Oleanna (1994) by David Mamet
In typical Mamet style, the dialog is dense and intense. The language itself is a little less laced with profanities than usual (until the very end, that is). Perhaps Mamet was taking a moment to be more like Stoppard.
John is an elitist intellectual snob. Something I aspire to, actually. He refers to higher education as ritualized hazing even though he’s a college professor. That’s also something about which I happen to agree with him.
Carol is a simple, confused, determined student who comes to him for assistance. Something I’ve had to do and I assure you it is not a pleasant experience under the best of circumstances. It’s an admittance of failure, of sorts.
John is having a particularly bad day, or thinks he is, but I think he would have treated Carol as poorly as he did even if he had not been pressed for time and constantly interrupted. Here in Act I, John and Carol establish their inability to communicate with each other. They also begin to show the tunnel vision that each of them have that will be their eventual downfall.
John spends a great deal of time trying to get Carol to think independently, to view her world and surroundings with a critical eye. For various reasons that are never explored, she has never learned how to do this. John, on the other hand, has gone for so long without ever being questioned about his beliefs that he has forgotten how to teach. He has fallen into the very trap that he rails against: that just saying the words is enough.
There’s a brief moment where this could have all gone in another direction. Carol is about to admit to John something about her past, about herself, that is key to her own self image. The phone rings, John gets distracted again, and the moment is gone. We never learn what this is that Carol was about to admit. We could speculate for days about it. The IMDB message boards, for example, suggest mild autism.
In the larger symbolism, What she is suffering and can’t admit is the complete inability of independent critical thinking that has been lost from modern culture. She represents a whole generation that has grown up being told, on one hand, that they are entitled to wealth, success, and happiness, but, at the same time, are told that they don’t deserve it and can’t have it.
I’m reading a whole lot into Mamet’s intent, here, and I could be completely wrong.
Carol has grown up with the self image of “bad”. She has been told that if she works hard, follows the rules, and recites the intellectual catechism, then she will no longer be “bad”. Could this be a representation of the late Baby Boomer and Gen X demographics?
She is getting a failing grade in John’s class. That is, she’s not fitting in to the strictures of “society” as defined by the elders.
John offers his help but has become so immersed in his own self image that he cannot see that he is now part of the problem. He has made a place for himself in his elder society by being the one who will point out that the Emperor is Naked. Over time, though, he has given in to the needs of the moment. He has to support his family and the only way to do that is to conform to the norms of his peers and be granted Tenure.
Even the Rebels become Establishment.
Act I sets up the whole movement of the rest of the story. The only other external force that comes in to the story is The Group. Carol is looking for guidance. When she doesn’t find it from John, she gets involved with what I can only assume is some sort of militant gender-relations-issues-oriented group. They begin to manipulate her effectively enough to ruin John’s life through Act II and III.
The larger symbolism here? The Elders have failed the Youth. The Youth doesn’t have the skill to remain independent. The Youth will strike out at the Elders. The Elders will strike back, violently. Everybody loses.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Gangs of New York
Gangs of New York (2002) by Martin Scorsese
It has taken me a long time to write this since watching the movie. I had fully expected to hate the movie. I mean really hate it. I was prepared to be exceedingly unkind to Marty.
I have to admit that I was completely surprised.
It’s a cynical point of view to say that History is written by the Winners. It’s true. There’s a large dark spot in the telling of American History that runs from the ratification of the Constitution all the way through to World War I. Yeah, the Louisiana Purchase, Lewis & Clark, and Civil War Reconstruction are highlighted from that period.
What get skipped is the inherent racism and class-ism that was prevalent during that time and laid the foundation for the issues we struggle with still today.
Let’s start with the religious aspect of the story. There’s a common misconception that the early Colonists valued religious freedom, came to The Colonies to escape persecution, and established a haven in the world for the free expression of religious beliefs.
Take a more skeptical view of history and you will see that the Colonists were escaping persecution, yes. The Puritans, especially, so highly regarded in American Mythology, were being persecuted in England during that time. It wasn’t long before that, though, that they had been the ones in power, had forced the abdication of the King, closed the theatres, and pretty much put the socio-political whammy on anyone who wasn’t a Protestant. So, in the grand scheme of things, when the monarchy was restored and the Catholics came back into power, what went around came back around.
The Puritans and other Protestants came to the Colonies because they had nowhere else to go. Several centuries of fighting in Europe and the Catholics and Protestants couldn’t find a way to get along with each other.
So, what did they do? Came to the Colonies and set up their own theocracy.
I know this flies in the face of what everyone “remembers” about early American history. The Colonists established the idea of Religious Freedom, so long as it was interpreted as Free to Practice What We Preach. Specifically, that was a Protestantism that was extreme in its views. Please note that the King James Bible, with all its beautiful language and Elizabethan / Shakespearean dialect refers to the Catholic Pope as the Anti-Christ.
Let me step aside and state clearly that I am not an apologist for the Catholics. The history of the Papacy is nothing to be particularly proud of. The Protestants of the time had every right to be dismayed over the actions of the Universal Church and in fear for the future of their mortal souls.
Fast Forward into the 1870’s (-ish) and you find these same animosities still being played out.
And here’s where the story begins. Open warfare in the streets between Catholic immigrants (well, more-recent immigrants) and the Protestant natives (ha! Less-recent immigrants).
By the way, I find it exceptionally ironic that the location of Five Points is now the City Hall complex for the City of New York.
Let’s move on to the Class issues.
The main thread of the story follows Amsterdam from a brief point in his childhood when he experiences this open warfare in the streets through his revenge on the murderer of his father. Ok, that’s a workable enough story line. As Amsterdam insinuates himself into the establishment, we get to see the inside view of what’s going on. It’s not without its own agenda, of course, but this is a case of history being told from the point of view of the loser, instead of the winner.
