David Lynch Friday #0 – The Intro

My first experience with David Lynch was watching Dune as a child. I loved it. Now, I know that isn’t exactly the popular opinion with that film but it certainly mesmerized me. I also recall my parents watching The Elephant Man and then Blue Velvet. I specifically remember Blue Velvet because my mother thought it was crazy in a good way and my father thought the exact opposite — not at all his type of movie. Next was Twin Peaks. I was about ten years old when Twin Peaks came out. My mother was excited and I was already a huge fan of detective stories. To me, a new show from the guy who did Dune, starring the guy from Dune, and it was sort of a detective story? Yes please.

As I grew older, Lynch faded from me for a bit. I began my true obsession with his work when I was in high school. This was the jump off and I never looked back. I’ve devoured his work ever since and have loved it all, even when I hated it. There was only one film of his that I missed completely, The Straight Story. Disney Plus rectified that for me and now my only blank spot is Inland Empire. For the record, I’ve watched it, just not all the way through. I have a blu-ray waiting for me and I’ve revisited the Rabbits in the years since. I’m looking forward to it now.

This is what I cherish about Lynch’s work — it is uncompromising. Even when Twin Peaks returned, there were moments that drove me up the wall but I have learned to trust Lynch’s process and have found rewards at every turn. He is my favorite. He’s been my favorite for a long time and only recently challenged for the title by Sofia Coppola. We’ll see how this all holds upon this new revisiting of his oeuvre. Typically, I would focus solely on feature films but Twin Peaks in it’s entirety will be thrown in here because it is my absolute, number one, favorite thing ever. I will also be breaking the timeline and holding Twin Peaks for the very end. There is a chance that week will see my largest post ever. I always have a ton of thoughts on Twin Peaks and there is not a day that goes by without me thinking about the show.

Here we go. The David Lynch project will begin with Eraserhead next Friday. Until then, love each other.

Sofia Coppola Friday #2 – Lost In Translation

Lost in Translation. This is a film I recently ranked as the third best film of its respective decade. Sometimes, depending on my mood, it is absolutely number one. It is a masterpiece but first, a story.

It was late September of 2003 and temperatures were cooling off in the evenings as my wife and I loved. To this very day, autumn is still our favorite time of year. We were in the city for a couple days to celebrate her birthday. My wife had recently given up her apartment in the city in order to move about an hour north and marry me. This sacrifice on her part has never been lost on me and we would continue to make frequent trips back to the city. This particular weekend, I had secured tickets to see Wicked on broadway (even more lucky to see the show when Idina Menzel was still Elphaba). We had purchased a bottle of Veuve Clicquot to celebrate and after a satisfying dinner and wonderful broadway show, we felt this evening still held more treasure. Going into the weekend, we knew that Sofia Coppola’s new film had recently opened in New York and it was already on the docket. I had seen The Virgin Suicides and was a fan of Coppola thus far and we both considered Bill Murray our favorite actor (still true for both of us) — a can’t miss proposition. The decision was made to catch the late show at Lincoln Square but what to do with the champagne? My wife made a quick, executive decision as she grabbed two empty coke bottles, rinsed them out, filled them with the champagne and then hid them in her purse. Off we went. I still think of this night often, the two of us, still young and recently married, sitting alone in that balcony watching absolute magic on screen. The entire night was something out of a storybook and I still consider it one of the very best nights of my life.

What we understood about that night and subsequently, the many nights that would follow, is that none of them last — not the great ones, the merely good ones, or even the bad ones. We’re left with the memories that help shape the future we’ve yet to see. It’s up to us to hold on to the special moments without dwelling and use them as fuel to propel us forward.

Onward to the film.

Coppola opens on Charlotte in bed, alone without being alone. This sets an early tone for the story she is going to tell us. We quickly move on to Bob, arriving in Tokyo, jet lagged and being jettisoned through the neon lit streets and on to the hotel. Murray’s face is telling us his story without a word. We see the exhaustion, both mental and emotional. He is a man at sea and the lights catch him off guard for a moment before he allows them in to further confound himself. It strikes the viewer within moments that there was no other actor on this planet that could have portrayed Bob with the precision of Murray. Bob is awash in a never ending sea of neon while being so desperate for rest. Coppola adds in ethereal synth-infused pop songs, at once dreary and peppy, further complicating matters. Music plays such an important role in this film by providing peeks inside the characters in certain moments. I love filmmakers who have a firm grasp over how music relates to our moods and daily lives. Sofia Coppola is one of these filmmakers and she infuses her films with music that feels like it came from the page of a diary. The film carries on switching between Bob’s and Charlotte’s independent lives. Thus far, we’re seeing separate stories from two different people who are both searching for their place in this world. What connects them to us is they both suffer from a near paralyzing bout of loneliness. Bob is at the end of his career and wishing to feel needed or wanted again. Charlotte has yet to begin her career and she’s restless while waiting for her husband to take an interest in her that could come close to matching his interest in his own work.

