Sometimes I Feel Like A Human Sacrifice: New York Stories (1989)

The anthology film has become a thing to expect in contemporary cinema, a means within which to bridge the gap between loose genre ideas or to create a feeling of a global community discussing the rhetoric of a singular idea, such as love, loss or happiness.  Even the other omnibus works, such as Paris Je T'aime suffer from a heavy sense of knowing that this work is offered within a collection of larger statements, therefore, unjustly affording filmmakers a belief that they do not really have to try and offer anything of worthy cinematic consideration.  This is by far not the case when concerning New York Stories, a set of three featurettes by three directors whose identities are more or less inextricably tied to the city.  What makes this anthology work particularly fascinating is that the products of two out of three of the filmmakers are some of their best work in rather storied and well-regarded careers, and the third while clearly the weakest in the collection, nonetheless lays out what cinephiles would come to expect from a second generation filmmaker and writer in one of cinemas most well-respected families.  Where as other city film anthologies use the space of the movie to wax poetic about the serene and sentimental experiences of the spaces they occupy, New York Stories exists in  world about New York that paints it both with endearing pride, while also making note of all the ways it is a city of struggles, failures and lack.  Two out of the three works exist in a state of magical realism, nonetheless, playing upon the tropes of New York, where as the other manages to pinpoint into a singular narrative of a man and woman "in love," perhaps even extending into its own consideration of the relationship between New York and New Yorker.  I say all of this having only spent a couple of hours in New York as a teenager, not really understanding a bit about its spaces or the bodies which occupy its vast area.  Instead, what I posit is that New York Stories works for all moviegoers because through the intimacy of the subject matter, passion emerges, so much so that it becomes a text book look at New York, the entity, without ever being pretentious or calling attention to many viewers outsider status.

Split into three distinctly different narratives, the first film directed by Martin Scorsese is title Life Lessons and focuses on action painter Lionel (Nick Nolte) who is panicking for his upcoming studio exhibit, much to the chagrin of his agent  Lionel, while allegedly capable of throwing together a show at a moments notice is, nonetheless, anxiously awaiting the return of his assistant and lover Paulette (Rosanna Arquette).  Upon her return Paulette explains that she no longer wants to be involved with Lionel and has indeed just ended a tumultuous relationship with performance artist Gregory Stark (Steve Buscemi).  Flailing to assert his authority, Lionel plays a game of cat and mouse with Paulette, using his power as an artistic giant to convince her to stay and hone her craft in his studio.  However, it becomes clear that Lionel is only interested in using her sexually, leading to her eventually packing her things and leaving, an act that leads Lionel to complete his Bridge to Nowhere painting and mirroring this metaphor with his immediately moving on to a new ingenue during his exhibit opening.  The second film Life Without Zoe, is directed by Francis Ford Coppola and co-written by his daughter Sofia Coppola.  Wherein a young girl named Zoe (Heather McComb) talks in roundabout fairy tales as a way to analyze the troublesome relationship between her parents flautist Claudio (Giancarlo Giannini)  and wife Charlotte (Talia Shire), as well as commenting upon the feelings of alienation which emerge for her parents constantly being away.  In a decidedly child as adult feel evident in later Sofia Coppola work, the film looks at Zoe's attempts to act in the hyper-adult, only able to do so through excessive wealth.  In the end, however, Zoe realizes that sometimes a momentary feeling of unity with one's family is far more valuable than anything money could hope to buy.  The final segment is Woody Allen's Oedipus Wrecks which focuses on Sheldon (Woody Allen) an established attorney with a loving girlfriend named Lisa (Mia Farrow).  Despite success and love, Sheldon cannot shake the condemnation he constantly faces by his mother, played by Mae Questel.  It is during an "unfortunate" accident at a magic show that Sheldon's mother disappears inexplicably, leading to a momentary feeling of freedom by Sheldon, improving his sex life, while allowing him the freedom to excel at his job in new ways.  However, when his mother emerges as a floating entity in the sky line of New York things change drastically and Sheldon's feelings of oppression blow up to a grandiose proportion.  It is indeed not until he finds a new girlfriend appropriate to his mother's strict demands that her presence no longer becomes omniscient, or at least less blatantly so as the closing moments of the film might suggest.

