Tag: comedy

Ramy Season 2 – An American Tale

Hulu has something special on their hands with Ramy. We’re two seasons in and I don’t think anyone who has seen the show is feeling patient about a third season — we want it now. The show has created such a unique blend of comedy and drama that it’s quickly established itself as a breath of fresh air. There is nothing else quite like it, save for Atlanta. It’s in these two shows that we can better understand America, it’s failings and the great promise that it still holds.

The first two episodes of season 2 give us a sobering look at what happens when we forget about our soldiers once they’ve returned home from war. Ramy finds himself at a spiritual crossroads and he’s desperately seeking not only guidance but also affirmation that he’s a good person. He helps this soldier who at first is ignorant of the Islamic faith while also condemning the religion and its followers because of the horrors he experienced fighting overseas. Ramy brings him to the man he seeks guidance from, played by Marshala Ali. The soldier, begins to see the humanity and good spirits of these people, his new friends and ultimately decides that he wants to convert to Islam. It’s here where things get dicey. Their place of worship is under constant protest from others who are still ignorant of the teachings of Islam. The soldier cannot abide this and attacks one of the protestors. The nuance involved in creating these scenes is nothing short of extraordinary. In a few moments, Ramy has shown us all sides of the argument — presented to us for examination and hopefully introspection.

The show eschews plot in favor of digging as deep as possible into all of the characters we meet. Ramy may be the title character but we are treated to whole episodes devoted to supporting characters. The show focuses on his sister Deena, his mother Maysa, his father Farouk and even his uncle Naseem. This is an effective tool in building the world from the inside out. It expands the show’s horizons and ours as well. Deena struggles with growing up while not only being Muslim but also a young woman in a doubly hostile world. Maysa struggles with her place in life and this pull from a part of herself that so badly wants to be helpful — even when she’s being increasingly offensive. Farouk is lost for much of the season as a man who has always supported his family and now being jobless. He’s being affronted by his own brand of chauvinism and ends up being rescued by a rescue dog. Farouk’s story in particular was a real treat this season. Then we have the brash and incredibly offensive Uncle Naseem. This season reveals that Naseem is a closeted gay man which illuminates his daily outward persona as a beard of the highest order.

We root for these people to find their way and the show walks a delicate balance between maintaining what is true to oneself while changing just a little bit in order to better fit in with today’s society.

Notice how Ramy himself hasn’t even come up yet? His story of course runs throughout the season but he is so lost and nearly beyond hope. He’s suffering from undiagnosed depression while constantly trying to fill the void with either sex or pats on the back. He doesn’t just want to get better and be better but he also needs to be told that he is better. It’s tough to watch. He gets so many things right but never quite addresses his lack of stakes in anything he attempts. Ramy’s problem is that he lets himself off the hook at every turn. He’s in love with his cousin and eventually cheats on his fiancée the night before his wedding. This is all horrendously selfish but upon the end of his wedding night, having gone through with his marriage and even taking his new wife’s virginity, he decides to come clean. It’s the single most fucked up slide into wrongheadedness that Ramy has ever engaged in. Mahershala Ali, Ramy’s now father in law, shows up the next morning and brutally takes Ramy to task. He’s so overcome with grief and anger that he almost physically hits Ramy. It is a testament to his inner strength that he withholds and leaves Ramy to his own dark thoughts.

I will always applaud a story that is unafraid to take its main character to task for their failings. There’s never any room for hero worship — that train of thought breeds bad stories. Here, Ramy reels from his family’s cutting remarks, to his wife leaving, to his brutal take down at the hands of his father in law, to the even more brutal take down at the hands of his cousin. Ramy ends up alone in the abandoned, shit covered car left by the homeless soldier he tried to help earlier in the season. He’s adrift with nowhere to turn. It’s sad but deserved. I, for one, cannot wait for season 3 to see if Ramy can pull himself out of this whole he has put himself in.

Ramy provides us as American a story as can be. One full of humor and drama in equal measure, just like our own daily lives.

Next week, let’s tackle Edward Norton’s film adaptation of Motherless Brooklyn. 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 #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.

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.

Gilliam Friday #3 – Brazil

Here we are in week three of the Gilliam project and we’ve already had some surprises. This week, however, no surprise with Brazil and its genius. This is a film I check in on every few years and like other high-level art, it is a film that strikes me as more relevant than ever.

