interrupted by a guy in the foreground shadows, who watches them run off. I think in most contemporary movies that would've been accomplished with a cut, but there's something so much more interesting about doing it the way they did it here, I think.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Heart of Glass
This movie is pretty much a failure. It's an interesting failure, but a failure. There's just not a whole lot that really works.
I somehow had forgotten that this was the movie where he used hypnotized actors the whole time, and I guess that adds a bit of interest to the film, but I'm glad that I was able to watch it w/o that knowledge--although I did find myself thinking a few times, "Why is everyone acting like zombies?" There are whole sections where the actors just stand there and proclaim their lines, and I'm not sure it would've made much difference had they been hypnotized or instructed to act hypnotized.
What I mainly thought while watching it was, "Here's a bit of proof that it really is hard to do a film like Lynch and get it right."
It seems like Herzog is at his best when he creates a situation in which he's inherently out of control and films the results. Even in Fitzcarraldo, for which he got the reputation of being a maniacal control freak, a lot of the things that are most interesting are the result of the difficulties involved in undertaking such an insane project, so there's so much that is just beyond his control, no matter what he does. Here, though, it seems like Herzog is in control of nearly every action, and nothing is quite as interesting, somehow.
The only part that really worked the way it was intended was the final bit about the two islands with the narration by the prophet guy. Herzog is just great at using long tracking shots of beautiful extreme landscapes with perfect music and sounds overlayed. The island was breathtaking, and the long shot all the way around with the lone figure standing on the precipice is pure Herzog at his best--the type of thing that I want to find a word for, something better than "Herzogian." Also, the shot from the inside of the little boat that they're rowing out to see was pretty incredible, followed by one of Herzog's many long takes of flocks of birds, another thing that he captures like virtually no one else.
There were a few other mildly interesting bits, but overall it felt like a lot of flailing around trying to find something interesting. Which is still interesting, and you have to give him credit for really trying to create something unique. But it's just never really interesting as a finished project. That's not a criticism; it's a description.
Also, the opening shots were very good. He'd already figured out how to do all that at this point in his career. The mist cascading over the wooded hills; the cattle idly chewing away at the grass in the foggy morning; and all those broad landscape shots that I think were maybe being filmed as a projection onto heavy cloth? Pure Herzogian goodness.
I somehow had forgotten that this was the movie where he used hypnotized actors the whole time, and I guess that adds a bit of interest to the film, but I'm glad that I was able to watch it w/o that knowledge--although I did find myself thinking a few times, "Why is everyone acting like zombies?" There are whole sections where the actors just stand there and proclaim their lines, and I'm not sure it would've made much difference had they been hypnotized or instructed to act hypnotized.
What I mainly thought while watching it was, "Here's a bit of proof that it really is hard to do a film like Lynch and get it right."
It seems like Herzog is at his best when he creates a situation in which he's inherently out of control and films the results. Even in Fitzcarraldo, for which he got the reputation of being a maniacal control freak, a lot of the things that are most interesting are the result of the difficulties involved in undertaking such an insane project, so there's so much that is just beyond his control, no matter what he does. Here, though, it seems like Herzog is in control of nearly every action, and nothing is quite as interesting, somehow.
The only part that really worked the way it was intended was the final bit about the two islands with the narration by the prophet guy. Herzog is just great at using long tracking shots of beautiful extreme landscapes with perfect music and sounds overlayed. The island was breathtaking, and the long shot all the way around with the lone figure standing on the precipice is pure Herzog at his best--the type of thing that I want to find a word for, something better than "Herzogian." Also, the shot from the inside of the little boat that they're rowing out to see was pretty incredible, followed by one of Herzog's many long takes of flocks of birds, another thing that he captures like virtually no one else.
There were a few other mildly interesting bits, but overall it felt like a lot of flailing around trying to find something interesting. Which is still interesting, and you have to give him credit for really trying to create something unique. But it's just never really interesting as a finished project. That's not a criticism; it's a description.
Also, the opening shots were very good. He'd already figured out how to do all that at this point in his career. The mist cascading over the wooded hills; the cattle idly chewing away at the grass in the foggy morning; and all those broad landscape shots that I think were maybe being filmed as a projection onto heavy cloth? Pure Herzogian goodness.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
3:10 to Yuma
I went to this movie to recover from the Bears loss, and it worked well enough for that. It's gotten some pretty amazing reviews, all of which indicated that it is a "good" movie, a serious film that is good because it takes itself seriously, because it allows viewers to project conflict between the protagonist and antagonist into something vaguely philosophical/meaningful, because it has some serious acting in which the actors fully inhabit their characters, etc. (I need to come up with a better formulation of that idea. Essentially, it's that the "good" movie is as much a genre of movie as action, comedy, romance (or romantic comedy?), etc. Mostly, the "good" movie is just a subgenre of drama, and critics tend to go nuts when a Good Movie disguises itself as a less reputable genre--typically some offshoot of action, like sci fi. Still need to come up with a better articulation of all of this.)
