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.

Just Get Up Off The Ground, That's All I Ask: Mr. Smith Goes To Washington (1939)

Much like Capra's other revered classic It's A Wonderful Life, there is a heavy cloud of nostalgia that covers Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, which affords it a place high on top film lists one that is hardly questioned and deservedly so, since it is nothing short of perfect.  Yet, when one considers the holy grail element of this specific film, it becomes problematic to think that given its understanding as a great American film it is often set aside for rewatching or referred to with any critical seriousness.  Sure, it gets mentioned as a joke here and there, most recently I believe in a tip of the hat to Senator Davis' epic filibuster, but it seems as though Mr. Smith Goes to Washington is not earnestly considered for its invective look at the state of American politics, one that considers the many flaws of "business as usual politics" that are run by a ton of old white guys who are purely in it for the side money they receive from maniacal tycoons with wild capitalist endeavors.  The movie I am describing sounds as though it would have come from the heart of New Hollywood, or would equally have been the product of an Aaron Sorkin script, but no, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, in all its forward looking criticism and indictment of a corrupt American legislative branch was made in 1939, some eighty odd years ago.  It is one thing to look at the civil rights movement and feel frustration at the lack of change in a fifty year period, but it is literally doubly troublesome to realize that political corruption has been a topic of condemnation within American popular culture rhetoric for almost a century, the problems of which have seemingly gotten worse.  Indeed, much like Capra's other previously mentioned Stewart vehicle, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington spends much of its time with a narrative that is bleak and seemingly lacking in any resolve, yet it is during the final moments of the film that all is saved through the good in humanity, which as idealistic as it may be is sold with such earnestness through the ever amiable acting of Jimmy Stewart and the melodramatic leanings of Capra.  Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, unlike a political film of the new era, lays on the indictment, only to suggest that even in its darkest moments, good can and should prevail.  Tragically, if anything, that is what betrays this film to a bygone era.  Were this film to be released today, it would undoubtedly fail in the face of a crippling sense of disillusionment about the American political machine.

Mr. Smith Goes to Washington begins with an announcement of rather unfortunate news regarding the loss of a senator in a non-specified Western state.  This untimely death leads a group of party politicians in a frenzy attempting to find a replacement for the senator that will not only make constituents comfortable, but will also prove to bend to the will of the powers that be, as such the "elective" body calls upon Jefferson Smith (James Stewart) a wide-eyed idealist who is most known for his community outreach regarding orphaned boys as opposed to possessing any sort of intelligence.  Initially reluctant to take up such a task, Smith realizes that such an appointment will allow him to pursue a lifelong goal of creating a national boys camp wherein both well-off and underprivileged kids can attend camp by paying whatever pocket change they can afford.  Of course, the blind sense of idealism Smith brings to the senate is quickly challenged when both the long standing legislative officials and media alike use him as a battering ram for their own self-advancement.  Nonetheless, Smith assures himself that if he is to prove successful in his position he must learn to play by the rules to the most specific details, therefore, recruiting the help of his secretary Clarissa Saunders (Jean Arthur) in the process.  Initially, Saunders is rather hesitant to aide in Smith's idealism, particularly since she is afforded financial gain by his mockery, however, when his passion captures her heart, not to mention Smith's good looks, she yields to his request and begins an equally driven attempt to pass his bill.  The bill in its seemingly innocent nature, comes up against opposition by members of his own state, whose vested interests in the wealth of a local tycoon, are challenged since Smith plans to build the camp on a creek that is home to a prospective dam.  It is at this point that the entirety of the senate turns against Smith, including his own party, tricking him into not only being absent during the voting of the bill, but also blackmailing him with false papers about the profits he would gain from such a camp being built.  Knowing that he has truth on his side, Smith pushes on engaging in a filibuster that he hopes will show not only the power of democracy, but also speak to his honesty in the situation.  While attempts are continually made to discredit Smith, one of his colleagues who was in on the corruption eventually succumbs to his own guilt and admits to Smith's honesty.  After a full twenty-four hours of expounding upon freedom and the constitution, Smith has successfully proven his case and assumedly earned the camp he greatly desired, as well as a symbol of democracy working for the people, as opposed to a singular person.

