The last attempt to write a shorter post didn't end so well, but I'm determined to make posting more consistent and therefore more sustainable this year, so here I go again.
I watched Zelig a little over a week ago, and I think it may be one of Woody Allen's best films. I didn't think so when I first saw it, but I feel somewhat convinced upon further reflection.
I say it's one of his best because it stands out among his films as something different from almost everything else he's done (that I've seen, which is ten films in their entirety). It is proof that he's a talented director who could probably pull off anything he wanted to do if he decided to. That he's stuck with a particular style for several years at a time speaks more to his preference than his ability.
Zelig is an excellent film, and if it's not the first mockumentary, it's got to be pretty close. The humor is distinctly Allenesque, but the presentation of the story makes it drier and more subtle. More to my taste, too, perhaps. I'm entertained by a slight wink and nod as much as a good prat fall, but I think I respect the former more. You have to weave subtle humor more into the fabric of your story and give it less of the spotlight. But by doing so, you challenge your viewers more. Zelig is indeed challenging. You need to be patient with it, but your patience pays off.
I'm even more impressed to see that he made the film in between Manhattan and Hannah and Her Sisters, two films that represent what I like to think of as his neurotic, self-obsessed period. You can see him playing with similar ideas in Zelig, but the constraints of the documentary format naturally rein in those impulses. And that Allen had the discipline to honor those constraints is noteworthy indeed.
I was also tickled that it took place in the 1920's. It makes a film like Midnight in Paris (there it is again!) more meaningful, because you understand better how much of himself he's invested in the time period. MiP comes across more as a loving tribute to the characters and culture of the twenties using a silly little time-travel story as a vehicle for it, than the other way around.
My favorite part (there were many I liked very much) is the scene where Zelig shows up, after having been gone a while, as a Nazi in Germany, sitting behind the Fuhrer himself. A Jew wrote this into his movie. That is very impressive to me. Not to mention very funny, when Zelig interrupts Hitler's Polish joke.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
The Way Back, A Contention, Peter Weir, Historical (In)accuracy
First off, Jeff, thanks for your response. It was heartening and validating. I knew I wasn't crazy for thinking the way I did about the ending of Drive.
I've watched a bunch of other films that I want to write about before I forget, but feel daunted when I think of throwing them in a long post. So maybe I'll write about one at a time and it will be easier to nibble away at them--as well as more likely that I will actually write about them.
Which leads me to a side note about the manner in which John assesses yearly participation in film club. I take issue, friend, because my posts on the whole, while fewer and further between, tend to be longer. I know that even if I interjected a post here and there that was a link or a YouTube video or a one paragraph response to someone else's post I still wouldn't be able to keep up with the likes of Jeffrey, but it would make my presence more substantial at least. I consider that kind of posting to be on par with Facebook posts, of which I have plenty, and which your accounting this year didn't take into consideration. And where's your promised post where you write all the things that I've been yearning to hear? Are you just setting me up for disappointment again?
Here's a film that we should both agree on, John. I saw The Way Back with Amy a few nights ago and it blew me away. I didn't know much about the source material, which you spurred me on to read more about. Apparently this film is a fictionalization of an account of someone crossing into India from Siberia. That said, since it is a film about walking, there's not much you can do to stray from the reality of a walk like that for anyone. Weir meticulously researched the film, down to details about the gulag officers' uniforms. One would presume that the details about what would be involved in such a long walk would also have been cared for as well. I find that it doesn't matter to me whether or not the characters are real themselves, because the other elements of the film are true.
Saoirse (sur-shuh) Ronan was an interesting inclusion. Her presence did provide for me a clue that Weir tweaked the story (before I knew it was so). I was surprised that there were no sexual overtones in the relationships between her and the men. One could explain plausibly why this was the case, but that fact that it calls for an explanation brings attention to it in a way that takes you out of the film just a bit. The question does eventually succumb (as all questions must) to the relentless nature of wilderness. Perhaps the matter of survival in extreme circumstances overrides all secondary biological urges; that seems to be the most likely explanation of all. When you're considering eating your companions, sex probably is pretty low on your list of priorities. Her character was refreshing, though. And I thought the scene where she travels up and down the line, sharing with the men information about the others they hadn't bothered to find out themselves was not only a creative means of exposition, but also an interesting commentary on the differences in the way men and women relate to each other. I wondered how Weir was going to use the event later, so it was interesting to see how her investment in Mr. Smith's story (and that she related it to Janusz) ended up saving Smith's life. That scene was actually one of the weaker ones for me because it seemed a little contrived, but I appreciated Weir's effort and the principle that he perhaps was trying to present to the audience because of it.
Speaking of relentless, The Way Back is another great example of how setting can be a character in a film. The cinematography is striking, and I'm sorry I missed seeing it at The Little when it was screened there briefly. From bitter cold to extreme heat, our heroes walk on. The land motivates them and beguiles them, and for some, ends them.
The final few minutes were intriguing. I'm sure this is what you meant by "fever dream," John, though I saw it more as an attempt to provide--maybe?--a happy ending rather than a clue that undermines the truth of the entire film. I felt that their arrival in India provided sufficient closure for me. I wish Weir had ended it there. It seems highly unlikely that Janusz's wife would still be unmarried after all those years and living in the same house. It really did seem tacked on and a bit artificial. Do you have any more thoughts on this, John?
