pippin06

Under discussion:

Norma Rae  (1979)

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

Norma Rae is on the following AFI lists:

100 Years...100 Heroes and Villains (Norma Rae Webster is the #15 hero)
100 Most Inspiring Movies (#16)

This film also represents the fifth of nine Oscar-nominated dramas topping my Netflix queue, just in case you were keeping track.

Sally Field has always been one of those actresses that I enjoy watching in film (and even on TV, at least in Gidget).  She may not be my favorite actress or even, necessarily, the most memorable one, but I have yet to see a bad film with her in it or, at least, a bad performance by her.  I think I queued Norma Rae up because she has always been so consistent and because I knew this film was on the AFI lists it was on but also because I knew that the film would be enjoyable, good, even if not necessarily memorable.  That is, after all, the kind of career and choices Ms. Field has elected and developed for herself over the decades.  To wit, these were not baseless suppositions.  Norma Rae was enjoyable because Field was enjoyable in it.

Field plays Norma Rae Webster, a character based upon a real-life heroine who fought to introduce a union into the southern cotton mill that proved to be the cornerstone employer of her small town and also exploited its workers to the point that it affected the health of her family and friends and took an incredible toll on their well-being.  After listening to a speech by a New York union organizer named Reuben (Ron Leibman), Norma Rae decides to join his cause at the expense of her relationships with her parents, children, and new husband Sonny (Beau Bridges), who believes that his wife's activism and participation in these activities is really due to romantic interest in Reuben.  Despite pressure and, frankly, outrageous tactics on the part of mill management, Norma Rae eventually orchestrates a successful shutdown of the mill and momentum for her cause, until an election for or against the union's existence in the mill is held.

This movie, as I earlier stated, was enjoyable due to a spunky and heartfelt performance by Sally Field as the title character.  The story and screenplay in this film made much of the big city union organizer navigating through a sea of ignorant country bumpkins, which might have potentially been offensive in its particular execution.  Yet, the fact that Field and Norma Rae had an openness about them that fueled their passion - in the story and in the performance - as much as it expanded the cause made her character relatable and endearing and the story engaging, even if a bit simplistic and predictable, all told.

The supporting performances were also good, particularly by Leibman.  While some may regard this film as decidedly one-sided (pro-union) and may want to ascribe biases either way, the fact that he made his union organizer genteel and sophisticated if ultimately human and somewhat stereotypical made his character a perfect match for Norma Rae's feisty southern charms.  Their relationship, though clearly filled with affection, was also a caring and equal friendship that transformed into the heart and soul of the story.

Coupled with the folksy song "It Goes Like It Goes" by Jennifer Warnes, Norma Rae, while no cinematic masterpiece by any stretch of the imagination and fairly ordinary in its execution, still managed to tell a convincing, heartwarming, and inspirational story about one woman's struggle to fight injustice without being manipulative or pandering too far one way or another.  Furthermore, the ending was perfect, even if partially foregone.  I guess what I'm saying is, there are worse ways to spend two hours of quality film-viewing time, and at least Norma Rae is one of those feel-good films with a universally applied message.

All in all, I liked Norma Rae.  I shook my fist at those mean management types and threw my arms up in cheer of Norma Rae's tenacity.  When I finished the film, I knew it would merit an 8 on the patented ratings scale for being very good but with minor flaws (considering the story slant).  As to test, I don't think that it necessarily passes because it may not hold up to repeat viewings (or desire for such), but it's not to say that this film isn't worth its watch at least on one occasion.  It is as inspiring as the AFI ranked it with an honest to goodness heroine that deserves her cheers and, as a character study, makes for a good story in general.

Under discussion:

Gorillas in the Mist  (1988)

What's an Oscar Flashback (tm)?  Read here:

Next on my Netflix queue was Gorillas in the Mist, for which Sigourney Weaver was nominated for the Best Actress Oscar; Stuart Baird was nominated for the Best Film Editing Oscar; Maurice Jarre was nominated for the Best Score Oscar; Andy Nelson, Brian Saunders, and Peter Handford were nominated for the Best Sound Oscar; and Anna Hamilton Phelan and Tab Murphy were nominated for the Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar (film year, 1988; awarding year, 1989).  The other nominees in these categories were:

Best Actress

The Accused - Jodie Foster (Winner)

Dangerous Liaisons - Glenn Close
Working Girl - Melanie Griffith
A Cry in the Dark - Meryl Streep

Best Film Editing

Who Framed Roger Rabbit (Winner)

Die Hard
Mississippi Burning
Rain Man

Best Score

The Milagro Beanfield War (Winner)

The Accidental Tourist
Dangerous Liaisons
Rain Man

Best Sound

Bird (Winner)

Die Hard
Who Framed Roger Rabbit
Mississippi Burning

Best Adapted Screenplay

Dangerous Liaisons (Winner)

The Accidental Tourist
Little Dorrit
The Unbearable Lightness of Being

This film also represents the fourth of nine Oscar-nominated dramas topping my Netflix queue, just in case you were keeping track.

I watched Gorillas in the Mist instantly (I do love my Roku).  I can't remember why I cued this film up.  Again, I think it was one of those film titles from the 80s that have always stuck with me but which I did not pay much attention to as a child (I would have been 10 or 11 when this movie was released).  As you can see from the above nominee list, there were other important films that likely drew my attention much more quickly at that age, such as Who Framed Roger Rabbit.  Nevertheless, I do like Sigourney Weaver in just about everything else I have ever seen her in, and the plot likely intrigued me enough to want to watch it, so here it is, next up for some Reel Thoughts.

The film is based on the autobiography of naturalist Dian Fossey, played by Weaver in the film.  According to what I've read since watching the film (and I was keenly interested for several reasons), Fossey was mysteriously murdered in her home in Uganda just prior to the film's release, and the film itself follows Fossey's life story, beginning with her choice to petition anthropologist Louis Leakey for a position on a research project to study gorillas in the wilds of Africa.  Though her work is slow-going at first, the film depicts how Fossey becomes fascinated and, arguably, obsessed with the habits and lifestyle of the gorillas, and she is able to develop a means of communication with them, even as she forms a deeply personal attachment to them.  This attachment costs her a potential love-match with a National Geographic photographer (Bryan Brown) and brings her into direct conflict with poachers and the Ugandan government that supports them.  The film further shows how she becomes a militant animal-rights activist, leading to some ethically compromised choices of her own.

What I liked best about this film is that it's far from manipulative or coercive in its attempts to provide a balanced account of a woman's life that ended mysteriously and amid controversy over an issue that doesn't necessarily have the widespread support one would expect.  As I've indicated, I spent some time reading (through quick online research) some accounts of Fossey and her life after watching this film, and the film, surprisingly, received mixed acclaim.  Much of the criticism of the film centered on the idea that the depiction of Fossey as a potentially homicidal devotee to her gorillas was inaccurate and biased, and that Fossey was a victim of political assassination in life and death as a crazy woman, attempting to force her western ideals on a less-than-advanced culture dependent upon the revenues of poaching and looking to indict Fossey in the worldwide court of public opinion.  Still others felt the film undersold her devotion to these animals, from a school of thought believing that the "crazy woman" moniker wasn't developed enough, while others felt the conservationist messages were not strong enough because the film was too busy focusing on a murder mystery rather than the work of a heroic woman.  I actually felt that the movie was just balanced enough to incorporate all of those views and to let the viewer decide how to accept the message(s).  

In my opinion, the conservationist message rang loud and clear, and the endeavor to present a balanced portrait of a woman whose work and life choices could be interpreted in several ways, allowing time to each of the possible theories, was the most fair way to depict the life of an otherwise controversial, complex. and passionate woman. Sigourney Weaver's performance was the key to the whole picture coming together; her sensitive portrayal of this person never strayed into the deliberately outlandish.  Everything from her interactions with the live (and, apparently, costumed) gorillas--quite the scene stealers themselves-- to her more impassioned outbursts, to her joy, and yes, even to the extreme devotion Fossey had for these animals was given a mesmerizing treatment by Weaver.  It was her performance that kept the film from falling too far on one particular side or position of the controversy underpinning Fossey's life and her performance that kept this viewer engaged.

Because of the type of film that it is, there was some erratic pacing, and the film seemed to lose its pacing consistency about the time that the Fossey character was becoming more active in her efforts to hold her research assistants and the rest of the world at large at bay from invading her and her gorillas' territory.  The film is slow and deliberate, which suits its subject, until it decides to tell the tale of Fossey's murder and the events leading up to it, which happens to be a second act switch.  It's noticeable because it's hard to switch gears, but I'm not sure how director Michael Apted or the rest of the filmmakers could have improved upon that and still have maintained the balanced approach to which they obviously seemed to be aiming.  In my mind, this late course-change is but a minor complaint.

Truthfully, I sort of loved this movie, and I loved it because it did deliberately straddle the line and left any conclusions to be drawn about Fossey's choices and the events of her life up to the viewer to make.  Also, Weaver's performance really is the hallmark of Gorillas in the Mist and, alone, makes the film recommendable, but add to her performance the breathtaking cinematography capturing the lush African mountainsides and a moving score, and the ingredients for a very good film are all nicely combined into a delicious mixture.  All in all, then, I think the film merits an 8.5 on the patented ratings scale between very good/minor flaws and perfectly entertaining (for the pacing issue).  As to the test, though I loved the film, I can't see myself watching it repeatedly.  I think its most powerful impact would be felt on the first viewing alone; also, as much as I loved the message and the fair autobiographical depiction, it's not the type of fare I pull out for a giggle.

As a side note (see above), 1988 was quite the year for films.  This film faced some stiff competition in its categories, including films I adore, such as Roger Rabbit, Die Hard, and Rain Man.  I think that says something by itself.

Under discussion:

Out of Africa  (1985)

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

Out of Africa is on the following AFI lists:

100 Years...100 Passions (#13)
25 Film Scores (#15)

This film also represents the third of nine Oscar-nominated dramas topping my Netflix queue, just in case you were keeping track.

Out of Africa is one of those movies that I've heard about ever since its release in the mid-80s but never paid much attention to; after all, I was a child at the time and much more mesmerized by contemporary films like Back to the Future.  Still, as I've gained years of age, I've also gained a growing appreciation for one of my favorite actresses, Meryl Streep, and I've made it something of a mission to cover more of her filmography.  Thus, when Netflix was making its convenient recommendations to me, I popped Out of Africa on my queue.

As it turns out, Out of Africa is based on the writings and short stories of Danish author Isak Dinesen, the pen name of Karen Blixen-Flecke.  The film begins in the early 20th century, as Karen proposes to her friend, Baron Bor Blixen-Flecke (Klaus Maria Brandauer), that they tie the knot absent other better offers.  Bor agrees but cautions that he has plans to purchase a plantation in Africa.  Karen marries him with this understanding, and the two set out for Nairobi; however, upon arrival, Bor immediately leaves Karen for alleged business only to return to his womanizing ways, while Karen finds herself the governess of a plantation for coffee that cannot feasibly be grown in the arid African air.  She spends her days teaching the local villagers employed (enslaved?) on her plantation in a school she sets up for them and hosting visitors, including a charming and educated hunter named Denys Finch-Hatton (Robert Redford, who is supposed to be British).  The pair's natural chemistry simmers into love, but Denys wants a no-strings, open relationship.  While Karen is typically independent and self-sufficient, she also finds that she has become unhappily dedicated to an aloof man who feels deeply but places a higher priority on his freedom to come and go.  Karen must, thus, decide how to handle this relationship, lest she lose Denys completely.

Directed by Sydney Pollack, Out of Africa is a visually striking and beautiful film.  The cinematography and photography (which won one of seven Oscars), best appreciated in a widescreen presentation, is truly captivating, using the natural wilderness as a springboard for creating a romance of epic quality.  In fact, this is one of the three most winning qualities of this film: the fact that it's simply beautiful to see, and that Pollack and company capitalized on the sunny climate and on-location extras, such as lions, to truly drive home the strangeness and surreality of Karen's particular situation.

The second winning quality is the beautiful score by John Barry, which the AFI saw fit to rank as one the 25 best American film scores in history.  The rich and epic string-heavy themes are noticeable from the first frames and the first notes; it's one of those scores that could stand on its own, played by a large symphony as a purely instrumental presentation, but also delicately dramatizes the unfolding romance.

The final winning quality is the performance of Meryl Streep who, let's face it, has the ability to make any film better for having her in it.  She's given so many otherworldly performances, and the reason Out of Africa is half as likeable as it is comes down to Meryl's uncanny and unmatched ability to completely become her character.  Given everything from her consistent and realistic Danish accent to her facial instructions depicting a strong and principled woman who finds herself emotionally susceptible to an unpredictable romance, it's hard to argue that she's given a better performance (or, perhaps, all of her performances are simply great).  Without her, Out of Africa would simply have become a long, boring film with no heart, soul, or feeling.

