Detroit

Kathryn Bigelow's Detroit is the point where Bigelow's artistic reach exceeds her narrative grasp. In her previous films with screenwriter Mark Boal, Bigelow crafted her films around a central figure. In Detroit, she and Mr. Boal attempt to provide a polyphonic portrait of the Detroit riots of 1967, centering on murders by police officers at the Algiers Motel. Bigelow contrasts warm color tones of home life (browns and yellows) and the local music scene with cold tones (mostly sickly green) of the police's racist culture. What doesn't jell is characterization. Bigelow seems to work best in mythic genre pieces centered around a flawed protagonist. As with Strange Days, a multi-perspective narrative seems beyond her ken. (1/14/18)

Ingrid Goes West

Aubrey Plaza Goes Wild in Ingrid Goes West

Matt Spicer's Ingrid Goes West is a competent first feature that rises above the limitations of its scenario. Ingrid is introduced crashing the wedding of a woman she has been following on social media. Enraged that she hasn't been invited to the ceremony, Ingrid, lovingly embodied by Aubrey Plaza, proceeds to mace the bride. After a short stint at a mental health facility, Ingrid becomes enamored with another social media darling, Taylor Sloane, a SoCal interior designer who Ingrid starts to stalk. Though Ingrid is able to ingratiate herself with her new obsession, things deteriorate and a pattern is repeated. Since this is a black comedy, Ingrid's psychological problems are not seriously explored and "social media" is the Snidely Whiplash.

This dark farce, more awkward than humorous as in almost all 21st Century American Indie comedies, would be not worth more than a passing thought were it not for Spicer's framing and gift for characterization. Each character is given more depth than in most farces and Spicer ably captures the boho vibe of Silver Lake and Joshua Tree. Elizabeth Olsen is fine as the Tory Burch like designer, but it is O'Shea Jackson Jr. who really shines as Ingrid's landlord and eventual boyfriend, Dan. Jackson is relaxed and centered, sharing a winning rapport with Ms. Plaza. It is significant that the first intimate scene between the two involves erotic role playing of Dan's Batman fantasies. Spicer is portraying young Americans who don't have fixed identities, but are playing with different personas. Often, they latch onto comics, games and the like to help present a hip mask to society. This is an acute capturing of the zeitgeist in the era of Facebook friends and Instagram identities.

I must offer a palm frond for Ms. Plaza. She has provided needed fizz in a host of films and TV shows; some not worthy of her talent. In an earlier era, the sass and vinegar Ms. Plaza displays would have made her a second banana, much like Eve Arden or Celeste Holm. That Ms. Plaza has risen above character actress roles may be indicative of some small progress in filmdom. Ms. Plaza has provided me with much enjoyment this century and I eagerly await her barbed delivery in the next season of Legion. (1/16/18)

Kes

Ken Loach's Kes, from 1969, is a heartrending film about a working class English lad who finds solace amidst much wretchedness by training a kestrel, a small falcon. Those familiar with Mr. Loach's work can glean that things will not end well, but, even with that knowledge, this viewer found Kes' tragic denouement to be more affecting than those of either Old Yeller or The Yearling. Part of this is due to the rigor of Mr. Loach's portrayal of Barnsley, the coal town in South Yorkshire where the protagonist, Billy Casper, lives. A committed socialist, whose latest film is a documentary on current UK Labour party head Jeremy Corbyn, Loach has always sought to chronicle the plight of the working class. His portrait of Barnsley is a vision of squalor amidst the anonymity of postwar council houses. It is a picture of English life that does not suffer from sentimentality.

However, Mr. Loach's films often do suffer from the drabness and monotony of social realism and Kes is no exception. A soccer game where Billy is bullied by a tyrannical teacher is belabored, as is the portrayal of his school's principal. A kindly teacher is presented, but the grimness of Billy's existence is unrelenting. This seems to me the main flaw of Loach as an artist. His adherence to the tenets of social realism renders his films in tones that are overly hectoring and dogmatic.

This is ameliorated in Kes, somewhat, by the charm of the falconry sequences. Chris Menges' photography gives a warm, verdant feel to Billy's out of door excursions. Finally, David Bradley's portrayal of Billy is superb. He captures his character's plight without cloying mannerisms or condescension. His Billy feels lived in and alive. 

