FILM REVIEW: Down by Law (1986)

Part of the Jim Jarmusch ‘All About the Masters’ Series

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When a group of people are caught in a rough situation that there’s no getting out of anytime soon, there’s a unique bond that forms between said people that no other set of circumstances could ever recreate. If I may use my own experiences as an example; I remember with great (if somewhat morbid) fondness my days in basic military training and all of the BSing, joking, and reminiscing that was vocally exchanged between us trainees in those small frames of time between the harshness of the experience. Eventually, we all got out and went about our lives, rarely reaching back out to each other (if at all), but it’s almost like there’s no need to reach back out – the bond that formed in those days was so strong, it can never be broken.

Down by Law, Jarmusch’s 1986 follow-up to his landmark Stranger Than Paradise, recaptures this bond wonderfully. Bolstered by three remarkable lead performances, Down by Law is a film that, while enjoyable, feels somewhat padded in between its highlights.

It seems like it’s going to be just another night in the gritty Louisiana streets this evening – at least that’s what pimp Jack (John Lurie) and unemployed DJ Zack (Tom Waits) were probably thinking at first. Little do they know that their night is not going to be spent on the streets, but in a jail cell, as they are both set up and framed for crimes they did not commit. Unsurprisingly, it’s a rough time, and it doesn’t help that neither Jack nor Zack are particularly fond of each other.

Things take an interesting turn when the two inmates are joined by a third – Roberto (Roberto Benigni), an Italian immigrant who may not be as innocent as his cellmates. He carries on with a boisterousness that may be irritating from time to time, but still lightens up the mood of the drab cell regardless. Besides, with Roberto’s insatiable spirit, the three now have the will to do the unthinkable…escape incarceration into the bayou right outside.

Even if this film was a complete failure otherwise, it would be worth watching alone for its three leads. Lurie and Waits both have a gritty, rough-edged persona to them, but in very different ways, and they manage to feed off of each other’s uniquely-branded grit personas and the result is a duo that is wonderful to witness go from enemies to allies (I dare you to tell me that the final scene on the fork in the road doesn’t make you smile). And then there’s Benigni, to which there’s no denying that he completely steals the show. Granted, the kinetic energy on display in Down by Law is about what you’d expect, but also keep in mind that he was virtually unknown to us back in ’86.

Fret not, though, as Down by Law is a solid movie overall. Though the plot sounds like your typical escape movie, c’mon, now; did Jarmusch ever do something typical? In Down by Law, Jarmusch is more interested in the moments in between the plot points (all interluded with terrific music by Waits and Lurie); the card games and cigarettes, reminiscent conversations about life on the other side of the bars, even the occasional fist fight, and it all works to wonderful effect, as the audience begins to feel like a member of their pack; when they’re elated, we’re; when they’re stir crazy, we’re stir crazy. I was so involved that I found myself chanting along with the trio during the famous “I scream, you scream” scene.

That said, Down by Law still doesn’t completely grip me. The first act feels incredibly bloated, in spite of some terrifically textured shots of the roughest parts of urban Louisiana. Once we get the idea of the two men we’ll be hanging around with the rest of the movie, the movie still dwells on and on before anything really happens. It’s one thing if there’s something cool or some interesting dialogue going on, but there’s very little of that in the first act, and it drags the film down with it before anything really begins to happen.

Luckily, the jail sequence makes the wait worth it overall, but the escape sequence feels like a missed opportunity. We have these three strong personalities, and it would be great to see them plot something as ridiculous as breaking out of incarceration, as well as to see them actually pull it off. Not present here. As a matter of fact, the escape just kind of happens. Granted, it does inspire a hearty chuckle when it happens considering just how unexpected it is, but it could have been so much more than we actually got.

I’m still yet to see four of his movies at the time I’m writing this, but so far, Jarmusch has not made a bad movie (with the exception of Permanent Vacation, which I’m more than willing to forgive); just films where style and a collage of ideas outweigh the quality of substance, and I find Down by Law to be the first example of this. It’s dwelling and missed opportunities prevent it from being a truly great film, but it still has enough of that signature Jarmusch coolness to make it work in parts. When it works, it’s irresistible.

