Kagemusha (1980)

dir. Akira Kurosawa
writ. Masato Ide, Akira Kurosawa
feat. Tatsuya Nakadai, Tsutomo Yamazaki, Kenichi Hagawara

Kagemusha begins with a scene that foretells of the emotional heart of the film to come. The viewer is tossed into a tense exchange between warlord, Shingen Takeda, his brother, and Takeda's doppleganger, the thief. The thief mocks the lord and his brother as they threaten his life, setting up the uncertain nature of identity that the film will explore. While Takeda has the luxury of using his double at his convenience, the thief must suffer the pains of being viewed as an all-powerful lord one moment, then mere property the next. Once Takeda dies, Kagemusha takes his place, though remains the puppet. Nevertheless, he treats his subjects and concubines better than the real lord and ascends to a kind of programmed nobility.

Naturally, he becomes accustomed to the role, the power and luxury coming easily over time, and when he is ejected suddenly, no longer wanted or needed, he suffers horribly, his life stolen from him a second time. And though he has every reason to hate those who have done this to him, his spirit has joined with the people he ruled, if only by proxy and he can't stand to see his old army defeated. So he raggedly throws his defenseless body at the enemy, finally giving his life just as a devoted leader would.

WALL-E (2008)

dir. Andrew Stanton
writ. Andrew Stanton & Jim Reardon, story by Andrew Stanton & Pete Docter
feat. Ben Burtt, Elissa Knight, Jeff Garlin, Fred Willard

Somehow, in this wild world, it has come to pass that the greatest force in mainstream animation is also the most daring group of filmmakers putting movies in the multiplexes? Following a glorious recovery to form with Ratatouille, a picture of surprising depth, invention, and humor (after an inversely pitiful offering with Cars), they chance a story of a desolate future, earth reduced to a trash heap, where we will follow a small garbage robot around without dialogue for about the first hour. When we finally meet our human counterparts, we discover that they've grown fat and lazy, losing bone mass as they suck down soda in this mad, unbelievable future time. Thankfully, WALL-E and his robot girlfriend, EVE, have our best intentions in mind and, amidst their dangerous courtship, manage to bring us back to earth with new hope.

With many considering silent films to be relics, creaky antiques tossed to the dustbin on the road of progress to bigger, louder shinier pictures, and with the trend toward faster, busier animation, packing in the obvious quips and knowing nods, Pixar takes a stand, reminding us how less can be more, in more ways than one.

The Face of Another (Tanin no kao) (1966)

dir. Hiroshi Teshigahara
writ. Kobo Abe (novel and screenplay)
feat. Tatsuya Nakadai, Machiko Kyo, Mikijiro Hira, Kyoko Kishida

The Face of Another explores questions of identity and fidelity through the eyes of a man badly disfigured in a fire. His doctor gives him a lifelike mask with which he can fool even his wife, living a second life, unknown to the world. The film benefits from stunning sets including glass walls covered in anatomical illustrations and projected imagery, lending an experimental quality that corresponds with the heavy, often redundant philosophizing that flows between doctor and patient. Sadly, this pondering bogs down the film, straying from any central point, throwing every idea at those walls and letting it all stick, without a needed editor to trim the fat.

Still, as Nakadai's character seduces his wife in his alternate persona, then condemning her for cheating, the story throws a neat twist as she claims to have known all along, recognizing him immediately as her husband, and playing along in some twisted role play. The audience can never be sure if she is telling the truth, and this doubt, along with the many other unanswered questions lends the film a satisfying sense of discomfort, leaving identity undefined and hinting at the impossibility of such resolution.

Encounters at the End of the World (2007)

dir. Werner Herzog

Given his recent output, Herzog presents a surprisinglyl hands-off documentary, permitting his subjects, both the natural wonders of Antarctica and the people who inhabit that land, to illustrate life on the fringe. Perhaps the stunning imagery of divers, overhead ice floes, and luminescent sea life spoke more strongly and beautifully than even Werner could muster, making commentary detrimental to his purpose. Certainly, the often quiet folks living out at the edge of civilization don't need exaggeration or encouragement as they relate their reasons for being there even when seeming unsure of exactly how they landed so far afield.

The real accomplishment of the film lies in the way it displays the landscape, both above and below the ice, as a reflection of the consciousness of the people who live there- cool, deep and mysterious. It is as though the habitants naturally gravitated to the end of the world, drawn by a likeness in spirit.

The Fall (2006)

dir. Tarsem Singh
writ. Dan Gilroy, Nico Soultanakis, Tarsem Singh
feat. Catinca Untaru, Lee Pace, Justine Waddell

The Fall is precisely the type of film that I enter with great trepidation, ever hopeful for a fantasy that fully consumes, transporting the viewer to a strange and beautiful new world while ever fearful that it will fall into the traps of so many such attempts, poor writing, awful acting by both children and adults and gaping holes in the plot. Perhaps because of such doubt, The Fall manages to so deeply satisfy, soaring as a personal drama as well as a grand fantasy. More pointedly, a huge portion of such credit must go to Catinca Untaru, the Romanian born actress who plays the young girl, Alexandria, so naturally as to be mistaken for the subject of a documentary, frequently stumbling over words and staring off in odd directions.

Roy Walker (Pace), an injured stuntman with a broken heart, weaves a fantastic story for Alexandria, slowly staging an elaborate ruse to trick the young girl into procuring him enough dope to kill himself. The story stumbles through the fantasy sequences as Roy, not an experienced storyteller and drifting in the haze of his pain medication, works out each new stretch, building an allegory for his recent experience of love lost. Because of this narrative device, the film suffers somewhat, dragging and meandering with Roy's mental state, the fantasy sequences occasionally stalling out or feeling forced.

But Alexandria picks up the pieces, serving as the perfect foil to Roy's dip into self-pity, always posing innocent questions reflecting her young, happy view of life. Astonishingly, where so many similar films fail, with the fantasy scenes holding all the rapture and fascination while the real world moments threaten to kill the pace and magic, The Fall nearly turns that around, with the dream world occasionally slowing the story while the moments in the hospital resurrect the life of the tale and the characters.

