Frankenstein

Frankenstein (1931) dir. James Whale
Starring: Colin Clive, Mae Clarke, John Boles and Boris Karloff

****

By Alan Bacchus

Mary Shelley’s classic tragic horror fantasy has never been filmed with more genre goodness and tragic Hollywood sentimentality than the James Whale Universal classic. Of course, just as much of the novel was discarded as was retained. Instead, Whale and his writers, under the guidance of producer/studio head Carl Laemmle Jr., embellish the salacious and grisly details of Shelley’s concept and condense it into its own patchwork beast of a movie, not unlike the creature itself.

Although, it should be stated that this film version was in fact not directly based on the novel, but rather Peggy Webling’s 1920s stage play. With that said, despite severe bastardization of the original story, the themes of scientific malfeasance and the attempts of man to become God and create man in man’s own image resonate as strongly as in the original book.

Whale’s direction is simply masterful, employing the prevailing visual trends of the day, German expressionism and art deco to create a deliciously gothic and brooding look to his film. Just look at the fantastic opening sequence during which Dr. Henry Frankenstein (not Victor here) and his hunchback servant Fritz grave-rob the cemetery looking for his individual body parts. Whale’s gothic compositions, such as placing his characters in dark, nearly silhouetted black and white against the ominous studio-constructed cloudscape backdrop is rich with atmosphere.

The Frankenstein castle and his experimental lair are meticulously constructed to reflect the futurism of the art deco style. We can’t help but see Fritz Lang’s Metropolis in both theme and the production design of the sets.

Frankenstein makes an interesting comparison with 1933's King Kong. The monsters in both films are born from man’s insatiable desire to conquer science at all costs. Both Dr. Frankenstein and King Kong’s Carl Denham recklessly attempt to tame science and nature with such careless abandon that they tragically destroy an innocent life. Like Kong, Boris Karloff is an unabashedly sympathetic monster. We compassionately identify with him after he’s birthed into being then frightened with fire torches by Henry and Fritz. Watching the monster cower in fear of Henry’s torches is a heartbreaking scene. And the subsequent heinous torture and imprisonment of the monster is directed with sincere humanism and compassion.

And so when the monster inadvertently murders the young girl in the lake, it’s a sad and tragically ironic moment for the audience because we know the monster doesn’t know any better. He is like an infant, a product of his father or master, and the result of man’s general irresponsibility with the tools of science.

Like King Kong, the hunt for and eventual destruction of the monster by the angry villagers is a tragic and sad moment for the audience. Whale’s magnificent staging of the scene, including the awesome final imagery of the burning windmill behind the bloodthirsty mob, is almost as powerful as Kong’s final fight atop the Empire State Building. They’re two of the greatest humanistic moments ever created in the genre of horror-fantasy.

Batman

Batman (1989) dir. Tim Burton
Starring: Michael Keaton, Jack Nicholson, Kim Basinger, Robert Wuhl, Jack Palance, Michael Gough

**1/2

By Alan Bacchus

It was a monumental summer of 1989, the summer of Batman. As an impressionable 15-year-old, I got sucked into the tremendous and then innovative marketing push for this film. Warner Bros. somehow made this film feel like the most important thing in the world – a monumental shift in how we see comic books and superheroes on film. Before anyone even saw it, we were compelled to it. Looking back, the film is not that great. Only in the context of the history of comic book adaptations, Tim Burton’s career and the Hollywood marketing techniques does the film resonate soundly as a milestone in cinema.

In 1989, to the masses, Batman was synonymous with the kitschy satirical Adam West TV series from the 1960s. The only other legitimate comic book adaptation as a feature film was the Superman series, which in 1979 started out with a strong sense of literary credibility, but over the course of its sequels devolved into juvenile parody. Remember, 1989 was long before the Internet, so information was sparse. However, it was made clear by Warner Bros. that this wasn't Adam West’s Batman, but a leaner darker, brooding caped crusader. The teaser campaigns said it all. First, we saw only the ultra cool black and gold logo and then the teaser trailer, which featured starkly under-lit noirish-style visuals of a superhero we hardly see, instead covered in shadow and highlights.



The buzz manufactured on this picture was palpable, and to this 15-year-old it didn’t disappoint. Before I could understand the elements of cinema, I knew Danny Elfman’s score was different than anything we’d heard before, and Tim Burton’s vision was dark but wholly playful, ironic and fun. Nicholson was over-the-top crazy, and Michael Keaton was surprisingly thoughtful, charming and strong as a superhero.

Now, in 2011, we’ve been through a four-film string of sequels since this first Batman film, plus Warner Bros. is just about to begin production on the third chapter of the reboot. The success of Batman helped birth other DC and Marvel stories onto film, including another two Superman reboots, four X-Men films and almost every other recognizable superhero property.

Now, unfortunately, Tim Burton’s Batman seems like a relic, like the aging old champion of former glory. Some parts of the film still feel inspired and fresh. The opening credits, for instance, are driven by Elfman’s aggressive opening cue (which sounds so close to The Simpsons theme), and all of Elfman's music for that matter. The same goes for the Bob Ringwood-designed Batman costume, which has never been improved upon, even 5 or 6 pictures later. Michael Keaton is still better under the cowl than Kilmer, Clooney or Christian Bale.

