Have you ever seen a movie where the whole thing might have been good, if not for that one little thing that just kept bugging you? Didn't you hate it when it happened? After all, bad movies are usually made up of bad ideas all the way through, and here's one that was maybe a lot of good ideas and one really bad one.
The edition of "Reflections in a Golden Eye" they show on TCM is just such a movie. Marlon Brando and Elizabeth Taylor, apparently two of the best actors of their generation, working with John Huston, apparently one of the best directors of his generation, working on a movie about... homosexuals in the army? Weird horse-obsessed women? An odd military recruit who likes to ride horses nude and breaks into Taylor's house to watch her while she sleeps?
Yes, obviously this movie could have gone wrong in so many ways. The amazing thing is that it seems to work. But I can't say whether it did work or not, because I was distracted by one thing throughout.
The color.
Apparently, John Huston's plan was to tint the movie gold, with one object in each scene retaining its normal color. However, test audiences got confused, and Technicolor technicians hated the idea, so it only showed in such a way in major cities while the rest of America got a normal-colored version. The normal-colored version is available on DVD, and maybe I should check it out. But on TCM, they show it with a gold filter in place (without any normal colors anywhere--it's gold or black). And damn, is that ever annoying.
It's rare that I'd side with the test audience and the technicians over the director, but they're right. It's a distraction. The movie is full of parts where people don't talk, but think; the idea is to get the audience to read what they're thinking from their faces. But you're not doing that at the quiet bits. You're thinking, "Why is it all gold, again?"
The filter is a terrible distraction. If it was necessary, there would be better ways to accomplish it. Why not shoot the movie with golden filters on the lights? That way, it looks like it's a part of the picture, and it's more difficult to get rid of it. Or, if the filter was absolutely necessary, why not make it a subtle golden color? Why not just make it lightly golden-hued, as opposed to the all-out attack of gold?
It's a terrible disappointment to see a movie get ruined like that. Here's a movie that sounds like an underrated classic, but you're always distracted. Talk about missing the forest for the trees.
Showing posts with label drama. Show all posts
Showing posts with label drama. Show all posts
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Black Moon
I recently watched "Black Moon" from Turner Classic Movies' Louis Malle marathon, and could hardly believe that I was really watching it. Something this insane has to be a hallucination. Maybe I'm not far off; as it turns out, Louis Malle was trying to make a movie based on a dream. I wonder if this is the movie Steven Soderbergh was talking about in "Waking Life," the movie that was "a dream within a dream." If so, Billy Wilder was right: He lost two and a half million dollars.
"Black Moon" is practically Zardozian. I haven't seen "Zardoz," the John Boorman fiasco with Sean Connery running around in a red diaper and containing a stone head declaring penises to be evil, but from what I've heard, it's a very well-shot movie that makes no sense whatsoever. "Black Moon" certainly fits that description as well. As Albert Walker put it in his recap of "Zardoz," a movie like this is frustrating because you can tell there's some intelligence, skill and talent behind the camera, but it doesn't matter because you can't tell what the hell is going on.
The story, or what there is of it: A woman named Lily is running away from something. There seems to be a war going on between men and women, but it only matters in a few scenes. (That's a real shame; I can imagine a really vicious satire of misogyny and rabid feminism in the idea of a war between men and women.) She eventually comes upon a house where she finds an old lady who can't or won't get out of bed, and her apparent children, a brother and a sister, who are both silent and named Lily.
That's just the plot. The film is full of images, many of them making no sense. Telling you some of the stuff that happens seems cheap, but I'll do it anyway: Naked kids appear and reappear frequently, usually leading around animals. The daughter of the old woman breast-feeds her, and later, the main character does the same. There's an extended sequence where the main character chases around a unicorn. At one point, she steps on some flowers, which wail in pain. That's right--wailing flowers. For a while, I thought that was a pun on Wayland Flowers.
The movie just keeps going through these weird images, one after another. As I mentioned before, it seems Louis Malle was trying to make a dream-like movie. If so, it doesn't seem to achieve a dream-like feel; it feels like they're trying to make it realistic. On reflection, it feels like a dream (especially in that "did-that-really-happen?" way), but it doesn't succeed while you're watching the movie.
Some people try to defend this movie somehow. They claim it's allegorical. The thing is, if it's an allegory, it's not clear what it's an allegory for. War? Growing up? Crazy glueing-gerbils-together? As Roger Ebert said, if you have to ask what it symbolized, it didn't. The idea of the movie being like a dream is slightly more apt, though it still doesn't answer many of the questions it brings up.
Don't think that I was miserable when I was watching it, though. I wasn't, really. It made me laugh a few times (certainly not the film's intention). In fact, if they hadn't been so clearly trying to make a dramatic art film, it could've been successful as a satire of artsy films and their pretentious meaninglessness. I was almost sad to have to delete it from my DVR; if I could've taped it, it would've made a great joke to play on people, or even better, a recap for the Agony Booth.
