Solaris (2002)

The remake of Andrei Tarkovsky's 1972 film, while at least an hour shorter, still moves at a somber pace. This is a love story set in space, about a man who has a chance to reunite with his dead wife. It's interesting that the film never mentions the word "alien"; while the reincarnations (if that's what you can even call them) are certainly not human, they...well..I imagine they are human. They possess no foreign abilities, and the only thing odd about them is they were created by Solaris itself. Tangible, corporeal bodies brought to life by the deep inner workings of the subconscious. Once alive they possess conscience and free will, yet they are unable to determine where they came from, or why they came at all. Their existential confusion clouds their minds, but certainly they do exist. Right?

Soderbergh's film finds questions within the human condition that astronauts cannot explain. Perhaps they cannot explain it because they have sought for answers elsewhere in space, rather than within. Chris Kelvin stares in disbelief at his wife, for death no longer exists. Captain Gordon fears the "others" totally and completely, refusing to bring them back to Earth. And then there's Snow, whose confusion is well-warranted.

I understand Kelvin's desire to be with his wife again, to make amends and feel her against him, he warmth against his warmth.

In the cold bowels of space, two lovers reunite. The ending of the film is tragic, yet haunting. But lovers will find a way, no matter how foolish or desperate. "For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come".

Inglourious Basterds (2009)

Things that went through my head during the exhausting IB experience.

Empty theater, except for myself and Matt.

1. The Revenge Tragedy- Shosanna's story arc follows the popular revenge tragedy narrative. Wronged by Col. Landa, she fulfills her destiny as a revenge hero only to be thwarted (somewhat) at the end. She changes identity completely, sacrificing love, family, and self for the destruction of those against her. She does not, however, get the man who wronged her. Revenge is sloppy in this film, attacking anyone in the way.

2. QT's Love Letter to Cinema- This film is about filmmaking as much it is about World War II. Must watch again to find exact references; "I think this may be my masterpiece"

3. Kinetic Violence- Stunning climax to the Operation Kino, possibly lasting less than 10 seconds. Reminded me of the blistering editing power of The Wild Bunch.

4. Comparisons to the Western- usage of Spaghetti Western music. Opening shot reminiscent of Eastwood's Unforgiven. Apache head scalpers. Shosanna's Apache war paint. Revenge a common theme in The Searchers.

Between Breaths (Gasps)

I'm still here, I promise
Still continuing to disappoint my blog readers (namely,
myself)which is the worst to disappoint.
Life is moving, tangibly, forcibly.

Enough with the adverbs.
Sloppy, exploitative writing.
Naturally. ha

Got encouragement from many sides,
Am at the top of my game.
Electric. Kinetic.

The central "cocksure" component to success
The hub, the CPU, the center, the rock,
is composure.

Having the best time of my life.
Bring the noise.

Halloween (1978)

Halloween (1978): Bump. Bub-ump. Bump. Bub-ump. This is the reason why the original Halloween is so scary. All it takes is those two dreadful notes. The music is absolutely terrifying. One of the filmmakers said if you watch the film on mute, it’s quite tame. It’s when the music comes on, that you feel those worst fears coming true. This film is awfully effective, simply because there’s no shame or winks. Michael Myers moves like Jaws; completely amoral, without need for words or reasoning or conscience. He is a horrendous force of nature. One of the best sequences is when Laurie Strode yells for Tommy Doyle (that name is so suburban, its funny) to come unlock the front door. Across the street, we see the house that Michael Myers is somewhere inside of. Cut back to Laurie. Cut back to the house, and we see Michael slowly (slowly is the key) emerge from the shadows. He’s still coming. Laurie starts to panic and yells once again for Tommy. Cut back to Michael, who’s now approaching the street. So incredibly simple, and yet so bold and terrifying in its directness. I attached the trailer, for an example of the music’s effectiveness.

Funny People (2009)

I have to say that this was a disappointment, and that it, too, deserves another viewing. For a few reasons, but the main one is because I saw the movie in an empty theater. It’s hard to laugh out loud like you want to at the cinema when it’s a quiet (and cold!!!) empty room. The echo of your own laughs makes you feel lonely.

But Judd Apatow’s third feature leaves its most serious subject to go on an hour long subplot that is frustrating in its intentions and quite worthless. The first hour, however, is quite good, and on par with Apatow’s best. Who else can talk about death and penises? But what’s frustrating is that George Simmon’s near-death experience is only that. A spoiled asshole of a man comes close to death, and that’s about it. There’s no catharsis in that situation, no feelings of redemption or hope. Only a man who almost dies, remains an asshole, and never thanks anyone for his luck or resolution. He is a dick to Ira (Shmyra) and then tries to steal his old flame back from a much nicer man. Everyone in the Apatow universe has a problem, but George won’t admit of his problems. He’s just not very likeable. But I don’t think that this movie is bad. It has grand aspirations, and it’s smart, well-written, and (this is key), funny. But compared to Knocked up (2007), which I still think is a masterpiece, this movie doesn’t hold up.

I resort back, quite often, to the rule of thumb from Matt Stone and Trey Parker. They believe, and I do too, that their best episodes of South Park came when they focused specifically on one idea. When they started combining storylines into a twenty minute episode, the plots felt too sparse and rushed. Apatow should consider this, because I think he has two movies piled into this one. The stand-up idea is quite good, and possesses much more material that didn’t make it into this movie. I could tell that Apatow cut a lot out so that he could fit in the other stories into this mess of a movie. There seems to be about three plots going on, and this one ain’t Pulp Fiction.


But But But. THe first sequence of this movie is stunning. Putting this in the movie was quite brilliant of Apatow, but the movie never again seems to reach the high notes of four guys just making jokes in an apartment room.

G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra (2009)

Can’t say too much about this one, except that I only watched forty minutes. I won’t say that I left because of disgust, but just because I felt that I didn’t have the time to sit and risk not enjoying the movie. The only thing that I noticed was that Channing Tatum did not seem like a very good actor, and that I had to pee really bad. I hope one day I can sit down and try and figure out if the movie was worth the awesome weekend that it had. For the record, I love director Stephen Sommers; The Mummy and Van Helsing will always be at the very top of my geek chart.

By the way, this movie and Transformers have really sparked some debates about where the movies are going, and more importantly, where audience expectations are going. I am stuck in the middle of the debate. While I value movies with actual stories and action scenes with some motivation and inspiration, I think that most people still go to the movies to escape the burdens of real life. And if people want to see stuff blowed up, or see Sienna Miller in brown hair, let them go. Detach yourself from the machine, and move on past it. I did find myself somewhat depressed listen to everyone laugh at the jokes within G.I. Joe. Their laughs felt contrived, as if they understood the formula of the blockbuster. Put in lots of action scenes, but in between these scenes, give them comic relief so they can feel part of the awesomeness. But the laughs I head in that theater were weirdly timed. A joke would arrive, and it wouldn’t be that funny. But seconds later, the audience picked up on the cue, and laughed. Hard. I don’t know how to respond to that, except that it turned me off.

Also, Channing Tatum (who still can’t act) reminds me of a beefed up Ben Foster. They should have put him in the fucking movie.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (2009)

Quite astonishing in its design and attention to detail. David Yates, like Christopher Columbus, really makes an effort to put in as many references from the original books as he can, and open up J.K. Rowling’s universe. Obviously, the film must progress differently than the book, but Yates still makes an effort to place secondary characters in the background as much as possible. Seeing Professor Flitwick, Crabbe, Fenrir Greyback (although his purpose barely ascended past growling and looking like a pro wrestler) and Luna Lovegood sprinkle the overall feel of the story is wonderful; you can tell that the people working on this project approach it with a certain sense of respect and love.

It’s frustrating then, that this movie has been met with disdain by followers of the books simply because a fight scene was excluded. The books were never about the fights; there’s only so much you can do with two people waving wands at each other. This problem was somewhat noticeable in the climax of The Order of the Phoenix. While Voldemort and Dumbledore proved rather climactic, the fight scene before theirs came off a bit awkward. Many people have been upset with the amount of teen-romance taking place. This is also a bit frustrating, because these are the characters we love and care about. We shouldn’t have to insist on them being in fight scenes and Quidditch matches every half hour. The drama between Harry, Ron, and Herminone occasionally has some very poignant moments, like when Harry slips a placebo into Ron’s drink, or when Harry lets Hermione’s head rest on his shoulder. Or how about Harry mackin’ on a Muggle at the very beginning of the film? It’s easy to forget that these wizards and werewolves technically coexist with our boring universe. It’s these moments when I realize that I grew up with these characters, and that I deeply care about them. The first movies are so incredible because we’re so jealous of their incredible luck to be a part of this astounding world. These quiet and human moments in the later films prove that the problems of the Wizard world often have a peculiar relation to our own problems.

