Film 2012

So, here we are, another Oscar weekend, another self-imposed deadline for cutting off my Best of Films List. There are plenty of films from 2012 that I have positive expectations for, yet, never got a chance to view. As always though, I take reassurance from the fact that my rental queue grows ever longer--better to have too many choices than too few, right? Last year I posted a list of 11 films, plus two honorable mentions; this year, the list has swelled to include 15 best of's and five runners up. Were all the critics right, and this was a stronger year for cinema, or did I simply get out to the theater more often? Or both? Regardless, here they are, in no order whatsoever. (As before, country designations refer to the origins of the directors). 

1. Take This Waltz (Sarah Polley, Canada): On paper the plot of this film (the temptations of adultery) may sound awfully familar, but Polley and her actors invest it with a new found emotional force, creating a narrative that I could neither predict, nor decide how I wanted it to end. One of the most honest, moving and sexy films about relationships that I have seen in a long time.

2. The Avengers (Joss Whedon, USA): It is easy to look back now and say that this had a license to print money, but Marvel truly took a gamble on setting up these films the way they did. They have taken the time to construct an actual interconnected film universe. Not all the installments were equally successful, yet it all came together here for one terrifically fun film. Now, let's hope that Phase Two will be just, if not more, rewarding . . .

3. This Is Not a Film (Mojtaba Mirtahmasb, Jafar Panahi, Iran): Panahi has long been my favorite of the current generation of Iranian directors, his films being essential viewing for anyone trying to gain a fuller view of Iranian society beyond the stereotypes. Currently under house arrest and banned from filmmaking for political reason, he persisted with this "documentary" made inside his apartment, a moving, whimsical view of his current situation. (Still undeterred by the authorities, another clandestine film by Panahi recently debuted at the Berlin Film Festival). 

4. Frankenweenie (Tim Burton, USA): Funny, quirky, creepy, imaginative, in other words, a lovely Burton film. The animation is well crafted and devoted to detail -- Frankenweenie's movements naturally mimic those of a dog perfectly. As does Mr. Whiskers, or at least until his not-so-feline transformation . . .

5. For Ellen (So Yong Kim, Korea/USA): A simple story of a young man who despite all his past mistakes, longs to connect one last time with his young daughter before signing away all his visitation rights. Kim takes a familiar set-up, yet consistently avoids any of the cliche plot-turns you would expect from the material (i.e. no child gets lost in a mall). Anchored by a first-rate performance by Paul Dano, this character piece flew much lower under the radar than it deserved.

6. Neighboring Sounds (Kleber Mendonca Filho, Brasil): A decade ago, I was raving about the Brasilian documentary Bus 174, and how it portrayed a society completely at war with itself, from the luxury penthouses to the impoverished slums. The intervening ten years have brought to the country unexpected prosperity and previously unthinkable social mobility. Yet, as this powerful depiction of neighborhood life reminds us, not all ingrained ills can disappear overnight, nor can every crime be swept away under the rug of progress. Resentments still linger . . .

7. The Master (Paul Thomas Anderson, USA): Not a film that ever explains itself, but why should it? The acting, especially from Phoenix & Hoffman, is outstanding, while the visuals and atmosphere are captivating. Anderson has crafted a tale of drifting veterans and religious shysters of our past, yet, one wonders, how out of place would they be in our own time of war and searching?

8. Holy Motors (Leos Carax, France): An ode to the beauty of cinema, a riff on the absurdity of life, the fluidity of identity and the personas we keep shuffling. Technologies may evolve, CGI creatures replacing Lon Chaney's old box of makeup, but our emotions and the stories we tell about them stay the same. 

9.. Lincoln (Steven Spielberg, USA): Yes, it is a history lesson, but one that never drags or feels stale. Yes, Kushner has done a poor job of explaining some of his factual errors, yet, the strengths of his writing remain: his ability to script anachronistic dialogue naturally. In his hands the film is not only a celebration of what has been accomplished in the past, but, I believe, a reminder of the work for equality which remains for the present generation. Oh, and yes, Day-Lewis was that outstanding . . .

