I tend not to like movies where I know what's going to happen. It usually feels like a chore to get to the inevitable conclusion. I prefer movies that keep me on my toes. That's why I like indie films; their directors don't feel obligated to have the characters live happily ever after; they may not even live at all.
"Friends with Kids" is not a surprising film. The premise: two best friends see marriages breaking down around them once kids enter the equation. They have a kid together so that they can pursue their romantic dreams without parenting getting in the way. Zero points for guessing who these two end up with.
But despite its predictability, writer-director Jennifer Westfeldt makes "Friends with Kids" work thanks to her spot-on observations about marriage: how some relationships can run too hot and cold to be healthy, how even solid marriages hit bumps after childbirth, how the desire for comfort clashes with the wish for something new and exciting. Westfeldt also displays a deft touch in showing how people really interact; a dinner party scene that ends in tears is especially well-orchestrated. She executes poorly in the predictable final scene, but it's still a worthwhile film.
I'm not a big fan of the "journey, not the destination" mindset, but with a film that's smart and poignant, I can see the appeal.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
God Bless America
Comedian Bobcat Goldthwait has made a name for himself writing and directing comedies with outrageous premises and unexpected depth. Sleeping Dogs Lie was about a woman who had once blown a dog, but it was really about how we deal with the past with our significant others. World's Greatest Dad was about a father who writes an eloquent suicide note after his son kills himself, but used this set-up to explore how we remember the dead.
God Bless America, by contrast, is pretty much exactly what it seems: a middle-aged man and a teenage girl going on a killing spree to express their outrage at America's moral degradation. Frank loses his job on a bogus sexual harassment charge and soon learns he has terminal cancer. With the help of a truly twisted teen named Roxy, he decides to use his newfound freedom to take down some of the best exemplars of America's celebrity-driven culture, sex-obsessed mores, and fear-mongering political culture. Along the way he rants about Twitter and young people's insistence on taking pictures everywhere, the greatness of Alice Cooper and the horror that is Diablo Cody. (As if the movie didn't have enough of a "Get off my lawn" vibe already.)
I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop in this film, for some sort of nuance or second layer to emerge. But it never really happens. The best Goldthwait can do is show some minor areas of disagreement between Frank and Roxy, like whether high-fives are an abomination (yes, really). In this way he suggests that not everyone might agree on who deserves to be killed. What an incisive point!
The inevitable closing monologue in God Bless America is just a restatement of a rant Frank gives early in the film. There really is no deeper meaning or evolution to this film. It's a stand up comedy rant masquerading as a movie, Taxi Driver for 10-year-olds.
God Bless America, by contrast, is pretty much exactly what it seems: a middle-aged man and a teenage girl going on a killing spree to express their outrage at America's moral degradation. Frank loses his job on a bogus sexual harassment charge and soon learns he has terminal cancer. With the help of a truly twisted teen named Roxy, he decides to use his newfound freedom to take down some of the best exemplars of America's celebrity-driven culture, sex-obsessed mores, and fear-mongering political culture. Along the way he rants about Twitter and young people's insistence on taking pictures everywhere, the greatness of Alice Cooper and the horror that is Diablo Cody. (As if the movie didn't have enough of a "Get off my lawn" vibe already.)
I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop in this film, for some sort of nuance or second layer to emerge. But it never really happens. The best Goldthwait can do is show some minor areas of disagreement between Frank and Roxy, like whether high-fives are an abomination (yes, really). In this way he suggests that not everyone might agree on who deserves to be killed. What an incisive point!
The inevitable closing monologue in God Bless America is just a restatement of a rant Frank gives early in the film. There really is no deeper meaning or evolution to this film. It's a stand up comedy rant masquerading as a movie, Taxi Driver for 10-year-olds.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
Watching "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" is a bit like seeing an obsessive-compulsive fourth-grader working on a diorama for school. The attention to detail is incredible. But what's the point?
Director David Fincher has painstakingly crafted every frame of the film, as he always does. There are lots of terrific touches, like the sound of a whirring janitor's vacuum adding a sense of dread to one scene. Or the terrifying black make-up that shrouds the heroine's eyes in key scenes. Or a shot from the point of view of a hostage, with a plastic bag over the camera.
