Nobody Learns Without Help: Jubal (1956)

The melodrama and the western exist as a sort of sibling pair which I will avoid gendering, because that would be a bit heteronormative and unnecessary, but, regardless, it is impossible to ignore the sort of relationship the two have cinematically and historically, one that is often overlooked due to the subtle nature of their shared methodologies.  Of course, when it becomes noticeable it is often quite excellent, as is certainly the case with Johnny Guitar, but also holds true for my recent viewing of Delmer Daves' Jubal a film that is beautifully shot in technicolor, focuses on the very genre subject of cattle life and also happens to be a masterful bit of melodrama, at times on a level close to that of Douglas Sirk.  I assumed based on the vague images I had seen upon the initial announce of its release via Criterion that it would be an all out action film, one more in line with the original 3:10 To Yuma another film by Daves, yet aside from perhaps a handful of gun firing scenes, this is easily the most dialogue heavy film I have engaged with thus far, and I certainly lend that to its decided reliance on the melodramatic tradition.  Early on in my movement towards cinephilia I would have dismissed such a stylized and classicist composition, still blinded by the showiness of of Tarantino and Fincher film, which while excellent, do owe their very extravagance to the aforementioned elements of melodrama.  I ramble about this to say that Jubal manages to be both a sleeper classic within terms of the western genre, as well as one of the melodramas that I am quite surprised is only now making it onto my docket, especially since I spent a couple weeks earlier this year purposefully seeking out the classics of melodrama.  Jubal is a textbook classic that has a cult following and is only now making its reputation well-known.  I am thrilled that it is getting a second wind via Criterion and while I know I am not the most read blog on the internet I hope that my adoration for its perfect structure will, in some small way, help to extend its voice to a couple more viewers, because in its classicist simplicity it manages to hold a wait equal to that of a Leone or Ford film with little effort whatsoever.

Jubal centers on the title character, played by Glenn Ford, a wandering cattle hand who has inexplicably found himself passed out in the land which belongs to rancher Shep Horgan (Ernest Borgnine) a likable and well meaning man who takes Jubal on as an employee without question.  Appreciative of the opportunity, Jubal works diligently to pay off his debt and quickly earns the admiration of Shep who makes him a ranch hand, much to the frustration and anger of the lecherous Pinky (Rod Steiger) who immediately goes about trying to destroy Jubal for no other reason than he just hates his presence.  While it is impossible to immediately find fault with Jubal, Pinky realizes that the new ranch hand, much like the other members of the crew, has taken a liking to Shep's wife Mae (Valerie French) who seems as equally interested in running away with the suave and stoic Jubal.  Pinky is immediately aware of this development and uses it as a means to plant a seed within Shep's head as to Jubal being a person lacking in trust, despite Shep making it quite clear that he is fond of the man and his work ethic.  Furthermore, it is revealed that Pinky and Mae have shared a previous relationship together adding a layer of jealousy to Pinky's seemingly inexplicable actions.  Yet, it takes a heavy amount of arm pulling for Pinky to make Shep suspicious continually prodding at him until the paranoia seeps in and he rides in a fury of ungrounded jealousy back to his ranch thinking he might catch the two in the act and confront his cuckolding.  While Jubal has already denied Mae's advances out of respect for Shep, not to mention the burgeoning of his own relationship with another woman, Mae betrays him by calling out his name when Shep enters the house, leading to what Shep assumes to be verification of their past relations.  This leads to Shep going out in search of revenge upon Jubal finding him unarmed in a bar.  Jubal hoping to avoid confrontation, tries to stand down, but when Shep fires multiple shots at him, he has no choice but to fire back and then take flight to avoid the death that a foolishly self-rightous Pinky wants to exact.  Of course, Jubal is far more clever than Pinky and leads him on a winding chase before returning to the ranch, where he manages to get Mae to admit to the misunderstandings and problems, although Pinky violently attacks her resulting in her death moments later, however, with the information cleared up in is Pinky who goes on trial and Jubal is allowed to leave with a degree of his dignity intact.  Unfortunately, he is left to continue wandering the world, yet this time he has a companion to make the journey far less dreary.

While I wanted to avoid gendering either genre, I can say that in terms of Classic Hollywood rhetoric, one often associates the western with masculinity, as has been well established this month on the blog, and I have certainly written about "women's films" in the past, in which melodrama was deemed a filmic tradition with a decided push towards the femininity.  What makes Jubal so exceptional is that it manages to pull these assumed gender traditions within each and mash them forcefully together, instead becoming a film about ethical decisions as opposed to one of gendered presumptions.  In some of the more traditional set-ups men would be unquestionably rational and concerned with justice, while women would be inclined to fits of "hysteria" and illogical behavior.  In this context, viewers are still allowed these images, but they are no longer specifically gendered, sure Mae acts a bit irrationally in her feelings to Jubal, but it is made clear that she is frustrated by her own being seen, literally, as cattle to the well-meaning but inextricably misogynist Shep.  Furthermore, Shep's own moral turpitude is not a result of anything aside from his inherently bad nature, detracting it from the melodramatic assumptions that he is somehow a scorned man, if anything, he is a person perpetually engaged in the scorning of others.  The heightened emotional scenes in this film do not film viewers minds with a hope and longing that two characters who are "destined" to be together will be afforded the opportunity, even if fleeting.  Jubal is not An Affair to Remember, Brief Encounters or even All That Heaven Allows, because it is also a western, which means that loss and failed desire very much factor in, which could be blamed on the lack of law in the western setting, almost entirely personified through Pinky, but it could also reflect upon Jubal's own entrenched sense of justice and respect which is one of the tropes this film seems most comfortable with relying upon, almost to the point of banging it upon viewers' heads.  Again, this is a melodrama as well as a western so repetition and overstatement are merely customary.  While these two genres make for a beautiful hybrid, Daves does not stop there and even goes into a bit of expressionist zeal with Jubal's recounting of a traumatic childhood experience that has a level of Freudian implications that have hardly been shown thus far in my marathon.

Key Scene:  I mean as evil as a character as Pinky proves to be, he is played wonderfully by Rod Steiger and when he engages in a scene he manages to outshine all those involved by miles.

This was just released by Criterion and while I watched it On Demand, the aspect ratio was off, therefore I would suggest the 4K bluray that is now available, I can only imagine how wonderfully it pops off the screen.

