The PIKL
Joined Feb 1999
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Reviews4
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Perhaps the most insidious crime Arlington Road commits is that it offers the impression it is on one side of the terrorism question while it endorses another. A film may argue that anti-terrorism might be the cause of terrorism, or at the very least, feed its fires; however, it is irresponsible to switch positions midstream without regard to what has been set up in its exposition or what follows in its climax.
Arlington Road's writer, Ehren Kruger, and director, Mark Pellington, present the protagonist (Michael Faraday, played by Jeff Bridges), for whom we initially have great sympathy, in such a grating and irritating manner that we eventually hope for his undoing. Faraday teaches a college course in terrorism and yells his pain throughout the entire movie; but he is not merely a man trapped in the middle of the question. For all of his angst about the senseless death of his wife (an FBI agent killed in a quasi Ruby Ridge scenario), Faraday more or less represents the government position, viz., that society needs to be made safe from terrorism by a judicious application of anti-terrorism. And as the audience comes to reject the protagonist's noisesome barking and amateurish interventions, we also reject the government. We long for the success of the terrorists.
I am not offended because terrorism is presented sympathetically by Tim Robbins and by much of the film's emotionally laden detail, but that it has no equally powerful reply. Faraday is too obsessed and exhausted to engage us on any level except fear, precisely what I had always felt to be the motivating factor for terrorism. Anti-terrorism, on the other hand, is motivated by power and control. These positions are reversed in Arlington Road.
This duality might have engendered an interesting contest (I believe it was the intention), but the solution in this film is intellectually irresponsible for the above and other reasons, and not least because its final climax isn't remotely sustained by the action that precedes it. If you are going to present an argument, there has to be a rational, linear scenario to support it. In the context of an intellectual thriller (such as The Parallax View, which this film sort of resembles, as opposed to your typical Stallone or 007 vehicle), a bomb simply can't simply materialize where you least expect it unless it could plausibly have gotten there. The ironic and multi-layered fallout from the unexpected bomb, which is the point of Arlington Road's argument, is thereby undone.
Arlington Road's writer, Ehren Kruger, and director, Mark Pellington, present the protagonist (Michael Faraday, played by Jeff Bridges), for whom we initially have great sympathy, in such a grating and irritating manner that we eventually hope for his undoing. Faraday teaches a college course in terrorism and yells his pain throughout the entire movie; but he is not merely a man trapped in the middle of the question. For all of his angst about the senseless death of his wife (an FBI agent killed in a quasi Ruby Ridge scenario), Faraday more or less represents the government position, viz., that society needs to be made safe from terrorism by a judicious application of anti-terrorism. And as the audience comes to reject the protagonist's noisesome barking and amateurish interventions, we also reject the government. We long for the success of the terrorists.
I am not offended because terrorism is presented sympathetically by Tim Robbins and by much of the film's emotionally laden detail, but that it has no equally powerful reply. Faraday is too obsessed and exhausted to engage us on any level except fear, precisely what I had always felt to be the motivating factor for terrorism. Anti-terrorism, on the other hand, is motivated by power and control. These positions are reversed in Arlington Road.
This duality might have engendered an interesting contest (I believe it was the intention), but the solution in this film is intellectually irresponsible for the above and other reasons, and not least because its final climax isn't remotely sustained by the action that precedes it. If you are going to present an argument, there has to be a rational, linear scenario to support it. In the context of an intellectual thriller (such as The Parallax View, which this film sort of resembles, as opposed to your typical Stallone or 007 vehicle), a bomb simply can't simply materialize where you least expect it unless it could plausibly have gotten there. The ironic and multi-layered fallout from the unexpected bomb, which is the point of Arlington Road's argument, is thereby undone.
DARK CITY DARK CITY could have qualified for a science fiction classic nomination if it weren't for its need to continually explain itself. In this way, DARK CITY stands apart from films like the original INVASION OF THE BODY SNATCHERS or 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY. Unlike these venerable sci-fi classics, DARK CITY is a mystery and, sooner or later, like most mysteries, there needs to be an explanation. The difficulty is that here it comes sooner, and frequently. But aside from this, and an overzealous use of explosive effects at the film's climactic duel, DARK CITY is interesting and entertaining.