Amsterdam cozies up with Bill the Butcher. The historical Bill Poole died several years before this story reaches its climax, but he makes a great anti-hero anyway. I’m not going to call him a villain. He certainly is the antagonist in this story and absolutely does some despicable things. He has a point of view and remains true to it throughout the story. For all intents and purposes, he is doing what he believes to be right.
Amsterdam plots his very public revenge, while he and Bill become closer and closer as friends, almost as father and son. There’s a particularly moving scene where Bill makes it clear the level of respect and admiration he had for Amsterdam’s father, despite “having to kill him”. Had this been another story in another time, (say, a Restoration-era play, for example), this would have been the moment of catharsis. Amsterdam would reveal himself, Bill would adopt him as his son, and the two would go on happily ever after working the corruption and killing those who got in the way.
Since this isn’t Restoration (thank God!), we actually get to see some movement in the characters. Amsterdam keeps his identity secret, and Bill continues on not knowing he has a mole in the house. Until, of course, Amsterdam is betrayed by one of his friends.
What we get to see during these scenes is an interesting study of the peculiarities of New York government and governance during the Tammany Hall era. Boss Tweed ran the show and there was no stopping him. The “natives” were all in his pocket politically, and the elite lived uptown where they didn’t care what was going on anyway.
When Tweed’s cops tried to bust the Boxing racket, Amsterdam suggests putting the ring on a raft in the river. This is one of those strange things about New York. Belmont Park was built outside what was then the City Limits of New York because horse racing was illegal in the city. Aaron Burr shot Alexander Hamilton in West New York (and/or Weehawken, pronounced “Wheeeeeeee! Hawkin” for you Sabrina) because dueling was illegal inside City Limits.
New York has always been like that. It’s Social Darwinism gone to an extreme. The rich live in a city that is vastly different from the working stiffs, who themselves are in a city vastly different from the poor. Don’t get me wrong, it’s the most exciting city in the world, or one of them anyway, but living there is exceptionally difficult.
The wealthy had abdicated their governing power to Tweed because they believed he could keep the city under control, which he did of course. Tweed used the business and community leaders as his muscle and personal police. These were mostly the “natives” because they had been there for a generation or two by that time. The ground-level work was done by the immigrants who were coming in by the thousands. Everyone was looking one step up on that ladder all the time and doing whatever they could to climb that rung.
Ok, so Amsterdam tries to kill Bill. But, Amsterdam had already been outed as a traitor and Bill was ready for him. Amsterdam goes into hiding, rallies his troops, and prepares to replay the battle that his father lost two decades earlier. His actions cast a long shadow on the politics and society of New York, though, and the seething discontent of the poor comes to a head in the Draft Riots. Amsterdam kills Bill, Jenny can’t get out of the City (symbolic in itself, but nothing more need be said about that), Five Points is covered in blood, and as near as we can tell, none of Amsterdam’s friends remain alive at the end.
Now, that’s an ending!
Can one Dead Rabbit spark a revolt? Yup, but he had better be prepared to lose everything in the process.
It has taken me a long time to write this since watching the movie. I had fully expected to hate the movie. I mean really hate it. I was prepared to be exceedingly unkind to Marty.
I have to admit that I was completely surprised.
It’s a cynical point of view to say that History is written by the Winners. It’s true. There’s a large dark spot in the telling of American History that runs from the ratification of the Constitution all the way through to World War I. Yeah, the Louisiana Purchase, Lewis & Clark, and Civil War Reconstruction are highlighted from that period.
What get skipped is the inherent racism and class-ism that was prevalent during that time and laid the foundation for the issues we struggle with still today.
Let’s start with the religious aspect of the story. There’s a common misconception that the early Colonists valued religious freedom, came to The Colonies to escape persecution, and established a haven in the world for the free expression of religious beliefs.
Take a more skeptical view of history and you will see that the Colonists were escaping persecution, yes. The Puritans, especially, so highly regarded in American Mythology, were being persecuted in England during that time. It wasn’t long before that, though, that they had been the ones in power, had forced the abdication of the King, closed the theatres, and pretty much put the socio-political whammy on anyone who wasn’t a Protestant. So, in the grand scheme of things, when the monarchy was restored and the Catholics came back into power, what went around came back around.
The Puritans and other Protestants came to the Colonies because they had nowhere else to go. Several centuries of fighting in Europe and the Catholics and Protestants couldn’t find a way to get along with each other.
So, what did they do? Came to the Colonies and set up their own theocracy.
I know this flies in the face of what everyone “remembers” about early American history. The Colonists established the idea of Religious Freedom, so long as it was interpreted as Free to Practice What We Preach. Specifically, that was a Protestantism that was extreme in its views. Please note that the King James Bible, with all its beautiful language and Elizabethan / Shakespearean dialect refers to the Catholic Pope as the Anti-Christ.
Let me step aside and state clearly that I am not an apologist for the Catholics. The history of the Papacy is nothing to be particularly proud of. The Protestants of the time had every right to be dismayed over the actions of the Universal Church and in fear for the future of their mortal souls.
Fast Forward into the 1870’s (-ish) and you find these same animosities still being played out.
And here’s where the story begins. Open warfare in the streets between Catholic immigrants (well, more-recent immigrants) and the Protestant natives (ha! Less-recent immigrants).
By the way, I find it exceptionally ironic that the location of Five Points is now the City Hall complex for the City of New York.
Let’s move on to the Class issues.
The main thread of the story follows Amsterdam from a brief point in his childhood when he experiences this open warfare in the streets through his revenge on the murderer of his father. Ok, that’s a workable enough story line. As Amsterdam insinuates himself into the establishment, we get to see the inside view of what’s going on. It’s not without its own agenda, of course, but this is a case of history being told from the point of view of the loser, instead of the winner.
