Smooth_J Blog

Under discussion:

Stranger Than Paradise  (1984)

Kicking and Screaming  (1995)

Team Picture  (2007)

I had no idea what the term "mumblecore" meant before I saw this movie.  I had a general idea--the type of stuff that is seen frequently on IFC and is worshipped in smaller circles but would never last two seconds in the fleeting interest of the mainstream (or even the very fringe of it).  This movie cemented what it means to be completely meaningless in my brain.

The plotline:  Two young whipper-snappers (Kentucker Audley and Tim Morton) live together in Memphis and do absolutely nothing all day, except Kentucker Audley has a job at a sporting goods store that his mom's boyfriend owns.  However, he soon quits that job to "pursue...uhm...other things", such as spending more time around the kiddy pool in his front yard.  Or, possibly, playing the guitar and singing.  He and his roommate soon meet girls, they fall for them, and then get screwed over and realize that they're going to move.

Everything else is white-noise.

It has the picture quality of a home-made movie (which it basically is) but the actors are all surprisingly convincing.  Kentucker Audley is excellent, but one gets the feeling that he is portraying himself onscreen, as are all of the other characters.  It doesn't take much ability to mumble repetitive and brain-fried lines, but towards the end of the film where actual emotions are shown for the first time, Audley and co-star Tim Morton show commendable skill in bringing a small sense of longing and sadness to their heartbroken characters.  The other characters don't have very much screen time, except for possibly Kentucker's fling, who does a respectable job.

The film's meaninglessness is its only strong point--it's just a story, a parable about the ethics of doing absolutely nothing.  It's when the resemblance of a plot develops that the film sputters and loses its blissful sense of nothingness.  In the first half of the movie, almost no expressions (not even laughter) are shown any of the character's faces, besides a well-acted portrayal of Kentucker's mom's boyfriend, who is an obnoxiously upbeat type, the kind that angers even the most calm of slackers.  Luckily, Kentucker IS the most calm (or heavily sedated--it's never specified) of slackers, and he just gets rid of his presence in the simplest of ways--he quits his job, in which the boyfriend is his boss.  However, it's when a sense of sadness acutally enters the facial expressions of the characters that something is lost in the movie.  The viewer feels the intentionally melancholy nature of the film, with its meandering players and overly stressed mediocrity; but the film breaks that artful barrier when the viewer begins to actually see this realization on the character's faces.

As I mentioned before, the actors do a good job, even when they actually have to act.  The subplots of Kentucker's parents, obviously divorced, are pretty run-of-the-mill, and the film seems to be imposing too much on itself--meaning that it is not so whimsical, not quite so enchantingly pointless.  The best scenes are the ones that show complete vacuity, and some of them are actually pretty beautiful, such as a scene where Kentucker wanders through a bug-ridden meadow, sipping a cup of coffee (most likely containing whisky as well) and looking vacantly at his surroundings.  Kentucker sees nothing in it, and neither does the viewer.  And that's strangely comforting.

The film's not necessarily original.  I was constantly reminded of Stranger Than Paradise, with its completely inactive characters and artfully aimless dialogue.  What makes STP so much better is that the character interactions are far more meticulously rendered, and the improvisation of Jarmush's characters brings an originality and unpredictability to the seemingly senseless exchanges.  STP is also one of the most wonderfully shot films I have ever seen, with its rambling black and white photography perfectly capturing the foreign atmosphere of an American landscape.  Team Picture is shot with the home-grown feeling of 'been there, done that' and does not dwell on the romanticism and artistic possibilties of aimlessness; which is fresh in a way, but also somewhat disappointing.

I guess an opinion on Team Picture really depends on what you would define artfulness as; I would still consider Team Picture to be an adreftly intriguing film, but it fails to reach a level even close to previous efforts in similar subjects.  It is just not a particularly profound, and it's just not a very strong movie, despite an obviously noble effort by Kentucker Audley.

Recommendations:  The far superior Stranger Than Paradise, and now that I think about it, it's thematically similar to Kicking and Screaming, just minus the intellectuals.

