Rosebuds, Napalm, and Milkshakes

Jonathan's Top 50 Favorite Films of the Last Decade (2000-2009) Part IV--Nos. 5-1

2010-01-21T16:26:00.001-08:00

5. Kill Bill Vols. 1 & 2 (2003, 2004) dir. Quentin Tarantino-- I know this might seem a bit like cheating, but you can't really have one film without the other. It's an extended version of the normal Tarantino narrative, which is non-linear. The film doubles back several times. Vol. 1 moreso than Vol. 2. The first is very much exposition and action. It briefs you on everything that led up to the massacre the day before her wedding, while the second is a continuation of her journey to the ultimate goal: killing Bill. It really is an impressive feat for Tarantino. He kept raising his own bar in terms of his love for film. In Pulp Fiction, it was his own twist on classic gangster films. In Jackie Brown, he put an intelligent spin on blaxploitation and caper flicks. With this one, we saw vintage Spaghetti Western, Anime, Kung Fu and Hollywood action spun into a wildly entertaining package. I always feel as if I'm practically standing up in my chair as I watch his movies. They're so much fun. They're artsy popcorn movies. And who doesn't love that winning combo?!I haven't really discussed the usage of music in films during this countdown. There have been plenty of opportunities, most recently The Royal Tenenbaums, but let it be said that the way music is used in this film is brilliant. In one score alone, there are Spaghetti Western-style trumpets and Kung Fu-style woodwinds. Pay close attention to the showdown between Beatrix Kiddo (Uma Thurman) and O-Ren Ishii (Lucy Liu). As they approach each other, swords ready to lock, the music to Santa Esmerelda's version of "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood" begins to play. It's percussive and it keeps building. By this point they first cross their swords and the wild acoustic guitar strumming comes into the fold. Tarantino cuts to a shot of O-Ren who breaks from the action after her sword holder has been broken by Kiddo. The camera pushes in towards her as she gives the perfect "Oh, now it's on" look and the music reaches a crescendo where a lone trumpet starts playing some serious notes. It's something else.It's Tarantino's details, in the end, that give him an edge over most directors. The final "showdown" between Kiddo and Bill is great because of the lack of "showdown". What would a QT film be without dialogue. How Carradine escaped getting an Oscar nomination is beyond me, because Tarantino gave him the perfect monologue. I could re-watch his discussion about his love of the mythology of Superman over and over again. He begins slurring his speech after several shots of Tequila, yet his message is made crystal-clear. It's amazing how successfully Tarantino can draw out a scene without letting it drag. There has to be a great deal of trust going on between cast and crew when you're risking twenty extra minutes for a scene that can be done in five. It's all confidence and it's all QT. Brilliant saga.

4. High Fidelity (2000) dir. Stephen Frears-- How sage-like can a film be where its primary message is scorned love and Rock N Roll are synonymous? Other films have danced around this idea, but no other film, or book for that matter, have made it its plot. Nick Hornby's book of the same name was a starting off point when John Cusack along with his three co-writers and director Stephen Frears brought it to life. It's another one of those easily watchable movies, where the cast and crew never step wrong. It's a testament to the England-born Frears, as a genre director, that he can make a film this concentrated in Chicago. It's as Chicago of a movie as you'll see. There have been other comedies to have romanticized the city a bit, but High Fidelity gives you the real thing. Filmed entirely on location, you see corner record shops, popular neighborhood bars, and tiny apartment buildings where only the struggling thirtysomethings in this film would inhabit.

The main thing that needs to be understood about High Fidelity is that the characters really love hearing themselves talk. Not all of them are arrogant, but they all do speak just to have people listen to them. And some of the time it doesn't even matter if anybody's listening. It's good to have friends to the point where you can talk and not really give a damn if they're paying any attention to what you're saying. Rob, himself, has an ongoing discussion with the audience. He confides in them way more than he does with the characters. We're as close to confidants as he's allowing himself to have. It's pulled off in such a way that it doesn't feel forced or hurtful to the rest of the movie. We almost feel privileged that he's letting us in on his troubles.

And what about the romantic storyline between Rob (Cusack) and Laura (Iben Hejejle)? Rob is convinced his heartbreak in all of his failed relationships is directly linked to the music he loves and none moreso than with Laura. Even when they're together, you can feel them dancing around each other. They can only trust one another to a certain point. The film leaves us on a wonderful note with a near-transcendent musical performance by Barry and a last monologue by Rob discussing his hope for lasting love and comfort with Laura. I haven't felt quite as good at the end of a film than when this one closes out with Stevie Wonder's "I Believe When I Fall in Love." It wants you to feel as optimistic as the protagonist does and it succeeds.

3. The 40-Year-Old Virgin (2005) dir. Judd Apatow-- For sheer laugh-out-loud moments, I, personally, can't find another comedy in the last ten years that even comes close. Judd Apatow's directorial debut, in my eyes, is still his funniest film to date. He's obviously approaching a different stage in his career with his latest and much darker feature, Funny People, but I still don't see him coming close to this one. It's made with the kind of heedless joy of a guy who has nothing to lose. The title, itself, suggests low-grade, B-movie schlock, but Holy Mother of God is that way off base. The laughs are cheap, but these actors bust their asses off to get them. You have to applaud that kind of work and dedication. I did. I did twice in the movie theaters (something I never do) and probably fifteen to twenty more times since then. Everybody wants a laugh that comes from the very pit of their stomach. They want to be grasping for air as they watch the insanity unfold in front of them. That's what this film did for me. I just laughed and laughed and laughed. I was truly proud of the individuals who made it.

For a couple of years, I was trying to figure out why I didn't hold the other Apatow produced or directed films as high in regard as this one, when it finally dawned on me: Steve Carell. It seems so obvious, now, but it's true. I have a tremendous amount of respect for Seth Rogen, Paul Rudd, Jane Lynch, Ramony Malco, Jonah Hill, and all the other Apatow players, but without Steve Carell the films seem boyish. He adds an adult classiness to a film. The idea of the character was a Carell invention from his days at Second City and he trusted Apatow and Co. with the rest of it. It's one thing to pity a character. Yes, Andy Stitzer is a pitiful person, but I was rooting for him the whole way through. The moment you first see him walk across the living room of his apartment with a severe case of morning wood, you know you're going to like him. He's too earnest not to. The scene where Catherine Keener's character attempts to get Andy to ask her out is very well-written and performed. This is a mature scene. It's Apatow via Carell and Keener. You can have as many gross-out moments as you want, but the film has to have heart above all else. And it does. More than most. The Bollywood sequence during the credits is perfect. You think that it seems wrong and out of place, but you can't really convince yourself of it. That's kinda how I feel about the entire film.

2. The Departed (2006) dir. Martin Scorsese-- Where do you begin with a film like this? It's not, in any way, normal. Sure, it might be the first movie Scorsese's directed that contains a linear plot, but look at the way it's put together. The script by William Monahan, which is adapted from Andrew Lau and Alan Mak's Hong Kong original, Infernal Affairs, is pretty basic. The plot does weave in and weave out in its own complex way, but Scorsese had to have looked at it and thought that he could make it into an auteur's film. It looks like one. Certainly the plot is linear, but its editing isn't. I like a filmmaker who has respect for his or her audience. He never tells us that we're going back and forth between the past and present. A character will be talking in the present, then we're shuffled back to a scene from the past and because of the pacing and cinematography, we're completely aware of this. We don't need to see the tag "Six months ago". Although, I'm a big fan of the opening tag of the film, "Some years ago." It has a perfect nudging quality to it. Like Scorsese and Monahan are having a bit of fun with us.

The Departed is always moving along. You have to have an appreciation for the way Scorsese and his crew put a film together. They're jump cuts, odd dissolves, and floating camera shots that just make the film dance. It dares you to be bored with it. As with the classic Scorsese drama, Rock N Roll plays a huge part. The music, along with Howard Shore's score, comes in from all angles and it never lets up. It's another great device used in going from past to present. This is the third time he used The Rolling Stones' "Gimme Shelter" and it might be the best. The way he cuts the opening scene used to this ominous tune is masterful. Every pronounced drum beat is used to cut to another shot. It's perfect.

His ability to get the exact type of performance he wants out of his actors is on full display, here. There's not a wasted word or action in this film. There are scenes where you can tell the actors are improvising and it works so well. Both Alec Baldwin and Mark Wahlberg might've had career performances and Jack Nicholson returned to his wonderfully distrustful form with the crime boss to defeat all crime bosses. One performance that might be overlooked is Ray Winstone's character Mr. French. I, personally, find him the most terrifying character in the movie. He's a completely different type of scary than Frank Costello. While Frank enjoys making big scenes to get his point across, Mr. French lays low and says very little. It's the look that makes the point. Very reminiscent of DeNiro's Jimmy in Goodfellas. There are a small group of directors who make great films from time to time. There's an even smaller group who are sure bets. Not to sound like I'm beating a dead horse, but Martin Scorsese is the latter. He may be most comfortable in a certain genre, but he can take any material and make it a "Martin Scorsese Film". That's his gift and this film is all the evidence I need to prove it.

1. Almost Famous (2000) dir. Cameron Crowe-- I look back on the past decade of films I've seen and I find that many were good, many were bad, and a select few were great. The 50 on this list were of the last variety. At the age of 17, I began to look at movies as more than entertainment. I saw them as ways to achieve a catharsis. I was a junior in high school when this all started becoming apparent to me. I first saw Almost Famous that year. This film and my own revelation about movies premiered, if you will, at about the same time. This is one of the many reasons it's number one on my list. I have my own personal favorites of all time and this one certainly ranks highly, but I don't know if there is a movie out there that I can still say was made for me. I love this film. To me, it's perfect. I don't say that often. I just think this film has no need to change a single word of dialogue or a single frame. It stated its purpose from the very beginning and I still have as much fun watching it today as I did in the spring of 2001.By now, everyone knows the basic story of Almost Famous. It's a semi-autobiography about Cameron Crowe's stint as a rock journalist for Rolling Stone magazine back in the early 70s. Crowe, himself, got to tour around with Led Zeppelin, the Eagles, Bob Dylan, and The Allman Brothers Band. He places his version of himself, William (Patrick Fugit), with a fictional rock group not far removed from Zeppelin and Bad Company called Stillwater. Everything else that comes along is one lovely surprise after the other. Small moments, I mean. I love how William's mother, played masterfully by Frances McDormand, is not the typical stifling mother. She loves her son and truly wants what's best for him. Kate Hudson easily gives her best performance to date as Penny Lane, the "Band-Aid" or groupie that follows Stillwater from town to town and looks after William along the way. Philip Seymour Hoffman, making a final appearance on this list, makes use of his short time on screen with a funny and touching performance as William's writing mentor, Lester Bangs. His monologue about "cool and uncool" at the end is my favorite part of the film. Billy Crudup and Jason Lee are absolutely perfect as the two budding rock stars, whose in-house tension threatens to break up their band.When I said this movie was made for me, I wasn't lying. The musical references in it are plentiful and I got every single last one of them. When one of the Band-Aids comes up to the hotel room and says, "Simon Kirk from Bad Company is down by the pool", I knew exactly who she was talking about. (For those of you who might not know, Kirk was the drummer in Free beforehand). More than anything, I identified with William's uneasiness about adulthood and his inability to find the in-crowd. I didn't have issues with making friends in high school, mind you, but I did struggle from time to time with not being one of the "known guys." William's declaration of his love for Penny and Hoffman's speech at the end that I just spoke of are two scenes that were able to assuage some of the self-pity I felt. In any event, I think Cameron Crowe wrote and directed the perfect film for teenagers and it's a damn shame that most of us were seeing the other swill that was being produced at the time. Once again, I happened upon this film at the right time in my life and my gratitude for it, its director/writer, producers, actors, crew members, distributor, etc. is overwhelming and I thank all of them VERY much.

Jonathan's Top 50 Favorite Films of the Last Decade (2000-2009) Part III--Nos. 10-6

2010-01-18T13:11:00.000-08:00

10. Mystic River (2003) dir. Clint Eastwood-- The man's masterpiece. As clear of a statement as I can make. Clint Eastwood has made many films that can be called great on one level or another, but this one's his best in my eyes. I felt as if I had been put through the ringer when I first saw it. The film stayed with me days after my initial viewing. I couldn't get the story, characters, somber mood, or overall theme out of my head. I remember having dreams about it before AND after I saw it. People talked it up for weeks leading up to my viewing it to the point that I was having dreams based upon what I thought the film was about. I had seen the trailer and I knew Sean Penn was going to give a knockout performance and, of course, he did. I just didn't realize that I would be taken so much by Tim Robbins' performance. He was astounding as the abused Dave. I felt uneasy the entire time as I watched him slowly unravel, strand by strand. It hurt a little, because I knew what inevitably was going to happen to him.Eastwood, the director, has been know to cast Eastwood, the actor, in many of his films and I'd say for the most part, it worked. I was perfectly fine with him in Unforgiven and Million Dollar Baby and I even got a kick out of Space Cowboys if you can believe it or not. I found, though, that his ability to step back and let some of America's finest screen actors take the reins and truly make this an actor's movie was a big step for the silver-haired giant. This is maybe why I favor Mystic the most. Like Junebug, this film is steeped in setting. Shooting entirely on location in Boston was so important to Eastwood that he even wrote, performed, and recorded the original score there. The broken sidewalks, the duplexes with all-vinyl siding and the chain link fences were only a smattering of important details that brought this story of child abuse alive. We hear the "Southie" accents and we know exactly the people we're dealing with. They're working class and they're proud of it. This film operates as if tragedy is only a misspoken word away. I can't say enough about it. One of the finest dramas of the last quarter century.