The story is fascinating and ironic in the best `Twilight Zone' tradition; and it has the makings for honest sequelae. DARK CITY also manages to be complex and gorgeous to look at -- and (along with The Fifth Element) the best production design since BATMAN and DICK TRACY, darker still than the former, and more inventive than the latter. Costumes and makeup are first class, completely in harmony with this eerie other world: a city without daylight, where no one can quite remember their past.
The startling and elaborate physical transformations of the city itself, which recur like clockwork, are surreal rather than believable; but then nothing about this story is meant to be realistic. These transformations are so well choreographed and orchestrated that the drama of the moment holds sway. Speaking of which, Trevor Jones' music is appropriate and derivative, occasionally reminiscent of Stravinsky's `Rite of Spring.'
In an unreal atmosphere, one doesn't think about the performances in the same way as modern earthbound film noir such as L.A. CONFIDENTIAL. In DARK CITY, the actors are chosen for the way their personae relate to our primal dreams and fears. Thus Kiefer Sutherland is the mad Dr. Schreber (and our narrator); William Hurt, the listless Inspector Bumstead; Rufus Sewell is the gaunt, handsome anti-hero, John Murdoch; Jennifer Connelly is his instantly desirable wife, sort of; Ian Richardson is Mr. Book, leader of the alien opposition; and Richard O'Brien is his evil henchman. [Remember O'Brien as ROCKY HORROR's Riff Raff? Well, he hasn't changed.] In other words, everyone looks, and is, the part from the inside out.
Another narrated story, yes; but this time there is a point to having Dr. Shreber tell the tale since, it turns out, he is in possession of the key to the mystery, and what he chooses to do with this knowledge is part of the suspense. For obvious reasons then, I shall say little else about the plot.
There is one caveat which may or may not signal a fault, depending on your expectation: On a few occasions, the question of `humanity' arises. The aliens are after our secrets. My issue is not with their methodology, but with the fact that nothing about the story suggests what they might be after. The theme of what makes our humanity unique is at the heart of STAR TREK, for example; and when it comes up, there is always some instance that shows ourselves off: our contrariness, or our allegiance to loyalty above reason. But there is no analogous statement of our humanity in DARK CITY, as it turns out, for good reason. One is compelled to investigate the question within the paradoxes of the story, and how you come out will say a lot about how you feel about the film.
One more thought about DARK CITY: While the mystery aspect of the plot is complicated, neither the issues, nor the characters are complex. As it turns out, this movie, unlike say, BATMAN, isn't about anything, even though it purports to be (viz. the uniqueness of humanity). It is, however, a fun ride, and rarely, if ever, insults our intelligence; and the final truth is shown wordlessly, and it IS effective.
The story is fascinating and ironic in the best `Twilight Zone' tradition; and it has the makings for honest sequelae. DARK CITY also manages to be complex and gorgeous to look at -- and (along with The Fifth Element) the best production design since BATMAN and DICK TRACY, darker still than the former, and more inventive than the latter. Costumes and makeup are first class, completely in harmony with this eerie other world: a city without daylight, where no one can quite remember their past.
The startling and elaborate physical transformations of the city itself, which recur like clockwork, are surreal rather than believable; but then nothing about this story is meant to be realistic. These transformations are so well choreographed and orchestrated that the drama of the moment holds sway. Speaking of which, Trevor Jones' music is appropriate and derivative, occasionally reminiscent of Stravinsky's `Rite of Spring.'
