John From Cincinnati

I know, I know, I'm supposed to be focusing on my studies. But this morning I (barely) passed my CFT oral exam, and my next exam isn't until monday, so sue me.

I actually was delaying writing this post about HBO's new John from Cicinnati until I'd seen at least one more episode, possible two, because to be honest, I'm not sure what to think yet. The show alternates between infuriating and enchanting me, and I don't know on which it'll settle. In fact, I'm not sure it will settle.

Let's start with the good: the athmosphere, for example. The credits - as you can see above- are wonderful, perfectly capturing the freedom but also the salty dirtiness of surfing. I hate surfing. I tried it when I was in LA, taking lessons in Venice because it felt appropriate, but I was horrible at it, and the waves kept coming at me and pushing me around and making me feel all around powerless and humbled, not to mention thoroughly infused with salty water and miserable. But I love the IDEA of surfing. The idea of not letting the wave beat you but conquering it instead or - as my tendency to want to vanquish the wave was apparently my mistake- to collaborate with it and use it to achieve something close to freedom.

As you can see, surfing has the tendency to become about more than just standing up on a big board. It's easy to mystify and aggrandise, to infuse with more meaning than maybe it's worth.

The show revolves around the Yosts, a "legendary" surfing family. Granpa hurt his knee and is still sore about it, dad got ruined by the money and the fame (see also: Lords of Dogtown), and the young son is the new hope. Their lives are filled with strange and stranger characters, and the series opens as the strangest of them all arrives: John from Cincinnati (same initials as Jesus Fucking Christ, as pointed out at the House next Door), who might as well be from Mars, has magical pockets and possibly magical powers, and who opens with "the end is near".

Whether I'll end up liking the show will probably depend on whether I can get to like John. He's still too strange now, but without it being made cute or quirky, and without allowing us, really, to laugh at him. I admire David Milch, the creator, for daring to write a character so unlikeable, cryptical, and impossible to identify with, but maybe there's a reason there aren't many like him around.

Then there's the mysticism, which is fascinating but bordering on ridiculous - and sometimes stepping over that line. There's Ed O'Neill (from Married with Children, if the name doesn't ring a bell) soliloquizing endelessly to his birds. What he says makes no sense, but it's so well-written, intriguing, and brought with such conviction by O'Neill that you can't help but listen.

In conclusion? I'll wait and see. But I'm definitely intrigued enough to keep watching.

Hanging on

You might be wondering about the lack of posts lately. Well, exam time is coming up, and I'm alternately studying for them and having periods of despair about them, which leaves little to no time for movies or anything else cultural.

I had "Kull the Conqueror" on in the background one night. It was perfect for my mood at the time, but it's not a movie that necessitates a lot of attention: I went off and had a shower in the middle, and it didn't feel like I missed anything. As such, it's also not a movie I can say much about (though an in-depth analysis is, no doubt, possible). I can feel myself reverting to this kind entertainment, "this kind" meaning brainless and offering quick satisfaction: sitcoms, "Flight of the Conchords" and romance novels (thank you Lani!).

As such, here is my resolution: starting the day of my last exam, June 29th, I'll do my best to watch a movie a day, and post my reactions here. I also have many books lying around that beg to be read, there's music I want to listen to attentively, and since I'll need a recuperative period after hopefully getting through the next week and a half, I'll take my time for all of them.

Wish me luck... and see you on in July.

Death Proof

This morning, I heard a critic on the radio summarily dismiss Death Proof (Tarantino's part of Grindhouse, released separately here) without offering any further qualification. Death Proof (from here on: DP), he said, was a movie honoring bad B movies by being, itself, a bad - and worse: uninteresting- B movie.

I object.

True, DP is, to borrow a phrase from The Squid and the Whale, minor Tarantino. The only QT movie it's arguably superior to is Kill Bill pt. 1. But it's much more interesting than "just" a bad B movie.

QT's films typically take place on one of two levels. His first three (Reservoir Dogs, Pulp Fiction, and the underrated Jackie Brown) take place on the first level, which I'll call level A. On level A, every character shares QT's intimate knowledge of and deep interest in pop culture, but this also implies that this level shares its pop culture with the real world. While it is undoubtedly a movie world, the rules of our world apply: gravity sucks, lethal wounds will kill you, and nobody has superpowers. In fact, the one time these "rules" seem to be violated, in Pulp Fiction, it is seen as a miracle. Level A is a tweaked version of our own world: the details might be different (Big Kahuna burgers and so on), the cars are cooler, and there are surreal elements, but the basis is the same. QT points to this, for example with the mostly diegetic music in Reservoir Dogs.

Then there's level B, where the movies take place that the characters on level A would love to watch, as QT himself remarked. Kill Bill is resolutely on this level, which is much more cartoonish and flexible. The "rules" of our world don't apply so much there: gravity is challenged at some points, the Bride survives being buried alive and can certainly be said to have "superpowers", especially in the scene where she beats an incredible number of samourai, blood spouts out in gallons at the time, etc. It's a mythical world centered around a superhero on a quest that she ultimately achieves. Notably, while it's not a linear movie, it does end at the resolution. There are still some resemblances to "the real world": superman, for example, exists there too. But aside from the scene with Vernita Green/Copperhead, it's on its own plane.

What about Death Proof? It seems at first to be on level B as well. There is an intimidating "supervillain" with the stereotypical villain name Stuntman Mike, and a "superweapon": his Death Proof car. The first half of the film plays out as a male fantasy with four girls filmed and objectified as lust objects (with QT's foot fetish clearly on display), and tagged as soon-t0-be victims from the get-go. They're more individualised than they would be in the standard B movie, and the director clearly shows his affection for it, but his camera is predatory. Furthermore, the girls are not real, but designed to embody a fantasy, as evidenced clearly by the lapdance subplot.

As if we needed more evidence about which level we're on, QT even has two characters from Kill Bill, the sheriff and son #1, who we know live on level B, make an appearance.

The second group of girls is very different, but they still fit on level B: Zoe Bell plays a superhuman version of herself. She is already rather extraordinary (and attention is pointedly called to this in an early conversation) but she's admitted that the stunts in the films are impossible even for her. After the first chase, the way in which it's shown she survived is almost cartoonesk, and it comforts us about the rules of this world.

And then QT pulls out the rug from under us.

During the second chase, the "mythical" cars, Mike's black Dodge Charger and the girls' white Dodge Challenger (the color coding also appropriate on this level) suddenly burst onto a road filled with sedans and SUV's, and by this, QT suddenly takes us from this level B movie world not to level A, but straight into the real world, our world. We could be in those cars, and by this trick QT reminds us how vulnerable we are, and while we were at first an audience safely standing on the outside ironically looking in, we are now in this. We're involved. And the chase gets much more thrilling because of it.

It's just a detail. A small thing some might miss. But it shows that DP is not empty, but open, and filled with touches that show that QT is incapable of making an uninteresting movie.

There are many other things I could expound on: the look Kurt Russell gives the camera just before stepping into his Chevy Nova, the nostalgia touch that shows QT is aware many young people might not get his references, the strange theme of abstinence and sexual frustration that comes up in both parts, the differences and parallels between the two groups of girls, etc. The soundtrack choices are inspired, as we're used to from QT by now, and certainly worth a few words. But I think I've written enough for now.

__________________

"There are few things as fetching as a bruised ego on a beautiful angel"

The Fruitstand in NY

The name of my blog comes from mishearing a line in Ryan Adams' "Damn, Sam, I love a woman that rains". The original line goes:

"I'm as calm as a fruit stand in New York, and maybe as strange."

But you know what? Fruit stands are not so strange at all in New York, nor calm (is anything calm in NY? I wonder). In fact, they're everywhere.