But it’s also an awkward and stagey film. The action set pieces feel as heavy and inelegant as the gigantic pimpmobile Batman drives. And the attempts at injecting the mythic pathos of the Batman origin story into the Joker’s transition never gets under the surface of the camp. Burton’s retro-campy playfulness still feels original and distinct to Burton, but it certainly doesn’t generate any laughs. If we got the feeling of any kind of real tension in the Joker’s antics, his jokes might have effectively been disarming to the danger, but it’s just too goofy to take seriously.

And so my opinion of the film seems to be coloured by a) my perception of it as a teenager and b) the subsequent films and visions of other filmmakers on similar subject matter. Though it was a career leap into the superstrata for Burton, I suspect it’s as difficult to watch for him as it was disappointing for me.

Black Swan

Black Swan (2010) dir. Darren Aronofsky
Starring: Natalie Portman, Vincent Cassel, Mila Kunis, Barbara Hershey

****

By Alan Bacchus

The success of this film is kind of astounding; $100 million + box office take from a meagre $15 million budget, but which looks invisible to any production limitations. Its Oscar nominations are perhaps the most surprising. Whether you think movie awards are popularity contests, superfluous self-stroking or dependent on shameless campaigning, the validation of Darren Aronofsky in the company of the superlative list of nominees has immense value. Well, he should have gotten a nomination for The Wrestler, but no need for sour grapes anymore.

Unlike the films of the other nominees for Best Director (Fincher, Hooper, the Coens, Russell), Black Swan exists solely to titillate our nerves, creep us out and scare us to bits. The fact is, there isn’t too far to go before hitting the bottom of these characters, particularly Natalie Portman, who plays Nina Sayers, an ambitious dancer who essentially sells her soul in order to become the best dancer she can be. Sure, in the extreme, the film comments on the psychology of artists and the inner madman/psychopath that often plagues great artists, but that’s about the extent of what we can read into this film.

Unlike The King’s Speech, The Social Network, et al, Black Swan is devoid of historical perspective, cultural significance or any romanticism of any kind. It’s Aronofsky exercising his muscles in cinematic manipulation. The joy of Black Swan is its technical purity, the type of cinema Hitchcock or Polanski used to make, largely emotionally vacant exercises in scare tactics. Despite the dark material, Black Swan is a fun movie. Fun? Really? Yes, this picture is meant to be fun. Take the fetish-like close-ups of Nina's fingernails deteriorating. Aronofsky must have known most of his audience would turn away long before we see the gory hangnail rip off half her finger. The doppelganger teasing, lesbian sex, masturbation – this is the stuff Polanski tempted us with in Repulsion and what Brian De Palma or David Lynch would do.

Like these masters, Aronofsky uses the tools of cinema – the visual and the aural – to move us to darker places and stimulate our senses.

Aronofsky’s command of his instruments is inspiring. His edgy camera work is jarring from the outset. His handheld camera, which captures the beautiful and elegant ballet dance routines, is rigorous and immediately puts us into the point of view of his troubled dancer. His control of the colour palette is just as sharp and controlled. Key designers Matthew Libatique, Thérèse DePrez and David Stein fill this world with shades of grey, black and white, complementing the black swan/white swan dualities. Sure, it’s not a subtle metaphor, but it results in a distinct, consistent look, which aids in Aronofsky’s scare tactics. And then there’s the use of mirrors, which might seem like a hackneyed horror film trick, but proves to be a venerable, reliable old device.

Though I haven’t read the script on its own, it would appear to serve the sensibilities of a director like Darren Aronofsky; a well structured, air-tight 100 pages or so, but light enough to be blown up with a robust cinematic style. And the marriage of these technical tools with equally adroit performances hits the high mark of what Hitchcock and Polanski achieved in their heydays.

Black Swan is available on Blu-ray and DVD from 20th Century Fox Home Entertainment. It's a fabulous disc featuring a well-produced and informative making of documentary. No EPK bullshit.

Source Code

Source Code (2011) dir. Duncan Jones
Starring: Jake Gyllenhaal, Michelle Monaghan, Vera Farmiga, Jeffrey Wright

**1/2

By Alan Bacchus

Good on Duncan Jones, who authored the wonderful sci-fi low budgeter Moon a couple of years ago. With Source Code, another high-concept, low budget science fiction film, he’s just a director, taking the paycheque and delivering a decent adaptation of this sci-fi recycling machine.

There’s nothing particularly fresh about this film though. It’s the type of brainy concept film usually born during drunken conversations in bars between unemployed filmmakers looking to make the next Memento - trust me I know from experience. But if Moon was Duncan Jones’ Memento, then Source Code is his Insomnia, Christopher Nolan’s second film. Both Source Code and Insomnia were made quickly after their first films as directors-for-hire shooting someone else’s script. Thus, for Jones, Source Code is less a showcase for his own creative vision than an insurance policy to his potential future financiers that he’s not a sophomore jinx.

The story is contrived from the concepts of 12 Monkeys, Nick of Time, 24, Snake Eyes, Deja Vu and Groundhog Day of course. Helicopter pilot Colter Stevens, who was previously stationed in Afghanistan, wakes up on a train in someone else’s body. After the train blows up from an apparent terrorist attack, he’s transported into the cockpit of his busted up copter talking to a mysterious government agent. This agent (Vera Farmiga) eventually reveals to us Colter’s new mission – exploiting the brain’s capacity to remain active for eight minutes after death in order to transmit his own brain into that of one of the passengers and investigate the perpetrator of the bombing.

