To Do Good Work, You Gotta Have Good Tools: Lilies Of The Field (1963)

Popping in to post a blog as it is yet another snow day here in Columbia, South Carolina.  Apparently these things are rather rare in a decade, but we have somehow managed to have two in the same month.  I knew last night that I would sit some time aside to throw together a blog, but was rather uncertain as to what film I would discuss, as my viewing has still been predominantly directed at all things related to Godzilla.  Indeed, I watched the marvelous Point Blank last night and was rather certain that it would prove the point of discussion, but earlier this morning, amidst my inability to justify being productive despite being given a full day to myself, I finally caught up with Lilies of the Field, a classic in cinema that I had long been meaning to view.  While I expected a few things going into the film, particularly a great performance by Sidney Poitier and some heavy handedness in terms of religious allegories, what I did not expect was to discover a deeply engaging and outright evocative look into the nature of humanity, when social connections and a desire to prove communal worth take on transcendent levels.  Indeed, if read at a very face value level, Lilies of the Field will come across as an idyllic look at persons from non-hegemonic groups coming together in the name of a collective vision and this reading is not of base at all, because that is what the narrative emphasizes.  I would tough contest that it is this and so much more, looking specifically at how individuals are willing to reappropriate and rationalize their own world views either in grand or simple ways to fit with a larger idea, one that might at first seem wholly abstract or completely built on faith, but if the work of anthropologist Anne Fadiman is any indication, eventually in these spaces the spirit will catch you, and you will fall down, although in a far less violent or physical way.  Here the falling down is more of a social realization, one that notes diversity and barriers as things that can and should be transgressed and perhaps the most frustrating blockades to unity are those we build around ourselves.  If all this can occur within the space of a rather succinct modernization of the Tower of Babel tale, I would call Lilies of the Field a rousing success.

Lilies of the Field begins with the arrival of Homer Smith (Sidney Poitier) to an unmarked nunnery, wherein he hopes to merely borrow water from the women there, in order to jumpstart his overheated engine and be on his way traveling.  This simple plan is quickly altered when the nunnery's head sister Mother Maria (Lilia Skala) asserts that the arrival of Homer is an answer to her prayers.  While Homer is noticeably and verbally reluctant to help, the insistence of Maria and the other nun's lead to him agreeing to fix a hole in the roof of the nunnery.  Assuming that this will suffice his duty and allow him to leave, Maria ends up convincing Homer that he must stay for dinner, a task that expands in to her blatant refusal to acknowledge his requests to be on his way.  Bizarrely intrigued by the constant insistence of Maria that he should stay, Homer decides to keep in residence at the nunnery, while also beginning work laying road for a local contractor.  During Sunday's Homer also serves as a chauffeur for the nun's to a local truck based Catholic church, run by the well-meaning but constantly intoxicated Father Murphy (Dan Frazer).  Refusing to be involved with the mass, as he identifies as a Baptist, Homer spends the time in a local tavern eating large amounts of food to make up for the minimalist breakfasts and dinners at the nunnery.  When Homer yet again attempts to leave, he is ignored the request by Maria, somehow becoming, instead, roped into working on building a church for the people of the area, including immigrants with little or no English skills.  Taking this task as a building of his own self-character, Homer pours his heart and soul into the endeavor, only to become roadblocked when he runs out of materials.  However, the desire of the community to see the church into fruitions results in communal donations of the materials required, a process that causes the group to learn to talk in a collective language and navigate their own understandings of spiritual endeavors. While Homer is offered a steady job in the process, upon completion of the church, he decides he must leave, although the town and the nunnery he has stayed with will be changed in noted ways, but clearly it is Homer who has advanced in the most considerable manner.

Building structures and creating faith are two endeavors that seem to involve similar rhetoric and it is little to no surprise that the filmmaker and the author of the original text are fixated on overlaying the themes within this film.  However, while this is key to the text, I am far more intrigued by the manner in which this film focuses on the troubles and benefits that emerge from creating semiotic understandings, or, more in-line with the previous sentence, language structures.  Lilies of the Field seems to be a film about the constant navigation of similarities and differences as they relate to talking and positively working in a collective manner.  Indeed, this is most telling in the initial engagement between Homer and the women of the nunnery at which he stays.  Whilst trying to teach the women proper English composition, he starts with a series of labeling of very subjective ideas, noting items in the room such as a phonograph and a record and suggesting them to be singularly of an item.  Yet when he moves out to explain the difference between his skin color as black and their whiteness, things become more complex as they repeat his statement, claiming themselves to be white.  In this rather humorous exchange, one begins to understand that the idea of blackness, or "schwarz"ness as it were to the nuns, only holds value when the language agrees upon a social ascribed implication.  Essentially, Homer's blackness holds no value in terms of language, when the women do not understand its societal implications and even when they do realize what he is suggesting it does lack a layer of societal problems that would emerge in other situations.  As fascinating as this exchange does prove to be, it seems a bit curious that the filmmaker does not navigate a similar language issue in regards to gender, but that already seems well established in the segregated space of the nunnery from the onset.  This language issue becomes even more intriguing when the building of the church becomes communal and the pictorial and gestural elements of communication take precedence over verbal suggestions, particularly ones of ideas, as the immigrant works listen to not Mother Maria, but Homer and his use of drawings and motions to complete the task.  Intriguingly, this reworking of language allows the group to build the space without the necessity of capitalist endeavors, denying the use of high quality bricks in favor of the adobe that had sufficed up until this point. Money holds far less value because their language in the space is barter and trade based, the bricks becoming removed from the term 'valuable' thus only being seen as fodder for a gravel walkway.

Key Scene:  The Amen song that becomes the point of bonding between the nuns and Homer is something I was aware of prior to viewing this film, however, it was far more engaging and delightful than I could have imagined.

