Light Within Light

Destino

2012-01-30T12:43:00.000-08:00

Another Dali-related post. After all, one can never have too much Dali!

Film aficionados will know that in 1945 Salvador Dali and Walt Disney decided to make a short film together. Dali and Disney artist John Hench storyboarded the project, named Destino, for several months before it was ultimately scrapped due to the Disney Studio's financial woes in the post WWII period. The film was finally revived in the early 2000's and ultimately finished in 2003. The final project was directed by French animator Dominique Monfréy. The film went on to win several awards and was nominated for the 2003 best animated short Academy Award.

The film is not readily available on DVD except as a special feature on the Fantasia 2000 DVD. It is possible to view it on Youtube, though, and given that the US house of representatives and senate seem to be backing off from their more Orwellian attempts at curbing internet content, I thought it was apropos to provide our esteemed readers with the below link.

The film is lovely and beautiful. The stirring music is by Mexican songwriter Armando Dominguez and the song is performed by Dora Luz.

Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aXa8s9R7-24

Rhinoceros!

2012-01-30T12:28:00.000-08:00

Those who have savored the delectable ode to art, love and nostalgia that is Woody Allen's Midnight in Paris will surely remember Adrien Brody's delightfully inspired portrayal of that luminaries of luminaries, Salvador Dali. Having descended into the rabbit hole of Youtube last night I came upon an interview with Dali from 1958 on "The Mike Wallace Interview." Two things are of special note in this clip, though the whole thing is well worth watching: First, Dali both refers to himself in the third person and also seems genuinely intrigued by rhinoceroses, their horns in particular. These, he claims, are a symbol of chastity due to their geometric curve, which also corresponds to the geometric curve of the cauliflower. Second, the beginning of the program is a perfect example of the late 50's - early 60's sanguine cool that makes Mad Men so enjoyable. Wallace's line before the interview begins: "My name is Mike Wallace, the cigarette... is Parliament." Those, indeed, were the days.

William Powell

2012-01-29T18:55:00.001-08:00

Then and Now: Gary Oldman

2012-01-29T18:53:00.000-08:00

You Ain't Heard Nothing Yet: Episode 6

2012-01-28T09:46:00.000-08:00

Today's episode: "With a Great Podcast Comes Great Responsibility"

For this episode of YAHNY, we are joined by Vincent from The Robots Pajamas - nerd blogger extraordinaire. Check him out for a variety of nerdy things, including the latest toy news, "nerd rage," and a number of cosplay pics (which may or may not be healthy). But more pointedly, he's a fellow film enthusiast AND he's a got a killer podcast - The Robots Pajama Party.

To take advantage of Vincent's specialized skill set of movie knowledge, our topic du jour is SUPERHERO MOVIES. As a genre (or maybe even sub-genre), superhero movies seem to be very nearly everywhere these days. From remakes of Superman and Spiderman, to the conclusion of The Nolan's Batman series and whatever you'd like to call the collective of Avengers' movies - the people are in love with these (often mutated or alien) do-gooders. And Hollywood loves the amount of money these movies make.

Just an approximation

We are going to try to take a step back and discuss this genre which cannot really be ignored. What makes for a good/ bad superhero movie? Can superhero movies be considered "art" (for better or worse)? Why do superhero movies mainly come out of America? All these topics and more! Plus, Agust is up to his old tricks again. Hope you enjoy! And one more thing:

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Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy - Thoughts

2012-01-10T19:39:00.000-08:00

Beautifully crafted, icy cold, a powerful ensemble of actors. Tinker Tailor is a completely unemotional examination of a world that is both cruel and unredeemable.
The period detail of the early 1970's is wonderfully done and the film dances handily between verisimilitude and enjoyable tropes of the spy genre. Gary Oldman is especially impressive as the deceptively decorous George Smiley, a top-level MI:6 operative who goes after a mole within "the circus." The young Benedict Cumberbatch shines among the glittering British superstars (including very enjoyable turns by Colin Firth, Toby Jones and the delectable Mr. John Hurt). The direction and cinematography are sure and solid with interesting visual flourishes, such as repeated compositions where a foreground object is kept out of focus to highlight the central action. Director Tomas Alfredson also tends to steer the camera away from whoever is talking in a given scene, an interesting choice in a film so replete with wonderful dialogue. The effect is disorienting yet effective, marrying image, sound and speech in ways both lovely and harmonic. Special mention should be given to the music by Aleberto Iglesias (who scored the Soderbergh masterpiece Che) which infuses the proceedings with added terror. The film stands at a concise 127 minutes given the behemoth of a novel it is based on as well as the intricate series starring Alec Guinness. In that space of time there is nary a false note. The film is without a doubt among the most accomplished works, technically speaking, released this year.

Examining the film on a more philosophical level proves a bit more tenuous. The film pays both deliberate homage to - as well as exuding unabashed adoration for - the stylistics of 70's cinema, especially regarding the lack of conventional drama. This is mostly an aesthetic strength though one is forgiven for wondering whether, at the end of the day, the whole affair ends up being much ado about nothing. That being said, Tinker Tailor hits on revelatory existential notes in its beat apathy, much like the classic conspiracy thrillers of yore. A scene shared by Mr. Oldman, Cumberbatch and a rapidly emptying bottle of Johnnie Walker Black is an especially Sysiphean affair. As Smiley grows more forlorn, tired and drunk his increasingly slurred monologue unveils the terror of international espionage which in turn sheds light on the intrinsic absurdity of the human condition. Yet in embracing that absurdity and denying - as well as fighting against - the fundamentalism of the idealogue, true horror may be avoided. Which is probably the best we can hope for.

Jane Russell

2012-01-04T12:29:00.001-08:00

Diamonds in the garbage heap, part III: Horror

2011-12-29T20:19:00.000-08:00

To continue our exploration of offerings underrated and less-than-fully appreciated: The horror... The horror...

1. Innocent Blood (1992)

A great genre mash-up by the (almost) always enjoyable John Landis. New York City mobsters get bitten by voluptuous vampiress Marie (the lovely Anne Parillaud) and soon the city is infested with immortal, superhuman wiseguys, led by the fantastic Robert Loggia who does some of his best work in this film. Anthony Lapaglia, Chazz Palminteri, Don Rickles and the awesome Luiz Guzman give great supporting performances. A great little treat of a film with a wonderful visual style, groovy sense of humor and some genuinely inspired horror movie moments.

2. Cronos (1993)

An early effort by the very talented Guillermo del Toro which puts an inventive and interesting spin on the tired vampire tale while still remaining impressively faithful to the original mythos. The fleshing out of the connection between Christian sacraments and vampirism gives the film its thematic weight. An older antique dealer named Jesus Gris finds a device created by a medieval magician/scientist which grants the wearer everlasting life. As we all know, the resurrection can only be bought with the price of blood. Things get especially interesting when the demented Dieter de la Guardia and his nephew Angel (played by very game del Toro regular Ron Pearlman) get wind of the device. Del Toro creates great atmosphere with subtle use of music and visuals that owes as much to Polanski as it does to classic horror. The blood is thick and red and the tone weird and quirky. Much recommended.

3. Diabolique (1955)

It's silly to include this film in a list of underrated films since it is generally considered to be one of the greatest horror films ever made. Yet the sad fact is that many people have not heard about this masterpiece by Henri-Georges Clouzot, let alone seen it. I saw this film in a theater about seven or eight years ago and the experience is burned into my brain in ways both delectable and dreadful. It's the kind of viewing where you forget that you are breathing and cinema become a psychosomatic experience where the spirit is elevated, the blood pumps faster, the sweat crawls down the back. The plot is beyond simple: The wife of a sadistic schoolmaster and his mistress team up to do away with the bastard. After the deed is done the fun begins with the tension mounting continuously for an hour and a half, reaching a final pitch of such intensity that a post-cinematic smoke becomes a necessity rather than a luxury. A great film, true classic, a prime example of the genre and of filmmaking in general.

4. The Ninth Gate (1999)

A great film in every way, filled with beautiful visual touches by director Polanski and the great DP Darius Kondhji. The plot is intriguing and tense throughout, based on the playful thriller El Club Dumas by Arturo Perez-Reverte. Polanski's trademark whimsy is delightfully manifested by Johnny Depp in one of his very best roles, a complete creep of a person named Dean Corso who is hired by the demented Boris Balkan (Frank Langella - great as always) to find a book purportedly written by Lucifer himself. The European flavor is delicious, mixing the shadows of film noir, thrillers and horror. Depp disappears down dark alleys and cobblestone streets, sidebag slung over shoulder, long coat trailing after him, smoke swirling over his head from a crumbled Lucky Strike. Bizarre bad guys, femme fatales, demons, rituals, sex, books, drinks and cigarettes. A great film whose only slight is a flimsy script which nonetheless dances between being a drawback and a merit, as is often the case with genre films, since the plot hardly seems to matter when the minutiae is so lovely.

5. The Bird With the Crystal Plumage (1970)

Maestro Argento's debut film, an assured piece that defined the "giallo" genre. The visuals are the whole story and they are nothing short of astounding, inspiring directors on both sides of the Atlantic (perhaps most obviously the great De Palma). Tony Musante plays an American in Rome who witnesses an attempted murder and then becomes obsessed with the identity of the serial killer whom he caught in the act. There are touches of Hitchcock, European art cinema and 60's/70's visual art (op-art and similar movements). The tone is sleazy and the script and acting are serviceable at best but this seems to matter little when contrasted against the beautiful direction, editing and cinematography. The film is also genuinely creepy and tense. A great and influential horror thriller.

Monk

2011-12-25T14:52:00.000-08:00

Anyone else think that Avery Brooks should star in a Thelonious Monk biopic?

Review: Melancholia

2011-12-23T23:46:00.000-08:00

If you know me, and you're a fan of film, then you probably know that I'm an unabashed fan of Lars von Trier. I won't deny that it's a complicated appreciation that I sport for the man. In theory, there are a number of reasons for why I should hate his movies. However, while I have not seen all of his films, I have enjoyed the handful that I have seen. Hopefully, one day soon I'll write something that will have to be a treatise on why I think LvT is a good, and perhaps even important, filmmaker. For now, I'll limit my thoughts to Melancholia, his most recent film. Preview: I liked it.

With Melancholia, LvT is displaying both old and new tricks. On the one hand, it's very familiar territory for him. The focus main characters are female. And they are damaged goods, as it were. Lars infamously puts his lead actresses through the ringer. Granted, he churns out Cannes awards for Best Actress - but it's not necessarily a pleasant process. In this movie, LvT had both Kirsten Dunst and Charlotte Gainsbourg to torment. Gainsbourg knew what she was getting into, having worked with Lars on the unsettling Antichrist. Dunst, however, was fresh meat. Both actresses, though, would have an intense time ahead of them.

Melancholia is right in Lars' wheelhouse with regard to subject matter. He suffers from a notorious list of phobias and anxieties. One interesting thing about Lars is how he uses his films to work through his myriad of psychological issues. Or put another way, it's not necessarily the case that he uses his films as some form of therapy, but that his artform would seem to display the feelings which weigh most heavily on his psyche at any one point in time. I understood this film to be broken overtly into two general themes: depression and anxiety.

Part One focuses on Dunst's Justine (and depression). It takes place during the celebration of her wedding to Alexander Skarsgård, a dopey, simple, and well-intentioned man. Justine, however, clearly suffers from a very clinical case of depression. She has no appropriate means of dealing with her illness, so all she can do is try to hide it, which makes for a very awkward wedding reception. This phase of the movie contains a number of well known actors: John Hurt, Kiefer Sutherland, Stellan Skarsgård, Charlottle Rampling, Brady Corbett, and Udo Kier. It also features some of the Lars' most overt attempts at comedy in his films (see: Hurt and Kier).

The second half of the film focuses on Gainsbourg's Claire (and her anxiety), who is Justine's sister. Scientists have uncovered that the mysterious planet Melancholia will soon pass by Earth. Some believe it to be a benign event; others believe the event will mean the end of the world. Claire seeks solace from her husband, played by the scientifically-minded Sutherland. However, her gut instinct leads her to believe that the end of the world is near. She must balance her nearly paralyzing anxiety with the strength she needs to take care of her depressed sister Justine, who is living with her family.

Intense, emotionally wrecked female characters? Depression? Anxiety? Of course this is a LvT film! However, there are also some new touches. Melancholia is Lars' most cinematic movie. There are overhead swooping shots. There is CGI. There is some very measured cinematography (via Manuel Alberto Claro). Perhaps rivaling only Dogville, there is a somewhat large and impressive cast. Considering that Lars was in one of the deeper depressions of his life around the making of this film, he managed to do some rather interesting stylistic maneuvers here.

Dunst is immensely impressive. She displays astounding chops. I didn't realize she had this talent. Depression is deceptively difficult to portray onscreen. It's not merely a sadness. It's much more. It's an emptiness, an inability to feel. It's an inability to properly connect with other people, who happen to feel things "normally." With both her words and body language, Dunst gives the audience an amazing look into the life of the depressed. Justine has tried her hardest to be happy, but she can't quite pull it off - even on her wedding day/night. And nobody can seem to understand why she just can't be happy. Neither can she.

Gainsbourg gives a powerful performance as well. Claire almost serves as the point-of-entry for the general audience, particularly in Part Two. We're led to question our own thoughts and fears at the prospect of the end of the world. Claire, perhaps appropriately, freaks out and succumbs to her fears. This performance is strong, but Dunst's performance has a slightly more intense resonance for me. It may just come down to a higher degree of difficulty.

LvT knows how to craft a helluva intense film. I utilize a special form of "suspension of disbelief" for his films, which I largely think need to be viewed as allegories. Melancholia ushers its audience through the mud for an accurate, if not also extreme look at depression and anxiety. And what better director to guide the journey, than LvT? That being said, at the end of the day, it's unclear if there is a point to the journey beyond the journey itself. I kind of doubt it. Is there an answer for the the psycho-spiritual maladies of Justine and Claire? If there is, Lars has not found it himself. At the end of the day, I very much appreciate Lars' voice. It leads me to consider POV's that I might not have before. He also (through his victim/actresses) leads me to feel things that may not struck me before. For those reasons alone, Melancholia is worth watching. However, be warned: Lars' films beckon a response. You can't just like/dislike his films. You need to explain to yourself why your opinion is the case. And that is perhaps the main reason I enjoy LvT.

Agust shares some thoughts on Melancholia

2011-12-12T19:50:00.000-08:00

Melancholia begins with images of great beauty. Images of apocalypse, of death, of the end. There is a poetry of despair in the play of image and music (Wagner's Tristan und Isold). But there is also play in this despair, the knowing wink of one whose lifetime of lamentation has opened up horizons of humor, shades of grey in the black.
The humor is strange and rather darling, surprisingly successful, especially when the great Udo Kier is on the screen ("She ruined my wedding I will not look at her!"). Kirsten Dunst is a great beauty and a great actress, channeling a great deal of sorrow and quiet misery. The film's greatest strengths are in portraying the cold, clinical nature of depression, the complete loss of hope and the horror in having to face people who pretend they are happy and demand the same pretension of you.

There are many missteps in the film, silly mistakes that an artist of Trier's caliber should have addressed at this point. The script is sloppy, the characters cardboards, the dialogue inane. Yet even in these mistakes there is an endearing quality, a poetic vision. Trier's connection with his actresses remains on par with Almodovar.

The film is split into two parts, named after the two main characters, Justine (Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg). The beauty of the film lies in how Justine, the sister who has abandoned all hope, is able to face death with dignity whilst her sister Claire succumbs to the horror of life as death approaches. This is probably the first and only Von Trier film with a happy ending. The main problem with the film lies in the fact that one inevitably gets the feeling that Von Trier's own suffering is not as dignified as Justine's. His films have always been tinged - if not submerged in - hysteria, an unbecoming condition if there ever was one. As the great poet Leonard Cohen said, our duty in this life is to lament and this sacred act must be performed with the utmost dignity. Yet Melancholia exhibits Von Trier's definite improvement, if not spiritual at least aesthetic, a strong piece that is difficult to watch (as are all of his films) but which rewards willing seekers. He seems to be moving past hysteria to at least quiet acceptance, a way in which his art can help him, and perhaps even us, accept the ultimate defeat that awaits us all.

Review: We Were Here (2011)

2011-12-07T20:13:00.001-08:00

In 1990, Therese Frare took a photograph that would change the scope of public opinion and understanding regarding AIDS. Her subject was David Kirby - surrounded by loved ones and about to take the final painful breaths of his life. His would become one of over 100,000 AIDS deaths in the United States between 1981 and 1990 (CDC) – a statistic that is more than astonishing. Frare's photograph would become one of TIME Magazine's many iconic images, allowing (and perhaps forcing) the public to enter into the most intimate of settings. Once you see the image, things change. At least they definitely should. It's been 30 years since the official recognition of AIDS, and while the number of AIDS-related deaths is nowhere near its apex, it is still estimated that over 1 million people are HIV+ in the United States. Generally, however, awareness and compassion may have plateaued. As South Park mentioned in a 2008 episode, it's not longer hip to care about AIDS (having been replaced by a cancer fad). Without going into everything they are satirizing, there does seem to be some truth in what they were saying. In 2009, there were still over 40,000 new HIV diagnoses (AVERT). We are overdue for a new Frare/Kirby. No, not to make AIDS awareness hip, but to expose ourselves to new and different depths of this horrible disease and its effects. If such a project is done appropriately, we may be afforded an amazing chance for self-reflection, empathy, and perhaps something even larger. With WE WERE HERE, filmmakers David Weissman and Bill Weber may have created just such a project.

We Were Here features interviews with a number of people who faced AIDS on the ground level: 1980s San Francisco. With powerful emotion and stark honesty, each subject recounts stories of joy and heartbreaking pain regarding acquaintances, friends, family, and lovers. The film also juxtaposes pictures and footage of the extremely happy and free Harvey Milk days with those of the confusion during the initial outbreak and the hopelessness many felt during the apex of deaths. The images of those men's eyes while they were in the hospital, knowing that they had this disease and the kind of death they should expect – the extreme fear and searching for even the slightest measure hope those eyes conveyed – I will never forget.

The documentary's style is appropriately minimal. There isn't much by way of fancy credit sequences or editing flourishes. Part of the film's strength is its reliance on the weight of its content. And weight it has in spades. That being said, there are a number of comedic moments, as you might expect from people who have survived such a high measure of tragedy. How else could you remain sane throughout it all than with a sense of humor? In one scene, Ed Wolf demonstrates his inability to effectively give the “come hither” look on command. Such moments of joy and levity go a long way in grounding the movie. Although the movie's tone is very serious, its point is not purely to create sadness or guilt in the audience. It is not satisfied to lament a depressing and ignored period in American history. Rather, it is very hopeful. Guy Clark recalls seeing a patron of his business go from being a young cyclist to a shell of a person in a wheelchair, and then, somehow, emerging as a survivor, back on his bicycle. When Daniel Goldstein recounts his amazing story of perseverance (and it is pretty amazing) and how he reached what seemed to be the logical choice of suicide, he adamantly proclaims his choice for life. We Were Here painfully shows us where we've come from in this country with AIDS, in order to proudly promote the importance of community and remind us, with hope, that we have more work to do.

You Ain't Heard Nothing Yet: Episode 5

2011-12-03T21:58:00.001-08:00

Today's Episode: "Over & Under"

For our current episode of You Ain't Heard Nothing Yet, you will come to learn quite a bit more about how we think about movies. And what better way to understand a film critic, or any movie lover, than by hearing what movies they feel are overrated and underrated? We're going to attempt here to be as forthcoming as possible while also being as reasonable as possible, because far too many critics have this air of superiority that is extremely off-putting. It's also something that I think hurts film criticism as a whole. We hope to continue to promote communication among all fans of cinema, as much as it can be facilitated through a film blog. So please listen and enjoy, even if you disagree - and chances are that you'll disagree with at least a couple things in this episode. We also will define an important term in the lexicon of our critical theory. Finally, as per usual, we end with a very special (and sleazy) Bourbon. Cheers!

Links:
Inception review
John Waters videos
John Waters: Then & Now

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Diamonds in the garbage heap - Part II: Comedies

2011-11-29T16:59:00.001-08:00

There certainly are a lot of bad comedies out there. Humor is, of course, an awfully fickle thing, tied in with various subjective elements such as taste, culture, language and history. Yet it seems fair to say that many comedies that come out these days lack a certain grace and sensitivity, an artfulness and craft that defines many of the classics of the genre. It is also a medium which contains countless underrated gems which have sadly fallen by the wayside. So let's stroll along the path of comedic brilliance, perhaps finding common human ground in things that delight and give wonder.

1. The Circus - 1928

Chaplin's mastery in the realm of comedy is, of course, largely unsurpassed. The intensity of light emanating from his masterpieces such as City Lights, The Kid, The Great Dictator and Modern Times sometimes blinds us to the beauty of many of his lesser known efforts such as this lovely little film starring Charlie and Merna Kennedy (who was briefly married to Busby Berkeley in the 30's). Charlie gets hired as a janitor at a big-top circus and falls in love with the daughter of the owner, a talented acrobat. The hijinks that ensue stand among Charlie's most accomplished slapstick, including a nasty run-in with a fearsome horse and some astounding tight-rope work (done by Charlie with no strings or effects attache,d 40 feet in the air!). The Tramp was seldom as angelic as he is in this film, a creature of great compassion and care. The ending is bittersweet and lovely, a testament to the humane and poetic character of Chaplin's art.

2. Big Trouble in Little China - 1986

Probably Carpenter's most hilarious film, a fantastic send-up of a cacophony of genres including martial arts, action and fantasy. The running gag at the heart of the film, largely lost on viewers in the 1980's, is that musclebound Jack Burton (played by a very game Kurt Russell) is actually a bumbling idiot and his ethnic sidekick Wang Chi (Dennis Dun) is the real hero of the piece, an adapt martial artist trying to save his bride-to-be from the evil David Lo-Pan (the classic James Hong). Burton is a magnificent creation, adeptly handled by both Russell and Carpenter, a very funny symbol of both American culture and film, an overbearing lout whose bark is definitely louder than his bite but who is nonetheless somehow astonishingly loveable. Combining the most endearing palooka since Rocky, fantastically goofy special effects (why were those so amazing in the 80's?), a great villain and solid direction, Big Trouble in Little China is a great comedic masterpiece which is finally starting to find its audience.

3. My Favorite Year - 1982

Peter O' Toole is great as the Errol Flynn-esque matinee idol Alan Swann. A carouser and professional hedonist, Swann is about to get thrown off a variety show he was to appear on and which could have salvaged his failing career when junior writer Benjy Stone (Mark Linn-Baker) puts his neck out to save his idol. Benjy is promptly ordered to babysit Swann, a Herculean task. The mid-50's period flavor is wonderfully done, especially the scenes in 30 Rockefeller Plaza, a paean to the glory days of television (director Richard Benjamin worked as a page at 30 Rock as a young man).

