Seen 4/27/15
3/4
My second Woody Allen exposure, after Annie Hall, is many orders of magnitude darker, and in my opinion, noticeably better. Annie Hall was a film so full with Woody Allen witticisms there wasn't much room for anything else. Crimes and Misdemeanors, on the other hand, puts Allen as an actor as only half of the lead, inserts a large amount of pure philosophy, conveys real emotion and darkness through its story and characters, and leaves out most of the clever intellectual jabs that had no human element behind them. This film is much more profound and striking; it deals with similar existential questions as Annie, but gives the issues power, rather than treating them as purely an endeavor of intellectual entertainment. There is murder, mental illness, despair... And the philosophy is fascinating. Woody Allen proves himself to be a profound mind with all the thought he places so skillfully into this story. I liked the film quite a bit, and found it thoroughly interesting, funny, intelligent and meaningful.
Monday, April 27, 2015
Friday, April 24, 2015
Review: Planet Earth
Ep. 1: From Pole to Pole
Seen 4/24/15
3/4
The BBC's nature doc is off to a terrific start.
The feel of this 2006 British series is a bit dated and distant compared to its competitors; however, that shows up mostly just in the narration and the musical score. The age of the filming itself is hardly noticeable, at least to my somewhat-uneducated eyes. We have become greedy nowadays, with the Hollywood big-budgeters and Terrence Malicks of the world lighting up the screen in blinding color. Of course, watching BBC depict nature's glory with the definition of modern film would be something like heaven, but I'm willing to cope.
The most incredible part about the series so far is the filmmakers' ability to capture the intimate, the colossal, and the isolated parts of nature. It is unbelievable to me how this could have happened, and I plan to watch the accompanying special features sometime in my life.
The first episode began at the South Pole, jumped up to the North quickly and then worked its way all the way back down while our tough old Emperor penguins were bearing their winter. There were numerous predator-prey stories-- a staple of nature-documentary-filmmaking. Shockingly, the first such instance, which arrives right at the start of the film, ended in an unsympathetic victory of evil! The predator caught its lovable prey, bit into it, and the narrator moved on to an entirely different biome! It was fascinatingly heartless. Similar things happened throughout the show, and what I learned is a necessity to see nature as victimless. If you go through this whole series believing that there are good guys and bad guys, you are bound to be depressed beyond rescue by the end. It is almost not enough to accept "Nature is tough. Survival of the fittest." You must see how easily we are psychologically pulled as viewers of a nature documentary, and that none of the morality we attach to the events onscreen is legitimate. Zero.
With this in mind, it becomes respectable how willing the film is to show what we would consider horror. It's not that it doesn't accelerate in us an emotional pulse (it does this with the dramatic musical score, and the choice of who to film and in what environment cunningly creates good and evil)--- it's that the pulse is created and propelled with such force that when it comes to a screeching halt in the terrifying death of a cute animal, which is handled with such intentional nonchalance, we are left breathless and devastated.
I respect this and I don't want it, all at the same time. The tragedies really don't feel good, but it is probably necessary education for the sheltered individuals who will be watching this, including me.
The most fulfilling part of the film for me is simply the exposure to nature--- different kinds of animals, interesting and foreign biomes, universal amorality.... This is a new and extremely valuable part of my intellectual life, I am realizing. I will surely continue this path, and with great joy, interest, and self-development. The quality of the filmmaking is secondary; the exposure to nature entirely makes this experience.
Seen 4/24/15
3/4
The BBC's nature doc is off to a terrific start.
The feel of this 2006 British series is a bit dated and distant compared to its competitors; however, that shows up mostly just in the narration and the musical score. The age of the filming itself is hardly noticeable, at least to my somewhat-uneducated eyes. We have become greedy nowadays, with the Hollywood big-budgeters and Terrence Malicks of the world lighting up the screen in blinding color. Of course, watching BBC depict nature's glory with the definition of modern film would be something like heaven, but I'm willing to cope.
The most incredible part about the series so far is the filmmakers' ability to capture the intimate, the colossal, and the isolated parts of nature. It is unbelievable to me how this could have happened, and I plan to watch the accompanying special features sometime in my life.
