Sunday, August 07, 2005

Six Feet Under: 'Eat a Peach'

Another day, another episode. This was the weakest episode so far, I don't have too much to write about it, watching an episode and reviewing it each day means it's a bit of a challenge to not just write the same stuff each time.

The highlight of this episode by far was Nate and Brenda. They're unquestionably the center of this season, and the people I most want to watch. Their storyline this week addresses one of the major issues that was sort of lost in the gap between season four and five, and that's how has the spectre of Lisa affected Nate's relationship with Brenda. Back in season one, we saw her confront Lisa, comparing herself in terms of being Nate's partner, but here she is forced to consider what the effect of her taking over from Lisa as Maya's mother will have on her.

It happens nearly every week, but there was another great argument scene between Brenda and Nate. But, unlike most episodes, this one ends with a positive resolution. Nate apologizes, which he definitely needed to. Calling Maya 'my daughter' was just nasty, not that Brenda wasn't out of line in asking Maya about Lisa. I think Maya will probably be pretty confused when she grows up, considering all the crazy stuff that's gone on around her during her life. But, for now, things seem pretty good, Nate and Brenda have resolved their differences, and Nate has realized how important Brenda is to Maya. However, the question still remains of whether he sees her like he saw Lisa, someone he has to be with, not someone he wants to be with.

I thought they would use the dinner with Maggie to set up a dynamic where her and Nate connect, with Brenda left out, but instead that whole dinner is basically a device to let George bring up Hoyt. I'd have rather seen more development of Nate's relationship with Maggie.

Paralleling Brenda's need to create a narrative for Maya is David and Keith's decision to adopt Anthony despite the fact that he already has a narrative, and said narrative is not a good one. I'm glad that they finally got their kid, because every episode with them this year has been basically the same, and now something different can happen, as I'd imagine we find out that having kids isn't that easy. I'm guessing that David and Keith are going to be having a lot of problems, but that means more material for stories, so it works for me.

It's appropriate that as a show about death ends, it's all about people trying to create and foster life. This season, new life has become much more important than the recently deceased. In fact, the show has drifted so far from the funeral home as a central component that the death of the week being a major factor in this episode was a bit jarring.

The Rico plot had some interesting bits, but I'm not as interested in what's going on with him as what's up with Nate or Claire. His only really good episode this season was 'Hold My Hand' when he holed up in the hotel room with Illeana Douglas.

Claire's story was pretty solid this week as well. Leaving Billy like she did was wrong, and I'd guess that it's going to end up causing some problems down the line. The best scene was between her and Nate when he places things in perspective by comparing her to Maya, something that might give her a better understanding of her mother's position. I don't think it's entirely ridiculous to suggest she should get a job if she's not going to go to school. Claire's always been drifting, not sure what she wants to do, and here she again denigrates the one thing she's done that people really responded to, the photo collages.

So, things move forward. This wasn't the best episode, but it works to get us to a new phase in some of the plots and whatever's next. Only 7 episodes to go.

Saturday, August 06, 2005

What's up with me?

Well, considering the fact that I'm writing this blog at 11:17 PM on Saturday instead of being out doing something, you may say, 'wow, it must be slow times with Patrick, yeah?' In the short term, you'd be right, but in the long term, much is going on.

My biggest project right now is my graphic novel, Division Shadow. This is a story I started writing two years ago, it centers around a covert military organization called, as you might have guessed, Division Shadow, but it's not really about military stuff, it's really about showing the lives of a whole bunch of characters connected by the organization. There's three basic story strands. One is about a family man working in the military who's offered a promotion that would take him away from his family, then there's two people battling US military control over in Middle Eastern 'borderlands' that are controlled by the US government, and finally there's an old man who's dying and needs to get something to his son before he dies. Structurally, and even a bit in the plot, it's heavily inspired by Magnolia, but I think the different genre and settings make it a totally unique piece.

So, two years ago, I had an artist set up and we worked on the project for a while, but he always had some excuse for why he wasn't starting and eventually we drifted apart and the project lay dormant. But, one day this summer I decided, I'm bringing it back, I posted an ad looking for artists and got a ton of responses. I picked three of them, one for each chunk of the story, and now we're moving forward. I've already got two finished pages in, and the fact that we have three artists means we can finish the issues relatively quickly.

I'm hoping to finish the first issue by the end of September, and I'm going to print some minicomics up to mail to comic pros to try to get some review quotes for the first real volume, which will be 96 pages long. Then, six months down the line, the second volume will drop, containing the rest of the story. Right now, I'm planning to self publish everything, but there's the chance a publisher will pick up the book, which would be awesome. I'd love to make money off the book, instead of lose it, but either way, this is what I want to do with my life, tell stories, so if I have to spend money on something, it's going to be that.

If you want to check out the art we've got so far, you can see it here. I think it's pretty awesome, this book has really come together and has become my primary creative outlet. I've got the whole story mapped out already, but I'm always thinking about how to break down the next chunk into pages, and how to make the stuff I've already written better.

So, that's one major project. The other thing I'm doing now is running a video workshop for LMC-TV, the local public access station here in Mamaroneck. This consists of instructing about ten 12-15 year olds in the basics of filmmaking and also making a film with them. I did this last year, and the film turned out great. It's really stylish and always looks good, even though there were some complaints about the story not making sense. This year, I've been doing more actual teaching of film techniques, using clips from films I really like, Wong Kar-Wai's stuff, some Magnolia, some Once Upon a Time in the West and so on. The goal is to give them ideas they can 'homage' in the film, so we basically jumble together a whole bunch of interesting shots and hope it hangs together.

It's an odd experience being an authority and a leader. I always noticed when you're a kid, adults would tell you to stop doing stuff that might not really be dangerous, but could be potentially destructive, like tossing a ball in the air inside. And, it always bothered me. But now, I do the exact same thing, I tell the kids to stop doing this stuff, even though it probably won't cause any problems, it's just I feel like I have to. I now get that adult mindset of needing to stop kids from getting into trouble, stuff I may do on my own when no one's there, I'll stop the kids from doing. It makes me feel old, because I've become the authority when it seems like I was just the one watching people my age get called out for causing trouble.

I know I'm not old in the grand scheme of things, but there's definitely an impending feeling of adulthood coming on. Two years from now, I'll probably have a 'real job,' I won't be in school and I'll have to support myself. If I think about how quick the past two years have gone, to think I'll be finished school then, it's a bit frightening.

But, at the same time, I feel like all this school is just a prelude to the real world, and it's about time to get there. And, I want to see what sort of job I end up with and what happens when I graduate. Everything so far is basically the standard route, high school to college, but after that, who knows what'll happen?

And hopefully by the time I graduate, this graphic novel will be finished and successful. My first goal with the book is just to complete it and be able to point to my shelf and say, 'see that book, I wrote that.' Second would be to sell enough copies to support another graphic novel.

So, amidst all this, I've also started editing the film I made on break, which was also lying dormant for a long time. It's a pretty good looking film, and I'm psyched to see what I can make of the footage.

It seems like I spend all my time living in fictional worlds, writing it, filming it and watching it. I guess spending the summer making comics and movies, and even being paid for the latter, professionally speaking, it couldn't be much better.

Six Feet Under: 'Time Flies'

Another day, another episode. It's been a long time since I've had new episodes of something this good coming in on a regular basis. Six Feet Under is such a layered, well made series, it really makes almost every other show look like it's not even trying. When watching the show in 'binge' form last year, I saw things mainly in terms of the big picture, the overall character arcs and direction of the season, so I lost the sense of each episode as an individual entity. Even though everything is totally continuous, it's really interesting to see the way that each episode goes a way towards forwarding the story, and creating parallels within each 'chapter' of the story.

This episode is notable for bringing all the characters together, putting their problems into slightly different perspective. The first chunk doesn't have too much notable stuff, the funniest bit was David and Keith's day with the kids. It was a hilarious story, though I was expecting the bad experience David had with these children to cause him to second guess his own desire for kids.

The real 'meat' of the episode was the party scene, which was notable for both how heavy and dramatic it was, and how funny it was. First, the funny bits. The cake scene was hilarious, the way everyone was enjoying cake so much that Claire just has to say fuck it, give me a piece. There was also the George/Billy discussion, and the presence of Tom, Nate's friend from two episodes ago, who got some really funny material. Jokes like the bathroom line are funny here because of how dramatic everything else is. It's the contrast, not the material itself that works.

But, despite any good times there might be, we ultimately end up with darkness, as a number of couples have arguments. I'm always rooting for Nate and Brenda to be together, but I still found their arguing here really interesting. Following the conversation with his father, Nate is starting to question what he had taken for granted. Is he getting into another Lisa-like situation, where he marries Brenda, has a kid with her, and then winds up feeling trapped and unhappy? Just like Brenda provided an out he could always use, his relationship with Maggie seems to be developing into something more than just friends.

I don't see Alan Ball going down the route of having Nate sleep with Maggie, because it would be rather predictable. I think it would be really interesting for them to have a platonic relationship that becomes very close, and causes Brenda to become jealous. I think she, and the audience, always assumed that her and Nate would be together, Lisa was a temporary stopover, but could she stand to be the like Lisa, someone who's become so normal and suffocating that Nate has to find his mental and emotional stimulation somewhere else? I don't know, but we're clearly headed for some major trauma, as Nate is starting to lose it, even as Brenda seems to be increasingly stable.

