June 25, 2013

27. Boogie Nights

By kaneseligsohn

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Boogie Nights (Paul Thomas Anderson, 1997) is a bitingly funny, boldly crafted melodrama that insists less is not more – more is more.  As in, thirteen inches more.  As in, more characters.  More storylines.  More virtuosic camera moves.  More sex.  More nudity.  More passion.  More grit.  More drama.  More vulgarity.  More drugs.  More everything.  The result is a lengthy, highly ambitious project that unfolds like a Robert Altman film, interweaving a myriad of characters and storylines so that they compliment the material in a comparative and contrasting manner.  This keen approach echoes the half & half structure and provides insightful commentary on themes regarding family and sexuality.

That “family” happens to be a disparate group of filmmakers and artists (or pornographers and porn-stars, if you prefer) who were somehow lucky enough to find each other in the seedy underbelly of the porn world during the late 70’s and early 80’s.  These dysfunctional characters are introduced with a feverish pizazz in an opening that demonstrably puts the “fun” in funky.  This dazzling sequence establishes the environment in such a captivating way that it allows the audience to fully immerse itself in this unsavory, unsettling world.

Helping these matters are the incredible performances lent by the stellar cast, all melding perfectly in their roles.  These memorable portrayals are offered by Burt Reynolds; John C. Reilly; Don Cheadle; Heather Graham; William H. Macy; Julianne Moore; Philip Seymour Hoffman; Alfred Molina; Mark Wahlberg (and many more).  Now, if that sounds like a lot of characters and a lot of well-respected actors, that’s because it is.  Not only that, but they all relish their moments on-screen and turn this eclectic group of what could have been quirky caricatures, into fully developed human beings with depth and complexity.

Boogie Nights_family

Speaking of depth, it is rumored that some of the sex in this film wasn’t exactly “acted.”  In other words, the talent was sometimes totally fucking on-screen.  Like, for real, real.  (Talk about method acting!)  Whether that rumor is based in truth or not is a moot point, because the otherwise brutally honest approach permeates the entire film and the consequence is a certain rawness that may alienate some viewers.  But let’s face it.  Boogie Nights is about porn.  So if nudity, drugs, and vulgarity offend you, then this movie wouldn’t be appropriate regardless of what was shown on-screen or how real the sex was.

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However, if you are able to look past the sex, what awaits you is some very effective melodrama, which contrasts sharply with a steady stream of humor.  The result is a synthesis that is sometimes uneven, but is ultimately held together by a smart score and an exhilarating soundtrack.  This clashing of unlikely elements (the melodrama and the comedy) is further grounded by the forceful performances as aforementioned, and the self-assured direction provided by Paul Thomas Anderson.  It is easy to imagine this all going wrong if it were in lesser hands, especially when considering Boogie Nights doesn’t depend on an overly explicit plot to move the action forward.  Rather, it appears to be character-driven, giving Anderson the opportunity to take his time in developing this myriad of characters and the world in which they reside.  Conversely, this sometimes makes for a slower, more leisurely pace, which may turn off some impatient viewers.  This is precisely why the captivating opening sequence is so vitally important, because it gives the audience a reason to be patient.  Without it, the audience would not be as forgiving, and would possibly be dazed and confused by the start of the second act.  But this is not the case, and while the story sometimes feels stagnant, it is always steadily thrusting forward and the end satisfyingly pays off the patience of the viewer.

Boogie Nights_sex

Which brings me to the inflammatory punctuation that brings Boogie Nights to a close.  Of course what I’m talking about is the on-screen reveal of that “one special thing” Dirk Diggler was blessed with.  I mentioned that the end is satisfying, but I feel ambivalent to whether this shocking reveal is the best way to finish off the movie.  In fact, I wonder if the less is more approach would have been more effective here.  After all, some things that are left off-screen make for an even more vivid image in the mind.  I don’t know.  Maybe the shock-factor is the suitable pay-off for a movie that is otherwise raw and unflinching.  In this case, perhaps more IS more.

boogie nights_end2

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June 4, 2013

26. Blood Simple

By kaneseligsohn

Blood Simple poster

Smiley Rating:

