It's Not About You, You Mathematical Dick!: Good Will Hunting (1997)

Oh my it has been nearly a month and some change since I scribed anything here on the blog.  I have just come up for air from a hellish semester, which included many papers, a few presentations and a ton of other things.  All the while I was watching countless films, but failed to put together my thoughts on any of them in favor of reading or writing (mostly about film) in its various formats.  While I doubt I will be blogging with any consistency over the summer, I do hope to be much more present than I was at the end of this school year and I might even be bold enough to attempt to have a marathon in July or August, who sees, I would have to pick a genre and commit to it and definitely plan ahead of time.  With that in mind, I have indeed been watching some rather enjoyable films, a few of which I desperately wanted to write about but simply did not have the time whether they be the deeply engaging documentaries like Michael Jackson's This Is It and the Japanese political study Campaign, or Koreeda Hirokazu's newest film Like Father, Like Son I had thoughts that were shared on Letterboxd, but little time to outright reflect and compose a string of thoughts on the film.  I even had an entire idea bout how I was going to talk about the mechanized nature of King Vidor's adaptation of The Fountainhead, but this too fell to the wayside when I was finishing up work for professors on the last days of class.  I have found something to return to the blog with in the way of Good Will Hunting, one of the countless films that was present on my shame list, particularly since I am a fan of the work of Gus Van Sant, and was fully aware of the critical acclaim surrounding this film.  Although it does suffer from falling to the wayside for other more contemporary Oscar babes, there is something particularly profound about what is occurring in Good Will Hunting that culminates into the rare perfect film a topic I know I have discussed in the past.  Between the precise writing of then aspiring stars Damon and Affleck, a idiosyncratic, yet universally accessible performance by Robin Williams and the keen eye of Van Sant, it is hard to find fault in a work like Good Will Hunting.  Furthermore, it is hard to create a narrative that exists within the space of Boston that does not instantly become muddled in its own seedy, working class ennui, so much so that the narrative itself becomes sullied in its insistence on being rough around the edges (a fault that is present in some of Affleck's directorial work).  Unsullied by any falsities, Good Will Hunting is the ideal Oscar picture, one that is sound in its execution, but never too on-the-nose to be rejected as a pandering to the masses.

Good Will Hunting focuses primarily on the title character Will Hunting (Matt Damon) a former orphan turned janitor who works at the prestigious Massachusetts Institute of Technology, although his presence goes quietly unnoticed considering his occupation.  Will stays, instead, close with his friends from the working class Boston area, specifically Chuckie (Ben Affleck).  The group tends to spend their evenings drinking and occasionally brawling against local rivals.  It is during one particular day that Will takes it upon himself to solve a presumably unsolvable equation put forth by praised MIT professor Dr. Lambeau (Stella Skarsgård) that things change drastically.  The surprised Lambeau seeks out the janitor and attempts to convince him of his skills and indeed saves him from having to spend time in jail by noting that he could instead work as one of his students while also receiving counseling.  Will, however, jaded by the system of orphans, wherein he was subject to various types of abuse, finds ways to challenge the authority of the figures who are 'helping' him while also proving that he is smarter in every way, particularly by reading their works or outwitting them in their methodologies.  Nearly at the breaking point, Dr. Lambeau seeks help from his former college roommate turned community college psychology professor Sean Maguire (Robin Williams) who happened to grow up in the same working class neighborhood as Will.  Although, his methods are wildly unconventional, even Sean immediately finds Will a handful, taking particular offense when Will begins prying about his late wife.  Still, Sean sees through Will's defenses to find the pained figure and pushes to make the young man see his potential, allowing him a space of silence and only affording him a point to speak when he feels it necessary.  Yet, a variety of other endeavours challenge Will including a burgeoning romantic relationship with Harvard student Skylar (Minnie Driver) and the prospect of countless jobs from agencies who seek to profit from his mathematical mind.  Will seems resilient to change, as it would require himself to open up and approach a world that he only knows as harsh and violent.  When he seeks reassurance in safety from Chuckie he is met with surprise when Chuckie too demands that he leave Boston for bigger and better things.  Though gracious to Dr. Lambeau for the opportunities, Will choses his own path one that he is guided towards by Sean and by the closing of the film,  Will choses  to move towards the future and escape the safety and solitude of his troubling past.

What makes Good Will Hunting work as a piece of cinema is almost entirely tied to its formalist and structuralist element, indeed, this is often the case when I throw around the phrase 'perfect film.'  In most situations it is evidenced of a well-made a perfectly composed piece of art.  Although there are exceptions when the film choses to be systematicaly subversive in its construct yet still achieves a high degree of success (Breathless, The Night of the Hunter and Nashville come to mind), Good Will Hunting is outright a piece of poised and precise filmmaking.  Gus Van Sant is an exceptional director and clearly works from a space of ideal versions, as opposed to simply churning out another film for profit.  I am fully aware that he has come under criticism for more recent works like Restless, but I even find that to be an exceptional work.  What he manages to evoke as a filmmaker is nothing short of a vision.  Taking on the work of newly emerging writers is one thing, but to chose to cast them in the lead roles is another risk all its own.  Furthermore, Van Sant realizes the power of the unconventional, his own queering of cinema taking on multiple layers in every work, here subverting the idea of who can play a serious role and how violence and trauma can manifest themselves in the subtlest of manners.  In one of the more telling scenes of the film, Chuckie is bemoaning Will's lack of ambition and the entire portion of dialogue is delivered by Affleck, yet the camera pans past Affleck to capture the reaction shots of Damon who is putting acting sublimely, each gesture of his brow or slight curling of his lip reacting.  A lesser film would have done a proper shot/reaction shot composition and thus the emotiveness of the scene would be lost.  What makes Good Will Hunting reside in the space of the perfect is that it works nearly organically, the camera follows action and at times viewers are led to believe that the actors themselves are working in a space of purely improvisational dialogue, this is almost certainly the case for Williams whose comedic moments add a delightful flare to more than one occasion of tension.  Where the film works beyond the normative is in how Van Sant frame desire though, in what seem like throw away moments, a lingering arm over the shoulder, or a head being slightly out of frame, becomes a suggestion on the complexities of relationships that manage to make Good Will Hunting both specific to one young man's journey and decidedly universal in its advocation of escaping the many points of complacency life might offer.

Key Scene:  The lecture that Chuckie delivers to Will while on lunch break at the construction site, is really the crux of this film, although it is one of many moments of absolutely astounding formalist filmmaking throughout.

This is a definitive work of contemporary filmmaking, to avoid it because it is critically-acclaimed would be a dire mistake.  If you have not seen it, seek it out immediately.

