Rivers and Tides (2001)

It is often the case that the medium through which one expresses themselves says more about both the work and the artist than the piece itself (ask McLuhan). Had Carolee Schneeman made hip-hop or David Byrne become a sculptor, their work and the discourse surrounding them would be totally different, even if her lyrics were that of "Interior Scroll" or the form of his sculpture evoked the mid-life ennui of "Once in a Lifetime". Rarely have I seen such a synthesis of medium and message as that evidenced by the works of Andy Goldsworthy, the subject of Thomas Riedelsheimer's documentary Rivers and Tides.

The film follows Goldsworthy as he travels into the wilderness to create works of art utilizing only the elements of nature.

Rivers and Tides does wonders with its simple premise; the camera simple observes as Goldsworthy painstakingly piles rocks or strings together leaves with pine needles. His work is meant to invoke the spirit of nature that flows through everything and everyone, and is more often than not personified as a wavy form reminiscent of a sidewinder snake. The film is largely about the creative process, and Andy's failures are just as affecting as his completed pieces. To see him put what seems to be his entire being into a complex mesh of free-hanging twigs only for the one over zealous addition and a gust of wind to turn it into a pile of sticks on the ground is nothing if not utterly devastating (think about how you feel after spending hours setting up a Domino Rally only to knock to table or accidentally hit the wrong domino with your ring finger). However these would-have been pieces make the successful works that much more breathtaking. I don't want to spoil too many more of the works shown in Rivers, suffice to say they are stunning achievements, representing the absolute pinnacle of harmony between man and nature. All of Goldsworthy's pieces are temporary and fluid, but Rivers and Tides is sure to stick in your mind for a long time. A-

Other semi-related thoughts:

-There seems to be a conflict in Goldsworthy's art; if it is in part about the beauty of nature, shouldn't nature alone suffice without a human's assistance? But I guess we're a part of nature too. Art, huh.

Hoop Reality out on DVD and Blu-Ray Tuesday

The Arthur Agee produced Hoop Dreams semi-sequel Hoop Reailty, which catches up with the former Marshall High School star and current blog banner luminary, is set to drop on Tuesday after a disappointingly limited festival run. The film also does a little mini-Hoop Dreams with up-and-comer Patrick Beverly, a graduate of the Marshall basketball program who recently forwent an opportunity to play with the Heat to sign with Olympiakos in Greece. I pre-ordered Reality off amazon as my first Blu-ray purchase (for some reason its cheaper, win-win). Needless to say, as a guy who wishes Steve James had made Hoop Dreams with the intention of turning it into a Seven Up!, I'm a little excited; expect a review whenever the mail allows me to write it.

Barstool Cowboy

The DIY spirit is alive and well in todays generation of would-be filmmakers inspired by the success of such notables as David Lynch and Allison Anders and enabled by new technologies and social factors. As a result of the democratization of film production and distribution we now have access to a plethora of movies that ten years ago wouldn't have even existed. Furthermore, the global village is at its most interconnected point yet (and will only continue to grow), facilitating dialogue between people who would never have met. These are the circumstances that brought me to Mark Thimijin's Barstool Cowboy.

Cowboy centers on Mick (you know, like Mick Jagger) who after having his heart broken, vows to stay on a barstool for three months in hopes of forgetting the woman who left him. He quickly breaks his promise to himself when a young art student, Arcy, chooses the bar as the subject for a drawing, prompting Mick to confront her. The two strike up an acquaintanceship, and quickly become entangled in each other's lives.

EDIT: Its 2012, and I have always regretted putting up a harsh review of this movie. The guy reached out to me get his film seen and have some press and picked me cause I had been writing reviews diligently for maybe a month over the summer before my senior year of college. Once school started though I found I didnt have as much time for reviews and just stopped. I don;t eve know if I could do it this competently anymore...at any rate Mark made a whole fuckin feature film, released it and had the courage to reach out to me in an effort to expand the films audience, and those things are admirable to me, so i say A-OK

Other semi-related thoughts:

-check out Barstool Cowboy on netflix

-sorry its been so long since i last posted, I think living in california makes me dumber.

-"kissing a man without a beard is like eating porridge with no salt" <--truth div="div">

Brother's Keeper (1992)

Most documentaries strive for impartiality, and there are varying theories on the best way to achieve an "accurate" depiction of reality. Though some films claim a higher degree of objectivity than others, it is an impossible game to play, for documentaries are inherently subjective as a result of the presence of the filmmaker. Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinosky's film Brother's Keeper manages to tread the line of partiality just about as well as I have seen done in a documentary, really freeing the viewer to make their own opinions about the events of the film.

Brother's Keeper is set in rural New York and follows Adelbert Ward and his two brothers Roscoe and Lyman as they get tangled up in a media frenzy when Adelbert is charged with killing the fourth Ward brother, William. We meet the Wards as the accused brother awaits trial and the film follows them all the way through the verdict.

