It’s not giving anything away to tell you that Picnic at Hanging Rock concerns the story of three girls who go missing while on a picnic in Victoria, Australia in 1900. This is revealed before the film starts, and in this case the disclosure works. The film is not about what happened to them, or why; nor does it resemble a mystery in the conventional sense. It is, rather, a mystery of mood. It is Wicker Man mixed with Walkabout and left unresolved. And it’s gorgeous.
Peter Weir has a varied resumé, but in this film he has created a timeless portrait of a fictional incident. The residents, one wants to say inmates, of Mme. Appleyard’s school for girls awake on Valentine’s Day to set into motion a series of mannered, fantasy-like events in which they wash their faces in basins full of flowers, create a train of corset-tightening, and one declares to another, “You must learn to love someone other than me.” Girls say things like, “everything begins and ends at the exactly right time and place” and “a surprising number of human beings are without purpose, though it is probable that they are performing some function unknown to themselves,” to one another, seemingly unprovoked and rather unrealistically.
But the whole thing, for us, is unrealistic. It made me realize just how different “being a girl” would be if I lived in this film; it is a world I know nothing about, and one which most likely never existed. There are few answers here, not least because this is not a world we know. It looks like something that could be the real world, but it is removed from ours in time, in gauzy slow-motion, in the angelic, magnetic personality that is Miranda but is no one we recognize. Most of the significant relationships are between members of the same gender; aside from the hired help, meaning is found in other girls, other men. Texture is found in the natural phenomena of the ground around the Rock; clouds, ants, parrots, and lizards seem to comment on the futile nature of human activity to transcend mere animal survival.
At the same time, the beauty of the images, of the people and things in them (especially, for me, John Jarrett as the hired man Albert), does transcend survival. There is worth to these images, these simple evocations of a life that may not have existed. The film, while mysterious and sad and hopeless, nevertheless offers hope in the fact of its very existence. Some questions don’t need to be answered, because the search for them is the important thing. Not all viewers will feel this way; especially in this time, answers are a requirement even if they make no sense. But beauty requires no explanation, and neither should this movie.
Read more!
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
Jarhead (2005)
I had not intended to see Jarhead. There was no particular reason not to, but there was no motivating force to make me get there either. Having now seen it, I must say that I feel much the same. At the same time, I think it was important that I see it.
The movie is a welcome addition to the war movie genre. Its over-arcing message is one of ambiguity; for the war, for the effects of war on marines, for the enemy. Unlike most war movies, we may be on a particular side but we're not entirely sure why. We hardly see the enemy, are only told he is evil and must be destroyed. I think, though I haven't the experience to back this up, that it is the most accurate war movie I've ever seen in this regard.
What the movie seems to play with is the memory of other war films. The most passionate moment may be before deployment, when the marines are watching Apocalypse Now, apparently unaware of the fact they aren't supposed to be rooting for the helicopers. And once the war begins and we are shipped with the men to the desert, the movie recalls another desert war epic, Lawrence of Arabia.
"But Kris," you'll say, "*cheesecake* reminds you of Lawrence." Hear me out.
The desert in Lawrence is multi-colored, dynamic, alive with Bedouin, camels, horses, and Omar Sharif. Lawrence falls in love with the desert. He is helping the Arabs fight the Turks, but he is also fighting himself. The movie is his love of the desert and the internal conflict prompted by that love writ large. There is suffering, but there is beauty and romance. There is blood, but there is lemonade, too. There is love and hate and the last thing one sees in Lean's desert is barren apathy.
Jarhead's desert, on the other hand, is dead. It is a lifeless, nearly contourless waste where the sky is the same color as the land and nothing can be differentiated. The only oases are caravans of slaughtered men. The only color, in fact, is provided by the oil fields burning night and day.
And this brings us to the heart of the comparison. Lawrence (in the film) is fighting for the color of the desert, for his passion. The US in Iraq was fighting for oil; the only living thing there. That flame is the only thing worth anything in that land, and Jarhead makes this overt.
But a movie which communicates such apathy to me, as a viewer, inspires nothing like the passion of the Ride of the Valkyries or Lawrence's cries of "no survivors." I especially liked Peter Sarsgaard and Jamie Foxx, but overall Gyllenhaal's Swoff was made to go through too many iterations of the marine experience for them to feel fully motivated. It was as if he was intended to stand in for every marine, and his voice over (especially at the end) did nothing to increase my understanding of him as a person. The movie felt long, and tiring, politically guarded, and in other words much like the war must have been. I would venture that this is a good representation of the Marine experience.
A good movie? Perhaps not. But still worth it. Read more!
The movie is a welcome addition to the war movie genre. Its over-arcing message is one of ambiguity; for the war, for the effects of war on marines, for the enemy. Unlike most war movies, we may be on a particular side but we're not entirely sure why. We hardly see the enemy, are only told he is evil and must be destroyed. I think, though I haven't the experience to back this up, that it is the most accurate war movie I've ever seen in this regard.
What the movie seems to play with is the memory of other war films. The most passionate moment may be before deployment, when the marines are watching Apocalypse Now, apparently unaware of the fact they aren't supposed to be rooting for the helicopers. And once the war begins and we are shipped with the men to the desert, the movie recalls another desert war epic, Lawrence of Arabia.
"But Kris," you'll say, "*cheesecake* reminds you of Lawrence." Hear me out.
The desert in Lawrence is multi-colored, dynamic, alive with Bedouin, camels, horses, and Omar Sharif. Lawrence falls in love with the desert. He is helping the Arabs fight the Turks, but he is also fighting himself. The movie is his love of the desert and the internal conflict prompted by that love writ large. There is suffering, but there is beauty and romance. There is blood, but there is lemonade, too. There is love and hate and the last thing one sees in Lean's desert is barren apathy.
Jarhead's desert, on the other hand, is dead. It is a lifeless, nearly contourless waste where the sky is the same color as the land and nothing can be differentiated. The only oases are caravans of slaughtered men. The only color, in fact, is provided by the oil fields burning night and day.
And this brings us to the heart of the comparison. Lawrence (in the film) is fighting for the color of the desert, for his passion. The US in Iraq was fighting for oil; the only living thing there. That flame is the only thing worth anything in that land, and Jarhead makes this overt.
But a movie which communicates such apathy to me, as a viewer, inspires nothing like the passion of the Ride of the Valkyries or Lawrence's cries of "no survivors." I especially liked Peter Sarsgaard and Jamie Foxx, but overall Gyllenhaal's Swoff was made to go through too many iterations of the marine experience for them to feel fully motivated. It was as if he was intended to stand in for every marine, and his voice over (especially at the end) did nothing to increase my understanding of him as a person. The movie felt long, and tiring, politically guarded, and in other words much like the war must have been. I would venture that this is a good representation of the Marine experience.
A good movie? Perhaps not. But still worth it. Read more!
Wallace and Gromit: the Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005)
I'm a long time fan of Wallace and Gromit (Wallace's penchant for cheese is right up my alley, and Gromit's facial expressions warm my sardonic little heart) and was pretty thrilled about a feature-length film. All in all, the film does not disappoint W&G fans but does retread a fair bit of ground covered in the short films.
