Taken, Notorious, Wendy and Lucy

July 18, 2009

Taken (2009) **

Directed by Pierre Morel

After he finished reading “Taken’s” screenplay for the first time, I can’t imagine that Liam Neeson said to himself, “Wow! What a great script! I want to be in this movie because of the quality of its plot!” My guess is that Neeson instead wanted to headline an action flick; the paycheck probably wasn’t something to sneeze at either. “Taken” is just about as shallow and predictable a kidnapping thriller as I’ve ever seen.

Neeson plays retired CIA operative Bryan Mills, who must be among the best trained and most skilled human beings ever to walk the planet—think James Bond, Rambo and Stephen Hawkings all crammed into a tall, lanky Irish frame. Jason Bourne also ought to be added to that list since writers Luc Besson and Robert Mark Kamen shamelessly succeed in ripping off the ‘Bourne’ movies with their intense chase scenes and frenetic editing. However, the huge difference between a film like “The Bourne Ultimatum” and “Taken” is the fact that ‘Ultimatum’ always keeps the viewer oriented to what is going on. Sometimes we follow the perspective of Jason Bourne, since he’s in control, and other times we follow the bad guys because they are one step ahead. “Taken” moves way too fast and tries to incorporate way too much action, not caring one bit about perspective. The result is not only exhausting, but it’s also quite disappointing. The viewer is so disoriented watching the chaotic action on screen that he or she cannot appreciate the inherent thrills. Too much energy is necessary in order to keep track of who is chasing who.

Though I don’t believe his artistic motives for agreeing to be this movie in the first place are pure, Neeson ironically elevates “Taken” to a level well beyond what it would have been without him. His acting is wonderfully intense and perfectly menacing, and yet, Neeson doesn’t take his character Mills (or himself) too seriously. There are moments in “Taken” that dive headlong into camp territory, and Neeson appears all too happy to go along for the ride. More than once, Mills battles six or more knife-wielding, gun-toting snarling bad guys and emerges the victor with only a few superficial scratches to show for it. “Taken” is not an Oscar contender, that’s for sure, and Neeson seems well aware of this with every line he growls.

The story centers around the kidnapping of Mills’ naïve seventeen year old daughter Kim (Maggie Grace), who is subsequently sold into prostitution as part of a human trafficking ring rooted in Albania. By the way, if you are looking for a movie that actually says something about the injustices of human trafficking, kidnapping, or prostitution, then “Taken” isn’t the movie for you. Instead, we get inevitable scenes of torture and violence each time Mills conveniently captures a new bad guy. Also, none of the villains live long enough to allow us to distinguish them from each other. The idea of exploiting young women is supposed to be sufficient enough to make us loathe the bad guys and enjoy watching them suffer. We’re even expected to cheer when the innocent wife of a crooked cop is shot in order to extract information leading Mills one step closer to finding his daughter. The poor woman just cooked a delicious dinner for God’s sake! More than anything though, “Taken” is forgettable; its PG-13 rating stifles the possibility of any scenes resonating on a visceral level. Ultimately, the film fails to define itself apart from the countless better movies it mimics.

Labels: 2009, Thriller, Two Stars

Notorious (2009) **

Directed by George Tillman Jr.

“Notorious” gushes with admiration for a man who was unjustly taken from this world way before his time. Writers Reggie Rock Bythewood and Cheo Hodari Coker present a screenplay clearly meant to honor the memory of the iconic hip hop artist known as The Notorious B.I.G., while director George Tillman Jr.’s goal, similarly, is to make Biggie Smalls proud. First time actor Jamal Woolard, who gained 50 pounds to play the title role, performs every line and offers every gesture in the hope that audiences will truly see Christopher Wallace alive once again, if only for two hours.

And yet, the road to movie hell is paved with good intentions. While one certainly applauds the aim of all involved, it’s necessary to go beyond mere patronization and state clearly that this cookie-cutter biopic is a total mess! With a shallow screenplay, poor direction and a lead performance that ought to be called an impersonation, “Notorious” presents us with the story of the life of a cardboard cutout, nowhere near a fully-realized human being. Biggie deserves a better movie than this.

