Experiments In Film: Manhatta (1921)

I have decided in the past few weeks that since I am in graduate school and have become fairly certain of my intentions to continue on with my education in film studies that expanding my research interests to exist outside of the rather limiting window of South Korean cinema was of the necessity.  While this has manifested itself in various formats, whether it be more work with archival footage and orphan media or an expansion to include previously unforeseen genre films, my secondary place of rest seems to have landed squarely within the frame of cyberpunk cinema, primarily because it is something that already has ties to contemporary South Korean films, but also because it manages to exist as an amalgam of some of my favorite elements from other works of genre, whether it be the cold, calculated, but ultimately indifferent way of the world that is clearly in line with the film noir of eras gone by, or the ability to transgress and readdress boundary issues by way of also possessing a decided heir of the science fiction film.  Given the diversity at play within the cyberpunk film, I have even implemented weekly screenings of works within the broad genre as a means to expand my horizons.  Of course, it is a somewhat expansive frame for a nondescript genre, so I manage to pull things like the short film Manhatta as a way to approach some of the more integral issues to the cyberpunk films, while also continuing to expand my understanding of urban spaces and social integrity.  Manhatta, exists in this space because for all of its intentions to exist as a documentary, it is clearly far too invested in reflecting the mechanized labor at display that makes not only the film much more experimental in its composition, but also proves to be a rather evocative statement on the proletariat implications of an expanding cityscape, one that carries with it Babel like implications as the various bridges, towers and skyscrapers in the short  films narrative burst through the sky unapologetically.  Here the human figures neither exist comfortably in the real world, nor do they exist safely in a past or future space.  Manhatta, while it may be an earnest look at a day in the life of a blue-collar worker in America, it also proves a forceful and poignant warning as to what can happen should humans becomes too invested in their machine, one of the major components of genre.

How then do the workings of dual filmmakers Charles Sheeler and Paul Strand evoke the idea that the mechanical and the human have somehow become inextricably intertwined in the modern setting.  Well, considering that it is an experimental film from 1921 there is a heavy investment in methods of editing and juxtaposition that allow for a paralleling between the movement of the rows and clusters of people through New York with the various machinery of construction and destruction.  The very human who desires to make the space of Manhatta(n) into something spectacular and grand, too fails to connect their own reliance on these beastial machines as a means to enact this expansion that is both outward and upward.  Indeed, Manhatta takes on issues of hyper-technolization and, to a degree, industrialization much in the same way Fritz Lang's Metropolis would do the same, but where the latter is very much rooted in the workings of science-fiction, Manhatta still remains a documentary.  In its emphasis on reality and the depictions of the city from a near-omniscient presence it seems more inclined to evoke an idea of the monotony and repetition of the cityscape and its various mechanized industries as being synonymous with the hustle and bustle of the daily commute.  While it is far less violent, but no less surreal, one could make a comfortable comparison between Sheeler and Strand's work and that of Testuo, Iron Man wherein the metal and oil of the machine comes colliding together with the human to create some simple version of the cinematic cyborg, although in this short film one must accept it as a rather broad metaphor.  What is far more clear in this short documentary are the concerns of the filmmakers.  The film ends with a deeply rousing image of the sky cracking open to reveal large beams of light washing over the city, as though the very presence of God has bursted over the metropolis to look down on its own fusion in a 20th century Babel Revisited.  The judgement or joy of the heavenly presence is left uncertain, a reality is only marked and the natural/spiritual is left merely to accept this existence.  In Manhatta, man has matched the gods, the result is to this day still to be determined.

For more information on the filmmakers, or to watch Manhatta, click on either of the images below:

Your Guy's Got A Camera. Mine's Got A Flamethrower: C.H.U.D. (1984)

A lot of the cinema I encounter defies any sense of my logic as to how it exists in a final form, one that suggest that it was actively pursued and produced with the intent of expecting great success.  For example, while I was washing clothing at the laundromat this morning I noticed that the Hallmark Channel (one of the television staples of this particular establishment) was playing The First Daughter, a particularly underwhelming and indeed quite terrible piece of cinema whose release should never have seen the light of day.  Glancing at the film while far more intrigued by my book on the history of Technicolor, I noticed that everything about the film was half-assed and clearly rushed, exploiting outdated racial stereotypes and the most derivative of romance genre tropes.  The First Daughter should not cinematically exist, but the reality is that it does.  In another world completely is a film like C.H.U.D. whose cult status is undenied and certainly grows over the years, even being the subject of a delightfully irreverent Criterion April Fool's Joke, complete with an "analysis" of the film's many meanings that puts some of my overanalyzing of films to shame.  Watching C.H.U.D., one becomes aware almost instantly that the film is completely and undeniably bad, both in the ways evident of most 80's genre films, but also in terms of very basic filmmaking skills and visual narrative cohesion.  When watching C.H.U.D. I felt very much aware of this factor and kept wanting to dismiss it as one of the failures in regards to the varied viewings I have encountered so far during this, my second, horror film marathon.  Looking for a way to write the film off, I realized that as the creatures began to emerge and as Daniel Stern's acting slowly became more fractured and what could only be described as clear inspiration for Matthew Lillard that I was enjoying the very implausibility of C.H.U.D.  Indeed, even if I were at the point of writing the film off, the emergence of a young John Goodman into one scene pretty much assured its lasting viewing power.  While I gave C.H.U.D. a rather unimpressive three stars on Letterboxd, I still adore its endearing crappy qualities.  It is not a "so bad its good" type of film, but one so terrible in its execution as to allow a degree of schadenfreude to occur in watching it unravel completely.

The film begins with a woman walking her dog down an alley, only to be grabbed and drug into the sewers by the hand of some green creature, thus setting up a film about a monster attack by creatures known as Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers, or C.H.U.D. The creatures, however, are not the main focus of the film, but instead looks at a group directly affected by the emergence of these green fleshy humanoids.  Firstly there is the tense relationship between photographer George Cooper (John Heard) and his model girlfriend Lauren (Kim Geist) one that seems to be a challenge of creative establishment and sexual authority.  Occurring in line with this narrative are the experiences of a police captain named Bosch (Christopher Curry) who is attempting to uncover a string of murders where the bodies of the victims are appearing in the sewers of the town.  Knowing that his best source of information comes from A.J. Sheperd (Daniel Stern) whose work providing food and shelter for the homeless has resulted in his being labeled as The Reverend.  When Bosch explains the situation he is adamant that it is not the homeless population engaging in the attacks, but instead; a group of deformed humanoids who are the result of chemical dumping by the NRC, a group whose work directly ties to nuclear engineering.  The evidence emerges at it is clear that the creatures are indeed former humans whose exposure to toxic waste has led to them becoming neon-eyed monsters bent on violent revenge.  Despite apparent restrictions, the NRC continued to dump the waste, although the leaders continue to deny it as a fact, even when footage and eye witness accounts blatantly suggest otherwise.  Bosch, whose wife died at the hands of the toxic creatures, seeks to bring justice to the NRC, as well as his late wife, whose body is discovered in the mix of the corpses underground.  A.J. begins confronting members of his homeless community who have come into contact with the C.H.U.D.'s while Lauren has her own above ground contact with one of the fiendish creatures, all leading up to Bosch finally confronting the owner of the NRC, in a battle to expose the truth whose results, with the aid of A.J. and George have some rather fiery results.