FILM REVIEW: Stranger Than Paradise (1984)

Part of the Jim Jarmusch ‘All About the Masters’ Series

~ Greatest Favorite ~

In February 2013, some friends and I made a trip to the Mall of America. It was a very long trip, as it had snowed heavily the night before departure, prompting us to take the long way to Minneapolis. We were initially flabbergasted by the scale and size of the Mall, but it didn’t take long for us (or me, at least) to realize that in the end, these were the same old stores we have back in our same old freezing hometown. In retrospect, I felt like the central trio of characters in Stranger Than Paradise and their impromptu trip to Florida and all of its same-old, same-old blandness.

Thus, we are with Jim Jarmusch’s 1984 breakthrough, Stranger Than Paradise, charmingly simplistic and wittily clever satire of the quirkily dull world of America and all of its slang, football, sunglasses, and TV dinners.

New Yorker Willie (John Lurie) is drifting through life in a shabby apartment, a card game with the guys here, a TV ballgame there, with plenty of laying in bed in between. Sometimes he’s joined by his friend Eddie (Richard Edson) – though he’s a bit more optimistic and lighthearted than Willie, he’s essentially the same person. This comfort in stillness is interrupted by a two-week visit from Eva (Eszter Balint), his cousin fresh off the plane from Hungary. Willie is indifferent about this visit, considering his apprehension to his Hungarian roots, but he teaches her some lingo and ways of American living – the alien nature of it all leaves her unable to decide whether to laugh or be bored out of her mind.

A year passes. Eva has moved on to live with her aunt in Cleveland. Willie and Eddie go on about their monotony, but something compels them to visit Eva. So, with $600 in pocket fresh from a card game, the two hop in their car all the way to Cleveland to Eva’s delight, but nonetheless greeted by the same drabness from their home city (and seemingly everywhere else), but now they’ve got each other. This renewed unity between the three sparks a trip to Paradise (a.k.a., Florida), because why not?

From the writing to the locations to the photography, Jarmusch downplays absolutely everything to its driest core. It’s an acquired taste for sure, but the result of Stranger Than Paradise is one that is absolutely charming, and its strengths are the little moments that break up the monotony, no matter how slight or insignificant said moments are. Take, for instance, when Willie and Eddie first visit Eva at her workplace in Cleveland, where they veil themselves as much as possible so she won’t recognize them at first. The look on her face upon recognition is absolutely wonderful. Stranger Than Paradise is filled with moments like these, but it never once oversteps its boundaries, always staying grounded in its drab tone.

This is partly in thanks to the wonderful abilities of Lurie, Edson, and the gorgeous Balint, who I sincerely believe to be three tragically underrated actors in movies, not because of chameleon-like abilities to transform into other people, but in their ability to stay perfectly in sync with the film’s tone, knowing exactly when and how much to nudge their humorous energy, but always staying in their lane, so to speak.

The visual style is perhaps the most key element of Stranger Than Paradise. Each scene plays out in nearly one take, but these aren’t sprawling tracking shots like that of GoodFellas or the works of Gaspar Noe. Here, Jarmusch observes the action in some sort of enclosed space, with an occasional pan to the left or right to keep the action (for lack of a better way to put it). Like life itself, there are no kinetic cuts from one important piece of action or dialogue to another. Rather, life is one continuous take with lots of nothing occasionally broken up by a remark here or gesture there, sometimes set to the background score of rock n’ roll – Jarmusch is pretty particular on Screamin’ Jay Hawkins here.

Satire is one of the most grossly misused words in the English language, so let me clarify that we are talking about commentary through parody (satire), rather than just parody itself (parody). Now that we’ve cleared that out of the way; yes, there is satire present throughout the film, but it is not self-righteous, pious or smug. In fact, like Jarmusch’s body of work in general, it’s quite humble. It’s there and can spark an interesting conversation afterward, but the satire is a result of the material itself, rather than the material existing for the satire.