Tarsem (as the director is often called) has created a masterpiece with The Fall, a work deserving of the many hours and days of shooting across the planet, a wildly compelling film of fantasy, beauty and heart.

You Don't Mess with the Zohan (2008)

dir. Dennis Dugan
writ. Adam Sandler, Robert Smigel, Judd Apatow
feat. Adam Sandler, John Turturro, Emmanuelle Chriqui, Rob Schneider

Who would have guessed it? A goofball comedy that sends up terrorists, hairdressers, and can't stop making sex jokes (usually involving fat or old women) is actually damn funny. Maybe it's the writing blend of Sandler, Smigel and (the seemingly unstoppable) Apatow, but somehow endless jokes about screwing old women in the backroom of a salon kept me laughing, while I shook my head stunned that I actually found it all funny. Even Schneider who hasn't made me laugh since some ancient, and only occasional, SNL schtick cracked me up as the wannabe terrorist.

Sure, there are some faults. Nick Swardson never brings a laugh though he tries damn hard as the fat lady's son who takes Zohan in to live with them. And there is a classically contrived villain, love story and climax, with supposed enemies joining forces. However, even this finale offers a fair share of laughs if not fully satisfying and loosely points at big corporations as bigger terrorists than actual terrorists. What more can one ask for from an Adam Sandler flick?

Choke (2008)

dir. Clark Gregg
writ. Clark Gregg, based on book by Chuck Palahniuk
feat. Sam Rockwell, Brad William Henke, Clark Gregg, Anjelica Huston, Kelly Macdonald

Choke may illustrate what happens when one who loves a book decides to take that story and adapt it himself into a film and serve as director. There are plenty of funny moments in the movie, but it never comes to any fruition. I've admittedly not read the source material, so I can't judge if the lack of a cohesive narrative comes from Palahniuk or Gregg, but this chaotic rambling undercuts any depth that the story or characters might offer over the course of the film.

Rockwell (again too good for the material) plays Victor believably, easing into a reprehensible yet likable character with almost unsettling ease. Other than Anjelica Huston who seems to stretch to play a ragged alzheimer's afflicted mother to Victor, all the actors perform well though suffer for the jumps in tone and story.

One is left wondering if there is a three hour version out there that was cut down to reasonable length by picking the most entertaining moments over those that would tell a story. While the laughs are hearty and plentiful, they don't lend enough to really chew on.

Dark Matter (2007)

dir. Shi-Zheng Chen
writ. Billy Shebar
feat. Ye Liu, Meryl Streep, Aidan Quinn

At its best, Dark Matter is a daring and compelling film about the challenged of living in a foreign land and navigating the politics of a competitive higher education program while studying an obscure subject. And though it feels as though stars have been shoehorned into the film to give it a bigger draw, Streep's character effectively (and often humorously) illustrates a common fascination with the other, her heavy handed Orientalism giving our main character a chance in the revered university program, a classic example of someone doing good for questionable reasons.

Sadly, the film also suffers for its pedestrian approach to Streep's fascination, as well as Quinn's stereotypical star professor, not to be questioned or to suffer the consequences. Additionallyl, for some reason, the filmmakers found it desirable to add a few special effects, music video moments to enhance the frustration of our lead, cheapening the film, and tarnishing the beautiful quiet moments that could have carried the picture if not spoiled by these other mainstream lurches.

The Linguists (2008)

dir. Seth Kramer, Daniel A. Miller, Jeremy Newberger

The Linguists investigates the loss of languages of the world as the last speakers die off without young practitioners to keep up the tradition. It is an important subject, greater than the loss of a way of speaking, but a way of thinking, as languages represent thought, not just communication. I couldn't help but think of the similar relationship to the loss of a medicine man (shaman, curandero) of an indigenous tribe of the Amazon rainforest, often pegged as the equivalent of a library burning to the ground, all the knowledge wrapped up in a way of thinking that doesn't exist in the same form elsewhere in the world.

As David and Greg travel to Siberia, they learn that not only is this loss of language about age and diminishing communities but also about racism, where a people, shunned by the greater society, quietly give up their private tradition in order to better fit. There, as well as in Bolivia and India, David and Greg nobly seek out resident experts in the language, stumbling along on a journey that can not always be wholly scientific, forced to deal with misleading information, confusing, previously undocumented languages, and strange rituals.

Unfortunately, our leaders are among the least socially adept people on the planet, lending an unintentional humor to the film, and nearly developing a subplot that explores the scientist as social misfit in an entirely social pursuit. And while there are entertaining and educational moments, it is hard to shake the feeling that a reasonably short article would convey the same information as effectively.

Sleep Dealer (2008)

dir. Alex Rivera
writ. Alex Rivera, David Riker from a story by Alex Rivera
feat. Jacob Varga, Leonor Varela

God forbid this film becomes an "issue film" to be championed. This tired cliche-filled tramp through sci-fi territory manages to offer a few clever nuggets but without the story or storytelling skill to make an actual movie. The concept of Mexican laborers virtually manning construction machines in the US while still safely stationed south of the border is a good one, and if accompanied by a host of further ideas might play well in a film, but that's where Rivera gives up. With an easy Star Wars heist, our lead character sees his father killed for no great reason, though the fault of our lead nonetheless. Naturally, he leaves home to wander and eventually consider revenge.

I endured a panel discussion after the screening of this film where a bunch of folks who might not have seen a film in the past 20 years tried to claim it was groundbreaking in the realm of sci-fi. Anyone who has seen Star Wars, Blade Runner and The Matrix would say otherwise. I appreciate the change of locale and the notion of technology affecting the third world, and hope someone will be inspired to make a film that actually approaches those ideas.

Reprise (2006)

dir. Joachim Trier
writ. Joachim Trier, Eskil Vogt
feat. Anders Danielsen Lie, Espen Klouman-Hoiner, Viktori Winge

This highly charged film showcases the challenges of young, ambitious artists. Phillip and Erik are buddies in Oslo who submit manuscripts for publication on the same day, egging each other on as they drop them in the post box. They both dream of possible futures, committed to their art and its possibilities. Reality sinks in when Phillip finds rapid success while Erik flounders, though life turns in strange directions and soon Phillip is recovering from a psychotic episode which may or may not have something to do with his success though certainly relates to obsessive behavior when it comes to his (now) ex-girlfriend.