And their problems motivate the excitement of the action sequences, and this film has one of the best of the series. The moment in the cavernous lake is dazzling and epic in scope. We see Dumbledore, for the first time, reduced to an (gasp!) old, whimpering man. What a inversion of roles, as Harry now must literally nurse Dumbie back to safety. But it is the arrival of the Inferi out of the black depths that stir the macabre beauty of Dumbledore’s trap. This scene deliciously reminded me of Gandalf’s battle with the Balrog in his freefall within the mines of Moria. There is a breathtaking shot of Harry being pulled down into the dark waters by the Inferi, where the camera observes the awesomeness of Dumbledore’s power. I’m very excited and glad that Yates is with the last two films to the end. To that lonely march towards Hogwarts.

A Slow Weekend

Sometimes I worry that I like too many movies.

I understand the basic maxim, which states that no one ever sets out to make a bad movie. And sometimes I go on streaks where every movie works for me. Transformers 2 worked for me. Will I ever see it again? I don't know. Probably not, unless I'm drunk. Does that mean I didn't enjoy the 800 explosions? I did. I laughed. I laughed at the people clapping. That's fine with me. I knew what my free screening was getting me into. It certainly wasn't going to be Babel: Part Deux.


But this weekend, I don't know what was going on, every movie I watched just didn't hit the mark for me. One of the most important things I've ever learned from a film scholar was from Jim Emerson, who said that all you need to do during a movie is consistently ask, "How is the movie making me feel right. now." And in doing that, in consistenly setting off that mental and emotional alert, I have been able to quickly investigate why or why not a movie is hitting the bar.


And this weekend, not many cut it. I tend to put review/rants on here for movies that I adore. Not the case here:


Eagle Eye (2008)- This is the second time I tried to slosh through this one. For whatever reason, the consistent action puts me to sleep every time. I don't like Michelle Monaghan's character, she seems completely unnecessary. The film references are the only thing that really keeps me awake. In fact, this may be an important movie strictly because it forces modern audiences to reconsider the value of the shots that last longer than 1.2 seconds. A breathless snoozer. The Salton Sea (2002) is a much more interesting Caruso movie.

The Beach (2000)- Who'da thunk this was directed by Danny Boyle? The only evidence would be the meandering and way-too-serious voice over and the disjointed video game hallucinatory scene. This movie is really interesting strictly because it changes tones about 20 times. And I couldn't help but really dislike Leonardo Dicaprio's character, Richard. Not because of the acting; no, the character is an asshole. Totally unempathetic. He just sort of wanders around, does really bad things, and then voices over and expects us to feel sorry for him. Or in awe of his coming-of-age adventure.


The Incredible Hulk (2008)- Second posting on this one, just wanted to say that everytime the movie sets up an action sequence, the action is utterly disappointing. Watch the Humvee piece on the college campus, and then watch the tank sequence in Hulk (2003), which is infinitely better. Ang Lee's Hulk, while more incandescent and glow-lightish, possesses a weightlessness. that doesn't stick with Ed Norton's. While it didn't work with many moviegoers, I am sort of spellbound when I watch Hulk leap through the air, almost flying. This Hulk just sort of runs into things and grits his teeth really hard. Although, it is still really cool when he pulls apart the police car and uses each half as a boxing glove. It's a shame that's the only cool thing he does.


Halloween (2007)- Maybe the biggest disappointment of the weekend. I turned this on with an excited anticipation; I appreciate Zombie's seriousness towards the horror genre. He has a distinct look for his movies. And I love the original Halloween. But this one does not work. At all. And it's an interesting predicament. Why doesn't it work? Well, they spend way too much time on the back story of Michael Myers, which has two detrimental effects. The first is that the killing escapade is compacted into about 35 minutes. No build-up. Just knives and facades of suburban houses. Also, there's about 7 minutes of exposition towards Laurie Strode, who I cared for less than Jon and Kate. The other problem? Michael is not a sympathetic character. What is the point of showing his backstory? To identify evil incarnate? Isn't evil more scary when it's unexplained? This Michael seems too human, too Freudian. The most astonishing sequence in the original is the opening sequence, but the very end. With the iconic theme clinging, all Carpenter shows is the front of houses. It is this moment when we confirm that Michael can be anywhere. That he will never have to run. He is a supernatural presence. He is at your door, or my door. He is the thing that bumps in the night. Not a little boy who wasn't loved the right way. I will be interested to see where Zombie goes with the second one.


Lakeview Terrace (2009)- This was the only movie that had me somewhat intrigued. In fact, I liked the tension of this movie. Until it got a little too ridiculous. The end doesn't work very well, but the characters are believable, and the situation is credible. It's a shame the wife really pissed me off, but then again, I am more than likely a chauvinist.


We'll see about next weekend, I guess.

RB

Oh, thought Mrs. Bentley. And then, as though an ancient phonograph record had been set hissing under a steel needle, she remembered a conversation she had once had with Mr. Bentley- Mr. Bentley, so prim, a pink carnation in his whisk-broomed lapel, saying, "My dear, you never will understand time, will you? You're always trying to be the things you were, instead of the person you are tonight. Why do you save those ticket stubs and theater programs? They'll only hurt you later. Throw them away, my dear."


But Mrs. Bentley had stubbornly kept them.

"It won't work," Mr. Bentley continued, sipping his tea. "No matter how hard you try to be what you once were, you can only be what you are here and now. Time hypnotizes. When you're nine, you think you've always been nine years old and will always be. When you're thirty, it seems you've always been balanced there on that bright rim of middle life. And then when you turn seventy, you are always and forever seventy. You're in the present, you're trapped in a young now or an old now, but there is no other now to be seen."

-"Season of Disbelief" by Ray Bradbury.




You ever meet those people who talk about the past as if it's something tangible? They fret over every little detail, musing over what was, but more dangerously, what could have been. The past is their present, and the days slip by.

Bad

I heard this in a movie. It overpowered the scene. People always talk about how The Edge's guitar has a unique sound. Well, it's absolutely stunning in this song. So is the drumbeat.

I'm not even a fan of U2, but this is making me reconsider. Something about it connects. How we feel about people who live self-destructive lives. How heartbreaking sympathy can be. How hopeless.

In one version, he says the song is about a friend addicted to heroin. And how he would do anything he could to save him. And himself, to walk away and forget. How we long for communication. Human beings thrive on it. But how it eats us. How we punish ourselves for the sake of others. Only the good can be bad.



"He trampled himself, to extinguish himself"- D.H.L.

Public Enemies (2009)

I went into this movie a little bit worried. My past experiences with Michael Mann have not been that spectacular. I fell asleep during Collateral and Heat, two of his most widely-regarded movies that really promote his auteurism. They were cold to me. I never really got involved emotionally. Detached killers fighting detached heroes. It all felt like business. I need to see both of them again before I can really endorse my distaste.

But Public Enemies kept me awake in an interesting way. Once again, I was not really emotionally connected to any of the characters, but I don't think any of them wanted my emotions. Once again, the movie feels like business. John Dillinger and his men are bank robbers, yes, but they are also very diplomatic about it. They (the good ones, at least) have principles that dictate their job. There is a hierarchy amongst the men. Dillinger is clearly the CEO of his little corporation. It's fascinating to watch them communicate and work.

And not just his men. This movie made me want to be a cop. I found Melvin Purvis as an extremely interesting character, totally committed to a blind ambition of serving Hoover and his dreams of establishing a federal police system. Purvis and Dillinger certainly serve as foils for each other; they are dedicated to their jobs. They love their jobs. They would die for their jobs.

But the movie is not about their battle against each other. It is, but Mann seems more interested in the grand scheme of things going on in the 1930's after the Depression. This is a period piece like no other. Using HD technology, Mann creates a historical America that feels extremely contemporary. The film has a documentary-grittiness to it. Rarely does the camera try and establish beautiful planned shots of the city; instead, we huddle in with these men in their cramped hotel quarters or claustrophobic FBI offices. This is one of the first movies where the gunfire felt absolutely real. The sound of the tommy gun firing in the streets is, like it should be, chaotically deafening. And the gunfire is messy. It's not pretty and dramatic when these men get shot. Watch Babyface Nelson continue to roll and fire as he is taken down in a dark forest. Watch the time Purvis takes to guarantee a hit on Pretty Boy Floyd. These gunfights did not bore me like most do. I sat up in my chair because I felt that this is what they really must be like. Chaotic, sloppy, terrifying.

My one problem with the movie was its failure to undergo this documentarian format all the way. Whenever Mann used non-diegetic music to convey emotion, it took away from the verisimilitude of the story. This includes the ending, which fell flat for me. This is not a movie of drama. The reality of it, the fact that it actually happened, makes it fascinating.


I'm still distraught as to why Melvin Purvis ended up killing himself. Will have to look that up or read the book.

Tom Brangwen and Women

Once, when he was drunk at a public house, he went upstairs with a prostitute who seduced him. He was then nineteen.