The filmmakers don't take the verité approach and pretend that they aren't making a movie; we hear their voices directly address their subject, even going as far as to ask Adelaide what his thoughts are about their making of this documentary. The film and its players speak very candidly about the circumstances surrounding William's death, the sordid details of which may have been omitted by others who might have made the same film as a defense for Adelaide. It is hard not to root for our hapless protagonist though, after all the Brother's Keeper is about him, but the film's evenhanded approach keeps us from ever really feeling comfortable picking sides. A good way to examine Brother's Keeper is against the mainstream media's coverage of the Ward case. In the film, none other than Connie Chung devotes a profile story to the Wards, depicting them outright as primitive, backwards and operating on a different value set than that employed by society. The nightly news tells you what to think about these men, defining their circumstances as indicative of their rural lifestyle, while the film allows the opportunity to facilitate some kind of understanding, allowing the Wards and their community's warmth to shine through. It is a warmth tempered by the law enforcement element of the case, who are depicted neither as righteous nor inept, juts simply as the opposing side to Adelaide (though a recurrent theme in the interviews with the townsfolk is that they represent Urbania's attack on rural America). Brother's Keeper is fraught with quirk and charm unique to a documentary about something as macabre as murder trial; another dichotomy expertly balanced by the filmmakers. B+

Other Semi-related Thoughts:

-For some good docs that play with the idea of partiality and the nature of documentary filmmaking, check out F for Fake or The Gleaners and I.

-I mean I know its different out there, but please can you not grow a beard thats a spit trap for your chew tobacco. As someone with a beard, this really bothered me more than anything else.

Repulsion (1965)

Hands and hambones, sisters and solitude, cracking minds and cracking walls; these are the ingredients that make up Roman Polanski's Bunuelian chamber drama. The story of one woman's self-imposed isolation and her resulting decent into insanity is at once gripping and unsettling; we are never quite sure what to make of a particular action or event, at least at first, but it is almost as if we are the protagonist so there is no hope of letting go.

Young and aloof, Belgian Carol (the beautiful Catherine Deneuve) works at a beauty salon and lives with her sister Helen (Yvonne Furneaux) in mod sixties London. She is utterly uninterested in men and their constant advances and only seems comfortable in the presence of other women. When her sister leaves with her lover for a vacation in Italy, leaving Carol alone at her apartment, she starts to lose it a little bit, descending into the darkest recesses of her suppressed subconscious.

Like Polanski's other work in the genre, Repulsion is subtle in its horror, though though are some truly terrifying moments. Carol's madness is shocking, unique and wholly disturbing, as well as indecipherable from reality, and no one, not even our poor protagonist, knows what to make of it. The film is an examination of a kind of reverse xeno-phobia; a woman outside her homeland (and perhaps her sexuality) crumbling against the weight of adapting or accepting her adulthood. As Carol begins to inhabit her own world, eventually never leaving the apartment where she keeps a dead bunny her sister cooked as a surrogate for her presence, the viewer becomes the only other inhabitant (well there is one more, but lets not spoil things). Suffice to say, though it's not the most comfortable world in which to live, its one you wont regret visiting. A-

Other semi-related thoughts.

-Cannot rep Inland Empire enough; if you like either of these films check out the other.

-The hamboning is fucking fantastic

-Really cool mod Jazz score by Chico Hamilton

It Might Get Loud

I'm sure many rock fans are looking forward to David Guggenheim's (An Inconvenient Truth) latest documentary, a profile of three generations of guitar luminaries. Jimmy Page, the Edge and Jack White all came to define the sound of guitar rock for their respective decades, and their influence and innovations are still being felt and copied across genres. Why then does a film that seeks only to pay tribute to these men's egos seem so disorganized and rambling?

It Might Get Loud centers around the meeting of the aforementioned trio in which they discuss their music, influences, and creative processes. Each player is also given segments where they return to their old stomping grounds for fond recollections and self-analyses.

Guggenheim uses a variety of documentary techniques to aid the film's exposition (archive/concert footage, stills, animation, interviews), but their is neither form nor flow to lend cohesion to the whole; most segments feel as though they could have been placed anywhere in the film (despite titled chapters). It is as if Guggenheim, clearly a personal admirer of his three subjects, simply thought "lets put these guys in a room together and let them tell stories and all I'll have to do is shoot it!" However, the film is not without its moments; one memorable scene has Edge and White struggling to contain their glee as they watch Page play the riff from 'Whole Lotta Love". There are even some interesting artistic choices, such as having Jack White co-exist with a 9 year-old version of himself; but on the whole the film really struggles to be taken as anything but idol worship. Loud is almost completely devoid of hardship or controversy, perhaps in fear of offending its stars; but any music fan knows thats where all the real interesting shit lies. Without such content and other necessary context, Loud is guitar porn posing as a documentary. If you're a fan of any of these three men, you'll probably enjoy your time with It Might Get Loud, but I would implore you to demand more. C

Other semi-related thoughts:

-The film's most genuine moment plays over the credits and involves a theremin. For a great documentary about music and instruments, check out Moog

-An almost decent amount of time is spent acknowledging the Blues in the development of rock, but the omission of a discussion regarding Page and the Blues is glaring (Props to White for admitting Rock's cultural theft and having Son House's "Grinnin' In Your Face" as his favorite song)

-I never got my head around U2. Maybe i was just born at the wrong time.

