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Note: Films like "Margaret," "Undefeated," "A Separation" and "Pina" will be in contention for my Best of 2012 list as a result of their significant 2012 theatrical presence.

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There is a word you will hear a lot between now and Billy Crystal's opening monologue on Oscar night. That word: nostalgia. Oscar pundits and Hollywood-backed bloggers will continue to make the case that 2011 was a year which cried for things to "return to normal."

Yet 2011 was really quite the opposite.

In a time when news headlines were filled with the terms "SOPA" and "piracy," Tinseltown was pretty much shitting its pants for most of the year. Yes, in a sense, they're still making money at the box office (When a 3D ticket is nearly $20 a person in some cities, how could they not?) but they do feel that storm coming...the same way Michael Shannon's Curtis felt it in "Take Shelter." A new wave of cinema, both macro and micro, is upon us. On a macro level, commercial audiences are consuming their commercial fare in new ways: through Redbox pick-ups and Netflix streaming. Gone are the family trips to the New Releases sections at Blockbuster or overpriced concession stands at the multiplex. On a micro level, more indie filmmakers are finding new ways to attract audiences (if you still don't know what Transmedia is, you're a relic). They are also vigorously branding themselves online, sans an agent or agency.

The textbook relevance of the Hollywood model, the Hollywood backbone, is fading. That's why a charming, yet totally non-compelling movie like "The Artist" is the shoo-in to win the Best Picture Oscar. Eh, fuck it.

**

Mine--as usual--is a year-end "Best Of" list that celebrates the films that were audacious enough to take risks, move audiences and announce their staying power.

Like previous years, 2011 offered harmless films like "Super 8" and "50/50." More alarming were the film releases that were subpar, considering the mammoth talent behind the camera. Consider these titles--all "good" films but nowhere near the tier of greatness that these directors have put out before: "War Horse," "The Descendants," "Terri," "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo," "The Ides of March," "Hugo," "Drive," "Melancholia," "Jane Eyre" and "We Need To Talk About Kevin." Then there were those films that seem poised for failure and yet somehow pleasantly surprised: "The Adventures of Tintin," "Rise of the Planet of the Apes," "Everything Must Go," "Real Steel," "Warrior," "X-Men: First Class" and "Bridesmaids." Finally, there were those gems that came out of nowhere like "Win Win" and "Martha Marcy May Marlene."

The problem with compiling Top Ten lists is that you can never really honor all the films that need to be sought out for year-end praise. So here go the ten films that tied for my 11th place: "Attack The Block," "Beats, Rhythms & Life: The Travels of A Tribe Called Quest," "Contagion," "Into The Abyss," "I Saw The Devil," "Marwencol" (pictured above), "Midnight in Paris," "Rango," "The Skin I Live In" and "Take Shelter."

And now, without further adieu, the Top 10 Films of 2011:

 10. "Mysteries of Lisbon" Directed by Raoul Ruiz

To say that the late Raoul Ruiz was a prolific Director would be the understatement of the century. With his "Mysteries of Lisbon," a historic, continent-spanning, generational drama, Ruiz forces us to lean closer to the screen to participate in his game of pick-up clues and manipulation of dramatic devices. Perhaps his most entrancing film since 1979's "The Hypothesis of the Stolen Painting."

 9. "Here" Directed by Braden King

King's wonderful--and I mean wonderful!--"Here" feels like an Antonioni road movie that was left in the editing room with Stan Brakhage and Jonas Mekas. Ben Foster stars as a cartographer and Peter Coyote steals the show as the voiceover storyteller for the video art/video installation sequences that seamlessly embed themselves in the film's straightforward narrative.

8. "Day Is Done" Directed by Thomas Imbach

"Day Is Done" is a benchmark example of what I refer to as the "new cinema." It's storytelling 2.0 on a bold scale. Imbach, both the filmmaker and screen character, simply films the landscape outside the window of his apartment and for the next two hours we are given a glimpse into an artist's inner spirit via time-lapse footage and personal answering machine messages that were compiled over several years. This film is not for everybody.

7. "The Interrupters" Directed by Steve James

The best documentary of the year, hands down. So it shouldn't come as a surprise that it WASN'T nominated for the Best Documentary Oscar. James, as he did in "Hoop Dreams," simply observes and commits to the arc of the lives of his subjects. A meditation on how violence permeates throughout a city, its inhabitants. A powerful visualization of patience, hope and resilience.

 6. "The Robber" Directed by Benjamin Heisenberg

Here is the lone-criminal film that "Drive" only wished it was. Heisenberg's hypnotic drama takes the form of a ritualistic film, stringing along sequences that brush across a canvas of doomed fate for its antihero. I haven't been that moved by an ending to a crime film since Mann's "Heat."

 5. "Shame" Directed by Steve McQueen

Contrary to some critics' opinions, "Shame" isn't the epitome of 'British miserablism.' Leave it to video artist McQueen to construct a visually beautiful and internally gut-wrenching masterpiece. This one is going to be around for a long time. Michael Fassbender has etched his name onto the walls of acting glory.

 4. "Life In A Day" Directed by Kevin Macdonald

A crowdsourced film that played out with more spontaneity and overwhelming insight than most Hollywood screenplays in recent memory. Haters be damned; a new wave of storytelling is already here.

 3. "Moneyball" Directed by Bennett Miller

The irony here is that "Moneyball" is more classic Hollywood than "The Artist." Brad Pitt delivers the kind of performance that Golden Age movie stars churned out. Pitt is in almost every scene of the movie. It's a performance that emotes handsomeness, charm and unexpected pathos. It's too bad that most people who read the synopsis of "Moneyball" won't make it past the "sports movie" label. Brad Pitt deserves the Oscar and it'll be a shame if he loses it to a guy who mimes along with his cute dog (i.e. "The Artist").

 2. "Beginners" Directed by Mike Mills

"Beginners" does a miraculous job of steering clear of any cliches it sets up for itself. It deconstructs its cute dog by providing it with subtitles. It sidesteps any stock-queer-jokes once Christopher Plummer's characters comes out of the closet. The subplot involving an early romance doesn't introduce an archetypal third wheel villain or tacky slow motion scene. Maybe this is all due to Mills'--a visual artist--decision to construct his film around the nonlinear, imperfect beats of (his and our) real life.

 1. "The Tree of Life" Directed by Terrence Malick

Overwhelming. Problematic. Ambitious. Polarizing. Timeless. All valid descriptions of great cinema. Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey" went through similar early stages of audiences being puzzled. But look at how revered that film is today. Malick's film is positively enthralling, on all scales. From the year's best cinematography to the year's best film editing, "The Tree of Life" humbles us with its scope of life, the universe and the guilt an older brother can feel after bullying his younger brother with a BB gun air rifle. A masterpiece, no matter which way you slice it.

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The New Cinema--in my opinion--won't rest entirely on a new batch of independent (digital) filmmakers simply working outside the mainstream Hollywood "system" in order to create a sustainable new media industry. The other key component to the forthcoming New Cinema will be in the reinvented screen language and the new dynamic editing styles. New digital filmmaking tools--like the Flip cam, iPhone camera, HDSLR video, etc.--are rebuilding the visual canon for the new artist. The days of the big clunky and sometimes cumbersome "studio" cameras are behind us. With these small, efficient filmmaking instruments, we're finding ourselves shooting and shooting and--shooting.

The "setups" and "tear downs" are not going to refer to mammoth crews carrying around production equipment on sets. The new "setup" will be more organic for the independent filmmaker. An artist with the ability to shoot more liberally, without the constraints of "painting a pretty picture" for the hell of it, can now react more truthfully to the environment around him or her.

This new practice should not be viewed as a clash to "form" or "method." Filmmaking--good filmmaking--always comes down to the truthfulness behind the storytelling. Is what I'm watching viable, endearing, startling, engaging, moving or even challenging on some level? And did this uncompromising vision come from the artist--or from that artist's notion of what a movie "should" look like?

Underground cinema, with its counter-narrative demeanor and fearless sensibility, can be the gateway to introduce this "New Cinema."

Let's get out there and start shaking some bushes. And maybe our cameras too.

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What was film in 2010? Well...

As usual, crowds of people lined up for the "Twilight" sequel, while other groups showed how easily they were turned off by their favorite franchise ("Sex And The City 2," "Chronicles of Narnia: Voyage Of The Dawn Treader," etc.). There were some films that weren't as bad as we feared ("Iron Man 2"), others as lukewarm as they first promised ("Robin Hood") and some that fit the tragic bill of collapsing under unbelievable hype ("Kick-Ass"). As with any year, if the moviegoer could navigate past all the red carpet glam, Monday box office figures and bandwagon reactions on their Facebook feed, they might learn a thing or two. Some were even moved by what they saw.

I won't go into exhaustive detail about EVERYTHING I saw in 2010--and let me tell you, it's A LOT--but I'll list a group of films first (more to provide a listing of titles you may have missed) that were watchable, and sometimes quite good: "Morning Glory," "Edge of Darkness," "The Crazies," "Going The Distance," "Frozen," "No Crossover: The Trial of Allen Iverson," "My Son, My Son What Have Ye Done," "Countdown To Zero," "Moving To Mars," "The Town," "Solitary Man," "I'm Still Here," "Plastic Bag (short film)," "Wild Grass," "Freakonomics," "I'm Here (short film)," "Monsters," "[REC] 2," "Somewhere," "Toy Story 3," "Hereafter," and "The American."

This is the point where I have to come out and say that current Oscar faves like "True Grit" and "The King's Speech" unfortunately didn't do it for me--and thus will be absent from this next batch of films which I like to call "Fuck, We Were So Close To The Top 10." There is some real strong work here and these flicks should be sought out before you watch "Inception" for the seventh time on your Blu-ray player: "Fish Tank," "The White Ribbon," "Mother," "El Baile De La Victoria," "Restrepo," "The Secret In Their Eyes," "Sweetgrass," "The Killer Inside Me," "The Kids Are All Right," "I Am Love," "Winter's Bone," "Greenberg," "Black Swan," "Client 9: The Rise and Fall of Eliot Spitzer," "127 Hours," "Mississippi Chicken" (which is pictured above) and "The Ghost Writer."

And now the individual awards:

Best Music Soundtrack: "Blue Valentine" (songs by Grizzly Bear)

Best Editing: "Problema"

Best Original Score: "Shutter Island" (this is not cheating, since Robbie Robertson's assemblage and orchestration of music samples and sounds adds up to an unforgettable experience)

Best Cinematography: "Enter The Void" (Benoit Debie, director of photography)

Best Documentary: "Exit Through The Gift Shop" (Directed by Banksy)

Best Director: Jacques Audiard ("A Prophet")

Best Supporting Actress: Jacki Weaver, "Animal Kingdom" :: Runner-up: Melissa Leo, "The Fighter"

Best Supporting Actor: Christian Bale, "The Fighter" :: Runner-up: (tie) Andrew Garfield, "The Social Network" and Niels Arestrup, "A Prophet"

Best Actress: Aggeliki Papoulia, "Dogtooth" :: Runner-up: Michelle Williams, "Blue Valentine"

Best Actor: Tahar Rahim, "A Prophet" :: Runner-up: Leonardo DiCaprio, "Shutter Island"

The Top 10 Films of 2010 -- 

10. "Shutter Island" Directed by Martin Scorsese

Scorsese directs the hell out of this sometimes faulty, always exhilarating story about what reality means to the individual and then what the schematics of a "real" facade mean to an institution--and ultimately a society itself. A harrowing performance by DiCaprio anchors this beast of a film.

9. "Never Let Me Go" Directed by Mark Romanek

Romanek's film direction has grown exponentially since his debut with "One Hour Photo." This quiet movie is much more dramatic, romantic and scary then it appears to be the first time around. Working with today's best young British actors, "Never Let Me Go" will make your spirit soar if you're currently in love--or it will floor you if you've already let your love for that special someone slip away.