Is Stranger Than Paradise for everyone? Absolutely not. Many will be turned off by its dry humor and minimal style, and if these kinds of movies aren’t your thing, I highly doubt this Jarmusch classic will do anything to win you over, but here we are, 35 years later, and Stranger Than Paradise still stands the test of time as a timeless classic in what is perhaps the quintessential indie film.

FILM REVIEW: Permanent Vacation (1980)

Part of the Jim Jarmusch 'All About the Masters' Series

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More often than not, debut films exist long-term strictly as curiosity pieces, specimens of the shoestring-budgeted, narratively choppy, maybe even embarrassing, but humble and sometimes charming beginnings of prominent filmmakers. I’m more than fully aware that there are plenty of notable examples of the opposite (Citizen Kane, anybody?), but I’ve found the former to be much more prevalent, whether it be Who’s That Knocking at My Door? (Scorsese) or Fear and Desire (Kubrick). Alas, the debut of indie superstar Jim Jarmusch is no exception with his 1980 debut Permanent Vacation.

I have a 600-1000 word limit to my reviews. Under usual circumstances, I like to keep my reviews closer to that 1000 word range, but writing about Permanent Vacation in that much depth is an act of borderline futility. Judging from the 2 stars indicated above, it’s no surprise that there’s nothing remarkably good to say about the film, but there’s nothing remarkably bad to say about it either.

Permanent Vacation follows Allie (Chris Parker), a young man with his girlfriend in a shabby New York flat. Without a father and mothered by a woman who spends her days in a mental institution, Allie wanders throughout New York (and life itself) in a state of drabness and inertia. On this particular day, he makes a point to visit his mother in the institution, but continues his aimlessness immediately afterward, in search of some sort of motion in his stillness…and there’s not much else to it than that.

Granted, this is a Jim Jarmusch film, so this kind of minimalism is to be expected, but not much else is offered. Jarmusch is an exceptionally witty film writer, but the writing in Permanent Vacation is probably Jarmusch at his most dull and unrealized. Conversations start, carry on very uninterestingly, go nowhere, and just, kind of, end. Characters don’t exactly compliment the script either, but luckily there are no insufferably pretentious or obnoxious characters present either, so dealing with the characters at least wasn’t the chore it potentially could have been.

That said, if there’s one glaring criticism I have of Permanent Vacation, it is the lead performance from Parker. This kid has absolutely no charisma whatsoever and cannot carry the coolness a Jarmusch film critically requires, and to make it even worse, he’s trying so, so hard to be cool, from the way he puts on his jacket and the way he stands to his very voice. Hanging out with Parker for an hour and 15 minutes was borderline unbearable, but luckily as non-striking as he is, he’s not unlikeable either.

On a side note, that reminds me: the movie isn’t even 80 minutes long, so even on a time standpoint, it’s not the chore it could have been.

Moving on, though; is there anything legitimately noteworthy in Permanent Vacation? Somewhat surprisingly, yes. Jarmusch captures New York in an almost war-torn state, which is most glaring when Allie comes across a traumatized Vietnam War veteran. It’s a unique look with a lot of potential, but like with everything else in the movie, nothing ever comes into full fruition. If there is one fully noteworthy moment present, it is an early scene where Allie dances in his apartment while his girlfriend stares longingly out the window, as if his life-deprived subconscious has manifested physically.

As much as Permanent Vacation most definitely sounds like a Jarmusch film, finding many of his signatures and tropes was really difficult here, but they are present, most notably in the final scene; Allie is getting on a boat, where he crosses paths with a similarly aged Frenchman who is just getting off the boat. These two characters have never met before and are from completely different walks of life, but there’s an unspoken bond and mutuality between these two characters. Classic Jarmusch.

Overall, Permanent Vacation doesn’t show much of Jarmusch’s potential, and is a portrait of a filmmaker with ways to go. If it were 1980, I would probably be ripping this film apart for its dullness and banality, but it’s 2019, and I know the mastery that Jarmusch is capable of, so it’s much easier to let bias take over and forgive this film for its countless shortcomings. Besides, it would only take one more film before Jarmusch showed the world the kind of greatness he’s really capable of.

