Nights of Cabiria

Nights of Cabiria (1957) dir. Federico Fellini
Starring Giulietta Masina, Francois Perier, Alberto Lazzari

****

By Greg Klymkiw

Can there be any greater feeling than that which comes from ascension?

Movies at their very best can make you feel this way. They make you soar.

Federico Fellini’s Nights of Cabiria is just such a movie. Screening in Toronto at the TIFF (Toronto International Film Festival) Bell Lightbox cinemas on Sunday, August 14 at 6:15pm, it is part of a sumptuous celebration entitled “Fellini: Spectacular Obsessions” and includes a very cool series of double bills that pairs a Fellini picture with the work of another filmmaker treading similar (or contrasting) waters.

(My only criticism of this great collection of pictures is that Il Bidone is not screening at all. In fact, a perfect pairing for it would be something like Your Three Minutes Are Up, the neglected 70s American classic by Douglas Schwartz. A personal note to TIFF Bell Lightbox topper Noah Cowan: "Get on this, bud – it’ll be an evening guaranteed to blow us all away".)

In the TIFF Bell Lightbox Gallery, one will also find a series of exquisite exhibitions that include screen tests of Fellini grotesques, the inspiration for the Trevi Fountain sequence from La Dolce Vita and a whack o’ photos of pure tabloid genius.

As for the upcoming Nights of Cabiria I can freely and happily declare that it never fails to cascade me emotionally into what feels like another dimension. As a filmmaker, Fellini makes it all seem so effortless. His genius notwithstanding, he (nor we) would ever get there, I think, without some experience, or at least understanding of Judeo-Christian tradition (particularly, the Christian portion, and more precisely, that of Catholicism). The maestro was, of course, Italian and what is it to be of that heritage if one has not been touched, shaped, moulded, pounded and cudgelled by the patriarchal power that is the Catholic Church? (Doing the math on this, Fellini's childhood would have corresponded quite neatly with that of Pope Pius XI - Mr. Anti-Contraception and Pro-Sex-For-Procreation himself.)

Fellini knew all too well and continually explored the notion of redemption via false prophets. And I do not mean Christ, but rather, those within, and most often at the highest levels of any organized faith who seek to dominate and control by proselytizing distorted teachings to the weakest and most vulnerable of society.

Cabiria (Giulietta Masina) is just such an individual and it’s no surprise that even the film’s title states clearly that we are to journey through the Nights of Cabiria. It’s the darkness of night that roots us in a place from where we are allowed find the light.

One of the picture’s screenwriters was none other than the iconoclastic Pier Paolo Pasolini (Salo: The 120 Days of Sodom). In both life and his art, he knew a lot about sexual exploitation – most notably, the world of prostitution wherein the body becomes the sought after commodity through which money is paid to experience la petite mort. (Pasolini was the go-to boy for those in Italian cinema seeking an "expert" on the fine art of whoring and whoredom.) In Nights of Cabiria it is, finally, the “little death” that seeks to undermine our title character – the dashing of hopes and dreams that come from unspeakable and/or unwanted acts of cruelty perpetrated upon those hoping to achieve a higher state – a state of grace, if you will.

And so goes this simple tale of Cabiria, a waif-like, almost Chaplinesque figure of innocence (or naiveté) who works the world’s oldest profession to preserve a standard of living (owning her own home and having a bank account - vaguely and interestingly rather bourgeois values) that is achieved by a life of “sin”.

Her goal is to find love. What she gets in return is redemption. From the opening scene where a loathsome pimp steals her money and shoves her into the river, to the horrendous moments when Carlos (François Périer) the man she thinks loves her, contemplates murder to secure a life’s worth of savings, Fellini delivers a powerful drama. We see, ultimately, a woman who is abused and exploited at the hands of men within a society that is rooted in the abovementioned patriarchy of persecution - indelibly linked, as it is, to the “business” of spirituality, of religion – the monetization of faith.

Thankfully, through all this remains Fellini’s command of the filmmaking process and his faith in the title character. His beloved Cabiria is no fool, nor is she a pushover. She’s a tough cookie in a den of lions – a fighter, a wise cracker, a street-smart streetwalker who, when she accompanies a good Samaritan on the rounds to feed the poor, is still able to see in others a mirror image of what could become of her if she doesn’t remain wary, and most importantly, IN CONTROL.

Control is, of course, the continued plight of those women who work in the sex trade. Their buyers are men and often, their true exploiters are not always the Johns, but rather, a society that allows – through the demonizing and criminalizing of the profession – a systematic exploitation of those same women at the hands of pimps, gigolos and gangsters (many of whom are corrupt cops, lawmakers and more often than not, men). In one of the picture’s more harrowing sequences, we follow Cabiria and a group of other whores as they attend a religious miracle revival outside of Rome as the disenfranchised, seeking quick-fix redemption, are surrounded by the cheap hucksterism and circus-like atmosphere of the root of this exploitation – religion itself, or, if you will, the corruption and exploitation of faith.

It is finally faith that is at once shattered and just as quickly restored in the film’s final moments. Cabiria believes in the lies of the seemingly sensitive and very charming Carlos, but it is her will to survive and to persevere and finally, her belief in her own goodness and that of humanity that allows her to go on – to disappear back into the world and begin again.

None of this would be possible without Fellini. In fact, Nights of Cabiria is really the last of his great works in the neo-realist tradition of I Vitelloni, La Strada, Il Bidone (a film in which Fellini purportedly came to know a prostitute who provided him much of his inspiration for the Cabiria role) and The White Sheik (in which Cabiria appears as a supporting character). From La Dolce Vita and onwards, there would be occasional dollops of neo-realism, but more often than not, his work became increasingly surreal and fantastical. While there is considerable greatness in many of them, nothing really comes close to the overwhelming compassion of this earlier phase.