Under discussion:

8 1/2  (1963)

La Dolce Vita  (1960)

Raising Arizona  (1987)

12 Monkeys  (1995)

Fargo  (1996)

The Big Lebowski  (1998)

O Brother, Where Art Thou?  (2000)

Michael Clayton  (2007)

No Country for Old Men  (2007)

Burn After Reading  (2008)

The Coens have the uncanny ability to make you laugh hysterically and then make you feel like a total jerk for laughing, all in the same stride.  Burn After Reading provides that sort of fun-filled game of the Coens providing you with outstanding entertainment, all the while toying with you and laughing smugly to themselves.  A standard moviegoer walks out of Burn After Reading with a big, goofy smile, having thoroughly enjoyed the antics and witticisms of the array of imbeciles portrayed onscreen.  The avid filmgoer (and Coen devotee) will walk out of the film with the same goofy smile, except realizing how stupid the Coens just made everyone and everything in the world look.  Oh, Ethan and Joel, how you mock us...

The film opens with a wide shot of the United States from an "intelligence" standpoint in outer space.  I believe that the purpose of this was to establish the only firm idea in the film: You are in Washington, DC, in the United States.  Have fun.

The beginning segments introduce the players, known now by everyone interested in seeing the film and therefore pointless for me to list.  Needless to say, everyone is excellent.  George Clooney, though panned by some critics as giving a bland, "Clooney" performance, is great, playing an extension of his role in O Brother, Where Art Thou?, except now he has a gun and is a sex addict.  He has some of the best scenes in the movie, and there are a shitload of great scenes.  Tilda Swinton is a stone cold bitch, and its perfect.  I am one of the few who thought she was overrated (hardcore) in Michael Clayton, but she really proves herself in this movie.  While she's not necessarily one of the more hysterical characters, she's definitely very solid and provides a strong contrast to the broad comedy of the other characters.

Frances McDormand, I hate to say, was a bit undervalued...some of her big scenes were duds.  However, I thought she was great, injecting her part with vulnerability and witless determination.

John Malkovich plays a man who is enraged beyond belief with the "morons that he's had to deal with his whole fucking life."  Seeing him lose it is an enlightening experience.  I was convinced about how awesome this film would be after seeing the production photos of his walking down the street in a bathrobe, underwear, and a beater while carrying a drink in one hand and a hatchet in the other.  I can see that one scene becoming truly iconic for Malkovich.

Brad Pitt is a hardass.  Chad is a character that could have so easily become a caricature of the average stupid guy, a buffoon who nobody really cares about, he's just there for laughs.  But Pitt makes the character a real person, that guy you see at the gym that's nice to everybody but who's only topics of conversation are what his senses are attuned to at the moment (The ADD guy who's charismatic enough for everyone to ignore how incredibly emtpy-headed he is).  He is the lovable character, the "Donnie", who the audience immediately relates with and finds the funniest.  The joy he seems to take in this role takes him back 10 years, almost back to the insane glee of 12 Monkeys.

Pitt's character brings me to my previous topic of lamentable laughter.  Like Fargo, the Coens want the audience to think that the most disturbing of occurences are funny.  They want you to double over when William H. Macy fights the cops who are restraining him, squealing like a captured pig, lamenting his life and going insane.  That's their idea of fun.  And then afterwards, they throw something in, basically saying "You insensitive prick, you laughed at that?"  There are a couple scenes of that in Burn After Reading.  Several, actually.  And it's embarrassing to be the only "insensitive prick" in the theater cackling even as the camera pans to the aftermath of one of these scenes.  I mean, I'm sure other people realized it, but had the sense to keep their mirth to themselves.

I find that buckets of fun.

The supporting players provide a lot of the movie's other vital organs (if the main characters are the heart--albeit, a decrepid one).  JK Simmons is outstanding, the only major character that has any real sense.  He acts as a narrator almost; an outsider, seeing the events with just as much confusion as the viewer.  His lines sum up everything about the movie, making sure that the audience knows that it's all in good fun.  Nothing really matters, so don't worry if you don't get it.  We don't get it either.

Richard Jenkins is the only character with a noticeable soul (except perhaps Clooney, hidden deep inside his perpetually horny complexion).  He's a poor, lovelorn old guy, without so much as the courage to profess his love to the shallow, dull McDormand.  He is almost seen with contempt by the viewer, being such a pathetic old man, but the Coens quickly make you realize how much of a dick you are for thinking that.  And lastly David Rasche, a seldom heard of actor, is effectively deadpan as the informer of JK Simmons' CIA Superior.  Somehow, his performance stands out, probably because of its normalcy compared to the weirdness of everybody else.

