Sometimes I Feel Like A Human Sacrifice: New York Stories (1989)

The anthology film has become a thing to expect in contemporary cinema, a means within which to bridge the gap between loose genre ideas or to create a feeling of a global community discussing the rhetoric of a singular idea, such as love, loss or happiness.  Even the other omnibus works, such as Paris Je T'aime suffer from a heavy sense of knowing that this work is offered within a collection of larger statements, therefore, unjustly affording filmmakers a belief that they do not really have to try and offer anything of worthy cinematic consideration.  This is by far not the case when concerning New York Stories, a set of three featurettes by three directors whose identities are more or less inextricably tied to the city.  What makes this anthology work particularly fascinating is that the products of two out of three of the filmmakers are some of their best work in rather storied and well-regarded careers, and the third while clearly the weakest in the collection, nonetheless lays out what cinephiles would come to expect from a second generation filmmaker and writer in one of cinemas most well-respected families.  Where as other city film anthologies use the space of the movie to wax poetic about the serene and sentimental experiences of the spaces they occupy, New York Stories exists in  world about New York that paints it both with endearing pride, while also making note of all the ways it is a city of struggles, failures and lack.  Two out of the three works exist in a state of magical realism, nonetheless, playing upon the tropes of New York, where as the other manages to pinpoint into a singular narrative of a man and woman "in love," perhaps even extending into its own consideration of the relationship between New York and New Yorker.  I say all of this having only spent a couple of hours in New York as a teenager, not really understanding a bit about its spaces or the bodies which occupy its vast area.  Instead, what I posit is that New York Stories works for all moviegoers because through the intimacy of the subject matter, passion emerges, so much so that it becomes a text book look at New York, the entity, without ever being pretentious or calling attention to many viewers outsider status.

Split into three distinctly different narratives, the first film directed by Martin Scorsese is title Life Lessons and focuses on action painter Lionel (Nick Nolte) who is panicking for his upcoming studio exhibit, much to the chagrin of his agent  Lionel, while allegedly capable of throwing together a show at a moments notice is, nonetheless, anxiously awaiting the return of his assistant and lover Paulette (Rosanna Arquette).  Upon her return Paulette explains that she no longer wants to be involved with Lionel and has indeed just ended a tumultuous relationship with performance artist Gregory Stark (Steve Buscemi).  Flailing to assert his authority, Lionel plays a game of cat and mouse with Paulette, using his power as an artistic giant to convince her to stay and hone her craft in his studio.  However, it becomes clear that Lionel is only interested in using her sexually, leading to her eventually packing her things and leaving, an act that leads Lionel to complete his Bridge to Nowhere painting and mirroring this metaphor with his immediately moving on to a new ingenue during his exhibit opening.  The second film Life Without Zoe, is directed by Francis Ford Coppola and co-written by his daughter Sofia Coppola.  Wherein a young girl named Zoe (Heather McComb) talks in roundabout fairy tales as a way to analyze the troublesome relationship between her parents flautist Claudio (Giancarlo Giannini)  and wife Charlotte (Talia Shire), as well as commenting upon the feelings of alienation which emerge for her parents constantly being away.  In a decidedly child as adult feel evident in later Sofia Coppola work, the film looks at Zoe's attempts to act in the hyper-adult, only able to do so through excessive wealth.  In the end, however, Zoe realizes that sometimes a momentary feeling of unity with one's family is far more valuable than anything money could hope to buy.  The final segment is Woody Allen's Oedipus Wrecks which focuses on Sheldon (Woody Allen) an established attorney with a loving girlfriend named Lisa (Mia Farrow).  Despite success and love, Sheldon cannot shake the condemnation he constantly faces by his mother, played by Mae Questel.  It is during an "unfortunate" accident at a magic show that Sheldon's mother disappears inexplicably, leading to a momentary feeling of freedom by Sheldon, improving his sex life, while allowing him the freedom to excel at his job in new ways.  However, when his mother emerges as a floating entity in the sky line of New York things change drastically and Sheldon's feelings of oppression blow up to a grandiose proportion.  It is indeed not until he finds a new girlfriend appropriate to his mother's strict demands that her presence no longer becomes omniscient, or at least less blatantly so as the closing moments of the film might suggest.

The fascinating thing about this particular anthology is that aside from auteurist elements present within each film, one could find themselves hard-pressed to claim a thematic link between the three separate stories.  Indeed, aside from the psychoanalytic nightmare that is traditional Woody Allen filmmaking from the era, these seem like, as noted earlier, statements on existing within New York, more so that individual films about a city.  For Scorsese, the issue at hand is how one "performs" the New York lifestyle, particularly one like the New York art world which predicates itself upon a certain pomp and circumstance where struggle is embraced, but not something that should be affirmed physically.  Take the distinct difference between Lionel and Paulette for example, he is well off given his status in high art and can afford to drunkenly feign trouble, whereas Paulette's gender and other issues legitimize her struggle and also do not allow her the privilege to simply perform any degree of abjection.  Coppola's film then becomes about the issue of learning class privilege in the space of New York, it is fitting that Sofia helped write this script, because it lends a layer of credibility to how she would have seen the world as a youth, attempting to rationalize the decadence of her youth with the bustling reality of New York, one where hands literally extend from the trash to beg for food, while she can purchase absurd amounts of food, jewelry and even alcohol despite being admittedly too young to understand how credit works.  The robbery in the film takes on a wonderful layer of class conflict, as does the closing moment in Rome become a moment of scathing irony, which would become a staple of Sofia Coppola's oeuvre (it would be fascinating, in fact, to stand this film up against Marie Antoinette).  With these two films in mind, Oedipus Wrecks then considers the nature of constant looking and watching that occurs within New York, to Allen, New York in all its wonder is also a place where every action is scrutinized, because space is limited and filled with many bodies, all with stories and opinions, some more willing to share than others.  Always the existentialist, the film considers what distinction could possibly emerge between Sheldon's singular struggles and the larger struggles of society.  Perhaps it is all inherently meaningless and Sheldon is merely overreacting, what Allen does show is that, in the end, some encounters are simply unavoidable.

Key Scene: Woody Allen steals the show here and Sheldon's smirk when his mother is "being stabbed" will make you laugh.

The bluray for this is surprisingly cheap, but should in no way suggest a lesser product.  In fact, this is probably one of the more overlooked works from the year.

Deprived Of Lessons, I Decided To Run Away: Fantastic Planet (1973)

Some amazing films I come to the way of multiple suggestions from prolific and reliable sources, whether they be dear friends or noted critics.  Other wonderful experiences with films come from picking up a previously unknown film as part of a package or at a flea market both that probably lifted their merchandise from questionable sources to begin with.  I am fond of the results that come from both of these avenues of discover, however, there is a third set of discoveries that seem to be my personal favorite, those being the movies that I unearth during occasional bouts of insomnia or a general inability to sleep.  Usually hoping to find something with an ambiance or simplicity that will lull me into drowsiness and eventually sleep, I end up finding works whose surreal leanings and captivating narratives challenge my pseudo sleep state to its very core.  In the past movies of this vein have included the surprisingly poignant look at mental illness and online gaming through Ben-X, or jarringly, yet critically realized experimental films like Damned If You Don't.  Last night I found myself facing the rare moment of lethargic awareness and was hesitant to commit to anything lengthy and decided that the cult classic French animated film Fantastic Planet would serve as my point of viewing, because I assumed that it would be easily paused should my weariness overcome me, however, I realized almost seconds into the film, with a shrill opening and freaky aesthetic, that Rene Laloux's animated statement on the nature of human existence, would be stealing the next hour of my possible sleep and I was completely fine with that outcome.  Fantastic Planet, is as its name suggests very fantastical.  In the animation style made known by Terry Gilliam and famous by The Beatles Yellow Submarine, Fantastic Planet takes on a bizarre quality, full of humanoid figures whose blank stares and robotic movements both captivating and disconcerting.  The visuals alone could have been enough for me to completely embrace this work, but the fact that it makes very focused and astute statements about the existential being only add to its importance.  Honestly, I am surprised that I did not find myself completely haunted by nightmares when the film finally, and abruptly ended, its exhaustive nature proving the perfect dose to my quest for rest that happened immediately.