9. The Fog of War (2003) dir. Errol Morris-- A documentary's main charge is to expose its subject for the truth and, then, allow the audience to make a final judgment. Whether it's something obvious like Leni Riefenstahl's Triumph of the Will or presented with varying shades of gray like Jeff Fuererzeig's The Devil and Daniel Johnston, we, the audience, are always left with a sense of judicial entitlement. We've looked at every piece of evidence and now we want to hand in our final verdict. The brilliant thing about Errol Morris is that he probably has formed an opinion going into a number of his interviews, but there's not a trace of that while we're watching it. He can look directly at a convicted murderer or a topiary gardener or a pet cemetery owner, all, with an open mind. This is what makes him the best at what he does. Never more did he accomplish this than in his interview with the late former Secretary of Defense Robert S. McNamara.

McNamara, of course, was the Secretary of Defense during the beginning and height of the Vietnam War and thousands upon thousands of individuals personally wanted to see to it that he was put to death. His public persona was viewed as cold and superior. He didn't have a lot of supporters at the time and didn't when he passed away only a few short months ago. Morris was probably one of those thousands upon thousands, thus giving him the perfect opportunity to clear up his own doubts about McNamara's humanity. What we ended up getting was an objective rediscovery of the very scenarios that led to President Lyndon Johnson's decision to invade. We get a man who warned not only Johnson, but President Kennedy against ANY involvement in Vietnam. I was completely staggered by the information that was placed in front of me. I felt dizzy and by the end I realized that I was looking at a man, who in his own way, was making amends. Morris once said that it's tough to apologize for the deaths of over 50,000 American soldiers and few more million Vietnam ones, but I think he and McNamara made it possible to forgive. I guess judgments vary in their own way.

8. The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) dir. Wes Anderson-- I think Wes Anderson might be the closest thing to cinema's version of a classic children's novelist that I've ever seen. I've tried my best to rationalize his stories and I can't come up with a damn plausible thing. His mind exists on a completely different plane of thought than any other filmmaker, past or present. The worlds he's created are very closely related to Roald Dahl or Shel Silverstein.

He showed flashes of genius with his rookie effort Bottle Rocket and his second film Rushmore, but he blossomed into the auteur we know today with his third feature, The Royal Tenenbaums. With co-writer, Owen Wilson, Anderson took the most ridiculous scenario for a family living situation and made it tangible and sympathetic. Each character is wounded and they go about dealing with their pain in very specific ways. Each of the three children, grown up though they are, react to situations in a childish manner, none moreso than Ben Stiller's character, Chas. He holds on to an old, deep-seeded resentment towards his neer-do-well father, Royal (played brilliantly by Gene Hackman), and with the recent death of his wife, he easily transfers all of his anger and sadness onto him. The other two siblings, Richie and Margot, internalize their feelings which include a secret love for one another.
I've always loved how Anderson frames his shots. They look like photographs. It's as if everything within the shot requires an equal amount of attention. A car parked across the street in the background holds just as much importance as the main action going on in the foreground. His camera work serves the best interest of the story. There's a shot at the end of the film that sums up the sequence of events before it. It's a long, tracking shot that surveys the aftermath of a wedding ceremony in which many disastrous things have occurred, including the death of Chas' dog. In one shot, every character gets his or her own line of dialogue, which also includes Royal purchasing a dog for Chas and giving it to him after the death of his old one. On delivery, the adult Chas has never looked more like a child. He's not behaving like one this time. He simply looks like one. Royal stands over him as Chas pets the animal and after all the turmoil and despair he's lived through, he finally says, "I've had a rough year, Dad" and I swear it brings me to tears everytime. It's one of the most touching moments I've seen in a movie and, yet, it's so simple. Anderson works with so little to present so much and Tenenbaums is the best-represented of this idea.

7. Juno (2007) dir. Jason Reitman-- I'm not sure whether it takes patience or a suspension of belief or what, but to enjoy a movie like Juno, you have to have at least one of those. It's almost impossible to believe that a sixteen-year-old speaks quite like the title character, but there I was not giving a damn. There was a group of moviegoers who couldn't stand Juno and there was a group that found her utterly charming. I was one of the ones that found her charming. Ellen Page was really the one that made Juno the three dimensional character that she was. Say what you will about Diablo Cody's quippy dialogue, but without the right actress, Juno was going to be an annoyance. Of course, I'm sure she was that, anyway, to the first half that I just mentioned, but she wasn't to me. OKAY?! Now that we've cleared that up let me say that this movie is fun. It's smart, it has economical directing from Reitman, and it never lets up on the nine-month journey we're taking with this girl and her wild cast of family and friends.

The family and friends. My goodness, the family and friends. What a strange bunch of people to be collective rocks in your life. Juno has a father and stepmother who, beyond all of their quirks, love her and want her to do what she feels is best. That's what I took away from the parents: they were willing to say, "Hey, you put yourself in this adult situation? You're gonna figure out the best adult solution." Parents are rarely written with this much intelligence and care in a teen comedy. And what about her two best friends? Leah, played by Olivia Thirlby and Paulie Bleeker, played by Michael Cera. These two can be viewed as extensions to Juno's personality. Leah is much more of a "girl" and Paulie is much more reserved and internal. They really fill out Juno more than anything. Every encounter that Juno has with a character feels like an enlightening experience. She's too misfit-like to have never met a stranger, but she's got a honed-enough sense of humor that you wouldn't know that. Maybe she wants to be a misfit, but through these important months, she finds that she's as much of a teenager as any of her peers. The joy in her knowledge that Paulie is as close to a soul mate as she'll ever come across is the most beautiful aspect of the film and that very last shot is as fitting of an ending to a film that I've seen.

6. Lost in Translation (2003) dir. Sophia Coppola-- One of the highest compliments I can give to a film is its place of setting can make me yearn to go there. Lost in Translation does exactly that. I felt a strong urge to drop what I was doing and hop a flight to Tokyo. More than anything, the film tapped into the feeling of alienation and the hope that someone else felt the same way. I can imagine it would be frightening to be in a different country, especially Japan, where the cultural differences are astronomical. One can easily find comfort in a mutual longing for familiarity. Enter Bob and Charlotte, played by Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson. Bob is a film actor shooting a whiskey commercial in Tokyo and Charlotte is a newly-married twentysomething tagging along with her photojournalist husband. For the first half hour, they appear to be on a collision course to a soul-searching experience.

They spot each other in various places including an elevator, the lobby of the hotel where they're both staying, and a restaurant, where Bob finally works up the nerve to try and "rescue" her from shallow Hollywood schmoozing with her husband and a B-list movie actress. Solitude is something they both appreciate above all else. They have disarming senses of humor that allows them to react accordingly to the people they find ridiculous. On the surface it seems smug, but it fits with their situation. They're in a strange place, so it makes sense that they might act out as a defense mechanism. I've previously shared my views on a particular scene where Bob and Charlotte lie in bed together and talk. I've used quite a few different adjectives throughout this countdown and it's becoming tiresome to me, but that one scene...LOVELY! My God, it just gives me friggin' goosebumps every time I watch it. And what about the very last scene? He's able to properly say goodbye to her after a meaningless "so long" the first time. He's in the cab on his way back to the airport and he spots her walking down a street. He tells the cabbie to stop the car. He gets out, runs her down and whispers something to her that we, the audience, cannot hear. I accepted after the second viewing that whatever Bob tells Charlotte, it's something that I wasn't supposed to hear. The effect is there, though. She cries, they kiss, he gets back in the cab and it's very satisfying. Imagination can get you the rest of the way. Maybe nothing happened, but to bastardize a classic line, "They'll always have Tokyo."

Jonathan's Top 50 Favorite Films of the Last Decade (2000-2009) Part II

2010-01-17T07:37:00.000-08:00

20. Charlie Wilson's War (2007) dir. Mike Nichols-- I treat films written by Aaron Sorkin much like I treat the ones written by Charlie Kaufman. In these situations, the writer is who I think of first. It's a rare occurrence, but true nonetheless. Sorkin has always been one of my favorite writers, overly-idealistic though he sometimes is, his characters are saying some of the freshest and wittiest dialogue you'll hear in television or film. That being said, Charlie Wilson's War is vintage Sorkin. It's everything I just mentioned and more. Tom Hanks heads up the cast in the title role and he succeeds as the flawed protagonist. Both Julia Roberts and Amy Adams are wonderful as the two main women in Wilson's life. They guide him through personal and professional choices he has to make. The scene-stealer and the classic Sorkin character is played by Philip Seymour Hoffman as the pot-bellied, chain-smoking, foul-mouthed, AND idealistic Gust Avrakatos. As much as I loved Javier Bardem in No Country, this is who the Oscar should've gone to. All and all, it's a great entertainment. One that can be watched anytime and anywhere.

19. Superbad (2007) dir. Greg Mottola-- This new renaissance of comedy that attacked us less than ten years ago has upped the ante for not only humor in film, but also a sense of sentimentality. The stock company of players from writer-producer-director Judd Apatow are maybe five years away from being mentioned with the same group that helped make Woody Allen as true an artist as he is. They've changed the way we look at comedies and one of the best examples is Superbad. This raunch-fest of a film is so grounded in 1970s cool that it could've come out then and be seen as even more revolutionary than Bananas or Everything You Wanted to Know About Sex, But Were Afraid to Ask. Jonah Hill and Michael Cera play our two lovelorn and incredibly horny high school almost graduates. They discuss naughty things, laugh, and curse the fact that they can't do anything about it. While most people enjoyed Christopher Mintz-Plasse as Fogel aka McLovin, the true show-stoppers were Officers Slater and Michaels played by Bill Hader and co-writer Seth Rogen, respectively. They gave this gross-out comedy a whole new dimension, keeping it fresh the entire time. One of the great comedies of the last decade.

18. Ocean's 11 (2001) dir. Steven Soderbergh-- I remember seeing this film my senior year of high school and coming to the realization that, at the time, I had not seeing anything quite as cool. With very few exceptions, I still feel the same way today. While almost killing the franchise with the two sequels, this terrific remake of the Rat Pack original has re-set the standard for what we deem as "cool". I'm not talking about early-teens, we-use-this-phrase-all-the-time "cool". I'm talking about a true state of mind. Even the dorkiest of characters in this film go about their jobs in such a manner, simply because of the task in which they are involved. Soderbergh continued to prove his worth as not only an auteur, but a great genre director with Ocean's 11. And the cast. What more can you say about the cast? Clooney, Pitt, and Damon are good enough, but who would've been crazy enough to put Carl Reiner, Don Cheadle, Elliot Gould, Bernie Mac, Casey Affleck, Scott Caan, Eddie Jemison, and Shaobo Qin together and think that it would actually work. Well, my friends, it did and then some. Hat's off.

17. Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy (2004) dir. Adam McKay-- Without some of the sentimentality that the later Apatow-produced or directed films would bring, this might be the beginning of what those carried on. This film is funny. Plain and simple. No other words to describe it. It's ridiculous, it's inanely stupid, it's childish, but dammit it is funny. I've always described this as a 90-minute-long SNL sketch and that's why it's my favorite Will Ferrell movie to date. With former head writer of SNL, Adam McKay, co-writing and directing, Ferrell created one of the great comedy characters of the last twenty-five years. Ron Burgundy is the kind of guy that believes he's intelligent, good-looking, and above all a true professional, but we, the audience, know he's not. We forgive him, though, because he does it with such aplomb that it's damn near impossible to stay mad at him. Paul Rudd, David Koechner, and a brilliant Steve Carell offer up terrific supporting performances in this hysterical satire of not only the news business, but pretty much everything else.

16. O Brother, Where Art Thou (2000) dir. Joel and Ethan Coen-- God, those two brothers certainly know how to have fun. They're just always winking at you, aren't they? In every movie, even the more dramatic ones, it's like they're playing a practical joke on you that you, yourself, HAVE to laugh at. They are at the top of their game with this one. Not only is it a great laugh-fest, it's a filmmakers film. The sepia-toned hue of the film that makes it look like a Depression-era photograph is just the effect they were wanting to achieve. You almost have to give it up to cinematographer Roger Deakins as much the Coens. They are so great with dialogue, and Everett played by George Clooney (one of their finest creations) says some wonderful things. "I am the damn pater-familias", "Well, there are all manner of lesser imps and demons, Pete, but the great Satan hisself is red and scaly with a bifurcated tail, and he carries a hay fork", and "Me an' the old lady are gonna pick up the pieces and retie the knot, mixaphorically speaking", are just a sampling of the screw-loose phrasing in this film. Sit back, watch, listen to some great bluegrass, and marvel at what the Coens can do.

15. Chicago (2002) dir. Rob Marshall-- One of the few musicals, especially of the recent ones, that I can enjoy suspending reality for a couple hours. A musical adaptation can only work if you are okay with the option of the songs interrupting the story. The characters are there talking and BOOM there they go, tapping their feet and singing away. Most stage musicals are all songs to begin with, so it naturally works for that particular medium. With film, you really have to impress your cynical audience with the songs or you're going to lose them fairly quickly. Chicago impresses. As a matter of fact, I wanted them to sing and dance the entire time. If they were going to do other numbers like the ones I had been seeing, I say "HELL YES!!" Bring it on. Much of the success was a confluence of directing, writing, production and casting. Each actor was surprisingly great in their respective roles. You don't figure Gere, Reilly, Zellwegger, Latifah, and Zeta-Jones would be able to pull it off, but they do and then some. An entertaining film if there ever was one.

14. Up (2009) dir. Pete Docter-- What a beautiful movie. Pixar continues to make good on all of its promises. They've yet to make a disappointing feature and this one just might be the pinnacle. It has such a simple, yet inventive story. You have all of your time completely invested in each character. I went to see this movie in 3-D and by the end of the first ten minutes, my glasses were misted over due to my incessant tear flow. I mean, my GOD, animation isn't supposed to do this. Then, you realize that's what many of the great early Disney creations were all about. They always had funny characters, but intense, even sad themes. I guess Pixar's been doing that from the beginning. This was just the first time I had a real reaction to it. I truly hated the villain of the movie and I wanted him very much to die. I truly loved our protagonists and I wanted them to very much be successful. In a film of this variety, that's all you really need.

