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As cool as a Fruitstand

  • Death Proof - revisited

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    Grindhouse  (2007)

    Death Proof  (2007)

    As already occurred to me yesterday, Crash and Death Proof would make a nice double feature: Crash is about people turned on by car crashes, and Death Proof is about one man for whom car crashes are a form of sexual aggression. He's a rapist, in a way: in the first part he his successful, and in the second, the girls take back the night.

    I already discussed Death Proof at length before. This post is merely to contemplate the differences between the version I saw as part of Grindhouse a month ago, and the longer, stand-alone version I saw tonight.

    To be honest, I'm not quite sure which I prefer. I do know I'm happy I saw both.

    The main advantage of seeing Death Proof in it's originally intended form is that a) it doesn't really need to be longer than 1.5 hours, b) the fake trailers rule and c) Planet Terror is a lot of fun, and puts you in precisely the appropriate mood to be able to appreciate Death Proof.

    However, there are things to be said for the longer version, too, and luckily, in the arthouse theater I went to see it, it was preceded by the trailer for Planet Terror, and that one only. The lenthening of the dialogues is not really necessary, and makes some drag on a bit too long, in fact, and the many more shots of feet and legs are somewhat superfluous, but two of the three extra scenes are definitely worthwhile. The first one is, of course, the "missing reel": Vanessa Ferlito's lapdance, which is all you'd expect it to be, and set to music worthy of Tarantino. But the second one, which was a surprise to me, is a long, mostly black and white, opening scene to the second half. It features something creepier even than the lapdance, and it also makes for a wonderful little moment when the color gets "switched on": the colors jump out at you, the yellow of the car, the pink of Rosario Dawson's shirt. It signals that this half is going to be different. That these girls are different.

    Aside from that, the films are very similar: you still get the scary/funny moment when Kurt Russell's Stuntman Mike suddenly looks into the camera and grins, telling you that now the action's going to start, the brilliant moment with the beat-up Dodges spilling out into our world is still there, and at the end, you still walk out feeling like kicking the air, humming "Laisse Tomber Les Filles" and yelling yeah.

    I wonder though: the triumphant feeling I got again tonight walking out of this film, do guys have it too? Is it gender-dependent that this fighting back feels to empowering? There's often criticism about films, for example about this new "torture porn" genre, that act like they "deserve" to degrade and abuse women as long as the women get the upper hand in the end, but truthfully, is that really so bad an attitude? As long as I get to be in the second batch of women, I'm not sure I think it is.

    I'm still pissed Grindhouse was split up. I still think it's underestimating the viewer, and ripping off film lovers. But the longer version definitely has some things to recommend it.
    Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

  • A Bout de Souffle - first thoughts

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    Breathless  (1960)

    Maybe the clearest way to illustrate the difference between France and the US is that the American idea of Jean-Paul Belmondo is Richard Gere.

    It's amazing how the two Godard's I have seen so far are both very similar and very different. The style is what's similar, mostly: the jump cuts, the acting style, the fascination with the sound of gunshots. The form is what's different. This is the film I should have watched with my parents, not just because it's linear and focused in a way "Masculin Feminin" was not, but also because of the wonderful touristic shots of Paris.

    Of course, this doesn't mean I liked it any less. You can definitely feel Truffaut's touch in the quirkiness of the characters and in the logic of the central love story, and as you might now I absolutely love Jules et Jim, the only Truffaut film I've seen so far. And how can you NOT fall in love with Belmondo chain smoking through the film giving his best impression of Humphrey Bogart -albeit a bit too filled with youthful enthusiasm to be able to approach Bogie's cool. He's not conventionally handsome by anyone's definition, but there's something about him that makes you understand exactly how he can wrap any girl around his finger. And Jean Seberg, ah, Jean Seberg, she's such a lovely little pixie, hair cropped short, every feature so clearly delineated and so mobile.

    There are wonderful scenes here. The two lovers kissing, then taking their sunglasses off, the interview with the novelist, I could go on.

    The conclusion? I need to find a way to get a hold of Bande a Part.
    Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

  • Whistle Stop

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    Whistle Stop  (1946)

    I was worried there for a while.

    See, film noir is my reliable genre. Whenever I pop one into the DVD player I know that I might not love it, that it might not be particularly well-written or well-acted, that they might be some cheesy effects, but I can be sure that I'll at the very least enjoy watching it. I have a hard time articulating what makes the grim, cynical world of noir films so comforting to me, but it is.