I'd also (with John) call myself a fan of Weir's work, though I haven't seen everything he's done. His earlier stuff is absolutely fantastic, and Picnic at Hanging Rock is in my top ten list of all-time favorite films. It's weird and mind-bending. The Last Wave, The Cars That Eat People, and even The Plumber also have mystical/supernatural overtones.
I would have liked Gallipoli better had I not known how incredibly biased and historically inaccurate it was. It was certainly a moving film, but I really hate it when people mess with historical events in films. One of the worst offenders of that sort was Bobby (Estevez, 2006), but my rant about that is best left for another post. I find that I trust the writer/director too much when it comes to historical movies, and I've been disappointed far too many times. I'm almost obsessive now about checking the internet for the facts after I watch a historical film, so the wrong information doesn't get cemented in my brain. I did it with The Social Network, and you could probably gather from my haiku about it that its factual inaccuracy was a sticking point for me. In light of this, it's interesting that I loved The Way Back so much, even with the knowledge that it was mostly fictional. I'm repeating myself now, but there's very little anyone could do to diminish the impact of the fact of someone walking a few thousand miles to freedom. Not even an Irishman with a Russian accent and a few too many furtive glances.
Weir's post-Gallipoli work is of less interest to me, though it's not to say of no interest. I have not seen The Year of Living Dangerously, Witness (I know), Fearless, or Master and Commander. So I feel that I have less to say about him from then on. The Mosquito Coast was odd and compelling, Dead Poets Society was great but ultimately overrated. Green Card and The Truman Show both unique in their own ways, but Hollywood films for sure. The Way Back is not a Hollywood film (though there are fleeting glimpses of Hollywood here and there). It evokes his earlier, quieter films, but with less of the strangeness. I think the attempt is there (Janusz's reaching-for-the-rock hallucinations), but it's not as raw and unsettling as it used to be. Perhaps he's made Hollywood films for too long. I'd still rank it among my favorites in Weir's oeuvre, and one of the best of 2010.
I've watched a bunch of other films that I want to write about before I forget, but feel daunted when I think of throwing them in a long post. So maybe I'll write about one at a time and it will be easier to nibble away at them--as well as more likely that I will actually write about them.
Which leads me to a side note about the manner in which John assesses yearly participation in film club. I take issue, friend, because my posts on the whole, while fewer and further between, tend to be longer. I know that even if I interjected a post here and there that was a link or a YouTube video or a one paragraph response to someone else's post I still wouldn't be able to keep up with the likes of Jeffrey, but it would make my presence more substantial at least. I consider that kind of posting to be on par with Facebook posts, of which I have plenty, and which your accounting this year didn't take into consideration. And where's your promised post where you write all the things that I've been yearning to hear? Are you just setting me up for disappointment again?
Here's a film that we should both agree on, John. I saw The Way Back with Amy a few nights ago and it blew me away. I didn't know much about the source material, which you spurred me on to read more about. Apparently this film is a fictionalization of an account of someone crossing into India from Siberia. That said, since it is a film about walking, there's not much you can do to stray from the reality of a walk like that for anyone. Weir meticulously researched the film, down to details about the gulag officers' uniforms. One would presume that the details about what would be involved in such a long walk would also have been cared for as well. I find that it doesn't matter to me whether or not the characters are real themselves, because the other elements of the film are true.
Saoirse (sur-shuh) Ronan was an interesting inclusion. Her presence did provide for me a clue that Weir tweaked the story (before I knew it was so). I was surprised that there were no sexual overtones in the relationships between her and the men. One could explain plausibly why this was the case, but that fact that it calls for an explanation brings attention to it in a way that takes you out of the film just a bit. The question does eventually succumb (as all questions must) to the relentless nature of wilderness. Perhaps the matter of survival in extreme circumstances overrides all secondary biological urges; that seems to be the most likely explanation of all. When you're considering eating your companions, sex probably is pretty low on your list of priorities. Her character was refreshing, though. And I thought the scene where she travels up and down the line, sharing with the men information about the others they hadn't bothered to find out themselves was not only a creative means of exposition, but also an interesting commentary on the differences in the way men and women relate to each other. I wondered how Weir was going to use the event later, so it was interesting to see how her investment in Mr. Smith's story (and that she related it to Janusz) ended up saving Smith's life. That scene was actually one of the weaker ones for me because it seemed a little contrived, but I appreciated Weir's effort and the principle that he perhaps was trying to present to the audience because of it.
Speaking of relentless, The Way Back is another great example of how setting can be a character in a film. The cinematography is striking, and I'm sorry I missed seeing it at The Little when it was screened there briefly. From bitter cold to extreme heat, our heroes walk on. The land motivates them and beguiles them, and for some, ends them.
The final few minutes were intriguing. I'm sure this is what you meant by "fever dream," John, though I saw it more as an attempt to provide--maybe?--a happy ending rather than a clue that undermines the truth of the entire film. I felt that their arrival in India provided sufficient closure for me. I wish Weir had ended it there. It seems highly unlikely that Janusz's wife would still be unmarried after all those years and living in the same house. It really did seem tacked on and a bit artificial. Do you have any more thoughts on this, John?
I'd also (with John) call myself a fan of Weir's work, though I haven't seen everything he's done. His earlier stuff is absolutely fantastic, and Picnic at Hanging Rock is in my top ten list of all-time favorite films. It's weird and mind-bending. The Last Wave, The Cars That Eat People, and even The Plumber also have mystical/supernatural overtones.
