Death Is Good, But There Is No Love: Holy Motors (2012)

Holy Motors is most certainly the one film that I longed to see for a better part of 2012 after hearing mentions of it on a few of my favorite blogs and podcasts, not to mention as it began receiving awards by various critics associations.  Until viewing it last night, I had only heard descriptions about it, or seen very brief clips at one point or another, always more than enough to pique my interests and seek it out as soon as possible, fortunately, a friend had a copy that they passed along to me and I was able to digest the visual feast that is this film beyond simply looking at the poster, which is its own work of art. I am somewhat on board with the guys at Battleship Pretension when they claim that the film is far from a perfect film, but manages to go about its visual stylings with such audacity and vision that it cannot, and should not, be overlooked, even going so far as to make one of the top ten lists of two critics who I find to have some of the most refined and specific taste in the realm of film criticism.  Holy Motors is as much a sobering reflection on the state of performance in film, as it is a pondering of human existence on a larger scale.  It is a rare thing for a film to engage with the magnitude of 2001: A Space Odyssey philosophically, even more unusual that it manages to engage with the dialogue with any degree of success or validity, in the same vein as Irreversible, Holy Motors, from director Leos Carax, is yet another film from 2012 to make viewers really consider the way in which they consume movies, as well as the larger concept of truth and its tenuous relationship with what we have come to assume to be reality.  I found many of the episodes, as it is really the only way to describe how this film unfolds, to be absolutely mesmerizing, and even the weaker moments of the film exist on a plain so far above much of its competition that it exists as a bit of cinematic magic.  If it were not enough to simply praise the movie for being a visual experience, the performances in this film are more than perfect and Denis Lavant, in particular, brings one of his best delivered set of characters, since first coming to my attention as a delusional Charlie Chaplin impersonator in Harmony Korine's most "normal" film Mister Lonely.

Holy Motors has a plot, all be it a very vague and nearly incomprehensible one, but I assure you it exists some where in the nearly two hour time frame.  Needless to say the film mainly focuses on a man known as Oscar (Denis Lavant) who dons various make-up and wardrobe styles and travels around Paris, on assignments, yet the film chooses to open with an individual known as Le Demour (Leos Carax) who enters a theater only to view a crowd watching, what I have been led to believe is King Vidor's The Crowd, instantly, and magnificently making the film exist within the metacinematic, something that is extended when the narrative begins to follow Oscar in more depth as he engages in his various assignments, all of which apparently hearken back to moments in the history of cinema, whether they be the intensely intimate portrayal of him pretending to be a homeless elderly woman, clearly an evocation Soviet cinema of the early 20th century, or the shock political cinema of Passolini, which occurs when Oscar is assigned to play a grotesque man that kidnaps a model, played rather stoically by Eva Mendes, only to take her into a cave and strip naked, not to have sex, but, instead; to eat her hair.  The film also takes on less artistically embraced elements of cinema, having a sequence pulled directly out of a gangster film, or one which results in a CGI-feuled sexual nightmare.  In one of the films most bizarre moments, Oscar reunites with what appears to be a former lover named Eva (Kylie Minogue) thus thrusting the film into the musical realm, only to return to the darkly dramatic within moments.  The various stories entwine as Oscar moves through Paris in a white limousine and it becomes considerably unclear as to what moments are indicative of his personal life and which depict his "job."  The narrative then takes a leap into the decidedly absurd when Oscar's final job places him at his own home, with his family, who for no explicable reason are a set of monkeys.  The narrative then focuses on Oscar's chauffeur Celine (Edith Scob) who returns the limo to a garage named after the film, and as she leaves the limo with other similar vehicles, the cars begin talking to one another, waxing philosophic about moss on stones, thus ending the film rather abruptly considering all the combined aspects.

I am not even going to proclaim to remotely comprehend exactly what Holy Motors is about, because like the previously mentioned 2001: A Space Odyssey, any singular proclamation about the film is to only focus on aspects and often fails to consider the filmic text as a whole.  Fortunately, Holy Motors in its episodic stylings affords a viewer the ability to pick singular moments as a point of reference, thus leading me to believe that it is a film about filmmaking, much in the same way as 8 1/2 or Stardust Memories, which arguably uses similar techniques, but in a far less dark manner.  I say this because Oscar constantly bemoans his performances, not because he does not appreciate the notion of acting, but because he seems utterly convinced that the often draining performances he delivers are falling on deaf ears, particularly as a result of a technological landscape that embraces minimalism.  In one of the films most poetic scenes, Oscar reflects on an era when filmmakers were distracted only by the heaviness of their camera, a masterful existentially absurdist statement, which proves to be the grounding for the entire film.  It is hard to call Holy Motors a welcoming film, but this previously mentioned scene seems to be Carax's way of saying that society is equally dark and for any film to suggest otherwise would be to betray the power of the medium and its ability to reflect reality to some degree, even if in the highly stylized nature of this film.  It makes me consider its relationship to some of  my other favorites of the year, particularly The Master, Take This Waltz and The Loneliest Planet, all of which use cinema to show the stark betrayals of humanity, as well as their ever so brief moments of triumph, never once allowing the viewer to assure comfort and self-fulfillment.  I find Holy Motors to be in the same vein as the highly introspective, but decidedly distancing cinema of Andrei Tarkovsky, in so much that it allows viewers just enough familiarity to become invested, but reminds them that even in familiarity the senses can, and will, be quickly betrayed.

