Australia lacks the foundation myths that great nationalism is based on. Some of the most well-known historical figures are criminals (like Ned Kelly) or failures (who can forget Burke and Wills). Australia (2008) Baz Luhrmann’s sweeping epic (is there any more appropriate phrase to use?) can be considered a milestone in Australian mythmaking and perhaps film. On a basic level it is encouraging to see a big budget film with high production values come out of this country (though arguably this is a Hollywood film, Luhrmann has his roots in Australia). It looks great. The outback is a star. Formulaic? Of course. But most importantly it is done well.
I approached this film with skepticism, partly due to its marketing (as a Tourism Australia exercise) and its big budget epicness (all I can think is Titanic and shudder slightly). I also dislike Nicole Kidman. I think she is neither a good enough actress nor attractive enough to be made into the star that she has. There is something wooden about her and Australia is no exception. Luckily the rest of the acting makes up for it. Hugh Jackman is all man! He has real screen charisma. Brandon Walters as Nulla is satisfactory, though his contrived pidgin English is somewhat bothersome.
The first half an hour is a little bizarre. Baz is back using his Moulin Rouge tricks, which is fine but the tone it sets is quickly abandoned in favour of more traditional drama. The scenes of Sarah’s arrival in Australia and Faraway Downs are almost cartoonish, with quick cuts and close-ups of exaggerated facial expressions. You feel like you have fallen through the rabbit hole into a 1930s screw ball comedy! What is the purpose of this when the film seamlessly moves into epic blockbuster mode for the rest of its duration?
Australia has all the ingredients of a successful blockbuster: a sizzling love story, heroes and villains, action chase scenes, explosions, extended length, rousing musical score and of course, a happy ending. But it offers nothing new to this genre. It is interesting to view it in the context of the Western tradition, which is what it essentially is complete with renegade cowboy, money hungry land owner, uptight school marm (or close enough in Kidman’s English lady), bar room brawls, and a community dance. There are clearly delineated good and bad characters. No ambiguity there! The bad are bad through and through. It could have made a more interesting film if the lines between good and bad were blurred a little.
What is ambiguous is the film’s treatment of Aboriginal issues. There is nothing new or revolutionary in this respect. It wants to have its cake and eat it too. While attempting to stick to history portraying the abuses and indignities faced by Aboriginals at the hands of the whites, in the spirit of reconciliation it also allows Aboriginals their same victories (having a drink in the bar, saving stolen generation children from the mission, allowing the half-caste child to go walkabout). But this changes nothing. What happens to the children after they have been rescued? Assumedly taken off to another mission. The only reason the Aboriginal gets to have his drink is because Darwin has been bombed and the bar is about to be abandoned anyway. In the end he has to give up his life for the white hero anyway. There is always the sense that Nulla is better off being adopted by white parents and Sarah inherently deserves to have him.
Aboriginal issues are a touchy and much neglected subject in Australia. Luhrmann’s film takes the safe ground.
Overall this film is an enjoyable experience, if not a forgettable one.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
The American road film Italian-style
Michelangelo Antonioni’s genius lies in his mastery of cinematic rhythms. He can be accused of drawing his films out and if you are not in the right state of mind this can cause distraction. But he does it for a purpose and it is all worth it at the end. When I think of great endings in cinema, I think of his magnificent 12 minute panning shot which concludes The Passenger (1975). It was a one take sequence which made me want to hold my breath for its eternity. Zabriskie Point (1970) ends with a truly mind blowing experience, an assault on the senses which brought a physical reaction from me. A recurring explosion that I could feel it reverberating inside me and each moment I thought I was free it would start again. This is the ultimate Freudian return of the repressed – no matter how many times it is played out (each time it returns bigger than the one before), you can never be free of it. The message is not exactly subtle. Antonioni literally blows up symbols of commodity culture (there are clothes flying, fridges exploding and branded products spinning before the camera) but it is the lead up which creates the shock.
As an outsider approaching American culture, Antonioni’s use of landscape and cinematography is brilliant. The focus on the omnipresent billboard is wonderful and symbolic of American consumerism. The billboard infiltrates almost every scene, from the edges of the frame until it invades the whole shot. Everywhere in the city there is excessive branding, like a shadow that cannot be shaken it follows the characters. For example when the boy is using a telephone in a shop and behind him is a wall of logos for different food brands.
As we move into the desert and the billboards literally start to fade and eventually disappear. The claustrophobic condition of the overbuilt LA (some striking birds eye view shots show a city dissected by roads) is contrasted with the amazing expanse of the desert (which is shot magnificently). The vastness of the open space is captured beautifully in shots which demonstrate the epic scale of nature to wildlife. The wilderness, particularly the desert, comes with all sorts of connotations in American film. It is a mythic site of self-discovery regularly utilized by the road flick (think Easy Rider, Thelma and Louise) and before this it represented the last frontier in the Western film - a ‘no space’ if you will, full of threats and possibilities before it is tamed by humanity. There is a freedom evoked by this and Antonioni encompasses this in the character of the girl. She goes from the sterlised environment of the office block (all the shots here have symbols of technology and industrialization cutting up the frame, for example in a shot of a secretary where ¾ of the screen is taken up by the hard industrial vertical lines of the wall) to the freedom of the desert.
The rendezvous the boy and girl and have in the desert is incongruous. A courtship played out between plane and car, possibly ludicrous but no one claims this is realism. The familiarity with which she acts towards him makes it seem like they have known each other forever, not that he’s just dropped out of the sky!
Their frolicking at Zabriskie Point brings with it a child-like innocence. Running down sand hills, play dead, spinning around in circles and screaming as loud as you can knowing no one will hear feels like a way of recapturing the impulsiveness of childhood. There a wonderful vivacity around the girl and her inane conversations. Then of course sexual discovery (what road film would be complete without it!) which turns wonderfully surreal with the groups of people rolling naked in the sand dotted across the landscape.
However like most road films the characters can not remain in this liminal space, they must return to ‘reality’. The boy returns to face his tragic fate and the girl, after seemingly contemplating pushing onward, proceeds to fulfill her work obligations. But how can she accept this world after what she has experienced? For a good ten minutes she walks around the house in a daze, in virtual silence, her sense dulled and yet heightened. It is all about the looks, the noticing of details, where after an amazing experience, nothing seems to exist outside your immediate environment but what does has taken on a momentous significance. I could feel her solitude and the deafening silence. We are lulled into her brooding world and then literally exploded out of it. A rare big screen experience that evokes a physical reaction.
As an outsider approaching American culture, Antonioni’s use of landscape and cinematography is brilliant. The focus on the omnipresent billboard is wonderful and symbolic of American consumerism. The billboard infiltrates almost every scene, from the edges of the frame until it invades the whole shot. Everywhere in the city there is excessive branding, like a shadow that cannot be shaken it follows the characters. For example when the boy is using a telephone in a shop and behind him is a wall of logos for different food brands.
As we move into the desert and the billboards literally start to fade and eventually disappear. The claustrophobic condition of the overbuilt LA (some striking birds eye view shots show a city dissected by roads) is contrasted with the amazing expanse of the desert (which is shot magnificently). The vastness of the open space is captured beautifully in shots which demonstrate the epic scale of nature to wildlife. The wilderness, particularly the desert, comes with all sorts of connotations in American film. It is a mythic site of self-discovery regularly utilized by the road flick (think Easy Rider, Thelma and Louise) and before this it represented the last frontier in the Western film - a ‘no space’ if you will, full of threats and possibilities before it is tamed by humanity. There is a freedom evoked by this and Antonioni encompasses this in the character of the girl. She goes from the sterlised environment of the office block (all the shots here have symbols of technology and industrialization cutting up the frame, for example in a shot of a secretary where ¾ of the screen is taken up by the hard industrial vertical lines of the wall) to the freedom of the desert.
