Beetlejuice (1988)
Directed by Tim Burton
* * *
Barbara and Adam (Geena Davis
and Alec Baldwin, respectively) are a modest, mild-mannered, and seemingly
normal couple living in a lovely countryside house…except for one little
detail: they are ghosts, having died in a car accident, and are now spiritually
confined in the walls of the house. Even though they are assigned a guidebook
entitled “The Handbook for the Recently Deceased”, the transition to spiritdom
is seemingly impossible. It gets worse for them, as the house has just been
occupied by the Deetz family. Though they are initially intent on getting the
family out of the house (even resorting to spooky bedsheets with eyeholes),
everything changes when they form a bond with the teenage goth Lydia (Winona
Ryder), which leads to Barbara and Adam being more welcoming. But a con artist
posing as a bio-exorcist named Betelgeuse (Michael Keaton) might ruin it for
everybody.
How funny that for the longest
time I remembered the Beetlejuice cartoon
show (albeit, very vaguely), but never knew that it was based off of a live
action film. Well, having been in the mood for something a bit more fun and
synonymous with Halloween season, I finally got around to Tim Burton’s cult
classic. I had a ball with this movie. The characters were all lovable with
wonderful performances to compliment those great characters (Ryder is
exceptionally adorable, and that’s an understatement). The whole premise in
general is also great fun in its originality – I especially loved the idea of
Barbara and Adam being assigned a caseworker.
While a good movie, I couldn’t
exactly call Beetlejuice a great
movie, interestingly enough not for the reasons I expected – Tim Burton is
usually overbearing in his style for my taste, but not the case here. My
biggest criticism is the somewhat lack of depth in the characters – they have
enough personality that we enjoy their company a lot, but we never get to know them, especially Keaton’s titular
Betelgeuse. Speaking of him, the tone of the movie shifts Betelgeuse from
villain to potential hero in the rather convoluted climax, then back to villain
at the last minute. It may not be perfect, but Beetlejuice was still a clever take on the ghost story and, more
importantly, great fun.
The Black Stallion (1979)
Directed by Carroll Ballard
* * * *
After a horrifying shipwreck,
young Alec (Kelly Reno) groggily awakens on the beach of a desolate landscape.
He wanders about, in search of whatever hospitality he can come across, but
instead he only treads nearer to death’s door. In the nick of time, when death
was literally inches from his face, Alec’s life is miraculously saved by a
beautiful black stallion. With nobody else around, the two share a bond – they
are mutually hesitant at first, but grow closer and closer. Alec is eventually
rescued from the island, but not without his trusty and noble steed. With the
proper training, he just might have the potential to master turn this horse
into a racehorse the likes of which nobody has ever seen.
Like Alec’s trial through the
sinking liner he was once aboard, we are sometimes thrown into life itself via
horrifying means. If we triumph through our trials, who knows what glory awaits
us in the next step in life. I think this is what The Black Stallion is getting at, and these are the kind of open-allegorical experiences that I insatiably
crave in cinema, especially in the
first half. With little dialogue, a very unique and original score that gives
the film a silent movie vibe, it is purely experience, and what bliss I
experienced watching the film. Let me put it this way: certain circumstances
left me slightly distracted from the movie, and I was still struck by it
regardless.
As for the second half...I’ve
read some criticism stating that The Black Stallion becomes “routine”
after that first half. There is indeed a difference in feeling from the first
and second chapters of the movie, considering there’s more plot going on in the
latter, but it doesn’t feel like an abrupt tonal shift. It never gets locked in
the narrative, and still maintains a level of elusiveness that allows for
allegorical meditation – honestly, give me a few more watches, and I could
probably do an “Under the Microscope” entry on this film. Regardless, though,
this beloved film is one I will cherish for quite some time.
The Color of Pomegranates (1969)
Directed by Sergei Parajanov
* * *
Though technically about
Armenian musician Sayat-Nova, this is not a biopic. In the opening titles, the
following is stated: “This film does not attempt to tell the life story of a
poet. Rather, the filmmaker has tried to recreate the poet’s inner world
through the trepidations of his soul, his passion and torments, widely
utilizing the symbolism and allegories.” And the result? Well, as a work of art,
it is literally spectacular. Parajanov adopts a somewhat meditative style with
a colorful and whimsical visual palette, almost as if Tarkovsky is channeling
his inner Fellini. Speaking of Tarkovsky, I was reminded of The Mirror in the way the film is less a
narrative than a collection of artful moments. There are some terrific images
here, too. Many a time I felt like I was gazing at paintings from the Middle
Ages (and I mean this as a compliment). As artsy as this film may be, and it’s
certainly not for everybody, it’s never arrogant or pretentious. In fact, it is
very humble, and I really liked this quality about it.