I lucked out and obtained this as part of a large collection of DVD's.  It is currently rather pricy on Amazon and considering this I would suggesting renting it before making a commitment to dropping that much money on it, although it is certainly worth its price.

Now Don't Bullshit A Bullshitter: All That Jazz (1979)

Bob Fosse is nothing short of a visionary, this is not intended to be specific to his skills a choreographer or to limit the consideration to only his work as a filmmaker.  His musicals in all their wildly revisionist nature prove to be an entirely different fare from the conventional work, particularly as it contrasts the spectacular, but often nausea-inducing showy works of the forties and fifties.  Using whispers, snaps and pulling heavily from the sounds of the natural world, Fosse creates a type of musical that works from the ground up making the diegetic and non-diegetic necessitate one another for a fully functioning film.  This is not, however, to say that his works are somehow entirely situated within reality.  As was certainly shown in my earlier review of Cabaret, but almost exclusively a product of All That Jazz, the otherworldly, or the afterlife, is always at play within the experiences of an individual, particularly one who is fracturing and falling apart at the seams.  Furthermore, where another director would play up the loving and earnest look at a person falling into their final days and hours, Fosse chooses to go with the real, looking at the plight of a man dying and his success and failures at reconciliation.  While I have encountered other attempts at the independent filmmaking approach to the musical All That Jazz is, undoubtedly, the crowning achievement, managing to use the metacinematic in a simple, but appropriate manner and never allowing for the lavish sets necessary for certain numbers to overpower the narrative.  While it is a far cry from the composition and symmetry of the illustrious Busby Berkeley musical numbers, it is certainly no less startling or awe-inspiring.  All That Jazz works not in spite of the traditional musical film, but because of its very limitless nature in the filmic language.  Indeed, Fosse reminds viewers that perhaps next to the expansive possibilities of animated films that the non-linear and extra-diegetic structure of the musical allow for exploration of the human existence well beyond the corporeal, the final result of such an exploration is absolutely riveting in this film.

All That Jazz focuses on the experiences of Joe Gideon (Roy Scheider) a theatre director, choreographer and filmmaker.  While Joe has managed to establish himself as a legitimate figure in both communities, the stress of such high demands, doubled with his life of philandering have led him to become reliant on a wicked blend of smoking and anxiety reduction pills to keep awake and productive.  On the coattails o f a newly anticipated theatrical show with a tinge for the erotic, Joe proves incapable of delivering to his expectations and when negative feedback emerges both in regards to his play and his newly edited film, he collapses at work.  When in the hospital it is revealed that he has been suffering seriously from angina pectoris, a particularly troublesome heart dysfunction that is a result of his high stress job.  The doctors at the hospital insist that if Joe hopes to survive he must severely limit the amount of stress inducing endeavors he engages in, specifically anything that involves a lot of movement.  Joe is completely flippant to such requests and continues to choreograph from his bedroom, while also taking in the various criticisms of his new film.  Furthermore, the seemingly unfazed Joe keeps up with his philandering ways, both sleeping with his dancers and attempting to make advances on his day nurse.  When it becomes more clear, however, that Joe is going to die from his angina, he begins to move through the various stages of approaching death, which is narratively overlaid by his recent comedic film's narrative, as the actor in the film states the various occurrences, such as bargaining and acceptance as Joe engages in each issue.  These challenges include Joe coming to assure his love for his young daughter and aspiring dancer Michelle (Erzsébet Földi), as well as a sort of truce with his ex-wife Audrey (Leland Palmer).  In the closing moments of the film, Joe is having trouble navigating between the reality of his hospital bed and his own execution of a musical about his death, the two seem to coalesce into a feverish nightmare, one that has him singing lead, while he caries about intravenous injections, images of his pumping heart serving as the backdrop for the scene.  Although it is a grand bit of spectacle, the film ends in a very matter-of-fact kind of way, asserting that in death finality comes to even the act of dreaming.

Temporal and spatial contrast are huge in the musical, as I have mentioned earlier, the escapist nature of the genre and the necessity of advancing time considerably result in musical numbers serving as transitory spaces between one event and another.  In All That Jazz, the various performances should also serve a similar factor, but it is almost as though in this situation the music and Joe's own relationship to the songs is stuck in some sort of liminal space.  These moments are liminal in that they reflect Joe as he is lost amidst two opposing forces, that which causes him to identify as one embodiment of the self or other.  This is done most innocently, although it might not be apparent, when Joe creates the Air Erotica musical number, wherein he must learn to navigate between his own creations as an artist and his own lustful and passionate desires, the backers for his show being confused by the graphic sexual nature of the various moments, completely overlooking the ways in which such a number might suggest a sexual politics that is far more complex than they could begin to imagine.  It is perhaps least innocent at a time when it would seem so, which occurs when Joe's daughter Michelle and his girlfriend Katie (Ann Reinking) jointly perform a song and dance number in his apartment.  At this point, Joe must decide whether he wants to fully commit to being a father figure in the traditional sense, or a paternal figure in a sexual sense, both girls seeking a degree of affection that is eerily and problematically similar.  These two sequences are somewhat similar in composition, it the final sequence, which features Joe as the lead in "Bye Bye Life" that absolutely traipses the lines of liminality, especially considering that it is performed, assumedly, in Joe's mind, wherein all that he witnesses and learns is wholly an internal struggle, completely detached from the corporeal space.  However, because it is about the death of Joe it has a inherent tie to corporeality, the stage thus becoming an embodied thing, something that Joe must navigate one last time free from the reigns of temporal and spatial control.  The liminal here is expansive, because in death all the spaces and boundaries appear to become definitively destroyed.

Key Scene: The "Bye Bye Life" number is the final portion of the film and it certainly builds to it in a perfected manner.

