The Universe Is Endless, The Brave Are Always Searching: Once A Thief (1991)

Though he has rarely received mention here on my blog, I adore John Woo.  I should be clear though, I adore the John Woo that existed prior to Broken Arrow, which has proven to be the demise of his career.  In terms of Hong Kong Action Cinema, nay all of action cinema, Woo is the premier player in what it means to make an exceptional film.  Having been fortunate to encounter Woo's Hardboiled rather early on in my endeavor to be a cinephile, his style and cinematic structure has always been an ideal point and though it is clearly not one loved universally, like de Palma or Pasollini it is almost immediately recognizable, for its washed out and soft lit nature.  It is tough to differentiate some of the works from his most productive years, say 1986-1991, because they almost all deal with a disillusioned cop coming to rediscover their passion and identity by way of challenges from an equally positioned criminal.  The process as scholars have noted is not the simple homosocial bond at work when the cop and criminal confront, but one more deeply invested in fraternal confrontation.  As such family and other factors are always at the forefront of Woo's work, either directly evoked or ever so subtly implied.  In something like Once A Thief it manages to do both magnificently, looking both at the relations of a trio of street orphans turned art thieves, while also suggesting that their relationships, though unique, can be switched, manipulated and extended outward when necessary.  Furthermore, because it is an action film, Woo always seems to evoke a certain degree of celebration in the perfected male body, one that clearly borrows from kung fu films of decades earlier, yet in a knowing way the narrative subverts even these ideals and shows that degrees of ability and perfection are not quite as intertwined as imagined.  I would never leap to the suggestion that Once A Thief is a masterwork of John Woo's career highpoint, but considering how exceptional his output was during this era, to call this lesser is to still place it miles above its contemporaries and certainly shades and entire colors different from his post United States work.  Also, though he is always keen on the use of music in his films, the particular soundtrack for the film by Violet Lam is incredibly fitting, flittering between shades of Hong Kong bar jazz and synthesizers giving the whole film the feel of something form the world of Michael Mann.  As I am sure I have made abundantly clear, I could ramble about Woo for days, but frankly he deserves that kind of devotion.

Once A Thief, as noted, focuses not on a singular thief, but a set of thieves who make their living stealing art.  The group consists of the rambunctious and flippant Joe (Chow Yun-Fat), the stoic, but definitively opinionated James (Leslie Chung) and Cherie (Cherie Chung) the romantic interest of both men, as well as the cohesion to the groups somewhat wild methodologies.  Finding themselves fresh off of a major heist in Paris, Joe and James agree to settle down and remove themselves from the heist business, much to the pleading of Cherie.  However, when the group is offered two million dollars and a considerable amount of bragging rights to steal a painting from a well-guarded castle they prolong their retirement and are successful in their theft.  Yet, the aftermath leads to a car chase and in the process Joe is injured in a kamikaze-like wreckage, leading to his being paralyzed from the waist down.  Initially, James and Cherie believe Joe to be dead and continue on their life together, entering into a relationship and stepping out of world of heist considerably.  However, when it is revealed that Joe is indeed still alive the group dynamic change, as Joe tempts James back into the business, while also causing Cherie to reconsider her marriage.  Yet, Joe's immobility means that initially he must use wit as a method to gain information, passing his disability off as something that gains him access to bidding parlors, where he can confront his wrongdoers as well as elicit information to aid in their theft.  Cherie even partakes in the process using her female traits to seduce a higher ranking museum owner into dancing, quickly stealing a key to have James make a print.  This all occurs with a backstory that acknowledges the double upbringing of the trio, one that is headed by the violent and negative figure of Chow (Kenneth Tsang) who used their youth to exploit his own gains and the far friendlier cop Chu (Kong Chu) who teaches them to be productive citizens, although they still stray the way of thievery.  However, what ultimately commences is a confrontation between the trio and their respective paternal figures, one that is heavy in shootouts, fighting and aggression.  In the process Joe reveals just how non-limiting his disability is and helps to ward off their challengers, retaining a safe space and seeming intent to return to a life of normalcy, one that is might still involve an occasional art heist.

So if Woo's action cinema is about spectacle, what does one take as the point of most spectacular engagement.  The obvious answer here might be the feats of heroics and athleticism that are generously inserted throughout the film, whether it be Joe dancing in a wheelchair, or the taut and frankly quite thrilling retrieval of the painting perched above the electrical floor.  These moments are great and from a filmmaking standpoint evoke all the necessary points to be deem thrilling, but I would argue that the real spectacle at play in Woo's film comes by way of performing and engaging in symbolic roles which take with them various social stigmas and presumptions.  From the earliest point, the problematic relationship with authority that the trio possess seems almost entirely rooted in their troubling relationship with the aggressive Chow, whose father status is never questioned in the minds of the group, yet his awfulness is wholly acknowledged.  Indeed, it makes the emergence of Chu all the more curious, because despite their dismal living state, they are initially hesitant to leave Chow, because they associate him with provisions such as food and shelter (even if minimal).  It is not until Chu buys them food that their understanding of his role alters.  Indeed, this occurs to further extent when Cherie is navigating the relationships between Joe and James seeing the former as a point of desire that acts like a brother, where as she sees James as a brother who is acting like he is worthy of romantic affection.  It is not until Joe is deemed non-existent that Cherie change her frame of reference, although the narrative makes its situational elements clear and certainly affirms this when Cherie leaves James to be with Joe in the end of the film, at least in an emotional sense, because Cherie is pregnant with James's child.  The result is some bizarre triple space of paternal and maternal and a maternally acting paternal figure that is more joke than reality, although such a presence undoubtedly occurred in Hong Kong at the time.  These are but a few of the layers of how things are performed and another layer could be added to how the idea of disability is performed in the film, but considering its integral nature of the narrative, spoilers will be avoided.

Key Scene:  The castle art heist is really gripping, more so than I am use to from Woo, particularly as is the case for hims moments that he plays up for humor.

This is a delightful addition to my Woo viewing cannon, but I will admit that it might be decidedly hard to come by so renting it or tracking it down alternatively might be ideal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do You Understand The Words That Are Coming Out Of My Mouth: Rush Hour (1998)

It might be easy to declare Rush Hour the biggest stretch in the entirety of my kung fu marathon in that it declares itself rather openly to be an action film and has cemented itself as one of the contemporary classics in the field of buddy cop flicks.  However, it does include Jackie Chan as one of it its stars, there is a good bit of fighting throughout and it is so heavily drawing from the Hong Kong action cinema of the decade, which, in turn, draws upon kung fu films that it is almost possible to argue that this is the most obvious inclusion for the marathon.  I am sure prior to watching this film last night that I had seen Rush Hour in its entirety, but it would easily have been fifteen years ago at this point, when it was originally released so any sort of memories I had from the film had, undoubtedly, been influenced by its references in popular culture.  The most obvious of these being the line that I used in the title of this post.  Given that I am wildly critical about every piece of film I consume these days, including the lowest of art, I went into Rush Hour assuming that it would be particularly offensive in the way it portrays Asian, particularly Chinese, culture, exploiting it for its most basic elements and appropriating them to create a narrative deemed producer friendly.  Much to my surprise, Rush Hour manages to take its Chinese presence very seriously, using locations in Chinatown as they turly exist, as opposed to creating simulacra of the spaces to make them, again, more producer friendly.  Praising this element of the film does not mean that it is a work void of problems.  Where the narrative takes careful trides to avoid stereotypical imagery of Chinese people, it manages to undermine the notion of racial performance by writing Chris Tucker's character as an over-performance of the stereotypes of African-American masculinity, only to have Tucker play into these depictions through many of his acting choices.  This is, easily the most frustrating element of the film, but it does not run throughout, making particular moments of the movie exude excellent action choreography and relatively watchable cinematography for a late-nineties action flick.

