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Tag: "film"

Vincent and the Doctor, Together Alone

[ 16 ] February 15, 2012 | SEK

(This be another one of those posts in which I “[feign] some kind of cultural superiority … even though [my] opinions and tastes are largely shite of the first water [that force most commenters to] make an effort to shaddup when [I] want to wax long and philosophical about some mainstream film [I'm] content to call art.)

I covered the palette of “Vincent and the Doctor” in my post about the Leverage episode “The Van Gogh Job,” so I’ll save some time and just say the wheat:

Doctor who vincent and the doctor2012-02-15-11h48m59s146

The wheat:

Doctor who vincent and the doctor2012-02-15-11h49m01s166

The wheat:

Doctor who vincent and the doctor2012-02-15-11h49m04s193

The wheat may not seem that important—though damn do I love it—but it calls to mind Woody Allen’s famous parody of Ingmar Bergman in Love & Death, which is relevant because “Vincent and the Doctor” is an episode devoted to the consequences of loneliness (felt or otherwise). The Doctor’s alone because he’s the Doctor; Amy’s alone because (unbeknownst to her) Rory’s been unwritten from existence; Vincent’s alone because Vincent’s always been alone; and the Krafayis is alone because it’s been abandoned by its fellows. This is a story that’s fundamentally about lonely people “coming together,” only director Jonny Campbell doesn’t shoot it that way. I bring up the visual punning on the wheat because the shots it parodies are relevant. To wit:

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Foreshadowing and Genocide and Quite a Bit More, Actually, in “Amy’s Choice”

[ 17 ] February 8, 2012 | SEK

(Another one of those now-more-conveniently-located posts, only significantly longer than usual because I’m squeezing three episodes into one three hour course. So apologies for the length in advance.)

One of the core assumptions of the way I teach visual rhetoric is that directors often know more than they know (or are letting on). This is because shooting schedules often don’t track with air dates—for example, the episode I’m going to be discussing today, “Amy’s Choice,” was the seventh aired, but last one filmed in Series Five of Doctor Who, meaning that writer Gareth Roberts and director Catherine Morshead already knew what would happen in the four episodes that would follow it. The result is a kind of foreknowledge masquerading as foreshadowing: the audience experiences the latter because the writer and director possess the former.

Sound obvious? That’s because that’s how we think foreshadowing works. Only one problem: foreshadowing doesn’t require authorial intent to be visible in a work. The Jews didn’t sit around writing a book foreshadowing the eventual arrival of some guy named Jesus—they wrote a book that a bunch of Christians later interpreted to contain a number of moments when the coming of some guy named Jesus was foretold. Foreshadowing, in other words, often functions as an interpretation used to bolster the authority of a particular reader. (“What do you mean you didn’t see Jesus’s coming foretold in the Hebrew Bible? What are they teaching at the monastery these days?”) Whereas foreshadowing was once largely a matter of readerly interpretation, thanks to some technological innovations I haven’t the time nor the space to get into here—it starts with books and evolves into lending libraries and marches forward—foreshadowing is now considered to be more a matter of authorial (or directorial) intervention.

More succinctly, material that used to be wrenched from variably willing texts is now forcibly inserted into them. The classic example of the latter would be the medical drama in which someone suddenly feels a sharp pain in his or her head. The cause? Some writer forcibly inserted a tumor into it as a cheaps means of “foreshadowing” death. It’s about as subtle as:

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Ten First Times

[ 92 ] February 8, 2012 | Erik Loomis

Kim Morgan has a list up of the top 10 old movies she saw for the first time in 2011. It’s an interesting list. The only one I’ve seen is “Other Men’s Women,” which has its limitations, but is enjoyable enough. Here’s my, probably less exotic, top 10 older movies I saw in 2011. For the sake of argument, we’ll say an older movie is at least 30 years old. I tend to mark 1967 as the dividing line between old and new movies, but I might as well play by the more expansive rules.

1. Victim, 1961
Basil Dearden’s brave film about anti-gay prejuidice in postwar Britain is incredible. Easily the best film old or new I saw in 2011.