The thing was something of a shock to him. In the close intimacy of the farm kitchen, the woman occupied the supreme position. The men deferred to her in the house, on all household points, on all points of morality and behavior. The woman was the symbol for that further life which compromised religion and love and morality. The men placed in her hands their own conscience, they said to her "Be my conscience-keeper, be the angel at the doorway guarding my outgoing and in my incoming." And the woman fulfilled her trust, the men rested implicitly on her, receiving her praise or her blame with pleasure or with anger, rebelling and storming, but never for a moment really escaping in their own souls from her prerogative. They depended on her for stability.

Now when Tom Brangwen, at nineteen, a youth fresh like a plant, rooted in his mother and his sister, found that he had lain with a prostitute woman in a common public house, he was very much startled. For him there was until that time only one kind of woman- his mother and sister.

But now? He did not know what to feel. There was a slight wonder, a pang of anger, of disappointment, a first taste of ash and of cold fear lest this was all that would happen, lest his relations with woman were going to be no more than this nothingness; there was a slight sense of shame before the prostitute, fear that she would despise him for his inefficency; there was a cold distaste for her, and a fear of her; there was a moment of paralyzed horror when he felt he might have taken a disease from her; and upon all this startled tumult of emotion, was laid the steadying hand of common sense, which said it did not matter very much.

But it had shocked him, and put a mistrust into his heart, and emphasized his fear of what was within himself.

Excerpt from D.H. Lawrence's 'The Rainbow' Ch 1, pg 15



I am stunned with how easily Lawrence sums up the back and forth motions of love within a man. That bitter and acrid taste of fear inverts the forwardness of carnal desire. Often times I find myself doing something that I know is wrong for me, completely and totally wrong, yet I cannot stop. I cannot stop because I am too scared to be caught in my tracks. I have to go through with it, because that fear of incompletion is too real.

Yet, don't I often find myself more disgusted afterwards? That fear is only replaced with loss and shame, like a little boy who just got away with a white lie to his parents. I stand there in the dark and hate the guilt that was there all along.

Thus, I'm amazed with D.H. Lawrence. His ability to pinpoint that back and forth in the heart of man. He and Thomas Hardy understand the finest points of love and its paradoxical nature. We want the angel of the hearth to watch over us, we want the maternal figure to guide us, to put us to bed. Yet, how pathetically we struggle against the whore. How frail our minds are when provoked with temptation.

Precious: Based on the Novel 'Push' By Sapphire (2009)

Warning: Not for the light-hearted.

This is a movie that takes risks. 'Precious' tells the story of its self-titled heroine as she faces insurmountable obstacles in 1980's Harlem. Raped and impregnated by her father for the second time, the obese teenager looks for hope as the drowning waters crash around her. Her mother (Mo'nique, the other spark of the film) would make all of the Wicked Stepmothers of fairy tale lore whimper in their beds.

We watch painfully as Precious' greasy father mounts her on a bed of filth and tears and sweat and tells her that he loves his baby. This is not shocking; what's shocking, then, is what Precious sees. Grimacing in clear disgust, she focuses on a crack in the ceiling, which crumbles away to reveal Precious in one of her glamorous escapades of stardom, riches, and excitement. Hope springs eternal.

The pain continues to deepen, however, as Precious does everything she can to hang on to this aching world. She's good at math, we learn, and not just because she has a crush on her teacher. It has kept her in school, which in this society can be interpreted as a small miracle. Especially since she cannot even read or write. Her education gets her a ticket to an alternative school, where escape from this wretched life seems possible.


Here is a story that we naive suburbanites simply cannot make up on our own; I believed it only because I would have felt ashamed to accuse it of melodrama and then find out it was real. There is a moment early in the film where we first meet Precious' mother; she goes off on a rant against Precious that seems neverending. Just when you think the verbal abuse is about to stop, she amps it up again. When we see Precious, her face shows clear and honest hurt, and we start to understand that nurture is so much to our childhood. Without it, we are wounded and lost. Sticks and stones may break bones, but these words can kill.

The movie does not stop with these eye-opening expositions of a broken adolescence. Director Lee Daniels forces us into this all-too-adult world. One scene in particular will have you gasping in disgust and admonishment. However, a few scenes will have you tearing up with joy.

It's the kind of movie that yells across the screen. The last shot, and the closing dedication, spring hope and love for all the girls out there who are lost and cannot find their way home.

Transformers: ROTFL (2009)

Come on, now. Shame on you for trying to review this movie, Jacob. This movie is indifferent to opinion. This is the king of Shamelessness. With this sequel, Michael Bay has officially established himself as an auteur of bad taste. He is the Bill O'Reilly of filmmakers, a businesssman disguised as an artist, and he is laughing his ass off to the bank.

The idea that there is a race of aliens capable of highly advanced technology that somehow managed to shape themselves in the models of automobiles from a planet they just discovered is...really...fucking...stupid. But who cares? In fact, who cares about the human actors in this movie? I didn't. At all. I only found myself wishing I existed within this universe of Bayhem. Every girl adds a new classification to "hot". There are explosions every minute, and no one ever gets hurt. Entire cities appear to be anything but intact in a matter of seconds. It's a 2 1/2 hour car commercial.

I prematurely guessed before the movie started that there would be close to 50 solid explosions. Forget that: I'm pretty sure there were hundreds. This is why I cannot condemn the movie. It's not a movie; it's ADHD porn. It's smut, no worse or better than buying People magazine. It's a movie that may have been made w/o a script. Don't believe me? Someone came up with a MacGuffin called The Matrix of Leadership. It was at this point that I started thinking about The Power Rangers Show. It's the same level of cheese.

And you know what? I'm rooting for this movie. I'm rooting for it like I root for Michael Bolton. Of course it's bad; no shit. You can walk into a beautifully rendered and well-kempt McDonalds. It doesn't change the fact you're still ordering a Double Quarter Pounder and McFlurry. I hope it makes a shitload of money. It's not taking itself seriously at all; like the Automabotatonalots, this movie is an advanced machine. It's mindless, and like Lady Gaga, soulless. It's here for a good time. It's a two hour, one night stand, which is way more time than most of us can brag about.

Indy

Literally 5 minutes ago, I just saw Harrison Ford walk 20 feet away from me. He's shooting a movie called Morning Glory with Rachel McAdams.

Cardboard Raindrops.

They were the darkest eyes he'd ever seen.
Midnight snow.
When the night feels like day
and the day feels like night.
Purple leaves falling on the brush of a bed.

He couldn't help but feel confused by those eyes,
their purity conflicted with the steel of a hideous ring.
And the poison of an innocence corrupted.
All around him, the poison seeped through
Million dollar cars and million dollar smiles.

But the eyes remained,
Hard and blazen in the night,
Black as the charred moth.
White as the ruffled sheets.
And he couldn't help but wonder
Why the stars existed tonight, tonight,
While Midnight snow blanketed the ghost Sun.

Dialogue From a Night

In the middle of a Kings game.

Drunken Girl: "Never have I ever done it up the butt."
Giggles, Chortles, and a few fingers go down.

Jacob: (swinging for the fences). Never have I ever been on an airplane.

Everyone's fingers go down. A blatant attempt to separate himself from the upper class.

Across the table, a Jew in an orange polo stops his annoying (but still successful) attempt to get inside a girl's pants. He looks at me, and then back at her. He is aware that she and I go to JMU.

Orange Jew: What kind of kids are you hanging out with down there?

The girl clearly feels embarassed that she is being associated with someone of the middle class. She looks at Jacob and her cheeks redden. She is somewhat humiliated. She looks back at Jew and rolls her eyes. An hour later, they will be in a bedroom together. But before that, Jew will challenge Jacob to a race. Jew's father's Porsche apparently goes really fast. Jew, however, is unaware that Jacob drives a van. Jew goes along with Jacob's challenge until he realizes that Jacob is joking.

Jacob finishes his drink and walks away from the table. He proceeds to stand by the counter at this point and pour Jew's vodka into his drinks. Despite the blurriness, Jacob has a distinct understanding of who he is, what he is.

Whatever Works (2009)

At the beginning and end of the movie, Boris Yellnikoff, the most recent embodiment of the Allen hero, looks helplessly at the camera and waxes his laissez faire philosophy: Whatever works. And it holds true. Whatever you can cling to in this fucked up universe, take it. The cliches about love and success are exactly that, cliches. We take whatever we can get because we can feel the infinity of chances disappearing into the night. The absurdity of true love is a tagline for a Hallmark card.

At least, according to the painful pessimism of Boris, a man who gave up on aspirations strictly so he could speak down to them. I think he would have preferred the "possible Nobel nomination" rather than winning it himself. It's fun to make excuses when they're not really there to begin with.

