pippin06

Under discussion:

Barton Fink  (1991)

The next couple of entries on the Netflix queue are Coen brother movies, which is good, because the only one I think I have seen of theirs up until now is O Brother Where Art Thou, which made me chuckle but which I did not seem to love as much as other people do.  What I will say is that the Coens seem to make thinkers' movies, and I have been looking forward to seeing a few of them, though not necessarily Barton Fink.  I queued this up when I read the description of the plot because it is about a writer fighting to be a writer who writes something meaningful in this sometimes meaningless world.  Of course, it takes a few twists and turns, but that's what attracted me to the film because I fancy myself a writer (maybe not as much lately but erstwhile and hopefully in the future).  Plus, I was intrigued by the potential intelligence of this film.

And it was definitely intelligent: not in that earth-shattering genius sort of way, but it was smart and multi-layered and encouraged you to react to some surreal situations.  It also had that dark undercurrent that seems to punctuate many of the Coen brothers' films.

Barton Fink (John Turturro) is a playwright who has just met his first Broadway success in New York.  As a result, Hollywood comes knocking, and Barton reluctantly agrees to write for the movies in anticipation of the financial reward, though seemingly at a compromise of his principles, as he believes writing should be about the hopes and dreams of the common man rather than some assemblage of abstract thoughts for literary minds or a commercial enterprise.  This compromise manifests into writers' block; as a solution, he seeks out the advice of another novelist-turned-screenwriter, the drunk and animated W.P. Mayhew (John Mahoney, playing a Faulkner type).  Mayhew's "personal" secretary Audrey (Judy Davis), who has ghost-written several of Mayhew's projects, takes an interest in Barton as does Barton's next-door-neighbor, Charlie (John Goodman in an outstanding performance), a likable salesman looking to chat away a few lonely nights.  Things go horribly awry when Barton gets roped into a murder investigation, and the plot takes a few turns that I will not even risk spoiling.  Other appearances include Tony Shalhoub as the producer behind Barton's potential film and Steve Buscemi as the bellhop for the run-down dump of a hotel in which Barton sets up residence.

I liked this movie because it worked on many levels that did not really seem to intersect.  It was like lasagna, actually: distinct layers of noodles, meat, and cheese that work well together but are totally separate, parallel even.  On the one hand, the film was about the writer's journey, and what I loved were the little details, the sounds of the empty hotel that seem to haunt and plague Barton as he struggles to write a "wrestling picture."  The peeling of the wallpaper; the long, empty hall of unshined shoes; the picture of the woman staring at the ocean waves; I found it all to be a sensitive examination of the writer's mind and journey in the occasional struggle to create.  In fact, the hotel became something of a visual metaphor for Barton's particular creative dilemma, and I thought it was kind of brilliant to sort of make the surrounds its own supporting character.  I kept wondering where they filmed this movie, but I didn't dig into the DVD extras to look.

On the other hand, the movie is about what happens when an ordinary man gets caught in extraordinary circumstances and how the ordinary man reacts.  The murder investigation throws the viewer for quite a loop, and the movie takes on a very surreal flavor as Barton struggles to piece together his shattered perceptions.

Of course, on the still other hand, the film is about how things are not what they seem.  Shattered perceptions, particularly of the ideals that the common man or even the thinking man develops in his mind, are a dominant theme.  I cannot spoil it, though.  This movie worked so well for me because I knew little about it, so the twists were especially effective.  I would not dream of ruining it for others who might want to see it.

The performances in this film by Turturro and Goodman were outstanding.  I was especially impressed with John Goodman, who is known for his comedic acting, but he played the gregarious though decidedly "off" Charlie with skill I was not aware he had.  John Turturro has always been one of those character actors that seems to find the center of his role so completely that suspension of disbelief is not even a question.  Barton was a sympathetic character despite his cerebral qualities because he experiences real emotions, which Turturro seemed to portray with ease.

Also, this story was so original and well-executed, I am finally a believer in those who extol the Coens.  I am looking forward to finally seeing Fargo, which I believe is next up on the queue.

