tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55774907787320052472024-03-18T19:50:03.326-07:00Criterion ConfessionsA survey of the Criterion Collection on DVD by Jamie S. Rich.Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.comBlogger960125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-81243520927780143512022-08-04T22:17:00.002-07:002022-08-04T22:17:21.100-07:00SUNFLOWER - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review was originally written in 2008 for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/33712">DVDTalk.com</a>.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9ymUlXRznWdnnTP-2c32iqLj2aOcZRXwyv-TCb_4cQ0q8I-2vo_jmNPY4bIVpCFzFDqGWHty9TOic2QqljeR-pcACHaDamYYnxYcutDAEL0BP_rgvD6OXVApDCs9RLITCGpbk7_8keyTiKxSms8-9jOPvZVrvDSBFk0Waygixo810M7qvsA46d5Rk" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj9ymUlXRznWdnnTP-2c32iqLj2aOcZRXwyv-TCb_4cQ0q8I-2vo_jmNPY4bIVpCFzFDqGWHty9TOic2QqljeR-pcACHaDamYYnxYcutDAEL0BP_rgvD6OXVApDCs9RLITCGpbk7_8keyTiKxSms8-9jOPvZVrvDSBFk0Waygixo810M7qvsA46d5Rk=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></i></div><i><br /></i><p></p><p>Sophia Loren made three films with Italian Neorealist pioneer Vittorio De Sica and a whopping thirteen with co-star Marcello Mastroianni. 1970's <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3zI1pn0" target="_blank">Sunflower</a>,</i> a romantic drama set in World War II, is the kind of sweeping love story that could be pretentious and overdone in most hands, but De Sica brings his usual humanity to the project and, as a result, brings out two very down-to-earth performances from his stars, both of whom can play it much bigger than allowed.</p><p><br /></p><p>Loren plays Giovanna, a simple Neapolitan girl who engages in a little fun with a soldier, Antonio (Mastroianni), on the eve of his going to war. On a lark, the two get married so he can score twelve days leave for his honeymoon, and they end up falling in love with each other. The actors appear to be having fun together, and their very real chemistry makes their passion and affection absolutely convincing. The couple can only hold off the army for so long, however, and Antonio is shipped off to the Russian front, where he goes missing, failing to return with the rest of the troops when the war ends.</p><p><br /></p><p><i>Sunflower</i> is told in a flip-flop fashion, starting with Giovanna's hunt for her lost husband and jumping back in time to show us how they came together, fell in love, and how Antonio was lost. The battle sequences using archival footage are elegantly done, De Sica superimposing the red flag of war over the fighting. As a director, he is just as facile with the bigger moments as he is with the smaller ones, and this goes a long way to making <i>Sunflower </i>(Italan title: <i>I Girasoli</i>) another winner in the set. As a more mature actress, Sophia Loren is more comfortable on screen here than in many earlier films, and she seems absolutely confident with her age, once more proving her appeal comes from within at least as much as it does from her appearance.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm7qp5LYwkmmGpneYhhJntK6H7cVoJ0IViJ9RNG_bibYf5FpPBh9wp_a0_w3AWSdGjRx6V4UC5DOxv05X02Qa4xHO4AAygmGH7ws2HMxvcfdUT6tqE1x02tgBAmupcbB00Hhc-enlxQlATs-qpary5NIInnAY7ZVd5pvZPgvybWyhmQd1R4J41fVVW/s400/1214549249_4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm7qp5LYwkmmGpneYhhJntK6H7cVoJ0IViJ9RNG_bibYf5FpPBh9wp_a0_w3AWSdGjRx6V4UC5DOxv05X02Qa4xHO4AAygmGH7ws2HMxvcfdUT6tqE1x02tgBAmupcbB00Hhc-enlxQlATs-qpary5NIInnAY7ZVd5pvZPgvybWyhmQd1R4J41fVVW/w400-h225/1214549249_4.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" sandbox="allow-popups allow-scripts allow-modals allow-forms allow-same-origin" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B004R4PWZS&asins=B004R4PWZS&linkId=8cb131df270a0e2e115b9725178b7c8f&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-51205848289285652582022-07-31T11:57:00.005-07:002022-07-31T11:57:57.868-07:00THE SONG OF BERNADETTE - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review was originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/60072">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2013.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGY4Aqb2SaSrYVR-pbGAVIyRn1s3-rsYbSJTI19-hPSU8lkE1Vf9JAilD-clmhxWpzh2Ui7fNxw5lnuOPc004RFdoJ4mwpw-zKCkL-bcqKjTjKtHZLRkGxRzH2RM3D__FDYH0u-8HKWcU8cwscayGGyJwRv1GjoLrc0ZP30M3ZitfeXg_Yu3LlJfZk/s1280/Untitled.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGY4Aqb2SaSrYVR-pbGAVIyRn1s3-rsYbSJTI19-hPSU8lkE1Vf9JAilD-clmhxWpzh2Ui7fNxw5lnuOPc004RFdoJ4mwpw-zKCkL-bcqKjTjKtHZLRkGxRzH2RM3D__FDYH0u-8HKWcU8cwscayGGyJwRv1GjoLrc0ZP30M3ZitfeXg_Yu3LlJfZk/w400-h225/Untitled.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p> "<i>For those who believe in God, no explanation is necessary. For those who do not believe in God, no explanation is possible</i>."</p><p><br /></p><p>While I actually have little problem with religious-themed motion pictures, I have never had one so insistently close the door on non-believers as <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3zhOIOp" target="_blank">The Song of Bernadette</a></i>. I must say, there was something terribly off-putting about entering into a 2-1/2 hour movie that begins with a title card telling me right up front that I won't get it and I never will. So much for spreading the gospel.</p><p><br /></p><p>Which isn't to suggest I might have enjoyed <i>The Song of Bernadette</i> more had it been a little more inviting, because I sincerely doubt that I would have. Maybe, however, I'd have been more forgiving of this 1943 clunker. I admit it, I bear grudges. Must be the heathen in me.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-jT_36tGv83XKYc3-nd2PGHzuRg1jJHsNxVaq5WdwD7xXmxaqqGpo7UwYvygoDxlnqHkJYdMhsNkWSYr1yvh_C50ZNJ3KileLD4aKfr0_zRQB6J2iSXJ5yxwCvKW0kB8m-6xQqgopA8jTpU7n-iab1gXG3kFwbwL-qkufponLP77U32FiA-yaOJ_/s400/1364691484_2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="298" data-original-width="400" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH-jT_36tGv83XKYc3-nd2PGHzuRg1jJHsNxVaq5WdwD7xXmxaqqGpo7UwYvygoDxlnqHkJYdMhsNkWSYr1yvh_C50ZNJ3KileLD4aKfr0_zRQB6J2iSXJ5yxwCvKW0kB8m-6xQqgopA8jTpU7n-iab1gXG3kFwbwL-qkufponLP77U32FiA-yaOJ_/w400-h297/1364691484_2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><i>The Song of Bernadette</i> stars Jennifer Jones as Bernadette Soubirous, an unexceptional peasant girl who lived in Lourdes, a province of France, in the mid-1800s. Bernadette is a pious girl who is asthmatic and poor at her studies. On a trip to the town garbage dump with her sisters, Bernadette encounters a vision of a "beautiful lady" (Linda Darnell) who inspires peaceful feelings in the girl and instructs the teenager to maintain a regular pilgrimage to this location. As Bernadette's story of the apparition, who many interpret as being the Virgin Mary, begins to spread, she attracts both believers and non-believers alike. The most dangerous among these are the town magistrates and the religious leaders who would rather not encourage the attention a supposed miracle would bring to Lourdes. They try to get Bernadette to recant, and also try to brand her as insane. In the face of this scrutiny, the youngster maintains her insistence that what she saw was real. Her fame and influence increases as a newly discovered spring under the spot where the lady appears turns out to have restorative powers, healing the sick and the crippled. Religious pilgrims travel from all over to sample the waters, even as Bernadette's own health declines.</p><p><br /></p><p>At its core, <i>The Song of Bernadette </i>is actually an interesting story, complete with conflict and villains and triumph amidst adversity. Based on a novel by Franz Werfel, <i>The Song of Bernadette</i> relates a legend that still holds sway to this day. I know I've encountered more modern uses of the Lourdes spring or religious shrines like it in other movies, including Fellini's <i><a href="https://www.criterion.com/films/243-nights-of-cabiria" target="_blank">Nights of Cabiria</a></i> and Schnabel's <i>The Diving Bell and the Butterfly</i> [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/33036/diving-bell-and-the-butterfly-the/" target="_blank">review</a>]. In both films, characters travel to the holy place in hopes of experiencing their own healing. As helmed by director Henry King, unfortunately, <i>The Song of Bernadette </i>is stodgy and self-serious, more concerned with its overinflated message than the mode of delivery. King's filmography reads like a grocery list of missed opportunities. The Fox stalwart made a long string of big movies for the studio, some of which were very successful in their time, but most of which have not improved with age. His technique is stuffy and laborious, lacking any passion or sense of wonder--which is kind of essential in a movie about miracles. By most accounts, God moves in mysterious ways; in King's hands, the supreme being doesn't move at all.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBINdGh9BCigZ3pTJgxUiaMBRiAZaFmlBU80D9tRhHMGhICvazZMNDHqxhewg34H31nAtuEVcbVTgiV5_bKB8A1hAEtFsAe6BSGjMXwqGWQF61fi6VB4TNm_Deg14cv4UEsBBthjlZ7mhhgLXITI9f6nolc62ql2TJ8Bxh9G0v7B05EfGilqc_ssm1/s400/1364691484_1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="275" data-original-width="400" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBINdGh9BCigZ3pTJgxUiaMBRiAZaFmlBU80D9tRhHMGhICvazZMNDHqxhewg34H31nAtuEVcbVTgiV5_bKB8A1hAEtFsAe6BSGjMXwqGWQF61fi6VB4TNm_Deg14cv4UEsBBthjlZ7mhhgLXITI9f6nolc62ql2TJ8Bxh9G0v7B05EfGilqc_ssm1/w400-h275/1364691484_1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>It doesn't help that Jennifer Jones is equally lacking in the talent department. Jones has little natural charisma on screen, and her involvement here (she gets an "introducing" credit despite some otherwise forgotten earlier cinematic efforts) is largely due to her personal involvement with producer David O. Selznick. The actress only has two modes in this motion picture: acceptance and distress. Both come off as equally shallow, with the performer mistaking opaqueness for an expression of innocence. One can only imagine how this role might have been handled by an actual teenager, like had they waited a couple of years and cast Natalie Wood or Elizabeth Taylor rather than an unknown woman in her twenties.</p><p><br /></p><p>As with most movies where the good guys are dullards, this makes way for more impressive performances from their adversaries. In this case, Vincent Price is understated and oily as the town prosecutor leading the efforts to discredit Bernadette, and Lee J. Cobb is ruefully honest as the doctor who can't in good conscience declare Bernadette medically unfit or entirely dismiss the possible miracles she helps bring about. Though screenwriter George Seaton (<i><a href="https://amzn.to/3oNNOUI" target="_blank">Miracle on 34th Street</a></i>) crafts these supporting characters with very little nuance, the chosen thespians manage to make them whole beings anyway.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpMq0o45yPt28vC812FICP3DpUXH32UBMVJC8GjmgAAeXJYOAWCRu6dfIJSaoE0a30L4ItHjO4fcPvKMryFG--RKEfyygaaNf1CluxQD_gGBmoF0ZYPTccVOq77McKrjZvDeMUV_Ikh4uhxdtHP097AH765ugrnP3qww602_oXfiD40zmn_cTbANII/s400/1364691484_4.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpMq0o45yPt28vC812FICP3DpUXH32UBMVJC8GjmgAAeXJYOAWCRu6dfIJSaoE0a30L4ItHjO4fcPvKMryFG--RKEfyygaaNf1CluxQD_gGBmoF0ZYPTccVOq77McKrjZvDeMUV_Ikh4uhxdtHP097AH765ugrnP3qww602_oXfiD40zmn_cTbANII/w400-h300/1364691484_4.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>The set pieces and photography in <i>The Song of Bernadette</i> are at least nice to look at (cinematographer Arthur C. Miller also shot <i>How Green Was My Valley</i> [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/58911/how-green-was-my-valley/" target="_blank">review</a>] and <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3BDkmbE" target="_blank">A Letter to Three Wives</a></i>), and the Alfred Newman orchestration swaddles one's ears in emotion and grandeur. This keeps the film from being a complete drag in its first two hours, when Bernadette's victories are always a foregone conclusion, undercutting any real feeling of drama. Things noticeably improve in the last half hour when Bernadette joins a convent and tries to live out her days in service to her faith. Here the opposition to her bid for holiness takes on a real face, manifesting in a nun (Gladys Cooper, <i><a href="https://www.criterion.com/films/29026-now-voyager" target="_blank">Now, Voyager</a></i>) who didn't like Bernadette when she was a schoolgirl and is now jealously dismissive of her divine gifts. Perhaps had the earlier portion of <i>The Song of Bernadette</i> been more tightly edited, avoiding the ponderous indulgences that cause the narrative to sag, the whole of <i>The Song of Bernadette</i> could have been equally as effective as its final fifth.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp7w1wk8Ftks2UXXe9wjTso7vTzMFw6upsNc0d3eCqVLkF3XRGD5BhQh4vI-AEUv-5YINdsDDplQuRuXSkNpZO_QCBP14Q4_kLp4vY90ELJmXp0r61JtEedWtYfbvfCzbBCYfhbYEhE25UEnEpoB9-lXCaLvpmwayIpuRkRX8O4LlgLwOxBE5oZF6j/s400/1364691484_3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="331" data-original-width="400" height="331" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp7w1wk8Ftks2UXXe9wjTso7vTzMFw6upsNc0d3eCqVLkF3XRGD5BhQh4vI-AEUv-5YINdsDDplQuRuXSkNpZO_QCBP14Q4_kLp4vY90ELJmXp0r61JtEedWtYfbvfCzbBCYfhbYEhE25UEnEpoB9-lXCaLvpmwayIpuRkRX8O4LlgLwOxBE5oZF6j/w400-h331/1364691484_3.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" sandbox="allow-popups allow-scripts allow-modals allow-forms allow-same-origin" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00BZKC7M8&asins=B00BZKC7M8&linkId=99442dc3f58cd9430624fb94f6bada1e&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-34710359198939545962022-05-25T10:10:00.043-07:002022-05-25T10:10:00.197-07:00ON THE BOWERY - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review was originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/47668">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2011. </i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPSs8Pd7s1m3H7a9OW6PO94-T3Xcaa4gLj_QOF5OFLiNJYjRufEYoDiR-97h7WiVwRIzF8tVzn2o0CjAVz05srFOOWVqYrkB7mV4GgRyYNsQ3Jokr0zwUnd0wlanB5ZPGDtt4SUm4S4rUeOW5mYLSj5wJNfs8PotGyvmf2ZFl-vfvmPdOqwQZD-jR/s640/9ba1bd97-b740-40fd-8829-670711fdc7ca.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMPSs8Pd7s1m3H7a9OW6PO94-T3Xcaa4gLj_QOF5OFLiNJYjRufEYoDiR-97h7WiVwRIzF8tVzn2o0CjAVz05srFOOWVqYrkB7mV4GgRyYNsQ3Jokr0zwUnd0wlanB5ZPGDtt4SUm4S4rUeOW5mYLSj5wJNfs8PotGyvmf2ZFl-vfvmPdOqwQZD-jR/w400-h225/9ba1bd97-b740-40fd-8829-670711fdc7ca.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i><br /></i><p></p><p>Lionel Rogosin's 1957 film <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3wyn6nL" target="_blank">On the Bowery</a></i> is a landmark of independent cinema and a key component in the expansion of the documentary genre. Shot over several months in New York's infamous skid row district, Rogosin adopts the ethos of the Italian Neorealists and applies it to the American experience. His movie, while not perfect, is an emotional document of a harsh reality, teeming with honest interest that goes far beyond mere voyeurism or common exploitation.</p><p><br /></p><p>The son of a wealthy textile family, Rogosin turned to filmmaking as a response to WWII. He wanted to make sense of a world he thought had gone crazy and to use his family's riches for something more important than just making more money. It took him a while to suss out just how to make a film, and to assemble his crew from amongst New York's cinema population, but by the mid-1950s, he had it sorted. He spent six months by himself living on the streets of the Bowery, getting to know the men there. From amongst his new drinking buddies he pulled out several distinct personalities, including the two key players in the eventual movie: Ray Salyer, a handsome Kentucky boy on the sauce, and Gorman "Doc" Hendricks, an old salt who knew his way around the bar and flophouse alike.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibGuKbAbqTS8NALHMaJc8gawlL2G7t03l6gDW58zt0kmC58nAZHhai48N8JHQwivIlxVR9r9cupyEnxfijlzJttFIDbPxvkWLZ8iqmuDjhPU81_Fbkt191JZOnfNeAk4Aqudr1mBlVQ8naA6fpvR3bXENXzfFHM-QihwYaJLx7Flcq75N9nTEWJsHA/s400/1329025051_3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="305" data-original-width="400" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibGuKbAbqTS8NALHMaJc8gawlL2G7t03l6gDW58zt0kmC58nAZHhai48N8JHQwivIlxVR9r9cupyEnxfijlzJttFIDbPxvkWLZ8iqmuDjhPU81_Fbkt191JZOnfNeAk4Aqudr1mBlVQ8naA6fpvR3bXENXzfFHM-QihwYaJLx7Flcq75N9nTEWJsHA/w400-h305/1329025051_3.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><i>On the Bowery</i> is a loosely plotted assemblage of real footage and staged scenes. While they are easy to tell apart, one does not weigh heavier than the other. Salyer plays himself as a new arrival to the drunken streets, with Gorman both taking him under his wing and taking advantage of him. For many on the drink, another man's worth only extends as far as his bar tab, and the undulating patterns of a life spending nights getting soused and mornings fighting the hangover set a pattern for these lost souls that they can't get out of. Someone like Ray still means it when he swears he will kick the habit, but a guy with as much experience as Gorman knows otherwise. The best exchange of the movie is when Gorman says he has sworn similar oaths 1,000 times, and Ray counters that he's younger and so he's only tried it 800 times. It's meant to be funny, but there's not much faith put in the notion that one of those last 200 will be the magical cure.</p><p><br /></p><p>Conversations like that one punctuate the "narrative" of <i>On the Bowery</i>, keeping Ray's basic story on track. His struggle to survive the skids was the sketch that Rogosin and his collaborators, cameraman Richard Bagley (he also shot Sidney Meyers' <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3LBHIzK" target="_blank">The Quiet One</a></i>) and writer Mark Sufrin, put together to keep the film moving forward. In the midst of these controlled improvisations, they cut in footage of the real men on the street. Each chiseled visage implies its own sad story. Eventually, the faces move off the corners and into the bars, and when they've had enough to drink, the reality and the fiction merge. The party turns into a cacophony of arguments and come ons, and even fist fights.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwCNiGxqE7R493cc4obYgePsUiexorIlv72JZ470Z0p9hHpbyLjVkpdBXSzFOJTAWgvI1ZD-HdqycCDOye_WiyrHiZfLcx0VL21GVAQFbK8PSthVj9d2DRrEJTnbyWMSEAAE2132xg_34VUQNdYdRPlHrKFjY8fsaZkZfbrX6BAdx-0H3MUvecyiA/s400/1329025051_1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="306" data-original-width="400" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwCNiGxqE7R493cc4obYgePsUiexorIlv72JZ470Z0p9hHpbyLjVkpdBXSzFOJTAWgvI1ZD-HdqycCDOye_WiyrHiZfLcx0VL21GVAQFbK8PSthVj9d2DRrEJTnbyWMSEAAE2132xg_34VUQNdYdRPlHrKFjY8fsaZkZfbrX6BAdx-0H3MUvecyiA/w400-h306/1329025051_1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Editor Carl Lerner is credited with helping Rogosin shape his hours of footage into a concise, cohesive movie, and it's to his credit that it all hangs together. (Lerner would go on to edit such classics as <i>12 Angry Men</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2011/12/12-angry-men-blu-ray-591.html" target="_blank">review</a>] and <i>The Fugitive Kind</i>. [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2010/04/fugitive-kind-515.html" target="_blank">review</a>]) The bulk of <i>On the Bowery</i> never really feels manipulative or manipulated. Rogosin only strays into conventional fiction when he attempts to wrangle the ending into something of a message. Granted, Gorman's final act of kindness toward Ray is born out of guilt for ripping him off, and the good Doc exaggerates his contribution in his own retelling of it, so at least it's still honest about what motivated him. Rogosin pushes hope, but his fingers are crossed.</p><p><br /></p><p>The archival print of <i>On the Bowery</i>, put together by the Cineteca di Bologna and archivist Davide Pozzithe and distributed by the fine people at Milestone Films, is exceptional. The image quality is fantastic, and Bagley's stark photography serves to preserve a history that might otherwise have been lost. The conditions we see are filthy, and yet, sadly, not all that unfamiliar. I was hit up for spare change as soon as I left the theatre, and I'm ashamed to say, my first response was to lie and say I had nothing to give. I thought better of it shortly after and gave the man what I had. I don't expect a pat on the back, I was as selfishly motivated as Gorman or anyone else in the movie; I just admit it here as a reminder to myself to maybe not be so quick to take the default position in the future. How else can I suggest you watch a movie like <i>On the Bowery</i> and listen to what Lionel Rogosin has to say? Critic, heal thyself.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVTZaDnayLZrJM8j83ZZX5st7D2SHdgG3XXmQ-EeHoT6E1KB9gSrtSzyu8uMMI6MGMfYmaGObGRqGETqAOuW8KvW3PuhuYjZKulriSmAO4P2HtmEQGwc5Q2ZNTtKGXD7EoFw8Sr2Yxfo-r5FVIakgTSMewpuvYcOb36zCd2dhxfK8VG0Doocf7CqUv/s400/1329025051_2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="303" data-original-width="400" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVTZaDnayLZrJM8j83ZZX5st7D2SHdgG3XXmQ-EeHoT6E1KB9gSrtSzyu8uMMI6MGMfYmaGObGRqGETqAOuW8KvW3PuhuYjZKulriSmAO4P2HtmEQGwc5Q2ZNTtKGXD7EoFw8Sr2Yxfo-r5FVIakgTSMewpuvYcOb36zCd2dhxfK8VG0Doocf7CqUv/w400-h303/1329025051_2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" sandbox="allow-popups allow-scripts allow-modals allow-forms allow-same-origin" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B005Z3EAYE&asins=B005Z3EAYE&linkId=43cc171c22626a7aa744ec237bc51f03&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-23412206264236603812022-05-22T09:56:00.018-07:002022-05-22T09:56:00.185-07:00MOONTIDE - CRITERION CHANNEL <p><i>This review was originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/34360">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2008.</i> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKCVjvLBtW4LY8mw3jWK1hxVQkf7DavHFVdHY99M-z9zWnsblt131rPYvhMQ8HX96uk8BZiANo7ptJsQ8xLOou964jC0jZOaEJrcix8Sr3PRSxvvPwK1rQyW9zSBRgsnMdqUa4hxgX2emyongfAzXtrBubZMxv_4oIZD_kCFAT_z8GHwoWWW-17Zl4/s640/10b98460-e82d-4258-a03f-b4af455ce731.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKCVjvLBtW4LY8mw3jWK1hxVQkf7DavHFVdHY99M-z9zWnsblt131rPYvhMQ8HX96uk8BZiANo7ptJsQ8xLOou964jC0jZOaEJrcix8Sr3PRSxvvPwK1rQyW9zSBRgsnMdqUa4hxgX2emyongfAzXtrBubZMxv_4oIZD_kCFAT_z8GHwoWWW-17Zl4/w400-h225/10b98460-e82d-4258-a03f-b4af455ce731.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Jean Gabin was one of the earliest stars of French cinema, sort of like the Parisian Humphrey Bogart. A man's man and an extremely physical actor, he played tough guys in movies like <i><a href="https://www.criterion.com/films/363-p-p-le-moko" target="_blank">Pepe le Moko</a></i> and <i><a href="https://www.criterion.com/films/947-port-of-shadows" target="_blank">Port of Shadows</a></i>. When I call him a physical actor, I don't mean that he was doing stunts like Erol Flynn and jumping around, but that he acted with his entire body, becoming the role in full the way Gerard Depardieu would decades later (or, for a more contemporary reference, Javier Bardem). At the same time, he also had that classic Hollywood quality where, regardless of the role he played, he was always Jean Gabin. His gestures, his way of speaking, the very way he carried himself--all Jean Gabin.</p><p><br /></p><p>Archie Mayo's 1942 suspense picture <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3wJ811E" target="_blank">Moontide</a></i> was Gabin's first Hollywood production after emigrating stateside when the Germans rolled into France. In it, Gabin is still very much Gabin, but this time in English. He plays Bobo, a carefree dockworker in his cups on the Southern California coast. Bobo sees life as a party, and he hits the whiskey pretty heavy to keep it going. The whiskey hits back pretty hard, too, leaving the seaman with many nights unaccounted for. One in particular may need more accounting for than others: an old salt that Bobo argued with early in the evening is dead by morning, having been strangled. It seems maybe Bobo has killed with his hands before, and he may have done so again. His buddy Tiny (Thomas Mitchell) might know, but Tiny may also be keeping his lips zipped just to keep the Bobo gravy train going. It pays to harbor a man's secrets.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Vxh5hDiBgha4MApsEAZdpzI0EMoVENAI5vgfiPbkiSI16BlhW9f6iGq_NqhRzj4Rqq8iFBVii_XtlXVl1XDGP2xnPFTL82pCht05F7CakCoOqLrBW1Njs4nyslg-xzh7XqS3HmGDeTociyBZ62neOGnhYUrrNQm-Ww4upvUHPFhtXH7C1gWOEzKz/s300/1219217416_5.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="300" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Vxh5hDiBgha4MApsEAZdpzI0EMoVENAI5vgfiPbkiSI16BlhW9f6iGq_NqhRzj4Rqq8iFBVii_XtlXVl1XDGP2xnPFTL82pCht05F7CakCoOqLrBW1Njs4nyslg-xzh7XqS3HmGDeTociyBZ62neOGnhYUrrNQm-Ww4upvUHPFhtXH7C1gWOEzKz/w400-h300/1219217416_5.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Things go the other way the next night, however, when Bobo sees a young woman trying to drown herself and pulls her out of the water. Anna (Ida Lupino) is a waitress with secrets of her own, and Bobo refuses to hear what drove the lady into the water, instead letting secrets remain so. Though traditionally a wanderer, Bobo decides to settle down and run a bait shop with Anna. Naturally, Tiny doesn't like seeing his ship moored, and so he tries to make trouble for the couple. It becomes a game of who knows what, who is bluffing, and who will call those bluffs.</p><p><br /></p><p>For his American debut, Gabin surrounds himself with a marvelous ensemble of actors, and he more than holds his own. Bobo is a character who takes whatever comes how it comes, and Gabin lets his body hang loose for the role, saying just as much with his graceful and comic hand gestures as he does through dialogue. He's excellent with Lupino, whose frail demeanor is perfect for the world-weary Anna. She goes from tentative to increasingly confident in Bobo's care, even eventually mustering the strength to stand up to Tiny. As the bad guy, Thomas Mitchell almost owns the whole show. The character actor is probably best known as Uncle Billy in <i>It's A Wonderful Life</i> [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/25017" target="_blank">review</a>] and the Mayor in <i>High Noon</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2018/05/high-noon-criterion-channel.html" target="_blank">review</a>], far cheerier roles than this one, and it's actually a shame he didn't get to be the heavy more often. Tiny is a real bottom-feeding weasel, the kind of guy you love to hate and whose mere presence adds tension to a scene. If you said that they didn't have to cue Bobo's dog to growl at him every time he came near, he just got testy because Mitchell made the canine believe he really was a lout, I'd not doubt it. He also brings an intriguingly obsessive edge to the role that lends some fire to the homoerotic undertones in the Tiny/Bobo relationship. Being gay would certainly explain why Bobo keeps taking off to go fishing or work on an engine rather than spend the night with his woman, which otherwise just looks like a clumsy device to clear the way for Tiny to victimize Anna.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSuwqE5jjTRBrn5jo94F5AmKewZ7_hCQS4srDYnMLS5n-irIw2iwO0b4iBFXM94B2exbe8BW_EsMhnXqffBeE7O77JYMm-C2P2LZW9KssYW7me5Y_CJQklL0npBpBzQvTOThnN16L9Vl-qWJ5qnUhyErJ0LrOtsoRfGmxvk527ZKWx5q7hVtobilQL/s300/1219217415_2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="300" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSuwqE5jjTRBrn5jo94F5AmKewZ7_hCQS4srDYnMLS5n-irIw2iwO0b4iBFXM94B2exbe8BW_EsMhnXqffBeE7O77JYMm-C2P2LZW9KssYW7me5Y_CJQklL0npBpBzQvTOThnN16L9Vl-qWJ5qnUhyErJ0LrOtsoRfGmxvk527ZKWx5q7hVtobilQL/w400-h300/1219217415_2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Of the strong cast, only Claude Rains (<i>Casablanca</i>) seems to be playing under his usual caliber. Perhaps it's just the nature of his role, though. The character of Nutsy is more of an observer who occasionally doles out some barroom wisdom rather than being a completely active participant in the melodrama. That particular role certainly isn't the only thing undercooked in <i>Moontide</i>. Despite having such amazing actors and a narrative gumbo that practically demands Mayo pour on the spice, <i>Moontide</i> is a pot that never boils. The entire picture moves at an even pace, never speeding up to match the bloodlust or slowing down to enjoy any other kind. The direction is workmanlike, only mustering up any semblance of a style in a few of the late-night shots and one amazing, Dali-inspired drunken montage. Then again, how hard is it to get a dramatic image by backlighting an actor on a foggy coastline? Plus, we don't know how much of that was really Fritz Lang, who left the movie after two weeks of shooting, making room for Mayo.