FILM REVIEW: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

Directed by Stanley Kubrick

* * * *

Are small-fry like myself qualified to credibly discuss a landmark film such as 2001: A Space Odyssey? I don’t know, but then again, I’m not one who’s too concerned about credentials for a topic such as this. Like Citizen Kane or Star Wars, 2001: A Space Odyssey seems to exist less as a film than a legend. It is one of those films that has left such a mark on the art form that nothing has ever been the same, a mark so colossal that to talk about it on its own merits is a difficult task. Five decades later, that task has only gotten more trying.

I may not have anything new to say, but this is still an event that I can’t hold my tongue on: this year has marked the 50^th anniversary of Kubrick’s magnum opus, and it is proven once more that 2001 has aged remarkably well and has lost none of its power as a pure cinematic experience. It is currently making its rounds around the country in the form of a newly restored 70mm print (it just opened in Tucson this past Friday), and these fresh reels shine a glorious light on what makes 2001 such a great film, without sacrificing any of the film’s integrity.

2001 is not plot-driven by any means, at least not throughout the first third of the film. We first bear witness to mankind’s primitive and Darwinian beginnings, struggling to survive in a harsh barren desert as apes. In one of the greatest match cuts ever, we fast forward some millions of years, where mankind has now mastered the ability of space travel, along with many other technological milestones like voice-recognition technology and video-phone chat (notice that these milestones, once science fiction, is now reality).

Kubrick examines humanity’s achievements with enchanted amazement (I can imagine him watching the premier of 2001 with starry-eyed wonder), but the tone soon shifts to a sort of uncertainty. We are now aboard the Discovery One ship alongside astronauts Dave Bowman (Kier Dullea) and Frank Poole (Gary Lockwood). They are on a mission to Jupiter, for reasons only known by HAL 9000 (voice of Douglas Rain), the error-proof AI console who controls most of the ship’s operations, as well as being somebody to talk to. The mission takes a sour turn when HAL may or may not be responsible for a computer error, something never recorded in the HAL 9000’s track record.

At the core of 2001 is one of the most puzzling mysteries in all of cinema – a simple, towering black monolith.

We first see the black monolith during the Dawn of Man, as discovered by the apes. At first, they are terrified by it, but soon become fascinated by it. Soon thereafter, an ape stumbles across a pile of bones. It briefly recollects the monolith, and then discovers that it can use a bone as a tool. The group of apes soon thrive in the harsh conditions they inhabit. Millions of years later, the monolith becomes the subject of interest in an early mission to the moon (abruptly ended by an excruciating high-pitched radio emission). Subsequently, we are taken to the Jupiter Mission, where Dave discovers that their mission for the monolith has been kept secret “for security reasons”.

And then we travel through “Jupiter and Beyond the Infinite”, a bedazzling psychedelic journey through a great unknown, an unknown so mystifying that it alters Dave’s perception forever – in the last few minutes of 2001, he cautiously enters a simple household as if it were an alien landscape.

It’s been almost 10 years since I first watched 2001 one evening on TCM, to which I absolutely hated it and its gruelingly slow pace (that’s how it felt at the time, anyway). Yet something kept me coming back, and the more I watched it, the more mesmerizing it became. Today, it is not only in my top five favorite films, but I concur that it is one of the greatest achievement in the art of film – in turn, I consider it Kubrick’s greatest accomplishments.

There was no film like 2001 back in ’68, and to tackle such an ambitious project would be nerve-wracking for most, but Kubrick handles the entire production with unbelievable confidence. The entire design was so ahead of its time, and Kubrick knew this, but he never let any single element outshine another – he never dangles shiny toys in front of our faces to distract us from any possible shortcomings. No padding, no pandering, no pretention, just pure perfection.

2001 may be 50 years old, but each time I watch it, it completely floors me in just how well it has aged, and this new print is a great reminder of this. The terrific cinematography and great special effects completely blew me away with the crisp detail that the new print exhibits. It wasn’t until now that I realized 2001 is a great film to just watch – forget about plot, forget about characters, just watch the film and become enchanted by it. This latest watch, I was particularly drawn to the sound design, which I think is the most absorbing quality of the film (the hissing of the oxygen tanks makes for some exceptionally chilling moments).

Kubrick went to his grave with a legacy of some of the most iconic films of their respective genres; The Shining (horror), Dr. Strangelove (political satire), Barry Lyndon (historical), and 2001. With its ambitious scope, terrific production design, and remarkable special effects, perhaps it is the greatest science fiction film of all. As important a film as this is, its emphasis on mystery over answers it is not for everybody. For me, this was once cause of frustration, but I’ve come to realize that this is the point. 2001 is a film that is concerned with the progression of man – without some sort of mystery with answers to pursue, where is mankind left to go?