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Blood Simple (Joel & Ethan Coen, 1984) marks the first major directorial effort from the Coen Brothers, and while it doesn’t boast the charismatic camera-work and the over-the-top characters found in a lot of their later work, it does employ a spectacular script the Coen’s are now typically known for.  It is tidy and concise, while managing to be riveting and mysterious almost from top to bottom.  It builds upon a concept that is straightforward and primal, with each scene resembling a masterful sequence – with a distinct beginning, middle, and end – that effectively works as a short film unto itself.   In other words, each segment starts off rather slow as it settles in, builds to an ironic twist at the midpoint, and then aggressively moves to an impactful climax which is often another ironic twist.  The majority of the scenes operate in this keen way, and the effect is mesmerizing, especially during the potent first half.

blood simple kill

The second half starts off a little muddled, but once the rhythms take hold, that mesmerizing grip arises again, and the film is able to build to a thrilling finale that is unexpected and memorable.  Mirroring the rhythms of the script are the sharp waves of violence, which are used sparingly, but when used, they are powerful.  This restrained approach echoes through all of the technical elements, complimenting the material quite nicely.  This, of course, includes the photography, which is a whole lot less eccentric compared to a lot of other film noirs.  This is a surprising revelation considering who’s at the helm, but it is a good surprise, because while Blood Simple is dark and shadowy like many other film noirs, it remains grounded in a way that adds to the suspense.  That isn’t to say that there aren’t any memorable images, quite the contrary.  In fact, because the film is so economical in its approach, almost all of the images captured are vivid and serve both the context and the subtext.

blood simple gun

One other tangible difference between the debut effort from the Coen Brothers and their later work are the performances.  Here, they tend not to be as outlandish or bold.  Sure, there’s some quirk here and there, and the characters are well drawn, but the tics and tacks are minimal compared to the audacious characterizations found in their later projects.  Again, this minimalist, restrained approach tends to benefit the material, and the resulting performances are full of intensity and strength.

In general, I would say that Blood Simple is a riveting thriller with themes that are as murky as the shadows in which these deadly characters lurk.  On the surface, the film works exceptionally well and is gripping throughout.  Digging underneath the surface, we’ll find the familiar-Coen-Brother-philosophical-touch that offers the audience something to chew over and to interpret long after the blood has dried.

blood simple buried

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January 7, 2013

25. The Birds

By kaneseligsohn

thebirds_poster

Smiley Rating:

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The first thing that comes to mind after watching The Birds (Alfred Hitchcock, 1963) is the question: WHY?  Why a lot of things, but specifically, why did the writer choose to write this story?  I don’t ask this pejoratively; rather, I’m genuinely curious as to what happened in the real world that initially ignited the flame behind this concept?  This certainly isn’t a question I ask of all the movies I watch, but something about The Birds’ totally absurd subject matter really pushes this question to the forefront.  I wonder, for example, if a bird once shat upon the writer?  He must’ve been so infuriated!  Or maybe the writer witnessed a profound incident at a pet store in which a bird was freed from his cage and then pecked the eyeball out of an unsuspecting patron.

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I don’t know what it was, but the result is a paranoid-ridden love story between two characters, each who have serious issues with their mothers (one has no relationship, the other has an over-bearing relationship).  Then, halfway through, this unnerving love story suddenly becomes a survival movie, in which, you guessed it, the birds go wild, and relentlessly start attacking the humans.  Per usual, Hitchcock doesn’t go out of his way to explain why this happens, it just is.  And perhaps this minimalist approach is what prompts the question, “Why?” in the first place.  And perhaps the answer to this question is just as minimal and straightforward as any other Hitchcock film, and that is, there is no answer.  There is no reason.  It’s simply entertainment.  It’s primal and it’s fun.  There’s nothing deeper or more to it than that.  This very well may be the case, but honestly, the distinction doesn’t make a licking bit of difference anyhow.  Because you cannot have context without subtext and you cannot have subtext without context.  Whether intended or not, all films hold a greater subtext (because they exist).  Therefore, regardless of a movie’s quality, the potentiality of a deeper interpretation, one not based on a matter of fact, but of a subjective response to the material— always exists.

