Let's Hear It For Rupert Pupkin!: The King Of Comedy (1982)

I often find myself defending some of Martin Scorsese's more recent work, against critics and cinephiles who say that he has lost his touch.  I always through up defenses such as his being older and evolving as a filmmaker, focusing on different themes and ideas.  However, after my recent viewing of The King of Comedy, I am finding it harder to convince myself of the validity of such statements, particularly since the film is mind-blowingly brilliant without relying on the edgy, violent hipness that people have come to associate with Scorsese, who is perhaps New York's most prolific filmmaker.  In its decidedly humorist approach, The King of Comedy does not reach the level of Taxi Driver, or Raging Bull, but it certainly does not profess to be such a film, in fact, it is decidedly aware of its fabricated nature and intends fully to deconstruct the very elements that make it so enjoyable.  At no point is The King of Comedy pretentious or too self-invovled, which makes it astute observations on the cult of celebrity and societal ignorance concerning mental illness all the more prescient, even as the film now exists within a thirty year window.  Furthermore, I am a huge fan of Robert De Niro, often defending him in the same breaths that I do Scorsese, and while I thought he worked some moment of magic into a rather phoned in performance in Silver Linings Playbook, it was a revelation to see the "typecast" performer exist in an acting spectrum that I had been entirely unaware of up until this point.  I do not doubt that Robert De Niro has fun as an actor, you can see it on his face, especially in that little smirk he adds to even the most serious of roles, however, as Rupert Pupkin, De Niro is working on an entirely different level of intensity and absurdity that can only be described as mesmerizing, and it would be one thing if he were existing in this acting realm alone but his supporting cast, Jerry Lewis, in particular, manage to deliver equally amazing performances in what is slowly proving to be one of my new favorite Scorsese film.  Hell, I would even be willing to say that watching The King of Comedy has led me to consider the very real possibility that Scorsese himself is "The King of American Cinema," a knowingly bold statement, but one that is certainly worth seriously considering.

The King of Comedy centers on the experiences of Rupert Pupkin (Robert De Niro) a delusional man who believes himself to possess the necessary chops to be a stand-up comedian known and loved by the households of America, however, he has failed to be given the chance to show his skills to a national audiences.  As such, Rupert believes that by befriending well-known late-night host, and former comedian, Jerry Langford (Jerry Lewis) he will be able to obtain such privileges.  Unfortunately, Rupert appears to have no real understanding of the ways in which society works, believing that after a "chance" encounter with Jerry after a live-taping of his show that he will in some way befriend him to the point of simply being put on air.  This believe leads him to create an elaborate lie about his friendship with the late-night host as a means to win the affections of a high school love interest named Rita Keane (Diahnne Abbot) who thinks there might just be validity to Rupert's statements.  However, viewers are made well-aware of Rupert's delusions of grandeur, even depicting many of them within the narrative, often blurring beautifully between reality and the imagined.  Nonetheless, after being denied access with Jerry in the studios, Rupert builds up enough audacity to simply take Rita and himself on a trip to Jerry's home, much to the confusion of Jerry's servants, and eventually Jerry himself.  After being asked to leave, Rupert realizes that in order to find success on television he will have to resort to drastic measures and kidnap Jerry, a task that requires the help of his sometimes partner in crime, and fanatic of Jerry's, Masha (Sandra Bernhard).  In a hilariously haphazard manner the two are able to take Jerry and kidnap him within his own home, at which point Rupert makes a rather simple ransom demand.  He only desires to be allowed a monologue on Jerry's show in return for his safety, a request that is initially denied, but eventually embraced by the producers and law enforcement.  Rupert is given his moment to shine, and shine he does, much to the adoration of everyone viewing, leading to a cult following, while he spends time in jail for kidnapping.  The film closes with Rupert delivering a taped show of his comedy act, however, viewers are certainly left to consider whether this event actually occurs, or is yet another extension of Rupert's insane delusions.