Everything Would Appear To Man As It Is...Infinite: Dead Man (1995)

Here I go finding myself already recanting statements from mere recent blog posts within the context of this all Western month.  I boldly asserted that it would take a lot to beat out Rio Bravo for the top spot, and while it is still excellent and deserved of high praise, Jim Jarmusch's take on a western that is Dead Man, is nothing short of perfection.  I was sold from the moment Crispin Glover delivered a mad monologue on the nature of knowledge, only to be absolutely hooked in by the very authoritative and aging presence of Robert Mitchum.  Of course, Dead Man is not simply excellent for its cameos (believe me there are a ton) but also for its absolute commitment to a specific ambience and visual narrative that manages to exist both within the confines of the western genre, while also pushing far beyond what constitutes the grounds of cinema.  Much like Coffee and Cigarrettes, another wonderful work by Jarmusch, Dead Man is an episodic experience, temporal and, arguably, spatial time are cut throughout by the use of fade-outs and fade-ins pushing towards a transcendent world, only held together by the presence of a singular character.  Unlike, Coffee and Cigarettes, Dead Man could easily exist within a bizarre dream sequence wherein the death fueled surrealist sequences and stark black and white cinematography cause one to think that the film may well be from the ouevre of Maya Deren as opposed to the constantly hip and always distinctly cool world of Jarmusch.  Dead Man exists as a sort of nightmare film one that is not as much creepy as it is incredibly oneiric, in fact, its use of chiaroscuro and shadowing make it reminiscent of the darkest of film noir works, only heightened by the thundering guitar riffs of Neil Young whose work on the soundtrack is top notch.  Dead Man is so many things, whether it be an existential reflection of naming or a critique of man's quest for power through produced wealth it does so with such a considered and focused narrative that I am quite certain it is my new favorite Jarmusch work, not to mention a great contender for a top twenty five film if I ever get around to reworking that list.


Dead Man centers on the travels of William Blake (Johnny Depp) a distanced and introverted young accountant who has been assigned a job in Machine, a town aptly named as it is on the cutting edge of industrialization in the west.  Upon arrival to his job, however, he is informed by the supervisor that he is far too late for the job and will have to seek work elsewhere.  In a moment of frustration he approaches the president of the company John Dickinson (Robert Mitchum) who indifferently dismisses Blake, instead; embracing his personal wealth as well as a rather fond admiration for his stuffed bear.  Defeated, Blake heads to the local saloon only to feel alienated by the rough and rumble nature of the place, stepping outside and helping a young woman who has been degraded by a patron mistaking her for a prostitute.  The incredibly grateful woman, who turns out to be an ex-prostitute lays down with William, much to the chagrin of her lover Charlie Dickinson (Gabriel Byrne) who arrives to their room post-intercourse.  Enraged Charlie attempts to shoot Blake, killing his lover instead and in a quick reflex Blake shoots Charlie.  This action results in his needing to flee, although he has been injured in the shootout, eventually passing out once he makes it to the woods.  Unfortunately for Blake, the Charlie he killed is directly related to John who uses his wealth and power to send a group of expert gunslingers after Blake.  Blake awakes to a hefty Native American man cleaning his wound and spouting about the absurdities of the white man, the man Nobody (Gary Farmer) upon Blake's name, assumes him to be the famous poet, treating him with a spiritual reverence, assuming him to be a spectral representation of the writer.  Needless to say, Nobody and Blake form a duo on the run from Blake's captors, who become more in the numbers as Blake grows in infamy, mostly a result of accidental killings and as a result of a considerable amount of help on the part of Nobody.  Eventually, however, the constant attacks grow to high and Blake is fatally wounded, leading to Nobody taking him to a Makah village for a final set of healing practices, which seem to double as funeral rites, considering that Nobody then sends Blake out to sea, only to result in Blake watching Nobody be gunned down by a pursuing gunslinger, left spiritually alone to float out to sea and perhaps into nothingness.

This movie is deeply ponderous and perfectly planned right from the opening moments.  Much like an early Buñuel film, Dead Man places clever, as well as obvious, hints and foreshadowings to Blake's evident death, whether it be coffins and animal skulls in the background, or a transfiguring of Blake's face into that of a skull during Nobody's peyote fueled vision quest.  While Jarmusch takes this existential preoccupation with death and identity to surrealist proportions, it is not a theme entirely unrelated to westerns as a whole.  Often, westerns by their very nature propose this question of one's meaning in the face of certain death, however, it is usually established within the opening shots, with a ton of deaths or a clever escape by the protagonist from a hanging or bar beat down.  This is not the case with Dead Man, viewers are asked by Jarmusch to move through a incredibly intertwined temporal and spatial narrative that implodes with death, each character becoming more attached to the viewer only to be killed off by the bullet of a gun at the last possible moment.  Jarmusch clearly wants those watching to value the death of each individual, even the despicable characters, because, after all, it is a piece of humanity being lost to what the narrative seems to imply is nothingness.  Often the camera lingers on a dying body, a particularly great example is one of Johnny "The Kid" Pickett (Eugene Byrd) as his young body floats in a puddle, blood slowly seeping into the murky water, made all the more poetic by the black and white cinematography.  Of course, the viewer is not to necessarily place their own identity in relation to these images, but instead; view them vicariously through the bewildered and growingly alienated Blake who seems to simply float through the world as an almost spectral presence, always nearly avoiding death and transcending physical harm, however, even Blake the apparent spirit of the film is capable of destruction.  Yet while Blake can be harmed, it is clever that the film closes on him floating away and not dying, making the deeply disconcerting nature of death seem frivolous in the spiritually calming nature of the closing shots, perhaps a gentle pat on the back from Jarmusch saying that worrying about death is futile, because when it comes it will simply happen and pondering over it would only result in misery and desolation.

Key Scene:  While this film is incredibly perplexing and serene, there are the classic moments of Jarmusch humor throughout, one such being Billy Bob Thorton's character spouting the world "philistine" as well as bemoaning being shot, which provided an excellent reprieve from the intellectually hefty nature of the film.  Also Iggy Pop in a dress certainly helped the scene.

This is a criminally under viewed film in that everyone should watch this, I cannot recommend it enough and demand that you seek out the bluray immediately.

Retain, Even In Opposition, Your Capacity For Astonishment: Lincoln (2012)

I will do something that happens all to often on this blog, in my open choice to recant a previous belief that in regards to Oscar nomination for best male in a lead performance that nobody had anything on the excellent Joaquin Phoenix whose presence in The Master leaked through its crackled surface and glossy veneer to cut at the very question of a likable human being.  I was sure that even with my undeniable zeal for Daniel Day-Lewis that his performance would be lesser than what Phoenix provides.  While I still very much adore Phoenix and think his performance may well be the best of his career, when I popped Lincoln into view, I was aware from the moment that Lewis and his method acted version of Lincoln filled the screen that his acting would without question be far superior to his absolutely excellent counterparts.  It is something far different than There Will Be Blood, but, nonetheless, manages to show a very honed set of skills that jump out to viewers, each lengthy monologue welcomed with just the right amount of score by the infallible John Williams is more than enough to cause a viewer to become heavily invested in the film, so much so, that when it finally does end and the credits emerge the emotive drain is hard to ignore.  I mean to consider that alongside Day-Lewis' Lincoln are a slew of other respectable actors including, amongst others Tommy Lee Jones, Joseph Gordon Levitt, James Spader, Hal Holbrook and Tim Blake Nelson, and that is only naming a few.  I am not one to hold Spielberg in contempt for his particular style of filmmaking, especially in regards to its heavy handed nature, instead, I am fully aware of the stylistic choices he makes as a director and allow for them to permeate my experience, something I have attempted to do with more recent Michael Bay films with no success.  Even the detractors of Spielberg cannot deny the absolute magnitude and cinematic zeal of Lincoln, an absolutely inspiring narrative that is only made the more precise by a decidedly on-the-nose Tony Kushner script, Lincoln is what one should aspire to when making a biopic, in all its absolute intensity and surprising modesty.

