Andrei Rublev

This weekend I saw Andrei Rublev. This is the third Andrei Tarkovsky film I’ve seen. I had previously seen Stalker (which I hated) and Solaris (which I found alternatingly beautiful and silly). Andrei Rublev went a long way towards revealing Tarkovsky to me as something more than a pretentious self-righteous hack. I still think he is pretentious and self-righteous, but Rublev illustrated a mastery that I really didn’t see in the previous two films. My thoughts on the movie are mixed. During the intermission, someone asked me what I thought so far, and I didn’t know how to answer. I still don’t, really. But I’ll give it a shot here.

First off, I have to talk about the introduction the movie received. A local podcaster named Jett Loe gave the introduction. I’m now convinced he’s a complete tool. He began his introduction, not by talking about the film itself, but about the audience that doesn’t get it. It’s their fault, you see. They’ve been conditioned by commercial cinema. He suggested we have Hitchcock to blame by focusing on suspense and cultivating and interest in “what happens next.” Of course to blame Hitchcock is to suggest that Hitchcock created suspense. It also ignores thousands of years of storytelling, much of which used suspense and mystery to engage the audience. Of course, this is not his point. He’s trying to build Tarkovsky up by tearing other filmmakers down. He went on to suggest that Hitchcock is responsible for such modern abominations as Michael Bay. Playing the Michael Bay card in cinema discussions is like playing the Hitler card in politics. It’s cheap, lazy, and ultimately cheapens your point regardless of what it is. He then went on an obligatory tangent about how watching Michael Bay is like getting assaulted. I agree that he is rough viewing for anyone with a passing interest in film, but can’t someone discuss the attributes of a film or filmmaker without having to evoke the names of those one deems lesser? Welcome to modern discussion. Blaming the audience of course undermines the technical craftsmanship that Tarkovsky does bring to the movie. He gave a half-assed rant against modern film by pointing out how flesh tones and teal are tweaked in modern cinematography – a practice that will instantly date them. Andrei Rublev remains timeless because there are no techniques to date it! This assumes that the washed out black and white that was so prevalent in the mid-sixties does not count as a technique or look. 

He then went on to announce that Andrei Rublev may be the only movie in existence to feel as if there is no camera present at all. It is that compelling an experience! I swear I’ve heard this assertion made about five different movies at the Belcourt in the last year alone. He capped off the discussion with a quote from Tarkovsky himself:

The problem with young people is their carrying out noisy and aggressive actions not to feel lonely – and this is a sad thing – the individual must learn to be on his own as a child – for this doesn’t mean to be alone: it means not get bored with oneself which is a various dangerous symptom, almost a disease.

Not only is Tarkovsky a filmmaker, he is also an amateur psychologist (a cursory search online failed to produce proof to this effect). That night, I heard a bit of dialogue on Mad Men that instantly reminded me of this quote. A daughter tells her mother she is bored, to which her mother quips, “Only boring people get bored.” On the show, this was clearly a dismissive bullshit aphorism meant to silence someone. I wonder if Tarkovsky gave his quote as a reaction to a criticism of his movie. If so, it seems like an ugly response to suggest a critic’s point is negated by some deep psychological “disease”. To be honest, I suspect the quote is either fabricated or altered (as film history anecdotes tend to be). Regardless, the quickness to repeat the quote in introducing the movie reveals the speaker to be the kind of knee-jerk online commentator who answers differing opinions not with interest and consideration, but with character assault. It’s classier than “Fuck you and your opinions,” and better cited than the I’m-taking-the-high-road dismissal of “I respectfully disagree.” 

Now to give him his due: these introductions are not easy. I’ve been to a lot of these introductions and have seen how difficult it is to lead a discussion on these films and engage the audience and not come off as something other than a raging fanboy. I certainly don’t think I could do it. Even if I were to talk about my favorite movies, I’m too nervous having private one-on-one conversations. I could never speak in front of people. But most of the discussions take place after the film – in an effort to invite discussion with the audience. Here, it took place before – killing an organized discussion. That may be for the best, as I don’t think I could have sat through another rapturous masturbatory exaltation of the movie at the expense of other filmmakers or ideas. 

Now to talk about the movie itself: I have issues with Tarkovsky, as you may have ascertained. But my issues do not necessarily stem from the idea that he is too slow or boring for me to stomach, which is what everyone assumes. I’m an atheist, and I love to see that depicted with some thought in films. I’m not immediately averse to God talk in movies. That doesn’t bother me. This film, like many religious films, does criticize the church (as an institution) in its praise of faith and spirituality. What does bother me is how Tarkovsky relentlessly equates faith with a disdain for intellectualism. The speech at the end of Stalker, after all the ranting previous in the film, was flat out offensive – equating science with nihilism. With Andrei Rublev, the anti-intellectualism is more nuanced and considered. It is mostly represented by the character of Kirill, a monk who hasn’t read a book in ten years and plans never to read another. His fate is somewhat ironic considering that he ends up copying the scripture fifteen times. Early in the film, Kirill rants to Theophanes that spreading knowledge is akin to spreading sorrow. He goes on to state that ignorance is better, because it allows one to follow his heart. This is followed through at the end of the movie when a bell maker’s son, upon completion of constructing a working bell, confides in Rublev that his father had NOT passed down the secret of casting bells as the kid had led everyone to believe. In fact, he did it by following his heart and crap. This secret inspires Rublev to go back and paint “icons”. (Of course, in doing this, the young bell maker deceives everyone and takes advantage of their faith in him.) This sore point for Tarkovsky will always remain a sore point that I am unable to reconcile with. It will ultimately never enable me to fully embrace Tarkovsky. 