I'm not going to go through my whole visit here. We did all the touristy things: visited the Met, MoMA, even the museum of Natural History, went up the Empire State Building, made a boat tour, saw how little there is to be seen at ground zero, went to Battery Park, had pizza on Mulberry street in Little Italy, inhaled the smells of Chinatown, strolled in the Village, had a picnic in Central Park, walked down 5th Avenue and over 125th street in Harlem, had a cappucino from Starbucks and a Cosmopolitan at a restaurant with a group of 4 female friends chatting right behind us, took a taxi over the Brooklyn Bridge, etc etc etc, bla bla bla.

Don't get me wrong, I loved it all, and wasn't bored for a single second, I just imagine it'd be boring to read all the details.

But then: the absolute highlight of the trip? We went to Shakespeare in the Park! To be precise, we saw the first showing of Romeo and Juliet, starring Lauren Ambrose of Six Feet Under fame, and Oscar Isaac, apparently well known on Broadway, and who played Joseph in The Nativity story.

It just felt like the ultimate NY experience. I'd heard about Shakespeare in the Park, but we only realised it was on when we stumbled across it that morning. We naively showed up only an hour before they'd start handing out tickets (the tickets are free, you get them on a first come, first served basis) and followed the line that had already formed until we finally found our spots, three bends in the road further.

Everyone was just sitting calmly in the sun, with a book or a laptop, often an iPod, some with folding chairs. Entertainment was provided in the form of a flute player who made sure "Hey Jude" was in my ears for the next two days, the bossy Rosie who informed us of the rules, and three people selling merchandise.

The guy sitting in front of us told us he'd once gotten there at 8:30 and still left without tickets, but this being the first day, we were in luck, and 1 hour before was enough for the three tickets we wanted. We had subway sandwiches and canned beer (my father made sure to photograph "the crime": my 17 yo brother taking a sip) in the park beforehand, and I felt like I could move to the city right that second.

The play was good, if somewhat long. Romeo and Juliet were good, but I was most impressed by Mercutio (Christopher Evan Welch). There were still some start-up problems (some forgotten lines, torches that went out when they shouldn't and didn't when they should) but the set was impressive, a shallow pool with a movable bridge over it. More than everything though, it was amazing just to be there: in the middle of Central Park, with mostly New Yorkers around us, fireflies around the lights, the occasional duck wondering what all the fuss was about and sometimes a chopper to remind us we weren't in Verona.

Second most memorable thing? Well, I am, and remain, thoroughly a film geek, and it WAS raining the first day we were there. So can you really blame me for draggin my brother and father to see Grindhouse in the Cinema Village, the only theatre in Manhattan still showing it?

I'll get more into it, especially QT's offering, later, but suffice to say I came out bouncing. I'm so happy I saw it the way it was originally intended, and not chopped up like it's now being released in the Netherlands (a longer version of Death Proof is out now, Planet Terror will be released in August). I might (movie buff that I, after all, am) go see Death Proof in theatres here after all, I'm more than a little curious about Vanessa Ferlito in that missing reel, but I'm glad I saw Grindhouse as a whole in a tiny little theatre in the Village.

To sum it up? I had an amazing time, and am now painfully crashing back to reality.

The Strange Love of Martha Ivers: first thoughts

Barbara Stanwyck is my new idol. Really, cool, smart, fierce, if it wasn't for the murderous instincts she has in the two movies I've recently seen her in (this one and Double Indemnity) she'd be a perfect role model. I'm hoping to get a hold of "The Lady Eve" soon, I can't wait to see how she does comedy.

Also, does Lizabeth Scott look like Lauren Bacall or what? Slightly more wholesome, slightly less cunning maybe, but wow. And an impressive actress, too.

And that leaves...the men. Who are definitely less impressive than the women in this film, at least character-wise. This is Kirk Douglas' debut, but he doesn't register so much, really (admittedly, it might have been the part). As for Van Heflin, I don't know if it's because standards of attractiveness have changed so much, but I had a hard time buying him as a ladies man, and his flirting seemed WAY too over the top.

All in all though, a nice little noir. I like the twist that the blackmail is called into life by the people who fear it. There's a nice undercurrent of class tensions. And whaddaya know, there's even a sort-of happy ending.

Which just leaves one question: why is it that when I feel crappy a nice and cynical film noir is exactly what I need, while a feel good comedy will leave me feeling crappier even than before?

The Departed: first thoughts

Great music. Great use of diegetic/nondiegetic sound and music. Nice parallels (grocery bags)

Shot of the rat at the end felt a bit obvious.

So why can I only make technical comments on this movie? There was one tense scene, and I felt bad for one character at a certain point, but it's -despite the irish roots- a fairly heartless movie. You don't really mind who kills who, or why. At least I didn't.

Also, wasn't the point of this movie that you would root equally for both doubles? I only cared for Leo's character, and not even that much.

Still, I shouldn't be too harsch. It's a well made movie about doubles. It has some pretty good performanced. Alec Baldwin and Mark Wahlberg should form some kind of comic duo. I'd definitely go see it. And Jack? Well, he's just...Jack. I have to say, I expected more from the "waving around a pink dildo part". As it was, I didn't even notice the color. But well, you can't really blame him, after all, "being Jack" provides most of his income.

I wish I could swear with a (sometimes somewhat inconsistent) Irish accent.

Whoop-de-fucking-do

Thank you for smoking - first thoughts

"Michael Jordan plays ball. Charles Manson kills people. I talk. Everyone has a talent. "

Not much to say about this movie, really, except a vigorous "cool.". I like it when a movie can be so refreshingly cynical, and nobody would've been better as Nick Naylor than Aaron Eckhart. The guy could probably get me to smoke. Well, not smoke, probably, me being asthmatic and hating the smell'n all, but I get the feeling he's selling: basically, there's so much in life that's bad for you, we might as well resign ourselves to the risks we're taking as long as it feels good.

So, nothing much to criticize. The movie's not particularly deep, but it achieves what it wants to do: it makes you laugh, and it lands some digs. It might not get anyone to smoke (hopefully it won't) but it might incite someone out there to join a debate club. And I did adore the credits. And JK Simmons, who should always play acrimonious bosses (see the Spider-Man films and "the Closer" if you need more evidence), rules. And I love to look at Adam Brody in almost anything. Rob Lowe is hilarious. And I'd love to criticize Katie Holmes at this point, just for balance sake, but she's fine, not great, replaceable, but fine.

Jeff Megall: Sony has a futuristic sci-fi movie they're looking to make.
Nick Naylor: Cigarettes in space?
Jeff Megall: It's the final frontier, Nick.
Nick Naylor: But wouldn't they blow up in an all oxygen environment?
Jeff Megall: Probably. But it's an easy fix. One line of dialogue. 'Thank God we invented the... you know, whatever device.'

The Good German - first thoughts

Is Soderbergh somehow fundamentally incapable of making an uninteresting movie?

I don't think this is among his better films; it's too clinical, too calculated, perfectly in the style of 40's movies but not quite there in tone. I cared for Rick and Ilsa, and even for Holly and Valli, but Clooney and Blanchett? /they do their best, the co-operate, but they fail to inject enough feeling to make this more than just a genre exercise.

A very well executed style exercise, don't get me wrong.

But it does make you wonder: can you be brilliant and still have a heart?

Looking for a second hand bike in the Netherlands you land, well, not quite in the seedy underbelly of society but definitely in a different body part. I started out at the regular bike repair shops and supervised parking facilities, where the most notable thing is the slightly obsessed look in the eyes of the people at the former, and the lone bear attitude of those at the latter. Then I went down the canal.

I almost bought a bike from a transvestite I've been waving to from the ship forever, but his prices were on the high side, so I ended up buying one from the tall, nice (though kinda smelly), multiply pierced guy I'd visited before, and who'd gained my trust by telling me what was wrong with the bike I considered. Then I returned to crazy eyes, who convinced me to buy a huge lock in my suddenly overprotective mood.