THE WEEKLY RECAP: June 11-17

The Children Are Watching Us (1944)

Directed by Vittorio de Sica

* * ½

Prico (Luciano De Ambrosis) is the son of Nina (Isa Pola) and Andrea (Emilio Cigoli). They live a pretty comfortable middle class life, but everything changes when Nina is inexplicably nowhere to be found one day. As events unfold, it is revealed that she has run off with a man she has been having an affair with, but she returns a few days later for her son’s sake. As time goes by, Nina and Andrea make an effort to rekindle, but things just can’t be quite the same, and as they try to pick up the pieces, they seem to forget that they have a child that needs tending to.

This is only my third experience with the seminal Vittorio de Sica, following my viewings of the excellent Umberto D. and Bicycle Thieves, the latter of which fully deserves its reputation as one of the greatest films of all time, but I must say that The Children Are Watching Us disappointed me somewhat. I have mentioned this a while back; I was fairly young when my parents divorced, and for De Sica to make a film about bearing witness to parental strife from the child’s perspective is a bold move (especially in 1944), but the film spends a bit too much time with the parents to the point that it feels jagged.

While the performances aren’t anything spectacular, they carried the film along just fine. It also moves along at a good pace, not to mention it never overstays its welcome, clocking in at a little over 80 minutes. If anything, there is an absolutely incredible nightmare sequence that bridges the first and second acts that made the film worth it. The Children Are Watching Us is not a bad film by any means, and it certainly has elements that make it worth watching, but the ultimate result is somewhat mediocre – after all, this is made by the man who would direct Bicycle Thieves just a few years later.

Fresh (1994)

Directed by Boaz Yakin

* * * ½

Fresh (Sean Nelson) may be only 12 years old, but he’s one tough kid. Living in inner-city Brooklyn, he makes good money as a drug courier for local dealers Esteban (Giancarlo Esposito) and Corky (Ron Brice). His intelligence and honesty have earned him great respect across the board, but Fresh’s ambitions don’t lie with a future in crime (if I’m not mistaken, his very first line in the film is “I gotta’ get to school”). His relationship with Esteban reaches levels of enraging complexity, though, when he begins fooling around with Fresh’s crack-addicted sister (N’Bushe Wright).

Though Fresh is a plot-driven narrative, the true driving force behind the film is its observance (and subsequent insinuations) of its characters and situations. Fresh takes its time introducing us into its world with meticulous detail into these characters’ lives. Take, for instance, a scene where Fresh sells drugs on the street. Instead of it being a simple transaction, we take Fresh’s POV and glances at various colleagues (hidden in plain sight) for their approval to do the deal – we don’t just watch their lives, we experience them. We become so involved that the film sometimes gut-punches us, leaving our mouths completely agape.

Of course, at the core of everything is Sean Nelson’s performance, and this kid carries the entire weight of this film like it was a feather. The supporting cast is also terrific, especially the criminally underrated Giancarlo Esposito, who I didn’t realize was so versatile until watching Fresh. Granted, there are a couple of things that prevent this from being a perfect 4 – Samuel L. Jackson plays Fresh’s estranged father. They meet every so often (in secrecy) to play chess together, where chess almost serves as life lessons for Fresh. The film clearly wants Jackson’s character to be important, but has nowhere near enough screen time to possess the presence the character requires. Additionally, the music is unbelievably stock. I know it’s superficial, but it was almost laughable in just how generic it was. I must say that I do question the plausibility of Fresh’s plot in the film’s final act, but I’ll let it slide. On the whole, Fresh is riveting urban cinema.

Klute (1971)

Directed by Alan J. Pakula

* *

Private Investigator John Klute (Donald Sutherland) has been hired to track down the disappearance of Tom Gruneman (Robert Milli). The stepping stone to the case: an obscene letter addressed to a New York City prostitute named Bree Daniels (Jane Fonda). Klute tracks Bree down, wire taps her phone, and keeps a close eye on her activities. Soon, he begins asking her questions. She declines to cooperate, but eventually begins warming up to Klute. Before too long, Bree becomes an accomplice of sorts to Klute as he presses forward with his investigation into the disturbingly seedy underground of New York lifestyles.

I once heard comedian Jacqueline Frances (who uses her experience as an exotic dancer as the basis for her comedy) call Klute one of the most accurate portrayals of sex work ever committed to film. Frances’s statement caught my attention, and additional research has led me to various opinions that the movie should have been called Bree instead of Klute. I wish I could agree with this notion. Though Bree is certainly the most interesting character in the film (her conversations with her therapist, as brief as they are, are absolutely fascinating), there’s still not enough material with her to make the film worth watching for anybody wanting a solid thriller or an interesting portrait of prostitution.

It’s still funny that they name the movie after Klute, because he is the most boring character in the movie. There’s always been a sort of unsettling enigma to Donald Sutherland’s minimal approach to acting that I usually really like, but his character is just a blank slate. In turn, the chemistry that the duo of Klute and Bree requires is completely non-existent. Even then, though, I didn’t find the mystery all that interesting to begin with. Top it off with a rushed climax (though I’ll admit that there’s a moment where Bree gets a phone call to hear a tape recording of herself – that was very effective) and this was just an overall unsatisfying movie.