4. The End - 1978

A bizarre, black-as-espresso comedy starring Sally Field, Dom DeLuise and the Man himself: Mr. Burton Reynolds Jr. Quite the opposite of the Smokey and the Bandit movies starring Burt and Sally, this one has Burt as a man dying of cancer who wants to kill himself to get it all over with though he doesn't have the cancerous guts to do so. He hires a completely (Dom)delusional mental patient to finish the deed yet the process turns out to be infinitely more complicated than anyone could have imagined.

It's a rare thing indeed to see an American film, let alone a comedy, deal with death and this film offers a strangely compelling, wacked-out meditation on the big sleep. It's often astoundingly funny and bitter, the kind of thing one might expect Woody Allen to write if you added insomnia and alcoholism to the New York neurosis. There's a lot of problems with this film - it's often a painfully flimsy affair - yet it is a sadly unheralded piece with a lot going for it, a strange and dark meditation on the unbearable lightness of suicide, the sort of film that wouldn't get made in a million years in our current horrifying era of focus groups and marketing executives. Check it out with a bottle of wine at hand but keep the razor blades away.

5. 101 Reykjavík

Perhaps I'm biased when it comes to this rather delightful Icelandic comedy but it is among the best offered by the country's burgeoning film industry. Director Baltasar Kormákur (who is now holding fort in the Shangri-La of Hollywood) provides a darkly hilarious portrayal of a thirty-something loser still living with his mother who falls in love with her lesbian lover, played by the lovely Victoria Abril. Mrs. Abril is a perfect center of attention since Kormákur's cinematic sensibilities owe a great deal to the great Pedro Almodóvar with a dash of nordic existential angst and humor (the two being largely indiscernible, both in film as in life). Lead actor Hilmir Snær Guðnason gives a wonderful performance as the forlorn Hlynur, a porn-and-drinking obsessed gen-Xer whose spiritual vacuousness is only matched by his psychological superficiality. Yet Hlynur is not a bad person but rather a victim of a culture and an era which has nothing to offer except sex, cigarettes and indie-music. The film has it's shortcomings but it is well worth seeing, a work of art whose cultural specificity translates to universal applicability.

Diamonds in the garbage heap - Part I: Science Fiction

2011-11-26T19:02:00.001-08:00

Given the astounding amount of bad films produced each year it is a shame that so many well-made movies have not received the attention they deserve. In the next couple of weeks we here at Light Within Light would like to recommend a few films from specific genres that most assuredly rise above the status quo yet have, for one reason or another, fallen by the wayside for many viewers. Not all of these films are great yet they all do something exciting, innovate and different from many of the mediocre films that fill cinemaplexes each week (which nonetheless make hundreds of millions of dollars in box office revenue).

Our first segment covers some of the more interesting science fiction films that many viewers have perhaps not heard about or had the pleasure of seeing.

1. It! The Terror from Beyond Space (1958)

First up is this minor classic from 1958 directed by Edward L. Cahn and written by Jerome Bixby (who was a regular contributor to the original Star Trek TV series - he also contributed uncredited work to the set design of It! The Terror from Beyond Space). This well crafted thriller is primarily famous for its influence on Ridley Scott's Alien yet it is definitely something more than just a curiosity piece for fans of Scott's masterpiece. A manned spaceship to Mars loses contact with earth. A rescue mission is sent to find out what happened and they find only one survivor, the captain of the previous mission. They suspect him of having murdered his crew-mates and keep him under lock and key but the captain (a suitably rugged Marshall Thompson) claims that he and his crew were attacked by a deadly alien life-force. Soon the rescue mission itself is under attack by an unseen enemy and as the crew disappear one by one they are forced to give credence to the captain's story.

It! The Terror from Beyond Space was made on a shoestring budget and it shows. The set design of the cylindrical spaceship is both very economic and extremely effective. As they crew must ascend higher and higher the same space is reused several times with different props. Yet the small set simply adds to the claustrophobic setting. The acting is far from great yet very serviceable, the monster is goofy fun but quite scary in a number of scenes due to very effective lightning techniques. The film is an excellent example of fifties American science-fiction and monster movies and is most definitely worth a viewing.

2. La Jetée (1962)

Beautiful and poetic, Chris Marker's short film (running at 28m) was later remade by Terry Gilliam as the impressive Twelve Monkeys. Yet the original handles the same questions of time, memory and loss with even more reflectiveness and meditation, telling its story primarily through still images and the interplay of words and music. A lovely example of non-linear and artful filmmaking that is neither trying too hard to be avant-garde but which is also not bound to a linear story or traditional characterizations. The film also manages to create space for philosophical reflection instead of simply portraying philosophical theories in an attempt to appear "deep," an artistic misstep committed by countless science-fiction films these days.

3. Dark Star (1974)

A student film made by John Carpenter and some chemically inspired cohorts was later developed into this feature length piece which prefigures a great deal of the humor and visual pizzazz of the later Carpenter entries. Dark Star is a completely and utterly stoned affair so you need to be in the right (or skewed) frame of mind to see it but it is a hilarious and groovy film, an exciting cinematic experiment by a bunch of guys who don't know what the rules are so they have no problem breaking them. The film is also replete with interesting connections to science-fiction in both film and literature. Co-writer Dan O'Bannon would later use several elements of this film for his script for Ridley Scott's Alien and there are sequences directly based on the works of Phillip K. Dick and Ray Bradbury. An underrated science fiction film that is most definitely worth watching, especially with a bud.

4. Le Voyage Dans la Lune (1902)

Martin Scorcese pays homage to the great Georges Melies in his latest film Hugo. Melies was one of the primary players who moved film from the status of a technical curiosity and cheap entertainment into the realm of art. Unlike the Lumiere brothers Melies gave his imagination free reign and used the inherent magic of the cinema to transport viewers to realms both fantastical and poetic. The most famous image of the film is when a rocket ship filled with scientists crash lands on the moon, hitting the Man in the Moon in the eye, releasing a fat tear from the poor fellow. The film stands among the most important in not only the history of science fiction but film in general and it has lost none of its magic and charm for the lovers of beauty.

5. The Man Who Fell to Earth

A highly bizarre and lovely affair by director Nicolas Roeg with its fair share of pretentiousness and infuriating excesses. Yet on the whole the film is visually wonderful with a powerful performance by David Bowie as the lonely spaceman who comes to earth searching for water for his dying planet, a stranger in a strange land of sexual exploitation, greed and corruption. The cinematography by Anthony B. Richmond and the music by 'Papa' John Phillips and Stomy Yamashta help create a beautiful dance between sight and sound. Roeg's vision wavers from experimental to absurd, from assured to confused, yet the film is an exciting work of art even in the most trying stretches, a demanding work that leaves one wanting a second viewing as soon as the credits stop rolling.

Join us soon for recommendations for underrated comedies. Perhaps to some readers (and definitely Reid's) dismay I can promise that there will be nary a Farelly offering in sight.

Death in film

2011-11-16T18:02:00.001-08:00

You too must be of good hope as regards death, gentlemen of the jury, and keep this one truth in mind, that a good man cannot be harmed either in life or in death, and that his affairs are not neglected by the gods.
-Socrates to his jury upon hearing the verdict of execution.

Now is a time for healing and not lamenting.
-Lady Philosophy (Wisdom - Divine Sophia) to the poet and philosopher Boethius as he awaited execution.

The great philosophers and sages all saw the search for wisdom as a preparation and training for death. Moreover, the wise men and women of both East and West understood that the person who knows how to die well knows how to live well. This is a particularly important message for us to contemplate today since we live in a culture where we are increasingly unable to contemplate and face the inevitability of our death. Death is taboo and anathema from our cultural consciousness, hidden away, ignored and fled from in every and any manner possible to us. There are a few majestic exceptions to this norm in modern philosophy, such as the powerful treatise of Heidegger in Being and Time where the fundamental existential aspect of our being is analyzed as our being-towards-death. Kierkegaard also bravely faced this difficult issue in many of his works. The existentialists, facing the nihilism and absurdity of the death of God and a world ravaged by the horrors of World War II saw death as being the essential philosophical question.

It has also been the great task of our artists and poets in the past century to awaken us to a consciousness of our death and the potential spiritual authenticity that we might derive from it. Hemmingway faced death head on, both in his life and in his works, doing battle with it by any means possible, through women, booze, bullfights, war, blood, pain, eventually losing that battle and embracing death in the most horrifying way. Georges Rouault, the divine French painter and poet, depicted the living death of the beautiful losers, the lost and broken ones, the prostitutes, the homeless, the forlorn, as well as the death of the monakos, the "alone one," as the ancient monks of the desert used to call him (and from whom they took their name), the Son of God whose death "trampled down death." The history of 20th century music is replete with those who danced with death. As many of our singers and poets get older they come increasingly to enter into conversation with death, opening up horizons of appropriation for us, their audience, allowing us to listen in on the secrets. Leonard Cohen, Bob Dylan and Nick Cave all come to mind.

In the history of cinema there have been great works of art that allow for a dialectic between life and death, counteracting the awful presence of those countless films that belittle the mystery of death with gratuitous violence. The great master Akira Kurosawa brought death to the forefront of many of his films, perhaps the greatest of which was his wondrous Ikiru, a tale where death is seen as transformative, a passage into a new life, not only in the sense of an afterlife but rather in our ability to appropriate it and be changed here and now.

The theme of death as rebirth runs throughout many of the great films that deal with the subject, continuing the great lineage of myth and poesy throughout the ages the symbols of which bring us into contact with these mysteries, allowing us to partake of the vivifying energy of the reality in question. Art, if it is devotional and true, is therefore able to make the mystery of death live-giving, bringing to us a glimpse of the mystery of the resurrection that lies at the heart of all the great spiritual traditions of humankind.

A particularly poetic and lovely example of this theme on film is Wim Wenders' Himmelen über Berlin (rather strangely translated as Wings of Desire) where an angel played by Bruno Ganz "falls" (dies) for love, becoming human, passing over into another state of existence, the journey of which is extremely painful and frightening. Yet this death allows him to experience elements of reality he could only heretofore imagine (wonderfully conveyed by the late Peter Falk: "To drink coffee, and to smoke. And if you do it together... it's beautiful."). There is something deeply Christian, in the best possible way, about Wenders' film. It conveys the physicality of death, counter to the teachings of many Eastern religions as well as the ancient Greek philosophers such as Plato, that death is a blessing because the soul is released from its nefarious prison, the body. Instead Wenders turns the equation on its head, showing a disembodied spirit dying and gaining a body, gaining physicality, sensation and limitation. The notion of an incarnate God and a resurrection of the body is so difficult to comprehend (it was considered nothing less than grotesque by the ancient Greeks) that even many Christians don't attempt to face up to it, preferring to believe in souls "going to heaven" (as vague a metaphysical claim as they get). Primarily Christianity teaches the sanctity of matter, that spirit and matter, divine and human have become one, forever connected in and through the mystery of the God-man, Jesus Christ. Wenders, though not tackling these issues explicitly, allows for a spiritual entryway into meditating on these mysteries through his beautiful film, the script of which was deeply inspired by Rilke, one of the greatest poet/philosophers of the Western world.

A final film worth considering in this context is Carl Theodor Dreyer's Ordet (The Word). Deeply influenced by the works of Kierkegaard (one of the characters seemingly goes insane after reading the works of Kierkegaard and thinks himself to be Jesus) the film is a kind of dialectic where life and death form not opposites but rather two ways in which the same mystery can be approached. The two religious sects portrayed in the film, one representing death, the other life, are both caricatures of true spirituality and it is only in the person (as opposed to the doctrine, the teaching - læren) that the paradox of these two poles can be reconciled and lived out. Johannes, the Jesus figure who represents resurrection both literally and figuratively, is able to reconcile reason and faith, life and death through a certain way of being a person, of opening himself up to the philosophical and spiritual exploration that is necessary for the fulfillment of our human potential, our capacity to rise beyond our desire and need for material comfort, leisure and entertainment and to become truly spiritual beings. The last scene of the film remains among the most powerful ever filmed, the kind of moment that could only be fully conveyed through the medium of cinema and a testament to the devotional character of the art.

Weekend

2011-11-06T10:25:00.000-08:00

In a given year,LGBT representations in the media are far from scarce. There are any number ofsassy apartment neighbors or hairdressers or whomever – each portrayed withvarying levels of sincerity and insight. However, since most films andtelevision shows are lacking in those qualities, likewise are their subjects.With or without intention, most LGBT characters have the effect of separationand alienation from the audience. Thesepeople are different from you. They don’t share your concerns, desires, goals,or, much less, your morals. In fact, they probably want to corrupt YOURconcerns, desires, goals, and morals.

With astoundingregularity, minorities are portrayed as conceptions first, and people second.The effect is a supreme focus on how these people are different. It pushes usfurther and further away from that point of recognition with others which is soprecious – that moment of pure human interaction. It’s such interactions thatbridge similarities and differences without discounting them. They allow forprogress. They allow for civil disagreement. Genuine connection with anotherperson is a virtually essential aspect of what it means to be a human. Inasmuchas film does affect us, in this way many movies probably hurt us.

By no means do Imean to start a pity party for LGBT people or any other minority. The truth isthat the general mediocrity and shortsightedness of Hollywood doesn’tparticularly care about its subject matter. With artistry fine-tuned (or, dampened) to a craft, there is an improperpresumption of artistic and aesthetic merit whenever a camera is turned on andhandled in a proficient manner. In other words, just because a movie looks goodor sounds good, has a cool tracking shot or whatever, that doesn’t mean it’s agood movie. So whether the subject of a film is a blonde bimbo, high schooljock, aging businessman, or college dropout, it doesn’t really matter. Any ofthese people are vulnerable to being poorly portrayed and stereotyped. Thatbeing said, I’ll add this quick caveat: the number of good films with decentrepresentations of minority characters isdisproportionately low. And that finally brings me to the topic of this review(if you couldn’t tell), Weekend.

Director AndrewHaigh, having many “assistant editor” credits to his name, has only helmed twofeature length films. The first was GreekPete (2009), which attempted to give the viewer a glimpse into the life ofa male escort. While turning some heads, the film didn’t really make anoticeable splash in most of the United States. That year American audienceswere a little too occupied with a certain other film. Maybe if Greek Pete hadblue skin and stuck his appendage into trees and flying dragon things, morepeople would have noticed him. Anyway, keeping the same topic of malesexuality, he has made with Weekend a very mature look into thenature of love, companionship, and loss. The film’s maturity is exhibitedthrough its primary players and its uncontrived plot.

Russell (TomCullen) is an unassuming man. He works as a lifeguard, is gay, and he generallysticks to himself. We do get to see his best friend since childhood, though,who is fine with Russell’s sexuality and perhaps even wants to understand moreabout this part of his life. While Russell does often seem to be a confidentperson, he also seems to struggle with insecurities. He’s the guy who caneasily sit alone or with others at a party. While at a bar one night, he seesGlen (Chris New), and they end up sleeping together. Glen is much moreoutgoing. He’s more the kind of guy who knows how to use his good looks andcharm to get what he wants (take Russell, for example). His friends are morepart of a party scene than Russell’s. While Russell is happy to engage in longconversations, it’s Glen who is more likely to initiate such a talk. In theseways and more, Russell and Glen seem two very different men on paper. Yet, overthis weekend they are able to connect with each other in that way we all hopeto connect with another person. You know when you first meet someone and youhave a pretty good idea that this person is someone you could be good friendswith (even if this is primarily based off of one or two conversations)? It’sbasically that kind of a situation – just add sex. In this process, they cometo find something more profound and intimate than either one expected.

Glen runs lifeas fast as he can; he “doesn’t do boyfriends.” One gets the impression that ifhe slowed down for a minute, his own insecurities and fears would catch up withhim in an instant. For him, life’s too short to deal with that stuff. And so heruns. Russell, on the other hand, moves at a much more measured pace. He doesn’tseem to allow himself many extravagances. Most likely, he is held back a bit byhis fears. In fact, he probably has to fight his self-esteem from questioningwhy someone like Glen would be interested in him. As fate would have it,though, during this unexpected weekend, Russell opens up and Glen slows down. Allis going exceedingly well until Glen confesses that he’s leaving for Americathe next day. While this event is arguably a contrivance (I don’t think so,personally), it works as an instigator of loss – something that everyrelationship has to deal with in some form, at some time. And here is the mainconflict: how will these two different people react to potential loss? How hardwill they fight to preserve something that may or may not be worth the effort?Is the point even to make and maintain this connection in itself, or is itsomething more internal, perhaps even spiritual?

Russell and Glenare each relatable in their own ways, if not personally, then identifiably withpeople we know or have at least met. And even if we’ve never been in theirsituation, we know it because we know them. We know their feelings. Werecognize their thought processes. In some way we have entered into a relationship with them. And such is the joyof films with good storytelling. Doesn’t it feel like you know Indiana Jones orRandle McMurphy or Ferris Bueller, or even Baloo the Bear? Film, as art, canbecome part of your life in some strange ways. For Weekend, itsidentifiability through realism is its strength. Not “realism” in the sense ofgritty, ugly violence or (ironically) unappealing sexuality. Rather, I’mtalking about an approach to film that is earnest, and respects both its charactersand audience. The story is allowed to unfold, and the characters are allowed toreally exist in that story without being jerked around by a godlike director.

Even though it may be toolate, I don’t mean to speak too highly of this film. It’s by no means thecinematic Second Coming. However, Haigh shows how a film of modest means thatis well acted and crafted can strike a unique and pleasing note in a sea of discordantmovies. Weekend deserves to join the conversation of the best LGBT-themedfilms with Milk, A Single Man, Philadelphia,Mysterious Skin, Brokeback Mountain,and others. However, and AGAIN, what makes these or any other films good or badis not the subject matter, but how the subject matter is addressed. And Weekendultimately succeeds because ofits humanity.

The Illusionist - 2010

2011-11-04T21:56:00.000-07:00

The Illusionist is very beautiful and melancholic. Each scene is brimming with tender detail and attention. You can feel the joy of the filmmakers seeping through the film. The score by director Sylvain Chomet is also lovely. The film comes amazingly close to the pure cinema of Tati (who wrote the original screenplay and was the spiritual inspiration for the film) and Chaplin. It doesn't quite reach that angelic mark, but few films do. The film is a great leap forward from Chomet's rather wonderful Triplets of Belleville. That film had visual flair and innovation but it is but a shadow to The Illusionist's subtlety, pacing and heart. A sad and humane poem of a film.

A note for those who take joy in visual art: Moments from The Illusionist reminded me of the great works of Georges Rouault. There is so much sadness here, yet it is somehow transfigured into joyful suffering. Rouault's masterpiece, the collection Miserere, is among the purest and most humane works of art you will ever encounter.

A Scene from The Illusionist

Roualt's "The Clown" - 1907

Margin Call

2011-10-28T17:13:00.000-07:00

A beautifully realized debut piece by J.C. Chandor, made with much craft and care. A young investment broker (Zachary Quinto, utilizing those magnificent eyebrows to the utmost) puts together a market projection in 2008 and realizes that the world stands on the brink of the largest financial disaster since the great depression.
The film recounts, in a lovely dusk til dawn fashion, the way in which the news is carried up the company hierarchy throughout the night, giving us a methodical yet humane representation of the amorality and emptiness of the modern world of business and the people who inahbit it. The actors are all excellent and one of the pleasures of the film is to guess who will show up on the next level of the company ladder. All of this culminates in a delicious shot of a helicopter arriving in the middle of the night as the boss of bosses arrives, played by a hammy-yet-solid Jeremy Irons who exudes both delicious malevolence and gravitas. Irons' character, CEO John Tuld, is unfortunately the flimsiest in the film, a caricature of evil, though as a symbol for corporate greed he serves his purpose well. Between him and the underlings, played by Quinto and Penn Badgley, lie several levels of corporate bureaucracy. The structure of the film almost resembles a video game or the old Bruce Lee flick Game of Death where one has to progress through different levels all culminating in increasingly horrifying villains and monsters. The only difference is that here the end-boss is not to be defeated but placated, especially since he or she holds the promise of a severance package, stock options and health care.

The film does not vilify these people primarily because it doesn't have to. We all sadly know the depths to which hedge-fund managers and brokers can - and did- sink. Chandor does indeed humanize his subjects yet they all remain astoundingly dislikable. Our empathy arises primarily from the realization that most of these people are sad, beat and broken, servants of forces that seem almost entirely outside of their control, the unholy priests of a new - or perhaps very old - cult, the deity of which is both unforgiving and merciless, even towards his most faithful disciples. There is a kind of nihilism underlying the world of big business and it seeps into the lives of the people who live and breathe the world of money. The tragedy of the story lies in how empty these people are, completely disconnected from anything remotely moral or spiritual. The characters repeatedly talk about the seemingly ontological divide between themselves and the "regular people" who live outside the esoteric realm of Wall Street. Chandor's accomplishment lies in pointing out how inevitable this gap is, perpetuated by a kind of moral apathy rather than maliciousness, similar to the way in which the lifestyle of most Westerners perpetuate and magnify the suffering of people in less developed parts of the world.

With a particular standout performance by Kevin Spacey and solid turns by Simon Baker and Demi Moore, the film is very well acted and superbly produced. It does leave one with a somewhat empty feeling, perhaps inevitably so, although Chandor could have done a better job in fleshing out the human tragedy of a world where faceless corporations provide the only compass of loyalty and devotion and where ideals, morality and integrity are not so much abandoned but simply rather fade away. As it stands the film is a welcome reflection on an important moment in history and in spite of several flaws in scripting and characterization it is an assured and exciting debut.

Then and Now: Stellan Skarsgard

2011-10-16T21:11:00.000-07:00

A bucket of blood and a glass of bourbon for Dick Miller

2011-10-07T10:53:00.000-07:00

We here at Light Within Light are going to try to provide you with some horrifying updates this month of October, in the spirit of all things ghoulish and ghastly. Our first offering is a 1959 cult classic by the uncontested champion of such fare, one Roger Corman. The film in question, A Bucket of Blood, stars one of the great unsung but much loved character actors of the big screen, Dick Miller, so I thought that this would be a splendid opportunity to both discuss this fine film as well as raise a glass to Mr. Miller. So please, pour yourself a glass of Tennessee's finest and sit back as we explore the horrors that are cats, blood, murder, mayhem and hairy men in sandals.

A Bucket of Blood is low budged even by Corman's standards yet it is superior to almost anything you'd find at your local cinemaplex the production cost of which probably equals the GDP of a mid-sized nation. The film originated when Corman and his partner in crime Charles B. Griffith went to a coffee house one day to discuss possible ideas to pitch to American International Pictures. This being the late fifties many coffeehouses in more artistically minded neighborhoods were well under the sway of the beatnik fad. The cultural revolution made manifest in the works and lives of Kerouac, Ginsberg, Burroughs and their compatriots had been largely gobbled up by consumerism and turned into a superficial fashion statement (Kerouac bemoaned this fate of the Beat movement almost immediately after On the Road was published). Corman and Griffith decided that these pseudo-Beat coffeehouses were the perfect setting for black comedy, a way to make fun of not only turtleneck-wearing poets and their groovy chicks but to also take a stab (pun gloriously intended) at serious satire by showing the shallowness of the art world and the dangers of jealousy, greed and competition. Corman and Griffith got somewhere around 50.000$ to shoot the film, which Corman pulled off in five days (!).

