I think this is what they mean with intertextuality. Then again, literature was never my strong point.
Alias
Monday, February 28
Sunday, February 27
Review: Enter the Void
Through the eyes of Oscar, we look at an airplane flying over Tokyo. Our sister stands next to us. We propose doing drugs. She tells us that we're becoming a junkie and leaves angrily. After she's gone, we quickly light up. We experience the most wondrous things. While we're still tripping, Victor calls us and asks if we have any stuff. When we arrive at the bar where we arranged to meet, Victor seems distressed. The reason for this becomes quickly clear: policemen burst down the door and we flee into the toilet, where we quickly flush our drugs. And then we get shot.
Enter The Void, which is inspired (amongst other things) by the Tibetian Book of the Dead, is filmed entirely in first-person perspective. But because the protagonist gets shot within 15 minutes, most of the film is seen through the eyes of his disembodied ghost floating over Tokyo, while he has flashbacks to his youth and watches the aftermath of his death unfolds.
This is the point where the review tells you what the movie tries to achieve, and whether it succeeded (to quote Roger Ebert). I'm not entirely sure if the principal goal of the movie is to explore the themes of death, sex and reincarnation or to just give us the cinematic trip of a lifetime, but it definitely succeeds at the latter. From a purely technical point of view, this is a masterpiece of cinematic immersion. Because of the perspective and the unique visuals (best described as a stroboscope on acid) it's almost impossible to look away from.
But this movie isn't meant as a technical exercise. This is an injection of pure, unfiltered experience right to the brain. Most films show you a situation different from our own. Enter the Void has us experience a plain of existence different from our own. It's a long movie, and one of the most hypnotic pieces of cinema I've ever seen. Since you watch everything from the perspective of one of the characters, it's impossible to take a step back and reflect on what's happened. You're just dragged through the biggest trip since 2001: a Space Odyssey. The only difference being that that movie is Sesame Street compared to this.
Gaspar Noe, the director of this movie, isn't exactly known for his delicate subject matters, and Enter the Void is no different from that. We witness, nay experience murder, vulgar sex, drug abuse, abortion and some rather disquieting incestuous undertones. I've seen enough movies to not be squeamish anymore, but this movie shocked me to my very core and left me an empty shell of a person. It took me almost an hour of numbly walking around to get myself back together.
The strange thing is that I'd still very much recommend you go see Enter the Void. I don't expect you to like it; in fact, it'd be rather disturbing if you did. Even the most hardcore cinemagoers won't be able to "handle" this film, so you'd best just give yourself over to it. Nietzsche told us that the abyss would stare back if we would stare too long. Enter the Void proves that "too long" is a lot shorter then you'd expect.
Alias
The Mars Volta helped me with the getting back. If The Mars Volta is the average of real life and something else, you can probably imagine that the "something else" has to be quite fucked up.
Enter The Void, which is inspired (amongst other things) by the Tibetian Book of the Dead, is filmed entirely in first-person perspective. But because the protagonist gets shot within 15 minutes, most of the film is seen through the eyes of his disembodied ghost floating over Tokyo, while he has flashbacks to his youth and watches the aftermath of his death unfolds.
This is the point where the review tells you what the movie tries to achieve, and whether it succeeded (to quote Roger Ebert). I'm not entirely sure if the principal goal of the movie is to explore the themes of death, sex and reincarnation or to just give us the cinematic trip of a lifetime, but it definitely succeeds at the latter. From a purely technical point of view, this is a masterpiece of cinematic immersion. Because of the perspective and the unique visuals (best described as a stroboscope on acid) it's almost impossible to look away from.
This is honestly the closest I've ever come to tripping without using drugs.
But this movie isn't meant as a technical exercise. This is an injection of pure, unfiltered experience right to the brain. Most films show you a situation different from our own. Enter the Void has us experience a plain of existence different from our own. It's a long movie, and one of the most hypnotic pieces of cinema I've ever seen. Since you watch everything from the perspective of one of the characters, it's impossible to take a step back and reflect on what's happened. You're just dragged through the biggest trip since 2001: a Space Odyssey. The only difference being that that movie is Sesame Street compared to this.
Gaspar Noe, the director of this movie, isn't exactly known for his delicate subject matters, and Enter the Void is no different from that. We witness, nay experience murder, vulgar sex, drug abuse, abortion and some rather disquieting incestuous undertones. I've seen enough movies to not be squeamish anymore, but this movie shocked me to my very core and left me an empty shell of a person. It took me almost an hour of numbly walking around to get myself back together.
The strange thing is that I'd still very much recommend you go see Enter the Void. I don't expect you to like it; in fact, it'd be rather disturbing if you did. Even the most hardcore cinemagoers won't be able to "handle" this film, so you'd best just give yourself over to it. Nietzsche told us that the abyss would stare back if we would stare too long. Enter the Void proves that "too long" is a lot shorter then you'd expect.
Alias
The Mars Volta helped me with the getting back. If The Mars Volta is the average of real life and something else, you can probably imagine that the "something else" has to be quite fucked up.