    You can imagine that tonight, I watched "Whistle Stop" with growing dismay. It started promisingly enough, with a mysterious Ava Gardner decending of an ominously whistling train. But almost everything that followed disappointed. The main character wasn't snarky or disillusioned or even truly tortured: not only was he much too old for the type he played, but he was just a wimpy, spineless drunk, and not the good kind. The Femme Fatale looked classy and acted fatale-y at first, but she soon turned out to be a sheep in wolf's clothing. The only one even remotely capable of interesting me was the sleazy nightclub owner played by Tom Conway.

    I responded in the only natural way: I tried to find reasons to disqualify the film as a noir. There weren't enough shady metaphors, for one, there was no noir dialogue. The femme fatale ended up being a woman who stood by her man unconditionally. There was no deception, no double-crossings; there were plans of murder, yes, but they were diffused and then almost forgotten.

    I needn't have bothered, because one thing gives it away entirely, and makes the point like all the above arguments can't: this film has a happy ending. And so this evening has for me too: my first film of the night might have been a disappointment (I'm about to watch the next one, my second Godard, "A bout de souffle"), but I don't have to discard my comfort genre just yet.
    Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

  • Death Proof

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    Grindhouse  (2007)

    This morning, I heard a critic on the radio summarily dismiss Death Proof (Tarantino's part of Grindhouse, released separately here) without offering any further qualification. Death Proof (from here on: DP), he said, was a movie honoring bad B movies by being, itself, a bad - and worse: uninteresting- B movie.

    I object.

    True, DP is, to borrow a phrase from The Squid and the Whale, minor Tarantino. The only QT movie it's arguably superior to is Kill Bill pt. 1. But it's much more interesting than "just" a bad B movie.

    QT's films typically take place on one of two levels. His first three (Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, and the underrated Jackie Brown) take place on the first level, which I'll call level A. On level A, every character shares QT's intimate knowledge of and deep interest in pop culture, but this also implies that this level shares its pop culture with the real world. While it is undoubtedly a movie world, the rules of our world apply: gravity sucks, lethal wounds will kill you, and nobody has superpowers. In fact, the one time these "rules" seem to be violated, in Pulp Fiction, it is seen as a miracle. Level A is a tweaked version of our own world: the details might be different (Big Kahuna burgers and so on), the cars are cooler, and there are surreal elements, but the basis is the same. QT points to this, for example with the mostly diegetic music in Reservoir Dogs.

    Then there's level B, where the movies take place that the characters on level A would love to watch, as QT himself remarked. Kill Bill is resolutely on this level, which is much more cartoonish and flexible. The "rules" of our world don't apply so much there: gravity is challenged at some points, the Bride survives being buried alive and can certainly be said to have "superpowers", especially in the scene where she beats an incredible number of samourai, blood spouts out in gallons at the time, etc. It's a mythical world centered around a superhero on a quest that she ultimately achieves. Notably, while it's not a linear movie, it does end at the resolution. There are still some resemblances to "the real world": superman, for example, exists there too. But aside from the scene with Vernita Green/Copperhead, it's on its own plane.

    What about Death Proof? It seems at first to be on level B as well. There is an intimidating "supervillain" with the stereotypical villain name Stuntman Mike, and a "superweapon": his Death Proof car. The first half of the film plays out as a male fantasy with four girls filmed and objectified as lust objects (with QT's foot fetish clearly on display), and tagged as soon-t0-be victims from the get-go. They're more individualised than they would be in the standard B movie, and the director clearly shows his affection for it, but his camera is predatory. Furthermore, the girls are not real, but designed to embody a fantasy, as evidenced clearly by the lapdance subplot.

    As if we needed more evidence about which level we're on, QT even has two characters from Kill Bill, the sheriff and son #1, who we know live on level B, make an appearance.

    The second group of girls is very different, but they still fit on level B: Zoe Bell plays a superhuman version of herself. She is already rather extraordinary (and attention is pointedly called to this in an early conversation) but she's admitted that the stunts in the films are impossible even for her. After the first chase, the way in which it's shown she survived is almost cartoonesk, and it comforts us about the rules of this world.

    And then QT pulls out the rug from under us.

    During the second chase, the "mythical" cars, Mike's black Dodge Charger and the girls' white Dodge Challenger (the color coding also appropriate on this level) suddenly burst onto a road filled with sedans and SUV's, and by this, QT suddenly takes us from this level B movie world not to level A, but straight into the real world, our world. We could be in those cars, and by this trick QT reminds us how vulnerable we are, and while we were at first an audience safely standing on the outside ironically looking in, we are now in this. We're involved. And the chase gets much more thrilling because of it.

