Gilliam Friday #7 – Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas

Holy hell. This one was wild. I knew it, sort of. Like many of Gilliam’s films, it had been quite awhile since I last saw Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas. I liked it then and I like it even more now. Gilliam is just showing off with this film. Every single aspect is firing on all cylinders. Reading about all of the behind the scenes trouble that permeated the entire production is absolute bananas when the finished product came out this polished.

The film is based on Hunter S. Thompson’s semi-autobiographical novel of the same name. It took years of development to arrive at the point where they could actually begin filming this thing. Johnny Depp, for his role as Hunter/Raoul Duke, lived with Thompson for four months. He studied the writer’s habits and mannerisms. Nearly all of the clothes and props that Depp wears/uses in the film are actual items that Thompson owned. Depp even bought the red convertible and drove it non-stop before filming began. Hell, Thompson himself shaved Depp’s head to match his own male pattern baldness.

The film itself never lets up. If you’re in, you must be in all the way. I’ve never seen a film that made the viewer feel higher and more off balance in my life. It is exhausting. As Duke and Gonzo spiral further into madness we spiral along with them, looking for anything we can hold onto that will keep us tethered to our own sanity.

Gilliam’s trademark use of deep focus shots and extreme Dutch angles is more effective in this film than any other film of his to date. Where The Fisher King and Twelve Monkeys may be better overall films, I’d argue that Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas is Gilliam’s most accomplished effort as a director. I cannot imagine anyone else in the world being able to pull this off and tell Thompson’s story in Thompson’s way. There are narration passages that are so stunningly beautiful they feel like the words of God. These asides are also refreshing for us, the viewer, as a welcome respite from the drug fueled mayhem. It’s when the film goes introspective that it elevates itself to masterpiece territory. It perfectly and beautifully captures the haunting mania of Thompson’s writing. This is important because if you’re looking for a plot-centric story, this is not for you. The film wants nothing to do with plot and everything to do with studying a fugue state. Like I said at the top, You have to be in all the way.

My notes I took during the film (I watched it 2-1/2 times in three days) make no sense. I couldn’t help but laugh as I sifted through all of the WTF’s and underlined words like: insane, nuts, lol, what the actual fuck, etc. As a comedy, the film works. It is insanely hilarious and Depp gives one of the best performances of his career. He delivers his lines like a typewriter punching words onto a page. It’s perfect in its deadpan delivery of madness. Gilliam counters the deadpan delivery by using his camera like a drug addict along for the ride. It is never quite stable and makes us feel as high as Duke and Gonzo.

Speaking of Gonzo, Benicio Del Toro hovers over every scene like a devil on Duke’s shoulder. He’s constantly egging him on to further depravity. I wonder if Gonzo even really exists or if he’s the ego to Duke’s Id or vice versa. They both tell the same stories about each other and it often leads to hilariously uncomfortable results.

We could go further into the guts of the film and examine some of the outrageously over the top moments like the reptile hallucination or the flying Fellinis or the entire circus for that matter. Even Depp’s walk is outrageous. In lesser hands, this could all have devolved into indigestible bullshit but Gilliam fully commits and convinces everyone involved to join him. What we get out of the deal is a special film that has more than aged well and can provide many different types of film lovers something to chew on. Unless you’re that business man who happened upon Duke and a stranger in a bathroom doing lsd off the sleeve of his flannel. If you’re that guy, you’re life is ruined for having the curtain pulled back on a life you didn’t know existed.

The only bad thing about this film is that it marks the end of Gilliam’s prime. A prime that spanned thirteen years and five films. Upon this film’s release, Gilliam began shooting the Man Who Killed Don Quixote, a film that would plague him for twenty nine years and rob him of the momentum he had as an artist. From this point on, he struggled to regain it and we’ll see that in the next few weeks. There is always a story to tell. We’re in the second half now but there is still some wonderful places to go.

Next week, a double feature with The Brothers Grimm and Tideland. Until then, love each other.

