He Had Become The Still Center Of That Spinning Wheel Of Misfortune: Croupier (1998)

Predating Fight Club by at least a year and emerging as a film well before Clive Owen would become a household name in the world of acting, Croupier exists as a well-executed low-fi film about the sleazy world of gambling and urban London, while also focusing on the inherent misgivings of humanity.  Told in a first-person narrative style, this has all the hipness of Fincher's now famous film, minus the theatrics and intense visuals of Fight Club.  Of course, this detachment from such intensity does not make this film any less cinematic, in fact, I would argue on some accounts it is a superior film to Fight Club, especially in its depictions of some of the lesser respectable individuals in society.  The narrative provides viewers with a suave and seemingly infallible protagonist who navigates through life as though he were predestined to succeed at ever corner, yet in the careful hands of director Mike Hodges viewers are reminded that this seemingly perfect man is always on the verge of complete collapse should any of his carefully placed tiles fall under his heavy moral weight.  Croupier is surprisingly void of law enforcement throughout and exists as a film where an individual is demanded to engage their protagonist with their own predisposed philosophies and emotions, helping to create a film that is both reawatchable and constantly evolving as a viewer returns to its gritty, yet heavily emotive concept.  Croupier does not paint humanity in a particularly optimistic light, but this could be a result of the world it chooses to study, one that it inherently attached to the sins and iniquities of society, one where money, greed and vice seem assured of success.  As such when the narrative does decide to introduce a notion of law and rules into its equation, the results are quite intense and problematic, never being completely resolved, but only slightly altered to assure temporary complacency.  Croupier as a film provides for an essential example of all the good that can come from low-budget filmmaking both in its stylistic approaches, as well as the opportunities it affords to provide a disconcerting reflection of viewers own failures and delusions.

Croupier centers on the life of aspiring author Jack Manfred (Clive Owen) the super hip ladies man who sees those in his world as stepping stones to his own success, and in hopes of finding inspiration for a best-selling book agrees to return to the world of gambling as a blackjack dealer and roulette croupier, something he is exceptionally good at, particularly when it comes to catching crooks and cheats.  His girlfriend Marion (Gina McKee) is quite opposed to his lifestyle change firstly, because it means that their time spent together is greatly diminished and, secondly, that it will detract from his true passion to become a writer.  Jack seems quite indifferent to it all and undertakes his job with zeal realizing that the loathsome people moving through the den of sin, as he refers to it, are perfect inspiration for his writing, as well as the very co-workers and bosses he meets along the way, specifically the troublingly sexual Bella (Kate Hardie) and the against-the-world minded Matt (Paul Reynolds).  Although Jack is quite aware of the rules against fraternizing with punters (gamblers) or hooking up with employees he nonetheless does both, receiving an high paying job opportunity via one wealthy client named Jani de Valliers (Alex Kingston) for whom he begins to fall for romantically.  Even with this in mind and the eventual loss of Marion to vengeful gamblers, Jack manages to escape with only minor bruises and emotional injuries, taking nobody with him and sparring no expenses when he finally publishes his memoir, anonymously, about the bleak world of being a croupier.  Even though his book is a best-seller he avoids changing his lifestyle after realizing that the entire set-up was part of a larger con to help his father earn money.  Yet, Jack cannot deny his new level of transcendence to gambling in the films vibrant closing scene, he fancies himself the immovable center of a spinning wheel of contingency and chance, completely unaffected by any result of the balls veritable landing.

It is challenging then to consider how ethics work in a film where even the protagonist, who is relatively ethical, manages to disassociate himself with such ideals when it proves profitable.  Much of Jack's persona is influenced my his refusal to gamble on anything, whether it be in the literal sense of playing cards or in the grander sense of venturing into an unfamiliar job field.  Jack seems to see the world as a constant set of probabilities, in which he has learned to navigate through a set of often grounded stereotypes and assumptions about the world around him and when he is misguided by one of his notions, he quickly learns from the mistake and adapts it to his next encounter, particularly the case with Jani, which begins as a matter of her seducing him into a dangerous job, but results in his own personal advancement when he realizes he can secure safety from the world around him.  At this point it seems as though ethics become a thing of relativity to being caught, for example, both Bella and Jack smoke pot one night, but it happens to fall on Bella to be drug-tested the next day leading to her firing.  Jack knows the probability of this happening to be slim thus making the ethical act of doing so less serious, but, nonetheless, present.  Yet when it concerns helping punters cheat he does so only once knowing that between the cameras and lecherous behavior of his co-workers and customers that the probability of being caught is quite high.  However, what is likely the greatest reminder in the films is that even when one thinks that the odds are entirely in their favor that one can still be beaten, as Jack learns when he loses to his father in the hand that really mattered, even if he won ever other contest prior to date, the fact of the matter is that sometimes luck really is a factor. This helps Jack disconnect from the woe and assumptions of the world around him, knowing that to be in complete control of the world, one must necessarily dismiss all ideas of control.  The closing scene is a nirvana inducing bliss in which Jack transcends the spin of worries and probability to live in a actuality all his own.

Key Scene:  The opening shot is so simple and paired with Jack's narrative it helps to foreshadow the philosophical evolution which will take place in the following narrative, it truly is quite exceptional.

