Jackie Brown

I'm almost done with Promethea. The series is at direct injection level right now, I really want to read the rest of it right now, but I'm trying to give what's happened so far a little more time to sink in. The thing that strikes me is how similar this is to The Invisibles. I have the feeling if I hadn't read The Invisibles, I'd be reeling and in awe right now, like I was after the first reading of Volume III. I still love what Moore is doing, it's just I'm more into the characters than the concepts, because I've already read the concepts in The Invisibles.

Anyway, yesterday I watched Jackie Brown, Quentin Tarantino's third film, and his second best, behind only Kill Bill I. Jackie Brown is a really unique film, even though it's referencing 70s blaxploitation movies, it's not in the same way that Kill Bill references Kung Fu movies. It's really in the soundtrack and star that we see the blaxploitation influence, not so much the content of the film.



What makes the film unique is something difficult to articulate. It's a combination of pacing and style. On the DVD, Quentin calls it a 'hangout' film and I think that's really accurate. You're not so much engaged in the story as you're sitting around, kicking it with the characters. Other than the opening title sequence, we don't even see Jackie Brown until a half hour into the film. The film has a leisurely introduction to its world and characters, so that by the time we run into Jackie Brown, we know the stakes of what she's involved in.

But, even once the main plot starts up, we still get the feeling that we're just capturing the everyday travails of these people. Most movies focus on the most extraordinary moments of people's lives, and while what happens in the movie does have a huge impact on the characters, there's never the sense that it's so out of the ordinary, until the end. Sometimes, I feel like the ultimate goal for filmmakers is to make a movie in which nothing happens, yet is still very interesting. This movie is a step in that direction, we just drift through their lives, observing. The thing is, Quentin makes the characters so interesting that their very existence is fun to watch. It's a tribute to his filmmaking skill that he can make someone listening to music in their car as they drive a riveting scene.

The core of the movie is the relationship between Jackie and Max Cherry. Robert Forster as Max Cherry is the most human character in a Quentin Tarantino, and the most interesting to watch. You really understand him, and the joy that Jackie brings to his ordinary routine. The chemistry between them is huge, and I love their final scene together.



The use of music in the film is amazing. Quentin is always able to find brilliant obscure 70s tracks and bring them to the surface, and that talent is never better put to use than here. The most notable is the way he integrates The Delfonics' 'Didn't I Blow Your Mind this Time' into the narrative. Tarantino associates the song with Jackie, so just the scene of Max buying the tape can tell you everything you need to know about how he's feeling. Plus, it's an awesome song. Other great tracks include 'Across 110th Street' over the titles, Brothers Johnson 'Strawberry Letter 23' and The Grassroots' 'Midnight Confessions.'

I could see why some people would find the film too long, it's by no means a tight film. You could easily cut this down to an hour and a half, but that's completely missing the point of the film. It's all about inhabiting this world with the characters, not the money switch business. I can't think of a single scene that stands out as boring or should have been cut.

This film is much less flashy and overtly innovative than Tarantino's other films, but it's also much more real. Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction are in many ways more about the telling of the story than the story itself, and Kill Bill Volume 1 is all about using a bare bones story as an excuse to do a bunch of sketches and set pieces. This isn't bad, I love to see messing around with the nature of storytelling, but Jackie Brown has such compelling characters, you get more wrapped up in their story than you can in the tale of Butch or Vincent Vega. Quentin is a big fan of Wong Kar-Wai, and while Pulp Fiction seems on the surface more similar to his work, this film actually reminds me a lot of his, in the way it dwells on the lives of people, rather than a really complex plot. This film has a lot of similarities with Kill Bill II, and the relationship between the Bride and Bill is the only thing that even touches Jackie and Max in Tarantino's oevure.

I love the film, and I think it's sad that a lot of people who enjoyed his other work never sought out Jackie Brown. It may not have changed cinema in the way that Pulp Fiction did, but in retrospect, it's a much more unique and layered film, and is just a joy to watch. Watching Jackie play all sides against each other in the brilliantly executed money switch sequence is also watching a brilliantly executed piece of cinema.

More Promethea

So, I just finished the journey up the tree of life in Promethea, and I'm pretty satisfied with how it ended. I think the earlier issues were actually more effective, since they had more easily definable concepts. It's a lot easier to talk about intellect or emotion than to talk about the universal male essence. But, that doesn't mean that Moore hasn't done good work or that these aren't great issues. I feel like because they're discussing tougher concepts, it's going to benefit more from a reread than the comparatively simple first chunk of issues.

Anyway, the male and female isssues I see as companion pieces, and are another followup on the idea of wand and cup discussed back in the first book and in 'Sex, Stars and Serpents.' I think 'Sex, Stars and Serpents' does a much better job of conveying the essential nature of the two energies, and without it, I'd have been lost here. The best I can come up with is that the female issue is all about both compassion and sexuality, as represented by the madonna/whore. So, the cup is both a site of lust, and a receptacle for love. It's all one love, and this is about receiving the love.

The more interesting thing in this issue is Sophie's new costume, which features an open third eye. It's a good representation of the changes she's gone through as a result of her journey.

Then, the masculine issue, which is one of the most beautifully illustrated of the entire run. Williams does gorgeous painting to show this gray world. What this is about is the spark of ignition that mixes with the love in the universe, which leads to the big bang, which sets the material world into existence. I feel like this stuff is much more about Moore's cosmology than stuff that's really relevant to the real world. But, that's logical, considering this is supposed to be about a realm that goes beyond the material world.

Everything pays off in the final issue of the journey, where Sophie and Barbara make it to the level of God, and expierence what we are before we are born and where we go after we die. They make it to Heaven, and essentially discover the nature of God, as Moore sees it. The way I took it, the whole nine issue journey is about gradually stripping off aspects of worldly individuality, culminating when Sophie and Barbara are absorbed into the white bliss and experience what it is to be God. There's a really striking page where we see the prayers of people all over the world, represented in a variety of different languages. Then, we get a glimpse of hundreds of lives, and realize that God is present in everything, every moment of our lives, we're connected to something higher.

At the apex of their journey, Sophie and Barbara exist in 5D space, not held down by time or place, and are a part of every single person's life in the entire world. That's what it is to God, to be present in every facet of existence. Our lives (or afterlife) is a journey away from individuality to universality. That's what the serpent is, ascending up towards Heaven. Sophie and Barbara make it there, but she soon meets Stephen Shelley, and is reminded of her material existence. I feel like the point Moore is trying to make is that the love that Barbara and Stephen has is so strong it transcends this universal love and ties their individual essences together.

So, rather than merging into the bliss, all three decide to become doves and return to the material world. It's an amazing sequence as they descend past all the realms they experienced over the course of the journey. After going on this really long journey, it's refreshing to return to material things, not only for them, but for the reader too. It's difficult to decipher these issues after a while, especially seeing as how they become more and more complex. It really feels like you were with them on the journey and that's a tribute to Moore's storytelling.

There's something powerful in the idea that despite being in heaven, and having perfect bliss, all three of them decide to return to the material world. I think it's because once you ascend past emotion and all things human, it may be bliss, but it's impersonal. It's the emotions that make things real, and for Stephen and Barbara, their love is more important than the universal bliss they achieved up in sphere one. I like the idea that they're reincarnated, and get to explore the material world anew again.

For Sophie, the journey was all about moving beyond her own perspective, and coming to understand what's up with others, specifically her mother. The final scene is very sweet and plays off of one of my favorite moments in the whole journey, Sophie's encounter with her father.

Moore has set up a lot of stuff on the material world during the journey, and I'm really excited to see that play out. The whole journey was a very risky storytelling move, but it was a complete success for me. Together with JH Williams, he has completely changed the potential of what can be done with a comic book, in a way that no book since Watchmen has done.

I also think a lot of ideas were conveyed to the reader. I learned a lot, and I think he makes some important points. Over the course of the journey, individuality is broken down, and we understand the connections between everyone. The similarities between this and The Invisibles are striking, both have essentially the same message, and that's we're all the same, we're all connected, and if you just put in the effort to understand someone, you'll realize they're not so bad after all.

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IPods and Promethea

I'm working in the computer lab, and I'm surprised to see that practically everyone walking around has their own IPod or portable CD player on. I'm not hater on music, and I listen to a ton of stuff everyday, however, I find the trend of wearing your IPod everywhere disturbing. The reason for this is because it's an example of removing the moments of transience from our day. When I'm walking around, I think about stuff, and I feel like if you're listening to the IPod you're trying to prevent yourself from thinking about stuff by filling the gap with music.

It's those in between moments were I come up with some of my best ideas. I know that I come up with more ideas for stories during the school year than when I'm on break, because I have classes, and unfortunately, sometimes I tend to zone out and think about stories, rather than think about what's going on in the class. The stuff I write, I basically write there in class, walking around, and when I'm lying in bed, trying to go to sleep. In other words, all moments where I'm sort of between things, sitting in a wating room, you can either read a magazine, or just sit there and think about stuff. Sometimes it's better to think about stuff. I like to have stuff to do, but when you take some time off, you can really discover new facets of your mind that you wouldn't otherwise find.

Like, when I watch a movie or read something, I like to take a few minutes after watching it and just ponder it. A lot of the time, I will find connections that weren't readily apparent, and it's in the thinking about it that you can find out a lot about what the director or author was trying to do. Rather than immediately moving on to the next activity, it's good to give the movie a little time to sink in.

