(Dir. Robert Altman, 1973)
by A Fernie
I really like Robert Altman movies. We’ll get that out of the way right now. And I’ve never seen The Big Sleep or any of the other old-school, Bogey-with-a-cigarette Raymond Chandler adaptations. That said, I recently watched Altman’s The Long Goodbye starring Elliott Gould and a bunch of other people that I didn’t recognize. Altman lifts the classic noir story from its original early 20th Century setting and slams it down right into the 1970s, complete with hippie chicks, thuggish cops and terrible shirts.
Gould is great as an unexpectedly charming Philip Marlowe, the somewhat sleazy, somewhat noble private detective. His entire first scene is spent with nothing but a hungry cat and the LA skyline. The plot, too complicated to be adequately recounted here, hits on dead friends and cover-ups and femme fatales like all good film noirs should. But the plot and the “what” of the movie are almost secondary. Altman, with Gould as a very game co-conspirator, re-focuses the noir genre—strips it down to just the atmosphere and mechanics to see where else he can take it. And the film is a success as a result.
What struck me most, more so than the telltale signs of a Robert Altman film like overlapping-dialogue and bizarre characters coming and going, was Los Angeles itself. A quick Google search reveals that many critics have focused their attention on Altman’s setting the film in the 1970s. Gone was Philip Marlowe’s (and Raymond Chandler’s) noir-era LA, with its Western mystery and even more distinctly Angeleno dark side. Instead, we get Gould-as-Marlowe’s 1970’s LA, with its sprawl, its smog and its oppressive beige-ness. Yet, watching it now in 2007, I’m struck not by the comparison between Chandler and Altman’s LA, but with Altman’s LA and with the metropolis that bears the name today. The pollution is still here, but at some point, LA decided to grow UP. There’s no evidence of this in Altman’s 1973 LA. The steel and crystalline skyscrapers of today’s downtown are nowhere to be seen. The massive monuments to retail and the condo-life of Century City haven’t yet been hatched. In The Long Goodbye, the city is still moving outwards and it seems like no one has really thought to build anything beyond 5 stories. As Marlowe exits the elevator leading to his ridiculously unlikely apartment in the hills (maybe private eyes got paid much better during the Nixon administration), we can see the sprawl spread out behind him. And it looks like the city just goes on forever, with no distinguishing marks to mar its perfect anonymity.
Somehow, as Gould navigates the twists and turns of the plot in his impeccably tailored suit, it is the city that kept stealing the show. To the point where, at times, I completely lose track of what is happening. This, of course, is what Altman is so good at. Who is Nashville really about, if not the city itself? Is M.A.S.H. the story of Hawkeye and Trapper John or the entire unit, functioning as a small town? And it’s always utterly fascinating to see him create a character out of these places. What he does in The Long Goodbye is even more interesting, because in two scenes, we leave behind the city that Altman has spent so long creating a relationship with. In the first of these scenes, Marlowe is taken to the penthouse of a skyscraper at night. Lavishly decorated and menacingly lit, the posh suite is like nothing seen before in this movie. The break between this and what we’ve grown accustomed to seeing of this LA makes us uneasy. I had started to like the dingy, smoky backdrop of brown walls and discount stores. Now that we’re in this place, a foreign touch of modern expense, it just seems weird. By the time the goons start inexplicably stripping, there’s no denying the threat and menace permeating this locale. Our favorite character, the city, is gone, and suddenly, we’ve got nowhere to hang our hat.
The second time that Altman breaks us away from LA is more literal. For the final scene, Marlowe travels down to Mexico to tie up all the loose ends and show us what has really been going on. Of course, HE’S put it all together, in noir fashion, and it’s time to clue the audience in. But, again, this place is different. Whereas a tropical vacation might seem nice, here it’s all wrong. We’ve barely seen the color green at any point in the last hour and a half, and now all these palm fronds and tropical plants are invading the frame. Then, while you’re still getting your bearings, a gun goes off (by my count, the only bullet fired in the film) and Gould just walks away. Out of the scene, out of Mexico, out of the movie. And, even though the plot’s been all wrapped up, you want to know what happens next. Not so much what happens to Marlowe, but what happens once he gets back to the city. Even though the complicated plot tried to convince you otherwise, The Long Goodbye is a paean to a city that no longer exists, and it is fascinating because of it.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Hackers
(Dir. Iain Softley, 1995)
by Don Piano
Last night I bought a sandwich at four thirty in the morning. Although it was extremely unnecessary I had to have my meats. I thought that if I ate while walking home it wouldn’t be as bad as just sitting on the couch and eating it. I ended up just looking like a fat kid who couldn’t wait to get home to devour his treat as I manhandled that sandwich in the early morning light.
This scenario shows exactly how I was with the movie “Hackers” in seventh grade. I had just gotten a VCR and I watched the shit out of this movie, everyday, after school for an entire year.
