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Manito on Reel 13

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Manito (2002)

Manito, the newest Reel 13 Indie about Puerto Rican brothers trying to escape their families’ dark past and make ends meet in a mostly Hispanic neighborhood in Washington Heights, was extremely frustrating to watch – it’s very dark (Was it timed down? Did the compression in the transfer crush the blacks?), some of the non-actors with accents are hard to understand at times, the foul language gets to be grating and the quick, jump-cut editing style is mostly jarring. In spite of all that, however, the story of Manito still manages to come to surface and make the film an engaging experience.

Manito epitomizes what we mean when we use the term gritty – it’s whip-camera, verite style, the grainy texture of the film, the Washington Heights neighborhood and the promise of violence that hangs over the film like a dark cloud all contribute to this effect. This is not to say, however, that it does not find ways to be very charming and heartwarming at times (the testimonials at Manny’s graduation party are a good example). In fact, I think the film is more effective in its depiction of Hispanic-American life than the Sundance winner from two years ago, Quinceañera. The filmmaking is stronger and perhaps more importantly, the characters and performances are significantly more believable.

Franky G is probably the only recognizable name in the piece as the philandering, ex-con brother Junior Moreno. Franky G is probably best known to audiences for his supporting tough guy work in films like Confidence, The Italian Job and Wonderland. In those films, his performances were rough around the edges, but his charisma was undeniable. Here, G seems more in his element and gives his most complete performance to date – tortured with rage for the past that was thrust upon him, burdened by the pressure of turning his and his family’s life around and also unable to overcome some of the vices he accumulated during his dark days. Relative newcomer Leo Minaya is sweet as the titular character (mostly referred to in the film as “Manny”) who promises to be the bright light in the family with his acceptance to Syracuse University, but he is not tremendously natural on-camera. He seems (probably unconsciously) acutely aware that he is part of something artificial and his that’s reflected in his performance – he’s wooden and affected, but in an earnest sort of way. As important as his character is, though, his weaknesses as an actor are not so extreme that the film suffers greatly for it.

Manito is by no means an uplifting experience. It seems that hope is in short supply for families such as the Morenos. The documentary style of the film makes the conclusion of the film feel very real and therefore it is all the more haunting. The way director Eric Eason portrays violence – with blurred out-of-focus imagery that puts a particularly emphasis on the sound – seems much more disturbing that it would be if we were shown everything. As much of a downer that Manito can be at times, however, one gets the sense that it hits home for many Hispanic-Americans living in major cities and in that sense, happy or not, Manito is an important and worthwhile film.

Posted Monday, February 04, 2008 4:22 PM by jjgittes | with 0 comments

Rebel Without a Cause on Reel 13

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Rebel Without a Cause (1955)

Every once and a while, a movie comes around that defines a generation. Easy Rider, All the President’s Men and The Breakfast Club are all examples (Does anyone have a sense of a film that defines the 90’s? I think in its own derivative and anti-linear way, Pulp Fiction was that film. Maybe American Beauty. Any thoughts? Or is it still too soon to tell?). I would argue, however, that no film better defines the generation it came from than Rebel Without a Cause, which aired last night on Reel 13. As a matter of fact, the cultural impact of the film as well as the legend of its star, James Dean, almost seem to overshadow what I was reminded of last night – what an artfully and skillfully crafted film it is.

The first thing that struck me about Rebel upon rewatching it was the extraordinary richness of the color. Director Nicholas Ray was shooting in “Warner Color” (at the time, each studio was working with various labs to patent their own color process), but it’s more than just the film stock or processing. Much of the beauty of the color has to do with the choices Ray makes in terms of the wardrobe or the objects – the red of Natalie Wood’s overcoat in her first appearance, the colors in the observatory presentation, the yellow of an apron donned by Dean’s screen father, Jim Backus (a.k.a. Mr. Magoo), the mustard color of Sal Mineo’s wardrobe or the famous bright red coat Dean wears through much of the film. They all combine to create a beautiful palette worthy of paintings in the Louvre.

The second thing that I noticed was consistently inspired framing and angles – and a lot of camera motion, which was not as prevalent in the period as it is today. Ray knows exactly when to be wide and just when a close up is called for. It seems as if he shot a lot more coverage than most directors of the period and used it to perfection. The scene where Wood and Dean are alone in the mansion is notable in the sense of how tightly the two of them are framed together in such a big house – as if they are the only two people in the world. Another example is during the first showdown at the observatory when the cool kids sit on Dean’s car while he looks on from overhead. A few times, Ray cuts to an extreme low angle shot with the cool kids in the foreground with Dean and Sal Mineo very small and high in the way background. An unusual shot to be sure, but effective and telling. Other unorthodox ideas Ray sets forth in the film include the occasional Dutch angle (shots off the standard axis) that he uses in moments of extreme crisis (the scene with Dean’s parents on the stairs and at the climax of the film). Ray has only recently been recognized as one of the era’s premiere auteurs and his ahead-of-his-time work in Rebel only cements that theory.

