Hugo

Hard times are when it makes the most sense to dream.

Martin Scorsese's Hugo might be about many things---a fatherless boy, a filmmaker, an automaton, French cinema---but underlying every act in the film are the central themes of memories, dreams, and yearnings, whether they be the characters' or the director's. Nothing is out of grasp, not really. Wars happen, people die too early, but occasionally there do come happy endings. And though times have definitely changed since the those of young Hugo Cabret and French film pioneer George Melies, we still dream, we still imagine, and we still need the magic and escape of movies. This is a topic no one knows better than Martin Scorsese.

Hugo, based upon Brian Selznick's novel, The Invention of Hugo Cabret, is the story of a young boy (played by Asa Butterfield) who, through an incomplete automaton, hopes to somehow reconnect with his departed father. He lives alone inside a railway station in Paris, tending clocks, occasionally scoring croissants here and there, and stealing spare mechanical parts from the toy vender just outside his peephole in order to continue fixing the automaton according to his father's special illustrated diary. Things don't go well for Hugo once the toy shop owner (Ben Kingsley) catches him red-handed; he seizes Hugo's diary, as well as the miscellaneous spare parts he was carrying, and takes the lot home. As Hugo stubbornly tags along, he meets the man's Goddaughter, Isabelle, who is sympathetic to his situation and agrees to get the book back for him. The two become friends, sharing a love of adventure, stories, and eventually movies. As Hugo glides effortlessly through the inner workings of the different areas of the clock tower, he must carefully avoid the Station Inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen), find food for himself, and work further at both retrieving the manual and fixing the automaton, as he's convinced it will bring forth a message from his father. In so doing, he and Isabelle discover the secret that her Godfather is not just a shopkeeper but a very special man, indeed.

Anyone familiar with Martin Scorsese's history will no doubt see the link between Hugo (especially the giddy filmgoing version) and Scorsese himself. Having admittedly grown up in movie theaters, many of which showed the films that would later influence his own work as a filmmaker, Scorsese isn't just paying homage with this film---he wants everyone to know the story, the origins of the blessed medium he loves so much. If Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, and Goodfellas were the offerings to the auteurs of the French New Wave, then Hugo is a tribute to the man who largely made it all possible, George Melies.

Just as many of us have forgotten about or are uninterested in the histories of things like phones or automobiles, there are plenty of folks out there who surely love movies but have no clue how they really got started; this film will show you. Film theorists like to talk about "self reflexivity," or how a film pays attention to the fact that it's a film, even giggling about it, if you like; through the inner mechanics of the numerous clocks, the constant scenes showing film and film projectors, not to mention Hugo and Isabelle's jaunt inside the movie house---this film will show you that, too. Though we do care for them, what happens to the characters very nearly becomes secondary to seeing Scorsese's valentine unfold, to experiencing first hand what can only be described as complete and total passion and excitement for the craft, and to knowing that Scorsese was dreaming these big dreams, too, just as Melies had. The lights and colors are always striking; events foreshadowed in the films the characters watch actually happen in the manner depicted; two lonely people (one a boy, one a grown man) find new focus and joy in life. Wow.

Scorsese once said in an interview, "My whole life has been movies and religion. That's it. Nothing else." I say film is your religion, Marty, and the rest of us dreamers are all the better for it.

Mean Streets

Whatsa matter with you?

Mean Streets, 1973, directed by Martin Scorcese.
Written by Martin Scorcese and Mardik Martin
starring: Harvey Keitel, Robert DeNiro, David Proval

"A small-time hood struggles to succeed on the "mean streets" of Little Italy." (imdb).

I love this. Little Italy in the seventies; what a place. This was only Scorcese's third feature length film, but man, it's a goodie. And I can't believe I'm saying this, but Harvey Keitel? Hot. I'm not kidding.

This film is full of fun:

-opening scene: "You don't make up for your sins in church. You do it in the streets. You do it at home." You said it, man. Those three edits, each cut closer than the last as he lays back down in his bed (to the Ronettes?) . . . so, so cool.

-the religious stuff. Constant thrusting hands into flames, confession, wallpaper very cross-like in hotel, San Gennero Festival, etc., it's major. Keitel's character (Charlie) is referred to as "Saint Charles."

-DeNiro as Johnny Boy. The scene when he walks down the bar with the two chicks to "Jumping Jack Flash" is *legendary.* The scene just afterwards where he goes on for about THREE DAYS about his money woes with Charlie---even at that young an age (30 years old, y'all) DeNiro was something else.