Amsterdam cozies up with Bill the Butcher. The historical Bill Poole died several years before this story reaches its climax, but he makes a great anti-hero anyway. I’m not going to call him a villain. He certainly is the antagonist in this story and absolutely does some despicable things. He has a point of view and remains true to it throughout the story. For all intents and purposes, he is doing what he believes to be right.
Amsterdam plots his very public revenge, while he and Bill become closer and closer as friends, almost as father and son. There’s a particularly moving scene where Bill makes it clear the level of respect and admiration he had for Amsterdam’s father, despite “having to kill him”. Had this been another story in another time, (say, a Restoration-era play, for example), this would have been the moment of catharsis. Amsterdam would reveal himself, Bill would adopt him as his son, and the two would go on happily ever after working the corruption and killing those who got in the way.
Since this isn’t Restoration (thank God!), we actually get to see some movement in the characters. Amsterdam keeps his identity secret, and Bill continues on not knowing he has a mole in the house. Until, of course, Amsterdam is betrayed by one of his friends.
What we get to see during these scenes is an interesting study of the peculiarities of New York government and governance during the Tammany Hall era. Boss Tweed ran the show and there was no stopping him. The “natives” were all in his pocket politically, and the elite lived uptown where they didn’t care what was going on anyway.
When Tweed’s cops tried to bust the Boxing racket, Amsterdam suggests putting the ring on a raft in the river. This is one of those strange things about New York. Belmont Park was built outside what was then the City Limits of New York because horse racing was illegal in the city. Aaron Burr shot Alexander Hamilton in West New York (and/or Weehawken, pronounced “Wheeeeeeee! Hawkin” for you Sabrina) because dueling was illegal inside City Limits.
New York has always been like that. It’s Social Darwinism gone to an extreme. The rich live in a city that is vastly different from the working stiffs, who themselves are in a city vastly different from the poor. Don’t get me wrong, it’s the most exciting city in the world, or one of them anyway, but living there is exceptionally difficult.
The wealthy had abdicated their governing power to Tweed because they believed he could keep the city under control, which he did of course. Tweed used the business and community leaders as his muscle and personal police. These were mostly the “natives” because they had been there for a generation or two by that time. The ground-level work was done by the immigrants who were coming in by the thousands. Everyone was looking one step up on that ladder all the time and doing whatever they could to climb that rung.
Ok, so Amsterdam tries to kill Bill. But, Amsterdam had already been outed as a traitor and Bill was ready for him. Amsterdam goes into hiding, rallies his troops, and prepares to replay the battle that his father lost two decades earlier. His actions cast a long shadow on the politics and society of New York, though, and the seething discontent of the poor comes to a head in the Draft Riots. Amsterdam kills Bill, Jenny can’t get out of the City (symbolic in itself, but nothing more need be said about that), Five Points is covered in blood, and as near as we can tell, none of Amsterdam’s friends remain alive at the end.
Now, that’s an ending!
Can one Dead Rabbit spark a revolt? Yup, but he had better be prepared to lose everything in the process.
Monday, September 19, 2005
Breaking the Waves
Breaking the Waves (1996) by Lars von Trier
I suppose that if I had read this script, I might have dismissed it. The acting and direction make something of it that is unexpected.
Having watched Trainspotting a few weeks ago, I am grateful for Scottish scents that I can actually understand.
Bess is a simple girl who falls in love with an “outsider”. It’s clear that Bess is an outsider herself. She chastises herself in the Voice of God. She’s mentally unstable and easily impressed.
Jan is an oil rig worker. His worldly ways are fascinating to Bess and suspicious to her community. When he is injured, Bess begins to blame herself. She believes she asked God for it.
Her priest, doctor, and sister all tell her, in different ways, that she must “be there” for Lars. Bess interprets this as an almost complete subjugation of her own identity into the needs of Lars.
Bess goes to the Doctor to prove her love for Lars, and the music playing is Elton John’s “Love Lies Bleeding”. Heavy handed, maybe, but appropriate. She’s very confused. Even though the doc rejects her, she tells Jan a tale as if she had gone through with her promise.
Her inner conflict grows and is compounded by her God Voice telling her that she is, more or less, Mary Magdalene. As a side note, Bess (Emily Watson)’s nose twitch imitating a rabbit was worth the whole rest of the movie. Niiiiice!!!
Is Jan’s life worth living? That is a question posed shortly after his accident. Does she stay alive for him? Him for her? Who’s in charge here?
In Bess’s mind, it is God’s will that she put her own soul at risk in order to “honor” the wishes of her husband. The bargain she’s made with God is her Soul for Jan’s Life. As Jan’s life deteriorates, so does her Soul.
But, is her Faith enough to offset that trade? Even with the threat of being Cast Out of the village?
I suppose, in the end, her faith and sacrifice is the miracle.
I suppose that if I had read this script, I might have dismissed it. The acting and direction make something of it that is unexpected.
Having watched Trainspotting a few weeks ago, I am grateful for Scottish scents that I can actually understand.
Bess is a simple girl who falls in love with an “outsider”. It’s clear that Bess is an outsider herself. She chastises herself in the Voice of God. She’s mentally unstable and easily impressed.
Jan is an oil rig worker. His worldly ways are fascinating to Bess and suspicious to her community. When he is injured, Bess begins to blame herself. She believes she asked God for it.
Her priest, doctor, and sister all tell her, in different ways, that she must “be there” for Lars. Bess interprets this as an almost complete subjugation of her own identity into the needs of Lars.
Bess goes to the Doctor to prove her love for Lars, and the music playing is Elton John’s “Love Lies Bleeding”. Heavy handed, maybe, but appropriate. She’s very confused. Even though the doc rejects her, she tells Jan a tale as if she had gone through with her promise.
Her inner conflict grows and is compounded by her God Voice telling her that she is, more or less, Mary Magdalene. As a side note, Bess (Emily Watson)’s nose twitch imitating a rabbit was worth the whole rest of the movie. Niiiiice!!!