The first episode began at the South Pole, jumped up to the North quickly and then worked its way all the way back down while our tough old Emperor penguins were bearing their winter. There were numerous predator-prey stories-- a staple of nature-documentary-filmmaking. Shockingly, the first such instance, which arrives right at the start of the film, ended in an unsympathetic victory of evil! The predator caught its lovable prey, bit into it, and the narrator moved on to an entirely different biome! It was fascinatingly heartless. Similar things happened throughout the show, and what I learned is a necessity to see nature as victimless. If you go through this whole series believing that there are good guys and bad guys, you are bound to be depressed beyond rescue by the end. It is almost not enough to accept "Nature is tough. Survival of the fittest." You must see how easily we are psychologically pulled as viewers of a nature documentary, and that none of the morality we attach to the events onscreen is legitimate. Zero.
With this in mind, it becomes respectable how willing the film is to show what we would consider horror. It's not that it doesn't accelerate in us an emotional pulse (it does this with the dramatic musical score, and the choice of who to film and in what environment cunningly creates good and evil)--- it's that the pulse is created and propelled with such force that when it comes to a screeching halt in the terrifying death of a cute animal, which is handled with such intentional nonchalance, we are left breathless and devastated.
I respect this and I don't want it, all at the same time. The tragedies really don't feel good, but it is probably necessary education for the sheltered individuals who will be watching this, including me.
The most fulfilling part of the film for me is simply the exposure to nature--- different kinds of animals, interesting and foreign biomes, universal amorality.... This is a new and extremely valuable part of my intellectual life, I am realizing. I will surely continue this path, and with great joy, interest, and self-development. The quality of the filmmaking is secondary; the exposure to nature entirely makes this experience.
Monday, April 20, 2015
Review: Razor's Edge
Seen 4/20/15
0.5/4
This movie is either very smart, or absolutely stupid--the stupidest movie I have seen in months or years. I'm pretty convinced of the latter.
What it depends on is whether or not it knows it's terrible, incoherent, amoral, ridiculous in every sense... and this largely relies on Bill Murray, who starred and co-wrote the script. Does he know that he gave one of the worst performances I have ever seen in a movie? Does he know that his script adaptation omits every bit of sense that I'm sure the novel granted the characters and plot, and ends up looking like a giant, disgusting heap of garbage?
If the filmmakers had any idea what they were doing, I would applaud them infinitely for their subtlety. If there is anything to this movie (disregarding what it robs [not takes, robs] from the book), it is disguised as an unforgivably unenjoyable and worthless piece that cannot be considered art, nor entertainment, nor even film.
I'm serious.
I could not stand a second of this movie. I watched it in an Existentialism class and wanted to leave, literally, after the first five minutes. But I stuck on, trying to pull some philosophy from it, or to find some sort of coherency in the mess. All I could possibly find was what was obviously straight from the novel. I can see how a couple of lines would work in a sensible rendition of the story, and the story itself would be alright with good direction. But it's as if Bill Murray stole three famous lines from an acclaimed novel and wrote in a bunch of stupid Bill Murray jokes and then pretended to act for two hours. I can't believe it.
Either this movie is crap, or I'm wrong and should never review another film.
I'm serious.
~~To clear something up, I was saying that this movie is only forgivable if it knows how bad and senseless it is--- by this I mean that if its objective is to be absurd and amoral, as is the case with most existentialist films, then it is doing its job, and doing it with amazing subtlety. If that is the case, then I respect it highly. But I am convinced otherwise. I think that the only existentialism came from W. Somerset Maugham, and the movie ruined itself. I think that the writers and actors and director are not talented, and perhaps even committed a poor and inaccurate reading of the text. I can't think of a greater sin in cinema.
0.5/4
This movie is either very smart, or absolutely stupid--the stupidest movie I have seen in months or years. I'm pretty convinced of the latter.
What it depends on is whether or not it knows it's terrible, incoherent, amoral, ridiculous in every sense... and this largely relies on Bill Murray, who starred and co-wrote the script. Does he know that he gave one of the worst performances I have ever seen in a movie? Does he know that his script adaptation omits every bit of sense that I'm sure the novel granted the characters and plot, and ends up looking like a giant, disgusting heap of garbage?
If the filmmakers had any idea what they were doing, I would applaud them infinitely for their subtlety. If there is anything to this movie (disregarding what it robs [not takes, robs] from the book), it is disguised as an unforgivably unenjoyable and worthless piece that cannot be considered art, nor entertainment, nor even film.
I'm serious.