Paisly and his "art." Legend has it that a certain movie theater, to increase interest in the film, promised free entrance to the film to anyone who would bring a bucket of blood to the theater box office. This seems like a decidedly bad idea. Hopefully there were no takers.

Dick Miller plays Walter Paisly, a dim-witted and shy waiter who works at a hip Greenwhich Village coffeehouse frequented by poets, artists and other avant-garde wannabes. Some of these hipsters enjoy fame and success within their little circles, gaining the respect of the beat community as well as the adoration of fawning female fans. Paisly dreams of being a hipster artist to win the adoration of poet Maxwell H. Brock (Julian Burton who is hilarious and wrote much of his own "poetry"), coffeehouse owner Leonard (Antony Corbone) and especially the sensitive and artsy Carla (Barboura Morris). Paisly is the butt of many jokes at the coffee shop and is regularly humiliated by both Leonard and the patrons. After one such day he comes home to find that his landlords cat has somehow gotten stuck in the wall. Paisly grabs a knife and tries to extricate the cat from the wall but ends up accidentally stabbing it in the process. Prior to this Paisly had been making a pathetic attempt at a clay sculpture. The next day he shows up at the coffeehouse with an amazingly "biologically accurate" sculpture of a cat and immediately becomes the toast of the artistic community ("I say! It's the return of realism!"). Things only go downhill from there as Pasily expands his artists repertoire to include full-size sculptures of people and a rather horrifying bust.

The film is often quite hilarious and the humor is espresso black. Miller is very good as Paisly, especially because he plays him as an innocent oaf, the Roger Corman equivalent to Lenny from Of Mice and Men. The film is a lean 66 minutes and it moves at a very brisk pace with astoundingly sure handed direction from Corman and very nice editing by Anthony Carras. The strings do inevitably show from time to time, considering how cheaply and quickly the film was made, and the denouement leaves much to be desired. But this is a highly recommended film, one of those great marriages of horror and comedy that Corman would later perfect in conjunction with the great Vincent Price.

Screengrab from Schlock! The Secret History of American Movies

As for Miller, many remember him best from bit parts in films such as Joe Dante's Gremlins where he played the hapless Murray Futterman. In fact, Miller has starred in every single film Dante has ever made. Miller, after a brief stint in the Navy where he earned something of a reputation as a talented pugilist, went to work for Corman and AIP in several of their finest, low-budget productions, including Little Shop of Horrors, War of the Satellites and the legendary Big Bad Mama (starring William Shatner and Angie Dickinson). Miller always acted with great verve and spirit and became a favorite of many of Corman's celebrated disciples. Scorcese put him in a small role in New York, New York, Spielberg in 1941 and James Cameron gave him a memorable role as a pawn shop owner in The Terminator. Miller popped up in memorable turns in various horror and comedy films in the 80's and 90's including The 'burbs, Matinee, Night of the Creeps, Chopping Mall, Innerspace and The Howling. In some of these films Miller was actually credited as Walter Paisly, the murderous waiter from A Bucket of Blood, his last appearance being in the 1994 TV movie Shake, Rattle and Roll!. Paisly has therefore haunted the cinematic recesses of the horror genre for 35 years!

Miller in Dante's underrated The 'burbs

The diminutive (5'5) Miller, who was born in 1928, is still alive and well and lives in California (aside from which not much is known about his personal life). He has had a lovely career and always brings a smile to the knowing cinemaphile whenever he shows up, no matter how small the role. He has worked in both television and film and we here at Light Within Light are honored to raise a glass in his name. Skál to you, Mr. Miller.

Scary Stuff....Or So I'm Led to Believe

2011-10-06T17:17:00.000-07:00

It's that time of the year:

I haven't been to a haunted house in quite a while. Not sure if this is the one I'd try out next, though. Need to kick up the horror viewing for this month.
Catch some more pics from the Nightmares Fear Factory.

All that heaven allows

2011-10-05T15:59:00.000-07:00

Douglas Sirk was largely dismissed in his time, scoffed at as a director of simple minded melodramas that supplied nothing loftier than fantasies for lonely housewives. Later generations treated Sirk's output with considerably more kindness, reading his films in light of developments in feminist philosophy, Marxism and the developing sexual revolution. Even more impressive, Sirk managed to touch on important and deep themes while utilizing the aesthetic language of classic Hollywood, lavish technicolor and exuberant cinemascope. Each shot is lovingly crafted and contained and conveys an astounding amount of irony and cultural critique while never falling into didacticism.

All that Heaven Allows is generally considered one of Sirk's best, later remade by Rainer Werner Fassbinder, the famed enfant terrible of the German New-Wave, as Ali, Fear eats the Soul. It stars a very beautiful Jane Wyman as a just-past-middle-age widow who is a member of that peculiar aristocracy known as the American upper-middle class. She is engulfed in a culture with strict codes of etiquette and conduct, mirroring the worst of Victorian-era British propriety. The expectations of friends, family and society all seem aimed at destroying any sense of individual liberty, especially for a woman, so it is safe to say that Cary, Wyman's character, definitely rocks the boat when she openly falls for the astoundingly handsome and rugged Ron Kirby, played with nothing more than passable stoicism by Rock Hudson. Kirby is a gardener, a kind of modern-day Thoreau who espouses a sanguine philosophy of self realization and anti-materialism. Cary's struggle with her fears and sense of propriety are handled well and touch on an amazing array of philosophical and cultural issues, providing more than ample proof that Sirk was light years ahead of his time when it came to dealing with important issues of the soul. That being said, the juggling of irony and serious philosophy attempted by Sirk wouldn't be perfected until many years later by directors such as Pedro Almodovar. There is still a great deal of stilted acting and awkward, unnecessary audience manipulation. Sirk was such a master of the genre of melodrama that he could subvert and transfigure it into art yet he is also obviously constrained by the language of the medium. Yet this is a film that offers great reward for the articulate viewer, a work that demands attention and critical analysis and that stands as a wonderful counterpart to the kind of after-the-fact philosophy being done by films and shows such as Mad Men. Ultimately, the power of the film lies in the fact that our culture is increasingly starting to mirror that of the 1950's, a stifling, conformist society that shies away from contemplation and spiritual exploration while descending ever further into the darkness of conformity, leisure and material comfort.

You Ain't Heard Nothing Yet: Episode 4

2011-10-05T15:20:00.000-07:00

Today's episode: "Don't Make Me Turn This Podcast Around"

"Gather around, children. Let's pretend to read while actually listening to the latest episode of You Ain't Heard Nothing Yet."

Some of the movies that mean the most to us are the ones we loved as children. However, sometimes rewatching some of those childhood movies as an adult can lead to horrific discoveries like "Hey, this isn't very good at all!" or "Watching this now, I should have guessed Rosebud was the sled."Often the reason for these movies not being able to hold up stems back to a differentiation between "kids" movies and "family" movies. And this distinction is the focus of this episode. Let's get this show on the road!

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Podcast Ombudsman:

-I did not find a link to the poll I mentioned regarding Kermit the Frog and The Tramp. But that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. It just means that it doesn't exist in reality.

-In Fraggle Rock, there are these races: the Fraggles, the Doozers, and the Gorgs.

-At Jim Henson's memorial service, Big Bird sings "Bein' Green"

Then & Now: David Cronenberg

2011-10-04T22:02:00.000-07:00

Rubber...

2011-09-29T09:05:00.000-07:00

Some posters for RUBBER, one of the more...uhm...interesting movies from 2010.

MFF2011 so far...

2011-09-25T17:38:00.000-07:00

Then and Now: Maggie Smith

2011-09-16T23:02:00.000-07:00

Kieslowski's No End

2011-09-16T10:13:00.001-07:00

Then and now: Clint

2011-09-16T10:06:00.000-07:00

Then and Now: John Waters

2011-09-15T20:46:00.000-07:00

Glass of Bourbon: Udo Kier

2011-09-13T13:21:00.000-07:00

For my very first Glass of Bourbon (not literally), I have decided to pay tribute to one of my favorite under-appreciated actors. You may or may not recognize his name, but you have definitely seen one of his movies. And you may very well recognize his effortlessly intense eyes. Here is THE Udo Kier:

Kier's career took off in the early 70's, when he was cast in both Andy Warhol's Dracula and Andy Warhol's Frankenstein. Even though these were some of his first movies, he was instantly transformed into a cult figure. Many of his subsequent roles would cement this reputation, whether or not these were "cult" films. You see, Kier has a particular style of acting which is unique to him - as do virtually all great actors. His roles seem to exude a certain sexually-charged, humorous, uber-quirky...."Germanness". And these traits comprise his aura.

Here's a rundown of some of his more famous movies: Suspiria, My Own Private Idaho, Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, Barb Wire, Armageddon, Blade, and Shadow of the Vampire. He has also been in many Lars Von Trier films, which is certainly a boon in my book. Like many character actors, he works a lot. For whatever reason, though, he doesn't really snag many juicy Hollywood roles that can really show off what he can do. Such is the plight of many of our Bourbon toastees. But come on people, he was featured both in Madonna's book SEX and in her music video for "Deeper and Deeper."

While it would be great to see an Udo-featured movie, it's still nice to see him steal scenes here and there. And he'll always have the opportunity so long as Von Trier is directing and other filmmakers are putting weird Germans in their movies. The only thing that could stop him is Stormtroopers taking over the galaxy.

Cheers, Udo!

Then and Now: Rutger Hauer

2011-09-13T12:03:00.000-07:00

Then and Now: Angela Lansbury

2011-09-12T09:56:00.000-07:00

Total

2011-09-10T15:09:00.000-07:00

Basic

2011-09-10T15:06:00.001-07:00

2011-09-07T14:33:00.000-07:00

Very interesting interview here with one of the great masters, Robert Bresson. In this particular clip he speaks of the difference between "cinema" and "movies." The latter, he claims, are simply filmed plays, relying primarily on sensationalism, sentimentalism and the techniques (as well as trickery) of narrative drama and comedy. Most films we see could probably safely be said to fall within this category. Cinema, on the other hand, is created through the juxtaposition of image with image, of image with sound, and of sound with sound, a transfigurative process whereby new horizons of possibility emerge, where the everyday is made numinous.

The distinction is very interesting. It seems almost impossible to think of films as diverse as Powell and Pressburger's The Red Shoes or Bresson's own Diary of a Country Priest as being in the same ballpark (or even belonging to the same sport - to take the analogy further) as something like Drive Angry 3D or Zookeeper. It's not just that the latter are "bad art." The question arises to what extent they can be called an attempt at art at all. But then we're back in the old dilemma of art versus entertainment, which are both concepts that are impossible to define. There are no necessary and sufficient conditions one can appeal to here, a problem similarly faced when one tries to distinguish between erotica and pornography. That being said, by cultivating a sense of the beautiful, by honing one's spiritual and artistic faculties, one is able to see what is truly good and truly beautiful, without perhaps being able to reduce it to conceptual or analytic terms (to do so would even be tantamount to blasphemy - like trying to "explain" or "conceptualize" love or God). A person of taste and virtue will see the ugliness and crudeness of pornography when presented with it, just like he or she will recognize a work of art when presented with one. That being said, there are obviously shades of grey, dimensions of ambiguity and problematic examples that seem to defy any categorization (is a DePalma film "cinema" or a "movie" - or both?). But this is all for the better, an opportunity for increased dialogue and shared enthusiasm for a variety of film.

For those of you that are interested there are several more clips from the same interview available on YouTube (which, like the internet as a whole, is a garbage heap that is littered with jewels of astounding beauty). Just search for Bresson's name and they should pop up.

It! The Terror from Beyond Space!

2011-09-03T21:14:00.000-07:00

Excellent 50's influence on the Ridley Scott masterpiece Alien. The trailer doesn't do it justice. It's actually a very innovative piece of filmmaking in many ways, though there are obvious shortcomings with regards to several technical aspects. But who cares about that when you have passion, ingenuity and a guy in an awesome monster suit?

Then and now - Werner Herzog

2011-09-03T14:01:00.000-07:00

Then & Now: John Carpenter

2011-09-02T10:08:00.001-07:00

Then & Now: John Hurt

2011-08-27T20:33:00.000-07:00

Then & Now: Patrick Stewart

2011-08-27T20:31:00.001-07:00

Then & Now: Ian McKellen

2011-08-27T20:29:00.000-07:00

Better than the book

2011-08-22T20:31:00.000-07:00

A rather oft quoted and irritating cliche is the belief that the "book is always better than the film." There have, in fact, been numerous films based on literary material that have been rather awful adaptations but there are also countless instances when the medium of film is able to touch on beautiful nuances and poetic moments in ways that the written word did not convey.

A corollary complaint is when people claim that the adaptation of a work must stick as close as possible to the original, a sentiment often expressed when it comes to material that has an ardent fanbase, such as the recent comic book adaptations as well as works such as the Harry Potter novels and Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. This seems like an awfully misguided view of art. The best adaptations and "covers" are usually those that offer something completely new and innovative while treating the original material with a sense of respect. Yet this respect in no way needs to limit the artist. The original is a blueprint, nothing more and nothing less, and much can be discarded or added as the new work emerges. It is for exactly this reason that most of the adaptations in question, i.e. the comic book films of late and the Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings franchises, are in many ways lacking as independent works of art.

Here are a few instances, in no specific order, of films that in my view offer something over and beyond what was on the written page.

The Godfather - Screenplay by Francis Ford Coppola and Mario Puzo, based on the novel by Puzo

Director Francis Ford Coppola with the cast of The Godfather in the famous opening sequence

The Godfather was a wonderful crime novel that was a great mixture of an epic family saga as well as the pulpiest elements of sordid mafia stories. In the hands of director Coppola, cinematographer Gordon Willis and a cast that stands as one of the greatest in the history of American cinema, the story becomes a poetic meditation on family, tradition, religion, honor, compromise and the way in which all these elements somehow encapsulate the strange, awful and wonderful place that we call America. From the opening words ("I believe in America") to the shot of a person getting assassinated with nothing in the background of the frame except the towering presence of the statue of liberty, The Godfather remains one of the most potent and incisive examinations of the relationship between capitalism, crime and the human thirst for power. In Michael Corleone we have a character of Shakesperean proportions. Through the juxtaposition of light and shadow, the carefully structured plot and seamless directing we literally witness a person losing his soul. Even though Puzo's original remains an entertaining and sometimes artful read, it nonetheless pales in comparison to the film which it inspired, a work that will forever remain a pillar of the American cinematic tradition.

Jackie Brown - Screenplay by Quentin Tarantino, based on the novel Rum Punch by Elmore Leonard

Elmore Leonard is among America's most talented writers of genre fiction, which means he is among the best writers living today, period. His novels will often seem shallow and superficial to those who have been brought up on nothing but endless variations of the bildungsroman yet underneath the jazzy dialogue and superbly crafted suspense are insights into human nature that are on par with anything the classical tradition of "dramatic" (i.e. non-genre) storytelling has to offer.

Leonard's Rum Punch is a classic of the neo-noir tradition with Leonard's trademark dialogue and characters that somehow manage to be both tragic and hilarious at the same time. Yet it is also a rare case of Leonard not having stayed as true to his usual economy of style. There is, frankly, a lot of fat that could have been cut out of the book, including way too much detail about the past relationships of the main character, Jackie Burke.

Tarantino's adaptation cuts everything superfluous from the proceedings and in the process highlights and emboldens everything that is deep and profound in the story. Tarantino's film, easily his best work, is a moving and contemplative meditation on race, greed and that most frightening of prospects: growing old. In changing Jackie Burke from a white woman in her thirties to a black woman in her forties (and joyfully christening her with a much groovier Jackie Brown in the process) he somehow makes the drama of the story all that more compelling. The sad fact of the matter is that a black woman of that age would rightfully see the prospect of losing her job as nothing less than catastrophic. Pam Grier is able to imbue the character with subtleties that are nowhere apparent in the book, a woman who is self-confident, funny and cool but who has also been through the ringer enough times to know that this time around she has to play her cards right. The rest of the cast is superb and similarly bring new shades to Leonard's characters. Even minor figures, such as the ill-fated lackey Beaumont Livingston (Christ Tucker) become astoundingly memorable in the hands of Tarantino and the gifted cast.

It is rare to see a Hollywood film that is actually much more sparse and toned down than the original source material (the book includes a drawn out firefight) but Tarantino's Jackie Brown is a perfect example of less being more, a deep study of character that is also hilarious, groovy and a wonderful homage to the great tradition of American blaxploitation cinema.

The Big Sleep & To Have and Have Not - The Big Sleep: Screenplay by William Faulkner, Leigh Brackett and Jules Furthman, based on the novel by Raymond Chandler. To Have and Have Not: Screenplay by Jules Furthman and William Faulkner, based on the novel by Ernest Hemmingway

Humphrey Bogart having a good time with the missus and another lady friend

These two films are both improvements on the source material. In the case of The Big Sleep we have a wonderful novel that somehow becomes much more resonant and alive with the jazzy and light touch of director Howard Hawks and the two stars Humphrey Bogart and Lauren Bacall, as well as a trio of excellent screenwriters. In the case of To Have and Have not we have a rather awful novel (so proclaimed by Hemmingway himself who - according to legend - made a bet with Hawks that he could not make a good film out of it) that is turned into a minor masterpiece, this time primarily due to the on-screen chemistry of (again) Bogey and Bacall. Both films are also interesting for being representative of William Faulkner's very fruitful foray in to screenwriting, necessitated by his growing number of dependents at the time.

The Big Sleep is a classic of the mystery genre in literature and an example of the great American novelist Raymond Chandler at his prime. It includes many of the existential motifs that made the genre not only entertaining but also profound in the hands of masters such as Chandler and Dashiell Hammett. Yet Hawks is somehow able to retain many of the great themes presented by Chandler while offering a much lighter air for the proceedings while also giving us one of the great screen romances between Phillip Marlowe (Bogart) and Vivian Rutledge (Bacall). This is in no small part due to the fact that the Rutledge character was expanded and given some of the film's best lines after actress Lauren Bacall tested through the roof with audiences, especially service members in the US Army. Hawks famously re-edited the film after test screenings and for once the process turned out beautifully. Hawks' second cut is by far the superior one and the rapport between Bogart and Bacall remains among the screen's greatest.

To Have and Have Not is Ernest Hemmingway at his most indulgent. There are flashes of greatness, as in a wonderful sequence where Hemmingway lithely takes us from the mind of one character to another, showing the anguish and confusion of both the "haves" and "have nots." Yet the main story of sailor Harry Morgan and his involvement with black market activity because of economic pressure gets lost in rambling accounts of social injustice and lost souls. The novel is famously modernistic in its dancing around from one viewpoint to another, changing from first-person to a third-person omniscient narration (and back again), yet the novel must be counted as something of a failure (though it certainly does have its champions). Hawks' film is perhaps not quite on par with his all-time best work (such as the aforementioned Big Sleep) yet it is a wonderful example of Hollywood filmmaking with a great cast and a riveting story (in which Harry is convinced to help out the French Resistance). Bogart and Bacall are again essential ingredients. This was the film where they famously fell in love and it is immediately apparent that Bogart was not "acting" in many of the scenes where his character first encounters Bacall. The man is obviously smitten.

Naked Lunch - Screenplay by David Cronenberg, based on the "novel"(?) by William S. Burroughs

William Seward Burroughs shaking hands with the dispenser of the infamous Mugwump Juice

Most aesthetes in their adventurous teenage years will come across Burroughs' infamous Naked Lunch at some time or another. The book was famously involved in one of the most influential censorship cases of American publishing history as well as representing a seminal period in American literature. It is a very avant-garde work, in the best sense of the term, offering several vignettes (or "routines" as Burroughs' called them) representing moments of illumination and despair, mostly through drugs, which echo Burroughs' own experiences at the time of writing the book. There are many brilliant passages in the work and it can rightfully be considered something of a minor classic. Yet the book is also astoundingly indulgent, rambling and incoherent and often a complete mess, owing to Burroughs' fascination with the non-linear (resulting in his developing the infamous cut-up technique for later works) at the expense of saying something either beautiful or profound. The book can perhaps more rightly be considered a classic due to its influence rather than Burroughs' literary talents.

Cronenberg's adaptation is not faithful to the source material in the least, using only certain segments from the original while also mixing in various elements of Burroughs' biography as well as material from his other books. It is a strangely compelling and fascinating portrayal of universal, political and cultural themes grounded in an individual person (something that Burrough's had little interest in portraying). It manages to humanize Burroughs' bleak vision while retaining much of its force. The visuals are giddy and repellent and kind of hilarious, my favorites being the Mugwumps and (of course) the bug-typewriter with the talking asshole. The performances by Judy Davis and Peter Weller are very constrained and strange but totally fitting to the source material.

Cronenberg's film is obviously not as groundbreaking or revolutionary as Burroughs' novel but it is a very lovingly crafted work, one which resonates on several levels, some of which I feel that Burroughs was not even interested in touching on. It is perhaps not correct to say that I think that the film is a "better" work but it does improve on the book in some very interesting ways and is a very groovy and interesting work of art in its own right.

_________________

There are, of course, countless other examples and it would be great to hear some of your opinions, whether you're disagreeing with my assessment of the above works or have your own to contribute. In any case, I hope all of us can agree that the ridiculous idea that the book is always superior to the film should be laid to rest as soon as possible.

G.A.R.

2011-08-22T17:29:00.001-07:00

One of the grooviest directors of all time.

YAHNY - Special Episode: Badass Cinema

2011-08-21T10:22:00.000-07:00

A funny thing happened on the way to record our latest podcast....

A friend of ours ended up crashing our party. Well, him and an assortment of libations...Right...Far be it for us to stand in the way of cultivating friendships.

Come to the end of the night, we're a little sad that we have to reschedule ANOTHER time for recording the podcast (a too frequent trend). That's when it hits us: we're sitting here with a Master of Badass Cinema; why not record the podcast NOW? Brilliant!

Here is the product: a shorter, special episode where we cut right to the chase. Namely, badass action movies. ENJOY!

Podcast Powered By Podbean

(Direct Download)

Criterion Top 10

2011-08-19T17:59:00.000-07:00

Movie lovers should check out the Criterion page (it is well worth the while to subscribe to their email newsletter and Twitter account for some juicy deals) which has all sorts of interesting and well written material. What recently caught my eye is this wonderful feature where filmmakers, critics and writers pick their Top 10 Criterion releases with some interesting thoughts on each selection.

