Happy-Go-Lucky

"The End of Men," proclaims the July cover story of The Atlantic. The headline may be a bit hyperbolic, but it does appear that men are increasingly irrelevant in the Western world. Their primary advantage, physical strength, just isn't necessary for most tasks in a white-collar lifestyle. Men are generally less well-suited to office work, inflexible in adapting to the changing economy and less adept at child care. Which raises an interesting question: How does the previously dominant sex adapt to sudden marginalization?

"Happy-Go-Lucky" is a character study of a woman, but its greatest insights may be regarding men. "Lucky" stars Sallie Hawkins as Poppy, an English primary school teacher with an eternally optimistic outlook on life. She tries to turn everything into a joke or a smile, even laughing in the face of a sudden pain that shoots up her back.

Hawkins is terrific, and Poppy's persona is well worth exploring. But the character is most interesting when confronted with things that aren't so easy to smile about. When Poppy's bike is stolen (her reaction: "I didn't even get to say goodbye!"), she decides to finally take driving lessons. Her gruff instructor, Scott, at first appears to merely be a hard-ass, insisting on following the rules of the road to a fault. But it becomes increasingly clear that Scott is actually unhinged. He makes racist remarks, spouts off conspiracy theory hokum and develops a creepy attraction to Poppy. He becomes prone to flying off into a rage at his pupil.

Scott's childish, petulant anger is frightening on one level, but sad on another. Ultimately, there's nothing he can do about the changes that light his fuse: women's liberation, which gives them the freedom to wear provocative outfits while declining his pathetic advances, and immigration, which brings about the multicultural society that enrages a bigot like him.

A boy in Poppy's class presents another aspect of male stubbornness. The boy begins beating up his fellow students with rather disturbing gusto. We later learn that the child is being abused at home by his mother's boyfriend, which brings on the intervention of a social worker. One can only hope that such methods bring an end to the age-old passing-down of violent tendencies in men.

"Lucky" does offer us two women in distress, but their reactions to their struggles are instructive. Poppy's flamenco teacher has an angry meltdown in class over her cheating husband. Yet she composes herself and continues her instruction, showing much more emotional agility than that of which Scott is capable. In another scene, Poppy's sister Suzy is quite judgmental of her sister's carefree mentality. Suzy is clearly dissatisfied with her life, but unlike Scott, she still has someone on which to take out her frustrations: her hen-pecked husband.

The film does offer a couple of more benign models of male behavior. Poppy's chiropractor, a fairly gentle giant, and Tim, the social worker who assists the wayward boy, both show none of the violent tendencies of Scott or the student. Free of the anger which many men carry just beneath the surface, they are well-adjusted to suburban life.

But many men are simply incapable of this calmer outlook. In the middle of the film, Poppy encounters a homeless man. Clearly insane, the hobo spouts off meaningless noises and phrases. He attempts to caress Poppy's face, then abandons the effort and wanders off into a misty field. One hopes this is not a metaphor for the many Western men who can no longer find a purpose for themselves in the world.

Man Push Cart

In recent years, a new group of American realist films have cropped up, many of which depict the continual struggle of poverty. One might question the need for more films on the indigent. Plenty have been made already; the best, "The Bicycle Thief," was released 52 years ago.

But there is still an important place for poverty in cinema--and not just because the recent Great Recession. We must continually be reminded of the plight of the impoverished, as well as how fortunate those of us are who do not endure it.

"Man Push Cart" depicts the life of Ahmad, a Pakistani immigrant who runs a push cart stand in New York City. It's brutal work, in its way; Ahmad leaves home at 2 AM to pull his cart on busy streets.

Ahmad has a rather amazing background as well. He was a pop star in Pakistan before leaving for New York to be with his now-dead wife. These details emerge gradually, but without unnecessary hesitation or suspense. He also has a burgeoning romance with a woman running a newstand, for whom he must compete with a much richer rival.

First-time director Ramin Bahrani eschews fancy camerawork, instead relying on his keen observational eye to make his points. The camera holds on a Mercedes dealership Ahmad passes, or a partially spent cigarette he carefully saves while helping a customer. Bahrani reveals societal inequities without rubbing our noses in them. He weaves a rather depressing tale, but does it with a matter-of-fact air. Poverty in America need not be romanticized. Its plain reality should be enough to move us.

The Bridge on the River Kwai

We lionize the military for its fanatical devotion to order, honor and authority. Yet these traits can easily be twisted for misguided ends.

"The Bridge on the River Kwai" is the story of a World War II POW camp of British soldiers in Thailand. The camp is run by Japanese Colonel Saito, a ruthless taskmaster who will stop at nothing to complete the bridge of the film's title.

