Recent thoughts...
Voice of the Fire by Alan Moore
Expectations can be weird. I had heard that this book told a continuing tale that stretched across centuries, and that is technically true but not the whole picture. Moore tackling similar spanning agendas in works like From Hell and the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen fixated my mind a combined tale of resounding mythological and mystical significance with allusions to everyone and everything that happened within those time periods.
But that's not how it plays out, even if what happens is related. In From Hell, Moore was talking about the 20th century through his version of Jack the Ripper. But Voice of the Fire starts out in 4000 BC and ends up in the 1995 AD. Each of the 12 chapters moves the story forward into differing time periods. However, far from making the story more grandiose, it instead makes it more personal. In From Hell, all the stops were pulled out to show this single period in time and how it was manifested, along with Moore showing off, which he does all the time. Voice of the Fire is like the greatest hits of Moore's hometown and residence of Northampton. Each vignette takes on the air of meaning solely for the people affected within the story. Those occurrences and meanings certainly resonate later, but not in a cause and effect way. Unlike League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, where Moore really wants you to know he's being clever while throwing around his commentary, there is a not a need and/or desire for annotations. Instead, all the references are as blatant as can be. Moore often calls attention to them vividly that I wondered what was going on. But as I said before, this is due to the expectation that Moore's previous work had left me with. Before the last chapter, I wasn't sure what I had read. I got that Moore was looking at myths, psycho-geography, and to put it too simply, how things change but still stay the same.
But then I got to the final chapter and things coalesced. Removing the writing from the story and into Moore's own life (apparently, as it's obvious Moore is working subjectively with parts throughout the whole book), Moore finishes wrapping up Northampton, filling in the details from the previous chapter's endpoint of 1931, up to 1995. It's a depressing endpoint, Moore laying out a ruined, wasteland-esque town of inadequate council housing, faceless corporate-enveloping sprawl, random acts of deadly violence, and several occurrences relating back to the previous chapters, the town still progressing through time by spinning its wheels. In effect, Moore's book functions as a history of Northampton, prosed up to provide a record of how the town developed into the morass he sees today. His tone in the last chapter is a mix of caring elitism and incredulous scorn. Moore makes sure to mention the laborious nature of the research put into the book, tomes and records dug up that have lost all relevance in their obscurity. But at the same time, Moore goes to ask his uncle about a certain historical event, in of all places, a bingo hall. But then he maintains that he cannot really describe the book to him. Is Moore saying that all the information he dug up is really contained within the unsuspecting people of the town? Yet, somehow they do not have the capacity to understand or utilize it? Does he connect this back to how the denigrating town, and by extension the modern world, has no room for the supernatural or the occult? Or is Moore even talking about any of this? Outside the explanations and recounting, how you feel about the end probably speaks to your ability to tolerate good old fashioned bitching, none more so than when Moore tunes into the television broadcast to crucify all the content it can conjure. Then again, if I had written through Northampton's cycle, fueled by death, deceit, subjugation, misery, decapitation, limping, loss, razing, and burning, I might bitch a little myself. Moore is trapped between revealing the wonders inherent in his environment while being able to manage the horrifying traits of the people, places, and things manifest. I'll let him blow off some steam.
Oh, and the first chapter is written from the perspective of how Moore thought a caveman would process his thoughts. It's equally enlivening and frustrating, and the book has a hard time ever reaching that level of insanity thereafter.
Vanishing Point, directed by Richard Sarafian
Not a whole lot to say. Good car chases, some potentially interesting character dynamics get annihilated by retreaded and awkward exposition dumps, and the landscape of the early 1970s gets equally handled and fumbled, as the movie uses the functional tabula rasa of the main character to throw current events at him. Props to Barry Newman still, who plays the lead like the manufactured and purposefully decent megalomaniac he is, smiling straight into California on Benzedrine, making sure he gives them a hell of a challenge if they're going to grant him his way out.
Elektra: Assassin by Alan Moore and Bill Sienkiewicz
Take a trip back in time to a period in comics you might have thought you had figured out from reading Watchmen and Miller's own Dark Knight Returns. Those works are far from the insanity on display here. The book is clearly a tug of war between the creators. You have the steady capsule-gridded panels that Miller flooded Dark Knight with on one page, opposite the functional splash images Sienkiewicz packs into all the panels, splash page or not. Miller often bluntly describes what is happening or what will happen on the page with the narration. It leads to an admirable quality of comprehension mixed with the frenzied metal of Sienkiewicz, but possibly a less interesting comic in the end? I mean, it reads well but Sienkiewicz almost feels throttled, even when he's speeding, like he's on rails. Which makes sense, he's drawing at some basic level from a script, no matter how he develops and presents it. Not to remove Miller's contributions, but Sienkiewicz's style is one that screams for his singular output (yet he's mostly been a collaborator, so what do I know). Then again, the comic is often at it's best when Miller begins to drop in manic, staccato narrative information in disjointed bits that Sienkiewicz distills into images of crushing weight and impact. Two hundred miles an hour is still two hundred miles an hour, no matter if the path is preset or not. Ostensibly chocked with "meaning" given the setting and particulars (Cold War, military industrial complex, mutually assured destruction, US intervention, governmental misconduct), the whole thing instead is a gigantic indictment that never went to trial because all the particulars would've rigged the system if they hadn't blown it to hell beforehand. Forget relevance, says Miller, and look in wonder at how gloriously hatefucked the world is. Revel in the glory and ridiculousness before man initiates judgement day.