C.H.U.D. is a film that clearly caves a bit under its own metaphor, hoping that by going for an idea in a big way that the important elements will exist underneath with little or no need for detailed elaboration. This, unfortunately, is not entirely the case and the film becomes almost about a lot of things and never fully about anything, and I certainly do not mean that in the way it has been endearingly appropriated to talk about Seinfeld.  Furthermore, in a perfect world I could write about this film with the same detached absurdity that Criterion did with their faux-release of this film, but they delivered it with such an earnestness that I would be foolish to step on its perfection.  So what could one make of the various almost realized social narratives.  Well there is a rather clear, albeit on-the-nose, connection made between the spaces that become victim to nuclear dumping, usually associated with impoverished spaces that are dangerously close to urban dwellings.  In C.H.U.D. dangerously close means underground, suggesting that cities exist on the exploitation of those below, or those with the least amount of class mobility, even becoming monsters in the eyes of the exceptionally wealthy and association that is, in turn, internalized by those without.  The creatures who occupy the space of monster in the film are clearly a creature within the filmic narrative, but they also carry along with them a metaphorical representation of the desire to attack the oppressive hegemonic structure, as well as the hegemony's own assumption that the lower class is so barbaric and uncivilized as to literally be a bug-eyed monster whose only desire is to blindly destroy the structures and well-established ways of society, never mind that these structures are based solely on economic privilege and social standing.  It is no less noticeable that the figures in the film who most sympathize with the figures of the C.H.U.D. are contingent on their relational attachment to privilege, whether it be Bosch and his particular frustration creatures primarily as a result of his wife's death, but also indicative of his relation to enforcing authority for the hegemony.  In contrast is A.J. whose empathy for the creatures is considerably higher, even when faced with a threat on his life, because he seems to accept and understand that their grotesque nature is very much the result of ill-willed politicians and corporate leaders who have knowingly destroyed the bodies of humans in the name of their own capitalist endeavors and their assured success.

Key Scene:  The what would now be called a cameo on the part of John Goodman.

This is and has been on Netflx for awhile, should you be looking for a late night future, this is certainly a worthy consideration.

I'm Good, We Gonna Be Good: Fruitvale Station (2013)

It is no small task to release a film about a controversial shooting against the backdrop of a heated debate of racial attacks in America, particularly one where justice became murky quite quickly and an sour taste was left in the mouth of those both directly and indirectly involved in the incidents.  It is even more challenging to release a film against the existence of very real footage surrounding an event, one whose violence is factually chronicled, yet still wildly inexplicable.  That is precisely what occurs within the context of Ryan Coogler's cinematic and poignant directorial debut Fruitvale Station.  A film that possessed such an evocative theme and decided force from its very inception, Fruitvale Station was already on my radar well before its release and the closer to its release date it came, the more it seemed as though it was on the tails of the Trayvon Martin case, whose presence invariably exists all over this film.  Fortunately, the film does manage to navigate the tenuous and troubling issues with a degree of awareness about the layers of representation, suggesting that even the most seemingly understood of individuals can prove to have a set of motives and challenges that invariably come to challenge any notion of changing or starting over.  There have been many films like Fruitvale Station prior and there will, undoubtedly, be many films like it to follow, what they all lack is an understanding that they invariably exist outside the frame of the reality, attempting to posit a layer of credibility to a set of events that can only be certain in the previously reality, thus making the film a statement about what can and should occur in the aftermath of a tragedy.  Whereas, Spike Lee's Do the Right Thing, from which Fruitvale Station inevitably pulls, is afforded a pre-9/11 space to create a narrative against an assumed outcome, Fruitvale Station cannot create quite the same sense of a simulacra of events.  Coogler understanding that his work is occurring after the events of Rodney King, as well as in a post-9/11 framework chooses to audaciously bookend his film with images of the real, making each fabrication and directorial choice that much more purposefully and precisely heavy-handed.  It is a profusely audacious decision, but one that pays off in incalculable ways.

Fruitvale station, begins with actual cell phone footage that depicts the arresting of Oscar Grant III, which leads to an assumedly accidental shooting, before cutting to the fictionalized version of the events leading up to the real incident.  Oscar (Michael B. Jordan) is shown talking with his girlfriend Sophina (Melanie Diaz) about their respective New Year's Resolutions, while also caring for the couple's daughter Tatiana (Ariana Neal).  Hoping to get his feet back on the ground after a stint in jail, Oscar returns to his old job begging to be forgiven for his continual tardiness, which has direct ties to his selling of drugs, an endeavor that assumedly caused his jailing, which is also dealt within in the narrative.  Despite his inability to attain a legal job, Oscar vows to end a life in the world of selling drugs both for his daughter and girlfriend, as well as for his mother Wanda (Octavia Spencer) who seems to serve as the only guiding presence in Oscar's desultory life, especially considering his notable devotion to assuring that she has an enjoyable birthday.  After attending his mothers birthday party, Oscar and Sophina plan to meet up with various friends and attend New Year's fireworks in San Francisco.  The group meets up and despite the general drunkenness of those on the subway train they are traveling, nonetheless, seem to get along with little or no trouble, the general glee of New Year's celebrations momentarily transcending race, class and gender divides.  At one point, Oscar even appears to meet up with a man whose work in web design could prove a ticket to a respectable job and step in the right direction.  Tired from the events the group returns home  on an even more crowded train, at which point Oscar by a wicked twist of fate runs into an enemy he made while in prison leading to a minor incident on the train.  Nonetheless, the scuffle results in subway authorities entering the train and forcefully removing Oscar and his friends.  The two leading officers become incredibly aggressive in their methods, pushing Oscar's face into the ground and eventually shooting him through the back.  Realizing their mistake the officers quickly rush Oscar to the hospital, but it proves too fatal a wound to save and he is left on life support until it proves futile to keep him alive, the film closing with Sophina showering a confused Tatiana who simply asks where her father has gone, and in an even more sobering closing moment, the film cuts to a 2013 vigil for Oscar and a match cut of the real Tatiana crying closes the film, reminding viewers of the reality of the event and the contemporary presence of such inexplicable loss through acts of violence.

I know when I have reviewed a film like Red Eye, I praised its for its self-aware existence in a post-9/11 framework, where they understand that the ebb and flow of their narrative is entirely contingent upon an understanding that the majority if not the entirety of the audience is aware of the tragic inexplicable act of violence that occurred at the World Trade Center.  Red Eye kowtows into the absurd as a clear juxtaposition to the real violence, but also accepts that its tension is derived from that acknowledgement, particularly given its plane-in-flight setting.  Of course, the major example of post-9/11 cinema will always be United 93 poignantly directed by Paul Greengrass, but Fruitvale Station may well exist as the clear second in line to this work, in that, like United 93 it accepts that it is a fictional consideration of a very devastating and very real occurrence, one whose images are easily accessible and for many viscerally and permanently burned into their memory.  The moment of the planes hitting in United 93 is not recreated, because to do so would be to compete with a collective memory of the reality, a fabrication would seem ill-conceived and to many offensive.  With this in mind, reading Fruitvale Station as a film working within the space of the post-9/11 filmmaking framework is particularly fascinating, because like Greengrass does in United 93, Coogler accepts that his narrative is existing within the space of real images, ones available and catalogued heavily on the internet, an example of viral video becoming a powerful tool for justice and political action.  As such, Fruitvale Station is a poetic realist fabrication of the events leading up to the shooting, beginning the film with the real events as a means to assure that at no point will this film attempt to extend or challenge the reality, because it has been captured and to contest it, or undermine it would be to nobody's credit, particularly not that of Oscar who was very much a victim, as the cell phone footage affirms.  In so much, as it instead becomes a tribute to the ethereal memory of the lost Oscar, the film is post-9/11 instead celebrating moments of a remembered character, both in their ups and downs, hoping to show a scale of humanity that is discussed in the aftermath of such tragedy, while never suggesting itself as anything more than a film.  Indeed, as the closing shot of Fruitvale Station attests, no amount of glorified cinematic composition can help to deal with the tragic loss that affects those in the reality, but in an ideal world something like Fruitvale Station can at the very least afford people a space to consider their emotions and frustrations of such events, without hostility and violence becoming the immediate answer.