Buying a second hand bike, you can't demand perfection, you cannot expect love at first sight. There is never a spark, but any bike you buy has to catch your eye at least. And this one caught mine (I'll post a picture tomorrow).

I've temporarily christened it Johan. It's a guy, that much is for sure; after the timidity of the saddle on my last bike, this one makes itself felt quite clearly between my thighs. And Johan seems to appropriately reflect it's second hand nature. I do plan on spray-painting him over purple and bright green, so I might want to change its name to something more flamboyant then. Hedwig seems an obvious choice, but I'm afraid people would miss the joke and think me incredibly self-centered. Frank-N maybe? Any suggestions are welcome.

It feels good to be mobile again.

H.

Nothing is sadder than the sight of a bike lock, neatly cut through, lying on the side of the street on monday morning.
Oh well, it had to happen sometime.

I don't know why exactly, but I picked it up and carried it around with me, this reminder that I hadn't just forgotten where I parked, as I did my groceries on foot, trying to muster up some disappointment or anger. I couldn't find anything, not even a pang for the money I'd have to spend on a new one.

I guess that's what they mean with taking life as it comes.

Goodbye Girls

I finally watched the final Gilmore Girls episode. I just felt like until I'd seen the last episode ever, the show wasn't over yet. But you can't postpone a goodbye forever.

And let's face it, while Gilmore Girls is still a great show, it was time. I'm not saying the series ever really "jumped the shark", but everything after Rory (temporarily) dropped out from Yale was just not quite as good as what came before. The girls being apart meant there was less of the dialogue I always watched the show for, and shortly after that problem was resolved, Amy Sherman-Palladino left. I'm not as critical of David Rosenthal as many bloggers seem to be, but it's undeniable that the dialogue was a few beats more slow after he took over, and the references more obvious.

I have a hard time articulating how much I love (or should I say loved) this show. I identified with Rory: all through highschool I had at least one book in my bag, even if it was often bad science fiction instead of great literature. I had some journalistic ambitions, once upon a time. I was someone who dealt a lot better with schoolwork than with life. The one I wanted to be, though, was Lorelai: I wanted to speak so fast, flirt so easily, and most of all, I wanted to be so strong and independent and entirely, uncompromisingly, me.

I think that's why the finale, or actually the last two episodes, felt true to me: it was about the girls, their lives, their plans, and only a little about the men who revolved around then -- because it would have felt off to see their lives revolve around men. Logan's all-or-nothing proposal was strange, but Rory's reponse made sense: she may seem quiet and sweet, but she has ambitions, and it would have been unlike her to choose a guy over her career. As for Lorelai, some people seem disappointed there was no wedding at the end, but it's been established throughout the series that Lore is not the marrying kind -- which is why her wedding to Chris felt all wrong. When she proposed to Luke, it was a wonderful moment, but she didn't leave him because he was putting the wedding off, she left him because he wasn't including her in his life.

I know, it's a little strange obsessing about the motivations and feelings of fictional characters, but when you've watched a show faithfully every week for so long, it feels not only like you know the characters, but like they're a part of your life. Rory's dilemma's upon graduating were embarrasingly familiar, and I should probably get a WWRD T-shirt to remind myself that it'll all turn out all right, even if I wasn't raised by a village, or if I don't live in a world where my idol would show up and give me her card.

Byebye girls. Bye Paris, bye Emily and Richard, bye bye Taylor and Kirk. Bye Lane, bye Luke.
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Sherry: Your uniform is darling. Really, I love the blue, 'course I'm sure you look good in anything.

Lorelai: Oh, yeah. You should see her in chaps.

Sherry: Really?

Rory: No. That was just my mom being funny.

Sherry: Oh...

Lorelai: It comes and goes, you'll learn to notice the signs.

Christopher: The waves get really still, the animals start to act funny...

___________________________________________________________________

Lorelai: My life stinks. Hey, let's look into each other's eyes and say "I wish I were you" at exactly the same time — maybe we'll pull a Freaky Friday.

Rory: Or we can just pretend that we did and you can go around acting really immature. Oh, wait…

Lorelai: I can't believe you won't switch bodies with me.

Rory: Forget it. Then I'd have to date Kirk.

___________________________________________________________________

Lorelai: [Phone rings and Lorelai answers] Independence Inn

Emily: You should really identify yourself when you answer the phone at work.

Lorelai: Sorry, Independence Inn, major disappointment speaking. Better?

Emily: Yes, thank you.

___________________________________________________________________

Lorelai: God, I’m starved.

Rory: Think about something else.

Lorelai: Like what?

Rory: Something disgusting that will take your appetite away.

Lorelai: Ari Fleischer?

Richard: Ari Fleischer is our nation’s mouthpiece, young lady.

Lorelai: Officially not hungry now.

___________________________________________________________________

Emily: I've called several times the past few weeks and you've skillfully avoided every call.

Lorelai: No, that's not true. I've left messages on your machine.

Emily: Yes, messages. And then if I happened to pick up, you'd hang up. Or if the maid picked up, you'd ask for me, then claim you were driving through a tunnel so you might get cut off, and then you'd make garbling noises and hang up

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Atame: first thoughts (one day later)

I recently watched, at the recommendation of a friend, the MadTV mashup of Grey's Anatomy and House. The Greys' anatomy part of it was funny enough, but rather obvious (and let's face it, the show isn't exactly hard to mock) but there was a line that stuck. To paraphrase: Grey's Anatomy is a show written for women by women. House is a show written by men for women who like abusive men.

What does that make Atame? A movie written by a gay man for?

Not gay men exclusively, I'm fairly certain. Sure, the set design couldn't be more campy, but the central pairing couldn't be more heterosexual, and while I'm sure any gay men likes looking at Antoinio Banderas (so young here, so young...) as much as the next girl, I'm sure they're not the only target. But then, who is?

My dad liked it, but mostly for the style and photography: he thought the "message" (I highly doubt there is one intended) was too misogynist, as in his view the movie argued the way to make a woman love you was to hit her and tie me up. My mother (A "new conservative" according to some web test, though she vehemently denies it) liked it to, though she thought it was a little weird.

As for me? Well, what can I say, I have a huge crush on House.

I think that of the three early Almodovar films I've seen (the others being Matador and Mujeres al borde de un ataque de nervios), this might be my favorite. I like Mujeres a lot, but it does get so silly at the end that it kind of loses its heart, and in my eyes it is a little contemptuous of some of its characters. I loved Matador, but I'm not sure the conclusion worked. This film, while there are some clear weak spots to be found, enchanted me, maybe because it's so Hitchcockian, but at the same time so much more free and fun.

Hitchcock said something along the lines that our should film every love scene like a murder, and every murder like a love scene. In this film, likewise, it's never quite clear whether a scene will end in sex or death. In Matador, this was the point of the whole film, but in Atame, it's a little more subtle, and a lot more relatable.

The obvious Hitchcockian parralel to this film is of course another favorite of mine: Marnie. In both films, we have the damaged, fierce woman who a man with a violent streak tries to tame. Almodovar does Hitchcock one better here though: not only does the woman here get set free only to come back willingly, but it's even the case that when she finally gives in (and even somewhat before that) she's the one in control. Marnie is a very racy film, but it never dares to go that far, to transcend gender roles and expectations quite so much.

With Hitchcock films, I always get the feeling he must have been quite the kinky guy, but still repressed in a way (hey, he couldn't help it, he was british, after all). With Almodovar, I get the feeling he's not only fascinated by the kinky side of humanity, but that he also has a deep understanding of it.

As an aside: the tiny man, huge woman image he revisited in Hable Con Ella is also present here.