What I do find engaging about that final moment is that Rublev is only able to return to painting after some life experience. So am I to assume that information is bad while only experience is good? I will grumble about that while moving on. I wonder how much of this comes from Tarkovsky himself, and how much is in the translation. As for his shooting style, I’m not a fan of slow motion or cutting to horses doing somersaults. These things feel too self-consciously important to me. But Tarkovsky is not one to engage the audience by keeping them guessing. He leaves them with drawn out imagery to that they may sit with their thoughts and reflect. He does not draw out moments in Andrei Rublev as he will with Solaris and Stalker, but he does keep the pace deliberate. 

Regardless, most of my reservations are swayed by the glorious, beautiful camera work. Andrei Rublev is miles more beautiful than either Stalker or Solaris. The washed out black and white is luminously stark. The relentless gray skies glowing through bare tree branches. The sea of mud. The hardened faces. Cold, empty chambers and fake birds gliding over intricate battle scenes below. The movie is a pleasure to look at – particularly during the bell casting sequence in which most of the characters have shut the hell up. If Tarkovsky movies contained no dialogue and existed solely on visuals, I would love this film. 

The movie is violent in parts, as it needs to be. The only moment that made me ache though, was the horse falling down the stairs. According to Wikipedia, the horse was actually injured, tortured, and killed. That moment was clearly not faked and hurt to watch. 

Now a genuine question: Tarkovsky seems very humorless to me. The jester at the beginning is not especially funny (on purpose?) and is played for tragic effect. But there is one moment that I would have normally laughed at loud at. But in this audience, I feared that the film was to be taken with such reverence that laughter might be to imply a heavy-handedness in the film. During one scene, Rublev encounters pagans (“Witchcraft!”). This scene involves numerous women bouncing about naked. As Rublev approaches one, he steps too close to a campfire and his robe catches fire. This seemed like a deliberate visual gag to me, but since no one else in the theater laughed (including the speaker who introduced the movie), I wondered if I had misread the scene. Surely it’s not a deliberate attempt at subtle symbolism. Is it okay to laugh at a Tarkovsky movie? 

During his introduction, the speaker claimed that Tarkovsky strips away everything that is unnecessary in his filmmaking process. This is not true. As a storyteller, he is repetitive. He lacks economy. And he hits some of his points too hard, which only stands out because he is such a master of deliberate subtlety. But the man is not about telling a story. No one should pretend he is. Tarkovsky is about creating a mood and crafting slow burning visuals (at least when his characters aren’t ranting about the evils of knowledge!). His universe is depressive. His characters are self-righteous. Andrei Rublev is a beautiful movie, and I’m glad I got to see it on the big screen. I may even sit through it again someday as there is still much to unpack from it. On a single viewing, it feels as if many interesting themes fall away at the expense of the follow-your-heart-not-your-head agenda. I need to see it again to ponder the outlying ideas. Still, I have not turned around on how I feel about Tarkovsky. His movies are both awe-inspiring and frustrating in their singularity. Now if somebody were to ask me again what I think about the movie . . . I still don’t know what to say. 

Some Movies I've Seen Recenlty

I’ve seen a bunch of movies lately, and I thought I’d write a little about them.

The Hurt Locker

The Hurt Locker is the latest in the long string of financially unsuccessful films about the Iraq war. Jeremy Renner plays the lead character, a bomb specialist whose methods are less than traditional. At the beginning of the movie, having just arrived in a new squadron to replace the old bomb specialist, Renner is seen trotting off to diffuse the bomb, hiding himself from the watchful eyes of his superiors by dropping a smoke bomb an dancing into the fog. Right away, he is set up as the wild card. He’s reckless and full of energy. Immediately, we are meant to like him, and we do. It’s Jeremy Renner. The rest of the small group is equally easily identifiable with any audience who has seen a war film in the last thirty years. There’s the uptight Captain who has no patience for Renner’s peculiarities, and there’s the green specialist, who quickly falls under Renner’s spell. 

But there’s a lot in this movie that sets it apart from other Iraqi war films. For one thing, it moves from tense suspense piece to tense suspense piece. Every sequence is another excuse to set the audience on edge. Mainly though, the movie doesn’t have some big statement to make about war. We get it. War is bad. People who don’t feel that way, will probably always feel that way. Instead, The Hurt Locker focuses on character. It goes delves much further into Renner’s character than most would. Ultimately, its ending is not about war, but about one particular soldier. Renner is great (as usual) as the soldier who keeps mementos of near death experiences under his bed. His downtime consists of mini-fight clubs with his friends. He is more daunted by which cereal he should pick than which wire he should cut. The movie is directed by Kathryn Bigelow, who has gained a reputation as a great action director – a reputation I never really thought she deserved that much . . . until now.

Humpday

Humpday is typical mumblecore. Take a “controversial” subject and talk the fucking thing to death. Both actors are good as two old friends who reconnect and dare each other to make a gay porno together, but I got real sick of hearing these two play their game of gay chicken over and over. The movie is well acted – particularly by Alycia Delmore as the housewife who cannot bring herself to get behind her husband’s sudden Bohemian desire to make artsy gay porn. In the end, the movie doesn’t make any huge statements about sexuality or even porn. The characters have attacked both subjects from every angle themselves until there's nothing left to say on the subject. But it is revealing that at the time the two characters book the motel room and prepare to make the movie, they have no camera crew. This is just for them.

