Drive (2011)

The premise of Drive sounds promising: a Hollywood stunt driver (Ryan Gosling) who moonlights assisting with heist getaways befriends his attractive neighbor (Carey Mulligan) and her young son (Kaden Leos). The three grow close, and the driver agrees to help the family by taking on a job, unaware of who he is dealing with. Unfortunately, the execution of this core idea is muddled with sappy montages, unnecessary carnage, and lack of any character traits whatsoever, detracting from any interest inspired by the logline.

Hardly any information is provided about Gosling’s character.  He isn’t given so much as a name (and is credited only as “the driver”), much less any sort of personality. He’s emotionless, a “good guy” for good guy’s sake. It’s no secret that Gosling is talented, disciplined in the craft of acting. But there’s not much material here for him to work with. Rather than giving him the chance to develop his character into a complex human being without the constraint of excessive dialogue, this lack of any backstory proves to be a serious limitation. Perhaps director Nicolas Winding Refn assumed that audiences would be blinded by Gosling’s good looks, but outside of a romantic comedy, that just doesn’t cut it.

Mulligan’s character is equally bland. She doesn’t seem terribly upset about the fact that her husband is in jail, and being with the driver doesn’t give her any particular spark that makes the audience say, “they should be together.” I couldn’t figure out any reason that they should, other than the fact that they’re neighbors and it’s convenient. With the short blonde hair and petite physique, Mulligan looks almost exactly like Michelle Williams in Blue Valentine, which elicits a strong feeling of “been there, done that”. It’s nice to see Bryan Cranston and Christina Hendricks in roles outside of AMC, but their parts in the film are so small that it seems like a tremendous waste of talent.

The pacing is inconsistent; some sequences are incredibly slow and without much motivation, while others snap from one action-packed shot to the next with little time in between to allow the audience to catch up. The film starts out on an excessively saccharine note as we observe the romance develop between Gosling and Mulligan. But about midway through, it suddenly takes a bizarre and jarring turn towards gratuitous violence. Some of these images are so disturbing and impossible for the viewer to get out of their head – which would be permissible if the audience went in with any idea about what was to come. Unfortunately, Drive offers no such disclaimer, and those looking for a bit of The Fast and the Furious-esque fun will be sorely disappointed. (Those looking for a film that displays the craft of filmmaking in its most excellent form will be devastated).

For a film titled Drive, the film has very little to do with the physical action of driving. Apart from a quick car chase that opens the film, and another near the end, Gosling primarily operates on foot. The cinematography is beautiful, but doesn’t enhance anything inherently powerful in the script like good cinematography should. The gore effects are impressive, but can be overwhelming given the context.

Drive has already garnered a devoted fanbase and the approval of many critics, but this viewer remains unimpressed. The tone, motivations, and technical elements do not work together to create a cohesive piece of work, and this can only be attributed to one thing: bad direction.

I realize I’m in the minority, but there is nothing “driving” me to see this film again.

The Tough Ones (2011)

          Successful directors can take a strong vision and see it through to completion. If the story and characters are important enough to them, it becomes immediately evident in the finished product. No element lacks in devotion and care, and each enhances the next. A perfect example: The Tough Ones, a short film written and directed by Konish Dutta.
          While home for Thanksgiving, personal trainer Adam (Michael King) discovers his fifteen-year-old brother Gary (Casey Adler) being bullied at school. Middle brother Vince (Gary Iacobucci) rushes to Gary’s defense, but Adam intervenes, arguing that Gary must learn to stand up for himself. Adam pushes Gary further and further, and it’s only when the three brothers end up lost in a forest that Adam realizes that everyone has a breaking point.
          The brothers are fleshed-out and real, and their actions are motivated by emotions the audience can easily relate to. It is amazing that three intricate human beings can both be introduced and grow in a mere fifteen minutes, but Dutta and his actors manage to do just that without overwhelming the audience or slowing down the pace of the film. King’s Adam is relentless and severe, but its obvious that his tough love is, in fact, based in devotion to his family. Iacobucci makes for a cocky and sometimes irritating Vince, while still retaining an endearing compassion toward Gary that makes him impossible to truly dislike. Adler gives the youngest brother an initial submissiveness that gradually turns into strength and independence. The relationship among the brothers changes as their circumstances become more dire, but their core personalities remain the same. This relationship is so authentic that it comes as little surprise that Dutta himself is the oldest of three brothers.
          Taking his responsibilities beyond those of many directors, Dutta assisted editor Darren Virtue and sound designer Catherine McGourty in many aspects of postproduction. He even tackled the daunting task of scoring the film. Music is used sparingly so as to emphasize the naturalistic feel of such an earthy setting, but Dutta drops it in during a few appropriate moments to underscore the melancholy of the situation and to foreshadow the events to come.
          Dutta’s collaboration with cinematographer Taylor Mahony is most notable. Every shot was meticulously planned, placing the audience alternately close enough to experience the growing tension and far away to emphasize the emotional disconnect between the brothers. The very last shot in particular is haunting in a way that the viewer will never forget, not necessarily for what is happening within the frame, but for the way in which the camera accentuates the action. This is the only film I have seen where the cinematographer is credited alongside the director - a true testament to the significance of Mahony’s contributions.
          It is certain that Dutta will continue to pursue his passion for filmmaking, and if his most recent project is any indication, he’s off to a promising start. The Tough Ones is an emotional journey - it’s simultaneously hopeful, inspirational, funny, and sad. It is also a prime example of dedicated technical craftsmanship. For these reasons and more, The Tough Ones would indeed be a “tough one” to miss.

The Big Bris (2011)

             The best films are personal. Their merit isn’t found in large budgets and high concepts, but in how well they resonate with their audience. The best directors can take elements from their own experiences and make them relate universally. Such is the case with director Oren Peleg and his short film The Big Bris (2011).

Casey Adler stars as Moishe “Mo” Greenbaum, an aspiring stand-up comedian tired of performing at birthday parties and small venues. Mo is overjoyed when best friend Andoni (Andoni Zorbas) announces that he booked him a gig at the prestigious Rushmore comedy club. Mo’s strict parents (James Eckhouse and Ellen Bry) eagerly schedule Mo’s recircumcision ceremony for the same night as his performance at the Rushmore, leaving Mo with the choice between honoring tradition and taking a career opportunity that could change his life.

            In film school, where trite storylines and underdeveloped characters run rampant, Peleg has found a niche that sets him apart. The Big Bris is Peleg’s third short film, following his Barely Bar Mitzvah’d (2009) and Judea Capta (2010). His stories often place prominence on the Jewish faith of his characters, without ever becoming overbearing or preachy. “I definitely try to make [them] universal and appeal to a mass audience. The characters are Jewish, but hopefully the themes reach broader than that,” says Peleg. And they definitely do: the heart of The Big Bris lies in Mo’s struggle to find an identity for himself despite the conflicting (and very vocal) views of his parents and friends. While many of the jokes and references are more familiar to Jewish eyes and ears, they translate well with any audience while giving Peleg and his characters a distinctive voice.

            The recognizeable talents of Hollywood veterans Eckhouse (CSI, Beverly Hills 90210) and Bry (St. Elsewhere, Boston Legal) mesh nicely with promising newcomers Adler and Zorbas. Adler wrote most of Mo’s stand-up himself, and it shows: he doesn’t just spit out the jokes, he feels them. The viewer instantly accepts the Greenbaums as a real family. Even if his parents don’t approve of Mo’s comedic aspirations (“You’re Jewish first. Everything is second after that,” his father says), it’s apparent that everything they do is out of love. 

            Editor Niv Brook’s quick cuts keep the pace of the film moving smoothly. This is most noticeable in the scene in which the Greenbaums and the rabbi discuss Mo’s recircumcision. Brook cuts rapidly between each character, enhancing the absurdity of the situation. Cinematography by Taylor Mahony subtly underscores the content of the story; a steady, fixed camera and warm lighting are used for the house scenes, while a moving camera and harsh lighting give the comedy club a gritty, constrained feel. Catherine McGourty’s sound design is detailed and flawless – another rare component in student films.   

            What sets The Big Bris apart from other student films is that it doesn’t try to save the world. Peleg didn’t set out to change lives, or deal with heavy, monumental themes. His film tells a simple story about a normal family – much like yours –  and the true accomplishment is in its ability to simultaneously entertain and touch its viewers.