Forbidden Planet begins with the frantic fleeing of an unnamed woman who darts back and forth with her child in hand as objects inexplicably fall from the sky blocking her path of escape, suddenly and very intensely blue fingers and hands begin flying towards her, eventually grabbing her and lifting her into the air and immediately dropping her.  The pressure of the fall causing the woman to die as her young child looks on in a state of confusion.  The blue beings are known as Traags and tower over the small humanoid creature that they refer to as Oms, and aside from existing in a tribe-like state, the Oms are primarily seen as playthings for the Traag children, who are not yet capable of existing in a state of constant meditation like the adults.  One young Traag named Tiva decides to save the small child of the recently deceased woman Om, naming him Terr and teaching him the ways and world of the Traags.  Terr, realizing the wealth of knowledge in front of him, laps up everything that Tiva has to teach, in the process becoming a sentient creature aware of the relationship he possesses as a creature in relation to the Traags.  This leads to Terr fleeing in fear of his ultimate demise, bringing along with him a device used by the Traags in the hope that he can share the knowledge with other Om tribes living on the outskirts of the Traag fortress.  Now possessing the information most dear to the Traags the Oms mount a revolt, led by Terr that results in the first death of a Traag at the hands of Oms.  The Traags baffled by such a possible occurrence, up their "extermination" of the Oms in a stroke of genocide by poison gas.  Terr and a handful of other Oms escape the ordeal.  Eventually, with his expansive knowledge of Traag culture, Terr is able to take control of one of their devices, a laser that interferes in the Traags copulation thus breaking their hereditary line.  The Traags are forced then to acknowledge the presence of the Oms as something far more than playthings, but as a group equal to them in power and resilience, despite their relatively diminutive stature.  The film ends with a suggestion that the feuding between both groups has ended and that a peaceful coexistence has emerged between the Traags and Oms, one that is assumedly to last forever.

Fantastic Planet is one of those films whose true meaning, like its animation style is something familiar and identifiable, yet terribly intangible and clearly a simulacra of what a viewer would assume to be reality.  Leave it to a French animator to create such a film.  However, in its seemingly impossible nature, one can grasp multiple possibilities, ranging from realized statements on colonization and French guilt, to far reach introspective considerations on metaphysical identity as it relates to an insurmountable and endless universe.  I realize that to attack this film from any direction is to ultimately rely on reading specific moments or interactions and to invariably ignore others, but it is truly rare for a piece of film theory or criticism to appropriate every single frame and interaction into the larger theory.  As such, I want to touch upon the highly existential nature of this work, one that posits a world so left up to contingency, chance and an impossible control over things as to suggest that they are part of a game in which the Oms, an appropriate allusion to Hommes, the French term for humans.  I have talked about game theory in the past on the blog as it relates to a work like The Cooler, wherein the casino setting doubles as a metaphor for a person being subject to contingency and chance, even in the most seemingly assured of situations.  In Fantastic Planet this notion that a human is subjected to some game played by an unseen force, is placed in the metaphorical hands of the Traags who literally use Oms as their playthings.  Of course, the question then becomes what meaning arises from Terr's discovery of the cogs at work.  This is either a moment where he submits to the existential understanding that all is meaningless, aside from what he deems his own, in his case a quest for knowledge.  Another possibility is that the film is intended to depict a push toward enlightenment after being stuck in an existential malaise, in this the dreary and haunting presence of the Traags double as that constant woe resulting from meaninglessness.  Indeed, it is probably appropriate to read the work as a work about achieving enlightenment, at least in this case it makes the quite out of nowhere ending highly positive.

Key Scene:  People who have read many of my blog posts know I am a sucker for openings that immediately establish the mood and precedent for a film.  Fantastic Planet very much has such an opening and I promise you it will yank you into its world quickly.

Relatively cheap DVD's are available for this film, but since I intend to go region free with my bluray player in the upcoming months, I intend to get the French bluray that is available.  Should you be in that market, I would suggest doing the same.

There's A Rope Around My Neck Now And They Only Hang You Once: Little Caesar (1931)

If it were not for the western being probably the most identifiable in terms of recurring tropes, it would be easy to point to stylistic choices and narrative methodologies within films that one could define to be within the confines of the film noir genre.  Of course, there are some decidedly unique elements that arise almost entirely out of the genre, whether it be the femme fatale of the story, or the heavy use of shadows and other expressionist techniques to play upon the alienation and existential angst of the films less than ethical protagonists.  Yet, I am also aware that the label of "noir" can be attached to quite a few works that themselves, are not entirely of the genre, because as a friend of mine has stated, despite my constant attempts to explain to him the common tropes of noir, noir films are the one's where the guns always represent a penis.  Reductive I know, but rather poignant if I do say so myself.  Needless to say, while the film noir genre does owe its entirety to the hardboiled detective novel, it would not be the cinematic staple it has become in the film canon were it not for the decidedly engaging work of directors like Fritz Lang, who himself was making noir before the genre truly existed.  This is very much the case for director Mervyn LeRoy who directed Little Caesar along side six other films in 1931 alone.  While it is not entirely derivative of the genre, because the genre was not established, an individual with even a cursory understanding of the genre can easily pinpoint all of the tropes that would emerge within the genre, excluding one or two key elements that simply did not work within the crime thriller proper.  Indeed the moments of back alley chases and vague ethical frameworks, much like the shadows that have come to signify the noir film, creep into Little Caesar, consuming the ethical frameworks of the characters and the world they inhabit, and should anybody find themselves uncertain as to the genre making its name loudly in this film, I would only ask that you refer to every line of dialogue delivered and scowl directed by Edward G. Robinson.  In some ways, he is more the face of film noir than Humphrey Bogart could ever hope to be.

Little Caesar focuses on the movement from low-profile criminal to mob boss of one Rico (Edward G. Robinson) who would be referred to as Little Caesar, a name that gives much away in regards to plot.  Rico, a man who clearly expects to get his way, navigates the world with such a sense of guile and tenacity as to make a name for himself almost instantaneously.  Rico is very careful with who he trust in his life, placing almost all of his value in his mob pal Joe Massara (Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.), yet when Joe leaves the racket to pursue his passion in dancing, what little restraint Rico had concerning his ethics are thrown out the window.  Indeed, before Joe can leave Rico demands that he help stick up the club at where he works as a last gesture of friendship and as a means for Rico to make a considerable power grab within his own gang.  With Joe out of the picture, the other members of Rico's gang begin to question his supremacy and even take plan a hit on him, an action that Joe catches wind of and attempts to inform Rico before it occurs, but fails to do so in time.  Despite the hit still occurring, the men hired to take out Rico are less than proficient at their job and only manage to graze Rico, a mistake that leads to his immediate quest for revenge.  Of course, Rico realizes that the world of gangsterdom does have a degree of rules and responsibilities, therefore, instead of outright destroying his attackers, he decides to afford them a chance to flee in the night with an understanding that they will never step foot in the streets of Chicago again.  However, just because Rico feels it in his heart to adhere to the laws of the underworld, does not mean the same for those around him and when Joe's girlfriend comes to discover the tricky situation her lover has been placed in, she jumps at the chance to tell the police.  Rico realizing that Joe is a danger to his survival invades his home, planning to shoot him and escape himself, yet when given the opportunity, his years of friendship block his murderous intent.  Rico, now on the run from the cops fails to escape in time, instead being gunned down in a dockside warehouse, perhaps the most film noir death imaginable.

So since, I am positing this as being one of the first film noir works it is probably necessary to draw upon the ways it works within the context of the genre and the ways it counters it as well.  Firstly, the film is highly critical of moral certainty, indeed, going so far as to depict Rico not as a man who exploits the weaker in the world, an act that would become prevalent in later film noir works, perhaps most infamously involving an old woman and some stairs in Kiss of Death.  Rico does kill and harm people, but it is worth considering that the people who he attacks exist within the same seedy criminal world as he, and to a degree have forfeited a world of moral goodness involving an agreement that nobody is murdered.  As such, viewers are forced to accept Rico as the protagonist despite being a less than morally sound person, although, as noted, his bad traits are tame compared to some of the later noir works.  This moral ambiguity extends rather perfectly into another trope that emerges within Little Caesar, which is the existentialist nature of Rico as a character.  Existentialism posits that the world has no meaning, aside from that which you attach to it, therefore you are responsible only for your actions and how you navigate the world.  Rico is a prime figure in his existential outlook, indeed he navigates the world with a notable consideration for his own safety and self-advancement, so much so that his understanding of relationships all predicate themselves upon his desires.  He understands that to move through the world with a concern for the meaning others apply to their lives would mean making him weaker and less proficient in his crime boss role.  It is then interesting to consider that his ultimate demise comes when he fails to act on his own meaning and listens to the begging of Joe, whose life Rico spares in a moment of emotional shift.  These tropes are the highlights of this pre-noir masterwork,  as mentioned, it does lack a considerable femme fatale role, as does it miss a lot of the expressionist flare and psychoanalytic moments of later noir works, yet it is very much the precursor to one of the wildest of genres in all of cinema history.