10. Footnote (Joseph Cedar, Israel): A portrait of bullying, and how the victim, given the opportunity, grows into a bully themselves. Cedar's insightful screenplay examines this phenomenon not only on the level of the individual (and the all too familiar refrain of "I am not my father"), but on the national level as well. A timely reminder of how we can unknowingly become what we originally feared and fled. 

11. Tabu (Miguel Gomes, Portugal): Beginning in the present day, before flashing back to the last days of colonial rule in Africa, Gomes' film is a wistful, moving look at not only a doomed love affair, but the departed (though not forgotten) way of life which was its setting. Lovely. 

12. Amour (Michael Haneke, Austria): Despite the ravages of age and illness, one couple continues to care for each other, trying their best, until the end, to provide whatever comfort, no matter how small, is within their power. Haneke and his actors capture perfectly the couple's interactions, allowing that they occasionally say the wrong thing or lose their patience, even under the best of times, only the devotion never ceases, even under the worst. At the end, Haneke leaves us with the hope, if we chose to believe it, that such bonds will never break, even onto death.

13. Silver Linings Playbook (David O. Russell, USA): What could have been another cutesy "quirky souls in love" type story, is instead a non-sentimental view of mental illness. Love does not simply solve all problems, but provides another outlet, another support along the way, as does family, once you figure out how to avoid (literally) strangling each other. A well-crafted story, well-played.  

14. Zero Dark Thirty (Kathryn Bigelow, USA): Like great art should, Bigelow and screenwriter Boal prod the viewer to ask many questions without providing many of the answers, the primary one being: Was it worth it? If torture was required to find bin Laden, was it worth it? If Maya denied herself any other pleasure from life but her work, finding herself utterly alone at the end, was it worth it? And what exactly was accomplished? Revenge? Attacks prevented? Possibly the most heart-breaking scene is after the raid, as the Seals unload all the intel gathered from bin Laden's home, and you realize that tomorrow another day will dawn and the conflict will continue unabated. Perhaps, it will never have an ending . . .

15. Argo (Ben Affleck, USA): And finally, a story about the Middle East that has a happy ending (how did Spielberg not get to this first?). Seriously, a fine piece of filmmaking, and one that does not let America off hook for events leading up to the Iranian Revolution. Affleck wisely lets the acting and directing be unobtrusive, letting the setting, the atmosphere and ultimately the story take center stage. From the opening raid of the embassy to the final flight, a gripping film.

Honorable Mention:
1. The Pirates! Band of Misfits (Peter Lord, John Newitt, England): Aardman demonstrates that they have not lost their knack for quality stories full of humor, winning characters and impressive set-pieces. Remember, though, "some of you are simply fish I put pirate hats on . . ."

2. Turin Horse (Bela Tarr, Hungary): Two people, a man and a woman, living a desolate existence (possibly) at the end of the world. Haunting. (See my earlier post, http://pacingmusings.blogspot.com/2011/10/ruminations-of-end.html, for a close examination).

3. The Dark Knight Rises(Christopher Nolan, England): A true rarity: a superhero film with a true, honest-to-goodness finale. Over three films Nolan created an arc with a real beginning, middle and end that was quite rewarding. True, the last installment did not quite reach the greatness of the previous (though that is a pretty high standard to meet), but it was still a satisfying conclusion. I wonder if this type of approach to film adaptations (creating a series of self-contained arcs) might be a way in which DC could differentiate itself from Marvel's world-building approach.

4.  Elena (Andrey Zcyagintsev, Russia): A woman begs her cold-hearted rich husband to help out her son from a previous relationship. He says no, and thus the plot starts to spin. A bleak look at contemporary society, where there are precious few opportunities for any happiness that don't involve possessing the required cash deposit . . .

5. Beasts of the Southern Wild (Benh Zeitlin, USA): I wanted to love this movie wholeheartedly, but something about it prevented me from being drawn into it 100% emotionally. So it goes. Still, it is a first-rate technical accomplishment with some superb acting.