Friday, February 25
Review: True Grit
The western and jazz. If Clint Eastwood is to be believed, those are the only two original American artforms. I wouldn't know about jazz, but I believe him on westerns. There are few filmgenres so closely linked to a certain time and place as the western, which always takes place in the West of the United States, circa 1865. The genre has been around for as long as movies exist, and has delivered quite some masterpieces over the years. John Ford's The Searchers, Sergio Leones Once Upon a Time in the West and Clint Eastwoods Unforgiven are all groundbreaking movies and unquestionable parts of the American cinematic canon. And with True Grit, their first real western, the Coen Brothers have earned a spot in the company of these masters.
Like many westerns, the story of True Grit is driven by revenge. Mattie Ross wants to hunt down the coward Tom Chaney for killing her father. This isn't made easier by the fact that Mattie Ross is a fourteen-year old girl. She seeks the aid of someone with experience, mercilessness and grit: US Marshal Rooster Cogburn. The two set out on their hunt with Texas Ranger Lebeouf, a man charged with hunting down Chaney and bringing him to justice in Austin. The story is straightforward and told in a straightforward way, without many twists or turns along the way. What makes True Grit so fascinating is the characters. None of them, not even the bad guys, is a stereotype. All three leading characters are fully fleshed-out tragic characters, and the dynamic between them is very much unique. It makes the movie almost unpredictable at points, quite a feat considering that everybody knows exactly how it's going to end.
This is helped in no small part by the excellent acting. Matt Damon shows us once again that he is a great supporting actor by giving LeBeouf the depth that prevents him from just being a comic relief character. Newcomer Hailee Steinfeld is fantastic as Mattie Ross, turning her into one of the most memorable characters in recent cinematic history. But, as always, it's Jeff Bridges who just walks away with the movie. He plays Cogburn without a trace of his usual layed-back stoner persona, and all for the better. This is a role that was once played by John Wayne, but it's Bridges who nails it. Who'd ever guessed it: The Dude outdid The Duke.
The bottom line about True Grit is that, when handled by the right people, the western has as much impact as ever. Although the movie hardly shakes up the formula, it does everything it does right. The acting is great, the cinematography and the music are as good as ever and the Coens directed the crap out of it. This is an instant classic if I've ever seen one.
Alias
P.S. Apparently the Coens doing horror next. I'm already exited about their inevitable musical.
I've been wanting to use this song for a long time now. Yee-haw!
Like many westerns, the story of True Grit is driven by revenge. Mattie Ross wants to hunt down the coward Tom Chaney for killing her father. This isn't made easier by the fact that Mattie Ross is a fourteen-year old girl. She seeks the aid of someone with experience, mercilessness and grit: US Marshal Rooster Cogburn. The two set out on their hunt with Texas Ranger Lebeouf, a man charged with hunting down Chaney and bringing him to justice in Austin. The story is straightforward and told in a straightforward way, without many twists or turns along the way. What makes True Grit so fascinating is the characters. None of them, not even the bad guys, is a stereotype. All three leading characters are fully fleshed-out tragic characters, and the dynamic between them is very much unique. It makes the movie almost unpredictable at points, quite a feat considering that everybody knows exactly how it's going to end.
The bottom line about True Grit is that, when handled by the right people, the western has as much impact as ever. Although the movie hardly shakes up the formula, it does everything it does right. The acting is great, the cinematography and the music are as good as ever and the Coens directed the crap out of it. This is an instant classic if I've ever seen one.
Alias
P.S. Apparently the Coens doing horror next. I'm already exited about their inevitable musical.
I've been wanting to use this song for a long time now. Yee-haw!
Wednesday, February 23
Tuesday, February 22
Review: The Hours
The Hours is well-directed, well-photographed and well-acted. It's an adaptation of a book by the same name for which the author won a Pulitzer Prize. It's made by a director who has received oscar nominations for every one of his major films. The soundtrack is provided by one of the most celebrated musicians of the 20th century. It stars three of the finest actresses working today. And it bored me out of my skull.
The years are 1923, 1951 and 2001. The characters are Virginia Woolf, the famous english novelist (an unrecognizable Nicole Kidman), a troubled suburban housewife (Julianne Moorre) and Clarissa Vaughan (Meryl Streep), a New York socialite whose life seems to mirror that of the main character from Woolfs novel Mrs. Dalloway. We see them all going through basically the same story: a party is prepared, flowers are bought, suicide is contemplated. All these women are unhappy to their core. Why this is is never really explained. All three seem to have some lingering lust for people other then their partners (and of the other sex), but that's about it. It's not a movie about homosexuality or adultery, it's a movie about suffering. And whatever the reasons, these women suffer a lot. But are we supposed to suffer with them? I suppose so. Perhaps I failed to do so because I couldn't relate to them a single bit. This might have something to do with the fact that they are all middle-aged women, and I am not. Still, it's rare that I feel such disconnect from characters that are so clearly in pain.
This is something that has bothered me about all of Stephen Daldries films. His other outings, Billy Elliot and The Reader, both feature characters who experience quite intense tragedy, and I found both of those more annoying then moving. Yet it's clear from the style and the pacing of The Hours that Daldry really is not a bad director. I just don't understand him, in the most infuriating way possible. I don't know what he's trying to say, how he's trying to say it or what he's trying to accomplish with it.