Brazil stars Jonathan Pryce as Sam Lowry, a middle-of-the-road office worker for the totalitarian Ministry of Information. Gilliam begins the proceedings showing us another worker hunting down a bug, killing it, and creating a misprint on a docket labeling an innocent man as a threat to society. They are after a known terrorist named Tuttle (played by a game Robert DeNiro) but instead arrest a man named Buttle. The innocent man is tortured and accidentally killed because his heart condition wasn’t disclosed on the other man’s medical history. This is clarified in a hilariously inept exchange between Sam and a friend who happens to be the torturer. It is an indictment on the increasingly bureaucratic tendencies of modern government. All anyone does is blame another department, create fixes that break more things and eventually try and quiet dissenters.

We first meet Sam in the midst of a fantastical dream. While asleep, Sam sees himself as a majestic winged warrior, fighting monsters in order to save the damsel in distress. His dreams are shot with Sam mostly attacking from above, lending an air of superiority. This is in stark contrast to his real life which is mundane and small — with an overbearing mother to boot. Sam is content in his life until he sees an image of the woman he has been dreaming of. This sets Sam off on an adventure to find this literal woman of his dreams. The woman in question was a neighbor of Buttle and is searching for what happened to the innocent man. Sam gets wrapped up in her quest while also dealing with the real terrorist, Tuttle, who pops up every now and again to help Sam out of a pickle. These small events in particular are key in understanding where Gilliam is ultimately going with the story.

Gilliam has constructed two worlds in this film, one of majestic beauty, while the other is a hulking dystopia. Sam feels powerful in the world of his dreams and Pryce portrays him as calm and confident. The real world is where Pryce truly shines by playing Sam as a smallish yet determined man full of nervous energy. He so desperately wants a win and to do something that truly matters. He’s willing to go the distance. In a wonderful twist, Sam is actually way more heroic in the real world. Gilliam loads up the real world with trope imagery. All office workers look and dress the same, managers are the same, assistants are the same, kids all are the same — you see where I’m going with this. The society is beholden to the technology they crave — TVs and radios are everywhere. In classic Gilliam fashion, the future again looks antiquated. We quickly realize how this film represents a perfect marriage of material and artist. Gilliam has always had an adversarial relationship with authority and Brazil is a commentary on this aspect of society — it is also so much more. Gilliam is also rubbing our faces in our own fascist relationship with technology. The more we seek the comfort and ease of tech, the quicker and easier we become a slave to it. Is tech a stand-in for God?

Gilliam blasts out of the gates on fire. His camera creates terror, confusion and paranoia in nearly every scene. It is constantly chaotic and hilariously absurd. This is also the director’s most focused film to this point in his career. He bought in and the film is instantly laser focused. Another thing of note is the whimsical, musical sensibility Gilliam instills in the real world setting. This creates a perfect and telling rhythm to the film and Gilliam never loses it here. Everything works like a finely tuned piece of machinery from start to finish.

It’s important for Gilliam to maintain total control as the narrative spirals into madness. The stakes get higher and Sam’s fantasy dream world begins to blend into the real world. I feel like Brazil was a major influence for the film, Being John Malkovich. With that said, there is still more to unpack with the film because it would stand as a classic without even delving into the twist of the finale. Eventually, Sam is captured and before he can be tortured, he is rescued by Tuttle and other insurgents. Sam and Tuttle are chased with Tuttle literally disappearing in a storm of loose papers. The chase for Sam continues as his dream world and real world fully blend together. Sam is then confronted and chased by his own failures as a man and by every facet of society he has thus far faced. Gilliam is showing us that middle age is a confrontation of what happens if you give up on your dreams — you’re destined to be imprisoned by your own shortcomings. This is the cost of what we give up in order to join the rat race instead of chasing the wants and hopes of our youth. Sam is confronted by his mother who, through plastic surgery, now looks just like the woman from Sam’s dreams. Sam then disappears into a void and ends up rescued by his dream woman — rescued by love.

Except he isn’t rescued at all. Sam is last seen having been captured and lobotomized — destined to live out his days in the bliss of a manufactured simpleton.

What does it all mean?

I’ll stake my flag right here saying that Sam was actually Tuttle all along. The Tuttle we saw represented by DeNiro was never really there, nor was the woman of Sam’s dreams. No, Sam was captured early on and tortured in order for the Ministry of Information to maintain control. This is a sour ending to a visually joyous film but it’s also a profound lesson for us to learn about how delusion can alter our perception of even the simplest of things. Gilliam hit one out of the park with Brazil, one of his best films, and one of the most inventive films Hollywood has seen. I loved it my whole life and I love it even more now.