13. Gangs of New York (2002) dir. Martin Scorsese-- I'm aware that a great deal of people find this epic to be muddled, a bit overdone, and easily a disappointment in comparison to the rest of its director's work, but I find them to be wrong. I mentioned before that when Spielberg leaves it all on the screen with a take-no-prisoners attitude he's one of the best. I feel the same way about this film. It's all there and if you can't deal with it, move on. Most did, I didn't. Maybe the reason was that I was looking for something to latch onto at the time. A director, if you will. I felt that director was Scorsese, thus when upon release I saw perfection up on the screen. While the performances of DiCaprio and Diaz weren't top-notch, Day-Lewis more than made up for it with his all-out performance. This was a return to form for the great method actor and I still think it's his best work. This was the film that Scorsese had been wanting to make since the early seventies. Obviously, it would've been rather difficult to finance it back then. It was just as difficult when he finally began production, but he finished it and I left the theater quite overjoyed. I feel that it's just as impressive of an epic as Lawrence of Arabia or Bridge On The River Kwai.

12. No Country for Old Men (2007) dir. Joel and Ethan Coen-- It's a bit brutal, isn't it? Lotta blood, terse language, and overall violence. Yet, I knew I was loving this tragic opera masterpiece of a Cormac McCarthy adaptation from beginning to end. It's incredibly faithful to the book, actually, but the Coens are right there. You'd know their style of writing from anywhere and you can pick out the McCarthy and you can definitely pick out the Coens. There are scenes that you want to turn away from, but alas you can't. And the sound of the film. It's so quiet. It makes the violent scenes all the more jarring when they come. They're unexpected and I think I jumped several times the first time I saw it. Purely personifying evil is Anton Chigurh played brilliantly by Oscar-winner Javier Bardem. I felt uneasy the entire time, much like I felt when I was younger watching the Coens' Raising Arizona and the heavy of that film, Leonard Smalls played by Randall "Tex" Cobb. Anton comes out of the very darkest of shadows and destroys everything in his path and I was a bit scared when I saw him. This might be seen as the Coens best film, but I have a feeling they have a couple more in them.

11. Finding Nemo (2003) dir. Andrew Stanton-- Right after I saw Up, I said that I had just seen my new favorite Pixar film. Upon further review in doing this countdown, I still can't let go of my original favorite. Classic Pixar characters fill the screen of flowing colors in this heart-stopping, lovely film. One of the things that I've always respected about Pixar is their ability to find the true voice talent that fits perfectly with their characters. They don't need the most obvious of A-list stars. They go after the talent. Who better to play the overprotective, neurotic clownfish, Marlin, than Albert Brooks? Who better to play the gung-ho, tough-as-nails, Gill, than Willem Dafoe. And who better to play the quirky, yet lovable companion, Dory, than Ellen DeGeneres? They all do a marvelous job of finding what makes their characters tick and they instill some of their own personality into it. I can't begin to tell you how many times I laughed at the these fish said. This is just as much made for adults as it is children. It's funny and touching and, I feel, impossible to dislike.

Jonathan's Top 50 Favorite Films of the Last Decade (2000-2009) Part I

2010-01-15T16:37:00.000-08:00

I found that most people were creating their own lists of the last decade at the end of 2009 and I, myself, am a fan of the old "Top ???" lists, so I'm going to create one myself. I really have no criteria for the first 30 or so. I tried to think about how many times I viewed them and base the list on that, but that's really just asking for trouble. To be honest, a couple may be on here for "trendy" purposes. Make no mistake, though: I enjoyed, immensely, every single film on this list. No doubt about it! I'm going to briefly explain the first 30, delve a little deeper in the next 10, then do my usual rambling for the final 10. I hope you enjoy!

50. Bedazzled (2000) dir. Harold Ramis-- If there ever was a guilty pleasure on this list, it's this one. Brendan Frazer performs the comedy equivalent of a ballet in this film and it's not talked about enough. I find it enjoyable and I always have. Plus, Elizabeth Hurley ain't too bad on the eyes. YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!!!

49. Junebug (2005) dir. Phil Morrison-- Very few films are successful in their attempt at portraying the South in its true light. I've never viewed as perfect a film in its geographical depiction as this. While many saw this as character-based, this film was utterly based in setting. Beautiful movie.

48. Before the Devil Knows You're Dead (2007) dir. Sidney Lumet-- A brilliant look at family dysfunction by a director who refuses to quit. It's as hard-edged a melodrama as you'll see, and Sidney Lumet was 83 when he made it. Wonderful performances by Philip Seymour Hoffman, Ethan Hawke, Marisa Tomei, and Albert Finney.

47. You Can Count On Me (2000) dir. Kenneth Lonergan-- Great character study starring Laura Linney and Mark Ruffalo, who play a troubled, but close brother and sister pairing. I feel that these are career performances for both actors up to this point. Linney should've won the Oscar and Ruffalo should've been nominated. Produced by Martin Scorsese.

46. Atonement (2007) dir. Joe Wright-- Wright may be the director of the next decade. He has a flair for visual cinema that is rivaled only by a select view. This is a story that might've been rather boring to me in another director's hands, but in Wright's, he made it soar. The shot that dramatizes the aftermath at Dunkirk may be worth the price of admission alone.

45. United 93 (2006) dir. Paul Greengrass-- As objective and straightforward a look at the tragedy of September 11th as you'll see in cinema. Greengrass took the simple approach: hand-held camera, no-name actors, and plenty of suspense to give the audience as close of a "front row seat in history" as it could. Unforgettable film.

44. Rachel Getting Married (2008) dir. Jonathan Demme-- People talking. People discussing their lives. Mulling over their fears and trepidations for what's coming down the pike. Robert Altman would not have been prouder of a film this decade. Married was truly a return to form for Demme who sat back and observed the utter dysfunction with his camera. This contains Anne Hathaway's "bridge" performance to the next stage in her career.

43. Letters from Iwo Jima (2006) dir. Clint Eastwood-- The man can't stop making good films. It's impossible. For the past seven years Clint Eastwood has been on a roll and nothing he's directed before quite prepared me for this sympathetic and very subtle companion piece to his previous film, Flags of Our Fathers. A wonderful Japanese film by a wonderful American filmmaker.

42. State and Main (2000) dir. David Mamet-- When David Mamet decides to take a day off, this is the film you get. That, of course, is a compliment. I found this lighthearted fare about the struggles of making a film on location, to be absolutely delightful. Like in most Mamet-written/directed films, a terrific ensemble cast spews the brilliant words that Mamet creates.
41. Inglourious Basterds (2009) dir. Quentin Tarantino-- Like every film he does, Tarantino pays tribute. Here, he pays tribute to the Spaghetti Western, the POW film, and classic action. He never falters and he, once again, reminds us that the actors we don't remember (Christoph Waltz) are usually the best. Also, I love a good rewriting of history.

40. Sideways (2004) dir. Alexander Payne-- Payne and his cohort in writing, Jim Taylor, have a knack for dissecting the human condition and making their audience feel slimy about it. Paul Giamatti and a wonderful Thomas Haden Church are the purveyors of this. I think I spent half the movie with my head in my hands, feeling sorry for this incredibly stupid pair of misfits touring the wine country of California before the latter's impending nuptials. Hysterical fun.

39. City of God (2003) dir. Fernando Meirelles-- I've always been a sucker for the inner-city crime drama and this one is Boyz 'N Tha' Hood set in Rio de Janeiro. There is nothing more tragic in the movies, than the promise of youth being snuffed out by its own choices. A beautifully-shot, well-executed film.

38. Battle Royale (2000) dir. Kinji Fukasaku-- This might be the first true foreign film I've ever seen and I'm proud of that distinction. My God, is this movie tense. I never, once, felt a moment's rest from its onslaught of brutality and I know that's the way the director liked it. Lord of the Flies-inspired, but MUCH better.

37. Slumdog Millionaire (2008) dir. Danny Boyle-- This multiple Oscar-winner just might've set the standard for the "little movie that could". It went from almost-straight-to-DVD to million-dollar iconic story of love and redemption. The "kiss" scene at the end breaks my heart every time.

36. 3:10 to Yuma (2007) dir. James Mangold-- I've yet to see the original, but this version of the good cop/good outlaw story sets my own personal standard for the genre. Not being a huge fan of westerns, I walked out of the movie theater in awe of the character study disguised as a western that I just witnessed.

35. Man On Wire (2008) dir. James Marsh-- What a fun way to attack a documentary. It very much reminded me of the best Errol Morris films, where the real people are more fun to watch than the fictional kind. An exciting film from beginning to end, culminating in the exciting wire walk.

34. Munich (2005) dir. Steven Spielberg-- When Spielberg decides to leave it all on screen with a take-no-prisoners attitude, he's the best damn filmmaker out there. He goes for the throat with this behind-the-lines portrait of the men given the task of assassinating each individual responsible for the deaths of the hostages at the 1972 Olympics in Munich. Brilliantly done.

33. A Prairie Home Companion (2006) dir. Robert Altman-- I can't say enough about my love for ensemble acting and the great Robert Altman left us with this lovely ensemble piece about the goings-on of the popular radio show on its very last night. Hysterical performances from everyone involved.
32. Waking Life (2001) dir. Richard Linklater-- Another love of mine in cinema is when characters just talk. They have conversations that don't necessarily have a great deal of importance, but you certainly listen. Linklater achieved that in Dazed and Confused and he achieved it, here, with a film that was innovative upon its release. It's the "dreamiest" film I've ever seen.

31. Crash (2005) dir. Paul Haggis-- Say what you will about Haggis and his obvious attempts at an overall message, but he was incredibly effective with this parable about racism in Los Angeles. A bevy of characters "crash" into one another during a thirty-six hour period and the drama does not stop.

30. Road to Perdition (2002) dir. Sam Mendes-- Mendes' second film was as visually stunning, if not more so than his first. Like Joe Wright, he has a flair for the dramatic and in this morose gangster film, he uses the late cinematographer Conrad Hall to paint the landscape. Tom Hanks, Paul Newman, Daniel Craig, Jude Law, and Tyler Hoechlin give great performances on their way to the tragic, yet hopeful ending.

29. Training Day (2001) dir. Antwan Fuqua-- My tolerance threshold for dirty cop movies is pretty low, but this one escapes under the radar simply based on performance. Denzel Washington and Ethan Hawke go balls out in this gloss-free look at a day in the life of a narc trainee in L.A. There are parts of that city that you don't usually see in films and Fuqua did a good job of just forcing it on you. Great entertainment.

28. Capote (2005) dir. Bennett Miller-- A stark and uncompromising look at Truman Capote's descent into alcoholism and depression while attempting to finish his book, "In Cold Blood." Miller directs a film very reminiscent of early Malick and Philip Seymour Hoffman gives an uncanny portrayal of the legendary writer. Highly recommended if you haven't seen it.

27. There Will Be Blood (2007) dir. Paul Thomas Anderson-- If you want my personal opinion, P.T. Anderson is the best American filmmaker of the last ten years. His films exist on their own and this particular one separates itself from even the rest of his work. It's dry, it's desolate, and it never apologizes. You want madness from the very beginning to the very end? Here's your film.

26. Catch Me If You Can (2002) dir. Steven Spielberg-- Oh, Spielberg can have a little fun, too. I always describe this film as "one of the most watchable movies I've ever seen." It's absolutely true. It's fun and light-hearted and Leo Dicaprio gives, in my opinion, his best performance, here. Tom Hanks and Christopher Walken are terrific, as well, in supporting roles.

25. Adaptation (2002) dir. Spike Jonze-- Charlie Kaufman has to be one of the most rare of artists in Hollywood where the writer is more of an auteur than the director. Obviously, I take nothing from Spike Jonze, who's equally as proficient, but Kaufman knows how to mess with his audience's mind more than any other writer working. This is a terrific screw-loose dramedy. Nicolas Cage gives his most understated and touching performance.

24. Ray (2004) dir. Taylor Hackford-- I give as much credit to Hackford as I do to Foxx's unreal portrayal of the late Ray Charles. His knowledge of popular music from the 50s and 60s which he honed on his Hail! Hail! Rock N Roll, was put to full use in this unflinching biopic of the late soul legend. The ending feels a bit forced, but by that point I ceased to care. I was enthralled by the execution, then, and I still am today.

23. Minority Report (2002) dir. Steven Spielberg-- This is the best film Spielberg directed this decade and one of the best he's ever done. While never a huge fan of the dystopian genre, this adaptation of the short story by Philip K. Dick was very entertaining and very suspenseful. I can't begin to imagine the headaches involved in getting it made, but he along with a great cast make this one worth every penny.

22. The Aviator (2004) dir. Martin Scorsese-- Anybody who says that the great one can't be a genre director needs to take a look at this film. It's so well-crafted that I can hardly find the flaws. Scorsese, like any great leader, surrounds himself with smart, talented people. His longtime editor, Thelma Schoonmaker, and cinematographer, Robert Richardson bring every tiny technical intricacy that makes them great at what they do and this is what comes out. It's a visual cornucopia. Dicaprio and Blanchett ain't too bad, either.
21. The Dark Knight (2008) dir. Christopher Nolan-- The finest comic book film adaptation ever. Accept no substitutes. All comic book film adaptations should simply cease production after this masterpiece. Thank you very much.

2009: 150 Films Update

2009-08-29T08:30:00.000-07:00

Phew. What an interesting summer it's been. I can't quite recall being this action-oriented during the months of June, July, and August. Work has always been in the mix during this time that used to mean a level of freedom, but with the added gigs and recording sessions I've been involved in, I've inevitably slowed down my film-watching production. The fact that Alabama football kicks off in seven days probably won't help much, either, but I'm going to do my best to stay true to the goal I've set for myself. Over the past month, I've seen films that have been very challenging for me and I've padded those out with some easy, if not quite as rewarding, films, as well. I definitely enjoyed more than others, but I tip my hat to any film that can get me one closer to my goal. I will say that the sports film The Express about Ernie Davis, the first African-American Heisman Trophy winner, was very good film. I am a sucker for the sports movie, but I felt it was done just right with good performances turned in by Rob Brown and Dennis Quaid. Anyway, here's to staying on path.