The rendezvous the boy and girl and have in the desert is incongruous. A courtship played out between plane and car, possibly ludicrous but no one claims this is realism. The familiarity with which she acts towards him makes it seem like they have known each other forever, not that he’s just dropped out of the sky!
Their frolicking at Zabriskie Point brings with it a child-like innocence. Running down sand hills, play dead, spinning around in circles and screaming as loud as you can knowing no one will hear feels like a way of recapturing the impulsiveness of childhood. There a wonderful vivacity around the girl and her inane conversations. Then of course sexual discovery (what road film would be complete without it!) which turns wonderfully surreal with the groups of people rolling naked in the sand dotted across the landscape.
However like most road films the characters can not remain in this liminal space, they must return to ‘reality’. The boy returns to face his tragic fate and the girl, after seemingly contemplating pushing onward, proceeds to fulfill her work obligations. But how can she accept this world after what she has experienced? For a good ten minutes she walks around the house in a daze, in virtual silence, her sense dulled and yet heightened. It is all about the looks, the noticing of details, where after an amazing experience, nothing seems to exist outside your immediate environment but what does has taken on a momentous significance. I could feel her solitude and the deafening silence. We are lulled into her brooding world and then literally exploded out of it. A rare big screen experience that evokes a physical reaction.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Films teach you about life…and making beds.
Jean Eustache’s masterpiece The Mother and the Whore (1973) is an important film in cinema history. Sure it is self-indulgent to make a three and a half hour film based around prolonged conversations but to keep an audience captivated for its duration is talent. However it is an artifact of its times.
Somehow I felt I’d seen this film before in one guise or another. I think the style (lingering shots, Marxist sermonizing) exists in a plethora of films from Bertolucci’s Partner, Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point and a variety of American Indie cinema (such as the work of John Cassavette’s and even a film I recently fell in love with, In Search of a Midnight Kiss). It is amazing to watch a film that really does it well.
Generally speaking, they don’t films like they used to. This is a film completely carried by the quality of its script, performances and cinematograph, rather than special effects or fast editing. And it has a lot to say.
I have taken a recent interest in what I’ve termed ‘slice of life’ films, where seemingly not much happens (we follow characters through a brief period of their lives and often leave them where they began) but their profoundness lays in their subtlety. Perhaps The Mother and the Whore is the ultimate slice of life film. We enter in media res, initially grappling to fit the characters and their lives together. Then we are taken on a journey through their everyday lives, growing to know them intimately. And just as abruptly as we entered we are cut off again, never to discover how it all ends. But does life or love ever have a true end point?
Then again the film is deliberately alienating, never allowing complete identification with the characters it so vividly creates. From Alexandre’s first speech you’re thinking, people in real life don’t speak like that. He sounds like he’s talking from a script. But that’s the point. His whole character is a performance. It is a role he has determined to play and he is engulfed by his persona.
Alexandre is a relic from 1968 – a wayward, self-obsessed bohemian who spends his days sleeping or hanging out in cafes philosophising (like one great line when he comments to his friend about reading in cafes: “I am going to do this every day…like a job”). He is in the midst of an existential crisis, speaks in lofty discourse and is completely hypocritical. It’s a fascinating portrayal as you can’t help but be sucked into his view of the world.
Commentators have emphasised the way the film captures the malaise of post-68. There the pervading sense, we’ve had this amazing social revolution…what now? The next generation feels like nothing can live up to the events of 68 and doubt whether it actually changed anything.
Significantly Jean-Pierre Leaud is cast in the lead. As Truffaut’s alter ego (beginning from The 400 Blows and later to play alongside Truffaut in the famous film about making a film Night For Day) he is a recognisable actor from French cinema and iconic of the New Wave. Having watched Leaud grow up in Truffaut’s films, he is a part of the system and all there is left for Alexandre/Leaud to do is reference other films, books and music. Alexandre sums it up when he states “phoniness is the hereafter”.
The film is more about the conversations and the character types presented than about their relationships. Afterall you can never actually believe Alexandre truly feels anything. I’m sure you need to watch it more than once to truly appreciate the diatribes spouting from these character’s mouths which at times border on poetic. It also a beautiful evocation of Parisian life – its streets, cafes and bars.
But for me what it is actually about is destructive patterns we have and cannot break. The film is full of repeated shots and scenarios: Alexandre waking up to the phone; inhabiting the same cafes; following the same patterns of following in love and destroying that love; the rows and passionate making up Marie; Veronika’s drinking and her continual return after apparent rejection. At the end you can’t imagine anything changing and significantly it in this mysterious phenomenon of love that our most destructive patterns exist.
Somehow I felt I’d seen this film before in one guise or another. I think the style (lingering shots, Marxist sermonizing) exists in a plethora of films from Bertolucci’s Partner, Antonioni’s Zabriskie Point and a variety of American Indie cinema (such as the work of John Cassavette’s and even a film I recently fell in love with, In Search of a Midnight Kiss). It is amazing to watch a film that really does it well.
Generally speaking, they don’t films like they used to. This is a film completely carried by the quality of its script, performances and cinematograph, rather than special effects or fast editing. And it has a lot to say.
I have taken a recent interest in what I’ve termed ‘slice of life’ films, where seemingly not much happens (we follow characters through a brief period of their lives and often leave them where they began) but their profoundness lays in their subtlety. Perhaps The Mother and the Whore is the ultimate slice of life film. We enter in media res, initially grappling to fit the characters and their lives together. Then we are taken on a journey through their everyday lives, growing to know them intimately. And just as abruptly as we entered we are cut off again, never to discover how it all ends. But does life or love ever have a true end point?
Then again the film is deliberately alienating, never allowing complete identification with the characters it so vividly creates. From Alexandre’s first speech you’re thinking, people in real life don’t speak like that. He sounds like he’s talking from a script. But that’s the point. His whole character is a performance. It is a role he has determined to play and he is engulfed by his persona.
Alexandre is a relic from 1968 – a wayward, self-obsessed bohemian who spends his days sleeping or hanging out in cafes philosophising (like one great line when he comments to his friend about reading in cafes: “I am going to do this every day…like a job”). He is in the midst of an existential crisis, speaks in lofty discourse and is completely hypocritical. It’s a fascinating portrayal as you can’t help but be sucked into his view of the world.
Commentators have emphasised the way the film captures the malaise of post-68. There the pervading sense, we’ve had this amazing social revolution…what now? The next generation feels like nothing can live up to the events of 68 and doubt whether it actually changed anything.
Significantly Jean-Pierre Leaud is cast in the lead. As Truffaut’s alter ego (beginning from The 400 Blows and later to play alongside Truffaut in the famous film about making a film Night For Day) he is a recognisable actor from French cinema and iconic of the New Wave. Having watched Leaud grow up in Truffaut’s films, he is a part of the system and all there is left for Alexandre/Leaud to do is reference other films, books and music. Alexandre sums it up when he states “phoniness is the hereafter”.
The film is more about the conversations and the character types presented than about their relationships. Afterall you can never actually believe Alexandre truly feels anything. I’m sure you need to watch it more than once to truly appreciate the diatribes spouting from these character’s mouths which at times border on poetic. It also a beautiful evocation of Parisian life – its streets, cafes and bars.
