Blogorium Review: Moonrise Kingdom

 There's a moment in the first half of Moonrise Kingdom that elicited an audible gasp from most of the audience. It's the kind of scene that should, for all intents and purposes, ruin the movie for a lot of viewers, and it's impressive that Wes Anderson is able to pull everyone back in with a wry response. When Sam Shakusky (Jared Gilman) answers Suzy Bishop (Kara Hayward) question with a typically Andersonian response, "who's to say?" the tension broke and Moonrise Kingdom continued along its course. A lesser filmmaker wouldn't be able to save the moment, and yes, I'm deliberately staying vague because it isn't an essential plot point but it does break an unspoken cardinal rule of filmmaking.

 A quote famously attributed to W.C. Fields* goes thusly "never work with dogs, or children" when making movies. Wes Anderson breaks both of those rules to great success, although the adults in Moonrise Kingdom are no slouches either. At its core, the film is about Sam and Suzy conspiring to run away from unhappy situations: Sam is an orphan with a history of acting out and Suzy is a "troubled" child in the eyes of her parents, Laura (Frances McDormand) and Walt (Billy Murray). Through correspondence, Sam and Suzy decide to escape and follow the old Chicktaw Nature Trail to find a private hideaway. Unfortunately, the Bishop family, along with Khaki Scout Master Ward (Edward Norton) and police Captain Sharp (Bruce Willis) are on their trail, along with the rest of the Khaki Scouts and their dog Snoopy.

 This was roughly what I knew about Moonrise Kingdom going in (minus Sam and Suzy's reasons for running away) along with what appeared to be the most Andersonian opportunity the auteur had to indulge in his fetishistic set design. Wes Anderson has always demonstrated an affinity for the mid-1960s, in music, art direction, and color palette, so setting Moonrise Kingdom on an isolated island in New England just before a hurricane hits. Oh, and it's 1965. If it was possible to go beyond Fantastic Mr. Fox, where Anderson literally had control over every element of production, Moonrise Kingdom would be that film.

 I don't suppose I need to warn people who don't like Wes Anderson films that Moonrise Kingdom isn't going to change your mind, but it's a good enough opening for the fourth paragraph of a review as any. Anderson fans have a tendency to fixate on Rushmore and The Royal Tenenbaums as "high water marks" (with good reason), but tend to disagree about The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou and The Darjeeling Limited. Anderson, working with Roman Coppola again on the screenplay, finds a tone similar to Rushmore and Tenenbaums, but from a different perspective. Sam and Suzy are 12, even younger than Max Fischer (Jason Schwartzman does have a small role as "Cousin Ben"), and rather than behaving like adults, the two bond over their feelings of alienation from everybody else. Sam leaves Scout Master Ward a letter of resignation from the Khaki Scouts but relies heavily on the hiking and camping skills he picked up at Camp Ivanhoe. Suzy leaves a note to her brother explaining that she will return his record player "in ten days" with new batteries. Their plan is naive, they just barely know each other, but the kindred spirits are determined to be together.

 Scout Master Ward and Chief Sharp find themselves in a situation they honestly aren't sure how to deal with, one that grows increasingly more complicated when Sam's foster family refuses him and Social Services (Tilda Swinton) gets involved. The Bishops are both lawyers who reject the notion that their daughter is culpable in Sam's plan, or that she would attack one of the Khaki scouts in order to escape a showdown (I will say nothing more than it involves a pair of left-handed scissors). Part of the fun of Moonrise Kingdom are its twists and turns; beyond what you learn in the trailer, there's a lot going on between the adults, between the other children (particularly the scouts), and how the Narrator (Bob Balaban) figures into the narrative. Also, a mostly unmentioned cameo from Harvey Keitel Khaki Commander Pierce, who runs Camp Lebanon on an island across the way.

 If you felt detached from the characters in The Darjeeling Limited or had trouble connecting to Team Zissou or Mr. Fox, you'll have no such trouble with Moonrise Kingdom. First timers Gilman and Hayward are excellent as Sam and Suzy, two prepubescent kids who don't quite know how to be grown up but want something better. Willis, Murray, McDormand, Norton, and Swinton all make impressions as they try to make sense of the situation, and while Murray is typically in high form working with Anderon, the others fit like a glove in his "universe," particularly Norton as a sweet-natured math teacher who wants to do right by his scouts.

 There's something about setting Moonrise Kingdom in 1965 that might lead you to expect Anderson is indulging in all of his favorite stylistic moments, but the soundtrack leans heavily on Hank Williams and the film feels loose and unencumbered in its mid-section. Once we move past the impeccably organized Bishop home and move outdoors, Anderson's camera is liberated along with Sam and Suzy, and Moonrise Kingdom benefits from this relaxed approach. Later in the film, he returns to stop motion animation (watch the bridge crossing late in the film) and some clever special effects (the lightning field sequence), but overall Moonrise Kingdom feels more attached to its characters, however flawed, and it's a fine experience at the end. (Oh, make sure to stay through the credits to hear a musical bridge to the opening credits. It's worth it.)


