Southern Crime-dra-medy and others

Richard Linklater's Bernie is many things: A character comedy, a southern gothic, and then a courtroom drama, yet it is reductive to put it into even those 3 broad categories. Most broadly it is a tale of the modern south. With a character like the eponymous Bernie, Linklater explores the realities of living within such a specific place, one that is quite close to his own roots. Except for those that spent a fair amount of time in a culture like this, the film will likely  come off as parody, and it works as that. But for those familiar with the subject matter, the film  will seem far more realistic and perhaps even funnier than to those that are not. Jack Black does a superior job at understanding his character, one that could not exist in any other place in the world. Men like Bernie (and they are few) can only spring up in places like Carthage, Texas. Linklater also made the insightful move of integrating real citizens of the town in interview portions that, while hilarious, broaden the realization of the small town atmosphere. And while the movie is certainly a more than enough of a laugh to make a pleasant evening, there is some greater significance at stake, as well. The central action of the film and its consequences evoke some pretty serious questions about the US legal system and its often arbitrary assignment of penalty.

There isn't a whole lot to say about Julien, Donkey Boy, Harmony Korrine's 2nd feature length film. It has much of the same sensibilities of the masterful Gummo, not to mention the same evocative and downright beautiful camerawork. As with his previous work, story takes a back seat to imagery which Korrine will be most remembered for, though to continue the comparison, it did not have quite the same punch. And who can resist Werner Herzog even if he is playing an abusive father. A good film, but one with terrible consequences (particularly in the opening scene). 

When I saw Ratcatcher for the first time, it was a realization of a thing that cinema could do that was unknown to me until then. The emphasis on still images made for a gorgeous look. Lynn Ramsey's latest We Need to Talk About Kevin has a few instances of her signature visual flair, but it is a more good film with a spectacular central performance rather than simply a great film. Tilda Swinton, that alien god(dess? if anyone transcends gender it's her), turns in another of her absolutely mind-blowing performance as the mother of a sociopathic child. I keep wondering  what she would be like, if we would even know her name had she not hooked up with Derek Jarman and crew in the 80s. For that, we must be thankful that she did. Yes, the film has moments of beauty, both straightforward and terrible at different times, but the overall effect is less than those moments would suggest. 

Ok, so I saw Moonrise Kingdom. I liked it. It's not my favorite Wes Anderson film. I also don't have a lot else to say about it that hasn't been labored over by far too many people already. So I'll just leave it at that. 

Lost Highway is one of the lesser in in the Lynch oeuvre. It feels less coherent than many of his other films even though he fits the pieces together in much the same way that does in his other films. There was just something missing. There was the usual air of mystery which goes largely unanswered, moments of bizarre sexuality and violence; all the elements were there, but each bit lacked something credible. Don't get me wrong, it was still...entertaining (is that the right word?) but it didn't have quite the same Lynch stamp. 

Prometheus. Oh.....Prometheus. Ridley, you tried so hard, something I don't think we could say about you in the last 20 years, at least, but I think you got bored probably sometime right after the production phase. Some good elements were there, some bad ones were too. The script was a little off, but it looked like you were ready to really make something unique, and in some ways you did. It wasn't interesting though. After doing some analysis of the plot I noticed what were obviously some obvious dog ears in the book of history. 2000 years ago, something changed in the cycle of the "Engineers" (the race that apparently brought about the genesis of life on earth) had a change of heart about the nature of human existence. Wait....what happened 200 years ag- OHHHH! Ridley, you sly dog, slipping Space Jesus in without so much as a wink apart from the cross that one of the characters wears. To be fair, its not entirely a bad philosophical point of view (even though there is one scene that may suggest a questionable stance on abortion if you follow the rabbit hole down too far), but it doesn't really fit into the runtime. And why the hell did Charlize Theron forget how to run sideways?