But for me what it is actually about is destructive patterns we have and cannot break. The film is full of repeated shots and scenarios: Alexandre waking up to the phone; inhabiting the same cafes; following the same patterns of following in love and destroying that love; the rows and passionate making up Marie; Veronika’s drinking and her continual return after apparent rejection. At the end you can’t imagine anything changing and significantly it in this mysterious phenomenon of love that our most destructive patterns exist.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
The absurdity of marriage in 'Palm Beach Story'
Preston Sturges' Palm Beach Story (1942) is an excellent example of the American screwball comedy and it is an absolute hoot. The screwball comedy is a predecessor of the modern rom com but watching a great film like this makes you realise how lame our contemporary romantic comedies are. I compare it to a film like Made of Honor, starring a charmless Patrick Dempsey, attempting cringe-worthy moments of physical comedy and generally lacking an engaging plot. On the other hand, Palm Beach Story strikes a perfect balance of witty repartee, slapstick and well-developed characters you revel in sharing an outrageous journey with.
The screwball genre is often considered subversive in film studies, allowing women to engage in transgressive behaviour. Laura Mulvey’s famous theory of the gaze posits that women are passive and men are the instigators of the narrative. Screwball comedies open a space for women to challenge conservative ideology by playing up. They are characterised by an unruly woman who turns the world of the man who loves her on its head. It features opinionated women who cause havoc by not accepting traditional values and men who are made to look ridiculous. Furthermore the genre allows female sexuality to be explored in a highly conservative time. You’d be right to wonder how some of these films made it through the censors with their not-so-subtle sexual innuendos!
Palm Beach Story is wonderfully subversive. It begins with a frenetic wedding ceremony and the words “They lived happily ever after…or did they?” Don’t you always wonder why rom coms end when the couple gets together? This is because that’s where the married bliss ends!
The women rule this film. There is Gerry (significantly her name is shortened from Geraldine as she takes on male characteristics), who decides one night she is leaving her husband. Though her motives are initially hazy, in the madness of the film it all seems to make sense. She takes flight to Palm Beach for an immediate divorce. On her journey she gets drunk, she flirts, she uses men to pay her way. Claudette Colbert gives a delightful performance as Gerry – vivacious, impulsive and strangely believable. One particularly memorable moment is the facial expression she gives at one of Hackensaken’s attempts at a lame joke.
The other dominant female is Princess Centimillia who is a serial divorcee, treating marriage like buying a new pair of shoes. One of her great lines is “Of course, I’m crazy. I will marry anyone!” The film is full of hilarious one-liners including:
“You have no idea what a long-legged woman can do without doing anything.”
“That's one of the tragedies of this life - that the men who are most in need of a beating up are always enormous.”
While the women dominate, the men are portrayed as ridiculous or ineffective. The ridiculousness of men epitomized by the character of the Frenchman, who haplessly trails after the Princess and speaks jibberish. She ignores him, dismisses him and unashamedly tells him to shut up. The impotence of Gerry’s husband is evident with his inability to tame her (except by exploiting her sex desire). Hackensacken III is mocked for his awkwardness around females and his traditional values (like wanting to trial marriage before entering into it). In one hilarious moment he says “You don't marry someone you just met the day before; at least I don't.” To which the Princess quips back “But that's the only way, dear. If you get to know too much about them you'd never marry them!” The Princess overshadows her brother in every scene.
There are comical misunderstandings worthy of a Shakespearean comedy, as Gerry pretends her husband is her brother. Palm Beach Story is a celebration of the ridiculous. Certainly reality doesn’t get in the way of good fun! It is epitomized by the absurd ending when the united couple suddenly remember that they both have twins which Hackensacken and the Princess can marry. Thus the film ends as it began, with a wedding (and of course the Frenchman still hanging around). The final words “…or did they?” flash across the screen once again. The ending resists domesticating the females with the open ended finale and exposing the absurdity of marriage as an institution.
The screwball genre is often considered subversive in film studies, allowing women to engage in transgressive behaviour. Laura Mulvey’s famous theory of the gaze posits that women are passive and men are the instigators of the narrative. Screwball comedies open a space for women to challenge conservative ideology by playing up. They are characterised by an unruly woman who turns the world of the man who loves her on its head. It features opinionated women who cause havoc by not accepting traditional values and men who are made to look ridiculous. Furthermore the genre allows female sexuality to be explored in a highly conservative time. You’d be right to wonder how some of these films made it through the censors with their not-so-subtle sexual innuendos!
Palm Beach Story is wonderfully subversive. It begins with a frenetic wedding ceremony and the words “They lived happily ever after…or did they?” Don’t you always wonder why rom coms end when the couple gets together? This is because that’s where the married bliss ends!
The women rule this film. There is Gerry (significantly her name is shortened from Geraldine as she takes on male characteristics), who decides one night she is leaving her husband. Though her motives are initially hazy, in the madness of the film it all seems to make sense. She takes flight to Palm Beach for an immediate divorce. On her journey she gets drunk, she flirts, she uses men to pay her way. Claudette Colbert gives a delightful performance as Gerry – vivacious, impulsive and strangely believable. One particularly memorable moment is the facial expression she gives at one of Hackensaken’s attempts at a lame joke.
The other dominant female is Princess Centimillia who is a serial divorcee, treating marriage like buying a new pair of shoes. One of her great lines is “Of course, I’m crazy. I will marry anyone!” The film is full of hilarious one-liners including:
“You have no idea what a long-legged woman can do without doing anything.”
“That's one of the tragedies of this life - that the men who are most in need of a beating up are always enormous.”
While the women dominate, the men are portrayed as ridiculous or ineffective. The ridiculousness of men epitomized by the character of the Frenchman, who haplessly trails after the Princess and speaks jibberish. She ignores him, dismisses him and unashamedly tells him to shut up. The impotence of Gerry’s husband is evident with his inability to tame her (except by exploiting her sex desire). Hackensacken III is mocked for his awkwardness around females and his traditional values (like wanting to trial marriage before entering into it). In one hilarious moment he says “You don't marry someone you just met the day before; at least I don't.” To which the Princess quips back “But that's the only way, dear. If you get to know too much about them you'd never marry them!” The Princess overshadows her brother in every scene.
There are comical misunderstandings worthy of a Shakespearean comedy, as Gerry pretends her husband is her brother. Palm Beach Story is a celebration of the ridiculous. Certainly reality doesn’t get in the way of good fun! It is epitomized by the absurd ending when the united couple suddenly remember that they both have twins which Hackensacken and the Princess can marry. Thus the film ends as it began, with a wedding (and of course the Frenchman still hanging around). The final words “…or did they?” flash across the screen once again. The ending resists domesticating the females with the open ended finale and exposing the absurdity of marriage as an institution.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Sex and the City: The movie
I was a casual fan of Sex and the City: the television series. It was revolutionary in portraying the lives of cosmopolitan women plus the frankness it brought to women talking about sex and relationships. The series evolved over the years and the focus of the characters and storylines shifted as the show grew up. At the end of the day aren’t all women looking for a stable life partner? I’m not going to get into the debate whether the show sold out its strongly independent women in favour of monogamous conventional relationships and families. This is about the movie…
I have my doubts about movie spin-offs of TV series (surely it takes something special to bring a how delivered in weekly 42 minute blocks on a small screen to a length of over 90 minutes on the big screen). On an aside, why on earth is there another movie of The X Files coming out over 6 years after the TV series finished? One thing is for sure, there is huge market out there for films focused on women’s lives. The session I went to was sold-out, the cinema filled with women and perhaps only four men. The women collectively sighed, gasped and cried at the appropriate points in the film. It is encouraging to see Hollywood cinema providing starring roles for women in their forties, with active female characters who driving the storylines. The shortage of juicy roles for women in their forties in Hollywood is well known. They are usually reduced to supporting roles as mothers or wives, the occasional deranged psychotic or are midday movie melodramas. And it’s the not the same for men! They continue being romantic and action leads into their fifties and sixties, think Michael Douglas and Harrison Ford.
