Three films a day

#53, 3/30 – The End of Suburbia: Oil Depletion and the Collapse of the American Dream (2004) (dvd)

As I’ve said before, recent documentaries from the left have been invariably aimed at the left. This one is no different, as it presents one point of view clearly and repeatedly.

That said, the point of view probably isn’t all that far off. Sure, I have no idea if peak oil is going to happen (or, hell, we may already be on the downslide. Who can tell?), but if it does, the economic fabric of this country is fucked. In fact, let’s even talk ourselves off the ledge the movie puts us on and simply look at things as they are.

Even if the world supply for oil continues to increase for decades to come, I’m willing to bet the world demand for oil will grow at least as fast because of China and India. If demand keeps outpacing supply, guess what happens to the price? (No. Let me rephrase. Guess what will keep happening to the price? Remember when oil cost ~$35/barrel and we thought that was high? You fucking well should: It was 2 years ago. Now, it costs more than $50.) We don’t need to hit the peak for things to start getting pretty expensive around here (or maybe we have peaked and that’s why things cost so much. Doesn’t matter). One spike in demand or disruption in supply at this point could prove extremely damaging. If it starts costing much more to drive places, to heat our homes, to power ourselves in summer… do you think this will go anywhere good?

Anyway, it’s not a great documentary because it didn’t do much, beyond hand-waving about a potentially dire future.  But, well, it’s an interesting bit of speculation, all the same—and new urbanism gets a shout, which is always good.

#52, 3/29 – La Guerre est Finie (1966) (dvd)

I’m very interested in character studies like this, so it shouldn’t be much of a surprise that I ate it right up.  In fact, I often have moments during other types of films where I find myself wondering about the life of a completely tangential element to the story. For instance, there’s a torture scene in Four Days in September and remember when I saw it how I yearned for there to be a companion movie which followed the interrogator. Who did he go home to? What was his life like at home? How did being a torturer affect his life? What music did he listen to? What art did he respond to? What was his spirituality? How did he fit his role in with his view of the universe? What did he do before? What did he want to do? A film which can answer all those things quietly, without getting judgmental or hysterical would be a fantastic piece of work.

Resnais’ film did not delve as deeply into its subject (a communist Spanish exile working against Franco) as I might have liked, but it was still a delicious piece of work. It took me about fifteen minutes to find my bearings with it, but once I did I was sucked in completely.

(You may wonder why I labeled this "And so this is Christmas". I couldn’t help it.  "La Guerre est Finie" translates "The War is Over". And that just reminds me of "Happy Christmas (War is Over)", the John Lennon song which starts "And so this is Christmas…". Well, OK, technically it starts "Happy Christmas, Yoko! Happy Christmas, John!" but those are spoken words and I’m talking about song lyrics, man. Anyway, as I sat down to write this, the song kept cycling in my head. See? Simple. Now, perhaps, you have a better idea of how my confused mind works—and you’re very sorry for the knowledge.)

3/27 – I Can’t Sleep (1994) (dvd)

There are probably enough intersecting-lives-in-Paris films to consider it a genre all its own. I’m not daring to say there’s a similarity of approach to, say Amelie, Happenstance, and Code Inconnu, for instance; they’re set in Paris and they show us a small web of characters whose lives touch in interesting and fateful ways. That’s the extent of the genre as I’m defining it and I’m confident there are more films which fit that I simply can’t remember at this moment. Clearly, a lot happens in Paris. (Please note, just in case I wasn’t clear before: you’re not going to see two Paris-bound films more different than Amelie and Code Inconnu, so don’t take my mentioning them in the same sentence as a "recommended if you like…"; it’s most certainly not.)

I Can’t Sleep reminds me most of the later Code Inconnu, though I’m not sure why that is. (Ha! The obvious connection which I couldn’t quite bring forth bugged me so much I searched Google and found someone whose brain is clearly better than mine):

Claire Denis presents a haunting and understatedly compelling meditation on longing, estrangement, and disconnection in I Can’t Sleep. Using fragmented, often unresolved episodes, narrative ellipses, and tangential encounters, Denis creates a melancholic and sensual tapestry on cultural division and marginalization (issues that Michael Haneke would similarly explore in a subsequent film, Code Inconnu):

I knew the similarities I felt weren’t imagined!

I didn’t like this film as much as I did Haneke’s, but my appreciation for Code Inconnu wasn’t immediate (in fact, the first two times I tried to watch it I couldn’t get past the third scene). I’m betting this will grow on me, too.

