ADDED TO 'GREAT FAVORITES': Meantime (1983)

Directed by Mike Leigh

Making a topical film, one that reflects a very specific time, place, and issue(s), is an incredibly risky move. Under most circumstances, I believe that one of the many keys to a truly great film is the factor of timelessness. If an auteur wants their film to stand the test of time as a classic and be enjoyed by generation after generation, their film must know no time-specific scenario or circumstances – what may be relevant to one generation could be alienating and foreign to the next.

But there exists no objective guide on the rules of making a great film, so of course there are exceptions to my own personal rule of timelessness. If handled well enough, a topical film can transcend its content and continue on as a great film without losing touch of the circumstances it came from. Enter Mike Leigh and his sophomore feature, Meantime. Released on British television in 1983, it is a stark portrait of Thatcherism’s effects on the British populace. Topical, yes, but it has continued to stand the test of time as not only a terrific family drama, as well as one of Mike Leigh’s finest films in an already exceptional filmography – I’ve never seen a bad (or even mediocre) film by Leigh; some are just better than others.

Early in Meantime, there is a shot of a woman gazing out the window, as if longing for some unattainable ideal. She soon turns around to the monotony of her cloistered existence: as we very slowly pan right, we see that she is in a messy kitchen preparing a snack. In the background, slightly clouded by cigarette smoke, are her husband and two children lazily sitting in front of the television. In one of the most striking shots of Mike Leigh’s career, this brief shot masterfully establishes the atmosphere of Meantime, a world clustered and run-down with a slow-burn tension ready to combust any second.

We have also been introduced to our main characters, the Pollock family. Unemployment has reached at a distressing high by this point – according to the Guardian, 11.9% of the population was unemployed in 1984, a year after Meantime was released. The Pollock family is part of this percentage. Without jobs, they plod through their squalor, crammed in like sardines in a shoddy flat. Always in each other’s personal spaces, there’s never an interaction between the Pollocks without at least some sort of nagging.

With mum and dad always at each other, we rack focus on brothers Mark (Phil Daniels) and Colin (Tim Roth), both in their 20s. There may be a good heart within Mark (and I emphasize “maybe”), but he seems to be genetically committed to a rebellious and smartass attitude, never hesitating to talk back to his folks and blaring hardcore punk on the record player in the middle of the night. Additionally, he is always being rough on Colin. In spite of this, Colin is almost always by Mark’s side, probably because he is Colin’s one means of getting out of the flat.

Colin is an extremely awkward person, and rather slow – his uncle says he’s retarded, to which Colin’s aunt replies “he’s just never been given a chance”. It’s no surprise that Mark is always giving him crap, but perhaps this is just brotherly roughness wrapped up in Mark’s frustration. As for Colin’s parents, his father sits passively on the sidelines while his mother never hesitates to let Colin know just how much he’s irritating her (to the point of borderline abuse).

The only person that seems to be remotely interested in Colin’s welfare – even in the slightest – is Coxy (Gary Oldman), a reckless young skinhead who spends his days wandering about the city with no direction – his behavior is also curiously similar to Colin, albeit in a more extroverted fashion. As the teasing and verbal abuse continues, Colin slowly warms up more and more to Coxy, culminating in one of the most devastating endings I’ve ever seen – not because of some grandiose tragedy, but instead because a simple change in Colin’s appearance shows exactly what road he’s headed down.

Some of the best performances I’ve seen in movies tend to be from Mike Leigh’s films, from David Thewlis in Naked to Sally Hawkins and Eddie Marsan in Happy-Go-Lucky, and Meantime is no exception (though the characters don’t make as much of an impression nearly as much as those in Leigh’s later films). Most remarkable is Tim Roth (in his third acting role), who finds the perfect balance in portraying mental handicap – sympathetic without cheaply baiting for it. Phil Daniels, the terrific young man from Quadrophenia, flawlessly portrays somebody so frustrated that their only means of existing is being an obnoxious pain all day, every day. And then, of course, there’s Gary Oldman (in his second acting role). Though this is not one of his most impactful performance, he hits all the necessary notes just fine as the wily skinhead, also showing much promise of the talent he will later grace us with.