The Marriage of Maria Braun (Fassbinder)
Harold and Maude (Ashby)
Baghead (M. and J. Duplass)
Boiler Room (Younger)
49th Parallel (Powell)
Lola (Fassbinder)
Veronika Voss (Fassbinder)
Funny People (Apatow)
I Vitelloni (Fellini)
Late Spring (Ozu)
District 9 (Blomkamp)
I Know Where I'm Going! (Powell)
The Happening (Shyamalan)
Umberto D. (De Sica)
The Express (Fleder)

What Kind of Ridiculous Sound Bites are We to Expect from this Team?

2009-07-14T11:49:00.001-07:00

There's a movie being filmed currently by Three Kings director David O. Russell, which stars The Batman, himself, Christian Bale. Now if recent history reminds us, these two individuals aren't the most tactful in moments of duress on the set. Russell doesn't particularly take well to certain actors (Lily Tomlin) criticizing his directions and Bale doesn't enjoy cinematographers lighting the set during important scenes (I will say, though, after viewing Terminator: Salvation, there are no real scenes of importance). That being said, I'm actually hoping these two titans of overreacting combine forces for the ultimate sound bite. Something so grandiose and over the top, that we'll be discussing it for, at least, a year. I want there to be signs of a struggle. Witnesses talking about how scarred they were after viewing the ferocious onslaught of words and fisticuffs that ensued after Russell and Bale had had just about enough. If either one wins an award for the film, I'd like for the other person to literally punch them in the back of the head when their name is called. These are the types of things that I believe CAN happen if we all come together and do a little bit of hoping.

Unfortunately, both Russell and Bale's mutual anger issues will probably cancel each other out leaving us with nothing but a film to watch. Which is fine, of course, but still. On the other hand, Mark Wahlberg is involved with the project, as well. Hmmmm.....now, Mr. Wahlberg isn't really notorious for on-the-set issues, but he is a roughneck from Boston. I'm thinking he just might be the missing ingredient that we need in this molotov cocktail of a situation. Maybe he could whisper not-so-sweet nothings in Russell and Bale's ears about the other person. BY GEORGE, this could happen! It could REALLY REALLY happen!!! In case you're not sure what I'm referring to, I will leave you with links to these amazing clips of frustration gone awry.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E4Qls1rAfYs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrvMTv_r8sA

2009: 150 Films Update

2009-07-13T18:07:00.000-07:00

Hello out there. I've been a little bit busier over the last three weeks, so the amount of films I've been watching has slowed down, but I think I'm still doing well, all things considered. The last fifteen films I've watched have been wonderfully diverse, from documentaries and rock concerts, to operas, thrillers, and quirky comedies. There are some that I have enjoyed more than others, but I do feel better for having watched every single one of them. I'm proud to say that I've finally discovered the films of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, also known as The Archers, who churned out some of the most prolific films of the 1940s and 50s in England. I'd be a liar if I didn't admit that one of the main reasons I came to Powell-Pressburger is their large impact on my personal favorite filmmaker, Martin Scorsese. Anyway, here are the fifteen latest films I have viewed.

Born Into Brothels (Kaufmann, Briski)
Drag Me to Hell (Raimi)
The Soloist (Wright)
The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (Powell)
Heaven and Earth (Stone)
Man On Wire (Marsh)
The Red Shoes (Powell)
Dave Chappelle's Block Party (Gondry)
Where the Light Is: John Mayer Live in Los Angeles (Clinch)
The Commitments (Parker)
The Tales of Hoffmann (Powell)
Atlantic City (Malle)
Hancock (Berg)
Peeping Tom (Powell)
Away We Go (Mendes)

2009: 150 Films

2009-06-14T16:03:00.000-07:00

I'm not really one for resolutions, yet I know there are things about myself that I should strive to change or enhance. That's the nature of growing up, I guess, and I'm still working on it. I'm using 2009 as a gauge for the future and I'm using it in many ways. Given that this is a film blog, I've decided I'm going to set a goal for myself: 150 films I've never seen before by December 31st. Obviously, I'm six months into the year, but I've traced back the ones that I've seen in the theater or through Netflix from the beginning of the year to this point and, by my estimations, I have exactly 100 more to go. This isn't going to be the easiest goal to reach for myself. A lot of my film-going pals set goals like this twice as much as mine, but since I tend to lighten up the load for myself come college football season, I figured this would be a solid number to achieve. Challenging, yet attainable. This means that if someone calls and asks me to go see a film I wouldn't normally see, I shall throw caution to the wind and see it (with a few exceptions, of course). I will be updating the list, publicly, every fifteen films or so. For now, I will leave you with the films I have seen so far, this year, in no specific order.

Frost/Nixon (Howard)
Doubt (Shanley)
Revolutionary Road (Mendes)
Milk (Van Sant)
The Visitor (McCarthy)
The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (Fincher)
I Love You, Man (Hamburg)
Angels & Demons (Howard)
Terminator: Salvation (McG)
Up! (Docter)
The Hangover (Phillips)
The Taking of Pelham 123 (Scott)
The Wrestler (Aronofsky)
Vicky Cristina Barcelona (Allen)
Rachel Getting Married (J. Demme)
The Watchmen (Snyder)
Frozen River (Hunt)
Chop Shop (Bahrani)
Man Push Cart (Bahrani)
Mr. Death (Morris)
Vernon, FL (Morris)
Wordplay (Creadon)
Vince Vaughn's Wild West Comedy Show (Sandel)
Seizure (Stone)
Grizzly Man (Herzog)
Waking Life (Linklater)
Sullivan's Travels (Sturges)
Jesus Camp (Ewing)
Saved (Dannelly)
Barry Lyndon (Kubrick)
Fitzcarraldo (Herzog)
Burden of Dreams (Blank)
Cape Fear (Thompson)
Letters From Iwo Jima (Eastwood)
Red River (Hawks)
Saraband (Bergman)
A Decade Under the Influence (T. Demme, LaGravenese)
Walkabout (Roeg)
Secret Honor (Altman)
Written On The Wind (Sirk)
The Hunting of the President (Perry)
Hearts and Minds (Davis)
Don't Look Back (Pennebaker)
Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders: The Movie (Pennebaker)
The Making of 'Dark Side of the Moon' (?)
Tom Dowd and The Language of Music (Moormann)
Dark City (Proyas)
This Film is Not Yet Rated (Dick)
Can Mr. Smith Get to Washington Anymore? (Popper)
Tokyo Story (Ozu)

An Experiment Part III (Songs 11-14)

2009-04-14T14:09:00.001-07:00

Final installment of my The Dirty South blog

Song: "Daddy's Cup"

I feel that, for better or for worse, Mike Cooley tells the most down-home stories of all the songwriters in The Drive-By Truckers. A lot of the characters in his stories have done some rough things, but you sense no pretension in their motives. "Daddy's Cup" is a great example. The narrator is not a bad man, at all, but he's the definitive prototype of the "Southern man". He's a stock car racer and the story is built around being the son of a failed practitioner of the same trade. The father actually had to quit the sport because of a wreck that hurt his eyesight, but the way the narrator speaks about him, you sense that the father still blames himself.

In the span of this song, which has quite a lot of words, the narrator learns everything from his father, begins his small-time racing career, and eventually makes it to the top of the racing world. It's one of the more linear narratives that the Truckers tell. Another thing that I really enjoy about Cooley's writing is that he never spares words. He fits all of the lyrics he possibly can into one line, ensuring that everything he wants to get said, gets said. This, to me, is very reminiscent of Dylan. Anyway, the story wraps itself up nicely and, in typical Cooley fashion, we're not given the end-all-be-all of happy endings: the narrator's father has since passed away and the narrator has lost more races than he's won, but still, he will not rest until his father's name, in which he bears, is on that Championship trophy, hence the name "Daddy's Cup". Once again, very simplistic and very well-told.

Director: Nicholas Ray (1911-1979); a great actor's director of such films as Rebel Without A Cause and Johnny Guitar

Song: "Never Gonna Change"

I find it strange that out of all the songs in the Drive-By Truckers catalog that deal with the "set in our ways" nature of many Southerners, a lot of those being from Alabama, that the most blatant of them was written by the romantic of the band, Jason Isbell. Isbell is a crafty writer with different tastes, but I never once took him for a guy to write an anthemic story about the South. A story with words that call for concert-goers to shout in unison its message. Yet, here it is, clear as crystal. I'm making this introduction sound negative, but I mean quite the opposite. I think it shows great poise on Isbell's part to take a simpler route and write a straight-edged rock tune. I mean, the guy's gotta take a break once in a while...he did write "Danko/Manuel".

In all honesty, this is a very well-told story, from the perspective of an Isbell alter-ego. Either that, or Isbell is voicing an old friend of his, perhaps. A low-down, mean sumbitch who don't take a damn thang off no one. My guess is that it's the latter.

What is the main thing that drives a true Southerner? What makes a real good ol' boy tick? Pride. This is completely a story about pride...if you didn't guess that by the title alone. It seems like the most fun movies deal with very proud characters. Isbell nails it down perfectly, because I've met some twangy individuals in my life and the one common denominator between all of them is their daddies. They love to regale you with some stories about Poppa. This particular father liked to fill his shotgun with black-eyed peas instead of the shells and he'd shoot at the ones he didn't much care for. "He'd aim real low and tear out your ankles or rip right through your knees." It almost seems to be a sort of warning. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree kinda thing. These boys are so tough that they won't even receive visits from the local law enforcement. Characters like these usually end up sadder, though. They don't always live alone, but you get the impression that they'd be better off that way. And that, to me, is the true message of this story. Isbell does search for the deeper meaning and damned if he didn't reach it with his most cliched song.

Director: The way Paul Thomas Anderson has taken his career with There Will Be Blood, I'd really be intrigued by him tackling a character study set in the South.

Song: "Lookout Mountain"

I've never read a description about this story, but I hope it's not described as DBT's suicide song. This last entry by Patterson Hood is about a hypothetical and nothing else. Each verse begins with the word "If". "If I throw myself off Lookout Mountain..." is used for this character who has driven himself to the brink of an unspeakable act. Once again, though, this album is a Steinbeck-esque tribute to the South, so why not include some popular Southern geography to give some scale to somebody's flat-lining emotional state. It seems that Hood is saying that if someone were to commit the ultimate act of suicide, they would, indeed, hurl themselves off one of the great Southern landmarks.

This particular individual merely toys with the notion, though. One of those cries for help that you hear about. Throughout the entire story he is filled to the brim with doubt about carrying through with it. He wanders many things about what would happen if he did indeed throw himself off Lookout Mountain. Who would mow the cemetery, pay his bills, be with his parents during their time of grief, etc. The main point of it, though, is something we all think about if we happened to die tomorrow: will people even remember me? The worst thing in the world is to think you wouldn't be mourned for your loss, but right there Hood is delivering his final blow to the audience. We Southerners are as guilty as any one else in this country of the type of ego maniacal emotions that drive us to thoughts of self-mutilation or even suicide. We'll do something completely irrational just to see if anyone cares. I'm not sure if Hood has harbored these thoughts before but he sings with the type of authority that makes me think he might have.

Director: Recently, I've watched the first two films of the Iranian-American filmmaker, Ramin Bahrani, whose films deal with alienated protagonists searching for something bigger on the horizon. I think I'd choose him for this. Plus, he's from Winston-Salem, N.C., so it all works out.

Song: "Goddamn Lonely Love"

It's going to be very difficult for me to not describe this in the way of being simply a song. It is a song. It's a great song. It makes me want to weep uncontrollably. It's Jason Isbell at his most desperate and what songwriter worth his or her salt doesn't write their best material when they're desperate? It doesn't really contain much of a linear story. I see this as a series of vignettes played out for the audience by a man too hurt to even cry. It's not that he doesn't want to. He just can't. The character wants to numb the pain he feels from a relationship that seems admittedly cheap. "You could come to me by plane, but that wouldn't be the same as that ol' motel room in Texarkana was." I guess we all feel love in different ways and this particular type did quite a number on him.

The chorus reads, "So, I'll take two of what you're having and I'll take all of what you got, to kill this goddamn lonely, goddamn lonely love." He doesn't want to just numb the pain. He will do anything to make sure he purges all feelings he's ever had towards this particular person. There's no doubt that Isbell is taking the autobiographical route, here. Once again, what songwriter worth his or her salt...

He goes on to try and convince himself that it was all a crazy dream and that meeting this person never occurred, but he has to face the reality that he did. So what's left? Try to find whatever therapeutic means are given to him to make the pain disappear. The coda of this story gets to me every time, because he just repeats the line "All I've got is this goddamn lonely, goddamn lonely love" over and over again. Are we, the audience, to believe that this man is doomed to fester in his own thoughts of lost love? That's how it ends. It doesn't even seem hopeful. This song is a dirge. An elegy for a man never to feel that initial joy of falling for someone. It seems appropriate for an album that is filled to the brim with stories of depression, angst, debauchery, historical periods, and general loss. It's a perfect way to exit. It reminds me of something Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, and the rest of The Band would do.

Director: I, initially, thought Cameron Crowe, but after seeing Jonathan Demme's Rachel Getting Married, I wouldn't give this film to anyone else.

The end

An Experiment Part II (Songs 6-10)

2009-03-17T17:38:00.000-07:00

Continuation of my The Dirty South blog.

Song: "Sands of Iwo Jima"

Patterson Hood's ability to tell a story through characters as real as anyone you or I know is one of the foundations of the band. Whether or not these are people he knows, personally, is irrelevant. The person listening to the story accepts that it's someone he knows. That's all that really matters. In this case, it's his great uncle, referred to as George A. More or less, Hood is telling the story through his own point of view. He begins back in 1941, where George A. is driving back from Birmingham to his family farm, where he hopes to work. Unfortunately, he is drafted and goes to the South Pacific to fight on the island of Iwo Jima.