Rush Hour begins in a Hong Kong setting, focusing on the skills of Chinese Special Investigator Lee (Jackie Chan), whose persistence and dedication to his job has stifled the criminal activities of infamous syndicate Sang (Ken Leung).  His job earns him the gratitude of China's consulate to the United States Han (Tzi Ma).  This respect, affords, him a chance to come to America when Han's daughter is kidnapped by Sang and his lackeys for ransom.  Meanwhile, Carter (Chris Tucker) is an undercover cop with the LAPD, whose reputation for wild field choices and general garrulous behavior lead to him being threatened with suspension if he does not get his act together.  When the FBI is placed on the case to find and save Han's daughter they are hesitant to involve Lee in their investigation, assuming he will be dead weight.  Upon his arrival, a frustrated LAPD chief assigns Carter to be the aid to Lee, taking him around Chinatown and distracting him from actually becoming involved in the investigation.  Feigning a lack of English skills, Lee quickly realizes that Carter is tricking him and escapes, arriving at the FBI safe point hoping to speak directly with Han.  After fighting off guards who assume he is one of Sang's men, it is revealed that the FBI had attempted to distract Lee, as well as Carter, to the frustration of both, as well as Han who feels betrayed by the FBI.  Still, the FBI assures Han that it is in his best interests to allow only their organization to handle the case.  Yet, when Carter and Lee realize they posses far more information about the case than anyone at the FBI they take it upon themselves to hunt down the persons involved in the kidnapping, eventually recruiting the help of another officer on the LAPD force Johnson (Elizabeth Pena).  After a failed attempt to rescue Han's daughter at the hideout of Sang and his men, the threats on the girl rise, as does the ransom demand, culminating at a huge Chinese art exhibit, where it is discovered that Han's daughter is hidden in a van with a vest of C4 strapped to her chest.  Furthermore, it is realized that the person funding the entire kidnapping ordeal was much closer to Han than any person could have imagined.  Nonetheless, Carter and Lee are successful, earning Lee a spot on his countries secret service.  Carter is begrudgingly offered a place on the FBI, to which he refuses, choosing, instead; to travel with Lee to China.

I want to get out the racial performance element before talking about one of the more positive aspects of this film.  There is a ton of dialogue which is delivered by Tucker that requires him to heighten his voice and play into a shucking and shuffling that would be more indicative of a minstrel show of years gone by, which, while not a sole occurrence in Hollywood at the time, nor in contemporary films, when it does emerge it is a particular point of frustration, because it is played for comedy and often consumed by audiences of multiple races.  Indeed, Spike Lee's incisive and scathing consideration of the African-American male body in entertainment that was Bamboozled dealt with this issue to its most extreme form, with the intent of noting that while it may not appear in the extremes of new age blackface the performance element was still present.  It is films like Rush Hour that Lee is clearly considering.  In an extension beyond the hyper critical in a negative, I want to critically approach the film for its use of language as a metaphor for learning friendship and bonding.  Both Lee and Carter are initially hesitant to embrace one another because of clear stereotypes they have about one another's cultures that extend beyond not only their nation, but race as well.  Indeed, they both assume a degree of a language barrier, wherein, Carter assumes that Lee cannot speak any English and takes it upon himself to yell repeatedly in hopes that some sort of rage will get Lee to understand.  Carter still entrenched in his single-minded attitude cannot fathom the possibility of learning a language to speak to Lee who he neither respects or admires.  It is, indeed, Lee who makes the first step toward a friendship by revealing his ability to speak decent English, a fact that causes Carter to begin losing his hermit shell and opening up to Lee as a friend and partner.  Interestingly it is when they realize that language affords them a shared experience through stories of their fathers that the two really seem to bond, other cultural elements such as music and food help, but not to the degree that this interaction does, pushing Carter from a space where he would ignore the safety of his partner for self-advancement, to sacrificing his body and safety for the survival of Lee.  This comes full circle in the final moments of the film, when Carter himself speaks Chinese, showing his willingness to fully embrace Lee as a friend.

Key Scene:  While there are some great moments in this film, it possesses what might be the best of the credits blooper reals, adding a surprising layer to the language reading in the film.

You have likely seen this film, in which case it is not really worth revisiting, however, it is a cultural staple and catching up with it, despite its problems, helps make one more versed in the beast that is a "popular" collective memory.

At Least Let Me Help You Start Your Motorcycle: Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior (2003)

I will admit that part of my reason for doing the kung fu marathon was to help piece together a blind spot in Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan films, because both of the stars are rather well known and necessary to a better understanding of global cinema.  Picking films like Enter the Dragon, or the upcoming Drunk Master were obvious choices and were obvious.  Another reason for doing this marathon was to undertake another film that I was ashamed to have yet to view, in the 2003 Thai martial arts film Ong-Bak.  Aside from the yet unviewed My Neighbor Totoro, this film, directed by Prachya Pinkaew stood in as one of my big shame spots when people ask me about big films that I have yet to see.  I know it is a relatively recent film compared to others and certainly does not have the status of a ton of other classics, but it is a work whose name often gets mentioned in cinephile circles as one of the masterpieces of the 21st century.  This claim is quite appropriate, because what Pinkaew offers in this is nothing short of a visceral, wild and highly post-modern martial arts film.  Indeed, when people claim that a director like Quentin Tarantino is the only one working in a referential methodology, needs to refer to this film, because it has all the tips of the hat to notable auteurs both distinguished and cult (Tati, Spielberg, and Bay come to mind), while also maintaining a distinguishable fresh and unique narrative. Ong-Bak looks and feels like a martial arts flick that is directed by somebody who clearly spent time in film school.  With a composition that, at times, taps into the serenity of a Satyajit Ray drama only to juxtapose it with a feverish editing style indicative of Fincher, Pinkaew makes a clear statement of a style and look of the martial arts film as it exists in the 2000's.  While I had sought Ong-Bak out for a considerable amount of time, it was actually not my first experience with the director, instead being fortunate enough to view Chocolate, which is certainly great, but does not manage the master stroke of this work.  The wild thing about everything I have said so far is that it only concerns how excellent the director is, I could speak at length about the wonder of lead actor Tony Jaa, who is, undoubtedly, the closest figure moviegoers can ever hope for to that of the late Bruce Lee.