2. La Jetée, 1962
The best science fiction film I’ve ever seen. Although to be fair, it’s not a genre I overly care for.

3. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, 1920
As a silent film person, I don’t know how I had never gotten around to this before.

4. Rebecca, 1940
If anything, could Hitchcock be underrated?

5. Knife in the Water, 1962
I don’t know if this is Polanski’s best film, but it is pretty fantastic.

6. The Friends of Eddie Coyle, 1973
Fantastic and entertaining. Great role for Robert Mitchum.

7. The Mark of Zorro, 1920
True silent entertainment. The cheap amusements in their finest form.

8. Christmas in July, 1940
Preston Sturges–the best comedic director in film history?

9. In the Year of the Pig, 1968
Best old documentary I saw all year, powerful anti-war film.

10. Street of Shame, 1956
One of Kenji Mizoguchi’s great films about “fallen women.”

Ben Gazzara, RIP

[ 15 ] February 3, 2012 | Erik Loomis

The great Ben Gazzara has passed. He had so many excellent roles over the years. Of course, for my generation, one particular role as a money-lending pornographer stands out.

Theo Angelopoulos, RIP

[ 5 ] January 24, 2012 | Erik Loomis

Probably the greatest Greek filmmaker ever has died, killed by a motorcycle on the set of his film-in-progress. Angelopoulos received a good bit of publicity in the U.S. during the mid 90s, which is when I began to watch film. Landscape in the Mist is probably his most popular film and it’s one of the better road film movies (a genre that many find overrated and can definitely suck, but which I am inclined to forgive). The first Angelopoulos I saw was Ulysses’ Gaze with Harvey Keitel. Keitel plays a filmmaker traveling through the Balkans at the height of the violence. He ends up in Saravejo during the siege, leading to a wonderful scene of people walking around in the fog, feeling relatively safe. Angelopoulous’ films could be difficult to say the least and few have much distribution in the U.S., but he was a giant of film and will be missed.

Documentaries, Oscar, and Michael Moore

[ 91 ] January 9, 2012 | Erik Loomis

The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences has decided to place restrictions on documentaries up for the award. Any documentary must be reviewed in the New York Times or Los Angeles Times in order to be considered for the award. The Academy is justifying this in several ways, including that it will cull out documentaries that are really meant for television. Two thoughts.

1. This television argument is pretty meaningless in the days of video on demand. Given that most people don’t live in New York or Los Angeles, we are almost always going to see these films on a TV or computer screen. Moreover, given that passion can (though certainly doesn’t always) create a good documentary if combined with skill and that this can be done on a limited budget, it seems this is an unnecessary rule that obscures the real reason–the voters are too lazy to watch a large number of films.

2. The big mover behind the rule–one Michael Moore! He’s mad that obscure documentaries are winning the award instead of his work. His work is more “culturally significant” so it deserves to win. Just ask him. Michael Moore–standing up for the little man!!!!

Moore is such a charlatan. While he is capable of good work (Sicko primarily), most of his films are exercises in narcissism, purporting to be about everyday Americans when instead they stroke his own Texas-sized ego. Were Moore to have more than a rhetorical relationship with a fair and just America, he’d support a broadly defined award category because it would allow the poor and underfunded filmmaker to get her work out. Instead, he wants to make bank. I suppose in a capitalist film industry this is what filmmakers do, but can we please stop taking Michael Moore seriously as a spokesperson for the 99%?

……This comment thread is very special. The argument against me here is not on the merits of Moore trying to restrict small filmmakers from consideration for Best Documentary. It’s that HE IS ON OUR SIDE SO SHUT UP!!! I’m sorry but this site is not Firedoglake and I am not playing the Glenn Greenwald. This is not tribal warfare where we cover up the bad things people on “our” side do. Moore is totally wrong on the merits of this issue. Yet the only person to address this point was outraged that I would dare use “she” as the pronoun to describe the documentarian shut out of the award process. No doubt I would have heard the same comment if I had used “he.”

Meanwhile, I need to get back to yet another viewing of “Lions for Lambs.” It’s a terrible movie that is essentially made up of college freshmen reading position papers to each other, but Robert Redford IS ON OUR SIDE so I need to promote how awesome he is!