Isn't Music Supposed To Express What People Are Feeling?: Dreamgirls (2006)

While I had a different film scheduled for viewing for the last blog post of the musical marathon, and by extension, the last post of the year, I think it is fitting that I finished off with a rather contemporary work in 2006's Dreamgirls.  While I started the marathon with an early Astaire classic Top Hat, whose structure is decidedly in the classic setting, Dreamgirls made nearly seventy five years later and a century after the medium of film came into its fullest form, represents a return to the classic filmic structure, one with a linear narrative and poised look at a period in music that was heavily competitive and troublesome when one was oppressed by layers of intersectionality.  Dreamgirls is a new consideration of the Busby Berkeley style backstage musical, reconsidered for a modern audience, one that is further extended by it being an adaptation of a Broadway musical, helping to navigate some of the more showy elements at play in the film.  I worked my way through Dreamgirls wondering as to whether or not it was actually an exceptional film, or a reworking of the Oscar-bait Hollywood fare that manages to pique critics interest for subject matter alone.  Dreamgirls would be slightly more impressive were it to have committed to a stylistic cohesion of some sort, relying on musical numbers in a singular style, instead of using them both as a point of narrative advancement, as well as dialogue construction.  Furthermore, while it should be very much embraced for possessing  cast that is almost predominantly composed of African-American actors, it seems hesitant to navigate some of the more challenging and troublesome racial spaces that would have existed in the era to save face and make a universally palatable film.  I would much rather have revisited 2005's Hustle and Flow, a film that challenges 'safe' depictions of race in cinema, while also technically falling within the definition of the musical, although it is in a decidedly modern context.  The sum of all the parts of Dreamgirls are nice, but it suffers from a few too many missteps to make for a worthwhile and praiseworthy filmic experience.  Indeed, if this is one of the premier examples of the musical in the past decade, it truly is at a low point.

Dreamgirls focuses on the musical aspirations of a group of young African-American woman hoping to make it big as singers.  The three women Deena Jones (Beyonce Knowles),  Effie White (Jennifer Hudson) and Lorrell Robinson (Anika Noni Rose) are young small town girls who hope that by appearing at a local tryout for a musical competition that they could win a recording contract and subsequently make it big in the industry.  While they lose out to a blues guitarist they do catch they eye of manager and eye for musical talent Curtis Taylor Jr. (Jamie Foxx) who hopes to use them as back up singers for the aging star James 'Thunder' Early (Eddie Murphy).  While the group is hesitant, particularly Effie, to serve as backup singers, when they are promised money and a chance to make it big they jump on the opportunity, taking with them Effie's brother and performance choreographer C.C. (Keith Robinson).  While the initial stardom proves ideal for the group things quickly come to a halt when the advances of James and at various points Curtis lead to a fracturing within the group, made all the more complicated when Curtis decides to push the three women as a group act detached from James.  It is the idea of Curtis to have Deena sing lead, although both she and Effie realize that Effie is clearly the better performer.  This choice to market the group called The Dreams leads to confrontation amongst the members of the group and eventually Effie leaves in frustration.  While on sabbatical from singing, Deena makes a name for herself, although her and Curtis' relationship suffers considerably.  When James Early's old manager Marty Madison (Danny Glover) approaches Effie about returning to singing, she is initially quite hesitant, only working in small lounge fair, until the return of C.C. affords her a chance to make it big.  When this realization is discovered, Curtis takes to unethical tactics to stifle her career advancement, but after a legal battle aided by the help of Deena, the returning star finds success and eventually The Dreams make one final goodbye performance, going out on the top, much less the case for James who has by this time passed away and certainly for Curtis whose respect in the industry is all but squandered.

I want to make it rather clear that Dreamgirls is not an unwatchable film.  Indeed, many of the musical numbers are quite evocative and the performances are, for the most part, tempered by the various actors.  Eddie Murphy, much to my surprise, was probably the most well-executed acting in the film.  My concerns, come, instead from how music is used to add emotive elements to scenes that could have just as easily gained equal intensity from normal acting.  This is most glaringly troublesome during the middle section of the film when Effie decides to leave The Dreams.  While it does have a musical number proper, it is bookended by unnecessary sing-talking between the various characters that causes their dialogue to take on a nauseatingly unlistenable quality.  As a pseudo-backstage musical, the film could simply have relied on the musical performances proper as an expression of the problems at play by the characters.  Certainly, this occurs in two of the most famous backstage musicals 42nd Street and Gold Diggers of 1933 wherein the characters' emotions are affirmed by their diagetic musical numbers.  Considering that the narrative is afforded a rather large temporal space and uses the spatial breadth of radio and television to extend its narrative, the choice to use these central singing moments is somewhat baffling.  Indeed, it is in this insistence that the film require some sort of singing dialogue that Dreamgirls traipses as a rather contentious line between well-intended narrative on the black experience in music and something that is exploitative in its veiled use of grandstanding through musical dialogue.  I am not saying that this is an impossibility in the musical genre, in fact, many of the films I have encountered this month involve sung dialogue, but this is also the main means with which narrative is delivered in the film, probably the most realized in Oklahoma, wherein it is rather clear that more of the film is sung than actually spoken and from the onset it is clearly established as a film with a reality where people sing their feelings.  For Dreamgirls it has no context and its execution becomes glaringly in its poor delivery.

Key Scene:  The initial on the road sequence, when the girls join James' show is a perfect joining of cinematic tricks and performance, it is a shame the film does not attain this level of intensity throughout.

Dreamgirls is a film worth watching, but only if renting is an option.  With that being said Hustle and Flow from a year earlier is far more worthwhile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Never Even Learned Short Division: Alexander's Ragtime Band (1938)

I would appear, at least according to IMDB, that any film that has won a an Oscar tends to get incredibly high ratings, all the more so when that film was released prior to say 1988.  While it is likely that the amount of people rating these films, are low and directly tied to those impassioned enough to go through thirties era films and make ratings erroneously high.  This is the case for the early version of Cimarron as well as films like Wings.  I go on this aside because while I am aware of quite a few films from this era that I actually adore, there seems to be something about the combination of Oscar winner plus thirties era that just do no mesh well.  Wings is not an outright terrible film, but it is not a piece of cinematic magic that having an Oscar should attain and that is certainly not the case for the musical Alexader's Ragtime Band as well.  Working from the music of Irving Berlin, it is indeed only the musical numbers that carry any weight and those elements could easily be gleaned from simply listening to the recordings detached from any moving images.  Suffice it to say, I was not impressed with Alexander's Ragtime Band and simply found much of what it had to offer a bit predictable and decidedly safe, even shooting itself in the foot further by including necessary images of performers in blackface.  I accept that this was a reality in most early musicals, but here they simply exist as background figures, not even relevant to the music at hand.  I would assume that much of the failing of Alexander's Ragtime Band comes from the director,  Henry King, attempting to use the same methodology as Busby Berkeley, wherein, lavish musical numbers were intercut with simple stories, the problem here however, is that there is no discernible rhythm for the various musical scenes and, indeed, the moments in between are often quite bland, consisting of half realized dialogue and a variety of less than fully realized acting moments.  Trust me, I wanted nothing more than to wholly embrace this film, but it simply proved to be a back drop for the swinging tunes of Berlin and the one or two moments of actually well-executed musical cinema were lost in the milieu of middle-of-the-road thirties studio mediocrity.

