paul's film blog - Archive

Hope is the new Angst.

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Under discussion:

F for Fake (1973)

The Magnificent Welles: The Rise and Fall of Orson Welles (2002)

F for Fake

[Motion] Pictures are supposed to clarify people's emotions, to explain the feelings of people on an emotional plane. An art film should not preclude laughter, enjoyment and hope. Is life about horror? Or is it about those few moments we have? I would like to say that my life has some meaning.

- John Cassavetes

I watched Marcus Wolland in his play, The Magnificent Welles (2002, available on DVD). Wolland wrote and stars as Orson Welles in this one-man play. Set in a hotel room in Rio De Janeiro, Welles carries on a conversation with the audience in between phone calls from RKO Studios on the night his film, The Magnificent Ambersons, is taken from him. Historically, Welles believed Ambersons to be his masterwork. While Welles was shooting another film in South America, RKO Studios cut 44 minutes from Ambersons, reshot the ending, and burned the cut negatives so that Welles could never show the film the way he wanted.

It's an insightful play that pulls no punches in revealing Welles and all of his shortcomings. It brings to life the real tragedy of a man and the work that has been lost. But it is not the final word on this artist.

Some months ago I saw Welles' final completed film, F for Fake (1974, available on DVD from Criterion).

There have been mixed reviews on F for Fake. Some call it dated, trivial, and forced. A sign of Welles' degeneration from wunderkind to martyr. True, Fake was made in the 70's and of course has that feel. He maintains his predisposition for larger than life characterization (something that had lost its luster in the heyday of Pacino and De Niro), but that's who the man was; a larger than life character. What I found to be most rewarding about Fake was exactly that Welles is a larger than life character, brimming with vitality, and not the dejected Van Gogh of filmmaking persona that has been imposed on him.

With Fake, Welles is infusing life into the work of his hands by any means necessary. Although he had every right to be fatalistic about his work and the abuse it suffered, he refused to "preclude laughter, enjoyment and hope," if for nobody else than himself while he made it. That is what makes the film so inspiring. It's a film made by a man who had every reason to abandon filmmaking, but for the pleasure that making film brought to him. It's also brilliant.

Welles took another filmmaker's documentary, cut it up, added some footage from an abandoned doc he himself had been working on, and shot some new stuff. Then he cut and cut and cut. As a friend of mine put it, "It just proves that a great film can be made anywhere with anything."

F for Fake opens with an elusive and quick cut sequence of Orson Welles' donning a black cape and a mischievous smile. He is performing snappy slide-of-hand tricks for a little boy, making a key disappear then reappear as some coins, show up again in the kid's pocket, only to transform back into coins falling from the boy's nose. These tricks continue for sometime. Somehow, in a way that is difficult to describe, the next 2 hours is Welles performing that same trick using film. The editing is the magician's hands and the story is the key disappearing and reappearing as a coin then disappearing again and showing up as a key that the audience pulls out of their pocket in amazement and asks, "How did he get this in there?"

If Fake achieves one thing, it is the constant upheaval of the audience's perception. From moment to moment what we consider to be fact becomes fiction, what we consider to be art becomes crap, whom we consider to be experts become deceivers. I think of it as the lecture of what Welles has learned in his life told at break-neck speed. I've never had an experience with a film to compare it to.

F for Fake is Welles' last completed film. It's so fast and fresh it feels like it's made by a 25 year old prodigy. Of course, Citizen Kane was made by a 25 year old prodigy, but feels like the work of a mature, calculating director. Maybe that's the mark of true genius: They don't let their gift ripen on the vine, but keep picking it and letting it grow back new and fresh each time because they stay confident that their life has meaning.