Lincoln, despite being a film about one of America's most well-regarded presidents, nonetheless, considers a very specific portion of his presidency, the months leading up to the signing into affect of the Thirteenth Amendment, ultimately, and legally abolishing slavery in the Union, soon again to be The United States in a completist sense.  As history has shown, this was an incredibly complex process and one that Abraham Lincoln (Daniel Day-Lewis) had to face while also handling the woes of his personal life, firstly, dealing with his mentally-troubled wife Mary Todd (Sally Field) and his gung-ho son Robert (Joseph Gordon Levitt) who felt it necessary to join the war effort to assure his self-worth, despite running the very real risk of losing his life.  Being the brilliant man that Lincoln was he is fully capable of navigating the various rungs of his administration, gathering respect from most everyone he talked with given his penchant for long-winded stories and breadth of factual knowledge, despite being almost entirely self-educated.  The problem emerges, not when opposition emerges, because Lincoln and his conclave of politicians are sure that they can obtain swing votes, it is the though that pushing the amendment through will only occur if a suggestion of its necessity to a peace agreement can be created, something that is problematized when the officers of the Confederate Army find themselves desiring piece talks.  Lincoln facing the decision to prolong slavery with the posibility of instant peace or ignoring these request with an assurance that the enslavement of man will end in The United States leads him to a multi-tiered moral quandary, which is only solved while rambling about geometry with a scribe one night.  Along with the help of Thaddeus Stevens (Tommy Lee Jones) and the surprising swing votes of a handful of democrats the amendment is able to pass and slavery is subsequently abolished, not long after a crippling Confederate army surrenders and Lincoln allows them to flee accordingly.  While this is not a film about his entire life, it does, nonetheless, include his assassination, although it happens out of the scene, instead focusing on the trauma faced by his youngest child.  The film closes with an aging Lincoln offering a speech on prosperity and the human will, before somberly fading to black thus ending the epic narrative of a few months in America's bloodiest war.

Lincoln is an example of the classical Hollywood style properly realized.  I know many film lovers who suggest that Clint Eastwood is the last classicist making films and while I would tend to agree with that in the fullest, I would also argue that Spielberg possesses a certain degree of classicism, the only difference is that he came to his through evolution as a filmmaker, whereas Eastwood began as an actor in the world of Western classics and took this style into his movies.  One only need to break down any shot in Lincoln and realize that the stoic staged presence of each actor, paired with a set that defines the idea of chiaroscuro, as wall as the previously mentioned John Williams scores, make for everything one must have experienced when attending a film during the alleged "classic" era of Hollywood.  Even the sort of bombastic, hyper intensity one comes to expect from Day-Lewis is reigned in within this film, although, it is not ironic in the slightest, considering that the probable expectation would be this intensity seen in There Will Be Blood or Gangs of New York for such a major and visioned figure in American history.  Instead, Day-Lewis goes the way of simplicity with his version of Lincoln, finding himself far more concerned with portraying the man in his most humane, humble, a bit awkward socially and completely occupied with the notion of justice and a greater truth.  Similarly, much in the way of classical style the film is inundated with notable actors and faces, however, when this often happens in newer films characters constantly attempt to one-up one another, often making a mess in the process.  Lincoln is much more in line with the classic stylings and respect for large casts of respected actors, in the case of this film it is clear that everyone involved works in the space of Day-Lewis while also realizing that it is his space and they have just been fortunate enough to briefly share it for awhile.  A combination of hyper-intellectual dialogue on the part of Kushner, masterful scoring and a roster of classic style actors makes the case for Spielberg existing in the realm of classicism more and more with each film he makes.

Key Scene:  As much as I do not want to side with the Academy the monologue they picked for Day-Lewis when showing his performance in Lincoln is certainly the highlight of the film and is one of many brilliant moments.

This is obviously worth watching and I would even say worth owning.  It is a reminder of the power Spielberg has when committed to directing something visionary.

I Disappear, And If You're Smart, That Scares You: Jack Reacher (2012)

I am a big fan of films that are decidedly ambiguous in their moral commentary, it is not necessary, in my worldview that one must be provided answers to all life's large questions through a deeply engaging film, in fact, this is one of the many reasons I am enjoying the string of work coming from Paul Thomas Anderson.  However, with that in mind I am completely bothered when a film attempts to embrace some degree of moral ambiguity, only to make it blatantly clear that it has created a fine line between right and wrong.  The recent adaptation of Jack Reacher, from the novels of Lee Child, seem to exist in this problematic realm.  Before being critical I want to note two things.  First, I understand that this is an adaptation, therefore, it will be impossible to create a perfect reflection of any ideal character or subject study from the text, because you will invariably be required to cut elements out.  Second, aside from a few moments of less than stellar acting on the part of Cruise and a few of the other performers, this is a solidly composed and well-delivered film from a formalist frame of reference.  These elements help to explain why it got such surprising reviews even from people who found themselves to have preconceived notions about its assumed terrible nature.  I am bothered though because the version of the screenplay that does emerge on the screen is something of an absurdity, because it manages to paint an image of Jack Reacher, an ex-military police officer, as being something far beyond the morally straight, in his quest for truth, even if it means a bit of deception along the way.  Unfortunately, whatever version of the script this idea emerged never really came to fruition and instead viewers are provided with a character, and even villains who are supposed to navigate a grey area of moral values, only to end up reaffirming them, something I will elaborate on a bit later, because while I am quite critical of its implementation, I am also aware that this action film is a few strides ahead of its contemporaries, almost moving into the space of the superhero film.  Of course, the biggest travesty of this film is to include both Robert Duvall and Werner Herzog in the cast and only provide them with what probably amounts to a collective of fifteen minutes of screen time.

Jack Reacher begins with a tragic and unexplained shooting that leaves five victims dead, leading to a quick investigation on the part of the police force that pins the murders on ex-Army sniper (Joseph Sikora) who is immediately put into custody and severely beaten by fellow convicts who see him as a ruthless and psychotic killer, however, before this occurrence he asks for the help of man named Jack Reacher (Tom Cruise) and before the attorneys can even attempt to hunt down the man, Reacher emerges from nothingness to involve himself in the case.  Reacher is a decidedly enigmatic individual, using only cash transactions and a completely nomadic lifestyle to avoid detection of any degree, as a clever aside he even changes his name when meeting people, always choosing a Yankees second baseman as his moniker.  However, Reachers arrival does not solve the case by any means and the district attorney and his young gun aid are set on putting Barr on death row, although the D.A.'s daughter Helen (Rosamund Pike) seems to insist that him having a fair trial is of the upmost importance, even if he is assured to be guilty.  Reacher seems solely concerned with obtaining a factual reason for each killing, believing that Barr's previous indiscretions as an ex-sniper void him of criticism and that there is clearly another layer of motive.  All the while, Reacher begins navigating the crime world and discovers that there are crime syndicates out to get a particular building company, and that Barr was likely framed by this syndicate led by The Zec (Werner Herzog) a grotesque giant of a man whose will to survive led him to chewing off his own fingers and completely losing any sense of relation to the world.  Reachers continual investigation leads him to also discover that the attorneys supposedly in charge of helping individuals are likely tied to the syndicate, putting Helen in an incredibly tense situation as her choices to delve deeper into the investigation result in her being a subject of scrutiny by her father and his aide.  However, Reacher knows that by finding one person to affirm Barr's character, he will be able to make it to the killers, finding this in Cash (Robert Duvall) a cantankerous old man whose work at a shooting rage allowed him to come into contact with Barr, as well as another man who Reacher suspects to be the real killer.  Of course, this is not the end of the film there is a large, excessive shootout leading to the death of nearly everyone involved, with the exception of the clearly delineated good guys.