Indeed, the movie is almost crazy-lovable instead of crazy-annoying. How can you hate a movie where such random crap happens without the slightest explanation? Well, quite simply, it feels like they're not thinking about it. It's a waste of talent, but if you were forwarned that it was crazy and that you should view it as such, it would probably make for a fun, almost Monty Python-esque time.
This movie is not available on DVD. There may be a snowball's chance in hell that it would get some kind of release from the Criterion Collection (it even has the Janus Films logo before it). If they do release it, I can only wonder how they'll try to justify it on the back of the box.
"Black Moon" is practically Zardozian. I haven't seen "Zardoz," the John Boorman fiasco with Sean Connery running around in a red diaper and containing a stone head declaring penises to be evil, but from what I've heard, it's a very well-shot movie that makes no sense whatsoever. "Black Moon" certainly fits that description as well. As Albert Walker put it in his recap of "Zardoz," a movie like this is frustrating because you can tell there's some intelligence, skill and talent behind the camera, but it doesn't matter because you can't tell what the hell is going on.
The story, or what there is of it: A woman named Lily is running away from something. There seems to be a war going on between men and women, but it only matters in a few scenes. (That's a real shame; I can imagine a really vicious satire of misogyny and rabid feminism in the idea of a war between men and women.) She eventually comes upon a house where she finds an old lady who can't or won't get out of bed, and her apparent children, a brother and a sister, who are both silent and named Lily.
That's just the plot. The film is full of images, many of them making no sense. Telling you some of the stuff that happens seems cheap, but I'll do it anyway: Naked kids appear and reappear frequently, usually leading around animals. The daughter of the old woman breast-feeds her, and later, the main character does the same. There's an extended sequence where the main character chases around a unicorn. At one point, she steps on some flowers, which wail in pain. That's right--wailing flowers. For a while, I thought that was a pun on Wayland Flowers.
The movie just keeps going through these weird images, one after another. As I mentioned before, it seems Louis Malle was trying to make a dream-like movie. If so, it doesn't seem to achieve a dream-like feel; it feels like they're trying to make it realistic. On reflection, it feels like a dream (especially in that "did-that-really-happen?" way), but it doesn't succeed while you're watching the movie.
Some people try to defend this movie somehow. They claim it's allegorical. The thing is, if it's an allegory, it's not clear what it's an allegory for. War? Growing up? Crazy glueing-gerbils-together? As Roger Ebert said, if you have to ask what it symbolized, it didn't. The idea of the movie being like a dream is slightly more apt, though it still doesn't answer many of the questions it brings up.
Don't think that I was miserable when I was watching it, though. I wasn't, really. It made me laugh a few times (certainly not the film's intention). In fact, if they hadn't been so clearly trying to make a dramatic art film, it could've been successful as a satire of artsy films and their pretentious meaninglessness. I was almost sad to have to delete it from my DVR; if I could've taped it, it would've made a great joke to play on people, or even better, a recap for the Agony Booth.
Indeed, the movie is almost crazy-lovable instead of crazy-annoying. How can you hate a movie where such random crap happens without the slightest explanation? Well, quite simply, it feels like they're not thinking about it. It's a waste of talent, but if you were forwarned that it was crazy and that you should view it as such, it would probably make for a fun, almost Monty Python-esque time.
This movie is not available on DVD. There may be a snowball's chance in hell that it would get some kind of release from the Criterion Collection (it even has the Janus Films logo before it). If they do release it, I can only wonder how they'll try to justify it on the back of the box.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Memoirs of a Geisha
"Memoirs of a Geisha" is a movie about looking pretty. The story, of course, is about geisha, women who sell their virginity to the highest bidder. (But they're not prostitutes.) The women put on beautiful make-up and do beautiful dances. The movie is like that, too. The cinematography is stunning, and the women are beautiful. Underneath the cinematography and the women, however, is an overlong, unneccessarily cruel film.
The movie begins with the main character and her sister being sold to someone who, in turn, sells them to different women to be raised as housekeepers/geisha. One of the geisha at our main character's place takes an instant dislike to her, and does terrible things to her, such as forcing her to paint on an expensive dress, resulting in a beating. One day, the main character (I'll be damned if I have to look up what everybody's names are) runs away and contacts her sister, and they plan to run away. When she gets back, she finds the geisha having sex with a man, which is strictly forbidden. (But they're not prostitutes.) As a result, the house is locked up and she never sees her sister again.
Later, a chairman for an unknown company helps the main character by buying her a treat. (For some reason, the chairman is never given a name. It seems to be a rule that a movie that thinks it's better than it is will keep names from the audience just to frustrate us.) This proves to be a pivotal moment in her life: She decides to repay him by becoming a geisha, and trying to become his geisha, despite his dislike of them.
"Memoirs" is, like the 2000 charmer "Chocolat," an example of what I call a 'fauxrin film.' They're movies about far-off countries, produced with local actors in stories that seem specialized to their locales. But they're not foreign films, because they're produced by American studios, made in American English, for American audiences. In fact, "Memoirs" manages to screw up the fauxrin feel by getting Chinese actresses for a Japanese story, and by producing the film on a soundstage in America. There's something odd about the idea of trying to transport audiences to another culture while filming in their own. Nonetheless, I really can't criticize those decisions; there are reasons for them, after all.