The most important thing to know about George A. is that, through Hood's eyes, he is a humble, unassuming man. He fought for his country, came home and did what he initially set out to do. All of these memories of his great uncle are tied into memories of watching the film The Sands of Iwo Jima when he was a kid. If there's one thing a kid will do, it will be to naively glorify moments that don't need glorifying. Hood, as a kid, wants to hear grandiose stories about the island where his great uncle fought, simply because he saw John Wayne do it in the film. George A. sweetly tells him that he "never saw John Wayne on the Sands of Iwo Jima." This line, to me, is so important. We're all to be sure that, as a veteran, George A. DID see the film. He saw John Wayne IN The Sands of Iwo Jima, but he tells his great nephew that he never saw him ON it. The dichotomy between the two is startling and it's just one word. This is about as simply told a story that you will find in the Drive-By Truckers canon and it's one of the best.

Director: Hal Ashby (1929-1988). His previous experience with post-war disillusionment in Coming Home would bring a lot to the table for this one.

Song: "Danko/Manuel"

Jason Isbell is back for round two and what a glorious round it is. If "The Day John Henry Died" had metaphorical ties, this one is rife with them. The title of this story is in reference to two of the primary singers of the highly-influential group The Band, Rick Danko and Richard Manuel. They are, also, the only two members, to date, who have passed away. As the story goes, Isbell, initially, wanted to tell a story about Band-drummer Levon Helm's feelings towards the deaths of Danko and Manuel, but the more he worked on it, the longer and more drawn out it became. Instead, he decided to focus on his own perception of what it was like to be a working and traveling musician. He puts it in context with two individuals who spent a better part of their lives on the road. Eventually, the lifestyle caught up to them. Manuel hanged himself in 1986 and Danko passed away in 1999.

The narrative is rather interesting, mainly because it's difficult to discover where Isbell, himself, is talking and where other characters may be involved. The opening line is very important, though, that's to be sure: "let the night air cool you off." I, initially, was under the impression that this was Isbell talking to someone, but I think it's someone talking to Isbell, mainly for the reason that in the next verse, Isbell comes to terms with the lifestyle of a working musician. "I ain't livin' like I should", he declares. He needs to go home, which brings us to the refrain of "Can you hear that singing?/Sounds like gold/maybe I can only hear it in my head/fifteen years ago we owned that road/now, it's rolling over us instead/Richard Manuel is dead." We feel that our narrator is becoming increasingly more aware of his mortality. Manuel seemed unstoppable while in The Band, but look what happened to him. When another person questions Isbell as to whether or not he wants to be the guy that sounds just like Rick Danko, there's trepidation. He doesn't go on to give an answer, but you know he's trying to convince himself to quit before he ends up like those two. This story is startling.

Director: I like Todd Haynes for this one. There's just enough obscure imagery to it that I'd put him on the job.

Songs: "Boys From Alabama"/"Cottonseed"/"The Buford Stick"

Tracks eight through ten are a three-song suite in the middle of this very turbulent album. The stories of each are among the most cinematic. Patterson Hood tells the first and last and Mike Cooley takes the middle. The songs are based upon the famous sheriff, Buford Pusser, from McNary County, Tennessee whose house was blown up and wife was killed by a bad group of individuals from across the border in Alabama. Hood actually narrates the story of Pusser before he goes into "Boys From Alabama". The story of Pusser and his revenge was made into a film in 1973 called Walking Tall starring Joe Don Baker. Hood insists that these songs are about the "other side of that story". He and Cooley want to talk about the bad group of individuals. They're going to give us their impression, possibly stories told to them by their fathers from their childhoods, of the "Alabama Mafia" and how they took care of a man who stopped a lot of the bootlegging they were trying to accomplish.

"Boys From Alabama" is really an introduction to the suite. It, obviously, gives the entire backstory during the opening narration, but Hood does a terrific job of forming a story around the men who forced the vengeful nature out of Pusser, which was portrayed in Walking Tall. You get a sense that Hood would like to see a movie made about these guys, not necessarily because he condones their behavior, but that it just might be a better story. It would be. This leads directly into Cooley's "Cottonseed". The last line from "Boys" is "I wouldn't piss off the Boys from Alabama if I was you" and the first line from "Cottonseed" is "I came to tell my story to all these young and eager minds". One of the "Boys" is talking to us. This story is told from a murderous fiend's point of view, barely remorseful of the things he's done. He sits in prison, probably for life, and discusses his time as a man possessed by the same sort of demon that Cooley's "father" character from "Where the Devil Don't Stay" was. If Hood and Cooley's dads were spinning yarns about some bad dudes from around their town, then the narrator of "Cottonseed" is confirming it. There really isn't a chorus, but the main line is "I put more lawmen in the ground, than Alabama's put cottonseed."

The final piece, "The Buford Stick" takes place after Walking Tall has been released to tremendous popularity. Sheriff Pusser is seen, now, as a folk hero, thanks to the Hollywood machine. This makes the Boys none too happy. The story is told from another member of the crew, one who's probably not as horrendous a human being as our narrator from "Cottonseed", but he's definitely more bitter. The film's huge and he has to watch as the town he used to run views Pusser as a sort of savior. They all pity the good Sheriff, but all he knows is that the good Sheriff shut down every one of the illegal operations he ran. He's saying, "How in the hell am I supposed to make money, now?" We might as well lump this guy in with the narrator from "Puttin' People on the Moon". He just can't catch a break. Even after Pusser finally dies, he still can't seem to let it go. The fellas of the Drive-By Truckers live amongst sad people.

Director: This takes ambition. This takes skill. This, also, takes a director who knows how to entertain an audience with something very simple, but present it with the integrity of a true auteur. Thus, I give thee to Quentin Tarantino.

The final entry to The Dirty South blog coming soon!

An Experiment Part I (Songs 1-5)

2009-03-03T17:39:00.000-08:00

I feel a little bit of a change of pace is in order. To clear my mind, if you will. Maybe start a new chapter in my career of blogging. Thus, I'm trying a bit of an experiment. I'd like to discuss an album I've been listening to recently. A lot of albums we come across, we listen to once and move on to the next one. This particular one, I couldn't put down. Each song has a specific story or message and they paint quite a visual for the listener. It was in constant rotation for about a solid week and I'd like to share some things about each of the fourteen tracks of the Drive-By Truckers' 2003 release, The Dirty South.

As a companion to The Dirty South, and the basis for the title of this entry, I'm going to give a synopsis of each tune (purely my take) and present who I'd think, past or present/dead or alive, would be the perfect film director for each story. These are well-told songs, written and sung by three different members of the band, all guitarists: Patterson Hood, Mike Cooley, and ex-band member Jason Isbell.

Song: "Where the Devil Don't Stay"

A Depression-era story told by the most baritone and whiskey-soaked singer of the group, Mike Cooley. The beginning is told as a narration by a boy who looks in bewildered wonderment of his rogue-ish father. His dad is a bootlegger during the height of Prohibition and while he associates himself with men just as nefarious as he, the ones who can afford to slip past the law come to see him to get their fix of booze. The boy continues to tell his father's story, until we are interrupted by the story itself. The dad calls out to his son for help. Help from the moonshine he's made which is making him physically ill and help from the police who're on his tail (the boy's mom called them). He's essentially asking his son to be an accomplis to his illegal actions. Still, the boy cannot turn his back. He's morbidly fascinated by a man who holds so much sway in such a bleak town. By the end of the song, he's asking his dad to tell him the things he knows. He's essentially saying, "Dad. Life has beaten the shit out of you. How can I avoid it happening to me?"

Director: For its bleak, but entertaining story, I'm going to say a Bonnie & Clyde-era Arthur Penn could do the job.

Song: "Tornadoes"

This story has deep roots in Southern culture. It's told with great conviction by chief songwriter, Patterson Hood, who, unlike the previous storyteller, is not using other characters. It's modern day and Hood is the one giving an account of an evening of storms that came through and devastated his hometown during a homecoming gig for the band in which he was playing. He uses a woman's description from a newspaper article the next day, named Bobbi Jo McClean, to add levity. The one constant throughout the story and the thing that gives it its visual representation is the simple description of the tornado itself. It's a description that anyone from the South has heard and can attest to: the sound of a fast-moving train. It's mentioned three times, twice by Hood and once by McClean. The second time Hood mentions it is at the very end of the story and it's one of disbelief. He has laid witness to one of the worst sights he's ever seen. He's lived through it and seen others die from it. When an event this big occurs, the things people remember are small. They're detailed and what ANY person who's lived through a tornado will recall is the sound of an oncoming train.

Director: For its small town feel and use of details, David Gordon Green.

Song: "The Day John Henry Died"

Jason Isbell is the least literal of the storytellers. He likes to use imagery and characters to paint a much bigger picture. In the end, this is a story about industrialization, using the fable of John Henry, a one-man machine who could handle the most impossible of jobs with the use of his hammer. It's essentially the working class versus the men who've run the automobile industry into the ground. The country feels a deepening sadness towards the moment that big-time business took over something that felt more personal in its inception. This is, of course, the meaning behind the title. The working class could do anything they wanted and, in this case, did, but when a larger presence looms, sometimes there's nothing you can do. You just have to sit back and take it and realize that your time has come and gone. The story begins with the building of a train and ends with the flying of an airplane. It's not necessarily condemning modernization, but it's not condoning it, either.

Director: For its socially-conscious themes, Michael Moore (really he already has directed a documentary quite similar to this with Roger and Me)

Song: "Puttin' People On the Moon"

It's Patterson Hood's turn, again. He's now turned to the use of a main character narrating his own story. It follows him from the time he and his wife Mary Alice had their first child until the moment he looks back and regrets every choice he's ever made. The antagonist of the story is Reaganomics. It's the 1980s and the small town in which he lives presents no opportunities for economic prosperity. He's recently been fired from his job at the Ford plant and with a wife and child to feed, he begins running numbers and eventually deals drugs. He realizes it's not the most virtuous thing to do, but what other choice does he have. The town's strife is put in contrast with the government's propensity for supplying money to the space program, which, coincidentally, is having a great amount of success just down the highway, in Huntsville. Eventually, his wife comes down with cancer and dies due to their lack of insurance. With no other options, the man takes a job at the local Wal-Mart. He's got several kids at this point and has to find a way to feed them. Yet, pride always seems to be his biggest sin. He spends the entire story blaming others, who have no direct control over his life. The main question we're left with by the end, is "Is it the entire town that's in this much trouble or is it just the man, himself?" Nothing is resolved. We are left with a cyclical feeling about the life of the narrator.

Director: In all honesty, with the right-wing government as the obvious "bad guy", I would enjoy Oliver Stone tackling this particular story.

Song: "Carl Perkins' Cadillac"

Our gravel-voiced spokesman from the opening story is back to tell a biographical account of the founder of Sun Records, Sam Phillips. One of the pioneers of rock 'n' roll, Phillips brought together a unique group of artists who became the basis for the onslaught of American music in the 1950s: Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis Presley, and Carl Perkins. The title is in reference to a promise that Phillips made to the four artists for a brand new Cadillac to the first person to have a gold record. Many felt it was Elvis' to lose, but all were surprised when Perkins was the first one to earn the distinction. Cooley, himself, is probably the one telling the story. If there were a narrator for this particular one, it would have to be the singer. Only a rocker could tip his hat to this extinguished group of folks. The line that reverberates the most is, "Mr. Phillips was the only man that Jerry Lee still would call 'sir'".

Anyone who knows anything about the early days of rock 'n' roll will know that Jerry Lee Lewis wasn't the easiest person to get along with, yet this little guy from Memphis could command respect from the guys we view as the founders of popular music. The last part of the story switches from narration to what we assume is Phillips trying to talk sense into Elvis. It seems the direction that Elvis' career took was the antithesis of what Phillips cultivated at Sun Records in the mid-50s. There's disappointment in his voice, leading one to believe that Elvis might've been better off dying before he got old. With Lewis marrying his thirteen-year-old cousin and Cash finding drug addiction, the only one who truly lived up to Phillips ideal of being a man first and a performer second, is the namesake for this story.

Director: After such rock-based films as Hail, Hail Rock 'N' Roll and Ray, I would easily give this film to Taylor Hackford.

Part II (Songs 6-10) to come soon.

Barry: The Poet Laureate of Rock Snobbery

2009-02-10T17:45:00.000-08:00

I come by this particular entry with joy in my heart. I was recently watching High Fidelity for the umpteenth time and I realized how effortlessly amazing this film is. It, in every way, encapsulates what I love about movies, music, and, strangely enough, people. Not just the ones who acted in the film, and they were great, but the ones who took the time to make it. I love the group of studio execs who took a chance and decided that this would be worth putting large sums of money on to get made. I love the four writers (D.V. DeVincentis, Steve Pink, Scott Rosenberg, and John Cusack) it took to nail down every single nuance that schmucks like me enjoy. I love the brain of the man who initiated this terrific story to begin with, Mr. Nick Hornby. I love the director, Stephen Frears, for finding that an original story set in his home country of England, could be easily translated to Chicago. And finally I love the comic ingenuity put in to a character, by a mid-range musician/comedian, that has warmed every single recess of my soul many times over since. Yes, Jack Black...this blog's for you.

Where do you start with Barry. How about we start with the fact that the character doesn't have a last name. I feel this makes he and his snob counterpart, Dick, great supporting characters. Like the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Lion. They exist as comical, yet no less important backdrops to the story. Barry is the guy you want to see when things get a little heavy. Admit it! You may hate his overall attitude towards the people he interacts with on a daily basis, but you wanted to see him push his way in between the celluloid from when Rob is at Laura's dad's funeral and the moment he finally apologizes to her. If you could've had just a split second of him scream some profanity, you would've felt at ease. I would've, at least.