 * I could find no evidence that it isn't a Fields quote but at the same time couldn't pinpoint exactly when he said it.

Retro Review: Little Nicky

 Little Nicky is the only Adam Sandler film I've ever seen. While it's true that I have seen Funny People and Punch-drunk Love (and, to a lesser degree, Airheads and Coneheads, part of the unfulfilled "Adam Sandler in Movies with the Word 'Head' Trilogy"), Little Nicky is the only Sandler vehicle that Cap'n ever sat through. I know, it's strange: somehow I missed Happy Gilmore, Billy Madison, The Waterboy, Big Daddy, Mr. Deeds, Eight Crazy Nights, Anger Management, 50 First Dates, The Longest Yard, I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry, You Don't Mess with the Zohan, or Grown Ups.

 Honestly, I was a little surprised that Happy Madison had anything to do with Judd Apatow's Funny People: Sandler's production company is almost always associated with movies that nobody I know ever sees - The Zookeeper, Bucky Larson: Born to be a Star, Dickie Roberts: Former Child Star, Grandma's Boy, and The Hot Chick*. Happy Madison also released Jack & Jill, a movie that recently nominated for twelve Golden Raspberry Awards, which is nearly a record and is odd, because the film is only eligible in ten categories.

 Jack & Jill is actually the reason I thought of Little Nicky, not because I'm going to watch the former (which, if this is in any way true, might not be a movie but instead a scam) , but it reminded me that I HAVE actually seen an "Adam Sandler Joint" and I kind of liked it.

 Little Nicky is, by no means, a good movie. I can remember so little of it after nearly twelve years that I'm surprised recalled the film at all. Basically it has something to do with Lucifer (Rodney Dangerfield), Satan (Harvey Keitel), and Satan's three kids: Cassius (Tiny Lister, Jr.), Adrian (Rhys Ifans), and Nicky (Sandler). Nicky has a speech impediment and the other brothers like to pick on him, but Satan wants him to take over Hell, or something. Then he decides not to, so Adrian and Cassius freeze the entrance to Hell and go to Earth to take over, and Nicky has to save him. That, and something about putting boobs on Kevin Nealon's head.

 There's a talking dog and Patricia Arquette and some flask that collects souls, but mostly what I remember is that Nicky is actually half-demon, half-angel because his mother is Reese Witherspoon (Reese Witherspoon), erm, Holly. She gives him some ultimate weapon of goodness or something, which turns out to be Ozzy Osbourne (you see what they did there? It gets better, because Adrian turns into a bat. I wonder what happens?).

 Little Nicky has lots of shenanigans and jokes about evil, but mostly lots of advertisements for Popeye's Chicken. Seriously. At one point, a demon tries a bucket and says "Popeye's Chicken is the shiznit!" Actually, see it for yourself:

 

  I had no idea that this was a trend in Happy Madison films - arbitrary and shameless product placement, but Popeye's Chicken is hard to miss in Little Nicky. As I haven't seen the film since I watched it for free at the theatre I used to work for, I can't remember why I liked it. Describing it in this review, I'm not sure I did like it, but I do know I spent the better part of the fall of 2000 doing a Little Nicky impersonation for no good reason. It was funny to me, I guess (the impersonation, not the movie).

 Maybe Little Nicky does suck, and I thought that it sucked so much that it stopped sucking and became awesome. It's the sort of thing that hipsters do all the time now: ironically appreciating everything bad. I don't think I was being ironic though: considering some of the shit I'd been watching that year (The In Crowd, Loser, Bless the Child, Blair Witch 2, Hollow Man), it could be that Little Nicky was a breath of fresh air. That the film was vaguely watchable compared to the likes of Lost Souls is enough to push it into "I liked it" territory.

 Would I still like it? Um... well... let's all say it's one of life's unanswered questions. Because that's not going to happen. Happy Madison and I have reached a cease-fire: I don't watch their shitty movies, and accordingly don't report to you how horrible they are. That's the job of literally every other masochistic reviewer out there. I'm plenty busy watching Saw IV, V, and VI in one weekend, but that is another story...



* Strange Wilderness is, I have been reminded by IMDB, a Happy Madison film, but is a Steve Zahn vehicle and does not, to my recollection, feature Adam Sandler in any capacity. And I never finished Joe Dirt.

Retro Review: Taxi Driver

Editor's Note: Like many Retro Reviews, this piece contains SPOILERS which may impact your viewing enjoyment. By all means, watch Taxi Driver first (now available on Blu-Ray and low priced, to boot) before diving in.

Taxi Driver and the Cap'n go back a ways: arguably Martin Scorsese's "best known" film*, Taxi Driver was one of the first movies I had a VHS copy of (okay, literally a "copy," as in from one I rented), and sat comfortably on the tape next to Shaft. At the time, I enjoyed watching Robert DeNiro's slow descent into insanity, his isolation feeding a misplaced sense of rage, until his explosion of violence takes out a few low level pimps (notably Harvey Keitel) and he becomes an even more misunderstood hero for "rescuing" Jodie Foster's teenage prostitute. I didn't really understand Taxi Driver's place in the film noir tradition, or the influence of post-Vietnam rage and disillusionment, but I appreciated the gritty, forthright story, the embittered voice-over of Travis Bickle, and the ambiguous ending.