Elsewhere, Claire and Billy are having problems as well. I found it a bit disturbing that Claire would sleep with the forty-something divorcee, but I think it works for where her character is now. She'd broken ties with her home, assuming that she could live with Billy. However, when Billy starts to break down, she finds she has nowhere to go. Could Claire move back home, or is she going to have to set out on her own, and probably have to enroll in school again. I don't see her lasting too much longer with Billy, but what effect losing Claire will have on Billy is where things could get interesting.

I like the way the George storyline is being played from both sides more now. We still see how Ruth suffers, but also the fact that George desperately wants to be better, he just can't be. I like the way the conversation between George and Billy sets up Ruth and Claire as parallel characters.

Then with Keith and David, there's still some lingering questions about Keith's sexuality. It seems like the reason David may be so resistant to the surrogate is that that would set up Keith as the father, this woman as the mother and leave him with no role. An adoption would serve as a more 'legitimately gay' way to have a child. The scene with Keith and Brenda presented Keith as a father in the context of a heterosexual coupling as opposed to a homosexual one.

So, this is sort of the blow up that things have been building to for a while, but not too much has actually changed. I guess the real test will be in the next episode when we find out the effect that these arguments have on the relationships in question.

Friday, August 05, 2005

Six Feet Under: "Hold My Hand" (5.3)

Well, after an absurd delay of two months, which seemed like barely any time, I'm back on the wagon, or off the wagon, and have finally seen a new episode of Six Feet Under, the third episode of the fifth season, 'Hold My Hand.' It's really difficult to objectively address this episode because part of me is just so damn happy to finally see a new episode. Still, sometimes time absence does not make the heart grow fonder for a series, what will it be in this case?

Well, I really enjoyed this episode, it felt good to be back in the world of SFU, and while it's certainly not one of the best episodes of the series, it's one of those necessary episodes that advances the plots to the point where major events can occur in future episodes. It's critical to view series like Six Feet Under as one big story told in chapters. So, some chapters will have a lot of big events, some won't, but there's no need for each chapter to really tell a story in and of itself. This is an episode that you wouldn't really remember when your each the end of the season, but I'd imagine will be crucial in furthering the character arcs.

And, in this show, the characters are so interesting that spending an hour with them is something I love to do. The best series reach a point where the characters can be doing the most mundane things and the show is still riveting. Buffy is a good example, I loved when they scaled back the slaying bits, and focused on the characters. In this show, the funeral services used to serve as the standalone plot for each episode, but any plot other than personal issues has basically been removed from the series.

This is something that bothers a lot of people, who say things along the lines of lighten up and stop whining. It's true that the early years of the show were much lighter, but if you're going to have bad things happen to the characters, it wouldn't make sense to have them be carefree. I guess what the complaint is is that there used to be a balance between the darkness and the lighter material, but I still get a lot of laughs from the show. It's just that the laughs are more isolated amidst a core of darkness.

But what about this episode? I find it interesting how in this season every plotline revolves in some way around wanting to have children and the affect of parenting. David and Keith are struggling to get a baby for themselves, while Nate and Brenda deal with the difficulties of carrying a child to term. On some level, they all see a child as a chance to make up for their mistakes and reinvent themselves. For David, it will legitimize his life as a gay man, Keith will get a chance to be a different, better father than his own. For Brenda, having a child would complete her transformation from rebellious and wild to domestic, it would make her pure again and erase the things she'd done in the past. But, Nate's thoughts here tell us that he doesn't think she can do that, she's not a domestic, and never will be. I found that scene a bit cheesy in context, but it says so much about the character's state of mind that I'm glad they included it.

But, this entire mindset is called into question by Maggie, with her tale of losing her son at age two. The idea that these characters' greatest hope could become their greatest tragedy creates a foreboding around all the events that follow.

Then, there's the difficulty of being a child and dealing with parents. George is still dealing with the awful treatment he got from his mother, and now he wants to hide his weakness from Ruth, fearing that she will abandon him as his mother did. I like the idea that because of his disease, his timeline will break down and Ruth and his mother will become esssentially one person.

Claire also is struggling with Ruth, wanting to be truly independent, but ironically the only route to independence is through her father's trust fund. Ruth is on the defensive in both storylines. I loved the scene where she argues with Claire, the history between the characters is what gives it such power.

Claire's storyline was one of the highlights of this episode. Since I'm still young, it's a bit tough to relate with all these characters' desire for children. So, the fact that Claire wasn't going after a kid was refreshing. I love her breakdown in the camera store, the way she feels that she's entitled to this money, and is totally unable to see why anyone wouldn't want her to have it. She's created an entire world around herself in which she is learning from real life experience, with no mind to the fact that society basically requires you to have a college degree. And now that Billy is off his meds, she's got the perfect counterpart to live in this fantasy with. The Sharper Image scene at the end is a great way of making us wonder about how long Billy can last without his meds.

The other highlight of this episode was the Rico storyline. His affair at the Quality Inn was hilarious, largely because of Illeana Douglas, who plays the scenes to the extreme. Her enthusiasm was a great contrast to the dour mannered behavior of everyone else in the episode. The details were what made this story, with the fritos, and particularly the reference to the orange crackers. It was also nice to see Rico's skill rewarded.

The other scenes I really liked were Brenda's, particularly the dinner scene, where she sees, perhaps for the first time, a 'real family,' that loves each other and is fully functional. I think she would have rejected this idea of family as a 'cliche' that doesn't exist, but there it is in front of her, and this forces her to reevaluate what she wants from her relationship with Nate. What it comes down to is does she really want to lead a family life, and if she doesn't, how long will it take for her to revert to who she once was?

So, there's a lot to deal with, and luckily I've got episodes 4 and 5 on tape, so those reviews will be coming up later this weekend, and from there, I'll have to get people to tape the other episodes for me. I should be caught up pretty soon. But, sadly, there's not that many episodes left, and I'm dreading that final fade to white which means the end of one of the greatest TV shows ever made.

Wednesday, August 03, 2005

Wong Kar-Wai Day

Well, tomorrow finally sees the domestic release of Wong Kar-Wai's brilliant film, 2046. I saw the film back in January, on an import DVD from Hong Kong, and then I saw it again in June, at the Wong Kar-Wai Q&A event at Lincoln Center. Still, despite having seen the film a number of times, I'm going to go back for another viewing on the big screen. I'd never seen a WKW movie in the theater before, and it was an incredible experience, you truly are immersed in another world of glamour and sadness.

Wong Kar-Wai is probably the world's best director right now, his films are incredibly beautiful, and tell stories that are linked more by visual and musical connections than a strict narrative, and in that sense he's taking full use of the storytelling properties of the medium. So, if you haven't seen 2046, or even if you have, go back for another viewing on the big screen, and be dazzled by the images.

I've been reading some of the reviews of the film here in the US press, and most of them like the film, but express the feeling that it's somehow superfluous, that he's not doing anything new. This is a valid complaint, 2046 is largely a summation of everything that WKW has done to date, and on the surface it is. This film is virtually a remake of Days of Being Wild, but while the plot is roughly the same, the emotional state of the characters is totally different. For one, there's the spectre of Chow's relationship with Su Li-Zhen, Maggie Cheung casts such a shadow over this film, that despite only appearing in it for roughly a minute, her presence is felt in every scene, and we view all the women Chow meets in terms of how they compare to Su Li-Zhen. That's the point, this guy is trapped in the past, he constructs a fantasy world in fiction, where he can recapture his lost memories, but when he tries to recapture the same memories with real women, he finds they can't live up to his idealized memory.

So, this film is much more tragic than Days, which despite the main character's death, has a sense of youthful optimism with the other characters, you feel like their lives will go on and get better after the film. In this film, Chow's unfeeling treatment of the women has scarred them and with Zhang Ziyi, he has created a new version of himself, someone who will use men in the same way that Chow uses women. The ending of the film is almost apocalyptic, as Tony Leung lies slumped over in a cab, completely alone, a sad contrast to the scenes in Happy Together and In the Mood where he's riding with someone.

Basically, what I'm saying is this is a film that on the surface seems similar, but beneath is totally innovative and new, with much more scope than any previous WKW flick. It's also a film that demands multiple viewings. On the first viewing, it's confusing, and this can dull the emotional impact, but if you watch it again, and are aware of the chronology, it's much more powerful. That's one of the problems I have with film critic reviews, they've only seen the film once, I don't think you can truly evaluate a film until two viewings. 2046 is going to be a film that'll be much more appreciated in the future, once it no longer has to deal with the expectations created by its five years in production. But, right now, I'd call it WKW's third best film, and a film that takes full use of the possibilities of the medium. Other than Revenge of the Sith, it makes every other movie released this year look like it's not even trying.

So, as I did with Richard Linklater a few weeks ago, here's an index of all the stuff I've written on Wong Kar-Wai here on the blog. There's quite a few articles, and you can see my journey from WKW newbie to WKW expert. But, you could know everything about the man, there's still some mystery in those films.

Days of Being Wild Review (First Viewing): 11/21/2004
Fallen Angels: 12/10/2004
2046 Review (First Viewing): 1/4/2005
In the Mood For Love (Deleted Scenes): 1/9/2005
Chungking Express Review: 1/14/2005
Ashes of Time Review: 4/20/2005
Days of Being Wild (Second Viewing): 4/28/2005
Happy Together: 5/5/2005
2046 Review: Screening with Wong Kar-Wai: 6/16/2005

Those are the core posts, then here's some more articles that mention WKW films.

My Favorite Actresses
My 2004 Oscar Nominations
Top 10 Films of 2004
What makes an action movie work?