I would have liked Gallipoli better had I not known how incredibly biased and historically inaccurate it was. It was certainly a moving film, but I really hate it when people mess with historical events in films. One of the worst offenders of that sort was Bobby (Estevez, 2006), but my rant about that is best left for another post. I find that I trust the writer/director too much when it comes to historical movies, and I've been disappointed far too many times. I'm almost obsessive now about checking the internet for the facts after I watch a historical film, so the wrong information doesn't get cemented in my brain. I did it with The Social Network, and you could probably gather from my haiku about it that its factual inaccuracy was a sticking point for me. In light of this, it's interesting that I loved The Way Back so much, even with the knowledge that it was mostly fictional. I'm repeating myself now, but there's very little anyone could do to diminish the impact of the fact of someone walking a few thousand miles to freedom. Not even an Irishman with a Russian accent and a few too many furtive glances.
Weir's post-Gallipoli work is of less interest to me, though it's not to say of no interest. I have not seen The Year of Living Dangerously, Witness (I know), Fearless, or Master and Commander. So I feel that I have less to say about him from then on. The Mosquito Coast was odd and compelling, Dead Poets Society was great but ultimately overrated. Green Card and The Truman Show both unique in their own ways, but Hollywood films for sure. The Way Back is not a Hollywood film (though there are fleeting glimpses of Hollywood here and there). It evokes his earlier, quieter films, but with less of the strangeness. I think the attempt is there (Janusz's reaching-for-the-rock hallucinations), but it's not as raw and unsettling as it used to be. Perhaps he's made Hollywood films for too long. I'd still rank it among my favorites in Weir's oeuvre, and one of the best of 2010.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Generalizations Corrected and Comments Addressed
For the record, I don't only like films with happy endings. I wouldn't be a horror film fan if that were the case! When I have my horror glasses on, I don't expect everyone to live, or anyone in some cases, and I enjoy myself thoroughly. Rather, I struggle with films that are trying to reach into a deeper part of my consciousness and and deeper part of my emotions but then don't to leave any room or hope for redemption. It's one thing to leave an ending open for audience participation, but in Drive, there's not a whole lot for the viewer to work with.
[Spoilers to follow] One thing that bothers me is that he left the money behind. I was counting on him at least managing to get it to the girl, or some of it, so that at least she could have some kind of future to look forward to. Maybe he did, we don't know. But the money shot (so to speak) next to the dead body really gave off a "he left it all there" vibe. It's like he ends up being nothing like the person we're fooled into thinking he is for nearly the whole movie. The "maybe I could come with you" bit was bullsh!#, and he knew it. This guy's not just a killer, but an ass when it comes down to it. He gets a woman's husband killed, further traumatizes her by bashing in a guy's skull in front of her, then goes on a revenge killing spree--and leaves her with nothing. Sure, she's safe, but she's got no money and a kid to support. And now two dead people to mourn. Great job making everything better, Driver.[end spoiler]
Maybe it just goes to show how that tough guy male archetype is a fallacy in terms of its ultimate efficacy. I suppose if I see it that way, the hope lies in the way the audience interprets it rather than in the film itself. Hey, guys, you wanna be tough and aloof and kill people, here's where it leads. Nobody wins.
Again, I'm not saying it makes it a bad film. Just a good film with a stupid ending.
Wendy and Lucy, for a contrasting example, ends rather sadly. But there's hope--hope that Wendy will get her act together and come back for Lucy. Hope that the people she left Lucy with will take care of her. Reichardt leaves room for a number of possible endings. But Drive ends in such a way that reduces the number of realistic outcomes for the characters. There's very little hope. I feed off of hope in films. But I don't necessarily need happy endings.
Hell, even Black Swan ends on a better note than Drive. She's going to die, sure, but she dies having accomplished what she wanted to accomplish, even if it's only in her deluded mind.There's resolution, if not hope. And I suppose I'll take resolution if I can't have hope. I loved the ending of Black Swan. It certainly wasn't happy.
Pass along The Story of Film to me, too, Ben! You could mail a flash drive, right?Contact me on Facebook for my address if you're willing to do this.
You mentioned Doug and Gail's relationship in Cold Weather, Ben, and I forgot to. It was one of the most lovely aspects of the film. I envied their closeness and familiarity with each other. The chemistry was good between the actors, too.
I also read and really liked the essay about Black Swan you linked to. A lot of thought-provoking stuff in there. I'd wager that there are things in the film that a more feminine perspective might appreciate (notice I did not say "male" or "female") than a masculine one. As I mentioned, the melodrama was a turnoff to some but I found it completely appropriate. And, Brandon, my film knowledge is not as extensive as yours, so I didn't find Black Swan to be derivative at all. In fact, I thought it very creatively combined "stock shocks" like you'd find in a horror film with what would have been a boring drama otherwise. This made the film seem fresh to me, and not so gimmicky. As I said, I think Aronofsky has brought the essence of Pi to a big budget Hollywood film and Hollywood is better for it.
A question for everyone: what's a good source for a list of films released in the US in 2011? I know I've asked this before, but it was a year ago and I can't find John's post. I want to do a 2011 recap, since film club seems to like that sort of thing, but I only keep track of my films on Flixster (it's easy, John, and better than nothing!) and there's no way to sort by year :).
