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Tag: "film"

Film Review: The Black Power Mixtape, 1967-1975

[ 4 ] October 25, 2011 | Erik Loomis

Most of us have a strong impression of Black Power–dudes in sunglasses and afros holding big guns and talking about violence. That was the impression that a lot of left-leaning white people had at the time too. But Instead of something to disapprove of, it was admirable to a generation sick of Vietnam, colonialism, racism, and liberal promises.

The Black Power Mixtape is a Swedish film consisting of the massive footage shot by Swedish television crews of the American Black Power movement between 1967 and 1975. It does not attempt to tell a complete story of Black Power. The Swedish crews are openly a part of the film. And it tells a compelling story, not so much of the Black Power movement per se, but of both the white leftist fascination with radical anti-colonial movements during the period as well as of changes in urban black life during the period.

The film begins with Stokley Carmichael speaking. I watched it with a friend who is a historian of civil rights and he stated that you can’t understand Carmichael and the rise of the Black Panther Party without an in depth understanding of how he reached that radical point in the brutality of organizing Lowndes County, Alabama. All true, but then the Swedes probably didn’t understand that at the time. They saw a powerful black man speaking truth to power without much clarity of the details on the ground. And thus, the film is as much a fascinating look at the white radical infatuation with movements of color as Black Power itself. In the U.S., white radicals looked at black activists as almost gods, a scenario that reflected a long-standing white liberal obsession with authenticity and the truly heroic struggles of the civil rights movement, as well as causing many younger black activists to look at white allies with a measure of contempt. The European variant of this was somewhat different, with a greater focus on the broader anti-colonial movement. But the Algerian struggle, the PLO, and the Vietnamese especially fascinated Europeans with groups like Baader Meinhof bringing revolution to the home front. With the United States the great enemy of leftists around the world during the Vietnam War, the fascination with the two Americas, one white, privileged and increasingly Republican, the other black, poor, and oppressed is quite clear in the Swedish television productions used for the film.

The real power of the film is in the second half, when it moves away from a sort of greatest hits of Black Power and focuses on the changes in African-American life taking place after 1970. While much of the film consists of short clips, they linger for several minutes on an interview Swedish TV did with Angela Davis while she was in prison, consisting of her getting pretty angry and frustrated having to defend the idea of violence to the reporter. It then goes to Harlem, interviewing everyday people about their life. Drugs are taking over the community, the revolutionary spirit of Black Power is fading, and people are trying to survive in the impoverished and increasingly violent cities. This footage is incredibly powerful–a prostitute talking about how she ended up a heroin addict selling her body, the owner of a black bookstore talking about its importance to the community, a drug dealer being interviewed about why he’s doing it–these stories elucidate why Black Power developed and the immense challenges it faced even before being declared an enemy of the American state. The new response was Louis Farrakhan and the rejuvenated Nation of Islam. The film includes a lengthy clip of a Farrakhan speech, with the historian Robin Kelley explaining how Farrakhan took over NOI and how its self-discipline was a response to the new realities of the declining 70s black city. This is one of the film’s strongest point, in no small part because Kelley provides a bit of context lacking in other parts of the film to help us understand Farrakhan’s importance.

The film provides little context for the footage, rather preferring to play it raw with voice-overs from present-day people discussing its meaning, usually what it means to them in the present, though Angela Davis and Robin Kelleyparticipate. This can be something of a problem. For example, it includes footage of Elaine Brown answering questions about the Black Panthers moving back to their roots, but provides no context of what is actually happening there–the Panthers had retrenched from their national and international focus in the face of police violence and were returning to organizing the Oakland community. It also doesn’t explain who Elaine Brown is and in fact, you really need to bring some basic knowledge of the Black Power movement to the film in order to have a clear sense of what’s going on. We can question the value of the Voice of God narrator, a style with many problems, but I couldn’t really show this film in a class on civil rights until the very end, when the students would have a semester to understand what is going on.

Overall, this is not a film without problems, particularly the lack of context and the requirement that the viewer bring some basic knowledge to the table. But the footage is incredible. It’s a thought-provoking film that will cause you to reconsider some of what you believe about Black Power and that will break your heart at the end as you see black urban life slide into the drug epidemic of the 70s and 80s.

Editors: Our Best Friends

[ 67 ] October 18, 2011 | Erik Loomis

I love editors. I say this as someone who doesn’t have the greatest confidence in his own writing. I don’t always agree with their ideas, but I usually do.