Lost Highway (1997)

The film starts. You're careening down a dark road lit only by your headlights, David Bowie blasting as you see names like Gary Busey and Richard Pryor, then "Directed by David Lynch". You know you're in for something great. The first film in Lynch's thematic trilogy (we can call it the "Prisoners of the Mind" or "Fuck Narrative" trilogy) that continues with Mulholland Dr. and Inland Empire, Lost Highway was the film that transformed Lynch from a director of dark, indie quirk to one of the medium's greatest masters and innovators.

Saxophonist Fred Madison (Bill Pullman) becomes president and has to save the world from an Alien inva...just kidding. He's a saxophonist in LA who starts to receive mysterious tapes indicating that someone is breaking into his house. Then there is Pete Dayton (Balthazar Getty), a mechanic for the shady Mr. Eddie (Robert Loggia). These two men will come to find themselves in very similar circumstances, connected by a, well there's no other word for it, a Lynchian cast of characters and events that is sure to change the course of their lives.

Lost Highway isn't likely to convert any Lynch haters out there. The film is filled with mise-en-scene and archetypes that are distinctly Lynch; red curtains, strobe lights, femme fatales, the Angelo Badalamenti score, but there is something oddly accessible about this movie as well. From the outset you are pulled into a world that offers just enough logic and mystery to keep you on the line. It doesn't take long before the hook pierces your cheek and you cant escape, you must know what the hell is going on and where everything fits in. But alas, one watches a Lynch film not for the moment when the brakes screech to a halt and the constraints lift up, but so that they may be dragged along on a ride unlike anything else. A

Other semi-related thoughts:

-hahaha, Rammstein

-It seems like these movies are a test drive (in terms of bold ambition) for the film that inevitably follows; Lost Highway for Mulholland Dr. (we're leaving out The Straight Story here) and Mulholland Dr. for Inland Empire. God only knows how David intends to top that.

-His next feature is rumored to be a CG kid's flick, Snootworld. My dream was a prophecy! (even though these rumors have been around since 2003)

Europa (1991)

There are many words that can accurately describe Lars von Trier's pre-Dogme 95 masterpiece; hypnotic, neo-noir, innovative, but I'll go with visual feast. The film has so many reference points, the images recall silent Soviet cinema, German Expressionism, and noir to name a few (not to mention Polish realism thanks in large part to DP Edward Klosinksi, a frequent collaborator of Andrzej Wajda), this is a film truly worthy of its title. The groundbreaking filming techniques, which consist mainly of layering actors with previously filmed rear projections and mixing black & white with color, are still influencing directors as diverse as Robert Rodriguez and the Wachowski brothers (its hard to imagine Speed Racer existing as it does without the influence of Europa). Its clear that in my excitement I'm rambling a bit, so why don't I slow down and tell you what the films about.

A young American, Leopold Kessler (frequent von Trier collaborator Jean-Marc Barr), arrives in post-war Germany to fulfill his dream to become a sleeping car conductor for the successful Zentropa rail company so that he may show Germany some kindness after all the devastation the US had caused them. It is not long however before Nazi intrigue and American military interests lead our hero astray and he is forced to abandon his initial neutrality.

It's very interesting to see von Trier's early work, being the main architect of the Dogme 95 manifesto, because it is so incredibly dishonest in its images and storytelling. We are constantly witnessed to artificial construction and visual manipulation that it becomes maddeningly fruitless to try to determine what is layered over what, how this was filmed etc. But of course this is the point, just as we are unable to trust what we see, so is Kessler unable to trust those whose interests lie in his particular situation. Europa is a film that is likely to spur imitations for years to come, but it certainly will never be duplicated. B+

Other semi-related thoughts:

-Lookin forward to Antichrist, the trailer looks incredible.

-If you haven't seen it already, The Five Obstructions is required viewing.

-Max Von Sydow has such a powerful narrative voice. Eat your heart out Morgan Freeman.

-This is a movie that really deserves to be seen on the big screen

Empire of Passion (1978)

The companion piece to In The Realm of the Senses (reviewed here), Nagisa Oshima's Japanese ghost story explores many of the same themes as his previous French co-production, but (unavoidably) lacks much of that film's visceral thrills. In their place lies an overwhelming paranoia that tends to make the film, at least with regards to narrative, kind of a one-trick pony. Visually however, the film is a treat; Oshima does the genre a great service with stunningly composed images and subtle elements of horror that from which Hollywood could take a view notes.