Is Jan’s life worth living? That is a question posed shortly after his accident. Does she stay alive for him? Him for her? Who’s in charge here?
In Bess’s mind, it is God’s will that she put her own soul at risk in order to “honor” the wishes of her husband. The bargain she’s made with God is her Soul for Jan’s Life. As Jan’s life deteriorates, so does her Soul.
But, is her Faith enough to offset that trade? Even with the threat of being Cast Out of the village?
I suppose, in the end, her faith and sacrifice is the miracle.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
The Time Machine
The Time Machine (1960) by George Pal
As much as I like Wells’ work, he doesn’t translate well into today. His idea of the anti-utopia, or the man-out-of-place doesn’t have the same kind of impact that, say, Orwell has. I know, I know, they are aiming at different points, but there’s enough similarity between them to make me think of them together.
How far into the future would you travel if you had the chance? This is a question that I read was posed to Steven Spielberg. His answer was 500 years. That far you could see real differences without being so far out of your element so as to be incapable of understanding your surroundings. See: Crichton’s Timeline, the book, definitely not the movie.
The take-aways?
Science, in and of itself, is not the answer to all questions.
Also,
A man can be out of place no matter when or where he is. It is a choice to find a home.
As much as I like Wells’ work, he doesn’t translate well into today. His idea of the anti-utopia, or the man-out-of-place doesn’t have the same kind of impact that, say, Orwell has. I know, I know, they are aiming at different points, but there’s enough similarity between them to make me think of them together.
How far into the future would you travel if you had the chance? This is a question that I read was posed to Steven Spielberg. His answer was 500 years. That far you could see real differences without being so far out of your element so as to be incapable of understanding your surroundings. See: Crichton’s Timeline, the book, definitely not the movie.
The take-aways?
Science, in and of itself, is not the answer to all questions.
Also,
A man can be out of place no matter when or where he is. It is a choice to find a home.
The Maltese Falcon
The Maltese Falcon (1941) by John Huston
This deserves a more thorough dissection than I’m going to give it here at the moment, but here goes.
Two things seem important to me in this script:
First, Spade seems to be the only one who is “true to himself.” The others are pursuing their own agendas, of course, but Spade has something else that’s different. He has a center that allows him to see through the clutter around him.
Second, obsession has no good outcome. Aside from Spade, the others are all obsessed with their goal, and all of them lose: their money and/or their lives.
This deserves a more thorough dissection than I’m going to give it here at the moment, but here goes.
Two things seem important to me in this script:
First, Spade seems to be the only one who is “true to himself.” The others are pursuing their own agendas, of course, but Spade has something else that’s different. He has a center that allows him to see through the clutter around him.
Second, obsession has no good outcome. Aside from Spade, the others are all obsessed with their goal, and all of them lose: their money and/or their lives.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Monster
Monster (2003) by Patty Jenkins
Overwhelming.
If ever there was a tragic anti-hero, it is Aileen. Her story is real, and the choices she made were deplorable. As an examination of the human condition, though, it is exceptional.
Emotional scars make people do strange things.
Aileen’s descent into madness is well known and documented. All in all, it’s not even that unique a story. I’m struggling at the moment to recall any similar story lines from my favorite lists of blood-on-the-stage dramas.
What makes this story so compelling, though, is the relationship and presence of Selby. Selby’s story, on its own, would have been interesting, if not quite as compelling. She’s an outcast from her family, from her church, from her society all because she doesn’t “fit in” to their idea of right and wrong.
Selby is emotionally crippled, as symbolized by her arm cast. As she grows into her own and violently removes the cast, she finds her place. The problem is that without the kind of guidance and feedback one would normally get from a supportive family, she has no idea that she’s throwing herself into a relationship that is emotionally unbalanced on both sides.
Selby is definitely not the Voice of Reason in this story. If anyone is, that would be Thomas. He, though, has almost nothing to say through most of the movie. His presence is more important as a place where Aileen can feel comfortable and safe, but she has to choose it. He never goes to her, and even when he has a chance to help her escape, he seems to be waiting for Aileen to “get it” herself. In the end, he stands by to watch as she is arrested.
I suppose the only difficulty I have with the story is the Johns. I know that the story is pressed for time, and even that the Johns are not the focus of the story as it progresses. They end up being plot devices instead of characters, though. It’s not like I, as a reader/viewer, want to know anything more about them, but I do want them to be a little more than two-dimensional.
I’m not going to get on the story for that. The Johns are only elements in Aileen’s rapidly dissolving view of reality. She doesn’t see them as anything more than objects, so I suppose it’s only appropriate that the story treats them as such. Aileen’s real world is with Selby. The problem is that even that real world is so disfigured by each of their own ability to contribute to the relationship that it, too, becomes more a fantasy than a reality.
If this had been constructed of whole cloth, it would be easier for me to argue that Aileen deserves some sympathy from us. I’m going to make that argument anyway. In some ways, she’s a victim of circumstance. In a rational, empirical, dispassionate world, we can see that emotional trauma has long-term and far-reaching effects in people. Not everyone becomes a serial-killer, of course. And, conversely, not all serial-killers come from a traumatic personal history. Here, though, in this one case was the chance for capital-H “Humanity” to step in and intervene in the lives of both, or either, Aileen and Selby. An ounce of intervention, I argue, would have resulted in a whole lot of destruction being avoided.
Perhaps I can call Monster the Anti-“Thelma & Louise”. Yeah. I like that.
Overwhelming.
If ever there was a tragic anti-hero, it is Aileen. Her story is real, and the choices she made were deplorable. As an examination of the human condition, though, it is exceptional.
Emotional scars make people do strange things.
Aileen’s descent into madness is well known and documented. All in all, it’s not even that unique a story. I’m struggling at the moment to recall any similar story lines from my favorite lists of blood-on-the-stage dramas.