Alexander's Ragtime Band focuses primarily on the musical endeavors of violinist Roger (Tyrone Power) who sick of his bourgeois lifestyle seeks out solace by playing with a ragtime band at a local shipyard saloon. Along with the aid of his pianist and friend Charlie Dwyer (Don Ameche) Roger seems set to achieve moderate success playing popular tunes.  However, when the group plays one song by Irving Berlin titled "Alexander's Ragtime Band' it stirs up the frustrations of Stella Kirby (Alice Faye) a singer who had used the same song in her own repertoire.  Intervening in the performance by simply hopping on stage and sing, the combination of Roger's musicality and Stella's singing cause the audience to get ecstatic, being invited to perform an encore immediately after the show by the saloon's owner, much the the chagrin of Roger, who becomes in the moment known as Alexander and Stella who has no desire to work with the group.  Yet, the success cannot be denied and the two make amends, eventually coming to find each other very attractive, creating a burgeoning romance in the process. However, Stella is offered a lucrative solo career, which she jumps on immediately, leaving the band although promising to return for them once she accrues enough success, wherein the heartbroken Roger joins the military and works as a band leader and morale booster, although most just as a point of pride for the Army over the Marines.  Whilst away, Roger also gets married, leading to the now equally heartbroken Stella marrying Charlie in turn.  Thus the two create diverging musical lives, both with considerable success, although it is Roger and his turn as Alexander that proves slightly more productive, even attaining sold out shows at large musical halls.  Hoping to meet him one last time, not aware that he and his wife had attained a mutual divorce, she arrives at his sold out performance, only to hear him cue up "Alexander's Ragtime Band." Jumping at her chance to rekindle the flame Stella enters the music hall and is invited by Roger to join in singing.  The two share a tender embrace in the closing moments of the film.

In a variety of senses, Alexander's Ragtime Band is a film about appropriation.  In so much that it is borrowing, sometimes knowingly, other times, without awareness from other cultural institutions and points of popular reference to create a narrative anew.  This is not to be confused with say the post-modern use of reappropriation, wherein the same elements are used but to make a divergent, if not purposefully oppositional statement with the material.  Here, the most obvious appropriation comes in the way of the literal appropriation of the Irving Berlin songbook, the music in use almost arbitrary as long as it proves appropriately up temp or slowed down in regards to the point of reference in the film, it is only the title song and one other song within the film that seem to have definite relation to the larger narrative.  Indeed, even the entire sidewinding plot involving Roger's time in the military seems appropriated, as though the success of other war based musical numbers justified an entire bit about the beauty of the YMCA and waking up to walk of to war.  Sure the war element is present, but only in so much as it is meant to be a point of separation for the narrative to be resolved with unity.  The military appropriation is indeed so arbitrary to the plot as to almost feel exploitative.  I am not doubting that the intentions of the filmmaker and producers were not well-intended, but would also posit that such a wild redirection could only work as a result of it occurring right before the onset of World War II wherein all military imagery would have fell within quite strict use and regulation.  Of course, the most offensive of all appropriations comes in the unnecessary and outright exploitative use of blackface in this context.  I want to assure that I will not defend it as an institution within the classical entertainment industry, but I can accept that it was a popular medium of performance in vaudeville, here blackness as appropriated with absolutely no context, not even a racist one, although its inclusion merely for aesthetic completion and without any acknowledgement beyond this might be all the more racist.  Alexander's Ragtime Band is all about borrowing things, but none of it is done with a shred of skill.

Key Scene:  I really enjoyed the "Walking Stick" number but that is only a result of me doing a queer reading of the moment, although a completely obvious one if I do say so.

There are better thirties eras to watch than this, might I direct you towards Astaire and Rogers films.

And We Won't Come Back Till It's Over Over There: Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942)

I remember way back in the days of high school I though it a worthy idea to take a web design class.  The high school I went to at the time was far from exceptional and certainly lacked all the resources to actively and properly teach a class, especially since our professor insisted on the use of Geocities as a web server.  While I did not learn anything worth value in relation to the art of html or designing of websites, we were fortunate to be provided with an assignment where we created a website for an actor or actress that had won an Academy Award, the only stipulation being that they could no longer be alive, thus limiting, rather considerably, who I could choose.  When I was told that my choice of John Wayne would not suffice since he had only received an honorary Academy Award I decided, instead; to go with James Cagney.  Knowing nothing of the man, I preceded to discover that not only was he an icon of the gangster picture of the thirties, but that he also happened to be in Yankee Doodle Dandy, a performance that netted him a deserved Oscar.  This all happened well before I got into film, indeed, I think at that point I probably only cared about Lord of the Rings and could not be bothered to even acknowledge a world where other cinema might exist.  Yet, in the back of my mind I had always had this curiosity about Yankee Doodle Dandy, looking at the stills from the film and hearing brief soundbites of the actor delivering lines.  I have since then sought out the the film but never had the right moment to engage with it in any real way.  This month of musicals, however, is such an occasion and it was a frontrunner for inclusion.  Thankfully so, because Yankee Doodle Dandy within all of its grandstanding, jingoistic patriotism is something extraordinary, it is the forties musical at its most realized and absolutely fitting as a World War II propaganda piece that also doubles as an exceptional film.  It is baffling to think that Michael Curtiz released this film in the same year as Casablanca.  Other directors would work through their entire career just to obtain the success of one of these singular works.  For Curtiz it was a matter of multiple occurrences in the same year.  However, what is exceptionally phenomenal about Yankee Doodle Dandy, is not the work of Curtiz, although it helps, it is wholly the magic that the unlikeliest of performers brings to stage, the incomparable James Cagney.