The Best of Stephen Sondheim

Angela Lansbury in Anyone Can Whistle

1) West Side Story                                 1957

2) Sweeney Todd                                    1979

3) Company                                            1970

4) Anyone Can Whistle                          1964

5) Into the Woods                                   1987

6) Merrily We Roll Along                        1981

7) Sunday in the Park With George      1984

8) Gypsy                                                  1959

9) A Little Night Music                            1973

10) Follies                                                1971

Even if his credits as a lyricist to West Side Story, Gypsy and Do I Hear a Waltz? were the sum total of his contributions to the American Musical Theater, Sondheim would rate more than a footnote. As it is, he is the most significant Broadway composer of his generation. Compare him to slightly younger composers such as Andrew Lloyd Wright or Stephen Schwartz and his status seems self-evident. However, his melodic invention is limited compared to his forebears. Frank Sinatra once complained that Sondheim didn't write enough melodies for saloon singers. Sondheim's use of a Recitative style helped him follow his dictum that the songs in a show must support the narrative. This bore fruit in such numbers as "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd", "Company", and "Into the Woods".

I saw a roadshow production of Sweeney Todd with Angela Lansbury and George Hearn that was one of the theatrical highlights of my life. My punk rock side could appreciate a musical in which a mass murderer sings a love song to his straight razors. I would advise giving a wide berth to Pacific Overtures and anything after Into the Woods. The only film version of his mature work worth a toss is Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd. 

The Best of 1929

                             

1) Un Chien Andalou                                                Luis Bunuel, Salvador Dali

2) Hallelujah                                                              King Vidor

3) The Love Parade                                                  Ernst Lubitsch

4) The General Line                                                 Sergei Eisenstein, Grigori Aleksandrov

5) Blackmail                                                              Alfred Hitchcock

6) Arsenal                                                                  Alexander Dovzhenko

7) Pandora's Box                                                      G. W. Pabst

8) Man with a Movie Camera                                  Dziga Vertov

9) Lonesome                                                             Paul Fejos

10) Diary of a Lost Girl                                            G. W. Pabst

Films I Enjoyed

Lucky Star

Thunderbolt, Alibi,

Applause, They Had to See Paris,

The Cocoanuts, Woman in the Moon,

The Hollywood Revue of 1929,

The Broadway Melody

Below the Mendoza Line

The Taming of the Shrew,

Big News

What? (1972)

Sydne Rome in What?

Roman Polanski's What? was almost universally regarded as a fiasco upon its original release, but I think it is a better and more interesting film than Knife in the Water, Cul-De-Sac, The Fearless Vampire Killers, The Tenant and, even, Repulsion. Like most of these films, What? is a reflection of the absurdist, black comic side of Polanski's sensibility. Co-written by longtime Polanski collaborator Gerard Brach, What? strands an innocent, Sydne Rome's Nancy, in a sumptuous villa (owned by the producer, Carlo Ponti) that is both madhouse and labyrinth. 

Nancy is introduced escaping a gang rape (presented comically) and after seeking shelter in the mysterious villa has to fend off a slew of predatory males. The villa is both magical (with its funicular) and sinister with its many trolls, among them the creepy "Spider" played by our head Creepmeister, Mr. Polanski. The dining table is elegantly set, but the food seems inedible. Chief among the many wolves and a self-described "pimp" is Alex. As louchely embodied by Marcello Mastroianni, Alex is a parody of Mastroianni's playboy image. One of the ways Nancy is beset upon is that her clothes are constantly being stolen, she suspects the culprit is Spider (and he is, of course), so that she is either topless or bottomless for most of the film. 

The presence of Polanski onscreen clues us to the self-critical nature of the film. Polanski is all too familiar with the exploitive nature of his art and business; in fact, he implicates himself within it. Indeed, the case could be made and has been made that Polanski is a prime example of male perfidy. He is not unaware of this and has sought to address this in his work. Rosemary's Baby, What?, Tess, Death and The Maiden and Venus in Fur all tackle the disparity in power between the sexes and all affirm feminine virtue, This does not excuse or exonerate Polanski's actions as an individual, but they do point to his complexity as an artist.

A chief motif of the film is the Nietzschean idea of eternal recurrence. Events repeat themselves throughout the course of the film. Just as day follows night and the sun also rises. Polanski handles this ponderous theme in a light fashion rather than a portentous one. Hugh Griffith's German nurse is ostentatiously reading Nietzsche's Thus Spake Zarathustra. There are no accidents on the screen except happy ones.  The characters in What? are trapped in endless cycles of repetitive behavior. Polanski views them here not as tragic characters imprisoned in a deterministic world (as he does in Tess and Chinatown, among others), but as comic characters skewered by their own foibles. Jonathan Rosenbaum, the sole critical champion of this film that I could find, seized upon the affection Polanski bestows upon his characters and called the film a "sunny remake of Cul-De-Sac." 

The character of Nancy, with her glam, Little Orphan Annie curls, is a weird amalgam of Lewis Carroll's Alice, Harvey Kurtzman's Little Annie Fanny and Terry Southern's Candy. The cinematography often frames her curls in a golden haze. A host of gorgeous paintings from Ponti's collection by Bacon, Modigliani, Van Gogh and many others offer a wry commentary on the action or lack thereof.

