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Viewing Raging Bull for the AFI Project

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Under discussion:

Raging Bull (1980)

What's the AFI Project, you ask? For more information, or if you just enjoy my bemused ramblings, read here: http://www.spout.com/blogs/pippin06/archive/2008/3/1/25756.aspx

Raging Bull is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#24)
100 Most Heart-Pounding Movies (#51)
The Revised Top 100 (#4)
10 Top 10's (#1 Sports)

Netflix helped me out with Raging Bull, which I've wanted to see for a long time, or at least as long as my interest in Marty Scorsese has been piqued. I've seen some of his films but only a few, comparatively speaking, and since this is considered one of his finest, I was feeling the yearn - even though it's a boxing movie. I'm going to qualify again that I'm not a huge fan of sports movies, at least not boxing movies, because I'm just not a fan of boxing. It's a violent, bloody sport that seems utterly pointless to me. I am of the female persuasion, and since female fans of the sport are definitely a minority, this should come as no shock. So, I didn't really love this film, because it was particularly violent and bloody, as Marty never compromises. I'm going to talk more from the perspective of the filmmaking, as that's where the money is in this picture. That's what I really loved and why my rating indicates that I loved this picture, even if I don't love its subject.

Raging Bull was the nickname of prizefighter Jake LaMotta (Robert DeNiro), who wrote an autobiography of sorts on which the screenplay is based. The film follows his career from up-and-comer middleweight champion in the 40s to his post-career appearances as a nightclub/lounge comedy act in the 60s, yet the movie is really a character study of the man in general. He is self-destructive, filled with rage and passion, and can only seem to address his woes through violence. Yet, the man himself is painfully aware of his own tendencies and seems powerless to curb them, causing more anger and fits of rage, and a vicious cycle that eventually destroys his marriage to his second wife Vickie (Cathy Moriarty) and permanently damages his relationship with his former manager and brother Joey (Joe Pesci). The film depicts LaMotta's fights inside and outside of the ring, including his yearn to be champion while simultaneously battling the demands of the mob, who have backed him financially and try to set him up to take a dive at the midstages of his career as well as his constant suspicions of his wife's cheating tendencies (though he married her after adulterously wooing her).

I can see why people think Raging Bull is a bona fide classic, and I can sort of see why the film shuttled up 20 spots on the Revised Greatest list. I'll start with Marty's sublime direction. Gosh, that guy's got style. Scorsese really knows how to solidify and amplify emotion and mood through visual artistry, and this may be one of his best films to demonstrate that skill. He uses slow motion, smoke, sweat, silhouettes, and other techniques to add a realism to this picture that's unparalleled even today and especially for 1980. His choice to film the movie in black and white created a documentary feel to it, but I also loved the "home movie" scenes, when the cinematography took on that grainy, semi-sepia tone that characterizes old reel-to-reel films. Also, no one - and I mean, no one - can match Marty on use of music to enhance the tonal atmosphere of his films. I can't think of one director who does it better. He's such a music lover, his knowledge is so great, and his tastes are so spot-on, that soundtracks and scores to his films are often otherwordly in how good they are. I loved the instrumental score, which was comprised largely of old 40s standards without the vocal tracks, but I also loved the soundtrack, picking period songs that seemed to drive plot as much as enhance it. Marty was robbed for the Oscar for this film by Bob Redford - did you know that losing for this film is what caused his bad-luck losing streak? Well, thankfully there's The Departed to have snapped him out of it.

Now let's talk about Bobby. Gosh, that guy's a good actor. This performance is simply divine, and Bobby's what kept me watching even though this is a boxing movie with a lot of boxing in it. His performance ran the gamut of emotions from tender to fitful to tears of frustration to sensual to blood-vessel popping mad. He managed to portray nuances and give this man so much texture, it's no wonder he actually won the Oscar for this flick. Let's face it, Bobby can act his way through anything, but this film and this performance was mesmerizing.