I know I've been doing this on the Promethea reread. After each issue, I'll ponder what it was saying, and usually I'll find layers that weren't that obvious on the first read. And, this pondering can create ideas that I'll explore all across the day, when I'm between tasks. This is why I have a problem with the IPod, it removes this downtime where you can think about stuff. So, listen to music, yes, but do it as an activity unto itself, not just filler. When you're walking around, listen to your brain, cause I think there's some interesting stuff in there.

Anyway, I read three more issues of Promethea since last I discussed it, and I am now into unread issue territory. I reread one of my favorite issues, 'Gold,' which is about the highest sphere of human existence. It discusses how we create Gods that represent the highest aspirations within ourselves. So, Aprhodite, the god of love, represents the ultimate potential of humans to love, and she doesn't just represent it, she is present in all love. It's an interesting idea, but one that is sort of tough to justify. The more interesting idea in the issue is the evolution of gods. It's not that Apollo went away, it's that the idea of him became weaker and was replaced by a more refind God. T

he finale of the issue occurs when Sophie and Barbara reach the most recent manifestation, the one that represents the highest values that humanity can aspire to, Jesus. I haven't seen Passion of the Christ, but I feel like in two pages, Alan Moore accomplishes everything that Mel Gibson was attempting to do with the film. Sophie practically breaks down seeng the suffering that he is going through, during the crucifixtion, and she realizes the dual nature of the image. This is the highest human potential, brought down by the lowest human cruelty, and yet through it all, the good shines through. I'll admit, it's pretty shocking to see Jesus appear, considering Moore's pagan leanings, but it works very well, and I think actually really captures the message of Christianity, in a way that blends it with everything else that Moore is talking about. I love the issue.

There's a slight downturn in quality at the next issue, the 'red' issue, about judgment, essentially anger. The issue is still really well made, but it's tough to look at. The red coloring is a bit too much perhaps, and I feel like the point of the issue isn't as evident in the others. That said, it's still fun, and it sets up some interesting subplots out in the material world.

So, this brought me to my first new issue, 'Fatherland,' which seems to be about universal love and mercy, traits expressed here through father figures, who provide security and love to the characters they run into. Promethea runs into her father, and I like this because it brings about the return of Sophie, who's more interesting to read about than Promethea. The more interesting development is Sophie meeting her father. This scene was really well done, and really expressed this feeling of universal love, in the feelings that he and Sophie share for each other. Even though they never knew each other, there's a connection between them, and clearly this is a huge moment for both of them.

At this point, the series seems to be moving away from the more magick textbook style, and is instead using each step of the tree of life as a chance to riff on the characters and develop them further emotionally. One of my favorite things in these issues has been Sophie coming to understand her mother. In the green emotions issue, she understands what drives Trish to do the things she does, and it comes back in this 'Fatherland' issue.

Out in the material world, I'm really interested to see what happens with the FBI agents and Stacia. Moore is doing a great job of giving us just enough to keep those stories moving forward, and he seems to be positioning everything for a confrontation when Sophie returns. While I'll be sad to see the magical journey end, I do want to see Sophie back in the material world, dealing with the consequence of Grace/Stacia's actions.

Connecting things, I feel like constantly filling your time with little distractions, rather than thinking about stuff, takes you out of what Moore calls the Immateria and grounds you strictly in the material realm. The more you think about stuff, the more you see connections between things out here in the universe, and you become more aware of the higher realms of consciousness that Moore is talking about. I'm not that saying that everything in Promethea is real, I'm saying that his feelings about the power of ideas and the importance of the mind are very real. If you read the book as a physical journey, it's obviously very fictional, but if you look as an allegorical journey through humanity, it makes a lot of sense and, like The Invisibles, can be a helpful guide for fiinding a new way to look at the same world.

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Promethea

"Any form of art is propaganda. It is propaganda for a state of mind rather than a nation-state but it is propaganda nonetheless, and it's best if you accept that and understand what you're doing and be honest about it: you are trying to change the mind of your target audience. You are trying to change their perceptions, you are trying to stop them from seeing things how they see things and start them seeing things the way you see things." - Alan Moore


That quote basically sums up the motivation behind Alan Moore's Promethea, the comic book series/magic textbook that released its last issue last week. I read the first 18 issues, and am now rereading those, and will move on to read the last issues as soon as I can. The first nine issues of the book are pretty good, interesting superhero work, with some cool concepts at the center. However, after issue nine, Moore begins to use the series as a way to convey to the audience his worldview, doing exactly what he talks about in the quote above.

The second year of the title begins a story about Promethea journey up the tree of life, according to the Kaballah. The already great JH Williams kicks his art up a notch and does phenomenal color themed issues that each touch on a different element. There's the dark blue moon issue about imagination and the yellow sun issue about intellect.

The intellect issue features a mind blowing page that's a mobius strip. As you read it, you flip the book around, going over and under the strip, gradually reaching the beginning, at which point you can continue seamlessly. The page goes on forever. It's also got great horizontal and vertical symmetry.

The series is basically an ode to fiction. Promethea is a fictional character that select people can transform into by writing about her. It's a symbolic version of the character inhabitation that every writer does. Eventually, the characters take on a life of their own. Promethea is the physical manifestation of this.

More than that, with the series, Moore strives to break down the walls between the material world and the world of ideas. He stresses that each of these worlds is equally real. In the intellect issue, he posits that since language defines reality, the material world is in fact subject to the particularities of language. Without language, we would have no material world.

Is the work therefore just a justification for the years of work spent creating fictional characters? Possibly, but it's also notable because it puts forth the very credible idea of the writer as magician, keeping the old gods alive in a modern world that values logic and science over emotion and spirituality. Promethea would not exist without the exploration Moore did in From Hell. From Hell puts forth the idea that William Gull (aka Jack the Ripper) is ushering in a new age with his killings, bringing the world from the feminine spiritual age into a masculine scientific world. When he kills Mary Kelly, he imagines himself in the present day, in an office building, profoundly aware that the mystical knowledge he carries is gone.

So, Moore is bringing it back with this book. He puts forth the idea that gods exist as ideas, so as long as the idea exists, the god remains. By writing this book, he is creating a concrete record of the sort of spiritual beliefs that were destroyed by the scientific revolution. It's an admirable goal, and I defnitely sympathize with it. I agree with the vast majority of what he's saying, becuase I also think that ideas are the most real thing. The most powerful ideas are older than any human, and will last longer than anything material will.

I'm really psyched to get to the rest of the series, and find out what happens at the end. Moore has done so many brilliant books, it's difficult to assess the highlights of his career, but I would say Promethea is probably his second best work, behind Watchmen. But, Watchmen, V for Vendetta, From Hell and now Promethea are the works of his that nobody other than Grant Morrison has touched, in any medium.

Probably the thing that makes Promethea so much more than just a magick textbook is the art by JH Williams III. I'm frequently prone to hyperbole when it comes to comic book art, but this is arguably the best art ever done in comics. Williams work is very pretty on its own, but it's the way he constructs the page that makes it so special. His double spreads are dazzling, and every layout seems to have meaning behind it. Williams and Moore are possibly the first people to fully actualize the potential of the medium. This is a story that couldn't be done anywhere other than comics.

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8 1/2 and The Isle

I've been watching a lot of movies recently, a lot of new ones. This year, one of my goals has been to continue exploring the world of foreign film, and keep discovering new movies. So far, it's been going really well. In the past couple of days I watched two really interesting foreign films, Fellini's 8 1/2 and Kim Ki-Duk's The Isle.

8 1/2 is a classic film, and one that I almost feel ashamed to say that I didn't see until now, but it's been taken care of, and I was very impressed by it. The 60s was such a cool time, and even though here in the States, we have this image of the 60s as Woodstock, flower child type thing, other countries had a very differnet stereotypical 60s. For Britain, this was the mod style, as chronicled in the Entropy in the UK storyline in The Invisibles, and lovingly mocked in Austin Powers. This was a classic culture, and a very cool one, but perhaps the coolest 60s culture was 60s Italy. This is seen in Danger: Diabolik, and here in Fellini's 8 1/2.

It sometimes surprises me when I watch a movie from the 60s or 70s that they could ever actually wear the stuff that they're wearing, or edit it in the way they do, not as an over the top type thing, but just in a way that they thought was cool. I think the movie is incredibly cool, but in a way that feels very self consciously designed, not in the same way that a current movie like Fallen Angels is cool. It's like watching The Prisoner, it feels so 60s, you can't imagine a world where this is the style.

But, even though I have trouble imagining it, I would love to live there. It's an awesome movie visually, the style is very 60s, but it's also still relevant. Fellini is definitely along the lines of someone like Lynch or Wong Kar-Wai, in that he constructs his films along emotional beats, rather than with the strict goal of telling a story. As the characters are extremely meta about, the narrative here is hazy and symbolic, but I've got no problems with that. The film dances between dream and reality, with each giving equal advancement to the plot.

The opening sequence is phenomenal, as is the sequence with Gudio and all his women living in a house together. The ending is also a wonderful blend of symbol and narrative reality. What's real? I don't know, that's not what matters, the image of all the people dancing in the line together says it all.



I feel like I need another viewing, because the film dragged a bit at times. I can't think of any specific slow points, it just felt a bit too long, but sometimes that happens on the first viewing, and on a rewatch, I can get into the film more.

The other foreign film I watched was from The Isle, by director Kim Ki-Duk. A few weeks back, I saw Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter...and Spring by the same director. I liked it, and when I looked at it on IMDB, I read that his other films had a lot more edge than Spring..., so I ordered The Isle, and yes, it does have a lot more edge. I guess The Isle is a horror movie, but it's also a romance, a really twisted and nasty romance.

