I Am A Golden God: Almost Famous (2000)

There is a consensus that Dazed and Confused is one of the best reflections of a historical moment ever put to film, which perhaps helps to explain its unquestioned place at the top of film hierarchy between its sweet soundtrack and great cast, and I am certainly somebody who dotes on the film whenever possible.  Yet viewing Almost Famous earlier today has really thrown a layer of perspective on the entire debate, as it is an equal and at times better film than Dazed and Confused while theoretically focusing on the same post-rock'n'roll disillusioned youth culture of the front half of the seventies.  I use the word theoretically because where Dazed and Confused chooses to focus on a seemingly mundane group of individuals dealing with grandiose and heightened issues, Almost Famous is precisely the opposite choosing to situate its narrative within the most lively portion of the era, while considering some of the most mundanely troubling aspects of human existence.  Cameron Crowe, perhaps most well-known for Jerry Maguire and one LL Cool J demanding financial compensation, yet what exists within Crowe's ode to an era is a love letter to some lost moment of childhood, or perhaps of an entire generation, one that is a sweetly sentimental as it is brutally detached from the situation.  It provides viewers with something that is both completely grounded in reality, as well as being somewhat stylized and expressionistic in its approach.  The America that is depicted through travel within Almost Famous is both rejecting the old social order, while also attempting to consider how to properly reinstate some sort of authoritative figurehead.  It seems as though Crowe's very personal film attempts to reach out and consider how much control individuals had during the time, while also suggesting that many involved were actively attempting to avoid responsibility, making the handful who genuinely sought to guide themselves with a legitimate moral compass equally confused and lacking direction without any degree of support.  Almost Famous is a manifest of sorts to an era long gone, a film whose millennial release date says much about the manner with which the characters move through their space disconnected, yet harping upon a less than grounded belief in a shared culture.  Short of calling Almost Famous a revelation, one could certainly deem it necessary viewing.

Almost Famous focuses on the wide-eyed William Miller (Patrick Fugit) an aspiring music critic who is constantly dealing with the loss of a father at a young age, and overbearing anti-anything produced by society mother named Elaine (Frances McDormand), as well as the loss of a close relationship with his sister Anita (Zooey Deschanel) who leaves the house to pursue a career as a stewardess.  When William is encouraged by a minimally successful local critic, named Lester Bangs (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), to write about an up and coming band named Stillwater, he moves away from the nest, much to the worrying and fretting of his mother.  Yet, the magnetism of Stillwater with their boisterous lead singer Jeff Bebe (Jason Lee) and their enigmatic guitarist Russell Hammond (Billy Crudup), proves to much for William to ignore and while passing as being considerably older than he is manages to land a gig as a roving reporter for The Rolling Stone who see Stillwater as the "next big thing."  William also meets Penny Lane (Kate Hudson) a self-proclaimed "band-aid" which she claims to be distinctly different from a groupie in that they actually inspire songs in the groups and purposefully avoid having sex with band members.  Needless to say, the trip across America proves to be a veritable wakeup call for the young William, who is witness to all kinds of decadence, debauchery and danger, all the while Elaine constantly assuring his safety to no avail.  It is also along this trip that William becomes enlightened to the woes related to being pushed through the ringer of celebrity life.  He witnesses Russell spiral through a multitude of identity issues, not to mention a problematic love triangle between Russell and Penny, with William being an onlooking third participant.  Of course, as was the case for so many bands before and after, Stillwater finds themselves doomed for failure based on their dysfunctional dichotomy and the general deception of the music industry.  William catalogs the entire unravelling of the band while also dealing with his own existential crisis, tied both to his inability to return home in times of desperation, as well as his inability to consummate anything of value with Penny.  As the tour winds down William is beleaguered and returns home to a welcoming Elaine and a world weary Anita.  Although the band denies the report he files to The Rolling Stone a final scene involving redemption between Russell and William proves all the reward the recent high school graduate could have desired.