The film brilliantly toys with relationships and dreams of success, questioning how one defines that success, and what commitment it takes to achieve or hold onto it. Must a man avoid committing to a good woman to avoid an ordinary life and thereby stoke creative thought? Do civilized dinner parties show the death of the spirit? Questions that arise as young people race forward into the world with creative hopes and dreams bubble up throughout the film, never simple or without risk, just as in real life, keeping the film and spirit fresh, and wonderfully rewarding.

Anvil! The Story of Anvil (2008)

dir. Sacha Gervasi

Rawk!! "Anvil" begins unassumingly with Lips, lead singer and band leader of Anvil, talking about the details of catering. It takes a minute to be sure you're hearing correctly and then wonder what the Hell it has to do with a rock band before you get around to learning that he's discussing his crappy day job. It's a beautiful way to start the tale of the lifelong struggle of the guys in Anvil and their continued failure to make it big, reminding me of the Squirrel Nut Zippers lyric, "you'll eat peanut butter the rest of your life."

Sadly, life is rough for Lips and Robb, buddies since age 14, still striving to make it big in the rock scene. They haven't seen much success, their highlight from back in the early '80s when they were the wild men who influenced acts that went on to superstardom, like Metallica. It's also sad to see that they aren't very good, still writing pat tunes and screaming lyrics about crystal balls. But their devotion is the point of this film, and while one might tell them to give it up, it raises the question of the timeline of dreams. Should the guys "grow up?" Does that mean they should give up what they love and the way they want to live?

I had the good fortune to see Anvil play live after the screening and can say that they really rock! I'm glad they're still keeping the dream alive, though I also admit that I didn't buy any of their CDs after the performance.

Man on Wire (2008)

dir. James Marsh
feat. Phlippe Petit

Now, I don't like to gush. It's not really my style, or so I'd like to believe. But I border on the, "if you see just one film this year, make it Man on Wire," kind of ramble here. What seems like a small tale of a man's death-defying, insane high wire walk between the Twin Towers makes for a life-affirming film about living as though each day was one's last. Petit is a wonder, both then and now, as he hops around the studio like an elf bursting with energy, still uncontainable after all these years.

Marsh does a wonderful job toying with documentary conventions, handling the planning and execution of the job like heist reenactment, weaving in his sizable cast of characters and their quirks and ultimately letting the act and Petit speak for themselves. He also bravely and wisely avoids any direct reference to the tragedy that befell the city and the towers, fully aware that no mention is necessary, and in fact greater resonance is achieved through such silence.

Who would guess that the feel good film of the year would also be one of the best?

American Teen (2008)

dir. Nanette Burstein

OK, how about nobody starts a documentary with stereotypical summations of who the characters are? Anyone with me? Can we at least agree that a documentary that shows intentions of exploring characters, putting them on display before an audience, ought to do so over the course of the film, allowing the audience to make their own determinations? I guess we can count Burstein out of that number.

This film starts tired and remains so, childishly poking around to pump up nonexistent drama, too cowardly to find it in the footage amidst natural behavior. I'd wager that there is a good film in that footage, but it doesn't include overplaying a father's suggestion that his boy will join the army if not for a basketball scholarship nor slipping in a family tragedy that happened well before the filming began, playing it for late emotional depth.

Shallow drivel for the MTV generation.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull (2008)

dir. Stephen Spielberg
writ. David Koepp, George Lucas and Jeff Nathanson (story)
feat. Harrison Ford, Cate Blanchett, Shia LaBeouf, Karen Allen

It's the Cold War and Indy got old. But if a bit slower than before, he's still tough enough to show up young, ballsy upstart Shia LaBeouf. Um, right. First off, no one actually thinks LaBeouf is the vaguest bit tough. Whiny? Piddling? Overrated? Sure, all of these things, but not tough. Granted, if you're going to set him up to imagine he's tough while the 60-something hero leaves him in his dust, then OK, fine. LaBeouf isn't the real problem here. The lack of a cohesive story and the inane set pieces cover that.

Don't get me wrong. It's a fun film. I enjoyed the experience of sitting through it, carried along by it's quick pace from one adventure bit to the next. However, I had to decide very early that I was going along with a film that permits our hero to fly hundreds of feet, possibly a mile, in a metal refrigerator before rolling out with only minor bruises. Color me old-fashioned but I still believe an action film can be made where the action, while unlikely and perhaps impossible in the real world, feels possible. Sure, a man can't really sustain being dragged under a truck holding on by only his whip, but maybe the right man, a strong heroic man, can pull it off. No one makes it through that fridge flight. And no one swings from vine to vine with his monkey friends better than Tarzan ever dreamed.

It's this surrendering to the ways of modern action filmmaking that most disappoints me with the film. When Spielberg pulled off Minority Report, dipping deep and ugly into the well of Dick, and churning out some unsettling imagery that I wouldn't have deemed the maker of E.T. capable of, I was refreshed. Now, with Indy, he seems to have abandoned clever plot development and ingenious set pieces for easy fun, cheap laughs and digital grossouts.

Thieves Like Us (1974)

dir. Robert Altman
writ. Robert Altman, Joan Tewkesbury, Calder Willingham, Edward Anderson (novel)
feat. Keith Carradine, Shelley Duvall, John Schuck, Bert Remsen

Here is your antidote to all the high octane, shoot-em-up heist films out there. Altman, in his mid-70s form, plays out the story of three thieves who bust out of prison in the mid-30s and go on a Mississippi bank robbing spree. They're not geniuses but they figure out what works and manage to keep the string going, hiding out and drinking too much between jobs. The plaintive way in which Altman follows the men - bored between heists, slowly burning through their money, hopeful to avoid hurting anyone, getting fired up as the day of the next robbery approaches - repaints the image of thieves, earning the title of the film. These are ordinary guys who happen to be thieves.

When Carradine, the youngest of the bunch, falls for Duvall as she tends to his wounds after a car crash, it is naturally disruptive, one of the boys now attached to a woman who wants a different life than the moll of a thief. Carradine attempts to keep an even keel and manage both lives, but as it goes, the law can't be far behind.