What makes this story so compelling, though, is the relationship and presence of Selby. Selby’s story, on its own, would have been interesting, if not quite as compelling. She’s an outcast from her family, from her church, from her society all because she doesn’t “fit in” to their idea of right and wrong.
Selby is emotionally crippled, as symbolized by her arm cast. As she grows into her own and violently removes the cast, she finds her place. The problem is that without the kind of guidance and feedback one would normally get from a supportive family, she has no idea that she’s throwing herself into a relationship that is emotionally unbalanced on both sides.
Selby is definitely not the Voice of Reason in this story. If anyone is, that would be Thomas. He, though, has almost nothing to say through most of the movie. His presence is more important as a place where Aileen can feel comfortable and safe, but she has to choose it. He never goes to her, and even when he has a chance to help her escape, he seems to be waiting for Aileen to “get it” herself. In the end, he stands by to watch as she is arrested.
I suppose the only difficulty I have with the story is the Johns. I know that the story is pressed for time, and even that the Johns are not the focus of the story as it progresses. They end up being plot devices instead of characters, though. It’s not like I, as a reader/viewer, want to know anything more about them, but I do want them to be a little more than two-dimensional.
I’m not going to get on the story for that. The Johns are only elements in Aileen’s rapidly dissolving view of reality. She doesn’t see them as anything more than objects, so I suppose it’s only appropriate that the story treats them as such. Aileen’s real world is with Selby. The problem is that even that real world is so disfigured by each of their own ability to contribute to the relationship that it, too, becomes more a fantasy than a reality.
If this had been constructed of whole cloth, it would be easier for me to argue that Aileen deserves some sympathy from us. I’m going to make that argument anyway. In some ways, she’s a victim of circumstance. In a rational, empirical, dispassionate world, we can see that emotional trauma has long-term and far-reaching effects in people. Not everyone becomes a serial-killer, of course. And, conversely, not all serial-killers come from a traumatic personal history. Here, though, in this one case was the chance for capital-H “Humanity” to step in and intervene in the lives of both, or either, Aileen and Selby. An ounce of intervention, I argue, would have resulted in a whole lot of destruction being avoided.
Perhaps I can call Monster the Anti-“Thelma & Louise”. Yeah. I like that.
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Witness for the Prosecution
Witness for the Prosecution (1957) by Billy Wilder
I admit that I am new to this movie. It’s been on my list to see for many years. A long time ago, when TBS was running it’s My Favorite Movies – Summer Edition, they ran this movie with Judge Joseph Wapner as the host and commentator. Brilliant.
This is your basic Agatha Christie who-done-it. I say that with all due respect and honor for Dame Agatha. The story seems straight-forward on the surface, and maybe in some respects it is. The story itself, though, is engaging and almost immediately demands your attention as a reader/viewer.
We spend the greater part of the movie wondering if Leonard is innocent or guilty. Frau Dietrich only adds to the confusion. As I’m watching and Leonard tells about how he met Christine, I can only think of Blazing Saddles.
Christine totally puts the moves on Leonard. He’s such a doofus. The fact that the ceiling falls in on him is only foreshadowing of the trouble he’s gotten himself in to.
Is it better to be convicted of perjury instead of being left behind in a destroyed East Germany?
I admit that I am new to this movie. It’s been on my list to see for many years. A long time ago, when TBS was running it’s My Favorite Movies – Summer Edition, they ran this movie with Judge Joseph Wapner as the host and commentator. Brilliant.
This is your basic Agatha Christie who-done-it. I say that with all due respect and honor for Dame Agatha. The story seems straight-forward on the surface, and maybe in some respects it is. The story itself, though, is engaging and almost immediately demands your attention as a reader/viewer.
We spend the greater part of the movie wondering if Leonard is innocent or guilty. Frau Dietrich only adds to the confusion. As I’m watching and Leonard tells about how he met Christine, I can only think of Blazing Saddles.
Christine totally puts the moves on Leonard. He’s such a doofus. The fact that the ceiling falls in on him is only foreshadowing of the trouble he’s gotten himself in to.
Is it better to be convicted of perjury instead of being left behind in a destroyed East Germany?
Monday, September 12, 2005
Pi
Pi (1998) by Darren Aronofsky
Is it insanity to know the True Name of God?
We start with our hero going about his daily, albeit a little strange, life. He’s on the brink of something, but he’s not sure what it is and, of course, neither are we.
Here we have an über-math-geek with definite paranoid and obsessive-compulsive behavioral problems. Oh, and migraines too.
A side note about migraine. As I am a migraineur, I can relate to the episodes that our hero experiences. It’s one of the best depictions of an attack I’ve come across in my reading and viewing. It is impossible to explain to someone who has not experienced one, or more to the point, to someone who doesn’t get them all the time. Watch Max in this movie, take note of his increasing inability to distinguish reality from hallucination during an attack. If you are a sufferer, get help now. It is possible to find relief. Yes, it’s only temporary, yes it doesn’t solve the problem, but there’s no reason to lose an entire day or two to the explosions in your head.
Max has a breakthrough in his number crunching, but it looks like a failure. Suffice it to say, Max goes through a lot of crap as a result of his discovery.
Here’s the point of the movie, though: At first this looks like the typical Domains of God and Mammon examination of the human condition. Who is it that really has the right to know the True Name of God? What we find is that neither the spiritual nor the temporal deserve that knowledge. It is meant for the individual. Each person, on their own, must come up with the answer, the understanding of the True Name, for themselves. It is a paradox of universal and unique. It is the responsibility of the individual to seek out the universal, but once that knowledge is gained, that individual will be forever changed.
Is it insanity to know the True Name of God?
We start with our hero going about his daily, albeit a little strange, life. He’s on the brink of something, but he’s not sure what it is and, of course, neither are we.