Whatever the case, I'm glad there are still more old films of his to discover (La ley del deseo, in particular, but also Tacones Lejanos (High Heels) and Carne Tremula), and that we can look forward to many of his more mature entries like Volver also.

First thoughts on the Prestige

(try to write something smarter and more insightful than just that you can't decide who's hotter, Bale or Jackman. You can do this, you've been pretending to be intellectual like, forever. Ok. Let's do this)

Remember how I mentioned ambivalence in the context of Marie Antoinette? Well, it's also what redeems this movie, it's refreshing to not be told who to root for (kind of like Heat, in that way, but even more so).

I did figure it out. Most of it, anyway. But there was much nice trickery. I have some questions, but they would involve spoilers, and more thought than I can muster right now.

Liked the jumping back and forth in time, I'm not sure it was entirely necessary, but the many, many, many doubling were cool, underlining the themes, too. Nolan is a guy with style.

Has there been a casting choice as brilliant as David Bowie as Nicola Tesla? Ever?

Magic in movies is tricky. After all, movies ARE a form of magic, and we're so used to distrusting what we see. Or actually, we're so used to accepting that we're being fooled, we're no longer looking for the trick. And even if we are: they're not secret, witness "the Matrix revisited" for instance. And even then, there were still real tricks: in the later movies, it just came out of the pc. When everything's possible, what's there left to marvel about?

Luckily, there are still illusionists like Michel Gondry around.

Anyway, scatterbrain, the verdict? Cool movie. Not sure much of it will linger though. Also: I should have seen this in the theatre. Some movies need a big screen. And I have always enjoyed a good show of lightning.

Just a last aside (after a list of many): it's funny that almost two centuries after Frankenstein, electricity still speaks to the imagination.

Detour - First thoughts

There's something about classic noir, and Detour is as classic as they get: cynically narrated from when it's already all gone to shit by an everyman, sad-sack, doomed protagonist. The booze is plentiful, the women are just as cynical as the men and much more manipulative, and boy do I love it.

That's probably why noir is my favorite genre. It's not so much that many of my favorite films are noirs: the selection at the top is a little eclectic. It's just that I haven't met a noir yet I didn't at least enjoy.

Detour's a perfect introduction. It's short (about 70 minutes, still impressive for a film shot in 6 days), the sets and dingy and the rear projection can either be called clunky or appropriately claustrophobic. And most important of all: it conveys the basic message of noir: life's a bitch, and then you die. Or, as it's said in this film: "That's life. Whichever way you turn, Fate sticks out a foot to trip you".

Sidenote: the origin of the forever bad endings was of course that under the production code, no crime could go unpunished: at the very least, a guilty conscience should drive the culprit crazy, like in "Scarlet Street". I'm generally opposed to censorship, but there really is something to be said for the production code: not just because it forced filmmakers to be creative (see: It happened one night) but also because without it, the cynical world of film noir would have been much different.

Most notable about this one? Aside from the fact that Tom Neal makes me think of Kurt Russell (and wouldn't he make a great noir hero?), I loved the character of Vera, "as rotten in the morning as she'd been the night before". Women in noirs are generally bad news, but at least they have a mind of their own.

(here's bright lights on the film)

Impossible Dreams (from a film buff)

I just had to post it: any film buffs out there owe it to themselves to download the latest episode of Escape Pod, and listen to the story. You won't regret it.

Marie Antoinette

It's been a while already since I saw Sofia Coppola's latest. More than a month, according to my filmlog. At the time, I didn't really know what I could say about it that hadn't already been said, in fact, I couldn't even quite tell who I sided with. But after reading this insightful defense of the "new mannerism" in the film and this Bright Lights article on the film as a fashion show (and this is, for once, not meant derogatively), I do suddenly feel inspired. And I'll try to restrict this inspiration to 500 words tops. Starting now.

I like to pose as an intellectual, but truth is, I'm quite shallow. I half wish there was a reverse-gender Beauty and the Geek so I could participate. Like most people, I'll pick up the gossip magazines when I'm at the dentists/barbers/wherever, even if I refuse to actually pay a single cent for the rags, and will vehemently deny even knowing what "Brangelina" and "TomKat" are (and btw, they should inflict some kind of horrendous torture on whoever started the name-meshing trend). As mentioned before, I love those novels with half-clad people on the cover, and though I draw the line at reality TV, I can't tear myself away from those MTV docs about star lifestyles.

At the same time, when it comes to actual art, I'm generally unmoved by whatever's just aesthetically pleasing. I might enjoy my low culture, but I can only appreciate high culture if there's something more to it that just beauty. That's for example why most paintings from the Renaissance leaves me rather cold, but I have a somewhat ridiculous indulgence for modern art. As long as it's doing something surprising, I'm interested, if not necessarily conquered.

This is also why I was wondering about what to think about Marie Antoinette: I didn't know whether I liked it only for it's sheer ingenuity or for something else. Until, that is, someone confronted me about liking this film while simultaneously dimissing 300. After all, he said, Marie Antoinette was just "300 for chicks", with shoes instead of swords, cake instead of blood. Weren't both films just as focussed on style over substance, on mood over meaning?

My answer (after some rumination, and lame protests about how 300 was nothing more than an endless, more or less live-action episode of Dragon Ball Z) was that there were two main differences between the two films: ambiguity, and a sense of self-relativation/irony.

See, one of the things I admire most about Marie Antoinette is not something Sofia Coppola did, but rather something she didn't do: pass judgment on Marie herself. She's been accused of being too kind to the reviled queen, but I don't think she is: the girl she puts on screen is flawed in many ways, just not pure evil like she's depicted in french history. The film can be interpreted both as a condemnation of her shalloweness and as a defence of her innocence. 300? Sparta, good, Iran, bad, pretty much sums it up.

That, and Coppola remembers never to take herself too seriously, and by this she reolutionarises the generally solemn tradition of period films. Among the shoes, there's a pair of sneakers: the shot is short and without emphasis, in fact, it's easy to miss, but if you do notice it it's a nice reminder that above all this is a version of a story without any ambition to depict the one and only truth.

And with that, I'm out of words.

Séverine: uncompromising?

The reason I watched Belle de Jour last Friday was because my father told me he thought Séverine should be on my list of uncompromising women. I was glad for the excuse, and admired the movie a lot. But while I think Deneuve's character is indeed strong and fascinating, is she really uncompromising?

Oh, she goes after her own desires, yes. She does not conform to society's norms, sure. But she wants to. What's more, (and worse), is that she doesn't take responsability for her actions, in fact claims that she's pushed by something beyond herself. This is not just because she relishes being out of control: it's because she cannot, even in the end, accept herself.

This is most clearly seen in the scene where she is confronted with Henri Husson, the man who gave her the address of the surprisingly fashionable brothel where she is now employed. At first, she blames him for leading her there, as if she had no say in it herself. Then, she says:

"Je suis perdue. Ça se passe malgré moi. Je ne peux pas résister. Je sais qu'un jour il faudra que j'expie pour tout ce que j'ai fait, mais sans ça je ne pourrais pas vivre."

(freely translated):

"I am lost. It happens in spite of myself. I cannot resist. I know one day I will have to atone for all that I've done, but without this I could not live."

The crux is in the sentence I italicized. She takes refuge in saying she simply cannot help herself. And that's why Séverine, while she is undoubtedly one of the most fascinating women ever put on screen, is not truly uncompromising.

First Reaction: El Laberinto del fauno

Wow, is this film brutal. Being punched in the stomach brutal. Despite myself, I'm too used to Hollywood conventions. I was scared, I was afraid (not the same thing), I was horrified, I cried, and yet I cannot help but describe the film as wonderful, as in, filled with wonder and promise and imagination and despite everything hope. Most amazing feat: there are many elements of outright fantasy, but the violence and pain and fear are more real than in many other movies. I don't remember the last time I cried so much at a movie. So happy I saw it on the big screen. But I can't recommend the experience to anyone.

