Camera as Eye

Julian Schnabel stole my idea. No, we've never met, and I haven't pitched my idea for a completely first person POV movie to anyone (before right now, that is), but still...he stole it.

In The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Schnablel and cinematographer Janusz Kaminski use the POV camera to great effect. And, really, it's the only technique that could work in this film. We see the first twenty minutes of so through the eye (just one eye) of the main character, Jean-Do Bauby, as he struggles to come to grips with the effects of "locked-in syndrome" as a result of a stroke. The movie is based on the book that Bauby, a former editor of the French edition of Vogue Magazine, actually wrote. No, he didn't recover from his stroke; he wrote the book letter-by-letter by blinking when an assistant got to the letter he wanted in a read through the alphabet. The concept is crazy, and Schnabel's innovated directing does his subject justice. As someone intersted in film technique, I found this movie fascinating.

An Aside

Please indulge me for a moment for a quick story about my son. It has nothing to do with movies, and I promise that this blog will not turn into one of those "Let me tell you how cute my kids are!" things. I don't ask you for much.

My oldest son (almost 3) is a big Bob Dylan fan. I know, cool, huh? His favorite song is Tangled Up in Blue. In the interest of expanding his horizons (and to keep from having to hear TUIB three times on the way to the grocery store), I made a CD with some other Dylan tunes. One of them is the classic, The Times, They Are A-Changin', which happened to come up on the way home from church yesterday. Oldest son listened intently for a few moments then asked, "Daddy, what are they changing into?"

Profound, right? Any assistance in answering this one would be greatly appreciated.

For Michele - A "No Country" Review

My friend Michele recently asked for my recommendation on whether she and her husband should watch No Country for Old Men, specifically wondering, "does the overall greatness of the movie supersede the violence and disturbing concerns?"

What a question. A tough one to answer, and a compelling lens through which to view most modern American cinema. As I blogged about a while back, it seems to me that American filmmakers have adopted strikingly bleak worldviews, a trait that appears in their films as increased violence (often of the senseless variety) and general despondency. At the same time, I found No County for Old Men and There Will Be Blood, two of this year's prime examples of "film bleak," to be incredibly good films, full of interesting visuals, compelling characters, and thought-provoking themes. But, back to Michele's question: Are the good things about No County enough to outweigh the bad ones? My answer: it depends.

I saw No Country in Little Rock with my dad and brother at one of those cool indie theaters that serves real beer* and shows obscure movies. (Are these places still called "arthouses"?) We talked about it all the way home, with my brother and I trying to convince my dad it wasn't as violent and depressing as he thought it was. I don't think we succeeded much, but I certainly got a sense of how jaded I have become to cinematic violence. I didn't find the movie very violent, for the most part. There weren't many graphic scenes, and most of the violence was more emotionally arresting than visually. Don't get me wrong. There's a lot of killing, and some blood, and a general theme of random and senseless death. But it didn't feel that violent. I tried to explain to Dad that the violence made sense thematically, but he didn't seem to care. Bottom line: this is not a slasher pic or an action-packed orgasm of explosions and gunshots. It's a serious film that deals with death and violence in a (somewhat) subtle and emotionally complex way.

And in any event, the violence is not even close the most disturbing aspect of No Country. For me, the movie's concentration on the random senselessness of life left a far bigger impression. I don't generally need to be reminded of the lack of control I have over my life, or that true evil exists in this world and can affect me at any time. ** Even so, the film is highly effective in driving this point home. [--Mild spoiler alert--] The ending scene is especially haunting, not only in its content (the sheriff's monologue), but also in its abruptness and refusal to provide resolution.

Overall, I found No Country to be somewhat more "entertaining" than There Will Be Blood, owing to the dark comedy of those irrepressible Cohen boys and some excellent dialogue and acting. It's not a feel good sort of film and it left me with more questions than answers. In other words, it's the thematic opposite of The Shawshank Redemption. As for recommending it to Michele (and others with similar concerns), I would with the caveat that you go into it with the right expectations. You won't necessarily laugh much. You won't feel uplifted or inspired. You won't feel compelled to watch it again the next night. But it is a very well-made movie and certainly deserved the awards and accolades it's won. Sound like something you might be interested in?

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* "And I don't mean in just no paper cup, I'm talking about a glass of beer." I cannot adequately express how much I enjoy a cold glass of Fat Tire or Newcastle at the movies, partly because it always leads to me replaying the opening scene of Pulp Fiction in my head.

** Trust me on this one. I really don't need a refresher on this lesson.

EDIT: I am ashamed to admit that this post originally included the unconscionable mistake of using "it's" where "its" was called for. Deeply ashamed.

I Haven't Watched a Movie in Weeks!

Factors contributing to this drought:

1. We sold our nice flat screen HDTV, and are currently borrowing a late 80s model 27 inch Sylvania. (Please don't ask why, but rest assured it will be replaced.)