Enchanted (2007), The Princess and the Frog (2009), Tangled (2010)

Inside each and every one of us is the impression left by our former selves, that hopeful and innocent child who truly believed that nothing was impossible and all of their dreams could come true. Even the most despairing of cynics can’t deny the promise of a better tomorrow… the possibility of adventure in a limitless world, just waiting to be explored… perhaps even the chance at true love. Nowadays, one has only to turn on a news report to find countless stories of violence, abuse, and pain. It can be so easy to lose hope. But we must remember that there are positive things, too. Love and peace exist. So do opportunity and success, freedom and progress, friendship and happiness. We can get so wrapped up in the stresses of our everyday lives that these qualities go unnoticed. Sometimes, all it takes is a little reminding that life can be beautiful.

Traditionally, Disney films are notorious for painting a picturesque world view, an environment wherein the dragon is always slayed, the fair young maiden finds her Prince Charming, and all of the little woodland creatures come together to celebrate their union. Critics argue that these films are “wishy-washy” and overly idealistic. But is this really such a bad thing? In a time when children are growing up with technology as their primary companion, is it really so horrible to teach them about the existence of real, meaningful human relationships? These Disney “princess” films exhibit a timelessness, untied to spatial or temporal restraints and therefore universally relatable.

Three of Disney’s finest films to date have been released within the past five years: Enchanted (2007), The Princess and the Frog (2009), and Tangled (2010). The role of these films has evolved since the days of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937). They’ve become more self-aware, parodying the very genre in which they are based. They’ve also begun to tackle themes like independence, economy, and self-discovery. And still, their heart lies in the hope and innocence that resides within all of us, no matter how deep we must dig to access it.

The history of Disney princess films extends over a period of almost eight decades. It began in 1937 with Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, followed a few years later by Cinderella (1950) and Sleeping Beauty (1959). In all three, the narrative centers on the heroine’s (titular in the first two cases, Princess Aurora in Sleeping Beauty) desire to locate and marry her ideal Prince Charming. They succeeded inproviding the audience with a filmgoing experience that is entertaining and uplifting. Those enamored with Disney’s princesses were left without much to delight in for the next thirty years – that is, until the genre experienced a sudden Renaissance, beginning in 1989 with the release of The Little Mermaid. Beauty and the Beast (1991) followed shortly thereafter, with Pocahontas (1995) and Mulan (1998) a few years later. This new breed of animated features presented stronger, more independent female leads: Ariel is headstrong and rebellious; Belle is intelligent, but considered “strange” and a social anomaly; Pocahontas is instinctive and in tune with nature; Mulan is courageous and defies her predefined gender role. These films are masterpieces because they break new ground on women’s capabilities and achievements.  

For the next ten years… nothing. Disney was so preoccupied with their successful new collaboration with Pixar Animation Studios that they neglected to produce any princess fare. While audiences were charmed with talking toys, performing bugs, warmhearted monsters, lost fish, familial superheroes, egotistical automobiles, cuisine-savvy rodents, ecological robots, and flying houses – they were offered nothing in the form of classic fairytales.

Then, in 2007, the world saw the return of classic Disney with Kevin Lima’s partially live-action, partially animated film, Enchanted. Giselle (voiced and played by Amy Adams) lives alone in a far-off fantasy world called Andalasia until she is swept off her feet by a prince named Edward (James Marsden). Edward’s evil stepmother Narissa (Susan Sarandon) fears that once the two are married, Giselle will be a threat to her throne. To prevent this, she promptly disguises herself as an old hag and pushes Giselle down a well, which is actually a portal to the “real-world,” where Narissa claims “there are no happily ever afters.” Scared and alone, Giselle wanders around New York City until she is spotted by a by-the-book attorney named Robert (Patrick Dempsey) and his young daughter Morgan (Rachel Covey), who reluctantly take her in while she waits for Edward to rescue her. However, Giselle is simply not prepared for the customs and behavior of the people in this strange new place, and has a hard time adapting. She defies what is considered to be “normal”, and blesses everyone she comes around with her sunny and optimistic attitude. Even Robert, who was formerly strict, practical and overbearing, learns to change his ways and believe in the incredible. Ultimately, Giselle comes to love her new home so much that when Edward finally finds her, she is faced with the hardest decision of her life: Should she remain in the real-world with Robert and Morgan, or return to Andalasia?

What makes Enchanted such a treat is its parodic nature. Giselle and Edward are caricatures of the dreamy maiden and her charming prince, destined to be together and lead a life of domestic bliss. Within the first six minutes of the film, the couple meet, fall in love, and make plans to be married the next morning. Naïve as they may be, the viewer can’t help but rejoice at their having found each other, which makes the reveal that someone is conspiring against them even more powerful. Giselle is the embodiment of every Disney princess; In fact, the film carries several subtle references to past Disney works, such as Giselle’s reflection in a bubble when she is cleaning the floor (resemblant of a similar scene in Cinderella), and when she runs up a large grassy field during a musical montage (almost exactly like Belle does in Beauty and the Beast). Few people know that actresses such as Jodi Benson (who voiced Ariel in The Little Mermaid), Judy Kuhn (the singing voice of Pocahontas), and Paige O’Hara (the voice of Belle) all had cameos in the film. Adams does a fantastic job as the definitive princess trying to find a place in a modern-day world. Her voice and mannerisms were spot-on with those of her predecessors.

At its core, this film focuses on a young woman who is removed from her comfortable environment and placed in unfamiliar territory. In one scene, Giselle is shocked to learn that a client at Robert’s law firm is divorcing her husband. (“Forever and ever?!” she asks, incredulous). She begins sobbing dramatically, garnering the disbelieving attention of everyone in the room. But that’s just what makes Giselle so endearing: she cries when she’s upset, and sings when she’s happy. She’s honest and trusting, full of compassion and pleasantness. She’s not afraid to love.

As she learns and grows, Giselle realizes that perhaps what she thought was her destiny isn’t what she wants at all. Yet the choice she makes isn’t between Edward and Robert – it’s about the lives they each represent. The film is a journey of self-discovery, Giselle exploring the world for what it is, not necessarily in relation to a man. She constantly reiterates the importance of one’s dreams, and refuses to give up on them, no matter how level-headed Robert tries to convince her that they’re not realistic. Giselle stands for that bit of child-like innocence in all of us that wants to be set free.

            The next modern classic that we must examine is The Princess and the Frog. Directed by Ron Clements and John Musker, the film is set in New Orleans during the 1920s and follows 19-year-old Tiana (Anika Noni Rose). Hardworking and extremely driven, Tiana is determined to save up enough tips from her job as a waitress to finally make the down payment on her own restaurant. Her hands more than full working to achieve this dream, Tiana is unimpressed when she hears that Prince Naveen of Maldonia (Bruno Campos) is coming to town. Meanwhile, Naveen does some exploring and comes across the frightening voodoo doctor Facilier (Keith David), who somehow manages to convince the impressionable prince to let him perform a spell that will help Naveen get in the good favors of the richest man in town. What he gets, however, couldn’t be farther from that, and Naveen ends up a frog. He asks Tiana to kiss him to turn him back into a prince, and – upon promising her the money she needs to make her down payment – she reluctantly agrees. This process works in reverse, and Tiana too is transformed into a frog. The two then embark on a journey that takes them through the bayous of Louisiana to find a solution to their problem, making friends with creatures as diverse as alligators and fireflies along the way.

            The defining characteristic of this film comes in the form of its animation style. The Princess and the Frog was hand-drawn in two dimensions, just like the original Disney pictures. After years of nothing but CGI, this method has become a novelty! When Tiana sings a memorable song called “Almost There” about wanting to open her own restaurant, her visions of grandeur are seen in an art deco montage. This break from the established aesthetic underscores the dream-like quality of the sequence.

            As always, Disney exhibits tremendous attention to character detail. As a child, Tiana is shown to be terrified of frogs, so it follows that she will later be turned into one. This knack for subtly infusing plants and payoffs is a great strength at which many filmmakers are unsuccessful. Like Edward, Naveen is a parody of the classic “prince charming.” He’s handsome, but narcissistic and simpleminded. Tiana, too, is not without her faults: while diligent and kind, she is consumed by her work and leaves no time for fun, much less the prospect of falling in love.

            The setting of The Princess and the Frog is a uniqueness all its own. New Orleans is unlike any location shown in a Disney film, and it is depicted with as much flavor and vivacity as the city itself. Gumbo and beignets are the foods around which Tiana’s culinary aspirations revolve, and jazz music gives the film an authentic Louisiana mood (more on that later).

            Themes that are rarely touched on in children’s entertainment are placed at the forefront of this film. There is the subject of money, unlike the other Disney films where currency goes virtually unmentioned and the characters seem pretty well-off to begin with. We see Tiana in comparison with her wealthy and spoiled friend Charlotte, and realize that this is highly reflective of real life: some people get everything they want without so much as lifting a finger, and others must overcome obstacle after obstacle to reach their dreams. Hard work and determination are prominent themes, as wishing on stars can only get you so far. Tiana is the first African-American princess; in fact, The Princess and the Frog is the first of Disney’s animated films to feature African-American characters since 1946’s Song of the South. That film was banned from being released in its entirety for home distribution on the grounds of being racist, but this one disregards the issue, treating people as people, regardless of the color of their skin.