It should be noted that Light Within Light is, alas, not in any way affiliated with the Criterion Collection. If they asked us to we'd whore ourselves out in any way which can. Just so long as we got some sweet, sweet discs.

No Smoking in the Theater

2011-08-15T20:51:00.000-07:00

Here are a few videos featuring The Pope of Trash, John Waters:

Thoughts on The Tree of Life

2011-08-12T15:57:00.000-07:00

Sitting somewhere between an elegy and a prayer, Terrence Malick's The Tree of Life stands among the greatest cinematic achievements ever made. In the modern cinematic landscape it is a complete and utter anomaly, a major release with a Hollywood Star and a name director that has the courage to be avant-garde without being indulgent, non-linear yet expertly crafted and formed, challenging and difficult yet absolutely riveting. The film demands close attention and the ability to turn off the left side off your brain for a couple of hours, to the extent that you can. There is much here to decipher and analyze yet it must initially be grasped intuitively and purely, like a beautiful poem or a mournful song. The film manages to convey the same excitement and technical playfulness as the best of avant-garde cinema yet it is anchored by a profound and well-thought philosophy as well as deeply felt human emotions. There have been few films in the past fifty years that have managed such a feat.

There is not a story in place here, per se, but rather strong images that convey life and how mysteriously and intrinsically it is tied with death. Life presents itself to us in the microcosm of whirling atoms and the visual poetry of the human body mirrored in the movement of the planets and the dance of the cosmos. Somehow light begins to shine in the darkness and life is formed. It is both beautiful and brutal. We see scenes of oceans and volcanoes, the terrible energy and force that shaped our world. Life begins to form, first microscopic and then gigantic. We see a dinosaur that comes upon a small creature that has been injured. The larger animal is about to crush the smaller yet suddenly turns and leaves. Mercy, or perhaps the closest thing to it in the animal kingdom. In a beautiful passage read by actress Jessica Chastain we are presented with the dichotomy (or complementary realities?) of the Way of Nature and the Way of Grace. Both have always been with us but it is only with the coming of human beings that the latter can begin to manifest itself through love and forgiveness.

In between the microscopic and the cosmic we have the human drama that stands between them yet also encapsulates them. Chastain and Brad Pitt play parents of three young boys (Hunter McCracken, Laramie Eppler and Tye Sheridan - all excellent) in the 1950's US. The mother represents the Way of Grace, teaching forgiveness, while the father represents the Way of Nature, believing that his sons must be good "but not too good." There are the first miraculous moments of a child being born, the innocence and purity of childhood followed by the inevitable fall from grace, the initial fascination with violence, the inability to express one's emotions, the confusion, doubt and alienation that begin to define our lives on this earth. Love and hate are deeply entwined in all of us and Pitt is simply astounding in manifesting both, by far his best achievement as an artist to date. Chastain is so ethereal she is more a symbol than a character yet Malick manages to convey a great deal of very profound things simply in the way he films her, the light around her sometimes resembling a halo of pure energy. The technical work is immaculate, the cinematography of Emmanuel Lubezki is especially wonderful, reminiscent of some of the work Georgi Rerberg did for Tarkovsky in the seventies. Douglas Trumbull, the master of the special effects wizardry of such classics as 2001: A Space Odyssey and Blade Runner served as a special consultant on the photographic effects. The choice of music in the film is also especially wonderful.

The Tree of Life is about as refreshing a film as you could hope for if you love cinema. Even though there are always a number of fine films released each year it is becoming increasingly rare to see anything truly innovative or exciting. Films are increasingly formulaic and common, which explains why people get so overexcited when Hollywood filmmakers do something even slightly out of the ordinary, no matter how pedestrian or superficial the results. For those who love cinema it is a rare occasion indeed to not be constantly eight steps ahead of the film. To see a film like The Tree of Life is to be sadly reminded that even the best offerings in theaters these days are usually only variations on that dubious category of the "so-so," nothing too good or too bad, just perfectly acceptable and common.

To be able to see a film like The Tree of Life in cinemas is a real treat. In fact, the film is a wonderful reminder that movies can only be fully experienced in theaters, no matter how big our TVs get or how advanced our Blue Ray players. There is nothing comparable to the communal jolt of seeing a work of art unfold with a live audience, especially one as lovingly crafted as this film. It is also a great relief to finally see a major filmmaker tackle spiritual and religious questions in such a head-on manner and without the slightest indication of fundamentalism or didacticism. Malick's philosophical training serves him well without even a hint of stale academia. Instead we are offered a lovingly crafted and poetic work that will surely and deservedly remain a classic.

2011-08-09T14:39:00.000-07:00

A great composition from Jarmusch's Coffee and Cigarettes. The predictability and mundanity of the everyday are broken up by small tokens of the sublime; a cup of coffee and a cigarette. Freedom versus determinism at its very best.

Badalamenti

2011-08-08T18:40:00.000-07:00

The great composer Angelo Badalamenti who has done some wonderful work for, among others, director David Lynch, including the iconic score for Twin Peaks

Chabrol

2011-08-07T20:16:00.000-07:00

Claude Chabrol, one of the masters of the French Nouvelle Vague, photographed by the wonderful artist Jeanloup Sieff

Franco - Ginsberg

2011-08-06T20:49:00.000-07:00

Allen Ginsberg (James Franco) and Peter Orlovsky (Aaron Tveit) in Rob Epstein's and Jeffrey Friedman's Howl

Allen Ginsberg and Peter Orlovsky

Gallo - A Star that Shined Too Brightly

2011-08-05T16:43:00.000-07:00

It appears that many peoples' favorite self-absorbed auteur (for mine, see the last post) has decided to quit releasing his films for public viewing. Way to be, guy! I can't wait until his self-imposed embargo on....himself....is over and he releases a movie and it does super poorly and then the process repeats endlessly like a mobius strip of self-delusion.

Guardian's article here.

Lars, You so Crazy

2011-08-02T16:10:00.000-07:00

HERE'S all the latest from Guardian on Lars Von Trier, "Modern cinema's arch-provocateur-in-chief."

He's an often-debated director between Agust and myself. Take that for what it's worth.

Five dollar shake

2011-08-01T20:20:00.001-07:00

Ascenseur pour l'échafaud

2011-08-01T08:39:00.000-07:00

The original French poster for Louis Malle's delightful Ascenseur pour l'échafaud

Miles Davis, whose improvised soundtrack is an integral part of the film's grooviness, here seen messing around with the beautiful Jeanne Moreau

One Million Years B.C.

2011-07-31T22:08:00.000-07:00

A Whole Lotta Testosterone

2011-07-30T14:51:00.000-07:00

Last year, Rotten Tomatoes created a Top 5 Badasses list:

Not bad. But not as complete as our lists:

Agust's list: PART 1 PART 2

Reid's list: PART 1 PART 2

Cul de Sac

2011-07-29T15:12:00.000-07:00

As some of you may have noticed we've been sharing some of our favorite Polish movie posters around these parts in the past few days. The beautiful designs and innovative visuals of Polish posters are legendary among film fans. The Guardian had a nice little piece on Polish posters in 2008, which you can peruse here.

Tucker & Dale vs. Evil

2011-07-29T09:27:00.000-07:00

This movie looks to continue the trend of great films from MAGNET Releasing. Can't wait to watch it.

Harris

2011-07-29T08:06:00.001-07:00

A glass of bourbon for Jack Elam

2011-07-29T07:58:00.000-07:00

We raise a dust-covered glass of hooch at the old saloon for Jack Elam, the lazy-eyed villain of countless Westerns and gangster films.

Elam was born in Miami - and if that sounds strange for such a tough looking sumbitch it's because this was Miami, Arizona (!) - in 1920. His famous lazy eye was caused by a boyhood fight when he was twelve years old. Elam was in the boy scouts and when he and a fellow scout got into an argument his opponent stabbed him in the eye with a pencil. Never, ever mess with a boy scout. Those guys will kill you.

Elam attended Santa Monica junior college in California and became a businessman. He had a lot of success as an accountant and for a time worked for Hollywood head-honcho Samuel Goldwyn (a guy so tough he was rumored to be the result of an unholy threesome between Al Capone, Mickey Cohen and General Zod). Elam also managed the famed Bel Air hotel for a while, probably seeing more dirty dealings than a window washer in Tokyo. Doctors advised him to quit the accounting business since it was putting undue strain on his good eye. Elam with Stoic assuredness jumped at the opportunity for a career change and traded in his job as an accountant at the studios for a role in a film, his first being the unfortunately titled She Should Have said No!, an early example of the marijuana-propaganda films that have since become favorite Sunday afternoon viewings for stoners everywhere.

With James Garner in Support Your Local Sheriff

Elam had a wide and varied career and became an instantly recognizable face due to his eye and often hilarious and/or menacing persona. Many remember him from one of the greatest opening scenes of all times, the tense train station scene from Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West. Elam starred in countless television series, among which were Gunsmoke and Rawhide, as well as classic gangster films such as Kiss Me Deadly. Elam mostly appeared in Westerns throughout his career among which were Support Your Local Sheriff, The Comancheros and Rio Lobo. One of my favorite Elam roles is in Peckinpah's outrageously underrated masterpiece Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid. Elam plays an older gunfighter who gets cajoled into joining the hunt for Billy (Kris Kristofferson) and ends up meeting the outlaw at a ranch owned by a mutual friend of theirs. The scene that follows is wonderful, where Elam and Kristofferson eat dinner in peace and quiet, knowing full well that afterwards they will have to shoot it out.

A famous quote about the career of character actors has been attributed to Elam (though others have also laid claim to it), which is worth quoting here in full:

Stage 1: Who is Jack Elam?
Stage 2: Get me Jack Elam.
Stage 3: Get me a Jack Elam type.
Stage 4: I want a younger Jack Elam.
Stage 5: Who is Jack Elam?

True as that may be Elam added great flair to a variety of wonderful films and his contributions are greatly appreciated. We are proud to raise a glass in his honor. Skál!

Sophia Loren

2011-07-29T07:28:00.001-07:00

Van Ronk

2011-07-28T15:39:00.000-07:00

Legendary Greenwich Village singer/songwriter Dave Van Ronk. Rumor has it that the Cohen brothers are planning a film about the early 60's Village folk scene centering on Van Ronk. This would be wonderful news indeed. Van Ronk is among the most underrated musicians of his generation, a true poet and an astounding player of the blues. His refusal to compromise on his music, politics or image were probably among the main reasons why he never achieved the fame he deserved. Van Ronk provided some great moments in Scorcese's excellent No Direction Home.

Lenny!

2011-07-28T09:37:00.000-07:00

I always thought Ben Gazzara could play Leonard Cohen in a biopic. Gazzara is actually a few years older than Cohen, though. Oh well - it could still work. Or no?

Psycho

2011-07-28T09:09:00.000-07:00

Tarkovsky

2011-07-28T09:08:00.000-07:00

"I do not believe in the literary-theatrical principle of dramatic development. In my opinion, this has nothing in common with the specific nature of cinema. One doesn't need to explain in film, but rather to directly affect the feelings of the audience."
-Andrei Tarkovsky

The Tree of Life

2011-07-28T08:48:00.000-07:00

"We simply see. We cannot describe it but only experience it. Film, insofar as it replicates our experience of vision, presents us with the tools to touch on and elucidate that experience. Viewing a film has tremendous mystical implications; it can be, at its best, a way of approaching and manifesting the ineffable. This respect for the ineffable is an essential aspect of devotion."
-Nathaniel Dorsky

Much better than Michael Bay

2011-07-27T07:50:00.000-07:00

Picture courtesy of BoardGameGeek, an excellent site that is definitely worth checking out for those interested in the old joys of board games. I still own a copy of the Transformers game at home. It's quite a lot of fun. Those menacing robots you see in the picture transform into spaceships(!). There is, alas, no Shia Lebouf in the game nor jingling robot testicles. Yet understandably so since the game was made before Bay could leave his ineluctable mark on the franchise.

I have yet to see a single Transformers film. Are they all as bad as they seem or good even in the tiniest sense?

The Wild Bunch

2011-07-26T23:08:00.001-07:00

"Let's go..."

Bacall

2011-07-26T22:38:00.000-07:00

Art is not only to express one's feelings, to make reality anew. It is to make poetry out of the everyday. It is to feel awe in every moment. A cigarette. A beautiful woman.

Oliver Reed

2011-07-26T22:32:00.001-07:00

Casablanca

2011-07-26T22:29:00.001-07:00

Top 5 Movie Cameos

2011-07-18T21:35:00.000-07:00

What better way to get back into the swing of posting than with a list? Cameos - sometimes I love them; sometimes I hate them. At their best, cameos are hilarious, poignant, and/or respectful. At their worst, they are cloying, patronizing, and/or just stupid. It's relatively easy for me to forget the bad ones. It's likewise easy for me to recall my favorites. Let's get this show on the road!

5). Spaceballs (1987) - John Hurt

It's no secret that we're big fans of John Hurt around these parts. He has the ability to make any film he's in more interesting just by showing up in it. Now don't get me wrong, I do like Spaceballs; but I do realize it's not in the same league as the best Mel Brooks movies. One of the best parts in the movie, though, comes toward the end when John Hurt shows up to recreate one of his most famous film moments which also happens to be one of the most famous death scenes in movie history.

Go here for the Spaceballs clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XU1MAokrrUk

4). Annie Hall (1977) - Marshall McLuhan

I suppose it makes sense that if anyone is going to have a cameo in a Woody Allen movie, it would need to be someone like Marshall McLuhan - a big name in academic media theory. And you can tell the whole scene comes from numerous real instances in Allen's life where he wished he could do such a thing. What's more annoying to an academic than to hear someone else pontificate on an issue that they themselves feel they can pontificate about?

3). Airplane! (1980) - Ethel Merman

Perhaps the King Daddy of all parodies, Airplane! brings spoofing almost to a science. For my money, there is nary a moment in the movie that doesn't work, and that includes the cameos. It's hard to narrow them down to one, because they all work so well. For the moment I'll choose Ethel, if for no other reason than the scene being short and sweet.

2). TIE: Happy Gilmore (1996) - Bob Barker & Wayne's World (1992) - Alice Cooper

I put these two cameos together because they work for basically the same reason: take the person and what they are known for, and have them be the exact opposite. One of my favorite TV Shows EXTRAS takes this basic idea and runs with it. Bob Barker would seem to be a very nice, patient man. I mean, he put up with scores of random people wanting to hug him for decades. What if he wasn't that way? Alice Cooper is known for being a shock metal performer. What if he was actually more down-to-earth and intelligent than you'd expect? Simple enough idea. Not always easy to pull off.

1). Zombieland (2009) - Bill Murray

OK, so maybe I should rightly be given guff for not choosing any "classic" film cameos. Whatever. These are just my favorites. Bill Murray's cameo in Zombieland is perfect. Not too short; not too long. Just about everything a movie nerd would hope for if they were to meet Bill Murray in the zombie apocalypse. Zombieland is a pretty great recent comedy, and the scenes of his cameo are easily the best part of the movie.

Midnight in Paris

2011-06-06T20:03:00.000-07:00

A fine return to more mellow form for Woody, Midnight in Paris is a wonderful watch with a Stella Artois in hand. The cinematography is lush and beautiful, few filmmakers since the new wavers in the 60's have made Paris look as good and the humor is mostly loose and funny. It's nowhere near among his best but with this filmmaker that nonetheless means a wonderful and groovy film, better than almost anything that you can hope to see in theaters this year.

Owen Wilson plays Gil, a Hollywood screenwriter with hopes of becoming a respectable novelist, a romantic soul who loves taking long walks in Paris in the rain and a hopeless nostalgic, someone who believes he would have been much happier being born in a different era. In Gil's case that era is 1920's Paris, the time of Hemmingway's moveable feast when artists, poets and thinkers from all over the world gathered in the city of lights to drink and create and drink some more. Gil, who is set to marry his fiance Inez (Rachel McAdams) after their trip, is somehow magically transported to this era after a night of being somewhat over served at a wine tasting. The film transitions to this realm of the romantic past in an effortless and smooth fashion, a cinematic equivalent to the magical realism of South American novelists. No explanations are needed here. If one drinks a bit of red wine and needs spiritual guidance on a rainy evening in Paris then Ernest Hemmingway will appear in a 1927 Peugeot. Everyone knows this for a fact.

The film is at its best with Gil in the past. McAdams is hopelessly miscast as are her parents (Kurt Fuller and Mimi Kennedy). They are supposed to be stereotypical right-wingers and certainly come off as such but there's not a shred of character or even an attempt at one in any of them. Worse, their delivery falls flat. Woody simply got lazy there, probably having too much fun writing dialogue for his romanticized versions of Fitzgerald, Hemmingway and Dali. Those three characters are especially delicious, played to comical perfection by Tom Hiddleston, Corey Stoll and Adrian Brodey, respectively. Kathy Bates also has a nice turn as Gertrude Stein and Marion Cotillard provides a lovely love-interest for Gil, especially as he realizes that his modern day girlfriend is nothing but bad news. Cotillard is so lovely that she hardly has to act; she could provide proof for God's existence all on her own. Only an all-Good and all-Loving artisan could fashion eyes so deep and beautiful.

The cinematography by Darius Khondji and Johanne Debas is fantastic and Woody moves the story along at a very pleasing pace. There's plenty of shortcomings and even holes in the script and the whole film has an air of being a more pleasant affair than really being artistically good but that's almost a part of the charm. No one's trying too hard here and they don't have to. It's the kind of film that is perfectly accompanied by your favorite form of ethanol.

An especially pleasing aspect is that Woody seems to be moving away a bit from his philosophical fascination with nihilism. As good as Match Point was it seemed to move Woody towards darker spiritual implications than even Crimes and Misdemeanors had suggested. Films such as Whatever Works seemed to be swimming in similar waters but Woody here returns to territory more akin to Annie Hall and Hannah and Her Sisters. Even though he still struggles with the great mysteries of life to the extent that any grand meaning or purpose is ill-conceived at best there is nonetheless purpose to be found in the small pleasures of life. There is always Groucho Marx and Louis Armstrong's rendition of "Potato Head Blues." And Midnight in Paris. Especially in the rain.

A glass of bourbon for David Hemmings

2011-06-03T17:11:00.000-07:00

A recent viewing of Argento's Giallo classic Profundo Rosso starring 60's prince of mod David Hemmings inspired our most recent recipient of the glass of bourbon. Unconventionally handsome as a young man with a distinct sense of fragility in his voice and face, Hemmings was the perfect representative of the 60's counter-culture, a slightly younger but just as alcoholic Peter O'Toole or Oliver Reed.

David Hemmings in the 1960´s

Let's begin with a few tidbits from the combined forces of Wikipedia and the Internet Movie Database: Born in 1941, Hemmings began his artistic career as a boy-soprano of some note, interpreting works by celebrated composer Benjamin Britten. He showed some talent as a painter but went on to pursue a career in film. His first starring role was in The Rainbow Jacket in 1954 for Ealing studios. A series of films centered around the pop music of the day followed, including 1964's Sing and Swing. Most of these films garnered some box office success though they were largely dismissed by critics as cheap knock-offs of superior Hollywood musicals targeted at the swinging 60's audience of young Londoners at the time. Hemmings exposure in these films paid off when he had a chance to audition for the role of the protagonist of Antonioni's Blow-Up, an excellent but sloppy art-house hit that came to symbolize the culture and fashion of 60's London. A funny story recounted in Hemmings obit from the BBC tells how he was sure he had blown his audition for Antonioni since the director kept shaking his head during Hemmings performance. Upon being offered the role Hemmings realized that Antonioni suffered from Tourette's which caused him to incessantly move his head from side to side.

An iconic image from Antonioni´s Blow-Up

After the success of Blow-Up Hemmings was the toast of British cinema for a while. Hemmings was rumored for the role of Alex in A Clockwork Orange, along with such notable actors as Oliver Reed, Tim Curry and Jeremy Irons. The director of Clockwork, Stanley Kubrick, had reportedly also considered Hemmings for the role of Napoleon Bonaparte in his failed attempt to film Waterloo. Hemmings played Dildano in Roger Vadim's classic Barbarella and starred in Tony Richardson's The Charge of the Light Brigade, both in 1968.

The seventies saw Hemmings role start to dwindle in number and quality. He had also started to lose his good looks due to excessive smoking and drinking. Hemmings directed his first film in 1972, Running Scared, starring his then wife, Gayle Hunnicutt (Hunnicutt would play a variety of roles but to any fan of Sherlock Holmes she is probably best known for her portrayal of Irene Adler in the very first episode of the acclaimed series The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes starring Jeremy Brett). Hunnicutt and Hemmings divorced in 1974.

Hemmings had moved with Hunnicutt to L.A. and in the late 70's and early 80's he increasingly turned towards directing American television series. His credits include The A-Team, Airwolf, Magnum P.I. and Quantum Leap (including the pilot episode).

Hemmings made an attempt to return to acting in his later years, starring in Ridley Scott Gladiator in 2000 and Scorcese's Gangs of New York in 2002. At this point he looked quite different from his appearance in the 60's and many people did not recognize him as the star of such films as Blow-Up. Hemmings died of a heart attack in Bucharest, Romania in 2003 after filming his scenes for the film Blessed. Hemmings was the father of six children, including actor Nolan Hemmings (named after Hemmings character in The Charge of the Light Brigade). His son is perhaps best known for his role in the HBO series Band of Brothers.

David Hemmings with his distinctive eyebrows late in life, shortly after the release of Gladiator

Watching Argento's Profundo Rosso I was struck by Hemmings old-fashioned acting style, a very theatrical, almost operatic style that is about as far removed from the "method" influenced acting so predominant in American film, theater and television as can be. In fact, Antonioni, who reportedly detested method acting, chose Hemmings in part due to how different his style was from many of the younger performers auditioned. The effect in Blow-Up is that Hemmings character seems frighteningly aloof from what is happening around him, a pure observer, the ideal photographer, a perfect stand-in for the film camera (and by extension, the audience). It is an aloofness grounded in fear. The best thing about Blow-Up may be the voyeuristic element Antonioni creates with Hemmings, a precursor to the coming paranoia of the late sixties and early seventies. It is also very interesting to compare Hemmings portrayal of Thomas, the photographer, with John Travolta's wonderful performance in DePalma's Blow Out. Both portray desperation, anxiety and paranoia but in very different ways, perhaps reflective of the different political and cultural landscapes the films are reflecting upon.

Here's a toast to an excellent actor and director. Hopefully we will have the opportunity to discuss more of his films here at Light Within Light in the future. Until then we raise our glass. Skál!