THE UNSUNG: Trees Lounge (1996)

Directed by Steve Buscemi

* * * ½

Independent cinema tends to bring out the most intimately (and sometimes discomfortingly) personal of movies. After all, aspiring indie auteurs are advised time and time again to “write [about] what they know”, and every once in a while a filmmaker takes this advice to the deepest level of heart with a deeply personal story, bringing us into a world they know front to back, painting themselves in less than flattering portraits. It is this kind of fearless moviemaking that makes independent cinema so compelling and exciting. Having already made a name for himself in the indie world with Reservoir Dogs and Fargo, actor Steve Buscemi decided to go full auteur with his 1996 directorial debut, Trees Lounge, an honest portrait of an alcoholic.

Tommy (Buscemi) is in his early 30s, unemployed, and recently single after Theresa (Elizabeth Bracco) left him for his ex-boss, whom she is now married to and expecting a child with (though it could be Tommy’s child she’s carrying). So, Tommy finds himself retreating to the solace of alcohol at local pub Trees Lounge – when we first meet him, he is sprawled out on a booth. The bartender has to wake him up so the joint can close for the evening. Well-known around town, people look on with a sort of irritated amusement at Tommy’s inability to straighten anything out. If only he could stop drinking. Or, in Tommy’s world, if only he could get some direction – then he could stop drinking.

But, life must go on, and we bear witness to his daily activities. Along with the frequencies of Trees Lounge, we watch his various daily activities, from his car problems, scoring a gig as an ice cream truck driver, and his countless interactions with fellow Trees Lounge regulars, many of whom seem totally different from Tommy on a superficial level, but when one looks deeper, they are curiously (and alarmingly) similar. 

Watching Trees Lounge a second time for this retrospect/review, I just now realized how many notes Buscemi must have jotted down from the many filmmaking lessons of indie grandfather John Cassavetes. Trees Lounge is by no means a plot-driven film, but rather an observation of the daily behaviors of average people with a screw or two loose, and the result is an awkward and uncomfortable audience, which is the point: when such outrageous behaviors are examined in such an objective light, we don’t know whether to laugh or to cry.

We bear witness to the almost immediate tendency alcoholics have to fight somebody who confronts their behavior in any way. We are forced to endure awkward family interactions and the arguments that sometimes ensue (regardless of who else may be present). In a climactic scene, we watch a (rightfully) angry father chase Tommy through a baseball field with no regard to the Little League match going on.

I have probably made Trees Lounge sound more bleak and depressing than it actually is – after all, I did compare it to the works of Cassavetes. I assure you, though, that it’s not nearly as tough a film as it sounds. To be quite honest, it has a couple of moments of laugh-out-loud comedy, particularly when Tommy lands a gig as an ice cream truck driver.

Earlier, I mentioned that Trees Lounge is an honest portrait of an alcoholic. Films of themes like addiction and substance abuse can annoy me from time to time, as they tend to over-indulge in the misery that its characters endure – this is the primary reason I refrain from including Requiem for a Dream in my ‘Great Favorites’. One of the qualities I admire most about Trees Lounge is its awareness that this world isn’t insufferable misery from front-to-back. Take Tommy for instance. He’s not a terrible person, and deep down he has the best of intentions. The best way to describe him; he was once the life of the party, but that party has long since ended, something that he still can’t quite come to terms with, a common pattern I’ve noticed with alcoholics.

But I think the greatest strength in Trees Lounge is its depiction of the cycle of bar fly culture. Into Tommy’s life walks Debbie (Chloe Sevigny), Theresa’s 17-year-old niece. I see her not so much as flirtatious, but rather curious of the world around her (as children tend to be) – a world that, in truth, is quite small. The setting of the film walks an almost surreal line between small town and big city, and we spend so much time at Trees Lounge that it quickly begins to feel like that that’s all there is to do in town. Debbie spends time with Tommy and co (complete with drinking and other such vices), almost like she’s the new invitee to the party that Tommy has been stuck in for who knows how long.

Something like a relationship develops between Tommy and Debbie, and I give Buscemi major credit for actually putting a complex dynamic on screen. Yes, Tommy is taking advantage of Debbie’s 17-year-old naiveté, but the film doesn’t apologize or criticize for his actions, but simply understands where it comes from. It is no secret that Tommy wants some sort of companionship (especially after a breakup with somebody he was very close to), but his own peers are pretty much inaccessible at this point – everybody knows he’s a screw-up. But here comes Debbie, somebody who takes interest and a liking to Tommy, and she’s been cloistered enough to not know the screw-up that Tommy actually is. Once again, fearless filmmaking on Buscemi’s part.

All this said, there are some weaknesses in Trees Lounge. I compared this to the works of Cassavetes. While the influence shines flatteringly bright, it is clear that Buscemi was not completely interested in going all the way as far as that style is concerned. Part of what made the works of Cassavetes so compelling is just how long scenes would linger, from literal beginning to end. It gives viewers to settle into the scene and feel like they’re right there, and then all of this awkward drama kicks off out of nowhere. This hyper-realism makes the experience all the more discomforting for the viewer. As for Buscemi; this is where he falls a little short as his scenes are primarily concerned with hitting the key points and moving on to the next scene. All this said, Trees Lounge does have very smooth pacing.

