My Octopus Teacher

My husband was watching this and I came in less than halfway through. I watched about thirty seconds of it and knew it was going to make me cry but of course I had to finish it. I won't spoil anything. I won't even describe any of the events that happen because it's just better to discover it your own way, uninformed (don't even google anything because the spoilers come up immediately). What I will say is, this is humanity, the way it should be. 

My Octopus Teacher, 2020. d. Pippa Ehrlich and James Reed

Starring: Craig Foster 

Summary: " A filmmaker forges an unusual friendship with an octopus living in a South African kelp forest, learning as the animal shares the mysteries of her world," (IMDB). 

I think we all know people out there who walk around like Clint Eastwood characters, hating everything, scowling at everyone, but who are able to feel safe in showing kindness and love to animals. This film is important because Craig Foster shows us how to take that kindness and tenderness (which we may keep hidden) and take steps to share it outward, toward other humans, toward the land, and toward ourselves as well.  

See others' existences. Protect the land, protect the seas. Allow yourself to feel and empathize. Take your humanity seriously and challenge yourself to do better. 

Why Watch Foreign Films? Parasite

Welcome to the Why Watch Foreign Films project! The idea of reviewing foreign films came to me after observing several confusing twitter comments made by users who couldn't understand why Hulu was streaming Bong Joo-ho's multiple Oscar-winner, Parasite. I won't go into it, but the exchange was pretty ugly. In trying to understand why people might shy away from foreign films and going by what these comments stated outright I found that overall the issues are with subtitles and a general aversion to "otherness." Come on, people. We've got to be better than that.

While I'm not going to sit here and preach to you just how much we (as American adults!) are struggling with literacy and empathy in our nation right now, I will repackage the same message in a positive way and simply say that watching foreign films will make you a more intelligent, more compassionate human being and will expose you to a ton of unique stories you've been missing in life! If you enjoy history or travel, you also get the bonus of seeing international landscapes and cities while oftentimes learning about how wars, development, and current events have all shaped what's happening in these narratives. Our politics are not the only ones going on in the world. You'll hear languages other than English---this is a good thing (and so is reading). The music will be different, the food will be different, but not always; sometimes it will be familiar or nostalgic. Among difference there is also interconnectedness. No matter the country, the language, or the religion, many of these films also show just how far-reaching American influence can be, and how in a lot of ways, our struggles are very similar. Such is the case in Parasite. Meet our families:

THE KIMS (left to right): Ki-woo/Kevin, Ki-taek, Chung-sook, Ki-jung/Jessica

THE PARKS (top l-r to bottom l-r): Dong-ik, Da-hye, Yeon Kyo, Da-Song

The plot is quite simple. A poor family manages to manipulate a wealthy family into hiring them as domestic employees; things seem to go well until they don't. That's it! Many people I've spoken to about the film said that they enjoyed not knowing anything in advance about it, having little to no idea where it might lead (which is how I experienced it the first time). There's something to be said for that kind of experience, but I did find myself wishing I was a little clearer on everyone's names, which is why I included the two photos with labels above. The story itself doesn't ask much from its viewers, at least on the surface, but the technical elements that surround the narrative together with the subtle use of everyday objects and dialogs between characters speak very clearly to an underlying theme of violence or malevolence springing from social inequality. Don't worry about reasoning it all out while you're watching, chances are very good you'll be thinking about it quite a bit after the film's conclusion or even for days afterward. But, if you're interested, there's a lot of meaning and suggestion being thrown around in these scenes while the main events are happening. Consider:

Spaces: Contrast the enormity of the Park House with the Kim basement apartment. It's not just luxury in material possessions. Note the wide open spaces and who inhabits them compared with cramped quarters, clutter, and things like proximity to the waste (sewage) of others. It comes up a lot.
Music: Which family's experiences are shown as being worthy of accompaniment? What does the style of the music say about how they're portrayed as human beings?
Reveals: What (or who) comes out of the shadows? What are the lights showcasing? How are darks and lights used in general? What about blinking lights?
Objects: A scholar's rock, a pair of underwear, a peach, a birthday cake---how do they become evil or dangerous? Why is this not a typical horror film?
Dialogs: The Kims discuss whether or not they "fit in," which one of them fits in the easiest? How do casual comparisons to a cockroach or the association of smells contribute to the conclusion of the film? How do the characters themselves respond to not fitting in, are they sympathetic toward others down on their luck? Does the adaptability of fitting in or highly-developed street smarts carry any guarantees in the long run? Is the ending hopeful or cruel?

Very early on in the film there comes an exterminator that fumigates the outer area of the Kims' street but not the apartment itself. Because the bugs are also a problem inside the building, the Kims allow the fumes to come inside the windows as they themselves are blasted by the spray of chemical. To me, this spoke very clearly toward the title and how poor people are seen and portrayed before the sneaky stuff with the rich folks even got started. It's a smart and creepy film; give it a try, see what you think. Parasite is rated R for language, violence, and sexual content, runs 2 hours 12 minutes, and is currently available on Hulu.

Resistance Through Cinema: The Nixon 3

"Can you imagine what this man might have been
if he'd ever been loved?"