Sunday, July 31, 2005

Brian Bendis Syndrome

So, watching Elephant and the Bad News Bears, I saw two very different works from directors who started out as indie filmmakers and have gone on to flirt with the mainstream. In recent years, most filmmakers start out not within the studio system, but as indie directors, who are then offered studio support for their next project. As a wannabe director, I'm always fascinated to see what people do as they move from the independent scene to the studio system. A lot of the time, it isn't good. And this just isn't in films, it's also in comics, most notably in the sad tale of Brian Michael Bendis, a man who became the most powerful writer in comics, but along the way, lost his soul...

Well, he didn't exactly lose his soul, but his tale still is quite interesting. In the late 90s, Bendis was a writer/artist, publishing his books through small publishers. He did a number of books, but his two most successful were Jinx and Goldfish. These were two serialized noir graphic novels that he wrote and drew. I'm a huge fan of both books, the art is really innovative, and the stories are emotionally engaging. Both books are just well told original tales, something that there isn't enough of in comics.

So, Bendis was a unique new voice in the medium, with the potential to be the next Frank Miller, a writer/artist who would change what the medium could do, or at least create some cool noir comics. Bendis' books were picked up by Image Comics, and published under that banner, along with a new series called Powers, which is about cops in a world of superheroes. It's a pretty solid book, that riffs on all kinds of archetypes from years of comics. So, Bendis was on a roll.

In 2000, Marvel was starting up a new line of comics, which would reinvent their characters for a new generation, in a new continuity. They went to Bendis to write Ultimate Spider-Man, a controversial pick, but one that was generally hailed, Bendis was seen as someone who could bring an indie sensibility to this mainstream comic, someone with a more unique than your average Marvel writer.

So, in the five years between the start of Ultimate Spider-Man and the present, Bendis has become Marvel's lead writer, with four or five books going at once, all set in the Marvel universe, except for Powers, which continues. Bendis hasn't stopped being a good writer, his Daredevil is excellent, and Ultimate Spider-man has its moments, though the early issues are much stronger than the recent stuff. I haven't read much of Bendis' recent Marvel output, like New Avengers or House of M, but going off his other Marvel stuff, I'd imagine it's competent, entertaining stuff that lacks the originality and emotional bite of his early, creator owned stuff.

Bendis seems to have become so enamored of writing in the Marvel universe, writing the characters he read as a child, that he's forgotten the virtue of creating an original story. Alias, a book about a private eye in the Marvel universe, has some good character stuff, but it's an exercise similar to Powers, the entire pleasure is in seeing how two disparate genres mash together. And with House of M, Bendis is writing an entirely conventional superhero story, one that hasn't been getting particularly good reviews.

So, Bendis went from innovative indie comics writer to someone whose only book not set in the Marvel universe is a riff on superhero universes. I'm not saying that doing work in the Marvel universe is pointless, or that working within the superhero genre is a bad thing. Grant Morrison is someone who frequently works within the Marvel or DC universe, and the work he does there is frequently some of his best. But, first, step back and consider how the story of Bendis is not unique to comics.

Music is the medium where an artist is most frequently accused of selling out, but I think it's the medium where selling out is much less of a concern. In comics, a lot of creators have this desire to write the characters they grew up on, and end up writing only those books, as in the case of Bendis. In film, it's a bit more complex. Other than Bond, there's no franchises that are ongoing and always switch directors. But the Bendis problem still exists.

Take a look at the career of Brian Singer. This is a guy who came to prominence with the film, The Usual Suspects. I think it's an overrated movie, but it's still original and stylish. After Suspects, Singer made Apt Pupil, a film that wasn't too successful. However, his big change happened with X-Men, he directed the film and it was a big hit, so he was hired to do the sequel. After X2, he was booked for X3, only to leave that to direct the new Superman film. Much like Bendis, this was a guy who started out doing small indie films, and in a short amount of time finds himself working exclusively on corporate properties.

Superman Returns is symptomatic of an increasing problem in film. As directors become more powerful, you'll see a lot of them do vanity projects in which they pay homage to a film they loved in their youth. With Superman Returns, Singer's goal is to recreate the feeling of the 1979 Superman movie, a film that's not that good, and isn't even that old. Why not come up with a new take on the character instead of making a slavish homage to a work that is by no means the definitive take on the character. Similarly, Peter Jackon's King Kong is a salute to a film he loved in his youth, but why salute it by just making it again, knowing that you'll probably never match the original. The worst of these was the shot for shot Psycho remake, by Gus Van Sant, an utterly pointless film.

I think the goal as a filmmaker should not be to remake the films you liked when you were young, instead to try and capture the feeling they gave you and update that into a new film. Look at Star Wars, Lucas set out to remake Flash Gordon, but he couldn't get the rights, so he made an original story that does so much more, and has become a totally unique piece of cultural mythology, while the 1980 Flash Gordon remake occasionally turns up on Saturday afternoon TV. He did the same thing with Indiana Jones, rather than remaking an adventure serial, he takes the best elements of them and creates the definitive version. Tarantino's Kill Bill is another example. These works go beyond their inspiration, rather than just trying to recapture the feeling of something that's already been made.

Did all these directors really get into filmmaking to remake movies they liked as a kid? Did Bendis get into comics to write yet another bloated Marvel crossover?

Things are really different in indie comics and indie film. It's conceivable that all Brian Singer wanted to do was make comic book movies, and he made his early stuff as a way of making his name, so he could get the budget for these films. For the successful indie filmmaker, the time always comes when they get studio funding for a film, and looking at this transition movie is critical to seeing what kind of director they want to be. For Kevin Smith, the restraint of Clerks totally falls away when he makes the generic teen comedy, Mallrats. However, Richard Linklater keeps his indie sensibility and fits it into a slightly more traditional narrative structure in Dazed and Confused. Linklater has generally remained more independent than Smith, who has made plays for the mainstream, retreating to more indie work when he fails, as in the case of Chasing Amy and the upcoming Clerks sequel. Clearly Smith's indie work is better than his mainstream films, so why does he keep making stuff like Jersey Girl?

Ultimately, a director's path may not be theirs to choose. For indie directors who succeed making studio films, it's difficult to get back on the indie path. If Superman Returns is a huge failure, Singer may go back to smaller movies, but for now, he's carried along on the momentum of his big budget success. Look at David Lynch's career, if Dune had been a success, he would have made a sequel to it, and from there, he might have taken on another big studio franchise, and never made Blue Velvet or Twin Peaks. Then, we'd have David Lynch, mainstream director, with that one wacky indie film, Eraserhead behind him. Similarly, Kevin Smith would likely never have made Chasing Amy if Mallrats had succeeded.

It seems that failure is the best way to get a director away from the mainstream. All directors who have flirted with mainstream, but remained independent have had one big failure that forces them back to the indie world. Look at Gus Van Sant, after the failure of Finding Forrester, a totally mainstream film, he took stock and went back to the indie world, with his most indie films yet.

In comics, I think the biggest problem is that people start writing with the end goal of writing the superheros they knew as a child. If you look at Bendis' output, it would seem that he has reached his goal, the original work serving merely as a stepping stone to his time on Daredevil. The main difference between comics and film is that in terms of story content, indie comics have no budget restrictions, it's all what you can imagine, so there's no need to get a bigger budget to tell your story, if you've got a story to tell, you can do it just as easily on your own as you can with Marvel. However, if your story involves Wolverine, you do need Marvel.

So, indie comics creators will make their own book as a way to get attention and then wind up writing superhero comics down the line. Unfortunately, to a mainstream audience, a book like Jinx is much more accessible than House of M, that's where the comics marketplace is skewed. What is so called 'mainstream' (i.e. the superhero comic) is actually a genre that has taken over the whole medium. That's not to say that superhero stories aren't popular, in films almost every successful action film this summer has some ties to the genre. Even critically mauled films like Fantastic Four can be saved by their comics connections, while a film with slightly better critical reaction, The Island, just dies, because it has no built in audience.

But, the basic point is, now that he has the ability to do whatever book he wants, what is that drives Bendis to write only Marvel books? Doesn't he have any of his own stories to tell, a story that doesn't involve costumed people fighting evil. Maybe that's what he wanted to do all along, but I'd like to think that people would rather bring original characters and stories into the world, rather than just rework pre-existing concepts.

In film, Chris Nolan may have made a faithful Batman movie, but he didn't add anything to the character as Tim Burton did with Batman Returns. Batman Returns used the character as a way to explore issues really close to Burton, Nolan changed his style to fit the material, while Burton fit the material into the style. Most people don't go Burton's route. What Burton did is the same thing as Morrison did with the X-Men, he used the characters to explore things that were really interesting to him, he didn't worry about what had come before, he drew on the archetypes, and ended up writing much better comics than people who were dreadfully faithful to the material.

Saturday, July 30, 2005

Gus Van Sant's Elephant

I've been reading a lot about Last Days, the new film from Gus Van Sant, and that prompted me to check out his previous film, Elephant. Last Days is supposed to go wide next week, so if it doesn't make it to Westchester, I'll head into New York City to see it. Anyway, the film has received generally very positive reviews, but also a number that call it one of the worst movies ever, and a complete waste of time. These are similar reviews to what Elephant got, and after seeing Elephant, I can definitely understand why people would say this. That said, I would call Elephant a great movie, and one of the few recent American films I've seen that really does something new and exciting with the medium.