(originally posted on my godinruins.com blog 8/23/05)

Posted Friday, December 23, 2005 11:33 AM by paul | with 0 comments

Matewan

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Under discussion:

Matewan (1987)

Matewan

David Webb Peoples, the screenwriter for Unforgiven (1992), drew the bulk of his research For that film from a book called The Shooters (1976). Among many misconceptions that the book debunks about the Old West is that of The Outlaw. The typical convention around outlaws in the movies basically follows this path:

1. Outlaw comes to town.
2. Timid townsfolk don't want any trouble.
3. Marshall steps in to say hello and communicate on behalf of the townies that they don't want any trouble.
4. Shortly thereafter, the trouble begins.
5. The Marshall takes action.

In the movies, the problem seems to stem when the term "outlaw" is only applied to a working class type criminal. The reality in the Old West was that some outlaws wore black hats and others worked in mahogany paneled offices. The common man felt cheated and oppressed by the rich and, therefore, celebrated outlaws who were viewed as exacting a sort of Robin Hood type vengeance. Only in the Old West, Robin Hood didn't pass along the spoils.

This common theme then comes up in the more factual accounts of the Old West:

1. Outlaw comes to town.
2. Town is ecstatic over being payed a visit by such a celebrity.
3. Outlaw tends to drink a lot and sleep with town's girls.
4. The town slowly realizes they need to get rid of the morally corrupt Outlaw.
5. The community takes action.

Throughout American history we have mythologized, for better or for worse, the Little Guy who steps outside of the law to take on the Big Guys. Tom Joad in The Grapes of Wrath immediately comes to mind. A working man who is forced to make one of two choices: Step outside the law and defend others like himself or work within the law and have his inherent human dignity ground into dust.

But in John Sayles' film, Matewan (1987), another choice is explored. Many have criticized Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath as sentimentalizing to heavily the sharecroppers plight. Some may make the same criticism about Sayles' film which sympathizes with West Virginia coal miners trying to unionize in 1920. In all fairness, I too would probably sentimentalize the plight of the American sharecropper or coal miner had I been around to stroll through their shanty towns during the Great Depression. But rather than focusing on the choice one man needs to make, in Matewan Sayles goes deeper into the power found in forging a community.

Before I get too lost sojourning through my own thoughts let me say,

See Matewan.

It delivered on so many different levels. So, so, so good. I sat down after a full day's work and a full evening's baby caring and house choring. I put in the disc thinking I would look at the first half-hour or so, nod off to sleep, then decide in the morning whether or not to keep it checked out. Two hours later there were two wrinkly spots on my shirt where I had been clenching my chest.

That said, I realized why I cried during Finding Nemo. It was in the final moments when the blue fish (Dorie?) gets caught in a net with a big school of fish. Nemo goes into the net to tell all of the fish to swim down. The thousands of fish in the net stop flailing around to save themselves and collectively focus on swimming down toward the ocean floor. Then the crane hauling the net up from the water breaks and falls into the sea. That was when the tears started flowing.

Why? I'm not totally sure. But it was resonating in the same place as last night I watched the coal miners trying and failing and trying again to organize a union. Every time they split their energies or allowed racism to divide them, the union began to slip through their fingers. Every time they reduced themselves to seeing each other as a bunch of human beings sharing in one another's struggles, The Company trying to bust up their union would wilt.

I'm thinking that my recent sensitivity to on-screen violence and my sensitivity for hopeless masses overcoming the odds by working together are some how married. It was in each miner finding respect in the other man's humanity where they could join together to become something altogether more powerful than any one man could be alone. Like those fish caught in the net. Each one had to hold prisoner his own instinct to save himself and realize that his survival could only be found with the fish surrounding him.

If I can't find compassion for my fellow man, I can't possibly see him as an equal. Then I pursue saving my own neck and the union falls apart.

(originally posted on my godinruins.com blog 7/29/05)

Posted Friday, December 23, 2005 11:25 AM by paul | with 0 comments

Fritz Lang's M

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Under discussion:

Matewan (1987)

The Silence of the Lambs (1991)

M (1931)

M
One of the basics of screenwriting is to establish the hero's world in your story and then throw off that world's equilibrium. Dorothy loses her dog, Luke loses his droids, and Dumbo's born with a birth defect. In Fritz Lang's M, a little German town has a serial killer on the loose. Made in 1931, M established many conventions that would become staples in the Psychological Thriller genre. However, unlike most of the pioneering films of its time, M's value isn't only in its historical significance because it's still more terrifying than most serial killer movies put out today.