Also, the way some characters are handled in the story feels kind of awkward from time to time. I find Debbie to be a perfect example; we don’t meet her until somewhere around the end of the first act, and all she does is exchange a look with Tommy, and then we don’t meet back up with her for a while. When she does show up, we find out that there’s somewhat of a history between them (her being his ex-girlfriend’s niece and all). It’s this kind of handling that proves detrimental.

But, I digress. It’s wonderful to see how far Steve Buscemi has come in the film world as one of the most respected and recognizable American actors in the industry, but it stuns me that Trees Lounge isn’t known as well as it should be (especially considering the cult following Buscemi has). Cinema in the ‘90s was known for a massive wave of indie films. Perhaps Trees Lounge just got caught up in a sea of thousands (in spite of very positive reception), but it has aged exceptionally well – to the point of timelessness – and stands the test of time as a remarkable debut of an actor-turned-director.

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THE WEEKLY RECAP: June 4-10

The Hunt (2012)

Directed by Thomas Vinterberg

                      

* * * ½

In spite of dealing with the fallout of a divorce, life is going pretty well for Lucas (Mads Mikkelsen) – well-respected in his community as a kindergarten teacher, just starting a relationship with a woman, and might be gaining custody of his teenage son. But all because of the innocent lie of a child, Lucas’s world is about to take a turn for the worse: one of his students, also the daughter of close friends, makes up a story of Lucas committing lewd conduct with her in the kindergarten. It doesn’t take long for the lie to make its way around the entire town, making Lucas Public Enemy no. 1.

Like electricity, there is both positive and negative energy that exists within all of us. To express negative energy without justification is deemed socially unacceptable (for good reason), so we will take a mile with any inch of reason to hate someone/something we are given. This is one of the reasons The Hunt is such a compelling watch – we know right off the bat that Lucas is innocent, and in spite of how respected he is in the community, people are eager to point fingers and blame Lucas without evident reason. Later in the film, things start to look better for Lucas, and even then he is still hated by everybody. Even when the young girl admits it was a lie, her parents will not accept this, as if desperate to get a chance to hate something.

And here is where the film gets more complicated; how can we blame everybody else? Yes, we sympathize with Lucas, but we can still sympathize with the rest of the town, as they have no reason to believe he is innocent, and it is this kind of complexity, right here, that makes for the best of drama. While The Hunt is not one of the greatest dramatic films (it’s primary hindrance being the detached hand-held style that is overly-prevalent in art-house cinema), it is still nonetheless a riveting movie, complete with an exceptional lead performance from Mikkelsen.

Isle of Dogs (2018)

Directed by Wes Anderson

* * * *

Though Isle of Dogs is a new release, I am writing a Weekly Recap micro-review instead of a full one since so much time has passed in between its release and my seeing it – I only review new releases upon release weekend.

Megasaki City, Japan. In the near future, all dogs are exiled to Trash Island (exactly what it sounds like) after the outbreak of a dog flu. The first dog to be sent to Trash Island is Spots (Live Schreiber), who belongs to Atari Kobayashi (Koyu Rankin). Atari refuses to live without his beloved companion, and hijacks a small airplane and flies (well, crash-lands) it to the island. There, he is joined by a grizzled group of self-proclaimed alpha dogs (including the talents of Bryan Cranston, Edward Norton, Bob Balaban, Bill Murray, and Jeff Goldblum), and the search is on. Meanwhile, back in Megasaki, the controversy over this dog banishment mounts, leading to all sorts of protests and conspiracy theories, particularly from foreign exchange student Tracy Walker (Greta Gerwig).

I have never been a fan of Wes Anderson. Though I have great admiration for the passion and attention to detail he employs into every single one of this films, the indie-brand quirkiness that is so prevalent in his work (to the point of style over substance, at times) has always been a bit too overbearing for my taste. After seeing Isle of Dogs, I’m beginning to think that his style works better for animated films than live action, because I was absolutely spellbound by this film. The animation plays no small part, with the usual (and exemplary) attention to detail as well as some fun and adorable design choices – I particularly loved how brawls were visualized by mounds of cotton balls with limbs poking out here and there.

But fret not, as there is substance in Isle of Dogs. The central alpha dogs are all great characters, and I was with them every step of the way – I dare you not to be touched as Chief’s personal story unfolds. The array of voice actors certainly amplify this, but how ironic that I kind of forgot I was listening to the voices of some of the biggest name actors – I emphasize once again that I was so taken by the movie that nothing got in my way. There’s also some interesting political satire throughout, and I was surprised how well it was handled. And, of course, the fact that it’s so heavy with Japanese stylization and aesthetics makes this even more enjoyable (not to mention that the soundtrack borrows from Seven Samurai’s score), but let that not overshadow this beautiful ode to man’s best friend.

