Irony and Filmgoing

As someone who absolutely loves movies, I think there's nothing better than going to a film with an audience that loves it and is completely engrossed in it. Watching Star Wars: Attack of the Clones at a midnight screening was probably the best filmgoing experience I ever had, it wasn't the best film, but I never had more fun, or was so connected to a collective feeling during a screening. Before the film started, I over heard the people behind me talking coolly about the film, clearly not expecting too much. Anyway, the Yoda lightsaber scene hits, and the guy was practically hyperventilating just repeating "Oh shit" over and over again, the film had completely broken his ironic shell and hit him on some pure level and I was right there with him, just unquestioningly loving the film. Watching the film on your own, the flaws are more magnified, but in the context of a group that was there to love the film, it was just a sublime experience, everyone bought into the film and loved it.

Now, on the other end of the spectrum was when I went to see Lord of the Rings: Return of the King. All throughout the movie this guy a couple of seats over was making sarcastic comments about the film, and towards the end, I had to tell him to shut up because it was just taking me out of the world of the film, and the guy questioned me, and I did not back down, and him and his girlfriend left. But still, to some degree it was difficult to get back into the film. Getting truly lost in a great film is a delicate process, and even one dumb comment can completely ruin a moment. I know whenever I watch Mulholland Drive, people always try to translate the Spanish lyrics in the Club Silencio sequence, completely missing the fact that the reason Lynch put the lyrics in Spanish was so that you would just feel the song rather than try to apply it to the narrative. It's probably the most powerful moment in the film, a superb confluence of audio and visual, but it's ruined if someone is talking. If you truly get lost in that scene, it's emotionally overwhelming, and I don't care what she's singing about.

I think we all hate the clueless filmgoer who is always asking questions about the plot, but there is a type of filmgoer I hate even more, and it's one I encounter a lot here at Wesleyan: the ironic filmgoer, who, no matter what film he/she goes to, he thinks of himself as above the material, looking down to occasionally chuckle at something that someone has put years of life and care into. Watching a film is like going into a cave, when you first enter, you can see everything pretty clearly, but as you go further into the cave, you don't see like you do in the outside world, you just see things in the light of the cave. This is what you do when you see a film, you move out of your world, and into the world of the film, where your vision and understanding of things is different. And thus, things that would seem ridiculous if you watched them out of context can be incredibly profound.

I think the best example of this is the singing sequence in Magnolia. Two hours into this film, Paul Thomas Anderson has all the characters start singing along to Aimee Mann's 'Wise Up,' which we first hear on the stereo of Claudia, but gradually moves out to all nine main characters. It's a moment that would be absoultely preposterous if you just watched it on its own, but in context, it's the most powerful moment in the film, and just kills me every time, because I love getting lost in the world of the film.

But, what about the 'ironic viewer'? This is someone who refuses to surrender himself to the power of the film, and instead keeps a critical distance, laughing at any sign of sincere emotion. So, this incredibly emotional scene would be treated with some laughs, and it would kill the moment. On his commentary for Amelie, Jean Pierre Jeunet talks about the scene at the end of the film where Amelie and Nino stare at each other in silence, and he says if someone laughed at this point, it would absoultely kill the film. This is what the ironic viewer does, laugh at sincere displays of emotion, or anything that could possibly be construed as funny.

Maybe these people enjoy the films, but I don't think they can enjoy it in the same way that someone who surrenders to the film does. See, I feel like these people are best suited to watching high brow comedies, where everything can be laughed at, even scenes with sincere emotional content.

See, I love movies that go over the top emotionally, and even if I don't love the film, I'm always going to give it the respect of not laughing at it. Now, you may say, how could this same person enjoy Mystery Science Theater 3000? The difference is there you're looking to laugh at the film, when you go to the theater, and pay $10 to see the film, you want to enjoy it, not poke fun at it. Yes, some films are awful, but I try not to go to those, and even if I do, I try to focus on the positive.

I guess I differ from most people in the sense that the films I hate most are stupid comedies. I'd take any sort of sincere attempt to make a good film over something that is meant to just poke fun at stuff. I can love comedies, but usually they have some sort of dramatic character base for their riffing. Ghost World is a hilarious film, and is largely about viewing life ironically, but it examines this sort of worldview and engages the difficulties with it.

What really bothers me about the ironic viewer is that they make it difficult to really enjoy the film because for one, they take you out of the film with annoying laughter, and second, by taking you out of the film, make it impossible to reengage on an emotional level with the characters, and thus, you see things the way they do, distanced and looking for irony rather than sincerity. When watching films this is not the way to do things. Every film I watch I hope to love, and I'm going to try to give it the respect of not laughing at it.

What brought on this rant? It was watching Todd Solondz' Happiness, a film that refuses to break the critical distance between filmmaker and character, and instead views the characters as almost a freakshow, so that at any moment, you could be either engaging with the characters or laughing at them, and in a theater environment, I'd imagine there'd be a lot of laughter. Another film that does this, a film that is apalling and awful, and makes me question society's values yet again, is Napoleon Dynamite, a film that is basically there to let you laugh at these people for an hour and a half. Why would you want to do this, freakshows went out of style in the 1900s, and there's no reason to adapt this awful exploitation to film. I don't want a film I can laugh at and not care about, I want something that will stick with me long after, and take me on an emotional journey.

You know a film is successful when you accept more and more ridiculous things within it, such as in Magnolia, when the frogs appear. By this time, you're so far into the film, you just accept it as something that fits, and it's a sublime, powerful moment, one that you could either laugh at or be in awe of, and I choose to be in awe of it.

Batman Returns

I watched Batman Returns yesterday, because I'm going to write a paper on it for my class on action cinema. This is the film that is #8 on my Top 100 Films list, and even I sometimes wonder what the hell it's doing there, but then I watch the film and I'm once again dazzled by just how amazing it is. I've got a 15 page paper to do on the film, so I'll be covering it pretty in depth, but there's a surplus of material there, this is a film I feel like I could write a whole book on, just because it's so deep, and yet so entertaining on the surface at the same time. Watching it, I'm at once entertained on a really superficial level, looking at stuff blowing up, but there's also a lot of really strong character stuff in the film.



What makes this film stand out as one of the absolute greatest films of all time? One big thing is that I'm a huge fan of director Tim Burton, his visual style, his themes and his collaboration with composer Danny Elfman. And this film is the most Tim Burton of all his films, falling as the dark middle act of a thematic trilogy consisting of Edward Scissorhands, this film and The Nightmare Before Christmas. All deal with characters feeling alienated from a deeply conformist society, struggling to deal with their difference.



I love Edward Scissorhands, and this film serves as essentially a darker version of that story. Scissorhands is much simpler, this film has a lot of complexity with the relationship between Bruce and Selina. Selina Kyle/Catwoman is one of Burton's best characters, and just owns every moment she is on screen. The scene where she and Bruce Wayne are dancing and realize each other's secret identity is amazing, one of Burton's best scenes.

Visually, this film is just so over the top, you could watch it without dialogue, and just the visuals and music would be enough to make a great piece of cinema. The opening sequence is so over the top icy beautiful, and the whole finale with the penguins and the zoo blowing up is just ridiculous. Danny Elfman's score here is his best, and one of the absolute best in all of cinema. It's operatic and omnipresent, informing events. This is a film where the score is an integrated part of the storytelling rather than just being background, and that's where music belongs in film. This feels like a complete cinematic immersion, something that is achieved by very few other films. Just watching the final scenes, the music alone would make it awesome.



The visuals and music are so great, they almost overpower the really witty script. There are some awful lines ("Girl talk" and "eat floor" come to mind), but on the whole the dialogue is entertaining, and full of bizarre double entendres and outlandish jokes. The film does a great job of exploring issues of duality, basically destroying conventional ideas of good and bad, replacing them with a morally ambiguous film in which the only character who is unquestionably a villain is the normal guy.

This is a film I wish people would rediscover, looking at it not as a Batman film, the title character doesn't have the most screentime, or serve as the primary narrative catalyst, but rather look at it in the context of Burton's other films, and as an unconventional character study. Yes, much of the plot makes no sense and is left unresolved, but who really cares what happens with the power plant. This is a film that is all about characters and visual spectacle, and in that sense it's really an art film.

And I feel like this film makes the upcoming Batman Begins seem so irrelevant. There's no way Nolan can top this film, and in making a Spider-Man style blockbuster out of Batman, he'll just embrace the commodification of Hollywood that is preventing really personal films from being made. Batman Returns is so unique because it's one of the most personal blockbusters I've ever seen. You can sense Burton's involvement in every level of this project, and maybe that's why the film wasn't successful. To make a film that some people will really love, you're going to alienate others. But, I'd rather have a film that a few people absoultely love than one that everyone likes.

What's wrong with Lost?

At the beginning of the TV year, I watched one new show, and that was Lost. It had a great premise, really strong critical buzz and was from JJ Abrams, creator of Alias, so I figured this would be quite the series, and the pilot certainly sold me on that. Really interesting characters, tons of interesting conflict, and the promise of more good stuff in the future. And, I really liked the show, it had its ups and downs, but I enjoyed each episode, but lately, I get the feeling more and more that what once seemed like it could be the next Buffy level series is just not going to make it, and here's why.