Fans and newbies alike are treated to Wallace's inventions-gone-wrong, his eating habits, Gromit's long-suffering yet loyal companionship, unresolved sexual tension between clay figures, and a cute sidekick; all of which elements are present in the previous W&G canon. One unfortunate outcome of this was my frequent feeling that I'd seen this before when it was called A Close Shave, only the sheep were a lot cuter than the rabbits (who looked a bit like pigs). To reinforce this perception of deja vu, the film is liberally sprinkled with references and in-jokes to the previous films.
However, it is unfair to ignore the triumphs of a feature-length film done entirely with stop-motion animation in favor of the shorter, non-theatrical films which came before. Along with Chicken Run, this movie is one of the last remaining animated films (in the western world) not done with computers, a lack I am sorely feeling. I appreciate any attention this art form is given, and art it certainly is. The skill and patience involved are mind-boggling, and the subtleties of rendering these characters and settings amazingly done.
I won't discuss the plot here, which is rather predictable, but I will say that the fingerprints of comic genius lay everywhere. A personal favorite is when Gromit turns on the car stereo to hear the strains of "Bright Eyes" sung by Art Garfunkel, the theme song to Watership Down. Hardly anyone knows this, I think, which made me laugh all the harder. In short, this film is everything one would expect from the W&G folks, but not more than that; if you liked the short films, you'll definitely enjoy it, and if you haven't, you'll enjoy it as well, unless you have some kind of stop-motion phobia. It's a brilliant technical feat, but it's not earth-shattering in the way my experience of watching The Wrong Trousers for the first time was. Read more!
Fans and newbies alike are treated to Wallace's inventions-gone-wrong, his eating habits, Gromit's long-suffering yet loyal companionship, unresolved sexual tension between clay figures, and a cute sidekick; all of which elements are present in the previous W&G canon. One unfortunate outcome of this was my frequent feeling that I'd seen this before when it was called A Close Shave, only the sheep were a lot cuter than the rabbits (who looked a bit like pigs). To reinforce this perception of deja vu, the film is liberally sprinkled with references and in-jokes to the previous films.
However, it is unfair to ignore the triumphs of a feature-length film done entirely with stop-motion animation in favor of the shorter, non-theatrical films which came before. Along with Chicken Run, this movie is one of the last remaining animated films (in the western world) not done with computers, a lack I am sorely feeling. I appreciate any attention this art form is given, and art it certainly is. The skill and patience involved are mind-boggling, and the subtleties of rendering these characters and settings amazingly done.
I won't discuss the plot here, which is rather predictable, but I will say that the fingerprints of comic genius lay everywhere. A personal favorite is when Gromit turns on the car stereo to hear the strains of "Bright Eyes" sung by Art Garfunkel, the theme song to Watership Down. Hardly anyone knows this, I think, which made me laugh all the harder. In short, this film is everything one would expect from the W&G folks, but not more than that; if you liked the short films, you'll definitely enjoy it, and if you haven't, you'll enjoy it as well, unless you have some kind of stop-motion phobia. It's a brilliant technical feat, but it's not earth-shattering in the way my experience of watching The Wrong Trousers for the first time was. Read more!
Pretty Persuasion (2005)
f my husband and I have a "must-see" genre, it's the one where teenage girls do inappropriate things. Naturally, Pretty Persuasion was a must, with Evan Rachel Wood (from Thirteen) and a cover which boasts that "the devil wears a gray skirt."
So I have to admit that most of the films which fall into this "genre" are pretty bad. A guilty pleasure most of the time, right? This one's no exception, except most of the pleasure comes in the first half and most of the guilt should rest on the filmmakers for not bothering to follow through a naughty, though (remotely) plausible story with characterization that makes any sense whatsoever.
The set-up is great: there's a racist father; a neglected, very intelligent daughter; a blond best friend in love with first girl's ex; a new Muslim friend; and a teacher whose personal taste make him a prime target for three young students with revenge on their minds. This is all very interesting, as it addresses, for once, that there's something in between teachers being completely unaware of the sexual maturation of their students and teachers taking rampant advantage of them. Mr. Anderson is easy because he's already lusting after his female students; it's up to us to decide how villainous that really is.
The problems with the film start with the tone; I'm at home with black comedy, but there is a little too much swinging between extremes for me to get a handle on where exactly I'm supposed to be in my suspension of disbelief. Everyone does a good job; I especially liked Jane Krakowski as the lesbian reporter, though like everyone else she's lost some weight. Evan Rachel Wood has grown to much resemble Jenna Malone, the previously ubiquitous bad-girl. James Woods is appropriate disgusting, but Ron Livingston (as the teacher) is a little hammy, despite how much I admire him in Office Space. Again, it's the tone that's in question.
The real problem, without which the rest might be overlooked, is that Wood's character's opportunistic naughtiness, which reaches some pretty high levels, is never adequately explained. By the end of the film I felt that the only way a believable motive could possibly be supplied was if they suddenly revealed the girl was an alien. They give her vast reserves of resourcefulness to plot her revenge, but they don't sufficiently give her reason, and we the audience is left a little flat at the end, having to buy into her basic evil instead of a complex set of motivations. Even the school shooting, an obvious parallel running through the movie, is more interesting in its inexplicability. Surely a character with such superior talent should be granted a more interesting motive than schoolgirl jealousy. Read more!
So I have to admit that most of the films which fall into this "genre" are pretty bad. A guilty pleasure most of the time, right? This one's no exception, except most of the pleasure comes in the first half and most of the guilt should rest on the filmmakers for not bothering to follow through a naughty, though (remotely) plausible story with characterization that makes any sense whatsoever.
The set-up is great: there's a racist father; a neglected, very intelligent daughter; a blond best friend in love with first girl's ex; a new Muslim friend; and a teacher whose personal taste make him a prime target for three young students with revenge on their minds. This is all very interesting, as it addresses, for once, that there's something in between teachers being completely unaware of the sexual maturation of their students and teachers taking rampant advantage of them. Mr. Anderson is easy because he's already lusting after his female students; it's up to us to decide how villainous that really is.
The problems with the film start with the tone; I'm at home with black comedy, but there is a little too much swinging between extremes for me to get a handle on where exactly I'm supposed to be in my suspension of disbelief. Everyone does a good job; I especially liked Jane Krakowski as the lesbian reporter, though like everyone else she's lost some weight. Evan Rachel Wood has grown to much resemble Jenna Malone, the previously ubiquitous bad-girl. James Woods is appropriate disgusting, but Ron Livingston (as the teacher) is a little hammy, despite how much I admire him in Office Space. Again, it's the tone that's in question.
The real problem, without which the rest might be overlooked, is that Wood's character's opportunistic naughtiness, which reaches some pretty high levels, is never adequately explained. By the end of the film I felt that the only way a believable motive could possibly be supplied was if they suddenly revealed the girl was an alien. They give her vast reserves of resourcefulness to plot her revenge, but they don't sufficiently give her reason, and we the audience is left a little flat at the end, having to buy into her basic evil instead of a complex set of motivations. Even the school shooting, an obvious parallel running through the movie, is more interesting in its inexplicability. Surely a character with such superior talent should be granted a more interesting motive than schoolgirl jealousy. Read more!
