Smooth_J Blog

Under discussion:

Up  (2009)

With Up, Pixar has pulled off something magnificent--and old-fashioned adventure story and an aching comment on aging packaged in a family friendly studio film. Don't get me wrong, Up works brilliantly as a film "for the whole family," sacrificing none of Pixar's inherent charm in order to make a mature film (much like Wall-E, which addressed similarly advanced themes whilst maintaining the slap-stick, love-sick aura of a children's movie). However, what amazed this reviewer the most was the fact that the adult's in the multiplex, my mother included, and the children, my brother included, enjoyed the film equally and non-equivocally; the themes of the film appealed to both the adults and the kids, and both seemed moved, often to the point of tears. (My mom, as well as several elderly members of the audience, were moved to tears by several sequences.)

One can only imagine the excitement the Pixar creative team must have felt when they nabbed the idea of an old fart flying away in his house to escape subjection to a retirement home ("How does the house fly away?" "Colorful balloons." "JACKPOT." "And there's talking dogs too." "My God, what will we think of next?"). It fits the formula of any successful film, and with Pixar behind, this film could not have flopped.

I'm not going to beat the ragged drum and rave about the marvelous opening sequence, or the rollicking adventure scenes, or the hilarious dog scenes...but they are all magnificent.

The impressive achievement of the film, one that sets it apart from all Pixar efforts that precede it, is the feeling of content old-fashionedness (sorry, I invented a word) that coats each frame. The waltzy score is reminiscent of 1940's Hollywood musicals and love stories, brimming with wonder and nostalgia. The adventure strived for is meant as a return to Treasure of the Sierra Madre action, with a clear-cut morality and immorality, the forces of good-nature combating the old figure of greed, embodied by a disgraced adventurer hiding out in the enigmatic Paradise Falls. Much like Raiders of the Lost Ark (I think Allmovieguide made this connection as well), it is a tribute, not a knock-off, of old adventure stories; it attempts a revamp, using adventure films' best characteristics, and discarding or playfully paying homage to their bad ones, to create something entirely new. And, in the case of Up, the ones paying tribute have crafted something remarkably beautiful.

Part of what makes the approach so effective is the sympathy created for the characters--in the widely accoladed opening sequence, the audience is completely convinced of the timeless devotion Carl feels for his wife. There is no doubt that he would go to the ends of the Earth to express his love for her, even following her death. Russel, the stowaway "Wilderness Explorer," is quite possibly the most hilarious and heart-breaking part of the movie. Although the viewer never formally meets his family or glimpses into his home-life, small details are revealed in his gregariously self-conscious dialogue that his life sucks. That would be a minute detail, if Russel's character were not so lovable; his naivete is tragic, but one cannot help but feel as though it is his only saving grace. I, a heartless old wretch (at the staggering age of 17), cried like a baby when Russel discussed his relationship with his father, tinged with longing, as for some reason, his real mother is gone and his father is never around. The only thing he seems to have in his life is his Wilderness Scouts club, and he pursues his badges with hell-bent vigor.

Everything about Up is instilled with an insatiable melancholy, but it doesn't stop the film from being a fun-as-hell ride. The action's great, the comedy's  perfect, and the emotional resonance is second to nothing in theaters right now.

Under discussion:

Trainspotting  (1996)

Memento  (2001)

28 Days Later  (2003)

Brokeback Mountain  (2005)

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button  (2008)

Little Miss Sunshine  (2006)

Juno  (2007)

The Dark Knight  (2008)

Slumdog Millionaire  (2008)

The Wrestler  (2008)

Over the past decade or so, the film community has watched a surge of independent directors make outstanding films that get absolutely no awards recognition except perhaps on the festival circuit.  Some of these directors include David Fincher, Darren Aronofsky, Christopher Nolan, and Danny Boyle.  Their movies prior to this year's releases expressed their talent significantly, and yet have been largely ignored by most "major" organizations, most notably the Academy and the Golden Globes--however, they have received awards or nominations from several of the other prestigious associations:  aside from various critics awards, Christopher Nolan has a DGA nomination under his belt for Memento; Danny Boyle has been praised and awarded multiple times in the UK, most notably the BAFTA awards; David Fincher, apart from critics awards, has won a DGA for commercials (of all things); and Darren Aronofsky has tragically been shut out of all major awards circles.