With Nights of Cabiria, I’d also argue that we see Masina’s finest work as an actress (somehow she truly does embody the spirit of Chaplin) and among a lifetime of indelible scores, Nino Rota’s music for this is at his most heartbreakingly eloquent.

Like I said before, the picture will have you soaring higher than you ever thought possible. That’s the real greatness of Fellini’s Nights of Cabiria – it allows you the freedom to be weightless within the overwhelming spirit of humanity.

While “Nights of Cabiria” is currently out of print on the Criterion Collection DVD label, it can still be found for sale or rent.

Legend

Legend (1985) dir. Ridley Scott
Starring: Tom Cruise, Mia Sara, Tim Curry

**

By Alan Bacchus

Poor Ridley Scott. After the torturous efforts to film Blade Runner, not excluding the fight for editorial rights of the final picture, his next film, Legend, was even more in conflict.

The idea of Legend began from Ridley Scott himself and his desire to film a fairy tale with traditional themes of mythology and fantasy. The result of his collaboration with author William Hjortsberg was a rather simple screenplay about a boy thrust into a journey to save his girl from the clutches of a beastly form of devil incarnate. Elves, unicorns, trolls and other beasts contribute to the familiar fairy tale quality that Scott visualized.

When it came time to film, Scott’s detailed and demanding directorial style foiled his own movie. After 10 days of filming, the entire UK Pinewood set burned to the ground, and it was over a year of shooting before the end of principal photography. In post-production, Jerry Goldsmith’s original classical score was mostly discarded in favour of the electronic synthesized music of Tangerine Dream, and of course the running time was cut down from 113 minutes to 90 minutes. Previous DVD releases, as well as the current Blu-ray release, have all of this reinstated as best as possible.

Unfortunately, both films are failures. It’s not because of the score or the running time. And it’s not about what was cut out or left in. Simply put, the problem was Mr. Scott’s overindulgences with his visual palette related to character, story, tone and all the other storytelling elements.

Tom Cruise is sorely miscast as Jack, a humble forest boy smitten with the lovely virginal Princess Lily (Mia Sara). As told in the opening prologue, good and evil are kept in balance by the magic of the unicorns. The evil lord (Curry) who wants a world of darkness instead of light plots to capture and dehorn the unicorns. When Lily is caught in the way of the goblin Pix’s plans, she becomes the Dark Lord’s prisoner, thus sending Jack on his quest to find Lily and save the world from perpetual darkness.

It’s a sparsely detailed narrative at best, buoyed by Ridley Scott’s sumptuous art direction and cinematography. The film is impossibly beautiful. The entire movie was shot inside a studio, with all of the exterior forest scenes recreated indoors for maximum visual control. And it’s all on the screen and pristine on Blu-ray. I can’t even imagine the painstaking efforts it took to shoot those slow-motion shots of the unicorns galloping through the forest and through the lightly descending flower spores in the air. In moments like these, the film is spectacularly breathtaking and arguably one of the most beautiful films ever made.

That said, there is such thing as too much of a good thing. And Scott’s verisimilitude for visual texture severely overwhelms and bogs down his narrative. Even at 90 minutes, it’s a slow crawl. The actors seem more like furniture to the lovely spores or drops of water from the cave stalactites. Tim Curry is completely imprisoned in his gargantuan and gothic devil’s headdress makeup effects by Rob Bottin. Again, the red devil is an impressive technical design, but it furthers the rigidness and stunted feeling of the narrative.

Legend typifies the frustration with many of Scott's films, commercially-driven movies aimed at the mainstream but overly consumed by their own visual texture. As a result, they’re often emotionally vacant, hallow and inert.

Legend is available on Blu-ray from Universal Home Entertainment.

Mann v. Ford

Mann v. Ford (2011) dir. Maro Chermayeff, Micah Fink
Documentary

***

By Alan Bacchus

The participants of this scathing documentary on environmental irresponsibility have high aspirations, using the idealistic powers of the civil court system to take down the mighty corporate giant Ford Motor Company. The crime is the heinous negligence of Ford over a 20-year period in the ’60s and ‘70s when the car manufacturer, with wanton disregard for the health of the inhabitants of a small New Jersey reservation, dumped tons of hazardous waste material onto the land. The health ramifications from this are still being felt today.

The community of Upper Ringwood is home to the Rampaugh Indians, an insular clan of sorts referred to for decades as backward Appalachia depressed by chronic poverty. Poverty is evident, but this hasn’t zapped the spirit of these people, who in the 8 mm home movie footage are seen as tight-knit, joyous free spirits who cherish the value of family and community.

But when Ford bought their land in the ‘60s, they proceeded to use the vacant mines and other derelict ground to dump massive amounts of paint sludge from their plants. Without any care in the world, the kids of Upper Ringwood freely played with this sludge on a daily basis for years, thus exposing them to truly awful and toxic carcinogens, which would decimate their lifespan.

Even after the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) investigation and clean-up, the land is still toxic and dangerous. And now, in the present, a team of idealistic lawyers arrives, led by a sprite Erin Brockovich-type, Vicki Gilliam, to champion the rights of these 'Davids' against the 'Goliath' of Ford.

If there is a lead character in this film, it’s Vicki, a sparkplug personality and southern belle/pageant girl-type mixed with a little bit of trailer trash who speaks in aw shucks hyperbole and metaphors. Her gung ho enthusiasm is matched by a palpable naivety to the difficult task at hand. But at the point when we question her credibility, the filmmaker cleverly doubles back to tell Vicki’s own personal story of an inspiring journey from impoverished single mother and high school drop-out to college grad, law school and a career as a lawyer.