It is a tricky thing for a filmmaker to create an narrative so heavily invested in considering the human condition, let alone one within such a setting relative privilege.  Usually films of this grand introspection require at the very least a third world setting or some degree of impoverishment.  However, I would argue that Crowe's particular choice to set the film in the early seventies provides a degree of moral and social decrepitude equal to that, without forfeiting the hipness of "rock'n'roll" or music culture.  The characters, both main and extras, seem to simply wander through their spaces hoping for momentary collisions of understanding, some attaching themselves to a single band, as is the case with one overly committed Led Zeppelin fan, or to an idea, as occurs with Penny Lane who seems tied to the idea of Stillwater, both prove tragic because not only of their singularity, but also because of their assured promise of disappointment, considering that Stillwater does not stay together and, historically speaking, neither did Led Zeppelin.  The way the characters involuntarily engage with one another both embracing and denying its necessity was a theme that seems to have failed in a film like Crash, but works so perfectly within this work.  William's groundedness throughout the film is not a result of his stronger moral upbringing, although it clearly helps him keep his head straight in later portions of the trip, but instead his commitment to his own personal escapism through music, however, unlike the others who use it as a pseudo-drug, William sees it as a metaphor for live and forms a healthy relationship with each musical moment, often choosing not to join in on sing-alongs, opting instead to study each person rendering their voice to a song, this occurs most noticeably with a famous Elton John song.  Yet when groundedness literally becomes an impossibility for William, even he breaks down and is forced to reconsider his value placements, confronting the group for their treatment of Penny, not because he thinks it is particularly unjust to Penny, but because it is unfair to him and his desires for her.  The choice to situate the final scenes of the film at William's home are key, because even though he has travelled and seen an awful lot for his age, he is still quite young and deserves a chance to remain a child a bit longer.

Key Scene:  The opening credits are awesome, if not those, it is certainly the airplane scene.

Buy this movie, it is well worth the few bucks you will have to shuck out to enjoy its brilliance.  In fact, I suggest a joint viewing with Dazed and Confused, as they both use different avenues to make similar considerations about seventies America, in fact, just think about both films closing settings.

I Beat Up The Bathroom, I'm Sorry: Punch-Drunk Love (2002)

I must admit, my first experience with what has proven to be Paul Thomas Anderson's most overlooked work was far less than receptive.  To be fair it was when I had first found myself getting into film and preferred the super obvious "cool" films like Pulp Fiction and V for Vendetta, at that time in my viewing history, my palette had yet to be introduced to even Boogie Nights, and certainly not There Will Be Blood, as such I was by no means prepared for the incredibly introspective nature of this film and was certainly not mature enough to detach Adam Sandler from his previous persona.  Fortunately, I brought it upon myself to revisit this film, after falling in love with The Master, which still holds steadily in first place as my favorite film from last year.  Punch-Drunk Love falls into the similar vein of Anderson's most recent work, although this fare is decidedly more comedic and certainly not as existential, in fact, the only point of connection one could initially make stylistically between the two films and their director is the use of Phillip Seymour Hoffman.  While Magnolia certainly proves to be Anderson's most deconstructionist film to date, Punch-Drunk Love certainly holds its own, often completely detaching itself from any sort of identifiable image and favoring abstraction, even going so far as to display images of stars as if to suggest that the struggles of the characters, the absurdities of life and the artifice of order are, ultimately, subjected to the higher importance of some transcendent entity or state of mind.  Although, knowing the complexities of Anderson's films, there is certainly an equal possibility that it is truly intended to capture the very real and human woes of an individual dealing with his own bouts of insanity.  Regardless of its, ultimate meaning, a couple of things are rather certain when considering Punch-Drunk Love, it is a profusely cinematic film, beautifully shot and expertly acted and certainly far more respectable than some of the more theatrically and critically well-receive films of the year, in fact, as I reflect on other films from 2002, it seems as though it was the year of the over looked film, if ever one exists.