I watched this on DVD and its quality was stellar, although it is available to watch instantly on Netflix so that may be the best course of action for most to view this necessary piece of cinema.

I Am The Perfect Servant, I Have No Life: Gosford Park (2001)

After watching the recent PBS broadcasting of Downton Abbey Revisited and discovering that Julian Fellowes was responsible for not only this spectacular Masterpiece Theater show, but Gosford Park as well I knew I had no excuse not to watch the film.  Upon discovering that the film was directed by Robert Altman I could not restrain my desires to see the work.  Chocked full of considerably notable British actors, Gosford Park is a brilliant whodunit with the cinematic poise and narrative complexities one comes to expect from the late director.  Furthermore, this work, while not perfect, serves as a great vision as to what would become something like Downton Abbey and exceptionally serious piece of cultural output masking itself under the guise of dark comedy.  Abound with social commentaries and political discourse one finds very little trouble finding the way in which satire subtly evolves to make a grander statement something that, by this point, was well perfected in Altman's oeuvre, although he had been doing it since at least the times of Nashville.  Of course, Altman is not entirely to be credited for this film, because it certainly has much to do with the writing and acting as well, Fellowes and co-writer Bob Balaban create a dialogue that is both quick, believable and quite memorable.  It has the feel of a Aaron Sorkin film without the dialogue that seems far to perfected to reflect that of normal engagements.  Again Gosford Park is not the most brilliant piece of cinema ever released and manages to fall short of being perfected, but it is an exceptional work and has moments of sheer brilliance, often using the visual as a means to advance the narrative or undermine the events occurring.  Altman often fills the space of a shot with multiple events, many of which the characters are unaware of occurring and just when you think you have pieced together the next moment in the plot a not so subtle cinematic clue will remind you that perhaps not all is as one expects and indeed anybody is capable of an act of aggression when they have been doubly wronged.

Much like many of the period pieces presented on Masterpiece Theater, Gosford Park focuses on the life of people living on an estate and in early forties Britain that meant the existence of a life above and below stairs.  Above stairs a party is being planned for the arrival of a group led by Sir William (Michael Gambon) a surly elderly gentleman who clearly thinks himself superior to not only his guests and staff but the rest of his family as well.  Other occupants film the house, most memorably the demeaning and flippant Countess of Trentham (Maggie Smith), as well as American director Morris Weissman (Bob Balaban), his star actor Ivor Novello (Jeremy Northam) and Weissman's servant Henry Denton (Ryan Phillipe).  Of course there is also a world below preparing the meals, including the mysterious Mr. Parks (Clive Owen) who has been hired on specifically to help with a guest, the sexually active and always promiscuous Bertha (Teresa Churcher), the sly yet surprisingly honest George (Richard E. Grant) and even the poised under pressure Mrs. Wilson (Helen Mirren).  Things slowly begin to unravel as a hunting party proves a bust when Sir William is grazed by a misguided bullet and it is revealed that Henry is not a servant, but actually one of Mr. Weissman's up and coming actors who felt it a challenge to pass as a servant, much to the chagrin of the staff.  Yet things explode into chaos when Sir William is murder, especially considering that he has been stabbed, only to discover that he was dead before the attack, a result of poisoning.  Even with the emergence of the self-proclaimed expert detective Inspector Thomson (Stephen Fry) little is made way in discovering who the killer is and viewers are left to make the discovery upon the admission of various individuals throughout the film.  The reveal is understated and of course somewhat inconsequential to the larger commentary within the film.

The obvious commentary resides in the social divisions that were indicative in Britain in the early 20th century, something that certainly still exists (Think House of Lords/House of Commons) but certainly does not have the clear spatial divide that would have existed in Pre-WW2 days.  The question though in the film is more of where a line should be drawn as to the expectations of those in servility towards their masters, particularly when the questions and demands are of a particularly problematic nature.  We see this in a simple sense with The Countess of Trentham who often requires her maid to clean clothing and make food only to decide upon its delivery or completion that she no longer desires it, yet she has little, if no, awareness for the work and effort placed upon getting these tasks done and seems content to assume that they occur magically.  Similarly individuals like Lord William and Lady Sylvia (Kristin Scott Thomas) find that it is completely within their means to demand sexual favors of their staff, or within their limits to touch and harass their servants in whatever way they please, a clearly problematic statement on oppression and power dynamics.  Yet, the staff under the stairs has managed to create their own forms of rebellion, whether it be prolong smoke breaks, the consumption of the wine post dinners or a refusal to curtail meals to dietary demands.  The emergence of Inspector Thomson completely undermines the notions of division though, because as a person of the law he is able to move between both spaces to inquire and cannot be turned away, even by the Countess who sees his intrusion as uncivil, despite its inherent civic nature.  Yet even as he attempts to cross class barriers, whilst trying to help himself to libations in the library his assistant reminds him that they have not dusted those bottles, although it more importantly suggests that he cannot have access to certain privileges, regardless of the law.

Key Scene:  The moment when bloody mary's are made for the outdoor lunch serves as the turning point for the entire films shift into a crime drama and one dropped glass serves as a great metaphor that is delivered masterfully by Altman.

Netflix Watch Instantly...it is the quickest and most appropriate way to enjoy this neo-classic by one of America's best and most missed auteurs.