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Say what you will about the artist Vincent Gallo but the guy has style. Sure he made fun of then 17 year old Christina Ricci's (his co-star in "Buffalo 66") weight. Sure he refuses to explain his work when asked. Sure he is a self-obsessed creator. Sure he is outspoken and has said things like, "I stopped painting in 1990 at the peak of my success just to deny people my beautiful paintings; and I did it out of spite." But like I said: the guy has style.

The scene: First off, "Buffalo 66" is showered with great scenes and moments. If you don't think so, stop reading here.  Okay, those of you still with it, you can understand why I would choose the strip club scene. It's where the whole film is headed, with all its obscurities and self pity, and it is in the strip club where we get tangible action that could inspire its own spin off chase flick. In simple terms, the scene has Gallo walk in, look around at strippers, find Wood, and then shoots him. The twist is that right after, Gallo puts the gun to his own temple and pulls the trigger. Of course, the double twist is that we soon discover all of it isn't real. Gallo never shoots Wood; by this point he rediscovers himself and life and decides first degree murder may not be a smart thing to do days out of the slammer. Though nothing about this scene in these simple terms is daring or fresh, it's in the execution (primarily through the work of visionary DP Lance Acord) of the images.

Why we love it: Again, the images. Gallo is an artist. Acord is a master of the lighting and focus craft. Together, there' s an orgy of ideas and bravura. Consider first the music, "Heart of the Sunrise" by Yes. And then look at the arrangment of shots. We see a stage with three strippers. Each of them does a "get down" dance with a single light color beaming up from the floor. Red. The other white. Once all three dance in unison, it's a patriotic visual of red, white and blue. The whores of America. Or is the America the whore? No matter. When we get to Scott Wood, there is some comedy, because he is fat and is dressed as a Chippendale. When Gallo pulls the gun on him and fires, we dip to white and then come back to a fascinating arrangmenet of images. A full year before the original "The Matrix" was released, Gallo broke visual barriers with these images. Pretty much, the camera would move but the individual(s) would remain frozen. Sort of like walking around a model in a wax museum. I especially like the frozen/static blood squirt effect out the back of Wood's head. Yeah, people might ask "How can this be a 'favorite scene'?" It's just one of those moments in indie cinema where you feel with that all the $100 million dollar budget projects in the world couldn't come close to the effect this scene has. Simple as that.

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 09:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Steven Soderbergh has created his magnum opus; the one he'll be remembered for. His massive achievement "Che" (divided into two parts domestically: "El Argentine" and "Guerilla") follows Academy Award Winner Benicio Del Toro through two very different sections of the infamous Che Guevara's life. The first two-plus hours of "Che" chronicles the very successful (if not borderline smooth) Cuban revolution, in which Che stridently leads a good hunk of Fidel Castro's clan in the overthrowing of Batista. Acting as his own DP, Soderbergh intercuts this section with a haunting passage of Del Toro's visit to the U.N. where he is met with equal fascination and hatred years later--all shot in black and white. It is because of this masterstroke of storytelling that makes the first part of "Che" equally bold and (more crucially) understandable. This isn't the dense biopic of fluttery images--and coupled with a supplemental map of Cuba at the start of the film, the first half of "Che" is agreeable and functions more as a political war thriller.

The second half of the film is by far more depressing, if at times harrowing. Switching aspect ratios from the first half (which is in scope) Soderbergh shoots this latter half in flat, making the images tighter--especially individuals' faces which seem like they have no room to breath on screen during close ups. This half of the film illustrates the failed Bolivian revolution of which Che Guevara found himself literally in the heart of darkness.  But if the audience finds themselves cringing or with worried looks on their faces during these closing sequences it will be to the effectiveness of the first half, which paints Che as a seminal figure of righteousness; Almost in that holy light in which today's hipsters carry on the front of their T-Shirts. Soderbergh really slaps the last half off on hard in order to stress the most important point behind Che: before being that legendary romantic figure, Che Guevara was (and still is) a military revolutionary figure. No need for the style statement here.

Equipped with a stellar supporting cast that includes Oscar Winner Matt Damon, Oscar Nominee Catalina Sandino Moreno, Golden Globe Nominee Lou Diamond Philips, Julia Ormond ("The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button"), Rodrigo Santoro ("Redbelt"), Franka Potente ("Blow") & Demian Bichir in an outstanding (and grossly overlooked) supporting turn as Fidel Castro, "Che" is a towering film that must--absolutely must--be seen on the big screen.

Moving as far away from the Soderbergh epic approach as possible, Kelly Reichardt's masterful "Wendy and Lucy" paints a portrait of a central figure that is equally engrossing. For those aspiring filmmakers out there without the Soderbergh-insured $40 million shooting budget, I suggest taking out a notepad while watching Reichardt's masterpiece (which cost around a modest $50,000 to make).

Academy Award Nominee Michelle Williams gives her best and most complete performance as Wendy, an introvert from Indiana who gets stuck with car trouble in Oregon on her way to Alaska. And then she loses her fucking dog.

"Wendy & Lucy," much in the same vein as some of 2008's top films ("Chop Shop" & "Ballast" to name a few), takes the minimalist approach in its creation. The bookends that would be accompany the generic Hollywood road movie would visualize for the audience a wretched home life for Wendy at the beginning and some magnetic pay off at the end when Wendy reaches that lucrative job in Alaska. Reichardt isn't concerned with that--and thank God she isn't.

By simply focusing on a few days where Wendy must rely on her instincts for survival, Reichardt is able to bring up the poor economic crisis in the country in a dialogue that does not spell it out. Consider an exchange between Wendy and a Walgreens parking lot security guard (played effortlessly by Wally Dalton) in front of the store during the day. Or the auto mechanic shop (where Will Patton remains at a comfort cool) that doesn't really have dependable hours. This is one of many cities/towns in the country that are forced to live in an idle state. A sort of eroding of self.

Even more fascinating, is how we are able to be equally shocked at some of Wendy's choices when on the way out of the theatre, we find ourselves second guessing our own instincts. Maybe we would have done that too, we think.

I realize with both "Che" and "Wendy and Lucy" I have written pieces that articulate mood and thought rather than conflict and resolution. That's because, like life, some of the best movies are just about the journey. Whether it's overthrowing a dictator of finding your lost dog, the most important development can be overthrowing your fears or prejudices and finding yourself.

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 09:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)