I've already written extensively about how bad the current state of mainstream American film is, most notably here, and a lot of those points apply to the so called 'independent film' world too. A film like Sideways might be a good story, but it's not a great film, and it's not much different from a Hollywood film. Sideways is the sort of thing the studios should be making, but because they're not, the indie film community has had to move towards the mainstream. There's nothing wrong with making films that appeal to the mainstream, my favorite film of this year so far is Revenge of the Sith, which is also by far the highest grossing movie of the year. But, Sith is also a film that really pushes the medium in a new direction, using digital filmmaking techniques better than anyone has in the past.

Elephant also pushes the medium in a new direction, though this film innovates through narrative construction rather than through technical advances. Elephant tells the story of a fairly ordinary day at a generic high school, drawing on some of the high school archetypes, but also creating less easily definable characters. The marketing for this film reveals the ending, but this is a movie where knowledge of what will happen actually benefits the film. If you don't know where things are going, it would be easy to wonder why we're seeing what we are, but knowing where things are going lends an air of menace to all these ordinary events, and in each emotional slight, we see the potential seed for the destructive violence that ends the film.

The first three quarters of this film are devoted to showing us totally ordinary lives, giving us snapshots of a number of characters from across the school. The film that this most reminded me of is Frederick Wiseman's documentary, 'High School.' This was a cinema verite piece that just followed a bunch of students, teachers and parents through their day at the school. There's no narrative, just a bunch of scenes from ordinary life. The film features a lot of long takes and tracking shots through the halls that are essesntial to Van Sant's film.

The fact that this film reminded me of a cinema verite documentary is perhaps the best compliment I could give to Van Sant's movie. The characters aren't developed, but that's not the point of the movie, there's no need for exposition or narrative development. We're just dropped into these people's lives and go along with them as omniscient observers. The film is quite different from Hollywood cinema in that there are no character conflicts or goal based narrative. The people in the film may want things, but they're no pursuing them today, instead they're just going about their ordinary lives.

This is a film that is going to be hated by your average filmgoer. Running a film series this summer, I've noticed that most people have little tolerance for films that aren't based around a specific narrative. I guess I've been conditioned by so many years of film study to view a film as simultaneously a narrative and a stand alone piece of visual art. Something doesn't necessarily have to happen in every scene, just setting a mood or showing us a cool image can be enough. But, for a lot of people, there is the need for a more concrete narrative, for a film to have a clear direction. When we showed the movie Safe, people weren't able to sit through the scenes that establish what Carole's life is like, they weren't open to creating a mood through scenes that aren't directly related to the story. So, even though I may crack on mainstream Hollywood, they know what they're doing. People have been geared to expect the three act, goal based narrative, and films have to deliver them.

I feel like the only time people accept scenes that are superfluous to the narrative is if they're action scenes. A half hour long car chase is perfectly acceptable, but a five minute tracking shot of a kid walking down a hall is pointless and a waste of time. I could lament the lack of appreciation for film art, but it basically comes down to the fact that most people view film as a way to tell a story, they're not particularly interested in technique, they have to be hooked by a story. That's why movies are made the way they are, and no matter how great his films are, someone like Wong Kar-Wai isn't likely to get mainstream acceptance. Still, I feel like enjoying film as just a story is a much less rewarding experience than learning to appreciate artier movies. When I watch a great film, it sticks with me, while I feel like people who watch the movie just for the story aren't as deeply affected by the experience.

Anyway, the reason I love Elephant is the very loose narrative construction. The long tracking shots really put you in the mind of the characters, you get to know the people by the way they walk through the halls and how they interact with those around them. Seeing Michelle awkwardly run down the hall, ducking out of the way of Eli and Jon tells you everything you need to know about who she is and how she feels. It's also interesting how Van Sant plays with time. In a number of cases, we'll see the same event multiple times, from different perspectives. This is most notably used early in the film, when we see Eric and Alex wearing camo and carrying a bag into the school, but it's not followed up on. Later, we see Eric and Alex's story, and they eventually end up at the school carrying that bag, and we see what follows. So, Van Sant creates suspense by having us wonder, are these the people who shoot up the school, when's it going to happen? By the time we reach that moment again, we understand what they're planning to do, and this previously mysterious, but innocuous moment becomes the harbinger of death.

From a technical point of view, the long takes in this film are amazing. I'm a huge fan of the long take, because it really does put you in the world of the film and the mind of the characters. It's used to astonishing effect in Irreversible, where the long take can be used to both show the hellish confines of the Rectum, and the beautiful tender moments shared between Alex and Marcus. What the long take does is show you the moments that a film normally skips over. You get a better sense of environment and a deeper understanding of how a character conducts themselves in everyday life. In this film, almost every shot is a long take, and there's no shot/reverse shot used at all. The challenge is using the long take is to keep things interesting for the audience, and Van Sant pulls it off.

The film ends with violence, as Eric and Alex decide to shoot the students at the school. Even though I knew going in that this would happen, it seems jarring when it finally does, in the great shot of Michelle's blood hitting the bookcase. That's a testament to the filmmaking skill, despite the fact that we're waiting the entire movie to see this violence, it becomes almost unneccesary because the simple act of watching an ordinary day has become enough for the movie.

Still, the way in which the violence is depicted makes the school shooting essential to the film. Most movies, even ones that are making a statement against violence, present it in a way that it's viscerally exciting. Going back to Irreversible, the fire extinguisher sequence is not advocating for violence, but at the same time, there's clearly a certain joy taken in depicting the violence and we can enjoy it at the same time as we're being disgusted by it. Elephant presents violence as cold and real. Characters are gunned down, not to the sounds of Adiago for Strings, or in graphic slow motion, they're just shot and they fall to the ground, a completely ordinary event.

At the end, there's a great sequence where we see one student standing amidst the destruction, we follow him, leading us to believe that he's going to perhaps stop the violence, and try to be a hero, instead we follow him until he finds Eric, at which point he stops and is killed. It's messing with our expectations in a really interesting way.

The film's final moments provide no real resolution, we can assume that Alex will kill Carrie and Nathan, and then kill himself, but we're not really sure. Either way, I like the fact that the film ends not with any reassuring aftermath, instead it's just the reality of the event itself and we're left to fill in the blanks on what will happen next. You could criticize the film for not giving you a resolution, or closure, but the whole point is to show the reality of this event, not the blown up version the media will concoct after, as they struggle to figure out what could drive 'normal' kids to commit this act of violence.

The film flirts with some of the suggested reason for the Columbine shooting, with the Hitler TV segment and the first person shooter, but in the end, there's no real culprit other than the oppressive world of high school itself. All these characters hurt as they move through a social bubble, and it's the feeling that there's nothing outside that ultimately leads them to conclude that by killing their fellow students, they can destroy the world that has made their lives so hellish.

Are there flaws with this film? I thought the scene where the girls throw up their lunch felt a little unrealistic. Maybe this does happen and I just missed it, but it seemed to belong more in a film than in real life, unlike the rest of the piece, which was very realistic. I think Van Sant could have shown the pressure to keep a certain body image without resorting to the melodramatic vomiting. Also, the shower scene felt a bit off, but I don't think it really harmed the film.

On the whole, this is top notch filmmaking. It's like no other movie I've ever seen, perfectly capturing the real dynamics of high school and giving us a window into many lives. The film felt real, and the depiction of violence was one of the most realistic depictions I've ever seen. It's clearly not for everyone, but I love what Van Sant does with the medium, and I can't wait to see Last Days.

Friday, July 29, 2005

Bad News Bears

A few days ago, I promised to write a review of Richard Linklater's new film, Bad News Bears. I saw the film Monday, and the time has now come to review it. Quite frankly, this isn't a very good film, it's not a bad film, but coming from Linklater, you just expect more. It's not as bad as The Newton Boys, but it's his second weakest film, and certainly his most generic film, there's nothing uniquely Linklater about this.

As an auteur work it fails, as a film it's decent entertainment. The story is good, if cliched, and you do get caught up in the travails of the team. There were a lot of bits that had me laughing and Billy Bob Thornton is always entertaining to watch. The problem was too much time was spent with the kids and not enough with Billy Bob. It's largely a repeat of Thornton's Bad Santa schtick, only on a much lighter level, he never gets a chance to be really bad. That's understandable, this is a kid's movie, while Bad Santa wasn't, but still, a little more Billy Bob would have been nice. One of the best scenes was when Liz Whitewood propositions him for sex, and he has an awkward conversation with his son about why he's there.

But, there's just way too much time spent with the kids. In School of Rock, Linklater kept the focus on Jack Black and used the kids primarily as the straight man for him to play off of. Here, towards the end, Thornton becomes the straight man and the kids are the entertainment, only they're not very entertaining. Plus, in School of Rock it was entertaining to watch the kids play music, while watching the kids play baseball doesn't have the same inherent appeal.

Approaching it from an auteur perspective, I just can't see why Linklater would make this movie. It's not original or particularly meaningful, it's a throwaway you can barely remember once you walk out of the theater, and that's quite disappointing. In Dazed and Confused or School of Rock, he was able to craft mainstream movies that were clearly the products of an auteur. Here, he fails to do that, and winds up with a film that could have been directed by anyone. Considering Linklater is arguably the best American director out there today, coming off one of the best films of all time, Before Sunset, it's disheartening to see this utterly pointless movie. Still, at least A Scanner Darkly is on the way, a film that looks totally unique and has the chance to be a major leap for Linklater as an auteur.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me

Yesterday I watched one of my favorite films, Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me. It's a film that was critically drubbed when it was first released, largely because it's totally dependent on knowledge of the series to understand it. I would argue that Fire Walk With Me is the film with the smallest target audience ever released, you have to have seen every episode of the series to really understand it, and considering the erratic scheduling of the second season, it's unlikely that a lot of people had seen it all when the film was released.