Afterlife – A New Poem

I want to dream the dream of Gods
And for life to tell what it wants.
*
I want to drink from legend’s cup
And for the truth to become clear.
*
I want to wade in fields of sage
And for them to tell my story.
*
I want to run with the horses
And for the birds to cease judgment.
*
I want to be shot by Cupid
And for it to last forever.
*
I want my new dream to take hold
And for me to not ever wake.
*

Little Fires Everywhere — Kerry Washington FTW

Little Fires Everywhere had me riveted from episode one. This show (and book it was based on) has its finger firmly on the pulse of America right now. Unfortunately, a story about racial tension and white privilege will likely be timely for years to come but it cannot be overstated how much more intense this story is right now. It opened my eyes to things I know that I have done in my life, shed light on it, and now I can hopefully do better. What I’m talking about is how in the 1990s we white folk went through a period of trying to show how woke we were by openly engaging in casual racism and culture theft.

What am I on about?

How we collectively pretended that we didn’t see color. Sure, we meant well but that doesn’t make what we did the right thing to do. What we did instead is rob the Black community of their identity. We tried to whitewash everything about the Black community to make it seem more like our own. I’m ashamed to have done that and it’s born from ignorance. This is why I don’t immediately drag people who are ignorant. The thing with ignorance is that as long as it isn’t willful, it can be corrected. As long as a person is willing to listen and learn, they can evolve into a better human being. We are all ignorant to certain things, it’s how we deal with it when we become or are made aware of it that makes all the difference.

Little Fires Everywhere is all about white privilege and how white people, in their majority, have always tried to use their power in order to make things more white — even when they “mean well.” We can get into the nitty gritty of the plot details but that is really just window dressing to the real, actual themes of the show (and book). Instead, we should just focus on the marvelous eight episodes as a whole. I’ll point out that the cast is great, top to bottom. The kids all shine and give us a real depiction of adolescence and the emotional minefield children must navigate.

What I will focus on is our two leads: Kerry Washington and Reese Witherspoon. As Mia, Kerry Washington gives one of the greatest performances I have ever seen, film or television or even stage. Watch her face and body language in each scene — her pauses, her everything. It is a masterclass. She shows us the inner turmoil of her character, her eyes give us glimpses right into her soul. I’ve always been a student of an actor’s eyes and Kerry Washington gives such a nuanced performance of such shattering quality, it borders on supernatural. She is everything in this show. Of course, a great hero needs a great villain and Witherspoon brings the heat as Elena, Mia’s almost friend turned mortal enemy. Witherspoon adds layers upon layers to her character as she crashes before us, out of control due mostly to her dissatisfaction with how she’s settled into this life of privilege. She oozes the diabolical charm of someone who’s used to getting not only what they want but getting everyone around them to do what she decrees. She’s a top-notch foil.

There’s more to say but it would be nothing more than banging on about the same recurring themes. The filmmakers have created a work that is a more effective dissection of community race relations than a film like The Help could ever hope to achieve. This should be required viewing for everyone, especially high schoolers. It’s time the curriculum was updated. This work would serve everyone well and hopefully breed out the ignorance this show highlights.

I was and still am astonished by the eight episodes we received. Kerry Washington deserves every single acting award she could possibly be eligible for and then some more for good measure. Also, Elena’s kids are all assholes.

SPOILER ALERT

You’re mad at your mom so you burn your fucking house down? Grow up, you over privileged little shitheads.

That’s it for this week. Next week I’ll dive into the documentary, The Painter and the Thief. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #6 – Twelve Monkeys

I was sixteen when Twelve Monkeys came out in theaters. It blew my teenage mind. This was around the same time I was deep diving into David Lynch’s career. This was also the same time, for me, that I was diving into Quentin Tarantino’s young career. What I’m getting at is that Twelve Monkeys is a film I hold responsible for me wanting more from films. It’s a film that is both cool and smart. It’s distinctive. From this age on, I began devouring films from unconventional filmmakers. It’s part of why I love Gilliam so much. Great filmmakers and their films can change lives. They open doors and windows, hell, they kick the walls down. I still get more excited for films that will push envelopes and challenge world views rather than serve up cg fights. There’s nothing wrong with cg-fueled films, I just prefer the weirder ones.