So women are flocking in droves to see it but what about the actual movie? In a nutshell it is boring. This is for two main reasons. Firstly it is too far long. There is not enough depth in the script to sustain its 148 minute length. It could have easily been trimmed to a more manageable 90 minutes with a bit less female whingeing, moping and over–reacting. Secondly, the main storyline (involving, of course Carrie and Big) was not interesting enough to base a whole film around. So he almost left her at the altar but he was coming back! Yes she might have felt humiliated and angry but everyone knows she will get over it (after all she is hardly going to go out looking for a new man at this stage and the film does not even consider this option). Good script writing creates tension and intrigue; it backs its characters into a corner and then finds interesting ways to get them out of it. Put simply the stakes were not high enough! Carrie had nothing to lose. He was just waiting for her to get over it. She was never at risk of losing him or doubting their love. Even what makes her forgive him is lame. Surely the script writers could have come up with a better drama for a feature length film.
But perhaps it’s always been that Carrie’s friends have had the more interesting storylines. In the film it is Miranda who has the most interesting character arc. At least there is something at stake here. She has been betrayed by her husband and there is child caught in the middle of it. There is some tension created wondering whether they will both turn up to reconcile but again there is never any sense it could happen any other way. As for Charlotte and Samantha their stories make little impact. It is dominant ideology writ large. Charlotte is rewarded for her conservative values by martial bliss and pregnancy, with nothing essentially bad happening to her. Samantha, forever the promiscuous one, is finally punished by ending up as the only single one celebrating her 50th birthday. All the film pretty much does is slightly rock the equilibrium then restore it…for 148 minutes!
The other problem I had with the film was that the sex out of Sex and the City! The TV series was made famous by its sexy banter and for the most part this was gone, instead dominated by domestic drama. The famous café gossip scenes were turned into pseudo baby-sitting excursions with the characters’ children in the background of most scenes and explicit sex scenes were far and few between. I suppose this is a part of growing up and as the characters (and actresses) get older their priorities change. There was, however, a great example of objectifying the male body in the fetishised, cutting up the body with close-ups-kind of way, usually associated with the female form.
What the film does well (as the show did) is portraying the friendship between a group of women, which ranks above that of their relationships with men. The scenes of female camaraderie were the most touching. Guys may come and go but your female friends will always be there!
I have my doubts about movie spin-offs of TV series (surely it takes something special to bring a how delivered in weekly 42 minute blocks on a small screen to a length of over 90 minutes on the big screen). On an aside, why on earth is there another movie of The X Files coming out over 6 years after the TV series finished? One thing is for sure, there is huge market out there for films focused on women’s lives. The session I went to was sold-out, the cinema filled with women and perhaps only four men. The women collectively sighed, gasped and cried at the appropriate points in the film. It is encouraging to see Hollywood cinema providing starring roles for women in their forties, with active female characters who driving the storylines. The shortage of juicy roles for women in their forties in Hollywood is well known. They are usually reduced to supporting roles as mothers or wives, the occasional deranged psychotic or are midday movie melodramas. And it’s the not the same for men! They continue being romantic and action leads into their fifties and sixties, think Michael Douglas and Harrison Ford.
So women are flocking in droves to see it but what about the actual movie? In a nutshell it is boring. This is for two main reasons. Firstly it is too far long. There is not enough depth in the script to sustain its 148 minute length. It could have easily been trimmed to a more manageable 90 minutes with a bit less female whingeing, moping and over–reacting. Secondly, the main storyline (involving, of course Carrie and Big) was not interesting enough to base a whole film around. So he almost left her at the altar but he was coming back! Yes she might have felt humiliated and angry but everyone knows she will get over it (after all she is hardly going to go out looking for a new man at this stage and the film does not even consider this option). Good script writing creates tension and intrigue; it backs its characters into a corner and then finds interesting ways to get them out of it. Put simply the stakes were not high enough! Carrie had nothing to lose. He was just waiting for her to get over it. She was never at risk of losing him or doubting their love. Even what makes her forgive him is lame. Surely the script writers could have come up with a better drama for a feature length film.
But perhaps it’s always been that Carrie’s friends have had the more interesting storylines. In the film it is Miranda who has the most interesting character arc. At least there is something at stake here. She has been betrayed by her husband and there is child caught in the middle of it. There is some tension created wondering whether they will both turn up to reconcile but again there is never any sense it could happen any other way. As for Charlotte and Samantha their stories make little impact. It is dominant ideology writ large. Charlotte is rewarded for her conservative values by martial bliss and pregnancy, with nothing essentially bad happening to her. Samantha, forever the promiscuous one, is finally punished by ending up as the only single one celebrating her 50th birthday. All the film pretty much does is slightly rock the equilibrium then restore it…for 148 minutes!
The other problem I had with the film was that the sex out of Sex and the City! The TV series was made famous by its sexy banter and for the most part this was gone, instead dominated by domestic drama. The famous café gossip scenes were turned into pseudo baby-sitting excursions with the characters’ children in the background of most scenes and explicit sex scenes were far and few between. I suppose this is a part of growing up and as the characters (and actresses) get older their priorities change. There was, however, a great example of objectifying the male body in the fetishised, cutting up the body with close-ups-kind of way, usually associated with the female form.
What the film does well (as the show did) is portraying the friendship between a group of women, which ranks above that of their relationships with men. The scenes of female camaraderie were the most touching. Guys may come and go but your female friends will always be there!
Monday, May 26, 2008
Cinema viewing
I am baffled by the obsession of sitting in the back of the cinema. Every time I go to buy my tickets for an allocated session the girl at the box office, apologetically tells me something along the lines of, “um the best I can do is three rows from the back in the middle”. Is there anything three rows from the front? I ask. She looks relieved and happily tells me there is plenty available near the front. The absurdity of all this particularly struck me in a small cinema where there were ten people crammed into the back two rows with the rest of the theatre empty.
The only reason I can think of for this obsession is a hangover from the old tradition of making out, snogging, necking or whatever you like to call it, with your date at the back…when it used to be naughty. But in these liberal times who goes to the cinema to get hot and heavy anymore? Perhaps I’m just loser who believes in the sanctity of movie watching. Or perhaps I don’t understand the fire of teenage passions.
Furthermore, these myths of your neck getting sore if you sit too close to the screen are rubbish. I’m paying money to see this film so I want to be as close as possible to the big screen so I can have the full movie-going experience!
I don’t think the cinema will ever die (no matter how easy it is to watch films in your own home, on the road, or pretty much wherever you damn like these days). There is something about going to the movie that is a special experience. Sitting a darkened room, filled with strangers, engulfed by the giant screen and surround sound. The experience is at once individual and communal. It puts you in an environment to be completely absorbed by what is happening on screen, which can not be replicated in the home. It’s a ritual, it’s an experience. All the psychoanalytical theory about Plato’s cave and Lacan’s mirror phase aside, each time you go to the cinema it is a unique experience. It’s a pity so many popular films are largely underwhelming, churned out by the Hollywood manufacturing line – predictable, clichéd, mindless and forgettable (not that I’m against pop culture per se, there’s something to be said for it too but I’ll save that for another rant). I love seeing works of the masters on the big screen. The magic of their genius is enhanced by the cinematic atmosphere.
What makes me believe in cinema is when I walk out and I feel like I’ve had an experience, like I’ve lived through something special. It’s the way cinema can be visceral, the experience of watching becomes a part of you. And it stays with you long after you have left the theatre.
The only reason I can think of for this obsession is a hangover from the old tradition of making out, snogging, necking or whatever you like to call it, with your date at the back…when it used to be naughty. But in these liberal times who goes to the cinema to get hot and heavy anymore? Perhaps I’m just loser who believes in the sanctity of movie watching. Or perhaps I don’t understand the fire of teenage passions.