I really liked the film, it has a great atmosphere, and keeps you in the story, despite there not being much plot. The main character is basically mute, but we still get exactly what she's feeling. The most memorable and discussed thing about the film involves two scenes with fishhooks. 'Dat's nasty' pretty much describes them, without even showing anything explicit, they'll get to you. The thought alone will induce a cringe.

But, it's not just shock, these acts are the ultimate expressions of need, and for the mute girl, the only act of communication she has. When you can't talk, you have to resort to extreme measures.

The ending goes purely symbolic, and I'd consider it more a statement about men and women in general, rather than try to somehow tie it into the narrative of the movie. It's quite a film, similar to Spring in a lot of ways, but instead of the meandering Buddhist plot, it's a nasty little horror love story. I really liked it.

So, I'll definitely be seeking out more Fellini and Kim Ki-Duk in the future. Both are directors who make really interesting, arty films, the kind that I like. I'd love to see more stuff like this coming out of America, but it's just not happening, so I've got to look elsewhere.

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Leon: The Professional and Mathilda: The Amateur

Today I watched the film, Leon: The Professional. It's one of my absolute favorite films, and a film that really gets to me emotionally like few others do. I'm taking a course on action cinema right now, and I can think of few examples of the straight up action movie done better than this film. Why does Leon work where so many other action films fail?

The primary reason is because rather than being built around arbitrarily imposed action set pieces, the story development comes from the characters. There's not actually that much action in the film, there's the scene at the beginning, the finale and the montage of Leon and Mathilda 'cleaning' in the middle, but if you compare it to most action films, you'll find that not too much of the screentime is spent on action.

What it is spent on is character development, and this film has two of the richest characters ever seen on screen, the odd couple that the film is centered around, Leon and Mathilda. Right from the beginning of the film, you can empathize with these characters. A large part of that is due to the acting. Natalie Portman, who has been brilliant in some recent films, hasn't ever touched this performance, which is so natural and perfect, the line between character and actor is completely obliterated, you can't even imagine that this isn't a real person walking around. The first time I saw Mathilda, I thought wow, that looks like a miniature version of her now, but once she starts acting, you forget that this is Natalie Portman of Star Wars, it becomes Mathilda, hitgirl.

On a similar note, I don't know what Jean Reno is like in real life, but I couldn't imagine him being any different from Leon. He completely inhabits the role, and brings such an innocence to it, that you can't help but feel for the character. It's paradoxical because he is someone who kills for a living, but Reno makes you understand the humanity of the character from the very first scene. The movie theater scene sets out a lot of what's to come, as you watch this guy we previously knew only as a hardened killer get completely entranced by Gene Kelly dancing on the screen.

While they're both great characters on their own, it's in their relationship with each other that they become truly special. The scene where Mathilda is standing at the door, knocking, begging Leon to let her in always gets to me, to the point where I want to yell at Leon to open the door. The scene turns any viewer into stereotypical black female moviegoer, yelling at the characters on the screen, and that's because it's so well made. The stakes of the scene are clear, Leon has a very particular existence, one that he would forever destroy should he let Mathilda in, and yet, he also knows that to not let her would mean she would die. His humanity prevails, and thus begins the gradual humanization of the killer, Leon. Mathilda begging him at the door is such a powerful image, and a brilliant piece of acting from Natalie Portman. Similarly, Reno's very subtle facial expressions convey to us everything that's going through his head.

Another scene I have to make note of is the pig scene, where Leon puts on a show with his oven mitt for Mathilda. He's so goofy, and sincere in his hope to make her feel better.

Basically any scene between the two of them is brilliant. The two characters are perfectly designed counterparts. Leon is old, but child like, while Mathilda is young, yet much more knowledgeable about the world. They form a perfect match, and just watching the two of them interact is riveting.

The ambiguity of the relationship is what provides most of the tension in the second half. Once Mathilda tells Leon she loves him, he clearly begins to question what exactly their relationship is, and how far he can go with her. He wants to distance himself, but though he can't admit it until the end, he loves her too. The question one could ponder forever is, does that love go beyond concern and into the romantic arena? I would say no, I think Leon's moral code is so strict, and he so naive, that he would never even see her in a sexual way, and that's why her assertion that she loves him is so disconcerting. He had never considered that element of their relationship, and it makes relations more strained between the two of them in the second half.

One really frustrating scene for me, another 'stereotypical black female moviegoer' moment is when Mathilda tells the hotel clerk that Leon is her lover. How could she do that to Leon? It frustrates me so much, because I don't want to see him put in that situation.

Just the fact that the movie can get me so worked up makes me know it's a great film. A lot of directors will create these arbitrary attempts to bring tension to events, but Besson knows that it's better to just let it develop out of character interactions. There's no artificially imposed problems that create action scenes, everything comes out of the actions of Mathilda and Leon.

The scene in which Mathilda and Leon sleep together (but not in that way) is really beautiful. It says so much about how he's changed that he allows himself the comfort to let down his guard and just be happy for once. It's probably the first time he let himself do that since his girlfriend back home died. What Mathilda does for Leon is reintroduce him to the human world. It's almost like a Tim Burton movie, where this outsider who can't find his way into the world gets assisted into it by a kindly person. Leon is ultimately humanized, and at the end, he chooses Mathilda's safety over his own, and thus, we see how his priorities have changed over the course of the film. At the beginning, he was contemplating killing Mathilda himself, but now at the end, he places her life way above his. If he can get her out, he's happy, and in the end, despite the fact that he's dying, he's glad because he has given Mathilda what she wanted, her revenge.

But, he also gave her more than that. Much like Mathilda helps Leon overcome a personal tragedy, he does the same for her. His simple kindness and giving is what allows her to move on from her bad past, and at the end of the film, make a new start for herself. Leon was more of a father to her in the four weeks they spent together than her real father was in the twelve years they spent together.

I really like the ending of the film. While I'd have loved to have seen the Mathilda/Leon partnership continue, it's more logical for her to return to society, but still hold onto the lessons she learned over the course of the film. When she speaks to the woman running the school, she uses the same language she used when first approaching Leon, and the chance is there for a similar relationship. And, of course, the final image says so much. Mathilda is giving Leon his roots, just as she may have finally found a place that she can call home.

The film has many of the qualities of a typical early-mid 90s action movie, such as Besson's own La Femme Nikita, but it becomes special in the characters. Besson has made a number of other films, and the ones I've seen haven't even touched Leon. It's a confluence of a great script and direction and brilliant acting. If Natalie Portman hadn't been as good, the film would not have worked, and it took Jean Reno's innocence to make the relationship as interesting as it was. You never once think that he'd try to take advantage of her, and that's essential.

I love the film because of the people in it. Much like Before Sunrise or In the Mood For Love, the tension comes not out of action situations or plot points, but out of minute interactions between two characters. You can feel exactly what they feel, and want nothing more than for them to be happy. I love to really feel when I'm watching a film, and Leon makes me feel.

On a side note, rumors have been circulating for a while about a Mathilda sequel film. On the one hand, I don't think it could possibly be as good as Leon, but I'd love to see it. As I've probably made clear, Natalie Portman is brilliant as Mathilda, and I'd love to see how she approaches the character now, after so many years of acting. There's plenty to be explored around the character, and Before Sunset and 2046 have shown me that a great sequel can enhance the film it came from. The thing I wouldn't want to see would be Mathilda training a new apprentice, I'd rather see a new plot, same character. But, even if it's not good, I'll still be there opening day, Besson earned that with the brilliant film he created.

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Angel Season Five

Been a few days since last I updated. I guess that means I've been busy. I got Angel season five on DVD today. While it's a great season and I'm glad to own it, sadly, it also marks the end of an era, no more Buffyverse DVD sets will ever be released, barring potential films to come, but I don't want to get my hopes up for that.

Way back in December 2003 I bought Buffy season five, after having already watched Buffy seasons 1-4, and every three months since I've gotten a new season, a tradition that ends today. I'm really excited to watch the season again, since it's the only Buffy season I've never watched through in one go, I saw it in pieces as it aired, and I want to see how it stacks up as a whole.

Angel season five was one of the greatest seasons of any TV show, certainly the best of this show. It's got so many classic episodes, the Andrew episode, the Cordelia episode, the puppet episode, 'A Hole in the World,' 'Origin,' 'The Girl in Question,' and of course, the best episode the series ever did, the finale, 'Not Fade Away,' which succeeds in all the areas that Buffy's finale failed.

The season itself is a great meta-commentary on the events surrounding its production. After the fourth season, Joss and his team made a bunch of concessions to the WB in exchange for being picked up, a move reflected in Angel's move in to the law firm of Wolfram and Hart. Things go along pretty well until February when the show is cancelled. Coming on the hells of the hilarious 'Smile Time' and right before the show's best episode to date at that point 'A Hole in the World,' which saw Fred killed and taken over by a demon, Illyria. This is when the dark side of their deal with Wolfram and Hart emerges, and by the end of the season Angel has turned his back on them, and decided to go out fighting.

However, before that we have the excursion to Italy where Spike and Angel seek out Buffy, only to find Andrew, who tells them that it's time to move on, things change, and then he comes out in a suit. I see it as a meta-comment to the viewer, that it was great times, but they're coming to a close, don't just dwell in the past. It really struck me seeing Andrew in the suit that the world of Buffy was ending.

