Two Old-Fashioneds, For Two Old-Fashioned People: Make Way For Tomorrow (1937)

I realized as today rolled in that I had all but failed to blog this month, which I am constantly apologizing for during this semester.  It might get better in the upcoming weeks, but as it looks there is hardly any end in sight.  I even had big plans to do a Zatoichi marathon this month and that has managed to fall to the wayside.  My busy status is wholly revolving around things that I enjoy thoroughly though so it is far from a complaint and merely a reality, so for me to report back on the movies I am encountering necessitates two things to work simultaneously.  First, I have to be deeply moved in a way by such an encounter as to be determined to set aside time to write a blog about the film in question.  Second, this being profoundly moved by a film also has to occur at a time when I could still manage to set down for more than a few minutes and compose valid thoughts on the subject.  Since writing nearly half a month ago about Lilies of the Field I have seen some great stuff (Nanook of the North, Stalker and Love Jones) and I also saw some atrocities (Arcade and Broken Arrow).  I wanted to write at great length, but alas time did not allow.  In fact, Broken Arrow took me four miserable late nights to finish.  What I come to write about today is something so off the radar that had I not been fortunate to be a member of The POV Cineclub, I would likely have never encountered the work.  The film in question is Leo McCrary's Make Way For Tomorrow, a little film from 1937 that just happens to fit so delicately in the cracks between the classics of the silent era and the wonderful works of World War II America.  Were the movements altered in even the slightest of ways, this film would be completely overlooked.  While the subject matter is hardly related, I would not hesitate to assert that this has the same sort of rediscovered classic status that is afforded to The Night of the Hunter, here, however, the sentimentality runs thick only to dry up by the end and the narrative is not something that causes a viewer heart to begin racing, but, instead; to wrench in the most jarring of manners.  The open acknowledgement on the part of Yasujiro Ozu that this film was one of his major influences is no surprise, particularly given the staging and angles incorporated in this shot, never mind it possessing what might be one of the most curious breakings of the fourth wall ever committed to celluloid.

Make Way For Tomorrow centers around the Cooper family, more specifically the parents of the children who are now grown and living on their own at various locations within the United States.  The father George Cooper (Thomas Mitchell) is facing a reality wherein his old age and failing vision have led to his being less successful at bookkeeping and subsequently retiring.  Alongside George is his loving wife Lucy (Beulah Bondi) who is also dealing with aging and the inability to take care of major chores in their home, one that in the past had housed their four children, centering specifically on their oldest son Barkley (Victor Moore).  With the impending mortgage on their house becoming due George and Lucy are threatened with eviction, calling all of their children home to deliver the rather unfortunate news.  When it becomes clear that staying in the home is not an option, the two parents ask for help from their children, minus one who cannot extract herself from life in California.  While the children all attempt to save face, while also side stepping the burden of taking care of their children, Lucy ends up moving in with Barkley and his wife and daughter, while George moves in with the considerably disgruntled but nonetheless accepting daughter Anita (Fay Bainter).  While the two parents prove to throw off the tense infrastructure of the various spaces they occupy, they seem to want nothing more than to live under the same roof again, George hoping to find a job and have Lucy move in with him again, whereas Lucy attempts to be as amiable as possible to Barkley, even going so far as to help her granddaughter Rhoda (Barbara Reed) hide a burgeoning romance from her mother.  Yet, when these tense structures fall apart, it is the parents who are deemed the problem and Berkley succumbs to the reality wherein he must send his mother to a nursing home, while the family agrees that it is best for George to head to California.  Given then only a few hours of time together before what will likely be their last time together, George and Lucy spend the evening as thought it were their honeymoon all over again, completely overlooking the dinner they had planned with their children.  In the closing moments, the aged couple share a kiss and a goodbye that could give Casablanca or Brief Encounters a run for their money in melodramatic despair.

One might be a bit curious as to how a seemingly innocuous and overlooked romance/drama film from the 1930's could even begin to reflect the ideal film for this genre, but I will gladly put this in the same framework as Brokeback Mountain or Her, wherein it requires viewers to renavigate their understandings on how love works in film and who is allowed to be depicted in such engagements cinematically.  Indeed, if their is a more heartfelt couple in cinema than this, it is only in gradations, because where other romantic films are wrought with melodramatic sacrifice or one-sided desire, this is as intense a shared love as any and one that is delivered with such earnestness from Mitchell and Bondi respectively.  A 1930's romantic film is usually signified by its over-the-top performative elements, but the subtlety and simplicity at play here work wonders for the narrative arch as a whole.  The struggle here is not one of unseen forces (sickness, war or Shakespearean rivalries) which create an insurmountable barrier, but a unwillingness on the part of a few children to return the care and love their parents directed at them, assuming this entitlement to go on forever.  Indeed, as George carefully observes, it is at after the age in which it is alright to tuck them into bed that things get complicated, because while they still expect that sort of guidance, care and aid, their gratefulness will have either manifested itself or completely gone to the wayside, and in the case of the Cooper children it is decidedly the latter.  Even Rhoda who is capable of exploring the world of romance, is only able to do so out of the kindness of her grandmother, who is later exploited and blamed when Rhoda attempts to elope with an older man.  As such, when the two elderly parents are finally able to enjoy their last day together, the romance swells and the world suddenly seems wholly in their favor, between car rides and free cocktails the two receive more than they had hoped for and certainly everything the viewers had desired for the couple, making the fourth wall moment all the more curious, because it is as though the viewer is willing that kiss and George and Lucy break the fourth wall to remind viewers that it is their story.  It takes Linda Williams's notion of genre, gender and excess to its most...excessive, all the while blowing the lid off of presumptions about cinema of the particular era.

Key Scene:  The almost kiss and the turn to camera is so unusual that it takes the best scene, although Lucy on the phone during the bridge game is also quite good.

The Criterion disc looks about as well as a film from 1937 could hope to and frankly it is so overlooked that any love directed towards it could only aid a better transfer in the future.  Buy it accordingly.

The Past Is Just A Story We Tell Ourselves: Her (2013)

I am gonna keep riding this post humanism wave here on the blog, because I have been fortunate to have yet another piece of academic writing get pushed through to a new stage of revisions with the hopes of eventual publication.  Incidentally, much of the subject matter of this paper revolves around issues of cyborg identity and by extension how we gender and other bodies that themselves are not human.  As I noted earlier this is a relatively new point of research for me, but one that is nonetheless proving quite rewarding and at times challenging theoretically.  I know full and well that I would have adored Spike Jonze's Her regardless of having encountered some of this research prior, but much of it would have been purely from a sort of cinematic spectacle and comedic point of reference.    It would be quite a challenge to find a reason for me to not like the movie on those grounds alone, yet when I began to engage with the film (almost immediately) on its conceptualization and navigation of issues surrounding the post-human identity I found myself becoming even more enthralled with the film than I could have previous foreseen.  It works its way ever so cleverly around both the issues of embodiment and what it would mean for an entity with unlimited access to the known world to somehow become more sentient than a person, even one that it had grown deeply attached to in as close to physical way as possible.  The film is vibrant and abject simultaneously, painting in its lens a world that is hip and looks to be a great step forward, but also manages to show the very detachment and dissonance that could create a world where this narrative could emerge.  In this careful construction, I would argue that Her carries the same legitimacy in terms looking forward to humanities symbiosis with technology that The Matrix and Existenz did in 1999, there begin a prophetic warning.  Jonze realizes that this warning is far too late and instead takes a look at how the romantic relations of those in the world will come to fruition in light of this invariable attachment.  In this way, the film proves to be the most important romantic drama since Brokeback Mountain.  It should be rather apparent at this point that I was absolutely floored by Her.

Her follows the life of Theodore (Joaquin Phoenix) a man whose job revolves around writing heartfelt and emotionally charged letters for clients who want to send them to friends, lovers and relatives but cannot bother to spend the time doing it themselves.  While he is exceptional at his job, he has been recently distraught over the ending of his recent push for divorce by his wife Catherine (Rooney Mara) who sees his distant nature and decidedly mellow outlook on life to be starkly opposed to her very hard and critical world view.  While Theodore is capable of maintaing some semblance of functionality at work, he is clearly suffering on the outside as noted by Amy (Amy Adams) and her boyfriend Charles (Matt Letscher).  During his travels through what appears to be a nondescript California location, Theodore comes across an advertisement for a new operation system for his computer that is equipped with artificial intelligence.  Seeing this as a curiosity, Theodore buys the software and after answering a few questions about his mother and interests, he is provided with a voice model named Samantha (voiced by Scarlett Johansson) whose own outlook and desire to learn about the world and Theodore immediately becomes a thing of life-fullfilment for Theodore.  While he is initially hesitant to embrace the desires of Samantha, Theodore and his operating system become involved, at one point even carry out what is apparently a sexual encounter.  In the physical world, this drives Theodore to the final point of willingness to end things with Catherine and when Amy and Charles breakup, he is able to better support her as a friend.  Yet, when Samantha grows closer to Theodore their relationship too grows and in some ways becomes tested after the "honeymoon phase."  Theodore becoming quite frustrated when Samantha attempts to introduce a real woman into the sexual equation.  Yet, he is willing to work at finding a way for their partnership to work and is quite successful for sometime, but during a trip to the mountains, Samantha informs Theodore that she has been talking extensively with other AI operating systems, wherein her understanding of knowledge and presence are beyond his comprehension.  Furthermore, after a brief malfunction, Samantha reveals that she has been in conversation with thousands of other entities, some of which she has loved equally.  In one last conversation, Samantha calls Theodore at night to tell him that she/it loves him dearly, before the entire system goes offline.  Awaking to the broken system, Theodore is momentarily flustered, but eventually decides it is best to simply go and talk with Amy, a moment that suggest the future of a even better relationship.