Over and over, Stevens does this by assuming the identity of a 9 to 5 commuter travelling to Chicago. In between flirting with his attractive single-serving travelling partner, Christina (Michelle Monaghan), he systematically sources out the terrorist.

Despite the loopy concept, the film plays out as expected with relatively few sudden turns. Red herrings like the racially-profiled Arab-looking passenger that turns out to be a false lead fail to move us. Everyone at the military command centre has shifty eyes and talks in cryptic language leading us to assume they are hiding something immoral or unethical from Stevens, and the audience. The passengers, one of whom is Russell Peters, whose presence actually takes us ‘out’ of the movie, aren’t very entertaining and fail to add any significant flavour or colour to the action.

Jones renders the human story as real and sympathetic as possible. The romantic story between Stevens and Christina is predictable, but the more resonant, emotional reconciliation is between Stevens and his father, as well as the indictment of the US military’s exploitation of its soldiers around the world.

The film is mostly kept inside the train in the past and in Steven’s destroyed cockpit in the present, so we can assume the budget was significantly low for this one. This is evident in the action scenes, which are few and unfortunately never really ‘thrill’ us in the way thrillers are supposed to.

The fun of Source Code is wrapping our heads around the temporal confusion and discussing the existential meaning of the thought-provoking final scene. So with its purpose served – Duncan Jones can direct – it’s time for him to move on to more important ventures.

Black Widow

Black Widow (1954) dir, Nunnally Johnson
Starring: Van Heflin, Ginger Rogers, Gene Tierney, George Raft

***

By Alan Bacchus

Nancy Orway is an ambitious social climber who ingratiates herself into the New York upper class elite through a friendship with big shot Broadway producer Peter Denver (Van Heflin). But with Denver’s wife Iris (Gene Tierney) out of town the friendship brings silent accusations of infidelity. It’s all very innocent until Nancy shows up dead in Peter’s apartment. Suddenly Peter’s seemingly innocent actions take on a whole new meaning. With the police quickly leaning towards a murder charge, Peter takes it upon himself to find the real killer. This fun whodunit setup makes Black Widow an effective mystery and will keep you guessing all the way to the end.

Beneath the surface, the fundamental question that drives the film is whether a married man can develop a true platonic friendship with a single woman. Peter apparently does this out of kindness to help a young writer get a foot in the business. But writer/director Nunnally Johnson never makes Peter out to be a saint. Though he appears to be honest in his philanthropy, there’s a dark side to Peter that keeps the audience on edge. In fact, everyone’s intentions are kept hidden from the audience. For the first half of the film, we’re not sure if Nancy is a crazed psychopath, if Denver is truly attracted to her or whether he’s trying to exact revenge for his wife’s affair a year ago. Johnson plants all the right seeds, which will pay off in the third act.

The film is presented in colour cinemascope, a format not traditionally associated with noir, but it works. The use of widescreen is fabulous. Johnson and his DOP Charles Clarke, along with the legendary photographic effects man Ray Kellogg, bathe New York in eye-popping colour and bold visual beauty. It’s rare to film a noir in colour, but remember that most of Hitchcock’s great colour films were essentially film noirs.

Van Heflin, whose prominent brow frequently got him cast as the bad guy in westerns, is completely believable as a reserved but confident Broadway producer. Ginger Rogers, though over the top, has fun with Lottie, a snobby elitist actress who bullies around everyone including the cops. Peter’s wife, Iris (Gene Tierney), is the most underdeveloped of the characters. Once the accusations of infidelity start, Iris never once questions Peter’s story. It isn’t until a confessionary letter in the mail from Nancy that Iris is sent over the edge; however, even with this information she is still inactive as a character. But then I watched the special features of the DVD and learned the great noir actress Tierney was suffering from severe depression and was heavily medicated during the time of the filming.

Two thirds into the film, I thought I had predicted the ending, but I was wrong. Johnson’s cinematic approach turns what could have been Murder She Wrote material into a tight, unpredictable whodunit with strong characters that stands out against most other films of its kind. Enjoy.

Cave of Forgotten Dreams 3-D

Cave of Forgotten Dreams 3-D (2010) dir. Werner Herzog
A documentary featuring Werner Herzog

**

By Blair Stewart

The Chauvet-Pont-d'Arc Cave in the south of France was an early turning point in human expression, intuition and endurance when you factor in the climate during the Upper Paleolithic period (32,000 years ago, or when most of Europe was a continental ice cube). In 1994, a team of speleologists followed an air draft down into the untouched cavern that preserved the oldest cave paintings in recorded civilization, which provided incredibly vivid detail.

Beyond piles of outwitted predators' bones from prehistoric rituals, the paintings were found etched with a three-dimensional perspective. A horse with an outline of eight legs flowing across limestone that was radiated by dancing firelight would have the illusion of movement, no doubt a source of joy, long before Muybridge's mark was due. Because of the fragile existence of the unearthed treasures, the French government has kept public viewing of the cave under tight restrictions.

