Don't Ruin Your Reputation For Petty Gains: The Five Venoms (1978)

I decided to jam one last Shaw Brothers film onto my month of kung fu films, because, after all, they are the premier names in the realm of the martial arts work, indeed carrying the same weight Sirk does with the melodrama, Powell and Pressburger do with Technicolor and Ford does with the Western.  All of the aforementioned directors had moments in their career where they took considerable risks cinematically, choices that existed within their genre/style associations, while also twisting them in new and unique ways.  While they were often met with hesitation they also produced captivating and new ways in which to understand a previously cemented gorup of works.  I would argue that in The Five Venoms the Shaw Brothers approach the genre, for which they well established in at this point and decided to push it to grand proportions.  The Five Venoms is not a simple film, indeed the plot is considerably intricate despite its rather straightforward title, so much so that I will admit much of my recollection of the details of this film are heavily a result of scouring plot synopsis online prior to writing this blog post.  This audacious approach does pay off, considering that it is still incredibly watchable even if I found some, if not entire portions, narratively confusing and linearly uncertain.  I wholly embrace the work, because the Shaw Brothers dare to take a genre film and extend it to the grandest of proportions, indeed I would argue that The Five Venoms is the martial arts equivalent of something like Seven Samurai, where a work that had previously existed only in the realm of genre, moves into being grand, almost art house cinema.  Each moment of the winding and heavy plot of The Five Venoms plays into a larger consideration of loyalty, collective identity and deception that could make the most glorious of shogun samurai period pieces seem minor in breadth.  While I would be hard-pressed to consider this one of my favorite works of the marathon, I will concede to it being one of the more historically important.  It blows viewers over with information and narrative that extends through an undeclared amount of temporal space, never once back tracking (aside from affirming match cuts) to drive a message home.  The Five Venoms demands to be viewed with full attention and to be revisited many times.

The Five Venoms begins with the dying master of the infamous Poison clan explaining to its remaining student Yan Tieh (Chiang Sheng) that the previous five seniors of the dojo have come to make a less than positive name amongst themselves, although the master is rather certain that the infamy is resting on the actions of one or two of the former members.  Explaining to Yan that the five seniors have no identifiable names or traits, given their donning of masks, he goes about explaining the various techniques of the seniors in a hope that Yan will be able to incite them into betraying their secret identities through exposing their styles.  The five venoms of the title represent the animals with which each senior appropriates their style, which are the following: Centipede, Snake, Scorpion, Gecko and Toad.  The last one the Toad proving particularly interesting since nearly all of his skill is predicated upon his being seemingly invincible.  Yan Tieh, however, is not skilled enough in any of the styles to take on the members of the respective dojo, thus leading the master to suggest that he befriend one of the members that is not tied to the exploitation and use their skills to overcome their opponent. The remainder of the movie involves Yan Tieh moving through the city outside of the dojo and uncovering the layers of deception that involve the members of the former Poison clan discover in the process that it is specifically Snake and Scorpion who are of the highest point of trouble making in terms of ruthlessness.  As such, Yan Tieh moves to befriend both Gecko and Toad, realizing that Centipede is also tied to the criminal activity.  Yet, given the layers of communication occurring and the various skills and extensions of power possessed by the members, both good and bad, Toad is eventually killed through the brutal use of The Coat of a Thousand Needles.  After affirming Gecko's identity, Yan Tieh proceeds to create a plan of attack for the taking on of Snake and Scorpion, one that requires training and eventually flawless execution, but just as the Poison clan master predicted, Yan Tieh is able to fell the villainous members and end any further extension of a negative name upon the Poison clan.

I have mentioned in degrees of passing through the previous posts, particularly when discussing Riki-Oh: The Story of Ricky, the idea that one of the tropes within kung fu cinema appears to be the idea of body on display to be performed and performed upon.  I know this is what I just discussed concerning Mirageman, but here one can see it evolving in relation to the classical work of Shaw Brothers, relatively speaking of course.  I mean to say that there are multiple ways in which the body is put on display as well as theoretically considered.  Take for example Toad, he is the point of such masculine perfection as to be a battering ram that is incapable of overcoming, unless one is to be aware of his single weakness, which is place, not unintentionally in his eyes.  As an insurmountable force, he is apt not to listen to reason or budge, therefore the body and mind are distinctly separated in this context.  Similarly  this body on spectacle as a direct contradiction to the power of the mind, occurs with both Snake and Scorpion who are inclined to betray their identities, because both styles of martial arts require them to project their bodies in significant and highly personalized ways, therefore their body as power, requires them to reject the mental strains of stealth and secrecy.  It is indeed no small directorial choice to make Gecko a fighting style that predicates itself upon patience before striking, whereas Centipede and his intense "one thousand hands" attack is both sporadic and a barrage, but also so flailing and wild as to leave his mind exposed to the strikes of Gecko and Yan Tieh.  Indeed, it seems as though the film draws a clear line between issues of the over performed body, specifically that of the masculine and its ties to corruption and a willingness to do illegal, if not outright evil acts.  The narrative thus becomes a commentary on the importance of a well-rounded mind to match a physical prowess, because not only does it allow one to make consciously sound decisions, it also affords one the means to overpower those who might otherwise win off of brutish means alone.