I am reminded of how much I love editors when I see the Director’s Cut of most any film. Gerardo Valero has an excellent piece on the disaster known as the “restored” version of Cinema Paradiso. This is the only version of the film I’ve seen and I don’t think I could go back and watch the original. Tornatore may have wanted all that footage in the original, but someone knew better. All the modern stuff tacked on to the end is completely unwatchable. I absolutely cannot understand what people saw in the original other than nostalgia, but that’s probably because I was subjected to Tornatore’s vision rather than the work of many collaborators, including editors and studio executives who realized a bunch of this sucked.

And then of course you have Apocalypse Now Redux. There wasn’t a single second added to the original that was worth a damn. The scene with the Playboy Bunnies in the original is bad enough, but then their copter goes down and Martin Sheen has sex with them? Really? The added scenes with Robert Duvall searching for his surfboard destroys the power of his character built up in the previous scenes. And then the whole French plantation scene, well, the less said about that the better.

The Director’s Cut phenomenon comes straight out of the auteur myth around directors. But any film is a collaboration among many artists with many different vision. The director may be the most important single individual, but cannot make a film by him/herself. When they are given full artistic control, disaster can often result, which we can see so many examples ranging from Coppola after Apocalypse Now to Kevin Costner’s dross.

Spencer Tracy

[ 47 ] October 9, 2011 | Erik Loomis

Edward Copeland:

I don’t know what to say about Tracy. Katharine Hepburn once compared him to a potato (she meant it as a compliment), and that’s pretty apt. He’s solid and meaty. He’s there. But he’s not very exciting. There’s a case to be made for Tracy as the most overrated actor of his generation; he’s still considered some sort of giant, but it’s more residual reputation than actual achievement. He never could play comedy, or more accurately, he wasn’t personally funny aside from whatever business or line they gave him. In comedies, he tended to act like an overgrown puppy, putting his head down, looking up with his big brown eyes, shuffling and stumbling, raising his voice to bark at the other actors. In Libeled Lady, he plays a standard ’30s part—the ruthless, manipulative, anything-for-a-story newspaper editor. Cary Grant made the same character charismatic and hilarious in His Girl Friday, but the best Tracy can manage is to be a good sport.

This feels pretty accurate to me. I can’t think of a single performance I thought Tracy was great in. He’s fine working with Hepburn, though that several of those movies end up humiliating her in the end because she’s a strong woman can be hard to stomach.

But it’s interesting to think about the academy of the overrated in the first half-century of film.

Werner Herzog, Playing the Villain

[ 22 ] October 4, 2011 | Erik Loomis

Why someone didn’t cast Werner Herzog as a supervillain before this is beyond me. Who could be more perfect?

Qwikster?

[ 40 ] September 19, 2011 | Erik Loomis

Like a lot of people, I am perplexed by Netflix splitting its home-delivery service from its online service:

Which raises the question: What is Reed Hastings smoking? As far as anyone can tell, he seems to have rolled up pages from The Innovator’s Dilemma, Clayton Christensen’s influential 1997 book about the ways that successful companies die at the hands of upstarts. Christensen, a professor at Harvard Business School, coined the term “disruptive technology,” which describes innovations that come out of nowhere to undercut a market leader’s dominant position. Christensen cited the way that Digital Equipment, the leader in 1970s-era corporate minicomputers, completely missed the 1980s boom in personal computers. But a better example may be Netflix itself—its all-you-can-eat business model disrupted, and eventually killed, the previously dominant Blockbuster model for movie rentals. Hastings is likely paranoid, then, that Netflix is vulnerable to the same kind of disruption. And that’s the logic behind the mail/streaming separation. Hastings would prefer to kill his own golden goose before anyone else beats him to it.

I think it’s an idiotic strategy. Most of Netflix’s customers subscribe to both DVDs and streaming, and if they’re like me, they like the service because it enables both not-so-picky instant gratification and well-considered delayed gratification. I use the DVD service to select movies that I really want to watch and am willing to wait for; I use the streaming service when I want to watch something—and pretty much anything—right now. I can keep doing this after the DVD plan is renamed Qwikster, but it will require more work. If I search for a movie on Qwikster, it won’t tell me that the movie can be seen for free, right now, on Netflix. If I search for a movie on Netflix and don’t find it, it won’t let me add it to my DVD queue.