I have a few miniscule complaints about this movie, however, that keep me from thinking this is a masterpiece or even perfectly entertaining.  The pacing in the middle of the film seemed to slow to a bit of a crawl, when the beginning was already sort of ambling along at an easygoing trot.  Perhaps it was to dull the viewer's senses a bit before the ensuing events unfolded, but I had the itch to pause the movie for a snack at that point, and I am not sure it was necessary given that the film was already moving at an almost methodical speed, drawing the viewer into the logical, frustrated, creative mind of Barton.  Also: what was in the box?!  I have a few theories (a head, for starters, and this film predated Seven), but why was it never opened?  As with Lost in Translation, I find secrets like this a little annoying.  I know Barton may not have wanted to find out or further shatter his already broken perspective, or maybe the lesson is that some things are better left secret and unknown, and ideals and fantasies are better suited to one's comfort and well being.  With all of the attention to it, though, I felt a bit incomplete.  Even with the beautiful ending frame, which was simply poetic, I still was left asking, "That's it??"  Also, what happened to the no-doubt over-torched hotel?  I found myself wondering after Chet, the Steve Buscemi character.  He was so eager, after all.

All in all, however, these are minor flaws and quirky ones at that, and there are only a few, so I rate this movie an 8.5 between minor flaws/very good and perfectly entertaining.  In terms of the test, I think I would purchase it if I found it for cheap, perhaps, but I don't know if I liked it enough to wishlist it right away.  Still, this film is a very good one, and it makes you think.  This writer appreciated though cautiously loved Barton's unusual journey.

Under discussion:

West Side Story  (1961)

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

West Side Story is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#41)
100 Years...100 Passions (#3)
100 Greatest Film Songs (#20 - "Somewhere;" #35 - "America;" #59 - "Tonight")
25 Greatest Movie Musicals (#2)
The Revised Top 100 (#51)

West Side Story is one of those films that I have found people like/love or simply hate.  There is no middle ground.  On the one hand, the movie and stage musical alike boast songs that have permutated the pop culture as much as songs from movie musicals like The Wizard of Oz, the Sound of Music, or Singin' in the Rain.  The dance sequences alone are something to behold and widely known or recognized, especially the opening sequence with the rival, finger-snapping gangs.  On the other hand, the vein of the musical is recycled and the dialogue a little cheesy and sugary (which is not the best combination).  Still, it's one of those films that have become an undeniable classic, and I would argue or agree to be a necessary inclusion on those AFI lists.

The story is really Romeo and Juliet, committed to Manhattan's titular west side in or around the early 1960s.  Instead of the Montagues and Capulets, it's the Jets (second-generation Americans) and the Sharks (Puerto Rican immigrants), two gangs fighting an ongoing turf war.  Instead of Mercutio and Tybalt, it's Riff (Russ Tamblyn), the leader of the Jets, exchanging words with Bernardo (George Chakiris).  After an extended dance sequence, Riff decides to have it out with the Sharks once and for all and calls a war council.  To make the whole thing legit, he calls on former Jet and co-founder of the gang, Tony (Richard Beymer), to facilitate negotiations.  Yet, Tony, our resident Romeo, wants out of gang-life and at a local dance, falls instantly and madly in love with Maria (Natalie Wood), the Juliet du jour, also Bernardo's sister.  Using this as an excuse to fuel the rivalry, the gangs' conflict reaches a fever pitch, and the love affair meets predictably tragic consequences.  Rita Moreno also plays Bernardo's wife Anita, and she provides much of the comic relief.

West Side Story works because it's an entertaining musical with a timeless (even if recycled) romance and with some of the most potently beautiful songs ever written for stage or screen.  The AFI included three of the songs on the song list and for good reason.  Did you know that the musical was co-written by Leonard Bernstein (music) and Stephen Sondheim (lyrics)?  That kind of superpower combination gives the musical and the movie a kind of classic credibility that other films simply are not as lucky to have.  The music/songs are some of the best in all of musical theater.

The dancing is something to behold in this picture.  Everything is choreographed, right down to the fights and rumbles.  The opening sequence with the famous snapping of each gang has some breathtaking combinations complete with leaps and flips.  That kind of dancing is not often performed anymore.