Angela Bassett—employing an on-again, off-again Jamaican accent—portrays Christopher’s mother Voletta with a clenched jaw and determination blazing in her eyes, which can only come from a Hollywood actress pondering the difficulties of being a single mother living in Brooklyn. She holds her own in heated arguments with Biggie’s father, who left them both while Biggie was just a child. Which is why, in order to escape the fighting, the future rap star began writing angry rhymes and putting them to a beat. However, the words that come out of the young actor’s mouth during this initial epiphany of hip hop creativity sound antithetical to everything we have come to know about the good-natured, chubby kid that Wallace was up to this point. Where did his talent come from? It’s not like he’s ever seen working on perfecting his rhymes. Since “Notorious” is about a man with incredible talent, it curiously spends very little time actually showing the creative process at work. Whenever Biggie starts to rap, he either improvises on the spot or he pulls from songs apparently written off screen. Sure, there are a handful of moments when he is seen recording music in the studio, but these sequences feel as if they’re meant to show off Woolard more than anything else.

At 19 years old, Wallace transitions from innocent boy with oversized glasses concocting rhymes alone in his room to a streetwise drug dealer known for skipping school and mouthing off to his math teacher. As success and romance transform Biggie into the public celebrity we are all familiar with, “Notorious” becomes a portrait of a legend instead of a man. All the drama with Lil Kim and Faith Evans feels like the stuff of gossip magazines, and as the mounting turmoil between Bad Boy Records and Suge Knight/Tupac sets us up for the tragedy we know is coming, too much vague speculation surrounding their skirmish makes its way on screen. As the film progresses closer and closer to its inevitable conclusion, Biggie becomes more and more a saint. Right before he’s about to leave for his final car ride, he conveniently calls and apologizes to his wife Faith Evans for all the wrong he ever did to her. By this point, authenticity is thrown completely out the window in order to make room for sentimental homage, and right in front of our eyes, “Notorious” ceases to maintain any value as a biopic.

Labels: 2009, Drama, Two Stars

Wendy and Lucy (2008) ****1/2

Directed by Kelly Reichardt

“Wendy and Lucy” begins with a mesmerizing sequence around a bonfire, involving young drifters who are never seen again in the film. Wendy, played by Michelle Williams, is herself a young drifter, however, she doesn’t belong among the kids around the fire, which is highlighted by the fact that she leaves them at the first opportunity available. Wendy doesn’t belong anywhere, especially in the small town in Oregon where her car breaks down on the way to Ketchikan, Alaska. It’s clear that Wendy has meticulously planned her journey down to the very last penny, and therefore, this snafu puts everything in jeopardy. Making matters worse, Wendy is caught shoplifting dog food for her canine friend Lucy and must spend much of the day behind bars. When she returns to the grocery store where she left Lucy tied to a bike rack, she learns that her dog has been taken. Wendy is then required to rely on the kindness of an elderly security guard who gives her directions and lets her use his cell phone to call the pound. At the pound, Lucy is nowhere to be found, and so Wendy spends the next two days putting up lost dog signs and working towards getting her car fixed. Nothing extraordinary occurs until she tries spending the night in the woods without her dog. Perhaps it’s through this traumatic experience or perhaps it’s through her collective struggles all alone in Oregon that she makes a profound decision concerning the logistics of the remainder of her journey. Belonging somewhere between independent filmmaking and cinema verite and with a budget of about eighty-two cents, “Wendy and Lucy” has been criticized as not adding up to much of anything at all. Yet, there’s so much pure truth inhabiting Wendy’s ordinary struggles that in reality, a more valuable film is hard to come by. Writer/director Kelly Reichardt provides rich meditations on love and loneliness, and in the process, she offers a character effectively representing the struggle we all go through in trying to fulfill our destinies. A few of the supporting actors come off a bit too conventional, but Williams’ performance in the lead is masterful, displaying a gritty realism. As the ex-wife of Heath Ledger, Williams wriggles out of his shadow with one of the great performances of the year.

Labels: 2008, Drama, Four and a Half Stars

Flash of Genius, Tell No One, High School Musical 3, Appaloosa, Pineapple Express

July 18, 2009

Flash of Genius (2008) **1/2

Directed by Marc Abraham

I’ve always liked Greg Kinnear. I started watching him on “Talk Soup” in the nineties, and I’ve been following his career from his late night talk show, to his Oscar nomination for “As Good As It Gets,” to his A-list status in films such as “Little Miss Sunshine.” “Flash of Genius” is the sort of movie that would have been important if it had an Oscar-caliber performance—think “Erin Brockovich.” Kinnear tries with all his might to carry this movie on his shoulders, and unfortunately, he’s not up to the task. He’s always been a high energy actor, and I’ve usually enjoyed his performances because of it. Yet, this time, he goes a bit too far, often contorting his face into some of the most bizarre and extreme expressions I’ve ever seen. Add in the fact that “Flash of Genius” melodramatically tells the true story of a man who invented the intermittent windshield wiper like he was Jesus Christ himself, and what’s left is a familiar courtroom drama about corporate injustice which simply doesn’t need to be seen; it’s the kind of movie that you forget about two days after you’ve watched it.