Furthermore, these myths of your neck getting sore if you sit too close to the screen are rubbish. I’m paying money to see this film so I want to be as close as possible to the big screen so I can have the full movie-going experience!
I don’t think the cinema will ever die (no matter how easy it is to watch films in your own home, on the road, or pretty much wherever you damn like these days). There is something about going to the movie that is a special experience. Sitting a darkened room, filled with strangers, engulfed by the giant screen and surround sound. The experience is at once individual and communal. It puts you in an environment to be completely absorbed by what is happening on screen, which can not be replicated in the home. It’s a ritual, it’s an experience. All the psychoanalytical theory about Plato’s cave and Lacan’s mirror phase aside, each time you go to the cinema it is a unique experience. It’s a pity so many popular films are largely underwhelming, churned out by the Hollywood manufacturing line – predictable, clichéd, mindless and forgettable (not that I’m against pop culture per se, there’s something to be said for it too but I’ll save that for another rant). I love seeing works of the masters on the big screen. The magic of their genius is enhanced by the cinematic atmosphere.
What makes me believe in cinema is when I walk out and I feel like I’ve had an experience, like I’ve lived through something special. It’s the way cinema can be visceral, the experience of watching becomes a part of you. And it stays with you long after you have left the theatre.
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Wajda's Kanal
Stark, dirty, horrific portrayals of war have become common over the years but what really sets great war films apart is the ability to focus on a group of interesting characters in extraordinary circumstances. Andrzej Wajda’s Kanal is an amazing achievement portraying an incident from the Warsaw uprising.
In a city torn apart by World War II, Lieutenant ‘Zadra’ and his rag-tag group of soldiers are attempting to hold off the inevitable German invasion at the last line of defence during the Warsaw Resistance. The film really hits its straps when the resistance group is ordered to withdraw and the film follows their descent into the city’s sewers. It is appropriate that the artist of the bunch quotes Dante as they descend into what can only be described as hell on earth. The cinematography evokes this with the fog rising off the sewer’s liquid depths and the visceral effect of darkness and claustrophobia, which is at time expressionistic. A floating body appears ghost-like in its paleness and gas-induce moaning.
Arguably all war films are horror films but Kanal effectively makes the turn into the horror genre. From the seeming openness of the war ravaged town, the mis en scene of sewers is reminiscent of the horror genre (like the lair of a monster). You can never be sure what is around the next corner and Wajda builds tension admirably conveying the dirtiness and claustrophobia of the sewer tunnels.
The company is faced with the dual threats pressing on them from above and below. Above it is the possibility of any moment emerging into the face of a German pistol. Below it is the gas, the panic and confusion in the maze of seemingly identical tunnels, the dirtiness of wading through knee deep excrement, the darkness and fading torches, and most of all the madness that results from all of this. A man’s mind can be his own worst enemy and as the characters start to doubt their own eyes so does the audience. Is the artist really hearing music or is he going mad with the fumes? Is the moaning a man or a beast? Are the lights ahead friendly torches or a German ambush?
The film features an ensemble of distinct characters, whose personalities and interactions shape their fates. The stoic lieutenant, who is devoted to the company and feels his only duty is to his men. The dreamy artist, musician and poet, who only joined the company a few days ago and is doomed to wander the misty sewers playing his pipe for eternity. He becomes a part of this hallucinary underworld landscape. The youthful idealist, who thinks he can still make a difference, throwing himself into battle and who, as one lieutenants puts it, is ‘too young to appreciate living’. The young girl ready to die for love. The dashing soldier who uses alcohol to dull the pain but is hiding the truth.
In the mayhem of the sewers the chronology of events becomes distorted. As the film cuts between different groups of the company who have became separated in the initial chaos, Wajda provides some interesting visual clues as to the timelines of their journeys. This adds to the tragedy, with the audience knowing their companions have (or will) pass the same spot. Although the narrator warns the audience from the outset that none of the characters will make it through the night, you are still sucked into the cycles of hope and despair so poignantly portrayed. You find yourself hoping against hope that this group will make it and characters you have invested in come so close that you feel the anguish of hope being extinguished at the moment of its peak. As the fates of the characters are revealed one by one, you can feel the full weight of the tragedy of coming oh so close. Furthermore, it is often personal relationships which cloud the characters’ decisions adding to the heartbreak. The final image of duty (and perhaps madness) is striking and haunting.
In a city torn apart by World War II, Lieutenant ‘Zadra’ and his rag-tag group of soldiers are attempting to hold off the inevitable German invasion at the last line of defence during the Warsaw Resistance. The film really hits its straps when the resistance group is ordered to withdraw and the film follows their descent into the city’s sewers. It is appropriate that the artist of the bunch quotes Dante as they descend into what can only be described as hell on earth. The cinematography evokes this with the fog rising off the sewer’s liquid depths and the visceral effect of darkness and claustrophobia, which is at time expressionistic. A floating body appears ghost-like in its paleness and gas-induce moaning.
Arguably all war films are horror films but Kanal effectively makes the turn into the horror genre. From the seeming openness of the war ravaged town, the mis en scene of sewers is reminiscent of the horror genre (like the lair of a monster). You can never be sure what is around the next corner and Wajda builds tension admirably conveying the dirtiness and claustrophobia of the sewer tunnels.
The company is faced with the dual threats pressing on them from above and below. Above it is the possibility of any moment emerging into the face of a German pistol. Below it is the gas, the panic and confusion in the maze of seemingly identical tunnels, the dirtiness of wading through knee deep excrement, the darkness and fading torches, and most of all the madness that results from all of this. A man’s mind can be his own worst enemy and as the characters start to doubt their own eyes so does the audience. Is the artist really hearing music or is he going mad with the fumes? Is the moaning a man or a beast? Are the lights ahead friendly torches or a German ambush?
The film features an ensemble of distinct characters, whose personalities and interactions shape their fates. The stoic lieutenant, who is devoted to the company and feels his only duty is to his men. The dreamy artist, musician and poet, who only joined the company a few days ago and is doomed to wander the misty sewers playing his pipe for eternity. He becomes a part of this hallucinary underworld landscape. The youthful idealist, who thinks he can still make a difference, throwing himself into battle and who, as one lieutenants puts it, is ‘too young to appreciate living’. The young girl ready to die for love. The dashing soldier who uses alcohol to dull the pain but is hiding the truth.
In the mayhem of the sewers the chronology of events becomes distorted. As the film cuts between different groups of the company who have became separated in the initial chaos, Wajda provides some interesting visual clues as to the timelines of their journeys. This adds to the tragedy, with the audience knowing their companions have (or will) pass the same spot. Although the narrator warns the audience from the outset that none of the characters will make it through the night, you are still sucked into the cycles of hope and despair so poignantly portrayed. You find yourself hoping against hope that this group will make it and characters you have invested in come so close that you feel the anguish of hope being extinguished at the moment of its peak. As the fates of the characters are revealed one by one, you can feel the full weight of the tragedy of coming oh so close. Furthermore, it is often personal relationships which cloud the characters’ decisions adding to the heartbreak. The final image of duty (and perhaps madness) is striking and haunting.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Before the Devil Knows You're Dead - Review
I’d been meaning to see this film for while, having read some flattering reviews about it. I was disappointed. Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead is an accomplished film with good performances and a solid script but it lacked that extra spark to make it memorable.