      The latest installment in Disney’s animated princess series is a retelling of a well-known fable. Tangled is the story of Rapunzel (voiced by Mandy Moore), a young maiden with incredibly long hair, who was never granted the freedom to fully experience her life. Hoping to take advantage of the healing properties of Rapunzel’s hair, an old woman named Gothel stole her from the palace when she was just a baby and whisked her away to a tower hidden deep in the forest. Here Rapunzel remains for the next eighteen years, believing that Mother Gothel is keeping her locked up for good reason, and that she truly is too fragile to survive in the world. However, that all changes when Rapunzel is visited by a charming thief named Flynn Rider (Zachary Levi), who helps her garner the nerve to leave the tower and chase her dream of seeing the lanterns released from the palace (coincidentally, or so Rapunzel thinks) every year on her birthday. Things get complicated when Mother Gothel finds out about this, and Rapunzel’s quest to see the lanterns is threatened.

      Rapunzel isn’t like the other Disney princesses. She’s a little bit bucktoothed and she has a lisp (kudos to Moore, who does not have one). She’s impressionable and naïve, thanks to extremely limited experience outside of the tower. She’s goofy and clumsy and has little self esteem, at least in the beginning. And yet she has a luminosity all her own (and I’m not just talking about the glowing hair). The scene in which Rapunzel and Flynn dance in the village square with all of the townspeople proves her to be just as radiant and endearing as the classic princesses. She’s a drop of sunshine… almost literally.

    One particularly impressive facet of the film is the storyline that leaves no question unanswered. Musings like “Why does Rapunzel’s hair possess magical healing powers?” or even “If she’s trapped in that tower all day, what does she do to occupy herself?” are all addressed (the latter in the form of a very pleasant song entitled “When Will My Life Begin”). The simple fairy tale on which this film is based is embellished and fortified with a narrated prologue that sets up everything which was to come.

     Spectacular as always, the computer animation leaves the viewer with a sense of longing to visit this magical (but alas, fictional) place. The gorgeous, lush landscape of the tower gives it a fantastical quality, something beautiful but mysterious; a difficult treasure to locate. The lantern sequence is particularly breathtaking, but I won’t ruin it with inadequate descriptions. As a family film, Tangled doesn’t deal with any particularly heavy or controversial subject matter. Yet the themes are no less valuable. It’s all about courage, self-discovery, and learning to stand on our own two feet. As viewers, we are all, to some extent, trapped in our own “towers,” and this film is about having the audacity to jump out the window and surprise yourself.

   Although labeled as “princess” movies, these three films aren’t just enjoyed by little girls. Young boys, teens, and grown-ups can also take pleasure in the viewing experience. If princesses aren’t your cup of tea, you’re sure to delight in one of the (usually comical and often non-human) supporting characters. Enchanted offers Pip, a chipmunk who Giselle describes as her “very best friend”. In the animated world of Andalasia, Pip can speak, and is therefore shocked to find he can communicate only in unintelligible squeaks in real-world New York City. Besides its two amphibious leads, The Princess and the Frog has Louis, a friendly trumpet-playing alligator, and Ray, a starry-eyed Cajun firefly. Besides acting as Tiana and Naveen’s guides and therefore advancing the plot, the two provide several opportunities for comedy. Just watching Louis dance as he blasts out a tune on his trumpet is enough to elicit giggles; the creature is surprisingly light on his feet.  In Tangled, there’s Maximus, one of the palace horses who harbors a vendetta against Flynn. Maximus doesn’t talk, but his nonverbal interactions with Flynn are the most hysterical part of the film. It’s amazing how much expression Disney animators can give their animal characters – without speaking, they can communicate an array of emotions just as diverse as those of their human counterparts.

   While the animation styles of the aforementioned films are quite disparate (Enchanted being primarily live-action, The Princess and the Frog in hand-drawn 2D, and Tangled with its computer graphics), the films share many similarities. All three are musicals, featuring songs that the characters sing themselves. In addition to writing scores for The Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, and Pocahontas (as well as several other popular Disney films), Alan Menken composed the music for Enchanted and Tangled. Both scores contribute immensely in creating an extravagant fantasy world.  Randy Newman wrote the music for The Princess and the Frog; appropriate, since he spent a large part of his childhood living in New Orleans. It’s jazzier and less whimsical than the other two, focusing more on the busy excitement of the city rather than establishing a magical new world.
        The way in which all three deal with relationships is also untraditional. We’ve come a long way from Snow White’s pining refrain of “Someday My Prince Will Come.” These new princesses aren’t out to find love (although, in the end, love tends to find them). They have dreams and goals separate from that. Tiana’s main objective is to open her own restaurant, and she initially refuses to let anything – including a handsome and available prince – get in the way of that. Rapunzel wants nothing more than to leave her tower and see the lanterns, and only relies on Flynn to get her there because she doesn’t know the way. In fact, both of these heroines at first despise the men they’re paired with, then gradually come to love them through situations that force them to grow and learn more about each other. Giselle is a different case, because she was purposefully developed as an imitation of the quintessential “Disney princess.” But even she re-evaluates her perception of what it means to be in love.

   Although still relatively new to the scene, Enchanted, The Princess and the Frog, and Tangled have quickly become exemplary works in the canon of Disney princess films. They will continue to influence a new generation of children with their strong heroines and uplifting themes, and for that they should be treasured.

Last Year at Marienbad (1961)

Few films can take their viewer on a psychologically-complex ride without exhausting him. Alain Resnais’ 1961 film Last Year at Marienbad is one such rare gem.  Highly stylistic in visuals and radical in structure, Marienbad is a groundbreaking film, dealing directly with the conflict between fact and fabrication. 

While staying at a luxurious hotel, a woman (credited only as “A” and played by Delphine Seyrig) is approached by a man (“X”, Giorgio Albertazzi) who desperately tries to convince her of the passionate relationship the two had together at the same hotel just one year prior.

The film opens with repeating, echoey narration as the camera drifts through an elaborately-decorated hotel. The effect is instantly transfixing, almost hypnotic. We glide past sets of well-dressed people, never stopping, always moving on to the next group before hearing more than a tantalizing snippet of their conversation. This is much in keeping with the general tone of the film: just when the viewer thinks they’ve figured it out, we move on to another scene that undoes any resolution we have come to.

 Last Year at Marienbad blurs the line between reality and fantasy, memory and the present. There are flashbacks – but are they really? The narration doesn’t always match up with the flashbacks. Maybe what we’re seeing is the truth, and the narration is a lie? Perhaps the “flashbacks” are in fact only dreams, visualizations of the scenario “X” insists happened at that location one year before? The most unique aspect of this film is

that we never find out – it’s all up to interpretation.

Repeated dialogue, landscapes, and objects make the viewer feel as if maybe

they’ve been in this situation before. The film revolves around creating a sense of uneasy déjà vu. Even the other hotel patrons seem to be struggling to remember something.

This is a film that can be thoroughly enjoyed the first time, for the viewer has surely never seen anything like it before. For a more in-depth look at the themes, however, it merits several more viewings. Perhaps there is an answer – a key to the mystery surrounding these characters, but in the fifty years since its release, nobody has been able to definitively unlock this.

What make Marienbad most delightful are its brilliant visuals: gorgeous people wearing gorgeous clothes in a gorgeous setting, shot in gorgeous lighting. No film I have seen comes even close in terms of camera movement; Last Year at Marienbad must hold some kind of record for total number of dolly shots. Never distracting, it keeps the scenes from becoming stale by creating a sense of constant flow.

The editing is also remarkable. Resnais plays one entire scene in a wide shot, his actors against the breathtaking backdrop of an expansive garden and glimmering fountains. Near the end of the film, there are several very quick flashes to another setting as “A” begins to remember something. The effect is jarring, startling and confusing! – much like the complex workings of the human mind and its two branches of memory and imagination.  

True Grit (2010)

With a cast headlined by talented actors such as Jeff Bridges, Matt Damon, and Josh Brolin, it’s hard to be ignorant of True Grit ’s existence. Consider it was directed by Joel and Ethan Coen, and it’s hard to be ignorant of its excellence. Yet somehow, True Grit  manages to eclipse even the most confident of expectations.

