For one of our most beloved comedic actors, Bill Murray didn't make very many funny movies. Caddyshack? Stripes? Ghostbusters? All bad films. (And the stakes in Groundhog Day are too high for it to be considered a comedy.) Part of the problem is that Murray's heyday was in the execrable '80s, probably the only decade in which Chevy Chase could have become a movie star. But some of the challenge stemmed from the nature of Murray's weirdo deadpan persona. He's an odd sort to build a movie around. When faced with a calamity, Robin Williams, Jim Carrey, or Will Ferrell throw a tantrum. Murray just shrugs his shoulders.
The genius of What About Bob? is that it takes the things everybody likes about Bill Murray and amplifies them. He's the offbeat guy everyone wants to be around. But his neuroses have also been cranked up to 11, and that serves as the engine for the plot. He stalks his psychiatrist, played by a razor-sharp Richard Dreyfuss, but he's so nice about it that his shrink is the only one who seems bothered. The film slowly becomes an adult version of Looney Tunes, with Dreyfuss' Elmer Fudd going to increasingly desperate lengths to get rid of Murray's Bugs Bunny. His efforts to "get rid of" Bob become more literal as the movie goes along, giving the film a dark edge that helps prevent it from slipping into sentimentality.
The ending also helps in this regard. Unlike Planes, Trains, and Automobiles--another comedy about a lovable loser with a finale smothered in Cheez-Wiz--What About Bob? never redeems Dreyfuss as the straight man. It's content to subtly show that we may have something to learn from "crazy" people. That the "sane" ones might not be so stable after all.
Sunday, June 24, 2018
Wednesday, July 5, 2017
The Beguiled
The premise of Sofia Coppola's The Beguiled is almost literally a Monty Python sketch; the Pythons' Holy Grail, perhaps in a sendup of the source novel and previous film adaptation, has a scene with a setup that's only slightly more ridiculous. In both cases, a young man (for the Pythons, a knight, for Coppola, a Union soldier) is injured and reaches a haven with no men to be found (in Grail, a monastery with nuns, in Beguiled, a boarding school with a couple of teachers and one rstudent who's rather mature for her age). It's not hard to see the comic possibilities: in the climax of the Pythons' scene, one of the nuns announces their plans, stating, "And after the spanking, the oral sex!" The knight replies, "Well, I could stay a bit longer..."
The inherent silliness is not lost on Coppola. She's included some rather amusing moments in her film, particularly a scene in which the teachers and girls sing to the soldier. As they beam at him and he smiles right back, there are a million things left unsaid.
And yet this film is actually toned down from the 1971 Clint Eastwood version, which is by all accounts much raunchier. Even though the 2017 version is the more modern film, it's this one that relies more on meaningful glances. There's been much discussion of the male gaze in recent years; you could say this film is about the female gaze, and the projections the women put onto the soldier: as a protector, an escape, or perhaps just a night of fun.
Yet apart from this theme and a couple of melodramatic twists that follow the source material, there isn't much to the film. It's hard to see why Coppola felt a remake was necessary. Particularly undeveloped are the relationships between the women, which seems like a missed opportunity in light of some juicy assignations that go down late in the film. A worthwhile remake of this story could be made. But this isn't it.
The inherent silliness is not lost on Coppola. She's included some rather amusing moments in her film, particularly a scene in which the teachers and girls sing to the soldier. As they beam at him and he smiles right back, there are a million things left unsaid.
And yet this film is actually toned down from the 1971 Clint Eastwood version, which is by all accounts much raunchier. Even though the 2017 version is the more modern film, it's this one that relies more on meaningful glances. There's been much discussion of the male gaze in recent years; you could say this film is about the female gaze, and the projections the women put onto the soldier: as a protector, an escape, or perhaps just a night of fun.
Yet apart from this theme and a couple of melodramatic twists that follow the source material, there isn't much to the film. It's hard to see why Coppola felt a remake was necessary. Particularly undeveloped are the relationships between the women, which seems like a missed opportunity in light of some juicy assignations that go down late in the film. A worthwhile remake of this story could be made. But this isn't it.