Her tackles the issues of artificial intelligence, post humanism and the existential justification of life in a way few films have.  Indeed, while it is at a quick thought, I would only place Blade Runner, 2001: A Space Odyssey and The Matrix above this in terms of film's which tackle the issue of the artificial navigating its way into the real in highly indiscernible ways with noted success.  Wherein, the thee previous films pain such an uprising and awareness in a very dire situation, one predicated upon invasion and replacement with something newly evolved, Her notes that the divide might not happen with such force, but the emotional investment will be no less tangible.  The artificial intelligence at play in this film seems to predicate itself upon becoming attached to figures who are already in the emotional dumps as it were, susceptible to a emotional replacement that does not necessarily factor into the most Darwinian of logistics.  Here, Theodore navigates towards the entity of Samantha not for the physical elements, but for the replication of comfort and human connection she somehow purports to offer.  Indeed, it is made expressly clear that this is not a replication of the human form and certainly not a simulacra of the human, because there is never a physical entity to which Samantha becomes attached, although there is an incredibly brief moment in the "break up" scene that could be deemed Theodore's own physical manifestation of Samantha.  This looking for human contact by removing the contact element becomes even more curious when one considers that figures like Theodore make incredible use of video games as a form of escapism, while Amy makes video games for a living, aspiring to be a documentary filmmaker all the while.  The games themselves monotonous, Amy's creation simply being a mom simulation, while Theodore is fixated by a game that looks tantamount to The Myth of Sisyphus in 3D.  At no point do they realize the harm or detachment at play in such a world, because they are so fixated on their individual realities, in so much, as it would suggest that the attachment to artificial intelligence, is not one where fear of mental superiority a threat, but that said fabrications

Key Scene:  The love scene is seriously something refreshing in the use of cinematic language, if only for the ways in which it made the audience collectively react.

This is in theaters.  It is a theatrical film.  Seek it out accordingly.

Barnaby, You Don't Know Anything About Women: Hello, Dolly! (1969)

I have watched a lot of musicals this month and still have a few more to look into, but I am rather certain that Hello, Dolly! will prove to be the example of all of the possible elements of a good musical layered into one brilliant epic number, all helmed by the poised and focused delivery of entertainer extraordinaire Barbra Streisand.  This, however, is only one of the contributing factors to this film as it possesses comedy, drama and enough toe-tapping musical numbers to make even the most anti-musical of viewers want to get out of their seat and dance around, hell I even found myself swaying to the music occasionally.  If any of these elements cannot manage to get the cold hearted cinephile to leap with joy, the inclusion of a singing Walter Matthau is certainly the swelling and inspiring factor of cinematic perfection.  While I might come away from this month with an understanding of Busby Berkeley still being the premier director of movie musicals, followed in a very close second by the eccentric works of Bob Fosse, then I would consider Hello, Dolly!, directed by noted performer Gene Kelly who has made multiple appearances this month on the blog, the actor turned director of the genre.  While wholly different films in theme, tone and appearance, one could suggest that Kelly's transition from actor to director that occurs here in Hello, Dolly! takes on a level of intensity tantamount to that of Charles Laughton going from actor to director of The Night of the Hunter, although the latter does have the notable one and done nature that gives it a mythic sense of scale.  Regardless, Hello, Dolly! is nothing short of a musical at its most ambitious and realized, moving in a sweeping manner through its lengthy runtime, but still leaving a sense of wonderment throughout and a wish that the tim could hold on for just a bit longer, because between the comedic timing of the various actors, a few music interludes that include at least one delightful cameo by Louis Armstrong and what has to be the highlight of Streisand's career, Hello, Dolly! from its opening frames melts into exuberant existence for all to enjoy.

Set in 1890's New York, Hello, Dolly! focuses on a group of upper middle class individuals navigating the spaces of socialite dinners and engagements of marriage and prosperity, most notably with the endeavors of one Horace Vandergelder (Walter Matthau) a tailor and textile aficionado who has long overlooked the necessity of settling down and getting married, admitting the need for a "dainty" woman in his life for composures sake.  While he has his eye on a milliner named Irene Molloy (Marianne McAndrew) it is a woman from his past named Dolly Levi (Barbra Streisand) who seems more interested in accruing his affections after the passing of her late husband.  Using her charm and guile, Dolly convinces Horace to take his time in approaching Irene for her hand, while she simultaneously introduces Irene and her coworker Minnie Fay (E.J. Peaker) to Horace's young apprentices Barnaby Tucker (Danny Lockin) and Cornelius Hackl (Michael Crawford) hoping that their wide-eyed charm will prove just the trick in getting the group to move their affections away from Horace onto their own goals, ones that allow for Dolly to plant the seed of desire in the stoic, but often misguided Horace.  Of course, the narrative plays this entire endeavor out in grand form, involving a variety of parades and dinners with which Dolly must come to odds with her lavish past, one that includes the adoration of Rudolph Reisenweber (David Hurst) and a vast array of other well-to-do individuals, all evidence when she arrives to much spectacle at the man's home and is in an honored guest during dinner.  Furthermore, Barnaby and Cornelius are not exactly forthright in their affections and need prodding and poking to become intimate with Irene and Minnie, eventually needing the women to make the advances, much in the same vein as Dolly is proving to be the instigator in her impending relationship with Horace.  While Horace flails to keep his dignity in tact as it becomes apparent his ways are becoming antiquated, fully evidenced by his nephew Ambrose Kemper (Tommy Tune) outright refusing to listen to his advice and the opening of a new tailor shop by his former employees, he has no choice but to concede to marrying Dolly.  The brilliance being that Dolly never once suggested the reality, instead hinting at it subliminally or allowing for misdirection to work in a layered form.

This movie is grand in scope and no musical number is short or half realized.  Indeed the film has a rather lengthy ten minute opening song and dance bit before viewers are even given a title card.  This is in line with the genre, but even in this context the breadth and length of such performances are exceptionally long.  While it is arguably the case for every musical, I would suggest that the length of time devoted to performance within Hello, Dolly! is intended to extend the metaphor of performing social responsibilities, here referring to ones involving dating and advancing an agenda of marriage.  Take for example, the initial performance of "I Need A Dainty Woman" by Walter Matthau's Horace. The stoic man whose refusal to speak at any length in the non-singing portions of the narrative, is juxtaposed with his marching and tonal shifting--albeit comedically--while singing this song.  Pairing this with a rather extensive use of the tropes of musical genre, allow for the entire song to speak length to what Horace knows he must do socially to accrue such a woman, yet his reluctance to do so is reflected by his musical numbers existing in the space of marching with other, affirming his own retreating back into masculine singularity as an ideal.  It is not until the closing moments when the song is reappropriated to refer to his newly formed relationship with Dolly that it is moved into a space of a large outdoor dancehall.  The performance is newly situated.  Even other songs like the title song, take on this performative layered level as Dolly must navigate a social space where she is both adored and must learn to navigate her adoration with care and poise.  However, it is wholly the fifteen plus minute dinner service seen that uses narrative performance through the musical to its most extensive and realized.  Cleverly juxtaposed with the ideals of social etiquette, Horace's own suspicions about Dolly's motivations and the attempts by Barnaby and Cornelius to escape the judgement of lower class status, the spectacle of flipping and leaping waiters and demanding patrons is evidence of a director whose own work in front of the camera is of decided note to his ability to impose grand visions onto film.

Key Scene:  Did I mention flipping waiters and flying chicken dinners yet?

This movie is worth your time and is certainly easily accessible via Netflix and other sources.