Based on the 1968 novel of the same title by Charles Portis (and adapted a year later into a feature directed by Henry Hathaway), the film begins with the narration of Mattie Ross, describing the murder of her father. She explains that Frank Ross, an honest man, was gunned down and killed by the drunkard Tom Chaney (Josh Brolin) in an act of unpredictable betrayal. Knowing full well that the law will not does not intend to punish Chaney, 14-year-old Mattie (Hailee Steinfeld) makes the decision to pursue and finish him off herself. Fueled by the fiery desire to make Chaney pay for his crime, she leaves her mother and younger siblings at home and - after a fair amount of monetary persuasion - recruits U.S. Marshal Reuben “Rooster” Cogburn (Jeff Bridges) to help her. The two are shortly joined by hotheaded Texas Ranger LaBoeuf (Matt Damon), who isn’t subtle about sharing his distaste for Cogburn. The trio embarks, separates, and reunites as they track Chaney; and (although they are an unlikely posse) save each other’s necks more than a couple of times.

The film’s performances are spectacular - unsurprising, coming from screen veteran Bridges. He plays Cogburn in a more gritty (if you’ll excuse the pun) and intimidating way than John Wayne, the role’s previous embodiment (for which he won his only Oscar). Although a marshal, Bridge’s Cogburn seems to abide by his own code rather than ethics set down by the law. He drinks, shoots haphazardly, and can’t seem to get his story straight when called upon to testify in court. But Cogburn proves to be the best guardian for Mattie along her quest; someone experienced enough to find and capture Chaney, and sympathetic enough to protect the girl.

For his part, Brolin makes a terrifying villain. Although surprisingly not the leader of a gang but a mere member (subordinate to Barry Pepper’s notorious outlaw Ned Pepper), Chaney shows no remorse for killing Mattie’s father - and proves just as unabashed when threatening a child. Damon steps comfortably into a supporting role as LaBoeuf, who tries ever so hard to give his feats proper acknowledgement, but ends up making a fool of himself more often than not. Yet we can’t help but like LaBoeuf, as he is one of the very few people willing to help Mattie.

True Grit ’s most pleasant surprise comes in the form of fresh face Hailee Steinfeld. Mattie is brave, determined, and mature for her age, but she doesn’t come off as a know-it-all, or pretend that she does. Although she demonstrates a considerable amount of the film’s namesake characteristic, she is still a child at heart. She still wants to tell stories by the campfire, hardly knows how to use a gun, and weeps when her horse becomes exhausted and is put out of its suffering by Cogburn. Steinfeld’s dialogue is anything but skimpy, and I can only imagine how difficult memorizing her lines must have been. In fact, one of the strongest points of the film was the script, written by the Coens and based tightly upon the elegant but wordy dialogue of Portis. True Grit  reminded me of The Social Network in this way - both films require the viewer’s absolute attention during their back and forth “tennis-match”-like scenes.

Anyone familiar with the Western genre knows that the environment in which the action takes place can be nearly as important as the action itself, and the scenery here is not lacking. Every open valley, expansive sky, and snowy mountaintop is enhanced by the brilliant cinematography style of Coen pro Roger Deakins. The film teems with gorgeously cinematic shots that subtly remind the viewer what a rare adventure they’re a part of, without lessening the reality of what the landscape really was: dangerous and untamable.

Apart from a superfluous “25 years later”-type epilogue (which could have easily been substituted with a more concise narration), there wasn’t anything about this film that I disliked. All the elements of a top-notch Western are there, working together cohesively to keep the viewer completely engaged throughout the 110-minute running time. My pick for best film of the year, True Grit  is a true gem.

When in Rome (2010)

Don’t waste your time with this film. No, seriously - don’t. I’ve watched it so you don’t have to. The following plot summation will provide you with all the information you need, and you’ll be free to spend the following 91 minutes doing something more beneficial to your life (which includes just about anything other than a viewing of When in Rome).

Directed by Mark Steven Johnson, When in Rome is the story of Beth (Kristen Bell), a young, workaholic museum curator who abides by the idea that love is just not worth her time. While attending her sister’s impromptu wedding in Rome, Beth becomes enamored with the best man - a charming reporter named Nick (Josh Duhamel). Afraid of having her heart broken, Beth escapes the reception and drunkenly stumbles upon the (conveniently close) Fountain of Love. Upset and intoxicated, she steals five coins from the fountain, hoping to spare their casters from the sorrows of love gone awry. Unbeknownst to Beth, taking coins from the fountain is rumored to put a spell on those who threw them in, and she soon finds strange men relentlessly hitting on her.

Beth’s admirers include an Italian artist, a street magician, and a male model (portrayed by Will Arnett, Jon Heder, and Dax Shepard, respectively). Perhaps Johnson was unsure of whom he most wanted to typecast, so he just went ahead and cast them all. As if this weren’t enough, we get Danny DeVito as the fourth schmuck charmed into love with Beth… which wouldn’t be as creepy if he wasn’t several decades her senior. The fifth coin stolen by Beth belongs to Nick, and she must figure out whether his presumed romantic feelings for her are real, or merely the result of her thievery.

            I won’t bore you with the minute details that make up the greater part of the film’s plot. Suffice it to say that the film begins with a wedding, as well as ends with one.

I have to wonder what compelled Johnson, whose previous credits include Daredevil and Ghost Rider, to change directions completely and helm a romantic comedy. Not to worry, though - When in Rome fails just as miserably as the others. With its odd combination of overt slapstick comedy and trite messages about romance, I was confused as to whether the target audience was lovelorn 15-year-old girls or their annoying little brothers. The film offers an absolutely pointless Shaquille O’Neal cameo, (which, come to think of it, doesn’t seem too out of place considering how much of a mess the rest of the movie is.) And there’s an appearance by Efren Ramirez as Heder’s videotaping sidekick - because what Heder role would be complete without a blatant Napoleon Dynamite reference? The lines are cheesy and predictable; I almost choked when I heard Bell ask, “He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?” and cringed at Duhamel’s “The only spell I’m under… is yours.” It seems to me that the writers hastily compiled their dialogue from a list of “Top 10 Most Cliché Lines in Film.”

The story is weak, the dialogue is cheap, and (despite what I can only imagine were desperate attempts at fleshing them out) the characters don’t seem to have much depth to them. I won't even go into the dance number performed by the cast during the end credits; that's another level of torture entirely. When in Rome might aspire to be the next When Harry Met Sally, but it falls into the ranks with Maid in Manhattan and From Justin to Kelly.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do. But when seeking a film that’s worth your time, look elsewhere.

Clean, Shaven (1993)

            This film made me want to vomit. But that’s exactly why I liked it.

Director Lodge Kerrigan glamorizes nothing in his 1993 film about a schizophrenic man fighting to be reunited with his young daughter. Clean, Shaven is shocking and disturbing, but beneath the brutal images one finds a tremendous amount of heart.

Peter Greene stars as Peter Winter, a tormented man presumably recently released from a mental institution. Peter arrives back in his hometown to visit his mother (Megan Owen), and find his daughter Nicole (Jennifer MacDonald), who has long since been adopted. At the same time, police detective Jack McNally (Robert Albert) conducts an investigation on a series of child murders. All evidence points to Peter, whom McNally pursues with fervor.

What makes Clean, Shaven so fascinating is its ability to draw the viewer into the mind of a schizophrenic. While no mentally-healthy person can ever truly empathize with the constant struggles of a person like Peter, this film brings us considerably closer. Kerrigan dwells on seemingly minute details, like the way Peter slowly spreads mustard over a slice of bread, or how he dumps several packets of sugar into his three cups of coffee. These are specifics most directors wouldn’t find necessary to telling their story, but Kerrigan uses them as tools to bring us into Peter’s shaky thought patterns. This is also achieved through some brilliant sound design. While there is little dialogue (Peter is alone for several scenes), we constantly hear indistinct voices talking over one another. Watching this film made me feel like I was going crazy.

Details are what make this film, and Kerrigan shows great vehemence in illustrating even the most gruesome. The most memorable of such moments are when Peter tries to extract the transmitter and radio devices that he believes have been implanted underneath his scalp and fingernail. This is extremely hard to watch, not because these acts are particularly violent (recent films have shown much worse), but because they are examples of self-harm. One can’t imagine what it must be like to resort to that.

This film is incredibly depressing. At times, it makes the viewer feel as if there is no love or compassion in the world. Crimes including armed robberies and child murder are touched on in realistic detail, and these scenes are made all the more frightening when the viewer stops to think that events like that actually happen. Yet Clean, Shaven simultaneously addresses this frightening realization and offers hope. In one beautiful moment, Nicole asks Peter about her mother. Rather than going into particular aspects of her personality, he simply tells her, “There’s a lot of people out there who want to hurt you. Wherever you are. But she was good.” This line will stand out in my mind forever because its message rings so true: the world can be a dangerous place, but we all have people in our lives who love us and will protect us.