Repertory Discoveries: This year's list starts with some classic 30's Hollywood comedy, moves on to late 50's drama and ends with a silent Soviet gloss on a Gogol short story. All three brilliant, in their own ways . . .
Ruggles of Red Gap; Bonjour Tristesse; The Overcoat
 
Performances: Denis Lavant, Edith Scob (Holy Motors); Joaquin Phoenix, Philip Seymour Hoffman (The Master); Michelle Williams, Luke Kirby, Seth Rogen (Take This Waltz); Paul Dano (For Ellen & Ruby Sparks); Daniel Day-Lewis, David Strathairn, Sally Field (Lincoln); Tom Hardy (The Dark Knight Rises), Tom Hiddleston, Robert Downey Jr (The Avengers); Leonardo DiCaprio (Django Unchained); Quvenzhane Wallis, Dwight Henry (Beasts of the Southern Wild); Jennifer Lawrence, Robert DeNiro (Silver Linings Playbook); Martin Freeman, Andy Serkis (The Hobbit); Jean-Louis Trintignant, Emmanuelle Riva, Isabelle Huppert (Amour) 

Best Ensemble: Take This Waltz, The Avengers, Lincoln, Neighboring Sounds, Amour

Best Cat: Dino (Cat in Paris)

Best Dog: Franekenweenie (Frankenweenie)

Best First Film: Neighboring Sounds

Best Sound Design: Neighboring Sounds

Best Period Piece Facial Hair: Lincoln (part of me will never grow tired of seeing so many muttonchops in one place . . . seriously, though: credit for making all that antiquated hair appear natural to the contemporary eye).

Best Score: Jonny Greenwood (The Master); Dan Romer, Benh Zeitlin (Beasts of the Southern Wild); Danny Elfman (Frankenweenie); Alexander Desplat (Argo & Zero Dark Thirty)

Best Use of Non-Original Music: Leonard Cohen's "Take This Waltz", The Buggles' "Video Killed the Radio Star" (Take This Waltz); The Ronettes' "Be My Baby"(Tabu); "The Star Spangled Banner" (The Dark Knight Rises); Philip Seymour Hoffman singing "Slow Boat to China" to Joaquin Phoenix in The Master

Hardest Working Musicians in Film: That German string quartet in The Avengers. I mean, seriously, come Hell, high water, or an attack by the Norse God of Lies and Mischief, those musicians are just going to sit there and play the gig goddammit (literally, I guess). Now, that's dedication to craft. (Or as my love pointed out, they could have just really needed that paycheck before the weekend's house party).

And You Were Doing So Well . . . : Flight & Ruby Sparks. Two strong films that mishandle the ending. In the former's case, it was a jump-the rails Hollywood cop-out (filled with snazzy ready-made Oscar clip moments), which while disappointing was not surprising. In the case of the latter, it was literally the very last scene which I felt undercut what came before it. Sigh.

Memento Mori: Studying the close-ups of Joaquin Phoenix in The Master, his face creased with lines and wondering if this is what his brother would look like today, if he had lived . . . 


Well, that pretty much covers it for the moment. Cheers

Violent Entertainments & Hungry Games

Yesterday I finished reading Suzanne Collins' The Hunger Games, which I thought was quite good. Collins has crafted strong, intriguing characters, and placed them in a believable fictional world. As I have two more volumes of the series to go, I shall keep my speculation on further developments to myself for the moment, though I shall say that I am eager to see what happens next. Also, I hope to keep this post free from spoilers.

So, instead of plot mechanics, I would like to touch upon theme this afternoon. For those unfamiliar with the narrative, it revolves around a future society in what was once termed "North America." In the aftermath of a crushed social revolution, the elite have instituted an annual competition (the titular Games) in which 24 youngsters between the ages of twelve and eighteen are tossed into the wilderness and manipulated into killing each other. The last remaining survivor wins. This contest is broadcast live throughout the nation for the great pleasure of well-off city folk and to the poorer classes as a reminder of their utter subservience. For the benefit of both audiences, the more bloody and harrowing the competition, the better.