Key Scene:  Opening montage is great, indeed, it might be its excellence that made getting into the slower pacing of the remainder of the film a tad more difficult.

This is worth renting before buy, not that it is outright bad, indeed it is quite good.  It might, however, prove a bit confusing upon a first viewing.

My Father Taught Me To Kill The Sunflower: The American Astronaut (2001)

I am always surprised what I am able to dig up on Netflix in regards to independently produced cinema, it often ranges from the decidedly unwatchable The Pleasure of Being Robbed to the excellent and extremely low-budget Lo.  Of course, indie films are a hit or miss by their very existence alone and it is more so the case when the indie film attempts to exist within the space of a genre. The American Astronaut, a heavily experimental and noticeably independent film manages to move freely between the genres of the western (thus explaining its inclusion this month), the space travel film and even a bit of a musical as well, without ever seeming awkward or ill-advised.  Indeed, if I were to be shown this film without any explanation or context, I would be willing to posit that it was a newly discovered early work by either David Lynch or Guy Maddin, or, at the very least, somebody who is heavily and properly influenced by the aforementioned filmmakers.  What viewers are provided with The American Astronaut is nothing short of exceptional, between a maddening vision of a desolate and decidedly masculine future and the dreary black and white cinematography that allows for the darkness that clearly seems to be consuming the characters to stretch out and, at the very least, graze the eyes of those viewing this film.  It sticks to a vision and while it travels between locales at no point does the intensely dark, and at times comedic nature of the narrative world crack even in its most absurd and unusual moments.  What writer/director/actor Cory McAbee offers in his film is a prophetic, chiaroscuro vision of all that could go wrong with the future, should individuals not be willing to accept their absurd reservations in regards to socially liberal frameworks or prudish assumptions about the nature of sexuality and expressions of the self which are non-normative.  Each character exists in the space of The American Astronaut to be deconstructed, dismissed and ultimately reconsidered within a context of some "future" world which has institutionalized them to be disconnected, but as the film manages to cleverly suggest, perhaps this future is far less a distant even than a viewer might like to assume.

The American Astronaut centers on the travels of one Samuel Curtis (Cory McAbee) a sort of space bounty shipper, willing to move about the various planets transferring goods, both living and non, as a means to keep himself financially secure.  Viewers are introduced to Curtis as he is delivering a cat to a seedy space bar, where he meets up with his former dance partner The Blueberry Pirate (Joshua Taylor) who is purportedly in possession of a "real life girl" one that he hopes to trade a duplicitous overseer of a factory planet for a young man whose claim to intergalactic fame is that he had the great fortune of seeing a woman's breast.  It is explained that this young man will be then traded to the women of the planet venus to be used as their veritable sexual toy to procreate on the planet in return for their former single male figure who has died and needs to be returned to his family.  Given this seemingly absurd set of requests, Curtis is completely willing to engage with the actions, even seeming to embrace the task at hand, if only to get away from a planet that seems to take joy in capturing pictures of the traveller using the restroom.  Along the way Curtis continually runs into his nemesis the maniacal and death obsessed Professor Hess (Rocco Sisto) who appears quite focused on eventually killing Curtis because it is his "birthday."  Nonetheless, Curtis undertakes his missions with relative success, even helping to teach The Boy Who Actually Saw a Woman's Breast (Greg Russell Cook) about living outside of his worker colony, engaging with him as though he is to be a son that will take on his job after his inevitable passing.  Along the way, the two person crew stops off in a floating barn and find themselves in contact with 1800's Nevada silver miners who have inexplicably existed in a floating space void and have given birth to a child known only as Body Suit (James Ransome) who they hope will be allowed to venture along the way with Curtis.  Curtis agrees in exchange for Body Suit's supply of cigarettes and chocolate.  Upon their arrival to Venus, Hess awaits Curtis now hoping instead to kill The Boy Who Actually Saw a Woman's Breast, but realizing his tricks and having created a son out of him, Curtis tricks the women into believing that Body Suit is indeed their new male, abandoning him on the planet and fleeing from an infuriated Hess.

