Video games have been a lasting presence in my life. They’re essentially pointless, but their ability to offer me a form of catharsis in the comfort of my own home is something I truly cherish. What’s disappointing about the general public’s opinion towards video games is that they’re often considered the downfall of our youth. In some circles video games are the basis for an ever growing sedentary life for children as well as the fuel to the ADD riddled minds that now fill our schools. With my reluctance to throw any weight behind those damning words, those who already hate the notion of the kinetic nature of video games will undoubtedly hate Edgar Wright’s Scott Pilgrim vs. the World.
Historical accounts in Hollywood tend to exist on a slippery slope. I say this because they often straddle the line between truth and artistic liberty. Of course, there should be a sense of honesty working throughout a film that claims to be based on a true story, but one should also know that a film needs to shed ounces of fact in order to craft a worthy narrative. The fact that there is fiction worked into the truth should come as no surprise, unless of course this occurs in a documentary, then one can throw a fit. Yet, a film’s merits shouldn’t entirely supersede how well it has been crafted. This particular preface brings me to the film Fair Game.
One of the most gut wrenching films I’ve seen has to be Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. Certainly, there were ghastly elements to it that seared my eyes, but what was so suspenseful about Kubrick’s film is that he let it exist with no bounds. From Jack Nicholson’s larger than life performance to a telepathic child, the film lived off of the preposterous. This is all initially jarring, but the level of insanity the film reaches eventually gives way to an unpredictable sense of dread. Although there have been many films that have attempted to replicate the horror found within The Shining, only a handful of them have been able to match Kubrick’s controlled descent into madness. One such film would be Darren Aronofsky’s Black Swan, a sexualized thriller set in the world of ballet.
I’ll admit it right now, I took my education for granted. When I was actually paying for my schooling in the form of tuition, I took my education very seriously, and my grades reflected that. Yet, as I look back on my high school years, I see a wasted opportunity. I was fortunate enough to have gone to a high school that featured a team of teachers who cared about my mental upbringing. To repay them back, I often wasted my time fumbling about with my social life. Don’t get me wrong, certainly there where classes where I matched my potential and excelled, but I could've done better. I should’ve done better. My regret is exacerbated further after watching the emotionally resonant documentary Waiting for Superman. Like any good documentary, Waiting for Superman first establishes its cause with great clarity: education reform. Its goal is to demonstrate the horrid state our education system is in at the moment. Director Davis Guggenheim does a terrific job of laying out the system’s current grades through relevant and depressing statistics.
Judd Apatow and his team of foul mouthed idiots has done something that for the most part has caught Hollywood by surprise. That something is the ability to seamlessly blend crass humor with sugary sentiment. For years comedies often based their premise not on developing an attachment with the characters, but more so exploiting their character’s idiosyncrasies for laughs. Of course, Apatow wasn’t the first guy to try and create a comedic film with a sense of heart, but his consistent ability to develop material that was both funny and poignant has exposed a new comedy blueprint for the studios. Now, films are constantly trying to find a balance between jokes and emotions. Some have succeeded while most have floundered around like a beached fish. Last year director Todd Phillips put out what was arguably the anti-Apatow film in The Hangover. The humor was outlandish, male inclined, and down right hilarious. All of which wasn’t supported by emotional truths or declarations of love. It was pure, unadulterated hilarity.
The backwoods are often the setting to a horror film. It’s in these back woods that backward hicks roam about strangling stranded teens and mutilating their corpses in some fashion. What a sense of imagination we all have. There aren’t anymore monsters in the backwoods than there are in the city, but through the power of film and other forms of media, we get an uneasy feeling when we’re roaming in mother nature’s backyard. There can certainly be evil deep in those woods, but something far more palpable than a man running around in a hockey mask. The evil I speak of is one of neglect and despair. When watching Winter’s Bone this notion will become all too apparent, as director Debra Granik throws us deep into the Ozarks, where homes are dilapidated and drugs act as a form of currency. It’s a place where humans behave like animals. Not out of choice, but sheer necessity. Much like how nature has crafted the rugged landscape, she helps carve the people who reside in her bosom. One such person is Ree Dolly (Jennifer Lawrence),a 17 year old girl who has the weight of the world on her shoulders. With her father on the run from the law, Ree leads her poverty stricken family one day at a time.
I feel bad for some actors. With the life and success of an actor being mostly integrated in their youth, actors are often put out to pasture by the age of fifty. Of course, there are actors and actresses who are widely successful once they reach middle age, but they’re merely the minority in a youth driven film world. If anything, you’ll see older actors getting bit parts or appearing in small independent films where they actually get the screen time to demonstrate the ability they’ve had for years, and will continue to have until death. Perhaps this is why I always have an invested interest in genre films that take in actors who are no longer part of the youth movement; films that let older actors gestate in what is often seen as a youthful setup. A current example of this would be Red. Featuring Morgan Freeman, Bruce Willis, John Malkovich, and Helen Mirren, Red is a box office vehicle for actors who would otherwise never be seen on a poster for a tent pole film. Actually, Willis still has some clout considering his iconic pull as John McClain, but that character is on the way out.
If you’ve been reading my blog for awhile, it's likely you saw my slight displeasure for Paranormal Activity. I honestly enjoyed it, but I felt that it missed an opportunity in becoming a classic when it possessed a character I actually wanted to die. Obviously this can be a persistent problem if a film is trying to generate some ounce of fear based on the survival of its characters. Thankfully, at least for my own sake, Paranormal Activity 2 actually has a hoard of characters who are very likeable. The film, possibly knowing it needs to one up its predecessor simply because it’s a sequel, has a family battling the disembodied spirits now instead of a couple in over its head. Individual actors portraying the family don’t stick out enough to warrant a huge praise, but their ability to establish a legitimate family bond gives us a reason to fear for their safety. In addition to the increase of terrified people, Paranormal Activity 2 also attempts to liven up its approach to delivering scares. The first film unapologetically used a single camera as a means to capture the terror. Despite its limited perspective, it was a nice to touch to give the film a voyeuristic feel. Director Oren Peli’s intentions were to immerse the audience through the home movie approach, and it worked quite well. Yet, had this sequel gone the route of its predecessor, the film would’ve felt played out.
The increased size and overall accessibility to the internet has undoubtedly made human connection easier. We can keep in touch with one click of the mouse. Yet, with increased activity on the internet and with a desire to increase the size of our social network, people often leverage their position behind the computer to build themselves into something they aren’t. More or less, they construct an avatar of themselves, fill it with some ounces of self truth, but also pounds of self exaggeration. The latter is done in an attempt to mold a friend acquiring persona. We all do it to some degree, but with the increased importance of social networking in our lives, I wonder how many of these people on my friend’s list do I know? Sure, I can know them superficially like their name and basic interests, but who are they really? By muddling over this question, you’re looking at the subject matter of Catfish, this years surprise documentary that came out of Sundance with controversy in tow.
A heavy handed film is the quickest way to turn me off. I’d like to think that I’m somewhat intelligent to the point that I can see a (point) being made. But some filmmakers just aren’t ready to accept my analytical prowess, thus they bludgeon me to death with their messages and socially relevant plot points. What I do find redeeming though are writer/directors who can fathom some form of impartiality in their films. Although this type of filmmaker has become exceedingly rare, I will never give up my quest to find them. Thankfully, the 2010 film year has generated a strong candidate: Lisa Cholodenko, writer/director of The Kids Are All Right. With the rather recent and raging controversy surrounding Proposition 8 in California, The Kids Are All Right, which follows the struggles of a same sex family, could’ve been a film that played the politics up to an obnoxious and predictable level. Fortunately though, Cholodenko passed on taking pot shots at the conservative side, and simply based her film on the pratfalls that can destroy any family.