One gripe: why the shot of Ofelia talking to empty space? Entirely uneccesary. Trust your audience! Ambiguity is a good thing. Will get back on this in contrast with Bunuel.

Note: as another revival attempt, and also as a kind of notebook for myself, I will henceforth (love that word) write a quick reaction to any new movie I see as soon as possible after seeing the movie. Uncensored by me, uncritical, it doesn't need to be more than 50 words but I need to write something, anything. I'm curious what it will yield: probably not coherence or correct grammar, possibly not even full sentences, but who knows, insight?

6 uncompromising women

In the interest of brevity, instead of yet another rambling posts, I've decided to adventure into the top something territory. I don't rank, because I don't like to discriminate between great and greater. Why 6? That's how many seemed worthy. Next time I might add explanations, but I'm tired. Feel free to add them yourself in the comment, or to offer your own suggestions. Enjoy!

• Catherine (Jules et Jim)
• Margot Channing (btw, I recommend Kim Morgan's wonderful tribute to Bette Davis)
• Mrs. Robinson (which should have been the title of that movie, 'cause she was way more fascinating than the character it was named after)
• Marge Gunderson (honorable mention: McDormand's dean Sara Gaskell from Wonder Boys)
• Vivian Sternwood Rutledge (yeah, I didn't remember the name either, had to imdb it. But I mean Lauren Bacall in the Big Sleep. Though every part she played opposite Bogie can be substituted here.)
• Katherine Hepburn in pretty much everything, but especially in The African Queen: "I never dreamed that any mere physical experience could be so stimulating!"

I love a man, that Raines

It usually doesn't take me long to decide whether I like something. In the case of the new TV show "Raines", starring Jeff Goldblum, it took me exactly 1 minute and 3 seconds. 1 minute and 3 seconds, that is, before I paused the pilot and started downloading episode 2.

I'm a sucker for noir, what can I say. So when this started with jazz, a smart-ass voice-over, and the gloss of the first shot quickly replaced by something more gritty, I loved it. I think I even let an "awh!" escape me. And when the story moved, after this first impression, to an appartment just like the one from Altman's "the Big Sleep", and the detective started seeing dead people, I was sold.

Don't worry, this isn't "Medium". There isn't much of the supernatural here. Our hero's just gone a little crazy, that's all, as he is quick to aknowledge himself. This means it's always clear that what he's seeing is just in his head. It also means that the victim doesn't know any more than the detective, and is little more than a blank filled in as we get more information. Also, the way Raines sees the victim reflects his own prejudices and flaws, and he has more than a couple.

It's a gimmick, I'll grant that. But it's one that works for me.

I'd sign "the Shamus", but the blogger formerly known as the little round headed boy beat me to it ;-) Plus, I tried writing noir-speak. Let's just say it increased my respect for those who can.

Picnic

Note: this is my contribution to the White Elephant Blog-A-Thon, hosted at Lucid Screening.



When I first got my movie assignment for this Blog-A-Thon and googled the title, it got me all giddy. See, the cover (left) makes it look like a dime novel. And, well, I have a weakness for stories in which all the women are beautiful and forever in peril, in which all the men are strong and perpetually shirtless, and where the main protagonists feel uncontrollably attracted to one another. If they actually cost only a dime, my bookcase would be filled with them.

Picnic (Joshua Logan, 1955) is, it turns out, just a little more complicated than that. Problem is, I'm not quite sure whether this makes it a worse or a better movie.

I don't usually include plot descriptions in my reviews, partly out of laziness, but also because it usually feels redundant, but as this movie is not exactly well-known, here goes: Hal Carter (William Holden), rugged and strong but kind of a bum, arrives by freight train in one of those stereotypical sleepy little towns in Texas, looking for an old pal from college and, hopefully, a job. Within ten minutes, he loses his shirt and is lusted after by quite a few ladies, including his college friend's girlfriend, Madge (Kim Novak). They all go to a Picnic. Trouble ensues.

To start with the good: this seems like a predictable story, but while the film is cliche-ridden in some ways, I never really was sure what was going to happen next. This is partly because there are many characters, and they're each allowed nice character scenes that have nothing to do with the new stranger in town. On the less positive side, it's also because you don't really feel the attraction between Novak and Holden until a dancing scene halfway through the movie that might have been very exciting then, but seems positively tame now. And was it ever really so sensual? "A Streetcar Named Desire" came out four years before this film, and it had no problems to portray lust for a hunky man a lot more explicitly.

Part of this can be blamed on Novak: while Hitchcock was able to use her blankness to great effect in Vertigo, she's little more than beautiful here. Her character complains about being called pretty all the time, but truth is, there is little more to her character than prettiness combined with some vague sense of dissatisfaction. The other part of the problem is Holden, about whom, come to think of it, the same could be said. Don't get me wrong, I like him a lot as an actor, and he certainly looks good without his shirt on, but he also looks too worn for the part. The character is written as a golden boy on the verge of decline, but Holden was too clearly on the way down already.

All-in-all, I can't say I really liked this movie, but I'm glad I saw it, mostly for one reason: I was fascinated by Rosalind Russell as Rosemary.

In the first scene she's in, she describes herself as "an old-maid schoolteacher" and brags about not needing a man, and I was delighted to find such an independent strong female figure. I should have known better. Having a women being actually proud and *gasp* happy by themselves was obviously too subversive then. Hell, I'm not even sure it's any less subversive now. So obviously, she doesn't just jump bed with him and leave him, no, she gets drunk, then desperately latches onto Holden's character for a dance (he is of course repulsed: what she's about 40, and he only looks 35! What is she thinking?) conveniently ripping his shirt in the process, and by the end of the night she is down on her knees begging a guy she despises to marry her.

Complicating things, Rosalind Russell was a great actress even when allowed to go over the top like she does here, and you can't help feeling for her when she cries desperately, fiercely, that all she wants is to have a good time. But the manic happiness on her character's face as she leaves in a "just married" car at the end of the movie left a sour taste in my mouth, not so much because it shows the director's backwards fifties mentality, but because it reminded me of how little we seem to have evolved past that.

I'm not saying I'm happily single all the time. I'm not saying singlehood is the ultimate state of being. I'm not even saying -some- women should not aspire to marry and have lots and lots of babies (and god, are there lots and lots of babies, and shots of them, at the titular Picnic). And I know it's unreasonable of me to expect a more emancipated view from a movie with a cover like this. I'll even grant that yes, the movie does offer some hope in the form of Madge's sister, an "intellectual" (you can tell because she reads books and sneaks cigarettes) who claims to never want to fall in love. But especially when movies like this seem to offer a glimpse of hope only to cruelly dash it afterwards, it brings out my feminist streak.

Is Picnic worth watching? If you're a fifties nostalgic, definitely. Russell's powerhouse performance is impressive. There are some truly insightful character moments I loved: for instance, Madge's sister feels like she'll never be the pretty one anyway, so she hides behind glasses and a hat in the beginning. Ultimately, though, there is little more than that to recommend it.


Other White Elephants:

- Edward Copeland on Bio-Dome
- Tuwa revisits one of my favorite guilty pleasures: Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure
- Flickhead looks at Teen Witch
and many more can be found here. The movie I recommended doesn't seem to have a review yet...hopefully it will surface along the way.

Stranger than Fiction

"Everyone thinks about leaping off a building."

Seriously...

Why did nobody tell me about this movie?

Oh, of course I read the generally positive (though rarely elated) reviews. Sure, I knew it was a movie I would like. But how come nobody ever came up to me and said "Dude, you have GOT to see this movie."