The first third works well with its time-hopping structure, telling the story of the robbery (central to the subsequent events) through the point of view of four different characters. In this way the audience is actively involved in the film, having to incrementally piece together the information in order to fully comprehend the tragedy which has already unfolded. This structure is effective in presenting the idea of fate, where a character’s destiny is predetermined and the audience has been granted a portal to the future. What the film does well is present chains of cause and effect, where a meeting or conversation will have a consequence later in the sequence of events. The problem is it often flags important objects and conversations too obviously and there were very few surprises in this film for me. Some of the twists could be seen coming a mile off.
Changing the chronology of events is not a new device and it’s been done better before (for example Tarantino’s revolutionary Pulp Fiction and Alejandro Gonzalez mortally depressing 21 Grams or the better Amores Perros).
Once the initiating event is explained, the film loses momentum. The middle section of the film descends into family drama, which is rather uninteresting and filled with issues which is typical fodder in film these days (the oldest brother feeling unloved and underappreciated by his father, the wife sleeping with her husband’s more attractive brother, the divorced dad struggling to give his young daughter all that she is desires). The tension is variable throughout the film and is finally cranked up towards the end but drops off again as the film goes too far in needless violence showing the true nastiness of the characters. We already know they’re nasty – they planned to rob their own parents’ store!
The major problem is the Andy Hanson (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) character. He shows no true human feelings anywhere in the film and remains an inaccessible character towards the end. Even his reaction to his wife’s departure is calculated, as he methodically pushes things off tables, never in a true rage and never actually breaking anything. Since this character lacks any shred of sympathy, I couldn’t care less what happened to him. In fact none of the characters develop throughout the film and continue their, by now, predictable behaviour. So by the ‘shocking’ finale you just feel like you are watching events unfold to their inevitable conclusion.
They had better hope they get to heaven before the devil finds out because this whole family lacks redemption!
Three and half stars – Above average but nasty at the heart
The first third works well with its time-hopping structure, telling the story of the robbery (central to the subsequent events) through the point of view of four different characters. In this way the audience is actively involved in the film, having to incrementally piece together the information in order to fully comprehend the tragedy which has already unfolded. This structure is effective in presenting the idea of fate, where a character’s destiny is predetermined and the audience has been granted a portal to the future. What the film does well is present chains of cause and effect, where a meeting or conversation will have a consequence later in the sequence of events. The problem is it often flags important objects and conversations too obviously and there were very few surprises in this film for me. Some of the twists could be seen coming a mile off.
Changing the chronology of events is not a new device and it’s been done better before (for example Tarantino’s revolutionary Pulp Fiction and Alejandro Gonzalez mortally depressing 21 Grams or the better Amores Perros).
Once the initiating event is explained, the film loses momentum. The middle section of the film descends into family drama, which is rather uninteresting and filled with issues which is typical fodder in film these days (the oldest brother feeling unloved and underappreciated by his father, the wife sleeping with her husband’s more attractive brother, the divorced dad struggling to give his young daughter all that she is desires). The tension is variable throughout the film and is finally cranked up towards the end but drops off again as the film goes too far in needless violence showing the true nastiness of the characters. We already know they’re nasty – they planned to rob their own parents’ store!
The major problem is the Andy Hanson (Phillip Seymour Hoffman) character. He shows no true human feelings anywhere in the film and remains an inaccessible character towards the end. Even his reaction to his wife’s departure is calculated, as he methodically pushes things off tables, never in a true rage and never actually breaking anything. Since this character lacks any shred of sympathy, I couldn’t care less what happened to him. In fact none of the characters develop throughout the film and continue their, by now, predictable behaviour. So by the ‘shocking’ finale you just feel like you are watching events unfold to their inevitable conclusion.
They had better hope they get to heaven before the devil finds out because this whole family lacks redemption!
Three and half stars – Above average but nasty at the heart
Thursday, May 8, 2008
Venus and Adonis - Malthouse April 2008
Postmodern deconstructive (or whatever the current catch phrase is) theatre is often lost on me. Assumedly there was a lot of workshopping that went into this piece where the actresses would subconsciously respond to the text, attempting different physicalities and deliveries with the director picking out the ones that she/he most liked. The problem is for the audience on the whole it is random. Why is this particular line hissed? Why the sudden dog-like panting? And the simulated solitary sex…don’t get me started on that! The audience reaction to this postmodernism seemed to be awkward chuckles not sure whether to take it as a joke or as a serious statement on…something.
Venus and Adonis is a poem of female obsessive desire. Thus it was appropriate that it was performed by two women, leaving Adonis up to the imagination (or in some cases projected onto the audience) was appropriate. But unless you are familiar with the poem, there is confusion as to which of his lines I have been appropriated by the female leads.
But here are the things I liked:
a) the musicians in a jungle cage – the only visual reference that the original tale took place in the wilderness (unfortunately we do not get to see Adonis’ battle with the boar)
b) the actress’ floorlength ponytails – an example of over-exaggerated symbols of femininity
c) some of the singing – except when I thought they were going to break into ABBA’s Mama Mia
Updating Shakespeare’s work to modern contexts has been a trend for a number of years, of course the best known example being Baz Luhrman’s film Romeo and Juliet (as well as a number MTC productions). Certainly Shakespeare’s work lends itself to this with its universal themes and a need to make it accessible to contemporary audiences. I love my Shakespeare. I love it to wash over me, to enjoy the delivery. This washed over me so completely I nearly fell asleep. The delivery was disjointed and at times plain rough, obviously intentionally, but the joy of Shakespeare is in the rhythms of his writing. When you hack up the text like this it loses that.
Venus and Adonis is a poem of female obsessive desire. Thus it was appropriate that it was performed by two women, leaving Adonis up to the imagination (or in some cases projected onto the audience) was appropriate. But unless you are familiar with the poem, there is confusion as to which of his lines I have been appropriated by the female leads.
But here are the things I liked:
a) the musicians in a jungle cage – the only visual reference that the original tale took place in the wilderness (unfortunately we do not get to see Adonis’ battle with the boar)
b) the actress’ floorlength ponytails – an example of over-exaggerated symbols of femininity
c) some of the singing – except when I thought they were going to break into ABBA’s Mama Mia
Updating Shakespeare’s work to modern contexts has been a trend for a number of years, of course the best known example being Baz Luhrman’s film Romeo and Juliet (as well as a number MTC productions). Certainly Shakespeare’s work lends itself to this with its universal themes and a need to make it accessible to contemporary audiences. I love my Shakespeare. I love it to wash over me, to enjoy the delivery. This washed over me so completely I nearly fell asleep. The delivery was disjointed and at times plain rough, obviously intentionally, but the joy of Shakespeare is in the rhythms of his writing. When you hack up the text like this it loses that.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Henry Rollins Quotes
I love a good quote…to appreciate the way words can be put together in a thought provoking statement. Inspired by 'Provoked', I’ve compiled some of my favourite Henry Rollins quotes:
“I don't believe in fate or destiny. I believe in various degrees of hatred, paranoia, and abandonment. However much of that gets heaped upon you doesn't matter - it's only a matter of how much you can take and what it does to you.”
"Don't do anything by half. If you love someone, love them with all your soul. When you go to work, work your ass off. When you hate someone, hate them until it hurts."
“It's sad when someone you know becomes someone you knew"
"Half of life is fucking up - the other half is dealing with it."
“Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength, move on.”
"If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light. If I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls. I will write always. I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you."
"They say true love only comes around once and you have to hold out and be strong until then. I have been waiting. I have been searching. I am a man under the moon, walking the streets of earth until dawn. There's got to be someone for me. It's not too much to ask. Just someone to be with. Someone to love. Someone to give everything to. Someone."
"Basically, men are afraid of women and can't handle the fact that they came out of the same thing they spend the rest of their lives trying to get back into."
"When life hands you a lemon, say "Oh yeah, I like lemons. What else you got?"