Labels: 2008, Drama, Two and a Half Stars

Tell No One (2008) **

Directed by Guillaume Canet

Don’t let anyone tell you that French cinema has to be high-brow. “Tell No One” proves that the French can make duds just as good as Americans. As a matter of fact, “Tell No One” proves that the French can make American duds just as good as Americans. Writer/director Guillaume Canet shamelessly rips off the success of the Bourne films with this predictable, convoluted thriller about a pediatrician chased by a group of bad guys (who don’t want him to find out what really happened eight years prior when his wife was savagely murdered) and the police (who believe him to be the one responsible). Francois Cluzet, as the pediatrician, gives a monumentally dull performance, clearly lacking the charisma of a Matt Damon or a Daniel Craig. Too many characters are introduced too quickly, and the big reveal at the end goes down as one of the silliest I’ve ever seen. Despite some impressive chase sequences, “Tell No One” ultimately fails to execute a well-told and original story.

Labels: 2008, Foreign Film, French, Thriller, Two Stars

High School Musical 3: Senior Year (2008) *1/2

Directed by Kenny Ortega

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I’m a fan of musicals. Therefore, when I read that the first “High School Musical” broke ratings records when it initially appeared on the Disney Channel, I decided that I’d check it out. Sure, it was corny, but I enjoyed it for what it was—innocent, high-energy escapism. The choreography by director Kenny Ortega was terrific, and its young cast, led by heartthrob Zac Efron, had charisma oozing out their pores. Plus, Efron and his real-life girlfriend Vanessa Hudgens have great chemistry on screen. If this is what the kids were into these days, it was fine with me.

‘HSM 2’ delivered the cheese-ball goods once again, containing an opening song called “Summertime” which I believe to be the high point of the entire series. Since ‘HSM’ had become a multi-million dollar franchise for Disney, the sequel worked as an event film while still maintaining its humble charm. Therefore, I was willing to watch “High School Musical 3: Senior Year,” hoping to have another mindless good time. Sadly, the result of a larger budget and a theatrical release absolutely ruined my affection for all involved. The songs are unbearably awful—“The Boys Are Back” actually made me nauseous! Hudgens needs to practice singing out of her throat instead of her nose. The costume designer who dressed Lucas Grabeel ought to be blacklisted and deported. And worst of all is the musical itself; the last half hour showcases one horrendous show-stopping number after another, and of course the audience stands and cheers at the end. They’re lucky I wasn’t among them, because I would have pulled the fire alarm about five minutes after the lights dimmed! Please, God, let the kids of ‘HSM’ go to colleges far away from each other, and please let them all lose touch forever!

Labels: 2008, Musical, One and a Half Stars

Appaloosa (2008) **

Directed by Ed Harris

My favorite film, Robert Redford’s “Ordinary People,” was a first time directorial effort from a revered actor who wanted to branch out. Ed Harris’ second film as a director (after “Pollock”) will be no one’s favorite, I guarantee you that! “Appaloosa” is a tired Western that should have been discarded during its conceptual stage way before any filming actually began.

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Westerns tend to come in three varieties. The most common usually involves a group of men on horseback in the desert either pursuing or fleeing another group of men on horseback in the desert—think “The Searchers,” “Stagecoach” and “Treasure of the Sierra Madre.” Another familiar formula places the action within the confines of a small town with a saloon and a sheriff—think “High Noon,” “Shane” and “Hud.” “Appaloosa” tries and fails to mesh the two together in a silly story about a Marshall (Harris) and his deputy (Viggo Mortensen) who pursue a group of outlaws led by Randall Bragg (Jeremy Irons), guilty of murdering three local lawmen. Meanwhile, Bragg and his men kidnap the Marshall’s fiancée, a widow named Allison French, played by an ultra-squinty Renee Zellweger. Murder and intrigue ensue in exactly the ways you’d expect them to. Throw in some forced homoerotic undertones, seemingly a requirement in modern Westerns, and what’s left is a pathetic, predictable waste of time.