I scoffed upon hearing the news that Kanye West was directing his own short film. For as much as I love Kanye and his music, I truly didn’t see a future for him as a director, let alone a director on one short film. As his film Runaway debuted early last week across the Atlantic, early word began to spread that it was actually somewhat good, if not a fine piece of work. Reporters cited the influences of Stanley Kubrick and Paul Thomas Anderson emanating from Kanye, while Kanye’s images and surrealistic approach were compared to the like of Federico Fellini. That last line is undoubtedly over the top considering the place the aforementioned directors have in the realm of film. Despite the misplaced hype and my skeptical nature about the project, Kanye West impressed me with his ability to generate an assortment of images that emotionally paralleled the new tracks from his upcoming album “My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy”.
For as dumb and insipid as they can be, the Jackass crew always seems to put a smile on my face. Yes, some of their skits are beyond juvenile and the stunts they perform are beyond idiotic, but there is a distasteful glee about them that is hard to resist. Perhaps it was because they were doing something obscenely taboo, but I’d like to chalk this up to the undeniable camaraderie that can be found within their stunts. Even if they were assaulting one another with pranks, the Johnny Knoxville lead crew always seemed to enjoy the lunacy they concocted together. This can be clearly seen in the television show and subsequently the two films based around the gang’s dangerous exploits. Obviously the body of work that Knoxville, Steve-O, and company have assembled shows an extreme amount of pain threshold, but their behavior can be simply described as stupid shit you do with your friends. Granted, the things they do involve human destruction and copious amounts of the male genitalia, but nonetheless,it's idiotic behavior you’d only do with your friends without feeling an ounce of shame.
Let’s not pretend that our lives aren’t ridiculously linked in to our Facebook accounts. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. With the increased mobility of the Internet, our lives are becoming more and more entrenched in this digital age. Knowing the profound effect Facebook is having on our social lives, it was only a matter of time until the world’s largest social network worked its way onto the silver screen. Enter in David Fincher’s The Social Network, a film that dictates the rapid rise of Facebook and its creator: Mark Zuckerberg. The common misconception of the film is that it’s simply about Facebook. This isn’t true. As a matter of fact, this film is about Facebook as much as There Will Be Blood is about drilling for oil or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is about chocolate confections. Facebook is merely the background, and I can’t stress that enough.
I’ll admit that I used to be a huge Ben Affleck hater. It wasn’t because he made the film abortion known as “Gigli“, although I’m sure it’s driven people to insanity. No, it was because he just seemed to be riding Matt Damon’s coat tails and his god given looks. More specifically, instead of going for challenging roles like his “Good Will Hunting” counterpart, Affleck went from one heart throb role to another. In some respects he was the precursor to Matthew McConaughey, but my opinion of Affleck changed once I saw his directorial debut “Gone Baby Gone”. Who I once saw as a talent less hack, had suddenly captured my attention with this gritty crime tale. Granted, Affleck had yet to entrance me with his acting ability, but his vision behind the camera, as well as his ability to build a scene, gave me a new perspective on his career. Suddenly, there was some semblance of talent within my view, and I started to feel that I was a little too hard on Affleck. Well, now that I’ve seen his newest foray behind the camera, “The Town”, I know I was completely dead wrong. In “The Town” , Affleck not only captures the rapturous drama found in his debut film, but he gives the best performance of his career.
There’s something to say for a film that’s been around for 55 years that still packs a dramatic punch. Now, I’m not going to pretend to be a film connoisseur in regards to films that pre-date 1960. Yet, I often find that the older the film is, the less it grasps me. This can be for numerous reasons, but it’s often because the film’s techniques are stale or a few years past their prime. But, when I find a film that is fresh today as it was upon its release, I completely fall in love with it. There is nothing better than finding a film buried within the past that captures my imagination and attention. Such a gem is the French film “Les Diaboliques“, directed by Henri-Georges Clouzot. At the time of its release, the film was rather progressive. It features two female protagonists who seem to be preparing themselves for an all out war on the male gender as they plot and scheme the demise of a lover. Accompanying this rather feminist approach is an extremely crafty and unflinching supernatural murder story that is often sadistic.
It’s interesting to see how Christopher Nolan’s career has been continuously evolving. Even though his first film was “The Following”, it was “Memento” that put him on the map and announced his stake in the film world. “Memento” was the type of film that cleverly played with the narrative structure while placing it against the backdrop of a crime noir. Needlessly to say, Nolan’s gritty style and his meticulous script caught the eye of Hollywood and from that point on, he’s been crafting films in spite of convention. In addition to this, Nolan’s films, while still independent at heart, have been swelling in size and scope. This is most notable when comparing Nolan’s first breakout hit in “Memento” to “The Dark Knight”. With “The Dark Knight”, Nolan stripped down the schemata of a comic book film and made a film that was more on par with a crime saga than one that was about a man running around in a pair of tights. Through “The Dark Knight”, one can get a sense that Nolan was on top of his game as he was welding two elements that seemed mutually exclusive: artistic expression and big studio clout.
I guess I don’t entirely understand how sequels are continuously handled they way they are. From the outside looking in, I understand that they have to be bigger and louder in order to justify the film going public to buy another ticket to see these celluloid characters. But at the same time, they’re consistently driven away from what made the original film a critical and commercial success. To no one’s surprise, there are obviously exceptions to the rule. The “Toy Story” franchise and “The Dark Knight” are all prime examples of sequels living up to the original film, if not exceeding it. Yet, often sequels fall to excess. Despite the goodwill Robert Downey Jr. and Jon Favreau generated with “Iron Man” back in 2008, all of it was seemingly thrown away with “Iron Man 2”. With the first “Iron Man”, we received probably the most charismatic Comic-Book film you’d ever see. Featuring witty banter, a great lead performance, and extremely well executed action scenes, “Iron Man” was more than a pleasant surprise. As a matter of fact, it was heading up, in association with the “The Dark Knight”, a comic book renaissance that will bludgeon the multiplexes for summers to come.
I'll admit that I felt an ounce of sadness the day I got rid of my toys. Sure, it's a rite of passage, but I felt that I was throwing a piece of myself away. As this illustrates, toys play a rather significant part in our lives. Because childhood is condensed with time dedicated to playing, it's easy see how someone like myself can become attached to inanimate objects like toys. Hell, they're a tool for our youthful imaginations to escape. Yet, for as idle as these toys may seem now, for the hours they occupied during my childhood they were alive. With the use of my imagination, the adventures my toys found themselves were limitless. But, most importantly, my toys, in conjunction with my ingenuity, had a life of their own. And it seems the people at Pixar felt the same way, for this has been the backbone of the "Toy Story" franchise, and is prominently on display in the opening frames of "Toy Story 3" as Andy imagines his army of toys spliced into a John Woo film.
There is an age old adage that says you really don't know a person until you go on vacation with them. Or was it when you live with them? Either way, there is this thought that our knowledge and understanding of a person is merely a mirage until we spend a mass amount of time by their side. This notion of familiarity breeding contempt is further exacerbated when two or more people find themselves confined to one space, where the rising tension has no room escape. I imagine most of you have all experienced this in some capacity and if you watch Alfonso Cuaron's "Y Tu Mama Tambien", you're likely to experience it again, although I imagine this celluloid experience will possess far more sex than your real life moments. Or not. Nonetheless, Cuaron's film is an exploration into the unknown by two teenagers. We could certainly call it a coming of age tale, but I feel the film possesses a complexity and intelligence that goes beyond that classic send up. Obviously the aforementioned teens learn something about theirselves personally and the world at large, but most of their learning is focused on their sexual nature and their semi-unwavering friendship.