When Toyoji, a soldier recently returned from war (Senses's Tatsuya Fuji, showing his versatility here) befriends and seduces (to put it politely) the wife of rickshaw driver "Little" Seki (Kazuko Yoshiyuki), the two hatch a nefarious plot to do away with her husband. But this is a ghost story, and in such tales the dead don't stay dead for very long, so it doesn't take much time before weird things start to happen. As the town and the law grow more and more suspicious, our periled lovers start to lose their grip as their world grows more and more constrained.

If In The Realm of the Senses was about how sexuality and personal gratification act in spite to society, Empire of Passion responds by portraying how society takes their revenge for such actions (not to say the couple of Senses get away unscathed); in this sense, Empire is almost a mirror of Realm. In this film Fuji is the aggressor, it is man who is woman's downfall, and there is little trace of the former film's moral ambiguity. The film is more than a treatise on these themes though, and though it is hard to avoid comparing the two films, Empire of the Senses does succeed on its own merits. The film features some genuinely terrifying moments even if it doesn't offer the overt titillation of its companion piece, and one might argue that the cinematography of this film trumps that of its predecessor. Though it offers little variation to a familiar tale (The Postman Always Rings Twice), the beauty of the images and the pacing of the film lend this interpretation a much appreciated aura of otherworldly doom. B-

Other semi-related thoughts:

-I love the abrupt endings of these two films

-For some really great Japanese ghost tale flicks, check out Kenji Mizoguchi's Ugetsu Monogatari and especially Masaki Kobayashi's Kwaidan

-Why is modern horror, Japanese and American alike, so wack?

-A Happy 55th to my dad, Dude.

My Left Foot (1989)

If not for the Oscar-winning performance by Daniel Day-Lewis, I probably would not have felt inclined to watch My Left Foot; the at first glance cookie-cutter tale about how one savant overcomes his unfortunate condition to make something of his life is so played out, even movies themselves with little merit (Tropic Thunder) are justified in taking potshots at the genre. At best these films get by on their lovable characters in unusual situations that otherwise mask their overt adherence to genre conventions (Forrest Gump, Rainman) and at worst are over-rated pieces of mediocrity that bank on our sentimentality (A Beautiful Mind). Jim Sheridan's My Left Foot is the happy exception, neither preachy or idealistic, My Left Foot tells a familiar tale with riveting honesty, obvious passion and utter devotion.

My Left Foot tells the tale of Christy Brown, who was able to overcome is physical affliction to become a novelist and artist by utilizing his only workable appendage (can you guess what it is?). The film follows Brown's life from birth into adulthood, explaining how he came to be such a lauded figure.

Sheridan's arresting drama is best known for the virtuoso performance by its lead. Day-Lewis's take on the cerebral palsy stricken Irishman Christy Brown is certainly nothing if not perfect (never have I felt so devastated watching someone drink from a straw), but it's unfortunate that history has chosen to let Lewis's performance overshadow the many merits ofMy Left Foot. The film is full of rich, honest performances, Home Alone 2's Bird Lady, Brenda Fricker was recognized by the Academy for her role as Christy's mother, but I was particularly taken by Ray McAnally's performance as Mr. Brown. The role allows McAnally to explore all the emotions you'd expect for a father in Mr. Brown's situation; disappointed, confusion, pride, anger, jubilation, despair, and all with just the right level on intensity.

Jim Sheridan is also criminally overlooked for this film (he was robbed at the Oscars, the best director award instead going to...Oliver Stone). The images are at times breath-taking, featuring some of the most effective POV shots I can recall having seen, as well as some striking, Kubrickesque hand-held takes which no doubt influenced what has now become one of Hollywood's most overused tricks. My Left Foot, though offering few surprises, is extremely well executed in all areas of production (I even had Elmer Bernstein's theme stuck in my head for a day after I saw it) and deserves the opportunity to be re-examined so that it may take its place as one of the best films of the eighties (modestly put). A

Other semi-related thoughts:

-Kind of have less respect for Forrest Gump now. It even took the whole narrative within a narrative concept from this film.

-Everyone else gave really great performances too. Especially Hugh O'Connor as the young Brown.

-It seems at times that Day-Lewis is just doing a superb insulting imitation of a mentally retarded person, making me wonder if my friend Bo could win an Oscar. Not to take anything away from his performance though (he broke 2 ribs and was so committed to the role that he was fed by friends in his wheelchair when the crew broke to eat.)

-My Left Foot, whose ankle I rolled playing basketball last year, was very uncomfortable for most of the movie. Watching him just pick things up and drag his body with his foot...jeez.

The Hurt Locker

Few war movies are able to portray combat on a truly personal level that separates the whole of the war from the stories of the men who fight. Most movies about combat are so focused on soldierS that the plight of the individual is rarely addressed, and if so it is at best secondary to the main narrative (or made into an overblown caricature, such is in the fairly awful Jarhead). Of course, this only makes sense when you consider that this is the very nature of the army, to strip all individuality away from the soldier and emphasize the whole of the unit; thus, it would take a truly remarkable film by a skillful director in order to break this paradigm so that we may peer into the soul of one enlisted man, and as you may have inferred, veteran filmmaker Kathryn Bigelow's The Hurt Locker is such a film.

