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.

Color Out Of Space – Two Cages For The Price Of One

Sometimes everything clicks in a film — the stars align in the exact right way and you’re left with a cosmic masterpiece. Richard Stanley’s adaptation of the H.P. Lovecraft story, The Color Out Of Space is exactly this phenomenon. It is a film firing on every single cylinder, providing the viewer with an out-of-body experience like no other. Stanley has always been an interesting writer and filmmaker but I have no qualms with declaring this effort as his greatest to date — it knocked my socks off.

It starts innocent enough, like many other smaller budget horror films before it, spending its early runtime easing us into the lives of a family fleeing life in the “big city.” Seriously, Cage describes their previous residence as just that, and it’s a howler of a line. In fact, after fifteen minutes, I wasn’t sure I was even going to like this film much. The family dynamic was hokey and Cage himself was fine — nothing special. What kept me going was how beautifully shot this film was. It is gorgeous. Soon, a meteor of sorts crashes right near the farmhouse the family now lives in and from here, the film gets weird — like, really weird. The meteor is of some unexplained cosmic design and begins to produce colorful flowers all around. These aren’t normal run-of-the-mill flowers or colors — everything is heightened. Soon, strange insects begin to appear and soon after that, people begin to get infected by this new strangeness. The film takes off like a rocket from this point.

We’re treated to a few extraordinary scenes with Tommy Chong as a local whose had strange visions of what is to come. He’s the harbinger and he’s magnificent in his small role. The slow burn of the film is over and the fire is raging. Nicolas Cage quickly goes from fine to odd in the way only Cage can. It’s here where we begin to see Cage’s character fighting his own infection. It’s taking hold of him and in the process, Cage has created two distinct characters. Not many actors can go over the top like Cage can and it’s become a bit of a recent joke in his career. Here, he is in top form. Two Cages for the price of one is only the beginning.

From a technical standpoint, Richard Stanley takes off as an artist as well. The sound design is impeccable. He focuses on all of the little things, helping us to sense the horrors that await us. The shot composition and cinematography pull every last ounce of feeling from each scene. The score, for its part, is equally wonderful. You add this up and include a central Nicolas Cage performance that truly requires a buy-in and you have something unique on your hands.

For the record, this film won’t be for everyone but it was definitely for me.

Back to Cage because this film requires him to go as big as possible and at about the seventy minute mark, Cage goes completely supernova. I’ve seen Cage do this before, sometimes much more effectively than others (most recently in the awesome, Mandy) but he has never been more effective with it. It is an astonishing performance from him. And shortly after this Cage all but winks at the audience and proceeds to go super-supernova because why the hell not? I stood up and clapped. The audacity of the performance is one for the ages. The craziest aspect of Cage this time out is how necessary his Cage-y-ness for this story. Stanley requires it from his leading man and Cage delivers in spades. What they created together is a horror film for the ages, one of the best, if not the best Lovecraft adaptation, and a film destined for my year end best list.

I loved it. Loved it, loved it, loved it.

Next week it’s time I tackled my thoughts on my favorite show on Netflix, Dark. Until then, love each other.

Sofia Coppola Friday #0 – A Short Intro

Short piece today. Fridays have morphed from Gilliam Fridays to Sofia Coppola Fridays. Beginning next week, the eighteenth, I’m diving into the oeuvre of one of my very favorite filmmakers. I’ve had some truly special experiences with Sofia Coppola’s films — experiences which I will also discuss on a weekly basis. Very few filmmakers have captured the ennui of everyday life better than she has and I am excited to dive back in to these films I love so much. Also, this will line up nicely for her brand new film, On The Rocks, to release in October. Next week is The Virgin Suicides. 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 #12 – The Wrap-Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Brothers Grimm

The Zero Theorem

Jabberwocky

Time Bandits

Tideland

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus

The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

The Adventures of Baron Munchausen

Brazil

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

Twelve Monkeys

The Fisher King

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

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

Class Action Park – A Documentary Of How I Grew Up

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gilliam Friday #11 – The Man Who Killed Don Quixote

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

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

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

Well, he finally did it.