I could not stand a second of this movie. I watched it in an Existentialism class and wanted to leave, literally, after the first five minutes. But I stuck on, trying to pull some philosophy from it, or to find some sort of coherency in the mess. All I could possibly find was what was obviously straight from the novel. I can see how a couple of lines would work in a sensible rendition of the story, and the story itself would be alright with good direction. But it's as if Bill Murray stole three famous lines from an acclaimed novel and wrote in a bunch of stupid Bill Murray jokes and then pretended to act for two hours. I can't believe it.
Either this movie is crap, or I'm wrong and should never review another film.
I'm serious.
~~To clear something up, I was saying that this movie is only forgivable if it knows how bad and senseless it is--- by this I mean that if its objective is to be absurd and amoral, as is the case with most existentialist films, then it is doing its job, and doing it with amazing subtlety. If that is the case, then I respect it highly. But I am convinced otherwise. I think that the only existentialism came from W. Somerset Maugham, and the movie ruined itself. I think that the writers and actors and director are not talented, and perhaps even committed a poor and inaccurate reading of the text. I can't think of a greater sin in cinema.
Saturday, April 18, 2015
Review: Only God Forgives
Seen 4/18/15
2/4
This movie is as shallow and pornographic as it gets. Nicolas Winding Refn crafts his revenge-fantasy film out of a quiet Ryan Gosling character, weird Bangkok imagery and senseless violence (which is insane, and is the best part of the movie).
Only God Forgives has much of what made Drive great--- the epic brutality, the surrealism, the electro-dance music, the slow-motion, the mysteriousness of Gosling's character... but what it's fatally missing is the heart and the light that Drive had. I remember loving Gosling's character in that movie. He was a "real human being, and a real hero", as the song goes. Only God Forgives takes the cheap aspects of that character and trashes the soul. In fact, nobody in this film is human. There is no heart to this movie, and no connection with the audience, so that the only thing we hope to see happen is not success or redemption for a character we love, but rather more brutality, because we know that's all Refn is going to give us.
If there was more violence, I would have liked the movie more. What I didn't like is watching the devil-character sing cheesy Thai-pop songs, or watching the mother speak in her vulgar American terms. What I'm saying is, if Refn is going to go to these extremes of violence and mystique, I'd rather he went all the way and didn't try to do anything else with the movie, like develop a disturbing mother-son relationship, or give Gosling's character any sort of personality. It's wasted energy.
I guess what is interesting is Julian's sense of morality. He won't kill the man that murdered his brother if he feels that the man was justified, and he would kill his partner over a child. He makes clear moral decisions. But yet, he would cut open the stomach of his dead mother and stick his hand inside. He clearly has an ultimate affection toward her, probably over anything in the world. When Mai disrespects her, he screams maniacally.
The film is cool in some ways, and at 89 minutes it's worth putting in one's catalogue, but beyond that there's not much to be had.
Only God Forgives has much of what made Drive great--- the epic brutality, the surrealism, the electro-dance music, the slow-motion, the mysteriousness of Gosling's character... but what it's fatally missing is the heart and the light that Drive had. I remember loving Gosling's character in that movie. He was a "real human being, and a real hero", as the song goes. Only God Forgives takes the cheap aspects of that character and trashes the soul. In fact, nobody in this film is human. There is no heart to this movie, and no connection with the audience, so that the only thing we hope to see happen is not success or redemption for a character we love, but rather more brutality, because we know that's all Refn is going to give us.
If there was more violence, I would have liked the movie more. What I didn't like is watching the devil-character sing cheesy Thai-pop songs, or watching the mother speak in her vulgar American terms. What I'm saying is, if Refn is going to go to these extremes of violence and mystique, I'd rather he went all the way and didn't try to do anything else with the movie, like develop a disturbing mother-son relationship, or give Gosling's character any sort of personality. It's wasted energy.
I guess what is interesting is Julian's sense of morality. He won't kill the man that murdered his brother if he feels that the man was justified, and he would kill his partner over a child. He makes clear moral decisions. But yet, he would cut open the stomach of his dead mother and stick his hand inside. He clearly has an ultimate affection toward her, probably over anything in the world. When Mai disrespects her, he screams maniacally.
The film is cool in some ways, and at 89 minutes it's worth putting in one's catalogue, but beyond that there's not much to be had.