When I came to Chicago on January 15th I realized that watching four movies a week wouldn’t be that hard, even if I had 40 hours of my time eaten up by work (actually, throw in a commute and let’s call it 50; still plenty of time for four movies a week). And here we are almost a quarter of the year through and I’ve seen 50 movies. Right on target for 200 this year.  I am pleased.

I decided at the start of the month that when I hit 50 I’d publish a list of my favorites up to that point. I’ve changed my mind. My opinion of these films is going to change throughout the year so I should just acknowledge that and not try to make a list I’ll only laugh at later.

Instead, here’s a list of the most notable films I’ve seen so far. I wasn’t aiming for a preset number, it just turned out to be 15. These are not a list of films I liked (else Moonstruck would be in there), but instead a list of the films which I’ve found myself thinking and talking about the most since I’ve seen them. Yes, I didn’t even like Goodbye Dragon Inn (and I doubt I ever will), but there’s something about it which keeps it in my head; I guess it was the most interesting bad movie experience I’ve had in a while.

1/8     Deep Valley (1947)
1/13    Some Body (2001)
1/25    Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy (2004)
2/8    Notre Musique (2004)
2/10    Son frère (2003)
2/15    The Battle of Algiers (1965)
2/24    The Piano (1993)
2/26    Goodbye, Dragon Inn (2004)
3/1    La Strada (1954)
3/2    Léolo (1992)
3/6    The Aviator (2004)
3/8    The Duellists (1977)
3/13    Wings of Desire (1987)
3/18    Meet John Doe (1941)
3/24    Breaking the Waves (1996)

3/25 – The Talented Mr. Ripley (1999) (dvd)

Eh.

3/24 – Breaking the Waves (1996) (dvd)

Right. I officially trust PTP’s suggestions 100%. We won’t always agree (and that would be boring), but I’m willing to say that the things she recommends won’t be wastes of time. We just see films in similar ways. Heck, we even had similar reactions to the ending of this one.

Anyway, Von Trier and I, well, we don’t always get along. But this movie put three of my favorite actors—Emily Watson, Stellan SkarsgÃ¥rd, and the late Katrin Cartlidge—to great use. Bless it so.

It’s a marvelous film which almost (almost!) gets me to a point where I forgive Von Trier for all his other transgressions. Almost.

3/18 – Meet John Doe (1941) (dvd)

I’d always dismissed Capra as a dopey so-and-so who gave us one of the most offensive lines I’ve ever heard in film (the Japanese were referred to as Hitler’s "buck-toothed friends" in his first purely propaganda feature, Prelude to War). I went through a period where if Capra did it and it wasn’t a straight-up screwball comedy, I wanted no part of it.

Then I saw The Miracle Woman and I realized I’d misunderstood Capra completely. A fairly recent re-watch of Mr. Smith… confirmed it: Capra doesn’t deserve to be written off quite so easily. In fact, he’s one of the smartest filmmakers I’ve ever encountered.  I’m not letting him off the hook for his blatant forays into propaganda, or saying that I always agreed with him. But the guy’s films are much more rich than I’d initially thought.

About halfway through Meet John Doe I realized we were watching the Jesus story, retold without (pardon the expression but I’m referencing Paddy Chayefsky here) "the God bullshit" —with one little twist on it, since this fellow was the result of a cynical act of creation.  The script makes sure the audience gets it, too, especially in the final scene. 

I loved this movie. And though I’m still no judge of acting talent, the people in it certainly helped my impression of it. Barbara Stanwyck is her standard miraculous self (I honestly can’t think of an actor I like more. Loy, Rowlands,  Grant, and Lupino all come close, but I think Stanwyck is my favorite actor of all time). And it’s almost eerie to see Gary Cooper in a stadium with a bank of microphones in front of him because just one year later Cooper would be in a similar shot for The Pride of the Yankees.

Even though at the end of the day I do not agree with Capra’s faith in people, I absolutely applaud his perceptiveness. There is so much that’s touched on here, from the people’s want for a messianic figure (and their willingness to tear one down at the slightest hint of impurity) to the simple idea that those in power want to stay in power. Thing is Capra believed. I always knew that, and it’s where he and I differ. He believed in the American experiment (as if Prelude to War, which was his very next film after Meet John Doe, didn’t make that abundantly clear); he thought  our system could work.  I don’t. I don’t think any system can.

Had I written the script (I couldn’t have, but assuming I could have put my thoughts into the script), the film would have ended differently, make no mistake about that. But all the same, this is one of the greatest movies I’ve ever seen.  And dig that: No Cher.

