The Big Lebowski

The Big Lebowski, 1998. Directed by Joel Coen and Ethan Coen. Starring Jeff Bridges, John Goodman, Steve Buscemi, and Julianne Moore.

Like all Coen Brothers films, this one gets better with each viewing. I could go on about the genius of The Dude . . . his lines, his outfits, his reactions (my favorite being stoned in the bathtub and admonishing the Nihilists destroying his answering machine with a baseball bat, "Hey, man, this is like, a private residence . . . !") But what makes this film, in my opinion, AMAZINGLY genius is that special talent of the Coens', the seemingly incongruous character that actually turns out to be comic gold. Leonard Smalls kind of began this way in Raising Arizona; Mike Yanagita in Fargo definitely hit the jackpot . . . and most haters of the Coens will sit and complain about the randomness of such characters, interruptions, etc., but these kinds of things absolutely make the film (s) for me every time, and Lebowski is full of them:

The Jesus: Since there are unfortunately no embed-able clips available, I can't show you my favorite scene from the film, which is the Jesus Quintana sequence, first the action shot of his bowling (preceded by separate shots of his socks, coke-pinky nail, hairnet, and embroidered shirt), the slow motion pan reaction shots of The Dude, Donny, and Walter, and the subsequent "discussion" of his perverted-ness, all with the Hotel California (in Spanish) playing jubilantly as background accompaniment . . . honestly, I don't think film gets much better than that. The timing, the sound, the wide shots, and the colors all seriously thrill me to no end. In a later scene, he violently fumes over Walter's rearrangement of the schedule ("What is this bullshit? This Day-of-Rest-shit?") and while less stylized than the previous, this is also brilliant, and filled with creepy (aptly perverted) sexual innuendo and pelvic thrustings.

The Jesus also sort of speaks to the general environment of the bowling alley and its eccentricities. His purple-shirted partner, Liam O'Brien, seems an odd pairing socially, but in this film, in this bowling alley, it all ends up making perfect sense. The opening sequences of bowling pins, shoes, different bowlers, and the plastic chairs are nostalgic and familiar, and later the exterior lights of the alley become important as both sad and sort of funny punctuation after Donny's heart attack. People love bowling; to have this film take place in a bowling alley (no matter how random and strangely populated) was definitely a winning move.

Marty: The jogging landlord doesn't seem like much at first, but that subtle mention of his dance quintet comes back in a big way (complete with a huge, dramatic score, and costuming). What's more awesome about this situation, that Marty invites the Dude to come and give him notes or that in the middle of all that's been happening (money handoff thwarted, the arrival of the severed toe, loss of the briefcase, etc.) that HE STILL SHOWS UP, with Donny (and later Walter) also in attendance (!?!). What a friend The Dude is! There are obviously several other venues they could have used for the discussion of the fate of Larry Sellers (among disagreements over the finer points of The In-and-Out Burger), but what better one than Marty's Cycle? Come on!

Larry Sellers: No lines are uttered from his lips, he just sort of plops on the couch and sneers for the duration of the scene, but I think the comedy and power of his character comes from the allusions to him (rumpled social studies paper crammed into seat, camaro on street outside his house, "real fucking brat," as revealed to Maude, etc.) and his surroundings, mainly that ridiculous IRON LUNG that holds his father (Arthur Digby Sellers) making him present but helpless during the entire interrogation that happens mere feet away from him in his own home. What should be an uncomfortable scene just becomes outlandishly funny as Walter first professes his admiration for Arthur's work before going to work on the stone faced  Larry---the homework in baggie (presented as evidence) is also hilarious, as is Larry's refusal to react at all ("have you ever heard of Viet Nam, Larry?"). The second best musical interlude comes just after the destruction of The Dude's car; Oye Como Va plays as they sit inside the windshield-less car, Donny and Walter munching In-and-Outs. What a resolution.


(What a film!)

To Kill A Mockingbird, Dirty Dancing

1. To Kill A Mockingbird, 1962, directed by Robert Mulligan.
Starring: Gregory Peck, John Megna, Frank Overton.

"Atticus Finch, a lawyer in the Depression-era South, defends a black man against an undeserved rape charge, and his kids against prejudice." (IMDB). 

