Showing posts with label Luis Bunuel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Luis Bunuel. Show all posts

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Blogorium Review: Midnight in Paris

  There is a fine line that comes with writing about Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris, one that exists because the joy of his film is central to not knowing the premise. At the same time, it's not enough for me to tell you that Midnight in Paris is absolutely worth your time; Woody Allen films are an acquired taste, and in the last few years it's been hard to know what you're going to get. With varying degrees of success, he's worked in thriller (Match Point, Cassandra's Dream), slapstick (Scoop), atypical Allen fare (Vicky Cristina Barcelona), perhaps too typical Allen fare (Anything Else, You Will Meet a Tall Dark Stranger), and experiments like Everybody Says I Love You, Melinda and Melinda or Whatever Works, where he substituted the "Woody Allen" surrogate for Larry David, a singular personality in his own right. I liked some of them when others didn't, and didn't like several of them at all.

 Midnight in Paris is a return to a whimsical Woody Allen, and at the risk of spoiling things to much, an inversion of The Purple Rose of Cairo. Gil (Owen Wilson) is a Hollywood screenwriter striving to be something more, and is having trouble with his first novel. His fiance Inez (Rachel McAdams) brings Gil along to Paris where her parents (Mimi Kennedy and Kurt Fuller) are visiting on business, and it is apparent that he doesn't quite seem in sync with their world view.

 Gil idealizes Paris of the 1920s, much to the consternation of Inez, who is more interested in their future home in Malibu. Gil's frustration is exacerbated by the appearance of Paul (Michael Sheen) and Carol (Nina Arianda), a pair of intellectual blowhards who Inez fawns over (and is, perhaps, a bit too drawn towards). One night, Gil decides to walk home while Paul, Inez, and Carol go dancing, and finds himself lost in Paris. As the clock strikes midnight, a strange car pulls up and its passengers beckon the would-be novelist to join them.

 And this is where I hesitate to go further. It's not as though you couldn't find out for yourself what the "gimmick" or "twist" is, so to speak, but even knowing where Gil goes and who he meets doesn't properly convey how delightful Midnight in Paris is. I thought I understood where the film was going from speaking to friends, but Allen constructs the narrative in such a way that as it unfolds you become more invested in the parallel stories - Gil's adventures after midnight and the increasingly evident cracks in his relationship with Inez, many of which are so fundamental that one wonders how they ever got so far.

 By necessity, I'm going to warn you off from anything after this point by slapping a big SPOILER warning. I want to talk about Gil's midnight adventures, and in particular a second layer late in the film that pushed the conceit further along, so be advised. From here on out I'm going to mention specifics about who Gil meets, how I thought it was going to impact the story, and why Midnight in Paris is smart enough to push forward beyond a simple "appreciate what you have" story.

 SPOILERS FROM HERE ON OUT SO DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU

 So I don't want to talk too much about how Gil interacts with the Fitzgeralds (Tom Hiddleston and Alison Pill) or Ernest Hemingway (Corey Stoll) or Gertrude Stein (Kathy Bates), or the procession of cameos for Cole Porter (Yves Heck), Picasso (Marcial Di Fonzo Bo), Buñuel (Adrian de Van), Dali (Adrien Brody), or Joséphine Baker (Sonia Rolland), which are admittedly fun but secondary to the main part of  the "Gil in the 1920s" parts of the film. The initial encounters, particularly the look on Owen Wilson's face when he meets Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald, are understated comedy, but the real meat of that portion of the film is his budding relationship with Adrianna (Marion Cotillard), a woman drawn to Picasso, Hemingway, and eventually Gil.

 My initial understanding of Midnight in Paris was that only the first twenty or so minutes took place in the present, so I was pleasantly surprised to see Allen move Gil back and forth through time. At first it's unclear whether this is really happening or just in Gil's mind, but as the film pushes forward one begins to understand that this is not imaginary - first Gil finds a diary in a Parisian market that belonged to Adrianna (as we discover in a moment where he finds a woman who can translate while Gil sits on a park bench). Later, after Inez's father becomes suspicious of Gil's late night activity, Allen explicitly shows us what happens to a private detective hired to follow the American in a comic aside that says "this is real."

 All of the "1920s" moments are fun and provide some of the better laughs in Midnight in Paris, not limited to Gil's explanation to Zelda Fitzgerald of what Valium is, or Dali's obsession with the rhinoceros, or the way that The Discrete Charm of the Bourgeoisie figures into a conversation between the time traveler and a young Buñuel. The Surrealists' reaction to Gil's predicament (and how he responds) was another highlight, and I must admit that the bluster of Hemingway made me chuckle.

 The transitions and how they affect Gil would, under normal circumstances, fit into a Wizard of Oz / Alice in Wonderland sort of narrative where the protagonist learns what they really wanted all along was right in front of them, so I appreciate that Allen puts that "lesson" in the mouth of Paul, the least likable character in the film. We like Gil, and we want Paul to be wrong, so even when Stein and Hemingway reinforce that position, it's hard to accept what should be a standard movie trope.

 It's not until Gil and Adriana go walking in Paris at night that Allen throws another wrinkle into the story - Adriana, like Gil, wants to belong to a different time (in this case, the 1890s), and as they sit in a 1920s cafe, a horse drawn carriage pulls up and they are whisked off to the Belle Époque and the Moulin Rouge. It wasn't that his deciding to leave was unexpected, but her decision to stay I found to be very interesting. It's a telling moment that distinguishes their view of the world, although to keep the narrative from being too pat one could argue that Gil doesn't stay in the 1920s because he also feels daunted by the literary competition.