Nixon, 1995. 
d. Oliver Stone
Starring: Anthony Hopkins, James Woods, Joan Allen, Powers Boothe, Paul Sorvino

I have not yet made it out to the theaters to see Woody Harrelson in LBJ, so we're jumping from JFK right to Nixon. Stone said that if the former was his "Godfather," then the latter would inevitably be his "Godfather II." I have to take a little issue with that, having the opinion that JFK is a far more interesting and compelling story, but whatever.

I find James Woods to be creepier
and more evil than Nixon all days of the week, but he was
effective in this role.

Nixon throws a lot of information at us, much of it out of sequence, bouncing from strategic discussions within the cabinet about Watergate and Vietnam, Nixon's Quaker childhood (in black and white), along with his various previous political experiences. People who liked the man will find some validation in the scenes that explore his better moments in office (progress in China with Mao, ending of the war in Vietnam, and temporary peace with the Soviets) and people who hated him will view all of these events along with some of his more emotional moments and constant need for approval somewhat suspiciously--it's difficult to reconcile a man so beloved by his wife and daughters with the man who made (what was until very recently) the biggest mockery of the American Presidency the world had ever seen. 

The filmmaking style is very typical of Oliver Stone's usual chaotic brilliance, and close in overall feeling to JFK, but as its own production not without a few shortcomings: Anthony Hopkins' English accent slides in more than a few times, and it's a difficult thing to get around. His physical portrayal was more on point with gestures and hunching shoulders, but I found him to be quite smiley in general, which maybe he was, who can know, but I got the feeling from the content of the film that there was very little smile about, overall, during Nixon's presidency. Supporting cast was amazing, shouts out especially to Sorvino as Kissenger, Joan Allen as Pat Nixon, Powers Boothe as Alexander Haig, and the late Larry Hagman (perfectly cast as a despicable, racist, Texas oil barron). 

I appreciated the approach of showing Nixon the man, and seeing some of his more humble and emotional moments was interesting and sad. Clearly he never got over his loss to Kennedy, and always viewed his power, his decisions, and even his family as things to be won and proven over and over. 



All The President's Men, 1976. 
d. Alan J. Pakula

"Woodward? Bernstein? You're both on the case,
now don't f--- it up!"

starring: Robert Redford, Dustin Hoffman, Jason Robards

Based on the book written by Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, this film focuses on these guys. Getting to the bottom of the Watergate scandal takes some time, and though the two men's efforts are mocked, ignored, and often sabotaged, it does eventually happen. Not a ton of the man Nixon himself in this film, but in watching, one becomes quite familiar with the men in his cabinet, what they knew, and how everyone was involved in the break in and subsequent cover-up. If your interest in the Nixon administration lies only in the Watergate scandal, then this is definitely your film. Resisting "the powers that be" is a big piece of this one. 

"WOODSTEIN!!"

There is an over-arching feeling of anxiety present during this film; anticipation, discomfort, and a general sense of WTF, like, a lot. It's difficult to believe, even now, that this really happened. The film opens on the actual break-in, which is useful in seeing just what occurred and how it seemed maybe innocuous or random at first (the burglars were looking for things, stealing things, installing recording devices wearing rubber gloves), but as more details are discovered, the more serious it all becomes. Bernstein (Hoffman) is always hovering around people smoking or drinking coffee, Woodward (Redford) comes off as a downright stalker, and they both have to keep repeating the same questions over and over to people who are obviously annoyed with them but they never give up, and the result of all this is, well, Nixon leaving his keys on the table and bugging out. 

You learn a lot about journalism, the inner workings of the White House, and basic detective work. It's a great example of dedicated, cooperative problem-solving. 70s men's fashion, the young (and smoking hot) Redford, and legit McDonalds logos on the lunch are all nice bonuses. Oscar for Supporting Actor went to Jason Robards and film won Adapted Screenplay, Art Direction, and Sound as well.

For further detail or education on the Watergate Scandal and the role of Woodward and Bernstein, see Redford's documentary feature below, "All The President's Men, Revisited."






Frost/Nixon, 2008. 
d. Ron Howard
starring: Frank Langella, Michael Sheen, Kevin Bacon

"A dramatic retelling of the post-Watergate television interviews between British talk-show host David Frost and former president Richard Nixon," (IMDB). 

I really enjoyed this, probably more than the other two, because something about it felt a bit more approachable--rather than the more inflated and removed concepts of Presidents or celebrities living their posh lives, this film at its heart focuses on two disgraced people just trying to prove themselves. David Frost (Michael Sheen) is a talk show host whose shows have been cancelled; Nixon (Frank Langella) has resigned and is living in California. 


Frost pitches a series of interviews with the former president to the major news networks, each one declines, and Frost decides to go through with it anyway, putting up his own money for the project with no guarantees it will ever see the light of day. In addition to the financial struggle, there are substantial conflicts between Frost's and Nixon's production teams about the interview topics, how they'll be controlled, and whether or not Frost will be allowed to ask the questions the Americans really want answered. 