Watching The Hours, I had the feeling like I was intruding upon something. I have heard people talk about this movie as the movie of their lifetime, almost like it was something sacred. It made me feel a little guilty when I got so bored that I almost stopped paying attention halfway through. I felt like an annoyed teenager, throwing popcorn at an artfilm because there were too little explosions and tits for my taste. And I think that is the best I can say about this movie: it wasn't made for me. I'm a little hesitant to say that it's a "women's film", but I think it's fair to say that guys should steer clear of this. I'm afraid that's all I can say about it. You'll have to figure out the rest yourself.
Alias
Three chicks. Who make music that was inspired by Philip Glass. It's almost too easy.
The years are 1923, 1951 and 2001. The characters are Virginia Woolf, the famous english novelist (an unrecognizable Nicole Kidman), a troubled suburban housewife (Julianne Moorre) and Clarissa Vaughan (Meryl Streep), a New York socialite whose life seems to mirror that of the main character from Woolfs novel Mrs. Dalloway. We see them all going through basically the same story: a party is prepared, flowers are bought, suicide is contemplated. All these women are unhappy to their core. Why this is is never really explained. All three seem to have some lingering lust for people other then their partners (and of the other sex), but that's about it. It's not a movie about homosexuality or adultery, it's a movie about suffering. And whatever the reasons, these women suffer a lot. But are we supposed to suffer with them? I suppose so. Perhaps I failed to do so because I couldn't relate to them a single bit. This might have something to do with the fact that they are all middle-aged women, and I am not. Still, it's rare that I feel such disconnect from characters that are so clearly in pain.
This is something that has bothered me about all of Stephen Daldries films. His other outings, Billy Elliot and The Reader, both feature characters who experience quite intense tragedy, and I found both of those more annoying then moving. Yet it's clear from the style and the pacing of The Hours that Daldry really is not a bad director. I just don't understand him, in the most infuriating way possible. I don't know what he's trying to say, how he's trying to say it or what he's trying to accomplish with it.
Watching The Hours, I had the feeling like I was intruding upon something. I have heard people talk about this movie as the movie of their lifetime, almost like it was something sacred. It made me feel a little guilty when I got so bored that I almost stopped paying attention halfway through. I felt like an annoyed teenager, throwing popcorn at an artfilm because there were too little explosions and tits for my taste. And I think that is the best I can say about this movie: it wasn't made for me. I'm a little hesitant to say that it's a "women's film", but I think it's fair to say that guys should steer clear of this. I'm afraid that's all I can say about it. You'll have to figure out the rest yourself.
Alias
Three chicks. Who make music that was inspired by Philip Glass. It's almost too easy.
Saturday, February 19
Pulling Rabbits: On Kevin Smith
You can say what you want about Kevin Smith, but he is one committed dude. While shooting his first movie, Clerks, he worked a day job at a convenience store while shooting and editing at night. He kept this up for 21 days straight, until he literally fell asleep on the set. Clerks, as you might know, became an enormous hit and upgraded him from just a guy with a goatee and an ambition to one of the most promising new filmmakers of his generation. But instead of taking the money and run, like so many of his peers, he decided to stay and make another movie with the same people. And another. And another. All in all, he has made 5 movies, 2 shorts, 5 comics and an animated series about a fictional town over the years. You have to really like your friends to do something like that.
But liking people is something Kevin Smith is very good at. Besides working with basically the same cast and crew over the years, he is also one of the most empathic filmmakers working today. Especially in the realm of comedy it's commonplace to royally screw over your characters for laughs, but laughs like these are very rare in Smiths films. No matter how deep the people in his movies get in the crapper, they always remain likable and often even relatable. The laughs mostly come from either the characters themselves telling jokes to each other, or the sort of uncomfortable silences that only work when we care about the people experiencing them.
But Smith has as characteristic that's even rarer for a comedian then being empathic: he's smart, and not ashamed of it. His work has touched some serious topics (including religion and homosexuality), but even when his movies are just about two retarded pot dealers there is some genuine intellect at work. The amazing thing is that this completely fits in with the humor of the film, which is often the dick-joke based kind. It's a unique quality, making you think while making you laugh.
Kevin Smith is a unique filmmaker. He's not exactly a genius, but we already have enough of those. Smith knows what he's good at, and then does that. He doesn't feel above making fart jokes, and uses his skills to make them really funny fart jokes. You can only applaud that sort of attitude. Alternatively, you could try to sell him some weed.
Alias
The man himself is in the video. How could I not include it?
But liking people is something Kevin Smith is very good at. Besides working with basically the same cast and crew over the years, he is also one of the most empathic filmmakers working today. Especially in the realm of comedy it's commonplace to royally screw over your characters for laughs, but laughs like these are very rare in Smiths films. No matter how deep the people in his movies get in the crapper, they always remain likable and often even relatable. The laughs mostly come from either the characters themselves telling jokes to each other, or the sort of uncomfortable silences that only work when we care about the people experiencing them.