The third thing I noticed was the incredible subversiveness of the film, particularly in regards to the potential promiscuity of Natalie Wood’s character (Judy) and the sexuality of Sal Mineo’s character (Plato). Neither of these subjects were dealt with head-on as they were taboo at the time, but Ray certainly plants the seeds with subtleties and a clever usage of the mise-en-scene. In the beginning, the police detective subtly hints at why Judy was picked up and her relationship with her father seems awfully unusual – even for the time period. As to Plato, Sal Mineo’s effemininity is one thing, but details like the picture of a male actor in his locker and the way he gazes at Dean throughout the film are strong clues as to the truth of Plato’s problems – he is not just a boy whose parents abandoned him – he is a young gay teen in a society and era that rejects homosexuality. What’s particularly interesting about how careful and hidden these subtexts are is that the film works hard to spell out the surface problems each of the characters have. At one point, Dean, who is still a high school student, theorizes that Plato was trying to make he and Judy his surrogate family (quite an analysis for a 17 year-old). These “surface” issues that the characters have are almost too easy and laid out for us that I wonder if the extent to which they offer analysis was in part to mask or draw attention away from the more subversive aspects to the film. If Ray is the brains behind the artistry of Rebel, James Dean is the heart and soul. As many of you know, he was a disciple of the Actors Studio in New York and their style of method acting, which was slowly permeating its way into the movies in the mid-50’s (Streetcar was the first major film that prominently featured this performance style). Out of his three films, East of Eden features the most method actors, Giant is about half and half and as a result is a weird hybrid film in terms of performance and Rebel puts Dean all alone on his method island – which in a way, fits the narrative. It almost seems as if he’s acting in a whole different movie. Wood is no match for him and is actually not very believable, particularly in her more emotional scenes. Similarly, Mineo’s old-school theatrical performance style seems particularly archaic when pitted with Dean. Actually, only consummate character actor Edward Platt (who always seems to be playing lawyers, cops or doctors) seems to be anywhere close to Dean’s level as the police psychologist Ray Fremick. With that said, Jim Backus (best known to most as Thurston Howell III on Gilligan’s Island) is extremely sweet in his role as Dean’s father. While he is by no means a naturalistic actor like Dean, his portrayal of weakness (read: spinelessness) is at times both bold and quite beautiful. Actors generally don’t like to play characters that are weak, but Backus manages to do it with layers and dignity.

Posted Monday, February 04, 2008 4:08 PM by jjgittes | with 0 comments

Wilby Wonderful on Reel 13

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Wilby Wonderful (2004)

Reel 13’s latest Indie hails from north of the border and features a cavalcade of present day Canadian stars (if there is such a thing), boasting the likes of Sandra Oh, Paul Gross, Maury Chaykin and the current it-girl Ellen Page (before she became super-cute). The film is a wannabe Altman with its multitude of characters intersecting in a small island town (named Wilby) somewhere in Canada (I think they make a reference to being on the East Coast of the country – other than that, I have no idea of the geography). The tone of the piece is less satirical Altman, however, and more sitcom – like Northern Exposure with blander writing and less interesting or believable characters.

Ultimately, WW is pretty slow and boring. Very little of the film was able to interest me or capture my attention. Even a subplot involving the controversy over the growing decadence of the landmark park ground known as Wilby Watch felt contrived and forced. The film seems to suffer the same fate as American Wake in that all its stories and subplots dilute each other. Instead of having one well-told, interesting story, they have several empty and incomplete ones. It’s amazing how often in cinema that less is actually more.

I normally don’t like Sandra Oh, but found her to be among the more seasoned members of the ensemble. Ellen Page showed the early promise that she has since fulfilled with this year’s Oscar-nominated turn in Juno. Maury Chaykin is reliably good as usual (Secret Outstanding Maury Chaykin Performance: Mystery, Alaska). Most of the other performances of the film are quite unfortunate. I don’t see what all the buzz is about Paul Gross - I mean, I suppose he’s good looking, but that’s pretty much all he’s got goin’ on. Rebecca Jenkins is an irritation on screen – very little depth or subtleties in her choices. Callum Keith Rennie (no relation to Michael Rennie from last week’s The Robe) is similarly unable to portray the complexities of character that the story seemed to require – though it is granted that the scenes/dialogue don’t give any of them much to work with.