Key Scene:  Tatiana chasing Oscar after he picks her up from day care will break your heart, and again, this is because the film sets up from the beginning the certainty of his death and Coogler manages to make the fictionalized version of Oscar stand in for an emotive replacement nearly immediately, a challenging task made much easier by the stellar, Oscar-worthy, performance by Michael B. Jordan.

Go to a theater and see this, it is what should ideally be shown for 10+ screenings a day, as opposed to The Man of Steel.

Why Do Some People Have All The Luck While Others Are Miserable? Summer With Monika (1953)

I am currently working my way through the fascinating set of episodes entitled The Story of Film: An Odyssey which are currently available on Netflix Watch Instantly, I might look into writing a brief blog about them when finishing.  The expertly crafted documentary has served as a refresher course on some of my favorite moments in film, while also reminding me that there are a ton of films, both globally and genre wise that I have yet to see, or am even aware of for that matter.  While I knew about Summer With Monika due to its relatively recent Criterion release, I had sat it aside as something I might get around to watching, an action that seems far to frequent when concerning the works of Bergman.  However, when the episode of European New Wave film came about a brief scene from Summer With Monika popped up and I was instantly captivated and pushed aside who knows what film in order to assure that it would be included at some point on this month of women oriented posts.  I am glad I did so because, in a uniquely Bergman way, the film manages to weave together an existential reflection on suffering and satisfaction, while also being a multi-narrative coming of age tale set against a working class Swedish landscape so bare and disparaging that it makes Bergman's most critically well received film, a personal favorite of mine, The Seventh Seal look optimistic.  Many seem content to claim Orson Welles as the master of black and white filmmaking and while I would never question his relevance or magnitude as a director, I think the magical minimalism one receives from the work of Bergman rivals, and at times surpasses, Welles on multiple levels, not to mention, Bergman's deceptively innocent narrative, which begin optimistic and carefree only to come clashing into the bitter truths of reality.  Upon my initial viewing of Moonrise Kingdom, I suggested that it was quite a great film, and I do still think it better than a lot of things that were released last year, however, when I realize that the quirky beach romance scene is heavily lifted from a far more sobering scene in Summer With Monika, I am reminded that the "borrowing" Wes Anderson often does places him in a category far similar to that of Tarantino than as an indie god that he seems intent on maintaining.

Summer With Monika, focuses, as the title suggests on a summer spent with a girl named Monika (Harriet Andersson), but the narrative does not solely focus on Monika, but, instead; her relationship with a young man named Harry (Lars Ekborg) whom she takes a liking to after bumming a match off of him at a restaurant.  The two instantly fall head-over-heels for one another spending countless days and nights together, so much so that both eventually quit their jobs in order to assure plenty of time together, yet, what starts off as innocent dates to cheesy American movies evolves into a very serious and intimate relationship that is not wholly embraced by their friends and family, particularly considering that Monika appears to have romantic pasts with multiple men in the town whose jealousy is often directed in a physical manner upon Harry.  After one to many instances of frustration and condemnation the two commandeer a family members boat and take a trip to a secluded beach.  It is there that they set up a small pseudo-life together eating what they can acquire off the land and sharing in a very physical relationship.  Yet, when Monika discovers that she is pregnancy their faux-adulthood comes crashing into reality and every action and though its predicated upon assuring the safety of the unborn child, including Monika's desire for real meat, which leads to them stealing from a rich household, only to get caught in the process.  Eventually realizing that they can no longer survive in the wild the two return to their town where they are faced with needing jobs, Harry goes to school to be an engineer while also helping Monika raise a child.  Monika grows discontent quickly without being able to spend frivolously and engage in a carefree lifestyle.  She eventually leaves Harry out of frustration at their lack and is shown talking with men at bars, at which point Monika breaks the fourth wall in a defiant reaction to viewers condemnation.  Harry is shown taking care of the child on his own and the film ends rather abruptly, no hope for the reunion, because in reality young love rarely works out perfectly.

It would be easy for a viewer to call this movie depressing and, as a result, not very watchable.  It would also be simple to dismiss Monika as a vindictive and ignorant character and thus not likable.  However, both situations absolutely betray the complexities present within Bergman's beautiful film.  A certain portion of people go to movies to escape the woes of reality and hope to be shown something that affirms a higher good in the world.  Those persons are not who Bergman made films for, particularly considering that he was highly personal with the imagery and narratives he created, whether it be their scathing inquiries into the existence of God, or perplexing reflections on the possibility of romantic ideals in an abrasive modernist society.  For Bergman, and for Monika in this film, normalcy and expectation are far from comforting and, in fact, betray any sense of progress of self-affirmation.  Monika is not a vengeful character as so many reviewers seem to suggest, I would argue that she is a victim of modernity, in that she seeks answers to her own existence, one she hopes to detach from the suffering and woes of her working class parents, as well as the consuming longing of every male she seems to encounter.  It appears for much of the narrative that she has achieved this sort of free floating state of escapism with Harry, which is beautifully made into a metaphor with the boat, yet, when that constantly moving separation from the tragedies of reality is destroyed, out of what seems to be ungrounded malice that reality returns and no amount of assurance or hard work by Harry can help Monika deny her chains of working class oppression.  As such she begins her quest again, although her recent experiences seem to have darkened her prospects of escape, literally so in the scene when she breaks the fourth wall.  Instead, Monika, Harry and one could say the viewers are left to embrace the fleeting memories of touches, sounds and dances only to know that it is these infrequent moments of happiness that allow for the misery of everyday life to be bearable.

Key Scene:  Monika and Harry dancing on the pier will break your heart and it is at a point in the film when you still have hope for their relationships survival, but it is executed with such symmetrical, minimalist detachment that it clearly serves to distance this ideal moment form the aforementioned tragedies of reality.

This is a masterful film, but one should expect nothing less from the great Swedish director.  I watched this on Hulu and it looked fantastic, however, I intend to get the bluray and suggest you do the same.

I've Always Depended On The Kindess Of Strangers: A Streetcar Named Desire (1951)

Elia Kazan is perhaps one of a handful of well-established auteur oriented directors who fails to receive the credit and praise due his way, I mean the guy did make On The Waterfront, a film I plan to revisit when the Criterion bluray drops next week, although amidst all the work and other films I have on my docket it may be awhile before I actually get around to doing just that.  Regardless, A Streetcar Named Desire was one of the many "shame list" films I felt terrible for having never seen, partially because of my own admiration for Kazan, detached entirely from his problematic relationship with the House Un-American Activities Committee.  It certainly does not help that it is one of the most quoted films based off of one of America's most well-known plays.  This set of standards, undoubtedly, clouded my expectations for the film and I will admit that for a better part of the first act I was uncertain that I was really prepared to embrace its presence.  Yet, as the film unfolded and I became invested in the chiaroscuro world of Louisiana depicted within the, Kazan's masterful use of the subtle melodrama and yet another brilliant performance by Brando, I was in love with the film by its closing scene.  Of course,  somewhere in the back of my mind I was completely aware of the plot and nature of A Streetcar Named Desire, but that did not manage to make this cinema classic any less enigmatic.  This film, much like Kazan's Waterfront, or even his slightly problematic Pinky, manage to exist within a sphere that somewhat represents reality yet so continually betrays it as to be something of a metaphor, one that suggests entrapment, disillusion and everything that has become jaded as a result of the loss of the American Dream, which is rather surprising considering that the film, not to mention the play existed well before realizations of the true abyss that would be the fifties unfolded.  No character within A Streetcar Named Desire could be remotely described as possessing redeeming qualities, yet they are depicted in such a stark and honest manner that it is near impossible not to pity them to some degree.  Essentially in create a film that discredits everything a viewer assumes to be America, Kazan manages to somehow make one of the most American films ever imagined.  Also, I will admit my ignorance, in that I thought "desire" was a metaphor, and while it still may be the case, it is also very much the name of the streetcar as well...who knew.

