I'm not going to the Toronto International Film Festival this year. There, I've said it.
It's an unpleasant reality to confront for a big movie nerd like myself. In the last two weeks, I've been evading the issue the way I avoid baseball highlights when the Red Sox are on a losing streak. I kept hoping that maybe my schedule will free up that will allow me to take a five day trip to Toronto (and another week to Ohio and New York in October -- a trip I'm almost certain to take). But as work piled up, TIFF became unfeasible. So I just blocked out the reality that I'll be missing the fest this year, one of my favorite annual events, and barely skimmed through all correspondences/internet postings with TIFF as the subject matter. But now I've recovered. And it still hurts, man, lemme tell you.
That Wong's still-being-recut 2046 will not be screened kinda soothes the pain. (Update: For Wong fanboys and those with an interest in graphics, check out the official 2046 Web site.) But then check out what I'll be missing out on:
Most regrettably, I'll be shucking Kings and Queen, the new autobiographical film from Arnaud Desplechin, the man who made one of the greatest navel-gazing French wankfest of all-time, My Sex Life...Or How I Got Into an Argument (but maybe I'll be able to catch it at NYFF?)...
Next is L'Intrus, by Claire Denis, perhaps the most intriguing filmmaker in the world right now, after...
Olivier Assayas, whose Maggie Cheung-starring Clean will be a painful movie to miss...
Then there's Eros, comprising of three featurettes directed by Wong Kar-wai, Steven Soderbergh, and Michaelangelo Antonioni riffing on the titular theme...
Tomorrow We Move, wherein Chantal Akerman deconstructs the screwball comedy...
3-Iron, from Theater of Cruelty master Kim Ki-Duk, who recently found religion (and is already generating good notices)...
Old Boy, the ultra-violent Cannes sensation...
Other appealing Cannes also-rans playing include The Holy Girl, Nobody Knows, and especially Apichatpong's mysterious Thai flick Tropical Melody...
Two festival buzz items are D'Angelo fave Primer, a supposed head-scratcher, and Depardon's 10th Chamber...
9 Songs, Michael Winterbottom's porn movie, sounds pretty awesome...
And of course the new Ozon, Godard, the Hou, the Jacquot, and the usual Miike and Miike rip-offs, etc., etc., etc.
But more than the movies, nothing really beats comraderie with my fellow movie nerds, all those schlubby guys you see wearing "Ichi the Killer" t-shirts with notebook in tow. Oh, what I wouldn't give for some scintillating discussions about Bruno Dumont's methods (and madness), whether School of Rock merits a 67 or 68 (on the retarded 100 point scale), the size of Vincent Gallo's schlong, the Junior Achievers' collective insanity, and arguments about arguments made in the movie nerd internet discussion group in 2001.
Too bad for all those nerds that they will be missing out on my dandy shirts and smokin' knee-high scarves, but they're probably not missing my predictably enthusiastic responses ("check out that psychological acuity, bro!") to any French relationship flick that offers some ingenue nudity. It's all about the nuanced exploration of paradoxical emotional states, buds.
So I won't be there, but many of my buds will be. And if you're interested in instantaneous (or in some cases, lengthy retrospective) write-ups of the festival, this is your one-stop link source. Check out:
* Mike, who will inevitably deflate your expectations about that movie you've been dying to see, unless that movie also happens to be told backwards or announces the profound theme that dog is god backwards;
* Scott, who will revive some of your hope with with a sure-to-be-superbly-written essay at the end of the fest;
* Waz, who will use the word dialectic at least twice in his insanely rigorous capsules;
* CStults, who will invariably rate movies with titles like Sexual Dependency and Vibrator a grade higher than would you or me (and who would have been the most reliable evaluator of Eros, had he been planning to see it...um, you know, him being a Soderbergh and Wong fanboy and all);
* Missy (great to have you back) will no doubt jot down some insightful words on her popular blog;
* Then there are my two former TIFF roommates: El Chuck shoots out short and sweet capsules, and Erik "Mr. Eccentric" Gregersen may finally revive his dormant site to hype some random Thai cowboy movie or some retro-silent experiment.