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And as far as the context goes, I’d say this: The Birds is a disturbing, well-made, rigidly constructed film, much like an elaborate piece of furniture from Ikea.  That is, a bunch of unappealing parts that when put together very carefully makeup a mostly satisfying whole.  What’s rather surprising is that the most effective sequences are indeed the birds-on-attack scenes, despite the outdated, almost laughable special effects.  Somehow these far-fetched sequences still successfully come across as creepy.  Disturbing, even.

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But again, I just can’t help but ask, “why?”  And why birds?  I mean, is this role reversal more frightening than if it were any other animal?  Could it have been dogs?  The Dogs.  What about killer bees?  The Bees.  I don’t know.  Maybe, viscerally speaking, aesthetically speaking, birds are the creepiest.  Even so, what’s the reason?  Why are these birds stalking this woman as if she’s some sort of poisonous feed?  As I search for a deeper meaning, any meaning, something occurs to me.  The Tippi Hedren character is blatantly wearing a luxurious fur coat in every single scene up until the midpoint.  I should also say, she’s the only character who is ever seen wearing fur throughout the entire picture.  Interestingly, after the midpoint, she is never seen wearing the fur coat again, until the very last moment in the film.  This observation isn’t necessarily a reason or an explanation as to why the birds attack, as it may just be a coincidence, or simply a part of her characterization—but I found this motif to be important.

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Another provocative theme is captured in what is probably the most iconic image of the entire movie, when Tippi’s character is forced into the phone booth by the maniacal birds.  The roles here are ironically reversed, as the uncooperative birds are now in charge and it is us who must cooperate with them.  This reversal is ominously foreshadowed with a piece of dialogue that appears early in the movie: “I just thought you might like to know what its like to be on the other end of a gag.”  Okay.  Creepy.  But from this perspective, one wonders what the birds might represent?  Perhaps they embody the underclasses breaking free.  And Tippi and her fur coat represent the privileged upper classes.  Or, to put slightly more specifically, perhaps the birds represent any minority anywhere in the world.  They represent “the other.”  Or how about this: the birds are the “99%.”  Yes!  Or maybe it’s an anti-fur film.  Or maybe it’s about nothing.

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I don’t know.  There is no answer.  It’s absurd.  It’s all about as absurd as a mass of birds deciding to wage war and cage humans for no apparent reason whatsoever.  After all, “Birds don’t just go around attacking people without no reason.”  Yet it is precisely this absurdity that illustrates, comments on, and reflects the very real absurdity of mankind doing the exact same thing.  After all, if it’s absurd for birds to do these things, shan’t it be absurd for humans too?

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November 8, 2012

24. The Big Lebowski

By kaneseligsohn

Smiley Rating:

 

The Big Lebowski (Joel & Ethan Coen, 1998) is a ramblin’, complex, ambitious “who-dun-it?” story, in which the answer is ultimately revealed as: nobody.  Nobody dun did it.  Like the Nihilists in this movie, the plot essentially amounts to nothing.  In this Hitchcockian sort of way, the entire plot is merely an excuse to experiment with all of these outrageous characters, most notably, of course, is The Dude, played awesomely by Jeff Bridges.  And while The Big Lebowski feels like a convoluted, plot-heavy film— with “lots of ins, lots of outs”— it’s actually more akin to an intimately detailed character study.

That character, The Dude, closely resembles the tumbling tumbleweed shown in the opening prelude, as he is so easily blown from one escalating plot point to the next, with each subsequent episode mounting in absurdity, containing more outlandish characters, and displaying an increased amount of preposterous visuals.  This tumbling tumbleweed of an apathetic character is exemplified in his own motto: “fuck it,” as well as the place in which the story takes place— Los Angeles.  The Dude is Los Angeles and Los Angeles is The Dude.  What’s most bitingly ironic about this lazy, pacified characterization is that the entire crux of the story depends on The Dude reacting to the inciting incident in a way that defies his very own ethos.

In other words, because of the persuasive abilities of his outspoken friend Walter, The Dude breaks with his usual pacified mentality, and decides to take a stand against what he perceives to be unfair, unchecked aggression.  After all, they peed on his fucking rug!  Adding to this irony, of course, are all of the disastrous, unintended consequences of taking said action, which could have been avoided if The Dude were only to stick to his original “fuck it” motto.  All’s he had to do was let it be, and cope with a pee-stained rug.