ALL ABOUT THE MASTERS: Jim Jarmusch

In the world of cinema, I've always found the use of term "indie" a bit too liberal, as anything remotely outside the mainstream assembly line of films seem to be automatically referred to as "indie". Granted, I don't have much room to get huffy about it. After all, technically speaking, it's simply an abbreviation of "independent". Fine by me, but I've always found that "indie" defines a very specific brand of independent filmmaking, one that is stylistically (and many times visually) colorful with a signature quirk, wit, and edge. More often than not, they're charming movies in spite of the commonly morose subject matter - loss, grief, ennui, just to name a few topics - and how fascinating that no matter how quirky and charming the usual "indie" film is, it always remains grounded in its dark subject matter.

Though my desire to make a name for myself as a filmmaker isn't as strong as it used to be, it is still a goal of mine to independently write, produce, and direct a film at some point in my life. Because of this, I have a soft spot for indie films, even at their most laughably stereotypical. It was only natural that I approach the work of Jim Jarmusch sooner or later. I had not only read about his movies (most of which sounded very interesting), but I also noticed that a good handful of his titles were in the Criterion Collection, which is almost always enough to pique my interest in any movie. I was lucky enough to find a used Criterion copy of Stranger Than Paradise, which I snagged right away and immediately watched when I got home. This was the equivalent of me tripping over a rock and falling into the rabbit hole.

One of the first words that comes to mind when I think Jarmusch is "cool". Imagine an Andrew Eldritch-lookalike sitting at the edge of a hole-in-the-wall bar, a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other, looking ponderously off into the distance. He's not asking for your attention, but you can't help but be drawn to him. A conversation with him might seem at first like an insignificant chat, but there was something about the way the conversation carried on with this guy that unveiled an undiscovered beauty in something as simple and unremarkable as everyday small-talk.What I'm getting at is this: if a human manifestation of the typical Jim Jarmusch film existed, it would be something like that.

And what I love most about Jarmusch is the humility that runs strongly throughout his work. There's plenty of room for debate here, but for me, he never seems like he's trying to be cool, edgy, unique, or anything like that (or at least trying too hard, anyway), contrary to the dime-a-dozen indie filmmakers out there today who are so desperate for the attention of cinephile audiences. Jarmusch always remains grounded in the seemingly unremarkable state of his characters and stories, and lets his movies play out as such. What he does instead, however, is honing in on that regularness and brings out the beauty in it. Even in otherwise less-than-stellar films like Coffee and Cigarettes, there is still success found in their reserved nature.

As I wrote that last paragraph, I had films like Night on Earth and Paterson in mind, and while my previous statements ring plenty true to those films, I doubt anybody would call the characters something like Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai "everyday people" (in that film's case being hitmen and the mafia). Even in movies like these, Jarmusch never, ever forgets what makes his films so charming, and continues to remain in the foundation of everyday charms...even in films about African American hitmen who live by the code of the samurai.

That said, this Jarmuschian foundation, so to speak, sometimes works against him. Case in point being Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai, as a matter of fact. While not a bad movie by any means (and we'll be getting to that one very soon), I felt overall that it was a very underwhelming experience, which is double-disappointing considering the originality and coolness of the subject matter, especially the protagonist.

But I digress, because more often than not, Jarmusch has delivered one unique and unforgettable movie experience after another, even at his weakest points. While I've not seen every single one of his movies at the time I'm writing this personal introduction, the strong points currently outweigh the weak ones, and considering the man's track record, I doubt that paradigm will shift. I've been wanting to start this 'All About the Masters' series for a while now, and chose to start with Jarmusch after the recent arrival of a brand-new Blu-Ray copy of Broken Flowers. With a new film on the horizon (The Dead Don't Die), my inspiration is at full force and it is time to get the ball rolling, so without further adieu, stay tuned the next few weeks as Red Eye reviews the films of Jim Jarmusch one-by-one.