And, frankly, I was just as impressed with Joe Pesci. I thought the Joey character was equally refined in its emotional range and purity through Pesci's performance. These two are simply great fun to watch together, so it's no wonder they kept cropping up in films together (thanks largely to Marty).

I didn't see any flaws with the filmmaking aspect of this film. Every technical piece was filmed and added with care and artistry. The art direction: in the scene when Jake is reciting the "On the Waterfront" Brando speech, which is supposed to take place in 1964, I saw a period Kleenex box and just thought, "wow." Marty directed that for people like me who notice things like that - impressive. The sound was magnificent, particularly in the more visually stylized fights. The costuming was also really good: evidence: Cathy Moriarty's various outfits. Everything was just really good.

It was just hard for me to love a boxing movie. It's violent and visceral and hard to watch, and Marty never softpedals. Yet, the filmmaking here is unparalleled. Now, did it deserve to jump 20 spots to #4? Is it really the fourth greatest film of all time? I find that hard to say. I'm finding it hard to rate this movie. It's kind of a masterpiece, but I wasn't perfectly entertained. Yet, I see no flaws to this picture other than my own bias against violent boxing films. I think I'll do what I did with The Departed: rate it a 9.5. Is that fair, since the 0.5 is probably more closely connected to my own bias? Would I have been one of those Oscar voters that thought Ordinary People should get Best Picture because Raging Bull was too violent and profane? No, I don't think so (I haven't seen Ordinary People, but I don't think so). I also still have to be entertained - and I was engaged, just not really entertained. I had more time to notice all of the filmmaking techniques because I wasn't as entertained. This is a long-winded explanation for me saying I'm being as fair as I can be in rating this film, and maybe it deserves to be top 10 on the greatest list but not #4.

Yet, Raging Bull does not pass the test. I'm glad I watched it, but I couldn't watch it again. I think we all know why. Still, it's one of the most perfect character studies in the history of film. Very Citizen Kane-esque actually. So, maybe it does deserve to be #4. What do I know? Forget about it.

Posted Sunday, August 31, 2008 12:17 PM by pippin06 | with 0 comments

Me and You and Everyone We Know in One Movie

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Me and You and Everyone We Know (2004)

This lengthily titled film represents the last true indie I have for a while on my Netflix queue, which is fine. I like to vary it up, and I've been trying to mix AFI movies with my regular queue, all depending upon where I am in the order of watching them, simply to get a taste of different films. Truthfully, I'd never heard of this film until I started trolling around on Spout. So, here's a plug for the reverent Spout.com: you can really learn about films you might not have otherwise heard about because the user base is so diverse and eclectic in its film-loving tastes. Just troll through the "community buzz" section of the Movies tab and see what people are talking about. My want to see list has grown exponentially thanks to that exercise.

I digress. I read the plot summary to this film and some of the reviews and felt I needed to watch it when Netflix recommended it to me, thinking I would like it. Thus, here we are. And I did like it. I didn't love it, but I liked it. It was cute.

Miranda July wrote, directed, and starred in the film. She plays Christine, an eccentric artist driven by impulse. She yearns to support herself with her performance art but compromises by running a cab service for the elderly. On one of her day trips with one of her customers, she encounters Richard (John Hawkes), a salesman at a shoe store. He's experiencing a painful divorce that's left him a little lost - mainly because the sinking-in of it caused him to burn his hand. On purpose. I digress. He tries to connect with his two sons Peter and Robby, but their malaise at their parents' situation is coupled with curiosity about sex, which they explore through an internet chat room. Richard also works with his neighbor, who does everything but outright proposition two teenaged girls, just as curious about sex as the boys. And so it goes - every character is connected to another character, but the connection comes through a yearning for that connection. Because all of the characters seem to have a certain loneliness or emptiness to them that motivates their actions, from the sweet to the less-than-innocent, driving them toward a need for intimacy.