Twelve Monkeys is the story of a prisoner in the future who is sent back in time in order to locate how a virus was created, dispersed and resulted in humanity being nearly wiped out.

Again, timely.

Bruce Willis is the hero of the film but it’s not the prototypical Willis role. At this point, Willis already had three Die Hard movies under his belt. Here, he is no classic hero. He’s confused and seen as crazy. He’s committed to a mental ward. We can see how electrified Willis is by this material. It’s wonderfully against type because we expect Willis to save the day but watching him bumble his way through time and space excites us on a deeper level.

Willis’ character, Cole, is the lynch pin of this film. He has a foot in both the future and the past. He is also right on the border of sane and insane. Gilliam smartly places two actors on either side of Willis, both up to their respective tasks. On one hand, we have Madeleine Stowe, who is sane and is trying her best to understand and help Cole. She is our tether and keeps the proceedings from devolving into madness. On the other hand, we have Brad Pitt, who is stone cold crazy. If it were up to him, everything would be chaos. Willis is caught in between, trying to understand while trying to solve the film’s central mystery. Who created the virus? Why? And how?

I had forgotten just how “Gilliam” this film’s future scenes were. The rest of the story washes over us so completely that we can easily forget some of the more delicate touches. The interrogation scenes are full of the futuristic antique motif Gilliam has become known for. They are also where Gilliam most effectively uses his deep focus shots to elicit paranoia and confusion. It’s like he’s winking at us and saying: I know how crazy this all is, do you?

The film is inspired by an older short film called, La Jetee, and the script was written by people other than Gilliam. This was his second straight film working from someone else’s script and perhaps that sets him free as a filmmaker. The Fisher King and Twelve Monkeys are his two best films. The aspect of this film that I appreciate the most is the control Gilliam had over his actors. A crazy story like this could easily go off the rails if the actors give in to impulse and all of them chew the scenery. Gilliam doesn’t allow that — save for Brad Pitt. He allows Pitt to feast on every scene he is in and it acts as a spark — electrifying the proceedings.

Twelve Monkeys also lands on a hell of a moral: Our meddling will be our undoing.

When the mystery is solved, the real perpetrators will surprise some. It is honest and shines a light on the things we do wrong as a society. But can we really blame ourselves? Our pursuit of perfection can be argued as noble but the side effects can be devastating.

Twenty five years later and Twelve Monkeys is still a wonder. Marvelous film.

Next week, Fear and Loathing. Until then, love each other.

Scenes From A Desert Town

The trees buckle and sway

Moving like the current

Dodging the bully wind

Desperate to stand tall

The dirt speck sent flying

Nothing to hold purchase

It follows a new path

In hopeful search of peace

The lizard on the wall

Its reactions are swift

Always searching danger

It will find its haven

The blood on the pavement

Predators plentiful

It could be the dry heat

Driving man to the brink

Tales From The Loop Explores The Human Condition With Some Robotic Twists

I always get excited when I see new, original, smart science fiction. Amazon’s Tales From The Loop definitely fits this bill. Over eight episodes, it tells the story of a town surrounding a device known as The Loop. This device allows amazing and seemingly impossible things to become possible.

Each episode follows a new character and is set in various time periods of this town. Characters overlap and the star of one episode may turn up as a secondary character in another. The storytelling is slow and methodical but ultimately deeply rewarding. The entire production of the show is top-notch. In particular, the filmmakers make great use of sparse and somber music and imagery. Following that, the cinematography is breathtaking, sweeping us off our feet as we follow the wind of these stories.