</p><p><br /></p><p><i>Moontide</i> is neither dark enough for a noir, nor histrionic enough to be a truly effective melodrama. The seas should rage, but instead, the waves roll in calmly with barely enough force to push a dead body ashore. Not a terrible movie, but not all that memorable either--just disappointing.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig7dP_sAl7bpKp4OSSE-Q0qfPsHgI2NGHpF71qaY2wefgK24b0pIvHHarDX9yquT9pYAFbAY78C9Yz5N117aNx0aoeUbaMwW9OIUJMaib2pXg67RS6-6zPMeE-Ed4-uhGWtk0ZOC1MQ8F4hsLHp9KAJSCX3dPO9gv1iY4zQbxnNovvNdoEq4LrKCBA/s300/1219217416_3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="300" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig7dP_sAl7bpKp4OSSE-Q0qfPsHgI2NGHpF71qaY2wefgK24b0pIvHHarDX9yquT9pYAFbAY78C9Yz5N117aNx0aoeUbaMwW9OIUJMaib2pXg67RS6-6zPMeE-Ed4-uhGWtk0ZOC1MQ8F4hsLHp9KAJSCX3dPO9gv1iY4zQbxnNovvNdoEq4LrKCBA/w400-h300/1219217416_3.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" sandbox="allow-popups allow-scripts allow-modals allow-forms allow-same-origin" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B001CC7PLW&asins=B001CC7PLW&linkId=4c6f1990130c7422a0b3d1c99c43e3aa&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-68433747091699548872022-05-21T09:53:00.004-07:002022-08-08T22:00:22.194-07:00BERNIE - CRITERION CHANNEL<p> <i>This review was originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/56173">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2012.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK3QSLIKrUpC7P8fwI8EXcyhuzbjcUbapB0ZB-T_Dn7fLfzuX5qG4xSCDmTsMbr7owkPs46xhK2CZCbaTStG8BgWU9UxstQKUh-jgUCMp_AuygrL64nQ97jgopzZejAmenQnP83KoXQ0mSsE-knpmw1dUUuhXs5Hp5Xupm_0Wezj819KCssDubVRa6/s640/846094c8-5cb9-49db-9830-14c81637fd5f.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK3QSLIKrUpC7P8fwI8EXcyhuzbjcUbapB0ZB-T_Dn7fLfzuX5qG4xSCDmTsMbr7owkPs46xhK2CZCbaTStG8BgWU9UxstQKUh-jgUCMp_AuygrL64nQ97jgopzZejAmenQnP83KoXQ0mSsE-knpmw1dUUuhXs5Hp5Xupm_0Wezj819KCssDubVRa6/w400-h225/846094c8-5cb9-49db-9830-14c81637fd5f.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>There's something about the way the title card declaring that <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3sPdC5s" target="_blank">Bernie</a></i> is based on a true story that compels you to think that maybe you're being conned. Perhaps it's just that <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3PzfGYW" target="_blank">Fargo</a></i> has made the moviegoing audience a bit suspicious of quirky films about a murder in a small town, but it's not helped that co-writer and director Richard Linklater and star Jack Black, who previously worked together on <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3sPdC5s" target="_blank">The School of Rock</a></i>, don't even try to hide their tongues in their cheeks. They're pushing those suckers hard against the inside of their mouths. The bulges are evident.</p><p><br /></p><p>And yet, <i>Bernie</i> is taken from real life. The story of an East Texas funeral director who killed his rich benefactor and then spent nine months pretending she was alive while he spent her money has already done the "true crime" rounds. Screenwriter Skip Hollandsworth wrote the article that is the basis for the film. His angle was to focus on the fact that many of the citizens in Bernie Tiede's community rallied around him and pushed for leniency despite his having shot a senior citizen in the back four times. Linklater makes much dark comedic hay out of this idea, attempting a light-hearted version of a docudrama by blending "real" interviews with "authentic" townspeople with the more traditional humorous staging of the events. The effort is noble, if not entirely successful.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizyHfkXTX2aAwtFHBjNb7Fm30W1xgI0kATOFG9OOAWE6efTBIqlU958ftMP_Z67Nd7xkmaEycr2nx77F_Q6L1i5SgNLcsXFPqIJHk_MljNPBneP0rBo5u9QtV8i1nUs6e578YCazBFgo5pxKZCd3GannF_KoYsL-dit7wTY54TOiiUkjsYnog8stxU/s400/1337237897_2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="400" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizyHfkXTX2aAwtFHBjNb7Fm30W1xgI0kATOFG9OOAWE6efTBIqlU958ftMP_Z67Nd7xkmaEycr2nx77F_Q6L1i5SgNLcsXFPqIJHk_MljNPBneP0rBo5u9QtV8i1nUs6e578YCazBFgo5pxKZCd3GannF_KoYsL-dit7wTY54TOiiUkjsYnog8stxU/w400-h266/1337237897_2.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Black is amusing and restrained as Bernie, a religious-minded funeral director who, by all accounts, took his job seriously and extended generosity to the families he aided above and beyond the norm. He had a particular ability to get along with the older widows, and he managed to charm the uncharmable. Marjorie Nugent, who is played with particular comedic aplomb by Shirley MacLaine, was a pretty mean old woman. Her husband owned the local bank, and both of them were notorious misers. Bernie and her became friends, traveling all over the world together, though eventually Bernie became more of an on-call servant. As Marjorie grew more and more demanding, he snapped and shot her with the "armadillo gun."</p><p><br /></p><p>Or so he says. The county district attorney, Danny Buck, thinks otherwise. Buck is played by Matthew McConaughey, whose big break was back in Linklater's <i>Dazed and Confused</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2008/03/dazed-confused-336.html" target="_blank">review</a>]. McConaughey has traded that film's feathered hair and tight T-shirts for a bad wig and ill-fitting suit, yet he has kept all the cockiness. Buck is convinced that Bernie is more of an operator than he lets on. Their neighbors think Buck is the operator, that he's just an opportunist with a re-election campaign to manage. All the money Bernie spent while hiding the body was to help out his friends, and no one liked Marjorie much anyway. Where's the harm?</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZTi8T0TSlPPNCwm6fFL-vnz1qDdlI-DDvL_TektwcDvGT0fh-OToVBAmJY-_FNAOVw5SrIaTzQcKCiZtnZBDNP5AyC_Is7q-QVw2efmGQ_IHygN1x6UtgLF7gOwb3nikmr3AymHwV1KjaaEAv39gtTwfphpg3imToJXh4tfGD-AY-Y_pJxjw9xA_/s400/1337237897_1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="400" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZTi8T0TSlPPNCwm6fFL-vnz1qDdlI-DDvL_TektwcDvGT0fh-OToVBAmJY-_FNAOVw5SrIaTzQcKCiZtnZBDNP5AyC_Is7q-QVw2efmGQ_IHygN1x6UtgLF7gOwb3nikmr3AymHwV1KjaaEAv39gtTwfphpg3imToJXh4tfGD-AY-Y_pJxjw9xA_/w400-h266/1337237897_1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><i>Bernie</i> strikes a tenuous balance between macabre humor and gruesome reality. The down-home values angle is a bit of a trick. One gets the sense that Linklater wants us to have some sympathy for Buck, who, for whatever his flaws, would rather see the law upheld than distorted by some kind of misguided sense of charity. The problem is, the writing is too wishy-washy, never really coming down firmly on either side of the argument. It's almost as if Linklater himself was charmed by the folksy wisdom and forgot that it's not as imbued with common sense as the tellers seem to think. They con the filmmaker, even in absentia, as much as Buck believed that Bernie conned them.</p><p><br /></p><p>The other problem with <i>Bernie</i> is that, like its main character, it's almost too nice. The storytelling is elevated by a genial comic touch, and I never got the sense that Jack Black is making fun of the man he's portraying; at the same time, I started to wish everyone involved would stop being so damned polite and start getting more invasive. We never get to really know Bernie Tiede, we never figure out what makes him tick. Sure, there are segments questioning whether he and his victim were ever romantic or if he was actually gay, but these notions are treated as so silly as to almost be immaterial. It's quite possible that Tiede's mercurial personality is what makes his story so fascinating, but if that's the case, that's something the film needs to own up to. Danny Buck almost touches on it in his closing arguments, but then <i>Bernie</i> shies away again.</p><p><br /></p><p>Linklater has made a movie that is hard not to enjoy, but it's also equally hard to love. I like a lot of what he has done here. Playing the fake documentary element with such a straight face while at the same time letting the dramatization be more loose and carefree is kind of an interesting take on the genre--though, if I'm going to watch a mockumentary about a delusional theater person in a small rural town, I'm going to go with <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3luPf8X" target="_blank">Waiting for Guffman</a></i>. It's a better film. The kind of better film <i>Bernie</i> should have been. Instead, <i>Bernie</i>'s just all right.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik4d4rjrciB8s3CA7gpmRx5trQTVnVaIHph5siq1o7J3WxTtiH0nXmZvEEPjtdbKTtqZTYZTEkGy0O3s8O2H7i4MQkCgMGfr7p8NwfE9QldbUfcZey3_JmfeJP-OMKe5fnP9Gc6oCbecwTXyhFCSBBaAz1Ivgrvay04U2vj92RQQRgTR7jweyUducP/s400/1337237897_3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="400" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik4d4rjrciB8s3CA7gpmRx5trQTVnVaIHph5siq1o7J3WxTtiH0nXmZvEEPjtdbKTtqZTYZTEkGy0O3s8O2H7i4MQkCgMGfr7p8NwfE9QldbUfcZey3_JmfeJP-OMKe5fnP9Gc6oCbecwTXyhFCSBBaAz1Ivgrvay04U2vj92RQQRgTR7jweyUducP/w400-h266/1337237897_3.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" sandbox="allow-popups allow-scripts allow-modals allow-forms allow-same-origin" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B0088P5Z4U&asins=B0088P5Z4U&linkId=80ab65c6038fdc5167f5b205b5f3f6df&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-85018868941368784532022-04-16T06:04:00.041-07:002022-04-16T06:04:00.217-07:00THE ROBE - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review was originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/36759">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2009.</i></p><p><i> </i></p><p><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzzTcEkAbupnmVZxU3G2MGrvARVIi3A--35XYmAGiPBSKGt1Lcsk9OYIHjtM96RmkyEttjzB2GMEImkGeG_g0DkO-xWe-Zb10NZyHm4IEjBQJwE0zd-R2JzlIWtPyDTcwEBCmkUfU3xZZ3xPyM0TieEcsnzLOUkKTZpAA2DCSRujvRU401Of1avOHa/s1280/f6ffd1aa-9b42-4202-973a-d2f5052eff81.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzzTcEkAbupnmVZxU3G2MGrvARVIi3A--35XYmAGiPBSKGt1Lcsk9OYIHjtM96RmkyEttjzB2GMEImkGeG_g0DkO-xWe-Zb10NZyHm4IEjBQJwE0zd-R2JzlIWtPyDTcwEBCmkUfU3xZZ3xPyM0TieEcsnzLOUkKTZpAA2DCSRujvRU401Of1avOHa/w400-h225/f6ffd1aa-9b42-4202-973a-d2f5052eff81.webp" width="400" /></a></i></div><i><br /></i> <p></p><p>But...were you...out there?! </p><p> </p><p>No, it's not a Dennis Hopper line from <a href="https://amzn.to/3O3vbaM" target="_blank"><i>Apocalypse Now</i></a>
or a hippy come-on from one of his buddy Peter Fonda's biker gang
movies. It's the strange religious tic bestowed upon the morally
conflicted Roman tribune Marcellus Gallio, effected with the appropriate
amount of disbelief by Richard Burton, apparently counting his money in
the pauses. It's meant to ask the sinners that surround him if they
were there when he drove the nails into Jesus' hands, or whether they
are amongst the untouched and unaware. </p><p> </p><p>Luckily for Christianity,
this sales pitch has long since fallen by the wayside since it was
entered into the brochure back in 1953, when <a href="https://amzn.to/38zbxmR" target="_blank"><i>The Robe</i></a> sucked in
gobs of money and lost five Academy Awards. Unless Jesus' message of
everlasting peace is meant to refer to the extended nap this
non-historical anti-epic will make you long for, because <i>The Robe</i>
is more suitable for selling a comfy pillow than a religion. At one
point midway through the first act, a rather bewildered Pontius Pilate
(Richard Boone), searching for an answer as to who gave him this icky
script, declares that he needs to wash his hands. It's a rather obvious
Biblical allusion, one the nearby servant has probably heard too many
times before. He slouches against the wall, arms folded, barely able to
muster the energy to tell Pilate, "You've already washed them." If that
actor had put that clip on his audition reel, he'd have been sure to get
a part as an extra in <i>The Wild One</i> [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/32386/stanley-kramer-film-collection/?___rd=1" target="_blank">review</a>] playing Juvenile Delinquent #5 standing by the jukebox and finding nothing worth rebelling against. </p><p> </p><p>I mean, seriously, if the actors in the movie are this disinterested in it, what hope do we have? </p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzBtUgUSXRn4utfi5JCPrrZq4wUDH6_zNlVq0QHY_eQSn6DaBbSnVEsB733wxSz4dOkGC-7cyiu4Zw3HfKPAadSJis4LeGaXOkcH7MARMIcxXkU1wFVCWDjKsPD4DDPWmRaC_X5cQJMQLQpz2lSHmgrcZmPMOhyUs7umMmDl5cYMUWVr1uPAYienL/s400/1238053322_1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilzBtUgUSXRn4utfi5JCPrrZq4wUDH6_zNlVq0QHY_eQSn6DaBbSnVEsB733wxSz4dOkGC-7cyiu4Zw3HfKPAadSJis4LeGaXOkcH7MARMIcxXkU1wFVCWDjKsPD4DDPWmRaC_X5cQJMQLQpz2lSHmgrcZmPMOhyUs7umMmDl5cYMUWVr1uPAYienL/w400-h225/1238053322_1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>For
those looking for the summary, here it goes: Marcellus Gallio, a rival
of Caligula (Jay Robinson), pisses off his more powerful enemy to such a
degree that he is banished to Jerusalem to learn his lesson. He takes
along his muscular and tanned Greek slave Demetrius (an appallingly bad
Victor Mature), who immediately upon stepping foot in the Holy Land
meets the Messiah's gaze and is instantly converted. (Jesus, too
embarrassed by this production, never allows his face to be seen.) Sucks
to be the slave, then, whose master is the dude wielding the hammer up
on Calvary. Heartbroken, Demetrius absconds with the dead Christ's
frock, which burns the flesh of Marcellus when he tries to wear it.
Demetrius flees, and Marcellus, feared to be mad, is sent on a quest to
find the cursed garment and destroy it. He finds religion instead,
leading the crusade back to Rome and reclaiming his betrothed (Jean
Simmons, who was much luckier when <a href="https://www.criterion.com/films/621-hamlet" target="_blank">Hamlet</a> sent her down the river). </p><p> </p><p>Now,
before you fire up your hate mail, don't get this twisted: I have no
problem with the religious content of the movie, as hamfisted as it is.
I've done my time in Sunday School, and sure, if there is a maximum on
eye rolling that gets one condemned, they are preparing a place in Hell
for me right now. Even so, if a story is told well, I don't care what
religion or philosophy it peddles. Dazzle me with your skills, kid, and
I'll listen to whatever you're hawking. Such is not the case with <i>The Robe</i>. </p><p> </p><p align="center"><img height="225" src="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/images/reviews/177/1238053322_2.jpg" width="400" /> </p><p align="center"> </p><p>Directed by Henry Koster (<a href="https://amzn.to/3E0fNrp" target="_blank"><i>Flower Drum Song</i></a>) from a script by Philip Dunne (<a href="https://amzn.to/38GM8b2" target="_blank"><i>The Agony & the Ecstasy</i></a>) and Albert Maltz (<i>The Naked City </i>[<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2008/01/naked-city-380.html" target="_blank">review</a>]), adapted from a novel by Lloyd C. Douglas (<i>Magnificent Obsession </i>[<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2009/01/magnificent-obsession-457.html" target="_blank">review</a>]), <i>The Robe</i>
is a drag from start to finish. The cast seems uninterested because the
script isn't interesting. If the medium is the message, the writers
decided to stop at the message and let the rest sort itself out. There
is no tension, no passion, all of the converts walk around like
blissed-out zombies, and there is no sense of their savior's majesty.
Apparently this party was BYOB: Bring Your Own Belief, because no one is
going to bother to explain theirs. Just trust that what they are doing
is important, m'kay? </p><p> </p><p>Where there is a sense of majesty in <i>The Robe</i>,
and what makes it still enough of a curiosity to recommend a viewing by
cinephiles, is its use of the massively wide frame of Cinemascope. The
first picture released using the 2.55:1 aspect ratio, <i>The Robe</i>
gave Henry Koster a cinematic canvas never before available. As Martin
Scorsese says in his introduction to the picture included on some home videos releases, you have to imagine
the curtain opening ever wider while you're sitting at the theatre,
exposing new dimensions to the screen than you had seen previously.
Koster packs his frame with detail, be it a two-shot close-up or a wide
panoramic shot of ancient Rome or the crucifixion up on a distant
mountain. Sure, his camera pretty much never moves, so it's all static
shots from start to finish, but still, you have to appreciate just how
much movie there is to gaze upon frame by frame. </p><p> </p><p>Just remember
that for every moment where your breath is taken away, there are at
least five more opportunities to steal it back. </p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPwM9UsyS_yQNrrtz_1DvSDgnu34WVQY8aYOZAJQ6Rr-CCltLvGbSPaB4w0HUPVA_5EC7nnp94ZTI2vFcEK88ruqq0aJmAnkAQTOXpvlA8EJ84ndKo6fqaRKJ6jD6KGDkQhShKZY8NNTNyzfUZCQfMnLwIDhNfwURUxTmn9DCEFp23WTQ5koxtiIA/s400/1238053322_5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvPwM9UsyS_yQNrrtz_1DvSDgnu34WVQY8aYOZAJQ6Rr-CCltLvGbSPaB4w0HUPVA_5EC7nnp94ZTI2vFcEK88ruqq0aJmAnkAQTOXpvlA8EJ84ndKo6fqaRKJ6jD6KGDkQhShKZY8NNTNyzfUZCQfMnLwIDhNfwURUxTmn9DCEFp23WTQ5koxtiIA/w400-h225/1238053322_5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p></p><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" sandbox="allow-popups allow-scripts allow-modals allow-forms allow-same-origin" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00A2JGLZ2&asins=B00A2JGLZ2&linkId=2f38f08037ee8d065bf0d540899f7f2e&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-15515646785726416472022-04-09T17:48:00.003-07:002022-04-09T17:48:48.634-07:00THE LAST WALTZ - #1118<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdkNZB9pGNKZTKTxK6_0QB4H2WD1eEpPeMogm5HPeBtKhnGusf-VIzMq-6liYcNqXJYCev9GizKYfwj9ftXT39gZp-O0cbBnPuCLeSIE8qXmm3CHxfHyEfm2rUacfKs9bbPP_rcATzytZ0H-OQW9YGhE3XIb2P-8FwnzaudYiFVSbE8hPz4U1W5kW/s1600/gHlAmy28mnBlcdfbc3nZM9URpv5hWs_large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1288" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXdkNZB9pGNKZTKTxK6_0QB4H2WD1eEpPeMogm5HPeBtKhnGusf-VIzMq-6liYcNqXJYCev9GizKYfwj9ftXT39gZp-O0cbBnPuCLeSIE8qXmm3CHxfHyEfm2rUacfKs9bbPP_rcATzytZ0H-OQW9YGhE3XIb2P-8FwnzaudYiFVSbE8hPz4U1W5kW/w323-h400/gHlAmy28mnBlcdfbc3nZM9URpv5hWs_large.jpg" width="323" /></a></div><br />
<p></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">I used to have a Thanksgiving ritual
involving <i><a href="https://www.criterion.com/films/29460-the-last-waltz" target="_blank">The Last Waltz</a>. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">I
am not unique in this. If you google “Thanksgiving movie,” Martin
Scorsese's 1978 documentary is pretty much the first thing to pop up.
And I didn't even invent my ritual, I stepped into it.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Years ago when I
still lived in Portland, OR, I would spend most holidays on my own.
It started when I was originally a comic book editor and was
essentially looking for any time where I might have peace. Holidays
proved a good option. Everyone's attention was focused elsewhere, and
so I could be by myself, uninterrupted. This meant dodging
invitations and making excuses to family, but it was worth it if it
meant I could stay home and get drunk with my cat and marathon movies
all day. It wasn't me being antisocial so much as being pro-Me. Ron
Swanson would understand. </p><p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR42rJsf3qVSlbSgldTZZxGgQezjfCeEOvybcreQR79brPEw6syPtANghk_mSMLQ6OxF7KKoM9A5VLpXooFk6uOOA40_gRM0xwzN-j-PgGFylCphxguShDa9f4YnwoPKcxhAjDUcWAxr2JmoYreg87n3evxi3IOdO9sVn3MqU_M01ejOTjzm66t2pE/s1671/4bAfvxhT3v9mNtgXHrVcA49E4AM83XljsdScr8pr.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1671" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR42rJsf3qVSlbSgldTZZxGgQezjfCeEOvybcreQR79brPEw6syPtANghk_mSMLQ6OxF7KKoM9A5VLpXooFk6uOOA40_gRM0xwzN-j-PgGFylCphxguShDa9f4YnwoPKcxhAjDUcWAxr2JmoYreg87n3evxi3IOdO9sVn3MqU_M01ejOTjzm66t2pE/w400-h215/4bAfvxhT3v9mNtgXHrVcA49E4AM83XljsdScr8pr.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">When I had moved
into the upper Northwest in the early '00s, it put me within blocks
of a place called <a href="http://www.steppingstonecafe.com/home" target="_blank">The Stepping Stone Café</a>. They were open for the
holiday breakfast shift, and I would take myself down there and grab
a seat at the counter, order a fat stack of pancakes they called
“Mancakes”--no joke, the triple stack was over six-inches thick
and the size of the whole plate--and just gorge myself. Most of the
time my actual holiday meal later would be something like a turkey
sandwich with cranberry, or whatever diminutive version of a
Thanksgiving spread I could find in the store that was easy to
prepare, so I could eat as much as I wanted for breakfast, I didn't
have to keep room. Not to mention this would be the base I would pour
whiskey on for the next 10-12 hours.</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Those
Thanksgiving mornings, the Stepping Stone would play </span><i>The
Last Waltz</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. Now, if you haven't
seen it--or even if you had and your memory is just poor because you
got totally blotto after doing so--you might be wondering how a
documentary showcasing the final concert of 1970s roots rockers The
Band is a Thanksgiving film. The answer is simple: they recorded the
show on Thanksgiving. And guitarist/singer Robbie Robertson at one
point thanks the audience for spending the day with them. Pretty
straightforward.</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi55bXLgF9CNu5w9r-YyK9yjM7Yyus7LshQeigbjQcxGYMiBYF56x6D-S0zVMjuI6TZSUtGzN5BZTL_-8MBIAqDxDDSmOyB5UTwrjX_Yp9ugESCsojwC0WsNwW69iYCLBPqajO_UL7gS9xAFnhWRjzhez7pVxzvo9psmBCjmJTR3iYU_w930QoALWZu/s1671/SpN0I2STRU2xqPzxwcuDvkPgUG4ziSAhQjobVkua.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1671" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi55bXLgF9CNu5w9r-YyK9yjM7Yyus7LshQeigbjQcxGYMiBYF56x6D-S0zVMjuI6TZSUtGzN5BZTL_-8MBIAqDxDDSmOyB5UTwrjX_Yp9ugESCsojwC0WsNwW69iYCLBPqajO_UL7gS9xAFnhWRjzhez7pVxzvo9psmBCjmJTR3iYU_w930QoALWZu/w400-h215/SpN0I2STRU2xqPzxwcuDvkPgUG4ziSAhQjobVkua.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">You
could tell the staff at the Stepping Stone knew the movie by heart,
and they each had their moment where you could see them paying
attention. Like if it were me I'd perk up when Neil Diamond came on,
and I'd take a bathroom break when it was Van Morrison, who looks and
sounds like a troll, let's be honest. (It's okay to hate him now,
right? His caustic old age has vindicated me, yeah?) Whatever chunk
I'd see was the chunk I'd see, it was not planned, it was reliant on
when they hit play versus when I arrived. That was my exposure to </span><i>The
Last Waltz</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. Playing the
soundtrack in the background as I type, I can actually smell the
maple syrup.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">For
those not really in the know, stumbling on this review wondering if
this Criterion disc is worth picking up or if you should rent/stream
the film somewhere, </span><i>The Last Waltz</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
is a combination concert film and denouement. Scorsese interlaces
interviews with members of the group with performance footage. The
songs we hear are not just from The Band, but their collaborations
with famous guests like the aforementioned Diamond and Morrison, Neil
Young, Joni Mitchell, Ringo Starr, Emmylou Harris, Bob Dylan, and
many more. It's a celebration not just of this particular combo, but
of a certain era of rock-and-roll. Scorsese's cut is joyful and
funny, and slyly introspective, cherry-picking moments that reveal
what the music has meant and what is passing.</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnPhqz8wTnPKKzcbzCj0g0X-cUqiDnVikLsgGCm1JIV2qwp_-lFa4lZoEadb13Yto-dMBePSfq0VUru4-anI2TgAV5J88BZnFYJQGcDVA_eGBpCkYPvv8QF71oJY3WnRkkrCBNHHNuaQhhffaXKsZtP5tfYullmkRsrjgiP3nXgQE0NRX0yspI-7I/s1671/uf3gThCwDZcWtWWTp3HICTExNmXYHCOcWlJtYojK.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1671" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnPhqz8wTnPKKzcbzCj0g0X-cUqiDnVikLsgGCm1JIV2qwp_-lFa4lZoEadb13Yto-dMBePSfq0VUru4-anI2TgAV5J88BZnFYJQGcDVA_eGBpCkYPvv8QF71oJY3WnRkkrCBNHHNuaQhhffaXKsZtP5tfYullmkRsrjgiP3nXgQE0NRX0yspI-7I/w400-h215/uf3gThCwDZcWtWWTp3HICTExNmXYHCOcWlJtYojK.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div> <p></p><p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Of course, having
established themselves as the backing section when Dylan went
electric, whatever these guys did would get attention, particularly
from the peers who agreed to pop up for this farewell. Not to mention
the clutch of solid records and handful of genuine hits--“Up On
Cripple Creek,” “The Weight,” “Ophelia,” etc.--that
followed, legitimizing them as a songwriting force in their own
right. This set is all killer and no filler.
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">That
said, I, for one, agree with drummer/singer Levon Helm that there is
too much Robertson. But I also got a shitty email once from Robbie
Robertson so maybe I am biased. I was trying to get him to write an
introduction for a comic book I was editing called </span><a href="https://amzn.to/3jkXq6X" target="_blank"><i>Skinwalker</i></a><span style="font-style: normal;">
that I felt he'd have an affinity for. He declined via his assistant,
whom he instructed to mansplain what a skinwalker was. Which clearly
showed he hadn't even looked at the comic. Call me Team Levon.</span></p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Come on, though,
let's be fair, when you think of The Band, the first voice you hear
in your head is Levon Helm. His verse on “The Weight”? Top of the
heap!</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">And then the next
voice you'll hear is that of bassist Rick Danko. So Robbie Robertston
isn't even top 2.
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">Team Levon.</p><p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"> </p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcAXDvke6tnmr4xcMpJLu1wBmyjU7GSHd_WsA64Zncb4k9VO8BnuYYOJiccd3hzV0Bj-waQm15sqeDAake-sVFLK_arMT2dZ1Mt2lEWFJW_EPYAU8wC6Ok_WZcMni1piVhOyUxTlLEC8ZMMQoGX7U8_JBe7JgSQVfZiJezhp26DABEAze5o-Rcn9l/s1671/8or3gyaeEPmRtqqEuVDIVRX627wPxGioSzKkS3wk.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1671" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjcAXDvke6tnmr4xcMpJLu1wBmyjU7GSHd_WsA64Zncb4k9VO8BnuYYOJiccd3hzV0Bj-waQm15sqeDAake-sVFLK_arMT2dZ1Mt2lEWFJW_EPYAU8wC6Ok_WZcMni1piVhOyUxTlLEC8ZMMQoGX7U8_JBe7JgSQVfZiJezhp26DABEAze5o-Rcn9l/w400-h215/8or3gyaeEPmRtqqEuVDIVRX627wPxGioSzKkS3wk.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Funny
thing, I am not entirely sure I had ever watched the full run of </span><i>The
Last Waltz </i><span style="font-style: normal;">in one go before this
Criterion edition. I may have only just seen pieces at The Stepping
Stone, despite owning a previous release as part of a Scorsese boxed
set. The Band isn't really the sort of thing I listen to on the
regular; I've never owned their music as a piece of physical media
beyond that DVD and now this Blu-Ray. But I saw random 45 minute
hunks of it so many Thanksgivings in a row, it feels like it's in my
bloodstream, and I love it regardless of my personal fandom
otherwise. Granted, the picture and sound here are both so sweet, it
does feel like the first time regardless. Technology has a weird way
of making the familiar seem revelatory.</span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfyyyUeS51lJvGQ9aTRm635CbMLAsPZvh2qfn0cIbEZfX_zUpedkkAyrO4T4cnlKUraVRXT0kwMC6itjp9UFFukz7cIGAtKWzTXj1ddupQSLw6cK6WF7xt1MYDFUieOfjYcZqAa0qSC93PivuZG5sLujh1776yoNa1tseHDFlh4TRhoQ7od-543na/s1671/Y6mEQz6TKQSNZ99jqRuaDaVp25S23DrFzTXkQSWk.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1671" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKfyyyUeS51lJvGQ9aTRm635CbMLAsPZvh2qfn0cIbEZfX_zUpedkkAyrO4T4cnlKUraVRXT0kwMC6itjp9UFFukz7cIGAtKWzTXj1ddupQSLw6cK6WF7xt1MYDFUieOfjYcZqAa0qSC93PivuZG5sLujh1776yoNa1tseHDFlh4TRhoQ7od-543na/w400-h215/Y6mEQz6TKQSNZ99jqRuaDaVp25S23DrFzTXkQSWk.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">2014
was the last year I was in Portland, though I did visit the city for
the Thanksgiving weekend a couple of years back and made my way from
my hotel to that old cafe to get my Mancakes and my dose of Levon,
Rick, Garth, and the rest (including Robbie). Even if I am a guy not
often prone to nostalgia, it still felt pretty good. No idea if they
were playing the same copy of </span><i>The Last Waltz </i><span style="font-style: normal;">that
I had seen so many years prior or if they will now upgrade to a
Criterion disc, maybe even 4K who knows--it doesn't really matter.
