OK, so here I am on January 17th, and I'm finally getting into the seasonal film rush. I'm a little behind, but then again so were the movies, many of which didn't come out until New Year's or shortly afterward. So much for being able to watch tons in December, during break, the way I used to. Anyway. Let's get to it. I've seen three of this year's biggies so far.
Another Year was probably the best of the three. It was subtle, comic, moving, and it offered real intellectual food, if you know what I mean -- it asked questions and provided plenty to think about. It featured two people (one of whom the adorable Jim Broadbent) who were successful in life, in that way that doesn't require money or fame or anything superficial. True success, in the way that lights life up, requires self-contentment and a sense of home. A sense of place. Another Year showed us what the good stuff is. But it was interesting, not boring as you might think this kind of picture of contentment would be. The central couple, the happy couple, were surrounded by people who were not happy. In fact, they were surrounded by people who reminded me of me and nearly everyone I know: normal, i.e. fucked up in many ways.
The resulting tension was what made the film poignant and delicious and gave me plenty to think about. What was it about that couple that made them so happy? Was it their gardening? Is the lesson of the film simply that those who work in a garden, diligently maintaining it season after season and then enjoying the fruits of their labor, will be happier? Or was it their patience - their calm demeanor, the way they approached every emotional drama with great fortitude, as if radiating the vibe of "this too, shall pass"?
And how were we to feel about them (we, the audience)? Jealous? Annoyed? There were actually scenes where their moral superiority bordered on annoying. It was mildly irritating, (particularly when I as an audience member was so easily able to relate to one of the other characters, or at least partly, able to relate to little things like the tendency to say too much while drinking), but I was never irritated enough to lose my sense of respect. Overall, the film left me with a kind of respectful awe, a kind of mellow appreciation and reflection. It said to me something like: There is indeed such a thing as a happy life. And maybe gardening has something to do with that, but it's way more than that. There was a kind of maturity and graciousness, a higher-order mindset, that I saw in the film and wanted to emulate.
Of course, if I consider myself an artist, I might be more inclined to compare my life to that of the ballerina in the hypnotizing film Black Swan. Although I can't relate at all to the desire to self-mutilate or self-torture, at least not bodily, I do understand the mental struggle that comes along with the desire to create something beautiful. To create a work of art. There is a swelling passion in the heart of every artist that threatens to burst. It is the most important thing in the world, but also has the power to destroy you. Mostly because of pressure -- a pressure that you have chosen for yourself. A height you voluntarily strain to reach. In Black Swan, you get to feel what that pressure is like. You get to feel it bodily. The little glimpses of self-mutilation (even though you know they're imaginary) will make you curl your fingers and make your shoulders shudder. It's as if the heroine, seeing something in herself that is less than perfect, has a perpetual itch to scratch. And scratch she does--scratch, and tear, and cut, and nearly snap her fragile bones in half. It's a horror film, of course, and the joy of it is never quite knowing what's real and what's not. Is she really hurting herself? Or will she be beautiful in the end? And that is how it feels to approach art. You don't know if you are really doing it or not, but you feel more sensitive the closer you get. You can feel it in your nerve-endings.
After those two extremely rich and rewarding film experiences, I was very, very disappointed in Blue Valentine. Can't blame the actors -- Michelle Williams and Ryan Gosling acted their little butts off. (She's one for whom I would ordinarly say "anything with this actor's gonna be good.") They really gave it everything they had. Frame by frame, they were going for it. But they really didn't have much to work with. They should have. In theory. And maybe they thought they did -- On the surface this seems like the kind of movie that has a great purpose. They might have convinced themselves. They thought they were acting in a love story. I too thought this was going to be a love story, a deeply engaging and sad one.
There was no love in the thing. (Except maybe the love they had, as parents, for their little girl.) The idea was simple: you start with a marriage and you see a relationship falling apart. In order to get you to care, you will see flashbacks to show you how they were when they started out. A very simply designed script like this can be elegant. It doesn't take much.
The main problem here was not the falling-apart part, which was excellent, and with any kind of backstory I would have been crying my eyes out because the performances were so good. (My favorite part: Ryan Gosling's shoulders, his inadequate but determined strength as he tries to physically if not emotionally hold on to his wife, even as she's crying 'no no no no no no no.')