Have you ever seen Woody Allen speak in interviews? He sounds nothing like his writing. He, himself, comes off as extremely serious and articulate. He doesn't stammer or yell or constantly self-deprecate himself. You can detect the artist within him that wants to make a point. I'm amazed at how he takes the serious existential fears of life and reduces them to side jokes. The influence of Bergman is clearly there, and Allen is fast to pinpoint it. Like Tarantino, he wants you to see the reference. And then he spins it.

And Whatever Works does that quite nicely. It takes a sad story about a man who acts like Gollum, who has pushed everything away just so he can insult it, and tells a quaint love story that is too hard to believe. There's no way anyone can find his insulting nature attractive, but even Boris pinpoints this absurdity. So for a 16 year old beauty to fall in love with him, to defy virtually every odd, well...why not? The most touching scene involves Boris' realization of their luck. How did she get to him in the dark of the city streets? And not only that. Born decades before her, what magic allowed her to travel through time into the dark hours of the night and on his couch?

It's exactly this existential musing that attracts me so much to Woody. He finds the right cue for love because of its inexplicable nature. Its ability to confound us humbles us every time. But in this movie, I sensed a lackadaisical nature towards the great questions that often put the director to torment. For Allen, this is a fairy tale, and like every good fairy tale, there certainly exists "the horror! the horror!". But everything comes together nicely at the end. Relationships are lost, suicide is attempted, cheating, homosexuality, it's all there. But it's not serious, because to take love serious is murder. For humans to step out of their egocentric boxes and observe that this happens all the time, that love unites in the strangest places. One of the main themes is that the x-factor of Luck plays a massive part in love. We take what we can get. We ride the wave until another one comes along. Should we be mad at each other for this? Ehh, what's the point? The pendulum swings, entropy crashes in, and we find love through the shards of a broken window. Don't try to plot your life. Take the hits as they come. Smile. As Alvy would say, we need the eggs.

Up (2009)

Let me get this out of the way. The first 10 minutes of Up are the absolute best work the company has ever done. Period. Better than the celestial moondance between Wall-E and his Eve. Better than their classic short, Geri's Game, and better than the coral reefs of Nemo. It is utterly heartbreaking material, and in their recent style, most of it is silent. A montage of the married life of Carl and Ellie (her grown self doesn't even have a speaking part in the film), it is the most poignant and sincere romance that I think I've seen at the movies. It reminds me of Charlie Chaplin's romance in City Lights; I was sitting in the theater weeping.

Pixar has mastered a style of emotional gesture that is only capable through animation. The characters in Up are not realistic, but they move and respond within the emotional boundaries that we as human beings have a fundamental and instinctual understanding of. Notice the way Carl crosses his heart in the film; he does it many times. As a child, he does it very fast and honest, trying to keep up with Ellie. He moves faster than a human is actually capable of, but because it's animation, he moves with the rhythms of the human heart. It's stunning to see it, but it's hard to notice, because it feels so natural to us. Pay attention to it. It will come back throughout his life, and it will never be as fast and as pure as when he does it as a young boy.

The opening scene also continues Pixar's tradition of presenting adult material within the context of a kid's movie. There is a shot that may surprise some filmgoers. It takes place in a hospital, and I couldn't help but wonder what the kids were thinking as they saw that. How bold of them to do that, and it adds so much gravity to the opening montage. Also, the shot of them in the cornfield is heartbreaking. It's on an incline, with Carl at the top, and Ellie struggling towards him. No words, but we get the message.

After the opening scene ended (I've included the absolutely essential soundtrack by Michael Giacchino), I thought that the film just could not maintain that level of excellence. And while the film is good, it only recaptures the purity of the opening scene a few more times towards the end. THe rest of the movie is a romping, escapist, fairy tale that is plain fun. And funny. The movie has some great humor within it. Dug is very very funny, a lot better than the disappointing Bolt. However, I have to say that I was somewhat conflicted with the talking dog aspect of the movie. While I thought Dug was funny and inventive (they have started integrating the oddball techniques of Hayao Miyazaki), I thought that it took away from the poignancy of the story of a man on a quest. It didn't have the right hue as the rest of the story. I guess what I'm trying to say, is that the conflict of the movie almost felt superfluous. I didn't respond to Charles Muntz like I responded to Carl. I never once felt restless when Carl and Russell were on the screen, along with their animal associates.

But this is all being too harsh on the movie. I was so uplifted from Pixar's maturity with Wall-E last year, that I was taken aback when they went back down to the more playful level. This movie is outstanding, an absoulute joy. I'm so relieved that Hollywood is starting to go away from post-apocalypse. Up is as far away from Wall-E and Terminator and The Road and etc etc as you can get. And I'm thankful for that. It's only fault is that it's not as fully conceived towards one vision as Wall-E was; rather, it's a limitless barrage of colors and ideas and emotions that reaches strictly for the heart. It's a triumph of the spirit. Don't feel bad if you cry!

Miss Havisham and Estella

"What have I done! What have I done!" She wrung her hands, and crushed her white hair, and returned to this cry over and over again. "What have I done!"

I knew not how to answer, or how to comfort her. That she had done a grievous thing in taking an impressionable child to mould into the form that her wild resentment, spurned affection, and wounded pride, found vengeance in, I knew full well. But that, in shutting out the light of day, she had shut out infinitely more; that, in seclusion, she had secluded herself from a thousand natural and healing influences; that, her mind, brooding solitary, had grown diseased, as all minds do and must and willthat reverse the appointed order of their Maker; I knew equally well. And could I look upon her without compassion, seeing her punishment in the ruin she was, in her profound unfitness for this earth on which she was placed, in the vanity of sorrow which bad become a master mania, like the vanity of penitence, the vanity of remorse, the vanity of unworthiness, and other monstrous vanities that have been curses in this world?

-Great Expectations, Chapter XLIX

I think this might be the passage that forever cements Miss Havisham's poor soul into the canon of my memory. Abandoned on her wedding day, she never lets go of the anguish of being wronged. She stops the clocks at the exact moment of her devastation and closes all the windows in her now shrouded and shadowed mansion. Being wronged was worse than murder, for she still has to go on living this horrible existence. She still wears her wedding gown as she wafts in and out of the haunted rooms, never surrendering her victimization. When Pip meets her, she is fully lost in her lamentation, but she has brought someone with her. Her adoption of Estella revealed a chance for Miss Havisham to seek vengeance against those that ran away with her life. She weans Estella to adopt a heart of ice; through Miss Havisham's teachins, Estella is fully incapable of love. She destroys men around her, possibly without even realizing it. Her nurture has been the love of a vulture, the care of a siren.

Naturally, Pip falls madly in love with her. Who wouldn't? She sucks him in because he is easy prey, and she feeds off his attention. And the relationship, sadly, seems parasitic; all he receives from her is anguish and devastation. And it is not until Miss Havisham sees this anguish fully wrought in Pip's face that she realizes what a terrible mistake she has made. All her life after her fiance left her, her only imput towards the world was the furthering development of her vengeance against men; through Estella, she could control and break them. Yet, seeing all of this happen to Pip brings back the memories of what happened to her. Vengeance is a deadly retribution because when it's over, there usually isn't much left. She never sought equilibrium; no, those who seek vengeance want to tilt the pendulum back their way.

And what's most astonishing about the passage is Pip's awareness of Miss Havisham's poor life. How terrible for her to have to undergo such humiliation, only to dedicate the ruins of her remaining life to something that had to extend to his character. I think he's witnessing the tragic futility of revenge on the innocent and the guilty. At first, he wants to tell Miss Havisham that, indeed, her influence on Estella has ruined her and broken Pip's heart. But his anger only hurts Miss Havisham more, and he realizes this. He watches her and sees how hollow her vengeance has made her, twisting her into a Gothic monster with a broken heart. She reminds me of Belle's beast, whose suffering comes not from being a monster, but from having a conscience hidden beneath his deformation.

I think of the horrifying image of Miss Havisham sitting in the shadows in her wrinkled wedding dress, now yellow from the passing of time. Sitting in the dark, she strokes the hair of Estella, her weapon of mass destruction against the villains that wronged her. I think of that, and then I think of the woman who wanders the halls of her mansion at night with a single lit candle, running from the past that refuses to leave her. What a poor, poor, soul.

Terminator: Salvation (2009)

I feel bad for this movie; moreover, I feel bad for almost all of the movies to come out this summer. Why? Because they have to live under the shadow of The Dark Knight. Summer fare didn't used to have to propose such high standards. You could get away with The Mummy Returns and X men 3. They might be crappy movies, but they didn't have to shy away from their genetic code. They were popcorn crunchers, nothing more, a few hours out of the sun. Then last summer happened, and summer movies evolved. With Batman and perhaps Iron Man, (but most certainly with Wall-E) the summer movie found a brain. They could not only entertain and rack in money, but they could fundamentally be about something. With Iron Man, Tony Stark inhabited a world that seemed altogether part of our own; it had logical underpinnings and real motives (and terrorists!). With Wall-E, Pixar quit making films for children and ascended to a more realistic and serious approach. And with The Dark Knight, Christoper Nolan found a way to approach existential themes from the absurd vantage point of a man who dresses up as a bat at night.