[Spoilers to follow] One thing that bothers me is that he left the money behind. I was counting on him at least managing to get it to the girl, or some of it, so that at least she could have some kind of future to look forward to. Maybe he did, we don't know. But the money shot (so to speak) next to the dead body really gave off a "he left it all there" vibe. It's like he ends up being nothing like the person we're fooled into thinking he is for nearly the whole movie. The "maybe I could come with you" bit was bullsh!#, and he knew it. This guy's not just a killer, but an ass when it comes down to it. He gets a woman's husband killed, further traumatizes her by bashing in a guy's skull in front of her, then goes on a revenge killing spree--and leaves her with nothing. Sure, she's safe, but she's got no money and a kid to support. And now two dead people to mourn. Great job making everything better, Driver.[end spoiler]
Maybe it just goes to show how that tough guy male archetype is a fallacy in terms of its ultimate efficacy. I suppose if I see it that way, the hope lies in the way the audience interprets it rather than in the film itself. Hey, guys, you wanna be tough and aloof and kill people, here's where it leads. Nobody wins.
Again, I'm not saying it makes it a bad film. Just a good film with a stupid ending.
Wendy and Lucy, for a contrasting example, ends rather sadly. But there's hope--hope that Wendy will get her act together and come back for Lucy. Hope that the people she left Lucy with will take care of her. Reichardt leaves room for a number of possible endings. But Drive ends in such a way that reduces the number of realistic outcomes for the characters. There's very little hope. I feed off of hope in films. But I don't necessarily need happy endings.
Hell, even Black Swan ends on a better note than Drive. She's going to die, sure, but she dies having accomplished what she wanted to accomplish, even if it's only in her deluded mind.There's resolution, if not hope. And I suppose I'll take resolution if I can't have hope. I loved the ending of Black Swan. It certainly wasn't happy.
Pass along The Story of Film to me, too, Ben! You could mail a flash drive, right?Contact me on Facebook for my address if you're willing to do this.
You mentioned Doug and Gail's relationship in Cold Weather, Ben, and I forgot to. It was one of the most lovely aspects of the film. I envied their closeness and familiarity with each other. The chemistry was good between the actors, too.
I also read and really liked the essay about Black Swan you linked to. A lot of thought-provoking stuff in there. I'd wager that there are things in the film that a more feminine perspective might appreciate (notice I did not say "male" or "female") than a masculine one. As I mentioned, the melodrama was a turnoff to some but I found it completely appropriate. And, Brandon, my film knowledge is not as extensive as yours, so I didn't find Black Swan to be derivative at all. In fact, I thought it very creatively combined "stock shocks" like you'd find in a horror film with what would have been a boring drama otherwise. This made the film seem fresh to me, and not so gimmicky. As I said, I think Aronofsky has brought the essence of Pi to a big budget Hollywood film and Hollywood is better for it.
A question for everyone: what's a good source for a list of films released in the US in 2011? I know I've asked this before, but it was a year ago and I can't find John's post. I want to do a 2011 recap, since film club seems to like that sort of thing, but I only keep track of my films on Flixster (it's easy, John, and better than nothing!) and there's no way to sort by year :).
Mumblecore Mystery
Portland's been showing up a lot lately in the media I've been ingesting. First in the wonderful sketch comedy show Portlandia (available on NWI, starring Fred Armisen of SNL), then in the podcast WTF (with Marc Maron), when he interviews Gallagher in Portland, but only after a bit of commentary on the city iteself, and finally in the film Cold Weather, a subtle tribute to the city and its surrounds because of its compelling cinematography. I haven't been to Portland in 6 years, but I've got a longing to be there again. It really is a unique city with a very distinctive culture and way of life.
Now that I've seen both films, I understand completely why the Drive/Cold Weather discussion got so much mileage. I have not yet been back to read what you all wrote (there's a lot of it, so it's going to be tricky), but I'm excited to do so. I may offer my own thoughts on the comparison of the two films (I saw them back-to-back, one last night and the other today), but first I want to talk about how much I loved Cold Weather.
Have you ever been watching a mumblecore (I really do hate that term, but it identifies a type of film that's really hard to classify otherwise) film and wondered to yourself, What would happen if these characters actually DID something? On the surface, that might sound like a sarcastic question, but I mean it seriously. One of the things mc (I'm not going to spell it out anymore) does so well is create and facilitate connections with its characters, whether you like them or not. I find myself often genuinely interested and invested in them. The characters spend so much time in a state of being with each other that the audience gets to experience that with them. And everyone has experienced that knowing that comes from just being in someone's presence. Katz is more effective at this in his films, because his characters are quieter and more contemplative, but it may be that I just like them better--contrasted with the Duplasses' characters which are often a bit too self-absorbed for my taste. I still appreciate a Duplass film, but after having seen Katz's, I understand much better why a distinction is made between the two.
So, in Cold Weather, the first half hour or so is spent in traditional mc fashion: we're watching people work and eat dinner and play games sit in silence with each other. We're getting to know our characters much more intimately than lengthy exposition or flashbacks can afford. I read an article that criticized that portion of the film for going on too long, but I can see that only if you're not a fan of that style of storytelling. I, on the other hand, felt it gave me time to connect with Doug and Gail and Carlos so that I not only cared what happened next but had a frame of reference in which to interpret their decisions later on in the film.
