From the News that Originated in the Blogosphere Dept., No. 49,039.
Today, Frank Rich and MoDo blew the lid off the Jeff Gannon story, a few days after Howie Kurtz wrote on it. You can't make this stuff up. If you hadn't heard about this, click on the Rich link for the synposis.
Of course, for anyone who still follows the liberal blogosphere, this has been an ongoing saga, far and away the single most buzzed-about topic on the Daily Kos, for example. And AmericaBlog appears to be the dumping ground for all Gannon-related info. I hadn't had much interest in this story at first, initially thinking that it's another unwelcome instance of the blogosphere's transformation from news watchdog to a lynch mob looking for reasons to hang idelogically-incorrect journalists. But this guy's news organization isn't even "real": it's a Repug propaganda arm. And this Gannon dude -- nevermind the gay hustler stuff -- was at the White House throwing softballs at the press secretary even before his "news" outfit, Talon News, was even created. Do you suspect that maybe...this guy is a...fake journalist? Oh, this White House would never pay off journalists, would they? Well, yeah. On top of reports that pundit Armstrong Williams got paid hundreds of thousands to shill for No Child Left Behind, this new story shows that this White House has no respect for the boundaries between the press and government. Yet another shining example of the Bushies respect for "freedom".
The word fascism should never be thrown around lightly, but this White House, in their audacious quest to create their own reality, resembles more and more the regimes described by Hannah Arendt in The Origins of Totalitarianism.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Coke, Marx, and random killings
I'd been curious to revisit Masculine Feminine (A), re-released by Rialto in a new print and a new translation, because it's the movie most responsible for turning me on to Godard. When I last viewed Godard's paean to the "Children of Marx and Coca-Cola," I was 18, and like many teenagers, perhaps a little too romantic, naive, idealistic, and impressionable. It was my second Godard, after Breathless, and my fourth or fifth French movie. But I remember loving the go-for-broke exhilaration of Godard's style then, that intoxicating cocktail of romantic ardor and political theory, all told in that fractured cinematic syntax that promises, in each next moment, something you'd never seen before or even expected. They're movies that embody the youthful spirit, the newfound freedom and limitless possibilities of young lives. But as a grizzled, jaded thirtysomething, movies that make references to texts I know excite me less and "academic exercises" bother me more. Discipline, rigor, and classicism have earned my respect; bold but retarded experiments have ceased to impress. Moreover, Godard's recent movies have taken on the resigned tone of an old curmudgeon, rapid-firing cryptic aphorisms and undigested political axioms to diminishing returns. In short, over the last year, I've begun feeling some doubts about that early love for Godard, that it might've been like that obsessive high school crush on an unremarkable lass that seems completely embarrassing in retrospect. Curious whether my love for Godard was just a passing fancy, I've re-watched some of my favorite Godards on DVD in the last year -- Contempt, Vivre sa vie, Band of Outsiders -- and thankfully they've each more than held up. During these viewings, I'd be invariably reminded of why I love movies. In looking back, I'd say that Godard, at least his unsurpassed 1960-67 run, is the filmmaker most responsible for my cinephilia. But the fear that these movies are meant for college age digestion lingers: the re-release of A Woman is a Woman I found somewhat disappointing. I was still excited by Anna Karina and Godard's experiments with image and sound cutting, but the movie itself seemed a little callow, the politics arch and shallow. It seems to me the work of an ingenious bluff-artist.
I'm glad to discover that Masculine Feminine is still sensational, and more prophetic than I'd realized. On paper the movie sounds tedious: taking off from the title, the entire movie is structured as a dialectic. On the masculine side: political militancy and resistance, sexual aggression, high art. One the feminine side: political apathy, teasing sexuality, pop culture. Godard organizes the movie using 15 chapter headings, some typically pretentious and nonsensical, and has as its centerpiece three lengthy interrogations, with men questioning women in tight, cramped quarters. What makes it all work is first Jean-Pierre Leaud, who lends his self-serious dillettante Paul a playfulness that keeps things light, as with the child-like delight on Leaud's face when Paul starts recalling his dad discovering why the earth revolved around the sun or the whimsical Bach humming that ends the scene. But most of all, what makes this exhilarating instead of tiresome is Godard's sense of play. He sprinkles the movie with nonsequitur killings and suicides that seem just absurd at first but foreshadow the tumult and failures that await that generation's young French leftists, pre-'68. The radical experiments in sound that intercuts loud, disruptive street noise and random conversations with pop music (a dialectic of sound -- reality colliding with pop) that still feels innovative today, if a tad annoying. And of course, what's a Godard movie without movie references, like playful nods to Pierrot le fou, The 400 Blows, and Contempt. From Chantal Goya's pop ditties to the stylish sweater sets and tweed coats to the high contrast black & white[1] and the hilarious throwaway humor (the old men taking turns reading erotica out loud at the cafe, Paul and pal yelling out bra-slogans in the laundromat), elegies to the left have never felt so fresh and fun and cool.
And in the end, this movie is an elegy, portending the triumph of the Pepsi generation over the Adorno kids. This farsightedness saves it from the film's central flaw, the pervasive misogyny that courses through the film. It's true the women are portrayed as the more sophisticated and skilled combatants in the battle of the sexes -- whereas the men are immature boors who just want to touch some tits and get into girls' pants, the women prolong the men's agony so the women can get what they want. But Godard still associates femininity with pop vacuity. The centerpiece, a lengthy, probably improvised interrogation by Paul of a "Consumer Product" (the "Miss 19" winner), exemplifies the scathing treatment of female ignorance in an era of heightened political consciousness. Typical exchange: "Tell me in what places are there wars going on right now." "I hadn't thought about it." Women are already commodities, the film suggests. Miss 19 is a "consumer product", Madeleine the pop singer is a producer of records to be sold. The young men resist while the young women submit to pop capitalism. But however schematic and ill-advised the sexual division, the film remains quite prescient. By 1965, when this movie was made, Godard had already sensed just how deep the "American way" has burrowed into the consciousness of the young, even the young French. Serious young men like Paul, the film hints, can't survive this age of commodification and reification.
Maybe Godard couldn't either. But before he turned into a crank (turning out movies that are all dialectics and literary allusions with none of the fun), JLG was in the throes of an effusive cinephilia that makes these early films a blast. Appropriately, the film's best scene is at the movies, when Paul leaves the hilarious Bergman parody to chew out the projectionist for projecting in incorrect aspect ratio. Paul comes back and ruminates in voiceover that "the movie [he's] watching is never the movie [he] wanted to make, which is never the movie [he] wanted to live." Whenever I watch one of Godard's early masterpieces, the opposite is exactly I feel: this is the movie I would have loved to have made. And this is the movie I would've loved to have lived, if only for a year or two.
[1] Please use yellow subtitles next time when restoring a b & w Godard film from the Sixties. The white on white subtitles were a pain. Thank you.