Of course, conversely, Out of Africa was still largely a long, boring movie.  For all of its winning qualities, it also has some elements which truly detracted from the film and prevented me from loving it.  The sheer protracted nature of the story is its primary stumbling point; at nearly three hours' length, painstakingly recreating Dinesen's memoirs translated into a plodding biographical film.  While I typically find myself a proponent of an accurate adaptation, this film would probably have benefitted from some artistic editing because Karen's story is not sympathetic unless completely zeroed in on the tensions between her real-life husband and her real-life paramour.  The occasional diversions into Karen's life, while designed to create sympathy for what becomes an adulterous love affair, served to drag out the film and were not necessarily engaging, which, in turn, made the actual romance of the film less engaging.

The second element that made Out of Africa awkwardly less than adored was the casting of Robert Redford.  He's an amazing actor, and he had some chemistry with Streep, no doubt attributable to an off-set friendship that provided a certain level of ease and comfort between the two leads.  Unfortunately, his presence almost always felt out-of-place.  Also, the character he was playing was supposed to be British, and while the page notes that criticism of the film centered on the fact that Redford was - and played - too American, it's not an unfounded criticism.  His cowboy-like demeanor, reminiscient of his performance in The Electric Horseman, didn't seem to fit the rest of the picture.  Also, the actual chemistry was limited at best; the AFI rated this film high on its love stories list, but, for me, it left something to be desired because I did not necessarily believe the romance between Karen and Denys and never actually cared about it, at least not until the surprise ending, and then, the concern came more from tragedy than from any attachment to the romance.

All in all, Out of Africa was a decent film; it won many Oscars, was beautifully shot, and was a great performance showcase for Meryl Streep, but it was not the most entertaining film.  Interestingly, the other four nominees for Best Picture in 1985 were The Color Purple, Kiss of the Spider Woman, Prizzi's Honor, and Witness, so 1985 was quite a year, and I've seen two of those other films and enjoyed them more than this one.  I suppose that's neither here nor there, but, as a result, I find myself wanting to rate Out of Africa a 7 for being shaky but entertaining, and the entertaining quality I'm ascribing solely to Meryl Streep.  If someone less apt had been in the role, this film would have been an epic disaster in my mind, beautiful photography or no.  As to the test, I can safely say it does not pass, for the simple fact that it took me a couple of tries to get through it a first time. If you enjoy a protracted, smoldering love story with few distractions in the historical backdrop, Out of Africa is for you.  As for me, again, I find myself thinking that films like Gone with the Wind or even Doctor Zhivago are better films, have more interesting background stories, and set the standard higher and first, which Out of Africa did not quite meet.

Under discussion:

Howards End  (1992)

What's an Oscar Flashback (tm)?  Read here:

Next on my Netflix queue was Howard's End, which was nominated for Best Picture and for which Emma Thompson won the Best Actress Oscar; Vanessa Redgrave was nominated for the Best Supporting Actress Oscar; James Ivory was nominated for the Best Director Oscar; Ruth Prawer Jhabvala won the Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar; Tony-Pierce Robers was nominated for the Best Cinematography Oscar; Ian Whittaker and Luciana Arrighi won the Best Art Direction/Set Decoration Oscar; Jenny Beaven and John Bright were nominated for the Best Costume Design Oscar; and for which Richard Robbins was nominated for the Best Original Score Oscar (film year, 1992; awarding year, 1993).  The other nominees in these categories were:

Best Picture

Unforgiven (Winner)

The Crying Game
A Few Good Men
Scent of a Woman

Best Actress

Indochine - Catherine Deneuve
Lorenzo's Oil - Susan Sarandon
Love Field - Michelle Pfeiffer
Passion Fish - Mary McDonnell

Best Supporting Actress

My Cousin Vinny - Marisa Tomei (Winner)

Damage - Miranda Richardson
Enchanted April - Joan Plowright
Husbands and Wives - Judy Davis

Best Director

Unforgiven - Clint Eastwood (Winner)

The Crying Game - Neil Jordan
The Player - Robert Altman
Scent of a Woman - Martin Brest

Best Adapted Screenplay

Enchanted April
The Player
A River Runs Through It
Scent of a Woman

Best Cinematography

A River Runs Through It (Winner)

L'Amant
Hoffa
Unforgiven

Best Art Direction/Set Decoration

Bram Stoker's Dracula
Chaplin
Toys
Unforgiven

Best Costume Design

Bram Stoker's Dracula (Winner)

Enchanted April
Malcolm X
Toys

Best Original Score

Aladdin (Winner)

Basic Instinct
Chaplin
A River Runs Through It

This film also represents the second of two Oscar-nominated dramas based on classical literature and the second of nine Oscar-nominated dramas topping my Netflix queue, just in case you were keeping track.

Aside from being nominated for a ton of and winning a few Oscars, Howard's End always appealed to me because I love British films, I like a fair few film adaptations of classic novels (The Age of Innocence aside), and I love many of the performers in this piece, including Anthony Hopkins and the ever-engaging Emma Thompson.  I knew nothing of the story, though, having never read the E.M. Forster novel on which the film is based, and this is probably my first conscious attempt at watching a Merchant-Ivory picture.  Essentially, watching this film represented many things to me, and, luckily, the film was charming, even if a little on the plodding and deliberate side.

Howard's End becomes a hybrid of commentary and subtle critique of British class systems, particularly in the early 20th century. Margaret Schlegel (Thompson), a bourgeois free spirit, befriends an upper-class woman named Ruth Wilcox (Redgrave), who is gravely ill.  At the same time, Margaret's sister Helen (Helena Bonham Carter), an even freer spirit, has some decidedly inappropriate relations with the eldest Wilcox son and also comes to meet Leonard Bast (Sam West - the BBC's Prince Caspian!), a working-class clerk and his Eliza Doolittle of a wife, as Helen inadvertently pilfers Mr. Bast's umbrella at a local lecture.  Awkward friendships and various conflicts and indictments subsequently abound. Margaret learns that Ruth is ill, and on her deathbed, Ruth, who is quite taken with Margaret, scribbles a note as an addendum to her will, leaving her beloved estate of Howard's End to Margaret, much to the chagrin of industrial lord Henry Wilcox (Hopkins), her husband, and her children.  They tear the note and bury the truth from Margaret, even as Henry's associations with her become more frequent, and he becomes enamored of her himself. In the meantime, Helen's friendship with Leonard blossoms into a sexually tense exchange of ideas and, eventually, a crusade for his livelihood after Mr. Wilcox offers the sisters bad business advice concerning Mr. Bast's current employer, which the sisters then relate to Mr. Bast, causing him to seek other, less stable employ. This attempt at undermining Mr. Bast by Mr. Wilcox begins a chain of events that ultimately results in tragedy and disgrace for Wilcox, while the Schlegel sisters stand firmly on their own two feet in the wake of the social upheaval around them.

Howard's End was, at its core, an enchanting story revolving around the human condition, connection, and a lovely piece of property that I would want for myself as much as Ruth Wilcox wanted it for her and for Margaret.  While social mores and propriety were examined in the context of three separate socioeconomic classes, such as they were in The Age of Innocence (thought that film centered on the upper stratus of the socioeconomic pyramid), the larger themes at work were, in some ways, more insidious, insightful, and meaningful than in Scorsese's film.  And while Howard's End focused on several different characters revolving in concentric and sometimes overlapping circles around the Schlegel sisters, the underlying commentary was never lost or scattered.  The story was satisfying and reached an acceptable and reasonable conclusion.

The reason why this film was nominated for so many Oscars was because, again, the production values of this picture were exquisite and superb.  Howard's End looked like something from a fairy tale; the art direction fueling the look of these turn-of-the-century English homes was painstakingly detailed, and the cinematographical shifts in light and hue of frame transformed Howard's End into that magical something that made it different from the stuffy Wilcox homes or the cluttered London flat occupied by the Schlegel sisters.  The film was as visually interesting as the story was engaging.

I occasionally felt bored, though, only because the pacing was a bit inconsistent, particularly about the time that Henry Wilcox begins courting Margaret.  I can only guess that the novel would likely have focused on Margaret's inner turmoil between appeasing her sister, maintaining her individual ideologies, and compromising with her stalwart and traditional fiance, but the film failed to fully flush out that turmoil, and the film slowed up considerably when some of the events felt like a middle-of-the-road round of exposition to stage some of Margaret's subsequent reactions.  The narrative flow was not interrupted, and it made sense and set the stage for the following events and ultimate conclusion of the story, but I did start to temporarily lose interest and to yawn somewhere near the end of the second third of the film.

All in all, though, there was an unmistakable examination of class that also seemed to be derisive of the aristocracy and mogul without being obvious or ham-fisted about it, and I think that's why I enjoyed and related to this film more than to The Age of Innocence. While James Ivory's direction lacked the panache of Scorsese, and while the visual presentation was, perhaps, less beautiful than the delicate details of The Age of Innocence, the result was organic and relatable as well as contextual with respect to the fact that the film is set in early 20th century England - after all, it is a very rainy country.

The performances were also wonderful in this film.  Every actor was engaging and interesting, with the possible exception of Nicola Duffett as Mrs. Bast.  She reminded me of an English Belle Watling from Gone with the Wind but lacked the charm of the actress who played Belle, and it was hard to feel sympathetic to her character, but, perhaps, that was the point, in order to draw a stronger viewer connection to Mr. Bast.  I have not seen any of the other nominees in the Best Actress category, but I think it's a good bet that Emma Thompson earned her little golden statuette because she made Margaret so warm and multilayered, funny, wise, tragic, flawed, and interesting.  Also, this character was able to experience many different emotions, and the suspension of disbelief was whole and complete thanks to Thompson's expertise at her craft.

Ultimately, I really enjoyed Howard's End because its palpable charm was so infectious, though the film contained some detracting minor flaws in the pacing and occasional performance that kept me from completely falling in love with the film.  As such, the film earns an 8 on the ratings scale for very good/minor flaws. I'm not sure if it passes the test.  The ending, though reasonable in lieu of the rest of the story, was a little sad, even as the rest of the film provided an emotional roller coaster of a viewing experience.  I might have to watch it one more time to be absolutely sure.  I am sure I would love to own an estate like Howard's End, though, as I am absolutely sure that I would recommend this film to anyone who might be captivated by such a place themselves.

Under discussion:

The Age of Innocence  (1993)

What's an Oscar Flashback (tm)?  Read here:

Next on my Netflix queue was The Age of Innocence, for which Winona Ryder was nominated for the Best Supporting Actress Oscar; Martin Scorsese and Jay Cocks were nominated for the Best Adapted Screenplay Oscar; Dante Ferretti and Robert J. Franco were nominated for the Best Art Direction/Set Direction Oscar; Gabrielle Pescucci won the Best Costume Design Oscar; and Elmer Bernstein was nominated for the Best Original Score Oscar (film year, 1993; awarding year, 1994).  The other nominees in these categories were:

Best Supporting Actress

The Piano - Anna Paquin (Winner)

The Firm - Holly Hunter
Fearless - Rosie Perez
In The Name of the Father - Emma Thompson

Best Adapted Screenplay

Schindler's List (Winner)

In the Name of the Father
The Remains of the Day
Shadowlands

Best Art Direction/Set Direction

Schindler's List (Winner)

Addams Family Values
Orlando
The Remains of the Day

Best Costume Design

Schindler's List
Orlando
The Piano
The Remains of the Day

Best Original Score

Schindler's List (Winner)

The Firm
The Fugitive
The Remains of the Day

This film represents the fifth of five Martin Scorsese films topping my Netflix queue, just in case you were keeping track.  This film further begins a couplet of Oscar-nominated dramas based on classical literature and a string of nine Oscar-nominated dramas in general categories, for future reference.

Yet again, my interest was piqued in The Age of Innocence because it’s a period drama based on a classic novel by Edith Wharton (which I haven’t read) and, therefore, another unusual experiment of Marty’s in his overall filmography.  While the setting is Victorian New York City, the location Marty knows best, in the late nineteenth century, it’s also a study of the human condition in operation at the time, which emphasized subtlety, propriety, and etiquette, particularly amongst the aristocracy and particularly as it applied to women.  Ultimately, however, the film includes some of the themes that Scorsese has incorporated in most to all of his films: what do humans, particularly men, do with tough choices, temptation, lust, passion, and the ensuing guilt and quest for redemption when sin or something like it is committed or flirted with by such characters.  Thus, in many ways, this kind of story, which would seem so divergent from gangsters and guns, is kind of right up Marty’s alley, and the production values of this film prove that he seemed to take a shine to it as much as he would the mafia or any of his so-called usual subjects. 