The "Abstinence" episode of Tim and Eric Awesome Show Great Job! has got to be one of the best 15 minutes you could spend watching something. Most of the time Heidecker and Wareheim's show is riotous in its bizarre, DIY pairings and process. I had been waiting for a feature length by these guys for years, but unfortunately, this is not nearly as funny as it could have been. It has a few moments, most of which are character related (John C. Reilly as Taquito and very briefly Jeff Goldblum as Chef Goldblum), but dare I say it, there was way too much story here. That is not something I thought I would ever say when referring to these guys, but there simply weren't enough pointless asides, something they are great at. Almost everything related in some way to a central plot, which was uninspired given what I have come to expect from them. Maybe next time. I would still see something they produced in the hope that they could get it right. 

Alright. A long post.

Mike Leigh makes films that I often procrastinate in watching perhaps because they are so dense and always deal with difficult, emotional subject matters. Vera Drake has been on my list for a number of years, but I never could commit to it; however, when I did, it was far more rewarding (if I can even use that word) than I had anticipated. I'll start with the visuals which use a stark, oppressive palette--plenty of blacks and and dark browns--befitting the 50s urban England setting, not to mention the subject matter. The title character is a spry and cheery older woman played by the mesmerizing Imelda Staunton who performs covert abortions as a side gig, though she accepts no payment for them. Leigh has a fairly obvious opinion on the subject matter, but it does not overwhelm the complexity of the issues. He focuses more on the oft over-applied term "slice-of-life" drama which allows the characters to fully realize for the viewer. The films later scenes carry more weight than I could possibly have expected them to, even knowing much of Leigh's filmography. A must see.

Mean Streets has been heralded as one of the premier offerings from Scorsese. Sure, it's good enough, but it did not carry the weight of most of his other earlier films (I think we can all agree he hasn't made a film a truly remarkable film since the 1990's Goodfellas). Visually, it is somewhat appropriate albeit somewhat schizophrenic in its over-saturated colors, and it has a few camera flourishes that we have seen echoes of from many more recent filmmakers, but there is too much narrative to say that it toes the line of episodic Italian films (Fellini's or Antonioni's) that it evokes. 

A movie like Shame is as difficult to pin down as it is to watch. It highlights the problems of male sexuality in the modern world of widely available pornography. Not to say that is its only or maybe even primary focus. I knew what I was in for after seeing McQueen's previous offering, Hunger, and it was at least as effective. He and Fassbender seem to have a tremendous working relationship. The character is appropriately out of reach from the audience and yet we still understand the progression of his actions. McQueen's use of the camera has the same panache we have come to expect as it highlights what takes place on screen in an interesting way at almost every turn. Avoid the film if you have trouble with some very sensitive subject matter, but if you can stomach it, there are plenty of rewards. 

The stories of Vincent Gallo that bounce off the walls of Hollywood and have spilled out into the hallway of the wider film culture abound. This is part of the reason I have avoided seeing Buffalo '66 despite its reputation. It turns out that Gallo is one of those individuals who alienates just about everyone he meets but is capable of incredible artistic creation. Buffalo is a fairly simple one in terms of film grammar, but the inventive camera work would keep you glued to the screen even if nothing else in the film was working. Thankfully, just about everything else works too. The script is precise and very often guffaw-inducing. There are so many wonderful and unexpected moments in it that I can't recommend it highly enough. 

Sidney Lumet has made some of the most revered films in American cinema, and one of my personal favorite directors. Dog Day Afternoon is a solid classic, though far from my favorite of Lumet's I liked his use of sound in the film, particularly at the airport which give us a sense that the world is impassive to the events that have gone on during our time with Pacino. Planes are coming in and taking off unconcerned with the relevant issues that were fleshed out during the film. 