8. "Blue Valentine" Directed by Derek Cianfrance

In a strange way, a companion piece to "Never Let Me Go." Where the characters in Romanek's film yearned for the chance to actually love someone, Cianfrance's film splices open the relationship of a couple well on their way to falling out of love. Ryan Gosling and Michelle Williams are unforgettable and they cement their work as two of the more indelible performances of the past decade.

7. "The Fighter" Directed by David O. Russell

Perhaps David O. Russell's most accessible film ever, "The Fighter" is a paint-by-numbers story (the underdog, a story about boxing, a flowering romance and on and on) that is layered with so much heart it practically pulsates on the auditorium screen. Easily the best ensemble cast of the year, the film turns to its peripheral players for more than just stolen moments; "The Fighter" reminds Hollywood movies that behind every Rocky, there's a fucked up family background. The analogy should stick more often.

6. "Enter The Void" Directed by Gaspar Noe

Don't die. It's pretty much the exhaustive, yet oddly stirring warning that Noe's latest film seems to insist. A landmark cinematic feat in both ideas and technical prowess, Noe dares (yet again!) to challenge our perception of the world. This time he uses the subconscious--or is it the spirit?--of his protagonist who aimlessly floats and is forced to watch his world unfurl in the streets and rooms beneath him. Unlike anything you've ever seen. (On a side note: Isn't the opening credit sequence to this film just awesome?!)

5. "Animal Kingdom" Directed by David Michod

The best crime film of the year, Michod's brooding Australian drama sticks close to a family of crooks who are more dangerous to each other than they are to the seedy policemen of their territory. Ben Mendelsohn's turn as Uncle Pope could send the shivers down the spine of the Uncle Teardrop character from "Winter's Bone."

4. "Dogtooth" Directed by Giorgos Lanthimos

Greek cinema is revived with Giorgos Lanthimos' "Dogtooth"! An insanely disturbing tale about a family so disconnected from the outside world that the act of incest is less frightening than a plane flying over the skies above. This film has to be seen by any filmmaker who aims to be "an auteur."

3. "The Social Network" Directed by David Fincher

Fincher will probably win his first Best Director Oscar for this lean and near perfect drama that works as both as a classic tale of betrayal and also as a survey warning to how the social media revolution has cost (most of) us all the imperfections and nuances that come with actually physically poking someone. Aaron Sorkin's cerebral screenplay is unmatched in 2010. This is the best American film of the year.

2. "A Prophet" Directed by Jacques Audiard

Funny how crime films tend to be lauded in cinema. From "Goodfellas" to "City of God," we just can't seem to find more potent content to extend our own fears, prejudices, desires and secret attractions toward. Here is a film that has the emotional scope of "The Godfather" and the oddities that come with obscure coming-of-age stories (an invisible friend/ghost that no one else can see, the crooked surrogate father-son dynamic). It was that rare film in 2010 that left viewers saying, "Wow, I really saw something." A masterpiece, through and through.

1. "Problema" Directed by Ralf Schmerberg

Part documentary. Party video art. Part experimental film. Yet completely original in its vision. Schmerberg somehow managed to put together a collage of moving imagery that serves as a timetable testament to the human experience in this still infant new millennium. There is simply nothing else like it.

And he distributed it online for free.

How's about that for new cinema?

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 08:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

As we near the end of 2010 and head into the new year, independent filmmakers and artists who consider themselves to be part of this emerging new media movie industry have to be aware of the following fact: the story behind your movie is just as valid and important as the story within your movie's narrative. In other words, sharing your film from its original concept (when the idea arises in your head) via a blog post, Twitter page or any useful online platform is no longer an option--it's a must. Audiences these days are more sophisticated, aware and tech-savvy than ever. Considering that the audience for your film is right on par with familiarizing themselves with new mobile platforms (e.g. Apple's iPad) and are looking for intuitive new ways to be engaged with movie content, it is only logical that you--the independent artist--utilize free platforms, like Cinefile.com, to share both your work and the story behind your work.

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The thing about loving the cinema while growing up is that once you ever get around to actually making movies yourself, you tend to lose an immediate awareness of how seriously embedded that particular niche area of cinema is in your mind, heart and eyes.

(Left: "Ad Hominem" - Right: "Eyes Wide Shut")

The other day I was revisiting Stanely Kubrick's final feature film "Eyes Wide Shut" and I was struck at how some of its city night scenes were pulsing with wet streets, damp air and a sort of surreal quality (something that failed to hit me upon initial viewings). Then I began to realize that my surreal/dream short film "Ad Hominem" articulated those same environments in its exterior sequences. In other words, during most of my productions I was filming with the hands and eyes of my champions of cinema--without really knowing that I was doing so.

(Left: Me filming Julie Crylen close up - Right: Lynch filming Laura Dern close up)

Soon after, I began revisiting my still young filmography and started looking for key traits of the masters of cinema that I adore. An interesting bit I came across was a behind the scenes photo of me filming actress Julie Crylen for an uncomfortable (for the audience) close up of her eyes/upper face in "Ad Hominem."

David Lynch, the surrealist king, was apparently running and gunning it in similar fashion for some shots of his awesome "Inland Empire" a few years ago.

(Left: A lost soul inside of a train - Right: A lost soul on top of a freight train in "Stalker")

As of late, it's apparent that the strong work of Andrei Tarkovsky has been surfacing in much of my content. The last short I made, "Makeshift Correct," which was a video art-experimental mish mash of sights and songs, featured an eerie section of actor Carson Jones, aimlessly riding inside of a CTA train cart looking on as the train pulled him toward a fate that was murky. In Tarkovsky's often overlooked "Stalker" there's a railroad sequence where these men are sitting on top of a train that is pummeling forward. Tarkovsky (and coincidentally me) ended up photographing our subject(s) in more of a profile shot and we let the camera just sit for a sec; this allowed an awkward examination of watching the actor nerve out a natural performance of ambivalence and ambiguity.

Obviously, any independent filmmaker can dissect his or her work into recognizable frames or archetypal scenes from probable historical film influences. But for me, this cinematic catharsis was more of a necessary step forward in knowing what I really want to put up on the screen next.

After all, there's a reason we emulate our masters: We want to preserve what we consider art, what we consider vital.

Nelson Carvajal on IMDb

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First, here go films that were watchable: "Coraline," "Limits of Control," "Up," "The Class," "La Americana," "Knowing," "Adventureland," "Drag Me To Hell," "Precious: Based on the novel 'Push' by Sapphire," "Duplicity," "Haunting in Connecticut," "The Hangover," "Invictus," "Sherlock Holmes," "Paranormal Activity," "Rudo y Cursi," "Made In China," "Up In The Air" and "The Girlfriend Experience."

This next batch obviously didn't make the Top 10 List but are considerable films nonetheless: "Henri-Georges Clouzot's Inferno," "Looking For Eric," "Hunger," "In The Loop," "Tokyo," "Humpday," "Mary and Max," "Antichrist," "Tyson," "The Informant!," "A Serious Man," "The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus," "Food, Inc.," "An Education," "Sugar," "Gomorrah," "Public Enemies," "Sin Nombre," "New York, I Love You," "Treeless Mountain," "Brief Interviews With Hideous Men," "Moon," "THE BAD LIEUTENANT Port of Call: New Orleans," "Two Lovers," "Il Divo," "The Box," "(500) Days of Summer," "Wendy and Lucy," "The Brothers Bloom" and "Brothers."

Now, I realize how underwhelming a cluster of movie titles can appear, so I thought it would help if I offered some of my personal "awards" to these and other films of the year as well:

Most annoying movie of the year: "Away We Go"

Secret favorite movie of the year: "New York, I Love You"

Best scene of sheer joy: the post-sex, spontaneous dance/music number from "(500) Days of Summer"

Best scene of pure fright: the torture/destruction of Willem Dafoe's penis and other body parts in "Antichrist"

Best single tracking shot in a movie: the dance hall sequence in "Il Divo"

Best scene in a film: the super scene in "Waltz With Bashir"

Best scene in a film--that I didn't see coming: Frankie Faison's soliloquy in "Brief Interviews With Hideous Men"

Best movie soundtrack (songs): "Where The Wild Things Are"

Best movie soundtrack (score): "Fantastic Mr. Fox"

Terrific opening sequence: Iconic detectives prove to be superheroes in "Sherlock Holmes"

Terrific closing sequence: A family mends frayed bonds without being hokey in "Looking For Eric"

Best feature debut: "Sin Nombre"

Movie destined to be a cult classic: "The Box"

Special jury prize: "THE BAD LIEUTENANT Port of Call: New Orleans"

Most underrated movie: "The Brothers Bloom"

Most overrated movie(s): "Avatar" (plus "District 9" & "Star Trek")

Best male performance I didn't see coming: Tobey Maguire ("Brothers")

Best female performance I didn't see coming: Michelle Williams ("Wendy and Lucy")

Best music video: "Ambling Alp" Directed by Radical Friend (for the band YEASAYER)

Best short film: "Good Advice" Directed by Andreas Tibblin (Sweden)

Best cinematography: "Tetro" (photographed by Mihai Malaimare Jr.)

Best supporting female performance: Charlotte Gainsbourg ("Antichrist")

Best supporting male performance: Michael Fassbender ("Inglourious Basterds")

Best female performance: Tilda Swinton ("Julia")

Best male performance: Benicio Del Toro ("Che")

And now, for the best films of 2009. These films coincidentally explored the Holden Caulfield type individual in various environments. Whether it was a child escaping a household he didn't understand on a boat headed for wild things or the revolutionary Che Guevara not finding solace in his family home and choosing instead to walk toward his own death in premature revolution Bolivia, 2009 showed the restless individual with a relentless fervor. It's no wonder why most of these films won't find their way to Oscar glory. Most people don't like to examine themselves (or life for that matter) so they instead will root and vote for 12-foot blue people in 3D. "So it goes."

10. "Where The Wild Things Are" Directed by Spike Jonze

It took me repeated viewings to see where Jonze was going with this hard-to-swallow interpretation. Give it a few viewings and then try not to be touched by the wordless closing minutes as young Max learns that life won't get any easier.

9. "Goodbye Solo" Directed by Ramin Bahrani

Here we have a stasis of the American indentity: William, the hard-bitten old white guy and Solo, the selfless African immigrant taxi driver. The foreigner (Solo) wants acceptance, social status and career success. The American wants to kill himself. Bahrani is one of the great modern directors and here never strikes a false note. The climatic, wordless exchange between the two leads is the stuff of great cinema.

8. "Inglourious Basterds" Directed by Quentin Tarantino

Here, the film's most important character (and who also is the radical individual versing the establishment) is Writer/Director Quentin Tarantino. Not only is he rewriting history, "Basterds" is also his exorcism of film knowledge, film adoration and film catharsis (hello, the movie theatre is blown to bits at the end). A whopper of an entertainment.

7. "Julia" Directed by Erick Zonca

Tilda Swinton may have won the Oscar for "Michael Clayton" but this is the performance by her that will be studied by future actors and film historians. The movie is a thriller that will endure--about an alcoholic who is both the film's angel and monster. Shame on you if you haven't seen it yet. It's one of the great performances. You won't be able to shake it off.

6. "Fantastic Mr. Fox" Directed by Wes Anderson

Wes Anderson has made his best film since "The Royal Tenenbaums." How important is that? Let's put it this way: no one wanted anything to equate "Tenenbaums" with. George Clooney, as the voice for the title role, is sublime in his performance. Forget "Up In The Air"--Clooney's acting nod should come with this gem of a movie. The film has one of the best ending lines/salute/toasts in recent memory: "To survival."