It seems likely that the ultimate goal is for Netflix to sell off its home delivery service and commit fully to online. And I’m no capitalist, so what do I know? But this seems like a very bad idea. I am very bearish on the viability of streaming film online over the long haul. Netflix had to raise prices recently without any improvement in service in order to raise money to continue buying online content. It then went out and lost access to Starz, its biggest supplier. As distribution companies and studios demand higher prices for streaming, Netflix and other providers are going to have to continue raising prices to the point that I’m not sure who will pay it. Even if the prices don’t rise that high, I still can’t get more than 20% of my Netflix queue online. Something has to give here.

But what I really don’t understand is splitting the two services. I use both, but I use the home delivery far more. I suspect a lot of people use one far more than the other. Won’t this convince people to cancel either the home delivery or the online? If I am receiving 2 charges on my bill, can’t integrate my lists, and have to go to different websites to use the two services, I don’t have a lot of incentive to keep the one I don’t use.

Treasures From American Film Archives (V): The West, 1898-1938

[ 13 ] September 7, 2011 | Erik Loomis

The American Film Archives, which have preserved hundreds of rare and nearly lost films, are releasing their 5th DVD set this month, on the West. Covering the years 1898-1938, this set has some absolutely amazing stuff for those interesting in film, the West, and awesome American art. Among the films I am particularly excited to see are:

The Tourists (1912, 6 min.), Mabel Normand runs amuck in Albuquerque’s Indian market.
Romance of Water (1931, 10 min.), how L.A. got its water.
The Sergeant (1910, 16 min.), first surviving narrative shot in Yosemite.
Salomy Jane (1914, 87 min.), Gold Rush tale with America’s first Latina movie star Beatriz Michelena.
Mantrap (1926, 71 min.), wilderness comedy with Clara Bow and a woman-hating attorney.

It goes on. The American Film Archives do amazing work. Among the films they’ve made available is The Battle of San Pietro, which Rob talked about last night. I also cannot recommend enough Where Are My Children, the pro-birth control, anti-abortion silent film that promotes eugenic marriages and is, basically, insane. No student of American abortion politics has a complete education without it. It is part of the 3rd DVD set, Social Issues in American Film.

As a western historian who next academic year will be teaching a 2 semester capstone on the American West, I cannot express enough glee for this awesome collection. Those kids are going to have watched a hell of a lot of westerns by the time they are through, from these silents to John Ford to East Germany anti-American propaganda westerns.

Here’s a sneak preview of the collection, 1917′s How the Cowboy Makes His Lariat.

Remaking Straw Dogs?

[ 104 ] September 3, 2011 | Erik Loomis

So it seems that Rod Lurie is remaking Sam Peckinpah’s Straw Dogs.

I have deep reservations about this. I love Sam Peckinpah. I will defend many of his movies (OK, not Convoy, but certainly Cross of Iron). The Wild Bunch is one of my favorite movies of all time. But it’s really, really hard to defend Straw Dogs, even though it is a good movie in many ways. The rape scene is so loathsome that it’s hard to deal with. But it was the early 1970s, violence was on everyone’s mind, I can see why he would make this movie.

What is this kind of violence supposed to tell us in 2011? Is it going to tell us anything? Or is it going to be torture porn? Lurie’s not that bad of a director, so it could be worse, but I could also see this being a very, very bad movie.

Hopefully, I’m wrong. At the very least, I hope someone is killed by a bear trap, like the original.

Robert Ryan

[ 15 ] August 6, 2011 | Erik Loomis

A great piece on the wonderful Robert Ryan, one of the most underrated actors in Hollywood history. I was actually thinking of writing a series of posts on Ryan myself, but I’ll let this suffice. I think Ryan’s characters are almost uniformly wonderful–the lieutenant desperate to get at least one of his men back to American lines during the Korean War after the Chinese invasion in Men in War. The pathetic but still honorable traitor desperate to never go back to prison in The Wild Bunch. The sheer hatred for the scum of the city and his ability to be redeemed by the right woman in On Dangerous Ground. The racist redneck in Bad Day at Black Rock.

I especially like the thuggish gangster with no patience for the new sophisticated ways of post-war corporatized gangsters in The Racket. Ryan’s character seems almost perfect for The Godfather films, with the transition from the old ways to the new, from Sonny to Michael Corelone. Ryan doesn’t fit into the quasi-legal world of the new gangsterism. He’d rather throw a guy out the window. Ryan’s pure malevolence here is just great to watch. Unfortunately, he’s cast with Robert Mitchum. While later in his career, Mitchum could channel evil like few others, he was still in his suave phase here and he plays the incorruptable and brave cop with far too much smoothness. I would have rather seen the roles reserved, with Ryan ready to do anything to bring down the evil gangster. I thought Thomas Meighan did a much better job as the cop in the original 1928 version of the film.