Unfortunately, this is all in the service of a silly potboiler. "Tattoo" is one of those mysteries which throws out tons of details, most of which mean nothing. It features a comical number of montages of our heroes doing detective work: riveting stuff like computer hacking, looking at files, and questioning the elderly. The thing is over two-and-a-half hours long, yet it still feels rushed.
What's worse, "Tattoo" shamelessly throws in some disgusting material that wouldn't be out of place in an exploitation film. There are three scenes featuring sexual assault and, of course, Nazis. (Though not together. Really a missed opportunity.)
Now, I don't mind depravity in some contexts. Tarantino uses lots of crude violence, but it's all so cartoonish and stylized that it's mostly entertaining, rather than sickening. Fincher's "Se7en" included numerous disgusting killings, but used them to explore the moral degradation of society and how we should respond to it. "Tattoo," by contrast, is just using some "CSI" style gross-outs as a cheap way to hold the audience's attention.
(Another craven ploy: showing off Rooney Mara's naked body. The filmmakers really ought to be ashamed. It's 2012 and Mara is asked to bare flesh at every turn, with nary a male booty in sight.)
The bigger problem here, as is usually the case in Hollywood, is money. The strings attached to studio financing are now so great that it's incredibly difficult to make a good movie for eight figures or more. So a talent like Fincher has to work on a pointless commercial exercise like this if he wants to get the budget to which he's accustomed.
I've long felt that directors need to scale down their films so that they can avoid the inane ideas of Hollywood producers. Take Martin Scorcese. For years, he's wanted to make "Silence," a film about two Jesuit priests in Japan in the 17th century. But studios are (understandably in this case) reluctant to back it. So instead he wasted his time on "Shutter Island," a piece of schlock that did well at the box office. (Scorcese is said to be working on "Silence" now, so hopefully he's learned to keep the budget in check.)
Fincher is so meticulous that making a film on the cheap may be impossible for him. For "Tattoo" he spent an entire afternoon shooting close-ups of drawings of flowers, which are shown for only a few seconds in the film. You simply can't spend that kind of time on a smaller production.
I wish he'd learn to cut a few corners, though. The prospect of seeing Fincher slog through the two sequels to "Tattoo" is enough to make a Swedish winter seem appealing.
Director David Fincher has painstakingly crafted every frame of the film, as he always does. There are lots of terrific touches, like the sound of a whirring janitor's vacuum adding a sense of dread to one scene. Or the terrifying black make-up that shrouds the heroine's eyes in key scenes. Or a shot from the point of view of a hostage, with a plastic bag over the camera.
Unfortunately, this is all in the service of a silly potboiler. "Tattoo" is one of those mysteries which throws out tons of details, most of which mean nothing. It features a comical number of montages of our heroes doing detective work: riveting stuff like computer hacking, looking at files, and questioning the elderly. The thing is over two-and-a-half hours long, yet it still feels rushed.
What's worse, "Tattoo" shamelessly throws in some disgusting material that wouldn't be out of place in an exploitation film. There are three scenes featuring sexual assault and, of course, Nazis. (Though not together. Really a missed opportunity.)
Now, I don't mind depravity in some contexts. Tarantino uses lots of crude violence, but it's all so cartoonish and stylized that it's mostly entertaining, rather than sickening. Fincher's "Se7en" included numerous disgusting killings, but used them to explore the moral degradation of society and how we should respond to it. "Tattoo," by contrast, is just using some "CSI" style gross-outs as a cheap way to hold the audience's attention.
(Another craven ploy: showing off Rooney Mara's naked body. The filmmakers really ought to be ashamed. It's 2012 and Mara is asked to bare flesh at every turn, with nary a male booty in sight.)
The bigger problem here, as is usually the case in Hollywood, is money. The strings attached to studio financing are now so great that it's incredibly difficult to make a good movie for eight figures or more. So a talent like Fincher has to work on a pointless commercial exercise like this if he wants to get the budget to which he's accustomed.