Sure that description makes it seem as though The American Astronaut is the farthest thing possible from a western, but this is simply not the case, especially considering that the travel takes on a sort of frontier element about it, not to mention many of the locations hearken back to the names and imagery of the old west, the only difference being that they exist in the floating world of outer space, and the clothing on the characters, while almost steampunk in its composition certainly embraces the genre as well.  I do not want to spend the whole time defending its westernness, but instead want to mention how insanely masculine this film is, not in a misogynist sense, but in a clearly deconstructionist one, McAbee is clearly playing with the nature of male interactions in a world that is assumedly void of female figures.  While it may play far too heavily into heteronormativity, The American Astronaut does want viewers to consider how stupid it is to believe that a idealized frontier that is entirely composed of patriarchal figures really proves to be on paper.  While Curtis is a decidedly rational individual, he also seems highly preoccupied with consummating a relationship with a woman, much as his pal The Blueberry Pirate and certainly the owner of the factory planet prove to be as well.  Hell, even a rejection of masculine desire in the context of The Boy Who Actually Saw a Woman's Breast is entrenched within his own embodiment of a masculine classical Greek figure, not a movement towards any embracing of the femininity.  Body Suit, of course, represents the most heightened of this lack of a female presence, indeed becoming frail and hermit like as a result, as opposed to be hyper-masculine as those who embrace maleness seem to assume would be the case with an all male commune or environment.  Of course, the all female colony on Venus is no better, in its misguided composition, being shown as feverish and foolish, again rejecting any notions of segregation or separation within a new space.  Sure The American Astronaut is a space western, but this filmic choice, helps viewers transcend a restrictive notion of gender politics, only to realizes that a separation is as foolish as an assumption that all is inherently equal all the time.

Key Scene:  The talk with the man in the barn is creepy and certainly one of the more hauntingly oeneiric portions of the film.

Netflix Watch Instantly...do it now, there is a high chance that it will not stay there forever.

Life Is About Chasing And Being Chased: The Good, The Bad, The Weird (2008)

Considering that the month of May is to be devoted to westerns entirely, it should be little surprise that I will include, at some point, at least one spaghetti western, but the most recent viewing was not to be that instance.  I felt it only necessary to begin by contrasting one of the most traditional notions of a western, with one of the most unusual and revisionist westerns to date, in what has been dubbed by some to be a "kimchi" western.  Of course, this proves a double bonus for me because the film in question The Good, The Bad, The Weird, manages to be both a western and a Korean film simultaneously, therefore, making a perfect fit within the constraints of this month of specific films while also managing to allow me another viewing within my specific concern for expansion in the particulars of East Asian cinema.  The director of The Good, The Bad, The Weird, Jee-woon Kim recently received notoriety on this blog for his wonderfully absurd The Foul King and continually proves to be a diverse and engaging filmmaker, although I am not so sure that his English-language debut will prove as rewarding and intense as Chan-wook Park's Stoker.  What viewers receive in the highly engaging and action heavy adaptation (all be it, quite loose) of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly is nothing short of a simultaneous embracing of everything within the tradition of westerns, as well as a complete rejection of its traditionalist notions of periodization.  In fact, it is quite impossible to tell whether the film and its narrative exists somewhere far in the past, or is simply an insanely realized dystopia loaded with some of the most vile, yet incredibly engaging individuals.  Between its decidedly modern soundtrack and use of masterful cinematic and editing techniques, The Good, The Bad, The Weird nearly bursts at the seams of the genre, but when it matters it manages to reign in its narrative beautifully, ultimately, adhering to the idea of a western film when it matters most, moving from the embracing of ultra-cool gunslingers to the stark and alienating realization that their own concerns with anonymity and indifference are exactly what will result in their being alone in their last moments of life.

As a pseudo-remake of Leone's classic spaghetti western, Kim's film centers around three distinct characters attempting to attain a map that will lead them to a treasure buried by a group of Japanese soldiers.  The Bad (Byung-hun Lee) is a ruthless, thief and assassin who pulls a cue from Johnny Cash, moving through the world of Manchuria donning black clothing and a smoldering scowl befit to set the world ablaze.  The Weird (Kang-ho Sung) is a madman whose lone wolf nature and complete indifference for social etiquette allow him to move about the landscape with an absurdly carefree attitude that seems to make him immune to death, although it is clear from early on that he harbors a rather intense past.  Finally, The Good (Woo-sung Jung) stands as a symbol of justice with his shotgun and leather trench coat, he screams out to be the epitome of the sheriff figure in the world, although, like his two rivals he possesses his own problematic selfishness, which all runs amok when the three become aware of a the previously mentioned treasure map and its seemingly endless fortunes.  However, while the three are clearly adept shooters and generally superior in every way, they are certainly not the only ones after the cherished items, confronting entire armies, motorcycle riding bandits and a gang of black market dealers along the way.  Moving through the space of Manchuria, The Good and The Weird end up begrudgingly relying on one another to assure their outpacing of the maniacal The Bad who seems perfectly willing to kill all persons who bar his path and eventual success.  It becomes clear, however, that The Bad's desire to beat the other two to the treasure has a high degree of revenge about it, so much so that he openly states his willingness to reprimand an injustice.  After a handful of wild shootouts and chases, the three meet at the point of the treasure only to discover it to be far different that suggested, resulting in them making a game out of who is to survive that ends in a truly fatal manner, while the map blows away, revealing a treasure none of them expected.