Hackers follows Zero Cool, who was the youngest hacker to ever crack a Gibson and send a virus that put the stock market into a tailspin. Zero Cool is now 18 and free to use a computer again as he moves to NYC with his trophy mom after a nasty divorce. Despite being a total babe he is a complete outcast at school and he returns to his old hacking ways under the new moniker Crash Override. He immediately forms a rivalry in real life with the total babe Angelina Jolie while unbeknownst to him he starts a rivalry with her on the net as well. Eventually the Phone Phreak figures out that Crash Override has some talent and he is invited to the hackers' hangout where they rollerblade, play video games, eat fries and talk all things “hack.” This where it gets confusing so hang tight. Newbie Joey, who can’t decide on a name, accidentally downloads the Da Vinci Virus who The Plague put into his own company to scam them out of some serious cash. Now the Plague has to blame it on the hackers even though they are good hackers. Angelina Jolie and Crash Override set aside their war against secret service agent Richard Gill (played by Bunk from the Wire, fuck yeah!) to stop getting innocently blamed with this virus. Their cronies The Cereal Killer and Lord Nikon come along to help out along with Razor and Blade and other hackers all over the globe to overtake the Plague, stop the Da Vinci virus and clear their names and HACK THE PLANET! Which they all do within a few minutes. Then in the end Crash Override goes on a date with Angelina Jolie and he wears a dress.
This movie predicted wireless Internet when they were hacking on top of the Empire State building. This movie also invented the saying, “Yo, I’m blowing up” when your pager would go off. This movie introduced us to the Prodigy and Underworld and Orbital years before we were ready for that sort of thing. This movie had it all. How about the opening where the camera floats above a circuit board and then seamlessly changes into New York City from above??? Genius. This movie still hits as hard in all the right places as much as it did twelve years ago. Except for that scene where they are freaking out because Angelina Jolie has a 56k modem. That shit is hilarious now and also Marc Anthony plays and FBI agent. This movie is the Citizen Kane of our generation. Prove me wrong, I dare you.
by Don Piano
Last night I bought a sandwich at four thirty in the morning. Although it was extremely unnecessary I had to have my meats. I thought that if I ate while walking home it wouldn’t be as bad as just sitting on the couch and eating it. I ended up just looking like a fat kid who couldn’t wait to get home to devour his treat as I manhandled that sandwich in the early morning light.
This scenario shows exactly how I was with the movie “Hackers” in seventh grade. I had just gotten a VCR and I watched the shit out of this movie, everyday, after school for an entire year.
Hackers follows Zero Cool, who was the youngest hacker to ever crack a Gibson and send a virus that put the stock market into a tailspin. Zero Cool is now 18 and free to use a computer again as he moves to NYC with his trophy mom after a nasty divorce. Despite being a total babe he is a complete outcast at school and he returns to his old hacking ways under the new moniker Crash Override. He immediately forms a rivalry in real life with the total babe Angelina Jolie while unbeknownst to him he starts a rivalry with her on the net as well. Eventually the Phone Phreak figures out that Crash Override has some talent and he is invited to the hackers' hangout where they rollerblade, play video games, eat fries and talk all things “hack.” This where it gets confusing so hang tight. Newbie Joey, who can’t decide on a name, accidentally downloads the Da Vinci Virus who The Plague put into his own company to scam them out of some serious cash. Now the Plague has to blame it on the hackers even though they are good hackers. Angelina Jolie and Crash Override set aside their war against secret service agent Richard Gill (played by Bunk from the Wire, fuck yeah!) to stop getting innocently blamed with this virus. Their cronies The Cereal Killer and Lord Nikon come along to help out along with Razor and Blade and other hackers all over the globe to overtake the Plague, stop the Da Vinci virus and clear their names and HACK THE PLANET! Which they all do within a few minutes. Then in the end Crash Override goes on a date with Angelina Jolie and he wears a dress.
This movie predicted wireless Internet when they were hacking on top of the Empire State building. This movie also invented the saying, “Yo, I’m blowing up” when your pager would go off. This movie introduced us to the Prodigy and Underworld and Orbital years before we were ready for that sort of thing. This movie had it all. How about the opening where the camera floats above a circuit board and then seamlessly changes into New York City from above??? Genius. This movie still hits as hard in all the right places as much as it did twelve years ago. Except for that scene where they are freaking out because Angelina Jolie has a 56k modem. That shit is hilarious now and also Marc Anthony plays and FBI agent. This movie is the Citizen Kane of our generation. Prove me wrong, I dare you.