Smithereens (1982)

Directed by Susan Seidelman

* * *

Smithereens accounts for the antics and behavior of Wren (Susan Berman), a defiant and abrasive young woman. A runaway from New Jersey, she now finds herself in New York and its punk rock scene. She meets Paul (Brad Rijn), another runaway about her same age, who lives in a van in a vacant lot. He takes quite a liking to Wren and is eager to take her out on a date with chivalrous sincerity, but Wren aggressively declines his advances, and she has her eyes set on a man who can help break her into punk rock – she thinks she has found what she is looking for in punk rocker Eric (Richard Hell), who is preparing to move to Los Angeles to form a new group. Wren is eager to join Eric, but a web of lies and deceit unveil a naiveté in Wren’s being that maybe she wasn’t even aware of.

Before moving on to direct Desperately Seeking Susan and a few episodes of Sex and the City, Susan Seidelman entered the film world with this 1982 debut. Though it does exhibit a filmmaker with some scuffs that need ironing out, Smithereens, to my surprise, was a striking and exceptionally confident first film. All of the performances are quite good, but at the center of everything, of course, is Susan Berman in the lead role, who encapsulates everything about NYC punk circa 1980s. I must say that in the first act, the character was a little too unlikeable, and while you never grow to like her, you observe with a certain level of sympathy.

The script also had some very witty and memorable moments – there’s a moment where Wren declares “Everyone’s a little weird these days. It’s normal.” This is one of the most underrated lines in movies. I think what I was taken by most, though, was the almost apocalyptic portrayal of New York, and it really amplified the danger of being young and out on your own without a pot to piss in (or a window to throw it out). In spite of this, cinematography isn’t particularly outstanding. But what mars the film most is its lack of direction at times. Granted, the directionless quality does work to the film’s advantage, but more times than I’d like to count, there were times when I just wasn’t too sure of where the film was going that I had to look at my watch. I wasn’t sure if I liked Smithereens that much when I was finished watching it, but the more in recessed in memory, the more I warmed up to it.

Under the Volcano (1984)

Directed by John Huston

* * ½  

Dia de los Muertos, 1938. Geoffrey Firmin (Albert Finney), once the former British consul, is now residing in Mexico a shadow of his former self: unemployed, divorced, and alcoholic – I don’t think there is a single moment of sobriety for Geoffrey in the entire movie. Though he carries on with a jovial attitude, there is the slightest hint of melancholy of dread in his being – he is stumbling (figuratively and literally) toward his final days. Things become only more emotionally complicated when his ex-wife, Yvonne (Jacqueline Bisset), suddenly shows up, perhaps wanting to re-integrate herself into his life.

Based on the acclaimed novel by Malcolm Lowry, Under the Volcano was directed by John Huston (in one of his very last features), who gave us such endearing classics as The Maltese Falcon and The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, and even all the way up to 1984, Huston was definitely still stuck in the ‘40s, as far as filmmaking is concerned. Under the Volcano is made exactly like something you’d have seen in the 1940s. Had it been made in Huston’s heyday, it could have been a terrific portrayal of alcoholism for its time, but that Huston couldn’t advance his technique in anyway, it just comes off as kind of plain in 1984. The pacing didn’t help much, either, considering that the protagonist’s ex-wife shows up very early in the film, which leaves too much runtime, and not enough drama. When there is drama, it is rather melodramatic.

That said, at least we have Albert Finney in a terrific lead. Instead of overly-indulging the character in the darkest depths of sadness, Finney’s character wanders in a drunken jolly, tally-ho kind of demeanor which shelters all of the melancholy that the character is overflowing with (which I mentioned earlier). Everybody else involved is fine, but nowhere near on Finney’s level. And I must admit that I thought that setting the film on Dia de los Muertos was brilliant. Overall, I certainly appreciate the approach to alcoholism, and I didn’t mind watching it, but the movie itself was just okay.

A Woman is a Woman (1961)

Directed by Jean-Luc Godard

* * * ½

The inimitably charming Anna Karina stars as Angela, a striptease artist in a hole-in-the-wall cabaret, living life with the bubbly swagger of a leading lady in a Hollywood musical. Angela’s sights are set on bearing a child – it’s just too bad that her all-too stern boyfriend, Emile (Jean-Claude Brialy), doesn’t see eye-to-eye on Angela’s wishes for motherhood. And so Angela is stricken with an indecisiveness within herself, vocalizing contempt for her boyfriend, yet internally still can’t resist her love for him. Things only become more complicated when Emile’s best friend, Alfred (Jean-Paul Belmondo), who rather fancies Angela, has no issue with obliging her maternal request.

I don’t think I’ve had more mixed feelings for a filmmaker than Jean-Luc Godard, with maybe the exception of Andrei Tarkovsky. I’m yet to see a film by Godard that blows me away. What makes this all the more frustrating is that I have mad respect for Godard and all of hiscontributions to cinema, but his once-progressive style now tends to feel rather dated. At worst, his films tend to come off as laughable and somewhat pretentious. Then again, while I’m yet to see a truly great film from Godard, I must say that a few of his films I actually enjoy quite a bit, and I’m happy to say that A Woman is a Woman fits into the latter category. Yes, there’s a lot of the signature Godardian “breaking all of the rules of moviemaking just to do it (without a purpose behind it)” stylization going on here, but I was so enraptured by the energy this film had to it.