The film is also a sharp commentary on the state of race relations in America at the time.  One of the most poignant and believable songs in the whole picture is the eternal "America," which also happens to be my favorite.  While set to a decidedly toe tapping rhythm, the song minces no words pertaining to how the Sharks and their brethren get the rawer of the two gangs' deals with the rampant racism they face.

I don't love this film personally, however, because it boils down to the cheese factor.  The love affair between Tony and Maria makes my stomach turn a little; it's too sweet, too trite.  The beautiful poetry of Shakespeare is distilled down into some overly gushy dialogue that I can't imagine anyone, then or now, using.  Also, none of the actors sing for themselves; the voices are dubbed by professional singers as often was the case in these mid-20th century movie musicals.  The acting is also a little cheesy but for the performances of George Chakiris and Rita Moreno, who won supporting Oscars for their work.

Others love this film, including the Academy, since it won ten Oscars, and the movie is a great movie musical of its own accord.  Technically, the costumes, cinematography, and art direction are fantastic, and most of the film's Oscars were in the technical categories, though it also won Best Picture and Director.

I own West Side Story because I found it for cheap, and it is enjoyable to sing along with some of those songs, though I can never listen to "I Feel Pretty" again and not think of that scene in Anger Management, when the Jack Nicholson character forces the Adam Sandler character to stop his car in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge and assauge his anger through that song.  Yet, it isn't my favorite, and I am not sure it even deserves to be the #3 movie musical according to the list.  I would personally give the film an 8 for being very good (but with minor flaws).  Still, it's place in American cinematic history I think is unquestionable and undeniable because of the sheer spectacle it offers.  The film is definitely entertaining and holds up as much today as it did in 1961, and I think that is the very definition of a true American classic.

Under discussion:

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas  (1998)

Last week's Netflix movie became this week's Netflix movie now that I have been spending time building sets and doing other things for the current high school show I'm directing ("Fame: the Musical"),  I tried watching this film last Sunday night, but I was dead tired after some good hard partying and two days of hard labor, and there was no way I was going to be able to stay awake, much less make sense of the hodgepodge of images forming the backbone of this movie.  The week then escaped from me - at least I have no limit on the time I am able to hold onto these movies.

Fear and Loathing...might be classified as yet another drug movie, but it's a cut above others in that its quirkyness makes it unique.  It's based on the book with the longer name by Hunter S. Thompson, a descriptive journey into the deeper parts of the highs and lows of hallucinogenic drugs.  Johnny Depp plays Raoul Duke (apparently the alter ego of Thompson), a strung out sportswriter, who with his attorney (Benicio del Toro), take a road trip to Vegas, partying very hard along the way.  They encounter all sorts of people and places in their trips, both physical and pharmacological, seemingly searching for the perfect high rather than some existential or other philosophical meaning, though the movie takes an oddly philosophical turn by its end.

I liked this movie more than other drug movies because it retained a sense of humor, despite the goal of creating the motion picture equivalents of the most acute sorts of trips.  Johnny Depp and Benicio del Toro give crazy but engaging performances as the junkies in question, and Terry Gilliam's natural sense of the wacky lends very well to the whole visual feast.  More than once, I had flashes of predecessors, like the Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour, and Monty Python's Meaning of Life.  The fact that the movie was set in 1971 and reflected long and hard on 1960s psychidelia, while boasting a killer songtrack that was both geographically and period-accurate, aided those comparisons.

I didn't like, however, that the movie lacked any cohesive plot.  It was really just one long, strange bender punctuated by absurd situations and visual images representing the potency of the drug of choice.  The film was consistent in its lack of cohesion, though: the beginning, middle, and end were somewhat stream of consciousness, starting lazily and hazily and ending much the same way, reflective of the times and culture but never losing sight of the drug-addled perspective.

Still, dreamy Johnny's and Benicio's performances were so complete and believable while decidedly crazy-wacky-kooky, that I was engaged in spite of myself and even laughed a few times.  Plus, there are a series of appearances by several stars and celebrities of all types, and it proved to be fun trying to identify who they were.