Bigelow achieves this so successfully because in place of a story-driven narrative, the plot of the film is concerned with the essence of an idividual. That man is hot-shot Sgt. William James, played with powerful ambiguity by Jeremy Lenner, who becomes the leader of Bravo company's EOD unit, who's job it is to find and disarm road side bombs. As his tour of duty winds down, Sgt. James becomes more and more reckless in his job, seemingly seeking to fulfill a death wish.

Never before has a film about war portrayed combat as such an interpersonal struggle. When we think of war, it's usually as a battle between two opposing armies, but we rarely conceive that these battles are fought by and won 3 or 4 dead soldiers at a time. This is war on an extremely individualist level; there are no presidents, no grand plans, just instinctual improvisation when the shit inevitably hits the fan. The Hurt Locker is essentially a series of scenes oozing with extreme tension; our protagonists' lives could end at any second, be it from a sniper, bomb, or even a fellow soldier. From the first scene, we are brought into a world in which we are never allowed to feel safe for even a minute, and for some, they may never be able to leave. B

Other semi-related thoughts:

-The aesthetic of our current quagmire is pretty unappealing to me, full of vast expanses of desert and gray, colorless cities. Makes you yearn for the days of wars fought in jungles.

-I would be so incredibly inept as a soldier.

-Its interesting how our sympathy for these characters works in comparison to films about vietnam where the soldier is often seen as a victim of the draft where as there is a tendency to think of our current enlisted men as wanting to kill.

-Having an entire theater all to yourself is pretty fuckin great.

Chicago Museum of Holography

Yesterday, a few buddies and I headed into West Loop to go visit the Museum of Holography, a 4-room palace devoted solely to the art of the hologram. When we got there, we were extremely disappointed to find that the door was locked and gated, despite it being 2 hours past when they should have opened (posted hours are wed-sun 12:30-5). My friend Joe persistently rang the doorbell as I checked out the side door, all the while our other friend JD ridiculed us for our determination. "Ringing the bell over and over won't make it any more open" he said, as just then a little old lady, who had to have been at least 90, shuffled up from downstairs in her socks and slowly drew back the gate and unlocked the door. "Our hours are Wednesday to Sunday from 12:30 to 5" she explained to us, to which I replied "Well, today's wednesday" "Oh is that right?" "and it's almost 2:30" "Oh well you came all this way, you might as well come in." Barely able to contain our laughter, the four of us were led in by this sweet relic of the past. Persistence triumphant.

We then offered her our $5 admission (if we hadn't I doubt she would have remembered to charge us) and she then proceeded to explain to us that if we understood atomic physics, then we understood holograms. We nodded, and then she explained how to view the holograms; stand roughly 3 feet away and move our heads and our bodies from side to side to get the full effect. She then flipped on the lights, bringing to life walls full of pictures depicting everything from Mike Ditka to an eagle that turns into an owl, then back into an eagle. Let me just say, if I wasn't particularly impressed by holograms before, I am now bewildered by their majesty and endless possibility. One room was devoted to medical holograms, with 3D renderings of testicles and lungs ("they're not just hollow bags, you know" our curator barked). A main exhibition hall was filled with larger works, such as a shark and a painter who magically created as you moved from one side of the room to the other. The highlights though were definitely the holographic mini-movies, contained in clear cylinders reminiscent of Zoetropes that recalled the holograms projected by R2D2. These cylinders displayed pieces such as "Time Man" one chemist's inexplicable journey through the cosmos, and my personal favorite "Michael Jordan", depicting His Airness simply smiling, spinning, and passing a basketball around his body from one hand to the other.

After we had seen the entirety of the museum's offerings, we were greeted back in the first room by a cat, and our elderly curator. This is when things got really interesting. After asking us how we heard about her establishment, at least twice each, she handed us hologram glasses and told us to look at our hands, which revealed holographic projections of our usually non-holographic hands. Then she prompted us to look up at the lights, revealing the whole spectrum of white light. Then she had us do all this maybe 3 more times, while asking us how we heard about the place. She went on to explain (again about 3 or 4 times) that this rainbow light is all around us, we just weren't built to see it "because otherwise we'd all be driving through rainbows all the time!" she told us 3 more times. Her cat however, is a "night hunter" and can barely see any color at all. She then took out a collection of about 10 spinning flat discs, "see these? they have no color at all." She then spun them all in rapid succession, displaying for us a melee of spinning patterns and colors, only enhanced by our magic glasses. "This is what the universe looks like. And Here we are. And when I spin it this way, all the energy of the universe is flying outwards, and when I spin it this way, it all comes back in." Though I had a lot of trouble biting my lip to keep myself from bursting out in uproarious laughter (the four of us just about fell apart the second we stepped out the door) it was maybe one of the most beautiful experiences of my life; crazy, but beautiful. If you live in or are visiting the wonderful city of Chicago, and haven't been to this Museum before, I struggle to think of many better ways you can spend an hour and 5 bucks. A+

Other semi-related thoughts:

-David was the fourth

-With the closing of the MIT Museum of Holography in 1992, this became the only such Museum in the US (as our wonderful curator told us over and over again)

-She told us that the kids come in "squeeling" with excitement over the holograms, expressing hope that they will grow up to take the technology to more advanced applications. She may be right.

