I Wish I Knew How To Quit You: Brokeback Mountain (2005)

Aside from a ton of the classics included in this month of westerns, I was fairly grounded about my wanting to include Brokeback Mountain amongst the list, primarily because I would strongly defend is placement within the genre, considering the setting and characters of the film, although it is a blatant revision of the tradition in a fresh and much needed manner.  I also wanted to justify its inclusion on the list because it had been a shame gap in my viewing, despite being told that it was a phenomenal work, although that should have been of little surprise considering that it is from the masterful Ang Lee whose varied film career reflect and individual who deeply concerns himself with challenging his own limitations, while also considering deeply personal experiences in the process.  Like his earlier works, The Ice Storm in particular, Brokeback Mountain manages to be a modest production with a grand social statement, one that is as much an indictment of American traditionalism in the face of fear mongering as it is a consideration on the nature of love, desire and intimate friendship.  I will admit that given its release date as being prior to my eventual appreciation for cinema on a large scale, I had allowed the reputation of the film to proceed itself and had foolishly believed that it would simply be a highly exploitative consideration of the experiences of two gay ranch hands.  Of course, I realized my misguided preconceived notions were wrong rather quickly, as Lee manages to make a highly romantic, sensual and passionate film that causes even the most calloused of viewer to root for the struggles of the main characters.  Furthermore, Lee does not shy away from the very real tragedies that emerge when an unaccepted love narrative emerges, showing the physical and emotional toll on those both directly and tangentially involved in something that is pure and unbridled, doing so to near Shakespearean proportions.  Each minimalist guitar strum pushes the narrative closer and closer to breaking of the dam of stoicism, eventually releasing into a deluge of emotions in what easily has to be one of cinema's most heart wrenching sequences of the past ten years.  For people who assume that Brokeback mountain is a irrelevant Oscar bait picture, I strongly urge you to revisit it and all it has to offer, I am sure you will come to realize that there is a lot going on in the magnificent work.

Brokeback Mountain begins during the summer of 1963 when two struggling ranch hands agree to take work from Joe Aguirre (Randy Quaid) herding sheep in Wyoming.  The men Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhal) come from broken homes, Ennis having little recollection of his parents after their death at a young age, while Jack has a tenuous relationship at best, something that allows them to bond, despite both loathing the work involved with ranching.  During a night of drunkenness the two engage in intercourse, an act that is cause for hesitation, mainly for Ennis who has a wife and children at home to care for, although he admits to possessing strong feelings for Jack.  Upon the end of their trip Ennis returns to his wife then fiancé Alma (Michelle Williams) and gets married, while Jack settles down with a local beauty and cowgirl named Lureen (Anne Hathaway).  After a handful of years pass, Ennis receives a postcard from Jack asking to visit with him and perhaps go on a fishing trip, to which he responds with elation and the two instantly rekindle their relationship, which is found out by Alma who accidentally catches them kissing.  Life proves to become difficult for both men, when Alma and Ennis eventually get divorced, while Jack struggles to assert his authority to his wealthy father-in-law, while facing the realization that he cannot make it as a rodeo star.  The two continue their meetings, until Ennis begins a relationship with Cassie (Linda Cardenelli), while Jack presumably begins another relationship with the husband of one of Lureen's friends.  During yet another trip, Ennis attempts to change the date of their next meeting, which results in a heated debate and hateful words being spouted towards one another and they both leave on bad terms.  More time passes and Ennis attempts to write to Jack only to receive a return card informing him that he is deceased.  This discovery causes Ennis to contact Lureen who says that he died in a freak side of the road repair accident, although Ennis knows that it was a result of a violent hate crime.  In an attempt to obtain his ashes, Ennis visits Jack's parents, taking with him some of Jack's clothing, a possession he caries with him and clearly uses as a point of influence in his decisions, particulalry in the closing moments of the film when he approves of his daughters impending marriage contingent on her assuring him that he is doing so out of love.