Here is a recap of what will be reviewed for this series:

Permanent Vacation (1980)

Stranger Than Paradise (1984)

Down by Law (1986)

Mystery Train (1989)

Night on Earth (1991)

Dead Man (1995)

Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999)

Coffee and Cigarettes (2003)

Broken Flowers (2005)

The Limits of Control (2009)

Only Lovers Left Alive (2014)

Paterson (2016)

FILM REVIEW: Climax (2018)

Directed by Gaspar Noe

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To be completely objective and unbiased with a film review is innately impossible, being such a subjective experience. That said, let it be known that I sincerely try. Nonetheless, there is undoubtedly some bias going forward with this review for one simple reason: I am a huge fan of Gaspar Noe, cinema’s favorite practitioner of movie extremity. Though his debut I Stand Alone features a protagonist unlikable enough to negatively impact an otherwise solid film, every single film of his has failed to, well, fail me – yes, I am even prepared to defend Love, his erotic epic that seems to be universally dismissed as his worst film. But now it is 2019, and Tucson has at last seen the release of his latest assault on the senses, Climax. Naturally, a new film from Noe will always sign me up, but the premise never really intrigued me, so I walked in to Climax with a hint of skepticism.

Well, my friends, I’m absolutely ecstatic to report that Noe has done it again.

Climax starts out calm enough (for Noe, anyway): it is the winter of 1996. A lengthy introduction of the film’s colorful array of characters is exhibited via chunks of their audition tapes. We learn quickly that they are a dance troupe as they continue on about what dance means to them, while getting an idea on their personalities, quirks, and so on. Cut to an abandoned school, where they have all gathered for an evening party, complete with dancing, the pulsating beats of 90s trance-techno, and a bowl of sangria.

After an absolutely stunning dance number to kick the festivities off, they split off to mingle, where many a talk is had about relationships, sex, and gossip. These talks go on for a long, long time. Long enough to tip us off that something’s not right. The talks become more erratic. The dancing becomes more alien. People aren’t feeling well. They don’t just realize this, but they realize why: the sangria bowl has been spiked with LSD. Not knowing who spiked it and literally out of their heads, things turn very violent, very ugly, and very weird. In spite of this, the party continues on.

From my observation, there are two methods that result in the best of horror: slow-burn tension and sensory overload of some kind, whether it be The Blair Witch Project’s shaky-cam or the ear-splitting chainsaw of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I’m not sure exactly how comfortable I am calling Climax a horror film, but there’s no denying that the film I saw is one of the most terrifying moviegoing experiences in recent memory, and one of the key ingredients in its excellency is its mastery of both methods previously mentioned.

There is no “act structure” found in Climax. Abandoning the traditions of moviemaking is nothing radical in 2019, nor a surprise for Noe, but this is one of the greatest strengths of the film. It is instead a steady descent into a drug-fueled downward spiral that the viewer is horrifically entranced toward, rather than being guided by one plot point to the next. I’ve never tripped once in my life up to this point, but I can imagine the feeling of descent into a really bad trip being something like this.

Even as an avid Noe fan, I will be the first to admit that pacing has never been his strong suit – Irreversible, Enter the Void, and Love are all marred by troubled pacing in their final acts, but Noe has found notable footing with Climax, especially considering how many characters the film has to follow. But, like a casual partygoer, Noe angelically traverses from one party to another, without the viewer even really noticing they’ve transitioned. This is all the more impressive considering the impromptu circumstances the film was made under, with most everything we’re watching improvised on-set (in 15 days, no less).

When Climax isn’t scaring us half to death, it is mesmerizing us with the incredible choreography and blocking from an exceptionally talented cast. Much has been said about the opening dance number, and it’s worth the hype, but many reviews dismiss the fact that these hypnotizing dances continue throughout the entire movie, all bolstered by an expertly curated soundtrack – from 90s rave tunes to disturbing electronic soundscapes, if the visual prowess of Climax is the main course, the sound and music are the side dishes. At one point, the legendary outro to Aphex Twin’s “Windowlicker” blasted through the speakers – I had to mentally bolt myself to my chair to keep from breaking into dance in the middle of the theater.