I liked the originality of this story. It wasn't a traditional romantic comedy, but it toyed with those elements. It wasn't a typical indie drama, per se, but it had all of the ingredients. It was a film that seemed to drive toward something profound - but it didn't quite get there. Or, it did get there, but in an anticlimactic way. This film felt light and frothy when I get the sense that it was trying to be deep. It's this intangible, almost ethereal quality that prevents me from truly loving the picture.

On the other hand, I really liked some of the elements. I thought Ms. July's direction was superb, using a variety of camera techniques to connect the viewer, however momentarily, to all of the different players and their particular perspectives. The pacing was also great, even and tight; the film was always engaging. I liked the score, at times, though at other times, its kitsche felt annoying. I also liked the performances. I think the best and most believable performance belonged to John Hawkes as the man-child struggling with his sense of loss while being completely caught off guard by Christine's less-than-subtle though certainly unusual advances. His responses felt real to me. Ms. July also gave a good performance, though, at times, it was uneven, and that's not just because her character is so kooky. I get the sense that her character was semi-autobiographical, and when the character most closely resembled the real woman was when the performance was most convincing. Other times, I just felt like she was staring with big wide doe eyes because she didn't know what else to do. That's not a criticism as much as it is a general impression I got.

My biggest problem with this film was with the widespread sexualization of the under-18 crowd. When that kind of stuff gets put into film, I really have to stop and consider the filmmaker's intentions, whether I can grasp the "art" of it or not. I guess I had the hardest time with Robby and his naive explorations in the internet chat room. Naturally, he doesn't get everything because he's so young, and we all have to learn sometime, but I was trying to understand how his need for this connection fit into the whole scheme of things. I think I get it, but it gave me some pause, considering that we also have the curious yet slightly maladjusted teenager girls and Peter, who's really just searching for something real amongst the surreal of his life.

All in all, I felt the film was cute, sweet, even a little precious without being over the top. I was entertained; there were just some parts that alienated from the film as much as there were elements that fostered a connection with me. So, I think the film deserves a 7.5, between shaky and very good/minor flaws. It doesn't pass the test, however. I can't see myself watching this more than once or drawing it from my own movie collection, though if it's aired on the indie cable channel, I might stop and watch it for nostalgia's sake. It resonated with me but not in any meaningful way - like it skimmed the surface of a placid lake without sinking in. I appreciate that it's all about everyone (and me and you); I just wish it had reached the finish line with the point it was trying to make.

Posted Thursday, August 28, 2008 9:32 AM by pippin06 | with 0 comments

Revisiting The Maltese Falcon for the AFI Project

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Under discussion:

The Maltese Falcon (1941)

What's the AFI Project, you ask? For more information, or if you just enjoy my bemused ramblings, read here: http://www.spout.com/blogs/pippin06/archive/2008/3/1/25756.aspx

The Maltese Falcon is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#23)
100 Most Heart-Pounding Movies (#26)
100 Movie Quotes (#14 - Sam Spade: "The stuff that dreams are made of.")
The Revised Top 100 (#31)
10 Top 10's (#6 Mystery)

I borrowed The Maltese Falcon again from my parents' ever-burgeoning film collection, which is beginning to rival my own in terms of quantity and eclecticism, though I had seen this film before. Back in my college days, when I tried watching the entire AFI Original list (never made it, obviously), the University of Michigan had several summer movie series that they screened all over campus. One movie series featured some classic and foreign films, including this one. I think I saw it first in the conservatory or some such building on the Diag. Truth be told, I only vaguely remember the experience and remembered The Maltese Falcon even less, so, in many ways, revisiting this movie felt like watching it a first time. I could only remember that Humphrey Bogart was in the film, and there was all this hooey about some bird statuette.