Put it this way: Since last summer, I've stopped going to the movies like I used to. I think I realize(d) that the summer fare of 2008 was something that would take years to ever match again.

And so we have summer 2009. And the best reminder for it all is that last summer was miraculous. Terminator: Salvation is a worthy addition to summer movies; the biggest mistake of the movie is that it tried to hard to mirror The Dark Knight. People will compare it to that (hell, they already have), and that will be its bane. But lets look at the movie under standard summer fare. Do I want to see another Terminator after this? Hell fucking yes. McG has done something with the Terminator franchise that has not been done yet. He created a world, albeit a postapocalyptic one (puke), that fleshes out the mythology of the Terminators and John Connor. Consider what the franchise has been. THe first one was an exploitation piece, and nothing more. A perfect excuse for a bad guy to blow stuff up real good. THe second one was only a tentpole for Cameron's obsession with spanking new technology, and nothing more. It's frustrating to hear people devote so much scrutiny to these two movies for their stories; I hardly doubt that Cameron promoted the strength of their stories to get them made. If he did, wouldn't he have cast someone other than Ahhnuld? And the third Terminator that everyone smirks at...why? Once again, another tentpole for limitless action. None of these movies made much effort to create a sequel. McG has done just that. He has taken these three films (which barely constitute a franchise anyways) and created a world. He has taken the skeleton and added muscle and tissue.

How does that vision look? I think it's fascinating that in his pitch to Christian Bale, McG handed the actor a copy of Cormac McCarthy's The Road and told him this was going to be his approach. How bold! To compare a 4th installment to a relatively weak franchise to Cormac?! If I were Bale, I think I would have to appreciate that gesture. My interpretation of all this is that McG is making this movie as an attempt to prove his clout as a filmmaker with a funny name. ANd I respect that. I think the movie does just that.

The action, for the most part, was pretty incredible. In particular, the chase scene (A Terminator staple) with the sentient motorcycles drew forth a few "Goddamns!" from me. I loved his references to the other movies, as well. I think that's a worthy way to pay tribute and also move on. In other words, McG allows some winks, but never do they alter the tone. I worry, however, that the Arnold pseudo-cameo may not hold up in the long run. We'll see. I appreciated it.

Mainly, it was just the little things in the movie that pleased me. Little efforts here and there to show that everyone was making an effort on this project. The one shot scene where Connor gets in a helicopter and subsequently crashes. The introduction of new robots. The outstanding scene in the creek meshes the franchise's close relationship with action and horror. Count how many references to the earlier movies are in this, and you can start to see the amount of time that was put into this. I hope that McG does this again with a project of his own; he has paid his dues.

Dickens

"It was impossible for me to avoid seeing that she cared to attract me; that she made herself winning; and would have won me even if the task had needed pains. Yet this made me none the happier, for, even if she had not taken that tone of our being disposed of by others, I should have felt that she held my heart in her hand because she willfully chose to do it, and not because it would have wrung any tenderness in her, to crush it and throw it away" -Great Expectations, Chapter XXXIII.

Well, I'm not sure if anyone has found a better way to describe the pain of adolescence for boys. This describes it perfectly. There's an awareness going on, when Pip realizes that it is more torturous to be in love with someone than to be out of it. Pip and Estella's intentions are not the same; Pip is in love because he doesn't know how to get out of love. Estella, however, has figured out the game. She wins over Pip not out of love, but out of the desire to capture him in her throngs, to force love out of him so that she can control him. THat's what makes the last sentence so painful; Pip realizes that she does not love him because she cannot control it. She consciously loves him to possess him, and would have no problem ripping his heart out to prove her control.

Hancock (2008)

My buddy had told me that this was a terrible movie, but I was pleasantly surprised. I always wonder how these movies would do if they didn't have Will Smith in them. He carries with him a genuine "likeability" that really makes it hard not to pull me into his ridiculous action movies. It's funny, then, to see him go out and be a bad guy (for a bit) as he says and does some ridiculous things. I know the movie was originally supposed to be called Tonight, He Comes, which, in all honesty, seems more interesting. Imagine a hero who is frustrated with his superpowers. When he has sex with a woman, his orgasm literally kills her. I guess great power does require great responsibility.

Peter Berg's film, however, is noble in at least trying to fit that in to the PG-13 rating; I wonder what parents thought during that trailer scene. I'd attribute it to bad sewage. Needless to say, it was scenes like that one that really made the first hour of this movie shine. Smith rampages through the city as he "saves the world" by breaking as much as possible. Ebert has always wondered what the bodycount and damage calculations were in the films with the incredible car chases. Think of the Matrix Reloaded; imagine the phone calls that insurance companies received that day. This movie, then, actually considers how people might react to the damage. I know if I was in my office building and someone flew by and ripped out the wall, I'd be perturbed.

Once the film picks up on its plot, it does start to lose a little steam. You could tell they were having way too much fun at the beginning, but knew they had to go on and reel this into typical summer fare. The story is just mediocre, and not very well-developed. Jason Bateman and Charlize Theron do their best to have fun with it, but I don't think we ever really care too much about the outcome. I think Theron knew this, because she was looking way too good for me to worry about anything she was saying for the last half of the movie. The climax was also disappointing, as I didn't feel threatened at all by Eddie Marsan's thug character. But as I said, I think this is one of those movies where we can feel the winks of the actors and the people who made it. Yeah yeah, they know this is corny; might as well have fun while they're doing it then, right? For proof of this, listen to Smith talk to the frustrated citizens at during the train track scene. What a talent.

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (2008)

One of my professors has a theory about American culture. Just like the Victorians had a secret fascination with sex and the dirty deeds that take place behind bedroom doors, Americans have a secret fascination (or fear) of death and its implications. I think she might have something; considering the state of standard television fare, Americans don't seem to have a problem with sex at all. But death? Well, that's not something that Tyra and Oprah talk about too often. Sure, they tell sad stories, but what do they have to say about those final moments? THe justification of death and dying has definitely been an interest of mine in the last year or so, and I think Benjamin Button dedicates his life to the dreaded topic.

David Fincher has admitted that the story revealed itself as a metaphor for death. Despite the fairy tale nature of the film, there is a high body count going on here. Born as an old man who ages backwards as he grows older, Benjamin is surrounded by people approaching death's door. His infancy is surrounded by death; losing the ones he loves, the ones that were around to raise him, becomes his nurture. Thus, Benjamin never allows death to anger him or sadden him. He watches it in a curious fascination, trying to figure out why people go through it, and what it might be like. I think he's drawn to the loneliness of death, because he does understand what it's like to be lonely. He knows what it's like when the world has given up any expectations of you. There is a overall feeling of detachment in the film that pushed a lot of people away from the movie. It's strange to see the blankness of Benjamin when he comes home and realizes his surrogate mother has died. No outburst, no tears, even, just a calmn awareness of what must be.

However, I think the movie does possess a sentimentality that is hard to come across in movies today. In fact, I think the movie is drenched with it. What a strange effect, to look at death in a romantic fashion, to view it not with dread or disgust, but with wonder and intrigue. The only person that runs from death is Daisy, and her character is the hardest to like. There have been comparisons to Forrest Gump, and there certainly are parallels. However, I think there is one fundamental difference between the two movies. Forrest Gump was about life and living and experiencing the world. Benjamin Button is about death and the acceptance of it. Forrest seems invincible from death, and weeps when he loses those he loves. Benjamin seems obsessed with death, and observes everyone's converging journey towards it. You can feel the passage of time in this movie, and it's very calm.

The final minutes of this movie are heartbreaking, and I'm not really sure why. I think it's sad that Benjamin can't experience death the way he has seen everyone else experience it. He wants to be paradoxically alive has he prepares for death, but his condition does not allow it. Youth becomes a metaphor for senility, and he is unable to take care of his vessel and get ready for death. The scene where Daisy reads The Old Kangaroo story to him is beautiful; their relationship inverses, and the symmetry is devastating. I believe Daisy when she sees Benjamin's final moments. He has seen too much death in his life to understand it even as a baby. This is one of the movies, I think, that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. Anyone who says David Fincher sold out for this movie needs to go shove Fight Club up their ass. That movie didn't know how to live.

"You can be as mad as a mad dog at the way things went. You could swear, curse the Fates, but when it comes to the end, you have to let go."

"Along the way you bump into people who make a dent in your life. Some people get struck by lightning. Some are born to sit by a river. Some have an ear for music. Some are artists. Some swim the English Channel. Some know buttons. Some know Shakespeare. Some are mothers. And some people can dance."

That closing montage is what I hope heaven is like.