Adoration

The latest from Atom Egoyan. As usual, Egoyan is obsessed with media. And with media changing radically every day, one would expect him to have more stories in him. Adoration is about a kid whose phoney story spreads across the Internet like wildfire, and then gets talked to death in “chat rooms.” These particular chat rooms consists of video screens and everyone talking over each other – much how I use Twitter, only with actors rather than fonts.

I imagine this movie is a reaction to how anyone can vomit their useless, uninformed, reactionary opinions all over the Internet – inviting only more useless, uninformed, reactionary responses. The main kid goes about – checking his phone which is always at the ready with the latest diatribe from the “chat rooms” aimed squarely at himself. I hated this. The dialogue is contrived and stilted. The teacher really needs to do something about that unibrow she’s sporting. And the opinions expressed in the movie prove just as obnoxious as any on any message board. It’s official: Egoyan is not for me.

District 9

District 9 plays like a cross between Cloverfield and Starship Troopers. It begins as a faux documentary with clever satirical overtones, but regularly breaks out of its documentary convention and becomes more and more like a thriller. Eventually, it is nearly all thriller – mirroring the kind of transformation the main character takes from . . . well, I guess I won’t get spoilerish. Unlike most alien invasion movies, this one supposes that aliens land – not in America or even England – but in South Africa. The plot involves aliens becoming stranded on Earth and getting herded in slums where they are harassed and ostracized. Frankly, I think this is giving the human race too much credit. I have difficulty believing that we wouldn’t blast them all to hell and examine their parts for medical fodder, but instead their treatment is meant to mirror apartheid times.

It is shot on an extremely low budget, at least for a action blockbuster – like Coverfield – but its special effects are impressive nonetheless. The acting is too broad at times, but the but the script and direction are bold and clever. It’s not especially tense or funny, but it is fascinating and involving. The movie is strongest when it moves away from big broad statements and focuses on action and the two sympathetic aliens. There are many holes that the audience is invited to fill in. Plus an ending that leaves some rather ominous threads dangling, but as anyone familiar with my taste can tell you, I dig that shit. My expectations were high, and I was disappointed, but not by much.

In the Loop

The rapid-fire political comedy that reminds me of Billy Wilder’s 1961 movie, One, Two, Three. The puns, name-calling, and gags come at a furious pace. The camaera is never still. Characters rip into each other for fear of being discovered as frauds. As an observation on politics, it is the complete opposite of The West Wing. With In the Loop, characters are barely even aware of their own political beliefs and instead focus their efforts on making headlines and not pissing off the wrong people. Everyone shouts each other down. People take trans-Atlantic flights just to be “room meet”. Memos and reports are leaked. And stances are made based on which way the wind is blowing.

The movie portrays politics in the most cynical light. It’s not about people pushing evil agendas as much as it’s about incompetents trying not to be found out. The dialogue is wicked clever. The acting is perfectly breathless. And in typical British fashion, it is all so wonderfully dry. Best of all, the stubborn refusal to deliver a happy ending. It’s not heartbreaking, or inspiring, but it is damn funny and entertaining.

 Ponyo

Tonight, I made a revelation: I am not a fan of Miyazaki when he is in kiddie mode. I absolutely love Spirited Away, and much of his adult fantasies, but when he commits to a children’s movie (like My Neighbor Torturo), he really commits to making something upbeat and hopeful and brightly colored and full of children’s music. I never winced or cringed at the material. And if I ever have children (bah!) I wouldn’t hesitate to show them this or any Miyazaki movie. They are damned charming and sweet. But I ain’t into charming and sweet. I wish he would let up on the sugar just a little bit. 

G. I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra

There are a lot of obstacles in adapting G. I. Joe into a full-length movie. And most of them stem from the source material: a doll. Over the years, there have been many marketing materials employed in selling these dolls, and most of those took on a life of their own. The comics (especially those written by Larry Hanna) and the mid-eighties cartoon series. In both cases, the attention any character received was determined by which new toy Hasbro was pushing that season. Still, some characters managed to obtain popularity and endure: Snake Eyes, Cobra Commander, Storm Shadow, Zartan, etc. While the characters in the series were generally defined by their role and ability, the characters in the comics actually had complex histories and relationships. Logically, that’s where one would look in adapting G. I. Joe for the big screen. However, it would appear that the writers of the movie were unfamiliar with either the comic OR the series.

The writers could have utilized the comics to focus on the complicated murderous history between Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow (which the movie does acknowledge, but overly simplifies) and how it ties them to Zartan. They could have explored Cobra Commander’s relationship with his estranged, revolutionary son. They could have taken advantage of the romantic triangle between Destro, the Baroness, and Major Bludd (who is entirely absent from the movie). They could have recounted the doomed relationship between Ripcord and civilian Candy. But instead, the backstory is reduced to a lame romantic fling between Duke and the Baroness in the most unsurprising development imaginable. No Springfield. No Cobra Island. No Dr. Venom. No shocking deaths. 

The writers even ignore the cartoon. The Baroness is American, while members of the Joe team are not(!). Destro does not don his mask until the very end (in a hilariously absurd scene) while the Commander never wears his at all. Ripcord is black. Breaker is Iraqi. Hawk is worthless. And while I understand that no one can replace the late great Chris Latta as the voice of Cobra Commander, the voice Joseph Gordon-Levitt uses sounds like a villain voice put on by a twelve-year old.  And Snake Eyes was always a fascinating character despite his silence. Here, he is only trotted out for action scenes. No Shipwreck. No ridiculous Cobra-shaped hideouts. No lame PSA’s.