See. the reason I hadn't seen it so far is that I thought it would be, well, ok. Kaufman-lite, as it's been called. Fun, but ultimately dismissable. I thought it would be one of those movies that would be exactly as I expected it to be. Like The Queeni was, not too long ago: I knew I'd like the movie, and I did, but it failed to surprise me.

So, I re-iterate, how come nobody told me this was one of the most charming, unassuming, heartbreakingly funny and above all literary movies of the past year? It might not quite be up there with The Science of Sleep, but it's definitely high up on the list. And that's not just because I think I might have a crush on Harold Crick.

Oh, it's not that I don't see the problems with the film. It's not a film you can figure out for example: it might be trippy, but there's no hidden explanation anywhere, what you see is what you get: Harold's life is being narrated to him. And that means there is no explanation as to how Harold and his author can be on the same plane of existence. But does there need to be? Emma Thompson's Karen Eiffel wonders at some point how many people she killed, and I actually feel the question is best left unanswered.

Another, potentially more serious, problem is that while the narration is funny and dry and relatively well written, there is nothing to sustain the claim that the book being written could become a masterpiece. And you can wonder: is the story actually interesting WITHOUT Harold hearing the narration?

The answer to that question might be a clue to why this movie charmed me so. Because while the outline of Harold's story (man wakes up, throws his life around) is rather boring and corny, the details are perfect. The narration fades to the background at some point to allow the courtship between Harold and anarchist baker Ana (the wonderful Maggie Gyllenhaal), and it's worth watching because it's so pitch perfect, from the gift Harold gives her (and if you haven't been spoiled yet, I'd be the last to do it) to the way they undress each other.

Then there's the humor. How come there aren't more movies that mix absurdist jokes ("Aren't you relieved to know you're not a golem?") with literary ones that actually, well, assume a certain level of intelligence and general knowledge from the audience? I heart huckabees comes to mind (although, considering some things that recently popped up on youtube, I doubt I would have wanted to be part of THAT particular creative process). Everything by Wes Anderson certainly qualifies, and Wonder Boys definitely does, but they are certainly few and far between

Finally, it's so rare to find a movie where the main character can be laughed at, but is never ridiculed or looked down upon. It would have been so easy to make Harold a laughingstock, but even if he starts out as little more than a bag of tics, he quickly becomes a full-fledged character we can, and do, care for, and care about. He inspires pathos, but he never is pathetic.

It's probably a good thing I went into this film with low expectations, and by hyping it so much I might actually be doing it a disservice. But to hell with it. This movie made my day, and deserves to be seen.

Just a quick announcement: I'm about to leave for my parents place to pick up a DVD my sweet dad (aka. the guy with the credit card) ordered for me off Amazon.co.uk for the White Elephant Blog-a-Thon, in which I'll be a proud participant. Look for the post on april 1st!

And also, my dad, proving he's not just the guy with the credit card but also incredbily generous and sweet (yes, he reads this blog occasionally. Why do you ask?), added to the humble order I proposed a whole lot more...and not just anything: I will also be picking up Double Indemnity and Body Heat, as well as a very nice Film Noir box filled with titles I don't know, but that I think I'll like.

Look forward to a Noir filled month at the Fruitstand!

Sodom and Gomorrah

Warning: off topic
(also, written while still slightly under the influence)

When you fail an exam, worse, when you fail a retake, you need to vent. Parties are generally good for that. Drinking, eating, dancing, ideally flirting and taking someone home. Well, tonight, I was a bit short on the latter two, but it was an interesting evening nonetheless. See, a stripper had apparently been ordered for the three birthday boys. And while she was, well, performing, all I could think was:

"So this is the western debauchery we are reviled for. This is the evil that will (through McDonald's and MTV, obviously) corrupt the world. Then, how can it feel so....innocent?"

Worse, how can it feel so tame, so (dare I say it?) boring even. Oh sure, it was funny. And two of the guys (one of whom, interestingly enough, was muslim) seemed to enjoy it plenty. But I doubt anyone was really turned on.

It strengthened me in my belief that things that are not forbidden or hidden irrevocably lose most of their appeal. This is actually my main beef with the sexualisation of our culture: not that it shows our culture is rotten, not that it is demeaning to women even, but simply that it leaves so little to be devined, that it somehow makes things less, rather than more, exciting, and that it leaves us looking in the few nooks and crannies left obscured for something to long for.

The anatomy of Desire

The Shirt

The shirt touches his neck
and smooths over his back.
It slides down his sides.
It even goes down below his belt—
down into his pants.
Lucky shirt.

-Jane Kenyon (via)



-SPOLER WARNING- (for both Matador and A Streetcar Named Desire)

I know I promised a post about Matador some time ago already, and it's been a week now since I've seen it, but I've had a hard time articulating my feelings about it. I loved it, that much is for sure. And I am eager to discuss it, to talk about the odd but fascinating world Almodovar's movies take place in, about how matter of fact and logically he presents the outrageous, about the incredibly dated jackets his women wear, but I have a hard time finding a point, finding the core of what I want to say.

Luckily, I popped exactly the right DVD into my player tonight, one that is very different but shares some core themes, one that, well, only made me more confused, but eager enough to ramble to overcome my writer's block. The movie was "A Streetcar named Desire."

Now, Tenessee Williams and Kazan have a very literal way of introducing the theme: naming a streetcar the main character takes in the beginning after it, even referring to that literally later. Almodovar manages to be even more direct: his movie opens with a man jerking off to a montage of killing shots from slasher movies.

In both movies, desire and destruction are connected, but it's hard to say which is cause, and which is consequence. Or is it perhaps desire and fear? The former has Marlon Brando smoldering in his wifebeater, but it's not just his physical appearance that draws us towards him: it's that we are never sure whether he will kiss or slap us/Stella/Blanche. He drinks, he curses, he eats like a pig, he smashes things... and he wouldn't be quite as attractive without it. And for a 1951 movie, it's incredibly frank about this: we can see that the main reason Stella stays with her husband is that she lusts for him. She tells her sister that on her wedding night, Stanley smashed all the light bulbs with her slipper. Blanche is appalled, but Stella confesses "I was sort of thrilled by it."

In Almodovar's movie, two of the main characters, (former) Matador (the word literally means killer) Diego and lawyer/fellow killer Maria are attracted to each other because of the thrill of never knowing whether the other will kiss them or kill them. And we cannot simply dismiss them as two crazy people made for one another, because the other characters in the film are similarly obsessed. Angel (played by a still gangly and baby-faced Antonia Banderas) wants to be like them so much that he confesses to both their crimes, and -rather unsuccessfully- tries to project a sense of menace himself. Eva, Diego's girlfriend,dressed as a corpse to try to win him back, and when she finds out about his murders, she isn't repelled by it, but wants him even more, enough to risk her life for. What's more, they're not the only one seduced: the audience is also. I was, in any case.

What is it about the human psyche that makes us link fear and desire? What is it that makes us lust for danger? Or should I stop generalising and simply ask: what fascinates me so much in the combination?

Take another movie I recently saw for the second time: Closer. Here there is no physical danger from the protagonists, who are all -at least superficially- sophisticated modern people. But the four characters show the whole spectrum of human desire, in a way. Alice wants what she loves. Dan wants what he cannot have, Anna what she does not have. As for Larry, he's the character closest to his animal instincts, someone who just wants, and takes. Not surprisingly, he's the most interesting character to me, Clive Owen's fierce performance managing to make Jude Law make thoroughly wimpy and unappealing.

Now, Closer doesn't really fit into this rant, I realise, mostly because it's not so much about desire as it is about honesty and purity, the most innocent and blameless character oddly being the most deceitful one, who even states that "lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off".

Which brings me back full circle, to "A Streetcar Named Desire", though Blanche would probably not agree. She doesn't lie for fun but out of desperation, because she's afraid she alone would not be enough. I have a postcard on my desk which says "only people without imagination flee in reality". Maybe that's a quote more fit for her to take in.