At this point, Lost is basically handicapped by its structure. For some inane reason, the producers decided to stick with having character flashbacks to the mainland long after these have outlived their usefulness. At the beginning, it was cool to see where each character came from, and they did a good job of setting up what this person brought to the island. And for character, the first flashback episode was interesting enough. However, at this point, the flashbacks are just a drain on screentime and a distraction from what's actually interesting on the show. In the most recent episode, we saw Jack preparing to get married, and having some issues with confidence. On the island, he is also having issues of confidence, but just being a parallel story does not mean that this flashback is worth including. In the end, it had no impact on the events of the episode, and didn't tell us anything important about Jack that we didn't already know.

I wouldn't have such a big problem with the flashbacks except for the fact that with such a big ensemble cast, it means that the screentime taken up by the pointless flashbacks precludes us from checking in with most of the characters on the island. In most episodes, about ten of the fourteen main characters actually appear, and only five or so have any sort of significant role. It's not that the cast is too big, it's that one third of the running time is taken up with things that have no bearing on the narrative. The occasional flashback episode can be great, as in the episode of Firefly where we see how Mal met his crew. This fills in backstory we didn't know before, while still telling a story that moves things along.

However, the pointlessness of these flashbacks comes to the fore because even as we learn more and more pointless minutiae about these characters' past, they still show no signs of changing in the present. The characters were all archetypal in some sense, just like in Buffy, but the problem here is the characters haven't moved beyond their one sentence description. No one has any depth or does anything unexpected, and all the chaacter dynamics are the exact same as from the first episode. There've been a ton of episodes where Kate/Sawyer/Jack have tension between them as they try to get something they want from Sawyer, but what happens in the past never seems to affect how they behave in the present. They go through the same dance over and over again, eventually Sawyer shows he's not all bad and helps them out, which Jack grudgingly accepts.

The only characters whose status quo has really changed is Jin and Sun. Now that they're split up, you'd think there'd be plenty of space for exploring how the characters are dealing with it, but they basically function exactly the same way, just apart now. I'd love to see Sun and someone get into a relationship, to see how that affects Jin.

That's one of the biggest problems with the show, no one gets into relationships that could cause tension. They get Sayid and Sharon together, but then kill off the primary obstacle to them being together, her brother Boone. I'd have loved to see that triangle play out, but instead the element of tension is removed. It's writing 101 that you should give your characters obstacles to overcome, and that's something that just isn't done on the show. Everyone has settled in on the island, with no evidence of psychological wear. Where's some Lord of the Flies style de-civilizing?

I think part of the problem is that between the flashbacks and arbitrary problems that arise every week, there's no room for character development. There doesn't need to be a crisis every week, just letting the characters stew, and seeing what tensions arise would make for a much more interesting show. There's so many issues that would arise being stranded on an island, and the only discussion about it is very brief and not in depth. I'd play up more romantic relationships, because that would lead to more character tension. When you're on an island, there's nowhere to hide from each other if something goes bad.

Ultimately, the show needs to upset the status quo more. The worst thing a show can do is settle into a routine, and that's what has happened at this point. There's no progress forward for the charcters, it's almost like a sitcom in that respect. A bunch of things can happen, but people don't change and on a long term series, that's the worst thing that can be.

Grant Morrison's 'Seaguy'

I just finished reading the collected edition of Grant Morrison's recent mini-series, Seaguy. This book is part of a series of three three issue miniseries he's doing for Vertigo, and it's the first one I've read.

This is a book that took me a while to get into. The first issue sets up the world of the book. Seaguy and his sidekick, Chubby da Choona, live in a world that used to be dominated by superheroics, but now the heroes have retired and Seaguy lives a boring life, the only excitement coming from the adventures of Mickey Eye on TV. The thing I really like about the first issue is the sense of malaise you get. Seaguy may be living in a crazy world, but he has the same malaise that a lot of people in our world feel. Modern life is devoid of adventure and excitement, and that launches in him a desire to do something exciting.

This leads him to Mickey Eye theme park, a place clearly modeled on Disney World, right down to the giant Mickey Eye ball in the center of the park. While at the park he runs into Doc Hero, an old superhero who can only find thrills by going on an amusement park ride.

A crucial thing to understanding Seaguy is to get that even though this seems to be a fantasy world, the book is really a brutal satire of modern life. It's essentially about the modern malaise that people feel in a world where thrills come from television or amusement parks, rather than from actual adventures. Morrison presents the Mickey Eye show as something that will brainwash you, something similar to reality TV, just pointless viewing that you watch because you've got nothing else to do. There is this weight of generations past, who had adventures and did important things, while in our own world, the only thrills are artificial, created in carefully controlled theme parks. But the thing that's missing from amusement parks is any real sense of danger or change. It's just going around in loops.

So, adventure presents itself in the form of Xoo, a highly commodified substance that is the building block for the world's first artificial living foodstuff. This brings Seaguy to a ship where Xoo is produced, and here the Xoo reacts against the people who are creating it, and destroys the ship. The image of Seaguy with Xoo on his spoon is devestating, and I really love the sequence in which Xoo destroys the ship. The attempt to control this living foodstuff inadvertantly leads to the corporation's destruction. Basically, the commodified object rebels against the world that created it.

While being interrogated by the Xoo gang, one of the suits voices what will become the essential question of the series: "Xoo is multi-purpose. Xoo is low cost. Xoo makes people happy. And what's so wrong with happy?" In this case, the point is that the world that Seaguy lives in, the 'happiness' he had, is just artificial surface happiness, it's not real fulfillment.

Almost all of Morrison's protagonists are dissatisfied with their status quo, and want something more, a drive that leads to investigations that bring them into contact with different layers of reality. Jack, Buddy in Animal Man, Greg in The Filth, Flex Mentallo, they all seek a better, more exciting world. And in Seaguy's case, that better world means coming into conflict with a corporation that wants to spoonfeed happiness to people.

The first two issues of the book were good, but I didn't really get the sense that this was any more than a twisty revisionist superhero story. It was all pretty simple until the last issue where stuff goes crazy. The issue opens with the harrowing image of Cubby's cartoony head on a body that is now only a skeleton, and then Seaguy winds up on the moon.

The end of this issue raises a lot of questions, both about what exactly happened and about consumerism and society. At the end, Seaguy is basically reprogrammed, his need for adventure removed, and he is placed back into normal society. When I finished it, I was wondering what work it really reminded me of, and it just clicked that the ending has a lot of similarities with my own movie, Tabula Rasa. It's basically the same idea, someone decides to rebel against the system, they're chased down, reprogrammed and things loop around at the end. Though, Morrison's work is much better than my own, it's still cool that we're working on really similar ideas. Tabula Rasa was heavily Morrison inspired.

Anyway, the pages where we see Doc Hero being tortured and then Seaguy getting reprogrammed were amazing. The one page with Seaguy in the room with a bunch of TVs with Mickey Eye on is so Morrison, pure genius. That page alone makes the series worth reading. So, basically, the ruling power in this society, Mickey Eye is rounding up heroes, and replacing the drive for adventure with an artificial happiness. And then these people leave the rebooting camp going around in sort of a daze. Is this the first time Seaguy has been rebooted? I would lean to yes, but I'm not positive.

I think the thing that Seaguy gets so right is the way people feel this lack of purpose in the modern world. We can distract ourselves all we want, but there seems to be the need for an adventure, or just excitement outside the daily routine, it's what Seaguy feels. Seaguy longs for an age where adventure was the norm, and when he finally does have his adventure, he winds up on the moon, which is actually a 5,000 year old Egyptian tomb. There's a deliberate tie in to an age that seemed more interesting and vibrant. The pharoah is looking for heroes, but only one has turned up and that's Seaguy. And ultimately, the whole call for heroes turns out to be a trap. The pharaoh is being maniupated by the Mickey Eye group, and they lure Seaguy to a place where they can capture him and reprogram him.

So, this corporation wants to prevent real adventurers from returning because that would take away their control of global entertainment. They couldn't brainwash people anymore if there were real adventures to experience. Morrison is someone who's decidedly not reactionary, so I don't think the point of all this is to say that we should go back to a more exciting time in the past. I think it's more that we should seek out adventure in the modern world. Seaguy wants to change his life, he wants adventure and he finds it. That ties in with Morrison's ideas on chaos magick, that if you want something enough, you'll get it. So, Seaguy is the only one to recognize and interrogate his unhappiness and this allows him to change his life, and for a brief moment, find a sense of purpose and excitement in life. So, Morrison is imploring the reader to find their own adventure in the world, even if it seems like you're locked into a boring routine.

The end of the work is difficult to judge. I would say that even though it seems like Seaguy is back living this boring life, things have changed a bit. The crucial thing is that this time he chooses to be black when playing chess with death, implying that he is really going to be playing the game, instead of seeking the artificial comfort of cheating to know he can win. Basically, rather than accepting the boring routine of life, and not taking risk, he's taking a huge risk with this chess game, he is finding the adventure in the everyday, and he has not forgotten the lessons of what happened to him earlier.

So, I thought this was a great book. It's one that you're not really sure where it's going, but in the end everything comes together. I've got to give props to Cameron Stewart's art, which is just gorgeous, and perfectly captures the odd cartoony vibe of the world. It's really artificial, yet also emotionally real. And also the fact that GM is able to make the story work on so many layers. It's at once a fantastical superhero tale, and a brutal critique of modern society. There's so much casual surrealism, particularly in the moon scene, crazy images presented without explanation that you accept because it's in tone with the world. This is a work that plunges you into a crazy world with no easy guide, it lets you figure things out on your own, and that's part of what makes the end so rewarding. It's not Morrison's best, but it's another great addition to one of the greatest canons of a storyteller in any medium.