The movie is pseudo-camp. Rather than approach the subject seriously, or with a modicum of respect, the filmmakers throw garish costumes on the actors, fill the script with recycled clichés and relentless magical exposition, and spin and sweep the camera mercilessly. The cinematography is bland. The score is a generic canned thumping monstrosity. And the actors rush through their awful dialogue breathlessly. Flashbacks are regularly dropped in so clumsily, I have to commend the filmmakers for resisting the urge to introduce them with wavy line dissolves and harp musical cues.

The movie even fumbles on the action scenes. There was a time when stunts showcased physical prowess. They were impressive to marvel at, and even suspenseful as physical harm seemed nearly impossible to avoid. But in the digital age, where cartoons are employed to do most of the stuntwork, action scenes are just an excuse to illustrate how much physical damage property can sustain. Cars crack and windows break. Shit blows up, but none of the leaps and slow motion missiles are remotely convincing. 

The only highlight is the flashback between Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow. As ten year olds, they meet are instantly mortal enemies. While the scene is muddled by poor camerawork and clumsy editing, watching two ten year olds fight in that heightened grown-up Hollywood kick fighting dance is the pinnacle of the movie’s camp sensibilities.

Going camp rather than serious and dark is probably a smart decision. Unfortunately, the filmmakers don’t go far enough in that direction. Generic dialogue from ordinary action scenes are recycled – rather than the tried and pathetic humor from the series. The filmmakers could have had a field day trotting out the Crimson Twins or creating Serpentor or employing Zartan’s propensity for turning blue in sunlight. All ridiculous conceits from the series that are ripe to be mocked. Imagine anyone trying to take Village Peopled Shipwreck seriously. If turning the movie into a comedy, why not take advantage of Cobra Commander’s baffoonish incompetence from the series? As a result, everything feels half-assed and on auto-pilot. The characters are even more paper-thin than the original case files that accompanied each action figure. But in all fairness, that original cartoon really, really sucked. Still, the comic excelled at times. This was a chance for someone to do G.I. Joe right, and they fucked it up royally.

 

*For the sake of full disclosure, I am a bit bitter because I actually adapted the first fifty issues of the G.I Joe comics into a trilogy of scripts that I think are pretty decent. And they went with THIS instead? Bah!

Some Movies I've Seen Recently

This past week I saw three movies that I really, really liked . . . but I doubt many others would like them.

First up: Bruno

I went into Bruno with my arms crossed, waiting to hate it. That's exactly the same way I went into Borat. I remember sitting through the first ten minutes of Borat getting irritated. He seemed to be mocking poor countries and foreign customs. Then something happened . . . I'll confess: I didn't know anything about Borat before going in. As the movie unfolds, I start wondering, "Are these actors or real people?" After just a few scenes, it became apparent I was watching a movie with real people getting ambushed, and it was hilarious. I normally can't deal with public humiliation, and I did watch the movie with my hand over my eyes quite a bit. But by the time the hotel scene unfolded, I was doubled over laughing. 

I had nearly the exact same reaction to Bruno. After the first ten minutes, I got frustrated with the pot shots at gay stereotypes, but by the time Bruno was giving oral sex to a ghost in front of a psychic, my stomach hurt from laughing so much. Is it homophobic? Sure. Is it unfair to the people it ambushes? Absolutely. Is it pardonable? It's sheer audacity and shock tactics push it so far over the top that nothing ever offended me once the movie had me on its side. I've never seen Sacha Baron Cohen in anything else, but in these two films, he has created a uber character that brings hilarious chaos wherever he goes. 

Next: Moon

Moon is a deliberately paced low-budget sci-fi film. Not much happens. For most of the film, we watch Sam Rockwell go about his business harvesting minerals on the moon while occasionally interacting with a computer voiced by Kevin Spacey. Most of the twists can be seen coming from a mile away. On one hand it reminded me of The Assassination of Jesse James in how it reveled in pondering the purpose of an essentially ephemeral existence. Besides the presence of Rockwell, the two movies are nothing alike. It also reminds me of the existential struggle of The Truman Show in how one must fight what role society has enforced on us to be our own force. But naturally, it borrows most from 2001. It's not as esoteric as the Kubrick film, but it borrows much of its imagery and energy from that movie. It's short, not too heavy, but a bit of a mindfuck-lite. And I thoroughly enjoyed it. 

Lastly: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

The sixth movie in the Harry Potter franchise is by far the most plotless and shapeless. Experiencing this movie is like watching someone mope and brood for two and a half hours. But it's made tolerable by the presence of werewolves, zombies and curses. A creeping feeling of dread saturates every scene. And Alan Rickman finally gets something to do in the series (the scene where Harry is discovered by the window is pure fucking gold). Of course I say "tolerable" as if I weren't into watching people brood for hours on end. I love this shit. This movie series is dense and atmospheric and dire. It just barely skirts dipping into full out horror, but the dark supernatural is slowly edging into every aspect of the character's lives.  All that is to say, there is enough ominous foreboding for me to overlook the usual bits of awkwardness from the three leads. They're never quite as good as I want them to be. 

I have to admit to being a full on Harry Potter fanboy. I love the books and how they present right and wrong / prejudice and justice / good and evil, but I am easily able to judge the movies as movies - not as adaptations. Still, I wonder how much would be lost if I wasn't familiar with the books, and knew about all the information that is left unsaid. This movie has been called The Empire Strikes Back of the Harry Potter movies. That's accurate. From its opening moments of chaos and dread to the final moments of mourning and fear. This is slow-moving dark stuff for kids, but it's compelling fodder for adults. It's not prestige, but it's definitely fancy pulp. 