Hadn't ever seen this one, though I'm sure I read the book for Sharon Severson's English class in junior high; it was very good. I liked the kids' constant screwing around over by that Radley house (parents will probably appreciate the fact that even the great and honorable Atticus Finch cannot always keep his children under control), and how that business was sort of juxtaposed with the seriousness of Tom Robinson's alleged crime---also the children (Mary Badham as Scout, Phillip Alford as Jem) were not only cute but pretty decent actors, too. And how about Boo Radley?!? Robert Duvall played some pretty weird misfits before getting to Tom Hagen, Bill Kilgore, and whoever the hell he was on Lonesome Dove . . . after this role he went on to play Charlie Parkes in The Twilight Zone, episode "Miniature," where he fell in love with a doll in a dollhouse (and then just sort of hopped inside to be with her).

Anyway, I enjoyed the this, it obviously influenced many other projects down the road (and won 3 Oscars, best actor for Peck, best art direction, and best adapted screenplay). Scout bumbling around in that giant ham costume had to be my favorite part, and just the sort of implied tenderness between the brother and sister; Jem was always looking out for her, and that made me very warm and fuzzy inside.

2. Dirty Dancing, 1987, directed by Emile Ardolino.
starring: Jennifer Grey, Patrick Swayze, Jerry Orbach.

Now before all my male followers (who are significant) start unsubscribing to this blog in fear that I've lost all street credit, just listen a minute. I'm a girl; I grew up in the eighties; I love pop music. You gotta be willing to give me this one . . . like it or not (and I'll admit that I fully love it), it's an important film.

Important fact #1: whether or not women want to be saved (some do, some don't), I think we're all pretty much all right with being swept off our feet. Before Edward Cullen or Jack Dawson there was JOHNNY CASTLE. True, he was sorta cocky and a little bit rude, but still. What a guy.

Important fact #2: This cat can dance; he's not faking it. In terms of a production, having a talented dancer, one that can sweep the audience off its feet by being able to command scenes that go on for quite a while with very little editing, is a winning lottery ticket even if the story is shoddy. Don't believe me? Turn on Singing in the Rain, and cue it up to MOSES SUPPOSES (I couldn't find any embed-able clips from Dirty Dancing) and observe, 1. how easy Gene Kelly and Donald O'Connor make what they're doing look (which is not easy at all) and 2. just how difficult it is to look away from the screen once they really start cutting. Here, check it out:



There are many films out there with interesting choreography or movie stars that actually take the time to learn the steps or put the work in (thanks to film editors) to make it look like a reasonable comparison to what Kelly, O'Connor, or Swayze do effortlessly, but they won't ever come close; there's nothing like a real dancer dancing.

Important fact #3: The music, some of it popular hits from the sixties ("Big Girls Don't Cry," "Do You Love Me?," "Love is Strange," "Cry to Me,") some of it contemporary stuff ("She's Like The Wind," "Overload," "Hungry Eyes," "Time of My Life,") and even some of the instrumentals from the merengue, mambo, or foxtrot scenes in the film----all of it was exciting, well-chosen, and well-matched to what was happening on screen. To say the music made the film might be pushing it, but I really think it did.


Important fact #4: Clearly I missed a lot of this back in 1987 (I was 11), but there's more going on than just dancing: Kellerman's seemed to be a resort that catered to a select group of people, namely wealthy and Jewish. Penny, (a gentile) gets knocked up by Robbie Gould who blows off the situation entirely ("some people count; some people don't'). Baby wants to help, so she procures from her unsuspecting father the money needed to get Penny an abortion, which doesn't go well. Baby is clearly portrayed as a virgin, as apparently is sister Lisa, but hops into bed with the obviously-experienced Johnny, ("have you had many women?") DUH. This is Dallas-calibre soap opera subject matter! (score!)

There are two films in this world that I very much enjoy that my husband refuses to watch, and this is one of them. His main gripe is that it's ridiculous (okay, fine) and uncomfortable (I agree). The difference between us is that I see the uncomfortable scenes in an endearing way----Johnny teaching Baby to grind a little to "Love Man," the "Wipeout" scene up and down the steps as she practices the mambo, and who could forget the infamous "Ga-GUNG," heartbeat explanation scene (that later led into "Hungry Eyes," segment)----I cannot fault it these things, they're a part of my history for Christ's sake!