Beautiful Losers is a rather unfortunate documentary about artists such as Shepard Fairey, Harmony Korrine, and Margaret Kilgallen, among others who have influenced the art world in the last 15 or so years. The problem with the film isn't that the material is bad--some is quite interesting and some less so--but its lazily constructed. Perhaps they were going for a whimsical tone to match the subject, but it comes off as simply disorganized and aimless. The interview bits with Korrine are mostly interesting, though, and the one time it seems to follow a particular thread is when the death of Kilgallen is discussed which is the high point of the work. But overall.....you can skip it. 

For a change of pace, the Avengers. I may get 40 lashes for this, but unless you are going for some mindless fun, I wouldn't bother. But as far as mindless fun goes, it is definitely the upper crust. Some fun one-liners, a plot that doesn't require too much of a stretch on the part of the viewer and not so awful casting. But still, if you are looking for substance, search elsewhere.

Morvern Callar is Lynne Ramsay's 2nd feature, and it is nowhere near as good as Ratcatcher, but a film with a great deal of merit. Her proclivity to emphasize still photography is still evident but the character of her images grows. You notice the shift during the trip to Spain but still with a distinct visual signature. I am also struck by the number of scenes that take place in bathrooms, particularly of characters in the bathtub. They aren't always integral scenes, but each has a specific bearing on the overall affect of the film. 

I must say that I do not see the appeal of Emily Browning's performance, which some have heralded, in last year's Sleeping Beauty. Her portrayal seemed flat to me. The crying scenes almost worked, but for whatever reason, I could not connect with it. That's not to say it is an overall bad film but neither is it good. There is a lot of room in the script for viewer interpretation which I appreciate, but there are some elements of the film were opaque without good reason. That is unfortunate because there are some great compositions in the film, a great emphasis on the aesthetic, and some gender related subtext. But it all felt incomplete. 

Another 3

I've been on something of a theater-to-film kick as of late, more by accident than anything else, but it has reminded me of my profound affection for the stage. Often enough, these translations do not work as well as they might seem to in their inception (I'm looking at you, almost all of the more recent Phantom of the Operas), though I think on the whole, stage to screen has a tendency to be at least tolerable. And of course there are numerous examples of spectacular translations between the mediums: Asquith's version of Rattigan's The Browning Version, The Ruling Class with the rapture that is Peter O'Toole, and of course Kurosawa's Shakespeare adaptations. 

I finally got my hands on a copy of Vanya on 42nd Street with Louis Malle behind the camera, and with Malle already being a personal favorite of mine, I was more than satisfied with the direction he went. He adds a few filmic layers on top of what is already a rich and wonderful slice of Chekhov. But Malle doesn't try to hide behind the artifice of his chosen format. He still lets Chekhov do most of the heavy lifting and allows the actors to show their love for the material and also occasionally their fears or misgivings about their roles or performances. And it is primarily a film about acting. The theater is old and crumbling, the stage is mostly bare, there are no costumes since the film is set during the dress rehearsal. But somehow we are drawn in by the soft lighting, the richness of the performances and certainly Chekhov's themes. But in allowing us the opportunity to sit in on this dress rehearsal and see the director and the small audience, the film is also about theater-going, about the church-like atmosphere when you step into the auditorium in anticipation of the couple of hours. 

The next night I pulled up Oleanna. Certainly a change of pace from Vanya, but not necessarily less powerful. David Mamet (who actually adapted the screenplay for Vanya on 42nd street, oddly enough) writes scripts that probably don't like you, just as I imagine Mamet would if you met him on the street. He knows how to write a tight script though. Is Oleanna as much fun to watch as maybe Glengarry Glen Ross? Nope. It takes on a larger number of themes than most  scripts do: we have issues of patriarchy, particularly in the context of higher education, sexism, pedagogy, the aggressive qualities of the teacher/student dynamic and the power struggles that go on within, among others. This can make it difficult to nail down what the film is actually getting at. Who does Mamet want us to understand more? Does the shift toward violence at the end negate the points that Macy's character was making throughout? None of these have clear cut answers. Having been a teacher, myself, I am familiar with some of the emotions that go along with the films setting, and it is right to call out Macy's character on these issues, but I am still not sure that he knew what was at stake until it was too late. And though we never see them, those on the tenure board are likely taking action against motivations that they, too, perpetuate. 

