Archive for the ‘Film’ Category
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Bliss (Mutluluk) & Adam
Saturday, March 13th, 2010—FilmBliss (Turkey/Greece 2007, Drama), Writer: Elif Ayan; Director: Abdullah Oguz
Adam (USA 2009, Drama/Romance), Writer/Director: Max Mayer
As soon as I saw the title, I had to rent Bliss. It shares the same ironic name as the short screenplay I’ve been trying to get funded for the past year or more. Fortunately, the Turkish feature film turned out to be great, and not just another flop I picked up on a misguided impulse.
Bliss is based on the 2002 novel by Zülfü Livaneli. When young Meryem (Özgü Namal) is found unconscious by the shore, the people in her Anatolian village assume she was raped. According to custom, the only way to atone for her “shame” is to put her to death. Cemal (Murat Han), the son of the village leader, is tasked with taking her to Istanbul and killing her. But he can’t bring himself to finish the job, and the pair embarks on a journey that highlights the stark contrast between their beliefs and those of modern-day Turks.
This movie is gorgeous. Its camerawork is inventive and thoughtful, exquisitely matched with each scene and moment. The acting is exceptional on all counts, although Namal deserves special recognition for her powerful portrayal of Meryem. And the scenery—punctuated by an evocative score—is spectacular. Not only is Bliss an enlightening study of the culture clashes and medleys that exist in Turkey, it goes a long way to showcasing the country’s stunning natural beauty.
And then there’s Adam. I don’t have much to say about the film because, on the whole, I don’t recommend it. It’s about a young man named Adam (Hugh Dancy) whose struggle to make a relationship work with Beth (Rose Byrne) is compounded by the fact that he has Asperger’s Syndrome. When I heard about Adam, I was interested by the subject matter. But the trailers had too much of a movie-of-the-week flavour to get me into the theatres. I ended up renting Adam, and found that the previews were fair.
I’m only bothering to write about the movie because there were some interesting parallels between Adam’s difficulties in engaging in substantial relationships, and those demonstrated by so-called NTs—neurotypicals. How big a difference is there really between a person who hides behind a door, afraid to open it when his date arrives, and a person who opens the door but never really lets anyone in? Aside from the appearance of one being normal, they’re both quite similar—not sure how, and not ready, to open up and trust.
Beyond that, though, the film didn’t inspire much reflection. It doesn’t offer a lot by way storyline; instead, it sort of plays out like Introduction to Asperger’s 101. Dancy is clearly a fine actor who brings a nicely understated delivery to his performance. But his talents, and the portrait of a person with Asperger’s, would be better served in a film that offers the kind of artful, lyrical treatment found in Bliss.
The Hurt Locker
Wednesday, February 17th, 2010—FilmThe Hurt Locker (USA 2009, Action/Drama/War), Writer: Mark Boal; Director: Kathryn Bigelow
BD and I recently brought our movie nights home when we rented The Hurt Locker. Somehow, it feels disingenuous to me to break the film down and analyze it too much. Maybe it’s because I know so little about the Iraq War, and only what stories and my imagination tell me about life in the military; maybe it’s because I live in the peace, freedom and security of Canada… I didn’t have this problem writing about Rescue Dawn, but maybe that’s a testament to just how powerful The Hurt Locker is.
Most of all, though, I won’t say too much because the movie speaks for itself. I’m only writing now to recommend it to everyone. The Hurt Locker is set in Baghdad in 2004. A company of American soldiers is nearing the end of its rotation with the Explosive Ordnance Disposal unit when their team leader is killed in the line of duty. Sergeant William James (Jeremy Renner) fills in, and the film follows him and his team as they disarm bombs in and around the city, and try to grapple with all that their jobs entail—on tour and at home.
A few minutes into the film, BD commented on how real everything looked. She was bang on. At the risk of sounding naïve, I’d go so far as to say you feel like you’re actually there.
Kathryn Bigelow is an inspired director with a smorgasbord of films to her credit (Point Break, Strange Days, The Weight of Water). For The Hurt Locker, she uses a documentary-style approach—multiple hand-held cameras, often shooting at ground or eye level—that lends an amazing sense of realism. The film opens with a palpable tension that literally had me holding my breath. I had to keep reminding myself to relax so I wouldn’t send my back into spasm again (long story involving Frisbees).
The direction and acting are so impeccable that The Hurt Locker comes across as more of a documentary than a work of fiction. Bigelow creates an immediacy that really brings home what the men in Bravo Company experience; how mundane and routine their days can be, and also how downright unspeakable. It’s a tour de force from Bigelow, and one I hope will earn her a Best Director nod at the Academy Awards.
