Showing posts with label Jim Jarmusch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jim Jarmusch. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Cap'n Howdy's Best of 2014: Only Lovers Left Alive

 It's a relief to be able to think of Jim Jarmusch fondly again. As unfair as it is to judge a director I like harshly by one movie, I couldn't get the bitter taste of Limits of Control out of my mouth for a long time, and it inexplicably tainted his earlier films, many of which I really enjoy. For five years, it lingered, festering and rotting, annoying me with an "art-y for its own sake" construction, and I suddenly didn't feel like watching Ghost Dog or Down by Law. There's no "there" there in Limits of Control - the film is strictly an exercise of the director drawing attention to how clever his ideas are, with no characters or narrative to draw from. A lack of narrative isn't especially new for Jarmusch - in fact, it's usually a selling point. But lack of characters? Can you imagine Dead Man without the oddball supporting cast to balance out Johnny Depp? Coffee and Cigarettes at all?

 Thankfully, five years later, Jim Jarmusch returns to characters, and from a most unlikely (for him) literary source: vampires. But I wasn't worried. I can't explain why, but despite the fact that we've been seeing watered down bloodsuckers for the last half decade (or more), something about the idea of Jarmusch and vampires felt right. It was a gamble that paid off, because Only Lovers Left Alive is easily his best film since Ghost Dog and completely wipes Limits of Control off the ledger. Everything that fans have come to expect from Jarmusch is in there: the aimless story, the location as musical backdrop, the off-kilter humor, and most importantly, memorable characters.

 When we meet Eve (Tilda Swinton) and Adam (Tom Hiddleston), we don't know anything about them other than they abide messy abodes. The camera hovers above them, spinning like a 45 as Jarmusch makes his way to their faces, the soundtrack booming. If you haven't seen the trailer, I suppose there's a good chance you wouldn't know they were vampires, at least until Eve leaves her apartment in Tangier to visit a night café. She's waiting patiently for an old friend (John Hurt), and when she says his name, Christopher Marlowe, I guess the jig is up for people going in blind. Yes, that would be "the" Christopher Marlowe, and yes, he's a vampire. He has a nice supply of "the good stuff" that he's happy to share with Eve, but please don't say his name out loud.

 Just writing this, I feel like I'm making Only Lovers Left Alive out to be a very obvious and stupid sounding movie, which it isn't. Jarmusch doesn't play coy about Adam and Eve* - they are vampires, they are old, and there's a lot of unspoken history between them. Taken out of the context of the movie, I could understand how it might sound clever in a bad way, but it's presented so matter-of-factly in the story that it's hard not to take in stride. Eve is so easygoing, and Adam so morose, that you worry they're just going to be "types," but then Jarmusch brings them together and Only Lovers Left Alive shifts into a love story.

 Marlowe asks Eve why she and Adam don't live together if they've been married as long as they have been, but it seems pretty clear when she leaves Tangier to visit him in the U.S. that they have a long history together. They can be together and apart, and Jarmusch doesn't give any explicit reason why they're comfortable half a world away. There's no tragedy or disagreement hanging over the narrative - it just is, and you accept it the same way you do the conceit that they're vampires. Like many Jarmusch films, the why is less important. It gets in the way of what is.

 As he has in the past, Jarmusch sets Only Lovers Left Alive in a city known for its musical history. In this instance, it's Detroit, where Adam sets up shop in an abandoned part of town (the city's current financial calamity is another critical part of the story) and makes music in anonymity. At least, relative anonymity. He has Ian (Anton Yelchin) bring him recording equipment, instruments and, in one special request, a bullet made of wood. That doesn't amount to much more than a MacGuffin, but it's behind what brings Eve back to Adam. He's sick of the "zombies" (what vampires call humans) and is irritated that his music is finding an audience, despite his efforts to mask his identity. She brings him solace, and when the two of them come together, their facades crumble at bit. It turns out that Adam is also something of an amateur scientist and mechanic, who sets up his own sustainable energy for the house and who tinkers with old equipment. During a Skype (?) chat, he transfers the laptop signal to an old television. It's something he enjoys doing.

 Most of the time they drive around Detroit, and he takes her to the Detroit Theater (now a parking lot) and offers to show her the Motown Museum ("I'm more of a Staxx girl," she professes), but Eve is awfully impressed when Adam pulls up in front of Jack White's childhood home. If there's a singularly Jim Jarmusch-y moment in the film, that has to be it, but fans of Mystery Train should enjoy the thematic bridge. Their reunion is short lived, because dreams involving Eve's sister, Ava (Mia Wasikowska) turn out to be her way of announcing a visit. Ava doesn't care much about protocol like entering a home without permission and doesn't care much about personal space - she's more than happy to tear through Adam's supply of blood. She's not a very welcome guest, by either of them. It's hinted that they haven't seen her in more than a hundred years, and that it didn't end well "in Paris," and she doesn't seem to have changed much.

 True to form, she wastes no time in aggravating Adam and testing the patience of her sister, who tries to give her the benefit of the doubt. They make quite a trio, with their dark sunglasses and gloves, hanging out at the back of a club watching some band play (at her insistence), with Ian in tow, clueless to what's in the flask they're passing around ("is that Jaegermeister?"). By the end of the following day, she's worn out her welcome and insured they can't stay in Detroit, but they're the "boring, pretentious assholes." Her parting gift, so to speak (other than a SPOILER I'll leave out) is to leave Adam with a broken Gibson guitar from 1905, one that Eve had only recently identified the age of. It's no wonder that he was wary to find Ava had invited herself in the night before. Kids...

 Lest you worry that things get to dour and "goth" with vampires in the picture, you needn't worry: Only Lovers Left Alive is frequently very funny, in an off-beat way. Much of it comes from Adam's source for blood in Detroit, played by Jeffrey Wright. I'd tell you his name, but the setup and payoff of his name tag and the one Adam is wearing is too good to spoil here. When Adam needs blood, he pulls his scraggly black hair back into a ponytail, puts on scrubs, a stethoscope, and walks into the local hospital. The other doctors give him an askew glance, but don't say anything. However, in order to maintain a sense of mystery, Adam puts on his sunglasses when he walks into the blood lab, and he looks ridiculous. Jarmusch holds on the image of Adam trying to look intimidating as if to say, "dude, who are you kidding?" and Wright's character reacts accordingly.

 Yelchin and Wasikowska also provide varying degrees of comic relief, although Hiddleston gets most of the laughs as he tries to humor Eve and handle Ava with anything more than exasperation. His carefully constructed persona collapses completely with his wife and sister-in-law dragging him to a club, and Hiddleston knows exactly when to play the laugh. It would be easy to say he's simply playing a variation on Loki in Only Lovers Left Alive, but I don't think that's quite the case. Adam is more a creature of habit than Loki is, more comfortable in his carefully controlled environment. By the end of the film that environment has been completely shattered, and there's a humorous inevitability to the final shot. Swinton plays the moment perfectly, but that's consistent with her performance in the entire film. As Eve, she carries herself with a natural ease at all times that Adam desperately wants to have. Watching her subtle facial shifts around Ava is also fascinating - Adam is disdainful, but Eve is cautious, nervous even.

 In all honestly, I could have spent another hour with Eve and Adam, but I'm happy to have what's there. Only Lovers Left Alive restores the character to the Jim Jarmusch character study, and you don't mind watching a movie where the main characters drive around Detroit or hang out on the couch most of the time. Really, it's a lot of fun. The soundtrack is great, the actors are having fun, and Jarmusch brings just the right balance of directorial flourish and musical fetishism to the proceedings that I'm having a hard time finding things to complain about. There are more bad vampire movies and shows out there than good ones, it often feels like, so it's nice to add another film to the "positive" category. If you want to see a vampire movie where nothing really happens that you'll enjoy, check out Only Lovers Left Alive. Unless you like sparkly things or need someone to say the word "vampire" every ten minutes. You won't find that here.



 * Jarmusch did not, apparently, intend for audiences to assumed they were "the" Adam and Eve, but the IMDB trivia page erroneously refers to them being based on Mark Twain's satirical excerpts from the "diaries" of Adam and Eve, which ARE about "that" Adam and Eve. Twain also appears as a photograph on the wall of acquaintances in Adam's apartment.

Wednesday, July 2, 2014

Blogorium Review: Only Lovers Left Alive


 It's a relief to be able to think of Jim Jarmusch fondly again. As unfair as it is to judge a director I like harshly by one movie, I couldn't get the bitter taste of Limits of Control out of my mouth for a long time, and it inexplicably tainted his earlier films, many of which I really enjoy. For five years, it lingered, festering and rotting, annoying me with an "art-y for its own sake" construction, and I suddenly didn't feel like watching Ghost Dog or Down by Law. There's no "there" there in Limits of Control - the film is strictly an exercise of the director drawing attention to how clever his ideas are, with no characters or narrative to draw from. A lack of narrative isn't especially new for Jarmusch - in fact, it's usually a selling point. But lack of characters? Can you imagine Dead Man without the oddball supporting cast to balance out Johnny Depp? Coffee and Cigarettes at all?