Film criticism today

2011-06-03T08:29:00.000-07:00

Having recently bought the Criterion Collection edition of DePalma's masterpiece (for it is nothing less) Blow Out, it was with great joy that I realized that the enclosed booklet included Pauline Kael's original New Yorker review of the film. It's nothing less than mind-blowing to read criticism of this level after being regularly subjected to what passes for film criticism today, especially what we see on the internet. A major difference that one immediately notices is that critics in those days wrote primarily for people who had already seen the film. It was an attempt to engage the audience on an intellectual and aesthetic level, to enter into a kind of cultural discourse about what is beautiful and important about film.
I don't think we really have a clear idea of what film criticism is supposed to accomplish in today's culture, primarily because we seem to have little or no cultural dialogue about the importance of art. Yet clearly most people seem to consider film criticism as a) nothing but another opinion, no more (or less) important than the opinion of you, me or Joe SixPack and b) as a way to get recommendations about what to see. The two functions are, obviously, somewhat contradictory.The latter function is perhaps due to the astounding amount of new films coming out. It nonetheless often reduces writing on film to a short summary of plot followed by a checklist of what worked about the film and what didn't (cinematography, check; directing, not so good; acting, good but forced; etc.).

What I'm interested to know is if there are any readers out there that can recommend film writing that transcends this kind of "liked it or didn't" mentality. Are there any writers of film out there that regularly engage films on a deeply aesthetic and philosophical level, revealing cultural, historical and spiritual connections, deepening our experience of film and opening up new horizons of dialogue and thought on the art of film? The only people who even remotely come to mind are Dargis and Scott at the New York Times. Roger Ebert is fun to read but even at his best he rarely comes close to the depth of analysis of people like Kael and Sarris. His "Great Movies" column contains his best writing by far, especially since therein he is not tethered to that most asinine aspect of modern criticism, the star rating system. The big names, Peter Travers, Armond White, Richard Corliss, David Edelstein, sometimes touch on excellent points and try to approach films from a fresh angle but more often than not their reviews don't really extend beyond recommendations to potential viewers.

Some people have claimed that there should be a clear distinction between film reviewers on the one hand, i.e. those who work for large publications whose job it is to recommend - or not recommend - films to potential viewers, and film critics on the other. The latter would be more academic, serious scholars who engage in actual film study. The problem with this distinction is that it threatens to completely academize film criticism, relegating it to esoteric language and intellectual mumbo-jumbo, walling it within the ivory tower (or worse, the university!). I can't see Pauline Kael as happily fitting within either group. This distinction also seems to fall into the old trap of elitism, presupposing that regular people are unwilling or unable to engage in serious discussion about philosophy or art. Most people are, given half the chance. It's simply a matter of creating the cultural outlets for such discussion. Perhaps if film studies (and the study of art in general) were more prominent in our public schools we could begin to address this problem more seriously.

In any case, the cultural devaluation of film as art is due to a variety of causes: a lack of intellectual discourse in our culture, the Hollywood business model (a monster compared to what it was in previous decades), the obsession with entertainment and comfort at the cost of serious art. A huge factor is also the failure of film critics to engage the public on a deep, intellectual level without alienating them, safeguarding that their profession doesn't regress into relativistic blather or empty recommendations. It is the role of the critic to keep discussion of art alive and well and to ensure the continued cultural importance of the art form he or she champions, to love it and cherish it and to engage it on a level that extends beyond what we usually see in our newspapers and on the internet.

Malick

2011-05-24T15:41:00.000-07:00

Today's New York Times has a wonderful piece on Terrence Malick's newly crowned Palme d'or winner The Tree of Life. It is a glimpse into the methods of an astounding artist, one of America's all time greats, and one of the few directors who still views film as primarily an art form, a way to explore important themes, mysteries and truths.

The double bill to end all double bills - JASON X & BEACH PARTY

2011-05-22T23:34:00.000-07:00

Having partaken of a peyote button the size of a hockey-puck (as we are wont to do) one late May evening the purveyors of this site, after viewing eternity in a grain of sand, in their infinite wisdom saw a direct aesthetic, logical and metaphysical connection between two seemingly antithetical films, the horror extravaganza Jason X and the 60's surrealist masterpiece Beach Party.

You can't keep a good man down!

Jason X is the kind of trash they just don't make anymore. It would be the perfect film to see at a drive-in theater with a bottle of cheap wine. The sets are obviously recycled from some science fiction television series, as are many of the actors (the two female leads, Lexa Droig and Lisa Ryder starred in the television series Andromeda). The script is pretty much nonexistent but that's okay. The stories haven't exactly been a hallmark of quality for of the Jason series. Having finally figured out that Jason is indestructible the US government figures their best bet is to cryogenically freeze the big lug until they figure out what to do with him. The particulars of Jason's ability to regenerate are never discussed in detail. One character mentions the authorities tried to electrocute him, shoot him, stab him and hang him. Now, those are all classic methods of execution but in the case of someone like Jason perhaps more inventive methods were in order. Would he be able to survive being pushed into a wood chipper by Peter Stormare? Would he reassemble like the T-1000? Unfortunately, we never get the answers to these pressing questions. And we probably won't until they make Peter Stormare vs. Jason. Which would be amazing. Especially if it was directed by David Lynch.

The film stays completely within the boundaries of the genre which is to its favor. It never tries to overextend itself and has a nice sense of humour about the whole proceedings. Every character is a sci-fi/horror cliché and there are moments of delectable and gratuitous gore, although female nudity is rather lacking for a film of this ilk. All in all a very commendable effort, quite the enjoyable failure and a much more entertaining addition to the series than most of the previous entries.

You stooooopid!!!

After Buñuel and Dali did Un Chien Andalou Hollywood played catch-up with regards to surrealist cinema until this gem of a film came along, a bizarro-world masterpiece starring the demonic Frankie Avalon and the saucy yet disturbing Annette Funicello along with great supporting work from Robert Cummings as a bearded sociologist whose primary academic research consists of ogling young women in bikinis and Harvey Lembeck as Eric Von Zipper, a leader of a bike gang modeled after Brando in The Wild One and Nicholson in Batman (even though that film was made thirty six years later - yup, he's that good). Beach Party makes the filmographic ouvre of Elvis Presley seem like the collected works of Emeric Pressburger. This is a THC-infused cacophony of the best sort, consisting of bad jokes, pre-Easy Rider innuendos and a cast of characters so ridiculous and a story so bad that it takes the better part of a bottle of bourbon to even get the gist of what the hell is going on: (Frankie wants to shag Annette; Annette invites all of their friends over for no apparent reason; Frankie gets pissed and tries to make Annette jealous so she returns the favor; Robert Cummings is a perv and Annette hooks up with him; Eric Von Zipper wants to beat everyone up but keeps getting frozen by Robert Cummings' Vulcan death grip; Big Daddy keeps it cool; a mentally handicapped person keeps showing up at inopportune moments; beatnik chicks keep getting frozen in yoga poses... WHAT THE HELL!!!) . If this kind of film were made today it would seem overwrought and forced in its attempt at being post-modern and strange. But the original product is surprisingly fresh and fun, flowing smoothly along in all its idiotic glory, a testament to the strange and bizarre pseudo-culture of the early 1960's American teenager, a last, wasted breath of innocence before the Kennedy assassination, Vietnam and the tumultuous times of the later 60's counterculture.

Beach Party is in many and authentic ways a good film, well made and honest in its dumbness. It has a kind of authentic stupidity which is, frankly, a breath of fresh air from the manufactured stupidity of modern Hollywood. It also contains one of the best celebrity cameos I have ever seen, a moment so strange in its silliness that it could have been proudly followed by the theme song from Twin Peaks. If you are an adventurous lover of cinema Beach Party comes highly recommended, a well crafted gem of a strange cinematic era and a hallmark of Hollywood silliness.

THOR: More Fun Than Getting Hammered on a Rainbow Bridge.

2011-05-21T22:08:00.000-07:00

Writing about THOR has been surprisingly difficult – maybe because I was a bit surprised at my reaction to the movie. The action sequences are big & flashy. The plot feels a bit convoluted at times. Certain roles are superfluous. Elements of the direction are contrived. And the love story in the center of it all is nothing short of unbelievable. However….I have to admit that I walked out of the theater smiling.

With THOR, Kenneth Branagh (clearly adding to his 401k) has created one of the most satisfying blockbuster movies I recall seeing in quite a while. It’s a big oaf of a movie – for all its faults, it’s just so genuine & kind that I couldn’t help but love it.

I walked into the movie with essentially no knowledge of the Thor mythology, comic book or not. And, as with most comic book movies, this ignorance generally helps me more than it hinders. I’m sure there were little quips and references throughout it that flew over my head, but I also avoided the pitfall of: “Well in the comic book, it happened THIS way.” The dangers of comic book adaptations are bountiful, and I’m sure sometime we’ll have a discussion about the nature of adaptations in general. But for now, I was just able to enjoy THOR in and of itself.

Here’s what needs to be known about the plot: in another world/dimension/whatever, Thor ends up getting banished by his king father for being too arrogant. He ends up on Earth, while his sinister younger brother ends up assuming the throne which was meant to be Thor’s. On Earth, he meets & befriends some scientists, who end up trying to help him find his hammer (the source of his power) which also ended up on Earth during the whole banishment ordeal. Uhm…yeah. There are also ice giants, Thor’s group of friends who are trying to find him, a secret government organization who are working against (yet also with) the scientists. The Na’vi show up to save Pandora, but not before Magneto rides in on Shadowfax to steal the secret of Bruce Banner’s power. I couldn’t really care less about all of this. One of the story’s hang-ups is its trying to cover so much ground. I understand that this was basically created as a setup for THE AVENGERS, but come on.

Another problem is how Thor and the lead human scientist, played respectively by Chris Hemsworth and Natalie Portman, almost instantly fall in love. OK – it is just a comic book movie, but still. I guess two attractive people have no need of dating or spending more than a couple days together in order to become enamored with each other. Apparently, one should never underestimate the power of the “V” (right Vincent?).

Alright, when it’s all said and done, THOR did win me over for two main reasons. First, I found the movie surprisingly funny…and the humor was INTENDED. Maybe I was just in the right frame of mind, but I found myself laughing quite a bit, even at all the slapstick. And this pains me to say, but…I even liked Kat Denning’s character, even though she existed for the sole purpose of comic relief. I. KNOW. Don’t ask me to explain.

The second reason I liked THOR was because of its general, good-natured tone. No thanks to a certain well-liked director out there today, so many movies have this push to be “realistic,” and dark, and moody - and they end up just squelching the fun out of so much of the cinematic experience. THOR hit me like a fresh wind. It wasn’t pretentious. It wasn’t angsty. It just set out to be fun, and it succeeded. At the same time, the movie didn’t dumb things down and shove explosions into your eye-sockets. It respected the intellects of the audience more than it didn’t. It all just worked.

There is some serious cinematic chemistry at work in THOR. If you add all the pieces up, THOR doesn’t sound like it should work, and it shouldn’t. However, it ends up surpassing the sum of its parts. The credit can be spread around to a few different places, but primarily to a very likable Chris Hemsworth and to Kenneth Branagh who ends up making a number of mistakes but also makes some gutsy choices. Ultimately the basic, good natured elements of the film end up shining through, making THOR a very satisfying movie.

Torture a critic part II: The Passion of the Christ

2011-05-15T21:59:00.000-07:00

Our hiatuses are longer than all the Oscar telecasts combined and for this we apologize, as always. Hopefully the Lovecraftian tentacles of the internet will reel in the few souls who join us on these pages and rejoin our cinematic propensities.
Eons ago, when the first version of the ipad was still hip and Justin Bieber looked like a lesbian we promised readers to indulge in a serious bout of philosophical and existential masochism by forcing ourselves to view films that we would otherwise shirk like a moldy yogurt. Reid bravely took on the dark surrealism of Precious: Based on the novel by Yaphet Kotto, turning in a piece of cinematic criticism that in its glory seemed like the alcoholic lovechild of Pauline Kael and John Updike. My own fate was sealed when readers voted my cinematic waterboarding to take the form of Mel Gibson's (ugh!) infamous fundamentalist spectacle The Passion of the Christ, a film I loved to hate in the glow and comfort of prejudice but which I must now despise with its irrevocable, pathetic imagery seared into my brain for the rest of my life.

Why all the hate, though? Well, when the film came out I, like most sane people, was somewhat taken aback by the astounding fervor surrounding the film which seemed to have little or nothing to do with its cinematic qualities but rather its extremely disturbing and unholy relationship with American fundamentalist Christianity, especially of the Evangelical kind. Back then I found few things more confusing and - frankly - pathetic than Christianity resulting in The Passion having a worse aura in my book than Emperor Palpatine and Dick Cheney combined. The fact that I wholeheartedly despise most of the Mel Gibson's output as either an actor or director didn't help, especially since this disposition centered primarily around his most lauded effort as both director and thespian, the men-in-kilts Academy Award winning Braveheart, a film that I found so pathetic and inane that it made Forrest Gump seem like Last Year at Marienbad.

The bitches brew of fate is a strange one indeed and so a few years later I found myself a convert to the ancient faith of Christianity, albeit a much stranger and mellower form than either Mel Gibson or his Evangelical adherents hold to. Yet despite this Passion of the Christ seemed even less like a cinematic undertaking worthy of my time. Instead of finding the prospect of watching a two hour snuff-fest version of the Christ's crucifixion and death a pathetic waste of time I now also found it to be a rather blasphemous prospect indeed. It was therefore with a heavy heart and a repentant prayer on my lips that I joined Reid in watching this mess of a film, one of the ugliest pieces of cinema I have ever seen.

Let me start my review (if this stream-of-consciousness nonsense qualifies as such) by pointing out that said ugliness certainly does not derive from a lack of technical proficiency. The cinematography, especially, is a very qualified piece of work indeed (nominated for a statue of a naked bald man, no less) and director-Gibson knows where to point his camera. The verisimilitude with regards to the period is also nicely handled with the entire cast performing nicely in ancient Aramaic (I, along with a host of other reviewers, know this for a fact, given that we are all adapt in ancient Aramaic). Yet these technical merits in no way result in beautiful images, good direction or a passable script. There can be no separation of form and content in good art and that has seldom held as true as in this film. Gibson's content is relegated to almost nothing but the torture of Christ at the hand of the Jewish high-priests and later Pilate's cronies. This event is given all of a couple of sentences in the four gospels yet Gibson here elaborates upon those few words to such an extent that the film basically takes it place in the questionable genre of torture-porn. Any human being would have been dead within the first ten minutes of this film yet the fun goes on for another hour and fifty. Perhaps Gibson is secretly a Docetist.

A discussion of a film like this naturally extends into the territory of theology, like it or not. Art, philosophy and theology (when the sticky matter of the divine pops up in an artistic context) are all intrinsically linked in a film like this. The problem here doesn't so much lie with the inability of the filmmakers to create powerful and beautiful images or to tell a story but rather that this does not seem to have been the purpose to begin with. Gibson is a fundamentalist through and through. His interpretation of the mystery of Christ's death and Resurrection (maybe - who cares about that part?) is basically drawing on the most legalistic, dark and ugly interpretations that Western Christianity has had to offer in the past millennium (teachings all that the Christian East thankfully never even touched with a ten foot pole): God the Father is pissed off as all hell because human beings have been a bunch of dicks and He wants vengeance on a scale so grandiose it would have all the Old Testament prophets pissing in their pants. Human beings are simply not able to take the kind of ass-whooping that God the Father has in store so He has to send His only begotten Son into the world to be whooped. And whooped He is, over and over and over and over and over and over. And in feeling the pain and misery and suffering of this whooping, in feeling how guilty and horrible and wretched we are, we may somehow partake of this cathartic whooping and be allowed into the country-club that is the Kingdom of Heaven. The Passion of the Christ is basically the cinematic equivalent of the heretical medieval sect of the flagellants or the butt-crazy practitioners of devotional crucifixion in the modern-day Philippines, practices that have for ages been considered disgusting and heretical by any people who come even close to being called orthodox Christians.

If this Mickey Mouse version of Christianity gels well with your own spiritual beliefs than perhaps The Passion of the Christ is right up your alley. If you (be you Protestant, Catholic or Orthodox) perhaps think that there maybe more (just something more) to these ancient and strange myths of the Messiah being born to a Virgin and dying on a Cross, than you will probably be left wanting by this film. Even if you are an atheist and you have even a shred of respect for spirituality, myths, symbolism, mystery, poetry, allegory or philosophy than this film will leave a very bad taste in your mouth. There are beautiful meditations in the history of cinema on whatever it was that took place on a hill called Golgotha two thousand years ago. Scorsese's The Last Temptation of Christ is a masterpiece, a reflective and contemplative film that raises questions through image and word, that lets us enter deeper into the mysteries. And Pasolini's The Gospel According to St. Matthew remains among the most spiritual and profound works of art ever created in any medium, a journey into the reality of beauty and compassion. The Passion of the Christ is the exact opposite of these, a fundamentalist snuff-film that represents everything that is gross and disturbing about religion, perhaps the supreme manifestation of what Freud wrote about in Totem and Taboo.

Kurosawa's Dreams

2011-04-15T20:37:00.000-07:00

Very beautiful and poetic short segments depicting dreams centering around man's relationship with the Earth. Mythical and symbolic imagery abounds. Actors in beautiful costumes and masks represent a peach orchard that is about to be cut down, a man returning from war encounters the spirits of his dead comrades, angels and demons weep over the destruction we have caused and finally there is a glimpse of the simplicity of paradise, of what life could be like if we were not so dominated by technology and our passions (realities that are deeply intertwined).

Parts of the film are especially harrowing in light of the aftermath of the March 11th earthquake and tsunami in Japan. Kurosawa shows strange, horrifying images of Mt. Fuji turning red and spewing forth poisonous gases in the aftermath of a nuclear meltdown, a symbolic representation of what is now a harrowing reality with the meltdown at the Fukushima reactor. Kurosawa offers no alternatives or a philosophical dialogue on the matter and he should not be faulted for this. He is, rather, showing us an almost child-like view of nature and man's potential for causing suffering to himself and the environment. It is a plea - or, perhaps, an invitation - for us to view the environment with the eye of an artist like Van Gogh (played with little skill but great zest by Martin Scorcese), or a child who cries when his favorite tree is cut down, or an old man who lives in simplicity in a little village, giving thanks with every breath he takes. Kurosawa is echoing the basic precepts of most of the world´s great spiritual traditions who understand man's relationship with the environment as being primarily Eucharistic, that our role is not to exploit nature but to humbly give thanks for her. Nature is the realm of spirits and gods, the temple of the divine, and it is only by seeing this sacredness that we can view her rightly. As the mystical prophet Jacob said after his theophanic vision in Genesis: "This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of Heaven." Kurosawa is both celebrating such a vision - whether that of the Starry Nights of Van Gogh or the sight of an angel as one sees death approach in a blizzard - and opening up an invitation to it.

Van Gogh's "Wheat Field under Threatening Skies"

There are moments of indulgence in the film and the different parts are of varying quality. Yet the overall work, though no masterpiece, is a wonderful meditation by a master filmmaker in his autumn years who can contemplate life in the light of death. Kurosawa holds the shot for great lengths of time and when the composition is strong, as it often is, the effect is beautiful and calming. The editing is very much indicative of the wonderful tonality of classic Japanese filmmaking, very different in effect and intention from the forceful editing of the Russians that so deeply influenced American filmmakers. Here the focus is not on synthesis or even rhythm but rather on space. Kurosawa is, in some ways, much more "Transcendental" in Dreams than in many of his other films, more in tune with masters like Ozu and Tarkovsky. The shots are not centered on character or plot but rather on environment and space.

The film is a very beautiful and in some ways humbling reminder of our relationship to the environment. We can either bring forth the inherent beauty of nature through our presence or we can deny her completely through our ugliness and our destructive technologies. Our rate of consumption and spiritually and physically destructive lifestyles demand ever more energy and the depletion of natural resources, as well as our reliance on such monstrous technologies as nuclear power plants. We try to isolate ourselves from nature and to overpower her rather than to live in harmony with her cycles and gifts. It is important in the wake of the horrors of natural disasters such as the earthquake of March 11th that we not only grieve and heal but also that we repent. There is increased discussion in Western countries about building more nuclear power plants, even though we know full well (now more than ever) how dangerous and irresponsible this would be. As we offer prayers for our brothers and sisters in Japan we should also meditate on our lifestyle, our reliance on technology and energy and the possibility for a renewal of our relationship with nature, a relationship that is largely determined by our spiritual vision, our ability to see her as something to be celebrated and cherished. It is the renewal of this vision that Kurosawa offers us in his dreams.

The Thief of Bagdad

2011-04-05T19:56:00.000-07:00

I had the exact same reaction watching this film now as I did when I saw Star Wars (A New Hope) for the first time when I was eight years old, one of pure awe. The technicolor cinematography is astounding, the special effects are wondrous (the opposite of modern, deadening, 3D CGI nonsense). The story is a combination of pure bed-time narrative and eternal mythology. This is a great work of art, one that exemplifies both sophisticated technical expertise and the innocent experimentation and imagination of a child. The Thief of Baghdad re-presents to us everything that is wondrous and strange and magical about films, things that no other art form or forms of storytelling can quite reproduce. Genies fly and magicians turn people into dogs and the good prince becomes blind and there is a realm of magic which men have forgotten but which the purity of a child can rediscover. This film is good for the soul in untold ways and is a prime reminder of why films are among the most wondrous, magical and astounding discoveries of humankind. If you have not seen this film you should try to as soon as possible. It is lovely and beautiful and strange.

Prince Ahmad of Bagdad (John Justin) is tricked by his Grand Vizier Jaffar (Conrad Veidt - the astoundingly evil nazi from Casablanca) and cast out of his kingdom. Jaffar casts a spell on Ahmad, turning him blind, but not before Ahmad catches a glimpse of the princess (June Duprez), the most beautiful woman in the land. Together with his plucky friend Abu (Sabu), prince Ahmad seeks to defeat the evil wizard Jaffar and return to his rightful place as the ruler of the land, freeing the people from the oppression of his predecessors and the evil vizier.

Obviously a huge influence on both the Star Wars and Indiana Jones franchises, The Thief of Bagdad is a wonderful adventure, one which utilizes the language of cinema to its fullest potential. It is the kind of film that will leave your jaw hanging for much of its running time, creating magical scenarios that still manage to enchant and amaze, outdoing modern special effects through sheer imagination and technical wizardry. No computer generated special effects could ever come close to the artfulness of these scenes. The performances are lovely, simple and straightforward, later echoed in Lucas' original Star Wars films. Veidt is delicious as the evil wizard and Duprez and Justin do an excellent job with their roles. Special kudos go to Sabu and Rex Ingram as a Djinn.

The greatest compliment I can grant to this film is that it reminds me of Saint-Exupery's majestic The Little Prince: "It is only with the heart that one can see rightly." This is a great film and one that deserves to be studied and contemplated deeply.

On the art of cinematic napping

2011-03-25T21:48:00.000-07:00

The Drunken Faun by Johan Tobias Sergel. One of the all-time great nappers.