Hands down, a must-see film.
Crazy Heart
Tuesday, February 2nd, 2010—FilmCrazy Heart (USA 2010, Drama/Music/Romance), Writer/Director: Scott Cooper
Crazy Heart plays a bit like one of those novellas that doesn’t have a substantial story but spins out a character so beautifully that you forgive it.
There’s nothing unique in the film’s storyline, which is based on Thomas Cobb’s novel of the same name. Bad Blake (Jeff Bridges) is a washed-up 57-year-old country singing sensation with four failed marriages and three years of writer’s block. But he can still bed women in every small town he plays, and swallows down the bitter taste of it all with alcohol.
Bad tries to pull himself out of his slump, reconnecting with current music great Tommy Sweet (a miscast Colin Farrell) and, more significantly, trying to forge a relationship with single mother Jean Craddock (a perfectly cast Maggie Gyllenhaal, who always delivers—see Stranger Than Fiction). But it’s clearly going to be an uphill battle for ol’ Bad.
Crazy Heart is reminiscent of Darren Aronofsky’s The Wrestler, although not as daring or well paced. That said, nothing is truly original anymore, and what matters isn’t the story so much as the telling.
With Crazy Heart, writer/director Scott Cooper paints an incredibly textured and complete portrait of Bad, who is inhabited mind, body and spirit by Bridges. It’s a sensational performance, from his beaten down body language to the smoky voice he lends to the original songs. The movie is essentially a character piece, and one that’s well worth the price of admission.
Even Bad’s music—written by American music mogul T-Bone Burnett—is excellent. In fact, it’s so good you’d swear the songs must already be hits (and this coming from someone who, with the exception of Johnny Cash, is not a country music fan). There’s a scene in the film where Bad plays a brand-new song for Jean and she says it sounds familiar. “That’s the way it is with the good ones,” he tells her. “You’re sure you’ve heard them before.”
If that’s how it works with Bad’s songs, it definitely works the same way with Bridges’ performance. He instantly makes his character so real and sympathetic that you feel you know him intimately. Maybe “familiar” isn’t always such a bad thing. It’s kind of like coming home.
This Is It & Hamlet (live)
Thursday, January 21st, 2010—FilmThis Is It (USA 2009, Documentary/Music), Director: Kenny Ortega
Hamlet (Broadhurst Theater, 2009), Writer: William Shakespeare; Director: Michael Grandage
I wrote a draft of this post when I got back from New York last November, but never got around to finishing it. A friend recently asked about This Is It, which is apparently coming out soon on DVD, so I figured it was time because the documentary is definitely worth picking up for a night in.
ST and I caught a cheap-Tuesday showing of This Is It the week before I left for New York. Directed by the legendary-to-me Kenny Ortega (he choreographed my beloved Dirty Dancing), This Is It features behind-the-scenes footage of Michael Jackson and his crew of dancers, musicians and other artists as they prepared for what was to be his final tour. Things I was thinking after seeing the movie: it does an amazing job of suggesting what Jackson’s final show would have been like; and it pays homage not only to his talent, but to his incredible star power.
This Is It opens with interviews of the tour’s dancers, many in tears over the opportunity to perform with MJ. We roll from there into a medley of rehearsal footage at all stages of undress—from a basic walkthrough of the steps, to what looks close to the awesome final product that almost was. There are incredible feats of talent in This Is It, not only from Jackson, who is uncannily in tune with every key and beat of his music, but also his backup performers. The tour would have featured some of the world’s best dancers and musicians; look for some standout guitar solos in the film.
Ortega smartly stays away from the controversy around Jackson’s personal life and death. There are only minor hints of the star’s complicated inner dialogue, and bare glimpses that he might be somewhat out of synch with the world around him. Instead, the film focuses on paying a final tribute to what Michael Jackson brought to the world as a very gifted performer.
This isn’t an outstanding documentary in and of itself. But when you consider that the footage wasn’t intended for a feature film, and the incredible job the filmmakers do of capturing what the King of Pop’s swan song would have been like, This Is It becomes an opportunity not to be missed. I wouldn’t have been in the audience had Jackson’s tour made it to the stage. Now, having seen the making-of documentary, I’m genuinely disappointed that no one will ever see the real thing.