The film builds on these feelings while infusing everything with little bits of humor. There are so many minor annoyances experienced by Bob, adding to his insomnia. He’s also the butt of nearly every early joke as he struggles to understand this new language and culture. His commercial shoots both go hilariously off the rails. The hotel concierge mistakes his request for a masseuse to mean a prostitute. The jacket clips on the back of his tuxedo which we see he’s still wearing while trying to look cool at the bar. Bob’s futile exercise attempt that nearly kills him and leads him to walk with a limp for the next few scenes. This provides levity for us because Charlotte’s story is one emotional hit after the other. Her husband is obsessed with everyone and everything else other than her. It hurts us to watch him act like a fool in front of a vapid actress and then admonish Charlotte for pointing out how stupid it all is. This leads to an awesome, cathartic moment where Bob and Charlotte first officially meet at the hotel bar. They both don’t belong there and they both not only know it but recognize it in each other. They are kindred spirits. This scene is perfection, right down to the opening conversation Bob is having with the bartender only to realize the guy hasn’t really been listening this entire time. From here, the film takes off like a rocket ship.

Both of these characters want to be wanted or, even better, needed. Bob is constantly reminded that he may be casually wanted by his wife but he is certainly not needed. Charlotte gets the same treatment, albeit a bit more cruelly ignorant, by her husband. She is calling out to him in a desperate attempt to save their relationship but he is too busy being wrapped up in his own shit to notice. Coppola lets these scenes breathe and infuses every single scene with wonderful, cutting dialog. Everyone is saying a million things at once. This is easily one of the best scripts of the past two decades — a simply marvelous feat. Finally, Bob and Charlotte break free of the hotel and their shackles to enjoy a night out in Tokyo with friends. This is when the neon and bustle of Tokyo becomes obvious and appealing. Their restlessness flakes away like beach sand on a windy day. They are alive again, we feel it as much as they do. It’s a flawless sequence. The evening ends in a karaoke bar where again, the music comes to the forefront as their choices are telling stories to each other. They’re coming clean and baring their souls. In particular, the scene where Bob and Charlotte are sitting outside of the karaoke room and sharing a cigarette is my favorite scene in the entire film. It contains a perfect shot that gives away the entire film in mere seconds. Exquisite.

This brings me to the title, Lost in Translation. It holds so many meanings. There are the obvious choices of language and culture. Bob has so many encounters with locals who either don’t understand him or him them. The culture is a shock to both of them. But the title refers to so much more than that. Both Bob and Charlotte are seeking understanding from the people they hold dearest. Their respective break downs in communication are sad and all too typical. Still, they try and they find that understanding in each other.

And the point Coppola is helping us arrive at is that living in the moment is life at its purest. We get these perfect moments — perfect mini lives. We will always have them. They don’t erase. They are there, always, in the lights and sounds and signs — in the smell of a city street, of tar, of fried food. Life carries us away but it is these moments that tether us to each other and this world. Embrace it all.

Next week, Marie Antoinette. Until then, love each other.

Dark – A Slice Of German Perfection

Dark is a German science-fiction show brought to the United States by Netflix. It involves time travel and the end of the world. During its three season run, it was easily the best show in the world. I’ll die on this hill, especially if that were to happen on this show where I could somehow be resurrected to continue, either in this world or another. I have wanted to write about it for a long time but I find it difficult to articulate exactly why this show is so special.

I’ll give it my best shot.

Dark began with a suicide. It would take a long time for us to understand the ramifications throughout time and space of that action but we would eventually get there. Shortly following the tragic event, a group of teenagers would go exploring a secret cave in their small town. Strange sounds would scare the teenagers away, sending them fleeing until they realized that the youngest of them was missing. This is where things really jumped off. A search would return no results. The viewer is than shot back in time to the 1980s where the missing boy has turned up 27 years in the past. This boy would grow up to be the man who committed suicide at the onset of the series.

It only gets crazier from here.

We soon learn that there are three distinct time periods where children either go missing or are murdered. People begin popping up in various timelines, changing things in the other timelines on a constant basis. A new mysterious figure emerges and is eventually revealed as one of the main characters back from the far future. The timelines begin to expand. The plot becomes more intricate and alliances are formed. It appears we’re getting something superfluous and really only about good versus evil — we are not. This entire time, we are shown that the local power plant will explode and cause the apocalypse. Two distinct sides form, trying to either prevent the apocalypse or create it. Throughout the many different characters we meet and plot lines we follow, there is one main thread — love.