Anyway, critics love this movie because it takes the somewhat disreputable genre of the Western and turns it into Good Movie. And it does a pretty good job of it. Russell Crowe is about as fun to watch as he's been in any movie I've seen him in, except for maybe Master and Commander. And I always love watching Christian Bale act. Oh, and Tucker! from Flash Forward! !!! Is really very good as the creepy super villain guy, who functions mainly to be shot by Crowe at the end so the audience can really feel that Crowe has changed somehow.
Really, the climax was the part that I thought worked the least. Even though the scene with Bale and Crowe alone in their room was supposed to be the big crux of the thing, and there was evidently supposed to be some kind of big meeting of their souls or something, I just didn't quite get it. It pretty much just let the audience off the hook, I think. The movie had moved itself into a situation where there wasn't really a possible good ending, and then suddenly Russell Crowe realizes that Christian Bale is the only guy in the film who can equal his charisma, or something? I mean, it was a very satisfying ending, because Crowe was just too likeable to be all bad, as Bale's son correctly surmised. I think what bothers me most about it is that it really is just shallowness, and pretty extreme shallowness, masquerading as depth, because this is a Good Movie, so it's obviously deep. Ultimately, the ethic of the movie is that charismatic people are less dispensable than non-charismatic people, and that likeable people always have a good heart, deep down--at least when it comes to people they recognize as similarly charismatic and likeable. Because Bale is the only person in the whole movie who dies who the audience even cares in the slightest that they've died, and his death is avenged immediately by the slaughter of all of Crowe's posse by Crowe. But Crowe's character is a truly reprehensible person, and Bale's is actually kind of an idiot who sacrifices his life for his sons' adolescent fantasies of heroism, but there's supposed to something noble about the way it all ends.
I thought Tucker from Flash Forward's character, who really consisted of nothing more than an impenetrable set of tics and an unblinking stare, was the highlight of the movie, and in the end is the most honest thing about the movie. By never acting recognizably human he manages to be extremely charismatic and enjoyable without suckering the audience into buying his personal code of ethics. He obviously has one, but we are left to judge it instead of invited into it. Why do I find that preferable? I don't know... I'm not sure why "honesty" seems to me like such an important measure of a movie to me... or what exactly I mean by "honesty," here...
Anyway, critics love this movie because it takes the somewhat disreputable genre of the Western and turns it into Good Movie. And it does a pretty good job of it. Russell Crowe is about as fun to watch as he's been in any movie I've seen him in, except for maybe Master and Commander. And I always love watching Christian Bale act. Oh, and Tucker! from Flash Forward! !!! Is really very good as the creepy super villain guy, who functions mainly to be shot by Crowe at the end so the audience can really feel that Crowe has changed somehow.
Really, the climax was the part that I thought worked the least. Even though the scene with Bale and Crowe alone in their room was supposed to be the big crux of the thing, and there was evidently supposed to be some kind of big meeting of their souls or something, I just didn't quite get it. It pretty much just let the audience off the hook, I think. The movie had moved itself into a situation where there wasn't really a possible good ending, and then suddenly Russell Crowe realizes that Christian Bale is the only guy in the film who can equal his charisma, or something? I mean, it was a very satisfying ending, because Crowe was just too likeable to be all bad, as Bale's son correctly surmised. I think what bothers me most about it is that it really is just shallowness, and pretty extreme shallowness, masquerading as depth, because this is a Good Movie, so it's obviously deep. Ultimately, the ethic of the movie is that charismatic people are less dispensable than non-charismatic people, and that likeable people always have a good heart, deep down--at least when it comes to people they recognize as similarly charismatic and likeable. Because Bale is the only person in the whole movie who dies who the audience even cares in the slightest that they've died, and his death is avenged immediately by the slaughter of all of Crowe's posse by Crowe. But Crowe's character is a truly reprehensible person, and Bale's is actually kind of an idiot who sacrifices his life for his sons' adolescent fantasies of heroism, but there's supposed to something noble about the way it all ends.