Perspective

[ 45 ] December 2, 2011 | Erik Loomis

Last night, I watched the Lee Atwater documentary, Boogie Man. If you haven’t seen it, I recommend it very highly. I always knew Atwater was an awful human being, but I didn’t realize quite the level of his scumbaggery until I watched the movie. He was just an irredeemably horrid individual. Disgusting. Revolting. Almost equally infuriating was listening to Sam Donaldson talk about getting played by Atwater, knowing he’s being lied to, and just not really caring. Give it to Dan Rather, at least he did care about these things, even if it meant he was eventually railroaded out of the profession for it. Atwater’s attack on Rather was disgusting. But the fact that the media thinks it’s a big funny game made me feel real hate for all involved.

On the other hand, before watching Boogie Man, I decided that it was time to fill a hole in my film knowledge and watch a Jerry Lewis movie. I chose The Errand Boy, supposedly one of his best. And I have to say, Lewis makes Atwater seem a lot more sympathetic. I knew I was watching a monster in Atwater, but at least he wasn’t quite a soul-destroying as Jerry Lewis. Holy hell that was awful. I started yelling at the TV, which is not out of character for me, but I was really angry. I have a Francophile side, but if it is true that the French actually like Lewis, I am going to have to rethink my fundamental positions on the world.

Breillat

[ 15 ] November 23, 2011 | Erik Loomis

I have always wanted to like Catherine Breillat’s films, but never have. I find her a cut-rate Eric Rohmer, trying and failing to equal Rohmer’s dialogue about sex and love and making up for it with shock value. People liked “Fat Girl” and most of it was pretty good but the ending was the kind of bullshit stunt she pulls way too often. Her other movies have see-sawed from incredibly boring (“Sex is Comedy”) to one of the most wretched, loathsome films I have ever seen (“Anatomy of Hell”). That said, I still occasionally sit down to watch one of her films with the hopes that her occasionally good dialogue will combine with her feminism and frank discussions of sex to create a truly good movie.

And last night that paid off when I watched her 2001 film “Brief Crossing,” which works very well. The story of a woman in her late 30s hooking up with a 16 year old boy on an overnight crossing from France to Britain has the potential for the typical Breillat disaster–making us feel uncomfortable instead of delivering us a solid film. But the dialogue works, the story works, the actors are good, and the twist at the end isn’t grotesque like the end of “Fat Girl,” but instead makes a lot of sense within the world of the character.

The French Studio System

[ 59 ] November 22, 2011 | Erik Loomis

Last night I watched “Mesrine”, the 4 hour film on the life of the notorious French gangster of the 60s and 70s, Jacques Mesrine. It was very good, but not great, suffering from some of the problems many bio-pic faces, primarily the need to stuff a lot of different incidents into the movie in order to follow the complexities of a real life. Being far, far better made than your standard Oscar-ready American studio bio-pic, it was still very enjoyable and a fine entry into the gangster film genre.

I have a question though that perhaps readers can help me answer. Like so many big-name French films, it had a huge number of the most prestigious actors in France–Vincent Cassel, Cecile de France, Ludivine Sagnier, Mathieu Amalric, Gerard Depardieu. What, no Juliette Binoche? Sadly, no proper role for a woman of her age or I’m sure she would have made an appearance too.

I’m curious about why most of the prestige films from France with international distribution tend to have the same actors in them. I know the French treat their best actors (and especially actresses) like deities, but is there something institutional about it? Does the French studio system choose a film or two a year and make sure all the A list names are in it?

This is as opposed to the U.S., where George Clooney might headline a film, but the rest of the actors are essentially character actors. The American equivalent would be to have Clooney, Streep, DeNiro, etc., in every American prestigious film. And then also essentially choosing which of the younger generation would be the next Streep. Because de France and Sagnier basically became the chosen next Deneuve and Binoche by the age of 24.

Documentaries

[ 51 ] November 20, 2011 | Erik Loomis

People are complaining that Werner Herzog’s “Into the Abyss” isn’t telling the whole story about the convicted murderers it portrays. Herzog has long eschewed the idea of “truth” in his documentaries and for the better I would say. This bugs people. Says L.V. Anderson at Slate:

Whatever Herzog’s reasons for leaving the existence of a key witness out of Into the Abyss, it’s clear—as it always has been—that Herzog is an artist, not a journalist.

