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.

Sofia Coppola Friday #1 – The Virgin Suicides

We begin our new project with another filmmaker I hold in the highest regard: Sofia Coppola. I am even willing to state that I love her films more than the films made by her father. Today, we’ll discuss her feature film debut as a director, The Virgin Suicides. It is based on the novel by Jeffrey Eugenides and was released in 1999. I was twenty years old when this film released and I remember the trailers giving me vibes of Dazed and Confused — another film I was obsessed with back then and continue to be obsessed with this very day. Those initial vibes are mostly inaccurate because where Linklater’s film was about trying to hold on to your youth and freedom while staring adulthood in the face, Coppola’s film is about the youth pining for adulthood. I really dug this film twenty years ago but with age comes wisdom and now I can see this film for the masterwork it truly is.

The Virgin Suicides is such a confident debut. It comes as no surprise that Coppola has gone on to be one of the world’s most vibrant and fresh voices in cinema. She makes great use of every single thing in the film. Every frame, every shot, every lighting choice, it is all perfectly placed to tell this story. Her choice in music for the soundtrack is spot on and helps envelop us further in the lives of those who reside in this town. It becomes not only the story of these girls and the boys who obsessed over them but a story of the era. Specifically, Trip’s needle drop, with the literal sound of needle touching vinyl is chef’s kiss. Even little touches like the bronzed baby shoes on the side table near the front door and the father’s shoulder grab of one of the protestors at the cemetery, are magic.

More important than all of these little things is Coppola’s script. It is immaculate. Her dialog is so natural and realistic, it lends a documentary feel to this story. She mirrors this by creating scenes with one of the boys grown up, reminiscing of this particular time period, while in rehab. This is a story very much about these five sisters but it’s told through the eyes of the boys who were vexed by them. What Coppola does is important, she reframes things by still managing to put the girls front and center. It is no longer a story about women told by men, it’s now a story about women told by men while informing us of the women’s perspective at every turn. This creates a story so much more rewarding for us.

The actors all do great work in the film as well. James Woods is great (seriously, what happened to this guy?) as the father of the Lisbon sisters. He’s a math teacher in their high school and ignorant to the plight of his girls. He cares more about helping the boys who lust after his daughters than he cares about helping his daughters. He is a clueless, intellectual too busy with his own work and feelings as a man to be a good father. The sisters fare no better with their mother. Kathleen Turner is someone I’ve adored my entire life and she delivers a knock out performance here. She is a shade of who she once was when she was younger and she wears this on her sleeve. Everything she does to “protect” her daughters is actually causing them harm. Her fear drives her and infects everyone around her. She is so desperate to hang on to her daughters so they don’t make the same mistakes she made when she was younger. None of this is said out loud but through the performance we can infer it all. The young cast is excellent as well. Kirsten Dunst and Josh Hartnett the obvious standouts. No wonder they’ve gone on to fruitful careers. They have great chemistry together full of nervous energy. Giovani Ribisi’s narration is terrifically human and Michael Pare is phenomenal in his few scenes as an older Trip.

The constant sun-drenched visuals give us the constant sense that we’re watching a childhood memory and provides an ethereal vibe throughout. Coppola pairs this with ancillary dialog between other citizens of this town to give us that feeling of living in a gossipy small town — again, so so real.

What really kicks this film into gear is Coppola’s depiction of the intoxication of teenage lust — of uncontrollable hormones. She honestly portrays a teenage boy’s infatuation with how girls live compared to their own lives. It perfectly captures adolescence. I can speak for boys, once being a teenage boy myself, and tell you that we tend to obsess over girls at this age because they seem so confident, even if they’re actually lacking in confidence. We’re too dense and selfish to notice that part at all. No, we focus on the mysterious and uniqueness of girls and we are so insecure ourselves that we are constantly and desperately seeking answers and understanding.