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, directed by Steven Spielberg
The Nazis are back ya'll and we threw the Satan slavers to the curb. This is a reboot film for a series that never had any real continuity, following Temple of Doom, which in hindsight went a little too far into brutality according to Spielberg. All because George Lucas got dumped. Way to go George Lucas's wife, you ruined it for us all! Not really, because this is still pretty solid. It unfortunately comes across as a compromise that might even be the right one, sure, but not the best one overall. Nothing here can match the aforementioned misanthropy and organ removal of Temple of Doom, nor the airplane fight scene or the swordman shooting "gag", or really any scene from Raiders. Connery is fine but the familial dynamic is Spielberg ramming how these guys are the same person yet hate each other yet love each other eventually down your throat. See George, don't give up yet! *back slap* Still, the opening sequence is excellent and the Nazi turncoat woman's name is Elsa, which is close to Ilsa, which is a non-turncoat Nazi woman's name in Hellboy, which an awesome comic series that I need to re-read daily. The Last Crusade is good on it's own, but can't hold up to what came before.
Akira Volume 3 by Katsuhiro Otomo
It's a ballsy move when you're close to 600 pages in to basically drop the clear focus of the series in Tetsuo. But that's what Otomo does here. Maybe it suffers a bit, as there's no real mystery over whether or not Tetsuo is dead, but that's not what Otomo is really going for. Instead, every other character gets pushed ahead and motivations are revealed, culminating in the back half of the book being a a meeting point of everyone involved through lots and lots of violence. Unsurprisingly, the storytelling and the action sequencing are excellent, with Otomo solidifying his ability to perfectly lead the eye across the page. But it's the climax that makes it. After spending such a huge amount of time hyping the potential of Akira up, with plenty of moments that were already insanely powerful on their own, Otomo had a lot to deliver on. So he responds by going off for about 20 pages with nothing but wholesale destruction on a city-wide level, splashes and huge panels only. Each page is a pinnacle for him to supersede on the next, until there's nothing left. Except for Tetsuo to show back up on the last page now that Akira is awake. Delivered.
Ghostbusters II, directed by Ivan Reitman
Everyone always talked about Murray as Peter Vankman, but where the hell is the love for Rick Moranis? Ghosts show up and get busted and the writing is good enough to where everyone can be consistently funny and sometimes downright hilarious. And these guys are still having a hell of a time acting this shit. But Rick Moranis? Not a line wasted. These movies are funny and entertaining and there's plenty of room for that.
Akira Volume 4 by Katsuhiro Otomo
Volume 3 dropped Tetsuo and this volume drops Kaneda, which means a huge part of this massive story loses its two main characters for large periods of time but this is different. You always knew Tetsuo was coming back, but when he did it wasn't necessarily what was expected, but that's to Otomo's credit, and it's crystal clear why it's that way when Akira's magnitude is finally revealed. Likewise, it's easy to see that Kaneda is coming back, but he doesn't have the resilience of Tetsuo. So when he reemerges in the supernatural/out of body method, it's...odd, with no indication. When Tetsuo came back, Otomo didn't need to say anything yet ended up just off enough. Further, Kaneda's absence made me realize how much I missed the guy. I've never been a big fan of non-stop wisecracking characters, especially in something as ridiculously catastrophic as Akira. But it turns out Otomo was better off with Kaneda because of the levity he brings to the proceedings. That is the biggest cliche as I'm looking at it on the page, but it rings true because he's such a ludicrous contrast to everyone else that he grounds everything. Instead, lackluster ciphers like Chiyoko get more attention, her entire character being that of a resilient he-woman on the journey of killings. The start of the book is still really strong, as the story jumps forward and everything is just a bit off-kilter, owing to Otomo holding back details that later get fleshed out. Despite the bombastic art being the real draw of this comic, Otomo can nail the smaller moments, like he does with the Colonel throughout the whole volume. And the art is as amazing as ever. While previous editions showed Otomo drawing a dilapidated and degrading cityscape, the constant backdrop to his intimate action sequences, here we have the aftermath of cataclysmic destruction of a whole city. It's a whole new form of architecture porn and Otomo is the tenth dan. This volume wraps up with a classic "storm the castle" scene that alternates between ragtag machine gunners, heat seeking missiles, and the always welcome psychic showdowns. But, Kaneda? Yeah, I miss the dude and this volume drags some because he's MIA. It's not like I'm going to pack it in without getting to the finish, but I could use a re-up.
Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts
Showing posts with label movies. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Mean Streets: Small Time is Fun Time
I haven't seen all of Martin Scorcese's movies, which is my fault. But of the ones I have seen, this one stands out for, surprisingly, it's relentless humor that stems from its hyperbolic characters endlessly crashing into the invisible walls around them. A lot of the usual is present: New York, Catholicism, Italian-Americans, and the life of crime on the street. It's the last one that's most important. At the start of the movie, Harvey Keitel narrates, "You don't make up for your sins in the church. You do it in the streets."
Speaking of narration, Keitel doesn't quite get into unreliable narrator territory. Delusional narrator might be better, which I guess is unreliable in its own way, but Keitel as Charlie isn't what I think when I use the term. He's not hiding anything from the viewer, just himself. There's no buried secret or big plot twist. He's just often full of shit when he talks to you. Okay, yeah, he's unreliable, I give up. Scorcese (and his co-writer Mardik Martin) is probably just as unreliable, naming the film "Mean Streets" when the group of guys that walk those streets are insulated and removed from what you expect when you see the words Mean Streets combined with Scorcese (oddly enough that might be a reaction that stems from everything that Scorcese did after this, ie every other movie he's made). Let me draw my own parallel (as if everything before is Scorcese's crystal clear vision that I'm reading off Wikipedia). It's purgatory, one of Scorcese's often-called upon themes, now affecting the living.
All the characters are stuck in templates that associate with the streets. We have a lower Mob member (Keitel as Charlie), loan shark (Richard Romanus as Michael), and a bar owner (David Proval as Tony) on one side overlapped with a colossal screw up/debtor who slips in and out with all of them (Robert De Niro as Johnny Boy). We get to see the most of Keitel and how he relates and interacts with everyone. It's there from the start, where he talks about how meaningless the church is and is then immediately there alone. It might be meaningless, but he can't move on by cutting himself off or just accepting it. Charlie can't make a stand on his relationship with his girlfriend because it goes against the wishes of his uncle who holds the key to his upward mobility in the mob, despite having real feelings. Most notoriously he can't jettison Johnny Boy, who owes money all over town and is the personification of dead weight walking. Too bad that dead weight is hilariously entertaining and an outlet for him. But it's not just Charlie. The main group of four characters seem like teenagers playing gangster, dipping their toes in but making sure to get the hell out before anything serious happens. They have their petty conflicts and arguments, but then they're out messing around, off being in and around oddball trouble and skirting away from the cops.