In The Age of Innocence, Newland Archer (Daniel Day-Lewis) has recently become engaged to May Welland (Winona Ryder), a member of another wealthy family and a sweet if naïve and shallow woman.  While attending the opera, May reacquaints him with her cousin, Countess Ellen Olenska (Michelle Pfeiffer), who, Newland comes to find out, has flown from her wayward husband, the count, to return to New York and is requesting a divorce, something ladies of wealthy and genteel standing simply did not do at the time.  As they were former childhood friends, Newland believes it is incumbent upon him to use his family’s good standing and connections to assuage Ellen’s deteriorating reputation.  At the same time, Ellen is a modicum of individuality and a free spirit; she has scandalous thoughts and opinions that fly in the face of aristocratic traditions, and they excite Newland to the point of unadulterated lust.  Thus, in order to stymie his burgeoning passion and keep within the social codes of well-bred manners and proper public behavior, Newland rushes to marry May, petitioning her matriarch grandmother to allow them to shorten their engagement.  Soon after his pleas to May that the engagement be shortened, and May’s growing suspicion that Newland may be dallying with another woman, thus coming to her in a wave of guilt and causing her to deny his request, Newland finds that he cannot hold himself back any longer, and he confesses his love for Ellen.  Though she may return his feelings, Ellen realizes that they can never be together because to deny May for her, in an act of volition that would only violate the traditions Newland finds himself an entrenched member in despite his yearning to walk on the wild side, would stifle Newland in a wholly different manner, so Ellen pushes him to May and leaves town.  Newland and May marry, but when Newland later sees Ellen again, his longing for her becomes so all-powerful that he is willing to engage in the affair with her, even as he realizes that May and the rest of their wealthy friends may know more than he has hitherto believed.

The Age of Innocence is a beautiful movie, in terms of its visual presence.  Marty and his production team, from painstakingly detailed art direction, to beautifully rendered period costumes, to colorful and bright cinematography, to a rich and evocative score by Elmer Bernstein that very much recalls the time period being recreated, the film’s presentation as something to purely observe was as pretty as a painting.  It was hard not to be drawn into such a vividly recalled world from a past long gone with the kind of layering that occurred between all technical aspects of the filmmaking, and the skill used in piecing together these layers is undeniable.

Marty’s signature styles are also evident, from strategically placed camera wipes to frames that morph from one scene to another in a seamless fashion.  He was able to match the subtlety of the themes being explored in the story with his own level of subdued bravado.  I could tell Scorsese directed this film, even as it was a film that I never would have guessed was ultimately directed by him, and the result was a marvel.  This film is certainly artistic and a wonderful addition to Scorsese's overall body of work.

The performances were also very good.  The best performance, I think, belonged to Winona Ryder, who was nominated for an Oscar for it.  I say this because she infused a sweetness in May which made her character ultimately sympathetic, sad, and strong, even as she was painted to be weak, frail, and ignorant of the larger forces at work around her.  Though Ryder has often overstated certain performances or been completely miscast or seemed to be Winona Ryder playing Winona Ryder all over again, none of those characteristics were noticeable here.  Her performance was as subtle as the story being told, and I forgot that it was her most of the time.

Day-Lewis and Pfeiffer also did well, but for them, I was less imperssed this time around, only because they have long-established track records.  Day-Lewis has played many characters of widely different temperaments and motivations, so such a straight character with his smoldering, barely erupting passion did not seem like much of a stretch for him, and Pfeiffer has turned in performances of varied emotional range as well, though at times, I thought of Selena Kyle and Catwoman during this film as I watched her.  Don’t ask me why.

The film also seems to be a wonderful adaptation of the source material, because I was never left for wanting in terms of the progression and resolution of the tale.  The problem is – the film was boring, in its own way, and I think it was boring because this type of story is better suited for being read from the actual novel than for watching on screen.  The visual presence was lavish, the performances were great, the direction was great – but, at least for me, this is not the type of story that sits well for two hours of viewing, and I think that there is a general reaction toward this film, about it being boring, that can be correlated exactly to the fact that it’s better as literature than as film.  Does this quality detract from the film?  Well, in a way, because I don’t feel it’s the type of film that can stand the test of a time, even as it’s understandable that this film would be an Oscar darling, considering that Oscar loves a good period film.  Of course, this really is a good period film – if you go in for this sort of thing, i.e. a study of subtlety, repression, and the other topics previously mentioned.

In any event, it seems 1993 was a tough year for Oscar competition, considering that it was the year of Schindler's List and Philadelphia and a number of other films that have since settled more permanently into the public consciousness.  These films also have a more timeless quality than this film, which plants two feet firmly into its lost-world days-of-yore period and may be less relatable overall than some of these other tales.

In any event, the Age of Innocence is a thing of beauty in its way, though it may best be appreciated in small doses.  Ultimately, I think the viewers who enjoy this film most will also be those who have a predisposition toward literature grounded in the Victorian era, which tend to explore similar themes and exhibit similar tones. I enjoyed watching this film for a while but ultimately lost interest in the story, because I tend to have little sympathy for the mores of so-called uppercrust society, and the human condition for the rich is only as compelling as the degree of connection that can be created from these wealthy characters to those who are not wealthy.  It is as it is. So, in consideration of all of these considerations, I think the Age of Innocence should be awarded an 8 for being very good/having minor flaws (because it can't be perfectly entertaining if I can't relate to the film in any way).  As to the test, it does not pass. Sometimes, a painting, like a film, is only worth one look-see, even if it's a very pretty thing to look at, indeed.

Under discussion:

New York, New York  (1977)

This film represents the fourth of five Martin Scorsese films topping my Netflix queue, just in case you were keeping track.

I queued New York, New York into my vast Netflix lineup because it was another one of those strange aberrations and experiments that crop up in Scorsese’s filmography.  This film intrigued me because it was a musical, proclaimed by Marty to be his homage to the Big Band era and to all of those big MGM and Warner Bros. musicals of early film.  Plus, it oddly featured Robert DeNiro, Marty’s go-to guy in the 70s, and Liza Minnelli of all people, the daughter of the biggest name in early film musicals, Judy Garland, and of one of early film musicals’ biggest directors, Vicente Minnelli.  Plus, it featured the debut of one of the most famous songs ever, which Frank Sinatra plucked from its celluloid a few years’ later to great commercial success.  By all counts, I was expecting to like this film quite a bit.  As it turns out, I have two admittedly harsh words to describe this film, especially since it does not appear to be a favorite of Marty’s either: “train wreck.”

In New York, New York, Bobby plays Jimmy Doyle, a veteran of World War Two, who on V-J Day in 1945, is looking for a little action of the female variety.  At a splashy dance, he encounters Francine Evans (Minnelli), a USO singer who, though she rebuffs every advance he attempts, has paid him more attention than any other woman in the joint.  After a few more screwball encounters, including a meeting in a hotel lobby in which Jimmy attempts to con his way out of paying the bill, Francine gives into Jimmy’s charms.  She even saves him during an audition for a dinner club, where Jimmy’s jazz sensibilities are not welcomed, and her pop vocal renditions are.  Jimmy gets the job, but Francine’s agent sets her up with a touring orchestra to ever-escalating success.  When she fails to tell Jimmy goodbye prior to leaving for this opportunity, Jimmy tracks her down, shimmies his way into an audition, becomes a member of the orchestra himself, and begs for Francine’s hand in marriage, at least in so many words.  What follows is the study of a romance-less, even loveless, marriage between two creative people at different points in their emerging careers.  Francine’s growing popularity irks Jimmy; at the same time, Jimmy wants nothing to do with the type of music in which Francine has found her niche.  The situation becomes even more complicated when Francine becomes pregnant and elects to return to New York rather than travel for the baby’s benefit, while Jimmy assumes leadership of the orchestra and watches as the success of the group deteriorates in Francine’s absence.

New York, New York contains a variety of different concepts, themes, and experiments in filmmaking.  The trouble is that none of them coalesce into a cohesive whole that makes any sort of artistic sense and which certainly does not make for an entertaining picture.

I watched the introduction that Scorsese provided for the DVD.  He indicated that he wanted to expand on some of the techniques he had used in previous films as well as incorporate other elements to emphasize the conflict between what is real and what is not real in this film.  For the realism portion, he encouraged improvisational dialogue between DeNiro and Minnelli, which had been used in earlier films, such as Taxi Driver.  In New York, New York, however, this technique proved to be an epic failure.  First, DeNiro was ultimately miscast in the role of Jimmy; I never bought him as a struggling saxophonist, but what’s more, he seemed to channel prior performances, such as Johnny Boy from Mean Streets and Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver, in a role that did not really seem to call for such channeling.  Jimmy had the same barely controlled anger and hyper-reaction, the same sort of underlying neurosis (if not psychosis) that his two-bit thug and traumatized veteran characters had, and the motif simply did not seem to work for the Jimmy character.  Jimmy has rage and reaction, certainly, but there was never any character development to suggest that these emotions should have been bubbling under Jimmy’s surface in the way they manifested through DeNiro’s interpretation.  The only facts the viewer is provided when we first meet Jimmy is that he is happy to be a civilian again, and that he wants to get laid – oh, and that he’s the most annoying lothario in the history of lotharios. 

Because of this performance, DeNiro and Minnelli had absolutely zero chemistry.  Even though they were supposed to be mismatched, in a way, because of their divergent careers, they never seemed to go together at all, which made what love they were supposed to have for each other appear to be contrived.  Thus, when it got to the clearly improvised scenes, such as their initial encounter at the dance, the dialogue, scripted or improvised, felt awkward, never made sense, and seemed to drag on unnecessarily.  I think both the stars and the director were aiming for comedy in these scenes, but any attempt at comedy fell flat amidst the poor execution of this concept.

As a result, DeNiro was thoroughly unlikable in this film, and I do not believe his character was really designed to be unlikable at all.  Minnelli was good enough, but she’s given better performances with better material to work with, such as in Cabaret, for example.

For the not-real portion, Scorsese and his art directors created sets that looked “fake,” or at least looked as if they belonged on a stage.  This concept seemed to work ok because, ultimately, Marty was paying homage to early film musicals, and the sets, costuming, and properties in those films looked like stage transfers too, though that was likely due to budget and other limitations not yet erased by the evolution of film.  On the other hand, the false anterior in every frame made everything more surreal, and surrealism, I would think, is counterproductive to attempting to portray realism at the same time.  Thus, it was an interesting experiment, on Marty’s part, to toy with both concepts, but their inherently conflicting nature made the film all the more awkward in its execution.

Furthermore, the pacing was ridiculously inconsistent, which is surprising and unusual for Scorsese’s films.  I think this, again, can be attributed to the fact that he had his stars improvise some dialogue while adhering to whatever script there was at other times.  The film was almost three hours long, when it could have been tightened with a better screenplay that both actors and director followed.  The film would get bogged down in the weird interchanges between Jimmy and Francine, which actually detracted from the natural flow of the story.  I stopped this movie five times from sheer boredom because the erratic pacing and lack of believability in the main characters undermined any connection that could be made with any part of the film.

The only exciting moment in the film arose from Liza belting that sultry title song in a way that Sinatra could never duplicate.  Unfortunately, her show-stopping performance did not occur until the film’s final ten minutes, and by then, even the inclusion of this number felt empty and anticlimactic.  It seemed that Scorsese, in his willingness to experiment, lost control of his control factors, such that the experiment itself spiraled out of control.  All in all, New York, New York was just a mess and one I am struggling to find positive aspects about which to comment.

As a result, I feel the film merits a 4.5 on the patented ratings scale, between nice idea/didn’t pull it off one bit and utterly mediocre.  I gave the film a half point because Liza can still sing, and the technical side of the film made some sort of artistic sense, even as the performances and general lack of direction in the direction did not.  As to the test, well, low ratings generally mean failure there too.  I couldn’t watch this again; it was hard enough to get through the first time.  I applaud Marty’s willingness to try something different as he honed his craft, but even he acknowledges that this is not his best film.  Personally, I think it might be his worst – though I haven’t seen every film yet.  Let me know if there’s a contender over and above this one for worst film in Marty's filmography.

Under discussion:

Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore  (1974)

What's an Oscar Flashback (tm)?  Read here:

Next on my Netflix queue was Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore (instantly viewed), for which Ellen Burstyn won the Best Actress Oscar; Diane Ladd was nominated for the Best Supporting Actress Oscar; and Robert Getchell was nominated for the Best Original Screenplay Oscar (film year, 1974; awarding year, 1975).  The other nominees in these categories were:

Best Actress

Chinatown - Faye Dunaway
Claudine - Diahann Carroll
Lenny - Valerie Perrine
A Woman Under the Influence - Gena Rowlands

Best Supporting Actress

Murder on the Orient Express - Ingrid Bergman (Winner)

Blazing Saddles - Madeline Kahn
Day For Night - Valerie Cortese
The Godfather Part II - Talia Shire

Best Original Screenplay

Chinatown (Winner)

The Conversation
Day For Night
Harry and Tonto

This film represents the third of five Martin Scorsese films topping my Netflix queue, just in case you were keeping track.

In my brief, stream of consciousness study of some of Scorsese's earlier films, I elected to watch Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore because a) it appeared to be a softer side to Scorsese, with a woman protagonist even, and b) it was the film that formed the basis for the television sitcom "Alice," which I remember watching as a very young child, since it ran for nine years.  I might have floated the phrase "Kiss my grits!" a few times too, which I'm sure made my mother very happy.  I digress.  Scorsese has a thematically consistent filmography, with films that share common characteristics, plots, and messages, but there are a few aberrations, adventures, or experiments in which he was able to indulge.  This film represents one; it was a pet project for Burstyn, and I read that while she initially wanted Francis Ford Coppola to direct (though he was busy making an Oscar-winning sequel to his big gangster picture, something called The Godfather Part II), Coppola showed her "Mean Streets" and encouraged her to request Marty.  She readily agreed, and an odd partnership was born.

Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore tells the story of Alice Hyatt (Burstyn), a housewife unhappy but seemingly accepting of her life with her quasi-abusive trucker husband and her bratty son Tommy (Alfred Lutter) in New Mexico.  Her husband suddenly dies, however, and Alice sees this as an opportunity to pursue her childhood dream of a singing career, so she sells off most of what she owns for money, packs Tommy and a few remaining belongings in their station wagon, and sets out for Monterey, California.  The lack of money prevents them from getting that far, though.  First, they land in Phoenix, where she manages to get a job at a local bar but is terrorized by her apparently married, younger psychopath of a boyfriend named Ben (Harvey Keitel). After an outburst from him causes her to flee the scene without so much as a backward glance, she ultimately takes a waitressing job at Mel's Diner, for gruff cook Mel (Vic Tayback - who was also Mel on the TV show).  Here she meets outspoken waitress Flo (Ladd), spacy Vera (Valerie Curtin), and a handsome rancher named David (Kris Kristofferson).  As she begins to fall for David, she grows concerned that she may again be sacrificing her dreams of singing to a working housewife's life, even as David seems to be just what she and her lippy son need.

Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore is an interestingly predictable film. It plays out like any romantic comedy-drama, actually.  It's a pleasant picture focusing on the human condition: any domestic engineer could easily relate to Alice's struggles as a single mother and to her grief at the loss of her husband or to the regret she feels toward giving up her singing career in the first place.  Yet, it ends exactly when and how one would expect it to end.  It's a film that takes few risks and, therefore, feels marginally formulaic.

This, as it turns out, is an interesting position to take on a Scorsese film, since his films are frequently the opposite of formulaic (except, insofar as he is deviating from his own tried and true directorial formula).  It seems that he made a studio picture that feels like a studio picture.  There were hints of his trademark panache: quick camera wipes to set the scenes, an opening montage of Alice as a child that seemed to pay homage to Gone With the Wind and the Wizard of Oz (I actually thought that without having to read the plot summary at the top of this page), but otherwise, this film was more about being a star vehicle, a means by which to showcase Burstyn's performance, rather than a stretch for a hip, up and coming director. It also strikes me that Marty may not have known how to handle a female focal character; after all, this is his only film to feature a female lead and a female story.

Burstyn gave a fine performance.  Her singing voice aside (which was not actually that good, so the suspension of disbelief regarding any throng of patrons following her performances just couldn't be had), Alice experienced every emotion possible, and Burstyn convincingly portrayed all of them.  It's Alice's story, though, and if Burstyn could not handle the role, this film would have tanked like lead in water.  Diane Ladd as the charmingly abrasive Flo was also very funny, and Kris Kristofferson gave a fine performance - not too much of an acting stretch for him, either, but he was a well-matched love interest for Alice.

Criticism of this film and its story has centered on the fact that Alice's choice between family and career is too oversimplified, too trite, too black-and-white to be realistic.  I don't subscribe to that notion.  Every woman is different, and especially in earlier decades like the 70s in the years following flower children and burning bras, many women were still following traditional routes of playing house and raising children for their working husbands.  To pretend that there was some kind of universal surge in career women so shortly after Vietnam and Woodstock would be disingenuous at least; I think the working girl trend witnessed a sharp rise in the 80s, and, let's face it, not all women today juggle both career and family. Thus, I don't think Alice's decision was too pat or oversimpliified; it was realistic, and her ending nervous breakdown and ensuing demands of David, suggesting that the two can be blended, proves to be poignant sociological commentary.

Still, that's as much intellectual dimension as I'm willing to ascribe to this picture. The bottom line is that it plays like apple pie without the ice cream.  It's delicious and comforting but lacks that special something that really makes the taste buds tingle.  I believed Alice and her story, and I swooned over handsome David, and laughed at Flo and Vera and Mel, but ultimately, this is just another romance in the annals of romance films that could have been directed by anyone.  The fact that Scorsese directed it is surprising but easily forgotten once the picture begins to play.

Incidentally, the fact that Faye Dunaway was nominated but did not win for Chinatown is a bit of a shocker.  Granted, most of that film found her character amidst stoic secrecy, and Dunaway could be over-the-top (particularly during her big reveal in that film), but her performance was surrounded by a much better story.  In the end, though, Burstyn probably deserved her Oscar.

As to ratings, I feel that Alice Doesn't Live Here Anymore merits an 8 for being very good but with minor flaws.  The picture was very well made, even as it was predictable, and taking few risks doesn't mean it's flawed, but still, I think Burstyn could have done with some singing lessons for a little more refinement; she was very soft-voiced and unconvincing, and dreams or no, the viewer has to believe she really has something to toy with sacrificing in order for this whole picture to work.  As to the test, it doesn't pass.  Like apple pie without the ice cream (or, at least, Cool Whip), it was an indulgence that was great one or maybe a handful of times.  Next time, I would like the ice cream, so I'll keep shopping for a Marty film to add to my collection.

Under discussion:

Mean Streets  (1973)

This film represents the second of five Martin Scorsese films topping my Netflix queue, just in case you were keeping track.

Mean Streets is Marty's highly touted review of the life of gangsters in New York City's Little Italy.  In many ways, it's an interesting early look at a director and his trademarks that began largely with this film, and that he's never quite abandoned.  I mostly wanted to see Mean Streets out of academic curiosity, in an effort to compare Marty's recent films, like The Departed, to something from earlier in his career.  Aside from its timing in Scorsese's filmography, I knew almost nothing about the film prior to viewing.

Mean Streets is less of a tale and more of a study of one man's place in his immediate surroundings, which turn out to be a rough niche of NYC in the 70s.  Charlie (Harvey Keitel) spends most of the movie attempting to reconcile his ambitions toward being a respectable gangster and his Catholic faith, particularly his wish to emulate St. Francis.  The film follows his exploits in attempting to protect and mentor Johnny Boy (Robert DeNiro), his slightly psychotic friend with a penchant for gambling and an equally potent penchant for being unable to pay his debts, and in trying to secure the love of his epileptic girlfriend Teresa (Amy Robinson), who wants to move out of her apartment for better quarters and wants Charlie to move in with her.  The plot, such as it is, is divided between Charlie and Teresa's tempestuous romance, complicated by Charlie's almost fanatical wish to remain tough in the eyes of his kingpin uncle and other members of the gang, and getting Johnny Boy out of trouble as Charlie's cousin demands repayment of loans given to Johnny Boy and as other loan sharks chase down the characteristically reactive and not necessarily intelligent man. Incidentally, Johnny Boy seems very much a precursor to the Tommy character played by Joe Pesci in GoodFellas.

Mean Streets was raw, gritty, and in-your-face.  Marty, using simple camera techniques (likely thanks to a shoestring budget and the fact that it was made in 1973) such as handheld shots, provided an almost documentary-style to the filmmaking in this movie, effecting an uncompromised realism. The darkness and the danger threatening to consume Charlie and Johnny Boy on a daily basis were palpable; there is no question that their chosen line of work is hazardous and dirty.  

Yet, the film boasted a first look at trademarks seemingly characteristic of all of Marty's films.  First, there was a quirky soundtrack of 50s and 60s doo-wop and other straight rock-n-roll, which was apparently gleaned from Marty's own record collection (scratches and all).  Charlie almost becomes something of a character study, another primary focus on redemption and guilt. His thoughts are highlighted with voiceover narration (provided by Marty, incidentally), and the soul of the film centers on Charlie's internal struggles to reconcile his place in the grand scheme of his environment.

This film also represents the first of a long series of DeNiro and Scorsese partnerships, and both he and Keitel offered very real, very engaging performances.  Johnny Boy, in particular, reminded me of, as I mentioned, a precursor to Tommy, or on a more basic level, an inspiration for the character of Bender in The Breakfast Club.  He knows he is in trouble, he know he is only making it worse for himself, but this knowledge only seems to fuel an attitude of self-defeat and further bad decisions and defiance in an effort to seem brave.  DeNiro clearly zeroed in on this quality and played it to his usual perfection.  Charlie and Johnny Boy's partnership is the most interesting focus of the film; the fact that Charlie feels compelled to attempt to help Johnny Boy out of his ever declining predicament as a means of finding redemption is the ultimate tragedy of the piece.

In many ways, Mean Streets seems to represent an early draft of the formula upon which Marty draws for his other gangster films; a blueprint that he pulls out for consideration whenever he revisits that world.  Formula creators are pioneering, naturally, but they also represent a time when the formula was imperfect, lacking the tweaks and improvements that come with the natural evolution of a director's (or other type of filmmaker's) filmmaking. For me, as real and as poetic as Charlie's struggles ultimately become, particularly in lieu of the grisly ending of this piece, the biggest flaw of this film is that the viewing audience is never provided any reason to care for Charlie, or Johnny Boy, or anyone else.  That lack of connection is less jarring once the Teresa character enters the picture, as she gives Charlie a softer, more human dimension.  Otherwise, the film, as it begins, feels like its making excuses for the Charlie character rather than giving the viewer all of his dimensions and letting the viewer decide for him or herself whether that redemption about which Charlie is so obsessed is actually deserved.  As a result, I felt disconnected from Mean Streets for much of the film, because Charlie's dimensions (and he's really the character of import; Johnny Boy and Teresa are more plot devices than flesh-and-blood characters themselves) did not really take full shape until near the end, and by then, it was too late to care about him or anyone else in the film, for that matter.  This lack of connection left me feeling somewhat empty about the piece (but, to be fair, some poetry can do that too).

That's not to say that Mean Streets did not have some great points. Like I said, the performances were good, and Marty's great filmmaking style clearly emerges in this film; it just wasn't the revelatory experience that some people have touted it as, and even though the stories/characters are largely dissimilar, I could not help feeling like Mean Streets was an early and rough draft of GoodFellas, a film that was executed more effectively, even if the same themes were not at the forefront.  As a result, I feel that Mean Streets warrants an 8 for being very good with minor flaws, but it does not pass the test because it's violent, and because I didn't love it.  Still, any Scorsese student should pick this film up if they have not; it's a great first look at a then-budding director whose contemporary achievement is unquestioned.

Under discussion:

GoodFellas  (1990)

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

GoodFellas is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#94)
The Revised Top 100 (#92)
10 Top 10's (#2 Gangster)

The next five films topping my Netflix queue are Martin Scorsese films.  In my stream of consciousness queuing, I started adding Marty’s films with earnest in an effort to catch up.  I’ve seen a fair few, but I felt like I was missing some important entries, especially earlier ones, from one of the great directors.  The string used to include Raging Bull and Taxi Driver, but the AFI Project superseded the queue.  Here, the queue and the AFI Project happily coincide, as the first Scorsese film of the string also happens to be an AFI movie and one I have wanted to see since its release.  And why?  Gentle reader, do you recall a little cartoon from the 90s entitled the Animaniacs?  Well, GoodFellas had such a permutation upon pop culture, one of the regular shorts in the Animaniacs half hour included an overt nod to the film: three pigeons called the Good Feathers, mimicking the stars of this film (Ray Liotta, Robert DeNiro, and Joe Pesci), in their regular exploits to be the kings of the pigeon world.  I felt an emptiness not knowing the pop culture basis for this highly hilarious cartoon, which featured these pigeons named Bobby, Squib, and Pesto (guess how they correspond) and a regular spot in which Pesto blows up at Squib, opining, “Do you think I am [fill in the blank], here to amuse you, is that what you’re saying?” before promptly laying waste to poor Squib.  Thus, for many – important – reasons, I was dying to see this film.  I must say, it was quite fantastic and is now, officially, my favorite Scorsese film to date other than The Departed (I don’t care how good Raging Bull and Taxi Driver are, or are supposed to be, this was, by far, the most entertaining of the three).

GoodFellas is narrated in flashback by Henry Hill (Liotta), as he tells of how he dreamt of being a gangster and ultimately ascended through the ranks of local gangsters populating his New York City neighborhood.  Based on a biography by Nicholas Pileggi, who co-wrote the screenplay with Marty, Hill eventually became an FBI informant, but his story starts with childhood.  He meets local boss Paulie Cicero (Paul Sorvino), becoming errand boy and eventual honorary member of his cadre of mobsters after he refuses to rat out his cohorts in court and becomes a “stand-up guy,” but because Hill is not Italian in descent (he is Irish instead), he cannot achieve higher ranks as a “made guy.”  Instead, he befriends his mentor Jimmy (DeNiro), who teaches him the ins and outs of the trade, namely petty and not so petty crimes, and his psychotic partner Tommy (Pesci), who tends to overreact to just about everything--and his overreactions almost always descend into violence.  Henry also marries (Lorraine Bracco) while maintaining a mistress and generally enjoys all of the perks of being a bigwig in crime, until his reckless dealings and behavior in the world of drugs and while accompanying the overly violent Tommy start to raise suspicion with the feds and compromise his standing with the gang, until he has no other choice but to save the lives of himself and his family.