The violence also appealed to me in high school, although Taxi Driver is more about attitude than actual outbursts. I've seen the film so many times now that I can't actually remember how I felt about the lack of violence for most of the film (unlike Shaft, which I distinctly recall being underwhelmed by), but I can only imagine the bloodbath that closes the story made up for the mis-communication between characters for the bulk of Taxi Driver's 113 minute running time.

It was only later, when I came back to Taxi Driver after years of simply taking the film on a surface level, that I had the opportunity to rediscover the film in context. Considered by many to be the first major "Neo-Noir**," a spin-off of the Film Noir period of the 1940s and 50s, Taxi Driver both borrows from and expands upon themes of the movement (crime stories based around a down-on-their-luck antihero, a femme fatale, and a profound sense of angst, suspicion, and impending doom).

In an essay for my Film Noir final, Taxi Driver was a central piece when dealing with a shift in "noir" protagonists from "morally ambiguous" to a "psychotic and suicidal impulse," a shift that occurred in late noir and reaches its apex (arguably for the last time) in Scorsese's film:

Where Taxi Driver becomes the “watershed” noir for the psychotic action and suicidal impulse lies within Travis’s inability to do anything but destroy (himself or others). Bickle is, to put it simply, a weapon without a direction to point in. His disgust with New York is exacerbated by driving all over the city at night and dealing with the very worst it has to offer. In his spare time he stews, going to porno theaters without release or stewing at home, a veritable sty of fast food and garbage.

Travis Bickle does not have a femme fatale to draw him in, so he creates two: Betsy, a campaign volunteer for Senator Charles Palantine, and Iris, a child-prostitute. His “Madonna/Whore” complex becomes the catalyst for a purpose, although in both cases it is wholly destructive. Travis alienates both women, but directs his anger at the men they represent.

Without any interest for his own well-being, Bickle pushes forward to realize his goal of being a psychopathic killer. His rage at Betsy redirected at Palantine, Travis comes to believe that his act will have major repercussions, fixing a world he has no use for (and evidently no cure for). When he fails, instead of trying to adjust his mindset, the suicidal Bickle storms into the brother where Iris stays, killing Sport, her pimp, his boss, and the john with Iris in an outburst of blood and severed limbs.

Bickle, who sustains injuries in the shoulder and the neck, fully intends to kill himself as Iris screams beside him. Her salvation was not part of his plan, if he truly had one, and a lack of ammunition is his salvation, though he clearly has no use for life. The police, storming into the aftermath of Travis’s rampage, find him “shooting” himself in the head with his finger. Bickle, the suicidal psychopath, has finally lost it.

If there is any question that the epilogue to the film, which finds Travis back in good health and lauded as a “hero”, sullies this climax, consider the final moments of Taxi Driver. Bickle, who appears back to “normal”, drops Betsy off in his taxi and drives away. He catches something in the reflection behind him, and the “normal” façade drops. Adjusting the mirror, Travis sees only himself. His rehabilitation was not complete; the cycle will begin again, and next time it may not end happily.

A curious side effect of the psychotic action hero occurs less in neo-noir and more to this day in action films like The Punisher or Death Wish. The lone hero, which traces itself back to pre-noir detective films and has its own watershed moment with Dirty Harry, is a spin-off of this psychotic action and suicidal impulse. It continues to appear in neo-noir or noir pastiches like Sin City, but the current crop of post-classical directors seem to be more fascinated with revisionist takes on pre-1950s noir conventions.

I include this because of an ongoing argument about whether its ideal to enjoy a film on its own merits or if there is a greater benefit to understand a film beyond what is simply presented onscreen. I contend that there is a healthy middle ground, one that doesn't require a film school degree to "appreciate" classic films, but one that does provide audiences with a new lens with which to revisit old favorites.

Is it absolutely necessary to know everything in the italicized paragraphs above to enjoy Taxi Driver? Certainly. I would be the first person to concede that one needn't know what a "pastiche" is to "get" the film. On the other hand, there's something about seeing Taxi Driver's place in film history that does enrich the experience, that opens new questions about the film, about specific camera angles, editing choices, or snippets of dialogue. While I'm not forcing anyone to consider these new ways to experience a film, my own history with Taxi Driver is an example of growing with film, of seeing an essentially unchanging piece of art in another way, and of the knowledge that the relationship between audience and film is constantly evolving. For me, that's what being a film fan is all about.



* What else falls in there: Goodfellas? The Departed? The Last Temptation of Christ? Casino?
** Not to be mistaken with a sort-of arbitrary association of "Post-Noir" that covers films like Touch of Evil, Blast of Silence, Point Blank, and Ace in the Hole.