Key Scene:  The intermission scene is decidedly awesome and serves as an awesome mid-point for an excellent film.

Bluray, Bluray, Bluray...

It's Nice To Fall With A Pretty Woman: The Mirror (1975)

This will not be the first time that Andrei Tarkovsky has received high praise on my blog, and considering he has made quite a few well-received films, many of which found their way on the short list of the most recent Sight and Sound Best films list.  While I have certainly advocated for Abbas Kiarostami being the best reflection of what the title of my blog represents, it is certainly not out of order to suggest that, as a filmmaker, Tarkovsky creates simulacrums of reality, in the case of this film particularly an incredibly personal piece of cinema that its, as always non-linear, non-spatial and flat out transcendental of cinematic tradition.  As a film, The Mirror moves between past, present and possibly future events all with the intent of helping one unseen individual reflect on their life, however, as is becoming the case with every Tarkovsky film I encounter the single human existence appears to be inextricably tied to a much larger conceptualization of human suffering.  Whether it be simple concerns of correcting paper typos or larger realization of coming of age woes, The Mirror shows the ever existing fragility of humanity, particularly in its fleeting and flickering movements.  The Mirror, as Tarkovsky's films prove to be, is incredibly complex, however, it is a thoroughly captivating work, one that traps viewers into his aural, oral and visual poetics that evolve and reemerge repeatedly throughout the film, especially in regards to one female who clearly affects the narrator on multiple levels.  To call The Mirror experimental is to miss the purpose of the film, because while it does contest viewers assumptions about cinematic space, this is not to further our rhetoric of editing, camerawork or mise-en-scene.  Nothing about The Mirror suggests a jarring film, although it is beautiful and visually arresting.  One could find themselves simply putting this on silent and playing it in the background, realizing that it is a continual flow of minor artworks, coalescing in to what may well be the late Russian directors masterpiece.

The Mirror loosely centers on the experiences of an unseen individual named Alyosha (Ignet Daniltsev). These experiences range from simple child hood moments of playing with his sister, to an uncomfortable relationship with a youth spent in the Army.  In many instances his memories are projected through the experiences of others as is quite apparent during the recounting of a woman's terrible experiences dealing with a awful mistake at a newspaper press.  In other instances his memories are even transcendent of space as the visual world imagines the untranslated memories of a Spanish man recounting a famous bull fight.  Sprinkled in between these memories are moments in which Alyosha appears to be talking directly to the individuals in the present, specifically when talking to his lover, who may or may not also be his mother Maria (Margarita Terekhova).  In these moments it works in a point of view manner, although it could be argued that it is always Alyosha's vision configuring the space.  In many moments, the passage of time happens within a single shot, as is the case with the burning house, as a camera captures two children staring out a window, only to pan a bit to the left and depict one of the children slightly older.  The film is also split up by poems, ones that seem to indirectly relate to the narrative.  Eventually viewers are returned to an intense argument between Alyosha and Maria, one that is quickly followed by images of a post-war Soviet Union.   In this moment Maria is depicted at various ages, completely dismissing the already fragmented organization of time and space offered up to this point.

I mention this is perhaps Tarkovsky's best film and while I will stick to my guns on this statement, I should mention that my personal favorite is Ivan's Childhood, the directors debut.  However, what makes The Mirror so significant is that it clearly merges all of the human condition issues evoked in his previous works.  I mean to say that The Mirror takes the issues of coming of age indicative in Ivan's Childhood and meshes it with the existential crisis of worth noted in Andrei Rublev, while also considering the notion of deja vu and memory that emerges within Solaris.  Scenes in The Mirror often do all three, most clearly in the gun training sequence of the film.  However, the magic of this film is not solely in regards to his merging of previous films, but has much to do with how he considers the notion of representation on film.  It is clear that Tarkovsky strives desperately to recreate his world to the best of his ability via film.  However, some elements of humanity simply cannot be procured with a simple shoot and view method and needs poetic grandeur, or a complete lack of color.  The moments of Maria showering, or houses crumbling assure this notion.  Of course, Tarkovsky is not ignorant to the inherent troubles in attempting to make a simulacrum of the fleeting and ever-changing element of human existence.  To accept this challenge, Tarkovsky incorporates several scenes of the characters staring into mirrors reminding those watching that this film while representative of human existence, nonetheless, fails to capture individuality and it is perhaps well overdue that each individual take a good long look at themselves in the literal and metaphorical mirror, after all this is precisely what Tarkovsky is doing to himself in this crowning cinematic achievement.

Key Scene:  Some of the first black and white shots in the film depict a house falling apart into puddles of water, it is poetic subtlety in its most realized form.