Nip/Tuck

A few days ago I finished watching Nip/Tuck season two. Over break I had watched season one and I really enjoyed it, but I felt like the series never made the jump from addictive and good to really great work of art, and season two left me wondering if it could do that.

When it comes to TV shows, most of the stuff I'm a fan of is really continuous, and largely dependent on character relationships for the drama. Another notable aspect of most of these shows is that pretty much every character has something awful happen to them at some point along the way, for this is the stuff that drama is made of. But, the thing that separates the best TV shows from ones that are merely good is whether plot arcs have real consequences, or whether everything functions on sort of a loop, where storylines will happen, but eventually, we will always find ourselves back roughly where we started.

So, the difference boils down to whether the show has some sort of overall purpose, one massive story it is telling that snakes through all the years, or whether events arbitrarily occur because there needs to be another season. Looking at the two magnum opuses of television, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and The Sopranos, you can see that even though there are heavy soap opera elements, and a strong stress on character problems(which I love) there are also overarching character and plot arcs that
keep the series moving forward. So, whereas Sean's depression on Nip/Tuck is treated as something he has to get over and move on from, in season six, Buffy's depression profoundly changes her character, and doesn't seem gimmicky at all. Sean, you don't get the sense that what happened here will have a huge effect on him down the line, whereas Buffy's depression has major consequences. It marks the nadir of Buffy's life, before she is reborn and reinvigorated in season seven.

In The Sopranos, we see characters going through huge, irrevocable changes that develop out of the story organically, rather than being forced on them due to the need to keep things happening. Tony and Carmela's separation in season five feels warranted and clearly has major consequences for the characters. When Sean and Julia split up on Nip/Tuck, you get the feeling that it's just a temporary thing, because the same exact story was done in season one. There's no sense of forward progression, and the storyline doesn't come out of character actions.

I think that's the primary difference, on Nip/Tuck or The OC, external forces are the primary drive behind narrative events. On the best shows, it's the characters themselves who create the stories. I'd consider Buffy season six the pinnacle of television storytelling and here, everything is character based. Buffy's depression leads her to a relationship with Spike, Willow's abuse of magic leads to her breakup with Tara, Xander's fear is what leads to him breaking off the wedding with Anya. These events grow out of long held character flaws. That's a big part of it too, making characters flawed, by doing this you create the potential for great drama.
The Sopranos has very morally ambiguous characters, who are always stuck between doing what is in their best interests and doing what is morally right.

A show like Six Feet Under sort of walks the line. We know that Nate will always wind up back with Brenda and that David will always end up with Keith, but the show is so well written, it never feels like a loop. Even though the relationships may stick, the characters end up changing a lot. Plus, the production values and artistry behind the show are so good, it's on an entirely different level than most other shows.

So, that brings us to Nip/Tuck season two. I find the show extremely entertaining, and at the end of each episode, I'm always wishing there was a little bit more. That said, as much as I love the show, there is very little of the artistic value that the best TV shows have. There's countless things you could write about on Buffy or The Sopranos, or even Cowboy Bebop or The Office have really deep thematic and character
development. Nip/Tuck basically riffs on the relationship between outward appearance and the inner self, and then throws on a bunch of character problems with that.

My favorite episode of the year was the alternate universe Julia episode. Alternate universe episodes, such as Buffy's The Wish, are always entertaining, even though they may not actually have that much substance. The episode I would most closely equate this with is 'Perfect Circles,' the Six Feet Under third season premiere, which saw Nate wandering through a myriad of parallel universes, observing different versions of himself. What elevated that episode above the Julia episode is that the worlds he saw were a reflection of the character's fears about his place in the
world. Notably, in the world where he is mentally damaged after the accident and is trying to speak again with David's help. It really plays on his sense of mortality, and there's a sense of danger throughout.

Julia's is more of a tour through another world, observing with an interested but not particularly invested eye. That said, it was all very entertaining, I loved Kimber in the episode, and her looking at Julia as she and Christian had sex. I liked the cocaine driven lifestyle of excess she and Christian have, something that's always entertaining to watch, as was the return of Meagan O'Hara and Jude from season one. The show has an admirably deep memory in some cases. The best scenes were in the
'netherworld' where Ava and Julia talk, most notably the end of the episode where Julia floats through a white void, passing everyone in her life, while being drawn to Ava. 'You Can't Always Get what You Want' worked really well with the scene, and just the image of Ava drawing Julia to her death was great. That's an example of the purely symbolic visual storytelling that a TV show can allow. Because we know and are invested in these characters, we can understand exactly what's going on, without
dialogue. Just like the last episode of Twin Peaks or Buffy's Restless, the set narrative universe allows for a move away from traditional storytelling, while still doing things that are relevant to character development.

So, that episode was great, as was the journey of Kimber. Back in season one, Kimber and Christian had a relationship that ended with her tying him to the bed and threatening him with a knife. But, upon her return in season two we see a new Kimber. The first episode she was in, the one that ended with the reveal that she was now starring in porn was pretty shocking, and I was eager to see where she went from there. This led to the great episode where she gives Sean the 'realdoll' of her, and
eventually they get together. The thing I really liked about Kimber was the fact that, post cocaine binge, she seemed to be the only character who had things together and knew where she was going in life, and at the end of the season when we see her directing a porn, we get a sense of how far she has come. She's the only character in this season who went through things that irrevocably change her. Christian and Sean have the same basic conflicts, but she has moved on and become a better person.

The fact that her development stands out so much reflects poorly on the show. Sean and Christian have basically the same character conflicts they did in season one, and both go through essentially the same arc. Because of this essential loop, the show is good, but it's not quite great. Still, I loved watching it, and can't wait for season three.

Sin City

On Saturday I finally saw Sin City, a film I've been looking forward to ever since last March when the project was announced, and even more so since reading the books during the summer, and this was definitely a film that lived up to the expectations. And as much as it is a great film on its own, it's also a film that represents a dynamic use of cinema, one that will change the medium in the future in ways we cannot even imagine.

Having read all the books, it was positively surreal watching what I'd seen on the page play out on screen. The film basically is the comics transported to another medium. The dialogue is all repeated verbatim and the shots basically replicate the exact images of the comics. Unlike most people, I thought the Marv story was the weakest of the three. When I read the books, the first one I read was The Yellow Bastard, so Marv wasn't my introduction to Sin City, and as a result, I think that story might pale in comparison to some of the later stories. However, when you read/see it first, it has the feeling of discovery, and it's the other stories that seem like retreads. That's not to say it wasn't good. Kevin certainly is a nasty villain, and there's something cathartic about watching him get eaten by his own wolves. Elijah Wood owns in the role, really freaky. He's the highlight of that segment. Plus, I've got to give props to Rutger Hauer, who's great as Cardinal Roarke, this is his best work since Blade Runner. In this sequence, I loved the black shadow cast onto walls, which replicates Miller's style of drawing.

'The Big Fat Kill,' the story with Dwight and the prostitutes was actually my favorite in the film. I think it was the most visually interesting, particularly at the end with the red sky behind the prostitutes and Dwight, as well as the gorgeous image of Becky completely dark, with only her jewelry illuminated. Those silhouette images were probably my favorite shots in the film, notably the one with Dwight sinking under the tar, only to be pulled out by Miho. I feel like those best capture the visual style of the comic, which was entirely reliant on the sharp contrast between black and white images, to the point that it looks like paper cutouts at times. If Kevin was the awesome silent killer in the previous story, Miho takes that here. She's really menacing. In this sequence, I was surprised at how well stuff from the comics, like Jackie-Boy's head speaking worked, and in that sequence we even see Dwight speaking his voiceover out loud and it works. That's part of being integrated into the world of this story.

'The Yellow Bastard' was my favorite of the books, and it doesn't work quite as well on the second go through, because so much of it is predicated on the twists. Also, by breaking up the first scene and the prison stuff, we don't get the sense of imprisonment from the book. Reading the book, I was really angry at the Senator, and got the sense of being imprisoned for a long time. In the film, we skip over Hartigan's trials in prison, which makes his actions when he's out less motivated. Another thing I think that didn't work as well was the reveal of Nancy. Reading the book, I was shocked to find out Nancy became a stripper, but here it's dealt as an off hand reveal, one that is actually spoiled by her appearance in Marv. That said, the hanging sequence was really well done, and the whole farm bit worked great too. The ending of this segment is really brutal, and features another great use of silhouette.

If I had to find fault with the film it would be that this is such a direct translation of the books, we don't really get anything additional. Miller's use of comics as a medium was innovative, and completely unique. The film basically replicates this innovation, but doesn't take advantage of film itself. Music is really underplayed, and the camera barely moves. You can tell that each shot is basically replicating the book. I think the best example of this might be in the Nancy scenes. Despite not having any actual movement, I get a stronger sense of motion from the book version of her dance than the film's. In the book, you can feel that she is captivating these guys, and is really special, in the film, it looks like she got drunk and is standing on the bar. That's where Rodriguez should have innovated with film in the same way that Miller innovated with comics.