A Streetcar Named Desire begins with the arrival of one of literatures most iconic women Blanche Dubois (Vivien Leigh) a mysterious and sultry woman who has travelled from Mississippi to meet up with her sister Stella (Kim Hunter) who she believes to be living the grand life in New Orleans, a illusion that is immediately shattered when she finds her living within a dilapidated house along with her husband Stanley Kowalski (Marlon Brando), never mind the fact that the couple is expecting a baby.  Nonetheless, Blanche clings to the illusion of her sister's traditional nature and assumes the best, even falsely believing Stanley to be a stand-up guy despite his constant drinking and generally negative behavior towards Stella.  In fact, it is not so much the crumbling relationship between two sisters that becomes central but instead the burgeoning resentment between Stanley who believes Blanche to be dishonest about her past, particularly regarding the means by which she obtains her various luxuries, particularly her strings of pearls and a dress that appears to be made of gold, as Stanley so eloquently puts it.  Blanche is no kinder to Stanley claiming that he is an ignorant brute and finds her notions affirmed when during one drunkenly impassioned argument Stanley actually lays hands on Stella.  Despite Blanche's concerns, Stella returns to Stanley and things pan out with a degree of discomforting normalcy, yet when Blanche begins spending large amounts of time with Mitch (Karl Madden) a friend of Stanley's, he begins to dig deeper into the dark past of Stella's sister.  It is revealed that Stella certainly has her own dark past she is running from, one that may entail a considerable amount of less than "ladylike" behavior, leading to the penultimate confrontation in the film where Stanley and Blanche argue about values and appearances leading to Stanley violently attacking Blanche and perhaps raping her in the process, although on the following day when Stanley has a disheveled and distraught Blanche committed to an insane asylum, he swears innocence.  Regardless, the actions of the night prior prove to be the last straw for Stella who finally leaves Stanley in the film's closing scenes.

The film is somewhat overshadowed by an implied rape which is not to be taken lightly, but it must be considered that if this were solely a film about an individual losing out to the aggressions of an angry, virulent male it would not have such a well established and seminal place in both American theater and film.  I would argue that the film manages to remain a cinematic standard, which is often placed high on the list of American cinema, as well as global cinema, results from its often direct, if not always indirect,  study of a woman learning to discover her own self-identity detached from patriarchal oppression and internalized notions of her own ugliness in regards to false and vain notions of beauty.  Stella is the real point of interest within at least the film, I have not read the play entirely through so cannot speak to it with any authority.  She is always and at once suffering from a variety of indefinable women's issues that have come to demarcate feminist politics and rhetoric since the films original debut.  Firstly, she suffers in a clearly abusive relationship, but cannot escape her situation due to the economic binds of lacking self-suficiency as well as a place with which to escape to, only causing her being relegated to a small space within an already cramped domestic space all the more tragic.  Similarly she suffers from the misdirected assumptions of an idealized femininity tied to Blanche who believes in the idea of a proper woman, one that is able to accrue status and respect through wealthy gifts and gentleman callers, although as the narrative makes quite clear even Blanche is incapable of navigating these waters in the ideal manner.  Finally, Stella finds herself oppressed by the societal expectations of motherhood, and despite being in an awful marriage and lacking economic grounding, norms suggest that she carries a baby to term, as in the early fifties the notion of an abortion were simply not acknowledged.  All of these oppressions combined make Stella's final departure that much more powerful, leaving the clearly staged setting of her home to enter the equally intersectional streets of New Orleans preferring the freedom of uncertainly to the assurance of discomfort.

Key Scene:  The tension that builds and then unleashes revolving around the card game was the point at which I understood the lasting effect of this film and is certainly a highlight in a film full of classic moments.

Buy this film, honestly, you have no rational reason not to.

I Saw Your Name In Huge Letters: A Simple Life (2012)

As I may have mentioned at some point on the blog, I am currently attending graduate school for library and information sciences, with a special focus in digital preservation.  As such, I am afforded the very welcomed opportunity to volunteer at the Moving Images Research Collection in South Carolina where I primarily work on viewing and cataloguing police training videos.  However, one of the side project I have had the pleasure of engaging in focuses on Chinese film, particularly helping  with a conference on topics relating to Chinese film.  This weekend, as many may know, marked the beginning of the Chinese New Year, in which MIRC, as well as University of South Carolina's Confucius Institute put on a Chinese Film Festival at the local independent theater, in which they showed a variety of different films from the past few years in Chinese film, most notably A Simple Life a film of great stature in China, as well as one directed by Ann Hui a prominent Chinese filmmaker who also happens to be a woman.  I came into this film only being aware that Ann Hui was a bit of an art house icon in China and was only beginning to make her name on a global market, however, I had been assured by many fans and experts in Chinese film that she was a big deal and that her films were well worth exploring.  Going into A Simple Life, I assumed that the film would be quite cinematic and terribly heart-wrenching considering the films narrative thread, however, what I did not expect was for the film to be a perfected lesson in poetic realism.  Hui's film moves through a narrative space with equal parts serenity and solemnity providing what could easily be described as the perfect hybridization of the stylistic methods of the late Japanese master Yasujiro Ozu and prominent Chinese director Wong Kar-Wai.  A Simple Life clearly went under the radar in 2011/2012, competing with a decidedly political set of foreign films, many of which considered the nature and effects of war.  While A Simple Life certainly incorporates a heavy amount of comedy in its execution, one would be a fool to miss the very serious commentaries existing within the narrative, as well as one of the most envisioned non-traditional family narratives ever considered.


A Simple Life centers on Ah Tao (Deanie Ip) an aging maid for the wealthy director Roger (Andy Lau) whose bachelor lifestyle has never really come undone, particularly considering that Tao clearly exists as a maternal figure to the not-so-young man.  When Tao suffers an unexpected stroke Roger is left to reconsider his role as a caregiver to an individual who has provided him so much love over the entirety of his life, in fact, Tao has been the servant to his family for some sixty odd years, in what apparently began as a political revolution.  Despite his considerably busy schedule as a director, Roger attempts to care hand and foot for Tao, who is bothered by this and demands that she be placed into a retirement home, even against Roger's concerns, knowing fully the sleazy nature of such establishments.  Fortunately, Roger is able to place Tao into a home ran by a former stuntman and assures that she is taken care of financially and emotionally.  No amount of careful oversight on the part of Roger manages to block Tao from experiencing the rather dreadful state of being elderly in contemporary China, whether it be encounters with half-assed charity outreach groups, or with frustrated caretakers who become physically aggressive with problematic patients.  Tao serves as sort of angel of the retirement home in her gentle demeanor sharing her food and money with any and everyone, even in instances when the money goes to sinful behavior, or is greatly under underappreciated.  The realization that she will slowly die lies in the back of Tao's mind and is only reaffirmed by witnessing other members of the home pass along, even one of its youngest members Mui (So-yin Hui) whose inability to afford proper dialysis technology leads to her demise.  Knowing that the time Tao has remaining is fleeting, Roger takes her on many trips outside of the retirement home, even bringing her as a date to a big film premiere, as well as along to a Chinese New Year celebration, in which she is able to see her only grandchild who is Chinese-Korean.  Of course, sickness gets the best of Tao and she passes on, but not without having a clear impact on even the most troubled of persons.  In the films closing moments, one is led to believe that her kind spirit lingers on well beyond her passing.