My Own Better Late Than Never

This weekend, I finally got around to seeing Galaxy Quest.

I had avoided the movie when it first came out because it looks like the kind of comedy I generally don’t like. One that mocks easy targets and contains performances that are all attitude over characterization. Usually, these movies are too broad and silly and scattershot. I need my comedies with an element of sadness – and I don’t mean some manufactured moment where the lead mopes to a tinkling piano. I mean real pathos. I need my comedies to have a focused sense of satire with targets worthy of ridicule (like oppressive ideals, not people). I need some misanthropy in my humor. I am not a fan of fart jokes and pratfalls and pop culture shout outs. I can't sit through comedies about dim-witted man-children who flail desperately and shout the audience into comic submission. So the idea of a movie that makes fun of sci-fi fans irked me. Especially with Tim Allen in the lead. He just seems drawn to broad, condescending comedies with tacked on, sugary lessons to be learned. Oh, how I hate half-assed comedies that teach me lessons. But then again, this movie also has Sigourney Weaver, Alan Rickman, Justin Long and Sam Rockwell – as well as bit parts by Enrico Calantoni and Rainn Wilson.

It often comes up – how much I like Sam Rockwell. I consider him a surrogate into many a film. He's far more extroverted than I am, but there's something about his self-deprecating, excitable dry wit. His ability to deflate on cue. His misleading smirk. From Confessions of a Dangerous Mind to Lawn Dogs to Joshua to Snow Angels, he never lets me down - even when the movie itself does. Inevitably, a friend of mine always brings up Galaxy Quest as a movie of his I should see. And now that I have, I finally understand what the hell she’s talking about every time she mentions “the chomper scene” in a movie.

I enjoyed Galaxy Quest. I didn’t love it, but I liked it. It's harmless and good spirited and pleasant enough. There's nothing to get upset about or offended at. Even the the most cynical, angry characters are likable and huggable. I’ve never been to a sci-fi convention. I’ve never been a huge fan of Star Trek (though I watched plenty of TNG in High School). I don’t feel as if any of the jokes were lost on me, but I couldn’t appreciate them the way someone who is immersed in that world might. I laughed out loud maybe a dozen times, which counts it as a success in my book. The first laugh came about fifteen minutes in when the alien girl makes that unearthly sound without her translator. But I was not in a constant state of giggliness as I am with some movies that win me over in the first few minutes. 

The direction was bland and half-assed and serviceable at best. There was the usual over-reliance on computer effects (although a welcome number of aliens were created with costumes and make-up), and a lackadaisical plotting that doesn't focus nearly enough on character. What saves the movie is the universally excellent performances. Sam Rockwell’s descent from gee-whiz amazement to inconsolable panic. Alan Rickman’s stock-in-trade contempt oozing from every line (“By Grabthar's hammer . . . what a savings.”). Sigourney Weaver’s sexy and cool cynicism (I especially loved the moment when she gives a low key “Hold please,” as the creature beamed up twists inside-out and explodes.). Even Enrico Colantoni's cartoonish, trotting alien was enjoyable. Only Tim Allen seems to be doing his same ole schtick - less an impression of Shatner than a less intolerable version of himself - humbled only briefly by an overheard conversation between two holier-than-thou teens. Thankfully, though, he didn't have any sentimental moment of preachy self-awareness to drag the movie into the pits of the usual moral-affirming crowd-pleaser. 

But what I really appreciated was the sense of danger. Real stakes with real consequences. The characters must rise up to save an entire civilization. There isn't a great deal of tension, but what little there is is brilliantly undercut in one moment with Justin Long's being forced to take out the trash by his mother at the worst possible time. The movie even shows death and torture (in the kindest, gentlest ways possible). And the moment that truly surprised me was near the end when many of the characters are killed in a Peckinpah-lite slow-mo montage. Comedies generally don't go there, and the director of this movie did his best to keep the darkness at arms length and make sure the audience never feels threatened - but it's there. If only this darkness had been introduced earlier in the movie, I would have been sucked in from the beginning.

With a director more willing to explore the danger in the story and having a better knack for composition, this movie could have been great. Here the director (who directed some other movies I haven't seen) just stays out of the way of the observant script and unusually smart performances.

And for the record, the "chomper scene" refers to a moment (usually in sci-fi movies) when the characters encounter a moment of manufactured danger that makes little to no logical sense and serves only to add some fake suspense. A recent example would be in the reboot of Star Trek when the characters are beamed into the alien ship and one ends up trapped in a bizarre plumbing system and must be rescued. Galaxy Quest does an admirable job of commenting on the absurdities in the genre without seeming above them. All in all, a fun movie that didn't bowl me over. 

My favorite throw-away comic moment:

• “But you live with your mother.” [Walks away.]
  

My Own Better Late Than Never

I am going to steal a page from the AV Club, and write about my Better-Late-Than-Never movie: Highlander.

I never considered myself a big sci-fi fan. I grew up watching Star Wars and E.T. But I never actively sought out sci-fi movies or books. In fact, I generally avoided them. Horror movies I loved. The visceral thrill of watching somebody claw their way througha life-or-death situation was always enticing to me, but the heady nature of sci-fi held no appeal. Aliens were silly, and I was not someone easily impressed with rocket ships or lasers. Also, I couldn’t stand Arnold Schwarzenegger. I didn’t follow The X-Files or Star Trek. I didn’t care for The Matrix. But a creeping realization dawned on me over the last decade. I found myself drawn more and more to sci-fi. My first clue appeared while I was waiting in line to see Episode One. It wasn’t unusual for me to sit in a line to see a movie. I see at least two movies every weekend, and rarely skip big event movies. What alarmed me was the fact that I was reading 1984 while waiting in line. Reading a sci-fi book while waiting to see a sci-fi movie screams nerd – despite the fact that I shrugged it off as funny timing.