Well, this was rambling indeed. I warned you though. I'll try to make the next post more coherent.

Until then,

H.

A sign of the times?

It's book week this week in the Netherlands, and as a kind of publicity stunt, the committee for the promotion of the Dutch book introduced a new reading sign: the "irony sign". Meant to be placed at the beginning and ending of any word, phrase, sentence or paragraph that's meant to be taken ironically.

As it turns out, it's mostly food for columnists. Bloggers too, I assume.

The sign is silly, of course, and I seriously doubt it will catch on, but I think it's kind of alarming that we apparently need it. And I have to see, sometimes I do catch myself relying too much on smileys to convey the tone of my words, the ;-) smiley being especially abused in e-mails. And when I force myself to leave the smileys out, I sometimes worry that something I said as a joke might be interpreted as a slight.

Does that mean we're losing our ability to put nuance in our words out of lazyness, because we don't need to any more? I hope not, as it would mean a loss in style and language that no reading sign can compensate for.

Should I be worried...

...if when watching the new BBC Robin Hood show (I'm currently at ep6), I keep wondering why Marian likes Robin when right next to him stands a guy who adores her and who is WAY sexier? I mean, yes, there's the whole part where he's a brutal killer, a sadist, and someone who'd dump his own illegitimate child in the woods, but who cares, come on: do you want a boy,









or do you want a man? (Of course, in this update on the story, Marian has balls aplenty herself).










N.B. Do not worry, this is just a diversion, I'll return to more, well, classy posts soon, more specifically with a review of "Matador" (and come to think of it, having just watched that might explain my lusting for a murderer).

Films to see before you die

Yes, I am still alive. Just slightly out of inspiration. Which means that aside from a lousy draft for a post about Closer, this blog has been a little abandoned. So it's a good thing there are parents in this world, who delight their daughter with a "1001 films to see before you die" book.

I have seen 188. So there's work to be done.

To be precise (and I am a scientist, so I cannot help it), there is a slight error margin here, say +/- 2. See, for example, I didn't count Lawrence of Arabia as "seen" because I only saw the first disc when I was living in the same house as someone who had the DVD, and I moved out before I had a chance (or the urge) to see disc 2, but I DID count Apocalypse Now, even if I never saw the last half-hour, but I feel like I have for all the clips of colonel Kurtz I have seen. Some films I know I saw/must have seen entirely a long time ago, but don't remember much about.

But so, my new assignment: if I have nothing to write about, I should pick open this book at a random page, find a film I have seen or one I have not seen but have something to say about nonetheless, and write at least a short entry. I would try to go through them one by one, but a) I don't have that kind of time, b) many films are hard to get a hold of here, and c) someone's already doing it.

As for the selection, I have to say I agree with it overall, also because it does not present itself as a list of the 1001 best films, but more a list of 1001 significant films. I like that genre films are included as well as the more traditional "classics". I like that they include a significant portion of old films, even silent ones, but don't forget classics from the seventies and eighties. I do feel, however, that they should have put a limit in 1997 or something (like the National Film Registry does, for example), because if you're talking about the significance of films, you simple NEED time to tell what impact has been made.

Maybe that's why the later films are the ones where I have the most question marks to put. I understand the inclusion of "There's Something About Mary", even if it's a film I've never understood the appeal of, simply because it's become so ingrained in populat culture, but "the Constant Gardener"? I have to admit that'sone of the many films I haven't seen, but the need doesn't seen very pressing. And "Un Long Dimanche De Fiancailles" (A very long engagement) for instance: I liked the film, thought it did some innovative things, but is it really a film people will still watch 10, 20 years from now? Especially with Jeunet already represented by "Delicatessen" and "Le Fabuleux Destin D'Amelie Poulain", it seems a bit much. Personally, in their place, I would have put "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and "A History of Violence", but I admit we'll have to wait a while to see if those stick. I wonder also, this being the 2nd revised edition, which films had to be dropped to make room for Brokeback Mountain and other recent films.

Among the older films, I don't really have many objections. Many I love, many I have wanted to see for a long time. 3 films, actually, that I own on DVD but haven't watched yet, meaning I should probably stop buying DVD's for a while and watch those I have. One notable ommission: "The Third Man", which I believe to not only be a wonderful film with one of the most beautiful endings, a gorgeous long shot which just takes my breath away every time, but also a film with a significant impact on filmmakers then and still to this day.

I'm sometimes unsure whether to be delighted by the store of great films I can still see, or desperate considering how impossible the task to see them all is, especially when I cannot even keep up with all the movies coming out now. But I do hope that I will one day have seen most (all seems hard) of the films in this book.

H.

CORRECTION: The Third Man is actually in the book. Apparently I missed that particular page when going through the book in the train on my way back home.

Lost in Tokyo

You know sometimes you read a book, and you get so lost in it that when you look up, the world seems a silly place? Seems less real than where you were? Seems like a dream?

But what if the book itself reads like a dream?

Such is the case with the aptly called number9dream, David Mitchell's sophomore book, and, as far as I'm concerned, his best yet. Admittedly, I have yet to read ghostwritten, but this book has more heart that Cloud Atlas, and much more wow than his latest, Black Swan Green.

Mitchell is a bit of a mystery, because his most distinctive feature seems to be the lack of an own voice. And it's not just because he's such a chameleon, though he is: in Cloud Atlas he adopts 6 different kinds of not just perspectives, but also styles, lexicons, emotional ranges, and even in Black Swan Green, he subtle modulates his style. He doesn't let his own voice come through, but that's not the only thing. If I met Dave Eggers, I think I would know more or less not just how he would talk, but also what his interests are, his obsessions, his sense of humor, I'd know (to an extent) what kind of person he is. David Mitchell? I have no idea. It's a well-known cliche that it's impossible to write anything without revealing much more than you'd like, but Mitchell seems to be an expert at remaining in the shadows.

That is, I think, why I admired Cloud Atlas, but couldn't bring myself to love it: it was a masterful stylistic exercise, but -except for the Frobisher segment- it was cold. As for Black Swan Green, it was affecting, but I felt too acutely how Mitchell tried to be more small scale: his effort showed.

But number9dream....Maybe it's because, apparently, Mitchell lived in Japan himself (and, as I just found out on wikipedia, 5 months in the netherlands for research. Damn. I could have met the guy. Soaked up some writing genius, even.), and maybe that's why his portrayal of Tokyo feels so vibrant, so there, so alive.

Not that he's not up to his usual tricks here, too. Heck, I'd probably lose interest without the tricks, and he's so good at them, too. Every chapter here is part of the same story, but different nonetheless. Take the first chapter. It starts in reality, at some indeterminate point lapses into daydream, then backs up to the point where reality stopped, only revealing then what was dream and what wasn't. Only to jump back into dream a few paragraphs or pages later.

I suppose what humanises Mitchell here is how well-found the daydreams are. Not only do they only gradually stray from the plausible, but they're both imaginative and exactly how daydreams can be (and trust me, I'm enough of a daydreamer myself to judge).

What's more, it sets the tone for the whole novel: it makes us both go along with anything that's said because it might be true, but it also keeps us guessing. This is why you don't tune out when the story takes a turn for the bizarre (and gruesomely funny) in chapter four. And when the author, in the final (well, officially penultimate) chapter tells us about Eiji Miyake's dreams, it's not boring (like other people's dreams usually are), but on the contrary is a fitting way to lead us out of the strange world of the novel.

I suppose what really won me for this novel is the chapter "study of tales". In it, there are fragments of stories about "goatwriter", "Mrs. Comb", and "Pithecanthropus", and these finally show something deeply personal: the author's love of storytelling. And his inventiveness with it.