Given that the setting of The Good, The Bad, The Weird is assumed to be in an unusual western world within the context of East Asia it has a certain impossibly ethereal nature about it, which makes it seem more science fiction than western, however, tropes, which will be the manner by which I approach the films this month, nonetheless emerge.  In the case of this film everything has to do with identity and reappropriating one's past.  For The Good, it is clear that he seeks to enact his wild sense of justice upon the landscape, one that breaks laws and moral guidelines when it fits the warped idea of good he seems to have created and reflects nicely on the often ambiguous nature law has within the traditional western.  The Bad, much like The Good, is far more than his name suggests and indeed moves through the filmic space with a quest for revenge firstly, and an obtaining of riches second.  Of course, he seems willing to kill those in his path, but his silence speaks to the inability he possesses to speak to his suffering which is both unusual and traumatic.  Finally, in, as his name would suggest, bizarre contrast is The Weird, who absolutely rejects any sense of normalcy and moves through the madness of Manchuria expressly concerned with the most basic human needs and a desire to stay alive, yet it proves by the films closing to be the case that The Weird is indeed the most flawed of the three central figures, making his place within the quest for inconceivable riches one driven by his desire to clean his impure slate and return to a simpler lifestyle, one with livestock and agrarian simplicity.  The past for each of these men is both obtuse and decidedly troublesome, allowing the expansive deserts and tight alleys of the cities to serve as figurative escapes from not only the threat of death, but from their own trouble psyches.  Furthermore, given that contemporary Korean cinema is particularly concerned with deconstructing the patriarchal nature of masculinity, the film doubles as a sort of rejection of unchecked male privilege, especially in the closing moments of the film, wherein what is essentially a large scale pissing contest, results in an exceptionally defeatist end.

Key Scene:  Given that it necessarily had to borrow the famous three way shoot out, Kim manages to both do credit to Leone's directorial choice, while updating it into something newly engaging and cinematically fresh.

This is on Netflix watch instantly, drop what you are doing and watch it immediately.

All Noise And No Action: Once Upon A Time In Anatolia (2011)

A deceptively simple film, Once Upon A Time in Anatolia displays what is possible in the burgeoning Turkish film culture in near epic proportions.  While the film was initially released in Turkey in 2011, it has come state side within the last year, causing it to receive serious hype and Oscar buzz and deservedly so since it proves to be a stroke of brilliance by director Nuri Bilge Ceylan who would receive a co-award for the Grand Prix prize at Cannes.  The film is hefty and heavy both in its length and its commentaries, manages to exist in the matter of less than twenty-four hours, while also maintaining relatively minimal setting changes.  Viewers are likely to initially become involved with the cinematography of the work, perhaps looking over the rapid dialogue, much of which is lost on the ears and eyes of non-Turkish speakers.  Once Upon A Time in Anatolia reflects one of those rare treasures of a film where you can clearly see every decision and moment carefully working under the hands of the director.  At no point is a pause, a lingering shot or quick glance by an actor accidental, in fact, I would gladly compare this film to Kiarostami's Close-Up, although Ceylan's film is far less concerned with the metaphysical nature of filmmaking.  Furthermore, the film makes no apologies about its cultural references and actions being non-Western, although the entire film has a certain element of familiarity about it, after all it is from Turkey, a global location nearly perfectly divided between the Western and Eastern world.  Also, any cinephile will be quick to realize that the phrase "once upon a time" gets thrown around quite frequently when discussing film titles, whether it be large areas and concepts like the West, or moments in a nation's identity as is the case with a certain Scorsese film.  Yet, what makes Once Upon A Time in Anatolia distinct with its title choice, is that it is indeed about time in a very specific sense, and not a broader period, making its fairy tale reflection all too appropriate, as well as terribly ironic, considering that nothing about the world Ceylan depicts could ever be considered idyllic.

Once Upon A Time in Anatolia, again is deceptive in its seeming plainness, particularly concerning a plot almost entirely focused on searching for a buried body.  This task of uncovering a secret takes up nearly two hours of the plot, only to become shoved to the side when those involved return to their precinct to piece together the murder.  Like early Kevin Smith films, or a Wilt Stillman film, Once Upon A Time in Anatolia is about the conversations and the reflections shared between people, whether it be waxing poetic about buffalo yogurt and lamp chops, or truly contesting the nature of human existence.  Characters include the no-nonsense prosecutor Nusret (Taner Birsel) whose job is to find this body, even if it means driving his team to passing out, yet even his bullheaded ways can lead to moments of serene humor, as is clear when they finally discover the dead body and he fancies its features to that of Clark Gable.  Similarly there is the doctor Cemal (Muhammet Uzuner), a somewhat reserved man who seems to consider all occurrences relative to their factual explanation, yet even when he receives some distinct factual discovers, the irrationality of the acts which led to their happening cause him to consider every sort of grounded notion he previously held, leading to a rather heart-wrenching moment in which he stares out a window and considers the fate of children, a group in which the narrative seems particularly concerned for, in that adults terrible decisions invariably affect their future.  Finally, Once Upon A Time in Anatolia is distinctly about the fleeting moments of poetics that go unnoticed, whether it be as simple as an apple floating down a creek or a man falling in love with a young woman lit only by candlelight.  A film chiefly concerned with time, Ceylan manages to layer the various forms of time into a lengthy, yet absolutely watchable meditation on cycles, transcendence and expectations in regards to various temporal existences.