Enter Werner Herzog, one of the leading figures of the New German Cinema movement encompassing both fiction and documentary. World traveller, opera director and a deadpan old-kook to boot, Herzog was granted limited access to Chauvet for an excursion into 3-D filmmaking. The turquoise beauty of the Ardèche river region certainly pops in that format, but the billowing details of the actual paintings themselves sadly can't translate well in the muted glow of the handheld camera lights and necessary cinema glasses. The imagery captured despite the limitations of 3-D are still striking. A preserved child's footprint seems freshly laid if not for the elapsed time, the red handprints of one caveman share space with the clawed graffiti of extinct cave bears, and everywhere stalactites hang rudely in the frame like a dog's drool.

The cave is a film's dream setting, and yet I found myself drifting into slumber despite my eagerness for Herzog's documentaries due to his many triumphs, from 1974's The Great Ecstasy of the Woodcarver Steiner to the 2007 Oscar-nominated Encounters at the End of the World. The mixture of a heavy cello score, Herzog's unhelpful monotone voice-over and the dim image was too much for my wits. The director's patented curveball-logic questions during his geological/archaeological interviews about the dreams of the long-dead artists detracted from the subject, as did the blatantly obvious written moments for his scientists (Herzog's best fictional work has the quality of fact, while many of his documentaries have meddling fingerprints somewhere among the pre-planned set pieces) and an ill-suited coda involving crocodiles.

The lingering questions that remain from the paintings will mostly be left unanswered, and while it's important to ask about their intentions and praise their achievements, it's mostly futile to put words in a dead caveman's mouth.

A Screaming Man

A Screaming Man (2010) dir. Mahamat-Saleh Haroun
Starring: Youssouf Djaoro, Dioucounda Koma, Emile Abossolo M'bo, Hadje Fatime N'Goua, Marius Yelolo

**1/2

By Alan Bacchus

Culturally and politically, I have to admire the importance of this film for the Republic of Chad, a country like many in Africa that has suffered from the ravages of war. And for indigenous films in general, it's a strong artistic step forward for a society and people marginalized by imperialism. Director Mahamat-Saleh Haroun seems to be taking back cinema in an African neo-realism sort of way. This film is a deceptively simple yet powerful story about the tragic frailties of man, redemption, and the inexplicable bond of father and son. It was undoubtedly influenced by Vittorio De Sica’s benchmark neo-realist classic The Bicycle Thieves.

The film is also a frustrating slow burner with a sort of painful art house pacing and a single staid tone, which builds up to its admittedly emotional and powerful ending.

There’s a very highly dramatic character arc for Adam (Djaoro), an obsolete man whose only relevance in life is his status as a former champion swimmer and his job as a pool boy. When Adam is fired from his job and given to his son Abdel, he commits a dramatic act of family betrayal, as he commits Abdel to military service. Although he's practically forced to do this, Adam's guilt runs through him like fingers on a chalkboard. The regret of this decision fuels his dramatic journey to find Abdel and bring him home. His redemption completes an overarching narrative of pure melodrama under the guise of art house.

With regard to his hero, Haroun unfortunately takes his influence from De Sica too literally, shamelessly trying to wring out every ounce of sympathy from his main character. What De Sica and his actor Lamberto Maggiorani did so organically in The Bicycle Thieves feels so laboured and exaggerated here.

Adam is portrayed as a reticent everyman. He barely speaks. We see him moping around the picture endlessly, and when he’s not hanging his head, he’s looking off into the distance deep in contemplative thought. I could tolerate Adam’s emotionless silence if there were dynamic, interesting characters to support him. Unfortunately there are none, as everyone else speaks in the same voice and looks just as glum.

In between the few anchors of actual narrative plotting, and in between Adam’s stoic thinking, we see him walking from place to place, again lacking emotion. By the middle and late second act, the constant repetition of these scenes becomes almost laughable.

That said, Haroun doesn’t rob us of a truly powerful and satisfying resolution – however tragic. Adam’s actions and reconciliation reveal A Screaming Man as a disguised melodrama masquerading as art house – which is what De Sica did best.

I imagine this film has even caused controversy within its own community for its cynical view of God and religion, which provides even further dramatic context for what really is archetypal or neo-classical storytelling. So caveat emptor, enter at your own risk.

PS If you hadn’t guessed, the title is ironic – painfully ironic.

A Screaming Man is available on DVD from Film Movement

Great Expectations

Great Expectations (1946) dir. David Lean
Starring: John Mills, Valerie Hobson, Alec Guinness, Marita Hunt, Finlay Currie, Bernard Miles

****

By Alan Bacchus

According to the IMDb, some 14 versions of Great Expectations have been made either as feature films, TV movies or mini-series. Though I haven’t seen them all, few could dispute David Lean’s 1946 film as arguably the greatest. It certainly truncates Dickens’ expansive novel, condensing much of the narrative. But none of the other versions were filmed by a master as great as David Lean. His version of the classic novel is visualized with as much creative inspiration as Dickens’ own writing, a parallel work of art with equal authorship between both storytellers.

The story of Pip, the young orphan whose secret benefactor brings him into upper-class society where he discovers how to be a gentleman, at the same time alienates them and then eventually learns to appreciate the humility of the lower-class adopted family, is adapted with rich gothic intrigue and noir-ish texture and detail.