Well, this hooey proved to serve up Bogey's star-making role, playing ascerbic private investigator Sam Spade. Spade and his investigating partner are hired by the requisite femme fatale - I say requisite, though, apparently, this is the first film that could ever definitively be called noir, which is interesting and something I did not realize. Miss Wonderly, an alias for Brigid O'Shaughnessey (Mary Astor), tells Spade and Archer that her sister has taken up with a dangerous man and needs to be followed and brought back for her safety. As soon as Archer takes up the case, he meets his maker, and the suspected murderer, an acquaintance of Brigid's, soon follows his fate. Spade, the only known common thread between his partner and the prime suspect in his investigation, becomes the prime suspect in both of their murders. In an effort to keep the heat of the law off his back, he maneuvers amongst the players, Brigid included, and discovers that all of the death and confusion revolves around a legendary golden bird statue in the shape of a falcon, originally from royalty in Malta, and disguised in a crude black enamel. The mystery thickens when Spade realizes that none of the people he encounters, including a man named Joel Cairo (Peter Lorre) and a man named Kasper Gutman (Sydney Greenstreet), are telling the truth about, well, anything. They also are not afraid to use guns when it suits their purpose.

Both times I watched this film, I found that I didn't really get too excited by it. It's a great plot, to be sure, and I wish that I had read the book on which it was based before ever viewing the film because I really struggled with some of the character development. Though, there were no issues concerning Sam Spade. His is one of the most engaging and well-rounded characters in film, and, I feel, that's largely why this film hits the AFI's original and revised lists. His motivations, aside from one key plot-related factoid I refuse to spoil, are clear; his dialogue is snappy, witty, and intelligent; and his presence is charismatic because Bogart was an incredible performer and a true film icon. He's hands-down the best part of the whole film.

The worst part of the film is Brigid. I don't think it's necessarily Mary Astor's fault, but that's hard to know for sure without reading the original book. In the film, her motivations, other than sheer greed, are never clear because her character is always driven to lie - yet, there's no background information provided as to why it has become so necessary for her to chase after the Falcon and lie so much, except for the danger of the quest itself. The film establishes early on that there are no perfect heroes or villains; everyone is morally ambiguous and self-serving, not the least of which includes Spade. Yet, Brigid's story offers no explanations past a few brief and forgettable comments regarding her exploits in pursuit of the Falcon. Maybe it's the year in which it was made, and the archaic sexism of the day, playing on the notion that she is of the weaker sex, that renders this character to such a diminished role, portraying Brigid to be the biggest sinner of the lot - almost an Eve-type, wanton to temptation. While Cairo's involvement is equally glossed over, he's comparatively minor in the grand scheme of the plot. Still, Brigid never feels like a sympathetic character to me because, the way it was written, she offers no reason why she should be sympathetic, even when she finally decides to offer crumbs of the truth.

No technical elements of the film stood out for me. The point-and-shoot direction of John Huston in his directorial debut was fairly straightforward, as were other elements like art direction, costumes, even score. The pace was slow yet even. I think the allure of The Maltese Falcon rests largely on the charisma of Bogey and the allure of the mystery around the titular object - after all, it's the "stuff that dreams are made of." I also think it gets such rankings due to the fact that it was groundbreaking in terms of setting the tempo for those films classified as "film noir" to follow, creating the requisite ingredients by being the first film to employ them.

Because of some of the lackluster character development and the relatively slow pace of the film (for the entertainment value), I'm motivated to rate The Maltese Falcon an 8 for being very good/having minor flaws, but it doesn't pass the test for me. Even after a second viewing, I don't find I like the film in any profound way; perhaps, my dreams are made of other stuff.

Posted Tuesday, August 26, 2008 1:45 PM by pippin06 | with 0 comments

Revisiting 2001: A Space Odyssey for the AFI Project

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Under discussion:

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

2010 (1984)

What's the AFI Project, you ask? For more information, or if you just enjoy my bemused ramblings, read here: http://www.spout.com/blogs/pippin06/archive/2008/3/1/25756.aspx

2001: A Space Odyssey is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#22)
100 Most Heart-Pounding Movies (#40)
100 Years...100 Heroes and Villans (HAL 9000 is the #13 villain)
100 Movie Quotes (#78 - David Bowman: "Open the pod bay doors, HAL.")
100 Most Inspiring Movies (#47)
The Revised Top 100 (#15)
10 Top 10's (#1 Science Fiction)

Ah 2001. It's one of the weirdest and most wonderful movies in the whole world. It's so wonderful partly because it is so weird. I own this film (test = pass); I bought it for this project, but it's been on my wish list a long time.

