Tuesday, September 29, 2020

Blow the Man Down (Bridget Savage Cole and Danielle Krudy, 2019)

It's difficult to tell if the narrative ellipses in this tale of intrigue in a small Maine town are the result of arty exclusions or sloppy storytelling. But give it the full attention it deserves and the shape of the film comes to the fore. And if it doesn't, no matter; setting, atmosphere, and feel are the attractions here. You just want to curl up with some clam chowder and hot cider and bask in the milieu. Modest homes reflect precarious lives. Unfailing manners mask pain and violence.

Grade: A-minus


Sea Fever (Neasa Hardiman, 2019)

A fishing trawler attracts a bio-luminescent squid-like creature (reminded me a bit of the monster from 1983's The Deadly Spawn) which proceeds to inject the crew with fatal parasites. Obviously, this horror thriller benefits from our current climate of viral fear. But it would have compelled last year as well with its refreshingly muted tone and grungy production design. The creature never metastasizes into The Thing so a more palpable feeling of dread creeps into each narrative crag. Still, when the movie's over, it's over. Not much to gnaw on afterward. 

Grade: B+


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I See You (Adam Randall, 2019)

I cannot say much about the story of I See You since the entire edifice turns on a clever twist which in turn gives way to another twist. Concerning a series of ghostly happenings in an upper-middle-class home, I See You is extremely exciting and even though I sensed the final twist coming, the main one pulled the rug right out from under me. It should prove useful for teaching cause and effect as well as (extremely) restricted narration to film students. And yet, I'm afraid its use value ends there. Once you absorb the thrill of the twists, you're left with that empty feeling endemic to so much Hollywood product. Ok that happened. Now what do I do with it?

Grade: B+


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Lost Girls (Liz Garbus, 2020)

Lost Girls is less about the Long Island serial killer than a mother's fight against the general police indifference surrounding the case. But that's all it's about which is to say that Lost Girls suffers the fate of all topical films. Documentary filmmaker Liz Garbus cannot ventilate the true-crime proceedings enough so that the film possesses a dramatic heft of its own. Still, great performances abound and Garbus has a feel for the working-class milieu that drove many of the victims into sex work.      

Grade: B


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Friday, September 25, 2020

I'll Do Anything - The Musical Version (sort of) (James L. Brooks, 1994)

The original version of James L. Brooks' 1994 film I'll Do Anything was a musical featuring mostly songs written by Prince. After disastrous test screenings of several different cuts of the film, Brooks axed all of the spontaneous outbursts of song and the neutered version tanked at the box office anyway. But bootlegs of the musical version have been circulating more widely now, perhaps as a result of a cease and desist served by Prince's estate to cinephobe.tv which planned to stream the musical version last month. There are at least two cuts floating around, one approximately 101 minutes, the other 140. I had a chance to see the latter but the "sort of" in the title of this post refers to the fact that both versions are work prints. Like all work prints, the quality is rough. Almost every scene is separated by leader (example below). There is no score and no titles. One musical number featuring Albert Brooks appears to be missing vocals. A few lines of dialogue are either missing or dubbed. So no one who has taken in this bootleg can claim to have seen the musical version in any kind of drop-the-mic fashion. *The* musical version probably doesn't even exist.

Some have suggested that part of the problem with the musical I'll Do Anything is that much of the cast (Nick Nolte, Albert Brooks, Julie Kavner, etc.) cannot sing or dance. And indeed, the most affecting moment comes courtesy of someone who can - Tracey Ullman nails the heart-tugging "Don't Talk 2 Strangers" early in the film. But a far more decisive roadblock was the fact that the 1990s were the most fallow decade for the musical in Hollywood history. Spontaneous outbursts of song were a hard sell to a 1994 audience (outside of animated features - The Lion King was the biggest moneymaker of the year). Brooks might have pulled it off a decade later in the wake of Moulin Rouge! (Baz Luhrmann, 2001) and Chicago (Rob Marshall, 2002) instead of Graffiti Bridge (Prince, 1990) and Newsies (Kenny Ortega, 1992). Even then, he would still have had trouble finding a sizable audience for his tale of Hollywood insiders, an apparent drawback afflicting another Brooks property, the similarly parochial (albeit brilliant) animated sitcom The Critic (1994-1995). 

The best way to approach the 140-minute version is as a deeply meta art film. One of several subplots concerns the industry's reliance on audience research. So when at a test screening Nan Mulhanney (Julie Kavner) informs the audience that, "There may be some scratches. Some of the colors may be off. There are not titles. And it has not been finally mixed for sound. And the music is temp. That means temporary," she could be talking in a manner most Rivettien about the very film you're watching. The title number is particularly ghoulish in this regard. It's an admission sung by producer Burke Adler (Albert Brooks) that he'll do anything to gain the audience's favor. Since Brooks did exactly that and excised this number completely, "I'll Do Anything" could be his (self-lacerating?) theme song. 

In its bootleg state, this version is less a film than a proposition awaiting phantom approval. I assume that, apart from general disinterest, the reason there may never be a official musical version is due to securing the rights to the songs. At the very least, it can serve as an excellent tool to teach film students the emotional and even straight-up narrative roles sound and music play in film.