Tuesday, June 20, 2017
The Golden Slumbers Suite
I just got a book of essays on Beatles songs. I'm doing one on the Golden Slumbers suite, because I can.
I prefer Paul. I know that this is not the cool answer. I know that John Lennon was a brilliant songwriter--probably more brilliant than Paul. I know that I will never be smart enough to appreciate many of Lennon's songs. I know that the Beatles would not have been a great band without the magic of the Lennon-McCartney collaboration. I know that they would have been a lot less special with George Harrison. (I'll put "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" up there with anything they ever did.) I know that Ringo was fun.
I know that Paul could be maudlin. Like Brett Favre, who once held the records for most touchdowns and interceptions, they are probably few people in pop history who have written more bad songs than McCartney. I will forever hold a grudge against him for writing the hideous "Wonderful Christmastime," an insipid ditty for which he's probably made royalties in excess of the annual GDP of some small nations.
But come on. Just look at this motherfucker's oeuvre. If he had never written a song after the Beatles split, he would still be one of the greatest pop songwriters of all time. If he had never written a song until after they split, he would still be on the greatest pop songwriters of all time. One of my maxims is that songwriters have to keep experimenting to stay vital; basically no one in the pop canon can hold a candle to Macca in that regard. He still doesn't get enough credit for how much he pushed himself. From helping create pop's DNA with the Beatles to "Ram" to Wings to electronica to classical, he moved forward over and over instead of resting on his laurels. Just listen to "Band on the Run," a song that's been played to death and yet still sounds interesting, thanks to Paul's funky detours.
The best part of Dave Grohl's Sound City, in which he records collaborations with pop stars using a famous sound board, is when McCartney, who's there to record "Long Tall Sally" with the surviving members of Nirvana, ditches that plan and says, "That's been done before. Let's do something new." They proceed to write "Cut Me Some Slack," five minutes of dumb, fun rock, in a matter of hours. Grohl says, "If only it were always this easy." Macca says, "It is." That's Paul McCartney.
***
So where were we? Oh, yeah, the Golden Slumbers suite. Paul promises "I will sing you a lullaby," and boy does he ever. Yes, it's boring to say it, but the melodies here are gorgeous. Moreover, it's a nice quick spin through the Beatles' sound at the close of the final album they recorded. There are guitar solos, horns, a callback to "You Never Give Me Your Money," and vocals from all four members.
Then there are the words. Another maxim of mine: it's really hard to write lyrics that are profound without sounding silly. Paul nails it here. "Once there was a way/To get back homeward" is the perfect line for if your band is breaking up or your partner left you or your job sucks or basically any situation in which you realize that childhood was the best time, dammit, and you didn't appreciate it when you had the chance. "Boy, you're gonna carry that weight" is a perfect pop juxtaposition, an uplifting melody undercut with melancholy. You'll never find a better pub singalong.
And then? "And in the end/The love you take/Is equal to the love/You make." Would that it were true! But you have to believe it, at least sometimes, or you'll never make it through your days. Yes, Lennon was great. But we needed Paul McCartney.
I prefer Paul. I know that this is not the cool answer. I know that John Lennon was a brilliant songwriter--probably more brilliant than Paul. I know that I will never be smart enough to appreciate many of Lennon's songs. I know that the Beatles would not have been a great band without the magic of the Lennon-McCartney collaboration. I know that they would have been a lot less special with George Harrison. (I'll put "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" up there with anything they ever did.) I know that Ringo was fun.
I know that Paul could be maudlin. Like Brett Favre, who once held the records for most touchdowns and interceptions, they are probably few people in pop history who have written more bad songs than McCartney. I will forever hold a grudge against him for writing the hideous "Wonderful Christmastime," an insipid ditty for which he's probably made royalties in excess of the annual GDP of some small nations.
But come on. Just look at this motherfucker's oeuvre. If he had never written a song after the Beatles split, he would still be one of the greatest pop songwriters of all time. If he had never written a song until after they split, he would still be on the greatest pop songwriters of all time. One of my maxims is that songwriters have to keep experimenting to stay vital; basically no one in the pop canon can hold a candle to Macca in that regard. He still doesn't get enough credit for how much he pushed himself. From helping create pop's DNA with the Beatles to "Ram" to Wings to electronica to classical, he moved forward over and over instead of resting on his laurels. Just listen to "Band on the Run," a song that's been played to death and yet still sounds interesting, thanks to Paul's funky detours.