3/17 – Moonstruck (1987) (dvd)

This movie and I have a history. I avoided it like the plague, simply for one reason: I can’t stand Cher. Don’t like her one bit. And a romantic comedy with Cher? I would rather die. So, yeah, I stayed away, even though the film was crafted by the often respectable Norman Jewison (say what you want, kids, the original Rollerball is actually one of Hollywood’s better attempts at science fiction; its failures are minor compared to, say, Spielberg’s AI; yes, I know, that’s because Rollerball was not as ambitious and yadda yadda. Still.) And even though it comes from the last period of (relatively) mainstream filmmaking I really enjoy: the 80s. Don’t ask me why, but I think there’s something wonderful in films like Housekeeping, The World According to Garp, Desert Hearts, and yes, even the fairly dumb Streets of Fire. This was a period where studios weren’t as hung up on trying to sell. Sure, none of those movies I listed compares to some of the brilliant stuff that came out in the 70s (like, say, my beloved Parallax View), but they weren’t the "made-by-focus-group" movies we get all the time now, either. 

So, by all means I should have given it a try before now. But, well, Cher.

I’m very good at active avoidance. And I’d managed not to catch even an entire scene of the movie. Until November.  The last day of the month, to be exact.  I’d just flown out to Arizona to visit my parents earlier that day. I was extremely sick, and tired. And more than a little disoriented. It was early evening and my father and I had just finished eating.

My father still channel surfs. I don’t even comprehend the idea anymore, but he whirls through the channels with a dizzying lack of logic. He paused a few times during his frantic tour of Cox cable’s offerings, but rarely for very long. One time, though, he caught a dinner scene in Lost in Translation. I hoped with all my might that he’d stay put there, because—as I rushed to tell him—this was a very good film.  My father appreciates films, but he’s very finicky and, well, this just wasn’t the night for Lost in Translation.

Later on, he stopped again. This time, on Moonstruck. The scene where John Mahoney meets Olympia Dukakis. I didn’t recoil in horror at the scene, but I knew what it was and that I simply didn’t want to see it.  He said—and I’ll always remember this—"This is one of the best movies ever made". I quietly rolled my eyes (the unspoken part of my response: It has Cher in it, dad. Cher.  It is mathematically impossible for one of the best movies ever made to have Cher in it. If you had a whiteboard in this living room, I would walk over to it and show you why. Then you would see. Then you would see.) Anyway, he stuck with the movie through to where Mahoney starts to walk Dukakis home and then, bam, he was off again to another channel.  That’s how my father is. (I wrote about it the next day in my other space; I’m surprised I mentioned A Stranger Among Us instead of Moonstruck; but I dislike Melanie Griffith even more than I dislike Cher, come to think of it)

Anyway, I already told you what day it was, but I’ll say it again: November 30th. That day means a lot to me (note: I kept thinking it was December 1st, but no, I was off by a day).  The first time PTP and I ever talked was that night. I could barely breathe, but still I chatted with her. Do you see how weird that is? I’d successfully avoided this movie for my entire adult life and the very night I caught even the slightest bit of it was also the first time I talked to her. Little coincidences like that prove to me that there is a screenwriter at work in my life. And right now he’s going through a very symbolic phase.

She loves Moonstruck. She asked me to watch it.  I think she sensed my reticence, but I decided I’d give it the shot it deserves. After all, she’s someone whose approach to movies is awfully similar to mine and she thinks it’s is a great film (and I didn’t want to die when I saw the one scene), so, hey, why not? Sure, I had some dark and evil thoughts lingering, and fairly low expectations (Cher, man. Cher!) but I figured it wouldn’t ruin my life.

I liked it quite a lot. I actually would not mind having this movie in my video collection. Me. I… I can’t believe I just said that.  I’m not with my father on the whole among the best movies ever made thing, but I was surprised by how lovely it turned out to be. It seems I actually don’t hate Cher when she’s got the good sense to be talking instead of singing. Who knew?

I loved the end. I see what she sees in it. Moreover, I had my own multilayered reaction to it. And I can’t wait to talk to her about it.

3/13 – Hotel Rwanda (2004) (gitn)

Don Cheadle was brilliant.

The movie itself wasn’t. The filmmakers went for big and powerful. And, for the most part, they got it. But the film could have stood some more nuance. Cheadle carries it, though. I’m not a good judge of acting talent, but whatever Cheadle has I wish there was more of in movies today.

I’m not sure yet whether I think this movie was the wrong story or the right story told in the wrong way. Regardless, it’s a movie worth seeing, but I certainly didn’t love it.  (I know, who cares if I loved it?)

I’m going to go out on a limb and say that I find these images… similar.
   

