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 The next Batman installment is scheduled for a July 18, 2008 release

 And so it will get one.  Heath Ledger looks to give a compelling performance (though his actual is screen time is rumored to be Judi Dench minimal) as one of the several villains in this summer's "The Dark Knight."  Some of the other villians are Salvatore Maroni (Eric Roberts), Scarecrow (Cillian Murphy), Gamble (Michael Jai White) and an eventual Two Face (Aaron Eckhart).

Still, the most hyped villain is the Joker (Ledger) and that's no surprise; aside from the Joker's comic book legacy as being the definitive nemesis of the caped crusader, the fact that it was Ledger's last complete performance before his untimely death in January of 2008 only adds to the emotional weight fans already have infested in the character.  Since Ledger stepped into the iconic role last year, the reactions were a mixture of avid supporters and a number of haters who found themselves clinging to their worn out VHS copy of Tim Burton's "Batman" which boasted Jack Nicholson's Joker, a role that has become an archetype for other comic book-to-film villains to try and follow. 

So how did Nolan and company remedy the skepticism?  They hid the Joker.  And with all the secrets and interest of Ledger's physical Joker appearance building up, the case of Ledger Vs. Nicholson marginalized and the quest to grab a tangible, new signified Joker grew.  That signifier, a bleak pic of Ledger's face above, became available once online fans bit at the film's website.  After following some instructions and just giving into some plain old patience, they were given this makeup test headshot.  And it stuck.

Then the idea of Heath's interpetation of Jack's Joker went away.  It became: What is Heath's interpretation of the Joker himself?

So you could imagine when the film's announcement teaser was released in late July of 2007--a full year before its scheduled theatrical release date--it caused quite the uproar.  First of all, nothing was shown.  Nothing but the illuminated emblem of the Batman symbol; a symbol as iconic as a national flag.  We know what it means.  Black bat shape=Gotham's hero.

Here it was, that the imaginations of fanboys, moviegoers--and just about everybody, was put to the test.  Who was this voice we were hearing?  Not Bale's.  Not Caine's.  That other guy. 

Ledger was hot off of his Oscar nomination for Best Actor for "Brokeback Mountain" a performance that now looks to be a complete 180 from what he is doing with the Joker.  His creepy voice, and the notes he was sounding were beats we had never heard before.  The speculation is what served as the driving force for online fans to go ahead and play ball with Warner Bros.' ongoing viral ads and marketing campaign.  And just as the bits of the bat symbol were ripped in the announcement teaser, so too was the unraveling of Ledger's Joker. 

By the time fans were treated to a website showing nothing but "HahAhAHahA" it wasn't long before the secret message of "See You In December" was uncovered.

It also must be noted that by this point, several Youtube videos showing the Joker on the set in downtown Chicago were surfacing, but this couldn't put to rest the eager anticipation of watching the character come to life on the silver screen.

So websites like IBelieveInHarveyDent.com, WhySoSerious.com, IBelieveInHarveyDentToo.com, TheGothamTimes.com and ATasteForTheTheatrical.com surfaced throughout the coming months, with loyal fans abiding by whatever piece of instruction they were given.  

And the wait was worth it. 

The Joker that Ledger depicted during the December-released theatrical teaser was unlike anything anyone could have expected.  It was dark, twisted and full of surprises.  That preliminary makeup headshot had evolved into the above pic: a relentless homicidal maniac. 
Still, even with excitement and approval permeating through the online Batman community, the film was still over half a year away from being released.  So the viral marketing campaign kept steaming forward, full of half-promises (a major mistake of everyone online agreeing that the "10,000 B.C." release would show something new, comes to mind) and slight hints here and there.  It climaxed with an eventual release of a theatrical trailer (which debuted to hundreds of loyal fans at various major cities on April 28, 2008).
So what does all this viral marketing mean?  Well first of all, with any other movie, after a teaser like last December's "Knight" was put out, that would have been enough to secede the demand until the film's actual release date.  But the viral bug was put into motion and there was no turning back. The April theatrical trailer for example, was uncovered by online riddles behind such famous paintings of Andrew Jackson and
Abraham Lincoln--which were given to fans as a test; hundreds gathered together on message boards, major city locales, and chat rooms to solve their riddle or derive some sort of clue.  Limits were out the window.  Safe combinations, and practical applied mathematics were thrown into the mix.  Look at this bingo-type puzzle from one of the designated city locations.