Ong-Bak begins in the rural Thai village Ban Nong Pradu, where the villagers are undertaking an annual festival, one that includes a feat of athleticism where young men climb a tree to obtain a scarf, proving themselves the most skilled athlete.  This surprisingly dangerous and brutal endeavor allows for  the young Muay Thai expert Ting (Tony Jaa) to emerge as a winner, much to the elation of the village priests, although they warn him that his skills are meant to be a point of meditation and not a thing to be used in violence.  Meanwhile, a Bangkok crime henchmen named Don (Wannakit Siroput) attempts to purchase a jade buddha figurine from a local, hoping to return the piece, which is highly valued on the art market to his boss.  Yet, prizing the figurine for religious purposes, the villager refuses to sell the item, leading to Don and his men stealing the head of Ong-Bak, the villages prized buddha statue.  The removal of this head, causes the town to fall into panic assuming that the gods will thus be mad at them and punish them for allowing such atrocities to occur.  Realizing the seriousness of such issues, Ting volunteers to travel to Bangkok and return Ong-Bak, much to the elated hopes of the village.  Sent with money and gifts intended to help on his journey, Ting enters the wild and seedy world of crime that is Bangkok, immediately encountering a former member of his village who now calls himself George (Petchtai Wongkamlao) and his young friend Muay (Pumwaree Yodkamol) who are themselves hustlers within the underground fighting rings of Bangkok.  Initially dismissive of Ting, George realizes that Ting possesses considerable skills as a Muay Thai boxer and exploits it to pay off debts, with the promise of helping him find the Ong-Bak statue head he seeks.  What unfolds after this encounter is a movement through both the local and international levels of crime occurring in Thailand, whether it be directly related to the highly violent brawls that feed into gambling rings, or the heavy drug trafficking occurring in Bangkok.  Eventually, George turns a new leaf when he is inspired by the religious zeal of Ting and helps him to take on the highest boss in the Bangkok crime circles.  All the while Ting is required to prove his skill as a fighter, in engagements that become more brutal and damaging to his body.  In the end the two confront and defeat the boss, but this does not occur without a bit of divine intervention and loss, however, Ting is successful in his endeavor and returns home, to a celebration and what appears to be his anointing as a monk.

Ong-Bak, for being a film that is decidedly situated within the spaces of Thailand, is an expressly transnational work.  What makes it different from other works focused upon in this marathon so far, is that it is transnational both on a diagetic and non-diagetic level.  I mean to say that the landscape of Thailand, and Bangkok specifically, is one that is highly affected by a global culture, specifically a Westernized view of such.  Take for example George, who has appropriated a very Anglo name to lend credibility to his non-rural lifestyle, almost as though to suggest that he is Westerner by merely appropriating a name, however, he too changes hair color and clothing to better assert such a claim.  Still wearing a Buddhist prayer bracelet does, however, problematize the figure of George.  This transnationalism, however, is not most obvious in George, but is instead so in the fighting ring where Ting faces of against various fighters, some of who are Thai, but ones that are British, Japanese and apparently some form of Persian drunken pirate.  The spectators in this space are even more varied, including many Western bodies, as well as what appear to be African and Latin American bodies as well.  Thailand in the space of Ong-Bak has become a point of global spectacle, however, it is not for ideal reasons.  In Bangkok, according to Pinkaew's film, all is brutal, and all is tied to vice.  Yet, afforded the opportunity to speak to the global gaze that exacts itself upon Thailand, Pinkaew also uses the film to create a dialogue with other global filmmakers, whether it be the clear tips of the hat to the aforementioned filmmakers like Tati and Ray, or more subtle inclusions of posters for classic Hollywood faces like Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman.  It is clear through these references and moments of miss-en-scene that Pinkaew wants to make viewers aware that the cultural consumption goes both ways, and that for as much as Bangkok might seem like a place of violence and vice, it is lifted almost entirely from Western culture.  A decided big-dreamer, Pinkaew makes a bold assertion, when including a piece of graffiti in the background of one chase scene that reads "Hi Spielberg, Let's Do It Together."  In this minor moment, the filmmaker demands that global cinema could, and should, be a global engagement.  One could only imagine the wonder possessed in such a dynamic collaboration.

Key Scene:  The fight between Ting and a bad guy who I am dubbing Alex Rodriguez, considering his substance abuse problem, is an example of all the thrill and magic that makes the editing of Ong-Bak great, but his is only one moment of many where things work brilliantly.

Ong-Bak was made for high-defintion and a bluray is a must.

You Only Live For Tomorrow: The Man From Nowhere (2010)

One of the more interesting elements of engaging with this kung fu marathon was what I knew would be its affects on contemporary action films, particularly ones that are much more in line with the action/crime thriller than the special effects laden, high flying fight sequences of their predecessors.  While I could have picked from a variety of different Chinese films for this, I decided to branch out slightly and consider a film from South Korea, because, after all, it is my area of research interest and an excuse to catch up with yet another film I had been meaning to check out, this time Jeong-beom Lee's The Man From Nowhere.  I say it is only a slight departure from the Chinese films so far, in that it does indeed involve Chinese characters, despite its decidedly South Korean setting, although transnational narratives are far from unusual in South Korean cinema, or much of East Asian cinema for that matter, when one considers proximity and politics.  Despite all this I was quite hesitant to include The Man from Nowhere on this month of viewing, because for all intents and purposes it did not appear to be a kungfu film proper, nor even a film whose fight sequences exist with a martial arts based setting.  Yet multiple "top martial arts films" lists included this, which I felt justified its inclusion, and while  guns are uses in this film on a few occasions, I was quite happy to discover that this is, at its heart a martial arts action thriller, especially considering that when action does occur it often does involve a considerable amount of very intense and well-choreographed hand-to-hand combat.  Considering its contemporary style and the state of South Korean cinema, however, the fighting is not poetic or evocative of rhythmic dance, but is, instead; quite brutal and jarringly stripped of its stylized elements, drawing attention to the scars and aftermath of very real physical engagements.  Sure it is amazing to watch the protagonist deliver a viscerally filmed beat down, but it always follows with images that remind viewers of the physical tolls such brutality takes on the enemy, as well as the body of the hero.  It also does not hurt that The Man From Nowhere might be one of the best shot action films I have ever seen.

The Man From Nowhere, despite being a South Korean film, shies away from completely non-linear narration, excluding a few flashbacks, yet manages to provide a gripping story in the process.  The film primarily focuses on the drifter Cha Tae-sik (Bin Won) a pawnbroker, who seems entirely detached from the world around him, aside from a friendship he has formed with a young girl named So-mi (Sae-ron Kim) whose mother, a strung out heroin addict often abandons her to the streets in drug fueled indifference.  Content to exist as a pseudo-guardian angel to So-mi, Cha merely moves about his world, although when he fails to help her escape trouble with the cops she dismisses him and suggest that he is just as bad to her as the rest of the world.  It is revealed, however, that So-mi's mother has recently been involved in a high scale drug heist and upon failing to deliver the necessary goods becomes wanted by the mob, who take little time finding her and destroying her, also kidnapping So-mi in the process.  Cha, is also confronted by the mob, who want their drugs which have been hidden in an item So-mi has pawned.  When the mob members assume that Cha was involved and attack him, it is revealed that his fighting abilities are excellent, destroying one man while disarming another in seconds.  Word of this gets to the various higher ups and they enact a plan to exploit Cha for his skills with the false promise that he will be afforded the return of So-mi after a completion of the various tasks.  Unfortunately, as Cha realizes he is being played into part of a larger mob and police battle, landing himself briefly in jail, all the while worrying for he safety of Cha.  Upon escape through a bit of cleverness on Cha's part, he takes it upon himself to hunt down the mob, while the police discover that his skill set is the result of a past life in the Korean equivalent of the CIA, where he lost his pregnant wife in a hit put out by a mob member.  This insurmountable loss, helps to explain Cha's unchecked drive as he enters the mob's secret hide out, only to discover that they are exploiting young children for free labor in meth production and eventually trafficking them sexually.  Cha then loses all sense of self-control, killing all the mob members and destroying the lab, eventually chasing down the boss of the mob and shooting him in his car, all before finally discovering that So-mi is indeed safe.  The closing moments depict Cha playing father figure to the now parentless So-mi, before he heads off to jail for his necessary, albeit, illegal killing spree.