I'm glad to discover that Masculine Feminine is still sensational, and more prophetic than I'd realized. On paper the movie sounds tedious: taking off from the title, the entire movie is structured as a dialectic. On the masculine side: political militancy and resistance, sexual aggression, high art. One the feminine side: political apathy, teasing sexuality, pop culture. Godard organizes the movie using 15 chapter headings, some typically pretentious and nonsensical, and has as its centerpiece three lengthy interrogations, with men questioning women in tight, cramped quarters. What makes it all work is first Jean-Pierre Leaud, who lends his self-serious dillettante Paul a playfulness that keeps things light, as with the child-like delight on Leaud's face when Paul starts recalling his dad discovering why the earth revolved around the sun or the whimsical Bach humming that ends the scene. But most of all, what makes this exhilarating instead of tiresome is Godard's sense of play. He sprinkles the movie with nonsequitur killings and suicides that seem just absurd at first but foreshadow the tumult and failures that await that generation's young French leftists, pre-'68. The radical experiments in sound that intercuts loud, disruptive street noise and random conversations with pop music (a dialectic of sound -- reality colliding with pop) that still feels innovative today, if a tad annoying. And of course, what's a Godard movie without movie references, like playful nods to Pierrot le fou, The 400 Blows, and Contempt. From Chantal Goya's pop ditties to the stylish sweater sets and tweed coats to the high contrast black & white[1] and the hilarious throwaway humor (the old men taking turns reading erotica out loud at the cafe, Paul and pal yelling out bra-slogans in the laundromat), elegies to the left have never felt so fresh and fun and cool.
And in the end, this movie is an elegy, portending the triumph of the Pepsi generation over the Adorno kids. This farsightedness saves it from the film's central flaw, the pervasive misogyny that courses through the film. It's true the women are portrayed as the more sophisticated and skilled combatants in the battle of the sexes -- whereas the men are immature boors who just want to touch some tits and get into girls' pants, the women prolong the men's agony so the women can get what they want. But Godard still associates femininity with pop vacuity. The centerpiece, a lengthy, probably improvised interrogation by Paul of a "Consumer Product" (the "Miss 19" winner), exemplifies the scathing treatment of female ignorance in an era of heightened political consciousness. Typical exchange: "Tell me in what places are there wars going on right now." "I hadn't thought about it." Women are already commodities, the film suggests. Miss 19 is a "consumer product", Madeleine the pop singer is a producer of records to be sold. The young men resist while the young women submit to pop capitalism. But however schematic and ill-advised the sexual division, the film remains quite prescient. By 1965, when this movie was made, Godard had already sensed just how deep the "American way" has burrowed into the consciousness of the young, even the young French. Serious young men like Paul, the film hints, can't survive this age of commodification and reification.
Maybe Godard couldn't either. But before he turned into a crank (turning out movies that are all dialectics and literary allusions with none of the fun), JLG was in the throes of an effusive cinephilia that makes these early films a blast. Appropriately, the film's best scene is at the movies, when Paul leaves the hilarious Bergman parody to chew out the projectionist for projecting in incorrect aspect ratio. Paul comes back and ruminates in voiceover that "the movie [he's] watching is never the movie [he] wanted to make, which is never the movie [he] wanted to live." Whenever I watch one of Godard's early masterpieces, the opposite is exactly I feel: this is the movie I would have loved to have made. And this is the movie I would've loved to have lived, if only for a year or two.
[1] Please use yellow subtitles next time when restoring a b & w Godard film from the Sixties. The white on white subtitles were a pain. Thank you.
Monday, February 14, 2005
My Valentine with Ms. P.
Did you know that pressure to dazzle your date on Valentine's Day cause a large number, possibly as many as "half of dating couples" (yeah right) to break up? Neither did I.
Whatever the merits of that article, it's a relief that my sweetheart doesn't give a whit about Valentine's Day. Sparing me the stress of a V-Day pressure cooker, we instead went for a casual non-V-Day dinner last night at Shiro, a long-established Franco-Japanese fusion joint famous for its sizzling catfish in ginger and ponzu sauce, situated in unpretentious South Pas. That catfish didn't disappoint, and neither does Jonathan Gold, whose recommendation I took. Gold's the best reason to read LA Weekly, no small feat considering that John Powers, David Corn, Scott Foundas and Ella Taylor also write for that publication. But Gold's the man, and his pieces describing his trek to get the perfect boba in West Covina and bun cha gao in Eagle Rock are a joy to read. This week's smackdown on a trendy new place on Melrose is a model of gentlemanly viciousness:
I'm feeling the burn from 20 miles away. According to last month's Believer piece on Manny Farber, Gold's Counter Intelligence ranks with Farber's Negative Space, Robert Christgau's Consumer Guides[1], and Pauline Kael's collected volumes as a key text of contemporary pop criticism. I don't think restaurant reviews hold up as a consumer guide over time, since the quality of restaurants often decline over time due to personnel changes or just inertia. But food critics have greater influence on a week to week basis than any other critic, it seems. A restaurant review may make or break a restaurant. One rave review in the New York Times, and you'll have at least a few thousand eager customers waiting to sample the food. And those customers lead to word of mouth which can sustain an eatery for years. By contrast, no single film or record can be "made" by a superlative review nowadays. A terrific notice in the Times doesn't necessarily make your African circumcision movie a hit, and plenty of 9.4 albums on Pitchfork go unnoticed. More important to a film or record's commercial success than good reviews is an expensive marketing campaign, and for indie rock records, the support of college radio DJs. For restaurants, nothing except maybe celebrity attendance beats a good review in a major publication.
Oh, man, what a digression. How did I end up on food critics? What I've been meaning to write is I'm gonna be spending the night with my mistress, Ms. P. Who, or what, is Ms. P? They happen to be my new wheels, the Motor Trend Car of the Year for 2004, and Automobile's 2004 winner for design. Yeah, the Prius is an eco-car, but it's also got the space-age gadgetry that makes it decidedly not like eating your broccoli. It's a hybrid that's fun to drive, and as a bonus, it's beating that bloated Zepplin-mobile, the motherfucking Hummer off its fat ass on the market. You have to be a driver in LA to truly experience just how fucking annoying those monstrosities are.
[1] Christgau's Consumer Guides are fine, but am I alone in finding his annual Pazz & Jop summaries intolerable? Rambling, full of Moses-like pronouncements, random bits of provocations and would-be bon mots barely strung together by transitional clauses, these essays exploring the musical zeitgeist -- which invariably call out the poll participants for their insularity and/or racism -- should be taught in journalism class as prime example of indulgent alt-weekly sanctimony.