I came to the conclusion early on in the film that this is just the Coens having fun, following the brutal and poetic No Country with some goofy fun.  As Peter Travers successfully analyzed, the Coens have followed all of their more serious subjects with their trademark "zany" (for lack of a better word) comedies.  As usual, they throw in their two-sense about society, humanity, and what have you.  They thoroughly believe that most people are dim-witted, but it doesn't change the fact that these sorts of people have to be dealt with nonetheless.  However, Burn After Reading shows that the Coens can show these sorts of characters with compassion.  Their previous efforts, such as Fargo and Raising Arizona, were criticized for being condescending towards their own characters.  I disagree.  While those two films were a bit more pessimistic about these people, both of them (especially Fargo) demonstrate the Coens' love of these people.  Why would they continue to make movies about them if they were just ridiculing them?  They find depths in characters that seem one note and shallow.  They give you a reason to their moronic delusions.  They make you feel for them, and realize "Oh, wow, I guess that is pretty stupid when I do that."

It may be a stretch, but their work almost brings to mind the two Fellinis that I've seen, La Dolce Vita and 8 1/2.  In the booklet for LDV, an essay proclaims that Fellini was primarily an entertaining, infusing his stories with existentialism and satire.  While I think the Coens are different in a lot of ways, this could just as easily be said about them.

Burn After Reading is basically just evidence that the Coens having a good time is better and more profound than most film-makers' serious efforts.  While they are cynical, making each of their movies an inside joke that only they can really decipher, they always manage to entertain their audience.  As usual, this review really only touched on the surface of the hundreds of things that can be said about this film.  But, all you need to know essentially is that it's a hilarious entry into the Coens' filmography, and has the potential to gain a cult status with The Big Lebowski if it duds with critics.  I doubt it will, however, now that the Coens have officially proved themselves with No Country, giving them the freedom to do whatever the **** they want.

(Oh, did I mention I'm a fan?)

Under discussion:

Memento  (2000)

Insomnia  (2002)

Batman Begins  (2005)

The Prestige  (2006)

Something about Insomnia just did not work.  I mean, it had the makings of a great movie, and to be honest, it almost was a great movie.  But there was just something missing, something lacking from the basic feel of the movie that couldn't really be made up for, no matter how hard Pacino, Williams, and director Chris Nolan tried.

The story is pretty obviously a remake of a Norwegian film made in the 90s, which apparently is pretty superior to this; one thing that this film succeeded at was making me put that film on the top of my list of films to see.  The general idea of the story is excellent, with the guilt and insanity of the murder case thrown in with Dormer's (Pacino's) own guilt for the accidental murder of his partner and his shady tactics used to put a child murderer behind bars in LA.

The insomnia of the midnight sun is absolutely perfect.  It seems as though insomnia is a great subject for Nolan to tackle, since in each and every one of his movies to date involves his depiction of the acute sensory details of his characters' illusions and flashbacks.  In Memento, it's Guy Pearce's momentary flashbacks of his wife being brutally beaten.  In The Prestige, there are very specific images of drowning and guilty flashbacks.  Even in Batman Begins he uses a very acute, jumpy imagery to portray the effects of Scarecrow's hallucinogen.  In Insomnia, he manages to use most of these tricks the entire movie--the jumpy eye movements, the flashes of light, the strange sounds of everyday life echoing in the ears.  On the level of Nolan's direction, the film in beautiful.

However, something is just wrong with the script.  Nothing is really ever played out as it should be--it's not as though there's much to be desired.  I can't really even place my finger on it.  I mean, the film is a taut, nearly explosive thriller.  But why did I feel so disconnected from it?  My only explanation is that the pacing of the film was just slightly off, and the ending was a pretty cliched, making use of a awfully bland and textbook performance by Hilary Swank (bleh).  I mean, even she sort of contributed to the film's overall lackluster feel, and she should have been a huge asset.

Pacino and Williams are great...it's actually really interesting to see Pacino play a role like this, since his character's are usually so collected and outspoken, while in this he is forced to downplay and portray a man who is slowly going insane from lack of sleep. ("Six days," says Williams.  "You beat my record.")

The film is worth watching, because it's surely entertaining and well-made.  Nolan really tries his hardest, and there's nothing you can say to criticize his direction.  But the script is lacking, and Hilary Swank pretty much sucks.