So, when I watched the film this time, it was quite different than watching it after seeing the series. The film works best as a coda to the series, simultaneously a beginning and ending, and it really helps to be in the Twin Peaks mindset. Going into the film having not seen the series in a while, I didn't find it as emotionally affecting as I did on the other viewings.

But because I wasn't so emotionally caught up in the events, I was able to step back and examine the filmmaking more, and really observe how unique a narrative this film has.

Back to the genesis of this film. I'm a huge fan of television because of the storytelling possibilities it offers. To be able to unfold a story over many hours affords the possibility for greater narrative depth than film can offer. You can go further in developing characters and creating huge storylines. However, most TV shows don't take this opportunity and instead struggle to maintain a status quo, or just choose to ignore the past. David Lynch is not someone generally renowned for his narrative clarity, but with Fire Walk With Me he draws on the events of the series to create a fully layered backstory (techinically forwardstory) for the film. We know the world and the characters, so the joy in Fire Walk With Me is to finally find out what it was that killed Laura. There's no question about how it's going to end, we're basically watching this girl freefall until she burns up, because the angels have gone away.

The mere fact that this film exists still astonishes me. It's so insider, and features one of, if not the strangest narrative structures in any mainstream movie. First, there's no attempt to catch up people who haven't seen the series, there's no background on the mechanics of the world, such as what this red room is, the significance of the one armed man or why Cooper is in the Red Room despite previously being seen in the FBI Office. Lynch assumes that you've seen the series and know it by heart, and I love that. It's much better to cater to fans than to try to make the film accessible to new viewers, and end up annoying long time fans in the process. It's not just general concepts that the film draws on, characters who appeared in only a few episodes, like the Chalfonts, become major figures in the film, and the entire mythology of the red room requires multiple viewings to figure out. I'm still not sure exactly what was going on there, but it's ultimately up to each viewer to find something that works for them.

So putting aside the fact that the film requires prior knowledge of 29 episodes from the TV series, there's the fact that the film's narrative structure is really odd. The first time I saw the film, I felt the opening episode with Chet Desmond was a waste of time, but looking at it now, it's one of my favorite things in the film. In the opening shot, Lynch destroys a television, symbolically communicating to the audience that this is a different entity from the series, and we're going to play by different rules. Then, we go into the Chester Desmond sequence, which is very odd, but quite enjoyable. You can view it as a parody of the series, instead of a welcoming community, Desmond finds himself in a bizarro Twin Peaks, where getting things done is a huge struggle. This sequence best captures the tone of the series, with its offbeat humor and odd behavior. I love Harry Dean Stanton's characters, including the classic line "That trailer's more popular than uncle's day at a whorehouse."

And then Desmond disappears and never returns, not in the series or in the film. It's a lingering loose end, one that's perhaps best explained by the dream theory, which stipulates that the entire sequence in Deer Meadow and the Philadelphia scenes are actually Cooper's dream. If you watch the scenes, there are a ton of references to dreaming and needing to wake up. I think those scenes being a dream definitely works within the context of the film, and certainly make it a more cohesive entity. The question that arises is, did Lynch intend for them to be a dream? If I had to guess, I'd say no, but the film's out of his hands now, and takes on meanings of its own, regardless of what he intended.

The Philadelphia scene is my favorite thing that Lynch has ever done. It's arguably the most bizarre five minutes in any film ever, with all manner of crazy stuff going on, right from the sudden David Bowie appearance on. I love the way the static cuts into the frame and the Bowie voiceover goes over everything. And then the images are just crazy, the formica table bit, this sequence shows you how film can create incredibly bizarre environments, Lynch is firing on all cylinders there.

I think the crucial thing to keep in mind when watching Fire Walk With Me, particularly if you're not immersed in the world of the series, is that it's not designed to piece together exactly. There's no key to understanding FWWM that will put everything in perspective, as there is for Mulholand Dr. There are elements that are in the film solely for their visual value, and then there's other elements that you have to bring your own meaning to. Viewing this film from a critical perspective, it's easy to fault Lynch for having random strange things occur, but if these elements have value in and of themselves, maybe they don't need to contribute to the narrative. For example, the scene where Leland leaves Teresa and the boy in the mask jumps around in the parking lot as he's leaving. You could say why is the boy there? Why does he disappear? Or you could view it as an example of an incredible visual that gives a sense of foreboding to the scene, regardless of the narrative specifics.

This isn't to say that the elements in the film don't piece together. All the business with the red room makes sense within the context of the series, and certainly works on an emotional level. Though, I'm still wondering what the deal was Judy, who's mentioned by the monkey and Bowie, that's something we may never know.

The reason I'd consider this Lynch's best film is because it's the only film that sucessfully merges the emotionally relevant, character based storytelling of Blue Velvet with the surrealism of Eraserhead. In Mulholland Dr., there are a lot of surreal moments, but the narrative itself is all explainable in real world terms, in FWWM, the action seems to take place in a world where the supernatural is possible and there's not the strict division between reality and the mental realm that you find in MD or Lost Highway. That's not to say these films aren't surreal, or great, it's just that they're based around a central conceit that screws with reality, while FWWM presents a world that seems real, but in fact has a lot of crazy stuff going on beneath the surface.FWWM picks up on the dream inspired drifting consciousness of Henry in Eraserhead, characters appear and disappear and Laura herself wanders through multiple worlds. I love the way he plays with time, having characters from the end of the series appear here at the beginning, most notably Annie, but also Dale in the lodge.

But at the same time, this is the film where Lynch best merges the surrealism and narrative experimentation with strong emotional content. Laura's story is incredibly tragic and disturbing, both in the real world and in the black lodge. Lynch pulls this off again in Mulholland Dr., but not quite as well. There's nothing as intense as the scene at the end where Leland kills Laura, and the angel saves Ronette. MD is a cooler movie, and by cool, I mean there's a slight distance from all the action, only in Club Silencio do we really feel what Diane/Betty feels. Here, we're always there with Laura.

One of the most emotional sequences is also extremely real world, and that's Laura's night of prostitution with Donna. The scene where she hears 'Questions in a World of Blue' and starts to cry is startling and then the 'Pink Room' sequence is some of Lynch's best filmmaking, the driving music and Laura's unhinged demeanor creating a hell on earth. The final shot, where the camera pans over the bottles and cigarettes is great too.

This merging of emotional and surreal storytelling reaches its height in the last scene. After the great garmonbozia sequences, we jump forward 25 years. In the interim, the original red room scene occurs, and Laura tells Dale who killed her. I would say that this time was a penance, resisting Bob is not enough, she must also help bring him to justice, and doing this requires waiting 25 years before she can tell Dale who killed her. Then, we see Cooper with her, and the wonderful image of her rapturous laughter as she finally sees the angel and ascends to the white lodge. Purely symbolic storytelling, and what a close for the film.

What I love so much about this scene is the way it simultaneously provides closure for the series after an earlier scene provides the perfect segue to the pilot. Laura is there with Cooper, and in this moment, the film and series are connected. She looks up and finds her goodness vindicated, and at last, Laura Palmer can rest in peace.

When I first saw this film, I was disappointed that we didn't get to see many of the Twin Peaks residents, or find out what happens after the series, but in retrospect, the series ends perfectly and so does this film. The film brings everything full circle and manages to work as both a perfect closing to the series and perfect beginning to venture into it again. Lynch has crafted a film that can be analyzed until the end of time, because there's no 'trick' as in Mulholland Dr. There's no need to explain everything, because the big picture is right there, but picking apart the details requires a lot of study, and once season two comes out on DVD, I'm going to rewatch the series and do some of that study.

I don't mean to crack on MD, it's no Sixth Sense style twist ending, but I just find what Lynch does in FWWM so compelling and unique, basically any other film compares poorly to it. Mulholland Dr. does have a ton to analyze and is an awesome movie.

But back to FWWM. I hate it that the film is so poorly thought of. Lynch was so popular in the early 90s, that by the time FWWM came out, it was time for a fall and this convoluted, inaccessible movie provided the perfect excuse for media skewering. After this film, Lynch became more interested in playing around with narrative and presenting subjective views of reality, in two incredible films, Lost Highway and Mulholland Dr. But those films are a step back towards conventional narrative after the experimentation of FWWM. There's nothing wrong with that, but with FWWM, the established world of Twin Peaks, gave him a base from which to create a truly experimental, surreal and emotional film that is thankfullly finally getting some of the recognition it deserves. This is an extension of the series, but that doesn't mean that it can't be Lynch's richest, most challenging work as well. It does what film is meant to do, and that's use visuals and sound to elicit an emotional reaction.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Hustle & Flow and Coffee & Cigarettes

Hustle and Flow - This is a film about a pimp with the dream of becoming a rapper. It was a huge hit at Sundance and is now getting a fairly wide release, which it deserves. It seems like every summer, there's a few films from Sundance that make it out and become the token indie that people can go see. Like Garden State, this film isn't exactly two people making a film in their backyard, when Ludacris is in a movie, you're not too indie. Still, it is a film that was made without a studio, which means that the film is a bit more singular vision than a studio film is.

But enough about the behind the scenes, how's the film itself? This is a movie with a fairly cliched story, a story that's the same as countless backstage musicals from the 1930s and 40s, an unknown hopes to make it big musically, but by putting it within the world of a pimp, the story is reinvented to be more relevant to today's audience. Between this, 8 Mile, and the upcoming 50 Cent biopic, it seems that the musical is being reincarnated with hip hop films. Hustle and Flow has a similar plot as 8 Mile, but I think the film is more effective than 8 Mile because you're pulling for the characters more.