5. "The Hurt Locker" Directed by Kathryn Bigelow

Jeremy Renner turned some heads with his work in "Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford" back in 2007 and here he cements himself as one of Hollywood's strongest actors. A war film that doesn't cry war; it exists in a purgatory-state of intrepid satisfaction. A man would rather defuse bombs in the middle east than fix the shingles on the roof of his home. Staggering in its editing, sound mixing and photography; enlightening in its position and honesty.

4. "Dear Zachary" Directed by Kurt Kuenne

The best documentary of the year. A filmmaker begins to make a personal documentary in an effort to pay tribute to his recently murdered friend. When the murderer turns out to be the slain friend's girlfriend, the film is heart shattering in its examination of the faltered law system and the post-modern depiction of David vs. Goliath: Goliath usually wins.

3. "Che" Directed by Steven Soderbergh

Soderbergh's two-part historical epic is the kind of film we hardly see anymore. Yes, it has production design but it's not waving at us. Yes, it has costumes but they're not glistening for our attention. It also has a hero who keeps to himself--yet, through Soderbergh's direction, we can't help but follow him into the abyss of ambition. Del Toro won Best Actor at Cannes for this. No wonder.

2. "Waltz With Bashir" Directed by Ari Folman

Fusing flash animation, with computer effects and some traditional animation, Folman creates the best war film of the year and one of the best of the last twenty years. It's not so much about the conflict of the war as it is about the conflict of the individual--running from reality, running from pain and running from his own guilt.

1. "Tetro" Directed by Francis Ford Coppola

Watching this film is like receiving an unexpected present from the Cinema Gods.  Don't know how that feels usually? It's why it's #1. Strange, beautiful, imperfect and pulsating with an affectionate heart, Coppola has returned as a master of film. The much maligned Vincent Gallo has the acting chops here to match any current big players. When this movie is on DVD I think I'm going to hold the disc close to my chest--like Tetro holds his writings and works close to his.

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"Any sufficiently advanced technology

is indistinguishable from magic."

-Arthur C. Clarke "Profiles of The Future", 1961 (Clarke's third law)

WARNING! Please go see "The Box" in theaters now before reading the following. SPOILERS ARE EVERYWHERE.

When "Donnie Darko" came out in 2001, then 26 year old Writer/Director Richard Kelly was hailed (on the DVD cult circuit anyway) as the came-out-of-nowhere-prolific-auteur of the new millennium. It goes without saying that anyone reading this blog entry is at least familiar with "Darko" on the surface with all of its allegories, transport tunnels and that Gary Jules "Mad World" track. "Darko" has embedded itself in the post 9/11 pop culture psyche (its hero even meets his demise/fate by airplane engine) to such great heights that Film4 listed it #9 on the 50 Films To See Before You Die compilation hailing it "an astonishingly imaginative, poignant, genre-defying tale of teen love, insanity and time travel." Not bad for Kelly's feature debut.

I should quickly point out two things. I too consider "Darko" a work of staggering loyalty to singular vision and a tremendous accomplishment as a film in its mastering of technical bravura. The other thing I want to point out is that I ran away from Kelly's second film "Southland Tales" for reasons of being let down and having to possibly marginalize "Darko's" brilliance because of it. So then why go see Kelly's third feature film "The Box"?

I knew other things: Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson was not going to be in "The Box" and that I am a fan of 80s "Twilight Zone" episode named "Button, Button" on which this new film is based on (a piece that draws its source material form Richard Matheson's short story).

Here's a quick recap of that episode: Norma and Arthur Lewis are a financially oppressed married couple who are met with a bizarre offer. A strange man by the name of Steward offers them (well, Norma in particular) a small box equipped with one button. Should they push that button they will be given $200,000 in one lump sum. The catch is, by pressing this button someone they "don't know" will die. To make a long story short (after the pair quibble about the morality of this offer) Norma abruptly pushes the button on a whim. When Steward returns to pick up the box he gives the couple their cash reward and mentions that the same box will be reprogrammed and given to another individual, along with the same offer. The episode ends with Steward saying: "I can assure you it will be offered to someone whom you don't know."  Thus, the big scare comes with the audience's realization that Norma (and probably Arthur too) will die next, assuming the next individual pushes the button.

Now that episode gave me some genuine chills when I first saw it. Was Steward a finely dressed murderer who liked to play fucked up psychological games (like the box/cash reward offer) with his victims before coming back to kill them (and presumably retrieving the money to use it on the next poor individual)? Or was Steward part of a bigger network of diabolical individuals who were doing this in other places too?

Kelly obviously is convinced it's the latter. In his 2009 film adaptation the opening act more or less mirrors the 80s "Twilight Zone" episode. Here are some tweaks: 1) the money is upped to $1,000,000 2) it's the 1970s & the married couple have a young son and 3) the setting is Langley, Virginia (the Twilight episode seems to take place in California). Aside from the prize money upgrade the other narrative changes are very significant. First, Richard Kelly was born on 1975 in Virginia. Second, Kelly's father during this time worked on the Mars Viking Lander Program (where the first pictures from the Mars surface came from) for NASA in Langley. In the film, Arthur Lewis (played by James Marsden) also works for NASA and in particular helps develop the camera to take said Mars pictures. So, on the outset, one could maybe see "The Box" as Kelly's semi-autobiographical work.

But the canvas of conspiracy and all of its elaborate thematic and scientific implications that Kelly illustrates is pretty overwhelming. So now that it's been some time since seeing the film, I want to go back with you--the reader--and try to get a better grasp on this film and to hopefully qualify its significance/potency to a level that is close to "Donnie Darko."

So let's go.

After the wife Norma (Cameron Diaz) abruptly presses the button on the box, Steward (Frank Langella) does indeed return with the cash reward and picks up the box. The same ominous line is said (without being underlined): "I can assure you it will be offered to someone whom you don't know." So here is the tipping point for Kelly and film. What's going to be the revelation? Is it some government conspiracy? An act of vast moral terrorism?

In plain terms, Kelly keeps it close the sci-fi realm, largely due to Arthur working for NASA. Lots of exposition is devoted to the Mars Lander Program (even on the living room television). We learn later that Steward, before being the ambiguous door-to-door box deliveryman, worked for NASA too and was struck by lightning. Unlike the "Twilight Zone" episode, this version of Steward is physically deformed in the face due to burned tissue. His side teeth are even visible because of these burns (a creepy image to be sure). In this most basic fashion, Steward is the embodiment of death, going door to door.

But Kelly doesn't just settle with the science fiction in this at times epic parable.

If anything, this is the real end of the world film 2009 has to offer (not some hokey disaster movie like "2012"). Kelly is giving us an ultimatum as a human race. If we are to assume that everyone is willing to have other people killed in order to gain their own wealth, then all is lost. In its most bare form, that's what the proposition of the box and the cash reward represents.

Also, a key thing to note are the allusions in the film, and boy do we know how Kelly loves those (does "cellar door" still have a place in your memory?). Specifically, when Norma is teaching her high school English class we see the class is studying existentialist Jean Paul-Sartre and his vision of hell. Later after pressing the button and receiving the cash reward, Norma and Arthur even go see a Sartre stage play. Are you starting to get it? If not, Kelly spells it out quite literally after a weird dinner rehearsal party when Norma and Arthur begin to suspect a bigger hand controlling their fates: as a valet driver gives them their car on a snowy night they see that someone has written "NO EXIT" on the snow on their car window. "No Exit" is of course the name of Sartre's 1944 play where the line "Hell is other people" is famously declared.

In the case of "The Box" hell most certainly is "other people." Yes, the people in the streets act like pod people and they bleed from the nose (due to frontal lobe hemorrhaging). If we take the "science" from this and couple it with the characters of science in the film, we can rightly say there are extraterrestrial beings at work here (the ones orchestrating the whole human experiment). And though Steward keeps referring to his "employers" when asked why all this is happening I don't know if I personally can stop at the conclusion of just aliens being behind the curtain.

Much like in "Darko," Kelly is fascinated with transportation or more specifically, physical human transport in space and time. In the film, as Arthur and Norma try to figure out if they are indeed the next people to die in Steward's dark game, the image and theory of portals are again brought up. Arthur in particular physically walks through a portal. In this film they are visualized in two steps. First, as free standing blocks of wavering water doors. Then once one passes through them, it's sort of like going through a negative-exposed hyperspace. If you remember in "Donnie Darko" the human portals also were water-like (resembling the tunneling aqua cylinder forms in "The Abyss"). The water in this case is very important. If we are to assume it as a religious image, then we can say that Arthur is baptized after walking through it. And if we are to assume that what he sees as he goes through that portal is "eternal salvation" then it is heaven/the afterlife. And don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to sell some neo-religious-crazy warning to folks. I do think Kelly is very knowledgeable about the human experience and that's why he uses religious archetypes in his work (one could argue that Donnie Darko himself was a Christ-like figure or martyr dying for mankind) in order to tap into people's primal fears or affirmations.

If you run with this idea, and the knowledge of a world of people falling prey to greed (the million dollars) and murder (someone dying when a button is pushed), then perhaps there is no real exit. It is Sartre's realization of a hell above ground, here in life. And if these 'employers' or whatever beings that are running this experiment are offering a second chance to an other worldly existence, then perhaps that is the only salvation. No exit. Just a transport into another life (or form of it).

(left: x-ray of Norma's foot; right: poster for "Donnie Darko")

Some final thoughts. In the film the acronym HREM pops up in the form of a manual (HUMAN RESOURCE EXPLOITATION MANUAL) Arthur obtains, which reveals some of the mechanisms and inner workings of the box units. If you go to the film's official website and thumb around you will eventually be able to actually download a PDF copy of this manual. If you do some real world research you'll find that in practical science terminology HREM really stands for High Resolution Electron Microscopy and according to the Journal of Research of the National Institute of Standards and Technology, "HREM can be used to determine an approximate structural model, with further refinement of the model using much higher resolution powder x-ray or neutron diffraction." Why am I even mentioning this? Because the film goes into lengths with Norma's foot and its missing toes which were a result of a freak x-ray accident (picture at the above left). Consider this: if we replace the "HREM' in this scientific explanation with the "HREM" manual from Kelly's film, then we can say that the box experiment is a way of stripping the human race down to its rawest form--or "approximate structural model"--to see if people are ultimately good (will they press the button or not?).

One last thought has been flirted in some of the critical reviews of the film. Considering you the reader saw the film as instructed at the beginning of this blog entry you would know that at the end of the film, in order to essentially save the life of his son, Arthur must shoot Norma in the heart, obviously killing her. This action coupled with the knowledge that Norma was the one who actually pushed the button (and theoretically authorizing the murder of an individual) has led some to label Kelly as misogynist. Also, a missed clue to this possible theory comes in the serial comic book Walter Lewis (the couple's son) reads called "The Teleporting Man." If we know Arthur teleports in the film, we can mirror him to the character of that comic book--a hero. And if the hero shoots mommy in the heart in order to save a young, innocent life, well there you have it. Frankly, I think that's a bit extreme and if you want to unravel a current film that epitomizes the female individual as the root of natural evil, I suggest dissecting Lars Von Trier's "Antichrist."

Still, for all of its flaws, gaping third act plot holes, Richard Kelly's "The Box" is unlike any other film in the cinemas right now. Going along with the theme of 2009 where Directors stick to their vision whether it is universally celebrated or not (e.g. Spike Jonze's "Where The Wild Things Are" or the Coens' "A Serious Man"), it is assured in its filmmaking and is rarely boring. It's full of (sometimes too many) ideas and has skill to spare. "The Box"--much like that Artur C. Clarke quote at the top of the page--is at times "indistinguishable from magic."