For David Lean, this was the middle stage of his career, some 10 years after his time as an editor and 10 years before his late career series of epic pictures for which he’d become synonymous. In the 20 years or so before The Bridge on the River Kwai, Lean established himself as a British auteur of sorts, breaking new ground in storytelling, cinematography and editing.

Watching his movies in order, we can clearly see a progression of his cinematic voice and eye. Great Expectations looks to be his biggest stylistic leap, as he authors Dickens’ novel with a distinct film noir tone. Actually, his stunning visual designs and mise-en-scène look strikingly comparable to that of Orson Welles, perhaps influenced by the landmark Citizen Kane. Lean’s stark black and white contrasts, deep focus wide-angle photography and superlative camera moves are still stunning to watch. In particular, watch the introduction of Pip to Miss Havisham in the opening act. Lean’s camera enters Havisham’s mansion following Pip and Estella through the door, the foyer, the hall and up the stairs – all in one shot. Same with the celebrated opening sequence in the graveyard where Pip meets Magwitch, a scene orchestrated with dense brooding atmosphere, thick fog and ominous leave-less trees.

Look for Lean’s clever use of editing and narration to compress time, which splendidly condenses Dickens’ novel into the film’s 2-hour time frame, an achievement comparable to Welles’s compression of time in Kane.

Lean’s genius goes beyond the technique, as he has the rare ability to make his style enhance his substance. Great Expectations is no exception. Lean engineers marvellous performances out of Tony Wager as young Pip and John Mills as older Pip. Alec Guinness’s turn as the affable Herbert Pocket shows the funny bone that Welles never really had. But the most memorable performance directed by Lean is Bernard Miles’ sympathetic yet honourable Joe Gargery, who represents the heart and soul of Pip.

Two years later, Lean would complete one of the great one-two punches in cinematic history with his adaptation of Oliver Twist, a film of equal stature in cinema circles, and the perfect companion piece to Great Expectations – Dickens’ two most famous works paired together by arguably Britain’s greatest director.

Waste Land

Waste Land (2010) dir. Lucy Walker
Documentary

***1/2

By Alan Bacchus

The title of this film refers to the hopeless environment in which its subjects ply their trade as ‘garbage’ pickers in the world’s largest landfill in Rio de Janeiro. For avant garde artist/photographer Vik Muniz, this serves as the source for his next international artistic creation.

Best known for his ‘Pictures of Chocolate’ series from the late 90s, the Brazilian native drew pop art style portraits out of chocolate syrup while working in New York. Now in 2006, Muniz, along with his documentary crew helmed by Lucy Walker, attempts to create great art from the most useless of substances – garbage.

This goal comes after declaring to the camera that after achieving his wealth and success, he had become dissatisfied with fine arts. And this latest project serves as a homecoming for Muniz, an effort to give back to his homeland where he grew up with little opportunity to succeed other than his own talent and desire for success.

Muniz is clear with his plan and enters the landfill with his still camera and his assistant looking for subjects that will serve as the chief artistic associates for his venture. With Walker’s camera behind Muniz we get to meet a unique subculture of labour, colloquially called ‘garbage pickers’, but more appropriately ‘pickers of recyclable materials’ or catadores in Portuguese. These individuals have one of the most unenviable jobs in modern society – sifting through waste to pick out plastic bottles, cans and other materials to sell to recycling companies for very little money. Like vultures, we watch in astonishment at the kind of muck and filth these people will search through in order to find their objects of value.

But within this despair, Walker and Muniz find an insatiable verve for life. All the catadores get paid and make a living, and they all have an interesting story about how they ended up in such squalor. The most emotional story is from Isis, a beautiful young girl whose life spiralled downward when her three-year-old son died of pneumonia – a story recounted by Isis in a devastatingly emotional confession. Tiao’s story is the most inspiring, as he has been a catadore since age 7, but his perseverance and pride in his job helped him develop a union for the pickers, protecting them from being exploited for their labour.

Muniz doesn’t so much give his subjects a free helping hand as encourage them to express their own latent artist talents and transform the ugliness of their world into something profoundly beautiful. The works of art that result are astonishing. They include large-scale reproductions of other famous works, such as the Death of Marat, made entirely out of garbage and photographed into entirely new works of art.

By the end we come to love Muniz’s subjects like members of our own family, completely invested in their journey. And with the proceeds fully split among the catadores, when we watch the auction price of Tiao’s Marat piece go up and up and up, it’s a wholly satisfying realization of their collective dream.

Waste Land is available on DVD from EOne Home Entertainment in Canada.

Taxi Driver

Taxi Driver (1976) dir. Martin Scorsese
Starring: Robert De Niro, Albert Brooks, Cybil Shepherd, Jodie Foster, Harvey Keitel

****

By Alan Bacchus

Last year a fresh new 35mm print of Taxi Driver was shown around Toronto and the country enabling fans to see the film in its originally intended medium again, or for many of us, on the big screen for the first time. Now the Sony Blu-ray release comes along, just as pristine and beautiful on the small screen, even though it's thunder had been stolen somewhat. The BD has the same featurettes as in the previous 2-Disc DVD from 4 years ago, but the most intriguing addition is the Scorsese/Schrader audio commentary from the 1986 Criterion Collection laserdisc edition. This is significant because a) it was likely one of the first audio commentaries ever recorded and b) it’s from 25 years ago, when the filmmakers had a different perspective on the film than today. And remember, it had been only 10 years since the film was originally released. Yes, we hear some of the same anecdotes and descriptions of the film’s influences, but knowing that it’s recorded before Scorsese even had a chance to make Goodfellas or Casino or The Last Temptation of Christ is fascinating.