I Never Even Learned Short Division: Alexander's Ragtime Band (1938)

I would appear, at least according to IMDB, that any film that has won a an Oscar tends to get incredibly high ratings, all the more so when that film was released prior to say 1988.  While it is likely that the amount of people rating these films, are low and directly tied to those impassioned enough to go through thirties era films and make ratings erroneously high.  This is the case for the early version of Cimarron as well as films like Wings.  I go on this aside because while I am aware of quite a few films from this era that I actually adore, there seems to be something about the combination of Oscar winner plus thirties era that just do no mesh well.  Wings is not an outright terrible film, but it is not a piece of cinematic magic that having an Oscar should attain and that is certainly not the case for the musical Alexader's Ragtime Band as well.  Working from the music of Irving Berlin, it is indeed only the musical numbers that carry any weight and those elements could easily be gleaned from simply listening to the recordings detached from any moving images.  Suffice it to say, I was not impressed with Alexander's Ragtime Band and simply found much of what it had to offer a bit predictable and decidedly safe, even shooting itself in the foot further by including necessary images of performers in blackface.  I accept that this was a reality in most early musicals, but here they simply exist as background figures, not even relevant to the music at hand.  I would assume that much of the failing of Alexander's Ragtime Band comes from the director,  Henry King, attempting to use the same methodology as Busby Berkeley, wherein, lavish musical numbers were intercut with simple stories, the problem here however, is that there is no discernible rhythm for the various musical scenes and, indeed, the moments in between are often quite bland, consisting of half realized dialogue and a variety of less than fully realized acting moments.  Trust me, I wanted nothing more than to wholly embrace this film, but it simply proved to be a back drop for the swinging tunes of Berlin and the one or two moments of actually well-executed musical cinema were lost in the milieu of middle-of-the-road thirties studio mediocrity.

Alexander's Ragtime Band focuses primarily on the musical endeavors of violinist Roger (Tyrone Power) who sick of his bourgeois lifestyle seeks out solace by playing with a ragtime band at a local shipyard saloon. Along with the aid of his pianist and friend Charlie Dwyer (Don Ameche) Roger seems set to achieve moderate success playing popular tunes.  However, when the group plays one song by Irving Berlin titled "Alexander's Ragtime Band' it stirs up the frustrations of Stella Kirby (Alice Faye) a singer who had used the same song in her own repertoire.  Intervening in the performance by simply hopping on stage and sing, the combination of Roger's musicality and Stella's singing cause the audience to get ecstatic, being invited to perform an encore immediately after the show by the saloon's owner, much the the chagrin of Roger, who becomes in the moment known as Alexander and Stella who has no desire to work with the group.  Yet, the success cannot be denied and the two make amends, eventually coming to find each other very attractive, creating a burgeoning romance in the process. However, Stella is offered a lucrative solo career, which she jumps on immediately, leaving the band although promising to return for them once she accrues enough success, wherein the heartbroken Roger joins the military and works as a band leader and morale booster, although most just as a point of pride for the Army over the Marines.  Whilst away, Roger also gets married, leading to the now equally heartbroken Stella marrying Charlie in turn.  Thus the two create diverging musical lives, both with considerable success, although it is Roger and his turn as Alexander that proves slightly more productive, even attaining sold out shows at large musical halls.  Hoping to meet him one last time, not aware that he and his wife had attained a mutual divorce, she arrives at his sold out performance, only to hear him cue up "Alexander's Ragtime Band." Jumping at her chance to rekindle the flame Stella enters the music hall and is invited by Roger to join in singing.  The two share a tender embrace in the closing moments of the film.

In a variety of senses, Alexander's Ragtime Band is a film about appropriation.  In so much that it is borrowing, sometimes knowingly, other times, without awareness from other cultural institutions and points of popular reference to create a narrative anew.  This is not to be confused with say the post-modern use of reappropriation, wherein the same elements are used but to make a divergent, if not purposefully oppositional statement with the material.  Here, the most obvious appropriation comes in the way of the literal appropriation of the Irving Berlin songbook, the music in use almost arbitrary as long as it proves appropriately up temp or slowed down in regards to the point of reference in the film, it is only the title song and one other song within the film that seem to have definite relation to the larger narrative.  Indeed, even the entire sidewinding plot involving Roger's time in the military seems appropriated, as though the success of other war based musical numbers justified an entire bit about the beauty of the YMCA and waking up to walk of to war.  Sure the war element is present, but only in so much as it is meant to be a point of separation for the narrative to be resolved with unity.  The military appropriation is indeed so arbitrary to the plot as to almost feel exploitative.  I am not doubting that the intentions of the filmmaker and producers were not well-intended, but would also posit that such a wild redirection could only work as a result of it occurring right before the onset of World War II wherein all military imagery would have fell within quite strict use and regulation.  Of course, the most offensive of all appropriations comes in the unnecessary and outright exploitative use of blackface in this context.  I want to assure that I will not defend it as an institution within the classical entertainment industry, but I can accept that it was a popular medium of performance in vaudeville, here blackness as appropriated with absolutely no context, not even a racist one, although its inclusion merely for aesthetic completion and without any acknowledgement beyond this might be all the more racist.  Alexander's Ragtime Band is all about borrowing things, but none of it is done with a shred of skill.

Key Scene:  I really enjoyed the "Walking Stick" number but that is only a result of me doing a queer reading of the moment, although a completely obvious one if I do say so.

There are better thirties eras to watch than this, might I direct you towards Astaire and Rogers films.

Don't Forget...Stay Out Of The Adult Bookstore: Blast From The Past (1999)

Here I sit again contextualizing a film from 1999, which is proving to be one of the most profoundly important years in cinema, post-New Hollywood.  I was originally turned onto this year as being key cinematically by the dynamic duo over at Battleship Pretension, and was a bit hesitant to fully embrace their argument, particularly considering that at one point they delved pretty deeply into the genre films of the year, I realized there was likely some legitimacy to the argument.  Especially considering that it was the year that established The Wachowski's, as well as David Fincher as important directors with The Matrix and Fight Club respectively.  However, it was also a year where more cult heavy directors took stabs at new cinematic engagements, with David Lynch offering the Disney produced masterpiece The Straight Story while David Cronenberg reworked the themes of his classic Videodrome to consider game based virtual realities in the criminally under appreciated  Existenz.  With a decided push towards the dark the occurred this year, highlighted by Takishi Miike's Audition, it is a bit surprising that I would consider completely altering my top ten list to include a comedy, particularly one whose critical reputation is far less established than all the previously mentioned films.  Yet, when I watched Blast from the Past earlier today I found myself genuinely laughing and engaging with a satire of such excellent composition as to remind me of my previous love for Clueless.  There is a lot to like about Blast from the Past, so much so that I was initially hesitant to praise the film since it appeared to purely be a result of my loving of minor parts and not the collective whole of the film, but given a few hours to let it sink in I am certain that it is a justifiable feeling one that I am certain would find a consensus were people who initially dismissed the film to revisit it with a decades detachment.  Indeed, it came out in a year of cerebral and mentally challenging films, therefore, it is no surprise that a highly idyllic, bright, yet no less critical film would be pushed to the wayside.  Blast from the Past is both highly nostalgic for a simpler time culturally, while also being incredibly forward looking in thematic issues and considerations of who can occupy cinematic space.  Also, it has Christopher Walken, which means it is elevated by default.

Blast from the Past begins in a kitschy version of the 1960's where the real fears of the Cold War linger over America proving particularly dire for Calvin Weber (Christopher Walken) and his wife Helen (Sissy Spacek) who have, under the paranoid direction of Calvin, built a whole fallout shelter their home, one that essentially doubles as a recreation of their home.  During a party, an announcement of possible threats from Cuba lead Calvin and Helen underground to wait out the night, hoping to avoid an imminent bomb drop, yet when a helicopter crashes within the vicinity of their home, a mechanism locks the couple inside their shelter, programed to remain closed for 35 years, wherein any threat of radiation poisoning would be avoided.  This would not be that large of a problem, were Helen not expecting a child within days.  Trapped underground, Helen gives birth to Adam (Brendan Fraser) who proceeds to spend the next thirty five years of his life living completely detached from the world.  When the seal is finally broken, Calvin ventures forth into an America that is far from what he remembers, riddled with crime, transvestites and an adult book store.  Panicking he returns underground and suggest that the family reseal the shelter, but Helen disagrees noting that they need supplies and that Adam needs to be able to experience a world outside of the fabricated domestic space, one of skies and oceans.  The desire is met indirectly when Calvin falls ill and Adam is sent to the surface for supplies.  Hoping also to find a girlfriend while above ground, Adam moves into mid-nineties California hyper-idealistic and wide-eyed.  Within moments he attempts to dump off a ton of rare baseball cards hoping that the money will afford him the ability to purchase the far more expensive items on his mother's shopping list, which includes alcohol and pipe tobacco amongst other things.  While on his quest he meets Eve (Alicia Silverstone) a young woman whose desultory lifestyle runs counter to Adam's idealism, however, their seemingly impossible bond forms an immediate friendship, one that is navigated by Adam's hopes of finding a partner and her assurance that she is anything but what he is looking for, particularly since she fears he is mentally unstable, not realizing their is validity to his seemingly being stuck in a time capsule.  As things unwind, it is clear that Eve cares for Adam and that his wild stories are all but so, leading to their undertaking of bringing aid to Adam's parents, while also delicately dealing with the fact that the two are not ready to move into a post-Cold War world.