But alas, that is not what happened, and I get the feeling— based on the movie’s popularity and cult following— that the story could have been just about anything, and what makes this material work are the supremely detailed characterizations of it’s many zany characters.  I mean, just take John Turturro’s “Jesus” character, for example.  This character is totally ludicrous, and is entirely irrelevant to the actual plot of the story.  He doesn’t push the story forward; instead, like so many other moments in The Big Lebowski, he is simply a digression.  Even so, because the details are as specific and peculiar as they are, and because the casting and performances are so spot-on, these moments and characters not only work, but they end up being some of the most effective, memorable, entertaining parts of the entire film.  Speaking of memorable, the screenplay penned by the Coen’s is so smart, and is full of so many quotable lines of dialogue you will need to drink a spiked “White Russian” just to get them out of your head (not that you would want to).

But putting aside all of the kooky madness The Big Lebowski has to offer, what ends up rising to the top is an hallucinatory morality tale about power, perceived power, and using that power for leverage.  What’s interesting about this dynamic, particularly the way it is framed in this movie, is that the perceived power— whether the source is money, sex, or violence— is merely that: a perceived power.  An illusion.  Its only power if the so-called “lesser” person agrees to give it power.  By feeding it.  And I get the impression that the Coen’s are suggesting that meeting an aggressive act with an aggressive act is what feeds it.  Or, like I mentioned earlier, The Dude’s troubles could all have been avoided if only he were to ABIDE by his original pacifist worldview and life-engrossing motto: “Fuck it, let’s go bowling.”

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October 23, 2012

23. Big Fish

By kaneseligsohn

Smiley Rating:

Big Fish (Tim Burton, 2003) is about the importance of imaginative storytelling, and how the quality of one’s storytelling actually correlates to the quality of one’s life.  In doing so, it negates the importance of “fiction” or “non-fiction,” “fact” or “non-fact,” and replaces it with subjective interpretation.  In other words, whether what a person says is a truth (fact) or a lie (fiction) is totally irrelevant, because the very spouting of said words more accurately reflects the person and how he views the world, than whether those words are legitimately true or not.

Take any work of fiction, for example.  Say, James Cameron’s Avatar.  By all means, none of what happens in that movie is literally “true” or “real.”  It’s all made up.  It’s a lie.  It’s a fiction.  It’s a story.  But putting that aside (because it’s irrelevant), what you actually get from that subtext is a crystal clear understanding of what James Cameron’s perspective on the real, actual world is.  That, regardless of what happened to him in his real life, the aggregate of which and his interpretation thereof, led him to the viewpoint that nature is beautiful and should be loved, respected, and salvaged before it’s too late.  Whether you agree with that perspective or think it’s “true” or not is irrelevant, because what matters, and what’s undeniable, is that that perspective exists.

To make myself clear, let’s consider a different hypothetical.  Imagine a young child experiences something tragic.  He loses a parent, or a sibling, or a friend.  Or maybe he suffers a really awful injury.  It’s something tragic.  It’s something we all fear.  Now, how that child ultimately deals with that tragedy is what will become a story he tells for the rest of his life.  Indeed it will be his life.  Because just like it says in this movie: “you tell your stories so many times, you become the stories.”  So, maybe that child’s story is grim and full of ruin and he feels like he can’t overcome it.  This leads to relationship problems and deep sociological issues.  Maybe he turns to drugs or violence or something worse.  Conversely, maybe he tells a different story.  An imaginative, uplifting story in which he learned a vital life lesson, and it motivated him positively and has helped shape who he is today.  Each is a story, and each would reflect a drastically different outcome, but that outcome isn’t dependent on facts, rather, how well that person can tell his story.