Anyway, even if you can’t go to the Film Forum retrospective on Ryan, you can watch most of these great films at home.

Out of Sight

[ 10 ] July 21, 2011 | Erik Loomis

Excellent essay at Only the Cinema on Out of Sight, clearly Soderbergh’s best film (though a strong case can be made for The Limey) and one of the most entertaining films of the last 20 years.

On Netflix

[ 53 ] July 20, 2011 | Erik Loomis

The Netflix price spike annoys me as much as everyone else. I don’t mind paying for my films, and indeed I do, but the combination of the on-demand and mail services is extraordinarily annoying. Jim Emerson gets at some of the key issues:

The more serious problem is that too many of the movies themselves (even the good ones) are being made available in lousy prints: not just shabby public-domain versions (the equivalent of the old 16 mm local TV station prints that used to circulate through low-end nontheatrical distributors), but films shown in the wrong aspect ratio (beware of anything with the Starz logo on it) or even obsolete pan-and-scan (shame on you, Warner Bros.). What good is streaming delivery if you have to watch a digital mastering job that looks like it was done in 1986? I thought these battles were fought (and won) long ago, in the VHS and early DVD era. Surely the dominance of 16:9 HDTVs has accustomed mainstream movie and television watchers to the previously foreign concept of widescreen and “letterboxing.” (Now some people actually distort their TV picture on purpose — grotesquely stretching 4:3 images just so they’ll fill up the whole screen horizontally. Oy!)

A recent anamorphic widescreen (2.35:1) movie like “Let Me In” shown in “full screen” (16:9)? Not acceptable. Albert Brooks’ “Lost in America” (1.85:1) in 4:3? Outrage! (Actually, that particular movie doesn’t look so bad, but why crop it? The Amazon $2.99 Instant Video 48-hour rental is in the right ratio.) And the mangled movies aren’t even labeled, the way they would be if they were axed for television or DVD: “This film has been modified from its original version: it has been formatted to fit your screen.” (Although, that too is bull: Parts of the picture have been cut off so that the smaller image gives the illusion of looking bigger. Properly presented letterboxed or windowboxed movies “fit your screen” just fine.)

On top of this is the fact that the large majority of movies are not available online. Sometimes the streaming isn’t great either, but that will likely improve over time. But if you can’t get your movies online, however possible, you are going to lose customers to better services if you charge this much.

Netflix was originally a site that appealed to cinephiles like myself. I became a subscriber fairy early in the company’s history But as they quickly dominated the market, they became the Wal-Mart of film. They kept prices low in order to undermine Blockbuster and other physical videos stores. Once those are gone, they jack up the prices. A classic capitalist move I suppose.

Except that the quality is not there to justify this move. Without a more integrated film library between the DVDs and on-demand, it just doesn’t make sense to do this. In addition, there are too many other options for people for the company to treat its customers like this. Netflix seems to assume that while it could lose customers like me, the average person who thinks Date Night is going to be awesome is there’s. But the arrival of Red Box is a real threat for Netflix on this front.

For people like me, Netflix’s appeal has lessened. What Netflix doesn’t seem to understand is that is the base of their business is not that hard to replicate today–using the internet for convenience. Two very real alternatives for cinephiles are GreenCine and, increasingly, Mubi. GreenCine operates very much like Netflix but with better movies. About the same price with a pay by the film online service for some. Mubi is a growing site that is all on-demand and pay by the film. It has some really great and obscure stuff. For all of you who want to watch the entire Chris Marker catalog, as I do, it’s gold.

The other issue here transcends film and gets to the problems of rejuvenating the economy. Netflix wants everyone to drop their mail subscriptions so they can lay off thousands of employees and increase profits. So long as the government encourages companies to lay off everyone possible to maximize profits at the top or to move every single possible job overseas, this economy almost cannot recover. People have to work somewhere. We don’t value work, employees are seen as expendable, and there isn’t any entity picking up the slack.

Edward Copeland has a powerful indictment of Netflix as well.

Where Are All The Revolutionary War Films?