I've long felt that directors need to scale down their films so that they can avoid the inane ideas of Hollywood producers. Take Martin Scorcese. For years, he's wanted to make "Silence," a film about two Jesuit priests in Japan in the 17th century. But studios are (understandably in this case) reluctant to back it. So instead he wasted his time on "Shutter Island," a piece of schlock that did well at the box office. (Scorcese is said to be working on "Silence" now, so hopefully he's learned to keep the budget in check.)
Fincher is so meticulous that making a film on the cheap may be impossible for him. For "Tattoo" he spent an entire afternoon shooting close-ups of drawings of flowers, which are shown for only a few seconds in the film. You simply can't spend that kind of time on a smaller production.
I wish he'd learn to cut a few corners, though. The prospect of seeing Fincher slog through the two sequels to "Tattoo" is enough to make a Swedish winter seem appealing.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Dirty Harry
There are plenty of ways to explore the tension between constitutional protections and justice. You can take the hyper-realistic approach of "The Wire," which shows police officers' limitations--and their creative solutions--in painstaking detail. You can take the more abstract approach of 1969's "Point Blank," which casts doubt on the whole notion of authority and bureaucracy. You can also create a metaphor for the war on terrorism, as "The Dark Knight" does.
Or you blast all those constitutional protections ratified by our Founding Fathers away with a .44 Magnum, as "Dirty Harry" does.
"Dirty Harry" stacks the deck as heavily as possible. A psychopathic killer has taken a young girl hostage and threatened to kill her. The only way to save the girl is to violate his constitutional rights against search and seizure. Naturally, the killer also pays someone to beat him up so he can claim police brutality. I'm sure these kinds of scenarios occur all the time.
When it's not peeing on the Constitution, "Dirty Harry" has plenty of time for hypocrisy and stereotyping. Our titular hero shakes his head at the strip clubs that blight San Francisco, but the film has no problem taking us inside a club and showing a few shots of the girls--you know, just to demonstrate how depraved they are. The camera also lingers over the naked body of an ostensibly 14-year-old girl. And Harry engages in a little Peeping Tom action while on surveillance.
And, hey, since we're in San Francisco, why not throw in a few homophobic caricatures? Oh, and of course, all the black characters are thugs, but that's par for the course for this time period.
Get past all the bigotry and you'll find the film is almost charmingly lo-fi. There are plenty of poorly shot night scenes and dubbed dialogue. In one set piece, Harry has to run from pay phone to pay phone to prevent the killer from executing the girl. The scene is meant to be gripping, but it amounts to 10 minutes of watching Clint Eastwood run.
But all the amusing mediocrity in the world couldn't redeem a film this pig-headed.
Or you blast all those constitutional protections ratified by our Founding Fathers away with a .44 Magnum, as "Dirty Harry" does.
"Dirty Harry" stacks the deck as heavily as possible. A psychopathic killer has taken a young girl hostage and threatened to kill her. The only way to save the girl is to violate his constitutional rights against search and seizure. Naturally, the killer also pays someone to beat him up so he can claim police brutality. I'm sure these kinds of scenarios occur all the time.
When it's not peeing on the Constitution, "Dirty Harry" has plenty of time for hypocrisy and stereotyping. Our titular hero shakes his head at the strip clubs that blight San Francisco, but the film has no problem taking us inside a club and showing a few shots of the girls--you know, just to demonstrate how depraved they are. The camera also lingers over the naked body of an ostensibly 14-year-old girl. And Harry engages in a little Peeping Tom action while on surveillance.
And, hey, since we're in San Francisco, why not throw in a few homophobic caricatures? Oh, and of course, all the black characters are thugs, but that's par for the course for this time period.
Get past all the bigotry and you'll find the film is almost charmingly lo-fi. There are plenty of poorly shot night scenes and dubbed dialogue. In one set piece, Harry has to run from pay phone to pay phone to prevent the killer from executing the girl. The scene is meant to be gripping, but it amounts to 10 minutes of watching Clint Eastwood run.