Also, every single one of his movies has at least 2 people with a goatee like that
Kevin Smith is a unique filmmaker. He's not exactly a genius, but we already have enough of those. Smith knows what he's good at, and then does that. He doesn't feel above making fart jokes, and uses his skills to make them really funny fart jokes. You can only applaud that sort of attitude. Alternatively, you could try to sell him some weed.
Alias
The man himself is in the video. How could I not include it?
Friday, February 18
Shorts Circus: The Isle of Flowers
I'm sorry I couldn't find a better quality copy for this one. Don't let it keep you from watching, though. It's very informative.
Alias
Alias
Thursday, February 17
Review: Yellow Submarine
The Beatles' seventh album, Revolver, is often regarded as one of the greatest albums of all time. It has a wide array of downright spectacular songs, like Eleanor Rigby and For No One. And it closes all of this off with the mysterious Tomorrow Never Knows. The song starts with a sitar fading in. Then a drum comes in, which plays a rhythm that's just a little off. It all sounds just a little beyond what you're accustomed to. And then we hear John Lennons voice, made to sound "like the dalai lama chanting from a mountain top", who tells you to "Turn off your mind, relax, and float downstream".
From the mid-sixties to 1970, The Beatles were unquestionably the biggest band on earth. They radically changed popular music and their albums from that time are absolute classics which are still very much worth listening to. But it wasn't just John, Paul, George and Ringo that did new stuff during this time: art, literature, social politics and science where all undergoing rapid changes. It was a turbulent age, and many people tried to make sense of/escape from all this by using drugs.
Yellow Submarine was released in 1968, right in the middle of all this weirdness going on. It was made primarily to meet a contractual agreement, and The Beatles themselves had very little to do with it. But since the filmmakers had the license for their music it was pretty clear that it would be a hit from the start. And while this might give some filmmakers an excuse to get lazy, the makers of Yellow Submarine rose to the opportunity and made one of the nicest films ever.
.jpg)
Yellow Submarine works completely on it's own logic. There is something of a story beneath all the weirdness, but it's barely relevant. The majority of the movie is spent in the submarine, where the band encounters a crapload of strange stuff. The movie seems to be very exited about all this. Like an eager child, it's just tumbling over itself to show you all the nifty stuff it's got. And it's very nifty indeed. The journey goes through a sea filled with monsters where a vacuummonster is sucking up the entire world around him, a universe which is made entirely out of holes (Ringo takes on with him and quips "I have a hole in me pocket") and the final destination: Pepperland, a mystical place filled with music and love which has sadly been taken over by the Blue Meanies. The only way to rescue the inhabitants, who have been turned to stone, is to play music (which is outlawed under the Meanies' brutal reign).
Speaking of music: I can't remember ever enjoying these songs as much as when watching Yellow Submarine. These are some of the best songs of all time, and the accompanying visuals just fit them like a boot. In contrast to A Hard Days Night, which was primarily about the band, this movie is all about the music, and so much better for it. When I'm Sixty-Four, which isn't one of the bands best songs is accompanied by a text reading "Sixty-four years is 33,661,440 minutes and one minute is a long time. Allow us to demonstrate." This is followed by an array of imaginatively drawn numbers counting up to 64. This made me so intensely happy I started singing along even louder.
If this all sounds a bit childish, it's probably because it is. But d on't make the mistake to think that this movie is solely meant for children. Much like the music it's a universal piece of art. If you as a viewer can let go of trivial stuff like "logic" or "sense" this is a very, very lovely film that I can highly recommend. Don't go acting all grown-up about it. Just turn off your mind, relax, and float downstream.
Alias
This is the closest I think I can come to the spirit of the movie without just using songs from it. Enjoy.
From the mid-sixties to 1970, The Beatles were unquestionably the biggest band on earth. They radically changed popular music and their albums from that time are absolute classics which are still very much worth listening to. But it wasn't just John, Paul, George and Ringo that did new stuff during this time: art, literature, social politics and science where all undergoing rapid changes. It was a turbulent age, and many people tried to make sense of/escape from all this by using drugs.
Yellow Submarine was released in 1968, right in the middle of all this weirdness going on. It was made primarily to meet a contractual agreement, and The Beatles themselves had very little to do with it. But since the filmmakers had the license for their music it was pretty clear that it would be a hit from the start. And while this might give some filmmakers an excuse to get lazy, the makers of Yellow Submarine rose to the opportunity and made one of the nicest films ever.
Just look how happy they are
Yellow Submarine works completely on it's own logic. There is something of a story beneath all the weirdness, but it's barely relevant. The majority of the movie is spent in the submarine, where the band encounters a crapload of strange stuff. The movie seems to be very exited about all this. Like an eager child, it's just tumbling over itself to show you all the nifty stuff it's got. And it's very nifty indeed. The journey goes through a sea filled with monsters where a vacuummonster is sucking up the entire world around him, a universe which is made entirely out of holes (Ringo takes on with him and quips "I have a hole in me pocket") and the final destination: Pepperland, a mystical place filled with music and love which has sadly been taken over by the Blue Meanies. The only way to rescue the inhabitants, who have been turned to stone, is to play music (which is outlawed under the Meanies' brutal reign).