The last episode, in which the apocalypse basically just arrives is on some level, a metaphor for the end of the series, which was struck down in the prime of its life. Those last moments are haunting, it's the best series finale since Twin Peaks and one that leaves you simultaneously annoyed and thrilled that they pulled it off. Angel went out during its best season, it did not fade away.

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Daft Punk

Yesterday, I listened to Daft Punk's album Discovery in a way that I had never really listened to it before. Normally when I play an album, I'm listening to it in the background as I do something else, the better the album, the less complex the activity I'm doing, and I was planning on doing a little drawing when I played Discovery, but 'One More Time' started playing and I just sat on my bed and really heard it, in a way that I had never before. I listened to 'One More Time,' and it just flowed into 'Aerodynamic,' then 'Digital Love,' and for the rest of the album, I just sat there in the dark really hearing the music. It's an absolutely phenomenal album, that I feel like I only got for the first time yesterday.

The brilliance of Daft Punk is in the way they play with the elements of each song. Most music is based around a vocal, and the music exists to support that vocal. This has produced a lot of great music, but that doesn't mean that variety isn't good. What Daft Punk does is construct songs where each element is of equal value.

The most notable thing about this in listening to them is the way they use vocals. Rather than doing extended lyrics, with verses and stuff, they have only a couple of lines in each song. Think of 'One More Time,' there's about four lines in a five minute song. There's some slight variation towards the end, but there's no verse/chorus structure. What 'One More Time' does is blend together a few elements, the staticy guitar part, the bass, the vocals, and use them in different combinations throughout the song. Rather than doing chorus/verse, what Daft do is gradually build up the song, adding elements as time passes, then in the middle remove all the elements except the vocal, and gradually bring everything back. It may seem like it's just some guy saying the same thing over and over again, but that's only if you look at the song from a vocal-centered perspective. There's a ton of variation.

'Digital Love,' my favorite Daft Punk song, and one of my favorite songs period, uses a vocoder to make the voice blend in with the music, and become almost abstracted. There's more lyrics in this song, but it's not really about the lyrics, it's about the way the vocal is blended with the 80s style guitar. At the end of the song, the "Why don't you play the game" part, the vocal and guitar do a call and response, and the guitar has as much melodic weight as the vocal, it's not an echo, it's more like a duet.

Perhaps the best song at abstracting the vocal is 'Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger,' which repeats the title refrain in different contexts to make an incredible song. The vocal becomes basically pure beat, and the variations throughout the song are incredible. On the last song of the album, 'Too Long,' the vocal is reduced to one repeated line, and mixed in with a bunch of other elements, which gradually phase in and out of the song, slowing things down and bringing them back again.

Daft Punk are masters are manipulating the listener, they know just how long to sustain a loop, and exactly when to bring it up again. This is especially apparent on the non-lyric tracks, like 'Verdis Quo,' and 'Superheroes,'which use repeated vocal loops over the course of the entire song.

That's one of the reasons I love Michel Gondry's video for 'Around the World.' It represents each element of the song with a type of creature (robot, skeleton, mummy, etc.) which really allows you to see how they manipulate all the elements of the music. The Spike Jonze Big City Nights video is great, but Gondry's is perhaps the best music video of all time in the sense that it so perfectly visually represents the song.

While they are masters at song construction, ultimately a lot of the greatness comes down to the instrumentation. Discovery uses really distorted 80s style guitars, and it gives it this wonderful disco type atmosphere, that is at once very retro, and almost futuristic. The bubble pop type noises on 'Something About You' are a highlight, as is the entire 'Digitial Love' song, which is impossibly cheesy, yet completley pulls it off. I don't like that song in an ironic way, it's an out and out great song.

Then, today I played Daft Punk's new album Human After All. On the first listen, the title track and 'Robot Rock' were standouts. Human After All is definitely a move back to the more subdued, instrumental work of their first album, Homework. There's no songs with any real lyrics, like 'Digital Love.' There's also less of the 80s style stuff, it's a harder album. I don't think I'll ever like it as much as Discovery, but it's a nice addition to their canon.

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Irma Vep and Watchmen: The Movie

A couple of days ago, I watched the movie, Irma Vep. It's a French movie, with Maggie Cheung, who speaks in English, directed by Oliver Assayas, who also did the movie Demonlover. Demonlover was a really good movie, but one that never quite fulfilled all of its potential. Irma Vep is an even better film. It's about Maggie Cheung, who plays herself. She goes to France to work on a remake of Les Vampires, a 1915 serial, with an eccentric director.

One of the things that made me want to see the movie was the fact that I saw the original Les Vampires last year in my intro film course. I can't say it was riveting, but for the time, it was pretty good, and this film does an interesting job of capturing a lot of what that film was about.

I'm also a big fan of Maggie Cheung and this was one of her best performances. For the first time, I got to see her in an English speaking role, and she was great. If I was a big director, I would definitely use her in a movie over here, there's absolutely no reason not to. The scene where she puts on the catsuit and sneaks around the hotel was great.

The movie is almost stereotypically French in its rather verite style, bizarre messing with film at the ending, and constant self reflexivity. Having Jean Leaud play the director clearly positions this film as a throwback to the French New Wave. Leaud played the lead in one of the first prominent New Wave films, Truffaut's The 400 Blows. I love this art film style, especially because this film doesn't take realism as a cue to create ugly visuals. The whole burglary sequence is great visually, particularly when she winds up on the roof at the end.

The dialogue felt very real, like a lot of it was improvised. Maggie Cheung's performance reminded me a lot of Julie Delpy in Before Sunrise/Sunset, and you got the feeling that this charater was really who she was. Her relationship with Zoe had a lot of great moments, and was the anchor of the film. Even though the film has sort of an open ending, the rave scene does a really subtle job of wrapping up the relationship beween Zoe and Maggie in a way that feels final.

What else is up? I've got six hours of work in the lab today, which means some good money, but also a lot of time here on the computer.

One piece of news I've come across is this. It's the site for the Watchmen movie. Now, Watchmen is one of the my two favorite comics, and is one of my favorite stories in general. This was the book that got me into comics.

Back in the year 2000, I saw the X-Men movie, and I loved it, loved it enough to want to check out some comics. So, I bought this book called Essential X-Men, which had the first 25 or so issues of Chris Claremont's run. Chris basically created the X-Men as we know them, and his stories hold up to this day. There's some goofy captions, but the basic plots still work. So, I realy liked those, and in my travels online, I heard of this book called Watchmen, which was supposedly the best comic ever made.

So, I got it out of the library and read it, and it just blew my mind. I had never imagined a work could be so complex and perfectly constructed. I remember reading issue 12 and being completely overwhelmed by what had happened. It's very rare that a story hits you like that, the last issue of The Invisibles and the last episode of Twin Peaks are the only other things I can think of as comprable. I just sat there in awe of what had happened, and I went back and began to piece together the connections. The second read was possibly even more rewarding than the first, as all the pirate story and all the backups began to come together in my mind, and I understood exactly what Moore was doing with the book, he had created a multi-layered, endlessly variable perfect diamond of a narrative.

From there, I went on to read many more comics, in search of another Watchmen, and I eventually found a book that even eclipsed it, The Invisibles, but Watchmen is the book that got me into comics, and completely redefined for me the storytelling potential of the medium.

So, now a movie of it is coming out. While I myself would love to try and make one, I feel like creating a Watchmen movie is almost a futile act, because so much of the work's power is in the fact that it uses the medium of comics better than any other work in the medium. While the big trend now is towards making what are basically paper films, which just ape cinematic conventions, Watchmen uses storytelling devices that couldn't work in any other medium. The pirate comic substory. the Rorshach diary entries, even the meta-critical view of superhero costumes, none of this could be done in any other medium. Frequently the best works are the ones that take advantage of the unique properties of the medium. One of the reasons I love Magnolia so much is because it uses all the storytelling tools of cinema. If you tried to do it as a book, it just wouldn't be the same, the basic story would still be strong, but so much of the power of the work is exclusively rooted in the way it uses cinematic conventions.

So, in attempting to translate Watchmen to the screen, I feel like you're inevitably going to lose something. It's such a huge work, and if you start cutting out pieces of it, you lose what makes it so great. Let's say you lose the Bernards street life chunk of the book, then the ending loses almost all its power. While the images of masses dead in issue 12 are harrowing, the most emotionally affecting moment of the book for me is the last few panels of issue 11, when we see the older Bernard trying to shelter the younger Bernard from the blast. These are people we know and have hung out with for a while, and seeing Bernard die, as opposed to a more abstract crowd of extras, makes the moral question at the end of the book a lot tougher to answer. Even if it may have prevented a nuclear war, was it worth it to lose Bernard, Dr. Malcolm and Joey? I feel like the movie is inevitably going to lose that streeet level part of the story, and that's really unfortunate.

Also, Watchmen, while a brilliant work on the whole, is also a work made of a lot of smaller stories. It's structured to take advantage of issue/chapter format, and that doesn't always translate well to film. I don't know if the filmmakers will be able to spend the time necessary to do the Dr. Manhattan on Mars issue, where he reflects on what it means to be outside time. That's crucial to the character, and the similar issues for Rorshach and Laurie are equally important. If you lose these issues, and the street people, the book begins to look a lot more like a conventional superhero whodunit, one that will still work, but it won't capture the full greatness of the comic. You can't fit Watchmen in two hours, even three is stretching it.

Also, the issue of costumes is so huge in the book, but I'm not sure if it can translate in the film. Particularly with Dan, his costume is pretty ridiculous, but the ridiculousness is a huge element of the character, and I don't know if you can show it on film without the absurdity of the costume overwhelming the point they're trying to make. Similarly, it's probably not a good idea to have a protagonist of your film be a giant naked blue man, and presenting Dr. Manhattan is clearly going to be a challenge to the filmmakers.