In an unreal atmosphere, one doesn't think about the performances in the same way as modern earthbound film noir such as L.A. CONFIDENTIAL. In DARK CITY, the actors are chosen for the way their personae relate to our primal dreams and fears. Thus Kiefer Sutherland is the mad Dr. Schreber (and our narrator); William Hurt, the listless Inspector Bumstead; Rufus Sewell is the gaunt, handsome anti-hero, John Murdoch; Jennifer Connelly is his instantly desirable wife, sort of; Ian Richardson is Mr. Book, leader of the alien opposition; and Richard O'Brien is his evil henchman. [Remember O'Brien as ROCKY HORROR's Riff Raff? Well, he hasn't changed.] In other words, everyone looks, and is, the part from the inside out.
Another narrated story, yes; but this time there is a point to having Dr. Shreber tell the tale since, it turns out, he is in possession of the key to the mystery, and what he chooses to do with this knowledge is part of the suspense. For obvious reasons then, I shall say little else about the plot.
There is one caveat which may or may not signal a fault, depending on your expectation: On a few occasions, the question of `humanity' arises. The aliens are after our secrets. My issue is not with their methodology, but with the fact that nothing about the story suggests what they might be after. The theme of what makes our humanity unique is at the heart of STAR TREK, for example; and when it comes up, there is always some instance that shows ourselves off: our contrariness, or our allegiance to loyalty above reason. But there is no analogous statement of our humanity in DARK CITY, as it turns out, for good reason. One is compelled to investigate the question within the paradoxes of the story, and how you come out will say a lot about how you feel about the film.
One more thought about DARK CITY: While the mystery aspect of the plot is complicated, neither the issues, nor the characters are complex. As it turns out, this movie, unlike say, BATMAN, isn't about anything, even though it purports to be (viz. the uniqueness of humanity). It is, however, a fun ride, and rarely, if ever, insults our intelligence; and the final truth is shown wordlessly, and it IS effective.
"Return to Paradise" is written by Bruce Robinson and Wesley Strick (adapted from `Force Majeure,' a 1989 French film with Alan Bates and Kristin Scott Thomas among others, and about which I know nothing else.) Three guys in their early twenties blow off a few weeks in Malaysia with smokable drugs, girls, booze, and surf. Their holiday comes to an end, and two of them, "Sheriff" (an ironic moniker derived from his surname, Volgecheref) and Tony go back to New York to reenter their lives. The third, Lewis, plans to leave for Borneo the following day to help keep orangutans safe from humans. Lewis is a prince. Not so, "Sheriff", who won't join Lewis in this new adventure because, so he is fond of saying, doesn't have it in him to do something so noble. We just know this attitude will come back to haunt him, and so it does.
The remainder of the movie relentlessly puts a question to "Sheriff" and Tony. They are made to confront every manner of moral obligation on the one hand, and rationalization on the other, to save their buddy and their skins. The filmmakers do not digress with the sadistic milieu of a Midnight Express.
"Return to Paradise", which has the makings of a great play, finds enough work for itself examining an internal struggle that should make even the most calloused jock in the audience sweat.
Director Joseph Ruben suspensefully follows the thread of this morality tale while adding layers of meaning and interest. For example, the look of the film reflects the internal struggle shared by `Sheriff' and Tony, contrasting travel poster perfect Malaysia with brief scenes of Lewis's imprisonment, while Pinang's inhospitable street scenes have their counterpart with those of NYC -- bleak, though congested.
"Sheriff" seems to be treading water on this planet, and Heche's character seems so determined to persuade him to find his humanity before he loses himself altogether, we can't help wondering if there is going to be something other than passionate dialectic between these two. Let me assure you that "Return to Paradise" will take turns guiding and surprising its audience.
Anne Heche's nuanced performance as Beth, Lewis' persistent advocate, follows every doubt, rationalization, and pledge of her adversaries like a mirror, reflecting back to them in the sharpest focus imaginable their moral dilemma. We feel Beth's presence at all times, even when she is not on screen, so penetrating is Heche's searching mind and heart. For those who have been complaining about the lack of good roles for women in cinema these days, this one does its part to redress that injustice; and Anne Heche, one of the most interesting actors in film today, serves it very well indeed.