I mention time as being something of notoriety within a film that boldly uses time within its title.  I recall taking a humanities course during my undergraduate studies, in which an art theory professor contested that Edvard Munch's The Scream possesses well over twenty different types of studies on time within its seemingly simple execution.  I remember thinking, at the time, that it was the most pretentious thing I had ever heard, however, as I learned more about theory and the manner with which time affects ones existence both philosophically and physically I began to understand his argument.  I would, as such, argue that Once Upon A Time in Anatolia considers various forms of time, although nowhere near as many as the classic painting.  For example, the film on an obvious level considers the battle against time, in that the crew must find a buried body in which they fight against the physical affects of erosion on the body over time.  However, the conversations in the film suggest a serious concern with existential time, as well as lingering on the past, both variants of time that the human existence has very little control over, unless of course we manage to build time machines at some point. Perhaps the most poignant and emotive consideration of time in this film comes when the older men attempt to rationalize the world of children something they see as being destroyed constantly by their terrible decision, yet at no point do they seem intent on changing their ways.  Instead, it takes physical confrontations by children for them to reflect on the tragedy of their wrongdoings, at moments coming via attacks by rocks, while at other instances as a pseudo-play being acted out through a window sill in the police precinct.  Time in this film, as always, is profusely relative, however, it seems to suggest that on rare occasions it can coalesce with cinematic and poetic magnitude.

Key Scene:  The apple rolling down the hill scene has certainly occurred before in cinema, yet it is so well placed in this film that it is hard not to revel in its beauty.

Another offering via Netflix that should not be overlooked, because considering its "foreign" nature it could disappear without explanation.

I Just Had The Clearest Thought: The Grey (2012)

While I admitted to Django Unchained being the last film I am likely to see in theaters before the new year, that does not mean I am by any means finished trying to catch all the films from last year, as I made the mistake of creating a top ten list far to early and realizing that either half the movies I thought I liked really were not that great, or that the considerable amount of films I failed to see, truly were quite good and knocked many out of the list, most notably Take Shelter which moved all the way to the top of my list of favorite films of 2011.  I intend to may a concerted effort to watch all of the major contenders for best film before the Oscar's and then provide a list of what I find to be the best films.  I figure this provides me an opportunity to see many of the films as they still circulate in theaters as well as catch the rest when they eventually come to cheap theaters or bluray, namely some of the blockbusters that I just did not care to see with a large group.  One such film on the list of greatly desired viewings was The Grey, which seems to have come and went right at the beginning of the year with little note, save for a handful of serious recommendations from friends and a surprisingly in-depth interview of the film one of the various NPR programs.  Since this point, The Grey has lingered in my mind as something I have wanted so very much to view, and as others are beginning to form their top lists of the year I was quite surprised about its consistent representation on various blogs, ones with distinctly different film tastes and preferences.  As such, I sat some time aside today to visit this film and was expecting something quite exceptional, yet, much to my surprise, The Grey went well-beyond exceptional and provided for a surreal, surprisingly experimental, reconsideration of what one considers in the survival thriller genre.  While Joe Carnahan is perhaps better known for his heavy handed action films, The Grey stands out as something fresh in filmmaking taking the very real primal fears of classic survival films and peppering them with fair amounts of magical realism resulting in a work surprisingly similar to that of Valhalla Rising, yet completely detached from any degree of mythology.  While a few readings of the film could draw out some on-the-nose metaphors and commentaries, it is hard not to overlook these small issues and spout overwhelming praise towards this unconventional film, it stands to reason that it is getting much love as the year winds down because it damn well may be the most overlooked film of last the year.

The Grey centers on the life of a group of oil riggers living rather mundane and disillusioned lives in Alaska, particularly Ottway (Liam Neeson) who is shown contemplating suicide before being distracted by the sounds of wolves.  We are then shown Ottway and others preparing themselves for a flight to some desolate portion of Alaska to do work, all the while Ottway seems distracted by some memories of his wife, so much so that he does everything but yell to convince another passenger, Flannery (Joe Anderson), to leave him in solace.  As the plane travels it becomes quite evident that they are stuck in quite heavy turbulence and when the lights go out the passengers flip out as the plane spirals downward.  Ottway awakes to realize that few survivors remain from the wreckage, and the few who do are already injured or in some degree of shock.  Amongst the sole survivors are the likes of Flannery, the hyper-cyncial Diaz (Frank Grillo), the veritable unifier in the group Talget (Dermot Mulroney) and the unusually quite Hendrick (Dallas Roberts).  If it were not enough that they are suffering from the troubles of maintaining warmth and finding sustenance, it becomes quite apparent that they are directly in the center of a den of wolves who are not at all thrilled that their territory has been compromised.  Of course these are not simple wolves, but some incredibly dangerous gigantic breed of wolf that could only exist in this uncharted portion of the Alaskan wildlife.  Ottway demands that the group moves towards the treeline, as to avoid being surrounded by the angry wolves, this dangerous act inevitably results in the loss of members from the group, whether by wolf attacks or sickness.  As they get farther, individuals wits are tested and their personal struggles exposed, even the seemingly incorrigible Diaz has a turn of heart, however, survival is near impossible and only Ottway remains in the end, and it is while he is arranging a makeshift set of grave markers for his lost companions we realize his previous consideration of suicide is in response to his wife dying in a hospital bed.  However, in the films closing moments viewers are shown a Ottway ready to fight, even in the face of insurmountable odds.

