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The Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call-New Orleans
2/11/10

If you haven’t seen it, don’t read this.  It just deserves to be seen on its own.  It will help if you are either: a) Familiar with the life and work of Werner Herzog (including but not limited to eating his shoe and pulling Joaquin Phoenix from a car wreck on Mulholland Dr.) or b) Familiar with the life and work of Nicolas Cage (including but not limited to his performance in Snake Eyes and Wicker Man, and his consistent ability to get cast despite his filmography).  Only then will you be able to fully appreciate how completely absurd and awesome (in the truest sense of the word) it is that Herzog and his cast essentially ventured into the realm of parody.

It’s certainly not for everyone, but The Bad Lieutenant totally blew my mind wide open.  Its release could not have come at a better time, as we are knee-deep in the repercussions from the 2007/2008 WGA strike, leaving us with more god-awful, unoriginal “entertainment” than ever before.  And Werner Herzog is not afraid to let us know just how embarrassing our national cinema output really is.

I’m just as astounded by Herzog’s massive middle finger to the industry as I am the performances of Nic Cage and company.  The casting is brilliant, and lends a strange sense of earnestness to the film—we are so used to seeing them in over-the-top movies that it’s never quite clear whether or not they are in on the joke.  Because of this, Herzog is able to simultaneously use the very tropes he so openly criticizes, and walk the fine line between laugh-at and laugh-with.  This film was never meant to be taken at face value, but its unapologetic nature makes it more powerful than any straightforward critique of American cinema could be.  Beware, future filmmakers: This is how we look to the world.

A Serious Man
2/11/10

Given that I can barely sit through one feature length film in the comforts of my own home, it’s a rather remarkable accomplishment that I was able to keep engaged for 4 and a half hours in a hot, crowded theater full of people who chew with their mouth open.  But the Coen Brothers, who started off this double feature at the Castro, delivered with A Serious Man, combining the tried and true elements of their most successful films with new experiments in storytelling for one of their most memorable movies this side of the millennium.

The Coens rarely tell a “new” story (I myself am on the fence as to whether there are any new stories in the first place), but they consistently prove that certain methods of storytelling, when used well, will give rise to an engrossing tale time and time again.  Rock solid characters, strong writing, an impressive cast and purposeful direction—when expertly combined—will deliver a stunning final product, even if the story is (quite literally) as old as the Bible.  The formula seems so simple, but rarely is it so well realized as in A Serious Man.

It’s worth noting how great the trailer is for this movie, and how perfectly it fits with the tone of the film.  It not only serves as a preview, but also complements the movie as a whole.  What you know going into a movie effects the experience as much as what you eventually see on screen, and had the trailer been traditionally cut, I don’t know that I would have enjoyed the feature as much.  In the spirit of the movie I’ll be ending this write up n

Red Riding 1983
2/10/10

They tell you, in situations like these, to not rush judgement.  Sleep on it, and see how you feel in the morning.  Don’t fire off that angry missive.  Don’t hate-text your ex.  Give yourself some time to cool down.  I’ve got no time for that sort of rationale, so here we go.

I think 1983 was the best in the trilogy.  I say “I think” because I honestly don’t know.  Seems kind of silly since I just finished watching it, but, you’ll understand when I explain how distracted I was throughout the entire screening.  What could be so egregious, so unprofessional, so obnoxious that would make me lose my train of thought for so long, you ask?  Certainly something on par with sitting next to an infant on a transatlantic redeye flight, or at the very least, finding the only seat in the house is in the front corner in between two noisy popcorn munchers.  But no.  My outrage came from something much more trivial, something any sane person could overlook: the fucking focus.

Pardon my angsty and amateur alliteration, but honestly: Do you know how to project a film?  No, no, back it up— do you interpret the world around you as light reflects and is absorbed into cones and rods in your eyeball, sending signals to your brain?  Do you have two working eyeballs?  Then how on earth can you argue that this movie is in focus?  The edges are dull, the text blurry, and there are no crisp edges to be found.  My own eyes are having trouble knowing where to look, because it all looks just slightly off.

Now, I understand the target audience for this film on a Tuesday night is a devoted group of retirees whose eyesight may not be the best.  But I just got an updated prescription less than a month ago, so I know what I’m looking at.  Oh, and did I mention it’s my job to make sure movies look their best on screen?  I think I know what I’m talking about here.  I know “you don’t agree” that it is out of focus, and you think “that’s just the way it was shot,” but based on the exhibition quality I’ve experienced over the last three days—from ventilation systems louder than the film itself to masking issues and incorrect aspect ratios—I really think it’s you, not me.