This is one of the rare films that I suggest people watch for its artistic value only. As entertainment, it's long and slow and surreal and, well, at first blush, it doesn't make a whole lot of sense. To be sure, I didn't like it at first because of those reasons. Plus, I had seen its "sequel," 2010: The Year We Make Contact, first, and since that was a film made purely for entertainment - which I will wax on in a minute - 2001 seemed a little too high falutin' on first viewing. So, when I watched it a second time, and concentrated more on what was being portrayed and what I was looking at in a film made in 1968, I was able to get a better sense of why this movie is considered such a masterpiece, and why I feel the same way about it.

There really is very little in the way of plot; this movie is skin-thin on anything that could be called a story. It's told in four acts: first, the Dawn of Man, which makes subtle commentary on the theories of evolution and the nature of man and introduces the viewer to the ubiquitous and mysterious monolith. The second act finds us accompanying Dr. Heywood Floyd (William Sylvester) to the moon, where futuristic technology as imagined by 1968 creators is showcased, and where investigators have found a monolith, buried deep below the surface of the moon. It emits a high-pitched noise that pierces the eyes, ears, and minds of the investigators. The third act brings the viewer to Jupiter, and the spaceship Discovery, where seemingly impassive astronauts David Bowman (Keir Dullea) and Frank Poole (Gary Lockwood) share a mission to seek the monolith with three hibernating astronauts and their onboard computer, the HAL 9000. "HAL" is humanistic himself, man-made but with vocal inflections that sound almost emotional. He has control over the whole ship and enjoys "stimulating" relationships with the crew of Bowman and Poole. HAL malfunctions, however, and he begins taking drastic actions to cover up his error, as his brand of computer has never before made a mistake. The fourth act finds Bowman chasing the monolith toward Jupiter and the "Infinite Beyond," in what is probably the most surreal portion of the film.

I view 2001 the same way I view a painting in an art museum. Stanley Kubrick, esteemed director, used visual symbols and impressions to lay down an intriguing mystery, and I think it's for the viewer to take away what s/he wants from it. The most mysterious aspect of the film is the monolith - what it is, what it represents, and what impressions the viewer is supposed to form. The film itself is something you have to look at more than once to digest the magnitude and point of it all and to catch all the nuances you likely missed the first time.

The photography and the depictions of space are what is so impressive about this film. It is obvious that 2001 influenced so many renderings of space in future science fiction films, including Star Wars. I don't know how it was done, and perhaps I should watch the DVD extras, but the photography of the planets, the spaceships, the monolith, were all , well, really cool, and they still feel fresh and are kind of breathtaking today.

The sound in this movie is also sorely underrated. Kubrick used sound effectively in creating something of a thriller, particularly in the last two acts, including Bowman's heavy breathing in fear of HAL and his great trip to the infinite. The absence of sound was also an effective technique - there's simply a tangible-ness to the quiet that really draws the viewer in and makes him/her wonder what will happen next. I've seen 2001 a few times, and it still works on me, because I can never remember the order of the events. I spend more time puzzling over what I'm looking at, especially in the fourth act, and wondering what's about to happen.

Agreeably, the fourth act is the most tedious, between the psychidelic colors of substances that remind me of melted chocolate, and the score in that act is also kind of annoying. The last scene, in what looks to be a futuristic place equipped with antique furniture and Bowman at various stages of life, is probably the most cryptic aspect of the film, though I have long since made up my own mind on what I see.

Still, the whole experience is something that works its way into your brain through sight and sound, and I think that achievement is what makes 2001 so great. If you watch it expecting an entertaining thrill ride, you will be sorely disappointed (except in act three). I guess act three is what put 2001 on the thrillers list because the rest of the film is not really thrilling, at least not in a heart-pounding way.