One of the reasons this book works is that Collins gets the tone right. It is, after all, a fine line to write a critique of violence as entertainment without your story becoming entertaining violence itself. Collins' keeps her story dark, never portraying her main characters reveling in any of their kills. When death happens it is quick and usually gruesome. This is not violence that has been sanitized for your protection. What is extra chilling is imagining all the citizens of the nation's posh Capital sitting around their living rooms, munching on snacks (popcorn anyone?), laughing and simply having a jolly good time watching all the maiming. Roman gladiators are clearly one reference, as are more contemporary sports and pastimes -- even someone who has viewed as little reality television as myself can pick up on the tropes riffed on by the packaged presentation of the Games to the populace. It would seem once again that from the Coliseum to today to the future there is precious little alteration in human nature.

Which leads me to the fact that somehow this story has been turned into a "major motion picture." I do not believe that there exists an "unfilmable" book, though some offer more challenges than others. What Collins merely described in her novel must now be rendered into moving images. In the process, the filmmakers have to find a way not only to maintain the balanced edge of Collins' narrative in their screenplay, but also transfer that tone to the screen. In other words, for this movie to work, in my mind, it should disgust the viewer. The violence should make your stomach turn, sicken you. Like the novel, there should be no catharsis in the kill, even if it saves a beloved character's life. This is not the type of story to elicit an audience reaction of "oh man, did you see how the spear just pierced her throat like that? Awesome!" If it is, well then, what's the difference between you and the citizens of the Capital placing bets on these young kids and hoping that this year's bloodbath will be even more thrilling than the previous?

This is not to say that violence cannot be entertaining (I read superhero comics, OK?), but that I feel it is the wrong tone for this particular story and the message its author wishes to convey. It is also true that intentions and reception are two different things (i.e. those viewers who somehow thought that A Clockwork Orange was a fun film worth imitating).

While reading the book, my mind was brought back to Peter Watkins' film Punishment Park. Made in the early 1970s, the British director imagines an America where political dissidents (read leftists & hippies) are arrested for sedition. They are given the option of prolonged prison sentences or a short stay in "Punishment Park." The park, as it turns out, is a dessert that they must cross (without supplies) in order to win their freedom. Only, it slowly dawns on the viewer that the whole thing is a set up, as National Guard troopers start killing them off one by one. It is a highly brutal and disturbing movie, yet also the closest example I could think of what I believe a Hunger Games film should resemble.

Not that Hollywood would let anyone like Peter Watkins near a property with as much profit potential as this one. Nope, instead we get Gary Ross. Gary Ross? The guy who made Pleasantville, a film that copped-out at any & every opportunity at nuance? A film that refused to truly challenge the audience or ask of it any question for which the filmmakers did not have a ready-made pat answer? A movie that avoided addressing any real issue of how actions have their consequences, both good and bad? This is the director to whom they've entrusted the book? Sorry, I'll pass. (At least they didn't find some way to cast Tobey Maguire in this one. Come on, you know that he auditioned for Thresh . . . :)).

As I said at the beginning, I have only just finished book one of the trilogy, and apologize if anything I have written is contradicted by the following two volumes. (Though, if they are, please be kind and do not respond to this post in such a way that spoils them for me. Thanks). I feel as though I have a sense where Collins is headed and that "the center shall not hold." Oh wait, I said that I would avoid second-guessing the author at this stage . . .

Cheers

Postscript, 3-22-12: So, I was on the subway yesterday, reading Catching Fire as part on my morning commute, when it suddenly occurred to me who should have been handed the job of adapting The Hunger Games: Alfonso Cuaron. The man has experience adapting children's/young adult literature (A Little Princess, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban). The latter film also demonstrated that he can deliver profits on a big-budget fanchise Event -- gotta keep the accountants happy, you know?  At the same time, he has shown an ability to see into the more complicated aspects of young psyches (Y Tu Mama Tambien). Most importantly, there is Children of Men. One of the reasons I have always admired this film is the starkness of Cuaron's presentation of violence; it is sudden, often short, and always harrowing. In other words, just how I would imagine that The Hunger Games should be faithfully handled on screen, especially now that I have a glimpse of where the second book is going (only a little over a hundred pages into it so far). True, Cuaron has had his misses (though, if the only good thing that came out of his Great Expectations is Pulp's song "Like a Friend", well, then that whole movie might have worth it anyhow). Still, maybe, if I cross my fingers long enough The Powers that Be will give Senor Cuaron a chance at Catching Fire. One can hope at any rate . . .