The movie plays up on cultural divisions with such restrain and focus it is a surprise that this did not fair better in the cult comedy circles.  While it does jump through some of the clear racial and gender issues a person from the era would face, it plays more on cultural cues and social etiquette differences, both as a means to suggest that the contemporary American society is far from ideal, while also reminding viewers that the fifties were rife with their own issues, clear nods to "the problem that has no name" occurring with the character of Helen.  Similarly, it paints a future where non-normative bodies are excepted, a reality that is still yet to exist, perhaps director Hugh Wilson using this a a mirror to cause viewers to consider how far their personal views on "otherness" stand from the wildly conservative Calvin.  Indeed, because it realizes that to fall too heavily on a single cultural difference, Blast from the Past approaches many cultural differences within a relatively short film, dealing with the state of religion and self-understanding in regards to the fifties, where Adam's mind frame places unquestioned value on the lord's name with blind faith, while on the surface people are so lost and disillusioned as to believe that the Weber's are some sort of second coming and thus spiritual gurus.  More humorous than this, however, are the suggestions that perhaps many of the issues an individual navigates in the world half a century apart are really not too different.  Both Adam and Eve are attempting to navigate their worlds to find the ideal other, momentarily assuming that this shared bond cannot occur between one another.  Characters like Eve's friend Troy (Dave Foley) exist as cultural commentators who possess on the spot observations of the individuals within the film who lack an understanding of their own feelings and inhibitions, perhaps playing somewhat problematically into the "gay character as magical conscience," but no less so that Sex in the City would have been doing at the time.  The closing moments become heavily idealistic, but given that the film does not possess hefty stakes or high intensity action this is fine and helps to make the closing conversation between Adam and Calvin, paired with the sudden invasion of Eve's voiceover not absurd, but appropriate, because it suggest that while the present is not perfect, it is certainly more productive than living in the past or fearing for the future.

Key Scene:  Brendan Fraiser and Nathan Fillion fight in this movie, it may not be the best scene, but it was certainly my favorite.

This DVD is super cheap, it is worth blindly buying.  I am fairly certain you will not be disappointed.

A Lot Of People Are Going To Think We Are A Shocking Pair: Guess Who's Coming To Dinner (1967)

One would quickly assume that a film with such an invested interest in talking about the racial issues and dilemmas of an America still in the grips of a violent, troublesome and, more importantly, societally altering ear of the late 60's would prove troublesomely dated by the time I get around to watching almost fifty years later.  One would assume a lot of things about a film like Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, a work by the great Stanley Kramer and starring some of America's most well-established and well-regarded actors.  I had written the film off, primarily because I feared it would have a sensibility that was indicative of its time and the racial elements would be dealt with in a manner far too idyllic and concerned with political correctness to properly deserve the repeated recognition and devotion even years after its initial release.  Sure it may have been the fact that I had the great fortune of seeing this on a big screen or my adoration for a well made melodrama, but I can say with the utmost certainty that Guess Who's Coming to Dinner is not only the rare stroke of masterful filmmaking that results in a perfect piece of cinema (No Country for Old Men and Casablanca being two other examples from different decades), but one that proves more socially relevant today than it ever has in the past.  Indeed, as I was watching the "gimmick"of this film unfold I could not help but wonder that, if this film had not already existed in the cinematic consciousness of America that the notion of an interracial couple, one of a white woman and a person of color getting married, would have proved equally challenging to much of America today as it, undoubtedly, did in the hostile racial climate of 1967.  I am a bit disconcerted by the seemingly comfortable embraces by some on the film's more comedic elements as being the core to its continued adoration, because it is a searing indictment on both the ignorance spouted by those with foolish racist mind frames, as well as a careful consideration as to what a progressive mind really thinks when faced with the reality of "otherness" or socially revolutionary behavior stepping through their doors. Without a doubt, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner works on a structuralist level, but it works deeper on its pertinent and multi-layered consideration of race in America and teaches lessons far too great to be suppressed and should be required viewing on the ideas of race relations in America, much as the work of Mark Twain continues to exist as a similar frame of reference.

For a narrative that runs well under two hours, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner takes great care to include as much information and consider as many viewpoints on an issue as possible.  The story, of course, focuses on the newly engaged couple of Joanna "Joey" Drayton (Katherine Haughton) a recent college graduate who finds herself smitten with the successful doctor John Prentice (Sidney Poitier).  Indeed their relationship would be relatively normal were it not for the distinct fact that both were of different races.  This noticeable division and difference is immediately condemned by the world around them, but Joey, ever the optimist, believes that her parents will not only welcome John into their family, but they will also be open to their rather quickly thrown together wedding plans.  The first to meet John is Joey's mother Christina (Katherine Hepburn) whose shock is immediately and noticable although she quickly comes to her senses and is happy for the introduction to John, who she finds an upstanding and well-to-do man, although she expresses clear concern for how Joey's father might react.  This hesitation is justified because Matt (Spencer Tracy), the patriarchal figure of the Drayton household is indeed uncertain about the entire endeavor, first because he thinks it to be a hasty decision, and secondly, because he is quite aware of the social stigma the two will carry and the very violent way some of the world will react to such an engagement.  Nonetheless, John explains that he cares deeply for Joey and that he will only marry her should Matt give his consent.  A dear friend of the Drayton family, one Monsignor Ryan (Cecil Kellawy), attempts to assuage the concerns of Matt noting that a change in societal attitudes has to happen at some point, regardless of their liberal views, Ryan reminds Matt that they mean nothing if they cannot be backed up with quantifiable actions.  John faces condemnation from the Drayton's maid Tillie (Isabel Sanford) who finds John's actions reprehensible because he is stepping beyond his race.  Nonetheless, a dinner goes on as planned, only made all the more intense by the sudden invitation by Joey for John's parents to join in the dinner.  Invariably it leads to a serious of dialogues and discussions between the families all of which, ultimately, rest upon Matt's decision to give his blessing, which plays out with a stern sense of importance not only within the narrative, but as an extension to the world outside the film itself, almost as if to speak truth to an injustice that transcends the filmic universe and exists in the very spaces of cinematic encounters.

It is precisely the transcendent elements of this film that make Guess Who's Coming to Dinner a continually relevant film.  It is one task simply to create a (to use an earlier term) gimmick about an interracial couple announcing their wedding plans, however, it is an entirely different film and one that grapples intensely with the personal, social and political ramifications of such revolutionary actions for not only the couple of Joey and John, but for the larger state of their respective families and America as a whole.  Take for example the interactions between Tilly and John in the context of welcoming a new member into the family one would expect Tilly to be quite excited, ecstatic and embracing of the person, especially since John is such an upstanding gentleman.  The problem is, however, that not only does John represent to Tilly a privilege she has not obtained, but it also forces her to come to grips with her own racial oppression as a servant, which affords Matt and Kristina some freedom from the chores of house and home, which she undertakes, and likely returns home to continue undertaking well after her work day for the Drayton's.  Of course, this is a layered reading of the film, all be it an important one, and the real issue comes from deconstructing the notion that a person can separate their racist actions from their verbal claims to be nothing of the such.  If both Matt and Kristina were as open to equality amongst the races as they claim to be, nothing about John would have caused any red flags, certainly not his race.  Kristina, of course, snaps out of her foolishness rather quickly and realizes the two are madly in love and that her hesitation is indeed a result of her archaic views of the world, even if only out of the fear for her daughter and soon-to-be husband's safety.  Matt takes a considerably higher amount of prodding and self-reflection before he can come to grips with the issue, both in the shock that it leaves him in his own belief system, but also because he genuinely believes that the couple will face degradation beyond their worst nightmares.  Indeed it is not until he is reminded that love is a transcendent thing that is often lost with time, by of all people John's mother Mrs. Prentice (Beah Richards) that he comes to understand that his passion for equality will just have to fight twice as hard to help the love of his daughter and John overcome the vast ignorance and hate that they will invariably face.

Key Scene:  The entire movie flows like a wonderful stings concerto starting of simply, perhaps even playfully, but as things come together it is clear that like a concerto normalcy can only stand so long and things swell and swing accordingly, often clashing in purposeful disharmony.  As such, the scene where Tillie finally confronts John with her opinion takes on a layer of fury that is matched by a slanted camera angle and an extreme close-up and this is only one of many scenes where the filmic structure alters ever so slightly to convey a mood.