Because of this intimate connection with the characters, and because mc dialogue is less scripted and feels more lifelike, when the film took a turn into new genre territory, I was almost unprepared (even if I knew more or less that the mystery was coming). I was still in the typical mc state of mind, and carried into the next part of the film.
I'm not sure if I can express this effectively, but it has to do with the lenses we watch film with. When I'm getting ready to watch a horror film, I put on my horror glasses, so to speak. I get into a specific frame of mind that has to do with the expectations I have for a film, particularly genre films. They all have a different feel to them, you know? I put on my arty film glasses or my drama glasses or my Kubrick glasses. It's why I don't read about films before watching them if I can help it. I like being surprised. And while I knew Cold Weather was a mystery, or involved a mystery, I didn't know the specifics and couldn't really put my mc glasses and my mystery glasses on at the same time because it was just too dark. So here' the fascinating part: I put on my mc glasses because that's what I'm used to from Katz, so for the whole last hour of the film I'm watching a mystery with my mumblecore glasses on. I'm sure I'll get teased for that statement but the truth is that it was an incredible experience. We put on and take off our different film-watching glasses unconsciously, and it's almost impossible to go into a film without knowing anything at all about it (how weird would that be?), so it's almost impossible to view a film in a genre through the lens of another. You really need help from a director like Katz, who can get you set in a certain frame of mind and then turn the tables on you before you get a chance to change those glasses. And it's not like the film changes completely once the mystery is introduced; we watch Doug and Gail throwing grapes off the top of a building and talking about going on a date right in the middle of our mystery. Or sitting in a car at a stakeout eating Swedish Fish (with a Dragon tattoo?) talking about ex-boyfirends. This is mc behavior, not mystery movie behavior. You don't want to take off your mc glasses because at its heart, Cold Weather is still an mc film.
So what does it mean that I'm watching a mystery with mc glasses? It means that rather than thinking about the plot and what's going to happen next, I'm thinking about the characters and how and why they respond to the events of the film the way they do. I believe that Drive, for example, attempts to do this, but we have our action film glasses on, and the style and pace of the film encourages us to keep them on, so the characters seem more distant and unreal. In Cold Weather, it could be me in that car with the briefcase of money, or me slashing somebody's tires. I mean, Doug doesn't think to do that until he's outside running for his sister's car. This is real people behavior. He's waiting for his sister at the restaurant and he gets out of the car because she's taking too long. Again, real people do these things. Ryan Gosling never gets out of the car. It's because he's a character in a movie, not a real person. He's an archetype. But Doug is an ordinary guy who didn't finish school and works at an ice factory who has this unexpected opportunity to apply what he knows to his circumstances. It's kind of like when that weird hobby you have comes in handy in a way you never thought it would. Granted, Doug wants to be a detective, but in that typical twenty-something way, wanting to do something may just as easily mean thinking you're supposed to want to do something. Forensic science is not really relevant to his life at this stage. But in a situation where he (and we) least expects it, he is called upon to use this knowledge where he wouldn't have ordinarily thought he'd need to. Just like all the rest of us.
I also loved the ending. Staying true to mc parameters, we're not told very much about what's actually going on between Rachel and the guy with the cowboy hat, who he is or why he wants the money or what the money's for or who ultimately is going to get it. Details like this are secondary to being with our main characters in their present situation.
You know it's funny, because ultimately I think that Drive is also character-driven, though Driver is the only character that's really fleshed out in any way. But it's a totally different film. I think it really must come down to the glasses we're wearing, eh?
I hope Katz continues in this vein, but, honestly, now that we know he's capable of this sort of thing, I'll just put on my Katz glasses beforehand. It's gotta be tough to be a director in the critical eye. Anything you do now becomes what you do and so you have to go beyond it in successive films. I'm sure Micahel Bay doesn't have that problem. Regardless, watching Cold Weather was one of the most unique filmwatching experiences I think I've had. I loved it.
Incidentally, Jeffrey, I think you're right about Driver being a killer. He's clearly a professional and the incident in the elevator reveals definitively to the audience that darker side. It's true what they say that even a fool is considered wise until he opens his mouth. Or kicks somebody's skull in.
Waiting in the getaway car:
Now that I've seen both films, I understand completely why the Drive/Cold Weather discussion got so much mileage. I have not yet been back to read what you all wrote (there's a lot of it, so it's going to be tricky), but I'm excited to do so. I may offer my own thoughts on the comparison of the two films (I saw them back-to-back, one last night and the other today), but first I want to talk about how much I loved Cold Weather.
Have you ever been watching a mumblecore (I really do hate that term, but it identifies a type of film that's really hard to classify otherwise) film and wondered to yourself, What would happen if these characters actually DID something? On the surface, that might sound like a sarcastic question, but I mean it seriously. One of the things mc (I'm not going to spell it out anymore) does so well is create and facilitate connections with its characters, whether you like them or not. I find myself often genuinely interested and invested in them. The characters spend so much time in a state of being with each other that the audience gets to experience that with them. And everyone has experienced that knowing that comes from just being in someone's presence. Katz is more effective at this in his films, because his characters are quieter and more contemplative, but it may be that I just like them better--contrasted with the Duplasses' characters which are often a bit too self-absorbed for my taste. I still appreciate a Duplass film, but after having seen Katz's, I understand much better why a distinction is made between the two.