I think that most of the things we possess in life, or even like for that matter, are representative of who we are as a person, or who we want to be. What we eat, how we dress, how we act, and what we like are the building blocks for our social images. I noticed over the years the numerous facets of my social schema, but there was always one that kind of annoyed me when it comes to films. Said issue was the notion that I instantaneously fall in love with quirky and dramatic independent films. What does this say about me? Well, depending on which paradigm we take, it could mean an assortment of things. Now, I'm not entirely sure how this perception of an "indie maven" gained any credence, but I often felt this assertion gravely mismatched my own perception of the films I liked and who I was. Out of curiosity, and to see how quirky I like things, I started to strike up a list of my favorite films of all time. It took me a while to honestly form a list of 50 films that I could watch endlessly, and because of this, my own judgement of myself was somewhat in flux. Yet, with numerous additions and subtractions, I have finally assembled a list of films that I can say are truly representative of me. Here is my list:
Although I have solely dedicated this blog to reviewing films and discussing films, I feel the urge to divert from the path I usually take and feed one of my obsessions: "Lost". With the show just ending merely a few days ago, I feel compelled to gather my thoughts and spread word about this epic show. Now, I must admit that up until two months ago, I hadn't watched "Lost" since season three. This absence from the show wasn't because of the show's quality. In actuality, I just never found the time to fit it in my busy schedule. But, just before season six started in February, I decided to put on my "ambition" hat and run through the series a few weeks before the season six premiere.
Every year there are many great films released. But, for every great film released, there are also a plethora of bad films that make their way into the cinematic world. If there was ever a legendary bad filmmaker it would be Ed Wood. Once you see an Ed Wood film, you will know why he's seen as the Godfather of bad filmmakers. From horrendous special effects to non-existent acting, Wood's films have etched their own kind of legend in film lexicon. With that in mind, for as bad as Wood's films are, there was a certain charm and naivety to them that made them extremely fun to watch. Sure, the films were complete garbage, but with each scene you could see the love Wood possessed for the world of film. It's quite endearing for me to know that no matter how bad Wood's films were perceived, he just kept on making film after film. Now, he has his own place in history, a place that most directors don't even come close to achieving in their careers.
Over the last year, I have pushed myself to seek out films that emanate from directors that many would claim are the best the world has to offer. In what seems like a never ending quest, this week I finally tackled at least one film from the canon of Pedro Almodovar and that film was "Volver". Going into the film, my prior knowledge of Almodovar was limited at best. If anything, the only thing I knew about him is that his films often feature a strong color palette mixed in with sex appeal. As alluded to in the title of this review, my expectations were met. Yet, what I really didn't expect was Pedro crafting an impressive film based on a cast compromised almost entirely of women. I'm not saying that women don't make for great cinematic centerpieces. Instead, I was stunned at how a male could form a film about female relationships and attitudes without relying on stereotypes, nor falling into the traps of a Lifetime movie. Granted, at its core, the plot of the film resembles many of the films you'll find on the Lifetime channel, but never is it as one dimensional.
Sure, on the surface the film seems like something we've seen before, as it deals with the sins of man and multi-generational squabbles, but it also possesses moments of the ethereal kind. The story opens up with two sisters, Raimunda (Penelope Cruz) and Sole (Lola Duenas), who are grieving the death of their Aunt, as well as reminiscing about their own parents who passed away in a mysterious fire. Things become a little more complicated though when Raimunda comes home one night to find her boyfriend murdered (at the hands of her fourteen year old daughter) and Sole arrives home with the ghost of her dead mother, Irene (Carmen Maura), following close behind. As both women try to hide their respective problems, they find out the past never dies and is never entirely what it seems. So, what starts as a family drama quickly evolves into a film of supernatural intrigue. Yet, no matter how far fetched the film may turn, it always hinges on the well constructed family drama which deftly balances dark subject matter (adultery, rape, etc.) with a sense of humor that keeps the film from treading too deep into a depressing state.
This is obviously attributed to the screenplay, but Almodovar does his part as he gleefully stages many of the darker sequences against a colorful landscape. Almodovar's use of color not only makes the film interesting to look at, but it also makes each scene bubble over with life despite the macabre subject matter. Despite the life and compassion that Almodovar pumps into the film, he also loses focus just a bit in the second act as he tries to give each sister's story the time to breathe. Splitting time between the stories of Raimunda and Sole, between the grim and the fantastical, Almodovar at times can't quite switch between both stories and tones without seeming abrupt. It's at this point that his (and the screenplay's) desire to be many things at once begins an act of betrayal. Fortunately, Almodovar is able to reestablish an equilibrium before the film's style, tone, and substance collapse. When looked at in the confines of a bigger picture, this is merely a minor issue I have with Almodovar's direction, which is otherwise impeccable, as he adds great style to what is already a provocative screenplay. But, above all the style he offers, it's Almodovar understanding of his female characters that is the most important aspect of "Volver".
It's through this understanding that he not only allows us to sympathize with their situations and behaviors, but also to feel empowered by how strong these women have been when they've all seemingly faced the wrath of despicable men. Assisting Almodovar in the cementing of womanhood are the actresses that grace our presence. All of the actresses in this film deliver magnificent performances that not only deliver many layers to their characters, but also are charming as they go wherever Almodovar takes them. But, for as good as all of the actresses are, the best performance belongs to Penelope Cruz who shows a range that seemed non-existent in her English speaking endeavors. Surprisingly to me, Cruz is able to match the demands and shifts that Almodovar needs. She's funny, heart wrenching, and all together great. In the very least, Cruz would've provided at least some great eye candy for my first foray into the realm of Almodovar, but fortunately her physical appearance was the least impressive thing about this venture. Instead, it's Almodovar's palette, the acting, and overall range of the film that have made this film into a must see. Even more so, "Volver" made me excited to descend even further into the mind of one of Spain's finest treasures.
As much as I loved the recent batch of comic book adaptations, I was patiently waiting for a movie to come along and just lampoon the hell out of them. By lampoon I don't mean anything along the lines of "Superhero Movie" or "Epic Movie" which mimic and hail from the film abortionists known as Seltzer and Friedberg. Instead, I was waiting for a film to legitimately tackle vigilante justice through the perspective of an everyday human being; not an expertly trained billionaire, or a billionaire decked out in iron. In the case of Dave Lizewski, the protagonist of "Kick-Ass", we get our street level view. Dave isn't anybody special. He's just a kid going through the motions as he battles teenage life. And like most teenagers, Dave has a great deal of angst. Portions of Dave's angst is channeled through chronic masturbation, but most of it is redirected towards his disgust for bad behavior going unpunished. With his comic book sized imagination, Dave is compelled to take matters into his own hands. Donning a wetsuit he purchased off the Internet and two clubs, Dave sets his sights on the streets as a means to clean them up and to make some part of his life seem cool.