For some reason, I really got a kick out of the running the hand down the arm/breast area this time around, and how Baby keeps laughing at it, can't stop, and does each subsequent "take" with an enormous smirk on her face . . . reminded me of shooting a video project back in 2000 with my brother and Leah Johnson where each time she had to peal out of somewhere in her Crown Vic and bark the tires (and we made her do it A LOT), Charlie and I would laugh so hard the camera would shake and the audio would be screwed and we'd have to do it over and over again (and we had to stop looking at each other because we just could not handle seeing each other's reactions).

FUN.

Thrill Me With Your Acumen: The Silence of the Lambs (repost)

What a perfect film! The Silence of the Lambs, 1991. 
Directed by Jonathan Demme, based on the novel by Thomas Harris.


"A young FBI cadet must confide in an incarcerated and manipulative killer to receive his help on catching another serial killer who skins his victims." (IMDB). 


This is suspense writing at its finest. Certainly it was directed well, acted well (there would not be a picture without Tony and Jody), scored well, and so on, and all that is great. But honestly, it's scary!--- the build ups are tense, intelligent, and are pretty damned terrifying; in the end, they do not disappoint. The film is filled with anticipation. When it's not showing us Clarice Starling having to fight her way through virtually every encounter by proving she can piss with the big boys, the film is leading us eerily down some hall, laying steps one at a time, and revealing just enough unpleasantness to keep us engrossed and on guard for whatever the monster (Multiple Miggs, Benjamin Raspael's head in a bottle, the carving-up of the lieutenants and subsequent manhunt, Jame Gumm's torturous basement, etc.) might be, and it's a new fright each time!

And what of Hannibal Lector? Because Clarice is made to trust him we somehow begin to trust him, too. But never forget that first image we got of him, standing there, erect, poised, and with an almost amiable grin. . . (shiver). He's smarter than any of us. And all the smelling? Seriously. There is something very intriguing about a bad guy ally; he obviously has little regard for human life to do what he did (and apparently is awfully hip to continue doing), but this connection with Clarice, her *special-ness* in winning it? Awesome.  

And at the risk of sounding like a film theorist, this film is also about knowing. Who knows what, who lets who in on what they know, and whether the knowledge is real. Clarice is sent in by Jack Crawford to talk to Lector, who knows things. Jack Crawford also knows things, but he needs what Lector knows, and he knows that Clarice will "stimulate" Lector. Clarice knows things, not about the case, but about death and sacrifice, her way of knowing isn't helpful to Jack Crawford but it piques the interest of Lector. Lector wants to know about Clarice. Jack Crawford depends on getting the Lector's knowledge, but Lector figures it out and feeds him garbage instead. Then, drawing on everything she's picked up, Clarice, the seemingly rookie know-nothing, busts it all open and saves the day.

I saw this in the theater, in March of 1991 with my cousin, Heidi, in Duluth. And I was terrified. I can watch it now without fear, but the moments that get me each time are the camera noises in the funeral parlor, the anticipation of what Lector plans to do to the two cops, and the night goggles at the end, showing the hand reaching out to touch Clarice.

Oscars galore: best actor (Hopkins), actress (Foster), director (Demme), writing/adapted screenplay (Ted Tally), and best picture. Right on. 

Titanic (repost).

I suppose I'll be back doing another go-round with this one in April after the 3D rerelease, but since I've already written about it once, why not? My brother saw this in the theater something like twenty times; I only saw it once but true to form, bawled my Goddamned eyes out the whole time. I bawled at the trailer the other night when I was at Young Adult. . . THE TRAILER. Maybe I'm just a giant sap. 

Titanic, 1997. Directed and Written by James Cameron.
Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet.

"Fictional romantic tale of a rich girl and poor boy who meet on the ill-fated voyage of the 'unsinkable' ship." (IMDB).

I remember seeing the preview to this film on another rental many months before it actually was released;  what stuck the most was of course one of the final scenes when the ship, vertical, actually sinks with Jack and Rose clinging to the railing. It gave me goosebumps, for probably an entire day, seeing that. And really, this is a fine example of what the film can do vs. what it does lamely: the action scenes are great, the dialogue and love story are merely marginal if not annoying. But as a production, I can't front; it's still amazing.