What I can criticize is the story. Now, I don't doubt that geishas were bought from poor farmers. I don't doubt that they were put through misery. I don't doubt that any of that kind of thing would happen. Realistically, the miserable parts of the film makes sense.
But the misery isn't the point. The movie isn't intended to be a realistic portrayal of the lives of geisha; it's intended to be a romantic look at geisha-hood. In fact, one gets the feeling that the misery is there to accentuate the (implausible) happy ending; the main character and the audience go through misery just to make the final images shinier. It's a tacky ploy to manipulate the audience into going "aww, how sweet."
The movie is beautiful. There's no doubt about that; spending so much money, it would be difficult to get an ugly film out of it. But there's nothing underneath the surface that drives the film.
The movie begins with the main character and her sister being sold to someone who, in turn, sells them to different women to be raised as housekeepers/geisha. One of the geisha at our main character's place takes an instant dislike to her, and does terrible things to her, such as forcing her to paint on an expensive dress, resulting in a beating. One day, the main character (I'll be damned if I have to look up what everybody's names are) runs away and contacts her sister, and they plan to run away. When she gets back, she finds the geisha having sex with a man, which is strictly forbidden. (But they're not prostitutes.) As a result, the house is locked up and she never sees her sister again.
Later, a chairman for an unknown company helps the main character by buying her a treat. (For some reason, the chairman is never given a name. It seems to be a rule that a movie that thinks it's better than it is will keep names from the audience just to frustrate us.) This proves to be a pivotal moment in her life: She decides to repay him by becoming a geisha, and trying to become his geisha, despite his dislike of them.
"Memoirs" is, like the 2000 charmer "Chocolat," an example of what I call a 'fauxrin film.' They're movies about far-off countries, produced with local actors in stories that seem specialized to their locales. But they're not foreign films, because they're produced by American studios, made in American English, for American audiences. In fact, "Memoirs" manages to screw up the fauxrin feel by getting Chinese actresses for a Japanese story, and by producing the film on a soundstage in America. There's something odd about the idea of trying to transport audiences to another culture while filming in their own. Nonetheless, I really can't criticize those decisions; there are reasons for them, after all.
What I can criticize is the story. Now, I don't doubt that geishas were bought from poor farmers. I don't doubt that they were put through misery. I don't doubt that any of that kind of thing would happen. Realistically, the miserable parts of the film makes sense.
But the misery isn't the point. The movie isn't intended to be a realistic portrayal of the lives of geisha; it's intended to be a romantic look at geisha-hood. In fact, one gets the feeling that the misery is there to accentuate the (implausible) happy ending; the main character and the audience go through misery just to make the final images shinier. It's a tacky ploy to manipulate the audience into going "aww, how sweet."
The movie is beautiful. There's no doubt about that; spending so much money, it would be difficult to get an ugly film out of it. But there's nothing underneath the surface that drives the film.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
La Dolce Vita
Well, it's taken me five months of turning it on, getting bored and turning it off, but I've finally done it. I've finally finished "La Dolce Vita." And if that achievement means anything, it means I'll never have to see it again.
Watching this movie was like an endurance test. I'll gladly sit through a six-hour miniseries like "The Best of Youth;" "The Decalogue," ten hours of the Ten Commandments, is at the top of my NetFlix queue, very closely followed by nine hours of Holocaust memories in "Shoah;" heck, I'd even like to see the 15-and-a-half-hour-long "Berlin Alexanderplatz" when they release it on DVD in November. But I could hardly stand a comparatively lean three hours of "La Dolce Vita."
In three hours of screentime, nothing much happens. A self-hating journalist covers various stories, hangs out with his friends, abuses various women, and parties all night long. Somehow, nothing really happens in three hours of screen time. On a discussion board I go to, a lot of people said that "The Great Gatsby" was "a bunch of rich fucks bitching and moaning about how much it sucks to be a rich fuck." I guess that's what "La Dolce Vita" felt like: A journalist covering celebrities bitches and moans about how empty his life is.
I can't tell if the movie had a point, but if it did, it probably has something to do with the cult of celebrity. Apparently, Federico Fellini could see the future of Hollywood and the tabloids, with photographers trying to take pictures of a woman as she learns her husband's gone crazy and killed their kids, or trying to take pictures of various stars. If that's the message of the film, then it's sure irrelevant now, since anybody with common sense knows what sick things papparazzi are. (And yes, I know that "papparazzi" comes from the character "Papparazzo" in this film, and no, I really don't care.) Maybe if the film had a spark of life to it, I could forgive that, but it doesn't. It's simply tedious.
I've tried 2.05 Federico Fellini films (this, "La Strada," and I gave up about five or ten minutes into "I Vitelloni"), and I've disliked them all. Call me a snob, but I don't want to sit through movies by somebody without something to say. (Unless, of course, the movie is entertaining, which I haven't found Fellini's films to be.) In both of the movies of his I've sat through, it felt like the movie wasn't trying to make a point, or if it was, it didn't know what the point was.