The Visitor (2007)

writ & dir. Thomas McCarthy
feat. Richard Jenkins, Haaz Sleiman, Danai Jekesai Gurira, Hiam Abbass

After finding The Station Agent to be a thoughtful indie film with a different set of offbeat characters that develop relationships in sincere, believable ways, I was excited to see the second film directed by McCarthy. Sure, the trailer smacked of an issue film and worse, the burden of the suffering of young immigrants on the back of the old white man, but I had hopes that the writer who pulled off Agent could repeat. Sadly, hopes are easily dashed. Richard Jenkins does an excellent job, convincing in both his inert way of life and in his reawakening, a beating heart pumping again as he learns to play the drum and watch young folks struggling to make it in New York City. Unfortunately, by making this his story, while the supporting characters endure the real suffering, cheapens the tale. Sleiman's character is barely a sketch, with only three expressions - giddy, high musician, confused prisoner, and angry prisoner. Gurira is worse, distrusting of all white men (or possibly all men) with no obvious mind of her own until Sleiman's mother arrives. I'd like to think McCarthy began this film with good intentions, possibly trying to show how immigration law can affect even those with the right of citizenship. However, the tale would be better told through the eyes of those actuall suffering. Using Jenkins as the center allows the film to chicken out, never showing the real horrors of the detention center, or ever truly feeling the edgy feeling of not being at home, ever at risk to be deported. Yes, life is rough for Jenkins. He loses his new friend. But honestly, how much is his life changed really. He can sink right back into his rut or find a new poor immigrant to sublet his apartment.

True Stories (1986)

dir. David Byrne
writ. David Byrne, Beth Henley, Stephen Tobolowsky
feat. David Byrne, John Goodman, Swoosie Kurtz, Spalding Gray, and many more

David Byrne's playful examination of small town Texas in the age of electronics and the mega-mall offers a new forum for Byrne to tell his offbeat stories, beyond the songs and the music videos. He sets up the fictional town of Virgil on the eve of its Sesquicentennial celebration, following the almost ordinary citizens through their routines. They all seem slightly odd at first, but one can't tell if this is simply a reaction to Byrne's deadpan probing.

As the film progresses, between repeated interactions with the various characters where we discover that the techie is also trying to communicate with aliens and Goodman is advertising for a wife, Byrne offers random philosophical tidbits about the movement of culture from the town square to the mall. In the local mall, he very briefly hits upon the notion that people are creating their own ideologies, buying products that suit their belief systems. It's a flash of a moment, quickly discarded as we head toward the wildly distracting fashion show, but it's quite a spark in a largely rambling film, striking the idealism of the free market system, that anyone can buy anything and live just the way he likes, unbound by restrictions. The moments passes, easily overlooked when surrounded by jokes and analysis of born to shop mall culture, but shows Byrne's notion of hope, sussing out the best in even an ugly scenario.

Iron Man (2008)

dir. Jon Favreau
writ. Mark Fergus, Hawk Ostby, Art Marcum, Matt Holloway
char. Stan Lee, Don Heck, Larry Lieber, Ron Kirby
feat. Robert Downey Jr., Terrence Howard, Jeff Bridges, Gwyneth Paltrow

There isn't much new in Iron Man. We've seen these elements before, a bit from Minority Report, some Terminator, even some Ghostbusters there at the end. So why does it all work? It's because we're comfortable with these pieces and if the filmmakers don't fuck it up too badly, we will play along. The technical mumbo jumbo is kept light and fun and the action is, well, decent. Tony Stark begins as the guy we all want to be, the billionaire playboy jet-setting around the globe, then becomes the guy we ought to want to be, the superhero with powerful toys and noble intentions.

There is an origin story where many bad guys are killed. Then there is the development of the suit, complete with a sassy computer as comic relief. Then there is the romantic subplot with the lovely assistant, eking along in the background throughout the picture. There is the big first mission where bad men who are abusing innocent civilians (to no clear purpose) are avenged by the good man in big metal suit. And of course, we have a supervillain who will try to outdo our hero. While it's best not to question why our supervillain becomes so supervillainous, at least he makes for a big bad opponent for our hero. Well, sorta.

I think anyone who liked this film (myself included) should ask if you really ever care to see it again. If like me, the answer is no, then how did this happen? Is it really as simple as a few easy pleasures and the relief in them not screwing it up so badly that it hurt to watch? Are we just suckers for the genre, ready to go along with a paint-by-numbers story so long as the pieces fit, getting our fix in the process. Or are we just content to be appeased for now and then wait for the sequel to really pass judgment?

Jellyfish (Meduzot) (2007)

dir. Shira Geffen & Etgar Keret
writ. Shira Geffen

The modern independent film now has stock characters. The grumpy, impossible-to-satisfy mother that will never approve of her daughter's choices. The hard-working immigrant often considered dumb because she doesn't know the language. The newly married wife who is jealous of every woman her husband sees.

We don't want to see these characters anymore. They broadcast a certain kind of story, eliminating the chances of surprise and eradicating the possibility of redemption since I will be annoyed by them for far too long to forgive them when they change their ways. Go ahead, shove the mother off a cliff. See if I care. Just take her off the screen.

Thankfully, there are some beautiful moments, and while the circular tale of the little girl mysteriously walking out of the ocean may not fully resonate when it ends as a memory of her caretaker's younger days with arguing parents, at least it's alluring and arouses some curiosity.

I only just learned that the filmmaking team are a married couple, both fiction writers. I thoroughly enjoy Keret's writing and wish he had a hand in the writing of this film as well. The movement of the characters feels like his stories though the words do not, and that is unfortunate.

The Outsiders (Mori to mizuumi no matsuri) (1958)

dir. Tomu Uchida
writ. Keinosuke Uegusa, Taijun Takeda (novel)

Issue films. Racism films. Yes, they are unavoidable. And on occasion, a filmmaker manages to tell a story that takes on an issue while not being crushed under the weight of heavy aphorism-laden philosophizing. Sadly, The Outsiders is not such a film.

Still Uchida manages to have a few moments, the best of which comes when the main antagonist, a native Ainu, is forced to reckon with his "impure blood," throwing all he believes in, all he's relied upon for his sense of identity, into question. Unfortunately, such moments are rare and not the focus of this picture, too beleaguered by self-righteous violence between native Ainu and Japanese immigrants.