And then there's this year.  Christopher Nolan has another DGA nomination for The Dark Knight, and that along with the multitudes of accolades that the film's receiving, with the exception of the lack of love the Globes showed (cue self-indulgent and inevitable reference to Heath Ledger's Joker...); David Fincher now has a BAFTA nomination to brag about as well as two more DGA nominations (one for commercials), a Golden Globe nomination, and an NBR win--all for The Curious Case of Benjamin Button; Darren Aronofsky has directed one of the most acclaimed performances of the year in one of the most acclaimed films of the year (The Wrestler), although he has been mostly shut-out of recognition (his most well-known appearance has been flipping off Rourke); and Danny Boyle, a director no longer to be ignored, has been raking in endless attention, from a Golden Globe win, to a DGA nomination, to another BAFTA nomination, and all the way to what is shaping up to be a definite Oscar nomination, and if all goes well, a win.

And now to the movie that is the catalyst of his exaltations:  Slumdog Millionaire, a film about an Indian "slumdog" who is chosen to be a contestant on India's version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?  However, most people know almost everything there is to know about this movie already, so I won't continue to bombard you with the same synopsis and review.

It's a terrific movie.  It's interminably entertaining, with great performances and a love-story that can only be described by the film's overlying theme: destiny.  The love between the two leads is not necessarily fully developed, but that's the point.  Jamal knows he loves Latika, and would go to the end of the earth to be with her, but the viewer never receives much explanation.  Because of this, the film is mystical; it's a seemingly doomed romance, pushing onwards against all odds, with nothing but fate to tie it together.  Latika at first seems confused at Jamal's passion, as is the audience, but she is soon enveloped in it, realizing with maturity beyond her age that it will never work.  But Jamal sticks with his belief in love and destiny, and that is what brings him to the final round of the show, and an ultimate reunion with his love, and a tragic sacrifice by his brother.

Kevin Buist on Spoutblog referred to the film as "hectic and sloppy."  I did not perceive that in the least.  Slumdog Millionaire definitely has a frenetic, insatiable energy--but I saw it as the allure of youthfulness, which the characters all maintain despite their encounters with situations far beyond their levels of maturity.  A particularly magnificent scene occurs when there is a montage of Jamal and Salim, his brother, hustling people on a train, with MIA's Paper Planes blaring on the soundtrack.  It brings what I previously knew as a stoner tune, one to blast while driving down a college avenue in a shitty SUV, a whole new level of meaning; it was music and image meshed beautifully to form a scene of childlike wonder.  Danny Boyle's masterful direction, as well as miraculously timed editing and grainy, dreamlike photography, allows the film to maintain the viewer's concentration, to captivate them, up to the final shot (of the story), where the magical realism of the film is summed up in a corny, cliched, and wonderful final exchange between lovers, including lines such as "It is destiny" and "Kiss Me."

Needless to say, the Bollywood dance sequence slaps a huge goofy smile on your face, no matter what your feelings about the film are--an intoxicatingly happy ending, punctuated by a final tribute to the country that the film owes its liveliness.

The film is becoming the subject of slight backlash, like Little Miss Sunshine and Juno before it--however, unlike those two films, I don't feel that Slumdog is deserving of the contrarian treatment.  Crash began an era of awards contention is which films undeserving of major awards speculation are pushed to the top of year-end lists and critics awards.  The awards season is driven not necessarily by quality of films but by the frenzied, rabid support that they draw from the louder patrons of Hollywood; Crash may not have even been nominated had it not been for an aggressive campaign strategy and an anti-Brokeback backlash.  Crash was not a good film.  It was an unsubtle, in-your-face anti-racism film--in other words, nothing but white noise.  Little Miss Sunshine was a cute, entertaining little film that made it to the top through the support it gained at film festivals.  Juno just rode the independent film wave, effortlessly driving its way to the top of contention despite it being corny fluff piece, a crowd pleaser that hid behind a too-hip-for-its-own-good script.  Juno isn't necessarily a festival film even--it seemed to pretend it was, but it's my belief that it pretended to be to give it a lovable underdog status.

I don't dislike any of the films I just mentioned (except Crash--Paul Haggis sucks).  However, I agree with the cynics in that all of them were undeserving of the infinite praise that they received.

Slumdog Millionaire is slightly different.  It really is an underslumdog (I'm sorry) film--it was made with a low budget in the actual slums of Mumbai, with an entirely Indian cast and a British/Indian film crew.  The only reason it is being recognized is because it is being loved consistently by (nearly) all that see it.  It is incredible entertainment, a crowd-pleaser with timeless themes of love and destiny, as well as a genuine aesthetic achievement.  Something about the film works in a way that none of the aforementioned films do--it is not in the least self-important, and despite its reliance on coincidence and fate, it never once feels forced.  It flows, from the chase scene through the slums to the beautiful sequence on the train to the hokey Bollywood finale.  It's escapism at its best.