Under discussion:

2001: A Space Odyssey  (1968)

Chinatown  (1974)

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly  (1966)

Once Upon a Time in the West  (1968)

The Seventh Seal  (1957)

Vampyr  (1931)

Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb  (1964)

Pulp Fiction  (1994)

Being John Malkovich  (1999)

Mulholland Dr.  (2001)

Inland Empire  (2006)

I'm Not There  (2007)

Atonement  (2007)

The Diving Bell and the Butterfly  (2007)

The idea for this analysis came to mind when I recently saw Bergman's The Seventh Seal.  While I was not quite as blown away by the film as most accolades of the film would suggest, I still found it to be an excellent movie, and could see very clearly the influence it has had on so many films that have come after it.

The one scene that I especially noticed a direct legacy in later films was a short, almost gimmicky little snippet during the medieval religious cult scene in the town--where the drums are beating loudly, people are screaming in agony as whips crack, and monks and other repenters are carrying enormous crosses on their backs.  There is a short string of profile shots: Antonius, Jons, and "The Girl" (the only specific name I could find for her anywhere on the internet).  The cuts between the faces are done with the beats of the drums; they are perfectly centered, with mist or smoke rising in the backgrounds, adding to each image's raw, black-and-white imagery; and each face perfectly describes what each character is feeling in the specific scene.  Antonius stares onward at the happenings, in the middle of an intense existential dilemma, scrutinizing the scene and attempting to sort out what it all could mean.  Jons observes with amused (yet somewhat disturbed) contempt for not only the people of the scene, but for all of humanity.  And The Girl stares ahead in fear, the only one of them who truly realizes the oncoming apocalypse at such an early stage.  At first glance, it seems like an empty trick thrown in for effect by Bergman.  But such use of tone and the profile shot have been used countless times, seemingly originated by Bergman and his equals at this time of cinematic experimentation.  For example, this technique of switching profiles to the beat of something is used pretty much verbatum in the film I'm Not There, where Todd Haynes switches between all the faces of Bob Dylan to the sound of gunshots--all in misty black-and-white photography.

What makes a profile shot so effective is that (sorry for this cliche...) every face tells a story, and it only takes a skilled actor, a good director, and a camera with the right film to turn it into a work of art.  But I mean, portraits and sculpture dating back to prehistoric times make use of the nuances of the human face, from Egyptian sculptures of pharaohs, the stone heads of Easter Island, and technically even Native American tikis.  Different societies and different mediums of art have used the face for various forms of expression, and it is probably one of the most common depictions in art.  Look at the Mona Lisa--it's one of the most famous works of art ever created, and it is a painting of a woman's face.  It's the mystery behind her expressions, her features, her true identity that makes the work so timeless and so debatable.

However, there's something about seeing the human face framed in a camera--especially on a black-and-white one--that is so beautiful and so perfect.  In my mind, who cares about Joe Wright's five minute tracking shot.  Hundreds of extras, thousands of dollars, all to capture a vast expanse of imagery without any empathy involved.  For a well-done profile shot, all one needs an actor, a director, and a camera--nothing else.  I'm not necessarily saying that a tracking shot would not be a work of art, since it is one in itself, but I feel as though such broadness cannot capture the undeniable intimacy of human emotion that is shown on any person's face.  Even one's eyes, shifting crazily during a "trip" through time and space (2001: A Space Odyssey) have the ability to captivate a viewer, and give them a glimpse into a character's psyche.

Last night, while running through this topic in my head, I came up with several movies and genres that utilize the human profile extensively.  The first that came to mind was the film-noir genre, with its fims' personal, close feel.  Who can forget the faces of the tortured heroes of these films, driving around puffing on their ever-present cigarettes?  While my knowledge of this genre is pretty limited, I know enough to recognize the faces of the classic noir heroes.  Neo-noir and crime films have taken up these techniques, especially films like Pulp Fiction (and other Tarantino) and Chinatown (which is pretty much classic noir).

Another film that really sticks out in my mind is The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, with its infamous final shoot-out of only profile shots and guns.  Leone had a gift for the small touches of the human face, as he also demonstrates his penchant for this in Once Upon a Time in the West.  He perfectly illustrates the dirtiness and inherent wickedness in a lot of his characters through perfectly staged shots of their sweaty, grizzled faces.

Kubrick was an auteur in many ways, and one that I have especially noticed is his perfect use of a framed, still camera shot.  One of my favorites occurs in Dr. Strangelove, with the shot of General Jack Ripper during one of his monologues, where the camera is beneath his face and it basically looking right up his nose at a crooked angle.  Just the staging of this shot gives the viewer a perfect sense of how unhinged the man really is.  It's hilarity through just good direction.