Let's be honest, with the exception of "Shrek" and "Ants", Dreamworks has been pretty much treading water in regards to their animation division. This is not to say that what they've put out hasn't been entertaining, but very rarely have they captured the magic and essence of a Pixar film. Unfortunately for Dreamworks, they're still left in the dark with their newest creation "How to Train Your Dragon", a film that's just as cute as a Pixar film, but one that lacks depth to create a film that delivers on all levels. Now, the film itself possesses a focused and imaginative story that rivals almost any Pixar film. "How to..." tells the tale of Hiccup, a teenage Viking who has a zest for invention and an intention to be a heralded dragon hunter in his home town (or village) of Berk. Berk is a special place of sorts, considering that it's a relatively happy place aside from the frequent attacks by dragons. Yet, the Berk faithful are a group of people that are strong and resilient...aside from Hiccup of course. If anything, Hiccup is merely a visitor at Berk. Physically he's meek, strategically he's unorthodox (at least by Berk's standards), and his leadership presence is non-existent.
Although Hiccup may not be the spitting image of his fellow brethren, he is quite resourceful in his own way. More specifically he has a rather high level of ingenuity as he creates an assortment of inventions that could aid Berk in its defense of dragons, but like most progressive thinkers, Hiccup is seemingly cast away to the outskirts while history takes precedence. Obviously, dragons need to be killed as gruesomely as possible for that is the Viking way! Of course this difference between Hiccup and his village manifests itself extrinsically as Hiccup's father, who appears to be the soldier of fortune in Berk, finds himself on the prowl, hunting for the dragon's nest. At the same time, Hiccup comes across a wounded dragon that he befriends, which ironically occurs when he is being trained to slay dragons.This ideal of barbarianism versus a (for lack of a better word) humanism, although somewhat cliche, is a well oiled cog in a story that for the most part acts as a voice for the respect and understanding of all creatures.
Eventually, as you might expect, Hiccup convinces the village of Berk in the end that you can't hate, nor kill, something you don't fully understand. No matter how preachy the story may sound, it's executed extremely well. Featuring well established primary characters, motivations, and fun action pieces, the film does a wonderful job balancing an important message with lively dragon based hijinks. Accompanying the story is the visuals, which are truly fantastic. Whether it's the design of Berk, or the detail and imagination poured into the dragons themselves, "How to..." is a smooth ride for the eyes that is heightened when it's combined with 3-D. Granted, the 3-D itself doesn't make the film like it does for "Avatar", but it certainly makes some flying sequences far more thrilling and enticing had they not been in 3-D. So, it's quite clear that the film offers an engaging and important story mixed in with some dazzling visuals, but the question becomes: where did the film falter? Honestly, I feel the film falters when it comes to voice casting and secondary characters.
Let's begin with voice casting, an area that you may deem me as being too fickle in. Nonetheless, I feel that aside from Gerard Butler and Craig Ferguson, whose voices and personalities add a distinct flavor to their respective characters, the voice cast lacks any power. From the lead Jay Baruchel to Jonah Hill, a few of the voice actors just seem to be going with the flow. None really go the extra mile and make their characters come off as being authentic, where as Butler and Ferguson add a bit of zest and zeal. Aside from Baruchel's voice, his character was well written, as were most of the primary players, but it was side characters and jokes along the way that came off flat. Some of them, most of which consist of Hiccup's dragon training classmates, are mildly amusing, but often come off as boring riffs of characters we've already seen before. Unfortunately some of this lack of originality also found its way into a few jokes, but the film is loaded with enough great jokes to make up for the ones that get away from the screenplay. With that being said, "How to Train Your Dragon" is a step in the right direction for Dreamworks. They have always exceeded in the visuals department, but now they've finally showed they can handle the art of storytelling, at least when it comes to their post "Shrek" filmography. Surely, "How to Train Your Dragon" isn't their most polished effort, but it's definitely one of their most enjoyable and focused films.
If you know me well enough, you'd probably know that I'm a huge baseball fan. So, going in to "Sugar" my bias was probably already working in the film's favor. Yet, what was most interesting about "Sugar" is that it was less about the game of baseball than it was about getting into the game, as well as the risks that come with such an occupation. The film follows Miguel 'Sugar' Santos (Algenis Perez Soto), a Dominican baseball player working his way from the Dominican League to the Major Leagues. Yes, it seems like your basic rags to riches story, but it really isn't. Instead, writers/directors Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck are more focused on the pitfalls of reaching for a lofty dream, as they tackle the issues that come up when foreign born players try to assimilate into a new culture while attempting to hedge the pressure of maintaining a roster spot. In the case of Sugar, his story begins in the Dominican League where he is pitching considerably well, having fun, and most importantly his family and friends are always within reach. But, for most athletes the dream is to always reach the pinnacle of their respective sports and Sugar is no different. If he could reach the apex, then he would be able to not only provide for himself, but also his family back home.
So, with some initial trepidation, Sugar finds himself picked up by a major league team and designated to the Minor Leagues (Class A). With this, Sugar goes from the Dominican to the beautiful (maybe) land of Iowa. Despite being assigned to a host family, Sugar faces many challenges upon his entrance in the United States. Obviously cultural differences are a huge obstacle, but the most pressing issue right off the bat (no pun intended) is the language barrier. Knowing very little English, Sugar has a hard time communicating with both his host family and American teammates. Fortunately for Sugar, he has a handful of friends from the Dominican on his team that initially allow for an easier transition. This gives Sugar a sense of ease which ends up being pivotal in his great start for his new team. Yet, as the season progresses, Sugar's friends disappear (some are cut, some are promoted) and he struggles to regain the form he originally had, leaving his confidence in shambles with no one in sight to help him pick up the pieces. Feeling that his spot on the team is slipping away, Sugar bolts from the team and begins a pilgrimage to New York, where he hopes he can find some semblance of a future.
It's from this point on that the film becomes a rarity as it affectionately provides a voice for the Dominican ( or Latino) baseball player, as well as becomes a study on expecations lost and furthers the examination on cultural intergration. This unheralded perspective carries emotional heft, as it demonstrates the high expectations for and from latino players, and the trials of trying to fit into an unforgiving culture. This idea is further exacerbated at the end when the film brings in real, former Latino baseball players who have succumbed to the issues that plague foreign born players. Both Fleck and Boden are able to convey these issues within their story with great discipline and subtlety. Instead of relying on big, flashy scenes, they let the emotions gestate in Sugar through quiet moments, as he is placed against the vast, but empty Iowa backdrop. Credit also must be given to Fleck and Boden for casting Soto in the role of Sugar. With this being Soto's first film, one would assume he wouldn't be able to completely demonstrate the constant emotions working in Sugar, but that isn't the case. Soto comes off as a veteran, as he gives Sugar a humble air that evokes empathy for the titular character.
Even though the film creates a rather bleak picture for Latino players who end up moving to the United States, Boden and Fleck do a great job keeping the film filled with genuine humor to ensure the subject matter isn't too heavy. Some of the humor may come at the expense of Sugar's cultural transition, but much of it is in good fun. In addition to this, Boden and Fleck also construct the baseball scenes with great vigor. Not only are they fun to watch, especially when it involves Soto generating chemistry with his fellow actors, but they're wonderfully orchestrated as a means to expose Sugar's character and demeanor. With enjoyable moments on the field and well developed strife off it, "Sugar" is a baseball film that goes beyond the chalk lines. It's a film that adequately captures the many challenges a foreign born athlete could face when they leave their countries with ambition and dreams in hand, while attempting to land a roster spot and some footing in an alien culture.