I have yet to read any of the advanced reviews of the Hunger Games film, so it is always possible that my pessimism shall be proven wrong. We'll find out soon enough . . .

Cheers.

Gunnar Fischer & the Art of Cinematography

It seems to me that cinematographers often do not get the respect they deserve, which is a shame as film is at its heart such a visual medium. Most cinematographers tend to go unremarked upon, except by the truly devoted film buff. There are exceptions, of course, such as Christopher Doyle today (even though he is reknowned for his distempter as much as his talent), or Sven Nykvist before him. Nykvist, like the actors von Sydow and Ullmann, gained fame through a long and fruitful collaboration with Ingmar Bergman; his own career became synonymous with the director's. Nykvist even earned enough prestige to win not one, but two cinematography Oscars for subtitled films. You may draw whatever conclusions you wish from the fact that Doyle, despite lensing some of the more influential films of the last two decades (i.e., his own bountiful collarboration with Wong Kar-Wai), has yet to receive a nomination from today's Academy.

Yet Nykvist was not the first cinemtographer to enjoy an extended working relationship with Bergman; that honor goes to Gunnar Fischer, who passed away a couple of weeks ago. At age 100, he expereinced not only most of the twentieth century, but most of the history of cinema as well. His training took place during the silent period, an era of vitality for Scandanavian film in general; Fischer even collaborated with Carl Dreyer, one of that period's masters. Fischer and Bergman formed a partnership that lasted a little over a decade, before splitting for unspecified reasons. Working together, they produced many of the most iconic images of Bergman's career in films, such as The Seventh Seal, Wild Strawberries, and Smiles of a Summer Night. In addition to these acknowledged classics, he shot two of my favorite Bergman films: The Magician and Summer Interlude.

In honor of Fischer's passing, I recently rewatched Summer Interlude, an excerpt of which I have included below. The film was made during the early phase of Bergman's career, and was once refered to by the director as the first movie he made in his own voice. This fact is instantly recognizable in the themes (art, love, death) that preoccupy a narrative that tells the story of a ballerina and her first youthful brush with love. The ballet sequences are shot on a sparse stage illuminated by striking beams of light. The focus is entirely on the dancers moving as one. It is only after they leave the stage that our heroine, Marie, is separated from the company. Marie meets Henrik during summer vacation, and there is a superb lightness of touch to their carefree revels. There is also a great charm within the lackidasical manner in which Marie goes about her morning routine, and the tranquil beauty of waters so calm that we may glimpse below as Marie's boat drifts along. Towards the end of the clip, take note of the extensive grounds stretching out behind Marie and her uncle as they have their post-dinner chat; Fischer's admiration of Gregg Toland's deep-focus work is clearly on display.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gydPbJ2gEYI&playnext=1&list=PLDA50770A5070624C

Overall, the film is a remarkable achievement by all its participants (as always, Bergman's coaxes first-rate performances from his entire cast, though especially from Maj-Britt Nilsson as Marie). It is a film that deserves to be better known. However, there is satisfaction to be found in the fact that other works of Fischer's have so far stood the test of time, and it is quite likely that his images shall still be recognized, even if his name is not.

Cheers. 

Ruminations after Midnight . . .

So, last week I went to see the new Woody Allen film, Midnight in Paris. As a longtime Allen fan, I shall admit that I was leery as I approached the film. After being underwhelmed by the critically dubbed "return to form" of Vicky Cristina Barcelona I had taken the praise heaped upon the new film with a few grains of salt. Still, I expected to be amused for a couple hours, enjoy some good acting, and even if annoyed here and there, at least not dislike the movie. A reaction similar to Vicky Cristina Barcelona if you will. Indeed, I shall entirely fess up to my own longstanding fondness for the culture of the '20s--though if pressed, I may have prefered hanging out in the cafes & cabarets of Berlin with F. W. Murnau but I digress . . . the point is, Allen had a sympathetic viewer in me. Instead, I found myself groaning more than laughing, and finding few things of pleasure to latch on to . . .