Get this film.  It is perfect.

Friends Are Much Harder To Find Than Lovers: Cabaret (1972)

The perfect film is a thing I discuss ever so occasionally her on my blog, affording it a status to so few films.  Were I to be approached as little as six months ago and told that I would definitively label Cabaret as such a work, I would have scoffed off such as suggestion thinking that the elements of Bob Fosse and Liza Minnelli would be too off-putting to enjoy.  Sure I appreciate the choreography of Fosse and cannot deny the brilliance of Minnelli in the masterful ensemble that is Arrested Development, I just assumed it would be a film with a very honed in and specific audience, one that I could only tangentially appreciation.  Cabaret, however, is a stroke of cinematic perfection that manages to do so while also pushing and prodding cinematic language in a very real way.  Indeed, it uses the musical genre in a very clever manner, wherein the emotional escape of music blocks out the reality in a fantastical manner.  Cabaret begins in such a carnivalesque manner, only to have the reality become the thing in which music is appropriated while the very characters attempt to exist in states of wild delusion.  Delusional and feverish is the universe within which Cabaret orbits, finding its centrifuge within the dynamic and absolutely revelatory performance by Liza Minnelli.  Seriously, it is by far one of the best performances I have ever seen committed to screen.  I know she won the best actress nod for her turn in the film, but were they to do a centennial look back on the best film performances of the past century, it would be quite feasible to count this is the best of and perhaps even give it the award.  Between delivering lines with absolute humor only to follow with lines of devastation, Minnelli is also doing amazing work as a dancer and a singer.  The wild thing is that all of these are points of formalist consideration and I have yet to even scrape the surface on how absolutely profound the film is as a consideration of border/boundary crossing, not to mention the ways in which it works as a text on transgendered identity.  Cabaret is an absolutely perfect film in its willingness to navigate the perverse and problematic in a pointed--albeit surreal--manner.

Situated in Berlin circa 1931, the film focuses on one such cabaret that prides itself in having beautiful everything right down to its orchestra, which is comprised of buxom women, much to the elation of the aristocrats and diplomats that occupy the space.  Of course, not all is as appears on the surface, as some of the cabaret dancers, including the Master of Ceremonies (Joel Grey) appear to be a bit less normative in their gender performances.  These transgendered identities aside the major point of pride within the particular cabaret is the singing and dancing of Sallly Bowles (Liza Minnelli) whose desire to make it as a film actress factors second only to her ability to belt out comedic and woeful songs at the drop of a hat.  Indeed, her performing abilities cause her to become a point of curious affection for traveling academic and Cambridge student Brian Roberts (Michael York) whose own sexual uncertainty becomes affirmed when he and Sally become lovers whilst sharing two flats in a local hotel.  Yet, their love is challenged by a variety of factors, whether it be Brian's constant desires to please his pupils of English, most notably Natalia Landauer a wealthy tailor company heiress  (Marisa Berenson) and Fritz Wendel (Fritz Wepper) a young Jewish man whose own identity becomes a point of conflict within Berlin as an increasing occupation of Nazi figures emerge adding yet another layer of woe to the relationship between Brian and Sally.  When Sally sees the possibility for advancement by engaging in a relationship with Baron Maximillian von Heune (Helmut Griem) things become considerably more complex as it is rather apparent that he favors the move away from socialism and towards fascism within the country, ignorant, if not outright flippant, of the racial and class issues at play in the particular ideology.  Furthermore, it is somewhat unclear as to whether or not Maximillian also possesses desire for Brian, whom he lingers on when hugging or forcing him to dance in a trio with himself and Sally.  Eventually, Sally becomes pregnant and the father of the child is rather uncertain.  Although, Brian agrees to be the father, Sally dreads the idea of living life as a wife in England and decides to procure and abortion.  The action leads to a parting between the two that is both deeply loving, but stifled by formality. Brian leaves for Cambridge and Sally returns to her cabaret performances, although as the closing moments of the film affirm, the crowd for such transgressive shows is dissipating quite quickly.

The amount of transgression going on in this film would make one think that it works in line with something like a Kenneth Anger film.  While it is not quite as abrasive and heavily ironic as a work by the experimental filmmaker, it does take on the layers of narrative winding and viewer to subject relationships of looking and desiring.  Wherein, something like Scorpio Rising makes a viewer reconsider the nature of the male body on display, particularly one that is perfected and chiseled, Cabaret asks viewers to completely reconsider their understanding of gender performance.  I would almost think that this film would serve as the perfect example of performing gender in the sense that Judith Butler discusses in Gender Trouble.  Even the femininity on display is to a point of absurdity, Sally's eye make up cause here eyes to pop out in a near comedic way, her claiming it to be part of her desire to be a screen starlet, which is in its own way a hyper problematic performance of femininity to begin with.  However, it is also masculinity that is consider as a thing to be performed here, perhaps most blatantly through the Master of Ceremonies, although the figure of Brian helps to consider the moral implications of not performing the social functions of masculinity, particularly the notion that sexual prowess be a reality and only so with women.  This is only one element of performance within the film though, as it also looks and considers how one performs something like Jewishness, particularly Fritz who actively passes as not-Jewish for his own safety, whereas Natalia is able to side step such concerns by possessing a high degree of wealth and a desire to be English in presence.  Indeed, the Nazism throughout this film is also called upon for its performative qualities, the camera often lingering on the swastika armbands worn by the various members of the party, asking viewers to navigate how much of the intimidation and hesitance comes from the signifier alone, a consideration that works in a post-World War II setting.  The singing of the Nazi Youth song adds a layer of trouble to this as it notes the troubled navigation between ideology and performance, showing that in some cases the two can clash in incredibly troubling ways.