Directors Chermayeff and Fink make superb use of the 8 mm footage. They show the bygone era as an idyllic American dream world capturing the joy of youth, but also a form of Paradise Lost. The duo find memorable characters in the community, specifically a young man named Mickey DeGroat, who was once a spry, good-looking, strapping lad, but is now broken down from a debilitating skin disease. They also tell the story about the death of a 10-year-old boy from a cancerous tumour in his neck.

Unfortunately, there’s also a strong whiff of irresponsible journalism here. Of course, this is a point-of-view documentary, and the filmmakers make it clear that Ford was asked to participate but declined. But at times, the ‘he said’ part of this equation is so grossly exaggerated that the journalistic integrity is threatened. At one point, one of the activists, Bob Spiegel of the Edison Wetlands Association, recounts the details of a story of the bribery of an EPA worker by a Ford Motor Company executive in the back of a limousine only to tell us at the end that this is how the bribery might have happened, in his own mind. That said, there are also a lot of credible journalists, lawyers and scientists who successfully prove their point. The EPA and policy makers of the state of New Jersey and the US Federal Government are featured, which contributes to the high legitimacy of the filmmakers’ endeavour.

Despite the confidence and optimism of everyone involved, as the journey progresses we get a sense of a battle being lost – the latest tragedy in the long history of marginalization of these peoples providing a sad ironic historical context to the problems of today. By the end, the documentary effectively hits its mark with poignancy.

Mann v. Ford is currently showing on HBO in Canada and the U.S.

It’s Always Fair Weather

It’s Always Fair Weather (1955) dir. Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen
Starring: Gene Kelly, Cyd Charisse, Michael Kidd, Dan Dailey

***½

By Alan Bacchus

To be honest, I had actually never even heard of this film before it played on Turner Classic Movies this week when I saw it for the first time. It's really a must-see musical directed by the great team of Stanley Donen and Gene Kelly and their follow-up to the legendary Singin’ in the Rain. Although It’s Always Fair Weather was critically favourable back in the day, it didn't perform as well as Singin’ in the Rain, and thus never achieved the same cultural awareness as that film or their first collaboration, On the Town. That’s a shame, but what a fun 'discovery'. It's Always Fair Weather is a marvellously lavish piece of cinematic spectacle featuring Gene Kelly dancing on roller skates, some early triptych split screen work, and big, bold Cinemascope.

Like the Gene Kelly/Donald O'Connor/Debbie Reynolds team, Weather features another trio of friends, specifically war buddies from WWII who make a pact to meet up 10 years after VE Day to rekindle their friendship only to find in the present that they have almost nothing in common. As typical of the Kelly/Donen collaborations, some remarkably energetic song and dance set pieces are the chief reason to watch this picture. Like a fight sequence from a Jackie Chan movie or a car chase from Michael Bay, the five or six musical sequences in this film are a marvel of choreography, creativity, athleticism and technical artistry.

The characterizations of the three leads are admittedly base archetypes. Gene Kelly plays Ted Riley, a guy who gets dumped by his girlfriend by phone on VE Day and then turns into a womanizing, two-bit fight gambler and fight promoter. The tall, lanky Dan Dailey is Doug Hallerton, a painter who sells out his dreams of being a respected artist for a hum drum life of drawing cartoons for lowly TV advertisements. Angie Valentine (the legendary Michael Kidd) is the chef of the bunch, who lives a humble working-class life as a grill man and owner of a burger restaurant in Schenectady, New York. But characterizations like these are typical of the genre and really a means to get these characters to express themselves so dramatically in the form of song and dance.

The first set piece indeed reminds us of a Jackie Chan sequence. It features the three soldiers stinking drunk in 1945 celebrating their victory in the middle of the streets of New York tap dancing around in and on top of a yellow cab. Like Chan, Kelly and company make clever use of the props in the surroundings in their routines.

It's not always the boys who shine though. Cyd Charisse is magnificent in her main set piece as a Marilyn Monroe-style cock-tease amid the snarling sweaty men in a boxing gym. The most celebrated scene is the roller skating sequence, which feels like the famous Singin' in the Rain sequence, except instead of tap dancing with his shoes along the rain-soaked streets, Kelly elegantly glides around on a pair of roller skates. Kelly's skills on skates are amazing, matched equally by his ability to tap dance with skates on!

Kelly and Donen could have been the Michael Bay of our age. In addition to these musical sequences, they stage a rambunctious comic fist fight sequence at the end showing exactly how the choreography of dance and song in old Hollywood equates to the same creative and technical methodology of action sequences today.

Under the Same Moon

Under the Same Moon (2007) dir. Patricia Reggin
Starring: Adrian Alonso, Kate del Castillo, Eugenio Derbez, Maya Zapata

***½

By Alan Bacchus

In 2007, Under the Same Moon (aka La Misma Lun) never did find its audience. This is no surprise. It’s uncool, unhip, old fashioned and a little corny. But its optimism and heart-on-its-sleeve sentimentality is a welcomed breath of fresh air. This simple tale of a young Mexican boy's journey to be reunited with his mother across the border is a near perfect rendering of the classic Odyssey-style storytelling and a small unearthed gem waiting to be discovered.

The opening establishes the two main characters, nine-year-old Carlito and his mother Rosario. Rosario crossed the border illegally 4 years ago and now lives in LA working as a maid so she can properly provide for her son. Carlito lives with his grandmother in Mexico. His life is safe and secure, but he’s brave enough to mask his desire to grow up in the company of his mother. Breaking the bond of mother and son creates such a strong cinematic hook, the real-world plausibility or logic of such a situation becomes mute. A dramatic event at the first act turn occurs which puts his domestic situation in question.