In terms of the film itself, what’s there to say that hasn’t been said already? Not much. So pretend you’ve never heard of the film before. Taxi Driver is one of a half-dozen pure masterpieces in Scorsese’s collection. It’s unlike any other film – it doesn’t fit into a genre, it’s difficult to summarize and it moves with an awkward pace. It’s part social commentary, part character study, part violent thriller, part comedy, partly personal filmmaking, part noir and on and on and on.

The film opens with shots of New York from various points of view from a taxi cab. It’s a hallucinogenic sequence intercut with a close-up of a pair of wandering eyes. The taxi is a character, the street is a character, and so is its driver – Travis Bickle, one of the most unique and analyzed characters in film. As Bickle describes to his employer during his job interview, he can’t sleep at night. He’s a glutton for punishment though and will work “anytime, anywhere.” He’s also a Vietnam vet – but more on that later. Bickle gets the job and drives the streets of New York encountering all sorts of people – high class, low class, politicians, prostitutes, pimps, maniacs, etc.

He’s a lonely person with no direction, just looking to fit in with society. Finding a girlfriend or some sort of companion seems like the right thing to do. His attempt to ask out the concession stand girl in a porno theatre fails. Then he tries to court one of the most beautiful people on the planet – Betsy (Cybil Shepherd), a political campaign representative for a Presidential candidate. Needless to say, she’s way out of his league, but he actually has enough charm to get a date with her. He dresses the part, says all the right words, but makes one ghastly mistake. He takes her to a porno theatre. Oh Travis, no! As the audience, we’re rooting for Bickle to succeed, but the moment the camera reveals the X-rated marquee, our hearts collectively sink. It’s only the second act, but it’s downhill all the way from here.

Bickle tries to compensate by taking in a twelve-and-a-half-year-old street prostitute, Iris (Jodie Foster). They develop a unique friendship, but Bickle is still hurting from Betsy’s rejection of him. He abandons all hope of traditional social interaction and plots a violent course of action that will make him a martyr for society.

As mentioned, Taxi Driver is many things. It shows the chaotic world through Bickle’s eyes. Like Mark Lewis in Peeping Tom or any number of Hitchcock protags, Bickle is a voyeur, and Scorsese is careful to show Bickle’s reactions to the most mundane and irrelevant people, places and things. Watch the scene in the coffee shop when he asks the Wizard (Peter Boyle) for advice. Bickle fixates on the foaming tablet in his water, Charlie T as he exits the store and the limping street hustler walking past him on the street. We can practically see the gears in his brain turning, taking in information, calculating an answer and reconciling the world.

Bickle is a stunted human being and likely mentally ill. We don’t know if it was Vietnam that caused his malfunction, but the fact that it’s hinted at only at the beginning of the film and never referenced again is an interesting decision for writer Paul Schrader. Since it was made in 1975 (and released in ‘76), Vietnam films had yet to be made, and the war had finished only a year before. I suspect Schrader and Scorsese didn’t want to provide a clear answer to Bickle’s actions because it would become an entirely different film.

By staying ambiguous and vague, the film remains personal for both filmmakers. Schrader put his heart and soul and some of his own experiences as a lonely writer into the screenplay, and Scorsese shows the ‘warts and all’ of his beloved city like only he can. It's also a time capsule of the state of the city at that time. Taxi Driver could never be made today because New York is a completely different city.

My favourite moment in Taxi Driver is a quintessential Scorsese scene. After Bickle shoots the corner store thief, the owner says he’ll take care of it. He grabs Bickle’s gun and proceeds to beat the man with an iron bar even though he’s 100% dead. Then the film cuts to a brilliantly ironic song, Late for the Sky by Jackson Browne. Bickle is sitting with a gun in hand watching American Bandstand. It’s another voyeur moment – Bickle watching on TV the life he so desperately wants to have, one that he will soon abandon and reject.

Taxi Driver is available on Blu-ray from Sony Pictures Home Entertainment.

A.I. Artificial Intelligence

A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) dir. Steven Spielberg
Starring: Haley Joel Osment, Jude Law, William Hurt, Frances O’Connor, Sam Robards

**

By Alan Bacchus

After the untimely death of Stanley Kubrick in 1999, Spielberg was given this project as a gift to adapt into his own film as his expression of his 20-year friendship with the master. Unfortunately, the film just doesn’t work. Sure, as the stories recounted by Spielberg and Jan Harlan on the DVD featurettes say, it fit the sensibilities of Steven Spielberg better than Kubrick, but an intriguing concept is bungled by Spielberg’s aging tin ear for subtext.

I admire the all ‘round good intentions, the idea of two completely opposite but equally great cinema masters collaborating on one film. All roads are paved with good intentions, but this road wanders around aimlessly en route to its destination.

There’s a terrific idea at the core. And it’s probably Brian Aldiss’s, the author of the sci-fi story upon which this film is based. The moral question asks what the human responsibility is to a robot that is made to be just like humans. If a robot can love like a human and thus feel the pain of love as a human, are we obliged to treat him or her like one?