Speaking of star power and magnetic talent, I had the privilege of watching Jude Law perform Hamlet on Broadway while I was in New York. With This Is It fresh in my mind, I was all the more impressed by the effect Law had on the audience, and on the show as a whole. First off, he gave a wonderful performance. I’ve seen excellent film actors fall flat onstage. Maybe they’re accustomed to the short film takes and can’t maintain a consistent energy through the entire play, or maybe they simply lack presence. Other times, great stage actors can be a bit too theatrical for the unwavering intimacy of film. Jude Law doesn’t have a problem here; he’s excellent in both mediums. He had great presence, and projected and postured well to the audience. But he was always so convincing, I could imagine the close-up of his performance working very well on film.
This was a streamlined production of Hamlet. The sets and costumes were spare and dark, and the script was punctuated by a precise, minimalist score. Within that, director Michael Grandage made plenty of room to play on his lead actor’s star power. Taking artistic licence with Shakespeare’s script, the show opens with Hamlet crouched alone onstage, lit dramatically by a spotlight. He rises, leaves, and the play begins as it was written. It was a wise move on Grandage’s part to open with Law; had he not, the audience would have been too distracted to listen during the play’s opening dialogue, sitting on pins and needles in anticipation of the star’s entrance.
The director continues to make smart choices with his leading man throughout the production. When the ghost of Hamlet’s father speaks for the first time, Grandage points attention to the ghost by having Law’s back to the audience. Not only does it create dramatic tension by leaving the audience to imagine the impact of the ghost’s words on Hamlet, but it creates space to forget about the star for a few moments and really absorb the other actor’s performance.
If I seem to be overplaying the impact Law had on the theatre, I’m not. Every time he had a soliloquy, almost the entire audience was transfixed. I broke away from that enough to catch a glimpse of the people around me. They were mesmerized. When the curtain descended after the actors took their bows, most audience members bounded out of their seats, eager to return to the hectic New York City tempo. But then the curtains rose again to reveal Law standing alone, centre stage, and everyone froze on the spot, forgetting all else and managing only to stare and cheer. He was utterly magnetic. Even for someone who views that kind of thing with skepticism, it’s still quite something to behold.
* * *
This post is dedicated to the fabulous FS, whose star is on the rise and who has always been a star in my world. Congrats on the off-Broadway debut!!
The Lovely Bones
Saturday, January 16th, 2010—FilmThe Lovely Bones (USA/UK/New Zealand 2010, Drama/Fantasy/Thriller), Writers: Fran Walsh, Philippa Boyens, Peter Jackson; Director: Peter Jackson
The Lovely Bones has been getting some pretty damning reviews. But to be fair, it’s based on a book (Alice Sebold’s beautiful work of the same name) that is very difficult to adapt to film.
In the novel, the story of raped and murdered 14-year-old Susie Salmon, and the impact of her death on those she leaves behind, is told from Susie’s point of view as she watches from “the in between”—a place somewhere between heaven and Earth. Sebold’s writing moves the reader gracefully from one place to another, watching over Susie’s family, her friends and even her murderer, and spending time in her imagined paradise.
I loved the book and have been waiting a long time for this movie. I was pretty excited when I read that Peter Jackson was on board to direct; he seemed like the perfect person for the job. His Heavenly Creatures showed that he could delve into the imagined lives of teenage girls, and handle dark family matters. The Lord of the Rings trilogy proved beyond any doubt that he was adept at working with CGI and creating rich fantasy worlds on an epic scale.
But somehow Jackson’s background wasn’t enough to do justice to The Lovely Bones. So much of what Susie experiences, both in her heaven and when she interacts with people still on Earth, works perfectly in the novel but is over the top when interpreted literally for the screen. It comes across as hokey. Jackson also tries to cover too much ground, and ends up giving a shallow treatment to many of the characters and subplots that truly made the novel come alive for me (e.g. Susie’s strange and otherworldly classmate, Ruth; her sister Lindsey’s journey; her mother’s struggle and desperation).
It’s been too long since I read the novel for me to say what specifically I’d have cut out. Maybe the answer to a better adaptation lies more in the treatment than in the content; a more experimental, non-narrative approach might have led to greater success. The film could have moved more fluidly between the two worlds, fading from one to the other without following logic and structure, the way dreams happen. I think it would have worked to allow for some ambiguity and confusion in the format for the sake of more clearly developed characters and glimpses into their lives (or afterlives).
In spite of some obvious and significant flaws in the film, I can’t completely write it off. The Lovely Bones has a couple moments that took me right back to the book, almost as though Jackson had crept inside my mind and brought my vision to life. There are also brilliant moments, like the beautiful scene when Susie’s father Jack (Mark Wahlberg), in a fit of rage and despair, destroys the model ships-in-a-bottle he used to build with his daughter, and the boats in Susie’s “in between” simultaneously come apart in the ocean before her.