Yes, Barry is a musical snob. He, along with Rob and Dick, are referred to as "total elitists...you shit on everyone who doesn't know as much as you." Rob and Dick, MIGHT do that, but we KNOW Barry does. For those who may not know, Rob (John Cusack) owns a small record store in downtown Chicago, where Barry and Dick work. Almost every scene Barry is in, he's chastising a poor customer or Rob and Dick for their inability to know as much as he does. In one particular scene, during a busy day at the store, Barry is discussing Echo and the Bunnymen albums as compared to Jesus and the Mary Chain with a customer who seems close to the level of snobbery that he maintains. Watch closely how subtle Black makes Barry devoid of any pretension whatsoever. He's shocked to hear that his musical equal doesn't own Bob Dylan's "Blonde On Blonde", which he describes as "perverse". He picks up the album stacks it on top of the other vinyl the customer is about to purchase, hugs him and tells him, "It's gonna be okay." This is not a slick salesman trying to make a pitch or even the sale itself. This is a guy who doesn't want almost-certain verbal harm to befall a customer he actually respects. It's telling of the depth of the character.

Barry's entrance to the film is nothing short of wonderful. Rob and Dick are enjoying the newest Belle & Sebastian album over the sound system, when you hear the muffled, but soon obnoxious mouth guitar of Barry, as he walks into the store. He strolls in and you immediately know what this guy is all about. You just know that he has alienated almost every single friend he's ever had and destroyed any possibility of a happy relationship with a woman. He discards of the Belle & Sebastian tape, which he describes as "sad bastard music" and places his own mix into the system. It's "Walkin' On Sunshine" by Katrina and the Waves and it's played very loudly. From there he does the single greatest one-man dance in the history of one-man dances. All of this annoys Rob very much. Barry's intent is good, though, because he wanted the tape to be a Monday-morning "conversation stimulator". He may be brash in the way he goes about things, but his heart is in the right place.

He leaves the film as grandly as he entered it. Throughout the movie, Barry tries to convince Rob that he's a great singer. He's had a "musicians wanted" flyer hanging up in the store for a long enough time that Rob doesn't believe him. Eventually, a musician comes into the store showing interest to which both Rob and Dick find humorous. It's almost as if they feel sorry for the musician. He doesn't know what the hell he's about to get himself into. The last laugh is, of course, given to the court jester, when Barry is asked to play a record-release party put on by Rob that Rob desperately does not want him to play. Barry makes a quick little joke into the mic and moves directly into "Let's Get it On" by Marvin Gaye. We, the audience and everyone in the movie, are visibly shocked by what we hear. Barry can sing!! Dammit, the man wasn't lying!! He can REALLY sing!!! I love the moment so much, because I wanted to believe he could sing. I wanted to believe there was more to this human being than arcane, obscure music trivia knowledge. This moment works well, also, because in a short scene Rob tells his girlfriend, Laura, that Marvin Gaye and "Let's Get it On" are responsible for their entire relationship. To this day, I want to believe that Barry somehow knew this information and decided it'd be a nice little dedication for his friends Rob and Laura.

Take what you will from the character. Most people can't stand him. He isn't really that pleasant and I'm hard-pressed to find a moment where he shows much compassion, but the characters that are a bit harder to crack are always the better ones anyway. Jack Black took his persona to another level with this film. He has since become the ultimate clown of Hollywood; a man with a terrific poker face. I still don't know if I could take him seriously, since it's hard enough to trust his characters. I do know that Barry is a testament to Black's ability to find the deepest of depths in a character, but not show, for a single moment, that he has them.

Academy Award Nominations Haiku

2009-01-24T06:59:00.000-08:00

I like creating patterns with my blog. Here's more haiku dealing with some of the major categories at the Oscars.

Best Supporting Actress

Five women battle
Nuns, mothers, strippers, artists
Where the hell is Kate?

Best Supporting Actor

Why even discuss?
All five: great performances
But the dead guy wins

Best Animated Film

I've only seen one
You can't compete with Pixar
Kung Fu, Bolt?? Yeah, right!

Best Original Song

Three damn nominees?!
Only going to say this once
You don't screw The Boss

Best Foreign Language Film

I feel pretty bad
Haven't seen any of these
Belcourt! Help me out!!

Best Adapted Screenplay

Writing is damn tough
Adapting might be tougher
I'm thinking Slumdog

Best Original Screenplay

Quirky screenplays all
All different in their own way
More than likely, Milk

Best Actress

Jolie made the cut
Four others have a good shot
Oh, there she is..."KATE!!!"

Best Actor

Quite competitive
Five guys, they know how to act
Gotta pull for Rourke

Best Director

I respect each guy
They practice their craft quite well
Marty trumps them all

Best Picture

Dark Knight was shut out
Oh, God, the humanity
It's okay...SLUMDOG!!!

I wish every nominee the best of luck. 2008 had some fine films!

Scorsese Haiku

2008-11-25T18:18:00.000-08:00

Once again, it's been awhile and I feel awful about it. I shant come up with excuses, so I'm just going to go ahead and dive right into my next entry. As the title suggests, I'm going to take a bit of a detour from my normal blogging and do something I haven't attempted since my freshman year of high school: I'm going to write some haiku. And I'm going to do it about the greatest living American filmmaker, Martin Scorsese and ten of my personal favorites that he's directed. Maybe this will inspire you all to write some silly haiku about your favorite films and/or directors. Mind you, I'm an amateur at this, so you'll have to excuse me if they're not quite as esoteric as others you might've seen. May we all come out at the end unscathed.

Mean Streets (1973)

Robert and Harvey

Small-time crooks loving trouble
Marty shoots Robert

Taxi Driver (1976)

You talkin' to me?
You...You...You talkin' to me?
You talkin' to me?

The Last Waltz (1978)

Marty and The Band
Film and music coexist
A beautiful thing

Raging Bull (1980)

Jealousy and rage
One of the all-time classics
Fuck Robert Redford

Goodfellas (1990)

Blood-letting mobsters
The greatest mob film ever
Fuck Kevin Costner

Casino (1995)

Pesci is back, man
More nuts than in Goodfellas
Vice...need I say more?

Gangs of New York (2002)

Day-Lewis is back!
Steals show from even himself
Fuck Roman Polan...

The Aviator (2004)

Down with OCD?
Marty's newest masterpiece
Fuck Clint Eastwood...FUCK!!!

The Departed (2006)

Sixty-three years old
Man! How does he still do this?
Fuck...wait...GO MARTY!!!

Shine A Light (2008)

The Stones and Marty
Dear Lord, I must be dreaming
My pants are now soiled

*End scene*

The Sublime Philosopher

2008-09-06T07:26:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure if I've proven my worth as a blogger. First off, this is my first blog in close to two months. Did I hit a wall? Let's rephrase that: HAVE I hit a wall? Possibly. I haven't had much to discuss in the last month and a half. Maybe because college football season is in full swing, I'm just not feeling it quite as much. I don't know. I'm trying to remedy that, though. I, also, believe that my identity as a film-blogger needs to cover all walks of life within the film world. By that I mean I haven't quite branched out enough. I haven't discussed foreign films on a deeper level. Sure, I've mentioned the directors, but I haven't broken down their films. The themes, plots, characters, etc. I'd like to fix that, right now. I want to discuss a director named Jacques Tatischeff or better known as Jacques Tati.

Tati was an entertainer in the mold of the vaudeville acts of the early age of cinema. Like Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin before him, he wrote, directed, produced, AND starred in all of his films. He, also, made his films during the height of the "talkie" picture, yet, hardly ever uttered a single word in any of them. Yes, they had sound in the conventional sense, but dialogue was not really an issue. He loved observing human behavior and by doing this his films became comedies because he progressively viewed human behavior as something of a joke. Each film was seen through the eyes of Tati's alter-ego Monsieur Hulot. Hulot is a bit of a trouble-maker, though I'd say his heart is in the right place. He has no intention of causing trouble, but that's just what happens. At heart, the character is a very sweet individual who walks through life with the right amount of optimism.

Mind you, these are my own personal observations through viewings of only three of his films: Monsieur Hulot's Holiday, Mon Oncle, and Playtime. The latter became a personal failure at the time, bankrupting Tati, but the film has reached "masterpiece" status since then. In these three films, alone, viewers got to see a transition from light-hearted fare to light-hearted satire to a meditation on the times. Was Tati growing more cynical as he grew older? Monsieur Hulot's Holiday is a delightful French film, following Hulot to a French Riviera resort, where he encounters a motley cast of characters. Mon Oncle is Tati's transitional film. It's the bridge between Holiday and Playtime. Tati comments on industrialization, where houses have taken on a life of their own. The structures are impersonal and very uncomfortable. He makes his point clear by transitioning back and forth between his sister's family's home and his own neighborhood, which is probably the same neighborhood that he left to go on his vacation in Monsieur Hulot's Holiday. Yes, Hulot is optimistic, but he's also an older gentleman set in his ways. I guess so was Tati. The best satirical prop in Mon Oncle is a fountain at Hulot's sister's house. It's this ridiculous metallic fish standing upright that spews out a stream of water every time a button is pressed. Hulot's sister only does this when she has company. The sound effects in this film are hysterical. You think, in the beginning, that Tati has pushed the audio up way too much, but in actuality he's enhancing the satire by making all things industrial sound loud and obnoxious. It took me a second to get it.

Playtime is in a class all its own. It stands by itself in the Tati canon for several reasons. Hulot is still in the film, but he's more of a background artist. Also, Playtime has no real story structure. It's just a bunch of characters coming in and out in this large, modern world. Hulot just ties them all together with his presence. If Hulot was the slightest bit confused in Mon Oncle, he is downright lost in Playtime. He doesn't do as much strolling in this film as he does in his others. He wonders about with an uncertainty that is told through his body language. I say this because not a single shot in Playtime is close-up. It's all long and medium shots. So, you have no choice but to judge the character's behavior by their body language. You never get to see their faces.

The story behind this film bankrupting Tati is that he created an entire city on the outskirts of Paris, which has become known as "Tativille". Watch this film and look how large it is. It's shot with the Panorama 70 millimeter camera lens, which is the same type used for such David Lean epics as Lawrence of Arabia and Doctor Zhivago. What comedian is this dedicated to this type of filmmaking? You'd still be hard-pressed to find any comedic director, today, who would shoot a film like this. All of the buildings, roads, street lights, and vehicles are all apart of this one massive set that Tati created. Nothing is officially "on location". I like that idea, because I feel that Tati conveyed his message even more so by doing it that way. He created a modern world that almost exists in reality, but it's all Tati. It's what he sees the world becoming. Impersonal, stifling, and out of reach. The best scene in the film comes about an hour in, where we see the opening of a restaurant. Most if not all the characters in the first hour end up appearing, all at once, in this restaurant, which has one of the most doomed openings you could ever imagine. The brilliant thing about it is that you never witness any of the characters having as much fun in the face of chaos as they do in this scene. It's a lovely thing to see.

Tati's vision became broader than some of the filmmakers who preceded him. Yes, Chaplin and Keaton, both, faced modernization head-on, but I don't think they did it in the scope that Tati did. Maybe Tati had to deal with serious issues of change in his society, but he was at the age where he still could still speak out about it. I feel that he wanted to be a spokesman for the ones who felt the same way he did, but he could still do it in such a polite and seemingly innocent way. I've walked away from each of the Tati films I've seen wondering if I truly appreciated them in the way they should be appreciated. I was skeptical at first and if you've seen any of his films before, maybe you were too, but I see the vision, now. I see his love for comfort and distaste for the not-well-known and I not only appreciate it, I truly identify with it. This was a great filmmaker.

Why Go Against the Majority?

2008-07-18T13:11:00.000-07:00

I always feel the need to brace myself when doing something as ambitious as going to the midnight showing of a film. As a teenager, I used to think the crowd that attended these things were fairly certifiable, but I came to realize that there's something noble about it. Downing as many energy drinks as possible, waiting in an irresponsibly long line, and braving the insane amounts of people dressed as their favorite characters from (insert dorky franchise here). My first experience with the midnight showing came just two-and-a-half years ago. It was for Peter Jackson's highly-anticipated remake of the Merian C. Cooper classic, King Kong. This was a major leap for a first-time midnight viewer. Usually, one would want to start out on a film along the lines of ninety to a hundred minutes long. Nope. Not me! I was like the kid who just started drinking and wanted his first beer to be a Guinness. My first midnight showing was a three-and-a-half hour experience. I wasn't disappointed. And since then, I've gone to see Spiderman 3, Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, and most recently, The Dark Knight. All at midnight. The latter was not only the best out of the midnight-showing films I've seen, but it's the best superhero film I've seen, by far. Director Christopher Nolan has taken this franchise and made it into film noir. The Dark Knight feels as if there's a haunting presence lurking behind the equipment used to make it. I felt that Philip Marlowe could put on a bat suit and feel right at home in Nolan's Gotham City.

I'm not going to review the film as a whole, though. I'm scared that I might reveal plot points that don't need revealing. Most of you guys know the story, anyway. No, in this blog today, I'm going to discuss one thing and one thing only: Heath Ledger's performance. I understand that every critic and every blogger within a square mile of each other are discussing the very same thing. I'm just going to try and add my own insight to it.

It was common knowledge before the film was released, whether Ledger passed away or not, that his Joker would be the most discussed aspect of the film. Yes, his untimely death has brought more attention to the film and his character, but it cannot be said enough: this is one of the most brilliant character creations film has seen in a very long time. Ledger has done some fine work up to this point, but NOTHING he's done in the past will prepare you for what he does in this film. I've never seen anything quite like it.

I can't explain it, but there's something in a filmgoer that is fascinated by villainous acts done by a truly deranged character. We don't want a villain to succeed, but we do have a morbid curiosity as to how they go about doing what they do. The well-performed, well-conceived villains, at least, challenge us. We yearn for their presence on the screen, because those heroes just seem a little too boring for the moment. It's easy to name off some of the great screen heroes of our time, but it's a lot more fun to think of the bad guys. Hannibal Lecter, Anton Chigurh, Daniel Plainview, Alonzo Harris, Norman Bates, and Darth Vader are such effective villains that they make us desire for the heroes to get a little torn and frayed. My desire, though, is to not break down the psyche of said villains, but to talk about a performance that, in the end, saddens me deeply.