The Lathe of Heaven
(Dir. Fred Barzyk & David R. Loxton, 1980)
Inspired by a post on Cinematical, I asked Netflix to send me this sci-fi artifact (based on the book by Ursula K. Le Guin) about a man whose dreams become waking reality. Set in Portland in the not-too-distant future, Bruce Davison (Short Cuts, X-Men) is George Orr, a man who has been court-ordered to see a therapist following a failed suicide attempt. Dr. William Haber (Kevin Conway) is that therapist—bearded, narcissistic and cardigan-clad—who manipulates Orr’s ability to change the world around them and achieves disastrous results.
The premise behind The Lathe of Heaven is a great one, and it is clear that the filmmakers were fans of the source material. Unfortunately, the collision of Orr’s incredible ability and Dr. Haber’s utilitarian meddling come across as a series of Outer Limits-esque vignettes, instead of a cohesive, interesting story. There are glaring logic holes that are pushed out of sight, and Orr does little to anchor the film, distractingly oscillating between self-righteous crusader and hapless observer. When Orr, suspicious of Dr. Haber’s intentions, seeks the help of lawyer Heather LeLache (Margaret Avery), an awkward connection emerges, one that would be engaging if it weren’t so clumsily acted.
The success of The Lathe of Heaven lies in its intentions, not its execution. There are some inspired moments, like when Dr. Haber instructs Orr to dream of a world without racism, only to have everyone on Earth turn grey. The urban backdrop (it was shot in Dallas) is similarly striking, but haphazard storytelling takes center-stage.
Inspired by a post on Cinematical, I asked Netflix to send me this sci-fi artifact (based on the book by Ursula K. Le Guin) about a man whose dreams become waking reality. Set in Portland in the not-too-distant future, Bruce Davison (Short Cuts, X-Men) is George Orr, a man who has been court-ordered to see a therapist following a failed suicide attempt. Dr. William Haber (Kevin Conway) is that therapist—bearded, narcissistic and cardigan-clad—who manipulates Orr’s ability to change the world around them and achieves disastrous results.
The premise behind The Lathe of Heaven is a great one, and it is clear that the filmmakers were fans of the source material. Unfortunately, the collision of Orr’s incredible ability and Dr. Haber’s utilitarian meddling come across as a series of Outer Limits-esque vignettes, instead of a cohesive, interesting story. There are glaring logic holes that are pushed out of sight, and Orr does little to anchor the film, distractingly oscillating between self-righteous crusader and hapless observer. When Orr, suspicious of Dr. Haber’s intentions, seeks the help of lawyer Heather LeLache (Margaret Avery), an awkward connection emerges, one that would be engaging if it weren’t so clumsily acted.
The success of The Lathe of Heaven lies in its intentions, not its execution. There are some inspired moments, like when Dr. Haber instructs Orr to dream of a world without racism, only to have everyone on Earth turn grey. The urban backdrop (it was shot in Dallas) is similarly striking, but haphazard storytelling takes center-stage.
Friday, September 7, 2007
After the Wedding
(Dir. Susanne Bier, 2006)
There is a thin line between drama and melodrama, and neither is inherently good or bad. I thought Crash was over-hyped, manipulative and preachy, but The O.C. never failed to tug at my heartstrings during its brief, glorious tenure—and both can certainly be considered melodramatic. On the surface, Susanne Bier’s After the Wedding deals with topics that can readily be found on any number of daytime soaps: family, fidelity, personal responsibility. Where As The World Turns and General Hospital’s stock in trade is risen-from-the-dead fiancées and slow-zoom glowers, however, After the Wedding deals in genuinely interesting characters and fully realized emotions.
The film begins in an orphanage in India, where Danish Jacob (Mads Mikkelsen) lives a happy life caring for a handful of children. The orphanage is in desperate need of financing, and Jacob reluctantly agrees to return to his birthplace of Denmark to meet with Jorgen, a possible financier. Meanwhile in Denmark, Jorgen (Rolf Lassgard), a self-made billionaire, prepares for his daughter’s upcoming wedding with his loving wife Helene (Sidse Babett Knudsen). After meeting with and taking a liking to Jacob, Jorgen invites him to attend the festivities. At the ceremony, Jacob receives a life-altering piece of information that irrevocably entrenches him in the lives of his hosts.
This is were After the Wedding really begins, against the lush backdrop of an earthen, sun-kissed Danish countryside, at the wedding of a rich, carefree young woman. But as Bier peels layer after layer away from these picture-perfect lives, the melodrama begins to reveal itself. In abundance. But don’t fret! This is the high drama and emotional flair of Shakespeare, not Dr. McDreamy. Passion and greed and charity reined in by honest, full-bodied characters. Perhaps Jorgen and Helene’s absurdly rich daughter Anna (Stine Fischer Christensen) does not have the most relatable lifestyle, but the pains she deals with are all too familiar. After the Wedding is a veritable emotional rollercoaster, but with all the grace (and none of the creepiness) of a merry-go-round.
