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.

Gone Baby Gone

Wow. This is an amazingly intense, emotional film. I've avoided it for a while, owing to the fact that it's directed by Ben Affleck and stars his little brother Casey, but I now owe them both an apology. Ben's directing and Casey's acting are top-notch, and make the emotional tension in the movie incredibly effective without crossing the line into melodrama. The subject matter (child abductions) makes this a difficult film to watch in and of itself, but Afflect handles it well, neither glorifying nor downplaying the terrible effects of these crimes. The actors (C. Affleck, Michelle Monaghan, Ed Harris, Morgan Freeman) are superb and utterly believable. Above all, the questions the film presents about right and wrong, morality and integrity, hit me like a punch to the chest. I think everyone left the theater wondering whether the right dicisions were made and pondering what their own reactions would have been under the circumstances.

The highest prise I can give the movie though, is this: I watch a lot of movies, and I always try to keep myself detached and analytical, examining the film for technique and how it's trying to get me to react. This movie, though, pulled me in, and had me cringing, covering my eyes, and at one point audibly reacting to a scene of exceptional impact. Excellent work, and, for the first time since Good Will Hunting, I'm now looking forward to Ben Affleck's next offering.

The Glorification of Criminals - American Gangster

I don't know any real criminals. I mean, I know people who have broken laws, or been arrested, or even spent a little time in the slammer, but I don't know anyone actively supporting themselves through a criminal enterprise of any sort. You know, like dealing drugs, or killing people for money. But, for some reason, even though I have no connection to those types of people, I love movies about them; including: The Godfather and its only legitimate sequel, Pulp Fiction, Goodfellas, The Road to Perdition, Grosse Point Blank, Gangs of New York, The Departed, Mean Streets, Taxi Driver, (insert any other Scorsese film here), Lord of War, Ocean's Eleven, etc. Movies about criminals tend to be fairly popular, especially among my demographic.

Why? I suppose the easy answer falls somewhere in the desire of all of us to live outside of the normal conventions of civilized society--to ignore the rules that keep us from doing whatever we want to do whenever we want to do it. The cinematic criminal is often portrayed positively in this sense. Most of these films include at least on scene where the criminal/hero ignores a conventional barrier (even small ones work) in a dramatic and glorified fashion, with little or no repercussion. Think, for example, of the common mob movie scene where the mobster walks into a speakeasy and takes the best table away from whatever clueless fop mistakenly thought was reserved for him, usually with the help or blessing of the club's management. We all want to be able to do stuff like that without being bounced out or beat up.

Another answer to the question could be in the ability of crime films to introduce their own strict moral code. Criminal/heroes don't live by society's arbitrary standards, instead following their own code based on the things that really matter in their lives. Loyalty, of course, is the lynch pin of the movie criminal's morality, and the massive volume of mob movies bears this out. One of my favorite movie lines of all time, spoken by Michael Corleone to his brother Fredo: "Fredo, you're my older brother, and I love you. But don't ever take sides with anyone against the family again. Ever." Film criminals universally value loyalty above all else, and the clichéd phrase "the family business" shows up in many of these movies, regardless of whether the criminal/heroes are actually related. Real world viewers covet that world where people trust their friends and family with their lives on a regular basis, and those relationships stand as the primary currency of peoples' character and reputation. Because, of course, in the real world, people are abandoned, let down, ratted out, cheated on, betrayed, and lied to on a daily basis. (And of course, in the movies, the penalty for such behavior is swift and deadly justice, which almost never happens in real life.)

In any event, crime movies have a very real tendency to glorify their criminal/heroes, while at the same time punishing them for their sins. Viewers of "The Godfather" admire Michael for his loyalty to the family, his courage to act on his convictions, and his ability to outsmart opponents, but at the same time, those viewers recognize and accept Micheal's inevitable slide into the wages of his sins. (See also the rise and fall of Tony Montana in Scarface. In fact, drug movies are especially good at this dichotomy, because the characters almost always end up hooked on their own product.) Crime movies, then, try to get the audience to buy into the world of the criminal/hero, to recognize and even sympathize with his motivations and morals, while at the same time realistically depicting the consequences of a life of crime in society. The criminal rarely wins in real life, and they rarely win in the movies.

That brings us to "American Gangster." I didn't get this movie, because it fails to fit into the above-described mold. While I would normally applaud a film that breaks away from traditional conventions, I can't do that with this one, because the breaks don't make any sense to me. Here's a breakdown of what confused me about this movie:

1) Frank Lucas (Denzel Washington) is set up as a normal criminal hero - ruthless with enemies and fiercely loyal to family and friends. He embodies the criminal/hero morality, until the end of the movie when he turns snitch and bargains for a lighter sentence in exchange for information about his criminal exploits. The movie tries to downplay this egregious breach of criminal ethos with a well-acted scene where Frank explains that he'll only turn in dirty cops or other gangsters, as opposed to his own family/network. I didn't buy it. Frank Lucas is a snitch. He plea bargained. He ratted out his fellow criminals. This is unheard of in the cinematic world of criminal/heroes and turns Frank into more Fredo than Michael. The central character of a crime movie cannot be Fredo.

2) Director Ridley Scott intersperses the movie with gut-wrenching shots of heroin addicts partaking of Frank's product. Many of these shots include neglected children, as if images of dying drug addicts weren't depressing enough. These images, though, are not addressed within the larger context of the film. The images do a terrifically effective job of conveying the horrors of drug abuse and poverty, and tend to shoot holes in the audience's admiration on Frank Lucas, as the traditional criminal/hero. As in a movie like "Scarface," we start to see the awful consequences of the criminal/hero's actions, but unlike those other movies, those consequences never reach the main character. Frank doesn't get hooked on heroin, nor do his wife, brothers, or other close associates. Instead, we get a sense that the world of the crime bosses, cops, and authorities, exists on a higher plane than that of the junkie. None of the filth or decay of the end-user gets on Frank, and we're left with the sense that the junkie will continue to get high no matter what Frank or the cops do. Of course, this is true, and Frank says as much in a speech toward the end of the film, but it doesn't fit the movie. Frank stands alone in the final shot, after serving 15 years of a 70 year sentence (reduced by his snitching), and you get the sense that there were no real consequences to his actions.

Overall, while this movie was wonderfully produced (great acting, interesting directing), the message of the film is muddled and ineffective. The film is structured like a traditional criminal/hero story, but Frank Lucas breaks the moral code and forfeits his integrity in the process. Likewise, the film does not punish Frank for the horrific consequences of his desire to make money, even though we are shown those consequences in agonizing detail. What's left over, then, is the feeling that perhaps the film is really trying to make a postmodern point about how everyone is both good and bad, and none of it matters anyway. If so, the film fails there too because it spends so much time establishing Frank as a traditional criminal/hero, and just as much time establishing Richie Roberts (Russell Crowe's cop/prosecutor) as a traditional good cop/corruption buster in the mold of Elliot Ness. In the end, it's just too confusing.

(P.S. What was Richie anyway? A cop or a lawyer? He does all the police work in the movie, then at the end appears as the prosecutor in Frank's trial giving closing arguments. That made no sense to me at all.)

** Post script added 1/22/08: CNN posted a story about the film's gross inaccuracies, and a lawsuit by several DEA agents against the producers for defamation. <<http://www.cnn.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/Movies/01/22/film.american.gangster.ap/index.html?iref=mpstoryview>>

This makes the movie even more confusing, as it evidently goes to great lenght to make Lucas some sort of Robin Hood figure.