The third type of Western, by the way, is one that strives to change the rules of the genre—think “The Wild Bunch,” “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” “The Last Picture Show,” “Unforgiven” and “Brokeback Mountain.” While films in this third type attempt to evolve the Western film into something more provocative, “Appaloosa” lazily plops itself all too eagerly within the clichés that have been used since the genesis of the genre almost a century ago. Perhaps Harris should consider keeping his day job.

Labels: 2008, Western, Two Stars

Pineapple Express (2008) ***

Directed by David Gordon Green

Imagine this scenario: A stoned Judd Apatow is locked in a room with a sober, exhausted Quentin Tarantino, and they’re both told to come up with a movie in only a few hours. After agreeing on character names and occupations, they lose patience with each other and settle on splitting the movie in half—Apatow will write the first hour and Tarantino will deal with the second. Tarantino finishes first and falls asleep; Apatow takes his time, cracking himself up throughout the entire process. When finished, Apatow wakes up a cranky Tarantino who immediately grabs his own hour of the script and slides it underneath Apatow’s hour. Apatow wants to name the film “Pineapple Express”; Taratino grunts inaudibly before going back to sleep.

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Of course, none of this is true, but it certainly feels as if this may have been the case. Neither Apatow nor Tarantino were involved in the actual screenplay of “Pineapple Express,” though Apatow did collaborate on the story. In reality, it’s Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg who are the ones responsible for writing the tonally incompatible first and second hours. Hour one centers around Dale Denton and his eternally baked pot dealer friend Saul Silver, played by Rogen and James Franco, respectively. With numerous laugh-out-loud moments and great performances from the two leads, the first hour succeeds, providing some of the best quotable lines of the year. Hour two, on the otherhand, minimizes the stoner dialogue in order to focus on a druglord (Gary Cole), a dirty cop (Rosie Perez) and their hitmen (Kevin Corrigan and Craig Robinson), all determined to hunt down Dale and Saul. Everything leads to a violent conclusion in a warehouse which has all the bloodshed of a Tarantino fight scene without any of the joy. David Gordon Green, known for directing films with modest budgets like “Snow Angels” and “Undertow,” seems out of his league when attempting to cohesively direct moments of over-the-top action and violence. And when Dale, Saul and their occasionally loyal friend Red (Danny McBride) simply sit and talk at a diner, high out of their minds, “Pineapple Express” makes the argument that it should have been a great stoner comedy, and nothing more.

Labels: 2008, Comedy, Action, Three Stars

Cria Cuervos

July 18, 2009

Cria Cuervos (1977) ****

Directed by Carlos Saura

I wish I could watch every film at least twice, but of course, that’s not reasonable. Luckily, I did get the chance to revisit Carlos Saura’s haunting “Cria Cuervos” for the second time in two months, and now I believe that I really have something substantial to say about it. The first viewing was quite disappointing—not only did I find the movie dull and confusing, but I was also not able to engage with it at all. This time around, I found myself truly engulfed in the profoundly sad world of recently orphaned Ana and her two sisters. Since I already knew what to expect from its plot and its characters, I was able to allow the mood to wash over me, effectively connecting me with the emotions and frustrations of its young anti-hero.

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After my first viewing, I began to write a review, but I only completed one paragraph:

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“Cria Cuervos” buckles under the weight of its own pretension. Erice’s “The Spirit of the Beehive” could be interpreted as an extended metaphor on life in Spain under Franco’s regime. “Cria Cuervos” can ONLY be judged as such. 'Beehive' works beautifully on its own as a fable of innocence lost and as homage to the power of the medium of film. “Cria Cuervos” makes no sense and has little relevance when it is not seen through a historical prism. Unfortunately, with its identity rooted in metaphor, “Cria Cuervos” is way too cryptic to be accessible to most audiences, even ones who revel in bourgeois cinema.

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No longer do I believe that ‘Cria’ only works as a metaphor. It’s a solid film in its own right, focusing on tough issues such as grief, alienation, nothingness and injustice. Ana wrongly believes herself responsible for the murder of her father. By the time the film concludes, Ana learns the truth about her father, but not before making a decision which will no doubt haunt her for the rest of her life. Between the moments when she wrongly blames herself and later realizes her lack of culpability, “Cria Cuervos” allows us to exist in the mind of young Ana as she comes to terms with who she truly is at her core. Childhood is a time of self-discovery, and Ana discovers that she is wired to be a potential killer.