2. Our DVD player is refusing to work.

3. Our VCR (yes, I still own more VHS tapes than DVDs) is also refusing to work.

4. We are house hunting, which occupies most spare minutes.

5. I (unlike the DVD and VCR) work all day.

6. I have a son who refuses to allow the TV to be tuned to anything other than PBS Kids whenever he's downstairs.

7. I'm trying to read more. I'm in the middle of no less than 4 books right now, with Jim Webb's Born Fighting currently at the top of the stack. Great book. I'll finish Freakonomics, Blue Like Jazz, and God's Politics at some point.

8. There's nothing good out right now.

Best Animated Feature Film of the Year

I have seen both Ratatouille* and Persepolis, two of the three films nominated for the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature. (I did not see the third nominee, Happy Feet, nor do I plan to.) I cannot fathom how Academy members would go about deciding which was the "better" film. What are the criteria that distinguish a good animated film from a live action flick in the first place? It seems to me that this is a somewhat antiquated distinction, dating back to a time when animation was reserved for kids' movies and Tom and Jerry cartoons.** Now, Ratatouille probably qualifies as a "kids' movie," but Persepolis certainly does not. Even Ratatouille seems more mature than the classic Disney fare.

My point, I suppose, is that I think both films should compete on par with No Country for Old Men. They're both great movies, and I don't see what difference animation makes for the audience. I can see an argument for an award based on technical merit for the drawings, or even for voice-over talent, but those would be akin to the awards for makeup*** or art direction.

In any event, putting Ratatouille and Persepolis in a separate category and asking voters to pick which one is the better animated film is like asking someone to decide whether Frampton Comes Alive or The Boston Pops' Nutcracker and Swan Lake Suites is a better live album. They're not really the same genre, you know?

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*Ratatouille was my oldest son's first theater experience. He did surprisingly well, although he seemed more interested in the popcorn than the movie.

** My aforementioned eldest has a DVD of classic Tom and Jerry cartoons, many of which are designated as Oscar-winners.

***Best line of the Oscar telecast? Jon Stewart's comment that even Norbit was nominated (makeup), which is great because the Academy usually ignores movies that aren't good.

P.S. As you can see, I learned how to put links in my posts. Get ready for some serious fun now!

Films I Intentionally Missed Last Year

A few of popular/critically acclaimed movies of 2007 that I have no desire to see:

Atonement (I'm just really tired of films set in jolly olde England.)
The Kite Runner (ditto jolly olde Afghanistan)
Rendition/In the Valley of Elah/Lions for Lambs/A Mightly Heart (I HATE current events movies. Time lends perspective, people.)
Beowulf (I don't think I have to explain.)
Sicko (Don't even get me started on pseudo-documentary op-ed propoganda.)
Hairspray (John Travolta in drag. No thanks.)
Bee Movie (I'm afraid it will ruin Seinfeld reruns for me.)
Away From Her (The Notebook was my last Alzheimer’s movie for a while.)

Films I Missed Last Year

The list of movies I wanted to see in theaters last year but never got around to is as long as a night with teething six-month old with an ear infection (trust me on the anology).

Anyone have thoughts on which of these should be at the top of the queue?

I'm Not There (the Dylan flick)
The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (the French one about the guy who blinks a book) (Phenomenal. Will get its own post sometime.)
The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (Casey Affleck's Oscar turn)
Eastern Promises (Russian Mob)
4 Months, 3 Weeks & Two Days (abortion in Cold War Romania - I think it's a comedy)
For Your Consideration (Chris Guest's new one) (Good, not great.)
Into the Wild (something about a guy in Alakska, right?) (I liked this one. Might wright a post on it.)
The Savages (P.S. Hoffman's 15th film of the year)
Lars and the Real Girl (the charming sex doll movie) (Superb. This one definitely deserves its own post.)
Persepolis (an Iranian cartoon - the graphic novel is superb) (Saw it.)
Talk To Me (Don Cheadle as a DJ) (Not bad. Nothing special, though.)

Any thing else I missed?

NPR Movies Podcast/Sundance

I'm hooked on the NPR "Movies" podcast. They put together a weekly compilation of all the movie related content from All Things Considered, Fresh Air, etc., and you can get it for free on iTunes. Each week there may be a couple of reviews from Bob Mundello or Ken Turan, an interview with an actor or director and a feature story or two about the film industry or the making of a new film. It's all good stuff, and you never have to listen to Diane Rehm.

This last week there were some great stories on the Sundance Film Festival, specifically on the bidding wars between distribution companies for the rights to the popular independent films. I've added Sundance to my list of things to do before I die, right between the Barrett-Jackson Auto Auction, and an English Premier League match.