[A bit more on that: The actors were amazing. Seriously. The sweat they put into it. The resistance to each other. The fighting. The swirling around drunk in a last attempt at a date night. The obviousness with which they try but can no longer connect. Swish, swish, I'm drunk, you're drunk, let's try to connect even though all the muscles in our bodies are telling us we must resist.]
So obviously what was missing was the backstory. There were flashbacks, yes, but there was no "relationship" in the early phase of the relationship. The two meet, flirt, dance around on their first and apparently only date, and that's it. It's cute but does that make me believe they fell in love? That ONE scene? I want to scream "How can you take such a simple, elegant script premise and still manage to fuck it up by leaving out the obvious?"
Yup. That was it for backstory. After that, what happened to them? After their one date? Well, she gets pregnant of course. (It's unclear who the father is, but it doesn't really matter.) Let me state the obvious: *that* particular detail does not a love story make. Instead, it has the opposite effect. It made me feel that, (besides "whoa! this happened already, this pregnancy?"), indeed their relationship was doomed from the start. She never loved him. So of course she wasn't going to last being married to him for more than a few years, when after all, all he was to her in the beginning was an "I'll step in and take care of you" guy. That is a typical, even trite, scenario and doesn't move me at all.
I didn't cry, needless to say, when she said she had fallen out of love with him, because I didn't see any hint that she'd ever loved him in the first place. They got together because she was pregnant, and I'm supposed to care?
Well, it was disappointing. But at least I can say now that the relationship I am in has a pretty damn good chance of working out. At least it starts with love. You can't have a love story that doesn't start with love. Not even a sad one.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
A Word About Directors
Probably the most important thing to evaluate when evaluating films in any serious way is the directing. I have often overstated the importance of actors, mainly because I love actors. I love what they do. I am in love with their craft. However, it's ironic because the true author of a film, the person whose voice most powerfully influences it, is usually the director (unless the script was written by Charlie Kaufman).
A really great movie will almost always have a great director. It's very difficult to have a great movie with poor direction (though I'm sure I'll come up with at least one example). The director is, as I say, the voice, the personality, the perspective that shapes the entire thing.
A good director will give you a recognizable feeling. His or her point of view will be visible, it will be felt, it will be in the details and in the wide view. But it will not be heavy-handed.
The director is more like the author than the actual screenwriter. This is usually because the director takes the script and changes everything. Or, because the script is used strictly for dialogue. Occasionally, you have someone who is both writer/director and does it well. Again, more often than not, it's better if the director is an authorial voice who picks up the script from someone else and works that script to pull the juice out of it. To add the details, the vibe, the colors and angles that bring it to life.
Examples: A heavy-handed director is Quentin Tarantino. He's as heavy-handed a presence in his films as Norman Mailer was in his books. There is simply NO WAY to miss the fact that you're watching a Tarantino film. His fingerprints are all over it. It's a bit much, unless you happen to love Tarantino (as many do). But none of my favorite movies are by Tarantino. I like his stuff, don't get me wrong. But how much of him can you take? When you're watching John Travolta in Pulp Fiction, you don't even feel like you're watching Travolta -- an actor who's more or less always the same everywhere he appears! -- that's how serious Tarantino is. You're sitting there going, who is this actor? He kind of looks like Travolta, but the words coming out of his mouth sound a lot more like ... oh yeah, Mr. Brown.
Another heavy-handed director is Joel Coen, (or more accurately I should say Joel and Ethan Coen). Could Burn After Reading be anybody else's movie? Go and watch Raising Arizona, followed by The Big Lebowski, and then tell me what the heck they were doing making Burn After Reading, when we had seen all their tricks already -- at their best! -- in those two films.
On the other hand, you've got Ang Lee, who was most astonishingly responsible for both Sense and Sensibility and The Ice Storm. I always forget that he was responsible for The Ice Storm, even though it is -- yes! -- one of my favorite movies. His directorial touch is very gentle, and his point of view is certainly present consistently (it's that feeling you have while watching his films that you could cry, but you will not cry, because probably you'll miss something if you start to cry, and you don't want to push pause just for the sake of crying, when after all you are leaning in breathlessly waiting for the next scene that will probably make you want to cry even harder, so you may as well wait for that one). But it's not heavy-handed (if it were, that would be scary!).
