Change Your Image
mr_deadly
Reviews
Robyn Hitchcock: I Often Dream of Trains. A Concert Film. (2009)
A fine concert film and more
Robyn Hitchcock has a particular sensibility. In one sense, he's a folk-rock, punk-rock, jangly-guitar singer-songwriter-vocalist of exceptional genius, influenced by people like John Lennon, Roger McGuinn and Captain Beefheart. In another sense, he's a hyper-intellectual British comical weirdo, from the generation and mindset that produced Monty Python and Douglas Adams, and that in turn has influenced artists like Tim Minchin. In short, he's far from everyone's cup of tea--but he's talented enough, in his own particular way, to have attracted collaborators like Jonathan Demme and Peter Buck, and to be able to carry a concert film based on just one of his classic albums.
I Often Dream of Trains is one of his finest albums, and is from the middle of his strongest creative period (the late '70's to the late '80's), and this film documents a live performance of that album in NYC in 2008, and includes ample interstitial material, mainly interviews from 2008. The songs range from good to great, and aside from an unfortunate technical glitch during one particularly good song, these versions hold up quite nicely.
Overall this would be a reasonable introduction to Robyn--his catalog is huge and impressive, but this is a very solid album to choose to focus on. Robyn's small, but intense, fan-base, should find this film thoroughly delightful. It centers on music from his strongest period, and Robyn is not normally the sort to do an "all-oldies-show" (which is a pity, since his later work is not nearly as good as his classics), so this is a rare opportunity for long-standing fans from the '80's to see and hear a set of songs from circa 2008 Robyn that is so uniformly strong.
There's Something Wrong with Aunt Diane (2011)
Sometimes there is no satisfactory explanation
This documentary is about a tragic accident, and the quest to find a satisfactory explanation for that accident. What it reveals is the remarkable human capacity for self-deception and denial, especially when confronted with a reality that is too painful to accept.
The Aunt Diane of the title, perhaps due to the pain of an abscessed tooth, uncharacteristically consumed a significant amount of alcohol and pot, leading to a horrendous accident that killed eight people, including herself. The documentary is about the difficulty her husband and sister-in-law have in accepting this reality.
An otherwise nice and responsible person, possibly suffering intense pain, impulsively and uncharacteristically made a really stupid decision to self-medicate, and the result was multiple deaths.
It really isn't fair, and I can understand why it is difficult for her family to accept. How can one dumb decision destroy so many lives? It is intensely frustrating and unsatisfying, but sometimes that's reality.
Diane's family reminds me of people who refuse to believe that JFK could be gunned down by one random guy named Oswald, or those who refuse to believe that 19 hijackers could use some box-openers and turn the world upside-down on 9/11. The causation is inadequate to the effect emotionally--it feels lopsided. So people often start to look for conspiracies and 'deeper' explanations, rather than accepting the simple, savage truth: sometimes small decisions can result in wildly disproportionate and tragic consequences.
The Art of the Steal (2009)
Fascinating, but Unbalanced
This well-made documentary is informative and fascinating, but I don't think it fairly presents the arguments for those who disagree with its thesis, which is that Barnes' will should be meticulously respected as it pertains to his amazing art collection.
Those who feel otherwise are portrays as gangsters, thieves, Philistines: power-hungry jerks with selfish motives. While there is an undoubtedly an element of truth to those accusations, it is not the entire story. I feel I must play a little devil's advocate for a more charitable spin on 'the other side.'
It appears to me that the collection's arrangement and display in the original Barnes building is hopelessly outdated: crammed together in the style of a century ago, and arranged according to the whim of one man who is long dead. The modern museum gives art much more space to breathe, and scholars and curators can and do illuminate art by arranging it, and juxtaposing it, in new and different ways.
Why should these works be arranged, forever, in only one pattern, and in only one building? Blockbuster exhibitions are not merely money-makers for museums, but are opportunities to see art in a different context, and for scholars and curators to advance the study of art by combining pieces in new and different ways.
Why, logically, should cultural treasures be considered the property of one man legacy for all of eternity? I can see the logic of requesting an owner's wishes for a long period of time--say, for 50 years. But for centuries? Owners of art deserve respect, but the notion that ownership can extend out into an infinite future is crazy. Just as copyrighted works eventually enter the public domain, so should artworks become available for the benefit and enjoyment of the larger public.