The Hangover

A friend of mine critiqued my critiques recently by pointing out that I'm not likely to have many negative reviews because I only write about the films I'm inclined to go see in the first place. Then I thought "Well, I did see The Hangover this summer." So here it goes. What a heap of mediocrity. Todd Phillips's latest attempt to be added to the annals of comedy (I think most people probably have already forgotten about Old School) is full of contrived plot devices, racism, rampant misogyny and missed opportunities, and just on the whole isn't terribly funny.

The story centers around a group of friends who take the trek from southern California to Vegas for a bachelor party (activating the "gotta get back by the wedding" plot device). They wake up hungover, their hotel room a mess, with their soon-to-be hubby nowhere to be found, and no recollection of how any of this came to be. But don't worry, by the end of the movie you'll find out even more than you needed or wanted to know about their reckless night of pre-marital debauchery.

The movie isn't without merit though, and his name is Zach Galifianakis, who single-handedly carries the film (and owns the best lines). Without him the characters are pretty much the meat-head Stifler-type and the nebbish decidedly unhip friend of the group, along with the likable, handsome, missing MacGuffin. It is disappointing though that the movie insists on singling Galifianakis's character out as the weirdo outsider, not to be confused with the "cool" that the rest of the characters embody. And this perfectly exemplifies the main flaw of the film; that it wants to be a daring, stand-out comedy, but is too self-conscious and eager to be accepted that it falls into the trappings of all the other "buddies who party together and get into shenanigans" movies of the past decade or so. I mean what would you expect from a movie about guys who can't remember their crazy night in Vegas beyond blacking out and marrying a stripper, rubbing elbows with the likes of Vegas celebrities such as Mike Tyson, or doing a Rainman scene? How about some originality, perhaps. C-

Other semi-related thoughts:

-You get the genius Jeffrey Tambor in there with a bit part and don't even give him any good lines? Come on!

-Just because a character is small, Chinese, and has a silly voice, doesn't mean making him swear and say lewd things will make him rounded or funny. It'll probably just come off as racist.

-Babies wearing shades are pretty funny.

-People need to stop thinking that they can re-create or improve upon the magic of Animal House. It's never gonna happen, try something else.

The Spirit of the Beehive (1973)

Victor Erice's debut film, The Spirit of the Beehive is atmospheric masterpiece, and exercise in the cerebrally visual, with its eery cinematography (shot by a blind DP) and editing carrying the heft of the mostly dialogue-free film. It is more than alluded to that the Spain the film depicts is a bee-hive unto itself, with most of the settings tinted a amber yellow, and things such as windowpanes and Spanish shingles recalling the honeycomb of the hive. This could probably be viewed as a critique of fascist Spain, with Franco acting as the country's queen bee, all the workers laboring tirelessly to satiate her fat ass.

In the same vein as cineaste films such as Amarcord and Cinema Paradiso, Victor Erice's The Spirit of the Beehive charts the impact that one film, Frankenstein has on a young girl in immediate post-civil war Spain. When confronted with a situation far beyond her years, it is through the lens of this film which she is able to address her circumstances.

The real charm of The Spirit of the Beehive though is its recounting of the events that bear importance to children. There are these moments, that for some reason or another, stick out in our minds as important and unforgettable elements of our childhood, though if they were to occur in our adult lives, they would probably bear little meaning to us; things such as making shadow puppets on the wall, or a specific class lesson, or a particular film. This theme is beautifully embodied in a scene in which the young heroine extends her arm to an injured stranger, offering him what in her hands seems like a comically oversized apple. When the man reaches to accept it, we see that for him it is barely a snack. Simple beauty like this scene marks The Spirit of the Beehive, giving us much to watch, much to absorb, and even more to think about. B

Other semi-related thoughts:

-Important childhood memories for me: biking home in 3rd grade and being confronted by a squirrel with no eyes, crying when the pet dog was almost killed by the tunnel fire explosion in Independence Day

-The Spanish Civil War yielded one of the most iconic and expressive war photographs of the century, Loyalist Militiaman at the Moment of Death

-What is honey exactly anyway? Just like, post-vomit pollen or something? Bears love that shit.