Carlito goes on a journey to find his mother, a journey that takes him across the border via a series of interesting characters – some good, some not so good – who help at each stage along the way. The less you know about the specifics of the story the better because despite the Hollywood conventions it’s an unpredictable series of narrative twists and turns – something new and exciting is discovered with every new beat, scene and act turn. If I was teaching a course on screenwriting, Under the Same Moon could be a case study on the perfect structure and execution of its genre.

The finale is unabashedly 'Hollywood', but it’s still thoroughly cinematic and satisfying. It’s the perfect ending for this special film.

The anchor is a remarkable performance from youngster Adrian Alonzo – an astonishing performance comparable to any of the acclaimed child performances in recent memory (i.e., Haley Joel Osment, Abigail Breslin, Dakota Fanning, etc.). But the lack of recognition for such work is equally astonishing. Young Adrian holds down the film with complete authenticity. His sad but strong eyes instantly give Carlito the street smarts the character needs for us to believe that he could make this journey.

The characters he meets along the way are introduced casually but are slowly developed under our noses. Check out the loathsome Enrique (Eugenio Derbez), who enters the picture as a fellow border crosser that has no need to hang around a nine-year-old while evading the INS ( I wouldn’t either). But surprisingly, Enrique hangs around long enough to become an integral supporting character who learns something about honour and friendship along the way.

It would be easy to dismiss the film for simplifying complex issues, or the fact that it makes no overt political stance on border relations between Mexico and the U.S. The border exists purely as a cinematic device or barrier between mother and son. The film is bigger than the political issue because it’s a pure form of storytelling, which in the annals of history will survive long past its 'politically divisive' contemporaries.

The Lincoln Lawyer

The Lincoln Lawyer (2011) dir. Brad Furman
Starring: Matthew McConaughey, Ryan Phillipe, Marisa Tomei, William H. Macy.

***

By Alan Bacchus

With today's information onslaught, moviegoers can't help but be influenced greatly by the publicity, hype and general hyper-awareness of any movie with any sort of profile. Every once in a while there's a negative effect resulting in a surprise discovery. And, to be honest, there wasn't much to be attracted to from the individual elements of this project – Matthew McConaughey in a rare serious part, perhaps trying to recapture the acclaim from his first breakout role in A Time To Kill. While this isn't a John Grisham story (it's from Michael Connelly, an equally proficient airport paperback writer), it feels like his brand.

That said, what a marvellous surprise to be sucked into this beguiling legal thriller. It’s a '90s throwback of sorts featuring a remarkably well thought out conceptual brainteaser of a hook. McConaughey plays Mick Haller, a bloodsucking Beverly Hills defence attorney specializing in getting criminals off and using the dirtiest tactics to do it. His latest case, in which the privileged son of a rich family finds himself charged with the rape and assault of a prostitute, looks to be another windfall. But as the layers of lies and deceit from the people involved are uncovered, Mick finds himself in a complex legal mousetrap, one that endangers himself, his colleagues and his family.

I've purposely left most of the story vague so as not to ruin some of the genuinely surprising twists along the way.

Matthew McConaughey is decent though unexceptional as the ethically challenged hero. After so many affable rom-coms, he never quite feels comfortable in the skin of this character. That said, as a good-looking, smooth-talking lawyer, he isn't stretched too far.

But director Brad Furman smartly populates his supporting roles with better actors. Watch the astonishing impact of Michael Peña (Crash) in a tiny but influential role as a former client of Haller's who was wrongly imprisoned. William H. Macy plays a greasy but resourceful investigator. Bryan Cranston shows up with little to do except look tough, as does fine character actor Shea Wingham (Tigerland), who turns himself into another terrifying Southern red neck.

Not everything lands perfectly in The Lincoln Lawyer. While the fascinating plot machinations and progression of Haller's case offer up a delightful legal conundrum, Furman and the bunch leave hanging the motivation for the rape that incites this film. As the credits roll, we get the feeling the filmmakers have exploited this crime in order to create a neat legal puzzler without sufficiently reconciling the victim. But this is all fiction, and no one really got hurt. So we can safely enjoy this disposable but excellent, purely hypothetical, conceptual legal thriller without any guilty feelings.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams

Cave of Forgotten Dreams (2010) dir. Werner Herzog
Documentary

***½

By Alan Bacchus

I can’t believe I didn’t know this. In the opening moments of Cave of Forgotten Dreams, Werner Herzog’s delightfully monotone German voice describes to us the discovery of one of the most influential archaeology sites of our time – a cave in France containing pristine, undisturbed cave paintings from 32,000 years ago (that’s THREE zeroes), which makes them the oldest recorded drawings/artwork of man.

Herzog gets us into the caves and shows us in 3-D these phenomenal works of art. I say works of art because the techniques used by these Cro-Magnon men and women were astounding. First of all, the journey into the caves is a story unto itself. After moving through a dead-bolted steel door with small mobile cameras and a minimal crew, Herzog travels down a sharp cliff and then along a 3-foot wide steel walkway in order to not disturb the crystallized foundation of the cave. The whole cave is a work of art – the stalactites, the bones and the skulls of extinct animals, including bears, tigers and other creatures.

On the walls are a series of intricately painted mosaics of animals using the contours of the cave walls to emphasize movement. As usual, Herzog uses his easy-going cinematic style to make even the most dry, perfunctory information interesting and important. But Herzog has never been one to settle just for the information. It’s fun watching the scientists and archaeologists, who have spent as many as 20 years mapping the caves and studying the drawings, discussing what’s in the souls of the artists, or whether they dream of the painting.