The best part of Dave Grohl's Sound City, in which he records collaborations with pop stars using a famous sound board, is when McCartney, who's there to record "Long Tall Sally" with the surviving members of Nirvana, ditches that plan and says, "That's been done before. Let's do something new." They proceed to write "Cut Me Some Slack," five minutes of dumb, fun rock, in a matter of hours. Grohl says, "If only it were always this easy." Macca says, "It is." That's Paul McCartney.
***
So where were we? Oh, yeah, the Golden Slumbers suite. Paul promises "I will sing you a lullaby," and boy does he ever. Yes, it's boring to say it, but the melodies here are gorgeous. Moreover, it's a nice quick spin through the Beatles' sound at the close of the final album they recorded. There are guitar solos, horns, a callback to "You Never Give Me Your Money," and vocals from all four members.
Then there are the words. Another maxim of mine: it's really hard to write lyrics that are profound without sounding silly. Paul nails it here. "Once there was a way/To get back homeward" is the perfect line for if your band is breaking up or your partner left you or your job sucks or basically any situation in which you realize that childhood was the best time, dammit, and you didn't appreciate it when you had the chance. "Boy, you're gonna carry that weight" is a perfect pop juxtaposition, an uplifting melody undercut with melancholy. You'll never find a better pub singalong.
And then? "And in the end/The love you take/Is equal to the love/You make." Would that it were true! But you have to believe it, at least sometimes, or you'll never make it through your days. Yes, Lennon was great. But we needed Paul McCartney.
Saturday, September 3, 2016
Don't Think Twice
Many writers have said that they like young characters because they're in their formative years. They're still figuring out where they want to go, who they want to be with, what they want to do.
But in the 21st century, this process of figuring things out can last well beyond high school and college. People in their 20s and 30s can now stay single and pursue dream careers that many would have bypassed for family and a "real job" in decades past. Whether they achieve these dreams, though, is another matter. "Don't Think Twice" is a movie that expertly explores this dynamic.
The film focuses on an improv comedy group called The Commune. Its members dream of starring on "Weekend Live" (a very thinly veiled version of "Saturday Night Live"). One of them, Jack, actually does get hired. The film nicely demonstrates the tension that arises between Jack and his friends in The Commune; they're happy for him, but not as disappointed as they are that they weren't the ones chosen.
Meanwhile, the other members are starting to realize they may never make it. Miles may not have the talent. Bill has the talent, but he may never catch his big break. Allison may not have applied herself enough. In 2016, you can pursue your dreams unencumbered by the obligation to start a family and settle down. But success is no more likely than it ever was; it still takes lots of hard work, talent, and luck.
And how do we even define success? Perhaps the most talented member of The Commune, Samantha, discovers that she loves improv so much that she may not want to give it up for stardom. As ever, true success is about finding happiness where you are.
But in the 21st century, this process of figuring things out can last well beyond high school and college. People in their 20s and 30s can now stay single and pursue dream careers that many would have bypassed for family and a "real job" in decades past. Whether they achieve these dreams, though, is another matter. "Don't Think Twice" is a movie that expertly explores this dynamic.
The film focuses on an improv comedy group called The Commune. Its members dream of starring on "Weekend Live" (a very thinly veiled version of "Saturday Night Live"). One of them, Jack, actually does get hired. The film nicely demonstrates the tension that arises between Jack and his friends in The Commune; they're happy for him, but not as disappointed as they are that they weren't the ones chosen.
Meanwhile, the other members are starting to realize they may never make it. Miles may not have the talent. Bill has the talent, but he may never catch his big break. Allison may not have applied herself enough. In 2016, you can pursue your dreams unencumbered by the obligation to start a family and settle down. But success is no more likely than it ever was; it still takes lots of hard work, talent, and luck.