Twilight Saloon (Tasogare sakaba) (1955)

dir. Tomu Uchida
writ. Senzo Nada

Twilight Saloon opens on a slow tracking shot of a quiet bar, the stools still on the tables from closing time the night before. A man sings an operetta while the camera slowly reveals the room, finally showing the audience that the singer is actually up on a high stage, singing beside the pianist playing the tune. Our singer botches a part of the song and is corrected by the piano player, then finishes the tune. And so we are eased into a film that will take place over a single night in the bar, deftly painting portraits of the various employees and patrons who live their lives there.

It's a sentimental and beautiful film that manages to be sweet without turning saccharine. The pachinko playing regular who makes his living at the game, then selling his prize cigarettes for his liquor money oversees the scene, more of a manager than the actual one, backing a loan for a troubled waitress and setting up the singer with his big shot for an real opera gig and a chance to escape the bar life. There is a jilted lover back for revenge, a bitter and possessive ex-con unwilling to move on with his life, and a stripper with a heart of gold. Yet somehow it still works, warm and sincere until the lights go dark in the saloon at the end, all the characters a bit wiser and better off than the night before.

I Heart Huckabees (2004)

dir. David O. Russell
writ. David O. Russell & Jeff Baena
feat. Jason Schwartzman, Mark Wahlberg, Dustin Hoffman, Lily Tomlin, Jude Law, Naomi Watts, Isabelle Huppert

I Heart Huckabees dares to take on big questions about the meaning of life and the definition of existence in a comedic film while slyly avoiding committing to any answers, toying with the characters and the audience, feigning engagement in an honest search for ultimate meaning while pointing out in the process that there are no answers. It brilliantly pokes fun at opposing camps, those believing that everything is connected and those that insist everything is meaningless. And all the while the film never stops moving, maintaining a breakneck pace that echoes the speed of life, illustrating that there is never the time to stop and figure it all out.

The performances are impressive. Hoffman and Tomlin brilliantly playing antagonistic spouses and fellow detectives, easily shifting from adamant opposition to one another's current viewpoint to lusty interludes, both agitated and attracted by their contradictions. Schwartzman could be the grown up version of his character from Rushmore, still ambitious and well-meaning, but with greater doubts about the world. Wahlberg works perfectly as the doltish fireman whose eyes have suddenly been opened to worlds of thought he never knew existed, eager to pick them up and twirl them around, quick to believe and also quick to change track. Law effortlessly slips into the smooth talking corporate prick role, pretending to care but more concerned about his own image and keeping on the fast track. Watts works wonderfully as his partner and the face of Huckabees, the corporate behemoth ala WalMart. Law and Watts are both ripe for disruption, Watts much more so as she seems flimsy in the intellectual deparment, a natural match for Wahlberg. Watts flopping around in her bonnet and apron is one of the funniest bits of physical comedy I've ever witnessed in a film, truly outrageous, a wild twist on fashion and marketing.

As there are no answers, the film contradicts itself repeatedly. In one terrific scene, Schwartzman and Wahlberg eat dinner with a good Christian family where the conversation explodes into a philosophical battle illustrating how those with strongly held and strongly differing views are incapable of open, thoughtful communication about these ideals. It's a pointed scene, easily taken as a jab against a modern Republican ethic by which a charitable deed makes up for all the other cumulative wrongdoing wrought around the world in the name of freedom and democracy, though it's more complicated than that, also showing an unwillingness in both groups to accept and consider challenges to their own ideas. No other scene in the film so succinctly demonstrates the impossibility of universal truth, of a single unifying belief system that will work for all. It's the beauty of the film and of life, and it all comes with a laugh.

Bloody Spear at Mount Fuji (Chiyari Fuji) (1955)

dir. Tomu Uchida
writ. Shintaro Mimura, Fuji Yahiro, Kintaro Inoue (idea)
feat. a lot of people

This lackadaisical tale of a samurai and his servants doesn't quite settle on a tone. It's lighthearted with tinges of intense drama surrounding a thief among the people and finally, a near accidental samurai battle. Still, it's charming to follow the samurai's spearman as he befriends a young orphan boy on the road and incidentally harms him by giving the hungry boy too much money, all spent on quickly devoured persimmons, making the boy sick. The illness stalls the discovery of the thief's identity and sets up a farcical scene where lords of the land stop all traffic to enjoy the view of Mt. Fuji and a snack on the road while the boy cleans out his system in a nearby ditch, bringing the lords to sniff each other out, seeking out the source of the stench.

The thief is finally caught, again almost incidentally, and the samurai is given the undeserved credit. He sees this error, leading him to question the ways of society and to show his appreciation, he shares a drink with one of his trusted servants. A group of rowdy samurai happen upon master drinking with his lowly servant and a fight breaks out. In the exciting battle in the courtyard of spewing punctured sake barrels, the spearman emerges a hero, but a lonely one, finally casting off his friendships (and a potential romance), walking off down the road by himself. It's a strange turn, one that skews the purpose of the story, making it more serious than its tone indicated throughout, though not quite enough to resonate.

A Hole of My Own Making (Jibun No Ana No Naka De) (1955)

dir. Tomu Uchida
writ. Yasutaro Yagi, Tatsuzo Ishikawa
feat. Mie Kitahara, Rentaro Mikuni, Yumeji Tsukioka, Jukichi Uno, Nobuo Kaneko

Yeah, that's a lot of stars you've never heard of and I can't pronounce most of the names either, but they all deserve billing. This film is loaded with great performances. It's postwar Japan and some fear that the country is fast becoming a colony of the United States. Still, that doesn't stop the bedridden brother from playing the stock market with the family money while his sister battles her pride, the chance to be a modern woman, and a persistent desire for romance as she considers her potential suitors.

Father has recently passed away and the stepmother seems to be angling for the same man that she is pushing on her stepdaughter. That man, Ihara, the successful divorced doctor, is the new modern man, finished with love, a consumer with a good future, unafraid to flaunt it. Then there is Komatsu, the quiet dreamer, the wanderer who appears first in the film, sleeping in a hole (or maybe a drainage ditch), thought dead, and immediately scolded for "bothering people" when he wakes and walks off on his journey. His problem seems to be his lack of daring, though he seems content and admits to preferring to spend his time alone.