I mentioned “fear” just a bit ago, and another important element in Big Fish is the way fearlessness is rewarded.  Ed Bloom’s character (Ewan McGregor, Albert Finney) in particular, is totally fearless.  He confronts the big, scary, bad giant (played memorably by Matthew McGrory), fearless.  He approaches the nasty, frightening one-eyed witch (Helena Bonham Carter), fearless.  He navigates the ominous dangerous unknown trail, fearless.  On and on Ed Bloom operates devoid of fear, and every time he is rewarded for it.  As it turns out, the big bad scary giant isn’t a bad scary giant at all, but the gentlest of humans that you could ever imagine (giant or otherwise).  The one-eyed witch isn’t nasty or frightening, but wise and kind and helpful.  The trail isn’t dangerous or ominous; it’s just full of life with a greener, brighter destination waiting at the end of it.  All of this, not because Ed Bloom is fearless, but because he knows there is no such thing as fear.  It’s an illusion.  It’s a story.  Like this movie, fear is a tall-tale.  But so is your life, so tell it.  Tell it fearlessly, and tell it well, and you will be rewarded too.

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October 21, 2012

22. Best In Show

By kaneseligsohn

Smiley Rating:

Have you ever seen that zany Errol Morris documentary, Gates of Heaven, the one about the pet cemetery and the people who have their pets buried there?  Well, if you haven’t seen it, and if you like the documentary format in particular, you might want to check it out.  But the actual reason why I mention that movie is because just like this movie, Best In Show (Christopher Guest, 2000), it’s central theme is coping.  Yes, Best In Show has an extremely amusing context about a colorful cast of character’s entering their dogs in a competition, but underneath that, it’s really about coping.  It’s about people coping with people, mostly, but it’s also about dogs coping with people.  And ironically, how dogs (or any other pets for that matter) allow people to cope more effectively in the first place.  Basically, there’s a lot of coping going on.

And behind all of this coping is the usual cast of brilliant comic actors who always seem to find themselves in Christopher Guest movies.  Jane Lynch is great.  Jennifer Coolidge is great.  Catherine O’Hara is great.  John Michael Higgins is great.  Michael McKean is great.  Parker Posey is great.  They’re all great.  They all have their moments.  Especially Fred Willard who provides a volcanic amount of humor somewhere after the halfway point.  It’s nonstop and it’s hysterical.  “Tell me, do you know the difference between a rectal thermometer and a tongue depressor?”

But there’s a performance here in particular that I wanted to point out, and that is Christopher Guest’s.  While watching Best in Show it occurred to me— and I could be wrong about this— but it occurred to me that he seems to the most chameleon-like of all the actors in this cast.  By that, I mean, he’s consistently the most unrecognizable.  He seems to disappear into his roles slightly more so than the rest, physically speaking.  Which isn’t to say that the other actors don’t play a variety of diverse roles, because they certainly do.  And it also isn’t to say that Christopher Guest is always the funniest character, because he isn’t, and he isn’t in this movie either.  In fact, his character comes off as a bit sad to me.  He’s very likeable.  He’s cordial and he’s nice.  But there’s a visible tinge of loneliness and sadness throughout, especially in the ventriloquist scenes.  I guess you could say he’s coping with loneliness (aren’t we all), and luckily, at the end of the day, he has his dog to cope with.

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October 16, 2012

21. Being John Malkovich

By kaneseligsohn

Smiley Rating:

Right now I’m looking at myself in the bathroom mirror, which is spotty and needs to be cleaned.  Instead of whipping out the Windex, I look past the water spots and examine my hairline, which, by the way, is receding way too quickly.  At least, in my opinion it is.  I look at my nose.  I look at my ears.  I look at my probably unhealthy skin, and at the wrinkles on my forehead and around my eyes…  Fuck…  My gaze then fixes upon my gaze.  My eyes are looking at my eyes.  And I wonder, “am I me?”  Is the voice inside my head legitimately mine?  Or does it belong to a shifty, morose puppeteer pulling at my strings somewhere from within?  If so, how did he get there?  And more importantly, how the fuck do I get him out?  Shit.  Is God a morose puppeteer?  No.  Stop it.  It can’t be.  I’m in control.  I am.

I think I am?

These uncertain philosophical questions regarding the nature of self is what Being John Malkovich (Spike Jonze, 1999) is essentially about.  Take the mind/body problem, for example.  How can the mind— invisible formless matter— be confined and relegated to a single body, a physical, tangible, touchable thing?  Why doesn’t the mind simply just float away?  Does it float away?  Can it float away?  Or is it truly bound to the physical body?  … Is there a physical body?  Look, what I’m trying to ask is this— is the mind a result of the body or is the body a result of the mind?

