I See, You Too, Are An Innocent Man: Down By Law (1986)

The films of Jim Jarmusch have an unwavering hipness that is often borrowed, but never successfully recreated.  In sorts, Jarmusch is the Tarantino of independent filmmaking.  His 1986 masterpiece Down By Law certainly has all the cool wry wit of his other films, along with a smooth soundtrack and some very impressive acting on the part of the enigmatic Tom Waits.  Down By Law is a film that is colorful, despite being filmed in black and white and complex, despite centering around a small cast of characters, and beautiful despite being set in the most desolate portions of New Orleans.  It also presents a diverse set of characters whose lives intersect inexplicably and tangentially, yet seem almost preordained or something far more meaningful than coincidence.  Down By Law is for lovers of cinema, and is a staple in the canon of independent filmmaking as it relates to the United States.

The plot is surprisingly coherent for a Jarmusch film, perhaps being accredited to it following only three characters, whose narratives intertwine in a New Orleans jail.  The first being the broken down radio DJ Zack (Tom Waits) whose recent drunken stupor lands him in jail, after unknowingly agreeing to transport a dead body.  The second is Jack (John Lurie), a pimp who is tricked by a rival conman into approaching an underage girl about prostitution and finally Roberto “Bob,” played masterfully by director Roberto Benigni, an Italian immigrant whose miscommunication during a poker game leads to his accidental murder of an opponent.  The three men appear indifferent to one another as the story unfolds, each seeing their imprisonment as unjust and resenting all things related to the prison, including one another.  However, after bonding over a riotous moment, inspired by Bob’s lack of English, the men begin to trust one another and Bob hatches an escape plan.  The group escapes from the prison with relative ease only to discover the treacherous nature of Louisiana swampland far more formidable than prison.  The group eventually finds shelter in a boathouse that is eerily similar to their prison cell, only to venture out in a faulty boat that quickly sinks.  Luckily for the trio, they stumble upon a road that leads them to a coffee shop.  Zack and Jack realize the perils of walking into a public place still donning prison garb and send the culturally oblivious Bob into the place as a sacrifice.  Bob, however, fails to return after many hours.   In a moment of confusion Zack and Jack approach the house to see Bob being treated to the hospitality of an Italian woman, leading them to quickly enter the house and join the fun.  The group is treated as though they are any other guest by Nicoletta (Nicoletta Braschi), given that she fails to realize their uniforms significance.  After a night of drinks and conversation the three split ways, Bob decides to stay with Nicoletta, while Zack and Jack leave at a crossroad, only offering words of sarcasm as they diverge.  The plot thus ending in simplicity, a sentimental film for Jarmusch that is as simple in its narrative as it is profound.

The brilliance of Down By Law is its study of imprisonment, particularly as it relates to its metaphoric sense.  Each of the trio is imprisoned by something and it takes the happenchance encounter and subsequent literal escape from prison to help them free themselves figuratively.  For Jack it is a matter of freeing himself from apathy, particularly as it relates to his belief that he could be better than a pimp, but has not been given a fresh start to change this action.  By breaking from prison and reemerging into civilization, Jack is able to recreate his image, free of a problematic and undesirable past.  For Zack his troubles stem from his own self-loathing and inability to ask others for help.  His standoffish ways are broken as he is forced to perform his DJ routine face-to-face with Jack, as well as save Bob who is almost captured do to his fear of swimming.  Ultimately, Zack finds freedom in his wit and recognition that his own happiness exists partially from accepting that those around him can be happy as well.  Finally, Bob is imprisoned by language, a barrier that seems impossible to transcend throughout the film.   It is not until he is able to accept his Italian ways in the face of death that he is freed, this acceptance of his difference is validated by meeting Nicoletta who shares his identity, thus freeing him from loneliness.  Each character ends the film in solitude, but in this instance, it is void of self-imprisonment.

Buy this film.  Jim Jarmusch has an excellent relationship with Criterion and it is reflected in the dvd supplements.  A copy is necessary, share it with your friends, or anyone you remotely care about.

My Film World: Rome

I missed the chance to offer a My Film World excerpt last week, but have come back with a rather spectacular offering.  I am taking this Monday to note the wonderful bit of musicianship that is Danger Mouse and Daniele Luppi's Rome.  You are most likely familiar with Danger Mouse for his famous mash-up of Jay-Z's Black Album with The Beatles White Album to create the Grey Album.  If not, you are definitely familiar with him as one-half of Gnarls Barkley which brought us the ever so catchy song "Crazy."  Perhaps, however, you are less familiar with Daniel Luppi...don't worry so is wikipedia.  However, Luppi is certainly an accomplished composer, making music for many notable films, including Nine and Under The Tuscan Sun.  The duo has combined together to create the previously mentioned Rome as an homage to Spaghetti Westerns.