Though Meantime isn’t spectacular as far as its visuals go, Mike Leigh was wise in his location choices; rarely do we ever leave the confines of some enclosed space, whether it be a flat, a store, or a laundromat. Combined with deteriorating décor and always-present cigarette smoke. We can almost feel the confining walls as well smell the smells of this world. In turn, some of the characters’ frustration finds itself in the viewer – I didn’t realize just how texture-rich Meantime is until I started typing this sentence. When we do get some fresh air, all we are greeted to are the drab city walls, gray and unwelcoming in its towering oppression, sometimes being torn down. Lovely.

For a film that has so much to say against Thatcherism, how interesting is it that I’ve barely said a word about the topics at hand. This is the primary reason why I believe Meantime is a great film. Issues come and go throughout time, but people are always present, and people are always the ones that are most visibly impacted by said issues. By prioritizing the people over the topic, Mike Leigh has not only achieved the difficult task of making a film that is both timeless and for its time, but has also brought us one of his most riveting and masterful works.

Though I could not find a trailer for Meantime, I offer you instead an insightful excerpt from an interview with Mike Leigh discussing the film.

THE WEEKLY RECAP: July 2 - 8

Dreams (1990)

Directed by Akira Kurosawa

* * ½

Allegedly based on the actual dreams of master filmmaker Akira Kurosawa, Dreams is exactly what it sounds like it’s about, for lack of a better way of putting it. Specifically, Kurosawa chooses eight dreams of his lifetime and commits them to film. With this said, there isn’t much to offer as far as giving a plot synopsis is concerned – well there is, but that’s a synopsis for every segment – so I think it’s more worth my time to dive into the basic gist of my overall feelings on the film.

Dreams was one of the very last films by Kurosawa, and like much of his post-‘60s output, Dreams is not an essential part of Kurosawa’s filmography, therefore is strictly for Kurosawa superfans and completionists. This doesn’t necessarily make Dreams a bad film by any means – the vast majority of the film is very visually arresting, with clever shot composition and a robust color palette that just blossoms off the screen. Most of the segments are absolutely captivating and tones shift drastically without feeling out of place. Some are very joyous (“The Peach Orchard”), some haunting (“The Weeping Demon”), and some downright terrifying (“Mount Fuji in Red”). My particular favorite is “The Tunnel”, where a former military officer is confronted by a platoon of soldiers – now ghosts – who were killed during the war.

These segments work well as, well, segments, but they never really culminate into an overall effective film – not necessarily the fault of the director, as short film collections like this tend to all have this same problem (though Jarmusch’s Night on Earth is a terrific exception). If anything could have made this more fascinating, perhaps a more stream-of-consciousness structure (a la Tarkovsky’s The Mirror) would have added to the whole dream logic feel. There is some overbearing preachiness here and there, but I can let some of that go, as Kurosawa has always been an admirably message-driven filmmaker. Overall, I admire the vision and heart that beats throughout Dreams, but it still doesn’t equate to a great film from perhaps the greatest filmmaker who has ever lived. Even the masters have the occasional slumps.

The Earrings of Madame De… (1953)

Directed by Max Ophuls

* * *

Though surrounded wall-to-wall by glitzy riches, the aristocratic Louise (Danielle Darrieux) is deeply in debt and needs money. She goes through her prized jewelry, and can only find herself to part with a pair of earrings, which were a wedding gift from her husband, Andre (Charles Boyer). She pawns them, but are eventually sold back in secrecy to Andre, who then proceeds to give them to his mistress, who pawns them after gambling…and no matter where the earrings go, they always end up in the home of Andre and Louise. Years and years pass by, and in that time we observe Louise’s affection for Andre wane and blossom for Donati (Vittorio De Sica), an Italian diplomat.

The Earrings of Madame De… is not the kind of movie I would usually go out of my way to watch, in spite of its glowing reputation (it currently holds the #120 spot on TSPDT’s 1000 Greatest Films). My curiosity was piqued when I saw a video essay on Bela Tarr’s style, and the essay made countless comparisons to the style of Ophuls. Though I think the comparisons are a little bit of a stretch (at least in the case of Earrings), the film is still brilliant on a technical level. Like Tarr, there is an abundance of long takes, but contrary to Tarr, shots are very kinetic and dynamic – I was tempted a few times to rewind scenes to pay further attention to just how in the hell Ophuls pulled some of these shots off. I was reminded somewhat of The Cranes are Flying, a film from the same time period that is equally as impressive as far as technicality.