But no matter how careful you are you can get sucked in or trapped. The characters seemingly are in a holding pattern, but little things cause them to break it. Since Charlie wants to appear serious and stay in the good graces of his uncle, he won't be seen not only with his girlfriend with epilepsy, who is disapproved of, but with Michael in front of his uncle, who's waiting for payment from Johnny Boy on debts. They're all pawns, but Charlie doesn't want to show his uncle his other buddies, because then he might realize he's just like them. For his part, Michael is willing to let the debts grow and grow and take Charlie's promises that Johnny Boy will get back on track. Charlie is unwilling to compromise on Johnny Boy to an asinine degree. Yet amidst all this is more running in place, goofballs who want to declare their membership entering through the side door. Charlie approaches one of the girls he fancies that dances at Tony's about being the hostess at the restaurant he's about to acquire (through no action of his own, by the way) and sets up a meeting with her at a place afterwards which he promptly jettisons while in the cab as he drives by. The guy can't even have a real affair! Tony has a tiger in a cage in the back room of his place. Not as a power symbol or anything, but so he can get in the cage and cuddle with the motherfucker! Michael accosts Charlie's girlfriend about Johnny Boy's whereabouts, knocking the groceries out of his hand before she runs him off. Oh, did I mention he picks up the groceries for her and puts them back in the bag?! These guys can't even shake down a woman for God's sake! All of this belies a point: Mean Streets is hilarious.
Some of it is clearly intentional, some maybe not. But I certainly found myself cracking up out loud much more than I would have expected, and the majority of it was non-cynical (a first?). Two scenes stand out. In the first, the four go to a bookie who hasn't paid the return on a bet he owes for Tony I believe (it might be an unnamed guy, I watched this four days ago and should've done this sooner, but I'm lazy/I suck). Everything starts out okay in a underground pool hall until Johnny Boy sets off a brawl. I'm almost lukewarm to call it that because the entire scene is ridiculously awkward, and not in a realistic manner. It's more like the fights I saw in high school, where people jumped around, avoided contact if at all possible, and blustered more than injured (except for that one time a guy I went to high school with repeatedly smashed a guy's head into a dumpster...he's a later Scorcese guy I guess). It also reminded me of a theater production, except it was choreographed by a drunk. And what happens? Everybody makes up when the cops show up and it's all good. The other is when something occurs (shaky ground, I think a shooting, which I'm going to get to) and everybody flees the scene, with two gay patrons from the bar forcing themselves into the car with the four others. While the former was stilted, this is plain comedy, with everyone being either nervous, appalled, drunk, horny, or a combination. I cracked up through this whole thing, until the two non-treehouse members get booted unceremoniously.
So we have characters stuck in the junior version of a hostile environment. They might be okay with it, but at some point someone is going to barely cross out of the safe zone. Except in a case where tension is building by inches, it explodes. Michael finally comes after Johnny Boy and then the blood finally flows, in a precursor to a scene involving two of the same actors three years later in Taxi Driver. But even when the blood flows and someone has actually done something, the ambulance is there to play us out. Because it's too late for all of them. The barriers are there, inescapable, and the streets are keen to insure the status quo. Oh, and that shooting? Everyone is in the bar doing nothing and David Carradine is drunk as shit laying on the bar. A random kid comes in and sits. Carradine rolls off and lurches into the bathroom, where he is promptly shot in the back by the kid. However, Carradine doesn't care. He assaults his attacker, following him out in the street until he tackles him with his dying breath after the kid empties all six shells from the revolver. Here we have a man tanked to the gills, who takes six bullets while he gives his last breaths trying to enact equal punishment on his attacker. He's committed, unwavering, and pushing through the worst of what the streets have to offer. He's everything that everyone else in Mean Street's isn't, what they do and don't want to be.
Speaking of narration, Keitel doesn't quite get into unreliable narrator territory. Delusional narrator might be better, which I guess is unreliable in its own way, but Keitel as Charlie isn't what I think when I use the term. He's not hiding anything from the viewer, just himself. There's no buried secret or big plot twist. He's just often full of shit when he talks to you. Okay, yeah, he's unreliable, I give up. Scorcese (and his co-writer Mardik Martin) is probably just as unreliable, naming the film "Mean Streets" when the group of guys that walk those streets are insulated and removed from what you expect when you see the words Mean Streets combined with Scorcese (oddly enough that might be a reaction that stems from everything that Scorcese did after this, ie every other movie he's made). Let me draw my own parallel (as if everything before is Scorcese's crystal clear vision that I'm reading off Wikipedia). It's purgatory, one of Scorcese's often-called upon themes, now affecting the living.
All the characters are stuck in templates that associate with the streets. We have a lower Mob member (Keitel as Charlie), loan shark (Richard Romanus as Michael), and a bar owner (David Proval as Tony) on one side overlapped with a colossal screw up/debtor who slips in and out with all of them (Robert De Niro as Johnny Boy). We get to see the most of Keitel and how he relates and interacts with everyone. It's there from the start, where he talks about how meaningless the church is and is then immediately there alone. It might be meaningless, but he can't move on by cutting himself off or just accepting it. Charlie can't make a stand on his relationship with his girlfriend because it goes against the wishes of his uncle who holds the key to his upward mobility in the mob, despite having real feelings. Most notoriously he can't jettison Johnny Boy, who owes money all over town and is the personification of dead weight walking. Too bad that dead weight is hilariously entertaining and an outlet for him. But it's not just Charlie. The main group of four characters seem like teenagers playing gangster, dipping their toes in but making sure to get the hell out before anything serious happens. They have their petty conflicts and arguments, but then they're out messing around, off being in and around oddball trouble and skirting away from the cops.