    It's just a detail. A small thing some might miss. But it shows that DP is not empty, but open, and filled with touches that show that QT is incapable of making an uninteresting movie.

    There are many other things I could expound on: the look Kurt Russell gives the camera just before stepping into his Chevy Nova, the nostalgia touch that shows QT is aware many young people might not get his references, the strange theme of abstinence and sexual frustration that comes up in both parts, the differences and parallels between the two groups of girls, etc. The soundtrack choices are inspired, as we're used to from QT by now, and certainly worth a few words. But I think I've written enough for now.

    __________________

    "There are few things as fetching as a bruised ego on a beautiful angel"
    Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

  • Crash

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    Crash  (1997)

    First, the awesome news: I will soon be reviewing movies for the Dutch film website filmtotaal, and I couldn't be more thrilled. I mean, not only will I get to go to advance screenings and stuff, but, for the first time, I'll get paid (a little) for writing. Like a real journalist. I feel like Pinocchio. Hopefully I won't turn out to have been transformed into a smoking donkey.

    Anyway, when introducing myself on the message boards, I listed a few of my favorite directors. Among them was David Cronenberg. And well, while I can honestly say I've loved all the Cronenbergs I've seen so far, it is true that, at the time of writing, I'd only seen two: eXistenZ and A History of Violence. Luckily, these things are easy to remedy, and now I've added Crash to that list. I'm glad to report that Cronenberg is, in my eyes, now 3 for 3.

    I'm sure I don't need to add this, but I will just in case, for clarity's sake: I am not, I repeat, not referring to the recent Oscar winning Paul Haggis film about racism. I am instead referring to the Cronenberg film about people who get turned on by car crashes.

    And boy, do they get it on. I don't remember seeing any other film -that wasn't porn- that included so much sex. In all kinds of positions, between numerous different couples, mostly in cars, but not exclusively. The most surprising thing is that, with maybe one or two exceptions, these sex scenes are not just window-dressing, they're not there (just) to titillate, no, they're essential to character development and even to the plot.

    It's amazing to me how flatly and non-sensationally Cronenberg films everything. He views these characters without judgment: he never presents them as freaks, but I don't think he thinks we should fully go along with their fetish, either. As such, the film is fascinating, and you get to understand the appeal of mangled steel and scarred flesh, without necessarily needing to share in the obsession.

    Still, the amount and graphic nature of sex scenes is not the most remarkable thing here. No, that would be the total lack of conflict in the plot. There is no jealousy, and while there is definitely physical danger, it is unaccompanied by any fear or pain. Our main character, played by James Spader, is impossible to read: he goes along with everything, and is clearly affected in some way, but it's unclear what it is exactly that he seeks.

    Because of the lack of conflict, it's not really surprising that the ending is nothing more than a reflection of the beginning: James and his wife start out unsatisfied, longing for something they can't quite reach, and they end up exactly the same way, just with a different method, a different goal. Even the words are the same: "Maybe the next one". It's a film about people who are forever looking for the next thing, the next thrill, and the only conclusion you can draw is that whatever they try, they'll always be unsatisfied.

    I still think that A History of Violence is the more controversial and though-provoking film of the two, not in spite but because of its apparent normalcy, and it's the more coherent, precise film too. However, I did enjoy Crash very much, and I'll definitely be watching more Cronenberg soon.
    Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

  • The Departed: first thoughts

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    The Departed  (2006)

    Great music. Great use of diegetic/nondiegetic sound and music. Nice parallels (grocery bags)

    Shot of the rat at the end felt a bit obvious.

    So why can I only make technical comments on this movie? There was one tense scene, and I felt bad for one character at a certain point, but it's -despite the irish roots- a fairly heartless movie. You don't really mind who kills who, or why. At least I didn't.

    Also, wasn't the point of this movie that you would root equally for both doubles? I only cared for Leo's character, and not even that much.

    Still, I shouldn't be too harsch. It's a well made movie about doubles. It has some pretty good performanced. Alec Baldwin and Mark Wahlberg should form some kind of comic duo. I'd definitely go see it. And Jack? Well, he's just...Jack. I have to say, I expected more from the "waving around a pink dildo part". As it was, I didn't even notice the color. But well, you can't really blame him, after all, "being Jack" provides most of his income.

    I wish I could swear with a (sometimes somewhat inconsistent) Irish accent.

    Whoop-de-fucking-do
    Originally posted on:As cool as a Fruitstand

 

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