Review: The Tree of Life
Seen 4/17/15
3.5/4
It would be accurate to call this film a cinematic poem, or a meditation. It doesn't follow the conventions of film very closely, making for a fantastically original and tantalizing experience. The first hour or so is like a revolution-- a gorgeous piece of art, painted by a genius. That genius would be Terrence Malick. It involves ethereal reflections on death, grief and God's apparent absence from the happenings of our world. The end of this section spirals into a breathtaking display of humanity's place in the universe next to the awesome and raging power of God. After about an hour, the film focuses on the family it had previously only shown in sweeping philosophical abstractions. It is a family in small-town Texas, around the '50s or '60s, with a few boys, a soft and caring mother, and a menacingly authoritarian father. The whole family is built around a fear for displeasing him, and what's probably the point of this section is to show the effects that has on the growth of his eldest boy.
After this relatively slow section (it's the movie's low-point), it flies back into its human-nature meditation-poetry. It would be interesting to watch the movie again and try not to cut it into three sections, but rather to fully integrate them all into one cohesive picture. I do believe that this film is cohesive and coherent--- it's not just visual rambling. The opening shot is a passage from Job, who is punished arbitrarily, despite his faithfulness, and doubts God because of it. God responds with an onslaught of accusations, the one shown in this movie being along the lines of 'where were you when I formed the Earth, and all the angels were singing my name?'. This opening passage reveals for the movie the theme of humanity's ant-like existence against the size and might of God, and also the existential question of how divine punishment and praise can be distributed arbitrarily.
I call the film a poem because of its excessive imagery, included not for the sake of plot or with any rational connection, but as the abstract images and emotions that seem to surround a theme. This is like what poets do in their writing.
I call it a meditation because it has some clear themes, but Malick explores them not by writing a film that sits cleanly within them. He doesn't cheat. Rather, I think he has some ideas about humanity and God, and so he sets up the ideas in the first part and then paints an objective picture of a family to see whether or not the ideas correspond to reality. It is a passive and objective filming, with some ideas in mind, so it is something like a meditation.
The film is beautiful and powerful-- watching it is an experience rich with awe and amazement. There may be no other film which explores philosophical themes in such uniquely poetic terms, and so for all its seemingly aimless story, I call The Tree of Life an excellent movie.
3.5/4
It would be accurate to call this film a cinematic poem, or a meditation. It doesn't follow the conventions of film very closely, making for a fantastically original and tantalizing experience. The first hour or so is like a revolution-- a gorgeous piece of art, painted by a genius. That genius would be Terrence Malick. It involves ethereal reflections on death, grief and God's apparent absence from the happenings of our world. The end of this section spirals into a breathtaking display of humanity's place in the universe next to the awesome and raging power of God. After about an hour, the film focuses on the family it had previously only shown in sweeping philosophical abstractions. It is a family in small-town Texas, around the '50s or '60s, with a few boys, a soft and caring mother, and a menacingly authoritarian father. The whole family is built around a fear for displeasing him, and what's probably the point of this section is to show the effects that has on the growth of his eldest boy.
After this relatively slow section (it's the movie's low-point), it flies back into its human-nature meditation-poetry. It would be interesting to watch the movie again and try not to cut it into three sections, but rather to fully integrate them all into one cohesive picture. I do believe that this film is cohesive and coherent--- it's not just visual rambling. The opening shot is a passage from Job, who is punished arbitrarily, despite his faithfulness, and doubts God because of it. God responds with an onslaught of accusations, the one shown in this movie being along the lines of 'where were you when I formed the Earth, and all the angels were singing my name?'. This opening passage reveals for the movie the theme of humanity's ant-like existence against the size and might of God, and also the existential question of how divine punishment and praise can be distributed arbitrarily.
I call the film a poem because of its excessive imagery, included not for the sake of plot or with any rational connection, but as the abstract images and emotions that seem to surround a theme. This is like what poets do in their writing.
I call it a meditation because it has some clear themes, but Malick explores them not by writing a film that sits cleanly within them. He doesn't cheat. Rather, I think he has some ideas about humanity and God, and so he sets up the ideas in the first part and then paints an objective picture of a family to see whether or not the ideas correspond to reality. It is a passive and objective filming, with some ideas in mind, so it is something like a meditation.
The film is beautiful and powerful-- watching it is an experience rich with awe and amazement. There may be no other film which explores philosophical themes in such uniquely poetic terms, and so for all its seemingly aimless story, I call The Tree of Life an excellent movie.
Monday, April 13, 2015
Review: La Strada
Seen once and 4/13/15
2/4
Let me tell you: there is very little reward in this experience, even for the philosopher, even for the viewer accustomed to mid-20th-century film. The depressing nature of this film is hardly even its subject matter--rather, it's the horrible acting, the bland plot and script, etc. If there is anything here, it's cinematic innovation (irrelevant to me) and symbolism (which cannot carry an experience). There must be more that works in order for me to call this a good film in the present era. I can see a few themes, and I commend Fellini for presenting them with such subtlety, but I simply can't make this fit into my 21st-century life.