The Constant Gardener (2005)
“From the novel by John le Carré.” Not words calculated to make me go to a movie. That could be due to my snobbishness, or early exposure to Tom Clancy-based films. But then there’s this: “From the director of City of God.” Oh. Okay.
The Constant Gardener is hands-down the smartest espionage thriller I’ve ever seen. I’m rarely patient with suspense films with patently retarded, retreaded premises. I’m tired of the blatant manipulation required to make these things work. When I left the theater after this movie and felt that wave of paranoia coming on, my husband and I said, wait. We should feel this way. If not for ourselves, then for our world.
Fernando Meirelles has taken his personal stake in the way people live when they’re not us, added Ralph Fiennes and some other people, and made an international horror film I can both understand and enjoy. I have no doubt that the kinds of things that happen in this movie happen somewhere all the time; maybe not in such dramatic fashion, but is anyone going to argue that huge drug companies are completely benign, helpful entities? The director spends a lot of time with the people in Africa affected by the actions of these companies and the governments who shield them, and a story which could have been a pointless exercise in “man thinks wife is hiding something. Wife disappears. Husband finds out she was hiding something, but it wasn’t an affair, it was a global conspiracy and he must be a hero!” becomes an actual film.
In too many of these things, the hero(ine) gets involved over his head and suddenly discovers untold survival skills and/or moral indignation. Here, Fiennes is set up from the beginning to grow into the character he becomes: as a proxy lecturer mouthing the self-praise of a higher-ranking diplomat, he encounters a feisty woman who challenges him yet excites his interest and protective instincts. She responds to this, they fall in love, and get married. This is a man who works for The Man, yet is receptive to the Truth when exposed to it. Unfortunately for all involved, some Truths end in marriage and some in death. We are never asked to believe anything of these people that hasn’t been accounted for. And for that, I am thankful. I got a smart, relevant, entertaining film that I don’t have to be a film buff to like. And I can finally say I like one of these thriller things. Read more!
The Constant Gardener is hands-down the smartest espionage thriller I’ve ever seen. I’m rarely patient with suspense films with patently retarded, retreaded premises. I’m tired of the blatant manipulation required to make these things work. When I left the theater after this movie and felt that wave of paranoia coming on, my husband and I said, wait. We should feel this way. If not for ourselves, then for our world.
Fernando Meirelles has taken his personal stake in the way people live when they’re not us, added Ralph Fiennes and some other people, and made an international horror film I can both understand and enjoy. I have no doubt that the kinds of things that happen in this movie happen somewhere all the time; maybe not in such dramatic fashion, but is anyone going to argue that huge drug companies are completely benign, helpful entities? The director spends a lot of time with the people in Africa affected by the actions of these companies and the governments who shield them, and a story which could have been a pointless exercise in “man thinks wife is hiding something. Wife disappears. Husband finds out she was hiding something, but it wasn’t an affair, it was a global conspiracy and he must be a hero!” becomes an actual film.
In too many of these things, the hero(ine) gets involved over his head and suddenly discovers untold survival skills and/or moral indignation. Here, Fiennes is set up from the beginning to grow into the character he becomes: as a proxy lecturer mouthing the self-praise of a higher-ranking diplomat, he encounters a feisty woman who challenges him yet excites his interest and protective instincts. She responds to this, they fall in love, and get married. This is a man who works for The Man, yet is receptive to the Truth when exposed to it. Unfortunately for all involved, some Truths end in marriage and some in death. We are never asked to believe anything of these people that hasn’t been accounted for. And for that, I am thankful. I got a smart, relevant, entertaining film that I don’t have to be a film buff to like. And I can finally say I like one of these thriller things. Read more!
OldBoy (2003)
There was an image in the trailer for Korean import Old Boy that determined I would one day see it: an unkempt, craggy-faced man walks away from a building while, in the background, a man holding a tiny white dog falls from above to land on the top of a car. As he walks towards us and the car alarm goes off, the first man favors us with a small, evil grin.
It took me awhile, but see it I did, and I must say that while as a whole the plot is entirely too convoluted to hold up to any kind of believability, the film is impressive enough for me to ignore that. The set up is this: Oh Dae-Su is a drunk. One night he is snatched from under his friend’s wandering gaze and is subjected to 15 years of imprisonment in a hotel room. After this time, he is set free on the roof, and given 5 days to determine who did this, why, and what he’s going to do about it. What ensues is a revenge tragedy whose solution cannot possibly be as good as its premise, but the premise is so bizarre, and the ways in which the unseen antagonist directs the action so unflinchingly repulsive, that I can’t help but respect the film. The main character, as well, fulfills the promise I detected in that little smile; he is as committed an actor as I’ve ever seen. And this movie took that commitment very seriously.
I can’t talk much about it without giving too much away; the film relies on you being as in the dark as Dae-Su. I will say that the plot took the characters places an American film would have run screaming from, and did it with style. There is violence, and it is graphic, but it’s also completely appropriate for the story. My interest waned as more was revealed, but as I said earlier I’m not sure how any film could live up to that opening. Once all shred of credibility vanished (note to self: if seeking revenge, just kill the dude—20 years is way too long to wait), however, I was kept involved by the sheer ballsiness of the movie. Might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but for daring cinema you can do a lot worse. Read more!
It took me awhile, but see it I did, and I must say that while as a whole the plot is entirely too convoluted to hold up to any kind of believability, the film is impressive enough for me to ignore that. The set up is this: Oh Dae-Su is a drunk. One night he is snatched from under his friend’s wandering gaze and is subjected to 15 years of imprisonment in a hotel room. After this time, he is set free on the roof, and given 5 days to determine who did this, why, and what he’s going to do about it. What ensues is a revenge tragedy whose solution cannot possibly be as good as its premise, but the premise is so bizarre, and the ways in which the unseen antagonist directs the action so unflinchingly repulsive, that I can’t help but respect the film. The main character, as well, fulfills the promise I detected in that little smile; he is as committed an actor as I’ve ever seen. And this movie took that commitment very seriously.
I can’t talk much about it without giving too much away; the film relies on you being as in the dark as Dae-Su. I will say that the plot took the characters places an American film would have run screaming from, and did it with style. There is violence, and it is graphic, but it’s also completely appropriate for the story. My interest waned as more was revealed, but as I said earlier I’m not sure how any film could live up to that opening. Once all shred of credibility vanished (note to self: if seeking revenge, just kill the dude—20 years is way too long to wait), however, I was kept involved by the sheer ballsiness of the movie. Might not be everyone’s cup of tea, but for daring cinema you can do a lot worse. Read more!
Get to Know Your Rabbit (1972)
After directing two low budget, critically accepted movies (Greetings and Hi, Mom!), Brian De Palma heeded the siren call of Hollywood and took on the Tommy Smothers vehicle Get to Know Your Rabbit. The only reason to see this film, as far as I can tell, is to gain a better understanding of why he went on to make all the other stuff; which, even if you don’t like it, at least looks like it had a director.