The movie is a swirl of new (1955) archetypes, not of all which fall into easy categorization. What is the brother's illness? Could it be heartache wrought by the wife that deserted him? His unwillingness to engage in family squabbles seems to complement his nearly paralyzed state, that bag of ice hanging down from post to lay gently on his head. Most interesting (and tragic) is Tamiko, the sister who can't seem to find her place in this changing world, wanting it all to make sense and meet her demands but without the map to chart that course. Her unwillingness to bend leaves her heroic yet alone, having dug that hole with pride.

Who's That Knocking at My Door? (1969)

dir. Martin Scorsese
writ. Martin Scorsese
feat. Harvey Keitel, Zina Bethune

Scorsese got some dough to expand his student film of Keitel and the gang hanging around the city into a feature. They hired an actress and built a meandering romantic tale of a couple that meets waiting for the Staten Island ferry and talks about movies. It's really two longer shorts and one music video. Apparently, someone thought it might be worth distributing but wanted a scene where Keitel hooked up with a bunch of hotties while listening to The Doors song The End. Sure, why not. Looks like a rough gig for Keitel, mounted by a handful of sexy ladies.

The film stands as a curiosity and the original scenes of Keitel and his gang hint at bits of Mean Streets and even Goodfellas. The romance that develops in cramped spaces with Keitel quick to blow his stack seems a precursor to moments in Raging Bull. Check it out if you want to see Scorsese just begging to hone his skills.

The Mad Fox (Koi Ya Koi Nasuna Koi) (1962)

dir. Tomu Uchida
writ. Yoshikata Yoda
feat. Hashizo Okawa, Michiko Saga

Wow! What a beauty! I hadn't experienced a film that felt like a live action version of a Miyazaki film before The Mad Fox. It tells the story of a Japanese folktale where two disciples of a yin-yang master (?) are at odds after the master's sudden murder on the road. Already a curse has befallen the land and only the master knows more about it, having taken a look at the precious Golden Crow scroll shortly before his death. The ensuing argument over who should take the master's place leads to the disappearance of the scroll followed by the fatal beating of his adopted daughter while the good disciple, Yasuna, in love with that daughter, watches helplessly.

Yasuna manages to escape with the scroll, the house burning to the ground in the struggle with his counterpart. Having seen his dead love in a horrifying position, staked to the ground where she'd been beaten, Yasuna loses his mind as illustrated in a ravishing Kabuki segment where he dances amidst yellow flowers, covering himself in his lost love's kimono as a circular stage spins to give him greater room to move.

As Yasuna slips out of his reverie, he sees who he believes to be his love but
who is actually her twin sister (thankfully set up in the prologue). Still mad, he professes his love repeatedly though often mixing up the names. The twin doesn't seem to mind, still finding Yasuna to be a good prospect. Meanwhile, the lords of the land still seek out Yasuna while also hunting for a white fox. The hunters shoot an arrow through an old woman that Yasuna saves, returning her to her home. Well, it turns out that the woman was indeed an old fox. Out of gratitude, the foxes come to Yasuna's rescue when he is set upon by the hunters after recognizing him.

Injured in the scrabble, the foxes spirit Yasuna away to safety and agree that the young granddaughter will take the form of Yasuna's new love (or old love, really all the same gal anyhow) to see to his health. She must avoid any funny business though or she'll never have a home again. Well, guess what, the funny business comes quickly and we flash ahead to the foxy lady and Yasuna in their home in the woods and a newborn baby boy. She has duped him into believing it unsafe to see his supposed in-laws, but suddenly they arrive, setting up for a grand finale that includes a flying baby, a flying stuffed fox, a stunning show of a mouth brushing calligraphy on a rice paper screen and an explosion.

I don't know what else to say. It must be seen to be believed. Like Miyazaki, there is a wondrous flow to the story that defies American conventions for tight storytelling. The Kabuki scene drags a little long, but then the love of the fox comes quickly. It's magical and fitting of a director whose name translates to "spit out dreams."

Chikamatsu’s Love in Osaka (Naniwa No Koi No Monogatari) (1959)

dir. Tomu Uchida
writ. Masashige Narusawa, Monzaemon Chikamatsu (play)
feat. Kinnosuke Nakamura, Ineko Arima

Another stellar BAM program as they bring the first New York retrospective of Tomu Uchida (whose name translates to "spit out dreams"). This beautiful studio picture tells the tale of a shy young man who is dragged to a brothel against his wishes. There he falls for a prostitute, refusing to touch her though quickly promising to buy her freedom. Of course, it is set up that she is there out of debt and really a hooker with a heart of gold. Sadly, our hero is poor though he works around a lot of money, part of a courier service. It is quickly established that one who breaks the seal that holds a bundle of money together may be executed, and the stage is set for our poor boy to find a tragic fate.

The film kicks off with a (bunraku) puppet show attended by our characters, including Chikamatsu (the writer of the show being staged and the film's story). As the show concludes, Chikamatsu finds a sponsor for his next story. He winds up overhearing the story of our hero as he labors to save his lady, and writes it as we watch it play out.

The story spends far too much time establishing the money woes of our hero before finally getting on with his tragic act of theft. But as it moves toward its climax, Chikamatsu inserts himself more forcefully, attempting to write a happier ending for the lovers. A gorgeous Kabuki scene of the dancing lovers depicts one such fantastic turn, while another, final puppet show gives our man the chance to make it home to his forgiving father. The detail in the puppet design and handling imbue this final scene with more emotion and nuance than the actors manage to display, making for a gorgeous finale.

Die Fälscher (The Counterfeiters) (2007)

dir. Stefan Ruzowitzky
writ. Stefan Ruzowitzky, Adolf Burger (book)
feat. Karl Markovics, August Diehl, Devid Striesow

Last year's winner of the Oscar for Best Foreign Language film spins a new Holocaust tale, tracking a professional counterfeiter from his initial arrest to finally landing in a concentration camp where the Nazis are attempting to reproduce passable British pounds and American dollars. The film takes its time in transporting Salomon Sorowitsch (Markovics) to the concentration camp, illustrating his keen skill in handling himself amidst criminals and captors, artfully keeping himself better fed and cared for than the average prisoner.