But, if he had done this sort of thing, people could just have easily say he's straying from the spirit of the comics. Even if he isn't using the camera in a particularly interesting way, what this film does for digital production is even more revolutionary. Sky Captain, even though it looked good, always looked artificial. Here, I would swear most of the film was shot on sets, and most of the time, I wasn't even considering the digital aspect of it. That's the best compliment for an effect. It works seamlessly, and this allows the film to go over the top visually in a way that hasn't been seen before. This is basically Rodriguez showing us the future of film.

I don't think every film should be shot in this way, I would suspect that part of the reason the camera isn't moving around as much is because it's tough to do that with a digital backlot. A film like Irreversible would not work on green screen, but if you're creating a different world, it clearly works. Both this and Irreverisble show how you can use digital to service the story, and I think we're heading for a world where every frame of a film is digitally altered in some way.

Rodriguez is basically living the life I'd want. He writes, directs, edits, shoots and scores his films. I think a crucial part of making the film is being involved in all aspects of production, not just writing a script and handing it over to a bunch of technicians. I would love to have the control that he does, and the freedom to make whatever he wants. Is he making great films? Other than Sin City, I wouldn't say he's made anything too noteworthy. Spy Kids is basically a waste of time, and the upcoming 'Shark Boy and Lava Girl in 3D' will probably appeal to no one over ten. That said, if it's what he wants to make, more power to him.

So, it's a great film, a film that is completely unique and for that reason alone it's worth seeing. What this film does make me question is whether I would like to see something like this done for The Invisibles or Watchmen, comics that are really important to me. Sin City, with its minimalist artwork is ideal for this kind of film translation, but could it work for Watchmen? I think it could, but on some level, I would rather see it interpreted to suit the medium. Yes, Moore's work is very cinematic, but he uses comics specifically.

Most great works make specific use of the advantages of the medium. Sin City in some respects feels like a comic book adaptation of a film, in that even if it is good, it always seems odd to not read the work as it was originally intended. I mean, let's say there was a comics version of Magnolia, I'd be all over that, but even if it was great on its own, would there be a reason for it to exist? Even though I love film, I find it odd that it's always assumed that something from other media should become a movie. Shouldn't we be creating films that specifically tailored to what that medium can do, rather than trying to bring in stories from other media?

So that even while I love Sin City, it exists already, and Rodriguez could have made his own noir, inspired by the work, rather than exactly replicating it. I really do love the movie, and I'm looking forward to the Watchmen and V For Vendetta movies, but on some level it seems hopeless. It's the same thing with the American version of the TV show, The Office. The original was so brilliant, essentially flawless, so how could a remake be anything but worse?

I'll admit that a lot of the stories I do are inspired by watching other movies, but even if you start out doing an exact copy of something, as you go along, things'll change and you'll end up with a more original story than you start out with. Basically what I'm saying is when you experience a great work, why not try to create something equally great, but different instead of just redoing what has already been done.

That's why if I were to become a successful filmmaker, I would only do original screenplays, written by me, with a couple of exceptions. If I had the chance, I would make an Invisibles movie, and what I would try to do is keep the same story and characters, but really focus on making it cinematic, through the use of music and camera movement.

But mainly, I would want to tell original stories, things that are new and different, building on what has come before, and also going beyond it.

The Dark Tower

A couple of days ago I finished reading the last book of Stephen King's The Dark Tower series. This is a 3500 page, seven book tale, one that he began in 1970 and finished in September of last year. I read the first book around 2000, and over the past few years have gradually read the rest. It was a great series of books. one that was consistently entertaining and had some really interesting ideas throughout. The series was always at least partially about the nature of storytelling, making it fitting that the ending of the series should be a meta-comment on the nature of the text itself, an ending that I found really fulfilling. Spoilers are obviously below.

In the thirty years and seven books, Roland's world has changed dramatically, but the one thing that has always remained constant is his desire to get to the tower. That is the thing that drives him, the thing that keeps him going after losing his old friends, losing Jake, losing Eddie, losing Jake again and even losing Susannah, he has one thing driving him forward and that is his need to make it to the dark tower. Throughout the book, we have the vague idea tha the tower is the nexus of all realities, and therefore plays a crucial role in preventing the world from collapsing. However, we never learn exactly what its purpose is, and what it is that makes Roland so drawn to it. After they fix the beam midway through book VII, they've essentially accomplished their task, the world is saved, and there's no reason to go on anymore, except Roland's need to see the tower for himself, to accomplish his goal, the one thing that has driven him above all others.

One thing I found interesting was the way the ending was structured. The main book ends with Roland walking into the dark tower, and I was like, did I miss something, where's my resolution with what the tower is? And then there's the piece about Susannah which was good, and then there's a little note from Stephen King about the fact that it's the journey that matters, what happens on the way to the tower, not the tower itself, and that ultimately every ending is something of a let down. But, thankfully after that, we go back to Roland his ascent up the tower.

So, when he finally does reach the tower, he finds that is sort of a summation of his life, each level corresponds to events that occurred to him, and in ascending it, he views the entirety of his life. Then at the top of the tower he is sucked through time and returns to the beginning of his journey, right before the first sentence of The Gunslinger. I love this ending because it follows up on what King was talking about with the journey being the point of things. Nothing he finds at the top of the tower could satisfy the reader, and I think this is the best way to the end the book.

A lot of people have been knocking the idea of the loop, but I think to do that is to ignore one crucial thing, the presence of the horn when he begins his next journey. What this implies is that with each journey he's doing things better, and it's implied that his one failure this time is the fact that he didn't pick up the horn at the end of the battle in Wizard and the Glass, so now he has it, and I get the feeling that this next journey will be his last time, and then he will find peace at the top of the tower.

I love the quasi-dreamlike memories Roland has of things when he is spit out the end of the loop. All throughout the book you get the feeling he's been on this quest forever, and his past is so distant from who he is now. That's something that's reaffirmed by this ending. He has been on this quest forever, and he's become ageless, moving through an infernal hell.

If I had to guess, I would say that when Roland finally does reach the top of the tower, and do things right, it will be something like what happens to Susannah at the end of her journey. I get the feeling that Susannah got everything right this time, and even if she was consigned to a loop before, she won't be now. She got her happy ending, reuinted with everyone in the clearing at the end of the path. When Roland completes his mission, he will probably find the same happiness, but until then, it is his burden to forever be seeking the tower.

The ending also brilliantly plays off the fact that the universe didn't really end, you can pick up the first book and start all over again. Throughout all the books, the series has flirted with meta-fiction and this ending references that without being excessively gimmicky or self reflexive. If the horn wasn't there, it might seem like too much of a downer, but this way you still have hope. I like the symmetry of placing the 'Childe Roland' poem at the end of the book, with the implication that this poem depicts Roland's final journey to the tower, because it was also the impetus for the creation of the entire world. So, it both opens and closes the series.

I'm really satisfied with the ending and I think it stands as one of the great stories ever told, full of so many memorable characters and events. The books frequently refer to the fact that they aren't so much being written, it's more King tapping into another universe and bringing the story back from there. That's what it's like to write, and thus, both the writer and the reader are like Eddie or Susannah, taken from our world to Roland's world for an adventure outside of the everyday.

Time Destroys All (Irreversible)

A few days ago I watched Gaspar Noe's first film, I Stand Alone, and in the context of talking about that I was talking about Irreversible, which made me want to see the film again, so yesterday I watched the film for the third time. Now, here, I talked about the basics of the film and why I liked it, but on this third viewing I got something a bit different out of it than I did before.

Having seen I Stand Alone, I liked the closure on that story, and the fact that the Butcher, who thought he had it all figured out, ended up in jail, and has his dream of a life with his daughter ruined. I Stand Alone ended on a pretty upnote, and while the audience is disturbed, the Butcher is clearly happy for the first time in the film. So, we begin the film seeing that a happy ending doesn't last, he's now left distraught.

Having seen the film a few times, I can take a more distant perspective and keep the whole film in mind while watching the early scenes. The first time seeing the film, the first scene is disorienting, you don't know what's going on, but here I was able to follow things, and it's really sad. If that was the end of the film, it would be the most brutal film of all time, becuase you'd be left completely distraught, with nothing good left. Luckily, it's only the beginning, but having seen the film, it's deeply affecting to watch Pierre sitting there in the police car, having thrown away his entire life because of Marcus' desire for vengeance. Marcus will walk, but Pierre is going to be the one to pay for his animalistic desire in the first half of the film. Not to say that Marcus got off easy, his arm is broken and Alex is in a coma, his world has been destroyed as well, and he's going to have deal with the guilt of knowing that his stupid behavior at the party was what made her leave, and led to her being raped.

The Rectum sequence was really disturbing the first time I saw it, and it still is, but I'm familiar with it so it's not as shocking. Noe does a great job of creating a hell for his characters to go around in, and of course the violence at the end is still shocking. Noe's constantly moving camera leaves you really uneasy, and completely immerses you in these characters' mindset. You see Marcus getting dragged down further and further into the filth of this world, this is what his vengeance has brought him.

The next chunk of scenes further degrade the characters, and show you the complete folly of the desire for vengeance that these characters have. They keep going through these awful situations, trying to get to the Rectum. There's some dazzling camera work in the sequence where they steal the cab, the camera moves in and out of the cab with no cuts, I know they did a CG thing with the glass, but I don't understand how it was done other than that. It's a simple shot, with such a convincing effect you don't think about it, but once you go deeper, it's unbelieable what he does there. I feel like this part of the film is basically designed to show you how ridiculous the desire for revenge is. It's only making Marcus worse, and is doing nothing to help Alex. Pierre is constantly saying they should go visit Alex, but Marcus ignores him and things get worse as a result. At the end of the film, no one benefits, and the revenge ends up failing because they don't even get the right guy.