See, it starts innocent enough. Yes, Mrs Comb might be a chicken, maybe, and it's a little weird and jumpy, and it seems to have nothing to do witht he story at hand, but it's easy to just read through and dismiss as a fairy tale that might be explained later. And then Mitchell shows us what he can do.

First, there's a scene where Mrs. Comb is revealed to be, indeed, a chicken, but it happens in a weirdly realistic warzone, and without apparent consequences. Goatwriter's finds out that his stories were not stolen, but that he's eaten them (and what does that say about story creatures?). But the thing that really threw me, that gave me a jolt of surprise depite my willingness to accept anything at this point, is that when they're confronted with the stereotypical Evil Queen...she's an internet creature bent on digitalizing goatwriter's creativeness.

How do you do that? Take fairy tale creatures that belong in another age, that drink from literal streams of consciousness, and then put modernity in there?

Oh well. I'll stop spoiling the fun and just bow to Mitchell in deep veneration. It's my weakness for all things pomo, definitely, but it's more than that. The man's a genius. And his love of storytelling is infectious.

Just call me goatwriter.

H.

So, being a pathetic sucker, I of course HAD to check my (snail)mail box this evening, just in case. But instead of the red envelope(s) I'd secretly hoped for, there was just a blue one. Which, as every Dutch person knows, means a letter from tax services.


The most ironic thing? Even that wasn't for me.

Happy Valentine's day everyone

Review Index

Titles are usually in their original language, unless the language uses another script.

Les Amants Réguliers (Garrel, 2005)
Átame (Almodóvar, 1990)
The Big Heat (Lang, 1953)
A Bout de Souffle (Godard, 1960)
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (Burton, 2005)
Crash (Cronenberg, 1996)
Croupier (Hodges, 1998)
Death Proof (Tarantino, 2007)(pt. 2)
The Departed (Scorsese, 2006)
Detour (Ulmer, 1945)
Gerry (van Sant, 2002)
Goodfellas (Scorsese, 1990)
The Good German (Soderbergh, 2006)
Hairspray (Shankman, 2007)
Heathers (Lehmann, 1989)
A History Of Violence (Cronenberg, 2005)
King Kong (Cooper & Shoedsack, 1933)
El Laberinto del Fauno (Del Toro, 2006)
The Lake House (Agresti, 2006)
Marie Antoinette (Coppola, 2006)
Masculin Feminin (Godard, 1967)
No Direction Home (Scorsese, 2005)
Ocean's 13 (Soderbergh, 2007)
Once (Carney, 2007)
Othello (Welles, 1952)
Picnic (Logan, 1955)
The Player (Altman, 1992)
A Prairie Home Companion (Altman, 2006)
The Prestige (Nolan, 2006)
The Science of Sleep (Gondry, 2006) (pt 2)
The Sheltering Sky (Bertolluci, 1990)
La Stanza Del Figlio (Moretti, 2001)
The Strange Love of Martha Ivers (Milstone, 1946)
Stranger Than Fiction (Forster, 2006)
Le Temps Qui Reste (Ozon, 2005)
Thank You for Smoking (Reitman, 2005)
The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada (Jones, 2005)
Volver (Almodóvar, 2006)
Whistle Stop (Moguy, 1946)

A Prarie Home Companion

I am ashamed to admit that I've only seen 4 Robert Altman movies. Gosford Park, Cookie's Fortune, The Long Goodbye and, as of yesterday night, A Prarie Home Companion.

I liked the first one, though it left me rather cold. The second one, well, enjoyable, but I barely remember it. I loved The Long Goodbye, but mostly for its brilliant first 20-30 minutes. But I feel like it's only now that I've really discovered Altman.

See, I don't think this movie is a masterpiece. It doesn't have much in the way of a plot, there's not really any arc or tension, and only one character goes through some kind of development. But you know? You don't care. Because I wasn't watching this film because I was curious what would happen next. I wasn't watching to see if they would "save the show". I was watching because I was thoroughly enjoying hanging out with these people.

Maybe that, in retrospect, is why I couldn't get into Gosford Park. I was too focussed on the murder plot, because the characters were not likeable and interesting enough to me.

The characters in A Prarie Home Companion have as a job to make people listen, to entertain them, and they are good at it. I was so full of good will toward them after a while, that I laughed uproariously at the "bad jokes" told by Dusty and Lefty, even if they were, in all honesty, quite bad. I wanted to sing along with Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin, and I wanted to listen to the entire back catalog of shows (which can be found online, btw, so I did listen a little after the movie).

These people are storytellers, first and foremost, maybe that's why I liked them. We hear several versions of how GK got into radio, one weirder and more implausible than the other, but told without a wink, without irony. It's a competition, but it feels like the viewer is the winner.

"The death of an old man is no great tragedy"

Still, it's too bad we won't be getting more moving from Altman. Luckily for me, there are many left to discover.

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Under normal circumstances, based on poster, trailer, plot, main actors, etc., I probably would have passed on seeing "the Lake House". It looked sappy, corny, unbearably earnest. It looked like something nobody with any taste or sense of irony could like. Dismissable, that's probably the best term for it. Not necessarily bad, but not worth the time of anyone who wanted to call themselves a cinephile.

However, then, the movie led to one of the most amusing episodes of Filmspotting (aka. my favorite podcast. Ep #110, if you want to look it up). And not because it was artfully and articulately ridiculed (although Sam did quite a good job of that). No, it was hilarious mostly because of the fight it occasioned. See, Adam, to own surprise, admitted he thought the movie was quite charming. Even that *gasp* he thought Keanu gave quite a good performance.

You understand, this movie I had to see, if only for its divisive qualities. And as a friend of mine loves it unabashedly and was over to study, we decided we'd watch it as a reward.

The verdict? Who do I side with? Well... It is sappy. Corny, definitely. Unbearably earnest? Well, very earnest, in any case. Still, as much as I am a cynic, and as much as I hate to sound unhip, I see Adam's point.

Alright, I'll admit it: I am, I'm afraid, a hopeless romantic at heart. Romantic enough to accept the magic mailbox despite some glaring problems with the internal logic, in any case. Romantic enough to think "Oh, I wish people still wrote letters, that someone would send a love letter to me" instead of "why doesn't she just google him?". Romantic enough to admit that, to use Adam and Sam terminology, it got a little dusty in my room towards the end.

Unfortunately, I'm afraid I'm not romantic enough to overlook one thing: these people are kind of boring. Actually, strike that: they're incredibly boring. So, no matter how romantic you are, it becomes a little hard to understand not only why they would fall for one another, but if we could fall in love with them.

This is tricky for the movie especially because we have to believe the characters fall in love without meeting, without even knowing what they look like, so it can't be something based purely on physical attractiveness or something else primal. It has to be about ideas, passions, about connecting on a deeper level. Kate and Alex in this movie, bond over... a walk through chicago. Loving "when it starts to rain just at the end of the picknick". Trees (I kid you not).

I like to hope that this was intentional. That they wanted to make these character everyman/everywoman. But if we're supposed to believe two people belong together and not with anyone else, there's got to be something distinctive. I've often complained about the superficial quirks assigned to characters in romcoms, but these characters don't even have quirks! Additionally, it doesn't help if your main characters are played by two of the most bland actors working today. I've defended Keanu in the past, but lonesome, tortured and pining? Not his thing. As for Sandra Bullock, well, I she's given a supposed fear of commitment, but we never really see any evidence of it. All she does, really, is look sulky.

I am a hopeless romantic. So I'll give this film a pass, if only because its refreshing to see a film where characters don't always have the perfect quip ready. And because, I admit, I was charmed for the duration of the film. But to be truly moving, truly romantic, the people have to be real people. Flawed. Damaged. Twisted even, if you really want to get my attention. And this is only a temporary substitute for the real thing.