Each episode catches its characters in life altering situations. Nothing will ever be the same for any of them. Instead of specifics, the show uses its devices to explore bigger themes. My notes are littered with questions as I focused on discovering these themes and why we see them when we do. Loneliness. Displacement. Identity. Time. The fleeting nature of young love. Loss. Fear. Helplessness. Hope. Grief. Sacrifice. Tales From The Loop encompasses so much of the human condition.

The cast is universally great but I want to point at another stellar turn by Jonathan Pryce. He’s the man in charge of the loop and his big episode comes at the halfway point of the season. He is, as usual, Marvelous. This episode in particular hit me very hard. It made me cry, sob actually, as it reminded me of when my great grandmother died — a person I was very close and connected to.

The season falls off a bit as the second half winds down but hits us with a wonderful one-two punch with its final two episodes. We get an awesome story set almost solely on an island which fills in some much needed backstory for one of the characters. And then the finale is sad and bold in equal measure, all about the sacrifices we make for love and learning.

Over all, this is a fantastic series and I hope Amazon sees fit to allow these filmmakers to tell us more Tales From The Loop. I’ll leave you with a quote:

That’s what makes things special — they don’t last.

Next week, Little Fires Everywhere. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #5 – The Fisher King

This one was fun. The Fisher King is a 1991 film directed by Terry Gilliam. It also happens to be the first time Gilliam directed something he did not write. Now, I like Gilliam as a writer. He is always full of fascinating ideas but there is no denying how wonderful this script is by itself. As written, there are several clever little things done in order to convey character truth to us throughout the film — most of it early on when we need it most.

The story is about a radio shock jock named Jack, played by Jeff Bridges. He sucks as a human being. The early scenes of the film, inside the radio station, are shot from up high and shrouded in shadow. This lends the film a sinister feel and the camera acts like God looking down in judgment. Jack is a self-obsessed asshole who secretly hates himself. This is where the script gets clever in creating a few quiet scenes of Jack by himself. We know men like this. It will forever be a shame that men like Jack often cannot get out of their own way and seek other means as a method to fill that void inside themselves.

The story kicks into gear when a regular caller-in of Jack’s show is admonished by Jack for giving in to love again. Jack berates the man and tells him to stay away from yuppie bars and that he’s not good enough for them. This goes on for some time and we pick back up with Jack, at home, reading lines for a proposed sitcom starring himself. His star is about skyrocket but he glances at the tv to see a news report about a man, Jack’s regular caller-in, who carried a shotgun into that aforementioned yuppie bar, killed seven people and then himself. This is where Gilliam begins to shine. He pulls in tight to Jack’s face, ever so slowly, as the news report continues. We live the horror through Jack’s expression as he realizes the gravity of something he carelessly helped set in motion. Bridges absolutely nails this scene and Gilliam is smart to flood the screen with nothing but his face.

The film then fast forwards three years with Jack running a small video rental shop with his girlfriend. He is miserable and his career is in the toilet. The problem with Jack is that he is wallowing in self pity without dealing with any of his issues. He’s not fully realized yet, not a flaw of the film, a flaw within the person. He’s upset about the shooting but thus far only because it has negatively affected him. Jack throws a fit, his girlfriend tells him to leave and eventually he walks the streets alone save for a bottle of liquor. He ends up beneath a bridge, with cinderblocks tied to his legs, about to kill himself. Two punks attack him, mistaking him for a vagrant, until a homeless man shows up to intervene. This is our introduction to Parry.

As Parry, Robin Williams is extraordinary. Our intro to him is legendary as he, along with the help of some friends, make quick work of the punks and escort Jack to safety. It should be noted that Gilliam uses his trademark deep focus shots here for Jack, acting as a drunk/paranoia cam, and it works beautifully — further immersing us in this story. I should also note that there is the use of a few problematic slurs in this film but they don’t feel wrong or out of place at all. It is clear that those using the slurs are totally wrong for doing it and not at all what we would consider good people.