Someone must have thought there was an audience for this film when they greenlit it. It’s more or less disappeared except in the kind of video stores where they group films by director and is therefore “important” in studying the young director’s development. But who decided that a “traditional,” Rock Hunter-like star vehicle about a tap-dancing magician would draw a crowd that would accept the bare breasts and lewd, not particularly funny humor it supplies as a bonus.
Plus, I have no idea who Tommy Smothers is. And I think I’m supposed to, because he sure doesn’t do anything remotely interesting in this movie. He goes from overworked executive to the afore-mentioned tap-dancing magician without really learning anything or telling us anything about him-or-our-selves. Along the way, he meets a cast of unfunny eccentrics, all of whom are variously repulsive except for Katherine Ross, who is dismissed in the credits as “the Terrific Looking Girl” and is way too sexually focused on paperboys to be that entertaining. Who is this hottie who groupies magicians in sequined top hats in dive bars? None of these eccentrics (aside from an over-involved, incompetent boss) actually affects the plot, either.
The “point” of the film, inasmuch as there is one, is predictable and poorly handled. Smothers’ efforts to escape are far too successful, leading to a return to the old pattern. Unfortunately, Smothers’ reaction to that pattern is exactly the same as his first reaction. So he’s learned nothing either. There’s no growth, no point, no satisfaction (good or disturbing) for the audience.
Luckily, De Palma learned something (he had the film taken away from him and the ending re-shot) and went on to do things his own way, which is admirable if not always something I want to see. Better that, though, than this studio tripe dressed up to look “hip.” Read more!
Someone must have thought there was an audience for this film when they greenlit it. It’s more or less disappeared except in the kind of video stores where they group films by director and is therefore “important” in studying the young director’s development. But who decided that a “traditional,” Rock Hunter-like star vehicle about a tap-dancing magician would draw a crowd that would accept the bare breasts and lewd, not particularly funny humor it supplies as a bonus.
Plus, I have no idea who Tommy Smothers is. And I think I’m supposed to, because he sure doesn’t do anything remotely interesting in this movie. He goes from overworked executive to the afore-mentioned tap-dancing magician without really learning anything or telling us anything about him-or-our-selves. Along the way, he meets a cast of unfunny eccentrics, all of whom are variously repulsive except for Katherine Ross, who is dismissed in the credits as “the Terrific Looking Girl” and is way too sexually focused on paperboys to be that entertaining. Who is this hottie who groupies magicians in sequined top hats in dive bars? None of these eccentrics (aside from an over-involved, incompetent boss) actually affects the plot, either.
The “point” of the film, inasmuch as there is one, is predictable and poorly handled. Smothers’ efforts to escape are far too successful, leading to a return to the old pattern. Unfortunately, Smothers’ reaction to that pattern is exactly the same as his first reaction. So he’s learned nothing either. There’s no growth, no point, no satisfaction (good or disturbing) for the audience.
Luckily, De Palma learned something (he had the film taken away from him and the ending re-shot) and went on to do things his own way, which is admirable if not always something I want to see. Better that, though, than this studio tripe dressed up to look “hip.” Read more!
Walkabout (1971)
I am a latecomer to the work of Nicholas Roeg. As a scifi fan, "The Man Who Fell To Earth" was a library discovery a year or so ago and was very much enjoyed. In my quest to "understand" 70's film (an era I was only alive for 8 months of), I saw "Performance" a few months ago. And finally, I saw what I consider his best of the three: "Walkabout".
"Walkabout," as its title suggests, is the story of a trip through the outback. The term generally refers to the journey a young aborigine boy makes which leads to manhood; that holds in this case but with the addition of, and emphasis on, a journey taken by an English brother and sister left in the desert to die.
Eschewing names in favor of presences, the film simultaneously reduces and magnifies everything it touches: a lizard on a rock=the sunrise=the glistening buttocks of the native boy as the girl walks behind him. It is all one, all ordinary, and all grand. And all is beautiful, from the aforementioned scenic considerations to Jenny Aguter in her first naked-in-water role. Though far from her last such, this reviewer must nervously conclude that the 16 year old Aguter has never looked so lovely.
The film, being a Roeg work, does not lack confusion for the viewer. Roeg is clearly attempting to juxtapose civilization with nature, modernity with the aboriginal way of life. He does this in wonderfully unsubtle yet somehow not annoying cuts between our protagonists climbing a tree and local aborigines exploring an abandoned car. To name just one example. Other additions are less informative: I am not sure what to make of the weather balloon party or the static noises which sometimes overwhelm the soundtrack.
This confusion recedes in my memory, however, as soon as it's removed. What is left are a handful of breathtaking images, good writing, and a beautiful girl and boy. There is also an emotional puzzle; the girl remains strangely unmoved by the multiple tragedies which confront her. Like me, her later (married) self remembers only the moments of purity spent with her little brother and the strange, though not-so-strange, boy who saves their lives at great cost to himself. Read more!
"Walkabout," as its title suggests, is the story of a trip through the outback. The term generally refers to the journey a young aborigine boy makes which leads to manhood; that holds in this case but with the addition of, and emphasis on, a journey taken by an English brother and sister left in the desert to die.
Eschewing names in favor of presences, the film simultaneously reduces and magnifies everything it touches: a lizard on a rock=the sunrise=the glistening buttocks of the native boy as the girl walks behind him. It is all one, all ordinary, and all grand. And all is beautiful, from the aforementioned scenic considerations to Jenny Aguter in her first naked-in-water role. Though far from her last such, this reviewer must nervously conclude that the 16 year old Aguter has never looked so lovely.
The film, being a Roeg work, does not lack confusion for the viewer. Roeg is clearly attempting to juxtapose civilization with nature, modernity with the aboriginal way of life. He does this in wonderfully unsubtle yet somehow not annoying cuts between our protagonists climbing a tree and local aborigines exploring an abandoned car. To name just one example. Other additions are less informative: I am not sure what to make of the weather balloon party or the static noises which sometimes overwhelm the soundtrack.
This confusion recedes in my memory, however, as soon as it's removed. What is left are a handful of breathtaking images, good writing, and a beautiful girl and boy. There is also an emotional puzzle; the girl remains strangely unmoved by the multiple tragedies which confront her. Like me, her later (married) self remembers only the moments of purity spent with her little brother and the strange, though not-so-strange, boy who saves their lives at great cost to himself. Read more!
Rent (2005)
Where to start? There is so much swirling around my head, and all for a film which I actually don't think is worthy of so much thought. I can see I'll have to get personal.
My confession is this: that as a teenager, which I was when "Rent" debuted on Broadway, I really felt it was a gift to us theater kids; something in which "real" people sang songs the rest of us could hit all the notes of. I related especially to Mark, the only one to fail at hooking up, the one who fears he'll be left alone to observe. I know this opens up a whole other can of worms for those of you who are ignorant of my theater geek past; but for the sake of journalistic integrity it must be known.