I have to applaud Lang for realizing so early that horror happens in the imagination. That realization has unfortunately not carried over into many of today's psychological thrillers. Silence of the Lambs is one of the few exceptions. Jonathan Demme (dir. of Lambs) uses the darkest recesses of our minds to fill in what Hannibal Lector is capable of instead of showing it on screen. When Ridley Scott came out with Hannibal, all of that horror got a big alka-seltzer tablet dropped into it precisely because Scott chose to show Hannibal performing his heinous deeds.

Lang does with the Psychological Thriller genre what John Sayles did with the Western genre in Matewan. Sayles took the classic western and asked, "What if I switch out the gunslinging hero in a white hat with a pacifist?" The result is a totally original story that sets up genre expectations and then smashes them scene after scene. I expect a genre story, but wind up examining the Story's world as something totally new and subsequently I start seeing the world around me with fresh eyes. Fritz Lang does the same thing with M when he takes out the Gumshoe (typical hero in this genre) who is chasing down the killer and replaces him with a community on the brink of madness with fear for their children. Considering the film was made in 1931, some may argue that Lang did more to establish the genre than break from it, but the fact remains that the conventions of genre are broken by M.

It's far more interesting to me to see what having a serial killer on the loose does to disintegrate the fabric of a community, than to watch what a serial killer does to the convictions of a lone detective.

M delivers on a nail biting level for two hours, then ends in such a way that won't let the audience think our little Bavarian town is back to normal. The Killer is not just a bad guy in a black hat. In fact, Lang turns his finger from the Killer to the town. One of the realities that Lang explores (a reality briefly eluded to in Lambs) is that serial killers aren't born, they are made. They are made when a society refuses to look at and act on the abuse of children. In some ways, Lang's killer is the Pied Piper coming to finally collect on generations of a town in denial. Denial of all the evils that were wrought behind closed doors. In the final scene, a court sentences the Killer. In the courtroom sits a row of mothers whose children were victims. Their sobs are not comforted by the guilty verdict. One of the mothers cries out, "We must protect the children!"

I was shocked once when I read that well over 60% of reported child sexual abuse cases in this country happen in the home at the hands of a father or step-father. The proverbial "dirty old man" that I have always imagined as the main perpetrator of these crimes accounts for between 2% - 5% of all reported cases. In my own experience I have spoken with many adults who were victims of abuse as children. In almost every conversation I've heard the same thing: What hurt more than the abuse itself was when it was glossed over or outright ignored by the adults who were in a place to protect the victim.

I don't believe that the valiant detective was ever meant to carry the responsibility of protecting everybody, like Superman being swooping in at the last possible minute to save a child stepping in front of a car. I believe our society is has grown accustomed to turning the other way, to the idea of a hero like a gun-strapping sheriff or detective to step in and do what must be done when a "monster" is on the loose. But it falls on our shoulders to act when a future "monster" is being created in the house next door.

I am amazed at how Fritz Lang conveyed on film this social disease of believing in "the monster" that magically appears and the subsequent hero who is responsible for killing it. I am even more amazed at what a prophet he was for his own people to produce this film in Germany just before the rise of Hitler, who determined the Jews to be monsters.

Stories usually start by setting up a world then throwing off that world's equilibrium. I know I always tend to revert to that formula in my world view. "Oh, once upon a time there was a beautiful town, then one day a monster started killing people." The truth is that long before "Once upon a time..." there was the story of a child who was suffering and was ignored. Those stories are not told very often. I think it's to our own detriment that they go untold.