It’s been hinted that Gilliam originally intended to just shoot the script as is and rebuffed ideas of injecting more fantastical elements. He was reeling a bit after the commercial flop of his previous movie and didn’t want this to carry the stigma of being “just a Gilliam film.” He eventually tossed this negativity aside and trusted himself as a filmmaker — a lesson in itself. The result takes this film to newer heights. Gilliam had total faith in the script, with good reason, adding his flair like a secret spice to take a meal to the next level.

When we meet Parry, we see him as a homeless man who is out of touch with reality. He’s all manic energy, rambling about a mythic quest to reclaim the Holy Grail for God. Of course Jack doesn’t believe him — he doesn’t even want to help Parry and so he leaves. It’s when Jack is stopped by the owner of the building where Parry sleeps in the boiler room, that he begins to see Parry differently. This is where we find out that Parry, who’s real name is Henry, was a college professor whose wife was murdered in front of him while having drinks at a yuppie bar. Yes, that yuppie bar. This sends Jack spiraling and as he digs deeper into who Parry was, Gilliam makes great use of a Dutch angle to leave us feeling as askew as Jack.

Finally, Jack comes up with an idea to help Parry. He can’t help but like Parry — we all do. Robin Williams’ performance is awe-inspiring and I’d argue that it’s the greatest performance of his career. Parry needs Jack to help on the quest because outside in the world, Parry is being stalked by the mythical red knight. The design of the red knight is like a carnival come to life. More fantastic design by Gilliam’s team. Parry has drawn symbols of the red knight and when you realize what the symbol (and red knight himself) represents, it will bring you to your knees. It is horrifically devastating. It’s a miracle that Parry has only mostly lost his mind and it is easy to empathize with him. Parry’s heart isn’t finished though, as he’s been secretly watching a woman for a long time on her daily commute and has subsequently fallen in love. The entire love story plays out in Parry’s mind as a beautifully choreographed waltz through the crowd of people at Port Authority. Jack seizes this information to formulate his plan on how to help Parry.

Jack and his girlfriend Anne, played wonderfully by Mercedes Ruehl, concoct a scheme to get this woman, Lydia, to their video store so she and Parry can meet. This leads to a hilariously awkward and clumsy scene between the two. It’s followed by the four of them going out to dinner for Chinese food and I’m just going to leave that scene alone. It may be my favorite scene in the entire film. It is full of humor, blossoming love and whimsy. Speaking of whimsy, there is traces of it flowing throughout the film. When the story begins to creep into darker territory, Gilliam uses whimsical flourishes to pull us out of the depths. It’s a wonderful touch and Gilliam firmly plants his flag in the soil of it being an antidote to the cruel, poisonous world.

Parry and Lydia share a wonderful scene (seriously, Amanda Plummer is marvelous in this film) where Lydia shares her insecurities and Parry bares his soul. It ends with a kiss but Parry spots the red knight and becomes lost inside his own mind again. We see his full flashback and the event that led to him going insane is shown to us with awful clarity. Gilliam pulls the camera back on Parry as he screams, leaving him small and alone in this world with nothing but his fantasies. This is in stark contrast to pulling in on Jack’s face. In one door and out the other. Parry ends up beneath another bridge and with nobody around to help, he is attacked by punks, brutally beaten, sliced open, and left for dead.

Jack wakes up to a new world. He feels like he did some good and an enormous weight has been lifted off his chest. He’s on the phone with his agent and finds out his show is ready to be back on the air as soon as he is ready. Jack’s star is rising again. Except, Jack hasn’t earned this. He immediately breaks up with Anne, a cruel touch, and receives a phone call about Parry being in the hospital. Jack and Anne visit Parry, who is in a form of coma, before leaving to go their separate ways.