At the camp, he takes to the job with his usual professional enthusiasm, finding the challenge of the complicated notes engaging and any success sure to improve his lot at the hands of the Nazis. There he meets opposition in Adolf Burger (Diehl) who catches on that they are funding the war effort and wishes no part of it. While this conflict invites complicated questions about duty and survival during wartime, Burger's character is one-note, always screaming for justice and trembling with good intentions. Thankfully, Markovics is our lead, showing great depth and magnetism, playing Sally like an honorable criminal, protecting all of his fellow inmates, even Burger when he risks the lives of the entire company.

The film suffers for Burger's simplicity, possibly a problem in the source material (Burger's book), but Markovics' performance is compelling enough to make it worth watching. And a wraparound story showing Markovics in Monte Carlo adds a wistful touch of romance that serves as a poignant, touching contrast to the horrors of the war.

Orphans of the Storm (1921)

dir. D.W. Griffith
writ. D.W. Griffith, Adolphe d'Ennery & Eugene Cormon (novel)
feat. Lillian Gish, Dorothy Gish, Joseph Schildkraut

This piece of classic early Hollywood cinema has all the epic makings of a Griffith film and the melodrama of Dickens. The Gish sisters play unrelated orphans, one of whom goes blind in childhood. As they head to Paris to seek an operation that might cure Louise (Dorothy) of her blindness, they stumble into all kinds of trouble. A dastardly aristocrat spirits Henriette (Lillian) away from her sister to be his plaything at one of his orgies while Louise falls prey to an old mustached hag beggar who uses the blind lovely to bring her easy coin. To the credit of Griffith, the orgy actually looks rather wild, a large estate scene where the gates lock at midnight and everyone goes wild, racing around and losing their knickers.

While an impressive use of crowds keeps the big scenes engaging, the long winded story takes its sweet time to bring on the revolution, reconnect the lovers and
(finally) the sisters, saving precious lives at the last moment thanks to Danton and his spirited lawyering. Though it's better than a mere curiosity along the road of film history, Orphans flounders when it comes to quality drama, acting and pacing.

L'Age d'Or (1930)

dir. Luis Bunuel
writ. Salvador Dali, Luis Bunuel
feat. Gaston Modot, Lya Lys

Watching this film is like seeing the child that will become an adult one day. Bunuel shows off his trademark notions of meaningless bourgeois existence and base human desire. In fact, he uses very specific elements that will later appear in beautiful and pointed films such as The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie and The Phantom of Liberty. Here, however, we're stuck in the age of the slow old silent film, often waiting for the story to get on to its next segment. The heavy handed attack on the church at the end of the picture feels overwrought, an exclamation point at the end of a run-on sentence.

Dali rejected the film, already in the midst of a falling out with Bunuel who didn't get along with Gala, Dali's wife, claiming that Bunuel had replaced Dali's "authentic sacrilege" with "a primary ant-clericalism and an over-explicit political message." While this is a fair argument, more importantly, any messages intended are heaved at the screen instead of played out with the panache Bunuel will later show, leaving this film feeling more like a curiosity than a piece of groundbreaking artwork.

Shine A Light (2008)

dir. Martin Scorsese
feat. The Rolling Stones

As an avid rock fan and concert goer, let me start by noting that I'm not a fan of the concert film in general. They leave me dry, lacking the electric energy of a live show, instead falling into loops of redundant camera moves and rapid fire editing. Unfortunately, Shine A Light is no different. After a short, often silly, introduction that seems eager to let the audience know how hard it is to make a concert film as well as showcase Bill and Hillary Clinton (as well as Hil's Mom), the show kicks off with Jumpin' Jack Flash, quickly followed by Shattered. The second song seems to indicate the state of Mick Jagger's singing ability at this late date, losing all of the nuance of that song in its tale of a distressed rocker just barely holding it all together. Mick rattles through the cliff notes version of both songs, hitting key words and occasional lines but spending more time thrashing and pumping his arms than trying to recreate those songs as actual songs. The editing is jumpy and deliberate, perhaps as a substitute for Scorsese being able to yell, "Action, Action, Action!"

Don't get me wrong. Mick is a powerhouse of energy out there on the stage and is charmingly spastic as he rouses the crowd. But the repetitive skyward lunges, shakes of those skeleton hips and lurches toward the front of the stage fall into a cycle that lulls one adrift, a result only emphasized by the very refreshing feeling accompanied by all of the guest appearances and the eventual centerstage moment for Keith. While it's a little funny that Jack White (White Stripes, Raconteurs) isn't brought out to blow the doors off the Beacon Theater, it shows some rather sharp attention (by Scorsese or the Stones, I'm not sure) that they bring him around for Loving Cup, a rather tender song, fitting with his more playful tunes of childhood innocence from the Stripes recordings. And anyone wishing to excuse Mick and the boys on account of age, just pay attention to the precise guitar work and resoundingly powerful vocals of Buddy Guy who shows up the gang at the ripe old age of 70 when he joins them for Champagne & Reefer. Christina Aguilera, though looking and sounding a bit like the Max Factor Presents Pop Diva of the Moment, does bring some youth and beauty to the gang for her stint on Live With Me.

On another note, the soundtrack is infuriating, a mix driven by narrative film logic, with the guitar rising in the mix only when the guitar is onscreen. This rise and fall of picture-featured elements continues throughout the film. It sounds nothing like a concert. Mick's vocals are heavily favored and too cleanly edited, without any of that live quality that makes for great concert recordings.

All gripes aside, there a number of beautiful passages, mainly of Keith with that loose swagger and dreamy grin, showing how much he loves what he does, particularly when he gets to show off his creaky but lovely voice on You Got the Silver. But maybe best of all, there is a gorgeous moment when Buddy Guy is jamming with Ron and Keith, all three smiling from ear to eary while Mick impressively plays the harmonica, old dogs doing old tricks and loving every minute.