Resistance comes into the story mainly in terms of Frost's actions, which really do a lot in making this film personal and something we all can relate to, exploring employment and financial pressures, the easy way vs. the hard way, standing up for oneself, and maybe most of all, rising to the occasion amidst a ton of adversity. The title itself is Frost/Nixon, which suggests a sort of battle, like a square-off or "versus" situation, and this ends up fitting well as the film progresses. The Oscar nominations were plentiful--Best Picture, Screenplay, Editing, Director (Howard), and Actor (Langella). Frank Langella's Nixon is a darker, more scowling one than Hopkins', and his vocalizations and dialogues seemed a bit more close to the real man's. The issue of his sweaty upper lip is addressed as well as a few awkward attempts at humor, and the effect is mostly sympathetic---Nixon wanted to be loved and just wasn't, and we the viewers see this, again and again. 

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.

Moneyball

"How can you not get romantic about baseball?"

Billy Beane (Brad Pitt) wonders this several times throughout the film. To a large extent, it's a fair question, although baseball and sports in general may not be every filmgoer's cup of tea. What is romantic, irrefutably so, is the experience director Bennett Miller has given us, which in the end is only partially about baseball. If you've ever struggled with a confidence problem or simply wanted your actions to mean something, this is your film, America.

Beane is a former major league ball player-turned general manager for the Oakland Athletics whose budget is unreasonably tight. Forced to acquire new, inexpensive players to fill in for those the team lost to free agency, Beane radically employs a young analyst with a degree in economics (Jonah Hill) as his assistant and together, the two pull together a team that focuses heavily on the players' on-base percentage (OBP) and other unique statistics in order to gain runs and eventually win games. Virtually no one in the franchise supports Beane's decision, and one loss after another seems to shoot down the credibility of his plan----until it actually starts working.

This film, like many other Best Picture Nominees before it, is about the underdog and taking chances, but it's very much a story about trust, too. A fine example of this (and unarguably one of the film's greatest scenes) happens at Beane's meeting in Cleveland to arrange player trades where Peter Brand (Hill) is introduced. When an entire row of personnel agrees to a certain trade, Brand leans in quietly and briefly gives his disapproval; the manager doesn't ask a single question but immediately seconds Brand's veto. Beane immediately catches on and seeks Brand out moments later, "What just happened in there? Why does he listen to you?" Brand's ideas are unpopular and extreme, as Beane soon finds out, but somehow there becomes a trust between the two men as they put the formulas into action. When dissent starts flowing freely through the team clubhouse, coach Art Howe (Philip Seymour Hoffman) asks Brand if he agrees with Beane's decisions; "One hundred percent," he replies. 


Another inspired scene has Beane explaining to Brand the correct way to cut a player; Brand feels he should relay at least some level of sympathy but Beane disagrees, admitting he doesn't mix with the players, travel with them, or engage in unnecessary dialogues. Later, as the team's standing in the league become dire after a significant losing streak, Beane revises his social philosophy slightly and works together with Brand and his players in order to explain what they're doing and to build confidence (which coincidentally is when the team begins what would become a twenty-game winning streak). Once the team gets going, they go damned near all the way.

Narrative aside, this film boasts the most solid production of any this year. The two principal actors, forgive the pun, obviously brought their A-game to the filming, but the driving orchestral accompaniment, so invaluable to desperate, life-changing situations such as these, and the editing choices of classic baseball clips and pages on end of statistics really come together with the present to entice and entertain us, while using close up shots of Beane's reactions, mostly his eyes, to remind us just how much heart and dedication this story has on a human level.

Early on, an announcer scoffing at Beane's system says, "It's not about statistics, it's a game about people." What may have threatened the old boy network was the fact that money just may not have been the most important factor in someone's success.

Radical.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

As with the holocaust, films concerning the terrorist attacks of 9/11 should not be taken lightly, even if indirectly linked to the event. Stephen Daldry has made a film that has a lot to say, almost too much, ties up neatly at the end, almost too neatly, but definitely won't be taken lightly. A child's uniqueness, the near-obsessive way he deals with his father's death, and overall quest to make sense of the tragedy are half of this story; the actual tragedy itself plays second chair to the former(s) for most of the film, but through news reports and frantic phone calls, America is transported right back to that day, the worst day as it's often referred to, and even a decade later, not all of us are ready. 

Thomas Horn, in an epic breakthrough performance, plays Oskar Schell, an eleven-year-old boy whose life was turned upside down by the events of 9/11. His father (Tom Hanks) who is portrayed as he appears to Oskar with nothing short of demi-god status and larger than life, is killed in the collapse of one of the towers. While searching for pieces of his father in his closet some time later, Oskar comes across a small envelope labeled, "Black," which inside holds a key. As Oskar clings to the key as a link to his father which may unlock something, anything, that might bring the two together again, the film shows just how dedicated Oskar is to organizing his mission, hinting at his maybe-Asperger's Syndrome and alluding to New York's experience the morning of the terrorist attacks here and there. Sandra Bullock, Viola Davis, Max von Sydow, and John Goodman all shine in interesting supporting roles, but are mostly overtaken by the bigger issues of Oskar's feelings, experiences, and elaborate system to (symbolically) get his father back.