But over the last decade, I became more and more attracted to sci-fi movies and television. A.I. and Minority Report. The Iron Giant. Children of Men. The Prestige. Battlestar Galactica. And most notable of all, Lost. I went back and re-evaluated Blade Runner and Brazil. I never fully caught up with The X-Files, but I’ve seen more now than I had before the show ended. Eventually, I embraced my love for sci-fi. Both sci-fi and horror are inherently allegorical genres – even when the filmmakers don’t intend them to be. That’s the nature of the beast. And I can watch monsters ghosts, robots and aliens rape, kill and pillage without feeling any of the heaviness and weight of watching a historical holocaust film. Death and disaster in these movies are harmless, exciting, and guilt-free.

There’s a lot of sci-fi I haven’t yet caught up on, but I feel like I’ve hit most of the heavy hitters. But my attention was brought to a gaping hole in my sci-fi canon when one particular movie was referenced on an episode of The Venture Brothers. Highlander. How had Highlander escaped my eyes for so long? Well, part of the reason is because I remember seeing the trailer for Highlander 2 when it first came out. My thoughts at the time: What the fuck is Highlander? And wow, that looks terrible. Thusly, I avoided anything Highlander for well over a decade.

Well, that’s been remedied. Unfortunately, Highlander turns out to be a fantasy, which is a genre I have not warmed to yet.

Highlander is a creature of the eighties, through and through. From its cheesy rock score to its gritty artificiality, everything about this movie reveals its age. The sets are punctuated with steamy warehouses and rain-washed streets. The hair is high. The special effects are “charming”. And the studio apartments are oversized (complete with giant fish tanks!). It was released two years after The Terminator, and the movie is clearly inspired by Cameron’s thriller. Both are low budget movies about other worldly warriors, and the woman caught up in their fight. But while The Terminator is a taut economical thriller with hardly a wasted moment, Highlander meanders and shuffles toward its end. There is little sense of urgency, robots are nowhere to be seen, and the stakes are spoken of in the vaguest of terms. So what does highlander have that The Terminator doesn’t? Swords! But movie sword fighting choreography has come a long way in the last twenty years. Watching two people cautiously poke their swords at each other just isn’t as thrilling as it once was.

Christopher Lambert plays the lead character. He speaks in an accent that falls somewhere between William Wallace and Dracula. When he smiles, his face forms a freakish Cro-Magnon mask. His charisma is nil. Clancy Brown plays the hunter – tracking Lambert with a cackling laugh and hulking frame. Brown brings his best game and creates a character that is all id and clear out a church with just his over-ripe dialogue and evil laughter. Not even Sean Connery’s glorified cameo brings as much class to this mess. 4,00 year-old Connery shows up in Lambert’s flashbacks and barks a bunch of ambiguous exposition while finding increasingly extreme locations to hold their training montage at - the most shameful of which is the race at the beach.

As someone who sees connections to Lost everywhere he looks, I nearly outdid myself watching Highlander (especially in light of the recent season finale). The structure of Highlander very closely resembles any given episode of Lost. The storiy oscillates between Christopher Lambert in the present, and Christopher Lambert in the past. Deep in the past. Over a hundred years ago. In the flashbacks, we see Lambert get murdered, only to come back from death. Connery mysteriously shows and reveals that Lambert is immortal – unless of course his head is severed from his neck. He raves about quickenings and gatherings. And repeats that there can only be one. As the centuries pass, Lambert dies in a gay duel and saves a little girl from Nazis.

In the present, a big-haired female professional slowly learns the truth about Lambert who woos her in his creepy, macho eighties way. As they date, there are mysterious killings, excessive eye lights, grainy blue-tinged cinematography and a silhouetted love scene. Eventually, there is a sword fight, animated lightning, and visible wires. When there is only one, that one receives the quickening, which is “complete universal knowledge.” What does the winner do with complete universal knowledge? He apparently goes shopping at JC Penny and finds a pink sweater and white slacks to wear around the house.

And so, Highlander proves not to be the essential bit of eighties sci-fi I expected. It falls into that eighties abyss of wizards-and-shit-fantasy that portends sci-fi elements, but delivers only a mangled supernatural mythology (I’m looking at you, Ladyhawke!). I’m glad I can scratch it off of my list of movies to see, but I’m disappointed it wasn’t more engaging or eye-opening. It’s not referenced that much in popular culture, but if The Venture Brothers is going to give it a shout out, the least can do is sit down and watch it. And I’ll be damned if somebody didn’t make a Highlander reference just a few days later. Not a great or trailblazing movie, but seen widely enough to be recognizable and mocked. I have been advised to see Highlander 2: The Quickening – the ORIGINAL VERSION before the director attempted to edit/wrestle it into something more cohesive. Sadly the original batshit cut is hard to come by. It could only improve upon the experience of a merely serviceable first film.

There can only be one.

i am so proud of you and Afterschool

This weekend I saw two excellent movies.


The first really took me by surprise: Afterschool. Nominated for an Independent Spirit Award and directed by a guy helming his first full length movie, this movie hit me like a ton of bricks.