Speaking of music: I can't remember ever enjoying these songs as much as when watching Yellow Submarine. These are some of the best songs of all time, and the accompanying visuals just fit them like a boot. In contrast to A Hard Days Night, which was primarily about the band, this movie is all about the music, and so much better for it. When I'm Sixty-Four, which isn't one of the bands best songs is accompanied by a text reading "Sixty-four years is 33,661,440 minutes and one minute is a long time. Allow us to demonstrate." This is followed by an array of imaginatively drawn numbers counting up to 64. This made me so intensely happy I started singing along even louder.
Alias
This is the closest I think I can come to the spirit of the movie without just using songs from it. Enjoy.
Sunday, February 13
Movies You Should Totally See: The Rocky Horror Picture Show
When you went to the movies in the 1970's, your chances where higher then any time in history that you'd end up at a movie which was completely batshit insane. It was a decade in which both the public and the filmmakers radically changed: the baby-boomer public was enjoying their new freedom and yearned for more intellectual fodder which they found in the works of Ingmar Bergmans and the French New Wave. The directors, on the other hand, scooped up every single movie they could find, and made some of the most innovative movies ever to come out of Hollywood. Many of these, like Easy Rider, The Godfather and Taxi Driver, are now regarded as some of the finest films of all time.
The new curiosity for things unseen (and more then a little weed) also led to the rise of the midnight movies. When the regular blockbusters had played and the patrons had left, some of the more cult-oriented movie theatres would play these movies. It was one of the least coherent movements in film history, if you can even call it that. Some of the most famous midnight movies include a Public Service Announcement turned unintentional comedy (Reefer Madness), a philosophical western (El Topo) and Earserhead, which I honestly can't describe as anything else then just that. But they all fade into nothing when compared to the most famous midnight movie of all time: The Rocky Horror Picture Show.
Rocky Horror came out in 1975, and it flopped. The makers tried to re-release it as a double bill, and it flopped again. It wasn't until it hit the midnight circuit that something strange happened: the people who had seen it kept coming back. Week after week. And they started talking back at the movie. And dressing up like the characters. And dancing in front of the screen. A bona fide cult was born, and through the influence of these weirdos the movie hasn't been out of running since it was released. In fact, with more then 35 years of unbroken theatrical exhibition it's the longest running movie in cinema history.
So what is it exactly about this movie that makes it's fans so loyal? Well, not "quality" by any conventional standards, that's for sure. It has lousy special effects, generally mediocre acting and the production values aren't exactly staggering either. But that might just be why it works. Movies that we consider to be great usually loose their emotional impact after you've seen them 4 or 5 times, but Rocky Horror sidesteps that by being utterly devoid of things like "restraint" or "taste". It's surprising how much staying power Tim Curry in a corset has.
As seen here.
Another thing that makes this one of the most rewatchable films ever is that it's completely fuckballs insane. The plot doesn't make a sliver of sense: people come crashing out of freezers on motorcycles, even the straightest characters go bi and halfway through it's revealed that most of the cast are aliens. The main character is a transsexual mad scientist from Transsexual Transylvania (the planet Transsexual from the galaxy Transylvania, that is) who creates his own boyfriend, a sort of Aryan superman in a golden thong whose first reaction to being born is singing a song. Oh, did I mention it's a musical? Because it totally is.
It should be obvious by now that The Rocky Horror Picture Show is not a film for everyone. If the things I've told you about it appeal to you, this is one that you honestly can't miss. But if it's all a little too strange for your tastes, there's always the new Justin Bieber movie.
Alias
Don't stop me! Don't stop me!
Thursday, February 10
Shorts Circus: Duck Amuck
Something Disney shorts never managed to pull of was the anarchy that Chuck Jones and his companions unleashed with the Looney Tunes. This is never more evident then in Duck Amuck, a cartoon that's only about being in a cartoon.
Alias
Alias
Review: Before Sunrise
In 1999, TIME Magazine made a fascinating list about the 100 most influential people from the 20th century. One of these illustrious men (and women) was the Irish author James Joyce. The article that commemorates him starts with these words: "James Joyce once told a friend: "One of the things I could never get accustomed to in my youth was the difference I found between life and literature". All serious young readers notice this difference. Joyce dedicated his career to erasing it and in the process revolutionized 20th century fiction". He did this mainly by way of his seminal novel Ulysses, a book which I haven't read myself but which has been described to me as "unreadable" by a friend who studied literature for the past three years.
This difference is also present in the cinema (or in any other artform, for that matter). Sometimes it manifests in silly little things, like the fact that bartenders are always introduced in movies while drying a glass with a rag, but it also shows in bigger things. Like how romance in movies seems to follow completely different roles then that in real life: people will fall in love with somebody in the space of minutes, and then yearn for them for years after that. Or how the first night for a couple is always a perfect and means that they will stay together forever. But of course, there are filmmakers who have set out to erase these discrepancies. Robert Altman shows people in large groups, instead of socially isolated individuals. Kryztof Kieslowki's Trois Couleurs make it clear what liberty, equality and fraternity truly mean in the cruel outside world. And as far as romance is concerned, there is Richard Linklaters Before Sunrise: a film which is so honest about what it means to fall in love that 99 percent of it's running time is spent with the characters unsure about their actual feelings.