But, I am happy the movie is getting made. It's such a great story, and there's potential to make an equally great film. However, I just hope they don't approach it as an action movie, it should be more of a character piece, that incidentally has action. Either way, I'll be there in 2006 when the film opens, I don't think it could be any worse than LXG.

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More Pop

I noticed in that last post that almost all my images of pop involved people with guns. What's so cool about guns? I don't know, I don't like them in real life, but in movies, they're awesome. Perhaps it's because it's such a great prop, it gives you power and gravity. I'm all for gun control in real life, but in the movies, sometimes a firearm is needed.

Anyway, movies and comics, we know what's pop there now. But what about music, and my other favorite medium, TV? TV's probably a bit easier, since it's basically the same as movies. The most pop show on TV now is Alias. It's all about dressing up cool and being a spy, few things are more pop than that. The show is at its best when it busts out really cool, innovative costumes, in interesting settings. Sometimes the plot gets lost, but at least they always look cool, no matter what they're doing.

The other pop TV show, one that has both substance and surface is Cowboy Bebop. This series is beautiful to look at, and for a good chunk of its run is a salute to being cool. Spike is the ultimate pop character, and the music of the series creates some amazing purely aesthetic/music moments. Like The Invisibles, this show is at once beautiful, but also has a lot of depth. You can appreciate it on many levels.

Music is a tougher realm. Despite having an actual genre called pop, I don't think that catergory includes all of what is actually pop in music. It's tough to actually describe what makes a song pop, it's more one of those things where you hear it and you know it. The best pop album of all time is Daft Punk's Discovery. The songs are really hooky, with really infectious beats that just make you smile. 'Digital Love' is perhaps the most pop song of all time, with vocoder vocals, great quasi-cheesy guitar, and just phenomenal music. What are the lyrics? Not great, but they work in the context of an undeniably pop song. On this album, you've also got 'One More Time,' 'Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger' and 'Something' forming an army of brilliant pop songs. They dress like robots, this must be pop.



A recent album I listened to that was incredibly pop was Gwen Stefani's Love Angel Music Baby. 'What You're Waiting For' is genius. Other than this sort of fluffy club type music, we've got another favorite genre of mine, Britpop, from people like Oasis and Travis. These are songs that aren't trying to reinvent the wheel, but they work as really entertaining pop songs.

The undisputed masters of pop, the Morrison of music, are The Beatles. What they did was create songs that are at once incredibly complex, and imminently pop as well. 'Magical Mystery Tour,' 'Strawberry Field,' 'Penny Lane,' these are all great songs that really pop, but are also really deep, with a ton of instruments that work together to form an interesting whole. Too many bands today that make really 'important' albums like The Beatles did get bogged down in really ugly music. Pop music is always beautiful, and that's what The Beatles' stuff was.

I think that's one of the main problems with much of today's music that's actually popular, stuff like Linkin Park, Korn, etc. It's just so ugly, there's no sense of joy in the making of the music. That's part of the pop aesthetic, in The Invisibles, you can practically see Morrison loving any minute of his writing, I can't see Linkin Park doing the same.

So, why is pop a dirty word in music? Why is it synonymous with selling out, and why is being beautiful and melodic somehow not a goal? I feel like a prime case to explore is that of Radiohead. They made one of the best pop albums of all time, The Bends, which, like The Beatles' stuff, is complex and groundbreaking without sacrificing great song writing and beautiful musical moments. Then they drop an even better followup, OK Computer. From there, there probably was a need to reinvent, but they go so far in a glitchy electronic direction that they lose a lot of the pop train, making music that's so self consciously distant from their past stuff, it becomes much less entertaining. I enjoy Kid A, but the fact that it's less melodic doesn't make it better than OK Computer. I love electronic stuff, and if Radiohead had dropped something like DJ Shadow or Massive Attack on us, I would have loved it. However, they straddle an odd line between electric and rock, not really committing to either, and therein lies the problem.

This isn't to say that all music need to pop, pop is more instantly listenable, but there's merit in music that's more mood than melody. As much as I do love Sub Sub's really poppy single, 'Ain't No Love (Ain't No Use),' I like the stuff they make as Doves much more, even though it is definitely less pop.

Some of the bands I like correspond to Wong Kar-Wai's less narrative (melody), more mood. Air feels sort of like a Wong Kar-Wai movie, where you're not letting a vocal guide you, you're more just enjoying every moment of the music.

So, pop in music, it's indefinable, but a lot of really good club stuff has it, and when it works, it's horribly undervalued. I'm unashamed to say that 'Like I Love You' and 'Rock Your Body' by Justin Timberlake are two of the best songs of recent years. These are infectious songs that just pop.

Pop, when you hear it, see it, or read it, you just know it somehow.

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Pop!

As much as I love Grant Morrison's comics for his huge ideas, and cosmology, the thing that makes him unique from a textbook is his sense of pop. What is pop? It's basically something really cool, effortlessly so, King Mob in Volume II of The Invisibles is pop, all of Marvel Boy is pop, Kill Bill Volume 1 is pop. It's stuff that's not neccessarily that deep, but is so cool it doesn't matter.

In movies, it's about cool clothes, great music and interesting camera techniques. Of current filmmakers, I'd say the most pop is Wong Kar-Wai. His films are really beautiful, he's got great sets, and he always makes his actors look really cool. It's like, these people may be depressed, but they're not going to look bad because of it. Fallen Angels is his most pop movie, a distillation of images, music and emotion, with more attention paid to being cool than to having a really coherent narrative. The theme song of the movie is "Because I'm cool," that basically sums it up.



That's pretty damn cool, the lighting, the actors posed to look good, rather than in a natural conversational stance. It's all about playing up to the audience, the moment of cool.

Other filmmakers who have made incredibly pop movies include Fernando Meireles who dropped City of God on an unsuspecting populace. This movie is full of great stylistic stuff, including the use of 'Kung Fu Fighting' in a dramatic scene, any filmmaker who can pull that off you have to respect. Despite heavy subject matter, Michael Mann makes The Insider a really pop movie, by editing it with such energy and drive, and a great soundtrack. Oldboy is another great pop movie.

But, for me the undisputed master of pop is Grant Morrison. His comics are always full of crazy cool images, that makes his stuff feel so alive and now. Particularly when paired with phil Jiminez or Frank Quitely, he makes the coolest characters ever seen. His masterpiece is The Invisibles, which has a really shiny pop aesthetic, but a lot of depth below. It's the combination of a really cool surface, with a ton of depth that makes The Invisibles such an interesting work. Kill Your Boyfriend, Flex Mentallo and Marvel Boy are more pop masterworks. Some of his other works, like Animal Man, are still great, but lack the pop sheen of his newer stuff.

I guess the major thing that makes a work pop is a focus on the image itself, rather than just using the image as a vehicle in the narrative. This makes every single moment entertaining, rather than just the big action scene, or ending an entertaining moment. The Matrix: Reloaded is a film that's really jumbled, but it's great because of the focus on image. When they're in the real world, the movie sucks, but once they go into The Matrix, all the characters look cool enough that it doesn't really matter what they're doing. Similarly, in Wong Kar-Wai's work, each image is so beautifully composed, that you can literally just watch the movie and be awed, without even engaging in the story. WKW does have great stories and character arcs, but it's not all that the movie is about. It's the distinction between the movie being geared towards an end, and every image just being an end in itself.

That's why I like movies that really allow the director to express himself (or herself, Sofia Coppola has made some incredibly pop movies). Don't always be subject to the narrative. Music is a huge part of this. Sofia Coppola's The Virgin Suicides has a soundtrack by Air, a soundtrack that is so good, listening to it is an end in itself. The music is so pop that you can enjoy the movie just as an accompaniment to the music, as well as on a narrative level.

The moment that created this idea of pop for me was the 60s flashback at the beginning of the 'Entropy in the UK' storyline in The Invisibles. In it, we see Gideon Stargrave, the 60s analogue of King Mob, battling enemies while dressed in mod clothes, blowing stuff up and such. It's ridiculously cool, you can enjoy each panel as just a great piece of Jiminez art, enjoy it as a short story in its own right, or analyze it for clues about King Mob's psyche. Pop implies a lack of depth, but I feel like it's more a gateway to multiple levels of enjoyment, with both the surface and substance.

Perhaps the most pop moment in film is the end of Fallen Angels, which features three strains of action. There's the incredible visual, a beautiful shot, with a tight camera effect. There's Yazoo's Only You playing, a great song. And, there's a voiceover that sums up the theme of the movie. Watching it, your eyes don't know where to go, there's so much great stuff on the screen, and that's part of what being pop is about.

So, what is pop in music, which is an art completely divorced from narrative film? We'll find out tomorrow, but here's some pop images.

King Mob in The Invisibles, as drawn by Phil Jiminez

This is from Fallen Angels

The cover of Morrison's Marvel Boy

City of God

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Astonishing X-Men

Last week I read the first trade paperback of Joss Whedon's Astonishing X-Men series. Joss is the guy who created Buffy the Vampire Slayer, a brilliant series, and one that took a good chunk of inspiration from Chris Claremont's X-Men comics of the 1970s. Claremont basically created the X-Men we know today, creating the characters of Wolverine, Storm, Nightcrawler, Colossus, Kitty Pryde, Rogue, Psylocke and Emma Frost, among countless others. He wrote the classic Dark Phoenix saga storyline, as well as many other riveting tales, which were pioneering in their blending of superhero and soap opera characteristics. Without Claremont, we would have no Buffy.