Whatever the merits of that article, it's a relief that my sweetheart doesn't give a whit about Valentine's Day. Sparing me the stress of a V-Day pressure cooker, we instead went for a casual non-V-Day dinner last night at Shiro, a long-established Franco-Japanese fusion joint famous for its sizzling catfish in ginger and ponzu sauce, situated in unpretentious South Pas. That catfish didn't disappoint, and neither does Jonathan Gold, whose recommendation I took. Gold's the best reason to read LA Weekly, no small feat considering that John Powers, David Corn, Scott Foundas and Ella Taylor also write for that publication. But Gold's the man, and his pieces describing his trek to get the perfect boba in West Covina and bun cha gao in Eagle Rock are a joy to read. This week's smackdown on a trendy new place on Melrose is a model of gentlemanly viciousness:
"But Meson G’s gratin is just dreadful, made not with fresh cream but with a heavy, cheesy bechamel sauce, spiked with slippery, half-raw slivers of shiitake mushroom and garnished with green snips of the herb shiso that might as well have been grass clippings, so muted was their scent. The sea urchins themselves were visible but not palpable, like holographic projections of themselves."
I'm feeling the burn from 20 miles away. According to last month's Believer piece on Manny Farber, Gold's Counter Intelligence ranks with Farber's Negative Space, Robert Christgau's Consumer Guides[1], and Pauline Kael's collected volumes as a key text of contemporary pop criticism. I don't think restaurant reviews hold up as a consumer guide over time, since the quality of restaurants often decline over time due to personnel changes or just inertia. But food critics have greater influence on a week to week basis than any other critic, it seems. A restaurant review may make or break a restaurant. One rave review in the New York Times, and you'll have at least a few thousand eager customers waiting to sample the food. And those customers lead to word of mouth which can sustain an eatery for years. By contrast, no single film or record can be "made" by a superlative review nowadays. A terrific notice in the Times doesn't necessarily make your African circumcision movie a hit, and plenty of 9.4 albums on Pitchfork go unnoticed. More important to a film or record's commercial success than good reviews is an expensive marketing campaign, and for indie rock records, the support of college radio DJs. For restaurants, nothing except maybe celebrity attendance beats a good review in a major publication.
Oh, man, what a digression. How did I end up on food critics? What I've been meaning to write is I'm gonna be spending the night with my mistress, Ms. P. Who, or what, is Ms. P? They happen to be my new wheels, the Motor Trend Car of the Year for 2004, and Automobile's 2004 winner for design. Yeah, the Prius is an eco-car, but it's also got the space-age gadgetry that makes it decidedly not like eating your broccoli. It's a hybrid that's fun to drive, and as a bonus, it's beating that bloated Zepplin-mobile, the motherfucking Hummer off its fat ass on the market. You have to be a driver in LA to truly experience just how fucking annoying those monstrosities are.
[1] Christgau's Consumer Guides are fine, but am I alone in finding his annual Pazz & Jop summaries intolerable? Rambling, full of Moses-like pronouncements, random bits of provocations and would-be bon mots barely strung together by transitional clauses, these essays exploring the musical zeitgeist -- which invariably call out the poll participants for their insularity and/or racism -- should be taught in journalism class as prime example of indulgent alt-weekly sanctimony.
Sunday, February 06, 2005
Drive-by reviews of 2004 Releases Part Deux (continually updated)
Birth (Glazer) B
In a nutshell: Til Death Do Us Together.
Amazon movie match: Ghost as directed by Stanley Kubrick
To read a more eloquent take, what he said.
The skinny: [More to come]
The Aviator (Scorsese) B+
In a nutshell: Madness and Civil Aviation (and boobs)
Amazon movie match: Citizen Kane meets The People v. Larry Flynt meets Chaplin
To read a more eloquent take, what he said.
The skinny: [More to come]
Million Dollar Baby (Eastwood) A-
In a nutshell: Tough ain't enough.
Amazon movie match: Fat City
To read a more eloquent take, what he said. Also him. And Godfrey, who came up with most insightful review of this movie I've read thus far. (Thanks to Zack for the tip.)
The skinny: [Warning: Spoilers ahead.] The cinematic equivalent of Billie Holiday's Verve recording of "Body and Soul," Million Dollar Baby breaks the heart not through emphasis or virtuosity, but from the disappointment that lingers on the edges of a veteran's brittle, cracked voice. Clint's oeuvre, it's been said, is about redemption. And Million Dollar Baby starts out exactly like a tale of redemption. Like many underdog boxing sagas, the movie initially luxuriates in an atmosphere of beautiful loserdom, but confident that with enough grit, ambition and determination (and the guidance of a sufficiently crotchety old-timer) you can achieve anything, even redeem those sad aging gym rats that time passed by. (The film's major weaknesses, the retard boxer and the trailer park family, are really there to establish thematic contrasts: the retard represents grit and ambition without self-possession and ability; the trailer park family a lack of determination and work ethic.)
Frankie Dunn's a terrific trainer who learned the hard way that he must protect his fighters. From experience, he's learned to err (perhaps overly so) on the side of caution. Maggie believes that she can make it if she trains hard enough and smart enough. The very American ethos embodied by these two characters gives the first 2/3rds of the film a very conventional kind of old movie satisfaction: as many have said, Million Dollar Baby resembles a 30s programmer -- a remarkably well-directed one (and an underrated script that's great on off-handed talk and thematic unity) -- that emphasizes the sports genre's celebration of will and preparation.
But then the movie takes its "dark turn" and it becomes at once manipulative yet utterly devastating in its pitiless grace. For an American boxing film directed by an icon of rugged individualism, what's most shocking about this movie isn't the surprise "sucker punch" the narrative springs on you, but that Eastwood has, in the end, made a film as fatalistic as anything by Bresson. As a perverse a genre-bender as they come, Eastwood and Haggis use a triumph of the underdog sports movie to limn on existential futility. In the end, no amount of wizened experience, midnight sweat, wise homilies, precautions, talent, grit, toughness or determination can prepare one for the cruel vagaries of life. No redemption can be had; what these characters are left with is only the quiet dignity with which they lived their lives. As Frankie sits beside Maggie, reading off community college courses for her to take, the sad glint in his eyes betrays the regret of having spent an entire career failing to prevent this very scene. In the last ten minutes of Million Dollar Baby, Clint has finally achieved the tragic grandeur of a Billie Holiday number.
Tarnation (Caouette) C-
In a nutshell: Look at me.
Amazon movie match: The amazing home videos of Jonathan Caouette, boy genius. Or a bad version of Scorpio Rising.
To read a more eloquent take, what he said, exactly.
Also, what the fuck is wrong with most of these people?