Ethics are a thing that play heavily into South Korean cinema and something that I have discussed ad nausea in relation to the countries contemporary cinema, whether it be in the misappropriation of meaning through religion in Secret Sunshine or the notion of justified revenge that exists in Sympathy for Lady Vengeance.  In these films and many others, it is clear that a moral compass is far harder to align than one might like to admit, and it would certainly seem to extend to the narrative space of The Man from Nowhere as well.  However, I would posit that, unlike the previously mentioned films, it is made quite clear that Cha and So-mi are good characters, whereas the mob boss and So-mi's mother are less so, although it does not justify the latter's brutal death in the slightest.  The police, perhaps serve as a bit more of a grey area in terms of ethical outlook, but they are certainly far from corrupt and are merely attempting to execute their jobs while working against an economically powerful and transnationally fueled crime syndicate, therefore, any interference, even in Cha's taking out of major figures, proves detrimental because it means they find themselves bogged down in paperwork and rediscovering leads.  Indeed, The Man from Nowhere plays out much more like a sporadic and intense game of chess than one of insidious warfare.  There seems to be a set of agreements about how events should occur, yet, what is less certain is how many individuals are playing in the game.  In this game, Cha is somewhat of a wild card, not because he acts in a counterintuitive manner, but because where the mobsters desire money and safety and the cops desire justice, Cha merely wants to assure the safety of So-mi at any cost, driven to act more violent as he comes to realize her chances at survival are dwindling.  Indeed, his breaking out of the jail is interesting, because he seems to understand that the cops are not terrible people, but, nonetheless, serve as a barrier to his ultimate concern, therefore, he maims them temporarily, as opposed to the mobsters whose exploitation of children and those without power is loathsome and deserved of death.  Indeed, by the end of this film I found myself drawing parallels to the killing spree enacted by Liam Neeson in Taken, although in every tangible and qualitative way The Man from Nowhere is a far better film than Taken, which I already adore greatly, I think that only speaks to the wonder in this recent South Korean masterpiece.

Key Scene:  In the case of this film it is a singe shot, which shows Cha after he has fallen out of a window only to land on a large net.  I let out a distinctive gasp of amazement, something that rarely occurs when I watch action films.

This is available streaming on Netflix and Hulu and I am sure it will look just fine, however, this bluray is beyond amazing and worthy of owning.  I waited with baited breath for Jeong-beom Lee's next offering.

There's A Rope Around My Neck Now And They Only Hang You Once: Little Caesar (1931)

If it were not for the western being probably the most identifiable in terms of recurring tropes, it would be easy to point to stylistic choices and narrative methodologies within films that one could define to be within the confines of the film noir genre.  Of course, there are some decidedly unique elements that arise almost entirely out of the genre, whether it be the femme fatale of the story, or the heavy use of shadows and other expressionist techniques to play upon the alienation and existential angst of the films less than ethical protagonists.  Yet, I am also aware that the label of "noir" can be attached to quite a few works that themselves, are not entirely of the genre, because as a friend of mine has stated, despite my constant attempts to explain to him the common tropes of noir, noir films are the one's where the guns always represent a penis.  Reductive I know, but rather poignant if I do say so myself.  Needless to say, while the film noir genre does owe its entirety to the hardboiled detective novel, it would not be the cinematic staple it has become in the film canon were it not for the decidedly engaging work of directors like Fritz Lang, who himself was making noir before the genre truly existed.  This is very much the case for director Mervyn LeRoy who directed Little Caesar along side six other films in 1931 alone.  While it is not entirely derivative of the genre, because the genre was not established, an individual with even a cursory understanding of the genre can easily pinpoint all of the tropes that would emerge within the genre, excluding one or two key elements that simply did not work within the crime thriller proper.  Indeed the moments of back alley chases and vague ethical frameworks, much like the shadows that have come to signify the noir film, creep into Little Caesar, consuming the ethical frameworks of the characters and the world they inhabit, and should anybody find themselves uncertain as to the genre making its name loudly in this film, I would only ask that you refer to every line of dialogue delivered and scowl directed by Edward G. Robinson.  In some ways, he is more the face of film noir than Humphrey Bogart could ever hope to be.

Little Caesar focuses on the movement from low-profile criminal to mob boss of one Rico (Edward G. Robinson) who would be referred to as Little Caesar, a name that gives much away in regards to plot.  Rico, a man who clearly expects to get his way, navigates the world with such a sense of guile and tenacity as to make a name for himself almost instantaneously.  Rico is very careful with who he trust in his life, placing almost all of his value in his mob pal Joe Massara (Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.), yet when Joe leaves the racket to pursue his passion in dancing, what little restraint Rico had concerning his ethics are thrown out the window.  Indeed, before Joe can leave Rico demands that he help stick up the club at where he works as a last gesture of friendship and as a means for Rico to make a considerable power grab within his own gang.  With Joe out of the picture, the other members of Rico's gang begin to question his supremacy and even take plan a hit on him, an action that Joe catches wind of and attempts to inform Rico before it occurs, but fails to do so in time.  Despite the hit still occurring, the men hired to take out Rico are less than proficient at their job and only manage to graze Rico, a mistake that leads to his immediate quest for revenge.  Of course, Rico realizes that the world of gangsterdom does have a degree of rules and responsibilities, therefore, instead of outright destroying his attackers, he decides to afford them a chance to flee in the night with an understanding that they will never step foot in the streets of Chicago again.  However, just because Rico feels it in his heart to adhere to the laws of the underworld, does not mean the same for those around him and when Joe's girlfriend comes to discover the tricky situation her lover has been placed in, she jumps at the chance to tell the police.  Rico realizing that Joe is a danger to his survival invades his home, planning to shoot him and escape himself, yet when given the opportunity, his years of friendship block his murderous intent.  Rico, now on the run from the cops fails to escape in time, instead being gunned down in a dockside warehouse, perhaps the most film noir death imaginable.

So since, I am positing this as being one of the first film noir works it is probably necessary to draw upon the ways it works within the context of the genre and the ways it counters it as well.  Firstly, the film is highly critical of moral certainty, indeed, going so far as to depict Rico not as a man who exploits the weaker in the world, an act that would become prevalent in later film noir works, perhaps most infamously involving an old woman and some stairs in Kiss of Death.  Rico does kill and harm people, but it is worth considering that the people who he attacks exist within the same seedy criminal world as he, and to a degree have forfeited a world of moral goodness involving an agreement that nobody is murdered.  As such, viewers are forced to accept Rico as the protagonist despite being a less than morally sound person, although, as noted, his bad traits are tame compared to some of the later noir works.  This moral ambiguity extends rather perfectly into another trope that emerges within Little Caesar, which is the existentialist nature of Rico as a character.  Existentialism posits that the world has no meaning, aside from that which you attach to it, therefore you are responsible only for your actions and how you navigate the world.  Rico is a prime figure in his existential outlook, indeed he navigates the world with a notable consideration for his own safety and self-advancement, so much so that his understanding of relationships all predicate themselves upon his desires.  He understands that to move through the world with a concern for the meaning others apply to their lives would mean making him weaker and less proficient in his crime boss role.  It is then interesting to consider that his ultimate demise comes when he fails to act on his own meaning and listens to the begging of Joe, whose life Rico spares in a moment of emotional shift.  These tropes are the highlights of this pre-noir masterwork,  as mentioned, it does lack a considerable femme fatale role, as does it miss a lot of the expressionist flare and psychoanalytic moments of later noir works, yet it is very much the precursor to one of the wildest of genres in all of cinema history.