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 02:11 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Years ago, the incomparable A.O. Scott (now of the New York Times, but back then a contributing writer for Slate.com), wrote of Scorsese's films of the prior ['89-'99] decade:

"They substitute intensity for emotion and give us bombast when we want passion. Why do we go to the movies? Pauline Kael used to say it was to be caught up, swept away, surfeited by sensation, and confronted by reality. Some of us keep going to Scorsese's movies because we still want to believe in that, and we leave wondering whether he still does."

As I write this on the last day of August, thus closing the books on summer 2009, I feel as if this was the same sentiment felt by an array of critics and moviegoers toward films like "Inglourious Basterds," "Tetro" and "The Girlfriend Experience." [I'm excluding Ang Lee's "Taking Woodstock" from this discussion because that is a "for-hire" film disguised as a "return to early comedic roots campaign." I mean come on, Lee made ONE English comedy--"Sense & Sensibility"--before heading down deadly serious territory for the next 12 years of his career.]

If you put aside the opening weekend commercial success of Tarantino's "Basterds" (a $30+ million dollar haul, largely due to the name "Brad Pitt" being on every piece of movie merchandise), the general masses were ultimately disappointed with his WWII [dialogue] epic. Editor Keith Phipps of the A.V. Club wrote of the film: "There’s a feast here [...] It’s just been placed on a huge table with no consideration of whether it adds up to a meal."

But "Basterds" got off easy. It was at least a big movie, with large set pieces, countless extras and explosions (people like shit blowing up I've noticed after looking at the near half billion dollar box office receipts from the latest Michael Bay travesty).  Francis Ford Coppola's intoxicating "Tetro" failed to find its audience this summer as well. Though mildly approved as a whole by the film critic party, many felt it too was bloated or as A.O. Scott wrote above, filled with "bombast" in place of "passion" (though I respectfully disagree). Todd McCarthy of Variety wrote: "Coppola's gradual lifting of the dramatic lid over the course of more than two hours frankly feels old-fashioned and labored."  Labored?  "Tetro" is the second self-financed film Coppola has churned out within in the last few years and it is one of his very best films. Yes, it is. The project was a labor of love for the Oscar-winning Director (as well as the first original screenplay he had written since "The Conversation"), and every frame of the mostly black and white film bleeds with a dangerous invitation to personal self-destruction. Anyone who blames the film for having an archetype plot revolving around the torments of a family patriarch should willfully burn their copies of "The Royal Tenenbaums" on the spot. Centered around an award caliber performance by Vincent Gallo, "Tetro" isn't so much a summer fling (of say your normal 4th of July kind of movie) as it is that renegade lover you elope with. It's full of flaws, yes, but every minute of the film is alive and actually echoes some of the work of Pedro Almodovar (especially the full frame color segments which feature ballet dancers who defy gravity) and his tendency to break narrative structure.

It goes back to the impression that Scorsese's "Bringing Out The Dead" left with A.O. Scott ten years ago & the opening quote above.

Though mistakenly perceived by the masses this summer, there will be a time down the road (hopefully soon) where intensity can be seen as an emotion or when bombast can be acknowledged as an abashed passion of sorts. You will be "surfeited by sensation" by Tarantino's "Inglourious Basterds" and the audaciousness of him actually rewriting history. You will be "caught up" with "Tetro" and the family parallels of betrayal. You will be "confronted by reality" as the elite class of America shares the same prostitute all while talking about the Obama-McCain Presidential race in "The Girlfriend Experience."

And that time will come.

And to answer that opening quote: Yes, Tarantino, Coppola & Soderbergh still believe in those elemental powers movies can possess. It's present in the work. It's just that most of you all haven't seen these works. That's all.

Right now, I understand the summer temperament. Give me bullshit, I'll give you attendance. I just checked BoxOfficeMojo.com and the top 2 films this past weekend were "The Final Destination: 3D" and "Halloween II." But as Cameron Crowe wrote in his screenplay for "Vanilla Sky":

"One day...people will read again!"

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Last August, a little movie called "Baghead" surprised the hell out of me and ended up on my best of the year list. You can read my initial reactions to that film here.  Last night, I attended a special screening of "Humpday" featuring a Q&A session with the film's Director Lynn Shelton.  All in all, it turned out to be an exceptional evening.  When you watch a shoestring budget film like "Humpday" it's always somewhat invigorating (at least for filmmakers in the audience) to listen to the newly minted Director talk openly about the process of getting the film "here."

Still, when the film opens in limited release on July 24, 2009 I suspect that a sense of nominal commercial success will be present during each showtime of its run.  Why?  The film is just flat out funny.  It has the kind of nervous laughter in its DNA.  If you walk down the cinema corridors of a multiplex and hear a rise out of an audience from an auditorium, chances are it's not from "Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen" (even though that film cost more than the world to make). 

Already, some have mistaken "Humpday" as the "gay" comedy of the summer. It's anything but.  "Humpday," following the steps of "Baghead," is the latest arrival from America's mumblecore movement.  What was once just a quick and economical way of shooting films (indoors, at friend's apartments, using friend-actors onscreen, etc.) for artists, is starting to come into focus as a major genre.  And a good number of mumblecore films are pretty startling in their honesty.  Aside from "Baghead," "The Pleasure of Being Robbed"--another mumblecore entry--made a special mention place in my year in review of 2008.

"Humpday" stars Joshua Leonard ("The Blair Witch Project") as Andrew, a roaming hunger artist in search of--completion. Of anything. On a late Thursday night he surprises longtime college friend Ben (played by Mark Duplass, very good) by arriving at his new home, thus waking up Ben's more reserved wife Anna (Alycia Delmore).  From this outset, we can sense the potential fish out of water comedy: Andrew will disrupt Ben's normal and controlled life & probably embarass Ben in front of all of his sophisticated friends.  Laughs will roll.

But Writer/Director Shelton sidesteps those predictable plot developments and instead expands on a drunk conversation that Ben and Andrew share on the following Friday night about pornography and the potential of the genre regaining its artistic flair and status.  Of course, when two grown straight men start talking about sex and are intoxicated, a pissing contest is unavoidable.  Eventually some words are slipped, and by morning the two awake to a pact they promised each other to carry out on the coming Sunday: to get a hotel room and make an "art" film (for an upcoming porn film festival) about two straight men showing their love for each other by fucking. Each other.

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 09:49 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

There was a little hub-hub going on here in Chicago years ago, when Soderbergh's production of "Ocean's Twelve" was shooting a scene downtown and some individuals from Columbia College weren't happy with the lack of their 'student as PAs' on set. But you know how rumors go. It would seem ever since the commercial success with outings such as "Erin Brockovich" and "Out of Sight" Steven Soderbergh has been viewed as a "big movie" Director. I mean, he's worked with BIG stars: George Clooney, Julia Roberts, Matt Damn, Brad Pitt, Catherine Zeta-Jones (do I attached a '-Douglas' to her name now?) etc, etc.

So I suppose it's fair to say that when a Soderbergh production rolls into town, people should listen up and get their resumes ready to apply for crew. But his bigger films (as in "Hollywood" type) don't paint the Soderbergh that many of us (at least my colleagues and I) often envision. "Sex, Lies & Videotape." "The Limey." "Bubble." These are the titles for which Soderbergh will be immortalized (oh and also the gargantuan "Che"--which for its scope, is still an enormously personal film). Read more about that film here.

Now this isn't some "Hey I'm cool because I don't like the commercial junk" declaration. I own "Traffic." For all its star power and money, Soderbergh keeps it grounded with his seal of approval. Even with these big budget movies Soderbergh sticks to his indie cavalier roots by breaking union and custom guidelines. For example, when he made "Traffic" he wanted the credits to read "Photographed and Directed by Steven Soderbergh." Of course, they wouldn't have it. The result (and it's been like this ever since) was that Soderbergh came up with fake names to cover his various work in production departments (e.g. Peter Andrews is his DP name).

But in the end, what spurred this entry was a podcast I was listening to on "Sound on Sight" which pretty much had circular whining about Soderbergh's lastest film, the masterful "Che." "Too long" was a phrase I kept hearing and the inane "Soderbergh wanted us to stare at [Che] for four and a half hours so that we learn a bit more about him..." along with other uninteresting banter. Instead of shaking my fist in the air, I thought I'd just say in Soderbergh's defense: He is an artist. Some works you'll like. Some you'll hate. But don't ever marginalize the work in its entirety in an effort to cope with your own disagreements.

And people always overlook that great Oscar speech Soderbergh gave in 2001. It's a cross-section of the filmmaker himself, showing his heart and his mind: SODERBERGH'S OSCAR ACCEPTANCE SPEECH

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But there was some stellar acting. And Sam Rockwell was a big part of that.

The front end of the year was headlined with the great David Gordon Green's "Snow Angels" (read more about it here) a grossly underrated drama that will surely find its place on my year end best list. Rockwell shined brightly in a story that is supremely grim among an exceptional ensemble (Kate Beckinsale and the priceless Nicky Katt included) and the result is simply great.

In "Snow Angels" Rockwell's persona--a simulation of that sneaky and guilty fun con artist he played in "Matchstick Men"--is at a pronounced constraint in every scene he's in. Though his character of Glenn Marchand is a deeply depressed recovering alcoholic, there's a wild spark in his eyes that hints back to an earlier, probably more jovial Glenn. It adds an additional layer of pathos to the dark and disturbing decisions Glenn makes by the film's end.

I'm not saying "Choke" is the next "Fight Club." It's not profound. Many agree, this Palahniuk adaptation is far from perfect but it's a film that solely exists on the effectiveness of its lead performance.

And Rockwell delivers the goods.

Whether he's having "ring around the world" sex on the grimy bathroom floor or feeding his mentally sick mother at her bed, Rockwell gives Victor Mancini a Holden Caulfield spin in that he runs away from his phony family unit to find genuine fulfillment. Only instead of a 1950s New York City, Victor Mancini has to divide his time in between sex addict meetings and shady strip clubs.

Some of the year's biggest laughs come from this destined to be cult classic.

As with the end of any year in film, the holidays are packed with Oscar bait flicks. Sugarcoat Director Ron Howard and his "Frost/Nixon" are no different. "Frost" offers some potent and valid performances from its two lead actors, but audiences will find the supporting players like Rebecca Hall, Oliver Platt and Sam Rockwell as the real treasure.

Rockwell's James Reston, Jr. has the film's best (in this reviewer's opinion) scene: Desperate to articulate his enthusiasm and rationale for assisting with the soon to be taped interview, Rockwell delivers his passionate soliloqouy on the importance of "justice."

He's just great. 

Wait til' next year.

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One of the most frustrating events that can happen when viewing films, is running into a movie that has a great masterpiece inside just screaming to get out. As a matter of fact, it's safe to say that a majority of the conventional family homes' DVD collections are brimmed with these types of titles. Movies we privately know, deep down inside, that could have been flawless had some choices with editing or screenplay touches been dealt with thoroughly.

Now, I know one can stretch this claim to fit EVERY movie; films are subjective obviously. But let us take a look at some high profile ones. I recently watched "Midnight Cowboy" again, on a dreary and cloudy day and the viewing was as fun as having dinner with an old flame. At times you can see what compelled you to single him or her out, but when those ticks or flaws come out, they're overbearing. But there is also a predetermined love present. It's the damndest of a thing.

Voight is very likable (I think his stupidity in the film is actually hearbreaking by the time the third act comes into play) and Hoffman walks away with the infamous "Hey I'm WALKIN' Heeeyaaaw!!" scene while clashing with a NYC taxicab.