What? is probably best suited for cinephiles and diehard fans of Polanski. Polanski's macabre and very Polish sense of humor is decidedly not suited to all tastes. If one finds aspic humorous than one might succumb to the charms of What?. I was lucky enough to see the Italian Language version in a sparkling print. Most contemporaneous critics derided the English language version released in America. At times, as in its abrupt finale, What? is too Pirandellian and self-conscious for its own good. Overall, though, I found What? to be a rich, strange, underrated and, yes, funny film.

tick, tick...Boom!

Andrew Garfield in tick, tick...Boom!

tick, tick...Boom! is a pleasant musical somewhat hindered by its middlebrow aspirations. The film gives us the story of a young Jonathan Larson, the creator of Rent, as he struggles to complete his first musical. Lin-Manuel Miranda's brisk direction keeps things rolling along, at least for the first hour. The main reason to see the film is Andrew Garfield's turn as Larson. Garfield channels his inner theater geek for a memorable performance. Robin de Jesus, Vanessa Hudgens and Joshua Henry offer nice support. Judith Light is overly broad as Larson's agent, but Bradley Whitford is spot on as Stephen Sondheim. Certainly not a challenging work, but this Netflix product is more successful than the film version of Rent and will probably be better Thanksgiving viewing than the Bears/Lions game.

A Ghost Story versus Personal Shopper

Casey Affleck in A Ghost Story

David Lowery's A Ghost Story struck me as a successful art film that ends up being too bloodless to transcend its genre. Lowery's direction, writing and, especially, editing are well constructed, tasteful and intelligent. Compared to Malick's Tree of Life, to which it bears a great resemblance in its domestic setting and time traveling expanse, A Ghost Story is relatively grounded. Lowery is better with his leads than Malick and gives them actorly space whereas Malick is always making his thesps chase a tracking shot out the door to merge ecstatically with the universe. When Rooney Mara sits on the floor and attempts to eat a whole pie to assuage her blues, Lowery has the sense to keep his camera stationary and focused on his grieving widow. He, then is sensible enough to leave his camera be when his heroine runs off to throw up. 

Still, having Casey Affleck dress up in a sheet to haunt his manse feels like a stunt. A Ghost Story is never risible, but it never packed the punch that another recent ghost story did for me, namely Olivier Assayas' Personal Shopper. Kristen Stewart pretty much carries the film on her shoulders as the title character who dabbles in spiritualism and is on a quest to contact her dead twin brother. Stewart's character also becomes enmeshed in a murder mystery as the perpetrator gaslights her with texts and surveillance. 

Kristen Stewart in Personal Shopper

If all this sounds as if it is too much for one movie, I found Assayas sense of narrative drive to be compelling enough to hold my attention throughout. Beneath the glittering façade of a pampered Euro lifestyle, Assayas is heartfelt in picturing a generation teeming with spiritual thirst. Stewart's character hurtles around Paris on a motorbike picking up gorgeous couture for her patron, but these tasks merely mask an emotional need for connection that does not dissipate.

Assayas has had an up and down career, but his technical mastery has never been more evident. The talented Yorick Le Saux provides excellent photography which dares to revel in darkly lit chambers. The sound is superb, heightening every bump and scrape in the dark. I find Assayas portrayal of the supernatural to be dubious and cliched, but not his portrayal of his protagonist's plight. Personal Shopper stands, along with Irma Vep and Carlos, as one of his most rewarding works. (11/20/17)

The Green Knight

David Lowery's The Green Knight is a mostly successful interpretation of the chivalric romance. Dev Patel stars as Gawain who accepts the challenge of the Green Knight at a Christmas feast and then must wait a year for a rematch with his nemesis. Lowery has wisely streamlined his epic source material. Long tracking shots convey the questing nature of the narrative. 

Patel is more than adequate as Gawain and there are good turns by Erin Kellyman, Ralph Ineson, Joel Edgerton and, especially, Barry Keoghan. Keoghan is the definitive creep of our era much as Oliver Reed was the definitive sadistic brute of the 1960s. Only Alicia Vikander is not up to the challenge of her role. Her character has a long monologue stressing the eternal indomitability of nature, but her reading lacks the sinister force to put it across. Still, this is Lowery's most successful film (though I have not seen his remake of Pete's Dragon). When Gawain throws off the green sash of superstition to choose self-sacrifice, it shows that Lowery has grasped the thematic crux of this work and all Arthurian legend: the struggle between Paganism and Christianity. 

Quick Takes (November, 2021)

In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, Baby: Gaia

 In the Earth > Gaia     Practically the same movie. Both Eco-Horror with a psychotronic 

                                        edge. Scientists visit a forest and learn that you don't mess with 

                                        Mother Nature. In the Earth is decidedly superior, the obverse 

                                        of director Ben Wheatley's A Field in England. Gaia is overly 

                                        literal with the forest primeval turning men into mushroom people.