My best philosophical interpretation of this film, after essentially just one viewing, is an analysis of Gelsomina as a Sartrian character. This was difficult to see, given how much the immediate events, style and bad acting distracted from the whole. But her life echoes some key ideas in Sartre's writing, which makes this film more interesting to me. What I must do, when encountering styles that are imminently distracting, particularly those of films from before the '60s, is try to see the film as a whole; as one cohesive idea.
2/4
Let me tell you: there is very little reward in this experience, even for the philosopher, even for the viewer accustomed to mid-20th-century film. The depressing nature of this film is hardly even its subject matter--rather, it's the horrible acting, the bland plot and script, etc. If there is anything here, it's cinematic innovation (irrelevant to me) and symbolism (which cannot carry an experience). There must be more that works in order for me to call this a good film in the present era. I can see a few themes, and I commend Fellini for presenting them with such subtlety, but I simply can't make this fit into my 21st-century life.
My best philosophical interpretation of this film, after essentially just one viewing, is an analysis of Gelsomina as a Sartrian character. This was difficult to see, given how much the immediate events, style and bad acting distracted from the whole. But her life echoes some key ideas in Sartre's writing, which makes this film more interesting to me. What I must do, when encountering styles that are imminently distracting, particularly those of films from before the '60s, is try to see the film as a whole; as one cohesive idea.
Sunday, April 12, 2015
Review: Mulholland Drive
Seen twice and 4/10/15
3.5/4
Mulholland Drive is filled with beauty and insanity--- it has many layers, as is focused entirely on experience. Coherency is secondary, if there even is any. I view this as an experiment into how David Lynch can make his audience feel. I can almost guarantee that not all parts fit together cleanly-- sure, all of the stories are interwoven, and maybe there is one great idea that structures the film, but how can things like the the man behind the wall or the personality of the cowboy or the scene with Billy Ray Cyrus be explained such that they have a purpose for being here, other than to play with the viewer's conceptions?
With the idea that experience is the driving force behind this movie, some of my favorite experiences are as follows:
"Llorando". The women enter a secluded theater just after their love scene, when Naomi Watts is revealed to be much more than she is. They experience a performance telling them that nothing is real; it is all a tape recording. Then a woman comes out and starts singing in Spanish. Her expression and voice are breathtaking, and the melody devastatingly sad, and the two women start crying. It's as if we know the whole backstory, like some tragedy has occurred, and we are experiencing the grief with Betty and Rita. That's how authentic this part of the scene feels. Then the woman falls over and her voice continues. Betty finds a blue box in her purse and the scene ends.
As I think more about this scene, I realize how profoundly valuable the actress chosen to play the singer was. It was not just singing a melody; it was a performance. A facial and vocal ensemble of emotion. I give serious acting props to her.
"The Cowboy". Adam follows a winding road up a hill to a spot overlooking Los Angeles, where he meets with The Cowboy. The Cowboy seems to appear out of nowhere, and has a terrifyingly direct way of speaking. His face looks like a porcelain doll's, adding to his eerie effect. His lines are fantastic, and his time onscreen ends with a mysterious premonition: "you will see me one more time if you do good. You will see me two more times if you do bad."
The dream outside Winkie's. This comes early in the film, and is the first foreshadowing that this seemingly-conventional noir film is something much more. A man describes his recurring nightmare to another man inside the diner. He begins smiling about its absurdity to avoid looking insane, but gradually his tone darkens and he can't even try to escape the dream's hold on him. As the two men walk outside to confront the crux of the nightmare, he is sweating. This walk is legitimately frightening to me. Then we think there's no way the man appears, not this early in the film, and this is just a dream anyways. And he appears. The first time I saw this, I thought I was bracing myself, but my subconscious thought there was absolutely no way this was going to happen. So when it did, I was not prepared.
Every scene with Diane Selwin. After Betty and Rita disappear into the box, the movie phases back to the girl on the bed, but this time it's the new Betty-- restless, haunted, much darker. Naomi Watts puts on a fantastic new face, carrying this new darkness through scenes relentlessly horrible, such as the new Camilla kissing other people with malice right in front of the heartbroken Diane, and of unbridled horror, such as the scenes in her apartment. Watts is absolutely terrifying when in one shot her face turns from a joyous smile to shivering fear as her hallucination turns from the woman she's in love with to her own self, staring straight back at her. In the scenes at Adam's flat, her eyes and quivering mouth tell the whole disturbing story. She is perfect the entire movie through.