 

Those fortunate and lucky enough to be at the right place and the right time were even given an actual reel of the much-desired April theatrical trailer.

 

But still: we knew how Ledger looked like as the Joker.  We knew how he sounded like.  It was a pretty solid fact that Nolan was making this new film in the same manner of realism he applied to "Batman Begins."  So why couldn't fanboys stop orgasming across message boards, and over stuffing superhero website servers for pictures, rumors and more?
It's a simple case of paradigmatic analysis.  Batman is one of the most cherished of comic heroes.  The original film series got off to a promising start.  That was until the latter two Joel Schumacher films donned the poor bastard with rubber nipples and bad puns.  But with Nolan's "Begins" revamping the series toward a whole new direction, it reinstituted the overwhelmingly positive connotation behind Batman: He is fucking awesome.

So fans, moviegoers and the Nolan-curious had recognized the public binary opposition they had formed between the old (Schumacher) and new (Nolan) Batman, and so far they are happy with Christian Bale as Batman and now they are even more eager to welcome Heath Ledger's Joker into their circle jerk of trust. 

And that circle jerk comment is not an insult.  I say that because although message boards are full of trolls and backwoods armchair critics, the truth is that this new Batman franchise is the best thing to happen to comic book adaptations since--shit, I don't even know.

I'm not sure if we'll see such a successful online viral marketing campaign come along anytime soon.  That's okay.  Ledger's Joker in the latest theatrical trailer boasts, "This city deserves a better class of criminal.  And I'm going to give it to them.  You'll see.  I'll show you."

Good.  We've been waiting. 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 11:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

 

It's spring.  Love is in the air.  This past weekend, the cinema offered us two different projects on the pains of love.  One was an Apatow vehicle.  The other, an arthouse dust bunny.

First up is acclaimed Director Wong Kar Wai's much anticipated "My Blueberry Nights," a film so disappointing, I wish I was still anticipating it.  Aside from its talented cast roster, there is nothing else that is appealing, good for you, or even semi-enjoyable about this offering.  It's like that suspicious cheese danish you buy from the vending machine at work and once you taste how awful it is, you wish you would have just waited until lunch to eat.

It's a shame really.  The film is shot to an almost polarizing state.  Though the colors are inspired and the aesthetic choices unusual (trains zip by like glowing caterpillars; a broken car window glistens like rock candy) I almost felt like I was watching a bad high school production.  Over the top moments are sadly plentiful for players like Rachel Weisz and Jude Law looks like he's around just to flirt with the cute PAs offset. 

Once I start talking about the plot of the film, it does kind of sound interesting: A heartbroken runaway (Norah Jones) has to go on a trippy road trip as differently named waitresses in order to come full circle in her values to realize her true love was the pay-by-the-slice pie diner owner all along.

On second thought, that doesn't sound interesting at all. 

The biggest problem is that we don't believe for a second that these beautiful people could be in a world this dreary and could have such problems with finding romance. 

Natalie Portman as a poker hustler who looks like Anne Heche?  C'mon.  She's still Natalie Portman.  You're not fooling anybody.

"Blueberry" would have been interesting if it had been about Law cheating on Sienna Miller with the housekeeper and a sack of Matt's Chocolate Chip Cookies from Aldis.

 
Next is Nicholas Stoller's "Forgetting Sarah Marshall," a Judd Apatow produced comedy ("Walk Hard," "Drillbit Taylor").  I mention those two Apatow credits in specific because "Marshall" is nowhere near the good stuff Apatow and company have offered in the past: "The 40-Year-Old Virgin" & "Superbad."

"Marshall" is a better time at the movies than "Blueberry."  No heavy thinking here.  Just dead air of a sobbing ex-boyfriend periodically broken up by a good one-liner ("Let's see if her carpet matches her pubes").  The physical comedy is lackluster; we don't care too much for our protagonist hanging off of a rock, or for his penis hanging off of his still wet and naked body. 

If anything "Marshall" has heart.  And we can commend it for that, even if it acts like a pussy for a lot more of its running time than some of its far worthier predecessors ("Superbad" in particular).  The real standout is Mila Kunis from "That 70s Show."  She's a knockout and a surprise beauty.  Let's hope to see her in some more films of substance in the near future.