In addition to reinventing the backstage musical, the film is a return to the tradition of 70s blaxploitation cinema. The title screen, with its bold yellow letters is pure blaxploitaiton and the presence of Isaac Hayes furthers the connection. Then, there's a top notch 70s inspired score that really helps the film.

One thing that can make a film work is to have the audience really pulling for the characters. All too frequently in movies, you know the outcome, so you're not really concerned when things go bad for a character. Look at the sad montage in any romantic comedy, where the characters are broken up for a bit, even though we know they'll get back together in the end. There are no real negative consequences in the world of those films, however, in this film, things do get bad for the characters and that makes you want them to succeed more. When writing about The Office, I said that you want the characters to succeed because so much bad stuff happens to them that they earn a happy ending, and that's the case here too. DJay may do bad stuff, but you really want him to succeed as a rapper, and any time you really care about a character, your film will be successful, at least on an emotional level.

The best scenes in the film are the ones where DJay and his production team make the music. You really get the sense tha they are creating something and when the song finally works, it's a triumph. Hearing Shug sing the chorus for "Hard out there for a Pimp" is the best part in the film. It doesn't hurt that the rap songs are pretty good. I love when Key is bobbing subtly to the music, he's just really feeling it and that translates to the audience.

As in any film, things go bad, and it's quite a disappointment when you see DJay's demo in the toilet. You want him to succeed so much, because things are so bad for the characters. Like 8 Mile, this demo is his last chance to leave behind a life of poverty, and in the end, it's the music that gives all the characters a higher purpose beyond their boring lives. I really like that message, that creating art can make ordinary life so much more rewarding.

The film's weakness is in the fact that it's really a pretty cliched story. It's just so well told and acted that it totally succeeds as an emotional experience. It earns the happy ending.

Coffee and Cigarettes - This is a film by Jim Jarmusch, consisting of a series of short pieces revolving around the titular two vices. As in any anthology film, there's ups and downs. Looking at it as a whole, it's a really entertaining package, wiith enough great moments to overwhelm the shorts that don't really go anywhere.

The film reminded me a lot of Linklater's work, especially in the early going. Much like Slacker or Waking Life, we get to know a bunch of characters and hear them talk about something they're interested in. There's even some of the metaphysics that Linklater loves, with talk of dreams and Tesla Coils. However, the film lacks the narrative cohesion of Linklater's talking epics, and towards the end, the film becomes much more about comedy than the more lo-fi shorts near the beginning.

But this is actually a good thing. The final shorts present a really interesting comment on celebrity. 'Cousins' tells the story of Cate Blanchett and her cousin, Shelly (also played by Blanchett). They have a really uneasy relationship because of Cate's celebrity, with Shelly viewing any kindness as condescension, such as when Cate gives her a bag of free stuff she got due to her celebrity. Meanwhile, Cate struggles to seem genuinely interested in Shelly's life, even though she's really just killing time before an interview. It's a really uneasy dynamic, and I imagine that's what it would be like if your cousin is a celebrity.

The awkwardness reaches unbelievable heights in 'Cousins?' where Alfred Molina and Steve Coogan meet up. Alfred is very excited because he's discovered that he and Steve may in fact be cousins, but Steve is totally uninterested and in a hilarious exchange, refuses to give Alfed his home number. The interaction here is very real, and nicely exploits social boundaries, there's no acceptable way for Steve to not give Alfred his number and him trying to find a way is hilarious. One of the funniest lines is when Steve says his grandmother loved Alfred in Boogie Nights, clearly unable to remember any other film he was in. Things reverse when Spike Jonze calls Alfred, and Steve is now desperate to befriend Alfred, but can't because he has already offended him. It nicely captures real interaction and is incredibly funny.

My favorite segment was 'Delirium' in which the RZA and GZA of theWu-Tang Clan go to a diner and are surprised to be served by Bill Murray. It's really bizarre comedy, Bill is apparently working at the diner because he's in hiding for some reason and the things they say are just hilarious. It's the broadest piece in the film, but the combination of RZA and Bill Murray really works.

There's some slow parts, some pieces that don't work, but on the whole it's a really fun film that's worth it for the Bill Murray piece alone.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Magnolia: PTA's Masterpiece

Magnolia is my favorite film made during my lifetime. If you look at my top 100 list, you've got Empire Strikes Back and Blade Runner above this film, both obviously great films, but films that are triumphs mainly of world building and plot. Magnolia is a triumph of character development, if I could have made any film that's ever been made, I wish it was this one. I love the way PTA throws everything he's got onto the screen, creating a film that's a symphony of modern existence.

The thing that makes Magnolia so special is the way that it is simultaneously technically astonishing and thoroughly emotionally engaging. You watch this film and you're feeling everything that the characters feel, but if you step back, you can see how PT Anderson has shot the film in such a way as to completely draw you into the emotional lives of these characters.

That's what makes the film different than the work of Altman, who's a widely noted inspiration on Anderson. Altman tells these huge overlapping stories as a way to show the distance between human beings. They may meet and interact, but we stay on the side as observers, essentially getting a God's eye view of what's happening in Nashville, or in Short Cuts, California. Anderson doesn't want us to just be observers, he wants to feel everything that the characters feel, and he wants to show that we're all the same, and we only have to reach to one another, then we're not alone. This causes the film to be radically different, and I would say much better, than the Altman films that inspired it.

I think one of the things that garnered the film a lot of criticism is just how melodramatic it is. The events are massive and the emotions always ramped up to extremes. One of the most notable things about the film is the way that all the events feel like one story, building to a climax, not a bunch of disparate threads. All the characters go through a similar arc, starting out with their depressing mundane lives, then suffering some kind of crisis, reaching a low during the 'Wise Up' sequence.

The 'Wise Up' sequence was my favorite part of the film on the first viewing, the moment when I knew that this movie was something completely unique, a film I would treasure for the rest of my life. The sequence would seem totally ridiculous out of context, but when you get lost in the world of the film, it's exactly what's needed. It's crucial in terms of the narrative because it unites all these characters in a way that they hadn't been united before. They're all feeling the same thing, driving home the point that the film is basically one emotional arc, shared by nine people. The boldness to completely break with what makes sense in favor of presenting something that's emotionally involving is one of the best choices Anderson makes.

At the end of the film, all the characters find a kind of peace. Things may not be perfect, but a lot of the conflict is gone, and nearly all of them have either found someone they can share their emotions with, or at least are able to realize that they are not alone. And after all this darkness, the film's final moment, Claudia's smile tells us that better things are out there. That smile is so good, it inevitably makes me smile myself, it's the perfect emotional catharsis after the dark events of the film. The moment is so good that Joss Whedon 'borrowed' it to use as the final shot of Buffy's last episode. I love the way Anderson lets the music tell the story, we can faintly make out Jim's speech, but the real emotion of it is present in the music, both of them need to save each other, Jim's sealed off, boring life can only be saved by a relationship with the more exciting, but troubled Claudia. Together, they can find a way to help each other open up and become a successful unit. It's all present in the song, and when she smiles, we know she's going to at least give it a try with him.

The film, despite its massive running time, and huge scope, has a rather simple message, explained by two lines at the end of the film. One is when Stanley says, "You should be nicer to me," the other is Jim's question "What can we forgive?"

The two are tied together in the parent/child conflict that drives so much of the narrative. Many of the younger adults in the film, Frank, Donnie and particularly Claudia, have been scarred by parental abandonment or abuse, these old events still casting a huge shadow over the way they live now. For Claudia, it has lead to a life of noncommitment, the abuse cycle continuing in bad relationships with men she meets, and a coke habit. Donnie struggles to keep a job and relate emotionally to people, all the while blaming his problems on the fact that his parents stole his money from him as a child.

Frank is a bit more complex, on the surface he is together, but it seems like he has become a hyper-exaggerated version of his father, a philanderer who left Frank to take care of his mother as she was dying. This abandonment causes him to create a public persona of strength and total control, all built on a lie. He has no true emotional connections in his life, likely because the pain is still too strong.

So, all these characters build their lives out of the trauma they experienced as children. And as adults, they're left with the question of how long can they continue to function this way before they slip further into loneliness. In the course of the film, both Claudia and Frank are given the chance to forgive their parents. Frank receives a call saying that his father wants to speak with him before he dies. Earl never gets to say what he feels, but it is the act of reaching out that makes the difference, and coupled with the interview, forces Frank to confront his feelings. Earl may never know how his son felt, but for Frank, it is an emotional catharsis. His change is most evident in the fact that at the end of the film, he is able to go to the hospital and support Linda, no longer resenting this woman who 'replaced' his mother.

For Claudia, there is no real reachout from her father. Jimmy remains unable to admit what he did to Claudia as a child, claiming to honestly not know whether it happened, something that's clearly a lie when you consider his suicide attempt. Claudia may never be able to forgive her father, the things that he did to her are so painful that he may not deserve forgiveness, but what happens at the end of the film is that Claudia realizes, no matter what her father did to her, she is not a bad person, and she still has people who care about her. At first she runs from Jim, afraid that her bad history will inevitably lead to the destruction of their relationship, even if it also means losing a chance for true love. At the end of the film, it is Jim's kind words, coupled with her mother's support that allows Claudia to break the cycle and take a chance on a relationship that might be more than just a one night stand. When she smiles, the weight of years of pain is lifted and she embraces the change in her life.