With a good director, you know you have a reason for wanting to enter his or her world. You are compelled to re-enter his world over and over again. There is a reason to do so. In other words you see the point of view but you don't feel like you are being hit over the head with it.
A really great movie will almost always have a great director. It's very difficult to have a great movie with poor direction (though I'm sure I'll come up with at least one example). The director is, as I say, the voice, the personality, the perspective that shapes the entire thing.
A good director will give you a recognizable feeling. His or her point of view will be visible, it will be felt, it will be in the details and in the wide view. But it will not be heavy-handed.
The director is more like the author than the actual screenwriter. This is usually because the director takes the script and changes everything. Or, because the script is used strictly for dialogue. Occasionally, you have someone who is both writer/director and does it well. Again, more often than not, it's better if the director is an authorial voice who picks up the script from someone else and works that script to pull the juice out of it. To add the details, the vibe, the colors and angles that bring it to life.
Examples: A heavy-handed director is Quentin Tarantino. He's as heavy-handed a presence in his films as Norman Mailer was in his books. There is simply NO WAY to miss the fact that you're watching a Tarantino film. His fingerprints are all over it. It's a bit much, unless you happen to love Tarantino (as many do). But none of my favorite movies are by Tarantino. I like his stuff, don't get me wrong. But how much of him can you take? When you're watching John Travolta in Pulp Fiction, you don't even feel like you're watching Travolta -- an actor who's more or less always the same everywhere he appears! -- that's how serious Tarantino is. You're sitting there going, who is this actor? He kind of looks like Travolta, but the words coming out of his mouth sound a lot more like ... oh yeah, Mr. Brown.
Another heavy-handed director is Joel Coen, (or more accurately I should say Joel and Ethan Coen). Could Burn After Reading be anybody else's movie? Go and watch Raising Arizona, followed by The Big Lebowski, and then tell me what the heck they were doing making Burn After Reading, when we had seen all their tricks already -- at their best! -- in those two films.
On the other hand, you've got Ang Lee, who was most astonishingly responsible for both Sense and Sensibility and The Ice Storm. I always forget that he was responsible for The Ice Storm, even though it is -- yes! -- one of my favorite movies. His directorial touch is very gentle, and his point of view is certainly present consistently (it's that feeling you have while watching his films that you could cry, but you will not cry, because probably you'll miss something if you start to cry, and you don't want to push pause just for the sake of crying, when after all you are leaning in breathlessly waiting for the next scene that will probably make you want to cry even harder, so you may as well wait for that one). But it's not heavy-handed (if it were, that would be scary!).
With a good director, you know you have a reason for wanting to enter his or her world. You are compelled to re-enter his world over and over again. There is a reason to do so. In other words you see the point of view but you don't feel like you are being hit over the head with it.
Preliminary List of Favorite Movies
OK. So this is what I've done: gone through other various lists I had of "favorite movies." Combined them. Added one or two based on some considered thought about what I'm going to do with this project. I had 24 at this point.
Then I added one more to make it 25, which feels like a nice number. Alphabetized it. And here we go. Now we have a list to work with for this project. Am I guaranteeing that this is the exact list of all my favorites and that I haven't forgotten any? No. Will I add to this over time? Definitely.
Then I added one more to make it 25, which feels like a nice number. Alphabetized it. And here we go. Now we have a list to work with for this project. Am I guaranteeing that this is the exact list of all my favorites and that I haven't forgotten any? No. Will I add to this over time? Definitely.
What makes a favorite?
I've been thinking about criteria. What qualities do I love in a "really really really good" movie, and how many of those have to be in the movie before I call it "favorite"?
Well, let's get more specific. For example, what if I said that "good acting" was very important to me? Wouldn't that be too simple? There are hundreds of movies that contain good acting. So as an example, this illustrates that for me to say a film is a favorite of mine, it would have to contain more than merely good acting. It should have good acting and good directing -- right? And is that sufficient? Doubtful.