Barnes' name should be, and will be, associated with this art for a very long time. But his obsessions and whims and taste should not dictate the fate of his collection for all time. Allowing the work to travel, and to be arranged differently, and to even move into a new building, is reasonable (over centuries, a dozen different curators and scholars might bring their era's thinking and aesthetic to the collection).
I concede that this might be painful for Lower Merion, and to those who agree with Barnes' will. But Barnes has been dead for decades. Ownership and control of objects of major cultural importance should, eventually, pass from the control of an owner who has long been dead.
And Matisse's line, about how the Barnes was the only sane place in America to view art, should be taken with a grain of salt: if he saw the best art museums in America today, he may very well have changed his mind. A world-class museum today is far, far superior to any art museum of a century ago. Each generation produces new scholarship, and artworks of genuine cultural importance should be available to the finest scholars and curators of each generation. To do otherwise is to overvalue the taste and importance of a single individual who died decades ago, and to undervalue the art's importance to the wider world.
The Sunset Limited (2011)
What about the shades of gray?
While this film adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's play has much to recommend it--two fine performances, some beautiful language, the exchange of some interesting ideas--I confess to finding the nine and ten star reviews excessively enthusiastic.
This film intentionally limits its scope very severely, and is a success in its own terms, but is that enough to make it a great film? Consider an analogy: this film is like a great free throw shooter who is mediocre at every other aspect of basketball. It makes 96% of its attempts at the line but the limitations of its overall game means it cannot be considered a great all-around player.
This film is a narrow specialist: it is a conversation and a debate between a suicidally depressed atheist and the Christian (a jail-house convert) who saved his life once and is trying to save it again. Similar to My Dinner With Andre, these men discuss Big Issues. Their central topic is whether life is worth living, and the central metaphor is in the title--to catch the Sunset Limited is to step in front of a speeding train.
This focus on such a major question, and the religious and philosophical ramifications of that question, is probably the reason so many reviewers are so enthusiastic about the film. There is a genuine hunger, among many, to discuss and ponder these Big Issues--and the brave choice to have suicide, in effect, 'win', gives the finale a darkness which resonates.
The problem is in boiling things down so starkly to White and Black (the names of the two characters.) As an atheist who is NOT suicidally depressed, I found both characters to be limited and repeatedly frustrating. (Limited by being in their Sunset years, perhaps? The title is nicely evocative, I will concede).
I would be happier if there had been a third character that we might call "Shades of Gray": the world is not a black and white place, which tempers my appreciation for what ended up on screen.
I applaud the writing and acting of the film, and Jones does good work as director as well. The film provokes thoughts and feelings, which is all to the good, but the limitations of the format, ideas and execution render this film a success, but only on its own, very narrow, terms.
Fargo (1996)
When Idiocy Leads to Tragedy
I just re-watched Fargo after not having seen it for several years, and was extremely impressed. What I had recalled as a black comedy about a crime gone badly awry is in fact a tragic and gripping story about violence, with a humane law enforcement officer as the proxy for the audience. The parallels with No Country for Old Men are clear, reinforcing my view that while the Coens have a definite facility for comedy, they are at their best with drama.
Much of the confusion about the genre of this film stems from its setting in the rural upper Midwest. Many assume that the accents must surely be an over-broad conceit, an example of the Coens condescending to characters they consider their intellectual and aesthetic inferiors. This is quite incorrect--the Coens are setting their tale in a very specific setting, and the comedy stems from the distinctive mannerisms and speech of that setting. The descendants of Scandinavians who came to this region to farm and who continue to live in rural isolation really DO speak very much like the characters of Fargo. The "ya sure, you betcha" twang of Sarah Palin reflects the same influence: Wasilla, Alaska was mainly settled by the same descendants of rural Scandinavians that inhabit this film.
Fargo moves briskly--the opening scene sets into action the hare-brained scheme that will lead to all the tragic events to follow. William H. Macy's character, Lundegaard, is meeting two strangers to arrange for them to kidnap his own wife. Desperate for money--he's been embezzling from the GM dealership owned by his disdainful father-in-law where he is manager of sales--he's entrusting this dangerous scheme to two men he's never met. What follows is disastrous for all involved--the kidnappers, the woman abducted, an unlucky trooper making a traffic stop, two random motorists, Lundegaard, his father-in-law, a parking lot attendant.