The skinny: There was a boy NAMED JONATHAN. Jonathan liked the way he looked so much he spent much of his life filming himself in close-up. Jonathan decided to edit all this footage on an iMac with cool effects and songs, so everyone else can watch him preen. In some quarters Jonathan's footage would be dismissed as navel-gazing nonsense, but you see, Jonathan had a bad childhood that led to supposed psychological problems. So a movie all about Jonathan's face is okay according to critics because this is now a "raw" expression of deeper trauma instead of being merely the most narcissistic movie ever made. Oh, Jonathan's mom Renee led a bad life, too, but this movie is not really about how awful Renee's life is, but how Renee's messed-up ways impacted Jonathan. So when Jonathan gets a voicemail about her mom's deterioration, he listens to it while posing in front of the camera with a picture of a young Renee carefully positioned in the background. Jonathan also shows his mother going nuts for about six minutes, with the camera fixed ruthlessly on Renee. Others might find this kind of callous exploitation of family tragedy objectionable but that's okay here because Jonathan is psychologically damaged. Or so Jonathan tells us anyway. This movie is really Jonathan's therapy session, which Ryan can say with confidence does not require his presence. In the end, predictably, this movie is about the toll Jonathan's mother's psychosis takes on Jonathan -- "I worry that I will be like my mother." What a guy.
When Ryan watched this movie, it felt to him like the film of a friend's gall-bladder removal surgery mixed with an iPhoto slide show of his modeling career, punched up with some nifty Flash graphics. Except the prospect of watching such a horrifyingly tedious movie would be more interesting than Tarnaton to Ryan because at least that would be about someone Ryan knows. Ryan doesn't know Jonathan, and after watching this disgusting movie Ryan would die a happy man if he never sees Jonathan's fucking preening mug ever again.
Bright Leaves (McElwee) B+/B
In a nutshell: Tar reels in Autumn.
Amazon movie match: Sans Soleil
To read a more eloquent take, what he said.
The skinny: Must see Sherman's March.
The Incredibles (Bird) B+/B
In a nutshell: Pixar and Brad Bird reinterpret The Watchmen starring the Fantastic Four.
Amazon movie match: Spy Kids
To read a more eloquent take, what he said.
The skinny: Talent and premise promise one for the ages, but in the end "just" another very good Pixar picture with eye-popping visuals and conventional messages, this one being particularly studied in its political centrism (combining the righty's contempt for institutional egalitarianism with the lefty's humanist attitudes and concern for children's self-esteem). More clever than anything around and the design detail completely remarkable -- the Eames-styled decor of the Parr's suburban home, the wet Incredisuit, the Island -- but the story's structure is off: the smartest, wittiest parts of the movie were relegated to first act (The Age of Superheroes, and the Parrs in suburbia) when it should've been expanded to two acts. Bird instead jumps too quickly into the pedestrian "Syndrome" plot, in too much of a hurry to stage awesome action sequences on the island that are indeed awesome, but in a PS2 kinda way. And later creativity in the action scenes with Elastigirl (especially the scene of her getting trapped by three separate doors), Frozone and the kids made me wish Bird expanded his scope to other heroes, instead of focusing largely on Mr. Incredible and his banal superpowers (all he does is hurtle around and smash things). Most clever when Bird and co. are geeking out, with the superhero cape disasters and Edna Mode particular delights. Too bad the movie ends up villifying geeks.
Raja (Doillon) B+
In a nutshell: The Lecherous Colonialist.
Amazon movie match: La Collectioneuse and Besieged.
To read a more eloquent take, what he said.
The skinny: Eschewing easy allegories (wealthy middle-aged Frenchman preys on poor young Moroccan girl), Doillon focuses intensely on his richly detailed characters, on the sexually obsessed Fred and savvy young Raja, without ever losing sight of issues of colonialism, money, gender, and age. The movie's never schematic -- the Moroccan girl, acutely aware of her power as objection of a rich European's lust from the opening minutes, isn't shy about manipulating Fred, and it's notably rich in light-hearted moments. Unlike those grim, sad-sack obsessives played by Charles Berling or Rohmer's self-serious narcissists, Pacal Gregory's Fred is gregarious and likeable. Those throwaway scenes where Fred teases and shares a chuckle with his dumpy, middle-aged housekeepers, along with aforesaid sophisticated view of power, is what really distinguishes this from similar French fare like Intimate Strangers or L'ennui.
Finding Neverland (Forster) C
In a nutshell: Oscar-bait by the numbers.
Amazon movie match: Shitbiscuit and countless middlebrow Miramax dreck.
To read a more eloquent take, what she said.
The skinny: "A handsome production" but seemingly designed to push all my negative buttons: Drawn out terminal illness. Check. Children as measure of truth and goodness. Check. Shrewish old woman. Check. Triumph of unambiguously good and charming protagonist over the odds. Check. Even with two of my favorite actors cast in the leads, this leaden "crowdpleaser," equal parts maudlin and uplifting, sometimes in the same scene, never stood a chance.
A Very Long Engagement (Jeunet) C+
In a nutshell: Amelie in All's Quiet on the Western Front
Amazon movie match: The anti-Cold Mountain
To read a more eloquent take, what she said.
The skinny: Contra Waz, the Great War backdrop only reinforces the emptiness of Jeunet's excessive dazzle-every-second style, which turns some of the most gruesome moments in history into ostentatious displays of engineered virtuosity. Visually astounding, fastidiously detailed and imaginative -- each individual shot a meticulously designed wonder -- but overbearing in its fussiness, eagerness to please and extravagance (I'm glad you've got a budget, JPJ, but do we need twenty helicopter shots?). Suffice it to say that the movie's unpalatable quantities of whimsy in service of a sickening love-conquers-even-war solipsism (and a celebration of one of my least favorite types, the idealistic naif) gave me a fucking tummy ache.
In a nutshell: Til Death Do Us Together.
Amazon movie match: Ghost as directed by Stanley Kubrick
To read a more eloquent take, what he said.
The skinny: [More to come]
The Aviator (Scorsese) B+
In a nutshell: Madness and Civil Aviation (and boobs)
Amazon movie match: Citizen Kane meets The People v. Larry Flynt meets Chaplin
To read a more eloquent take, what he said.
The skinny: [More to come]
Million Dollar Baby (Eastwood) A-
In a nutshell: Tough ain't enough.
Amazon movie match: Fat City
To read a more eloquent take, what he said. Also him. And Godfrey, who came up with most insightful review of this movie I've read thus far. (Thanks to Zack for the tip.)
The skinny: [Warning: Spoilers ahead.] The cinematic equivalent of Billie Holiday's Verve recording of "Body and Soul," Million Dollar Baby breaks the heart not through emphasis or virtuosity, but from the disappointment that lingers on the edges of a veteran's brittle, cracked voice. Clint's oeuvre, it's been said, is about redemption. And Million Dollar Baby starts out exactly like a tale of redemption. Like many underdog boxing sagas, the movie initially luxuriates in an atmosphere of beautiful loserdom, but confident that with enough grit, ambition and determination (and the guidance of a sufficiently crotchety old-timer) you can achieve anything, even redeem those sad aging gym rats that time passed by. (The film's major weaknesses, the retard boxer and the trailer park family, are really there to establish thematic contrasts: the retard represents grit and ambition without self-possession and ability; the trailer park family a lack of determination and work ethic.)