What Herzog really wants is his audience to look beyond the art and into the minds of the artists, to imagine their dreams and the spiritual aspect that separates man from animal and what connects people across the ages.

The 3-D is hit and miss. The low-rent handheld camera creates a nauseating swooshing effect, which loses all of its 3-D depth. But when Herzog is able to put his camera on some sticks, we can really enjoy the stereoscopic space. Unfortunately, there’s not enough light within the caves to create definition and perspective as such, so it’s not the best showcase of the medium.

Nonetheless, the film is another one in Herzog’s phenomenal string of successes, doc or drama.

Terri

Terri (2010) dir. Azazel Jacobs
Starring: Jacob Wysoski, John C. Reilly, Creed Bratton, Olivia Croccichia, Bridger Zadina

*½

By Alan Bacchus

The trauma of high school receives another creative interpretation in Terri, the story of an overweight teenager, who by the nature of his size, just doesn’t fit in. Though it's heart is in the right place, an ambling unfocused narrative and glacially-paced absurdist set pieces make this an extremely frustrating experience.

Jacoby Wyoski is the title character, introduced with a random set of peculiar idiosyncrasies. Sure, he’s overweight, and he’s made fun of, but not a torturous kind of bullying. He lives with his uncle (Creed Bratton) who suffers from some kind of psychological disease which requires heavy medication. Terri has also recently taken a liking to trapping mice and feeding them to the local birds. He also wears pyjamas at all times, even to school.

At school, his chronic lateness gets him in trouble with the oddball vice-principal (John C. Reilly), a bombastic personality, full of clichéd authoritative hyperbole as well as his own set of deranged idiosyncrasies. There’s also the type-A hot chick, whom Terri ogles over, but of course has no chance of scoring. Wait. Terri somehow ingratiates himself to her, sparking a potential romance, and the chance that he may break out of his shell and achieve normalcy.

The absurd comic interactions are stymied by a frustrating overindulgence in awkward silences, and deadpan expressionless reactions to these shenanigans. Among these is the character of Chad, an oddball goth kid who habitually plucks his hair out. Their trip to the funeral of the principal’s spacey secretary is one such scene which exists for the sake of creating awkwardness, and even fails to deliver enough laughs to justify its existence.

Without defined goals and a concrete narrative through line, the comic dalliances add up to nothing. The melancholy and delicate piano score attempts to tie up the tonal inconsistencies and give us some emotional closure, but it’s just too cerebral to make up for the inane randomness.

God bless John C. Reilly though who saves the picture from complete failure. He generates all of the laughs, relishing the opportunity to make the most of his kooky character.

The only other thing to cling onto is a potentially warm love story between Terri and his unattainable attraction. This doesn’t gain traction until the second half, and even then the opportunity is wasted with an overlong drunken and trippy threesome set piece in the final act.

Admittedly I could see some audiences lapping up the zaniness of the picture, but outside of the easy Sundance audience, there isn't much hope.

Swimming with Sharks

Swimming with Sharks (1994) dir. George Huang
Starring: Frank Whaley, Kevin Spacey, Michelle Forbes, Benecio Del Toro

***1/2

By Alan Bacchus

While The Devil Wears Prada has much in common with Swimming with Sharks, an office film featuring a high-strung executive beating down a lowly assistant for the sake of comedy, George Huang's film, even this many years later, has infinitely more truth and heart than the other more successful film.

I was struck by how honest the relationship between Huang’s two combatants is. Kevin Spacey is Buddy Ackerman (apparently a disguised Scott Rudin) and Frank Whaley is his green office assistant, Guy. No matter how absurd or dark the film becomes, Huang always stays within the boundaries of realism. I’ve been in Guy’s position before, working for a few of these types of personalities. They do exist, and in show business this type of behaviour is accepted and encouraged. Buddy Ackerman is a top executive for a Hollywood production company, someone with little time to accept anything but complete subservience from his staff. Guy is the new guy, a sharp young man with dreams of making it big.

Guy’s first lesson comes from the outgoing assistant played by Benicio Del Toro. It’s a fun sequence, as he describes the ins and outs and unofficial rules of the Hollywood game. The banter is funny but also to-the-letter realistic. It doesn’t take long for the battles to begin. Immediately Guy gets reamed for using the wrong sugar in his coffee. Over the course of the year we watch as Guy gains confidence and the relationship shifts from slave to colleague to a competitor for Buddy.

When Guy ingratiates himself to a female producer and client of Buddy's he sees the light at the end of the tunnel. She’s a confidante with whom he can share his frustrations, not to mention a genuinely emotional romantic relationship.

Huang moves the film toward a dark and twisting plot of revenge – a flash-forward sequence is intercut showing Guy's kidnapping and torturing of Buddy for heinous ill treatment.

Swimming with Sharks arrived at a time when independent film began a resurgence. It was the Tarantino era, and we feel it in every foot of this film. Films like The Player and Living in Oblivion opened us up to the inner workings of Hollywood executives. Even the story of Tarantino’s discovery was well known. He was a film junkie and former video store clerk who schmoozed Hollywood into letting him in the door. Guy's journey is much the same as a wet-behind-the-ears nave exposed to the unscrupulous world of Hollywood.

Spacey is fun as Ackerman, spouting some finely crafted insults, but we never fully understand whether this is exaggeration or a caricature. I'm hesitant to even label this as a comedy. The finale ventures into a disturbing area of dark cynicism, like The Bad and the Beautiful or Sunset Boulevard, dispelling all the romanticism of the movie business. I’ve been in Guy's shoes and it’s scary.