The film, though competently created, suffers from taking one main issue (Oskar's search for his father/remembrance of him) and branching it out into several other secondary ones that while seeming adequately interesting and relevant, really just eat up the clock, or serve to make Oskar's screen time feel overly bloated. The renter across the street. The Blacks in Brooklyn (Viola Davis and Jeffrey Wright). The numerous stories of the people Oskar encounters. At 129 minutes, the film definitely could have been slimmed down some, but instead each secondary issue is kept and ultimately tied up a little too neatly in the end. Where neatness is concerned, (and this might be where most other critics' beef with the film really lies)---just as Oskar's mother (Bullock) explains that one cannot make sense of 9/11, one also shouldn't try to illustrate it, organize it, or simplify it into a kitschy little scrapbook or collection of objects, which ultimately ends up happening here. 

The strongest moments then become the ones where the film steps outside that neatness and structure and allows unchecked emotion----Oskar's physical collapse as the first tower also falls; the mysterious quality of the renter; Oskar's breakdown that begins on the streets of Manhattan and continues in his mother's arms. Since we've been a little distanced from Oskar as a character, not just because he's slightly anxious or socially awkward but also because of a somewhat stiff and theater-esque speaking voice with which the narrative is explained, (which is not a criticism toward the actor but the director) these unrehearsed-feeling, true moments become crucial in our becoming invested. Like everyone else in the film, we'd like to get closer to Oskar Schell, and like him, we yearn for a catharsis that isn't possible and that no film, no story, will ever give us.

The Descendants

I almost didn't finish this film. In fact, I kind of spent a week hating it, not knowing if it was my gender or personal impatience that drove me to do so, but regardless, I wasn't sold. There were definitely things about it that I thought were well done, and if you'll grant me a tiny spoiler allowance, the ending definitely ranked among my top five favorite film endings, ever, so it really bothered me that I didn't love it and I gave it another shot. What I took from the second viewing was that this is an incredibly powerful, emotionally difficult story that captures the very essence of humanity; The Descendants might just be the most honest thing to come out of Hollywood yet.

George Clooney plays Matt King, an Oahu-dwelling lawyer with a life that seems to be headed for disaster. His wife has just been seriously injured in a boating accident, he's having a hard time relating to his two daughters ("I'm the back-up parent, the understudy,") and he's in the middle of a landmark decision over the property his family owns on Kauai, something the entire state is following. Soon after Matt learns that his wife will never come out of the trauma-induced coma she's in, his teenage daughter Alexandra (Shailene Woodley) informs him that her mother had been cheating on him, and the two had fought about it at length before the accident. Armed with this uncomfortable knowledge, Matt makes arrangements for friends and family to say their farewells and eventually comes to terms with his own feelings and what he wants for his family.

Before we get to the film's Oscar-worthiness, it's necessary to address that this is a man's story, a father's story----and one that might leave women (at least at first, the way it did me) feeling a little cast aside. Matt King's wife, Elizabeth, never utters a word during the course of the film, and is repeatedly shown defenseless in her hospital bed, greasy-haired and open-mouthed. That she cheated on Matt is obviously unpleasant and undisputed, but she doesn't ever get the chance to explain her actions. Save for the brokenhearted pleadings of her father (Robert Forester) and the two framed photographs of her, one as a child and the other as an adult, Elizabeth as a human being and Elizabeth's feelings do not factor into this story very much. We're mostly able to see pieces of who she was through stories of rebellion (extreme boating, cheating, doing things always "her own way"), and through her daughters, who obviously cared for her but are conflicted about their feelings over her infidelity, but make no mistake: this is Matt's story.

The journey is an important one, and one that however uncomfortable, is pertinent for a lot of men. Money. Property. Communication. Common concerns, yes, but coupled with the certain death of an unfaithful spouse, things start to get tricky. When Matt receives the news that Elizabeth will never recover, Clooney's acting chops have never been better, transitioning from a controlled emotional breakdown (conveyed mostly through facial expression) to instant optimism when faced with the couple's two best friends, inquiring as to her condition. Later, when he informs Alexandra that her mother will soon die, she, too makes to hide her reaction (plunging underwater in the family pool) but then discloses her mother's infidelity to Matt, who listens carefully and then takes off running. It's not an arbitrary thing, Matt and his daughter disguising their true feelings; in a lot of ways, the story focuses on being honest, choosing forgiveness, and putting yourself on the line for your family, especially when it's the most difficult. 

So in addition to Clooney's performance, what makes this film an Oscar contender? Director Alexander Payne obviously has made great strides in showing us just how laborious and painful life can be---mainly that the people we love can and do hurt us and parents don't always have all the answers--but while focusing upon a very serious set of situations, still manages to keep Matt King's story from becoming dark or depressing. There's something very awe-inspiring about an average man, thrust into chaos, who in the end does the right thing. Paradise might initially be told to go fuck itself, but at the end of the day, this film's resolution and closing scene are as close to perfect as any I've ever seen. Things aren't fixed, exactly, and there will inevitably be more problems down the road, but in the world of parents and children, sometimes all that is needed is a quiet evening on the couch with ice cream. Would that all our problems iron out that way.