 Thankfully, five years later, Jim Jarmusch returns to characters, and from a most unlikely (for him) literary source: vampires. But I wasn't worried. I can't explain why, but despite the fact that we've been seeing watered down bloodsuckers for the last half decade (or more), something about the idea of Jarmusch and vampires felt right. It was a gamble that paid off, because Only Lovers Left Alive is easily his best film since Ghost Dog and completely wipes Limits of Control off the ledger. Everything that fans have come to expect from Jarmusch is in there: the aimless story, the location as musical backdrop, the off-kilter humor, and most importantly, memorable characters.

 When we meet Eve (Tilda Swinton) and Adam (Tom Hiddleston), we don't know anything about them other than they abide messy abodes. The camera hovers above them, spinning like a 45 as Jarmusch makes his way to their faces, the soundtrack booming. If you haven't seen the trailer, I suppose there's a good chance you wouldn't know they were vampires, at least until Eve leaves her apartment in Tangier to visit a night café. She's waiting patiently for an old friend (John Hurt), and when she says his name, Christopher Marlowe, I guess the jig is up for people going in blind. Yes, that would be "the" Christopher Marlowe, and yes, he's a vampire. He has a nice supply of "the good stuff" that he's happy to share with Eve, but please don't say his name out loud.

 Just writing this, I feel like I'm making Only Lovers Left Alive out to be a very obvious and stupid sounding movie, which it isn't. Jarmusch doesn't play coy about Adam and Eve* - they are vampires, they are old, and there's a lot of unspoken history between them. Taken out of the context of the movie, I could understand how it might sound clever in a bad way, but it's presented so matter-of-factly in the story that it's hard not to take in stride. Eve is so easygoing, and Adam so morose, that you worry they're just going to be "types," but then Jarmusch brings them together and Only Lovers Left Alive shifts into a love story.

 Marlowe asks Eve why she and Adam don't live together if they've been married as long as they have been, but it seems pretty clear when she leaves Tangier to visit him in the U.S. that they have a long history together. They can be together and apart, and Jarmusch doesn't give any explicit reason why they're comfortable half a world away. There's no tragedy or disagreement hanging over the narrative - it just is, and you accept it the same way you do the conceit that they're vampires. Like many Jarmusch films, the why is less important. It gets in the way of what is.

 As he has in the past, Jarmusch sets Only Lovers Left Alive in a city known for its musical history. In this instance, it's Detroit, where Adam sets up shop in an abandoned part of town (the city's current financial calamity is another critical part of the story) and makes music in anonymity. At least, relative anonymity. He has Ian (Anton Yelchin) bring him recording equipment, instruments and, in one special request, a bullet made of wood. That doesn't amount to much more than a MacGuffin, but it's behind what brings Eve back to Adam. He's sick of the "zombies" (what vampires call humans) and is irritated that his music is finding an audience, despite his efforts to mask his identity. She brings him solace, and when the two of them come together, their facades crumble at bit. It turns out that Adam is also something of an amateur scientist and mechanic, who sets up his own sustainable energy for the house and who tinkers with old equipment. During a Skype (?) chat, he transfers the laptop signal to an old television. It's something he enjoys doing.

 Most of the time they drive around Detroit, and he takes her to the Detroit Theater (now a parking lot) and offers to show her the Motown Museum ("I'm more of a Staxx girl," she professes), but Eve is awfully impressed when Adam pulls up in front of Jack White's childhood home. If there's a singularly Jim Jarmusch-y moment in the film, that has to be it, but fans of Mystery Train should enjoy the thematic bridge. Their reunion is short lived, because dreams involving Eve's sister, Ava (Mia Wasikowska) turn out to be her way of announcing a visit. Ava doesn't care much about protocol like entering a home without permission and doesn't care much about personal space - she's more than happy to tear through Adam's supply of blood. She's not a very welcome guest, by either of them. It's hinted that they haven't seen her in more than a hundred years, and that it didn't end well "in Paris," and she doesn't seem to have changed much.

 True to form, she wastes no time in aggravating Adam and testing the patience of her sister, who tries to give her the benefit of the doubt. They make quite a trio, with their dark sunglasses and gloves, hanging out at the back of a club watching some band play (at her insistence), with Ian in tow, clueless to what's in the flask they're passing around ("is that Jaegermeister?"). By the end of the following day, she's worn out her welcome and insured they can't stay in Detroit, but they're the "boring, pretentious assholes." Her parting gift, so to speak (other than a SPOILER I'll leave out) is to leave Adam with a broken Gibson guitar from 1905, one that Eve had only recently identified the age of. It's no wonder that he was wary to find Ava had invited herself in the night before. Kids...

 Lest you worry that things get to dour and "goth" with vampires in the picture, you needn't worry: Only Lovers Left Alive is frequently very funny, in an off-beat way. Much of it comes from Adam's source for blood in Detroit, played by Jeffrey Wright. I'd tell you his name, but the setup and payoff of his name tag and the one Adam is wearing is too good to spoil here. When Adam needs blood, he pulls his scraggly black hair back into a ponytail, puts on scrubs, a stethoscope, and walks into the local hospital. The other doctors give him an askew glance, but don't say anything. However, in order to maintain a sense of mystery, Adam puts on his sunglasses when he walks into the blood lab, and he looks ridiculous. Jarmusch holds on the image of Adam trying to look intimidating as if to say, "dude, who are you kidding?" and Wright's character reacts accordingly.

 Yelchin and Wasikowska also provide varying degrees of comic relief, although Hiddleston gets most of the laughs as he tries to humor Eve and handle Ava with anything more than exasperation. His carefully constructed persona collapses completely with his wife and sister-in-law dragging him to a club, and Hiddleston knows exactly when to play the laugh. It would be easy to say he's simply playing a variation on Loki in Only Lovers Left Alive, but I don't think that's quite the case. Adam is more a creature of habit than Loki is, more comfortable in his carefully controlled environment. By the end of the film that environment has been completely shattered, and there's a humorous inevitability to the final shot. Swinton plays the moment perfectly, but that's consistent with her performance in the entire film. As Eve, she carries herself with a natural ease at all times that Adam desperately wants to have. Watching her subtle facial shifts around Ava is also fascinating - Adam is disdainful, but Eve is cautious, nervous even.

 In all honestly, I could have spent another hour with Eve and Adam, but I'm happy to have what's there. Only Lovers Left Alive restores the character to the Jim Jarmusch character study, and you don't mind watching a movie where the main characters drive around Detroit or hang out on the couch most of the time. Really, it's a lot of fun. The soundtrack is great, the actors are having fun, and Jarmusch brings just the right balance of directorial flourish and musical fetishism to the proceedings that I'm having a hard time finding things to complain about. There are more bad vampire movies and shows out there than good ones, it often feels like, so it's nice to add another film to the "positive" category. If you want to see a vampire movie where nothing really happens that you'll enjoy, check out Only Lovers Left Alive. Unless you like sparkly things or need someone to say the word "vampire" every ten minutes. You won't find that here.



 * Jarmusch did not, apparently, intend for audiences to assumed they were "the" Adam and Eve, but the IMDB trivia page erroneously refers to them being based on Mark Twain's satirical excerpts from the "diaries" of Adam and Eve, which ARE about "that" Adam and Eve. Twain also appears as a photograph on the wall of acquaintances in Adam's apartment.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Retro Review: The YAD Archives (Part Four)

 Preamble shamelessly copied from last week's post:

 Welcome back to another edition of the Blogorium's Retro Review. Today we're going to continue looking back at a series of reviews written for defunct online magazine You're All Doomed. Previously we took a look at reviews from 2005 and at the output of guest blogger Professor Murder. Turning the wayback machine a little further, let's take a look at a few more movies from 2004.

 Once again, a bit of a disclaimer: these reviews represent a proto-Cap'n Howdy and accordingly they don't look like what I write today. They're shorter, tend to make logical leaps and assume the audience will simply follow, and sometimes contain erroneous information because I was more interested in getting reactions out unspoiled rather than fact checking and researching before and during the writing process. I am, however, leaving them untouched in order to represent the original material.

---

Shaun of the Dead: A Romantic Comedy. With Zombies (if you will)
4.5 stars out of 5

Shaun of the Dead is nearly perfect entertainment. Unless of course, you have a weak stomach or hate zombies. Then it's just very good. As I write this, it becomes very difficult to explain why SotD is so wonderful. Is it that every character is three dimensional? Is it the nods to Romero's "Dead" films? Is it the presence of the star of "Black Books"?

Why don't the ads do this movie justice?

This is a question I do feel I can address. See, the ads I saw on tv flew in the face of every great thing I'd heard about it. The jokes looked obvious and stupid, the "scares" were neither frightening nor interesting. Even the celebrity blurbs sounded cheesy (I'm sorry Peter Jackson, really I am, but Cabin Fever was not the best horror movie of 2003 or any other year.) So I went in with a grain of salt, expecting to be sadly disappointed in another over-hyped "indie gem." Imagine my shock when in the first five minutes I was laughing. Not chuckles, but outright laughter, which led to sustained belly aching laughs as things really got rolling. Even the scenes they show you on tv, like when Shaun and Ed are singing and the zombie joins in, are funny. Seriously. Yes, taken out of context, they look terrible. When you realize that Shaun and Ed are very drunk and may well be the only people in London that DON'T know the dead have risen... I don't know. It's hard to explain.