Summer Interlude        This 1951 Ingmar Bergman film is his first feature which could

                                        be called Bergmanesque. The usual suspects are all here: Death,

                                        the silence of God, Art versus artifice, stunning Gunnar Fischer

                                        photography, animals triggering dark forebodings, even wild

                                        strawberries. 

What We Do Is Secret  A 2007 biopic of Darby Crash, lead singer for the short lived 

                                        LA punk group, the Germs. Inept. A better bet for those interested

                                        in the subject is Penelope Spheeris' documentary, The Decline of

                                        Western Civilization. 

Lemon (2017)                One of the least ingratiating and repellent art products 

                                        to be produced in Los Angeles since the Germs suitably titled GI. 

                                        If one survives the flood of bodily fluids and the lacerating Jewish 

                                        masochism of co-writer/ lead Brett Gelman (who repeats 

                                        his loathsomeness in the wonderful Fleabag), one might succumb 

                                        to the charms of director (and co-writer) Janicza Bravo's suitably 

                                        awkward rhythms and precise mise-en-scene. I did, 

                                        somewhere around David Paymer's marvelously woeful cameo, 

                                        but there is a reason this recent feature is on the free streaming 

                                        server, Tubi. The adventurous and fans of Bravo's work on Zola 

                                        should check it out. 

The Magician (1926)     Rex Ingram's films always has pictorial splendor, but something

                                        is missing here to lift it above the routine. Michael Powell wrote 

                                        that lead Paul Wegener (The Golem) did not get along with Ingram.

                                        Certainly, compared to the prime rib that Emil Jennings could

                                        have offered, Wegener is canned Bavarian ham. Wegener would

                                        repeat this performance in 1927's even more leaden, Svengali. 

The Mad Woman's Ball > The Voyeurs (Amazon Prime)

 

The Polka King

Maya Forbes' The Polka King is a Jack Black vehicle that runs out of steam after the first half hour. The tale of a Polish American entertainer who concocts a Ponzi scheme to keep his polka career afloat, The Polka King gives Mr. Black a chance to show off his singing skills and his crowd pleasing energy keeps the flick juiced for awhile. However, the musical numbers soon become predictable, as is the story line. Most of the talented cast is under utilized. Vanessa Bayer in a bear suit seems a particularly egregious waste of talent. Jason Schwartzman and Jacki Weaver, of all twosomes, have a funny romantic scene, but too much of the film is rote and visually trite; as are most films made by budding directors who were comedy writers.

What rankled me the most was that a film set in Pennsylvania and based on a true story and local phenomenon had so little regional flavor. Compare this to another Black vehicle, Bernie, which nails its Texas locale and one can see how generic The Polka King is. A pleasant enough film, but it could have used more scrapple. (1/17/18)

Europa Europa (1990)

Marco Hofschneider and Julie Delpy in Europa Europa

Agnieszka Holland's Europa Europa is a rich and rewarding study of one young man's adventures during World War 2. It tells the true story of Solomon Perel whose desire to save his own skin led him to alternately serve both Communist and Fascist masters. This wrenching drama is leavened with dark humor, a Holland trademark in such disparate projects as Washington Square, The Wire and Spoor, which helps humanize a bleak and unsparing vision. 

Perel is played by Marco Hofschneider, in his film debut, and Holland plays to his strengths by minimizing his amount of dialogue and, instead, focusing on his young body. Because Perel's circumcised member points to his identity as a Jew, Holland's focus on the young actor's body is an apt choice. Perel must assume a number of identities to escape the fate of most of his family and friends, but cannot escape the mark of his bris, a sign of his true cultural identity. Holland features Hofschneider's naked corpus from the outset, as he leaps out of his bath once Nazi toughs start stoning his house. The young man is at once vulnerable, but also a paragon of physical splendor and vitality.

Perel's beauty is an aspect of his salvation. Young or old, female or male, all are drawn to him as would be lovers, friends or parents. A German comrade in arms attempts to cop a feel when Perel is in his bath and Holland plays it for a laugh; as she does his deflowering. Later, when Perel and his young German girlfriend are rolling in long grass in romantic ecstasy, the effect is unsettling. The lass, played by a dubbed Julie Delpy, radiant with the first buds of her flowering beauty, is eager to get it on with her suitor, but he knows that exposing his identity might prove his ruin. When his beloved shows her true nature by spewing racial invective, the gap between her physical allure and spiritual ugliness is jarring.

Holland is generally visually restrained, but, when she pulls out the stops, it has genuine impact. A tracking shot of a Jewish cemetery being dismantled brings home to the viewer the unfettered madness of the Nazis. Europa Europa is a powerhouse that will linger in one's mind.