(originally posted on my godinruins.com blog 8/18/05)

Posted Friday, December 23, 2005 11:24 AM by paul | with 0 comments

Palindromes and Point of View

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Under discussion:

Palindromes (2004)

Palindromes

I cannot help feeling that the stories of many different and potentially inarticulate people are more interesting than a contrived narrative that exists only in one articulate man's imagination.
- John Cassavetes

In my experience, I have found it to be hands down, every time easiest to remove dimension from the people in my life and reduce them down to either the greatest thing they've ever done or the worst thing they've ever done. I think the same goes for filmmaking. It is far easier for a director to remove dimension from the characters he is working with. However, honest compassion for The Other has always risen up in me when I can see beyond the best or worst thing about that person.

This "contrived narrative" is the norm for most American films, it's The Director's story that the audience is allowed to sit in on. Like in The Cider House Rules, a hero character goes on a journey. Along the way he gains wisdom and switches sides from anti-abortion to pro-abortion. Making an argument for a particular Point of View through a fictional story is, I think, more and more expected from audiences.

Palindromes opened theatrically last April and has since played in 46 theaters. The director, Todd Solondz, is one of the most challenging (and in my opinion one of the best) directors living today. His films often ask the audience to sympathize with some of the most unsympathetic characters and that in itself places his work in with a small handful of American directors. With Palindromes he asks the audience to sympathize with human beings on both extremes of the abortion issue. He has caught a deluge of napalm-inflamed criticism as a result.

I will not write a review for Palindromes here because I cannot write a better one than David Lowery wrote at Reversing the Gaze. But I will use an excerpt of Solondz's words from an interview with Dave Canfield at twitchfilm.com:

One of my favorite scenes is the Sunshine Family Singers musical number. During the filming I was very moved by it. The kids took such pride and joy into bringing that song to life. Hopefully people can take that away with them without losing the ability to decipher what’s being said in the song, which is rather disturbing.

And the fact that some of the kids in the family are disabled makes it even harder for people trying to decipher what you’re up to as a writer or director. Are you making fun of kids with disabilities? I guess my response would be 'Are kids with disabilities not supposed to dance and sing?' What people are most often most unhappy about is their own response to these sorts of things.

Film reveals for me the hideous and beautiful in humanity. A good film forces me to swim in another's murky life. To look at them as God in ruins. Often my response to what is on the screen reveals within me what is ugly and in need of help.

It is far easier to watch films that reveal none of these things to me; films that only ask me to sit and listen to one man's Point of View.

(originally posted on my godinruins.com blog 8/29/05)

Posted Friday, December 23, 2005 11:16 AM by paul | with 0 comments

The Decalogue

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Under discussion:

The Decalogue [TV Series] (1988)

The Decalogue [TV Series]
I watched episodes 4 and 5 of Kieslowski's The Decalogue last night. I'm finding the only approach for me to take in watching The Decalogue is to savor one episode, think on it for several days and watch another. It's the same approach I'm taking with reading the Cassavetes on Cassavetes book. Although the book is several hundred pages long, I can only read a few pages at a time or I start to feel I'm missing too much. I'm Charlie with his one Wonka bar.

I sat in a living room full of friends (9 in all) and when episode 5 ended we could do nothing but sit in silence for several minutes. What is strange is that all of us in that room are not well acquainted with each other–usually adding pain to an awkward silence–and still none of us said anything. Usually I'm busy trying to make myself sound intelligent or my mind is going in a thousand different directions, but there just weren't words last night.

It is said that the 10 episodes of The Decalogue are each an examination of one of the Ten Commandments. But they are by no means morality tales. In fact they are full of ambiguity.

I saw this a little fundraising game once next to the cash register on the counter of a McDonald's. The game consisted of a large jar filled with water. Submerged in the water were these little platforms. The object was to drop a quarter into the jar and, if it lands on a platform, then I'd get a free milkshake or something. So I aimed and dropped the quarter. It hit the water and careened away from the platforms, settling on top of a pile of once hopeful quarters in the bottom of the jar. I see Kieslowski take each commandment as a quarter. He then drops it into the jar of the world we live in. Where it lands is as hard to predict as the direction my quarter took when I dropped it into the jar.