The performances are also solid, not just in the actors’ dance moves, but also in their acting capabilities. Following one of these characters into a lone room without knowing what they’re cable of was already terrifying, and the acting made everything all the more believable. Notable is a moment when one girl has a convulsive fit that dual-functions as a nod to Isabelle Adjani’s notorious subway miscarriage in Possession. Granted, what Adjani accomplished in ’81 can never be recaptured, but Climax’s homage gets a nod for effort.

There’s a number of loss-of-innocence allegories I sensed throughout the film, but I will not get into these. My Noe fanaticism may be propelling me to find themes that aren’t really there, but the quality of the movie is more important than whatever existential themes may or may not be present, and I assure you that Climax is top-notch, becoming one of the most uniquely terrifying moviegoing experiences of recent memory. I went to a night club immediately after seeing the movie. Bad idea: the overwhelming sensory assault carried over long into the night, and the club I usually have so much fun at immediately became quite uncomfortable. Climax came and to this very minute absolutely refuses to leave.

ADDED TO 'GREATEST FAVORITES': Shame (2011)

Directed by Steve McQueen

For me, the most powerful moment in Shame comes in about halfway through. Brandon is in a moment of beautiful intimacy with a coworker, a woman who has taken a liking to him. The sex they are sharing is not the depressingly cold and mechanical sex that Brandon is used to indulging in. For what seems like the first time in his life (and it may very well be, for all we know), he is mutually sharing genuinely warm, personal, and passionate intercourse. It is because of this that he ceases going any further with the encounter. She leaves, confining Brandon in his shame before abruptly cutting to aggressive, meaningless sex with a total stranger only moments later. It is at this point when we truly realize the tragedy Brandon is trapped in. He is incapable of emotionally connecting with a fellow human being.

Shame, the sophomore effort from Steve McQueen, is one of the finest dramas of the 21^st Century, earning a spot in my top 10 films of the decade. Though light as far as plot is concerned, it makes up for this in its mastery of observance of the emotions and psychology that underline certain human behaviors. Like the greatest of dramatic films, we are only permitted to bear witness to a certain chapter of its subjects’ lives – context, as far as what happened to them prior and where they’re going after it’s over, is completely irrelevant here.

From an outsider’s perspective, Brandon (Michael Fassebender) is perhaps the ultimate Lady’s Man. He’s a hunk of a man, complete with handsome face, great hair, and a tightly fit body, both of which he maintains and grooms meticulously. Additionally, he’s got a nice condo to himself, funded by a good job. To top it all off, he’s a man of few words, which gives off a vibe of alluring enigma. In turn, he has little to no issue picking up women: it can take this man literally no words to get a woman to join him in between the bedsheets.  To that outsider, he hasn’t mastered the art of picking up women; it’s simply second nature. That outsider might be envious beyond belief and ask Brandon for all of his tips and tactics. What they cannot possibly understand is that Brandon’s effortless sexual escapades are not a quality or an advantage. They are his greatest burden. 

Whether at work, at home, or on the street, Brandon must achieve orgasm of some kind, preferably with another person. At work, where his computer is getting a virus removed as a result of internet pornography, he must resort to masturbating in the bathroom stall if he can’t take the time off for a prostitute. And then there’s his off-time, where he’s free to scour the clubs and bars for his next orgasmic encounter, or he can just stay home and indulge all of the porn in his possession. Is he content living this way? Well, he doesn’t much talk to anybody alone, let alone about his sex life, but his face during the act doesn’t exhibit much pleasure. But, hey, at least he’s free to indulge all he wants. 

I have no desire or intention of judging Brandon's sexual pursuits exclusively. Yes, sex is a pleasurable and lovely experience to share with another person, so much so that we are always on the prowl for the next encounter, to the point of being a borderline necessity. Is this our own instincts driving this seemingly insatiable hunger for coitus, or some sort of societal pressure? I'm not sure, and the movie is not terribly concerned with this. Regardless, though, Brandon still becomes a brilliant obliteration of the so-called "ideal" of being an unstoppable sex machine.