Best Picture Nominees: An Eventual Sort of Group

In his short story, Everything's Eventual, Stephen King uses the adjective "eventual" as one would use "excellent" or "awesome." The story's main character uses the word to describe a rush of frenzied creativity (as he realizes his own sense of power and ability while making an elaborate blueprint to end his neighbor's dog): "I felt like I was going to be sick . . . but I still also felt totally eventual." Eventual = exciting; eventual = terrifying.

 

Many of this year's Best Picture-nominated films were, as a group, very eventual. Wonderfully creative, powerful, but (not unlike a Stephen King tale) armed with the ability to rattle and disturb us, some for days after the viewing. Don't believe that films can cause physical reactions? Take a look at these: 

 

1. 127 Hours, directed by Danny Boyle. James Franco stars in this true story of Aron Ralston's five days in a Utah canyon, thirsty and alone. Being trapped anywhere is horrible enough, but Ralston's predicament is localized only to his arm, everything else on his body is completely unencumbered. This becomes an extremely grim viewing experience, not just emotionally, but viscerally. Franco pulls, struggles, and we grimace along with him. He begins to ration his water, we feel our own lips drying out. Once it's clear that the arm, the only thing holding him back, is going to have to go, we feel our own blood pressures rise as he prepares himself for what must be done---bone, skin, nerves, and all. We aren't experiencing any of Aron Ralston's pain, physically, but in some ways, we are. It takes an extremely well written and well performed film to do this, not just to make us writhe in discomfort, but to reach us emotionally as well. It's a near certainty that many, many people, after seeing this film, either called their parents, hugged their brothers, or maybe saw Nature a bit differently. Heavy, right? 



2. Black Swan, directed by Darren Aronofsky. Natalie Portman is young ballerina Nina Sayers, struggling for perfection in her starring role as The Swan Queen. This might be a fairy tale, it might be a coming-of-age piece, but the film so deftly sweeps away, disturbs, and enchants that definition and reality cease to matter. Emotionally, this film is a like a crankbait at sea; Nina's ups and downs become our own, and her quest for perfection among her stuffed animals, hovering mother, and sexual awakening together with her literal breakdown over her role in the ballet create an exhilarating, terrifying experience. This film is also filled with visceral, grimacing moments: we fear for Nina's feet and legs as she pushes herself too hard and injures them, we cringe, first at the sight of a reddened rash and compulsive back-scratching, but then tenfold once (as the obsession over her role plunges deeper) she plucks a black feather from her skin! So wait a minute, she becomes the swan? Paintings talk? All that really happened? Make your own decisions (but it's totally eventual). 

 

 

 

3. Toy Story 3, directed by Lee Unkrich. The Toys are back, this time to deal with empty-nest syndrome when Andy packs up for college and they get shipped off to Sunnyside Daycare. This is the harshest, most emotional (yet eventual) film, let alone kid's film, you'll ever see. Harsh, as in it unapologetically deals with something adults and kids both understand, abandonment. The toys are made to believe that this sort of thing is inevitable, something they must accept after they admit to themselves that Andy has outgrown them. Through the flashback of Bear-in-Charge Lotso's "abandonment", viewers are served a giant slice of devastation as they hear him scold Big Baby outside their owner's window, "She don't want you no more!" after he reached out his hands for Daisy ("mama!"). Could there be anything worse? Well, yes, as it turns out. Everything is nearly sorted out as the film heads to its conclusion and then, BAM, more excruciating heartbreak, this time in the form of a slow fall into a fiery incinerator. For anyone who has spent time with these toys, enjoyed the films, read the books, or actually purchased the toys outright, there is no moment more real than Buzz and Woody, dirty and helpless, clasping hands for what they believe will be the last time. These events are heavy, and this is not a film one soon forgets (some film writers have even been known to tear up while writing about it!).

 

But we need the heavy, we need the visceral, and we need the emotion, it's more than just a narrative, it's humanity! These films were great because they frightened, they saddened, but they ignited and inspired, too. Life is like that. And very eventual.

Pulp Fiction

I was behind the rest of the world on this one; I didn't see it until I was a sophomore in college. Clearly I had been watching films for a great many years before this, but Pulp Fiction was the first film that made me stop and think, "Holy fucking shit," during the entire thing and for days afterwards. In a way, it was the catalyst that led to my quitting music and doing film instead. To say that I love it would be putting it mildly; if you know my kids' names, you know just how serious I am. More than soundtrack, cinematography, or dialogues, this film taught me one thing: sometimes there are things (films, sentences, people, actions, writers) that just come together and are almost undefinably awesome---I want this in my life in all ways possible.

Pulp Fiction, 1994. Directed by Quentin Tarantino
Starring: John Travolta, Uma Thurman, Samuel L. Jackson

"The lives of two mob hit men, a boxer, a gangster's wife, and a pair of diner bandits intertwine in four tales of violence and redemption." (IMDB).

The items that struck me then are the same ones that strike me now. Mostly chronologically:

1. First scene with Pumpkin and Honey Bunny; freeze frame on the last second before the dialogue ends. Scorsese does it, which means a shit load of Frenchmen probably did it too, but damn, it looked *awesome.* Tim Roth's sort of animated, explanatory rant together with the strangely innocent yet impulsive Amanda Plummer. That gun he slams down on the table and the metallic sound it makes. "Garcon means boy."