Corruption in politics is certainly not an infrequent theme in cinema, both within and American and global context, however, much as Capra considers the multiple facets of spirituality in It's A Wonderful Life, here his camera focuses on the layers of deception and indifference that result from a split-party elective body in the United States that is solely focused on assuring one's own skin through continual re-election.  The running joke throughout the film is the notion that once a politician lands a seat on the senate he is solely concerned with assuring that he keeps that position until death, the only way of which to do so is to keep his (I use the masculine because the film clearly calls attention to the problematic patriarchal element of politics) mouth shut and nod in agreement to his senior colleague.  This silencing bars any sort of idealism from sprouting within the hallowed halls of the capitol, so much so, that when a person does speak out it is met with opposition.  The idea of opposition, is not simply an attempt to discredit one's character in a ethics committee, but within the media as well, which is portrayed in an equally scathing manner.  In fact, it is the media who seem intent on maligning Smith solely for their own humor, painting him as a wild man who is coming to chop away at the absurdity of government, although to be fair at least one of those accusations proves to be true.  The corruption is further problematized when it is shown that a reputation can be ruined even before a man is allowed to defend himself, as is the case with Smith when he attempts to have his constituents speak on his behalf, only to be outpaced by a financial strong arm that controls all the media in his area.  The brilliance results not from Smith's refusal to bend to the will of corrupt power, but from the fact that it is through a small, non-profit youth paper that his truth is spoken.  This sort of grassroots moment is wonderful because it shows that with a sincere message and the zeal to deliver it one can truly accomplish things politically.  This is not the misguided frustration of an Occupy movement, or the throw money at the problem focus of big money charity-based lobbying.  It is a simple idea of speaking truth to both visible and hidden power, a pertinent message if ever one existed.

Key Scene:  For all the amazing diatribes that Stewart throws down in this movie, it is the small and rather unusual moment that involves a close-up of Smith fumbling with his hat that is the highlight of the film.  Not only is it unusual for a film of this era, it also happens to be a telling sign of his character which would evolve in assertiveness throughout, his hat and his control over it continually serving as a parallel.

Buy this movie. NOW.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You Called Me A "Pompous" Windbag The Other Night: Smart People (2008)

Smart People, the directorial debut of Noam Murro, is not a particularly brilliant film, nor is it an awful movie.  Essentially, a film like this perfectly defines a middle of the road movie, one with some exceptional performances, particularly on the part of Dennis Quaid, and some endearing moments.  Yet, the sum of all this films parts do not equal a whole.  It is perhaps a bit to distancing of a film to be accessible to all viewers, admittedly I found many of the high-brow jokes quite amusing, but at a point in the film the believability of every characters ability to throw down these one liners about existentialist woes and post-modern intellectual rhetoric became absurd.  The problem is that the film wants to be relatable to every viewer, unlike Baumbach's Kicking and Screaming or Stillman's Metropolitan, which both posit themselves as films about pretentious people existing in a pretentious world.  In opposition is Smart People, which so desperately seeks to be liked by the average viewer, even including non-intellectual characters into the narrative mix, however, feels that these moments are always forced and relationships do not necessarily prove organic, but instead quite forced and unbelievable.  Perhaps if Smart People were two distinct movies it would prove less problematic and much less tenuous. I do credit Murro for not placating to demands of normal narrative structures, in accessible characters, but simply wish that his vision of disillusioned intellectuals fit into their spaces properly, instead of trying to force themselves into moments without logical connections.  Furthermore, much is made of the quirks and absurdities of each member in the family, yet no explanation is given as to how these acts evolved or emerged, especially in regards to the families traumatic loss prior to the narratives emergence.  Ultimately, Smart People is a film focused on one man's reconciling with his life up to a point, but the means by which he engages in his change, and the path we are asked to follow as viewers simply does not provide for any sort of lively provocation or reflective sentimentality.

