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Ghost World (2001)
Clowes Enough
3 August 2001
Warning: Spoilers
I loved Dan Clowes' book (a comic book, sure, but worth ten Dave Eggers atrocities for all that), and I loved Zwigoff's "Crumb." But I had no illusions that this was a match made in heaven -- Clowes' touch is feather-light, building impressionistic clouds out of the quotidian teenage experience, while Zwigoff's great achievement with his famous cartoonist-doc was to dredge meaning out of the notoriously opaque Bob Crumb. And what is the expected result when a dredger meets a cloud?

But "Ghost World" works -- at least two-thirds of the way into the movie. Fortunately, even Zwigoff's and Clowes' worst miscalculation can't spoil the wonderful things they have achieved here.

You know there isn't much plot: Enid and Becky have graduated high school, and they are going to do a lot of Nothing on their way to the next big Something. As in the book, Becky is light and accommodating, Enid dark and rejecting, but they communicate on a level of dismissive teenspeak that this movie captures perfectly. (Clowes has publicly noted the objections of studio dorks who didn't believe that teenage girls talk like Enid and Becky. One is tempted to say that real artists make everything their characters say believable, however factitious. But Clowes also has the real-life rhythms down. He got the surface AND the subtext.)

As in the book, Enid and Becky seem to drift through various experiences till they arrive at their destinies, and for most part you only realize at the moment they're arrived how perfect the resolutions are -- it's like hearing about how an old friend ended up, and after the initial shock, realizing, "Wait -- that makes perfect sense."

Some of the observations of Enid and Becky's surroundings are wonderful, and some are a bit much -- Ileana Douglas' art teacher is laid on a little thick, but I can understand why: she's so funny that few directors would want to rein her performance in.

The near-fatal miscalculation is the resolution of the relationship between Enid and Seymour (ugh, even that name, "See-More"). I won't throw a spoiler, but I will point out that the urge to give this seemingly formless story a through-line via Enid and Seymour was completely understandable -- and should have been resisted by any means necessary. It knocks the central Enid-Becky story completely off-kilter, necessitating that awful, sentimental last scene between them, which the book wisely avoided. I really miss Clowes' original last line -- delivered by Enid, unheard by Becky, but a profound and beautiful summation -- and could have done without the awkward finger-tug that takes its place.

Still, the actors pull it off beautifully. I didn't like the idea of Seymour, but Steve Buscemi is dead solid perfect. Birch and Johansson are more than perfect. The various crackpots and losers that float around them are well-observed (though Bob Balaban might want to retune his ineffectual-loser routine sometime; it's losing steam).

Clinkers and all, I have to recommend this. The dredger did a surprisingly good job with the clouds. Better still, Clowes got some of his unique voice onscreen. I look forward to "Art School Confidential" (and maybe an "Eightball" movie?).
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Through the Rabbit-Hole (to Glory)
16 July 2001
Ferrara is a very problematic filmmaker, but he really hit the jackpot with this one. I venture to say that disbelieving Catholics -- those of us raised in the Faith, still clinging to our Judeo-Christian values (the real ones, not the fairytale variety peddled by faith-healers) but unable to reconcile the world we see with the great plan our old Mother Church taught us to believe in -- are the target audience for this movie. Maybe we're the only possible audience for it. But if you belong to that group, "Bad Lieutenant" will hit you where you live.

The Lieutenant undergoes a rite of mortification that defines the nexus of DeSade and St. Augustine. (Think Pasolini's "Gospel According to Saint Matthew" meets Pasolini's "Salo") His mortification may by itself be believed and enjoyed by thrill-seekers, but his redemption is up there in Carl Dreyer territory -- and if you're not ready for that ride, buddy, don't bother buying a ticket.

I stopped watching Ferrara's movies after this, not because I don't think it's great, but because I can't even imagine what else he'd have to say after this. From what I hear, I wasn't wrong. (Disputations, anyone?)

As for Keitel, suffice to say he's the only conceivable Lieutenant. Maybe Joseph Chaikin could have hit this before his aphasia... nah, on second thought he couldn't. Brando? You'd have to catch him on his best day, and even then he might not make it. This is Method acting at the summit. We might as well go back to Commedia Dell'Arte after this (and from the looks of things, maybe we have).

The best double bill for this would be with "Ordet" (though the Film Forum's planned "Cruising"/"Bad Lieutenant" double this Fall isn't a bad idea, either).

Can't recommend it too highly, but beware. You're going through the Rabbit Hole with this one. Don't take a date. Hold hands with your soul -- if you have one.
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Great Ford, and Great Americana
12 June 2001
Why does this movie get so little attention? Maybe because it came out in that overstuffed great-movie year, 1939 (Wizard of Oz, Dark Victory, Grand Illusion, GWTW [which I can't stand]). But I really think it's because YML is a transitional film for Ford -- it's stuck between his early expressionistic period ("The Informer") and his classic Western period, with one stylistic foot in each. And it's unabashedly patriotic, only hinting at the dark reimagining of the American experience that the Master would come to in "The Searchers" and "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance" -- but still hinting at it enough to turn off the McVeighs among us.

Maybe that's why I love it. You can see Ford coming to terms with the grand, Griffithesque vision of America through its most complicated avatar, Lincoln. Ford's love for his country was more like Lincoln's than Griffith's, anyway: like Lincoln, he acknowledged the genius of the democratic experiment, but he was also aware of its dangers: mob rule and self-satisfaction. YML's greatest scenes are all about this.

First, there's the local parade Abe attends, surrounded by yahoos whom he loves but also sees for what they are. (We see him in another scene accepting a legal case from one of these -- and warily biting the coin offered him for a retainer.) Veterans of the recent War of 1812 and Indian Wars march through; the crowd is wild for them, Abe merely respectful.Then a agon of old men in tricorners is pulled through the parade route. No one seems to know who they are. Lincoln quietly informs his friends that they are veterans of the War for Independence -- and gravely doffs his stovepipe hat. His friends, mildly ashamed (it appears) of their prevous jingoistic glee, follow suit, and stand silent and hatless as the old men pass.

Then the mildly ludicrous plot -- about two brothers accused of another man's murder -- kicks in, and Abe goes to work. The scene where he confronts a lynch mob, putting his foot up against the log they're using for a battering-ram against the jailhouse door, is a classic by any standard. But note how Abe talks to the mob on its own level while remaining, in spirit, resolutely on his own higher plane. After appealing to their macho impulses by offering to "lick any man here," he delivers a house-divided speech that soothes their savagery and leaves them confused and irresolute. "Dontcha wanna put that log down now, boys?" he asks when they have been flummoxed by his eloquence. "Ain't it gettin' a mite heavy?"

Throughout Ford indulges in shameless historical foreshadowings that would have made Stephen Vincent Benet blush. Abe meets Mary Todd and Stephen Douglas; he rides down a dirt road with a bumpkin who's playing a new tune called "Dixie" on a jaw-harp. "Kinda makes you feel like marchin'!" says the bumpkin, as he and Abe ride through a muddy patch in the road.

The ending is impossible to describe without inviting derision, but I swear to you, it works. Having won his case, Lincoln allows as how he might take a walk -- "maybe to the top of that hill." As he trudges on, the skies send down rain and lightning -- and Abe seems to know what this is a prelude to.

I acknowledge the superiority of the great Ford films that came after, but I will always have a special place in my heart for "Young Mr. Lincoln." Independence Day (the federal day of observance, not the movie) is coming; you could do far worse than to watch this great film before the barbecue.
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