Frankie Dunn's a terrific trainer who learned the hard way that he must protect his fighters. From experience, he's learned to err (perhaps overly so) on the side of caution. Maggie believes that she can make it if she trains hard enough and smart enough. The very American ethos embodied by these two characters gives the first 2/3rds of the film a very conventional kind of old movie satisfaction: as many have said, Million Dollar Baby resembles a 30s programmer -- a remarkably well-directed one (and an underrated script that's great on off-handed talk and thematic unity) -- that emphasizes the sports genre's celebration of will and preparation.
But then the movie takes its "dark turn" and it becomes at once manipulative yet utterly devastating in its pitiless grace. For an American boxing film directed by an icon of rugged individualism, what's most shocking about this movie isn't the surprise "sucker punch" the narrative springs on you, but that Eastwood has, in the end, made a film as fatalistic as anything by Bresson. As a perverse a genre-bender as they come, Eastwood and Haggis use a triumph of the underdog sports movie to limn on existential futility. In the end, no amount of wizened experience, midnight sweat, wise homilies, precautions, talent, grit, toughness or determination can prepare one for the cruel vagaries of life. No redemption can be had; what these characters are left with is only the quiet dignity with which they lived their lives. As Frankie sits beside Maggie, reading off community college courses for her to take, the sad glint in his eyes betrays the regret of having spent an entire career failing to prevent this very scene. In the last ten minutes of Million Dollar Baby, Clint has finally achieved the tragic grandeur of a Billie Holiday number.
Tarnation (Caouette) C-
In a nutshell: Look at me.
Amazon movie match: The amazing home videos of Jonathan Caouette, boy genius. Or a bad version of Scorpio Rising.
To read a more eloquent take, what he said, exactly.
Also, what the fuck is wrong with most of these people?
The skinny: There was a boy NAMED JONATHAN. Jonathan liked the way he looked so much he spent much of his life filming himself in close-up. Jonathan decided to edit all this footage on an iMac with cool effects and songs, so everyone else can watch him preen. In some quarters Jonathan's footage would be dismissed as navel-gazing nonsense, but you see, Jonathan had a bad childhood that led to supposed psychological problems. So a movie all about Jonathan's face is okay according to critics because this is now a "raw" expression of deeper trauma instead of being merely the most narcissistic movie ever made. Oh, Jonathan's mom Renee led a bad life, too, but this movie is not really about how awful Renee's life is, but how Renee's messed-up ways impacted Jonathan. So when Jonathan gets a voicemail about her mom's deterioration, he listens to it while posing in front of the camera with a picture of a young Renee carefully positioned in the background. Jonathan also shows his mother going nuts for about six minutes, with the camera fixed ruthlessly on Renee. Others might find this kind of callous exploitation of family tragedy objectionable but that's okay here because Jonathan is psychologically damaged. Or so Jonathan tells us anyway. This movie is really Jonathan's therapy session, which Ryan can say with confidence does not require his presence. In the end, predictably, this movie is about the toll Jonathan's mother's psychosis takes on Jonathan -- "I worry that I will be like my mother." What a guy.
When Ryan watched this movie, it felt to him like the film of a friend's gall-bladder removal surgery mixed with an iPhoto slide show of his modeling career, punched up with some nifty Flash graphics. Except the prospect of watching such a horrifyingly tedious movie would be more interesting than Tarnaton to Ryan because at least that would be about someone Ryan knows. Ryan doesn't know Jonathan, and after watching this disgusting movie Ryan would die a happy man if he never sees Jonathan's fucking preening mug ever again.
Bright Leaves (McElwee) B+/B
In a nutshell: Tar reels in Autumn.
Amazon movie match: Sans Soleil
To read a more eloquent take, what he said.
The skinny: Must see Sherman's March.
The Incredibles (Bird) B+/B
In a nutshell: Pixar and Brad Bird reinterpret The Watchmen starring the Fantastic Four.
Amazon movie match: Spy Kids
To read a more eloquent take, what he said.
The skinny: Talent and premise promise one for the ages, but in the end "just" another very good Pixar picture with eye-popping visuals and conventional messages, this one being particularly studied in its political centrism (combining the righty's contempt for institutional egalitarianism with the lefty's humanist attitudes and concern for children's self-esteem). More clever than anything around and the design detail completely remarkable -- the Eames-styled decor of the Parr's suburban home, the wet Incredisuit, the Island -- but the story's structure is off: the smartest, wittiest parts of the movie were relegated to first act (The Age of Superheroes, and the Parrs in suburbia) when it should've been expanded to two acts. Bird instead jumps too quickly into the pedestrian "Syndrome" plot, in too much of a hurry to stage awesome action sequences on the island that are indeed awesome, but in a PS2 kinda way. And later creativity in the action scenes with Elastigirl (especially the scene of her getting trapped by three separate doors), Frozone and the kids made me wish Bird expanded his scope to other heroes, instead of focusing largely on Mr. Incredible and his banal superpowers (all he does is hurtle around and smash things). Most clever when Bird and co. are geeking out, with the superhero cape disasters and Edna Mode particular delights. Too bad the movie ends up villifying geeks.
Raja (Doillon) B+
In a nutshell: The Lecherous Colonialist.
Amazon movie match: La Collectioneuse and Besieged.
To read a more eloquent take, what he said.
The skinny: Eschewing easy allegories (wealthy middle-aged Frenchman preys on poor young Moroccan girl), Doillon focuses intensely on his richly detailed characters, on the sexually obsessed Fred and savvy young Raja, without ever losing sight of issues of colonialism, money, gender, and age. The movie's never schematic -- the Moroccan girl, acutely aware of her power as objection of a rich European's lust from the opening minutes, isn't shy about manipulating Fred, and it's notably rich in light-hearted moments. Unlike those grim, sad-sack obsessives played by Charles Berling or Rohmer's self-serious narcissists, Pacal Gregory's Fred is gregarious and likeable. Those throwaway scenes where Fred teases and shares a chuckle with his dumpy, middle-aged housekeepers, along with aforesaid sophisticated view of power, is what really distinguishes this from similar French fare like Intimate Strangers or L'ennui.
Finding Neverland (Forster) C
In a nutshell: Oscar-bait by the numbers.
Amazon movie match: Shitbiscuit and countless middlebrow Miramax dreck.
To read a more eloquent take, what she said.
The skinny: "A handsome production" but seemingly designed to push all my negative buttons: Drawn out terminal illness. Check. Children as measure of truth and goodness. Check. Shrewish old woman. Check. Triumph of unambiguously good and charming protagonist over the odds. Check. Even with two of my favorite actors cast in the leads, this leaden "crowdpleaser," equal parts maudlin and uplifting, sometimes in the same scene, never stood a chance.
A Very Long Engagement (Jeunet) C+
In a nutshell: Amelie in All's Quiet on the Western Front
Amazon movie match: The anti-Cold Mountain
To read a more eloquent take, what she said.