* Speaking of dormant sites, here's to hoping V-Mort, whose last movie seen is the dreadful Photos People In Dallas Can See, will finally post some new thoughts;
* Don "Dude from Nickelback" Marks, Private Joker, and the Movie "Mr. 55 movies in 2 1/2 days" Martyr will probably all update quite frequently; the redoubtable Alex Fung will not.
* And finally, when you get a chance to see these movies and need to make sense of them, head over to Theo, whose exhaustive and sharp TIFF reports should be collected and studied by movie nerds in future generations to learn how it's done.
* If you're lucky, you'll get something by Josh Rothkopf in Time Out New York two weeks hence. Dan Owen and Omar Odeh have no sites, and so they are not hyped. And another bud stopped posting his snarky commentary long ago, nor will he have a short in the fest this year. But some random girl in a Baja Fresh on Sunset tells me that the script to Pretty Persuasion is excellent.
Check 'em all out. But anybody who cares probably already does.
Thursday, September 09, 2004
Bush's real campaign video
Vote for Bush because he says so, courtesy of the Daily Show (via One Good Move). As usual, it's better than anything produced by the anti-Bush forces.
Didn't bother with Repug convention, but from the coverage I've witnessed, it's like the Stephen Glass Fan Club, a gathering of shameless fabulists trying desperately to mythologize a pathetically poor commander-in-chief and lying about Kerry's record. It almost worked, too...if it weren't for you damn kids and that stoned dog!
Der Ahnold's full of lies...I mean, self-mythologizing fibs that contradict history, Benito Giuliani distorts Kerry's votes time and again, keynote speaker Zig-Zag Miller channeled Atilla the Hun (then Aaron Burr in challenging Chris Matthews to a duel), Pataki did some clever revisionism by spinning Bush's total disregard for the threat Al Qaeda posed pre-9/11 on Clinton, who, uh, at least tried to bomb Bin Laden and mentioned him as a threat on public record.
Pathetic, really, if these lies weren't actually effective, as we learn time and again.
The only thing I saw was about ten minutes of Dubya's speech. Not a bad speech, from what I saw. But where's Osama bin Laden again?
Didn't bother with Repug convention, but from the coverage I've witnessed, it's like the Stephen Glass Fan Club, a gathering of shameless fabulists trying desperately to mythologize a pathetically poor commander-in-chief and lying about Kerry's record. It almost worked, too...if it weren't for you damn kids and that stoned dog!
Der Ahnold's full of lies...I mean, self-mythologizing fibs that contradict history, Benito Giuliani distorts Kerry's votes time and again, keynote speaker Zig-Zag Miller channeled Atilla the Hun (then Aaron Burr in challenging Chris Matthews to a duel), Pataki did some clever revisionism by spinning Bush's total disregard for the threat Al Qaeda posed pre-9/11 on Clinton, who, uh, at least tried to bomb Bin Laden and mentioned him as a threat on public record.
Pathetic, really, if these lies weren't actually effective, as we learn time and again.
The only thing I saw was about ten minutes of Dubya's speech. Not a bad speech, from what I saw. But where's Osama bin Laden again?
Saturday, September 04, 2004
Oldies recently viewed
California Split (Altman, 1974) -- B+/B
You got them purists, then you got them non-purists. The purists are like what the name says. They like their auteurs pure and unfiltered. Purists think California Split is a doozy, and it's not hard to see why: this is Altman with the pulp strained.
California Split is essentially about the thrill of living life in the moment, of the goofy fun in masquerading as cops to scare off a transvestite, of betting everything on a longshot, winning, then blowing your loot. No plot to speak of, no character arc -- just the thrill of living and improvising in the moment. It's film as free jazz, with Elliot Gould doing Ornette Coleman and Altman on the rhythm section going crazy on sound design and indulging in his most cynical instincts. In other words, it's really about about the Altmanesque life lived -- the existential condition -- and not much of anything else. Don't get me wrong: it's a fine, admirable work, but in the end, I'll gladly exchange it for The Long Goodbye, which also features an inventive Gould turn, jazzy rhythms, an existential outlook, but is held together by Chandler (who provides the ur-text...the chords for Altman to riff off of).