If you're looking for entertainment, I recommend 2010. Ok, Kubrick hardliners, hear me out: I don't view it strictly as an inferior sequel to Kubrick's version. I know it's dated, imagining a future from a period when the Cold War was still in full force. I don't look at it as undermining 2001's vision. What 2010 does, however, is attempt to answer some of the more superficial mysteries of 2001 in a way that the less-than-interested 2001 viewer might appreciate. Without providing definite solutions to the mysteries, 2010 is a spooky story that posits theories about the monolith. The acting is good, the photography is also excellent (focusing on Jupiter and its moons), and some of the themes about the nature of man, especially as it relates to the construction of the HAL 9000, are revisited. It's also an uplifting film in its way. I'm the rare 2001 fan who likes both films, but if you want entertainment, 2010 is the place to go. That film is not about the Space Odyssey - it's about the monolith and the concept of life beyond ours. Not as intricate or laden with symbolism, but intriguing nonetheless.

As for 2001, it's a masterpiece of film artistry, so I give it a 10. If I looked at it as a film that should be entertaining too, it would probably get an 8 or so because it is long and slow. That's why I suggest revising expectations and revisiting the film. The magic of 2001 is in appreciating the whole visual picture as painted by a director ahead of his time.

Posted Wednesday, August 20, 2008 3:58 PM by pippin06 | with 0 comments

Viewing The Grapes of Wrath for the AFI Project

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The Grapes of Wrath (1940)

What's the AFI Project, you ask? For more information, or if you just enjoy my bemused ramblings, read here: http://www.spout.com/blogs/pippin06/archive/2008/3/1/25756.aspx

The Grapes of Wrath is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#21)
100 Years...100 Heroes and Villains (Tom Joad is the #12 hero)
100 Most Inspiring Movies (#7)
The Revised Top 100 (#23)

The Grapes of Wrath was also my weekly Netflix rental. I read the book it's based on by John Steinbeck, oh, maybe ten or so years ago. I think I was in college, and I think it was during the summer of working for the Conference Management Services department at the University of Michigan, which, at the time anyway, ran the dormitories like hotels during the summer. It was a boring job, and a second job, and I had quite a bit of time to read, but it was a great summer after a lousy semester, and I had a job that wasn't too difficult and allowed me to read. I digress. I remember liking the book quite a bit, but I don't remember any details, because, well, it's been awhile. What I do remember, watching this film, leads me to believe that the film is only sort of like the book but not really. Maybe someone can comment with their agreement or disagreement with that assessment, but that's the vague impression I get.

In the film, Tom Joad (a young, dashing, and star-making Henry Fonda) returns to his home, the Oklahoma farm his family once owned, after being freed from prison on parole. It seems he was jailed for killing a man, apparently in self-defense, which figures importantly into the kind of man he's become. He discovers, when he arrives, that the Great Depression has setlled in; his family, including his mother (Jane Darwell), has hunkered down at his uncle's home with intentions on relocating to California on the promise of jobs (passed around on a ubiquitous leaflet) and under duress, as banks and landowners have usurped the Oklahoman countryside and bulldozed the settlements. The journey is long and hard, meeting with family tragedies, not to mention that when work is found, it's often at lower-than-fair wages and in supplication to cops who patrol Hoovervilles and shantytowns with mob mentalities and corporal punishment on the brain. Tom can't seem to stay out of trouble, but his heart gets in the way, and he gets entangled in various altercations, fighting for justice and fairness, that jeopardize his family's quest for survival.