Brokeback Mountain, like many of the films discussed this month is not entirely a western in the traditional sense, nor does it ever offer itself as something that would be definitively genre.  However, Lee, pulling from the short by Diana Ossana, realizes the power and sway of the western mythology, particularly for masculinity within the midwest.  The film is set in the sixties, therefore, men of the era would have grown up with the rough and tumble images of Robert Mitchum and John Wayne and been rather familiar with the work of Howard Hawks, and just in case viewers would be uncertain of this, Lee includes scenes of the characters at drive-in movie theaters enjoying films and aware of a cultural landscape outside their respective towns.  The masculinity is something both Ennis and Jack manage to maintain, especially since they have chosen to raise families in a conservative word, while Ennis is particularly skilled at asserting his own male prowess, as is obvious in the fireworks scene, Jack is at constant odds with his own feelings of inferiority, seeking fulfillment through rodeos only to realize that he can assert himself when he is being bullied, even if indirectly, as is the case when his father-in-law has a spout during Thanksgiving concerning a football game on television.  The masculinity in this film is performed and to varying degrees so to is femininity performed, particularly with Alma who attempts to feign ignorance to Ennis's fishing trips and their true meaning in order to maintain a structured household.  What is not performed however is feelings of love and passion, while it seems initially as though Jack and Ennis will have a fleeting, purely physical relationship, as their feeling grow over time it is evidence that love is far greater than any need for sexual gratification, particularly when it is revealed that Ennis finds Jack's involvement with other men to be infidelity.  Were it to purely be physical he would have, undoubtedly, accepted it as par for the course.  Lee also realizes the very fragile nature of sexuality in an America going into the Cold War and suggest that many partnerships between a heterosexual couple could have easily been out of necessity and mutual friendship, Alma even offers at one point to return to a marriage with Ennis as long as he will admit to his sexual identity.   Unfortunately, even when the notion of queerness is indirectly expressed it is faced with mocking and fear, resulting in the death of Jack.  The death and murder have no rational explanation, aside from an act of hatred, much like the challenging, yet powerful scenes in Boys Don't Cry.  Brokeback Mountain wants viewers to not only accept the natural and organic love between same sex partners, but to also reflect on what cultural venues have led to the demonizing and emasculation of those who do not engage in heteronormative behavior.

Key Scene:  While it may be obvious the scene when Ennis visits Jack's room is easily the most heart breaking moment of the entire film and will have even the most dismissive of viewer reconsidering the depth of true love.

This is an important film in many ways and will only prove relevant in decades to come, I strongly urge you to grab a copy and watch it immediately.

We're Not Lost, We're Just Finding Our Way: Meek's Cutoff (2010)

I first came to the work of Kelly Reichardt via Wendy and Lucy, a film that while not perfect, proved to be a huge step in terms of reconstituting who is afforded the opportunity to occupy the space of a film, particularly in regards to gender.  Furthermore, while it is feasible that I had seen Michelle Williams in a film prior, it was certainly the first major work in which I can recall her performance, especially in its bleak sense of dread and disillusion that has become, to a degree, her trademark.  Meek's Cutoff had been on my "to watch list" upon its initial release and, unfortunately, kept being pushed aside or overlooked for other viewing experiences, yet when I began planning my month of westerns, aside from the obvious classics, this stood out as a necessary work to, especially since it was by a female director and ostensibly stood to revert the genre, an element I am continually seeking in this thirty movie marathon.  Of course, Meek's Cutoff is not a perfect movie, much like Reichardt's previously mentioned film, Meek's Cutoff suffers from spouts of existential wandering and stagnant cinematography that appears to lack an ultimate motive or payoff, yet when the narrative finds its occasional grounding it does so with such an excellent eye and focus that it makes up for many of the emergent issues.  The beauty of this film is not in its execution, however, but in its complete disavowal of the gender oppression which would have occurred during that era.  The idyllic films within the western genre canon, seem set on dissecting every detail as to why male-based rationality and bravery ruled out over feminine "hysteria" and emotions.  Meek's Cutoff demands that a viewer truly consider the likelihood of such blind subservience, particularly in the face of dehydration, starvation and a growing sense of failure.  Otherness becomes less obvious when survival becomes key, although Reichardt is no idealist in this context and furthers to critique to say that perhaps such moments of challenge against authoritative gender norms found direction based on the ability to markedly define a lesser body.  Regardless, Meek's Cutoff, while not an absolutely standout film, nonetheless, takes a genre and considers its prevalence historically as well as within an contemporary and changing filmmaking world.