This is an excellent film and well worth owning.  The Kino DVD stands as the best option until a bluray comes out in the future, if such a dream even proves reasonable.

Oh! You're Gonna Like The Fake Trees: Tim and Eric's Billion Dollar Movie (2012)

Leave it to Jeff Goldblum to show up in back to back films on my blog, all be it in this film he is playing a parodied version of himself called Chef Goldblum, which if this joke is not enough to give it away, the film in question is none other than Tim and Eric's Billion Dollar movie.  Existing in a world fueled by what has to be some lethal combination of weed, Four Loko and Adderall, one cannot take this absurdist comedy at its face value.  This film runs the  on what constitutes laughable content, displaying everything from banal toilet humor to high brow metacomedy, breaking the fourth wall at times to explain the jokes.  This film was clearly off putting to people and imaginably so because there is some admittedly grotesque stuff throughout, almost always relating to bowel movements or desecration of human orifices, yet what I found more surprising were peoples condemnations of the comedic duos decision to create a coherent narrative for their film, something any non-fan of Tim and Eric's Awesome Show, Great Job would find ridiculous because their film is definitively lacking in logic.  I, on the other hand, do not find the film to be perfect, nor even close to idea, however, I cannot deny it as being one of the better post-modern comedies I have seen to date, as well as offering a fresh consideration on comedy and the nature of audience accessibility.  Furthermore, I have heard interviews with Tim Heidecker in which he admits to a comedic method that always emphasizes finding the limits of audience thresholds, something which clearly succeeds within this film.  I found myself laughing at the most absurd moments, often at the lingering quality of joke delivery or the repetition of a joke in its fourth or fifth manifestation, Time and Eric seem to adhere to a philosophy that if the joke does not work the second or third time, it will surely work the sixth.  It would be awful under the execution of any other comedic setting, yet knowing the particular methods of the actors in question it all seems so right and proves watchable, with the exception of one or two bawdy jokes.

Tim and Eric's Billion Dollar Movie begins with a film within a film, in which their artistic masterpiece Diamond Jim has just been lambasted by studio executives who are enraged by what they see to be a complete waste of a billion dollars.  The Hollywoodified Tim (Tim Heidecker ) and Eric (Eric Wareheim) are initially dismissive of the producers anger and only realize their lack of money and act solidified by their firing of Jim Joe Kelley (Zach Galifianakis).  Yet, after a night of drunken foolishness and semi-sober enlightenment the two see opportunity in revitalizing the S'Wallow Valley Mall, an idea  witnessed while the duo are relieving themselves in a urinal.  After literally running to the mall in question they meet up with the current owner Damien Weebs (Will Ferrell) who after a double viewing of Top Gun agrees to place the mall in their hands, along with the assistance of the sickly Taquito (John C. Reily).  Their existence at the mall is not initially welcomed, least of all by sword shop owner Allen Bishopman (Will Forte).  Despite trebulations and trepidations, the duo find success bringing the mall back to life, all the while Tim finds an adoptive son, literally stealing a boy from his father, while Eric seduces a female employee of the mall.  All is not without climax between the business partners and the two double cross one another in the name of saving the mall, an act that leads to a fist fight and near immediate act of forgiveness.  Yet, the two cannot forget that they are also tied debts from their previous film, which leads to a shoot/slash out in the parking lot of their mall, one in which the duo is victorious.  The film then ends, revealing that it was yet another film within a film.  The larger work proving successful, at least to their friends who appear magically within the screening.

This has most of the tropes and tricks of the television series, whether it be the jibberish dialogue, the Everything is Terrible style editing tricks or the complete disregard for political correctness, yet, much to my surprise, Time and Eric's Billion Dollar Movie does appear to have a identifiable social commentary.  The setting of the film is no accident, this loss of malls and community sustainability is a very problematic thing occurring within The United States.  Many anti-capitalists lament the presence of malls as money machines, oppressing those within them, which is quite true considering the standpoint of the consumer, yet so many of these places are major employers in communities and their loss means a heavy damage to a local economy.  While mostly used for dramatic effect, the desolate nature of the mall as well as its surrounding land manages to reemphasize the destructive wake of a failed mall upon a community.  Furthermore, while the film, ultimately, mocks possession of wealth, particularly in the duo's owning of a billion dollars worth of diamond, yet incapable of comprehending their use in getting the mobsters off their back.  However, the little vignettes of the distraught employees throughout the film are not accidental depicting people struggling to survive in a retail business that needs purchasing power to thrive, a time so grim and disparate that it drives one man to literally give up his son in the name of job security.  The tough economic times of the past year come shining through in this film and manage to reconsider another section of society overlooked by film spaces, probably because they are so inherently comedic in a desperate kind of way, of course making a perfect target for Tim and Eric style comedy.  Hell even if none of the social statements were intentional, it still serves as a great piece of escapism.

Key Scene:  The initial DOBIS explanation tape pretty much assures that their is no turning back from absurdity of the film and while latently awful manages to be hilariously post-modern.

Rent, Rent, Rent.  It is on Netflix, but wait till the wee hours to watch it, the film is textbook Midnight Madness.