The film feels like a commentary on how male-dominated society views women as possessions and/or trophies. This is perfectly executed in the section dealing with the homecoming dance. The girls are raffled off because it’s the only way Trip can convince the Lisbon’s to allow Lux to go. What Coppola focuses on at first, again, is important. She shows the girls with each other, forget the opportunistic boys, these girls are finally free. They are in a fairy tale and free from their prison and life could not be better. It’s awesome. Of course, this spirals into devastation when Lux fails to return home that night and the girls are locked away completely by their parents. There’s a cute sequence involving the girls and boys sending coded messages back and forth, over the phone via vinyl records. This too ends in tragedy as it leads to the girls all freeing themselves for good by committing suicide.

The film now shifts solely to the perspective of the boys and how they’ve been marked their entire lives by the Lisbon sisters and their unseemly end. This is what men do: they make every story about themselves somehow. It is the male ego in its purest form. Trip even trying to say how much he loved Lux is utter bullshit aiming to resolve himself of any guilt. No, he’d rather wallow in self pity even though he’s the one who ditched her after they had sex on the football field. The film closes with the citizens throwing a big summer bash for a graduate, the Lisbons a recent yet distant memory for most. It highlights the toxicity of “civilized” society in all its debutante glory.

Sofia Coppola came out swinging from minute one. Delivering a film that mesmerized me at age twenty and now, twenty one years later, has helped me gain a great amount of perspective on my own teenage years — failings and all. I couldn’t ask for more from a work of art.

Next week, Lost in Translation, a film I listed as the third best film of its decade. Until then, love each other.

The King of Staten Island – Apatow’s Love Letter To The Precarious Nature Of Life

Judd Apatow is responsible for many of my favorite comedies. Before we get to it, I have a story. In the wake of Freaks and Geeks, Apatow made another tv show: Undeclared. In one episode, the group of students plays a prank and duct tapes someone inside of a phone booth. This tickled me to no end. So much so, that I concocted a similar plan to carry out with my brother and two of our friends. Unfortunately, there were no longer any phone booths in our town so the plan had to be adjusted. What I came up with was to wait at a local diner and when someone parked in the back and then entered the diner, we would duct tape their car shut. We tested the plan out on another car in a different parking lot. Two people up top and two people laying on the ground, passing the roll of tape between each of us — this way the duct tape would wrap from roof to undercarriage. We executed the plan to perfection — nearly.

We unwittingly chose the car belonging to the daughter of the chief of police.

Long story short: my plan accidentally got my brother arrested.

On to the task at hand.

Apatow’ s latest effort is, The King of Staten Island. The film is partly inspired by star Pete Davidson’s real life. First off, Davidson is great in this film. He has an odd charm. I don’t know how else to put that because it’s indescribable. Davidson has something unique on screen where he can equally make you groan while still rooting for him. This is also due in part to a terrific and realistic script. One thing that is universal in Apatow films is how natural his characters talk to and act around each other. His films are shaggy and maybe run too long in spots for some viewers. This has never been the case for me. I’ve mentioned this countless times here but it bears repeating: character over plot. There is no discernible plot in this film other than if Pete’s character will ever properly deal with the trauma of his father’s death and actually grow up. There is no real resolution because his journey is our journey and our journey is never finished until the day we die. Instead, Apatow loads the film with scenes of friends and acquaintances just shooting the shit and I am here for all of it. The scene’s with the friends are countered with more serious ones involving the family. Everyone is still dealing with not only their own shit but everyone else’s shit as well. Everything feels so natural. I love the ebb and flow in the tone.

Eventually, Pete’s mother, played wonderfully by Marisa Tomei, wants to try and move on with her life. She begins to date a neighbor played by Bill Burr. Pete immediately hates him for obvious infantile reasons but goes apoplectic when he finds out that Burr is a firefighter. This kicks the biggest plot point of the film and focuses the story for a bit. We can feel how personal this all is for Pete in real life. After all, his father was a firefighter who died on September 11, 2001. In the film, his father also perished in a fire and Pete cannot fathom why his mother would want to potentially go through that again. There is also an incredible conversation about why firefighters would have children and potentially scar them for life when they tragically died. The film cuts deep when it wants to. This is also when we meet Steve Buscemi as a firefighter in the same house as Bill Burr. Now, I didn’t know that Buscemi was a firefighter in real life before becoming an actor. On top of that, he went back to work after September 11th in order to help with the rescue efforts — amazing and heroic. In the film, Buscemi steals it all in only a handful of scenes. His sincerity rings loud and echoes throughout our hearts and minds.