Their homage is nothing less than cinematic.  Each song on the album hearkens back to Sergio Leone's finest films and one cannot help but prepare for an epic shootout.  What makes the album even better though is the dedication to create a western narrative.  Each song whether instrumental or lyric driven borrows heavily of some element of the western genre.  Incorporating the artistic help of Norah Jones and Jack White, Rome makes listeners nostalgic for their favorite Wild West characters, both good and bad.  Not to mention with track names like "The Gambling Priest" and "Two Against One" it is easy to think of a variety of other famous westerns, made outside the works of Italian directors.  The standout track on this album is definitively track ten entitled "Black" which will inevitably have you rearing to hitch up a horse and saddle off into the sunset.  This is an obvious vinyl purchase for audiophiles, but for non-musical purists out there a quick ITunes download is well worth the investment.

 

( Rome may as well have been the original soundtrack for The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly, it's that good.)

You Wanna Catch A Mouse, You Set A Mouse Trap: How To Marry A Millionaire (1953)

The classic Hollywood films are forever hip and fun.  They are certainly problematic in their portrayals of class, race and gender; yet on occasion films seem to transcend their problems to offer a great viewing experience.  A fine example of this is Elia Kazan's film Pinky, which certainly portrays images of race questionably, yet manages to standup as a narrative and cinematic piece.  Another example of this is Jean Negulesco's How To Marry A Millionaire.  Despite dealing with the female sex rather frivolously, viewers are given a genuinely funny movie that manages to offer a sincere commentary on love without taking itself to seriously.  Furthermore, despite becoming an iconic film for star Marilyn Monroe, the film offers up a narrative centered entirely around three women, a rather unusual practice, not including the stereotyped women's films of a decade earlier.  From the opening and closing scenes of the 20th Century Fox orchestra playing, it is a laugh riot that is as fashionably sensible as it is nostalgically sweet.

The film follows the trials and tribulations of three women sharing a New York high-rise with the hopes of snagging a rich man for his money.  It is a tripled version of the classic gold digger storyline.  Despite casting Marilyn Monroe to play the near-sighted Pola, How To Marry A Millionaire, concerns itself primarily with the experiences of Schatze Page (Lauren Bacall).  Schatze leads the trio, which also includes Loco Dempsy (Betty Grable) through the best methods to assure trapping a wealthy gentleman.  Schatze's rules are at times elaborate, often using large parties to gather suitors, or selling grand pianos to allow the financial freedom to remain unemployed.  However, Schatze's most steadfast rule is that her suitors must be of an older generation, because she is steadfast in the belief that no young man is wealthy.  This is humorous for viewers, because her most adamant suitor is a young man named Tom Brookman (Cameron Mitchell) who Schatze dismisses because she assumes him to be a gas jockey.  Yet, as viewers are shown, Tom is quite wealthy and simply hides it from her in order to make her love him for his personality and not his wealth.  Similarly, both Pola and Loco come to realize that their quest for rich suitors is futile and end up falling for men whose wealth is less than stellar, Pola for an equally visually impaired man evading tax issues and Loco for a forest ranger whose wealth comes from his love for nature.  Through a multitude of laughs and lavish moments, the girls realize that love trumps financial success, and that if one desires to be happy over rich, they can obtain the latter both figuratively and literally.

Despite being funny and positing a sweet notion of love, the film is undeniably problematic in its portrayal of women.  Each of the women represents a stereotyped female, whose character evolution is nonexistent and irrelevant to plot advancement.  Pola, despite being one of Marilyn Monroe's more unconventional performances, is a klutz whose poor vision results in her tripping over herself, running into doors and generally failing to assess situations.  The film unfairly correlates her visual disability with a lack of brains using her refusal to wear glasses a plot extension in which she incorrectly reads signs leading to her missing multiple chances at marrying a rich man.  Similarly, Loco is depicted a bombshell whose modeling ability outweighs any possession of common sense.  Schatze constantly berates Loco for attempting to find men at the local grocery, arguing that they will either be poor or of a lower class mentality.  Furthermore, Loco is shown as a woman who is preoccupied with self-indulgence, notably in regards to eating, making it seem as though she is incapable of human interaction on a significant scale.  Finally, Schatze proves the most problematic in that she represents a sort of hybrid between the femme fatale of film noir and a disillusioned widow whose only desire is self-preservation.  Schatze has multiple suitors yet seems indifferent to each, including those with wealth, because to her they represent an oppressive state in which she loses her freedom.  While this at first seems transcendent of feminine stereotypes, her character obviously and openly equates freedom with finance.  Furthermore, in Classic Hollywood fashion, she settles down and marries, making her quest for freedom futile and ultimately irrelevant.