"Rent", for those of you who don't know, is a Broadway show that costs as much as a Broadway show usually does about poor people in lower Manhattan who complain about having to pay rent on the huge loft their former roommate owns, do drugs, get aids, and die singing. It is filled with appeals to the bohemian life; in fact, one of the choicest numbers is a list of things which exemplify this spirit (my favorite juxtaposition being "huevos rancheros and Maya Angelou!").
I hadn't thought about "Rent" in a long time until the film came out, almost under my nose. Actually, it went to the second run theaters before I could even decide whether it was worth seeing. $3 meant it was.
The movie prompted two reactions in me, somewhat contradictory ones. First, I was angered that so much of what I loved was left out. I tend to like the "connective tissue" of sung-through musicals; it's not necessarily the songs that get me, but the recitative, the sung-spoken bits which actually reveal plot and character. Rent, on stage, is filled with polyphonic plot-driving. Polyphony always makes me tingle. Most of the songs were still there, but they were simplified, excised of the little touches of character which made me like them. Some of these lines were preserved in dialogue, which is always a little disconcerting for a viewer familiar with the source material.
The other reaction was the solidification of my feeling that all was not right in the land of bohemia. If my advancing age (and wisdom, of course) weren't enough to tell me that "Rent" is a hollow shell of counter-cultural jargon with mass-market appeal, the film would have driven it home for sure. None of the characters seem sincere in their efforts to remain outside the "mainstream." Textually, everyone sells out when there's the least bit of temptation. Are we supposed to be happy that Angel's outfits would be mass-produced by the Gap? Does Mark even struggle with Sarah Silverman's sleazy tabloid offer? The only character who seems to practice what she preaches is Joanne, the lawyer; she's going for what she wants, tells it like it is, and doesn't apologize for it. Everyone else is living a lie. This is only aided by the fact that the song Roger takes a year to write is one of the worst in the show. Mimi should have turned right around and walked back toward that heavenly light.
On top of this, of course, is the fact that this is a counter-culture vehicle driven by Chris Columbus. Need I say more?
The original performers have held up to varying degrees. I've always loved Anthony Rapp as Mark; his voice is pleasantly nasal (to my prejudiced ears) and he's in pretty good shape. Roger looks (and sounds) like someone they hired ten years ago for his looks and not his voice. Angel is still beautiful, whether as man or woman, which is lucky. Jesse L. Martin (Collins) and Taye Diggs (Benny) look and sound great. Maureen, unfortunately, is not someone whom I believe when she says, "every single day/I walk down the street/I hear people say/'Baby's so sweet'". The new additions, Joanne and Mimi (Rosario Dawson, great in "Josie and the Pussycats") are good, but Dawson's gotten really thin.
Overall, the vocal tweaking was annoying, the cuts hampered the flow, and the hypocrisy was both repulsive and apparently unintentional. I had to see it as a follower in a former life; but that book is officially closed now, thanks to Columbus & Co. Read more!
My confession is this: that as a teenager, which I was when "Rent" debuted on Broadway, I really felt it was a gift to us theater kids; something in which "real" people sang songs the rest of us could hit all the notes of. I related especially to Mark, the only one to fail at hooking up, the one who fears he'll be left alone to observe. I know this opens up a whole other can of worms for those of you who are ignorant of my theater geek past; but for the sake of journalistic integrity it must be known.
"Rent", for those of you who don't know, is a Broadway show that costs as much as a Broadway show usually does about poor people in lower Manhattan who complain about having to pay rent on the huge loft their former roommate owns, do drugs, get aids, and die singing. It is filled with appeals to the bohemian life; in fact, one of the choicest numbers is a list of things which exemplify this spirit (my favorite juxtaposition being "huevos rancheros and Maya Angelou!").
I hadn't thought about "Rent" in a long time until the film came out, almost under my nose. Actually, it went to the second run theaters before I could even decide whether it was worth seeing. $3 meant it was.
The movie prompted two reactions in me, somewhat contradictory ones. First, I was angered that so much of what I loved was left out. I tend to like the "connective tissue" of sung-through musicals; it's not necessarily the songs that get me, but the recitative, the sung-spoken bits which actually reveal plot and character. Rent, on stage, is filled with polyphonic plot-driving. Polyphony always makes me tingle. Most of the songs were still there, but they were simplified, excised of the little touches of character which made me like them. Some of these lines were preserved in dialogue, which is always a little disconcerting for a viewer familiar with the source material.
The other reaction was the solidification of my feeling that all was not right in the land of bohemia. If my advancing age (and wisdom, of course) weren't enough to tell me that "Rent" is a hollow shell of counter-cultural jargon with mass-market appeal, the film would have driven it home for sure. None of the characters seem sincere in their efforts to remain outside the "mainstream." Textually, everyone sells out when there's the least bit of temptation. Are we supposed to be happy that Angel's outfits would be mass-produced by the Gap? Does Mark even struggle with Sarah Silverman's sleazy tabloid offer? The only character who seems to practice what she preaches is Joanne, the lawyer; she's going for what she wants, tells it like it is, and doesn't apologize for it. Everyone else is living a lie. This is only aided by the fact that the song Roger takes a year to write is one of the worst in the show. Mimi should have turned right around and walked back toward that heavenly light.
On top of this, of course, is the fact that this is a counter-culture vehicle driven by Chris Columbus. Need I say more?
The original performers have held up to varying degrees. I've always loved Anthony Rapp as Mark; his voice is pleasantly nasal (to my prejudiced ears) and he's in pretty good shape. Roger looks (and sounds) like someone they hired ten years ago for his looks and not his voice. Angel is still beautiful, whether as man or woman, which is lucky. Jesse L. Martin (Collins) and Taye Diggs (Benny) look and sound great. Maureen, unfortunately, is not someone whom I believe when she says, "every single day/I walk down the street/I hear people say/'Baby's so sweet'". The new additions, Joanne and Mimi (Rosario Dawson, great in "Josie and the Pussycats") are good, but Dawson's gotten really thin.
Overall, the vocal tweaking was annoying, the cuts hampered the flow, and the hypocrisy was both repulsive and apparently unintentional. I had to see it as a follower in a former life; but that book is officially closed now, thanks to Columbus & Co. Read more!
Adaptation (2002)
I have to admit, I felt a little cheated by Adaptation. It wasn't so much that the reality Charlie Kaufman showed us, i.e. the writing of the script, was completely made up. It was that the initial premise, which was wonderfully self-involved and contained so much promise, gives way to inane hi-jinks which pull the film away from what it seems to be about.
What is seems to be about is the identity of the writer. It's a very good meditation on the writer's task, both as regards Susan Orlean (the true-life author of The Orchid Thief whose fictional counterpart is played by Meryl Streep) and Charlie Kaufman (portrayed by Nicolas Cage). It, and here's where the self-indulgence comes is, delves into the process of writing faced with trepidation by Kaufman, confused tenacity by Orlean, and aplomb by Kaufman's (fictional) twin brother (also Cage). Kaufman splits his own identity between these writers and what results is a meta-text on, you guessed it, adaptation.