"Bridge" begins as a battle of wills between Saito and Colonel Nicholson (Alec Guiness). The two clash over whether the British officers will be forced to engage in manual labor, which is prohibited under the Geneva Convention. Nicholson's stubbornness lands him in solitary confinement until Saito relents, seeing the effect the punishment has on the Brits' morale. Nicholson's release is a stirring victory, a confirmation of his determination to abide by the law.

Once released, Nicholson works to improve the construction of the bridge. He views the bridge as an opportunity to restore discipline, which had grown quite lax as his troops slow-footed the construction. More worryingly, he begins to view it as his legacy, something tangible that will provide use long after he's gone.

This is a problem because, after all, building the bridge well helps the enemy. This fact is highlighted when an American soldier, played by William Holden, escapes the camp and is enlisted by the British on a mission to destroy the bridge. The inevitable conflict is given all the build-up and suspense it deserves.

What begins as a salute to the can-do spirit of a well-trained military becomes an almost subversive critique of authority and rule-making. Though released in 1957, the film almost feels like one of the classics of the 1970's, working on a commercial level, as an entertaining war film, and an artistic one.

It must be said that this is the type of film which is likely inferior to the novel on which it's based. The warping of Nicholson's mind could be portrayed with much more detail in a book. In addition, a couple of budding romances between the team assigned to destroy the bridge and their guides are given short shrift. However, to say that this story would be more effective on the page simply means that it is a thinking person's war movie, rather than one which mainly relies upon explosions and testosterone.

"Bridge" is directed by David Lean, which another way of saying it's an epic production with excellent cinematography. Holden is a bit irritating, but Guiness is excellent, as he must be. His final close-up is the perfect conclusion to this fine film.

Blow-Up

Jack Nicholson once speculated that the counterculture of the 1960s and 1970s may not have been as film-savvy as we were led to believe. Perhaps, he pondered, people really liked "Blow-Up" because it had a beaver shot.

He may not have been far wrong. Writer-director Michelangelo Antonioni used sweeping vistas and brooding actors to create a compelling vision of members of the bourgeois grappling with the emptiness of life in "L'Aventurra". Many of his other films, however, have shown the limitations of stories about bored rich people: they aren't particularly insightful or interesting.

"Blow-Up" features a young photographer, Thomas (David Hemmings), who spends much of his time conducting fashion shoots with beautiful women. Antonioni has no qualms about reminding us of this; in one scene, Thomas straddles a woman and shouts in excitement, even exclaiming "Make it come!" The insinuation is embarrassingly obvious.

And the shameless titillation doesn't end there. At one point, Jane (Vanessa Redgrave) takes her shirt off for Thomas. She reveals her bare top to him, but covers her chest when the camera shows her front. This covering up, presumably for censorship reasons, goes on for several minutes. Over time it becomes faintly ridiculous.

What about the plot? Thomas photographs Jane kissing a man without her permission. After he develops the photos, he realizes that someone was shot in the background as the pictures were being taken. He goes and finds the body, but it is gone by morning. That is the beginning, middle and end of the story.

In fairness, the plot is never the point with Antonioni. He merely uses it as a jumping-off point to engage in some interesting exercises. For instance: James attends a rock show and comes away with the neck of one of the guitars. The crowd inside mobs him for it, but outside the neck becomes worthless. Also, the beginning and end of the film feature a band of marauding mimes (you read that right) who raise interesting questions of perception and reality. These are interesting little interludes, but they never come close to cohering into any broader theme or statement. The very idea of coherence seems banal to Antonioni.

Like Godard, Antonioni seemed to be playing games for his own amusement in his films. There is a certain degree of contempt for the audience in such films, and it deserves to be reciprocated.

El Mariachi

Low-budget filmmaking creates many challenges, which can lead to distractions for the viewer. Out-of-focus shots, bad acting and cobbled-together scenes are just some of the flaws common in films made on the cheap. True filmmaking talent, however, can shine through in spite of these problems. "Clerks" showed Kevin Smith's trademark wit and working class pride despite being filmed on security cameras. "The Puffy Chair" captured the Duplass brothers' penchant for genuine emotional moments despite using an amateur cast. "Primer" featured a dazzlingly complex plot despite its $7,000 budget.

Alas, "El Mariachi" cannot match the creative sparks which ignite these three films. The debut feature of Robert Rodriguez, "El Mariachi" was famously shot in Mexico for $7,000, much of which was money Rodriguez raised by subjecting himself to medical experiments. But despite the charming backstory, "El Mariachi" is no more than a mediocre B-movie.

The singer of the film's title arrives in a small town in Mexico looking for work in a bar. Unfortunately for him, there happens to be a drug dealer in town, Azul, who dresses in a similar fashion and carries his gun in a guitar case. Azul is going on a rampage against the henchmen of Moco, the town's kingpin, who cheated him out of some money. Moco's men mistake the mariachi for Azul and try to kill him. Even more unfortunately for the mariachi, he falls in love with Domino, Moco's kept woman.