Our two main characters we follow throughout the three seasons are the two teenage star-crossed lovers: Martha and Jonas. Their story is initially sweet and full of young, blossoming love. Ultimately, it’s a story full of tragedy, consequences and sacrifice. In fact, the entire story is one of sacrifice.

The way the writers layer the plot with character is extraordinary. There is so much intricate plotting done here but the overall story is always character first. This is a rare feat and one that should be applauded. I have never seen a show quite like Dark. It gave me flashbacks to LOST, another plot heavy show that ultimately ended up being a multiple character study on our highs and lows as human beings.

With that out of the way, season three was launched worldwide on the exact date of the show’s apocalypse — nifty. Where season one was largely contained, season two expanded the timelines and who travelled between them. Season three introduces new worlds. If you don’t recap or rewatch beforehand, it will be easy to get lost. Two new worlds emerge: one made of Jonas’ creation and one of Martha’s. The two, through their time travels, form opposing factions and in Martha’s world, Jonas does not exist. They find it hard to trust anyone as they are constantly being manipulated by versions of people they once knew and trusted. No matter what they have ever tried, the apocalypse still happens. There is a knot that binds everything together and one faction is desperate to undo the knot, believing the end of all things will be their salvation. The other side seeks to preserve the knot and let the world be as it will. These are wonderful ideological debates to have during a final season as everything around them is ramping up.

I’m now realizing that writing any further about this amazing show and even more amazing final season will require complete spoilers and I don’t want to do that. What I will say is that a third world is discovered and the origin it represents is heartbreakingly beautiful. We fully understand the motivation behind its creation and I totally empathize with its creator.

Where the show ends begins with amazing cosmic imagery and descends into harrowing simplicity. There is no true happy ending to this story but the ending we receive is justified. Strike that, it’s not only justified, it’s perfect. How a show so crazy can stick a perfect landing is beyond my comprehension but the entire crew behind Dark did the impossible.

Love can create and it can destroy. Simple. Beautiful. Perfect.

Next week, a show I struggled with a bit but enjoyed overall, Hollywood. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #12 – The Wrap-Up

We find ourselves at the end of the Terry Gilliam project — twelve straight weeks of the madman’s work. We began with his Monty Python efforts and ended with his finally finished dream project, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote. What a ride. I was reminded of films I loved, found new love for films I originally struggled with, and some old loves now fell flat. Throughout this project, I was reminded that from a visual standpoint, Gilliam stands alone. His films are each unique in their own way and even more when compared to where cinema was in general when each of those films released.

But seriously, what did I learn from all of this?

Let us begin with Gilliam as a visual artist. Every single film he has ever crafted has been visually stunning. He is a true auteur, unafraid of any subject matter and uncompromising in his vision. He forces the viewer to buy in. Whatever you gain from viewing his work will always come on his terms. This is something that will shut down some viewers and keep them away. The flip side to this ideal is that those who buy in willingly, typically come away astonished. I also learned that Gilliam hates bureaucracy — hates it. Most of his films have a subtext dealing with the annoyance of red tape and failed governance. He is also an artist obsessed with paranoia and juxtaposition. You will find this on a constant basis in his films with the palettes he uses and his deep focus camera shots. Everything in his films is heightened in order to hold the viewer’s supreme focus while still keeping them off balance.

One other thing we must get to right away is that I now wonder if Gilliam has a problem with women. It cannot be overstated that his comments earlier this year about how tired he is that white men get blamed for everything, is extremely troubling. He has also thrown support behind Harvey Weinstein which is blatantly wrong-headed. I don’t sanction or agree with any of this — hard pass for me. With that said, I wonder where this stems from? And that’s the craziest aspect of all of this: Gilliam the person is still largely a mystery. We can infer all of these things we’ve already discussed but he has still managed to keep us all at bay — protecting his innermost desires to the end. I both like and dislike how he views the world. He paints in his films with a childlike wonder. Gilliam shows us worlds that are like electric carnivals used as a mask for societal rot and despair. He also shows heart here, especially with how he depicts the homeless in many of his films — the unfortunates are ignored and trampled by the powerful. This is in stark contrast to his depiction of women in most of his films. The truth is, as I’ve gone film to film, the women are mostly seen as annoying, trouble, or both. Many times they are devices to serve the plot. His visual talent is so extraordinary that I think these themes become overshadowed but they are there if you look hard enough. Two films stand out to me where this was not the case: The Fisher King and Twelve Monkeys. They also happen to be two films that Gilliam did not write. This definitely begs for further discussion.