Next Friday is the day for the Baron. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #2 – Time Bandits

Here we are in the second week of my Terry Gilliam long look. This entry will be dealing with his 1981 film, Time Bandits. It’s the story of a young boy who joins a group of time hopping dwarves on an adventure that spans ages.

I loved this film as a kid. Most people my age, who saw this as a child, probably feel the same. What’s not to love? This film was like our imaginations come to life. Now, decades later, I actually feel quite different about this film. Right from the start, it rubbed me the wrong way. There is so much chaos in this film and Gilliam fails to ever really harness this energy. We’re thrust into this caper with no clue as to what is going on. The imagery is all over the place. Are there things to love about this film? Absolutely. This isn’t a bad film, it’s just an unfocused one. First, the dwarves are electric. Once they show up, their magical energy somehow grounds the film and focuses the narrative as much as possible. The only problem here is that there is only so much focusing this band of merry idiots can bring.

With Jabberwocky, Gilliam settled down and told a singular story (maybe thanks mostly to Lewis Carroll). Here, Time Bandits feels like a series of sketches thinly held together by a boy wanting to learn about the world. It’s a great idea and it does work more often than not but the entire film lacks cohesion. This is one of those films where my notes point out a slew of things I loved but my overall feeling on this film is less enthusiastic. Perhaps it has more to do with having recently watched The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen, a film that bounces around time in a more thoughtful manner. There are many similarities between the films but the Baron is a much greater presence in that film and a young Sarah Polley is a much better actor than they boy in this film.

My intention here is not to drown this film in criticism because there is plenty to enjoy. For example, Ian Holm’s Napoleon is extraordinary. That segment of the film is its best and the scene with the diminutive ruler namedropping other short historical figures is an all time classic. I also loved the Robin Hood segment, right down to the ridiculously cartoonish costume that John Cleese dons. I couldn’t stop laughing. This is around the time of the film where the real antagonist, Evil, is revealed in breathtaking fashion. At this point, I’m all in, chalking up the early hiccups to the film finding its feet. I love how Evil is shot with a low angle and lit to resemble someone telling a scary campfire story. The problem is that everything that follows is lesser and the film continues to trip over itself.

The intro to Agamemnon is great. The entire fight scene is dizzying in the best possible way. The rest of this segment falls short — even a game Sean Connery cannot save it. Gilliam does use some interesting techniques to better immerse us in this world. He uses different focal points to create tension — be it despair, paranoia, or elation. There are some truly lush sequences — colorful production design and the film is brimming with spirit. I love how inventive Gilliam is at every turn and how the film maintains the sense of adventure throughout its runtime.

The theme is also wonderful. We are seeing this all through the eyes of a child desperate to learn about the world. He not only gets to learn about history but live through it. I could best sum this up by saying that through art, we are all time travelers. The past is never dead because we keep it alive and we learn from it while pondering the future.

Overall, I can’t say this film totally held up for me. The story is still there but it really makes you work for it. Though there are plenty of highlights, the film never totally comes together as a whole. I actually prefer Jabberwocky, which is crazy to hear myself say out loud. Still, it’s a worthwhile watch — lots to learn from this film.

Next week, another favorite, Brazil. Until then, love each other.

Gilliam Friday #1 – An Intro Into The Madman’s World And Jabberwocky

If this pandemic has given me one thing, it’s been time to revisit certain filmmakers and reignite my fire for their work. Early in the year, I had the joy of seeing Terry Gilliam’s latest film, The Man Who killed Don Quixote. I loved it and began the train of thought that Gilliam was a filmmaker whose catalog was one in need of revisiting. Then life happened. We sold our house. I left my job. We packed up and moved. Pandemic. All the while, I began writing again, more and more. There was now plenty of time to the thing I wanted to do. Criterion helped me out by putting an expiration date on The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen. I made sure to watch the film before it disappeared and it hit me like a bolt of lightning. A new idea was born. A week by week, long form piece about Gilliam’s career.