I didn't love this film. I seem to remember, perhaps obviously, that the book had more to it, from beginning to end. I don't want to spoil the film, but it seems that there was a larger insurrection either spearheaded or helped along by Tom in the book that wasn't in the film. Maybe I'm wrong, but it seemed his moving final speech, as quoted in the synopsis, was followed by a more physical struggle in the book, something concrete or tangible to give meaning to Tom's best-intentioned ideals as he leaves his family behind in order to distract the law's watchful eyes from them. I felt that, in some ways, the film was incomplete, even despite Ma Joad's eloquent monologue about survival and continuing on in life. The adaptation was very good, but it was definitely not perfect.

It indicates at the bottom of this page that the film is superior to the novel, an opinion allegedly posited by Steinbeck himself. I'm left wondering why.

That's not to say that this wasn't a very good film. It was engaging and evenly paced, and John Ford accentuated aspects of the novel that made everything more film-friendly, including focusing more on the family and the effects of the times on the family. The synopsis by the All Movie Guide at the bottom of this page suggests that the Grapes of Wrath is arguably Ford's greatest film; I think that his greatest movie is more likely The Searchers, but that's just my opinion. Still, this film painted a searing and moving portrait of the conditions created by the Great Depression.

And really, that portrait was made all the more convincing by the performances of this great ensemble cast. The most charismatic and engaging performance belonged to Henry Fonda, who was, without a doubt, a legend in the making after The Grapes of Wrath. He wore Tom Joad easily, like a comfortable jacket, and created a complete suspension of disbelief. Plus, the relationship between him and his mother proved to be the heart, if not the soul, of the film, and Jane Darwell's Oscar was deservedly earned. Do you know that she was Dolly Merriwether in Gone with the Wind and the Bird Woman in Mary Poppins? Ma Joad's touching need for connection with her affected son, emphasized through a combination of sweetness and toughness as portrayed by Darwell, is equally endearing and heartbreaking.

As for filmmaking technique, I didn't notice anything particularly superior, groundbreaking, or noteworthy other than the use of natural scenery and light to paint contrasts between the dusty, poverty-stricken Oklahoma countryside and the sunny and lush California valleys. I think the reason why this film is considered an AFI classic is because of the vision of the director in painting an uncompromised and pointed picture of the effects of the Depression, and because Steinbeck's novel itself is considered a bona fide American classic. The themes of both film and novel cling to ideals that were immortalized on parchments that laid the foundation for our country: the pursuits of life, liberty, happiness, property...in short, striving for a piece of the American Dream, with the American family at its core.

The novel is great, and the film is good, but it wasn't something I fell in love with. If recollection serves me, I think I actually liked the book better; I think it communicated the perserverance and courage and survivalist tendencies of the American people in face of all obstacles, including capitalist hypocrisy, more effectively. But who am I to argue with Steinbeck, who liked the film version better than his own written work? I think we need an annotation on that claim. I think The Grapes of Wrath deserves an 8.5 rating, between minor flaws and perfectly entertaining, mainly for the minorest of flaws that I see in the book-to-film adaptation. Also, let's face it, a book or film about the Depression is bound to be, well, depressing, even if it's also supposed to be inspiring at the same time - though #7 inspiring? Really? I'll have to think on that.

As for the test, it's not a pass. I can't see myself pulling this film out again; if anything, I think the book deserves another read. That is, if I could ever find the time or gumption to read again - there are so many more films to watch!

Posted Sunday, August 17, 2008 8:06 PM by pippin06 | with 0 comments

Junebug's Ups and Downs

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Junebug (2005)

Since I saw The Dark Knight last weekend, my Netflix movie of the week was a holdover from last week. I'm still in an indie rut of sorts, and the current entry is Junebug, which was an Oscar movie from 2005, in the sense that Amy Adams was nominated for Best Supporting Actress. That's mainly why it made my queue; I had no particular want or need to see this movie past that, so I had no expectations going in. Though I see from the film's Spout page, there's quite a bit of mixed reaction. That's about how I feel too.