"El Mariachi" suffers from all the aforementioned low-budget flaws, but these are not what sink the film. The biggest problem here is the poorly constructed story. Every plot twist here is either totally predictable--the mariachi falling for Domino, for example--or inexplicable--the mariachi has a penchant for showing his face around town even when he knows there are armed men hunting for him.

The film has mixed success on a smaller level. There isn't a single memorable line of dialogue in the film. But Rodriguez does occasionally show some humor and charm, as when Domino playfully threatens to castrate the mariachi before he explains himself. Rodriguez also proves competent with the camera, providing some interesting framing and effective quick cuts (though he also has a penchant for rather lame, in-your-face close ups).

However, Rodriguez's subsequent career shows "El Mariachi" was a harbinger of things to come. Despite some limited successes--his segment of "Four Rooms," "Spy Kids," and "Sin City"--he has largely peddled schlock. "From Dusk Till Dawn," "Once Upon a Time in Mexico," "The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl," and "Planet Terror" all confirm that on balance, we would have been better off if Rodriguez had foregone those medical experiments and stuck to watching bad movies instead of making them.

Scenes from a Marriage

Few filmmakers can give us compelling, personal stories that also shed light on universal truths. Ingmar Bergman is such an auteur. His 250-minute, six-episode miniseries, "Scenes from a Marriage," is a showcase for his wonderful gifts.

"Scenes" tells the story of Johan and Marianne, a couple married for ten years with two children. On the surface, they seem very happy and content, but they are clearly suppressing their deepest feelings. Johan is all masculine bluster, always willing to discuss his many talents, while Marianne seems stifled by the obligations of marriage and parenthood. (Bergman highlights the unfair burden of the working mother, which was much less discussed in 1972 than it is now.)

Then suddenly, the dam breaks. Johan announces he is leaving for Paris with a graduate student. The marriage quickly disintegrates. At first, Marianne begs Johan to stay, but she slowly evolves into a new woman. No longer concerned with pleasing Johan, she is free to fashion her life as she sees fit. It's small wonder that the film inspired many Swedish women to file for divorce.

Johan, in contrast, still suffers from a sense of isolation and longing. These differing outlooks are common in the wake of divorce, although usually it's the spouse who initiated the process who feels liberated.

But Bergman is not content with such a pat ending. In the final episode, occurring about ten years after their split, both Johan and Marianne have new spouses--whom they are cheating on with one another. Without the burdens and expectations of marriage, the lovers have rediscovered the spark that brought them together. Most interestingly, Marianne expresses guilt over the break up of the family, and hints that she sometimes feels just as lonely as Johan. Ever the visionary, Bergman suggests that women may not be able to break free of their familial instincts--and that none of us can escape the void inside us.

Flirting with Disaster

Sometimes, you want a movie to be much better than it actually is. "Flirting with Disaster" is a case in point.

Writer-director David O. Russell's subsequent features, "Three Kings" and "I Heart Huckabees," are gems. "Kings" was an entertaining, engaging action flick that managed to sneak an anti-imperialist message into a Hollywood studio production. "Huckabees" was a zany romp that combined humor and philosophy in ways no one would have thought possible.

On top of that impressive pedigree, "Flirting with Disaster" has a promising premise. Mel (Ben Stiller) has recently become a father, but can't decide what to name his son. Having been adopted, Mel has no knowledge of his real heritage. He sets off with his wife, Nancy (Patricia Arquette) and a researcher into adoption issues, Tina (Tea Leoni) in search of his birth parents.

In the first act, things roll along at an amusing pace, but the execution starts to falter when the trio meet up with a pair of Michigan cops, Paul (Richard Jenkins) and Tony (Josh Brolin). Rather improbably, the cops join Mel in his search. Meanwhile, Mel is strongly tempted to have an affair with Tina, while Tony looks to take advantage of Mel's inattention to his wife. Things only get more complicated from there, as the group meets up with Mel's birth parents, a pair of hippies who see nothing wrong with making and selling LSD.

Anyone who has seen "Huckabees" knows that Russell has no qualms about putting some rather improbable elements in his films. But while "Huckabees" is whimsical and ludicrous almost from the very beginning, "Disaster" is grounded in a very realistic plot and setting. This makes the rather absurd developments--like the extremely brazen flirtations between Mel and Tina and Nancy and Tony--feel off-kilter, rather than amusing reflections of Russell's ideas.

Moreover, Russell does a poor job of exploring his themes. He has two big ones here, infidelity and identity, which he could have given a thorough and interesting investigation. Instead, Mel's dilemmas are resolved in a few lines of dialogue amidst the ridiculous third act. These thorny issues deserve more than a pat treatment from an imaginative and insightful writer like Russell.