So I have made it rather apparent that this film has problems, but with that being noted, I still loved this film.  The movie must be viewed contextually, it is one of the better Monroe films I have seen and it makes me want to delve into the other lush Hollywood films of the fifties.  Sadly, no blu-ray exists at this point so a regular dvd copy will have to suffice.

Half-Assembled Freak Shows and Forgotten Jazz Notes: Passion Play (2010)

For a variety of reasons, some films fall under the radar, despite having a notable cast and a legitimate storyline.  A notable example of this being the star drenched film Southland Tale.  Perhaps it is the post-apocalyptic themes paired with an image of urban Southern California that result in both films feeling distant and unfamiliar.  I have browsed upon a slew of negative reviews for Passion Play, which imply such impressions, but to me it is the other-worldliness of the film that makes it so good.  A film that combines drug abuse, angelic beings and a pimped named Happy can only prove to be entertaining.  However, it is writer and director Mitch Glazer's intimacy with the subject matter that pushes it from being simply entertaining to being absolutely fascinating.  It portrays a world that seems to occupy dreams, perhaps those of Glazer himself, making the title all the more relevant.  

Passion Play follows a dried-up jazz artist named Nate Poole (Mickey Rourke) as we flees from a jealous pimp with the ironic name of Happy, played with precision by Bill Murray.  After a near-death experience at the hands of one of Happy's lackeys Nate wanders upon a traveling freak show run by Sam Adamo (Rhys Ifans).  His show includes all the staples of a freak show such as the bearded lady, a sword swallower and even a fire breather.  However, Nate enters a small back room to discover a young girl with angel wings.  Instantly infatuated with her, Nate finds her trailer and meets the girl, finding out her name is Lily Luster (Megan Fox).  Her bizarre appendage and flattering looks lead Nate to the realization that she would make the perfect sacrifice to Happy, thus ensuring his future safety in the city.  After an elaborate meeting set-up involving an opera house and ramblings by jazz heavyweight Solomon Burke, Nate shows Happy his new discovery.  In the moments leading up to this, however, Nate after a lengthy discussion with Lily realizes his strong emotions for her and attempts to hide her from Happy.  Happy, nonetheless, extends his reach over the city to find Lily taking her from Nate after the two have an altercation.  What follows is a series of unsuccessful attempts by Nate to obtain Lily, ultimately resulting in reverting to an old drug habit, losing his money and an inevitable death.  However, it is in his moment of death that the film drops its narrative grounding allowing Nate to revisit the site of his original near death experience, implying that he was dead all along and that his bizarre run-in with an angelic girl was more heavenly than the viewers once assumed.

The film, in my opinion, is a case study of drug addiction, set in a desolate Hollywood backdrop.  Nate is a jazz musician who for whatever reason has lost his notoriety.  Perhaps it was a past drug habit that led to his downfall, but whatever the reason it helps to explain the films magical realism.  Everything seems surreal, invoking the notion that the viewers are witnessing a drug high of sorts.  If this is the case, it helps to explain Happy's rather notable control over Nate, who seems almost infantile when within earshot of Happy.  At the very least if it is not an issue with heroin, Nate is obviously an alcoholic.  Glazer incorporates rather notable scenes into his larger narrative, particularly ones in which Nate begs for money from a fellow musician who sympathetically offers him a large sum of cash.  It seems rather futile in the narrative, but when placed into a notion of Nate being a drug addict it makes perfect sense.  Also, Nate's initial brush with death can now be read as a drug overdose that becomes the films narrative, the reason the viewers are drawn back to one of the films opening scenes is because it is all just a vision of a dying drug addicts life.  Not to mention it helps explain the choice of Mickey Rourke for Nate given his own infamous past with drugs.

Passion Play is unusual and uncertain, but that is its brilliance.  I was thrilled by the entire cast, including Megan Fox who did a surprisingly good job.  I look forward to seeing more work by Glazer as a director and strongly recommend snagging a Blu-ray of Passion Play for your collection.

Does The Elephant Still Have Her Trappings: The Music Room (1958)

The Music Room will break your heart.  Both a visual and aural masterpiece, The Music Room is one of many offerings from the long-overlooked Bengalese director Satyajit Ray, and thanks to The Criterion Collection is now widely accessible to American audiences.  This film is not a coming of age tale, like other of its era, but a going of age tale...if such things exist.  It paints a vivid and tragic picture of a newly independent India that still suffers from imperialist nightmares, and while the film is certainly a cinematic feast, it is entirely driven by the musical score that involved contemporary Indian artists and dancer.  Ray offers a movie for the people of India, yet given its accessible story and translucent visual elements, it becomes a world masterpiece of grand proportions.