Celine (Julie Delphy) is sitting in the train. Next to her, a middle-aged German couple is arguing loudly. She gets annoyed, decides to move, and sits down across Jesse (Ethan Hawk). The tone is set: even before the characters are even introduced to each other, it's made clear that love isn't all sunshine and lollipops. The characters strike up a conversation. She is on her way to Paris from a family visit in Budapest, he is making his way to Vienna to catch a flight back to the US. They seem to get along. When they get to Vienna, they say their goodbyes and he gets off. Then he gets back on, sits down next to her and tells her he enjoys talking to her and doesn't want to miss the opportunity to get to know her. After all, won't a moment like this haunt you on your deathbed when you let it slip? She, being a romantic, seizes the moment and disembarks with him. What follows is a night in Vienna filled with bonding, love and talking. Lots of talking.
What makes Linklaters films so unique is that they embrace the flaws and irregularity of being human, instead of ironing over them. He does this mostly through the dialogues in his film, which are almost always co-written with the actors. Hearing these people talk is incredibly engrossing, and it take you away farther then most films do with exotic location shooting. Yet the way these characters talk isn't the way most people talk in the movies, where one person says something and the other responds. People interrupt each other, ask strange questions and drop subject because they don't like talking about them. Many movies use dialogue to advance a plot. Linklater uses it to find his characters, and to let them find each other. There is always a hidden motive, a little something unsaid in between the lines of Jesse and Celine. Who can ever express exactly what they mean, after all?
Untitled from Max Urai on Vimeo.
This difference is also present in the cinema (or in any other artform, for that matter). Sometimes it manifests in silly little things, like the fact that bartenders are always introduced in movies while drying a glass with a rag, but it also shows in bigger things. Like how romance in movies seems to follow completely different roles then that in real life: people will fall in love with somebody in the space of minutes, and then yearn for them for years after that. Or how the first night for a couple is always a perfect and means that they will stay together forever. But of course, there are filmmakers who have set out to erase these discrepancies. Robert Altman shows people in large groups, instead of socially isolated individuals. Kryztof Kieslowki's Trois Couleurs make it clear what liberty, equality and fraternity truly mean in the cruel outside world. And as far as romance is concerned, there is Richard Linklaters Before Sunrise: a film which is so honest about what it means to fall in love that 99 percent of it's running time is spent with the characters unsure about their actual feelings.
Celine (Julie Delphy) is sitting in the train. Next to her, a middle-aged German couple is arguing loudly. She gets annoyed, decides to move, and sits down across Jesse (Ethan Hawk). The tone is set: even before the characters are even introduced to each other, it's made clear that love isn't all sunshine and lollipops. The characters strike up a conversation. She is on her way to Paris from a family visit in Budapest, he is making his way to Vienna to catch a flight back to the US. They seem to get along. When they get to Vienna, they say their goodbyes and he gets off. Then he gets back on, sits down next to her and tells her he enjoys talking to her and doesn't want to miss the opportunity to get to know her. After all, won't a moment like this haunt you on your deathbed when you let it slip? She, being a romantic, seizes the moment and disembarks with him. What follows is a night in Vienna filled with bonding, love and talking. Lots of talking.
What makes Linklaters films so unique is that they embrace the flaws and irregularity of being human, instead of ironing over them. He does this mostly through the dialogues in his film, which are almost always co-written with the actors. Hearing these people talk is incredibly engrossing, and it take you away farther then most films do with exotic location shooting. Yet the way these characters talk isn't the way most people talk in the movies, where one person says something and the other responds. People interrupt each other, ask strange questions and drop subject because they don't like talking about them. Many movies use dialogue to advance a plot. Linklater uses it to find his characters, and to let them find each other. There is always a hidden motive, a little something unsaid in between the lines of Jesse and Celine. Who can ever express exactly what they mean, after all?
Although it is in many way its opposite, Before Sunrise reminded me of Trois Couleurs: Blue. While Blue is a visual movie which deals with mourning and Sunrise is a talkie about blooming love, both dare to take a step back and truly examine life at a certain point. And both are movies in which very little actually happens, but which still move you more then you can really explain. The only truly crucial difference is that Blue is a meditation on a life already lived, while the characters in Sunrise still have their entire life before them. They are off to a great start.
Alias
There is only one poet who can explain the feel of this movie, and that poet is Bob Dylan. I never expected I'd ever use this song, but here it's the only appropriate choice.
Untitled from Max Urai on Vimeo.
Saturday, February 5
Pulling Rabbits: My Favorite Movies
This post is something of an anniversary: it's the 100th post on this weblog (if you discard the whiny shit I used to put here). So for the occasion, I thought it might be nice to give you a list of my favorite movies ever. This is not a list of the greatest or even necessarily the best movies ever. You might call it my own personal canon. I can heartily recommend every single one of these movies, and will probably write about some of them in the future.