Shame was rated NC-17, primarily for its blunt portrayal of physical sex, yet there is only one scene that I would say is erotic. This is the scene I talked about to open this piece, and how interesting that the encounter doesn't culminate. From this point, the sex scenes go from a sterile and mechanical tone to more and more tragic. In a climactic scene (now, now), Brandon is engaged in three-way sex. Enticing, yes, but the focus is always on Brandon. The closer he reaches orgasm, the more pain we see in his face. Once again, obliteration of the perceived ideal: in the most enticing sex in the movie is where we see Brandon in his deepest and most agonizing shame.

Something like a plot develops with the introduction of Sissy (Carey Mulligan), Brandon's sister. She unexpectedly barges into Brandon's apartment, as well as his life. She needs a place to stay, which seems to be indefinite for now. Brandon makes it perfectly clear to both the audience as well as Sissy that he doesn’t want her there, placing the secrets Brandon has tucked away out there in the open. In spite of his contempt, there’s a mutual level of comfort that very few relationships share, let alone with siblings. Both characters are confronted by the other naked, in close quarters. In these moments, though, they don’t seem to be repulsed by their nude sibling. A phone message from Sissy at the film’s final act suggests a traumatic upbringing – perhaps even sexual abuse. Shame wisely avoids any backstory. After all, the past is the past – what matters here is the present.

I saw Shame in theaters in January of 2012. I had seen Michael Fassbender in the movies from time to time, but it was with Shame that I really took notice. Brandon is a very quiet and self-conscious man, no doubt to keep his lifestyle away from public view. Fassbender may not have much to vocally say, but what he lacks in voice he makes up for ten-fold in insinuation. We can read every thought just from the subtlety in his eyes and facial expressions. Take, for instance, an early scene when he is flirting with a fellow subway passenger. These two don't say a single word to each other, and we barely know anything about Brandon's person. He's extremely minimal and subtle in his expressions, but we know very well what he's after. If only the Oscars were more welcoming of NC-17 films.

Shame walks a number of tight and narrow lines that are easy to fall from. The subject matter alone may be greeted with juvenile snickering, if they haven’t been repulsed at the idea of Brandon already. But then there’s Brandon himself, man whose coldness makes him difficult to like. Writer-director McQueen knows exactly how to portray this character, avoiding making him a predator or serial rapist, or any other such melodrama and clichés. It’s difficult to imagine such a person exists, let alone to believe that such a lifestyle be unpleasurable to the one living it, and Shame makes the subject very real (contrary to, say, von Trier’s Nymphomaniac). As cold a character McQueen as written in Brandon, he does not look on with judgment or condemnation; he is very sympathetic with his subjects.

The city that the characters of Shame inhabit is unwelcoming in one of the most unusual ways I’ve seen yet in a film. It is not gritty with urban decay, but rather it is strangely sterile. Yes, everything is very orderly and well-lit, but there’s a complete lack of any kind of life. The streets are noticeably empty. There’s no flair to the walls and décor, as if the city has as big a secret to hide as Brandon does.

In almost every synopsis and review I’ve come across for Shame, my peers are quick to call Brandon a sex addict without batting an eye. And then there’s me. Though I use the term for the sake of argument, I must admit that I’m not comfortable with it. Aside from believing the label is a means of stigmatizing what the powers that be deem “immoral”, I think it is more appropriate to view Brandon’s insatiable need for orgasm as a symptom.

When I came across a post from Psych Central entitled Compulsive Masturbation: The Secret Sexual Disorder, the puzzle of Brandon’s psyche begins to make a bit more sense: “Because many individuals view sexual self-stimulation as shameful, dirty, or sinful, those who engage in the practice compulsively are unlikely to discuss it with others, even a therapist. If and when a compulsive masturbator does seek help, he or she is unlikely to do so for his/her sexual acting out. Instead, that individual is far more likely to report anxiety, depression, feelings of loneliness and isolation, and the inability (or lack of desire) to form intimate relationships with other people.” Brandon rarely masturbates in the film, yes, but when he does engage in sex with a fellow person, does that person really exist as a human being in Brandon’s experience?