And how do we even define success? Perhaps the most talented member of The Commune, Samantha, discovers that she loves improv so much that she may not want to give it up for stardom. As ever, true success is about finding happiness where you are.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
Southside With You
The opening credits of "Southside With You," writer-director Richard Tanne's film about the Obamas' first date, are set to Janet Jackson's bombastic "Miss You Much." The credit font is very '80s, scribbles in hot pink. The message is clear: this will be a different sort of story about the First Couple, one that brings them back down to earth from the rarefied heights they've reached.
Tanne has compared his film to Richard Linklater's "Before" trilogy. It's an apt comparison in terms of structure; like those movies, this one follows a couple over the course of a few hours. But the "Before" characters are fictional. They can be used as constructs to discuss matters of youth, romance, parenting. The Obamas are flesh and blood people, and on a first date they spend much of their time recounting biographical details that are already familiar to viewers--or could be easily learned about elsewhere. Barack's tussling with the ghost of his father is much less resonant in a film when the real one already wrote an entire book on the subject.
Tanne does try to communicate the everyday struggles of a young Barack and Michelle, which mostly center around their challenges as young black lawyers at a prestigious firm dominated by whites. But he can't resist throwing in a speech to a community group about the diversity of our nation that sounds an awful lot like a warm-up for Barack's 2004 speech to the Democratic National Convention.
Tanne's tin ear for dialogue doesn't help. (After the speech, Michelle says, "Thank you for inviting me. It's been a while since I've been in contact with real-life issues like that.") But his bigger problem might be that a movie like this simply isn't worthwhile. The Obamas aren't some distant figures from history; we already know them quite well. They appear on late-night talk shows. They do the Dougie. They tweet. They're not even out of the White House yet. It will be some time before we can say that we miss them much.
Tanne has compared his film to Richard Linklater's "Before" trilogy. It's an apt comparison in terms of structure; like those movies, this one follows a couple over the course of a few hours. But the "Before" characters are fictional. They can be used as constructs to discuss matters of youth, romance, parenting. The Obamas are flesh and blood people, and on a first date they spend much of their time recounting biographical details that are already familiar to viewers--or could be easily learned about elsewhere. Barack's tussling with the ghost of his father is much less resonant in a film when the real one already wrote an entire book on the subject.
Tanne does try to communicate the everyday struggles of a young Barack and Michelle, which mostly center around their challenges as young black lawyers at a prestigious firm dominated by whites. But he can't resist throwing in a speech to a community group about the diversity of our nation that sounds an awful lot like a warm-up for Barack's 2004 speech to the Democratic National Convention.
Tanne's tin ear for dialogue doesn't help. (After the speech, Michelle says, "Thank you for inviting me. It's been a while since I've been in contact with real-life issues like that.") But his bigger problem might be that a movie like this simply isn't worthwhile. The Obamas aren't some distant figures from history; we already know them quite well. They appear on late-night talk shows. They do the Dougie. They tweet. They're not even out of the White House yet. It will be some time before we can say that we miss them much.
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Girls, "Love Stories" and "I Love You Baby"
Season finales on "Girls" tend to be happy affairs. End of season one: Jessa's getting married! End of season two: Adam saves Hannah! End of season three: Hannah's going to Iowa! End of season four: Hannah has a new boyfriend!
The subsequent seasons undermine these apparent happy endings. Season two revealed Jessa's marriage to be a shitshow. Season three saw Hannah and Adam drifting apart. Season four proved that grad school is not a great place for Hannah. Season five saw the unraveling of Hannah's new relationship.
But the end of season five may finally prove to be a turning point for these girls. They're finally starting to try new behaviors, instead of just trying new things.
Hannah has a run-in with a friend from college named Tally, played by Jenny Slate. Slate's appearance is Exhibit A for why I wish this show had more guest stars. Her monologue on being a successful author is one of the standout moments of the series; in examining how she's become divorced from her own persona, Lena Dunham comes as close as she ever has to capturing the disorienting nature of fame.
Tally is invaluable for Hannah's character arc as well. As Hannah catches Tally up on all the crazy stuff she's been up to over the course of the series, we start to realize that she's been through a lot in just a couple years. And she's starting to wise up; she knows not to trust her instinct to try to make Adam and Jessa's lives hell. Instead, she lets it go, and turns her inner turmoil into a terrific monologue for a podcast. Maybe all those mistakes we've seen her make were just her way of learning how to be an adult.