[ 176 ] July 6, 2011 | Erik Loomis

Alyssa Rosenberg (whose work I think is fantastic) poses a great question:

…it struck me all over again how few movies we have about the Revolutionary War. I’d looked into this a couple of years ago, but it’s really kind of stunning. The success of America’s war for independence from Great Britain is incredibly remarkable, the people who prosecuted that war are referenced constantly in our current political conversations, and yet we don’t have more than a handful of movies about the conflict or the people who ran it. April Morning, Benedict Arnold: A Question of Honor, The Crossing, John Adams, and Valley Forge are all television projects. The last big Revolutionary War blockbuster, The Patriot, came out in 2000, and even that wasn’t that enormous a success: it netted $113,330,342 at the domestic box office, just $3 million more than the movie cost to make.

She poses a couple of possible answers, neither of which I find particularly satisfactory, but then I don’t have any good answers either.

First she notes how poorly 18th century battle scenes translate to modern movie screens and the expectations of audiences for big fight scenes. Perhaps that’s true, but then we’ve never had a lot of Revolutionary films, even in the silent era. So while I think a studio executive would make that statement today, I don’t think it really explains the overall lack of Revolutionary War films in movie history.

Second, she looks at the characters and intellectual universe of the time and suggests it’s not good movie material. George III is far away, Jefferson is busy with Sally Hemings, Madison is reading Locke, etc. And if movies really bothered with the intellectual universe of their real-life characters or cared much about reality either way, that’d make a lot of sense. But since when did movies portray real-life people accurately? Movies frequently flatten stories into good and evil and make characters do whatever the filmmakers want them to do, even if characters based on real people have some limitations placed upon this. After all, it’s not as if the Paul Giamatti’s portrayal of John Adams is really all that accurate.

And that leads to another point, which is to say that maybe there is room for more Revolutionary War movies. After all, I’d argue that TV has replaced mainstream Hollywood movies as the place where real stories are being told. And people love that Adams miniseries. The popularity of Revolutionary War biographies and sweeping histories and that miniseries suggest some room for film, even if only in the biographical/hagiographical sense.

It’s also interesting to think about portrayals of the Revolution in American film and literature compared to other wars. The French and Indian War has never much interested Americans, though there are significant exceptions to this, including James Fenimore Cooper and John Ford’s Drums Along the Mohawk. The Revolution has never much inspired American authors or filmmakers. Of course, American literature in the late 18th century was in its infancy so this makes sense. The Civil War inspired hundreds if not thousands of movies (usually short silents) in the early years of film and a lot of cheesy literature from the same period (with apologies to Stephen Crane), but not much literature of note from actual participants in the war. World War I on the other hand has always been beloved by both authors and filmmakers. World War II produced an endless number of mostly bad movies in the 1950s and 60s, but some very great films too; same scenario essentially with literature. Korea has always existed on the outskirts. Vietnam has produced plenty of both. Be interesting to see what the Middle East wars do, not much yet, but there’s plenty of time.

What does this all tell us? Not much I guess. World War I, the Civil War, and Vietnam were all heavily contested wars where good and evil were very muddled. That does tend to make good art. On the other hand, actual Civil War art tended to obscure the actual causes of the conflict, i.e. slavery, slavery, and slavery. Also, slavery. World War II was good versus evil for all intents and purposes and maybe that’s why so much of the art around it is so mediocre. People in 1955 might have loved watching Jimmy Steward in Strategic Air Command, but for whatever psychological work films like that did for the generation who lived through the contract, it sure doesn’t play well today.

But this lengthy discussion still doesn’t give me much of a clue as to why we’ve never had a lot of films about the American Revolution? Were the Founding Fathers (a term invented by Warren Harding even if the sentiment was there long before) too godlike to portray in film? But given the constant invocation of them throughout American history, it seems shocking that filmmakers did not join in.

So I don’t know, what do you think?

Strangers on a Train

[ 7 ] July 3, 2011 | Erik Loomis

Edward Copeland with an absolutely fantastic discussion of Hitchcock’s superb Strangers on a Train, especially Robert Walker’s titanic work as the uber-creepy Bruno. Copeland concludes:

Finally, there’s the climax on the merry-go-round, one of the most exciting Hitchcock filmed, but there’s a moment many might miss. There’s a little boy still on the ride and even though it’s spinning wildly out of control, he’s having a blast. When the fighting Bruno and Guy come near him, the tyke stars hitting on Bruno — and Bruno hits the kid back. Strangers on a Train, simply put, is just a great fucking movie with Robert Walker giving one of the best portrayals of an on-screen psycho in film history. As Guy says about Bruno toward the end, “He was a very clever man” and Walker was just as clever an actor to deliver this brilliant a performance.

Yes, indeed.

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