There is one extremely memorable performance in the movie and that is from veteran Canadian actor/director James Allodi as Dan Jarvis. He is given very little to actually say in the film, which is probably the best thing to have happened to him. He is able to communicate his pain and anguish with his eyes and perhaps most impressively, his body language - the way he carries himself. It is a complete performance and one wishes that he had more screen time.

Allodi’s storyline takes a major shift at the beginning of the third act of the film, which is a shift in tone for the entire film. It is a terrible tragedy in the story, the execution of which is done well. At that point, it seems like the film is upping its game and going to turn the corner to start to finally display depth and layers. Less than a minute later, however, it is washed away as the director chooses to play the tragedy as slapstick comedy. The film goes from Bergman to Laverne & Shirley in one swift, awful stroke. I was appalled at the way the moment was handled. The final think I want to say about the film is that the accents drove me crazy – and this is coming from a guy who can watch Trainspotting over and over again. I don’t know what it is and they probably find our American accents just as annoying, but their weird Canadian drawl was like nails on a chalkboard for me. I very nearly muted the television every time Rebecca Jenkins was on screen. Sandra Oh is the only one who seems to have outgrown her Canuck roots. She sounds as she normally does, which unfortunately, also makes her seem like she’s in the wrong movie. On the bright side, I did learn my new favorite word as uttered innumerable times in the film by Ellen Page – arsehole. I’ve been using it constantly since Saturday. As a matter of fact, it could be the best thing to come from Canada since hockey (which is much more than I can say for the film itself).

Posted Monday, February 04, 2008 3:59 PM by jjgittes | with 0 comments

The Magnificent Seven on Reel 13

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The Magnificent Seven (1960)

I love the The Magnificent Seven. It was one of the watershed films of my childhood – such a sense of heroism and decency propagated throughout the film. However, watching it again on Reel 13, I was reminded of something that I always sort of knew, but didn’t want to admit – while Mag 7 is good, it’s not that good. It pales in comparison to its genre counterparts like John Ford’s key Westerns and later, Sergio Leone’s revisionist Spaghetti westerns, but of course, it’s still a worthwhile ride.

I think the key problem is in adapting Kurosawa’s The Seven Samurai, the transition from is feudal Japan to 19^th Century Mexico is not without its awkwardness. The very premise of seven mercenary gunmen coming to rescue a small Mexican village from bandits for a measly sum is hard to swallow. You get the sense that screenwriter William Roberts had a sense of this too. He works really hard to try and give each of the seven their individual reasons for going, but it’s still a bit of a stretch. Additionally, Kurosawa used close to four hours to tell his story. By cutting that nearly in half, Roberts and director John Sturges sacrifice a great deal of character development time that they really could have used to maximize the impact of the story (particularly the ending).

Another big detractor for me has always been Horst Bucholz in the role of Chico (the equivalent to the Toshiro Mifune character in Kurosawa’s version). As the story goes, Sturges thought young German actor Bucholz was extremely charismatic on screen and was betting on him becoming a big star (Holst who?). Instead, he’s just an out-of-place, overacting nuisance, which is a shame because it’s such a pivotal role in the original and could have been here too with someone else in the role.

Thankfully, the rest of the cast is really good to make up for him. Yul Brynner is thankfully understated as the leader (in contrast to his 50’s scenery-chewing work in The King and I and The Ten Commandments). The more I see Steve McQueen, the more I appreciate his on-screen charisma and vulnerable masculinity and I wish he had lived longer to have had an even more impressive career. James Coburn probably only gets to speak 12 lines in the whole film, but by God, if each one of them isn’t a gem (“I was aiming for the horse”). A young and tan Charles Bronson is also effective with a cute little storyline where he is adopted by some of the village kids.

Of course, what’s most memorable about The Magnificent Seven is what Sturges does best – the action, even though there are only really two major action sequences. In this case, it’s really a triumph of editing. If you look at the film closely, you’ll notice that in the action sequences, each of the seven are mostly in seven different places around the “town”. They were probably shot in several different locations far apart from one another on several different days (apparently, juggling the actors’ schedules was a nightmare). The very thought of keeping it all straight makes my head swim. But Sturges manages to do just that. The angles Sturges chooses, the juxtaposition of appropriate images with one another and the breakneck pace of scenes all combine to almost miraculously make the scenes work and on a very high level.

The final interesting thing I noticed about The Magnificent Seven is how reflective, almost philosophical, it is about the lonely and perilous life of the gunslinging cowboy. In most films of the genre prior to the mid-fifties, the (white-hatted) cowboy is consistently portrayed as ultra-masculine, ultimate hero and protector of honor and good. Then, films like Shane and The Searchers started to question the price of that glory and The Magnificent Seven is hardly subtle about those same musings.

Posted Monday, February 04, 2008 3:47 PM by jjgittes | with 0 comments