I am not sure this certainly weird movie fits into my repertoire of movies I wholeheartedly enjoy.  I like Terry Gilliam's films generally, but this one, no doubt based on its source material, traveled some disturbing roads, despite my open mind and interest in the film.  The subject matter, again, was probably lost on me, but I think I need to rate this film a 7 for being shaky but entertaining, as it did contain some true moments of comedy, even if there wasn't much of a story (which I prefer over a carefully executed though abstract string of visual images).  Also, the film doesn't pass the test.  It's a little too crazy for me, Johnny Depp or no.  It's got some great quotes, though, serious and non-serious.  I might just watch it once more--just to remember the little gems that represent the lessons of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and relive the few uncomfortable laughs this surreal and trippy movie inspires.

Under discussion:

A Scanner Darkly  (2006)

Netflix this week sent me A Scanner Darkly.  I only knew about this movie because a conscientious member of the Imagination of Fantasy group (request membership!) put it on a "look forward to" list, but there is not an ounce of true fantasy about it, except of the science fiction type.  Truth be told, I had nearly zero expectations going into this film and, therefore, should have been a blank canvas, receptive to what I was going to see.  The trouble?  This movie turned me off quickly and never got me back.

The film is based on a Philip K. Dick novel.  Big brother is everywhere, and substance abuse and addiction are rampant.  Bob Arctor (Keanu Reeves) is a narcotics informant who wears a special suit to disguise his identity from even his superiors.  He is ordered to spy on friends (including Winona Ryder, Robert Downey, Jr, and Woody Harrelson)- and himself - as they are suspected to be suppliers of the hottest new black market drug, Substance D.  Yet, Bob is, himself, addicted to the stuff, which has a side effect of producing split personalities in users.  Thus, Bob has to sort out what is real and what is addiction-related while dealing with his friends and would-be superiors.  Oh, and the film uses an animation technique called "rotoscoping" to make it especially mindbending.

I did not like this movie.  I almost hated this movie, but I think I stopped squarely at dislike, because I had this notion that the novel on which the movie is based is probably a great read and a good thriller to sink one's teeth into.  It is also a highly original and intelligent story that explores several philosophical and sociological themes as it relates to addiction, so I probably should have read the book first.  That's where my praise stops, however. 

First, let's talk about the animation.  The idea of using it is creative and original and probably would have lent itself well to the plot execution if it had not been so distracting.  Seriously, I was disconnected from moment one, trying to orient my vision to this technique and become accustomed to it.  Maybe that was the point, but I found it annoying, and I was immediately bored - immediately!  I lost all interest in the film within a very short space of time and felt it might have been a different movie if the live-action versions of the actors were used instead.

It didn't help that the acting was atrocious.  Every single actor was simply not good, and maybe I shouldn't be surprised by that, but Keanu and Winona and Woody and Robert have had occasions of good performances.  None of them offered such performances this time around.  The dialogue was awkward anyway, but the execution of it was just weak and sometimes cringeworthy, furthering the disconnect.

I also have this notion that the adaptation was probably bad, just because I think some great themes and ideas got lost in all of the rotoscoping and stilted spazzing of actors trying to look like they are addicted to something.  The twists at the end had zero impact on me because I was just so over it.  And the score sounded like a combination of the score from Requiem for a Dream and The Fountain, so someone might have been a little too influenced by previous auteurs.  Which explains why the Netflix queue led me to this film next.

All in all, I pretty much stopped caring about this movie within the first half hour.  Others might have found it a mind-blowing experience, but after watching Darren Aronofsky's expertly crafted films dealing with similar subjects (Requiem, Pi), this is but a shadow of that potential genius.  I rate this film a harsh but sincerely felt 4 (for "nice idea, didn't pull it off one bit").  This is in the bad half of my rating scale, as we're below mediocre now.  I have no love for this movie, so there is major failing on the test.  This movie's ambition simply got buried and destroyed in its execution.

Under discussion:

Gone With the Wind  (1939)

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

Gone with the Wind is on the following AFI lists:

The Original Top 100 (#4)
100 Years...100 Passions (#2)
100 Movie Quotes (3 total):

(#1 - Rhett: "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn;" #31 - Scarlett: "After all, tomorrow is another day!"; #59 - Scarlett: "As God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again.")