In the Realm of the Senses (1976)

Holy shit. What a movie. Where to start? Well, my first encounter with Nagisa Oshima was in my freshman year world cinema class when we watched is brilliant Japanese New Wave masterpiece Death By Hanging. The film had stellar performances and was incredibly inventive, but what really stood out were the jabs taken at the moral ambiguities of the establishment. The New Wave in Japan was probably more revolutionary than in other countries because of Japan's rigid hierarchical structure, which these films aimed to subvert. Senses continues this theme, not only challenging Japanese society, but its films as well.

The film tells the tale of Japanese folk hero Sada Abe, who became famous in the 30s for the events which the film depicts (I'm going to try to remain vague here as to not give anything away). While working at an inn, she falls in love with the owner Kichizo Ishida and the two run off together for a non-stop sex romp which gets more and more volatile until the film's climax (pun very much intended).

In the Realm of the Senses is undoubtedly most famous for its (plentiful) scenes of unsimulated sex, something that is against Japanese law even for porno (in an interview, Oshima boasts that Senses is the first "hardcore pornographic film" made in Japan). But the film is so much more than just bumpin' uglies. When Abe and Ishida have sex, they are so in their own world that they don't mind the spectators who are unwittingly drawn into their passion. Oshima portrays such robust sexuality as fighting the mores of Japan, and such a quest for personal gratification in direct opposition to the extreme nationalism that was prevalent at the time of these events. It is inevitable that we too are brought into our protagonists' lurid existence, forcing us to confront our own ideas regarding sexuality and society. In the Realm of the Senses isn't the easiest film to watch, but it is surely one you'll never forget. B

Other semi-related thoughts:

-The film also largely plays out the binary relationship between violence and sex, with the two eventually becoming indistinguishable.

-there is a really really brilliant scene where after the two get married an orgy ensues presided over by an old man singing a song with his arms tucked into his sleeves pretending to be a bird. It would probably go on my "greatest scenes ever" reel.

-In Japanese porno, genitalia and penetration are pixelated. This prompted my friend Joe to once comment "why does that girl like eating pixels so much?" In the Realm of the Senses to this day still cannot be shown uncensored in Japan.

-On the way back from picking up some egg drop soup just now there was an old guy pointing at the ground talking to two even older people sitting on the bench in front of him and he said "500 dollar sneakers" and then paused before "1000 dollar purses". That's all I heard, but it was great.

District 9

District 9 has been touted as one of the most substantial films to come out so far this year, which it is; but thats hardly a substantial feat as it is 2009 and not any other year in the history of films and film-going (though the 2nd half already has yielded a lot of worthwhile shit with more interesting looking stuff to come, hopefully). Though the movie is bookmarked by some really engaging faux-doc sequences, the bulk of what lies in between is, unfortunately, pretty standard action/sci-fi fare.

The film begins as a documentary looking back on the events surrounding the evacuation and relocation of the residents of District 9 in Johannesburg, a dilapidated shanty town for aliens. The film continues following our protagonist, bureaucratic boob Wikus (non-actor Sharlto Copley, who gives a multi-layered, strong "everyman" performance) as he and his team go about serving eviction notices to the "prawns", without a doubt the most interesting and engaging portion of the film, before something happens that fucks everything and the movie loses its reportage style in favor of an omniscient camera concerned primarily on action (so much so its lens is often being spattered with blood).

For me, this is where the film sort of loses my interest,as it devolves into a fantastical "one against all" narrative that really betrays the first part of the film. There are a lot of really interesting elements at play here; a gang of Nigerians who rule district 9 with cat food, shady government dealings, a ticking time-bomb of a plot device and the aforementioned documentary all allude to a socio-political message that the film never really gets around to because it gets too lost in a lot of CG action and exploding heads and robots. There is a lot of imagery and situations recalling apartheid-era South Africa and modern refugee camps, but not much substance arises out of the allusions beyond the surface of them. First time director/co-writer Neill Blomkamp is clearly talented and adept, as well as visually inventive with a knack for interesting, well-rounded characters, but it seems as though he got cold feet and left one leg in the door of standard science-fiction as he was trying to achieve something new. That being said, I hope he can fully extricate himself from those trappings for his next feature, to which I look forward (even if it's "District 10"). B-

Other semi-related thoughts:

-This is certainly no Cloverfield.

-The advertising campaign was pretty great though, lets see some more subtlety like that (I'm looking at you "Sorority Row")

-Kudos on making a film about aliens coming to Earth in which the humans are the monsters and we are made to sympathize with the "other". This theme plays out most notably with Wikus ;)

-The ending goes on and on through all these pointless jukes and jerks; pointless because we know what the hero ultimately will do, and he finally does it.

-fuck fuck fuck Transformers. Two times.

Ponyo

Chances are if you're not already a fan of Hayao Miyazaki this film probably wont make you one, because its more of the same, but the same sure is pretty fun. His films bear the mark of a true auteur; consistent in tone and subject matter dating back to the eighties, they often feature very young protagonists who encounter various unique creatures who either assist or challenge them in completing what would be a gargantuan task for someone their age that will ultimately deliver them to maturity. Ponyo is certainly no exception, but it's still good. Damn is it good.