What an opening.

2. Samuel Jackson as Jules Winnfield: deliveries and reactions. The explanation of Tony Rocky Horror's recent speech impediment and the implications of Vincent's date with Mia Wallace. The exchange over Big Kahuna Burgers and sprite followed by the "'What' ain't no country I ever heard of," bit. All lines spoken at Jimmy's house: "I'm a mushroom cloud-layin' mother fucker, Mother Fucker!" Can I say that he made the film? He did.

3. The soundtrack. Quentin Tarantino was born in 1963; I was born in 1976. He grew up listening to a vastly different collection of music than I did, but the selections chosen and their placements within the film completely blew me away, again and again. The surf music of The Tornadoes and The Lively Ones; Dick Dale's Miserlou. The Statler Brothers. Urge Overkill. Al Green. Kool and The Gang. And my personal favorite, Dusty Springfield, when Vincent meets Mia. I love this scene, a lot. He's stoned on Choko; she's doing lines. She watches him through a spy camera while he stares at a painted picture of her. Her lips, her voice, her feet.



4. The Overdose. Mostly I love this because of the car antics and all the cursing. Vincent's Malibu fishtailing around the corner. "Fuck you, Lance, ANSWER!" The way Lance (Eric Stoltz with Jesus hair/beard and robe) just paces around that cluttered up house and then finally goes to the front door, snaps up the window shade and sees that car fly across the lawn (at a diagonal angle to what is presumably the driveway) and then crash into something, maybe the chimney. Favorite. Scene. Ever. I don't think my dad ever saw this but as someone who laughed hard enough to cry at the motorcycle through the wall scene (plus Sammy Davis's reaction) in The Cannonball Run, I think he would have dug it. This is a minor part of the film, I realize, but seriously, I think about this whole scene being written ("Car flies up across lawn at angle and crashes into house. Vincent drags Mia from car, unphased,") or however it appeared in the screenplay, and I almost pee myself giggling.

What do they look like, Jimmy?

5. Overlapping and out of sequencing the storytelling. Everyone does this now, but Tarantino did it first. Trickery. I like it. Also, in the end, referring to Jules and Vincent as "dorks," when Jimmy (Tarantino) clearly is one himself.

Bonus for liking gourmet coffee.
What a film.

News from TL, The Help, Midnight in Paris

Clearly I'm behind AS ALWAYS. I just barely finished getting the gift cards off to the winners of the BEST MOVIE EVER project despite being no where close to finishing watching your recommendations; I'm still doing them (even if no one is really reading this anymore after I quit Facebook. Again). If you are reading and not just getting here by image searches on Google, you should shoot me a comment because I'm wondering if it's even worth doing another contest for April (which is probably when I'll finish your film suggestions). I'm thinking maybe a magazine subscription for a prize this time. Tell me what you think.

I had most of a review finished for my other . . . outlet and planned on doing the rest of the Best Picture nominees up properly also, but something has happened that has left me feeling a little disenfranchised about certain things, not the least being what I'm okay doing in order to get my content published and playing ball in the journalism field vs. being true to my own values as a writer. Telling me something I've written needs a paragraph break is fine; dismissing my content (which I put at least a pint of flesh and blood into) for needing . . . get this . . . MORE LINKS----I dunno if I can be okay with that. There are more issues, none of them major, but let's just say I gained a bigger perspective about all this. Anyway, enough bitching.

The Help, 2011. Directed by Tate Taylor
starring: Viola Davis, Octavia Spencer, Emma Stone, Bryce Dallas Howard

"An aspiring author during the civil rights movement of the 1960s decides to write a book detailing the African-American maid's point of view on the white families for which they work, and the hardships they go through on a daily basis." (IMDB).

I didn't expect to like this very much so I was pleasantly surprised when I really enjoyed it. I mean, as much as you can enjoy a film about a bunch of pampered, racist, bullies, I guess. I don't know how realistic it was, since I wasn't around in Jackson, Mississippi during the sixties, but I'm sure that for every true story or situation mentioned there were about a hundred more disturbing, not-so-smoothly addressed ones that could not and never will be resolved simply by putting them into a narrative (that ends more or less on a positive note). The best thing about this film are the characters, they're interesting, well-written, and portrayed very well by each respective actor.

I think the most difficult thing about this film for me was having to try to figure out how I felt about it from a human standpoint. Obviously it's a story, obviously it's gotta end and tie up more or less neatly, but sometimes there are social issues that you really just can't lighten. Like, at all. The film was a decent production, and like I said, I enjoyed it, but I have this nagging issue with so much of the behavior shown in the film (as I'm sure many others do, too) that no matter what the outcome, no matter how rightly humiliated the perpetrators eventually were in their own ridiculousness----there's just absolutely no excuse for it. It's like there's this safe kind of distance from all this pain and suffering because it's being shown in a fictional film, but . . . that doesn't really work for very long when you admit to yourself that the events in this film and much, much worse really happened and are still happening. I like that Aibileen and Minny actually took a stand and tried to do something, indicating they were doing it for their children (and so that Skeeter could "put a stop to all this,") but you can't just let people off the hook with, "sometimes courage skips a generation." That really got me pissy.