Smart People centers on the failings of Dr. Lawrence Wetherhold (Dennis Quaid) a self-righteous professor of literature who has all but disconnected from society after the loss of his wife years earlier.  He has very few friends and is despised by both his students and colleagues.  After forgetting his briefcase in his car that was towed, Lawrence attempts to retrieve the item without paying a fine, unfortunately, he falls off the fence while doing so, causing him to have a seizure and end up in the hospital.  There he is cared for by Dr. Janet Harigan (Sarah-Jessica Parker) who it is later revealed was one of his students over a decade earlier.  Janet admits to having had a crush on Lawrence, despite her despising him for giving her a C on a paper.  The seizure Lawrence experiences causes him to become reliant on others to drive him about and his wunderkind daughter Vanessa (Ellen Page) refuses to do so as she is in her senior year of high school and preparing to move off to college, while his son James (Ashton Holmes) is distanced from his overbearing father and simply extracts himself from commitment.  As such Lawrence is forced to rely on the help of his adoptive brother Chuck (Thomas Haden Church) who is unreliable and relative to his lifestyle quite unsophisticated.  The narrative then splits into two stories the first being Lawrence navigating the paths of romance with Janet, an initially unsuccessful task considering that his own surly and pretentious ways make it near impossible to connect on a human level, while the other portion of the narrative centers on Chuck attempting to convince Vanessa that there is far more to life than being an exceptional student.  Of course, despite some moments of climax, the film wraps up nicely with everyone bonding, although James becomes noticeably irrelevant by the films closing, serving more as a plot advancer than anything else.

A question then emerges on how to portray intellectuals on screen, a task that can be troublesome and often impossible.  Take for example the world of Godard's films, something I have both praised and criticized, is Godard's characters.  His more contemporary works create intellectuals who profess, but do not exude intelligence, which is what appears to be the case with Lawrence in Smart People.  That is not to criticize Dennis Quaid's performance, which was quite exceptional and unexpected, where it placed within any other film it could likely have earned him an Oscar nomination.  Regardless, Lawrence does not learn to adapt his intelligence to equate to being liked, but instead learns to create two spheres to engage with the world, one where he is privately less intellectual, and another the public where he remains the same.  The closing scene of the film with him in the classroom should not be read as him learning to engage with the students simply by sitting on his desk and asking them where they are from, because he has not actually suggested that they are capable of engaging with him intellectually means that his evolution is not complete.  Succumbing to the release of his hyper-pretentious You Can't Read book also affirms this notion.  Furthermore, he learns to accept Chuck as a family member, but it appears as this is the limitation of his desire to bond with his non-biological brother.  Finally, even when he becomes tied to Janet it is predicated on her pregnancy, suggesting that it is more out of social necessity and respectability than love and desire.  I have not seen Dead Poets Society or Good Will Hunting but I hear they portray intellectuals in a different light, perhaps I will reconsider this idea in relation to one of those films later down the line.  Until then, just know that Smart People is not a great depiction of the intellectual in cinema.

Key Scene:  Perhaps the sweetest moment in the film occurs when Chuck and Lawrence are perusing Costco for baby items, but even then it is not a particularly brilliant moment.

I have no real reason to suggest watching this film, unless you like any of the actors involved.  Instead go watch Kicking and Screaming or some other properly intellectual film.

I Am Beginning To Realize I Don't Realize What I Am Saying: Simon Of The Desert (1965)

There is seriously something about Bunuel's more heavily religious films that makes me think I am really overlooking elements of Christianity that can be both deeply philosophical and contentious.  If Simon of the Desert, one of Bunuel's black and white work from the sixties is not a dark horse for his most surreal film, it is certainly the winner for his most semantic.  Sure he made The Milky Way which uses words from the bible, catechism and theological debates to frame nearly all of its narrative, but something about a guy justifying his standing on a pillar in the desert for no apparent reason other than to suffer, makes for some great dialogue, especially when he finds opposition from not only a feminine devil, but from fellow clergymen as well.  I can imagine that this is one of the main films Bunuel received criticism for and a reflection of the reason he was, for quite sometime, banned from Spain.  An ignorant and intentionally repressed reading of this film would lead an viewer to think that Bunuel was outright mocking all forms of penance and fasting, however, that is simply not the case.  Instead, a film like Simon of the Desert exists to consider the purpose and validity of sacrifice, especially when it is raised upon a literal pedestal and appears to have no value beyond personifying piety.  In the matter of forty or so minutes, Bunuel deconstructs an entire characters existence, suggesting that even though he resides upon a religious throne, he is prone to the same failings as a lesser being, or in the rhetoric of this film a sinner.  It would also appears, in the opening scenes that one could only creatively shoot around a large pillar so many ways before repeating, yet Bunuel, along with Gabriel Figueroa make the stone object serve as a variety of metaphors and memories throughout the brief satire, and knowing that the two worked on The Exterminating Angel only years earlier helps to ground its explosive surrealist tendencies, yet like the namesake of the film, notions of elevation and groundedness constantly battle narratively and visually throughout the film.