If there is one issue I have with independent filmmaking it would be its weird desire to make films as quirky as possible. This is most notably accomplished through the creation of off-beat characters who have similar traits as every day people, but only their neurotic traits are amplified by 100. Case and point, "Napoleon Dynamite", a film that sucks its characters out of bizarro world. If these particular characters, who are so colorful and brazen, actually existed they would be deemed a social cancer, but since it's a movie, they're hip. I understand that the goal of an independent film is to be acknowledged in a theater when it's surrounded by films funded by major studios, thus creating caricatures is one way for an indie film to garner some kind of audience. Yet, what I find so disappointing about the indie film scene is that there are very few films that revolve around real, god honest people that get the backing and attention they deserve. As you can probably already determine, "Ballast" is one of those films that was buried.
First off, I must admit that "Ballast" is a film that requires your patience. Instead of investing in big moments and a plot that moves at break neck speed, the film slowly, but surely builds its characters into flawed and relatable human beings. The film, which tells the tale of three individuals ( a mother, her son, and a grocery store owner) coming to grips with a suicide, starts off very slow. We don't know much about our characters, but as time unfolds, the film offers us moments that expose our characters in ways we initially could only assume. Normally at this point I'd offer a more in-depth plot synopsis, but I'll refrain simply because the film isn't entirely concerned with plot anymore than it's concerned with characterization. Not to mention, laying out what happens in the film would only cheapen the experience of watching these characters go from mere sketches to embattled characters wrapped in flesh and bone.
Each character is as real as you and me, and their lives are amplified even more when they're juxtaposed against the back drop of the Mississippi Delta, a poverty torn piece of land that is as run down as the souls that inhabit the infertile land. Director Lance Hammer and cinematographer Lol Crawley use the landscape as a means to cueing us in our characters and their inner turmoil when we know nothing about them in the first half. Yet for as powerful and draining as the landscape can be, much of the film is dependent on the acting of the principal characters, especially when the film features many dead moments, or observational minutes in which the characters think to themselves. Usually for a film like this, a director would want actors who can carry a scene with next to nothing going on, but "Ballast" goes a different route and has inexperienced locals portray the protagonists. Do these newfound actors chew scenery with the likes of Daniel-Day Lewis or Javier Bardem? No, but they're not asked to be the center of the film; they're just asked to provide some gravity for their respective characters and they do just that, as they bring humble and authentic performances to the film. Here it is, the rare independent film that features real characters, portrayed by real human beings as they grapple with grief, redemption, and the path to a better life. There are certainly some quirks to the film and the vintage abrupt indie ending, but "Ballast" has a quiet power that is as real as it gets.
"Film as dream, film as music. No art passes our conscience in the way film does, and goes directly to our feelings, deep down into the dark rooms of our souls."
- Ingrid Bergman
Throughout my life I have started reading numerous books, only to put them down days later without even getting halfway through. This is mostly due to the fact that books are a time investment that I'm not really committed to make. Whether it's 300 or 1,000 pages, a book always seems tedious to me. Of course, I certainly see the benefits for reading as a means for entertainment and the expression of one's own imagination. Yet, for as open ended reading can be, it's a long and drawn out medium for me. Sometimes with books it takes pages to accurately depict a tone, establish a character or to even adequately set up a given situation. In the case of film, it's the opposite as they can do all of the above within one scene as they can attack the viewer with a plethora of tools ranging from score, acting, mise-en-scene, and the dialogue (text). If anything, I'd say film does something that reading a book can't do, it attacks the senses.
Salvatore Cascio as Toto in "Cinema Paradiso"
Without a doubt, one can immerse themselves in a book, but with a film, you can truly feel it, and this isn't in the sense of 3-D. With a mixture of special effects and sound, you can be found within a hurricane or a world other than our own. Through a handheld camera and gritty acting we can be placed in a place as real, and as authentic as our own backyard, or our own city. No matter how it's done, film can seemingly drop a viewer into any life, any world, and any situation, and convince you that you're there as an active voyeur experiencing what the characters are enduring. You can feel the sweat dripping down the back of a soldier in a desolate land; you can feel the blast of a rocket ship as it moves at the speed of light. It's a magical perception that I can relate back to the film "Cinema Paradiso" which is more or less a love letter to the art of film. The film follows the life of Toto, a young Italian boy who becomes infatuated with movies via a theater that plays edited Hollywood and Italian films in his small town. Toto seemingly loves every aspect of film, especially the hypnotizing effect films can have on a viewer, but more specifically he loves the way film makes him feel. It can make him laugh, cry, fearful, etc. The most pertinent thing is it makes him grasp a range of emotions that, for lack of a better phrase, enriches his life.
Needless to say, I share a similar sentiment with Toto. I love films simply because they allow me to experience emotions, ideas, people, and cultures in various ways as I sit in the confines of a darkened theater. Yet, where Toto fell in love with film as a child, I really didn't become enamored with film until my sophomore year in high school. Hell, I can even whittle it down to one film that ignited my interest and it was Paul Thomas Anderson's "Punch Drunk Love".
It was with this film that, for the first time in my life, I took in all of the ingredients that make up a film (score, cinematography, etc.) and realized the potential and profound effect they can have when wrapped into one cohesive bundle. This effect was further exacerbated by films like "Amelie", "Lost in Translation", and "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind", as they showed me the infinite bounds a film can possess.
Certainly, I liked movies prior to that point, but not to the extent I do now. Films were merely a distraction then, now they're a form of entertainment as well as an extension of life and a hymn to the very breaths we take. Now I actively seek out films from the past, from Fellini to Hitchcock, as well as those due in the near future from film's latest auteurs. This notion is evident of how I no longer view my interest in film to be just a hobby. Initially I did, but now it's a passion that pumps blood through my veins just as much as my heart. And it is this passion that I hope bleeds through each one of my film reviews and any other film musings I may post. For film is my religion and the likes of Tarantino, Truffaut, and P.T. Anderson deliver sermons to me daily. And much like the case of Toto, the Cinema will be an integral part of my life until I can no longer breathe. But, until then, it will be one of the biggest proponents for breathing another second longer.
I don't know too much about the life and times of Federico Fellini, aside from merely typing his name into the always trustworthy Wikipedia. But, after watching two of his most heralded films, '8 1/2 and La Dolce Vita', I've come to see Fellini as the kind of director whose ambition knows no bounds. This is evident in his creation of two films that are seemingly episodic in nature and surreal in feeling. Certainly the films had themes and characters that ran throughout the film, but never did they feel like every moment was moving in a linear fashion. This disjointed aspect obviously added to the surreal images Fellini put on screen, but I had always wondered if Fellini could tell a straight forward story. After watching "La Strada", one of Fellini's earlier films, Fellini proved he is capable of telling a linear story just as much as he is capable of making a film built around dreams.
Released in 1954, "La Strada" is one of the better examples of the Italian Neorealism scene, as it sympathetically recounts life in post World War II Italy. Granted it's not nearly as focused on the battles Italians faced after WWII as a film like "The Bicycle Thief", but it certainly uses the war torn context as a starting point for the tragic love story it intends to tell. This notion is obviously quite a far cry from Fellini's most recent films (for lack of a better phrase) that cite Fellini's dreamscape more than they do a broken society. Nevertheless, "La Strada" makes for a nice cornerstone in Fellini's filmography. The film itself tells the tale of a woman, Gelsomina (Giulietta Masina), who is sold off to a gypsy named Zampano (Anthony Quinn). Zampano, a staggering figure, is a man who goes town to town, putting on a show for townsfolk where he breaks chains with his chest and performs Chaplin-esque comedy acts. When performing, Zampano is a man with undeniable charm and warmth, as he works the crowd for their already inelastic income. Yet, when the show is over, Zampano is a brute. With Gelsomina becoming Zampano's sidekick, she is often at the forefront of Zampano's rage as he abuses her both physically and mentally.