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

Bravo Mr. Gilliam, bravo.

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

My Blue Heaven and Goodfellas are Siblings, Who Knew?

Well, I button-hooked ya, didn’t I? My intention was to write about The King Of Staten Island this week but some interesting news came my way and I switched things up at the last minute.

The year was 1990 and two mob movies came out within a month of each other. Those movies were: Goodfellas and My Blue Heaven. I saw them both as a kid and loved them both. In the spirit of honesty, My Blue Heaven is a movie that has largely fallen by the wayside for me in the decades since its release but the other day, I stumbled upon a story about its release which led me to a rewatch and an idea for this post.

The story is this: Goodfellas is the true story of Henry Hill, a mobster who turned on his friends and associates in exchange for immunity. He then went into witness protection. My Blue Heaven is also about Henry Hill though they changed the name in the film and the events are fictionalized for comedy.

I never knew this and just you wait because the story gets better.

Henry Hill, while in witness protection began meeting with a writer in order to tell his life story. That writer was Nicholas Pilleggi and over the span of a few months, he got to know Hill and began writing his story. The book was called, Wiseguy, and when Martin Scorsese got ahold of it, there was no denying him a chance to put that story up on the screen. We know it as Goodfellas.

But we are not done.

While interviewing Hill, Pilleggi’s wife began conceiving an idea all her own. Her name was Nora Ephron and she was a screenwriter. She took her husband’s experiences with Hill and wrote a comedic take on everything which became the movie, My Blue Heaven. The same studio optioned both of the movies and released them one month apart. I find this all marvelously interesting. We could even look at My Blue Heaven as a quasi-sequel to Goodfellas.

So, onto the movie. How does it hold up?

It is still a wonderful film, all these years later.

The production of the film got off to a rocky start because they couldn’t lock down a cast. Steve Martin was originally hired to play the FBI agent Coopersmith with Arnold Schwarzenegger slated for the role of the mobster Vinnie, er Tod. Schwarzenegger dropped out in order to star in Kindergarten Cop which left a huge hole in the production. Steve Martin stepped up and suggested he could switch roles and play Vinnie. Rick Moranis was soon hired to play Coopersmith and the rest is history.

Starting with the cast of this film, we are in for a treat. Steve Martin is a treasure and was always a big part of my life growing up. From SNL to films like The Jerk, Three Amigos, Dirty Rotten Socundrels, Planes, Trains and Automobiles, Parenthood, etc. Martin was a mainstay in our house. The same could be said of Rick Moranis. There was SCTV, Ghostbusters, Honey I shrunk The kids, Spaceballs, Little Shop Of Horrors, etc. so yeah, no-brainer. Joan Cusack is also wonderful in this film, another 80s star who found her way into many of our favorite movies. Last but not least is Bill Irwin. He steals this movie for me. His dancing is super humanly hilarious and put a permanent smile on my face. In the last few years, watching Legion, Irwin’s character became my favorite and I had a hard time figuring out why I instantly connected with him. I remember now. His performance in My Blue Heaven is spectacular.

The movie is exactly my kind of movie as it’s not interested in plot at all. Instead it sets scenes for these characters to use and shed a little light on who they are. Not to sound like a broken record but I ALWAYS prefer character over plot. Steve Martin is so brilliant as Vinny, perfectly capturing the larger-than-life persona in one of his silliest performances. Rick Moranis, for his part is one of the greatest ever at conveying awkwardness. You can’t help but root for him in every role he’s ever played. I miss him dearly. Hollywood misses him dearly. I’m holding out hope that he’ll eventually return to acting and continue spreading his brand of joy to the world. Speaking of joy, My Blue Heaven is chock full of it. You’ll know if you’re in or not within the first five minutes and if you are, the smile will never leave your face. The jokes are stellar and multi-layered, sometimes you’ll find yourself laughing at a joke told a few minutes prior. The script is tight and the dialog fantastic. Martin is an impeccable asshole and plays Vinnie like a quasi-sequel to his character from The Jerk. Again, he is a treasure. The production design is vibrant and full of life. The shot composition adds to every moment — I swear I could sense the weather in every scene. I don’t think the film gets enough credit for how incredible the entire production conveys multiple things at one time — supreme talent on display here.