The skinny: Contra Waz, the Great War backdrop only reinforces the emptiness of Jeunet's excessive dazzle-every-second style, which turns some of the most gruesome moments in history into ostentatious displays of engineered virtuosity. Visually astounding, fastidiously detailed and imaginative -- each individual shot a meticulously designed wonder -- but overbearing in its fussiness, eagerness to please and extravagance (I'm glad you've got a budget, JPJ, but do we need twenty helicopter shots?). Suffice it to say that the movie's unpalatable quantities of whimsy in service of a sickening love-conquers-even-war solipsism (and a celebration of one of my least favorite types, the idealistic naif) gave me a fucking tummy ache.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Most Anticipated Movies of 2005
Even before the 2004 wrap is completed, I bring you the 2005 sneaks! Probable 2005 releases that I've already seen and which would easily be in the top 5 anticipated movies are: Tropical Malady, 2046, and Clean.
Surveying the following titles, 2005 could be the best year for fantasy films since...well, ever. Gilliam, Gaiman, Burton, Phillip K. Dick adaptations, even a full-length Wallace & Gromit feature. And rumors are that David Lynch is working on a new film that may be ready by the end of the year. A backlash to the Year of the Documentary? We'll wait and see.
01. Kings and Queen
Why? See 2004 list. Plus, early reaction has been very strong.
But... Real life bickering threatens to turn Desplechin into the next Jean Eustache, a suicide.
02. The Brothers Grimm
Why? Time Bandits. Brazil. 12 Monkeys. Terry Gilliam doing fantasy is like Julia Child with butter.
But... Recall Lost in La Mancha. The man is a loon.
03. The New World
Why? Terence Malick re-stages Pocahontas. A perfect match of directorial sensibility and material.
But... Looks like the kind of movie that plays world music chorals over slow motion slaughtering of Indians.
04. Untitled Jonze/Kaufman Horror Project
Why? Charlie Kaufman is the most exciting filmmaker in America, and anything he does is automatically top 5 material.
But... If this is indeed Donald Kaufman's "The Three," as rumored, it will be either the most ballsy meta-joke of all-time or the project where CK jumped the shark.
05. A Scanner Darkly
Why? If you were given a random project and forced to choose one working director to helm it, who would you choose? After School of Rock and Before Sunset, I'd probably go with the versatile Linklater. And now he's adapting one of Phillip K. Dick's best stories with Sabiston's rotoscope animation. Awesome. Take a peek.
But... I still remember Wanking Life, bud.
06. Howl's Moving Castle
Why? The follow-up to Spirited Away.
But... No one thinks it's as good as Spirited Away.
07. Untitled David Lynch Project
Why? The follow-up to Mulholland Dr.
But... Can Lynch ever top Mulholland Dr.? (I bet not.)
08 I'm Not There: Suppositions on a Film Concerning Dylan
Why? Bob Dylan, plus Todd Haynes' experimental inquiry into the nature of biopics sounds like the greatest filmed thesis since, um, Far From Heaven.
But.... An awfully academic exercise, and haven't we already seen 32 Short Films About Glenn Gould?
09. The Fountain
Why? Aronofsky's top-secret mindbender is reputedly ambitious beyond reckoning.
But... Aronofsky hasn't exactly hit it out of the park his previous two times up.
10. Mirrormask
Why? Neil Gaiman. Dave McKean. If you are a nerd, your heart is already racing.
But... Can they make the leap from comics to cinema? (The answer appears to be yes.)
11. Untitled Jim Jarmusch Project
Why? Bill Murray and Jim Jarmusch is the best matchup of actor and director since Murray and Wes Anderson.
But... Jarmusch's on a winning streak. Due for a whiff?
12. The War of the Worlds
Why? Excellent teaser. Also, Spielberg's only good movie in the last five years is a Cruise vehicle.
But... Will inevitably garner unfavorable comparisons to Orson's radio hoax.
13. Where the Wild Things Are
Why? Spike Jonze's animated feature is all I know. That's enough.
But... Don't know anything else about it.
14. Sin City
Why? The cast. Robert Rodriguez quitting DGA so Frank Miller can be credited as co-director. The trailer. Especially the look.
But... Miller's blocky bleeding blacks were cool, but Sin City the comic was third-rate ersatz pulp, and it's a tall order to pull off both the superhigh-contrast look and the pulp-comic style.
15. Pretty Persuasion
Why? "Do you fuck dogs?"
But... Afraid it may employ the same kind of ham-fisted satirical devices used in the Skander-approved American Psycho.
16. Old Boy and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance
Why? The latest features from the new new bad boy of Asian cinema.
But... Wasn't really blown away from the accomplished but empty Mr. Vengeance.
17. Izo
Why? The latest (or one of, anyway) from the old new bad boy of Asian cinema. Bonus: Beat Takeshi! Plus, it's supposedly awesome, or at least similar to his last awesome movie, Graveyard of Honor.
But... Miike is always hit and miss.
18. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
Why? Perfect match of material and talent, as the ebullient trailer suggests.
But... Is there really a pressing need to remake the original?
19. Melinda and Melinda
Why? Supposedly Woody's best in a long, long time.
But... The Woodman hasn't exactly set a high bar for himself to clear these days.
20. A History of Violence
Why? David Cronenberg doing David Cronenberg, apparently.
But... It's often best to leave hermeneutics to scruffy academics.
21. Cache
Why? Haneke and Binoche, together again.
But... Always a danger of labored academic provocation with this director.
22. Batman Begins
Why? The most interesting Batman story finally gets told by a good storyteller. Bale well cast.
But... Material calls for high noir panache, and Nolan hasn't exactly shown himself to be adept at atmosphere and mood.
23. Les Temps qui changent
Why? Denueve, Depardieu, Techine, what can go wrong?
But... Techine hasn't exactly been on a roll.
24. Where the Truth Lies
Why? Lightning strikes twice? Sounds remarkably close in theme to The Sweet Hereafter.
But... Somewhere in the last six years, Egoyan lost his way, to the point where his new movie barely makes these kinds of lists.
25. The Wallace & Gromit Movie: Curse of the Wererabbit.
Why? Finally, a Wallace & Gromit full-length feature. Plus, claymation rules.
But... Might be a stretched out short the way most claymation features are.
Cutting too close? Art School Confidential (Clowes' acidic yet one-note lampooning of his art school years is the last Eightball strip I'd think would work as a feature film, except maybe Dan Pussey. Yet here it is.); Fever Pitch (Farrelly's Red Sox nut movie may cut way too close to home.)
Dreading with anticipation....Manderlay. [As I type these words, my fingers are trembling with fear: "A sequel to Dogville set in the 1930s American South." What I fear is I will lose ten years of my life arguing with insane movie nerds who will think this (most likely) totally fucked up piece of shit is better than Faulkner or something.]
Sequels of some interest: Stars Wars Episode III: The Revenge of the Sith, The Ring 2.