As I indicated, I absolutely loved GoodFellas.  First, this is one of Marty’s most stylish, most hip, and most entertaining entries amongst his lineup of gangster films.  The pacing was tight and lightning quick; no moment was wasted or unimportant.  He employed some of his best and yet most subtle lighting and camera tricks to elicit some great moments, including freeze frames, colored frames, skewed angles, and one-camera shots.  His uncannily excellent taste in music also featured prominently in this film; another awesome soundtrack underscored and punctuated the frequently violent, frenetic, and sometimes funny action.

In fact, that’s another element of the film I quite enjoyed – never have I found egregious violence so funny, but for some reason, Joe Pesci’s Tommy just has that spark, and I think that’s what makes this film so unforgettable to many.  The performances by most everyone in the film but, particularly, by DeNiro and Pesci and especially Liotta, who came a long way from Shoeless Joe Jackson in Field of Dreams by the time he picked up this role, were great.  Scorsese spins a yarn from Henry Hill’s tale, making gangster life almost folksy and fun, and even as Jimmy, Tommy, and Henry boast their own spins on psychotic, the viewer connects with them instantly and cares about them, even if Tommy tends to enjoy murder far too much.  DeNiro brings his usual eccentricities to his role.  Pesci has never been so electric and so interesting to watch, and this supporting turn is far meatier and more interesting (and more psychotic) then his turn in Raging Bull; also, he won an Oscar for this performance.  Liotta, though, was really put through the paces, as Henry struggled to make himself a kingpin in the criminal world while simultaneously coming apart at the seams, particularly as his foray into drug trafficking becomes an addiction and his Achilles heel.  All of the acting ingredients in this film were mixed to perfection, save for one bad egg.

For me, that bad egg was Lorraine Bracco.  Don’t get me wrong, I think, in many ways, her jilted, abandoned wife complex was appropriate, and I’m sure Scorsese directed her to act as hysterical as possible throughout the film because that’s what an unsuspecting gangster’s wife would do.  The problem is, she screamed practically all of her line deliveries, and while her character should be sympathetic, given that she is the wife of a mobster who is given license to do what he wants, including keep a mistress in a schwanky apartment of her own in a not-so-secretive manner, she played her particular brand of psychosis full-tilt and to an extreme that made her character and her performance extremely unwatchable.  If that was the point, I find that disappointing and a bit sexist, though, granted, these traditionalist, morally ambiguous mobster-types are not exactly known for their membership in women’s liberation movements.  Still, her mass hysterics yielded ringing ears and averting eyes because the level of shrillness was so over the top, and whether directed that way or an acting choice of Bracco’s, I did not enjoy it.

Still, this is easily one of the best gangster films I have ever seen and, perhaps, the best outside of the Godfather trilogy.  The AFI seemed to think so, too, giving it rankings on both Greatest lists and on the ten top tens at number two in the Gangster category.

The art direction, cinematography, and costuming were, additionally, all top notch.  In fact, GoodFellas was simply an enjoyable film in just about every way (aside from the hysterics of Bracco’s performance) and, for that reason, I think it should receive an 8.5 on the patented ratings scale between minor flaws/very good and perfectly entertaining.  As to the patented test, I am not exactly sure of its pass/fail status.  I could see myself enjoying the film at least once more, but is it a film I would pull out and watch for kicks?  I guess the jury will be out on that decision or maybe another viewing on cable will help me make up my mind.  In the end, though, GoodFellas is a great film, deserving of its rankings, and definitely a must-see for the would-be Scorsese fan or lover of gangster films but also a must-see for any self-respecting film fan in general.

Under discussion:

Film Name  Production Year

Public Enemies  (2009)

In a surprisingly spur-of-the-moment decision to spend a cloudy afternoon in my local Cineplex, a friend of mine and I decided to catch Michael Mann’s latest effort, Public Enemies.  Honestly, the appeal of this movie for me centered on two things or, more specifically, people: Christian Bale, otherwise known as Batman, and my secret husband, Johnny Depp, otherwise known as Dreamy Johnny.  If you are a regular reader of my blog, you know that I have an undying love for Dreamy Johnny.  I think he is not only a beautiful, beautiful man but also an amazing actor, and he’s easily the most riveting part of any film he’s in, even if the film itself is an abysmal failure (Once Upon a Time in Mexico, much?).  Well, at least most of the time he is.  This time, the most riveting part of the film was not Dreamy Johnny or Batman but Marion Cotillard playing Dreamy Johnny’s paramour.  And while the film had an interesting, even intriguing premise, it failed to deliver on its own potential, creating a decidedly ho-hum experience.

Public Enemies recreates the exploits of John Dillinger (Dreamy Johnny), notorious bank robber during the Great Depression, who was a mixture of folk hero and acrimonious public influence.  Based on a book by Bryan Burroughs, the film follows the ambitious crime hunt undertaken by newly appointed director of the newly created Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), J. Edgar Hoover (Billy Crudup), who appoints Melvin Purvis (Batman), to engage in a manhunt of Dillinger and his crew, including Alvin Karvis (Giovanni Ribisi).  In the process, Hoover deems Dillinger “Public Enemy Number One,” imbuing Purvis with the power to take Dillinger down by any means necessary, but Purvis clearly underestimates Dillinger’s ingenuity and reach into the criminal community and the public consciousness.  After a series of shootouts and failed attempts at capture, Purvis realizes that his only means of catching Dillinger was to orchestrate betrayals unbeknownst to Dillinger and employ mercenaries to chase after the wily criminal.  In the meantime, Dillinger tries frantically to hold onto the object of his fancy, a feisty coat check girl of mixed race named Billie Freshette (Cotillard), who is caught in the crossfire, much to her fear and rage.

Public Enemies began with a bang but failed to sustain any sort of meaningful engagement.  The cinematography was by far the most impressive visual element.  There was a hazy gray coloring every frame, almost as if to render the film black and white, even as the bright colors of Cotillard’s impressive period wardrobe popped from the screen.  The lighting was subdued and sinister, accentuating the depiction of the Great Depression and the moral ambiguity of Dillinger’s exploits.  The art direction was also fairly interesting, transforming modern-day locales, including Chicago, into places of a bygone era.  The film was visually interesting, to say the least.

Unfortunately, the rest of the film was not.  The pacing was consistently erratic.  Michael Mann punctuated periods of true malaise and slow-moving action with his over-staged gunfights (that probably would not be as interesting in real life).  The script, an adaptation from the source material, was truly poor, with some laughably stunted dialogue.  Dreamy Johnny and Batman’s performances felt reduced to cookie-cutter outlines of their real-life inspirations, and since they are accomplished actors with many great performances under their belts, I have to attribute the lack of connection to their characters or the lack of any meaningful dialogue to the screenwriters and to Mr. Mann.  The only interesting performance belonged to Cotillard.  She infused her Billie with a spunk that was extremely watch-able, and I felt interested in the film only when she was on screen (except for the occasional swooning over Dreamy Johnny).  Her performance was truly stunning and was markedly pitch-perfect casting in an otherwise less-than-perfect movie.  Further, the supporting performances were as uninteresting as the leads, again in no small part attributable to the oddly basic and staccato dialogue rampant throughout the picture. 

Ultimately, however, Public Enemies seemed to suffer from an obvious pretension that served to alienate the viewer, or at least me, from the film throughout most of my painful viewing experience.  I felt Mr. Mann reaching for an artistic sensibility and an importance that the flaws in the script and his own direction prevented him from attaining.  There were times when I felt bored and even frustrated with the boredom; after all, this was at movie theater prices that I saw this film.  In many ways, Public Enemies was a disappointment both artistically and in its entertainment value.

That’s not to say that the film did not have the few good points that I listed above.  Because the film seemed to be its own worst enemy in terms of being an effective historic revue of what should have been an interesting period, I feel the film merits a 6 for being cute but mediocre.  The points it earned come from the few bright spots of technical cinematic excellence and, specifically, Cotillard’s fiery portrayal of Freshette.  As to the test, I cannot say this film passes, sadly.  There are other films in which I can enjoy Dreamy Johnny and Batman, after all, and not every film can be worth the celluloid on which it is published – and this one, arguably, is not.

Under discussion:

Film Name  Production Year

Y Tu Mamá También  (2002)

What's an Oscar Flashback (tm)?  Read here:

Next on my Netflix queue was Y Tu Mama Tambien, which was nominated for the Best Original Screenplay Oscar (film year, 2002; awarding year, 2003).  The other nominees in this category were:

Talk to Her (Winner)

Far From Heaven
Gangs of New York
My Big Fat Greek Wedding

This film represents the second of two Oscar-nominated Spanish-language foreign language films topping my Netflix queue, just in case you were keeping track.

Y Tu Mama Tambien crossed my radar not so much because of the Oscars but because it is one of those films that has garnered so much attention, whether it was because Alfonso Cuaron was the director, because the film is somewhat controversial in its subject matter, or because the film has actually been compared to American Pie (I think unfairly).  I liked Cuaron's stylized and visual approach to Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (even if I despised the adaptation), so I was also interested in experiencing this director in a more "real" film setting.  Also, I am finding that I tend to enjoy Spanish-language foreign films, even though I never took the language.  Thus, when Netflix recommended the film during my initial stream of consciousness queuing, I added it with interest in seeing what all of the talk was myself.

Y Tu Mama Tambien (And Your Mother Too) tells the story of two horny teenaged boys, Julio (Gael Garcia Bernal) and Tenoch (Diego Luna), who are ready to waste a summer away on drugs, alcohol, and casual sex while their girlfriends are off spending the summer in Europe.  Their plans go only slightly awry when they meet an older woman, Luisa (Maribel Verdu), the wife of Tenoch's academic but oafish cousin.  The boys tempt her with a road trip to an imaginary beach cove called "Heaven's Mouth," which the boys claim is on the Oaxacan coast, and while Luisa initially refuses them, after learning that her husband has cheated on her yet again, she elects to take the boys up on their offer.  What ensues is a road trip fraught with jealousy and facing hard truths: Luisa sleeps with both boys, though she suggests that the real lust they have is for each other.  The boys' jealousy of each other, in turn, erupts over Luisa and various past indiscretions and develops into heated and violent arguments that threaten to destroy their friendship and to alienate the young woman who would teach them something about real life.

The first word that came to mind while watching Y Tu Mama Tambien was "intense."  There is a level of intensity being explored here that is both engaging and hard to watch: the intensity of young testosterone, the intensity of realizing mortality, the intensity of love. This film's hallmark is the potency of this intensity, brought to a forefront by director Cuaron and made even more real by the performances of the three leads.  Though young actors, there was a naturality about Bernal, Luna, and Verdu that drew the viewer, particularly me, in and suspended disbelief quite readily. Their story was real and interesting, and Cuaron amplified this intensity with a varied use of the camera, anywhere from a handheld, docu-style method of shooting to a standard point-and-shoot method focused on each lead's intimate expressions.

What I didn't particularly enjoy about this film was the fact that there was a narrator, who cuts into the action at odd points to not only provide a third-person omniescient investigation of each of the three primary characters' internal motivations but also to set their story against the backdrop of then-current political turmoil in Mexico.  This narration, even though it added some logic to the progression of the storytelling, which I always welcome, proved to be more distracting than not because first, the sound dropped away dramatically, and there would be a pregnant, few seconds' pause before the melodic voice of the narrator offered his thoughts and observations.  Second, the political backdrop was inconsequential and really had nothing to do with the story other than to place it in a period context.  These three characters were not concerned with the outer workings of the world, and while that may have been the point, to contrast their naivete and selfishness with the larger shift in political landscapes, a few, minimal comments on the world at large would have sufficed to create that context.  After all, if the three main characters did not seem to care about their environment, why should the viewer?  It felt trite and pedantic to include such commentary, unless Cuaron aimed to have the picture be a social commentary piece.  I think the picture was really an intimate, micro-level coming-of-age story, the intimacy of which might also have been emphasized by the larger world scope.

Also, there are some graphic sex scenes in this film, and while normally, I don't mind such scenes (after all, we're all only human), the sheer number of them felt a bit too much.  On the one hand, the number belied the ultimate lesson that the boys seem to learn, which is not to treat sex merely as a tool or a quick ride on a willing pony but to treat it as an experience.  On the other hand, the learning of this lesson and the boys' ultimate path to coming to grips with it felt ultimately unsatisfying, in that their reunion scene during the denoument of the film was given a short-shrift in narration.

Indeed, the most compelling story belonged to the character of Luisa, which I can't explain in more detail without spoiling the film entirely.  It was her story, and her ending, that gave the film a sense of meaning to me; the boys, therefore, were mere accessories, even if the lessons being learned were theirs to absorb.  It was Verdu's performance and Cuaron's deft handling of that performance that rendered the film as engaging as it was, and for that reason, I am inclined to rate the film a 7.5, between shaky/entertaining and minor flaws/very good.  As to the test, it does not pass, merely because I cannot see myself engaging in repeat viewings of this film.  It was powerful to be sure and more powerful and engaging than Far From Heaven, Gangs of New York, and My Big Fat Greek Wedding (though I have not seen Talk to Her). Still, I think it's worth the watch, and if there are any other Cuaron films to explore, I'm ready to watch them.  i think he is a talented director, and I think he handled the material in this film with a true sense of observation, skill, and connection to his characters.