And one for good measure. This did not come from a play, but it almost could have been. Todd Field's 2001 film In the Bedroom is not perfect, but the performances approach a level of perfection in their own way. Tom Wilkinson is almost too good in this. Sally Field also plays quite well opposite him but the reason we have seen so much of Wilkinson in the past 10 years is because of this performance. Todd Field, while not a particularly wonderful director, captures coastal Maine quite beautifully, the sea, the lobster boats, the pastels. I will decline to discuss the plot since it would be terribly difficult to even mention themes when so much of the film's weight comes from a central action that radically alters the tone of it, but suffice it to say that it is a work that everyone involved in it should be proud.

3 is a bit more than company

In the past week, I have determined that Henry Jaglom's film are simply not for me. After seeing A Safe Place, I cannot find enough to justify seeking out many other of his films, especially when they are basically Godard films with less content (yeah, think about that statement for a minute). Orson Welles presence isn't even enough to lift the film out of its confusion. Oh, and Tuesday Weld annoyed me to no end.

But on to bigger and better things. Two good films from later in the week: Herzog's Into the Abyss, and I was finally able to double back to view Winter's Bone, thus proving how current I am. Winter's Bone is quite the psychological horror story. A tale of the small town south that is perhaps a bit inflated but nonetheless makes for excellent drama. The central character, Ree, is admirably written and her uncle Teardrop is brought to us by the wonderful John Hawkes who owns the brooding role. I realize this is a short assessment of the film, but the last thing I should comment on is the palette. The dark blues, blackish-purples gave the film the added push in atmosphere that it needed to make it top notch. 

Finally, Into the Abyss is certainly a lesser entry in Werner Herzog's catalog, but that does not keep the film from being a provocative piece of filmmaking. He is in Texas dealing with the capital punishment of a man locked up and awaiting his final punishment for a crime he committed when he was a teenager. What's more is that the film seems to assume his guilt in the crime without ever coming right out and saying it. The closest it gets is in an interview with the prisoner saying that in legal terms, there is no question between guilt and innocence, only about how his sentence will be carried out. It is a bit of an odd experience watching a film like this from a person who is a foreigner. There is a bit of fascination implied on Herzog's part and therefore on the part of the viewer as well about these deep south, modern "hillbilly" types. Having grown up in Texas and at least being proximal to characters similar to those in the film, somehow made the film more tragic for me than I imagine it might have been for other viewers. 

Letter Never Sent

My second Kalatzov film after the Cranes Are Flying and another emotionally wrenching film. What continually amazes me about his films is that he frames and moves the camera in a way that does not mimic the tone but somehow enhances it. He creates a space around the film and the viewer that allows for greater immersion in the lives of the characters. It is in this that the film is a triumph of the cinematic form. And the long sequences of walking through the forrest fire.....wow.

The God of Civilized Chaos

Carnage is a middling effort from Polanski, a filmmaker who we have all come to expect greatness (at least in his craft) from. His camera is generally pretty straightforward and it has never been more stripped down than in this film. Other than the shots of the boys playing at the park that bookend the film, the frames are all straight out of a textbook which is arguably appropriate for this material. Taken from Yasmina Reza's stage script, the film attempts to underline the tenuous walls of decorum amongst accomplished adults. It fails as much as it succeeds in this endeavor, but where it succeeds is in (most of) the casting. 