After all is said and done, though, is Brandon a bad person? Some will certainly say yes. On the surface, maybe, but overall, I don’t think so. He’s simply a man who has been confined in his own world for far too long, to the point that his abilities to interact with people and the outside world have been warped. The climactic third act exhibits that he is able to care for a fellow person, but the film ends just around that point. Will Brandon come out a better person? Will he be redeemed? We’ll never know, but to borrow a clichéd phrase, it is always darkest before dawn.

EDITORIAL: Red Eye Into 2019

Greetings, readers! I hope the holidays have treated you well, and Happy New Year! I hope you are all starting 2019 off on the right foot. Yes, I'm still here, and yes, I still intend on regular output.

The unwritten rule of film criticism is to publish some sort of 'Best of the Year' list. I will not be doing this, purely because I didn't see the majority of movies that were released over the course of 2018. That said, if I had to pick a #1 favorite out of what I did see, I highly doubt there's any topping Alfonso Cuaron's masterpiece Roma. That movie was truly something special. On a side note, the charming Isle of Dogs is a solid close second, something I never thought I'd say about a Wes Anderson movie. 

But my favorites of 2018 aren't the purpose of this post.

It's been just shy of a year since I started Red Eye. Though there's only a small number of you reading, I want to thank anybody and everybody that has stopped by and continues to stop by. The reception I've gotten has truly been amazing and inspiring to continue with this blog, which I hope will transition to a legitimate website at some point in 2019. This brings me to my next topic; what to expect in 2019. Well, still more or less the same as what you've been seeing. I've already went over some of this in my Update from 8 November, but here we go again:

First things first, Weekly Recaps will now be Monthly Recaps. I have two reasons for this: 1) because most of my readers are acquaintances on Facebook, I'm not too fond of spamming you guys with mini-reviews of old movies that you probably aren't as eager to hear my thoughts on as, say, something newer. 2) As most, if not all, of you know, Red Eye is purely on my own time, and sometimes real life has to take priority. I'd like to think you all respect this, but it's still kind of embarrassing for me to have to admit that there will be no Weekly Recap due to X. 

On a side note regarding the Monthly Recaps; you will be seeing mostly releases throughout the current decade. Of course there will be old titles from time to time, but 2020, the end of the decade is a year away, and I would like to do a big "Best Films of the Decade" piece, so it is my full intention on catching up on as much as I can throughout 2019.

Next off, and I can't make too many promises on this, but I am aiming to have a legitimate Red Eye website up, along with a dedicated Facebook page - I'm considering a Twitter page as well, but I've never once used Twitter in my life. While I have zero expectations to make a living as a film critic, it is still my desire to make a name for myself outside of my immediate social circles. 

And, finally, we saved the most exciting for last: starting with the first weekend in February, I want to try and get back into regular reviews of new releases again. Once again, I emphasize "No Promises" because of real life, and trips to the theater are very busy and very expensive - I don't mind one or the other, but I can't do both, as I've discussed before. Since I'm still relevant to only a small circle of folks, here is how I'm going to do things: firstly, I will be seeing no more than three movies a weekend (with possibly one indie release throughout the week). Obviously, there are going to be weekends where there will be more than three releases, so how will I decide what to see? Well, I'm here for the people, and I'm here to see what the people want to hear my opinion on. 

Every Monday, I will post a Facebook poll with the weekend's upcoming releases, asking which movies do the readers want to hear my thoughts on the most. Whichever gets the highest amount of votes will be the first movie seen/reviewed that weekend, then the second and third place movies will follow suit. So, for those that are friends with me on Facebook, make sure you're looking out for those polls!

Well, that's all I've got for you. Here's to 2019! Let's hope we get some great cinema this year!

Best regards, 

Jakob.