This film is a great statement against revenge because of the way it removes the vengeance from the act that motivates it. On first viewing, you're disgusted by Pierre when he kills the guy, but when you see the rape scene, it makes you understand what they were doing. I know when I was watching Alex struggling, I really understood what was driving Pierre at that moment. But, you also understand that the revenge is doing nothing good, their lives are destroyed because of it, and they don't even get the right guy. Clearly, it's a statement against vigilante justice. One of the thugs says, "Vengeance is a human right," and that may be, but it's not a right that gets us anything. It doesn't make Alex better, and it doesn't make the crime go away. Trying to get revenge only make things worse, and that's what the film shows us.

I think Noe uses the backwards narrative in a brilliant way throughout the film, but one of the most effective instances is when we see Alex's injured face, an absoultely disgusting image, evidence of such cruelty, and then jump back in time where we see Monica Bellucci, one of the most beautiful women in the world. Who could do what was done to her? That's the question, and the one that is answered when we see La Tenia in the tunnel. The beauty of this sequence, as she walks out of the party and into the streets, is that we know what's coming, and in each moment, she makes a little decision that brings her to that place. The taxi that doesn't arrive, the hooker who tells her to take the underpass, her momentary hesitation when she passes La Tenia beating the hooker, if things had been different only by seconds, she would never have been raped, and their lives would have never been destroyed. But the world seemed to conspire to bring her to this point, which ties in with a point discussed later about the fact that the future is already written, we're just living it, which I think gets to one of the core points of the film.



The midpoint of the film serves as a transition between the two stories of the film, one is essentially Marcus and Pierre's, while the second half is all about Alex. The first time I watched the film I was still reeling from the stuff that happened in the first half, and I couldn't really appreciate the second half of the film. I saw it as basically a long cool down period, that plays with your emotions a little bit, but only in relation to the beginning of the film. On this viewing, I saw that the two halves of the film are equally important, the second half isn't meant as just a comment on the first, it's a great story in its own right, and one is absolutely crucial to the film's development. I think it's very easy to get caught up in discussing the more controversial bits of the film and lose track of the more subtle pieces in the second half of the film.

Probably my favorite scene in the film is party scene, which is technically phenomenal. It's another really long take, moving all around the party, switching from character to character on occasion and making you feel like you are a guest at the party hanging out with the characters. If I had to guess, I'd say this is probably the longest scene of the film, and the improvised dialogue tells us so much about the characters. Having just seen the extended rape scene, we obviously view the party to some extent through the knowledge we have of what's about to happen, making stuff like Alex dancing with her friends both beautiful and sad. On the first viewing, all I could think of was that she'd never dance like that again, but on this time I was able to appreciate the fact that this was probably the last moment in her life that she was happy, and at least that's something. I saw her as a person, not solely defined by the crime that is committed to her. I love her trying to drag Pierre out onto the dance floor, and him saying he just wants to watch.



The other crucial bit is this scene is when Alex is talking to her pregnant friend. You don't know it the first time, but she herself is pregnant, and clearly can connect to what she's saying. Knowing what we know is going to happen to her, one of the toughest scenes is when Alex and Marcus argue. She says, "You can be so gentle," which is such a contrast to his goofy funboy persona at the party. He's someone who clearly always has to be the center of attention at a party, and that's why he has to snort coke and drink. His behavior makes her decide to leave the party, and it's that decision that ultimately destroys all their lives. You know that Marcus will relive those moments for the rest of his life, and be torn over with regret about the fact that he was the one who made Alex decide to leave. And then in the conversation with Pierre, she tells him to watch out for Marcus rather than go with her, and that's a decision that ultimately leads to Pierre being sent to prison. Because we know what's to come, each of these decisions takes on so much more significance, it's those two simple decisions that lead to everything that happens.

In the scene before they go to the party, Alex, Pierre and Marcus are in an elevator and she talks about the idea that all of time is already written, essentially presenting a 4-D view of time, similar to that which Grant Morrison talks about in The Invisibles. I think this one line is the crucial key to understanding the thematic point of the film. The title at the end of the film says "Time Destroys All," which would mean that without time our moments of happiness would live on forever. Time is the villain of this film, because it's what brings Alex to the moment where she is raped. But, what Noe does with the film's struucture is take the viewer outside of time and see everything reconstructed instead of destroyed. He gives us a 4-D perspective over events, a perspective which is especially apparent when you've seen the film already.

When you watch a film you engage in a linear progression through time, that is what makes film a unique medium, it is the only medium that can capture the passage of time. So, when you watch a film the first time, it's like living life, everything's already written, but you don't know what's going to happen, so it's like it's new to you. When you are in a 3-D time continuum the great variable is the future. When you rewatch a film, you already know what is going to happen, but you are encouraged to re-engage in the 3-Dimensional view of time, and journey through the story again. This film, even on the first viewing, blatantly challenges traditional notions of the passage of time in a film. By structuring the film from end to beginning, Noe forces you to first view events without context, and thus evaluate them without any sort of moral bias, and then later in the film, makes you look at events with knowledge that the characters don't hold, so you see sadness in scenes where the characters are perfectly content. It inverts your normal emotional reactions because you have a different view of time than in the traditional film. But, on the first viewing, your knowledge of the characters' future so colors your perception of their present that you are unable to engage with them in their emotional context at that moment.

However, once you've seen the film a couple of times, the trauma at the beginning of the film exerts less influence and you see the film in a less linear way. Each viewing of the film gradually takes you further away from viewing the film as a linear time continuum, and more as a series of moments, each existing, each valid. So, the less you view things as a passage of time, the less things are destroyed. Time may destroy all eventually, we all end up dead, but if all time is already written, that means that each moments exists in space-time always. So, despite the awful events that happen to the characters, the sweet moments from the end (chronological beginning) of the film will always be there.

The most notable sweet moment is the scene in which Alex and Marcus wake up and get ready for the party. When we see Marcus earlier in the film, he's a bit of a bastard, and inadvertantly leads to the destruction of Alex and Pierre's lives, but here, we can understand why she likes him. They're great together, and the whole warmth of this scene is such a contrast to the danger and violence of earlier in the film. The fact that they're both so comfortable naked around each other implies a safety that both of them feel, something that Alex will probably never feel again because of what La Tenia did to her. I love the song that's playing during this scene, and the little hints that Noe gives to make us remember that even though things are good now they won't be forever: Alex's resistance to Marcus' come ons, and his suggestion that they try anal sex. It doesn't affect them, but it pains the viewer. My favorite image in this scene is of Marcus kissing Alex through the shower curtain. In that context it's an expression of their love but the viewer is forced to think of her as a dead body in plastic, since it's quite possible she will die. The scene is another dazzling long take, and the two characters' rapport is so natural, this great moment they share is a memory they both will treasure once the pain of what happened begins to fade away.



The ending of the film just drives home more what they've lost. Alex is pregnant, and she has so much hope for her future, hope that is cruelly taken away. On the first viewing, this moment was incredibly sad, because we know what will happen, but here I could share her happiness. Even though she'll never have the baby, this moment of happiness will always be there, and her dreams of the life she might have will never come true, but that doesn't mean that dreaming is without purpose. The second half of the film presents some isolated moments of happiness, and maybe that's all we can hope for. Bad things will happen, we all end up dead, but hopefully we'll live to the fullest the time we have. That's the message I see from this film, that all of us are going to run into awful events at some time or another, so live to the fullest while you can, now is all we have. Will Alex have regrets, of course, but from what we can see, she had happiness in her life, and she had love, and even the rapist can't destroy the past.

This is a film that's so deep, and works on so many levels, I could talk about it forever, but a couple of things I want to note. I love the final few images, the spiralling around the sprinkler, the 2001 poster, the park, just beautiful. I think the acting in this film is some of the most natural and affecting in all of cinema. It must have been tough for Monica Bellucci and Vincent Cassel, who are married in real life, to do some of the scenes, but they each excel, and the improvised dialogue feels very real. Technically, I can only think of a couple of films that approach this in terms of scope and execution. It's not an easy film, but so many films think of the viewer as an idiot, it's refreshing to see something that will challenge the way you think about film, and the way you think about life. I've seen it three times, and while it's less shocking each time, it's also even better each time.

Censorship

I was reading some articles on Safe that have made me reconsider my view of the ending a bit. Originally, I saw it as a really dark ending, that she was retreating further and further from the world, and now that she's in this bubble, there's nowhere left to go. However, what I failed to realize was the fact that throughout the film, she blames all her problems on society, the chemicals, and never actually looks at herself. Look at the psychiatrist scene, where she barely speaks. So, here, isolated from the world, she no longer has any excuses. There is no one there but herself, and when she looks in the mirror, maybe she'll finally see what she's become. Rather than being a retreat, what being in the igloo might force her to do is confront her problems, and then re-emerge, reborn and ready to face the world again, having taken care of her own problems. But, that's not definitive. It's definitely ambiguous, but there is an alternative explanation. That doesn't change the fact that I don't think Wrenwood works, she does have to confront the problem, and being at Wrenwood is running away from it. Maybe being in the bubble will let her finally confront herself.