Yankee Doodle Dandy focuses on the life of George M. Cohan (James Cagney) prolific songwriter and performer, known for his patriotic tunes "Over There" and "Yankee Doodle Dandy," although it sets the narrative up within the context of the elderly Cohan meeting with Franklin D. Roosevelt (Jack Young) whom Cohan has recently played in a musical.  Inquiring as to his thoughts on performing, Cohan begins to unfold his entire life story for the president, looking back on his time in vaudeville shows with his father, mother and sister, wherein he made a huge break taking on the role of Peck's bad boy, landing him in the curious eyes of agents and showman hoping to exploit his talent for huge financial gain.  In a wave of precociousness, a young Cohan is able to negotiate highly for his family, so much so that they can live comfortably well into Cohan's late twenties when the performer takes a shift towards songwriting specifically.  The Irish-American Cohan finding great joy in creating songs about the power and strength of America, making a name for himself in his rousing performances of revues that included songs like "Yankee Doodle Dandy."  Yet, Cohan seemingly always aware of the expectations of both audiences and critics strives to achieve the best possible in each scenario, answering the demands by critics that he branch away from his singular use of flag waving, or showy dance numbers.  Through trials and tribulations, Cohan manages to find his niche, always bring delight to audiences, even stepping in to serve as a figure of morale to troops during World War I when he is informed his age is a severe limitation to his being able to join the service.  Of course, age does catch up with Cohan, as does it with the rest of his family, both his mother and father stepping down from their jobs as performer to retire.  As they do so, Cohan comes to realize that the world around him is moving into a world of moving pictures and popular music, his show tune days becoming as aged as his body.  Yet, the spirit of resilience remains strong with Cohan, thus affording him a part in a play about Roosevelt.  In this moment the narrative returns to Cohan's discussion with the president, wherein Roosevelt rewards Cohan with a medal thanking him for his service to the country.  The elated Cohan dances down the stairs out into the streets, where marching soldiers are sing his tune, Cohan joining in the procession with tears in his eyes.

Jingoistic as Yankee Doodle Dandy may be, it is quite difficult to find a film with more inherent heart and good feeling within its structure.  Sure the film exists in a time when racial identity and gender oppression were troublesome, yet unlike the earlier reviewed Show Boat, Yankee Doodle Dandy does not purport to make these elements part of their narrative only to turn around and destroy them for the sake of white privilege.  The narrative of Yankee Doodle Dandy is a biopic first, afforded its musical status almost entirely as a result of its subject matter.  Music here works in a very literal sense, as they serve as depictions of moments from Cohan's life, as opposed to non-diegetic intrusions into the diegetic world of cinema that become things with which characters react.  Yankee Doodle Dandy, despite also being propaganda, also manages to tackle some issues of who is allowed to appropriate the American identity, particularly in a time when such actions took up layered implications.  Cahon's Irishness within the film, while not wholly acknowledged, is integral to the text, his attempts to break into the larger revue field, requires that he and his sister perform a song about Irish individuals, wherein, Cohan delivers his lines with a severe accent, almost knowing performing this element to mock the listening agents.  It makes within its narrative quite clear that the American mentality during World War II, even with something as seemingly inconsequential as music served as a state of heighten defensiveness, almost to the point of being confrontational.  Hell, one only needs to read the lyrics to "Over There" to discover how exceptionally flag-waving and idealistic films of the era proved to be.  It also works on layers, however, by showing Cohan interacting with a younger audience that to properly exert propaganda must require working within the space of the old ideas of entertainment (Cohan and his music) and new experiences within culture (the kids speaking adoringly of movies).  In many ways this is what Yankee Doodle Dandy does so brilliantly, it manages to be a culture exploration of patriotism and pride that works for a generation living with film and one who is decidedly confused by its operations.

Key Scene:  "He's a yankee doodle dandy...."

Buy this film.  It is an important backbone in the narrative of American cinema.

I Wish I Knew How To Quit You: Brokeback Mountain (2005)

Aside from a ton of the classics included in this month of westerns, I was fairly grounded about my wanting to include Brokeback Mountain amongst the list, primarily because I would strongly defend is placement within the genre, considering the setting and characters of the film, although it is a blatant revision of the tradition in a fresh and much needed manner.  I also wanted to justify its inclusion on the list because it had been a shame gap in my viewing, despite being told that it was a phenomenal work, although that should have been of little surprise considering that it is from the masterful Ang Lee whose varied film career reflect and individual who deeply concerns himself with challenging his own limitations, while also considering deeply personal experiences in the process.  Like his earlier works, The Ice Storm in particular, Brokeback Mountain manages to be a modest production with a grand social statement, one that is as much an indictment of American traditionalism in the face of fear mongering as it is a consideration on the nature of love, desire and intimate friendship.  I will admit that given its release date as being prior to my eventual appreciation for cinema on a large scale, I had allowed the reputation of the film to proceed itself and had foolishly believed that it would simply be a highly exploitative consideration of the experiences of two gay ranch hands.  Of course, I realized my misguided preconceived notions were wrong rather quickly, as Lee manages to make a highly romantic, sensual and passionate film that causes even the most calloused of viewer to root for the struggles of the main characters.  Furthermore, Lee does not shy away from the very real tragedies that emerge when an unaccepted love narrative emerges, showing the physical and emotional toll on those both directly and tangentially involved in something that is pure and unbridled, doing so to near Shakespearean proportions.  Each minimalist guitar strum pushes the narrative closer and closer to breaking of the dam of stoicism, eventually releasing into a deluge of emotions in what easily has to be one of cinema's most heart wrenching sequences of the past ten years.  For people who assume that Brokeback mountain is a irrelevant Oscar bait picture, I strongly urge you to revisit it and all it has to offer, I am sure you will come to realize that there is a lot going on in the magnificent work.

Brokeback Mountain begins during the summer of 1963 when two struggling ranch hands agree to take work from Joe Aguirre (Randy Quaid) herding sheep in Wyoming.  The men Ennis Del Mar (Heath Ledger) and Jack Twist (Jake Gyllenhal) come from broken homes, Ennis having little recollection of his parents after their death at a young age, while Jack has a tenuous relationship at best, something that allows them to bond, despite both loathing the work involved with ranching.  During a night of drunkenness the two engage in intercourse, an act that is cause for hesitation, mainly for Ennis who has a wife and children at home to care for, although he admits to possessing strong feelings for Jack.  Upon the end of their trip Ennis returns to his wife then fiancé Alma (Michelle Williams) and gets married, while Jack settles down with a local beauty and cowgirl named Lureen (Anne Hathaway).  After a handful of years pass, Ennis receives a postcard from Jack asking to visit with him and perhaps go on a fishing trip, to which he responds with elation and the two instantly rekindle their relationship, which is found out by Alma who accidentally catches them kissing.  Life proves to become difficult for both men, when Alma and Ennis eventually get divorced, while Jack struggles to assert his authority to his wealthy father-in-law, while facing the realization that he cannot make it as a rodeo star.  The two continue their meetings, until Ennis begins a relationship with Cassie (Linda Cardenelli), while Jack presumably begins another relationship with the husband of one of Lureen's friends.  During yet another trip, Ennis attempts to change the date of their next meeting, which results in a heated debate and hateful words being spouted towards one another and they both leave on bad terms.  More time passes and Ennis attempts to write to Jack only to receive a return card informing him that he is deceased.  This discovery causes Ennis to contact Lureen who says that he died in a freak side of the road repair accident, although Ennis knows that it was a result of a violent hate crime.  In an attempt to obtain his ashes, Ennis visits Jack's parents, taking with him some of Jack's clothing, a possession he caries with him and clearly uses as a point of influence in his decisions, particulalry in the closing moments of the film when he approves of his daughters impending marriage contingent on her assuring him that he is doing so out of love.