Needless to say, just go see it. I've already told everyone I know that it's fucking hilarious and they'll love it. And if you have an aversion to gore or "horror" movies, then you'll be just fine until they lock themselves in the pub. Really. The title of this review doesn't lie. If you do like zombies, then you ought've seen it already, so get out there and watch it!

---

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
5 stars (out of 5)

Charlie Kaufman. Michel Gondry. Kate Winslet as good as she's been since Heavenly Creatures. Jim Carrey as good as he's ever been. Elijah Wood, Tom Wilkinson, Mark Ruffalo, David Cross. A true joy from beginning to end. Heart breaking and true. As good as they come, folks. Get it while it's fresh.

---

Coffee and Cigarettes
3.5 (out of 5)


It isn't difficult to digest this movie. In fact, the title alone tells you everything that can be expected. Jim Jarmusch takes small groups of people (for most of the vingettes, two) and provides them cigarettes and, well, coffee. However, let me clarify something here. This isn't improvised, or at least, most of the conversations aren't. Too many little phrases and moments echo each other to be an accident (in particular, keep an eye out for musicians who double as doctors, nikolai tesla, and the shady nature of celebrity.) While Coffee and Cigarettes is slight, the segments are never too long to grate, and the really good ones make up for the lesser bits.

To wit:

-Cate Blanchett is a standout playing herself and her cousin, as are Alfred Molina and Steve Coogan in the same beat.

-The White Stripes discuss Jack's Tesla coil while Cinque Lee looks on (Lee, having appeared in an earlier segment with his sister Joie and Steve Buscemi)

-Iggy Pop and Tom Waits test each other and discover the diner's jukebox doesn't play either one of them.

-Bill Rice and Taylor Mead muse about the late seventies and champagne
and, in what's probably the most heard about segment, The Rza and The Gza offer Bill Murray helpful tips of losing that smokers cough (they also refer to him exclusively as "Bill Murray".)

See what I mean? There's really not a lot after the movie ends, but it's a pleasant hour and a half, and even if the Tom Waits / Iggy Pop scene goes on for far too long, and Roberto Benigni is almost impossible to understand in his scene with Steven Wright, well, it's entertaining enough. Jarmusch fans should enjoy it well enough, and most other people weren't planning on seeing it anyhow.
---

I Heart Huckabees

4 Stars

I Heart Huckabees may be as difficult a review as I've ever had to write. This is the type of film best experienced, not unlike Being John Malkovich, Bubba Ho-Tep, or Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. If any of those movies turned you off when you read it, I Heart Huckabees probably isn't for you. There's no exaggerating on their part when Fox Searchlight calls it "[an] existentialist comedy", because it's both a parody and the essence of existentialism on celluloid. The film wanders around and throws high concept after high concept at the audience with little concern to explain or wait for you to catch up. The cast is uniformly great, including surprisingly good turns from Mark Wahlberg and Jason Schwartzmann, both actors who've had their share of ups and downs in hollywood. Dustin Hoffman and Lily Tomlin are endearing and baffling at the same time, and Jude Law is more than capable of taking the villain character and twisting him around. I'd be remiss to ignore Naomi Watts, who arguably has the most character arc in the movie, and she's totally believable all the way along.

That being said, no less than four people walked out of the movie when I went to see it, and a great deal more complained about it afterwards. This is a movie that isn't in the mood to wait for you, and a lot of people didn't understand why I was laughing so frequently and heartily. This is that type of movie, the sort that does horribly in theaters, but a small, devoted base keeps it alive on video and dvd. I hope. See it, but be warned, you may not like what you see.

---

The Day Before Tomorrow

3 Stars


I had such high hopes for this movie. Much like Eight Legged Freaks, I expected to be able to turn my brain off and enjoy some harmless carnage for two hours, then get up and forget about it by the time I got to the car. But then, I forgot, this IS Roland Emmerich we're talking about. Big hearted sap sentimentalist appeal to your inner tree hugger Roland Emmerich. Don't get me wrong, it's fine to express yourself in film, whether you're attacking foreign policy under the guise of alien invasion (Indepence Day) or attracting crass commercial endorsements while destroying New York (Godzilla) or even pillaging William Wallace and placing him front and center in the Revolutionary War (The Patriot). And don't even get me started on Stargate. However, these were all handled with the assistance of Dean Devlin (yep, the asian guy in Real Genius. Seriously, check it out) so I assumed he had a hand in this.

Now, don't get me wrong, I enjoy Disaster flicks as much as any filmgoer, maybe more (I do own The Poseidon Adventure and The Towering Inferno own VHS, Laserdisc, and DVD) and The Day After Tomorrow delivers on the gratuitous destruction. By the end of the movie, most of America is covered in ice, and millions are implied dead. Plus we see the destruction of Los Angeles and New York City firsthand, and let me tell you, it is grand. Not since George Lucas got off his fat ass to make the prequels has one film abused computers so. Tornadoes, walls of water (remember the OTHER ending to the Abyss? Ever wondered what'd happen if they didn't buy Ed Harris' plea?) rain and snowstorms out the wazoo, characters introduced only to be killed within ten minutes (check out the mostly pointless scene in Tokyo) and hail. Oh, and for no good reason, wolves.

HOWEVER, the carnage is sullied by the persistent eco-friendly message spewed at every opportunity by Dennis Quaid and Ian Holm, plus a cop out ending and unnecessary jabs at the Bush Administration (see: Vice President that clearly is the decision maker, idiot president that dies instead of being evacuated, etc) When President Cheney gives his final address on The Weather Channel, he tells the survivors of the world that they must make radical changes about the way they think in order to move on as a society (not unlike Bill Pullman's address in Independence Day) when shortly before he was belittling the efforts and warnings of the tree hugging climatologists. The movie even goes so far as to recommend ways to curb the impending doom before it happens.

Thankfully, this makes up the beginning and the end, chiefly, and the global destruction is worth the price of being lectured. Plus Jake Gyllenhall found himself a movie to be in that makes money (wise move, guy, those Donnie fans won't be paying the bills forever). If you dig death on a worldwide scale, some mildly interesting action scenes, and more (implied) corpses than a romero flick, check this movie out, but bring some earplugs, and plan to leave 15 minutes early.

---

Team America: World Police

3.5 Stars

AMERICA! FUCK YEAH!!

Team America offends the left and the right, and has been held up by both sides as a paragon of their beliefs. The National Review hails it for it's conservative sense of humour and merciless assault on the media elite, and Leftists use it to explain how America is perceived in the world.

Of course, they're both right. And wrong. Team America is an assault on all sides from the middle, people tired of being told they either side with George W. Bush or Michael Moore. (Personally, I think they're both full of shit.) It's also a crude, bombastic send up of overblown Hollywood Action movies, even lifting direct scenes and lines of dialogue from such hits as Top Gun and Armageddon. With puppets. There's even a clever Star Wars joke about halfway through the movie. The violence at first is ridiculous, but by the end of the film, Team America dispatches the Film Actors Guild in so many disgusting and violent ways that you forget you're watching puppets. Okay, you don't, but the novelty that it's one elaborate puppet show becomes irrelevant about halfway in.

The two best things Team America has going for it are Kim Jong IL as the film's chief villain (packing one hell of a surprise in the final moments) and the ridiculous, over the top songs, designed to copy and rip apart THE BIG SONG of action extravaganzas (one song in particular compares the loss of a girlfriend to how much Pearl Harbor sucked) and executed in a variety of outlandish ways. I'll even let Trey and Matt slide for reusing the Montage song from South Park.

I can't give it perfect marks, because it does miss the mark on some jokes, and like any action movie, things can drag a bit. But what works will leave your ass rolling in the aisles.

---

Fahrenheit 9/11 / Celsius 41.11

3 stars (combined)

I'm gonna do this quickly, because I'm so fucking sick of these movies:

Both movies alter the same facts to make different points. Both pretend to hold reverence for their subjects and yet rip them new assholes mercilessly. Both don't care about the truth if it gets in the way of their narrative. Fahrenheit is at least a palatable movie, Celsius doesn't want to be a movie, but rather an attack piece. Moore likes to think he's making high art, and he's not, but whatever. Seriously, Celsius is funnier, if only because they try even less to disguise the attack on John Kerry (which is funny, since the cover promises to correct Moore's mistakes) At the end of it, neither one of them has a point, and Fahrenheit only wins out because it's ballsier in scope. Fuck politics, fuck attack ads, fuck these "movies".

Thursday, July 21, 2011

A Very Auteurial Meme for Your Amusement.

 So there's this "movie director" meme thingy out there, making the rounds on social network sites (particularly ones with "like" buttons). The rules are actually pretty simple: someone gives you a director, and you list three movies by them: one you like, one you love, and one you hate. You can simply list the films, or provide and explanation. So far, the people I'm aware that do it have a mix of both, usually because film fans that are willing to subject a director's body of work to a like/love/hate spectrum often feel the need to clarify their choices. I know I did when trying to explain that there isn't really a Woody Allen film I hate*.