Simon of the Desert centers on a fictional rethinking of a real life saint named Simeon Stylites who spent 39 years of his life sitting on a pillar as an act of devotion to God.  His particular form of penance known as asceticism, in which one engages in severe self-sacrifice as a devotion to God.  In the film, Simeon (Claudio Brook) is only engaging in the act for six years, six months and six days, a not so sly stab on the part of Bunuel.  His act has led him to become a point of prayer for locals who see him as a miracle worker, at one point literally healing the missing hands of a farmer.  However, his recent rewarding of a higher pillar by a gracious town elite, leads to his flailing and doubting about his own relationship with God.  Furthermore, the accidental gazing upon a woman by a praying monk leads to Simeon's own temptations with the flesh, longings that manifest themselves in a wish to return to the care of his mother, as well as consume lavish and non-sustaining foods.  Along with his own personal struggles emerges The Devil (Silvia Pinal) who tempts Simeon with actions of the flesh, dressing in fetishized outfits and even offering its nude body to the stalwart Simeon.  Unfortunately, no amount of dedication or penance can seem to get Simeon to retain his original focus.  Even after trying to stand on one leg, Simeon begins to lose his credibility.  His followers mock his statements as they become more and more illogical and his own visions begin to fail miserably, he starts seeing images of The Devil in the nude and it is upon her eventual arrival in a casket that Simeon falls apart.  He sees the arrival of an airplane which whisks the two of them into modernity as they sit in a hip psychedelic club watching young people dance to a song aptly titled "Radioactive Flesh."  Simeon has failed to maintain his piety and now resides in a moment of frenzy and physicality that will only lead to his impending unhappiness.  In brilliant Bunuel fashion, this absurd closing bookends the film with no explanation and no logic, in what his friends of youth would have called and "ultimate surrealist act."

While the explanation is certainly up for analysis and a point of ambiguity within the film, it is much more important to consider the meaning of the pillar, after all I realized it to be the most important aspect of the film.  The obvious go to for the surrealist element is the phallic nature of the film, after all it begins with Simeon being provided a larger pole to stand on, clearly a means of sexual identity.  Yet, it is the notion that the ascetic becomes attached to desires of the flesh that affirm this possible reading.  He cannot engage in sexual conquest do to oath, as such the large pillar represents his affirmation of power, in a metaphorical sense.  I will note that I have had some loving criticism as to my constant reference to psychoanalysis here on the blog, so I will offer other interpretations as well.  Another possibility comes when discussing tradition.  Bunuel clearly considers what role such a form of penance has in 1965 when luxury and visibility are much easier obtained than in the 4th century.  The pillar a clear hearkening back to ancient times serves as Simeon's attachment to the past, one that would reward his seemingly illogical act, yet he cannot escape the frenetic and non-stoic nature of modernity, as the films closing could suggest.  The third possibility is that the pillar is a performance piece, in which a man of rather lacking faith uses an object to literally heighten his importance.  Aside from curing the sick, an act that is never fully of his doing, Simeon does little to aid people directly, instead he relishes in his superiority and falsely earned admiration.  He places himself in an elevated stature to avoid actually helping those on the ground, yet his own foolishness leads him back to the bottom as the film ultimately depicts.

Key Scene:  There is a moment when Simeon is laying in his mothers lap while the back ground depicts a shot of Simeon simultaneously standing on the pillar, it is surrealism 101, yet in the hands of Bunuel it is magic.

This is a great film one of Bunuel's lesser known works that is available both on Huluplus and in DVD from Criterion.  Pick either and here is to you enjoying it as much as I did.

Man Is Born Crying. When He Has Cried Enough, He Dies: Ran (1985)

To steal a phrase from the popular Lord of The Rings meme, "One does not simply adapt Shakespeare."  I mean this will all seriousness; because it is hard encapsulate the deep-seeded ideologies, multiple narratives, and poetic grandeur of the world's most well known bard.  When it fails, it seems like a skeleton of a narrative that offers little more to the viewers than a overdone storyline that anybody could have offered.  However, when one does adaptations of Shakespeare correctly the result is epic filmmaking that captures the human condition on film and inevitably rips violently at the heart strings of its viewers.  Akira Kurosawa's Ran, an adaptation of Shakespeare's King Lear is one such example.  In the matter of two and a half hours, Kurosawa manages to make the screen explode with the ebb and flow of human suffering from the eyes of Eastern ideology.  The actors deliver their various performances with such conviction and subtly that it gives the best of Shakespearean troupes a run for their money.   The excellent narrative is only helped by Kurosawa's unflinching cinematic grandeur, which continually encompasses both the large ideas of the world and the tiniest of moments in a being's existence.  I often have a battle in my mind between Ozu and Kurosawa for best Japanese director, but it is films like this one that remind me that the late director of Seven Samurai may just edge out his fellow countryman. 