I have, especially in my later years, become somewhat notorious for falling asleep during films. This is true whether I see them at home, at a friend's house or at the theater. It equally applies to art films, action movies, long films and short ones. This might seem a bit incongruous with my highfalutin view of film and my belief that we need to be mentally and spiritually focused when we watch films. Aside from admitting the fact that I, like, any good Christian, tend to struggle a great deal with practicing what I preach, I would in addition like to offer some thoughts on why it is not altogether a bad thing to nap during films - as long as one makes every effort to view the rest of the piece in a less somnolent state - and why it might not be altogether opposed to taking films very seriously as art.

(A caveat: What follows is based on the unproven hypothesis that napping during my cinematic sojourns is not solely the result of my Updikian appetite for bourbon. Although a definite influence on the matter at hand, I believe that the Wild Turkey does not tell the whole story).

I find the experience of watching a film incredibly calming. Aside from the psychosomatic influence of dim lights, focusing one's attention upon flickering images and sitting very still in a comfortable chair, I believe there is a certain kind of meditative quality to the experience of art, one that transcends both the rational and emotional aspects of our being - what we could call the noetic or spiritual aspect of art. This quality touches on the fact that art gives form and order to seemingly chaotic and random elements. Few mediums accomplish this to the same extent that film does. The raw material of images, sounds, music and words come together in astounding ways, revealing meaning and truth in myriad ways.

Art, in its ability to make beauty manifest, offers a refuge from the crazy, dark and absurd world that makes up a great deal of our day to day lives. Yet, paradoxically, this refuge is not an escape from the everyday, it is in no way a pseudo-reality, a fantasy world, to which we "escape" for fun and from which we must then return to the confusion of our lives. Rather, this refuge infuses our everyday lives. It shows us our true lives, what the world is actually like, if only we have eyes to see it as it truly is. Art is a refuge in the same way that a Buddhist will take refuge in the Buddha, the Dharma and the Sangha; it is an oasis in the desert and when we drink from its waters it reveals the desert to have been an illusion. Just like a Christian is to center their entire existence on the day of Resurrection, making their celebration of the Liturgy on Sundays seep and flow into every second of the "everydayness" of the rest of the week (opposed to the "Sunday Christian" who is full of piety on that one day and then wallows in secular darkness the rest of the week) art allows us to see our lives in the light of the beauty that it presents.

This experience I have just described, an experience of a world that makes sense and is full of meaning, is both incredibly exciting but also very calming. It is a place of peace. It is a place where I want to take a nap. There is something so comforting about the thought that there are films in this world. I am reminded of the words of Borges: "I cannot sleep unless I am surrounded by books." The same goes for films.

It brings peace to my soul to think that I live in a world where Woody Allen has made Manhattan, where Scorcese has made Taxi Driver, where Ozu has made Late Spring. This is a fine place to be alive in. A fine place to take a nap.

Symbols and devotion - On going to the theater

2011-03-25T21:08:00.000-07:00

We live in an age without real symbols. If we consider symbols at all then they only denote a lack, an absence. The modern understanding of a symbol has been largely influenced by such thinkers as Freud and Jung, the latter of which saw symbols as an attempt to point towards a reality that is largely unexplainable and that cannot be clearly articulated. Yet our age tends to deny the validity of the mysterious or anything that cannot be reduced to formulas, theorems, concepts or scientific "proofs." Given that symbols only suggest such a reality it becomes very easy to deny the validity of the symbol altogether. This is why myths, poetry and allegories are considered fanciful entertainment at best.

Contrary to this understanding is that of pre-Enlightenment Europe and of indigenous cultures throughout the world today. On this view the symbol does not simply point towards the mysterious, it makes it manifest. The symbol is considered a window into the divine, into the unfathomable aspects of human nature and the cosmos that lie at the center of our very being. Though these things cannot be explained through ordinary language, theorems or proofs they can nonetheless be experienced. The symbol, on this account, offers the opportunity for mysticism - not as some vague, new-age concept relating to visions, magic or the occult - the possibility of human beings to directly experience spiritual realities, to make the invisible visible. This could be understood in terms of something as unfathomable and magnificent as God, Truth, Beauty - or it could touch on more everyday experiences that cannot be reduced to language: Hearing a piece of music so beautiful that this vale of tears suddenly begins to make sense; encountering the reality of death, either our own or that of a loved one; falling in love. The symbol enables us to make sense of these things, not in order to understand them (such a thing is not only impossible but ugly) but rather to enter into them more deeply.

A film theater is a powerful symbol. One enters into a large cavernous room and is engulfed in darkness. There is a tangible excitement in the air, a breathless moment of anticipation that is shared with everyone else in that room, strangers united in something very real, human and mysterious. There is a devotional aspect to seeing a film in the theater. A space is created, perhaps a sacred space. And in that space light emerges. And through the sculpting of this light we experience stories, images, moments, ideas, beauty, truth, excitement, humor and the ability to expand our consciousness towards the heretofore unthought. We empathize, fantasize, question and understand. In the darkness we are completely focused on the light and in this light we not only recognize something in ourselves but come to learn something about what it means to be human.

Thoughts on this from Nathaniel Dorsky, from his wonderful essay Devotional Cinema:

Viewing a film has tremendous mystical implications; it can be, at its best, a way of approaching and manifesting the ineffable. This respect for the ineffable is an essential aspect of devotion.

Most film theaters are ugly multiplexes, industrialized entertainment centers, churning out rollercoaster rides in resplendent 3D for people hungry to dull their senses and their minds. Any sort of devotion is impossible in such a setting. Seeing a film at an old, independent movie house, filled with history and memories and years and years of beautiful films and songs and poetry, is a powerful experience of which most people today are completely bereft. What is important is not the technical qualifications of the projector or the quality of the screen or sound system but rather the setting itself, whether or not the theater is a place that opens us up towards receiving beauty, receiving art, receiving symbols. Whether the theater is, to some extent, a symbol itself. One can, of course, be completely receptive to a beautiful work of art in any setting. Some of my most cherished cinematic memories came from rather nasty theaters. Yet such a setting makes it harder to truly see what is being presented. We have to ready our minds and our bodies before exposing ourselves to art, before seeing a film, reading a book, hearing a story. Perhaps a prayer is in order. And the setting can either help or hinder our receptivity, our ability to enter into communion and dialectic with the artist.

This is why viewing films at home, no matter how great our digital TVs and our Blue Ray players may become, can never equal the experience of seeing a film at a theater. Yet there are variations on this theme. What is important when viewing a film at home is not the quality of the equipment or how crisp the image is but rather the reverence of the viewers towards the devotional aspect of film. This does not imply a dour, stiff, "Protestant" attitude of grim silence and determination. True devotion should be a dance and a celebration. If one sees a film with like-minded lovers of film in an attitude of shared reverence and joy then this matters more for our ability to truly see the film than any Blue Ray player, television set or surround sound ever could.

But the magic of cinema is most complete in the dark. In the dark we share in the vision of the artist, that eternal now that they are attempting to open up through their art. The theater is still the best place to see films.

What's your guys' problem? - A defense of the lover of film

2011-03-22T11:32:00.000-07:00

What follows is a somewhat lengthy article on the love of art and film and why it is that many people have a largely negative view of film criticism or anyone who takes film and art extremely seriously.

The piece is largely inspired by discussions Reid and I have had with people regarding our views of certain popular "Blockbuster" films, perhaps particularly Cameron's Avatar and Christopher Nolan's Inception and The Dark Knight. I believe that disagreeing views on these films have less to do with assessing their critical qualities and more to do with different views on the nature of art and the relationship between life and art.

That being said, I do need to add the following caveat: In this article I make something of a distinction between the "film lover" and the "film critic," praising the first and critiquing the second. I would like to state that I definitely consider myself more of a film critic than a film lover at this point (Reid will have to speak for himself) but that the purpose of this website is to aspire to become more of a film lover, i.e. someone who aspires to recognize what is beautiful in art - film specifically - and open up this recognition in dialogue with others.

What's your guys problem, anyway? - A defense of the philosopher critic

Anyone who loves film and appreciates it as beautiful and true - which is to say, anyone who appreciates film as art - will at some point or another be seen as very irritating in his or her discussion of film. The lover of film wants continually to discuss films on a level that seems elitist, overly analytic or absurd to the average moviegoer. The lover of film will also, paradoxically, often seem like he or she harbors largely negative views towards the majority of film, failing to appreciate many films because of a tendency to overanalyze everything in an attempt to show off his or her superior knowledge of the medium. This will, naturally enough, often elicit the question of what exactly is this person's problem. Why can't they get out of their head and simply enjoy films like a normal human being?

In what follows I would like to offer an apology (as in apologia, a defense) of the lover of film and elucidate why it is that this person can cause such an unwelcome response. In doing so I want to attempt a certain kind of dialectic between the average film viewer, who enjoys films but sees no reason to obsessively pick them apart, and the lover of film who sees criticism of a very specific kind (more on that later) as a necessary part of not only an appreciation of film but of life itself. My goal here is to present the lover of film (along with the lovers of any other form of art) as being members of a very ancient and noble tradition, namely the love of wisdom, Philosophia.

I. The gadfly

The main worry of the average moviegoer is that the film critic, and those who take films very seriously, is that this person is perhaps missing the main point of going to the movies in the first place, which is to have fun. If one were to constantly analyze, criticize and examine everything in life, like the critic seems to do, one would be miserable, unable to really enjoy anything or have any fun. The correct response to such a person is to try to get them to stop worrying so much and just relax and enjoy films (or life in general). It is especially important to try to persuade the critic in this way because if one listens to the critic for too long their pessimism and over-analysis becomes literally contagious, making one doubt enjoyable experiences of films one has had in the past. If this starts to happen the best course of action might be to simply ignore the critic. Failing this one always has the option of either running away or kicking said person in the shin.

The main thesis I want to present here is that this attitude of the average moviegoer is actually indicative of a much larger worldview, one which is afraid of not only deep questioning about film but about life in general. As such this response mirrors the extremely negative reaction many people have to philosophy and the practitioners of the love of wisdom, a reaction that is either dismissive or violent. Perhaps the best representation of this negative reaction is Plato's majestic Apology, where Socrates, the patron saint of philosophy, stands before a jury of his fellow Athenian countrymen, defending his way of life and his values. The reason why Socrates is there in the first place, having been indicted on false charges of impiety and "corrupting the youth," is that he has for some time criticized, questioned and challenged the values and norms of the society in which he lives, values and norms he sees as being destructive for the human soul. These values and norms of ancient Athens are pretty much the same that our own modern Western-European or North-American society holds dear, values that have dominated countless cultures for the three millennia. These values are, simply put, the glorification of leisure, comfort, material well-being, entertainment, position, authority and power. In short, the glorification of what people normally mean by the very elusive word "happiness." The tradition of philosophy, both East and West, is to challenge this worldview, to offer an alternative to this way of life, to offer a way (Tao/Logos) that is centered on wisdom, beauty, truth, virtue and the healing of the soul. The philosopher is someone who would choose pain, suffering and even death rather than live the life of the status quo. As Socrates himself said, "The unexamined life is not worth living."

Now, I would of course not want to go as far as to say that the critic, the lover of art, is an exact parallel to Socrates. After all, Socrates was willing to die for his beliefs. But insofar as one is a philosopher, not in the modern sense of an academic but as someone who seeks to think deeply and critically about the world, one will naturally have an extremely dynamic and powerful relationship to beauty and art. The critic is demanding something more of him or herself and our fellow human beings than what is normally accepted, demanding an orientation towards something higher and more noble than just to enjoy what is "fun" and entertaining, demanding, namely, an orientation towards Beauty (tó kalon). The film critic (or any lover and questioner of art) is, in this way, a gadfly in much the same way as Socrates, awaking people from a comfortable slumber.

Such an awakening can be awfully irritating and perhaps even painful. It might mean we have to give up on a great many things we hold dear or that we have to challenge ourselves in extreme ways. But it as an awakening to a more fulfilling life, if a harder one, a life centered on beauty rather than on fun, an appreciation of film as art and not merely as entertainment.

II. Ways of being a philosopher - The film critic vs. The Lover of film

There is an initial problem with this parallel though. The fact is that there are many different ways in which one can be a film critic or a philosopher, some of which I believe can be termed "right" (as in healthy) and others "wrong" (as in misguided, unhealthy). The difference lies in whether one believes philosophy, and love of film, to be something one does or something one can be.

Let me illustrate this difference by focusing on the philosopher, for a moment, before moving on to the film critic. In the ancient world philosophers were considered to be sages and teachers, holy people whose lives were devoted to the pursuit of peace and wisdom (what in Buddhism is called the Boddhisattva, in Hinduism Guru and in Christianity a Saint). As philosophy developed it became increasingly abstract and rationalistic in the West (and only the West). This was due to the fact that Western culture become obsessed with focusing solely on the reasoning faculty of man as the seat of our humanity. This is in direct contrast with ancient and Eastern cultures which saw man as a primarily spiritual being, one that could transcend what can be understood rationally. This rationalism in the West eventually led to the so-called Enlightenment where the glorification of systems, principles and axioms, along with the influence of scientism and the industrial revolution, reduced philosophy to an entirely abstract, analytic discipline, culminating in the Anglo-American analytic tradition of the 20th century. For this reason most philosophers are today viewed as entirely neurotic people completely stuck in their heads, endlessly analyzing bizarre theories and concepts which have no bearing on real life, arguing in esoteric and obscure language about useless dilemmas. And such a view is largely (and very sadly) entirely correct. The modern critique of the philosopher as a neurotic worry-wart and aloof intellectual is very often true and to the point. Yet we need to realize that this modern manifestation of what people call "philosophy" has nothing to do with the ancient love of wisdom, nothing to do with the tradition of men and women who devote their lives to bettering themselves and the society they live in through humility, intellectual inquiry and spiritual development.

This unhealthy, "diseased" method of doing philosophy can is reflected in very similar ways in film criticism. The fact is that the average film goer is often right in deriding the critic for his intellectualism, pride and reliance on theories, abstractions and esoteric concepts. Criticism of art, much like philosophy, has been tainted by the methodology of the modern sciences and the pernicious influence of Enlightenment philosophies. We can see this in the way that the writings of many films critics represent the completely false dichotomy between "subjective" and "objective," between "emotion" and "reason," as if these dimensions of human experience and thought were easily separable in to rational categories. Film critics either pretend they are privy to some secret, esoteric formula, theory or conceptual schema that allows them to understand whether or not a film is really good or bad (people's opinions be damned) or their reviews are reducible to nothing but hyperbole and unjustified opinions (this latter version of film criticism is especially prevalent in the age of the internet, heralded by the fanboy-anti-intellectualism of websites such as Ain't it Cool). Either position is completely erroneous and both go a long way in explaining why it is that people's reaction to film criticism is so negative.

In opposition to this stands the the true philosopher and the true lover of film (who can never be simply reduced to a "critic"). Such a person offers an invitation to a questioning, a dialectic, a shared dialogue in which two people attempt to open up realms of truth and beauty. Philosophy - and film criticism, understood in this way - is an attempt to hone one's vision, to be able to see what is truly real and what is truly beautiful. This vision cannot be taken for granted, it needs to be trained and developed. It denotes a way of life, a way of being a person, rather than something one simply does from time to time. This is the tradition given to us by Socrates, Plato, Buddha and Lao-Tze. The modern analytic philosopher, as well as the modern academic critic or film theoretician, is usually completely ignorant or dismissive of this ancient way of thinking. Here there is no dichotomy between objective and subjective, reason and emotion. Here there is simply the opening up (aletheia - an unveiling) of possibilities, of recognizing what is truly real and truly beautiful through shared communion and appreciation.

The true lover of film needs to be careful about how they speak, how they carry themselves, how they offer this invitation to the beautiful. It is so easy to fail at this by being flippant, cynical, elitist. I do this continually myself in my own writing and speaking about film, alienating people rather than helping them to see what is beautiful and true in a work. This is a failure shared by the majority of film critics and writers today. Anytime one asserts one's own ego and pretends to be superior to others one fails as a philosopher. And this is exactly the failure of so many film critics and the reason why so many people dismiss them.

III. Film as entertainment and escape - Film as Beauty

Let's say for a second that I have managed to convey something you find to be truthful about the possibility of deep questioning and thinking about film, not as neurotic over-analysis but as a call for a kind of philosophy. It would be natural at this point to then address the question of whether my parallel here is not somewhat over the top, given that we are, after all, only talking about film. Philosophy and questions about meaning and existence are one thing but what has this to do with films? Aren't movies primarily a form of entertainment, a kind of escape from the problems and worries of life for a couple of hours? If so, don't they simply fall outside the realm of philosophia?

This question is, I believe, touching on the very heart of the matter. If films are nothing but entertainment, nothing but escape, then the lover of film is a sad person indeed. It would be like associating oneself deeply with being a lover of rollercoaster or ice cream (both fine and entertaining escapes). Many people - and sadly, it seems like the number increases with each generation - do not view films as art at all. Paintings yes, sculpture yes, music maybe. But not film. It used to be that the opening of a new work by a major director - Fellini, Kurosawa, Ozu, Godard, Scorcese, etc. - was heralded as a major cultural event, a chance for dialogue and philosophical inquiry. Films today are increasingly treated as completely replaceable, yet another frivolous form of entertainment for a frivolous age. This development recently caused the great American director Steven Soderbergh to announce his retirement. In his commentary for his marvelous film Che Soderbergh lamented the fact that the film was seen as a failure because it was polarizing, a facet he himself rightly views as the hallmark of a great work of art. This is clearly represented in much writing on film where the main question seems to be whether or not a person "liked" the film. Such a question is completely applicable to the rollercoaster or ice cream (some of which you may like and some you may not) but it completely fails to even touch on the artistic or philosophical merits of a film.

But what if film is not just an escape? What if art offers us something more than a momentary reprieve? Such was the view of every culture and every people before our modern, demented age. We have become completely immersed in the denial of beauty because of the overbearing dominance of the natural sciences where only that which can be reduced to what is measurable and "proven" has any bearing on truth. In such a culture art is nothing but a fanciful diversion from "real" life, from the serious work that needs to be done. Such a view naturally leads to a life that is cold, alienating, confusing and absurd. It is no wonder that people seek escape, and film (and all art) can indeed provide such an escape.

But perhaps this view of life, and therefore art, is wrong. Perhaps this modern reality we have created for ourselves with our cunning, our rational systems, our utilitarian thinking, is completely antithetical to what it truly means to be human. We would do well here to contemplate on the fact that before the modern age all people viewed truth and beauty as being completely interrelated, to such an extent that Socrates in the Symposium sees the philosopher - the lover of wisdom - as also being the lover of beauty - philokalon. In the ancient world - and still today in cultures that have not become unsensitized through an obsession with technology and comfort - art in all its forms, poetry, stories, paintings, pictures and (yes!) film are ways of exploring truth, of exploring what it means to be human, of opening up uncharted territories of reality, of getting in touch with the mystery of life and perhaps even the divine. Such a view of art translates into a view of life that is hopeful, joyous and illumined. If one's philosophy of life is such that one sees existence as absurd, a painful drudgery with occasional moments of comfort and "fun" that are to be extended as much as possible, one's view of art will be similarly limited. Yet if one sees life as being filled with joy, beauty and truth - not in spite of pain and suffering but perhaps even in and through pain and suffering - one will see art as an extension of philosophy, as a mode of healing for the human soul.

I do not want to provide an argument for the worldview I have espoused here. I simply point you in the direction of Plato, Aristotle, Lao-Tze, Gautama Buddha, the Hindu and Christian scriptures, the novels of Dickens and Dostoyevsky (who, indeed, said that "Beauty will Save the World"). What I am trying to suggest here is that someone who loves art, deeply and powerfully, and wants to convey this love not through pride and abstract analysis but through an invitation to a better way of life is someone that bears listening to. A culture that fails to love beauty, that fails to take storytelling, art, poetry, dance and film seriously as harbingers of truth and philosophy, is an ugly culture, one that will bring nothing but destruction and despair upon the world.

It is our duty as human beings to take art seriously, to not reduce it to mere entertainment, and in doing so to elevate our lives towards that which is transcendent and good, to not abide simply in the frivolous conformity of our day and age where everything is supposed to be "nice" and everyone is supposed to be "happy" (meaning comfortable) but to rather seek after that which is true and beautiful, no matter how hard or difficult it is. To live in such a way is to live a Eucharistic life, a life of celebration and thanksgiving.

Torture-a-Critic: Vol. 1, PRECIOUS

2011-03-07T23:04:00.000-08:00

"I had lived my life one way and I could just as well have lived it another. I had done this and I hadn’t done that. I hadn’t done this thing but I had done another. And so? It was as if I had waited all this time for this moment and for the first light of this dawn to be vindicated. Nothing, nothing mattered, and I knew why…Throughout the whole absurd life I’d lived, a dark wind had been rising toward me from somewhere deep in my future, across years that were still to come, and as it passed, this wind leveled whatever was offered to me at the time, in years no more real than the ones I was living. What did other people’s deaths or a mother’s love matter to me; what did his God or the lives people choose or the fate they think they elect matter to me when we’re all elected by the same fate…”

-Albert Camus, The Stranger

The deed is done. It took a bit of motivating (from myself, others, and libations), but I have sat through PRECIOUS, and I’m here to give my reaction. One of the reasons I chose to go through this little exercise was to validate my belief that there are good movies that I miss out on because my preconceived notions of those movies stop me from ever watching them. I had planned on never seeing PRECIOUS because I presumed it to be sentimental, ethically and emotionally didactic drivel. But in all honesty, I had a small voice inside me saying that I was going to find more than a couple things that I would actually enjoy. Having sat through this movie, I have to admit that I am surprised. Not only was PRECIOUS worse than I expected, it might as well have reached inside me, grabbed that little voice, and raped it on a bed saturated with grease and sweat. But now I’m getting ahead of myself.

Where to begin? Hmmm. Let’s start with the title of this gem: PRECIOUS: BASED ON THE NOVEL “PUSH” BY SAPPHIRE. Oh wow! It’s based on a novel? I’ve heard of those….like what that guy Shackspare wrote, right? Before you even start watching the movie, you have the title trying to manipulate you. Instead of just going with the title of PUSH, the powers-that-be changed it to that thesis above. Why? Well, because there was another movie out that year called PUSH, and most people can’t tell the difference between a drama about an overweight, abused teenager and an action movie with people shooting air out of their hands (or whatever). I know it’s tricky, but we don’t have to worry about that now. I wonder how many people have been saved from the awkward situation of walking into a bad action movie when they were trying to see a bad melodrama. If they wanted to call their movie PUSH, they should have done it. If they wanted to distinguish it, why not just call it PRECIOUS? What is the point of the rest of the title? WHAT IS IT!?! Okay…calm down. See, it’s not a good sign to already be this worked up over the movie when I haven’t even gotten to any part of the actual plot yet.