But no matter how careful you are you can get sucked in or trapped. The characters seemingly are in a holding pattern, but little things cause them to break it. Since Charlie wants to appear serious and stay in the good graces of his uncle, he won't be seen not only with his girlfriend with epilepsy, who is disapproved of, but with Michael in front of his uncle, who's waiting for payment from Johnny Boy on debts. They're all pawns, but Charlie doesn't want to show his uncle his other buddies, because then he might realize he's just like them. For his part, Michael is willing to let the debts grow and grow and take Charlie's promises that Johnny Boy will get back on track. Charlie is unwilling to compromise on Johnny Boy to an asinine degree. Yet amidst all this is more running in place, goofballs who want to declare their membership entering through the side door. Charlie approaches one of the girls he fancies that dances at Tony's about being the hostess at the restaurant he's about to acquire (through no action of his own, by the way) and sets up a meeting with her at a place afterwards which he promptly jettisons while in the cab as he drives by. The guy can't even have a real affair! Tony has a tiger in a cage in the back room of his place. Not as a power symbol or anything, but so he can get in the cage and cuddle with the motherfucker! Michael accosts Charlie's girlfriend about Johnny Boy's whereabouts, knocking the groceries out of his hand before she runs him off. Oh, did I mention he picks up the groceries for her and puts them back in the bag?! These guys can't even shake down a woman for God's sake! All of this belies a point: Mean Streets is hilarious.
Some of it is clearly intentional, some maybe not. But I certainly found myself cracking up out loud much more than I would have expected, and the majority of it was non-cynical (a first?). Two scenes stand out. In the first, the four go to a bookie who hasn't paid the return on a bet he owes for Tony I believe (it might be an unnamed guy, I watched this four days ago and should've done this sooner, but I'm lazy/I suck). Everything starts out okay in a underground pool hall until Johnny Boy sets off a brawl. I'm almost lukewarm to call it that because the entire scene is ridiculously awkward, and not in a realistic manner. It's more like the fights I saw in high school, where people jumped around, avoided contact if at all possible, and blustered more than injured (except for that one time a guy I went to high school with repeatedly smashed a guy's head into a dumpster...he's a later Scorcese guy I guess). It also reminded me of a theater production, except it was choreographed by a drunk. And what happens? Everybody makes up when the cops show up and it's all good. The other is when something occurs (shaky ground, I think a shooting, which I'm going to get to) and everybody flees the scene, with two gay patrons from the bar forcing themselves into the car with the four others. While the former was stilted, this is plain comedy, with everyone being either nervous, appalled, drunk, horny, or a combination. I cracked up through this whole thing, until the two non-treehouse members get booted unceremoniously.
So we have characters stuck in the junior version of a hostile environment. They might be okay with it, but at some point someone is going to barely cross out of the safe zone. Except in a case where tension is building by inches, it explodes. Michael finally comes after Johnny Boy and then the blood finally flows, in a precursor to a scene involving two of the same actors three years later in Taxi Driver. But even when the blood flows and someone has actually done something, the ambulance is there to play us out. Because it's too late for all of them. The barriers are there, inescapable, and the streets are keen to insure the status quo. Oh, and that shooting? Everyone is in the bar doing nothing and David Carradine is drunk as shit laying on the bar. A random kid comes in and sits. Carradine rolls off and lurches into the bathroom, where he is promptly shot in the back by the kid. However, Carradine doesn't care. He assaults his attacker, following him out in the street until he tackles him with his dying breath after the kid empties all six shells from the revolver. Here we have a man tanked to the gills, who takes six bullets while he gives his last breaths trying to enact equal punishment on his attacker. He's committed, unwavering, and pushing through the worst of what the streets have to offer. He's everything that everyone else in Mean Street's isn't, what they do and don't want to be.
Friday, July 15, 2011
They Live: Or How Roddy Piper Gave Up the American Dream by Beating Up Keith David
Caveat: None of this makes sense, but a few quick words on the alley fight scene from They Live.
"I still believe in the American dream. Everybody goes through tough times." Nada (Piper) says something to this effect early on to Frank (David) while they stare at the city from the slums. Let's get half-assed political real quick. They Live came out in 1988, in the very last twilight of Ronald Reagan's "Morning in America". Collectivism was getting the tar beaten out of it. Nada discovers a crazy conspiracy and has to let other people know, Frank being the one he desires first because he has something of a relationship with him. But how does someone who in an individualist, and not even a strictly hardline one at that, go about getting someone to do something? They can tell them but they won't do it for them. Similar to how the the government was getting deregulated and the safety net was getting the axe (even though the state was still getting bigger). Get your ass in gear but don't expect much help if you can't.
Therefore, "Put on the glasses." Nada says it over and over when he has the upper hand in the fight scene. There are countless times when he could just force them over his eyes and the problem is solved but that isn't how he wants it to go down. He wants Frank to do it for himself. Back and forth they go. And finally, Nada just puts the glasses on him. He's finally given up on what he believed. It seems easy to think that happened earlier when the police destroyed the slums where he resided and enacted beatdowns on the inhabitants. But no, there's still room to maneuver. After all, the police are a protective side of the government. They might be a bit draconian, but they're on our side and the government's side. At the same time they're a functionary of a society that is corrupted and part of the state that apparently hasn't been hit by the deregulation bug. But Frank? He's just one man, working hard to support a family and minding his own business. He's the mold of the single go-getter. Sure, he complains about his situation, he's skeptical, but he's the one getting shit done. Nada is similar, he just has the rug pulled out from under him so harshly and quickly that he doesn't know how to react. He's also much more curious than skeptical, which is what gets him into trouble to start with. They're close enough to where it makes sense for them to paradoxically team up, so Nada knows he has to get to Frank eventually. Society, government, consumerism...sure, they're all manufactured lies. But a man like Frank? Nada knows he's as real as it gets, so he can only push him so far. The individual is still alive. Until Frank, in the ultimate act of individualism, refuses to cave. He fights and fights but he won't put on the glasses. So eventually Nada puts the glasses on him. Then the dream is dead.