So, in Cold Weather, the first half hour or so is spent in traditional mc fashion: we're watching people work and eat dinner and play games sit in silence with each other. We're getting to know our characters much more intimately than lengthy exposition or flashbacks can afford. I read an article that criticized that portion of the film for going on too long, but I can see that only if you're not a fan of that style of storytelling. I, on the other hand, felt it gave me time to connect with Doug and Gail and Carlos so that I not only cared what happened next but had a frame of reference in which to interpret their decisions later on in the film.
Because of this intimate connection with the characters, and because mc dialogue is less scripted and feels more lifelike, when the film took a turn into new genre territory, I was almost unprepared (even if I knew more or less that the mystery was coming). I was still in the typical mc state of mind, and carried into the next part of the film.
I'm not sure if I can express this effectively, but it has to do with the lenses we watch film with. When I'm getting ready to watch a horror film, I put on my horror glasses, so to speak. I get into a specific frame of mind that has to do with the expectations I have for a film, particularly genre films. They all have a different feel to them, you know? I put on my arty film glasses or my drama glasses or my Kubrick glasses. It's why I don't read about films before watching them if I can help it. I like being surprised. And while I knew Cold Weather was a mystery, or involved a mystery, I didn't know the specifics and couldn't really put my mc glasses and my mystery glasses on at the same time because it was just too dark. So here' the fascinating part: I put on my mc glasses because that's what I'm used to from Katz, so for the whole last hour of the film I'm watching a mystery with my mumblecore glasses on. I'm sure I'll get teased for that statement but the truth is that it was an incredible experience. We put on and take off our different film-watching glasses unconsciously, and it's almost impossible to go into a film without knowing anything at all about it (how weird would that be?), so it's almost impossible to view a film in a genre through the lens of another. You really need help from a director like Katz, who can get you set in a certain frame of mind and then turn the tables on you before you get a chance to change those glasses. And it's not like the film changes completely once the mystery is introduced; we watch Doug and Gail throwing grapes off the top of a building and talking about going on a date right in the middle of our mystery. Or sitting in a car at a stakeout eating Swedish Fish (with a Dragon tattoo?) talking about ex-boyfirends. This is mc behavior, not mystery movie behavior. You don't want to take off your mc glasses because at its heart, Cold Weather is still an mc film.
So what does it mean that I'm watching a mystery with mc glasses? It means that rather than thinking about the plot and what's going to happen next, I'm thinking about the characters and how and why they respond to the events of the film the way they do. I believe that Drive, for example, attempts to do this, but we have our action film glasses on, and the style and pace of the film encourages us to keep them on, so the characters seem more distant and unreal. In Cold Weather, it could be me in that car with the briefcase of money, or me slashing somebody's tires. I mean, Doug doesn't think to do that until he's outside running for his sister's car. This is real people behavior. He's waiting for his sister at the restaurant and he gets out of the car because she's taking too long. Again, real people do these things. Ryan Gosling never gets out of the car. It's because he's a character in a movie, not a real person. He's an archetype. But Doug is an ordinary guy who didn't finish school and works at an ice factory who has this unexpected opportunity to apply what he knows to his circumstances. It's kind of like when that weird hobby you have comes in handy in a way you never thought it would. Granted, Doug wants to be a detective, but in that typical twenty-something way, wanting to do something may just as easily mean thinking you're supposed to want to do something. Forensic science is not really relevant to his life at this stage. But in a situation where he (and we) least expects it, he is called upon to use this knowledge where he wouldn't have ordinarily thought he'd need to. Just like all the rest of us.
I also loved the ending. Staying true to mc parameters, we're not told very much about what's actually going on between Rachel and the guy with the cowboy hat, who he is or why he wants the money or what the money's for or who ultimately is going to get it. Details like this are secondary to being with our main characters in their present situation.
You know it's funny, because ultimately I think that Drive is also character-driven, though Driver is the only character that's really fleshed out in any way. But it's a totally different film. I think it really must come down to the glasses we're wearing, eh?
I hope Katz continues in this vein, but, honestly, now that we know he's capable of this sort of thing, I'll just put on my Katz glasses beforehand. It's gotta be tough to be a director in the critical eye. Anything you do now becomes what you do and so you have to go beyond it in successive films. I'm sure Micahel Bay doesn't have that problem. Regardless, watching Cold Weather was one of the most unique filmwatching experiences I think I've had. I loved it.
Incidentally, Jeffrey, I think you're right about Driver being a killer. He's clearly a professional and the incident in the elevator reveals definitively to the audience that darker side. It's true what they say that even a fool is considered wise until he opens his mouth. Or kicks somebody's skull in.
Waiting in the getaway car:
You Can't Go On, Thinkin' Nothing's Wrong Tonight
I finished Drive a several minutes ago, and I have mixed feelings about it. Well, not really. I hated the ending. It seemed to make the whole film pointless to me. I don't need a happy ending to my films, to be sure, but I like an ending where someone at least get something. And nobody got a damn thing in this film. Girl didn't get the guy, guy didn't get the money, kid doesn't get his dad.
In terms of production and storytelling, Drive really is top-notch. What a fantastic mood Refn created, backing it with a retro eighties-style soundtrack. I really liked the way music and silence was used in the film. It created a tense atmosphere, alternating between suspense and melancholy, using similar music for each. Very effective.