Plus, these would be too simple if they were generalized. This is still not specific enough. What makes "good acting," and what makes "great acting"? What makes the acting SO great that the actor disappears, and the character becomes a person you know, a seemingly real flesh and blood person, a person you sympathize with or despise or dream about?
So there must be a list of criteria -- and well-defined very specific criteria -- that a movie has to meet before it rises from the level of "a movie I enjoyed," or "a good movie," to one that I will cherish, carry with me in my heart, watch again and again, plead with friends to watch, and turn to as if it were itself a friend.
And what is more, I want to tell you, I don't think every favorite of mine meets every one of the criteria. There may be some favorites where certain criteria are carrying so much weight that the others can go the wayside. For example, is plot important in "Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle," which is a biopic of Dorothy Parker as dark and grimly comic as the great lady herself? Is not mood much more important in a film like that?
I think that the aims of the movie have to be taken into account when weighting the criteria. And I'm telling you all this now because it will save me having to justify it later. We all know that Tom Cruise is not a "great" actor by any means. But what he accomplishes in "Top Gun" could not have been done by anybody else and transformed that movie from a one-summer blockbuster into a modern classic. If you were a screenwriter and you storyboarded Casablanca and you storyboarded Top Gun and you put them right alongside each other, you would see many similarities, because plotwise and structurewise they are nearly the same. Each of these films has the elements of a classic -- built into their scripts. That is to say, each has a script formulated according to the rules of screenwriting. They don't deviate much from these rules. The very aim of the movie is a classic rise and fall, with all those little moments along the way that seem like organic cues for emotion even though they are scripted. However, there are so many movies that aim for classic status. What makes it something you can watch again and again has more to do with the success of the actors to bring the script to life, to see what is called for -- in this formula! -- and give the viewer an experience that is more than formulaic. Each of these films is highly predictable, and yet, in some way not. Because the main character in each feels like a real person. So, I will argue even when it comes to the basics, like acting, the criteria must be considered according to the aims of the movie itself.
And one other point about criteria. I have known films that I have loved very much based on one criterion or two, but I could never call them a "favorite" despite this fact. That would be a scenario where there's a negative criterion. Something that should have been good enough but wasn't -- something that was so terrible that it brought the whole thing down on its knees. God, there are so many films like that. You often see great actors wasted, or great scripts wasted. I'll give you just one sweet example of this. "Brokeback Mountain." My oh my. Talk about great acting! Those were characters that I literally, still dream about. And you have great directing, great cinematography, etcetera etcetera -- many positives. But you have one major negative. Which is mood. And folks, this is MY blog. Perhaps you can have favorite movies that you'll watch again and again where the mood of the movie doesn't factor in. Perhaps mood ain't one of your criteria. But for me it is. It is very, very important and it'll probably be one of the first things I write about for each of these precious babies.
I'm not saying the mood has to be 'upbeat' or any such hogwash. But why on earth would I ever want to watch "Brokeback Mountain" more than the 3 times I've already seen it, when I know for a fact that the central experience of watching the film is to feel absolutely devastated?
By this I am trying to point out that, whatever its other qualities, each movie is an experience, just like any other sort of thing you can experience in this life, and when it claims a couple hours of your life, it becomes your reality for a short while. If you are a true film lover, a bona fide movie buff, you know exactly what I mean when I say there are some experiences you don't want to have more than once. Or maybe -- maybe -- twice. A 'favorite' movie has to be, for me, an experience I want to repeat over and over and over again. For the rest of my life.
Well, let's get more specific. For example, what if I said that "good acting" was very important to me? Wouldn't that be too simple? There are hundreds of movies that contain good acting. So as an example, this illustrates that for me to say a film is a favorite of mine, it would have to contain more than merely good acting. It should have good acting and good directing -- right? And is that sufficient? Doubtful.
Plus, these would be too simple if they were generalized. This is still not specific enough. What makes "good acting," and what makes "great acting"? What makes the acting SO great that the actor disappears, and the character becomes a person you know, a seemingly real flesh and blood person, a person you sympathize with or despise or dream about?