Although some of the actors aren’t really given enough material to dig their teeth into, the film features some incredible performances. As murderer George Harvey, Stanley Tucci is fantastic and nothing like I’ve seen him before. And as Susie, young Irish actress Saoirse Ronan blows me away. Her portrayal is wonderful, and diametrically opposed to the brilliant, Oscar-nominated performance she gave in Atonement.
Watching The Lovely Bones, I was more fascinated than disappointed. It’s too hard for me to separate the movie from the novel, which I loved; from Sebold’s memoir, Lucky, which I’m reading now, and that accounts for her own experience with rape and trying to merge the seemingly contradictory notions of the world she used to know with the post-assault world she is left to inhabit; and my own fascination with criminology, and interest in understanding social deviants—how they got there, and whether they can ever return from there (my undergrad thesis explored the possible benefits of a reconciliation between sex offenders and their survivors).
Still, I can imagine that for someone who hasn’t read the book and doesn’t share my connections to the movie and its themes, the film would only be uneven, unsatisfying and maybe even a little cloying. People can’t be expected to read the novel as a complement to the film, and research the filmmakers’ histories to get a deeper appreciation for it.
This is a movie that will probably only be of value to people who read the book and are interested in seeing Jackson’s take on it. The real genius of The Lovely Bones is in Sebold’s writing and how she adapted her own experiences to create a transcendent novel, floating—like Susie—somewhere between fantasy and reality.
A Single Man & Avatar
Saturday, January 9th, 2010—FilmA Single Man (USA 2009, Drama), Writer/Director: Tom Ford
Avatar (USA/UK 2009, Action/Adventure/Sci-Fi), Writer/Director: James Cameron
“Her dreams are more real than her waking, and they fly through her mind like white birds.”
I saw Avatar a few weeks ago for the first time, and I loved it but didn’t think I had enough to say about it to warrant a post. In short, I thought the visuals were amazing, the storyline touching albeit predictable. But I saw it again and, amazingly, the second viewing seemed to go by even faster than the first. Then last night I saw A Single Man, and although it’s profoundly different from Avatar, its opening draws an immediate parallel to the animated epic and compelled me to write about both films.
Each movie explores the idea of creating, or discovering, an altered state of consciousness, greater enlightenment. They begin with the protagonists waking up. But in both films, the characters have suffered great loses and are cut off from the world, sleepwalking through life even in their waking. What is interesting is that the films go in opposite directions to resolve their characters’ disconnect and unhappiness.
A Single Man is fashion designer Tom Ford’s directorial debut. Set in 1960s Los Angeles, it tells the story of George (Colin Firth), a man grieving the loss of his partner of 16 years, Jim (Matthew Goode), who died in a car accident some eight months prior. Waking up, George tells us, actually hurts. “My heart has been broken, and it is as if I’m sinking, drowning, and I can’t breathe.”
In the film’s opening moments, you really believe him. His pain is palpable, and as he stands frustrated at his kitchen counter, slamming a loaf of frozen bread down to break up the slices, you see how much he carries it with him. Getting used to being “George,” he says, takes time. It’s something he must prepare for each morning as he dresses to face the world. He feels as though he’s playing a part, going through the motions the world expects him to make. But he isn’t really there anymore; part of him died with Jim.
Ford’s direction is heavily stylized. George’s world is mostly shown in muted colours. When he observes others, or tries to interact, we see extreme close-ups of objects or body parts, lips that suddenly glow in full technicolour. But these forced moments of liveliness only serve to further highlight how disconnected George is from those around him. They feel just as empty as the bleak, frozen landscape George trudges through every day. They don’t feel real. It’s only when he gets to know a few strangers who start to bring him out of his grief that the shot and colour treatment takes on a lifelike, natural hue and carries an energy that feels like something alive, something you can connect to.
The problem is, A Single Man works so hard to convey George’s disconnect that I felt too detached to really be moved by it. With all of Ford’s extreme close-ups, hugging bodies, accentuating lips and torsos, he betrays his background in fashion and does himself a disservice as a filmmaker. A movie is more than just the series of shots that hold it together, and many of Ford’s choices felt too self-conscious to really engage me.
Avatar, on the other hand, does a fantastic job of drawing the viewer in. It engulfs you from the very beginning. The movie is James Cameron’s glorious return to feature filmmaking after 1997’s epic Titanic. Set in the 2100s, it follows paraplegic marine Jake Sully (Sam Worthington) to the moon Pandora where he has been assigned to take over the job his deceased twin brother began. Pandora is home to a valuable but elusive mineral called unobtanium (cute), which a wealthy corporation plans to mine for. The moon is also home to the Na’vi, a blue-skinned humanoid species that lives directly atop a massive unobtanium deposit and presents a problem to the greedy people who want to get their hands on the mineral—at any cost.