In my research, I’ve come to a conclusion: Gilliam has subconsciously been a major inspiration for my own work, my entire life. The first novel I ever finished is littered with influenced imagery from Gilliam. He’s a fantastic world builder and always, good or bad, executes his vision — as uncompromising as they sometimes come. The Gilliam “look” is unlike any other filmmaker I can conjure up in my mind. He is unique. The thing I’ve come to appreciate the most from his work is the dry wit that exudes through every scene of his films. He is unafraid to tackle dark subject matter and often finds the most beautiful way to bring levity to each project.

It’s no secret that Gilliam caught his big break with the legendary comedy troupe, Monty Python. As the only American member, he quickly left his mark as an animator before elevating to co-director of their masterpiece film, Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Terry Jones handled the actors while Gilliam was in charge of the cameras. There’s nothing special about his work on this film but it bears mentioning because he learned early to get the shot a scene requires. I could talk more about his work on the third Python film, The Meaning of Life, but he didn’t actually direct that film. Gilliam directed a short film which plays beforehand. It’s brilliant and full of the Terry Gilliam futuristic antique look we love.

For the record, He had two of his own films under his belt at this point.

Gilliam is bold and unapologetic. He’s also a bit of a polarizing figure right now because of his recent comments in support of Harvey Weinstein and his remarks about being tired of white men being blamed for everything. I don’t agree or support his point of view in any way, shape, or form. I’m here, and it is admittedly difficult sometimes, to separate the artist from the man. I want to do this partly to reckon with myself and my own feelings and partly because his art is beautiful and pure.

The thing that excites me the most is that with Gilliam, I always have strong, gut reactions to his work. Sometimes elation and sometimes deflation. That’s what great art does. I’ve also recently watched a film of his that I loathed upon its initial release only to find myself riveted by the film today. This is gong to be fun.

And we begin this project with his solo directorial debut, the 1977 film, Jabberwocky.

This is an interesting film, and one I’d never seen until earlier this week. It’s not available to stream but I was lucky enough to procure a blu-ray from the Criterion Collection which is always the way to go if possible. Jabberwocky is based on the poem from Lewis Carroll. It should come as no surprise that Gilliam would be a huge fan of Carroll’s work, he’s found ways to pay homage to the man throughout his lengthy career. Here, Gilliam fully lets loose with his vision. Everything is heightened to the max and we see the beginning of Gilliam’s “look.” We’re treated to a heavy dose of deep focus shots in order to lend a hand to the viewer in understanding all of the characters’ unease. Jabberwocky is the story of a poor peasant named Dennis who travels to a bigger city, hoping to make something of himself. While in the city, he becomes accidentally embroiled in a quest to kill a giant beast that is feasting on people in the surrounding forest. The film’s tone is all over the place and Gilliam struggles to maintain hold. Most of the time the film plays like a live action Loony Toon but veers into more dramatic territory here and there. It feels like Gilliam is pushing against his former constraints and trying to free his inner lunatic. He’s a wonderful world builder — the production design is gorgeous. He treats us to so many visual tricks and gets the most out of his make-up and costume teams. Dennis is almost always facing a low angle shot, in order to express his inferiority. Everything else leaves us feeling off-kilter, like many of the characters.

Michael Palin plays our hero, Dennis, with a boyish charm that begs us to root for him, no matter how often he fails. Gilliam spends a lot of time whisking us around Dennis’ town and then the larger city — he lives for the guts of it all. Every single detail we could wish to pore over is on screen.

The film, overall, plays like an elongated Python sketch — this is both good and bad. It’s good that it focuses on one subject but considering Carroll’s poem is a bunch of nonsense, the movie is as well. There’s no real point to anything here but it sure is fun arriving at that conclusion.

And what a conclusion it is. The Jabberwock reveal is breath-taking. The creature is beautifully horrific to behold and the creature’s designer, Valerie Charlton, is a hell of an artist.

My ultimate takeaway is that Jabberwocky is a fun initiation into Gilliam’s world. There are stories of his fights for more money and control with the studio — something that will continue throughout his career. He unveils a huge bag of visual tricks and creates a fantasy film that subsequent entries into the genre such as Willow, owe a huge debt.

Next Friday, I’ll dive in to a film I’ve not seen in a long time, Time Bandits. I cannot wait to revisit that world. See you then — love each other.

Three Films. Very Different. Each Worthwhile.