But hey it's spring.  So get out and get some sun and air.  The dark auditoriums blasting that savored air conditioning aren't putting out their bests just yet. 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 04:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

 

Paul Thomas Anderson, the best living modern American Director, won the Best Director Prize in 2002 at Cannes for his work on "Punch Drunk Love," an absurdist and morbidly dark comedy on finding love.  The film, in an unusual casting move, starred Adam Sandler, a one-time Box Office God ("Big Daddy," "Anger Management").  At less than 90 minutes in running time, Anderson ironically doesn't really on quick jump cuts to propel his narrative; he trusts his camera--photographed by the great Robert Elswit--to observe its subjects and to pull in and out of its depth of view for prolonged periods of time.  The result is pure movie escapism at its best.

The scene: There are no titlecards. No recognizable rock tune.  Just the sound of a vacant lot garage, and Barry Egan's (Adam Sandler) quiet voice on the phone.  We see, from an angle on the far side of the garage, Barry sitting at his desk.  He's on the phone with a customer assistance rep for Health Choice.  They're discussing the possible loophole in a free flyer miles promotion.  After the conversation Barry looks toward the garage entrance, as if something dangerous is approaching.  Nothing happens.  He leaves the garage, walks across the lot, toward the main road.  The colors in the sky suggest that it's very early in the morning.  Toward screen left, we see small headlights approaching fast.  A car is coming.  Just about when the car is at center screen it inexplicably jumps off the ground and does some terribly violent sideway spins, crashing forward.  Amidst the confusion, an unmarked van pulls directly in front of the camera, blocking the entire field of view, thus covering the car accident, and some unknown hands drop off a small wooden harmonium in screen center.  It also must be noted that once the approach to the main road begins, all of this happens in one long, dreary-like take.

Why we love it: It's art.  As simple as that.  The fact that Anderson could make the harmonium--as Ebert said--"at once the most innocent and ominous of objects," is geniune story telling, and thus superior filmmaking.  Plus, for Sandler fans in the audience thinking they're going to get another "Mr. Deeds," this dark and mysterious opening knocks that assumption away and sets up the mood and unpredictable nature of the entire film.  More importantly, it's a scene that exemplifies what can happen when you just watch.  Movies like the "Bourne" trilogy have so many quick takes, and jump cuts, that it's dizzying at times to process such boatloads of information (much of it useless too).  Anderson believes in showing--not telling.  And just by simply observing environment, he exercises what is so great about the art of celluloid: sight and sound.  We have visceral, gut reactions when he hear the car crash.  When we listen to Barry's conversation, we're just as lost or uninterested as the customer rep on the other line.  And when that harmonium is dumped on our nose, we know we're in for a totally unique moviegoing experience.

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 11:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

 

This is not a bad film.  Let me say that first before this goes on any further.  "Iron Man," arguably one of the most anticipated movies of the blockbuster-addled summer, is hugely saved from falling to the depths of "Fantastic Four"-bad, by the endearing and utterly winning performance by Robert Downey Jr.  Directed with a fresh zest by Jon Favreau, "Iron" does not offer any staggering or moving insight into Tony Stark (Downey Jr.) which is a shame really, because in the comics he's a bag of mess; a raging alcoholic and a copper-version of Bruce Wayne.  In fact, the first ten or so minutes of the film, for some odd reason, happen out of order.  Usually this tactic is to invoke suspense or to provide a later twist.  But that never happens.  We see Stark in an army truck, hamming it up, and then boom--explosions and chaos.  But before the first explosion happens, we in the audience know Stark: he is brash, charming, funny and drinks a lot. Oh and he loves women, even if they're in a soldier uniform.  So after the opening titlecard goes away, and a "36 Hours Earlier" heading, what we see is an elongated visualization of what we already suspected: he is brash, charming, funny and drinks a lot.  Oh and he loves women, even if they're a reporter pretending to despise him.

I wish these passages of the narrative gave us some compelling flashbacks into the Stark-lore.  Instead, we get a "Zoolander"-type montage of soundbites, magazine covers and photo stills of who Tony Stark "really is."  This is probably the achilles heel to the whole movie; which I'm struggling to understand how two screenwriters like Mark Fergus and Hawk Ostby agreed on such a choice--these being two of the writers who adapted the masterful "Children of Men."