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Saura is clearly influenced by Erice’s “The Spirit of the Beehive,” and one can find numerous parallels between the two. First of all, both perfectly employ child actress Ana Torrent and extract from her truly mesmerizing performances. In ‘Beehive,’ Torrent emotes worry, fear and longing as sincerely as I’ve seen from a child. In ‘Cria,’ the entire movie rests on her shoulders, and Torrent is more than up to the task of bringing her melancholy character to life. Clearly, in ‘Cria,’ Torrent received coaching behind the scenes, which at times does come across a bit obvious; however, she’s coached brilliantly. There are moments when Saura breaks the fourth wall by having Ana as both a child and an adult stare directly at the camera. I’m not kidding when I say that I could feel Torrent’s gaze burning into my soul. A face like hers comes once in a generation!

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Second, there’s a visual aesthetic and a stylized direction which Erice and Saura both embrace. Most of ‘Beehive’ takes place outdoors, while ‘Cria’ is set inside of a large house during summer vacation from school. ‘Beehive’s world is one of innocence lost; ‘Cria’s is one of love lost. Both worlds are infinitely sad, and any attempts at joy ultimately turn out unfulfilling.

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Also, both films leave the ultimate fate of their young characters in the hands of the audience. While ‘Cria’ is nowhere near as enigmatic as ‘Beehive,’ the audience doesn’t know how young Ana will comfort herself later in life considering that she lives with an awareness of her own capacity to kill. A couple of times, Ana, as an adult, speaks to the audience directly, though one wonders where she’s speaking from—perhaps a jail cell or perhaps a courtroom. On the other hand, maybe she grew up and became a prudent, gentle adult.

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Often Ana daydreams that her loving, troubled mother, played by the great Geraldine Chapman, is still alive. Even though Ana is so young, she’s aware that her mother feels imprisoned in marriage with her cold, womanizing husband. One night, Ana’s mother begs her father to believe that she is truly sick, only to die months later in excruciating pain from an illness that could have been prevented had her father just listened—at least that’s how Ana sees it.

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Ana is an angry girl, and after her parents die, there’s no one around that can adequately help her deal with her grief. Her callous aunt sees the children as a burden; her older sister chooses to move on with her life; her younger sister is too young to understand what’s going on; the maid treats Ana as a peer, often inappropriately gossiping about the affairs of adults; and even Ana’s kind, married uncle disappoints her by making a pass at Ana’s aunt, who is not his wife.

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Saura effectively paints a chilling portrait of a dangerous young girl with an all too innocent face who is shaped by the injustices that exist within the walls of her own house. “Cria Cuervos” works as a metaphor for the Spanish Civil War. Yet, I have come to realize that it is a tragedy at its core, making it a seminal Spanish film absolutely worthy of a necessary second viewing.

Death of a Cyclist

July 18, 2009

Death of a Cyclist (1955) ***

Directed by Juan Antonio Bardem

Perhaps I ought to go get a Ph.D. in Spanish Civil War history before I attempt to watch any more films from my Spanish Arthouse feature. Both “The Spirit of the Beehive” and “Cria Cuervos” can be read as cryptic metaphors showcasing the injustices of life under Franco. ‘Beehive’ also works as a glorious meditation on innocence lost, and for that reason, it deserves to be called a timeless masterpiece. “Cria Cuervos,” on the other hand, makes little sense when it’s not seen as a critique of the Spanish Civil War. Unfortunately, it buckles under the weight of its own pretension. There’s no way that a casual viewer will immediately understand ‘Cria’s intended purpose. Because of this, I judge that “Cria Cuervos” has a limited shelf life and will ultimately lose its reputation as an “important” film (but I’ll get to that one later).