So, The Color of Pomegranates is an exceptional artwork, but as a
film…I can appreciate it for what it set out to achieve, and it indeed achieves
its ultimate goal. However, it won’t have much lasting power for me. I’m all
about film as an art form, but this film begins to feel like a series of moving
paintings rather than a movie. It’s great to have on in the background, but the
film never gives you much room to actually get into it (ironically, I have the
same criticisms of The Mirror). Also,
as Tarkovskian and Felliniesque this film is, it has trouble balancing these
tones – it’s never bombastic enough to be Fellini, but it’s too animated to
allow for artful meditation like Tarkovsky. Granted, it’s not trying to be
either, but it’s my way of voicing my criticism. Overall, it may not amount to
much in the long run, but it’s an ambitious achievement in its humble way. At
the very least, at less than 80 minutes, it doesn’t overstay its welcome.
Eternity and a Day (1998)
Directed by Theo Angelopoulos
* * * *
Renowned poet Alexander (Bruno
Ganz) is a weary man, from his rugged appearance to his life’s work – regarding
the latter, he has slavishly attempted to finish a 19th century poem
started by Dionysios Solomos. Alexander has just discovered he is ailed by a
terminal illness, and he is to be checked into the hospital tomorrow. Today,
however, he wants to enjoy this day as if it were his last, wandering about and
musing on the significance of his work and life up to this point. Along the
way, he meets a young boy (Achileas Skevis), a vagrant whom he rescues from the
police. Though the child displays a hardened exterior, there is a great fear
within his being, a fear of the unknown. In the face of his own mortality,
Alexander shares this same fear.
My first experience with
Angelopoulos was Landscape in the Mist. Next
was the Palme d’Or-winning Eternity and a
Day. With these two films under my belt (with more to follow), he has the
potential to become one of my very favorite filmmakers. These films are
timeless and universal, always leaving you to think about something with
beautifully composed and poetic shots (at the very least, his films are amazing
to look at). While Eternity wasn’t as
striking as Landscape, it was still
an exceptional film, tackling the eternal fear of the unknown ahead of us,
whether living or dying. Topped by a great score and the lovely presence of
Bruno Ganz, I really loved this movie.
I was originally going to give
Eternity a 3.5, but this was one of
those cases that the more I thought about it, the more fondly I recalled of it.
While it did maybe dwell a little bit here-and-there, it didn’t detract from
the overall experience in the long-run. I honestly don’t have much to say about
this one. It was a great film from a great, if underappreciated and maltreated,
filmmaker. Honestly, the only bad thing I have to say is in jest, as the title
sounds way too much like the name of a melodramatic metalcore band. Other than
that, a beautiful film.
The Piano (1993)
Directed by Jane Campion
* * *
We hear Ada’s (Holly Hunter)
voice only once throughout the movie – Ada is inexplicably mute, and the voice
we hear is that of her mind. She has just arrived on the shores of New Zealand,
where she is to marry Alisdair (Sam Neill) under the contract of an arranged
marriage. Alongside Ada is her beloved daughter Flora (Anna Paquin) and,
equally cherished, her piano, which is not only an artistic outlet for her but
also a way of communicating to the world around her. As Ada starts her
commodity of a marriage with Alisdair, it is, unsurprisingly, cold and
arbitrary with a little bit of tension over the piano. It is here that their
relationship turns into a slow-burn when Ada begins mingling with Baines
(Harvey Keitel), a local who becomes infatuated with her.
Sometimes, the key to getting
an incredible performance out of an actor is by finding a dynamic character
that is grounded in the actor’s abilities, rather than a character that is
completely out of their league. Some of the best examples I can think of are
Schwarzenegger in The Terminator,
Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the
Cuckoo’s Nest, and now I can confidently add Holly Hunter in The Piano to this topic. Her trademark
feistiness and fire are very present here, but the character’s circumstances
paint her abilities in a light very unique to Hunter’s career. Needless to say,
she’s incredible here, enough to earn herself an Oscar along with young Paquin,
who brings a remarkable performance from a child.
Production design and
cinematography are also fantastic, the latter especially. Campion’s approach to
the feminist message is very unique without being overbearing. The bond that
Hunter and Paquin share is absolutely gorgeous, but I wish I could say the same
about everybody else involved. I never felt much for Baines or Alisdair, as
they feel kind of “there”, so to speak, and I can’t help but feel they didn’t
add all that much. Maybe not a masterpiece (for now, anyway), but still a solid
movie.
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