It comes down to aesthetic sensibility. Your mileage may vary, of course, but I prefer my auteurs to express their style while wrestling with formidable material. I like The Sweet Hereafter more than Speaking Parts. I'd choose Twelve Monkeys over Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Mulholland Dr. ahead of Fire Walk With Me. Fear Eats the Soul as opposed to Katzelmacher. Age of Innocence over Casino. Out of Sight rather than Schizopolis. And so forth. Not that I don't admire many of these "pure expression" works that I compare unfavorably here. Those films are often more risky, challenging, and groundbreaking. At the same time, they're typically more undisciplined and mannered, with little thematic resonance or content beyond their auteurial concerns.
The Long Goodbye is hardcore Altman grounded in genre; California Split is hardcore Altman without a net. Preferring one over the other likely reveals where you stand on the purist scale.
The Cincinnati Kid (Jewison, 1965) -- C+
Spent a good fifteen mintues fantasizing about being in the middle of a Tuesday Weld-Ann Margaret sandwich. Otherwise mediocre: An indifferent McQueen, clumsy direction, but helped by a killer stud show down at the end between McQueen's Kid and Edward G. Robinson, whose presence adds half a grade to anything. Another flick where precious brain cells are wasted figuring out what Theo was smoking.
Love Me Tonight (Mamoulian, 1932) -- A
The best Lubitsch flick Lubitsch never made. This surreal musical romp boasts some of the most dazzling sequences of the era -- the opening montage, "Isn't it Romantic", and hilarious sight gags done using over and under-cranking -- along with a fountain of sparkling double-entendres, and enhanced by the elegant waltzing camera of Mamoulian. Myrna Loy's a hoot, and even Chevalier's okay. Overall, the most purely enjoyable movie I've seen all year.
A Farewell to Arms (Borzage, 1932) -- B-
A two-hander given poignancy by Hemingway's terse, muscular prose, the same story becomes an overwrought tale of transcendent love in the hands of Grade-A sap Frank Borzage. To be sure, Borzage's an unassailable image-maker: a two-second establishing shot can pulsate with feeling, and certain shots here (the last scene, for example) have the mystical spell of a William Blake painting. But the man is also an incorrigible sentimentalist. His films often falter because they're deeply sincere but also sincerely dumb and sappy, and no great feat of auteurist rehabilitation can make it otherwise. Kent Jones won't say it, but I will: Borzage's spiritual nephew Anthony Minghella is a much better filmmaker, and an unfashionable Oscarbait like The English Patient at least grapples with the wages of romantic narcissism. Borzage hasn't even thought about it, too caught up in his belief that love conquers all. (The best romantic filmmakers understand that it is precisely that love doesn't conquer all that makes love so tragic.) Also, not helped by an unsteady Gary Cooper. Helen Hayes was very good, but the mousy thespian is not my idea of the alluring Catherine Barkley. Too bad Carole Lombard wasn't famous yet. Moving and beautiful in parts, but way sappy.
Hold Back the Dawn (Leisen, 1941) -- B+
In Conversations with Wilder, Wilder expressed disappointment with this and other Leisen pictures written by him and Brackett. He shouldn't have been. This is a picture ahead of its time, a moving tale of desperate immigrants, showing how far people will go to get inside the American border. Witty and elegant, like all the Leisen/Wilder/Brackett collaborations, with a fiendishly charming Boyer. Best is a vulnerable yet layered performance by Olivia de Havilland, whom, with her estranged sister Joan Fontaine, own a patent on the portrayal of the Woman Who Loves Too Much, the kind of timid spinster too eager to hand over her heart to an obvious scoundrel. This de Havilland "victim" turns out to be tougher than she appeared, which makes all the difference.
Burn! (Pontecorvo, 1969) -- C+
If Battle of Algiers was the tactical manual of the anti-Colonialist insurgency, Pontecorvo's follow-up, Burn!, is the socio-economic treatise. As with Algiers, Pontecorvo shows himself to be a highly sophisticated radical. He understands the political and economic precepts behind colonialism, and he's fair enough to depict both the Colonialists' conflicting viewpoints (Colonialists are smartly demarcated into different factions with different goals, some economic, others political) and the native people's deficiencies (inability to exploit their cash crop for value). Brando's complex, morally ambiguous British sabateur is probably his best performance of the Sixties, the weird accent notwithstanding. Some fascinating politics, but the movie's sadly a complete mess, bearing evidence of a brutal studio chop job and too much revolutionary sentimentality. Nice score by Morricone, though.