On Buffy, Joss took the basic principles of classic Claremont, and ended up doing them much better than Chris ever did. The Dark Willow storyline of season six was clearly a reference to the Dark Phoenix saga storyline that Claremont did. But, Joss is a much better writer than Claremont ever was, and Buffy is a stronger, more cohesive work.

Anyway, a few years back, Grant Morrison, one of about three people who I admire more than Joss Whedon, took over writing chores on X-Men, and in the 'Morrison Manifesto' which outlined the goals of his run, he cited a desire to bring the successful storytelling practices of Buffy to the X-Men. His run was brilliant, the greatest X-Men run ever, and one of Morrison's best comics. It combined the huge ideas that Morrison usually brings to his work, with a level of emotional involvement and character intrigue that you don't usually see. The triangle with Scott/Emma/Jean was masterfully worked out over the course of the run, and there were a lot of other great twists, most notably one involving Xorn. It had huge themes, huge events and some really great art.

So, the circle of inspiration continues as Joss picks up where Morrison left off. I really like what he did with the characters post Morrison, there's no attempt to reboot or ignore, it feels lik the same people that Morrison wrote about. However, he approaches things from a different direction. The basic mcguffin of Joss' story is that there is a cure for mutants available, and the X-Men have to investigate it.

I really like the first couple issues of his run, particularly what he does with Emma. She was my favorite character in Morrison and her bristly relationship with Kitty makes for some great moments. Similarly, the dynamic with her and Cyclops is really interesting. I feel like Grant was a huge Emma fan, and saw her as the hero of his piece, whereas Joss is putting her in more of a rogue role, and we're not sure where she stands. The work with Beast was great as well.

The last couple of issues get a bit bogged down in plot and action. It's a testament to Joss' writing that an action scene seems like a waste of time, I'd rather have him playing the characters off each other, but the action does forward the plot, and set up some intriuging stuff to come.

One of the best features of the book was John Cassaday's art. If possible, it's even better than his work on Planetary, almost photorealistic, and beautifully colored. This art is perfect for Joss' story, in the same way that Frank Quitely was perfect for Grant's.

I'm kind of annoyed that the book spent so much time bringing back Colossus. I guess we only see the beginning of that story here, but I don't feel that much of a connection to the character, as opposed to the characters who have had great arcs set up by Morrison. There's definitely potential, and I can see why he did it, but reading just this book, that seems to take time away from other more interesting stuff that's going on.

When I saw Joss in person, I asked him why he was bringing back the X-Men costumes, rather than going with the Frank Quite suits from Grant's run, which I think were great, really practical and very cool looking, much better than both the traditional spandex, and the movie's dour black leather. He told me that Marvel had instructed him to bring back the costumes, and he does it in a way that feels true to the characters. It's not just something that happens, an issue is made of it, and it's clearly an example of Cyclops trying to reach back to a more stable time in his past.

Frank Quitely vs. John Cassaday
vs.

In a lot of ways that sums up the difference between the two runs. Morrison was clearly interested in creating 'New' X-Men, it wasn't just the title of his book, his goal was to completely revolutionize a storytelling meme that had dominated since the 1970s. He shook things up by making the school actually a school, rather than just a base for superheroes, and by developing stories with the students. Perhaps more than anyone, I really miss Beak and the special class, I'd have loved to see what happened to them after the Magneto business. We get to see some students, and even a return of the Cuckoos, but that was a really interesting avenue to explore.

As Cyclops says, Joss does not want to make 'rescue ops' the goal, he wants the X-Men to be superheroes, and the suits reflect that. Joss is basically doing Claremont, just much better than Claremont even did, whereas Grant had Claremont going, but was also bringing in new ideas. I feel like the more limited nature of Joss' run means he needs to focus a bit more than Grant did. Grant was at times all over the place with his plotting, and there were some loose ends that weren't really needed (like the Imperial storyline). Joss writes a much more efficient story, but that means losing some of the extraneous points that were really intersting in Grant's run.

So, I'm looking forward to the next trade. I'm really glad Joss chose to pick up the characters and arcs of Morrison's run, this is like the sequel to that, it's directed by someone else, but it's still got the same characters you're really interested in.

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Watching Brutal Movies

I saw Million Dollar Baby today. It was a pretty impressive movie, it really engrossed you in the story. I, and not just me, pretty much every critic, feel like Clint is one of the best filmmakers in making classic Hollywood films, in the sense that everything is designed to just immerse you in the story. There's no showy shots or effects, nothing that really lets you know someone is directing the movie. Now, I love directors that make their style known, people like Lynch and Wong Kar-Wai alwyas let you know they're directing the movie, and there's always an almost artificiality. Paul Thomas Anderson does this too, with his absurdly long tracking shots that draw attention to his form, but overall, I feel like it's more of an Asian thing. WKW and other stuff, like Hero, is just so beautiful, you at once enjoy the story, but are also just awed by the visual.

Anyway, Million Dollar Baby just lets you coast along in the story, and it's a really good story, but it's not quite a great film. That said, I would reccomend it. However, I don't really feel like it's a movie I need to discuss. What it did do was get me thinking about why we see a certain kind of movie, a type of movie I will call the brutal movie.

What is a "brutal" movie? I think it's one that almost presents itself as a challenge to the viewer. It's the type of movie that people will say you have to be in a certain mood for. It's the kind of movie that is more something you "have to see" than is something that's enjoyable.

There's a number of movies that I really love that I was classify as "brutal," most prominent among them are Requiem for a Dream, Irreversible, Oldboy and Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me.

A basic question is, why would you watch something that is really depressing, and so dark it's not really enjoyable in the traditional sense? A film like Magnolia is really dark, but it gives you a happy ending, the above films pretty much don't. There may be a little light at the end of the tunnel, but it's more of a things are so messed up now, they can only get better.

I think the reason I like that type of film is that it's such a visceral experience. Each of them is really immersive, and just traps you in this world, it may be an awful world, but to be able to go there and experience it is something unique.I feel like Requiem and Irreversible really have a point to make, and the violence is a oart of that. It may seem like a ten minute long rape scene is gratuitious, but it's needed to show you just how disgusting, and affecting, the act is. If you cut away, you're not going to get the same impact. Similarly, in the beginning of the film, you need to see the violence of the revenge act, because if you didn't, it wouldn't seem so abhorrent. By juxtaposing the two acts of extreme violence, Gaspar Noe shows us that violence only breeds more violence, and that ultimately, revenge is pointless. Requiem does the same thing with its ending montage showing the effect of drugs. Seeing our main characters completely degraded really shows that maybe addiction is not such a good thing.

The main reason I love Irreversible and Requiem is the filmmaking. Noe's ridiculously long takes, or Darren's hip hop montage editing are completely unique, and perfectly suited to the story. I guess these sort of movies aren't going to have any sort of box office hopes, so the directors can go as crazy as they want. But, sometimes the darkness is needed. The reason the last scene of Fire Walk With Me is so cathartic is because it comes after so much darkness. Without things getting really bad, the good has no meaning.

No Guilt Here! Watching The OC and Point Pleasant

I was psyched a couple of weeks ago for the premiere of the new show, Point Pleasant, from one of the Buffy producers, Marti Noxon. Other than Joss Whedon, I'd say Marti Noxon had the biggest influence on the show, and she was executive producer during my favorite season of the show, the really dark season six. I feel like Marti was responsible for a lot of the darker tone in season six, the bad relationships, the emotional violence, the emphasis on character relations rather than a big plot. This was all stuff I liked in the season, and even though a lot of people knock Buffy/Spike, I love the way it went, it made for some great story, and was more true to the characters than a happy relationship.

So, she headed out on her own with a show that she compared to Twin Peaks, and was generally being described as Buffy meets The OC. These were all shows I liked, we should have some goodness coming our way. However, the show, at least based on the two episodes I've seen, isn't quite working. Why is this? First, because the characters aren't well defined. The parents are very cheesy soap opera, and aren't particularly developed. Christina and Judy are decent, but then Paula and Jesse seem to be from another show, and that show is called The OC (minus all that is good about it). Paula and Jesse are exactly the dynamic that Marissa and Luke were at the beginning of The OC, and with Jesse falling for Christina, the very same dynamic is once again being played. Not to mention the fact that the premise is the same as The OC, drifter kid without parents comes to rich community and moves in with the family, befriending the socially awkward, wise cracking child. Also, this New Jersey where it's constantly warm and people always hang out on the beach seems a lot more like Orange County to me.

I know it's only two episodes, but after one of Buffy I already had a really good handle on the four main characters. After one of The OC, I knew all the people. More importantly, they didn't have this incongruity between the storylines. The very typical soap stuff doesn't mesh so well with very typical horror stuff, and we're not really given a reason to care about what's going on. There's some definite potential in the premise, but it seriously feels like they just took The OC and turned Ryan into the duaghter of Satan.

However, the show doesn't have the self awareness of The OC. The OC is first of all very funny, and is also aware of its status as a soap opera, much like Buffy was. As a result, you can have the very serious emotional confrontations, but also get to joke about them. Seth in particular is constantlly joking about the show's conventions, right from the first episode, and this keeps you entertained. It's a really clever show, but one that doesn't let the cleverness overwhelm the character development.

Point Pleasant has no humor about itself, and that's odd considering Marti came from Buffy, who even in the darkest times of season six was always also funny. I'm hoping the show will get better, but right now, it's not quite making it.