Also like The Cranes are Flying, however; the drama that The Earrings of Madame De… centers around isn’t anything much to write home about. The earrings made for an interesting comment on frivolity and aristocracy, but are completely forgotten about half of the time while focusing on the affair between Louise and Donati. While they’re not boring characters, they’re not particularly gripping either. That said, the script is very witty, surprisingly funny, and quite poignant from time to time. I’m in between a 2.5 and a 3 for this one, but upon writing this, I’ve discovered that the good outweighs the bad. Who knows, maybe I’ll eventually recognize The Earrings of Madame De… for the masterpiece that it is constantly alleged.

His Girl Friday (1940)

Directed by Howard Hawks

* * *

The hectic, fast-paced life of journalism seems to be a perfect fit for the equally fast-paced Walter Burns (Cary Grant), an editor for The Morning Post. One morning, he is visited by his ex-wife and former reporter Hildy (Rosalind Russell). To Walter’s dismay, Hildy reveals that she is engaged to Bruce (Ralph Bellamy), a well-intentioned yet ultimately unremarkable Average Joe. While out to lunch, Walter practically begs Hildy and her writing expertise to cover one more story: the upcoming hanging of Earl Williams (John Qualen), who has been convicted of murdering a police officer. Though Walter’s states that his intention is to prove Earl’s innocence, his real motive is to sabotage his ex’s wedding and maybe, just maybe, win her back.

 Considered one of the greatest Screwball Comedies ever made, His Girl Friday is one of the most frantically-paced and cleverly written films I’ve seen yet. The fast pacing perfectly matches the world that these characters inhabit, and it makes for great comedy. Not necessarily gut-busting comedy, but the kind where the viewer, trying to keep up with everything that’s going on, doesn’t realize the hilarious thing that just happened until a beat or two later – the “Wait a minute – what!?” kind of comedy (and one of my favorite styles). But Charles Lederer’s clever script wouldn’t have been possible without the wonderful duo that Grant and Russell share. Like an intense ping-pong match, their comic timing is always bouncing off of each other, making for great chemistry between the two.

Interestingly enough, though, this leads to my primary criticism of the film: as integral as the Grant-Russell duo is to the film, there’s a major chunk throughout the second and some of the third act where they go separate ways and work individually instead of together, and considering just how wonderful they are together, this did bring the pace down a little bit. Also, there’s a major tone shift with the Earl Williams subplot. The subject matter is serious enough, but when followed by a jailbreak (complete with a shootout), I completely forgot that I was watching a comedy. Perhaps these are criticisms that can wane with a second watch, because I am otherwise in complete agreement with His Girl Friday’s reputation as one of the greats.

Mamma Roma (1962)

Directed by Pier Paolo Pasolini

* * ½

Once a street prostitute, Mamma Roma (Anna Magnani) has left her sleazy lifestyle behind to pursue a brand new life. She invests every penny into a brand new apartment and starts a vegetable stand, all for the sake of her son Ettore (Ettore Garofolo) with the most motherly commitment possible. As he approaches his teenage years, however, Ettore is bound for a rough life – with no desire to work or no goals, Ettore spends his days wandering the rather rough streets of Rome with his hoodlum friends, as well as falling for Bruna (Silvana Corsini), whose promiscuity makes her the degrading talk of the town. Seeing the path her son is headed toward, Mamma Roma takes whatever action is necessary for the betterment of her son.

Though made (and set) in the early ‘60s, Mamma Roma is deeply indebted to the Italian Neorealist works of the ‘40s and ‘50s, with its depiction of the struggle for survival and betterment in an unforgiving and collapsing urban landscape – one of the more striking elements of Mamma Roma is its depiction of Rome, which looks like a torrent of post-apocalyptic ruins. I absolutely love Italian Neorealism, and I looked greatly forward to Mamma Roma, but I was somewhat disappointed, and it’s all because of one thing: rather than depicting the drama in heightened realism, the film treats its drama in a melodramatic fashion, where characters speak their minds and emotions in operatic and grandiose tones. As you could imagine, this stands in distractingly stark contrast with the gritty world these characters inhabit.