Perhaps offering an answer to these unanswerable questions, through a sort of hypothetical, bizarre trial and error system, Being John Malkovich demonstrates that the body is indeed the result of the mind.  Or, in other words, you are who you are, despite the physical body in which you reside.  Even if you could crawl through a portal on the seventh-and-a-half floor and into John Malkovich’s body, that wouldn’t change who you quintessentially are.  The body, in time, would simply change to reflect that mind (just as John Malkovich’s body does in this movie).

Deep metaphysical questions aside, what this movie also does is it examines our “15-minutes-of-fame,” reality-TV-obsessed culture.  Why, for example, would someone, anyone, want to change bodies?  I presume it has something to do with looking into the mirror and not liking what you see reflected back at you.  This feeling of inadequacy is inflicted by a superficial, manipulative society that places too much importance on physical appearance, rather than inner appearance (the mind), which as I discussed earlier, is actually what is relevant to who you are.

Speaking of manipulation, one of the more intriguing characters in Being John Malkovich is Catherine Keener’s Maxine, the one character who seems to be in total control the entire time.  She, unlike the others, seems to always get what she wants, either through manipulation or otherwise.  Ironically enough, she is also the only character who doesn’t desire to crawl through the portal and into John Malkovich.  In this way, she is the master puppeteer.  Not in a cynical way necessarily, but because she is the most confident.  She knows who she is, and she accepts it, thusly allowing herself to be open to following through on her instincts.

Now, I’ve spoken a lot so far about metaphysics and strange ethereal ideas, but I should also say this movie is damn funny.  It’s smart as hell, for sure, but more importantly, it’s funny.  It’s funny when John Malkovich crawls into his own portal and is confronted by a world populated by only John Malkovich’s.  “Malkovich, Malkovich?”  “Malkovich.”  It’s funny how Craig Schwartz (John Cusack) takes his profession as a puppeteer so damn seriously.  It’s funny that there is a seventh-and-a-half floor.  It’s funny that one gets spat out onto the New Jersey turnpike once your 15 minutes of being John Malkovich are up.  It’s funny, it’s funny, it’s funny, and who knew philosophy was so full of hilarity?

Well, apparently Charlie Kaufman knew, who, I get the feeling, was making it all up as he went along.  As if he thought of this incredible concept and just dove head first to see where it took him.  This is an admirable, bold way to tackle a screenplay, and while the result is a somewhat uneven journey, it’s also one that is full of laughter, surprises, distinctiveness, wit, and it ultimately leaves you in an unsuspecting place you never expected to be when you first began the journey.  For that, I’m thankful.

Oh.  And disregard that thing I said at the outset about my receding hairline.  I’m actually having a FABULOUS hair-day today.

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October 10, 2012

20. Beginners

By kaneseligsohn

Smiley Rating:

This movie is about one of the most important lessons of all and that is seizing the day.  This movie is quirky.  This movie is quintessentially modern.  This movie is about coming to terms with who you were, who you are, and who you want to be.  This movie is cathartic.  This movie is playfully inventive which reminds me of the French New Wave.  This movie is charming like Melanie Laurent.  This movie is adorable like that Jack Russell.

This movie is emotionally powerful like Christopher Plummer’s Academy Award winning portrayal of a gay man, who, following the death of his wife of 45 years, comes out of the closet at age 75.  This movie is a celebration of life.  This movie is funny like one of those t-shirts that has an ironic slogan written on it.  This movie is about communication, both verbal and nonverbal.  This movie is about how nothing is permanent, how attitudes change, how styles change, and what is considered acceptable and unacceptable changes as well.

This movie is about love.  This movie is about death.  This movie is about life, love, and death, just like a flower represents life, love and death.  This movie is about acceptance.  This movie is full of small intimate details that speak to everyone.  This movie is about seizing the day before it’s too late, which I already said, and I said it again because it’s important.  This movie is about forgiveness.  This movie makes me cry.  This movie makes me smile.  This movie makes me laugh.  This movie is about not knowing what happens next but going for it anyway.  This movie is about the first day of the rest of your life.  This movie is Beginners (Mike Mills, 2010).