In an effort to improve relations with the Na’vi, scientists create Avatars, creatures that resemble the Na’vi but are made from both human and Na’vi DNA and can be controlled remotely by humans whose consciousness inhabit the Avatar bodies. Jake’s brother was one such Avatar operator, and because Jake shares his twin’s DNA, he alone is able to inhabit his brother’s Avatar. Jake accepts the mission and attempts to learn the Na’vi way on behalf of the corporation. But in the process, he falls in love with their lifestyle—and with the powerful Na’vi Neytiri (Zoe Saldana)—and, in the process of waking up to who he is destined to become, discovers what is really worth fighting for.
Avatar is 10 years in the making, and you could spend hours reading up on the technology behind it. A 3D marvel, Avatar was shot using an innovative motion-capture stage and dual-camera system that recorded the actors’ performances down to the minutest facial expressions, allowing their digital counterparts to appear to move in real-time. True to form, Cameron developed the technology he needed to bring his imagination to the screen.
While the technology is mind-blowing (and admittedly out of my realm of expertise after conducting only very rudimentary research), what I love most about Avatar is the Na’vi world and the concept it explores about energy—a concept that has fascinated me for years. Every action, every birth and death, every thought, involves an energy that binds us all together. The Na’vi have such a profound understanding of and respect for nature, and their exquisite world is brought to life so vividly by the animation, you can’t help but long to know that a place like that really does exist somewhere in the universe.
A Single Man and Avatar explore the danger of drifting through life without fully engaging with what’s going on around us, and introduce the empowerment and fulfillment that comes from truly waking up. Both feature men who are trapped in their current forms, by grief and—in Jake’s case—by physical barriers. It’s only when they enter a new form of consciousness that they are able to realize what they can truly become. Where A Single Man fails is by keeping the viewer at a distance and never letting you fully join George on his journey of awakening. Avatar, on the other, brings you right into Jake’s world, and hopefully opens people’s eyes to much more than just one person’s plight.
* * *
“She is waking to noises… And each of them beats in her ear like a drum as the dragons, the witches, the eagles, the mice, as the flowers and tigers and leopards and swans, as they all swim away through the rooms of her mind into darkness and seafoam and peace.”
Where the Wild Things Are
Monday, October 19th, 2009—FilmWhere the Wild Things Are (USA 2009, Adventure/Drama/Fantasy), Writers: Spike Jonze, Dave Eggers; Director: Spike Jonze
Spike Jonze’s adaptation of Maurice Sendak’s beloved children’s book, Where the Wild Things Are, leaps onto the screen with the energy and spirit of children everywhere playing in parks, forts and snow banks. The writer/director has created a magical world on par with those places where your shadow can suddenly leave you behind and take off on wild adventures; where you can spiral down a tunnel and wind up in an alternate realm full of mysterious creatures; where nameless strangers pass by through dappled light and share whispers that change your day, your view, your life.
This is the world where the Wild Things are, and I don’t want to spoil it by saying too much. You shouldn’t really read about it, anyway; you have to experience it.
The film beautifully captures the whimsy and fancy of childhood, but also the frustration that comes when you’re young and small and feel that no one hears you no matter how loudly you scream. Young Max (Max Records) needs to escape his world because his emotions are too big for anyone to understand, including him. So he goes to a place where he can finally make sense of them—where the Wild Things are.
As someone who spent much of their childhood living in make-believe worlds where other humans didn’t exist or couldn’t see me, I very much related to Where the Wild Things Are, and very much loved it. There are so many fun, inventive characters who enliven the film with their random comments—the kind you feel could only be spoken by someone “real,” they’re so off-the-cuff.
But the film also makes room for more somber, reflective touches; both Max’s worlds, real and imagined, feature beautifully observed moments of stillness. There are two in particular shared between Max and his mother (played by the wonderful Catherine Keener) that are lovely, insightful and poignantly bittersweet—one where he tries to express himself by inventing a story about vampires, the other at the film’s conclusion.
Where the Wild Things Are is dark and colourful; sad and joyful; brilliant, powerful and hopeful. It’s a magical story, beautifully told. You should go and see it for yourself.
* * *
To my very own Wild Things, who always saw me even when I was in hiding—SM, DT, AD, JC, HS.