Naomi Watts is perfect, and the direction is perfectly unsettling. When I last saw this movie, four years ago, I had the thought that "it turns from a dream into a wet dream into a nightmare". I agree with that now--- none of it is reality, it's all some haunting delusion. It is an unforgettable movie experience, trying to assemble all the parts amidst the rising terror. It's a mental and emotional game unlike any other in film.
My first viewing, 4 years ago, I loved. Second viewing I felt I hated. Now, for good, I love it.
3.5/4
Mulholland Drive is filled with beauty and insanity--- it has many layers, as is focused entirely on experience. Coherency is secondary, if there even is any. I view this as an experiment into how David Lynch can make his audience feel. I can almost guarantee that not all parts fit together cleanly-- sure, all of the stories are interwoven, and maybe there is one great idea that structures the film, but how can things like the the man behind the wall or the personality of the cowboy or the scene with Billy Ray Cyrus be explained such that they have a purpose for being here, other than to play with the viewer's conceptions?
With the idea that experience is the driving force behind this movie, some of my favorite experiences are as follows:
"Llorando". The women enter a secluded theater just after their love scene, when Naomi Watts is revealed to be much more than she is. They experience a performance telling them that nothing is real; it is all a tape recording. Then a woman comes out and starts singing in Spanish. Her expression and voice are breathtaking, and the melody devastatingly sad, and the two women start crying. It's as if we know the whole backstory, like some tragedy has occurred, and we are experiencing the grief with Betty and Rita. That's how authentic this part of the scene feels. Then the woman falls over and her voice continues. Betty finds a blue box in her purse and the scene ends.
As I think more about this scene, I realize how profoundly valuable the actress chosen to play the singer was. It was not just singing a melody; it was a performance. A facial and vocal ensemble of emotion. I give serious acting props to her.
"The Cowboy". Adam follows a winding road up a hill to a spot overlooking Los Angeles, where he meets with The Cowboy. The Cowboy seems to appear out of nowhere, and has a terrifyingly direct way of speaking. His face looks like a porcelain doll's, adding to his eerie effect. His lines are fantastic, and his time onscreen ends with a mysterious premonition: "you will see me one more time if you do good. You will see me two more times if you do bad."
The dream outside Winkie's. This comes early in the film, and is the first foreshadowing that this seemingly-conventional noir film is something much more. A man describes his recurring nightmare to another man inside the diner. He begins smiling about its absurdity to avoid looking insane, but gradually his tone darkens and he can't even try to escape the dream's hold on him. As the two men walk outside to confront the crux of the nightmare, he is sweating. This walk is legitimately frightening to me. Then we think there's no way the man appears, not this early in the film, and this is just a dream anyways. And he appears. The first time I saw this, I thought I was bracing myself, but my subconscious thought there was absolutely no way this was going to happen. So when it did, I was not prepared.
Every scene with Diane Selwin. After Betty and Rita disappear into the box, the movie phases back to the girl on the bed, but this time it's the new Betty-- restless, haunted, much darker. Naomi Watts puts on a fantastic new face, carrying this new darkness through scenes relentlessly horrible, such as the new Camilla kissing other people with malice right in front of the heartbroken Diane, and of unbridled horror, such as the scenes in her apartment. Watts is absolutely terrifying when in one shot her face turns from a joyous smile to shivering fear as her hallucination turns from the woman she's in love with to her own self, staring straight back at her. In the scenes at Adam's flat, her eyes and quivering mouth tell the whole disturbing story. She is perfect the entire movie through.
Naomi Watts is perfect, and the direction is perfectly unsettling. When I last saw this movie, four years ago, I had the thought that "it turns from a dream into a wet dream into a nightmare". I agree with that now--- none of it is reality, it's all some haunting delusion. It is an unforgettable movie experience, trying to assemble all the parts amidst the rising terror. It's a mental and emotional game unlike any other in film.
My first viewing, 4 years ago, I loved. Second viewing I felt I hated. Now, for good, I love it.