You got them purists, then you got them non-purists. The purists are like what the name says. They like their auteurs pure and unfiltered. Purists think California Split is a doozy, and it's not hard to see why: this is Altman with the pulp strained.
California Split is essentially about the thrill of living life in the moment, of the goofy fun in masquerading as cops to scare off a transvestite, of betting everything on a longshot, winning, then blowing your loot. No plot to speak of, no character arc -- just the thrill of living and improvising in the moment. It's film as free jazz, with Elliot Gould doing Ornette Coleman and Altman on the rhythm section going crazy on sound design and indulging in his most cynical instincts. In other words, it's really about about the Altmanesque life lived -- the existential condition -- and not much of anything else. Don't get me wrong: it's a fine, admirable work, but in the end, I'll gladly exchange it for The Long Goodbye, which also features an inventive Gould turn, jazzy rhythms, an existential outlook, but is held together by Chandler (who provides the ur-text...the chords for Altman to riff off of).
It comes down to aesthetic sensibility. Your mileage may vary, of course, but I prefer my auteurs to express their style while wrestling with formidable material. I like The Sweet Hereafter more than Speaking Parts. I'd choose Twelve Monkeys over Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Mulholland Dr. ahead of Fire Walk With Me. Fear Eats the Soul as opposed to Katzelmacher. Age of Innocence over Casino. Out of Sight rather than Schizopolis. And so forth. Not that I don't admire many of these "pure expression" works that I compare unfavorably here. Those films are often more risky, challenging, and groundbreaking. At the same time, they're typically more undisciplined and mannered, with little thematic resonance or content beyond their auteurial concerns.
The Long Goodbye is hardcore Altman grounded in genre; California Split is hardcore Altman without a net. Preferring one over the other likely reveals where you stand on the purist scale.
The Cincinnati Kid (Jewison, 1965) -- C+
Spent a good fifteen mintues fantasizing about being in the middle of a Tuesday Weld-Ann Margaret sandwich. Otherwise mediocre: An indifferent McQueen, clumsy direction, but helped by a killer stud show down at the end between McQueen's Kid and Edward G. Robinson, whose presence adds half a grade to anything. Another flick where precious brain cells are wasted figuring out what Theo was smoking.
Love Me Tonight (Mamoulian, 1932) -- A
The best Lubitsch flick Lubitsch never made. This surreal musical romp boasts some of the most dazzling sequences of the era -- the opening montage, "Isn't it Romantic", and hilarious sight gags done using over and under-cranking -- along with a fountain of sparkling double-entendres, and enhanced by the elegant waltzing camera of Mamoulian. Myrna Loy's a hoot, and even Chevalier's okay. Overall, the most purely enjoyable movie I've seen all year.
A Farewell to Arms (Borzage, 1932) -- B-
A two-hander given poignancy by Hemingway's terse, muscular prose, the same story becomes an overwrought tale of transcendent love in the hands of Grade-A sap Frank Borzage. To be sure, Borzage's an unassailable image-maker: a two-second establishing shot can pulsate with feeling, and certain shots here (the last scene, for example) have the mystical spell of a William Blake painting. But the man is also an incorrigible sentimentalist. His films often falter because they're deeply sincere but also sincerely dumb and sappy, and no great feat of auteurist rehabilitation can make it otherwise. Kent Jones won't say it, but I will: Borzage's spiritual nephew Anthony Minghella is a much better filmmaker, and an unfashionable Oscarbait like The English Patient at least grapples with the wages of romantic narcissism. Borzage hasn't even thought about it, too caught up in his belief that love conquers all. (The best romantic filmmakers understand that it is precisely that love doesn't conquer all that makes love so tragic.) Also, not helped by an unsteady Gary Cooper. Helen Hayes was very good, but the mousy thespian is not my idea of the alluring Catherine Barkley. Too bad Carole Lombard wasn't famous yet. Moving and beautiful in parts, but way sappy.