McCabe and Mrs. Miller
Monday, October 12th, 2009—FilmMcCabe and Mrs. Miller (USA 1971, Drama/Western), Writers: Robert Altman, Brian McKay; Director: Robert Altman
I’ve recommended McCabe and Mrs. Miller too many times for it not to be up on this site. It happened again last Friday night when I was out with CDC and DB, listening to their stories of how Leonard Cohen’s music has impacted them over the years. Quite simply, if you love Cohen’s music, you have to see McCabe and Mrs. Miller. His songs—like Sisters of Mercy and The Stranger Song—define the mood and tone of the piece, and help make it one of Altman’s best.
Based on Edmund Naughton’s 1959 novel McCabe, the movie tells the story of John McCabe (Warren Beatty) who arrives in the small mining town of Presbyterian Church, Washington to open a brothel. Soon after his arrival, Mrs. Miller (the luminous Julie Christie) shows up and helps him transform the business from a low-class joint to a well-run establishment that serves as a main attraction for residents and passersby. But as the town begins to prosper, a big-shot mining company takes an interest in buying McCabe out. When he resists, the company sends hired guns his way and things quickly go downhill.
McCabe and Mrs. Miller is usually described as an anti-Western because it subverts so many of the genre’s conventions. It does, in the way it tinkers with character stereotypes, and especially in the way it treats what would normally be seen as the Western’s climax—the pivotal showdown. In McCabe’s world, times are changing. It’s easy to get swept away and forgotten in a snowstorm.
But what’s most powerful to me about McCabe and Mrs. Miller isn’t the story; it’s the telling. As a writer, I can easily get caught up in the words. (Though if you’re going to do that, Leonard Cohen is definitely your man. His words make drowning everything else out worth your while.) Sometimes you need to just feel the rhythm and the beat behind the story, and McCabe and Mrs. Miller does that for me.
The first time I saw the movie, it didn’t fully register. I watched it in film school, when we saw movies constantly—in class, as homework, and even for fun because everyone there loved movies so much that no matter how many hours we spent studying them, watching another was still one of our favourite things to do. But seeing so many meant that sometimes things got lost in the shuffle. It wasn’t until our next class—when my prof kindly called on me to talk about it in front of everyone—that I realized how I really felt. For a moment, I had nothing to say. And then I recalled the feeling I’d had when watching it. I stepped back into the world Altman had created and discovered how present it still was. Because the lighting and camera work and music and performances all combined to create an incredibly powerful atmosphere that I can’t recall finding in another film.
Our prof, Derek Redmond, chose the film as an example of outstanding cinematography, and it was a fantastic choice. There are other things I love about the film—the way the characters are humanized, Julie Christie’s performance. But what I love most is the look of the film, how it completely captures the time and tone and season, and how Cohen’s music complements and completes that mood. The Stranger Song is pitch-perfect for the story, from those first rambling guitar chords… I don’t want to dissect the film’s backstory and meaning. I just want to watch it play out because I love the way it makes me feel.
I can’t think of a better time to recommend McCabe and Mrs. Miller than mid-October. It opens to autumn rain and closes to a quieting, blanketing snowstorm. This movie offers a great way to spend one of the next few weekends—listening to beautiful music, watching one of the most tangibly atmospheric films ever made, feeling winter’s first chill from somewhere warm inside.
Dirty Dancing
Sunday, September 27th, 2009—FilmDirty Dancing (USA 1987, Drama/Romance), Writer: Eleanor Bergstein; Director: Emile Ardolino
I don’t think I can really write a review of Dirty Dancing; it would be like writing a critique of my mom’s cooking. Dirty Dancing is less a movie to me and more a childhood experience. Like the summers we went to music camp, or the years we spent on a farm.
There is no other movie in my life that’s on par with Dirty Dancing. I can’t think of another film I’ve seen more than a few times, but I’ve literally lost track of the number of times I’ve seen Dirty Dancing. It’s in the dozens. For a while in grade school, my younger sister and I watched the movie on VHS every afternoon with the sisters who lived next door. It was a ritual, and much better than doing our homework.
I’m writing this non-review of Dirty Dancing now as a tribute to Patrick Swayze. I haven’t seen many of his movies, although I’m going to try to watch Road House today because my sister’s eyes light up every time someone mentions it. She loves how unabashedly hokey it is. I saw enough of the film’s opening to know it’s not a movie I’m likely to recommend to anyone else. But I’m looking forward to seeing Swayze play Dalton, the tough-as-nails bouncer with a soul, and really looking forward to watching the special features to find out how real-life bouncers answer the question, “What would Dalton do?” Family antics and inside jokes about Road House aside, the tie my sisters and I have to Patrick Swayze is through Dirty Dancing—and the television miniseries North and South which utterly swept me away; we even named our fluffy white cats Orry and George after the two main characters (Swayze was Orry).