Murderball (2005)

It's nice when a movie teaches you something about yourself. It's better, though, when a movie reminds you about things that you failed to consider. My ignorance towards the burdens of quadriplegics derives not from lack of compassion, but from the fact that I've never not considered being able to walk. Or tie my shoes. Or wipe my ass. Or play rugby. These things we take for granted because we have to, because our lives are not about them. But what happens when they're taken away? There's a moment in the film where Keith, a newly paralyzed individual, struggles just to sit upright on the hospital bed. His courage astounds me; I sat there knowing that suicide would probably cross my mind. Reducing my life to those struggles terrified me, and that was when I realized the film is not about "murderball".

No. The film wants to talk about these people and their daily struggles with the things we take for granted. Watching Bob Lujano (no arms or legs) do the dishes and pour himself a glass of water is incredible; extraordinary feats become their routine. In that case, quad rugby is nothing special. All it does is let them get involved in something normal. It evens the playing field for them; no one watches in sympathy. They watch in awe.

To be honest, the most boring moments of the film are the game scenes. I waited through these to hear more about their stories. Zupan has become the main image of the film, and for good reason. His ruggedness surprises us, because our social reaction is to reach out to these people and give them pity. But why? Apart from the chairs they sit in, they're extremely normal. Average, even. They have the same interests as regular guys; pussy, beer, and chatting with their friends. It's surprising to see so much character in a person like Zupan. What's even more surprising is his backstory behind why he's in the chair. This might be the most sincere portion of the film, and the results of it are heartwarming.

I did not expect to cry in this movie. But there is a moment with a father and son that shows the hardships these people have faced and overcome with love and compassion. The lessons learned in this do not have anythign to do with sports. Sure, we want them to win, but we know they've already won. They're still rolling along. They're still smiling. Life goes on.

Scenes From A Marriage (1973)

I always feel intimidated when I first start a Bergman film. This intimidation does not come from a coldness or dislike towards Ingmar Bergman, but rather from his ability to expose certain anxieties of my own life. His Wild Strawberries affected me on such a level that I'm afraid to go back and watch it right now. It might have been a religious experience, in the sense that it opened up the world and my expectations of it. It asked questions that I had never considered; it showed our questions about death in an unflinching light. I'm haunted by the Professor's fidgeting in his bed as he awaits an ever-nearing death. Bergman has a certain ability to penetrate our existential fears and put them on the table and merely look at them and wonder over them.

I wanted to watch Scenes From A Marriage, then, because I felt that Bergman would be the best man to speak to me directly with issues that have taken place in my recent life. I thought that I might be able to find another movie that affected me on that plane of personal intimacy. In short, I wanted answers for what was going wrong in my own life. If that can be mirrored on film, let me try that.

Roger Ebert calls this movie (I'm paraphrasing) one of the truest and most pure love stories to ever grace the screen. I'm not sure if it's a love story, but I do think that it is about as true as one can get when talking about people caught up in love. Love does not exist within societal boundaries like marriage or divorce. Johan and Marianne find that out by going through all the motions that many married couples go through. On paper, it looks clean and honest and "fair". In dark rooms in quiet places in the universe, fairness and legality wait in the hallway. One of Bergman's common themes is communication and its common failures. I sat there trying to figure out when Marianne and Johan were sincere and when they were bluffing, when they were trying to hurt each other and when they were trying to win the other one back. Sometimes, I felt I could detect this within them, other times I had to look away in agony. Sex is used both as a weapon and as a guilty pleasure. They both go on the offensive and defensive, but none ever seems able to score.

The most comforting thing about this movie was knowing that these themes are universal. I watched this movie and found almost every frame to be absolutely true. Despite the sorrow of the movie, this truth reassured me. It reassured me that this is the human condition, to love uncontrollably. It comforted me with my own problems taking place in life right now, and maybe that is why Woody ALlen is right when he says Bergman is the best film artist out there. Allen says that we leave Bergman films not depressed, but totally uplifted because we just witnessed art at its highest capability. If art is supposed to mirror life, to reflect on our failures and flaws as human beings, then Bergman is the man for the job. I did not leave this movie feeling depressed; I felt calm, sleepy even. I had witnessed something that was sad, yes, and even sorrowful, but I had the reassuring feeling that it was inexplicably true.

On The Waterfront (1954)

I think it was about halfway through the movie that I realized the acting was something to behold as groundbreaking and even electrifying. I stopped the movie after the priest's speech to the dock workers (an absolute high point in the film) to see if the actor, Karl Malden, won the Supporting Actor Oscar for that year. Although he did not (surprising), what was even more surprising was that he and two other actors (Lee Cobbs and Rod Steiger) also received Supporting Actor nominations. To add to this, both Marlon Brando and Eva Marie Saint won the Actor and Actress categories. Aha, Sherlock, proof that the movie's acting really did have something exciting going on. The story, you see, is nothing extraordinary; a man unites against the mob and stands up for the common worker. I did not know, however, that the movie stands as an allegory for Elia Kazan's testimony against fellow Communists within Hollywood. What an interesting idea, then, to find a reason for "ratting out your friends", something that the gangsters in Goodfellas would never do.

While not fully impressed with Eva Marie Saint, Marlon Brando is something to see. I know that's not really news, but he does possess a warmth that lets you in as fast as it pushes you away. It's like hovering near a fire: it draws you in, but stand too close and the heat snaps you away from it. Certain actors like Russell Crowe and Mel Gibson possess a masculinity that defines their character; Brando is the same. And what's interesting about all three of these actors is the sensitivty that intermixes with their hyper machismo. Brando seems to whisper half of his lines, a boxer with a broken heart. I can't tell if his Terry Malloy's eyes are welted up from previous boxing matches or welted shut from the sadness that his character continues to give off.

His "I coulda been a contender" speech is startling because the parodies of it are so different than the actual speech. If only most people who knew the line in popular culture knew what he was actually talking about, who he was actually talking to, the line would have so much more resonance than just a catch phrase. It hurts for him to admit what he was, and what he has become. The film has moments like the taxi scene, and the priest's rousing of the men, and the final showdown that really lift the movie into the inspirational category. It's always a good thing when you';re sitting in your chair, secretly cheering for one guy against another. You don't see that much more in Hollywood; the lines have blurred too much. I think this is the movie that Rocky Balboa grew up watching.

Catching Up.

Trying to do a better job with recording my movie viewings. I'm drunk right now, so I'll keep it quick.

Changeling (2008)- Proof that Angelina Jolie is the most stunning actress in American cinema. She's not just beautiful, she can back it up. Christine Collins was a real human being, and I accredit Eastwood for entrusting Jolie to bring that to the screen. Despite this, the movie is grim, grim, grim. It's not totally a noir, but the anxiety and distrust is there. The interesting thing about the movie is that its hero is a woman, and we support her from beginning to end. Dark stuff forming the modern times of America. Somber soundtrack, somber visuals.

Doubt (2008) - Here's a movie that seeks strictly to test you and conflict everything. For that, I can only give the movie credit for making those risks. It doesn't try to make a message; instead, it hints at a message, and then throws it up in the air just to piss you off. Say what you will, but I think the great movies always raise more questions than propose answers. The performances are the most memorable part ( the scenery is rather dreary), and I think Meryl Streep and Phillip Seymour Hoffman run away with it. I have a crush on Amy Adams at this point.

Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (1973)- Unsure of what to make of this one, to be honest. THe movie is competent, and there are some memorable moments, but there's not feeling of satisfaction or enjoyment or anything during this movie. It's almost painful, I think, to see a man get so obsessed with the man who slept with his lover that he takes him along for the inevitable demise. Explain why he wipes out other couples at least 3 times on 3 separate occasions. There's something going on with how the main character feels about relationships and jealousy. The movie deserves another watching, but I'm not sure if I feel like sitting through it again.

Wild at Heart (1990)- This movie has potential, and it knows it. Imagine the Wizard of Oz transcribed into an apocalyptic Beat America, and you have David Lynch's road movie. The movie is very good, but Lynch has a way of trying our patience to the max. The movie just feels too long, like he had a bunch of interesting ideas and ran with it. Nicolas Cage is great, and so is Willem Defoe as a creepy backwoods criminal. I always appreciate a movie where a bunch of artists do favors in order to collaborate with someone they admire. I saw John Lurie, Isabella Rosselini, and others rampaging across this bizarre American wasteland.

Happy-Go-Lucky

Poppy reminds me of my mommy. Her happiness somehow hides some old and lonely sadness. Why must she be cheerful? What is there to be cheerful about? Poppy, I think, doesn't really wonder why; she only knows the challenge she faces in trying to make everyone happy. An impossible feat, I guess, but that doesn't discourage her. I wonder if making everyone happy in the world requires some own personal loss. Does Poppy find satisfaction from being so cheerful or does it spread her thin? Her relationship with her driving instructor was sweet, but explosive. It's a good thing she's a school teacher, because she quickly detects the childhood scars of Scott's past. Their scenes really outshine the rest of the movie, and I couldn't help but ache a little when Poppy introduced her newfound boyfriend to Scott who could only watch on in helpless anger. His rant to her later said so much about Poppy's purpose in life, but it came from a man who wanted more than just a cheerful smile.