The emotional center of the film is the pregnant chief of police of tiny Brainerd, Marge Gusfatson, and her husband. Beautifully played by Frances McDormand in an Oscar winning performance, Marge gamely investigates the trio of murders that occur shortly after the kidnapping and eventually, with a little luck and a great deal of pluck, solves the case. A consistent rock of good sense and kindness, Marge embodies the best aspects of her culture, in stark contrast to Lundegaard, who is nervous self-interest and foolishness personified, and even more stark contrast to the kidnappers, who embody violence and greed, all in pursuit of 'just a little bit of money.'
The script, acting, directing, cinematography, music, and sets of Fargo are all top-notch. This is film-making of the highest quality, the sparse landscape and wintry terrain perfectly reflecting the bleak reality of the consequences of violence. No Country for Old Men is in many ways a companion piece--the searing sun and bleak Texas landscape is just as forbidding as the snowy landscapes of Fargo, and both films accurately depict how greed can lead to dangerously bad decisions, which in turn can have deadly consequences for both participants and innocents.
Fargo is a tragedy, a modern American Shakespeare, where base motivations--greed for "just a little bit of money"--can have vast unforeseen and evil ripple effects across entire communities.
The Rose (1979)
Shrill and Dated
Apologies to fans of this film, but I found it shrill and vastly over-rated.
The characters and performances are, on the whole, poorly written and acted. Ms. Midler emotes her heart out, which is occasionally effective but is more often histrionic. She is ridiculously over-the-top, veering from vicious drag-queen to out-of-control drunk to weepy little girl. Her manager is a tedious cardboard villain while her boyfriend displays moments of charm but can't avoid the overwrought pitfalls of the film.
The sequence with the former lesbian lover of the Midler character highlights what is wrong with the film. It was contrived and unbelievable, the lovely former lover a wooden prop to set up another scene of people freaking out. It all rang hollow and false and loud and melodramatic. What unlikeable people! The era it documents is tragic from an aesthetic point-of-view. Whether it is the hair, clothing, or sets, everything in the film matches the characters: ugly. The sequence in the red-neck diner comes to mind for the same reason: ugly dialogue, ugly behavior, ugly attitudes. This is a film for masochists and connoisseurs of ugliness.
The only blessing is that the ending precluded the possibility of a sequel. I was grateful when this film was finally over. If I want a trashy melodrama, I want it to include some fun and some comedy, both of which are utterly absent from The Rose.
The Shield: Party Line (2008)
The Noose is Tightening and Time is Running Out
With this episode, the series finale is approaching for the Shield and all of the surviving members of the Strike Team are running out of options. The last half dozen episodes of this show are all very strong, and the final story-lines are in full flower in this exceptional episode.
Vic, alone among the former Strike Team is still making the right moves--he is like a shark, always hunting for the angles that maximize the likelihood of his own survival. Corinne, like her ex-husband Vic, is playing things smartly and toughly, as is Aceveda, and both characters have strong scenes in this episode. Claudette and Dutch are working together again, which is great to see, but it is bittersweet as the crooks they are targeting are none other than Vic, Shane, and Ronnie.
At times the tension is almost unbearable in this episode, and viewed through the prism of the show's final episode, the scenes involving Shane and Mara and Jackson are heartbreaking. Ronnie's scenes are also excellent and are also highly bittersweet--he knows he's in a very perilous position, and he's waking up to the reality that he's got to protect himself--but is he moving fast enough for this situation?
In the real world, as in the Shield, corrupt cops are brought down the same way any organized criminals are brought down--somebody rats out his buddies to save his own tail. That doesn't happen in this episode, but the dominoes are lining up. The Strike Team, which terrorized the gangsters of the Farmington district for the run of the show, is now scattered: Shane is a fugitive; Vic has quit the LAPD and is working every angle on the street and with the Feds and with the Cartel; and Ronnie is still at the Barn, trying to use what remains of his insider status to save this desperate situation. The pursuer is now the pursued: the best honest Detectives on the show, Claudette and Dutch, are on the heels of the Strike Team, and time is running out.