At least the melodrama doesn’t overshadow Mamma Roma’s redeeming qualities, which are certainly worth bringing up. How can anyone talk about this film without bringing up Magnani’s sharp and brilliant performance? She has such a striking performance in all of her films that commands your attention even if it’s not a great film – evident in Mamma Roma, obviously, but as well as the seminal Rome, Open City (the latter of which I was never a fan of). The mother-son dynamic, which touches on a sort of emotional dependency on the mother’s part, is also extremely fascinating, but the film never went all the way, so it feels like a half-baked idea that’s touched on from time to time throughout. On a side note, this would make a very interesting double-bill with Fellini’s wonderful Nights of Cabiria, but if you were faced to watch only one or the other, go Fellini.

THE WEEKLY RECAP: June 25 - July 1

Being There (1979)

Directed by Hal Ashby

* * * ½

Chance (Peter Sellers) has been living inside a townhouse his entire life. Now in his middle ages, having never left his home, he spends his days watching TV and gardening (a trade he has devoted literally his entire life to), all with a child-like naiveté. As the film opens, his benefactor passes, and without any proof that he lives in the home, Chance is forced to hit the streets without any sort of destination, completely oblivious to the workings of the world. After a minor accident with a vehicle, Chance is taken into the home of Eve and Ben Rand (Shirley MacLaine and Melvyn Douglas). When Ben mistakes Chance (known now as Chauncey Gardener) for some sort of brilliant socio-political scholar, Chance is given the opportunity to speak to the President (Jack Warden). Following, he finds himself becoming groomed to become one of the great political speakers of the country.

Believe it or not, Being There is my first experience with Hal Ashby. I didn’t know what to expect fully walking in, but reading about the film raised expectations for a comedy with deeply rooted drama, which is one of my favorite kind of movies. Though I can’t exactly say Being There lived up to its alleged reputation, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it. The entire weight of the film rests on Peter Sellers. Though my favorite Sellers performance will always be Dr. Strangelove, Sellers’ Chance is a close runner up. It’s difficult to believe that there is a man out there that is this sheltered from the outside world, but Sellers makes it completely believable.

Speaking of believability, I must say that I was only to suspend my disbelief for so long before it was completely cut. I’m sorry, but I can’t believe that the unintentional charade that makes Chance an icon could make it as far as he does. There would just have to be a point where somebody realizes that something is seriously off about this guy. That said, while I was a little bothered by the ludicrousness of the scenario, I was still wondering where it was all going to go. Then again, it helps that Chance’s childishness sets up for some terrific jokes. Maybe not a masterpiece, but Being There made for a solid comedy-drama that was sometimes very funny, sometimes very sad, and an overall excellent movie.

The Burmese Harp (1956)

Directed by Kon Ichikawa

* * * ½

While traversing the jungles of Burma, a team of high-morale Japanese soldiers with a deep love for music – led by Captain Inouye (Rentaro Mikuni), who narrates throughout – are cornered and captured by British forces. It is here that they learn of Japan’s surrender, marking the end of World War 2. PFC Mizushima (Shoji Yasui), a skilled harp player, is sent solo to inform another team of Japanese troops of Japan’s surrender. Things don’t go too smoothly for Mizushima, and his fellow soldiers don’t see or hear of him for some time. That is until they cross a bridge and pass by a Buddhist monk who looks too much like Mizushima to be a doppelganger. As time unfolds, it becomes more evident that the monk in question just might be their missing brother in arms.

Japanese cinema from the 1950s has perhaps the greatest track record in the history of the art form, churning out one great film after another with masterminds like Kurosawa and Ozu behind the camera (even the era’s weakest films were still solid movies). Though The Burmese Harp isn’t by either of those men, it still continues this wonderful reputation. Though rooted in Buddhist values, it is still a universal story of letting go, and the result is deeply profound and quite tearjerking from time to time – the scene involving Mizushima and his fellow soldiers’ final song together really got the waterworks going on. Oh, and the film’s power is further capitalized by the absolutely terrific shot composition.

The only big criticism I have is a lack of seeing enough of Mizushima before his transformation. Granted, the film is told from the narration of Captain Inouye, but I never felt like we got to know the pre-Buddhist Mizushima, as he exists somewhat in the background. I feel everything would have been much more touching if we got to know him just a bit better. That said, I feel like this is a criticism that could possibly wane after a second watch. Regardless, this does not change the fact that The Burmese Harp is an amazing film and fits in wonderfully with the golden age of Japanese cinema.