This is due in no small part to Anna Karina, whose presence alone makes even the worst of Godard worth watching just to spend an hour and a half with her (I dare anybody not to fall in love with her). A Woman is a Woman also had some rather striking and poignant observations on the complexities of the female psyche’s seemingly incomprehensible perspective on love. Some of the writing here, on top of being quite thought-provoking, is also incredibly clever – I absolutely adored a sequence where Angela and Emile call each other names by using book titles as insults (this is without a single word being spoken). I once heard a YouTuber (I forget the user) state that Godard “exists exclusively for film school”, and I can see where he’s going with that – in his large filmography, most of his films are meant to be watched, certain techniques to be studied, then learn how to apply those techniques to a more complete movie experience. A Woman is a Woman really isn’t much exception to this rule, but I can’t deny that I really enjoyed it.

THE WEEKLY RECAP: May 28 - June 3

Divorce Italian Style (1961)

Directed by Pietro Germi

* * * ½

Though Rosalia (Daniela Rocca) is deeply in love with her husband Cefalu (Marcello Mastroianni), the feelings are not mutual on his end, as he has grown insufferably bored with her – double frustrating for him that he has fallen in love with another woman, the young beauty Angela (Stefani Sandrelli). Too bad for Cefalu, as this is contemporary Italy under the iron fist of the Catholic Church’s rule, thus making divorce illegal. Cefalu just can’t take it anymore, though, and will do whatever it takes to get out of this marriage – even if it means killing his wife. He becomes totally enraptured by this idea (which seems to be more seductive than the young woman he longs for), and begins concocting a plan to set his wife up with another man so he can fraudulently get away with committing an honor killing.

Divorce Italian Style is about as early-‘60s Italian as you could get (and I have to admit; the title alone got my attention). Personally, I quite enjoyed this film, and I doubt I would have thought otherwise – after all, it does star the handsomely enigmatic Marcello Mastroianni, one of my favorite actors from this time period. But take him out of the picture, and we’ve still got a riveting yet morbid comedy on man’s almost childish inability to be sexually satisfied, as well as a terrific satire on the effects of theocratic rule. Combine that with an incredible score and sharper than sharp editing, and you’ve got yourself a solid movie (not to mention that it’s topped off with an exquisitely satisfying end image).

I think what makes this film so funny is just how much Cefalu fawns over the idea of his plans for his wife. A pretty morbid statement, but bear with me: in the beginning of the film, he can’t get over this Angela girl, but the more he descends into his intricate plans, there is so little regard for Angela that it’s almost like Cefalu forgot about exactly why he wants his wife dead in the first place. If I have any complaints with this film, it actually has something to do with this: the film seems to spend more time with Cefalu’s fantasies instead of the execution of his devious plot. I just can’t help but feel like there were major missed opportunities for great comedic moments (just imagine everything that could go wrong). Nonetheless, Divorce Italian Style is from a Golden Era of Italian cinema, and this is no exception.

Downsizing (2017)

Directed by Alexander Payne

* * ½

With hopes to curtail the effects of global warming and overpopulation, a potential solution has bestowed upon mankind in a scientific breakthrough called “downsizing”, where human beings are irreversibly shrunk down to five inches. Those that have gone through with the process couldn’t possibly regret the decision, as they are now enabled to live larger than large in gigantic homes and beautiful neighborhoods. Enter Paul (Matt Damon): he and his wife are in a tight financial situation and are contemplating downsizing to let those worries rule their life no more. They decide to go through with it…well, Paul decides to go through with it, as his wife backs out at the last minute. Left to his own lonesome devices, Paul ventures into this surreal new world, only to find out that the world of the downsized person may not live up to all the hype.

Without being patronizing to anybody who partakes in Crossfit; a friend of mine once described Crossfit as “[a workout where] everybody half-asses everything instead of full-assing one thing”, and I can kind of apply this thought to Downsizing. There are tons of themes and ideas going on here: the inability to escape one’s problems, selling out and conforming to live comfortably (there’s even a head-shaving montage reminiscent of Full Metal Jacket), humanity’s impending self-induced demise, and I’m probably missing several other themes. Downsizing juggles all of these, but perhaps it is just a bit too much for the film to handle, as nothing ever really completely culminates into something really gripping. As troubled as this juggling act is, it still presses forward with complete confidence.

As you can probably tell, I wasn’t too big on Downsizing, but I don’t think it is deserving of the severely negative backlash that it got upon release (it currently sits at 51%/22% on Rotten Tomatoes). While I don’t think Downsizing took complete advantage of everybody being five inches tall, the production design is actually quite spectacular. Hong Chau as a Vietnamese activist is absolutely wonderful and completely steals the spotlight. And I must be completely honest; this was made by Alexander Payne, a fellow Omaha boy, and when you see and hear anything Omaha related, it’s kind of difficult not to be charmed a little bit. I digress, though. Payne has never been one of my favorite filmmakers, and Downsizing is no exception to his track record, but it is still a spectacularly ambitious effort that deserves at least a little more credit.