 

The Little Things

Rami Malik and Jerod Leto in The Little Things

Easily the worst major studio release I've seen this year, John Lee Hancock's The Little Things strands Denzel Washington, Rami Malek and Jerod Leto in a police procedural completely devoid of excitement and personality. Washington and Malik are two mismatched cops on the trail of a serial killer in this meandering and pointless film. Beware,

Blood In, Blood Out (1993)

This very long saga of three Hispanic cousins facing crime and punishment in East Los Angeles (and San Quentin) is in no way a success, but director Taylor Hackford does infuse his signature theme of trust, or lack thereof, in interesting ways into this potboiler. The heroin death of a twelve year old is a nadir, but the prison sequences, featuring Delroy Lindo and Billy Bob Thornton on opposite sides of a racial divide, are rewarding. Unfortunately, some of the casting and the choice of music gives this film all the Latin ambiance of a Chipotle restaurant. Not the disaster its troubled production history would indicate, but it certainly flunks the Bechdel test.

11 minutes (2016)

Jerzy Skolimowski's 11 Minutes interlocks the lives of over a dozen characters during a late afternoon in Warsaw. Snatches of the eleven minutes from the lives of each character are woven together using a variety of styles: cinema verite, cameras strapped to the actors, cell phone footage, CCTV surveillance footage, even a dog's point of view. Skolimowski's films often have a dour and fatalistic tone and 11 Minutes is no exception. What impressed me most was the imagination and energy the 77 year old director and writer displays here. A genuinely exciting film that clocks in at a crisp 83 minutes. 

The Best of Dean Stockwell

                                                                  Robert Dean Stockwell

                                                                         1936 - 2021

1) The Boy With Green Hair                  (Joseph Losey)     1948

2) Stars in My Crown                         (Jacques Tourneur)   1950

3) Compulsion                                   (Richard Fleischer)     1959

4) Sons and Lovers                                (Jack Cardiff)        1960

5) Long Day's Journey Into Night      (Sidney Lumet)       1962

6) Paris, Texas                                       (Wim Wenders)      1984

7) To Live and Die in LA                    (William Friedkin)      1985

8) Blue Velvet                                        (David Lynch)         1986

9) Married to the Mob                        (Jonathan Demme)   1988

10) The Player                                     (Robert Altman)        1992

Son of two Broadway veterans, born and raised in North Hollywood, Stockwell would have been considered a significant contributor to the cinema even if he had driven his Cadillac off Highway 1 into the Pacific fifty years ago. Happily, he weathered lean years in the 60s and 70s to leave us a rich legacy. His juvenilia includes memorable turns in Anchors Away, Gentlemen's Agreement, Kim, and The Secret Garden. He worshipped Errol Flynn and disliked Gregory Peck. He seized his chance for an adult career by triumphing onstage in Compulsion and then repeating the role in the film. Then the 60s' various jolts and doses commenced. He kicked booze, but has no credits during 1966 and 1967 in a career that otherwise numbers over two hundred film and television roles.

His wilderness years were not fruitless. Connoisseurs of counterculture errata should check out his appearances in Psych-Out, The Last Movie, The Dunwich Horror, and Tracks. His casting in Paris, Texas revived his career and he delivered a series of scene stealing supporting roles. His role in Married to the Mob, his only Oscar nomination, displayed a puckish humor heretofore untapped. His role in the television series Quantum Leap took advantage of this comic bravado and became the role he was best known for. He was a welcome sight in any film or show. I particularly treasure his guest spot on Hunter and relished his appearances in Human Highway, Dune, and Chasers. Like his pals Dennis Hopper and Neil Young, Stockwell was a questing spirit whose artistic impulses could not be solely channeled into his primary vocation. 

We Need to Talk About Kevin

Tilda Swinton and John C. Reilly in We Need to Talk About Kevin

Lynne Ramsay's We Need to Talk About Kevin teeters on the brink of artistic overstatement, but I was won over by its visual dexterity and caustic edge. This 2011 feature stars Tilda Swinton as the mother of a teenaged mass murderer. The film is told in flashbacks and flash forwards, different hairstyles and a Led Zeppelin T-Shirt worn by a couple of characters clue us to our location within its timeline. John C. Reilly plays Swinton's spouse, an indicator of the film's tendency towards over determination. Swinton and Reilly are chalk and cheese, in no sense a believable couple. However, this is a film intent on portraying Reilly's character as a clueless man-child and that is Reilly's default casting (as in Step Brothers, Walk Hard, Talladega Nights..., etc.).