The Shield: Parricide (2008)
The Final Season's REAL Beginning
The central story-line of this episode is terrific. The Shield has always been about Vic--Vic and his family, Vic and the Mean Streets of the Farmington district of LA, and Vic and the Strike Team. By detailing the final implosion of the Strike Team and the end of Vic's career with the LAPD, and by setting in motion the story-line that eventually brings this series to a shattering conclusion, this is one of the most important episodes, not only of the final series, but of the entire show.
The Shane versus Vic story-line is so fascinating and gripping that the other aspects of the episode look pale by comparison. As a long-time Dutch fan it grieves me to say this, but his final serial-killer story is an annoying distraction, as is the Aceveda political corruption story-line, as is the Priest-with-a-secret gang investigation. That's why I gave the episode 'only' an 8--after multiple viewings it is apparent that this show was running out of steam--we have seen multiple variations of all the secondary story-lines.
All that matters is the Strike Team--Lem's ghost is haunting them all. Lem's murder has driven Shane and Vic's relationship to the point of absolute hatred, absolute destruction. Ronnie is also in great danger, but as usual he is the loyal follower, the tragically trusting co-conspirator who obeys Vic (nearly) every step of the way.
I have read elsewhere that the great story-arc of The Shield pivots on the Armenian Money-Train. Before that great heist, the Strike Team is ascendant--despite their profound corruption, the core group of four is basically successful and has the upper hand. Afterwards, the Strike Team is on the decline, and the show is building toward a tragic end. This arc makes sense logically and dramatically--however effective Vic is at controlling the streets and at rationalizing his corruption, he is ultimately a tragic figure who is fatally flawed.
Watch this episode! And watch this series--after spinning their wheels somewhat in the middle years, the last few episodes of The Shield build to one of the finest, and most painful, conclusions in television history. By beginning the final story arc, this episode is the place to return to the series if you got bored during the middle seasons.
Harold and Maude (1971)
Black comedy, Unlikely Romance, and Cat Stevens
Harold and Maude is one of the original cult classics. A critical and box-office disappointment when released, it has in subsequent years become a classic, if unlikely, romantic comedy.
Harold (Bud Cort), who appears to be in his late teens or early 20's, lives in a magnificent mansion with his mother and several servants. He's a quiet fellow, brow-beaten by his (comically) domineering mother, and has a fixation on death: his main pleasures come from attending the funerals of strangers (driving himself in his hearse) and from staging imaginative fake suicides to shock his mother.
Harold notices that a woman in her 70's is also regularly attending funerals, and she introduces herself: Maude (Ruth Gordon, of Rosemary's Baby fame). Maude is a whirlwind of a woman, a genuine free-spirit--she enjoys stealing cars for joy-rides (and as a reminder to car-owners to not get attached to things), she poses nude for an artist, she plays multiple musical instruments, and her home is filled with interesting mementos, keepsakes, and art. Maude is also a font of wisdom--she is a holocaust survivor, she grew up in pre-World War I Vienna and danced at balls at the Palace, she freed animals from cages decades ahead of the animal liberation movement, and she protested and fought for the biggest issues. Maude's wisdom is supplemented by the score by Cat Stevens, who was at the height of his powers as a hippie-dippy mystic able to write profoundly catchy folk-rock songs.
Meanwhile, Harold's mother (memorably played by Vivian Pickles), has decided that her son needs to take on adult responsibilities, so has arranged a series of dates for Harold through the services of a computer dating company. Harold, who is becoming smitten with Maude, decides to utilize his experience with fake suicides to horrify and drive away his arranged dates (none of these women are well-matched with Harold since his mother took it upon herself to fill out the application for the dating service). Harold's mother is so incensed that she concludes Harold should be drafted into the army, but Harold and Maude utilize their talents at deception to make that an impossibility.