25 Film Scores (#2)
100 Most Inspiring Movies (#43)
The Revised Top 100 (#6)

Gone with the Wind is one of those movies that have always been part of my life in one way or another because it is my mother's favorite movie, and she forced me to watch it when I was pretty young.  I give it five stars because I do love it like I love a childhood blanket or stuffed animal, and I purchased it based on this affinity for it.  I've seen it enough times, and I associate it with my mom, so it's got that palpable comfort factor.  The love I have for this movie, though, is a tempered love because, and especially in rewatching it to check off some AFI lists, I have some decidedly mixed opinions about it.

The story can be distilled down to basically this: a selfish, spoiled, young Southern belle pines away for a man who will never love her (and who she should never have loved) while the antebellum South crumbles around her in the wake of Civil War.  Scarlett O'Hara (Vivien Leigh, Oscar winner) spends the sunny Georgian summer pining away for her wooden but philosophical neighbor and childhood friend, Ashley Wilkes (Leslie Howard), until she learns that he will marry his cousin (ew) Melanie Hamilton (Olivia de Havilland).  She flirts with every young beau to make him jealous except for the one that fails to catch her eye: Rhett Butler (Clark Gable), a scalawag from Charleston and a man equal to Scarlett's own shortcomings, who sets his sights on her instantly.  Scarlett marries Melanie's brother Charles (and other men she doesn't love) to make Ashley jealous, but he and other men are only interested in fighting for their rights as Southerners (ew) by declaring Civil War.  The rest of the film follows Scarlett's journey as she pines for Ashley while coming to the slow realization that Rhett is her true love.  Oh, and she has a wise and loyal mammy (Hattie McDaniel, Oscar winner) trying to help.

Gone with the Wind is long and in a noticeable way.  Each time I watch it, I can't sit for four whole hours.  This last time, I watched it in three parts.  Plus, I know it so well, nothing gets lost on me when I have to stop it.  Though, I always cry.  I always cry, and I think it's because I'm weary from the long-ness and because I get so upset at how stupid Scarlett really is.  She's really such a stupid character!  Young and naive and selfish, and she's the character the viewer is asked to follow and with which to sympathize.

Gone with the Wind is on those AFI lists because it is iconic.  It is the best picture winner from the "golden year of cinema," 1939.  It is grand in scale, story, and scope.  The romance is timeless and epic, the performances are multi-layered and affecting, the ambition was a marvel of itself.  It appeals to a mass appetite for big and grand.  The costumes are unquestionably fabulous and intricate (they must have single-handedly blown the budget), and the visual effects are very good, especially in the burning of Atlanta.  The score is as recognizable as any modern score (it deserved to be #2, topped only by Star Wars).  It really is a very very good movie, even if it is very long.

Yet, I find Gone with the Wind especially melodramatic, which in my now slightly older years I don't enjoy so much.  I get so mad at Scarlett each and every time I watch this movie.  And then I get mad at why I've been asked to sympathize with the selfish brat.  When she finally marries Rhett (more for his money than for love) in the second act, they seem to be so good together, and then she visits her lumber mill (which she started by marrying her sister's beau, another man she doesn't love) and moons over Ashley again and decides that Rhett isn't worth it, and I just get so mad, because you know it's all going to end badly.  Rhett gives up, naturally, and says, "Frankly, my dear..." when she's finally come to her senses, and the rest is history.

I also just have generally mixed feelings about both the book and the film in general.  The film asks the viewer to be sympathetic with the loss of the aristocratic South, when slavery paved the way for American racism.  It's an undeniable part of American history, but I consider it a dark chapter, not one that should be celebrated and revered.  Maybe I'm just a tried and true Yankee and a bleeding-heart liberal, but I feel sort of squirmy when I decide to watch this movie, regardless of how Southerners might have suffered post-defeat.

I do think the film is its own brand of masterpiece, though I believe that Casablanca is a far superior film in every way.  I think it belongs on those lists.  I'm not quite sure that the high placement on the original and revised "greatest film" lists is necessarily deserved.  I used to love this movie more, but it's changed for me a little, because I've had the opportunity to really digest it and see it for what it is, but I also still love it for what it is.  My favorite is Rhett, he's got all the best lines, and Clark Gable was certainly a handsome man in his time.