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October 9, 2012

19. Batman Begins

By kaneseligsohn

Smiley Rating:

I should probably start by declaring that I have yet to see the third and final installment of Christopher Nolan’s “Batman” trilogy, The Dark Knight Rises.  I should also say that it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen the second installment, The Dark Knight.  And so, while I can’t say for sure what this all builds up to in the end, I can confidently say that this entire franchise is essentially Christopher Nolan’s reaction to the War on Terrorism.  And I don’t mean to bring politics into this, or to be divisive, but Batman Begins (Christopher Nolan, 2005), more than anything, establishes and initiates a dynamic conversation regarding idealism and realism.  Both domestically and in regards to foreign policy.

Putting that aside for the time being, I can’t help but think that this “Batman” is the “Batman” its fans have been waiting for and clamoring for their entire lives.  Which isn’t to say that Tim Burton’s “Batman” was entirely inadmissible, because if nothing else, those movies were at least somewhat entertaining, and even somewhat funny.  They, at least, had a certain discernable quality that can be attributed to the vision of Tim Burton.  However, that tongue-in-cheek approach will always result in a tongue-in-cheek movie, which at best is somewhat amusing and at worse is Batman and Robin (1997).  To me, this approach reflects filmmakers who don’t quite believe 100% in what they are doing.  Let’s just say, it can go wrong.

Batman Begins, on the other hand, takes the complete opposite approach.  Here, they decide to hire a competent, self-assured, established director whose style not only meshes well with the content, but who is also an artist that doesn’t take his subjects anything but seriously.  This resoluteness reverberates throughout.  And the result is a fully realized movie pregnant with meaning, as well as a consistent, unyielding tone that compliments the core of the story, and creates a perfect environment for all of the technical departments to thrive in.  What you end up with is an inspiring epic that is visually impressive, psychologically complex, and dark and gritty— just like its main character, Bruce Wayne.  Speaking of, one of the more fitting lines of dialogue now comes to mind: “A guy who dresses up like a bat has issues.”  Couldn’t have said it better, Bruce.  Couldn’t have said it better…  And in this way, among many other ways, Batman Begins is about mental health.  Or should I say mental sickness?  At any rate, it’s about how fear lies at the heart of all of these conflicts, whether mental or otherwise, and that fear is the essence of the entire “Batman” saga/persona.

Which brings me back to my original point regarding politics and the War on Terrorism.  Fear is at the core of the terrorists, as well as the politicians who react to the terrorists.  So, in a way, the initial incarnation of Christopher Nolan’s “Batman” represents our initial reaction to the terrorists.  That is, beat them at their own game.  Crush them.  Put fear into their hearts.  The problem with this— and this is reflected in the moral struggles and lessons Bruce Wayne learns throughout— is that this fear-based reaction, however righteous the initial intentions may be, actually makes things worse.  It prolongs the cycle.  “All creatures feel fear, especially the scary ones.”  By this rationale, if an increased amount of fear is implemented to deter the enemy, that enemy will only become more fearful and therefore incrementally scarier (i.e. the Joker).  This behavior, in the real world, is referred to as an escalating “arms race.”

Speaking of the real world, Batman Begins works as an economic allegory as well.  Just take a look at the setting in which the movie takes place.  Gotham City, which consists of deteriorating infrastructure, too much crime, a widening gap between the rich and the poor, a corrupt government, corrupt corporations, and well…  I can go on further, but I have a feeling you get the idea.    And before I start to sound too gloomy, let me end with what I think is Christopher Nolan’s overall impression he wants to leave us with.  That is, in a word: cooperation.  Not idealism or realism.  Not liberalism or conservatism.  Not public or private.  Not “or,” but “and.”  Idealism AND realism.  Liberalism AND conservatism.  Public AND private.  Both!  Like “Batman” himself, who epitomizes the idea of a private corporation serving the public, not for profit, but for the greater good of mankind.  Economic patriotism, if you will.  A cooperative merging that isn’t based on a blind devotion to an ideology, rather, a devotion to an ideal.  And together we will move towards that ideal— rebuilding together, struggling together, and ultimately confronting and facing our biggest fears… together.