Desert Hearts (1985)

Directed by Donna Deitch

* *

The year is 1959. Vivian Bell (Helen Shaver) is bound for the city of Reno with the intent of getting a quick divorce, which requires Nevada residency. Fresh off the train, she is picked up by Frances (Audra Lindley), who rents out rooms for women awaiting divorce finalizations. It is here that Vivian meets the free-spirited Cay (Patricia Charbonneau), who is something like a daughter to Frances. Upon meeting Cay, Vivian immediately feels something for her, though she internally wrestles with those very feelings – is it lust or love? Platonic or romantic? 

Consensus seems to indicate that Desert Hearts as an important landmark in LGBT cinema – Wikipedia states (albeit, with no annotated source) that “it is regarded as the first film to present a positive portrayal of lesbian sexuality.” For its time, maybe there really wasn’t a film as audacious as this. I can appreciate that, but the film itself, I cannot. Though the nervous “this is it” thrill of sex in the climactic (now, now) scene was captured perfectly, the drama leading up to it just feels like padding, further marred by distractingly awkward dialogue. Though the performances are solid, even the actors seem to know just how subpar the dialogue is, and sound equally as awkward delivering it. On a visual level, there are some major missed opportunities considering the vast desert landscapes, but no terrific cinematography to compliment it.

If there is anything that is interesting, it is the dynamic between Frances and Cay. I’ve mentioned that Frances treats her like a daughter, so imagine the drama that ensues when Cay and Vivian are on the verge of going off together, leaving Frances to her lonesome – of course, she protests. Unfortunately, nothing feels fully developed, but at least it kept my interest. I’ve come to realize that LGBT films are very hit or miss for me. There are truly some extraordinary ones out there, like My Own Private Idaho or last year’s unbelievably great Call Me by Your Name. When it’s not great, though, it tends to be very mediocre that thinks that dealing with LGBT themes immediately makes the movie good. Desert Hearts falls into the latter category.

In a Lonely Place (1950)

Directed by Nicholas Ray

* * * ½

With a history of violence and a hot temper, Dixon Steele’s (Humphrey Bogart) reputation has seriously dented his place in Hollywood as a screenwriter. Tasked with adapting shlock of a bestselling novel, Dixon invites the young Mildred (Martha Stewart), who is reading the novel, over to his house to give him the nutshell version of the story. As the evening proceeds, she leaves for the local cabstand to take her home. The next morning, Dixon discovers that Mildred has been murdered, and his reputation has led him to become the prime suspect. His neighbor Laurel (Gloria Grahame) speaks to the police on Dixon’s behalf. Dixon and Laurel soon strike up a relationship, but as Dixon’s violent tendencies begin to shine, and as their relationship sours as a result, Laurel begins to seriously wonder about Dixon’s innocence.

Late ‘40s/early ‘50s film noir has never been much of my thing. I’ve always appreciated the aesthetics as well as the audacity of common film noir themes for the time, but I suppose you could say I’ve been somewhat spoiled by modern film. The filmmaking style of that whole era has never resonated with me much, but I tend to put my personal preferences aside these days, and I must say that I really enjoyed In a Lonely Place. I award most of its credit to being so bold, to explore such a man as unstable as Dixon, but how could that possibly work without the alluringly dangerous charisma of Humphrey Bogart? I’ve always had a soft spot for Bogart, and I think this just might be my favorite performance of his. On a side note; I swear that nobody has ever looked so cool smoking a cigarette like he does.

The only thing I really didn’t care too much for is the shift in character focus as the film goes on. In the former half, we focus on Dixon and him crumbling under the pressure of being suspected for murder – a fortuitous move for a film of this era, and I was really into it. About half-way through the film, though, the film shifts focus on Laurel and her uncertainty of Dixon, which is where the film becomes a more traditional film noir mystery, and the film kind of stumbled because of this – I think the film could have been much more interesting if it was exclusively concerned with Dixon (hell, the mystery would still be there). Other than that, the production design all-around is very typical of the era – nothing bad, but nothing spectacular either. All that said, though, this was still a fantastic film all around.

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.