Key Scene:  The money song, is the turning point in this film.  In all its humor, it still manages to be the moment where the music traipses between escapism and pointed social critique, something that had likely not occurred since "We're in the Money" from The Golddiggers of 1933.

This film is more than worth your time.  It actually demands your time.

You Can't Buy Your Way Out Of A Bad Impression: Pocket Money (1972)

While many times I just grab a quote that I find to be funny, poignant or cool as it relates to a movie, there is the rare treat of one of the pieces of dialogue perfectly summarizing everything about the film, unfortunately for Pocket Money the quote above reminds me of the ways in which Pocket Money fails. On paper, it should be absolutely perfect.  First, it stars Paul Newman who is a brilliant actor and certainly puts on a show here.  Second, it is directed by Stuart Rosenberg who I will always adore for creating my second favorite film ever Cool Hand Luke.  Finally, if these two high selling points were not enough the film was the result of a screen play by Terrence Malick, then simply known as Terry Malick.  You would think given my adoration for Malick (I thoroughly enjoyed To The Wonder and hope to review it come June) that it would be a selling point, especially since like Lynch, Malick has a way of capturing the midwest, as it is envision in this pseudo-modernist western.  All of these pieces would fit together brilliantly were it not for the tragic flaw in the execution of this film.  While Malick's script is clearly interjected with a degree of humor, it is not, I would argue, intended to be played out so comedically and Pocket Money, for all intents and purposes, is expressly a comedy.  Much like Badlands, the humor that pops up throughout is intended to highlight the ignorance of the young couple attempting to make it on their own in the vast wild world.  What is funny is only so because if viewers are not to laugh they will be forced to deal with the crippling tragedy of the innocence lost and decaying of American identity.  Much the same Pocket Money should not have been played so heavy-handedly for its laughs, instead allowing viewers to come to each encounter by way of self-reference and poetic simplicity.  Malick, Rosenberg and Newman could certainly have provided viewers with such a film and it would easily have been heralded as a great cinematic gift, perhaps even trumping each of the respected artists other works. Yet, this is not the case and Pocket Money goes the way of traditional comedic structure, making the critiques of modernity invading lower class America and the false notions of transparent borders seem absurd, when, in fact, the tragedy is so great that to laugh would also mean to share in a defeated agreement.

Pocket Money focuses primarily on the experiences of Jim Kane (Paul Newman) a cowboy and rancher whose recent trouble with a set of horses from Mexico has led to him becoming twisted in debt and looking for any means to escape with his head still attached.  Knowing full and well that he must take money from any avenue possible, Kane agrees to become involved with some under-the-table cattle purchasing for the slimy, drawl Bill Garrett (Strother Martin) and his lackey Stretch Russell (Wayne Rogers).  Given a wad of cash and the promise of reimbursement for expenses the men send Kane to Mexico to purchase a large head of cattle and ship them inconspicuously back through the American border while avoiding quarantine checkpoints and the like.  Upon arrival to Mexico Kane meets up with Leonard (Lee Marvin) whose presence seems almost absurd as he is, at best, a pseudo-ranch hand with his wide ties and hat more reminiscent of a fedora than a cowboy hat.  The two, nonetheless, work beautifully together knowing the magic of bartering often playing off of one another for their respective strengths to get proper deals.  Yet even as the two seem flawless at their jobs a variety of issues get in the way, mostly as a result of language barriers and disgruntled employees, leading to various issues, primarily Kane's brief arrest as a result of fighting a former worker whom Kane fired for his flippant attitude and lazy work habits.  Nonetheless, after scraping enough money together and getting the cattle to the border, Kane and Leonard manage to get them on an train and then on trucks to the meet-up point, of course, cheating their way out of having to pay considering that they have exhausted all resources and have yet to hear back from their employers.  Yet, a chance encounter with Stretch allows for Kane to get some of his money back, as well as discovering the location of Garrett's hotel.  Kane exacts some justice to get his money back, although it proves a bit futile because Garrett too has taken a hit due to quarantine regulations.  Ultimately, the pair of Kane and Leonard are shown awaiting a train to return home, defeated and broke, embracing what very little hope they have entirely in the strength of their relationship.

So while I am not overly thrilled by this movie and am quite frustrated by its genre execution, I am quite adoring of the commentary it is trying to bring forth, primarily the manner with which modernity has alienated the cowboy identity.  Kane is a person who expressly explains his own ignorance, often shying away from lengthy talks or shuffling about his engagements with brokers.  We are shown Kane engaging with a bank executive with such shyness and awkwardness one is led to believe that, psychologically speaking, Kane might be suffering.  Of course, he proves later to be rather adept and quite smart, it is simply a fear for the modern and non-traditional that troubles him.  This is further explained in his his encounters with the livestock auction.  Kane's unable to sell his horses because of some unusual blood issue that has resulted in their being quarantined, although the narrative seems to suggest that they will be fine upon release it is simply a precaution, if an excessive one at that.  The notion of modernity slips in here because Kane, a man who seems to come from a world of bartering and handshakes is baffled by such an precaution, especially since everything seems to suggest that the horses will be fine, perhaps only a decade earlier such paranoia would not have led to their unnecessary quarantine, instead; an agreement to take the horses on loan would have been worked out until they were healthier.  Furthermore, Kane clearly moves through a modernized world of drive-thrus and hotel swimming pools as an outsider, beautifully composed shots of Kane in the foreground, donning his sweat drenched cowboy hat are juxtaposed with children jumping in and out of a pool, Kane's refusal to move into this world, literally marking him as different and suffering as a result.  Of course, this is not to suggest that all of Kane's attachment to the past is to be embraced, in fact, his traditionalism also seems to afford him a belief system that degrades and others the Mexican community he encounters, talking in a foolish form of Spanglish and rejecting the food offered to him by a group he deems fit to dismiss.  In this case modernity has allowed for the advancement of a people and a huge boost in their own self-worth wherein Kane's refusal to adapt is ignorant and self-involved.  Perhaps the best moment of proper rejection on Kane's part comes after his semi-beatdown of Garrett. Kane understands that no amount of traditional talk will allow him to get to Garrett's wallet, therefore, he chucks the hotel television out the window, both a rejection of technology, as well as the reliance on such devices that Garrett and others seem to have.  Finally, it is implied at both Kane and Leonard, in all his city slicker glory, are the last vestiges of traditional western identity and as such desire to ride off into the sunset, but as the closing suggest modernity demands that they wait on a train in order to do so.