I noted the rather obvious commentaries within this film, ones that could easily be drawn in a variety of different survival narratives, whether they be the notion of penance, an act each of the characters goes through to some degree or another, or the deconstructing of stereotypes and class/racial barriers something which seems to finds its earliest origins in World War II war films.  These are certainly fully present within The Grey, yet I cannot help but rest upon this particular survival films refusal to adhere to the comforts of salvation in the time of fear.  The film certainly uses a purgatory like method of narrative, as we are shown a group of varied sinners existing somewhere between the pain of death and the comfort of life, eventually all but one losing the latter.  Hell, even the pronunciation of Ottway within the film sounds similar to Yahweh, a commentary that must not be ingnored, however, it is precisely this character who denounces the notion of a diety, in this case God, providing last minute salvation.  It is clear from the moment that the crash occurs that Ottway realizes his job is to sacrifice for others as a means of the previously noted penance and he certainly does this, perhaps to a larger degree than is ever necessary.  Yet in one of the films closing scenes Ottway finally denounces God as he demands through a barrage of expletives that he prove his existence.  This, of course, never occurs and Ottway is left with the terrible realization of his own singularity.  It is at this point that he ends up coalescing understandings with the others in his party who have already come to this realization and begin embracing the fleeting memories of their own lives, this occurs most poetically for Talget specifically.  The outcome then with this blatant disregard for Christian based salvation then becomes one of an embracing of the now and a celebration of the memories in the physical, one with its photographs and surreal moments of warmth.

Key Scene:  I have seen a few people favor the tree jump scene as the best moment, I am in no position to argue.

It is a shame that I missed this bit of brilliance in theaters, however, it is available to stream on Netflix, which is a considerably cheaper option.

Free Your Mind, And Your Ass Will Follow: Platoon (1986)

Over the years Oliver Stone has sort of gained a reputation as being an abrasive director who often loses sight of making a good film due to his penchant for making politically scathing commentaries within his work.  Fortunately, on a few occasions Stone manages to keep the criticism focused enough to create a spectacular work, this is the case with Wall Street and is certainly the case with Platoon.  In the same vein as war movies like Saving Private Ryan and Thin Red Line, Platoon is loaded with a veritable who's who of emerging Hollywood actors, and a few veterans colliding together in brilliantly stacked performances, ranging from a smile-wielding Forrest Whitaker to a soft-spoken, yet suave Johnny Depp.  A film with a frenzied pace and incoherent editing structure, Platoon depicts a film about war as though the viewer is actually amidst the action, perhaps due to the fact that Stone himself was a Vietnam veteran, helping to explain the vehement and focused rage of his films.  At no point in the film does the narrative fall stale and having known the plot to this film well before its viewing, I found myself nonetheless blown away by its cinematic presence and general enjoyability.  Trying at times and poetic at others, the mix of cinema verite and exploitative grandiosity comprises what could well be one of the best war films I have ever seen, if it were not for the existence of Stanley Kubrick.  Platoon is an American classic and deservedly so, it like Citizen Kane or Easy Rider has a very real place in the historical landscape of American cinema and society.

Platoon introduces us to the hellish experiences of one enlisted soldier named Chris Taylor (Charlie Sheen), who has done the unthinkable and actually volunteered for service.  Along side a gang of lively soldiers, Taylor experiences the emotional and physical drains of war.  This includes amongst other individuals King (Keith David) a wise-cracking African-American man on the lookout for a means to leave the jungle, Sergeant O'Neill (John C. McGinley) who strives to gain promotions within his squadron despite being overlooked multiple times, as well as the less than authoritative Lieutenant Wolfe (Mark Moses) who is clearly scared by the entire Vietnam ordeal.  However, much of Taylor's war experiences are contentiously battled between two sergeants, one the hippy, hash smoking Sergeant Elias (Willem Dafoe) who clearly tries to befriend those around him and wants nothing more than to leave and Sergeant Barnes (Tom Beringer) who is ruthless and maniacal, seeing the war as a means to purge the earth of lesser beings.  Constantly confronting one another over the "soul" of Taylor, Barnes and Elias become incredibly confrontational to the point that Barnes kills Elias in cold blood during  a shootout, ultimately, leading to the squadron being disbanded.  After a short rest, Taylor is sent back out to war and, after yet another skirmish, finds himself with an opportunity to exact revenge for Elias and act he quickly undertakes, killing Barnes.  Ultimately, the film reminds us that war often pits allies against one another, leaving the enemy secondary, at least this is how Oliver Stone remembers Vietnam.