Yet, aside from the obvious reasons, this is an issue considering that Gelsomina has the uncanny ability to deliver a form of slapstick comedy that makes Zampano's shtick deeper and much more appeasing for crowds. She is Zampano's golden ticket. Despite all of this abuse, Gelsomina hangs on to Zampano not only because his show allows her a venue to have fun, but also because it provides her with the tools of life (shelter, food, etc.) that her previous life no longer promised. From this comes an infatuation and dependence for Zampano that is ultimately rivaled when Zampano and Gelsomina bring their act to a traveling circus. Upon their arrival into the nomadic circus, Gelsomina suddenly becomes enamored with a high wire performer aptly named 'The Fool' (Richard Basehart) who provides her with not only new ways to perform as a clown, but also with a splash of warmth and importance. Unfortunately though, this leads to what becomes a tragic love triangle as Zampano and The Fool battle one another for Gelsomina and clout within the circus.
With a story like this, it's important to have a set of pathos on hand so the viewer can understand why someone like Gelsomina would be enticed by the monstrous Zampano, as well as someone like The Fool. Without much understanding, the viewer will seemingly scoff at the notion that an abused, enslaved woman would feel the way she does. Fortunately, Fellini's screenplay is full of pathos that allows for an easy understanding of Gelsomina and her feelings. In addition to this, Fellini also provides some humane moments for Zampano as means to not characterize Zampano as cold blooded human being. This is most recognizable through subtle moments, but it's really hammered home in what is surely a sobering ending scene, which will have you questioning the level of sympathy you have for Zampano despite what has transpired over the course of 90 minutes. Fellini's ability to draw out some form of sympathy out of even his most meddling of characters is an indictment of how wonderfully he establishes the film's characters.
Clearly Fellini has a film here that is quite serious, but this doesn't mean he doesn't deliver an entertaining film. In actuality Fellini is able to find a balance point between poignancy and entertainment, as he crafts scenes boiling over with energy just as well as he crafts scenes bubbling with drama. Much can be attested to the screenplay, but the film's and Fellini's balance point hinder on Masina's performance, which needs to be able to jump between a variety of emotions and acts at the drop of a hat. Needless to say, Masina delivers a wonderful performance that channels the physical strength of a Charlie Chaplin, as well as the emotional depth of a Hepburn. I think what is even more astonishing is that Masina accomplishes all of this mostly with her body language and the simple contortions of her face. Hell, at times it just seems all she has to do is blink and her eyes will tell a different story than the moment before. She without a doubt possesses a great range, and the same could be said for the film as a whole. It has a wonderful balance that can switch between slapstick comedy and melancholic moments with great ease. Never do I get the sense it can't do one or the other, nor both at the same time. It's always able to move freely as it pleases. This should be attributed to the performers and Fellini's ability to create complex characters within a simplistic tale. I don't believe this is Fellini's best film, but it's certainly evidence that Fellini can create a rich film without a dissonant narrative.
I don't know too much about the French New Wave aside from the fact that it features some of the most famous directors in film history. One such director is Francois Truffaut who is without a doubt one of my favorite directors of all time. Yet, as I have come to know and love Truffaut, there has always been one name that has been coupled with Truffaut's. Said name belongs to none other than Jean-Luc Godard, one of the fore fathers of the French New Wave. After scanning through Godard's career and his filmography, there was a hand full of films that I wanted to watch, but there was one film deemed quintessential for a Godard experience, and that was "Breathless." Released in 1959, "Breathless" was the film that put Godard on the map, and in many respects laid the foundation for Francois Truffaut's masterpiece "The 400 Blows", which was also released that year. But, where I completely fell in love with "The 400 Blows", I was barely invested in Godard's "Breathless", even though it had some great moments.
The film itself is rather thin on its premise. It tells the story of Michel, an everyday thief who wants his life to be as epic and romantic as a Humphrey Bogart gangster picture. Of course, such aspirations aren't met, but Michel finds himself in trouble after he kills a police officer. Out of desperation, Michel flees to Paris, where he steals money from an ex-girlfriend and attempts to woo an American woman, named Patricia, who sells The New York Herald Tribune along the Champs Elysee. The bulk of the film focuses on Michel as he attempts to convince Patricia to run with him to Rome amongst an ever growing concern of arrest. This potential of arrest does raise some conflict near the end of the film, but "Breathless" seemingly floats along a hip breeze as it layers much of its scenes with flirtation and dialogue. Obviously in order for a film like this to really grasp and retain the audience's attention it must have some damn good conversations, as well as some fine performances, and in the case of "Breathless", it does. The dialogue in the film isn't earth shattering by any means, but it's quite enjoyable and at times often feels like two everyday people discussing mundane events with great zeal. In one such scene, which runs on for at least ten minutes, if not more, Michel and Patricia loaf around in bed discussing a variety of subjects that do and don't have any bearing on the story at hand. They're just two people living their life and trying to understand one another on a variety of levels.
Of course the dialogue can only take you so far, so it's especially pertinent to have a decent performance to accompany the film's text. The two leads, played by Jean-Paul Belmondo and Jean Seberg, possess a fair amount of charisma and bring genuine appeal to their characters, as well as the dialogue that spews from their mouth. They don't deliver fantastic performances, but they do enough to flesh out Godard's thin material and create some belief that these two characters do have some feelings for one another. With that being said, the material itself and Godard's direction don't particularly craft a love story that completely resonates, nor one that validates what should be an emotional and tragic ending. Instead, Godard seemingly keeps us at an arm's length away. He never truly lets us in on the mindset of both of our leads. There is some introspection, don't get me wrong, but never do we fully dive into the lives of these two people. Instead they're treated as absolutes and in many respects we're left with two dimensional characters we just have to accept. In addition to Godard giving us mostly surface level views of his characters, he also uses a few techniques as a director that disrupts the viewer's immersion into his world.
Such tactics include the breaking of the fourth wall, an interesting moment where Michel inexplicably speaks to the audience, and the massive use of jump cuts. In regards to the latter, I understand that this is most likely due to the fact that Godard had to shorten his film by a substantial amount, so instead of cutting scenes of any significance, Godard just cut moments of the film that had no weight on the final product. From this comes moments of abrupt and abrasive jump cuts that just ended up being distracting to me in the end, and eventually took me out of the film, thus forcing me to find my way back in numerous times. Now, although I didn't enjoy this particular aspect of the film, and a few of Godard's other directorial tricks, I could certainly appreciate the new ground they broke for the films of today. Hell, if it wasn't for Godard's lack of regard for his editing (or more specifically the jump cuts), it's very possible that such a technique wouldn't be found built within a film's narrative in this day and age.
So, if there was anything that I walked away with from watching this film, it would be an appreciation for the trends the film laid the foundation for, as well as the risks it takes with a film's premise. But, despite the film's revolutionary hold in 1959, it just doesn't translate well as a complete film. Ideas are presented within interesting shots and the performances are engaging, but the film struggles to capture the audience within its world without disrupting the viewing process.
I must admit that I'm distracted quite easily, thus I completely forgot to finish my favorite film scores of all time list. I know, I know... People were rioting in the streets due to the unrest my forgetfulness caused. With this in mind, I apologize to you all for falling behind. Listed below is the remainder of my list, but I must say, there are many more scores I still love that didn't make the cut, so in the future you may be seeing a bonus edition. So, let’s finish this up!