Key Scene:  The hotel beatdown is fun and one of the few moments that is acceptable as being played comedic.

I would discourage you from seeking this film out, despite its set of excellent elements they simply do not add up to what one would assume to be brilliant filmmaking.  There are other westerns, other Newman performances and certainly other Malick films well worth checking out instead.

It's Easier To Pull The Trigger Than Play Guitar: Desperado (1995)

It is only fitting to include this hyper neo-western on my viewing docket for the month, because, after all it is a complete embracing and rejection of the traditional western that preoccupies itself with white, male issues and often passively incorporates Mexican characters as a means to create narrative cohesion, usually in an exploitative manner, reflect on my recent discussion of Rio Bravo for an example.  While the character of Carlos is certainly not out-and-out exploitative, one cannot help but question his relevance to a plot aside from filling a narrative gap.  What one is provided with in Desperado is a complete and highly visceral consideration of the experiences of, next to Native American persons, the most othered bodies within the traditional western, the Mexican/South American identity.  Robert Rodriguez's pseudo-sequel to El Mariachi (A film I absolutely adore) Desperado is in some ways better than its predecessor, while also lacking a considerable amount of its gritty low-budget honesty.  Robert Rodriguez, much like his filmic compatriot, Quentin Tarantino creates films that are so heavily invested in multiple genres and references as to almost not be any specific style, yet the nature of Desperado is, if anything, wholly a western that also happens to be a film about the drug trade.  Desperado stands as an excellent reminder that Tarantino, while a rebel and provacateur of a filmmaker, does not exist on a spectrum all his own, and very much exists in the same world as Rodriguez.  In fact, I know this will seem sacrilege to fans of this style of film, but in many years in which the two have released films in the same relative space, I would contest that Rodriguez has offered the better product.  Rodriguez, unlike Tarantino, manages to continually surprise, such was the case with Machete, a film I dismissed only to find it absolutely engaging and appropriately excessive.  Desperado is a cinematic fiesta that is tightly paced, while being slow and introspective when necessary, borrowing from a melodramatic tradition integral to Spanish cinema, while also embracing the b-movie world where Rodriguez clearly learned his film language.  Many genres formulate, instersect and explode on the screen in one of the globe's most criminally underrated auteurs work.  I would call Desperado a minor Rodriguez film, but even that makes it stand far above its counterparts.

Desperado preemptively follows the character of El Mariachi (Antonio Banderas), I say preemptively because he is introduced through a tale told by barfly and "brother" of El Mariachi Buscemi (Steve Buscemi) who informs a local bar, that is a knowing front for corruption and drug trafficking about his presence and killing at another bar, particularly his unusual means for carrying weapons via a guitar case.  El Mariachi is introduced within the context of a performance, one that is excellent, but goes unappreciated by the mostly white patrons.  As a result, El Mariachi goes on a quest to end the evil reign of Bucho (Joaquim de Almeida) whose evil ways have led to a border town turning into anything but habitable.  El Mariachi moves about the town, almost like a shadow, searching for Bucho and destroying all those who seem to get in his way, yet viewers are also provided a glimpse into the world of Bucho as he ruthlessly exploits everyone around him, regardle
ss of loyalty or family ties.  When El Mariachi finally discovers the bar which much of the trafficking takes place it results in an intense shootout with countless deaths.  During his retreat from battle El Mariachi is chased by one of Bucho's men and shot, only to be rescued and nursed back to health by bookstore owner Carolina (Salma Hayek) who sees El Mariachi as a hero her town desperately needs.  After engaging in a fiery night of passion El Mariachi uses information provided by Carolina to hunt down Bucho, only to discover that he has implemented every single member of the community into his drug ring, including children and even Carolina, using a back room of her bookstore to hide drugs.  Initially furious at the discovery, El Mariachi attempts to take on Bucho's men alone, a task that proves troublesome at first, especially when he is simultaneously attacked by the elusive and seemingly non-partisan Navajas (Danny Trejo).  Eventually, El Mariachi gets Bucho in his scope with a chance to kill him, which leads to the realization that Bucho is his brother, causing him to hesitate in his attack, much to the anger of Carolina.  After stepping over his fraternal boundary issues, El Mariachi recruits the help of his band, whose instrument cases also double as weapons, to take on Bucho's men and eventually Bucho, which is yet another bloody affair, although both El Mariachi and Carolina survive, and even if it is tumultuous the closing scenes suggest that their relationship will do the same.