The final thing we’ll discuss today is how Gilliam’s career is split into three sections (and hopefully an upcoming fourth). His early work is where he found his feet. Working as a member of the Python troupe allowed him creative freedom. It’s the least populated portion of his career. He followed this up with a thirteen year prime where he dealt masterful film after masterful film. This is an insane run from a filmmaker uninterested in making typical studio fare. Brazil, The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen, The Fisher King, Twelve Monkeys, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Any filmmaker would kill to make one of these films. Gilliam made them all…in a row.

Of course, with the highs come the lows. Gilliam’s disastrous attempt to make his dream project, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, derailed his career. He then entered a ten year funk where he still hit some high notes but his films felt more disjointed and angry — lacking the intrepid energy from his earlier work. He began to regain his footing with The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus and again, tragedy struck that film multiple times.

Terry Gilliam finally got the proverbial monkey off his back when his dream was finally realized. The Man Who Killed Don Quixote showed me that the madman still has the goods to be a true auteur. We will see if he has the stuff to give us some more to chew on.

I’ll leave you with this, a ranking of his solo films. This means that I’m not counting the python work. Worst to first, here we go:

The Brothers Grimm

The Zero Theorem

Jabberwocky

Time Bandits

Tideland

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

Brazil

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Twelve Monkeys

The Fisher King

And that is a wrap. I had fun revisiting these films and filmmaker I have adored nearly my entire life. I found it enlightening and not always in a good way. I now look at Gilliam a little differently because of his depiction of women on film — something I was either not able to see while younger or just willfully ignorant of until now. I guess I learned some things about myself as well — things I still need to work on. I’m willing to do the work.

Next up on the docket is another of my faves, Sofia Coppola. I’ll outline the project next week and then dive into The Virgin Suicides on Friday, September 18th. Until then, love each other.

Class Action Park – A Documentary Of How I Grew Up

It’s a good thing that I keep notes on everything I decide to write about otherwise I wouldn’t remember my thoughts on, The King Of Staten Island. Yes, I’m pushing that film one more week. I fully intended to write about it for this post but a special little something came my way via HBOMax. That special little something was a documentary called, Class Action Park. Why do I consider it a special little something? Because it was one of my favorite places to go during my formative years.

I urge everyone who has the new HBO service to check this doc out in order to fully grasp how insane this “amusement” park was. There has never been anything quite like it in its wake. I’m going to go less into the doc and more into my vault of memories in order to paint this picture. This may end up being a little more abstract because memory can be fickle but paint this picture I will try to do.

Action Park was nestled in a mountain in the town of Vernon, just on the New Jersey side of the border with New York. It’s New York sister town is Warwick, the town nearly my entire family grew up in. Hell, when I was four years old, I lived maybe two miles from Action Park, right on the same road (route 94). I grew up hearing countless stories about this maniac’s paradise. We drove by it on our way to Space Farms (another maniac’s paradise full of literal shit throwing monkeys, grizzlies on death’s door, animals missing feet, a snake pit, and a lodge full of taxidermy which is an odd touch for a zoo). A few of my aunts and uncles and their friends all worked at Action Park and they told us the craziest stories, trying to scare us. It didn’t scare me — it made me want to go even more. Not a summer went by without the rumor of another death. We didn’t know what to believe so we chose to believe it all.

The older I got, the more I badgered my parents into taking us. To this day, my mother claims she never took us — I think this is her way of trying to hide her shame in allowing us access to this playground for psychos. I have specific memories of my parents emphatically saying, “NO” to the wave pool. I also remember my father walking me up the hill to the wave pool and showing me the literal hundreds of people in the pool at once. He’d say, “look at all these animals, they have no regard for hygiene or safety, someone is about to die.” Eventually, I won out and we went to the wave pool. I was made to stay in the shallow end while my father and one of my uncles went into the deeper end to test things out. They came back two minutes later, paler and out of breath, saying, “it’s a death trap, seriously, someone is gonna die today.” And that was the end of the wave pool. In all honesty, I only went in that wave pool maybe one more time when I got older and it was truly a miserable experience. The water was unnaturally warm and full of chemicals to offset shit we probably don’t want to even think about entering that pool. There were always too many people in the pool and the water was, how do I put this, less than translucent. Thus ended my infatuation with the wave pool but not the park.