I mention that the film ends with the good guys winning, because it spends so much of the film suggesting that everyone is capable of morally questionable decisions when in the appropriate setting.  For example, it is not necessarily within Helen's moral goodwill to invade the victims of the shootings homes, yet when told that it will help her case she does so with fervor, much to the anger of a father, who clearly seems intent on blaming Barr for his daughters death, completely throwing innocence out the window.  Even the attorneys on the case seem indifferent to morals, in fact, this becomes very clear by the end of the film, but as Helen makes clear, her father only chooses to pick cases he knows he can win, because such a reputation allows him to have sway over criminals even if they are innocent.  Reacher himself also navigates some questionable ethical territory when he steals multiple cars and creates an overblown police chase an event that causes a ton of damage and fails in his ultimate goal of leading the cops directly to the real criminals.  Furthermore, once his car is immovable he is afforded aid by a group of citizens who see his fleeing from a ton of cops as something to embrace, one man even offering him his hat to allow for a disguise as he hops on the bus and is driven away.  People within the context of this film seem uncertain about what role authority plays, particularly since it seems subject to its own levels of corruption.  One of the more intriguing conversations in the film centers around Reacher and Cash considering the threat of gun violence on the livelihood of his shooting range.  Reacher knows that he only need to mention that Barr was a frequent visitor to his range to get a paranoid soccer mom to get the place shutdown.  It is a decidedly valid threat and causes the film to exist in another layer of gun rights commentary, however, even when one assumes this to be an underlying theme it too is undermined and inconsistently discussed throughout.  Also, The Zec, proves to be a less than stellar character, whose willingness to but his body into pain in the name of survival has its own degree of intrigue, and his admittance to having no clue about his real identity speaks volumes to his complexity, but he is killed moments later, for what is a rather inexplicable reason.  Nothing is fully fleshed out in the moral world of the film and it is frustrating, thankfully, its showiness makes that somewhat bearable.

Key Scene:  The car chase was quite enjoyable, it had been sometime since I had seen one with any degree of excellent execution, aside from the obvious ones in a certain Ryan Gosling flick.

This was a free theater screening for me and made it somewhat less terrible I imagine, although I can say that it is worth renting, if only as an example of how not to approach moralism in film.

It's A Call For Help Intended As A Private Communique: Zodiac (2007)

In the past few years Mad Men has been given a ton of praise for, amongst other things, its incredible ability to capture the imagery, culture and general state of mind of the era it is depicting, both in the decaying stature of white, male privilege as well as the ever so faint heartbeat of the change that is moments from emerging in America.  David Fincher's criminally underrated Zodiac is certainly a film with a similar attachment to such a style, all be it set a decade later and over a much longer period of time, transition seamlessly and poetically, making even his clear moments of large periods of transition seem effortless and completely within the framework of the lengthy film.  As of late, I find myself bemoaning everything that is associated with Fincher's Fight Club, mostly for its following and fans who believe it to be the sole moment of revolutionary cinema.  I am certainly behind the quality of Fight Club as a film, but much like the blind supporters of the beatniks it has its rather obvious flaws, ones that seem to emerge with age.  Of course, this is not about what will, undoubtedly, prove to be the dynamic directors most well-remembered tim but is, instead; about what might tragically be his most overlooked.  Zodiac is a meticulously designed and deceptively straightforward film, that manages to take one of America's most baffling serial killer cases and turn it into a gripping human drama that is both narratively tight and cinematically profound.  This, of course, is of little surprise, after all, we are talking about a filmmaker who always proves consistent, even when doing something completely out of his comfort zone with The Curious Case of Benjamin Button.  Even his Netflix series House of Cards stands shoulders above most things being circulated in theaters at this very moment.  Much as it seems to be the case with so many of Fincher's films Zodiac demands that its viewers be both fully invested in their characters day to day activities, while also understanding that since they engage with an inherently terrible system that all persons are susceptible to failure, greed and ultimate a brutal downfall, and that doing the right thing is rarely reward, if not outright punished.

Zodiac, as should be little surprise, follows the emergence and tracking down of the infamous Zodiac Killer, who spent a considerable portion of the seventies randomly killing individuals in, and around, the San Francisco Bay Area.  Of course, as is the case with most crime thrillers the killer is only the secondary subject, Zodiac instead focuses on people attempting to solve the puzzle and rather literal enigma that is the killer who called himself Zodiac.  Firstly, there is the established, all be it, cynical  news reporter Paul Avery (Robert Downey Jr.) who sees this case as a means to blast his career to the next level, pulling no punches in his attempts to track down everything he can regarding the case.  Within the same news agency is Robert Graysmith (Jake Gyllenhaal) whose life as a cartoonist takes a sharp turn when he decides to decode the letter from the Zodiac, an act that leads him to become irreversibly obsessed with the case, skipping work and eventually ignoring his live-in girlfriend and children with the hope of meeting and aiding in the arrest of the killer.  Finally there is the cop assigned to the various Zodiac related deaths, David Toschi (Mark Ruffalo) who realizes that the paperwork and legal expectations of his every action result in it being nearly impossible to ever arrest or come close to the killer, who made quite certain that his tracks were well-covered.  At various points throughout the narrative the three interact, although never simultaneously, in some cases Robert and Paul work together within the confines of their office, while in another situation Robert approaches David after a film screening at a local theater to explain his unusual relationship to the case and while David continues work on the case, it is eventually Robert who takes the reigns on finding the killer, in the process becoming uncertain as to whether it is justice or curiosity that keeps him going.  In the end, enough minor pieces of information assemble to allow Robert to make eye contact with the killer, in a brief but tense moment and the film then cuts to one of the Zodiac Killer's survivors identifying him in a photograph, allowing after nearly a quarter century for the killer to be brought to trial.

Zodiac is a film that is fully aware of its length, never rushing through a scene or overlooking an aspect to assure a comfortable runtime, which is something, unfortunately, that appears to have worked against it in its box office numbers.  I, however, found the film to be excellent and worth every moment invested, I would even go so far as to say that I was a bit upset when the credits did begin to role, because I thoroughly enjoyed its subject matter and execution.  I, however, say all this to consider what is going on within Fincher's relatively calculated and contemplative film.  The answer seems to be rather obvious, it is a film about tracking down a killer who is not only excellent at being elusive, but also seems keenly aware about the general misdirection and time spent organizing and justifying efforts within the police force, which allows for him to enact random murders and various misdirections, all while those chasing him are still getting the go ahead.  This woe of bureaucracy does, however, come with a certain degree of safety.  When David engages in situations with the individual who does prove to be the Zodiac killer he is afforded the comfort of back up and an advantage in the way of guns and safety, where as, when Robert begins his independent investigation he is forced to navigate spaces alone, although in the films most tense seen this loneliness rears its ugly head when Robert comes to encounter a person whose ties to the Zodiac make his every movement worth questioning to the point of paranoia.  So Zodiac seems to suggest that dealing with crime requires a navigation between the protections of bureaucracy, while also remembering that many rules are to be altered as necessary.  Of course, as the narrative also suggests, living in such a liminal world can prove detrimental, at least that appears to have been the case with Paul.  Another layer is of course the notion of time and authority, something that is always working against the characters best interests even in the brief moments of earnest happiness or positive encounters within the film.  Yet it also suggests that with time, all injustice will eventually be reprimanded.