I could go into detail about how Platoon focuses on the intensity and sporadic nature of war, or I could talk about the racial vision of Stone's Vietnam.  More so I could talk about this film's political nature as it relates to other Stone movies, however, none of these approaches quite matches the idea of possessing souls as it relates to Platoon.  In this context, Barnes and Elias represent two reapers of souls, Barnes for the evil and Elias for the good, or so it seems, it could be said that both are simply corrupt soldiers seeking to validate their existences.  Furthermore, both Barnes and Elias have their assumed apostles, the various troops in the squadron siding with whom they find the most reflective of their own ideals.  It is saturated with religious metaphors and imagery from the presence of crosses, to somewhat ironic ankhs, as well as the now famous and oft-parodied death of Elias, which is all to Christlike.  Furthermore, it is, in my belief, no accident that Christ Taylor, becomes Christ T., a bit on the nose but quite fitting with Stone's religious study of war.  Overall, the film reads as a glorified study of The Golden Rule, one that is, ultimately, questioned, revisited and undermined in two hours of cinematic perfection.

Key Scene: Guns and smoke...and not from firing said gun.

This is a classic, and undeniable stamp on the greatness of American cinema, and while I watched it on Netflix, I would venture to say that the bluray is worth looking into, I know I intend to grab a copy.

We’ve Both Spent Our Lives Looking For The Weaknesses In One Another: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy was one of the films that I knew I had missed out on by not seeing it in theaters.  Fortunately, for me, the advances in home entertainment have allowed for theater like experiences to exist outside of actual theaters, and this, combined with a Redbox coupon allowed me to view the spy thriller in a setting that replicated the big screen.  The grandiosity of such a film is only helped by viewing it in an encompassing manner, particularly considering that the film is both incredibly cinematic and narratively dense.  Viewing the film is no passive activity and between the brilliant screen adaptation of the seventies miniseries and a veritable onslaught of Academy Award deserving performances, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is everything one could desire in a thriller.  It is becoming rarer and rarer to find a thriller that is not easily predictable or repetitive and despite knowing the plot to this film prior to engaging with it, I still found myself on the edge of my sofa wondering what would happen next and at what point each character would meet their demise.  The release of this film, along with The King’s Speech a year earlier is quickly restoring my faith in the presence of British filmmaking, something that for so long seemed to  be carried solely by Danny Boyle.  Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is a giant achievement in reminding moviegoers of how complex and magical a piece of cinema can be when executed correctly.

The plot for Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is a long, drawn out piece of narrative that is to be experience and would suffer from the slightest of spoilers.  However, I will attempt to give a cursory explanation as to the workings of the film in order to allow readers some semblance of what the workings of the film.  The narrative places those watching within the aftermath of a recent assassination of a British spy, one Jim Prideaux (Mark Strong) who was sent by a higher up with the intent of ratting out a Russian spy within their own forces.  His assassination is unexpected and the result of an overreaction by persons within the Russian infiltrate.  Realizing the emerging danger within such actions, British intelligence brings their best spy George Smiley (Gary Oldman) out of retirement in hopes of finding the rat within their organization.  Armed only with his wits and the help of a younger agent, Smiley delves into an investigation that leads him to the realization that every individual within British Intelligence is suspect to odd behavior, including himself.  Smiley quickly becomes a point of contempt by members of the agency and is watched as closely as those he is investigating.  Travelling between Britain, Hungary and France Smiley unfolds a trail of deceit and paranoia that also forces him to reflect on his own past, one that is full of loss, despair and disillusionment.  Ultimately, the film ends with an explosive climax of realizations on both national and personal scales fading out with what will perhaps prove to be the best use of Julio Iglesias music ever.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is an incredibly nostalgic film.  It would seem odd to call a spy film about the divisive effects of The Cold War to be such, but the signs are all there.  The characters exist in a world very similar to that of the television series Mad Men, when unspoken rules of etiquette and social mores outweighed individuals desires to prove a point or rise in the world.  This notion is only double when placed within a British society that highly values manners and formalities.  The characters in the film clearly exist to provoke viewers into reflecting on a past when spies could get drunk at parties and bureaucracy could be overturned simply by knowing the right individuals.  Despite reflecting fondly on the past, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is also fairly critical of the era, making note of the incredibly misogynist existence of the agency, manifested quite clearly in the dismissal of the suspicions of one female spy within the film.  Furthermore, the other women within the film are either relegated to the corners of the scenes or completely non-existant, as is the case with Smiley’s wife Ann, who never makes an appearance, despite the film existing in multiple time periods.  Furthermore, when characters engage in behaviors seen as socially unacceptable behavior they do so behind close doors, because their being spies only exacerbates their possibility for exploitation.  To some extent, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy plays out like an old school James Bond film in that it seems cool on a surface level, yet is clearly problematic when one looks at each of the pieces individually.