Ledger jumped into this roll with the kind of vim and vigor that makes one giggle in delight with the things he does. Nolan and his brother Jonathan co-wrote the screenplay and they did a great job at giving us speeches. Philosophical speeches where the Joker reflects upon his own psyche. There's a terrific scene in the movie where The Joker explains to Harvey Dent the difference between himself and the people who set out plans of action. The Joker is impulsive with no desire to face or even care about any type of consequence. Ledger delivers these speeches in such a way that it's difficult to read whether he's serious or fooling you. He puts on one of the better poker faces that film has ever seen and it's not because of the make-up. Mannerisms are key to this performance and Ledger makes that the Joker's modus operandi. The way his tongue slivers between the corners of his mouth like a reptile or the low, neutral drawl in which he speaks, it is almost completely impossible to get a read on what he's thinking. He's smart, shifty and has a spirit (evil notwithstanding) that's very hard to break.

I loved the way Ledger uses his hands in this film. He points at his enemies in a way that dictates entire conversations. I found that in The Joker's quieter moments he was a lot more frightening than he was in the bigger ones. In a scene towards the beginning of the film, The Joker walks in on an underground mob meeting. He offers up his advice about how to handle the predicament they are in and one of the gangsters calls him crazy. Ledger takes pronunciation to a whole new level when he responds, "I'm not crazy". He doesn't simply say it that way, though. He places extra emphasis on the "t" in the word "not". Then, he pauses for a beat and finishes his statement. That simple enunciation on the "t" makes him more frightening than in any other scene in the film.

There are sheer moments of comedy that Ledger provides the character, as well. It's not because they're obvious comedic moments, either. I felt a little ashamed of myself for laughing at some of the things the character did. Others were laughing just as hard as I was, though, so I felt that it was okay. Once again, this is something that was completely laid in the hands of the actor and he knocked it out of the ballpark. I cannot stress that enough.

I've told many people this and I know they're tired of hearing me say it, but when Mr. Ledger was announced to play The Joker, there was not a doubt in my mind that he was the perfect choice for the part. He far exceeded my expectations. You can think about some of the characters he's played up until this film. In the beginning, he was essentially playing different versions of himself. The first real sign of a serious actor that we got from him was his performance in Monster's Ball. Then, of course, came his Ennis Del Mar character in Brokeback Mountain. This solidified his standing as the actor we witnessed up until his death in January. Even in Brokeback, though, you could still sense Heath Ledger, the actor. I saw no traces of Ledger in The Dark Knight. None whatsoever. I saw a total immersion by a man who was hitting his peak. His death puts him in the same company as James Dean and River Phoenix. Young, promising actors whose lives were cut short. Ledger, though, was going to be good as Brando. His body of work would have only gotten better. It would have challenged his audience even more and that's why I almost cried while watching this diabolical and mesmerizing performance. I don't get to discover the reaches to which he would've taken future characters. Heath Ledger's final performance will stand, in my eyes, as the most exciting and dynamic villainous turn in the history of cinema. Please go see for yourself, though.

I'm Willing to be Surprised

2008-06-04T19:43:00.000-07:00

This evening, I went over to my sister's house to hang out with her and my lovely nephew, Samuel. I called and asked her before I picked up dinner if I needed to bring any DVDs. Maybe a season of Scrubs or The Office. She definitively said "no", because she rented a movie that needed viewing before she had to return it. This was a movie that she stated had Alexis Bledel in it. I immediately huffed and puffed knowing that she rented the film because she's such a fan of The Gilmore Girls. Don't get me wrong, I think Lauren Graham and Alexis Bledel are perfectly fine actresses, but that show is not quite my cup of tea. So, when she stated that ol' Rory from The Girls was in it, you'll have to excuse me if I was a little skeptical. She never mentioned the title of the film, so I was in store for a little surprise.

I got to her house and was happy to see Samuel running around the yard in his little swim diaper just having the time of his life. I proceeded in joining him...minus the whole...swim diaper part. We kicked a ball around. I chased him around for a little bit. By the time my brother-in-law's parents came to pick him up to take him to dinner, my sister and I sat down with our food and proceeded to watch I'm Reed Fish. I had heard of this film. I had heard of this film for the sole reason that an old high school friend of mine left a post on my facebook wall saying that I looked like Reed Fish. Not quite knowing what that meant, I went online to look up what I knew had to be a movie and lo and behold it was Jay Burachel playing the title character. My high school friend had once told me I looked like the same actor my senior year, when the show Undeclared was on for a single season. So, I responded back to her with a hearty "Haha", said a reluctant "thank you" and moved on. Cut three months later and I'm sitting on my sister's couch watching the beginning to this very charming film.

I'm not going to write a full review about it. A review might cheapen the experience of watching this lovely little movie. I'm not saying it's the end-all-be-all of films, but I was pleasantly surprised. This was a sweet, funny indie romantic comedy, which I found out had been made in eighteen days. Impressive for any full-length motion picture. I will say that if you haven't seen this movie and you're willing to open yourself up to something a little bit different, you might enjoy it yourself. I think what made this film work for me, personally, was that it took quite a different direction about half-an-hour into it. You think it's going to throw off the rest of the story that you had been watching up to that point, but you're sucked right back into it. It was an interesting move to make for the writer, whose name happens to be Reed Fish. I think, either direction he wanted to take it, I would've been perfectly fine. It could've been a completely linear rom-com and I would've still cared for the characters the same way. Maybe, in the end, I did care for the characters more so than the actual....wait....I'll just stop there.

This isn't, necessarily, a run-as-fast-as-you-can-to-rent-it kind of film. It's one of those ones that you just stumble upon and go along with it as you watch. There's no dire need for the three or four of you who read this blog to rent it, but if it you do happen to come across it in the back of your mind, do yourself a favor and give it a shot. The worst thing that can happen is that you waste an hour-and-a-half of your time and, in the end, there are a lot worse time-wasters than this.

Thanks, Court!

Great Scenes Part II: "Jaws"

2008-05-22T18:40:00.000-07:00

It's been a little while since I've done my last blog, mainly because I've been trying to think of something that I felt passionate enough about writing. I wanted to space out my "Great Scenes" series a little more, but that's just going to have to go by the wayside for the time being. When one gets inspired, one finds it difficult to think or write about anything else. Thus, my second "Great Scenes" entry in a row.

Since I was about nine or ten years of age, I have lived and breathed the Steven Spielberg classic Jaws. Both TBS and TNT would run this film at least five times a year, each. It would usually be on a Saturday night or Sunday afternoon. I have fond memories of sitting in front of my television and watching this film with my dad. I loved the performances by its three primary actors. I loved the dry sense of humor that was always on display. Mostly, I loved the minimal screen time of the title character. That's the most important aspect of the film; one that I mentioned previously in my salute to "The Great Adjectives". It can't be stated enough. Spielberg had a mechanical shark that did not work and, by that fault, it birthed one of the great miracles of cinema of the last forty years. This is one of my all-time favorites.

There are so many scenes in this film that I find great in one way or another. Obviously, the opening scene works very well. The killing of the Kintner boy terrifies me more than any other attack in the film. The scenes where Matt Hooper, Richard Dreyfuss' character, first arrives on the island are terrific. All of these scenes work. The one that works for me the most, though, HAS to be Quint's (Robert Shaw) speech to his two boat mates, about the U.S.S. Indianapolis. Sometimes I just put in the DVD to watch this scene, alone. It staggers me every single time. Our three main characters, Brody (Roy Scheider), Hooper, and Quint, are out to sea, tracking down the great white shark that's killed several people. These are three men of different values and ethics, but they share one common goal. I love to see different personalities onscreen coexist with one another to achieve a greater purpose. By the time we get to the Indianapolis scene, the guys have already tasseled with the predator once. It's nighttime and they're in Quint's raggedy boat, drinking and sharing stories. Quint and Hooper proceed to compare wounds they've gotten from various sharks and finally Brody asks Quint about a scar on his arm.

Quint, who's primal by nature, says that the scar comes from a tattoo that he had removed. Hooper, still drunk and playing the wound-comparison game, says, "Don't tell me. Don't tell me. 'Mother'". He laughs hysterically at his own joke and Quint is quick to point out, "Mr. Hooper, that's the U.S.S. Indianapolis". Hooper is immediately taken aback and asks, "You were on the Indianapolis?" We know that Hooper knows what the Indianapolis is, but Brody asks, "What happened?" That's where Quint lets Hooper and Brody and most importantly, the audience, in on what occurred aboard the doomed ship that delivered the atomic bomb to Hiroshima. What makes this speech so great is that Quint is drunk when he's telling it. For some reason, it gives the words an edge that it wouldn't have, if he was sober. The story is vivid and quite terrifying. I felt like he was a history teacher dictating the most important lesson of the year. It's about a five-minute speech with the most detailed visuals: the Japanese submarine slamming two torpedos into the ship's side, the tiger sharks, the Lockheed Ventura helicopter coming in to pick them up, the shipmates staying in close circles to fend off the sharks, etc. My favorite line in the whole movie is Quint's description of a shark in his drunken, Irish brogue,

"Ya' know the thing about a shark is that he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at ya', he doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites ya'. Then those black eyes roll over white and...oh, and then you hear that terrible high-pitch screamin'. The ocean turns red and despite of all the poundin' and hollerin', they all come in and...rip ya' to pieces"

The perfect ending to this scene, though, is when Quint begins singing the old English shanty, "Spanish Ladies", which leads Hooper right into "Show Me The Way to Go Home". This is truly the only time in the film where the three men are able to all come together and just be "mates". There's no squabbling, or stupid arguments about who's tougher. It's simply three men, some alcohol, and a perfect boat song. It comes at the perfect time, due to the intensity of the last five minutes.

In the end, this speech defines the character of Quint. He's the old salt from the sea who hunts sharks and we know why after he tells us about this terrifying event. I think what impresses me the most is that while the film is considered the starting point to the "summer blockbuster", it had enough respect for its audience to tell a brilliant story about a little-known, yet tragic event during World War II. I know I've done research on it, since I saw the film for the first time. I'm very glad Sterling Hayden and Lee Marvin turned down the role of Quint, because i truly cannot see anyone BUT Robert Shaw playing such a rugged, inappropriate individual. His being Irish just makes the character that much better. Movie monologues, especially the ones three minutes and above, have to stir something in the audience member watching. Because, by and large, our short attention spans require fast cuts and little dialouge. You'll find that a lot of my "Great Scenes" are characters talking. Speeches are my crack and, dammit, if this isn't one of the best ones in film.

On a little sadder note, I'd like to thank my wonderful co-workers at the MTSU Athletic Ticket Office, who've shown unbelievable patience in my inability to move forward in life. I've worked at the office longer than what should be considered legal, which makes it all the more difficult to say 'goodbye'. Well, I've finally gotten my act together, so I'd like to thank Dustin, Joy, Peggy, Derek, Renee, Jason, Mary, and Chris for your warmth and humor. I love you all.

Great Scenes Part I: "Lost in Translation"

2008-05-03T16:38:00.000-07:00

Roger Ebert is, quite possibly, my favorite writer. Since I'm not as much of a reader as I want to be, I take refuge in Ebert's sharp and always fair-minded articles on films past and present. There's a pure joy in what he does and you can tell from his writing. He would give a film a chance that no one else was giving and a lot of the time, once his review was read, that movie became acceptable. He's had major influence come Oscar time just through his articles. His review of Juno and Ellen Page's performance, put that film on the map. Two months later, it was nominated for four Academy Awards including Best Picture. When he took ill in 2006, I missed his reviews greatly. I, honestly, refused to read anyone else's, because I was too familiar with his specific style of writing. When he was healthy, he would write a review every other Sunday for an older movie that he had just re-watched. This would compile into his "Great Movies" list. He's released two books with said reviews on films ranging from The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie to A Christmas Story. Saying all of this, I'm starting a little series of my own discussing some of my favorite scenes from certain films. In Sofia Coppola's beautiful Lost in Translation she pairs two seemingly different, but altogether lonely people, who find mutual attraction in one another through their loneliness. In one particular scene they lay in bed together.

You just know that Coppola went into this movie knowing how each little nuance that she wrote in her screenplay was going to play out on film. She wrote a splendid scene about two-thirds of the way through the film where the two principal characters, Bob and Charlotte, have come back to their hotel from an evening of strip clubs and chasing moving billboards to retire to their respective rooms. We see Charlotte tossing about in her bed. She gets up and wanders around the room and suddenly a note is slipped under her door. She opens it up and it's Bob wanting to know if she's still awake. Let me just say that this detail alone is very important to the overall design of Bob and Charlotte. They've known each other for two days and they already feel a necessity towards the other. Not sexually, mind you, but through a force of understanding that the two of them have. They have a love for one another that's shared through quiet talks about their lives. It's the kind of desperation that HAS to be discussed instead of numbed by the act of sex.

So, she comes to Bob's room and they share some sake while watching La Dolce Vita on tv. Eventually, they tire and commence in laying down on Bob's bed. This shows how absolutely comfortable they are with each other. They are finally able to rest easily. Half awake, they begin talking about marriage and children. Charlotte fears the long road ahead with a man that is probably not her best option. It's not that she's just opening up to Bob to be emotionally available. She's turning to Bob for help. She wants advice from a man who is not only older, but has been in the throes of a marriage stuck in neutral. Charlotte needs to know that there are rough patches, but she will be able to get through them. Bob delivers a great monologue about his marriage, but then he suddenly starts talking about his children. I felt as if he were talking to me. It's such a personal discussion. Coppola's really allowing her audience the privilege of sitting in on this intimate conversation. The most beautiful thing about this entire scene is that they allow each other to talk and, in turn, listen.

When they both start to close their eyes, they're still in this trance-like state. They're half-heartedly fighting sleep by keeping the conversation light. The brilliant thing about this scene, though, is that Coppola used this conversation as a way for them to both finally fall asleep. They just needed the comfort of each other's company to do it. I can't stress how much this type of desperation moves me. Just the idea of finding someone who stabilizes you, while you're in such a spinning motion, to the point that you just need to be in their presence. The last great moment of this scene comes in a high-angled shot over the bed, looking at the two of them. Both of their eyes are closed and they haven't said a single word for about ten to fifteen seconds. Slowly, Bob places his hand on Charlotte's foot. It's one of the most intimate moments I've seen in a film. The subtlety of it speaks volumes. This is a friendship that is playful and fun. The ending works so well, because you're not sad that they won't end up together; you're sad because they may never have a chance to talk, again. Ultimately, that's the scariest prospect of any friendship.