I also get why there are so many Ryan Gosling blogs now. I want to start one. I know, of course, that the best kind of men are the ones who communicate, and emote, and ask questions. But what man doesn't want that total calm control over himself and his circumstances--to be both the gentle protector and lover and the untouchable warrior? Even if I know that it's about cultural messages and societal projection of its insecurities on both men and women, I still feel drawn to that male archetype, and if I'm honest, I like feeling drawn to it. Gosling embodies that so perfectly here.
But remember what I said. I hated the ending. Completely and utterly pointless. I suppose that's a part of this guy's story, so my intellect is saying that it was appropriate and poetic (he's driving at both the beginning and end of the film) and consistent with the character, but my emotion is saying that it sucked and might have even ruined the whole movie for me.
No, not completely. But it really put a damper on it.
I tend to like genre films (except romcoms--it really depends on the picture), and this was compelling because of how it (like everyone says) balances elements of an art film with an action film very well. There were even elements of horror! I couldn't help but think of Friday the XIII during the ocean scene. It was chilling. Gosling's character really was a killer. The girl's probably better off without him. Though, I'd have a tough time getting over the whole "crush a guy's skull in the elevator" incident, if I were her.
Now let me go read what you all wrote about it many moons ago and see if I have anything else to say.
Oh, and thanks to Ben, I couldn't stop paying attention to that damn jacket!
In terms of production and storytelling, Drive really is top-notch. What a fantastic mood Refn created, backing it with a retro eighties-style soundtrack. I really liked the way music and silence was used in the film. It created a tense atmosphere, alternating between suspense and melancholy, using similar music for each. Very effective.
I also get why there are so many Ryan Gosling blogs now. I want to start one. I know, of course, that the best kind of men are the ones who communicate, and emote, and ask questions. But what man doesn't want that total calm control over himself and his circumstances--to be both the gentle protector and lover and the untouchable warrior? Even if I know that it's about cultural messages and societal projection of its insecurities on both men and women, I still feel drawn to that male archetype, and if I'm honest, I like feeling drawn to it. Gosling embodies that so perfectly here.
But remember what I said. I hated the ending. Completely and utterly pointless. I suppose that's a part of this guy's story, so my intellect is saying that it was appropriate and poetic (he's driving at both the beginning and end of the film) and consistent with the character, but my emotion is saying that it sucked and might have even ruined the whole movie for me.
No, not completely. But it really put a damper on it.
I tend to like genre films (except romcoms--it really depends on the picture), and this was compelling because of how it (like everyone says) balances elements of an art film with an action film very well. There were even elements of horror! I couldn't help but think of Friday the XIII during the ocean scene. It was chilling. Gosling's character really was a killer. The girl's probably better off without him. Though, I'd have a tough time getting over the whole "crush a guy's skull in the elevator" incident, if I were her.
Now let me go read what you all wrote about it many moons ago and see if I have anything else to say.
Oh, and thanks to Ben, I couldn't stop paying attention to that damn jacket!
Saturday, January 7, 2012
NOW Richer Chocolate Taste!
When I was a kid, my favorite candy bar was 3 Musketeers. It started as a decision of utility more than anything else. When you're ten and you have only enough for one candy bar--and you don't know where the next one is coming from--you want to get the most for your money, right? So I would pore over the respective weights of all the candy bars and choose the one with the most in it. Butterfinger (2.1 ounces) and 3 Musketeers (2.13 ounces) were the consistent winners, with Baby Ruth at 2 ounces a close third. Butterfingers were good, but I got tired of getting the candy stuck between my teeth so I settled into a years-long relationship with 3 Musketeers. I loved biting off the thin chocolate shell with my front teeth, leaving a small section of pure nougat that would melt slowly in my mouth. I savored every bit of that candy bar, whether I was nibbling away at it or taking a big bite and chewing furiously, reveling in the sugar rush that ensued. We belonged together, me and 3 Musketeers.
But then I got older, and I got a job, and with it more money and more options. I began to experiment with other candy bars--I could afford to splurge now, after all. What was a half an ounce to me? Or an ounce, even? Reese's Pieces, Twix, Zero, Snickers, Nutrageous--I tried them all. 3 Musketeers was boring. Just chocolate and nougat? No nuts? No caramel? Please. I found myself buying it less and less, until eventually I stopped altogether. Not even nostalgia was enough to keep me coming back. American candy bars in general were starting to get old, and I found myself having to cross international borders to get the same thrills: from Big Turk and Coffee Crisp in the Great White North to Lion and Yorkie in England, I needed more and more variety and originality to satisfy my impulses. It wasn't until I woke up in an alley in Amsterdam, having nearly overdosed on licorice drops the night before, that I realized I'd probably gotten all I was going to get out of mass-marketed sweets.
I came home and nearly gave up candy bars altogether. When I did have one, it was almost out of habit, and there was no joy in it. I turned my attention elsewhere, to soft cookies, brownies, and pie. Occasionally, something good would come along, like a Fast Break, and keep my attention for awhile. But I was never able to commit for very long. Not like I did with my 3 Musketeers.
A few weeks ago, I happened upon a Fun Size 3 Musketeers bar in a candy dish somewhere, anywhere (who pays attention to these things?) and noticed something curious written on the wrapper: "NOW Richer Chocolate Taste." I thought little of it as I devoured the tiny piece, but a second or two later took pause as the flavor set in. It was subtle, but disctinct. And decidedly "richer." Could it be? Had my old love been given a new lease on pop-culture relevancy? I ate one or two more Fun Size pieces and relished them slowly, biting off the thin chocolate shell and letting the creamy nougat melt in my mouth. And all the memories came flooding back. How could I have been gone so long?