As an entertainment, the film is all too pervaded with unrelenting gloom and foreboding. Mental illness, downward mobility, anomie and alienation are the meat in this bitter stew. Nevertheless, Ms. Ramsay is so visually gifted and witty, I could stomach the film's nihilism. Her handling of the cast is adroit. All three young actors who handle the role of Kevin are creepily good. and Swinton has never been better, brandishing a killer American accent. Ramsay jettisoned some supporting characters from Lionel Shriver's novel and focuses more on the plight of Swinton's character. The film commences with Swinton reveling in blood red sensuality at La Tomatina, a Spanish festival celebrating Dionysian fertility. By film's end, she is reduced to scraping red paint off the white stucco of her tawdry suburban abode. This is a bold and pitiless film that reminds us that for some mothers, birth is a trauma that never ends.

Good Time (2017)

Neon Lit Noir: Benny Safdie in Good Time

The Safdie brothers' Good Time is a nervy slice of neon lit noir that stays true to its scuzzy narrative. Some critics have been troubled by the film's brutality and by the egregious stupidity of its characters. However, I found this to be an apt portrayal of low rent hoods engaged in acts of desperation that lurch out of control and entrap the miscreants themselves. The Safdies' world is amoral, but it does not lack karma. Robert Pattison's protagonist is a mook and a thug, but he is clearly the one eyed man in the land of the blind in this New York of dark alleys, pawn shops and fast food restaurants. 

Dysfunctional families abound in the Safdies' vision of the working class side of Gotham. Pattison's Connie is charged with looking after his developmentally disabled brother Nick, played by co-director Benny Safdie. Connie enlists his brother in a series of petty crimes culminating in an unsuccessful bank robbery. Nick is incarcerated and Connie's attempts to spring him, first by posting bail and then through nefarious means, constitutes the majority of the film.

Along Connie's futile attempts to free Benny, we run across fine supporting turns by Jennifer Jason Leigh, Eric Paykert and the already established members of the Safdie stock company, with many playing fictionalized versions of themselves. Particularly stunning is Taliah Webster as a sixteen year old Haitian immigrant named Crystal who becomes enmeshed in Connie's machinations. The naturalized acting adds to the verisimilitude, as do the well chosen locations.

Robert Pattinson in Good Time

Much of the success and potency of the film is due to Pattinson's performance. He holds the screen for most of the film in a role perhaps more suited to a Wahlberg. He has already successfully portrayed a New York shark in Cosmopolis and here plays a lower class version of that role with vigor. His lead turns for Cronenberg and supporting roles in The Lost City of Z, Queen of the Desert and The Rover have established him as a consummate performer. It is heartening how both he and Kristen Stewart have used the momentum of their Twilight films to pursue more adventurous roles.

The Safdie brothers use a hand-held, cinema-verite approach with many tight close-ups and distorted angles. this contributes to the claustrophobic feel of the film which underscores the actions of a protagonist whose predicament feels increasingly hopeless. His creepy make out session with Crystal, to prevent her from seeing a news report on his crimes, adds to our unease, as do the plethora of screens employed more to obscure than reveal human motivation. Good Time is not a pleasant film, but it is an unsettling chronicle of the lost. (12/22/17)

The Other Lamb

Malgorzata Szumowska's The Other Lamb is a well crafted, but unsatisfying psychological horror film. C.S. McMullen's screenplay is the chief culprit, lacking enough dramatic conflict, character development and tonal variety to fill out a feature length film. All the film has to offer it displays within its first twenty minutes. Szumowska, a veteran Polish director, has a gift for arresting images. Szumowska and her longtime cinematographer, Michal Englert, suffuse the film with an almost Pre-Raphaelite beauty, with nods to such cinematic forebears as Carl Theodor Dryer and Lard von Trier. However, they cannot make up for the limitations of the scenario.

The film tells of an all female cult helmed by a messianic figure named the Shepherd. He divides his flock between wives and daughters, grooming the junior members to be his concubines. Selah (Raffey Cassidy), who has lived in the cult her whole life, begins to question his teachings and, after much wailing and gnashing of teeth, eventually leads a rebellion against their master. Michiel Huisman, as the Shepherd, is unable to radiate enough charisma to be a believable cult figure. Cassidy and Denise Gough, as a disaffected wife, are both able to sketch out some shades of characterization, but it is ultimately for naught.

A Time for Dying

Victor Jory as Judge Roy Bean

Budd Boetticher's A Time for Dying is a remarkable Western whose qualities may be submerged to the casual viewer by the film's truncated structure, callow leads, and bare bones production values; even the horses look threadbare. A scant 73 minutes, the production crew utilized the Apacheland Movie Ranch in Arizona, the setting for numerous films and television shows in the 1960s, which gives the flick a prefabricated look. 