Unfortunately, Spielberg articulates this moral question with the subtlety of a sledgehammer to the head in the opening scene. It comes in the form of William Hurt’s speech declaring his intention to create a robot boy who can love, and in the counter-argument from his articulate female associate (April Grace), the ethical conundrum of such a venture. It’s a particularly awful and shameless speech written by Spielberg, depriving us of the ability to infer the theme based on what’s said between the lines. This is called subtext, a fundamental necessity for good cinema. And how Mr. Spielberg forgot this is astonishing.

This is not thinking man’s science fiction. This is children’s storybook entertainment. Even less so, because even when we do tell our kids the moral of our bedtime stories, it’s always done AFTER the story is over, not before.

It’s a shame because discarding this opening scene would make the experience of A.I. completely different. Of course, we would also have to get rid of the blockhead Pinocchio metaphors that continually hammer us with the subtext front and centre. So maybe this film with Spielberg at the helm was doomed from the start.

Along the way, we can appreciate the craft of many of the set pieces. Janusz Kaminski’s superlative lighting, for instance, creates an interesting sci-fi look combining the neon-drenched slop of 80s cyberpunk with the blinding backlit look usually seen in Spielberg’s pictures. And whether or not you find the Flesh Fare scene grossly juvenile, the explosion of light and colour is spellbinding.

Same with most of the performances, particularly Jude Law as the dervish lover robot who talks like he’s Fred Astaire singing and dancing his dialogue in an MGM musical. And Haley Osment's gradual arc from monotone robotic articulations to full fledged human emotions is deft and effectively subtle.The second act road trip and male bonding of boy and gigolo is enjoyable and adequately distracts from how far off the rails this film goes.

Even with the opening scene and the Pinocchio nonsense included, the film could have been salvageable if the third act wasn’t an hour long. This film just keeps going and going, one climax after another and doesn’t want to stop. Ultimately, I think the failure of this film is a product of Spielberg's age. The attempt to bring back that 'Spielberg magic' of his youth fails, as it has disappeared. As such, A.I. feels like a sad knockoff of his earlier work.

A.I. Artificial Intelligence is available on Blu-ray from Paramount Pictures Home Entertainment.

Mousehunt

Mousehunt (1997) dir. Gore Verbinski
Starring Nathan Lane, Lee Evans, Christopher Walken

***1/2

By Alan Bacchus

I have to admit, I have a soft spot for this one. Have an open mind and dig into the vaults to find this film. Mousehunt is actually a hidden gem that defies expectations. And if you recognize the director, indeed, it’s the helmer of the Pirates of the Caribbean films and now Rango, as well as the decent remake of The Ring. So, for reasons I'll summarize below, Mousehunt got him the Pirates gig and jumpstarted his career.

Ernie and Lars Schmuntz are brothers whose father has just died and bequeathed to them the family business of string manufacturers. They are also in receipt of an old run-down mansion. Ernie (Nathan Lane), the responsible one who is now a successful chef, wants the house and business sold so he can claim his share of the money, and Lars (Lee Evans), the childish one, has a soft spot for Dad and wants to keep the house and run the family business.

Ernie and Lars move into the house together to determine whether they should keep it or sell it. On their first night they discover that a pesky mouse has made a home there as well. Ernie and Lars go through a multitude of scenarios to trap the mouse. As their frustration over the mouse’s resilience grows and grows, so does the grandness of their traps.

Meanwhile, a real estate speculator has discovered that the house is in fact a lost treasure from a Frank Lloyd Wright-type of architect named George La Rue. Instantly, their money pit makes them almost-millionaires. They decide to auction off the house to the highest bidder, which fuels their desire to clean it up and exterminate the mouse.

The bumbling duo eventually manages to excise the mouse only to have it miraculously return on the day of the auction. The finale is a madcap series of Rube Goldberg consequences that may or may not jeopardize their chances of selling the house and getting rich.

Mousehunt is a visual delight – a live-action equivalent of a Tom and Jerry cartoon mixed with Tim Burton sentimentality and the manic, madcap pace of a Coen Bros film. Admittedly, Verbinski’s influences border on outright theft, but the mash-up is very clever in the detailed mechanisms of the narrative. The film elegantly mixes its grand scale action and comedy with quiet moments of genuine sentiment. The 'big' scenes go way over the top to satisfy the kids, but it's the quick gags in the dialogue and the reflective moments that make the film a little gem. And watch for the wicked cameo from Christopher Walken.

If anything, the leads Lane and Evans are the weakest link. They seem to try too hard to be funny, too concerned with channeling Abbott & Costello or Laurel & Hardy instead of bringing their own comic personalities to the roles. And in that way, the humour often feels forced.

It’s easy to see how this became Verbinski’s calling card film. His compositions, production design, and editing, as well as his natural skill for crafting exciting action sequences, obviously caught the eye of Mr. Jerry Bruckheimer, who gave him the keys to the Pirates franchise. You should take a chance on this one too.

eXistenZ

eXistenZ (1999) dir. David Cronenberg
Starring: Jude Law, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Don McKellar, Willem Dafoe

**

By Alan Bacchus

This is an honourable failure for David Cronenberg. Coming after the curiosity-seeking art houser Crash, at a glance eXistenZ appeared to have been a mainstream antidote to the niche audience of that other film. It comes from an original script from Cronenberg, his first since Videodrome (1983) and we indeed get all of the kooky bio horror we expect from the Baron of Blood, but excessively-loopy plotting and some truly oddball and inconsistent performances results in an unevenness which fails the film.