But all the amusing mediocrity in the world couldn't redeem a film this pig-headed.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Edward Scissorhands
The recent release of "Dark Shadows" has led to yet more hand wringing over the State of Tim Burton and Johnny Depp. The A.V. Club: "what's gone missing in recent years...is the spiky wit and purposefulness that used to accompany that unmistakable visual style." The New Yorker: "a long, expensive joke in search of a purpose." The Wall Street Journal: "familiar and fatigued."
Depp, who starred in the film--his eighth collaboration with Burton--wasn't spared either. The New Republic: "Depp is a puppet made of blood, starch, and the actor's vanity." The Globe and Mail: "He's a persona now, no longer an actor."
The general consensus seems to be that Burton and Depp have hit a creative rut. Their movies are now largely an excuse for Burton to have fun with the production designers and Depp to have fun with costumes.
But it's worth returning to the duo's first collaboration, "Edward Scissorhands." Did these two really lose their creative mojo? Or has the novelty just worn off?
The film tells the story of the titular character, a man created by an inventor who died before being able to give him real hands. Ed gets taken to a satirically bland version of suburbia.
Once you get past the high concept, not much happens in the film. Burton gets as much comic mileage as he can out of those hands: Edward landscapes, grooms dogs, and give haircuts. Meanwhile, Edward struggles to fit in, and there's a perfunctory love story. You keep waiting for some sort of pointed message, and it never really comes. The film serves as a mild request for tolerance and a gentle dig at the conformity of the suburbs, old and easy marks to land.
Depp occasionally does some nice acting with his eyes and a shuffling gait. But mostly he just stands, inert, and lets his costume--basically Robert Smith in leather--do the work for him.
"Edward Scissorhands" is an enjoyable, lightweight fairy tale. It's largely an excuse for Burton to have fun with the production designers and Depp to have fun with costumes.
Depp, who starred in the film--his eighth collaboration with Burton--wasn't spared either. The New Republic: "Depp is a puppet made of blood, starch, and the actor's vanity." The Globe and Mail: "He's a persona now, no longer an actor."
The general consensus seems to be that Burton and Depp have hit a creative rut. Their movies are now largely an excuse for Burton to have fun with the production designers and Depp to have fun with costumes.
But it's worth returning to the duo's first collaboration, "Edward Scissorhands." Did these two really lose their creative mojo? Or has the novelty just worn off?
The film tells the story of the titular character, a man created by an inventor who died before being able to give him real hands. Ed gets taken to a satirically bland version of suburbia.
Once you get past the high concept, not much happens in the film. Burton gets as much comic mileage as he can out of those hands: Edward landscapes, grooms dogs, and give haircuts. Meanwhile, Edward struggles to fit in, and there's a perfunctory love story. You keep waiting for some sort of pointed message, and it never really comes. The film serves as a mild request for tolerance and a gentle dig at the conformity of the suburbs, old and easy marks to land.
Depp occasionally does some nice acting with his eyes and a shuffling gait. But mostly he just stands, inert, and lets his costume--basically Robert Smith in leather--do the work for him.
"Edward Scissorhands" is an enjoyable, lightweight fairy tale. It's largely an excuse for Burton to have fun with the production designers and Depp to have fun with costumes.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Toss Offs
Some people like their music structured and formal. Others prefer their tunes to be more loose and spontaneous. Me, I prefer the latter. I take the Stones over the Beatles. I love The Who's 15-minute version of "My Generation" on "Live at Leeds."
I particularly like what I call "toss offs." A toss off is when a singer spouts out a random line that isn't part of a versus, bridge, or chorus. It might not always be spontaneous, but it feels that way, as though the singer was feeling the groove and just let out a yell. Here are songs with some of my favorite toss offs:
The Rolling Stones, "Jumpin' Jack Flash" Right before the riff kicks in, Mick Jagger yells "Watch it!" I don't know why this is so cool. It just is.
Beck, "Loser" This song is a master class in toss offs, but I'm thinking specifically of the immortal "Get crazy with the Cheese Whiz!" Beck started out playing cafes in LA. He had to do something to get the audience's attention, so he started coming up with surrealist, attention-getting songs like "Nitemare Hippy Girl" and "Asshole." He put that talent to great use on "Loser."