However, in it second season, The OC is even better than it was last year. I love the character of Zach, the WASPy doppleganger of Seth, and not just for the comic book references, though last episode, when they get together to make a comic book provided many laughs and also some great character insight and emotional drama.

At its best, as in the storylines with Ryan and Seth this year, the show is soapy, but not in an overly cheesy, emotionally excessive way. Having Summer discover the drawings of her, and react intrigued was a nice underplaying of what could either have been an instant revulsion or an instant falling in love. Summer has become by far the best character on the show, someone who is shallow on the outside, but very deep internally. She's in control of her life, and satisfied with herself more than anyone else on the show, and she keeps displaying new layers. Compare that to Marissa who always seems to have a really overwrought trauma. I think the thing I like so much about the Seth/Summer/Zach storyline is that they're not playing it like this is an earth shaking problem they're in, it's small in the large sense, but emotionally meaningful to them, and because we know the characters, we can relate and appreciate the meaning of little events. There's no need for the excesses of the Oliver storyline, because we're aware of how important minute events are to the characters.

Similar stuff is done in the Ryan/Lindsay storyline. I really like how they've made Ryan more intellectual this year, and less prone to violent outbursts. He's a more realistic character, and is sort of the calm center of the show, which makes it more meaningful when he does get violent, as in the episode with Lindsay getting drunk from a couple of weeks ago.

Also, I really like the way the parent stories are integrated with the kids'. Having Caleb simultaneously alienate Kirsten, Lindsay and Marissa ties the characters together and makes you believe that these people really are family and live together. The Point Pleasant parents seem completely removed from the happening, but Sandy and Kirsten are always well integrated into the story, such that the show doesn't feel like a teen show with the parent stories stuck in, it's an integrated piece, in which all the characters play off each other, and events in one storyline make their way around to affect the others. This year, Caleb has become basically the shameful center of the show, as his mistakes affect everyone else. The tension between him and Ryan in last week's episode was great, and had you seeing him as a bastard, but then watching him struggle to gain any control over Marissa, you start to feel sorry for the guy. Each character is seen in a different light depending on who's looking at them. That's why sometimes the relationships feel so tightly knit as to be almost incestuous (practically literally with Ryan and Lindsay), but at their best it works because every event on the show has reprocussions that echo onto the other characters.

Taking Pictures

I'm not sure if it's Muslims, or Indians, but there's some ethnic group, though Muslim is more of a religious than ethnic group, irregardless, there's some group that has the idea that letting smeone take a picture of you takes part of your soul away. Something like that, that taking the picture captures a piece of you, and makes the original you lesser somehow. Now, the obvious response to this is to ridicule it, because clearly these people are afraid of technology, the unknown and the future, and they should just get with it. This is a valid response. Something that always bothers me is the idea that groups should try to hold on to old traditions, and in doing so, inherently have to reject new things. Just because you're a Native American Indian doesn't mean you have to live on a reservation, you could rock a house, with a computer and the internet. This doesn't destroy the old identity, it helps it evolve. To think that things can only be one way is incredibly stubborn and reactionary, and saying it's "your culture" shouldn't excuse that. Culture should always be transient, looking forward not backward. If aliens came down and gave us some new way of doing things, I wouldn't object. There might be some things that were lost from our current culture, but if it gave us a new and exciting world, it'd be worth it.

Anyway, back to my point about the pictures, they don't steal a piece of your soul, but they do take some of your memory. With the proliferation of digital cameras, there's now a boom in taking pointless pictures, and using this as a substitute for actually creating something. Of all the media, I'd consider photography to be the least artistic, because it's just about capturing something that already exists, not creating something new. Here's a question: where is the line between an amazing picture and an amazing thing that exists?

Now, you could say the same thing about film. But, what film has is a narrative context that gives the pure images added meaning. Wong Kar-Wai's movies are beautifully photographed, and would be great pictures on their own, but in the context of the story, they take on so much more meaning.

Pictures are frequently taken to commemorate events in one's life. But, they don't provide a really accurate picture, they just capture a 2D image of a moment. It's very easy to fake a smile, or to capture someone in a down moment, between smiles. You don't know what's beyond the confines of the image, except in your memory. What pictures do is gradually replace your real memory of the event with just a memory of the picture. From my childhood, I don't know if I really remember anything from when I was very young, or if I just remember pictures and extrapolate a story out of them. Now, maybe if I didn't have the pictures I wouldn't remember anything at all, but it's possible that I would remember much more, only those subtle memories have been replaced by the obvious pictures.

I'm reminded of a quote from Lost Highway, the David Lynch film:

Ed: Do you own a video camera?
Renee Madison: No. Fred hates them.
Fred Madison: I like to remember things my own way.
Ed: What do you mean by that?
Fred Madison: How I remembered them. Not necessarily the way they happened.

What Fred is talking about here is the fact that memories get overwritten by the eye of the video camera. I wouldn't say that video captures reality, which he implies, because by the very fact of observation you change things (witness Schrodinger's Cat). Except on a hidden camera, you can never gague how someone really acts, without the knowledge that they're being taped, and unless you're really sneaky, you can never find out how someone acts when they're alone, because no matter who's around you, you'll always act slightly different than if you're by yourself.

So, what's the point? I think it's that pictures can be a substitute for really doing something, because if you take pictures, it's evidence that something happened, when in fact all that happened was you took pictures. When I see parents at a graduation rushing up to the stage to get a closeup picture of their son/daughter getting a diploma, I wonder why they chose to take a picture of the moment, rather than make their own memory of it. They won't ever experience the real moment, they'll just have the picture. I'd rather the memory of the real event happening than a picture. I'm not saying that it's pointless to take pictures, some really do reveal elements of people. But, be careful to never let the taking of the picture overwhelm the reality of living the moment.

Top 10 TV Moments

So, here's my top ten TV moments of all time. What is a moment, I'm defining it as roughly one scene, so some moments are bigger than others. Obviously, there's spoilers if you haven't seen the show, so be cautious. I'm sure I forget some good stuff, and I did try to spread the wealth a bit, there could have been a couple more Buffy on here, but this is pretty representative. Enjoy.

10.
Show: Six Feet Under
Episode: Perfect Circles
Moment: This isn't so much a moment as the whole opening ten minutes of the episode, in which Nate wanders through various versions of what his life could be, as he drifts in a dimension between life and death. The show has never been reluctant to go into bizarre stuff, but this is the most challenging sequence in the show's entire run, as Nate wanders through a variety of really interesting parallel universes, seeing himself with Brenda, Lisa and even as an overweight white trash fellow. The reality where he's mentally handicapped after the surgery, and has to learn to read again is harrowing, while the Southern one is just funny. It's a brilliant idea, perfectly executed.

9.
Show: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Episode: Restless
Moment: Xander drives the ice cream truck, talks with Anya, sees Willow and Tara as vampy lesbians, then winds up back in his basement. This is my favorite episode of the series, and it has a wealth of great moments to choose from, but I think this is the best. The transition from Xander on the playground looking at another version of himself serving ice cream, to the other version of himself, picking up the scene is ingenious, and perfectly captures the feeling of a dream. The cheesy matte behind Anya lends more surrealism, and I'm still wondering what she was talking about with the hand gestures. The Willow and Tara stuff is both hilarious, and perfectly in character for Xander, and not bad for the viewer eiither. The ice cream truck itself is a great continuity tie in, and probably the most important thing is the fact that when he leaves the truck he winds up back in the basement. That sums up Xander at that time better than anything else, and it leads into the brilliant chase through many rooms.

8.
Show: The X-Files
Episode: The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati
Moment: A dying Mulder is lying in bed, when the Cigarette Smoking Man pulls back the curtains of his room to reveal a future where aliens have invaded, and destroyed the Earth. Amor Fati is by far the best episode of the latter chunk of The X-Files, and possibly of the entire series. Much like the sequence in Six Feet Under I mentioned earlier, this episode concerns Mulder's vision of an alternate world in which he didn't choose to pursue aliens. This moment gives you what we never see in the main continuity of the series, an Earth where aliens actually invade, and the effects work is phenomenal. The Smoking Man standing in the window looking at the world in ruins sums up Mulder's worst fears.

7.
Show: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Episode: The Body
Moment: Anya wonders why Joyce had to die. This whole episode is really intense and harrowing, the best depiction of what it's like to deal with death in any piece of fiction ever. It's very real, but Whedon doesn't back away from using what his show has to offer to add to the commentary. Anya's lack of familiarity with human customs is usually played for laughs, but here it's tragic. She can't understand why Joyce had to die, and even as the other characters are saying it's not appropriate it for her to question these things, they're wondering the very same thing. As they will do again with the trio and with Lorne at the end of Angel, using a generally comic character in a dramatic moment can make it incredibly shocking, and therefore much more sad. This is a huge turning point for Anya, and it's a painful, but truthful moment for the audience.

6.
Show: Twin Peaks
Episode: 2.7 (aka The Killer is revealed)
Moment: Leland is revealed as Bob, Laura's killer, and subsequently murders Maddie, while the people at the Roadhouse suffer a profound sadness. That may sound like a big moment, and it's a testament to Lynch that he can work it in all in a virtually wordless sequence. The reveal of the killer is obviously huge, it's what the series had been building to over its entire run, but the real brilliance here is the brutal murder scene, and the subsequent catharsis at the roadhouse. Julee Cruise's music is beautiful, and sets the perfect tone for how everyone at the Roadhouse is feeling, after somehow sensing that another murder has happened, or in Cooper's case, being told by the Giant. Lynch would go over similar territory in the Club Silencio sequence in Mullholland Drive, but this sequence may be the most emiotionally real moment in his entire body of work.