But back to Dirty Dancing. I’m not going to review it, per se, but I will say that it’s a special movie that stands out among other films of its ilk. It’s set one summer in the 60s when Baby (Jennifer Grey) and her family stay at Kellerman’s resort in the Catskills. The movie is Baby’s coming of age story, as she falls for dance instructor Johnny Castle (Swayze), and learns to dance and to question everything she thought she knew before arriving at Kellerman’s. There’s more to the story than you’ll find in most dance movies, and, as my sister pointed out, the casting is exceptionally good. Swayze and Grey are perfect and the supporting performances are very strong (especially Jerry Orbach as Baby’s father and Cynthia Rhodes as Johnny’s dance partner).
I don’t know much about Patrick Swayze “The Person.” And I don’t want to go there. To me, he was just Johnny (when he wasn’t Orry). Lines from the movie evolved into a secret language between me and my sisters and countless friends. I spent so many nights dancing around my apartments to candlelight and music from the soundtrack, when the floors became the log or the stairs or the stage in the movie, and the doorframes became Johnny himself. (The lifts didn’t go so well.) And in those ways, Swayze is still as much alive to me as he ever was.
Several years ago, a dear family friend died of cancer. He used to work at the National Gallery of Canada and most of my memories of him are in or around that building. So, to me, he’s still alive there, striding through the hallways with his purposeful but boyish gait, his eternal smile lighting up the rooms. (I always say a quiet “Hello” when I pass by the Gallery.) In that same way, Patrick Swayze will always be alive to me. I guess that’s how it is with people who touch you greatly but aren’t part of your daily life; their impact doesn’t have to lessen with their passing. In the back of my mind, I still think I can pop into the Gallery any time I want to visit my friend. And I know I can always pop Dirty Dancing into the DVD player when I feel like catching up with Johnny.
I was genuinely sad when I read that Swayze was ill. I’ve thought about him off and on over the last year or so since he announced that he had pancreatic cancer, and was struck by a surprising amount of grief when he died on September 14. Two weeks ago tomorrow. I won’t think of him every day, and his death won’t change my life in any significant way. But it is a loss for so many people—especially those close to him—and truly sad that someone with such a life force should have it extinguished so early.
Swayze has left behind a legacy of films and television shows. From the little I know of him, he was a good actor and a great dancer, and he’ll be remembered through his work and the countless websites devoted to him. I guess this post is the virtual bouquet I’m leaving at the collective monument his fans have created. Dirty Dancing will forever be enmeshed with my childhood and adolescence. I think everyone should see it. It’s awesome. And it’s what Dalton would do.
PS, I don’t hope you rest in peace: I hope you’re still dancing your ass off.
Inglourious Basterds
Sunday, September 20th, 2009—FilmInglourious Basterds (USA/Germany 2009, Drama/War/Satire), Writer/Director: Quentin Tarantino
If you’d told me a month ago that I would be writing about Inglourious Basterds (on an absolutely glorious September day, as it happens, and by the water, basking in what is probably the farthest I could get from the movie’s frequently tense, frenzied mood), I wouldn’t have believed you. Although Tarantino fascinates me and usually puts out movies that catch my interest, I just couldn’t stomach the gruesome scalpings and beatings I knew were in his latest flick.
But then AO, a good friend who’d already seen the movie, agreed to watch it with me and sweetly warned me before most of the gore could send me into post-traumatic stress. (By the way, contrary to what everyone else assured me, you can’t see all the violence coming; some of it appears as quick cut-aways, and some of it just takes you by surprise. And also by the way, I realize how lame it is that I needed an escort to see this film. But it got me into the theatre, and I’m really glad it did. You’re about to find out why.)
So let’s dive in, because I want to get out on the water. Inglourious Basterds is set during the Second World War. It begins in 1941 Nazi occupied France, when a group of SS officers storm a farmhouse to eliminate the Jewish family that is rumoured to be hiding there. Col. Hans Landa (Christoph Waltz) murders all but one member of the Jewish family—the young Shosanna Dreyfus (Mélanie Laurent) whom he inexplicably allows to run free.