In the plus column, there is Owen Wilson, who I thought made a fine stand-in for Allen. Opinion has been split on this matter, but I think that he handled his role quite well. He had that same bumbling charm that Allen could have at times. If his performance faltered in places, it was because the writer had failed to give him a script of any quality.

My nest-mate has a longstanding theory that Woody Allen basically hates women, which is why they often come off so badly in his films. Well, this may the best example of this to date. Wilson's character is engaged to Inez, the most two-dimensional, bitchy, unsympathetic female Allen has written yet. All you need to know about their relationship is that he wants to live in Paris and write novels, while she wants him to keep writing the Hollywood blockbusters that have made them rich and enabled them to live in Malibu. In case you missed the subtle cultural commentary, Inez is accompanied by her parents whose only function I could tell was to walk around with the label Ugly Americans stamped prominently on their foreheads. Oh yeah, and her dad is Republican, so we know that he must be unredeemable. Wilson's character, Gil, seems to be the only sane American in a wilderness of right-wing, superficial, materialistic, uncultured wackos. That issue aside, though, at no point in the film does Woody Allen allow one ounce of a sympathetic trait for Inez, or even give any indication of what attracted these two characters to each other in the first place. I guess that they could have had good physical chemistry, though naturally, any hint of that is long gone by this point in the relationship.

There's also a smug, know-it-all, name-dropper named Paul who is the butt of many a joke. More on him below.

As for the sections of the film that meander into the '20s? I simply was not that captivated by them. Yes, the frocks were pretty, and the sets nice. Yet, I wasn't sitting there going, "Oh my god, that art deco recreation is amazing." Hemingway shows up as a one-joke parody of himself that was funny until I realized that Allen had nothing more interesting about the man to say than that. More troublesome is the portrayal of the Fitzgeralds. It seems that in Woodyland Zelda was the parasite who held back Scott, and prevented him from achieving greater things. She is the flighty airhead, all fun & games distracting the Artist from his true work. I mean, it is such a nuisance when our loved ones go all diva and threaten suicide on us. Luckily we men of the present have valiums to keep our women calmer. La-de-da.

Finally, this parade of famous names starts feeling like Allen is showing off everything he knows about the period. When Gil runs into Dali, it's cute. When Dali promptly calls Bunnel and Man Ray over to the same cafe table, it gets a little tiresome. Later Gil suggests to Bunnel the plot for one of his most iconic films. What could have been a clever subtle joke is entirely heavy-handed. One gets to the end of these sequences wondering what the difference between the character Paul and his creator Allen is? They both seem rather self-satisfied with their own superior taste and intellect (cue cheap laugh at the expense of the Tea Party).

I shall grant the film does make a good arguement for why one cannot live in any Golden Age, as a Golden Age is never contemporary, but perpetually in the past, where it may be safely sanitized. (Though it takes an appearence by not one, not two, but three iconic late 19th-century painters to illustrate this concept). As I have observed on other occasions, the problem with wishing to live in the '20s is that eventually you pass 1929, and reach a decade that was decidedly not the best of times.

Some may say that I'm getting way too nitpicky about a silly comedy, and I would say "you're right" if I had been amused by any of this. However, I laughed rarely during this film, so I can't even recommend it really on the strength of escapism. It's got some great music in it, though buying a CD of Django Reinhardt tunes may be a better investment of funds.

Nope, I hate to say it, but I'm calling "the emperor has no clothes" on this one. I don't always agree with David Thomson, but on this one he's right: the saddest thing about all this is that Allen has demonstrated little wisdom gained with age and experience. Perhaps, the true problem, as is often the case with arrested development, is that the same old routines eventually cease being funny.

Or at any rate, that's how it seems to me . . .

Cheers.