Exciting known quantities: L'Intrus (Denis's impossibly obscure visual poem), Kung Fu Hustle (by all accounts awesome), Eros (Wanker's short sounds good), Head On (raves all around), Nobody Knows (somebody thinks I used to look like the main actor), Ong Bak: Thai Warrior (the most kickass movie ever?), Good Morning, Night; Look at Me.
Other intriguing films: Ridley Scott's Crusades epic Kingdom of Heaven (I fear the clash of civilizations subtext), Ang Lee's gay cowboy movie Brokeback Mountain (not sold on Heath Ledger), The Constant Gardener (from the director of City of God), Robert Towne's L.A. story Ask the Dust, Nicolas Cage is The Weather Man, the Sundance favorite Cronicas, Kate Winslet's Romance & Cigarettes, Legend of Zorro (I dug Mask of Zorro), Cameron Crowe's Elizabethtown, the noir experiment Brick, Tim Burton's Corpse Bride, Noah Baumbach's The Squid and the Whale, that Miranda July picture, and last but not least, What Is It?, the latest insane opus from crackpot Crispin Glover.
Promising, but something to prove: The Good Shepherd, Jarhead, Everything Is Illuminated, V for Vendetta, Zathura, Chronicles of Narnia, Aeon Flux.
Do we need another one? King Kong (sorry, geeks), The Producers, All the King's Men.
Other noted auteurs likely to have a project released this year: Hong Sang-soo, Tsai Ming-liang, Jang Sun-woo.
Long overdue: movies by PTA, Rivette, and Edward Yang.
Special mention: The re-release of Antonioni's The Passenger.
Surveying the following titles, 2005 could be the best year for fantasy films since...well, ever. Gilliam, Gaiman, Burton, Phillip K. Dick adaptations, even a full-length Wallace & Gromit feature. And rumors are that David Lynch is working on a new film that may be ready by the end of the year. A backlash to the Year of the Documentary? We'll wait and see.
01. Kings and Queen
Why? See 2004 list. Plus, early reaction has been very strong.
But... Real life bickering threatens to turn Desplechin into the next Jean Eustache, a suicide.
02. The Brothers Grimm
Why? Time Bandits. Brazil. 12 Monkeys. Terry Gilliam doing fantasy is like Julia Child with butter.
But... Recall Lost in La Mancha. The man is a loon.
03. The New World
Why? Terence Malick re-stages Pocahontas. A perfect match of directorial sensibility and material.
But... Looks like the kind of movie that plays world music chorals over slow motion slaughtering of Indians.
04. Untitled Jonze/Kaufman Horror Project
Why? Charlie Kaufman is the most exciting filmmaker in America, and anything he does is automatically top 5 material.
But... If this is indeed Donald Kaufman's "The Three," as rumored, it will be either the most ballsy meta-joke of all-time or the project where CK jumped the shark.
05. A Scanner Darkly
Why? If you were given a random project and forced to choose one working director to helm it, who would you choose? After School of Rock and Before Sunset, I'd probably go with the versatile Linklater. And now he's adapting one of Phillip K. Dick's best stories with Sabiston's rotoscope animation. Awesome. Take a peek.
But... I still remember Wanking Life, bud.
06. Howl's Moving Castle
Why? The follow-up to Spirited Away.
But... No one thinks it's as good as Spirited Away.
07. Untitled David Lynch Project
Why? The follow-up to Mulholland Dr.
But... Can Lynch ever top Mulholland Dr.? (I bet not.)
08 I'm Not There: Suppositions on a Film Concerning Dylan
Why? Bob Dylan, plus Todd Haynes' experimental inquiry into the nature of biopics sounds like the greatest filmed thesis since, um, Far From Heaven.
But.... An awfully academic exercise, and haven't we already seen 32 Short Films About Glenn Gould?
09. The Fountain
Why? Aronofsky's top-secret mindbender is reputedly ambitious beyond reckoning.
But... Aronofsky hasn't exactly hit it out of the park his previous two times up.
10. Mirrormask
Why? Neil Gaiman. Dave McKean. If you are a nerd, your heart is already racing.
But... Can they make the leap from comics to cinema? (The answer appears to be yes.)
11. Untitled Jim Jarmusch Project
Why? Bill Murray and Jim Jarmusch is the best matchup of actor and director since Murray and Wes Anderson.
But... Jarmusch's on a winning streak. Due for a whiff?
12. The War of the Worlds
Why? Excellent teaser. Also, Spielberg's only good movie in the last five years is a Cruise vehicle.
But... Will inevitably garner unfavorable comparisons to Orson's radio hoax.
13. Where the Wild Things Are
Why? Spike Jonze's animated feature is all I know. That's enough.
But... Don't know anything else about it.
14. Sin City
Why? The cast. Robert Rodriguez quitting DGA so Frank Miller can be credited as co-director. The trailer. Especially the look.
But... Miller's blocky bleeding blacks were cool, but Sin City the comic was third-rate ersatz pulp, and it's a tall order to pull off both the superhigh-contrast look and the pulp-comic style.
15. Pretty Persuasion
Why? "Do you fuck dogs?"
But... Afraid it may employ the same kind of ham-fisted satirical devices used in the Skander-approved American Psycho.
16. Old Boy and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance
Why? The latest features from the new new bad boy of Asian cinema.
But... Wasn't really blown away from the accomplished but empty Mr. Vengeance.
17. Izo
Why? The latest (or one of, anyway) from the old new bad boy of Asian cinema. Bonus: Beat Takeshi! Plus, it's supposedly awesome, or at least similar to his last awesome movie, Graveyard of Honor.
But... Miike is always hit and miss.
18. Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
Why? Perfect match of material and talent, as the ebullient trailer suggests.
But... Is there really a pressing need to remake the original?
19. Melinda and Melinda
Why? Supposedly Woody's best in a long, long time.
But... The Woodman hasn't exactly set a high bar for himself to clear these days.
20. A History of Violence
Why? David Cronenberg doing David Cronenberg, apparently.
But... It's often best to leave hermeneutics to scruffy academics.
21. Cache
Why? Haneke and Binoche, together again.
But... Always a danger of labored academic provocation with this director.
22. Batman Begins
Why? The most interesting Batman story finally gets told by a good storyteller. Bale well cast.
But... Material calls for high noir panache, and Nolan hasn't exactly shown himself to be adept at atmosphere and mood.
23. Les Temps qui changent
Why? Denueve, Depardieu, Techine, what can go wrong?
But... Techine hasn't exactly been on a roll.
24. Where the Truth Lies
Why? Lightning strikes twice? Sounds remarkably close in theme to The Sweet Hereafter.
But... Somewhere in the last six years, Egoyan lost his way, to the point where his new movie barely makes these kinds of lists.
25. The Wallace & Gromit Movie: Curse of the Wererabbit.
Why? Finally, a Wallace & Gromit full-length feature. Plus, claymation rules.