I was mesmerized by this film on the big screen and am not sure how it holds up when brought onto smaller proportions, as such I would suggest renting it before purchasing.

After All, What Is Time? A Mere Tyranny: A Matter Of Life And Death (1946)

The idea of melodrama is something that has its grounding solidly within the romance genre and tends to branch out in minimal ways to other genres.  This is a pretty consistent thought about the stylistic choice, unless, of course, one is referring to the works of the beloved and highly influential masters of Technicolor Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, whose works are no stranger to this blog.  As I imagine most people did, I came to this duo via The Criterion Collection who have done an excellent job of bring many of their films to homes of cinephiles seeking out the most mesmerizing and stellar of movie experiences.  Yet, the film I had the joy of catching up with recently, their 1946 pseudo-war film A Matter of Life and Death, also known as Stairway to Heaven, has yet to receive the illustrious Criterion touch.  As such it went off of my radar for quite some time, but when I heard its mention first on an episode of Filmspotting regarding "romantic gestures in film" only to be followed by its inclusion as one of the hundreds of clips in the all-encompassing Story of Film miniseries, I knew that both its unique narrative and its visual style were something that I needed to witness.  Imagine, if you will, a film that has some of the grandly woven romantic offerings of the best World War II romance stories, but with the surrealist eye of Cocteau.  Moving perfectly between black and white and the Technicolor cinematography which made the duo famous, A Matter of Life and Death is serene, fantastical and easily one of the most artistic moments in all of cinema.  It is clear where other directors would draw heavy influence, whether it be the obvious borrowing by Wim Wenders for Wings of Desire or in more subtle ways for a variety of East Asian romance film.  A Matter of Life and Death, however, does not simply stop at looking amazing, it continues on to be a perfectly pitched story of sacrifice and acceptance of loss that is so masterfully acted it is really a surprise it has not received a larger awareness, because in some ways it is a better film than The Red Shoes or Black Narcissus, both of which are definitive masterpieces.  I have allowed myself almost a week to let the film wash over me to before I was certain, but I know definitively that this is my new favorite work within the romance genre.

A Matter of Life and Death begins in the midst of a sky fight between Axis planes and a handful of British pilots, most notably Peter Carter (David Niven) whose realization that he will inevitably be gunned down and die leads him to seek solace in the radio assistance of American woman June (Kim Hunter).  While he is initially playful with her reciting poetry and telling her she has a wonderful voice, the imminence of death lead to the two confessing their shared hopes for love.  Tragedy is not avoidable, however, and Peter's plane does crash.  This event is followed by a transferring of the narrative to the black and white world of what is assumedly the afterlife, where a variety of deceased figures deal with the incoming deaths, many of which are soldiers.  The bookkeeper, as well as one of Peter's fellow pilots note his absence, despite it being clear that he could not have survived the crash.  At this point Peter's assigned aide to the afterlife Conductor 71 (Marius Goring) admits to having missed grabbing him due to the thick British fog.  This realization then leads viewers back to Earth where a Peter who has survived his crash navigates the land, only to instantly run into, of all people, June.  The two seize the inconceivable occurrence as a sign to pursue their love, realizing quickly that their feelings are quite real.  Yet when Peter begins seeing visions of Conductor 71 and smelling fried onions, the concerned Doctor Reeves (Roger Livesey) steps in to help diagnose Peter's visions.  Reeves comes to the conclusion that Peter has suffered from serious head trauma that, if not treated, will result in his death.  This narrative in reality begins paralleling Peter's own experiences with Conductor 71 who says that he can be afforded a trial to justify his staying on Earth, one that allows him to pull from any person in the history of time to serve as his defendant, but it must happen in the upcoming hours, coincidentally at the exact same time as his surgery.  Finding it difficult to choose a counsel, Peter is hesitant, but when a motorcycle accident takes the life of Doctor Reeves he appears in the afterlife and reluctantly agrees to help Peter.  What unfolds after is a trial between Peter and the laws of the afterlife that transcends space and time, where he is to convince those in attendance that he should be allowed to pursue love that was allowed to blossom as a result of the miscalculation on the part of the conductor.  Heated and heavily semantical, Peter, along with the help of a brief dream induced visitation by June, convinces the jury of his deserved chance and the two are given their lives on Earth, where he survives his tricky surgery and the two are assumedly to live a long and love-filled life.

What makes A Matter of Life and Death both a great romance and an important moment in cinema is that it manages to take its subject matter and extend it to a large scope, considering not only what grounds a persons notions of love, but what causes a person in a different setting to have feelings of animosity.  We are shown the relationship between June and Peter as one entirely of adoration, that goes against the societal norms of British folks marrying one another and Americans staying within the states, although as history certainly showed, that was far from the case.  Similarly, the film analyzes the, then, deeply seeded resentment between some loyalist British and Americans as to their relationship to one another, despite fighting on the same side of a larger war that questioned the value of human life on a scale larger than mere nationality.  Powell and Pressburger manage to deal with the questions with a precise combination of levity and seriousness that shows how entrenched distrust can cause for sadness to more than a single person and, further, how the seeming simplicity of two persons and their shared love can extend well beyond their rather personal experiences.  By pulling from a wide net of historical narratives and centering it with the era of World War II, where combat casualties were high, the film becomes both a reflection and expose on the nature of how love forms quickly or slowly depending on time allotments and how in its most enriching experiences it can take on an otherworldly feeling of importance.  I claim to be no scholar on the ethics/philosophy of love, nor fully aware of its biological process, but having lived long enough to know that it is a real feeling and one that ebbs and flows according to the aforementioned factors, I can affirm that, for me personally, this film really gets the beauty entrenched within true love and passion paints the film both narratively and visually, making it first about a love between characters and secondly about the very love of using cinema to share a worldview.  A Matter of Life and Death, much like its story, extends between at least two worlds of thinking and manages to combine them into a shared moment of wonder.

Key Scene:  The film, as noted earlier, was also called Stairway to Heaven.  There is a scene in the film that makes this name obvious and boy is it a feat of movie technology.

This film is hard to come by, I would suggest seeking it out by alternative methods or patiently await a Criterion release, it should only be a matter of time before it makes their prestigious list.

Time Never Stands Still, Especially Happy Time: Tears Of The Black Tiger (2000)

I am fully willing to admit that Thai cinema, amongst a ton of other regional cinemas has proven to be one of my most under viewed areas, and while I have seen at least one Thai film to date I do not recall being in the right frame of mind to appreciate its deliberate pacing and focused narrative, which is a shame because I am certain that with a different frame of reference I would have absolutely adored the work.  Nonetheless, when I discovered Wisit Sasanatieng's Tears of the Black Tiger hiding in the deep caverns of Netflix watch instantly it looked far too excellent to pass up as an inclusion on my entire month of westerns.  Of course, I fully expected it to be a traditionalist work within the framework of non-western bodies, but what I got with this film was something wildly its own and visually captivating, possessing what may well be my new favorite color palette for a film.  It is a highly pastel based backdrop, almost indicative of the sixties era east asian post-cards and album covers that involve light green and pink patterns to a high degree, a style that would become embraced by the punk movement only years later.  Furthermore, all of the love for Django Unchained, deserved as it may be, often forgets to remember that all Tarantino really does is copy and paste his films together based off of a ton of crazy things he has already encountered in his vast and surprisingly well-rounded film diet.  It is easy to see where a filmmaker like Tarantino, as well as many Korean and other contemporary East Asian auteurs would have borrowed from Sasanatieng's cult classic, both in its decided embracing of the non-linear narrative, while also making decided use of the glossy, high cinema respect that comes with the western genre.  Each rawhide fueled swelling of the soundtrack pairs magnificently with the simple, yet earnest, love story that emerges within Tears of the Black Tiger and never seems forced or repetitive, despite being a film that essentially recreates encounters between specific characters over a varied length of a couple of decades.  Suffice it to say, if this is what I have been missing out on by not engaging with Thai cinema, consider it a new point of reference and the next area of focus when I do one of my marathons reflecting on works that I have failed to catch up with up until this point.

