Tag: writing

Gilliam Friday #2 – Time Bandits

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Shadowlands

In the Shadowlands, light is your enemy

In the Shadowlands, darkness takes your hand

In the Shadowlands, love is just a memory

In the Shadowlands, the hourglass is out of sand

*

Once upon a nothing

Arose a man from the sea

He plucked out all the heartstrings

And blinked out you and me

*

He walked the walk of ages

Executing his plan

By muting all the sages

He brought us to the Shadowlands

*

In the Shadowlands, everything means zero

In the Shadowlands, the only color is gray

In the Shadowlands, he is his own hero

In the Shadowlands, the liar rules the day

*

Honey Boy And The Importance Of Therapy

Trauma is a knife that cuts two ways. It can embolden someone and harden them against the ills of the world. It can also ruin a person from the inside out, rendering them incapable of ever moving on to a better life. There are many avenues to travel which lay between the two extremes I laid out above. Most people get lost in between and trauma is something that pulls both sets of strings. Shia Labeouf is a man who went through the wringer. He began as a child actor who was suddenly about to be Hollywood’s next big thing. He was there.

And then he wasn’t.

Labeouf had a self destructive streak which led him down a dark and winding path. He had multiple encounters with co-stars, police, and anyone who got in his way. He was headed for destruction.

He got help.

While in rehab, and more importantly, therapy, Labeouf began to come to terms with his past. Honey Boy is based on his own life growing up in show biz with parents largely un-equipped to shelter him. When you watch this film, it will come as no surprise that the script, which he wrote, began as a form of therapy. This allowed him to step outside of himself and tell the story of a boy in trouble. It also allowed him to step into his own father’s shoes and better understand where the problems came from. None of this is easy. It’s a testament to the inner strength that Labeouf found that he’s back on his feet. And stepping in to play his own father in the film feels dangerous but you can also see the catharsis — it’s a release.

The script is wonderful and naked. It’s a brutally honest deconstruction of the people who hurt him as a child but it is never without love. His performance in the film is true in a way we rarely see, which makes it riveting.

The film’s direction by Alma Har’el lends an air of dark fantasy. We watch this young boy grow up in nothing but a series of awful circumstances. There is one scene in particular where the young boy is forced to dictate a fight between his parents through the telephone. It’s a harrowing scene that will leave you begging for mercy.

The happy ending doesn’t come with fame. Lucas Hedges plays the young adult version as he spirals completely out of control. He’s all pent up rage, searching for an outlet. Hedges is quickly rising to the top of the ranks of his generation of actors. I should also point out the actor playing the younger version, Noah Jupe, is also magnificent.

No child should have to do the emotional heavy lifting with their parents and watching this film made me thankful for my own family.

In the end, Labeouf and Har’el have given us a dark fable for the ages. It will leave you raw and searching for the phone to call the ones you love. I can’t recommend this film enough.

Next week, Alex Garland’s brilliant show, Devs. Until then, love each other.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Death Of The Dreamer

Falling
Plummeting
Like a waterfall

Keep going
Diving
Off the cliff the wrong way

Plunging
Deeper still
What is at the center?

Descending is too nice a word
Cascading is prettier still
Pitched off the perch

The sun is gone
The moon, stolen by a black hole
The stars are blinking out

Am I flying?

Slowing the tempo
Floating
The nightmare is over

I am awake within a dream and searching for my mother
The beginning
The need to see it all

Quiet
I scream with no sound
Silence hurts my ears

I close my eyes but they will not reopen
Breathing with no movement
There is darkness

I search for a light
Anything bright will do
Nothing

The end.

First Reformed or The Diary Of Paul Schrader

I’m a year and a half late to this party but Paul Schrader’s film, First Reformed, is an astonishing work. It’s a terrifying vision of what can happen to us when we become overwhelmed by the negativity of the world. The film is sparse, somber, and chillingly effective. It’s the story of a small town preacher, dealing with his own issues, trying to help a couple expecting their first child. The man wants his wife to have an abortion because he is afraid to bring a child into the world. He’s an environmental activist who is bordering on becoming a terrorist. He’s seeking help but is unable to grapple with everything going on around him. He is lost. His wife is symbolic of purity of spirit. She is hope personified and only wants the man she fell in love with to come back to her. The wife is played perfectly by Amanda Seyfried. In retrospect, it is perfect casting. Her eyes are so expressive that we are pulled into her orbit, willing to help in any way we can.

The priest at the center of this film is barely holding on himself. He’s terminally ill and drinks his nights away while keeping a journal chronicling his struggles with his own faith and his own descent into depression. Ethan Hawke plays this priest and gives us a gift of a performance. He’s always been a phenomenal actor and this is his career best performance.

I’m not going to get into any more details of the plot because this film is one best discovered sight unseen. Allow it to envelop you in its embrace. Schrader has crafted something that is a high point of his own career — and that is saying a lot. Paul Schrader is an artist who has written four films for Martin Scorsese — he understands the balance of a film. The sound design is impeccable. We hear and feel every creak of the floorboards and we understand the age of this part of the country. His shot composition is that of a beautiful horror film. And one could make the argument that Schrader has indeed crafted a horror film. What’s more horrifying than losing one’s soul? Each shot unsettles and leaves us seeking the same comfort each of the characters are themselves seeking.

A unique aspect of Paul Schrader’s career is that he seemingly understands multiple generations. His films always feel timely. This is because Schrader loves to explore and experiment deep in the human psyche. I will go further and suggest that this film is borne of his own diary. I could suggest this of many of his films. His writing always feels urgent because he is always brutally honest. There is no fear in Schrader’s writing.

While watching this film, I took copious notes. The ideas and my thoughts and musings continued to pour out of me long after the film ended. I’ve wondered if the camera is representative of sanity. Is the camera God? Is it sitting in judgment of these characters? There’s a scene in the film which, the best way I can describe it, serves as a cosmic floating scene. Ethan Hawke floats into the cosmos and then through time. The scene goes cosmos, nature, man, destruction. Schrader isn’t mincing words here. First reformed would make for a great double billing with another film Schrader wrote, one of his Scorsese films, Taxi Driver. They explore similar themes albeit by taking different routes. I’ll leave you with this quote from the film: We know who speaks for big business but who speaks for God?

See you Wednesday and then Friday and then Monday, which is Honey Boy. Until then, love each other.

Three Films. Very Different. Each Worthwhile.

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

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

Three films. Very different. Each worthwhile.

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

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

And now for something completely different.

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

Lastly, the future is here.

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

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

The Forever Moment – A New Poem

Broken glass dusts the area with light

— like a Christmas tree in a shredder.

A bird carries my thoughts with all his might

— until I am feeling much better.

*

Motionless in the vast still of the night

— I couldn’t possibly be deader.

Something out here is too wrong to be right

— I’d run away were there no fetter.

*

This life is slipping further from my sight

— I recall the day that I met her.

The window is shuttered on me, tight

— I hope that I never forget her.

*

The light, the light, oh holy light, it’s white

— hallucinations of the forever.

Darkness follows behind, ready to fight

— I have now lost hold of my tether.

*

Away, away, I fly away tonight

— searching for that bird of a feather.

Just one more chance, a pause on this, my plight

— so I can whisper that I love her.

*

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

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

What’s it about?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s about us.

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