The fascinating thing about this particular anthology is that aside from auteurist elements present within each film, one could find themselves hard-pressed to claim a thematic link between the three separate stories.  Indeed, aside from the psychoanalytic nightmare that is traditional Woody Allen filmmaking from the era, these seem like, as noted earlier, statements on existing within New York, more so that individual films about a city.  For Scorsese, the issue at hand is how one "performs" the New York lifestyle, particularly one like the New York art world which predicates itself upon a certain pomp and circumstance where struggle is embraced, but not something that should be affirmed physically.  Take the distinct difference between Lionel and Paulette for example, he is well off given his status in high art and can afford to drunkenly feign trouble, whereas Paulette's gender and other issues legitimize her struggle and also do not allow her the privilege to simply perform any degree of abjection.  Coppola's film then becomes about the issue of learning class privilege in the space of New York, it is fitting that Sofia helped write this script, because it lends a layer of credibility to how she would have seen the world as a youth, attempting to rationalize the decadence of her youth with the bustling reality of New York, one where hands literally extend from the trash to beg for food, while she can purchase absurd amounts of food, jewelry and even alcohol despite being admittedly too young to understand how credit works.  The robbery in the film takes on a wonderful layer of class conflict, as does the closing moment in Rome become a moment of scathing irony, which would become a staple of Sofia Coppola's oeuvre (it would be fascinating, in fact, to stand this film up against Marie Antoinette).  With these two films in mind, Oedipus Wrecks then considers the nature of constant looking and watching that occurs within New York, to Allen, New York in all its wonder is also a place where every action is scrutinized, because space is limited and filled with many bodies, all with stories and opinions, some more willing to share than others.  Always the existentialist, the film considers what distinction could possibly emerge between Sheldon's singular struggles and the larger struggles of society.  Perhaps it is all inherently meaningless and Sheldon is merely overreacting, what Allen does show is that, in the end, some encounters are simply unavoidable.

Key Scene: Woody Allen steals the show here and Sheldon's smirk when his mother is "being stabbed" will make you laugh.

The bluray for this is surprisingly cheap, but should in no way suggest a lesser product.  In fact, this is probably one of the more overlooked works from the year.

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.

Thank God For The Rain To Wash The Trash Off The Sidewalk: Taxi Driver (1976)

Taxi Driver is unequivocally one of my favorite movies, and next to The Last Temptation of Christ it is one of Scorsese's finest films.  It is what one looks for in a perfect piece of cinema: quotability, cinematic grandiosity and an enigmatic yet accessible narrative that causes viewers to debate its meaning and argue over its social commentary well past its initial release.  There are a slew of excellent films from the seventies, mostly from the hands of Francis Ford Coppola, however, Taxi Driver, as well as Robert Altman's Nashville, reflect the essence of the seventies, particularly the political disillusionment and sexual abjection.  However, as pertinent to the time of release as Scorsese's film may be it has a clearly timeless element about it that makes it so damn enjoyable some thirty-five years later and its brilliance cannot be denied.  The accessibility of the film is not an easy thing to locate, because it is clearly a challenging film that does not offer its viewers quick answers and certainly procures more answers than solutions.  It is art house cinema meets traditional Hollywood in something so unique and lasting that it has undeniably influenced cinema in a lasting way.

Taxi Driver focuses on the rather unusual experiences of Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro) a New York taxi driver with a clear disdain for the citizens of what he believes to be a lost city.  Travis, suffering from a severe case of insomnia, decides to roam the streets of New York finding meaning for the malaise that is his inconsequential life  During one of his day time routes he discovers the headquarters of political candidate Charles Palentine (Leonard Harris) and one of its employees Betsy (Cybil Shepard), to who Travis takes an instant liking.  While initially successful with his approaches to Betsy, he fails to woo her after taking her to see a pornographic film and is left alone yet again.  As a result, Travis begins to wonder the streets yet again and encounters an extremely young prostitute named Iris (Jodi Foster) who also goes by the unfortunate name of Easy.  Travis makes it a goal of his to remove Iris from her unfortunate situation, given his own definition of an ethical world, which defines that Iris is stuck in a terrible situation and must be extracted from it, despite her own personal opinion of her lifestyle.  Travis attempts to simply ask Iris to leave, but her inextricable ties with her pimp Sport (Harvey Keitel) who clearly has his own feeling for Iris.  As a result, Travis accrues a large amount of fire power and raids the house in which Iris stays only to receive opposition from Sport and his various lackeys.  Left wounded, Travis is able to fend off the various attackers and save Iris from her situation only to become the praise of local newspapers.  The film then cuts to Travis returning to his job as a taxi driver, escorting Betsy to a random event.  Travis then looks into his mirror and the film ends in the same pace of disparity as when the film began.