I don't think Kate Winslet deserved to be nominated for an Oscar for this, I think the Academy just gets aroused when Brits sink low enough to do American accents. I thought Rose's scenes were boring, mostly because I never liked her as a character. This is mostly for personal reasons, and I can see how the class differences between the characters were important to the love story, but still I found her distinctly unlikable. Old Rose, Young Rose, they both rubbed me the wrong way from the very first. "They called Titanic the ship of dreams, and it was. It really was." Then, moments later, "To everyone else it was 'the ship of dreams.' But to me it was a slave ship. . ." YEAH, BOO-HOO, ROSE. You want to jump off the back of the ship? BE MY GUEST. Be careful not to damage the beading on your thousand dollar gown on your way over, hmmm? Every scene she has before she's with Jack kind of makes me want to punch her in the face, but she gets better as the film goes on, I'll give her that.

Leo was a little clunky, far less annoying, and I liked Molly Brown. But by God Cameron can do action. The real film starts once that iceberg hits, and from there it was a tense, well-driven story. Showing how each level of the ship was affected by the water rushing in? Awesome. The scramble to make it under the water-seal doors as they came down? Awesome. The different ways the characters had to backtrack and swim through dead ends and flooded hallways? Awesome. There were two moments in this film when I cried (harder than my ongoing in-general silent tears); 1. the opening, when Horner's instrumental theme came on over the still shots of the ship and 2. when the violinist refuses to leave the deck and reels the rest of the quartet back to play that seriously emotional song (as everyone jumps off, falls, or drowns). The scene of the people desperately hanging on to the priest as he prays also gets me a little weepy, I cannot imagine what an experience like that, chaos and sure death on that wide a scale, would be like; one woman (I think holding onto a child) clung to a structure and just repeated over and over "it will be over soon. it will be over soon." My friend Julie told me when this film was first released that the very worst part for her was seeing the Irish woman telling her children a bedtime story and tucking them in bed, knowing that they would all soon be dead. I didn't have kids at the time like she did, but I do now, and the scene is probably the saddest thing that happens in the film. Heavy. It will be a pretty significant thing, I think, when the rest of my generation (who have become parents since the original release) goes to see it again in 3D. 


It's not a perfect film, but it's definitely an important one. 11 Oscars, many of them well-deserved. And as the person who suggested it aptly mentioned---it's not one I can shut off if I flip to it, I always end up watching it to the end. Here's the trailer, enjoy, because it's a good one. (sniff). 

Inglourious Basterds, repost.

O Quentin, My Quentin: Inglourious Basterds, 2009, directed by Quentin Tarantino.


"In Nazi-occupied France during World War II, a group of Jewish-American soldiers known as "The Basterds" are chosen specifically to spread fear throughout the Third Reich by scalping and brutally killing Nazis." (IMDB)

This is not Tarantino's finest film. Diane Kruger, blah, Eli Roth, NO (I actually wish he would have been a little calmer) and the scene in the basement pub was ages longer than it should have been, but other than that? Still very enjoyable. Brad Pitt is an excellent buffoon. I loved Melanie Laurent as Shosanna (in fact, would I be in the market for any more children down the road, which I'm not, the name would be Emmanuel (le) were it a boy or girl, after Shosanna's vengeful alter-ego). Music, killer, as always. Good use of the John Ford doorway at Lapadite's place ala John Wayne in The Searchers, ala David Carradine in Kill Bill, or any other outsider who is not *supposed* to come inside. Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz) however, does come inside.

Oui, Shosanna!

Was there ever anyone so slippery? Or cunning? Every scene he was in gave me goosebumps. It was hard to know how to feel about him, obviously he's evil, but he's brilliant and sneaky too. And as it turns out, not above getting caught in his own web of lies. First he loves his nickname, then he hates his nickname? "You don't know why you hate the rat, you just do," (vermin as some sort of obvious metaphor for the Jewish people, yet, this great Jew-hunter is unable to identify someone he shot at as she sits inches from him?) This fascination I had with him quickly turned to disgust once he started chawin' that damned Apfelstrudel; chewing noises are where I draw the line. Nonetheless, best supporting actor in 2009, I think it was right on the mark.