Midnight in Paris, 2011. Directed by Woody Allen
Starring: Owen Wilson, Rachel McAdams

"A family travel to the French capital for business. The party includes a young engaged couple who are forced to confront their differing views of a perfect life." (IMDB).

Seriously, this one is in my top five, ever. I was dumbfounded by it, was so utterly impressed and excited by it (even days later) that thinking about it just makes me giddy and happy like nothing else. This is such a writer's film; I had no desire to go to Paris (in the current year or any others prior) but seeing Gil (Wilson) walk around, discovering everything, and getting inspired by everything he sees was enough to make me want to go a little. I loved every minute of this.

HOT.

1. If you want to see how to be the world's most awful spouse to a writer, pay special attention to Inez (McAdams). Actually, I think she'd be awful to anyone she married, really. All the interrupting, condescending, and complete disregard for Gil's work and feelings? What a bag.

2. Hemingway: "My response is that I hate it. If it's bad, then I hate it because I hate bad writing. If it's good, then I'll be envious and hate it even more. You don't want the opinion of another writer."

3. Adrien Brody as Salvadore Dali and the entire discussion among the surrealists. This is maybe going to sound a little snotty, but if you know anything about Bunuel and the stuff he did (or were forced to watch it for hours as a film student) you'll find this whole exchange hilarious. Predictable but hilarious.

Also HOT.

Perfect. All of it.

The Descendants, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

If you're curious about this year's Oscar nominated films you can check out my reviews on Examiner, I'm writing up all nine one by one:

The Descendants

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close



One I ended up liking very much (after the second viewing), the other had a few problems, many of which I wasn't even able to categorize successfully until I started watching Moneyball yesterday. By about the third minute in (and I'm not a baseball person, at all) I found myself immediately thinking, "I don't care what happens in this film but I already know I don't want it to end." I had to shut it off to go to work, which damned near killed me, because I was so engaged in watching. I think that, more than anything else is a requirement for a Best Picture nominee----things don't have to be peachy and sunshiny all the time, clearly, but the film has to make us think, I don't want this to end.

Look for my review of Moneyball later tonight, if you want.

(Moneyball)

The Shawshank Redemption

I think at least four people suggested this one; it really might be the best movie ever made.

The Shawshank Redemption, 1994. Directed by Frank Darabont.
starring: Tim Robbins, Morgan Freeman, Bob Gunton.

"Two imprisoned men bond over a number of years, finding solace and eventual redemption through acts of common decency." (IMDB). 

This film succeeds because it's a great story (Stephen King) done by a great director (Frank Darabont) with a great cast (everyone involved). Props also go to Thomas Newman, who did the music. But it's not just that everything comes together so brilliantly as a production, obviously it does, but there is something about the overall message going on here that literally causes me to cry every time I think of it . . . it's emotional, it's heartbreaking, but it's uplifting, too.

This is the story of Andy Dufresne and Ellis (Red) Boyd Redding. Andy is new, quiet, keeps to himself, is "a cold fish;" Red is the opposite---a man who can get things (smokes, sipping whiskey, posters), a man who knows things (being rejected for parole, who to avoid in the showers, what happens the first night new inmates arrive), a respected man inside the prison. Their story together becomes one of friendship, humanity, and hope: Andy develops a true friendship with Red, uses his intelligence and humanity to make others comfortable, more free-feeling, and eventually escapes.

So Red and Andy are obviously the key players here, but the supporting ones are pretty brilliant, too. The stuttering Heywood (Bill Sadler, "Alexan-dree Dum, Dumas, Dumb Ass?"), the quiet, in-the-background Italian guy (Richie Apriel from The Sopranos!), slippery Warden Norton (Bob Gunton), dorky question-asking, cell tossing guard (Dr. Romano from ER), and my personal favorite, Captain Hadley (Clancy Brown), aka Kelvin from LOST aka Brother Justin from Carnivale.


Seriously, this guy was one hell of a bad ass, constantly removing his prison hat for extra intimidation and getting all the killer lines:

"You speak English, Butt-Steak?"
"What the Christ is this happy horse-shit?"
"You tell me, Fuck-stick, they're all addressed to you!"

Is it a sign of immaturity that I find the way he uses curse words *hilarious*? Total prick, he was, but gifted with language, I'll give him that.

The director's choices thrill me to no end. From the steamy little love session going on between Andy's wife and lover (sorry, but it's kinda hot) to the respectful way Brooks's last scenes are filmed (revealing just enough for it to be tasteful, and with that remorseful accompaniment), to the tilt up the building during Andy's first entrance, to Red's seriously awesome swagger through the yard and later childishly giddy grin when he walks out the front gate, to probably my favorite driven close-up of all time----Warden Norton's sudden dart to the needlework covering the safe when the cops come for him  ("His Judgement Cometh and That Right Soon," CROSS-STITCHED!)---even the cornfields and gravel roads at the end get me a little excited, not to mention the ocean. Everything just . . . worked.

And think for a minute about the things people say to each other in this film----when was the last time you were really struck by the seriousness, the weight of peoples' words? Damn, man!