Brokeback Mountain, like many of the films discussed this month is not entirely a western in the traditional sense, nor does it ever offer itself as something that would be definitively genre.  However, Lee, pulling from the short by Diana Ossana, realizes the power and sway of the western mythology, particularly for masculinity within the midwest.  The film is set in the sixties, therefore, men of the era would have grown up with the rough and tumble images of Robert Mitchum and John Wayne and been rather familiar with the work of Howard Hawks, and just in case viewers would be uncertain of this, Lee includes scenes of the characters at drive-in movie theaters enjoying films and aware of a cultural landscape outside their respective towns.  The masculinity is something both Ennis and Jack manage to maintain, especially since they have chosen to raise families in a conservative word, while Ennis is particularly skilled at asserting his own male prowess, as is obvious in the fireworks scene, Jack is at constant odds with his own feelings of inferiority, seeking fulfillment through rodeos only to realize that he can assert himself when he is being bullied, even if indirectly, as is the case when his father-in-law has a spout during Thanksgiving concerning a football game on television.  The masculinity in this film is performed and to varying degrees so to is femininity performed, particularly with Alma who attempts to feign ignorance to Ennis's fishing trips and their true meaning in order to maintain a structured household.  What is not performed however is feelings of love and passion, while it seems initially as though Jack and Ennis will have a fleeting, purely physical relationship, as their feeling grow over time it is evidence that love is far greater than any need for sexual gratification, particularly when it is revealed that Ennis finds Jack's involvement with other men to be infidelity.  Were it to purely be physical he would have, undoubtedly, accepted it as par for the course.  Lee also realizes the very fragile nature of sexuality in an America going into the Cold War and suggest that many partnerships between a heterosexual couple could have easily been out of necessity and mutual friendship, Alma even offers at one point to return to a marriage with Ennis as long as he will admit to his sexual identity.   Unfortunately, even when the notion of queerness is indirectly expressed it is faced with mocking and fear, resulting in the death of Jack.  The death and murder have no rational explanation, aside from an act of hatred, much like the challenging, yet powerful scenes in Boys Don't Cry.  Brokeback Mountain wants viewers to not only accept the natural and organic love between same sex partners, but to also reflect on what cultural venues have led to the demonizing and emasculation of those who do not engage in heteronormative behavior.

Key Scene:  While it may be obvious the scene when Ennis visits Jack's room is easily the most heart breaking moment of the entire film and will have even the most dismissive of viewer reconsidering the depth of true love.

This is an important film in many ways and will only prove relevant in decades to come, I strongly urge you to grab a copy and watch it immediately.

I'll Be Shooting For My Own Hand: Brave (2012)

It is almost always a sure thing that a film by Disney will at the very least look amazing, and it is only a notion extended when one considers that the best work by the company is often released by Pixar, which is exceptionally spectacular.  However, what is much less assured is to what social commentaries the films may make, for example, Wall-E serves as a gorgeous piece of 3D animated film while also being a surprisingly scathing critique of all things leading our technological society to brainless reliance on machines.  In contrast is Tangled, one of the more cinematic Disney film, that draws upon some excellent references to old school Robin Hood movies, as well as also containing a significant female character.  Yet, Tangled, like so many of its predecessors manages to regress into heteronormativity by its closing moments never really allowing the revolutionary gender politics it seems so intent on setting up in the films opening moments.  Brave, a film from last year, seemed to continually emerge as this sort of enigmatic feminist statement directed at kids, via a Pixar film, although, the more I think about it, I would argue that Pixar aims the narrative elements of its films at adults, while offering sound visual elements to capture children.  Regardless, Brave is, much to my surprise, quite embracing of women's singularity and manages to make a considerable portion of the narrative center around this element, as one young girl struggles to reject gender commodifications and perform in a way that she finds comfortable and liberating, regardless of the expectations of tradition.  Brave is both a highly entertaining film, as well as one that keeps its narrative focus direct and socially advanced.  It was quite easy for me to become captured in the flora laden landscape of the film occupied by vibrant characters and some of the best human-based Pixar animation to date.  It is an incredibly fast-paced film that is perfect for young audiences, yet manages to pack a heavy set of gender reconsiderations into its world in the process.  While it is by no means a superior film to Frankenweenie, I can better understand now, after viewing, why this film has received such rave reviews, and, ultimately, and Oscar.

Brave focuses on the young life of Merida (Kelly MacDonald) a princess, in a Scottish clan whose love for archery and living in the outdoors has emerged directly from the tutelage of her father Fergus (Billy Connolly) a king whose leg was lost defending his family and clan from a deathly bear attack.  This emphasis on athleticism and outdoor activities is much maligned by her mother Elinor (Emma Thompson) who hopes that Merida will willingly align herself with history and give her hand to a suitor from a nearby clan as a means of assuring peace in the area.  While Fergus is quite lacking in his support of such a decision, he does realize its necessity to assure clan peace, therefore, falling in line with Elinor when she forces Merida to follow the orders and give her hand to who ever wins a contest. Even after Merida attempts to win her own hand in the competition, the fact proves that she must still get married.  In a last ditch moment of frustration,  Merida visits The Witch (Julie Walters) who agrees to provide Merida with an escape in exchange for a metal amulet.   The spell takes the form of a cake that Elinor is to eat, Merida thinking it will only cause her mother to change her mind gives it to her in excitement, yet when Elinor becomes sick almost immediately after consuming the food things take a serious turn.  The spell Merida has obtained causes her mother to change, not her mind, but physical form into that of a bear, of course, leading to her immediate danger when Fergus senses the presence of a bear within his castle.  Escaping from the castle with just enough time to spare, Merida and her mother seek The Witch to alter the spell, but she is nowhere to be found, instead leaving a riddle as to how to reverse the spell, before her mother becomes like Mor'duu another person whose selfish desires led him to being turned into a bear.  Yet, the persistent chase of Fergus leads to a showdown in a stonehenge-like battlefield, where Merida brings a fixed tapestry that she had damaged earlier in frustration against her mother.  Realizing the seriousness of the matter, Fergus steps back and, with Merida in tears, Elinor finally becomes a human again, the family reunited and the clans at ease.  The narrative ends with Merida embracing her role as princess, but with the full knowledge that she can choose to marry, or not to, at her own convenience.