Harold and Maude become lovers, and Harold decides to propose marriage. As alluded to earlier in the film, Maude has other plans--on her 80th birthday, when Harold proposes, she tells him she's taken poison and will be dead by midnight. Apparently, long ago, perhaps in the Camps, she had taken a vow to end her life at 80 if she survived that long, and she kept that vow. Despite Harold's efforts--he calls for an ambulance, Maude is taken to a hospital--she is dead by dawn of the next day. Harold, utterly devastated, drives his customized Jaguar (it looks like a hearse--Harold altered the vehicle after his mother had his previous hearse hauled away) off a cliff. Or so it appears. Though the car goes crashing down, we see that Harold has saved himself--the film ends with him ambling down the road, tentatively playing "If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out" on the banjo Maude gave him.
Harold and Maude is genuinely hilarious and touching, and Harold's journey from death-obsessed boy to life-affirming man is only made possible because of Maude's profound influence. The irony of Maude's suicide is that she intensely loved life and lived it fully. While many will disagree with her decision to end her own life, no one can say that Maude did not fully embrace life until the very end.
The look and sound and much of the content of the film's message was clearly influenced by Summer Of Love-style hippies, so the likelihood you'll be receptive to the film's message is increased if you are 420-friendly (wink), and if you like the music of the 60's and early 70's. It is also a particularly good movie for teenagers--this is a coming-of-age tale, and if you are still trying to figure out the world, or are feeling alienated and alone, then this movie's message can do genuine good. Harold's obsession with death is a clear precursor to Goth, so if you are somewhat gloomy, or are feeling somewhat depressed, Harold and Maude can be a sort of antidote.
Metropolitan (1989)
Clever, charming, amusing and, yes, somewhat pretentious
I recently watched Metropolitan for perhaps the dozenth time, and continue to believe it is a small gem of a movie.
After reading most of the reviews I feel I must give fair warning: if you resent the Ivy League, or New Yorkers, or Old Money, or well-educated preppies who have impressive working vocabularies, then this probably isn't the movie for you. For the rest of you, especially if you wish you'd grown up in Manhattan, or wish you had a trust fund, or wish you'd made it to an Ivy, then this is a charming comedy with a heart. In other words, it helps if you are one of the 'social climbers' that one of the characters memorably dismisses.
Tom Townsend, a kid born rich but reduced to the (relative) poverty of Manhattan's West Side by his parent's unfriendly divorce, attends a débutante ball while on Xmas break from college (he's a Princeton freshman, I believe, though it isn't made explicitly clear in the film). He's alone, but is nice-looking and well-spoken, and falls into a fashionable group that stylizes itself the Sally Fowler Rat Pack. The film follows Tom's introduction to, and immersion in, that year's deb season--there's an escort shortage, and Audrey Rouget, a core member of the SFRP, takes a liking to Tom, so he's invited to a series of parties as Audrey's escort.
The plot is minimalistic. Audrey like Tom, but he sees her as a friend, and is still hung-up on his ex, Serena. Nick, nicely played by Chris Eigeman, is a snobbish but very amusing fellow and takes Tom under his wing. Charlie, an old friend of Nick's, has a crush on Audrey and therefore resents Tom. Serena manipulates Tom into taking her home from a party--thereby abandoning Audrey at the party, but she forgives him, although her girlfriends do not. Audrey is again humiliated during a 'truth game', where Tom admits he's still fixated on Serena. A villain is introduced in the form of Rick Von Slonnaker, who Nick despises and defames. Tom realizes that he has affections for Audrey after all, but she has run off to Von Slonnaker's place. Fearing the worst, Tom convinces Charlie that Audrey is in moral peril, and the two proceed to rescue Audrey from Von Slonnaker's estate in the Hamptons. Audrey and Tom are reconciled, and speak of meeting up in France, where Audrey is a student.
These events aren't really the point of the film. What it is really about is smart young people speaking to each other in complete sentences. The dialogue isn't particularly realistic, but it is quite witty, and is filled with allusions to Jane Austen, Lionel Trilling, Averill Harriman, Bunuel, Prep Schools like Farmington (aka Miss Potter's School), the Plaza Hotel, regattas, the Cha-Cha, and the fate of the UHB (Urban Haute Bourgeoisie--a more precise term than 'preppie' that one of the characters coin and is used frequent thereafter). Is all of this a bit precious, a little fey, at times pretentious? Yes. But these characters are portrayed with sympathy and affection--these are not the cardboard villain rich kids that are so routinely seen. Yes, they are privileged (though Tom less so), but they are still YOUNG, and still trying to figure out the world and their place in it.