I think I would personally rate this film a 9.5 rather than a perfect 10.  Some people will think that's blasphemy, certainly, but I just find that Gone with the Wind is not as satisfying or as fulfilling a film as say Singin' in the Rain or the Godfather or as convincing and heart-melting a romance as Casablanca.  It belongs on the AFI lists because the film, made when it was into what it became, renders it a film of historical signficance in the landscape of American cinema, as it was, literally, the original blockbuster and has long since been imitated if never fully duplicated.  Yet, I can also see why Gone with the Wind would not be appreciated as much by newer movie-watching generations.  I've certainly lost love for it, but it has its place, and I believe everyone should give it at least a chance.  It's best rented - that way it can be paused for bathroom and snack breaks.

Under discussion:

Breakfast at Tiffany's  (1961)

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

Breakfast at Tiffany's is on the following AFI lists:

100 Years...100 Passions (#61)
100 Greatest Film Songs (#4 - "Moon River")

Truth be told, Breakfast at Tiffany's is not the greatest movie in the world.  Don't get me wrong, I love it!  I'm a big Audrey Hepburn fan, and Holly Golightly is among her finest and most legendary roles.  In addition, I think George Peppard is awfully pretty in this film, and the best supporting performance goes to Cat, the nameless slob.  Ultimately, though, Breakfast at Tiffany's is really just a guilty pleasure disguised with some timeless elements that make the film a cut above most other romantic comedies, before or since.

Holly Golightly (Hepburn) is a freespirit living in New York City and socializing with all manner of men, looking for the rich one that will marry her.  She's also a dreamer, and a favorite pastime is to have breakfast while peering through the shop windows at the lovely, sparkly things in Tiffany's.  She's such a freespirit, she's mainly commitment phobic - but then along comes a budding author with writer's block, Paul, who moves into the apartment above hers.  He's kept and maintained by a wealthy woman (Patricia Neal), and Holly and Paul, whom she calls Fred because he reminds her of her brother Fred, who is in the service of the military, strike up a close friendship.  Of course, any romance film fan knows immediately that Paul/Fred and Holly are right for each other, but her wacky individualistic streak and each's dubious exploits in pursuit of money to live the high life in NYC, delay their realization of it for most of the movie.  It is, technically, a romcom, but the movie is more of a formula creator, not a formula follower.

This film is not perfect because, plotwise, it is really just a string of funny and surprising situations which the extraverted Holly and the happy-to-oblige Paul/Fred find themselves in, giving them a not-so-organic motivation to cultivate their budding friendship and love.  There's nothing special technically.  It's no landmark film, and Mickey Rooney gives a decidedly offensive performance as a Japanese neighbor who lives next door to Paul/Fred but who Holly harasses to open the door because she always loses her keys.  Also, like I said, George Peppard was pretty in this film, but he didn't give a ringer of a romantic leading-man performance himself.

The best parts of the film are what make it a winning and entertaining couple of hours in the end, however.  Audrey is adorable as Holly, and it's a different type of romantic lead than what she played in Roman Holiday or Sabrina.  Her character's spirit is infectious and her performance is so charming and effortless, the viewer finds themselves wishing they could be so seemingly carefree (though she has layers, as the film illustrates).  She wears fabulous clothes and has a stilted life philosophy that makes one chuckle.  The score, variations on the beautiful and lilting "Moon River," all for which Henry Mancini was responsible, is as timeless as Audrey's opening scene of cruller, coffee, and Tiffany's shop window in a stunning black gown.

In fact, it's the spirit and the message surrounding the spirit, the one of loving oneself while also not being afraid to love someone else, that makes it such a classic movie.  For that, it at least should be on the greatest romances list, and of course, Moon River is #4 on the song list.

As a movie, I would rate it an 8 for having minor flaws but being very good.  I also already own it, so it was easy to pull out and watch.  It's also easy on the eyes and easy on the mind, so I naturally find it easy to like...