Once I was a teenager, my love for the park blossomed. Now I was big enough to go on all the rides. In truth, there were never any rules and I could have probably done whatever I wanted as a little kid but my parents, for some reason, did not want me to die. I was now old enough to go alone with my friends and we went all the time. “Mom, Brian’s here, we’re going over to his house.” Off to Action Park. “Mom, Ryan is here, we’re going to his house.” Off to Action Park. “Mom, Matt’s here, Jimmy and Scotty are here, Howard’s here, we’re going to the mall, the fair, the skatepark, etc.” Off to Action Park. Hell, the last two years it was known as Action Park, in the mid 90s, I had a fucking season pass. That bad boy set you back twenty bucks…for the entire summer. In fact, one of the last times I was ever at Action Park was in August of 1996. There were a lot of us that day because it was the local date for The Warped Tour. I watched many of my friends pony up serious money for Warped Tour tickets and I got to go for free. See, Action Park didn’t bother to close that day and since I had a season pass, I was allowed entry. There was no discernible way to tell the difference between where the festival was and the rest of the park. Maybe there was but I was never stopped and freely moved between cooling off on water rides and going back to the festival. What a day.
The park was split in half by route 94 which cut through the town of Warwick and continued on into New Jersey. The doc dramatizes how the park was split in half by a major highway and this isn’t entirely true. Route 94 is still only a two-lane road — a fast two lane road but not exactly a major highway. Still, it was a bit dangerous. If you couldn’t get a parking spot in the lot next to the park entrance, you had to park in an adjacent lot and then walk along route 94 until you got into Action Park. It was like a thrill ride before getting to the thrill rides. I even heard stories from my uncles about racing the go-karts on route 94 at night. The karts were only supposed to go about 20mph but there were ways to override the governors and get those karts at speeds over 50mph. I know for a fact that this happened routinely and it was hilarious to hear the documentary confirm this for everyone else. There were also speed boats but the rumors about the water being infested with snakes are 100% accurate and thus I never even attempted those boats. Also, I remember having to be at least 21 to ride the boats, which I never was that old while Action Park was open. There were also bumper boats but the “pond” they were in was nothing but pure gasoline and oil. The smell could overpower you just from walking past the spot. Then, there were the battle tanks. These were fun. They cost extra money but we always paid. You could ride around in a little fenced in arena, inside of a miniature tank, shooting tennis balls from your cannon at the other tanks. If you hit the target, the tank was incapacitated for a short time. The arena itself was littered with cannons on the fence where non-participants could pop in some quarters and shoot tennis balls at the tanks too. This was all outrageous fun. I specifically remember how proficient my younger brother was at the tanks. Now, the real fun began when a tank would require service. When this happened, an Action Park employee had to enter the arena and fix the tank. If you watched closely, you’d notice the tank area would have a lot of people hanging around. Once an employee entered the arena, everyone would race to an outer cannon, pop in some quarters, and proceed to pelt the attendant with tennis balls. What a bunch of assholes we were.

That was all on one side of the park. You could then walk across the pedestrian bridge to get the rest of the mayhem. They suckered you in at first with a cool little mini-golf course that was unfortunately always somehow flooded out in spots. From there, you’d walk ahead and see perhaps the most famous of Action Park rides, the Cannonball Loop. I wish I had a cool story about this ride but I’m not convinced it was ever open. That was always the rumor, that the ride was sometimes open. Every single time I was ever at the park, that ride was shut down. The documentary does a great job of highlighting how insane the “engineering” of that ride was. The most hilarious aspect of that ride, and in many of the rides, was how shallow the water was that you shot out into. They were essentially the depth of parking lot puddles.

Right to the left of the Cannonball Loop were the Bungee jumping towers and an absolutely diabolical ride called the Slingshot. I never bungee jumped because that seemed like a bridge too far but I did pay the five dollar fee to do the slingshot…once. I have never been so terrified in my life. It’s a two person ride where you sit inside a sphere which has two giant bungee cords attached to it. The other end of these cords are attached to twin poles that must be a hundred feet tall. Three, two, one and boom! You are shot straight at the sun. You are positive that you have made that fatal mistake and are about to meet your ancestors. You can’t walk or think straight for about twenty minutes after exiting the ride. I spent the rest of that day trying to trick my friends into doing it themselves but alas they were all smarter than I.