"I still believe in the American dream. Everybody goes through tough times." Nada (Piper) says something to this effect early on to Frank (David) while they stare at the city from the slums. Let's get half-assed political real quick. They Live came out in 1988, in the very last twilight of Ronald Reagan's "Morning in America". Collectivism was getting the tar beaten out of it. Nada discovers a crazy conspiracy and has to let other people know, Frank being the one he desires first because he has something of a relationship with him. But how does someone who in an individualist, and not even a strictly hardline one at that, go about getting someone to do something? They can tell them but they won't do it for them. Similar to how the the government was getting deregulated and the safety net was getting the axe (even though the state was still getting bigger). Get your ass in gear but don't expect much help if you can't.
Therefore, "Put on the glasses." Nada says it over and over when he has the upper hand in the fight scene. There are countless times when he could just force them over his eyes and the problem is solved but that isn't how he wants it to go down. He wants Frank to do it for himself. Back and forth they go. And finally, Nada just puts the glasses on him. He's finally given up on what he believed. It seems easy to think that happened earlier when the police destroyed the slums where he resided and enacted beatdowns on the inhabitants. But no, there's still room to maneuver. After all, the police are a protective side of the government. They might be a bit draconian, but they're on our side and the government's side. At the same time they're a functionary of a society that is corrupted and part of the state that apparently hasn't been hit by the deregulation bug. But Frank? He's just one man, working hard to support a family and minding his own business. He's the mold of the single go-getter. Sure, he complains about his situation, he's skeptical, but he's the one getting shit done. Nada is similar, he just has the rug pulled out from under him so harshly and quickly that he doesn't know how to react. He's also much more curious than skeptical, which is what gets him into trouble to start with. They're close enough to where it makes sense for them to paradoxically team up, so Nada knows he has to get to Frank eventually. Society, government, consumerism...sure, they're all manufactured lies. But a man like Frank? Nada knows he's as real as it gets, so he can only push him so far. The individual is still alive. Until Frank, in the ultimate act of individualism, refuses to cave. He fights and fights but he won't put on the glasses. So eventually Nada puts the glasses on him. Then the dream is dead.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Movie Junkyard: 44 Inch Chest
Here's an interesting one. Is 44 Inch Chest a good movie? Who cares, when you've got these people on the screen just saying shit. Here's the whole movie. Ray Winstone plays Colin, a car salesman whose wife tells him she's found someone else when he comes in from the lot one day. He hooks up with the greatest crew of friends in the UK, who kidnap his wife's new guy. They then take him to a low-key spot and mentally and physically torture him. That's all in about the first ten minutes. The rest of the film takes place in that same building or in Colin's mind, as the group collectively decides what to do with "Loverboy" as they affectionately call him, locked in a cupboard for a good portion of the film in the same room as everyone else.
Just from looking at it, 44 Inch Chest screams "gangster/crime" flick. I don't know enough about anything resembling a film scene to know if Winstone has become typecast as someone who plays hardasses, but from this, Sexy Beast, The Proposition, and The Departed, it's arguable he's earned it. The supporting class is a lineup of character actors that should make the House of Windsor proud (and at least one of them indirectly has). Ian McShane, John Hurt, Tom Wilkinson, and Stephen Dillane. You couldn't get a better group of wise-ass gangster types on the screen if you tried and they're all incredible, as is Winstone. But this isn't your typical "gangster/crime" film, and it's quite a bit different from the ilk popularized by Guy Ritchie in the late 20th century, which have in their own way defined the expectations of what you expect out of a British crime film. It's worth noting that Sexy Beast, which also starred Winstone and was written by the same writers as this movie (Louis Mellis and David Scinto) takes a similar broad theme, one that centers on the drop-off years of professional criminal enterprise. It uses the familiar plot mechanism of a retired heist runner getting drug back into the old world through a heist that he can't avoid. 44 Inch Chest comes devoid of even that convention. There's no world to get drug back into because it doesn't exist anymore. What I see is a group of gangsters who are past any reasonable connection with the criminal world, underworld, or whatever you want to call it, yet it's still what defines them. They're all OLD and tethered to their own unknowing, complicated place where they only let allowable others in (Tom Wilkinson's mother he watches over, Ian McShane's hedonistic victims and accomplices). Colin's wife's adultery gives them an opportunity to recreate who they were. Sexy Beast is about whether you can go back and survive, but 44 Inch Chest is something much different and possibly worse. What happens when you've survived and don't have the capacity to go anywhere because your time has passed?
In that way, the film is what I'm going to inadequately call, not post-modern, but "post-gangster". A group of friends gets together to torment a guy who fucked one of their wives. Oh, and the husband? He's a car salesman who brings home chocolates and flowers for his wife, for God's sake. Sure, he might be unloading the cars illegally, using the business as a drug front, or just totally lying about it. It doesn't matter, there's no edge or tough guy cred there. And the guys are loving it! Sure, they sympathize with Colin, but what else are they doing? Absolutely nothing. We get a great scene where Ian McShane's character of Meredith recounts how he made a big score of cash, by basically getting lucky and playing some idiot who fails miserably at roulette and then later talks about buying shoes. This is what these guys have been reduced to. The kidnapping presents a warped passage back into the old ways, something halfway exciting that reminds of how awesome they used to be. Berating some tied up schmuck is as glorious as they come these days. What does everyone do but Colin? They stand around and talk about the old crazy characters and ridiculous stories. It's their personal version of world building within the film, the world that simultaneously was and is their own, even if others can't see it. And after pledging to give Colin some time alone, they eventually just come back in, because they can't wait to see what happens next and don't want to miss the action.