Completely different topic. I was in the computer lab, reading my New York Times when I come across an article about the new head of the FCC, and how, backed by the Parents Television Council, plans to increase the power of the FCC, possibly to include ruling over cable channels. Now, this Parents Television Council is a pretty ridiculous organization, they're the people behind nearly every "indecency" related scandal you run in to was motivated by them, not masses of common people who were actually offended by something. This is an awful organization, attacking two of the most important things in the world, free government and free art.

I myself am a creative type, and a huge fan of TV and films, and I deeply value the crative autonomy of filmmakers, including those working for television. One of the shows that has been most attacked by the PTC is one of my favorite shows, Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Buffy was a show that portrayed the dark side of the world, and had many violent and disturbing scenes, but it is also a show that has deep moral convictions and a commitment to doing the right thing, something that is clearly missed by this group. Even though they've clearly watched many episodes, as you can see by the list of objectionable content the show contains, on their site. But they don't seem to get that when the show has a violent sex scene, like Buffy and Spike in "Smashed," it's not there for shock value, it has reprocussions that are addressed explicitly in the next episode and also throughout the rest of the series. The violence on the show is frequently disturbing, as in 'Dead Things,' when Warren attempts to rape, then murders Katrina, but they acknowledge that it's disturbing. That's the line, many shows present violence as consequenceless, here there are always consequences to violent actions, be they physical or emotional. Thus, even though it treads on the dark side, the show in fact has a deep sense of right and wrong.

But, to take it more general, the PTC has no right to take away creative freedom in order to protect 'the children.' If you want to see the extent of their bizarre campaign, check out this clip," in which we can see that they have combed over hours of TV programming to find the most offensive bits. It's odd to think of some guy sitting alone in a room watching tapes of Nip/Tuck and just marvelling at the immorality of it all. I wonder if sometimes that filter cracks a bit, and even though they started watching out of hate, they eventually get caught up in the story, and the exploits of Mcnamara/Troy.

So, stop trying to control other peoples' lives. If you don't want your kids to watch something, keep an eye on them, but there's no reason that challenging programming shouldn't be available for people of all ages. Maybe worry about whether a show is creatively fulfilling rather than how much violence or language is on it. 2001 and Irreversible are both great movies, one is rated G and one is NC-17, and both have an equal right to exist.

"Safe," Far From The Filth

Yesterday I watched the film, Safe, by Todd Haynes, the director of the brilliant Far From Heaven. Safe on the surface seems incredibly different from that film, but scratch the surface a bit and you can find a lot of similarities. The other work it reminded me a lot of is Grant Morrison's The Filth, which touches on a lot of the same issues as this film does.

Safe is basically a horror movie where the villain is modern society, the very air that we breathe. It begins with a really mundane life, as Carole goes around, running errands, going to exercise and supervising the installation of a new couch in her house. It's completely unremarkable stuff, and at that point, you're not really sure what's up with the movie.



Eventually, Carol has a coughing fit in a parking lot, and from then on, she gets gradually sicker. One of the things I really liked is the way Haynes revisits many of the mundane scenes from earlier in the film, but once you have an awareness of Carol's chemical illness, they take on additional meaning. At the beginning of the film, she's the best one in her exercise class, but later, she's struggling to keep up. The most obvious one is the dry cleaners, which becomes the site of her ultimate breakdown.

Even more than the constant pollution, the toughest thing for me about watching the beginning of the film is the fact that no one seems to really know Carol. As long as she stays in the role of wife/mother, and the talk remains on a surface level, she's fine, but once she gets in trouble, all her friends shy away from her, putting out that which is not normal. Their cheery enthusiasm from earlier turns to suspicion of that which is different. Even her husband seems uunable to relate to her once her symptoms start showing up.



The second half of the film is the more difficult to figure out. The 'safe' house that Carol goes to is a reallly odd world, and I'm not sure what the filmmaker's position on it is. I think what they're doing there is just indulging the psychosomatic symptoms that created the disease, and not helping bring people to a cure. I have the feeling that might be Todd Haynes' view as well, if you look at the scene where everyone is talking about what they think cured the disease, it all comes down to stress, rather than actual trauma.

The film is all about the world of 1987, and everything talked about in the film still applies to the present. Basically, these people have all given themselves a disease because of things in their life that they're dissatisfied with. Carol gets the disease from the excesses of materialism in her life. It's the new couch that does it. But, is it the society that is at fault, or is it her? As the film goes on, she moves increasingly further and further away from society, until the end where she seals herself in a small bubble that the world cannot come in to. So, she has found temporary repose there, but as Claire says earlier, Henry was fine until someone walked into his bubble, and Carol can't become better by retreating from the world. I found those final moments of the film horrifying, and I was left slightly disturbed at the end of the film because of the bleakness of that space. The cold grays and stark minimalism of it seemed so dead to me, she has gone from extremes of materialism at the beginning of the film to basically nothing at the end.

Safe, like Far From Heaven, stars one of the greatest actresses working today, Julianne Moore. This is her earliest work that I've seen and I don't think she's quite as good as in Boogie Nights, Magnolia or The Hours, or even Far From Heaven, but competing against herself is some of the toughest compettition. I mean, she's been in so many phenomenal films, and unfortunately the film most people know her from is The Forgotten. Anyway, she is still strikingly good here, she says more with her looks than with her words, and that's a sign of good character building.

This film has a lot in common with Far From Heaven, in that both films are about the effects of outside society on a housewife who seems to be living the American dream, but once she deviates from the norm, she finds out that she's really alone. Linda in this film is just like Eleanor in Far From Heaven, in that even though she seems to be a good friend, we realize that it's just a surface friendship, and once an outside element comes in, her whole circle abandons her. In the case of this film, Carol is exiled because of a problem within her, while in Far From Heaven, it's because of things she does. Ultimately, the point of both films is that society rejects that which is outside the norm, and people who attempt to challenge the norm cannot co-exist. The crushing mundanity of the everyday will destroy those who are different.

The Far From Heaven comparison is pretty easy, but the work this film reminded me the most of is Grant Morrison's The Filth. Both Safe and The Filth are about people struggling to navigate a corrosive modern world. The main characters in each work are exposed to the worst that modern society has to offer, but the route they take after this exposure is where the primary difference emerges.

The Filth was pitched as 'a healing inoculation of grime.' Grant Morrison's basic idea was that people are getting weak because they're afraid to engage with the dark forces in the world, only by confronting the darkness, the bad things in the world, can you stand against them and be stronger. Thus, rather than trying to get rid of an illness, you would work with the virus and turn it into a positive. Basically, the bad stuff is a part of life, and only by facing it can you become stronger.

In Safe, the Wrenwood rehibilitation center, and Peter Dunning, take the opposite tact. They completely insulate the center from any pollutants, and attempt to shut the outside world out. Dunning talks about changing his interior world to make the exterior world a better place, but in fact what he is doing is shutting out the outside world, as expressed when he says 'I stopped reading the papers,' because he didn't want to face the negativity. I think the thing he forgets is that running away from a problem isn't going to make it go away.



This idea is best expressed in what happens to Carol. She goes to Wrenwood to get better, and presumably be able to go back to society at some point. However, what happens is she becomes even more sensitive to the chemicals. One of the most striking scenes for me is when a car passes her and she nearly passes out. How does she hope to one day return to society if one car nearly destroys her. Over the course of the film, she gets worse, such that she thinks even fumes from the highway make it to her cabin and keep her sick. She tells her husband that she's going to be back home soon, but what she's doing is just retreating further and further from that which made her sick in the first place, culminating in her closing herself in the bubble at the end of the film.

The people in Wrenwood seem to know that the disease is brought on by stress, and therefore probably at least partially psychosomatic. Carol was looking for an explanation for her problems and found it from that organization, and the more she hears about it, the more she develops the symptoms of it. I think what it comes down to is she wants to find a reason for her unhappiness, considering she probably has the life she'd always wanted, and this disease provides as good an explanation for it as any. It takes the blame off of her and puts in on society, in such a vague way that she can always use it as a crutch for her problems, and that's what almost everyone in the center seems to do, use this disease as an explanation for other problems in their lives.

So, I think the treatment of moving away from the problem only makes things worse. In The Filth, the modern world may be shit, but at the end, Ned Slade realizes that he can use it to fertilize his garden. Bad things do happen, and you can either use them to grow or get defeated and retreat into a bubble, as Carol does. I don't see any cure in sight for Carol, she can't get any more isolated than the igloo-bubble, and eventually she wont' leave that bubble. Only by confronting modern society can she overcome her illness. She needs a healing inoculation of grime.

Does Todd Haynes think this? I'm not sure, I think it's pretty clear he doesn't agree with what's going on with Wrenwood, but I think he also has a more negative view of the world than I do. The film has this whole dirty 80s feel, with nasty clothes, fumes everywhere, and you do get the feeling that we're living in an apocalyptic place.

But, regardless of how Todd Haynes feels, it's a great film, and one that is so ambiguous and challenging, I'd love to see it again and analyze it deeper. One thing I didn't mention is the score, which sounded a bit like Blade Runner's, a huge compliment coming from me. It contributes to this nasty modern world feel, with its oddly artificial synthesizers. Ultimately, if I'm still thinking about a film a day after watching it, and I feel the need to write this much about it, and I've barely scratched the surface of what I could say, it's a total success.