-This film was very carefully conceived. It was a story of the exact kinds of things young Martin Scorcese witnessed, asthma-bound, from his own window in his old neighborhood: hoods, connected guys, religion, and music. And though Charlie and Johnny Boy seem to end up in the gutter, did you happen to notice the opening credits (after the Ronettes)? They're home movies, started off in a very obvious way paying homage to A FILM PROJECTOR. The films themselves are of Charlie and Theresa holding a little baby in a very elaborate Christening gown and a cake that's iced with the words, "God Bless Christopher." I'm not going to get into how seriously this turns me into a complete, emotional water works, but how's that for a (secret) happy ending? Tricky, tricky. The very last scene of the film just so happens to be someone closing their window shades, by the way. . .

This film was pretty much a valentine by Scorcese to Little Italy. I love it.

The quality is not great on this clip, and it's missing some valuable lead up (DeNiro checks his *pants* at the coat-check; Keitel's character says, "Thanks a lot, Lord, thanks a lot, for opening my eyes. You talk about penance and you send this through the door. . . ") but it's the best I could find. Incidentally, the giggling bartender (Proval) would later go onto become the unfortunately-hacked-to-pieces-by-Christopher-and-Tony Ritchie Aprile from The Sopranos', second season. He doesn't quite have such a sense of humor in that, does he?

Goodfellas

Goodfellas, 1990, directed by Martin Scorcese.
Written by Nicholas Peleggi and Martin Scorcese.
starring: Ray Liotta, Robert DeNiro, and Joe Pesci

"Henry Hill and his friends work their way up through the mob hierarchy." (IMDB).

The great thing about Martin Scorcese is that he really loves films. You can see it in almost every scene he creates; this guy seriously loves films, he loves music, and more than anything else, he really cares about the characters he's bringing to life. You'll probably never see a greater example of it anywhere than this entire movie.

Lookin' hot. Lookin' DAMN hot!

The freeze frames: In the opening scene, after Tommy (Pesci) attacks a man in the trunk of their parked car with his mother's butcher knife, the film stops, freezing on Henry (Liotta). "As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster." After a teenage Henry ignites a lot full of cars with rags soaked in gasoline, the camera stops again, at a distance as the explosions and fire nearly engulf him from behind, "One day, some kids from the neighborhood carried my mother's groceries all the way home. You know why? It was outta respect."
-Henry's first introduction to Jimmy Conway
-the congratulatory huddle at Henry's first bust at the courthouse
-Henry's beating after his father receives the truancy notice from school

Instead of clubbing you over the head to make you notice that these events are important, he just stops the camera and freezes the action, like HEY! THIS STUFF WAS MAJOR! PAY ATTENTION! It's fun.

The music: amazing. And unlike Casino, almost perfectly balanced between emotion, action, and fill. Many scholarly pieces that are written about this film discuss Scorcese's "maturity" as a filmmaker, and how this film marked it; the music and its placement indicates this, scene after scene. You get Tony Bennett, Johnny Mathis, The Chantels, Bobby Vinton, The Shangri-las, A lot of Rolling Stones (score!), Cream, Derek and the Dominos, George Harrison, Sid Vicious, and Muddy Waters. The music really, really makes the film.

The writing: this is the (true) story of Henry Hill, written first in Nicholas Peleggi's novel Wiseguy, and rewritten as a screenplay by Peleggi and Scorcese. It's exciting, it's funny, and the way the story is told, from Henry's (and his wife Karen's) insider viewpoint is excellent. They're both competent narrators and interesting, likable personalities. As with many narratives in the Mafia genre, we get pretty early on that things start off well but then begin to decline---that's how a lot of film writers talk about Mafia pictures in general, as in how that decline is shown, how it's dealt with, how do they meet their ends, death, jail, witness protection? In this instance, Henry gets out, but not because he wants to; the striking thing about Henry's story is that we see just how dangerous these lives of these men really are: the cops, the drugs, the whackings . . . but it was also about status, belonging, and family. Not just gangster concepts, right?

Everyone talks about this scene, and it's well worth the buzz. There are very few serious bits of dialogue spoken, but the scene does a magnificent job of showing that sense of status and belonging up there. Yeah, the song was also used in Adventures in Babysitting, but this *completely* blows it away; it's one of my favorite scenes of any movie, ever.

Casino

Yeah, I know. This was supposed to be Mafia March, right? Better late than never.