There are three interpretations that I have come across when looking at analysis for Taxi Driver, two that are clearly incorrect when approaching such a complex film.  The first is simply to claim that the film is a reflection of the dire state of New York during the seventies, this interpretation is obvious.  The second is to read the film as an attempt to affect political change in a world of indifference, this reading is possible, however, the film only deals with this concept in portions of the film and even then it is in a very passive manner.  Instead, in my opinion, the most pertinent reading of the film is to call it a dreamscape relating to the mind of Travis Bickle.  If one is to look at this film as such it is easy to read the film as a subconscious romp into ones darkest desires.  Travis continually claims his loathsome relationship with New York throughout the film and it helps to explain how in his own mind that he could kill a large amount of criminals with little trouble from the judicial system.  Furthermore, if one looks closely at the film instances that occur throughout the film are clearly tied throughout the film, whether it be Travis's presence during every conversation at the Palentine headquarters, or what could be clearly his imagination creating a scenario between Sport and Iris.  However, what cements the film as a possible dream narrative is the bookends of the film which have Travis looking into the rear view mirror of his taxi car, implying that he is lost in his own personal thoughts throughout the film, thoughts which become the surreal, absurd landscape for almost two hours of cinematic brilliance.

Taxi Driver is magical in its existence and the recent bluray transfer is phenomenal, getting a copy is mandatory for even the most minimal of film libraries.

Top Ten Thursdays: 1980 In Film

For my third top ten thursday focusing on "best years in film" I have decided on 1980.  It is a year of broad films that reflected a cinematic world on the edge of the rise of independent cinema.  The works offered were nonetheless profoundly artistic, and the years comedies were particularly hilarious.  Some people look at the decade of the 80's as a wash, however, these ten films prove that to include 1980 in the statement would be terribly unfair.

10.) The Gods Must Be Crazy

An anthropological film of sorts, The Gods Must Be Crazy truly does more to display the problems of Western interference in African than anything to date.  Eat that Kony2012.

9.) Caddyshack

The comedic performances in this film are varied and well-executed.  My personal favorite being Chevy Chase as the antagonistically zenned out golfer.

8.) Airplane

A god tier post-modern comedy that is keen to early 80's culture, as well as being irreverently hilarious.

7.) The Long Good Friday

 Bob Hoskins will blow your mind as a crime lord whose entire world is collapsing below him.

6.) Out of the Blue

Dennis Hopper directs and performs in this abrasive film that was for a long time banned in many countries.

5.) Altered States

Perhaps Ken Russel's most well known work, Altered States does far more for commenting on drug use and its affects of personal relationships than Requiem for a Dream could ever hope to.

4.) The Elephant Man

When I watched this film as a kid, I was not aware of David Lynch.  Reflecting now on The Elephant Man, his hand in the film is so damn evident.

3.) Kagemusha

When Akira Kurosawa decides to make a film based on his watercolor paintings, it is hard not to be enamored with the result.

2.) Raging Bull

When Scorsese won an Oscar for The Departed, the Academy was really giving him an award for this film.

1.) The Shining

Choosing this as number one really should not be a surprise considering that he arguably has the best film in any year that he released a work.