The film absolutely rejects linearity, and understandably so, after all, it is essentially a film about Rupert, who does not exist on a spatial plane of "normal" rationality.  So fueled by the belief that he is a talented comedian, Rupert simply refuses to believe any other course of action possible.  The question then becomes whether one should criticize Rupert for his unusual actions and wild attempts to gain popularity.  It would be one thing if Rupert were hurting people in the process, but aside from Jerry being taped to a chair for no apparent reason, Rupert seems intent on pleasing and being incredibly nice to everyone he meets, even the security guards who forcefully remove Rupert from Jerry's office.  It is clear that Rupert really just wants to be a comedian and desires to share his material with the world, because, up until this point he has only heard the criticisms of his mother, a figure, in all its Freudian implications, that may well be another extension of his imagination.  It would also be an entirely different film if Rupert were to appear on the show and completely bomb.  Sure it is rather clear that much of his comedy is heavily self-depricating, but is that not the basis of most comedic routines, but the audience adore its delivery, humor and, for lack of better words, insanity, showing that the gift Rupert has is by no means imagined and very real, affirmed by his sharing it will a bar full of people.  The trouble resides in reading into the film as any version of reality, when reviewing Taxi Driver, awhile back I discussed the possibility that the entire film is a dream sequence experience by Travis Bickle, suggested in his final glance into the camera through his rearview mirror.  If that reading is possible with Taxi Driver, it is certainly a likely interpretation when Rupert Pupkin breaks the fourth wall in the closing moments of this film, even if ever so briefly.  Of course, such an interpretation betrays everything I just wrote, but, to be honest, I am fine with that, because it only means that the film requires many revisits in the future.

Key Scene:  The monologue is so built up that when it is finally delivered one cannot help but happily welcome it in all its madness.

This film is cheap enough on DVD and certainly has a quality about it that reject needing a bluray upgrade, although I would certainly not be opposed to such an acquisition in the future.

Always Look Ahead And Above Yourself: Jiro Dreams Of Sushi (2011)

As many a documentary filmmaker seem to agree, Albert Maysles specifically, the purpose of the non-fiction filmmaking style is to quote reality to some degree.  A larger question arises though when we are to consider a individual or a reality so unusual or exceptional that they transcend our own understandings of the real or the factual.  This certainly proved true with the penultimate documentary Grey Gardens, directed by Albert and his brother David, however, it also proves to be grounds for many other documentaries, although in most instances filmmakers manage to find exceptional subjects, only to completely drop the ball on creating their world, or as suggested earlier, visually quoting their reality.  This is certainly the case with I Like Killing Flies, a work with a incomprehensible figure that flails to cinematically reflect on the vibrance of the subject.  In contrast, exists what has come to be the standout documentary of last year, 2011's Jiro Dreams of Such, which focuses on world famous sushi chef Jiro Ono, who in his eighties still attends work regularly and delivers a product to his diverse customer base that he acknowledges changes and, hopefully, evolves everyday.  The traditional Japanese food offered by Jiro is not flashy or fusion heavy, but, instead, simple traditional sushi perfect.  Filmmaker David Gelb who both directed and shot this documentary does the idea of quoting reality justice within his visual study of the iconic sushi chef, taking vibrant but subtle angles and deep focus lenses to capture the slow artistry at work in the art of making the cuisine.  Often the film simply rests the camera on the piece of sushi as it occupies a minimalist space on a dish, or will use a series of overlaps and cuts to show time evolution and the notion of memory simultaneously.  The documentary exists both as a provocation on the state of fish-based food industries in Japan as well as a endearing reflection on the life of an accomplished and hard-working individual.  The film is exceptionally well-executed and deserved of the near universal praise it has managed to accrue.

Jiro Dreams of Sushi, as noted previously centers on aging sushi master Jiro Ono, a prominent figure not only in Tokyo where he resides, but on the global scale as well being the oldest chef, and one of the few sushi chefs to receive the prestigious three star rating from the Michelin Institute in France, an accolade one food critic quips in the documentary makes it worth going to said country simply to eat at that restaraunt.  At the time of this film, Jiro is eighty-five and shows no signs to considering retirement, going so far as to awake early in the morning and leave work quite late at night, a routine he has kept up for well over sixty years.  In fact, aside from obeying national holidays and no longer traveling to the fish market, Jiro sustains the same methodologies and approaches from his earliest days in the trade.  While many of his contemporaries have either passed or retired, Jiro keeps at his job, while his eldest son, now well into his fifties works under him as assistant chef, per Japanese tradition.  Incidentally, his younger son, knowing that he will not be afforded the opportunity to take over the restaurant, leading to the opening of his own restaurant, which is a literal mirroring of his father's place considering that he is right handed.  Things seem nearly unstoppable for Jiro and most of the documentary instead chooses to focus on the mad methods incorporated by the chef to assure a quality products, ones he claims are constantly evolving and never perfected.  Jiro proves to be the most humble of individuals and clearly possesses a hidden charm that manages to rub off on all those he meets, especially his former employees and the fish market workers with whom he previously worked.  If anything is left uncertain in the future of the narrative post filming it is the state of sushi as an art form after the eventual loss of Jiro, as well as the problems with overfish.  Although it also considers what troubles Jiro's sons will face living up to their father's illustrious name, yet as the closing moments seem to suggest, this is far from impossible and may already have occurred.