The film fast forwards some time and Jack is back on top again. There is something nagging at Jack though, like his conscience is recognizing that he hasn’t earned his freedom from being haunted. He visits Parry again to find out that Lydia hasn’t given up on the man and at least checks in on Parry, sometimes with gifts, nearly every day. Jack decides that he must fulfill Parry’s wish for the Holy Grail. He adds that if he does this, it’s for no other reason than because he wants to. This is crucial because Jack has finally broken through. He’s not looking to help because it may affect him in any positive way, he’s looking to help simply because he wants to help. Jack carries out the plan and returns with the Grail, setting it on Parry’s chest. He stays with his friend, falls asleep, and wakes to a new Parry/Henry hybrid. A man still a little insane but a man ready to deal with his wife’s death rather than run from it.

This is all wonderful to behold as we watch every single character grow on screen. Gilliam uses his own tricks to great effect and even tries on some new ones for fun. The film is timely beyond measure — like all great art. It deals with mental illness in a real way while also tackling cancel culture, mass shootings and the plight of the homeless. This, in particular, is sad because it still rings so true. The homeless are constantly derided if not downright ignored by us. They are invisible to us at best. We don’t realize how thin that line is between us and them and we act like it is some great divide. We are wrong and this film holds our head in place, forcing us to see.

Gilliam also uses the color red to great effect. Parry’s symbol is of course red, thanks to the red knight, and he is constantly vexed by the color. Jack, on the other hand, is constantly using and/or abusing anything in red. His phone is red. Anne is often wearing red in some way. This establishes a connection that Jack is the source of Parry’s pain. At the very end of the film, when Jack returns to Anne and finally proclaims that he loves her, he gives her a flower. This flower is red and Anne tosses it away and in doing so, tosses away the toxicity in their lives. So I guess Gilliam took on toxic masculinity as well.

What a film. I think, upon this new watch, The Fisher King has become my favorite Gilliam film. Next up, another one I love, Twelve Monkeys. Until then, love each other.

Slumber Of The Innocent

The birds elicit

A chorus of judgment

Paradise interrupted

And a dream left suspended

Footfalls in the distance

Tracks in the mud

Displacement is the norm

A haze blots out the sun

Awaiting the rain

The cleansing properties come

With the chance for redemption

Followed by their warm embrace

The moon stands tall

A beacon for the hopeful

The new morning hesitates

As the dream takes hold

Tom Hardy – Two Films, Three Roles

My initial intention with this piece was to prove a point about Tom Hardy and how deep he goes for his roles. He is the best actor of this generation yet he sometimes carries a stigma of being difficult and not tuning in to his director’s frequency. That’s occasionally true but it is far from the widespread claim some have made.

Hardy, more often than not, gives the exact performance a film requires and if the rest of the production cannot keep up, that is not a Tom Hardy problem. It’s interesting to me how people in general understand that filmmaking is a collaborative endeavor yet they love to pinpoint blame on why a certain production fails to deliver. It is never one thing.

For my purposes, I watched the 2015 Brian Helgeland film, Legend, and the 2020 Josh Trank Film, Capone. Two films and Three Hardys. Here we go.

Legend tells the story of the Kray twins, London gangsters who ruled the criminal underworld in the 1960s. Hardy plays both lead roles in the film and he gives two distinctly different performances — one more successful than the other. He digs deep but oddly enough, Helgeland’s script doesn’t match his primary actor. The film is way too long for how thin everything feels. We never get to know any of these characters. It baffles me because I am a huge fan of Helgeland. This man has some real highs on his screenwriter resume. As a director, Helgeland seems most at home with the grit and grime of criminals, so it’s an even bigger surprise that he struggles to maintain control over this film. On paper, Legend is a slam dunk but in reality the sum is lesser than its parts.