Hold Back the Dawn (Leisen, 1941) -- B+
In Conversations with Wilder, Wilder expressed disappointment with this and other Leisen pictures written by him and Brackett. He shouldn't have been. This is a picture ahead of its time, a moving tale of desperate immigrants, showing how far people will go to get inside the American border. Witty and elegant, like all the Leisen/Wilder/Brackett collaborations, with a fiendishly charming Boyer. Best is a vulnerable yet layered performance by Olivia de Havilland, whom, with her estranged sister Joan Fontaine, own a patent on the portrayal of the Woman Who Loves Too Much, the kind of timid spinster too eager to hand over her heart to an obvious scoundrel. This de Havilland "victim" turns out to be tougher than she appeared, which makes all the difference.
Burn! (Pontecorvo, 1969) -- C+
If Battle of Algiers was the tactical manual of the anti-Colonialist insurgency, Pontecorvo's follow-up, Burn!, is the socio-economic treatise. As with Algiers, Pontecorvo shows himself to be a highly sophisticated radical. He understands the political and economic precepts behind colonialism, and he's fair enough to depict both the Colonialists' conflicting viewpoints (Colonialists are smartly demarcated into different factions with different goals, some economic, others political) and the native people's deficiencies (inability to exploit their cash crop for value). Brando's complex, morally ambiguous British sabateur is probably his best performance of the Sixties, the weird accent notwithstanding. Some fascinating politics, but the movie's sadly a complete mess, bearing evidence of a brutal studio chop job and too much revolutionary sentimentality. Nice score by Morricone, though.
Friday, September 03, 2004
Cycle of violence
Escaping children shot in the back. The roof of a gym filled with hundreds of hostages caves in, crushing people held inside. 1,200 hostages were held in a Beslan school by dozens of armed terrorists demanding the independence of Chechnya. After the seige from the military, maybe 1000 of those hostages survived. This is how the Beslan school hostage crisis went down, bringing to a horrifying end the most monstrous terrorist act in the Chechen insurgency.
It's the same story the last five years. Terroritory A is oppressed and wants independence from Nation B. Nation B crushes the independence movement with excessive force, radicalizing A's population. A begins to turn to terrorism. Innocent civilians in B die. A dooms its chance for independence.
When will these "rebels" learn? Wanton killing of civilians will not help the cause. It only sets the rest of humanity against your goals. Not sure where Putin, on the heels of the plane bombings, goes from here, but an all-out war with the Chechen rebels seems likely.
It's the same story the last five years. Terroritory A is oppressed and wants independence from Nation B. Nation B crushes the independence movement with excessive force, radicalizing A's population. A begins to turn to terrorism. Innocent civilians in B die. A dooms its chance for independence.
When will these "rebels" learn? Wanton killing of civilians will not help the cause. It only sets the rest of humanity against your goals. Not sure where Putin, on the heels of the plane bombings, goes from here, but an all-out war with the Chechen rebels seems likely.
Wednesday, August 25, 2004
Screening of a new film by Dan Sallitt
Uber-cineaste Dan Sallitt screens his recently completed feature All the Ships at Sea in Santa Monica on September 22, with proceeds going to the Democratic National Committee.
For those of you new to the auteurist scene, Dan's a reknowned critic who can also stake the claim of easily having watched more movies than anyone I know. Haven't seen any of his movies, but I'm guessing that this one will feature some fascinating tension between the acting and the direction. Folks in LA should check it out.
Info:
For those of you new to the auteurist scene, Dan's a reknowned critic who can also stake the claim of easily having watched more movies than anyone I know. Haven't seen any of his movies, but I'm guessing that this one will feature some fascinating tension between the acting and the direction. Folks in LA should check it out.
Info:
Screenings: Wednesday, September 22 at 8 p.m. and 10 p.m.
Location: EZTV 18th Street Art Complex, 1629 18th St., Suite 6, Santa
Monica (one block north of Olympic Blvd.)
Running time: 64 min.