Why then does a seemingly straightforward documentary about a elderly man putting raw fish onto rice seem to gain such mass appeal.  I would suggest that its seemingly universal love is a direct relation to the universal motifs and themes promoted within the film.  Jiro is probably one of the most likable individuals one could ever hope to encounter in live, yet he suffers from some of the same hardships anyone could imagine, most notably issues with addiction to cigarrettes and forming a lasting bond with his children, even his unique distancing from his parents manages to evolve in to a degree of universality.  However, larger themes than these emerge within Jiro Dreams of Sushi, the most obvious being rhetoric surrounding passion and livelihood, one would find difficulty arguing against Jiro's old age being intrinsically tied to the zeal and love he pours out into his work.  The philosophically inclined sushi chef goes so far as to say that the moment a person curses their employment proves to be the exact moment in which they cannot produce a decent product.  Of course, Jiro also struggles with a variety of issues, whether it be technological changes, adapting to a market inundated with quick consumption sushi or changing demands in customer service, however, the zen like patience of Jiro always adapts, as he does when serving each customer, whether it be adjusting portions to unique paces or serving the food on the left hand side to help a customer who favors that hand.  Jiro Dreams of Sushi seems to answer the ever present question of why humanity exists and how one should engage life, if we are to take Jiro's actions to heart, it seems to be to find something we love and continually strive to perfect that, even if said perfection comes in embracing its simplicity.

Key Scene:  There is a moment when Jiro's work is compared to a piece of music that would be on the nose in any other work, however, given the artistic magnitude of this surprisingly minimalist film it fits in all to perfectly.

This is an exceptional film and one of the most stellar documentaries of the past year, if not the past decade.  It is a beautiful work currently available on Netflix Watch Instantly, there is no justification for missing its perfection.

I'll Show You The Life Of The Mind: Barton Fink (1991)

I have seen quite a few films involving The Coen brothers, even going so far as to describe No Country for Old Men as an example of the rare perfect movie.  While I am used to their films being incredibly comedic and intensely centered in action heavy moments, Barton Fink provided me with an entirely different viewing experience, that while not the norm for the Coen's certainly proved to be enjoyable and incredibly intense.  Combining some stellar performances by both John Turturro and John Goodman, a film about intelligence, accessibility and the delving of one's psyche into the paranoid evokes the greatest of emotive responses one can imagine while watching a film.  I find this to be one of the most complex and introspective films in the Coen oeuvre and place it second only to A Serious Man in what I would claim to be my favorite film by Joel and Ethan.  Perhaps it is the centralization of character evident in both these works that make me love the films, or the complete lack of concern for spatial formality, but something about the magical realist nightmare evoked in Barton Fink makes for a stellar two hours of film viewing.  While this is somewhat early in the Coen's filmmaking career one can, nonetheless, find moments of their soon to be traditional touches, whether it be cameras focusing on events occurring outside of the room in which events are filmed, or fixation on seemingly arbitrary objects.  I personally could not help but pick up on some clear similarities to the world David Lynch creates in his seminal work Blue Velvet.  Barton Fink is a magnificently realized work that explodes into a much larger film than one will initially expect.  The work considers how we consider factual events in a biased narrative, as well as what role we place on creativity in a writer's output, especially when their work is always influenced by outside forces.  While many a films have been made about making films, I would place Barton Fink in the highest of rungs.