L.A. Confidential

There are some movies where you actually believe they have created a world. The atmosphere, the setting is so real that its immersive and inclusive. L.A. Confidential (1997) is one of those movies, and the setting is a warm and gritty 1950's L.A. I always wonder if people in previous generations were as dirty or as filthy as the ones in my generation; this movie seems to believe so, with the underground pornography, closet homosexuals, hotel murders, betrayals, celebrity fascinations, and abused women. The movie starts out slyly with a glamorous introduction of Hollywood and then spends the rest of the movie deconstructing that notion. Behind the glamour, there are rats and spiders crawling around, and those are the things (that go bump in the night) that drive this city. And behind them? A police force, doing the best they can to keep the streets somewhat manageable, doing the best they can to maintain that sickly-sweet Hollywood image.
The masterstroke of this movie is its introspection on three different cops working in the same force. There is the new guy, intent on building an image and wiping the streets clean. There is the old guy, who's been in the force long enough to know the in's and out's, and how to make a profit on the side. And then there's Bud White (Russell Crowe), the most fascinating character of the movie, who does not really know what his purpose is within the force. The movie sticks with these three men, weaving in and out of their own personal successes and problems, while at the same time developing a grand criminal scheme. Beyond the characterization of these three men, there are some superb action scenes that seem to come out of nowhere. A particular interrogation scene with Bud White really stands out in my mind. The violence, when it hits, hits hard. And that's surprising in this beautiful city. This movie deserves plenty more words.

Revolutionary Road

What drives people to this? What personal failures, hidden jealousies, and questioned motives lead people to live like this? What has to happen for two lovers to go out and try to hurt each other? Revolutionary Road deconstructs the "married life" during the 1950's and deconstruct is more of a euphemism. It dissects, unravels, and implodes a marriage. There are two scenes in the film that are so powerful it was nightmarish and heartbreaking to watch. More credit should have been given to Leonardo DiCaprio, who embodies a performance of seething frustration. We sense his awareness of his wife's refusal to be happy about anything, and the impotence he feels after even trying to please her at all. This impotence explodes a few times and the result is a helpless young child on the screen who cannot figure out why he is no longer loved. What a tragedy this story is; I don't know if I'll ever be able to forget April and Frank and their acute abilities to turn the knife. What drives people to this? What good is love if it leads to this?

Good Morning

I'm writing this because I have to.
Because if I don't, the words will bubble and froth inside of me.
I'm writing this because I cannot tell you.
I'm writing this because I cannot ascend to your door.
And cannot descend to your bed.
I cannot outline your body with my own.
Enjoin and Entangle in the warm hours of the night.
Where only the moon has any say, and all her says are whispers on cat's feet.

I'm writing this because I have to.
Because the stale shades of the lamplight smother me at dusk.
Because the perverse sound of the television is hideous and droning.
Because the stiff drinks tighten my veins like snapped leather.
Because the very thought of you makes my blood run electric,
Only to reduce itself to viscous slime.

I'm writing this because I have to.
Writing while you drift away from me.
A paper boat in a sea of storms.
A child lost in a parking lot.
A blinking star in infinity.
How meager words are.

But I'm writing this because I have to.
Because in writing to you, I write to me.
So that I may come to terms with my shortcomings.
So that I may see what problems I caused.
Which equations were never solved.
Which failures got involved.
So that I may begin to accept a life without you.

And I'm writing this because I have to.
As the world sheds its skin.
As we prepare for lifetimes of heartache and disaster.
As we shelter ourselves from the omnipotent grief.
As we stand on the precipice, leering towards the future of unanswered questions.
Two tiny infants, smiling because they no not how.

I'm writing because I have to.
Because these words would only make you run.
My presence only make your eyes quiver.
My touch make your skin weep.
My offense trigger your defense.
And my voice would only make you run closer to someone else.

So I write.
I write because I have to.
Because the world is not enough.
Because you are the outlet to my sorrow, my joy, and my anger.
Because you are the window.
Because when I look at you, I see me.
And when I write to you, I write to me.

ily.

An Urge

Not really sure how to get this one down. Nevertheless, it should be written. Twice a week, I go and "help out" a 6th grade Language Arts classroom in Harrisonburg, Virginia. I stand in the corner and talk to them like they were my little brothers and sisters, occasionally assuming the professional status and teaching a lesson or two. Very simple stuff. But sometimes, I stand in the back or in the corner and feel an incredible desire to reach out and warn these kids. They stand at the brink of their childhoods, getting ready to say goodbye (forever) to the innocence they are too ignorant to realize they have. I want to stand behind them and kiss them on the backs of their necks, in a feeble attempt to express my sadness for something they cannot possibly know. A life of sadness, grief, heartbreak, death, regret, loss, betrayal, and failure awaits them. It awaits like a monster in the dark. I watch them talk about their lives, about the meager struggles of living, and I want to reach out to them. I wish them the best of luck in a world that will ultimately offer them up to chance, which may be interpreted as fate. I want to visit them in their dreams and assure that in spite of everythign they are about to give up, and everything they are about to face, to go ahead and go on living. Go ahead and face the world and its obstacles. Don't be afraid to walk along the sidewalks with tears streaming down your face. Don't be afraid to sit in the back of a movie theater and weep uncontrollably. Don't be afraid to love someone so much that the world blurs around you, that the very idea of logic defies the fire that seethes in your veins. Live in this world because you have no other choice. Because of the simple absurdity that you somehow managed to make it into this world, into this life, into these predicaments, has to mean something. It has to.

A Dream.

Sometimes, I have a dream that frightens other dreams away. I won't call it a nightmare, because it's intent is not to scare; rather, to awe. I dream of a giant, calm sea expanding to all points of the horizon. There is no shore in sight, no moon, no stars, just a black sky against a black pool. It is silent all around, but there is an ominous presence underneath the dark waves. Quietly cutting through the black void, a hulking leviathan treks through the darkness. A shark, older than the first pebbles of time, patrols the void. The ocean blackness silently gushes through his gaping mouth, glimpsing at the clockwork that comprises his ancient constitution. Its eyes gaze the dead landscape, never blinking, never hinting at any sign of remorse or apology for its grotesque construction.

I see it in my sleep and I do not shiver or turn away in fear. I watch it from afar, from the sheaths of the blackness, from the depths of my unconsciousness. I watch its glass eyes scan the perimeter, and I wonder if it sees me. I wonder if it sees the black blood beating through my heart.

Wall Street

A word of advice: Do NOT watch this movie if you've never been to New York City before. Oliver Stone's Wall Street (1987) is a Faustian tale about the seduction of power and its cohort, money. I'll quote David Mamet when he writes, "Everyone needs money! That's why they call it money!" It's proof that the world is not run by bureaucrats or governors or presidents or even dictators; America is run by the sharks. The sharks with money. And in this case, New York fears Gordon Gekko, and so does the film. Michael Douglas stands outside of his penthouse window watching the city, his city, waiting for his next prey. He is utterly terrifying, strutting around in his suspenders and thousand dollar suits. In fact, no one else in the movie really compares. Charlie Sheen's character isn't very believable next to this stock wielding devil. Here's a taste of his slyness.

Top Hat

This is proof that movies can step in at anytime in your life and let you depart. Top Hat (1935) charms its way into your hearts, making it hard to really respond in any critical way. While not very impressed with Ginger Rogers, Fred Astaire is something to behold. You might realize, at one point, that he's not a very good actor. What does that mean? If you mean channeling the human expression, perhaps you're right. If you mean harboring pure talent and using the film medium to get to the largest audience, Fred Astaire is an award winner. He embodies spirit, fun, and buoyant joy. I have to admit that I quit paying attention to the story; rather, I simply watched and mused over a world that believes in romantic love, that believes a man can break out in song in front of the woman he loves. What a world that must be. A world where everything falls into place, and no one takes their predicaments too seriously. A world where everyone has an in-joke. Watch this scene and tell me you aren't holding back a smile; what a world.

Wow

This is worse than death.

To You, My Dear.

Humans are capable of more hurt than they can understand.
Humans are capable of more pain than they can understand.
Love is fighting a dying battle.
Love amongst rogues.
Love amongst thieves.
Murderers.
Monsters.
Devils.

The only way out is this way.
The only way out is this one way.
You must realize you are nothing by yourself.
You MUST realize you are nothing. Your blood is poison.
Your hands claws.
Your teeth fangs.

The only way out is this way. This one way.
You must love totally and completely.
You MUST love wholly and truly.
That is the only way out.
You must love, because when you love, you transcend your limitations.
You must love because when you love, your exceed expectations.
You must love.