EternalSunshine of the Spotless Mind Oh look! Another Jon Brion score on my list. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I’m quite enamored with the orchestrations Jon Brion creates. They’re often romantic (confessing this makes me feel naked) and off beat from the usual fodder one may find in film. With “Eternal Sunshine…” being a film that deftly balances science fiction (traveling through memories) and grounded romance, Jon Brion seems like the natural choice to score such an ambitious film. Obviously he does a terrific job, as he constructs short, but powerful ballads that not only capture the heartwarming (and wrenching) romance between our two leads (Winslet and Carrey), but also captures the playful enthusiasm and innovative thoughts writer Charlie Kaufman instills in the film.
The 400 Blows I could only find one track from Francois Truffaut’s French classic, but it’s the most important one: the theme. Composed by Jean Constatin, the main theme of the film is probably one of the more recognizable pieces of music in movie history. First and foremost, no matter how old it sounds and how many times I listen to it, it always sounds achingly beautiful. Yet what is most powerful about this piece of music is how easily it encapsulates Truffaut’s entire film into a three minute orchestration. It starts out light and breezy, much like the main character’s plight, but as soon as his world starts to spiral out of control at an expedited speed, the music picks up and eventually comes to a slow, melancholic roll, leaving the last moments of the piece on par with the protagonist’s own realization at the end of the film.
Amelie If I had only a few words to describe this fantastic French film it would be “charming” and “magical”. Such a distinction can be attributed to the uncanny direction by Jean-Pierre Jeunet and the magnificent performance by Audrey Tautou in the lead, but one must also consider the music that fills this already buoyant film. Composed by Yann Tiersen, the film features an eclectic assortment of instruments consisting of accordions, banjos, strings, pianos, and even a bicycle wheel! Obviously with the use of the accordion, the score definitely sounds French and Parisian, but never does it sound basic or expected. Instead, by using a variety of sounds and tools, Tiersen was able to create an appropriate mixture that not only made the sound distinct, but it also helped perpetuate the whimsy found pulsating through “Amelie.” Tautou and Jeunet give us a feast for our eyes, but such a feast is supplemented by the auditory splendor constructed by Tiersen.
Big Fish There are a lot of expectations that go into a Tim Burton movie. Most expectations are focused on the visual style of the film, and rightfully so, but what’s usually an interest for me is the score that Danny Elfman can concoct for Burton’s gothic vehicle. More often than not he doesn’t disappoint, but the one Elfman score that really grasped me was the one he brought to life in “Big Fish.” What initially did it for me was that it really didn’t sound like a Danny Elfman score. Sure it has the ever ready bombastic horns and drums, and the usual choral piece, but Elfman’s ability to distill it through a backwoods mindset gives the film a southern twang that not only deepens the atmosphere, but enhances the films visual and emotional palette.
Nina Rota is simply a genius. You don’t need to be a movie lover to fully appreciate and know the themes that Rota conceived for the legendary film “The Godfather.” Just by listening to the score one can tell that the film is just dripping with drama. Never mind that the music shouts “Italian!” with merely a few notes. What’s most impressive is how Rota can take a simple theme and manipulate it in a matter of ways to convey a plethora of messages. The score can be brooding, romantic, and violent from moment to moment, as well as all at once.
Hans Zimmer has never really been a composer known for his restraint, and his score for “The Dark Knight” doesn’t change this at all, but it does represent how Zimmer’s ambition can create a pulse pounding score that adequately captures the action and dark turmoil that resides in Christopher Nolan’s Shakespearean tragedy. Using horns, drums, and sharp shrills that emanate from a set of strings that seem to be played at a violent rate, Zimmer heightens the tension found on screen to epic heights. Furthermore, Zimmer creates memorable character themes, especially the one belonging to the Joker, which inventively makes use of a guitar, creating what seems like a siren sounding off. This not only acts as a warning sign to the audience, but also as a representation of man beyond crazy and understanding.
Without a doubt, Tim Burton is a visual genius. Very few directors out there are as consistent as Burton in terms of visual flair and gothic panache. Yet, for as consistent as Tim Burton has been in the visuals department, he has been just as inconsistent in telling a worthwhile story. Obviously there have been moments of greatness that extended from Burton's camera that created moments of equilibrium between visual fortitude and emotional storytelling. From "Edward Scissorhands" to "Sweeney Todd", Tim Burton has demonstrated the full artistic talent he possesses. But, as I have slowly come to notice with my age and the diversification of my film palette, Tim Burton is also lazy. I say this because he has a handful of films where he counts on wowing the audience at the expense of a film's emotional core. I could name a few films that would be an example of this issue, but none are more definitive than Burton's latest endeavor 'Alice in Wonderland.'
But, let's not hate just yet. I'll start with the positives. The first gem emanating from this mine is another terrific Danny Elfman score, which enhances Burton's gothic expressions via a haunting choral section and bombastic horns and drums. Secondly, Johnny Depp, although not as enchanting in this film as his previous Burton efforts, is still a joy to watch as he works through the schizophrenic known as the Mad Hatter. In addition to Depp, Helena Bonham Carter, another Burton vet, also gives a great performance, one that emits that most empathy and enjoyment than any other aspect in the film. Unfortunately I must stop there because there really is nothing more positive to say about this film. I wish I could sit here and say that from a visual standpoint Burton has done it again, but he really hasn't. Instead of using some organic production values (i.e. soundstages, props, costumes), Burton immerses us in a world constructed completely out of CG. This wouldn't be a huge problem if the special effects were actually, you know, special, but they're not. Instead, they're over processed, choppy, and just plain awful, as they create an often cold vibe that is devoid of any emotion. This is especially problematic when one takes into consideration that this story is supposed to be about finding oneself, and if there was any story contingent on its level of emotion and introspection, it would be a story about self discovery. Yet, the film feels awfully hollow and this is in part due to the soulless production.
I imagine there was some reasoning behind it, but when coupled with Burton's monotone colors, the film just looked and felt flat. With that in mind, the special effects, no matter how pertinent they are to a film, should not be the crux of a feature. As I always say and will forever say, the story is the backbone to any film, short or feature length. Despite having rich source materials, said backbone is non-existent in Burton's 'Alice.' This would be an example of Burton at his worse, where he peddles his visuals in favor of a story that is not only thin, but ultimately comes down to the most clichéd climax known to blockbuster films: good vs evil, oh my! The film follows Alice as she goes back to the trippy world she once visited as a child, and is suddenly seen as a savior of sorts by the inhabitants of Wonder(Under)land. From this we get exposition coming from a cavalcade of characters (Mad Hatter, White Queen, etc.) detailing a prophetic tale that entails a legendary warrior slaying the Red Queen's Jabberwocky and freeing the world from the Red Queen's rule. As much as I love an 'epic' setup like this, it never fully develops as it moves from one note characters to one note plot points, leaving a trail devoid of any palpable conflict. From this comes a climax that resembles almost every adventure/fantasy film as it comes down to one massive field battle between good and evil. We've seen this and done this before.
Not to say that Burton and his screenwriter had to reinvent the wheel by any means, but Burton has always been an inventive director and for him to just let this film, one that is based off of a source material that is anything but conventional, slip into the realm of formula is severely disappointing. This doesn't seem like the Tim Burton who brought the whimsical and bizarre 'Edward Scissorhands' to life back in the early nineties. No. This is a Tim Burton who seems to have been shackled by his own stylistic competency and the corporate entity named Disney, who seemed more focused on replicating their 'Narnia' film with 3-D in tow. I look forward to your next venture Burton, but the closest thing I felt from this film, whether it was an emotional connection or feeling the wonder of the universe, was the underutilized 3-D within my grasp. Yet, no matter how hard I tried to grasp this world in front of me, it just wasn't there.