Set in the future, Allegra Gellar (Jennifer Jason Leigh) is a new age game designer – virtual reality-type games played via the organic processes of the body. She is demonstrating a new version of her game to a test group. Allegra’s new gaming techniques have made her a celebrity, but she has also created a legion of radical dissidents called “Realists”, who disapprove of the unethical aspects of the game. The “Realists” infiltrate the test and manage to kill off a few of the gamers, but Allegra and her PR man, Ted Pikul (Jude Law), manage to escape. While on the run, Allegra and Ted enter the game to try and recover lost data from the disruption (I think).

The design of the game system is classic Cronenberg – organic materials made from body parts of other animals. Repairs to the game pod are performed like surgery by doctors. The connection between mind and body and the sensory experience of the game is a thought-provoking and somewhat plausible scenario. These are just the peripherals to the story though; the actual narrative plot of the film feels terribly recycled and uneventful.

Allegra and Ted’s journey takes them through a “Grand Theft Auto”-like world of smarmy villains and double-agents. Together they must navigate their way through the game and back into reality. Sufficient jeopardy and stakes for Ted and Allegra are never there because we know they’re in the game, and despite all the manufactured rules, we know they can always get out of the gaming world.

The timing wasn't good for Cronenberg. After The Matrix and Dark City, the concept is not as progressive as it may have sounded in development. We can clearly see how the film will end and predict the twists. The climax, which involves a badly staged and acted confrontation with Callum Keith Rennie, Jude Law and Ian Holm, feels as if the filmmakers were rushing to shoot the scene and get all the information wrapped up that one night. And, of course, the film makes a left turn in the final moments, which is supposed to surprise us, but instead becomes predictable in its unpredictability.

And despite one erotic scene, we don’t even get to see Jennifer Jason Leigh get it on with Jude Law. Considering Cronenberg’s track record, that was the only unexpected twist – no kinky sex.

Imitation of Life

Imitation of Life (1934)
Starring: Claudette Colbert, Louise Beavers, Warren William

***1/2

By Alan Bacchus

The classic Hollywood studio melodrama based on a popular Fanny Hurst novel notable for breaking Hollywood's early racial barriers is still a surprisingly powerful film. The story of two women – one black, one white – and their bond of friendship and family over 20 years was popular and critically acclaimed in its day, so much so that it spawned a successful remake in 1959 with Lana Turner. It's a film about time and place, and so with today's eyes the stereotypical characterizations could be seen as offensive. But at the heart of the story is a searing emotional drama about racism and female empowerment that in 1934 was decades ahead of its time.

Claudette Colbert plays Bea Pullman, a widow with a young daughter, Jessie. When she meets Delilah (Louise Beavers), a black woman who is also widowed with a child of similar age, they quickly strike up a friendship of commonality. Delilah offers her services as a maid in exchange for room and board. Bea and Delilah soon go into business together and open a pancake restaurant featuring Delilah's secret pancake recipe (influenced by the Aunt Jemimah brand). Bea's career aspirations outpace her pocketbook, but that doesn't stop her from negotiating her way into buying and renovating a vacant store on credit. Over the course of many years the store expands into an internationally successful business making Bea and Delilah rich. But Delilah honourably retains her modesty and continues to serve Bea as her maid.

Despite the success, Delilah's relationship with her daughter Peola becomes strained. Peola was born with light skin, which appears as white. Throughout her youth Peola experiences racist contradictions and embarrassment about having a black mother. In her teenager years it becomes so extreme that she leaves home to start a new life with a new identity, never to see her mother again.

These plot threads when written out and described seem more like daytime television than respectable cinema, but the story is never sensationalized. Director Stahl and his writers never give their characters a helping hand. In a series of scenes, we watch Bea's guile and business-savvy in building her business from scratch. Bea and Delilah, despite all their family hardships and personal struggles, never stray from their personal ethics.

Though the film was made 25 years before the Civil Rights movement, it’s as liberal and empowering as anything to come out of that era. At a glance, Delilah can be seen as a stereotypical black maid, as she is referred to as "Mammy" and speaks with a tongue now seen as racist. But she is a powerful figurehead for honour, stability and strength of character – elements much stronger than her stereotypes.

Delilah's final moment as she calls out for Peola is one of the most powerful images I've seen in film in a long time. The simplicity of her needs and emotions reminds me of a John Ford film, and when Peola is reunited with her mother it’s a heartbreaker.

The Universal DVD released a few years ago also contains the Douglas Sirk 1959 Technicolor version with Lana Turner. It's an interesting comparison – specifically because it was made 25 years after the original. Bea's character (renamed Lora) is put ahead of Delilah's character (renamed Annie). Sirk's film is more in line with his other 'women's melodramas', such as All That Heaven Allows and Written in the Wind. It retains the empowerment of the female lead, but the statement against racism and segregation is less powerful. The 1934 version is by far the better film.