Under discussion:

Volver  (2006)

What's an Oscar Flashback (tm)?  Read here:

Next on my Netflix queue was Volver, for which Penelope Cruz was nominated for the Best Actress Oscar (film year, 2006; awarding year, 2007).  The other nominees for Best Actress in this category were:

The Queen - Helen Mirren (Winner)

Notes on a Scandal - Judi Dench

The Devil Wears Prada - Meryl Streep

Little Children - Kate Winslet

The two films currently topping my Netflix queue turn out to be Oscar-nominated Spanish-language foreign language films. Volver ("Returning") was the first.

Volver represents my first foray into the films of Pedro Almodovar.  I understand he is quite the esteemed director, so I was excited to give this film a look.  Plus, the premise sounded like something potentially up my alley, and, of course, I had heard of the film thanks to its Oscar exposure (which is, by the way, part of the purpose of highlighting the film as an "Oscar Flashback").  While Volver was not a perfect film, it was certainly a sweet picture with much heart and an engaging performance by Ms. Cruz, and I'm definitely interested in exploring some of Almodovar's other films.

In Volver, the story centers around three generations of women in a family struggling to maintain familial bonds following the death of the matriarch, Irene.  Raimunda (Cruz) and her daughter Paula live in Madrid with her layabout husband Paco, while Raimunda works as a janitor.  After Paco is fired, he takes his frustration out on Paula in a shocking way, and Paula is forced to take extreme measures to retaliate.  While Raimunda works to protect her daughter from the possible legal and emotional consequences of the situation, she relies on her sister Soledad, who also lives in Madrid and works as a hairstylist.  Both women are responsible for caring for their aging and ailing Aunt Paula, who lives in their mother's former home in their birthplace of La Mancha and is also cared for her by her neighbor, Agustina.  Before their aunt passes away, Raimunda and Soledad learn from her that she has been seeing visions of their mother Irene in ghostly form, who has also been caring for her and living with her.  Writing this tale off as an unfortunate result of her illness. they are surprised to learn, after their aunt passes away, that other residents of their former village have also seen Irene; subsequently, she begins to appear to members of their family, beginning with Sole.  Sole is forced to decide how to respond to her mother's curious presence and to decide whether or not to share this information with Raimunda, as Raimunda struggles to cope with her daughter's painful experience, her own shocking history, and surviving in the present.

As I've mentioned, Volver is a sweet picture, zeroed in on observations of the human condition in unusual circumstances.  The relationships between the women that are being explored are written, directed, and performed with such infectious warmth, it's hard not to immediately enjoy the picture on a purely aesthetic basis.  Ms. Cruz does, indeed, give a winning performance, even if she did not win the award (though I haven't seen The Queen yet); when she was on screen, it was hard not make or accept her as the immediate focal point.  Raimunda's story is all at once so poignant, so tragic, and yet such a tale of survival, and Ms. Cruz tackled the wide-ranging emotions of this character with gusto.  She was a joy to watch.

I was not as familiar with the rest of the cast, as I haven't seen too many films that are exports from Spain, but I felt this was a very good ensemble of women telling a beautiful tale about having strength as women trying to live their lives and to move forward.  I particularly liked the actress who played Sole; she proved to be a charming and understated counterpoint to the more passionate portrayal offered by Cruz.

The cinematography in this film was masterful and proved to be something of another character all on its own.  Apparently, Almodovar is quite the master at exploring the limits of the camera in intimate settings; the claim was certainly true here.  From different color palates to skillful angles and choice close-ups, this director was able to elevate the intimacy levels with his obviously practiced knowledge of the camera in a charming and heartstring-tugging way.

While I was certainly entertained by Volver and its unique story, however, I did not love the film for two reasons.  First, the story was very scattered, mostly in the sense that the film was attempting to focus on three primary women (Raimunda, Sole, and Paula) and their reaction to the presence of Irene, but there were side stories that also figured into the grand scheme.  It all comes together in the end, and none of the storylines lacked for interest or went unresolved, but on initial viewing, I was left wondering why the viewer might need to know so much about, for example, Agustina's particular story or why Raimunda cared so much about cooking for a film crew working locally and looking for a place to relax and eat, stories which felt a little distracting and were not necessarily comic relief.  Second, the ending seemed very abrupt to me.  Again, no part of the story was left unresolved, but after taking such a slow and deliberate approach toward unfolding some big secrets at the end of the movie, the payoff of the storytelling, in fact, it was surprising that the film ended the way it did, without more of a denouement that might leave the viewer settled.

All in all, though, these are minor points, but they did knock the potential rating down a peg for me.  Speaking of ratings, I think Volver deserves an 8 on the patented ratings scale for having minor flaws but being very good.  In the land of the test, it does not pass, for the simple reason that I just don't see myself watching Volver again, even though I liked it very much.  I think the film is highly recommendable as an introduction to Almodovar or if one enjoys Spanish films, though, and I wouldn't object to watching it again if offered; I just do not think I would if I bought it.  In any event, I am glad the Oscars exposed me to such a film; I am looking forward to seeing other, allegedly better, examples of Almodovar's filmography in the future.

Under discussion:

Gods and Monsters  (1998)

What's an Oscar Flashback (tm)?  Read here:

Next on my Netflix queue was Gods and Monsters, for which Ian McKellen was nominated for the Best Actor Oscar; Lynn Redgrave was nominated for the Best Supporting Actress Oscar; and Bill Condon won for Best Adapted Screenplay (film year, 1998; awarding year, 1999).  The other nominees for these three categories were:

Best Actor

Life is Beautiful - Roberto Benigni (Winner)

Saving Private Ryan - Tom Hanks

Affliction - Nick Nolte

American History X - Edward Norton

Best Supporting Actress

Shakespeare in Love - Judi Dench (Winner)

Primary Colors - Kathy Bates

Little Voice - Brenda Blethyn

Hilary and Jackie - Rachel Griffiths

Best Adapted Screenplay

Out of Sight

Primary Colors

A Simple Plan

The Thin Red Line

This movie also represents the fifth of five LGBT-themed Oscar movies at the top of my Netflix queue (thanks to my stream of consciousness queuing).  Just in case you were keeping track.

I've been wanting to see Gods and Monsters for a long time, mainly because I like Ian McKellen so much.  This film predates Gandalf but is semi-contemporaneous with Magneto, and I just enjoy his screen presence and line delivery.  1998 was also a great year for films, as you might be able to discern from the nominee list above, so it was just one of those films that I'd always chalked up to my hope-to-see list, should I get the chance.  That's why the almighty Netflix is so great, but, really, I promise I don't work for them.

Gods and Monsters is a biopic about director James Whale (McKellen), who was most famous for directing Frankenstein and the Bride of Frankenstein, even though he directed other pictures like Showboat.  The film begins when Whale is in his retirement years, having just been afflicted by stroke and being doted on by his longtime housekeeper (Redgrave).  He lives in relative peace, though it is clear that he is not quite comfortable in his state of resignation, particularly when young men come seeking stories about the Frankenstein pictures.  One of the facets focused upon in this film was Whale's unhidden homosexuality, as the opening scenes of the film feature the wily director taunting an eager interviewer by being willing to only offer morsels about his movies, so long as the devotee removes an article of clothing in exchange for each answer, at least until post-stroke epilepsy interrupts the game.  As the movie progresses, Whale's gardener, Clayton Boone (Brendan Fraser), becomes the object of the director's affection, and while his sexual attraction is barely contained, Boone's alpha-male heterosexuality seems to make Whale more willing to talk about his past, including revelations about his father, his time in war, and the seeds of his moviemaking career, as Boone poses for Whale to draw him.  When Boone later learns of Whale's homosexuality, though he is initially reviled by the information, he can't seem to stay away from the charismatic and interesting man, and a genuine friendship develops between them, even as Whale's health and mental stability deteriorate with each passing day.

Gods and Monsters was something of a mixed bag, both as an artistic work and as a piece of entertainment.  My immediate reaction was that the story was a bit of a narrative mess: the film centered on the end of a man's life and his ability to cope through an awkward and cathartic friendship, but the focus was scattered.  First, time and celluloid were spent on Boone's struggle to cope with befriending a gay man who he also seemed to acknowledge as a creative genius, but the story never flushes out why Boone in particular can't stay away, despite his discomfort, or why he should be drawn to Whale to begin with.  It intimates that he is somewhat aimless and confused, traumatized by his childhood relationship with his father, and seemingly unable to commit to current love interests, but the film fails to offer an explanation as to why Boone finds solace in his friendship with Whale.  By the same token, the film also dallied with curious cut scenes representing visions of madness that Whale was supposed to be having as his mental condition deteriorated, which were sometimes funny and, at least, interesting but made the picture maddeningly distracting, rendering the pacing quite choppy as they broke the natural flow of the story.  While madness may disrupt the natural flow of a person's ability to understand his world and surroundings, and while it was important to put Whale's health in context with the apparent point of the story, some thought has to be given to the potential audience of the film, especially since the film's thrust was not so much to focus on Whale's declining mental state but on his progression toward the end of his life given his choices and actions of the beginning and middle of it.

I am curious as to why Condon won the Oscar for this picture, but I haven't seen the other nominees in the Adapted Screenplay category.  There were some clever and poetic lines delivered by McKellen and co-stars, but the story itself was so disjointed, I actually had a hard time staying focused and/or concentrating on the picture.  I was wide awake but started thinking about things I had to do rather than remaining committed what I was watching.

Gods and Monsters still had some good points about it, however.  Ian McKellen is always a joy to watch because he has such a wonderful grasp of language and a melodious British accent to accentuate his delivery.  Also, he has the ability to communicate so much with simple facial expressions, and, if nothing else, this film portrays how Whale was a complex man, full of convictions and regrets that McKellen was able to emanate with simple looks or a subtle crooked smile.  Redgrave was also amusing as his overly concerned Hungarian housekeeper, fussing over her charge as if he were her husband, while simultaneously worrying over his afterlife due to his lifestyle in the current one.

Of the two categories for which these performers were nominated, I've seen Saving Private Ryan and Life is Beautiful in the Best Actor category and Shakespeare in Love in the Best Supporting Actress category.  So far, I feel Tom Hanks was most deserving of the best actor award (but he'd already won twice by this nomination and so was very unlikely to win), since Benigni acted much like he does in real life in the charming Life is Beautiful, though McKellen had a difficult part and did an amazing job.  I feel that anyone would probably have deserved the Supporting Actress award over Dench, who, as I recall, was given a pity prize after an earlier snub for 15 minutes of unimpressive screen time as Queen Elizabeth I in Shakespeare in Love.  Redgrave was charming, but I haven't seen enough of this category to say that she was snubbed in the end.

On the other hand, I was less convinced by Fraser.  The role was certainly new territory for him, as he'd traditionally played goofballs in films like Encino Man and George of the Jungle, but I had a hard time suspending disbelief for him because he's simply not that great of an actor.  I've often felt that he gets cast for his looks, though he has some arguable comedic timing too.  I think the former applied more to his inclusion in this film, as I failed to believe or trust any single emotion or dynamic that he offered as this character, which is disappointing, given the unusual and complicated relationship being portrayed. 

The supporting cast aside from these main three was also largely uninteresting, and none of the technical elements kept me engaged, either.  Ultimately, Gods and Monsters had some originality even as it had some creative if unbalanced storytelling and some good performances.  While watching the film, though, my brain disengaged from concentration on the picture somewhere two-thirds of the way into the film, when Whale's visions and focus on Boone's inability to handle Whale's gay lifestyle collided into one big hodgepodge of unresolved mishmash.  Even the ending was something of a conundrum - going from one likely eventuality to one unlikely one without explanation for this transition. Maybe I missed the overall point, but I don't think so.  As a result, I'm inclined to rate Gods and Monsters a 6.5 on the patented ratings scale between cute/mediocre and shaky/entertaining because the film wasn't quite mediocre but was definitely a bit more than shaky in my opinion.  I also think the test has not been passed here, since I'm obviously not as interested in the film having seen it as I was before I viewed it.  Gods and Monsters may be recommendable if only because of McKellen, or if there is an interest in the life and times of director James Whale, but otherwise, it lacks a fully fleshed-out story, adapted though it was from a source novel (which now makes me wonder how the novel reads).

Under discussion:

Film Name  Production Year

Star Trek  (2009)

A week ago, I was enjoying a short vacation and excursion to the Windy City to visit some friends I had not seen in a bit and to enjoy a bit of shopping and high-priced dining.  The trouble is that the Windy City was largely the Hot City, and so I was less apt to do outdoors and touristy activities than I was to find indoor places to play.  I've been to Chicago too many times to be a bona fide tourist anymore anyway, as opposed to an idle visitor, so I did not feel like I was missing anything.