 

 

But about 45 minutes into all of the humor and POW plot settings, the movie picks up steam and really, in a sense, never looks back, as it fills the screen with impressive special effects and complex gadgets.  The action is there and is neat to watch once you have suspended your belief that a tycoon like Stark could learn so quickly how to become an acrobatic flying vessel.

But back to Downey Jr.  He's the real special effect.  He's having a ball playing Stark, lacing the script with an undeserved coolness and sharpness to his dialogue.  On sheer personality, Downey Jr. makes Bale's Wayne look like one of those immobile, lifeless gargoyles on the top of a Gotham building.  There are moments of great sincerity between Stark and Pepper (Gwyneth Paltrow) as well as a tender parting of ways with his cave-mate Yin Sin (Shaun Toub).

Jeff Bridges' Obadiah Stane is given some three-dimensional weight; though he eventually gives into being the destructive Iron Monger (with about ten minutes of screen time), he isn't all bad.  He's a businessman, who is thick enough to sweat off collateral damage if need be.  Terrence Howard doesn't really provide much but be that nice friend in the military.  He does tease the audience with a moment that hints at a possible mechanic duo.  And of course, as with any Marvel movie, Stan Lee shows up.  This time standing in for Hugh Hefner. 

So how will it do next month when it is released?  I'm sure it'll kill at the Box Office opening weekend, just on sheer anticipation alone.  People fearing to walk into another "Superman Returns" snoozefest will have nothing to worry about.  This movie is loud and destructive.  People looking for "X2:X-Men United" or "Batman Begins" will have to wait again.  On page "Iron Man" probably reads like the "Fantastic Four" script, plugging Burger King and topped off with a 'climatic' battle (finally with an actual villain) in the streets of the city, where person-less buses are ready for impact.  But if you find yourself leaning forward by that point, it would have been because of the work by Downey Jr. who elevates the material.  He makes it so that it's more than just two CGI bots bashing; he makes it so that it feels like there's something at stake.

And that closing line in the final press conference--the last scene in the film--either sets up a string of sequels or is a safety line of dialogue for closure in case of underperforming box office returns. 

 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 05:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

 

D.A. Pennebaker's "Don't Look Back" is one of my favorite pieces of cinema.  As a documentary, it's a pretty raw slice of filmmaking.  There are no arguments to be made or votes to be earned.  It is simply observing Bob Dylan on stage and off.  And it unfurls quite interestingly.  That being said, walking into Martin Scorsese's "Shine A Light," his concert doc on the Rolling Stones, I was hoping to see a bit more of the Stones in their preproduciton process.  The opening ten minutes are great; we see Mick and company survey the auditorium, fret over playlists, and even greet some power players like the Clintons.  And then there's Scorsese, planning, planning and planning.  He is a bolt of energy and is fascinating to observe.  Then the concert starts and for the next two hours we watch song performed after song.

That's not a complaint either.  This isn't some droned out Hannah Montana concert.  It's alive and full of improvisation--no matter how choreographed some of the camera movement may seem.  Much of this credit is due to the camera talent which includes Robert Elswit ("There Will Be Blood") and Emmanuel Lubezki ("Children of Men") among others.  And the rest of the credit goes to Scorsese who cross-sections the show to its core with his direction (obviously off camera, unseen) and to frontman Mick Jagger who still, like a maniac, orchestrates his body movement into a higher performance which only makes each song more valuable.

But by the end, even though I was humming the tunes on the way out of the theatre, I didn't feel over-the-top happy.  I was missing that tingling sensation at the tailbone that Ebert often associates with the feeling you get after watching a great piece of work.  I couldn't put my finger on it at first.  But now looking back, the truth was simple: I wanted more Marty.

It's very strange when you look back on Scorsese's career.  His films in the 70s, 80s and even 90s redefined American cinema--though he never was that "popular" Director with the general public.  He wasn't the Spielberg with the iconic baseball hat on.  He didn't have the trademark beard that George Lucas carried.  He just made great films, a lot of which many dumb individuals still haven't seen.  His early attempts at reaching Hollywood popularity, like with his remake of "Cape Fear," barely made a ripple.