I am not an expert in Chinese culture, nor do I know much about their films beyond being aware of some of the mainland works that were huge in the 90's and being a die hard fan of John Woo's Hardboiled.  Yet, I am rather aware of the issue of aging as it relates to China, one in which the elderly community is pushed aside and nearly forgotten in the face of modernity.  The fact, that many of the characters depicted in the film are elderly folks who are pushed aside does not just ring true for contemporary China, but is, in fact, the case for most of the world, making the universality of A Simple Life land almost immediately.  It is quite easy to relate to Roger who clearly longs to be a close person to his maternal maid, but is also forced away from her in order to fulfill works requirements, most people have a family member for with whom they are close but a variety of factors block their unity.  Another element of the film that stands out its the way in which Tao is clearly far to aware and capable to be placed in the bizarre world of retirements homes where bodies are pushed aside and disability is loathed.  The nurturing nature of Tao kicks into gear immediately and she essentially becomes another nurse, helping persons eat their food or sew a button back onto a coat.  Tao desired to go to the home to  avoid being a burden to Roger, however, the same acts that caused her sickness in the first place seem to occupy her time within the retirement home, much to the disdain of Roger, but to the welcome embrace of the weary employees of the home.  Of course, this story is rather unusual in that Roger does often visit Tao, much more than perhaps she thinks he should, yet no amount of unity and bonding can provide Tao an escape from the drudgery and despondent world of the home and much of this come to fruition during a particularly lonely night at the home.  It demands viewers to consider the very real effects of loneliness, even in a temporary state, although Hui makes it clear that for most persons the loneliness is a long forming experience.  Perhaps it is much more an advocation for create family where possible than a condemning of retirement home culture, but both narratives exist and deserve equal consideration.

Key Scene:  Tao and Roger talking after his movie preview party will go down as one of the sweetest moments I will ever encounter in a film and is guaranteed to yank at your heartstrings.

While it will be near impossible to see in theaters, an impending bluray release is certainly the way to go.  It is a film more than well worth owning.

I'm Erect. Why Aren't You Erect? Showgirls (1995)

Do you remember that one episode of Saved By The Bell where Jessie begins abusing caffeine pills as a means to both take care of her school work, as well as attend practices so her and the other girls can perform for a talent show, only to eventually have a complete mental breakdown which leaders to her sing-crying the words to "I'm So Excited" in the befuddled arms of Zach?  Well, one could call Showgirls the extension of that moment from the show some seven to ten years later, even using the actress Elizabeth Berkeley in the lead role.  Showgirls is far from one of those films that has received a cult status because it clearly exudes some degree of cinematic ingenuity, or is a terrible production that covers up a sound narrative, in fact, for the most part, Showgirls is a decidedly unwatchable film in the traditional sense, excluding of course any moment involving the infallible Kyle McLachlan.  The film suffers from some chewed up scenery in the acting department, not to mention a misguided plot that is only fleshed out in a literal sense.  Even the glossy realism mixed with dystopian dreariness that signifies some of director Paul Verhoeven's other works, such as Basic Instinct and Robocop falls apart when the gross day world of Las Vegas enters the picture and consumes any sense of harmony or possible beauty.  Showgirls is at once a set of misguided social commentaries ranging from the objectification of women to the exploitative failures of art, as well as a film that clearly cannot take itself any more seriously, despite dealing with a subject so harsh and debated that any degree of trepidation with plot choices, would assure its failure, something clearly problematized within the film.  The fact that Showgirls because a home video success probably speaks volumes to a pre-internet age in which nudity on the scale within this film meant needing to get creative in one's access, but that, of course, says little for a cinematic appreciation, as much as it does for the ingenuity of a sexual oriented mind.  The absurdism of its existence seems to be the sole factor in the cult status of this sex fueled narrative.

Showgirls begins with the introduction of Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkeley) a down and out, attractive young woman who has decided to hitch hike to Las Vegas to take up dancing as a means to escape her troubled life.  It is within being offered a ride to Las Vegas that she first realizes the deception of the city when her belongings are stolen and she is left abandoned in a casino.  Fortunately for Nomi, a aspiring designer named Molly (Gina Ravera) agrees to take her in and help her get on her feet, even landing her a job as an erotic dancer in somewhat sleazy club.  Yet, Nomi realizes she is destined for something much larger than this when she watches a performance of a erotic dance review called Goddess, which is headed by a star performer named Cristal Connors (Gina Gershon).  At this moment, through deception and a considerable degree of hard work, Nomi begins to climb the ladder of  performance artist in the sin-laden city meeting a classically trained dancer turned bouncer named James (Glenn Plummer) as well as Cristal's lover, the lavish playboy Zack Carey (Kyle MacLachlan).  It is through these varied interactions that Nomi is introduced to the backdoor dealings of Las Vegas, particularly as they relate to advancing as a dancer, she even forms an intimate relationship with Zack, one that leads to a night of wild passion and a heavy degree of distrust from Cristal.  However, when this use of sex does not afford Nomi a chance to understudy for Cristal, the enraged dancer takes things into her own hands by pushing Cristal down the stairs causing her to get a fracture and thus become incapable of performing.  Nomi is then thrust into the spotlight, a place that she realizes is far from comforting, both in the realization of her awful actions by friends like Molly, as well as the jealousy that emerges from other dancers, and even Zack who in a fit of rage digs up information on Nomi's past life, revealing a history of drug addiction, prostitution and violence.  Nomi realizes that escape is, again, her only option and she begins hitchhiking out of Las Vegas, meeting the same man who stole her goods in the films opening scene, although this time she is fa more prepared.  Also she kills a man along the way, but that seems, surprisingly, secondary in the larger narrative.

I would be hard pressed to find a film, excluding the infamous Salo: or 120 Days of Sodom that better captures the sense of decadence and its presence within a modern society.  While the previously mentioned film is decidedly fictional, or at least a viewer strongly hopes that is the case, Showgirls despite its stylized sexuality and preponderance of violence, truly reflects a world that could be Las Vegas.  It depicts the city as a fictionalized dreamscape in its nightlife, one where aspirations can occur, only to cast a less than welcoming hue over everything when the morning light comes.  The characters within the film suffer from their own delusions and excesses whether it be James and his desires to be both a critically acclaimed choreographer and a master of erotic dance, or the dancers throughout who expect their children to be well-spoken and mild mannered but see little issue within bringing them into their foul-mouthed and nudity heavy dressing rooms.  It is easy to see how decadence formulates within Cristal and Zack who spend lavishly on libations and sexual gratification, only as a means to counter their clearly problematic relationship, in fact, the scene in which Zack and Nomi hook up at his house is  so decadent that a viewer will find it damn near incomprehensible, not to mention that Kyle MacLachlan relishes in throwing down some excellent over-the-top acting during the scene.  Yet it is Nomi who seems most apt to describe as decadent, because while viewers are led to believe that she is truly trying to escape her past, her actions often reflect and individual who is self-loathing and purely wants things for her possession, even if she intends not to take them seriously, this is certainly the case with her desire to become a Goddess dancer, something she obtains, but then completely overlooks its importance by gorging on junk food and partying her days away.  Nomi is a decadent and self-involved character who the narrative hopes you will find sympathy for, yet it is so clear that she possesses no desire to change, thus making her a decidedly unlikeable and problematic character.  Who knows maybe this is the major flaw of the film.