Anytime a film can elicit a physical response (such as the nausea I felt upon leaving Clean, Shaven), it’s well worth seeing. This is a testament to the director’s transcendence from merely telling a story to creating an experience. If you can stomach the more grisly moments, it’s an experience well worth taking part in.

The Shooting (1967)

            A far cry from the quintessential Western, Monte Hellman’s 1967 film The Shooting is a disappointment. The exposition is simple enough: hardened cowboy Gashade (Warren Oates) and his young companion Coley (Will Hutchins) are suddenly joined by a secretive and nameless Woman, who employs them to help her in a revenge scheme (upon whom they are seeking revenge, the boys have no idea). They later meet up with bounty hunter Billy Spear (Jack Nicholson), and find themselves dealing with far more than they agreed to.

While The Shooting employs several creative visual techniques, they have no relevance to the story and ultimately fall short. There is a moment near the beginning of the film where the Woman is seen in a profile close-up. The shot is stylistically interesting, but unexpected and jarring. It is also not matched by any subsequent shot, making it an even more bizarre directorial decision. But what else is new? The Shooting is filled with numerous equally strange shots and moments. The composition is always a little different than would be traditionally accepted, like in a shot where Coley and the Woman stand on either side of a tombstone. The grave is seen directly in between the two characters, creating a very uncomfortable frame. The use of slow-motion and still frames in the last scene are highly distracting, and again have no connection to anything we’ve seen earlier in the film. When I wasn’t too busy wondering to myself, “What the hell is going on?” I was wondering, “Why the hell did the director choose to do that?”

The film’s ending is simply ridiculous. After a first viewing, I had absolutely no idea what had happened. I saw some characters shoot, some characters get shot, one mysterious character in a wide shot (whom I could not identify, as that was the only coverage offered of him), and a whole lot of cheesy slow-motion. Perhaps my confusion was due to the fact that much of the dialogue was unintelligible. Upon further research, I learned that there is a somewhat widely-accepted explanation for what happened, but a viewer should never have to go seeking information that should be made clear on-screen! The worst part is that I didn’t even really care about the film’s resolution. It made no difference to me if Gashade died, or if the Woman succeeded in finding her target – that’s how disconnected I felt from the characters.

The one thing I did enjoy about this film was the music, composed by Richard Markowitz. Creepy and sinister, it is nothing like the grandiose scores we are used to hearing in Westerns. It gently foreshadows the horrific events to come and reminds the viewer that this is a fresh take on the genre. Just as impressive is the lack of music in chosen moments. During the climactic fight scene between Gashade and Billy, it cuts out completely, and the only sounds to be heard are their shuffles and struggles as either tries to dominate the other.

A film with an engaging first half, The Shooting gradually becomes rife with bizarre cinematography and confusing plot twists. It lacks consistency and multi-faceted characters, and filmgoers should feel no remorse in skipping it.

The Last Mimzy (2007)

            I tried to like this film. I really did. I saw it once in theatres and then gave it a nice, long, three-year period to reevaluate my assessment before a second viewing. And yet, it seems that three years in film school were enough to justify my disliking it even more. Simply put, The Last Mimzy is a mess.

            Directed by Robert Shaye, the film centers around siblings Noah and Emma Wilder (Chris O’Neil and Rhiannon Leigh Wryn), who discover a mysterious box washed up on shore near their family’s Washington beach home. They shortly find that the box is filled with foreign objects, including a plate of crystal that casts geometric shapes of light, an assortment of rocks (which the children term “spinners”), a gooey blue blob made up of goodness knows what, and an old stuffed rabbit (to which young Emma takes an immediate liking). Emma soon realizes that the rabbit can communicate with her, and it tells her its name is Mimzy. The children become obsessed with unlocking the potential of the various “toys,” which the audience knows have been sent from a future superhuman race in danger of extinction. Of course, the only thing that can heal their failing society is the goodness of a child, which is where the Wilder kids come in.  

The film is based on a short story entitled Mimsy Were the Borogoves, written in 1943 by Lewis Padgett (a pseudonym for married science fiction authors Henry Kuttner and C.L. Moore, who often worked together). I’m unsure why Shaye changed the spelling of the title from “Mimsy” to “Mimzy,” but that is certainly the least unforgivable deviance from the story. The Padgett work mentions nothing about the children developing superpowers (such as corporeal levitation or communicating with spiders), nor does it include any mention of the disturbingly powerful stuffed rabbit, whom Emma seems to love more than her own family.

While the short story is told from the parents’ perspective, Shaye opts to present it from the children’s point of view. My best guess is that we’re supposed to empathize with Mimzy as she pleads for Noah and Emma’s help, but it’s hard for me to feel sorry for something so eerily subversive, as she encourages the children to keep the box hidden from their parents. Of course, it’s probably the parents’ fault for lack of investigation.

In fact, what drove me especially crazy was the fact that the Wilder parents (Timothy Hutton and Joely Richardson) seemed to have little control over the kids. They allow Noah to play video games nonstop, and don’t seem to notice Emma’s fixation on Mimzy until it becomes blatantly harmful. They don’t even take a moment to ask her where she got the toy. About halfway through the film, Richardson’s character becomes overwhelmed with emotion at her children’s increasingly strange behavior and finally reprimands them and throws the toys away. A few cuts later we see Emma with Mimzy (whom Noah retrieved from the dumpster), and the parents do nothing to enforce their punishment. Richardson’s mother character overreacts to the situation by weeping incessantly, while Hutton’s workaholic father doesn’t seem to realize its magnitude. The child actors are sweet and sincere, but their limited experience due to young age is quite evident in their performances.

The film’s saving graces come in the forms of Noah’s hippie science teacher Larry White (Rainn Wilson) and his quirky fiancée Naomi (Kathryn Hahn), the only people who believe there is some otherworldly importance to the children’s abnormal behavior. Wilson and Hahn provide the film with a much-needed infusion of humor while advancing the story’s more ethereal themes. 

One of the reasons the film saw little success at the time of its release in 2007 was because it was incorrectly marketed as a children’s film, what with its PG rating and 90-minute running time. In reality, the storyline is much too complicated for children to understand. Yet it has little to offer adults, either. There is no sweeping romance, intense fight scenes, or gripping drama. It’s a simple story about some spoiled children and their fixation on a box of potentially dangerous materials. Take into consideration the film’s shamelessly sugary score (which was no doubt intended to inspire a sense of overwhelming hope, but made me feel more nauseated than anything), some ill-executed dialogue dubbing, and an unrealistically perfect ending, and you have a pretty accurate picture of why this film severely underperformed at the box office. Perhaps it would have been prudent for Shaye to stick more closely to the story, or – better yet – to have adapted a work better suited for the silver screen.

           

The Social Network (2010)

Going in, I was apprehensive about The Social Network. Although it had already garnered a lot of praise – merely a day after his release - I was unsure about the entertainment of a film that deals primarily with computer programming and lawsuits – two of the most boring subjects one could imagine watching transpire onscreen.

I was wrong.

The film, directed by David Fincher and affectionately dubbed “the Facebook movie” by many, follows Harvard student Mark Zuckerberg (Jesse Eisenberg) in his pursuit to create and develop the popular networking site. Along the way, Zuckerberg is slapped with two lawsuits; one from his best (read: only) friend and CEO of Facebook, Eduardo Saverin (Andrew Garfield). The other is imposed by twins Tyler and Cameron Winklevoss (Armie Hammer), fellow Harvard students and avid crew competitors who claim that Zuckerberg stole their idea for a networking site called “The Harvard Connection.” Zuckerberg meets and befriends Sean Parker (Justin Timberlake), who introduces him to the endless possibilities of what Facebook could be, and helps Zuckerberg streamline and expand.

Screenwriter Aaron Sorkin does a wonderful job keeping the story enthralling by placing the primary focus on characters. Indeed, all of the drama is derived from personal relationships: Zuckerberg’s friendship with Saverin; the breakup between Zuckerberg and his girlfriend, Erica (Rooney Mara); the growing rivalry between Saverin and Parker; even the concept of Facebook itself. Sorkin’s dialogue is quick and witty – it doesn’t slow down and wait for the audience to catch up (as best demonstrated in the very first scene, where Zuckerberg and Erica engage in breakneck back-and-forth conversation). Indeed, some of the film’s rapid dialogue is so quick that the film merits a second viewing to catch all of it. But the dialogue feels real – at least, real for a computer programming expert and entrepreneurial genius.