3/13 – The Grudge (2004) (gitn)

Hmmm.  Just to revisit: Liked Ringu, hated The Ring. I’m not sure why but I found the deeply silly The Grudge—which owes a ton to Ringu, but is just as silly as The Ring—tolerable. Not scary. (This is not surprising. It takes a very certain kind of horror to get to me).. But tolerable. I guess I’d call it a Post-Ringu cousin of Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House (which has, of course, spawned two movies. One brilliant, the other awful), where the thesis has changed from "some houses are born bad" to "some houses become bad". Fair enough.

It was a fun movie to study, actually. I thought about the composition of each scene: the meshing of  the shot with the dime-a-dozen horror score and the incidental sounds. I watched how the camera moved and tried to figure out why certain shots were done as they were. Not every movie will bowl me over with its language—this one surely didn’t—but I think I understand why they made most of their choices. Most (in some cases there must be a technical reason I simply can’t know since I wasn’t there). You know, I think if I’d watched The Ring like this, I probably would have gotten more out of it. Sorry, Naomi.

Is it me or has something about Jason Behr’s face changed? And I’ve got to start remembering Grace Zabriske’s name. I keep seeing her and going "Hey, it’s Mrs. Palmer from Twin Peaks; she’s weird."  She is, though.

I wonder how the original of this film differs. I’ll have to check it out sometime.

3/13 – Wings of Desire (1987) (dvd)

If I ever fall into another of my periods where I lose faith in movies as an art form…
If I ever forget about their ability to transform, to help a person heal, to connect to someone…
If I ever find myself wondering what it is about movies that makes me as I am about them…

I just need to watch this.

The first time we see the angels in the library is, I must say, one of my favorite scenes ever.  Ever.

Dear me.

(Heh, I didn’t even realize I already had the sequel sitting in my queue @ 20. Well, then. In due time. Far less than the six real years it took theater-goers, too. See? Missing out on things for years and years has its advantages.)

Let me put this right out there so that people can get on my case.  I have never liked a movie Naomi Watts has been in. Mullholland Drive? Shitfest. Yes, Watts was fine in it, and she gave us one of the best masturbation scenes in film history. That takes talent, and I acknowledge her talent. But the movie? Horrible. The Ring? Don’t get me started. The Japanese original was a very good, if flawed, piece of work. The Hollywood remake was dumb. Exceedingly, unbelievably dumb. And about as compelling as watching six old guys sitting in an all-white room while reading to themselves for four hours. Watts was not responsible for its failures, but that doesn’t matter much, does it? 21 Grams?  Puh-lease. Watch Amores Perros to see what those filmmakers are capable of. 21 Grams just didn’t resonate nearly as well with me.  And I found Dangerous Beauty insulting. I don’t even remember Watts in it, but that’s neither here nor there. Oh-for-four.

So, going into this next movie I had fear. Naomi is just one of those actresses whose films I want to like, but somehow I never do (see also Claire Danes—with the notable exception of The Hours—and Saffron Burrows). And all the while you can put Kirsten Dunst or Sarah Polley in the worst movie ever made and I’d still have a good time.  Go figure.

3/10 – I Heart Huckabees (2004)  (dvd)

Well, it wasn’t quite the film I was expecting. I’m not quite sure what I was expecting, but what I got wasn’t it. While I wouldn’t call it a particularly strong effort, it wanted to be loved, and sometimes that’s good enough for me.  Plus, my adoration for most of the principals (especially Lily Tomlin, Dustin Hoffman, and Isabelle Huppert) bumped it up half a letter grade. And, most importantly, every now and again there was a little something which made me laugh out loud. Good enough. Three stars.   

I’m thinking maybe my next business cards should read "Cruelty, manipulation, meaninglessness". Though I know I really will never top now with less sugar and perhaps I shouldn’t try.

3/9 – Love Serenade (1996) (vhs)
The person I’m smitten with lent me this—a movie named after the Barry White tune writer/director Shirley Barrett thinks is the creepiest love song ever made (and it is)—because I’ve needed some cheering up recently.  It definitely worked because I laughed out loud a number of times. Moreover, the film carried some of that lovely darkness which my favorite Australian films seem to have in common (I’ve always thought Muriel’s Wedding may even have been a tad too dark in this respect; I still love it). Full credit to the almost always good Miranda Otto (speaking of Miranda Otto and Aussie films, have you seen The Last Days of Chez Nous—which also has Kerry Fox?) and the excellent George Shevtsov who, uh, really knows how to bring the creepy (with his delivery, the line which starts "And just because I’m also having sex with your sister…" became one the funniest things I’ve heard this year.)

Thank you, PTP.