The Rose (1979)

Directed by Mark Rydell

* * * *

In this fictional account of a rock and roll tragedy, Bette Midler takes center stage as spunky foul-mouthed rock icon Mary Foster (known better as the Rose) and she will live and die for the stage, where she pours hear heart, soul, and amazing voice into every single song her band performs. When she’s not performing, though, she finds herself at stressful odds with the various demands and pressures of the music industry, from life on the road to the ruthlessness of her record label. As her tour commences, she can take the heat no more, and her wellbeing declines into a torrent of substance abuse and toxic relationships.

Yeah, it’s a story we’re all too familiar with, and probably happens enough in real life that we don’t need movies about it – hell, The Rose is actually loosely based on the final days of Janis Joplin (the Joplin family declined to sell the rights to her story). Personally, I don’t care if it’s an overdone story, because this is an absolutely terrific film. Director Rydell observes the various escapades of the Rose with patient fascination that John Cassavetes would be proud of – instead of rushing to the drama, scenes start on an insignificant note and steadily unfold from there (a technique I wish more filmmakers would use).

But how could I talk about The Rose without Bette Midler’s absolutely phenomenal (and Oscar-nominated) performance? Off-stage, she portrays the downfall of a woman too famous, too young, too quick without a clue how to navigate the real world unbelievably well. On stage, not only does she rock on with furious passion, but also captures the victimization of the stage high – here is a woman who lives for nothing more than music and performance, and each concert she performs becomes a more and more desperate attempt at finding some reason to live. This movie is borderline, if not bona fide, perfect. My only complaint has nothing to do with the movie itself – when I was watching the DVD started skipping during Midler’s monologue prior to her final performance, but I caught the basic gist of it. Not only a phenomenal film, but one of the most underrated films in the Criterion Collection – I can’t wait to add The Rose to my Barnes & Noble shopping bag this upcoming July sale.

Stardust Memories (1980)

Directed by Woody Allen

* * ½

Once a master of beloved comedies, filmmaker Sandy Bates (Woody Allen) finds himself becoming more and more alienated from audiences, who speak of nothing but coldness for his more recent efforts (allegedly more somber and artistic films) and cry out for Sandy to return to the glory days  of his magical comedies. Now attending a retrospect of his filmography, Sandy finds himself practically suffocated by an endless torrent of adoring fans, film enthusiasts, aspiring actors, etc. When he catches a break from people, he seems only capable of retreating to his interactions with various women (and the staple neuroses and insecurities included), not to mention he is eternally haunted by ex-girlfriend Dorrie (Charlotte Rampling).

Sound familiar, even by the slightest bit? Well, it’s no secret whatsoever that Stardust Memories is Woody Allen’s homage to the Fellini masterwork 8 ½. To me, Allen’s film is similar to hearing a modern band’s cover of a classic rock song – it’s amusing and admirable, but doesn’t leave much of a long-lasting impression and kind of makes you wish you were experiencing the original thing instead. Granted, Stardust Memories isn’t a bad film. It is shot in gorgeous black and white (though it pales in comparison to Mahanttan, which Allen released just a year prior), and there are some jokes that got a good chuckle out of me here and there.

At the end of the day, though, Stardust Memories is most definitely a Woody Allen film (and I’ve always been on the fence about him as a filmmaker). Additionally, as an homage to 8 ½, it fails to really capture the experience that that movie was, as this film ping-pongs back and forth from the protagonist being crowded by fans to his interactions with women, then rinse and repeat, and the formula becomes kind of predictable. While it’s not overbearingly Allen-esque, it still has all of the usual tropes; if Allen usually isn’t your thing, I doubt Stardust Memories will do anything to win you over.

ADDED TO 'GREAT FAVORITES': Day for Night (1973)

Directed by Francois Truffaut

When I was a junior in high school, I was involved in our school’s production of Footloose: The Musical. What a time that was: several months of meticulous planning, hours upon hours of reciting dialogue, seemingly endless cycles of repeating the same choreography over and over to get it just right. All of that alone might be enough to drive one crazy – now remember that there are human beings (teenagers at that) and all of their high emotions and comically petty drama, which make an already trying experience all the more difficult. In spite of all of that, though, when show time was upon us…it was a truly magical experience that nothing can ever compare to, and the sense of accomplishment and pride that followed (no matter how awful the production might be) can fortify confidence in even the most insecure of individuals. This experience is hands-down my favorite memory from high school.

Though about film production instead of stage production, French auteur Francois Truffaut captured all of these feelings perfectly in his 1973 film Day for Night, a fictional yet wonderful – not to mention hilarious – chronicle of a film production. It’s not necessarily a chaotic production that’s shown, nor a polarizing account of a doomed project bound for failure. Just a typical film production and the strife that is, perhaps, inseparable from the process, and perhaps Day for Night’s director (played by Truffaut himself) puts it best: “Making a film is like a stagecoach ride in the old west. When you start, you are hoping for a pleasant trip. By the halfway point, you just hope to survive.” And survive the cast and crew do, but what a ride this stagecoach takes them on.