As an adaptation of King Lear, one can imagine the levels of deceit and familial disappointment that exist within Ran and Kurosawa certainly shows these notions.  The film focuses on the stepping down from power of a once great ruler named Hidetora Ichimonji (Tatsuya Nakadi) who realizes that his time in charge is over.  As such, he places power in the hands of his eldest son Taro (Akira Terao) who accepts his responsibility with nervous gratitude.  His younger sons react in opposing manners; Jiro (Jinpachi Nezu) gladly follows the orders of his father as middle keeper of the lineage, while the youngest son Saburo (Daisuke Ryo) mocks the decision and steps away from his ties to the family altogether.  Befuddled, Hidetora attempts to continue on his way without his youngest son.  Foolishly, Hidetora assumes that his transfer of power will still allow him all the rights of ruler without the responsibilities.  However, Taro's wife Kaede (Mieko Harada) pushes her husband to demand his place a ruler, ultimately, causing Taro to confront his father in a rather violent manner.  What results are various levels of deceit amongst the family, the employees of the clan and the villagers surrounding the castle.  In violent, yet poetic, fashion the rest of the film builds up to a war between the brothers all awaiting the return of their father who goes blind and crazy, as a result of his decision.  Ironically, although very Shakespearean, the only voice of reason throughout the film appears to be the fool Kyoami (Pita) who through song and rhymes explains the problems of human existence.  Ultimately, all the characters die either through violent ends or heartbreak, but viewers should not be surprised, because after all King Lear is a tragedy.  There is certainly more to the plot I just explained, but to go into any greater detail would be to ruin its watchability, it is far more experiential than a simple paragraph could ever hope to show.

The important question to ask when discussing Ran is how precisely is it an acceptable adaptation of a Shakespeare play.  The first element that makes the film a great adaptation is its loyalty to the original text.  While the names of the characters and their exact words have changed from the original source material, they, nonetheless, reflect King Lear rather clearly and it does not take a Shakespeare scholar to realize this.  Secondly, performance is key to making Shakespeare adaptations acceptable.  Without a deep understanding of the words and ideas being expounded the film will fall flat, however, as I noted earlier, Ran is full of brilliant performances and even knowing that I do not understand a bit of Japanese, I still managed to gather the deep moving nature of each word spoken by the characters in the film, not once was a line delivered dully.  The final factor, and perhaps most difficult to manage is to ensure that any adaptation of a Shakespeare work be unique and fresh.  Ran does this, perhaps more successfully than any other filmic adaptation I have seen to date, including Kurosawa's own adaptation of The Bad Sleep Well, although from a formalist standpoint it is a far superior film.  Perhaps Ran is so unique given that it is Japanese, yet Kurosawa's use of The Buddha, samurai code and the world of feudal Japan to rethink a story of familial deceit seem so original that I kept having to remind myself that he was borrowing heavily from Shakespeare.  With that being said, I guess what ultimately makes a Shakespeare adaptation work is the ability of a director to blatantly steal the bard's work, yet, doing such a good job of thievery that it seems like their own.  While imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, at times it can match, or, dare I say, outdo the original.

Some time ago, Criterion possessed the rights to Ran, but given their recently ended relationship with Studio Canal it appears as though it will never come back.  However, if you find yourself with the finances, picking up a copy of the out of print DVD will certainly prove rewarding.