Final Moments

So, I read today that The Sopranos season five is coming out on DVD in June, and that the sixth season will begin filming in April, even though it won't air until 2006. It's good to hear some stuff happening with the series since it's been a year since season five aired, and there didn't seem to be much news on the show since. It's up there as one of the best shows of all time and I'm really looking forward to seeing everything wrapped up.

There's always a strange feeling when you reach the end of a long TV series or comic series. When I start a series I know is limited, I'm always curious about how it's going to end, and as I'm moving along, part of me is always thinking about what the series finale is going to be. But, when I actually get to that last episode or issue, the ending seems like the worst thing possible. In comics it's most apparent because you can see exactly how many pages you have left, and the closer you get to the end of the book, the more you realize you're never going to see these people again, their world is ending, and even though you can travel back to their earlier adventures, there's never going to be the thrill of discovering a new plot twist or character development. On Preacher it was really apparent, I remember flipping through those last pages, and feeling really sad that there was no more left in their world. With The Invisibles, I loved the last issue so much, I was emotionally overwhelmed, and everything seemed to blur together into a really fitting ending.

With TV series, there's no physical measure of when the show will end. You're just sitting there, and as time passes, there's an increasing feeling of sadness, because things are coming to a close. On Buffy, when they had the core four repeat their dialogue from the end of 'The Harvest,' it hit home that they very likely would never be together like that again. Even though I think Buffy overstayed its welcome a bit, at the end I would have given anything for just a little bit more. Same with Angel. Even though it has a much stronger close, at the moment the final credt appeared there was a moment of sadness before I realized how great the ending was. And all throughout you get these moments that you just know are endings, notably Lorne's 'Goodnight folks,' the first time I saw the episode, I knew he was not coming back.

With Twin Peaks, I was just sittng there stunned for five minutes, thinking about how I'd never find out if Audrey survived the bank explosion, or whether Ben Horne was dead, not to mention the whole Cooper/Bob thing. It's very strange that throughout the whole series, you're racing to find out what happens in the end, and then when you get there, you'd give anything to have new episodes to watch again.

But that's a feeling that's not just applicable to the end of a TV series, it's what happens at the end of any big project. Like, all through high school, you're racing to the end, and then in those last few days, you're thinking, I'll never go to this class again, or I'll never eat in the caferteria again. I'd imagine at the end of college it will be even more apparent, because there's a lot of people I'm just never going to see again, people I know, but aren't that close friends with, and if they live far away, we'll just go our seperate ways and gradually be forgotten.

When you're at that ending, you can only think of the fact that there's not going to be anymore, but with a little time, you adjust to the fact that even though whatever experience you've gone through is over, it's really the cumulative that matters. Like, when I think of The Invisibles, I don't wish there were a few more pages, I look more at the cumulative effect of the whole series, and remember moments from throughout it that were great. And even Buffy, which I don't think concluded quite satisfactorily, I don't think of the incomplete ending or lack of character resolution, I remember more the great moments from throughout the series.

I think finishing something takes you out of a linear time perspective on it. When you're in it, you can only look at where you are now and what's next. What came before doesn't seem as important, but once you finish something, you see it's not what you ended up that matters, it's how you got there. So, bringing it back to the top, when I get to the end of The Sopranos, it's going to be tough, and I'll be thinking, ah, I'll never see Tony again, or Christopher or Carmela, and when that final credit screen does appear, I'll probably be a bit mad, but already I can appreciate the fact that there have been 75 brilliant episodes of the series already, and even though I won't have anything new to watch, there'll still be rewatching to do, and new shows to come.

You Have 30 Seconds to Leave the Cinema (I Stand Alone)

Yesterday I watched the film I Stand Alone by director Gaspar Noe, the man who brought the world Irreversible, one of the most intense and technically brilliant films ever made. I was a bit underwhelmed by this, and I think the reason for that might be the expectations I had going into the film. I saw Irreversible over the summer and it blew me away. I was expecting a really brutal film, and it delivered on that account, but after I got over the intensity of the film what was really astonishing was the use of the medium. The film is a series of about eight long take scenes, each about ten minutes, all linked together seamlessly via editing. There are no cuts in a 90 minute film. Noe uses this device in a variety of ways, and each sequence of the film is dazzling. The opening 'Rectum' scene has the camera moving all around in such a way that you're disoriented, and the quick flashes of violence leave the viewer feeling really uncomfortable. You really get the sense of a descent into hell, which is heightened by the music.

In the infamous ten minute long rape scene, Noe just puts the camera in one place and lets you observe how awful this violent act really is. In most films, extreme violence like that is cut away from, sort of taking you off the hook and you have an idea of how bad it is, but you don't get to witness it for yourself. What the film does is first present you with an act of revenge without context, the beating with the fire extinguisher at the beginning of the film. When I first saw that, I was really disgusted, but then after you see the awfulness of the rape scene, you understand what they were feeling, and want the characters to take that revenge. But, by removing the revenge from an emotional context, you can understand that the act of revenge doesn't do anything, it just causes further problems and leads to all the character's lives being destroyed.

Noe's movement of the camera is unbelievable, going outside and inside, and moving in ways I've never seen a camera move before, particularly in the scene where Alex is walkng down the red tunnel. The party scene is another unbelievable sequence, as Noe's extended take gives you the feeling of walking around the party yourself and getting a sense of the scene. It's not like this party was being staged for our benefit as the viewer, it's like we happened to wander into a party in progress. That shot was so complicated Noe ends up using a take where Vincent Cassel first calls himself Vincent, then remembers his character name and says he's just kidding. The actors are amazing in the movie, which was largely improvised.

Then, Noe uses an unbroken take towards the end of the film to convey the warmth of the relationship between Alex and Marcus. By observing a regular day for them, you get a real sense of how good things were, which makes the beginning of the film even more tragic. Time does indeed destroy all in this world.

I Stand Alone is definitely a film you should see before Irreversible, if only because after watching Irreversible, it can't measure up in terms of shock value. But, in a lot of ways it's more disturbing. Irreversible is about fundamentally good characters who have awful things happen to them. I Stand Alone is about an awful character who maybe gets a happy ending at the end of the film. It's tough to engage with a film whose protagonist is so distasteful, and this man clearly is. Even though we know his background, it doesn't make him seem any more human. He's someone who exists in his own bubble, deluded by memories of his daughter and the life he once led.



The film uses voiceover in an interesting way, to really put you in the head of the character, and it's not a nice place to be. He's racist and homophobic and prone to urges of extreme violence. I thlink what's so tough to take is the fact that he seems on the surface like a fairly ordinary guy, but the further you get into the film, the extent of his psychosis is revealed.

I didn't really enjoy the film, and I think that's partially because you have no anchor, nothing outside of this guy to latch on to. He's the only character who's really developed, and he's a difficult character to engage with. In addition, I think the pacing of the film is a bit too slow. After the incidents with his mistress, the Butcher basically wanders around for 45 minutes, before we get to the meat of the film in the last 20. Those last 20 minutes were great, but I wish the film had spent more time there, and less on him just going around Paris, being annoyed. I guess another problem might be this film touches on similar territory as Oldboy, and I think Oldboy made the situation more interesting and complex than it is here.

While this is nowhere near the technical tour de force that is Irreversible, it's a very well made film with a lot of interesting cinematic techniques. He does frequent zooms punctuated by a loud noise that are unsettling and keep you on edge. My favorite moment of the film is when a title appears stating "You have 30 Seconds to Leave the Cinema," and proceeds to count down those seconds. Strangely, it doesn't take you out of the film, as most extra-textual devices do, but instead deepens the suspense and leaves you wondering, what could possibly live up to this title. Unfortunately, what does occur pales in comparison to Irreversible, so the title seems unwarranted. That said, it is a great, really emotional scene, and disturbing too. My favorite scene was the Butcher trying to comfort his daughter, as the Pachabel Canon plays in the background. The ending of the film gives him an oddly happy ending, and I liked that fact, since it leaves you very unsettled. Regardless of the film's virtues, I felt really uncomfortable watching it, so I'll give it that.



So, Irreversible is basically about the ways that the world destroys good people, while this film is about a bad person who somehow finds a piece of good within the world, though as we see in Irreversible, when the character reappears, it doesn't last long. Even though I didn't really connect with I Stand Alone, I can respect what Noe was trying to do, and I think he succeeds. However, the film is so visually oppressive, with crushingly dull colors, I found it tough to take. Irreversible may have scenes of awful extreme violence, but it also is shot in a really exciting way, and has some beautiful scenes. ISA is a really well made film, but the production design isn't particuarly interesting, and without a strong emotional hook, or cool looking environments, you're left with just the awful life of this character, which may have been exactly the point.

Review Roundup

While I was still on break, I watched Richard Linklater's The Newton Boys. Linklater is one of the best filmmakers working today, but this film wasn't very good. All of his other movies have been set in either the present or the recent past (the 70s of Dazed and Confused). While I don't think he can only do movies about the present, Waking Life was certainly an interesting exploration of an odd world, but I think a Linklater film requires characters who exist in a world with relevance to the viewer. All of his other films have relatively universal themes, but The Newton Boys is a caper movie about bank robbers. You can't really relate to this, and the 1920s setting is further alienating. The movie has a lot more plot than your typical Linklater, and the film just doesn't quite work. You don't really care about the characters and things just go along, with no effect on the viewer. It's admirable to try something different, but this was a much too conventional film for Linklater. It didn't have any kind of personal touch.