Gabourey Sidibe and Oscar-winning actress (!) Monique aside, the real stars of this movie are the screenplay (by Geoffrey S. Fletcher, adapted from Sapphire in case you didn’t know) and the direction (by Lee Daniels). Here is the plot of PRECIOUS. I’ll use bullet points so that everything will be clear:

• Precious is an overweight teenage girl with a plethora of self-esteem issues.
• She lives with her mother Mary who essentially hates her.
• Mary hates Precious because her ex-husband (and Precious’ father) raped Precious multiple times. She is essentially jealous of her own daughter for being raped.
• Precious has one daughter with her own father. This child has Down Syndrome. This girl’s name is Mongo. “Mongo” is a reference to “mongoloid” (!). We don’t actually see Mongo until practically half-way through the movie.
• Precious is also currently pregnant, also due to her father.
• Precious takes care of everything in the house, while her mother smokes and watches TV all day, periodically physically and psychologically abusing Precious.
• Precious is thrown out of school because she is pregnant and starts alternative school, where she starts to learn how to read.
• At some point she steals a bucket of fried chicken.
• SHE STEALS FRIED CHICKEN.
• After Precious gives birth, she takes her newborn son home. Mary holds her grandson, a symbol of her extreme disdain for her own daughter (rape envy, remember?), and intentionally drops him. Precious and Mary physically fight. Precious grabs her son and escapes down the apartment stairs. Mary drops her television down the stairwell, essentially trying to murder her daughter and grandson.
• Precious seeks help from her teacher at her alternative school, who happens to be a “straight up lesbian.”
• Precious now lives in a halfway house and continues school.
• Mary returns to Precious to inform her that her father has just died from AIDS. Precious is HIV-positive.
• Precious has been seeing a social worker played by Mariah Carey. She arranges one last meeting between Precious and her mother. Mary fesses up as to what happened when Precious was a baby:
• [I’m pretty sure all this is actually said]: Mary let her husband breastfeed from her, while she gave a bottle to Precious. Also, while they had sex, the husband would touch the infant Precious(!).
• All the while, Mary is crying and asking “Who would love her?”
• Precious leaves the office, content to never see her mother or the social worker ever again.
• With both children in tow, Precious walks down the street smiling.

Alright, so again, the point of this whole exercise was to give a chance to a movie that I normally would not have seen. I would like to be as open and free from presuppositions as I can be, so here is my attempt to be as generous as I can:

PRECIOUS is possibly the most mainstream movie to present an existential perspective. More specifically, it may be an absurdist masterpiece. As described in the Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy, the “absurd” describes that conflict which arises between ourselves, as beings who desire rationality and justice, and the reality of the universe, which seems to hide those qualities from us – whether or not they even exist. (Camus is perhaps the most well-known absurdist, though basically all existentialists have something to say on these matters.) Put bluntly, life is going to continually throw crap at you, and you will never find out if there is a purpose for it. This is not to say that meaning doesn’t exist in the universe, just that it inherently escapes us.
Precious would seem to be the poster child for the person in an absurdist crisis. Life makes no sense to her. HOW COULD IT?! She seeks answers from family – no help. From friends – no help. From church (hinted) – no help. From social workers – no help. From teachers – close, but no help. Her only respite seems to come from her daydreams, which makes sense since they allow her to escape from reality (and into BET music videos). And it would seem that the only surefire way to beat the absurdity of the universe is to escape it. However, reality is always waiting, ready to drag you back to its level. The whole movie seems to exhibit all of the dead-ends that one will run into by trying to explain things. Happiness cannot and will not come from any attempts to “explain things.”

In the end, though, Precious walks away from the confrontation with her mother with a smile on her face. Is she just delusional? Didn’t she hear all that stuff her mother just said? HER FATHER BREASTFED FROM HER MOTHER!? How can anyone be happy in this absurd universe? Well, happiness is possible, but only if you resolve to accept the elusiveness of meaning. If you are able to reach the point of knowing that there is no way to understand life, then stress will ultimately fade. Sure, you’ll still lapse into the anxiety of everyday situations, but those instances should diminish as your resolution to accept absurdity takes over. If you go with the flow, as it were, then the self-imposed existential pain of life can be overcome – because that’s all it really is: “self-imposed.” Reaching this point is not easy, however. It’s a lifelong struggle. You only really reach it by coming to a point of extreme self-reliance. Precious has had the proverbial kitchen sink thrown at her probably multiple times. And as we leave her at the end of the movie, she’s earned that smile, because she now knows there is nothing she can do to earn meaning. She has let go. She’s seen the worst of the world. What more can she do except give into the seeming meaninglessness. And by doing so, she has actually found peace. She walks off into her new life as a person who knows that whatever happens “good” or “bad,” it is nothing to worry about, since there is nothing she can do about it. Now go and do likewise.

Whew! Now back to the reality of this movie. PRECIOUS is certainly no absurdist masterpiece. If anything I just wrote about this movie has any truth to it, then it’s because of coincidence and is certainly unintentional. If Lee Daniels has created a masterpiece of any kind, it’s a masterpiece of emotionally manipulative drivel. It would seem that at every turn, this film strives to make you feel pity – and for what?! It heaps piles of crap upon this poor girl for what end? To make you pity her. To make you pity anyone who has been abused as a child. To make you pity anyone who lives in a slum. To make you pity anybody who’s experienced anything that Precious has. The by-product of all this pity is pointed guilt. YOU, the audience, should feel guilty for every time you’ve felt bad for yourself. You think you’ve got it bad? Well, get a load of this girl. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with heavy themes of guilt – I mean, I’m a fan of Ingmar Bergman and Lars Von Trier! But unless you anchor such themes to something bigger, then they are worthless. If there is a point to this movie other than to chide anyone who doesn’t lead a pitiful life, then I’m not sure what it is. It could be to display how the strength of the human spirit can overcome all obstacles, but if that’s the point, then there are other serious issues that are ignored.

Precious walks away at the end, confident that she doesn’t need the help of the social worker, even though it’s obvious that she’s going to need welfare if she has any hope of caring for her two children while alone and going to school full-time. There is also this weird faith put into education. I no doubt take my own education for granted all the time, but it does not exactly solve all my problems. It certainly does solve a number of issues, but in order to have fulfillment there needs to be something more. If this movie believes there is something more, then it doesn’t adequately even hint at it. Even Precious’ teacher is given the esteem of everything Precious should want for her own life, all centered on education it would seem. Precious by all means should continue with her education and get her GED. That is definitely a good thing, but only inasmuch as it is an avenue to other things. I wish the movie would suggest this idea a bit more. Ultimately, if you couldn’t tell, my main issue with PRECIOUS, is an unsatisfying answer to one question: what’s the point? Why drag us through this movie, only to give us what feels like an unearned “happy ending” of sorts? Of course we want Precious to find happiness, but I don’t understand how she just has it at the end. If it’s only because she has totally cut off her abusive mother from her life, I can’t help but feel like that is a small (though beneficial) victory in the grand scheme of things. OK, the real victory is probably that Precious is starting to take ownership of her life. She has finally stepped out of the passenger seat. I’ll assume this moment is the point of the movie. Taken on its own, it’s a good thing. But taken in the context of the whole movie, why oh why do we need all that other ugliness? It’s almost as if the movie suffers from the same issues as its titular character – instead of taking ownership of its storytelling, it passively relies on this series of horrendous events to tell its story. Daniels uses Aronofsky-esque “flash-cuts” in the rape scenes to push its ugliness in our faces – as though to say if he didn’t do that, the audience would react, “Hey, that rape didn’t seem so bad.” Then there is the scene where Precious and Mary are fighting each other. Edited into it are photographs of Mary’s joy of holding Precious when she was a baby. Why?! What’s the point of this – to make the fight seem all the worse? Thank you! I had previously assumed mothers throwing televisions at their children was normal behavior in lower socio-economic communities. Don’t rely on this trash – just tell the story, please.

Overall the acting was fine, if melodramatic – but hey, that’s what often wins Oscars. Ahem…. I never thought I would say this, but Mariah Carey was the best part of the movie. She’s got a small role, but it seems like the most normal character. And it’s straightforwardly acted by her. Huh. Weird. Monique did win an Oscar for her role. My main problem with her character is that I never reach the point of feeling sorry for her. In that final emotional scene, when she breaks down and helplessly cries for love, we’re obviously meant to feel sorry for her, which would bring an “interesting” twist to the character – I guess. However, by this point in the movie, the character has been written and acted into an almost cartoony level of evil, that I have basically no measure of sadness for her. And that essentially holds me back from saying it’s a good performance. It’s flashy and intense -I’ll give her that. Sidibe does a decent enough job. However, again, all the work is done for her by the director. All of our feelings for Precious have been decided by the slew of events that happen to her. As I put it earlier, this feels like “passive” storytelling.

Obviously, I had a lot of thoughts about PRECIOUS. I respect the movie enough for causing such thoughts. But it goes without saying that I didn’t like the movie at all. I’d certainly be happy to hear responses from people who did like the movie. I maybe missed some important things and misunderstood others. As it is, my thoughts stand. The initial exercise of our Torture-a-Critic series is now complete. Thanks for participating. Jerks.

If David Fincher built a car, I'd definitely buy it - Ágúst reviews The Social Network

2011-02-20T20:43:00.000-08:00

The Social Network is as slick as Shaft's leather coat, as technically marvelous as a spaceship and as sterile as a neutered armadillo. The very, very digital cinematography is by Jeff Cronenweth who also shot Fincher's painful Fight Club. If you have a 50 inch TV and a Blue Ray player this is the film to show those suckers off. Any spot of grain, technical imperfection or blemish has been banished to Farawayistan. Fincher has once again proven himself to be a master of camera placement, lens selection and general slickness. Kudos to editors Kirk Baxter and Angus Hall and composers Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross for making spoiled, superficial, rich people arguing in court rooms seem worth our time. The film is astoundingly exciting and zippy and represents the technical pinnacle of Hollywood filmmaking.

But why make a film about Zuckerberg?

Facebook, of course, offers us myriad interesting philosophical and spiritual questions about our day and age, our alienation and our angst, yet Fincher could care less. The film is primarily focused on a protagonist that is gleefully unapproachable and whom Fincher obviously shares a lot in common with. Fincher also found himself across large tables from people clad in Brooks Brother's suits a decade and a half earlier when he infamously screwed up the third entry in the Aliens franchise, primarily by being cowered into submission by lawyers and CEOs. Perhaps Fincher sees Zuckerberg as a kind of hero, the guy who wouldn't give up his vision and his ideal even though he was young and inexperienced. Whatever the appeal of Zuckerberg is to Fincher it never quite translates to the audience. Eisenberg is excellent, subdued and subtle, raising more questions than providing answers, yet the clever but empty script by Aaron Sorkin doesn't provide him with anywhere to go with the character or whatever it is that he might reveal about our day and age. The dialogue, though often fun, seems primarily intended to show off how clever and smart the film is - or is supposed to be. It's almost as if Sorkin wants to scream in your face that he can write dialogue so fast paced and witty that it makes Charles Lederer and David Mamet seem like whoever-the-hell wrote Mamma Mia.

Andrew Garfield as Zuckerberg's friend Eduardo Saverin is by far the most sympathetic character, though this isn't saying much since the film basically sets a world record in sleazy, unsympathetic characters. Garfield is the heart and soul of the story but he remains just as inexplicable as every other character. God knows why Eduardo wanted to be friends with Zuckerberg in the first place. Fincher doesn't seem interested in such messy silliness as emotions, friendship or compassion. The film is as calculated as the codes Zuckerberg churns out for his empire-to-be.

The Social Network director David Fincher. The shot was taken after Fincher's 7 o' clock espresso enema. Fincher was later seen dining with producer Scott Rudin at Spago's. The pair enjoyed a delightful medley of escargot in wasabi sauce, a risotto dish sprinkled with 24 carat gold flakes and a grey poupon milkshake.

I'm making all this sound a bit worse than it really is. Everyone should see this film. It is very enjoyable and incredibly engaging, immersing you in the world of corporations, lawyers and technocrats. Which is basically the center of our modern existence. But is the film good art? I don't know. Probably not. Art is necessarily messy, unpredictable, edgy, risky and dangerous. Fincher couldn't make such a film if his life dependent on it. At least not at this stage in his career. There has to be more to beauty than craftmanship. One needs a kind of wounded sensitivity, the need to speak, to express the confusion and pain and anguish that touches the core of our time in this vale of tears. Fincher, Sorkin, Rudin, et al are all so incredibly professional, highly trained and well-dressed that they miss a lot of the more interesting sociological, philosophical and (most importantly) personal questions that surround this strange figure of Mark Zuckerberg, his need for recognition, authority and power, accomplished through the creation of a website that mirrors the most ridiculous, superficial and neurotic tendencies of our disturbed age. If only directors such as Robert Altman and Stanley Kubrick were still around they could have made a masterpiece out of this story. As it is we have an excellent example of Hollywood craftmanship and a good reason to invest in that ol' Blue Ray player.

Alamar, The Runaways, Everyone Else - Capsule Reviews

2011-02-12T22:33:00.000-08:00

A few thoughts on Alamar, The Runaways and Everyone Else.

Alamar (2009)

A lovely film from 2009 by Pedro Gonzáles-Rubio, a meditation on the relationship between fathers and sons and man and nature. A pseudo-documentary or an experiment in film similar to the neo-realism of yore, the actors are essentially playing themselves but the film is not so much documenting as it is capturing, contemplating, caressing. The digital photography is wonderful, the compositions among the best I've seen in a film in a very long time. This is probably among the best films of recent years, a great non-linear, non-narrative poetic film without any of the usual art-house pretensions. Highly recommended.

The Runaways (2010)

As Timerwolves as they get, completely standard with nothing new to offer to the genre (it's basically a genre film even though the filmmakers don't seem to want to admit this). It's not clear why the story of girl-pop-punk band The Runaways needed to be told; the most interesting aspect of their story is that they were among the first "concept" groups, entirely manufactured to cater to a certain demographic, the brain-child of producer and manager Kim Fowley, played here in an obvious and so-over-the-top-its-boring performance by the usually talented Michael Shannon. As such the tale might have held potential to reveal truths about art as entertainment and entertainment as product but instead we get the usual rags-to-riches-to-rags story. The focus, for the most part, is on lead-singer Cherie Currie, well-played by Dakota Fanning who does the best she can with what little material she has. Director/writer Floria Sigismondi is under the unfortunate impression she's making something edgy or exciting. The visuals just lie there and the story-arc is uninspired. The film was obviously made by talented people but it has no spark or flair. To put things rather bluntly, in language offered repeatedly by the aforementioned Fowley character, the film completely lacks a pair of balls. This is most apparent in some completely ridiculous lesbian-sex scenes that are (one would assume) supposed to be edgy and erotic in the tradition of European art-house cinema. They instead make Zalman King seem like a master of the mise-en-scene (you've got to love those fluttering drapes). The best thing about the film, by far, is Kirsten Stewart, who turns in a subtle and interesting performance as Joan Jett, the rock n' roll heart of the group, refusing to succumb to the usual clichés and instead offering an interesting and rather sensuous take on what could have been the most superficial and obvious part of the film. Although Stewart obviously has a long way to go before her talents are completely honed I must admit that her restraint and development of the character had me very impressed.

Everyone Else (2009)

Gitti and Chris are a German couple vacationing and working - or hoping to work - in Italy, a quintessentially fragile and confused Gen-Y couple, trying to hide their discomfort behind a bohemian/hipster facade. He is an architect who is talented but not quite talented enough to defeat his own inexplicable (yet all too relatable) self-loathing and doubt. She works for a record company and is a much stronger and grounded person, both comforting and threatening to Chris in ways he can't even begin to understand. There are a lot of interesting themes presented here, among which are the conflict between security and success versus freedom and rebellion. The tension between the couple, the masculine and the feminine, is also explored in interesting psychological ways, gender roles and stereotypes turned on their heads through very effective dialogue and images. The main thrust of the story centers around their involvement with another German couple, Hans and Sana, who are much more traditional and conservative in their dynamic, lifestyle and philosophy but also seemingly more comfortable and successful in both their business and their life. The film is well made and represents the best of the lo-fi European style in several scenes with great use of silences and half-expressed fragmented thoughts beautifully realized through very able cinematography and direction; you can see the confusion and emptiness in the characters faces as they speak these words, even though it is also somehow apparent that they could be so much happier and honest if only they broke free of their shallowness and neuroses. Yet the film also suffers from this European minimalism. Chris is the protagonist of the film and he is awfully hard to relate to, a whimpering, rather pathetic man who could use a good slap in the face and a year on a farm. Even though Everyone Else lays bare many recognizable wounds it doesn't reveal much truth in this opening-up, relegating itself to the kind of superficial psychology of the ego (the false-self) that came to define much of the (bad) literature of past decades instead of dealing with the grander spiritual or philosophical questions of life.

Redemption characters Part II

2011-02-12T20:57:00.000-08:00

Our apologies, dear friends, for the unintended hiatus. We will try our best to keep our updates more regular. As always, life with its myriad complexities, wonderful, frightening and awesome, plays its part in one's ability to write about beautiful things. But fear not, we shall trudge forward, unhindered, with love of cinema and philosophy in our hearts and a drink in our hands. Let us proceed, dear friends and cherished readers.

Here are five more characters from film and television (and as before, in no particular order) that have represented the wonderful spiritual and philosophical theme of redemption in one way or another. I hope you enjoy.

5. Professor Grady Tripp (Michael Douglas) - Wonder Boys

One of my favorite films of all times and definitely one of the most underrated, and amazing meditation on age, hope, success, failure and art. The book by Michael Chabon is a wonderful work and Michael Douglas brings Grady Tripp to life in a beautiful, subtle ways, a broken, confused man who tries his best to navigate the minefield of life through drugs, literature and love. Grady is a novelist whose debut is considered a minor American classic but Grady has not subsequently been able to live up to the promise of his first novel, incessantly working on a behemoth of a follow-up whose page count numbers in the thousands, meanwhile working as a professor of creative writing and literature in Pittsburgh. He's a dubious character in many ways but a good man at heart, someone who has been momentarily subdued by life but whose spirit shines bright. He takes under his wing a young, confused student(Tobey Maguire) and through a couple of bizarre, drug- and booze addled days Grady comes to realize that his happiness and art are not dependent upon drugs, cynicism or some ill-defined muse of genius but rather through sober insights into the human condition, the ability to face up to his own failures and shortcomings and in turn to reveal something funny and beautiful about the human condition.

4. Rob Gordon (John Cusack) - High Fidelity

A definitive film for my generation, one that is almost as underappreciated as the masterful Wonder Boys. High Fidelity cuts to the core of the existential angst, confusion and despair of a generation of people whose culture is so philosophically and spiritually empty that the only means by which we can express our questions is through art, perhaps primarily that of rock n' roll, that American medium of anger, hope, love and faith that has become one of the definitive elements of the 20th century. Perhaps the most amazing thing about the character of Rob Gordon is that he's a complete asshole, a wretched, pathetic human being who is nonetheless trying his best to be good but whose selfishness and egoism cloud his love, his reasoning and his talents. And this is a rare thing indeed in American films where characters are usually relegated to stereotypes and awful clichés. Here we have a man who is human in the most beautiful and awful sense, someone who views his relationships, hopes and dreams only in terms of himself, not realizing that the only way to fulfill his potential is by letting go of his own ego and humble himself through love. Rob goes through immense change and development in the course of the film, and this change is reflected in his changing attitude towards music. Even though art can never provide us with our spiritual salvation it can be a moral and philosophical compass. When we move from viewing art as only echoing our own inner angst to the realization that art opens up pathways of communion to other people we have grown and flourished. The final scenes of High Fidelity represent the most beautiful kind of redemption, that of a man who is starting to know beauty in an intimate way, someone who is ready for commitment and love.

3. Earl Hickey (Jason Lee) - My Name is Earl

A wonderful, philosophical show. Earl is a redneck lowlife whose lief revolves around leisure, comfort and pleasure, someone who steals, cheats and hurts in order to satisfy his own desires. Through a series of events Earl becomes convinced that his unhappiness stems not from external sources but rather from the condition of his soul and by learning about the Buddhist metaphysical concept of Karma (from the spiritual sage Carson Daily) he sets out upon a path to redeem himself by righting the wrongs he has committed, literally crossing them off a lengthy list jotted down on a yellow legal pad. Little by little Earl seizes to view his spiritual quest in terms of possible earthly gains and rather becomes transformed in the depths of his being, even though he remains astoundingly flawed and silly, as are we all. The show is incredibly funny but also incredibly good-natured. Most television series revolve around horrible people doing horrible things, reveling in what is darkest and most pathetic about the human condition, while My Name is Earl celebrates something intrinsically noble and good in us, using humor not to demean but to elevate.

2. Zuko (Dante Basco) - Avatar: The Last Airbender

One of the more engaging storylines in any television series or film I've seen, Zuko starts off as the primary villain of the saga and then evolves into a noble and good person, someone who lets go of his pride and lust for status and acceptance in order to do the right thing. In this journey he is guided by his uncle Iroh, a Buddhist sage who enables Zuko to live more fully in the eternal present, to enter into a meditative relationship with the world, to let go of passions, desires and thoughts and become one with the simple pleasures of a falling leaf, the joy of conversation, the warmth of the human touch, the beauty of a perfectly made cup of tea. The story arc of the series is basically a long reflection on beautiful spiritual principles shared by many of the great Oriental philosophies, most specifically those of Taoism and Buddhism, revealed most clearly in the beautiful redemption of Prince Zuko.

1. Phil (Bill Murray) - Groundhog Day

When first realeased Harold Ramis' Groundhog Day was considered nothing more than a standard romantic comedy but has in later years it has increasingly been recognized as a deeply spiritual and philosophical film, a meditation on salvation, repentance and redemption. Phil, played by Bill Murray, is an egotistical jerk whose life is primarily defined by suffering, his own and that which he imparts upon other people. He gets stuck in some unexplainable metaphysical limbo/purgatory where February 2nd (Groundhog Day) repeats itself endlessly, forcing him to undergo the kind of spiritual examination that is essential to our happiness and welfare (represented in the Greek world by the dictum of "Know Thyself" inscribed above the entrance of the Oracle of Delphi). Phil utilizes his dilemma at first to fulfill his passions, mirroring the philosophical challenge of Glaucon in Plato's Republic, the story of the Ring of Gyges that would enable the wearer to perform any act without fear of consequence - the point being that such power would unavoidably lead to people committing horrible, immoral acts to fulfill their desires. Yet as Socrates argues, such a life can at best serve as a kind of anesthetic, masking the spiritual pain that defines our existence. Phil soon realizes this when confronted by the two great mysteries of life, love and death, after which he devotes himself to the healing of his soul, little by little trying to become a better person, as silly, messed up and humiliating as that process is. Bill Murray is so perfect in this role that I remain convinced that it will be considered one of the all-time great performance of American acting in the 20th century, perfectly portraying both the shallowness and banal wickedness of the human condition as well as the spiritual and communal heights to which we can ascend.