The other day I stood before the vending machine at work, deliberating, when I saw it. A 3 Musketeers bar, all full-bodied 2.13 ounces, boldly proclaiming its new makeover, seducing me through the fingerprinted and greasy plate glass.
I dropped my coins in the slot.
Baby, I'm back. Will you still have me?
But then I got older, and I got a job, and with it more money and more options. I began to experiment with other candy bars--I could afford to splurge now, after all. What was a half an ounce to me? Or an ounce, even? Reese's Pieces, Twix, Zero, Snickers, Nutrageous--I tried them all. 3 Musketeers was boring. Just chocolate and nougat? No nuts? No caramel? Please. I found myself buying it less and less, until eventually I stopped altogether. Not even nostalgia was enough to keep me coming back. American candy bars in general were starting to get old, and I found myself having to cross international borders to get the same thrills: from Big Turk and Coffee Crisp in the Great White North to Lion and Yorkie in England, I needed more and more variety and originality to satisfy my impulses. It wasn't until I woke up in an alley in Amsterdam, having nearly overdosed on licorice drops the night before, that I realized I'd probably gotten all I was going to get out of mass-marketed sweets.
I came home and nearly gave up candy bars altogether. When I did have one, it was almost out of habit, and there was no joy in it. I turned my attention elsewhere, to soft cookies, brownies, and pie. Occasionally, something good would come along, like a Fast Break, and keep my attention for awhile. But I was never able to commit for very long. Not like I did with my 3 Musketeers.
A few weeks ago, I happened upon a Fun Size 3 Musketeers bar in a candy dish somewhere, anywhere (who pays attention to these things?) and noticed something curious written on the wrapper: "NOW Richer Chocolate Taste." I thought little of it as I devoured the tiny piece, but a second or two later took pause as the flavor set in. It was subtle, but disctinct. And decidedly "richer." Could it be? Had my old love been given a new lease on pop-culture relevancy? I ate one or two more Fun Size pieces and relished them slowly, biting off the thin chocolate shell and letting the creamy nougat melt in my mouth. And all the memories came flooding back. How could I have been gone so long?
The other day I stood before the vending machine at work, deliberating, when I saw it. A 3 Musketeers bar, all full-bodied 2.13 ounces, boldly proclaiming its new makeover, seducing me through the fingerprinted and greasy plate glass.
I dropped my coins in the slot.
Baby, I'm back. Will you still have me?
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Who Wins, John?
I wrote him haikus
And still John did not notice
All he does is scold
I'll take the Facebook admission, though.
Brandon, I loved Ghost Writer! Maybe I just never got around to writing about it because it was after the discussion was long past.
Your point about Midnight In Paris is well taken. The main reason I loved it is because it was charming. There was a little lesson in there about being grateful for what you have, but it was secondary to the film's primary appeal for me.
I'll be honest, part of what keeps me from writing more is that I'm not often able to get to the theater in time to participate in a major discussion. By the time I do get around to watching, the club has moved on. I loved loved loved Black Swan and would love to talk more about it, but there was no response to my post about it, even though I was a good boy and read what everyone wrote beforehand. Same with Meek's Cutoff. A few nods, but I was too late for the discussion. I'm not complaining, just explaining. What makes posting so worthwhile to me is the feedback. And when I write three posts in a row with little response, I find myself drifting to other things. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a little discouraging. And I can't help but feel jealous about all of you being close enough to watch movies together in person, especially when you tantalized me by saying you'd come up and watch a film at the Dryden with me sometime. And no teasing allowed about this. There's a reason I'm a children's librarian; I like to know how I'm doing and how people like what I'm doing.
I'm talking to you here primarily, John, because you got me into this just like you did Brandon. I'm your Frankenstein monster, and if you don't keep me chained in your laboratory, I'm going to go read some comics.
And still John did not notice
All he does is scold
I'll take the Facebook admission, though.
Brandon, I loved Ghost Writer! Maybe I just never got around to writing about it because it was after the discussion was long past.
Your point about Midnight In Paris is well taken. The main reason I loved it is because it was charming. There was a little lesson in there about being grateful for what you have, but it was secondary to the film's primary appeal for me.
I'll be honest, part of what keeps me from writing more is that I'm not often able to get to the theater in time to participate in a major discussion. By the time I do get around to watching, the club has moved on. I loved loved loved Black Swan and would love to talk more about it, but there was no response to my post about it, even though I was a good boy and read what everyone wrote beforehand. Same with Meek's Cutoff. A few nods, but I was too late for the discussion. I'm not complaining, just explaining. What makes posting so worthwhile to me is the feedback. And when I write three posts in a row with little response, I find myself drifting to other things. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a little discouraging. And I can't help but feel jealous about all of you being close enough to watch movies together in person, especially when you tantalized me by saying you'd come up and watch a film at the Dryden with me sometime. And no teasing allowed about this. There's a reason I'm a children's librarian; I like to know how I'm doing and how people like what I'm doing.
I'm talking to you here primarily, John, because you got me into this just like you did Brandon. I'm your Frankenstein monster, and if you don't keep me chained in your laboratory, I'm going to go read some comics.
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