Just look at what the movie shows us. Basically nothing. The characters only exist outside their own creation when they drag Loverboy out of his place of work. And look at how they do it. They pull up in broad daylight and kidnap him at an indoor/outdoor corner cafe in front of everyone. They don't care, they're stuck in the old ways. Then it's straight to an empty neighborhood. When Colin walks around outside he doesn't see anyone, because all these guys are isolated from the new world. No one else is inside the house they're in. We get a few flashbacks through Colin's mind and that's all the deviation. The shots at the end of various parts of the rundown building? Seems like a reflection of the characters themselves. They're cracked and decaying but they still exist, even if no one is around them.
SPOILER
And that's why Colin lets Loverboy go. After a tremendous monologue on the nature and difficulties of a genuine loving relationship, where the camera is on Winstone's face, close-up, for almost the entire several minutes, everyone comes back in the room and Colin gives his decision. Why? Maybe because through the flashbacks, where Colin violently beats his wife to get her to tell him who Loverboy is, he then realizes that he's already tried to come back to the old world and he just can't cut it anymore. Any semblance of real transition stopped when he took it out on her. His friends encourage him to be a man, but what has that got him? She's gone and it doesn't matter what happens to Loverboy. Colin is back in the old world now, and Loverboy is what he thinks he used to be. Why kill him when he's still got his good days left and he's of the times? Or maybe Colin realizes that, as it seems he's the only one of the group to actually have come up with some semblance of life after gangster, that he should be happy with the years he had. Or does Colin realize he's back in the world, but also figures out that it's enclosed and their little sham is up? He's not a gangster anymore. He and his friends might act like they are for a few hours, but that doesn't change anything. They're all just moping along without any concrete endpoint. In the old days they would've just killed him. But Colin is smart enough to realize they're not there anymore and the uncertainty is just enough to make him think, "what's the point?"
All this is probably crap. I am far from the people I usually read. Watch 44 Inch Chest and don't think about any of this. Just listen to the dialogue and the killer actors that spout it.
Just from looking at it, 44 Inch Chest screams "gangster/crime" flick. I don't know enough about anything resembling a film scene to know if Winstone has become typecast as someone who plays hardasses, but from this, Sexy Beast, The Proposition, and The Departed, it's arguable he's earned it. The supporting class is a lineup of character actors that should make the House of Windsor proud (and at least one of them indirectly has). Ian McShane, John Hurt, Tom Wilkinson, and Stephen Dillane. You couldn't get a better group of wise-ass gangster types on the screen if you tried and they're all incredible, as is Winstone. But this isn't your typical "gangster/crime" film, and it's quite a bit different from the ilk popularized by Guy Ritchie in the late 20th century, which have in their own way defined the expectations of what you expect out of a British crime film. It's worth noting that Sexy Beast, which also starred Winstone and was written by the same writers as this movie (Louis Mellis and David Scinto) takes a similar broad theme, one that centers on the drop-off years of professional criminal enterprise. It uses the familiar plot mechanism of a retired heist runner getting drug back into the old world through a heist that he can't avoid. 44 Inch Chest comes devoid of even that convention. There's no world to get drug back into because it doesn't exist anymore. What I see is a group of gangsters who are past any reasonable connection with the criminal world, underworld, or whatever you want to call it, yet it's still what defines them. They're all OLD and tethered to their own unknowing, complicated place where they only let allowable others in (Tom Wilkinson's mother he watches over, Ian McShane's hedonistic victims and accomplices). Colin's wife's adultery gives them an opportunity to recreate who they were. Sexy Beast is about whether you can go back and survive, but 44 Inch Chest is something much different and possibly worse. What happens when you've survived and don't have the capacity to go anywhere because your time has passed?
In that way, the film is what I'm going to inadequately call, not post-modern, but "post-gangster". A group of friends gets together to torment a guy who fucked one of their wives. Oh, and the husband? He's a car salesman who brings home chocolates and flowers for his wife, for God's sake. Sure, he might be unloading the cars illegally, using the business as a drug front, or just totally lying about it. It doesn't matter, there's no edge or tough guy cred there. And the guys are loving it! Sure, they sympathize with Colin, but what else are they doing? Absolutely nothing. We get a great scene where Ian McShane's character of Meredith recounts how he made a big score of cash, by basically getting lucky and playing some idiot who fails miserably at roulette and then later talks about buying shoes. This is what these guys have been reduced to. The kidnapping presents a warped passage back into the old ways, something halfway exciting that reminds of how awesome they used to be. Berating some tied up schmuck is as glorious as they come these days. What does everyone do but Colin? They stand around and talk about the old crazy characters and ridiculous stories. It's their personal version of world building within the film, the world that simultaneously was and is their own, even if others can't see it. And after pledging to give Colin some time alone, they eventually just come back in, because they can't wait to see what happens next and don't want to miss the action.
Just look at what the movie shows us. Basically nothing. The characters only exist outside their own creation when they drag Loverboy out of his place of work. And look at how they do it. They pull up in broad daylight and kidnap him at an indoor/outdoor corner cafe in front of everyone. They don't care, they're stuck in the old ways. Then it's straight to an empty neighborhood. When Colin walks around outside he doesn't see anyone, because all these guys are isolated from the new world. No one else is inside the house they're in. We get a few flashbacks through Colin's mind and that's all the deviation. The shots at the end of various parts of the rundown building? Seems like a reflection of the characters themselves. They're cracked and decaying but they still exist, even if no one is around them.