Redemption song - Part I

2011-02-03T20:58:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite archetype in film and literature is the morally questionable - or even villainous - character who is somehow able to turn towards the good and turn away from their evil actions, habits and ways. I find that a lot of people share my enjoyment of this particular archetype. But what is it that makes the redeemed person such an appealing character in books and films?

First of all, there is the obvious reason that the redeemed character is able to touch on moral shades of grey that are often beyond the archetypal hero, which is exactly why the hero of the story, especially in fantasy and science fiction, can be awfully hard to relate to. Han Solo in the Star Wars films, for example, is much more a redeemed scoundrel and vagabond than he is a traditional hero, and I think one would be hard pressed to find a single person who does not relate more easily to Han than to Luke Skywalker. This is not due to the fact that Luke Skywalker is a poorly written character or that Mark Hamill did not do an excellent job in the first three Star Wars films. Rather, Luke is primarily a symbolic representation of the archetypal hero within the monomyth, someone who represents the spiritual and moral journey of human beings in their search for enlightenment and the Good. The character of Han, on the other hand, touches on universal truths through very specific nuances and elements rather than through the overt symbolism of Luke. He is flawed, confused, funny, tragic. In short: a human being.

Relatability is a huge part of what makes the redeemed character so appealing. All of us contain within us good and evil, right and wrong. If there is nothing in a character that needs redemption than it can be very difficult to relate to him or her. There is also the human and divine truth of hope inherent within the person of the redeemed person, the reality made manifest that no matter how bad the world may be, no matter how much evil or suffering we may experience, there is hope in this world, manifest most powerfully in the moral choices we make. And here is yet another element of the redeemed one, namely that he or she represents the mystery of human freedom, the unfathomable lived reality that we are not completely determined by external circumstances, by what happens to us. Who we are as persons does not lie outside of our control. We choose who we are. This is the great humanist tradition that is represented so beautifully by Socrates in the West and Gautama Buddha and Lao-Tze in the East.

Finally, there is the joy in watching a character who somehow transcends the moralism and false truths represented to us by the "they" (society, religion, parents, teachers - anything that stifles critical thinking and the exploration of our own inner self). The redeemed character is usually one who has fallen to the moral wayside not because he or she is truly evil but rather because they cannot abide by the make-believe world of what is considered "normal," the stifling influences of materialism, determinism, ignorance and greed. Those in need of redemption may be crushed, humbled, broken and battered, trying to get by as best they can outside the codes and norms of a society and world they cannot conform to. But because they are outcasts, because they are reviled, they realize the possibility of a different kind of life, something higher, more beautiful and noble. This is why Christ ministered to prostitutes, thieves, the sick, lame and hungry, the poor and homeless, those who are dismissed, spat upon and ridiculed. He not only cared for them and loved them, he was one of them, a figure who in the eyes of the world was pathetic and ridiculous. It's not that the upstanding citizens of the society at the time could not have accepted his teachings. Rather, they chose not to do so because they were comfortable in their supposed moral uprightness, their world of position, authority and wealth. It is the fucked up ones, the outcasts, that are ready to receive the mysteries.

Here are a few of my favorite redeemed ones, those silly, wicked and corrupt bastards that found the path to repentance and truth, paving the way for the rest of us sinners. As you will notice a couple of characters on this list, and in next week's continuation thereof, are from television series rather than films. Even though we here at Light Within Light don't usually cover the inane world of the tube we do enjoy the occasional awesome series and the two gentlemen in question here are a pivotal addition to my list of redeemed ones.

A further note: The folks on this list can be split into two categories, those who redeem themselves through a kind of inner transformation (internal redemption) by turning towards the Good (# 10, 9 and 7 on today's list) and those who have always been good in their heart of hearts yet have been vilified and dismissed by society but - in the course of the story being told - find some kind of redemption and acceptance in the world, even if its just from one person who sees them for who they truly are (external redemption, # 8 and 6 on our list).

10. Darth Vader - The Star Wars saga

Star Wars remains among the most powerful and philosophical modern myths. If we were not so blind to the power and revelatory truth contained within myths and poems we would see that stories like Star Wars carry great significance for our culture and society not only due to their artistic merit but because they can teach us something essential about what it means to be human. Darth Vader remains among the most fascinating characters in 20th century storytelling, a person who is completely crushed and destroyed because of their egotistical striving for love, not as a means of communion and self-emptying but love as a means of self-gratification. In this sense Darth Vader in many ways mirrors the tragic title character of Orson Welles' masterpiece Citizen Kane.

More machine than man at the time we first see him in Episode IV, Darth Vader, the former Anakin Skywalker, has completely succumbed to the forces of darkness, a wasted shell of a human being. Yet through the course of the next two episodes we see Vader form a closer bond with his son Luke who eventually affords him with the opportunity for redemption. The scene when Vader finally turns away from the dark power of the Emperor and gives himself up to save the life of his son is incredibly powerful and beautiful, brought to fulfillment in that beautiful final shot of Return of the Jedi where he has joined Obi Wan Kenobi and Yoda in the spiritual plane (a shot later ruined by George Lucas in the Special Edition of the film when he digitally crammed Hayden Christensen into it - but the less said about that the better).

9. Rick Blaine (Humphrey Bogart) - Casablanca

Rick, at the beginning of Michael Curtiz's Casablanca, has succumbed to the great spiritual maladies of our time: isolation, individualism and selfishness. "I stick my neck out for no man," is his motto, one which exemplifies his spiritual condition, one which brings to mind the horrifying philosophical dictum of Sartre that other people are "hell," a diseased view of human nature if there ever was one. Rick has gone through so much pain in his life that he has shut himself off within his own ego, not able to reach out to either his friends (of which he is blessed enough to have many) or to causes worthy of his talents and effort. He is a man who feels he has been betrayed by love because he cannot see that love extends beyond the comfort and pleasure afforded to our ego and reaches out to the very depths of our being, depths which are in essence communal and self-emptying. The story of Casablanca is that of a man who realizes that his happiness and spiritual fulfillment lie not in egotistical desires and satisfaction but rather in humility and sacrifice. Love, as Rick comes to realize in that immortal final scene of Casablanca, is a matter of letting go (what the great German mystic Meister Eckhart so beautifully expressed with his spiritual teaching of Gelassenheit) and of giving oneself up for the happiness of others.

8. George Hanson (Jack Nicholson) - Easy Rider

George Hanson is the perfect representation of the "external redemption." George doesn't go through any major change in the film in the depths of his person. Rather, our perception of his character is changed. This change of perception, in turn, affects our view of the norms and values of the society we live in. Such a transformed vision was astoundingly powerful in the context of the late 60's American counterculture, the cultural milieu out of which Easy Rider arose.

When Captain America and Billy, the two anti-heroes of Hopper's masterpiece, first encounter George he is sleeping off a rather serious hangover in a jail cell in the deep South. The Cap and Billy have been arrested for little else than having long hair and riding motorcycles. George is well-known to the local authorities, the son of a local politician and a practicing lawyer in the town. The local cops let him off with a slap on the hand but George also makes sure that The Captain and Billy get out of jail without any further hassle. It is soon established that George is a complete hell-raiser (and alcoholic) who is slowly killing himself as the only means by which he can escape the drudgery and suffocation of his social and cultural environment.

Nicholson's performance is rightfully a classic, one of the most joyous and gleeful fuck-yous to middle-class America. George is the product of a completely materialistic and superficial culture, someone whose life is defined by existential pain and suffering and who tries to anesthetize themselves with booze. The Captain and Billy, representing the countercultural revolution, offer him a way out, a chance to explore dimensions of his being that he has heretofore been too afraid to approach. This reaches a kind of culmination in the silly and great campfire scene where Nicholson, Hopper and Fonda share some very potent herb.

Yet at the end of the day it is George who teaches something essential to The Captain and Billy. They provide him with the opportunity to be who he truly is but he affords them with the philosophical understanding of their own rebellion. He tells them what they stand for, what they could potentially help bring about. He understands the power in their dress, their speech, their breaking away from what is considered normal and good. And that understanding, sympathy and love ultimately make him dangerous, a threat to the status quo. And that is what he dies for. But in that death he symbolizes something very cool, dangerous and funny. Something very human.

7. Takashi Shimura (Kanji Watanabe)

One of the great tragedies of our ethical reasoning is how many people equate being good with being nice, i.e. that if one is not a completely amoral person one is thereby morally righteous. This is a horrible and pathetic lie. Conformity to codes of conduct has nothing to do with ethics, at least not in the ancient sense of the term ethos, which centers on one's character rather than on one's individual actions or conduct. One's ethos is connected to the very core of one's being, the earth from which one springs, the center of one's existence. This is the tradition so beautifully represented by Aristotle in his masterpiece The Nicomachean Ethics.

The hero of Kurosawa's masterpice Ikiru, Takashi, is a complete bureaucrat, someone who not only abides by but represents everything that is shallow and mundane about modern culture and society. Yet he is a perfectly "nice" person, someone who never hurts or deliberately maims anyone around him. He abides by the rules and does what he is told. Yet in this conformity there is a kind of evil, a failure to be truly human, a failure to love. It is only by breaking free of the status quo that we are free to be good, free to love and cherish each moment, each person, to truly be present to the suffering and hurt of others and take them upon our own shoulders.

Kurosawa's Ikiru is the tale of a man who is transformed from a slave to a free man, someone who becomes who he truly is. By letting go of his clinging to position, authority and status Takashi is able to focus his attention on the living present, on actual flesh and blood human beings who need his help and attention, all rules and protocols be damned. In order to do this he needs to let himself go, to let his desires and passions go, and scene after scene Kurosawa shows us the breaking down of this man's ego revealing the true self beneath, hidden there for all these years, especially in that beautiful shot of him sitting on the swing, an image of a human being basking in the joy of being alive.

6. Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) - Pirates of the Caribbean

Depp famously modeled Sparrow on the 20th century Rock Star, especially his pal Keith Richards, and in doing this revealed something essential about the perennial appeal of the bad-boy, rock n' roll persona. Since Elvis we have been enamored with the idea of the freedom and transcendence of rock n' roll, the breaking away from the bonds and shackles of societal conformity. The roots of this freedom lie in the Zen-like detachment of the blues, the aesthetic and spiritual response to the suffering imparted upon the African American slaves and their descendants in the American south, given a musical expression and reality in the tradition of the blues and the later rhythm n' blues tradition. Artists such as Elvis simply broadened the language of this detachment to make it speak to the existential and spiritual angst of white, adolescent America in the McCarthy-era 50's.

Depp's connection between the rock n' roll image and that of the pirate is in some ways ingenious. The mythical image of the pirate is of a person whose mannerisms, dress and speech are one big fuck-you to the culture around them, a free spirit whose rebellion is not (only) against law, justice or the good but rather against conformity and uptight callousness. Jack Sparrow is not an evil man but simply a deeply flawed one; yet in those flaws lies a great freedom, a loony zaniness that transcends the pathetic drudgery of the everyday and the moralism of the status quo. Part Daffy Duck, part Evil Knievel, Depp's Jack is redeemed not through an inner transformation but by making good on his promise as the deliverer of the human soul (parallel to the spiritual function of the Coyote in Native American mythology) as he allows Will Turner (Orlando Bloom) and Elizabeth Swan (Kiera Knightley) to find their true love by breaking free of the societal bonds that constrained them to specific (and arbitrary) positions and roles.

Join us soon for the next five gents in our exploration of redemption in film and television. Until then we urge you to smoke 'em if you got 'em and to hang loose in the caboose.

A few thoughts on Citizen Kane and philosophy

2011-01-27T19:18:00.000-08:00

I am currently screening Orson Welles' astounding film Citizen Kane in the Philosophy of Human Nature class that I teach at Marquette University. I present the film as a (relatively) modern parallel to Plato's majestic Apology, centering around the theme of "Know Thyself," a philosophical dictum that stood at the center of Greek cultural and philosophical life and which was inscribed above the entrance of the temple at Delphi where Socrates received his divine calling from the oracle who channeled the god Apollo. The film remains as cinematically powerful today as when it first screened seventy years ago and the wealth of informative and revealing essays on its influence and aeshetics number in the hundreds, if not the thousands. Instead of joining the chorus I would like to offer some thoughts on the ways in which Welles not only created a beautiful work of art but also engaged his audience in a philosophical discourse about the human person and how we seek the Good, both in our private and public lives.

As most of you know the film starts with the death of its protagonist, Charles Foster Kane, one of the richest and most powerful men in the world. Wells modeled Kane on William Randolph Hearst, the media mogul and millionaire who influenced American politics and culture in untold ways (Rupert Murdoch is in many ways a modern version of Hearst). The film's nonlinear narrative follows a reporter who is attempting to learn who Charles Foster Kane truly was, the man behind the image, the inner, moral core behind the facade that the world was presented with. The film therefore immediately puts forth interesting questions about the self, that ever-elusive philosophical subject which should be clearer to us than anything else we seek to know but which is shrouded in complete mystery. As Walker Percy points out in his wonderful and humorous book Lost in the Cosmos, it is exceedingly strange that we can more readily recognize and describe a distant star thousands of light-years away with only a brief study of astronomy and a relatively good telescope while it is almost impossible to give a good description of one's innermost self, even though, ostensibly at least, nothing is nearer to a person than him or herself. When asked "who are you?" we usually give an account of our external circumstances, our name, likes or dislikes, nationality, age, interests, yet it is almost impossible for us to touch on our inner core, what makes us be who we truly are.

The search for Kane's true self - pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle through years of memories and stories presented by Kane's friends, enemies and lovers - revolves around his one dying word: Rosebud. It has become somewhat popular to dismiss the mystery of the film because people feel somewhat underwhelmed when "Rosebud" is finally revealed at the end. Yet the whole point of the film is that it is not a "twist" ending nor does it really reveal anything substantial about Charles Foster Kane. It is simply a moment, a memory. And that is what a life is, what a person is, a series of moments where choices are made and our character is formed, where eternity and time touch and we either become or refuse to be who we truly are. As the film makes clear, the mystery of a person revolves around his or her capacity for love, both for receiving it but more importantly for giving it. This beautiful line reflects a lot of the themes in Citizen Kane, spoken by the character of Jedidiah Leland, Kane's best friend and conscience, played by Joseph Cotten:

Leland: That's all he ever wanted out of life... was love. That's the tragedy of Charles Foster Kane. You see, he just didn't have any to give.

The film is touching on points both philosophical and theological. The Greek dictum of "Know Thyself" was always tempered by the Socratic ideal of divine humility, that one must know that one doesn't know, lest one fall into ignorance and seize moving forward on the path towards wisdom. The philosophical life is an eternal ascent, an ecstatic entering into eros, being drawn towards what is good and beautiful. Yet it is a journey that can never end, a path that signifies eternal growth. The Christian tradition took all of these elements to heart, interpreting them in the light of the mystical doctrine that the purpose and role of humankind is that of theosis or deification, of becoming one with God. Yet God, at least in the ancient Christian tradition, is absolutely ineffable and inconceivable, a mystery that can only be entered into and experienced and can never be fathomed or comprehended (this teaching is still the major metaphysical tenet of the Eastern Orthodox Church). The purpose of the spiritual and philosophical life is therefore not knowledge as an end in itself, but Love. Truth is not to be understood as an abstract theory or conceptual reality but rather as deeply personal. The human being, made in the image of the ineffable God, is equally an incomprehensible mystery, one which cannot be reduced to any formulas but which can be known experientially through love and personal communion.

I am, of course, not implying that these specific elements were what Welles had in mind but he is touching on them in extremely revealing ways, helping us to question and think deeply about our own knowledge of ourselves and about the mystery that is the human being. There is another aspect to Welles' film that I would like to touch on briefly here, which is the way in which the public and private spheres intersect and mingle in interesting ways.

Kane is first and foremost a public figure, a kind of legend and celebrity that only became possible in the 20th century. He is both the product of his culture and time and also its representative. Kane and the time and place he lives in reflect each other, creating a prism that helps us understand the small revelations and clues that become apparent to us throughout the film, analogous to the beautiful interplay of light and shadow in Gregg Toland's astounding cinematography. Kane repeatedly says that he is "first and foremost an American." The film emphasizes Kane's role in using his media power to influence the United States to enter the Spanish-American war (Hearst had done exactly that, as Murdoch was to do decades later along with his fellow media CEO's who played such a pivotal part in America's invasion of Iraq in 2003). This particular war is historically, culturally and philosophically interesting for the fact that it represents the shift when America went from a country founded on extremely idealistic and even beautiful principles to becoming the new empire of the 20th century, the heir to the corruption, power, warmongering and materialism that had come to represent the European empires in centuries past. Writers such as Mark Twain saw America's entry into the war as representing a shift away from the spiritual ideals they saw embedded in America's history and culture towards becoming a military-industrial superpower. Twain pointedly remarked that America should no longer fly the Stars and Stripes but rather the Skull and Crossbones.

Citizen Kane is a meditation on how the values of the time and place we are a part of come to define our innermost self, perhaps without us knowing it and in spite of our continual search for spiritual and philosophical truths that transcend our external circumstances. The 20th century is especially interesting as the era in which the values and questions that had formed the core of the philosophical and intellectual life of humankind came to be supplanted by the ultra-rationalism and scientism that had been growing since the Enlightenment and also became the age where materialism and consumerism came increasingly to define a person's worth. Kane represents all of this, using his wealth and power to buy as much as he can, to fill his life with things and to continually seek after power and approval while at the same time remaining ignorant about who he truly is. And it is only by knowing who we are that we are able to love and to receive love, to open ourselves up to other thinking-feeling selves and break free of our ego, the false-self engineered through our passions and desires.

Philosophy, the love of wisdom, offers an alternative to the false idols that define our age and culture, the exaltation of celebrity, greed and selfishness. It is a way of life that demands humility and a self-questioning that is both painful and dangerous yet which offers us the only freedom that is worth a damn, the freedom to be who we truly are. Philosophy is therefore an essential element to any spiritual path or any life well lived. Citizen Kane, in opening up such a path through its questions, images and symbols, is not only a great work of art but a beautiful work of philosophy.

The Passion of the Critic

2011-01-27T18:24:00.000-08:00

I shall receive the flogging! The Passion of the Christ has been declared victorious in our "Torture a Critic" poll. I look forward to opening a bottle of Two Buck Chuck and arming myself with two large pillows and a stuffed animal for my viewing. I shall give you a detailed report of my cinematic passion, perhaps even with a choice audio clip or two of my horrified reactions.

I know what you're thinking, but no, this is not an SNL skit making fun of Gibson's film

Stay tuned, dear readers, for the coming crown of thorns.

A glass of bourbon for the grand dame of comedy

2011-01-26T20:25:00.000-08:00

Lewis had Martin, Costello had Abott and Hope had Crosby. Successful comedy teams usually consist of a wild and crazy partner and a straight man to anchor the zanines, someone who represents the audience in bemused bewilderment. The straight man seldom gets as much recognition or respect as their flashier counterpart, for obvious reasons, yet they remain an essential element to the comedic and cinematic ingredients. Jerry Lewis or Lou Costello simply would not have been as funny had they not had such perfect foils for their gags.

Today's glass of bourbon is raised in honor of one of the best straight "men" of all times, the astoundingly straight-faced and very funny Margaret Dumont.
Dumont, born Daisy Juliette Baker in Brooklyn, New York in 1882, is best known for being the foil of not one but three outstanding comedians, namely the Marx Brothers (I am here, of course, referring to Harpo, Chico and - most notably - Groucho. Poor Zeppo remains in that gray area of being not quite funny and not quite playing the straight man). Dumont's chemistry with Groucho was especially magical, creating some of the funniest scenes in the Marx Brothers ouvre. Usually playing a harried socialite who is either wooed or subdued by Groucho, Dumont starred in seven films with the brothers starting with the 1929 production of The Cocoanuts, reprising her Broadway role. Some people have claimed that Dumont's cluelessness was not an act but rather stemmed from the fact that she didn't understand the Marxs brothers jokes at all, especially Groucho's rapid-fire delivery. This seems somewhat unlikely given Dumont's long career in comedic productions, both on stage and on film, most of which had her playing the hapless foil to a variety of comedic shenanigans.

Dumont remained friends with all of the brothers throughout their careers but was especially close to Groucho, whom she affectionately called "Julie" (Groucho's birth name was Julius). Groucho went so far as to call her a "fifth Marx brother" and mentioned her in his acceptance speech for his honorary Oscar along with Chico and Harpo.

The friendship between the two must have been strong as some of Groucho's jokes seemed pointed at Dumont herself rather than her screen persona. As an example, Dumont suffered from hair loss and had to wear a wig. In Duck Soup, perhaps the greatest of the Marx brothers comedies, Groucho and Dumont share the following exchange:

Rufus T. Firefly: Oh, uh, I suppose you would think me a sentimental old fluff, but, uh, would you mind giving me lock of your hair?
Mrs. Teasdale: A lock of my hair? Wh-why, I had no idea.
Rufus T. Firefly: I'm letting you off easy: I was going to ask for the whole wig.

Groucho would also repeatedly make fun of Dumont's age and weight, as in this famous quote:

Rufus T. Firefly: Well, that covers a lot of ground. Say, you cover a lot of ground yourself. You better beat it - I hear they're going to tear you down and put up an office building where you're standing. You can leave in a taxi. If you can't get a taxi, you can leave in a huff. If that's too soon, you can leave in a minute and a huff. You know, you haven't stopped talking since I came here? You must have been vaccinated with a phonograph needle.

Yet Dumont took it all with grace and nobility, adding an essential mixture of humanity and warmth to the Marx brothers comedy routine. Without her they would have easily slipped into either nastiness or outright insanity with not enough leverage to make the jokes as funny as they eventually turned out to be. Margaret Dumont is an extremely unsung performer but one which played an essential part in bringing about some of the most wonderful comedy moments of film history. Let us raise our glass and yell a hearty SKÁL! in her honor.

Ebert and Walter Murch on the awfulness of 3D

2011-01-24T12:33:00.000-08:00

Few things in the development of film have been as ridiculous and childish as 3D. A gimmick to begin with, the past year or two saw an upsurge of voices claiming 3D would soon become the norm for film as a medium of art, especially after James Cameron's Avatar (a terrible film in any dimension) did rather well at the Box Office. Thanks be to the movie gods, it now seems that most sensible people have realized that there is no qualitative difference between the current 3D technology and that of 50's House of Wax fame, a childish distraction that has nothing to do with good cinematography, storytelling or conveying what is beautiful.

Roger Ebert, a longtime foe of the trend towards 3D, recently received a letter on his blog from Academy Award winning editor and sound designer Walter Murch. The letter is definitely worth a read and is a sensible summary of why 3D doesn't work either aesthetically or even biologically.

Here's hoping that 3D will soon be sent to the churchyard of bad ideas along with smell-o-vision.