Desperado, as noted in the opening paragraph, is a film that not only rejects white patriarchy and its power within the western genre, but turns it inside out, in fact, reversing the entire notion of who controls the space of the western, especially in a post-colonial world.  While Rodriguez's films would certainly evolve to consider the issues of navigating a border in a post-9/11 world, Desperado does not have the same concern, because its presence right in the middle of the 90's proved to be a culturally diverse and open to exploration.  Rodriguez however is not idyllic or optimistic about this sort of movement between borders, because as he sees it through the narrative of Desperado, the movement is only that of white tourists coming in and invading the cultural spaces of Mexico.  Think of the particularly frustrating scene involving a few American tourists critiquing Cheech Marin's character and his methods of bartending.  Granted, he is a terrible bartender, but their dismissal is based entirely on their constructions of American service industries.  Similarly, Rodriguez dismisses the carefree evasive attitudes of spring break college kids who move into Mexico expecting it to instantly become a party palace for their every whim and completely void of the violence and despair present in many border cities.  I know that it might seem as though such a set up would absolutely undermine the possibility for any tropes being discussed, but that is far from the case.  The idea of the "stranger" is quite prevalent in the western genre, however, it usually involves a dark, mysterious individual coming into a town and while El Mariachi certainly serves as the first example of this within Desperado, he is also not the stranger, especially since he is the person with whom viewers are to share with experientially.  Instead, Rodriguez has the moments of white invasion serve as a sort of example of how the stranger really exists within contemporary Mexico, especially when they double as a former colonizer.  The white bodies, including Buscemi to a degree, move through the space as though it is their own, while also fearing every alley.  In fact, I would say that the entire opening scene to this film sets up Rodriguez's idea of what non-Mexican bodies represent to the Mexican cultural community and, trust me, it is far from endearing.

Key Scene:  The big bar shootout is action scene magic

This is a cheap film to obtain and probably less recognized than it should be.  I would suggest picking up the bluray double pack paired with Rodriguez's earlier film El Mariachi.

If They Don't Offer Us Justice, Then They Aren't Laws: Machete (2010)

A blind buy through and through, I had very little in the way of expectations for this relatively recent Robert Rodriguez helmed film, despite being quite adoring of El Mariachi and rather embracing towards his From Dusk Till Dawn, during my Halloween marathon.  I am rather certain that much of this preconceived notion towards this film exists in it coming out during a time when I was still entrenching myself within a certain degree of cinematic pretension, only viewing the established classics and barely making room for any film with an established cult status that was not also part of the canon.  Of course, as I noted earlier I absolutely adored El Mariachi and must simply have not made the connection while this film was originally making its way through theaters, for which I am quite regretful, considering that Machete is a bit of absurdist cinematic brilliance that one could and really should only expect from Robert Rodriguez.  Knowing everything I could no about the film going in, I was not prepared for two things, first being the magnificent bit of over-the-top acting on the part of Robert De Niro who both plays against his typecast, as well as into it when it proves beneficial.  Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I did not expect Machete to be such an astute reflection on the  state of immigration in The United States, especially considering that this film is pushing the discussion to the forefront well before it became a popular topic in last years elections, as well as an underlying theme within Casa De Mi Padre, perhaps the most overlooked comedy of last year.  Of course, one cannot overlook Rodriguez's clearly vested interest in such a subject, especially since border crossing has undoubtedly proved to be a theme within so many of his earlier works.  Regardless, the ways in which the maniacally driven director incorporates the best and worst of both sides of the trafficiking and sneaking between borders into a film that clocks in under two hours is to be praised and shared, hell, I would have to revisit the directors works, but as it stands this could well be my new favorite work by Rodriguez.

Machete follows, all be it somewhat loosely, the experiences of ex-federal agent Machete Cortez (Danny Trejo) a vengeful Mexican man whose dead wife fuels such an impassioned desire for revenge that he proves a nearly unstoppable force.  However, Machete's world is a tricky one considering that he has lost his status as a federal agent as is subsequently given the status of a Mexican citizen, making even the thought of crossing the border illegal.  In fact, his only source of forward momentum appears to come from Luz (Michelle Rodriguez) a food truck vendor who also appears to be running an underground Mexican rights group cleverly named Shé.  The border also proves a treacherous place regarding drugs and the trafficking of any illegal substance, much to the apparent disapproval of one Michael Booth (Jeff Fahey) who hires Machete to exact an assassination attempt on the hyper-racist politician John MacLaughlin (Robert De Niro).  However, it is during this assassination attempt that Machete discovers he is simply being placed on a rooftop as a scapegoat for a larger political action with some intense ties.  Fortunately for Machete, Booth's drug consuming daughter April (Lindsay Lohan) is more than an easy target and actually serves as a point of blackmail against Booth on the part of Machete.  Within this already twisted web, Machete also encounters Sartana (Jessica Alba) a fiery customs officer with a lot to prove and while the two initially butt heads, they eventually become romantically involved.  Finally, the infamously mythic anti-immigration vigilante Von Jackson (Don Johnson) plays a huge part into the plot as he is a person whose gun seems to do his talking, not to mention his having close ties with the controversial MacLaughlin.  In fact, it is MacLaughlin who is injured at the border between Mexico and the United States leading to his being killed by the very vigilantes whom he associates with, all the while Machete survives the insanity and is assumedly to return for more violence at a later time.  A convoluted plot without a doubt, but one cannot forget its inherent ties to the exploitation genre, not to mention its clear consideration of the immigration issue.