Punch-Drunk Love focuses on the rather unusual life of Barry (Adam Sandler) a clearly unstable novelties salesman, who has taken up wearing a blue suit as a means to change his life in a minor way, although when he steps outside to look down the street he watches an intense accident occur, which is followed by a harmonium being dropped off from out of a passing van for no clear reason.  The somewhat detached Barry flees initially, only to be approached by a woman asking to leave her car there momentarily.  Eventually, Barry retrieves the harmonium which becomes a point of obsession throughout the remainder of the film, as the trouble man deals with the constant nagging of his seven sisters, as well as obtaining the perfect amount of pudding cups to get the best deal relating to a free air miles giveaway.  During a party, at which Barry snaps and breaks some glass, he is made aware of a friend of one of his sister's who has taken an interest in him and would really like to meet with him, unfortunately, she fails to make it to the party.  In loneliness, Barry finds the number for a phone sex line, which invariably turns out to be a fraud that engages in small time identity theft.  This organization begins to hound Barry, but assuming that it will eventually go away he meets with his sister's friend Lena (Emily Watson) who is incidentally the same girl who asked to park her car outside his job days earlier, in fact, it is revealed that she had seen a picture of Barry much earlier and had taken a liking to her.  The two have an instant chemistry and Barry even flies to Hawaii to spend time with her, despite still dealing with the aggression of those involved in stealing his identity, going so far as to side swipe Barry and Lena when the two return from Hawaii.  Barry in an adrenaline rush attacks the group in their truck, then hunts down the person responsible for his harassment, a Utah based matress salesman named Dean Trumbell (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) whose foul mouth and anger tremble in the face of Barry who claims that he has found a love so great that it makes him unstoppable.  The film then closes with Barry and Lena embracing the uncertainty of their now shared future.

There is a large proponent of this film that deals with the problems of individualized suffering, it is impossible not to feel some degree of sympathy, or even pity for Barry who just seems to have terrible people skills and a lack of assertion as it relates to the world around him.  His coworkers seem only to exist as free floating figures in his life, so much so that the only one who communicates with him, Lance (Luis Guzman) does so with a noticeable degree of disconnect.  Even Barry's sisters and their husbands seem to have a degree of judgement and misunderstanding Barry's suffering criticizing him and calling him and idiot, even going so far as to betray his trust when he breaks down in front of them in momentary defeat.  Barry cannot even buy companionship, as his attempt to find somebody to simply talk to ends up in his drawn out financial exploitation, although he undoubtedly corrects that situation.  Although a few moments of research relating to this film helped me reaffirm my own considerations of the film suggesting that it is about two people connecting on a cosmic trajectory.  Lena and Barry are veritable soul mates in that a set of seemingly bizarre and inexplicable events lead to their unification, even if it also required some direct will on their own part, particularly Lena who initially stalks Barry, but that is not to say that Barry does not return the favor later on within the narrative.  Almost as though the two share a similar orbit, the narrative suggests that it is only a matter of time before the two coalesce, making for the ultimately moment of happiness for each character, something that is reaffirmed by the visual art pieces installed throughout created by the late Jeremy Blake, which come together to reveal the couple at the end of the film.  It is perhaps this that explains the specific absurdity of everything else that occurs within the filmic space, precisely because it is completely irrelevant to everything else except the unison of two destined souls.  Of course, I could be reading into this way too much and missing the point, but it is all to direct on the part of Anderson to ignore.

Key Scene:  The supermarket scene will blow your mind on a surface visual level, but as I discovered after reading the film, there are some layers to the scene that will not be picked up on the first viewing and each moment within the supermarket foreshadows something larger within the narrative.

Buy this film, although it appears not to have a bluray which is a god damn shame, who knows perhaps with enough sales that will change.  Either way the DVD is so cheap it is almost free, and thus an easy purchase.