Here we have an über-math-geek with definite paranoid and obsessive-compulsive behavioral problems. Oh, and migraines too.
A side note about migraine. As I am a migraineur, I can relate to the episodes that our hero experiences. It’s one of the best depictions of an attack I’ve come across in my reading and viewing. It is impossible to explain to someone who has not experienced one, or more to the point, to someone who doesn’t get them all the time. Watch Max in this movie, take note of his increasing inability to distinguish reality from hallucination during an attack. If you are a sufferer, get help now. It is possible to find relief. Yes, it’s only temporary, yes it doesn’t solve the problem, but there’s no reason to lose an entire day or two to the explosions in your head.
Max has a breakthrough in his number crunching, but it looks like a failure. Suffice it to say, Max goes through a lot of crap as a result of his discovery.
Here’s the point of the movie, though: At first this looks like the typical Domains of God and Mammon examination of the human condition. Who is it that really has the right to know the True Name of God? What we find is that neither the spiritual nor the temporal deserve that knowledge. It is meant for the individual. Each person, on their own, must come up with the answer, the understanding of the True Name, for themselves. It is a paradox of universal and unique. It is the responsibility of the individual to seek out the universal, but once that knowledge is gained, that individual will be forever changed.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
Dick Tracy
Dick Tracy (1990) by Warren Beatty
I have to admit that I love just about everything about this movie. It’s not the first to put a comic book (er, “Graphic Novel”) on the screen, but it’s significant in that its success probably opened the door to get the more recent spate of them made.
One of the things that always strikes me is the exaggerated nature of the design choices: Bold colors in a minimal pallet, forced perspective cinematography, grotesque makeup and prosthetics, stylized violence, the list goes on.
I even like Madonna in this film. Rumors are that this film and Evita are where she started taking voice lessons. It shows.
Let me take a moment to say that Glenne Headly rocks. She gives Tess a presence that makes her believable even in this setting. Note that Headly, John Malkovich, and Gary Sinise started the Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago mostly because the three outtawork-actors had no place to perform.
Tracy is, of course, forced to choose between Tess Trueheart and Breathless Mahoney. One of Tess’s characterizing lines is when The Kid says “I don’t like Dames” and she replies “Good. Neither do I.” Breathless, on the other hand sets her tone with “I’m wearing black underwear,” and, “I sweat a lot better in the dark.”
Music is an important part of setting the tone, too. Mel Tormé singing Sondheim’s “Live Alone and Like It” is one of my underrated faves. Of course, “More” and “Back in Business” are pretty much showstoppers.
Breathless has more to her character than it seems on the surface. She has the dynamic motion of the story in her. All the other characters have a static point of view. Breathless, though, shows a moral conflict and moves from one side to another, that is, “bad” to “good”. Of course, she’s only following her own innate instinct for survival. Of course she’s going to fall in with the crooks. She’s a talented singer who can only get gigs in the speakeasies.
It’s interesting to me that her alter-ego has no face. She sees herself as a “cheap floozy” as she tells Tracy. In order to take control of her own destiny she has to remove her face. Was it a cheap and expedient design choice in order to hide the identity of the turncoat? Maybe. It does raise some questions about Breathless, though.
Pacino is, of course, channeling Tony Montana when he starts shouting. I keep expecting him to break in to “Say hello to my little friend!”
One last thing. Mandy Patinkin, a true triple-threat, can work where and when he wants. I can’t get enough of him.
So, as much as I like it, it’s really just a melodrama morality play.
I have to admit that I love just about everything about this movie. It’s not the first to put a comic book (er, “Graphic Novel”) on the screen, but it’s significant in that its success probably opened the door to get the more recent spate of them made.
One of the things that always strikes me is the exaggerated nature of the design choices: Bold colors in a minimal pallet, forced perspective cinematography, grotesque makeup and prosthetics, stylized violence, the list goes on.
I even like Madonna in this film. Rumors are that this film and Evita are where she started taking voice lessons. It shows.
Let me take a moment to say that Glenne Headly rocks. She gives Tess a presence that makes her believable even in this setting. Note that Headly, John Malkovich, and Gary Sinise started the Steppenwolf Theatre Company in Chicago mostly because the three outtawork-actors had no place to perform.
Tracy is, of course, forced to choose between Tess Trueheart and Breathless Mahoney. One of Tess’s characterizing lines is when The Kid says “I don’t like Dames” and she replies “Good. Neither do I.” Breathless, on the other hand sets her tone with “I’m wearing black underwear,” and, “I sweat a lot better in the dark.”
Music is an important part of setting the tone, too. Mel Tormé singing Sondheim’s “Live Alone and Like It” is one of my underrated faves. Of course, “More” and “Back in Business” are pretty much showstoppers.
Breathless has more to her character than it seems on the surface. She has the dynamic motion of the story in her. All the other characters have a static point of view. Breathless, though, shows a moral conflict and moves from one side to another, that is, “bad” to “good”. Of course, she’s only following her own innate instinct for survival. Of course she’s going to fall in with the crooks. She’s a talented singer who can only get gigs in the speakeasies.
It’s interesting to me that her alter-ego has no face. She sees herself as a “cheap floozy” as she tells Tracy. In order to take control of her own destiny she has to remove her face. Was it a cheap and expedient design choice in order to hide the identity of the turncoat? Maybe. It does raise some questions about Breathless, though.
Pacino is, of course, channeling Tony Montana when he starts shouting. I keep expecting him to break in to “Say hello to my little friend!”
One last thing. Mandy Patinkin, a true triple-threat, can work where and when he wants. I can’t get enough of him.
So, as much as I like it, it’s really just a melodrama morality play.