Key Scene:  The close-ups during Rico's failure to murder Joe are astounding, the expressions Robinson delivers are jarringly haunting.

I was unaware that this was part of a larger box set upon my viewing of this.  I intend to grab up a copy in the upcoming weeks, it should prove well worth the investment.

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.

Nothing Is Beyond Money For You Robert, We Both Know That: Arbitrage (2012)

It is quite possible that if it were not for the existence of the wonderfully engaging and brilliantly disconcerting The Grey, that Arbitrage would stand to be the most underrated film of 2012.  In fact, it is no surprise that both films deal with similar philosophical issues, while simultaneously deconstructing the myth of unbridled masculine privilege.  One uses wolves and the cold, while the other uses financial stress and guilt to drive its point across, however, Arbitrage, unlike The Grey, commits to making sure its viewers understand the power and privilege that come with being rich, white and male, so much so that the film manages to almost cause a person to relate to a person who is completely engaged in terrible behavior.  It is a film that manages, to show both the glossy glamour of having such a sway in the daily lives of those below an individual, as to be able to mold and alter the world and those in it to bend at one's illogical and greedy will.  Director, and writer for the film, Nicholas Jarecki has managed to tap into everything that cinema has attempted to reject, while still managing to completely draw attention to its problems.  If the film were not so focused on the "idea" powerful character, I would be inclined to compare it to a Soderbergh film, especially, considering that it has the sort of dreary detachment from the characters, while also possessing an uncanny interest in their most arbitrary engagements.  Narratively speaking it is of the same vein as The Ides of March, a film from a year earlier, or, perhaps Michael Clayton, where, in both instances, George Clooney emerges as a man whose privilege allows him to do pretty much anything he needs in order to assure his safety and continued reign of power.  Arbitrage is much the same sort of film, however, it seems like Jarecki wants to remind viewers that in the case of this film, the privilege can only allow the main character so much access and his moments of having the upper hand will eventually falter, leaving him with nothing but his sense of momentary escape.  The pawns the formulate the other films of this nature are certainly present, however, by the films closing its is they who have come to realize their power in helping the king, if you will, win the game and their demands for providing such aid are more than reflective of knowledge about how much the king can truly provide.

Arbitrage follows the experiences of the incredibly successful financial broker and investment advisor Robert Miller (Richard Gere), as he is lining up to sell his brokerage firm to a buyer for a high profit.  However, slight problems emerge for Roger as he has managed to lose a considerable portion of his company's money to a ill-advised hedge investment in a Russian copper mine.  Fortunately, Robert has tons of friends in high places, therefore, allowing him to navigate through tax audits and various fraud inquiries with ease and lack of concern.  In fact, Roger is so aware of his safety that he openly lies to his daughter Brooke (Brit Marling) when she inquires as to the blatant financial discrepancies in their accounting records.  However, as he has just reached his sixtieth birthday and knows he has a successful retirement he engages in a party with his wife Ellen (Susan Sarandon) and acts completely disconnected from the illegal fraud he is engaged with for his soon to be sold business.  The story, however, also involves another degree of Robert's deception, particularly, when he steps out of his own birthday to engage in another evening with a woman named Julie (Laetita Casta) for whom it is suggested he has had a long standing affair.  It is not until Robert's buyer begins to get cold feet that he begins to worry, even going so far as to blow off an art opening for Julie to attempt to close the deal.  This decision leads to Julie becoming infuriated with him and ignoring him when he does arrive at her exhibit.  Nonetheless, Robert tracks her down later in the evening and apologizes, eventually getting Julie to agree to travel on the road for a few hours.  It is during this drive that Richard falls asleep at the wheel leading to a intense crash and the immediate death of Julie.  Frantic not for Julie's safety, but for the effects such an incident would have on his reputation, and, subsequently, his ability to close the sale, Robert takes advantage of the son of his former chauffeur Jimmy (Nate Parker) reminding the young man that it was he who helped pay for his father's expensive medical bills.  Robert attempts to completely cover up all possibilities of his involvement in the accident, he is met with opposition by Detective Bryer (Tim Roth) whose determination to prove that no man is above the law lead him to maniacally attack every course of option, even attempting to frame Jimmy with the hopes of causing him to snitch on Robert.  However, the film winds down, much as a chess game would, with defensive strategy and stalling, however, in the end the one with more in possession and a willingness to exploit others to his advantage always wins, and Arbitrage reminds viewers that this is no different, although the closing scenes certainly suggest that guilt becomes an intense burden.

Arbitrage is a film that brings to light the age old adage about power corrupting and absolute power corrupting absolutely.  I would love to say that Robert, as a character, comes to realize that he is a greedy and self-serving individual who understands that his terrible actions will eventually catch up with him, however, the film shows that an individual who absolutely ignores any sort of moral high road and throws his money in the right places can certainly get away with anything, including reckless endangerment to the point of involuntary manslaughter.  While the trailer for this movie uses the crash scene unapologetically, it really seems to be the driving force in this movie, prior to his accident, Robert was already walking on a very tight rope and when it breaks he is forced to put everything in front of him to soften the fall.  I mentioned the chess metaphor, because it works nicely to consider the way that "otherness" is a point of exploitation and oppression within this film.  Robert is able to put a person like Jimmy below him, because he clearly believes him to be of a lesser value than him in regards to human life.  Robert is a person of value who is self-assured to the point of hubris (going so far as to act unaware about what exactly as to what an "Applebee's is) whereas, Robert's blackness is often called to attention.  The scene where Robert's girlfriend, a woman of color, supports him, certainly plays into the degrees of intersectionality, which could be read as problematic, but considering the message of the film, it is clearly served up for ironic purposes.  Similarly, Robert seems to have no hesitations throwing his daughter, a woman, thus othered, under the bus in order to assure that he gets what he desires.  The magical moment comes when Ellen and Brooke realize that their two others can unite to attack the "self," Ellen and Brooke obtained their desired gains out of the process, lessening Robert, even if only to the slightest of degrees.  Furthermore, you could read Jimmy's obtaining of the money from Robert as his own victory, although it is absolutely clear that Jimmy's reward comes not from the economic gain, but from forcing Robert to acknowledge that they are now "even," or in a larger context equals.  Of course, these are all spoken affirmations and do nothing for the very real loss of Julie.  nonetheless, Robert is assumedly lesser privileged as a result, yet the film cleverly reminds us that even in that instance, Robert can still move through some pretty high places.

Key Scene:  The car crash is intense, even if you know it is coming, the degree with which the mood is heightened is filmmaking perfected.

This is a great film, I thoroughly enjoyed it, however, it is still a bit on the pricey side to purchase.  I would strongly urge renting it for the time being.