I thought Tucker from Flash Forward's character, who really consisted of nothing more than an impenetrable set of tics and an unblinking stare, was the highlight of the movie, and in the end is the most honest thing about the movie. By never acting recognizably human he manages to be extremely charismatic and enjoyable without suckering the audience into buying his personal code of ethics. He obviously has one, but we are left to judge it instead of invited into it. Why do I find that preferable? I don't know... I'm not sure why "honesty" seems to me like such an important measure of a movie to me... or what exactly I mean by "honesty," here...
Friday, September 7, 2007
Shoot 'Em Up
I'm writing this immediately after writing my note about 3:10 to Yuma, which is on Monday 17 September. In some ways this movie was a good contrast to that movie. It did not once try to be anything like a Good Movie, and has been thoroughly snubbed by critics for precisely that reason. Well, and it's just not as good of a movie as Yuma, but it's not as much worse as the Metacritic score might lead to one to believe. (Ebert, at least, sorta gets it.)
The basic problem with this movie is that it is never as clever as it wants to be. Really, the only thing that I thought worked on all of the levels it wanted to was the part in the opening sequence when Clive Owen's character shoots the umbilical chord after realizing that he doesn't have anything else to cut it with. Actually, the whole delivering a baby during a shootout thing was very awesome. But too much else in the movie just fell flat. What was up with the carrot thing? The only good (not really good, actually) thing that seemed to come out of it was the "What's up, Doc," line, which at least managed to do for "wit" what much of the rest of movie did for "plot", "action", or whatever.
If this movie had come with a text opening explaining what year it was, what had happened to America after the nuclear war, etc., absolutely everything else about the movie could have stayed the same and it would have been a perfectly believable bad scifi movie, a la Judge Dredd or Demolition Man. All that would have been missing was some obligatory explanation of some High Tech weapon some random character would've felt compelled to make. But, even with that missing, I think it would have been completely buyable as a sci-fi action movie. I'm not sure what that means, other than that Hollywood seems to think that sci-fi seems to mean B-Action movie.
It really is too bad that Monica Bellucci isn't in more movies, though.
The basic problem with this movie is that it is never as clever as it wants to be. Really, the only thing that I thought worked on all of the levels it wanted to was the part in the opening sequence when Clive Owen's character shoots the umbilical chord after realizing that he doesn't have anything else to cut it with. Actually, the whole delivering a baby during a shootout thing was very awesome. But too much else in the movie just fell flat. What was up with the carrot thing? The only good (not really good, actually) thing that seemed to come out of it was the "What's up, Doc," line, which at least managed to do for "wit" what much of the rest of movie did for "plot", "action", or whatever.
If this movie had come with a text opening explaining what year it was, what had happened to America after the nuclear war, etc., absolutely everything else about the movie could have stayed the same and it would have been a perfectly believable bad scifi movie, a la Judge Dredd or Demolition Man. All that would have been missing was some obligatory explanation of some High Tech weapon some random character would've felt compelled to make. But, even with that missing, I think it would have been completely buyable as a sci-fi action movie. I'm not sure what that means, other than that Hollywood seems to think that sci-fi seems to mean B-Action movie.
It really is too bad that Monica Bellucci isn't in more movies, though.
Monday, September 3, 2007
Stardust
I never would have watched this if Rachael hadn't wanted to go, and I'm glad she did. It was way better than any of the advertisements made it seem like it would be. It's weird when a film is so misrepresented by its advertisements... Could they really not figure out a way to market this film? It was just fun, sort of the way Shrek movies are fun, except way less annoying.
All that said, I don't remember a whole lot about the movie, which I can hardly believe I saw only a week ago. De Niro's portrayal of Captain Shakespeare was pretty funny, and I thought he played it far better than the role even needed him to.
I did have to wonder, though, why Michelle Pfeiffer's sisters were both played by young people with old person makeup on, since neither of them ever had to change into younger looking versions of themselves. It's hard enough for aging actresses to find work in the Hollywood world that it seems almost immoral to cast young actresses in the role of older characters for no reason.
All that said, I don't remember a whole lot about the movie, which I can hardly believe I saw only a week ago. De Niro's portrayal of Captain Shakespeare was pretty funny, and I thought he played it far better than the role even needed him to.
I did have to wonder, though, why Michelle Pfeiffer's sisters were both played by young people with old person makeup on, since neither of them ever had to change into younger looking versions of themselves. It's hard enough for aging actresses to find work in the Hollywood world that it seems almost immoral to cast young actresses in the role of older characters for no reason.
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