The rest of the park opened up into the mountain. There were two cliff dives that ended in water always occupied by other swimmers. I can’t tell you how many times I watched someone cliff dive on top of someone else. The attendants at the dives gave you some “rules” but nobody listened to them and there were no repercussions for not listening. What I remember most is the people who were hesitant at the edge and the verbal abuse they were subjected to by other guests until succumbing to peer pressure. There was also a Tarzan swing and the doc explains just how cold that water was but you can never understand just how cold unless you did that swing yourself. It was shocking. It’s also the first time I saw nudity in real time. I’m not proud of what I’m about to tell you but there were spots to stand at Action Park where you were guaranteed to see naked girls. The Tarzan swing claimed bikini tops. Geronimo Falls was another. I never did the tallest ones, I did the slightly smaller one right next to it and felt like my suit split my asshole in half, that was enough for me. Still, Geronimo Falls was a place where bikini tops were also claimed and we knew it. The last spot was Surf Hill which was like a gigantic set of slip ‘n slides right next to each other. There was no way to really separate the lanes and countless times we’d skip over and crash into each other. It was painful but somehow still exceedingly fun. Also, it ate up bikini tops. There was also a ride called Aqua Skoot. This ride had you sit on a plastic board and fly down a set of assembly line rollers. I’m not making this up. I watched a guy instantly fall forward and bounce, face first, down all of the rollers, going full scorpion and ending up in the “pool” at the bottom. I also got chased by bees every single time. This was something the doc pointed out as a regular occurrence. There was also a small arena with a giant fan that allowed you to “sky dive.” I got kicked off this ride after convincing the attendant to allow my friend Jimmy and myself on at the same time. We then engaged in the worst kung fu fight you’ve ever seen, the fan shut off, and we were asked to seek fun elsewhere. Lastly, there were a few rapids rides which are still, to this day, my favorite rapids rides ever. On the two man tubes, you could get your tube going absurdly fast and banking incredibly high on the sides. My friend Howard and I could routinely launch our tube over the side of the ride, marooning ourselves before bombing back into the ride. The craziest aspect of the rapids rides was how each one deposited everyone into the same pool. It turned into bumper tubes and a lot of testosterone led to many a fracas. The quickest way out, since you had to carry your tube back up to the top, was to launch off your own, run across other tubes, and steal someone else’s tube and off you went.

I don’t know, I loved this documentary and in particular, the way it made me remember all the time I spent at Action Park. More than that, it made me remember the insane and special childhood I had. I’m in my 40s now and having grown up in the 80s and 90s, kids today will never understand how unique a badge of honor that is. It’s not that our parents didn’t love and care for us, it’s that they trusted us to not kill our selves and they trusted the world around us. Growing up in Warwick (technically I grew up in Middletown but Warwick was where my family resided and where we spent a major portion of our time) I remember me and my brother and our cousins arriving at our grandparents’ house and being set loose on our own in the woods. This helped us develop a more intrepid spirit that I think has served us well into adulthood. Action Park represented that idea to its fullest. It let us go wild, get hurt, learn lessons and try again. We made it out alive and I’m not sure how but I am thankful for all of it. We were kings.

Next week, I (sort of) promise we’ll discuss The King Of Staten Island. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #11 – The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

Finally, the monkey is off his back. After decades of struggle, heartbreak and misfortune, Gilliam finally achieved catharsis in getting his magnum opus onto the big screen. To some, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote may seem like just another film, a weird film, but still just a film. To those of us who have followed Gilliam’s career, this film being released is everything. Before we get any further into the film itself, let’s chronicle the entire production just to gain some perspective on this journey.

Gilliam began work on the film in 1989. This was shortly after the financial debacle of The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen. Hollywood didn’t really have a good sense of how to deal with Gilliam as an artist. He began writing Quixote while taking on directing jobs for two films he didn’t write: The Fisher King and Twelve Monkeys. It took Gilliam nine years (and a third straight success with Fear and Loathing) in order to secure funding for his Don Quixote project. Soon after, he secured the services of Johnny Depp as his star and they began the shoot in 2000. The production did not last long. Flooding, illness, and other monetary (not to mention insurance) issues ended production of the film. Gilliam would try and resurrect his project several times to no avail. Eventually, Depp had to drop out and many of the sets were completely destroyed. This hammered several nails into the film’s coffin. While they were filming, Gilliam began shooting behind the scenes footage for a “making of” supplement to the film. This became the documentary, Lost In La Mancha, and was released in 2002. It stood as a chronicle of disaster.

The troubled, disastrous production of, The Man Who Killed Don Quixote, plagued Gilliam for the latter part of his career. From the distracted job he did with The Brothers Grimm, to some serious dark material in Tideland and Doctor Parnassus, the filmmaker was trying to shake himself from a depression.

Well, he finally did it.

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote finally hit screens and it is largely a triumph. Gilliam still has the goods and really really really knows how to cast. He stepped in a golden pile of shit by casting Adam Driver and Jonathan Pryce together as his leads. They are perfectly balanced in opposition. Pryce is no stranger to Gilliam and he digs into his role as a man who believes himself to be the famed adventurer. Adam Driver, is a wonderful counterbalance as the young filmmaker who’s spent the last several years trying to find his true self. Gilliam has altered his film to better fit the dark period this new vision was born from. Quixote is a film at once about the folly of youth and the regret of old age. We can sense the freedom of spirit that Gilliam rediscovered in finally getting his pet project completed. The production design is exquisite and the script is better than ever. I couldn’t imagine any other actors than Driver and Pryce in this film now — call it kismet. I love the idea put forth of a story about two men, one old and one young, whose lives never amounted to what they once hoped for themselves. Quixote is chock full of second guessing, calling men out on their views of the world, silly fight scenes, musical numbers, and ultimately immense heart. This is Gilliam laying it all out and reclaiming his position as one of film’s unique auteurs. I hope he gets to make more films, at least one more, before he hangs it up. He deserves a victory lap and one last dance now that he is free from his albatross.