Introduced by: Bill Krohn, Hollywood correspondent for Cahiers du
Cinema
Admission: $20, students $15 (to be paid to the Democratic National
Committee)
RSVP for guaranteed admission to ImageddonBush@aol.com or 310-364-2455
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Louis Menand explains it all
I passed along a bunch of links this week, but the only one really worth reading is this one, by Louis Menand in the New Yorker about democracy and voters.
Why is there so much cynicism in politics? How did toejam like Dubya get elected to the highest office in the land? Why is the political campaign focused on dumbass shit instead of, say, a discussion on national interest realism v. democraticization idealism?
The answer lies in the fact that most voters don't base their voting decisions on carefully considered positions of the issues, as Menand explains in his review of various voter analysis treatises. They vote for all kinds of non-policy related reasons, which is why campaigns rely so much on symbolism and feel-good gobbledygook.
Me, I've always held the position that ill-informed folks should exercise their right to abstain from voting. Just as I don't voice my opinion on the handling of BMWs (on account of never having driven one), so too, folks who can't be bothered to keep up with current events and civil discourse really have no business in participating in the political process. Menand's piece actually makes me question my views, since it would turn out that perhaps 90% of the populace shouldn't vote.
Why is there so much cynicism in politics? How did toejam like Dubya get elected to the highest office in the land? Why is the political campaign focused on dumbass shit instead of, say, a discussion on national interest realism v. democraticization idealism?
The answer lies in the fact that most voters don't base their voting decisions on carefully considered positions of the issues, as Menand explains in his review of various voter analysis treatises. They vote for all kinds of non-policy related reasons, which is why campaigns rely so much on symbolism and feel-good gobbledygook.
Me, I've always held the position that ill-informed folks should exercise their right to abstain from voting. Just as I don't voice my opinion on the handling of BMWs (on account of never having driven one), so too, folks who can't be bothered to keep up with current events and civil discourse really have no business in participating in the political process. Menand's piece actually makes me question my views, since it would turn out that perhaps 90% of the populace shouldn't vote.
Even more SwiftBoatLiar links
* First, the LA Times editorial page take a strong stand, forcefully arguing for the press to call a spade a spade:
* E.J. Dionne calls on the press to take charge:
These Charges Are False
The technique President Bush is using against John F. Kerry was perfected by his father against Michael Dukakis in 1988, though its roots go back at least to Sen. Joseph McCarthy. It is: Bring a charge, however bogus. Make the charge simple: Dukakis "vetoed the Pledge of Allegiance"; Bill Clinton "raised taxes 128 times"; "there are Communists in the State Department." But make sure the supporting details are complicated and blurry enough to prevent easy refutation.
Then sit back and let the media do your work for you. Journalists have to report the charges, usually feel obliged to report the rebuttal, and often even attempt an analysis or assessment. But the canons of the profession prevent most journalists from saying outright: These charges are false. As a result, the voters are left with a general sense that there is some controversy over Dukakis' patriotism or Kerry's service in Vietnam. And they have been distracted from thinking about real issues (like the war going on now) by these laboratory concoctions.
* E.J. Dionne calls on the press to take charge:
The media have to do more than "he said/he said" reporting. If the charges don't hold up, they don't hold up. And, yes, now that John Kerry's life during his twenties has been put at the heart of this campaign just over two months from Election Day, the media owe the country a comparable review of what Bush was doing at the same time and the same age.
* Surprise! Paul Krugman is outraged.
* The definitive Bush is a bigger pussy than David Mustaine (and by definition, everyone else) post, courtesy of Josh Marshall.
* As usual, Jon Stewart breaks it down. And as usual, CNN and Faux News are pathetic wastes of the public airwaves, as even the NY Times is now saying. Wolf Blitzer, especially, is a joke.
* Does Kerry have a deliberate strategy to deal with these lies? His pal Tom Oliphant says yes, and to watch the counterattack.
* Oh, yes. Today, Najaf is still burning, a report faults Rumsfeld's conduct w/r/t Abu Ghraib, and it's now very likely that Cheney's chief of staff leaked a covert CIA operative's name to take revenge on an ambassador contradicting their Niger claims. No surprise there.
* One more! The utter bankruptcy of the right-wing propoganda machine, as outlined in detail.
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