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

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

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

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

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

Guys Like Me Are Born Loving Women Like You: Young Adult (2011)

I had the highest hopes for a film that was written by Diablo Cody, she is perhaps the only writer who I have come to know by name excluding Aaron Sorkin and it took multiple movies for that to become the case.  Given this, I was thoroughly excited to see her name attached to Young Adult, as I knew it would be a witty, hip narrative that required a vast cultural awareness to appreciate.  While this can certainly be said about the narrative, it still manages to fall short as a film.  I felt the film to lack several layers of believability and any amount of sincere honesty.  I cannot blame this on the acting, because each actor delivers their character with skill and subtlety and void of the self-reverence present in Cody's previous film Juno.  I am more inclined to blame the films overall lack on the filmic composition of the narrative, we are given little back story throughout the film to understand the characters, but nowhere near enough to empathize with them, regardless of their various levels of pity.  Simply put, Cody tries so desperately for us to find her characters troubled, yet endearing that it becomes obnoxiously obvious to the point that their self-loathing, particularly the main character, is disgusting.  I applaud Cody for removing the wit of her work from the script, as it would undeniably serve as a crutch, yet she as a writer has not evolved enough to find a replacement for the wit and the Young Adult suffers heavily from this failure.

Young Adult follows a ghostwriter named Mavis Gary (Charlize Theron) who is having an existential crisis concerning her impending 30th birthday and the realization that her former boyfriend was having a child.  As a result undertakes a quest to return to her small town of Mercury, Minnesota to flaunt her popularity and win back her high school sweetheart Buddy Slade (Patrick Wilson).  Mavis, a functioning alcoholic, who spends her days knocking back buckets of Ben & Jerry's and watching reality television thinks, that her plans will happen instantaneously and that everything in Mercury will be precisely as she left it a decade ago.  When she enters the now suburban city, she is disgusted by its corporate consumption and seeks out shelter in a popular local pub named Woody's.  There she runs into Matt Freehauf (Patton Oswalt) a former classmate of Mavis's who was badly injured by classmates who beat him up after falsely assuming him to be gay.  Mavis in a drunken stupor explains her plans to Matt who instantly dismisses her reminding her that Buddy was married with a child.  Mavis ignores his warnings and schedules a meeting for drinks with Buddy, who agrees to the date simply out of kindness.  It is at this point in the narrative that viewers realize how far gone Mavis is mentally.  Her meeting with Buddy is clearly awkward and brief, yet Mavis is assured that she has won back her former lover and agrees to meet up with him again to see Buddy's wife Beth (Elizabeth Reaser) play a live show with her band, aptly named Nipple Confusion.  In the process every thing falls apart for Mavis.  She wrecks her vehicle, has an awkward confrontation with her mother and drunkenly sleeps with Matt before waking up to realize the delusion she is facing.  She leaves Matt's room and after having a talk with his younger sister about the place of her life in relation to Mercury and drives off to return to Minneapolis.  It is implied that Mavis finishes her book with a new and bold perspective on life, one that is completely distanced from her past.

Young Adult is a decent movie, but I cannot begin to attempt to analyze the varying problematic portrayals within the film.  The film is drenched now with what one would call "first world problems," a phrase made popular by the rise of tumbler based websites.  These problems refer to anything that is a seeming inconvenience to an individual that are reflective of their obvious comfort, for example a person complaining about their favorite restaurant changing the menu would be first world in that a considerable part of the global community struggles to gain proper, if any, nourishment.   While the film's examples are by no means this extreme, they certainly are rather arbitrary.  Mavis complains of her job as a ghostwriter and her lack of hip restaurant choices to the people of Mercury when it is clear that her lifestyle far exceeds any of those she encounters, particularly that of Matt who has become a cripple based solely on fictitious rumors spread by ill-willed teenager.  Her job and lazy lifestyle are the thing of dreams as made apparent by the longing gazes of the women she encounters in the film, making her complaints seem bitter and illogical.  Similarly, Mavis is self-destructive, abrasive alcoholic who is never judged in the narrative for her actions.  Instead, the film simply ends with her comfortable in her own shoes, implying that her truly destructive ways are in the past, along with the people she inevitably destroyed.  Aside from suffering from Trichotillomania there is really no explanation to Mavis mental state, thus making her actions simply bitter and hateful, not acts of a person who is suffering mental instability.  While it may seem this way, Mavis is an unkind person who never receives narrative punishment for her problems.  This is perhaps the inherent flaw in the film that explains is ultimate lack of enjoyability.

I know my critique makes it seem unwatchable, but the film is not terrible.  If anything, you should watch it just to see the excellent performance by Patton Oswalt...trust me it will surprise you.  It is still in the cheap theaters making it worth a theater going experience.