While I am fully aware that it is not a particularly radical film in its portrayal of unconventional gender roles, Brave, as a piece of animated film, could have been much more heteronormative and still probably made a ton at the box office.  However, the deliberate choice, on the part of the collective of directors and writers to make Merida her own individual, even in the closing moments of the film is quite a powerful thing.  The film is about choosing a lifestyle that is both comforting and rewarding, as opposed to preordained and mandatory.  Merida loathes the idea of feminine beauty and constant beauty regiments, emphasized by her unkempt hair and her disdain when it is trapped within a headdress.  Elinor does not seem so opposed to Merida's personal pleasures and enjoyments because she assumes that it is unnatural or playing against her gender, but because she is fully aware of the political consequences of her daughters choice not to act the part.  It is a larger commentary on institutionalization, internalization and fear of working against an unrealistic notion of the ideal.  In fact, I would not even suggest that this film outright rejects femininity, because, after all, it is Merida's fixing of a tapestry that allows her mother to return to human form.  I am not suggesting that now, textile and tapestry work is uniquely feminine, but within the historical context of the film that would have certainly been the case, therefore, the narrative seems to open up its necessity.  With both commentaries existing against one another it seems to be a film that draws out the necessity of possessing both masculine and feminine qualities, without being forced to exist within one spectrum at one time.  Furthermore, Merida's existence by herself in the films closing moments say that gender is not predicated on finding an other to fifth the dichotomy, but can certainly be its own stand alone element and should be entirely the choice of the individual in question.

Key Scene:  The archery contest is fun and hearkens back to the old Robin Hood films of the thirties.

This is not a film I feel is absolutely worth owning, however, it is quite enjoyable and certainly worth renting.

The Voice You Hear Is Not My Speaking Voice: The Piano (1993)

I can distinctly remember viewing Angel At My Table and realizing, as it unfolded in front of me, that it would prove to be one of the most influential and important pieces of cinema I would ever see.  From its highly feminist narrative to the absolutely captivating cinematography, it made me fully aware of Jane Campion and kept it that way even though it would be now some four years later before I would catch up with another one of her films.  Of course, when I approached The Piano I had already been made aware of its critical acclaim, far before knowing that Jane Campion was the director, but for a multitude of reasons had never managed to actually catch up with it.  To describe the film as cinematic, or mesmerizing only captures the very visual obvious elements of the film, which are expressive and key to the overall theme of the film, yet not entirely is brilliance.  Within The Piano, viewers are offered a set of expert performances by a range of actors, whether they be the then well-established Harvey Keitel or the then up and coming (now quite successful) Anna Paquin.  It is also a very elaborate and multifaceted story that manages to be expansive and introspective, without sacrificing linear structure, a dangerous act, when attempting to play to the palettes of viewers who are often not versed enough filmically to follow a filmmaker outside of the traditional stylings which constitute big budget filmmaking.  Fortunately, Jane Campion clearly has no concern for making a narrative simple and accessible, but still possess a certain aesthetic frame of mind that seems transcendent of personal tastes and preconceived expectations, something her films embrace both within her choices, as well as the manner with which her characters occupy the narrative space.  To say the film centers on Holly Hunter's character is an absolute understatement, she absolutely rules and always occupies it, with her stoic silence and piercing stare, it is a film about one woman struggling to assure her voice in a world that she is literally trapped within and expected to act subordinately to a male figurehead with less than respectable desires.

The narrative centers on Ada McGrath (Holly Hunter) a woman who, along with her daughter Flora (Anna Paquin) have found themselves transported to a small island off the coast of New Zealand to be wed to a wealthy landowner named Alisdair Stewart (Sam Neil).  Ada, however, has been a mute for quite some time, occurring after the death of her husband after both him and her were stuck by lightning.  The only sort of expression Ada appears to still possess exists within her ability to masterfully play the piano, which is simply dumped onto the beach of the island along with all her other valuable possessions.  It is during this arrival that Ada meets her husband-to-be, as well as his handyman/translator/land-proprieter George Baines (Harvey Keitel) whose tattooed visage and muscled physique serve as a sharp contrast to the sleek and a bit slithery Alisdair.  Realizing that the piano is far to heavy to move upon arrival, Alisdair leaves it on the beach, much to the frustration of Ada who sees it as an extension of herself, begging George to take her to it the following day.  It is during this trip that Ada simply spends the time playing the piano, at which point George finds himself growing fond of Ada, given her ability to play and the beauty that exudes from her as a result.  Realizing that Alisdair simply desires to get the heavy instrument off his hands, George strikes a deal for land in return for the piano, as well as Ada's providing of lessons.  Ignorant to George's ulterior motives, Alisdair agrees quickly assuming he has earned the best deal.  What follows is a game of bartering between George and Ada where in Ada must trade trip to George's residence for the keys of her piano.  This of course expands from simply being her playing to touches, and eventually to intercourse, eventually leading to the two falling for each other.  This realization enrages Alisdair who cuts off one of Ada's fingers in response, yet when he realizes that she will forever find herself attracted to George and ignore him he gives up and the two are allowed to leave the island.  It is during this trip that Ada demands that the piano be thrown off the boat, at which point her getting caught up in the rope leads to her almost drowning, yet she escapes at the last moment, and her George and Flora are able to start a new life.  Although the narrative voice reminds viewers that the memory of her piano always sticks with Ada.