"A Half-a one-a these! A HAAAALF!"

Casino, 1995, directed by Martin Scorcese.
Written by Nicholas Pileggi.
starring: Robert DeNiro, Joe Pesci, Sharon Stone.

"Greed, deception, money, power, and murder occur between two mobsters." (imdb).

Jeez, that was a pretty lackluster description! If you can believe it, this was the first thing of Marty's I saw, and back then, I thought it was amazing. I still think it's worth watching, but knowing what I know now, I can safely say it's hardly the best of his films. This time I found it kind of over-long, bloated, and drowning in pop music. And Sharon Stone was decent, I guess, (nominated for Best Actress Oscar for this) but this time around I just kept envisioning KATE GOSSELIN the whole time, especially with that chopped 80s mop . . . thanks, reality TV. It was kind of sickening.

Also, there wasn't much *fun* in this film, it was pretty much all fights and not-nice people. What Goodfellas or The Sopranos (on deck tonight and tomorrow) did well, this film tanked at---and that's getting us to like the crew. Sam Rothstein (DeNiro) was good at his job and I kind of liked his constant pointing, arm gestures, and smoking, and clearly I'd still hit that a million times, but other than that he was kind of stuffy. Ginger (Stone) had a great wardrobe but was just not likable, at all. So that basically leaves Nicky Santoro (Joe Pesci) and Lester Diamond (JAMES WOODS!). Yes, I just said that James Woods was one of the best things about this film; he's a douche, but a well-done douche, and good for a few laughs at least. I think the best way to describe this film is a good (albeit long) introduction to Scorcese. If you like this, you'll *love* his other stuff. The clip below uses what I thought was the best song of the film, and slow-motions the in-the-end-they-all-get-whacked bit. And just to be clear, the cornfield scene shown is the G-rated version, compared to the actual film experience, length, sound of bats, etc. So if you do choose to see it, be aware. And don't let kids see this, either.

Inglourious Basterds and The Departed.

These are the sorts of things that made me quit being a music major halfway through the first quarter in my fourth year and decide to do film instead.

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 (bears don't have loud outbursts, just let your bat do the talking) 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 chawing 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. This sort of thing Is. My. Bag, baby.

Irish Mean Streets: The Departed, 2006, directed by Martin Scorcese.


"Two men from opposite sides of the law are undercover within the Massachusetts State Police and the Irish mafia, but violence and bloodshed boil when discoveries are made, and the moles are dispatched to find out their enemy's identities." IMDB.

The Cranberry Juice Dispute.

I love this, too. Some of the scenes between Matt Damon and Vera Farmiga were a little uncomfortable and clunky, realistic, I guess, but just not great.  Everything else was right on. Music killer, as always. Were there any VO narratives on freeze frames? I can't remember. Oscar for Marty, best director of 2006 and God Dammit, it was about time. And although I really, really enjoyed this, something about those Italian thugs from Providence getting whacked just didn't sit right with me in this, ("let's not cry over some spilled Guineas,"); one of them had to be connected to Paulie, right? Boston ain't that far away from New York, right? Right?

Textbook verbiage on theme in a Martin Scorcese picture? "spiritually-charged moral conflict." (A Short History of the Movies by Mast and Kawin) I prefer the DeNiro variety; I think I'll put Casino on the books for December, yeah?

Shutter Island, Scorcese, Boxing, Eastwood.

I know that normally when I talk about films in this place, I usually just blather on about what they meant to me emotionally, not really focusing on much other than my perceptions, my experiences as related to media items, my moods, my needs as a viewer, etc., etc. But, as it turns out, I do know a thing or two about cinema.

I thought Shutter Island was good. But here's the thing. I think it was an okay story (for Scorcese, who usually makes films from GREAT stories) but that it was done wonderfully, so the film was good, even if the story was a little ho-hum and full of trickery at the end. I for one never see these things coming like so many others do, so I guess I always lose the figure-out-the-twist-quickest game.

The music was terrifying. The entire boat ride to that place was terrifying; I didn't want them to get off. The creepy music got worse once they got there, all I remember were these deep, jarring minor chords, together with the look of the inmates. . . I was very goose-bumpy. It was all very claustrophobic and dank. Even Ghandi looked crazy most of the time. Once the security went out and they started roaming around on the grounds? I had to shut it off and try again the next night, it was seriously THAT creepy. I like that Marty was able to freak me out a little, normally I just lay back and enjoy a severe beating or rock out with the good tunes and that's the end of it. I also enjoy how Leonardo DiCaprio seems to have grown up so much; he hardly annoys me at all anymore!