Friday, April 3, 2015
Review: The Master
Seen twice and 4/3/15
3.5/4
The Master is Paul Thomas Anderson's endlessly interesting and original take on religion, loyalty, hedonism and power. The characters he crafts are fascinating, and the dialogue is even better. As with his other movies, when the characters speak there is some strange power in the words that cuts to the core of human nature. Anderson is fearlessly insightful--he pushes himself to write scenes which no other filmmaker is daring enough to even fathom. Example: Amy Adams performs a strange act on Philip Seymour Hoffman to evoke her womanly power that will convince him to bend to her will. Another: Joaquin Phoenix smacks his own face three times as punishment for not being able to stare down his past, and Hoffman's piggish face, without blinking. Another, evoking classic There Will Be Blood Anderson: Phoenix has a bout of violence on a customer amidst a mall of onlookers that begins abruptly and continues with such awkwardness it becomes the epitome of despicable. This writing is the meaning of 'reckless abandon' in art.
The character of Freddie Quell is extremely fascinating, despite his simplicity. Perhaps the intrigue is actually in his simplicity--it seems unbelievable that he could be so juvenile in mind and manner. It is new for Anderson, to develop a character of such low complexity. Freddie really demonstrates Lancaster Dodd's notion of man as animal--he has no ambition or conscience but to obtain animalistic pleasure and serve somebody with unbridled loyalty. He is like that dragon which Dodd teaches to sit, stay and roll over.
Lancaster Dodd is also interesting. He seems unable to accept doubt, and blows his top at any doubter or critic. He is very charismatic--he has some hypnotic power that grasps every one of his listeners and causes them to believe in everything he says. They even laugh at his smallest humor. This is not comedic to the viewer, but striking.
Both of the two main actors play their roles extremely well. Philip Seymour Hoffman is Philip Seymour Hoffman, and his character probably wasn't difficult for him to find, but Joaquin Phoenix inhabits a soul that is almost unearthly. He embodies every characteristic nuance of Freddie Quell, all the disgustingness, all the despicableness, the lip, the laugh, the walk... It is an amazing performance.
This movie is fascinating in so many ways. It is mostly Anderson's quality and originality of writing which brings unspoken truths to the forefront, and it is purely awesome. So many scenes are historically good--I consider them among the best I've ever seen on film.
As a whole, I think that this is far less perfect than There Will Be Blood. But it is also less minimalist, and more stylistic, so there is more room for error. Nevertheless, it has an extreme appeal to my mind, and I will hold it as one of my signature movies for the rest of my life.
3.5/4
The Master is Paul Thomas Anderson's endlessly interesting and original take on religion, loyalty, hedonism and power. The characters he crafts are fascinating, and the dialogue is even better. As with his other movies, when the characters speak there is some strange power in the words that cuts to the core of human nature. Anderson is fearlessly insightful--he pushes himself to write scenes which no other filmmaker is daring enough to even fathom. Example: Amy Adams performs a strange act on Philip Seymour Hoffman to evoke her womanly power that will convince him to bend to her will. Another: Joaquin Phoenix smacks his own face three times as punishment for not being able to stare down his past, and Hoffman's piggish face, without blinking. Another, evoking classic There Will Be Blood Anderson: Phoenix has a bout of violence on a customer amidst a mall of onlookers that begins abruptly and continues with such awkwardness it becomes the epitome of despicable. This writing is the meaning of 'reckless abandon' in art.
The character of Freddie Quell is extremely fascinating, despite his simplicity. Perhaps the intrigue is actually in his simplicity--it seems unbelievable that he could be so juvenile in mind and manner. It is new for Anderson, to develop a character of such low complexity. Freddie really demonstrates Lancaster Dodd's notion of man as animal--he has no ambition or conscience but to obtain animalistic pleasure and serve somebody with unbridled loyalty. He is like that dragon which Dodd teaches to sit, stay and roll over.
Lancaster Dodd is also interesting. He seems unable to accept doubt, and blows his top at any doubter or critic. He is very charismatic--he has some hypnotic power that grasps every one of his listeners and causes them to believe in everything he says. They even laugh at his smallest humor. This is not comedic to the viewer, but striking.
Both of the two main actors play their roles extremely well. Philip Seymour Hoffman is Philip Seymour Hoffman, and his character probably wasn't difficult for him to find, but Joaquin Phoenix inhabits a soul that is almost unearthly. He embodies every characteristic nuance of Freddie Quell, all the disgustingness, all the despicableness, the lip, the laugh, the walk... It is an amazing performance.
This movie is fascinating in so many ways. It is mostly Anderson's quality and originality of writing which brings unspoken truths to the forefront, and it is purely awesome. So many scenes are historically good--I consider them among the best I've ever seen on film.