But there are the uneven scenes, like the Warholesque party (Ebert expounds on this in his review) but for me, it was the too hazy backstory for the Voight character that killed the movie's greatness. In an attempt to paint Voight as a 60s adult Holden Caulfield, Director Schlesinger makes the fatal mistake of showing too little while telling nothing. The use of black and white and the very unclear editing job serve as a distraction in these scenes when they should be the emotional highpoint. Why else would a cowboy want to become a swaggering prostitute in the Big Apple?

Some other notable "almost great" movies that come to mind are:

-"Black Hawk Down" -- get rid of the Bruckheimer factor and you have a Ridley Scott masterpiece that ranks with "Matchstick Men."

-"The Bridge on the River Kwai"--the William Holden plot never feels the same way twice. And for a movie like this, that's not a good thing.

-"Scent of a Woman"--keep Philip Seymour Hoffman and lose the denouement of that school trial section at the end.

-"Babel"--As much as I loved Rinko Kikuchi's performance, her storyline bogs this film down. The ending is borderline tedious, making you mouth "Get to it already..." while watching that closing scene. Still,  a strong film.

What are yours to add to this list??

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 03:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

You know what I dislike about these activist groups that boycott art or cinema? Most of the time, these individuals haven't even seen the work.  They hear of a controversial topic or racy theme and draw these wild conclusions and make firm, final decisions on the fates of these works. It happened last month with "Tropic Thunder" when word spread that Ben Stiller's character in the film dropped the term "retard" numerous times.  It's like when you hear gossip from someone and act on it right after; without context, ideas and claims seem much nastier.

And now "Hounddog" has found its theater run terminated. AMC (American Multi-Cinema, Inc.) Theatres has decided to remove "Hounddog" from all of its screens across the nation due to a supposed "controversial rape scene" with young starlet Dakota Fanning. This isn't new for AMC. A few years ago they banned "The Aristocrats" from playing on any of their screens. That film (a documentary) had no images of violence or sex. Just lots of swear words.  Ho-hum.  And at least "Tropic Thunder" had enough Hollywood weight to keep itself in theaters long enough to become a bonified blockbuster. Not so much for "Hounddog."  Fortunately, I was able to see a screening of the film before its demise.  And you know what? All the speculation is overplayed. Big time.

If anything, I found the film interesting for all the wrong reasons. Take David Morse's (bless him) distracting wig. It reminded me of Jeremy Irons' fake teeth in Billie August's "The House of the Spirits." What were they thinking??

But back to the rape scene.

I found it oddly gripping. When it came, I found myself smiling at the way Director Deborah Kampmeier chose to shoot it. A close up of Dakota's hand near a rusty nail against the mud or the point of view looking up at a hole in the shed ceiling. Nothing groundbreaking or controversial. Anybody remember the bottle of peroxide and wooden rod used on Charlize Theron's ass in "Monster"? Now that shook the shit out of me.

So why all the controversy? Is it because Fanning is the untouchable Shirley Temple of our time? Or is it more primal--rooted in undisclosed fears of violence on a specified race?

I remember the African American daughter of Samuel L. Jackson in Director Joel Schumacher's "A Time To Kill" getting a bloody and visceral rape scene in that film--bloody feet, rope and all. A real bruiser.  No one made any fuss of her there (or that segment of the film) and I'm pretty sure she was at a younger age at the time than Dakota right now.

But I digress. 

I might piss of some of those activists if I keep talking. 

COMING IN OCTOBER: The Underrated Series 

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"The modestly named "mumblecore" movement in new American indies is not an earthquake like the French New Wave, more of a trembling in the shrubbery."  So says Roger Ebert.

I walked into the Duplass Brothers ("The Puffy Chair") latest film "Baghead" with some reservations.  The mumblecore movement has to be a blessing in disguise and yet I don't know if I want to embrace it just yet.  "Mumblecore" as defined by Wikipedia is "primarily characterized by ultra-low budget production[s] (often employing digital video cameras), [which] focus on personal relationships between twenty-somethings, improvised scripts, and non-professional actors."  In other words, it's the final ploy for aspiring filmmakers to turn to if they can't get the funding they need for their feature films.  Get your friends together.  Get the video camera rolling.   See what happens.

I myself am an aspiring filmmaker.  I guess I'm scared of turning toward the mumblecore movement for reasons of falling short or just coming off as plain amateurishly narcissistic; oh, look at me and my friends...we're so witty and non-commercial.

Then I watched "Baghead."

I must say that after watching this oddly effective and fresh new feature, I just might have to start having some meetings on possibly turning out my own mumblecore film.   But more about "Baghead": It's hard to place it under one categorical heading.  It's part relationship comedy and part creepy killer in the woods.  How this idea could be pulled off in a big Hollywood-sized movie is beyond me, but something small and personal like this proves it can be done.  At the same time, I thought it was great to look at.  I thought it had less camera jerks and blurs than such big budget productions like "Cloverfield" and the grainy video quality is oddly inviting; if it wasn't for the diabolical developments that unfold in the third act, it just might have passed as another underground battle of the sexes.

And yet again, I find myself being vague with the actual plot (if you could even stretch the term to that) of a film.  Sometimes it's good to know as much as possible, as in cases like "The Dark Knight."  But "Baghead" is a little nugget of a gem.  You really need to walk into this one cold.  Dark woods cold.

Scott Tobias, a writer for the A.V. Club and a friend of mine, cleverly concluded in his review of the film: "Baghead is a slight movie by design—a lark about the making of a lark—but it goes further than expected in exploring the core issues of no-budget independent filmmaking and what can or cannot be accomplished. It's also a good argument for picking up a camera and shooting away—provided you have something worth shooting, of course."

You know, I just might have to do that now. 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 07:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Long before "Mulholland Drive" David Lynch was drawing many "WTFs?" from audiences everywhere (well, from places where they actively pursued his work anyway) and his 1977 film "Eraserhead" is a perfect example of Lynch's unusual approach to the medium.

I'm not going to lie; after you watch a film like this, you'll probably want to clench your fists and curse at the screen.  I remember taking one of my younger brothers to go see a 35mm presentation of it and he actually slept for 25 mins of the third act. When he woke up and watched the last scene he turned to me and whispered, "You know, even if I was awake for this last part, I think I'd be just as confused."

But "Eraserhead" is considered art.  Cinematic art.  Lynch hasn't really stepped forward (even though it's been over 30 years since its debut) to orate or explain the film and that's not a problem.  The shot above is how the film opens.  Dark, ominous with imagery that is iconic and heavily unclear.

It wouldn't be inaccurate to call the work a partial silent film, laced with ambient industrial sounds.  If that was the tagline on the poster, it would give viewers a marginal heads up.  Many agree that the film is a twisted biographical examination of Lynch's early adult years when he faced parenthood, marriage and the dry spell of any working hunger artist (though in this film it's referred to as a "vacation").

Jack Nance plays Henry Spencer (the incarnation of Lynch), as a man who is immune to the lifeless world that surrounds him.  There's a frightening indifference in his eyes as he sits in a room, next to a table that is acting as the stubborn crib to his mutant infant son.  Even when he has an adulterous encounter with the lady from across the hall, there's a sort of coldness to his sexual behavior: they literally drown in the center of the bed.

What is Lynch trying to ask or prove in "Eraserhead"?  It's hard to say.  But for me, the film is a scary, Kafkaesque take on the world from the viewpoint of a brilliant Director.  The industrial revolution--at least in the eyes of Henry Spencer--has made the world barren, and ugly.  There is no sunshine, just steam from street sewers.  There are no places of creative employment, just factories for men in "print."  A carnal point is made through a father figure we meet who is very proud to have been a plumber for decades.

And then there's the lady in the radiator (the creepy, puffy-cheeked lady in the pic above).  She creepily sings "In heaven, everything is fine..." at several points.  For me, she was the villain for most of the running time; the face of the industrious, post-modern America with happy logo signs or images (e.g. the Quaker Oats guy) replacing creativity with physical product.

But something strange happens at the end.  I believe Henry is saved by the end.  Many others believe he is destroyed.  I think he is saved due to the bright light that blinds the screen when the lady in the radiator consumes Henry.  The music (or noise) in the film reaches a sort of high point here.

Maybe I was just hoping for a better life for our protagonist.  And if he is destroyed, or "erased" from existence--then maybe that's not a bad thing in Lynch's book either. 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 04:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The peak for Raimi's career as a Director came in this absolute stunner of a thriller back in '98.  It's been ten years now, and the film sticks pack a punch, resonating with every fear of failure that is in us as well as the prospect of problem-solving success/wealth that is consistently elusive to many of us.

"A Simple Plan" tells the story of two brothers, Hank and Jacob Mitchell (played with infinite grace by both Bill Paxton and Billy Bob Thornton) who happen along a crashed private plane while walking through snowy woods.  The plane has a big bag of money.  And a dead pilot.

It would be a perfect getaway; the ultimate stroke of good luck.  The falling snow could always cover their foot tracks and the money is probably drug money.  No one else could lose or get hurt.  Right?

Well, that's where Raimi's superb direction leaves a ticking time bomb: At our wants and hopes for these characters.  There are hindering variables laced throughout the screenplay, like the third person (not the dead pilot) at the discovery of the plane--Lou Chambers, Jacob's close friend, played in a memorable performance by Brent Briscoe.

Each of these players want the same thing: happiness.  In a stroke of irony, it's their own unhappiness with each other (or prejudices you could say) that becomes their own unraveling.  Hank despises Lou; Lou hates Hank's straight and by the books lifestyle; Jacob doesn't agree with Hank's criticism over Lou--well, you get it.

But the wounds cut deeper.  Each individual unveils their true demons when the prospect of future wealth comes into the picture.  We see how Jacob really has been imploding with jealously and failure over the years.  Lou is always front and center with his brutenss, but we see the source of this in a late night scene involving his brash wife.  But Hank is at the epicenter of the film, and Paxton gives him that noble and reassuring aura.  Whenever events start unfurling unexpectedly, our eyes can rest on Hank; he'll get us out of it sooner or later.

But no one is safe in a world where happiness--in a bag full of money--has no official or implemented title or owner.  It's a sick game of hot potato where everyone wants to hold onto it longer than they should.

Bridget Fonda does some good work as Hank's wife, a late-blooming Lady Macbeth you could say.  By the time Gary Cole shows up in the third act and his character's real identity is revealed, it's not much of a twist but more of a scary reminder behind the serious carnage of the money's origin.

Raimi was at the top of his directorial form here.  Unfortunately, these days, his name rings out over the "Spider-Man" trilogy--a collection of films I must admit carry no stature or merit in this cinematic court.  No matter what you say, the "Spidey" films are atrocious--a stunning exercise in banality and wannabe epic moviemaking. Give me "Evil Dead" instead. 

But I haven't forgotten about the Raimi that soared to great heights ten years ago.  Even without spidey-senses.

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 07:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

A new age is on us; the digital revolution is sweeping theatre exhibitors across the country.  There might soon be a time when such dreck as a possible "Soul Plane 2" could very well be in stunning 3-D.  Having recently seen Director Eric Brevig's "Journey To The Center Of The Earth 3D" and experiencing a sleeve-less Brendan Fraser, I was reminded at the cost a film can pay when it is rendered for 3D.  The cost is in the narrative, the plot--the actual merit of the work itself.

This has to be something that is decided early in preproduction.  Before a single frame is filmed.

There's something campy and Saturday morning-ish about movies in 3D.  "Journey" claims to be about the Jules Verne novel, but it uses the premise of the center of the Earth as an excuse to shoot crappy CGI over the audience's heads with some impressive 3D work.  The movie is all spectacle and I cannot imagine watching it without the advantage of 3D.  What a refund demand that must be at the Box Office afterward.