The film centers on a character of the title's sake Barton Fink (John Turturro) a New York based playwright who has found recent success with his gritty and minimalist plays focusing on the common man.  While we are shown him enjoying lavish dinners, he is offered high paying work to write screenplays in Hollywood, an offer he finds slightly offensive and counterproductive to his guttural desires to speak for the working class.  Agreeing as a means to gain money to pay for multiple plays in the future, Barton flies out Hollywood and stays at the surprisingly dilapidated and unoccupied Hotel Earle, with the exception of the the under zealous bellhop Chet (Steve Buscemi).  Once situated in his room, Barton attempts to begin writing a gritty "wrestling picture" only to undertake insufferable writer's block, a problem exacerbated by the distraction of continually peeling wallpaper and the constant interruptions by Charlie Meadows (John Goodman) a talkative, rotund life insurance salesman.  Barton seeks inspiration outside of the hotel, eventually running into a idol writer of his W.P. Mayhew (John Mahoney), who it becomes quite clear has spiraled into alcoholism, much to the disdain of his wife Audrey (Judy Davis), for who Barton begins to take a liking.  Eventually winning over Audrey and earning an extension on his script writing, Barton convinces her to spend time with him, however, upon awaking he realizes she has been inexplicably murdered.  Seeking help from his only friend Charlie, Barton disposes of the body, only to become a key witness in the investigation of Charlie, of who viewers learn is actually "Mad Man" Munch an infamous serial killer.  Needless to say, Barton's daily life becomes absurd all leading to an intense run in with Charlie/Munch that, nonetheless, allows him to burst through his writers block and provide Capitol Studios with a script, one that is instantly despised and leads to his being put on restriction, although he is told to stay in Hollywood as he is still on contract.

One of my favorite elements of Barton Fink are the multiplicities of interpretation allowed for this work.  Of course some of the more obvious interpretations center on the creative process, or class consciousness.  However, it is many of the more obscure yet equally tangible elements of the film that I find intriguing.  It almost has a The Shining element in that one  can pick up various possibilities for commentary.  One element of note is the suggestion of a critique of Fascism within the narrative, particularly in that it represents a clearly Jewish character in Fink avoiding the suppression and attacks of fascist nationalism.  This is overtly emphasized when he is accosted by detectives Mastrionatti and Deutsch whose clear German and Italian ties draw upon Fascism.  Similarly, a reading involving ideas of slavery has emerged, citing the singing of slavery songs and spirituals as an example, although a connection to notions of possessing intellectual property could certainly add some validity to this specified reading.  Finally, and of course most notably is the fact that this could all be an imagined film, which begins with the fact that we are shown moments through the eyes of Barton, especially since it begins with him watching his own play, a fact that is never verified to exist outside his own mind, a quick cutting to a near point of view of him entering into a ritzy restaurant almost solidifies it, if not at the very least helping to rationalize the absurd moments in which he witnesses a hotel become engulfed in flames only to seem fine moments later.  We are never sure what his rejected script consists of, but perhaps that has been what we were shown up until this point, after all there is a wrestling scene between Charlie and Barton that could serve as the inspiration for the script, amidst all its latent homoeroticism.

Key Scene:  For the key scene please refer to the quote in the title of this post.

I watched this on Netflix via Watch Instantly, but was so enamored with it that I intend to purchase a copy and would certainly urge you to do the same, although I would hold out for a bluray release.

My Dear, You Cannot Live In Isolation: Carnival Of Souls (1962)

For the final film of my Halloween oriented cinema spook-fest, I decided to go with the indelible cult classic, Carnival of Souls, which has become one of the premier scare movies that is....well, criminally under-appreciated.  For some time Carnival of Souls fell the way of dubbed copies and public domain twenty set movie releases, only to get somewhat of a resurgence after being shown at various independent theaters, as well as making constant appearances as a midnight movie.  In a matter of no time, Carnival of Souls became the movie to watch if you thought you were cool and knew the classics of horror, and deservedly so, Herk Harvey's only feature length work is something to be witnessed.  As is the case with many a b-movie, it starts off quite bland with some lees than stellar action shots and some of the worst dubbing imagined in a movie where the actors are speaking the same language.  However, less than ten minutes into this cinematic wonderscape, it becomes very apparent that Carnival of Souls will not be your run of the mill work and exists as something far creepier and thoroughly inexplicable.  It is hard not to see the clear influence this film has on directors like David Lynch and Steven Sodergbergh who love taking a completely normal scenario and inserting incredible amounts of absurdity into them without the characters seeming to completely fall apart in the wake of said deconstruction of the natural.  It could be argued that Carnival of Souls has very few scary moments within its entire seventy or so minute narrative, but I would contest that it is a far greater thing than simple scares when it comes to Carnival of Souls, for the entire diagetic world created within this film is scary, the landscapes defy logic, the characters interact in a vapid and disconnected manner, often engaging one another with such levels of paranoia that it is hard to feel comfortable.  Not to mention we are watching a woman slowly fall into such a existential mentality that her sanity begins to blatantly betray her, it is scary in a way many films are not, it does not provide you with explanations as to why ghost A is showing up or why ghost B is so damn mean, it simply places you in media res to a horror story directly consuming on persons life, and in this case Carnival of Souls may have been the first to commit such an approach, and is certainly yet to be challenged.