Meek's Cutoff follows a small band of pioneers making their way through the desolate Oregon Trail in hopes of starting the life anew.  The group includes the stern Solomon Tetherow (Will Patton) and his wife Emily (Michelle Williams) as well as the other couples William (Neal Huff) and Gloria White (Shirley Henderson) and Thomas (Paul Dano) and Mille Gately (Zoe Kazan).  Their lack of expertise on travel requires them to involve the help of Stephen Meek (Bruce Greenwood) an arrogant and somewhat ruthless guide who appears to lack the knowledge he suggests in terms of navigation.  The group, already drawn thin by lengthy travel, in worsened when discovering that they are running dangerously thin on water, without any assurance that they will find it in the immediate future.  Becoming frustrated by the lack of success, the group, particularly Emily begin to challenge Meek in terms of his authority.  Upon the discovery of a Native American man, played by Rod Rondeaux, the groups animosity towards Meek grows when he violently attacks him for not telling them where to find water.  It is only upon the notion, by Thomas, to barter that the Native man agrees to lead them in exchange for two blankets.  During the continually grueling trip tensions as to the nature of the Native vary from Millie's believe that he is signaling to his tribe for attack, while Emily and Thomas defend his presence, Emily even going so far as to help by fixing his moccasin.  Trouble strikes, however, when the Tetherow wagon rolls out of control and breaks apart, leading to a loss of goods.  Meek frustrated by the Native who begins perusing the goods, pulls a gun on him, which quickly leads to Emily defending the Native.  At this point, Meek's power is clearly cut and the travel continues with equal paranoia and a sense of helplessness, yet when the group arrives at a tree with green foliage all hopes are rekindled, because it suggests the presence of water nearby.  With little explanation or communication the Native simply continues on his way, only Emily notices his movement away as the narrative closes and the credits emerge.

I could talk about the tropes of masculinity within the context of the western and the manner with which this film directly rejects such constructions, but they are rather obvious, particularly with Emily's appropriation of power through the phallic rifle, while still maintaining the domestic abilities that allow her to barter with the Native by fixing the shoe, whereas, Meek is a failed masculine figure in his lack of basic knowledge and failed attempts to bring everyone on board with a backward-looking notion of social constructs.  These things are there in the forefront and decidedly important, but what caught my attention was Reichardt's interesting filmmaking style.  The choice to go digital and reject the widescreen tradition of the western is captivating, especially since she still relies on the wide shot composition for many scene, which manage to still be stunning.  Furthermore, she shoots in natural lighting a choice that makes the daytime images seem stark, the dusk and dawn images mesmerizing and the nighttime shots nearly incomprehensible.  This method of filmmaking, for this genre specifically, is fascinating, it is a choice often reserved for horror films or indie psychological dramas, but has a big payoff here in its consideration of exactly what is so idyllic about the western as a film genre.  Within the narrative Reichardt clearly rejects the sentimentality and traditionalism attached to the era, because it was terrible for everyone involved and doubly so for anyone without a voice or power.  Secondly, aside from a few moments each day the living conditions within the world were far from comfortable.  The near black scenes of night, remove the sort of homely comfort associated with the campfire of the old west and remind viewers that it would probably have been quite impossible to visually communicate in the darkness, while providing pioneers with little to no comfort.  The digital camera only makes the dark even more incomprehensible, instead of possessing the sharp "true blacks" of a strictly film era.  In the matter of less than two hours, Reichardt's film narratively and structurally reconsiders the relevance of the western in contemporary society, unfortunately, its obtuse ending fails to provide any tangible alternatives.

Key Scene:  There is a rather stellar speech about destruction and chaos about halfway through the film that is a highlight from a consistently solid film

This is on Watch Instantly and I suggest checking it out, although it is necessary to come at the film with an appropriate frame of mind, because it is a highly perplexing and philosophical engagement.

Life Has A Gap In It...It Just Does: Take This Waltz (2012)

Take This Waltz can be an initially deceptive film, because if a viewer is to only take the first five or so minutes of the film as a signifier of its larger concept, it could easily be dismissed as pretentious hipster filmmaking in which the filmmaker seems more intent on showing how great their vision is cinematically than what their story offers, however, once a person makes it through this initial bump the  story explodes into something tragically real and soberingly poetic, never slowing down and constantly adding both ethereal and jarring imagery to study life in its most plain existence.  It is no small task to make Michelle Williams look like a complete mess, yet a combination of realist techniques on the part of director Sarah Polley, as well as a commitment to a disheveled appearance both physically and emotionally on the part of Williams makes for one of her most honest and gut-wrenching performances since Blue Valentine.  Like Blue Valentine, Take This Waltz does not attempt to offer an idyllic vision of human existence, although it certainly offers a considerably larger amount of moments in which life proves to be beautiful even if for a few fleeting seconds, almost always brought back to the jarring despair of reality.  While I have not seen Polley's earlier work Away From Her, I hear many good things about it and cannot wait to investigate it in relation to this work.  Take This Waltz demands its viewers to consider what sacrifice as an action truly means, allowing for this to serve both as a issue faced by characters within the narrative as well as the actors, who engage in actions in front of the camera that would not have been imaginable only a few years earlier, particularly some of the things pulled off by Sarah Silverman who delivers an excellent performance.  As I come closer to watching enough movies to justify formulating my top ten list of 2012, I am quite certain that this film will make the list, in fact, as I look over some of the films I still have to view it seems quite impossible that this will be topped, although to be fair, I had no idea what I was going into with this work and that could prove similar for some films I have yet to watch.  Also I am a sucker for well-executed cinematic references and the one tip of the hat to The 400 Blows is incredible.