Key Scene:  There are two time transitions in this film one of a tower being built and the other solely using music that are brilliantly jarring and help to yank the viewers back in after long narrative lulls.

This is cinema gold and was long out of print on bluray.  It has recently returned to shelves and is worth grabbing before it witnesses another tragic fate.

I'm Bad, And That's Good: Wreck-It Ralph (2012)

I am quite uncertain about the overarching message relating to Wreck-It Ralph, while it appears to be a scathing critique of capitalist based endeavors, it also does little to clearly condemn the notion of conformity as the only means to assure safety and order.  What is excellent about the film, regardless of a convoluted moral message, is its sheer degree of watchability, particularly visually.  A diehard video game fan will likely react to this film in one of two ways.  Either they will dismiss the very minimal use of famous video game iconography due to licensing issues and thus find it to be an all around failure in concerns to the notion of a game about games (I assure you it is not quite that meta).  The other reaction to the film will be one that embraces the minimal use of video game iconography in favor of a visual style that commits to some of the movements and works of gaming, both in regards to contemporary high definition game, as well as in relation to the pixelated simplicity of games from eras far gone.  I am certainly within the latter camp, in that I found its visual offering quite easy to embrace and was actually worried that the film would spend far too much time clinging to video game references, yet under the direction of Rich Moore, whose involvement with work like Futurama clearly shows through, as the references, like those in the show about a nineties guy living in the future, serves as a means to an end.  Every use of Q*Bert or Pac-Man exist as a means to compile a narrative and the film, instead creates its own set of excellent fictional characters to fill the world, in fact, the one classic character who seems to get more screen time than any other appears to be Zangeif of Street Fighter fame and to be honest, in that situation doesn't everybody win?  Wreck-It Ralph is an absolutely funny film, perfectly navigating the line between children and adult humor, often coexisting within the same scenes and it does not take a detailed understanding of the history of video games to really appreciate this film, although the film certainly provides some moments of reference that are so very obscure that even the most versed of fan boys will find themselves jogging their memory of the classics.

Wreck-It Ralph focuses on the title character of Ralph (John C. Reilly) a bad guy in the world of arcade games, something he is coming to despise that it means he must live in the world of bad guy land, or in his case in a brick dump right outside of his game space.  The game he exists within is occupied by the hero Fix It Felix, Jr. (Jack McBrayer) for which the game shares the same name, and Felix, Jr. is the heralded champion of their space, considering that it is often he who saves the penthouse that Ralph destroys.  Even though the space clearly designates between good and evil, Ralph often travels outside of his game to the game center to hang out with fellow bad guys in Bad-Anon meetings, where he attempts to come to grips with his badness.  Yet, Ralph simply wants to obtain a gold medal and be appreciated and when he is not acknowledged on the thirtieth anniversary of the game he ends up "going Turbo" a phrase designated for a former racing game character who became jealous of the success of another game, leading to his moving to that game and subsequently destroying its space.  Ralph's movement through the other game spaces is in no way malicious and he simply desires to obtain an icon of success, actually winning a gold medal in the game Hero's Duty, much to the frustration of its lead character Calhoun (Jane Lynch).  Yet during his existence in the space of this game, he brings along a bug that transfers to his next game space Sugar Rush threatening to infiltrate the sugar pop world and destroy its very core, of course Ralph is oblivious to this all despite being chased by both Calhoun and Felix, Jr. at this point.  During his movement through Sugar Rush he meets up with Penelope (Sarah Silverman) a wily and bratty girl who desires to be a racer in the world, despite being a glitch within the game, something that causes her to be a point of condemnation within the world, particularly in the eyes of world's leader King Candy (Alan Tudyk).  From here on the narrative centers on both Ralph and Penelope as they push towards proving that they are certainly more than their coded identities, something that takes a considerable amount of drive and determination, as well as some confrontation with the very fabrication of the game spaces in which they exist, something they realize has been tampered with far before their arrival.  Needless to say things are returned to order, Ralph embraces his identity as a bad guy, while Penelope learns to adapt her glitch to the game.   For extra kicks, Calhoun and Felix, Jr. even get married.

One can certainly create a quarrel over the positive or negative themes spouted within this film, after all it is a Disney offering and, unlike the previously reviewed Frankenweenie, it is not afforded the artistic reigns of a Tim Burton and must adhere to certain ideologies.  With that being said, I would argue that Wreck-It Ralph is easily the most scathing critique of blind capitalist ambition since Wall-E, while also being extremely concerned with adhering to conformity, something more in line with the Disney films of yore.  I will say this about Wreck-It Ralph, overlooking the other two themes, I would instead focus on its concern for the nature of relevance and staying fresh as it relates to society.  In fact, it is as much a narrative about the woes of growing old as it is anything else.  Much of Ralph's woes come from him not receive appreciation for his job, but that could certainly double as regret for being stuck in the same place for way longer than he planed, a metaphor for the dead end job mentality perhaps, or take Felix, Jr. whose name suggests his own existence within a lineage, something that he, at first, does not outright reject, but upon his meeting of Calhoun he certainly changes his tune ever so slightly.  Even Calhoun has her issues, especially considering that she has lost her fiancé in the past to the creatures of a game which she can never leave.  Even the arcade itself plays into this metaphor (perhaps this film is more meta than I suggested) in that the aging Mr. Litwak (Ed O'Neil) clearly moves with a blasé attitude through is flailing arcade, knowing it is only a matter of time before it is financially illogical to stay open, considering that attendance has dwindled, which is quite a true statement if anybody has seen an arcade as of late, let alone one in operation.  The narrative then rests almost entirely in Penelope who desires nothing more than to exist in the moment and race, she is not only oblivious to the woes of aging or staying important, but almost transcends them, this helps contextualize her glitching as an act of almost nirvana in that she is clearly able to detach herself from the constraints of temporal and spatial existence for her benefit, and, in the end, the benefit of the entirety of the arcade.  The narrative cleverly embraces an idea of continued relevance through incorporation of the past into the present, an acknowledgement of the retro is a term the film uses.  It is clever considering that Disney created this film and at this point they seem to own everything for every persons' childhood (the metaness of this film only grows).

Key Scene:  The Bad-Anon meetings are quite hilarious and only one of the many genuine laughs within the film.

This is still in theaters and certainly benefits from being on the big screen, I suggest taking along somebody of a varied age as it helps to pick up on many of the multiple facets to this complex film, also the animated short at the beginning is quite beautiful.