The first time or the fifth time or the time that feels like a second
first, it's all of a piece, it's ingrained now, the maple syrup
always tastes good. </span></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> </span>
</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5BBXYylpJsV9QU7ZcE_qPLuTJKGSvnsFzwhTdxH5yWjx3U3PMmfY4jhbnL2kH7B-jj27jWCLBrD1Bl99nzbvaveNPdOMZ0_Y7ZG0WVOIpZ_QWKpoVEtnMA2-ratxiCp03QI-xL5tPRjqXM3TIqIKK7rbCuX5uklNYPVf9OGRLjQPmEqUU5uh_dK8/s1671/lpFchzBx4xFWEW6egC7tt5J37wzP4zigohXl68I9.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1671" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD5BBXYylpJsV9QU7ZcE_qPLuTJKGSvnsFzwhTdxH5yWjx3U3PMmfY4jhbnL2kH7B-jj27jWCLBrD1Bl99nzbvaveNPdOMZ0_Y7ZG0WVOIpZ_QWKpoVEtnMA2-ratxiCp03QI-xL5tPRjqXM3TIqIKK7rbCuX5uklNYPVf9OGRLjQPmEqUU5uh_dK8/w400-h215/lpFchzBx4xFWEW6egC7tt5J37wzP4zigohXl68I9.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">This disc provided by the Criterion Collection for purposes of review.</span></i></p><p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></i><br />
</p>
<p style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</p>
<p><style type="text/css">P { margin-bottom: 0.08in }</style></p><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" sandbox="allow-popups allow-scripts allow-modals allow-forms allow-same-origin" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B09NPM7BQ5&asins=B09NPM7BQ5&linkId=e7114f85650db2eb08fe7277d8af8c97&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-80979228290909459442022-02-27T10:46:00.002-08:002022-04-09T17:41:00.092-07:00MILLER'S CROSSING - #1112<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2O7EQUEPAUt3aT966r5esGZlp-NYnT7jojHkE95aYHJXNqqBU1ipSdmgsfBRjiSBf_sKlldHubVkPL24qwFzS_X8lOGjwlrND9HQlMbkAlEACxv-HMY_BC-ZzJuML0h7c1ue9L3JYxXetCVqzvAN2BJVrXEYruxLrtL9jfYeT2JHVfxi1s8GYo3h6=s1600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1288" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2O7EQUEPAUt3aT966r5esGZlp-NYnT7jojHkE95aYHJXNqqBU1ipSdmgsfBRjiSBf_sKlldHubVkPL24qwFzS_X8lOGjwlrND9HQlMbkAlEACxv-HMY_BC-ZzJuML0h7c1ue9L3JYxXetCVqzvAN2BJVrXEYruxLrtL9jfYeT2JHVfxi1s8GYo3h6=w323-h400" width="323" /></a></div><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i><a href="https://www.criterion.com/films/29604-miller-s-crossing" target="_blank">Miller's Crossing</a> </i>is a perfect film.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Critics hesitate to say that. You are more likely to see us write “almost perfect” than “perfect” because the latter can be hard to justify. What are you going to do? Go through it frame by frame and make sure no one left their coffee cup in the shot?</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i>Miller's Crossing</i> resonates with craft. It dazzles with its turns of phrase and plot alike. It gets more intriguing the more often you see it. Every performance crackles, right down to the tiniest cameo – Sam Raimi's guffaw just before he gets gunned down; Frances McDormand's flirty, high-class secretary – everyone is on point. It's endlessly quotable to the point that the IMDB memorable quotes section should just be a pdf of the full screenplay. The damn thing is perfect.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhW8x32axNx2Oeuyu1he52CvpcYPPpEKpRThPl4OCLRYamBWm1LQExslVMg6h5LGlEvJpZ4C4Kl8YnH31TzYNi5YN1muP8itz_nfJELyaScTHtEdtHb3_0qictI3m_IDW_-gCaJpGj3yLzpqP4BgsXlQJbyfCFBlWqwKKosJAmSvuIBVcinAqs5wPCk=s1600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhW8x32axNx2Oeuyu1he52CvpcYPPpEKpRThPl4OCLRYamBWm1LQExslVMg6h5LGlEvJpZ4C4Kl8YnH31TzYNi5YN1muP8itz_nfJELyaScTHtEdtHb3_0qictI3m_IDW_-gCaJpGj3yLzpqP4BgsXlQJbyfCFBlWqwKKosJAmSvuIBVcinAqs5wPCk=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Released in 1990, <i>Miller's Crossing </i>is the second stab at noir homage from Joel and Ethan Coen (the first being their marvelous <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3spJ7TI" target="_blank">Blood Simple</a></i>). This one is set in the 1920s, the first era of the American gangster (in cinema, at least), away from the big city, somewhere in the semi-rural U.S. It tells the tale of an avoidable gang war between an Irish boss, Leo, (Albert Finney) and an Italian boss, Caspar (Jon Polito). The Italian is mad that a bookie, Bernie Bernbaum (John Turturro), is undercutting his fixes by stepping on the odds. Leo is dating the bookie's sister Verna (Marcia Gay Harden), so he's loathe to do anything against the brother and risk displeasing her. His gunman, Tom Reagan (Gabriel Byrne), advises him to put business before pleasure and give Bernie Bernbaum* to Caspar. Tom doesn't think Verna is on the up-and-up, and he should know because he's sleeping with her, too. </p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: right;">(*Never just “Bernie,” always “Bernie Bernbaum.”)</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: right;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiw_7lMpNS3vtwlUVBhQ8YELR1GNyC6aeJsYeF5yeKQ4Hbvgf72EkXOyrkDrvcf1AD61MR3RqtvWaAt9OgujwqtEznZYPwrKXvV6Qanww2XV7M7_xnhBFAGLrRBPq72I9hA3CFBc-CQCr24_yTQ1XKQRFl7AKr6aAzzzilmwlMQ1Ska0bK4W9xHFvng=s1600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiw_7lMpNS3vtwlUVBhQ8YELR1GNyC6aeJsYeF5yeKQ4Hbvgf72EkXOyrkDrvcf1AD61MR3RqtvWaAt9OgujwqtEznZYPwrKXvV6Qanww2XV7M7_xnhBFAGLrRBPq72I9hA3CFBc-CQCr24_yTQ1XKQRFl7AKr6aAzzzilmwlMQ1Ska0bK4W9xHFvng=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">I am not sure if Tom and Verna's infidelity is the first double-cross in <i>Miller's Crossing</i>, but it's one of the earliest amidst countless. So many double-crosses they likely double back on themselves and cross again. You could map them out if you want to, but this chaos is by design. It's moving faster than Tom can keep up, and part of the thrill of watching the film is to see how Tom manages the sharp turns and wondering if he can ever get ahead. (Hint: he does, but <i>that's</i> not necessarily by design.) Gabriel Byrne is a cool customer, and he makes for a worthy noir protagonist, always ready with a quip and maybe a little too slow with a punch.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjh9jvJgISK98aPdqQKbTSQL_99r6gXExvdTVUeh857Xun3LQ9eSsSdtSOBdnGiRpUagxjQJJGJ9GRLJusPN3jmDX9mROVE91w7fNJQqxY1-JiYL-iGNBjRYeiqsrOKA0VFGdJt-dXgYKpoFAIKN6Xyyazqu_y6YQryO9oZagynAtQdtHd3xjqzUCD1=s1600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjh9jvJgISK98aPdqQKbTSQL_99r6gXExvdTVUeh857Xun3LQ9eSsSdtSOBdnGiRpUagxjQJJGJ9GRLJusPN3jmDX9mROVE91w7fNJQqxY1-JiYL-iGNBjRYeiqsrOKA0VFGdJt-dXgYKpoFAIKN6Xyyazqu_y6YQryO9oZagynAtQdtHd3xjqzUCD1=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Modern takes on noir can be a real mess. Many filmmakers mistake style for substance and imitation becomes parody. I think the only American entertainment institution that seems to get more misses than noir is <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3vnZAtN" target="_blank">The Twilight Zone</a></i>. In both cases, the mistakes are similar: it's not about the plot twists, it's about the humanity. (Sorry, Jordan Peele.) The Coens are often criticized for allegedly being cold or distant, but I think this is a misreading. Their characters function within the story as who they are, with little need for side trips into maudlin backstory. Nothing would slow <i>Miller's Crossing </i>down more than a flashback to Tom Reagan's childhood. He's moving in the here and now. Boil it down and the cast of <i>Miller's Crossing </i>is all after the same thing: survival. And they all are looking for the partner that will get through with them, be it a business agreement (Leo and Tom, Caspar and Eddie Dane (J.E. Freeman)) or romantic (Dane and Mink (Steve Buscemi, Mink and Bernie Bernbaum; Leo and Verna, Verna and Tom). When you get down to it, all the betrayals are personal. Only Tom steps outside that to make alliances of convenience, ones he may not mean; whereas the ones he does mean, there is no going back on. Hence his being alone in the end.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">To type that all out...well, it's just as knotted as the more visceral plot of <i>Miller's Crossing</i>. The punching and the shooting. The lethal wisecracks.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvTHJWh9t4PEdm9xOfaXZAwAf97sUIwnP8Cld_OBPrguWbAtqzBPRaEGWKK9VBjKPDmkLg7oGBh_kKYiio0WCK3WRt5PPGHgPUjo0egrfEjrLAU-kXHPfevB-KBwI512nCa6l3MZ3VKHo-gt9rrKHOz5jM9-mhiFucvJQVvE1nEtF_Az-ElCfhP_V7=s1600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjvTHJWh9t4PEdm9xOfaXZAwAf97sUIwnP8Cld_OBPrguWbAtqzBPRaEGWKK9VBjKPDmkLg7oGBh_kKYiio0WCK3WRt5PPGHgPUjo0egrfEjrLAU-kXHPfevB-KBwI512nCa6l3MZ3VKHo-gt9rrKHOz5jM9-mhiFucvJQVvE1nEtF_Az-ElCfhP_V7=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;">What makes <i>Miller's Crossing </i>so endlessly watchable, though, is not the precise scripting or Barry Sonnenfeld's lively photography or even the endless questioning of where it will go next, it's the glee with which the Coens embrace the genre. This is what works for them every time they try mimicking something new, be it the Preston Sturges delights of <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3pm8Lal" target="_blank">Intolerable Cruelty</a></i> or the energized staging of Joel's recent foray into Shakespeare, <i><a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt10095582/" target="_blank">The Tragedy of Macbeth</a></i>: the gusto with which they immerse themselves in the form. In <i>Miller's Crossing</i>, they are re-living their favorite gangster pictures, and as a result, something fresh and new is born.</p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRBO17HnZbtD7ocxxlG2fAdwwZZpNXZgiyp_504ujqWFfCCUOEjIFZ9HHqp5ts4SlIg520A_kyUfJf6PRTwFApYNnAVyfHpKgH_l0gZlAh7G-sGjn-fUvi6j4i_z9ab_CH_pVFn-Ey9b3EaavRka3HrZp5vUi7MT7T_WGbkMLDYWzaeDZgzuqSSb5p=s1600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRBO17HnZbtD7ocxxlG2fAdwwZZpNXZgiyp_504ujqWFfCCUOEjIFZ9HHqp5ts4SlIg520A_kyUfJf6PRTwFApYNnAVyfHpKgH_l0gZlAh7G-sGjn-fUvi6j4i_z9ab_CH_pVFn-Ey9b3EaavRka3HrZp5vUi7MT7T_WGbkMLDYWzaeDZgzuqSSb5p=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">This disc was provided by the Criterion Collection for purposes of review.</span></i></p><p style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><i><br /></i></p><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B09LXFH812&asins=B09LXFH812&linkId=a99d9e6fb3f1e58745c779ac92e88a9c&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-71385985127166767712022-01-21T09:21:00.028-08:002022-01-21T09:21:00.208-08:00LES VAMPIRES - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review was originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/56154">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2012.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitsMJUgUUQC17YoTIoCU_YqYd9YPVYOGOf0xnBGWEXKTF_xfSbaF5o48VIHif-8rMl8ZSXEGSjwLgeKe2sw4w7nQKHE3osic_j1iuZdwck8FymaBYRYAnWs4wlVIFCFVFvzdsQoV7wgpnxH_zoeKP5jzy2BQmGlbncwizChRcqqWQYI89YrG-AQ7v6=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEitsMJUgUUQC17YoTIoCU_YqYd9YPVYOGOf0xnBGWEXKTF_xfSbaF5o48VIHif-8rMl8ZSXEGSjwLgeKe2sw4w7nQKHE3osic_j1iuZdwck8FymaBYRYAnWs4wlVIFCFVFvzdsQoV7wgpnxH_zoeKP5jzy2BQmGlbncwizChRcqqWQYI89YrG-AQ7v6=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Long before there were "comic book movies," and indeed, some time before comic books really became what they are today, French filmmaker Louis Feuillade was making silent film serials that predicted the best of true comic book storytelling. His films <i><a href="https://amzn.to/33VqBZB" target="_blank">Fantomas</a></i> and <i>Judex</i> [<a href="https://amzn.to/3rzVGuj" target="_blank">the 1916 version</a>, not to be confused with <a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2014/07/judex-710.html" target="_blank">this</a>] told stories of masked figures getting involved in impossible adventures; silver-screen epics broken into episodes, released over a period of time, with each new chapter escalating the peril. These lengthy soap operas were pulp fiction for the cinema set.</p><p><br /></p><p>In addition to those films, Feuillade also made <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3qLRY1k" target="_blank">Les Vampires</a></i>, a ten-part movie released over the course of 1915 and 1916. Now considered one of the crowning achievements of early moviemaking, <i>Les Vampires</i> is a salacious crime picture, full of twists and turns and a deliciously freeform sense of storytelling. It can be rickety at times--there is definitely a downside to the "anything can happen" ethos--but it's also addictive, each segment ending on a note that makes us want to know what will happen next. Feuillade is anything if not a master of cliffhangers.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEha91NGghaUa0agwdIUF1L8lIloRFyDdy_GRvyocHkrL4i-3zluGodSPPbzeIscPVr-JgTXR7pQUSMi7Y-L0cAPzLKv3v_sGw07LneNDPuGrrJ--6Dx-o9Dt6U3-5Ke3Gbufalw703a8XoLMAIfsKDcekIUipVT24Ad_61M3E0D_AmBjkbZPkbq2TEX=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="400" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEha91NGghaUa0agwdIUF1L8lIloRFyDdy_GRvyocHkrL4i-3zluGodSPPbzeIscPVr-JgTXR7pQUSMi7Y-L0cAPzLKv3v_sGw07LneNDPuGrrJ--6Dx-o9Dt6U3-5Ke3Gbufalw703a8XoLMAIfsKDcekIUipVT24Ad_61M3E0D_AmBjkbZPkbq2TEX=w400-h313" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>The hero of <i>Les Vampires</i> is Philipe Guérande (Édouard Mathé), a reporter for Paris' leading newspaper. Guérande has been working a long-term assignment, trying to expose the inner workings of an underground criminal organization that goes by the name "Les Vampires." These are ordinary hoodlums who use masks and secret identities to pull all manner of crimes. They are not the supernatural bloodsuckers the name implies--sorry, no Draculas here--but they do employ extraordinary techniques and deadly gadgets to get their work done. Feuillade also flirts with Stoker-like imagery. For instance, one segment involves a ballet dancer to whom Guérande is engaged. She is dancing in a production that dramatizes the sordid lives of the Vampires, and thus puts her in their cross-hairs. Her costume, based on one of the actual villains of the piece, looks every bit like a bat-winged succubus, and her murder is carried out in a particularly macabre fashion. Feuillade was giving the horror fans a knowing wink. These evildoers have taken on this name for a reason.</p><p><br /></p><p>Of all the varied elements of Les Vampires, the facet that has found a permanent place in pop culture is Irma Vep. The name is an anagram for "vampire," and she is both a cabaret performer and the top lady crook in the Vampires organization. Played by one-named actress Musidora, Irma Vep came to embody the image of the vamp, a particular kind of femme fatale--though vamping also means to play up certain seductive traits, to exaggerate one's own sense of desirability, much as Musidora does in the film. Her black body suit, the one mimicked by the ballerina, would inspire many larger-than-life ladies that followed, fictional and otherwise, and the character would be paid homage in other movies, on album covers, and, of course, comic books. (Most notable, Olivier Assayas' <i>Irma Vep</i> with Maggie Cheung [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2021/04/irma-vep-1074.html" target="_blank">review</a>].)</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXJQBtj2Nw8JTtSBsZbrE4VYBebTiGtvHsJl0olW9F74mSHEHHubyC6s63wkVnTClHdypFk_rV6ma90Pnc3h9aSVY95rMoBDavs43ZlAhca5BSG3U00leoPI9AoKoptOqmV5wuEjM_5nmxbTYrt9Nf4IzERfBjhvf7F8Zwtg-1DaRAlzx-WtFl-EbP=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="303" data-original-width="400" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgXJQBtj2Nw8JTtSBsZbrE4VYBebTiGtvHsJl0olW9F74mSHEHHubyC6s63wkVnTClHdypFk_rV6ma90Pnc3h9aSVY95rMoBDavs43ZlAhca5BSG3U00leoPI9AoKoptOqmV5wuEjM_5nmxbTYrt9Nf4IzERfBjhvf7F8Zwtg-1DaRAlzx-WtFl-EbP=w400-h303" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Despite the revered critical status that <i>Les Vampires</i> has acquired over the last century, it's necessary to note that it is an imperfect effort. The lengthiness of the film, which on one hand makes it such a fascinating cinematic endeavor, can also be its downfall. Individual sequences feel drawn out, with the acting in particular overemphasizing things that the audience is likely to grasp much quicker than Feuillade apparently anticipated. The performance style in <i>Les Vampires</i> often veers very close to the cliché that comes to mind when many think of silent film. Édouard Mathé in particular is exceedingly demonstrative and seems to be mugging for the camera, displaying the kind of exaggerated pantomime that his better contemporaries learned to avoid.</p><p><br /></p><p>That said, there is still so much to like about <i>Les Vampires</i>, it's easy to ignore its faults and just go with it. The ridiculous scrapes that Guérande finds himself in pile on one after the other. Each new chapter brings more colorful characters, as well as regular visits from the comic relief, the silly but charmed Mazamette (Marvel Lévesque), with his seemingly endless string of children and the equally endless string of jobs to pay for them. He is like the Wimpy to Guérande's Popeye. And, of course, the true appeal of <i>Les Vampires</i> is the cliffhanger stylings, the way Feuillade teases out the suspense, leading the viewer through the pretzel-like plot with both confidence and, despite the aforementioned laboriousness, an invigorating spontaneity. There is always a sense of discovery at work in this tale, and the fun is in sticking around to see how it all pans out. Will the rival gang ever get the upper hand and take out the Vampires? Will Guérande ever expose the full story? And what of Irma Vep...? Hit the next button, go to the next chapter, it's the only way to get your answers!</p><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWdpt-NU6K_qM-FacMxEnjFtA-K57QvcgnSJ7ooGB9Ib5JsroYyCztoVnLTDE8GL0sSbX41_ptxFuhL7ZCAyNNTO-8eGLCvv0xzuvhKarLvBMy5de2pMjr4FVXxxjfuYG85sa_CoBCTrgIoa0oepVhPOiKC_2T6ehvVYmhet4oiudR3oFB4_znDqBA=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="259" data-original-width="400" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWdpt-NU6K_qM-FacMxEnjFtA-K57QvcgnSJ7ooGB9Ib5JsroYyCztoVnLTDE8GL0sSbX41_ptxFuhL7ZCAyNNTO-8eGLCvv0xzuvhKarLvBMy5de2pMjr4FVXxxjfuYG85sa_CoBCTrgIoa0oepVhPOiKC_2T6ehvVYmhet4oiudR3oFB4_znDqBA=w400-h259" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><iframe style="width:120px;height:240px;" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon®ion=US&placement=B0083Q4K68&asins=B0083Q4K68&linkId=e7b5129ee982e461e7bc30b4caf860bf&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-67689704550494705052022-01-20T08:32:00.001-08:002022-01-20T08:32:04.225-08:00BRIGHT STAR - CRITERION CHANNEL<p> <i>This review was originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/39743">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2009.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEio1r_RA1MsfuC6U13Q14IMD2-SJR1vBPg0v0kV5FOI7eyDp6xVzvveTtJSeg1bdanZup7dC7Pw5OaGOwGrLEUPofoJDfEVIMumu4CXf4bKapJuYRKN4rIYHeweFHVz4rfpNIEFs82NUboQE8RX9RbLmEOxRtkoQoVNbd0DCiEqibDM2Ra9i4sWS5hc=s640" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEio1r_RA1MsfuC6U13Q14IMD2-SJR1vBPg0v0kV5FOI7eyDp6xVzvveTtJSeg1bdanZup7dC7Pw5OaGOwGrLEUPofoJDfEVIMumu4CXf4bKapJuYRKN4rIYHeweFHVz4rfpNIEFs82NUboQE8RX9RbLmEOxRtkoQoVNbd0DCiEqibDM2Ra9i4sWS5hc=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><i><br /></i><p></p><p>As a moody, death-obsessed writer whose genius has yet to be recognized, Jane Campion's portrayal of poet John Keats in her new film <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3IreDGl" target="_blank">Bright Star</a></i> hit a little too close to home. Depressed, misunderstood, doomed romance--hey, John, I can identify. Just tell me how I can be lucky enough to get tuberculosis, and I'll follow you all the way down. Damn my parents and their stupid vaccinations!*</p><p><br /></p><p><i>Bright Star</i> isn't an all-encompassing biopic of the Romantic poet, but rather, it follows Keats over a couple of specific years, beginning in 1818 when the young writer met the love of his life and the tragic turn that soon followed. Keats is played by Ben Whishaw, who portrayed the antagonistic, on-trial version of Bob Dylan in Todd Haynes' <i>I'm Not There</i> (he was the one in black-and-white who wasn't Cate Blanchett) [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/31453/im-not-there/" target="_blank">review</a>]. He's getting pretty good at this broody poet thing. Alternately cocky, self-loathing, and frightfully charismatic, he makes Keats a dark and dreamy apparition. Thus, it's no wonder that the pretty young seamstress, Fanny Brawne (Abbie Cornish, <i>Elizabeth: The Golden Years</i> [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/30951/elizabeth-the-golden-age/" target="_blank">review</a>]), is attracted to him, despite having no understanding of poetry and thinking that wit and smooth moves on the dancefloor are the two best traits in a man. Opposites do attract, though, and both the poet and the girl have an intensity to their personalities that somehow makes them a perfect match.</p><p><br /></p><p>Not that everyone would agree. Socially, John Keats is a pauper. His books don't sell, and he has no viable prospects, so as a candidate for marriage, he doesn't lead the pack. He's also friends with another poet, Charles Armitage Brown (Paul Schneider, <i><a href="https://amzn.to/32g6YuT" target="_blank">All the Real Girls</a></i> and TV's <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3fN9xYo" target="_blank">Parks and Recreation</a></i>), a crank who is protective of Keats' talent and also distrustful of women, especially girls he sees as flirty and frivolous. Fanny fits this category as far as he is concerned, and the two spare no opportunity to express their disdain for one another. Ironically, Charles is probably more along the lines of what Fanny expects of a male suitor, even if his humor is much darker and pointed than she would like. Paul Schneider, whose previously been best known for his David Gordon Green collaborations, gives the best performance of his career as the sardonic poet. I've never seen him so comfortable in his own skin and so at ease with his lines. His previous performances often relied on a quirky naturalism that is all but gone here, replaced by a more forceful presence. Some of the film's strongest scenes come as Brown is revealed to lack the moral purity that was so valued by the Romantics. He is not John Keats, and he knows it, and he can live with it as long as no one else points it out.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSGlDu-emheCBI9LM5wHaZR55v535PG-jE6TfafG4yNR9bwmphnK8GRCODylas54jbr55cJsgrVrpCGEI7kil33HB6htEIX8Z4qWtxdnu7FLov8Q7cu51pwbjOTVTOQjZAH3aC0uQxpmo8q40axTwQs0OXPq68-2ijKeXQIskIqOkgj3BstnvkbEQR=s400" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="267" data-original-width="400" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjSGlDu-emheCBI9LM5wHaZR55v535PG-jE6TfafG4yNR9bwmphnK8GRCODylas54jbr55cJsgrVrpCGEI7kil33HB6htEIX8Z4qWtxdnu7FLov8Q7cu51pwbjOTVTOQjZAH3aC0uQxpmo8q40axTwQs0OXPq68-2ijKeXQIskIqOkgj3BstnvkbEQR=w400-h268" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Campion, who also wrote the screenplay for <i>Bright Star</i>, establishes a fascinating social order in the movie. No one here is entirely well off, and though they are members of polite society, there is some funds-stretching going on. One trick is apparently moving house a lot, following the changing seasons in search of cheaper lodgings. This puts the Brawne family--Fanny's widowed mother and her two siblings--in the other half of the house where Charles Brown is renting and where he lets Keats stay for free. Being in such close proximity, the romance between the poet and his new muse, which previously has consisted largely of poetry lessons, misunderstandings, and a gentle touching of hands, can take full bloom. Soon it's kissing in the forest and touching the wall that separates their beds night after night, feeling the heat of love pass between. Fanny becomes entirely wrapped up in Keats, which can feel just as bad as it may feel good since he is prone to mood swings. If he writes a line about butterflies in a love letter, Fanny catches every butterfly she can and creates an oasis for them in her bedroom; when he selfishly ignores her, she demonstrates her ineptness at suicide. Abbie Cornish is very good as Fanny. The actress understands the melodrama of adolescent angst, and she manages to make it real without overdoing it. Her most enthralling moments, however, are when she lets herself be an empty vessel silently letting Keats fill her up.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9rPRyRWJK8YE2V0OJ_V4IWHye0jR_znnnAbYhVZ8BglCRiwouLjd-L_ChrHj54Z0AQCquROFF0s7tNDbKTJHme3Fd2T1hqvjwiJleqqoDsKI3yXJkmILykwLyhZmejIEfHf8maLkSOThngBZL6c7OeVvQUq9ZunkpVcSmNtXBPmaKCPNYfSoEWu1J=s1363" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="723" data-original-width="1363" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi9rPRyRWJK8YE2V0OJ_V4IWHye0jR_znnnAbYhVZ8BglCRiwouLjd-L_ChrHj54Z0AQCquROFF0s7tNDbKTJHme3Fd2T1hqvjwiJleqqoDsKI3yXJkmILykwLyhZmejIEfHf8maLkSOThngBZL6c7OeVvQUq9ZunkpVcSmNtXBPmaKCPNYfSoEWu1J=w400-h213" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>There's something refreshing about seeing a romantic relationship on film that doesn't involve sex. It's not that Campion isn't comfortable with it--she did direct <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3fEiVhc" target="_blank">In the Cut</a></i>, after all--it's that she is aware here, as she was in <i>The Piano</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2020/01/the-piano-criterion-channel.html" target="_blank">review</a>], that the greatest passion often lies somewhere beyond physical expression. Though there is no crossing over to the other side the way the characters did in <i>The Piano</i>, <i>Bright Star</i> is more intensely realized for it. Why not a love affair that involves reciting poetry and quickly stolen glances? Brown encourages Keats to bed the girl and get it over with, hoping it will cure his friend of his crush, but Keats won't even consider it. Perhaps he sees the consequences Brown fails to consider when he knocks up the maid, but I doubt it's anything as crass as all that. Poetically, to take their relationship further would spoil it. Campion sees Keats' life as one of extremes: the butterflies and the punctured veins, dazzling beauty and dark lows. She and cinematographer Greig Fraser capture both sides beautifully. They infuse the warm summer with color and light, and yet they shoot the snow of the chilled winters with as much clarity, letting each flake stand out under a dark sky. At the same time, there is a softness to everything, as if a very thin veil of muslin had been placed over the camera lens. This faint yet ever-present whiff of grey reminds us that there is a sadness that can't be escaped in this story. <i>Bright Star</i> is young love on a deadline.</p><p><br /></p><p>John Keats' death at 25 is well known. He contracted tuberculosis, which also took his brother from him not long after he and Fanny Brawne had met. Keats foreshadows this regularly by talking about his own death even when he is healthy, something Campion never portrays as ironic or dramatic, but something Keats firmly believed. Any biopic that ends in such a way is always faced with the challenge of overcoming the audience's knowledge of the inevitable, and the fact that <i>Bright Star</i> doesn't worry about getting around that is both one of its greatest strengths but also its only weakness. The movie does drag a little at the tail end when the closeness of death is more obvious. Perhaps had Campion not let Whishaw be so earnest in his doom and gloom we might not feel it as heavily--which could have been a bad choice all on its own. As it stands, it's a small point, and the benefits of that choice far outweigh any of the failings.