I would venture to say that Episode 5 deals with the "Thou shalt not murder" commandment. I have watched thousands of people die on screen in my lifetime. Never have I wanted somebody to not die as much as I did watching Episode 5 last night. None of the characters were particularly "good." But something intangible occurred. I think we all felt how purely against nature it is for a man to murder another man. I think we were speechless because sometimes we connect with people–even if they only exist in a film–in a way that goes beyond words. Beyond our words was a reverence that comes when seeing something so true, so clearly for the first time.

(originally posted on my godinruins.com blog 8/31/05)

Posted Friday, December 23, 2005 11:13 AM by paul | with 0 comments

2046

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Under discussion:

Days of Being Wild (1991)

In The Mood For Love (2000)

2046 (2005)

2046

There was a beautiful girl who I once was in a relationship with (although this girl is now a woman living somewhere, she exists in my memory as a girl). The only chance we had to meet was when our relationship had a slim chance of working out. I was pushing to be with her. She pushed me away. We got together anyway. We always had the same fight. Was I going to ruin her life? Keep her from her ambitions? She never pictured herself with a guy like me. Then, one day, she did. She wanted to marry me. But by that point, the argument we had over and over again had left me wanting to leave. I couldn't shake it. I was through. Every few months for years afterward she would call me and ask the same question, "Why didn't we work out?"

Every time she called I tried to give her an answer that both of us knew was weak at best. The truth was I didn't know. I still don't. By the time she was ready to start a serious relationship I was finished. Bad timing.

2046 is Wong Kar Wai's latest film. It's the continuation of a story that started with In the Mood for Love. It also makes reference to his earlier film, Days of Being Wild. It's the mid 1960's, a little while after In the Mood for Love leaves off. Chow Mo Wan has not gotten over Su Li Zhen, the woman who would not give up her husband, life and reputation to be with Chow. He refers to his life in In the Mood for Love as his "previous life." Chow is now a playboy. A poor playboy who throws various birthday parties for himself to make money. He's writing a story about a place in the future called 2046. In the future a giant train system spans the globe. Everybody wants to go to 2046, it's the place to recapture lost memories. Only one man has ever wanted to leave 2046 and he is on a train with no apparent destination.

As the next two hours unfold, Chow teases love with other women and let's them go. He's in a constant state of search. Love, he says, is not about who you find as much as when you find them. It's all about timing. People pass in and out of each other's lives, and if you love somebody who is at the point to receive it, then love can grow. But you may meet the perfect person at the wrong time and lose it altogether.

The whole timing thing is not a romantic idea. Although we live in a time where the idea of finding a soulmate is weighted heavily by the idea of finding a best friend, there is still, I think, that hope which believes there is one person out there who perfectly fits me. Wong Kar Wai's presentation of love is less of a search for the one straight path and more like wondering through a forest. It's more about chance than destiny. More about timing than romance.

I noticed that having a baby is kind of like this notion of love. A husband and wife could make love thousands of times throughout their marriage. However, a handful of times they'll make love and a baby will start to grow. It grows within the woman and then comes out. At that point, the parents discover a different kind of love for this baby. A love they never knew about and the baby keeps growing. It grows in the shadow of love from its parents. Then it finally grows into an adult who falls in love, makes love, and, someday, the cycle starts over.

And it all starts in some unforeseeable way. A one time thing out of a hundred times that two people may make love. It's chance.

It seems to me falling in love is much like that. We may connect with different people at different times throughout our lives. We meet each other in different places in our lives. A married woman meets a college boy, a busy man meets a woman in another country, an career minded girl meets a love struck boy; in every instance it may have been great in a different time and a different place. But then there is the chance encounter with somebody who is ready to receive you and who you are ready to receive, and it works out beautifully. Despite the percentages. It seems like destiny because the chances you two defied were so slim. It happens. Just not in a Wong Kar Wai film.

(originally posted on 11/16/05 on my godinruins.com blog)

Posted Friday, December 23, 2005 11:05 AM by paul | with 1 comments

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Hope is the new Angst.

Matewan

Fritz Lang's M

Palindromes and Point of View

The Decalogue

2046

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