  I thought it might be fun to continue this in a non-meme format, so I asked the person who pulled the Cap'n into this to provide me with a few more directors. The Cap'n will also throw in a few, just in case nobody thinks of them. It's a fun and harmless meme, and this time I'm not going to ask anybody to do their own. You're welcome to simply enjoy and carry on doing whatever it is you do when you aren't at the Blogorium.

 We'll begin with an easy example: Robert Wise

 A Movie I Like: West Side Story.
 A Movie I Love: The Haunting (although The Day the Earth Stood Still is a close second).
 A Movie I Hate: Star Trek - The Motion Picture. The part of the title that distinguishes the film from the show is also totally inaccurate.


 Makes sense, right? Let's continue with one of the most difficult possible, a challenge I jokingly posed to Doctor Tom: Michael Bay

 A Movie I Like: Heh, in the interest of fairness, not hating The Island counts a "like," right? I also didn't hate Bad Boys 2 (but was kinda bored), so that counts, right?
 A Movie I Love: Okay, love might be overstating the case, but I can watch The Rock pretty much any time, which is more than I can say about any of Bay's other films. I do really like it, and not just as a guilty pleasure.
 A Movie I Hate: Armageddon.

Moving right along, let's try Charles Chaplin.

 A Movie I Like: I like, but don't love, A King in New York. It's fine until the very end, for similar reasons that keep me from loving The Great Dictator. I really like Monsieur Verdoux.
 A Movie I Love: Modern Times.
 A Movie I Hate: A Countess from Hong Kong.


Spike Lee

 A Movie I Like: Bamboozled, or Summer of Sam.
 A Movie I Love: Do the Right Thing.
 A Movie I Hate: I'm not a fan of Girl 6.


Werner Herzog

 A Movie I Like: Little Dieter Needs to Fly.
 A Movie I Love: Aguirre: The Wrath of God.
 A Movie I Hate: Even Dwarves Started Small. Sorry.


Terry Gilliam

 A Movie I Like: The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus or Jabbewocky.
 A Movie I Love: Tough, but let's go with the outside choice - Time Bandits.
 A Movie I Hate: Nothing about The Brothers Grimm works. Nothing. Tideland is very difficult to watch, but even then I wasn't bored.


John Carpenter

 A Movie I Like: Prince of Darkness.
 A Movie I Love: Geez... The Thing. Possibly sets the bar for remakes.
 A Movie I Hate: Hands down, Ghosts of Mars, but because that's universally hated, here's a curveball - The Fog.


Mike Nichols


 A Movie I Like: Closer.
 A Movie I Love: Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
 A Movie I Hate: I really dislike What Planet Are You From?

Jim Jarmusch
 A Movie I Like: Permanent Vacation.
 A Movie I Love: Ghost Dog - The Way of the Samurai.
 A Movie I Hate: The Limits of Control.

George A. Romero
 A Movie I Like: Martin.
 A Movie I Love: Night of the Living Dead.
 A Movie I Hate: The Dark Half.

Richard Linklater
 A Movie I Like: A Scanner Darkly.
 A Movie I Love: I know you're expecting Dazed, but Before Sunset.
 A Movie I Hate: Waking Life, for the same reasons I hate Slacker.


 There's not a lot of foreign representation on here, I realize, but I already used up Pier Paolo Pasolini, Luis Buñuel, and gave others Akira Kurosawa, Michel Gondry, and Takeshi Miike elsewhere. I thought about Jean-Luc Godard, Ingmar Bergman, and Jean-Pierre Jeunet, but I'll leave space open to expand later. Until then...

* There are Woody Allen films I don't like, but it takes a lot for me to hate something. I also try to skip out on the universally panned Allen films, so I've never seen The Curse of the Jade Scorpion or Small Time Crooks.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Lost Reviews

I found these the other day while I was cleaning out files. I wrote all of them for a radio show I was working on five years ago, and looking at the reviews, I can't imagine why most of them were abandoned. Oh wait, yes I can. You try reading them out loud.

A Dirty Shame2004
Directed by John Waters

Highly touted prior to its release as the first opening NC-17 film to be advertised on television, most people missed A Dirty Shame during a brief theatrical run, and it was largely forgotten. What a shame, because John Waters most recent effort accomplishes something many thought impossible; A Dirty Shame walks the tightrope between his older, more graphic fare (Desperate Living and Pink Flamingos) and his more recent “harmless” films (Hairspray, Cry Baby, and Pecker).
Tracey Ullman heads up the film as the uptight Sylvia Stickles, a woman who is so embarrassed by sexuality that she locks her daughter Ursula Udders (played by Selma Blair) in her room to conceal her outrageously augmented mammaries. Sylvia’s world is turned upside down, however, when she’s struck on the head and becomes a ravenous sexual lunatic, with the guidance of Ray Ray Perkins (played by Johnny Knoxville with all the swagger of a young Elvis Presley.) Ray Ray introduces Sylvia to the underground culture of sexual fetishism in Baltimore, and reveals that she is the prophet sent to them who will usher in the next level of carnal experience.
While it sounds awfully filthy, A Dirty Shame is actually quite funny, and doesn’t dwell on fetishism (which includes dressing up like a baby, smearing food on yourself, or the “bears”) but plays with the notion that sex is unnatural. The film is largely inoffensive, with the exception of a scene where Sylvia picks up a bottle of water using her you know what in a nursing home, but even that is more in the spirit of fun and less about shock value.
Waters peppers the cast with great character actors, including Chris Isaak, the aforementioned Ullman, Blair, and Knoxville, but also uses his regular troupe, among them Patricia Hearst, Mink Stole, and Jean Hill, plus an eleventh hour surprise cameo from a certain Bay Watch veteran.
A Dirty Shame is nothing to be embarrassed about watching; if you’re so inclined, I’m sure there’s a lot you can learn about in this movie, and at 87 minutes it hardly overstays it’s welcome, and anyway, it’s a hoot. A warning to hankie grabbers: the film’s NC-17 rating exists for the same reason Clerks initially got it, which is to say there’s a lot of talk but not much action.
*note – for those not inclined to be seen renting a movie rated NC-17, an R rated cut exists, but director Waters admits it’s entirely made of alternate scenes and is utterly harmless, and therefore maybe too tame.


Primer
2004
Directed by Shane Carruth

What a first glance appears to be a cautionary tale about the dangers of abusing science, Primer is actually the sort of brain-bending science fiction that rewards multiple viewings, and you won’t mind because a) it’s only 77 minutes long, and b) the film grows richer and richer with each reveal.
The film begins in earnest with four engineers trying to get their company up and running with something new and revolutionary to the scientific community. As time passes on, two of them slip out of the picture, and the remaining fellows make a radical discovery; they’ve found a way to transport matter six hour backwards in time. They continue to experiment, and then one of them presents the other with a larger surprise: he’s created one that a person can fit in.
At first they use it to make a small fortune using stock market numbers, and then their plan begins to spiral out of control when their ambition exceeds their conscience. What makes Primer work is that we’re treated to science fiction in a realistic way: none of this seems too implausible or outside the realm of what could happen, and the ensuing chaos and unraveling of layers may be confusing at first, but the more you pay attention to, the more fascinating this film is.
First time director Shane Carruth made Primer on a practically non-existent budget, shooting digitally with available light and casting himself and his friends, and while the low budget is on display insofar as film quality, the movie itself gains a grainy realism that would ring hollow in a major studio production.
This is certainly worth picking up and watching once, and if you like it or just wondered “what the hell happened?” give another sit through. You won’t regret it.

Trees Lounge
1996
Directed by Steve Buscemi

A movie lost in the shuffle of the indie revolution, Steve Buscemi’s directorial debut is a confident, laid back look at a man who has nothing worth living for. Consider Trees Lounge as a counterpart to Buscemi’s role in Ghost World, but imagine that instead of spending his money on arcane jazz records, he went over and over again to wean himself of the teat of the local bar. Every town has one; the watering hole where the same faces sit day in and day out, slightly drunk and ready to tell you about the good ole days.
Trees Lounge is the name of the bar in this particular corner of celluloid America, and Buscemi (who also wrote the film) plays Tommy, a local boy who never grew up. His girlfriend left him for his old boss, and he spends most of his time drifting about in the hours between opening and last call. Eventually, he gets a job as an ice cream truck man, and meets a much younger girl (played by Chloe Sevigny, fresh off her role in Kids) and one thing leads to another, but without such dire consequences. After all, this is a man with little ambition, and the outcomes are as muted as his outlook on life.
This is not to say Trees Lounge is boring; quite the opposite. The film is an amusing dramedy about being adrift and getting ahold of your life, but as opposed to most coming of age stories, this one happens to be about being in your late thirties. Buscemi fills the bar and surrounding town with plenty of familiar character actors, including Seymour Cassel, Mark Boone Junior, Anthony LaPaglia, Debi Mazar, and Samuel L. Jackson.
Don’t go in expecting anything flashy, but Trees Lounge is a fine character study from a character actor who knows what he’s doing.

Coffee and Cigarettes
2004
Director Jim Jarmusch
It isn't difficult to digest this movie. In fact, the title alone tells you everything that can be expected. Jim Jarmusch takes small groups of people (for most of the vingettes, two) and provides them cigarettes and, well, coffee. However, let me clarify something here. This isn't improvised, or at least, most of the conversations aren't. Too many little phrases and moments echo each other to be an accident (in particular, keep an eye out for musicians who double as doctors, nikolai tesla, and the shady nature of celebrity.) While Coffee and Cigarettes is slight, the segments are never too long to grate, and the really good ones make up for the lesser bits.