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.

All Right, Gentlemen! He's Got One Barrel Left: Unforgiven (1992)

One is quite hard pressed to find a genre more challenged by the elusiveness of critical acclaim than that of the western, in fact, if one were to not include No Country for Old Men as a pseudo-western then only three Westerns, to date, have received a Best Picture award at the Oscars, one being the very excellent and incredibly watchable Unforgiven, by Clint Eastwood a director I find myself appreciate more and more with each film I watch of his, especially those of the Western persuasion.  I am quite aware that in terms of "respectability" as a film genre, Westerns certainly fair much better than say the horror film, but I feel it necessary to remind readers that the horror film was born and exists in a world of low-budget and in a counter culture vacuum as well, whereas the western is a thing of prestige, often requiring an insane budget, a set of well-established actors to assure ticket sales, not to mention some rather versatile filming equipment.  Of course, in 1992, Clint Eastwood was still finding himself as a director, far from the assumed respect attached to him for films like Million Dollar Baby and Gran Torino and certainly earlier than his masterful romantic drama The Bridges of Madison County, yet to call Unforgiven a outright Western is to misuse the term, since it both adheres to the traditions of the genre, as well as completely turning them on their heads as necessary.  The inclusion of persons of color and women into central plot points are only the beginning of the revolutionary elements within Unforgiven, a film that manages to contest the entire notion of what constitutes certifiable good and to what degree a persons past should have on their engagements years down the road.  Between the moments of broad cinematic landscapes and one of the most magnificent casts ever assembled for a Western that did not have the world "magnificent" in its title, Unforgiven is not only what a person would come to desire out of a contemporary Western, but, more importantly, what they seek in an exceptionally good film as well.

The film intertwines various narratives beginning with the events at a "billiards room," a term intended to refer to a brothel, in which one woman's face is horribly scarred simply for her giggling at one customers lack of endowment, leading to the town sheriff Little Bill Daggett (Gene Hackman) demanding that the perpetrators promise to bring back a set of horses to the women at the brothel as a form of payment for their wrongdoing.  This retribution is deemed quite unfit in the eyes of the women and the go about hiring a bounty hunter known as The Scofield Kid (Jaimz Woolvett) to kill the man and his pal in retribution.  The Scofield Kid realizes that the task is quite difficult given that the men he is to kill are in their own right quite keen on murder, leading to his attempt to bring former assassin Will Munny (Clint Eastwod) out of retirement.  Will, who is still reeling from the death of his wife quite a few years back has all but vowed never to pick up a gun again, a life choice he associates with his past alcoholism and debauchery prior to meeting his late wife.  Yet, when informed of the high award along with his own disdain for his life as a pig farmer, Will takes up the job, but not before asking for the help of his former partner and equally infamous assassin Ned Logan (Morgan Freeman).  While The Scofield Kid is initially hesitant of the extra help he realizes how integral firepower will be in making sure of their success.  Of course they are not the only individuals seeking the reward and must come to odds with English Bob (Richard Harris) and his biographer, who after English Bob is sent out of town decides to stay about and chronicle the exploits of Bill.  A series of misplaced attacks and failures at killing their target lead to Ned deciding to leave the task and return home, unfortunately, Bill has decided to make an example of him and kills Ned leaving him on display in the village as a warning against assassins entering the town.  Enraged Will returns to the town and shoots Bill, as well as his lackeys down, already possessing the money from the kill.  Will then returns to his life of solitude, although viewers are led to believe that he has done so with the addition of some much needed adult companionship.

This fim takes a handful of the elements of Western films as a skeleton for the plot and cinematic relationship between viewer and film.  For example, there is clearly a unwritten code of ethics helping individuals navigate the wild horizons, whether it be a code of honesty concerning bringing weapons into towns, or the notion of a ceasefire, in order to allow a dying man to enjoy a last drink of water.  Eastwood's familiarity with the genre explodes of the screen, apparent in many of the shootouts as wel as the sets, props and landscapes occupying the space.  Of course, as I noted earlier it is not what Eastwood does within the tradition that is worth considering, but what he does to reconsider it that seems so important.  Firstly, he incorporates a black character into the narrative a thing that may seem redundant now, but as an undergraduate history teacher helped me understand the notion of the black cowboy was very much a part of the world of the American West and proves to still be one of the most ignored and purposefully overlooked elements of the time and place.  Yet, it is also Eastwood's fascination with pride, memory, and glory as they relate to an individuals methods of law enforcement.  Bill is by no means a wholly evil character, but the way he uses the townsfolk and the bodies of others (figuratively and literally) to create his messages evoke the images of a corrupt politician much more son than that of a just deputy, his depicted job within the onset of the film narrative.  In fact, one could make an argument that Bill exists as a sole character of moral certainty.  Bill only agrees to take back the act of assassination as a means to assure safety for his children, yet his paternal performance also extends to The Scofield Kid when necessary and the constant referral to him as an old man take on greater meaning in this context.  It is clearly Will's age that allows him to reflect on the absurdity of human violence and aggression, although as his actions show, wrongdoing always needs to be met with justice, regardless of one's personal attachment.

Key Scene:  A riding scene between Eastwood and Freeman in which the use of hands factors heavily into the conversation as a hilarious moment, so perfected that it almost seemed out of place.

Buy this on Bluray it really pops of the screen in fiery, almost incandescent manner and certainly proves necessary for any burgeoning Western collection.  Not to mention it is super cheap.

The Shit's Chess, It Ain't Checkers: Training Day (2001)

There are quite a few movies that you and your friends plan on watching well ahead of time, usually these works are reserved for the real classics of cinema, whether they be a solid Hitchcock film or Woody Allen, or one tends to lean in the direction of a cult classic film, often pulling some Tarantino off the shelf, or popping in a solid horror genre classic.  However, there is such a time when you and your friends engage in a night of pretty solid partying and the next day results in you all moving sluggishly around whatever abode you all have crashed in and agree to do nothing more than watch a few movies and order in deliciously unhealthy Chinese food.  The movies which tend to emerge in these situations are quite often some of the best revelations one can encounter in cinema, famous cases from my past including such greats as In Bruges and The Wrestler.  I was fortunate enough to have one of these days today when being talked into watching Training Day, a film with which I was initially hesitant to pop in and pushed hard in the direction of a comedy.  Much to my surprise, being outvoted into watching Training Day proved quite fruitful and I was able to consume a generally brilliant work and do so with little to no distraction, which is quite necessary when dealing with such a subtly complex piece of film.  Director Antoine Fuqua makes something profound with the cop thriller that incorporates some beautiful moments of experimental filmmaking along with an onslaught of intensely filmed and edited action sequences to produce a movie both visceral and contemplative, never once provided viewers with a moment to rest and assess the situation.  Dealing with the very tumultuous world of narcotics, Training Day packs a veritable punch of madness and ethical reappropriation in a way that helps me to understand precisely why it has come to gain such a significant reputation.  Considering all this, if you still find yourself uncertain as to why this work is so well received and remembered please refer to the performance by Denzel Washington, it is pretty damn close to perfection.