Although some Indians are claiming the film as their own with pride, others are denouncing the film for depicting India as a slum.  The movie is called SLUMdog Millionaire.  It's about a kid from a slum who makes it on a gameshow.  It's not claiming to represent India as a whole.  It's merely depicting the struggles someone from a slum in Mumbai may face.

And do people really begrudge Danny Boyle the attention he's getting?  The distinguished auteur behind Trainspotting, 28 Days Later, and Sunshine is getting his due for a film that almost no one had heard about less than a year ago.  That's amazing.

I'm not saying the film is perfect--it has its flaws.  I would not call it the best film of the year--yet.  The Dark Knight was magnificent, and Christopher Nolan is overdue for some attention (although he has an Oscar nomination for writing already), as was Benjamin Button, and David Fincher is aching for a statue with such an impressive repertoire (let's just forget Panic Room).  I have yet to see The Wrestler, let alone most of the other films in contention.

This year is going to be a tight race for the Oscars.  I'm suggesting that people not focus on the mania behind films and actually watch the movies and make their own opinions about them.  It isn't fair to renounce a movie just because of the attention it's getting; see the movie, and find out for yourself if it's deserving.  Seeing movies with an open mind is the key to enjoying them, and fanatical incrimination of films prevents unbiased movie-watching from happening.  It's a shame, because when it's time for a movie to receive its due, its achievements are often clouded by rancid smoke, expelled from the black and unwelcoming lungs of deliriously pretentious critics.

Under discussion:

Belle de jour  (1967)

I try and make it a habit to write something about every Bunuel film I see, if only to organize my thoughts and somehow make sense of what I just watched.

Belle de Jour is a particularly difficult one to figure out.  A sexually frustrated housewife, Severine (Catherine Deneuve), hears that one of her friends is working as a prostitute in a Paris whorehouse.  Her husband's creepy friend Husson (a briliant Michel Piccoli) gives her the address of a whorehouse that he knows of, and she is soon working afternoons, given the stage-name "Belle de Jour," or, a flower that blooms in the afternoon (because she can only work until 3, or else her husband will come home and find that she has been boning random high-class tourists).

Severine is haunted by sadomasochistic desires, and some of which include whips, bells, and gang-rape--Bunuel tastefully displays her visions with his trademark minimalist efficiency, only showing what needs to be shown to get his point across.  It is these desires that lead Severine to the brothel, despite the fact that she cannot even bring herself to have sex with her husband.

It is difficult to decipher Severine's dreams and her reality, as they become increasingly intertwined in her new double-life, in which lustful abandon leads her to an affair with a young, brooding gangster.  She is often shown being willingly punished for her decadence, although it is usually only her depraved imagination rendering such events on screen; however, in an early whorehouse scene, she submits to a client only after being forced upon the bed and held down ("Ah, you like it rough...").  Bunuel never delves very deep into the reality of Belle's apparent sadomasochism, but the tension she displays in sexual advances makes it obvious (along with her increasingly surreal dreams).

What's interesting about the film is the fact that Bunuel does not merely focus on sexual degeneracy, but on the liberty and subsequent guilt that Severine feels in her actions.  Bunuel seems to be advocating prostitution in many ways; Belle de Jour loves her work, has fun, and is increasingly upbeat as she delves deeper and deeper into the profession.  He almost seems to be suggesting that sexual connection between two people can be felt vicariously; Severine says she feels "closer than ever" to her husband Pierre, even though she denies his repeated advances and then proceeds to fornicate with the next man that strolls into the whorehouse.  He loves to focus on this...on the look of intense pleasure on her face after an encounter, or on her impatience to return to her work.  She says that she can't help but go back, and Bunuel seems to smile and say "But is that such a bad thing?"

Obviously, things go wrong--the guilt relieves her of her dreams, and she no longer feels the need to fulfill her sadistic desires.  However, there is much more to the film than that; every nuance of meaning that Bunuel can throw in is used in surreal, minimalist fashion.  His movies are a film-lover's joy, if they are willing to sift through the story to find the cynical, smiling auteur behind it, beckoning us to see life through his eyes.

Belle de jour (1967)