Stanely is critical because he shows how a strong person can prevent abuse from happening. He could become Donnie, but rather than allowing his father to control his life, he asserts himself, and claims a unique identity. When he says "Be nicer to me," his father may not listen, but Stanley recognizes that he is not at fault, it's his father who has the problem, and that is a critical distinction. With that self confidence, he can avoid becoming like Donnie, someone who feels utterly defeated by a world 'out to get him.'

Where does Donnie wind up at the end of the film? I think he realizes that he's going down a bad path and is forced to assess his life. His crime is something that we can forgive, and perhaps because of the assistance Jim gives him, he will recognize how close he came to jail, and start to turn his life around. Either way, Donnie has bottomed out, and by now, at least he knows there's a problem, and perhaps more importantly, the kindness that Jim gives him shows him that he is not alone in the world, there are people who will view him as more than 'Quiz Kid Donnie Smith,' and instead see him as a person who has a lot of love to give.

From the point of view of the younger characters, the older generation are monsters, who have unwittingly destroyed their children's lives, with little regard for anything more than their own wants. However, the film also shows the way in which the guilt of their actions has destroyed a number of the characters. They have to question their own behavior and find out what they can forgive themselves for.

The two most explicitly parallel characters in the film are Earl and Jimmy Gator. Earl is the producer of Jimmy's TV show, and the two of them are essentially the same character, just in different stages of development. As Earl is dying of cancer, Jimmy is just finding out that he has it. Both feel incredibly guilty about the lives they led, and the infidelities they've had. Both characters also long to make amends to a child who they've hurt.

At the end of the film, Earl dies without ever being able to resolve things with Frank, however, Frank has found a catharsis. The frog rain stops Jimmy from killing himself, and leaves him the chance to finally admit his wrong and apologize to Claudia. I don't think they can ever have a strong relationship together, but if he actually admits to her he did something wrong, it will leave them both in a better place. So, the frog gives Jimmy the chance to express his remorse, a chance that Earl never got.

The character closest to these two is Linda, who expresses similar regret about her behavior, and longs to come clean with Earl, even though he's too far gone to really understand her. It's difficult to see Earl speaking only of Lily on his death bed, even as Linda is so anguished, because of the pain she felt from screwing around on him. She really loved him, even if he viewed her only as a trophy wife. She, like Jimmy, seeks to kill herself as an escape from the guilt, but is also saved by a random action, namely Dixon stealing her wallet and calling the police for her. This ties into one of the major theses of the film, that small acts of kindness can save lives, this kid is motivated by selfish means, but he isn't going to just let Linda die, and that sacrifice is what ultimately saves Linda, and allows her to resolve her issues with Frank. And by resolving things with Linda, Frank in some ways is able to come to terms with who his father was.

So, forgiveness is a major question. Many of the characters do horrible things, but the film is about the ways in which we can overcome the bad things done to us through acts of kindness, sometimes we have to let things go, and if there's something we can't let go, it's that person's fault, not the victim's.

The importance of human kindness is another critical theme in the film. A major motif is people who are treated like objects, used to further someone's agenda. In Frank's seminar, he approaches relationships as a form of sexual conquest, with no thought about making an actual connection. He reduces women to the status of objects, who can be fooled through his clever strategies.

In this respect, Frank is quite similar to Stanley's father, Rick. Rick views Stanley as an easy cash source, he doesn't take joy from what Stanley is doing, he just wants him to win so he can make more money. This is most likely a result of his frustration with his own failure as an actor. Through his son's media celebrity, he sees the chance to make up for his own lack of success, however that results in him hurting his son and putting the pressure on him that leads to his collapse on the game show set.

Donnie is the result of this sort of pressure, viewed as an object by his parents, he now finds that he has a lot of love to give, but no way to express this love. He has no template for a relationship in which he is viewed as a human being. This is made explicit in the scene where Solomon says that he hired him for his celebrity, not for his skill as a salesman.

So, the primary way to un-objectify someone is to treat them with kindess and understanding. The characters who most notably do this are Jim and Phil. Phil is interesting because he's the one character who doesn't have any personal trauma or desire. His role in the film is solely to help others, and in that capacity, he goes way beyond what is expected of him. As a nurse, his responsibility is solely to care for Earl's medical needs, but in this case, he goes on a strange quest to find Frank. There's the hilarious scene in which he orders porn magazines from a pharmacy, as well as his extended phone conversation with Frank's people. I love the scene where he's talking to the phone operator about his mother's cancer, it's one of the countless scenes in this movie where we see both how much people are connected, and how a small act of kindness can break down the walls that keep us alone.

In the end, Phil is a great example of what Jim is talking about at the end of the film when he describes police work, saying that it's not a job where you take a lunch hour, it's a 24 hour a day endeavor, something that consumes your entire life. Phil stays on, even when his shift is over, because he is emotionally connected to what is going on, what he does matters, and his special commitment to it is what defines him in the film.

But Phil remains rather removed from the action, whereas Jim's life becomes increasingly intertwined with his work, most notably when he asks Claudia out. In Claudia he sees someone who's clearly hurt, but also someone interesting, with the potential for a rich relationship. Even though I love Claudia's character, I'm not sure what Jim sees in her, if I had to guess, I would say that in a world where people wear masks of normalcy, always playing by the rules, she doesn't hide between a calm exterior. She's not the kind of person you're likely to meet from a dating service. The importance of honesty to the relationship is reasserted in the diner scene, when she cites being honest with each other as the best way to avoid the problems that other relationships run into.

However, in this relationship we see the way that an act of kindness really can save someone. Claudia is so committed to avoiding emotional attachment that she pushes away the one person who could actually be good for her. Her whole character is summed up in the quote, "Not that I've met you, would you object to never seeing me again?" She only wants one night stands, not real commitment, because the one man who was a major presence in her life, her father, abused her. She finds comfort in one night stands because it gives her the chance to be loved as an object without giving anything herself. She is so used to being treated like dirt, she can't function any other way. The line she says to Jim that I quoted above is from Aimee Mann's song, Deathly, and another line from that song encapsulates how she feels when she encounters Jim: "Don't pick on me 'cause one act of kindness could be deathly." So, when she encounters someone who actually likes her, she becomes incredibly aware of all her problems and retreats from him so as not to disappoint him down the line.

Jim, while certainly more together than Claudia, still has a lot of his own problems. He was married, but it apparently ended badly and he's remained emotionally isolated for three years. So, he and Claudia are in a similar situation, both of them running from commitment because of a previous emotional trauma. Jim is ultimately the one who reaches out to her and refuses to let her slip away from him, which we see in the brilliant final scene of the film.

So, that sums up the two main thematic issues in the film, what can we forgive and how important a random act of kindness. One of the major questions people have in the film is why are the frogs in it? On one hand, it's an astonishing image and provides for phenomenal moments where the characters observe this bizarre occurrence. The frogs connect them all in the same way that the song and the rain do earlier.

However, the frogs also function as a cathartic event, putting everything in the film in perspective. After seeing the frogs fall from the sky, and the chaos they cause, the problems in the character's lives seem much smaller. It's an example of natural cycles, Earl may die, but it was his time, everyone must die eventually. The frogs take all the characters away from their locked emotional lives and make them more receptive to others.

Even though one of the things I love about the film is the way it elevates individual emotional drama to the level of cosmic importance, for the characters, it's important to step back and see that their problems mean nothing against this bizarre biblical occurrence.

Ultimately, Magnolia works because you can view it simultaneously as a perfectly shot, technically innovative film masterpiece, as well as an emotionally wrenching melodrama. I've always said that I'd love to see a film in the 'epic' genre, but in the modern world, something where an entire world is at stake, like in Lord of the Rings, but set in our modern society. And in a lot of ways that's what this film is. For these characters, the emotional conflicts they face are just as menacing as anything Sauron could throw at us.

Getting back to a critical eye. I need to point out the brilliance of the 'One' sequence, which does an hour of exposition in three minutes, and establishes not only all the characters' personalities and conflicts, but also the film's atmosphere. This is the editing equivalent of the astonishing opening shot that introduces all the character in Boogie Nights. People crack on PT Anderson for making a film that's too big, that says too much, but the thing I love about him is that he makes huge films that are incredibly emotional. You could call it pretentious or overdone, but I don't think there's a false moment in this film.

The cinematography in the film really needs to be mentioned. Just some cool shots: Everyone falling to the side as the ambulance flips over, the silhouette frogs falling behind Claudia, the zoom in to Earl's lungs in the One montage, Jimmy lit in blue in front of a red curtain as he waits to go on stage, the frog falling through the skylight and knocking the gun from Jimmy's hand and of course the final shot tracking in on Claudia and her smile.

Aimee Mann and Jon Brion both deserve to be commended for their musical contributions to the film. 'Save Me' provides a perfect closing for the film, and Brion's driving score keeps all the action connected despite the many plot threads.

Then there's the actors. Everyone is great, but Melora Walters and John C. Reilly deserve special commendation. In Jim, Reilly creates one of the most appealing characters in cinema, someone I completely understood and sympathized with. Walters manages to make Claudia simultaneously totally guarded and completely vulnerable. You really want to help her because you can sense a good person under her bad habits. Philip Baker Hall is also great, showing us what happens when years of bad deeds finally catch up with someone. And it was really cool to see Jason Robards here, after seeing 'Once Upon a Time in the West.' His scenes where even more emotional, because this man who had just been vital and young was now lying in bed, dying. I felt a much deeper connection to the character.