To wit:

-Cate Blanchett is a standout playing herself and her cousin, as are Alfred Molina and Steve Coogan in the same beat.

-The White Stripes discuss Jack's Tesla coil while Cinque Lee looks on (Lee, having appeared in an earlier segment with his sister Joie and Steve Buscemi)

-Iggy Pop and Tom Waits test each other and discover the diner's jukebox doesn't play either one of them.

-Bill Rice and Taylor Mead muse about the late seventies and champagne
and, in what's probably the most heard about segment, The RZA and The GZA offer Bill Murray helpful tips of losing that smokers cough (they also refer to him exclusively as "Bill Murray".)

See what I mean? There's really not a lot after the movie ends, but it's a pleasant hour and a half, and even if the Tom Waits / Iggy Pop scene goes on for far too long, and Roberto Benigni is almost impossible to understand in his scene with Steven Wright, well, it's entertaining enough. Jarmusch fans should enjoy it well enough, and it may appeal to other cinephiles.

Garden State
2003
Director Zach Braff

If there's one problem with Garden State, it's that the movie is too easy to love. This, understandably, is a minor problem, but waiting a few days between watching it and writing this tone my love of the film considerably.
Don't get it twisted, this is a great movie. Zach Braff put together something truly magic here: We're not just talking Wes Anderson's The Graduate (which, incidentally, is Rushmore), but at the same time, comparisons to Anderson are well made. Braff has a great eye of frame composition. Every shot is full of eye catching detail. And he's got a natural chemistry that makes him easy to relate to.
Admittedly, this isn't the most original idea for a movie, but you really don't mind seeing a movie about finding yourself and true love in the midst of tragedy because of how magnetic the cast is. Along with Braff, Ian Holm brings a subdued, nervous performance of a man who just doesn't understand his son, the always reliable Peter Sarsgard plays the affable loser that wants nothing more to smooth things over so well you tend to forget just how good he is at it. Then there's the revelation: Natalie Portman. I'd been so used to seeing her go half-assed in Star Wars that I forgot that this was the same Natalie Portman that blew everyone away in Leon. She's a force of nature in Garden State, but it's a testament to her talent that she never takes it over the top. This is the type of character that'd tempt some to go way past believable, but you never feel like she isn't a real person (even if that real person is a chronic liar who suffers from siezures. Speaking of which, kudos to Braff for avoiding the easy dramatic device of the free spirit heroine being dragged back to earth with a tragic seizure scene)
Garden State works because everyone involved wants it to, and where most movies would drag or take the easy route, things work so very well because we're invested in the characters.
* I should take a moment to talk about the music. My friend scoffed at my interest in Garden State, calling it "an advertisment for how awesome indie rock is" which, from the tv ads for the soundtrack, isn't that far off base. However, the movie, despite using indie rock as an almost excluse soundtrack, only directly draws attention to the music once. I think it's not as obtrusive as some might expect it to be (think of it as a more subdued version of Simon and Garfunkel's "Graduate" soundtrack)

DiG!

Ondi Timoner’s documentary about The Dandy Warhols and The Brian Jonestown Massacre was a seven year labour of love, telling the tale of two bands on the rise; one of who makes it to (relative) success, and the other who implodes. The great joy in watching the film is seeing how each band approaches their rises and falls, and what it takes to stay alive inside the belly of the record company beast. While Warhols singer Courtney Taylor narrates the film, equal time is given to the Dandys and Anton Newcombe, the brilliant but unstable leader of the Jonestown Massacre. The bands pick at each other, are envious, and get together every now and then to play (or in one case, to crash the other band’s house for a photo shoot) but it’s not necessary to like The Dandy Warhols or The Brian Jonestown Massacre to enjoy the film. Better still, the dvd contains separate commentary tracks for each band, so we can hear their reaction to the film, how they’re portrayed, and how they saw things as 1996 turned into 2002.

Me and You and Everyone We Know

Director Miranda July moves from the world of short films to full length with this confident slice of life dramadey. Well, let’s take a step back, eh? July, who appears in the film, made a film that is at times evocative of Wes Anderson, Paul Thomas Anderson, Mary Harron, Sofia Coppola, and Terry Zwigoff, with the themes of a Todd Solondz movie. Yes, that is possible, and Me and You and Everyone We Know is a declaration of emerging talent wrapped up in the overlapping stories of a Short Cuts or Magnolia. A warning to the sensitive: this film deals with burgeoning adolescent sexuality, but not in a perverted way, per se.

Z Channel: A Magnificent Obsession

Z Channel was a pay cable station based out of California in the late seventies and early eighties, but it’s what Z Channel and its founder Jerry Harvey were about that makes it so important. Z Channel preceded HBO in a number of ways, but more importantly, Harvey was interested in showing movies that didn’t get a fair shake in theaters; films he loved personally and wanted to share with the world. Z Channel was the first cable station to show movies the way they were shot, in widescreen, and in blocks with similar films for marathons. Directors like Robert Altman, David Cronenberg, and Jim Jarmusch saw their films alongside movies like The Magnificent Ambersons, Heaven’s Gate, and Once Upon a Time in America, premiering for the first time in its original director’s cut. Harvey had a passion for films, and the people interviewed in this film rave about him, the least of which is Quentin Tarantino, who lived outside Z Channel’s broadcast range and only saw it through bootlegged tapes. Harvey’s life was cut short in the mid-eighties when his mental problems drove him to suicide, but the impact of Z Channel on what we know as home video cannot be overlooked, and A Magnificent Obsession is a great way to see that.

The Chumscrubber

The Chumscrubber is a bit like Donnie Darko, but with the sensibilities of I Heart Huckabees. There’s our hero who lives in a semi-permanent prescription stupor, his clueless parents and their clueless friends, and then there’s The Chumscrubber, and omnipresent video game, tv, and comic book character who wanders through post apocalyptic suburbia with his severed head at his side. To tell you any more would take away the fun of seeing it for yourself, but don’t expect another Donnie Darko. Just something distantly related.

The Life and Death of Peter Sellers

Stephen Hopkins cut his teeth in Hollywood making sequels to popular sci-fi and horror movies (A Nightmare on Elm Street Part 5, Predator 2) but in 2004 he made something quite different for HBO, something that, while critically recognized, never got the attention it deserved, The Life and Death of Peter Sellers. Based on the book of the same name, Geoffery Rush is Peter Sellers, whoever that is. The film gives us Sellers as a man without any identity of his own, partly the reason he was such a renowned character actor, because he slipped into the roles fully. Jealous to the point of acting childish, Sellers was a fascinating mess of a man and the movie covers his personal and professional life in a way many were never aware of. That and it’s damned good, too. Rush is fantastic as Sellers, who plays the movie as though he’s directing his own life story (and playing all the parts), and there are fine turns by John Lithgow, Stephen Fry, Emily Watson, Charlize Theron, and Stanley Tucci as Stanley Kubrick. A fine post modern biopic in the vein of American Splendor, The Life and Death of Peter Sellers is a must view.

The Machinist

Brad Anderson’s curious blend of the worlds of David Fincher and David Lynch may be best known for Christian Bale’s stunning weight loss, but it’s a hallucinatory trip down the dark corridors of the mind that keep us watching. Bale, who dropped down to 117 pounds, plays Trevor Reznik, a machinist who hasn’t slept for a year and is haunted by ominous visions of something he may or may not have done. As his sense of reality begins to unravel, he reaches out to the only people he knows, a waitress (Aitana Sánchez-Gijón) and a hooker (Jennifer Jason Leigh) who may know him better than he knows himself. If the ending lacks the punch it should have, then at least the journey there was effective enough.

The Jacket

Steven Sodebergh and George Clooney’s production company turned to short filmmaker John Maybury to direct their first major feature, a strange blend of Jacob’s Ladder and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Adrien Brody is a Desert Storm veteran who’s suffering more than a little brain damage from being shot in the head twice, and when the man he’s hitchhiking with kills a police officer, he can’t remember what happened. Assigned to the care of Dr. Thomas Becker (Kris Kristofferson), Jack Starks is subjected to a horrific series of tests in a mental facility, the worst of which involves being put into a straight jacket and locked in a morgue container under the influence of heavy medication. Starks awakens to find himself in the future, and by accident comes across a young woman (Keira Knightley) whose mother he helped out in 1990. When Starks discovers his death is imminent, his mission is a race against time to find out how he dies and if he can stop it. The Jacket benefits greatly from Maybury’s vision as a director: much of the film’s transitions have a Brakhage like feeling, and he has a fine eye and a great cast to sell the premise.