So far, so good. Cage is funny, though he ought to have been played by Paul Giamatti as that who Cage seems to be modeling. Streep is good as usual, and Chris Cooper is great as the orchid thief himself, John Laroche, who keeps insisting that "I should play me" in the movie. The play between the real and the fictional is great, as Kaufman makes up much of the plot and many characters but bases others on real life with real names. And in the end, his struggle is real and recognizable to writers or others who struggle creatively.
But it falls apart in the final act. When Charlie, who seems to be on a voyage of self-discovery as a writer, finally gets up the courage to meet the woman he's writing about, all probability breaks loose and Kaufman's unable to stuff any of it back into his script. Why a movie about writing requires a chase scene and a drug operation, I have no idea. And that confusion, rather different from the inherent confusion of the premise which is necessary and to the point, makes the film weaker. I wanted to love this film, and for the first hour and a half or so I did. The memory of that final betrayal of my commitment, however, will keep me from seeing it again. Read more!
What is seems to be about is the identity of the writer. It's a very good meditation on the writer's task, both as regards Susan Orlean (the true-life author of The Orchid Thief whose fictional counterpart is played by Meryl Streep) and Charlie Kaufman (portrayed by Nicolas Cage). It, and here's where the self-indulgence comes is, delves into the process of writing faced with trepidation by Kaufman, confused tenacity by Orlean, and aplomb by Kaufman's (fictional) twin brother (also Cage). Kaufman splits his own identity between these writers and what results is a meta-text on, you guessed it, adaptation.
So far, so good. Cage is funny, though he ought to have been played by Paul Giamatti as that who Cage seems to be modeling. Streep is good as usual, and Chris Cooper is great as the orchid thief himself, John Laroche, who keeps insisting that "I should play me" in the movie. The play between the real and the fictional is great, as Kaufman makes up much of the plot and many characters but bases others on real life with real names. And in the end, his struggle is real and recognizable to writers or others who struggle creatively.
But it falls apart in the final act. When Charlie, who seems to be on a voyage of self-discovery as a writer, finally gets up the courage to meet the woman he's writing about, all probability breaks loose and Kaufman's unable to stuff any of it back into his script. Why a movie about writing requires a chase scene and a drug operation, I have no idea. And that confusion, rather different from the inherent confusion of the premise which is necessary and to the point, makes the film weaker. I wanted to love this film, and for the first hour and a half or so I did. The memory of that final betrayal of my commitment, however, will keep me from seeing it again. Read more!
An American Werewolf in London (1981)
I've avoided this movie for some time because of its title. Maybe it was linked in my mind with Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London," a song I've long had antipathy for. Plus, there was the ill-starred Paris version of a few years ago, which not even Julie Delpy could save.
I'm happy to report that this movie is everything it should be and everything the comments which got me to watch it in the first place promised. It's hilarious, but in a natural, realistic way. "Shawn of the Dead" was a parody of zombie films, but held an element of truth in the oblivion in which the main characters live. "Werewolf" isn't a parody, but it has that same sense of ordinary, goofy people trapped in circumstances they are not prepared for. Much of the plot concerns not the werewolf itself but the consequences of the encounter and the doubt and suspense of its aftermath. Will he become a werewolf too? What will that mean? What should he do if it happens? And why are women suddenly all over him?
The two male leads, David Naughton and Griffin Dunne, share both an unfamiliarity with acting and a very natural friendly chemistry; their ribbing of each other during various otherwise gruesome situations feels real and natural and was a great pleasure to watch. Griffin Dunne, in particular, was very likeable and funny. David Naughton, as more the "straight man" of the pair, was charismatic. Jenny Aguter, as the nurse who takes Naughton home, is attractive and interesting.
I don't want to give too much away for anyone who hasn't seen it, but surely you know one character becomes a werewolf. This transformation is ambitious and well done, much of it on screen instead of between cutaways. Along the way, the plot takes such outragous turns that the audience is kept interested. The humor, far from making this a comedy, makes the horror of the characters' plight all the more realistic and poignant. Nothing is pushed beyond credibility, except for the werewolf stuff which is something of a necessity. Some of the humor is unintentional, however, and may have resulted from the director's fervor in showing too much of the beast.
There are some things which could have been improved. The ending is a little weak. The wolf, as I've implied, becomes rather comical when running. But the joys of this film, from the reticent pub-goers at the "Slaughtered Lamb" to a nightmare-like turn of nudity in the zoo, far outweigh the bad points. I was delighted with this movie, all the more so because I fully expected rampant silliness from the guy who brought us "Animal House"; this movie is justifiably a classic. Read more!
I'm happy to report that this movie is everything it should be and everything the comments which got me to watch it in the first place promised. It's hilarious, but in a natural, realistic way. "Shawn of the Dead" was a parody of zombie films, but held an element of truth in the oblivion in which the main characters live. "Werewolf" isn't a parody, but it has that same sense of ordinary, goofy people trapped in circumstances they are not prepared for. Much of the plot concerns not the werewolf itself but the consequences of the encounter and the doubt and suspense of its aftermath. Will he become a werewolf too? What will that mean? What should he do if it happens? And why are women suddenly all over him?
The two male leads, David Naughton and Griffin Dunne, share both an unfamiliarity with acting and a very natural friendly chemistry; their ribbing of each other during various otherwise gruesome situations feels real and natural and was a great pleasure to watch. Griffin Dunne, in particular, was very likeable and funny. David Naughton, as more the "straight man" of the pair, was charismatic. Jenny Aguter, as the nurse who takes Naughton home, is attractive and interesting.
I don't want to give too much away for anyone who hasn't seen it, but surely you know one character becomes a werewolf. This transformation is ambitious and well done, much of it on screen instead of between cutaways. Along the way, the plot takes such outragous turns that the audience is kept interested. The humor, far from making this a comedy, makes the horror of the characters' plight all the more realistic and poignant. Nothing is pushed beyond credibility, except for the werewolf stuff which is something of a necessity. Some of the humor is unintentional, however, and may have resulted from the director's fervor in showing too much of the beast.
There are some things which could have been improved. The ending is a little weak. The wolf, as I've implied, becomes rather comical when running. But the joys of this film, from the reticent pub-goers at the "Slaughtered Lamb" to a nightmare-like turn of nudity in the zoo, far outweigh the bad points. I was delighted with this movie, all the more so because I fully expected rampant silliness from the guy who brought us "Animal House"; this movie is justifiably a classic. Read more!
King Kong (2005)
First off, let me say that I did enjoy this movie. It was long, but it was fun. There were some clever references to the original which amused me. But in the end, King Kong is a meta-film riff on the 1933 version similar to the pastiche novels Sherlock Holmes enthusiasts have been devouring ever since Doyle retired the detective for good.
In a sense, this rescued the film for me: the references to Fay doing "a movie for RKO" (King Kong), the dialogue from the first film serving as the dialogue for the film Denham is actually shooting, the writer named Jack Driscoll after the first mate in the original. For the first half of the movie, these touches kept me interested, but Jackson soon gets over-involved in his subject. Oddly, the first half was much the most enjoyable for me.