The film still reserves plenty of time for idiotic antics and weird asides. There is a scene featuring Action Bronson, a real life rapper, as he stops by the firehouse looking for help. The entire crew is on a call and only Pete is there sweeping the floors. Bronson has been shot or stabbed or something — he is hilariously vague about what happened to him. It all almost feels like an SNL sketch or something ripped from another film. This is what I love about Apatow: if it works, it goes in. The scene is odd and misplaced on the surface but actually provides much needed levity from the more serious subject matter the film begins to delve into. Apatow is an expert at this. As serious as Burr’s character is on the surface, Burr plays him with a maniacal grace that provides gut busting laughs. It’s a thing that permeates every moment of the film.

This is what I appreciate most about Apatow’s work — it’s real. He views life like a bodega shelf — there’s a little bit of everything taking up space. It may be dusty. It may be expired. But it may just be exactly what you’re looking for.

Next week I was planning on doing a piece on season three of Westworld but the truth is I don’t have much to say about it other than I didn’t like season three of Westworld. There it is. Print the review. Instead, I think I’ll write about an awesome horror movie, The Color Out Of Space. 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 #10 – The Zero Theorem

This film doesn’t work. On paper, it sounds great but in reality, it never lifts off the page. The film is set in another dystopian future, though this time it is one speckled with vibrant color. It’s definitely pleasing to the eye. I particularly liked the opening few minutes where Waltz’s character leaves his dark and dreary home and steps outside into a bright and vibrant, yet dilapidated world. Gilliam’s playfulness with lighting sells this. Now, the story follows a worker, obsessed with his own impending death, being tasked by management to prove a theory that everything in life ultimately adds up to nothing. This is known as the Zero Theorem, hence the title. If this sounds intriguing, that’s because it is intriguing but the subsequent film is a joyless affair. Everyone is either openly depressed or masking their depression. It was all too bleak for my taste.

The cast is a good one but most aren’t left with much to do. Christoph Waltz is good but his character is so dour, it’s hard to root for him because even he doesn’t know what he really wants out of life. David Thewlis, as his supervisor, injects at least some life into this film every time he is on screen. Ben Whishaw and Peter Stormare are two actors I love to see but they’re are in the film for only a few short minutes. The same can be said for Tilda Swindon. Matt Damon plays management in the film and again, I love him in nearly everything else he’s ever done but he just doesn’t mesh with Gilliam as a creative partner. His scenes are stale. This puts a lot of pressure on Waltz to carry everything off himself but the script doesn’t allow that to happen. The only people who truly come alive on screen are Lucas Hedges who plays the son of management and Melanie Thierry, who plays a sex worker named Bainsley, and Waltz’s character’s(Qohan) muse. She is electric and the only one who looks to be having any fun. I looked up her imdb page and was shocked to see that she hasn’t really broken out in Hollywood. If nothing else, this film should have launched a big career for her.

One thing I must note is that this is yet another story where the main female character is objectified and sexualized by all of the male characters. This has become a running theme throughout Gilliam’s career and something I will be certain to dive into when I write my wrap-up in two weeks.

There are cool and interesting moments in the film for sure. Qohan has a computer monitor in his home that allows him to view an expanding black hole. There’s a moment where he projects himself and Bainsley into space, nearing this black hole that is nothing if not revelatory. They discuss the idea of the soul and how life must mean something. Qohan is dealing with unknown trauma and it’s making him increasingly nihilistic. Him choosing the black hole as his favorite place to visit leads Bainsley to ask this question: Is THAT what’s inside of you? How do you live with all that…emptiness? It’s a profound question and one that Qohan doesn’t have a good answer for because he’s unwilling to accept what may or may not reside inside of him.