Ebert, however, shared his thoughts in his recent review: "Yes, the movie is available in 3-D in "selected theaters." Select those theaters to avoid. With a few exceptions (such as the authentic IMAX process), 3-D remains underwhelming to me -- a distraction, a disappointment and more often than not offering a dingy picture [...] ("Journey") is being shown in 2-D in most theaters, and that's how I wish I had seen it. Since there's that part of me with a certain weakness for movies like this, it's possible I would have liked it more. It would have looked brighter and clearer, and the photography wouldn't have been cluttered up with all the leaping and gnashing of teeth. Then I could have appreciated the work of the plucky actors, who do a lot of things right in this movie, of which the most heroic is keeping a straight face."

But the film would fail miserably in 2D.  "Journey" on 35mm would surely share a spot near "Zohan" and "Jumper" at the top of 2008's worst films list.

Was "Beowulf" better than "Journey" without 3D?  Yes.  But it was a mediocre achievement. 

But while watching "Journey" there were even coming trailers/attractions that were in 3D.  More and more theatre-chains are converting to digital presentations, which is great.  But the problem is that it gives studios more incentive to slap "3D" on scripts; thus dumbing down the film to only having eye-popping visuals an no other weight.

But that's 3D: A blessing and a curse. 

I wonder if that's why Zemeckis went with the subject matter he chose. 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 02:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

*SPECIAL EARLY REVIEW* 

At a point late in Director Joshua Michael Stern's "Swing Vote" Bill Maher (via a TV screen in a bar) says, "Jesus! Wake up America! Bud Johnson is a dumbass!"

That was pretty much the sentiment I shared by that part of the film.  "Swing" rides on the sheer good faith of its audience: if you can believe that a national Presidential election could reach the point of having the fate of the next leader of the free world rest on one individual's vote, welcome.  I believed it more for the reason that I was looking for an opportunity to confront some real relevant issues on our nation's current state.  Instead, a promising beginning of a narrative deflates into a forgetful coming of age story.  Well, sort of.

That promising start of the film takes place during an early scene inside of a truck, when single dad Bud Johnson (Kevin Costner) and his bright daughter Molly (a talented Madeline Carroll) get to talking about the importance of voting.  Bud claims his single vote will not make a difference [insert your chuckle of irony here] and his tone while delivering these lines conveys a frighteningly realistic attitude felt among the general American public.  It's still baffling, when the numbers come in, to realize how many citizens just don't bother to vote.

It was at this stage that I began to sit up in my seat, hoping that the film would rise to become a bruising comedy that would either grab key sociological issues (like abortion) and cross-section the banalities of their governmental policies--or at least camp it up enough to the point of becoming a searing satire.

Unfortunately, Stern lets his characters run around the screen a lot, quipping here and there, sharing smiles and the occasional cold beer aboard Air Force One. 

The problem here is really Bud Johnson.

He's just a tired catalogue character.  Costner had better notes with his drunk character in the marvelous "The Upside of Anger."  We never really feel compelled enough to believe that Bud is the end all answer of greatness for the active Molly.  So when threats of Molly possibly being taken away from Bud come into the screenplay, we're yawning. 

But the screenplay has other problems.  There are one too many scenes that just don't work.  To name a few: (a) Bud secretly drinks beer at his egg factory job and begins to accidentally knock over stacks of cartons of eggs! Ha ha--right? (b) Andrew Boone's (Kelsey Grammer) pro-gay TV spot is just painful to watch; an 'open-door' policy so that homosexuals won't have to worry about opening the closet door themselves...oh, so clever (c) and Donald Greenleaf's (Dennis Hopper) pro-life TV spot is kind of horrifying.  As Greenleaf walks across a vibrant playground, kids start to POOOFFTTT! and disappear (think of the Nightcrawler special effect from "X2: X-Men United").

There are a few moments that work: Bud's chat with his factory co-workers about "in-sourcing" is amusing and it is just plain old swell to see Judge Reinhold working onscreen.  But for each of the few promising moments, there are about a dozen Bud moments full of his kiddy laughter and one-liners: "Like missiles-n-shit!"  There's also a lot of underage driving going on.  Yes driving.

Nathan Lane does what he can with his scenes and new beauty Paula Patton has this writer eager to see her in fleshier roles.  There's an unnecessary section of the film involving Molly's birth mother that doesn't add up to anything.  As the third act propelled forward I amused myself with the idea of a silly montage sequence showing Bud read each of the letters of mail before the big Presidential debate.  And then that montage happened.

More than anything else, the biggest mistake of "Swing Vote" is that it sells the viewer short of any closure.  We never see the Presidential candidates fully tackle any of the issues.  Hell, we never even see who Bud votes for. 

In the end, it's the theater audience that's going to be demanding a 'recount'--of their ticket dollars.

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 08:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

It's official: Adam Sandler comedies will suck from here on out.  The days of "Billy Madison" and "Happy Gilmore" are long gone.  That promise is empty--deserted, like Sandler's name from today's SNL roster.  In the mid-90s after such displays of manic brilliance in both "Gilmore" and "Madison," the promise of the new goofy comedic lord seemed hopeful.  Even with such froth like "The Wedding Singer" and "Big Daddy," a studio's announcement of the next Sandler comedy vehicle always left moviegoers with a tingle in their bellies that made them giddy with guilty excitement.  The next Sandler flick could possibly rock!

Right?

Well, now it's clear: that glass is always going to be half empty.  Were those two Sandler movies ("Madison," "Gilmore") just flukes? 

His newest film "You Don't Mess With The Zohan" pretty much cemented this deal of damnation.  It easily knocks "Jumper" off of the throne for the year's worst film--so far.  To say that "Zohan" is beyond criticism wouldn't do it justice.  It just doesn't make any sense thematically--or even comically.

But hasn't this day been coming?  Even with the help of such Oscar-talent like Jack Nicholson and John C. Reilly in "Anger Management," Sandler always looked uncomfortable or just lost.  The romantic comedies didn't help make things any easier.  Anyone you know who says "50 First Dates" is acceptable comedic entertainment is simply insane, and in serious Sandler-denial.  Let's not forget "Mr. Deeds" or "Little Nicky"; both are pieces of production value that make any aspiring filmmaker quiver with sickness at the idea of insane amounts of money going to the catering budgets of such atrocities.

So is Sandler himself doomed?  Not at all.

So what if he gives a lukewarm turn in "Reign Over Me."  At least he's trying.  

Remember: when he's on--he's on.  His sole Golden Globe nomination to date came from his devastating dramatic turn in 2002's masterful "Punch Drunk Love" (read about the opening scene to that film here). 

As ticket prices continue to rise, those of us who own worn out copies of "Billy Madison" can only continue to hope that one day down the road, Sandler can return to prime form.

Or at least give Paul Thomas Anderson a call. 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 05:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

"This was a very early test with the sole purpose of just getting some footage to Ben our vfx (visual effects) supervisor to see if our vfx plan for the faces would work. The clip doesn't look or feel anything like the movie, the Wild Thing suit is a very early cringy prototype, and the boy is a friend of ours, Griffin, who we had used in a Yeah Yeah Yeahs video we shot a few weeks before. We love him, but he is not in the actual film...Oh and that is not a wolf suit, its a lamb suit we bought on the internet. Talk to you later..." --Spike Jonze

Not too long ago, this leaked test footage clip found its way online and sparked some more interest in Jonze's upcoming interpretation of the beloved children's book Where The Wild Things Are. Jonze, best known for his films "Being John Malkovich" and "Adaptation," turned in his final cut of the film over to Warner execs in late 2007 --and they weren't pleased.  They found it too dark, and sorely lacking that kid-friendly vibe they were pulling for.

Then there was a test screening, and well, just read some of these audience reactions:

"...Some kids at my screening began to cry and asked their parents to leave, so that should give you an idea."

"The things are not cute. Max comes off a bit weird and off-putting 'He slaps his mom!' and he seems confused and not charming at all."

These Warner execs freaked out so much, that ever since March rumors have been spreading that they might order the ENTIRE film to be reshot (with or without Spike!).  The budget for Jonze's version was said to be around $75 million dollars already. 

In other words, it looks to be that Jonze has made his "Where The Wild Things Are" film into the kind of dark gem that helped distinguish films like Nicolas Roeg's "The Witches" or George Miller's "Babe: Pig In The City" from your average Brian Grazer-produced, cardboard cut out kids flick.  Those involved in Jonze's film, like Oscar winner Forest Whitaker, obviously understood Jonze's original vision for telling the story in a bleak manner.  And now they are speaking out against Jonze's version getting pulled.

Whitaker, after his kids watched Jonze's cut:  

"My children are 9, 11, and 16.  It was intense. They liked it, though. They enjoyed it.  [The dark scenes] are the point of the movie, and I hope that they maintain that point, because I think children can identify with a character who is upset. …[Max] rolls by himself, no father figure; this is a single family home.  His mother ends up having a boyfriend that becomes like a monster to him…people have to build trust with the people their parent starts to date…These are real issues that the character deals with, and I hope that [the filmmakers] continue to explore them, because kids need to see that; they need to see that other kids are dealing with it."

"The thing is, it's one thing to read [scary stuff] in a book, but when you see an itty-bitty kid running alongside a 10-foot-giant on the side of a cliff, it gets intense. But that's the point, because we're representing the things inside of the kid. They represent his struggles, either him being too angry or being confused, or not feeling like he belongs. They're a gargantuan extension of the way he's feeling inside."

 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 02:46 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

In my earlier blog about the viral marketing behind "The Dark Knight" I mentioned Ledger's minimal screen time in the upcoming film.  Nolan has gone on many interviews to insist that "Knight" will not be a Joker origin story; in fact he described the Joker as "an absolute"--someone who more or less cuts through the narrative and blows shit up.  Think of the Scarecrow's role in "Batman Begins."

So where is the emotional stake in the plot going to lie?  With none other than Harvey Dent (played by the "Thank You For Smoking" spin doctor Aaron Eckhart), Gotham's soon to be fallen anti-hero.

According to comic book folklore, Dent's character is horribly disfigured when acid is splashed in his face by a criminal witness in a courtroom trial but if you pay close attention to the new trailer (released on 4-28-08) you'll notice these quick shots:

Obviously Nolan has chosen a more dramatic approach toward Dent's disfiguration as opposed to the comic book, and this just adds to the anticipation.  Surely, "Knight" isn't all that it seems right now.  Currently, fanboys are purchasing clown make-up to dress up like what they think will be a Darth Vader-like villian role in the Joker.  But we know how Nolan is with keeping secrets and not giving away the good stuff.  So Harvey Two Face will go on between now and July on a mum-like buzz.  But when those houselights go down on July 18th, and the plot starts unraveling, we're going to hear a mixture of moans (those angry about the lack of Joker time and/or relevance) and inspired gasps (those willing to trust and take Nolan's direction into the darker passages he'd rather navigate with Dent).

So just how dark?

In a recent interview with the Los Angeles Times, Eckhart helped shed some light: "Harvey Dent has an extremely strong sense of justice. His fiancée (Maggie Gyllenhaal) is killed. He's horribly injured. But he is still true to himself."

Fianceé killed?!  Here's a specific case where we can thank the Joker for his presence in the film:

I'm not trying to break anyone's heart with the Joker either.  Eighteen minutes or eighteen hundred minutes of screen time of Ledger's rendition of the Joker will be sublime.  Just remember it's the former not latter.

Let's just take time to celebrate the return of another iconic villain from the Batman universe.

Eckhart: "There are fans on the Internet who have done artist's versions of what they think it will look like, and I can tell you this: They're thinking small; Chris [Nolan] is going way farther than people think.  To me, this film is about how Batman feels about justice, how he takes care of the city, how he feels about the Joker when he meets him and sees what he is capable of doing. How he feels when Harvey Two-Face takes matters into his own hands. It's not simple, and it gets ugly. I think people will be surprised."