…so anyway.  It was thoughts like these that took over my attention span for most of the film, so I feel unable to fairly evaluate it.  What I can tell you is that the characters were more dynamic than ever before, and the story more coherent than the previous two installments.  If you can make it through 1974 and 1980 without wanting to give up, 1983 will definitely make it worth your while.

Unless you see it at the Vogue Theatre, 3290 Sacramento Street, San Francisco, 94115 (415-346-2288).  Then I can guarantee nothing.

(Too much?)

Red Riding 1980
2/8/10

There was a point in college when I realized that some of the academics we’d been required to read, and had struggled so much to comprehend, might actually be bad writers.  Sure, they could be brilliant in their own right, but brilliance does not always translate so clearly onto the page.  I had the same thought coming out of 1980— Many people respect this movie, so there must be something to it that I’m just missing.  But on closer inspection, I think it is the writing that is more flawed than my viewing.

It’s one thing to have a fast-paced thriller with dozens of uniquely defined characters, but so many cop procedural movies rely on a big name and familiar faces to distinguish themselves rather than any actual character development.  1980 (and the trilogy thus far) is no different—while the leads are recognizable (in all of their two-dimensional glory), the supporting cast blends together in rather frustrating ways.  It is especially difficult because this particular group of actors runs through (and plays a pivotal role) in the entire trilogy.  But they are rarely developed, and end up mashed together as one ugly, crooked, and mustachioed copper in my mind.

Of course, I’m only two-thirds of the way through the trilogy.  Hopefully the last piece will bring some coherence to the stories of the first two films—not just in filling the numerous plot holes but clarifying motivations, and casting those scenes in a new light that (at this point) seem blatantly irrelevant to furthering the story.  While the films have been interesting to look at, I still don’t feel as drawn in as I should.  More on the misrepresentation of the films next time.  For now, I’m off to brush up on my UK accents, because I can’t figure out half of what they are saying.

Red Riding: 1974
2/7/10

The British sure do know how to make a made-for-TV-movie.  It’s hard to believe something as smart and dense as the Red Riding Trilogy originated on the small screen, but that’s Channel 4 for you.

As a stand-alone film, 1974 is a solid, if sometimes maddeningly complex (and borderline cheesy), period thriller that slowly explains itself just when you’re about to give up.  Before you know it, you’re roped in for the next two films (which I’ll be seeing tonight and tomorrow).  How it works as a smaller piece of a larger story remains to be seen.

I’m a big fan of the production concept, though: shooting three films back to back and releasing them all at once.  Great for my instant-gratification instincts that have been groomed by the internet since we got AOL in 1994.

Wah Do Dem
2/4/10

Fish-out-of-water movies are nothing new, but there’s something supremely gratifying about watching a self-absorbed Brooklyn hipster abandoned and left to flounder in a developing country.  The daily angst of choosing which ironic sunglasses to wear pales in comparison to deciding which trash heap to sleep under.  And while the film’s message almost makes a statement about expanding one’s world view, the filmmakers made it clear in the Q&A that they really just wanted to make a movie about a guy who loves reggae and goes to Jamaica.

As far as lo-fi movies go, Wah Do Dem was pretty decent.  It’s becoming more difficult for me to understand my frustration with micro-budget films that get big-screen play, but I think it has to do with the disparate levels of professionalism across various elements of these types of movies.  The editing was solid in this film, and the acting was fine.  But the camerawork and cinematography lacked intent, and were amateurish at best.  (Save for a handful of moments in the middle of the film in which it seemed to find its artistic stride— though it did not last long.)

I actually do feel bad that I’m trashing this movie so much, because it was definitely better and more interesting than many other films I’ve seen lately.  Unfortunately, it is now my vehicle to vent about low-budget films finding a relatively large audience that it maybe doesn’t quite deserve.  I don’t even want to comment on some of the cultural weirdness inherent in the magical negro scenes toward the end, which felt more like a caricature than genuine portrait of the area.  These privileged filmmakers from Brooklyn have more to learn, but show enough strengths that I remain optimistic about their future.

The Extra Man
1/25/10 9:30pm - 1/25/10 10:30pm

Yes, it’s true, I was annoyed by the movie before it started.  My brain hurt from free beer, and the filmmakers’ intro was horribly obnoxious.  I had already seen Paul Dano on Main St. subbing in for a bongo drummer in a street band, big pink hat on his head, and big dumb grin on his face.  I can’t stand that guy.

And I can’t seem to believe he is old enough to be a college teacher either, which is the character he plays in this movie.  I’m boring myself trying to remember the plot, but suffice to say it was pretentious and reeked of literature-hipsters.  (Library hipsters?  Hip-lit?  Is that a term yet?)