Director Ferrand (Truffaut) is helming the production of a film entitled Meet Pamela, and as Day for Night begins, brief plot overviews from cast members reveal that Meet Pamela is a tale of romance, betrayal, and all of the melodrama in between. Is it going to be good? Is it going to be bad? Right now, that’s completely irrelevant – after all, the film needs to be made to determine any kind of quality. And so production begins, and there’s really not much more to the plot than that. The plot structure highlights this, as events unfold in a rather fragmented manner rather than a streamlined series of events. What Day for Night may lack in plot, it makes up ten-fold in what unfolds in each fragmented moment. Almost every single shoot brings in one big problem after another. How interesting that the times shooting does go smoothly, these moments are skimmed over via montages that highlight a curiously uninteresting quality to these moments. I believe this is done intentionally – any production you might have been involved in; do you really remember the times things went as planned?

Let the shenanigans begin, from lead actor Alphonse’s (Jean-Pierre Leaud) naïve misconceptions on women and love that results in him engaging in childish antics. Then there’s Severine (Valentina Cortese), an aging actress in denial who drowns her sorrows in one bottle of booze after another, who brings the simplest of shoots to an insufferable and embarrassing slog – part of this particular scene involves her having to walk through a door, which is adjacent to another door, and no matter how many takes repeated, Severine just can’t remember which door to walk though and undergoes an emotional meltdown over this. And then there’s the goddess-level beauty Jacqueline Bisset as Julie Baker, the leading lady taking the role of the titular Pamela. She recently underwent an emotional breakdown that left doctors uncertain whether she should partake in the production of Meet Pamela. Though she seems fine, that cloud always hangs uneasily over the production. For me, personally, the funniest scene in the film involves a cat that just won’t do its job, and the shoot is once again halted so the script girl can go get the studio cat (yes, they have a designated studio cat).

 These moments are genuinely hilarious, but not one scene is overplayed for laughs or other such extravagant effect. The camera simply observes as the mishaps unfold, and I think this is what makes them even funnier. While Day for Night doesn’t strive for hyper-realistic in traditional cinema verite fashion, there is an almost documentary quality to the film (almost like a making-of documentary you’d find on HBO). This quality combined with the lack of overplayed comedy gives everything a sense of realism, and the outrageousness of it all makes one laugh as they wonder “Is this really happening?”

Day for Night is not a technical marvel by any means; cinematography and sound design are less than integral here, though I will say that I was quite struck by the set design in my most recent viewing (in preparation for the piece you’re now reading). Then again, this isn’t the kind of film that really requires spectacular cinematography or all-absorbing sound. As much of a comedy as Day for Night is, it is much more a passion project for, yes, the art of film, but more so of the process of filmmaking itself. This passion shines brightly throughout, to the point that any flaws that Day for Night possesses.

And in all fairness, Day for Night does have its share of flaws, particularly with the ending. I was never a fan of how Day for Night concludes: after production for Meet Pamela has wrapped up, everybody says their rather passive goodbye’s to everybody, and end film. While I think this scene should definitely be included in the film, it shouldn’t be the finale due to the awkward abruptness of it. How curious that the answer was literally right there in the film, and was just misplaced. Throughout the first half of Day for Night, we watch Ferrand toss and turn in bed, followed by black and white clips of a young child with a cane and oversized suit wandering the city streets way past his bed time. Is this a nightmare? Not at all; as these sequences unfold, we discover the root of Ferrand’s love for movies, where he cleverly steals lobby cards for Citizen Kane from a local theater. For a moment as important as this in Ferrand’s life, the ultimate testament to his love for movies and moviemaking in spite of its many stressors, this should have been Day for Night’s conclusion.

To look at a flaw this deeply…should I be considering Day for Night a truly great film? Well, why not? It is rare for a film to be purely flawless. Hell, in his ‘Great Movies’ review of Dr. Strangelove, Roger Ebert criticized that film’s ending and went into how it should have properly ended.

Besides, Day for Night is a case where the good far outweighs the bad. The glaring passion for filmmaking is something that should be of no surprise, as it is well-known that Francois Truffaut was an immense cinephile. Though I’m still making my way through Truffaut’s films, I’d be surprised if he made a film with more love for film and filmmaking than Day for Night. Passion projects like this, though, usually raise some skepticism from me as there tends to be more concern for references and homages to the auteur’s favorite films rather than substance (on the topic of French cinema, my mind immediately goes to Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Dreamers regarding this issue). None of that here in Truffaut’s film. Good, as that leaves more to be enjoyed by everybody.

So, after all is said and done, after all of the repeated takes that would drive the most patient of men to insanity, after all of the drama behind the scenes that reveal the immature child within all of those involved, was Meet Pamela any good? Well, we never find out, and this is for the best I think. Sometimes it really doesn’t matter what the end result unveils. When one has that much passion for their work, it must be more than enough to get to do it every day. To recite a cliché: do what you love, and you never have to work a day in your life.