There are many things to consider as minor commentaries within this film, whether it be the clear statement on property, colonization and invasion of space as it relates to Alisdair and George's overtaking of aboriginal land for their own economic advances, even if George clearly has a respect for the people, his appropriation of their culture only speaks to such a degree about his own engagement in capitalist based oppression as a result.  One could even read this as a sort of masculine competition, a sporting challenge, in which a woman's body is objectified as a result.  In both cases, however, Champion is clearly mocking and satirizing such issues, instead; it is absolutely and clearly a commentary on the feminine obtaining a voice.  Much like Julie Dash's Daughters of the Dust, the film possesses a narrative completely detached from the temporal space of the film.  Whether it be the unborn child of Daughters, or in the case of The Piano, Ada's voice which she has lost much earlier in the narrative, before the film begins.  Yet she still attempts to navigate the space of the film as though she were still very much present, and, to be fair, she is present.  She uses, firstly, her daughter as a means to navigate the space, teaching Flora to deliver statements with a directness and frankness as to be taken seriously, not only to assure her respect when she gets older, but to ground the fact that she is speaking for two people.  Of course, the more important manner with which Ada obtains a voice, is through her piano, its strings representing her vocal cords as she speaks her frustration, her sexuality and her love, in some instances all at once.  The soundtrack for the film serves as a beautiful non-diagetic, and at times diagetic doubling of this notion.  Yet by the end of the film both outlets as replacements for her voice fail and she is left with the realization that she must possess her own voice again, the closing scenes suggesting that she will do so with much practice, always remembering that a failure to do so led to her very near death.

Key Scene:  The staging of Bluebeard is a throwaway scene of sorts, but it is this great metaphor of failed escapism that works on a larger context within the film.

This is an artwork, film at its highest potential, owning it should go without saying.

Experiments In Film: Paperman (2012)

So I know that this will more than likely go down as my least experimental film within this little aside on my blog, but I could not pass up an opportunity to elaborate on it after it won an Oscar last night, and since I have failed to see Argo I figured this would be far more appropriate.  Last night, however, was not the point in time with which I became familiar with this cinematic wonder.  Instead, I first saw it as an introduction to Wreck-It Ralph, which I enjoyed but fails to hold the narrative sway of this animated short, despite having plenty more space and time to work with.  Paperman, while at first glance does not appear to be experimental, at least in comparison to what is normally mentioned within this context, one has to consider that it is very much that since it is from Disney, a company not entirely known for experimentation, aside of course from the free reign given to Tim Burton.  Paperman, much like my favorite Pixar film, Wall-E, focuses on everything wrong with conforming to standards and fearing new experiences.  It takes the melodramatic and uses it such a welcome way, embracing both the power of silence and necessity of sound all swelling into an invested moment that will have you sitting up right in curiosity.  In a bold choice of only using black and white, director John Kahrs assures no confusion about the very clear statement existing within his film, and is sure to cement his place as a premier Pixar staple in years to come, which is more than welcome on my part, because I doubt the necessity of another Cars film.  Yet even for being in black and white, the short questions the factuality of life and exists in a realm of magical realism by its closing, reminding viewers that in the insanity of existence, sometimes love and human connection still occurs if the "forces that be" will it to do so.

The film is quite simple and lacks any sort of deception as to what it is about, viewers are shown a young man and a young woman who share a brief connection, when the young man's paper flies into her face, leaving some of her lipstick on the page in the process.  The two laugh, but nothing comes of it, instead; they go along with their lives.  Yet, when the man sees the woman in an interview in the building across from where he works, he attempts to get her attention by flying paper airplanes across the gap, much to the disgust of his fellow employees and supervisor.  When this fails and he is faced with a daunting task of more papers, he throws out convention and chases for the girl through the busy streets, and just when he thinks he has lost her, the hundreds of plains that fell to the ground begin guiding him towards her, at the same time when the girl stops to smell some flowers she sees the paper, with her lipstick on it, a coincidence to eeire to ignore.  The two then return to their original location, still in silence the credits roll and they are shown engaging in a cup of coffee at a diner, and one can only assume a great future.  Again, this is all animated in black and white, with the exception of the girls red lips and the lipstick mark, and aside from an absolutely wonderful composition from Christophe Beck is visually simple.  The story, however, is delivered with such assuredness and precision that it absolutely moves a person upon viewing.  I know it is a minor category as far as Oscars go, yet it is one of the outright correct decisions made last night and I can only imagine what kind of work we will see from Kahrs in the future, if this is anything, I would be willing to bank some possibilities on an animation revolution.  Also I am rather certain it is at the very least an indirect homage to The Red Balloon.

To find out more about John Kahrs, or to watch Paperman click either of the images below.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Told You I Want A Spotlight Right Here!: The Broadway Melody (1929)

With the emergence of sound to cinema, the musical became a staple of Hollywood, so much so that one could say Broadway existed as a means of film, instead of the theatrical world we have come to expect it to be, especially considering that major studies essentially made musical review films in the numbers.  This is certainly the case for The Broadway Melody, one of the earlier musicals, which would go on to have remakes in the two following decades, however, it would not find the success of its original, which, much to my surprise, won Best Picture that year.  I say I am surprise, not because I have seen any of the films from the same year, but because The Broadway Melody is not especially good.  It clearly has the desire to be a musical review, that happens to have the base story necessary to call it a film, the story is trite and the performer were clearly not hired for their acting.  Of course this is early in sound filmmaking and means that the demands and expectations for such a film were different, yet only two years earlier, blackface aside, The Jazz Singer was released to much success and with a far  higher level of production value and only a few years later 42nd Street would be released, which is a spectacle of a film and one of my personal favorites in the underviewed category of musicals.  I think much of my disdain for the film comes from its glaringly stagnant camera work, often resting on two people talking, failing to do so much as even cut to reactions or even slightly alter an angle within a scene, which is more surprising considering that director Harry Beaumont also made Our Dancing Daughters, film, while silent, nonetheless, manages to avoid all the pitfalls and failures of The Broadway Melody.  Of course, the music in the film is another matter, it is of a high-quality and many of the more instrumental based songs reflect a level of high musicality that is certainly lost in contemporary musicals and as such provides as the sole factor for what I found agreeable in the film.  I certainly do not hate this film and am glad to have viewed it, but it is something I am unlikely to revisit again.  I will be far more judicial with what I chose, likely sticking to either things involving the cinematography of Busby Berkeley or Astaire/Crosby era works.

The story of The Broadway Melody is noticeably straightforward, considering that the film does everything in the interest of moving the story along, although the opening shot of the New York cityscape via helicopter suggests something cinematically vibrant.  Instead, we are show Eddie Kearns (Charles King) preparing a new song, sharing the title of the film, which he hopes to have released in an upcoming musical review.  While producers are eager to put it in the hands of their star actresses, Eddie has the idea to provide the song to two girls he knows personally, his fiancé Hank Mahoney (Bessie Love) and her sister, Queenie (Anita Page), who much to Eddie's surprise is far more attractive then he remembers.  After pushing and prodding, the girls are given a chance to perform, only to get booted from their initial act much to their dismay, considering that they are living paycheck by paycheck, yet it is the eye of Jock Warriner (Kenneth Thompson) that allows for Queenie to become the ingenue of Broadway.  This thrusting into stardom creates a serious divide between the sisters, not only because of musical respect, but as they become physically confrontational over the love of Eddie.  After some time Queenie begins to see Jock regularly, regardless of disapproving statements by both Hank and Eddie, but it becomes clear that she is only doing so to help ease her mind of growing feelings for Eddie, who she knows rightfully belongs to her sister.  During a lavish party thrown by Jock, specifically for Queenie, he plans to get her alone to take advantage of the young girl, who he sees his property, considering he has essentially paid for her success.  When Queenie denies his advances he becomes physical, but in a last minute rescue Eddie enters the room attacks Jock and saves Queenie.  The film then closes after Hank and Eddie have split, finding their discomfort to large to ignore, Queenie laments that she hopes her sister will find happiness, something that seems unlikely even as she is shown with a new lover.