Key Scene:  The close-ups during Rico's failure to murder Joe are astounding, the expressions Robinson delivers are jarringly haunting.

I was unaware that this was part of a larger box set upon my viewing of this.  I intend to grab up a copy in the upcoming weeks, it should prove well worth the investment.

Get Up Lazarus, You're Resurrected: Tigerland (2000)

I am on a constant search for excellent war movies, particularly since given their heightened states of tension and leaning towards the epic narrative, usually means that the product will at the very least be engaging and even entertaining.  Of course, when I discover particularly enjoyable films within the genre they are usually the ones that take a huge stride in deconstructing some element of war, or in the case of Joel Schumacher's 2000 film completely rejecting the idea of filming war altogether.  In fact, what makes Tigerland a bit distinct from its counterparts is that it never makes it beyond the training fields, yet manages to still include many of the elements of loss and confusion that are prevalent within a warfare riddled nation, particularly the politically fueled and ethically murky engagement that was Vietnam in America.  While this film does rely on Colin Farrell for much of its performance and narrative, it is a bit varying from other war films in that it is occupied by established characters, who are, nonetheless, not the household names their masterful performances might suggest, this is very obvious in the work delivered by both Clifton Collins Jr. and one of my favorite working actors Michael Shannon, whose cameo is beyond awesome, although calling it such would suggest that the man has accrued a heavy degree of star power.  I digress in my adoration for Shannon, but his scene paints a larger picture for the film which looks at the very debasing nature of training for war, one that is hinged loosely on an agreed upon following the rules, although everyone is aware of their absurdity, especially in the face of absolutely certain death in a foreign country.  Shot with a grainy digital handheld camera and edited disjointedly, one wonders if Schumacher's film would not fit perfectly within the canon of Dogme 95, or at the very least borrows heavily from its push for realism, which results in images that either poetic or horrific, even becoming both in rare occasions.  I am aware of people who will discount this as a war film because it does not have the sort of sweeping grandiose elements of the classics, but where those movies lavish in spectacle, Tigerland counters with a very real consideration of war and humanity.

Tigerland is set at the back end of Vietnam, at a moment when it was quite obvious that success was impossible and that the continual training of soldiers would result in more unnecessary deaths on both sides.  Realizing this one soldier Private Bozz (Colin Farrell) takes it upon himself to become the guy who knows all the tricks and legal means with which to get out of the army, serving as a sort of boatman on the river of Thames who takes people from the hell of training back to their lives which by contrast seem angelic.  These acts are of course heavily condemned by his superiors thus leading to his being constantly berated and demoted in hopes that he will eventually just succumb to the reality that he will end up in Vietnam.  Bozz adamantly refuses this fact and takes to undermining his superiors while also picking out soldiers who he knows are better suited at home.  One of Bozz's first undertakings allows him to help a young southern man return his wife and children on the grounds of hardship.  His helpful actions earn him the respect and trust of another member of the war Jim Paxton (Matthew Davis) who has joined the war after a fallout with a woman during college.  Bozz makes matters worse by constantly contradicting his appointed squad leader Miter (Clifton Collins, Jr.) who becomes the victim of insults and condemnation by drill sergeants who blame him for the insubordination of Bozz, even though it is made quite clear that they are displacing their own frustration upon the helpless Miter. Eventually, Bozz explains to Miter his purpose and through this explanation allows for Miter to obtain a discharge on basis of psychological issues.  While enemies in the higher ranks are obvious, Bozz also makes enemies with the racist and violent Wilson (Shea Whigham) who due to his own psychological breakdown attempts to pull a gun on Bozz and Paxton, an act for which they attempt to get him court marshaled.  While Bozz has done his best to avoid going to Vietnam he inevitably takes the next step and begins training, along with Paxton, in Tigerland, which is describe as the home front equivalent of Vietnam.  It is there that the two realize Wilson has indeed been allowed to stay in the army despite his psychosis, leading to one final shootout, where Bozz takes the opportunity to wound Paxton just enough to not hurt him, but allow for him to avoid being sent overseas.  Bozz himself is sent to Vietnam, and seems quite calm about his fate, only demanding that Paxton never write about him and forget about his presence altogether, although the closing voice over suggest that Bozz's reputation takes on almost mythic qualities.

It begs to be asked whether it is even possible to describe a film that never leaves the foot of a training camp as a proper war film.  Of course, the training flick is a staple of war, whether it be the comedic films of World War II or something more recent like Stripes.  However, these films often have a noticeable degree of comedy and light-heartedness about them since the characters shown are never really experience war.  Tigerland takes its style more from the world of Kubrick's Full Metal Jacket or Ridley Scott's G.I. Jane and argues that in a time of warfare, the haunting experience and psychological breakdown occurs far before stepping foot in the war zone, however, those two films do indeed extend beyond to consider the actual war, therefore adding the layer of reality to the fear and rage that had manifested itself up until that point.  While it is acknowledged that Bozz does eventually step foot in Vietnam this occurrence is never visually verified and at the point in which this is explained the narrative has become Paxton's who also never steps foot in Vietnam.  I would posit that the reason this works with such fluidity and narrative cohesion is almost entirely a result of the particularly infamous nature of Vietnam, then and now.  The soldiers in the film are all aware of how terrible the situation is in Vietnam and were, for the most part, drafted involuntarily.  Their respective anger and paranoia is not so much of having to fight for their country, but, more so, a result of knowing they will be doing so with assured futility.  Where this film then extends beyond just claiming that Vietnam was a lost cause, is the post-Vietnam awareness of how terribly veterans were treated by the country who viewed them as child murders and rapists, completely ignoring that their engagements were forced.  While characters like Wilson and the various drill instructors serve as the antagonists within the narrative, viewers cannot help but remember that nobody wants to be in the situation and any sort of reminder of its absurdity is only a reminder of their imminent demise.  This realization helps to explain why Bozz is such a threat, because unlike Bozz who is attempting to destroy all things in a mindless rage, Bozz manages to get all to think about how complacent they are within their own down fall.  Bozz rejects the war, he rejects the training for war, and attempts to hide it in indifference, when in fact he seems to care far more than any other person in the film, both about the sanity of hope, as well as about ending war both physically and metaphorically.

Key Scene:  Michael Shannon explaining the benefits of battery shock torture is next-level acting.

This is one of the greater war films of this still burgeoning century and is cheap to get obtain.  I highly recommend that you get a copy.

See You Later, Comrade: Army of Shadows (1969)

I am beginning to realizes from a personal and very internalized view of the world, I am most struck by the cinematic stylings of Jean-Pierre Melville.  While the subjects of his films may not always prove the most ideal of characters, the visually unique world with which Melville creates for his characters to inhabit is something I find highly relatable.  The cinematic world of Melville is one that is both crisp and visually evocative, while also managing to be washed out and dreary, reflecting the alientation and detachment of Camus in filmic form.  While many would find the color palette of a Melville film ugly and lacking in serenity, I would strongly contest that the alienation which results from such bleak mis-en-scenes is quite honest and very realized, evidenced both in his work Army of Shadows, as well as his more hip and well-received works like the infinitely cool Le Samourai.  Army of Shadows is a particularly noteworthy film in the well-established canon of Melville films not because it is his best per se, but because for nearly half a century, it went unwatched and dismissed as a severe misstep in the director's career, almost entirely the result of a bad review from the then highly influential Cahiers Du Cinema.  The critics found the highly political nature of the film to be far too overbearing and, more importantly, against their own political stances, which always wound their way into the reviews of this particular group of critics.  Yet, when the same journal revisited the film decades later they instantly realized their own mistake, holding it up as an unacknowledged masterpiece of its own time, as well as being one of the most poignant and well-executed commentaries on the nature of the human psyche during wartime both within and outside the confines of the prisons of warfare.  Melville fills the film with everything that one demands from a work with such gravitas: great actors, highly symmetrical cinematography and a noticeable degree of the stylized to make it transcend the inevitable political leanings that such a controversial subject is bound to pursue.  The result of the care for his cinematic offering is nothing short of marvelous and the fact that this film not only remains highly relevant, but rose from the grave to a second life speaks to the power of both Melville as a filmmaker, as well as the life that cinema with a real message obtains well after its initial arrival.