So there must be a list of criteria -- and well-defined very specific criteria -- that a movie has to meet before it rises from the level of "a movie I enjoyed," or "a good movie," to one that I will cherish, carry with me in my heart, watch again and again, plead with friends to watch, and turn to as if it were itself a friend.
And what is more, I want to tell you, I don't think every favorite of mine meets every one of the criteria. There may be some favorites where certain criteria are carrying so much weight that the others can go the wayside. For example, is plot important in "Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle," which is a biopic of Dorothy Parker as dark and grimly comic as the great lady herself? Is not mood much more important in a film like that?
I think that the aims of the movie have to be taken into account when weighting the criteria. And I'm telling you all this now because it will save me having to justify it later. We all know that Tom Cruise is not a "great" actor by any means. But what he accomplishes in "Top Gun" could not have been done by anybody else and transformed that movie from a one-summer blockbuster into a modern classic. If you were a screenwriter and you storyboarded Casablanca and you storyboarded Top Gun and you put them right alongside each other, you would see many similarities, because plotwise and structurewise they are nearly the same. Each of these films has the elements of a classic -- built into their scripts. That is to say, each has a script formulated according to the rules of screenwriting. They don't deviate much from these rules. The very aim of the movie is a classic rise and fall, with all those little moments along the way that seem like organic cues for emotion even though they are scripted. However, there are so many movies that aim for classic status. What makes it something you can watch again and again has more to do with the success of the actors to bring the script to life, to see what is called for -- in this formula! -- and give the viewer an experience that is more than formulaic. Each of these films is highly predictable, and yet, in some way not. Because the main character in each feels like a real person. So, I will argue even when it comes to the basics, like acting, the criteria must be considered according to the aims of the movie itself.
And one other point about criteria. I have known films that I have loved very much based on one criterion or two, but I could never call them a "favorite" despite this fact. That would be a scenario where there's a negative criterion. Something that should have been good enough but wasn't -- something that was so terrible that it brought the whole thing down on its knees. God, there are so many films like that. You often see great actors wasted, or great scripts wasted. I'll give you just one sweet example of this. "Brokeback Mountain." My oh my. Talk about great acting! Those were characters that I literally, still dream about. And you have great directing, great cinematography, etcetera etcetera -- many positives. But you have one major negative. Which is mood. And folks, this is MY blog. Perhaps you can have favorite movies that you'll watch again and again where the mood of the movie doesn't factor in. Perhaps mood ain't one of your criteria. But for me it is. It is very, very important and it'll probably be one of the first things I write about for each of these precious babies.
I'm not saying the mood has to be 'upbeat' or any such hogwash. But why on earth would I ever want to watch "Brokeback Mountain" more than the 3 times I've already seen it, when I know for a fact that the central experience of watching the film is to feel absolutely devastated?
By this I am trying to point out that, whatever its other qualities, each movie is an experience, just like any other sort of thing you can experience in this life, and when it claims a couple hours of your life, it becomes your reality for a short while. If you are a true film lover, a bona fide movie buff, you know exactly what I mean when I say there are some experiences you don't want to have more than once. Or maybe -- maybe -- twice. A 'favorite' movie has to be, for me, an experience I want to repeat over and over and over again. For the rest of my life.
Friday, November 12, 2010
Coming Soon: The Favorites Project
Hello to my few faithful readers!
I am very excited to announce that I am going to embark on a new project in this blog, which will be very much a departure from what I've done previously. I have decided to undertake a serious critical examination of my "favorite" films, and ask myself why they are my favorites, and attempt to list and describe detailed criteria.
Aren't you excited?!?
Scroll down to the bottom of the screen to get an idea of SOME of the movies I consider favorites. Of course, one asks, how many are there? Out of thousands of films I have viewed, there are probably only 20 or so that I consider favorites. So far.
I am very excited to announce that I am going to embark on a new project in this blog, which will be very much a departure from what I've done previously. I have decided to undertake a serious critical examination of my "favorite" films, and ask myself why they are my favorites, and attempt to list and describe detailed criteria.
Aren't you excited?!?
Scroll down to the bottom of the screen to get an idea of SOME of the movies I consider favorites. Of course, one asks, how many are there? Out of thousands of films I have viewed, there are probably only 20 or so that I consider favorites. So far.
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