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisNIJv-FPdATes0jlvi9YZeo7O788bNO09HbRrXH1acSxJx7WmTPuHjxmM7MgaspkiOnfu97rNVNoeBIR60KbTZNcj7x6hdb1xzbVEVXXncbqzfhq9YJZo15vpLVdoijR0I-Ob215nbnDfdHifWqP_wt3E5_2Qysi_Cjldk9SaBXXOYQh7hZ3sPkto=s600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="339" data-original-width="600" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisNIJv-FPdATes0jlvi9YZeo7O788bNO09HbRrXH1acSxJx7WmTPuHjxmM7MgaspkiOnfu97rNVNoeBIR60KbTZNcj7x6hdb1xzbVEVXXncbqzfhq9YJZo15vpLVdoijR0I-Ob215nbnDfdHifWqP_wt3E5_2Qysi_Cjldk9SaBXXOYQh7hZ3sPkto=w400-h226" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>When it comes down to it, <i>Bright Star</i> works because it inspires the viewer to take part in the tenderness and the sorrow. In explaining poetry to Fanny, John Keats likens the act of reading to jumping in a lake. You don't dive into the water just to do so, to go under and then get out; you jump in to experience the water, to be in it. So, too, must one linger on a poem, spending time within it, experiencing its language and images and not just reading it line by line. The same could be said of a biopic, that a good one lets you walk a mile or two in its subjects cinematic shoes. Jane Campion achieves just that with <i>Bright Star</i>, making us part of Fanny and John's world for two hours. To watch it is not to stand at a distance, but to step right into the middle of it and feel it all.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjk7q1l6OgXNwmfUsi2dw0o4S47n3Rbj3qFALuu1OQ5iB5OBISlOqRlc92omD5ymsYu03CGhf-cFR6qmncOuEm8MDtl89PTNbILZZVfRiw6HM0wOr8DdqE7JV7nFpTqf5GtdGNOkYQw9CGJkdx9YI-lgt8E5eapCuM_avX6GrCprAxHZLDaolt9fs9v=s1365" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="635" data-original-width="1365" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjk7q1l6OgXNwmfUsi2dw0o4S47n3Rbj3qFALuu1OQ5iB5OBISlOqRlc92omD5ymsYu03CGhf-cFR6qmncOuEm8MDtl89PTNbILZZVfRiw6HM0wOr8DdqE7JV7nFpTqf5GtdGNOkYQw9CGJkdx9YI-lgt8E5eapCuM_avX6GrCprAxHZLDaolt9fs9v=w400-h186" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>* <i>2022 Update: Jokes! I am totally pro-vaccines.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B0038ZGLWU&asins=B0038ZGLWU&linkId=2601e04930b7f1785f19daf95aba01a8&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-64423779182797783332022-01-15T09:08:00.030-08:002022-01-15T09:08:00.220-08:00THE WOODMANS - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review was originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/58442">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2012.</i></p><p> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrtx9A4REXRWCFxf1hH4wtxq5CxZS_Rf_N38uv2s5jhdyySyemnYJnBz4HWQkk0JjpIwUIPp4_YVQWouqwMit6bpldMSCC46ppV1semmXSdOIMarVFuHT_-rrTF0ElIadH2npJWUhC8mhE7c3yGxDtra3BnoXDiaaGwaGecqoF36NpQ8LI2Ub78ps7=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhrtx9A4REXRWCFxf1hH4wtxq5CxZS_Rf_N38uv2s5jhdyySyemnYJnBz4HWQkk0JjpIwUIPp4_YVQWouqwMit6bpldMSCC46ppV1semmXSdOIMarVFuHT_-rrTF0ElIadH2npJWUhC8mhE7c3yGxDtra3BnoXDiaaGwaGecqoF36NpQ8LI2Ub78ps7=w400-h226" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>The question of why an artist is chosen to create and how he or she divines ideas from the ether is one that will never be answered to any real satisfaction. That is the mystery of artistic expression; if we knew how to nail it down, everyone would be artists. Likewise, we aren't really sure why one person might be born with skills that allow him or her to cope in the face of any adversity, and why some find life to be a brittle, fragile, depressing endeavor. Sure, there is the chemistry of the body and other medical explanations, but the ephemeral question remains: why can't I be like you? Why am I automatically sad while you maintain and stay happy?</p><p><br /></p><p>These are questions that, in some way, drive C. Scott Willis' documentary <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3rjqIpZ" target="_blank">The Woodmans</a></i>, whether they are asked outright or not. This sensitive, intensely empathetic portrait of an artistic family is all tangled up in the whys and wherefores of expression and the unknowable impulses of depression. The Woodmans are an artistic family cursed equally by talent and tragedy. Father George is a painter, and mother Betty creates pottery and ceramics. Their eldest child, Charlie, is an accomplished multimedia artist working with video projection and music. Their youngest child, Francesca, was an influential photographer and is by far the most famous of the Woodman clan. She also killed herself in 1981, an event that will never be separated from the rest of the family's story, regardless of what they do.</p><p><br /></p><p>Despite the heavy draw of the more sensational aspects of the tale--even Francesca's work is the most magnetic of anything we see in <i>The Woodman</i>s--Willis endeavors to create a level playing field. His movie is as much about how a family like this functions, and the fascinating reality that, though all were drawn to different disciplines, all four Woodmans had a desire to create. What effect did the artistic environment have on Charlie and Francesca? What about the fact that their family spent every summer in Italy? Is it important that Charlie's diabetes caused his early life to be regimented, while Francesca enjoyed added freedoms? These are all avenues that Willis goes down, and he uses whatever he finds there to build as comprehensive a portrait as he can before pursuing the largest elephant down the most troubling side road.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKpooD7sK__fu2G7jHOVLQDsJ3SfJ2vFz6rYvVIIHEBL-09dAsXSt4gKnGTYIxm4S54rY6QjLtJvCDMJSplY5kF8y_j9ofXLFCX-as50eijvxgYDpsN0Ljm0QlzYJlI_JXEEpsKuNUjJgMJst3irjv1W4-J2ZQe_dT2Qm4l1zDWPc5U2ZM5UVqjVNV=s400" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjKpooD7sK__fu2G7jHOVLQDsJ3SfJ2vFz6rYvVIIHEBL-09dAsXSt4gKnGTYIxm4S54rY6QjLtJvCDMJSplY5kF8y_j9ofXLFCX-as50eijvxgYDpsN0Ljm0QlzYJlI_JXEEpsKuNUjJgMJst3irjv1W4-J2ZQe_dT2Qm4l1zDWPc5U2ZM5UVqjVNV=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>There could be a whole sidebar here about what it means to create a portrait of a person that is not around to speak for herself. It even comes up as part of the documentary's narrative. George and Betty can give their impressions of their daughter, while her friends can tell us about the Francesca they knew--a woman who is often at odds with the perception her parents had of her--but who she really was is as open to interpretation as her art. Willis gives us her perspective where he can, quoting generously from her journals and showing her own videos of her process, but even these things are curated by the director. They aren't the same as if, say, we sat and read Francesca Woodman's journals front to back. Then again, wouldn't that too be an experience beholden to our subjective interpretation?</p><p><br /></p><p>This is something that Willis grapples with in <i>The Woodmans</i>. George and Betty both wish that their daughter's extraordinary photographs could exist without the tragedy of her life being a part of the dialogue. Betty even goes so far as to try to reject the notion that the photos, many of which are self-portraits and expressive compositions that feature the photographer in the nude, are in any way autobiographical. This is a statement that she barely even seems to stand by when she makes it, though we also get the sense that she pushes back just as hard at applying any analysis to her own process. All Willis can do is show us the photographs themselves, which he does in copious amounts. I was not familiar with Francesca Woodman prior to firing up this film, but I now feel I have a pretty good grasp of her central motifs and her technique.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVy97iP_j9Bf6ptmI4jH12X_DyqS5rFZ4wgKQQxB2cIbahRiHX-LWzhGK9rx_Un-WLgTRGVGJdKSwsf029fqAv10Yfmv972-PwW0UTh9zpaJVg1RY7MExKX85465b5q0NO0PyaQg9271ogIuMa9gn8quXdMriHc5j6AL7Thku48vxN5-PUnuaNthGj=s400" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVy97iP_j9Bf6ptmI4jH12X_DyqS5rFZ4wgKQQxB2cIbahRiHX-LWzhGK9rx_Un-WLgTRGVGJdKSwsf029fqAv10Yfmv972-PwW0UTh9zpaJVg1RY7MExKX85465b5q0NO0PyaQg9271ogIuMa9gn8quXdMriHc5j6AL7Thku48vxN5-PUnuaNthGj=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>In trying to show us the artists behind the art, however, Willis transcends even these accomplishments and gets at something that is more meaningful and far deeper than a lot of documentaries are willing to go after. The final third of <i>The Woodmans</i> is an intense exploration of the effect that Francesca's suicide had on her family. Her first suicide attempt was in 1980, and she succeeded in 1981. In many ways, she has created a void that her family has never been able to close. Charlie has largely stepped away from it, determined to make his own mark, but the very act of rejecting his sister's biography and her impact on the art world (at the time of her death, photography was still struggling to be accepted as a fine art) must have its own defining quality. Both father and mother saw their own means of expression change via their grief. George, who was closest to Francesca, has basically picked up where she left off, moving from abstract painting to photographing subjects that carry on the tradition of what his daughter was doing (although he is seemingly reluctant to accept this). For her part, Betty stopped making practical pottery and instead has started making abstract installations. In a sense, she has taken over what George had been doing previously.</p><p><br /></p><p>The most heartbreaking statement in <i>The Woodmans</i> is not any of the many anguished quotes that come out of Francesca's diaries, but the extended silence that follows Betty repeating the question, "How did I deal with the guilt?" Her answer eventually is that she did not, that she only dealt with the pain. One gets the sense from watching Willis' documentary that, above all else, this is the lasting legacy of how Francesca ultimately chose to express herself. Her family will never really understand why and will probably never get past the worry that there was something more they could have done. This ongoing reverberation of mourning is something that Willis appears acutely sensitive to, and it colors how delicately he handles the whole film. <i>The Woodmans</i> is a deeply moving piece of cinema, one that fearlessly tries to understand the conflicting impulses of creation and eradication, something that many artists wrestle with, and that I think has more far-reaching applications in other walks of life, moreso than most would care to admit.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhttYepxgGLrFCguY9M9aZiPfTetdqEPczbX0vYRIbOQULzyRVy_nDdwW8WJbfGDEIh60eh8jEP6s_ynQDZgzWNk_rGti4L0lMColxw5Y0y-WwkrI14fdMA8vh0bhkwR3U1pmGig7igGHNx6HO5JY4bYlKgANkYmwAbHoE4ZOBr6QfMz-fn57IK_8W0=s400" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhttYepxgGLrFCguY9M9aZiPfTetdqEPczbX0vYRIbOQULzyRVy_nDdwW8WJbfGDEIh60eh8jEP6s_ynQDZgzWNk_rGti4L0lMColxw5Y0y-WwkrI14fdMA8vh0bhkwR3U1pmGig7igGHNx6HO5JY4bYlKgANkYmwAbHoE4ZOBr6QfMz-fn57IK_8W0=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B007IHH4H0&asins=B007IHH4H0&linkId=739b11419882f73eac25cbf1ecb69a5a&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-70339511020816848322022-01-14T09:08:00.001-08:002022-01-14T09:08:11.719-08:00RADIO ON - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/27231" target="_blank">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2007.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJLjHyjHI3wlxbCd4vjrrqVLeJKy7EqF39jMyE9jleHzARYNWNtY3aJrABEZzfrNhTC4T1YStn_M9j4wzAW6lf_aEzTsY9kF1-g97TOsATjQP3mM4bXP2ZCzoOSU0XiShhFZKp13i6yQGJnAKz5t9ChCvAWfnhIUtXJLITCVXF_XPMjBF-TVo8_Wv-=s640" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJLjHyjHI3wlxbCd4vjrrqVLeJKy7EqF39jMyE9jleHzARYNWNtY3aJrABEZzfrNhTC4T1YStn_M9j4wzAW6lf_aEzTsY9kF1-g97TOsATjQP3mM4bXP2ZCzoOSU0XiShhFZKp13i6yQGJnAKz5t9ChCvAWfnhIUtXJLITCVXF_XPMjBF-TVo8_Wv-=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Christopher Petit's 1979 independent feature, <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3nqSBeR" target="_blank">Radio On</a></i>, is a brittle portrait of the despair and ennui of 1970s Britain. Rather than indulge in chronicling any particular scene from the time or resort to the usual ripped-from-the-headlines tactics, Petit instead chooses to follow one man over the course of a few days as a portrayal of the feelings of hopelessness many were experiencing. With bleak black-and-white cinematography by Martin Schäfer, who regularly worked with Wim Wenders (one of the producers on the film), <i>Radio On</i> offers a Britain that is perpetually gray. Come, Armageddon, come.</p><p><br /></p><p>Robert (David Beames) is an all-night DJ in a factory who spends his own boring nights trying to alleviate the tedium of workers on the graveyard shift. He sets aside their banal requests and plays his own choices in hopes of giving them "something better." When his brother mysteriously dies, Robert goes on a road trip to Bristol in search of answers about what happened. Only those aren't the answers he really wants. The questions that loom over him are more existential. Though he never says so out loud, Robert is really searching for some kind of meaning in his dull existence.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2SndSokk6zW8NPx7hF_loYbzV2wJ0on-b0n0cjRDVO5-aOteq1fHVcCswjpQ1oAH7FCuFLcxEAa0DJzc2kVcjJa69nBdE_mA3YNWQuQVpzacjJdI8K9QGGGzUtv-ObqdqzFu-GyZvb4KO0qyDNDCc7Ez0vNWA1nn08IT_HTXeJ25BuJVfBL_v_LWm=s400" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="400" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh2SndSokk6zW8NPx7hF_loYbzV2wJ0on-b0n0cjRDVO5-aOteq1fHVcCswjpQ1oAH7FCuFLcxEAa0DJzc2kVcjJa69nBdE_mA3YNWQuQVpzacjJdI8K9QGGGzUtv-ObqdqzFu-GyZvb4KO0qyDNDCc7Ez0vNWA1nn08IT_HTXeJ25BuJVfBL_v_LWm=w400-h250" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Along the way, he meets other people who have been set adrift. There is the Scottish soldier (Andrew Byatt) whose pain at losing his friend on a tour of duty in Ireland has left him emotionally crippled and defensive. Then there is the pair of German women, one who hates all men and the other who is trying to find her ex-husband and reclaim custody of their daughter. Like Robert, these people feel that something has been taken from them, that their life is absurd and pointless. As the grieving mother explains, she feels homesick in England, stranded in a world where no one speaks the language she was born into. For her it may be a literal language barrier, but she might as well be speaking metaphorically. Robert borrows her phrase book and tries out different sayings in both English and German, and she kindly corrects his pronunciation. It doesn't matter that they are saying the same things, the sound of it will never match up.</p><p><br /></p><p>If there is anything that provides comfort in <i>Radio On</i>, it's music. The DVD box quite loudly trumpets the soundtrack, listing the bands and the songs featured. The tracks are so important, Petit even lists them in the opening credits, rather than sticking them at the end like we're used to. The chosen cuts fit perfectly, the disaffected tones of the music emerging from the ashes of punk echoing the disaffection of Petit's script. Featured here are David Bowie, Kraftwerk, Robert Fripp, Ian Dury, Lene Lovich, Devo, and more. Regardless of what Robert is doing, he always returns to the music, turning on the radio in the car or playing a jukebox in a diner. It comforts him, acts as a friend when he has no one else to share the moment with.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhosAMrdd4m68dT8tfmGACU9OSmw92VIeBNjKN6BCf70WOln-A8ML5jbabLfpJwOXiWULqhoVOt7qNYrwtgVtONo-SdAQYAOKA6rlgeLq6uIYxehvkmioduhJRmHswppoediVDFacoWgwvN63m_HSPJoMdTjOVf89sAXJaxbXz5IJneEcYsMsQMa-3_=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhosAMrdd4m68dT8tfmGACU9OSmw92VIeBNjKN6BCf70WOln-A8ML5jbabLfpJwOXiWULqhoVOt7qNYrwtgVtONo-SdAQYAOKA6rlgeLq6uIYxehvkmioduhJRmHswppoediVDFacoWgwvN63m_HSPJoMdTjOVf89sAXJaxbXz5IJneEcYsMsQMa-3_=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>At the same time, music also provides a bridge between people. The last message Robert received from his brother was a birthday present of an envelope full of Kraftwerk tapes. On the road, when he meets Just Like Eddie (Sting) at a gas station, they find common ground by singing Eddie Cochran songs, whereas when the soldier rejects what Robert puts on the stereo, you know their relationship will quickly end.</p><p><br /></p><p>Petit builds <i>Radio On</i> out of lengthy, languorous shots, letting the landscape pass without comment, the periods of time where there is no dialogue stretching as far as the patches of road traversed. Schäfer keeps his camera at a distance rather than going in for the traditional close-ups, favoring two-person shots over cutting back and forth in the rare conversations. The viewer is kept far enough away as to feel that he or she is on the outside looking in, not unlike how Robert feels. We're the foreigners in his existence. Robert may not be engaged in what is happening, but there is turmoil, poverty, and moral decay all around him. The same radio that provides him with music also delivers the news of society's ills. These problems don't touch him, but they contribute to the dread that permeates the air.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUHrSKQOcpyUJkahQCxVuOOuF5GDeMGHPUq9aqmgbLdoOdlqzlVkKd2qV3YEIpPbL2qu9CNjKn-16QQDfZMTQSRiYX-n9a2_-cqJ1RJjZPcrmCl5IQ2KGhHPRhcHk6jxXHpn4yt5T_ulNeHzrrJvgDB0BMpjBAjkxHBRRgWRXkcsGqtbrekajCS0Jx=s1600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUHrSKQOcpyUJkahQCxVuOOuF5GDeMGHPUq9aqmgbLdoOdlqzlVkKd2qV3YEIpPbL2qu9CNjKn-16QQDfZMTQSRiYX-n9a2_-cqJ1RJjZPcrmCl5IQ2KGhHPRhcHk6jxXHpn4yt5T_ulNeHzrrJvgDB0BMpjBAjkxHBRRgWRXkcsGqtbrekajCS0Jx=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>By the end of <i>Radio On</i>, Robert has driven as far as he can go--quite literally. Parked on the edge of a deep hole, his car dies. Rather than fight against it, he opens his car doors and cranks up the Kraftwerk, the last gift from his brother and the DJ's last gift to the world he knew. He walks away from the site and starts walking back toward civilization. What he will find there is the Rorschach test Petit gives to his audience. What do you see in the ill-defined shapes of Robert's future? Has he rediscovered hope, or does the final shot of a train departing mean it's too late, any chance for humanity has already left the station?</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjT-AWSpB4m9icl0q2sqpa26AGehNL-xtS5_jkDZ06eL90eIJiLLtbuQw9-RZ1UcM9EMM-c3hkAW0kiNfvZVLazKf7uASv_y3k9cxeqds4yaCxNnpwa95AR7zGdG7tcVMeU9jJS0l-915-bIv-9dSSAAoqWIC0eHyVgcHk4FRwDsm4ZOQi0eBKeQbMY=s400" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="400" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjT-AWSpB4m9icl0q2sqpa26AGehNL-xtS5_jkDZ06eL90eIJiLLtbuQw9-RZ1UcM9EMM-c3hkAW0kiNfvZVLazKf7uASv_y3k9cxeqds4yaCxNnpwa95AR7zGdG7tcVMeU9jJS0l-915-bIv-9dSSAAoqWIC0eHyVgcHk4FRwDsm4ZOQi0eBKeQbMY=w400-h250" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B08TYVDKTW&asins=B08TYVDKTW&linkId=6561d71a28334ae2e67eee6b5a1ad41f&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-41288163781419186932022-01-13T08:35:00.025-08:002022-01-13T08:35:00.197-08:00MARGOT AT THE WEDDING - CRITERION CHANNEL<p> <i>A rare case where I was able to re-examine a movie, and where I changed my mind.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_uSh04anZd7DBnBgp2xRaRf-CGnWp8KzctGaglaL8-NCunwDvoUxwmkEQ7ATu8IobtXCuHQZTSlB05A5wPq-qhI2PxgcUkC5tX4dggRsB5yESrWPtFKWtMhAmG_pkYDajPNqfbIRSvgw1G2FqAY5I60JsF-gdae47lc7FwyQ4HVfUE7-yX3EHNvtH=s1280" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_uSh04anZd7DBnBgp2xRaRf-CGnWp8KzctGaglaL8-NCunwDvoUxwmkEQ7ATu8IobtXCuHQZTSlB05A5wPq-qhI2PxgcUkC5tX4dggRsB5yESrWPtFKWtMhAmG_pkYDajPNqfbIRSvgw1G2FqAY5I60JsF-gdae47lc7FwyQ4HVfUE7-yX3EHNvtH=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><b>ORIGINAL THEATRICAL REVIEW - NOVEMBER 2007 [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/31394" target="_blank">source</a>]</b></p><p><b><br /></b></p><p>Noah Baumbach's <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3HWXnIG" target="_blank">Margot at the Wedding</a></i> is another dysfunctional, comical family dramas of the kind the writer/director does so well. Though maybe not as good as his breakout 2005 hit <i><a href="https://www.criterion.com/films/28830-the-squid-and-the-whale" target="_blank">The Squid and the Whale</a></i>, <i>Margot</i> is of the same ilk: smart, literate, and self-deflating.</p><p><br /></p><p>Margot (Nicole Kidman) is a popular author of high-brow family dramas, probably not entirely dissimilar to the one she currently finds herself occupying. In fact, given some of the resentment her sister Pauline (Jennifer Jason Leigh) expresses in regards to her personal life being fodder for past fiction, it's safe to say Margot writes her stories exactly like the life she and her family live. The strain of these resentments, as well as the shared memory of an abusive father, has divided the sisters, who haven't talked in several months. They have a third, unseen sibling named Becky who apparently got the brunt of their upbringing. Her problems are the only things Margot and Pauline can truly agree on, reserving their most judgmental tones and cruel giggles for conversations about everything that's wrong with Becky.</p><p><br /></p><p>A temporary reconciliation has been reached between Margot and Pauline in light of Pauline's approaching marriage to Malcolm (Jack Black). This will be the second marriage for Pauline, the first one having fallen apart when Margot exposed its darkest guts in a <i>New Yorker</i> short story. Pauline has one child from the old marriage, a pre-pubescent girl named Ingrid (Flora Cross). Margot has two children, one of whom she brings with her. Claude (Zane Pais) is her favorite son, a mama's boy who is reaching that age where strange smells are emerging from his armpits and girls' breasts capture his attention. Not exactly the best time for being in a family crisis, but little does Claude know, he's got one coming. Margot hasn't decided to visit her baby sis for wholly selfless reasons, oh no.</p><p><br /></p><p>Noah Baumbach is amused by intellectual phonies, and he loves to let the air out of their tires. In his college drama <i>Kicking and Screaming</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2007/11/kicking-screaming-349.html" target="_blank">review</a>], he portrayed young people in transition, having to face up to the real world where the pretentious theories of the classroom neither paid the rent nor got them over snares in romance. The father in <i>The Squid and the Whale</i>, played with convincing self-delusion by Jeff Daniels, likes to pretend that growing up means never having to stop quoting <i>Breathless</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2010/08/breathless-50th-anniversary-restoration.html" target="_blank">review</a>] in the original French. When he does so, Baumbach's sleight of hand is clear: he can pull the pin on these toy hand grenades because he knows that the difference between the real and the plastic is very slim. The only separation between himself and the misguided characters he writes about is that he's holding the pen.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicJzCmqMieFn4RsZkZznaFHWeN-1H6bsc1JPAwO1hB98cU2M0Q17yv1fm6kBv3rz9aqBTq-lphUX10F_JaEgGI4KqKfEfOHQMAHBJsigk3E8ig_B0AgWPWj1lEMSsqwFsfGY9YXyfDrHLVTTY13tPezbqn9ADA7xzWJUb2-y5YzP3JAsk3EK_bb-K6=s600" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="600" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicJzCmqMieFn4RsZkZznaFHWeN-1H6bsc1JPAwO1hB98cU2M0Q17yv1fm6kBv3rz9aqBTq-lphUX10F_JaEgGI4KqKfEfOHQMAHBJsigk3E8ig_B0AgWPWj1lEMSsqwFsfGY9YXyfDrHLVTTY13tPezbqn9ADA7xzWJUb2-y5YzP3JAsk3EK_bb-K6=w400-h220" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Margot may be Baumbach's most conflicted character yet. We meet her at that crossroads where her illusions about her safe little world are very near shattering. She prides herself on being able to diagnose what ails others, and she has no fear telling those people exactly what she thinks is wrong with them. Yet, her assessments are capricious, and she doesn't always stick with one opinion for long. She is also deathly afraid of confessing her own problems, hence leaving Claude in the dark about the impending divorce of his parents. Margot is the kind of role that Nicole Kidman does like no one else. She's frail and trembling, yet also intimidating. She's often the smartest in the room, the most good looking, even the tallest, and she uses that to her advantage just as much as she uses a glass of white wine with an ice cube to maintain her icy distance.</p><p><br /></p><p>Even so, Kidman conjures a persistent ache for Margot. Her eye for illness is just as turned inward as it is out. Her obsession borders on hypochondria. Despite her maddening changes of tune and comical theories on everything from mothering to relationship politics, when her full vulnerability comes through, we still manage to feel for her. In one of the movie's best scenes, Margot gets thrown under a bus at a public appearance at a bookstore, and she ends up tearfully revealing how much living has started to scare her. The compulsions that drive her to pick life apart are also picking apart her own. The scene also gives Jennifer Jason Leigh a chance to show her sensitive side. Both actresses are very good in this movie and well cast as siblings.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNPqiWErhbXmMm-yzVA8F4dtqzYZUsmNE8vYE2XvpWb9OnwUYmLF-LXdscKO2Wv8suyIsAW65g7vV71K30zVUDb0QyPDUZ7RAFkRWBTowDBXOQLnw4zxUDWXlD4PJoELIhKPm8Egt4Ah7iXAMb6F-cTkPKdZXmJjcw64Xm0etojp3eGdopmz9x7WAk=s800" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="448" data-original-width="800" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgNPqiWErhbXmMm-yzVA8F4dtqzYZUsmNE8vYE2XvpWb9OnwUYmLF-LXdscKO2Wv8suyIsAW65g7vV71K30zVUDb0QyPDUZ7RAFkRWBTowDBXOQLnw4zxUDWXlD4PJoELIhKPm8Egt4Ah7iXAMb6F-cTkPKdZXmJjcw64Xm0etojp3eGdopmz9x7WAk=w400-h224" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>The relationship between Pauline and Malcolm gives Margot ample opportunity to dole out criticism. The more she focuses on the problems she perceives between them, the further she can push back her own issues. Margot tells Claude that Pauline is crazy, one of the many indiscretions that betrays the sister's trust, but Pauline seems ridiculously together by comparison. Malcolm is also an easy scapegoat for Margot's ire: a jobless musician turned painter who spends more time writing pointless letters to magazines than he does wielding a brush. Normally, Jack Black's preening performances are enough to make me stay away from a movie, but Noah Baumbach is just the right director for the comedian. The austere tone of <i>Margot at the Wedding</i> cages the performer, and Baumbach lets him out for well-timed outbursts. What's great, though, is there is more going on here than just quick temper tantrums. Malcolm is riddled with doubt, and his breakdowns push Jack Black to go deeper with it rather than just relying on his usual bag of tricks. It's his best role since <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3tmIZ8K" target="_blank">High Fidelity</a></i>, kind of like Barry has grown up and discovered what a loser he really is.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiusxKD7wWRR4Fy68IKTDkeLYtRqtJ4OUmSgacPgxMytTXUcC8m5cq1IhPYsSQSGz69l0XhJ4_29b1Cem1VmJ5-oqQH0RYCREa4f7HE4uoF-smubt_zDJA2goxqEvDkXpav3jvTjVR1fVF14xPdPo3Hyk15TXQUwk_94uKuoGRiXG2osFe6l_cO_MtU=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiusxKD7wWRR4Fy68IKTDkeLYtRqtJ4OUmSgacPgxMytTXUcC8m5cq1IhPYsSQSGz69l0XhJ4_29b1Cem1VmJ5-oqQH0RYCREa4f7HE4uoF-smubt_zDJA2goxqEvDkXpav3jvTjVR1fVF14xPdPo3Hyk15TXQUwk_94uKuoGRiXG2osFe6l_cO_MtU=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>For <i>Margot at the Wedding</i>, Baumbach adopts a more cinema verite style, letting the overcast skies of the coastline where Pauline lives cast a gray pall over everything. Cinematographer Harris Savides shot the movie using older lenses and mostly natural light, and the jerky camera movements and quick cuts give <i>Margot at the Wedding</i> a spontaneous and intimate atmosphere. Given how often the plot is advanced by someone peeking through holes in walls or listening to a conversation from outside a door, the movie gives the viewer the impression that he or she is spying in on something they weren't actually invited to witness.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><p>The only downside of <i>Margot at the Wedding</i> is that at times it may be too smart for its own good. Though Baumbach doesn't make too much of the metaphor of the family tree that needs to be cut down despite denials that it's really rotting or even make his set-ups for later plot devices too obvious, he does lose his way in the labyrinth of lies once or twice. Luckily for him, he always has a dry, sardonic joke waiting to put the train back on track, and luckily for us, he isn't so bitter with cynicism that he forgets to have a heart. Making things fall apart is easy, but Noah Baumbach has enough going on, he is ultimately able to put <i>Margot at the Wedding</i> back together in ways that are both unexpected and satisfying.