Army of Shadows with its subtly epic narrative manages to focus on the experiences of one highly influential man during the German occupation of France in 1942, right at the heart of World War II.  The man is Philippe Gerbier (Lino Ventura) a leading member of he resistance who has recently been arrested by SS troops occupying French Vichy and is to be sent to the Nazi headquarters from heavy handed interrogation.  Using his guile and quick wits, Gerbier is able to escape from imprisonment and get right back to work on his work pushing the resistance forwards, wherein his first task is to kill of one of the resistance members who has become a German informant.  Gerbier recruits a set of his best men to undertake the task at one of their safe houses, only to discover that none of his men have the audacity to kill their own men, even if it is known that they have betrayed them, this results in Gerbier undertaking a strangling himself, setting into motion a very clear vision on his part to push forward the resistance by any means necessary.  Gerbier, though a chance encounter at a bar, recruits new members to his cause in the debonaire young pilot Jean-Francoise Jardie (Jean-Pierre Cassel), as well as the devilishly cunning housewife Mathilde (Simone Signoret).  Jardie, specifically, becomes one of the main network members for Gerber, meeting with his own brother Luc (Paul Meurisse) who is also heavily involved in the resistance himself, forming a relationship with Gerbier in the process.  The film then takes viewers on a set of missions and attempted prison breaks, most of which fail.  It is not until Gerbier breaks into prison with the intent to break out resistance members that things begin to look up, particularly when a seemingly impossible escape planned during an execution takes effect and the members are freed.  The farther into the war the members get, the more difficult it is to keep their activities secretive and when it becomes a realization that the groups members are betraying one another for the safety of their respective families, Gerbier undertakes a purging of the resistance to return it to its ultimate focus.  Many of these killings go over without a hitch, but it is not until he demands that they kill Mathilde who has betrayed them for the safety of her daughter that things become murky, eventually having to undertake the task himself.  After shooting Mathilde in the street, the film cuts to close-up shots of the remaining members of the resistance and, subsequently, explains how they each ultimately died.

War movies often handle death in a very real manner, showing its excesses and inconceivable repetition, particularly in works like Saving Private Ryan and Platoon.  However, even when this death is shown in great detail and with earnest concern, a certain degree of glorification and celebration comes with it, because viewers are reminded that the ultimate goal was achieved, even at the cost of thousands of sacrifices.  In Army of Shadows the same sort of entrenched comfort is far from available. From the very first death of the film, one that comes from assumedly natural causes, viewers are provided stark shots, none of the glorification of death that comes from other war movies, a distancing that is only doubled by the awareness that this loss could have been prevented were the guards willing to help the dying man, and while this is a serene death, the later stabbing of a Nazi soldier in the throat by Gerbier to assure his escape is so jarring and out of place that it strikes a viewer as unnecessary, even though it is well-established that any one of these soldiers would have easily killed Gerbier if he were to run away.  It becomes then a larger commentary on the very "kill-or-be-killed" nature of war itself, so much so that the members of the resistance realize that the passing of their allies, in some cases, means their future safety.  Take for example the bruised and beaten men with whom Gerbier is trying to save.  One is beaten to such a pulp (by the way the makeup for these moments is excellent, if not disturbing) that the other offers him a cyanide pill to firstly take him out of his suffering, but offering the second benefit of no longer having to worry for his transport should a chance for escape come about.  It is killing with mercy and self-concern simultaneously and Melville shines his muted light upon all its hypocrisy with such a keen eye that one realizes why any viewer of the era would have been hesitant to praise its narrative, a fact that is certainly driven home by Gerbier who is easily one of the most problematic and troubling characters in all of cinema history.  While he is primarily to be understood for his concern for the movement and for an unoccupied France, it is made clear throughout that he is also, ultimately, concerned with his own survival.  Moments like him hesitating to jump out of  a plane, or failing to stand stoically as a Nazi officer makes a moving target out of him, suggest that all the idealism Gerbier spouts is fine and well, but in essence, it betrays the fact that during war he is just as prone to human flaws as any other person.  In Melville's world there is no right and wrong side to war, especially one that takes such an indifferent stance on human life.

Key Scene: The initial escape from interrogation to hiding in a barber shop by Gerbier sets up the films pace and sort of seedy navigation through deception and is only one of the many perfect moments in the film.

This is a Criterion disc that has, unfortunately, gone out of print.  However, it was relatively recently so the bluray is not terribly expensive.  I would suggest grabbing a copy if only for investment purposes.

I Write On Water What I Dare Not Say: To The Wonder (2013)

It was nearly a month ago when I first watched Terrence Malick's most recent offering to the world of cinema, running out of my way to view what I knew would be an extraordinary work.  Sure it does not stand close to his giant works like The Tree of Life or The Thin Red Line, but even a lesser Malick films proves invigorating, challenging and deeply moving on a level most filmmakers can only obtain once in their careers, which span a set of films that are ten times the size of this art house favorite.  Again, I watched it nearly a month ago and put a review on the back burner in light of the western marathon that I just completed.  Usually there is a week or so window in which my waiting to write a review will prove detrimental to being able to provide anything close to a legitimate reflection and, it should be no surprise, that To the Wonder proved to be the major exception.  Far more condensed than earlier Malick works, this film still manages to tackle some of the deepest questions of humanity, particularly focusing on the way one seeks meaning in a world that is noticeably and, to some degree, purposefully destructive.  I was quite hesitant to get excited about this film because of the heavy backlash it seemed to be receiving from well-established critics who referred to it as being "Malick making a film that another person would make as an homage to Malick," and while I do agree that it gets much more introspective and wandering in its visual composition, one should remember that it has the very purposeful name of To the Wonder, suggesting a very real quest for something beyond and the Malick camera manages to really focus on this journey this time around, even making a decrepit building and a Sonic Drive-In take on ethereal and transcendental qualities.  I would boldly posit that a lot of the hesitation and dismissal of this newest Malick film has something to do with its decidedly Christian narrative, which led to some self-imposed alienation by the generally liberal minded film critic.  I myself am nothing close to Christian, indeed identifying with atheism as a worldview.  Of course, that does not mean that I should dismiss something with such an earnest message and engagement.  After all The Passion of Joan of Arc is a awe-inducing experience and it is about as Christian based as things come.  Malick's To the Wonder is a work concerned with Christian Existentialism and one well worth encountering regardless of the religious framework with which one identifies, because well done cinema transcends all presuppositions.

As is the case with many Malick films there is no one central figure, but, instead; a group of individuals who sort of interact between one another, at times in the same literal space, but always in the same metaphysical one.  The first major characters are the romantically involved couple of Neil (Ben Affleck) whose recent trip to Europe has afforded him an opportunity to meet Marina (Olga Kurylenko) a recent divorcee who is worried about how her falling in love with Neil will affect her ability to raise her daughter Tatiana (Tatiana Chiline).  Even though this is a factor, the two fall wildly for each other on the stormy hills and rocky beaches of Normandy only to move back to rural America, where both Marina and Tatiana experience decided culture shock.  This change of scenery is only heightened by the diminishing feelings of romance between Marina and Neil leading to Marina seeking help from a local Catholic priest named Father Quintana (Javier Bardem) who himself is going through a particular crisis of faith, admitting through the classic Malick voice over that he is uncertain about the feeling of God's presence.  When Marina and Neil end things, she returns to France while Neil, after losing his job due to an environmental controversy, rekindles a relationship with a old fling named Jane (Rachel McAdams) and helps her rebuild her failing farm only to realize that the relationship will not work, proving a fortunate change as Marina returns to Oklahoma where she and Neil get married in a civil union.  Meanwhile, Father Quintana fruitlessly continues his quest to find God's presence even navigating the most dire and troublesome of communities hoping to find beauty only to be told by others that it is real, most noticeably in a conversation he has with a church janitor about warmth of light and the presence of God's love.  It is suggested that Quintana never truly finds what he is looking for much to his disappointment.  Meanwhile, Marina takes her turn becoming indifferent in her relationship with Neil leading to her infidelity with a carpenter (Charles Baker) an engagement that Neil eventually discovers and is enraged by, initially leaving her on the side of the road, only to pick her up moments later.  Neil seeks his own solace in Father Quintana who takes him on his trip to visit with the sick and poor, leading to Neil providing his own forgiveness towards Marina.  Yet the two still separate and Marina is last shown returning to the grounds of Normandy as she catches a flickering light in the distance, perhaps that of the presence each character seems so desperately to seek.