Under discussion:

Pi  (1998)

Netflix is taking me through Aronofsky films, as I've mentioned previously, though I wish I had watched this film before Requiem, at the very least because this was his first feature, and Requiem was his second.  There are more reasons than just that.  I see that lots of people love this film.  I can't say I love it.  I like it - it was definitely a mindbending jaunt for a Sunday night movie, and it left me feeling about as wired as Max Cohen must've felt.  It was complex and intellectually stimulating.  The use of the 16 mm was a brilliant way to film it, lending to the surrealist atmosphere of it all.  But - it was not the life-changing viewing experience I was kind of expecting it to be, what with all of the rave reviews I see everywhere, including on Spout and on Netflix.

Max Cohen is a mathematical genius who has spent long, reclusive hours in his Chinatown (NYC) apartment on a homegrown computer system pockmarking his walls, attempting to unravel some sort of predictability in the stock market based on his belief that everything in the universe can be reduced to a system or pattern of numbers.  His work has caught the attention of a Wall Street heavy-hitter and a Hasidic sect, each of which bases their individual interests and beliefs on a specific 216-large set of numbers extrapolated from the seemingly infinite sequence of the number pi.  The trouble is, no doubt from staring at the sun too long when he was 6 in an attempt to see what others couldn't, Max suffers from some sort of brain disorder that causes him to have hallucinations and paranoid delusions, and it's hard to know whether or not these groups of people are real or imagined or exaggerated by his inability to process daily life.  His only constant is his former mentor, Sol Robeson, who plays Go with him and discusses his work, something that Sol seems to have had a latent interest in himself but is ultimately made to fear, at least for the sake of Max's sanity.

Pi gets major points (like, at least 3.1415926) for originality and effort.  This movie is not some popcorn-flick to numb the mind, though I kind of think I might have liked it a little better if I were on drugs.  It makes me wonder where Mr. Aronofsky, director and auteur here, draws his inspiration.  The intensely smart plotline, which does resonate a little like Kafka as the All Movie Guide description suggests, is something I have never seen before and doubt I will again.  I enjoyed this aspect of it.

The trouble I am having with this film, and specifically, the plotline, is just how blurry the line between Max's hallucinations and his work becomes.  It's not that I need the answer - what is real and what isn't and did he really stumble upon some answer to the mysteries of the universe.  I think it's more effective not to be given an answer that neither Max nor the filmmaker truly has.  It's not that I don't understand that the viewer is following the decay of his mind as the disorder and the restorative drugs he is taking seem to worsen his condition, and to that end, the movie transforms into the visual equivalent of his mental downward spiral.  The trouble I have is that film exclusively follows Max around but fails, really, to develop this character in any meaningful way, which left me completely disconnected from moment one.  I spent a large part of the film puzzling over why numbers should be so cool to him even if nature could be expressed in numerical sequences, why he wanted to figure out the stock market, and why he seemed to succumb to the persuasion of the Hasidic sect when he was so clearly against religion and religious tenets at the start of the film.  The only time my interest or any want of a connection was piqued was when he seemed to have moments of clarity, and then I just got a little bored again when he started seeing brains and other fun visions everywhere again (this occurred multiple times).  I also did not understand the presence of the Wall Street thugs, even if seen in paranoia. 

I've never seen Eraserhead, but I have read that this movie inspires many comparisons.  In more mainstream rather than midnight movie fare terms, this movie reminded me of a rough draft of A Beautiful Mind.  The score was quite trippy - I felt like it was the audio equivalent of walking through a hall of mirrors or a carnival fun house while under the influence of something, which lent the movie a certain level of disturbed-ness and also made me feel a little nauseous, like I was on a Scrambler at a traveling carnival.  The performance by Sean Gullette as Max was pretty daring but not necessarily believable, and the supporting cast was B or C level at best.

In the end, I liked what the movie was trying to do, and I liked it better than Requiem, but I don't feel like I've experienced any revelations or seen any life-changing presentation.  Form any opinions you want about me and my movie tastes, but at least I gave the film a chance.  I give this film a 7.5 between shaky and very good for what I consider to be some major flaws, experimental feature or no, but its level of originality and the direction, which alone was brilliant (as was, like I said, the decision to use 16 mm for the entire thing), and its intelligent storyline with many complex levels give it points for sheer intrigue.  In the world of the test, it does not pass, though.  I couldn't enjoy it on repeat viewings because I was left so disconnected, a little bored, and a little fr