Tears of the Black Tiger is not exactly the most straightforwards of narratives, but it nonetheless does have a degree of linear structure.  The film focuses on a rural area in Thailand that is subject to a particularly rough group of bandits that have been very frequently and very violently scouring the hillsides for money.  Their main figure is that of Dom (Suwinit Panjamawat) a reluctant bandit whose only real passion in life is to make a name for himself in order to assure a life with the upper crust Rumpoey (Stella Malucchi) of whom he has been quite fond of since childhood when the two took a canoe ride together.  In a particular shootout between Dom and a group of police officers, wherein Dom is attempting to make contact with his love, he is trapped by the  officers and dealt with personally by the lead officer, who indeed is slated to marry the young woman, per the bequest of her father who sees the upstanding officer of the law a much more ideal fit for his daughter than any lowlife, and impoverished thief.  Already facing the trouble of authorities down his back, doubly so when his intentions with Rumpoey are fully acknowledged, things are made far worse for the suffering Dom when his own gang members suspect him of engaging in duplicitous behavior and in the process turning their own guns against him.  All the while Dom is dealing with apparent deja vu as he finds himself defending Rumpoey against a group of wily men who mock him for his aspirations with such a woman, but the difference between their initial encounter in Dom's youth and their recent one is a decided disconnect from concerns for harming those antagonizing him and he proves himself an ideal match for Rumpoey in his willingness to sacrifice himself for her well being.  Of course, no amount of establishing his love for Rumpoey, nor her returning of such feelings, can allow for Dom to find solace, because he is still forced to deal with his maniacal gang members and in a poetic final shootout, Dom attempts to reach for a picture of Rumpoey to explain why his actions have been so unusual, only to be shot by a member assuming that he was reaching for his gun.  Dom dies and in the closing moments all that is left is a visual memory of the bond between the two star-crossed lovers, one that was never to be based solely on unjust class divides.

This film is a visual experience, between its heavy use of pastel colors and fiery, almost incandescent lighting, Tears of the Black Tiger fails to have any visual competitors, maybe with the exception of the equally stylized Pedro Almodovar, who films are very much cinematic pop art.  Furthermore, it is precisely in this comparison that I want to talk about the manner with which Tears of the Black Tiger deals with the trope of violence within the western.  Almodover, a well-established director, often uses his highly stylized and comic stripe style visual elements to suggest something humorous, if not out right absurd about sexuality and gender performance.  This sort of detachment allows for viewers to become comfortable with the topic only to have the director eventually slap a very real and ethically fueled dilemma into the discussion, one that refuses to embrace conservative values.  I would extend this frame of reference to Sasanatieng's film, especially considering that it is a film that makes heavy, if not excessive, use of egregious and gratuitous gore.  Although given the pastel wash that lays upon the film it is, like Almodovar, quite humorous and almost laughable when men's heads explode into pink ooze, only to be completely ignored and moved away as though a simulacrum or virtual experience completely detached from human loss.  The notion of death and loss is quite frequent within the western as a genre and what Sasanatieng does within Tears of the Black Tiger is not new per se, he is simply the first one to do it in such a sensational and absurd manner.  Yet, if this violence were to merely go unchecked I would find this film to be far more problematic, but that is far from the case and, again, like Almodovar, Sasanatieng makes sure to incorporate the reality of loss beyond the corporeal within the final moments of the film, depicting the images of both Dom and Rumpoey in picture frames and the credits begin to roll.  Sure viewers are allowed to revel in the excess and violence while the film rolls, but it is not a reality which one should subscribe to for any reason, and the closing credits suggest that violence in cinema, most notably westerns has a degree of falseness about it, but memories do linger and for many in the world they are very much a result of an insane and unwarranted act of violence.

Key Scene:  Shooting a bullet through coin.

Again this is available on Netflix watch instantly, you should bump it way of in the queue immediately.

I Wish I Knew How To Quit You: Brokeback Mountain (2005)

Aside from a ton of the classics included in this month of westerns, I was fairly grounded about my wanting to include Brokeback Mountain amongst the list, primarily because I would strongly defend is placement within the genre, considering the setting and characters of the film, although it is a blatant revision of the tradition in a fresh and much needed manner.  I also wanted to justify its inclusion on the list because it had been a shame gap in my viewing, despite being told that it was a phenomenal work, although that should have been of little surprise considering that it is from the masterful Ang Lee whose varied film career reflect and individual who deeply concerns himself with challenging his own limitations, while also considering deeply personal experiences in the process.  Like his earlier works, The Ice Storm in particular, Brokeback Mountain manages to be a modest production with a grand social statement, one that is as much an indictment of American traditionalism in the face of fear mongering as it is a consideration on the nature of love, desire and intimate friendship.  I will admit that given its release date as being prior to my eventual appreciation for cinema on a large scale, I had allowed the reputation of the film to proceed itself and had foolishly believed that it would simply be a highly exploitative consideration of the experiences of two gay ranch hands.  Of course, I realized my misguided preconceived notions were wrong rather quickly, as Lee manages to make a highly romantic, sensual and passionate film that causes even the most calloused of viewer to root for the struggles of the main characters.  Furthermore, Lee does not shy away from the very real tragedies that emerge when an unaccepted love narrative emerges, showing the physical and emotional toll on those both directly and tangentially involved in something that is pure and unbridled, doing so to near Shakespearean proportions.  Each minimalist guitar strum pushes the narrative closer and closer to breaking of the dam of stoicism, eventually releasing into a deluge of emotions in what easily has to be one of cinema's most heart wrenching sequences of the past ten years.  For people who assume that Brokeback mountain is a irrelevant Oscar bait picture, I strongly urge you to revisit it and all it has to offer, I am sure you will come to realize that there is a lot going on in the magnificent work.

Brokeback Mountain begins during the summer of 1963 when two struggling ranch hands agree to take work from Joe Aguirre (Randy Quaid) herding sheep in Wyoming.  The men Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhal) come from broken homes, Ennis having little recollection of his parents after their death at a young age, while Jack has a tenuous relationship at best, something that allows them to bond, despite both loathing the work involved with ranching.  During a night of drunkenness the two engage in intercourse, an act that is cause for hesitation, mainly for Ennis who has a wife and children at home to care for, although he admits to possessing strong feelings for Jack.  Upon the end of their trip Ennis returns to his wife then fiancé Alma (Michelle Williams) and gets married, while Jack settles down with a local beauty and cowgirl named Lureen (Anne Hathaway).  After a handful of years pass, Ennis receives a postcard from Jack asking to visit with him and perhaps go on a fishing trip, to which he responds with elation and the two instantly rekindle their relationship, which is found out by Alma who accidentally catches them kissing.  Life proves to become difficult for both men, when Alma and Ennis eventually get divorced, while Jack struggles to assert his authority to his wealthy father-in-law, while facing the realization that he cannot make it as a rodeo star.  The two continue their meetings, until Ennis begins a relationship with Cassie (Linda Cardenelli), while Jack presumably begins another relationship with the husband of one of Lureen's friends.  During yet another trip, Ennis attempts to change the date of their next meeting, which results in a heated debate and hateful words being spouted towards one another and they both leave on bad terms.  More time passes and Ennis attempts to write to Jack only to receive a return card informing him that he is deceased.  This discovery causes Ennis to contact Lureen who says that he died in a freak side of the road repair accident, although Ennis knows that it was a result of a violent hate crime.  In an attempt to obtain his ashes, Ennis visits Jack's parents, taking with him some of Jack's clothing, a possession he caries with him and clearly uses as a point of influence in his decisions, particulalry in the closing moments of the film when he approves of his daughters impending marriage contingent on her assuring him that he is doing so out of love.

Brokeback Mountain, like many of the films discussed this month is not entirely a western in the traditional sense, nor does it ever offer itself as something that would be definitively genre.  However, Lee, pulling from the short by Diana Ossana, realizes the power and sway of the western mythology, particularly for masculinity within the midwest.  The film is set in the sixties, therefore, men of the era would have grown up with the rough and tumble images of Robert Mitchum and John Wayne and been rather familiar with the work of Howard Hawks, and just in case viewers would be uncertain of this, Lee includes scenes of the characters at drive-in movie theaters enjoying films and aware of a cultural landscape outside their respective towns.  The masculinity is something both Ennis and Jack manage to maintain, especially since they have chosen to raise families in a conservative word, while Ennis is particularly skilled at asserting his own male prowess, as is obvious in the fireworks scene, Jack is at constant odds with his own feelings of inferiority, seeking fulfillment through rodeos only to realize that he can assert himself when he is being bullied, even if indirectly, as is the case when his father-in-law has a spout during Thanksgiving concerning a football game on television.  The masculinity in this film is performed and to varying degrees so to is femininity performed, particularly with Alma who attempts to feign ignorance to Ennis's fishing trips and their true meaning in order to maintain a structured household.  What is not performed however is feelings of love and passion, while it seems initially as though Jack and Ennis will have a fleeting, purely physical relationship, as their feeling grow over time it is evidence that love is far greater than any need for sexual gratification, particularly when it is revealed that Ennis finds Jack's involvement with other men to be infidelity.  Were it to purely be physical he would have, undoubtedly, accepted it as par for the course.  Lee also realizes the very fragile nature of sexuality in an America going into the Cold War and suggest that many partnerships between a heterosexual couple could have easily been out of necessity and mutual friendship, Alma even offers at one point to return to a marriage with Ennis as long as he will admit to his sexual identity.   Unfortunately, even when the notion of queerness is indirectly expressed it is faced with mocking and fear, resulting in the death of Jack.  The death and murder have no rational explanation, aside from an act of hatred, much like the challenging, yet powerful scenes in Boys Don't Cry.  Brokeback Mountain wants viewers to not only accept the natural and organic love between same sex partners, but to also reflect on what cultural venues have led to the demonizing and emasculation of those who do not engage in heteronormative behavior.