I also saw Gone With the Wind. Now, this is an undisputed classic, and even today, 66 years after its original release, it's still a spectacular, visually dazzling film. In the film, there's a sense of discovery about the medium, like this film was trying to go beyond everything that had come before in terms of dazzling visuals. In this sense, it's tied to the art cinema of years later, when crafting impressive visuals is as important as crafting a coherent narrative. Despite being a four hour movie, not that much stuff happens, the narrative is really a showcase for visual splendor, and the film succeeds on that level. It's not a perfect film, there's issues surrounding race relations and some of the acting suffers from the typical overwroughtness of Hollywood studio era filmmaking, but by the time you reach "Frankly my dear I don't give a damn," it's pretty much impossible not to be impressed by what this film accomplished. The great films are always the ones that push the boundary of the medium in some way, and that's what this film did.



I also saw To Live by Zhang Yimou, the man who directed Hero, House of Flying Daggers and The Road Home. To Live is an earlier film, and to my mind, a much weaker film, or at least one that's less accessible to a Western audience. All his other films that I've seen are more about people than specific ties to Chinese history, with the arguable exception of Hero, but that's so visually rich, you can get by without knowing the history. To Live is all about the rise of communism in twentieth century China, and it falls into the trap of a lot of movies that cover a big chunk of time. This film goes from the 1930s to the 1960s, and even though a lot of stuff happens, I don't get a sense of consistent character arcs. It's more the world changes around the characters than the characters doing stuff to change their lives. So, I felt sort of removed from what was going on, and as the tragedies piled up, you eventually become numb to the bad stuff. This film was clearly meant for a Chinese audience, whereas someone like Wong Kar-Wai is making films that can appeal to pretty much anyone.

To Live could actually almost be a Chinese Gone with the Wind, since both films show the turmoil that a civil war causes for civilians, and the various trials they undergo. I think Gone With the Wind works better because it has a stronger emotional hook. You really care about Scarlett, and understand what she's going through, while the people in To Live change so much over time, you get the sense that they are just blank slates for whatever chunk of plot has to come next. While a film can succeed even if you aren't emotionally attached to the characters, To Live could not because it wasn't interesting enough on its own terms, it needed character hooks to make it work.

I also saw the film Blanc from the three colors trilogy. This was an odd film, a dark comedy that wasn't particularly funny, it was more about the absurdity of life. This felt a lot like the stereotypical art film, not much happens, it's set in Eastern Europe, doesn't really have a plot. There were some cool shots, particularly the wedding scenes, but on the whole this one didn't really work for me. I liked Bleu, the first of the trilogy, much better. And another strike against this film is Julie Delpy barely gets anything to do, seeing her on the box I assumed she'd have a bigger role, but that's more a fault of the marketing than of the film itself.



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Dazed and Confused

Today, I watched Dazed and Confused, the excellent film from director Richard Linklater. Linklater is one of the most interesting directors working today and is one of the biggest influences on the stuff that I've done. Linklater is notable for maintaining an independent voice even when working on big studio films, such as School of Rock and this film.

Dazed was made after his breakthrough film, Slacker, an independently financed film that put him on the map. Slacker is a non-narrative journey through the city of Austin, stopping off just long enough to hear what each character has to say, then moving on. Waking Life is structurally very similar to Slacker. After the success of Slacker he was given the opportunity to make a higher budget, more mainstream studio film, an opportunity that proves the death knell of many people who have made a great independent film. It's very easy to make a bad, or at least more conventional, less unique film when given this opportunity.

Luckily, Linklater actually improves on his first outing and crafts a really art cinema version of the teen comedy. The film drifts through a bunch of seperate character's lives, with the narrative being passed along from character to character in the same manner as in Slacker. The film doesn't really have a plot, it's just a bunch of stuff that happens, but it works becuase the film isn't about character so much as about capturing a period of time. Linklater does a great job of giving the film a 70s feeling. The soundtrack is great, and the production design make sthe film feel authentically period. However, he also touches on universal themes. So, while the film is set in the 70s, it's also timeless.

Linklater has such a great ear for talk that he's able to make some twenty unique characters in minimal time. Just from what people say, we can understand everything about them. He has an ear for minute details in dialogue that give the film a lot of realism. And, because he doesn't have to service a narrative, the dialogue is always natural, not subordinated to the demands of a story. Dazed and Confused has much more in common with French New Wave and 60s art cinema than it does with any other teen comedy ever made. Even though the film was advertised as a drug film, I think it works more as just a great art film within a traditionally commercial genre.

I like the way the film simultaneously inspires nostalgia and condemns it. To go all this effort to recreate his high school years clearly indicates that Linklater has strong love for those times, and wants to share that love with others. The success of the film is pretty much dependent on the viewer feeling on some level that high school was a great time, and wouldn't it be great to have another go at it. But then at the end, he upends this by having Pink reject this very nostalgia, and say that he's only killing time before he can leave. It's a great embrace of the odd relationship I think everyone has with high school. When you're there you can't wait to leave, but after that, there's always a part of you that would love to go back there. It's wise that Linklater has the character say he wants to leave, even though Pink ten years down the line may just be saying "Wow, those were the best years of my life."

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Music I've Been Listening To

In the ongoing journey through life you encounter many things, and in my recent journeys, I've been listening to some new albums.

Daft Punk - Human After All: Discovery by Daft Punk is one of my favorite albums of all time. It's a brilliant concoction of music that simultaneously sounds like it's from the 70s, the 80s and the future. It walks the line of campiness, but never strays too far. 'Digital Love' is one of the greatest songs of all time. So, understandably I had high hopes for Daft Punk's new album, Human After All. I have sort of mixed feelings about the album. On the one hand, it's great fun to listen to and has some excellent tracks, notably 'Robot Rock' and 'Human After All,' but it's also disappoiinting since it doesn't even approach what Discovery did. If this was just the follow up to 'Homework,' I would probably like it a lot more since I wouldn't be expecting that much. But Discovery is such a great album, I can't help but feel disappointed. A lot of the tracks have very cool elements, but they're not played with in the same way previous Daft Punk songs were. There's not enough variation. But, remove this from its context, and it's a really nice techno, and one I've thoroughly enjoyed listening to, and probably will far into the future. I think I just have to admit that Discovery is something of a standalone creation, and enjoy it for what it is, rather than seek more of the same.



Gwen Stefani - Love, Angel, Music, Baby: Speaking of Discovery, that's an album that did a great job of sounding simultaneously retro and very now. And with her solo album, Gwen Stefani pulls off the same, with the greatest 80s album never made. Now, I liked some of No Doubt's stuff, but other than a few tracks (Hella Good, Hey Baby, It's My Life), they didn't really grab me. But, after hearing the opening track off this album, 'What You Waiting For,' I was intrigued, and I got the rest of the album, and it did not disappoint. I love the 80s sound, but a lot of tracks from the 80s just aren't that good, this album gives you everything you would want from an 80s song, but also brings it subtly into the present day. This is one of the few albums where the singles aren't the best tracks on the album. 'Rich Girl,' which is pretty popular on radio right now, is probably the worst track, and even at that, it's still great. The album has an incredible pop sound and is just so fun to listen to.

This is an album where pretty much every track is great. 'What You Waiting For' is a great energetic opener, and after a couple of weaker hip hop type tracks, she busts out the first 80s ballad, 'Cool,' which reminds me a lot of Yazoo's 'Only You,' but also stands on its own. The use of synth in this song is beautiful, it belongs in a Wong Kar-Wai film. 'Bubble Pop Electric' with Andre 3000 is pretty bizarre, but lives up to the title with some bubbly pop. It's a smart, fun song. 'Luxurious' uses the same sample as 'Big Papa,' but it puts it in a different context and makes it work. This leads into a four song run that is perfect. 'Crash' continues the car as sex metaphor, the lyrics may not be groundbreaking but the song works. 'Real Thing' is an update of New Order, featuring a cameo by them, and it may be the best song on the album. Gorgeous guitar work, great vocal, it works. 'Serious' also deserves props. Then, 'Danger Zone' is hard hitting synthpop that just owns. It's a track that begs for an extended remix, since it's got an absoultely killer riff, and great use of bass. The last track's the only real dud, sounding like a reject from 'The Love Below,' but that doesn't stop this from being one of the best albums I've heard in a long time. Good pop music is an art, and with this album, Gwen proves she's a master of it. Retro without being dated, it's an album that seems effortless. This really is a must listen to album.




Doves - Some Cities: Another great album from one of the best bands at work. 'The Last Broadcast' is one of my favorite albums of all time, so I was hoping for an equally great followup and the Doves pretty much deliver. I don't think it's quite as good as Broadcast, but with each listen it's growing on me. They do some really interesting things on here that pay off quite well. There's an odd vocal processing on Snowdon that's great and makes the track. 'The Storm' goes for an almost trip hop feel in the middle, and that really works. 'Black and White Town' and 'Sky Starts Falling' are great rocking tracks and 'Almost Forgot Myself' has a nice upbeat melancholy. 'Walk in Fire' is a great track, but sounds a bit too similar to 'There Goes the Fear,' and the middle of the album slows down a bit too much. That said, it's still an awesome album and a worthy followup to The Last Broadcast. I'm really looking forward to seeing them live on my birthday.



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