I am not wholly familiar with the tenants of Christian existentialism, although I am aware that it is almost entirely credited to the work of Søren Kierkegaard and essentially argues that humans as creatures live a vacant and lacking life that is inherently meaningless until they are able to find a purpose, which to Christian existentialists must necessarily exist within the framework of a Christian ideology, one that is also very much hearkening back to an older, almost antiquated version of Christianity, that is not concerned with proselytizing, nor is it as derisive and condemning of those whose actions go against biblical decree.  Instead it simply existed as a means to help people deal with their questions of suffering, loss and injustice as it relates to personal worth, as well as a larger societal picture.  Malick's To the Wonder is very much a film about this Christian existentialist issue and I think it very much has its hand on the pulse of some of the issues that still exist within the philosophical framework.  The clear example of the issue arises with Father Quintana who is ostensibly as respectable of an individual as a person can find, going out of his way to preach to those with nothing, while also engaging with people in a manner that suggests genuine human concern.  Of course, he has committed to the ideas of Christianity, but his interpersonal feelings still seem to struggle with the larger questions of the presence of a figure.  Ultimately, it asks the question about whether or not commitment to an ideal will prove enough to mellow the burning quest for certainty and verification of a higher purpose and meaning.  Furthermore, the narrative extends beyond simply suggesting that understanding can come through a direct embracing of the Christian ideal, instead, arguing that an embracing of love in its most positive sense could also result in an outright transcendence of suffering, one that is based on forgiveness and compassion, or in actions that would be Christlike, without simultaneously being Christian.  This furthers the issues of Christian existentialism by positing that the same sort of happiness could be obtained with a humanist worldview detached from God per se.  Yet the most unusual moment in regards to Christian existentialism seems to come through Marina who is never actively seeking its presence, but, nonetheless, seems to find it in the closing moments of the film, arguably adding the very real possibility that the very higher power which Christian existentialism is grounded, transcends even its lofty expectations.

Key Scene:  The last two shots of this film will likely stand as my favorite of the year.  I was not fully moved by the film until that instant and everything came together perfectly and poetically.

I saw this in theaters and it may well prove to be less captivating on a smaller screen.  Nonetheless, I highly suggest you seek it out upon release.

Everything Would Appear To Man As It Is...Infinite: Dead Man (1995)

Here I go finding myself already recanting statements from mere recent blog posts within the context of this all Western month.  I boldly asserted that it would take a lot to beat out Rio Bravo for the top spot, and while it is still excellent and deserved of high praise, Jim Jarmusch's take on a western that is Dead Man, is nothing short of perfection.  I was sold from the moment Crispin Glover delivered a mad monologue on the nature of knowledge, only to be absolutely hooked in by the very authoritative and aging presence of Robert Mitchum.  Of course, Dead Man is not simply excellent for its cameos (believe me there are a ton) but also for its absolute commitment to a specific ambience and visual narrative that manages to exist both within the confines of the western genre, while also pushing far beyond what constitutes the grounds of cinema.  Much like Coffee and Cigarrettes, another wonderful work by Jarmusch, Dead Man is an episodic experience, temporal and, arguably, spatial time are cut throughout by the use of fade-outs and fade-ins pushing towards a transcendent world, only held together by the presence of a singular character.  Unlike, Coffee and Cigarettes, Dead Man could easily exist within a bizarre dream sequence wherein the death fueled surrealist sequences and stark black and white cinematography cause one to think that the film may well be from the ouevre of Maya Deren as opposed to the constantly hip and always distinctly cool world of Jarmusch.  Dead Man exists as a sort of nightmare film one that is not as much creepy as it is incredibly oneiric, in fact, its use of chiaroscuro and shadowing make it reminiscent of the darkest of film noir works, only heightened by the thundering guitar riffs of Neil Young whose work on the soundtrack is top notch.  Dead Man is so many things, whether it be an existential reflection of naming or a critique of man's quest for power through produced wealth it does so with such a considered and focused narrative that I am quite certain it is my new favorite Jarmusch work, not to mention a great contender for a top twenty five film if I ever get around to reworking that list.


Dead Man centers on the travels of William Blake (Johnny Depp) a distanced and introverted young accountant who has been assigned a job in Machine, a town aptly named as it is on the cutting edge of industrialization in the west.  Upon arrival to his job, however, he is informed by the supervisor that he is far too late for the job and will have to seek work elsewhere.  In a moment of frustration he approaches the president of the company John Dickinson (Robert Mitchum) who indifferently dismisses Blake, instead; embracing his personal wealth as well as a rather fond admiration for his stuffed bear.  Defeated, Blake heads to the local saloon only to feel alienated by the rough and rumble nature of the place, stepping outside and helping a young woman who has been degraded by a patron mistaking her for a prostitute.  The incredibly grateful woman, who turns out to be an ex-prostitute lays down with William, much to the chagrin of her lover Charlie Dickinson (Gabriel Byrne) who arrives to their room post-intercourse.  Enraged Charlie attempts to shoot Blake, killing his lover instead and in a quick reflex Blake shoots Charlie.  This action results in his needing to flee, although he has been injured in the shootout, eventually passing out once he makes it to the woods.  Unfortunately for Blake, the Charlie he killed is directly related to John who uses his wealth and power to send a group of expert gunslingers after Blake.  Blake awakes to a hefty Native American man cleaning his wound and spouting about the absurdities of the white man, the man Nobody (Gary Farmer) upon Blake's name, assumes him to be the famous poet, treating him with a spiritual reverence, assuming him to be a spectral representation of the writer.  Needless to say, Nobody and Blake form a duo on the run from Blake's captors, who become more in the numbers as Blake grows in infamy, mostly a result of accidental killings and as a result of a considerable amount of help on the part of Nobody.  Eventually, however, the constant attacks grow to high and Blake is fatally wounded, leading to Nobody taking him to a Makah village for a final set of healing practices, which seem to double as funeral rites, considering that Nobody then sends Blake out to sea, only to result in Blake watching Nobody be gunned down by a pursuing gunslinger, left spiritually alone to float out to sea and perhaps into nothingness.

This movie is deeply ponderous and perfectly planned right from the opening moments.  Much like an early Buñuel film, Dead Man places clever, as well as obvious, hints and foreshadowings to Blake's evident death, whether it be coffins and animal skulls in the background, or a transfiguring of Blake's face into that of a skull during Nobody's peyote fueled vision quest.  While Jarmusch takes this existential preoccupation with death and identity to surrealist proportions, it is not a theme entirely unrelated to westerns as a whole.  Often, westerns by their very nature propose this question of one's meaning in the face of certain death, however, it is usually established within the opening shots, with a ton of deaths or a clever escape by the protagonist from a hanging or bar beat down.  This is not the case with Dead Man, viewers are asked by Jarmusch to move through a incredibly intertwined temporal and spatial narrative that implodes with death, each character becoming more attached to the viewer only to be killed off by the bullet of a gun at the last possible moment.  Jarmusch clearly wants those watching to value the death of each individual, even the despicable characters, because, after all, it is a piece of humanity being lost to what the narrative seems to imply is nothingness.  Often the camera lingers on a dying body, a particularly great example is one of Johnny "The Kid" Pickett (Eugene Byrd) as his young body floats in a puddle, blood slowly seeping into the murky water, made all the more poetic by the black and white cinematography.  Of course, the viewer is not to necessarily place their own identity in relation to these images, but instead; view them vicariously through the bewildered and growingly alienated Blake who seems to simply float through the world as an almost spectral presence, always nearly avoiding death and transcending physical harm, however, even Blake the apparent spirit of the film is capable of destruction.  Yet while Blake can be harmed, it is clever that the film closes on him floating away and not dying, making the deeply disconcerting nature of death seem frivolous in the spiritually calming nature of the closing shots, perhaps a gentle pat on the back from Jarmusch saying that worrying about death is futile, because when it comes it will simply happen and pondering over it would only result in misery and desolation.

Key Scene:  While this film is incredibly perplexing and serene, there are the classic moments of Jarmusch humor throughout, one such being Billy Bob Thorton's character spouting the world "philistine" as well as bemoaning being shot, which provided an excellent reprieve from the intellectually hefty nature of the film.  Also Iggy Pop in a dress certainly helped the scene.

This is a criminally under viewed film in that everyone should watch this, I cannot recommend it enough and demand that you seek out the bluray immediately.