The film world is quite taken with Christoph Waltz, and he gives us yet another reason to jump on board. His character seems to be the thesis of the film, though still not without his failings and hangups. He even punches a bit too hard on the "God of Carnage" line for my taste, but he otherwise navigates the role of the reluctantly "doing-my-part," resigned father, and busy lawyer with a slight sneer once the movie gets going. This is similar to the worldview that Polanski seems to always be driving toward. We conduct ourselves with a certain decorum, but once things start to tip in one direction or another, begin to show others the parts of ourselves that lean toward the sociopathic. If you accept this perspective whole heartedly as Polanski seems to, you will likely enjoy the rest of the film.


But then we have the other characters to compete with, each representing a different philosophical vantage. John C. ("Give us your bones") Reilly is turning out to have a wonderfully varied career as of late. He shines in this part as well. His character, too, is thinly veiling his contempt for his idea of a "certain kind of people." Pragmatic and humble in profession, he has acquiesced to his more liberal wife's (Jodi Foster) ideas of how to see the world, but this is dropped as well as the film settles into its unpleasant character exchanges, and begins offering everyone scotch and cigars. 

Winslet is her expectedly wonderful self in a role that requires her to be weaker. She wants to play nice, keep up the veneer of good will and she succeeds for a while, but it is eventually ripped from her grasp. Foster is the only disappointment. Some have praised her brash, almost schizophrenic portrayal of her character, but for me, it was a bit over-the-top. She contorts her face in such ways when she is lashing out that don't seem to fit with the circumstance, though it's not all bad. Her moments of exhaustion from what is transpiring around her are spot on. 


The last thing that movie does well is let us see the shifts in alliance and then sometimes revokes them almost as soon as you've realized they've formed. When Reilly's character agrees with a specific point of view that Waltz's character espouses, he will say so and provide some other anecdote that supports the position only to hurl a barb back after Waltz further clarifies his intention. 


Carnage is best seen for its study of character and space, but beyond that, the content is thinner than its words would seem to suggest. 

Anatomy, Indeed

Time for some more backlogging.

Preminger has always seemed such an oddball in American cinema. It's quite

remarkable to me that he got a gig as an American filmmaker in the time that he was working. Sure, film noir was an established and popular genre at the time, but he took his own tack through the brooding, often mechanical pedigree of cinema.

Anatomy of a Murder is rightly considered a classic. The ticking, ever forward momentum of the film is one of the prime examples of pacing from the period. It is more accomplished than any film I can remember at depicting a profession with all of its idiosyncrasies and small details and incorporating them into integral parts of the plot. This is one of the things that cinema does best: finding the pertinent, sometimes infinitesimal details and exploiting them, something that even a form like literature (which is my other passion) has a much harder time accomplishing. Preminger knew this perhaps better than any other American filmmaker in his time.

I can't get away with talking about the film and not mentioning 2 other major assets: the exquisite casting and how it somehow passed the censors given the subject matter. Jimmy Stewart controls the film with his usual degree of virtuosity, but I must give credit to the late Ben Gazzara in an early role. He saw

something in his role that many other actors would never have seen, and it turned out to be an insightful look into the heart of young, brash men of the time, whose ends justified every means. Lee Remick was tasked with navigating her character down the very narrow path of being highly sexually suggestive and somehow keeping enough back to avoid censorship. How this film skated by

a censorship board I can only guess. Perhaps the film was simply too engaging to keep from the public or too instructive about the process of the American court system.

But what this film does best is understand the power of its script and the specific word selection within. When the judge and lawyers discuss the connotation of the word "panties" and try to find a more palatable alterative, the film shows a bit of its hand. This becomes particularly important in the field of law when word choice can make or break a case. Stewart and Joseph Welch handle this particularity with aplomb while not landing on it with so much force as to crush the viewer.

All this is highlighted by the pace-reinforcing score by Duke Ellington and Saul Bass intro (which is not one of my favorites from his oeuvre but is still of note, nonetheless). One could blame films like this for the ubiquity of modern television crime dramas, and perhaps one would be partially correct to, but it would be blind not to see how it is far more incisive and probing, that there was much more craft involved in its bit-by-bit construction, pointing at something beyond what the eye can discern.