I give you: Harvey Two Face. 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 03:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

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

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. 

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.

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.

 

"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)

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)

This'll be a quick one. 

We all know the hooplah revolving around Ang Lee's "Hulk" film from 2003: the Hulk looked too cartoonish and fake, the jump-editing of the comic strip layout was annoying, there was no real villain (in comic book terms), and yada yada yada. I enjoyed Lee's interpretation and found its bright and energetic storytelling approach as a blessing after being bludgeoned with the banality of "Spider-Man."  Everything from the acting, the original score and the quiet gestures of detail given to the CGI Hulk's face was top-notch, I thought. Sure, fighting oversized poodles isn't the most glam gig for a comic book hero, but it was an origin story nonetheless.  There was a lot of dramatic weight there.

Unfortunately, the box office ticket sales weren't record-breaking worthy to the studio heads and now Marvel, teamed with Universal, has taken a stab at giving the franchise a second wind with "The Incredible Hulk" due in theatres this June.

 
The only problem is that after months of Internet banter and press hype, the new Hulk looks strangely more cartoony and looney than Lee's version.  Aside from having longer hair, this new Hulk rang echoes of the Dr. Henry Jekyll beast from "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" for me.  It didn't help that the trailer, which is now in theatres, featured a not-needed slow motion brawl shot.  Nothing rings parody like slow-motion CGI shots (see "Transformers" for more). 

And Liv Tyler is in it (What is this "Armageddon"?).

Added, just from putting together an idea of story from the trailer, I'm able to currently guess that we as an audience won't see this new Hulk in full action until the very end of the film (think of the ending--and only--battle of "Fantastic Four").  So what's good about this new version?  It has William Hurt, Tim Roth and Edward Norton (Hulk) in it. They should be able to outweigh the prodding blank stares Tyler will no doubt bring.  

Then again maybe new life is what this franchise needs. There's an actual villain (Roth's Abomination) in this film, and the fact that such talents like Roth and Norton were attracted to the project, somehow raises the standards.  Who knows.  Director Louis Leterrier (of "Transporter" fame) could make or break his still ripe career with this. If it does turn out to be a bomb, let's hope these studio heads take note: if you hire a multiple Oscar-winning Director like Lee to make a commercial blockbuster, chances are he'll make it unconventional and unique, so plan on some backlash from the usual armchair critics.

This way you won't make an ass of the man by funding a remake starring Steven Tyler's daughter. 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 12:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

          

The quoted headline, spoken infamously by Gary Oldman in Tony Scott's "True Romance" (pictured left), popped into my head about halfway through Roger Donaldson's "The Bank Job" (pictured right).  "Bank" is out of control.  And apparently it is white boy day.

The kind of "based on a true story" plot that attaches itself to a movie like Donaldson's is the kind that is entertaining to watch unfold, but in retrospect doesn't really make any logical sense--well it does, but it's more of a logic that certain people who die, die and certain people who need to get arrested, get arrested.  That sort of thing.  There's no real emotional attachment between audience and onscreen players.  When a woman is beheaded in front of an already dug grave, it's more for shock value; there's no pathos.  And what's worse is that it really happened to someone.

This shouldn't stop you from watching "Bank" though.  It delivers on its ads: sex, crime, cheeky bastards.  But its an exercise in predetermined chaos; a frenzy of activity that is on train rails headed toward the inevitable conclusion, to be followed by a loud credit sequence.

And so what began as an initial movie review has derailed into a look back at a more successful film in onscreen chaos: "True Romance."  I can't think of any other movie that features a triple-Sonny-Chiba-feature reference, the late Chris Penn as a good guy and Samuel L. Jackson making 'eating pussy' wisecracks, which all culminates into a final product that not only compelled me to purchase it years ago, but continues to draw me back for an occasional viewing. 

Somehow, in the deeply perverse Tarantino screenplay, there was a certain eloquence to the dialogue and the way the two lead lovebirds (Christian Slater and Patricia Arquette) convinced us to see them as more than a violent Bonnie and Clyde duo; to rather see them as a 90s pop-infused pairing of drifting souls aspiring toward a lost era (Slater's devotion to Elvis, for example). 

The carnage that is climaxed to at the end of "True Romance" held a sort of biblical uprising in its passages.  By the end of "The Bank Job" however, though I was happy to see our lead guys catch lucky breaks, I couldn't help but see frontman Jason Statham tease the audience with promised fight moves for an inevitable "Transporter 3" movie.  I didn't see the exciting climax to an otherwise exhausting plot.

Yet in a current world without a fresh Guy Ritchie flick in theatres, "Bank" proves to be a welcomed but mild return for Statham.  At least he's not in a fucking Jet Li movie. 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 07:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

     

 
Just last week one of the very best movies of 2007 came out on DVD: "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford."  Upon purchasing the DVD at my local Blockbuster I noticed that there was a HD-DVD special combo edition to be released later this month.  What was different about that item?  A mild 30-minute featurette on Jesse James.  The standard DVD I was buying just had the movie itself.  Not even a theatrical trailer or teaser.

"Assassination" is not a small movie; it has a big star (Brad Pitt) in the lead role, some outstanding crew members (like Roger Deakins as the Director of Photography), lots of costumes, an ambitious score--pretty much all of it on paper reads like a Focus Features Oscar-Bait movie.  Though the film ultimately succeeds on a level more rewarding than an Oscar-hungry flick like say, "Atonement," and made my top ten list of 2007, the film is given the red-headed stepchild treatment on DVD.  The top of the back of the case cover, where usually some highlighted quotes from critics would appear, is replaced by a generic line of plot summary.

This isn't some new trend in Hollywood.  Last summer saw the DVD release of "Zodiac" David Fincher's superior film on the nature of obsession (in this case identifying a killer) and that too found itself stripped of any good extras.  No theatrical trailer there either.

Although "Zodiac" eventually received it's 2-disc treatment in January of 2008 (almost five months after its original DVD release date), consumers and avid film buffs found themselves shelling out another twenty-plus bucks to buy that edition.  And what about the single-disc they bought this past summer?

Obviously there's money to be made in DVD sales.  Films these days are finding shorter and shorter theatrical run spans, as Hollywood keeps pumping multiplexes with everything from 3-D Disney concerts to films that have catchphrases like "From 2 of the 6 writers of "Scary Movie.""  This pushes closer DVD release dates and thus has boatloads of movies spilling out every DVD Tuesday.  Then again, the best way to ensure sales is to keep the consumer coming back to purchase content they can't pirate or buy bootlegged.

I get that part.

But what about the rest of us, who faithfully watch the films in the cinema, eagerly await their DVD debut and then have to wrestle with our own feelings regarding buying it right away or waiting up to a half a year (sometimes longer) just to see some behind-the-scenes snippets?

This also brings up an idea to another topic that I probably won't get into but is worth getting into: How the hell does "The Mummy" (1999) have a handful of DVD editions (even an "Ultimate Edition") that have accumulated up until now?

Who is buying this crap? 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 02:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

If you look at "what's hot" on today's billboard charts, you'll find such forgetful tunes as "Low" by Flo Rida featuring T-Pain and "Sensual Seduction" by Snoop Dogg (I know, the artists' names alone would make for more interesting songs).  It's sad really, that my kid sister can listen to an artist who is her age (16) and dance to lyrics of 'baby mamas' and 'text messaging your bitch.'  Radio stations have discovered the repeat button on their modules and play the same 'hit' song on an hourly basis; MTV still does not air complete music videos. 

We live in a time where I am terrified to grow any older.  What am I going to brag to my grandkids about my music era?  Oh, you should have been there for Janet Jackson's nipple-exposé!  The group New Found Glory put the Chipmunks' winy voices to shame!  Yes, I am aware of some great talent we currently have.  The Killers are sublime.  The Strokes (sure they peaked a bit too early) are unmatched in their distinct scratchy sound.  Norah Jones has the voice of an angel.  Thank God we had Outkast, still giving rap that much-needed savvy edge.  But no current groups have carried century-changing music that has been accepted by the masses.  Nothing like The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan and say, The Beatles.

A movie like Director Julie Taymor's "Across The Universe" is a treasure to behold.  Musicals, in general, are usually structured around a handful of heartless scenes that countdown to choreographed musical numbers.  The funny thing is that the actors in standard fare Hollywood musicals usually sound very different when they sing (from their normal voices). 

That was then. 

Taymor's "Universe," is revolutionary in its execution of music and story.  This is not a Beatles biopic.  It's the story of Jude, a Liverpool native who comes to the States looking for his biological father.  It's the 1960s, and America is going through a revolution: the Vietnam draft, the psychedelic orgy of drugs and sex, race riots and a radical celebration of music and art.  What better soundtrack to build a story like that around than The Beatles?  The opening chapters of the film use select tunes from the albums "A Hard Day's Night," "With The Beatles," and "Help!" while the closing chapters find their inspriations from "The White Album," "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club" and "Abbey Road" (among others).

And here the actors' dialogue voices actually sound like their singing voices and that's because Taymor had the actors sing their songs live on the spot (with an earpiece in their ears playing the actual Beatles songs).  Thus the result isn't a movie full of watered-down scenes broken up by extravagant Broadwayesque stage numbers; rather the music and songs serve as an extension of the dialougue.  It is at once nostalgic to watch and dazzling to discover.

I admire the film very much (it tied for no. 2 on my top ten list for 2007).  Even now, with the film on DVD, there are still idiots that come up to me and say, "How can you like "Across The Universe"?"  I usually ask then, "Well, what about it didn't you like?"  There answers varied from "I don't think Evan Rachel Wood is that pretty," to "They didn't sing "Eleanor Rigby"!"  Oh brother.

Stephen Holden, of the New York Times, perhaps best justified overlooking snippets of "Universe" that aren't perfect: "Somewhere around its midpoint, “Across the Universe” captured my heart, and I realized that falling in love with a movie is like falling in love with another person. Imperfections, however glaring, become endearing quirks once you’ve tumbled."

Now do yourself a favor, and turn off that garbage on your iPod and go watch "Across The Universe."  You'll find yourself downloading a whole new slew of tunes.  Good ones.

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 02:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

There's something about raw, uninterrupted footage that holds a deeper meaning and truth than something with a highly stylized compilation of sound effects and cool video transitions would.  Directors Bill Guttentag and Dan Sturman have created a documentary that closely illustrates the struggle between the voice of the subject under observation and the voice of the docu-filmmaker. "Nanking" an 88-minute heartbreaking look at a highly-overlooked moment in history when Japan invaded the city in December of 1937 (pre-Pearl Harbor days) and conducted a massacre of over 250,000 Chinese civilians (many women and children) and ex-soldiers over the course of a handful of weeks.

First the good: "Nanking" boldly lets minutes of footage roll at a time, sometimes without voiceover, of Chinese victims burning alive, being beheaded, or getting dragged away to get raped.  And I don't mean these are "good" incidents, but rather good in the aesthetic choice to let the images speak for themselves, plainly.  Nothing is more startling than watching it unfold, in horror, in real time.  Another well-thought out choice was the swiftness in the script: there are less than ten talking heads of actual Chinese survivors describing their horrid stories of survival and loss.  This isn't a Ken Burns spectacle; think of Tim Blake Nelson's "The Grey Zone" where we have a more intimate story set in front of a scope of war.