Wednesday, September 23, 2020

Happy Birthday, Showgirls!

 I saw Showgirls opening night with a couple of friends. Barely five minutes into the film, Nomi Malone (Elizabeth Berkley) is in a Las Vegas parking lot where she discovers that the suitcase carrying all her possessions has been stolen. She bangs on a random car in rage. The owner of the car, Molly Abrams (Gina Ravera), suddenly appears and yanks her off. The two scuffle, Nomi throws up, and Molly tries to console her. Nomi runs off into the road and almost get hits by oncoming traffic. But Molly pulls her to safety and the two embrace. The moment takes up less than a minute of screen time. But it was enough for me to turn to my friend and say, "This will be the greatest film of the year."

And I was right. 

Happy 25th birthday, Showgirls


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Tuesday, September 22, 2020

Ratched (2020)

If indeed the characters in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest (Milos Forman, 1975) are not paragons of realism, as I've always read, but rather symbols in an anti-authoritarian fable, then one should have no problem accepting the premise of Ratched which imagines an origin story for Nurse Ratched. Like Athena bursting forth from Zeus' head, Mildred Ratched (a typically game Sarah Paulson) enters into a series of grandiloquent events worthy of the soapiest mythology. Whether it's any good is another matter entirely. Sifting One Flew through American Horror Story, Ratched is total trash, preposterous and horribly written in parts, especially the juvenile Sharon Stone subplot. It also suffers from executive producer Ryan Murphy's risible penchant for correcting history so that in one story line, lesbians are sprung free from the barbaric Lucia State Hospital in 1947. But trash can be fun and Ratched lacks the Boomer baggage of the Forman "classic" even though it traffics in a similar kind of anti-intellectual individuality as when head nurse Betsy Bracket (Judy Davis) declares that doctors are unnecessary to the operation of Lucia. The real attraction is the Ross Hunter-worthy production design - dust-free sets, perfectly pressed costumes, screaming primary colors. Mamacita apparently cleaned Lucia because it sparkles like Joan Crawford's Brentwood estate. The  Northern California oceanside motel where Ratched stays is supposed to be ratchet (see what I did there?) but comes off enchanting instead. Sharon Stone's mansion is an Orientalist migraine. And the office of Dr. Richard Hanover (Jon Jon Briones), director of Lucia, can comfortably fit a 747 in front of the largest window in Christendom. 

Grade: B-minus (docked a notch for not stopping at a limited series)


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Monday, September 21, 2020

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (Milos Forman, 1975)

I hate One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Hate it. Please tell me I’m not the only person who thinks Jack Nicholson (playing himself as usual) is way more the villain than Nurse Ratched and the latter isn’t all that evil (at least until way towards the end). And is it strawmanning to wonder why this movie (and its era) are held up as paragons of realism after the “lies” of classical Hollywood? I watched In a Lonely Place (Nicholas Ray, 1950) the same night and it felt like Direct damn Cinema in comparison. And does this movie celebrate American anti-intellectualism as much, if not more than, American anti-authoritarianism? And is it not as corny as Dead Poets Society? And is not Jack Nicholson a bad actor in the same way that Marlon Brando was a bad actor, i. e., always playing themselves like some rock star (Bob Dylan?)? ARGH!

Grade: C


 

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Friday, September 18, 2020

I'm Thinking of Ending Things (Charlie Kaufman, 2020)

I'm Thinking of Ending Things is a 134-minute film in which approximately an hour is taken up with conversations between an arty couple driving through a snowstorm at night, conversations that touch on Guy Debord and David Foster Wallace and that quote chunks of Pauline Kael's typically wrongheaded review of A Woman Under the Influence (John Cassavetes, 1974) (one of the ten greatest feature-length American narrative films of the 1970s, ya know). The other half of the film features a dance number, a production of "Lonely Room" from Oklahoma!, an animated sequence, and a material narrative allowing the characters to interact with one another from different time periods. Not since Kiyoshi Kurosawa's Journey to the Shore (2016) have I seen such a moving mediation on the inability to live in the present. And you thought I was going to come for a film like this? Insufferable, heavy-handed, devastating, rapturous, this is a film of a free man. 

Grade: A- minus

 

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Tuesday, September 15, 2020

Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (Cathy Yan, 2020)

I watched this execrable movie solely because it was on Vulture's list of "The Best Movies of 2020 (So Far)". Gargantuan mistake. As always with these franchise entries (albeit even more oppressively here), there's a paradox between the toxic individuality of the superheroes and the cookie-cutter conformity of the stories. On one hand, every beat of the narrative is driven by market research and drained of any idiosyncrasy. On the other, we're supposed to applaud the antisocial whims of the superheroes. Harley Quinn murders dozens of people with glee. She blows up a chemical plant after the Joker breaks up with her. She litters the street with the wrapper from her beloved egg sandwich. And hey - it's her right, just like it's yours to not wear a mask and to throw a sex-reveal party and start a nation-destroying forest fire. Don't stomp down on my freedoms! Fortunately, those freedoms extend to our choice in cinema. We still have the right not to watch such swill...so far. 

Grade: D-minus

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