Ryan Adams, "Halloween Head" Right before the guitar solo, Adams yells "Guitar solo!" Somehow it elevates this song and gives it just the right goofy vibe.
The Jimi Hendrix Experience, "Fire" "Move over, Rover. And let Jimi take over." Supposedly Jimi was staying at the home of the mother of his bass player, Noel Redding. He wanted to warm himself by the fire, but there was a Great Dane in the way. No, really.
Isaac Hayes, "Theme from Shaft" I don't know if this really counts, since so many of the lyrics in "Shaft" feel tossed off. But I absolutely love the "He's a bad motha..." routine.
C'mon, this has to count. He's talkin' 'bout Shaft!
Queen, "Fat Bottomed Girls" Towards the end, Freddy Mercury yells, "Get on your bikes and ride!" What a dumb, fun song.
I particularly like what I call "toss offs." A toss off is when a singer spouts out a random line that isn't part of a versus, bridge, or chorus. It might not always be spontaneous, but it feels that way, as though the singer was feeling the groove and just let out a yell. Here are songs with some of my favorite toss offs:
The Rolling Stones, "Jumpin' Jack Flash" Right before the riff kicks in, Mick Jagger yells "Watch it!" I don't know why this is so cool. It just is.
Beck, "Loser" This song is a master class in toss offs, but I'm thinking specifically of the immortal "Get crazy with the Cheese Whiz!" Beck started out playing cafes in LA. He had to do something to get the audience's attention, so he started coming up with surrealist, attention-getting songs like "Nitemare Hippy Girl" and "Asshole." He put that talent to great use on "Loser."
Ryan Adams, "Halloween Head" Right before the guitar solo, Adams yells "Guitar solo!" Somehow it elevates this song and gives it just the right goofy vibe.
The Jimi Hendrix Experience, "Fire" "Move over, Rover. And let Jimi take over." Supposedly Jimi was staying at the home of the mother of his bass player, Noel Redding. He wanted to warm himself by the fire, but there was a Great Dane in the way. No, really.
Isaac Hayes, "Theme from Shaft" I don't know if this really counts, since so many of the lyrics in "Shaft" feel tossed off. But I absolutely love the "He's a bad motha..." routine.
C'mon, this has to count. He's talkin' 'bout Shaft!
Queen, "Fat Bottomed Girls" Towards the end, Freddy Mercury yells, "Get on your bikes and ride!" What a dumb, fun song.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
Everything Must Go
"Everything Must Go" is based on a Raymond Carver short story, but it's really based on every hackneyed indie film about redemption. Alcoholic Nick Halsey (Will Ferrell) loses his job and his wife on the same day. His soon-to-be-ex leaves their house and locks him out, dumping all his stuff on the lawn. With no place to go, Nick starts living on the lawn. He's befriended by Kenny, a boy who is, naturally, chubby and sad looking, and Samantha, a neighbor who is, naturally, empathetic and pretty.
Will Nick turn to the bottle and eventually hit rock bottom? Yes! Will he slowly form a bond with Kenny and impart life-long lessons to him? Yes! Will Nick learn that all of the material possessions dumped on the lawn really aren't that important? Spoiler alert: Yes!
Ferrell turns off his eccentricities for the part, but he doesn't turn anything else on. He's the world's most boring tortured alcoholic. It's hard to blame him, though, given the bland script that methodically hits its marks. "Guess I'll be seein' you around," Kenny says to Nick near the end of the film. I think I've heard that line somewhere before...
Will Nick turn to the bottle and eventually hit rock bottom? Yes! Will he slowly form a bond with Kenny and impart life-long lessons to him? Yes! Will Nick learn that all of the material possessions dumped on the lawn really aren't that important? Spoiler alert: Yes!
Ferrell turns off his eccentricities for the part, but he doesn't turn anything else on. He's the world's most boring tortured alcoholic. It's hard to blame him, though, given the bland script that methodically hits its marks. "Guess I'll be seein' you around," Kenny says to Nick near the end of the film. I think I've heard that line somewhere before...
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