"Go without a coat when it's cold; find out what cold is. Go hungry; keep your existence lean. Wear away the fat, get down to the lean tissue and see what it's all about. The only time you define your character is when you go without. In times of hardship, you find out what you're made of and what you're capable of. If you're never tested, you'll never define your character."
“Loneliness adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better.”
“There are so many hammocks to catch you if you fall, so many laws to keep you from experience. All these cities I have been in the last few weeks make me fully understand the cozy, stifling state in which most people pass through life. I don't want to pass through life like a smooth plane ride. All you do is get to breathe and copulate and finally die. I don't want to go with the smooth skin and the calm brow. I hope I end up a blithering idiot cursing the sun - hallucinating, screaming, giving obscene and inane lectures on street corners and public parks. People will walk by and say, "Look at that drooling idiot. What a basket case." I will turn and say to them "It is you who are the basket case. For every moment you hated your job, cursed your wife and sold yourself to a dream that you didn't even conceive. For the times your soul screamed yes and you said no. For all of that. For your self-torture, I see the glowing eyes of the sun! The air talks to me! I am at all times!" And maybe, the passers by will drop a coin into my cup.”
“I don't believe in fate or destiny. I believe in various degrees of hatred, paranoia, and abandonment. However much of that gets heaped upon you doesn't matter - it's only a matter of how much you can take and what it does to you.”
"Don't do anything by half. If you love someone, love them with all your soul. When you go to work, work your ass off. When you hate someone, hate them until it hurts."
“It's sad when someone you know becomes someone you knew"
"Half of life is fucking up - the other half is dealing with it."
“Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength, move on.”
"If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light. If I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls. I will write always. I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you."
"They say true love only comes around once and you have to hold out and be strong until then. I have been waiting. I have been searching. I am a man under the moon, walking the streets of earth until dawn. There's got to be someone for me. It's not too much to ask. Just someone to be with. Someone to love. Someone to give everything to. Someone."
"Basically, men are afraid of women and can't handle the fact that they came out of the same thing they spend the rest of their lives trying to get back into."
"When life hands you a lemon, say "Oh yeah, I like lemons. What else you got?"
"Go without a coat when it's cold; find out what cold is. Go hungry; keep your existence lean. Wear away the fat, get down to the lean tissue and see what it's all about. The only time you define your character is when you go without. In times of hardship, you find out what you're made of and what you're capable of. If you're never tested, you'll never define your character."
“Loneliness adds beauty to life. It puts a special burn on sunsets and makes night air smell better.”
“There are so many hammocks to catch you if you fall, so many laws to keep you from experience. All these cities I have been in the last few weeks make me fully understand the cozy, stifling state in which most people pass through life. I don't want to pass through life like a smooth plane ride. All you do is get to breathe and copulate and finally die. I don't want to go with the smooth skin and the calm brow. I hope I end up a blithering idiot cursing the sun - hallucinating, screaming, giving obscene and inane lectures on street corners and public parks. People will walk by and say, "Look at that drooling idiot. What a basket case." I will turn and say to them "It is you who are the basket case. For every moment you hated your job, cursed your wife and sold yourself to a dream that you didn't even conceive. For the times your soul screamed yes and you said no. For all of that. For your self-torture, I see the glowing eyes of the sun! The air talks to me! I am at all times!" And maybe, the passers by will drop a coin into my cup.”
Monday, April 28, 2008
Henry Rollins 'Provoked' - Melbourne
I found myself working at one of Henry Rollins’ spoken word gigs in Melbourne on April 19. Having never heard of him I didn’t know what to expect. The poster for Provoked read “Quintessentially American opinionated editorializing”. I had heard he speaks for 3 hours without an interval and in moments of excitement yells at the audience…What is he? A comedian? A political commentator? A motivational speaker? Judging by the four speakers set up around his feet, he’s a man that loves the sound of him own voice!
It didn’t matter…I left that night a fan and wanting more. It’s an incredible talent to be able to speak for so long (seemingly without drawing breath), to be articulate, to hold an audience engaged (and your own train of thought) beginning a story and getting to its point twenty minutes later. It is a tirade but who cares! Rollins is an amazing storyteller and has some very interesting things to say, particularly when goes off on a tangent. Here’s a man who has strong opinions, who has led an interesting life and wants to share it with as many people as he can and perhaps make a difference somewhere along the way. Kudos to him!
I’m the sort of person who prefers to turn a blind eye to the greater problems in the world but Rollins got me thinking. It’s the way he makes his case. It’s not preachy, he just tells it the way he sees it, with wry observations and a subtle plea (like congratulating the Australian public on voting out John Howard and hoping his own country will follow the example).
At times he had me in uproarious laughter, at times he had me sad about the state of the world, but he always had me waiting to hear what he’d say next. No doubt he’s cynic and holds no punches in telling it how it is, how fucked up the world is. But he’s intriguing and even inspirational. Perhaps he spoke to me because I identified with his take on life – basically that you should get as much out of it until life is happy to see you gone.
One of his poignant points was that everyone in the world should travel more. People should visit new places and just walk around and meet people and the world would be a better place for it. He said every time George W. Bush puts a new country on his axis of evil, he makes it his next travel destination. It was refreshing to see an American being so intrigued as to what is happening outside his own country and wanting to experience it all. I enjoyed his travel anecdotes about countries such as Syria, Iran, Lebanon and Pakistan (for example walking into the midst of mourning following the assassination of Benazir Bhutto). Also notable were his musical experiences (meeting Eddie Van Halen and singing with Nick Cave). It brought worshipping gasps from the audience when he listed his involvement with music scene as legendary bands such as Van Halen, the Clash, the Ramones and more began their careers. I also loved his description of the terrifying sight of fans at a Van Halen concert devouring and spitting out junk food at astounding rates. As Rollins says, if the US invaded Iraq with those Van Halen fans they would have surrendered their oil immediately.
As he encouraged people not to feed their children junk food (or they will turn into couch potatoes attached to a remote control and ‘books will be turn to salt in your hand’), he also explained why he’s never had kids (I paraphrase): ‘I’ve never had children because I’d fuck them up. One day when my boy is about 11, I’d sit him down and say, ‘Look kid here’s the truth, your mum’s a whore, you’re dad’s an asshole and in a few years you’ll be one too…the world’s fucked up!’
One of my favourite Rollins’ lines was “you have to approach old age with a sense of humour, irony and humility.” I hope I can remember that when the years start ticking by at breakneck speeds!
I walked out feeling like I’d had an ‘experience’. Yes, as Rollins warned, my butt cheeks were sore but the epic length was part of the impact. We had endured and enjoyed!
It didn’t matter…I left that night a fan and wanting more. It’s an incredible talent to be able to speak for so long (seemingly without drawing breath), to be articulate, to hold an audience engaged (and your own train of thought) beginning a story and getting to its point twenty minutes later. It is a tirade but who cares! Rollins is an amazing storyteller and has some very interesting things to say, particularly when goes off on a tangent. Here’s a man who has strong opinions, who has led an interesting life and wants to share it with as many people as he can and perhaps make a difference somewhere along the way. Kudos to him!
I’m the sort of person who prefers to turn a blind eye to the greater problems in the world but Rollins got me thinking. It’s the way he makes his case. It’s not preachy, he just tells it the way he sees it, with wry observations and a subtle plea (like congratulating the Australian public on voting out John Howard and hoping his own country will follow the example).
At times he had me in uproarious laughter, at times he had me sad about the state of the world, but he always had me waiting to hear what he’d say next. No doubt he’s cynic and holds no punches in telling it how it is, how fucked up the world is. But he’s intriguing and even inspirational. Perhaps he spoke to me because I identified with his take on life – basically that you should get as much out of it until life is happy to see you gone.