What Is Wrong Is Wrong, No Matter Who Said It: A Separation (2011)

I was a bit worried about including A Separation within this month, because aside from the few very captivating images I had seen during its Oscar win last year, I knew very little about it and was uncertain as to how heavily women would play into the narrative, a confusion that was not cleared up in the slightest by the presence of a plot synopsis, yet when my school decided to show its as part of their Middle Eastern Film Festival, I knew that I at the very least should check it out, at worst I would watch it and it would not apply to the blog for the month, yet, much to my elation, the film is very much concerned with women, both in context of contemporary Iranian society, as well as the manner with which they navigate spaces in culture and in film both in their presence and absence.  A Separation is a very deliberate, some would say contemplative film, about the nature of bureaucracy, truth and the foundations of religious identity, all issues seemingly key to Iranian cinema, although I am hesitant to say this with certainty, having really only seen Abbas Kiarostami films as a commentary on Iran.  It would be outright foolish to assume this to be the only image of Iran, much like saying only Kurosawa's vision of Japan is accurate, or to bring it closer to home, only Scorsese's image of America is honest.  An American would be quick to negate the urban landscape within Scorsese's films as a full reflection of The United States.  Of course, this is simply an aside, because much of Iranian cinema is inaccessible or has faded into obscurity, so Western film critics must draw from what is available and, perhaps in the future, more will make its way to a global audience.  With all of this in mind, I must consider A Separation as some degree of a reflection of contemporary, at least urban, Iranian society, after all it, was the film submitted to the Academy of Motion Pictures for Foreign Language Film and managed to win it as well.  I do not claim to understand the intricacies of gender politics as they relate to Iran, but I would be willing hedge a bet on this film representing them with some degree of accuracy, particularly in the materialist feminist consideration of gender/property oppression that emerges within the narrative.  Possessing a decidedly vague ending, A Separation, nonetheless, appears to hold optimism as its central ideology.

A Separation begins with a divorce hearing between separated couple Nader (Payman Maadi) and Simin (Leila Hatami) who are told that they will find themselves incapable of divorcing unless they can agree to terms, one of which centers around the movement of their daughter Termeh (Sarina Farhadi) out of the country, a decision that Nader flat out refused to agree to, and seems to be the main point of divide between the couple.  Simin seems intent on leaving with the family, but Nader refuses any possibility, almost entirely because of his Alzheimer's ridden father's immobility.  Simin, while understanding the tragedy of the situation, nonetheless, extracts herself from the situation, leading to Nader needing to hire an employee to take care of his ailing father while he is at work.  Finding reluctant help in Razieh (Sareh Bayat) Nader continues with his work, yet when Razieh claims that she cannot continue working, due to the religious issues with needing to bath the ailing man, Nader decides to consider her offer of allowing her unemployed husband to do the work instead, however, her husband Hojjat (Shahab Hosseini) has ties to creditors that keep him occupied, leading to Razieh returning as hospice.  This occurs a bit longer, until one day Nader returns home from picking up Termeh to find the house locked.  Frantically navigating the house, he discovers his father to be tied to the bed and passed out on the floor, only moments away from dying.  Furious at Razieh he berates her upon his return and assumes her to also be guilty of stolen money, leading to him forcefully pushing him out of his apartment, in the process Razieh apparently slips down a few slick stairs, leading, Nader later discovers, to a miscarriage.  This act leads to confrontation between Nader and Razieh and her husband Hojjat within the bureaucratically complex Iranian legal system.  At one point Nader is accused of willful murder, while Razieh is blamed for negligence of an elder, leading to a legal battle that turns ugly when hostilities move outside of the court.  Eventually, the group makes financial amends, heavily a result of Simin's intervention, moving things back to some degree of normalcy, although viewers are to assume that a high level of deception as occurred, not to mention that the events only solidify the desire for Simin and Nader to end things, much to the contesting of Termeh who is forced to decide which parent she would like to stay with.

The film really drives home the idea of truth as a relative term to one's ability to assure their comfort and safety, as well as those around them.  None of the characters are inherently bad, per se, with maybe the exception of Hojjat whose past woes have led to a heavy amount of debts, and little explanation is given to explain what led to these debts, almost certainly suggesting illicit behavior.  The patriarchal figurehead factors in heavily into how persons navigate the film, particularly Nader who finds himself fully aware of the realities of losing his wife if he does not agree to move, yet his obligation to his aging father is tantamount and leads to accepting the loss of his wife.  Yet, while these narratives and ideas are key, the film seems deliberately set on suggesting that many of the issues faced by all involved in the narrative tie to the notion that women can only navigate the bureaucracy and legality of Iran with their male superiors guidance and presence.  The main factor in preventing Simin from leaving is that she must do so with the permission of Nader who refuses to do so out of principle, completely ignoring the very real concerns for Simin's, as well as Termeh's, safety.  Similarly, a viewer can easily argue that Razieh's inability to navigate the job market without the permission of her prideful husband proves problematic, considering that he cannot obtain work and she is legally not allowed to do so without his permission.  It reminds one of notions of Marxist Feminism, which suggest that much of women's oppression finds its ties in private property and in the case of Iran their inability to possess it, even in the cases in which their husbands are detached from logical engagements to correct a financial situation.  Even when Nader hires Razieh with the best of intentions, the fact that it is technically illegal suggests that if anything goes wrong, it will invariably the fault of the woman.  The narrative, also seems to be in favor of this idea at first glance, but the reminder that it is male privilege and public sphere presence which has led to all the problems only rejects such a reading.  A Separation is purposefully critical of gender politics in the film, yet, in a very clear statement Asghar Faradi seems to remind viewers that future generations of Iranians will be far less oppressive and the two young girls who navigate the filmic space as well certainly affirm that.

Key Scene:  There are a ton of great monologues and interactions, yet a single brief shot of Nader and Simin on an elevator facing perpendicular to one another seems to really undermine these ideals.

This movie is phenomenal, I watched it on DVD, but plan to obtain the bluray and I suggest you do the same.

It's Like You Said. All I Am Is What I Am Going After: Heat (1995)

Heat, a much appreciated Michael Mann film, may well possess the most accurate tagline in being described as "A Los Angeles Crime Thriller," for it is precisely that and its nearly three hour runtime is much welcomed and heavy with intensity.  I will admit that this movie was nowhere near the top of my radar until I heard its name repeatedly being dropped on both Battleship Pretension and Filmspotting, two of my favorite blogs, as well as being mentioned on blogs as well.  I could not believe that it had managed to elude me for so long, because Heat is a god damn revelation.  Many people seem weary of a star heavy vehicle, of which Heat is certainly guilty, casting Al Pacino, Robert De Niro and Val Kilmer, the latter being a minor role, despite being arguably at the height of his career during the period.    It would be one thing if Heat were just a cool action movie, because there were certainly a considerable amount of those coming out around the time, but it is so very much more than that and fits in well with the introspective cop thriller, much in the same vein of Training Day or even much earlier film noir pieces like The Maltese Falcon.  Mann has a vision in his film, one of a group of intertwined criminals and law enforcers who, nonetheless, seem to lead desultory lives, ones that tragically require them to keep anyone they care for at more than an arms length.  The vision of Los Angeles that Mann provides viewers is both a love letter and an honest critique of its faltering state.  As characters move through its spaces they clearly cling to its comfort, but also manage to exist separated from it, happening very literally when Mann incorporates a green screen during certain scenes, which certainly has its production reasons, however, it does not mean a loss of metaphor in the terms of the characters attempting to distance themselves from their troubled worlds.  Heat is a film that provides viewers with a story that has a slew of questions and inquires and little to few answers given in return.  I would be more than willing to suggest that this big gem of a film is easily one of the best offerings of the 90's and certainly deserved of mention in the same breath as Pulp Fiction or the previously mentioned Training Day.