But... Might be a stretched out short the way most claymation features are.
Cutting too close? Art School Confidential (Clowes' acidic yet one-note lampooning of his art school years is the last Eightball strip I'd think would work as a feature film, except maybe Dan Pussey. Yet here it is.); Fever Pitch (Farrelly's Red Sox nut movie may cut way too close to home.)
Dreading with anticipation....Manderlay. [As I type these words, my fingers are trembling with fear: "A sequel to Dogville set in the 1930s American South." What I fear is I will lose ten years of my life arguing with insane movie nerds who will think this (most likely) totally fucked up piece of shit is better than Faulkner or something.]
Sequels of some interest: Stars Wars Episode III: The Revenge of the Sith, The Ring 2.
Exciting known quantities: L'Intrus (Denis's impossibly obscure visual poem), Kung Fu Hustle (by all accounts awesome), Eros (Wanker's short sounds good), Head On (raves all around), Nobody Knows (somebody thinks I used to look like the main actor), Ong Bak: Thai Warrior (the most kickass movie ever?), Good Morning, Night; Look at Me.
Other intriguing films: Ridley Scott's Crusades epic Kingdom of Heaven (I fear the clash of civilizations subtext), Ang Lee's gay cowboy movie Brokeback Mountain (not sold on Heath Ledger), The Constant Gardener (from the director of City of God), Robert Towne's L.A. story Ask the Dust, Nicolas Cage is The Weather Man, the Sundance favorite Cronicas, Kate Winslet's Romance & Cigarettes, Legend of Zorro (I dug Mask of Zorro), Cameron Crowe's Elizabethtown, the noir experiment Brick, Tim Burton's Corpse Bride, Noah Baumbach's The Squid and the Whale, that Miranda July picture, and last but not least, What Is It?, the latest insane opus from crackpot Crispin Glover.
Promising, but something to prove: The Good Shepherd, Jarhead, Everything Is Illuminated, V for Vendetta, Zathura, Chronicles of Narnia, Aeon Flux.
Do we need another one? King Kong (sorry, geeks), The Producers, All the King's Men.
Other noted auteurs likely to have a project released this year: Hong Sang-soo, Tsai Ming-liang, Jang Sun-woo.
Long overdue: movies by PTA, Rivette, and Edward Yang.
Special mention: The re-release of Antonioni's The Passenger.
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Pretty kind of divisive (updated)
Update: Pretty Persuasion wins no prizes, unless you count the collective loathing of brand-name critics and the uniform adoration of geeks a prize.
Hated it: A.O. Scott. The Hollywood Reporter. Dennis Lim.
Loved it: Emanuel Levy, in the most lengthy review yet. He even quotes Skander's Q & A.
Nerd #1. Nerd #2.
Hard to tell: NY Post.
Also, Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean's Mirrormask sounds awesome. Hopefully it is better than Violent Cases and Mr. Punch. On the other end, I shudder at the retarditude promised by the following description: "Lars von Trier's allegory of American gun culture..." Will this guy ever fucking stop? Ever?
* * * * *
Sundance is upon us, and the buzz movies thus far are Hustle and Flow, Brick, and a movie called Pretty Persuasion. Pretty Persuasion, described as a darker, raunchier Heathers, stars Evan Rachel Wood and Ron Livingston and is written by one Skander Halim. Halim's a pretty good scribe, I hear, and his "pitch-black" script, not the direction of Marco Siega, seems to be the subject of early buzz, both good and bad. More good notices here. More prominently, the LA Times yesterday also gave a good notice, calling Pretty Persuasion "Mean Girls when it grew up and got funny." Too bad you gotta pay to read the article online.
Then there's the dreaded 52 that a bud hangs on another. I admire the integrity, Mike, but that's rough.
In other news, this just in: Johnny Carson has passed away. Like a great many Americans under 60, I grew up on Carson, watched him off and on throughout my high school years. In many ways, his retirement effectively ended television as the great uniter. He was the last great institution of the television age; American culture, after Cronkite and Carson, has become a jungle of segmentation, a different talk show host and news anchor for every taste. Slate's appreciation piece nails what made Carson so consistently watchable and funny, and Tom Shales in the Washington Post ponders his legacy.
Hated it: A.O. Scott. The Hollywood Reporter. Dennis Lim.
Loved it: Emanuel Levy, in the most lengthy review yet. He even quotes Skander's Q & A.
Nerd #1. Nerd #2.
Hard to tell: NY Post.
Also, Neil Gaiman and Dave McKean's Mirrormask sounds awesome. Hopefully it is better than Violent Cases and Mr. Punch. On the other end, I shudder at the retarditude promised by the following description: "Lars von Trier's allegory of American gun culture..." Will this guy ever fucking stop? Ever?
* * * * *
Sundance is upon us, and the buzz movies thus far are Hustle and Flow, Brick, and a movie called Pretty Persuasion. Pretty Persuasion, described as a darker, raunchier Heathers, stars Evan Rachel Wood and Ron Livingston and is written by one Skander Halim. Halim's a pretty good scribe, I hear, and his "pitch-black" script, not the direction of Marco Siega, seems to be the subject of early buzz, both good and bad. More good notices here. More prominently, the LA Times yesterday also gave a good notice, calling Pretty Persuasion "Mean Girls when it grew up and got funny." Too bad you gotta pay to read the article online.
Then there's the dreaded 52 that a bud hangs on another. I admire the integrity, Mike, but that's rough.
In other news, this just in: Johnny Carson has passed away. Like a great many Americans under 60, I grew up on Carson, watched him off and on throughout my high school years. In many ways, his retirement effectively ended television as the great uniter. He was the last great institution of the television age; American culture, after Cronkite and Carson, has become a jungle of segmentation, a different talk show host and news anchor for every taste. Slate's appreciation piece nails what made Carson so consistently watchable and funny, and Tom Shales in the Washington Post ponders his legacy.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Another review of Purple Butterfly
Purple Butterfly finally opened in the U.S., and I thought I'd write a more concise review that may prove more helpful than my previous notes on the movie:
Here's Zhang Ziyi, torn between duty and the love percolating deep in her iron-clad heart.
Here's Zhang Ziyi, scorching the screen with torrid desire for her Romeo.
Zhang again, torn between love and duty, and boy can you feel it.
Zhang, positively euphoric as her love is realized.
In this still we find Zhang waist-deep in guilt about the consequences of her espionage. Heartwrenching stuff.
And finally, Zhang in tragic repose.
Here's Zhang Ziyi, torn between duty and the love percolating deep in her iron-clad heart.
Here's Zhang Ziyi, scorching the screen with torrid desire for her Romeo.
Zhang again, torn between love and duty, and boy can you feel it.
Zhang, positively euphoric as her love is realized.
In this still we find Zhang waist-deep in guilt about the consequences of her espionage. Heartwrenching stuff.
And finally, Zhang in tragic repose.
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