SPOILER
And that's why Colin lets Loverboy go. After a tremendous monologue on the nature and difficulties of a genuine loving relationship, where the camera is on Winstone's face, close-up, for almost the entire several minutes, everyone comes back in the room and Colin gives his decision. Why? Maybe because through the flashbacks, where Colin violently beats his wife to get her to tell him who Loverboy is, he then realizes that he's already tried to come back to the old world and he just can't cut it anymore. Any semblance of real transition stopped when he took it out on her. His friends encourage him to be a man, but what has that got him? She's gone and it doesn't matter what happens to Loverboy. Colin is back in the old world now, and Loverboy is what he thinks he used to be. Why kill him when he's still got his good days left and he's of the times? Or maybe Colin realizes that, as it seems he's the only one of the group to actually have come up with some semblance of life after gangster, that he should be happy with the years he had. Or does Colin realize he's back in the world, but also figures out that it's enclosed and their little sham is up? He's not a gangster anymore. He and his friends might act like they are for a few hours, but that doesn't change anything. They're all just moping along without any concrete endpoint. In the old days they would've just killed him. But Colin is smart enough to realize they're not there anymore and the uncertainty is just enough to make him think, "what's the point?"
All this is probably crap. I am far from the people I usually read. Watch 44 Inch Chest and don't think about any of this. Just listen to the dialogue and the killer actors that spout it.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Movies
I reactived my Netflix account, so here's some capsule reviews.
Charley Varrick - 1970s crime picture that was hyped up in the excellent backmatter of Criminal, the Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips comic series everyone should be buying. Great performances by Walter Matthau as the lead bank robber and Joe Don Baker as the hitman put onto him after Varrick ends up with mob money on accident. Story is very well plotted out, with no ridiculous intrusions or characters showing up out of nowhere to solve the problem. If you like crime drama, it's well worth your time.
Blue Velvet - The first David Lynch film I've ever watched. The famous symbolism is actually more blatant than I was expecting and to some might seem ridiculously apparent and lacking in effect. I didn't really have a problem with it and at the time I can see it being totally fresh. Also now potentially stale is the focus on stripping back the idyllic framing of small-town America, but Lynch is smart enough to not go totally overboard into some hard-boiled, over-the-top thriller and instead keeps everything grounded enough to where the unease slowly creeps up on you rather than it being loud and constantly in your face. Oh, and Dennis Hopper's character is really menacing in the best, unpredictable way.
Dr. Strangelove - Peter Sellers is tremendous and the film does a great job of laughing at the complete insanity of the Cold War period and how it could affect the people in positions of power. A great black comedy.
Gattaca - I think this is considered by some to be one of the better, newer sci-fi movies but I just could not get into it. The story breaks down into a really pretentious self-empowerment tale of overcoming, no matter what the odds, don't give up hope, you can't quit! The genetics focus is kind of interesting, but as a consequence of the ever advancing nature of sci-fi (for better or worse), it all seems tame and rehashed. The art style also really bugged me, with this potential near-future technology merged with a retro American vibe that never gets an explanation. The performances seemed flat and didn't do enough to make up for the lackluster other parts.
The Constant Gardener - One of the recent tales that exposes those nasty corporations for their nefarious deeds that shit all over the world and turn us all into mindless trademark machines. Fortunately that predictable and pointless premise is overshadowed by the nuances and reality of the relationship of main players Ralph Fiennes and Rachel Weisz. The film also has a very rough, under-produced feel that helps to reinforce how the film plays out. This might be a thriller, but none of these characters suddenly morph into Jason Bourne so we can see a half-baked shootout. I mean, I like The Fugitive plenty, but enough already. The ending sadly returns to Importantville again so we can show how once we bust one corrupt person, everything will change. Don't pay attention to the legions waiting in line behind him. On actually promoting a message well, the film does prominently showcase the horrors and problems facing Africa without actually screaming it to the rafters.
Blood Simple - The Coen Bros. first movie didn't grab me as all their others I've seen have. It certainly has potential and the story contains their often requisite crazy angles that breaks down into a somewhat standard drama with crime elements. The idiosyncratic characters are toned down quite a bit or completely absent and the humor is relegated to a few sparing moments, though still embedded with the ridiculousness of everyday life that packs their later films. More so than all that is the film seems bogged down, lacking their usual verve and snap. It's by no means bad, but just sort of there. Overall, it failed to really grab me and make me take notice. Would I feel different if it wasn't a production of the two brothers I've come to heartily admire? Probably. As it is, good but they've done better.
Barton Fink - Watching this afterwards, however, was like good ol' Joel and Ethan flicking the lights straight back to bright. While definitive statements from me should be viewed with a skeptical eye and carry little meaning, this is the most postmodern film I've ever seen. So if you were agitated by No Country for Old Men, do not get near this beast. Anger will flourish and rampages will bloom. The plot is set up quickly and never really develops past an initial stage of John Turturro as a playwright reaching out to the common man, lured away by Hollywood. He's excellent as always, as is fellow Coen staple Jon Goodman. If you like heaps of metaphors, allusions, comparisons and reflections on topics ranging from intellectualism, famous writers and fascism, find this thing. I'm sure as hell glad I did.
Planet Terror - I don't see how people can condemn Death Proof while anointing this as hugely superior. Well, I guess I can, and what I'm really saying is I disagree. The big flaw I see is that Rodriguez cared more about making a tribute to the Grindhouse ideal than actually creating a strong overall work, which in a way is the opposite of what Tarantino did. In the face of the praise I just couldn't get past being underwhelmed. There are some good performances and running ideas throughout, like the restaraunt owner who never gets a customer yet still searches for the perfect BBQ sauce and Bruce Willis. Everything else was taken to the extreme, seemingly just to show that they could.
Tell No One - French thriller that resembles a dish of The Fugitive with a small helping of Gone, Baby Gone. While I don't want to sound stupid, this thing is pretty complex, maybe even a bit too much so. A few of the angles are there, but they're straining. It might be a little easier to follow if I could understand the original dialogue, or maybe I'm just a horrible subtitle reader. Either way, this is a quick mover that boasts a great turn from Francois Cluzet in the lead.