I would argue that a documentary is telling a story based upon something that has happened, but that there are many stories one can tell about an event. Moreover, the most journalistic story might not be the best story. The first rule of a documentary is to be a good film. If it is not well-made, it is not good regardless of its subject. For instance, as an environmental scholar and an environmentalist, I try to keep up with the latest environmental documentaries. Last week, I watched “Food Beware: The French Organic Revolution.” This was pretty awful, despite its message. The film chronicles one French village committing itself to serving organic food, especially in the schools. But almost the entire film is just shots of kids eating organic food in school cafeterias, parents sitting around talking about it, and scenes from a UN conference on food spliced with scary music and graphics telling us what horrible compounds have infected our food supply.

This is an important story, but it’s not a film. It’s just boring.

Of course, most people disagree with me here. I watch a good number of documentaries and it is always interesting to see how my reactions compare to those who, say, write reviews on IMDB. For instance, Jennifer Baichwal’s latest documentary, “Act of God,” chronicles the stories of people struck by lightning. She lets them tell their stories the way they want to tell them. The experimental musician Fred Frith closes the film with a 5 minute improvisational guitar piece, which is his way of telling what happened to him. Baichwal’s films often revolve around difficult art and this was a challenging but fascinating way to think about the subject. But many viewers have disdained this documentary because it doesn’t present the science behind lightning. Some of the reviews at IMDB and other sites are interesting to read for this reaction. People hear “documentary” and they want a TRUE accounting of the events. But the best documentarians challenge the entire idea of truth.

And that’s why Werner Herzog’s documentaries are so great (better than any of his feature films since the early 80s). “Grizzly Man” is the most famous example. There are many unanswered questions. How did Treadwell get all that great equipment? Did Herzog know Treadwell beforehand? What’s with the bizarre editing that makes the coroner’s bit look so staged? Did he really listen to the tape of Treadwell’s death in front of his ex-girlfriend? A lot about this film makes no sense, but it’s glorious for several reasons, including because it so clearly demonstrates its 2 unhinged and opinionated narrators, Treadwell and Herzog.

Hamilton Bio-Pic?

[ 164 ] November 17, 2011 | Erik Loomis

There’s a been a bit of buzz across the blogosphere in the last 24 hours supporting Hendrik Hertzberg’s call for an Alexander Hamilton movie.

Of all the Founders’ lives, Hamilton’s was the most garishly cinematic. Consider these elements: born in the West Indies (the film could open with a sweeping aerial shot of palm trees and blue water); spends his childhood among black people; is reared in struggling, humble circumstances; attends a Jewish school after the Church of England school denies him admission because of his illegitimate birth; orphaned at around twelve when his mother dies; is so impressive a youth that funds are raised to send him to the northern mainland to further his education; studies at Kings College (now Columbia); becomes a student revolutionary pamphleteer and, at twenty, a revolutionary soldier; rises to be George Washington’s most trusted aide de camp, almost like a son to the childless general; hurts Washington’s feelings by leaving his staff to seek, and find, battlefield glory; friend of Lafayette; incredibly handsome, dashing, and charming; successful and imaginative politician; writes call for Constitutional Convention; still in his mid-thirties, is made President Washington’s secretary of the treasury and ghosts his farewell address; mired in spectacular sex scandal, foils cuckolded husband’s blackmail by making full disclosure; maneuvers to stop Adams’s election as President but is appointed by Adams to command the army anyway; jousts with Jefferson; back in New York, still in his forties, founds the Evening Post; the duel; the fatal wound; the deathbed farewells.

How can this miss?

How can it miss? Pretty bloody easily!