Your Mothers Were Slimy Rats! Their Milk Was Sour!: Hangmen Also Die! (1943)

I am currently enrolled in a Contemporary Women's Playwrights course for which I am finding myself completely enthralled with the complex, masterful and exceptional plays which are being discussed, however, I am not a theater student and am instead taking it as an extension of my gender studies certificate.  As such, when the fellow students reference terms like "Brechtian" I find myself completely lost as to what precisely they mean and have been seeking to better understand.  I thought that by watching Hangmen Also Die!, a play whose script was written by Bertolt Brecht that I would come to better understand exactly the nature of such a style included.  Sadly I am no closer to understanding the deeply philosophical roots of all things Brechtian, however, what I did receive was a rather excellent viewing experience from one of my personal favorites Fritz Lang.  Admittedly, Hangmen Also Die! was a bit slow to start and I found my interests waning a bit instantly labeling it as yet another propaganda heavy war film from an exceptionally good time in Hollywood Cinema, but then something happened and the film found a second, perhaps even third, wind and became an extremely watchable highly cinematic study in human frailty, the notion of good and evil and deception in the name of a larger good.  A chiaroscuro revelation that could only come from the magnificent eyes of the Austrian Expressionist auteur, Hangmen Also Die!, like so many of the rarefied Kino Films releases stands to be obtained and watched, repeatedly if possible, but also suffers from a degree of obscurity that makes the prints available less then stellar, in fact, this particular print is considerably grainy and the sound often drops mid sentence for many characters, nonetheless, it becomes so stylistically impressive that all concern for its damaged nature disappear in the face of cinema at its finest, and a film that I initially chided for its choice of American actors playing gestapo officers, became something with a hugely complex and absolutely enthralling war film with just the right touch of noir madness.

Hangmen Also Die! exist within wartime Chzechoslovakia, which the name alone tells one was a time prior to two World Wars, and in this particular case a moment in which Germany occupied the nation, leaving its citizens uncomfortably within the rule of a cruel fascist hand.  One Czech patriot named Dr. Svoboda (Brian Donlevy) takes it upon himself to kill a German officer who has earned the infamous reputation of being the "hangman of Europe" for his willingness to murder all those not within the strict ideal of Aryan identification.  This act of course makes him criminal number one within the country leading to an all out assault by the Nazi occupants to seek revenge.  Fortunately for Svoboda, an elderly history professor named Stephen Novotny (Walter Brennan) and his daughter Mascha (Anna Lee) agree to help him and in the process also become intertwined within the gaze of the Nazi's.  Realizing that their best means to get the citizens to talk is to take hostages and begin killing civilians until they agree to speak against their neighbors, an action that proves relatively unsuccessful, even as men from the towns are gunned down by frustrated gestapo.  In fact, one member of the community a garrulous, rotund brewer named Emil Czaka (Gene Lockhart) sees the entire thing as a means to assure his well-being and safety within the ever growing power of Nazism and sells out his town for riches and protection.  When word is spread about Czaka's terrible decision a plan hatches to use his as a red herring, thus affording Novotny to go free, as well as to lift the eyes from Svoboda who is growing more conspicuous every day.  While the group is eventually able to convince the Nazi's that Czaka was responsible for the actions, through some clever deviations and redirected truths, it does not negate the deaths of so many via assassination, and while the film ends on a decidedly high note, it, nonetheless, reminds viewers of the losses within the film, which, no doubt, reflected very real loss at the time.

While I will fully admit that this film helped me little in better understanding the intricacies of Brechtian ideology as it relates to cinema specifically, I was quite enthralled by its genuine commitment to the concept of the group collective challenging the forces of evil.  It is out and out a film of World War II, in where the Allies make fools of the Axis, in this case going so far as to appropriate a country very close to Germany as an image of America, right down to its take no bullshit attitude and overemphasis on romanticism.  Of course, this appears to be a critique, but I am more than aware that it is a result of the culture and very much influenced by the propaganda of the era.  What Hangmen Also Die! ask viewers to do is to follow it as a group of individuals make a on-the-fly plan work in their favor, taking odds completely out of the picture, especially considering that so much of the success of their actions is predicated on their good fortune.  This is clearly evident in the luck Mascha has when obtaining Czaka's coveted golden lighter as a tool to frame him in their indictment, or when Svoboda is saved in the nick of time from almost certain death by, none other than Mascha's fiance, whom he had made a cuckold of only scenes earlier.  This sort of reliance on a larger good, helps events like these land, where petty wrongdoings like minor theft and pseudo-infidelity are diminished in the face of military style executions, and what would later be revealed to be large scale genocide.  While religion is certainly discussed throughout the film, it is not a central factor by any means, allowing for it to filmically exist within the context of expressionist noir, a genre very much associated with Lang's later films and while this will not prove to be anywhere near the film that Metropolis or Scarlett Street would be, it still whispers moments of brilliance, and could even be seen as being thematically within the same vein as his well-known masterpiece M.

Key Scene:  The stand-off in the hospital locker room is chiaroscuro perfection.

This, as so many of Kino's gems are, is an expensive DVD.  However, with a little patience one can obtain this as a rental from Netflix and it is more than worth pursuing, as it is a truly wonderful piece of lesser known film.

This Guy Took My Teddy Bear!: Ted (2012)

I remember distinctly a divide as far as reactions were concerned upon the discovery that Seth MacFarlane would be making his directorial debut in something not directly tied to the Family Guy franchise.  One side heralded it as a much needed movement towards the mainstream, although to be fair it is quite impossible to find an individual who has not watch an episode, let along entire seasons of one of the most prolific comedies of the past decade.  The other divide seemed content on dismissing it entirely referring to it as a cheap attempt by the director to cash in on his name and its ties to Family Guy while also engaging in his own filmic desires.  I am somewhat ashamed to admit that for a brief time I certainly fell into the latter category, having found myself growing away from Family Guy over the years and assumed Ted to simply not be for my palette.  However, I managed to catch up with MacFarlane when he hosted the season premier of Saturday Night Live and was completely enamored with the earnestness and vivacity placed into his skits and presence, furthermore, I was reminded that he is truly one of the greater comedic minds of the last decade, both in delivery and in accessibility.  While I have found myself attempting to rediscover Family Guy, at this point with little success, I did find Ted to be much, much more than I anticipated.  While I am one of the growing number of fans supporting the work of Will Ferrell and Ben Stiller as far as over-the-top absurdist comedy is concerned, I find myself watching the work of Harold Ramis and John Landis and wondering where the deceptively simple, normal guy in an unusual situation comedy went.  Thankfully, Ted has shown me that in the hands of Seth MacFarlane this type of comedy is certainly possible and, while he has a ways to go before getting to his level of perfection, MacFarlane is certifiably the closest thing American moviegoers have to a Harold Ramis...aside of course from the still living Harold Ramis, although to be fair it has been sometime since the comedic auteur has offered anything of notoriety.  Ted is far from a perfect film, but it easily falls on the side of being good and shows promise for a successful future for the still young MacFarlane.

Ted begins with the story of John Bennett (Mark Wahlberg) who has always been a slightly awkward person, so much so that he found considerable difficulties making friends as a child.  As such, when he receives a talking teddy bear from his parents for one Christmas, he makes a wish that it would come to life and be his friend forever.  Luckily for John, his wish is granted as a miracle of sorts and he awakes to his bear named Ted (Seth MacFarlane) talking and moving around.  Once verifying that he is not imagining it, John shares his new friend with the world. allowing to become an overnight sensation, which of course comes with its own set of problems leading to run-ins with law enforcement and a fall from popularity, although all along the way he makes sure to stay a dear friend to John.  Fast forward a few decades and John finds himself in a dead-end job, preferring to get high with Ted on a daily basis, as opposed to securing a promising future for himself and his girlfriend Lori (Mila Kunis).  Giving him an ultimatum, John is forced to choose a future with Lori over a comforting present with Ted, causing the disheartened bear to move out on his own and take up a job at a local grocery store, eventually creating his own relationship with an employee.  Yet, certain elements of his past are harder to shake and John continues to sneak away from work and events with Lori to hang out with Ted, leading to an accident in which Lori demands that John move out, much to the delight of Lori's asshole boss Rex (Joel McHale) who has been eyeing Lori for sometime.  John goes out of his way to win Lori back, partially from his own will, but also because Ted promises Lori that he will remove himself entirely from the couple's life if she gives John one more shot.  In the process of agreeing to this, Ted is kidnapped by a psychotic admirer and his son who has an apparent penchant for destructive behavior, leading to Ted reaching out to John despite his previous promise.  Lori in a moment of instantaneous understanding and compassion agrees to help John find Ted, leading to a crazy traversing of Fenway Park.  They eventually save Ted, although he is torn in half in the process, leading to a hopeful repair and a wish from somebody besides John for Ted return.  The film ends on a happy note as Ted returns comfortably back into John's life, while John is also able to mature and marry Lori in the process.