It is the only way out of this spiral.
Love is the only way out of this muck.
You must love because your shadow tells you to.
Because your shadow needs something to cling to in the dark.
You must love because you are loved.

This is the answer.
This is the way out.
You must love.
You must love because you are loved.

Silence Outside

Sometimes at night
I wake up in a startled hush
The quiet of the world patting me on the face
Whispering me back to sleep


And yet I quietly refuse the Night's wishes
Like a man to his dying mother.
I push her struggling hands away from me and rise,
Rise out into the night.
And in that brief moment, I
Don't know what I am.

I stand in the shadows of the room and feel ageless.
I look down and see the hands of an infant
yet they (all at once) become gnarled and grainy,
Ageless.

I stand in the middle of the room at night,
and become a part of the quiet dark. Outside
A streetlight colors the fog of the earth.
Silent streets that lead to where ever.

Eventually, I make it back into bed,
simply because there's no where else to go.
The drowned out face of the pillow hits my own,
and I forget just exactly how alone I was.


Only a silence outside remains.

That Feeling You Get Too Often

It's like there's this huge joke that keeps slipping out of my hand.
Snickers in the dark, always behind me.
A shadow with an impish sense of humor.
At what point did everyone's lives advance so far ahead of my own?
At what point did "being content" become "you're boring"?
I guess I'll just remain as the one who stands in the back and asks questions,
Whose laughter always seems one wavelength behind the pack.
Whose companionship is as a tick to the fleece.

The Virgin Suicides

This might be the first time I've ever seen nostalgia as horror. Sofia Coppola's The Virgin Suicides (1999) reflects on the "free-for-all" suicides of the five Lisbon sisters with a lackadaisically amused glimpse. The sunlight always manages to get in your eyes in this film, and it's hard to tell what we're actually seeing and what might be happening behind the stifle of closed doors. Is this a horror film? Maybe not, but I felt a real dread whenever I was in the Lisbon household, a sweat that wouldn't get off my skin. It was like going through an unpleasant dream; not necessarily a nightmare, but I wanted to wake up. I wanted out of this wealthy town because I couldn't breathe.

The movie is very good, but in a sickly-sweet sort of way. I think it lacks a bit of focus; the main story is about the obsession of a town over these girls' suicides, told from the perspective of young, obsessive boys. However, Coppola also seems interested in the time period, adding numerous distracting rock songs and side-plots that don't add enough to the movie's general progression. Trip Fontaine's story is interesting, but it doesn't feel complete; the other girls are not fleshed out enough, and we start to view them like Children of the Corn. Once again, prove me wrong that this is not a horror story. This is a film of memories, but they are memories we wish we could forget. Like the image of a 13 year old girl in her father's arms. Or a set of petite feet in church shoes dangling over the floor. Or a still-smoking cigarette in a pale, still hand.

That's it!

I got it.

Being depressed is like being the gray crayon in the 96 box. Everyone around you has something wonderful to offer, even brown, and all you've got is gray.

Amateurish but...

Written freshman year amidst some contemplative stupor. I'm not sure what to make of it; it's pretentious, yes, but I think it has some sincerity within it that I may have lost between then and now. I'll keep it on here for the time being. Think of it as artistic masochism.


Dreamscapes.

For what do I and me pursue through countless days and rhythmic nights?

To embrace a hundred thousand lilted memories of skin dripping with melody and adolescent sincerity?

To stab out at shadows within shade and grasp at a wisp of light, hoping, praying, conceiving for an unanswerable answer?

To stand above the eyes, sweating blind and ignorant passion, reaching for what's been there over and over?

To hunt the mystic tremors of wonder beyond the glass rivers, preying upon the terror of aborted chance and desert-baked risk?

To awaken and unleash a dream into reality, bleeding new life-alters into crevices of humility and disregarded faults?

To dance through bald streets of suburbia, screaming to the mothers with their cookies and ornaments and fireplaces that a wolf prowls tonight?

To rebuild hopes of misbegotten romances, breathing warm-winded sighs across the heath of a throbbing neck?

To race the guttural pulse of the moon, seducing the stars to tempt the gypsies that claw the frozen ground?

To believe within a hopeless soul, transforming, transcending the angel that aches to shiver an infinitesimal barrage of notes towards the mattress of your front door?

Sunshine.

It's intimidating to look at other's accomplishments.
What a slug I am. Drooling down the pavement.
People must walk by and wonder how
I could possibly be around on these beautiful warm days?
Why isn't he (it) in his hole, chewing on fungus cud?
This world's too fast for him, people move in a blur.
Look at him, but oh god, don't touch.
Get some salt and some sunshine,
Make him shrivel away.
Let his vomit dehydrate,
Let his soul cake away.
It's his nature.

Funny Boy

My problem with Funny Boy is not the homosexuality or the opinions of the author, but the main character, Arjie, himself. How disappointing to watch him progress through adolescence and conclude with an insulting gesture towards a man who wants to save hsi Tamil race. I'm aware that Arjie did it out of love for Shehan, and that he didn't realize the larger picture, but it really was a letdown to watch his overall character arc stop with this gesture. Each story in the book has a sense of loss and evasive sadness; Arjie feels it when he's young and knows he cannot play with the girls anymore. He goes outside and watches the tide descend away from the beach and he knows something is gone. This loss creeps in on Arjie and other members of his family, but he doesn't heed its advice when the moment arrives. As he embarasses his Headmaster, he looks over at his family and notices their own sad awareness. I was really bothered by this, almost to the point where I rejected Arjie's character completely. I think he's a very stubborn character who cannot get past his own wants and desires, but I think I can understand why he did what he did. The hindsight might haunt him in the future. I kinda hope it does.

The Merry Widow (The Lady Dances)

Watching an Ernst Lubitsch film is like fooling around under the covers with someone else in the room. You know what's going on, your mind is totally infatuated with it, but you don't say it. You don't let it break the surface. You look at your partner in the dark and wink; everything's an in-joke. And occasionally, a song and dance breaks out.

And there you have The Merry Widow (1932). What a pleasure it is to sit back and watch a movie that seeks to only entertain and suggest a sexual merriment that doesn't seem to exist anymore in our over-sexed culture. I bet sex was a lot more fun back in the day because it had so much promise behind it. When it was behind closed doors, the world could only imagine and fantasize. And if you were Lubitsch, you found tricks to fantasize about it all the time.

If I could be any character, let me be a Lubitsch character. Let me be someone who has somethign witty to say at every turn. Even in sad moments, let me talk my way out of it with a smile and a wink.

The Merry Widow works, I think, simply because Lubitsch made it. The story is nothing special, and the editing needs some work. It drags at times. Characters are underdeveloped. But what a world. What world exists today with lavish ballrooms and italian violinists and dukes with dramatic moustaches. The movie keeps pulling rabbits out of hats. Nothing is taken serious. The "wedding" scene at the end arrives out of thin air, and we can only smile and shake our heads in our seats. Pure escapism, and thank god for it.

Let The Right One In

Some movies come along and make you realize how shitty other movies are shot. Let The Right One In (2008) comes from a director (Tomas Alfredson) with an eye for wonderful compositions. Count how many doors/frames you see in this film. Symmetry is at work here. Many shots have small inklings of red, little cues to satiate your thirst until the actual juice starts flowing. A good horror movie (this is a theory) makes you really start to panic whenever the camera starts a slow, tracking shot. There is a scene in particular when a man is in a room he should not be in; he walks into a bathroom and the camera trails slowly behind him, as if it's afraid to follow.

Needless to say, this is an excellent movie. The horror derives not from scares or visceral blood splatters, but from a realism that festers within these haunted and pathetic creatures. Oskar lives a lonely life, trudging through frost-bitten playgrounds with no one to really look for guidance. No parents for this boy. No friends. Just bullies and a knife to talk to at night. Eli arrives on the scene and we see her (him) elevated above Oskar slightly, spying on him like a curious bird of prey. The fascinating thing about Eli as a character is that she is indeed a vampire, but she is not evil. She kills not out of malice, but of literal starvation. One of the minor notes of brilliance in this film is the animalistic sounds we hear of the characters. Quiet whisps of breath that chill against the frigid air, the rumbling of a stomach, the growl of a defensive animal, the smacking of a tongue against splattered blood. Eli maims her victims and then looks at them in horror for what she has taken from them. I wonder if this vampire has a soul. What is Eli? Is she an animal or a person still?

And a better question, what gender is Eli? That name is typically male, I think, and Eli says she's not a girl. We see what looks like her vagina, but is it really? A strong homosexual current runs through this movie. The motifs of penetrating barriers, "letting the right one in", male bullying/dominance, the use of the knife (phallus), the bloody kissing on the lips. What a warm invitation this movie gives off.

Suck it, Twilight.