Wet Hot American Summer

Somewhere between when The State ended it’s run and when Stella began airing on Comedy Central, the central members got together and made a movie about summer camp in the 1980’s. Their bizarre sendup, written by Michael Showalter and directed by David Wain, has all the flourishes of the summer camp film genre, but filtered in such a strange way that we’re almost not sure if it’s funny the first time through. It is. Wet Hot American Summer is the only kind of movie we could expect from The State, a comedy troupe so devoted to the bizarre that it’s no wonder the show didn’t last. In addition to the half of the state that isn’t in Reno 911, Wet Hot American Summer also stars Paul Rudd, Janeane Garafalo, David Hyde Pierce, Amy Poehler, Elizabeth Banks, and Christopher Meloni (also known as the guy who looks like Elias Koteas). Don’t be surprised if you find yourself watching it and saying “hey! It’s that guy” more than once, even if you aren’t sure if you like it. Watch it a couple of times and let it sink in.

The Most Dangerous Game

While King Kong was wrapping up shooting and before effects work went underway, RKO decided to put the standing jungle sets to good use and make another movie they could release before Kong, using much of the same cast, crew, and even the same director. Based on Richard Connell’s story of the same name, The Most Dangerous Game is the tale of a trophy hunter who survives a boat capsizing and finds himself of an island owned by the mysterious Count Zaroff, who also enjoys hunting, but in a very different way. Starring Joel McRea, Leslie Banks, and Kong’s Fay Wray and Robert Armstrong, the film is a lean 63 minutes, but never runs out of steam. Do yourself a favor and hunt this one down.



Heavenly Creatures

Peter Jackson’s first foray outside the world of horror comedy was the true story of Juliet Hulme, who brutally killed her mother with the help of her best friend Pauline Parker. Though it sounds right up his alley, Heavenly Creatures is more of a drama with the hint of fantasy than an outright suspense film (the murder itself happens at the very end of the film). The movie proper deals with the growing relationship between the shy Hulme (Melanie Lynskey), and the outgoing Parker (Kate Winslet, in her big screen debut), much to the horror of their parents. Jackson displays an adeptness with the young actresses heretofore unseen in his earlier films, and brings the fantasy elements of their dream world (involving butterflies, castles, and clay knights) to the screen in a way that doesn’t feel hokey. Heavenly Creatures was the first indication to many that Jackson had much more in him than Zombie films, but it never got the audience it deserved.

F for Fake

Orson Welles’ free form film essay on the art of sleight of hand, be it magic, forgery, or film illusion is a wild ride that benefits from watching with a skeptic’s eye. While it seems Welles is pointing the camera at Elmyir, a master art forger, perhaps he’s looking at the man’s biographer, who also wrote a biography of Howard Hughes that turned out to be utter fiction. Or perhaps he’s pointing the camera towards his companion Oja Kodar, and her sordid tale involving Pablo Picasso. Maybe he’s pointing at himself and his critics, who chided him for never finishing his films. Maybe. Watch it for yourself and decided, and while you’re checking out Criterion’s first class dvd of F for Fake, put in disc two and watch Orson Welles: One Man Band, a feature length documentary about a number of films Welles began, but for one reason or another, never completed. The master is at work in F for Fake, so go see what he’s up to.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Five Movies: The Most Repetitive Music in Film

Sometimes I'm not even sure where these come from, but after hearing that True Grit and Tron Legacy and Inception all had "repetitive" scores, I started thinking about films that truly test my patience with an over-reliance on one or two pieces of music, and this edition of Five Movies finds offenders far more egregious than any of 2010's punching bags. Take a look for yourself, and when possible, a listen:


5. The Creature from the Black Lagoon - It's not that all of the music for Creature is so tedious, but the fact that there's one theme for the Creature, and that it plays every time it appears onscreen, really robs the film of actual thrills or chills.



4. Dead Man / Human Highway - I'm lumping the two of these together because it feels like there isn't a piece of music that Neil Young doesn't love to play to death when he's in charge of the soundtrack. Dead Man's first half is punctuated by the same guitar riff played ad nauseum, which does add to the hypnotic effect of the film, but is nevertheless taxing on one's patience after a certain point. In Human Highway, we're subjected to the same Devo song ("Worried Man") every single time Devo appears on-screen during the narrative proper, so much so that it's a minor relief to hear the unbearably long "Hey Hey My My" during the film's dream sequence. That said, no sooner are we out of the dream sequence than the rest of the cast is performing "Worried Man."



3. The Graduate - I rarely have complaints about Mike Nichols' The Graduate, but its famous soundtrack, featuring music from Simon & Garfunkel, has the unfortunate tendency of playing "Mrs. Robinson" in different incarnations for most of the film (among other S&G songs). If there's such a thing as beating a song into one's head, The Graduate finds a way of doing it, and in the process sullies an otherwise entertaining piece of music.

2. Man on the Moon - Like The Graduate, R.E.M.'s score for Milos Forman's 1999 Andy Kaufman biopic suffers from the overuse of an instrumental version of one song - R.E.M.'s "Man on the Moon," which plays over and over and over again with little variation over the course of the film. Were it not such an obvious choice or not performed by the band whose song title inspired the film's title, or if it had simply been held back just a little bit, I might not be so perturbed by it, but nearly every time the film changes location, or the progression of Kaufman's life or career switches, it's back to the same old theme.

1. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring - The number one, without fail, all time worst example of "playing a theme to death" I can think of. Howard Shore has two major pieces of score for The Fellowship of the Ring, and depending which part of the movie you're watching, you'll hear them both repeatedly. Early in the film, he plays the "Concerning Hobbits" theme for all its worth:



In the second half of the film, after the fellowship is forged, Shore relies on its theme for nearly every transition, action sequence, or musical bridge:



If you've ever tried watching The Fellowship of the Ring on television, or found yourself in the second half of the film, it's embarrassing how much of a crutch this "theme" is; it's one thing to return to a theme, touch on variations of it during other pieces of music (take Danny Elfman's Batman score, for example), but to play the same theme without variation for half of a three hour movie is taking it too far. Considering how toned down the repetition is during The Two Towers and The Return of the King, it certainly seems like Shore was aware of this too.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Retro Review: Dead Man

I hadn't actually planned on watching all of Dead Man yesterday; the Cap'n had been backing up some videos and stumbled across a copy of Jim Jarmusch's 1995 western, and when I put the movie on, I found I couldn't turn it off. Jarmusch's sparse, black and white photography and minimalist camerawork had me transfixed, unable to turn away.

Dead Man, like Apocalypse Now and Blade Runner, is a film that operates in a dream-like state; I've seen all three many times, and while the narratives are all reasonably straightforward, they have a hypnotic effect that renders me incapable of remembering the story until I watch them again. For the life of me I couldn't remember the progression of Dead Man's story. Only moments, images stuck with me: Crispin Glover covered in coal soot, Lance Henriksen's cannibal bounty hunter, Iggy Pop wearing a dress, and Johnny Depp painting his face with the blood of a dead fawn.

Bill Blake (Depp) leaves Cleveland, Ohio and heads west by train to Machine, where he's promised an accounting job at Dickinson Metal Works. Informed by Dickinson's assistant, John Scofield (John Hurt) that the position was filled a month before he arrived, Blake demands to see John Dickinson (Robert Mitchum), which is met with disaster when the old man threatens to kill him on sight. Broke and with no work, Blake meets Thel Russell (Mili Avital), who left her life as a prostitute to sell imitation roses, but their romance is cut short when Charlie (Gabriel Byrne) returns to kill Thel, his former lover. Charlie kills Thel, and in the process shoots Blake near the heart, before Blake kills him and escapes. Unbeknownst to Blake, Charlie is Dickinson's son, and the old man hires three outlaws - Cole Wilson (Lance Henrikson), Conway Twill (Michael Wincott), and Jimmy "The Kid" Pickett (Eugene Byrd) to track down Blake and the horse he stole. The injured Blake awakens to find Nobody (Gary Farmer), an outcast Native American, trying to dig out the "white man's metal" next to his heart, but when Nobody discovers Blake's real name, he sets out to return the lost soul to the spirit realm.

Dead Man is a film of facsimiles, of imitations and "almost there"'s: Nobody mistakes Bill Blake for the spirit of poet William Blake, although Bill has no notion of his namesake. Blake wanders home with Thel Russell, who sells paper roses. Nobody is a mixed-blood Native, captured by white men and taken to England. Despite his escape, his heritage is denied by his tribe, and he is left to wander the desert, alternately imitating and mocking the "stupid white man." Blake, who arrives in town wearing a "clown suit" from Cleveland, doesn't seem to fit in anywhere - Depp's appearance is reminiscent of his role in 1993's Benny and Joon.

The hypnotic effect is a result of Dead Man's episodic lapses; despite the fact that the story is a simple "pursuit" film, Jarmusch and editor Jay Rabonwitz made the decision to fade out after every scene, effectively creating a series of dreamlike vignettes, starting with Blake's train ride from Cleveland to Machine - itself half-dream, half shifting reality, and closing with the Train Fireman (Crispin Glover)'s stream of consciousness warning against going "all the way out here to hell." The lapses in narrative, coupled with Neil Young's ethereal (if repetitive) score, result in an experiential, rather than linear, tone.

Nobody (a character whose name is almost certainly borrowed from Tonino Valerii's 1973 spaghetti western) has most of Jarmusch's directorial flourishes: his flashbacks fade to white (how appropriate) with images surrounded by a hazy iris. When he takes peyote midway through the film, Nobody sees Blake with a skeleton superimposed over his face (perhaps a too literal image for the film). Gary Farmer does manage to transition Nobody's role from off-kilter comedic to sage-like smoothly, which helps smooth over Dead Man's few, but obvious, thematic touches.