So, let's start from the bottom and work our way up to the top.
20: Waking Life (Linklater, 2001)
The most recent entry into my list, and probably the strangest. But it's also a testament of what film is truly capable of if you overstep the boundaries of your assumptions.
19: Trois Couleurs: Blue (Kieslowski, 1993)
The first part of a magnificent trilogy, and in my mind the best. A movie about music, about how life always comes knocking on your door and about mourning. But mostly about freedom, and what it exactly means. A very peaceful movie, which moves you without really giving you any incentive to.
18: V For Vendetta (McTeigue, 2006)
One of the few movies that understands what "adaptation" means: translating an impression into another medium. It might not follow the letter of the book, but if follows the spirit with all its heart. An exciting and shockingly relevant view on repression, which had a lot more going on then you might think.
17: Sin City (Rodriguez, 2005)
Violence was never so stylish or so cool. Over-the-top, grueling and visually dazzling, this stands as one of the major triumphs of "the cinephiles cinema", movies made by and for filmnerds.
16: Princess Mononoke (Miyazaki, 1997)
Although there is a lot of love to be found in the works of Miyazaki, this is one of his few pictures in which there is genuine hatred. But, of course, it only makes the movie better by making the struggle harder and the opposing factions more humanly flawed. Not to mention the simply gorgeous animation.
15: The Kid (Chaplin, 1921)
Some things just never get old. It might not be the most ambitious of Chaplins movies, but it's without a doubt the most lovable one.
14: Amélie (Jeunet, 2001)
Quite possibly the most fondly remembered movie in recent memory. The timeless tale of a girl looking for love has enough warmth to be thoroughly lovable and enough quirk (the porn shop) to not be sentimental.
13: Juno (Reitman, 2007)
When my grandchildren will ask me how life was like when I was a teenager, I will show them this movie. It might be a little too self-aware for some, but self-awareness seems to be something we're very good in lately.
12: Requiem for a Dream (Aronofsky: 2001)
The following conversation actually took place.
A Friend: "What would be good drinking games for movies?"
Me: "You could take a shot every time you want to kill yourself while watching Requiem for a Dream"
A Friend: "Then you'd drink yourself to death"
Another Friend: "Win-win!"
11: Fight Club (Fincher, 1999)
This just might be a movie where every single man alive can relate to in some way. Some see it as a manifesto for a new masculinity, others see it as a deeply ironic statement about the state of society and others see it as a reflection upon how women have come to regard men. Yet in every one of those guys, it wakes something primal.
10: Inglourious Basterds (Tarantino, 2009)
This might seem an odd choice, as so many people herald Pulp Fiction as Tarantino's masterpiece. But I just like this one more. It's more mature and less gimmicky, while doing all the things we've come to know and love of Quentin.
9: Full Metal Jacket (Kubrick, 1987)
In A Clockwork Orange, we see how an insane and perverted mind ravages through an eerily familiar urban landscape. It's a haunting vision: we see the clash of what we call civilization with something truly rotten. But in Full Metal Jacket, we see something even more haunting: how such a mind comes to be. It's a war film, but much more so a film about people in a situation that is basically a free-for-all. It ain't pretty, but no-one ever claimed war was.
8: Synecdoche, New York (Kaufman, 2008)
I am very much in love with the work of Charlie Kaufman. He is one of the few writers working today who is both willing to shake things up and deliver films that just scream "clever", and this quality is never more apparent then in Synecdoche. It might not be to everyone's taste, but you can't deny the sheer balls-to-the-wallness of the artistic statement that is being made here.
7: The Virgin Suicides (Coppola, 1999)
Another unlikely choice. But as much as I liked Lost in Translation, it pales in comparison to the raw power of The Virgin Suicides. It's one of the few movies I know that is both powerful and very complex, although the latter isn't immediately apparent. Try watching it for a second time and constantly reminding yourself that the whole picture is basically the recollection that the boys have of the situation, and everything immediately gets a lot more layered. Also, scored by Air. Can't beat that.
6: Finding Nemo (Stanton, 2003)
Of all the Pixarmovies, this wins on sheer nostalgia value. But it could have been any of them, really. The magic of Pixar is still somewhat of a mystery to me (how do they keep appealing to children, teenager, adults AND critics?), but it's a mystery I'm perfectly fine not unraveling. It's amazing filmmaking, simple as that, and sometimes you just have to let go and enjoy.
5: Rejected (Hertzfeldt, 2000)
The sheer entertainment value of this animated short is hard to explain. Imagine the following: you're sort of drunk, someone gets up and extends his arms, and shouts "MAH SPOON IS TOO BIG".
No? Oh well.
4: The Shawshank Redemption (Darabont, 1994)
This movie made me realize how good movies could actually get, and after all these years it's still a fond memory. It might be a tad sentimental, but just try not to be moved when Red and Andy hug on the beach.
3: Casablanca (Curtiz, 1942)
Quite possibly the most loved film in the world after The Wizard of Oz, this movie is good from every which way you look at it. A killer story? Check. One of the best romances ever? Check. A great supporting cast? Check. Music, sets, atmosphere: check, check, check. It's a movie you just feel part of every time you watch it.