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjedgerdcQUbUuu2fPptZnLQ31uEQRm1Gi6GRFeTBxVLTH15f5WF0G2rjlYZS9xsnV5nXO6CY2EzPi5et7qGT-wJIH0clwmaKuBrB5SJbNvZOge4Ca_arxIkU2txG_JrpRBXzZAzYIPscnJq9yrATpvztRlu575BA572haIdoBqa0GjGdbna9o1ffGd=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjedgerdcQUbUuu2fPptZnLQ31uEQRm1Gi6GRFeTBxVLTH15f5WF0G2rjlYZS9xsnV5nXO6CY2EzPi5et7qGT-wJIH0clwmaKuBrB5SJbNvZOge4Ca_arxIkU2txG_JrpRBXzZAzYIPscnJq9yrATpvztRlu575BA572haIdoBqa0GjGdbna9o1ffGd=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><div><p><b>DVD REVIEW - FEBRUARY 2008 [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/32309" target="_blank">source</a>]</b></p></div><div><br /></div><div><div>If fictional accounts of literary lives are to be believed, the pursuit of stories and greater academic discoveries is an existence cancerous with disdain. Life can't just happen, every event must have meaning, contributing to a larger metaphor. The story of your life is grist for the story on the page, and not only can people not trust you to refrain from twisting what happened to them into some greater fiction, but if they are in the same profession as you, they might also twist yours. If they are not writers themselves, then the writer runs the risk of the people around them twisting their intent, or even seeing images of themselves in the creations even when the images aren't really there.</div><div><br /></div><div>As a novelist, I can't entirely dispute this. Part of what made the caustic <i>Margot at the Wedding</i> so painful to watch the first time (my original review got plenty wrong) was the fear that maybe the damage being done was damage I would encounter all on my own. Don't get me wrong, I really liked the movie, but I wasn't going to immediately rush back and see it again.</div><div><br /></div><div>At least not when I could wait for DVD.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhH5oy4hvy3AixrHQOguMBeZAcrVsOwt4NUe-8zG595AfHG-8W5Ro2Ueumvrjm7yAwQJoKds5ur7U1smS99tCWcKb6hhVpTndWH46XWe8ZaOCApLm9Bw9ItVtDIFCpNwZpyvUSDEcfs9oYTXBZcJf8MeFsZxgeA3XS8JsQSNt_kfgf58NB1oi0_NR3p=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhH5oy4hvy3AixrHQOguMBeZAcrVsOwt4NUe-8zG595AfHG-8W5Ro2Ueumvrjm7yAwQJoKds5ur7U1smS99tCWcKb6hhVpTndWH46XWe8ZaOCApLm9Bw9ItVtDIFCpNwZpyvUSDEcfs9oYTXBZcJf8MeFsZxgeA3XS8JsQSNt_kfgf58NB1oi0_NR3p=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><i>Margot at the Wedding</i> is the latest film from Noah Baumbach, co-writer of <i>The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2009/04/life-aquatic-with-steve-zissou-300.html" target="_blank">review</a>] and the man behind <i>The Squid and the Whale</i>, both of which are also about literary lives (though Zissou hides behind the mask of adventure). In this one, Baumbach turns his lens on a pair of sisters. Margot (Nicole Kidman) is a Manhattan-based writer who is traveling to the coast with the eldest of her two boys, Claude (Zane Pais), to attend the wedding of her estranged sister, Pauline (Jennifer Jason Leigh). Margot had originally RSVP'd a "no" for the event, not wanting to support what she sees as a bad decision on Pauline's part. The younger sister has only known her fiancé, Malcolm (Jack Black), for a very short time, and Margot's sibling judgment is fierce.</div><div><br /></div><div>The change of heart on Margot's part is not the act of kindness she outwardly portrays, but more selfish. She is running away from her failing marriage, hiding out in a familiar place to avoid the reality of her situation. Pauline lives in the house they grew up in, and just so happens to be near Dick Koosman (Ciaran Hinds), another writer that Margot has been having an affair with. (Has there ever been a more perfect douchebag name than "Dick Koosman"?) These and many other secrets begin to emerge as Margot reunites with her sister and starts stirring things up. There is an abusive father in the girls' past, as well as a third sister. Pauline is pregnant. The two younger sisters resent their elder sibling for using their lives in fictions. Malcolm resents everyone who does anything because he really does nothing. Much of this comes to light in strange ways, with Baumbach using the secret code of sisters as an effective tool for digging toward the emotional heart of a given scene.</div><div><br /></div><div>It would have been easy for Noah Baumbach to sculpt a self-important drama of the erudite and academic (Pauline is a teacher, but that rarely comes up, because when Margot is around, everything is about Margot), but he avoids the preciousness and self-defensiveness that often arises when intellectuals write about their own kind. Not only did I find<i> Margot at the Wedding</i> funnier (though still in a mean way) the second time around, I appreciated more how Baumbach was willing to hang back and let his actors have the space to move and live and be. Shooting with mostly natural lighting, eschewing a traditional musical score, and using handheld cameras to get in close and move on his feet, the director sets up the locale and lets the drama unfold without forcing it to fit strict literary lines. He does toy with metaphor, most obviously the central family tree that stands tall in the backyard and that outsiders say is rotting, but he doesn't spend a lot of time pushing any greater meaning on his audience than what they might decide to pick up on their own.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi205XNkiJtkNlqM4qscRbsdFthjULIHTJvayq0LcWYwrMJi24e1c7CeJziFfvSOgQ2qn2JbbmAeufyH71q__k62xzFjdQG24uabe3gBQCpDHM9tAffo02saSUsWbK49LIWy4j683bQNvdN-nY_GnAOWC8pi66Vdc4MUJUN-Kc7sCj6pLtKrWLSRMZG=s800" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi205XNkiJtkNlqM4qscRbsdFthjULIHTJvayq0LcWYwrMJi24e1c7CeJziFfvSOgQ2qn2JbbmAeufyH71q__k62xzFjdQG24uabe3gBQCpDHM9tAffo02saSUsWbK49LIWy4j683bQNvdN-nY_GnAOWC8pi66Vdc4MUJUN-Kc7sCj6pLtKrWLSRMZG=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Likewise, when the situation overloads and events hit critical mass, it sneaks up on the viewer rather than feeling inevitable--even though it is inevitable, because everything that goes wrong has been pushed into position by Margot's meddling. Nicole Kidman is fearless as the extremely unlikable lead character, who seems capable of diagnosing everyone's problems but her own. It's a bit of an overstatement to call her the lead, though; it's just that her character's name is in the title. It's really an ensemble piece. Jennifer Jason Leigh is a quiet treasure that doesn't get put to use nearly enough anymore, and Jack Black has never been this good. He plays the same kind of emotionally stunted know-it-all that garnered so much notice in <i>High Fidelity</i>, but after life has kicked him a few times. The smug irony has been bled right out of the performance.</div><div><br /></div><div>Everything in <i>Margot at the Wedding</i> is done smartly, right up to the ending. Be warned, the final sequence comes quick, but back it up and watch closely. The snap decision is all in the action, in the simple business of leaving everything behind and moving forward. Also consider the last scene in relation to the first, the thing that Claude mistakenly thinks he found on the train is now there with him on the bus. Though it happens abruptly, it's vitally important.</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhT7rqjES7nB1MYMdNmwv-bpgCQpVUVDRNXe7sgSGfDoUwVbIpMVbXz2sc9Qd_ncs3CusNZeB7uXOJlWdh7gj5KHXeEKrO5SgAfdHZ7XIepgIiyRS9-mK1cGOg4Ritp5CZGqBx-9bfUMqJoxC7CznEHxihaslS8IUXElo8_w0DRqKKljT07H-2WfGkl=s400" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhT7rqjES7nB1MYMdNmwv-bpgCQpVUVDRNXe7sgSGfDoUwVbIpMVbXz2sc9Qd_ncs3CusNZeB7uXOJlWdh7gj5KHXeEKrO5SgAfdHZ7XIepgIiyRS9-mK1cGOg4Ritp5CZGqBx-9bfUMqJoxC7CznEHxihaslS8IUXElo8_w0DRqKKljT07H-2WfGkl=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><iframe style="width:120px;height:240px;" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon®ion=US&placement=B0011NVC8Y&asins=B0011NVC8Y&linkId=8f36fef84ebe1a777ffd9db1e2456817&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-52356867126166426552022-01-12T08:34:00.002-08:002022-01-12T08:34:53.708-08:00NIAGARA - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review was originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/61365">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2013.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAk68S_6Ps_M2oHCqBeV7tkMUmuYMGP0wxn60asW8T8W_D_JT9mK9d0qv53n8MDoCqkjaDAXjzTg6vK18XYec3NrpxgIFkrUOwZJxy92NpGizj7oIxP5FjtvI30dGVUVJpB_QA9Y17hbs3l3AklrIEcGDGy-drRRzkMGJEQemuPGA0gDW8nalUKElT=s640" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjAk68S_6Ps_M2oHCqBeV7tkMUmuYMGP0wxn60asW8T8W_D_JT9mK9d0qv53n8MDoCqkjaDAXjzTg6vK18XYec3NrpxgIFkrUOwZJxy92NpGizj7oIxP5FjtvI30dGVUVJpB_QA9Y17hbs3l3AklrIEcGDGy-drRRzkMGJEQemuPGA0gDW8nalUKElT=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><i><br /></i><p></p><p>Marilyn Monroe was rarely cast as anything but the sympathetic or comedic love interest, but based on the evidence in <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3qlSqmK" target="_blank">Niagara</a></i>, she could have had a whole other career as a femme fatale. In fact, her performance here stands alongside another of her off-model films, Roy Ward Baker's <a href="https://amzn.to/3qhz9mu" target="_blank"><i>Don't Bother to Knoc</i>k</a>, released a year prior, as two of her most interesting. If for nothing else, because the frightened, twitchy woman she becomes in each is unlike the persona she came to develop immediately after in <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3zQxckb" target="_blank">Gentlemen Prefer Blondes</a></i> and <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3nkhxEN" target="_blank">How to Marry a Millionair</a>e</i>. Whereas her nervous condition in <i>Knock</i> has more mystery--part of the film's main plot is finding out why she is the way she is--<i>Niagara</i> provides her with more of an arc. She goes from confident and devious to hunted and afraid. I'd be curious as to how differently her work might have played sixty years ago, when there was at least still a smidgen of an unknown quantity to the actress; now, Marilyn is so intrinsic to pop culture, we forgive and forget even as she commits her crimes, meaning we feel sorry for her despite the fact that she's getting what she deserves.</p><p><br /></p><p>For <i>Niagara</i>, Marilyn plays Rose Loomis, who has gone to the famous water resort on a second honeymoon with her husband George (Joseph Cotten, <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3zV6aYL" target="_blank">Shadow of a Doub</a>t</i>). He has just been discharged from an army hospital, where he was sent for battle fatigue. His mental maladies are still with him, however; <i>Niagara</i> opens with him wandering in the mist by the falls in the early morning. When he returns home, his wife pretends to be asleep. She has had enough of George and is making plans to get rid of him. He suspects this to be the case, though given his neurotic manner, most think it's just paranoia.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhlID85iHNZQgyokxKKq-Xw8Qsy3J72ifAq4ijHU_-WaW4YXzfe7kunhw57zIbbBO_z2GlaI4D1G3GfCBiwNEB0CP4xR7hzWNeBlpg5-W6iaLwWcjgcMRzvQfZQJrbgrMfOE46AAYoJjJpZeLy22YIkBMgkrF8UfMIuoiCfyY-H14Y4HieGQ1hi4cgi=s400" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="304" data-original-width="400" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhlID85iHNZQgyokxKKq-Xw8Qsy3J72ifAq4ijHU_-WaW4YXzfe7kunhw57zIbbBO_z2GlaI4D1G3GfCBiwNEB0CP4xR7hzWNeBlpg5-W6iaLwWcjgcMRzvQfZQJrbgrMfOE46AAYoJjJpZeLy22YIkBMgkrF8UfMIuoiCfyY-H14Y4HieGQ1hi4cgi=w400-h304" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>The story of the Loomises is juxtaposed with that of the Cutlers, a couple on their first honeymoon, albeit a belated one. Ray (Max Showalter, <i>Sixteen Candles</i> [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/34587/high-school-flashback-collection-sixteen-candles-the-breakfast-club-weird-science/" target="_blank">review</a>]) has gotten a job in the shredded wheat factory on the American side of the falls; he has taken his wife to the Canadian side to celebrate. Whereas Ray is all golly-gee enthusiasm, Polly (Jean Peters, <i>Pickup on South Street</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2008/03/richard-widmark-pickup-on-south-street.html" target="_blank">review</a>]) is more calm and reserved. Through a combination of nosey snooping and empathy, Polly becomes embroiled with the Loomis drama. She also gets the movie's best lines, revealing a sense of humor that can equally be aimed at others ("She sure got herself an armful of groceries") and at herself ("For a dress like that, you've got to start laying plans when you're about thirteen").</p><p><br /></p><p><i>Niagara</i> is directed by Henry Hathaway, who was known early on for westerns and then later, particularly in the years before <i>Niagara</i>, for directing definitive film noir like <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3FmHiKs" target="_blank">Kiss of Death</a></i> and <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3zPtqHy" target="_blank">The Dark Corne</a>r</i>. Though often lumped in the noir category, <i>Niagara</i> is something slightly different. Its setting and intense romantic storyline have much in common with gothic romance, while its colorful artifice has an element of the women's melodrama, looking not dissimilar to <i>Leave Her to Heaven </i>[<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2020/03/leave-her-to-heaven-1020.html" target="_blank">review</a>], but also being in line with the soap operas of Douglas Sirk and Jean Negulesco.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiT8wrR6ZxUChoiF89eVCPP1LLw3Epu-e64UWnJrBptFwRX_5xtC9RvSGe-QT4bSKvmu9PWIOenGxabsxhLgzZMb5jF65BpqCxaJTZ6mYEt7-XXRMgqmJE2n_hmgdfWDhNn57aEF89ZgKWpRfjl5__6DOJsq5njSq88lrY_0e0Wi1R-CCAgmdRerbQn=s400" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiT8wrR6ZxUChoiF89eVCPP1LLw3Epu-e64UWnJrBptFwRX_5xtC9RvSGe-QT4bSKvmu9PWIOenGxabsxhLgzZMb5jF65BpqCxaJTZ6mYEt7-XXRMgqmJE2n_hmgdfWDhNn57aEF89ZgKWpRfjl5__6DOJsq5njSq88lrY_0e0Wi1R-CCAgmdRerbQn=w400-h300" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Cotten makes for a convincing brooder, and his dark passions only become more exaggerated and desperate as the movie progresses. He and Monroe are emotional counterweights. When she is up, Cotten is down, and vice versa. This leaves Peters to be the center. Her suspicions regularly give way to complicity, but she never gives in to her more scandalous impulses. Hathaway uses the setting as an environmental engine, the constant beating of the water churning up all the extreme feelings, driving both character and plot. It's fitting that the movie's most violent action is committed higher up. When Rose Loomis flees from her husband, and effectively her own errors in judgment, she runs up a bell tower, as if trying to climb away from the big hole in the earth and the torrents of water that would otherwise drive them under. Hathaway and director of photography Joseph MacDonald (<i>Bigger Than Life</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2010/09/bigger-than-life-507.html" target="_blank">review</a>]) set the camera up high, peering down from the uppermost point in the tower, the shadows of husband and wife exaggerated like they are posing for a Saul Bass poster. It's the most artful shot in the movie, fueled by the inherent grotesqueness of the incident it portrays.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhAsQl7GKz4ox_Kpz0RLSA9Q3dNeDW3EZ7u6ZnmgB0f1jU7HaPw4CnnqUw_3uOCFntEjps5oND2V_QYWLoTjaHCQLljCBXbgdvxDgZIXJchAf1-xWkozSrN_K_BE-QY_8cjmQ3CCmLThpD9OXIUGerFiftU9qDyw1A_dZxtwfo9y6qFq41wWC0wAPWb=s1080" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="1080" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhAsQl7GKz4ox_Kpz0RLSA9Q3dNeDW3EZ7u6ZnmgB0f1jU7HaPw4CnnqUw_3uOCFntEjps5oND2V_QYWLoTjaHCQLljCBXbgdvxDgZIXJchAf1-xWkozSrN_K_BE-QY_8cjmQ3CCmLThpD9OXIUGerFiftU9qDyw1A_dZxtwfo9y6qFq41wWC0wAPWb=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>There is, of course, only one direction George Loomis can go after that. The film can only end in the falls, George can only be ground down by irresistible urges. It makes for a nail-biting finale, one that is surprisingly cynical, but that admirably stays true to the dark places where <i>Niagara</i> began.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh52mL1ZQUfGNgRCceHwTzdQ5q1gUxldUJruU_vvEh9mxoIbSYwZ0yGAUYkWaF5gdCDUFbS9RNllYUOSbDUJ6Rm66PH_1EVPJelDoZ0z23s4aKD2Sri34aim0Q6t2GPm-H9u_p-28myIvELfGZJWjErHpZsZUAL-l_ScU-PCeVnZiaKw0lgQ5Q3cWYH=s400" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="297" data-original-width="400" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh52mL1ZQUfGNgRCceHwTzdQ5q1gUxldUJruU_vvEh9mxoIbSYwZ0yGAUYkWaF5gdCDUFbS9RNllYUOSbDUJ6Rm66PH_1EVPJelDoZ0z23s4aKD2Sri34aim0Q6t2GPm-H9u_p-28myIvELfGZJWjErHpZsZUAL-l_ScU-PCeVnZiaKw0lgQ5Q3cWYH=w400-h297" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00CLFS7T8&asins=B00CLFS7T8&linkId=d65578037d7159d0eca9be9c29e3d076&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-88283873828709078422021-10-01T08:55:00.004-07:002021-10-01T08:55:59.357-07:00ONLY LOVERS LEFT ALIVE - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review was originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/64646">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2014.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJpUkitCFbjua0lkJcDj-Pa6QoeQ6ZtVaheHGEW1hD3tAYHrVFlMKiwZnMd3axrY0vc86NA8Dq7QIBAq8UXl59jFfpjGD0poW_Ac2dDl64uPK-w3yCfuQT_TNJsmm8zaaRM9zXZeb-cU/s1280/ca541861-a2e8-4175-9c40-6532bddbfa48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIJpUkitCFbjua0lkJcDj-Pa6QoeQ6ZtVaheHGEW1hD3tAYHrVFlMKiwZnMd3axrY0vc86NA8Dq7QIBAq8UXl59jFfpjGD0poW_Ac2dDl64uPK-w3yCfuQT_TNJsmm8zaaRM9zXZeb-cU/w400-h225/ca541861-a2e8-4175-9c40-6532bddbfa48.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p>Jim Jarmusch has made a vampire movie, and despite this surprising detour into genre, it's kind of the Jim Jarmuschiest. Your enjoyment of it will likely depend on how you react to that phrase, provided it means anything to you at all. I'm a fan of the filmmaker, and so for me <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3D32Db9" target="_blank">Only Lovers Left Alive</a></i> was pretty wondrous to behold. It's got the spirit of old rock 'n' roll mixed with romantic poetry and gothic gloom, powered by Einstein's theory of spooky action. It should come as no surprise. Jim is a man who made a film with Screamin' Jay Hawkins, after all. He knows for spooky.</p><p><br /></p><p><i>Only Lovers Left Alive</i> is a tale of two draculas: the worldly literature aficionado Eve (Tilda Swinton, <i>Michael Clayton</i> [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/32369/michael-clayton/" target="_blank">review</a>]) and her brooding soulmate Adam (Tom Hiddleston, <i>The Avengers</i> [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/55922/avengers-3d-the/" target="_blank">review</a>]). Their love spans the centuries. They have seen man--or zombies, as they ironically call the everyday norms--rise and fall, experienced cultural shifts and artists renaissances. One of their best friends is Christopher Marlowe (John Hurt, Alien [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/46163/alien-anthology/" target="_blank">review</a>], Melancholia [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/53449/melancholia/" target="_blank">review</a>]), the playwright, who didn't die in ye olde England, but was transformed. In Jarmusch's world, vampires are creative sophisticates whose super powers include an affinity with nature that allows them to identify flora and fauna and test the age of objects just by touching them.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN7AwzC2sqnvQ5mKMoK6vbwSaioGnPECspB8q-XTFCY1nrpMSfiG4THG0VufFinWva1jZ2FRawWsxQ_aOqZ1nmsOgLZ0Z5qBUw92B_x93IIeB4hZATFpczFCyhAQFVs6d56iVIruIURlo/s400/1398833283_6.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="400" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN7AwzC2sqnvQ5mKMoK6vbwSaioGnPECspB8q-XTFCY1nrpMSfiG4THG0VufFinWva1jZ2FRawWsxQ_aOqZ1nmsOgLZ0Z5qBUw92B_x93IIeB4hZATFpczFCyhAQFVs6d56iVIruIURlo/w400-h266/1398833283_6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>They are also subject to their thirst, and a regular intake of blood is required or they will quickly deteriorate and die. These creatures of the night must find their sustenance from more legit, verifiable channels in the 21st Century, however; disease and toxins have contaminated the population and random draws from untested subjects could mean death once and for all. This and many other things have led Adam to despair. He hides in a house in Detroit, recording dark rock dirges and collecting old guitars and old records. Seeing that her love is in a dangerous funk, Eve leaves her own home in Tangiers to be with him. Amour is quickly rekindled, and undead angst begins to get sorted.</p><p><br /></p><p>Jarmusch has never had much use for conventional plot, and the happenings of <i>Only Lovers Left Alive</i> hearken back to his second feature, <i>Stranger Than Paradise</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2007/12/stranger-than-paradise-400.html" target="_blank">review</a>], in that it is an episodic depiction of individuals in stasis looking to be in flux. There is no maguffin or instigating incident or other screenwriting buzzword; rather, there are two people who have been apart and we see their average routines and how they come together. Some of the best scenes are with Adam and Eve on their own, laying together on the couch, playing ancient 45s. Swinton is at her most weird and wonderful, buzzing with the electricity of life, more alive than the mortals who supply her nutrition. Hiddleston makes for a good companion, even if he is just working a variation of his Loki character from the <i><a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/49706/thor-3d/" target="_blank">Thor</a></i> <a href="https://www.oregonlive.com/movies/2013/11/thor_the_dark_world_review.html#incart_river" target="_blank">movies</a>--or at least the sad adolescent side of Loki, minus the trickster. (Which is fine. I've kind of grown weary of the actor's omnipresent fan service playing Cool Geek on the internet.)</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB5z_fw8i8NEM9BBkjFIpB8kJ37E8FACOVFBJqH5RqWGAX1QPfEcmRzY9SHCDvzbszvrxl2b0XIEY_n05gSe7IsTc5E6sktHbwewSKp3hvt9Nb2Z34AfsmA94QDYOOT7lx3MQrNaicXvY/s400/1398833283_4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="400" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB5z_fw8i8NEM9BBkjFIpB8kJ37E8FACOVFBJqH5RqWGAX1QPfEcmRzY9SHCDvzbszvrxl2b0XIEY_n05gSe7IsTc5E6sktHbwewSKp3hvt9Nb2Z34AfsmA94QDYOOT7lx3MQrNaicXvY/w400-h266/1398833283_4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>The disruptive agent here is instead Eve's little sister, Ava (Mia Wasikowska, <i>Stoker</i> [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/60019/stoker/" target="_blank">review</a>]), who breezes in to cause trouble and, well, doesn't so much breeze out as she is chased away. If Eve's life was arrested at a crucial moment of maturity, Ava was "turned" at a juncture where she would be the eternal brat. It's fun watching Wasikowska let her hair down. Her specialty may be sad and strange, but she shows there are still more possibilities for her if a casting director wants to get ambitious.</p><p><br /></p><p>Only Lovers Left Alive is Jarmusch's first film to be shot on digital. He and cinematographer Yorick Le Saux (<i>I Am Love</i> [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/44877/i-am-love/" target="_blank">review</a>]) find a satisfying aesthetic together, two parts Nick Cave music video, one part late 1960s album cover. The movie opens with a virtuoso montage mimicking a spinning record. Another sequence shortly after links the daily blood ritual of its vampiric trio by emphasizing the orgasmic, drug-like effects of the liquid life. The movements are more beautiful and vibrant than we might otherwise expect from Jarmusch, and it suits him. The freedom of these moments provides a nice contrast to the more drab and earthbound lives of the day dwellers.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVQ4F4kyOIlbri8NLEnBBWi4LF4g-hkfBEX9D7jlwL6NgePNM2Nf1_Prmhr6mHCyIlIexglvOPeMaHhktBBqngWWLQb1T0XM_dxkpfkk4BDNJ-FlsexroDbeUuR8WCA8kQbkKtZFHhxM/s400/1398833283_3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="400" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmVQ4F4kyOIlbri8NLEnBBWi4LF4g-hkfBEX9D7jlwL6NgePNM2Nf1_Prmhr6mHCyIlIexglvOPeMaHhktBBqngWWLQb1T0XM_dxkpfkk4BDNJ-FlsexroDbeUuR8WCA8kQbkKtZFHhxM/w400-h266/1398833283_3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>As long as there have been seedy nightclubs and artists and hipsters to enjoy them, these folks have been referred to as creatures of the night and other such haunted sobriquets. When it comes down to it, even for all the creative enhancements Jarmusch lends the bloodsucking mythos, <i>Only Lovers Left Alive</i> is really their story. Swinton and Hiddleston are every cool couple you've seen walking home at 3 a.m., impervious to last call and the stink of cigarettes, still hearing their own music long after the band has loaded their equipment into the van. As it turns out, we were right all along: they are cooler than the rest of us, more in love, more in tune with the harmonics of the universe. And hell, if they're draculas, too, so be it. I'm down.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjJqJGT5LagDiMB5O3awW5HdIYloqtCa0n73y3cACWVhVPJMTkPQmhInlcBH0LVmsUR5yJSN1F-mFJHx62C8qxsK3HmZ1lxXPzhu87Mw_ZleDkL2-z0o6zqJDQbs5v7AvwnCyiIi49Fw/s400/1398833283_5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="400" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGjJqJGT5LagDiMB5O3awW5HdIYloqtCa0n73y3cACWVhVPJMTkPQmhInlcBH0LVmsUR5yJSN1F-mFJHx62C8qxsK3HmZ1lxXPzhu87Mw_ZleDkL2-z0o6zqJDQbs5v7AvwnCyiIi49Fw/w400-h266/1398833283_5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00KE7PC66&asins=B00KE7PC66&linkId=d4499c113e17211cb2efd345c9979d17&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-55315606053810726552021-09-29T13:00:00.059-07:002021-09-29T13:00:00.183-07:00TITUS - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/63707">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2014.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN6CDbonAV4WtYd4EGjcNR0fEDVZMsNypNjGtEejpqgCJx7ZDxgcs3aXLU7Ud8H_CDeoqXck-WrYpa4877ykPvvufHaDYObiEnzHTSFvC7QXMwdAKS_Ok72x9G-HmBQ6-Q0VdGk1QSZyM/s640/77f4ec6b-2324-4974-a284-c3a3b6f207bc.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN6CDbonAV4WtYd4EGjcNR0fEDVZMsNypNjGtEejpqgCJx7ZDxgcs3aXLU7Ud8H_CDeoqXck-WrYpa4877ykPvvufHaDYObiEnzHTSFvC7QXMwdAKS_Ok72x9G-HmBQ6-Q0VdGk1QSZyM/w400-h225/77f4ec6b-2324-4974-a284-c3a3b6f207bc.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Imagine a time when we all thought Julie Taymor was going to be a bold, important voice in world cinema. It wasn't that long ago. In 1999, she was the heir apparent to Baz Luhrmann, a mad-hatted Kenneth Branagh with a grasp of classic drama and a vivid aesthetic that combined art house gravitas with midnight movie hallucinations. She had come off a successful, innovative stage adaptation of Disney's <i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lion_King_(musical)" target="_blank">Lion King</a></i> to direct a film version of one of Shakespeare's least known and oddest plays, <i>Titus Andronicus</i>, shortened here to <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3ugpDAA">Titus</a>.</i> It's bloody and melodramatic and twisted and mythical and Taymor's envisioning of it is magic.<p></p><p><br /></p><p>Anthony Hopkins stars as Andronicus, a Roman general who returns home a champion after defeating the Goths. He brings their queen, Tamora (the fiercest Jessica Lange you ever did see), and her sons as tribute to the newly crowned emperor Saturninus (Alan Cumming), but when the ruler is denied Adronicus' daughter Lavinia (<i><a href="https://amzn.to/3zN9TWG" target="_blank">Breaking Bad</a></i>'s Laura Fraser) as a bride, things go south rather quickly. Lavinia is betrothed to Saturninus' younger brother Bassianus (James Frain, <i><a href="https://amzn.to/39H95ba" target="_blank">True Blood</a></i>). The spiteful and spurned Emperor marries Tamora instead, setting the stage for the vengeful queen to turn her attention on Andronicus' family and, presumably, Rome itself.