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Juan Antonio Bardem’s “Death of a Cyclist” similarly attempts to make its voice heard regarding the Spanish government under Franco’s rule, and for the most part, it succeeds. The huge difference between ‘Cyclist’ and the previous films mentioned above is that Bardem turns the subtlety dial all the way off in order to present a chilling film noir. This deliberateness allows for the audience to fully grasp the metaphors contained within. As such, “Death of a Cyclist” is a valuable glimpse into the mindset of an essential period in Spanish history. Further, this particular critique of governmental injustice can now be universalized beyond its historical nature and applied to all governments in all periods in history.
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Lucia Bose and Alberto Closas play Maria and Juan, respectively, a couple engaged in a passionate and illicit affair; when they’re together, Maria betrays her fidelity to her high-society husband Miguel, and Juan betrays his fidelity to his mother’s pride in her family’s untarnished name. The two are first shown looking down at the corpse of a cyclist they just accidentally killed with their car. They decide to avoid the nuisance and the embarrassment of calling the police and making their affair public by driving away hoping they will not get caught. Maria has no problem at all putting on a false air of calm in front of others. Juan, on the other hand, begins to crumble under the weight of his own fear, guilt and self-loathing. Eventually, he yells at a young woman in his university math class resulting in a huge protest on campus demanding that he be fired.
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Meanwhile, a busybody drunk named Rafa, played wonderfully by Carlos Casaravilla, confronts Maria and Juan to tell them that he knows their “dirty little secret.” At first, he demands money from them, but after that doesn’t work, he decides to spill the beans to Maria’s husband Miguel. Thinking the jig is up, Maria is shocked when her husband dismisses Rafa’s story as a mean-spirited lie.
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Maria and Juan were bad people before they killed the cyclist, which one concludes by observing how they first deal with the aftermath of the death itself. When Juan tracks down the apartment of the cyclist, he ignores the poverty all around him and the fact that the man was supporting a wife and two children. Instead, he only wants to know about the police who showed up and whether or not they asked any questions about the car.
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Ironically, when his outburst towards the young woman results in protest, and the depravity of his action is shoved in his face in such a public way, Juan realizes that the only way out of the hell he and Maria have created for themselves is to go to the police and tell them everything. Maria, on the other hand, can’t bear to lose her wealthy husband and the lifestyle she is used to in order to do the right thing. Even though Juan promises that he will return to her once they are out of jail, Maria’s narcissistic reasoning leads her to execute an action which could theoretically allow her to keep what she already has.
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Something happens which makes us question whether or not characters such as the cyclist and Rafa exist in themselves or merely as abstract representations of justice and judgment. When Juan and Maria meet in secret, they do so in unorthodox places which are obviously meant to comment on their situation at that particular time. Early on, they encounter each other at a horse track, and then later at a circus. They whisper to each other at a fancy party and, next time, they stumble upon each other in the hallways of a lavish church.
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Once again, Bardem isn’t trying to hide his intentions. Clearly, ‘Death’ is a movie about a specific governmental injustice seen through two very different characters that travel down divergent paths due to the choices they make. Within the paradigm of the Spanish Civel War, each and every character represents one of the players in this historical conflict. What exactly does each character symbolize? I couldn’t tell you.
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What I can tell you is that everyone ought always to do whatever is ultimately the right thing to do, even if it means giving up everything one holds dear. The same can be said for how governments ought to treat their citizens. “Death of a Cyclist” paints a vivid portrait of injustice in which I’m sure we can all see ourselves and our leaders. In this regard, Bardem wrote and directed a valuable film.
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Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the film on its narrative level. While I applaud its gorgeous, Bergman-esque cinematography, I do fault many instances in which its execution comes off too stiff. Lucia Bose as Maria plays the femme fatale way too on the nose, sadly denying the possibility that her character might possess complexity. Further, Bardem’s dialogue comes off tonally inconsistent from one scene to the other. At times, Maria and Juan are in “Sunset Boulevard” territory and other times, there’s a “Citizen Kane” like theatricality that takes center stage.
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Though “Death of a Cyclist” is a dark and brooding film noir, there’s an ultimate optimism and hope that, ironically, challenges the viewer to become a better person. It’s refreshing to watch a Spanish film succeed apart from its metaphoric intentions.

Rashomon

July 17, 2009

Rashomon (1950) *****

Directed by Akira Kurosawa

For most of my second viewing of Kurosawa's much revered Rashomon, I was struck by the brutally harsh way women are shown through the cackling, sobbing, cowering performance of Machiko Kyo as the rape victim Masako. As a matter of fact, I was all ready to type in my review that Rashomon has all the feminism of a 1940's home-ec textbook! Then, I started realizing that it's not just women that get the fuzzy end of the lollipop. If there's such a thing as masculinism, then maybe it ought to be said that Rashomon has all the masculinism of a praying mantis mating ritual! It's humanity as a whole that's on trial, and if humanity must be judged through the particular trial of the bandit Tajomaru (Toshiro Mifune) for the murder of Masako's samurai husband Takehiro (Masayuki Mori), then the possibility of accepting that there is inherent good within the human condition doesn't stand much of a chance at all.