The plot, to the extent there is one: Madeleine (Embeth Davidtz) marries George (Alessandro Nivola) in a week, after a lust-at-first-sight romance (seriously). She also owns a gallery for "outsider art" in Chicago - how clever. The gallery's newest discovery is an eccentric painter from North Carolina who likes to depict scenes from the Civil War with more than the usual nudity and injections of modern life in his historical interpretations. So, Madeleine and husband George drive down to North Carolina because, of course, his family lives not too far away from this painter, and the painter gets the personal touch from Madeleine. The family's reception of Madeleine is also a mixed bag: mother Peg (Celia Weston) is mistrustful and cold; father Eugene is quiet but a bit more welcoming; brother Johnny (Benjamin McKenzie) is indifferent, preferring to be angry at his brother for even bothering to return; and sister-in-law Ashley (Amy Adams) takes to Madeleine like peas and carrots, wanting to know everything about her and be more worldly like her. What follows is really less of a plot and more of a quasi-organized character study. I'll get to that in a minute.

This film doesn't really have much to it. It's as charming as it is because the presence of Amy Adams and her wonderful performance infuses the film with comedy that would otherwise not be present. Embeth Davidtz (Mark's tightly-wound girlfriend in Bridget Jones' Diary) also gives a restrained and nuanced performance, making Madeleine a sympathetic character when she could have otherwise been a monster. I read some of the Netflix reviews of this film before I queued it up, and most of the sour reviews come from the notion that this film is somehow an indictment of small-town life, that the Madeleine character is a sophisticate meant to measure and exaggerate all of the backwater ignorance that a small-towner might have. I don't see that at all. If anything, it's more of a city mouse surviving in a country mouse's world, and the portrayals of everyone but the painter character are greatly sympathetic, at least in my vision. The Johnny character (apparently that guy is from the OC; I never watched it) is meant to be the voice of the critic who would view the film this way, and neither Madeleine nor George ever show an attitude of superiority, and I never got the feeling that these people were exemplars of country bumpkins.

What is troubling about this film, though, is that its story cohesion is really its biggest flaw. We know nothing about George, nothing at all, and he spends half the film in the background, emoting somewhere between apathy and affection for his roots. We have no idea why Johnny would react the way he does to George - maybe there's a backstory, but the viewer is never given it. The best developed character, in fact, is Ashley. Her story comes out in some painfully subtle and emotional ways, and it's with her that the viewer empathizes, helped along by her frustrated husband's emotionally-abusive tendencies. Add to that Amy Adams' truly wonderful performance, showing all of these emotional extremes from subtle to obvious, and the character is a well-rounded look at people who marry young and, perhaps, foolishly and what might result from that. We also never really learn what Madeleine takes away from her time with this family, other than that she never really knew her husband prior to marrying him in a whirlwind, one-week romance. Gee, imagine that.

If it weren't for Ashley, this film would be much worse. There's nothing particularly fantastic about the craft of this movie. There are many - I mean, more than a few - still shots of the house and surrounds in which George grew up, but they fail to resonate because George, as a character, is never given any real purpose in this story except to be one half of the contrivance upon which city mouse drives to the country (the other half being the painter's work, which, I'm sorry, would never sell in a Midwest museum. I mean, would it? Anyone want to comment?). The song rolling over opening and closing credits was kind of cute, but other than that, there was nothing spectacular to speak of.

This film is really more about its characters, the classic fish out of water story coupled with a story of returning to one's roots and how people change. Yet, the film never really flushes out all of its characters, so it kind of meanders to its inevitable conclusion, failing to give one true story of character, with the notable and afore mentioned exception of Ashley.

Because Amy Adams was so delightful and entertaining (she actually reminded me of a friend of mine in her unerring positivity), and because Ashley's story turned out to be compelling even if the rest of the movie really was not, I feel this film deserves a 7, a classic shaky but entertaining. I was engaged in her story if nothing else. As for the test, it's not good enough to pass. In fact, this film would be downright depressing, in a needless way, if it weren't for the addition of that character. Junebug may be a semi-cute movie, but it would not be a cute name for any baby.

Posted Monday, August 11, 2008 9:33 AM by pippin06 | with 0 comments