2: The Rocky Horror Picture Show (Sharman, 1975)
If there's ever a movie with the words "guilty pleasure" written across it in glowing neon lights, this is it. It's not a great film by any measure, and in many areas it's just plain bad. But there is an irresistible mischief going on at all times, which makes it so much fun to watch. Sing along: "Science fiction, oe-a-oe, Double Feature"...
1: I'm Not There (Haynes, 2007)
This is it. The big one. I've seen this movie over 20 times now, and not once have I doubted that this is the greatest movie I've ever seen. If Casablanca is my egomovie, and Rocky Horror is pure id, this is my Super-ego. It represents everything I love about film, and was in fact the reason I irretrievably fell in love with the medium. This movie is more then just a part of my back catalogue: it's part of who I am. My decision to study film was made after watching this movie, and every time I doubt that decision I'm Not There shows me what I'm doing it all for.
Alias
I've just put everything... in it's right place.
Okay, so I actually couldn't think of anything else besides The Final Countdown. Sue me.
This might seem an odd choice, as so many people herald Pulp Fiction as Tarantino's masterpiece. But I just like this one more. It's more mature and less gimmicky, while doing all the things we've come to know and love of Quentin.
9: Full Metal Jacket (Kubrick, 1987)
In A Clockwork Orange, we see how an insane and perverted mind ravages through an eerily familiar urban landscape. It's a haunting vision: we see the clash of what we call civilization with something truly rotten. But in Full Metal Jacket, we see something even more haunting: how such a mind comes to be. It's a war film, but much more so a film about people in a situation that is basically a free-for-all. It ain't pretty, but no-one ever claimed war was.
8: Synecdoche, New York (Kaufman, 2008)
I am very much in love with the work of Charlie Kaufman. He is one of the few writers working today who is both willing to shake things up and deliver films that just scream "clever", and this quality is never more apparent then in Synecdoche. It might not be to everyone's taste, but you can't deny the sheer balls-to-the-wallness of the artistic statement that is being made here.
7: The Virgin Suicides (Coppola, 1999)
Another unlikely choice. But as much as I liked Lost in Translation, it pales in comparison to the raw power of The Virgin Suicides. It's one of the few movies I know that is both powerful and very complex, although the latter isn't immediately apparent. Try watching it for a second time and constantly reminding yourself that the whole picture is basically the recollection that the boys have of the situation, and everything immediately gets a lot more layered. Also, scored by Air. Can't beat that.
6: Finding Nemo (Stanton, 2003)
Of all the Pixarmovies, this wins on sheer nostalgia value. But it could have been any of them, really. The magic of Pixar is still somewhat of a mystery to me (how do they keep appealing to children, teenager, adults AND critics?), but it's a mystery I'm perfectly fine not unraveling. It's amazing filmmaking, simple as that, and sometimes you just have to let go and enjoy.
5: Rejected (Hertzfeldt, 2000)
The sheer entertainment value of this animated short is hard to explain. Imagine the following: you're sort of drunk, someone gets up and extends his arms, and shouts "MAH SPOON IS TOO BIG".
No? Oh well.
4: The Shawshank Redemption (Darabont, 1994)
This movie made me realize how good movies could actually get, and after all these years it's still a fond memory. It might be a tad sentimental, but just try not to be moved when Red and Andy hug on the beach.
3: Casablanca (Curtiz, 1942)
Quite possibly the most loved film in the world after The Wizard of Oz, this movie is good from every which way you look at it. A killer story? Check. One of the best romances ever? Check. A great supporting cast? Check. Music, sets, atmosphere: check, check, check. It's a movie you just feel part of every time you watch it.
2: The Rocky Horror Picture Show (Sharman, 1975)
If there's ever a movie with the words "guilty pleasure" written across it in glowing neon lights, this is it. It's not a great film by any measure, and in many areas it's just plain bad. But there is an irresistible mischief going on at all times, which makes it so much fun to watch. Sing along: "Science fiction, oe-a-oe, Double Feature"...
1: I'm Not There (Haynes, 2007)
This is it. The big one. I've seen this movie over 20 times now, and not once have I doubted that this is the greatest movie I've ever seen. If Casablanca is my egomovie, and Rocky Horror is pure id, this is my Super-ego. It represents everything I love about film, and was in fact the reason I irretrievably fell in love with the medium. This movie is more then just a part of my back catalogue: it's part of who I am. My decision to study film was made after watching this movie, and every time I doubt that decision I'm Not There shows me what I'm doing it all for.
 |
| Here's me digging you, sir. |
Alias
I've just put everything... in it's right place.
Okay, so I actually couldn't think of anything else besides The Final Countdown. Sue me.
Tuesday, February 1
Shorts Circus: The Man Who Planted Trees
I very rarely cry at movies. After watching this, I could confirm that crying was indeed very rare for me. But it does happen sometimes.
The Man Who Planted Trees from Max Urai on Vimeo.
Alias
The Man Who Planted Trees from Max Urai on Vimeo.
Alias
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)