Heat is a multifaceted and multidirectional story that, nonetheless, centers on a large scale chess game of sorts between high profile crime boss Neil McCauley (Robert De Niro) and the by-the-cuff detective Lieutenant Vincent Hanna (Al Pacino).  McCauley has recently come to the attention of Hanna after a recent armored car robbery goes awry leading to the murder of a couple of guards at the hands of one of McCauley's hired hands, the wily Waingro (Kevin Gage).  This act of killing makes the robbers enemy number one, requiring the aging Hanna to spend an unusual amount of time and the precinct, much to the contesting of his wife Justine (Diane Venora) who is longing for more time with her husband, as well as hoping that he can serve as a positive role model for his stepdaughter Lauren (Natalie Portman).  McCauley certainly has his own set of problems, serving as an unwilling role model to a young guy named Chris (Val Kilmer) whose attempts to make a living despite a gambling addiction proves troublesome to his ability to properly engage in crimes, let alone prove a faithful partner to his wife Charlene (Ashley Judd) as well as his own role model issues with their son.  What unfolds within the rest of the plot is a twisting and turning narration of each side chasing and diverting one another casting a very detailed light over the means by which crime and crime prevention occur within the city of Los Angeles.  Of course, the two sides seem quite hesitant to vilify one another, particularly McCauley and Hanna who form a mutual respect for one another, even sharing a cup of coffee in one of the films best scenes.  However, considering that both sides are inherently opposed a confrontation does occur and many lives are lost in the process, however, it is clear that the two main figures have grown in considerable ways, unfortunately for McCauley, his own refusal to submit to companionship proves to be his demise as he loses a shootout with Hanna, who at that point clearly has nothing to lose, although his letting go of everything, in the end, allows him to regain the love of his wife and perhaps a new outlook to his previously failing life.

What Heat manages to do is completely destroy any sort of clear delineation between good and evil in the traditional sense, particularly since the main characters who are traditionally the points of division between both sides constantly cross between the realms of what is right and what is terribly wrong.  For example, Hanna clearly intends to proctor justice to those doing wrong, but his methodology and manner often exploits those weaker than himself, or truly means his turning a cold shoulder to his family life, especially when he could easily have passed his task on to another individual.  Furthermore, McCauley clearly wants to get out of the game and make right by his past actions, yet his ties to such negative behavior cannot be ignored, and certainly should not be, considering that it did result in some degree of death and inherently bad behavior.  In fact, one incredibly telling moment during the film is the bank robbery, in which, McCauley explains to the patrons that he is not stealing their money because it is insured by the government, but is actually stealing the money from the bank.  Mann was perhaps a bit prophetic in this scene, considering that banks have, in the past few years, become a signifier of all that is bad and in doing so the director draws a connection to the bad, allowing for both Hanna and McCauley to move into the spectrum of goodness.  Similarly, Mann sets up the character of Waingro to be exceptionally insane and a signifier of somebody who is decidedly evil, yet again to serve as a counter to the two main character and their faltering moral compasses.  Mann even incorporates minor characters into the film plot to help show the difference between a criminal or cop who is corrupt and one who is attempting to be good, this clearly occurs with the characters of Donald (Dennis Haysbert) and Harry (Dan Martin) who serve as examples of individuals try to navigate their respective realms of corruption, despite dealing with inherently bad people.  While Mann never really provides a solid answer to whose side hails as morally superior, he does seem to suggest that karma is a major thing and that doing good, will eventually pay off.

Key Scene:  De Niro and Pacino in the diner is a thing of beauty.  The subtlety of De Niro and the grandioseness of Pacino equates to something perfect as the actors sort of balance one another.  It is a scene for the ages.

Buy this film, it is dirt cheap and a burgeoning classic, be hip to its importance before all your friends are aware of it and you will be the "in" person when it comes to cinema.

Where Is Your Male Driven, Fact-Based Logic Now?: Red Eye (2005)

I am enjoying the recent string of thriller/horror films I have been encountering, in so much as quite a few have proven to be rather incredible pieces of social commentary and genuinely enjoyable genre works.  More so, viewing quite a few of the movies have been in an attempt to expand my film consumption to more middle-of-the-road works that I had dismissed upon initial release based on either their trailer or assumedly lackluster premise.  Red Eye was certainly a movie that I scoffed at upon its initial introduction, a vague trailer about plane hijacking and a then unknown to me actor named Cillian Murphy simply did not prove enough to make a, then film illiterate, teen venture to undertake the film.  However, as I have come to appreciate both the theoretical approaches, as well as the means by which films are created, I must admit that I was quite enthralled by Wes Craven's surprisingly non-violent horror film.  To be honest, it is nowhere near a perfect film and certainly suffers from some wishy-washy performances, mostly on the part of Rachel McAdams and clearly has some plot gaps in an effort to make it a quick fix thriller, but the creation of tension within a small amount of space for more than a half of the film.  I have also been quite unfamiliar with how to conceptualize what is becoming an extensive field of post-9/11 cinema discussions, most of which center on disaster and horror films, Cloverfield being perhaps the most notable example.  I mean to say that as a film Red Eye works in the collective memory of viewers who have a particular concern for depictions of terrorist attacks, especially those centered around flying.  Of course this is not the only extent to which something exists within the post-9/11 framework, but I will elaborate on that in a bit.  Regardless of how one discusses Red Eye theoretically or critically, it is nearly impossible to discount how solid of a thriller it proves to be by combining some of the traditional methods of horror/thriller filmmaking along with just enough of an espionage twist to provide for a film that is as fresh now as it was almost a decade earlier.

Red Eye begins with the act of a wallet unassumingly being moved from a dresser drawer, quite ineffectually, before viewers are introduced to Lisa Reisert (Rachel McAdams) a headstrong hotel manager, who knows the ins-and-outs of working in the customer service industry so much so that she is able to guide her seemingly inept employee through dealing with particularly unruly customers while also reeling in the emotions from recently attending her grandmothers funeral.  Meanwhile Lisa is subject to the constant inquiries and concerns of her loving father Joe (Brian Cox) as he knows she is under heavy amounts of stress both from her recent loss, as well as the preparing for a big name political guest.  The addition of plane delays only add to her headache and all seems quite set for a spiral into emotional insanity, until a man named Jack (Cillian Murphy) appears.  Jack's natural charm and seeming ability to predict Lisa's every concern and hesitation causes her to spring at the opportunity to seek solace in his lack of frustration.  While they simply share a bit of chatter over drinks at the airport bar, it is not until Lisa realizes that they will be sitting next to one another on the flight that she feels the connection to be more than a coincidence.  Jack continues his charm well onto their flight, but once they reach an altitude were landing is out of the question, Jack's persona takes a dark turn as he reveals that he has been stalking Lisa in order to blackmail her into moving the high profile guest into another room of her apartment allowing his fellow hired hands to kill him for big name clients.  The narrative then moves into Lisa and Jack's battle for the safety of the guest, as well as Lisa's father who is being carefully watched by another hitman prepared to kill him if she fails to adhere to Jack's demands.  Quick wits and determination allow for Lisa to escape from Jack when the plane lands, as well as allowing for her guest to avoid death, but she is not free of Jack quite yet as his desire to succeed at his job is superseded by revenge, although with the help of her father, Lisa is able to get the best of the insane man and return to her job, however, her ways of dealing with unruly customers are certifiably different.