With that said, Hardy does shoulder some blame here. His performances are great but as an actor he sometimes delves into subtlety to a fault. Hardy reminds me a bit of a younger Johnny Depp, who was known as the actor who got awards nominations for his costars over himself for a portion of his career. Now, this sounds weird to say because Hardy himself has already been honored but it is part of what makes him special. He’s an actor who reminds people of several other actors. Hardy possesses the full spectrum. He is equal parts Depp and Cage while also reminding people of Paul Newman and having the technical quality of Olivier. And I haven’t even started with the Brando comparisons yet. He’s the closest thing since — even more than someone like Mickey Rourke. The thing about Hardy is that he knows how to wring something interesting out of every scene and in this way, he’s just like Walken. What do these actors all have in common? They elevate every piece of material. It doesn’t mean they save it because when an actor prefers nuance, they can take a good movie to a great level but can only take a mediocre movie to an interesting level.

I know, I’m rambling.

So Hardy plays two different roles, right? Ronnie and Reggie Kray. Ronnie is charismatic and and suave. Hardy is having fun playing Ronnie and Helgeland focuses most of the film on the more classic mobster twin. Playing Reggie is where Hardy really digs deep, hanging his lip and mumbling his lines while playing the off-kilter brother. The problem here is, the rest of the film feels like bullet points. It’s a bit too ambitious and tries to cram too much into its runtime. Had Helgeland sold this as a prestige limited series and spent more time with all of the era, the results would’ve been much better. What I meant saying Hardy shoulders some blame is that his performances felt disconnected from the rest of the film. It’s almost like he saw this wasn’t working and took it upon himself to inject something more interesting. The tone, ultimately, is all wrong. This is in stark contrast to the troubled production of Fury Road. Hardy famously wasn’t the easiest to deal with on that set and thought his career was in trouble for signing on to that film. He didn’t go supernova though and trusted Miller enough to keep his performance as dry as that wasteland. He allowed Theron to sit center stage and the result was a masterpiece.

So, we see how things can go wrong throughout a production and how someone like Hardy can sometimes go rogue on their director.

Here’s the catch: He’s been accused of the same thing with Capone and that is just plain wrong.

From the first moments of Capone, I was looking for a seatbelt. I turned to my wife, laughed, and said: holy shit is Tom Hardy all-in on this performance or what?

He looks like warmed over death, shuffling and mumbling his way through his past and personal demons. The film is wild — a slow, meditative film about death and how memory controls our lives. The photography is wonderful. Excellent shot composition can tell a story without words — just ask Nicolas Winding Refn. Here, Trank lulls us into a nightmare about the final year of one of the most notorious gangsters in our country’s history. Much of this film plays like a series of snapshots from a time lost. Capone is trying to remember but his disease is playing tricks on him. The cinematography is beautifully dangerous, often blending nature with what we build on top of it — like hiding something rotten beneath something pretty. Nothing is cool here — it’s not that kind of movie. Trank successfully builds dread from the mundane. The film moves beyond the myth of the man and into the harsh reality of what dementia does to anyone afflicted with that disease. Of course, in Capone’s case, this was all brought on as a by-product of syphilis. What happened to Capone is gross and uncomfortable and Hardy is along for the entire ride. He’s full on supernova in this film but I will argue that it isn’t to the film’s detriment, it instead elevates the film.

I have spent time with family members suffering from dementia and Alzheimer’s. It is a harrowing journey a person takes as their memories and life are stolen from them. They exist in a constant state of confusion, denial, and frustration that can often boil over into anger. Hardy nails this at every turn as we weave our way through one dark fantasy to the next. Trank and Hardy work in perfect concert as they place us inside a diseased mind, plunging us into madness. Hardy needs to go as big as he does — the film requires this level of commitment and bombast. Capone was a larger than life person and in his final year, more-so. He was no longer playing to the press or trying to scare off others coming for his throne. Instead, Capone spent his final year alternately chasing and running from an uncontrollable monster, himself. I’ve seen what the disease does to a person firsthand and I can tell you that Hardy and Trank took great care while using deep, methodical thought in this portrayal. It may seem like Hardy took it upon himself to elevate the material but that is simply not the case. Trank wanted this and the film needed this. It allows every other actor in the film to go bigger without the film suffering from grandiosity. Linda Cardellini specifically, is tremendous. Playing Capone’s exasperated wife, she stands on equal footing with Hardy and is never blown off the screen. Had Hardy gone softer, the film wold have been a chore. Subsequently, had Trank not wanted this heightened level of performance from his actors, Hardy would’ve blown everyone away and the film would still have been lifeless.