Marnie has a breakthrough of her own in the wake of a truly weird sexual dream involving Ray. Marnie's a strange character, a type-A personality who's been consistently flailing since graduation. But she's now realizing her problem: she's been pursuing what she thinks will impress other people, rather than following her own muse. No one's going to be impressed by Ray. But he makes her happy.
Shoshanna's storyline may be my favorite. She comes up with a novel strategy to compete with Helvetica, the new coffee shop across the street from Ray's: court the anti-hipster demographic. "We need to sell coffee to people with jobs" is her hilarious pitch. And she does it with flair, courting media attention by putting up signs that say things like "Trust the Government." What I like most about this storyline is that it doesn't involve a boyfriend. No doubt she'll get a new beau as part of her happy ending next season. But it's nice to see the show remind us that these girls don't need men to be happy.
And, finally, we come to Jessa. I may never be totally at peace with the Jessa-Adam relationship. When it first developed, these were my objections:
1. Hannah was inevitably going to find out and throw yet another temper tantrum.
2. These characters never showed any chemistry before.
3. The whole premise that Jessa doesn't want to upset Hannah is undermined by the fact that Hannah and Jessa never seem to have any positive interactions.
4. Despite the fact that there are 8.4 million people in New York City, "Girls" sometimes seems determined to only pair off its main characters. Adam has now dated Hannah and Jessa. Ray has now dated Shoshanna and Marnie. It's a bit tiring to see them stay within this circle of friends who are "poor and mean," as Elijah memorably put it.
To the writers' credit, they solved the first problem by using the relationship as a springboard to a more mature Hannah. The other problems are probably unsolvable at this point. There's a bit of a "wobbling Jenga tower" feel to this show by now. But it can probably stay up for another season.
The subsequent seasons undermine these apparent happy endings. Season two revealed Jessa's marriage to be a shitshow. Season three saw Hannah and Adam drifting apart. Season four proved that grad school is not a great place for Hannah. Season five saw the unraveling of Hannah's new relationship.
But the end of season five may finally prove to be a turning point for these girls. They're finally starting to try new behaviors, instead of just trying new things.
Hannah has a run-in with a friend from college named Tally, played by Jenny Slate. Slate's appearance is Exhibit A for why I wish this show had more guest stars. Her monologue on being a successful author is one of the standout moments of the series; in examining how she's become divorced from her own persona, Lena Dunham comes as close as she ever has to capturing the disorienting nature of fame.
Tally is invaluable for Hannah's character arc as well. As Hannah catches Tally up on all the crazy stuff she's been up to over the course of the series, we start to realize that she's been through a lot in just a couple years. And she's starting to wise up; she knows not to trust her instinct to try to make Adam and Jessa's lives hell. Instead, she lets it go, and turns her inner turmoil into a terrific monologue for a podcast. Maybe all those mistakes we've seen her make were just her way of learning how to be an adult.
Marnie has a breakthrough of her own in the wake of a truly weird sexual dream involving Ray. Marnie's a strange character, a type-A personality who's been consistently flailing since graduation. But she's now realizing her problem: she's been pursuing what she thinks will impress other people, rather than following her own muse. No one's going to be impressed by Ray. But he makes her happy.
Shoshanna's storyline may be my favorite. She comes up with a novel strategy to compete with Helvetica, the new coffee shop across the street from Ray's: court the anti-hipster demographic. "We need to sell coffee to people with jobs" is her hilarious pitch. And she does it with flair, courting media attention by putting up signs that say things like "Trust the Government." What I like most about this storyline is that it doesn't involve a boyfriend. No doubt she'll get a new beau as part of her happy ending next season. But it's nice to see the show remind us that these girls don't need men to be happy.
And, finally, we come to Jessa. I may never be totally at peace with the Jessa-Adam relationship. When it first developed, these were my objections:
1. Hannah was inevitably going to find out and throw yet another temper tantrum.
2. These characters never showed any chemistry before.
3. The whole premise that Jessa doesn't want to upset Hannah is undermined by the fact that Hannah and Jessa never seem to have any positive interactions.