Another great element of the script was that there are no clearly-defined antagonists. Many of the characters have disagreeable qualities, but all of the film’s conflicts can be understood from both points of view. Was Zuckerberg right to replace Saverin without his knowledge, even though Saverin was going in a completely different direction than Zuckerberg wanted? Should he have built upon an idea inspired by the Winklevoss twins, or was that intellectual theft, as they believed? Many of the questions the film arises prove to be morally ambiguous.

The deposition scenes, which could have easily slowed the film down to a sluggish pace, were kept interesting by being intercut with scenes of the action leading up to them. It’s the classic instance of “show, don’t tell.” That, in combination with Zuckerberg’s snappy responses, kept the lawsuit content fresh and engaging.

The acting was great – Eisenberg’s Zuckerberg was selfish, socially incompetent, academically condescending, and yet somehow we still manage to feel sorry for him because he lacks the one thing that makes Facebook function at its most primary basis – friendship. Still, we can’t help but admire him because of his hard work, dedication, and inability to be seduced by the wild lifestyle so easily accessible to him. Garfield’s Saverin provides for a loyal companion – that is, until Zuckerberg screws him over. But perhaps it was Saverin’s own fault, for refusing to abandon his crusade for advertising. Timberlake’s Parker is wild, ambitious, and egocentric; yet it was because of his contributions that Facebook is now utilized worldwide. Each of the main characters was multi-faceted, with understandable catalysts behind their actions. 

Seeing this film did stimulate thoughts about the motives behind Facebook (where I’m sure many of you are reading this review). Zuckerberg admits that the inspiration for the site was that it would allow people to “spy” on their friends. Gone are the days of meeting someone personally and learning about them the “old-fashioned” way; now all it takes is one search of their name, and we are presented with an overabundance of information: birthdate, hometown, relationship status, family, political views, interests, even photos. We can decide whether or not it’s worth our time to “friend” someone before so much as speaking to them. What started out as an easier way to connect with classmates quickly grew to something much, much more.

Go see The Social Network. If for nothing else, it’ll give you something to update your status about.

The Sin of Nora Moran (1933)

The Sin of Nora Moran (1933) is a film few are familiar with today. And it’s really no wonder: the story is mildly interesting, but forgettable.

Flashback sequences illuminate the painful past of the title character (played by Zita Johann): the death of her adoptive parents, her search for work, and a job offer with a traveling circus. Nora’s partner in the show is an abusive man named Paulino (John Miljan), who takes advantage of her one night. Nora leaves the circus and starts a romance with a married governor (Paul Cavanagh). When Paulino surprises Nora by returning for her, the governor ends up accidentally killing him. To protect her lover, Nora takes the blame and is sentenced to death by electrocution. 

 In Nora’s meticulous planning of how to dispose of the body, this film is a kind of precursor to Double Indemnity (1944). It certainly deals with several of the same key themes (passionate romances, infidelity, murder, and justice), although Nora Moran casts a more positive light on its titular suspect, portraying her as a silent martyr rather than a criminal.

Montages, such as the one where Nora looks for work in the city, do a good job helping the audience not only sympathize with Nora, but empathize with the stress of being caught up in such busy surroundings. The viewer is bombarded with crossfades of bright lights and bustling streets, which effectively convey the pandemonium. 

At the beginning of the film, one is inclined to write Nora off as a distasteful floozy. But as the District Attorney pulls her file from a secret vault hidden within his bookshelf, it soon becomes apparent that she is a much more complex person than that. In fact, the entire moral of the film could be summed up in that simple shot: there is always so much more to a person than one collects at first glance, and there are things concealed beneath the surface that can only be gleaned from unlocking the hidden vault of their experiences.  

Forty Guns (1957)

            Westerns are a genre of which the glory days have long since died out. With the exception of recent remakes like 3:10 to Yuma (Mangold, 2007) and True Grit (Coens, 2010), modern cinema has little to offer of the genre, and audiences must look further back to satisfy their cravings for an entertaining and well-crafted Western. Forty Guns, directed by Samuel Fuller in 1957, is one such film.

            When an unruly gang starts wreaking havoc on a small Arizona town, renowned marshal Griff Bonnell (Barry Sullivan) arrives to intervene. He soon becomes enamored with the beautiful Jessica Drummond (Barbara Stanwyck), an influential rancher who leads an outfit of forty men. The two fall in love, but familial drama threatens to separate them.

Best known for her earlier roles in films noir such as Double Indemnity and The File on Thelma Jordon, Stanwyck once again proves to be a powerful onscreen presence. One of the two women in the film (the other being a respectable gunsmithstress), Drummond is simultaneously loved and feared by the men in her band.

While the plot is interesting enough, the true enjoyment of Forty Guns comes in the form of its gorgeous cinematography. The film uses several fascinating stylistic techniques which subtly enhance the characters’ motivations and emotions, without diverting the viewer’s attention from the story. Out of focus point-of-view shots are used to help the audience sympathize with the visually-impaired marshal who gets shot at the onset of the film; they reveal who the true villains are and how horrible they must be to take advantage of someone in such a condition. The POV shot is used again later, when one character is seen in a James Bond-esque manner through the barrel of a gun (although this application of the perspective shot is not as well-executed as the aforementioned.) Forty Guns also employs many unabridged tracking shots that necessitate long stretches of mise-en-scène and flawless camera choreography. There are few close-ups, perhaps to distance the viewer from the complex characters. The film’s vast, open spaces (primarily the backdrop of the opening credits) are breathtaking and make the viewer’s heart ache for a more expansive, natural environment.

            Dark shadows and slashes of light add depth to this Western world, emphasizing the aspect of good versus evil. In the sequence in which Drummond and Griff lie together in her barn, they are each encased in their own slash of light. But as the conversation grows more affectionate, she crosses through the shadow separating them and into his slash, symbolically eliminating any distance between them and affirming her love. Upon learning that she’ll never be with him, one of Drummond’s desirous gunmen hangs himself, and the viewer is left with the eerie double image of his legs hanging from the rafters and the shadow they cast on the wall, slowly swinging back and forth.

            The lavish dining hall sequences stand in sharp contrast with the environments of traditional Westerns, often set in grubby saloons and tight sleeping quarters. Drummond obviously makes quite the living, which proves that she must be working as a rancher for some reason other than money (which we later come to find when Drummond tells Griff her story in an intimate heart-to-heart.)

            Forty Guns may not be the quintessential model of a Western, but it definitely has its merits. Compelling performances and impressive cinematography make this film-viewing experience one not soon to be forgotten.

Vertigo (1958)

Alfred Hitchcock’s 1958 thriller Vertigo is a film that stays with its audience long after its viewing. Almost flawless as a whole, the film possesses (no pun intended) the rare quality of simultaneously charming and frightening the viewer. Beautiful actors and equally attractive cinematography are paired with a dark, convoluted storyline to create an unforgettable experience. 

Vertigo follows the plight of former detective John “Scottie” Ferguson (James Stewart), who, after an incident on top of a building late one night culminating in the death of a fellow officer, is left with an intense sense of guilt and severe fear of heights. Having quit the force because his acrophobia, Scottie spends his free time visiting his best friend Midge (Barbara Bel Geddes), a woman to whom he was once engaged, but with whom things have since considerably cooled off. One day Scottie gets a call from an old college acquaintance, Gavin Elster (Tom Helmore), who recruits Scottie to follow his wife due to increasingly strange behavior. Although skeptical of Elster’s theory that his wife has been possessed, Scottie is titillated by the prospect of more detective work, and agrees.

He begins to follow Mrs. Madeleine Elster, a housewife apparently so well-off that she has nothing to do with her time other than take several consecutive trips to gardens, churches, museums and hotels. Scottie tails Madeleine as she drives around town, and it is a wonder that she never realizes she’s being watched – although this might be justified with the idea that she’s really out of it and has no sense of the things happening around her.

When she parks at the base of the Golden Gate Bridge, he witnesses her try to jump into the bay and rescues her. The two quickly fall in love (which is probably his fault for taking her back to his house rather than hers after she fell in the bay). This is made even creepier by the fact that he presumably undressed her while she was unconscious, intending to rid her of her wet clothes.

Time goes by and the couple falls even more deeply in love. One fateful night, however, they are torn apart when Madeleine (supposedly under a possessed spell) throws herself off the bell tower at mission-turned-museum San Juan Bautista. Scottie becomes depressed, and for a time stays in a psychiatric ward. Upon his release, Scottie sees a woman who looks exactly like Madeleine (except for her brown hair), and follows her back to the hotel that Madeleine frequented. The woman tells him that she is Judy Barton from Kansas (also played by Novak), is offended that he is so enamored with her only because she “reminds him of someone,” but agrees to have dinner with him anyways. Scottie and Judy begin dating, but a growing suspicion hints to him that she may not be entirely honest.  