After all, we are all just liars, compensating for the many ways in which we don't measure up. We're either like the bandit, a monstrous, gorilla-like predator willing to brutalize, rape and kill whomever has the misfortune to enter his path, or like the woman, a self-loathing victim who must be protected and can't contribute to the world without the assistance of one who is stronger, braver and smarter, or like the samurai, who, though noble and skilled, can't compete with the outside adversaries seeking to undermine honor and goodness. We're doomed from the start, and for this reason, why not steal a kimono keeping a baby warm?

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This profoundly troubling existential crisis haunts a woodcutter who witnessed the aforementioned rape and murder. Not only is he disgusted by the events that transpired, he's also harrowed by the testimonies of the three parties involved (the murdered samurai testifies through a medium) and the lies and excuses they cling to so as not to accept responsibility for their culpability in what is unarguably a truly evil crime. Not only are people capable of such depravity, but they are also too easily able to rationalize, thereby confounding that which is wicked. How does one even begin to cope with the rampant injustices of this world?

When a commoner stoops to stealing from a baby, even a priest, who by vocation must cling to a belief in humanity's virtue, can't help but fail to ignore the blackness that corrodes our souls. Is there no hope? Can no one convince the woodcutter that there is a glimmer of light amid the pitch-black malfeasance, or is misanthropy the only logical conclusion?

Rashomon is one of the twenty or thirty best movies I have ever had the pleasure of watching, and revisiting it for the second time brought me such great satisfaction and reminded me once again of the power of cinema to challenge our ways of thinking and make us better people as a result. Unlike a film like Bergman's disappointingly morose Winter Light, which explores God's goodness similar to how Rashomon explores mankind's goodness, Kurosawa takes the viewer on a visual whirlwind, with some of the most breathtaking cinematography and art design you will ever see on screen! The performances are operatic in tone, which perfectly match the profound explorations that exist within. Furthermore, the sword fighting sequences dazzle with choreography that simply blows the mind!

I fear that I may turn readers off to Rashomon because of my unflinching description of the dour meditations these characters take upon themselves. Therefore, let me implore that you open yourself up to the ingredients of Kurosawa's irrefutable masterpiece! I think you'll be pleasantly surprised where the woodcutter's ponderings ultimately take him.

The Purple Rose of Cairo

July 15, 2009

The Purple Rose of Cairo (1985) *****

Directed by Woody Allen

The last five minutes of Woody Allen's homage to the seemingly innocent films of early Hollywood are among the most heartbreaking I've ever witnessed! Some might feel anger towards Allen for being so cruel to such a likable character, but those people are missing the point entirely! The Purple Rose of Cairo works as a condemnation of the timeless immorality of Hollywood performers willing to destroy others in order to advance their careers, and yet, it's also a meditation on the power and importance of pure fantasy and its paradoxical ability to help many escape from and deal with life's overwhelming difficulties.

Mia Farrow gives one of my all-time favorite female performances as Cecilia, a sensitive waitress during the Depression who loves nothing more than going to the movies in order to blanket herself in a vastly different world than her own sad life with her abusive, gambling, drunk, womanizing, unemployed husband Monk, played effectively by Danny Aiello. After losing her job, she goes to see The Purple Rose of Cairo for the third time that week, which leads one of its characters, an explorer and poet named Tom Baxter (Jeff Daniels), to remark from within the film that she must really love the movie! He then proceeds to walk right off the screen much to the surprise of the audience as well as the chagrin of the fellow Purple Rose of Cairo players.

Tom's escape has many effects. First of all, Gil Shepherd, the actor who portrays Tom in the film, worries what the character might do to his flourishing career. Second, the owner of the movie house loses business because audiences aren't happy that the characters remaining on screen choose to do nothing more than sit around and complain of the inconvenience Tom has caused since the plot must cease until he returns. Third, Cecilia begins to fall madly in love with this perfect movie creation who worships her and kisses perfectly. Fourth, Cecilia also falls in love with Gil Shepherd after he tells her how great she is. Fifth, Monk catches Cecilia and Tom together which results in a physical altercation between the two.