3/8 – The Duellists (1977) (dvd)

"There are 900,000 reasons for not making the movie. You have to be the person who is the reason to make the movie."
– Ridley Scott in the commentary for The Duellists.

For everything one might say about auteur theory, there’s a reason it sticks around. It is perhaps a little too simplistic to give a director all the credit (or blame) for a film. Certainly there are many, many other people involved in each endeavor and they all play a part in the piece we eventually see.  But it’s the director who runs the ship. They know why the script is being filmed, even if they never actually get that point across to the rest of us—or me, at least (hi, Catherine Breillat). 

I’m usually not one to fire up the commentary track, but right after this finished I gave Scott’s opening comments a listen because I wanted to hear his reasons. (To me, that’s the difference between good DVD commentary and bad DVD commentary; don’t tell me how, tell me why.) I’m very sure I know what they are (and I’m writing the rest of this without actually hearing him give any reasons yet), but I want to hear what he has to say about it all the same.

As Lumet points in his book, the why doesn’t have to be lofty; he made a movie once just to get more and better experience at working in color. Some films are just there to entertain, or puzzle, or titillate and there’s nothing wrong with that (it is wrong when people who like those films think that’s all film is good for).  My appreciation for a film is often connected to what I think its reason for being is. I enjoyed xXx (I’m beginning to think it will go down in my personal history as the apex of Vin Diesel’s career) because it simply said "Hey, Bond films are fun. Wanna have some fun?". Meanwhile more "serious" features like Sideways and Neil LaBute’s The Shape of Things completely disgusted me because of their basic, inexcusable cruelty. Why make films like that? I don’t see the point.

I digress, though. More to the point of The Duellists, I think only quality directors can make films about the pointlessness of something without their endeavors falling apart (into preachiness or self-parody, take your pick). Maybe that’s why I kept thinking of Kubrick as I watched this movie. Oh, sure, The Duellists looks a bit like Barry Lyndon—which may have been why the thought first crossed my mind—but the real touch point with Kubrick is absurdity.  Kubrick’s films often reveled in the utter silliness of our society ("Gentlemen, you can’t fight in here! This is the war room"), and this film dances in similar territory, albeit with a tad more restraint. Scott pulls it off, too (despite my opinion of his post Blade Runner work, I think he’s a very good director). It took me a half hour or so to really appreciate what was going on, but once I got it I enjoyed the film quite a bit.

But, straying away from the director for a second, this film works because everyone involved understood the why: Honor and revenge—especially when pursued for their own sake—are often completely pointless. If only a certain Quentin Tarantino had rented this a few times back in the day. (I think Kill Bill’s ultimate failure is that in so slavishly referencing and reliving revenge plays, it never bothered to actually comment on them. In my eyes, the films’ reasons for being weren’t good enough to justify the time I spent watching them.)

I’m taking the time to read Lumet’s Making Movies this evening because I’ve come to realize, with the help of others, that my obsession with movies can become a creative force in my life. When I picked up the book in the library two things made me decide to get it: Lumet’s name (Network, Dog Day Afternoon, Fail-Safe, and 12 Angry Men are all among my favorite movies of all time) and Ebert’s simple blurb on the cover ("I am sometimes asked if there’s ‘one book’ a filmgoer could read to learn about how movies are made and what to look for while watching them. This is the book."). It’s going to be a quick and easy read, if the first chapter is any indication, and it seems Ebert’s blurb is probably spot on. (Though I desperately long to be reunited with my copy of the wonderful Cassavetes on Cassavetes, and I’d definitely love to get my hands on Kieslowski on Kieslowski.)

Back to my respect for Lumet, if I could pick the brain of one living Hollywood director, he’d be my choice. Only Pakula and Kubrick, both dead now but they were alive when this book was written, would have been ahead of good old Sidney. And behind Lumet would be Terrence Malick (I know nothing about it but I still can’t wait to see The New World) and  probably Robert Mulligan. (There’s another Hollywood director in there, too, but their name flitted in and out of my brain.) It’s not even that I’m desperate for instruction from a director I like; I’m not. I want to see what motivated him to make the movies he’s chosen to make. And I think he’s doing a grand job of addressing my question.

So, yeah. That’s what I’m doing in the down moments at night this week—when I’m not watching a film or talking with someone.

I’m unhappy that the film Lumet’s got me most interested about—through the first chapter, anyway—his adaptation of Chekov’s The Sea Gull, does not exist on DVD.  Ah well.  Pawnbroker, which was in my Netflix queue already (albeit @102), just got bumped up (to #8…).

I’ve started embracing my film addiction and it feels kind of good.