Rodriguez seems quite intent on harping on the issue of immigration, not only as a problem in which American officials are ignoring a human rights issue, but also a narrative chiefly concerned with drawing attention to Mexican citizens own willful involvement in the continual exploitation of their peoples.  Characters like Machete, Sartana and Luz clearly exist to battle the injustices occurring on both sides of the border, while pretty much every other person in the cast of characters exists to show one of the many barriers or complexities existing as a means to defeat the possibility of a free flowing border.  Of course, drugs are a huge portion of this narrative, particularly the means with which they cause oppressed individuals within America, in this case the powerless April, to become addicted and, subsequently, involved in the oppression of Mexican citizens tied into the trade involuntarily.  MacLaughlin and Jackson represent figures of ivory tower privilege who see the "illegals" crossing the border as invaders of some glorified vision of America as a puritanical place of perfection, in which every job is to be possessed by a hard working citizen of The United States, yet Rodriguez is brilliant in showing that it is perhaps the lack of ethics concerning labor as a means of earning a living that is most troubling Americans (opening up an undeniable Marxist approach to this film that is best suited for another day).  In fact, Luz's attempts to properly make a living, including obtaining papers and a clientele are equally criticized, not because she is doing so illegally, but because she is engaging in the public sphere as a woman as a person of color.  It is no accident that Sartana constantly criticizes her, because their dueling identities as women of color prove to be a point of distrust as opposed to unity, due to the fact of internalization.  This idea of internalized oppression helps to understand the seemingly implicit role the Mexicans in the narrative play in their own inability to prosper, they have grown to fear the MacLaughlins and Jacksons of the world, when in reality as the closing scenes show, when the roles are reversed identity politics become quite arbitrary.

Key Scene:  Granted De Niro plays a bad guy, but it is such an absurd performance that anytime he shows up it proves to be one of the highlights of an already excellent film.

Buy a copy.  While I have a DVD version, it is vibrant and lively enough that I imagine paying an extra buck for the bluray version is more than worth it.

All This Just So Daddy's Little Girl Can Score A Dime Bag: Casa De Mi Padre (2012)

When I see Will Ferrell's name attached to anything, I, like most people, assume at the very least that his performance will prove funny, even if the rest of the movie falters and never really manages to find its grounding, this was certainly the case with Old School and a ton of other comedies involving the well-established funny man.  However, I remember seeing passing trailers and hints at the absurdity that was to be an almost all Spanish language film in which Ferrell, a decidedly not Spanish actor would play the lead.  The absolute brilliance of such a film, both conceptually and risky could not be ignored, yet it seems as though the movie came and went with little or no noise whatsoever, probably due entirely to the fact that anybody who were to attend this film would be subjected to reading subtitles, a veritable death sentence to assuring sales, particularly in regards to American comedy.  Yet, Ferrell, as well as the remainder of his cast, many of which are well-established Spanish speaking actors, provide for a thoroughly hilarious film that is as post-modern as they come and almost appears to be in the vein of a Tarantino film, although in the case of this film, it does not have the underlying hipness and relies solely on absurdity...to some degree satirizing the overly aggressive stylized nature of both action films and old school spaghetti westerns.  The film, Casa de mi Padre, directed by long time Saturday Night Live writer Matt Piedmont, provides a complete undermining of what viewers have come to accept as visually consumable comedic film, while also reinforcing some of the traditional tropes and absurdities. Where I found Casa de mi Padre to be somewhat out of the ordinary was within its rather serious considerations of what it was satirizing and the methods by which it was doing so, specifically in its use of humor to consider the troubles of a transnational border trade and the manner with which language barriers affect its success, as well as how failures to communicate challenge its suppression.  Undoubtedly, much of this films assured production must have laid in the hands of one Will Ferrell and its passionate execution, should be, to some degree, credited to its main actor.

Casa de mi Padre focuses on the initially simpleton lifestyle of ranchero Armando Alvarez (Will Ferrell) who desires to make the best of his families land and longs to find companionship with a woman who shares his feelings.  While his father Miguel Ernesto (Pedro Armendariz Jr) seems to dismiss his every action and thought as stupid, due heavily to blaming Armando for his wife's death, Armando nonetheless takes life with strides and lives by his promise to keep his name honorable.  However, with the return of the family's prodigal son Raul (Diego Luna) and his fiance Sonia (Genesis Rodriguez) things in the world of Armando Alvarez quickly become altered, due to a combination of his own burgeoning feelings for the extremely attractive Sonia, as well as a realization that his brother is tied into the drug trade across The United States and is quickly becoming enemies with Onza (Gael Garcia Bernal).  To make matters much worse, Armando and his family become the point of attack by government officials who see them as central figures in the trafficking of drugs, this operation is led by a hyper-patriotic "American" speaking officer named Greg Parker (Nick Offerman).  While Armando pleads with his brother to extract himself from the life of drugs and violence it is not until a violent shootout on the day of Raul and Sonia's wedding which results in Miguel's death that any serious thought is taken on ending the tragic lifestyle, which of course means that they must take down Onza a task which results in a huge shootout and the death of Raul.  This death while, unfortunate, affords Armando the means to create a relationship with Sonia, one that allows him to exact revenge on his mother's attempted racist and take down corrupt American drug agents.  Also at some some point in time a Bengal Tiger plays into the plot, but that is just one of the many extra elements to a heavily packed non-traditional comedy.

So if this is a comedy can one really take anything it is saying about the American-Mexican drug trade with any level of seriousness, perhaps not, yet the level of detail placed on considering the rhetoric of those involved as well as the misunderstandings of the lesser persons involved in such a world cannot be overlooked.  Agent Greg Parker beautifully represents the trouble of illogically conservative individuals blaming Mexico for their drug problems, as opposed to considering the social breakdown in America leading to young children desiring to get high, it is a classic example of wrongfully placed blame, in this case by Americans onto Mexicans for their inability to end drug use.  Similalry, we are provided a dueling vision of The United States via brothers Armando and Raul, one seeing it as a glorious place of golden paved streets and endless dreams, while the other deems it a filthy place full of terrible persons that act like children, of course, neither is completely right or wrong in their claims, yet they both fail to consider how their own country has its share of problems, many of which are eerily similar.  This is where language seems to emerge as a point of criticism, the assumptions shared by both groups seem to be based on their inability to explain certain ideas or notions, outside of their cultural context and it is not until Armando shares a conversation with another agent at the end of the film that both sides realize that much of their disdain and contempt for the other side is grounded in stereotypes and lies promoted by higher forces.  There is also a considerable amount of the narrative focused on honor and sacrifice, and a suggestion that both values are necessary to assure safety and civility in one of the most tenuous yet seemingly crossable borders in the world.