As the title suggests, Training Day is condensed within a singular days events, all focusing on policeman Jake Hoyt (Ethan Hawke) who is undertaking his first day as a narcotics officer in Los Angeles.  Hoyt's trainer is the hot-headed and somewhat unethical detective Alonzo Harris (Denzel Washington) who sees it fit to train Hoyt in the ways of the streets by a variety of hands on experience. It is also quite clear that Harris has no qualms regarding the means by which he obtains confessions or information to drug cases, using duplicitous words and physical means to draw a confession out of an individual and within his undercover car seems intent on taking drugs and consuming alcohol as a means to get into the role of a narcotics officer.  Even when Hoyt goes out of his way to save a girl from being raped, Harris chastises him claiming that within the narcotics division he cannot be the gun wielding, live saving cop style he preferred before.  However, as the day continues and Harris becomes more involved in problematic actions, particularly those involving planting of evidence and the buying off of search warrants, Hoyt begins to rebel against the seemingly omniscient Harris whose ties to corruption go as high as district attorneys.  It is when Hoyt finally confronts Harris about his misuse of power and corruption during an unjust raid that things become intense, in a gun heavy standoff Harris eventually claims that it is a greater form of justice to attack high level drug pushers through non-legal actions than traditional forms of justice and that the law has little sway over people with such levels of power.  Seeming as though he has finally made some sort of agree to disagree relationship with Harris, Hoyt agrees to go with him to a gang house, where Harris quickly ditches him to die at the hands of gangsters.  Yet upon his being beaten it is discovered that the girl he saved earlier was one of the gangsters nieces leading to his immediate forgiveness to which Hoyt takes up hunting down and exacting violent revenge on Harris, ultimately, ending with his being gunned down by Russian mobsters to whom he owed money, while Hoyt returns home from what will, undoubtedly, prove to be his most troublesome day on the force.

Justice is a frail subject, one that is often malleable but always at the risk of being completely shattered by a multitude of problematizing examples.  I am fairly certain that notions of this have emerged on my blog before, especially in the handful of films I have reviewed previously which center to some degree on law enforcement, however, notices of justice and ethics are particularly interesting within Training Day because we as viewers are asked to consider what degree of comfort and trust we place in law officials to do their jobs, especially when their jobs require dealing with high level criminals as multiple near death dangers in a single day.  Harris is not necessarily a bad individual, all be it, he does appear to engage in heavy drug and alcohol use and an extramarital affair.  He admits openly that part of being a successful undercover agent is to look and act the part of an individual in the narcotics world, which means being willing to be familiar with the drugs being peddled on the streets to the youth specifically.  It would be a pressing issue if one were to discover the level of tax dollars being directed at such methods of crime prevention, especially since on a quick cursory glance one would assume that law enforcement was using community money to fund their own drug use.  Furthermore, the film is quite aware of what problems arise when a police officer attempts to use violence or threats as a means of coercing a suspect into confession or provide information.  Both Hoyt and Harris are careful with how they extract information from individuals who are fully aware of their rights and protections under the law, this is seen rather effectively when they approach a wheelchair bound crack dealer.  However, there are moments of clear transcendence regarding justice as it relates to human identity regardless of a cop or criminal mentality.  The act of attempted rape is deemed bad by every individual involved and at one point provides for a moment of unity at its being prevented, of course another issue arises when considering the notion of male protection and what role the trauma of female experience plays into this, but that is another post and discussion all its own, perhaps more inclined for whenever I get around to watching I Spit On Your Grave.

Key Scene:  The moment when Hoyt begins having hallucinatory experiences as a result of inhaling PCP, is done with a certain experimental poise that makes for an interesting moment of slow pace and serenity in an otherwise heavy and fast paced film.

This movie is a surprise and intensely watchable, the bluray is considerably cheap and well worth the investment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Art And Masturbation. Two Areas In Which I Am An Absolute Expert: Stardust Memories (1980)

I have viewed a handful of Woody Allen films on the blog since its inception, looking quite favorably upon his 2011 work Midnight In Paris, while being a bit more cautious about liking Shadows and Fog, one of the directors lesser known works.  However, I have yet to tackle one of his more well received and critically acclaimed films, in this case Stardust Memories.  Sure I have mentioned Allen's work on at least one or two occasions via Top Ten Thursdays, but have yet to really tackle one of his more interesting cinematic offerings.  Fortunately, Stardust Memories more than offers me an opportunity to deal with what can be agreed upon as some of his traditional themes.  Stardust Memories, is incredibly referential in its existence, making clear its homage status towards Fellini's 8 1/2, while also making note of Allen's direct influence via The Marx Brothers, as well as other contemporary filmmakers.  In fact, Allen is so up front in his purpose full references to the classic European directors that you can instantly forget this and realize that Stardust Memories is very much its own work, one of such sweet sentimentality and bitter regret that it does not take the constant bemoaning of existential motifs to clearly identify this as a work by the established comedic director.  Stardust Memories, is inarguably Allen's most artisticly oriented work, which is understandable because the director is clearly contesting the nature of art and its place in an individuals daily life, whether it be as an overarching metaphor to their every action or as a driving force in the manner with which they engage society.  I always laugh during Woody Allen films, I would be hard pressed to find anyone who deems themselves an intellectual that would not find his movies funny, but with this film in particular I often found my laughter to be rooted in the close to home nature of many of the main characters struggles, sure he is trying to find a means to justify his place artistically, but so much of the larger schema of the film is the character merely figuring out why he exists at all...a constant existential crisis I seem to find reemerging on a daily basis and something that appears to constantly prey upon Woody Allen to this day.

Stardust Memories focuses on Sandy Bates (Woody Allen) a well-established director who is suffering from a considerable loss of fan base because he is failing to make films that were blatantly funny, like some of his original works, instead; he has meandered into metaphor and despair as his latest work suggest, which focuses on a set of train passengers riding off inexplicably into what appears to be a garbage dump.  Despite chastising and pleading via everyone from his lovers to his producers, Sandy adamantly believes that his newer films speak more to the human condition than his earlier comedies which he finds childish and ignorant.  At the urging of his wife and company executives, Sandy agrees to attend a retrospective of his works up until this point in his career, an event held at the Stardust Hotel which proves to be essentially exactly what he expected, a series of people asking fluff questions while simultaneously begging him to either procure an autograph or agree to attend a slew of various charitable events and auctions.  The occurrences seem rather rudimentary and uneventful until a lover from his past emerges, a French actress named Isobel (Marie-Christine Barrault) causes Sandy to question his life up until this point, particularly his relationship with his wife Dorrie (Charlotte Rampling) who has stayed adamantly beside him despite his clear history of infidelity and constant harping on his own existential being.  As Sandy deals with the issues his past films begin to collide far to beautifully with his own struggles paralleling his life as he flails to deal with it.  It is only after a "literal" otherworldly experience that Sandy realizes his futile efforts to struggle with a grander human existence and, instead, celebrates the most simple moments of his life, in a meta-meta-cinema moment the film within a film, which happens to also be within a film ends, with Sandy (or Woody) leaving the screening of Stardust Memories, the individuals reflecting on the films closing, asking the same questions that the assumedly fictional critics did within the films opening scenes.  In Woody Allen's world life imitates art, not the other way around.