At first, I thought this film was an allegory about mankind becoming a slave to technology and while that is part of it, the film is actually diving much deeper. The film is really about the soul of mankind and the world that lives within us. We can become shut-ins who are desperate to remain in the dark with our secrets. It’s familiar territory for Gilliam and he’s explored it better in the past — most recently in his previous film, Doctor Parnassus.

There are neat tricks Gilliam pulls off in an attempt to excite and seduce us. As Qohan begins to unravel, the camera becomes more active — leading us off balance and jolting us awake. It’s a shame that we desperately need this push because everything else has landed so flat. Qohan proves the theory to management’s satisfaction but not his own — he is not convinced that he sufficiently proved that everything adds up to nothing. This is partly because he is in love with Bainsley and partly because he’s never let go of his old trauma. By the end, Qohan has attempted to purge himself of his pain but instead gives in. He ends in a digital afterlife where he can hopefully be content and happy with Bainsley. There is evidence during the credits that Qohan may not have been successful but it’s all vague.

The Zero Theorem is a quiet, ponderous film about the entirety of life. It has ideas but they never lift off and instead feel like a film version of reading a textbook. And this may be the point of the film, like the title suggests — but there’s no joy anywhere near it.

Again, I cannot overstate how devastating the failed project of Don Quixote was to Gilliam as an artist. Ever since his legendary struggles began with that cursed project, he flailed about. He managed to recapture some of his early magic here and there but more often than not, Quixote was an albatross, hanging from his neck and dragging him into the muck. Nearly every film in the wake of that disaster felt like his own commentary on what went wrong. The effort here is admirable but not necessarily enjoyable.

I cannot wait for next week when we’ll finally talk about the Don Quixote project. Until then, love each other.

The Painter and the Thief – Compassion breeds Forgiveness

What does forgiveness look like? Can you quantify the power of redemption? Does it matter if it’s ever achieved so long as it’s attempted?

These questions ran through my mind while watching the documentary, The Painter and the Thief. I cried throughout this film and haven’t stopped thinking about it since I saw it. It is a powerful statement on people being colored in shades and not just hard lines.

The story is about a woman named Barbora and a man named Bertil. Barbora is an artist and one night, after the close of a gallery show, two men break in and steal two of her paintings. The men are quickly captured and sentenced. The paintings are not recovered. One of the men is Bertil, and Barbora contacts him right away because she’s only concerned with recovering her paintings. What unfolds is one of the most beautiful portraits of the human spirit I have ever seen. Bertil is a drug addict and his addiction fuels his poor decisions in life. Once released from prison, he agrees to sit with Barbora in order for her to paint his portrait. They arrive at an agreement that he owes her this much. What neither of them could have known was the deep and soulful friendship that would blossom from the inciting tragic event.

When Bertil first sees his portrait, he breaks down in sobs — not mere tears, deep, uncontrollable sobs. He’s never seen himself from someone else’s perspective and this allows him to step outside himself for the first time ever. We are there sobbing right alongside Bertil. It’s here where the film truly shows us the power that art can possess. Watching someone, near hopeless, see themselves through someone else’s compassionate eyes is uplifting. We follow Bertil and Barbora through the subsequent years as their friendship continues. We are there with them through their daily struggles and small victories. Bertil tries so hard to kick his habit but his demons constantly get he better of him. At one point, he is nearly killed in a car wreck and Barbora is there with him throughout his long and seemingly impossible recovery.

For her part, Barbora has her own demons. They’re nowhere near the level of Bertil’s but still, we watch her struggle and it breaks our heart because she doesn’t deserve any of it. At first glance, it’s Bertil and his spirit that captivates us the most but by the end of the film, we are rooting for Barbora just as hard. I want as many people as possible to see this beautiful film because it will help them understand the struggle many of the more unfortunate of us contend with on a daily basis. This world could use as much compassion as possible.