Das Boot

Das Boot (1981) dir. Wolfgang Peterson
Starring: Jürgen Prochnow, Herbert Grönemeyer, Klaus Wennemann, Hubertus Bengsch, Martin Semmelrogge

****

By Alan Bacchus

A landmark in international cinema, a Hollywood-style war film created outside the US and Britain, and a heroic German film about Nazis, Das Boot was conceived primarily as an action film with a message. Wolfgang Peterson’s strong directorial style and deft abilities to juggle intimate moments of character with intense action are the reasons this film caught the attention of Hollywood producers, received a stateside theatrical release, was nominated for several Oscars (including Best Director) and became a success.

Some spotty production deficiencies aside, Das Boot still looks and sounds great. It’s an intense war film, which arguably tops all submarine films produced by Hollywood over the years.

The new Sony Pictures Blu-ray release features both the original theatrical cut (149 minutes) and the 1997-released director’s cut (209 minutes). I chose to watch and review the film based on the theatrical edition, which is usually the version to stick with. The shorter running time results in a more intense experience, one that’s meant for the big screen and is the reason why the film garnered the amount of attention it did back in its day. At 209 minutes Das Boot is still a fine film, but it requires a much more significant investment of time for the same emotional reaction.

Peterson puts us in the viewpoint of Lt. Werner, a war correspondent assigned to cover the missions of U-96 in October 1941, specifically its charismatic Captain (Jürgen Prochnow). The opening scenes in the German nightclub before the crew is shipped out for battle are key to establishing Peterson’s stand on Nazism. Watch the sullen reactions of Prochnow and his other crew mates to the drunken Nazi oaf mocking Churchill. Here we see the crew as soldiers caught up in the winds of war, not genocidal Nazi tyrants. With the audience on the side of Peterson’s characters, it’s not difficult to invest in their survival.

Once in the boat and on their journey, it’s a taut thrill ride. Peterson moves us quickly from one set piece to another. The thrill of victories in the Atlantic using their ingenuity to take down a number of Allied ships and the third act setbacks, which result in the flooring of the boat at over 200 ft, provide a miraculously energetic finale. The crew virtually rises from the dead and returns home in one piece.

Peterson takes time to show us the horrors of battle and the deep concern his characters have for their opposing combatants. At one point, after the first Allied ship is destroyed, we see the soldiers on fire leaping into the ocean with no rescue in sight. The German crew witnesses this, and given their apparent unease, Peterson once again reminds us these are working class soldiers – ordinary men like you and me.

The celebrated production values still look astonishing, specifically Jost Vacano’s superlative camera moves through the tight belly of the sub. Somehow, Peterson is able to push his camera through the tightest of spaces in long takes and through the tiny portal holes between sections of the boat as his characters run from end to end. These unbroken camera moves effectively ratchet up the intensity and the claustrophobia of their confined environment. At the same time, I'd be remiss if I didn't cringe at some of the lacklustre exterior process shots and some of Klaus Doldinger’s synthesized score. But then again, it was 1981, and just about every movie sounded like this.

The tragic and ironic denouement, which has the U-Boat and crew attacked from the air during the reverie of their return, is a curious way to end the film. But it’s wholly necessary to keep the film in the context of history and punish the soldiers, however unjustly, for the future and past crimes of their country. For this and all the other reasons cited above, Das Boot will always be a great film.

Das Boot is available on Blu-ray from Sony Pictures Home Entertainment.

Transformers: Dark of the Moon

Transformers: Dark of the Moon (2011) dir. Michael Bay
Starring: Shia Leboeuf, Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, Josh Duhamel, Tyrese Gibson, John Turturro, Frances McDormand, John Malkovich

***

By Alan Bacchus

Here we go again – another round of Bay-bashing. And really, it’s so easy to hate this stuff. Certainly in this latest chapter of the Transformers ‘saga’, as before, it's more mind-numbing beat downs of sight and sound. Metal machines pounding each other endlessly, hyper-active human characters talking a mile a minute, American patriotism gone wild.

I had fun with the first film, if anything simply to watch what I had once thought was an unfilmable franchise turned into an impressive array of top notch special effects and eye-popping real world explosions, stunts and action. There were even some genuinely likeable and fun characters to enjoy, namely Sam Witwicky’s affable mom and dad.

By the second film, the repetition wore out its welcome very quickly – like after the first five minutes – thus rendering the theatrical experience assaulting. Even Sam's parents were annoying.

And so, with little expectations other than the smattering of lenient critics calling it the ‘best of the series’, Transformers: Dark of the Moon is a pleasant surprise. Sure, it clocks in at two-and-a-half hours, but it moves quickly.

Writer Ehren Kruger’s chief improvement is a simplification in character and plot. The opening establishes the reason for the title, Dark of the Moon – a fun riff on history, wherein Kruger postulates that the reason for the Apollo mission was to investigate and recover a downed alien spacecraft from the early ‘60s. Bay and company have fun with these conspiracy theories, including a jaunt to Chernobyl, and they plot out a fun backstory, which seems to erase what was established in Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen. So, objection here.

In the present, our hero Sam Witwicky is out of school looking for a job but frustrated that his hero status has been shoved under the rug by the government to cover up the presence of the Transformers robots. The Decepticons still exist in hiding and are plotting a scheme by which they can recover an important artifact from the Moon to revive the body of a long lost Autobot leader. This old robot does come to life in the form of ‘Sentinel Prime’ (voiced well by Leonard Nimoy), who may or may not be working for the Decepticons. Ultimately, the evil robots aim to construct a giant portal that would bring the entire planet of Cybertron to Earth for the purposes of intergalactic colonization.