As a whole, I think that this is far less perfect than There Will Be Blood. But it is also less minimalist, and more stylistic, so there is more room for error. Nevertheless, it has an extreme appeal to my mind, and I will hold it as one of my signature movies for the rest of my life.
Review: Jane Eyre (Cary Fukunaga)
Seen 4/2/15
3.5/4
Jane Eyre is a fantastic story by Charlotte Bronte, put on by fantastic actors. The protagonist and the man are tremendously intriguing characters, and the pair is just as strong (up until one point, which I will explicate later). But not only are the characters powerfully engaging in their own right--indeed, reading this book would be a large and grand experience in itself--the actors Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender add a whole new dimension of greatness and intensity. Yes, I would call this adaptation "great", having never read the book, but feeling almost uniform consistency and strength throughout the film. Fukunaga made a great and powerful film, regardless of whether it appealed to the book.
My single complaint with the film is the speed to which Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester acclimate as equals upon his proposal and the advent of their unbridled romance. Beforehand, there was a subtle intensity and profoundness to every word spoken between the two of them. While he could say anything he pleased (which, no mistake, was always fully worth hearing), she had to be careful as his subordinate. Suddenly, once he declares his love, she is able to let down every barrier that pushed her from him, barriers that had existed all her life in relationships. It seems very unlikely, and it is de-characterizing, which is the saddest sin the filmmakers could have committed after crafting such incredible characters.
But soon, as Jane learns of Bertha Antoinetta Mason, her manner is restored and the rest of the film feels corrected and true.
I love the character of Jane Eyre, the character of Fairfax Rochester, the two together, Mia Wasikowska, Michael Fassbender, the pre-Victorian English setting, the Romantic-era string music, and I love the film Jane Eyre.
To be clearer, it is not Jane's letting her guard down and releasing her sense of inferiority that disappoints me in that scene in the field. In fact, that whole scene rests fairly well with me. It is rather the following couple of minutes, where every aspect of their personalities around one another vanish and they are instantly a "couple", playful and comfortable, with hardly the intellection that had defined them prior. Then the correction in the film occurs not because Jane takes to her inferiority again, but because the true state of their relationship--not as a seasoned and romantic couple, but rather transitionary--is restored. The film ends with a scene that is more pure and true to the characters than I could have imagined. The turn of events is extraordinary, and the film ends in a rightful state.
3.5/4
Jane Eyre is a fantastic story by Charlotte Bronte, put on by fantastic actors. The protagonist and the man are tremendously intriguing characters, and the pair is just as strong (up until one point, which I will explicate later). But not only are the characters powerfully engaging in their own right--indeed, reading this book would be a large and grand experience in itself--the actors Mia Wasikowska and Michael Fassbender add a whole new dimension of greatness and intensity. Yes, I would call this adaptation "great", having never read the book, but feeling almost uniform consistency and strength throughout the film. Fukunaga made a great and powerful film, regardless of whether it appealed to the book.
My single complaint with the film is the speed to which Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester acclimate as equals upon his proposal and the advent of their unbridled romance. Beforehand, there was a subtle intensity and profoundness to every word spoken between the two of them. While he could say anything he pleased (which, no mistake, was always fully worth hearing), she had to be careful as his subordinate. Suddenly, once he declares his love, she is able to let down every barrier that pushed her from him, barriers that had existed all her life in relationships. It seems very unlikely, and it is de-characterizing, which is the saddest sin the filmmakers could have committed after crafting such incredible characters.
But soon, as Jane learns of Bertha Antoinetta Mason, her manner is restored and the rest of the film feels corrected and true.
I love the character of Jane Eyre, the character of Fairfax Rochester, the two together, Mia Wasikowska, Michael Fassbender, the pre-Victorian English setting, the Romantic-era string music, and I love the film Jane Eyre.
To be clearer, it is not Jane's letting her guard down and releasing her sense of inferiority that disappoints me in that scene in the field. In fact, that whole scene rests fairly well with me. It is rather the following couple of minutes, where every aspect of their personalities around one another vanish and they are instantly a "couple", playful and comfortable, with hardly the intellection that had defined them prior. Then the correction in the film occurs not because Jane takes to her inferiority again, but because the true state of their relationship--not as a seasoned and romantic couple, but rather transitionary--is restored. The film ends with a scene that is more pure and true to the characters than I could have imagined. The turn of events is extraordinary, and the film ends in a rightful state.
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