Key Scene:  While it may be obvious the scene when Ennis visits Jack's room is easily the most heart breaking moment of the entire film and will have even the most dismissive of viewer reconsidering the depth of true love.

This is an important film in many ways and will only prove relevant in decades to come, I strongly urge you to grab a copy and watch it immediately.

My Head Is Made Of The Same Material As The Sun: Upstream Color (2013)

It seems as though calling a film transcendentalist would be a bit of an oxymoron considering the philosophical movements decided rejection of all things institutional, yet when one considers Shane Carruth's most recent work Upstream Color, one can find few proper terms to describe its unique, cinematic and absolutely mesmerizing quality and considering that it was written, directed, and, more importantly, produced by Carruth therefore allowing to exist about as outside of the institutional elements of filmmaking as possible, much as was the case with this now cult classic sic-fi enigma Primer.  If it were not enough alone that the film were outside of the system, as one would put it, thematically it draws upon a push from the absolute heights of technology and indoctrination back towards something in the natural world, almost bestial and intangible.  Of course, the film also makes heavy use of Henry David Thoreu's Walden which, undoubtedly, helps my case, although it is not in the "on the nose" pretentious manner that seems far more indicative of a terrible mumblecorp than the absolutely realized and visually haunting Upstream Color.  I would comfortably compare this film to the work of Terrence Malick with far less whispering and considerably higher amount of rejection regarding humanity as being inherently good.  One could also easily draw some connections to the work of Brian Eno, wherein he takes the most basic of musical elements and extends them to their grandest and most realized potential, finding the ambient enjoyment in minimalism.  While Upstream Color certainly uses visual elements in varied and intense manners, it still seems to have an ambient element about it, nonetheless, one that moves through itself and beyond itself, occasionally tapping into the most basic of human desires and experiences, only to make grand statements about the universe moments later.  Upstream Color is an early 2013 release and will likely become forgotten by the time awards season rolls around, however, it is such an engaging and challenging cinematic experience that I am convinced that it will do very well come the end of the year when I reflect on my favorite film experiences of the year.

Upstream Color certainly has a narrative, however, much like Primer it is so intertwined, cyclical and non-linear as to make navigating it with any degree of certainty, nearly impossible.  What does exist is a series of characters and ideas which seem to result in some identifiable narrative moments.  The main character of the narrative appears to be Kris (Amy Seimetz) a graphic designer whose run in with a drug dealer known only as The Thief (Thiago Martins) results in her losing all her assets, and her job, when the drug, created by some hybrid of plant, liquid and insect causes her to be hypnotized into following every order of The Thief.  This portion, however, is followed by Kris, now possessing much shorter hair and her attempts to rekindle a relationship with her estranged husband Jeff (Shane Carruth) whose own illicit behavior as an off the books broker for a set of motels leads to a certain degree of paranoia.  These interactions, as well as brief other occurences, are monitored by The Sampler (Andrew Sensenig) who appears to be an experimental musician with an expressed interest in capturing and altering the noises of nature into ambient, polyphonic musicscapes.  However, considering the location of much of The Sampler's work it is also quite possible that he is a pig farmer, who has music as a very secondary hobby.  When the traumas of the past and Jeff's own problematic present state lead to a falling out the couple almost split ways, only to decide to give their relationship one more shot, this time with a greater degree of success, although there arises on issue as to their shared understanding of past events,  particularly Jeff's assurance that what Kris assumes to be her past is indeed his own.  However, their memories seem to collide together in poetic certainty when the two arrive at The Sampler's pig farm and find themselves magnetically drawn to the animals, an act that has a certain degree of connection based on Kris and her previous run-in with The Thief, however, the involvement of other previously unidentified bodies makes the experience both incredibly personal to Kris and seemingly universal to all those involved, including Jeff and The Sampler, and, indirectly, The Thief.

It is the very indistinguishable line between the personal and the universal that seems to draw the narrative ideas of the movie together.  It is no accident that the film borrowed heavily from Thoreau's Walden exists in a similar thematic space, although to be fair that is very much the nature of transcendentalism.  It first involves a person finding themselves in relation to the institutionalized state they live in, then rejecting it and in the process of rediscovery finding a larger meaning.  One of the best moments of this within Walden involves Thoreau innocently looking into a frozen like at the habitat below leading to his own personal identity crisis, followed by a profound reflection on his relationship with a higher entity, in his case God.  Upstream Color is not so much oriented towards the higher deity aspect, although Kris and her vision of a sun-headed man, could certainly glean such a response, instead; it seems concerned with a push towards a healthy non-institutionalized way of living.  In fact, even the very drugs that exist within the narrative are completely detached from an sort of chemical-pharmeaceutical hands.  They appear to come from the earth, eerily manifesting themselves out of nothingness.  Interestingly enough, while Kris is going through the process of rejecting all her "earthly possession" as it were, her diet consists solely of water and ice, a veritable cleansing that goes along with her move towards a transcendent lifestyle.  One could certainly argue that the tension in her relationship with Jeff is a result of his continued attachment to the institutionalized world, even though his existence is entirely detached on paper.  Furthermore, the irony of them moving through hotels is not lost, in so much as not only is it not a home they built on their own, much as Thoreau did, it is further a space that even as it is intended to be a place of safe space and rest is not one of possession.  As such they must return to the dirt of the earth for the answers, and Carruth is clever to make it the most disgusting of places, a pigsty, perhaps suggesting that life is eternally attached to the most grotesque and it is in this realization that others can begin to share in the beauty of the world, at least the closing montages suggest such a possibility.

Key Scene:  The sun-head scene involving Kris and The Thief is cinematic magic.  I am almost scared as to look up how it was done, as it would inevitably spoil some of its awe.

This is a stellar work, it is well worth obtaining on bluray to view once, twice or even three times.  I imagine it even exists as a wonderful sort of backdrop when muted.

If You Lose The War, Don't Blame Me: The General (1926)

I have long adored Buster Keaton as being both a brilliant filmmaker and a master of the slapstick comedy genre.  In many ways one can tie Keaton to all the best elements of the silent era, whether they be the great narratives, captivating visuals or senses for a cinematic landscape that is capable of intense specifics and grand generalities.  The General is certainly Keaton's most well-regarded film, one that often gets placed as number one in his oeuvre as well as being in top hundred lists on a near regular basis, in fact, if I am not mistaken it has also managed to find its way onto the most recent incarnation of the Sight and Sound poll.  While I will probably always be partial to Sherlock Jr., I certainly found myself completely captivated by the world of The General and even became aware of myself laughing out loud at many moments in the film, something that seems to be a rare occurrence when I engage with movies these days, let alone a silent era film at that.  Perhaps it is the universality of the narrative, or the genuine zeal of the stunts and comedy in The General, but damn if it is not a well-perfected bit of film, that leads me to suggest that it is no far extension to mention the late Keaton in the same breath as other major cinematic figures, whether they be Welles, Kurosawa or Renoir.  I know that Chaplin would prove more successful and that Harold Lloyd would commit to a higher degree of insanity, but one of my many adorations towards Keaton is his seeming ability to effortlessly weave both the serious elements of his film, in this case, the trials of war, with complete absurdity, thus allowing viewers to, unknowingly, become fully aware of the more serious and to some degree illogical elements of war.  Of course, it is not necessarily the ideal commentary one would hope for considering the clear positive and negative sides of the war, however, it is a film from the twenties, and is certainly far more critical of The South than say, The Birth of a Nation, furthermore, it is not unlikely that Keaton stages his protagonist on the side of the Confederacy as a means to layer on the irony.  If all of this manages, however, to not be a selling point it is worth remembering that this film possesses the single most expensive scene in all of the silent era pictures, and is well worth it as far as the history of cinema should be concerned.