 Ultimately I found myself quite charmed by Midnight in Paris, not simply because it was a return to form for Woody Allen but because the film was so damned enjoyable. It's clever without being cloy, familiar without being obvious, and light without being inconsequential. And it's funny in unexpected ways. In most hands Midnight in Paris could be a thuddingly obvious sort of film, a great premise with a leaden message, but Woody Allen brings whimsy to the movie and raises it up another level. It's easily one of the best films I've seen this year, and not one I was expecting to enjoy so much when it came out.

Friday, September 18, 2009

My Own Private Top Ten

I spend a bit of time over at the website for The Criterion Collection, mostly checking up on new releases and periodically reading their blog, On Five. One of the sidebars that I find most interesting is their "Top Ten" lists, wherein they ask various filmmakers, authors, artists, actors, comedians, and musicians to provide their own personal Top Ten Criterion films. While nobody from Criterion is going to ask Cap'n Howdy to do his, I thought I would anyway, with an extra five for good measure.

This list is prefaced by a caveat: I've intentionally left off some of my very favorite films that are in the Collection in order to do something different. Instead of favorites, I decided to focus on films that surprised me, inspired me in some way, or that changed the way I'd thought about the movie beforehand. It may not be your "Top Ten" (*ahem* Fifteen) list, but for those reasons, it is for me. They are, as usual, in no particular order.

1. Robinson Crusoe on Mars - An odd choice, but one that's near and dear to my heart. Many years before Criterion released this, my father mentioned it to me in passing as one of those "if you ever find this movie...", as he'd seen it as a teenager and loved it. The movie is very silly, but it made his day when I gave him his own Spine Numbered copy for his birthday last year.

2. Harlan County, U.S.A. - Truly a great documentary; one that drops you right in the middle of a Kentucky coal miners' strike and Duke Power. In a world of overtly propagandist "documentaries", it was refreshing to see one that felt so raw and immediate.

3. Brazil - I liked Brazil, but always took it for granted until I saw Criterion's three-disc set. After watching (and later, reading) The Battle of Brazil and the "Love Conquers All" cut, it's a small wonder Terry Gilliam ever got his dystopian vision to audiences.

4. La Haine - Until I saw La Haine, I wondered what the hype about Matthieu Kassovitz was as a director. Once you've seen his stunning debut film, everything since feels a bit compromised. La Haine is the French equivalent to Do the Right Thing, a simmering pot of rage just waiting to boil over, and it feels real and improvised, even as Kassovitz punctuates the story with stylistic editing.

5. Ace in the Hole - I'd seen Double Indemnity, and I'd seen Sunset Boulevard: Billy Wilder's ultimate Film Noir and his first dissection of the subgenre. What I had not seen, however, was Wilder's final statement on Noir, at the end of the cycle. A critique of media obsession well before its time with a swing-for-the-fences performance by Kirk Douglas, Ace in the Hole is a worthy closing to Wilder's Film Noir trilogy.

6. Carnival of Souls - For a long time, it was Night of the Living Dead and nothing else for me. Romero owned the sixties for independent horror as far as I was concerned, above and beyond even what Roger Corman and Vincent Price were doing with Poe. That was until I sat down and watched the director's cut of Herk Harvey's Carnival of Souls. Six years before Living Dead, Harvey created an atmospheric walking nightmare that preceded David Lynch by a decade. Don't let the "public domain" fool you; Carnival of Souls is the real deal.

7. F for Fake - Orson Welles, late in his career, makes a partly illusory documentary about forgery and magic that dares you to separate fact from fiction. He's still as good as he ever was and F for Fake is the maestro having a little fun, with us and at our expense.

8. Videodrome - It may just be that I didn't take the subversive elements of the film as seriously in high school. Watching it again, there's a lot to be said about the body, the taboo, and obsession that I gravitated to watching Criterion's excellent two-disc set. Oh, and I love the packaging.

9 . M - If you want to see sound used masterfully at a time when many directors were still fumbling around with the technology, look no further than Fritz Lang's M.

10. Permanent Vacation - This is actually an extra on Stranger Than Paradise. The movie is Jim Jarmusch's first feature, an odd-yssey through New York that's equal parts Catcher in the Rye and Alice in Wonderland. In many ways, it presupposes the structure of Richard Linklater's Slacker, although I enjoyed Permanent Vacation more. I was pleasantly surprised to find a "first" film that holds together and isn't mired in pretentiousness.

bonus five, with less chatter.

11. Night and the City - Richard Widmark may be the quintessential "Noir" type: looking perpetually beaten down by life, desperate for just one more shot, and always falls hard. The wrestling scheme is a good one, but nothing in Noir is good forever.

12. Do the Right Thing - I own a Blu-Ray copy, which has almost all of the extras, but I won't part ways with my Criterion set. This movie dares you to watch it and not feel something. I lose every time.

13. Equinox - For a movie riddled with odd pacing, weird plot holes, and awkward dialogue, I still enjoy revisiting the film debut of FX legend Dennis Muren. Having the recut, strangely exploitative Jack Woods version of the film is an interesting study in "what the audience wants." Oh, and watch this and then The Evil Dead; notice any similarities?

14. Simon of the Desert - Luis Buñuel's short about ascetic Saint Simon, who waits atop a pillar for six years, six months, and six days, all to prove he is devoted to God. At the bottom of the pillar is Silvia Pinal, the sexiest devil this side of Bedazzled, tempting and taunting Simon at every turn. For a "period" piece, I was surprised at how modern Buñuel's mini-movie felt, and the ending was quite out of the blue, if strangely familiar.

15. Dazed and Confused - A favorite in high school, I'd spent many years away from Richard Linklater's second film, assuming it would hold up once I'd "outgrown" it. Criterion's two disc set was a revelation; not only was Dazed as fun as I remembered it being, but something resonated in a way it hadn't when I was younger. Each time I've revisited Dazed and Confused since, I notice something that I missed and appreciate the movie a little more than the last.