Buried deep beneath the profusely graphic excrement humor and jokes about old people being anti-semetic lies a very real commentary on the troubles of growing old and embracing adulthood that seem all too relevant to Seth MacFarlane, a comedian who is often criticized for being immature almost entirely as a result of his attachment to Family Guy, although I learned during Barbara Walter's "Most Fascinating People of 2012" that he began the show at 26, making him the youngest executive producer on a primetime show ever, a notable accomplishment for a person who is allegedly childish. Of course, Ted makes it very clear that there is a line to be drawn as to what is acceptable for a thirty year old man to be doing with his life and getting high, while making just over minimum wage at a rental car dealership is certainly not one of them, not to mention a problematic fear of thunderstorms that can only be placated by a talking bear.  Of course, in MacFarlane's infinite wisdom a complete disavowal of all these thing is not correct either, for a little light indulgence now and then along with a healthy attachment to one's childhood nostalgia can be a productive thing.  In fact, the narrative makes it rather clear what an unhealthy attachment to the past looks like via Ted's kidnapper who is a single dad who has allowed his son to become hyper-violent while living in his own grand delusion that allows him to dance to eighties mall pop music.  It is a very sound philosophical statement that exists within Ted one that reminds viewers of the very real responsibilities they must deal with on a daily basis, whether it be self-advancement or caring for the ones you love, while also not become so wound up with assuring everyones happiness that you ignore your own mental well being.  It also does not hurt that this film invests heavily in the possibilities of wishing for the unlikely.  A quick glance at MacFarlane's own struggles to get Family Guy on the air proves his own believe in having high ambitions.  Again the film is simple in its narrative, but it is in this muted approached to narrative that I hope MacFarlane is able to find comedic perfection.

Key Scene:  The party scene is pretty good and made all the funnier by some very self-referential humor on the part of MacFarlane.

This is a solid rental film and well worth checking out as it was easily one of the best comedies of last year.

For Your Awareness: Fear and Desire (1953)

I was always hesitant to undertake Kubrick's first feature film, partially because the director himself was so critical of the work and completely dismissed its value during his lifetime, perhaps helping to explain why it went unseen for so long.  I was also rather hesitant to view the film, because as it stood prior to this Kubrick was one of the few directors I was a aware of who had a flawless oeuvre, in so much as he had not made a single bad film.  I was quite concerned the Fear and Desire, released in 1953, some four  years before he would start to get attention with his equally prescient war film Paths of Glory.  Popping the bluray from Kino, based on a Library of Congress print was instantly gratifying and I am not sure why I even had a notion that anything with Kubrick's hands upon it could be terrible.  Fear and Desire was good, in fact, it was really really good.  The black and white chiaroscuro really pops of the screen and makes for a cinematic feast of contrast and shadow play that would go on to signify the film noir movies the director would make in the following years.  Between the intense close-ups of the characters faces and the over all existential themes of the brief first feature, one can easily identify this as a film by the late director, although it is also quite obvious that he has drawn some heavy influences from the neo-realist directors, as well as some tricks for psychological intensity from the surrealist movement.  I realize that it has some dubbing issues, the acting can be a bit iffy and it is rather clear that the film was shot on a low-budget in and around Hollywood.  With that being said, this film is still heads above most other war films and proves that Kubrick is undeniably one of the great masters and perhaps one of the few great directors to make it through his career without a notable failure, critically speaking, most audiences were not ready to engage with such deeply profound material, nor were its more unconventional methods ideal for a non-European audiences.  However, I can only imagine what it must have been like to be an earnest cinephile that just happened to pop into one of the rare screenings of this film, it must have been a revelation.

The film in classic Kubrick fashion is heavily existential, as well as critical of masculine confrontations. With a cast of only five actors, some of which play multiple roles, Kubrick manages to really delve into some psychological issues and focus on power plays and sexual awakenings.  The plot is deceptively simple, a group of stranded pilots must make their way across a river to safety, but become aware of the presence of an enemy general close-by changing their plans to jump on a once in a lifetime opportunity to gain military praise and recognition.  Of course the task of getting to this general is easier said than done as building a raft proves tedious, not to mention the capturing of a curious village girl, as well as the killing of a handful of guards in a house, almost motivated entirely by their desire to take their food. Kubrick paints a picture of a bestial world when it comes to war, something that he would echo time and again, both in Full Metal Jacket and Paths of Glory, as well as suggest its possibility in other non-war settings.  Extreme close-ups of characters eye lines would become a trademark of the director, whether it be Private Pile having a mental breakdown or Alex DeLarge's introduction in A Clockwork Orange, suffice to say this method is used heavily within Fear and Desire and combined with natural lighting and the shading of trees, these intense close-ups take on a whole new level of eeriness.  I want to reemphasize the ways in which this is truly an introduction to Stanley Kubrick, it has all his classic traits jammed into a far too short film, which just explodes off the screen via its 35 mm transfer.  Furthermore, it is a welcome reminder to those who may be interested in independent work that just because an individual does not possess a large amount of production money does not necessarily mean that they cannot make a masterpiece.  Fear and Desire is on a low-fi masterpiece level with Carnival of Souls and that is saying a lot coming from somebody who absolutely adores that film.

Buy a copy of the bluray from Kino, sure it is only sixty minutes long and relatively pricy at the moment, but in doing so you are invariably opening yourself up to a fresh cinematic experience, as well as supporting film restoration and archiving, something I am passionate about and has proven to save quite a few significant films over the past years.

One Chimpanzee, Two Chimpanzee...: The Loneliest Planet (2012)

The mood film is an incredibly tricky style to navigate, where if a viewer is offered too little it can prove underwhelming and lacking considerably, where as if it i s too grand and distancing it is easy for it to become deemed pretentious and result in the dismissal of the work by critics, and, subsequently, moviegoers who often foolishly assume that if a critic cannot grasp the movie then it is certainly not for them.  Yet, when a mood piece is able to find the middle ground between serene simplicity and grandiose existentialisms the result can be profound, and, almost always, quite watchable, at least this proves to be the case for Julia Loktev's The Loneliest Planet, one of the early releases from last year that seems to have become lost in the hype of Big Hollywood films and the liveliness of Oscar Buzz, which is a bit of a tragedy because like so many low budget films this year it is something both mesmerizing and polarizing and considers the neo-couple in a less than comforting light.  In fact, I would closely compare it with Take This Waltz, only this film specifically finds itself set in the mountains of Georgia(the country), as opposed to the urban landscape of Toronto.  Both films consider with equal weight the woes and aftermath of one misstep in a assumedly perfect relationship, while carefully plotting all parties involved, never taking sides in the matter, often still careful to remind viewers that no party involved is truly free of blame.  I am also usually hesitant to praise a film where the landscape completely consumes its characters, for one this is a tool often used to detract from narrative formation and plot gaps, at least this was certainly the case in something like The English Patient.  I will make an exception with The Loneliest Planet, because the narrative is driven by a couples decision to venture forth into a foreign land far from their familiarity inundated with threats both natural and human, invariably crowding in on their inner emotions and ability to engage with one another.  Finally, with the exception of a couple of students the film contains only three main characters, an ever risky endeavor that pays off magnificently in this film.