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October 7, 2012

18. Barton Fink

By kaneseligsohn

Smiley Rating:

Movies, like dreams, are the life of the mind, and Barton Fink (Joel & Ethan Coen, 1991) is one of the most mysterious, paradoxical minds of all.  The story— a bizarre mix of classical filmmaking and abstract surrealism— is about a critically acclaimed playwright turned screenwriter who is battling expectations and writer’s block while the pressure from a major Hollywood studio mounts, as does the temperature outside.  “We’re all expecting great things from you,” the executive cryptically says.  But just like good screenwriting, Barton Fink is more about what it doesn’t show, than what it shows.  It’s what’s on the other side of the peeling wallpaper.  It’s what’s outside the frame.  It’s what’s inside the box.  It’s what’s inside the head.  Hell, it’s what dreams are made of!  This dream just happens to be more of a strange nightmare, the lingering unsettling kind that you can’t quite shake after you wake up.

Dreaming aside, Barton Fink is an exquisitely made movie that boasts an all-star cast, all providing superlative performances.  The most noteworthy of which is Michael Lerner’s, whose portrayal of an alpha, silver-tongued movie executive is both outrageously hilarious and frightening at the same time.  The cinematography offered by Roger Deakins is crisp with a golden glow (speaking to the “Golden Age of Cinema”), and contains all of the playful camera movement typically found in a Coen Brother’s picture.  The art direction is apt, especially in terms of the creepy, dust-layered, seemingly secluded Hotel Earle that acts as another character unto itself.  And in addition to all of these well-executed elements, is a baffling screenplay that makes you think you know what’s going to come next, but then suddenly goes in a completely different direction.  It is ripe with visual rhymes and echoing motifs, consisting of an uncountable number of references to boxes and heads, including the Eraserhead-like hairstyle of Barton, the mysterious picture frame that constantly prods us to look deeper, as well as the ominous package left behind by John Goodman’s character.  By end, all of this poetry and perplexing depth almost makes you want to pull off your own head (pun intended).

But there is yet another thing this movie does— and perhaps this deals more with its commentary on Hollywood— and that is it creates a paradoxical tension between the creator and the subject.  Between Hollywood and the Audience.  This duality is exemplified in the relationship between John Turturro’s Barton Fink and John Goodman’s Charlie Meadows.  On one hand, Barton’s passionate appeal to making more stories about the “common-man” comes off as arrogant, judgmental, and condescending.  Though his intentions may be well placed, they are misguided.  “You think you know pain, but you’re just a tourist with a typewriter.”  This seems to suggest that the insular Hollywood is clueless, and is thusly misreading and misrepresenting its audience completely.  Or as Charlie clarifies: “You don’t listen!”  With this, the Coen’s are either saying that the audience is stupid, and that they desire only formulistic, easy to understand movies; or that Hollywood doesn’t give the audience enough credit for being smarter, and therefore should provide more thought-provoking material.  Whether that’s what the “common-man” actually wants or not, I can’t say.

And as I write this, I realize Barton Fink, the movie, would be laughing at me right now.  Laughing at me for writing this.  Laughing at me for reading so much into it, and trying so desperately to interpret the various meanings.  I admit this; I say this, because the movie explicitly tells me so.  It’s written in text, in the Bible, so it’s clearly important.  I even paused the movie to be able to write this text down:

“And the king, Nebuchandnezzar, answered and said to the Chaldeans, I recall not my dream; if ye will not make known unto me my dream, and its interpretation, ye shall be cut in pieces, and of your tents shall be made a dunghill.”

My initial reaction to this strange text is that it is absurd and ironically reflects the absurdity of an eager viewer like me trying to desperately interpret this movie.  It’s like trying to recall and interpret someone else’s dream for them, simply by dissecting the way they are eating their salad at lunch.  It’s absurd.  But this text also self-reflexively comments on writing in general, and in particular, writer’s block.  That is, writing isn’t the physical act of typing words into a typewriter, or even seeing words on a page.  Writing happens before that.  It happens in the mind.  It is the intangible challenge of recalling an unknown distant dream, making known that dream unto yourself, and then interpreting it in a way that appeals to all, even the “common-man.”  To be unable to recall this dream, however close to the tip of the tongue it may be, is to be stuck as a writer.  It’s to be me at the end of this movie.

 

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