But, everyone in the film really deserves props, it always annoys me to see someone from this film turn up in a bad movie, like Julianne Moore in The Forgotten or Philip Baker Hall in The Amityville Horror, because their work in this film is so good, such formula roles feel like a total waste of time.

If I had to choose one film as an example of what the medium can do in telling stories that no other can, it would be this one. It has the scope of a novel, the incredible dialogue and performances of theater, the visual pleasure of art and the rhythm of music. This is a film that completely changed my ways of constructing narrative. Whenever I would write something before seeing this, it would be limited, focusing on only a couple of characters and one main plot. But, after seeing Magnolia, most of the stories I've written are ensemble pieces, with characters who are connected more by themes than by narrative. Very few works have had such an influence on me, one day I hope to write something that has the narrative scope and emotional precision of this film.

I remember the first time I watched Magnolia, I had sat through three hours and as the camera tracked in on Claudia, I wished the film wouldn't end, not because I wasn't narratively fulfilled, but just because Anderson had built such an incredible world, It's like if you're sitting at a restaurant and you're completely full, but don't want to leave, because the atmosphere there is just so good. It's a three hour film that I wish was longer, I think that says it all about Magnolia.

Richard Linklater Day

Today marks the release of Richard Linklater's new film, The Bad News Bears. Linklater is one of my favorite filmmakers, and one of the few truly unique voices in modern American cinema. Linklater's someone whose career can be pretty easily split into personal films and more general studio stuff. Slacker, Waking Life, the Before duology, these are all more personal/indie stuff, while Newton Boys, School of Rock and Bad News Bears are studio stuff. Not surprisingly, the projects he has written are generally speaking much better. And, coming off perhaps his greatest film, Before Sunset, it's a bit disappointing that he chose to do this remake of the Bad News Bear. But, it is Linklater and I suspect it'll be a fun film. Plus, we've got an awesome film in the future, the animated Philip K. Dick adaptation A Scanner Darkly.

So, a review of Bad News Bears will be on here as soon as I see the film, but in the meantime, peruse some articles from the past that I've written about Linklater.

Finding Meaning in Discussion: On Linklater and the Before Duology
Top Ten Films of 2004
My 2004 Oscar Nominations
Review of The Newton Boys
Review of Suburbia

The first article is essential reading, the others are more peripheral in their discussion of Linklater, but are there for completion sake.

Coming Soon: I rewatched Magnolia Monday and I've been writing up a big piece about that film which should be up soon. When I see Bad News Bears, I'll review that. And perhaps we'll thrown in a personal update on what's up with me. So, look for all that soon.

Monday, July 18, 2005

Once Upon a Time in America

Sergio Leone's filmmaking career concluded with the film, Once Upon a Time in America, a film that's different from everything else I've seen by him, for a number of reasons, most notably the fact that this film isn't a Western. Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West was unquestionably a masterpiece, a film that took full advantage of the medium and featured images that just popped off the screen. It was a completely unique film, like nothing I've ever seen before.

The major problem I had with 'America' was that it felt like I'd seen this film before in a whole bunch of other films. The prohibition era child gangsters struggling to rule a town reminded me a lot of Godfather II, a bit too much. That part of the film, while well made and interesting to watch, just felt too much like something I'd seen before. That's my main problem with the whole film, it feels like a slight variation on stuff that had already been done flawlessly in The Godfather. The style of the two films are very similar, and they're both good, but The Godfather was released first, and I saw it first, so 'America' comes off as a bit of a retread.

But, stepping back a bit, the film is nearly four hours long, one of the longest mainstream movies ever made, and that means that you're forced to approach this movie in a different way than you would a normal length film. Because it's four hours, you get more the sense of going to a world than of watching one story. You see snippets from the life of Noodles, but the narrative is largely episodic, most of the tension comes from trying to figure out what Noodles mission in 1968 is, and seeing what caused the death of Noodles' gang.

The film was never boring, but considering how long it is, I expected a bit more to happen. I admire the creation of a world, that's one of the best things that film can do, but Noodles is a nonentity as a protagonist, and things just happen, there's not much dramatic tension. This is quite different from 'West,' where the tension built up about the Harmonica/Frank confrontation becomes almost unbearable and you're desperate for them to act. Here, you're watching stuff happen, but you don't feel that much stake in the narrative.

So, Leone moves away from a traditional narrative, and instead uses a film to show the life of Noodles as he and Max move from street level child gangsters to prohibition era bootlegging gods. The story of Noodles is a device to show us an overview of the way organized crime and the government have interacted over the course of American history. In the early days, blackmailing a cop can get you the run of the streets, in the 20s, intimidating the police can break up strikes and help gain favors from politications, and by the end of the film, Max has ascended from gangster to politician, not to mention presumed head of the 'legitimate' carting industry. So, as America grows up, its gangsters become its leaders.

But, Noodles never wanted to be anything more than a street level gangster, and that's why he's a powerless old man at the end of the film. He never saw more than the cash in his hands, while Max had vision, his alliances eventually landing him a government position. But, at the end of the film, it's Max who's unhappy, not the powerless Noodles. However, by refusing to kill Max, Noodles for once claims the authority in their relationship.

The film has some very cool visual moments. I loved the scene at the beginning of the film where we start in the 30s with Noodles buying a bus ticket, and then the song 'Yesterday' starts playing and we jump to the 60s in one cut. Really strong use of music. Reading reviews online, a lot has been made of the unique chronological structure. Now maybe at the time it was groundbreaking, but to me, it seemed fairly conventional. We've got a framing device, with the old Noodles, and then he flashes back to different points in his life. It's not particularly confusing, but again, this may be something that's become more popular in recent years, and at the time was very bold. I love multiple time line jumping around, as in a film like The Hours, so I wish the chronologies were a bit more mixed up than they are.

The most interesting relationship in the film was that between the young versions of Noodles and Deborah. There's the beautifully shot ballet scene, and their whole relationship is a sort of hesitant dance, both of them unafraid to express their feelings, something that's not helped by Noodles allegiance to the gang. Jennifer Connelly, of Requiem for a Dream fame, plays young Deborah, and she's great. Elizabeth McGovern, who plays the older version of Deborah is very weak in comparison.

That whole relationship goes awry in the 30s section of the film with a really odd rape scene. I get why it happens, but the reaction of Deborah to the event just feels off. It should be more traumatic than it is, and the lightness with which it's dealt is only magnified by the scene in which Noodles rapes Carol and she ends up liking it, and later dates him. I've never known anyone who's been raped, but if you consider what the act is, this film treats it as something not that bad, and I can't agree with that, especially when you compare it with a film like Irreversible, where the entire plot is about how bad rape is. Deborah seems pretty cool with Noodles in the 60s, and yes, time has passed, but I still think she forgives him too easily. I'm not saying the film has to give the characters legal or moral consequences about the act, but between each other, there should have been something to show that the act does have gravity.

From reading online, I've seen that a lot of people consider the whole film an opium fever dream or vision of the future, citing the 30s cars at Bailey's mansion and the bookending of the film with scenes of Noodles smoking opium. I'm not sure I agree, and even if this is true, does it really matter? When I watched the film, I assumed the 30s cars was just Noodles remembering his past, not as if he's seeing a vision of something from another time. The film could not be just a dream, because of the presence of the song 'Yesterday,' that song means that either he is legitimately seeing the future, or the time periods are just intercut, which is what I assumed after viewing the film. The film isn't shot in such a way that it couldn't all be real.

I think my biggest problem with this film is the same problem I have with The Godfather, Goodfellas and other 'Golden Age' gangster movies. These films all either outright glorify, or at least seem enamored of the ganster lifestyle the characters live, it's all a nostalgic look back. These films, while all masterfully constructed, don't feel particularly relevant to modern life, something that's made all the more apparent by watching the work that was designed as a reaction to these films, The Sopranos.

The Sopranos is all about destroying the gangster mythology and showing us the mob as violence prone extortionists, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. But, more importantly, the show gives us fully realized characters, who aren't just gangsters, they're ordinary people who just happen to make their living in an unordinary way. The best genre fiction is that which uses the genre as a way to make ordinary life seem more exciting, something exemplified by Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which turns an ordinary breakup into a world threatening event. The Sopranos gives the conflict between work and family, and the difficulty of dealing with the mythical past of 'the greatest generation' added urgency by making the stakes life or death instead of just happy or unhappy.

Most importantly, The Sopranos creates characters not archetypes. Tony is one of the most complex characters ever created, he's more developed in the first one hour episode than Noodles is over this entire four hour film. But, perhaps Leone never intended to let us understand Noodles, we just observe him. Observation can work, but really caring about a character almost always produces a more interesting work. We want Tony to do good, and are disappointed in him when he doesn't. With Noodles, we don't really care, we're just watching to see the world that Leone created.

So, The Sopranos punctures the gangster mythology and creates real characters with mundane lives instead of mythic figures. This may be symptomatic of the difference between mediums. Film is designed to create icons, heroes who are unequivocably heroic, but with TV, you spend much more time with these people, so you can't have icons, you need to have people, and people are always more interesting than icons.

Seeing The Sopranos shows that you can have fully developed characters in genre fiction, and Leone doesn't pull that off here. That doesn't mean it's a bad film, it just means that you're more an observer than a participant in the film. It's a very interesting four hours, but there's no real tension, and that hurts the film. Still, you have to admire the fact that this guy can make a four hour film that doesn't really examine any characters and still keep an audience entertained throughout. That's a testament to the power of his images and to just how big the film's scope is.