I've met too many people who disliked this film because they thought it lacked the proper emotion they felt most Hollywood films have. I completely disagree. I love being able to follow characters around during a film and just listen to them talk. Coppola achieved something so rare in a film. She was able to create a writer's film where there wasn't a whole lot of talking. We did quite a bit of observing. What makes it a writer's film, though, is that when there is a conversation, namely between Bob and Charlotte, there's not a wasted word. We make sure that we listen. The bed scene in Lost in Translation is the best example of two people just being. Love has never looked so real.

Cut or Fade: Dilemma of the Celluloid Exit

2008-04-22T17:10:00.000-07:00

I'm reaching a little with this next entry, so you'll have to bare with me. As I type, I have no real idea as to how this is going to play out, but I'll see you guys at the end. I was thinking, recently, about how I view films and the way they end. Not really in story, but the physical transition to black and then credits. These are things that I tend to stew about. The final transition is very important. It holds just as much emotional significance as the conclusion of the story.

We go to a movie to be entertained, first and foremost. We all know that watching films is a form of escapism. Now, to what extent you escape differs from person to person. I love to be entertained, but my form of escapism is picking apart a film as I watch it. It varies with each film, but whether it be camera movement, the writing, the acting, the directing or the general story, I have a need to critique what's occurring in front of me. Given that, I can't wait to see how a film transitions to black. I will admit that I do tend to pay more attention to the ones that I believe have more artistic merit than others, but nevertheless, I watch for it. Then, it becomes a matter of which one you prefer. I know which one I prefer, but that doesn't mean I'm not open to the other. As long as a transition supports the weight of its final message, then I'm all good. Dazzle me with YOUR transition, I say.

Okay, let's establish, very quickly, which transition I prefer. I'm a sucker for the cut to black. The films that I tend to watch these days are made by directors who love cutting to black. I don't think it would be a mystery for those who know me if I were to say that I dig Martin Scorsese's films. Over the last two years, if I had to choose a favorite director, Mr. Scorsese would be the guy. This man is in his mid-sixties and he still makes films with more energy and chutzpah than most directors half his age. A lot of that energy comes via his long-time editor/collaborator, the great Thelma Schoonmaker. She's brilliant. They've had a long, fruitful partnership since 1980's Raging Bull, because they seem to know each other's little quirks. It shows in the films. Scorsese cuts to black often and he does it in such a way that feels like the last sucker punch in a schoolyard fight. You never know when he's going to do it, but when he does, it completely catches you off guard. The aforementioned Raging Bull does it. So does Goodfellas, The Aviator, The Departed, and Mean Streets. These are films that exit in a way the rest of the film calls for. It's energetic and I feel like I've just seen something completely new. I can say the same thing when I view a film by Tarantino, both P.T. and Wes Anderson, Joel and Ethan Coen, and Robert Altman.

This doesn't mean that I don't like the fade to black. The fade is the friend that'll take you out for a beer and talk to you about sports or girls or girls who play sports. It doesn't feel complicated or disturbing. The fade to black, in all honesty, fits with a movie that's rife with emotion. I'm a sucker for the emotional stuff. Truly I am. The best example that I can think of is Mr. Holland's Opus. I love this movie. I don't care who knows it. It's a movie about teachers and music. Needless to say, both mean a lot to me. The last ten minutes make me cry like no other. It's not just a celebration of the career of this highly respected music teacher, but it's a celebration of the profession and the art form. The fade to black is subtle and just right. I feel most movies that end with a fade to black have glided along in a very elegant and wistful manner and that cutting would compromise its integrity. Cameron Crowe does that in his films. For crying out loud, Casablanca ended in a fade! Are you really going to be the one to tell me that Casablanca was wrong in any way shape or form?! It's heresy, my friend. Of course, it's a generational thing. Most classics of the golden age of film didn't cut to black. The turnaround came in the early sixties with the French New Wave filmmakers like Jean Luc Godard, Francois Truffaut, and Eric Rohmer. They were using jump cuts and fancy camera tricks that no one else was using. They changed the way a film could be made. That's including the transition to black.

Allow me to describe one final emotional pull for me in the transition. The music. The way directors use certain songs to exit out of their movie can make me stand up and applaud. Fade or cut. A great example of the fade that I've seen recently was Sarah Paulson's Away From Her. The two main characters are in an embrace that we've been waiting for for most of the film and it's played to k.d lang's version of Neil Young's "Helpless". The camera swirls around the two and then it actually fades to white over this beautiful song. That transition alone to that song solidified my opinion of the film. Wes Anderson LOVES to use a great song over a last scene done in slow motion. He did it wonderfully in Rushmore to the Faces "Ooh La La" and in The Royal Tenenbaums to Van Morrison's "Everyone". Quentin Tarantino uses The Lively Ones' "Surf Rider" brilliantly at the end of Pulp Fiction. Scorsese has used Sid Vicious' version of Sinatra's "My Way", Roy Buchanon's "Sweet Dreams" and the "Cavallerina Rusticana", to exit his films. Here's the thing that each of these films, fade or cut, have in common: they use the music as a rhythmic device to transition. For example, the first chorus will end and right as the second verse comes in, there will be a cut to black and we'll see the director's name come up on the screen. I can't stress how important the usage of music is to a film's ending.

I guess if a film serves its purpose, the transition will be invisible and not really matter, but then you wouldn't have schmucks like me who come along and obliterate that particular purpose. Personally, I'm okay with it. I accepted a long time ago that I'm quite the film snob. I have lots to learn, don't get me wrong, but I'm a snob, nevertheless. Those who exclaim that one transition is better than the other need to reevaluate the way they look at films. You can enjoy one more than the other, sure, but transitions to black serve best the energy of the movie. If you don't like the movie, most likely you won't like the transition...or you'll love it, because it's transitioning to you not having to view that movie anymore. My point being is that it's more fun to judge a film on HOW a director used a certain transition to black; not why.

The Great Adjectives

2008-04-14T11:57:00.000-07:00

I was reading an article at www.thefilmjournal.com by a man named Gregory Avery. In the article, he was reviewing a newly-released book about Alfred Hitchcock, called Hitchcock Style by Jean-Pierre Dufreigne. I was taken by a sentence in the first paragraph of the article which read, "...Hitchcock can now claim the singular honor of having become an adjective". I always knew of the term "Hitchcockian" and I knew what it meant, but I had never once thought about it being an adjective. Not once. To break down a director to such a base level would seem almost disrespectful, but I don't think a filmmaker can achieve a higher mark. This is a filmmaker who has created a body of work so specific in theme and/or visuals that their name can be used to describe somebody else's work. Thus, the term "adjective". It's really quite something.

I can think of several directors who deserve to be adjectives. Of course, Alfred Hitchcock is the first one that comes to mind. The main themes of his movies were formed by his strong visual sense. The simple tricks he did with the camera; the things he didn't show you; these were the visual techniques of a man who was feeding the suspense of the story. There are only so many avenues a screenplay can go down in the way of moving the suspense along. A great director can take it the rest of the way. Hitchcock famously stated, "A bomb is under the table and it explodes: that is surprise; the bomb is under the table but it doesn't explode: that is suspense". He implored this methodology in such films as Rear Window, Strangers On A Train, Vertigo, The Birds, Notorious, Psycho, and North By Northwest. It's almost as if he was forcing you to look at what was going on and then make you feel guilty about it, afterwards. He was just as much a prankster as he was a "master of suspense". A generation of directors would soon use the "Hitchcockian" method to further their own stories: Steven Spielberg, M. Night Shyamalan, and quite blatantly, Brian De Palma. I, personally, believe that Spielberg did the best job of it in Jaws. What little you saw of the shark made it that much more terrifying. We never knew when this thing was going to attack, we just knew that it would and that, my friends, is the bomb that doesn't explode.

Another director who I immediately think of as an adjective, is Frank Capra. Here's a director who has drawn about as much derision as he has praise from critics and fans alike. Personally, I know more people who enjoy his movies than don't, but he is a specific type of filmmaker. "Capraesque" is the term. Any movie that bases itself around an idealistic principle or has a yearning for a simpler time where patriotism didn't seem so overwhelming, is considered "Capraesque". He was truly the director of the people. With titles like Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, It Happened One Night (first film to ever win the big five at the Oscars), You Can't Take It With You, and It's A Wonderful Life, under his belt, it's hard to refute the fact that he was America's director. When I watch Rob Reiner's The American President or Ivan Reitman's Dave, I automatically think "Capraesque". The idealistic principle is always prevalent in both of those films. In fact, Aaron Sorkin alludes to it in the screenplay of The American President. The Annette Benning character, a lobbyist, has just arrived in Washington to have a meeting at the White House. She comes up to the guard at the main gate to the building and introduces herself. She's very excited about what she's doing and her co-worker tells her that she doesn't have to tell the guard her name. She apologizes and says, "I was just trying to preserve the sort of 'Capraesque' quality". The co-worker, cynically, says "He doesn't know what that means". Without missing a beat the guard says, "Sure I do. Frank Capra. Great American director of It's A Wonderful Life and Mr. Smith Goes to Washington". It's right there. Sorkin has paid tribute to the man with actual dialogue about him. Two other great examples are Phil Alden Robinson's use of, what I like to call, "realistic fantasy" in Field of Dreams and Frank Darabont's use of the America of old in The Majestic. The former is more of a modern-day version of a Capra film, while the latter would fit in the exact time frame of any Capra classic. There is one scene from each film that takes the Capra sentiment and enhances its ideas. In Field of Dreams, it's James Earl Jones' speech about baseball and the country who yearns for the days when things were much simpler. In The Majestic, it's Jim Carrey's testimony, as a Hollywood screenwriter, to the HUAC. A testimony fighting the forces who say that he's not American enough. "Capraesque" defines the better nature in all of us.

There's one more adjective that I'd like to discuss and that's "Felliniesque". I'm going to preface this by saying that I'm not a big Federico Fellini fan by any stretch of the imagination. I do think his work is undeniably important to not only the Italian cinema, but worldwide, as well. Through the few films I've viewed, though, he's not quite my cup of tea. I am going to be the guy in the movie line, standing behind Woody Allen in Annie Hall and say that La Strada is my personal favorite of his. I've got plenty more to see, though, and I'll leave it at that. Fellini's films, like Hitchcock, tell as much visually as the plot does. He's probably one of the greatest visual minds the cinema has ever seen. If it wasn't his camera, it was what he put in front of his camera that enhanced the viewer's experience. Movies like Juliet of the Spirits, 8 1/2, La Dolce Vita, Fellini Satyricon, and Amarcord are filled to the brim with the unique visuals that almost always call for multiple interpretations. He, too, was a prankster of sorts, who always seemed to be one step ahead of his viewers. I know he was one step ahead of me when I was watching Juliet of the Spirits. It's a little bit more difficult to pinpoint filmmakers whose work has been considered "Felliniesque", but I think David Cronenberg, David Lynch, Terry Gilliam, and even Oliver Stone, to an extent, have probably used Fellini as a compass at one time or another. Watching Stone's Natural Born Killers is a lot like watching a Fellini film. It's physically and emotionally exhausting, but you can't really take your eyes off of it. Even Martin Scorsese has borrowed from Fellini. In his documentary My Voyage to Italy, Scorsese discusses Fellini's I Vitelloni and its characters. He states that it had a major impact on his breakthrough crime drama Mean Streets. The "Felliniesque" quality is harder to pinpoint mainly because it's harder to duplicate. It's one of the most specific.

There are so many other filmmakers who, with just a little more time, will soon be adjectives. Quentin Tarantino, P.T. Anderson, Wes Anderson, M. Night Shyamalan, and Alexander Payne all have qualities that are specific enough to be duplicated for generations to come. They're all true storytellers and visual mavericks. They follow in the footsteps of their heroes: Martin Scorsese, Robert Altman, Joel and Ethan Coen, and Steven Spielberg. They break convention and come out on the other end unscathed. The biggest risk-takers end up getting to be the greatest.

Prologue

2008-04-09T13:42:00.000-07:00

I love film. There are many people who love film. I know plenty who love watching movies. I, also, am familiar with a certain group of folk who love to attend the cinema. Each of these groups are, in fact, helpless victims to the undeniable power of the moving image. We could all, easily, say that we're fans of the moving image, but we would all sound like jackasses. So, we choose the sub-name of the moving image that we're most comfortable saying and that ends up being our go-to expression. As I just stated, I love film. I'm a filmgoer. There aren't a lot of things that make me happier than sitting down and looking at a good film. Maybe Alabama football, but I've been at that one for awhile, now. That's in a league by itself.

I believe I'm doing this blog for several reasons. I want to hone my writing skills, because I'm looking at going to grad school for film studies. Also, I would like to express my opinions in a little bit more formal of a setting than a bar with a hapless friend who could care less about my pontificating. My biggest hope is that discussions can arise from these entries. That's my ultimate goal. Someone will feel some type of emotion and want to argue or just have a great discussion. Talking about film is too much fun for me. Talking about the less-than-stellar ones is almost as much fun as talking about the great ones, simply for the challenge. To be able to come up with a lucid argument, showing the hidden genius behind Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, Tommy Boy, or Billy Madison is an exercise in cinematic maneuvering.

Bottom line: any film, movie, or piece of cinema deserves to be discussed. I'm not saying just the good ones. The bad ones deserve it, too. If you think I'm wrong, then I dare you to tell me that you've never told a friend, almost ecstatically, how horrible the piece of crap you just saw, truly was. You start talking about why it was so horrible, don't you? Certain shots or dialogue absurdities. It's a great feeling. Anyway, I hope you enjoy what I'm attempting to do. Thanks.

Jonathan