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGW_xyA0Wn9LlJ1UFWsXxTgYUfxNugxfjf_3GgbAyXQ4uH569tAgCmlmPHDcpOGEVptnSyyPioM7j74_i1B9C3hiG2joJdY-pVVd5H_or-p_27G7VOZr8c6BsgcmHzHN0bcYlbeuW7yyI/s1920/backdrop-1920.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1920" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGW_xyA0Wn9LlJ1UFWsXxTgYUfxNugxfjf_3GgbAyXQ4uH569tAgCmlmPHDcpOGEVptnSyyPioM7j74_i1B9C3hiG2joJdY-pVVd5H_or-p_27G7VOZr8c6BsgcmHzHN0bcYlbeuW7yyI/w400-h225/backdrop-1920.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><i>Titu</i>s is a bizarre play, full of extremes. Villains rage hard and the wronged wail in unquenchable pain. Bad deeds are undertaken with a dark imagination. Tamara's sons (<a href="https://amzn.to/3CMhHtI" target="_blank">one of TV's most recent Draculas</a>, Jonathan Rhys Meyers, and star of <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3ico15R" target="_blank">The Americans</a></i>, Matthew Rhys) are depicted as animals straight out of a 1980s heavy metal video, and they visit unspeakable horrors upon Lavinia. Tamara's lover Aaron (Harry Lennix, <i>Dollhouse </i>[<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/46461" target="_blank">review</a>]), a Moor amongst the white aristocrats, schemes and plots and double crosses, all the while remaining unrepentant. (Lennix is amazing in his final scenes, spitting vitriol all over the screen.) The biggest perversion, however, is saved for Andronicus, who cooks up something wicked for his tormentors.</p><p><br /></p><p>Taymor doesn't shy away from the grotesquery, nor does she iron out Shakespeare's more clunky plot devices. Severed heads and limbs are common props, and in one crucial scene, Tamara and her sons disguise themselves as Revenge, Rape, and Murder personified in order to make Andronicus think he is hallucinating. Taymor outfits them in goofy costumes, entering the scene via one of her gonzo interstitials, playing on the dark humor and absurdity with a relish few filmmakers could manage. Her overall approach is to push everything as over the top as possible, blending timeframes, cultures, and techniques to create an elaborate costume ball. The production team, which includes the great Dante Ferretti (Fellini's <i><a href="https://www.criterion.com/films/28038-fellini-satyricon" target="_blank">Satyricon</a></i>), worked overtime to pack every scene with detail. Like Peter Greenaway's <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3ESLnY2" target="_blank">The Cook, the Thief, His Wife, and Her Lover</a></i>, you are expected to gorge yourself on everything you see, and to emerge from the viewing exhausted.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Fy72Qvz9F7f_YJZfDmsRMDtSk2yr51G1b21GOH6X1CwXcc_mjFd1bxX8BMQfmPp0W6TN1y034giQho23i0SLSoxilPs5BGdstsoVc0T5Lj0Mfe1T6oxpMYL4cY93i9KgJ9w4LgQ0gbw/s640/titus.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="640" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Fy72Qvz9F7f_YJZfDmsRMDtSk2yr51G1b21GOH6X1CwXcc_mjFd1bxX8BMQfmPp0W6TN1y034giQho23i0SLSoxilPs5BGdstsoVc0T5Lj0Mfe1T6oxpMYL4cY93i9KgJ9w4LgQ0gbw/w400-h209/titus.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><i>Titus</i> is still quite fantastic. Some of the special effects show their age, but even those work because they come off as stagey and rickety and play like a nod to the tale's theatrical origins. As indulgent as it sometimes can be, and with the bulk of the original text intact, <i>Titus</i> is still engrossing and far from feeling bloated. Though nearly three hours long, it passes in a blink.</p><p>Julie Taymor went on to make the middling biopic <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3obef82" target="_blank">Frida</a></i> a few years later, before helming the terrible bomb <i><a href="https://amzn.to/2XNARAb" target="_blank">Across the Universe</a></i> and her now infamous <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spider-Man:_Turn_Off_the_Dark" target="_blank">Spider-Man musical</a> on Broadway. <i>The Tempest</i> [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/47206/tempest-2010-the/" target="_blank">review</a>], her 2010 return to Shakespeare, showed she could curtail some of the excess the had overtaken the preceding productions, but the movie possesses little of the vision that makes <i>Titus</i> so vital and invigorating. It remains to be seen if her film debut was just a fluke--she may still have another trick up her sleeve--but even if that's how things turn out, what a hell of a fluke it is.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQc9YYxAu5OF-OPePqS60Yj8c-4LsomuZ0ZUPJb-LfVvr2ycQx-V528iOOa8iFeYGdO2yMMdvnsc8gRG_7Cv_V8q44j8AK36JcrTA-CcH9rY5VC4KRdz7DuBFTEeXM3t9m1d54Qz5zcL0/s845/ENyYtM0XsAA0Mg7.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="352" data-original-width="845" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQc9YYxAu5OF-OPePqS60Yj8c-4LsomuZ0ZUPJb-LfVvr2ycQx-V528iOOa8iFeYGdO2yMMdvnsc8gRG_7Cv_V8q44j8AK36JcrTA-CcH9rY5VC4KRdz7DuBFTEeXM3t9m1d54Qz5zcL0/w400-h166/ENyYtM0XsAA0Mg7.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00HGGUO70&asins=B00HGGUO70&linkId=3c5bb1cfe3a5711d1ecc506aa86451db&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-73293100538045312542021-09-26T13:00:00.002-07:002021-09-26T13:22:59.758-07:00LOVE & BASKETBALL - #1097<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUax4X_IiT_vIJZKtIFd19THqeqfSaq5uOBepw33n99Zk6P72YodEsGwDpxi3bK6cmQgOpgEknXFDMMlO1V_NokkC4qYqxv0BNoJxZY33a1FR0KAg7n6Z1fFwBqjGrslUYbM4OnyrNJLE/s1600/jT8TTeW0aJLzy0CAHkVUw2YvLiIO4r_large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1288" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUax4X_IiT_vIJZKtIFd19THqeqfSaq5uOBepw33n99Zk6P72YodEsGwDpxi3bK6cmQgOpgEknXFDMMlO1V_NokkC4qYqxv0BNoJxZY33a1FR0KAg7n6Z1fFwBqjGrslUYbM4OnyrNJLE/w323-h400/jT8TTeW0aJLzy0CAHkVUw2YvLiIO4r_large.jpg" width="323" /></a></div><br /><p>When Criterion announced they were releasing an edition of Gina Prince-Bythewood’s 2000 film <i><a href="https://www.criterion.com/films/31500-love-basketball" target="_blank">Love & Basketball</a></i>, I think a lot of people were surprised. But it wasn’t all that shocking if you’d been paying attention over the last couple of years. <i>Love & Baskeball</i> had been bubbling up through the public consciousness, a sleeper hit ready to rise, a perfect example of how a familiar tale can feel fresh again when filtered through a unique point of view and featuring underrepresented faces. </p><p><br /></p><p>It’s easy to surmise how <i>Love & Basketball</i> maybe slipped by on original release. Setting other cultural factors aside, there is just something so simple and direct about this film it was easy to underestimate. Starting with the title. It’s pretty plain, and so lacking in ostentation, one might think that is all there is to this film. What’s it about? It’s about love. And it’s about basketball. </p><p><br /></p><p>And it’s on us as an audience for thinking that’s not enough.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHis-wFm_WfQdEdfVr-EA1h7d4IvTTwmJVCK3FpgkRR9JqS4UXerS_TTkXXRy2u1-Zr3m_IhaZ0QUhkDsns_N6GWuRKrMpjqAgbO9ZlcuYTiSrduXA4YA3nk4CVSoh7nxRS1fUZRL3Foc/s1600/zJcL1xY37H5hqZQFPybBzlXimhZTr5LarNdt2NCp.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHis-wFm_WfQdEdfVr-EA1h7d4IvTTwmJVCK3FpgkRR9JqS4UXerS_TTkXXRy2u1-Zr3m_IhaZ0QUhkDsns_N6GWuRKrMpjqAgbO9ZlcuYTiSrduXA4YA3nk4CVSoh7nxRS1fUZRL3Foc/w400-h225/zJcL1xY37H5hqZQFPybBzlXimhZTr5LarNdt2NCp.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Because sure, Prince-Bythewood’s feature is about those two things, but it’s also about how the necessary (love) often clashes with the important (basketball), especially when the two people falling in love are so focused on that one important thing.</p><p><br /></p><p>In this case, those two people are Monica and Quincy, played at a young age by Kyla Pratt and Glenndon Chatman, and then for the rest of the film by Sanaa Lathan and Omar Epps. We follow them across many years, structured into four quarters just like a basketball game: their first meeting at age 11, their senior year in high school, freshman year in college, and then adulthood, looking at the early flushes of success and grown-up disappointments that divide and unite. Which sounds like not very much but it’s really a lot, particularly as we consider the dynamics of gender as it pertains to sports and then how the unpredictable nature of the game can disrupt happy feelings. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jwdDINQVwBhhUyyrC2yVc42qHVrtvQV0K_rbvOAgiajI95msH106k9zSLV1gvrYtlbaF7KNIxapsDg2mpgeFR_oN8f4a3ptIbSKFW8RgtY4OOs5RoT8IBRm27uNjmZ5Qf5b2HEcX1fc/s1600/5K8Y9CDZr2UrtJ73sLmutaAEYc6tMYTILg1nlZjV.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jwdDINQVwBhhUyyrC2yVc42qHVrtvQV0K_rbvOAgiajI95msH106k9zSLV1gvrYtlbaF7KNIxapsDg2mpgeFR_oN8f4a3ptIbSKFW8RgtY4OOs5RoT8IBRm27uNjmZ5Qf5b2HEcX1fc/w400-h225/5K8Y9CDZr2UrtJ73sLmutaAEYc6tMYTILg1nlZjV.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Even forgetting all that, though, any relationship story is about human complications, and that’s what <i>Love & Basketball</i> has an abundance of. Parental issues, jealousy, doubt, injury, sacrifice, distraction. In some ways, Monica and Quincy are heading in the same direction, and in others, they can’t see how many obstacles will cause their paths to diverge. What makes these two stand apart from your usual rom-com or dramatic leads, though, even when they are childishly teasing one another, is how kind they can be, how present. Fundamentally, we can see on the screen how connected they are, and even when they mess up, Prince-Bythewood’s script isn’t afraid to dig down into the messiness of it all and grapple with real emotions.</p><p><br /></p><p>Of course, any romantic movie is dependent on the chemistry between its two leads, and while Epps is the better actor here by a noticeable margin, Lathan really comes alive when they are working together. This again lends to our investment in them as a couple, and the believability of their love affair. Something about the two of them together brings out the best in one another, the way a great relationship, working or otherwise, should.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVo7guM4znOOSL83MrSDq8_n2tEN0G7gciKD_hWdzOZhdkXx3v52aUEYvNVBINPXA74_TEToRdWDSolw8goHWgyT75ImOHz4xrZ6q5rTJ2crlJmPe-fB5PqQeeMKIQPZUOM8TM3Ld9XtU/s1600/YCWU4mYryVk6ivFsabL9M8R5iiXvo7S3Dikpx4Df.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVo7guM4znOOSL83MrSDq8_n2tEN0G7gciKD_hWdzOZhdkXx3v52aUEYvNVBINPXA74_TEToRdWDSolw8goHWgyT75ImOHz4xrZ6q5rTJ2crlJmPe-fB5PqQeeMKIQPZUOM8TM3Ld9XtU/w400-h225/YCWU4mYryVk6ivFsabL9M8R5iiXvo7S3Dikpx4Df.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Though, that does bring up the one flaw I’d say <i>Love & Basketball</i> has: it’s not that great when it comes to the basketball. The games we see are not very exciting, and the practice sequences don’t communicate the fire that would drive young players to give it everything they have. The crucial games are almost an afterthought, with a lot of action taking place out of frame. Which might seem like a small note, but we are supposed to believe that this pair is exceptional and wanting to see them succeed should be paid off by actually showing the triumph happen, not just the tragedy. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1qqzZJt-lEXkN9RRgMmrINJ-VP0kUyt9Tr7DY5z0qPggAESOiM7VVpsIesdq6PqnSq75xPyEXsMWwZ2DS4Uny-8ForFm3mPhK2xXNX2U1PRpOkRHAc11BEYSBV-IePBjgtDZWQmfrYE/s1600/92FgkLTe0uDiSdBYubYe6Gl8dTtzFNl7xeiSxL0v.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR1qqzZJt-lEXkN9RRgMmrINJ-VP0kUyt9Tr7DY5z0qPggAESOiM7VVpsIesdq6PqnSq75xPyEXsMWwZ2DS4Uny-8ForFm3mPhK2xXNX2U1PRpOkRHAc11BEYSBV-IePBjgtDZWQmfrYE/w400-h225/92FgkLTe0uDiSdBYubYe6Gl8dTtzFNl7xeiSxL0v.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>There is a similar problem—and some similar success—in Prince-Bythewood’s 1991 short <i>Stitches</i>. The story of a struggling female comedian suffers as most movies about stand-up comedy do from completely tanking the comic scenes. The material just isn’t funny, particularly as Prince-Bythewood bends the jokes to match up with the trauma the comedian suffered in the past. It’s a solid concept, with the comedy acting as the basketball did in <i>Love & Basketball</i>, giving the character something to focus her life on, acting out a kind of therapy on stage. Once again, the real-life emotion is stronger than the outside pursuit, but Prince-Bythewood manages to get close to the bullseye in bringing this complex character to life. (1997’s <i>Progress</i> is also included here, the director’s short juxtaposing 1967 racial violence with 1997 black-on-black crime.)</p><p><br /></p><p>It’s interesting to see the early thematic seeds and storytelling techniques spread across nearly a decade, and how much Gina Prince-Bythewood has figured out by the time cameras rolled on <i>Love & Basketball</i>. The drama is not perfect in every way, sure, but it doesn’t have to be, not when the observations are so fresh and the romance so real. Also, don’t be surprised if you find yourself seeking out <a href=" https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1ZZFXv7PlCmtDlUIDWAupO?si=f2578b993a044abb" target="_blank">Spotify playlists featuring the songs from the soundtrack</a>. Sonically, <i>Love & Basketball</i> provides a well-chosen journey through two decades of R&B and hip-hop.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkefZY0udx8Ul2XyJd2TQQwpz8wz01g_2Ym2jn17bb61M7j9X49fnXlHZ2WOwZzwVSPtpttp1fWHp-7N-Aj7BeNXTf5-aEB-VgNPHxAXGUtSJcZWWlM3gzZ2zngWPhk9cc-ag-XBu6uMo/s1600/C089qVfzKzaFcgoC3pSYTi1mMg0ouzZDiJggbBoN.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkefZY0udx8Ul2XyJd2TQQwpz8wz01g_2Ym2jn17bb61M7j9X49fnXlHZ2WOwZzwVSPtpttp1fWHp-7N-Aj7BeNXTf5-aEB-VgNPHxAXGUtSJcZWWlM3gzZ2zngWPhk9cc-ag-XBu6uMo/w400-h225/C089qVfzKzaFcgoC3pSYTi1mMg0ouzZDiJggbBoN.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></p><div><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">This disc provided by the Criterion Collection for purposes of review.</span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B097CSG8RZ&asins=B097CSG8RZ&linkId=ac0ddb5d33b78ceb9eb0f8dc5d66a471&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-43297355532063286032021-09-26T12:31:00.002-07:002021-09-26T12:31:54.961-07:00MRS. PARKER & THE VICIOUS CIRCLE - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review originally written for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/24260">DVDTalk.com</a> in 2006.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoPM4L5Zp5DiWqImXHm5AcWgjRAbS2eOSqsOmPURXoo2-0pwgxDtI1xh8jvOZqZ_Ie0QK8FUpkUhdJ8LDQx4BBqL3BLgw82h1llP0LDKGlkDQOXbaH8VsADlLMPCz-pwtSIKhjnrDV9o/s640/04faf964-f2c7-48d2-ac75-0f81fb473a79.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoPM4L5Zp5DiWqImXHm5AcWgjRAbS2eOSqsOmPURXoo2-0pwgxDtI1xh8jvOZqZ_Ie0QK8FUpkUhdJ8LDQx4BBqL3BLgw82h1llP0LDKGlkDQOXbaH8VsADlLMPCz-pwtSIKhjnrDV9o/w400-h225/04faf964-f2c7-48d2-ac75-0f81fb473a79.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i><br /></i><p></p><p>"<i>I'll wear my heart on my sleeve like a wet, red stain</i>."</p><p><br /></p><p>The life of Dorothy Parker, as portrayed in Alan Rudolph's 1994 biopic <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3m5udhn" target="_blank">Mrs. Parker & the Vicious Circle</a></i>, is like one long, drunken night. It starts off fun, with witty bons mots tossed out between refills, but as the morning approaches and the bottle gets harder to find, those laughs are soon replaced by tears.</p><p><br /></p><p>The real Dorothy Parker was a writer in the '20s and '30s known for writing verse with a caustic wit. In a weird way, she's almost like an early Sarah Silverman, setting up her reader with a sweet intro and then hitting them with a devastating punchline. Only her interests were far more tangled up in the emotional affairs of men and women and not so much with social taboos. She wasn't looking to shock nearly as much as she was looking to break your heart by showing you her own. Yet, both women have a yen for exposing the dirty mess that lies inside pretty packages. Parker wrote for magazines like <i>Vanity Fair</i> and <i>The New Yorker</i>, producing original work as well as reviewing plays and other people's books. In the mid-1930s, she moved to Hollywood like most writers of her time and worked on several movies, including the 1937 version of <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3zEl6Zv" target="_blank">A Star is Born</a></i> and Hitchcock's <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3CMm9sr" target="_blank">Saboteur</a></i>.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMYEUrJFzkK9rVcOzjNIvL7TCEJhBz9bws2P8Yw1RkqFDtanPzC5CtkU2rgKgJXQUAZKxYp3l7Gfj1Y8UkHkW0xvvaxqvggfXsCkqY7WARG9wS3VNntUWozNeaO712mBpjmtWVCEdj6A/s400/1160279347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMYEUrJFzkK9rVcOzjNIvL7TCEJhBz9bws2P8Yw1RkqFDtanPzC5CtkU2rgKgJXQUAZKxYp3l7Gfj1Y8UkHkW0xvvaxqvggfXsCkqY7WARG9wS3VNntUWozNeaO712mBpjmtWVCEdj6A/w400-h225/1160279347.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>I say she was known for her verse, but she was actually best known for being part of the Algonquin Round Table, a regular meeting of artistic types that took place in the restaurant of the Algonquin Hotel in New York. Sporting the sharpest tongues of their day, these folks drank the night away while trading wry verbal jabs. This is the period that Alan Rudolph and his co-writer Randy Sue Coburn mainly concern themselves with. The film is about Parker's struggles as a writer and as a woman searching for love. It's also about drinking to dull the pain.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdApRRNtpCFpHrSp2_SI4KmHsWn23XgGvmeYZ-EhnTDw5-_dfqHHDY1gF-ble4W_XgDHW6arpvROPS9YuqPdqpVbkZqed3eJvnUysBAF54XNOyckU1CTiODdJbp09morC_so2Q3Xf-Xjc/s1200/1ea9db4ca56e038b5e84522802f6b40888dab9afd2b4374515d14593dff1c5cf._RI_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="675" data-original-width="1200" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdApRRNtpCFpHrSp2_SI4KmHsWn23XgGvmeYZ-EhnTDw5-_dfqHHDY1gF-ble4W_XgDHW6arpvROPS9YuqPdqpVbkZqed3eJvnUysBAF54XNOyckU1CTiODdJbp09morC_so2Q3Xf-Xjc/w400-h225/1ea9db4ca56e038b5e84522802f6b40888dab9afd2b4374515d14593dff1c5cf._RI_.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Jennifer Jason Leigh was born to play Dorothy Parker, and it's arguably the best performance of her career. She presents a woman who is hard to decipher. The slow delivery of her clever words could just be a drunken slur, but she's also using it to mask her loneliness. Every moment of life hurts, and every word is an effort. She is doomed to pursue the wrong men, be it her dope-fiend husband Eddie (Andrew McCarthy), the cavalier journalist Charles MacArthur (Matthew Broderick), or the man who appears to be her soulmate but who never takes her to bed, the droll Robert Benchley (Campbell Scott). All three of those men are married, and only one of them to her.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImOMyxxjjMoiKzc3gW1azfbfZx5ayPHdUepOVhwDlM0zbD6uBNOH2gTjBpg3g7F3dF7A8EMt8qCGLPwJs5jYnOLkjqJ0q2xh4lTVjf37E5nrzeHmEsk1hGFzsBejQNlj-TtyeiF4ab8E/s960/she-earned-her-first-golden-globe-nomination-for-mrs-parker-and-the-vicious-circle-in-1995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="407" data-original-width="960" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImOMyxxjjMoiKzc3gW1azfbfZx5ayPHdUepOVhwDlM0zbD6uBNOH2gTjBpg3g7F3dF7A8EMt8qCGLPwJs5jYnOLkjqJ0q2xh4lTVjf37E5nrzeHmEsk1hGFzsBejQNlj-TtyeiF4ab8E/w400-h170/she-earned-her-first-golden-globe-nomination-for-mrs-parker-and-the-vicious-circle-in-1995.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Dorothy's relationship with Benchley is the most important one. They have a real connection, never at a loss for words and always able to count on each other. Campbell Scott is a good match for Jason Leigh. He stands tall in Benchley's stoic humor, timing his delivery in the same slow-gin manner as hers. In the first half of the movie, it's his hurt that is out front. He isn't about to leave his wife (Jennifer Beals), and something is keeping him from taking the plunge. So, he stands back and watches Parker with other men, the self-loathing clear in his haunted eyes. Halfway through the movie, Dorothy catches him eyeing another girl in a speakeasy. She asks him why they never "misbehaved," and he gives her a couple of intellectual excuses. Here the worm turns. Unhappy with his answer, she practically pushes Benchley into the arms of the other woman, and now the lovelorn weariness will become her cross to bear.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68y3jIJ8BvnBUVlZtjHtRtAJlkCktfoi74_xa-soXEx58mmx-UUbasJ3XTdno3ugsf5sAXXIVTWEkDRZNS9D796jtZcWNdY2wI18HCUwuDoSexZavp-e7KggAkg7dXPrJ1XVDyobk5OE/s400/1160279304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg68y3jIJ8BvnBUVlZtjHtRtAJlkCktfoi74_xa-soXEx58mmx-UUbasJ3XTdno3ugsf5sAXXIVTWEkDRZNS9D796jtZcWNdY2wI18HCUwuDoSexZavp-e7KggAkg7dXPrJ1XVDyobk5OE/w400-h225/1160279304.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><i>Mrs. Parker & the Vicious Circle</i> isn't all doom and gloom, however. We see several of the raucous bull sessions that the Algonquin legend is built on, and there are many parties with the likes of Harpo Marx and F. Scott Fitzgerald popping in for cameos. And actually, speaking of cameos, there are a lot of actors who would later become more famous that I forgot got some of their earliest work in this film, possibly because I didn't know who they were at the time. Gwyneth Paltrow, Lili Taylor, Heather Graham, Rebecca Miller (director of <i><a href="https://amzn.to/2ZDwHvT" target="_blank">The Ballad of Jack & Rose</a></i>), and Stanley Tucci all have small parts in <i>Mrs. Parker & the Vicious Circle</i>, and if you keep your eyes pealed, Cyndi Lauper even makes an appearance. (Jon Favreau is listed among the cast, but I never spotted him.)</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_Qc7GLAudI2XAkOVULE87ZoqXzkX0pAAvFt69q0RmEOnl67noOoLxWwVuWv_BruetjcgkOOFoFaW07O5_ePr-WfGOQcR2CLbtC5KX1EQDntcNoC5xgPZjp7dTbRxhVn582_f0Ywwbfs/s400/1160279319.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx_Qc7GLAudI2XAkOVULE87ZoqXzkX0pAAvFt69q0RmEOnl67noOoLxWwVuWv_BruetjcgkOOFoFaW07O5_ePr-WfGOQcR2CLbtC5KX1EQDntcNoC5xgPZjp7dTbRxhVn582_f0Ywwbfs/w400-h225/1160279319.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Even so, all of this happiness is a front, and eventually there will be a morning after, as seen in flash forwards to scenes in Hollywood and later in New York, when Dorothy has returned there to live in obscurity. These scenes are shot in black-and-white, setting them apart from the "present day" of the movie. Black-and-white is also used for the scenes of Dorothy sitting alone and reciting her poetry. Those are splendid interludes in the film, both adding to the emotional weight of the main action and giving viewers a real taste of Dorothy Parker's writing. Too often biopics about writers or artists pass without giving much of a sense of the subject's work. <i>Mrs. Parker & the Vicious Circle</i> shows how Dorothy Parker's life and her writing were inextricably linked, and it leaves its audience with an affinity for the woman and her craft.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC2O1Qoin4cVdq3SRUTnNngftNWxPSnQbu63xM4bA3VsGsxDE5kSdyomiQVHKKupIU-lT_DZB76IIK2pqkPSL5BQYrbK9t8-d4m-EAp6xmejueZQvuCCCksAWwjzNyhiU_MeRTx-7z8rw/s640/mrs-parker-and-the-vicious-circle.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="640" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC2O1Qoin4cVdq3SRUTnNngftNWxPSnQbu63xM4bA3VsGsxDE5kSdyomiQVHKKupIU-lT_DZB76IIK2pqkPSL5BQYrbK9t8-d4m-EAp6xmejueZQvuCCCksAWwjzNyhiU_MeRTx-7z8rw/w400-h209/mrs-parker-and-the-vicious-circle.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B000BZN1OQ&asins=B000BZN1OQ&linkId=92f92165bc7275e40cc86fd36044ace2&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-36903233267880821752021-09-21T18:37:00.036-07:002021-09-21T18:37:00.229-07:00SABRINA - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review was originally written in 2008 for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/35376/sabrina-the-centennial-collection/">DVDTalk.com</a>.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3FeN6W8IC9BwmWljkQxC3Z92do68KnQNQPVJsb_xBMsn2gnLa6iZX8lWW2yH7SxB-97feoBHIdLnKB1vOK7yDXel44yCbMjrPDMcsDrZo7P_kpsWy3-0j5nVTBb9npX6kpUFnEURvXGo/s640/3b07695a-e7fa-4841-9410-bb91460fb83c.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3FeN6W8IC9BwmWljkQxC3Z92do68KnQNQPVJsb_xBMsn2gnLa6iZX8lWW2yH7SxB-97feoBHIdLnKB1vOK7yDXel44yCbMjrPDMcsDrZo7P_kpsWy3-0j5nVTBb9npX6kpUFnEURvXGo/w400-h225/3b07695a-e7fa-4841-9410-bb91460fb83c.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Audrey Hepburn's second film was the first of hers I saw, though if I recall I watched <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3kophEG" target="_blank">Sabrina</a></i> for Humphrey Bogart, whom had become a bit of an obsession by then. I was also starting to learn a little something about director Billy Wilder through a blooming interest in film noir, so it was an unexpected twist in my movie-going plot that these two gentlemen would be upstaged by the gamine up in the tree of this romantic comedy.</p><p><br /></p><p>Sabrina (Hepburn) is the chauffeur's daughter, a gawky teen who hides in the bushes spying on David Larrabee (William Holden), the youngest and the wildest son of the rich Larrabee family. By contrast, David's older brother, Linus (Bogart), is all stuffed shirts and responsibility. He runs the family company and is more likely to race through numbers and statistics than he is to race the roadster that David is so fond of. Ironically, it's only Linus that notices Sabrina, finding her in the throes of a dramatic suicide over David's cluelessness. Sure, Linus doesn't realize that this silly kid is being serious, but at least he knows her name.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ48lJC-cCvZjFGw0si3d8AMTRZOE-V6CUDnPCLM8zIsd2zczdYXA9GhqZNOMQD68ocmWBrbBv__nZwxuUjCkrbFD_1W7Pmw_uqQBafC1HNTXEjm3aegLZ9Twf4cjbPHz-gGtjAoQjgH8/s350/1226268639_4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="350" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ48lJC-cCvZjFGw0si3d8AMTRZOE-V6CUDnPCLM8zIsd2zczdYXA9GhqZNOMQD68ocmWBrbBv__nZwxuUjCkrbFD_1W7Pmw_uqQBafC1HNTXEjm3aegLZ9Twf4cjbPHz-gGtjAoQjgH8/w400-h300/1226268639_4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>All of this takes place on the eve of Sabrina's departure for Paris, where she will spend two years at a cooking school learning all about soufflés while also learning all the ways of the world that a girl can only acquire in France. She returns to Long Island a sophisticated seductress, ready to claim David as her own. The one wrinkle: Linus has promised David to the daughter of a sugar cane magnate so the Larrabees can get their hands on all the sugar they need for a new plastic compound they are pioneering. Seeing the thrice-married David about to go off message yet again, Linus runs interference, pretending to entertain his baby brother's fickle yearnings while keeping Sabrina occupied. Of course, no numbers or charts can prepare him for Cupid's arrow, and a legitimate love affair blooms in the unlikeliest of places.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPBxG0U1ZmTt3X25saKIeXdAY6h5On8Z5sIZH8SBueS9D26-bXZCEPHMjW-cVAzQP60o8uya6Bonoznmg9okkfdMZkYOQUqhW6Zzgw1GvzgTeBzwKFMoZ7VIhIdGz_5knRIPdAQq456Y/s400/1226268639_1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVPBxG0U1ZmTt3X25saKIeXdAY6h5On8Z5sIZH8SBueS9D26-bXZCEPHMjW-cVAzQP60o8uya6Bonoznmg9okkfdMZkYOQUqhW6Zzgw1GvzgTeBzwKFMoZ7VIhIdGz_5knRIPdAQq456Y/w400-h300/1226268639_1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Bogart is at his hound-dog best in this picture. Put the man in a tailored suit and take him out of the rough-and-tumble urban and wilderness environments he is better known for, and he actually cuts quite a dashing figure as an aging Prince Charming. Sure, there is a disparity in the years between him and Audrey Hepburn, but it doesn't seem nearly as pronounced as the age gap between her and some of her other leading men. (Wilder would pair her with Gary Cooper in <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3An2Y7N" target="_blank">Love in the Afternoon</a></i> three years later, and it's never quite right; the pair are loving in two entirely different afternoons.) Perhaps it's Bogart's subtle vulnerability that makes it work. His Linus is a lonely man who may know plastics and even how to negotiate social mores as if they were boardroom gambits, but whom has ignored his heart as a result. Just as much as Sabrina needs to be rescued from that cad David, Linus needs someone to rescue him from himself. If there is a bit of a fatherly air to his schooling of the ingénue, the ingénue must also play mother to a boy who is still emotionally underdeveloped. Just look at the scene where Linus tries to dress up in his old college sweater: it's like he's swapped places with Sabrina, trying to look young much in the same way she's trying to appear grown up.