Key Scene:  There is a moment where Will Ferrell literally shows his ass multiple times and it proves to be a laugh out loud moment during a generally funny film.

This is yet another reward from the Watch Instantly category as I attempt to wrap up some of the missed films of the year.  It is great and certainly worth checking out and I am ashamed it did not receive more hype upon release.

I Think We Both Have A Light In Our Stomachs: Goon (2012)

Another one of the films that technically borders on the line between being counted as a 2011 or 2012 release, this sports comedy falls in the later by a matter of seven days, and is yet another one of the films  that seems to be receiving a lot of hype as 2012 wraps up, particularly since this movie seems to have come and gone with little or no noise whatsoever.  I will admit that much of my ignoring of this film exists solely because it involved Sean-Williams Scott, who I had dismissed as one of the many members of the American Pie series.  However, my recent, somewhat favorable review, of the film had me reconsidering what value the typecast Scott might have, particularly in such a unique film.  Furthemore, the brief reviews and mentions I glanced at before watching this comedy, seemed to really emphasize how out of the norm Scott's performance proved to be, not to mention some rather excellent offerings from Liev Schreiber and Eugene Levy as well.  I could attempt to tell you that this is a film about hockey, and that it is a well-written, all be it incredibly raunchy comedy, however, I am quite concerned that explaining that will do little to cause you to want to see the film.  If we are being honest, few sports comedies manage to transcend their focused audience, and when they do it is because they really are not sports comedies at heart, take Talladega Nights for example.  Goon contests what narratives and images can occupy a sports comedy and manages to do so with a zeal and vigor so perfected that I often thought I was watching Major League.  Now I will admit, certain of the dismissive condemnation I may receive from some, that I have never seen Slap Shot, which could well affect my immediate liking of this work, however, should I get around to watching that I will keep Goon in mind whilst creating a review.  At the moment, Goon stands to be a considerably enjoyable movie, with just enough of a heart beat not to be middle of the road, hell if I were to ever create a top ten sports comedies list there is a pretty good chance that it could sneak onto the list.  Goon is no Caddyshack, but its hard hitting style should not be overlooked.

Goon centers primarily on the experiences of Doug Glatt (Sean-Williams Scott) a super-kind, if not a bit brain damaged, bar bouncer whose life seems headed nowhere fast, much to the condemnation and dissaproval of his adoptive Jewish parents Dr. Glatt (Eugene Levy) and his wife Mrs. Glatt (Ellen David).  If it were not for the endearing support and admiration of his foul mouthed friend Pat (Jay Baruchel) it would seem that Doug would have little of value to push him through his meaningless days, however, during a minor league hockey game, Doug attacks a player who comes into the audience hurling homophobic slurs, as he sees them as a direct insult to his gay brother.  This trouncing of a brutish hockey player causes him to catch the eye of a minor team that hires him to be their goon, eventually leading to his being moved up one division higher to protect a hyper-paranoid wunderkind named Xavier LaFlamme (Marc-Andre Grondin) who has been off his game since receiving a concussion from league bully Ross Rhea (Liev Schreiber).  At first, Doug's concern for friendliness and  simple-mindedness seem destined for failure, yet after a few moments of dumb luck and the eventual support of an intimate partnership with a newly found girlfriend named Eva (Alison Pill) things finally come together for Doug.  This journey still takes time, however, especially since Xavier is initially jealous of his loss of respect on the team, however, once he realizes that Doug only seeks to assure the larger teams success he and the team come around to Doug's place as a goon, as well as a hockey player.  Of course, the emergence of Doug as a new superstar is not complete until he faces of with Ross Rhea, which serves as the films climax, an intense fight, not of violence means, all though it is quite bloody, but one that passes the metaphorical torch from the old school bruiser to the young goon.  It is done out of respect, so much so that Ross demands that the referees stay out of the way.  Doug eventually lands a devastating blow to Ross, despite taking heavy damage himself and we are shown his team scoring the necessary goals to make it to the playoffs.

Sports movies often lack considerable critical depth beyond promoting an underdog story of sorts and this fact is extended exponentially when considering sports comedies, which possess heavy amounts of satire, yet Goon is so unusual in the ways with which it deals with Doug's evolution and growing up that it is a very backhanded bildungsroman of sorts, in so much as it is as much about the underdog proving himself, as it is about Doug creating his self-identity and learning to navigate the world around him.  In one of his conversations with Pat, a disparaged Doug admits to desiring to find the one thing that makes his life worth anything, which he accomplishes via being a bruiser for a semi-professional hockey team.  His identity is not solely formed by this experience alone though, much of his evolution occurs with his initially problematic relationship with Eva, who must break-up with her boyfriend to be with her new found love, of course the veritable nice guy, Doug overs his cheeks to Eva's ex who bludgeons him in frustration.  In this moment, Doug learns when to accept punishment, something he had been giving out up until this point.   Also, one could agree that travel is a very large part of formulating one's experiences and is quite often present in the traditional bildungsroman and it is certainly something that Doug engages in during the narrative, both moving between borders of national creation as well as spaces in which he is welcome and unwelcome, at times by his own accord, while at others as a result of external forces.  Combining these things together, one cannot ignore the evolution Doug goes through within this rather fast-paced film and what could seem like ninety minutes of punches and curse words actually is a well thought out study of a person's coming of age story, even if it is a bit late in the game.

Key Scene:  The final fight scene between Doug and Ross is legitimately on a cinematic level equal to that of Raging Bull.

Yet another offering via Netflix you should do yourself a favor at watch this soon, perhaps with some friends as a few cold Canadian beers.