Instead, we’re left with a look into a disease that will dismantle anyone, even the largest of legends.

To summarize this rambling mess of a piece, painting with broad brushes serves nothing and no one. We often like to do this because it requires the least amount of thought and analysis on any subject. Tom Hardy gives his all, each and every time, and to suggest he’s an actor who fails to connect with his directors’ vision is reductive and just plain wrong.

Next week, Tales From The Loop. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #4 – The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen

We are ending our first month of this Terry Gilliam project and up next is his 1988 film, The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen. This film is one-of-a-kind. I believe this is Gilliam revisiting themes from Time Bandits but perfecting his pitch. Every aspect of this film works in concert with each other. Where Time Bandits felt chaotic and untethered to itself, the story of the Baron has a clear thread running throughout and holding it all together. Like, Time Bandits, this film is essentially a series of short films thinly held together. The difference is that all of the vignettes come together to tell one larger story.

The production design is lush and ornate from the get-go. We begin in a war torn country on the precipice of doom and from there we head to a Sultan’s kingdom and then the moon and then into the fires that stoke a world. We meet larger than life figures and even a goddess. Gilliam considered this film the last act in his “trilogy of imagination.” Time Bandits was seen through the eyes of a child and Brazil was seen through they eyes of a middle-aged man. Here, we see the world through the eyes of the Baron, an old man. What’s interesting is that we don’t only see things through the Baron’s eyes — sure, it is his story but the young girl played by Sarah Polley is a major influence on us, and him. She is present throughout the entire story, almost as if the Baron is attempting to justify himself and his actions to a younger generation.

Gilliam again tackles the bureaucratic nightmare of unsure leaders and even levels an indictment against the idea of lobbyists. Of course, Jonathan Pryce’s character is not labeled a lobbyist but his actions are exactly what we’ve come to know as lobbying. As we are whisked from one adventure to the next, Gilliam again uses practical effects to heighten the surrealism of what we’re seeing. The Baron shows up at a stage production of his adventures and attempts to set the record straight. He then gets carried away on a new adventure in an attempt to the save the town he is visiting. The young Sarah Polley is the glue that holds the story from diving headfirst into madness. I think she is the main reason this film works better than Time Bandits — she’s a much more accomplished child actor.

John Neville plays the Baron with a madman’s touch. It’s easy to see why people would believe his stories to be nothing more than legend but there is also that twinkle in his eye that could only exist in a man who knows more than he lets on. The sequence early on with the Sultan perfectly sets the tone. The Sultan plays an organ which doubles as a torture device while eunuchs sing a song titled, Cut Off In My Prime. This is all hilariously absurd and if you’re in right now, you’re in all the way — it’s a great litmus test. We also get treated to a wildly insane Robin Williams performance as the King Of The Moon and seeing it now makes me miss that man all the more.

Ultimately, Gilliam continues his obsession with Lewis Carroll by creating another rich world for his own personal Alice to traverse. And in doing so, tells a poignant story about the absurdity of war and the even more absurd things men are willing to fight over. This is what continues to drive me back to Terry Gilliam’s films, they are layered with multiple themes. At a glance, his films are unkempt and like throwing ideas at a fan. This is a fair criticism of some of his work. What I will defend is that I will always take a chance on a film that may have too many ideas behind it than a film with nothing to say at all. For better or worse, Gilliam always has a lot to say. The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen stands with some of his finest work. It’s a gem.

Next Friday, The Fisher King. I haven’t watched this film in over twenty years — looking forward to it. Until then, love each other.