It plays something like Paranoid Park, but where Gus Van Sant would insert an emo song or skateboarding footage, director Bruno Campos inserts youtube footage. Rather than being cloaked in hoodies and low jeans, these characters wear preppie uniforms and loosened ties. The entire movie is a bit heavy handed in how it depicts today’s youth as media-saturated, catatonic monsters. But what it lacks in subtlety (never something I was all that interested in), it blows away with style. The angles are constantly off center and cutting off significant action (the director claimed this was to replicate security cameras and their ilk, i.e. this was done on purpose. Don't come crying to me that the director didn't know how to use a camera), the editing has an arresting rhythm, and the sound is punctuated by long silences of ambient emptiness. And there is one significant shot in general which reminds me of Michael Snow’s Wavelength in its cold detached depiction of sudden action in an empty room. This movie is all about the watched and the watchers. And it does it by making the audience active watchers – forcing them to participate or not.

For much of the movie, the main character’s face is regularly obscured. Either the camera is pointing at the back of his head, or it’s pointing in a different direction all together. As a result, the audience views much of the action as the characters does. The characters are very much like real high schoolers. Vapid, not in touch with themselves, self-obsessed, wildly insecure. I can only suppose that they’re also raised as Catholics considering how guilt-stricken they are. The main kid, Rob, tries to talk to his mom about his suspicions regarding his own innate goodness (this after watching a near snuff film on the Internet, masturbating, looking down his teacher's blouse) and his insecurities about how no one likes him, but she tells him to think about more pleasant things. His curiosity is left unanswered and unacknowledged - leaving him only to assume the worst about it. It’s hard not to ache for a character who is so alone, not even his own mother will listen to him. By the time he talks to a counselor (who tries to break the ice with a yo’ momma joke), the damage is done. The kid no longer wants to talk about it. Good thing too, since the counselor is not the friendly confidant he presents himself as. Worse of all it the head master, who mines the death of two students to squash any resistance the students may show regarding his new draconian rules.

This movie is not for someone who wants pretty teenagers agonizing over first loves and learning lessons about drug use. Gossip Girl, this isn't. It's not even Veronica Mars. This movie is chilling and disturbingly passive. In denying the usual tropes of drama, it makes the entire situation all that more affecting. This movie burrowed deep into my gut.

The other great movie I saw was the latest from Don Hertzfeldt, I am so proud of you. The “sequel” to everything will be okay, I have always admired Hertzfeldt’s knack for black, bitter humor. But as he continues, his short animations become more and more emotionally rich and significant. I am so proud of you is also Hertzfedt’s most sentimental yet – particularly the origin of the title. But it is punctuated by piercing personal insecurities. Insecurities so deep, they threaten to erode the main character’s very sanity. The first movie is about Bill’s slow decline in health. His mother and uncle arrive to see him through it. I am so proud of you explores Bill’s past (both personal and familial) and finds a disturbing trend of poor mental health and humiliation. His family tall tales are darkly humorous (which goes without saying in a Hertzfeldt movie) and regularly feature family members contracting deadly diseases, only to die in freak accidents. Or boys with hooks for arms inadvertently committing suicide. Most devastating of all is Bill’s mother. We learn she is not the competent caregiver she was depicted as in the first movie. Hertzfeldt’s youthful, dry narration is the perfect voice for all that is happening to Bill. Never maudlin or phony. The narration remains on an even keel, which perfectly reflects Bill’s own muted emotional capacity. It’s an accomplishment in itself to wring such pathos and emotion from a twenty-minute cartoon, but to do so with a cartoon full of stick figures is downright mind-blowing. Ever since 2005’s The Meaning of Life, Hertzfeldt has been reborn as a filmmaker of melancholy magnitude – pondering life and death, sanity and insanity, purpose and uselessness. In creating a character made up of straight lines and eternal indifference, Hertfeldt may have created the classic character for our times (note the hyperbole). 

Both Afterschool and I am so proud of you depict lives in constant doubt and fear of making an impact on their world. These are tragic figures locked in their own head. I’m admitting more about myself than I should in saying that I completely identify with these characters. I can’t wait to see what both of these directors do next.

C Me Dance

This is the trailer for the “chick flick with a manifested menacing evil” known as C Me Dance.

The trailer promises something so radically incompetent and ham-fisted as to rival Tommy Wiseau’s The Room. While not as wall-to-wall uproarious as The Room (alas, no soft porn sex scenes), it does have moments that match the former’s spectacular highs (or lows). The movie opens with a poorly edited car chase. In the movie’s big action scene, a semi bears down on a smaller car. We cut to a woman glancing into the rear view mirror and wailing, “Why are you doing this to me!” The woman is clearly in a vehicle that is standing still while the truck is clearly shot by an entirely different crew. Thus is the style of C Me Dance. The woman in the smaller car dies in what is a sadly low rent crash (i.e. all sound effects), but her baby daughter lives on. Sixteen years later, she has blossomed into Sheri, a wannabe ballerina. Writer/Director/“Creator” Greg Robbins stars as Sheri’s father (he later calls the car accident “really quite strange”, otherwise it never comes up again). When Sheri is diagnosed with inoperable cancer, she proceeds to act grumpy and weakly pound her locker at school until she has an after-school sit-down with dad. “I do not want these feelings.” “Why do I have to die?” 