4. Despite the fact that there are 8.4 million people in New York City, "Girls" sometimes seems determined to only pair off its main characters. Adam has now dated Hannah and Jessa. Ray has now dated Shoshanna and Marnie. It's a bit tiring to see them stay within this circle of friends who are "poor and mean," as Elijah memorably put it.
To the writers' credit, they solved the first problem by using the relationship as a springboard to a more mature Hannah. The other problems are probably unsolvable at this point. There's a bit of a "wobbling Jenga tower" feel to this show by now. But it can probably stay up for another season.
Girls, "Homeward Bound"
On one level, you could view "Girls" as an audacious experiment in seeing how unlikable it can make its protagonists. This may seem like nothing new; we live in the age of TV antiheroes. But most of those bad boys (and they're mostly boys) are also badasses. Tony Soprano is charismatic as well as cunning. Walter White is a monster, but a brilliant one. Don Draper offers Madison Avenue cool to help disguise his misogyny.
Our four titular girls are not quite so impressive. True, they may not be wholly off-putting. Hannah can write and joke, Marnie can sing, Shoshanna is sweet and diligent, and Jessa is the ultimate Cool Girl. But "Girls" spends far more time focusing on the "warts" part of the "warts and all" equation. This approach reaches its apotheosis in "Homeward Bound."
Consider the awful behavior on display: Hannah dumps Fran at the outset of their vacation, then sexually assaults and ditches Ray. Shoshanna does a poor little rich girl routine, whining that she's going to have to go on welfare as she eats sushi. Jessa is preoccupied with her feud with Hannah as Adam struggles to care for his nephew, who's been abandoned. Marnie appears reasonable in trying to deal with Desi at a recording session, but their problems are framed as a byproduct of her anger management issues.
What's really amazing about "Homeward Bound" is the gender divide on display. While the girls are being terrible, the boys are struggling to be decent. Fran practically begs Hannah to let him give her a ride back to the city. When she refuses, Ray comes up to get her. She eventually hitchhikes with still another man, who turns out to be a victim rather than a perpetrator of domestic violence. Meanwhile, Adam and Laird step up to the plate in caring for poor little Sample while Jessa whines. Marnie's storyline is the exception that proves the rule: Desi is as terrible as ever, but he's enabled by a new girlfriend whose idea of conflict resolution apparently involves blaming Marnie for everything.
Look, we all know where "Girls" is going. Our heroines will plunge to new lows, then emerge with a newfound sense of maturity, only to see it tested in the final season and come out stronger than ever. But do they all have to hit rock bottom at the same time?
Our four titular girls are not quite so impressive. True, they may not be wholly off-putting. Hannah can write and joke, Marnie can sing, Shoshanna is sweet and diligent, and Jessa is the ultimate Cool Girl. But "Girls" spends far more time focusing on the "warts" part of the "warts and all" equation. This approach reaches its apotheosis in "Homeward Bound."
Consider the awful behavior on display: Hannah dumps Fran at the outset of their vacation, then sexually assaults and ditches Ray. Shoshanna does a poor little rich girl routine, whining that she's going to have to go on welfare as she eats sushi. Jessa is preoccupied with her feud with Hannah as Adam struggles to care for his nephew, who's been abandoned. Marnie appears reasonable in trying to deal with Desi at a recording session, but their problems are framed as a byproduct of her anger management issues.
What's really amazing about "Homeward Bound" is the gender divide on display. While the girls are being terrible, the boys are struggling to be decent. Fran practically begs Hannah to let him give her a ride back to the city. When she refuses, Ray comes up to get her. She eventually hitchhikes with still another man, who turns out to be a victim rather than a perpetrator of domestic violence. Meanwhile, Adam and Laird step up to the plate in caring for poor little Sample while Jessa whines. Marnie's storyline is the exception that proves the rule: Desi is as terrible as ever, but he's enabled by a new girlfriend whose idea of conflict resolution apparently involves blaming Marnie for everything.
Look, we all know where "Girls" is going. Our heroines will plunge to new lows, then emerge with a newfound sense of maturity, only to see it tested in the final season and come out stronger than ever. But do they all have to hit rock bottom at the same time?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