Diverse aesthetic choices both bless and plague this doc, however.  When the actual survivors are not on the screen, the Directors have inexplicably decided to tell the parts of the story that concern the expatriates (American missionaries, doctors, college professors, and a Nazi affiliate) who helped in the saving of an innumerable amount of lives, through modern Hollywood actors reading the actual letters and memoirs of those individuals.  It's the weirdest of an experience watching it.  I don't mind the dramatization of hard materials, but having a Hollywood actor, dressed in the same garment of the person they are representing, and reading off a cue card into a camera (shot from the shoulders up) plays like an awkward SNL skit at times.  Sometimes it's embarassing to watch.  Watching Jurge Prochnow play Josh Rabe (the Nazi affiliate) read a cue card (you can tell by his skewered eye direction) is both off-putting and tremendously fake.  Other times, it's down right creepy.  Mariel Hemingway as Minnie Vautrin overdoes her reading, and is borderline parodying the role Vautrin played in the ordeal.  Her squinted eyes at certain syllables in her lines almost help her reach an iambic pentameter in her oration; she should have had a skull in one of her hands, in the manner of Hamlet.  Other players like Jon Getz ("Blood Simple"), Stephen Dorff ("Blade"), and Woody Harrelson (one-time auteur of the oxygen bar) are harmless but the whole gimmick is just--well, a gimmick.

The documentary could have sat next to such iconic and important docs like "Hearts & Minds" had it stuck to the bare bones material: actual incident-associated talking heads, uncompromising footage and tight editing. Again, I'm all for voiceovers and dramatizations, but here with this Hollywood stage trick--it just doesn't play.  Think of that scene in "No Direction Home" where Scorsese's voice is heard reading Bob Dylan's speech at the Emergency Civil Liberties Committee, while actual photos from the event are keyframed across the screen. Now imagine that same scene played out with Scorsese, actually sitting in front of the camera, dressed like Dylan, harmonica and all, reading the speech into the camera.  Not too appealing.

Again, I don't want to detract too much from the overall importance of the doc.  It's a stunning story and a reminder to the triumph of human moral victory (to think that as many refugees were saved near the close is as astounding as the huge number that were slaughtered in the weeks before) but it doesn't need Billy from "White Men Can't Jump" in it, at all.

Guttentag and Sturman pay respect to the voice of their subject, but they make the fatal mistake of letting their misled stylistic impulses get the best of them. 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 11:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

This one is going to be short.

I was out an establishment watching, or at least amusing myself with, the superbowl and its shower of superlative TV spots.  Somehow, by the divine power of alcohol, someone started bragging about "Juno" being the best movie of the year, and one of the greatest movies ever.

I frowned, shook my head and cried out, "What?!"

I looked over at a colleague of mine, to see if I was just hearing things.  He made a face.  

He must have heard it too.

I looked over at the clan, or should I say group of of morbidly misinformed TMZ watchers, and (even though I was butting in on the conversation) said, "Don't even get me started on that whole craze of "Juno"; it's by now grossly overrated--I still admire its cute approach to essentially serious material.  Yet it's nothing special or is nowhere of being an exceptional piece of the cinema."

"Well, what's a great movie?" one of the voices bellowed.

"Try "Stroszek" Directed Werner Herzog," I quipped.  

"What?  What is that from like the 80s...(laughter)..?" more of the group taunted.

I stood there motionless.  It's actually from 1976, I thought.  Is this the world we live in now?  More people know what "Hannah Montana: The Best of Both Worlds in 3-D" is, but not what quintessential art is?

Woe is me.

And for those of you reading this sheerly for the fact of recognizing the still shot up above, well then my hat's off to you.  May you spread your seed.

And shit, it's not that short now. 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 02:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Daniel Day-Lewis dedicated his SAG Best Actor award this past Sunday to the late Heath Ledger (Oscar nominee for "Brokeback Mountain"), honoring Ledger's distinct body of work; he also cited the fascinating character Ledger portrayed in "Monster's Ball."  As Day-Lewis spoke during the press conference about Ledger's death ultimately being "none of our business" I felt greatly appreciative towards the remark. 

During the immediate days following Ledger's untimely death, a flood of media speculation circled around the notion of whether or not he committed suicide or if it was related to his split from Michelle Williams.  And if you weren't watching TV, then the online fan community bombarded message boards with outcries on the fate of the upcoming Batman sequel, "The Dark Knight"--to which Ledger is playing The Joker.

Maybe I'm just weird, but the last thing on my mind was the fate of a comic book franchise, that will inevitably continue on.  My initial reaction to the death was simple shock that then receded into sadness.  I never held Ledger to a godly status, but I was convinced that he was in the beginning stages of setting himself into an elite class of thespians (Philip Seymour Hoffman, Brian Cox for example) that worked outside the box of Hollywood formula; actors that stuck to their guns and achieved a more artful success.  We shouldn't focus on his personal life--we have no say or position to do so.  Instead, it would prove more useful to focus on the art and the craft of Ledger.  I thought of Ledger's performance as one of the incarnations of Bob Dylan in the masterful "I'm Not There," and began to treasure his talent a bit more.  There was something happening here.

Yet, it all ends there as well.  Ledger's all-together eclectic chapters of work will find its epilogue this summer in Director Christopher Nolan's Batman film, and though no preliminary screenings have taken place, already there is an enormous sense of something special that was going on felt from just soundbites (from which this blog's title is taken) and early theatrical trailers of the film.  How exciting, to have had one of the most promising of young actors to take a risk in embodying an immortalized comic book character, and going totally against norms and expectations (that's not lipstick across his cheeks...) in order to elevate material to art--which is what the artist's who will ultimately stand out aspire to do.

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 11:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It's been almost a month now since I first saw Director Matt Reeves' much anticipated "Cloverfield."  I sat in on a special screening a good three weeks before its national release.  There was to be no discussion about the film.  Not on any internet sites or blogs until after the film's premiere.  Weeks passed. 

Once the film opened this past Friday, I rolled my sleeves in anticipation to share my thoughts.  I sat in front of a blank screen. 

I forgot about the film already.

The thrill of the mysterious thing attacking the city was gone (I still don't know how to describe that monster), the novelty of the cinéma vérité teaser trailer from July had worn off, and I was sort of pissed that Hud (the camera guy) never used the letterbox feature on his mini-DV camcorder.

I went back and watched it again (in a digital presentation that was spoiled because the film is shot on handheld camcorders, thus leaving the permanent grainy look during the night scenes) and noted some new findings.

1) The film, more or less works, because it has convinced itself that nothing terrible will happen.  The opening shaky shots in a ritzy midtown apartment, on a trip to Coney Island, in a neighborhood store and at an entertaining surprise party, are so warm and authentic that we, as an audience, fool ourselves into thinking that we're NOT watching "Cloverfield."

2)Thus, when shit starts to go down (brilliantly executed during a fire escape dialogue scene), we're in it for the long (actually short, it's not even 90 minutes!) haul. 

3) Hud, the camera guy, (like it or not) saves the film in many ways.  Yes, he says corny lines.  Yes, he wants the untouchable girl.  Yes, he blesses the camcorder with a remarkably charged battery life.  But he also is our eyes and ears to the film.  When he yells, so do we.  When breaks the tension with a joke, we are grateful he did.  And when he is crying out for dear life in a spiraling helicopter, damn it, we are hooked by the gut.

4) If it wasn't for the stupid idea of trying to rescue a soon-to-be-dead ice queen, the film would be 28 minutes long.

5) I know I saw a "Slusho" ad on a TV screen in the electronics store, and still find no significance in it.

6) Hank Azaria is not the camera guy in this movie.  Grateful for Hud now?

7) That shot at Coney Island, during the film's close, paid a sort of ironic payoff, that I must admit went over my head during my first screening of the film.  Look out at the right side screen, just by the white boat, and you'll know what I mean.

8) I forgot about the movie again by the time I was done peeing in the men's restroom.

I don't know what to make of this. 

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 11:16 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I guess I can't ignore it any longer or at least pretend that it doesn't bother me: Roger Ebert broke my heart.  Since the debut of Paul Thomas Anderson's "Hard Eight" some years ago, Ebert more or less has been my go-to-critic that would expertly nail down what I could only try to muster out, when it came down to explaining why Anderson's films would arguably be the best films of their own years--and in celebrating the presence of a born filmmaker that is sure to rank among the greats when the time for reflection comes.  If you have read my review of "There Will Be Blood" then you know I admire the film greatly and believe it is the best film of 2007.  However, I screened the movie back in November knowing I would have to wait until the January of the new year before I could read the eloquent prose Ebert would lend to Anderson's masterpiece.

Then January came.  Ebert's review of the film--expertly written as always--lacked that enthusiasm for the material.  While reading it I couldn't help but notice that although Ebert was recommending the film (he gave it three and a half stars out of four), it almost felt that he wasn't too thrilled about it.  "A force beyond categories," he called it.  That's something.  I was more alarmed at his, "Watching the movie is like viewing a natural disaster that you cannot turn away from. By that I do not mean that the movie is bad, any more than it is good," statement.  Did we see the same movie?

I suppose this can be tied in with "Blood's" omission from Ebert's coveted top ten films of the year list.  "The Great Debaters," another made for TV Hallmark classic made the cut, but the great American masterpiece of "Blood" was not even handed a special jury prize from Ebert?  Something was not right here.

Then came the juxtaposition to "Citizen Kane."  It was inevitable that Ebert would touch upon this during his review, as a boatload of other critics have already made the comparison.  Ebert said, ""There Will Be Blood" is no "Kane" however. Plainview lacks a "Rosebud." He regrets nothing, misses nothing, pities nothing..."  And for one of the closing statements, he went ahead and claimed that, ""There Will Be Blood" is the kind of film that is easily called great. I am not sure of its greatness."

The "rosebud" statement is an error.  To equate what a childhood sled meant for a newspaper tycoon with something that would matter to a relentless turn of the century oil man requires some serious rearranging of motifs and augmenting of themes.  Daniel Plainview indeed has his "rosebud."  It is in his role of his young son H.W. 

Charles Foster Kane is someone we meet in "Citizen Kane" at a very young age.  We know he goes through life longing for that lost childhood he was crudely stripped from.

Daniel Plainview is someone we are thrusted into joining, deep within the pit of the bloody earth.  We do not know where this man comes from, or what life events have shaped him into what he is.  We just know he hates people.  Why?  He dabbles in some drunken explanation.  Yet, as educated audience members, we'd rather see it than be told why.  We see it in the way he looks at people.  We see it in his disappointment with organized religion.  We see it burning in his eyes when he encounters someone pretending to be his brother.

Plainview, one of the most fascinating characters of modern cinema, was also probably stripped away from an ideal childhood--but he wasn't nestled under the tutelage of any one mentor to grow into becoming an industry success story.  He was most likely thrown onto barren lands, alone, and with odds not on his side;  we are to believe this given brother Henry Plainview's background from his diary.  This family background was not a Brady Bunch scenario, but rather a rugged, tough every-person-for-themself lifestyle--that both Daniel and Henry exemplify.  For such a barbaric force of nature to strike sudden success, it is no wonder that Daniel is uneasy around people once placed back into civilized, restrained quarters.  I'd love to see Kane not twitch his eye or mumble thoughts to himself while rubbing shoulders with the tuxedo clan of the print world after going through what Plainview has. 

So in other words, when Plainview acquires H.W. as a son, he more or less has found his "rosebud"; that artifact that connects Plainview to what he has lost--family.  It just so happens that Plainview is stripped of his "rosebud" at an adult age, and we can forgive that fact if we consider Plainview's birth (in cinematic terms) to occur once he rises, soaked in the blood of the earth, from the very well that has tied his fate to a career as an oil man.

And as a resentful old tycoon to lose his only strand to family and affection (the adult H.W. decides to leave) ultimately puts Plainview into the same room of despair with Kane.  While Kane went out with a whimper and a broken snowglobe, Plainview's final plight before doom goes out with a bang, thus aligning alongside the famous line of "Rosebud" a new wholly iconic line: "I'm Finished."

Posted by nelsoncarvajal at 11:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)