Surprisingly, Transformers works well in 3-D. Most of the problems with this new medium have been corrected by Mr. Bay – there’s little, if any, ‘double imaging’, the brightness level was normal, the 3-D process accepted Bay’s kinetic action scenes well and I got no headaches! What an improvement from Avatar.

Because of the 3-D process, Bay’s shooting style was significantly toned down, for the better. Longer, wider shots tend to improve the scope of the spectacle aids. In full action, the robots were actually discernible, and for the first time in the series it wasn’t just a swash of colour and light blurred across the screen. In fact, this film might just have the least amount of action with much of it back-ended during the Chicago siege sequence. Bay takes his time and lets humour push the film into the third act when it gets wild and crazy. Arguably the best sequence involves very little robot action. It’s a fun adventure for Sam and his military team sliding across a Chicago building toppling over on its side.

Strong new characters add some freshness where the old ones had become stale. Frances McDormand’s tight-ass Chief of Staff character is fun, and she’s one of three Coen Bros. alum (including mainstay John Turturro) going along with the fun. Burn After Reading’s John Malkovich goes over-the-top in a role as Sam Witwicky’s looney boss. The ubiquitous Ken Jeong does what he does best as an equally looney conspiracy nut. And Alan Tudyk is just plain batshit crazy as a German assistant to John Turturro.

The new Megan Fox, Victoria’s Secret model Rosie Huntington-Whiteley, is a marked improvement. She actually might have some acting chops, and she certainly has a better funny bone than Ms. Fox had in the series.

Considering the license to print money this series has become, like the Pirates series, I don't doubt we will see more Transformers movies in the future. But thankfully, I doubt we’ll see Michael Bay back at the helm. Instead, he’ll likely be moving on to more creatively inspiring directorial ventures. We’ll see.

Submarine

Submarine (2011) dir. Richard Ayoade
Starring: Craig Roberts, Yasmin Paige, Sally Hawkins, Noah Taylor, Paddy Considine

***

By Alan Bacchus

Richard Ayoade was recently knighted by Variety in their annual 10 to Watch list, an esteemed list of hot new directors on the block. Actually, he isn’t exactly new. In addition to his experience in stand-up comedy, much like contemporaries Edgar Wright (Shaun of the Dead), Armando Ianucci, (In the Loop) and Chris Morris (Four Lions), he seems to have come from the superlative comedy training ground that is British television. Ayoade’s quirky UK coming of age comedy is deserving of the attention. It’s an auteur/idiosyncratic work, not entirely original stylistically but funny and involving enough to make us anticipate his second film.

Fifteen-year-old Oliver Tate is from the Wes Anderson family of protagonists, an articulate self-aware youth too mature for his body and with too much misplaced energy. Through the heavily-detailed observance in his voiceover we know exactly who this character is. Early on he describes his efforts to find his niche in high school by experimenting with a roll call of peculiar hobbies from French crooners to silly hats.

Like Rushmore’s Max Fischer, Tate wants to have the emotions of an adult, but he has no outlet for life’s drama. His parents are emotionally detached robots who barely emote anything above a whisper to each other. His only friends in school are immature children, not yet at the intellectual level Tate desires to be.

But he also has a massive crush on the enigmatic and aloof Jordana, who appears as emotionally superior and mature as he does. His attempts to ingratiate himself to her involve bullying one of his good friends resulting in her transfer from school. But it works, and soon Oliver and Jordana are moving from first base to second base and beyond. Meanwhile, a new neighbour, Graham, a pretentious new-age psychic played with delicious ‘80s mullet-head tackiness by Paddy Considine, arrives attracting the attention of Oliver‘s mom. With the impending breakdown of his parents’ marriage and the inability to deal with Jordana’s own family problems, the drama Oliver desires eventually arrives.

We’ve seen just about everything in this film already, from the articulate obsessively-specific details of his observant voiceover to the quirky framing, wide-angle lenses and general tone of oddball kookiness. This genre goes back to The Graduate and was eventually exploited for a handful of Wes Anderson’s films. Taika Waititi’s Sundance entry from last year, Boy, also comes to mind, and in terms of the hilariously inventive use of absurd voiceover, Trainspotting appears to be an influence.

Though it’s familiar territory, Ayoade’s characters are honest and seem to derive from a place of real personal angst. Perhaps it’s the source material, a novel by Joe Dunthorne, which is apparently a semi-autobiography from Dunthorne’s youth in the ‘80s. Sympathetic and unflashy performances from the kids, Craig Roberts and Yasmin Paige, and the cozy warmth of Sally Hawkins and Noah Taylor as the parents anchor it all in heartfelt reality.

Superman II

Superman II (1980) dir. Richard Lester/Richard Donner
Starring: Christopher Reeve, Margot Kidder, Gene Hackman, Terence Stamp, Ned Beatty

**1/2

By Alan Bacchus

Yeah, I’m sorry to say, despite my childhood memories of the awesomeness of General Zod and his two other black clad Krypton baddies matching strength with Superman in this film, the film itself doesn’t hold up well. Richard Donner’s superlative Superman: The Movie, as mentioned in my review last week, still resounds as a landmark of the genre, but it’s much maligned sequel is the beginning of the devolution of the series from serious reflection of the superhero genre to candy coded bubblegum entertainment for children.

And yes, I’m talking about the Richard Donner cut, which back in 2005, allowed Donner to, as much as possible, cut the film as he originally intended back in the day, before being fired and replaced by Richard Lester. Unfortunately the fact the second film (and to some degree the first) got bungled up by the meddling of the Salkind producers, who knows how this second film would have turned out if Donner had stayed on through the entire two films.