A few misogynist and fart jokes later, John C. Reilly makes an appearance as the best part of the film— the Grandfather-Twilight-bearded neighbor who doesn’t speak a word.  It was brilliant.

The rest?  Not so much.  I’d love to love you, Kevin Kline, but the writing just felt stale.  The characters’ eccentricities felt forced and trite.  And I’m just getting really sick of Paul Dano’s face.  Play a different character for once, guy.  Directors: Cast a different conservative loner for once.  I should have left when the opening credits read, “Based on the novel by Jonathan Ames.”  I’m out.

Frozen
1/25/10

I had already been in line for 40 minutes before I saw the gushing quote from Harry Knowles on a miniposter someone was carrying around.  So you’ll understand that I wasn’t about to give up, despite all signs indicating this would be a waste of time.  I should have listened to my instincts.

I don’t mean to be harsh, but, this is really just one of those movies that I wanted to know the ending of, and nothing more.  And it would have been successful if it had gotten straight to the point—just show me how these 3 kids, stuck on a ski lift when the lodge closes for 5 days, stay alive (or don’t).  An 8 minutes short, yes.  A 90 minute feature?  No.

It was an admirable effort to set up empathetic characters with backstories, and foreshadow the events to come.  But really, everybody in the theater just wants to know how they die.  We don’t need half an hour of dialogue that sounds like a Kevin Smith first draft.  (And you’ve seen his final drafts, so you know what I mean.)

One common tenet taught in screenwriting classes is: Avoid stagnant locations where there’s nothing for the characters to do.  Cars, bars, restaurants, ski lifts.  All they can do is talk.  And talking is boring.  Especially in a so-called horror movie.  Writer/Director Adam Green wrote himself into a corner by trapping these “kids” (20 years olds played by 30 years olds—why is this always the case?) in a singular location, left to make pop culture references and get in heated, overacted arguments.  We don’t care about that.  We want to see horrific things happen to these people.

However, even the gnarliest of outcomes isn’t so bad.  In the world of Frozen, everything that can go wrong on a ski lift (and then some) does go wrong.  But only for a few minutes—then everyone magically seems to regenerate their stamina or mental health or the skin on their hands.  No problems last much longer than the next scene, when a new hazard takes precedence.  Show me the compounded impact of wolves and frostbite and broken bones, not just one at a time.  Then I might care.

Then again, when the emotional climax of your film is somebody crying over pissing their pants, you’ve got bigger problems to handle.

Space Tourists
1/24/10

One of my favorite parts about film festivals is being able to see a film with literally no idea what it’s about, aside from the title.  I went in blindly to Space Tourists, which very well could be the reason I enjoyed it so much— I had no expectations to begin with.  (See the trailer here, if you’re curious.  But I find it not very representative of the film as a whole.)

I spent the first 5 minutes trying to figure out if I was watching a doc or a narrative feature, which was actually a rather thrilling experience.  Much of this ambiguity is due to the refreshing directorial style of Christian Frei, who expertly plays with documentary form, toeing the line between factual and fictional cinematic tropes.  It’s unclear at times whether the narrator is a pre-written inner monologue of a character, or an excerpt from an interview.  It’s almost as if he is in disbelief of the subject matter, which can seem quite unbelievable.

One of the most refreshing elements was the near-complete lack of talking heads.  In the last decade, I feel the documentary genre has become severely saturated with copycats who own DV cameras, read an interesting article in a newspaper, and set out to hit it big with a doc feature about a subject worth maybe 1500 words at best.  Contemporary American documentaries by newcomers especially have encouraged the idea that docs only require an interesting subject, not any formal style or artistic thought from behind the camera.  Get some interviews, scan some photos, buy rights to stock footage, and find an editor.

Thankfully, the ongoing narration by all characters in the film is coupled and juxtaposed with A- and B-roll, creating a thought-provoking synergy between sound and visuals.  Frei literally jumps from Kazakhstan to outer space to the middle of the Russian plains in a matter of seconds.  For these stylistic and narrative risks, I can forgive the film for its shortcomings, which are few: I felt there were too many characters, which left me unable to fully engage with one single storyline.  With so many threads, the narrative felt meandering at times, and the messages became muddled by the end.

I fully admit I am a sucker for outer space, and might even consider space tourism if I could remotely afford it.  There is something completely awe-inspiring about seeing footage from space, especially as recent as the scenes in the film.  What really resonated with me though was how the film embraced and then moved past current documentary trends toward cynicism and pessimism.  I see so many films about how we are destroying our world, how society is falling apart, and how nobody cares about anything.  And there is a place for these films, but they are starting to suffocate me.  That Space Tourists acknowledged Earth’s plights, and suggested a possible solution really felt refreshing.  Maybe we aren’t completely doomed, after all.