The General focuses on the attempts of railroad engineer Johnnie Gray (Buster Keaton) to become a soldier with the Confederacy, almost entirely to assure the well being of his fiancee Annabelle Lee (Marion Mack) and the upkeep of his locomotive The General, for where the film obviously draws its title.  Upon discovering that Gray is a engineer the South rejects his desires to enlist and say that he should stay at home, however, the officers fail to explain their decision to Gray who assumes it is a negative choice, leading to his repeated attempts to join the Confederacy, particularly after he is egged on by his fiancee's brother and father.  Annabelle not realizing precisely why Gray is not enlisted, threatens to leave him unless he shows up in the clothing of the Confederacy.  Time passes and during an unusual event, Annabelle becomes a prisoner to escaping soldiers, leading to Gray chasing them down on a pushcart, which leads to the mid-section of the film which is a glorious and lengthy set of chases and re-chases between Gray and the soldiers in blue, often taking turns throwing things into one another's paths to slow down their already specified mobility.  During a night when Gray sneaks into the enemy camp he discovers their plans, which revolve heavily around a specific bridged trade route and after taking the lead in his locomotive, he is able to draw the Union soldiers towards the bridge, which he has started on fire, causing the passing trains to pass over the bridge, only to have it cave in while riding over it, leading to the destruction of the trade route in the process.   This is followed by a thorough trouncing of the soldiers on the part of the South, a barrage which directly involves Gray, at one point he becomes the bearer of the Confederate flag.  In the end, however, Gray obtains the thing he truly desires, via reuniting with his fiancee who has forgiven him and understands his situation, the two are shown kissing, while Gray half-heartedly salutes the passing soldiers, considering that his efforts on the train led to several degrees of promotion in one fell swoop.

The General is a lot of different things, whether it be a early reflection on the filmic possibilities concerning an anti-war statement, a fear of modernization blocking from human interaction, even in a negative sense, or perhaps most obviously it is a romance.  One with these suggestions can create arguments as to their validity and relevance to the respective film, however, there is an undeniable and outspoken consensus that this is easily one of the greatest comedic films of all-time, in not the to few concerning America specifically.  The question then arises as to what precisely makes The General such a stand out comedy, often placed higher on lists than any other Keaton film, and in many instances well above the first mention of Chaplin.  I would suggest that a ton of the support and eventual critical success of the film is its purposeful commitment to some of the more traditional tropes of Westernized culture, although completely reverting and reappropriating them to fit the desired situation.  It is no small feat to move a large train forwards and backwards, let alone choreographing one's movements through that area as well, much like Lloyd and Chaplin the shear athleticism is baffling and to center it within a comedic context is something entirely its own brilliance.  Keaton would often forces his way through scenes to make the moment work, diving, twisting and dodging accordingly all in the name getting the ideal shot or sequence.  Where the slapstick elements not enough, however, it manages to be further brilliant by the genuine comedy of the plot and the passing of being a soldier for either side, by simply switching coats, a mockery of Benedict Arnold, while also earnestly considering what it means to identify with one side during a war.  Perhaps the real humor in the film, however, comes at its most scathing moment, wherein Gray ignores all the killing he has done now that he has repossessed the affections of his fiancee, suggesting he would literally kill to win her back.  As noted before, it is seemingly simple, however, it has layers of irony and criticism when one pauses to truly place the situation against the backdrop of the war occurring simultaneously.

Key Scene:  The match cut of Keaton dropping stuff of the train while the following train and soldiers continually pick the stuff of the tracks is filmmaking 101, but few have used the match cut as well since...oh yeah there is also this really cool train crash sequence.

Buy this movie, it is a backbone for any collection.  I certainly plan on upgrading to blu in the near future.

Nature, Mr. Allnut, Is What We Are Put Here To Rise Above: The African Queen (1951)

I has been roughly six full years since I have decided film to be my biggest passion in life and since then I have seen a variety of films and sought out both the masterworks of film, as well as obscurities and absurdities in between, always taking very seriously the earnest suggestions of individuals along the way.  During the first six months or so of my endeavors I was strongly encouraged to watch The African Queen by a person whose love for classic movies and John Wayne seemed to assure that I would enjoy this work very much.  At the time, however, The African Queen was very much out of print and quite hard to come by and it was something I had always hoped to visit but never remembered to go out of my way to obtain a copy for, which to view.  In the past year, however, copyrights appear to have changed and not only is this lovely film available in both DVD and Bluray formats, it is now also watch instantly on Netflix, making this long unavailable classic open to a whole new generation of burgeoning cinephiles, and this is a gift of a film, with value extending well beyond its more than a half-century of age.  At once a war, romance, travel and religious film, paired with problematic commentaries on gender and colonization, The African Queen is nothing short of cinematic perfection and the commitment to stellar acting on the part of both stars Katherine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart quickly snatch viewers into the world of the film, never allowing their hold to loosen, even in some of the films most over-the-top and unbelievable moments.  I can now understand why the individual who recommended this movie was so adamant that I see it immediately, and while it only took me six years to get around to doing so I am completely grateful for the initial recommendation, it is quite obvious that films like The African Queen in all their earnestness and mass appeal only come along one in awhile its newest reemergence only speaks to its historical place and the necessity of it being revisited many times, both in regards to the growingly masterful of oeuvre of John Huston, whose films are always a pleasant surprise to me, as well as a fine piece of film regardless of time or place.

The African Queen primarily focuses on two characters, the first being Rose Sayer (Katherine Hepburn) a devout woman of the Methodist faith who, along with her brother Samuel (Robert Morley) have taken it upon themselves to bring the name of Jesus Christ to the native peoples of Africa, even going so far as to build a church in their village.  The second character is the carefree Charlie Allnut (Humphrey Bogart) who is willing to do anything to make money and assure the livelihood of himself and the functionality of his dear ship The African Queen.  Yet when the village is attacked by enraged Nazi's Samuel dies and the only persons left surviving, along with a few villagers who quickly flee are that of Rose and Charlie, who begrudgingly become companions in an attempt to escape the inevitable return of the German soldiers.  Using The African Queen as a means of navigation they travel down river, aimlessly until Rose suggest that they use the oxygen tanks on board, as well as other supplies to exact revenge upon the Nazi warship called the Louisa.  Charlie at first is dismissive because he associates his livelihood with the boat and sees Rose as a prudish simpleton, hoping only to escape their situation and unload her as quickly as possible, yet as many a story note, confined cohabitation can lead to forced intimacy, whether it be their need to get out of the rain or the necessary task of removing leeches off of a half-naked body, at some point animosity turns into admiration and eventually becomes adoration and Rose and Charlie eventually find themselves in the throws of passion, as best they could be shown circa 1951.  With a new drive and the companionship of one another the two take upon their journey to torpedo the Louisa, a task that proves a failure due to rain and unforeseen bouts of tumultuous water. They are at this point captured by Nazi sailors who have them set to hang, only to be saved at the very last moment by the sunken African Queen and its bunches of compressed air, which help to destroy the ship and afford Charlie and Rose an escape to safety.  They are shown swimming away in what can only be assumed to be a happy future together.

This film exudes sexuality, but that is not to to say that it is graphic or visually erotic, in fact, it exists entirely within the realm of metaphor and manages to use the sexualized image to a degree that would cause one to think of early surrealist work by Luis Buñuel.  Take for example the scene where Rose must clean herself in the river, it is not a scene of nudity, but certainly is a modest one by the standards of the era.  Viewers, however, share the same ability to see Rose as Charlie does, often only seeing her foot or hand peak above the boat or out of the side of the water.  It is a point of curiosity that has a certain degree of sexual curiosity about it, affirmed by Charlie looking way from Rose as she boards the boat, but as he does so his gaze become almost nearly direct with the viewer, allow those watching to see his eyebrows raise and eyes move about, clearly imagining what is occurring behind him, as do the viewers, because he blocks their line of sight.  Gaze is problematized because viewers are forced to ignore the next layer, while relating to the confrontation of Charlie's gaze which is reflecting the request for modesty on the part of Rose.  Nonetheless, the entire scene is frothing with sexual tension, only to be heightened by moments of removing leaches from Charlie's body, or the "release" of all the gin, which proves to be the upswing in regards to Charlie who takes a new liking to Rose despite being initially frustrated at her actions.  Other minor moments of Charlie repairing the boat, or Rose salting Charlie's leech bites have degrees of sexual tension, all leading up to the moment where they drown themselves in passion, working in unison to repair the boat motor, a choreographed moment of such intimacy that it is impossible to ignore, and should anyone be unsure about this, the monsoon scene that affords the two the final lift out of the river, undoubtedly, affirms their passion for one another, even if on an incredibly metaphorical level.  I mean, one could even see their swimming way from the exploded Louisa as a post-intercourse moment of ecstasy.  This of course is one reading, but a grounded one that I cannot help but support.

Key Scene:  The hanging scene is surprisingly jarring visually and reminded me of the very real crime that was going on during the particular period in which the film was set.

This well worth owning, but can easily be watched via Netflix.  For those who, like myself, will instantly fall in the movie, the bluray can be obtained for relatively cheap.