Honorable Mention

Friday the 13th

I'd Imagine The World Was One Big Machine: Hugo (2011)

Prior to attending the screening of Martin Scorsese's Hugo I was incredibly wary about how much I would enjoy a film that placed heavy emphasis on its 3D elements.  I feared that given its concern with this "new" medium the story and artistic leanings of Scorsese would somehow be lost in the mix.  I was quite foolish to believe such things because not only was Hugo impressive, it was magical and now has me jonesing for another trip to watch a movie in 3D.  I am under no illusions about the passing fad that will become 3D movies, but as long as directors are offering artistically sound and narratively challenging movies, 3D will be enjoyable and respectable in my opinion.  Hugo is by all definitions an already great movie and the addition of the magic of three dimensions only adds to its enjoyability.  It is nice to see a director adhere to the advances of technology while also keeping his own personal styling to the film.  In essence, Hugo is as much an attempt by Scorsese to celebrate the amazing advances of cinema in the past few decades while also reminding viewers of how magical the medium of film has been for the past century.  Between the use of classic silent films and subtle references to classic movies, Hugo is a history lesson in all things cinematic and viewers will be better people for seeing the film.

Hugo follows the follies of a young thief named after the films title played respectably by Asa Butterfield.  Besides being a small time crook, Hugo also maintains the clocks in the train station he calls home.  He is doing so in replace of his uncle who has recently disappeared.  It is later revealed that Hugo resides in the train station because of his father's untimely death in a museum fire and has unwillingly been placed in the care of his drunkard uncle.  The only attachment Hugo has to anything of the past is though a small mechanical robot called an Automatron, which he steals pieces from in order to slowly rebuild the machine.  Unfortunately, given that the pieces are so specific he is only able to steal from the resident toy seller Georges (Ben Kingsley) who eventually catches him in the act and attempts to turn him into the Station Inspector (Sacha Baron Cohen) who finds an unhealthy enjoyment in capturing orphans.  In the process of capturing Hugo, Georges also steals his notebook that contains his fathers notes on the Automatron.  Furious, Hugo follows Georges home to demand his notebook back only to be interrupted by his daughter Isabelle (Chloe Grace Moretz) who explains that he must win Georges respect in order to gain back his notebook.  However, as Hugo undertakes this task he slowly fixes the Automatron until it is able to write its intended message, a drawing of a spaceship running into a moon.  Hugo is taken back, because the image is one he remembers his father telling him about, which fuels Hugo to discover the films origins.  This task is filled with obstacles, however, because as Hugo discovers Georges's past is far more complicated.  In fact, the film his father spoke of was indeed Voyage To The Moon and was directed by Georges Melies, who is the same Georges for which Hugo worked.  Hugo discovers that due to war and its disparaging affects, Georges retired from filmmaking and lost all access to his films, or so he thought.  With the help of film scholar Rene Tabard (Michael Stuhlbarg) Hugo and Isabelle show Voyage To The Moon to Georges and he is inspired to once again do good by his films.  In the process, Hugo discovers his place in the machine as a fixer of things both emotional and physical.  A rather sentimental closing for Scorsese, but one that is soundly emphasized by silent images of Melies works.

My previous film review discussed the nostalgia present in Midnight In Paris.  I would argue that Hugo serves as a counterpoint in that it focuses on sentimentality as it relates to filmmaking.  Scorsese, often an outspoken champion for film preservation, focuses on the issue of loosing great films to lack of interest or changing technological demands.  This is why the film, although 3D, relies heavily on filmic images considered antiquated by the casual moviegoer.  I, like most viewers, went into this film assuming large explosions and simple plot; however, Scorsese uses his platform wisely and incorporates the most magical moments of early cinema into his film which uses the highest achievements of technology available.  It is pure sentimentality at work, yet it is an earnest film in its sentimentality.  Instead of obnoxiously filling the film with old movie images, Scorsese places them subtly throughout the film, often paralleling them with their original image, whether it be Buster Keaton, The Lumiere Brothers or Georges Melies the image is purposeful and inspired.  It is arguably a new vision of Cinema Paradiso without the sole plot being centered on the cinema.  To Scorsese, the movies are the place where dreams exist and to him this originated with early cinema.  The sentimentality of Hugo is not here to remind us how great of a director Scorsese is, but instead to remind us that cinema has always been profoundly magical and this new advancement in technology owes everything to its century old predecessors.

This movie is stellar.  I cannot recommend it enough and would suggest viewing the film in 3D, particularly if you have yet to see a 3D movie.  It is grandiose and spectacular yet has moments of the gritty cinema verite of old school Scorsese and any cinephile will instantly appreciate the cohesion that exists in Hugo.  Not to mention you get to see silent films in 3D, which is pretty damn amazing.