Above All, I Am A Man: The Master (2012)

I am sure at some point on this blog I have confessed my love for Paul Thomas Anderson as a director, citing his work There Will Be Blood, as one of my all time favorite films, number 25 to be exact (As my top 100 stands).  I went into The Master knowing that I would in all likelihood enjoy the film.  I did not expect to be enamored with the film though, I am not entirely ready to place it above There Will Be Blood, but I am quite sure it will be one of my favorite films of this year and perhaps of the decade...it is still too early to tell of course.  The Master, like most of Anderson's work, benefits from being projected over the big screen, considering the inherent cinematic nature of his works.  The Master is by no means his most straightforward film and certainly manages to be non-linear in ways similar to Magnolia.  The acting is, as always on point, with brilliant performances by both Joaquin Phoenix and Phillip Seymour Hoffman, as well as a surprisingly well-executed performance by Amy Adams.  A thematic films of sorts, The Master is inundated with psychoanalysis, theological and existential commentaries that jam together into a film that builds its intensity ever so slowly and gracefully, and while many of the conversations post-film complained about it being to long, I would say that The Master is the perfect length and subsequently is a rare thing in being a perfect film.

The Master, while non-traditional in its narrative leanings, certainly has a main character in Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) a down and out veteran who drunkenly moves between jobs ranging from a department store photographer to a migrant farmer, always leaving jobs as a result of his alcohol induced spurts of rage or severe issues of miscommunication between himself and whoever he is with at the moment.  It is clear that Freddie desires very specific things, an explanation to why exactly he is on Earth and to get laid, two things that are constantly in battle with one another.  During one particular night of drunken meandering, Freddie finds his way onto a ship only to awake to an inquisitive crew, captained by one Lancaster Dodd (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) a regal man, who is an intellectual well-knwon for his philosophically inclined self-help books.  Taking an unusual liking to Freddie, partially out of curiosity, as well as his skill at making strong libations, Lancaster welcomes Freddie into his life, much to the concern of Lancaster's wife Peggy (Amy Adams) and other members of his extended family.  As Lancaster invests in Freddie it becomes clear that the young veteran's anger is a point of contention, particularly when Freddie attacks people who question Lancaster directly.  Throughout the remainder of the film Freddie and Lancaster are at odds, as Freddie seeks meaning to his life, while Lancaster constantly makes the wide-eyed alcoholic a guinea pig to absurd experiments.  Ultimately, the two severe ties and Freddie heads away to travel about England, eventually meeting a girl at a bar.  The film closes with him engaging in intercourse, before returning to a vision of him laying next to a nude woman made of sand, suggesting the fulfillment of at least one of his desires in life.

While I am not theoretically inclined enough to really dig into the various criticism possible with such a complex film as The Master, I was quite drawn to Freddie as a character with severe maternal issues.  A few passing references are made to Freddie having a problematic family relationship, perhaps one void of a paternal figure and it is further suggested that his mental state is severely affected by this problem.  As such, Freddie displaces his longing by a constant quest to bed women, ranging from a model at a department store to Lancaster's wife, often having disturbing day dream of every woman in a room being nude, regardless of age or attractiveness.  Freddie also seems to have a strong attachment to Lancaster because of his nurturing nature, while it would be appropriate to analyze Lancaster as a father figure his sweet actions towards Freddie suggest otherwise, especially in the two's closing scene involving a singing scene, very reminiscent of a maternal lullaby to a young child, although this one is far more tragic and certainly more dark.  In the end, one could say that Freddie fulfills his maternal quest with his moment of intercourse, which is not accidentally with a larger woman with clearly motherly features.  Yet the film closes with Freddie laying next to an over-sexualized woman, a possible claim that Freddie has not grown in the slightest and may, in fact, have regressed considerably.

Key Scene:  It involves Amy Adams and Phillip Seymour Hoffman in front of a mirror, trust me it is intense.

This is just now making its theatrical run and is certainly to be seen in a big screen setting, but I will warn you, ignore the stupid people and their ungrounded comments about the films complexity.  They are the same idiots who did not like Tree of Life, simply because it did not have a linear narrative.