Like many of you, I often disappear into some form of art, especially when I am feeling stressed or overwhelmed. Right now, there’s plenty to help cultivate those feelings. My brain is as scattershot as ever and what I’ve dived into is equally discordant. I’ve been bouncing between old films on Criterion, documentaries, kids stuff, weird stuff, lots of horror, and some truly unique television. That’s just the visual medium. I’ve been writing nearly everyday. Weird, train of thought poems, short stories, this content, and a novel. It’s hard to focus on just one thing right now and I’ve chosen to ride this wave and edit as needed. I enjoy being busy. I more than enjoy writing — it is necessary to my sanity. I’ve also been bouncing between loads of different reading material — King, Connelly, Palahniuk, Hill, Rutger, Murakami, and more. I am about to embark on a twelve week series dedicated to the work of Terry Gilliam. That will start next Friday with a small intro to the series and my thoughts on Jabberwocky. I will then work, film by film, through his visionary career because I’ve recently had a much different experience with some of his films than I had in the past — art can be like that.

Today, in order to get the three-times-per-week format going, I’m going to quickly discuss a few smaller thoughts on some things I’ve recently taken in.

Three films. Very different. Each worthwhile.

I’ll start with the 1955 heist classic, Rififi, directed by Jules Dassin. It should be noted that the reason this film was shot in France was because Dassin was blacklisted by Hollywood for being a member of the Communist party. It happened so fast to Dassin that he was unable to finish directing his previous feature. The move to France and the distance from American content censors gave this film the room it needed to breathe. It’s alive and vibrant in a way that allows us to sense an entire world at play within the film.

It would be a disservice to Criterion if I failed to mention how pristine this print of the film is. I’m in near disbelief that this is a sixty-five year old film — it’s visually flawless. Ocean’s eleven owes everything to Rififi — there’s no way around that. The actors are all superb and the heist at the center of the film is stupendous. We are treated to nearly thirty minutes of necessary silence as we go through the entire heist. It blows my mind how incredible a feat this was to pull off — and boy oh boy, did they ever pull this one off. After all the planning and staging, this film explodes into violence as realistic mistakes and some ingenuity by the antagonists lead us to a bloody finale. We are left breathless by the end, wanting to watch this masterpiece all over again.

And now for something completely different.

I am not a fan of Harmony Korine’s films — they have never worked for me. This is the biggest reason I was hesitant to watch his latest film, The Beach Bum. With that behind us, and in the spirit of honesty, I was a little high the other night and decided to put it on Hulu. I was hooked from the first frame. This weird little film hinges on Matthew McConaughey’s performance as Moondog, a brilliant albeit lazy writer living a wild life off of his wife’s riches. Isla Fisher plays his wife and Snoop Dog plays his best friend. They smoke copious amounts of weed, drink like crazy, have sex with anyone they want, and more importantly, they live. The spirit of this film is infectious and digs its hooks into us with a rigid grip. There are two great cameos in this film, first by Martin Lawrence and later by Zac Efron, which are worth watching the film for on their own merit. Everything is heightened and legitimately stupid but the message is clear: Actually live your life and fuck the rest. Highly recommended.

Lastly, the future is here.

If you’re an Amazon Prime subscriber, there’s a tasty little treat for you this month: a film called, The Vast Of Night. This film is the feature debut of director Andrew Patterson and he is the real deal. Holy hell is this film great. It feels like the work of a young Steven Spielberg. Patterson’s camerawork is nothing short of extraordinary — it literally dropped my jaw on a few occasions. The film makes great use of dialog to allow us into the lives of the characters and understand their relationships, tics, and motivations. It’s natural and free flowing and above all, a masterclass in “show don’t tell.” The film is about two teenagers who discover a weird transmission over the phone lines in a small 1950s New Mexico town. Is it aliens? Is it a force of evil? Is it explainable? The film keeps the unease and tension building throughout its runtime and lands on a beautifully ambiguous ending. I loved every single thing about this film. Andrew Patterson is about to set the film world ablaze.

So this post is disjointed as hell and I apologize for that but this sort of thing will happen from time to time. I take in art at different levels sometimes. I will have more to say on certain subjects. This happens to be a Friday post but more often than not, when I post something like this (my version of a mailbag post) it will be on a Wednesday going forward. Fridays will be reserved for my long form projects. Gilliam first, then Lynch. After those two, I’m thinking Sofia Coppola and then Spike Lee and we’ll go from there. Again, Monday will be First Reformed. Enjoy the weekend (what’s a weekend?) and love each other.