The film begins with the jarring image of a naked Nica (Hani Furstenberg) jumping up and down attempting to keep warm as she waits for Alex (Gael Garcia Bernal) to fetch a pitcher of warm water to help heat up her manual shower.  It is revealed in this moment that the two are rather expert travelers, engaged to be married, who have decided that their next expedition shall take them through the mountains of Georgia, again that is the country, not the state.  Knowing little of the Georgian language aside from basic bartering skills, the two hire Gato (Bidzina Gudjabidze) a season guide whose decent understanding of English assures their safety to a degree, even if it means paying a bit more than initially planned, mostly because Gato shows open concern for having a woman traveling.  Regardless, the trio makes a decent group and they travel through the rocks, waters and windy valleys of Georgia, all the while Alex and Nica share in their intimacy, only occasionally concerned with Gato's ability to hear their actions.  Unfortunately, Georgia is not a politically stable area and the trio run into some rather angry locals who do not take kindly to foreigners traveling about their land.  An older man in the group goes so far as to hold a gun to Alex's face which leads him to unconsciously place Nica in front of him as a human shield, only to quickly realize his mistake and move back in front.  The man eventually backs down and the trio are allowed to go, Nica packs quickly and moves along clearly infuriated with Alex.  It is during the next few days as Nica deliberately ignores Alex that Gato begins to make moves on Nica, conversing with her and opening up about his own life, yet she eventually realizes that Alex was only acting in a matter of ear and the two rekindle their relationship.  However, before this Gato makes a pass at Nica who is not receptive and runs back to the tent where her and Alex engage in somewhat uncomfortable intercourse.  The final scene of the films shows the three packing up their tents as though it were the first day of the trip, ignoring the very real betrayals and deceptions which have unfolded in the past few days.

As scathing and biting as The Loneliest Planet proves to be towards the idea of marriage, romance and faithfulness, one cannot help but consider the very international appeal of the film, beginning firstly with its setting.  I am admittedly unaware of any other films set in this remote part of the former Soviet Union, but was more than welcoming of the lush landscapes and eerie chilliness of each scene, not to mention the latent tension of its very foreign elements.  It is always rewarding to see filmmakers go out of their way to find locales that are not represented in cinema often enough, let alone in a non-fantasized setting.  Sure lots of people film in New Zealand, but it is rarely in realistic tone.  Even the director Julia Loktev represents a certain amount of internationalism in her Russian-American identity, one that is very much the combination of two opposing ideologies in a historical sense and given Loktev's age I imagine it was a very real experience.  The cast is also multi-national including what appears to be a handful of Georgian actors, one Israeli actor and the well-established Bernal of Mexican heritage who is a staple of Spanish cinema, particularly the films of Pedro Almodovar.  If all of the production were not enough to make this film international, the dialogue is often varied and never subtitled, allowing for yet another level of multi-nationalism, one that in order to fully comprehend demands a proficiency in at least four different languages.  The topics shared by the characters though also expand beyond one nation, Gato speaks about his own past, while also considering the role that China plays in his country, not to mention some rather specific opinions about the Western world, ones that are understandably negative.  All of this muddling together, certainly adds a poignancy to the films closing scene of the separated identities breaking down their thin tents, perhaps spaces of separation, and accepting a connectedness, even if said connection is the result of some rather unfortunate engagements.

Key Scene:  The moment when Alex unknowingly betrays Nica is so simple that it is nearly deceiving and if you do not pay full attention to its occurring may be perplexed as to why it matters.  However, it is a brilliant moment of filming and acting that might be one of the best scenes of last year.

This is a great thing to watch on Netflix, although I recommend doing so when it is dark out, as much of the movie is set against a black backdrop and it can be difficult to judge a frame with any sort of light messing up the screen.

Beau-ti-ful: Air Doll (2009)

Air Doll is a film destined to be something I thoroughly enjoy.  First, it was directed by Hirokazu Koreeda, whose film Still Walking received a more than favorable review and heavy admiration for its clear admiration for the late Ozu.  Secondly, the film focuses on issues of body and gender as it relates to East Asian cinema, a personal and well-vested research interest of mine.  Finally, if those two things were not enough, the film also includes the amazing Doona Bae, whose performance in Cloud Atlas was among one of the many enjoyable portions of the film.  Of course, a set of favorable things in my favor does not necessarily mean that it will equate to a good movie for other people every time, however, in the case of Air Doll, I think its cinematic leanings, Westernized cultural references and somewhat melodramatic soundtrack lend well to most film palettes, not to mention it involves artificial intelligence, allowing for even the most strict of sci-fi enthusiasts to find something to love in the film.  While the critics who claim the film to be a bit lengthy in its execution certainly have a right to do so, I cannot help but defend its drawn out nature as a necessity in regards to Koreeda's clear desire to promote the issues of human suffering and loneliness as realized through a being whose just come to terms with their own realization that they have emotions.  Hell, I would go so far as to describe Air Doll as a work influenced heavily by the ideas and writings of Albert Camus, although if said ideas were to be incorporated in to a Phillip K. Dick world.  Rarely do I ever possess a desire to go out of my way to read manga, although I probably should begin considering it since it does have ties to my research intestates, I really cannot deny my desire to read the graphic text on which Air Doll was based, because it is such a decidedly philosophical film that I cannot help but consider the ways in which the novel either intensifies or overlooks these reflections.  With is existential woes and considerable understanding of generational issues within contemporary Japanese culture, both in this film and Still Walking, I have began to actively seek out this directors other works as I can only hope they are filled with and equal degree of vigor and poetic earnestness.

Air Doll begins with the introduction of Hideo (Itsuji Itao) a middle-aged man working in a clearly draining and financially unrewarding job, taking solace only in his ability to come home and enjoy intercourse with a blow-up sex doll named Nozomi (Doona Bae), leaving the next day to return to his job of under-appreciation.  It is during his leave from the home that Nozomi begins to come to life as an almost spectral essence, one with a human form, but an opaque shadow.  Having only the realization that she has a heart, Nozomi attempts to navigate the world of urban Japan mimicking the actions of those she sees around her, whether it be an older woman bowing around various businesses or a girl singing a children's song.  Nozomi's curiosity with the world around her is so real and engaging that she actually finds herself successfully landing a job in a video rental store, all within the time frame of her owner being at work, thus being completely oblivious to her changed form.  As the days grow and Nozomi learns better how to navigate the world she is able to express emotions and intelligent conversations to the world around her, whether it be an old man reading poetry at a park bench, or with Junichi (Arata) whom she begins a relationship with, one which allows her to experience young love as well as continuing her curiosity with the world around her, taking particular notice of a young girl being sang "Happy Birthday."  Yet when she falls during work and accidentally punctures herself, it is revealed to Junichi that she is an air doll, something he reacts to by willingly filling her back up with air, in a noticeably sexual manner.  After this accident, Nozomi becomes considerably connected with the lonely individuals around urban Japan, sharing their sadness, as well as coming to terms with Hideo's own loneliness.  She eventually seeks to end her life by releasing her air, after talking with another woman and claiming that she did briefly find happiness in her moments of emotion.  Although it is implied that her sacrifice is witnessed by another woman who draws on its serenity to change their own life and seek out moments of beauty for herself.

Air Doll could be read as many things, an existential reflection on modernity and loneliness, a warning for our seeming willingness to attach emotional outpourings to artificial intelligence, or even a demand of its viewers to appreciate fleeting moments of beauty in a world of continued tragedy.  These are all very real themes within the film and certainly worth intense expansion, however, I cannot help but consider the feminist awakening considered within Koreeda's film, whether accidental or on purpose.  At the films onset, Nozomi is a body objectified, an issue faced by women for centuries, and still problematically confronted today, it is not until she realizes that she is capable of being a emotive and rational being that can seek her own desires that she comes to life.  This life could be read as a socio/political/economic awakening as a metaphor for women in contemporary East Asian cultures where they are still objectified within traditionalism.  As such, it is no accident that she seeks employment at a video store that draws heavily from Western culture, a means of inspiration on a very large level for non-Western feminist rhetoric, although they are beginning to create their own feminist voices and identities completely influenced by non-Western histories and philosophies.  Nonetheless, Nozomi's awakening allows her to move out of the domestic space and create her own sexuality, one that is awakened when she is "blown back up" by Junichi which could easily be read as Nozomi having her first orgasm and realizing that she too is capable of sexual gratification.  In regards to sexuality, it is no accident that the tube to represent Nozomi's vagina is constantly being cleaned both by herself and by Hideo, showing a far larger concern for the female sexual body than medicine tends to do so even in contemporary heath and body discourses.  Finally, her death at the end of the film suggests a feminist martyrdom, no different than Dreyer's Passion of Joan of Arc, one that pushes another woman to seek beauty outside of a domestic space, a veritable call to action which will hopefully open the eyes of a handful of other oppressed persons as well.

Key Scene:  There is a scene where humanized Nozomi is pretending to be a doll while Hideo lays beside her and watches TV, in which Doona Bae delivers the robotic movements of a doll, while also expressing a look of entrapment that is acting beyond perfection.

This pseudo-adaptation of The Little Mermaid is a must-own piece of cinema, and while it is a bit pricey the DVD transfer is gorgeous.