Take This Waltz focuses almost entirely on the experiences of aspiring writer Margot (Michelle Williams) who is introduced to viewers as she is returning from a vacation to her hometown of Toronto, on the trip she meets a man named Daniel (Luke Kirby) whose agressive demeanor and cool attitude prove intriguing to Margot, so much so that a clear romance begins to emerge.  Yet upon arrival home, even after the revelation that Kirby is her neighbor, Margot pushes Daniel away because she is married.  It is only then that viewers are introduced to Margot's loving and stalwart husband the chicken chef Lou (Seth Rogen).  Lou clearly loves Margot and wants the best for them both, although the ability of his recovering alcoholic sister Geraldine (Sarah Silverman) to have a child with no trouble clearly looms over him and affects the communication between himself and Margot.  Matters are only made worse when Margot begins to secretly plan meetings with Daniel, who is receptive and actively attempts to get her to be unfaithful.  Margot clearly desires to be with Daniel, but cannot stand the thought of betraying Lou who has been more than loving and not deserving of Margot's infidelity, as such Margot plans to meet Daniel in thirty years, in which case she believes that she will have been faithful long enough to earn a kiss.  However, life does not prove that simple and due to part purpose and part chance Daniel keeps emerging into Margot's daily life, whether it be an accidental encounter that leads to both Margot and Lou riding in Daniel's rickshaw, or Daniel being invited to a house party by Lou who is oblivious to the entire ordeal.  Racked with guilt, Margot finally admits to her feelings and leaves a defeated Lou to be with Daniel, yet as the narrative suggests even the newness and passion of her life with Daniel fades and repetition and normalcy emerge.  In a sobering scene, both literally and metaphorically, Geraldine condemns Margot for her selfish actions and demands that she stop running away from her choices, leading to a closing scene of Margot enveloped in isolation, all of which is paired with the best use of "Video Killed The Radio Star" in a film ever.

Polley's film approaches the idea of infidelity, faithfulness and betrayal in one of the most honest and acceptable manners I have seen in a film to date, where as The Bridges of Madison County approached the problem of a woman questioning her unappreciated place in life, Take This Waltz does not afford the main character the outlet.  She has no justification in her infidelity, because aside from simply marrying to early and falling out of love, her husband has done nothing to deserve her unfaithfullness, in fact, he is almost too aware of her desires and needs.  The only serious argument they seem to have prior to her leaving is when he dismisses her advances while busy at work testing recipes, although viewers are quite aware that her sexual desires are likely an outlet from her tensely sexual conversation with Daniel only moments earlier.  Margot cannot be condemned too heavily for her eventual leaving, because she is honest about her feelings towards Daniel and aside from spending time with him in a platonic way never actually acts upon them in a physical way, nonetheless, Lou is justified in his feelings of betrayal because while she has not cheated on him she has undermined and tossed away an unspoken agreement to stay together for as long as time allows, emphasized with a heightened sense of tragedy in the final water tossing scene.  All of this blurring of viewers' notions of relationships makes it quite difficult to conceptualize the victim within the film, because while Lou is certainly getting a raw deal he cannot expect to force someone to stay with him that simply does not have their heart in the game, nor can Daniel or Margot be blamed for their desires because they emerge naturally and are not intended to be vindictive to Lou in any way.  Polly, I would argue, seems to suggest that life makes victims of us when we cannot properly address situations the moment they emerge, especially when the consequences have dire effects on both individuals hearts and the relationships of those around them.

Key Scene:  The initial amusement park ride scene is filmed with such cinematic beauty that when it comes to a jarring stop I felt my heart jump a bit, something I am far more used to experience during a scary movie, yet it is so tragic in this context that I could not help but react emotively.

This is yet another great film from last year going under the radar and it deserves all the love it can get, buy the bluray, or watch it on Netflix while you still can.