Key Scene:  Kyle MacLachlan, champagne, sex and swimming pool.  It is really more of the cultural humor within this scene than anything else.

I mean, I would suggest only watching this if you really have a curiosity about its place in cult history.  It is not endearing like other cult classics and does not have any hidden cinematic value.  I would pass on to something else if given an option.

Beau-ti-ful: Air Doll (2009)

Air Doll is a film destined to be something I thoroughly enjoy.  First, it was directed by Hirokazu Koreeda, whose film Still Walking received a more than favorable review and heavy admiration for its clear admiration for the late Ozu.  Secondly, the film focuses on issues of body and gender as it relates to East Asian cinema, a personal and well-vested research interest of mine.  Finally, if those two things were not enough, the film also includes the amazing Doona Bae, whose performance in Cloud Atlas was among one of the many enjoyable portions of the film.  Of course, a set of favorable things in my favor does not necessarily mean that it will equate to a good movie for other people every time, however, in the case of Air Doll, I think its cinematic leanings, Westernized cultural references and somewhat melodramatic soundtrack lend well to most film palettes, not to mention it involves artificial intelligence, allowing for even the most strict of sci-fi enthusiasts to find something to love in the film.  While the critics who claim the film to be a bit lengthy in its execution certainly have a right to do so, I cannot help but defend its drawn out nature as a necessity in regards to Koreeda's clear desire to promote the issues of human suffering and loneliness as realized through a being whose just come to terms with their own realization that they have emotions.  Hell, I would go so far as to describe Air Doll as a work influenced heavily by the ideas and writings of Albert Camus, although if said ideas were to be incorporated in to a Phillip K. Dick world.  Rarely do I ever possess a desire to go out of my way to read manga, although I probably should begin considering it since it does have ties to my research intestates, I really cannot deny my desire to read the graphic text on which Air Doll was based, because it is such a decidedly philosophical film that I cannot help but consider the ways in which the novel either intensifies or overlooks these reflections.  With is existential woes and considerable understanding of generational issues within contemporary Japanese culture, both in this film and Still Walking, I have began to actively seek out this directors other works as I can only hope they are filled with and equal degree of vigor and poetic earnestness.

Air Doll begins with the introduction of Hideo (Itsuji Itao) a middle-aged man working in a clearly draining and financially unrewarding job, taking solace only in his ability to come home and enjoy intercourse with a blow-up sex doll named Nozomi (Doona Bae), leaving the next day to return to his job of under-appreciation.  It is during his leave from the home that Nozomi begins to come to life as an almost spectral essence, one with a human form, but an opaque shadow.  Having only the realization that she has a heart, Nozomi attempts to navigate the world of urban Japan mimicking the actions of those she sees around her, whether it be an older woman bowing around various businesses or a girl singing a children's song.  Nozomi's curiosity with the world around her is so real and engaging that she actually finds herself successfully landing a job in a video rental store, all within the time frame of her owner being at work, thus being completely oblivious to her changed form.  As the days grow and Nozomi learns better how to navigate the world she is able to express emotions and intelligent conversations to the world around her, whether it be an old man reading poetry at a park bench, or with Junichi (Arata) whom she begins a relationship with, one which allows her to experience young love as well as continuing her curiosity with the world around her, taking particular notice of a young girl being sang "Happy Birthday."  Yet when she falls during work and accidentally punctures herself, it is revealed to Junichi that she is an air doll, something he reacts to by willingly filling her back up with air, in a noticeably sexual manner.  After this accident, Nozomi becomes considerably connected with the lonely individuals around urban Japan, sharing their sadness, as well as coming to terms with Hideo's own loneliness.  She eventually seeks to end her life by releasing her air, after talking with another woman and claiming that she did briefly find happiness in her moments of emotion.  Although it is implied that her sacrifice is witnessed by another woman who draws on its serenity to change their own life and seek out moments of beauty for herself.

Air Doll could be read as many things, an existential reflection on modernity and loneliness, a warning for our seeming willingness to attach emotional outpourings to artificial intelligence, or even a demand of its viewers to appreciate fleeting moments of beauty in a world of continued tragedy.  These are all very real themes within the film and certainly worth intense expansion, however, I cannot help but consider the feminist awakening considered within Koreeda's film, whether accidental or on purpose.  At the films onset, Nozomi is a body objectified, an issue faced by women for centuries, and still problematically confronted today, it is not until she realizes that she is capable of being a emotive and rational being that can seek her own desires that she comes to life.  This life could be read as a socio/political/economic awakening as a metaphor for women in contemporary East Asian cultures where they are still objectified within traditionalism.  As such, it is no accident that she seeks employment at a video store that draws heavily from Western culture, a means of inspiration on a very large level for non-Western feminist rhetoric, although they are beginning to create their own feminist voices and identities completely influenced by non-Western histories and philosophies.  Nonetheless, Nozomi's awakening allows her to move out of the domestic space and create her own sexuality, one that is awakened when she is "blown back up" by Junichi which could easily be read as Nozomi having her first orgasm and realizing that she too is capable of sexual gratification.  In regards to sexuality, it is no accident that the tube to represent Nozomi's vagina is constantly being cleaned both by herself and by Hideo, showing a far larger concern for the female sexual body than medicine tends to do so even in contemporary heath and body discourses.  Finally, her death at the end of the film suggests a feminist martyrdom, no different than Dreyer's Passion of Joan of Arc, one that pushes another woman to seek beauty outside of a domestic space, a veritable call to action which will hopefully open the eyes of a handful of other oppressed persons as well.

Key Scene:  There is a scene where humanized Nozomi is pretending to be a doll while Hideo lays beside her and watches TV, in which Doona Bae delivers the robotic movements of a doll, while also expressing a look of entrapment that is acting beyond perfection.

This pseudo-adaptation of The Little Mermaid is a must-own piece of cinema, and while it is a bit pricey the DVD transfer is gorgeous.

Who Is The Drug Dealer? Your Or Me?: Red Hook Summer (2012)

Here I come again as the seeming sole defender of the films offered by Spike Lee, while he is certainly not void of some less than stellar films, it appears as though his antics detached from filmmaking prove so off-putting that people purposefully avoid his films and even actively advocate against them without even viewing their entirety.  Now to be fair, Lee helmed a campaign against Django Unchained and its latent racism, without of course viewing the film, so in this aspect he cannot be saved.  Yet the people who dismiss Lee assuming that he has completely moved away from the cinematic reflection and activisim latent in his earlier works are the individuals I hope to inspire to pursue a viewing of this film, because while it is certainly not on the level of Do The Right Thing (my favorite film ever), it manages to touch upon some of its themes and tropes and certainly does not shy away from suggesting that film is a follow-up to the world of Lee's seminal classic, going so far as to incorporate a tragically older, yet equally ill-guided Mookie, played off course by the much older Lee.  Another surprise with this vision of Lee's New York is how admittedly it lacks a black influence, the music in the film is not fueled by political activist oriented rap groups like Public Enemy, but the smoother and more melodic offerings of indie folk music and a heavy dose of world music, not to mention a ton of gospel songs.  While one could read this as Lee's consideration of the role of religion in a technologically oriented younger black community that is only a very thin veil in the larger picture.  While I am not sure of Lee's entire intent as it relates to this film, but it is clear that he seems to be drawing from his own life, particularly in that the main character is a burgeoning filmmaker struggling to form his craft, as well as his identity.  Lee takes a considerable amount of risk with this film, some of them are pulled off with great zeal, particularly the choice to go with a low budget cinematic style, while others are a bit iffy, mostly the varied acting of the film's child actors.  Regardless, this film, despite its dismissal proves to be one of Lee's most successful and engaging films since Do The Right Thing and some of its moments of internal struggle within characters have me quite excited about this remake of Oldboy coming out sometime this year.