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy is profound.  It is well worth owning and in this case bluray is the only way to go.

Coffee's For Closers: Glengarry Glen Ross (1992)

If I were ever in a situation to lecture on effective narrative cinema, I would certainly push the necessity of dialogue.  Now dialogue can be minimal but still manage to be effective as is the case in films like 2001: A Space Odyssey or the recent film Drive.  However, other films flourish with a presence of seemingly unending dialogue.  This is clearly the case with Glengarry Glen Ross, a film directed by James Foley based on an adaptation of prolific playwright David Mamet.  The words uttered in this film are masterfully precise and poetic, only to be made all the more miraculous by the ensemble cast, which includes a combination of veteran Hollywood actors, and young actors who were only beginning to make names for themselves as Hollywood icons.  It is not particularly cinematic in its portrayal, but the way each actor possesses his space, particularly Jack Lemmon, causes the movie to seem brilliantly shot, despite it being rather stagnant in its composition.  In fact, the only clear problem within the film is the heavy male centric composition of the film.  It is no surprise that the film is completely void of a single female actress, but the reality of Glengarry Glen Ross is that the world portrayed is that of male power and presence, and it possesses an underlying commentary of the frail state of such social structures.

Glengarry Glen Ross focuses on a group of aging salesmen who are attempting to maintain relevance in a business that no longer welcomes their antiquated methods.  The group includes a variety of men, the endearingly friendly, yet sharkishly sly Shelley Levine (Jack Lemmon), the parrot-like follower George Aaronow (Alan Arkin), the angsty rebel Dave Moss (Ed Harris), and the suave yet troubled Ricky Roma (Al Pacino).  The crew seems fine to drift through their jobs making just enough to get by, until they are approached by a young, acidic salesmen named Blake (Alec Baldwin) who berates the crew and dismisses their old ways explaining that they must get their act together or become unemployed.  The only beneficial outcome is that whoever in the group claims the most sales will receive a Corvette.  This announcement, solidified by their manager John Williamson (Kevin Spacey) leads the group into a flurry of misappropriated attempts at sales and emerging dishonesty between a previously close group of friends.  The only individual who seems to be fairing well in the entire deal is Ricky who assures deals by taken advantage of drunken men willing to make risky business deals.  Shelley becomes completely baffled by the process and attempts to use his old bag of tricks to little success.  Dave and George react differently and hatch a robbery plot, which will assure them access to the much coveted lead cards which will almost assure their victory and subsequent employment.  After a single night of attempted sales, Shelley returns to an office, which is full of detectives and an angry John who becomes the point of degradation for the crew who hold him responsible for the robbery.  While it is clear that George is to blame, he acts innocent, while Shelley brags about a miracle sale he made the night prior.  In a moment of pride, he foolishly takes blame for the robbery only to have John explain that his sale was null and void, as it was enacted with two clinically insane individuals.  John mocks and derides Shelley and takes pride in putting him in police custody for actions he was not guilty.  Befuddled and enraged Shelley is left at a worse place than the films opening, while Ricky scrambles to save his most recent sale.  George confused by his stroke of luck simply returns to his job as though the entire nights events never occurred.  In the simplest sense, it is a film about individual desires and how such actions completely destroy the possibility of societal cohabitation.

As mentioned in the introduction, the films is entirely male.  With the exception of an occasional woman's voice over the phone it is all male actors concerned about things only existing within the male world.  The characters only desire to engage with other men and make it quite clear that anything involving women is tragically irrelevant.  With just this description alone, it is easy to read the film as a misogynist text that relegates women to the private sphere and as an object without a voice.  However, the film is something far greater than this and actually focuses with great detail on the problems of unrestrained patriarchy.  The characters begin on and slow decline and only crash into a more tragic end, because their power has never been question in a sense of masculinity.  While the characters are clearly degraded from a class and age perspective this seems to affect them very little.  It is only when Blake yells at them and questions their masculinity that they seem to become bothered.  It is at this point that the entire crew, but George and Dave particularly, become adamant on assuring Blake that he cannot treat people in such a manner.  Their rebellion is of course illogical given that the desire to steal a stack of cards to sell for quick cash, when it is apparent that if they were to earn them in a respective manner their profits would increase considerably.  Even the award is masculine, as opposed to a raise or honorary praise, the group is offered a muscle car, which has little value aside from bragging rights.  Mamet's work is clearly about the problems of male competition becoming horrifically unchecked.  The film reflects this ideology and drives it to its most extreme, and the excellent cast solidifies it with each look of despair and confusion as their lives fall into complete chaos.

Glengarry Glen Ross is a contemporary classic and an excellent narrative film.  It is well worth watching for each monologue and diatribe and is a perfect example of how one should transfer theater to film.  It is a must own, although a regular DVD will do just fine.