I believe it's clear from the first film that we are to pity Kong. It's a sympathetic story. Clearly, Peter Jackson felt that way. But his film goes out of its way to make absolutely certain the audience walks away on the gorilla's side. Naomi Watts as Ann Darrow quickly comes to respect what Kong has done for her, although she does absolutely nothing to save him until people actually start shooting. I got the sense that her sympathy was motivated by Jackson's identification rather than anything she was actually feeling herself. I did enjoy seeing her in drag at the beginning, though. Kong has pretty good taste. For the other actors, I don't understand Adrian Brody's appeal but Jack Black, usually the bane of movies he's in, has done a good job lately of reigning himself in or appearing in films (School of Rock) where he's appropriate.
As for the much-touted effects which drench this movie to the point of drowning, I found them uneven. Kong was well done (though is Andy Sirkis the only guy who can act with electrodes attached to his body?), but many of the ocean scenes were obvious blue-screen jobs which I thought could have been better, especially since they had an actual boat. The colors of the film, especially in New York, were simultaneously muted and distinct, and I think this was in order to aid the integration of the computer generated material. Fight scenes went on too long, and the giant bugs included overtly phallic creatures with teeth which I thought were a tad unnecessary. And what did all these enormous carnivores eat when there weren't any people? It's a pretty poorly designed island, diversity-wise.
I liked that many of the racist elements were kept, but in the context of 1933 show-business. However, what are we to make of the islanders as envisioned here, or indeed the ape brought over the sea in chains? These questions remain, despite the "enlightened" attitudes towards "natives." Does it strengthen the film's tragedy (and stave off accusations of slave-analogies) to tell us that Kong is merely the victim of circumstance rather than let us find the pity in our own hearts? Is it really the best move on Ann Darrow's part to avoid all contact with Kong and Denham instead of actively trying to help him? And was it just me, or did Colin Hanks' character have something for Denham?
As a side note, the theater here in Seattle has a large marquee on which is written:
KING KONG
I WISH I KNEW HOW TO QUIT YOU Read more!
In a sense, this rescued the film for me: the references to Fay doing "a movie for RKO" (King Kong), the dialogue from the first film serving as the dialogue for the film Denham is actually shooting, the writer named Jack Driscoll after the first mate in the original. For the first half of the movie, these touches kept me interested, but Jackson soon gets over-involved in his subject. Oddly, the first half was much the most enjoyable for me.
I believe it's clear from the first film that we are to pity Kong. It's a sympathetic story. Clearly, Peter Jackson felt that way. But his film goes out of its way to make absolutely certain the audience walks away on the gorilla's side. Naomi Watts as Ann Darrow quickly comes to respect what Kong has done for her, although she does absolutely nothing to save him until people actually start shooting. I got the sense that her sympathy was motivated by Jackson's identification rather than anything she was actually feeling herself. I did enjoy seeing her in drag at the beginning, though. Kong has pretty good taste. For the other actors, I don't understand Adrian Brody's appeal but Jack Black, usually the bane of movies he's in, has done a good job lately of reigning himself in or appearing in films (School of Rock) where he's appropriate.
As for the much-touted effects which drench this movie to the point of drowning, I found them uneven. Kong was well done (though is Andy Sirkis the only guy who can act with electrodes attached to his body?), but many of the ocean scenes were obvious blue-screen jobs which I thought could have been better, especially since they had an actual boat. The colors of the film, especially in New York, were simultaneously muted and distinct, and I think this was in order to aid the integration of the computer generated material. Fight scenes went on too long, and the giant bugs included overtly phallic creatures with teeth which I thought were a tad unnecessary. And what did all these enormous carnivores eat when there weren't any people? It's a pretty poorly designed island, diversity-wise.
I liked that many of the racist elements were kept, but in the context of 1933 show-business. However, what are we to make of the islanders as envisioned here, or indeed the ape brought over the sea in chains? These questions remain, despite the "enlightened" attitudes towards "natives." Does it strengthen the film's tragedy (and stave off accusations of slave-analogies) to tell us that Kong is merely the victim of circumstance rather than let us find the pity in our own hearts? Is it really the best move on Ann Darrow's part to avoid all contact with Kong and Denham instead of actively trying to help him? And was it just me, or did Colin Hanks' character have something for Denham?
As a side note, the theater here in Seattle has a large marquee on which is written:
KING KONG
I WISH I KNEW HOW TO QUIT YOU Read more!
Ripley's Game (2002)
Ripley's Game was, in summary, a disappointment. It started out quite well, with John Malkovich snarking his way through a lovely art-forgery heist. And then, just about when Ripley becomes a homicidal fiend (a strange look on Malkovich, to be sure), things sort of go to hell.
Perhaps it is unfair to compare this film to the earlier and bigger-budgeted "The Talented Mr. Ripley", but such a comparison is not only natural but reasonable. I came into the film trusting Malkovich to pull out a performance every bit as good as Matt Damon, an actor I had only really enjoyed in his Ripley incarnation. This trust was justified (though no actor with Ripley's skill at mimicry and reinvention has yet played the role). What was not was that I'd get a film of equal complexity and style. I understand that resources were more scarce here, and that is not the problem. The problem is of plot and character identification. There were too many contrived conveniences without any of the depth or character-driven tension of the former film. The characters, other than Ripley, are flat and poorly acted, and even Ripley does little but react to the rather mundane (for the genre) situation he finds himself in. If Ripley is still alive at Malkovich's age, it is because he doesn't let things like this happen to him. The plot does not hinge on a clever scheme, or a mistake born of hubris, or anything connected to Ripley's interesting and complex psychological makeup. It involves hit men.
There were some wonderful touches here, and as an action romp its adequate. I haven't read the book this is presumably based on, and perhaps the problem is in the source material. But "The Talented Mr. Ripley" gave us a portrait of a conflicted, confused con man whose pathology stemmed from his own identify issues and self-esteem. "Ripley's Game" could have been an equally complex portrait of the same man after that conflict has been eroded by time and hard living, and I have a feeling this was attempted in Ripley's relationship with the hapless innocent he spins into his web. But it falls short, as does the film, from the layered film it could have been to mere suspense-drama. It is telling that my favorite scene was one in which Ripley overhears his neighbor dismiss him as having too much money and too little taste and merely blinks a few times before entering into the fray. The film would have been better served by exploring both this accusation and Ripley's cold reaction.
But then we might not have gotten to watch Malkovich kill pretty much everyone on a train. Read more!
Perhaps it is unfair to compare this film to the earlier and bigger-budgeted "The Talented Mr. Ripley", but such a comparison is not only natural but reasonable. I came into the film trusting Malkovich to pull out a performance every bit as good as Matt Damon, an actor I had only really enjoyed in his Ripley incarnation. This trust was justified (though no actor with Ripley's skill at mimicry and reinvention has yet played the role). What was not was that I'd get a film of equal complexity and style. I understand that resources were more scarce here, and that is not the problem. The problem is of plot and character identification. There were too many contrived conveniences without any of the depth or character-driven tension of the former film. The characters, other than Ripley, are flat and poorly acted, and even Ripley does little but react to the rather mundane (for the genre) situation he finds himself in. If Ripley is still alive at Malkovich's age, it is because he doesn't let things like this happen to him. The plot does not hinge on a clever scheme, or a mistake born of hubris, or anything connected to Ripley's interesting and complex psychological makeup. It involves hit men.