In the hands of any other director a flat out homage to, and at some points remake of 8 1/2 would be pretentious and self-serving, yet even when Stardust Memories is clearly existing to serve the cause of Woody Allen it manages to be such an artistically sound piece of cinema that its validity and beauty is not to be questioned.  The fact that Allen is so self-aware throughout the film certainly helps to explain the work as being detached from pretension.  Sure the images of Grucho Marx on the wall juxtaposed with the violence in Vietnam could be deemed in bad taste, but I would adamantly argue that they exist in the film to display the foolish notion that an artist should always and at once be commenting on the tragedies within the world while also being accessible.  The characters in Stardust Memories miss Sandy's old funny pictures, but are incapable of realizing that the questions he seeks to answer and study are not possible within a comedic setting, because lets face it there is no funny way to deal with the now infamous image of a man being shot in the streets of Vietnam, yet some moviegoers seem to desire this occurrence, without realizing its inherent flaw in logic, as well as its overall bad taste.  Allen's films are, as opposed to someone like Jean-Luc Godard, rarely concerned with the political suffering of other countries, instead he contests the problems of guilt related to realizing you having nothing to suffer from, certainly not economic woe or physical harm.  While there is something to be said about the zealous approach to how Godard merges comedy, cinema and politics, it often fails miserably, as opposed to Allen, who in Stardust Memories manages to take a very personal guilt about lacking a critical global eye and not only mock it, but in the end justify it as a reminder that he chooses not to speak on certain blatantly corrupt acts, because his filmic medium would do no good to its level of seriousness, instead, Stardust Memories offers both a means of comedic escape as well as one of cinematic art at its finest.

Key Scene:  As it stands right now the hot air balloon scene is the second most beautiful thing I have seen shot on black and white, only to that of Godzilla's death in the original version of the film.

Tragically there is no bluray available for this film at the moment, as such I suggest waiting patiently for its release because it will only make an already gorgeous film that much nicer.

Offer Relief To My Patients, With Little Chance Of Killing Them: Hysteria (2011)

The film Hysteria came and went with very little hype, despite having a well-respected Maggie Gyllenhaal and zany Rupert Everett and being directed by a woman.  Perhaps it is the subject matter of the film that proved problematic to individuals considering that it is essentially a film centered almost entirely around the invention of the vibrator.  A film with such subject matter runs a risk of being blatantly exploitative and degrading to women in its commentary, and while director Tanya Wexler certainly displays the problematic, misogynist patriarchal place of science and medicine circa 1890, this period piece is anything but exploitative.  Sure it uses a great degree of comedy to deal with discussing women's sexual awakening, but this comedy rarely, if ever, envelops the greater statement on a great moment right at the cusp of the push for women's enfranchisement.  It is a film that certainly suffers from attempting to coalesce a few too many stories and ideas into a small narrative window and can at times seem a bit trite, but I cannot help but praise its existence, firstly as a film of considerable quality by a relatively unestablished female director and secondly for handling such a important topic in women's health with some degree of respect.  It would be easy to read this film as a male dominated fantasy about what they believed to be their role in women's sexual awakening, but it is quite clear from the onset that the male figures in this film are set up only to undermine and mock, something done both within the writing and often with some very clever cinematography.  I would be cautious to call this one of the better films of 2011, particularly considering the amount of great work that did come out that year, however, Hysteria is a fantastically funny, surprisingly pertinent and incredibly enjoyable work.  I only hope it does not spiral into obscurity for the sake of its great message and for some absolutely hilarious acting on the part of Rupert Everett.

The film, while focused on the invention of the vibrator and the debunking of the term hysteria, nonetheless, fixates on the doctor credited with the devices invention Mortimer Granville (Hugh Dancy) an up and coming young doctor who finds trouble maintaining a job in any hospital for his, then absurd, theory that germs were causing a serious hazard to medical safety and practice.  Feeling quite dejected, despite the assurance of his friend and aristocrat Edmund St. John-Smythe (Rupert Everett) that he is more than welcome to have money from him to pursue whatever medical research he desires.  On a last chance shot, Mortimer approaches a clinic for women's health run by Dr. Robert Dalrymple (Jonathan Pryce) who is known for a particular "technique" that allows women to receive satisfaction and relief form hysterical build up, of course it is quite clear that all that is occurring is that of bringing the women to orgasm, something they have not had the pleasure of experiencing within their marriages.  All the while, Dr. Dalrymple plans on passing the practice on to Mortimer, along with his prodigal daughter Emily (Felicity Jones) who studies various social sciences, as well as the now outdated science of phrenology.  All seems idyllic in Mortimer's new life, aside from serious hand cramps, until he takes an unsuspected liking to Dr. Dalrymple's less conventional daughter Charlotte (Maggie Gyllenhall) who runs a free health clinic/daycare/community outreach center, all while continually advocating for women's right, most notably voting rights.  After word comes to Dr. Dalrymple that he has been aiding Charlotte, as well as failing to relief his clients, Dr. Dalrymple demands that he leave his practice.  Dejected, Mortimer returns to Edmund in shambles, only to discover that the free-floating aristocrat has been toying with electrical devices, causing Mortimer to come up with a crazy notion to create a device specifically for dealing with hysteria.  This proves a rousing success, and after some problematic run-ins with the law, centered around Charlotte's refusal to adhere to gender norms, the two find success in the profits from the device called a "Jolly Molly" named after a rather "affectionate" female character in the film, Charlotte and Mortimer are then engaged happily as they undertake a task of creating a better community outreach program within their community.

This film, as I noted earlier could have been incredibly exploitative and problematic in its portrayal of the invention of the vibrator.  I say this because it could have been a far more sexualized film, one in which the male gaze would come into play and the work would play into fantastical pleasures of sexual acts. This is not the case with hysteria, in fact, there is no nudity whatsoever, and the moments of "treating" hysteria are done with a perfect combination of humor and gravitas as to assure that they are not exploitative.  Furthermore, the film makes certain that the doctors depicted are neither experts in women's sexual organs, nor adapt at performing this treatment outside of a medical setting, suggesting that it is not an act entirely to be credited to male egos.  Instead, the film very much places the invention with a context of larger women's rights issues, in this case their awakening to disillusionment and overall dissatisfaction with their sexual lives.  Furthermore, the women depicted in the film are of a diverse setting, of course all white though since the film is set in 1890 England, once again not idealizing the women's body as a means of sexual conquest for the male figures in the film, certainly not for Mortimer who takes his job quite seriously and seems to see it as a rewarding act to help women with what he believes to be a serious medical condition.  Finally, and perhaps the best argument for why this is a film detached from exploitation, is the amount of time devoted to the character of Charlotte and her quest for equality in terms far larger than intimacy.  She is an activist through and through, particularly in her concern for helping lower class individuals, as well as her demand for suffrage.  If the film were to be exploitative she would not have been considered even passingly, instead, Wexler centers her in the narrative, helping to explain some of the disjointed issues in the overarching narrative.

Key Scene:  The side panels during the credits are particularly fun and help to ground the historical narrative nature of the work.

This is a fun and informative movie that is frankly hard not to enjoy.  While it is not a must own work, it is well worth renting.