Red Hook Summer focuses on the travel of Flik (Jules Brown) to Red Hook in New York as he is scheduled to spend the summer with his preacher grandfather Enoch Rouse (Clarke Peters), whose admittedly "old school" and demands that Flik constantly consider his own relationship with salvation via Jesus Christ.  Flik, coming from the well-to-do upper middle class world of Atlanta, rejects the simplicity and uneducated world of Enoch, arguing the hypocrisies and contradictions within religion, while also continuing with his attachment to technology.  It is instead through a burgeoning relationship with another girl from Red Hook closer to his age named Chazz (Toni Lysaith) that Flick seems to find an evolving dialogue on both his identity and the issues raised within church contradictions. Of course, like some of Lee's other films, the world of Red Hook is not occupied by a few characters, but instead a constant deluge of varied persons whose affects either progress or digress Flik's evolution, in some cases a character does both.  Perhaps the most relevant secondary character in Flik's journey comes via Deacon Zee, an elderly drunkard whose diatribes on the state of the economy and African-American's own  failure to engage with the monetary woes of a nation, both suggest a call for action politically, while also deconstructing the "woe is me" attitude blatant in Zee's lifestyle.  Yet, it is Zee who helps Flik and Chazz out of trouble when accused of eating food that belongs to the church's Sunday School program.  Of course, the largest matter in the narrative proves to be Flik's problematic relationship with Enoch who becomes more and more demanding that he seek salvation, yet when it is revealed that Enoch suffers from the guilt of a terrible act earlier in his life, it is Flik who provides forgiveness and understanding, while a majority of the community shuns Enoch for his past indiscretions, an issue which he has dealt with emotionally, spiritually and even physically.  In the end, Flik returns home from a summer of unexpected learning and evolution, in which he has met a broken man attempting to turn his life around, as well as a young and burgeoning romantic friendship that helps remind him that his struggle for identity is far from singular.

I cannot deny the role that religion plays into Lee's narrative, it is of course a piece engaged within black cinema, in which spirituality and salvation are prominent tropes.  Yet, Lee is quick to villify certain aspects of religion, particularly its problematic influence via money, as well as the means with which individuals will exploit those with lesser power under the guise of scriptural evidence.  This considered, I would argue that Lee's film is far more concerned with dealing with guilt and its affects on generations.  Enoch clearly suffers for his terrible action, but at no point seems to justify its occurrence, even when he is beaten to a pulp by a group of local thugs and called Satan to his face by a fellow pastor.  Enoch is fully aware of his actions affects on one man's loss of faith and decides not to dwell on his wrongdoings, but instead, attempts to save the faith of the individuals he encounters in the future.  While the given information causes viewers to instantly question his relationship with Flik it is clear that he serves only as a paternal figure, one who wants to provide guidance for a child who has lost his father to the war in Afghanistan, a timely political message that reminds me of how socially conscious Lee can be when focused.  In fact, I would argue that even with his past brought forward that Enoch serves as a better role model for Flick than many of the individuals he encounters throughout the rest of the narrative, whether they be is somewhat distancing mother, the drunken Deacon Zee or the handful of white characters whose presents is either a means of guilt-oriented outreach or profit oriented gentrification.  The world of Red Hook Summer, much like that of Do The Right Thing exists in a simulacrum of urban minority experiences, yet where his earlier film focused on the trouble of a communities inability to "do the right thing," this film, in a surprisingly reflective moment by Lee asks viewers to consider how they navigate their own life, especially if they are struggling with having chosen to do the wrong thing in the past.

Key Scene: While all of Enoch's sermons prove vibrant and profusely cinematic, it is the grainy closing shots of the film that one can assume come from Flik's Ipad filming that really add resonance to the film and make it well worth watching and reflecting upon.

This film, more so than anything else out this year, needs to be reconsidered.  I am appalled by how dismissed this film has become and suggest you drop everything you are doing to watch it on Netflix immediately.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don't Worry 'Bout A Thing: Somebody Up There Likes Me (1956)

If it were not for the swooning music of the opening credits, one could instantly describe Somebody Up There Likes Me as Cool Hand Luke version zero, as it essentially shares the same lead actor, as well as eerily similar moments in which that character fights, is imprisoned and escapes from jail, yet Somebody Up There Likes me, an offering from Robert Wise, whose diverse oeuvre is perhaps best known for the snap heavy West Side Story, which like Somebody Up There Likes Me focuses near microscopically on the world of inner city existence, one specifically concerned with those moving between the unseen and lesser spaces of that already othered world.  I would suggest, however, that what makes something like Somebody Up There Likes Me so pertinent and familiar as that it takes many of the singular moments from other films that were its contemporaries, as well as serves as a clear inspiration to so many of its predecessors, that it becomes saturated with a near deja vu quality, only made the greater by the fact that so few people have seen this truly classic work, especially considering that it includes not only a very young Paul Newman, but an equally young, uncredited Steve McQueen.    Entrenched within the traditions of a boxing film, Somebody Up There Likes me is preoccupied with promoting the image of the underdog overcoming difficult odds, in this case particularly insurmountable.  It is also a master's course in chiaroscuro filmmaking, in so much as I can think of only a handful of films with better use of black and white as a construction for mise-en-scene.  The film could seem a bit lengthy in its dialogue heavy nature, yet to construct an appropriate vision of the life of a boxer, the films under two-hour frame is more than watchable and almost lacking in some of the main character's back story, of course this could all be influenced by the fact that Paul Newman is playing lead and it is near impossible not to love the guy, even when he is still finding the correct delivery for is still unestablished acting chops.

Somebody Up There Likes Me, a boxing movie through and through, centers on Rocky (Paul Newman), who is of no relation to the other famous boxer of the same name.  Rocky, as the film shows from the opening scenes, lives far from the stellar life, becoming an occupant of New York street life, as a result of a problematic relationship with his ex-boxer father, whose alcoholism leads him to be somewhat aggressive and always demeaning.  His distancing from his father and his fear of disappointing his mother, leads Rocky to a life of crime, one that allows him to look after his mother, without also giving credence to authority.  Of course, he is eventually caught and placed into prison, although he becomes equally infamous for his ability to escape prison.  However, upon release he is eventually drafted to serve in World War II, a task with equal problems considering that he loathes authority, which results in his going AWOL and finding work in a boxing ring, in which he briefly serves as a sparring partner before managers realize his physical prowess, unbridled rage and relentless make him a machine of a boxer.  After a few bouts, he is caught by Army detectives and forced to serve time for dishonorable discharge in which he is placed on the Army boxing team for a brief time prior to release, in which he returns to boxing with considerable success.  However, even after these issues a past crime figure reemerges and blackmails Rocky to take a dive, for which he is eventually barred, yet again, from boxing.  However, realizing his eventual innocence, Rocky is able to get a rematch for the championship title by boxing in Chicago, a task that proves a success to him, all the while inducing dread in his wife Norma (Pier Angeli), as well as his mother.  After winning he is received with open arms by his community as a local hero, making his somewhat tragic and troubled life justifiable as he celebrates his success by stating the words of the title, although ever cautious to remember that his current athleticism and prowess will fade with age.