The rest of the film is for the reader to seek out, as I won’t be the one to give away Vertigo’s shocking ending. Anyone familiar with Hitchcock knows that he was not only a “master of suspense,” but a master of plot twists, and such readers will be happy to find that Vertigo is no exception. 

Although there are no overt sexual references, the film hints at sexuality in a refreshingly subtle manner – something many films today would be wise to imitate. When Scottie asks Midge if she “supposes many men wear corsets,” she responds in the affirmative, and he tauntingly inquires, “Really, do you know that from personal experience…?” (To which she simply responds, “Please.”) The world-wary Judy Barton, at first skeptical of Scottie’s advances, admits that she’s “been picked up before.” When he implores her to spend more time with him, she mistakes his fascination for sexual desire, and tells him that, “I understand, all right. I’ve been understanding since I was seventeen.” Vertigo doesn’t brush off sex and sensuality, nor does it linger on establishing every intimate detail. Rather, it offers up just enough insight as to make the characters visceral while still maintaining a level of class significant to Hitchcock’s films.

            In fact, the camera’s treatment of its female characters is the most provocative thing about the film. There are a few too many “wow, Kim Novak is gorgeous” shots, lingering on her for several seconds every time she walks through a doorway, and enhanced by Bernard Herrmann’s score swelling up and exploding into a passionate cue. Coincidentally, these seem to diminish once she transforms into her brunette alter ego. Without the blonde hair, the allure is gone – she’s just a normal woman.

For a split second, Novak’s character becomes likeable. When Judy is alone, we see that she seems much more complicated than Madeline – much more real – complete with a haunting history and secrets that she can’t bear to divulge to the man she loves. But any confidence the viewer may have in Judy is lost almost immediately. She proves to be painfully submissive. When Scottie becomes deranged, trying to transform Judy into Madeline by purchasing her new clothes and making her dye her hair, she complains, but ultimately stands by and lets him. This is the biggest red-flag that the film was not directed by a woman, as no self-respecting female would ever put up with being taken advantage of in this way. Nor would she accept the fact that a man loved her because she reminded him of someone else as an excuse to stay with him. Judy submits to Scottie’s every demand, too afraid to say no. At one point, she even begs, “If I do what you tell me, will you love me?” Even women who don’t fancy themselves feminists by definition should be angered by this kind of mistreatment. The saleswoman at the dress shop completely ignores Judy’s pleas for Scottie to stop choosing all these clothes for her, presumably because at the time a man’s request was still valued over a woman’s.

And yet, even themes of sexism and male dominance can’t be regarded as “flaws” in the context of the film. No doubt Hitchcock sculpted them as carefully as every other detail in the film to create an even more disturbing world.

The visual imagery of Vertigo is sublime. This is the film that perfected the “car shot,” as there are several such shots of Scottie peering through his windshield at Madeleine as she goes through her daily routine. Yet these never become boring or trite, and each one adds something special to the story as a whole. Then there’s the iconic and perfectly-timed shot of Madeleine and Scottie kissing just as a huge wave crashes over the rocks behind them, a cinematic gem in every way. Add to these a San Francisco setting that just begs to be admired, and Vertigo becomes a film just as riveting and complex in its visuals as its storyline.

Another of the film’s strong points is its choices in casting. Stewart and Novak exhibit tremendous chemistry. At times their characters embrace passionately; at others, she is terrified of his domineering and forceful nature. At all times, however, the actors are clearly in perfect synchronization with each other. The final scene especially showcases both of their capacities for brilliant intensity, as Scottie works up the courage to once again visit the bell tower.

At its core, Vertigo is a story about beautiful, complicated people trapped in a beautiful, complicated world. An elaborate and endearing film, it is highly recommended for anyone interested in mystery films and classic cinema.

Killer of Sheep (1978)

Good films need not change the world. Their objective can be as basic as providing simple entertainment by telling a simple story about a simple character. But good film, practically by definition, requires the combination of two key things: a good story and good visuals. Charles Burnett’s 1978 feature, Killer of Sheep, has neither.

The story of a depressed butcher named Stan (Henry G. Sanders) was made while Burnett was still in film school at UCLA, and it is immediately apparent that this film is not a piece of professional work. It teems with transitory, single-shot scenes of children playing in the streets, but these are without any relevance. My best guess is that Burnett’s intention was to augment the rough nature of the neighborhood his characters live in, but he didn’t need to prove it between every scene of actual content. Or, at least, what appears to be content compared to the pointless transition shots, as Killer of Sheep’s narrative doesn’t have much of an arc.

Stan and his family are introduced as unhappy people in an unhappy environment, and the film ends on the same note. By the close of the film, Stan’s outlook on life seems a little brighter, yet there has been no discernible event to cause this abrupt change in mood. Nothing about him has inherently changed, and the viewer doubts whether his life has been substantially improved. Although Stan’s attitude has been temporarily uplifted, the audience finds themselves depressed – if only because they wasted an hour and a half of their life watching this insipid film.

The technical aspects of Killer of Sheep do not compensate for its sub-par storyline. Shots are composed in awkward, sloppy ways, sometimes cutting off the top of actors’ heads and sometimes giving them far too much headroom. Several shots are noticeably out of focus, and camera movement is rare and unexciting. Perhaps these things are a visual interpretation of how boring and unfulfilling Stan’s life has become, but there is simply never an excuse for bad cinematography. Even worse is the sound design: characters speak so softly that it’s hard to decipher what they’re saying. This makes the film confusing and frustrating, especially when new characters are introduced. I had no idea who these people were, why they were there, or what relationship they had with Stan.

Although not enough to redeem it, the film possesses a few nice touches. The music is great, and a testament to a large budget (for a student film), since Burnett must have spent a lot of money procuring rights to songs performed by artists including Louis Armstrong and Earth Wind & Fire. I was also touched by one specific image of a sheep nuzzling against its mate; a seemingly extraneous shot unless taken in the context of Stan’s relationship with his wife (Kaycee Moore). She tries over and over again to captivate him and reignite some spark of romance, but Stan remains unresponsive, just like the sheep.

Killer of Sheep neither provides entertainment nor does it shine light upon important social issues. It is truly amazing that this film has received any reputation beyond that of a student film, and a disappointing one at that.

Play It Again, Sam (1972)

There is a point at which Woody Allen’s caricature of an obsessive compulsive, neurotic, and generally weird little man stops being endearing and starts becoming annoying. For me, we reached that point a long, long time ago. If the reader is unsure of exactly which kind of character I am referring to, I kindly direct them to the 1972 “comedy” entitled Play It Again, Sam.

Written by Woody Allen and directed by Herbert Ross, the film’s plot is simple enough to be followed even by those who think it’s a brilliant piece of work. When his wife suddenly divorces him, film critic Allan (Woody Allen) struggles to get his love life back on track. With the help of married friends Linda (Diane Keaton) and Dick (Tony Roberts), Allan gets set up with a plethora of women, but perpetually fails to impress them and ends up whining about how he’s going to be celibate for the rest of his life. Eventually Allan realizes that the woman he’s really attracted to (shocker: it’s Linda) has been in plain sight the whole time, and wrestles with the dilemma of whether loyalty to a close friend is worth resisting the strong temptation Linda poses.

The pathetic thing about Allen’s career isn’t that he is typecast – it’s that he typecasts himself. It seems as if every lead role he writes is written specifically for him to portray, and while some may see this as the sign of a multi-talented individual, it can also be taken as extreme narcissism. (The lead of Play It Again, Sam is named Allan, after all, a mere one-letter divergence in spelling from the name of its writer.) In fact, this overconfidence stands in complete contrast with the personalities of the aforementioned role, recycled time and time again in Allen’s films: that of an anxious, middle-aged man disgusted with himself and unhappy with his life until he randomly meets up with his soul mate, an equally insecure and neurotic woman usually embodied by Ms. Keaton. The most disconcerting aspect of this character is his creepy sexual overconfidence. While I understand that perhaps Allen and Co. were trying to appeal to the “everyman,” I am never enthusiastic about having to hear some skeevy guy go on and on about how great he is in bed. I just don’t buy it.

While considered a comedy, the film’s humor falls flat. Most of the jokes play off of the fact that Allan knows he’s undesirable, yet is eager to prove it at every opportunity. It’s almost as if he wants to own repugnant as a trait; make it his since it’s the only thing he has. And it’s hard to sympathize with a character who has already resigned himself to that.

The film’s few genuinely funny moments come in the form of Allan’s fantasies, when Humphrey Bogart appears to give him advice on seducing women. Even these rare sequences, however, can’t save Play It Again, Sam from being excruciatingly stale, and for that reason I will not be playing it again.