Even though it's only March, I'm already willing to say that 'Shutter Island' will make my final top ten list for the year. Of course I still resign to the fact that it may not make the list, but the film moved me so much and terrified me beyond my wits, that I really feel it's going to be hard for any other 2010 film to match the power this film possesses. It's frightening, taut, visually stunning, and ultimately haunting. Is there a twist? Yes, and my guess is some of you will guess what it is about halfway through, but knowing the twist doesn't ruin the film. I say this because if any film has to hinge on some sort of twist, then the film is probably not good. If a film can move you and have you hooked even when the twist is known, then you know you're dealing with a great film. I'll admit that going into the film, I knew what the twist was. After the film was pushed back from October to February, I became curious and looked up the ending. So, initially I felt that my lack of discipline would lead to a diminished expectation of the film. I was wrong and although I knew the twist, leading up to it and after it, the film hooked me regardless and ultimately created a context for the reveal that moved me in a way that I didn't expect.
Furthermore, the twist itself takes on a whole new meaning when one takes the context and looks back at the film as a whole. But, let's delve into the film as a whole. The film tells the tale of U.S. Marshal Teddy Daniels (Leonardo DiCaprio), who with his newly assigned partner Chuck Aule (Mark Ruffalo), enters the remote island known as Shutter Island. This particular piece of land is special due to the fact that it's the home of a major psych ward, one that houses some of the most violent and disturbed patients known to man. The whole point of Chuck and Teddy going to such a location is to track down a patient who escaped, one who was found to have murdered her children and husband. Upon their arrival, the team of Teddy and Chuck are not only after a suspected murderer, but also are suspicious of the ward's employees and its leader Dr. Cawley (Ben Kingsley). When coupled with a freak hurricane that threatens the island, it's obvious that suspicion and paranoia overcome Teddy and Chuck. From this comes dark turns, vicious acts of violence, and ultimately a cold, cold truth. Yet, the one hit the hardest by the strange musings of the island is Teddy, a World War II vet with a dark past whose perception of reality is being challenged with every moment he's on the island.
With this in mind, it would come as no surprise that Teddy becomes a man unhinged. The screenplay does a terrific job capturing the downfall of this man's psyche, but it's Leonardo DiCaprio who truly brings Teddy to life in what should be an Oscar nominated performance. It's Leo's performance that is the crux of the film as he physically and emotionally gets us invested in his character to the point that we feel the sweat dripping from his brow, we feel his suspicion, and ultimately the pain and anguish that resides deep in his soul. It's truly a towering, dark, and captivating performance. The same could be said for the supporting cast from Mark Ruffalo to Kingsley to Michelle Williams, who plays Teddy's deceased wife, all of them fill the film with powerful and layered performances. Never does the cast tip the film's hand too much; they always leave you questioning the motivations and intentions of their respected characters. Of course, this is typical of a Scorsese film as he always gets phenomenal performances from his actors. Yet, even though the level of acting is a tried and true trademark of a Scorsese film, I must say that aside from that and a few shots at the beginning of the film, "Shutter Island" doesn't feel like a Scorsese film. It feels like an entirely different person dove into this material.
Certainly the shots aren't the same as a regular Scorsese picture, unless of course you want to compare it to his remake of "Cape Fear" which has similar shots, but aside from that, this looks and feels like nothing Scorsese has ever done. This especially includes the visual prowess the film possesses. Scorsese's films generally have a stylistic appeal to them, but here, with the work of cinematographer Robert Richardson, Scorsese has created his most visually arresting film. One that is dark, haunting, and gothically beautiful. In addition to Scorsese seemingly losing himself in the film, another aspect I found so endearing was Scorsese's playfulness with his narrative. More specifically, the editing found within the film. When watching the film I noticed there were a few continuity issues with shots, dialogue, and overall body positioning. Full well knowing that this film was edited by Thelma Schoonmaker, Scorsese's long time collaborator and an Oscar winning editor, slowly I began to realize that these hiccups in editing was merely Scorsese and Schoonmaker being playful and fully enveloping the audience in the fragmented reality of Teddy. This is not only a prime example of how Scorsese stepped outside his usual work, but also added another layer of enjoyment to the film, and it was for this reason that I came to truly love this movie. Yes, the acting and screenplay are terrific, but it's Scorcese's inability to be 'Scorsese' that really made the film standout to me. Nothing beats a director reinventing himself, if only for one film, and succeeding in almost every aspect.
Without a doubt Jeff Bridges delivers his best performance in "Crazy Heart", but his performance can't save a listless and dramatic-less film. Certainly there are actors who can take mediocre scripts or films in general and lift them to new heights, but unfortunately for Jeff Bridges the film has too much going against it for him to even really have a chance. In the film, Bridges plays Bad Blake, an alcoholic and dirt old country singer who has seen his career go from the big time to playing in dinky bars and run down bowling alleys. As most "down on his/her luck" films go, "Crazy Heart" shows us a depleted man who has hit rock bottom and seemingly has no way out. Yet, also like most of those films, a character comes along that shakes up our protagonist for the better. In the case of Bridge's defamed singer, he meets and falls in love with Jean Craddock (Maggie Gyllenhaal), a young journalist who gives him the strength to resolve his inner demons and become a better man. From this resurrection of sorts, we as an audience are supposed to support Bad and his rehabilitation, as well as feel some sort of emotional jubilation once he overcomes the demons that once had him shackled.
Well, that never really happens when it's all said and done. Instead we're spoon fed cliché after cliché and don't get the requisite emotional pay off that we've come to expect from films like this. I guess the question becomes why is the film so flat? For one, as already alluded to, the film is based on a string of clichés. We know the story by now and most importantly, the film doesn't do anything fresh. Everything lines up the way we expect it to. This problem is further exacerbated by the fact that for me, the relationship between Bad and Jean doesn't feel authentic. There are moments, but ultimately the issues between them lacks any resonance merely because I don't see these two people in love. Furthermore, which is far worse, I don't feel that they're in love. With this in mind, Bad's struggle to balance alcohol with love just feels fake and when he does overcome, we're too far down the line to be invested enough to completely care. This could be attributed just to the script, but it could also be placed upon the shoulders of director Scott Cooper whose direction just seems stale. This notion has nothing to do with flashy shots, but more with his lack of ability to create a sincere and sustaining scene.
Yet, a lot of admiration has to go to Bridges, who practically goes for broke in his Oscar winning performance. Whatever emotion and internal conflict this film can drum up simply comes from Bridges and his ability to not only show his character's strife, but also deliver winning musical performances. Accompanying Bridges is Gyllenhaal who also does a good job despite her accent flaring up from time to time. The two do an admirable job of trying to create some semblance of chemistry between one another, but these two solid actors can't completely pull it off. With that being said, if there is one thing that this film does perfectly, it would be the music. Now, I will never be confused with a country music fan, but the music within the film had me questioning my musical allegiances. Written and produced by T-Bone Burnett, the music is easy on the ears and pulls the right strings. If there was one thing that resonated more than Bridges, it would be the fantastic music. Unfortunately, I'm going to go ahead and stop my positive roll there and say that's where the positives end. What we have here is a film that could've been good despite its familiar bearings. But instead we get a film with a script devoid of honest conflict with direction that is pedestrian, and most of all the film lacks an emotional core. That's an awful lot of heavy lifting for Bridges to deal with. He tries amicably, but the burden is too big to bear.
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