This film strikes a decidedly personal tone for me because I’ve had a member of my family go through these struggles just like Bertil. Hell, in some scenes, this family member even resembles Bertil. He was such a nice person to be around but his demons always managed to get the best of him. I choose to recall the fond memories because this man was the father to my first ever niece (and then another one). No matter what, he’ll always be responsible for that gift — the greatest gift I have ever received. Unlike Bertil, this man eventually succumbed to his demons and left this world a little less vibrant for the rest of us.

We perceive time as a straight line but it’s only an illusion. Life spins us around, blindfolded, and then sends us off to conquer each day. It’s a miracle more of us don’t succumb. In the end, our lives are as precious as our time is finite and struggles or not, as long as we’re trying to make it all a bit more palatable, we’re going to be okay.

Next week, let’s talk about Ramey’s second season. 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.

Little Fires Everywhere — Kerry Washington FTW

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

What am I on about?

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

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

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

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

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

SPOILER ALERT

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

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

Tom Hardy – Two Films, Three Roles

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

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

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

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

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

I know, I’m rambling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DEVS – Alex Garland’s Brilliant Look Into Past Trauma And Our Impending Future

I am a huge fan of Alex Garland. I have always found his writing to be thought provoking and invigorating. 28 Days Later is one of my favorite horror films of all time and his novel, Coma, is one I re-read on a regular basis. He has broken into directing in the last decade and it comes as no surprise to me that he’s quickly established himself as a clear and unique voice in Hollywood. Dredd rocked and Ex Machina blew the world away. With Annihilation, he deftly adapted the first book of Jeff VanderMeer’s astonishing Area X trilogy into one of the best films of 2018.

Now that we have that out of the way we can get down to the meat of this post. Devs.

Devs is a tv show Alex Garland wrote and directed in its entirety. It aired earlier this year on FX and is easily a landmark achievement in not only science fiction but any genre of storytelling.

What’s so great about it? Everything. I’m not going to dive into many details about the plot because anyone willing to take this journey should do so as blind as possible. It is set at some point in our future where automation has taken over our lives. Tech has evolved to the point that it has caused unemployment to spike up to sixty percent. We live in an age where we are beginning to see the future Garland is showing us as a possible real thing. This is scary. This is also merely window dressing in this rich and rewarding story.

The real story is about a young woman who works for a giant tech company and investigates the disappearance and questionable suicide of her boyfriend, who happens to work at the same company. There is a secret project called Devs and what exactly they are up to is the central mystery of this series. Do we get answers? Yes we do and they are so much more profound than we could possibly imagine. This series rocked me to my core. It plays like a conspiracy thriller when it is actually using that to mask a story about trauma and grief. Devs is a slow burn that peels back layer after layer until we lose all sense of direction. It is a work of astounding confidence and brilliant ideas. We’ve seen works in the past that could execute one of these things but not all of them quite like this. It not only sticks the landing, it changes everything.

The young woman is played by Sonoya Mizuno, an actress about to hopefully become a household name. Garland loves her — he’s cast her in Ex Machina and Annihilation already and here he totally lets her loose. She is amazing — with a face that could tell a thousand stories.

Side note: She was also incredible in Netflix’s Maniac.

We also have Nick Offerman playing the co-lead as the head of this tech company. He is manipulative and borderline evil but is also suffering great loss while maintaining some type of humanity. It’s strange to find his presence and voice so comforting no matter what is happening on screen. The bottom line is that he is a man determined to play out the only hand he believes he has. There is a sort of twisted nobility in this.

All of the characters in the series are fully realized with motivations of their own. This is vital for a story like this — we have to care no matter what. I’m going to have to cut this relatively short because the more I write, the more I run the risk of spilling the beans. I don’t want to do that to anyone.

I will say this: the finale turns everything upside down and around again. Just when you think you have this figured out, Garland ups the intelligence ante and takes you where you secretly wanted to go — without you realizing you wanted it all along. I will die on the hill proclaiming this one of the greatest finales in television history and one of the most profound and deeply moving endings to a story, ever.

Hit print.

Next week, either Tom Hardy or Tales from the Loop — we’ll see. Until then, love each other.