All the same, I can't help but think, "Maybe I should watch some more of his movies, just to be sure." Maybe I've been brainwashed by too many readings of Ebert's "The Great Movies" books, but for some reason, I can't just dismiss Fellini off of two movies. Maybe I should check out "Amarcord," or maybe try and finish "I Vitelloni," or maybe I could wait for "Juliet of the Spirits" to show on TCM, or...
No. No, no. Fellini's films are just too slow. Somehow, he managed to make movies where I get bored after watching maybe two or three minutes of it. It's like he went out of his way to avoid having plots in his films. I might try and subject myself to a few more of his films, and maybe I'll find a gem, like what happened when I kept watching Kurosawa films. On the other hand, maybe life is too short to sit and watch movies from people I find dull.
Watching this movie was like an endurance test. I'll gladly sit through a six-hour miniseries like "The Best of Youth;" "The Decalogue," ten hours of the Ten Commandments, is at the top of my NetFlix queue, very closely followed by nine hours of Holocaust memories in "Shoah;" heck, I'd even like to see the 15-and-a-half-hour-long "Berlin Alexanderplatz" when they release it on DVD in November. But I could hardly stand a comparatively lean three hours of "La Dolce Vita."
In three hours of screentime, nothing much happens. A self-hating journalist covers various stories, hangs out with his friends, abuses various women, and parties all night long. Somehow, nothing really happens in three hours of screen time. On a discussion board I go to, a lot of people said that "The Great Gatsby" was "a bunch of rich fucks bitching and moaning about how much it sucks to be a rich fuck." I guess that's what "La Dolce Vita" felt like: A journalist covering celebrities bitches and moans about how empty his life is.
I can't tell if the movie had a point, but if it did, it probably has something to do with the cult of celebrity. Apparently, Federico Fellini could see the future of Hollywood and the tabloids, with photographers trying to take pictures of a woman as she learns her husband's gone crazy and killed their kids, or trying to take pictures of various stars. If that's the message of the film, then it's sure irrelevant now, since anybody with common sense knows what sick things papparazzi are. (And yes, I know that "papparazzi" comes from the character "Papparazzo" in this film, and no, I really don't care.) Maybe if the film had a spark of life to it, I could forgive that, but it doesn't. It's simply tedious.
I've tried 2.05 Federico Fellini films (this, "La Strada," and I gave up about five or ten minutes into "I Vitelloni"), and I've disliked them all. Call me a snob, but I don't want to sit through movies by somebody without something to say. (Unless, of course, the movie is entertaining, which I haven't found Fellini's films to be.) In both of the movies of his I've sat through, it felt like the movie wasn't trying to make a point, or if it was, it didn't know what the point was.
All the same, I can't help but think, "Maybe I should watch some more of his movies, just to be sure." Maybe I've been brainwashed by too many readings of Ebert's "The Great Movies" books, but for some reason, I can't just dismiss Fellini off of two movies. Maybe I should check out "Amarcord," or maybe try and finish "I Vitelloni," or maybe I could wait for "Juliet of the Spirits" to show on TCM, or...
No. No, no. Fellini's films are just too slow. Somehow, he managed to make movies where I get bored after watching maybe two or three minutes of it. It's like he went out of his way to avoid having plots in his films. I might try and subject myself to a few more of his films, and maybe I'll find a gem, like what happened when I kept watching Kurosawa films. On the other hand, maybe life is too short to sit and watch movies from people I find dull.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Babel
So I haven't written any reviews in about six months. Yeah, sorry. I just found what I'd written already pretty lame, and that I also saw very few movies that really needed reviewing all that desperately. (Look at my two reviews of "The Best of Youth," after all.) But I've been thinking about writing some more reviews, and even though I saw this one back in March, it's still fresh enough in my mind that I can write about it.
"Babel" was, as you probably know, a movie that was nominated for several Oscars. I've seen three of the movies nominated for Best Picture this last year, and I am just completely dumbfounded. "The Queen" was all right, but not the absolutely great film people seemed to think. (And for all the hype about Helen Mirren's performance, I didn't really notice it all that much. Now, Michael Sheen as Tony Blair? That was an amazing performance.) "The Departed" felt like a routine cops-and-gangsters film, nothing more. Argue all you want about how it has hidden themes, but usually, there needs to be something about those themes that people can notice.
"Babel," however, is the worst of the lot. I won't go so far as to call it terrible; if I know one thing from hanging out on a forum dedicated to terrible movies, it's that what I think is terrible is quite honestly much better than most direct-to-video monster films. But "Babel" is pretty much a big mess.
It's the story of, well, nothing that I can really tell. That's partly because of the multiple-storyline thing, a premise that really shouldn't be used unless you have a good reason for it. It seems to me like some kind of result of our ADD culture; we can't have just one good story anymore, so we'll take four or five mediocre stories. Hearing that the director of Babel (Alejandro Gonzalez Innarito) has used this for his previous two films, "Amores Perros" and "21 Grams," makes me wonder if he's a one-trick pony. I haven't seen either one, and to be perfectly honest, "Babel" makes me want to stay away from them.