The Broadway Melody, while not a particularly great film, is rather technologically inventive, running across America as both a sound and silent film, something that becomes obvious by the inter-titles present throughout the film, and an eventual technicolor release of "The Wedding of the Paper Doll" scene, which is easily the most gorgeous moment of the film, even in black and white.  However, The Broadway Melody also exists as an example of pre-code Hollywood in some of the moments depicted. As most readers, undoubtedly, know, the Hayes code was implemented to clean up the filth and immorality many deemed far too present in Hollywood and while this was certainly true for a few films of the time, most were innocent and happened to depict love earnestly.  One would find some of the moments included in The Broadway Melody that were considered controversial rather humorous as they seem quite tame now.  For example, the bond between the two sisters mean that they are intimate with one another and share an on-screen kiss, not one of incest but familial love.  This act, would have in all likelihood been nixed from the film via The Hayes Code.  Similarly the character, brilliantly named Unconscious (Uncredited) would have likely been cut from the film because he is a flat-out drunkard who can barely make it standing upright, let alone complete a sentence.  The moments in this film, while seemingly inconsequential in contemporary society, would have been defined as morally reprehensible and unfit for cinemas across The United States.  Yet, The Broadway Melody exists as a moment of pre-escapism subdued right before America was to face The Great Depression.

Key Scene:  The performance of "Parson Brown" is exceptionally good irregardless of time, musical tastes and lyricism.

This is a fine film, not a great film.  I would suggest watching it only if you desire to see all the Oscar winners, or have a definite love for musicals.

Something You Don’t Need, An Excuse: The Hustler (1961)

I am a stalwart fan of Paul Newman as an actor, granted I have not seen his entire filmography, and as such cannot speak to his scope of acting abilities.  That being said, what I have seen from the actor proves to me that he is versatile, earnest and fully involved with any performance he delivers, this is quite clear in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, as well as one of my personal favorite films Cool Hand Luke.  If you add the already nostalgic touch of black and white to such a film then the result is something that only helps to make Paul Newman pop off the screen, at least this is how I felt while watching The Hustler.  What is likely to be my new favorite sports movie, The Hustler is sentimental, yet jarring in its reflection on an era far gone in which even pool sharks had a set of ethics that were followed without question.  Pitting the still young Paul Newman against a veteran actor like Jackie Gleason furthers the enjoyability and acting seems so simple with the aid of Piper Laurie and George C. Scott to the cast.  I assumed going in that there would only be so many ways to shoot a game of pool, but Robert Rossen manages to make even repeated shots seems vibrant and fresh, and is smart enough to let the camera just observe at points in times throughout the movie.  Compose with a clear goal in mind, The Hustler is an exceptional piece of cinema that reflects one of the last mighty breaths of Hollywood filmmaking that would irrevocably change with the onset of the sixties.

The Hustler follows the trials and trebulations of one “Fast” Eddie Felson (Paul Newman) and up and coming pool hustler who has already made a respectable name for him throughout the country.  Along with the help of his manager Charlie (Myron McCormick) Eddie desires nothing more than to verse and destroy rival pool shark Minnesota Fats (Jackie Gleason).  Eddie is so willing to verse the legend that he goes to his home billiards room and challenges him directly.  Fats, in a rather dismissive manner, agrees to verse Eddie and makes work of the young and inexperienced hustler with sage-like precision.  This loss is rather devastating to Eddie who is now broke and seeks refuge in the town, one that is rather unwelcoming to the infamous hustler.  Despite this trouble he manages to meet a young woman with a bit of a drinking problem named Sarah (Piper Laurie) who instantly takes a liking to the witty ways of Eddie.  Looking for an out, Eddie agrees to help Fats’ manager Bert Gordon (George C. Scott) with the hopes of paying off his debt.  While Bert is certainly willing to help Eddie, he sends him through the ringer a few times in order to assure his power, particularly in the scene involving Eddie losing to a rich aristocrat in multiple games of billiards.  It is at this point that Bert uses Sarah as a means to bring Eddie down and gain monetary reward in the process and humiliating Sarah in the process, leading to her tragic suicide.  All but defeated, Eddie attempts his hand at playing Fats one more time and succeeds in winning a substantial amount of money.  Fats, for the first time in his career, is force to quit and Eddie is the ultimate winner, although he is told forcefully by Bert to never step foot in his billiards hall again.

The Hustler is, like many sports movies, concerned to a great deal with an individual (in some cases a group) making a name for themselves.  However, at the point in which viewers are dropped into the narrative Eddie has already made somewhat a name for himself and desires to obtain accolades previously unimagined.  To him the only thing that matters is winning against Fats, and once he does this, he realizes that in order to be fully satisfied he must not only win, but also completely obliterate the aging pool shark.  It is at this point that the theme of hubris develops within The Hustler and becomes a point of criticism throughout the film.  Eddie’s hubris is the cause of his name being tarnished through a portion of the narrative, just as Bert’s hubris ultimately cost him his relationship with each friend he makes throughout the film.  Similarly, Sarah’s own self-involved quest for meaning borders on hubris in that she seems to treat her rather simple sufferings as a trust fund child as a burden on par with Atlas.  Hubris literally destroys Sarah and greatly harms both Bert and Eddie, at one time Eddie’s fingers are broken.  It is only after severe loss that either men realize the consequences of their pride, although for Eddie it is far to late.  With this notion in mind, it would appear as the only two characters void of such pride are Eddie’s mentor Charlie and Fats, although the latter is an unusual circumstance because we are at no point provided with his past story and are only aware of him as a Goliath like being in the world of pool.  Although his presence and graceful playing style are likely intended to be the example of modesty to the young Eddie, Fats teaches him the most important rule of all, accepting defeat.

Key Scene: The montage involving Eddie and Fats first meeting

 

The Hustler is a staple of American cinema and a giant in the genre of sports films and given the recent bluray release it is necessary to own, not only for its gorgeous cinematography, but for its easily accessible and morally profound message.