There were some wonderful touches here, and as an action romp its adequate. I haven't read the book this is presumably based on, and perhaps the problem is in the source material. But "The Talented Mr. Ripley" gave us a portrait of a conflicted, confused con man whose pathology stemmed from his own identify issues and self-esteem. "Ripley's Game" could have been an equally complex portrait of the same man after that conflict has been eroded by time and hard living, and I have a feeling this was attempted in Ripley's relationship with the hapless innocent he spins into his web. But it falls short, as does the film, from the layered film it could have been to mere suspense-drama. It is telling that my favorite scene was one in which Ripley overhears his neighbor dismiss him as having too much money and too little taste and merely blinks a few times before entering into the fray. The film would have been better served by exploring both this accusation and Ripley's cold reaction.
But then we might not have gotten to watch Malkovich kill pretty much everyone on a train. Read more!
Logan's Run (1976)
This movie has one of the best, most memorable titles ever titled. I say this because I feel as though I've known this movie all my life, although I had no idea what it was about and had not seen it until a few days ago. It's a kinetic, inspiring combination of words. Unfortunately, although "bub" appears nowhere in the script, it does not live up to its name.
The film concerns a future Earth society, culled haphazardly not from Huxley and Orwell but from ripped-off descendants of theirs, where man's primary objective is the pursuit of pleasure until the age of 30, at which time they are killed off spectacularly with the promise of being "reborn". Naturally, questioning the status quo leads to death as well but by butane lighters instead of anti-gravity and fireworks. Michael York, my favorite John the Baptist, plays the title character who, after a (rather short) lifetime of bringing down "runners" as a Sandman, goes on the run himself (cue title). He meets lovely Jessica (Jenny Agutter) by fortunate chance and they get wet together a lot. In water. They eventually meet up with the best character in the movie in the best special effects of the movie and are subjected to some completely irrelevant T.S. Eliot and practice some really bad decision making.
In general, despite some nice matte paintings late in the film, the effects are poor. The Sandmen's (Sandmans'?) weapons are ridiculous, the nightly death-orgy much more costly than it had to be, and the city itself an obvious model. I have nothing at all against models and much prefer them to computer-generated effects, but these come off very badly.
At the same time, there's something very charming about the two leads. I've always liked Michael York and he lends a very respectable air to this bastian of 1970's scifi. I can understand why it's still around and maybe even why I found it on the "staff picks" shelf at my local video store. But I was disappointed; I expected more from something with such a good title and such a "good" reputation. Worth seeing for some of the scenes (including Agutter's outfit), but don't go in with high expectations. Read more!
The film concerns a future Earth society, culled haphazardly not from Huxley and Orwell but from ripped-off descendants of theirs, where man's primary objective is the pursuit of pleasure until the age of 30, at which time they are killed off spectacularly with the promise of being "reborn". Naturally, questioning the status quo leads to death as well but by butane lighters instead of anti-gravity and fireworks. Michael York, my favorite John the Baptist, plays the title character who, after a (rather short) lifetime of bringing down "runners" as a Sandman, goes on the run himself (cue title). He meets lovely Jessica (Jenny Agutter) by fortunate chance and they get wet together a lot. In water. They eventually meet up with the best character in the movie in the best special effects of the movie and are subjected to some completely irrelevant T.S. Eliot and practice some really bad decision making.
In general, despite some nice matte paintings late in the film, the effects are poor. The Sandmen's (Sandmans'?) weapons are ridiculous, the nightly death-orgy much more costly than it had to be, and the city itself an obvious model. I have nothing at all against models and much prefer them to computer-generated effects, but these come off very badly.
At the same time, there's something very charming about the two leads. I've always liked Michael York and he lends a very respectable air to this bastian of 1970's scifi. I can understand why it's still around and maybe even why I found it on the "staff picks" shelf at my local video store. But I was disappointed; I expected more from something with such a good title and such a "good" reputation. Worth seeing for some of the scenes (including Agutter's outfit), but don't go in with high expectations. Read more!
Me and You and Everyone We Know (2005)
I almost thought I'd give this movie a bad review. As I sat in the theater, I enumerated the points against it. Self-indulgent. Cinematographically lacking. Precious. Eccentric lovables drawn together inexhorably through a tangled and fortuitous chain of events.
But I can't.
The fact is, Miranda July's first feature (which she wrote, directed, and starred in) is as charming and silly and pretty as her name. Without shying away from pain, it emphasizes those little tragedies that make up our lives and points out its little victories as well. The moments in this movie are small, personal, strange in the way that things in real life are strange. The eccentricities, though concnetrated, are ones I've never seen before and therefore believe in. For anyone who hasn't seen the film, there is one scene that is worth it for its audacity, the kid involved, and the underlying sweetness. For those of you who have seen it, I'm talking about this: ))<=>((
Accusations of preciousness are not unfounded, I think. But that's a tricky word, and anyway I forgive her, because there's something true in this movie. Something that made me laugh out loud and walk away quietly sad. The performances, except for Richard, are wonderful. The children, especially, acquit themselves brilliantly. The film's made up of tiny moments of life and it's not and Important Film. But it's lovely and worth seeing and it's worth watching July for what happens next. Hopefully she'll get herself a cinematographer and some real film (yes, I'm a snob).
I did have a slight problem with the fact that the main character was a struggling artist whose art I did not like, which always makes for an uncomfortable character/audience relationship. But since July was playing the artist, and she made this film as well, I'll let her off the hook and assume it was intentional. Read more!
But I can't.
The fact is, Miranda July's first feature (which she wrote, directed, and starred in) is as charming and silly and pretty as her name. Without shying away from pain, it emphasizes those little tragedies that make up our lives and points out its little victories as well. The moments in this movie are small, personal, strange in the way that things in real life are strange. The eccentricities, though concnetrated, are ones I've never seen before and therefore believe in. For anyone who hasn't seen the film, there is one scene that is worth it for its audacity, the kid involved, and the underlying sweetness. For those of you who have seen it, I'm talking about this: ))<=>((
Accusations of preciousness are not unfounded, I think. But that's a tricky word, and anyway I forgive her, because there's something true in this movie. Something that made me laugh out loud and walk away quietly sad. The performances, except for Richard, are wonderful. The children, especially, acquit themselves brilliantly. The film's made up of tiny moments of life and it's not and Important Film. But it's lovely and worth seeing and it's worth watching July for what happens next. Hopefully she'll get herself a cinematographer and some real film (yes, I'm a snob).
I did have a slight problem with the fact that the main character was a struggling artist whose art I did not like, which always makes for an uncomfortable character/audience relationship. But since July was playing the artist, and she made this film as well, I'll let her off the hook and assume it was intentional. Read more!
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