Long Day's Journey Into Night (1962)

dir. Sydney Lumet
writ. Eugene O'Neill
feat. Katharine Hepburn, Ralph Richardson, Jason Robards, Dean Stockwell

There is a natural challenge in adapting a play for the big screen since the scale of stage drama is larger than life while the camera brings the viewer in more intimately, making overly dramatic language and overblown performances cringeworthy. While this film suffers from both at times, particularly the early moments with Hepburn as the nerve-jangled matron, it holds onto the viewer by slowly delivering further background on each of the family members, developing them from a group of somewhat despicable folks into characters that while deeply faulted feel worthy of sympathy. Their faults and the roots of such are exposed to each other over the course of the day, aided by the loosening effects of morphine and whiskey.

It's refreshing to be thrown into a story without the typical easy introduction. Eugene O'Neill dumps us into the fray of this family and takes his time in revealing the answers to questions that quickly crop up about Edmund's (Dean Stockwell) health or Mary's (Katharine Hepburn) drug use. This approach makes a mystery of the story, lending the eventual release of information a touch of revelation, a comforting feeling for the viewer. When James (Ralph Richardson) finishes a long story of his childhood and dashed hopes and dreams as an actor, Edmund thanks him for the tale, and the audience is right there with him, relieved to learn more about what makes this miserly old man tick, the background justifying at least part of his behavior.

While the story is depressing and doesn't offer a load of hope for the family, it's a wonderfully satisfying drama that takes them through a long night that just might lead them to a better understanding of one another.

Oldboy (2003)

dir. Park Chanwook
writ. Park Chanwook, Hwang Jo-yun, Lim Chun-hyeong, Garon Tsuchiya (story)
feat. Choi Min-sik

There is a moment almost halfway through Oldboy when I thought I might be in an original genre bending film, one that would defy easy categorization and possibly need a second viewing to really grasp. For much of the movie, Park holds onto this possibility, toying with a prisoner held against his will for an unknown reason for 15 years, suddenly let go but not entirely, with his captor clearly still playing with his life, teasing the possibility of revenge. There is hypnosis, self-taught martial arts, secrets of youth, suspicious coincidences and some really wild hair.

But Park takes on too much, dabbling in most of it for momentary effect only to move on to the next moment. My favorite early moment which I'd like to see further explored come as the film races through Dae-Su's 15 years with his suggestion of becoming good friends with the television - his teacher, friend and lover. And there is something fascinating (and certainly memorable) about watching him eat a live squid, tearing it with his teeth and downing it as the tentacles continue to writhe across his face.

Unfortunately, all of these little, often glossy and beautifully shot elements don't add up to a something greater than their shiny parts. When the story finally gets around to providing answers to the many questions, everything hinges on something in the past that feels too contrived and disconnected from our story to be worth all the trouble. Isn't everyone sick of bleached flashbacks of childhood trauma used to explain away a character's twisted deeds?

For a better example of Park's work with some earnest warmth, check out Joint Security Area.

Assault on Precinct 13 (1976)

writ. & dir. John Carpenter
feat. Austin Stoker, Darwin Joston

John Carpenter's tough guy story of a police precinct under siege in gangtown LA is a fun action flick that screams '70s. The gritty pointlessness to the action of the film is its best feature, the station attacked incidentally after a man takes refuge there once his daughter is offhandedly shot by a gang member and he retaliates. He is quickly out of the picture, just the setup for the real (um) stars. The coincidences are stacked as it is the last day of the old precinct with a new chief for the one night, and a prison bus of 3 criminals bound for death row takes a detour to the station for a sick passenger

Carpenter does his own music on this one, a synth whine that builds appropriately with the tension. The tough guys and one tough dame get their wisecracks in while the movie zips along.

I'll admit, I had a few drinks before this one and recommend the pastime for your viewing pleasure.

The Thief of Bagdad (1924)

dir. Raoul Walsh
writ. Achmed Abdullah, James T. O'Donohue, Lotta Woods
feat. Douglas Fairbanks

I was lucky to catch this classic silent film at the Film Forum with live piano accompaniment by Steve Sterner. While I've seen a bunch of silent films, I hadn't yet caught any of Fairbanks' films or any of the epic silents of the early Hollywood era. What an amazing picture! Fairbanks is in terrific shape, moving slyly and gracefully through the enormous elaborate sets as he slips from thief to prince over the course of the film. The sets are astounding, particularly the city gate which must be six stories tall with sharp teeth along its adjoining doors.

The story is a long one, showing Fairbanks in his easygoing life as an accomplished thief, content with his "What I want, I take," philosophy until he falls for the Princess of Bagdad and must change his ways to earn her hand in marriage. It takes some time to get him to meet the Princess, then pose as a Prince in an attempt to kidnap her when he falls for her, unable to follow through on the grand theft. She falls for him as well and chooses him as her husband, but he is found out and only barely saved from being thrown to the ape to be torn apart (actually a large chimp that never gets the chance to lay hands on the lucky thief). Finally, downtrodden and turning to religion, the thief is told by a holy man that he can prove himself by going on a long, dangerous journey over the course of which he will prove his worth and gain a treasure worthy of a queen.

The princess sends her other suitors out for treasures just to buy herself time, not wanting to marry the other men- one old, one fat and lazy, and the last one ugly and evil, with his own secret plan to take over the city. This sets up a third act of high adventure with more stunning sets and a show of the special effects of the age. Fairbanks braves fire and monsters in a nice mix of puppetry and composite shots, including an underwater battle with a giant spider (?) and subsequent fending off of alluring water nymphs. The dashing Fairbanks is tempted but remembers his princess and swims chastely to safety. Ultimately, he arrives at the Citadel of the Moon where he takes a miniature chest filled with magic powder that permits him to conjure a horse, princely raiment and soldiers to battle the evil Mongol prince. While no one seems to inhabit the citadel, it does seem a bit like he steals the chest, though I suppose his lengthy quest justifies this prize.

It's a fun film and a fantastic example of the grandeur of old Hollywood. While some of the acting is broad and overly emphatic, Fairbanks is also playful and athletically subtle, clearly deserving of his star status.

Check it out!

Introduction

Welcome to Flicker Fan!

This blog is about the movies. I hope you enjoy reading about the films I've seen and maybe go check out a couple for yourself.