Friday, September 09, 2005
Bram Stokers Dracula
Bram Stoker’s Dracula (1992) by Francis Ford Coppola
Ya know, I gotta give Frank props for the following:
Fifteenth century: the Turks (read: progenitors to modern Islam) have run through Constantinople, renamed it Istanbul, and set their sights on the rest of Europe. They get to the Carpathian Mountains and run into the Rumanians and Hungarians. Bad day for the Turks. But, of course, that sets the stage for Columbus trying to find another way to get Pepper and Silk for the rich Europeans and subsequently running into the Americas. Bad day for the Europeans.
So, anyway, Prince Vlad goes out to beat up the bad guys and by the Grace of God he wins the day. Unfortunately, his One True Love believes he is dead and kills herself. In a fit of misdirected rage, Vlad blames God and curses himself to a life of the undead. Ho hum. Just another sad love story gone horribly wrong.
Bram Stoker was Richard Wagner’s stage manager. Stoker also managed the Lyceum in London. Bram had to have been reading all the Elizabethan Blood Dramas. This is the best he could do?
See, even though the antagonists rage at God in the good-ole’-everybody-dies-a-bloody-death dramas, they kill everyone on stage, including themselves, and have done with it.
Ok, so, Vlad spends 400 years pretty much killing everything around him that he hasn’t seduced into his sex lair. Then comes Keanu into the story. At this point you can pretty much go to sleep. Except for the scenes with Sadie Frost. The girl likes to get naked. I’m not going to complain.
Eventually, of course, Vlad is overcome by Elisabeta/Mina’s True Love before the last petal drops off the rose, and the furniture and servingware turn back into people before the spell becomes permanent and everyone waltzes into sunset to the sounds of Céline Dion and Peabo Bryson.
I may be thinking of the wrong movie.
So, let me get to the good things.
The film does look great. Sorry, Frank, but I feel you have fallen prey to the Hollywood mind set that it is better to look good than to be good.
Gary Oldman: Sid Vicious, Rosencrantz, Sirius Black, and Stansfield. What more can I say about this versatile actor?
Tom Waits: If you’ve not spent hours listening to Rain Dogs ten- or twelve-times through at a sitting, you haven’t lived.
Richard E. Grant: Here’s your basic Working Stiff who has the looks and chops to be a superstar but never quite gets above that mythical line. I suppose (hope?) it’s because he likes it that way. Besides, what superstar would ever have the balls to retell It’s a Wonderful Life as Kafka’s Metamorphosis?
Ya know, I gotta give Frank props for the following:
- Richard E. Grant
- Tom Waits
- Gary Oldman
- The film looks great.
Fifteenth century: the Turks (read: progenitors to modern Islam) have run through Constantinople, renamed it Istanbul, and set their sights on the rest of Europe. They get to the Carpathian Mountains and run into the Rumanians and Hungarians. Bad day for the Turks. But, of course, that sets the stage for Columbus trying to find another way to get Pepper and Silk for the rich Europeans and subsequently running into the Americas. Bad day for the Europeans.
So, anyway, Prince Vlad goes out to beat up the bad guys and by the Grace of God he wins the day. Unfortunately, his One True Love believes he is dead and kills herself. In a fit of misdirected rage, Vlad blames God and curses himself to a life of the undead. Ho hum. Just another sad love story gone horribly wrong.
Bram Stoker was Richard Wagner’s stage manager. Stoker also managed the Lyceum in London. Bram had to have been reading all the Elizabethan Blood Dramas. This is the best he could do?
See, even though the antagonists rage at God in the good-ole’-everybody-dies-a-bloody-death dramas, they kill everyone on stage, including themselves, and have done with it.
Ok, so, Vlad spends 400 years pretty much killing everything around him that he hasn’t seduced into his sex lair. Then comes Keanu into the story. At this point you can pretty much go to sleep. Except for the scenes with Sadie Frost. The girl likes to get naked. I’m not going to complain.
Eventually, of course, Vlad is overcome by Elisabeta/Mina’s True Love before the last petal drops off the rose, and the furniture and servingware turn back into people before the spell becomes permanent and everyone waltzes into sunset to the sounds of Céline Dion and Peabo Bryson.
I may be thinking of the wrong movie.
So, let me get to the good things.
The film does look great. Sorry, Frank, but I feel you have fallen prey to the Hollywood mind set that it is better to look good than to be good.
Gary Oldman: Sid Vicious, Rosencrantz, Sirius Black, and Stansfield. What more can I say about this versatile actor?
Tom Waits: If you’ve not spent hours listening to Rain Dogs ten- or twelve-times through at a sitting, you haven’t lived.
Richard E. Grant: Here’s your basic Working Stiff who has the looks and chops to be a superstar but never quite gets above that mythical line. I suppose (hope?) it’s because he likes it that way. Besides, what superstar would ever have the balls to retell It’s a Wonderful Life as Kafka’s Metamorphosis?
Belle de Jour
Belle de Jour (1967) by Luis Bruñuel
This is the first movie review I’ve written in a long time. This is also the beginning of my public blogging. For what it’s worth.
Let me start off with the absurdly self-evident fact that Catherine Deneuve is hot, Hot, HOT. A keen grasp of the obvious, I have.
In short, Séverine is a young wife, married to a doctor, living a life of some privilege in Paris. Séverine and Pierre have been married a year when we join their story already in progress, but they still sleep in separate beds. I’ll allow for a certain prudery in the movie based on the year it was made, but I can’t believe that the French ever slept in separate beds like the American prudes would have had us believe all couples did.
I find it shocking that a quick search of “movies husband wife separate beds” in my most-used search engine came back with, um, thousands of links referring to how this is an appropriate arrangement. Well, the search returned a bio of Dick Van Dyke, too, so maybe I should count my blessings that not all culture is dead.
Nevertheless, it’s clear that something isn’t right between the two of them. Séverine’s point of view in the movie starts out with a disturbing fantasy during which her husband turns her over to two coachmen for the purposes of torture and humiliation. When she awakes, we begin to see how deeply conflicted she is and what a milquetoast her husband is.