I digress.  So, last Friday, when it was both hot and stormy, my friend and I decided to catch a film at the multiplex off Michigan Avenue and to take in some downtown type food afterward.  We elected to see Star Trek, as neither of us had seen it, we are both modest trekkers (at least from past precedent), and none of our other friends would be likely to want to see it with us.

I must admit, I was a bit skeptical.  Even though the film was directed by one of my personal heroes, JJ Abrams, and even though the film was, essentially, a prequel, focusing on younger versions of everyone's favorite James T. Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. "Bones" McCoy, and so on, I am always a bit leery of franchise reboots because they can be so hit and miss.  For example, Batman under Christopher Nolan: hit.  Star Wars prequelization: miss.

This year's Star Trek, however, actually becomes quite the different animal compared to its predecessors, featuring one of the cleverest uses of a traditional science fiction plot device I have ever seen.  The film opens as a Romulan vessel encounters a Federation starship.  The Romulans - who are tattooed and, in some ways, far more menacing than earlier televised incarnations - are captained by Nero (Eric Bana).  He questions the Federation captain about the star date and then about the whereabouts of someone named Spock, but when the Federation captain, who agrees to board the Romulan vessel with the hopes of peaceful negotations, cannot provide the answers, Nero murders him in cold blood and launches an unadulterated attack against the other ship.  The damage is severe, and First Officer turned captain George Kirk, who assumes command after his captain's demise, orders evacuation, including of his pregnant wife, before committing an act of heroism that fans know is not in the annals of Star Trek history.  The film then careens toward the future, as we see young James Tiberius Kirk in Iowa driving his stepfather's automobile at breakneck speeds to the rousing sounds of the Beastie Boys' "Sabotage" until he manages to drive it over a cliff.  Then, years later, he (now played by Chris Pine) gets into a bar brawl with recruits from the nearby Starfleet Academy outpost.  When their recruiting officer, Captain Pike, who served aboard the ill-fated vessel with his father, challenges Kirk to abandon his rebellious streak and apparent daddy issues and join Starfleet, Kirk initially scoffs at the idea, but, later, seemingly to prove himself, he agrees to become a cadet.  At the Academy, he flirts with a young and pretty Uhura (Zoe Saldana) who wants nothing to do with him; meets a flight-phobic young medic by the name of Dr. Leonard McCoy (Karl Urban); and a stuffy Vulcan teaching assistant named Spock (Zachary Quinto - Sylar!), with whom, at first, Kirk seems to get along like oil and water after he famously "works around" the confines of the Kobiyashi Maru psychological test (see Star Trek mythology, or this film, for further details).  Of course, we learn of Spock's particular idiom as well - his half human, half Vulcan heritage and his struggle to keep his emotions in check while honoring the traditions of his father Sarek and his home planet.  After Kirk is brought before an Academy tribunal to be called to task for "cheating" through the Kobiyashi Maru, the Academy learns of an attack on a nearby Federation planet.  The cadets, as the closest available section of the fleet, are called aboard the newly minted Enterprise to answer the distress call, and Kirk manages to cheat his way aboard thanks to the help of his friend Bones.  Noticing the pattern of the attack, Kirk remembers the story of the Romulan vessel that attacked his father's ship and tries to warn Captain Pike of the impending trap.  Too late, however, does Pike realize that history is repeating, particularly when Nero's ship ensnares the Enterprise, and he demands that Pike board his vessel.  Making Spock acting captain and Kirk acting first officer (much to each other's protest) in his wake, Pike agrees to go, leaving the cadets in charge of the likes of a young Pavel Chekov (Anton Yelchin) and a young Ikara Sulu (John Cho - Harold!).  Through chance events that result from Kirk and Spock's inability to agree, Kirk eventually learns why Nero indiscriminately attacks Federation starships and embraces the road toward his destiny of becoming the youngest Starfleet captain in Federation history.

That was a lot of plot summary but, in some ways, this is the densest Star Trek plot of any of the previous motion pictures, and it barely touches half of the overall story.  Star Trek had the potential of being either really good because it was so new and directed by JJ Abrams, who has the golden touch, or of being really bad because it was a complete reboot of a beloved franchise grounded in complex and complicated mythology that cannot readily be tampered with without the risk of alienating its longtime fans. Fortunately, this Star Trek is the former type of reinvention.

Abrams struck an almost impossible but highly impressive balance: he remained true to the mythology while allowing just enough tweaking to make it new and fresh.  Thanks to the screenwriters, not only does this Star Trek film boast one of the best-written Star Trek stories, providing a riproaring tale that never really dragged (even when Spock Prime, played by the reverent Leonard Nimoy, had to take time out for some plot exposition), it is one of the cleverest revamps I have ever seen.  Using time travel and some other interesting Star Trek/science fiction devices, Abrams and company slyly created enough fuel for sequelization without erasing the possibility of ignoring the reboot should another reboot come along in the future.  I can't give too much away without spoiling the plot, but the changes were welcome and oddly exciting, even though they were significant changes in the end that longtime fans will either embrace or shun.

The visual effects were stunning, and the cinematography was actually quite breathtaking, mixing camera angles, brighter lighting, and bluescreen technology to great effect.  Also, the performances by this new version of the Enterprise crew were actually quite entertaining.  There were no strict imitations; instead, each actor chose to fully inhabit the characters rather than pay homage to their predecessors.  Thus, Pine neglected William Shatner's melodramatic delivery, but its absence was never noticed.  Quinto, though it was hard not to think of Sylar at times, managed to infuse Spock with a delicate balance of barely controlled emotional undercurrent (particularly rage) that Nimoy never offered, except in extreme situations.  Urban's Bones was hyper and funny, though his delivery of "I'm a doctor, not a ..." left something to be desired.  Simon Pegg, as a late-arriving, young Montgomery Scott, was easily my favorite of the new crew, but I wouldn't be able to do justice to just how hilarious his Scotty turned out to be.  The only portrayal I struggled with was Uhura's; on the one hand, Uhura was frequently reduced to a two-dimensional character as the only female of the original Enterprise crew.  Though Gene Roddenberry worked hard to portray the diversity of the globe and his hopes for future racial and ethnic harmony, there was still a gender-bias of sorts underlying the Original series cast, likely due to the fact that it was a product of the sixties, during which women's liberation movements were really starting to gain momentum.  This incarnation attempted to give Uhura some complexity, to make her a three-dimensional woman, which was good.  The problem is, three dimensions also transformed her from the sweet and loyal communications officer played by Nichelle Nichols to something of an ambitious (five letter word) as portrayed by Saldana.  My struggle, therefore, is understanding why a strong woman with an irrepressible character cannot retain the sweetness inherent in the original portrayal, since I never felt such sweetness in the Uhura I saw in this film. and whether she was written, directed, or played that way is hard to ascertain.  Of course, this is one of the larger philosophical dilemmas facing women in motion pictures today.

Also, while Bana was given relatively little to do as the menacing Captain Nero, what he was given to do he performed with a complete lack of originality.  More than once, I felt as though he were channeling Ricardo Montalban's Khan from Star Trek II.  If an actor playing a new antagonist adopts some character traits of characters from prior films while manifesting an entirely new character, the most obvious choices should be left alone.  Of all of the nemeses that have threatened Kirk or even Picard in the motion pictures over the years, Khan is the most obvious choice, and it was distracting, distasteful, and a little annoying that Bana found his inspiration in this character.  Of course, with the way the film ended, Kirk may never meet Khan in the likely sequels, so maybe this a minor point in the end.

Still, the most impressive part about Star Trek was that it was funny and exciting and new while remaining true to, at least, foundations provided by the mythology.  The ensemble of actors had a great chemistry, and the story possibilities are endless should this cast be migrated to television thanks to the foresight and creativity of the screenwriters and Abrams.  In short, the film surpassed my expectations and is actually one of the most enjoyable Star Trek film chapters, in my opinion.  What is even funnier is that it is an odd-numbered entry into the film series.  Interesting, yes?

In the end, I loved Star Trek.  Of course, JJ Abrams can do no wrong in my eyes (I have followed and am following all of his projects, except Felicity, since his breakthrough into Hollywood), but he risked much with this film.  It was a calculated risk that paid off in the end, however.  I think Star Trek deserves an 8.5 between having minor flaws/very good (thanks to Bana's largely mediocre performance) and being perfectly entertaining.  I also think it passes the test!  I am in the process of collecting the Star Trek films, but I would love to watch this one a few times more too, just because it was so surprisingly exciting and funny.  With this film, Star Trek has voyaged into new, uncharted regions of its own space-time continuum, and, frankly, I am happily along for the ride.  Warp speed ahead!

Under discussion:

Film Name  Production Year

Kinsey  (2004)

What's an Oscar Flashback (tm)?  Read here:

Next on my Netflix queue was Kinsey, for which Laura Linney was nominated for the Best Supporting Actress Oscar (film year, 2004; awarding year, 2005).  The other nominees for Best Supporting Actress in this category were:

The Aviator - Cate Blanchett (Winner)

Closer - Natalie Portman

Hotel Rwanda - Sophie Okonedo

Sideways - Virginia Madsen

This movie also represents the fourth of five LGBT-themed Oscar movies at the top of my Netflix queue (thanks to my stream of consciousness queuing).  Just in case you were keeping track.

It's been at least a week since I've seen this film, but for some reason (well, for good reason), I remember it distinctly.  After all, it's a movie about sex!  Well, it's actually a movie about Alfred Kinsey, the first and most renowned scientific researcher of sex and sexuality in humans, but since the topic is what it is, there was quite a bit of talk about sex without, you know, venturing into pornographic territory.  It's hard to forget a film like that.

Kinsey is, naturally, a biopic.  Liam Neeson plays the title character and real-life scientist, and the film follows Kinsey from childhood with his strict, religious, and authoritarian father (John Lithgow), who wanted him to become an engineer and was sorely disappointed when Al chose insects and entomology, to his death.  His primary research centered on the study of a specific genus of wasp, and he was very gifted, attracting the attention of equally gifted student Clara (Linney).  His scientific attentions began to shift to the behavior patterns of human sexuality, partially borne out of his and Clara's own awkward courtship and ensuing difficulty in engaging in post-wedding sexual intercourse.  His interest led him to postulate that most "evidence" of such behavior patterns was rooted in conjecture rather than research and documentation, and so, he devised a plan to poll research subjects and write a definitive treatise on the subject.  Beginning with a "marriage" course at Indiana University, where sex was discussed openly, Kinsey began a series of frank interviews with persons of all types, aided by research assistants played by Chris O'Donnell, Peter Sarsgaard, and Timothy Hutton.  He also devised the now renowned Kinsey scale of sexuality and eventually published Sexual Behavior in the Human Male, which was greeted with controversy, since it revealed that male sexual experiences were wider and more varied than expected, including practices contemporarily considered dangerous or perverted in the 40s, such as pre-marital sex and masturbation.  When Kinsey attempted to publish a book with a female equivalent, his work was met with greater opposition.  In the meantime, his own home life was complicated by his often frank and uncompromised discussion of sex and sexualtiy, his bisexual relationship with his assistant (Saarsgard), and his often dangerous yen to experiment sexually.

Kinsey was a fascinating film in many ways.  Written and directed by Bill Condon, who has many film credits to his name (including Gods and Monsters as director and Chicago as screenwriter), the film is a fairly comprehensive discussion of Kinsey and his work.  Unfortunately, because his work was so complicated and so controversial, two hours of film did not leave enough room to fully flush out dynamics that were briefly touched upon but never given full treatment or resolution and that, frequently, detracted from the film's focus.

For example, the film did well to portray some of the difficulties Kinsey and wife Clara had navigating open sexual waters, but, while Laura Linney was given scenes in which to display some of her sincerest emotional reactions, oftentimes, the end result of their troubles was never shown or was complicated by other complications in their lives that were never completely flushed out.  There was also narrative time devoted to the struggles Kinsey's assistants had with open sexuality, particularly as they themselves aimed to commit to stable, heterosexual relationships, but these detours often seemed scattered.  In many ways, there was too much going on all at once to make heads or tails of what the focus of the film ought to be, even as the focus should clearly have been Kinsey's life in the wake of his chosen life's work.

That's not to say that the film itself wasn't a decent exploration of Kinsey and a decent biopic in and of itself.  When the focus was more streamlined to connect Kinsey's work to the public response (including a subtly hilarious turn by Tim Curry as a university colleague opposed to Kinsey's teachings), the film was at its strongest.  When the film juxtaposed Kinsey's arguably courageous choice of study against his austere father's traditionalist tendencies, the film was at its strongest.  The film seemed to lose itself otherwise in the quagmire of emotions connected to everyone associated with Kinsey, which were all valid points of context for Kinsey's work and should have been included, even as their cohesion eroded throughout the film.  His family was a logical focal nucleus, but even his children's struggles to cope with having such an unusual father were given only a scene's worth of treatment without re-addressing them later in the film.