Vince Vaughan's performance lets us in at once on the complexities of his character. `Sheriff' avoids intimacy and obligations, but is willing to put himself in physical danger when his buddies are threatened by street thugs. There is a short scene with him and his father which in just a few lines gives us a fairly good idea of how `Sheriff' comes by his inability to make commitments. I felt Vaughn's performance to be more convincing in his off-putting moments than in his attempts at closeness, but perhaps this is as it should be, since intimacy is such a radical concept for his character.
David Conrad as Tony and Vera Farmiga as his fiancée are both excellent. Tony's subtle vacillations do not escape Beth's watchful eye; and Farmiga's one serious scene, is very telling about women who have to wait for their men while they do what they must in the name of honor. (Remember how Grace Kelly dealt with Gary Cooper's decision in "High Noon"!) Joaquin Phoenix (brother of River, and inexplicably overlooked for an Oscar nomination in "To Die For") is also very good as Lewis, whose descent into religiosity is as poignant as it is frightening. There is also a subplot, spearheaded by Jada Pinkett as a reporter, which righteously hangs in effigy a self-righteous media.
"Return to Paradise" is one of this summer's better movies; but keep in mind, it is only a little less grim than "Dead Man Walking"; only its ironic title might suggest otherwise.
The remainder of the movie relentlessly puts a question to "Sheriff" and Tony. They are made to confront every manner of moral obligation on the one hand, and rationalization on the other, to save their buddy and their skins. The filmmakers do not digress with the sadistic milieu of a Midnight Express.
"Return to Paradise", which has the makings of a great play, finds enough work for itself examining an internal struggle that should make even the most calloused jock in the audience sweat.
Director Joseph Ruben suspensefully follows the thread of this morality tale while adding layers of meaning and interest. For example, the look of the film reflects the internal struggle shared by `Sheriff' and Tony, contrasting travel poster perfect Malaysia with brief scenes of Lewis's imprisonment, while Pinang's inhospitable street scenes have their counterpart with those of NYC -- bleak, though congested.
"Sheriff" seems to be treading water on this planet, and Heche's character seems so determined to persuade him to find his humanity before he loses himself altogether, we can't help wondering if there is going to be something other than passionate dialectic between these two. Let me assure you that "Return to Paradise" will take turns guiding and surprising its audience.
Anne Heche's nuanced performance as Beth, Lewis' persistent advocate, follows every doubt, rationalization, and pledge of her adversaries like a mirror, reflecting back to them in the sharpest focus imaginable their moral dilemma. We feel Beth's presence at all times, even when she is not on screen, so penetrating is Heche's searching mind and heart. For those who have been complaining about the lack of good roles for women in cinema these days, this one does its part to redress that injustice; and Anne Heche, one of the most interesting actors in film today, serves it very well indeed.
Vince Vaughan's performance lets us in at once on the complexities of his character. `Sheriff' avoids intimacy and obligations, but is willing to put himself in physical danger when his buddies are threatened by street thugs. There is a short scene with him and his father which in just a few lines gives us a fairly good idea of how `Sheriff' comes by his inability to make commitments. I felt Vaughn's performance to be more convincing in his off-putting moments than in his attempts at closeness, but perhaps this is as it should be, since intimacy is such a radical concept for his character.
David Conrad as Tony and Vera Farmiga as his fiancée are both excellent. Tony's subtle vacillations do not escape Beth's watchful eye; and Farmiga's one serious scene, is very telling about women who have to wait for their men while they do what they must in the name of honor. (Remember how Grace Kelly dealt with Gary Cooper's decision in "High Noon"!) Joaquin Phoenix (brother of River, and inexplicably overlooked for an Oscar nomination in "To Die For") is also very good as Lewis, whose descent into religiosity is as poignant as it is frightening. There is also a subplot, spearheaded by Jada Pinkett as a reporter, which righteously hangs in effigy a self-righteous media.
"Return to Paradise" is one of this summer's better movies; but keep in mind, it is only a little less grim than "Dead Man Walking"; only its ironic title might suggest otherwise.