The changes in the DVD-released 'Richard Donner Cut' are surprisingly extensive, the opening shot brings some of the same feelings of pathos as the previous film. A slow tracking shot across planet Krypton before replaying the scenes of General Zod and his team on trial and being captured in the plate glass prison are powerful.

There’s also the reinstatement of Marlon Brando as Jor-el in the fortress of solitude – first when Lex Luthor arrives to steal Superman’s secrets and at the end when he confesses the mistakes made with Lois. Brando’s presence is invaluable, his droll British accent adds a little more meaning and importance to the film, but not enough to completely save the film.

Admittedly Richard Lester’s ending is actually better. Donner chose to have Superman spin the world back in time again (as in in the first film) in order to erase Lois’s memory of Superman’s identity. But again, this is not Donner's fault. The Salkinds, against Donner's wishes, chose to use the ending of the second film in the first. So on it's own the reversing time segment doesn't work, but in the scope of the fully realized Donner vision it does. Lester’s magical kiss which has Superman simply erasing Lois’ memory with a genuine romantic kiss is a small moment, still Ex Machina, but more emotionally satisfying, connecting the two souls together without the grandiosity to reversing the Earth.

That all said, the internal conflict of Superman as a man and as an alien visitor and saviour of the planet provides a strong character arc for Superman across both films (and even both versions of the sequel). Christopher Reeve is still a marvel, exhibited immense screen presence as the Man of Steel as well as doing a fine Cary Grant slapstick turn as Clark Kent.

The trio of General Zod and the others are much more exciting as a 5 year old back in 1980, than a 36 year old adult today. Spotty effects, maligned by the stingy Salkinds, betray the build up to their eventual confrontation, though Terence Stamp is still imposing in his signature line, ‘kneel before Zod’.

But the absolute best character and actor of both films is Gene Hackman as Lex Luthor. He’s not really needed in this film, but Hackman’s magnificent delivery and comic timing elevates his character beyond what most actors could have done with the part.

Superman II both the Richard Lester and Richard Donner versions are available on Blu-Ray in the Superman Anthology 1978-2006 Box Set from Warner Home Entertainment

Superman Returns

Superman Returns (2006) dir. Bryan Singer
Starring: Brandon Routh, Kevin Spacey, Kate Bosworth, James Marsdon, Parker Posey, Frank Langella

***1/2

By Alan Bacchus

It’s too bad this film missed its mark 6 summers ago. It’s a rather unique and wholly admirable vision for this Superman. Virtually anything could have been done with the character and the franchise, and Jon Peters, the producer, tried many different directors to relaunch the series, including using his old Batman pal Tim Burton with Nicolas Cage as the man of steel. Bryan Singer’s film resonates strongly based on his meticulous precision in plugging it into the style, tone and overall mythology of the Richard Donner films (Superman The Movie and most of Superman II). Perceived success or not, Superman Returns is a terrific film.

What’s to be cherished most from the 1978 Superman The Movie is the treatment of the origin story, both the father-son relationship between Jor-El (as played by Marlon Brando) and Superman (nee Ka-Lel), and Superman's relationship with his adopted father on Earth played by Glenn Ford. What a stroke of genius to bring Brando back from the dead, incorporating outtakes from the original in this new one to provide a unique tie between the two films. In production, the announcement of Brando’s presence signified Singer’s desire to stay in sync with the other films.

Tonally, Singer hits the same marks as Donner. Brandon Routh not only looks strikingly similar to Christopher Reeve, but he possesses some of the same slapstick steps as Reeve playing Clark Kent. Kevin Spacey and Parker Posey admirably step into the shoes of Gene Hackman and Ned Beatty, the sometimes bumbling, sometimes deadly affable opposing duo.

John Ottman’s score admirably reworks John Williams’ recognizable music to find a satisfiable hybrid.

In terms of story, Singer finds a fun medium between continuing the story established by Donner, finding his own journey for Superman and even adapting/recreating a number of the scenes from the original for his own purposes. Lois Lane’s interview of Superman, for example, is choreographed and directed note-for-note with Donner’s memorable scene in the original. After getting the assignment to do a personal piece on Superman, he meets up with Lois on the art deco rooftop flying in from the sky. A fun conversation piece filled by sexual subtext and double-entendres ensues before Superman whisks Lois off into the sky for a nighttime jaunt.

Singer’s new addition, Lois’s child, who may or may not be Superman’s kid, also fits in wonderfully. It connects to his strong feelings for his two paternal figures, Jor-El and Pa Kent. If anything, it’s a shame we couldn’t see Ford, like Brando, somehow return in a flashback. The surprise moment in the third act when the child discovers his powers for the first time offers a pretty darn exciting piece of action, and the denouement, the final admonition of Superman as father to his sleeping son, is deeply affecting.

Where Superman Returns doesn’t land as softly, arguably, are in the overstocked action scenes. Sequences such as the airplane crash and the boat rescue at the end feel perfunctory, exercises in blockbuster excess demanded by its tent pole requirements. The overuse of CGI to replicate Superman during the scenes adds a negative cartoon nature to its generally serious subject matter.

Perhaps this is why the filmed failed – the needs and desires to create an action film conflicted with Bryan Singer’s desire to romance the genre as Richard Donner did so many years ago. Regardless, the work speaks for itself and succeeds as a worthy final chapter in the long yet truncated saga.

Superman Returns is available on Blu-ray in the Superman Anthology 1978-2006 set from Warner Home Entertainment.