Is this broad exploration into Kinsey's associates and relations a flaw in the film, since the subject of Kinsey's work was such a broad and emotional topic that eventually, in some ways, spiralled out of control for the man who would pioneer these studies?  Yes, in so far as such exploration bogged the film down, particularly as the film detoured into the personal lives of the assistants and their lovers or partners.  Still, the performances were excellent and totally believable by every single cast member, and this film was engaging from beginning to end.  Particularly impressive was Mr. Neeson, who tends to have a commanding presence in most of his films and who inhabits his characters (and he's played many real-life historical figures) with true passion and carefully researched skill and nuance.  Linney is always good, but as I've officially seen all of the nominees in this category except for Sideways, at this juncture, I can safely say that Cate Blanchett deserved the award that year (and was a shoo-in at the time) for nailing a spot-on, truly eerie performance as Katharine Hepburn in the Aviator, even if I enjoyed this film far more than that one (for the record, The Aviator is my least favorite Scorsese film to date).

I digress.  Kinsey took on a heady (no pun intended) topic and, despite some narrative convolution, was actually an interesting and fascinating portrait of an interesting and fascinating man.  Thus, in patented ratings-scale world, I believe it is fair to rate Kinsey a 7.5, for being between shaky/entertaining and having minor flaws but being very good.  As for the test, I can't really see myself watching it repeatedly (and, therefore, it does not pass).  It's an interesting film, but it's not the kind of film you can pull out for a giggle, unless you're truly a disciple of the man it's discussing.  Still, as the only known film to broach this particular biography, I would recommend Kinsey, for the film's bravado and for the bravado of the inspiration behind it.

Under discussion:

Up  (2009)

Over a week ago, I made one of my rare trips to the movie theater for one of my annual devotionals to Pixar.  Yes, folks, I have officially seen every single Pixar film at the show and within a week of its release.  I, no doubt, have an overt bias toward this production company, but let's face it.  Pixar's worst film (which for me is Cars right now) is still ahead of the curve and better than 90% of the films out there.  Not to mention the fact that the originator of CGI entertainment still remains original, while all of the copycats have languished in the mediocrity of imitiation.

Up is Pixar's tenth feature and a strange hybrid of the studio's most original, and yet, most cliched story concept to date (some might peg that brand on Wall-E, but I beg to differ).  The first act treats us to the introduction of Carl Fredericksen and how he came to meet his future wife and soulmate, Ellie.  As childhood friends and sweethearts, they shared a love of adventure and dreamt of exploring South America and the legendary Paradise Falls.  They held onto this dream throughout their marriage and adulthood, through highs such as the purchase of their fixer-upper of a home (once an abandoned dilapidation they made their imaginary zeppelin) and lows, such as their inability to have children.  Through it all, they remained devoted, until Ellie succumbs to old age and illness.  Carl (voiced by Ed Asner) is left alone but for his promise to his now deceased wife that he would seek their adventure and find Paradise Falls.  The trouble is, Carl is something of a curmudgeon and unfortunately has one of those houses located smack within what looks to be a newly rezoned commercial development project.  When the construction foreman (voiced by Pixar's good luck charm, Cliff, I mean, John Ratzenberger), who tries to encourage Carl to move on, receives a blow to his noggin from an otherwise frustrated Carl, thereby causing a judge to court-order him into a retirement home, Carl takes action.  As seen in all of the previews, he transforms his home into one giant zeppelin of his own, lifted by thousands of colorful helium balloons.  He has two problems, however.  Young and precocious nature scout Russell, who has been bothering Mr. Fredricksen in the name of a few good-deed patches, stows away on his airborne front porch.  What's worse, Carl encounters a bit of turbulence and, courtesy of Russell, lands on the wrong side of the chasm containing the famed Paradise Falls.  Thus, Carl and Russell take his now floating house (not unlike a land speeder in Star Wars) by the reins and drag it through tangled jungle, only to encounter strange birds, talking dogs, Carl's childhood hero turned lunatic hunter (voiced by Christopher Plummer), and more adventure than a man of advancing age bargained for.

I read this article earlier this week, which was hot-linked to the imdb's home page.  The article can be found here:

http://www.overthinkingit.com/2009/06/03/pixars-up-paradise-lost-at-paradise-falls/

Well, it's really more of a blog post, but it's theme contemplates how Up and Milton's poem Paradise Lost share some noteworthy similarities.  I wonder if these similarities were purposeful or subconscious on the part of the writers.

What the article most expertly discusses is how Up is a lot deeper and more grounded than its whimsical colorful balloons suggest.  In many ways, this fable is an allegory for growing pains, particularly with regard to growing old.  It's an affirmation of life and love and camraderie, and the story is told in a frightfully inventive way, with humor and heartwrenching sadness.  The silent movie giving the viewer the glimpse of Carl and Ellie's life together was so touching, it elicited many a vocal "aw" from the crowd with which I saw this film.  The talking dogs, particularly the malfunctioning translator on the Doberman named Alpha were hilarious.  The voice acting by Ed Asner and Christopher Plummer was pitch-perfect, and their animated likenesses (which were nothing like their real likenesses) were textured and engaging.

The animation, as always, is superb in this film.  Each brightly hued balloon looks almost real, so much so, it's almost as if you can smell that balloony smell.  The depictions of the South American jungle were as lush and exotic as I would imagine the real thing to be.  Pixar's expertise in creating a world, an animated one no less, in which the viewer can completely suspend disbelief is unmatched, and Up proves to be another example of that truth.

This film, however, is not Pixar's best.  In fact, I'm thinking it rates in the lower five for me.  It comes down to the fact that while some of the film was artfully and classically rendered, giving it that shade of originality that is practically Pixar's trademark, there were elements of the film that detracted from its potential of being another masterpiece.  The Russell kid was annoying.  He all at once provided something of an antagonistic force and an appropriate contrast of youth, energy, and innocence compared to Carl's elderly cynicism and grief, but his purpose aside, the voice actor got on my nerves.  Not all of the talking dogs were funny.  The one that ends up following them around was too close to the dog in classic cartoons that frequently asked, "Can I play with the ball, George?"  What was that dog's name?  Well, this dog was a direct descendant of the other dog.  The plausibility of a floating or flying house aside, I could not understand how an elderly man who needs a cane to walk and a snot-nosed kid alone could drag a sturdy two-story, even if gravity wasn't its primary concern.  Also, the frenetic second act seemed disjointed in comparison to the simple and understated first act; then again, I know the studio tries to reach the child members of its audience as much as the adults, and the second act caters most to a younger crowd.  The short attached to the film was also not Pixar's best, but that's the other great part about seeing Pixar films in the theater: one gets to see the bonus short film to be later included in the DVD extras.

Still, I enjoyed Up.  Like all Pixar films, it entertained me; it made me laugh, it made me cry, it made me puzzle.  I think Up merits an 8.5 on the patented ratings scale.  It's on my like/love boundary and falls between very good/minor flaws and perfectly entertaining.  I consider many of the detractions I cited above as nitpicks, but I also still loved the film enough, possibly per my Pixar bias, to give it that rank.  It also naturally passes the test.  I would not hesitate to maintain my otherwise complete Pixar collection with its latest entry.  In any event, Up makes the spirit soar and is worth every penny and second of its 96 minute running time.  Word of caution, however: the 3-D feature is nice but really nothing to get excited about.  If you see it at the theater, save two bucks and resign yourself to two-dimensional viewing.  You're not otherwise missing much but an uncomfortable hour and a half with overpriced plastic spectacles.

Under discussion:

Film Name  Production Year

Amadeus  (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

Amadeus is on the following AFI list:

The Original Top 100 (#53)

Greetings, ladies and gentlemen of Spoutland!  Long time no blog.  I blame this on my other great cultural love, theater.  It is super difficult to watch films while, in this case, stage managing a little musical called Guys and Dolls at a local community theater for six days out of a week.  As such, not only have I not been able to see many films (and thereby review them), I nearly forgot that I re-watched this little gem from the 80s a month ago, a film that curiously made the original AFI Greatest list but failed to register on any of the subsequent lists.

I first saw Amadeus when I was in the eighth grade.  For some reason, my English teacher - who never really felt any sort of pressure to make her students actually do work - showed us this film.  At the time, I didn't really like it.  My impression of the film at the tender age of 13 was that it was weird and offensively unsympathetic to one of the world's most renowned and celebrated composers, and that made me mad.  As a budding violinist just discovering an appreciation for classical music by the widely acknowledged "greats," I didn't appreciate the fact that the ingenious Mozart and his image were being sullied by this movie.  Plus, the movie reminded me of the marginally related Falco song "Rock Me, Amadeus," which was an annoying synth-pop one-hit wonder from the same decade.  I do not like that song even still.  It's annoying, I tell you!

Re-watching the film for this project, I've revised my opinion somewhat.  I'm not sure that it is deserving of being called one of America's greatest films, but it's certainly a much better film than I initially gave it credit for.  One of its most winning qualities is the fact that the filmmakers, particularly Director Milos Forman (who also directed One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest), definitely knew and appreciated music and painted the film in such a wash that this knowledge and passion for music permeates each and every frame.  Plus, the film boasts one of the greatest musical scores of film - incorporating both composers Mozart and Salieri's works at intermittent intervals to the delight of music lovers' ears, including mine.

The film is told from Salieri's (F. Murray Abraham) perspective as he rots away in his advanced age in an insane asylum.  Under the guise of confession to a local priest, Salieri recalls his life from the moment he was introduced to prodigal but boorish Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (Tom Hulce) and the ensuing, unstated rivalry that developed between them.  Salieri, after all, rued Mozart's genius and instant success; the famed Mozart lacked proper social graces and humility, after all, whilst Salieri spent many days genuflecting before God and questioning why Mozart was blessed with talent when he, himself, worked so hard, only to be overshadowed by his younger counterpart in places such as the court of Austrian Emperor Joseph II (Jeffrey Jones).  Thus, Salieri works to sabotage the young Mozart, disguising himself as a benefactor, commissioning the composition of a "Requiem" that costs Mozart everything, even as the prodigy's drinking and other appetites consume him first.

Amadeus is a curious film to me.  On the one hand, the grandiose and operatic story meditating on how life imitates art and vice versa, is something rarely equaled in cinema.  It's a true story at its core, but it's based on bits of urban legend derived from the relative lack of information available about this particular relationship.  The film is opulent, with extravagant art direction and costuming reflecting its eighteenth century period.  F. Murray Abraham's performance is tour de force - over the top but in a way so genuine and so relatable that its melodrama is forgiven.  Every opera, every performance of either composer's works was performed and filmed with great care.  This is truly a classical music lover's film, from the very opening frames to the last.

I don't love this film, though, and it comes down to some of the choices taken by the filmmakers.  I read that it was conscious on Forman's part to direct the performers to use their native accents, most of which were American and inconsistently so.  As such, nobody sounded like anyone else, even though all were supposed to be Austrian, and I found this lack of consistency extremely distracting to my suspension of disbelief.  The quirky laugh aside, I was never convinced by Hulce's portrayal of the titular man - even if Mozart was a man-child incapable of propriety, enabled though he was according to his genius, Hulce just seemed like the wrong choice for the part.  He certainly played up the emotionally underdeveloped sides of Mozart and provided great contrast to Abraham's stalwart and sour Salieri, but there was a quality about Hulce's performance that unsettled me, though I can't put my finger on or give a name to this quality.  Maybe it's the notion that I could never buy him as the genius, even if it wasn't hard to buy him as the garish and arrogant young boor who possessed the genius.  While the film lauded Mozart's unparalleled body of work even as it convincingly portrayed him to be the court jester, every time Hulce floated onto screen in scenes where Mozart was composing or showing off his prodigy, I had trouble believing his characterizations.  I could be the minority in this reaction, but I can't help these reactions just the same.

The All Movie Guide review at the bottom of this page discusses how thoroughly the film explores paradox – the paradox of Mozart the man, the paradox of Salieri's love-hate obsession with him.  True, the film walks a fine tightrope of balancing contradictions in an intellectually satisfying way.  As entertainment, though, I didn't love this film as much others because I was too annoyed or distracted with the aforementioned elements.  I will say this for Amadeus: though it clocks in at just about three hours, it never drags.  Forman, who seems to be a contemplative director adept at parsing out emotional resonance and philosophical undercurrent from his unusual topics, ingeniously conducted the pace of the film not unlike the movements in an opera.  In fact, the entire movie seemed to ebb and flow – crescendo and decrescendo, if you will – to the passion and genius of the composers behind the music, and this fact leaves me liking the movie quite a bit, even if I can't love it.

Is it one of America's greatest films?  That is the big question.  I'm not so sure, but I leave others to ponder and to answer it.  Incidentally, The Deer Hunter replaced Amadeus at this rank on the Revised list (The Deer Hunter jumped up several spots from its original rank).  For my money, Amadeus has aspects of greatness but is a film I would not place on my personal 100 greatest.

Still, the film is very good.  In fact, I'm inclined to rate it a 7.5 between shaky/entertaining and minor flaws/very good on the patented ratings scale, owing to the few distracting flaws I discussed above (even if they are flaws in my eyes only).  As to the test, I don't think it passes.  I'm glad I watched it again, but I think twice is enough for me.  The best part about Amadeus in my opinion is the music and the celebration of musical genius, and that's something I can appreciate and enjoy without having to watch the movie again and at any time I wish.