There Will Be Blood (and pain, and depression, and really good filmmaking)

[This was originally posted as a comment on Final Cut with Wilsford and Young]

I'm always looking for a film's message. I am one of those old-fashioned, pre-modernists who believe that art, in addition to providing entertainment, transmits the artist's thoughts, feelings, or worldview in a compelling and interesting way. It's not that I dislike post-modern film—I consider Pulp Fiction, the gold standard of pointless movie making, to be one of the 5-10 greatest films ever made—it's just that I always expect that the filmmaker is trying to make a point, and will assume so until the movie proves me wrong.

Like Nathan, I have struggled to comprehend this film and to find its message. Technically, it's stunning. Day-Lewis is from another planet in terms of his ability to fully inhabit his character (I heard an interview on NPR where he said it can take months for him to get out of character after filming ends). Anderson assembles a parade of wonderfully discordant visuals: obnoxious oil derricks in the bucolic California countryside; a worker cradling a infant while dumping a bucket of oil into a holding pond; the aged Plainview's indoor shooting gallery. The soundtrack ranges from eerie silence to screeching violins and pounding drums. The film, as should be expected from Anderson, overflows with dramatic technique and spell binding effects. It is truly riveting to watch.

But what's the point of all this artistic technique? Anderson's short resume of films are all somewhat off-putting and inaccessible (Magnolia, anyone?), but tend to reflect general themes of conflicted characters and awkward relationships. Those are certainly present here. I have read reviews that read this film as an indictment of big business and American greed, but I don't see it as much more than an indictment of Daniel Plainview. (The Standard Oil representative comes off like a nice guy.) Others contend that Plainview is completely evil, with no remorse or regret. I don't buy that either owing to the clear desire of Plainview to connect with his family--shown in his willingness to open up to his brother and the flashbacks to happy times with his son.

In all, Anderson seems to be more interested in making the point that some people are beyond hope. Some people are so deeply flawed that no amount of desire for love or acceptance can overcome their self-destructive nature. Anderson shows us two people, Plainview and Eli, who fit this description, and at the same time demonstrates that two of the most popular methods of finding fulfillment in life (money and religion) are no match for the depths of their flaws.It's not particularly enjoyable to spend two and a half hours in a theater to find out that some people are doomed to lives of depression and pain. Yet, the film's incredible accomplishment is that it keeps you interested and engaged in this story to the end. Only later, leaving the theater feeling exhausted and wrung out, did I wonder, "Why did I like that movie as much as I did?"

A New Genre of Film? From Film Noir to Film Bleak

A friend and I were talking the other day about the general depression in many recent films. Rampant pessimism and despair emanate from movie studios and film distributors these days, which is not entirely surprising given the tone of public discourse, the war, environmental fears, etc., etc. Four of this year's five nominees for Best Picture (No Country for Old Men, There Will Be Blood, Atonement, and Michael Clayton), many of this year's other highly-acclaimed films (American Gangster, 3:10 to Yuma, Gone Baby Gone, Before the Devil Knows You're Dead, I Am Legend), not to mention the past two Best Picture winners (Crash and The Departed) all contain, at the least, strong themes on the hopelessness of the human condition. No Country and There Will Be Blood wallow in this realization and relentlessly assault their audiences with it.

Classic film noir of the 1940s and 50s manifested the anxiety of World War II and the terror of the Nuclear Age with themes of fatalism, moral ambiguity, and paranoia. Characters fight corrupt authorities and suffer the violence of random chance. These films radiated the premise that individuals are helpless against the largely random and unforgiving machinations of the world in which they live.

It seems to me that the recent films I cited aren't concerned as much with a merciless external world, but instead focus on the darkness within us. Most often, these films show characters capable of anything, willing to sacrifice anyone and anything for selfish gain, or at the extreme, for no reason at all. Characters in these films have few redeeming qualities; they lack conviction, morality, compassion, judgment, self-control.

Where noir used the shadowy nature of black and white film stock to its advantage—visually enhancing its moody themes—the modern films tend to share a different visual style. Many of the newer films adopt a spare, even bleak, visual style, whether in the sweeping desert expanses of No Country, 3:10 to Yuma, or There Will Be Blood, or the desolate urban squalor of The Departed, Gone Baby Gone, and I Am Legend. The images lack warmth, and are often totally devoid of people. At some level (most apparent in There Will Be Blood), the visual style of these films seem to depict an inward view of their characters' souls. Desolate, bare, uninhabited; scorched by sun, littered with garbage. It's not film noir, it's film bleak.

A triple feature of any of the films listed above could cause one to lose all faith in humanity. I've seen the word "nihilistic" thrown around in many of the reviews of these films, but I don't think it really fits this growing genre. Nihilism rejects morality outright, while these films implicitly accept the concept of right and wrong in portraying a world where evil overruns the human soul. These movies are pessimistic, hopeless, and distraught, but they uphold the idea that people could be better. They just aren't.