Dispatches From Elsewhere Is About You, Me, & Everything In Between

It took a long time for me to come to terms with my thoughts and feelings on Dispatches From Elsewhere. I’m still grappling with the show and likely will continue down this path for some time to come. It’s rare for a show, for anything, to grip me so fully so quick. The show hooked me within five minutes and then continued to tickle my brain over the course of ten episodes. I was left shaken to my core at times, laughing at some more, crying for various reasons, and most often it left me feeling reflective.

What’s it about?

It’s based on a documentary from earlier in the decade titled, The Institute. The doc was about the Jejune Institute which roped people into playing a real world AR game/experience/experiment in San Francisco. Jason Segel and his crew transported the setting to Philadelphia and fictionalized the story. But let’s start at the start.

The story is about four people who could be you or me. In fact, we are told at various times that we should think of these people as us. Do we relate to them? Of course we do because there is a piece of each of these characters in every one of us.

The cast is universally phenomenal. Richard E. Grant kicks things off for us as Octavio, the narrator and presumably the man behind the curtain. He’s pulling all of the strings, or is he? The show takes so many twists and turns, playing with what is real and imagined, that we’re left wondering who Octavio really is. We find out, of course, and this is where Grant’s mesmerizing performance goes even deeper. He runs and runs and runs with wonderful dialog and simple back drops. Most of his scenes are focused on his face, speaking directly to the camera, and Grant never lets us down.

Jason Segel plays Peter, who could be seen as our main main character. He’s depressed and sleepwalking through life. He likes and dislikes nothing. A tabbed flyer changes his life and we watch Peter continue to live underwater until he decides to begin swimming. We watch and wait for Peter to take a chance on new things — on living a real life. There is pure joy and crippling heartache. There is a whole lot of bullshit with Peter and his comeuppance is shockingly honest. This role and entire project from Segel is magnificent to behold. Rarely do we see an artist being so naked and honest on screen. And yes, the fourth wall is broken in ways we’ve never really experienced before. I don’t want to spoil too much because this show is best taken in completely blind.

Eve Lindley is the second of our core four we meet. She is instant charisma. Her character, Simone, comes across as a risk taker and a no-fucks-given player of this game but oh do the layers get pulled back on her. There are LEVELS to Simone. She is fierce and vulnerable in a moment. Eve Lindley is a revelation. I would expect offers to be flying her way like a ticker tape parade. She is THAT good. Simone, even when she thinks she has everything figured out, still has much to learn — and us along with her. Her scenes, late in the show, with Janice are tremendous. It’s fun watching her go toe to toe with Sally Field.

Speaking of Sally Field, between this and Maniac, we may have to do a Sally Field appreciation post. Wow, is she still bringing the heat. Janice is the heart and soul of this group. She is optimism in the face of the opposition. Janice’s home life is incredibly difficult yet she exudes warmth and a shock of spirit the group would otherwise miss. She asks important questions and proves her worth to the group countless times — even when they’re taking her for granted. Janice is the hope inside all of us. She has a few scenes in the second half of the show with Andre Benjamin that will produce crying fits.

Last but certainly not least is the character I most identified with, Fredwynn. Played with give-him-all-the-trophies precision by Andre Benjamin, Fredwynn is the hardcore player. He’s the guy too smart for everyone around him and sometimes even himself. Fredwynn is always searching for more and cannot take things at face value. He’s a detective’s detective. He’s the bloodhound with a Mensa membership (or not, lol). Fredwynn is the one to drive the group ever forward. I would put Andre Benjamin in any and every project I could ever think to produce — he’s just that good.

And now you may be wondering why I chose to highlight the actors and their roles — and you’d be correct to wonder this. These are the five main roles and the five main actors. There are more roles worth discussing and more actors worth applauding. There are plenty in the crew who deserve recognition. We could discuss how personal this show feels at all times partly because of the dreamlike scenes sprinkled throughout the proceedings. This show is shot with a mixture of standard camera placements and shots and then super-saturated shots, odd angles, slow motion, fuzzy cameras and visually interesting focuses. They use inspired music cues to mix up our feelings and then they cut those cues off to further alter our inner balance. All of this is effective — the intent lands with force.

The entire production comes together to create something extraordinary — unlike anything tv has seen beforehand. It plays with our perception of reality and shades that perception constantly. But I focus on the characters and the people who played them because that is what Dispatches From Elsewhere is really about — everything else is window dressing. This show, this wonderful work of art is, above all, about you.

It’s about us.

Next week, I tackle the film, First Reformed. Love each other.