Through non-linear narrative, The Music Room portrays the latter years of aristocrat Biswambhar Roy (Chhabi Biswas) who lives on his roof and refuses to see anyone besides his servants.  However, the soft playing of a tabla in a room below awakens memories of a time in which Roy was a noted music connoisseur.  His home, specifically his music room, was a place of personal pride that brought Roy both respect and ever expanding amounts of death.  As he sees his family off for a trip, Roy takes it upon himself to outdo a rival in a concert, selling the family jewels to pay for the lavish event, one that includes Hennessy.  As if the debt were not a problem, Roy demands the immediate return of his family to be present for his concert.  Tragedy strikes during a rather dark musical performance as Roy is informed of his son and wife's deaths during an intense cyclone.  Distraught by his frivolous actions, Roy vows to close the music room and lives in solitude.  The film cuts back to an elderly Roy who, after hearing the tabla music, emerges from his hermit ways to reopen his music room.  Rejuvenated through a vicarious swan song, Roy attempts to ride his son's horse only to fall off and die in the process..his death being the final sacrifice in his attempt at aristocratic supremacy.

The Music Room is a textbook lesson in Indian music, a style unfamiliar to most American ears.  It is perhaps the most aurally incomprehensible music style for Americans...not including the assumed shrillness of Chinese opera.  As noted earlier, Ray created a film for his country, the result being a very intimate image of Indian musical culture.  Each performance in the film is of notable length, running between four and eight minutes providing a view into the complexities of a raga.  It allows viewers to witness the repetition, evolution and improvisation of Indian music, particularly given that most of the songs played consist of no more than two to three verses.  It also displays the "proper" way to listen to music, as Roy is shown tapping his finger on every 16th beat of a song, an important number in Indian music and a signifier of Roy's class.  Finally, and perhaps most visually stunning, is Ray's emphasis on the synchronous relationship between dance and music in India.  The closing performance involves an elaborate dance number with sweeping cinematography, well-executed jump cuts and a dance number that rivals Fred Astaire's firework extravaganza in Holiday Inn.  The Music room is basically India's answer to the big budget American musical, with a far heavier social commentary.

I am indebted to The Criterion Collection for such releases and cannot recommend this enough.  The film descriptor provided mentions the film being "incandescent" and watching the Blu-ray of this certainly proves this claims validity.

Maybe We Don't Have to Find It, Maybe We Are the Pieces: Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist (2008)

Sometimes for a film, soundtracks are everything, especially when said film implies music in its title.  Like Richard Linklater's Dazed and Confused, Peter Sollett's 2008 film shows an equal, if not greater, concern for what is heard, as well as what is seen.  From the ambient echoes of Band of Horses to the harmonious upbeat tunes of Vampire Weekend, Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist uses its musical pretentiousness to tell its story, and does so with great success.  It is a movie about, for, and in all likelihood by a music geek and in creating such a film, Sollett easily reflects his passion onto the screen for ninety minutes.

The film is seemingly simple in its plot.  It is the classic John Hughes movie, awkward guy loses girlfriend is a wreck and hopes to win her back.  Another girl secretly desires the awkward guy...they magically end up stuck together for a night and suddenly they realize they are soul mates.  It is really that simple, of course that goes to say that as a movie this takes many obstacles and ex's interference before occurring.

What makes the film distinctly different is the cast of characters.  With the exception of Micheal Cera...playing Micheal Cera, the group of actors are delightfully unconventional.  It is particularly nice to see a film where the main character's friends are openly gay and yet completely accepted.  The film does make note of their homosexuality in jest, but each occasion is quickly countered with them possessing their sexual identity without shame, going so far as to name their band A Fistful of Assholes.  The characters accept themselves, and those shown to be unhappy end up alone (as do Nick's Ex and Norah's belligerent friend), or without the record contract (as do a group of faux-Jewish rockers who use their heritage in an exploitative manner).  The film promotes honesty and self-esteem and certainly reflects these ideals throughout.

The filming relies heavily on artificial lighting to create a glossy feel, as the characters seem to pass through a dreary New York City which is full of rain drenched streets, off-yellow Yugo's and all male revues involving Jesus and bottomless altar boys.  The film is a stroke of genius that can easily be enjoyed.  If you have a significant other, I would suggest watching it with them, it certainly made my own viewing experience more pleasurable.  Also, check out the soundtrack, it is for all intensive purposes glorious.