</p><p><br /></p><p>Audrey Hepburn is as delightful as can be in the film. To her acting credit, she is almost capable of entirely conquering her own natural glamour to make the teenaged Sabrina appear gawky and naïve. This also allows her to pull off the character's return from Paris, where she must first look like a little girl playing dress up only to reveal she truly is sophisticated in spite of herself. As romances go, one couldn't ask for a smarter director than Billy Wilder, who realizes that when falling in love, the reactions we show to one another aren't nearly as telling as the ones we think no one sees. When the David-Sabrina-Linus triangle begins, we can chart the various emotional upheavals on the dancefloor by the way a character's face changes amidst the turn of a slow dance. Thus, an unsuspecting Sabrina can enter a spin out of love and come around to face us again in love.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAWh8TjamMXJilosR_BfZr4b4qQai0ve-49F8Yx3JNBz1sRSL6ZBZVZffxJkBGSnR2Anji2yawR6VfqBBDJlbUpl1FCl52k0Ef0Duca9TX7Mf_whJZ6up2i6hkwtWw7xYVhxqrSNNNAY/s350/1226268639_5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="350" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAWh8TjamMXJilosR_BfZr4b4qQai0ve-49F8Yx3JNBz1sRSL6ZBZVZffxJkBGSnR2Anji2yawR6VfqBBDJlbUpl1FCl52k0Ef0Duca9TX7Mf_whJZ6up2i6hkwtWw7xYVhxqrSNNNAY/w400-h300/1226268639_5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>As with most Billy Wilder movies, <i>Sabrina</i> moves at a brisk pace, teasing the viewer along in ways that are never obvious or manipulative, even when we should be able to see the romantic outcome a mile off. Wilder co-wrote the screenplay with Ernest Lehman and Samuel Taylor, who originally wrote <i>Sabrina</i> as a stageplay, and he knows where all the pieces go. The director has an inherent storytelling instinct for when the narrative can be diverted into a humorous aside and when it needs to get down to serious business. At its core, <i>Sabrina</i> is a Cinderella story, but the fun twist is that the husband she's going to meet at the ball is not the one she expects, and as the audience, we get to go along for the ride as Sabrina figures it all out.</p><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZmMZ15VGkLjAoceOavrLrKSTgTFI9FgCZry8Pooxgr1sBHRSqFRzZTDunJcM9umS_fVtVqrpTpDAb-JxuHQyGsMJXLFf8AAkExDNupDB3aArS_BikEboxuwkrvOzvs1dfYUEYlrxYdAU/s350/1226268293_1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="350" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZmMZ15VGkLjAoceOavrLrKSTgTFI9FgCZry8Pooxgr1sBHRSqFRzZTDunJcM9umS_fVtVqrpTpDAb-JxuHQyGsMJXLFf8AAkExDNupDB3aArS_BikEboxuwkrvOzvs1dfYUEYlrxYdAU/w400-h300/1226268293_1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B072QM5J75&asins=B072QM5J75&linkId=7e4365986ccabe7a2822fce049e1f33a&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-44219757799791350722021-09-20T18:24:00.023-07:002021-09-20T18:24:00.217-07:00CITIZENFOUR - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review was originally written in 2014 for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/66482" target="_blank">DVDTalk.com</a>.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeVfoWCOA2_jyFGCCpFGXMsLOem6lrxZ3346-K3E8aWGTBcwmBdDHfKmyqIZOBm2llj8GIX2KXrtxqBAwSQaHC19QoWz390OzCDrpoEnXGXkzFBe8VQ-WiA69Grn31MY_wk4vJY5EWd8/s640/687a229d-f730-4508-af1c-1f7922db526e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWeVfoWCOA2_jyFGCCpFGXMsLOem6lrxZ3346-K3E8aWGTBcwmBdDHfKmyqIZOBm2llj8GIX2KXrtxqBAwSQaHC19QoWz390OzCDrpoEnXGXkzFBe8VQ-WiA69Grn31MY_wk4vJY5EWd8/w400-h225/687a229d-f730-4508-af1c-1f7922db526e.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p>As I type, it's a week before Halloween, and I've just finished watching the scariest horror movie of the season: the Edward Snowden documentary <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3klxnOc" target="_blank">Citizenfour</a></i>.</p><p><br /></p><p>It's with a chilled quiet and gritted teeth that I make light, whistling by the graveyard, dancing to keep from crying. Because if you can watch <i>Citizenfour</i> and not be shaken down to your very core, you're made of tougher stuff than I. Cinematic analysis at this point seems unnecessary, regardless of how much there may be to criticize in the technique (and really, not much). Laura Poitras' film is so vital, so substantial to the world right now, any conscientious critic will just want to underline how important it is that everyone see it, how crucial to avoid throwing it on the scrap heap of the well-meaning political and activist documentaries that have flooded the market since 9/11. <i>Citizenfour</i> is an historical document of confounding significance. It's a glimpse behind the closed doors of a moment in time that has otherwise only been revealed in the abstract.</p><p><br /></p><p>Poitras, who previously made enough of a splash with the movies <i><a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0359281/?ref_=nm_flmg_prd_90" target="_blank">Flag Wars</a></i> and <i><a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1522857/?ref_=nm_knf_i2" target="_blank">The Oath</a></i> to earn a place on a U.S. government watch list monitoring her travels, is one of two journalists, along with <i>The</i> <i>Guardian</i>'s Glenn Greenwald, to be contacted an anonymous source called himself "Citizenfour" in late 2012/early 2013 regarding access to information that would implicate the White House, the NSA, tech companies, and a variety of other American institutions in an overreaching initiative to mine the privacy data of the common populace. That source was, of course, Edward Snowden. <i>Citizenfour</i> shows how that communication transpired, leading to the fateful meeting with Snowden in Hong Kong to go over the documents he had procured and prepare a plan for releasing the information to the public. This is the core of <i>Citizenfour</i>, and the actual timeframe is only a couple of weeks. Given the ongoing ramifications of the event, it's kind of crazy to be reminded how quickly it all happened.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic4CJk9aEaPj-FYmjbOvENxH1NtSQEN-XY_wfwyqzLn1nRp_HVSMjExpapHwnxKDEsf_mulC_QnaYHbrWDi460tgyXVtOQlePxBlpVhia8rN5cs9-DTDoXWD9HLSqIz_wTAVnFq4Cmb-E/s400/1414568274_6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="400" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic4CJk9aEaPj-FYmjbOvENxH1NtSQEN-XY_wfwyqzLn1nRp_HVSMjExpapHwnxKDEsf_mulC_QnaYHbrWDi460tgyXVtOQlePxBlpVhia8rN5cs9-DTDoXWD9HLSqIz_wTAVnFq4Cmb-E/w400-h333/1414568274_6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Poitras follows the exposure and the aftermath, chasing the ripples Snowden made right up until this past spring, when likely she had to put a cap on it and take <i>Citizenfour</i> into the editing suite. The narrative she shapes from the combined recording of the reportage and of the evidence being reported has the tension of a high-grade thriller but also the damning effect of being true.</p><p><br /></p><p>There are two takeaways from <i>Citizenfour</i>. First, Edward Snowden is a fascinating and admirable individual. Regardless of smear campaigns in the press or the Obama administration's attempts to recategorize his whistleblowing as treason or espionage, Snowden in action--at least as presented here--is forthright and articulate regarding his intentions. He simultaneously attempts to keep the story from being framed around him and accepts not only that it will end up that way, but that the consequences will be severe. Poitras is careful to show his humanity, at times catching unguarded vanity, but also real sadness. In those days when he literally only had one single window from which to view the whole world, most of us would have found it hard to keep our resolve from being crushed. When Snowden is the most likable is in those rare moments when he is most normal, when the stereotypical IT guy emerges to snicker at his allies for being such rubes when it comes to technology.</p><p><br /></p><p>The second takeaway is that the American public's casual acceptance of the exposed truths as both inevitable and, frankly, already here, is just as damaging, if not moreso, as the government's most nefarious actions. It's almost another horrific joke to consider how unnecessary the scrambling over the leaks and the attempted discrediting of Snowden was. With a citizenry that has already accepted that there is nothing they can do, no retaliation need be required. Hell, there is no more disheartening evidence to verify Snowden's fear that one man's efforts wouldn't be swallowed whole by the culture of celebrity than, as of this writing, the one piece of trivia on <i>Citizenfour</i>'s IMDB page is about his sexuality. (Yes, there are certain aspects of Snowden's personality that Poitras could have explored to challenge the would-be assassination of his character, but to expect her to is to miss the point of her stated approach.)</p><p><br /></p><p>I'd like to believe it's not too late. Horror movies usually end on a new morning, right? The survivors getting out of the haunted house? <i>Citizenfour</i> can't provide that sunrise, so instead it ends on the promise of an even more haunting revelation to come, presumably to encourage the rest of us to make that new dawn occur before there is no turning back and all sense of freedom and privacy is lost. Which is why I can't stress enough how everyone must see this movie, and why my fingers are permanently crossed in hope that it works.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxfnZWeiOQ9ofQtDw3OyBS74fkK5PsR38YlabPSioz9u-eqcHWIMGlLbCEqoH1Rc0ced9lu-mkN7V7usOaUrtCtB1p4E_ty9pBrPZzwAUodpKxpUDIzeAZgNv9u9DN0GpJcP_T14QeG8/s1000/citizenfour.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="555" data-original-width="1000" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxfnZWeiOQ9ofQtDw3OyBS74fkK5PsR38YlabPSioz9u-eqcHWIMGlLbCEqoH1Rc0ced9lu-mkN7V7usOaUrtCtB1p4E_ty9pBrPZzwAUodpKxpUDIzeAZgNv9u9DN0GpJcP_T14QeG8/w400-h223/citizenfour.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B00XIFBF6M&asins=B00XIFBF6M&linkId=cbe674782a2d6be8a3a4676bc0e5b7cf&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-50174593544304238962021-09-19T14:45:00.045-07:002021-09-19T14:45:00.226-07:00PANIC IN NEEDLE PARK - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review was originally written for in 2007 <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/29141">DVDTalk.com</a>.</i></p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0oBScC4oYkxt8FeCRNmE5AZIZ4BoG7VLNA5tDuN466ytxgNAb3AgwE6eo1Pg4v1Y124pHB3MsXtYxddW1bw6Ztg1ueujuLkzEFbE4rUcpyU3HiTjTjUBWsIBBldUAjEclxnfj0HCbwcQ/s1280/80707549-9c49-46bb-afa9-a82a281bf896.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0oBScC4oYkxt8FeCRNmE5AZIZ4BoG7VLNA5tDuN466ytxgNAb3AgwE6eo1Pg4v1Y124pHB3MsXtYxddW1bw6Ztg1ueujuLkzEFbE4rUcpyU3HiTjTjUBWsIBBldUAjEclxnfj0HCbwcQ/w400-h225/80707549-9c49-46bb-afa9-a82a281bf896.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Needle Park was a real area in New York City where junkies congregated, forming their own city within the larger city, getting by on the hustle and the routine of cop/shoot/cop. <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3CpUvkR" target="_blank">The Panic in Needle Park</a></i> is a 1971 film about this area, adapted from a book by James Mills. It's written by two of the finest writers in journalistic literature at that time, Joan Didion and John Gregory Dunne, and they apply the same feeling of honest reportage that had earned them their reputation to this screenplay. From there, director Jerry Schatzberg (<i><a href="https://amzn.to/3CtnSCC" target="_blank">Scarecrow</a>, <a href="https://amzn.to/3Euv6Z2" target="_blank">Honeysuckle Ros</a></i><a href="https://amzn.to/3Euv6Z2" target="_blank">e</a>) picked up the gauntlet and shot the movie in a verite style that anticipates the hand-held documentary approach cop shows like <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3Cp0WEH" target="_blank">Homicide: Life on the Street</a></i> and <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3lBGkCu" target="_blank">NYPD Blue</a></i> would use two decades later. This makes <i>The Panic in Needle Park</i> a raw, honest film about the junkie lifestyle, and how love can be corrupted when it burns in the center of a heroin spoon.</p><p><br /></p><p>Al Pacino plays Bobby, your standard hustler who spends his days kidding others in order to keep telling lies to himself. When we first meet him, he's slinging marijuana and claiming to only be shooting up occasionally. Helen (Kitty Winn, <i><a href="https://amzn.to/2Xw9Bqk" target="_blank">The Exorcist</a></i>) is the sickly girlfriend of one of Bobby's customers (Raul Julia), and during one of her many stays in the hospital, the boyfriend runs out on her. Acting on unspoken affection, Bobby picks her up when she's discharged, and from there, a love affair quietly begins.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRV5-BWxIOHnNrSSb0OdHfQjzxeg1MzRKSVNLnQ9YoysjeXBEQl-7IZ4gQ8u46sdXTVpE0jYNN2DXv6rFatKen44vETBTMzhntIoUbvKfxia7k6RoSEnfImQwxyGHooT3geCtxBKqG4BE/s400/1184403447_3.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="400" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRV5-BWxIOHnNrSSb0OdHfQjzxeg1MzRKSVNLnQ9YoysjeXBEQl-7IZ4gQ8u46sdXTVpE0jYNN2DXv6rFatKen44vETBTMzhntIoUbvKfxia7k6RoSEnfImQwxyGHooT3geCtxBKqG4BE/w400-h250/1184403447_3.gif" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Things start easily enough, and it would seem that Bobby gets by pretty well. The addicts form their own little community, and amongst them, he appears to have his feet firmly on the ground. He's definitely a charismatic guy, and how could he not be? He's played by Al Pacino, for gosh sake. His manner draws Helen in, probably because she lacks any consistency in her own life. We don't know what happened to her to make her this way--both characters pretty much start at ground zero and don't speak of the past--but the two fit in a way that you don't often see in even straightforward love stories.</p><p><br /></p><p>Eventually, though, Bobby is going to push the boundaries of their relationship. The crucial scene comes when he asks Helen to go uptown and score for him. She looks him dead in the eye and calls him on it: he's testing her to see what lengths she'll go to in their relationship. It's shortly after this that she tries heroin for the first time. Helen never explains why she sneaks a hit from Bobby's stash, but it's presumably to be closer to him. It's the one thing he cares about more than her. He won't even make love to her when he's stoned. It's like she's conquering the mistress by taking her to bed.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7CtAnQlv_Po80IHFGUhzJwpES_ccGaCHbg6WEpsQE9Ym9CXqQ9sO1DiLm9zefpb1FbnFMzOVWDQucvAREK9zfl7dZAXE4jl0cwLp-WwVbrLWitKWr5J8VszWK5ZMziLz-1I6fXuocyU/s400/1184403447_1.gif" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="400" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7CtAnQlv_Po80IHFGUhzJwpES_ccGaCHbg6WEpsQE9Ym9CXqQ9sO1DiLm9zefpb1FbnFMzOVWDQucvAREK9zfl7dZAXE4jl0cwLp-WwVbrLWitKWr5J8VszWK5ZMziLz-1I6fXuocyU/w400-h250/1184403447_1.gif" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p><i>The Panic in Needle Park</i> is told in a loping matter, the plot coming in great big chunks like an asteroid storm rather than a carefully arranged line. It's an ambling gait, though, and never a rambling one. The illusion is that it's accidental, when really the writing and editing is very precise. Realism is the order of the day. Schatzberg doesn't come off as an assertive director, his style is too natural, and he lets his actors be natural. It's one of those movies where the people seem to just exist on the screen rather than a collection of actors performing. It was only Pacino's second movie, and he already looks at home on camera.</p><p><br /></p><p>This naturalism is a bit of a sucker punch for the audience, because it allows Schatzberg to sneak the more harrowing elements into the picture and catch us off guard. The drug scenes are casually gruesome in a way that is chillingly effective. There is no exploitation of the drug culture in <i>The Panic in Needle Park</i>, no romantic images of junkies getting off and having a grand time. Whenever we see a needle breaking skin, it's usually penetrating a scabrous or bruised vein, and the stupor that follows is anything but attractive. Likewise, when the random outbreak of violence enters into the scene, Schatzberg makes sure we feel the impact of it, as well. His on-the-spot shooting style suddenly grows more manic, moving in tight on the action, often losing focus altogether. It makes those moments seem more vicious, like there was no way to stop them.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVrJJdCflaUhPNxkaICNVVpjvZhpTARThKixYMSESmDqbON26ym00m4I6WD6WsAoWmCykqol12YU8ET-pmkskoB1T7q9BBsgRXM9Vipc_GjEErpqbxvDbo8baEYLxC5o9fbjZ82SceP0/s2048/GOAT-Movies-032218-2400.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1511" data-original-width="2048" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEVrJJdCflaUhPNxkaICNVVpjvZhpTARThKixYMSESmDqbON26ym00m4I6WD6WsAoWmCykqol12YU8ET-pmkskoB1T7q9BBsgRXM9Vipc_GjEErpqbxvDbo8baEYLxC5o9fbjZ82SceP0/w400-h295/GOAT-Movies-032218-2400.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>The Panic in Needle Park</i> grows more grisly as it goes. The "panic" referred to is actually a term for a period of time when there aren't a lot of drugs on the market. It makes people desperate and forces them to turn on each other. For Bobby and Helen, that means finding new ways to score. They tend to choose opposite directions for how to get ahold of their junk, and it will be the test of their relationship if they can stay together. Didion and Dunne avoid moralizing, and they mainly avoid being heavy handed about the more extreme consequences of addiction. (I say mainly because bringing that puppy into it, guys, steps close to the line.) The downward slide is disconcerting enough without also giving us the loud thump of the couple hitting rock bottom--which is also probably why the movie still feels fresh and timely after all these years. <i>The Panic in Needle Park</i> is as much about the relationship as it is the habit, anyway, and the writers serve both masters well. The movie ends with a perfect little snippet of a scene, striking the right kind of resonance, saying it all without having to say too much.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXRYbfTB9wiB0X1E-AbFf-mHJ9hRu08ARgNIQztQcW5FCTT0bASiTee6A6G4F4ZYBFpFNX4yDs1pr87rOjjpVlCZNH-W2BEBCXulS1Ih4ASRcUSvb5M69kNl4yBZ9-Cay-6w-3D_sLXIE/s1280/MV5BZmY0ZjZlOTYtOGE4ZS00NjNmLThjZmMtNmYwNDIwYzcxZjE0XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyOTc5MDI5NjE%2540._V1_.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="688" data-original-width="1280" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXRYbfTB9wiB0X1E-AbFf-mHJ9hRu08ARgNIQztQcW5FCTT0bASiTee6A6G4F4ZYBFpFNX4yDs1pr87rOjjpVlCZNH-W2BEBCXulS1Ih4ASRcUSvb5M69kNl4yBZ9-Cay-6w-3D_sLXIE/w400-h215/MV5BZmY0ZjZlOTYtOGE4ZS00NjNmLThjZmMtNmYwNDIwYzcxZjE0XkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyOTc5MDI5NjE%2540._V1_.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B000A9QK6E&asins=B000A9QK6E&linkId=c3565293c799c941132674aac02b8395&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-25319289140251259752021-09-18T14:43:00.003-07:002021-09-18T14:43:58.731-07:00AN AFFAIR TO REMEMBER - CRITERION CHANNEL<p><i>This review was originally written in 2011 for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/46905/affair-to-remember-an/">DVDTalk.com</a>.</i> </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVDb3wbt3AjyHKldBG9UiHbTQolGex53r5T3_iYQqKwYQRzK8Vs_lITBKkyILO0gHUhkG1fVpEolrSaX9txKFpa3PwYSH_JQlBo8k2Zf-aVNAbSXkeOnDvs24_-fSCNksJiH_R5WwIQz0/s1280/61234fc1-5c0e-4d40-bf5f-584b18fe4f32-9f84036e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVDb3wbt3AjyHKldBG9UiHbTQolGex53r5T3_iYQqKwYQRzK8Vs_lITBKkyILO0gHUhkG1fVpEolrSaX9txKFpa3PwYSH_JQlBo8k2Zf-aVNAbSXkeOnDvs24_-fSCNksJiH_R5WwIQz0/w400-h225/61234fc1-5c0e-4d40-bf5f-584b18fe4f32-9f84036e.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>This one is for the saps. And I say that as a card-carrying member, who types this with eyes still glassy from watching <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3nMAEIk" target="_blank">An Affair to Remembe</a>r</i>. It's a sappy movie, and it doesn't get any less sappy with age. Though, I must say, I think the older I get, the more I like it. I don't know if I am gathering a greater capacity for cheesy emotion instead of wisdom as I trundle on into the autumn of my years, but it's possible.</p><p><br /></p><p>Immortalized as the ultimate chick flick in Nora Ephron's <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3zrETex" target="_blank">Sleepless in Seattle</a></i>, this 1957 movie from writer/director Leo McCarey (<i>The Awful Truth</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2018/04/the-awful-truth-917.html" target="_blank">review</a>]) is apparently not supposed to appeal to members of my gender, but frankly, boys could learn an awful lot from Cary Grant's masculine example in this film. Grant plays Nickie Ferrante, last of the famous international playboys. When Nickie boards a transatlantic cruise to meet his fiancée (Neva Patterson) in New York, it makes the news programs around the world. Could the notorious gadabout really be settling down? Certainly his future wife's multimillion-dollar fortune is enticement even if love is not.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgerzyDQc3Pdm8So9OiDhs42ZPOefHtVFYIGJhKJ2gtWXtZzs1zY1KuIXPEb2S7hBggkgLJKQQehVdypvpsP4FipFsE5ZPRO_RReELhw-dU7P6t290GD6j4pTsA5X9sPy9ttCnNbBwwjOo/s1023/download.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="790" data-original-width="1023" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgerzyDQc3Pdm8So9OiDhs42ZPOefHtVFYIGJhKJ2gtWXtZzs1zY1KuIXPEb2S7hBggkgLJKQQehVdypvpsP4FipFsE5ZPRO_RReELhw-dU7P6t290GD6j4pTsA5X9sPy9ttCnNbBwwjOo/w400-h309/download.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>On the trip, Nickie meets Terry McKay (Deborah Kerr), a former nightclub singer also sailing to meet her fiancé (Richard Denning). Terry is devoted to the man who took her out of smoky bars in order to make her a proper woman, and so she easily rebuffs Nickie's charms. It's a new experience for him, and the lothario is flummoxed. The chemistry that exists between these two is one unlike anything they've felt before, and no matter how much they try to pull apart, they always end up right back together. After a sidetrip to meet Nickie's adoring grandmother (Cathleen Nesbitt) during a port stop, the two can't deny it any longer. They also can't deny that they are in a sticky situation as far as their mutual engagements, so they make a plan to take six months to disengage. Nickie, in particular, is going to break away from the old ways, take a shot at reviving his artistic aspirations and being a painter, and prove he can make his way in the world in order to be deserving of Terry's hand.</p><p><br /></p><p>The pact the pair makes is the one Ephron famously borrowed for her Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan vehicle. In six months, at 5 p.m., if they are successful in their endeavors, Nickie and Terry will meet each other at the top of the Empire State Building and then go to be married. It takes approximately half of the movie to get to the point where the deal is struck, a seemingly lopsided structural decision, but one that is integral to making <i>An Affair to Remember</i> more than your typical sudsy romance.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ZTBmJ4ZRFHM3Ta5O5FNG2pxUcq1SJvdfhBnaPCo9sg-CaAA_79JOmYZ2rX19WS_AMZnx-i5ZsoY0Q84jGcN6XKMshEPr9_adwUxZgULM6BU8E_bPMET0_rnQsKq_qZTepkeRJ-TsMVU/s2048/MV5BZThkMjg1MTUtZGZmYy00Yjc2LTk4NjQtMTc1ZWQzZWI4ZTY2L2ltYWdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMDc2NTEzMw%2540%2540._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1615" data-original-width="2048" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5ZTBmJ4ZRFHM3Ta5O5FNG2pxUcq1SJvdfhBnaPCo9sg-CaAA_79JOmYZ2rX19WS_AMZnx-i5ZsoY0Q84jGcN6XKMshEPr9_adwUxZgULM6BU8E_bPMET0_rnQsKq_qZTepkeRJ-TsMVU/w400-h315/MV5BZThkMjg1MTUtZGZmYy00Yjc2LTk4NjQtMTc1ZWQzZWI4ZTY2L2ltYWdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMDc2NTEzMw%2540%2540._V1_.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>In the first hour of the movie, Nickie and Terry really fall in love. I am not sure I fully appreciated how real their interactions on the ship come off in any of my prior viewings. McCarey doesn't go for any of the obvious tricks in bringing his lovers together, instead he exercises tremendous restraint. The whole of <i>An Affair to Remember </i>has an air of calm, and in that calm, McCarey is able to foment feelings of desire, longing, and eventually sadness just by letting the actors be themselves. Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr reportedly improvised a lot of their dialogue in the courtship scenes, and it shows. At times, they seem genuinely surprised at the things that come out of each other's mouth, and the natural interchange between the two makes for honest romantic yearning. You're not just going to believe they are in love with each other, but that they actually <i>like</i> one another, as well.</p><p><br /></p><p>McCarey maintains this restraint through the entire picture, even when it would have been easy to go for the emotional jugular. The meeting at the Empire State Building doesn't go off as planned, for reasons I won't get into for those who may have never seen <i>An Affair to Remember</i> before. Suffice to say, there is plenty of pain and misunderstanding, and even though the audience is privy to more information than Nickie, there are some things that McCarey teases out slowly. The big revelation of how bad off Terry really is, in particular, could have been handled with far more fanfare. McCarey doesn't even turn up the score, letting the moment come silently, and cutting away as soon as he's sure we've figured it out. Clumsier films would have lingered, tried to tug our heartstrings with excessive force.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZX1hsf4wUL5UCdl0GMJ3s2A-pWkYTHkTL5hJ7pzNQqeBrgdM1Xbk72wxfA-wYPU6rskE__JggDPe-Mwj_jUVfeVULnh_w1m-PWNwaEGAvXh6F7xadliGzvXZplI9MwnCEHGu1AmWzhgQ/s2048/MV5BZTU4MzllNzctODExMi00MWExLWEwNDctYjUxMWUxYTRhZTljL2ltYWdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMDc2NTEzMw%2540%2540._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1615" data-original-width="2048" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZX1hsf4wUL5UCdl0GMJ3s2A-pWkYTHkTL5hJ7pzNQqeBrgdM1Xbk72wxfA-wYPU6rskE__JggDPe-Mwj_jUVfeVULnh_w1m-PWNwaEGAvXh6F7xadliGzvXZplI9MwnCEHGu1AmWzhgQ/w400-h315/MV5BZTU4MzllNzctODExMi00MWExLWEwNDctYjUxMWUxYTRhZTljL2ltYWdlXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMDc2NTEzMw%2540%2540._V1_.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Instead, the director saves his biggest moments for the final scene, which itself is still played very carefully, isolated to one room, without the actors raising their voices or explaining too much. A heartfelt look will do far more than false words ever can, and the devastation on Cary Grant's face when the reality of the situation becomes clear is easily one of the actor's finest moments. It's when the tears hit my eyes, that's for sure.</p><p><br /></p><p>So, call me a sap, I don't care. I've never been a closeted romantic, anyway. <i>An Affair to Remember</i> has outlasted all the scoffing it's gotten from the likes of you in the past, and it's gonna keep truckin' long after both of us have shuffled off this mortal coil. Maybe one day you'll wise up, and like Nickie Ferrante at the end of the movie, realize what a stinker you've been.