The greater theme here, as always, is DON'T FUCK WITH ME. This is why I love, love, love Quentin Tarantino. I think he must dig his mother a lot, because he writes such amazing stories and illustrates such powerful scenes of women's struggles, while not taking anything away from the men. After all the talk recently about Dragon Tattoo, rapes, murders, sociopathy, and what not, I think it's reasonable to bring up the fact that yes, these characters are by all definitions violent, vengeful, and well, not right in the head. . . HOWEVER. These are films, stories, fiction. Does anyone really want to watch a film or read a book about someone that follows all the rules? If you try to see Tarantino's films as having any firm basis in reality, you're barking up the wrong tree (clearly this particular tree is one of my personal favorites). And without turning this into too much of a girls vs. boys bunch of blathering, who was it that got the job done in the end? Was it Hans Landa? No. Aldo Rain and the Basterds? In a small way, I suppose, but not really. It was SHOSHANNA, baby, with a bang. 

Jessica Lange Double Feature

A Thousand Acres, 1997. Directed by Jocelyn Moorehouse.

This one is not great, nor is it one of Lange's best performances, but I put it on my list months ago after having read the book (A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley, not King Lear but I am reading that now). It's really Michelle Pfieffer's movie, she gets all the fiery monologues and I suppose interesting performances, despite it really being oldest daughter Ginny's (Lange's) story. There are some inspired scenes between the two actresses, and Jason Robards (uh, King Lear, as it were) is always pretty mean, but this was a chick flick. Which is to say, I think as a production, it could have been a lot better. Axe that voice-over, like, eliminate it completely and let the scenes tell the story. Choose a less-cheesey, less-swell-y score; this man RAPED HIS DAUGHTERS for Christ's sake; some dreary music wouldn't be out of sorts here. And either get a script doctor or replace Jennifer Jason Leigh---her dialogues, no matter who with, were bloody awful. Good settings and landscapes, though. *Also look for teenage Michelle Williams and Elizabeth Moss (Peggy from Mad Men) as well as a very young, very handsome Colin Firth.

Blue Sky, 1994. Directed by Tony Richardson.

"Hank Marshall is a tough, square-jawed, straitlaced Army engineer and nuclear science expert, assigned to help conduct weapons-testing in 1950's America. Hank has become a thorn in the side of the Army, though, for a couple of very different reasons. He is an outspoken opponent of atmospheric testing, though his superiors hold contrary views and want to squelch his concerns...and his reports. The other problem is his wife, Carly. She is voluptuous and volatile, wreaking havoc in his personal life and stirring up intrigue at each new Army base." (IMDB).

This film is amazingly difficult to get these days----no Netflix and no YouTube! I think I ordered it originally from Columbia House Video Club back in the day (on VHS) and I used to watch it all the time; Jessica Lange as Carly Marshall is seriously one of my favorite roles of all time. She's breathy, many times annoying, overly charming, obviously disturbed, and a complete Rabbit Mother, but damn. You just can't look away. Tommy Lee Jones plays husband Hank, and Powers Boothe (who is both frightening and awesome) plays the guy who just can't leave Carly alone . . . Yowza! You know my normal jingle about old people doing it (Lange was only 45 when this came out) but wow. Daughter (Amy Locane) was also great, "and don't you sass me, sister!" "I AM NOT YOUR SISTER!"

Just After Sunset

I don't think this is one of King's most celebrated collections, but I really enjoyed it. I have a pretty long to-do list that seems to be growing bigger and longer by the minute so I'm not going to give you a play-by-play for each individual story, although I liked all of them just fine. They all seemed calmer, a lot more reflective, and (do I dare say) mature? Older characters, wiser but not always, who have a lot of responsibilities, many who have lost loved ones. The Cat From Hell and A Very Tight Place were definitely my two favorites (shudder, for both):

"He caught one last glimpse of that black-and-white face below the flattened ears, its eyes enormous and filled with lunatic hate. It had gotten rid of three old people and now it was going to get rid of John Halston."

"Maybe, probably, but Curtis wasn't sure that made things any better. There was still a lot of stuff down there---a lot of crap down there, floating in whatever remained of the disinfected water. Dim as the light was, there was enough to be sure of that. Then there was the matter of getting back out again. He could probably do it---if he could go one way he could almost certainly go the other----but it was all too easy to imagine how he'd look, a stinking creature being born from the ooze, not a mud-man but a shit-man."

One more thing----I have come to love the notes at the ends of King's short story collections almost more than the stories themselves, you know, the section (that he usually gives everyone permission to skip) where he provides background and inspiration about how he wrote each one. Fascinating. Now if only Damon/Carlton would release these details, life would be perfect.