Yet, Boetticher's pans and tracking shots knit together the film gracefully. Both the script (by Boetticher) and Lucien Ballard's glowing cinematography highlight the artificiality of A Time for Dying. Compare Ballard's work here with his work on such contemporaneous films as The Wild Bunch and Will Penny, where he opts for a more realistic palette. Ballard had already worked with Boetticher numerous times and would again on his bullfighting documentary Arruza in 1972. So, I don't think it was pure chance that Ballard heightens the Deluxe color to match the mythic tone of a tale that includes appearances by characters named Judge Roy Bean and Jesse James.

Boetticher's screenplay is both a self-conscious adios to a genre and a comment on the turmoil of America in the 60s. The film's ending, which shocked both Vincent Canby and Roger Ebert when the it was finally released in 1982, is a despondent response to the unrest and assassinations that plagued America. The moral certitude which Randolph Scott represented in Boetticher's earlier Westerns is very much absent. The only viable occupation for women seems to be prostitution. 

Boetticher leavens the bleak mood with comic asides. Peter Brocco and Burt Mustin, veterans of over five hundred films and television shows between them, offer sardonic quips on the action from the sidelines. Victor Jory, who worked with Boetticher on The Man from the Alamo in 1953, seizes upon the role with gusto whether dispensing advice to young lovers or sentencing a horse thief to hang. Not only is Jory superior to a miscast Paul Newman, who mumbles and burps Coors in John Huston's very peculiar 1972 film, as Bean, but also to the wonderful Walter Brennan who played the Judge in William Wyler's The Westerner in 1940. The two romantic leads are so-so, but Robert Random, as a psychotic outlaw, betrays some charisma. Orson Welles seemed to think so and cast him as the second male lead in The Other Side of the Wind, which didn't get released till 2018 and helped Ransom's career not a whit. Random's character is named "Billy Pimple", one of several pot shots Boetticher aims at the then current youth movement.

Audie Murphy 

Audie Murphy, in his final film, plays Jesse James. As someone who has suffered through many wooden Murphy performances, I was pleased by his relaxed and assured turn here. Murphy and Boetticher had formed a production company to produce the film and revive their dormant careers, but the Western as they knew it was dying. The film had a few showings in Texas in 1969 to attract investors so post-production work could be completed. Murphy was still trying to raise funds when he died in a plane crash in 1971. It is significant that the last film featuring the greatest American military hero of the twentieth century should be a heartfelt repudiation of violence. Like John Wayne and Don Siegel in The Shootist (which gets a visual shout-out in Scorsese's The Irishman), Murphy and Boetticher knew that the jejune era of America's myth of frontier justice had passed. 

Biff's Favorite Pacific Northwest Places 'N Things for 2021

The Multnomah County Central Library, Portland. 

1. Best Beer: Ferment Brewery ESB
2. Best Brewery: Heater-Allen Brewery, 907 NE 10th St., McMinnville, OR
3. Best Winery: Cooper Mountain Vineyards
4. Best Library Buildings:  See above. A.E. Doyle's 1913 masterpiece. Interesting                                                           inside and out. Runner Up: Hillsdale Library      

 

Hillsdale Library

       5. Best Repertory Cinema: The Joy Cinema and Pub, Tigard, OR

       6. Best Restaurant: La Tarasca, 1001 W Main St. Centralia, WA

                                                              Low frill, but delicious Mexican cuisine.

       7. Best Concert Venue: Billsville West, Walla Walla, WA

                                                                          Brian Gabbard and Jean Tobin

                                                                          are your gracious hosts.

        8. Best Antique Store: Antique, Freak & Flea, 610 E. 1st, Newberg, OR

        9. Best Beer & Wine Shop: John's Marketplace,  3535 SW Multnomah Blvd

                                                       The best selection in the Portland metro area. The

                                                       adjacent Multnomah Village has very good restaurants,

                                                       bars, shops and a small treasure, Annie Bloom's Books.

      10. Best News: The upcoming restoration of The Mack Theater in McMinnville.

My wife's office used to be in the Medical Dental building on 12th right behind the Central Library in Portland. So, I've spent more than a few hours burrowing through the library building which I find endlessly fascinating in its design and decoration. Paintings by such noted local artists as Henk Pender, George Johanson and Clayton Price are on permanent display. Visitors can easily spend an hour or two in the Library depending on their interest in the temporary exhibits on display in the Collins Gallery on the third floor. The Beverly Cleary Children's Library is a particular delight. 

Quo Vadis, Aida?

Jasna Djuricic in Quo Vadis, Aida?

Jasmila Zbanic's Quo Vadis, Aida? brought me my first convulsively emotive cinematic experience of 2021. I cried. I cried a lot. Now many movies, from History is Made at Night to The Road Warrior, have opened up my water works, so I suppose this is no signal achievement. Still, this film about the Srebrenica massacre that occurred in 1995 during the tail end of the Bosnian war, does not seek to jerk tears, but gives a clear-eyed perspective on the tragedy and its ambivalent aftermath.