Carnival of Souls follows a young woman named Mary Henry (Candace Hilligoss) who is still centering her world after being the sole survivor of a rather unfortunate accident in which a car including her and her friends goes spiraling off the side of a bridge.  Shortly after her lucky survival Mary discovers that she will be taking a job in Utah as a church organist, something for which she somehow managed to get a college degree.  Upon her arrival to the small town things seem underwhelming with the exception of a rather contentious land lady and a incessant neighbor who feels it necessary to hit on her at what appears to be literally every waking moment.  During a trip to work, she notices a carnival in the horizon, which causes her to experience heightened states of paranoia, something that was initially signaled by her seeing a ghostly deep-eyed male apparition.  During a day of shopping, Mary experiences a delirium in which nobody seems to acknowledge her existence, despite her yelling and calling attention to herself.  This inspires her to investigate the carnival she previously saw on the road, an event that takes her through a bizarre house of illusions and on one of the most decrepit boardwalks ever filmed.  All the while she attempts to travel through her daily life, eventually being fired from her organ job after falling into a daze dreaming about the carnival and playing what the priest describes as profane music.  Furthermore, she has a falling out with the neighbor who takes her on a date and complains about her cold demeanor and disconnect, taking particular disdain in her refusal to to drink the beer that he paid out of pocket for her to have.  Eventually after another bizarre vision of being unable to contact the living Mary returns to the carnival only to find herself being chased by ghastly apparitions from the carnival.  After falling into the sand, the scene cuts to detectives as they attempt to track down Mary's body, noting that she seems to have just disappeared into the sand, while we are then shown Mary's corpse being extracted from the river, along with her friends in the car of the original accident.  It may be an overused plot twist at this point in film, but I can imagine it was quite the twist fifty years ago.

Carnival of Soul's in notable in its approach to a uniquely female experience of haunting and paranoia.  While the film does problematically incorporate notions of hysteria a bit more than is justified, it does manage to make it quite distinct that much of the experiences of horror plaguing Mary are a result of her  detachment from society based on gender.  To some degree, one could incorporate Simone de Beauvoir's notions of "the second sex" in order to explain why Mary is so distraught.  Sure she is seeing ghosts, but all of the threatening ghosts are notably male and could represent a means of patriarchal oppression, which relegates her to a position of lesser being and therefore irrelevant to societal discourse.  If we consider Mary as an other in the context of this film, it helps to explain her moments of being ignored by society as not her being a ghost, but rather; a being who realizes that in the context of the early sixties that her body is not only defined as lesser than a male, but also so arbitrary that it is literally overlooked by males who do not want to lose their point of power, as well as by women who have internalized the notion that they are lesser than their penis bearing counterparts.  Even the scenes of Mary's interactions with her neighbor reek of the sexual assumptions of the era, in which a man is able to traipse about sexually preying upon women and chastising them when they do not put out, going so far as to call Mary cold, a clever play on her being deceased, as well as a common term for a woman who even remotely cared about her sexual identity during the time.  Sure the film is absolutely a ghost story and a very good one at that, but it is not impossible to read heavily into the revolutionary questioning of gender constructs and performance within the text, after all it was a B movie that is where one could break free from the mold of normalcy with great success.

Key Scene:  There is a particular scene in the dance hall involving sped up dancing that is, factually, the scariest thing ever put on film.

Buy this movie, I would love to tell you that Criterion is going to re-release the work in high definition, but it tragically does not appear to be the case.  As such the DVD will have to suffice.