Now, I hate to stray off of my established topic, but I feel as though I can't discuss the profile shot without talking about its cinematic opposite, the subjective shot.  While not nearly as popular, in the right hands, it can be nearly as effective as the human profile.  David Lynch has pretty much mastered this craft, and he uses it flawlessly to create almost unbearable terror in Inland Empire.  One of the most terrifying experiences I've every had while watching a movie happened when I watched Mulholland Dr. for the first time, when the man in the restaraunt is walking to face the monster in the alley--Lynch uses the man's point of view to emphasize the horror being faced.  I pretty much shit my pants.  Did that aspect of the film really serve much of a purpose?  No, not really.  But it has an undeniable finesse and effectiveness that makes it essential to the overall tone of the movie.  Another film that uses the subjective point of view to enhance horror is one that I watched recently, Dreyer's Vampyr.  It is a short scene in which it is used, but creates a great sense of claustrophic fear.

A couple of films that go hand-in-hand in terms of use of POV are Being John Malkovich and Diving Bell and the Butterfly.  BJM flawlessly portrays being inside the head of someone else, from the sound effects to the imagery.  You ARE walking around in someone else's shoes, and it's amazing.  DB&tB also uses this technique of seeing the world through someone else's eyes.  Schnabel meticulously recreates the feeling of being confined within one's mind, with no escape and no possible sense of escape.  It is a beautiful technique used in an absolutely beautiful film, and it heightens the unending and unavoidable sadness of the film.  In a convoluted way, the film also makes great use of the profile shot--from the eyes of Bauby.  The lighting and camera effects used illustrate the beauty of his nurse's faces unlike anything I have ever seen, framing them in his one eye with the foggy edges.  The camera examines their features as though you are Bauby, longing to reach out and touch them, but you can't and it is near torture.

For the most part, it is foreign directors that use these sort of simple shots to greatest effect--I feel as though they typically can emphasize beauty better than any American director ever could, not only through profile and POV but also through beauty of landscapes.

Now, I know I must address that nearly every movie uses these sorts of methods, and my film repertoire may not permit me to do a full elucidation on such topics.  However, I have always been taken aback by the immense possibilities of film-making.  As I have dreams of becoming a film-maker, I can't help but analyze such things when I watch movies, and take them to mind when imagining camera angles and writing ideas.  And the things that I have always marveled at are the simple things that can be done by anyone with an idea, a camera, and subject.  That's where the true beauty of film-making lies, in its simplest artistry.

Under discussion:

The Heart of the World  (2000)

The Saddest Music in the World  (2003)

I've had a sort of strange interest in Guy Maddin's films for a while now, and I think I've seen every single one of his short films whether they be on Youtube or other sites of similar nature.  In my humble opinion, I think he is one of the most original and greatest film-makers out there right now.  And The Saddest Music in the World utilizes his unique vision to outstanding extent.

Using film-stock that looks recycled from the 1920s, Maddin creates a melancholy dream-scape of depression-era Winnipeg.  It is a town of lost souls, as is the entire world outside of it, but this contest to find who is in fact that saddest country in the world (judged through song) brings the people together and brings a sort of drunken life to a world that has fallen asleep to escape the sadness of the depression.  Some of the insights towards human sorrow are bitingly funny, as are the references to humanities undying love of beer (the winners of the competitions get to slide into a pool full of beer--and they're called weird if they don't drink out of it).

The film is also an examination of family ethics, played out through a bizarre love story.  Roderick, Chester's brother, is an insane hypochondriac, who may or may not be the saddest person in the world, or may just be overreacting.  Roderick's ex-wife, who is now Chester's gal-pal, is a scatter-brained nymphomaniac who has visions of her dead son that she has forgotten about completely.  And Roderick's father, played with perfect love-lorn sadness by David Fox, is an alcoholic who caused the tragic accident in which the founder the contest lost both of her legs.  Oh, and he happens to be hopelessly in love with her, but she is infinitely infatuated with Chester.

The events that follow are played out through stunning black-and-white visuals, tongue-in-cheek humor, and oustanding music to create one of the finest films that it has ever been my fortune to see.  Everything meshes perfectly, from the themes of sadness and depression to the surprising social relevence, mixed in with Maddin's trademark frantic editing and silent-era strangeness.  It is not quite as stimulating and frenzied as his short masterpiece The Heart of the World, but it is every bit as unique and captivating.

"I ask you--is there anybody here as happy as I am?"

And a man in a moose hat laughs at you.