But the mess can't really be blamed on the multiple storylines. It should be blamed on the lack of coherence. I'm not going to say that if you use multiple storylines, you should make a good point; "Intermission" didn't make any real point with its various storylines, but it managed to be a good time nonetheless. "Babel," on the other hand, has pretensions of being Art, and it just doesn't work.
Let's look through the stories themselves: An American couple is arguing, but is brought together by the wife being shot. Two brothers (the ones who shot the woman, not really intending to do it) end up feeling guilt over her "death." The couple's children are taken into Mexico illegally, get culture shock, and then end up in the desert. And finally, a Japanese girl feels horny.
The stories on their own might make for a good film, but again, they're supposed to make A Statement About Our World. And that statement is... totally lost on me. Okay, reading about the movie later, I know it's supposed to be about borders and language and all that jazz, but the film doesn't seem to make a point about it. It just says, "Hey, you know how borders and language are impeding us?" and then doesn't really give any solutions or insights.
Worse yet is that if it's talking about borders and language, it seems it wants to shoot itself in the foot. If language is an impediment of some sort, then why do the American kids speak Spanish? Why does the American couple have a translator? If it's supposed to be about borders, what kind of borders do those Middle Eastern kids have to deal with? And the Japanese schoolgirl subplot could've been tossed out for all it does for the film; by the end, I was wondering if maybe the director put it in because he has a fetish for Japanese schoolgirls.
The film also seems to want to be a Topic of Conversation, and thus tries several attempts at starting conversations in coffeeshops. (Warning: Spoilers herein.) There's the third-act revelation that the American kids' story and their parents' story don't happen at the same time. The revelation affects nothing about either one of them. There's a note written by the Japanese schoolgirl that we don't get to find out the contents of. It feels like an afterthought more than an organic extension of anything. The one link between the Japanese plot and everything else is that the schoolgirl's father sold a gun in Middle East-land, which fell into the hands of the kids who shot Cate Blanchett. Now, really, when you're watching the plot about kids shooting a woman, you don't need to know how the guy who sold their father the gun came into possession of it; you need to know what unfolds because of their shooting. So we're getting a bunch of scenes that could've been cut out. Are you taking notes?
The thing that really got me about the film was its Oscar nominations. Why? There weren't any better movies to highlight? (Then again, they nominated "Little Miss Sunshine," so maybe they weren't paying much attention.) I mean, I can't say I've seen a bunch of 2006 movies, but "Babel" is feeble compared to "Stranger than Fiction" or "The Fountain." If they nominated "Babel" because it was trying to say something, why not nominate "The Fountain," which also tried to say something, and managed to be more entertaining and thought-provoking?
In the end, "Babel" felt like it wanted to say something, but it wasn't speaking my language. Which is ironic, to the say the least.
"Babel" was, as you probably know, a movie that was nominated for several Oscars. I've seen three of the movies nominated for Best Picture this last year, and I am just completely dumbfounded. "The Queen" was all right, but not the absolutely great film people seemed to think. (And for all the hype about Helen Mirren's performance, I didn't really notice it all that much. Now, Michael Sheen as Tony Blair? That was an amazing performance.) "The Departed" felt like a routine cops-and-gangsters film, nothing more. Argue all you want about how it has hidden themes, but usually, there needs to be something about those themes that people can notice.
"Babel," however, is the worst of the lot. I won't go so far as to call it terrible; if I know one thing from hanging out on a forum dedicated to terrible movies, it's that what I think is terrible is quite honestly much better than most direct-to-video monster films. But "Babel" is pretty much a big mess.
It's the story of, well, nothing that I can really tell. That's partly because of the multiple-storyline thing, a premise that really shouldn't be used unless you have a good reason for it. It seems to me like some kind of result of our ADD culture; we can't have just one good story anymore, so we'll take four or five mediocre stories. Hearing that the director of Babel (Alejandro Gonzalez Innarito) has used this for his previous two films, "Amores Perros" and "21 Grams," makes me wonder if he's a one-trick pony. I haven't seen either one, and to be perfectly honest, "Babel" makes me want to stay away from them.
But the mess can't really be blamed on the multiple storylines. It should be blamed on the lack of coherence. I'm not going to say that if you use multiple storylines, you should make a good point; "Intermission" didn't make any real point with its various storylines, but it managed to be a good time nonetheless. "Babel," on the other hand, has pretensions of being Art, and it just doesn't work.
Let's look through the stories themselves: An American couple is arguing, but is brought together by the wife being shot. Two brothers (the ones who shot the woman, not really intending to do it) end up feeling guilt over her "death." The couple's children are taken into Mexico illegally, get culture shock, and then end up in the desert. And finally, a Japanese girl feels horny.
The stories on their own might make for a good film, but again, they're supposed to make A Statement About Our World. And that statement is... totally lost on me. Okay, reading about the movie later, I know it's supposed to be about borders and language and all that jazz, but the film doesn't seem to make a point about it. It just says, "Hey, you know how borders and language are impeding us?" and then doesn't really give any solutions or insights.