Most bio-pics are not good movies. You could probably make a mediocre film about Hamilton fairly easily, but something good? Bio-pics are hamstrung by the need to justify the film through telling a semi-mythological tale about a beloved figure but having to follow the sometimes less than cinematic realities of a person’s life. You can make a popular movie about someone where the world has truly bought into the myth, but that doesn’t make the film very good. I particularly note “I Walk the Line” here, which both bought into the post-Rick Rubin veneration of Cash into something almost otherworldly and fabricated a story about him that fit the guidelines of a sweeping Hollywood movie. June might have indeed saved Johnny in the end, but he was a total asshole to her for most of their relationship. Among the many things the film leaves out is his relapse into drug abuse that nearly destroyed their relationship in the late 60s and 70s. Doesn’t fit the narrative. Not to mention the 25 years of consistently horrible albums between about 1968 and 1993.

You might say I am nitpicking, but that’s precisely the point. I know and care enough about Cash and country music to want a legitimate bio-pic about him, not the sanitized narrative that we were presented. Same goes for the Muhammad Ali picture. “When We Were Kings” was far more interesting and enlightening about Ali. The Harvey Milk movie was better, but that’s largely because Milk’s life was pretty cinematic, especially his assassination and what he represented to millions of people. Sean Penn never hurts either.

You might also say that Alexander Hamilton is different because he doesn’t have the same 20th century baggage of visual memories that we project on bio-pics (I found the complaints that Anthony Hopkins didn’t look like Richard Nixon annoying, if we are looking for an imitation, we really cut into the number of actors we can hire for these parts). True, but we also create mythical baggage of our past leaders, including and especially the Founding Fathers. We want them to tell us specific stories about ourselves, our past, and our nation. That Hamilton is somewhat less known to the general public than Jefferson, Washington, or Adams actually could help such a film. What precisely is that story that needs to be told from Hamilton’s life? The lack of an obvious answer makes me more curious about such a project’s potential.

And just what are the fine films about American leaders in the century of American film? The best is probably “Young Mr. Lincoln”, but that’s the kind of exercise in pure populist mythology that would be really hard to pull off anymore. I didn’t see the John Adams thing but I know people liked it. “1776?”

It’s just easier and usually makes for better films to create people out of your imagination to tell the stories you think need to be told. Real lives don’t often translate well onto the screen without a lot of problems arising.

On top of all of this, to include everything Hertzberg lists would make the film about 6 hours long or way too rushed. So maybe a Hamilton mini-series might be semi-interesting. Hard to see a successful feature film though.

Early Jazz, Looney Tunes, and Cultural Rebellion

[ 92 ] October 26, 2011 | Erik Loomis

I’ve been making it through the many Looney Tunes collections over the past couple of years. Last night, I watched “I Love to Singa” for the first time in a very long time:

This play on The Jazz Singer is fantastic from the modern perspective not only for the art of the cartoon, but to remember how revolutionary and threatening jazz was for a lot of people. A decade ago, I was sitting in on a job talk for a Gilded Age/Progressive Era historian. This was one of those searches that had 400 candidates, of which 50 would have been awesome. Anyway, this guy worked on southern music and talked about the reactions to ragtime, which unleashed a furious response in the white community of fears that these beats would turn our good young white women into the sexual conquests of black men. In other words, a response that would repeat itself in one form or another with jazz, rock and roll, the music of the counterculture, and of course, hip-hop.

Never mind that the jazz used in Looney Tunes was an extremely white form of it, whether here or in so many other cartoons. This is your Benny Goodman/Andrews Sisters 1940s version of jazz. When black musicians are portrayed, they are caricatures, which of course was common for any racial minorities in these cartoons (not to mention that most of the major characters use speech impediments as defining characteristics). The music is still great and satirized real cultural fear of older Americans. That the very people who enjoyed this whitened jazz would flip out over rock and roll is hardly lost on the modern viewer.

“I Love to Singa” is perhaps best known today thanks to a direct reference to another form of cultural innovation that freaked out conservative parents:

God, that’s funny.

While I love the well-known characters of Looney Tunes, there’s something great about the cartoons that don’t push those narratives because they can be completely anarchic and creative. This isn’t only when they bring jazz into the equation, but especially when they do. Take “Katnip Kollege” for instance:

I also adore the many cartoons that reference stars of the day. As someone who sees W.C. Fields as a guide to growing older, I can’t get enough of those references. But I’ll leave these cartoons for another post.

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