The film is poetic in its approach to the common man and his struggle.  Of course the film is incredibly problematic in its portrays of everything from African-American's to Jewish-American's not to mention its unfortunate display of women, but we must keep historical context in mind when viewing this work.  Nonetheless, through a rather stellar boxing picture Wise is able to show the genuine hardships of an individual whose life has centered around petty thief and the rules of the street, so much so that even when they attempt to make a genuine change in their lives, past issues and a history of trouble invariably reemerge.  Rocky is a person who simply wants to survive and do right by those he loves and trusts in his life, he sees thievery and violence as acts that are necessitated by his own safety and the certainty of comfort for those he cares about.  We realize that even upon his initial engagement with boxing that he sees it as a simple act to get by until he can find higher paying, in all likelihood crime related, work.  It is not until he is able to provide legitimate money to his mother that he realizes the value of his gift as a pugilist, although he must stew on its value while locked in a military work camp.  Upon his release his common man story then centers on trying to reappropriate his image to be wholesome and that of a family man thus expanding the narrative from the common individual to the common collective, all be it on a considerable microcosm.  Nonetheless, as the story progresses it becomes clear to viewer the differences between individuals making an earnest attempt to succeed, whether they be Rocky, his mother or his mangers and those set on ruining others for their benefit as is the case with Rocky's father and his former crime associates.  While the film clearly has a Christian leaning religious context, one cannot help but consider karma when reflecting on Rocky's eventual success.

Key Scene:  There is a great moment, a montage of sorts, in which Rocky returns home from various bouts to his wife and daughter, in each scene the daughter reacts differntly to her father's damaged face, up until a certain age in which she and her mother reverse roles.  It is a great scene to show the physical and emotional effects of boxing on Rocky, as well as a means to advance the narrative considerably.

This is a magnificent work suffering from a severe lack of awareness.  While there is not a bluray in the works at the moment it is well worth owning.  DVD's are not the cheapest ever, but owning it is more than necessary.

If You're Gonna Lead People, You Gotta Have Somewhere To Go: Rumble Fish (1983)

I am starting to consider the very real possibility that Coppola's best work occurred, while he was adapting S.E. Hinton novels to the screen.  Of course The Outsider's is a bit moderate and youthful, a far cry from his works like Apocalypse now which are considerably hyper-violent.  However, Rumble Fish, his work, also an adaptation of a Hinton work of the same name, throws out some of this youthful safety in favor of a brutally honest, yet cinematically poetic film, filled with an exceptionally large amount of rising stars and individuals who would become big name actors, even a few finding work still today.  Not to mention an awesome cameo, of sorts, by Tom Waits, in what may well be his best performance.  It is clear in this film that Coppola is reaching far back into something profoundly sentimental, providing a film that is as experimental as it is a twisted romansbildung.  Imagine a film with all the youthful bliss of The Outsiders, plus the gang oriented narrative of West Side Story, minus the pesky singing and dancing and you might be able to construct a very cursory understanding of what is offered in Rumble Fish, but even then you would still have to add the art house flair of early Scorsese, a healthy dose of Italain Neo-realism and an undeniable splash of Fellini to even begin to understand the complexities of this film.  I often wondered, when, if ever, Sophia Coppola drew inspiration from her father's work and I can say with some certainty that it likely occurred with Rumble Fish, indicative of its near ethereal nature, as well as her presence in the film playing one of the younger  characters.  It is interesting to pair this simulacrum of a urban landscape occupied by disillusioned youth with any of the later 80's youth films in its refusal to deal with ennui and the awkwardness of growing up via hip New Wave music and witty cynicism.  The world of Rumble Fish is tragic from the on set and even when you think nothing can possibly get worse, the characters engaging in this colorless world manage to fall further into the abyss.

Rumble Fish focuses primarily on the experiences of Rusty James (Matt Dillon) a rebellious young man who fancies himself the leader of a local gang, despite a self-acknowledged lack of smarts and quick wit, Rusty uses his brawn a bit to eagerly to get his way.  Amongst this group include the quick affirming Smokey (Nicolas Cage), the bookish Steve (Vincent Spano), the heavy set bully B.J. (Chris Penn) and the anything but short Midget (Laurence Fishburne).  Along with this group who take up passive gang activities, Rusty also vies for the affections of a local girl, who goes to a private school outside the city named Patty (Diane Lane).  It is during one night of fighting with a rival gang of pill poppers that Rusty takes a shard of glass to the stomach, resulting in his being rescued by The Motorcycle Boy (Mickey Rourke) who is the older brother of Rusty and a sort of local legend, as he was able to leave the city, only to return much to everyone's surpass, notably the police force who have it out for the motorcycle riding utlracool man.  The emergence of his brother, causes Rusty to question his place, especially after the revelation that during his time in California, Motorcycle boy met their mother, a figure long lost from their youth, only to be replaced by their alcoholic and incapable Father (Dennis Hopper).  Much of the narrative evolves to focus on Rusty's contentions with staying in school, ultimately, quashed when he is suspended, as well as attempting to win back Patty after being unfaithful at a beach party.  However, nothing proves more central to the narrative than Rusty's desires to live like his brother, literally following in his shadow throughout the film an act that has considerably cataclysmic results and provide for a magnificently cinematic and tragically poignant closing moment in the film, suggesting a rather unfortunate cycle of future events not much different than those occurring throughout Rumble Fish.

A series of unconventional opening shots, at least in regards to Coppola, display a skyline of a nondescript city as clouds roll past at a unusually fast speed.  This evasive world sets the stage for a narrative of entrapment and desired escapism as it relates to Rumble Fish, one in which the city proves oppressive to all those within its limits.  Many characters seek escape through literal means, as is certainly the case with Patty who travels by bus to go to a private school, while others like Father use alcohol as a self-escape by nightly intoxication.  Yet, the literal escape only occurs for The Motorcycle Boy, who becomes a character within a revisioning of Plato's Allegory of the Cave in that he so deeply desires to explain to other what he has seen in California and how they too can witness those things, yet his language cannot occur in a way to explain it to the cities occupants, most importantly Rusty, who admits to his lack of vocabulary.   The Motorcycle Boy has seen another part of the world and returning to the city causes him to spiral into a noticeable depression, one that leads to a considerably desultory lifestyle, engaged with heroin addicts and aimless wandering through pet stores.  In a moment of brilliance on the part of Hinton/Coppola, Rusty compares Motorcycle Boy to The Pied Piper suggesting that people are willing to follow him wherever he leads them, yet Motorcycle Boy admits that he has no clue where he is going, although I would suggest it is more a lack of possessing the means to explain the world outside of the black and white barriers of the city, lending to his preoccupation with the fish the only thing of color within the entire film, which when considering the Allegory of the Cave element to this film, certainly do not lack a metaphorical element.  Ultimately, Motorcycle Boy realizes he failed to share this outside world with anyone and martyrs himself with the hope that Rusty can take up the torch and if the closing shot of the film is any suggestion, it has a possibility, although it will prove considerably exhaustive.  Also apparently there is some reference to Camus via The Motorcycle Boy, which I did not pick up on but certainly plan to explore later.

Key Scene:  While it is not the most cinematic moment of the film, the initial fight scene between Rusty and another gang leader sets the stage for the remainder of Rumble Fish and welcomes viewers to a world that is transcendent of any traditional logic or conceptualization.

This movie is glorious, at the moment only a DVD copy exists.  I hope a Bluray copy is in the works and plan to wait until it is released to purchase a copy.  Until then it is offered as a Watch Instantly option on Netflix.