I recommend the film heartily to anyone who enjoys witty language and would like to spend some time as a fly on the wall at Upper East Side after-parties.
2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
Profound, Ambitious, Pretentious
2001 is one of those films that every serious movie fan should see--it is iconic, occasionally brilliant, highly cinematic and very ambitious. It is also ponderous, emotionally detached, and pretentious.
The plot is simple yet enigmatic. Chimp-like apes, who are human ancestors, are surprised to awake one morning and find a large featureless monolith in their camp. This monolith, through powers and methods unexplained, seems to set this particular group of primates on a new evolutionary course--they start using bone tools and eating meat, and they use their new-found abilities to triumph in battle against another troop of apes. The triumphant ape tosses his bone tool into the air--as it spins, the bone becomes a spacecraft. The implication is that the monolith somehow spurred human evolution, ultimately resulting in space-flight and the high-tech world we are in for the remainder of the film.
The story next follows a bland VIP who is traveling from Earth to a space station, and then onto the moon, to investigate a mysterious artifact. A monolith identical to the one which visited the apes in the prologue has been discovered buried on the moon, and the Americans who found it are keeping it secret. As our VIP completes his long journey to the moon monolith he reaches out and touches it and there is a loud humming sound.
The film then makes another cut--time has passed and we are now seeing a long-range spacecraft which is bound for Jupiter. It is explained (eventually) that the monolith on the moon broadcast a powerful signal to Jupiter, which prompts the Americans to send a team to Jupiter to investigate. We are introduced to the crew--two are conscious crewmen, others are in suspended animation awaiting revival once Jupiter is reached, and overseeing all is Hal, a sentient computer.
Hal is a very good chess player, but less expected, he appreciates drawing, is excellent at facial recognition, and can read lips. He eventually goes insane. Hal says the ship's antenna is going to fail in 72 hours. When the antenna is examined no flaw is found. No Hal 9000 has ever made an error so the human crew becomes suspicious. Is Hal's error a sign that worse things are to come? Yes. Hal becomes paranoid and suspicious of the human crew--after lip-reading a discussion where the possibility of shutting down Hal's higher functions is raised, Hal rationalizes that his own survival is more vital to the mission than the survival of the crew. One of the astronauts is murdered during a space walk, the crew in hibernation have their life support terminated, and the second astronaut is only able to save himself by taking extraordinary measures. This is the most exciting and suspenseful sequence in the film, and Hal's pleading and rationalizing once he realizes that he's going to be lobotomized is quite entertaining.
Our sole surviving astronaut, cut off from communication with Earth, enters the Jovian system and finds another monolith in orbit. What follows is abstract. He gets into one of his small space-pods and heads toward the Jovian monolith and appears to fall into a wormhole--he travels some undetermined distance in space and/or time and finds himself in an elegantly appointed room. He lives in this room for some time--he ages markedly over the next few minutes of the film. As he's eating a meal, looking decades older (where this food and where this room came from is unexplained but it must be related to the monoliths), he sees a very old version of himself in bed. A monolith is now in the room. As the very old version of himself reaches out to this monolith there's a transformation--the very old man becomes a fetus-- the Star-Child. Looking human yet more advanced, this Star-Child represents the next stage in human evolution. Just as the monolith at the beginning of the film spurred the apes into eventually becoming modern humans, so this monolith at Jupiter seems to have spurred the next big step in human evolution.
What makes this movie great? The music is terrific--the classical score is perfect. The special effects are extraordinary--Kubrick's attention to detail is meticulous, and the stately pacing and utter silence of the space scenes are admirably accurate. Hal is a terrific character. There are some amazing shots and cuts--the bone becoming a space ship is very famous, Hal's red-eye gaze is brilliant and his soothing tone of voice is perfect, and the Star-Child at the end of the film is justifiably famous.
Flaws? The acting is wooden and, other than Hal, the characters are uninteresting. The pacing is often slow, the tone is cold and detached. By making a case for intelligent design (even if the 'designers' are aliens instead of God) Kubrick gives weight to the erroneous notion that human evolution was nudged along by God.
2001 is a flawed masterpiece.