The story is a re-telling of the tried-and-true Little Mermaid, centering around a young boy Sasuke who finds a fish with a human face who just happens to be the daughter of some powerful ocean wizards or something (again, explained just enough so it barely makes sense, just accept it). Inevitably boy and fish fall in 5 year-old love making Ponyo determined to use her magic to escape her human-hating father (superbly voiced by Liam Neeson who I usually can't stand) and join Sasuke as a real human child. Think they'll succeed?

It's weird, the movie isn't particularly unique in its narrative arc, you know what's coming up next pretty much throughout the movie, but it's just such a fun and satisfying time that you spend in Miyazaki's world that you don't really mind. Here Miyazaki has abandoned the insane detail of his more mature films such as Spirited Away or Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, the style is more of a throwback to works like My Neighbor Totoro, in favor of rich, inoffensive pastels and broad brushstrokes that possess a certain universality, appealing to both young and old around the globe. I could see this movie being really empowering and special for really little kids, as it doesn't talk down to them, it meets them on their level and ultimately they save the day. This is the essential charm of a Miyazaki film, they seem to portray reality as viewed from the eyes of a child, taken purely at face value. "Hmm, there's a fish with a face. ok." The man can keep charming the little kid in me until he fuckin dies. A-

Other semi-related thoughts:

-Miyazaki is a lot like Lynch, you know its one of theirs just by looking at it, and both their films exist not in reality but in the mind of their creators, and are governed by their logic, you're just along for the ride.

-Wait, this movie actually made me have a dream that I saw a Lynch children's movie. That shit is certainly not coincidental.

-The movie is worth seeing alone for its silent opening sequence depicting the world from which Ponyo comes; da ocean.

-Ponyo also has an infectious theme song, on par with Totoro. Here it is.

Inglourious Basterds

There has been a lot of talk regarding the historical revisionism central to Tarantino's newest referential revenge flick, particularly by Daniel Mendelsohn over at Newsweek and Johnathan Rosenbaum, who claim that Inglourious Basterds "turns the Jews into Nazis." But like, really though? Come on. Tarantino isn't a child (nor are we). He's not trying to put the idea into our heads that this is how World War II was won by the allies, I think he just wanted a subject for revenge so universally despised, who represent such a clear, inarguable division of good and evil, that he could make them endure whatever he wished and still have the audience applaud in delight (as they did at the midnight screening I attended). Since when is historical fiction/revisionism problematic in Hollywood cinema? Why are there those who demand a simulacrous representation of actual events in their popcorn fare? And why is it that the Holocaust is particularly off-limits to creative re-interpretation? Is it because it's so full of human tragedy and representative of the entire scope of what a person is capable? Isn't that precisely why it offers such a fertile framework for a treatise on any number of subjects (in this case revenge and film itself)?

As a Jew, I'm surprised more people aren't a little more insulted that the film that most associate with the Holocaust (that was shown to my entire 8th-grade class), directed by one of the most powerful members of our clan (the anti-Gibson one could say), is about the dubious altruism of a German business magnate. I'm also shocked by the large segment of those who are interested in these kinds of things who cannot abide Benigni's (fucking) brilliant Life is Beautiful, seemingly only because it is a comedy with a decidedly unfunny setting. These folks seem to want nothing more from their Holocaust films than an acknowledgment that it happened and it was terrible (which is certainly present in both Basterds and Life); but there is the potential in this tragic event that has come to define a century to discuss so much more than the happening itself.

For me it will be hard to make a film about the Holocaust more touching, relevant and downright entertaining than Life Is Beautiful, but if it comes to pass that when discussions arise about Holocaust films that Inglorious Basterds is the one that first comes to mind for some, I would have little problem with that. The dialogue is rich, the acting flawless, the action satisfying, and the many moments of tension downright butt-hole clenching, directed with a Hitchcock-ian mastery. Yes, it does deal with sensitive subject matter that is pretty dead serious to say the least, but this is more or less just the frame for a wonderfully engaging story. All said and done, Inglorious Basterds is the most fun I've had at the movies in this really fucking terrible year for them, and thats something of value; and like it or not, just by virtue of being a Tarantino film, it is certain to be remembered, watched and discussed as long as people are talking about these sorts of things. B+

Other semi-related thoughts:

- Maus turns Jews into mice; thats better than having them achieve the symbolic revenge for which we so crave? But don't get me wrong, I love Maus.

-Cloverfield is a film about 9/11 far more relevant than United 93 and that Oliver Stone one.

-"What If?"s are a fundamental part of our post-modern culture. From Dr. Strangelove to "Steampunk", gotta have "What If?"s. They're great. And they're so prevalent since forever; don't give me this bullshit.

-Not that we're particularly oppressed, but I'm down with seeing some depictions of jews that are empowering as masculine and strong characters as opposed to nebbish and neurotic (though I admittedly would fall in the latter category).

-Israel is wack