What then makes Red Eye a specifically post-9/11 thriller aside from the obvious ties to airplanes and the threat of political terrorism, well, in order, to really conceptualize this we must first consider how Craven formulates characters within the narrative, primarily Lisa who is the protagonist within Red Eye.  It is no accident that she is returning from a funeral at the films beginning a indirect reminder of the deaths occurring on that tragic day, yet she is also attached to various psychiatric consultations and forms of depression, initially suggested by her father and reaffirmed by Jack who mentions her relationship with psychiatrist, while not directly mentioned this could have a post-traumatic element about it, in so much as it is a character attempting to deal with the irrationalities of her existence against an illogical humanity that could in her case be so cold and distancing, but also so inhumane as to blow up buildings.  The various persons on the plane as well as some of her hotel's customers help to reconsider the face of America in the wake of the terrorist attacks, particularly the means by which frustration, paranoia and a general concern for escapism emerge within the parts of the narrative focusing on the airport and the airplane.  Hell, even the flight attendants make comments about their self-identies and their projected social identity with heavy post-9/11 implications.  However, the largest element that can be drawn from this ideology emerges through the reasons for Jack's violent actions, for  a better portion of the film they revolve around financial gain, although even he is unsure why a political figure would need to be murdered, he simply understands there is profit to be made in volunteering to assure its execution.  The factual nature of the desired acts, without a theoretical framework for doing so certainly emerges within a post-9/11 discourse considering that America was well aware that they needed to exact revenge upon their wrong doers, yet were not sure of were exactly to do so, nor how to best achieve this, leading to a series of financially heavy actions with a mixed bag of results.  Finally, it is no accident that the attempted assassination is directed at a whole family, invoking an American ideal in the process, not to mention the Russian mercenaries engaging in said assassination attempt, using a RPG of all things.  I have yet to do any formal research on post-9/11 film theory, as I am sure this post shows, but I just wanted to conceptualize some of its points as they seemed fit to Red Eye in a multitude of ways.

Key Scene:  The tension in the power outage scene on the airplane is palpable and certainly not the only emotionally heavy moment in the film, which again relies so little on heavy violence to get viewers anticipations heightened.

This is a cheap pickup on DVD and at the moment no bluray appears to exist, nonetheless, it is a solid fixture in any collection, either well-established or burgeoning, and like so many reviews seem to agree, do not trust the trailer for this film, it completely fails to sell what your really receive with this excellent work.

Documents Never Lie: Memories Of Murder (2003)

For somebody who has become a self-proclaimed academic on South Korean cinema, it has been quite awhile since I have reviewed or even watched anything from the country, which led me to dive into Memories of Murder, an early offering from one of my favorite South Korean directors Bong Joon-ho, probably best known for his massively realized monster movie The Host, if not for his spastic and cinematic Mother.  The later, as well as Memories of Murder, focus heavily on violent crimes and catching the culprits, however, where Bong avoids reality and grounding in his later work he seems completely at ease with depicting an uncomfortable amount of realness in his early work.  Memories of Murder is wickedly funny, while never failing to remind viewers that rape and murder are real acts, often, if not always, leading to the untimely death of those attacked, in this case every one being woman.  Bong is such a stellar director that even when noting that the film is based on true events, he manages to create such a gripping and melodramatic narrative that it is hard not to get lost in the spectacle and execution of the film, its elaborate nature and seemingly layered element of deception cause viewers to justifiably assume the work to be entirely fiction.  However, one may feel about the events depicted in the film, or whether Bong was even justified in portraying such freshly given wounds on screen, one cannot deny the means with which he uses this narrative to paint a picture of divides in Korea that still haunt the continually progressing nation.  Set, for the most part, in 1986, the film represents a rural area of South Korea, clearly affected by colonization, but not via a physical presence.  Bong, in Memories of Murder, creates a film that contests notions of identity and assumed privilege, particularly as it relates to notions of masculinity, age and education.  So very realized is this film, that one often has trouble situating its time period, as it is clearly not intended to visually represent contemporary Korea, yet the visual realm is not archaic either, instead existing in some area of transcendent cinematic space where metaphor and meaning are undoubtedly universal.


Memories of Murder begins, as should be no surprise, with the discovery of yet another raped and murdered body, in what has become a string of violent attacks in a rural South Korean community.  The main figure in the investigation proves to be Detective Park (Kang-ho Song) a traditionalist as far as detective work goes, although he is not adverse to twisting the words of suspects to assure the moving along of his investigations.  Park's partner Detective Cho (Roe-ha Kim) on the other hand seems to resort to violence at the flip of a hat, assuming that he can beat a confession out of any person he assumes to be guilty.  There wily tactics yield little results, mostly because they lack proper higher police education, which leads to the calling in of a Seoul based detective named Detective Seo (Sang-Kyung Kim) whose main objective appears to be linking the crimes into a series of murders enacted by a single serial killer.  Seo and Park constantly but heads, mostly as a result of Park's pride and desire to retain an alpha dog status, something Seo's intelligence seems quick to threaten.  However, as the clues begin the collect and the dueling detectives realize that one another possess some undeniable investigation skills, they slowly piece together a list of legitimate suspects and even chase down a variety of other criminals in the process.  Yet when they come to a standstill as a result of waiting for the FBI, who possess far better technology, to analyze some DNA, another murder occurs, driving Park specifically to chase the assumed culprit down himself.  Park, Seo and the assumed criminal meeting an an intense semi-shootout at a train tunnel entrance, only to be forced to let the suspect go when it is shown that they only possess inconclusive evidence.  The narrative then moves to the present as Park revisits a crime scene, only to be told by a passing girl that another man had been there only moments earlier, perhaps the killer whose whereabouts remain unknown even today.

It is hard to make any definitive statement about Memories of Murder in regards to critical theory, as so much of Bong's intent is clearly a result of his personal conviction in calling attention to the fact that this  killer has yet to face justice.  The clear choice of the camera to linger on the beaten and bruised bodies of the victims is an all to visceral call to demand that justice be sought with little rest during the process. Of course, to overanalyze this element of the film would be counterproductive, because the very act of Bong making the film proves this argument valid.  Instead, it is far more interesting to consider the way masculinity serves as a point of contention in the film, especially between Park and Seo whose desire to catch the killer seems more to do with selfish pride than with proctoring justice, especially for Park who has his communal identity to maintain. It is then no coincidence that all the victims in the film are women, one's who cannot defend against an intensely aggressive masculine antagonist, ultimately, causing Park and others to serve as saviors to a weaker sex, a problematic underlying issue of internalized oppression invariably emerges.  It is also interesting to consider the suspects when reading it through a masculinity critique, as it is clear all of Park and Seo's suspects appear to engage in varying degrees of gender betrayal/transgression, whether it be one culprit who dons women's underwear for sexual gratification, or another suspect whose telling feature is his unusually soft hands, something which is the result of his job in clerical work.  The final confrontation of the train emerging from the tunnel as a means of losing their assumed victim then takes a clear phallic meaning as it explodes out of the entrance severing any possibility of apprehending the suspect.  Masculine oppression is at the root of crime in this film, however, it is also the barrier that results in a killer never being found, in fact, the only persons who seem to be able to clearly identify the perpetrator are females, unfortunately, their voice in the narrative is relegated or ignored even in the closing moments, a masterful and biting commentary by Bong no doubt.

Key Scene:  There is a confrontation between Seo and Park in a karaoke bar in which they are both peeling bananas.  The biting nature and satirical composition of this moment hand me bursting at the seams with laughter.

This is certainly one of the premier films in South Korean cinema's history and it is somewhat pricey on Amazon, yet purchasing a copy is well worth the money, it is seriously a spectacular film.