I'd also forgotten how funny Dead Man is, and not simply because of Nobody's insistence on calling Blake a "stupid fucking white man." As is the case in most of Jarmusch's body of work, the comedy comes from character quirks or awkward situations; the way that John Dickinson admonishes Wilson, Twill, and Pickett like errant school children, or the way they behave like petulant truants waiting in the Principal's office before Dickinson arrives. The bounty hunters, who are not accustomed to working together, are a mismatch from the outset: Conway Twill talks to much and sleeps with a teddy bear; Cole Wilson barely talks at all, but is prone to random, brutal acts of violence; and Jimmy "The Kid" Pickett is trapped in the middle, unable to fully grasp how out of his league he is.

The film teeters on the brink of self-parody during a sequence involving Blake and three trappers: Big George (Billy Bob Thornton), Benmont Tench (Jared Harris) and "Sally" Jenko (Iggy Pop), who eat beans and talk of philistines, then argue amongst themselves who gets to kill Blake, the interloper, before Nobody swoops in for the rescue. That Thornton actually utters the line "Well, I guess nobody gets you" before Nobody kills him, is almost too on the nose, but Dead Man recovers by resorting (as it often does) to a violent conclusion.

There are a handful of recurring themes in Dead Man: the conflict between Christianity and Native spirituality (particularly in a late confrontation between Nobody and a trader played by Alfred Molina), mistaken identity, running gags involving tobacco and beans, Blake's encounters with sexuality appearing increasingly bestial, of innocence corrupted, and miscommunication between allies. This is excluding the numerous references to William Blake in the film, both direct and implied.

I must have seen Dead Man for the first time in high school, almost assuredly on video. I have vague recollections of the film (dubbed an "acid western") not being received well, but can only find one truly negative review from the period: a one-and-a-half star review by Roger Ebert that might be the basis for my conception (although knowing the News and Observer, which nothing is ever "good enough" for, that was no doubt also a pan).

Revisiting the film, beyond the fact that I could not wander away from Jarmusch (and cinematographer Robby Müller)'s black and white photography, I find that I enjoyed Dead Man more than I have at any of the various points I've spent with the film in the ensuing sixteen years. While it doesn't have the intangible joy of Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai, or the laconic wit of Down By Law, or even the emotional resonance of Broken Flowers, Dead Man is certainly head and shoulders above the obvious, show-off-y The Limits of Control, and more cohesive than Mystery Train, Night on Earth, or Coffee and Cigarettes. Dead Man may never be clear where it's going (if it is, in fact, going anywhere), but the trip makes up for its ambiguous destination.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Blogorium Review: Le Samouraï

I sat down last night to watch Jean-Pierre Melville's Le Samouraï knowing relatively little about the film, other than effusive praise coming from Quentin Tarantino and it's place in the auspicious (for the most part) Criterion Collection. Coming out on the other side, I'm quite certain that without Melville's homage to film noir and police procedurals, there would be no Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai or The Limits of Control from Jim Jarmusch.

Jef Costello (Alain Delon) is a hitman who covers his tracks impeccably. He steals cars to avoid being tracked, puts together a two-fold alibi for the evening of his latest kill, and then heads to an ultra-chic nightclub to assassinate the owner, then leaves (almost) unseen. When the police pick up Costello, he calls in Jane Lagrange (Nathalie Delon) to vouch for his whereabouts, as well as the other man she saw that night, Wiener (Michel Boisrond). Unsatisfied with his story, the police superintendent (François Périer) puts a tail on Jef, but that's the least of his worries. Olivier Ray (Jean-Pierre Posier), the man who hired him, wants Costello out of the picture, and Jef finds himself being hunted by the police and his employers.

Le Samouraï is a movie of efficiency; not a moment is spared on stylistic flourishes or unnecessary technique. In fact, not a word is spoken for the first ten minutes of the film, and Delon's Jef Costello barely says anything during the story. His routine and dispassionate attitude do the heavy lifting, and while the direct link to the samurai code is tenuous (right down to a dubious "quote" from Bushido after the opening credits), the silent assassin is effective, adaptive, and attached only to the barest of routine - other than an insistence on making sure his fedora looks "just so," Costello is barely interested in the world around him.

Melville's film is a study in contrast, particularly between the run-down Paris that Costello (and his rare associate) inhabit, and the hyper-modern world of the men chasing him. Jef's apartment is, save for a few pieces of furniture and a caged bird, barren. The streets he walks are dirty, worn, and filled with shadows. On the other hand, Olivier's apartment, the nightclub, and even the Superintendent's station are a study in antiseptic straight lines, brightly lit and reflective at all times. Compare the dingy gray of Costello's apartment with the pristine white hallway in Oivier's penthouse suite - where Jef hides out alongside Valérie (Cathy Rosier), the club's piano player and only link to his mysterious employer. Jef doesn't know that Olivier lives there - yet - but his persistence is matched only by Delon's inexpressive face.

The old clashes with the new during a tense (and mostly silent) chase sequence between the police force and Costello in the Metro system. Alternating between the Superintendent's office and Jef switching trains, Melville manages to make a simple blinking light generate most of the suspense. The Metro may be the only modern structure that Costello feels comfortable navigating, and even though his escape may be questionable, the sequence is the closest Le Samouraï comes to having an "action" sequence.

Jef's insistence on wearing a trench coat, suit, and fedora may have been anachronistic in1967, but it points to Melville (and much of the French New Wave)'s obsession with the American film noir movement. The film itself is unabashedly straightforward, lacking much of a sense of self parody, even when the stoic assassin needs to play tough with a colleague sent to kill him (or hire him). Jef Costello is arguably the model for the Lone Man (Isaach De Bankolé) in Jarmusch's The Limits of Control, a character so exaggerated that it is difficult for this reviewer to find the latter effective. Similarly, the samurai ethic hinted at early in the film seems to have been extrapolated on by Jarmusch in Ghost Dog, which has a similar narrative structure.

While Le Samouraï is an efficient, entertaining exercise in straight-faced extremes of behavior, I sense that audiences would view the film today as more intentionally sarcastic than Melville intended. Jef Costello is too stoic, too silent for fans of "bad-ass" cinema to take at face value, and his "hits" are over as quickly as they begin. Le Samouraï is an action film limited in action: a study in contrasting styles, one that is rewarding if you don't know what to expect, but certainly a film whose imitators have stacked the expectations unfairly against their point of reference.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

So You Won't Have To: The Limits of Control


"Bad movies happen to good directors. You'd think I would have learned that by now."


I took a bullet for all of you last night. It pains me to say it, as much of a supporter of Jim Jarmusch as I am, but I cannot in good conscience give a movie this a pass. The Limits of Control is a challenge to any cinephile to try and finish a film that builds and repeats for no reason, that peppers the already limited dialogue with pointless one-sided conversations about the derivation of the term "Bohemian", movies that show you what life was really like, and molecules floating together in space.

Since I hope none of you ever watch this film, I'm going to spoil everything. Believe me, that's not saying as much as you think it would.

To be kind, I'll call it a waste of time. The plot is so simple, I can describe it in one sentence:

A hitman is hired to kill an American businessman in Spain, but mostly he sits in cafes or doesn't sleep.

That's it. I guess if you need more specifics, the Lone Man (Isaach De Bankolé) exercises, drinks two cups of expresso, walks around, and periodically looks at art. We see every single contact he makes in every town, all of which begin with the code phrase "You don't speak Spanish, do you?" delivered in Spanish, no matter what the nation of origin of the contact.

Occasionally, Nude (Paz de la Huerta) tries to sleep with him. When she's not totally nude, she sometimes wears a clear raincoat. I could pretend this is an important plot development, but if you had to sit through this film, you'd realize that it means about as much as anything else that happens.

The Limits of Control is about repetition. Lone Man enters a town, goes to his apartment. The camera move is the same when he first arrives as when he leaves, every single time. He always orders two espressos in separate cups, both of which are for him. His contacts sit down, have some water, and talk for five minutes or so about art, philosophy, music, film, or science. The movie wants you to think this has something to do with Bill Murray's speech right before Lone Man kills him with a guitar string, but it doesn't.

From here on out, I'm going to include some notes I took during the film, embellished with my further thoughts:

"It's like he decided to remake Point Blank, but only the stylistic flourishes and without the story. Or A story. Just repetition for the sake of repetition."

Okay, so when The Limits of Control starts with Focus Features Presents a POINTBLANK Production, it's hard to ignore that kind of subtle reference. It's like having Lone Man fly on Lumiere Airlines. Sometimes I can let a reference-heavy movie slide, but The Limits of Control seems to think its the first film to do this, so instead of being maybe clever, it's obnoxious.

But back to Point Blank. I've seen Point Blank. Many times. I've even seen its remake, Payback. In both forms. I've seen Godard's Made in USA, which to be perfectly honest is more what The Limits of Control has in common with the Walker novels Point Blank and Made in USA are based on. Even Made in USA has more of a story than The Limits of Control.