5.
Show: Angel
Episode: Not Fade Away
Moment: Angel, Spike, Illyria and Gunn meet in an alley, and decide to keep fighting until they die. While Angel as a series is uneven, great at times, not so great at other times, the ending is unquestionably brilliant, the best TV ending since Twin Peaks. It works because it captures the essence of the character, he's someone who will never find redemption for all the bad things he did in the past, no matter how long he keeps going. There is no "ending" for Angel now that he has signed away the Shanshu, like there was for Buffy, and his show doesn't get an ending either. Cancelled during its best season, Angel himself also finds an apocalypse that has come on too early. He doesn't have a chance of winning, but he's not going to retreat, he'll go out fighting, and even though they'll all probably die, maybe they can help some people along the way. It's not a cliffhanger, because as is, this ending ties into what Angel realized in season two, and is the perfect capper to the character's story.

4.
Show: Cowboy Bebop
Episode: The Real Folk Blues Part II
Moment: Faye begs Spike not to go after Vicious. This is the moment the entire series has been building to. The characters have kept their emotions strictly guarded up to this point, but after rediscovering her memories, and coming to terms with her past, Faye is ready to open herself to Spike emotionally. She says that Spike has a new family, and no need to go after his past, but for Spike, the past is the only place he can be alive, and he needs to go back there. It's Spike's past versus his present and future, and his central character conflict expressed in one moment. The eyes are such a potent metaphor, and the center of a harrowing speech he gives Faye. Faye herself cries here, and we can tell how much she's changed over the course of the series. She has found her home, and only wants Spike to have the same thing, but he can't stay. She cries because she knows he's going to die, he has to go because it's the only way he can live. In this moment, we see the end of the Bebop as we knew it, and it's only a matter of time until the inevitable sets in. What makes this moment so striking is it's the first time we ever see the characters ever open up emotionally, and after 25 episodes of guarded emotions, the torrent here is both cathartic and frustrating, because like Faye, we don't want Spike to go.

3.
Show: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Episode: Once More With Feeling
Moment: Giles and Tara sing a duet about how they must leave Buffy and Willow respectively. This is an episode where practically every moment could be on this list, but my favorite part is the Giles and Tara, for a number of reasons. One, both of them are great singers, and I love the way Joss combines the two songs they hand sung previously. Also, it's a great example of musical form, because Joss uses the music as a way to express pure emotion. It may not have as much deep subtext, but it pays off character arcs, and is just a brilliant moment in and of itself.

2.
Show: The Office
Episode: The Christmas Special (Part II)
Moment: Tim and Dawn kiss. Every one of the shows listed above is at least partially a sci-fi or fantasy show, so how did a British situation comedy end up this high on the list? Maybe because it's a brilliantly written one, and has character arcs just as complex as those of a great novel. This moment is the end of the series long development of the relationship between Tim and Dawn. These two were both people who were not happy with their status in the office, and dreamt of bigger and better things. The only thing they had keeping them happy was each other, and in the second season finale, when Dawn rejects Tim's advances again, you can tell that it's incredibly painful for both. Over the course of the special, we see the way that Lee has worn down Dawn's dream of being an artist, and replaced her idealistic notions with a strict pragmatism that has her depressed. Tim has found peace in his job, but he's still not who he wants to be. Dawn leaves to go back to Florida, but in the car, she opens Tim's secret santa gift, and it's a box of paints. This sends her back to the party, where we see Tim standing with Brent and Gareth. In the background, Dawn walks in, goes to Tim and kisses him, bringing closure to the arc in a beautiful moment. It's not sappy at all, it's completely earned, and to see the two of them finally together and happy is what so many romantic comedy movies go for, but fail to achieve. The Office earns it. This scene not only fulfills the character's romantic arc, it shows Dawn re-embracing her dreams, and Tim finding new hope in his job. Throw in Yazoo's 'Only You' playing in the background, and you've got a complete perfect moment.

1.
Show: Twin Peaks
Episode: 2.22 (Finale)
Moment: Cooper wanders the red room in search of Annie, and his soul is taken. This is sort of a vague moment, but it's essentially one scene, Cooper's travel through the red room in the last episode. This is Lynch at his most abstract, but with the backing of the events of the series, so he can get as surreal as he wants, and the viewer still understands roughly what's going on. Jimmy Scott at the opening of this scene sets the tone perfectly, and the run in with the Man from Another Place both clears up and muddies some questions from earlier in the series. Laura screaming at the camera still freaks me out, and the dopplegangers are frightening, particularly the Cooper one. This is pure abstraction and it works. Some other episodes I mentioned before here have attempted to go bizarre, but no one has matched this, not even Lynch himself. It's a completely alien dimension, and Lynch is just unhinged. What an episode. It's the best TV episode ever, and it's the best thing Lynch has ever done, and it's got the best moment in TV history.

Related Posts
Ten Works that Changed My Life: Part I (10-6) (4/30/2005)
Ten Works that Changed My Life: Part II (5-1) (5/2/2005)

Update on Me and on Foreign Film

This weekend, I'm going to be going to see The Aviator, Million Dollar Baby and Finding Neverland, so hopefully my comments about the Oscar nominations yesterday will be proven wrong. We shall see. I've got pretty high hopes for Million Dollar Baby, buzz has been good, though I wasn't a big fan of Clint's Unforgiven or Mystic River.

I've been really busy so far this semester, because I spend so much time sleeping. I have no morning classes, so I end up getting nine hours or so of sleep a night. While this is good, and when I'm in that haze between sleeping and waking up, it's the top priority for the day, it is bad becuase it leads to a shorter day. I end up staying up too late, and getting up too late. So, I basically don't accomplish much before class, am in class until 4:30, and two days a week I have night class, which means I'm not finished with everything until around 10. That's also the consequence of taking two film courses, much more time spent in class. I miss that time of doing nothing, I have far too little of it so far. Of course, I do have a three day weekend every week, which'll help, plus once I get back into the swing of the job, I'll take care of all my work there, and will have free time when I'm on my own. Work has been encroaching on my room time, and that is not good.

Good news is most of my classes are pretty good. Action film, we're watching the earlly silent films, and it's already flying by. The second half of the semester is either all good films I have seen, or films I've been wanting to see. Die Hard, Dirty Harry, Coffy, Bullitt, these are all films I need to see, and seeing them for class adds another layer of cool.

Youth Culture is pretty tight so far also. It's a discussion class, and there've been some interesting discussions about the high school experience and such. It gives me a perspective different than the Rye Neck one, which I'm interested in finding out about. News flash, no one's high school really was like Saved by the Bell.

Austrailian film is a bit too much Austrailia, not enough film, unlike German Film last semester which rocked hard. A great movie every week, and some good discussion about said movie. Getting to see The Merchant of Four Seasons, Aguirre: The Wrath of God, The Marriage of Maria Braun, The Tin Drum, Wings of Desire and Run Lola Run in class was tight. Plus, it exposed me to a lot of great films I would never have otherwise come across. The Tin Drum, that was must see, if only for the womb shot.

Science and Art definitely has potential. I think it'll be by far the best science course I could have taken.

Speaking of art, one of my big projects recently has been to learn to draw. It's something I always wanted to do, but never really put in the effort for. However, I am definitely improving, and more importantly, can have a lot of fun drawing. It's all in holding the pencil sideways.

So, it's busy times, but also good times. Maybe a little more work than I'd like, but at least it's in interesting areas.

One of the things I've noticed over this past school year has been that about half of the films I've been watching are foreign films. This means I'm either getting more mature or more pretentious, perhaps both, definitely the pretentious part. I guess it's because I feel like I've sort of exhausted contemporary American cinema. I'm sure there's still some undiscovered gems out there, but most of the "essential" movies, I have covered. Very consciously a couple of years ago, I decided to keep track of when people asked "Have you seen this movie?" and if I hadn't seen it, to get it out of the library and watch it. Now, there are some movies that are exempted from this. I don't need to see a Chris Farley movie to know it's not my thing. However, this led me to a lot of great films, like Trainspotting, Goodfellas and more. However, I basically covered it. I've seen most of those good movies that people have seen, and the ones left are ones that didn't really interest me for whatever reason, and that's not many.

So, I ventured out into the world of foreign film. I guess a big part of this was taking New German Cinema, which meant a new German film every week, and my exploration of the works of Wong Kar-Wai. These account for a bunch of the foreign films I saw and loved. Also, I think the good experiences watching these films broke down the stigma of the foreign film. I still can't watch something set in a country meadow about a poor woman who slowly dies, which a decent percentage of foreign film is, but the up tempo urban films of Wong Kar-Wai or Fassbinder feel incredibly relevant to my life, and more importantly, are extremely pop. The opening of Maria Braun, or practically every shot in Chungking Express, these are fun films to watch, not a chore by any means.

I think foreign film has a stigma that it's good for you, but not fun to watch. It's what you should be watching, and that's true, but that doesn't mean it can't be entertaining. Wong Kar-Wai, Fassbinder, Chanwook Park or Wim Wenders, these guys all make really fun and fresh films that are as entertaining as they are intellectually relevant.

If you need to get over the foreign film hump, check out these brilliant, thought provoking, and perhaps, most importantly, extremely entertaining films:

Chungking Express - Wong Kar-Wai
The Marriage of Maria Braun - RW Fassbinder
Oldboy - Chanwook Park
Wings of Desire - Wim Wenders