Once (2007)

As he is performing in the street one night, a struggling musician (played by Glen Hansard) meets a quick-witted young Czech woman (Markéta Irglová) who takes an instant interest in his music. When he finds out that she is a skilled pianist with a beautiful voice, the two begin spending increasing amounts of time together writing and recording songs. Their initial acquaintance quickly develops into a musically-charged romance. However, we soon come to find this is not the first time either has been in love: Hansard’s character is still dealing with the heartbreak imputed on him from a previous girlfriend, while Irglová’s character has a child with her estranged husband, still living in the Czech Republic. Upon hearing his story, the she encourages her new friend to go after his past lover, whom he clearly still bears feelings for. He plans to do this until he finds that he has come to love his fellow musician. While they are recording a demo in the studio one night, our male protagonist asks her if she’d like to go live in London with him, a proposition she finds tempting.

The thing that appealed most to me about the film is the simplicity of it all (the main characters don’t even have names, and are instead credited as “guy” and “girl”). It’s not a thinking movie, it's a feeling movie, relying on the viewer’s emotions and reactions. The music of the film is absolutely phenomenal, each song fitting perfectly in with the corresponding imagery, like a series of mini-music videos strung together by a powerful storyline. In fact, at the 2007 Academy Awards, the melodious “Falling Slowly” scooped up the Oscar for Best Original Song and an instant download onto iPods across the globe. The songs aren’t those that you simply hear; rather, they’re an experience to savor.

The chemistry between the two lead actors is so strong that it’s hard to believe neither had much acting experience prior to Once (not to mention their real-life, eighteen-year age difference). The backdrop of Dublin was brilliant, although I am ashamed to admit that subtitles were necessary for me to catch all of the dialogue through the actors’ thick European accents. The film has obtained an R rating, but there is no sex or violence, and if you can deal with more than a few F-bombs, the experience is well worth it.

Once is a film that you should not miss. It proves that a film doesn’t have to have a huge budget, well-known movie star leads, or a plethora of special effects to hit a chord with viewers and critics alike: The only essentials are some sincerely talented actors, a moving soundtrack, a powerful script, proper execution, and the film is sure to be one that won’t soon be forgotten.  

Steamboat Bill, Jr. (1928)

            Filled with sight gags and humorous dialogue cards, the 1928 film Steamboat Bill, Jr. is still hailed by critics today. The story is simple enough: after years away at school, William Canfield, Jr. (Buster Keaton) returns home to take over captaining his father’s unpopular steamboat. He soon finds himself smitten with a pretty girl named Kitty (Marion Byron), who happens to be the daughter of a rival steamboat owner. Bill Jr. and Kitty begin courting (despite their fathers’ distaste for each other), but when a cyclone hits unexpectedly, Bill Jr. must rise above his clumsy reputation to save the people he loves.

            Steamboat Bill, Jr. is good for a one-time viewing by the student or film enthusiast looking to expand their knowledge of film history. Unfortunately, I can’t give it much more of an endorsement than that. Many scenes run too long, and the storyline could have been tightened to eliminate unnecessary plot points. For me, the humor wasn’t as “laugh-out-loud funny” as it was merely “cute.” I found my attention lagging about 20 minutes into the film. Don’t get me wrong: I appreciate Keaton and his contributions to cinema. I just don’t think that slapstick can sustain a 70-minute feature.

            The one element that did manage to fascinate me was the film’s suspenseful climax, in which a cyclone rips through the town, leaving everything it touches in shambles. The destruction of several large sets is all the more impressive when one considers how dangerous it must have been. Keaton especially put his life at risk during the infamous shot in which a building collapses around him, sparing him only through a precisely-placed window.

            While the cyclone sequence is memorable, the bulk of the film is easy to forget. It felt like I was obligated to watch as a film student, and not something that I would ever choose out of enjoyment. The most exciting part of the experience was finally understanding the references made in Walt Disney’s 1928 animated parody, Steamboat Willie. And honestly? I would recommend that film over this one several times over.

Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End (2007)

One of the highest-grossing films of 2007 was Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End, taking in over $950 million worldwide during the few months it was available for viewing in theatres. With big names like Johnny Depp, Geoffrey Rush, Orlando Bloom, Keira Knightley and Chow Yun-Fat heading the cast list, this is no surprise. However, moviegoers and critics alike were split as to whether or not it was worth all the buzz generated.

The follow-up to the cliffhanger ending of 2006’s Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest, At World’s End begins with the beautiful Elizabeth Swann (Knightley), her lover William Turner (Bloom), the shockingly-back-from-the-dead former villain Captain Barbossa (Rush), and their crew of motley miscreants on their way to rescue the notorious Jack Sparrow (Depp) from the villainous Davy Jones’s Locker. They soon find that getting to this mysterious realm is more than they bargained for, and as Barbossa points out, getting back proves to be even more of a challenge. Once they’ve rescued Jack, the gang returns to Shipwreck Cove, where they meet with some of the other notable pirates of the world and prepare for the upcoming battle against the East India Trading Company, which is desperately trying to expunge the world of pirates once and for all.

            The film fell short of my high expectations. 2003’s Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl probably tops the extensive list of my favorite movies, and Dead Man’s Chest isn’t far behind. Yet, I left the theatre after At World’s End feeling slightly… empty. Perhaps as a fan, my expectations were too high, but isn’t it the job of a filmmaker to go above and beyond?

            The film’s shortcomings appear to lie solely in the writing. Pirates writers Ted Elliott and Terry Rossio have made a name for themselves in the world of film, having such movies  to their credit as Shrek, National Treasure, and Déjà Vu, as well as the preceding two Pirates films. Yet At World’s End is filled with too many unsuccessful tries at humor, lines that fall flat, and a plot that is simply too complicated for the average moviegoer to comprehend.

I often found myself scratching my head and thinking, “Whose side is Will on now?” Scenes were written that don’t seem to fit in with the rest of the film and really have no place being there. For instance, when the sea goddess Calypso (Naomie Harris) is released from her “human bonds,” she grows to an absurd height and then explodes into millions of… crabs? This seems slightly too storybook for the movie and could have been written without that “complete randomness” element. Another thing I did not enjoy was when the ship, The Black Pearl, falls off the edge of the world in an attempt to reach the Locker. The screen cuts to black and the audio from the Disneyland ride, Pirates of the Caribbean, is played. To me, this felt extremely out of place. Jokes that had already been used in the first two Pirates are recycled and thrown in as filler dialogue (or perhaps a jab at quirky reminiscence). I must wonder if perhaps, with only one year between films, Elliott and Rossio simply ran out of time and were forced to write as quickly as possible without any real thought as to what they were doing. Perhaps director Gore Verbinski was too attached to these flagrant eccentricities. I think both are at fault: the writers for weaving such an absurd storyline and Verbinski for not cutting some of it out.

With that said, there are countless other technical aspects of the film that almost make up for the sad slouch in writing. Composer Hans Zimmer goes all out with the original songs he produced to go along with the film. The music takes you on a journey in itself, evoking at parts feelings of gentle romance and fleeting adventure; unexpected betrayal and deep melancholy. The music is what pulled me out of my chair and into the world being displayed onscreen. The cinematography and computer graphics are amazing; they made things that don’t necessarily exist in the real world come to life. I know a lot of time, effort, money and pain went into the special effects, which were also on a huge scale. The acting is superb, or would’ve been, had the actors not been forced to perform such lines as “my peanut” and do things like lick rocks for no specified reason other than Jack being a nutcase. Still, the insanely gifted Geoffrey Rush had my complete attention captured whenever he came on screen, and has earned my respect and the authority to be rightly called talented. He makes such a fantastic pirate!

And that’s not to say all of the writing fell below my expectations. There were a few very emotional scenes. For instance, when Elizabeth comes to the realization that her father has died but has a difficult time wrapping her mind around this tragedy, and when she later attempts to empower her fleet for battle through a moving “Hoist the Colours” speech. The first scene of the film was brilliant. It opens on a large group of people standing in line, being prepared to be hanged. One of them happens to be a young boy who is charged with death by association with pirates. He begins a song that is joined in by more and more pirates until the whole square rings with their song. Although extremely grim, it really gives the viewer insight as to what the evil Cutler Beckett (Tom Hollander) has been up to since Dead Man’s Chest. The scene where we find out that Davy Jones (Bill Nighy) and Calypso were once lovers was a bit surprising, although foreshadowed, and an all-together sad but beautiful moment. 

This film is one that I enjoyed for the most part but wish had been written slightly differently. I recommend it for everything else, such as the excellent set design, beautifully crafted costumes, encompassing music, and that adorable little monkey that always seems to find a way of lending a helping hand.