(this, to the left, is what I meant by "look of the inmates." Seriously?)

This got me thinking of what I consider to be good cinema. Stephen King wrote in "Low Men in Yellow Coats" about how there are books with good stories, books with good words (or storytelling) and some books that have both, and that we should try to read all kinds. I feel like that with films, too, and I think mostly, Scorcese is a winning ticket. When you watch Scorcese, you're not just watching a story on film, you're usually watching an homage to really any decent Italian Noir director (Visconte, Rossellini, De Sica, Goddard). You know how John Favreau claimed in Swingers that Tarantino "rips everything off from Scorcese," ? Well, Scorcese did a fair share of ripping off from these guys, not that I mind, of course. Watch anything they've done and you'll agree.

Onto boxing (and back to my emotional needs, of course)

I have no interest in the sport whatsoever. I mean, if I had to choose between boxing and ultimate fighting, I think I'd probably choose boxing, but that's the best I can say about it. When I worked at Blockbuster back in the late 90s, there was a kid there who loved Martin Scorcese. We chatted a lot. I was a bit mainstream for him, but once I proved I knew how to do a DeNiro kick and that I knew who The Well-Dressed Gentleman was, he thought I was all right (and this is surprisingly common with people I meet most of the time. They think I'm some sort of mini-van driving, procreating freak but then they flip out when I can actually do something cool, like sing "Anything Goes" in Chinese, ala opening scene in Temple of Doom.) He was shocked and horrified, however, when I neglected to list Raging Bull in my top five favorites. I hadn't even seen it yet, so I had to grab it and man up if I was going to be any sort of film scholar, I guess. I was skeptical because of the not liking boxing thing, but guess what, IT WAS AMAZING. It was a great story, it was wonderfully acted by DeNiro, Pesci, and Moriarty, but really, I think the filmmaking made the film.

In Million Dollar Baby, however, it was mostly about the story. It was smartly done, some nice film stuff (grainy slow down just before she gets her ultimate smack down from the German troll? very cool), and the acting was good. I'm sure I've uttered a few unnecessarily negative remarks about former 90210 actresses winning Oscars in the past, but Hilary Swank did just fine. It's a different kind of acting than acting crazy (Ellen Burstyn), doing accents (Meryl Streep, Krystof Hadek) or generally being someone very much unlike you, the actor, but it's a lot of doing, which is impressive, too. I don't think it was a stretch for DeNiro to have acted many of those fight scenes or arguments with Pesci and Moriarty, but it was probably a lot of hard work to have half his work on the film be done in tip-top muscular fitness, and the other half as a big old fatty. I think this was probably the same for Hilary Swank. The being-acting was the easy part, the doing-acting was what won her the statue---and the doing was amazing (she was RIPPED! She actually did those boxing moves! She can really hit a speed bag!) I was quite impressed. And that stool in the ring? Wow. Like I said, I'm slow when it comes to stuff like that, but I did not see that coming at all!

This is getting a bit long-winded, and I'm sorry, so I'll wrap it up soon, I promise, but I can't talk about any of this without adding my two cents about Clint Eastwood, one of my favorite, favorite guys. He does in this film what he does best, which is to play the man he always plays. The man he always plays is very close to my heart because it's more or less a spot-on impersonation of my old man. My dad could be gruff. He wouldn't talk to anyone he didn't like. He was crabby a lot. Once my grandmother (his mother-in-law) asked him why he was always so short with her; he said,

"Because I don't like you." He could be very blunt, my dad.

To see Clint Eastwood, in acting roles, together with a younger daughter type will always bring back these memories, however flawed they are and however flawed he was, of Dewey. I watched my first Eastwood film with him (Dirty Harry). I defended Robert Kincaid over Thanksgiving dinner when my aunt was doggin' him (Bridges of Madison County). I get teared up at the scene where Tyne Daly, the 70s precursor to Maggie Fitzgerald, gets shot in The Enforcer; "Harry, oh, I messed up," she says, Harry kneels down next to her, "No, you did just fine, babe."

That always severe and annoyed look on his face, and the way something ALWAYS melts it. . . just crushes me, every time. The greatest things, for me, in Million Dollar Baby were the bagpiper processional to her fight with the German Troll ("I got you some pipers") and the *SMILE* on his face when she belted that bitch almost to the mat. He never smiles!