From that all-too-real horror, we jump ahead to 1944 where Tarantino has decided to take some outlandish liberties with history and have a little fun at the expense of the Nazis. Lt. Aldo Raine (Brad Pitt) has gathered a group of Jewish-American soldiers—the Basterds, as they call themselves—to do a little housekeeping in Germany. He charges each man with the duty of bringing him 100 Nazi scalps, or die trying. As the Basterds set about their work with great fervour, we meet up with Shosanna in Paris where she now runs a cinema. As the Basterds and Shosanna seek their own brands of revenge, events conspire to bring them all together at her theatre on the night of a major Nazi film premiere.
The thing I find most enticing about Quentin Tarantino’s films is that his excitement and exuberance for filmmaking practically spills off the reels. He’s so obviously in love with what he does, both with moviemaking and with the movies that he makes. When he takes a break from the narrative to give the viewer backstory, or to jump into a character’s fantasy sequence, you can almost see him giddily at work in the editing room dreaming up the titles and effects. He ends Inglourious Basterds with one of the characters saying, “This might just be my masterpiece.” The character is referring to his work on one of the Nazis, but you get the feeling that Tarantino—the writer, the director—might just be talking about his own movie.
Tarantino is a self-taught film student. He reportedly schooled himself by watching countless movies from the annals of cinematic history, and it’s clear he did his homework. Inglourious Basterds is peppered with allusions to film history, including references to Hitler’s favourite filmmaker Leni Riefenstahl, and Hollywood golden age producers like David O. Selznick. I’m sure there are many more references that are increasingly likely to elude me the farther I get from my film school days. But you get the point.
Even in a film about the Holocaust, Tarantino’s trademark energy and penchant for the absurd come across. The movie is divided into chapters, and some of them are funny and playful even in their extreme violence. One of the most obvious examples of the film’s levity comes in the form of Lt. Raine. As Pitt plays him, he’s a Tennessee hillbilly who brings an unshakeable confidence but also apparent disinterest to his task. He’s fully committed to following through on murdering Nazis, yet the entire mission always comes across as something of a game or an amusement to him.
I read an interesting article in The Atlantic, in which Tarantino says that all his Jewish friends have nothing but rave reviews for the film. Still, the reporter quotes Neal Gabler (author of An Empire of Their Own: How the Jews Invented Hollywood) as saying that “no Jew would ever make a film like Inglourious Basterds. It’s too brazen.” That’s the impression I got from the film as well. Only an outsider could have that detachment; a Jew would be too affected by history’s power to take Tarantino’s angle on the Holocaust. Lt. Raine isn’t Jewish. He hasn’t been personally attacked; he just happens to have a bone to pick. In many ways, Lt. Raine feels a bit like the film’s narrator, approaching his mission in much the same way the director approaches the film as a whole: with detachment, humour, violence and great authority.
Still, there are other chapters and dimensions to the film, which isn’t surprising given that Tarantino himself admits to going off on genre-bending tangents when he sits down to write. In addition to the fun, frolic and carnage, the director creates some incredible drama and tension. The opening scene in the farmhouse is so exquisitely made that it’s almost painful to watch. It’s timed perfectly, and the performances are astoundingly good—from the French farmer’s daughter who never says a word (Lena Friedrich), to Col. Landa whose depiction by Waltz is nothing short of sensational. He has his character fine-tuned to the smallest details in how he holds his utensils. It’s obvious from the attention Tarantino’s camera pays Waltz that the director adores and appreciates actors.
The other truly phenomenal performance comes from Mélanie Laurent. As Shosanna, she is powerful, nuanced, understated, and so mesmerizing that I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She shares a restaurant scene with Waltz later in the film, and it’s hard to decide which one to focus on. Just watch this scene and see how they each attack their food: Landa with almost violent gusto, taking exactly what he wants from the meal and thoroughly enjoying the process; Shosanna with the fierce determination and rage that has kept her alive, and the knowledge that her only defence is a strong offensive attack in front of the Nazi who massacred her family. At the end of the meal, when Landa finally takes his leave, Shosanna’s split-second breakdown is shattering. Either of these actors would make Inglourious Basterds worth seeing. Together, they pack a one-two punch that is unmissable.
So there you have it. In a lot of ways, Tarantino still shows his silly, boyish, gleeful side in Inglourious Basterds. He’s a film geek out for some self-indulgent fun at the helm. But he’s also clearly put a lot of thought into what he does—a lot; I’d guess it’s probably all-consuming for him—and he delivers some refined, sophisticated scenes that showcase a growing wisdom and maturity as a filmmaker. From what I saw (basically everything minus most of the gore), Inglourious Basterds is one fine film. It’s outrageous, but excellently crafted and definitely worth seeing. All you need is a stronger stomach than mine, or a friend as good as AO.