Bravo Mr. Gilliam, bravo.

Next week, the wrap-up. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #9 – The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus

We can’t dig in to the next film on the list without, again, beating the Quixote drum. I now see just how much Gilliam was reeling from the destroyed project that consumed him for nearly a decade. He had previously tried to shake himself loose from his rut by taking on two projects so close together that they were released in the same year. The first, Brothers Grimm, was unfocused and messy. The second, Tideland, was the darkest material Gilliam had tackled. It felt more like an exorcism than a full fledged film. Now, four years later, I found him still trying to work through the pain of his failed magnum opus.

What should also be noted is how the production of The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus ran into trouble at every turn. First there was the death of actor Heath Ledger during principal photography, then upon completion, a producer died, and then during post production, Gilliam himself was hit by a car. This film still getting made and released is a small miracle in and of itself.

Onto the reason we’re together today, the 2009 film, The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus.

It tells the story of an aging conman/magician/mystical person named Doctor Parnassus who is really more of a gambler. He is constantly engaging in bets with the devil, losing those bets and doubling down to try and dig himself out of a hole. At first, he won and was granted immortality. He quickly realized that immortality was not all he thought it to be and made a new deal to be granted youth so he could be with the woman he loved. The payment was that if he ever had a child, at the age of sixteen, that child would become property of the devil. The film begins only a few short days before Parnassus’ daughter’s sixteenth birthday.

Parnassus, his daughter, and two assistants have been relegated to performing in their own traveling sideshow where they attempt to trick people into passing through their magic mirror. Once inside the mirror, the person is now inside of Parnassus’ imagination. Of course, what they see and experience is also partly dictated by their own imagination. It’s here that they will then be given a choice between two locations — one represents Parnassus’ theory on life while the other represents the devil. Parnassus struggles to find people who don’t succumb to the devil’s promises and thus is digging himself even deeper.

One night, they happen upon a hanging man beneath a London bridge and rescue the man. He’s played by Heath Ledger and has no memory of his previous life. The film really takes off from here as Ledger joins the troupe as a thank you for saving him. He is wonderful in this film — a natural con artist full of exuberance, wit and charm. With Tony’s help, Parnassus begins to gain the upper hand with the devil and just may be able to pull off one last wager and save the soul of his daughter.

Up to this point in the film, there are a few things to note. First, the imagination on display is second to none. Gilliam is fully in his wheelhouse. The monks’ snow covered temple, for example, is extraordinary. Again, Gilliam is giving us a vision only he could give, warts and all. Like many of his previous films, it takes a little while for the tone to settle and gel but we get there — Gilliam, like many auteurs, forces you to buy in to his vision and leave your own shit at the door. The material again is on the darker side. Many of the scenes and dialog and actions toward the daughter, Valentina, are problematic. She’s only sixteen and this does lead to some uncomfortable moments. Gilliam knew this and framed it around the devil’s wishes to soften, or at least explain, the questionable antics. There’s also a moment of blackface in the film which has no business being there. There is simply no excuse for it. It was done to serve a joke but the punchline is not worth a second of the journey taken to get there. So, the film is definitely an imperfect film.

Now, as I’m watching, I’m still digging the film because it’s really about the world each of us holds inside our mind. It’s around the halfway point where LEdger’s character, Tony, first enters the mirror. The result propels the second half of the film ever higher than its setup. It’s also where we first get a glimpse of the genius idea Gilliam had to get the film finished despite his lead actor’s death. He gathered a few of Ledger’s friends to play the late actor’s role. Tony goes into the mirror on three separate occasions and the mirror world inside Parnassus’ mind changes Tony’s face. The first time this happens, Ledger transforms into Johnny Depp. This is the shortest of changes and also the least effective. I love Depp. He’s one of my all time favorites and was brilliant in Fear and Loathing. Here, he plays Tony with a smirk and a wink. It’s more brooding and a little off from Ledger’s take. The second time Tony enters, he transforms into Jude Law. This is the best alternate version of Tony. Where Depp did his own thing, Law matches Ledger’s tone and nervous energy. It’s a damn near perfect match. It’s also our longest look inside the mirror world. I remember thinking that Gilliam should’ve been the one to make a live film version of Alice in Wonderland. He’s always been in love with Lewis Carroll and has paid homage to the writer on countless occasions. You could make the case that this film is his version of Alice in Wonderland. It’s equal parts whimsy, moral fable, and nasty legend. The final time Tony enters the mirror, he transforms into Colin Farrell. This is where we finally see Tony for the bastard he truly is and Farrell is good, not great. The problem here is that Colin Farrell has too kind a face. It’s just hard to buy in that he sucks as a human being. He manages to pull it off but barely.