The protagonist of the film, Aida (Jasna Djuricic), is a Bosnian translator attached to the UN peacekeeping forces; in this case consisting of Dutch troops. When the Serbian army under General Ratko Mladic sweeps into Srebrenica, the population flees fearing deadly reprisals. Resentments and feuds spanning four centuries have festered during the conflict and the largely Muslim Bosnians fear the ethnic cleansing fury of the Eastern Orthodox Serbs. Thousands seeks sanctuary at the UN base, but the Dutch troops are not equipped to handle their numbers. Their commander reaches a rapprochement with General Mladic which resulted in the extermination of over 8,300 Bosnian men.

Ms. Djuricic demonstrates the perfect balance of desperation and resolve as Aida. Boris Isakovic provides a memorable portrait of villainy as General Mladic, who was finally convicted of his crimes in 2011. Johan Heldenbergh and Raymond Thiry register well the frustration of the Dutch commanders. 

I have my petty gripes, as usual. Ms. Zbanic presents Ms. Djuricic running around doing a Mother Courage bit too often and the massacre victims are sheeple. Still, this is the best new film I've seen this year. The ending coda is wrenchingly strong with Aida hosting a first grade presentation as the murderers of her husband and sons gaze rhapsodically at their progeny. An unsparing portrait of genocide, up there with The Ascent, Come and See, Katyn and Son of Saul. 

Mother!, Ash vs Evil Dead

Jennifer Lawrence: a glazed Barbie in Mother!

Darren Aronofsky's Mother! is a mixed bag, at best. Aronofsky has skirted the heights of the American cinematic pantheon. From the highs of Requiem for a Dream and Black Swan to the low of The Fountain, Aronofsky has demonstrated his technical mastery, but also an overwrought manner. Both are exhibited in Mother!. All the technical aspects of Mother! are impeccable: editing, set design, hair and makeup, costumes, sound design and even the newfangled CGI stuff. Matthew Libatique's cinematography has a 3D like intensity that also manages to convey the cruddy colors, nauseating yellows and browns, necessary for this new installment of the sick house theme in horror.

Per usual, Aronofsky elicits interesting performances. Jennifer Lawrence's face has been planed of her apple cheeked sensuality so that she resembles a glazed Barbie chafing against artistic and patriarchal privilege. Her energetic performance gets the audience on her side and in her head. Javier Bardem is miscast as the messianic writer. He is a bit too old and doesn't provide the dark humor that a young Jack Nicholson or a Joaquin Phoenix could have provided. You know things are not going to work out well because Katniss has hitched herself to Chigurh. The support turns by the Gleeson bothers, Ed Harris and Michelle Pfeiffer are played incisively and memorably.

However, a nagging sense of deja vu haunts the proceedings as bits and pieces of better movies dot the scenario: Repulsion, The Exterminating Angel, The Shining, The Evil Dead; and those are just the filmic references. As in even his best films, Aronofsky has over egged the pudding. In an attempt to do an auto-critique of the artist and his cult, Aronofsky hyperventilates.

Return of the boom stick: Ash vs Evil Dead

Two recent video features bear comparison to Mother!. Both are in the same subgenre, spam in a cabin. Tarantino's The Hateful Eight fails because it is stodgy and belabored, Mother! because it is overly frantic and enervated. Ash vs Evil Dead, particularly the Sam Raimi directed premier, succeeds with even more absurd material because it is directed with gleefully tossed off energy. The Hateful Eight and Mother! are painfully constructed White Elephants while the latest addition to the Evil Dead saga has the compact drive of termite art. Perhaps after the elephantine exertions of his Oz film (which I found more interesting than most), Raimi wanted to return to his pulp roots. He reunites half his Xena crew and even has New Zealand stand in for Michigan. I enjoyed watching both The Hateful Eight and Mother! once, but will go back to Raimi's Evil Dead projects repeatedly for pleasure. (1/19/18) 
 

 

Klimt (2006)

Veronica Ferres and John Malkovich in Klimt

Potty, dotty and batty, this meditation on the great painter will make sense only to aficionados of Klimt's work or fans of director Raul Ruiz. Others should be wary. When John Malkovich, as Klimt, declares at film's end, "My life is now a complete finished circle", I did at last understand why Ruiz kept using nauseatingly dizzying circular dolly shots throughout the film. Saffron Burrough's character seems to represent Klimt's erotically charged unconscious and Stephen Dillane's character his paranoid rational side, but to what end? Nikolai Kinski, as Egon Schiele, chews the scenery as vigorously as his Dad. A colorful fiasco.