Yet it seems that in the last few years, with his forming of Leonardo DiCaprio--one of the biggest stars in the world--into his new Bob DeNiro, Scorsese has crossed over big barriers and has become something he never was: a popular Director with the general public. 

This becomes all the more interesting once it is noted that just because Scorsese has reached critical mass doesn't mean that he's sold out.  His films are still wonderful.  "Gangs of New York" gave us Day-Lewis' timeless character of Bill the Butcher.  "The Departed" won the Best Picture Oscar and finally earned Scorsese his Best Director statuette.

Scorsese is everywhere now.  He's seen online directing a fictional version of a lost Hitchcock scene ("The Key to Reserva").  In theatres across the nation, he's appearing in AT&T Cingular spots urging audience members to turn off their cell phones before their show starts.

And I love it.

So maybe I have a Scorsese-addiction problem, like a drug thing.  I'm hooked.  Here's one of the greats, someone I have always admired, finally getting his due.  

Is it bad then that I even noticed Bruce Willis, with a yellow baseball hat on, in the audience during "Shine A Light" just because I was leaning forward trying to get a peek somewhere of Marty sitting at the control desk?

Cocaine eyes indeed. 

 

 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 12:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

 

 

3:07 a.m.

The door to the public restroom swings open violently.  A pudgy, pale and bruised hooker leads a crying 12 year old into a stall.  The images on the canvas are grainy and shaky.  Watching a film like Director Paul Andrew Williams' "London To Brighton" in an intimate setting as that of an auditorium in the Gene Siskel Film Center, where the European Union Film Festival takes place, is quite the experience. First off, the auditoriums themselves are small and have sloped seating.  The screen is so close to the first row, it almost violates your immediate personal space. And then there is the audience demographic: mostly white senior citizens of the arts community.  Watching this film, some leave.  A cozy documentary featuring Nicole Kidman that is playing across the hall probably offers less f-bombs anyway.

When "London" had its initial debut overseas in 2006, it had some overblown praise: "The Best British Film of the Century!" Uh huh.  Yet seeing it in these modest settings, with an uninfluenced eye, I came away from the film much more disturbed then I first anticipated.  I didn't see it as art, though many critics in the field did think so back in 2006.  I saw it primarily as a worthy debut from Williams, fusing elements of the violent underworld, the anti-hero, and some quick editing.  The ending revelation regarding a villain's true motives is a bit of a stretch, especially if we're to believe all of his actions and behaviors up until that moment really happened the way they did.  To start spilling plot details here would be to take away the film's only draw.  At a brisk 85 minutes, "London" comes and goes as quick as the trains in the movie's station.

Yes, this is a film about the slimy underbelly of the prostitution world.  Yes, a minor gets into quite the violent sexual act--against her will.  Yes, somehow, the filmmakers are convinced that in making a career whore into the most loving mother-figure it will sidestep close character observation or 'wants.'  Williams is drawn to this portion of the world though.  His screenplay is weak, and the last twenty minutes drag out too long.  It's sometimes overbearing and for brief groupings of seconds is quietly brilliant.  It's a big slut of a debut, giving you a quick fix, but making you rethink the next morning on how the hell you ended in this person's bed. 

In fact, a large part of me coming back to the film and to write whatever amount on it, was propelled by an encounter I just had on the late night Blue Line train coming home.  My iPod was playing "Pistols and Fire" by Kings of Leon.  As the train stopped, a group of male hipsters came on the train.  They sat and chatted; I couldn't really hear their exchange, but it caught the attention of a tathered-looking woman, borderline homeless, who was violently shaking.  She stood up on her feet right away and pointed her rigid finger in the air and began saying that these young men were going to hell.  She stormed up and down the train, half yelling and half sobbing about the sins of man.  Once the train came to the next stop, the conductor escorted her out onto the platform.  As the doors closed I stared out my window and watched her clasp her big handbag and swirl her head around the black city night.  She was bewildered, angry, frightened and vigilant.  All at once.  I wanted to know her story.  I felt compelled.

Then I thought about "London To Brighton" again.  Williams is not wrong by trying to study this part of society.  He may not have produced a doctorate on celluloid, but his thesis is still pretty damn strong.  And that's always worth an eventual peek.

He'll make others I presume. 

 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 03:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)