But lo, the cancer causes mysterious things to happen. Her dad hears a single thought escape from Sheri’s head. She and her dad both dream of synchronized hero diving. Sheri’s very touch causes people to flashback on a bootleg copy of The Passion of the Christ. And most frightening of all, she can stand in front of others and silently convert them into her creepy cult. At one point, Sheri, her father and Pastor Jeff conspire to convert all the kids at a concert with Sheri’s mysterious new power. Later, they will take over the airwaves. Sound diabolical? Yes, the scene really does play out like some evil plot being hatched by mad scientists, but remember these are the good guys. Sheri continues to convert the city until the big scene where everyone reads in the paper and hears on the radio that rapes and crimes have dropped, kidnappers are letting their victims go free, studios have stopped releasing non-family films, abortion clinics have shut their doors, and adult bookstores voluntarily shut down. No word on whether the death penalty is overturned though.

The bad guy is Satan, who wears a black trench coat and stalks Sheri - sometimes with a Satan stalker cam (at least that’s what I think I’m supposed to infer when the shot is obscured by dishes in the kitchen). Some highlights:

• At one point, Satan appears in Sheri’s bedroom. Rather than call the cops or fend him off, the father tells the intruder “You do not have God’s permission to be here.” To which Satan initially replies in Klingon, but translates as “Yes, I do.” End of menacing scene. 
• Sheri, delivering a sermon on national TV (the Networks have all given free airtime to Sheri by this point, sending a single producer to oversee the sermon), tells of a story where she watched a movie her dad told her she shouldn’t watch. As a result of watching it, she has been terrified of men in black trench coats ever since. 
• In an attempt to lure Sheri to the dark side, Satan takes on the form of Sheri’s mother, long dead these sixteen years. Sheri rebukes him with a sharp “Nice, try!” and then proceeds to tell Satan “You are such a loser!” 
• The “rape” in which a school bully chases Sheri through a neighborhood only to shove her in the grass repeatedly after catching up with her. After the rape scene, and subsequent conversion of the “rapist”, Sheri climbs into a car with her dad and sighs, “Wow. I mean . . . hunh.” This entire sequence is gold.
• When dad admits to recognizing a Christian band, Sheri smiles at him and says “I didn’t know you were so hip!” 
• The God special effect, which consists of a rippling effect and blown out lighting. 
• The excessive fist-bumping and nodding.
• Sheri telling her friend to stay off her foot, only to later run around the mall with this same friend in a shopping montage. 
• Trying to rearrange the same two dozen extras to make it look like the congregation is getting bigger. Or that the town is sizeable at all. (The tall guy is the give-away every time).
• Robbins' addressing God as "Man" in his prayers.
• The scenes in which Robbins effortlessly sells tired marketing plans to an easy-to-please client. (Just sell this same product with this new logo. I love it!)
• The soon-to-be-infamous line "Man, this is going to tick off the Devil!"
• And the ending in which Sheri opens her Christmas present (a vanity license plate C ME DANCE) and promptly dies at the foot of the Christmas tree. 

All in all, amazingly lazy (Sheri’s “message” is never even spoken aloud), unintentionally creepy, and outright hilarious. If we could just cut the boring preachy parts, it could even beat The Room as the most enjoyable worst movie ever made, I hope a cult rises out of this thing. I would love to watch this with an audience shouting at the screen and laughing drunkenly. Instead, I saw it in an empty theater. Only me and God. And God didn’t laugh once.

Eden Lake

I'm going to and start jotting down a few thoughts about movies and shows I've recently watched. General impressions. Case one: Eden Lake. 

Combining Deliverance with The Strangers (or more specifically Ils), the movie doesn't add much new to the whole yuppie couple gets terrorized by kids sub-genre, but it does everything right. Minimal jump scares. Well played characters. A real sense of dread building and building. And characters never react in a particularly stupid way (i.e. not calling the cops when they should).The violence wasn't excessive. And those chilling final moments. Wow. One of the better horror movies I have seen in a while. If only it felt more original. 

Silent Light

So I just watched Silent Light. I went on a suggestion from a friend's email, and boy, did I fucking hate it. 

The movie is an overlong, stiff, pretentious piece of doggerel with a bullshit supernatural miraculous ending - ripped off straight from Ordet. It's not just leisurely; it's interminable. An empty shot. Two characters walk into it and slouch near each other. They neither say nor do anything interesting.  There's a cut to a closer shot of one of the actors. After a beat, the actor dutifully recites his lines. Cut to the other actor, who waits a beat before dutifully reciting more insipid dialogue. Eventually, they leave the shot and the camera lingers . . . and lingers . . . In one typical scene, two characters are standing near each other. One says, "Let's go look at the snow." Never mind that they are already standing in snow. They turn and clumsily lumber through the snow for ten feet before stopping and looking at a barn. The camera then pans 180 degrees - slowly passing an empty field before settling on the two actors, staring emptily in different directions (that is, when they're not glancing directly into the camera - I'm looking at you, Grampa!). They wait a beat before mumbling their pedestrian dialogue. They leave the scene. After a moment, there's a cut back to the empty field. This takes about ten minutes to play out. 

Moments when I laughed out loud. 

• When two characters, carrying on an affair, strip down and look at each other - rather than actually, oh say, touching each other or embracing or kissing, etc. 
• In typical fashion, we cut to an old man sitting in a chair, staring off into space. We then cut to the son, standing in front of a bare wall and staring at a calendar while a clock ticks in the background. The entire movie is full of these ridiculously stiffly blocked compositions that Wes Anderson has so thoroughly spoofed. At this moment, I thought, perhaps the movie is making fun of overly austere meditations on nothing. Sadly, no. 
• When the doctor suggests that one character's "attack of the heart" was brought on by obesity. A character who weighs all of ninety pounds soaking wet. 

Typical children's dialogue:

"I hope Daddy buys us some sweets." "Me, too."