Worse yet is that if it's talking about borders and language, it seems it wants to shoot itself in the foot. If language is an impediment of some sort, then why do the American kids speak Spanish? Why does the American couple have a translator? If it's supposed to be about borders, what kind of borders do those Middle Eastern kids have to deal with? And the Japanese schoolgirl subplot could've been tossed out for all it does for the film; by the end, I was wondering if maybe the director put it in because he has a fetish for Japanese schoolgirls.
The film also seems to want to be a Topic of Conversation, and thus tries several attempts at starting conversations in coffeeshops. (Warning: Spoilers herein.) There's the third-act revelation that the American kids' story and their parents' story don't happen at the same time. The revelation affects nothing about either one of them. There's a note written by the Japanese schoolgirl that we don't get to find out the contents of. It feels like an afterthought more than an organic extension of anything. The one link between the Japanese plot and everything else is that the schoolgirl's father sold a gun in Middle East-land, which fell into the hands of the kids who shot Cate Blanchett. Now, really, when you're watching the plot about kids shooting a woman, you don't need to know how the guy who sold their father the gun came into possession of it; you need to know what unfolds because of their shooting. So we're getting a bunch of scenes that could've been cut out. Are you taking notes?
The thing that really got me about the film was its Oscar nominations. Why? There weren't any better movies to highlight? (Then again, they nominated "Little Miss Sunshine," so maybe they weren't paying much attention.) I mean, I can't say I've seen a bunch of 2006 movies, but "Babel" is feeble compared to "Stranger than Fiction" or "The Fountain." If they nominated "Babel" because it was trying to say something, why not nominate "The Fountain," which also tried to say something, and managed to be more entertaining and thought-provoking?
In the end, "Babel" felt like it wanted to say something, but it wasn't speaking my language. Which is ironic, to the say the least.
Saturday, January 13, 2007
The Best of Youth, Part 2
In re-reading my review of "The Best of Youth, Part 1," I feel like I may have written about it in too-romantic terms. You probably feel that way, too. And yet, it's all true. It's epic, it's joyful (although it's sad as well), it's beautiful. I guess that everything I said about Part 1 is true for Part 2.
I think that's where I'll stop. There's really no more to say about the film than I've said already.
I think that's where I'll stop. There's really no more to say about the film than I've said already.
Wednesday, January 3, 2007
Before Sunset
Two warm, beautiful films in two days. (Well, 1 and a half films, but you get my point.) This is some kind of record for me.
I can't really express why this film is so great. The warmth of it just enveloped me, and I guess that's what film is all about for me.
I guess my entire review can be summed up like this. You know how sometimes, people just do and say things and you laugh at them, and sometimes you don't even know why, it's just that, well, life's funny that way? That's what this film is like. Jesse and Celine get together and talk again, and they just do and say things that make you laugh, and it's all just so romantic.
I guess it's the lack of any real romance that makes me love this film so much, and yet, I can say that if I did have a girlfriend, this would probably be one of the first movies I'd show her--along with the predecessor, "Before Sunrise."
The only two complaints I have about the film: One, there's a lot of dirty talk, which I don't mind, but it really gets in the way of fantasizing about watching it with a girlfriend (and I just realize how strange that makes me sound); and two, it's only 80 minutes long. It's true what Ebert says: No good movie is long enough. (And no bad movie is short enough, but that's not the point I'm trying to make.)
I'd recommend this film if you want to get in the mood for love. (Which reminds me, I should probably see "In the Mood for Love" sooner.) However, if you're impatient and/or don't like movies where people just talk, no matter how great their conversation is, you'll probably want to avoid this. You'd be missing out, though.
I can't really express why this film is so great. The warmth of it just enveloped me, and I guess that's what film is all about for me.
I guess my entire review can be summed up like this. You know how sometimes, people just do and say things and you laugh at them, and sometimes you don't even know why, it's just that, well, life's funny that way? That's what this film is like. Jesse and Celine get together and talk again, and they just do and say things that make you laugh, and it's all just so romantic.
I guess it's the lack of any real romance that makes me love this film so much, and yet, I can say that if I did have a girlfriend, this would probably be one of the first movies I'd show her--along with the predecessor, "Before Sunrise."
The only two complaints I have about the film: One, there's a lot of dirty talk, which I don't mind, but it really gets in the way of fantasizing about watching it with a girlfriend (and I just realize how strange that makes me sound); and two, it's only 80 minutes long. It's true what Ebert says: No good movie is long enough. (And no bad movie is short enough, but that's not the point I'm trying to make.)
I'd recommend this film if you want to get in the mood for love. (Which reminds me, I should probably see "In the Mood for Love" sooner.) However, if you're impatient and/or don't like movies where people just talk, no matter how great their conversation is, you'll probably want to avoid this. You'd be missing out, though.
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
The Best of Youth, Part 1
I'm going to start this review off like pretty much every other review of this film: It's not really a film, but a six-hour Italian miniseries. And now, for two revelations: One, I've yet to start watching it (this first paragraph came to me before I started); and two, this review is going to be in two parts thanks to NetFlix shipping the discs one at a time, and due to the backwards nature of a blog, this means that in the archives, Part 2 will come before Part 1. Weird, but what can I do? Now, on to the movie.