</p><p><br /></p><p>Then again, maybe not. Just because I'm a romantic doesn't mean I'm not also a realist.</p><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1xWoICB4nPB-OzrljGwx_tjU2csiH8FBai3dmza0L3by-fp6BNZP75AQbcqiuf0OCKTyJSHiBI7MjK1VRcOsM6KYa9WM2_Cn09Z0J_NVeyDO1e5MRtE6V8pVRE_96BzIwl6bSoBuAm8/s2048/EuJFszGXYAApECm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1618" data-original-width="2048" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT1xWoICB4nPB-OzrljGwx_tjU2csiH8FBai3dmza0L3by-fp6BNZP75AQbcqiuf0OCKTyJSHiBI7MjK1VRcOsM6KYa9WM2_Cn09Z0J_NVeyDO1e5MRtE6V8pVRE_96BzIwl6bSoBuAm8/w400-h316/EuJFszGXYAApECm.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><iframe style="width:120px;height:240px;" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon®ion=US&placement=B004DTLKGC&asins=B004DTLKGC&linkId=e4a45a47bb373f97fbb4a4737a020c62&show_border=true&link_opens_in_new_window=true"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-59395153448102507502021-08-22T13:54:00.001-07:002021-08-22T13:54:18.157-07:00BEASTS OF NO NATION - #1091<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtt0kv9O9e581mf080x1VUw2Okr6sTjmRgQw8zStOQbgLvS-pfQQQpU3rm_bQGQLTgsbJP59oLLey4kMA9bzKBWo01qWNLbWbKwtQP6hqG5aZTNH94-Osg5TzC8wLQsi1mFoXPutCjs_4/s1600/KwcufB3P2S9l5e6g7eQitniSmR32hr_large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1288" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtt0kv9O9e581mf080x1VUw2Okr6sTjmRgQw8zStOQbgLvS-pfQQQpU3rm_bQGQLTgsbJP59oLLey4kMA9bzKBWo01qWNLbWbKwtQP6hqG5aZTNH94-Osg5TzC8wLQsi1mFoXPutCjs_4/w323-h400/KwcufB3P2S9l5e6g7eQitniSmR32hr_large.jpg" width="323" /></a></div><div><br /></div>I can’t imagine that <i><a href="https://www.criterion.com/films/31756-beasts-of-no-nation" target="_blank">Beasts of No Nation</a></i> hasn’t always been an uncomfortable watch, but the 2015 film has an added level of impact in contemporary times, as the Taliban takes over Afghanistan and a whole population is being disrupted and displaced. While Cary Joji Fukunaga’s anti-war drama is set across a continent in an unnamed West African nation, the effect of violence on the general population is all too familiar, all too real. To say that the threat is persistently terrifying throughout would be an understatement. <div><div><br /></div><div><i>Beasts of No Nation</i> is the story of a people, but centered on one person, a pre-adolescent named Agu, played by first-timer Abraham Attah. When Agu’s village is attacked, his mother is sent away, hopefully to safety, and his brothers are killed. He is left to fend for himself, making him perfect prey for an opportunistic warlord like the Commandant (Idris Elba, <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3DaKvNC" target="_blank">Luther</a></i>). The Commandant has a small army of young boys, from pre-teen to tween and on up. His technique is obvious from the start, when he begins by referring to Agu as a thing. His promise to kids like Agu is he will make them a man, an individual, a person. It’s a lie, of course. The life he offers is dehumanizing. He is beating the children into beasts. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrJRJZqxcf1nGeK4RO1Wv2pbNTRvP5MY6bs3j9hH6jx-kSwcfhdwNwkXE2znvgSrbDr7nrClVoASJ92lIiVve-2P_EZmY-nTEihNHXkAz39RzEt5AH-IUnU5OCzDtuY9n38th1WglS-mY/s2155/0ab4124e5713942eb1e470ebbe6cf4ed.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="2155" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrJRJZqxcf1nGeK4RO1Wv2pbNTRvP5MY6bs3j9hH6jx-kSwcfhdwNwkXE2znvgSrbDr7nrClVoASJ92lIiVve-2P_EZmY-nTEihNHXkAz39RzEt5AH-IUnU5OCzDtuY9n38th1WglS-mY/w400-h168/0ab4124e5713942eb1e470ebbe6cf4ed.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Fukunaga is probably best known for the first season of <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3820XRJ" target="_blank">True Detective</a></i>. He has a knack for long narratives that tend to wander even as they serve a singular purpose. Under his direction, and working from a novel by Uzodinna Iweala, <i>Beasts of No Nation</i> is a journey of resistance to drowning. Agu keeps getting pulled into the terror and the destruction only to somehow pop out of the mire, gasping for air. The only real insight into what he is suffering comes through in Agu’s prayers, which are revealed to us in a whispered voiceover, as if the boy is afraid to be overheard by anyone but his maker. As <i>Beasts of No Nation</i> progresses, Agu’s pleas become less hopeful, and ultimately switch to messages for his lost mother when the child believes God no longer cares. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK_Niqy5DL8cWhlCLHR2vca14-M7UHmxxbHRndLXQgcCqcvhAQPIlt3JJaV0ZldefLL8gIsZYDbNzl_FGOsWO6KtO1DbrGOOMV0xE40eduZUGgf-Vost4kA_AISp5d9m7SgdmAVCXvFoo/s2155/699a170a31e1b2ac339b91a45de4422f.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="2155" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK_Niqy5DL8cWhlCLHR2vca14-M7UHmxxbHRndLXQgcCqcvhAQPIlt3JJaV0ZldefLL8gIsZYDbNzl_FGOsWO6KtO1DbrGOOMV0xE40eduZUGgf-Vost4kA_AISp5d9m7SgdmAVCXvFoo/w400-h168/699a170a31e1b2ac339b91a45de4422f.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps more tragic, however, is Agu’s best friend Strika, played with a kind of bizarre clarity by Emmanuel “King Kong” Nii Adom Quaye. The warfare has caused Strika to stop speaking. Agu’s conversations with him are one-sided. Quaye is mostly blank, but he occasionally conveys emotion through his eyes (that longing look as the Commandant fails to hand him the telescope) or gesture (the pat on his friend’s shoulder to say, “Yes, I’ve been there, too.”) We don’t know what specifically caused Strika to clam up, and we sort of don’t have to. It’s everything. </div><div><br /></div><div>It’s much the same how Fukunaga need never tell us where the movie is taking place, when, or even why the “rebels” are fighting. Again, it’s everywhere and everything, we need not be specific. The problem is too widespread. Men like the Commandant are all over. We need look no further than the U.S. presence in Afghanistan the past two decades. Was it anything more than profiteers squeezing what they could out of human beings? Idris Elba delivers a careful performance as the Commandant. He never goes too far to any extreme. He is manipulative, controlled, often close to tipping over the edge, but truly unflappable. Even in defeat, his self-belief maintains. “You can leave, but you’ll be back.” Only next to his boss do we see the cracks of an immature man who is not developed enough to truly lead, and is thus exiled to working with troops too naive to know he’s a fraud. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbiWGbY0rjkQY68U5E2P9hSjie-4ZI4TtiZwLj3jU4g4vDkZ6p3jY9xyw5kbQdnE3tOPYb4s0a3s-bkIA2bSm-RXj2v6OF-JnrSxulFVPxs1wh66krXAG00gQBPhl25JugORonmFJS0a8/s2155/d9b4768fb0a58a88162beb79c27657f1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="2155" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbiWGbY0rjkQY68U5E2P9hSjie-4ZI4TtiZwLj3jU4g4vDkZ6p3jY9xyw5kbQdnE3tOPYb4s0a3s-bkIA2bSm-RXj2v6OF-JnrSxulFVPxs1wh66krXAG00gQBPhl25JugORonmFJS0a8/w400-h168/d9b4768fb0a58a88162beb79c27657f1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Despite my point above about the ubiquity of the message, it’s important to recognize that there are virtually no white faces present in <i>Beasts of No Nation</i>. This is pretty rare for a film about African strife, but Fukunaga has so thoroughly rejected the white savior trope, even the international soldiers seen at the end are Black. The only appearance of white people is when Agu’s squad encounters a small UN caravan. The symbolism is clear. The van passes and the passengers stare at the child soldiers with mawkish concern as they literally continue going in the opposite direction. </div><div><br /></div><div>In the battle sequences, some of Fukunaga’s trademark staging is evident, but in this instance, his long, uncut shots aren’t meant to show off. You aren’t meant to stop and think, “Oh, wow, there were no cuts” the way you might have in <i>True Detective</i>. Here those set-ups are more stealthy, meant to only work on your subconscious. Fukunaga goes to great lengths to avoid glamorizing violence. He keeps the action grounded, dirty, and chaotic. There is no pleasure in the killing, no visceral release. It’s just so plain and normal, it’s actually disconcerting. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYGq9Mi1E14i8W-KtScDFnfG13CPVF4NZEeifhdVhUF7aWnkPzFnKSodMXHpW_pLv6R87u_iy1VCaYUwDiBsnQX62kcFi5i7mXvyHlmIbbkhR-GJin3R0cf7hFInXRPcEGMwtrIfJhAnQ/s2155/bd9692961ff27e5cd44870a61b55a51f.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="2155" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYGq9Mi1E14i8W-KtScDFnfG13CPVF4NZEeifhdVhUF7aWnkPzFnKSodMXHpW_pLv6R87u_iy1VCaYUwDiBsnQX62kcFi5i7mXvyHlmIbbkhR-GJin3R0cf7hFInXRPcEGMwtrIfJhAnQ/w400-h168/bd9692961ff27e5cd44870a61b55a51f.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Thus, when the filmmaker indulges in a little bit of surrealism, it hits differently. The most prominent example of this is when Agu is on some kind of hallucinogen and the world changes colors around him. Green plants become a pale amber, the skies go blank. It’s hellish looking, but it provides some kind of relief and escape. This means, ironically, Agu finds relief in damnation, the apocalypse is better than real life. </div><div><br /></div><div>There is an obvious Lost Boys reference to me made here. The raggedy patchwork costumes of the soldiers make them look like extras from <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3keiMCP" target="_blank">Hook</a></i>. But I kept seeing another duo when I looked at Agu and Strika side by side: the brothers Black and White from the anime <i>Tekkon Kinkreet</i> [<a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/30442" target="_blank">review</a>]. The aesthetic of the hoods they wear, their mismatched faces--I see Taiyo Matsumoto’s tripped-out antiheroes. The four boys also face the same kind of threat: the encroachment of adult evil on their childhoods. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKk6x8dMj6lKI9aEPPtTZ8zhtXxvoj4R21Qu8_hqABbys0TOPAT6FbYah_rMqKAtg-oRYyQZOu-aymU08jkLMV-LQVsMIJLXO-KUYcyf0CPYCFXIojJsHgUg28HPoWp7kOidwBzAiouLk/s2155/633624c29ca1bbabced4a796ac40ceee.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="2155" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKk6x8dMj6lKI9aEPPtTZ8zhtXxvoj4R21Qu8_hqABbys0TOPAT6FbYah_rMqKAtg-oRYyQZOu-aymU08jkLMV-LQVsMIJLXO-KUYcyf0CPYCFXIojJsHgUg28HPoWp7kOidwBzAiouLk/w400-h168/633624c29ca1bbabced4a796ac40ceee.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTf86mGV4ZPkeekIRXcy3yxbrGYMvdr4XvGMfn9Lz9xdoFvd_OkK77bDIVl1dsQ7jaeLtUrF1q3mXbdaBnaVOnZEQ8eCMMyQQ_giOsmYoquwznbEmDo7F6HQxOalN6mNCm7fO1ZCuaygA/s400/1189738066_2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTf86mGV4ZPkeekIRXcy3yxbrGYMvdr4XvGMfn9Lz9xdoFvd_OkK77bDIVl1dsQ7jaeLtUrF1q3mXbdaBnaVOnZEQ8eCMMyQQ_giOsmYoquwznbEmDo7F6HQxOalN6mNCm7fO1ZCuaygA/w400-h225/1189738066_2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>It ends differently for Agu and Strika than it does for Black and White, but it also ends differently between the two boys themselves. Which, given how few escapes there are for either--death, becoming the next Commandant (you can only be #1, be #2 at your own peril), or somehow leaving the army alive--the odds are a bit stacked. I don’t want to give too much away, but the end of <i>Beasts of No Nation</i> does offer some hard-earned hope. Just as throughout the film, the finale rests on Agu, the wide-eyed boy who has now seen and experienced it all. In his final prayer, and then his final spoken lines, we understand where he has ended up. Those last words reveal not just his maturity, but how he has survived. He has maintained a singular thought this whole time, held on to a dream that he would once again find the family that knows and loves him as the child they left behind. This mission will continue to maintain him beyond <i>Beast of No Nation</i>’s closing scenes, which lead us to believe that the lost boy need not be found as long as he can embrace the future that lies ahead. He is heading into the literal ocean, not to drown, but to resist the waves and swim.</div></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmAMIYOwE5txZp1b3JM3lDLGezEH7hQIizEh6H2DW2XIZFhemoMREmA9ItgccQaGpCC6fa4XDSZ9C1GGlMi1QHq_eP9NhsXcLQB2jIXQVh7ZuczR46kMhpsQ1LjaStx0gmhdtk6dtDHg/s2155/c0a2b2e5c69f2fc2b0c492f1457ae7e7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="2155" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmAMIYOwE5txZp1b3JM3lDLGezEH7hQIizEh6H2DW2XIZFhemoMREmA9ItgccQaGpCC6fa4XDSZ9C1GGlMi1QHq_eP9NhsXcLQB2jIXQVh7ZuczR46kMhpsQ1LjaStx0gmhdtk6dtDHg/w400-h168/c0a2b2e5c69f2fc2b0c492f1457ae7e7.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">This disc provided by the Criterion Connection for the purpose of review.</span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></i></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B0955NR3QK&asins=B0955NR3QK&linkId=5e4ff5485a135abafb85f0f59db58273&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-77951748099675518962021-08-15T14:32:00.003-07:002021-08-15T14:32:38.353-07:00ORIGINAL CAST ALBUM: "COMPANY" - #1090<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSp3Eun5aTwSi_R3j9BqR4zXu-KoIVBblqioDaO4rU1rZY4dN7tgdwgMWLXhKB7NUxMIReyxXAC8fHF5QJFZbWxZd2r-Fx0CTcY6ShyphenhyphenE-0NBiLX75W4gnULiEPQ8Unxt2y5ypR0VLLKZo/s1600/afum5pYT14i7aTyJR3TSfLyats48ny_large.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1288" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSp3Eun5aTwSi_R3j9BqR4zXu-KoIVBblqioDaO4rU1rZY4dN7tgdwgMWLXhKB7NUxMIReyxXAC8fHF5QJFZbWxZd2r-Fx0CTcY6ShyphenhyphenE-0NBiLX75W4gnULiEPQ8Unxt2y5ypR0VLLKZo/w323-h400/afum5pYT14i7aTyJR3TSfLyats48ny_large.jpg" width="323" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>In these days of heightened media awareness and manufactured access, it would be easy to lose <i><a href="https://www.criterion.com/films/30212-original-cast-album-company" target="_blank">Original Cast Album: “Company”</a></i> in the mix. Or even be cynical about it. The idea of a documentary crew being in a recording session for the official soundtrack of a Broadway musical, or frankly any recording session, is not at all revolutionary. It’s the stuff that many a DVD extra is made of. One doesn’t have to reach back too long to remember a time in the ’00s when a bonus DVD packaged with a new CD showing the “making of” was a bit of a thing. Even if both CDs and DVDs sound like antique objects anymore.</p><p><br /></p><p>We are so used to Electronic Press Kits and staged peeks behind the curtain, we are immune to them; they are forced publicity efforts, with any potential tension approved by the studio providing just enough seasoning to make it interesting before everyone agrees they had the best time ever. There is no such denouement for D.A. Pennebaker’s scintillating 1970 documentary <i>Original Cast Album: “Company.”</i> No apologies or resolution, just relief and accomplishment. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RxmRoZ4U5ttyJbFGvibjKeOBjLmF2wkC4INtxFU5HhLpGauYE6iTPKeIaAeroKIdrpxXW6_ODlwUgS7526mOD54Qr5PQAsrQYWQ2JsAz48HKLWGuodbOwNwt8V6cByeeoqB3dY5Rq6E/s1200/3a414f0dbb78b686a6b85f5d064eec6f.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_RxmRoZ4U5ttyJbFGvibjKeOBjLmF2wkC4INtxFU5HhLpGauYE6iTPKeIaAeroKIdrpxXW6_ODlwUgS7526mOD54Qr5PQAsrQYWQ2JsAz48HKLWGuodbOwNwt8V6cByeeoqB3dY5Rq6E/w400-h300/3a414f0dbb78b686a6b85f5d064eec6f.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Originally planned as a pilot episode for a series, and clocking in at a scant 53 minutes, <i>Original Cast Album: “Company”</i> is bursting with drama and effort and all the anxiety and triumph both things engender. Taking place mostly in two rooms and almost entirely over one night, Pennebaker--best known for profiling Bob Dylan in <i>Don’t Look Back</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2015/10/dont-look-back-786.html" target="_blank">review</a>]--sets up in the studio where, as the title suggests, the Broadway cast of Stephen Sondheim’s <i>Company</i> are laying down the musical’s tracks for posterity. The cast features personalities known (Disney stalwart Dean Jones, legendary performer <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/64098" target="_blank">Elaine Stritch</a>) and unknown (not sure who that is on timpani, but they get an anonymous shout out). As take after take winds on, energies wind down, people become exhausted and the mood becomes fraught. But everyone carries on.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_h5SnYloDS9yBmxWFIZ7B3ZJnd3EAfaba-59IloW8-tqYAYhB_owMh6ecFxm5wy34Uf1t8mdkYPFOAvKC0Nb8QRBG-BdiToYogshR00rw-89oz_-vsv8RUyaHixv3ElCrc_5PrerGr3A/s1200/c53afb4f701c6b58b838de4ba9ee2b46.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_h5SnYloDS9yBmxWFIZ7B3ZJnd3EAfaba-59IloW8-tqYAYhB_owMh6ecFxm5wy34Uf1t8mdkYPFOAvKC0Nb8QRBG-BdiToYogshR00rw-89oz_-vsv8RUyaHixv3ElCrc_5PrerGr3A/w400-h300/c53afb4f701c6b58b838de4ba9ee2b46.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>Which is really what is fascinating about <i>Original Cast Album: “Company.”</i> This thing they are doing is a job as much as it is an art. People clock in and perform a task, and despite the egos involved, appear for the most part to be willing to do it together, a cast of craftsmen endeavoring for a common goal. It’s a helluva thing. The other night I saw the L.A. Philharmonic perform with H.E.R., a show in which the orchestra also served as an opening act. There were some folks in the audience who apparently thought the classical music was there to provide accompaniment to their conversation, and all I could think was, “Don’t you see? There is a stage full of people down there using specific man-made objects to create one sound. Isn’t that awesome?” It’s hard not to look at this, especially in the group numbers when everyone is adding their part to the big sound, and think the same.</p><p><br /></p><p>Much is made of Sondheim’s perfectionist muttering, but really, you can see a desire to get it right in just about everyone else. They are striving, judging, worrying--everyone wants the same perfection. Most famous, of course, is Stritch pushing herself to the limit to put <i>Company</i>’s showstopper, “Ladies Who Lunch,” on tape. The mind boggles as to why the producers saved that until the end of the session, when the actress is spent. It’s painful to watch Stritch wrestle with her own demons, and the mounting tension when she’s just not getting it.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil41mHiMAdsNJOhRc2sxfBXnpxsxkZPhgv0Bc4lhWrd6f70BLQcb4f1lcCYMOwkNgdswkIFe6RkVpm3_1taB1acKIgNgB6EpM1tURZ3gP0oISfcSPsNH1RBb0sQGDz88kbZqoJmqNy514/s1200/a6101f5032ba86686b15321ab73917ca.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil41mHiMAdsNJOhRc2sxfBXnpxsxkZPhgv0Bc4lhWrd6f70BLQcb4f1lcCYMOwkNgdswkIFe6RkVpm3_1taB1acKIgNgB6EpM1tURZ3gP0oISfcSPsNH1RBb0sQGDz88kbZqoJmqNy514/w400-h300/a6101f5032ba86686b15321ab73917ca.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>Modern documentarians, eager to promote the product, would put a narrative on this. They’d cut away to commentators and one-on-one interviews, but outside of one short confessional by Sondheim, Pennabaker keeps <i>Original Cast Album: “Company”</i> in the action. We will hear the song more than once because it took more than once to get the best take. That’s the whole point of being there. This is why <i>Original Cast Album: “Company”</i> has stayed in the collective unconsciousness, and why the comedy series "Documentary Now!" took the film on for their episode <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt8211426/" target="_blank">“Original Cast Album: <i>Co-Op</i>.”</a> Penned by John Mulaney, Fred Armisen, and Seth Meyers, the program has been included on this release. Watching it again, seeing the parody back-to-back with its inspiration, I actually had the same appreciation for the cast and crew behind the homage. It, too, must have required a lot of hard work and a group passion to make the imitation so exact and the comedy so sharp. </p><p><br /></p><p>So here it is, to be discovered anew. <i>Original Cast Album: “Company</i>” has been lovingly restored and spruced up with deep-diving supplements. It's a snapshot of a moment in time for these particular artists, but also for Broadway and the recording industry, for a way of doing things that doesn't necessarily happen anymore and a way of seeing how those things are done that rarely aligns with the spotlight.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuOleh5udjSkZNAGz_X0FOcHUfVXfznQGm8tGULl0z-7nB6sI_UKsFdrxmd8dElAy9GynR4Zx2GSDaqajGq2f7OzgYv9qFp6D3V5eiFJhWJd01q01wholNJkp40kM_mM6iMxQm2cGim3g/s1200/a3c34dbbed9ff5fa290109a4eb0f4a3b.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuOleh5udjSkZNAGz_X0FOcHUfVXfznQGm8tGULl0z-7nB6sI_UKsFdrxmd8dElAy9GynR4Zx2GSDaqajGq2f7OzgYv9qFp6D3V5eiFJhWJd01q01wholNJkp40kM_mM6iMxQm2cGim3g/w400-h300/a3c34dbbed9ff5fa290109a4eb0f4a3b.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">This disc provided by the Criterion Collection for purposes of review.</span></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><iframe style="width:120px;height:240px;" marginwidth="0" marginheight="0" scrolling="no" frameborder="0" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon®ion=US&placement=B0955Q6TQD&asins=B0955Q6TQD&linkId=f7f9d0ce1aed50a6eece2df33cca8214&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true"></iframe>Jamie S. Richhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10574127694740978803noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5577490778732005247.post-33742688081135977742021-08-14T15:55:00.005-07:002021-08-14T15:55:55.652-07:00THE DEAD - CRITERION CHANNEL<div><i>This review was originally written in 2009 for <a href="https://www.dvdtalk.com/reviews/review/40405">DVDTalk.com</a>.</i></div><div><br /></div><div><i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKR3oudet0zWUE5xGr2wUb5HI5JmLBHkMYJNdKYyETD49V8b3rWb24tqaUBH-GPPqxSOQ-Qjxe8umSy9QnarDPoj5tqc3mnSWpl5r1gYqfsnYh8XipZXdY8H2ZXvsD9-6vOPcBno6s1F8/s640/dde94a33-433c-4c80-a7df-b5d7185d6663.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKR3oudet0zWUE5xGr2wUb5HI5JmLBHkMYJNdKYyETD49V8b3rWb24tqaUBH-GPPqxSOQ-Qjxe8umSy9QnarDPoj5tqc3mnSWpl5r1gYqfsnYh8XipZXdY8H2ZXvsD9-6vOPcBno6s1F8/w400-h225/dde94a33-433c-4c80-a7df-b5d7185d6663.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> </i></div><div>Legendary director John Huston's last film, <i><a href="https://amzn.to/3CNI7ft" target="_blank">The Dead</a></i>, was a family affair. His son Tony adapted the script from <a href="https://amzn.to/3g5XBlf" target="_blank">a short story by James Joyce</a>, and his daughter Anjelica has one of the two main roles in the picture. This is as it should be, as the film is one that centers on family. <i>The Dead</i> is a movie about remembering times past and the connections that bring us together, as well as the secrets that we hold that keep us apart.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>The Dead</i> takes place in Dublin, Ireland, on Christmas Eve 1904. Three sisters (played by Helena Carroll, Cathleen Delany, and Ingrid Craigie) are hosting a dinner for family and friends. The guests come, they enjoy a little song, and then they partake of a goose feast. Amongst the guests is Gabriel Conroy (Donal McCann), the nephew of the two older hostesses, and his wife, Greta (Huston). Throughout the meal, the many attendees share their love of music and their memories of favorite singers, discuss religion, and largely get on well. There is some witty interplay between the two drunks, the good-natured Freddy (Donal Donnelly) and the self-centered Mr. Browne (Dan O'Herlihy), a flirt who judges the younger man but fails to see that he's just as pickled. There is also honor paid to the ladies who have done so much to gather everyone together.</div><div><br /></div><div>Following the dinner, and after most of the guests have gone, one of the lingerers, a professional singer (Frank Patterson), gives a private performance, and his sad song inspires a melancholy in Greta. The moment marks a seismic shift, taking <i>The Dead</i> from a story about communal nostalgia and celebration to an intimate coupling and private sadness. Gabriel senses his wife's distance, and when they are back at their hotel, gets her to open up. She tells the story of a young man who sang her that song when she was a teenage girl and how he died from his love for her. The implication is that she died with him, at least emotionally. It's a wonderful scene, the bravura moment for Anjelica Huston. Her monologue is a powerful recounting of lost passion, a heartbreaking display of sorrow that is so exhausting for Greta, she immediately passes out, disappearing into slumber.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbY8ffDaNBCLsdn_QbDBtmm7sOFJ7VnGg0AiKPRqD0kaHP-Vwc0nWv_thDmafxGRwESZ1fixurx79eQBTRiy4stfi6JilyddhW83z5YGEVC4TJtZEaTpFZE-mgJ_b4v1TEjhZtCgTt0WE/s400/1256884621_2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbY8ffDaNBCLsdn_QbDBtmm7sOFJ7VnGg0AiKPRqD0kaHP-Vwc0nWv_thDmafxGRwESZ1fixurx79eQBTRiy4stfi6JilyddhW83z5YGEVC4TJtZEaTpFZE-mgJ_b4v1TEjhZtCgTt0WE/w400-h225/1256884621_2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Here <i>The Dead</i> shifts again, getting even more intimate. The final scene of the movie is another monologue, but this time an inner monologue. Gabriel watches the snow fall outside his window, and he contemplates his wife's story, laments the lack of feeling in his own life, and also ponders the fate that awaits them all, the one that found his wife's true love at such a young age. Though the whole of the finale passes without Donal McCann opening his mouth, his performance here is no less memorable than Huston's. There is a subtle juxtaposition between the woman who is unafraid to feel, who lets her emotions pour out, and the man who can never find the same courage.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>The Dead</i> was nominated for an Oscar for Dorothy Jeakins' costume designs, and a large part of why this film works so well is the meticulous attention to detail paid by Jeakins, as well as production designers Stephen Grimes and Dennis Washington. The clothes and the sets are elaborate without being ostentatious. They make the story believable without ever overshadowing it. The whole of <i>The Dead</i> is understated in a way that makes it all the more realistic. It is not as attention grabbing as most costume dramas are, John Huston prefers the focus to be on the writing and the people and not the setting. His is a quiet film, one that grows quieter the longer it runs, from the sounds of a party all the way to silence. The final image is of snow falling in the sky, no words, only accompanied by plaintive music that hangs on to the very end, then stopping for a breath, the sky turning to nothing.</div><div><br /></div><div>John Huston passed away in August of 1987, and <i>The Dead</i> was released that December. I can't think of a more perfect finish for a versatile filmmaker. Huston had debuted as a director in 1941 with <i>The Maltese Falcon</i> [<a href="http://www.criterionconfessions.com/2018/05/the-maltese-falcon-filmstruck.html" target="_blank">review</a>], a movie that almost literally starts with a bang. What, then, could be more fitting than a final fadeout that echoes with such poignancy without ever making a sound.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQ2mmtVjgj36CBYqSZud__XbuKjjnoE7djrKCLTtzuascMlF54kxyV0Z5ZXhVb-ziTh2uuyc_6vsG_UTXKPHXgIJZ8yFV0voaDGFAeUxCMvm_-pKPUQYtVOq5UrDfKfQ7Sjb8F1MltaQ/s400/1256884621_3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="400" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkQ2mmtVjgj36CBYqSZud__XbuKjjnoE7djrKCLTtzuascMlF54kxyV0Z5ZXhVb-ziTh2uuyc_6vsG_UTXKPHXgIJZ8yFV0voaDGFAeUxCMvm_-pKPUQYtVOq5UrDfKfQ7Sjb8F1MltaQ/w400-h225/1256884621_3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><iframe frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="//ws-na.amazon-adsystem.com/widgets/q?ServiceVersion=20070822&OneJS=1&Operation=GetAdHtml&MarketPlace=US&source=ss&ref=as_ss_li_til&ad_type=product_link&tracking_id=confessions12-20&language=en_US&marketplace=amazon&region=US&placement=B002LYD2MG&asins=B002LYD2MG&linkId=7da545eea477b2474fe2fe0d5cc6cf87&show_border=false&link_opens_in_new_window=true" style="height: 240px; width: 120px;"></iframe>Jamie S. 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