The entire film is wonderfully absurd but it also begs the question of whether Gilliam has problems with women. Here, Valentina is constantly objectified as a sixteen year old and serves mostly as a plot device. Her plight propels the narrative forward but she doesn’t really hold any other weight. This is what holds me back just a bit from the film. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a very good film but some tweaks to the script could’ve landed Gilliam firmly back on his feet. The more I searched my feelings on this film, I came to realize that Valentina and Parnassus specifically are stand-ins for The Man Who Killed Don Quixote and Gilliam himself. This story is really about an old man questioning his choices and loyalties on the eve of losing what he cherishes most.

The film is visually extraordinary and brimming with ideas — perhaps too many ideas. It’s dark, daunting, and proves Gilliam’s tenacity as a filmmaker. It won’t win any converts but it shows an artist willing to try and dig himself out of a hole that has consumed him for over a decade.

Next week, The Zero Theroem. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #8 – The Brothers Grimm & Tideland

It cannot be overstated how much the struggles of trying to get The Man Who Killed Don Quixote made weighed Terry Gilliam down. It was an anchor attached to his neck, dragging him under the surface. I cannot help but sense that his immediate post-Loathing efforts were of the flailing variety. The man could not have been in a good head space. He still managed to get two films released in 2005 though, so I guess that’s something to write about.

As for the films themselves?

Let’s start with The Brothers Grimm. I’ll keep it short because the less said about this film, the better. When I first saw this in 2005, I remember liking the film. It wasn’t my favorite Gilliam but after seven long years, it was nice to have something new from the filmmaker. Grimm boasts some nice trademark touches. The production design is stylish and grimy in all the right ways. Heath Ledger is awesome in this. He’s so earnest and funny — love his performance. Matt Damon, however, feels wrong. It’s rare to say that about Damon because he is seemingly an actor capable of doing anything but here he just feels out of place and miscast as one of the brothers. The rest of the film follows suit. What on paper should be a slam dunk for Gilliam, ends up looking, sounding, and feeling like something coming out of a blender with the top off. Reimagining the Grimms as grifters is an idea I have no problem with. Their stories are perfect for this type of riffing. The problem is the film lacks focus. There’s a disconnect with tone. It veers wildly from horror to comedy to drama and can never justify these drastic shifts. Granted, this is typically the hardest thing for a film like this to nail down but it still leaves us feeling disappointed. Looking back, it makes sense for the film to be as unfocused as it is, Gilliam was reeling creatively. Unfortunate.

And next?

Next up is Tideland, a film Gilliam also released in 2005. I cannot stress enough how much I loathed this film upon its initial release. It felt mean and dangerous in all the wrong ways. It felt dirty and irresponsible. Now, fifteen years later, I’ve watched it again. And it’s a lesson in how time and life and everything that comes with those two things can shift our perspective. I’ve never changed my mind more on a film. I was riveted by this film from the start. It is unrelenting and harrowing and dangerous as all hell. Gilliam veers into some of the darkest territory of his career. He’s bold and unafraid to tell this story.

And the story is?

It centers on a young girl whose parents are useless drug addicts (played by Jennifer Tilly and Jeff Bridges). Her mother dies and her father takes her to his old, dilapidated family home where he soon overdoses and dies. The girl, left alone, enters into a fantasy world of her own creation as a way of coping with her harsh reality. There is a family close by where a woman and her mentally ill brother live. Janet McTeer plays this woman, a stand in for the evil witch in stories like this, with an astonishing reckless abandon. She is the best thing in the film. Her brother who she cares for, is the subject of many of the most troubling scenes of the film. His relationship with the young girl is inappropriate to say the least. We feel scared for the little girl in every frame of this film. It’s exhausting for us to watch this for two hours but that’s the point, isn’t it? Gilliam ends up crafting a mesmerizing albeit difficult journey about abuse and neglect. Yes, the film feels dangerous and at times irresponsible but perhaps that’s just us projecting our own feelings on the film. We have different and more hopeful and naive world views when we are younger. By the time we enter middle age, we’ve seen the horrors this world holds and it hardens us. We are enlightened to the harsh truths of society. Tideland feels like Gilliam exorcising a demon and reclaiming at least a piece of his artistic career.

Next week, another case of an unfortunate and disastrous film production. That’s right, it’s The Imaginarium Of Doctor Parnassus. Until then, love each other.

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.

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.