I’m sorry. I’m not going to say that Pierre deserves the treatment he gets from Séverine, but the guy is completely clueless!
Séverine likes it rough. Her fantasies become more deeply entrenched in images of degradation either by, or with the tacit agreement of, her husband. Back in the waking world, though, Pierre can’t get it through his head that something bad, really bad, had happened to Sév in her childhood. Her inability to be intimate with him is related to an emotional trauma she can express only in her fantasies.
All the blurbs of the movie describe her as a “bored housewife” which I think does her an injustice. She’s not bored, she’s f*’ed up. The usual blurbs go on to say that she becomes a prostitute and pretty much leave the plot outline at that.
The thing is that she didn’t take the “day job” because she was bored. She’s looking for a place that has the kind of objectification of a person that she’s used to from her childhood. Because poor Pierre can’t see the real her, she retreats back into a pattern of treatment by others that is familiar to her.
Her story and development have two turning points that I might characterize as the entrance- and exit-points of a big turn.
She meets and falls in lust with a young criminal who excites her. I think the allure of Marcel to her is more than the Bad Boy syndrome. Marcel is able to both see her as a person, and subject her to humiliation and objectification, all at the same time.
After that, her fantasy is that of playing the part of a corpse.
Then, as she’s careening out of control through this bend, Pierre’s friend Henri visits her work. Shock and dismay. Henri promises to keep her secret from Pierre, but then also threaten to recommend her to many of his friends. Séverine is trapped.
She dreams then of a duel in which she herself is killed.
Foreshadowing, of course, as the story starts to wrap up its loose ends. Séverine quits the brothel, Marcel runs amok, and Pierre is paralyzed. Henri eventually comes to spill the beans to Pierre and after that Séverine imagines Pierre as a loving and devoted husband, all while she gazes on him in his wheelchair.
The moral of the story? I’ll be damned if I know. According to the movie’s trivia, even the director doesn’t know what the ending means.
I suppose I’d have to say that on one level it’s about emotional suffering and how the scars lead people into radically self-destructive behavior. It has some elements of Greek and Elizabethan tragedy in it also in that all the good-guys are dead and all the bad-guys are wondering what the hell happened.
I have to admit that my DVR neglected to record the last 2 minutes of the movie. The last thing I see is Pierre getting up and walking around. Sue me.
This is the first movie review I’ve written in a long time. This is also the beginning of my public blogging. For what it’s worth.
Let me start off with the absurdly self-evident fact that Catherine Deneuve is hot, Hot, HOT. A keen grasp of the obvious, I have.
In short, Séverine is a young wife, married to a doctor, living a life of some privilege in Paris. Séverine and Pierre have been married a year when we join their story already in progress, but they still sleep in separate beds. I’ll allow for a certain prudery in the movie based on the year it was made, but I can’t believe that the French ever slept in separate beds like the American prudes would have had us believe all couples did.
I find it shocking that a quick search of “movies husband wife separate beds” in my most-used search engine came back with, um, thousands of links referring to how this is an appropriate arrangement. Well, the search returned a bio of Dick Van Dyke, too, so maybe I should count my blessings that not all culture is dead.
Nevertheless, it’s clear that something isn’t right between the two of them. Séverine’s point of view in the movie starts out with a disturbing fantasy during which her husband turns her over to two coachmen for the purposes of torture and humiliation. When she awakes, we begin to see how deeply conflicted she is and what a milquetoast her husband is.
I’m sorry. I’m not going to say that Pierre deserves the treatment he gets from Séverine, but the guy is completely clueless!
Séverine likes it rough. Her fantasies become more deeply entrenched in images of degradation either by, or with the tacit agreement of, her husband. Back in the waking world, though, Pierre can’t get it through his head that something bad, really bad, had happened to Sév in her childhood. Her inability to be intimate with him is related to an emotional trauma she can express only in her fantasies.
All the blurbs of the movie describe her as a “bored housewife” which I think does her an injustice. She’s not bored, she’s f*’ed up. The usual blurbs go on to say that she becomes a prostitute and pretty much leave the plot outline at that.
The thing is that she didn’t take the “day job” because she was bored. She’s looking for a place that has the kind of objectification of a person that she’s used to from her childhood. Because poor Pierre can’t see the real her, she retreats back into a pattern of treatment by others that is familiar to her.
Her story and development have two turning points that I might characterize as the entrance- and exit-points of a big turn.
She meets and falls in lust with a young criminal who excites her. I think the allure of Marcel to her is more than the Bad Boy syndrome. Marcel is able to both see her as a person, and subject her to humiliation and objectification, all at the same time.
After that, her fantasy is that of playing the part of a corpse.
Then, as she’s careening out of control through this bend, Pierre’s friend Henri visits her work. Shock and dismay. Henri promises to keep her secret from Pierre, but then also threaten to recommend her to many of his friends. Séverine is trapped.
She dreams then of a duel in which she herself is killed.
Foreshadowing, of course, as the story starts to wrap up its loose ends. Séverine quits the brothel, Marcel runs amok, and Pierre is paralyzed. Henri eventually comes to spill the beans to Pierre and after that Séverine imagines Pierre as a loving and devoted husband, all while she gazes on him in his wheelchair.
The moral of the story? I’ll be damned if I know. According to the movie’s trivia, even the director doesn’t know what the ending means.
I suppose I’d have to say that on one level it’s about emotional suffering and how the scars lead people into radically self-destructive behavior. It has some elements of Greek and Elizabethan tragedy in it also in that all the good-guys are dead and all the bad-guys are wondering what the hell happened.
I have to admit that my DVR neglected to record the last 2 minutes of the movie. The last thing I see is Pierre getting up and walking around. Sue me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)