Jarmusch borrows a number of visual cues from Point Blank, but for no reason. They're there just to say "see? it's like the scene in Point Blank where he comes in and she's in bed. Then he takes the gun away!" which is actually only reminiscent of what happens. Late in the film I realized that in some ways Isaach De Bankolé resembles Lee Marvin, particularly in the eyes and jawline. But The Limits of Control isn't actually like Point Blank in any way other than copying specific shots. One of them has a story and the other does not.

"There's something oddly amusing about the film existing for its own sake. Self serving, yes, but in a 'really? this is the movie?' way."

For the first hour (or what I thought was the first hour), I was kind of enjoying how shamelessly about itself The Limits of Control was. It's really all you can do, because there's not much else to invest in. But then it takes a turn, around the 45 minute mark (not even close to the halfway point, it turned out) or so, when Lone Man goes into a Spanish restaurant / club and listens to a song that is, verbatim, what the French guy with the French translator said at the beginning of the movie. Then you realize that Jarmusch is actually going to try shoehorning meaning into this masturbatory exercise in cinema.

"Jarmusch just cut from the Lone Man looking at a city skyline to the same shot of him looking at a painting of the same thing."

Up to that point, I'd put up with "You don't speak Spanish, do you" followed more often than not by someone continuing to speak in Spanish while Lone Man just sat there. I put up with the pointless casing of cities that had nothing to do with the end of the movie, with the inane conversations from recognizeable actors. I even let the deliberately misleading music cues pass, because, well, that's what I was watching. That was the movie.

But then Jarmusch tries to have his cake and eat it too. Now we have repetition of phrases in addition to images. Phrases which mean nothing, just like they meant nothing the first time, only now they're introduced to trick you into thinking there's a philosophy behind the facade; that there's nothing worth looking at behind the curtain. Pay attention to the Wizard, you schmuck.

"Tilda Swinton is now describing the film while she pretends to talk about other movies. 'I like films where people just sit there and don't talk' followed by silence. Get it???"

She then goes on to talk about The Lady from Shanghai and how it was the only movie Rita Hayworth ever wore a blonde wig in. Then she talks about how Rita Hayworth dies at the end of the movie. Tilda Swinton is wearing a blonde wig and later in the film, Lone Man sees a movie poster of her in the same outfit she's wearing, followed by a shot of Swinton being forced into a car and driven away. Gee, I wonder what happened to her character?

Oh, and she has a clear umbrella. Let's see if you can figure out what that has to do with Nude.

"I really think Jim Jarmusch is fucking with me. He wants me to not go off on the pretentious film student who claims this is brilliant in a year's time. And he will. And hack professors. And people who mistake 'confusing' for 'deep' and defer to movies they think are smarter than they are will believe them, even if the film lacks every other necessary component of competency."

Somewhere down the line, I guarantee you someone tells you this is brilliant. They'll compare it to Dead Man and claim that "nothing happened in Dead Man, either", and then explain the story about going to the cemetery to find out what life is really about, or what "La vida non vale nada"has to do with the "meaning" of the film. Or the last title card: No Limits No Control. Or how clever it is that Bill Murray puts his wig on a skull. Get it? Foreshadowing!

I can think of a dozen different ways that first year film students are going to mistake this film for something deep and profound. How the references to Tarkovsky and Kaurismäki are awfully clever, and they'll share the movie like it's some great secret. And I'll make them watch Point Blank. I'll make them watch Made in USA. I'll even make them watch The Limey, which is a much better stylistic riff on Boorman's film, and then we'll talk about The Limits of Control.

This really pains me, because like I said, I've defended Jarmusch before with other films for many of the reasons I'm tearing The Limits of Control apart. The difference is that the other movies, while periodically indulgent, were interesting to watch. They didn't make a two hour movie feel like four hours of wanking into a camera. The characters were actually interesting and the story compelling. If you hate Dead Man (and I know a few of you who do) or Stranger Than Paradise, The Limits of Control would be torturous to sit through. Even if you know what's coming (which is nothing), it's an ultimately worthless exercise in pretentiousness.

So be glad that I watched it So You Won't Have To. Because I really hope you don't subject yourself to this film. Do yourself a favor and find a copy of Permanent Vacation, an early Jarmusch film that The Limits of Control has far more in common with than you'd think. The difference is that his first film, for all its rough patches, is still more interesting than his latest.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

This Time I Should Call It "So I Won't Have To"

Are any of you brave readers willing to bite the bullet for the old Cap'n? My schedule is going to be a little busy for the next nine days or so before settling down to "jack and shit" for a month of movie viewing, but I've got some "So You Won't Have To"'s either coming from or already here via Netflix.

I'm willing to sit through the not-so-well* reviewed The Limits of Control because I'll watch pretty much anything Jim Jarmusch makes, even if it goes nowhere for two hours and sounds at best like an exercise in self-indulgence. Hey, the man made Ghost Dog, Dead Man, and Down by Law, to name a few. Hey, I'll name three more: Broken Flowers, Night on Earth, and Stranger Than Paradise. I even enjoyed Permanent Vacation, his first feature that's the extra disc on Criterion's Stranger Than Paradise dvd. How bad could The Limits of Control really be? Maybe it's secretly great! Or not. But it could be, right?

So I don't mind watching it So You Might Have To. I've certainly been advocating lots of movies that people disagree with me about (Whatever Works and Funny People spring to mind), and you might end up being informed that you should see it.

On the other hand, I just can't bring myself to watch Terminator: Salvation. I even jumped it up to the top of the old Netflix queue, but when it eventually arrives, I'm not sure I can do the deed, even for you guys. Gals. Whatever**.

It's not McG, per se: truthfully, I don't think I hated the first Charlie's Angels. I haven't seen it since the first time I saw it, but I seem to remember enjoying Crispin Glover and Bill Murray. I never saw the second movie, and I guess I never did watch the epic team up of McCoughnaFox in We Are Marshall, so it's not like I have any animosity towards his films.

The problem that I have with Terminator: Salvation is that it seems so unnecessary. Yes, at first the idea of John Connor tooling around in the post-apocalyptic future fighting robots sounds like it would be fun. We all know how much of a sucker I am for post-apocalyptic films. The big BUT though is that we already know how it pans out. Terminator: Salvation isn't going to shake things up like Star Trek, so there's really no tension. Kyle Reese can't die, because he has to go back and knock up Sarah Connor, or there's no John Connor to send him back, etc. If a new character is introduced, as T:S does, they either see Kyle Reese off to the past or die before it happens.

If there were more Terminator movies, I suppose they could show what happens to John after he sets the first film in motion, but unless there's some serious ret-conning going on, we still know how that ends up as well. The T-800 from Terminator 3 killed John Connor, so in an act of ironic time travel, his wife sends Arnold back to protect him long enough for Judgment Day to happen. Since Connor's wife is in Salvation, it looks like they didn't feel like ignoring Terminator 3 that much, so this whole supposed "new" series is based on plot points that we know are coming. How exciting!

Now that I've made my case for not seeing Terminator: Salvation, allow me to extend the opportunity to one of you. This is, in all likelihood, a strong candidate for SYWHT, and I'm really hoping that one of you good people has more of a morbid curiosity to see digital Arnold face beat up Christian Bale than the Cap'n does. Someone who would be willing to watch Terminator: Salvation So I Won't Have To.

Let me sweeten the pot for you. If one of the Blogorium readers is willing to step up to the plate and take one for the team, I'll return the favor. I will watch any movie without the word Twilight in the title, no matter how shitty, so that the rest of you won't have to. I'll even lift my almost universal Uwe Boll ban for this. I'll watch Alvin and the Chipmunks. I'll watch Old Dogs. Hell, I'll watch 2012 So You Won't Have To.

I just don't think I can do this Terminator thing. But I'm curious, in a very wary way. I don't want to see it, but I want to know. And I'm certain at least one of you is also a good enough writer that you can fill all of us in. In return, take your pick. Anything but the Twilight series.

Want me to watch Cruel Intentions 3? Done.
Command Performance
with Dolph Lundgren? Done.
Carnivorous
with DMX? Done.
Planet 51
? You got it.
Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakuel? ugh..... As you wish.
I will finish Vampire Men of the Lost Planet. If that's what you want.

Throw me a bone here, gang. I'll make it worth your while...


*EDIT* Let me throw in a quick caveat, just so nobody says I'm making up new rules later: the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad movie I agree to watch has to fit within the parameters of So You Won't Have To. If you're curious what that entails, click the tag and read previous reviews. The whole point is to choose movies that people have some strange curiosity about (okay, that I have curiosity about) and report back to others rather than all of us watching it. Like, say you're curious about Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans, but you wouldn't spend your own money to see it. I'll do it, So You Won't Have To. If you can make the case your choice fits that criteria, and that you aren't just picking a movie arbitrarily to mess with the Cap'n, you got it.



* Vern's review is easily the kindest I've seen The Limits of Control get, aside from a fawning DVD Talk write up. Seriously, read those "positive" reviews on Rotten Tomatoes. Most of them are cautious recommendations with serious "but"'s.
** I really have no idea who reads this of late. The Blogorium gets weird links to websites I've never heard of, so somebody finds the Cap'n interesting. So thanks.