--
Most kids these days are impatient. They want what they want, and they want it now. How would they sit through something like "The Best Of Youth," which I just finished the first part of, without pausing for a drink, a snack, a bathroom break, or anything? Well, I managed. Sure, there were brief interruptions (when you live with your family, that happens when you watch DVDs), but not once did I pause the film. I never got bored with it, something that didn't happen with a slightly shorter film, "Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring." And if I had the second disc right now, I'd start watching it after only a brief intermission.
It is, as Roger Ebert pointed out in his review, an ambitious film. It's six hours long and it follows two brothers over four decades of their lives. You could easily think that such a film would be exhausting, maybe gloomy, or any other negative adjectives that come to mind. And yet this is one of the most moving films I've seen in quite a while (and keep in mind, I'm not even finished with it yet).
Matteo and Nicola start their journey away from home by planning to go to Norway for the summer with two of their friends, but they get sidetracked when Matteo discovers that a patient at an asylum he works for, Giorgia, is being electroshocked. So he breaks her out (a rare instance of cliche in the film, the old "the-patient-would-be-better-off-out-of-the-asylum" bit, but here there's actually a reason for it) on an ill-fated quest to take her home to her father. However, when she refuses to produce her nonexistent ID when asked by policemen, she is taken away and the brothers may never see her again.
That, on its own, could make for an interesting film, yes? Well, that's just in the first hour of "The Best of Youth." Matteo leaves for home and joins up with the army, while Nicola goes on to Norway alone... but to give away more would be wrong. There's so much story here that it's no wonder it had to be a six-hour miniseries: Compressing it into the form of a two or three-hour film would not only be fundamentally wrong, it's probably too difficult a task to contemplate. Oh, sure, you can summarize the events, but for their full impact, they need the time to develop.
And oh, what a time it is. This is a joyful work so far. It is almost like watching select moments from the lives and times of two real brothers instead of two fictional ones. The film has an eye for those moments in life where you chuckle at the little jokes life plays with you--not "on" you, realize, but with you. Sure, there are sad moments, but they're woven in just as they would be in life.
I may have to watch this part again before I send it back to NetFlix and get the second act, both to keep the events in mind and to experience them all over again. I almost wish I'd rented it at a traditional rental store, so as to get both discs and to absorb it all as a whole instead of as two parts. Alas, such is life.
As for recommending it, if you think you have the patience to sit through it, you probably should see this film. If you're the kind of person who enjoyed "Jules & Jim," I think you'll probably enjoy this.
--
Most kids these days are impatient. They want what they want, and they want it now. How would they sit through something like "The Best Of Youth," which I just finished the first part of, without pausing for a drink, a snack, a bathroom break, or anything? Well, I managed. Sure, there were brief interruptions (when you live with your family, that happens when you watch DVDs), but not once did I pause the film. I never got bored with it, something that didn't happen with a slightly shorter film, "Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring." And if I had the second disc right now, I'd start watching it after only a brief intermission.
It is, as Roger Ebert pointed out in his review, an ambitious film. It's six hours long and it follows two brothers over four decades of their lives. You could easily think that such a film would be exhausting, maybe gloomy, or any other negative adjectives that come to mind. And yet this is one of the most moving films I've seen in quite a while (and keep in mind, I'm not even finished with it yet).
Matteo and Nicola start their journey away from home by planning to go to Norway for the summer with two of their friends, but they get sidetracked when Matteo discovers that a patient at an asylum he works for, Giorgia, is being electroshocked. So he breaks her out (a rare instance of cliche in the film, the old "the-patient-would-be-better-off-out-of-the-asylum" bit, but here there's actually a reason for it) on an ill-fated quest to take her home to her father. However, when she refuses to produce her nonexistent ID when asked by policemen, she is taken away and the brothers may never see her again.
That, on its own, could make for an interesting film, yes? Well, that's just in the first hour of "The Best of Youth." Matteo leaves for home and joins up with the army, while Nicola goes on to Norway alone... but to give away more would be wrong. There's so much story here that it's no wonder it had to be a six-hour miniseries: Compressing it into the form of a two or three-hour film would not only be fundamentally wrong, it's probably too difficult a task to contemplate. Oh, sure, you can summarize the events, but for their full impact, they need the time to develop.
And oh, what a time it is. This is a joyful work so far. It is almost like watching select moments from the lives and times of two real brothers instead of two fictional ones. The film has an eye for those moments in life where you chuckle at the little jokes life plays with you--not "on" you, realize, but with you. Sure, there are sad moments, but they're woven in just as they would be in life.
I may have to watch this part again before I send it back to NetFlix and get the second act, both to keep the events in mind and to experience them all over again. I almost wish I'd rented it at a traditional rental store, so as to get both discs and to absorb it all as a whole instead of as two parts. Alas, such is life.
As for recommending it, if you think you have the patience to sit through it, you probably should see this film. If you're the kind of person who enjoyed "Jules & Jim," I think you'll probably enjoy this.