What started as an exercise on a story told from two different perspectives became a wonderful examination on what breathes excitement and life into our lives. This is a story about people and what a wonderful story it is.

Next week, Staten Island gets its due, I promise. 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.

Motherless Brooklyn – Old School Noir With A New School Skin

I’ll start by saying this: I’ve never read Lethem’s novel this film is based on. I have nothing against Lethem or his undeniable talent as a writer, he’s just not a writer I seek out. Who I do tend to seek out is Edward Norton. You take Norton and put him in a noir-ish story and I’m there twice. So I was actually looking forward to this film quite a bit.

And you know what? I liked it.

First off, the film is surprisingly funny, especially early on. The banter between Lionel and his cohorts is great and honest in the way long time friends speak with each other. The film is well cast from top to bottom. Guru Mbatha-Raw is the star of the movie, the camera cannot get enough of her and she still maintains a nuanced performance amongst a sea of scene chewing sharks. Baldwin is a terrific villain and Willem Dafoe is unable to give a dull performance — his scenes crackle. The same can be said of Cherry Jones, who the more I think about, is just like Dafoe in her ability to always be interesting. The overall score of the film is great, lending a slightly modern take on the classic, lonely jazz of an old school noir film. Thom Yorke’s contribution to the music is also great. As for the production design, great care went into this to transform the New York City area into the Brooklyn of old. The photography here is also marvelous — a very handsome production.

Now, let’s dig in and begin with the actors in a little more detail. I’ll begin with Norton, who took some stick for his portrayal of a man battling Tourette’s syndrome. I don’t want to start an argument with any experts or those suffering from Tourette’s but I worked with a man suffering from this affliction and after four years working with this man, I know what Tourette’s looks and sounds like and Norton nailed it. I understand when someone might see this film and think Norton is playing it for laughs but Tourette’s is extremely awkward for those afflicted and they often lean into it in an attempt to deflect from the affliction itself. I watched the manI worked with use his tics and attempt to turn them into little jokes. As for how his character relates the the film’s plot, he’s a great underdog early on. He is classily dogged in his pursuit of the truth but he’s physically at a constant disadvantage. Alec Baldwin hovers over the early proceedings like a malevolent specter, before exploding to the forefront in the second half. Films like this often require a huge villain and Baldwin uses his natural charisma to create a compelling one. Cherry Jones crushes her scenes as a player in this game railing against what the elite are trying to accomplish. Equaling Jones’ big performance is Willem Dafoe who is all nervous energy. This creates multiple dynamic character interactions and helps the film continue to slide right along. Then comes Gugu Mbatha-Raw who is pure bright light in this darkening sea of criminal activity. She practically walks on water. Michael K. Williams is also great in his small role — he’s always the coolest guy in the room.

Onto the story and it’s a timely one. It’s about the secret (and not so secret) power play for land in the city. We get a cautionary tale about politics and the lengths powerful men will go in order to secure more power. This is not subtle. It’s framed within a story about housing and gentrification of minority neighborhoods — something which is still going on to this day. The film is on the longer side at around two and a half hours but the length is earned. This never felt like a slog to me. It’s chock full of ideas yet never comes across as overstuffed.

Like I said at the top, I liked this film. It’s a well made plate of comfort food for me — dogged hero, huge villain, electrifying side characters, story with enough humor to provide some levity.

That’s all I have. Next week we’ll do The King Of Staten Island. Until then, love each other.