There's a sixth effect which is the film's only flaw in my opinion, and I loved everything else enough to forgive it completely. Tom also encounters a prostitute named Emma, played by Woody Allen staple actress Diane Wiest, who takes him to a brothel where he learns all about sex, though he doesn't actually engage in it since that's not written into his character. The logical progression within this scene doesn't feel genuine at all. By the end, the women are willing to show Tom a good time for free, which feels totally disingenuous. That being said, there are some laugh out loud funny lines which couldn't have been said had the scene been removed, so I'll give it a pass.

For the most part, layers of fantasy and reality are presented and utilized perfectly, and the humor works alongside the story, with one liners that never come off simply as the results of a Woody Allen brainstorming session.

Daniels is also brilliant in his duel role, though I think Gil Shepherd is the better of his two vastly different performances. I totally didn't see the end coming, though I have a feeling that I might be in the minority on that one. For fooling me, I give Daniels total credit. He's one of the most talented character actors of his generation--just watch his performances in Terms of Endearment and Dumb and Dumber.

The movies are extremely useful tools for helping people cope with tragedies, but perhaps it's possible to rely on them too much. Maybe it's the case that movies are sometimes better when they do nothing more than entertain the viewer. Cecilia has the right to forget her troubles every once in a while, but she can't forget them forever. Life simply isn't a Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers dance number... but that doesn't mean you can't find a whole bunch of Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers dance numbers on YouTube! Ain't life grand?

Yoo-Hoo, Mrs. Goldberg

July 15, 2009

Yoo-Hoo, Mrs. Goldberg (2009) ***

Directed by Aviva Kempner

Gertrude Berg is as fascinating a television personality as any I've ever heard of, which brings me to my confession--I've never heard of her! For someone that prides himself on having a relatively astute knowledge of early television history for being only 28, I'm kind of ashamed. This paint-by-the-numbers documentary by Aviva Kempner makes it extremely clear that Berg, through the character of Molly Goldberg which she performed for over three decades, was one of the true pioneers of early television situation comedy. In fact, Berg received the first Emmy ever for Best Actress. The argument can certainly be made, as it is in the film, that there would be no Lucy Ricardo without Molly Goldberg.

Born in 1898 to emotionally troubled parents, Berg thrust herself into pursuing her dream of writing and acting once she married a supportive husband. From there, she conquered radio, then television, and finally the Broadway stage as a Tony Award winner before dying of heart disease in 1966. Clips of her radio show and her television show are dolled out in copious amounts, and as I watched her exist as that character she gave birth to, uttering the dialogue she wrote herself, I quickly understood how she could singularly rise to the very top in the world of ethnic entertainment in the thirties, forties and fifties. Berg comes across commanding and lovable, the kind of matriarch everyone would choose for their family if they could.

Unfortunately, the film itself becomes wholly monotonous, especially during a painfully redundant middle hour where her character of Molly Goldberg is praised by one wrinkled, hair-dyed septuagenarian and octogenarian after another. How many times do we really need to hear how great Molly Goldberg was? How many childhood pictures of the talking heads, many of whom have at best a tangential relationship to Berg and her show, including Ed Asner, ramble on about how their families looked to the Goldbergs for influence and direction? Yoo-Hoo, Mrs. Goldberg would work perfectly as a short documentary, since the feature length final product could have been just as reverent if forty or fifty minutes were cut from its ninety minute running time.

Overall, Kempner keeps the film visually interesting, not only with clips of Berg's shows, but also with newspaper clippings, pictures, and showbiz artifacts. Of course, this is standard fare for most historical documentaries, but where Kempner both succeeds and fails is through her inclusion of outside film and television clips in order to punctuate what's spoken by those narrating Berg's story. At times, Kempner shows keen judgment--for example, when she includes clips of The Jazz Singer to emphasize the stereotype Berg broke of the victimized Jewish mother always complaining, though it can't be denied that Molly Goldberg fell far short of transcending Jewish stereotype altogether. Other choices prove indulgent and distracting, especially early on when clips of the Marx Brothers in hotels were used when focusing on Berg's early employment.

Berg is a legend, and there's no excuse for those who study television history not to know her story; therefore, Yoo-Hoo, Mrs. Goldberg is an important, if only merely adequate, pop culture historical artifact. Similar to 2007's Terror's Advocate, there's a sense while watching Yoo-Hoo, Mrs. Goldberg that above all else is the need to archive the story of an important 20th century figure's life directly from those who knew the person first hand before it's too late, and with films like these, too often the final product doesn't do the individual nor the film world justice.