Let the Right One In - Believe the hype. I still don't know if I saw the version with the first translation subtitles or the later one, with the "dumbed-down" edits. If this was the latter, even though the former should always be preferred, it doesn't hurt the film enough to matter. While I guess this could be considered a genre film, it has little in the way of bombarding action or mystery. Instead, any sort of set piece comes quick and end quick, leaving you little time to ponder an interpretation of the actions as good or bad until they start piling up and relationships end and begin. In fact, the movie can trick you into thinking things when you're not considering what might really be occurring. Maybe a better word than thinking is believing, or wanting to believe. Even the title gets in on the act. The great thing is, you don't even need to look at the section underneath, and can instead just see a vampire story with enough character and slight twists to make it stand out. In fact, when you do take a look below, what's on the surface might turn irrevocably tragic.
Charley Varrick - 1970s crime picture that was hyped up in the excellent backmatter of Criminal, the Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips comic series everyone should be buying. Great performances by Walter Matthau as the lead bank robber and Joe Don Baker as the hitman put onto him after Varrick ends up with mob money on accident. Story is very well plotted out, with no ridiculous intrusions or characters showing up out of nowhere to solve the problem. If you like crime drama, it's well worth your time.
Blue Velvet - The first David Lynch film I've ever watched. The famous symbolism is actually more blatant than I was expecting and to some might seem ridiculously apparent and lacking in effect. I didn't really have a problem with it and at the time I can see it being totally fresh. Also now potentially stale is the focus on stripping back the idyllic framing of small-town America, but Lynch is smart enough to not go totally overboard into some hard-boiled, over-the-top thriller and instead keeps everything grounded enough to where the unease slowly creeps up on you rather than it being loud and constantly in your face. Oh, and Dennis Hopper's character is really menacing in the best, unpredictable way.
Dr. Strangelove - Peter Sellers is tremendous and the film does a great job of laughing at the complete insanity of the Cold War period and how it could affect the people in positions of power. A great black comedy.
Gattaca - I think this is considered by some to be one of the better, newer sci-fi movies but I just could not get into it. The story breaks down into a really pretentious self-empowerment tale of overcoming, no matter what the odds, don't give up hope, you can't quit! The genetics focus is kind of interesting, but as a consequence of the ever advancing nature of sci-fi (for better or worse), it all seems tame and rehashed. The art style also really bugged me, with this potential near-future technology merged with a retro American vibe that never gets an explanation. The performances seemed flat and didn't do enough to make up for the lackluster other parts.
The Constant Gardener - One of the recent tales that exposes those nasty corporations for their nefarious deeds that shit all over the world and turn us all into mindless trademark machines. Fortunately that predictable and pointless premise is overshadowed by the nuances and reality of the relationship of main players Ralph Fiennes and Rachel Weisz. The film also has a very rough, under-produced feel that helps to reinforce how the film plays out. This might be a thriller, but none of these characters suddenly morph into Jason Bourne so we can see a half-baked shootout. I mean, I like The Fugitive plenty, but enough already. The ending sadly returns to Importantville again so we can show how once we bust one corrupt person, everything will change. Don't pay attention to the legions waiting in line behind him. On actually promoting a message well, the film does prominently showcase the horrors and problems facing Africa without actually screaming it to the rafters.
Blood Simple - The Coen Bros. first movie didn't grab me as all their others I've seen have. It certainly has potential and the story contains their often requisite crazy angles that breaks down into a somewhat standard drama with crime elements. The idiosyncratic characters are toned down quite a bit or completely absent and the humor is relegated to a few sparing moments, though still embedded with the ridiculousness of everyday life that packs their later films. More so than all that is the film seems bogged down, lacking their usual verve and snap. It's by no means bad, but just sort of there. Overall, it failed to really grab me and make me take notice. Would I feel different if it wasn't a production of the two brothers I've come to heartily admire? Probably. As it is, good but they've done better.
Barton Fink - Watching this afterwards, however, was like good ol' Joel and Ethan flicking the lights straight back to bright. While definitive statements from me should be viewed with a skeptical eye and carry little meaning, this is the most postmodern film I've ever seen. So if you were agitated by No Country for Old Men, do not get near this beast. Anger will flourish and rampages will bloom. The plot is set up quickly and never really develops past an initial stage of John Turturro as a playwright reaching out to the common man, lured away by Hollywood. He's excellent as always, as is fellow Coen staple Jon Goodman. If you like heaps of metaphors, allusions, comparisons and reflections on topics ranging from intellectualism, famous writers and fascism, find this thing. I'm sure as hell glad I did.
Planet Terror - I don't see how people can condemn Death Proof while anointing this as hugely superior. Well, I guess I can, and what I'm really saying is I disagree. The big flaw I see is that Rodriguez cared more about making a tribute to the Grindhouse ideal than actually creating a strong overall work, which in a way is the opposite of what Tarantino did. In the face of the praise I just couldn't get past being underwhelmed. There are some good performances and running ideas throughout, like the restaraunt owner who never gets a customer yet still searches for the perfect BBQ sauce and Bruce Willis. Everything else was taken to the extreme, seemingly just to show that they could.
Tell No One - French thriller that resembles a dish of The Fugitive with a small helping of Gone, Baby Gone. While I don't want to sound stupid, this thing is pretty complex, maybe even a bit too much so. A few of the angles are there, but they're straining. It might be a little easier to follow if I could understand the original dialogue, or maybe I'm just a horrible subtitle reader. Either way, this is a quick mover that boasts a great turn from Francois Cluzet in the lead.
Let the Right One In - Believe the hype. I still don't know if I saw the version with the first translation subtitles or the later one, with the "dumbed-down" edits. If this was the latter, even though the former should always be preferred, it doesn't hurt the film enough to matter. While I guess this could be considered a genre film, it has little in the way of bombarding action or mystery. Instead, any sort of set piece comes quick and end quick, leaving you little time to ponder an interpretation of the actions as good or bad until they start piling up and relationships end and begin. In fact, the movie can trick you into thinking things when you're not considering what might really be occurring. Maybe a better word than thinking is believing, or wanting to believe. Even the title gets in on the act. The great thing is, you don't even need to look at the section underneath, and can instead just see a vampire story with enough character and slight twists to make it stand out. In fact, when you do take a look below, what's on the surface might turn irrevocably tragic.
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