One of his poignant points was that everyone in the world should travel more. People should visit new places and just walk around and meet people and the world would be a better place for it. He said every time George W. Bush puts a new country on his axis of evil, he makes it his next travel destination. It was refreshing to see an American being so intrigued as to what is happening outside his own country and wanting to experience it all. I enjoyed his travel anecdotes about countries such as Syria, Iran, Lebanon and Pakistan (for example walking into the midst of mourning following the assassination of Benazir Bhutto). Also notable were his musical experiences (meeting Eddie Van Halen and singing with Nick Cave). It brought worshipping gasps from the audience when he listed his involvement with music scene as legendary bands such as Van Halen, the Clash, the Ramones and more began their careers. I also loved his description of the terrifying sight of fans at a Van Halen concert devouring and spitting out junk food at astounding rates. As Rollins says, if the US invaded Iraq with those Van Halen fans they would have surrendered their oil immediately.
As he encouraged people not to feed their children junk food (or they will turn into couch potatoes attached to a remote control and ‘books will be turn to salt in your hand’), he also explained why he’s never had kids (I paraphrase): ‘I’ve never had children because I’d fuck them up. One day when my boy is about 11, I’d sit him down and say, ‘Look kid here’s the truth, your mum’s a whore, you’re dad’s an asshole and in a few years you’ll be one too…the world’s fucked up!’
One of my favourite Rollins’ lines was “you have to approach old age with a sense of humour, irony and humility.” I hope I can remember that when the years start ticking by at breakneck speeds!
I walked out feeling like I’d had an ‘experience’. Yes, as Rollins warned, my butt cheeks were sore but the epic length was part of the impact. We had endured and enjoyed!
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Truffaut's "The Bride Wore Black"
The first thing which struck me about the Bride Wore Black (1968) was the similarities to Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill. They both follow a violent murderous bride taking revenge some time after her wedding day was violently disrupted. Both brides cross the names of their victims off a kill list. Additionally, I was struck by the similarities of each film having a murder staged in a familial home, with the presence of a child potentially disrupting the bride’s murderous intentions. Tarantino has been open about his influences and Kill Bill is clearly an homage to a range of genres such as samurai, kung fu and the Western. I was interested to read Tarantino says in an interview he’d never seen the Bride Wore Black and is not a Truffaut fan. He’s a Godard man.
It’s not surprising Tarantino cites a French New Wave director as a major influence. Afterall both their styles of filmmaking involve repackaging familiar stories into new forms. The Bride Wore Black can be seen as an homage to the Hitchcockian device of building suspense. It creates a sense where you know a murder is going to occur (and the likely victim) but you don’t know how or when it going happen, until you are almost doubting whether it will happen at all. It is less about the killing itself and more about the buildup. Hitchcock is also famous for his focus on seemingly mundane objects (flagged by a close-up) which will take on crucial significance later on. Truffaut uses the same device. The most telling example is the Bride’s action of pouring a glass of water into a potplant, the repetition of which will later reveal her identity to one of the victim’s friends.
Truffaut’s Bride is from the outset presented as a mysterious femme fatale. Men are invariably drawn to her although they are not sure why and she reveals little. Significantly all these men are womanizers or crooks. Initially it would seem that she is killing at random, perhaps as revenge on behalf of all disenfranchised females. However, approximately two-thirds into the film her motives (and the men’s involvement in her newly wed’s murder) are revealed. Suddenly the tone and the audience’s relationship to the film shifts. It is no longer an intrigue about why she is killing but whether she will finish off all her victims. She declares her single-minded purpose, but do we really believe she’ll go through with it? This is what makes the section with Fergus, the artist, so fascinating.
Will love save this merciless killer? Her affiliation with Fergus is the longest of the film and when he confesses his love for her there is the possibility that she will abandon her plan and learn to love again. She takes her time with him and the audience is lulled into a momentary hope for her redemption. It is the old Hamlet dilemma – is she delaying the deed from lack of want or simply lack of opportunity. When she ruthlessly disposes of him too, it is sudden and not even shown on camera.
Interestingly she does not succumb to any maternal or sexual instinct, which are supposed to overcome women (and indeed do Tarantino’s Bride who gives up her Deadly Viper Assassination Squad lifestyle to become a mother). Truffaut’s Bride is remorseless when confessing. This is a film open to a feminist reading. Not only does it have an active female driving the storyline, unlike the femme fatales from the 40s noirs, she is never overtly punished (or domesticated). Sure she ends up in jail (however this is deliberately as part of her plan) and there is the implication of punishment but the film ends ambiguously with the Bride fulfilling her plan and disposing of her final victim. Again, this is not shown nor what follows. The final shot of the film is the prison corridor, leaving a certain ambiguity which does not overtly punish. It is a bit like Thelma and Louise’s triumphant drive off the cliff or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid being frozen in action as they run into a hail of bullets, consequently immortalized.
It’s not surprising Tarantino cites a French New Wave director as a major influence. Afterall both their styles of filmmaking involve repackaging familiar stories into new forms. The Bride Wore Black can be seen as an homage to the Hitchcockian device of building suspense. It creates a sense where you know a murder is going to occur (and the likely victim) but you don’t know how or when it going happen, until you are almost doubting whether it will happen at all. It is less about the killing itself and more about the buildup. Hitchcock is also famous for his focus on seemingly mundane objects (flagged by a close-up) which will take on crucial significance later on. Truffaut uses the same device. The most telling example is the Bride’s action of pouring a glass of water into a potplant, the repetition of which will later reveal her identity to one of the victim’s friends.
Truffaut’s Bride is from the outset presented as a mysterious femme fatale. Men are invariably drawn to her although they are not sure why and she reveals little. Significantly all these men are womanizers or crooks. Initially it would seem that she is killing at random, perhaps as revenge on behalf of all disenfranchised females. However, approximately two-thirds into the film her motives (and the men’s involvement in her newly wed’s murder) are revealed. Suddenly the tone and the audience’s relationship to the film shifts. It is no longer an intrigue about why she is killing but whether she will finish off all her victims. She declares her single-minded purpose, but do we really believe she’ll go through with it? This is what makes the section with Fergus, the artist, so fascinating.
Will love save this merciless killer? Her affiliation with Fergus is the longest of the film and when he confesses his love for her there is the possibility that she will abandon her plan and learn to love again. She takes her time with him and the audience is lulled into a momentary hope for her redemption. It is the old Hamlet dilemma – is she delaying the deed from lack of want or simply lack of opportunity. When she ruthlessly disposes of him too, it is sudden and not even shown on camera.
Interestingly she does not succumb to any maternal or sexual instinct, which are supposed to overcome women (and indeed do Tarantino’s Bride who gives up her Deadly Viper Assassination Squad lifestyle to become a mother). Truffaut’s Bride is remorseless when confessing. This is a film open to a feminist reading. Not only does it have an active female driving the storyline, unlike the femme fatales from the 40s noirs, she is never overtly punished (or domesticated). Sure she ends up in jail (however this is deliberately as part of her plan) and there is the implication of punishment but the film ends ambiguously with the Bride fulfilling her plan and disposing of her final victim. Again, this is not shown nor what follows. The final shot of the film is the prison corridor, leaving a certain ambiguity which does not overtly punish. It is a bit like Thelma and Louise’s triumphant drive off the cliff or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid being frozen in action as they run into a hail of bullets, consequently immortalized.
My first blog
How to fill a blank page? Or rather blog? It's taken me awhile to jump on the blogging bandwagon but here I am! My motives: I love writing and I want to share it with people out there. I also love films and the experience of watching them. Sometimes I have thoughts I want to share about things I see and experience and maybe someone out there will find it interesting. So I'm off to start some blogging....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)