"You underestimate yourself."
"Every man has his breaking point."
"Get busy living or get busy dying."
"Salvation lies within."

"Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things."

Citizen Kane

And um, Hot!

Check out pretty much any top film list ever made and you'll see this one in the top five, every time. I remember discussing it with some of my mother's friends once, as they could not figure out what the fuss was all about and asked me what I thought. I defended it, and gave a sort of half-assed explanation of what "deep focus" meant and why it was important in the film, and that the film was about mystery and popularity, and loss, but I was probably 24 when I was recycling all this bullshit, and had no true idea of what I was really saying, much less what the film was really about. I think I know a little more now.

Citizen Kane, 1941. Directed by Orson Welles.
starring: Orson Welles, Joseph Cotton, Dorothy Comingore

"Following the death of a publishing tycoon, news reporters scramble to discover the meaning of his final utterance." (IMDB).


Though heavy with flashbacks and told out-of-sequence, the narrative of this story is quite simple: a journalist seeks to uncover the meaning behind the word, "Rosebud," the last word spoken by Charles Foster Kane (Welles), a world-famous publishing icon. The man interviews Kane's colleagues, one ex-wife, and consults the diary of a former guardian but in the end, gains absolutely no insight into what the word meant to Kane and deems it a forever mystery, though the film's conclusion reveals to the audience that "Rosebud," was the word printed across Kane's childhood sled (which is tossed into a furnace and destroyed).

A heavenly revelation?

In many ways the story is relevant today; a study of a famous person's public self vs. their private one---or leaving aside fame, posing the question of just how well we think we know the people in our lives. Charles Foster Kane revealed very little of himself throughout his life, but the purpose of the film is to piece together the things he did reveal in order to answer the question no one else could. It's said many times (by those who knew him) that Kane wanted love, only did things on his own terms, and was shown to be a collector of things, be they statues, adorations, or people---and that it's not enough to know what a man did, but rather who he was.

The technical aspects of this film (lighting, deep focus, moving camera, composition of shots, montage sequences) aren't just fancy, artistic flair---they're instrumental in understanding Kane, they're clues! More even than deep focus (of which lighting obviously plays a key part), the lighting in this film reveals all its secrets. Who's in the dark? How is Kane lit, how much of his body is showing? What items are in the foreground, and why? Consider the sizes of things, the settings, the actors, what's grandiose, and what's larger than life? How much emotion is shown in Kane---how close does the camera get to his face, and when? While it's fun to nerd out on a lot of this stuff (and as I sort of discovered when I was trying to get other people as excited about this film as I was), lip service doesn't pay unless you've seen it, and even then, trying to use words to describe a lot of this is pointless----you really just have to see these images together in a whole to get not only their full effect but to appreciate their uniqueness and power.



There are two occasions where Kane lets his guard down, not directly, but to the two others being interviewed (Thatcher, Susan Alexander). The first is early in the film and Kane's young life, arguably the most crucial sequence, when Thatcher assumes guardianship and takes Kane from his parents, the second is after Susan leaves Xanadu and Kane not only destroys her room but begins to cry. Scattered among the film are bits of dialogue, mostly from either Bernstein, Leland, or Susan that suggest Kane wanted acceptance and love but was unable to reciprocate any himself.

Rosebud!

"It wasn't money he wanted . . . "
"All he really wanted out of life was love. He loved Charlie Kane, of course, and his mother."
"You never give me anything that belongs to you, nothing that you care about."
"If hadn't been very rich, I might have been a really great man."

Most of the discussions on the theme of this film revolve around Kane's loss of childhood, signified by the sled, Rosebud. I don't think it's his lost childhood he's lamenting at all, but rather the loss of his mother, the abandonment he suffered at her hands, no matter how well-intentioned she may have been. Were it only his childhood he wanted to reclaim, he'd have been able to form true and loving relationships with the women in his life, and he probably would have been able to find real happiness, eventually. When his mother decides to send him away to lead a more dignified life with Thatcher as his guardian, she cuts herself out of his life and in effect, makes him into an orphan. "Why aren't you coming with us, Mom?" he questions, as his father, childish, and somewhat of a buffoon, blathers on in the background about big lights and money. He not only refuses to shake hands with his new benefactor but charges into him (using Rosebud as a battering ram). Later, we see young Charles less than enthusiastic about his Christmas present (from Thatcher), a replacement Rosebud, and eventually after deciding to go into publishing, spends much of his time smearing and making political trouble for the man who took him away from his beloved mother.

That he saved her things is also significant; he mentions them almost in passing the night he meets Susan, telling her, "I was on my way to the Western Manhattan Warehouse in search of my youth," where all his mother's things were in storage. At the film's conclusion, one of the assistants (just after another finds one of Susan's jigsaw puzzles) notices Mary Kane's stove, collected and stored alongside numerous other priceless statues. The snow globe of Susan's that he seems to treasure so much is a token to not only his childhood, yes, but of his childhood home, the safety of his mother, and the only love that he had ever known (for which he spent the remainder of his life pursuing a replacement).

"Mother is the word for God on the hearts and lips of all little children."
Et tu, Charlie?