The Prestige
My favorite film critic is Roger Ebert. (I mentioned him in my first post as the kind of writing I aspire to get to with this, so you see what I mean.) One thing he resents is having to rate films by stars: His reviews do a much better job of telling you about a movie than how many stars a film gets. "The Prestige" is a good reason as to why numbers, stars, thumbs, etc., aren't good ways to show what you thought of a movie.
The movie is, taken at face value, well-done. The film gets your interest and it rewards it. But when you think about it, there's a problem. Here, it's the characters, specifically, the main characters, Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman. (I barely recall their characters' names, which is unfortunate, considering my annoyance at people who see an actor in a movie and say, "Hey, it's that-guy!") Their characters have pretty much no redeeming qualities: They're driven by obsession, revenge, and vengeance for their revenges. They're not likeable at all.
I know main characters don't have to be likeable. There are lots of movies, some of which are good and a few of which are great, where the main character is unlikeable. But the good ones at least give you something to sympathize with. There's nothing underneath the two characters here to give you anything. They do what they do without a single motive with which we can identify. (And before you can say that we've all felt obsessive or vengeful, these guys take it to an extreme you probably haven't felt unless you're in prison.)
So I don't like the main characters. The others are mostly sympathetic: From Michael Caine to Christian Bale's daughter (and no, I can't remember their names, either) to Nikola Tesla (played by David Bowie... yes, I remember his name, but mainly because it's how I found out, not to mention it's the only name the movie leaves in your brain), they have some kind of sympathetic characteristic. But you don't really get into their brains. You're stuck with the two main characters.
Not helping matters is that about 3/4 of the way through, the film reveals a plot twist that takes itself from "involving but hateful" to "damn near ridiculous." The spoilers shall be hidden, so don't highlight if you haven't found out for yourself and you care about it: Eventually, it turns out that the two can end up essentially cloning themselves using electricity and Comic Book Science (where science functions in ways unexplainable without saying "the plot requires it"). Not only is this preposterous, especially considering that this story takes place in the 19th century [!!], it sets up an ending where we're nearly cheated out of a resolution because there seem to be just enough versions of the two of them that they're able to get away with everything. It also makes the characters more unlikeable, because really, how can you sympathize with someone who's apparently killed dozens of versions of himself? Sure, it makes for some interesting plot twists, but if you think about it enough, you'll figure out all but one of them. But for the most part, the story is interesting enough to keep you guessing. It's just too bad that it has to end the way it does, to satisfy everyone at the expense of actually resolving everything.
So, could I recommend it to you? Probably not. It's nearly impossible to get on the side of either of the two main characters; otherwise, it's an interesting film that 'works,' but without sympathetic characters, what good is it?
The movie is, taken at face value, well-done. The film gets your interest and it rewards it. But when you think about it, there's a problem. Here, it's the characters, specifically, the main characters, Christian Bale and Hugh Jackman. (I barely recall their characters' names, which is unfortunate, considering my annoyance at people who see an actor in a movie and say, "Hey, it's that-guy!") Their characters have pretty much no redeeming qualities: They're driven by obsession, revenge, and vengeance for their revenges. They're not likeable at all.
I know main characters don't have to be likeable. There are lots of movies, some of which are good and a few of which are great, where the main character is unlikeable. But the good ones at least give you something to sympathize with. There's nothing underneath the two characters here to give you anything. They do what they do without a single motive with which we can identify. (And before you can say that we've all felt obsessive or vengeful, these guys take it to an extreme you probably haven't felt unless you're in prison.)
So I don't like the main characters. The others are mostly sympathetic: From Michael Caine to Christian Bale's daughter (and no, I can't remember their names, either) to Nikola Tesla (played by David Bowie... yes, I remember his name, but mainly because it's how I found out, not to mention it's the only name the movie leaves in your brain), they have some kind of sympathetic characteristic. But you don't really get into their brains. You're stuck with the two main characters.
Not helping matters is that about 3/4 of the way through, the film reveals a plot twist that takes itself from "involving but hateful" to "damn near ridiculous." The spoilers shall be hidden, so don't highlight if you haven't found out for yourself and you care about it: Eventually, it turns out that the two can end up essentially cloning themselves using electricity and Comic Book Science (where science functions in ways unexplainable without saying "the plot requires it"). Not only is this preposterous, especially considering that this story takes place in the 19th century [!!], it sets up an ending where we're nearly cheated out of a resolution because there seem to be just enough versions of the two of them that they're able to get away with everything. It also makes the characters more unlikeable, because really, how can you sympathize with someone who's apparently killed dozens of versions of himself? Sure, it makes for some interesting plot twists, but if you think about it enough, you'll figure out all but one of them. But for the most part, the story is interesting enough to keep you guessing. It's just too bad that it has to end the way it does, to satisfy everyone at the expense of actually resolving everything.
So, could I recommend it to you? Probably not. It's nearly impossible to get on the side of either of the two main characters; otherwise, it's an interesting film that 'works,' but without sympathetic characters, what good is it?
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