There is a thin line between drama and melodrama, and neither is inherently good or bad. I thought Crash was over-hyped, manipulative and preachy, but The O.C. never failed to tug at my heartstrings during its brief, glorious tenure—and both can certainly be considered melodramatic. On the surface, Susanne Bier’s After the Wedding deals with topics that can readily be found on any number of daytime soaps: family, fidelity, personal responsibility. Where As The World Turns and General Hospital’s stock in trade is risen-from-the-dead fiancées and slow-zoom glowers, however, After the Wedding deals in genuinely interesting characters and fully realized emotions.
The film begins in an orphanage in India, where Danish Jacob (Mads Mikkelsen) lives a happy life caring for a handful of children. The orphanage is in desperate need of financing, and Jacob reluctantly agrees to return to his birthplace of Denmark to meet with Jorgen, a possible financier. Meanwhile in Denmark, Jorgen (Rolf Lassgard), a self-made billionaire, prepares for his daughter’s upcoming wedding with his loving wife Helene (Sidse Babett Knudsen). After meeting with and taking a liking to Jacob, Jorgen invites him to attend the festivities. At the ceremony, Jacob receives a life-altering piece of information that irrevocably entrenches him in the lives of his hosts.
This is were After the Wedding really begins, against the lush backdrop of an earthen, sun-kissed Danish countryside, at the wedding of a rich, carefree young woman. But as Bier peels layer after layer away from these picture-perfect lives, the melodrama begins to reveal itself. In abundance. But don’t fret! This is the high drama and emotional flair of Shakespeare, not Dr. McDreamy. Passion and greed and charity reined in by honest, full-bodied characters. Perhaps Jorgen and Helene’s absurdly rich daughter Anna (Stine Fischer Christensen) does not have the most relatable lifestyle, but the pains she deals with are all too familiar. After the Wedding is a veritable emotional rollercoaster, but with all the grace (and none of the creepiness) of a merry-go-round.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Spiderman 3
(Dir. Sam Raimi, 2007)
I saw Spiderman 3 at the Union Square Regal SuperDome (that might not be the official name) at midnight this past Thursday--the earliest showtime I could get my hands on. I was terribly excited--the first two installments (particularly the first) had struck such a wonderful balance between the playful nature of the comics and my desire to see people get punched through buildings. Tobey Maguire presented an affable and relatable Peter Parker, an underdog protagonist of delightfully John Hughesian proportions. Willem Dafoe and Alfred Molina played similarly wonderful villains as Green Goblin and Dr. Octopus, both mad geniuses with whom we sympathized despite (or perhaps due to) their stereotypically grandstanding, tormented attributes.
So it is in light of the successes of Spiderman 1 and 2 that Spiderman 3 is such a failure. It lacks the goofy intelligence that made its predecessors so enjoyable, and tries much too hard to revisit the successful formulas of 1 and 2. The movie opens with Peter's life in blissful balance--he's dating the love of his life, terrorizing the scum of New York, basking in the glow of an adoring public, and generally traipsing around the Big Apple with a big smile. Enter a revenge-fueled Harry Osborn (Green Goblin 2.0), neglected Mary Jane, hate-fueled alien symbiote, and surprisingly likable Sandman (Thomas Haden Church). Sounds pretty good, right? Nope! These forces align themselves against our beloved Parker, and we see a dark side of him we haven't seen since he hunted down his uncle's killer in a blind rage. This route itself isn't necessarily a bad one, but Raimi doesn't give it the gravitas it deserves. Instead, all of these elements are hastily jumbled together, with even more elements thrown in: a new rival at the Daily Bugle (Topher Grace, who will turn into Venom) and a new beauty to vie for Peter's attention (Bryce Dallas Howard). What we are left with is a Peter Parker/Spiderman who we like less than the villains he fights, who mopes and smolders and acts like a grade-A jackass. Raimi apparently thinks this will be hilarious, as evidenced by a tremendously ridiculous scene in a nightclub where Peter tries to make a scorned Mary Jane jealous. Think The Mask, but not funny.
Spiderman 3 does have its strong points. The special effects keep getting better and better, and the fight scenes are as wonderfully nimble and explosive as ever (although the final showdown is a bit of a disappointment). Sandman is a welcome addition to the cast of villains--most people I've talked to wished they had seen much more of him, in fact. And Bruce Campbell has his best cameo yet. In the end, though, Raimi piled on when he should have boiled down, and what we are left with is over two hours of adrenaline-fueled confusion.
I saw Spiderman 3 at the Union Square Regal SuperDome (that might not be the official name) at midnight this past Thursday--the earliest showtime I could get my hands on. I was terribly excited--the first two installments (particularly the first) had struck such a wonderful balance between the playful nature of the comics and my desire to see people get punched through buildings. Tobey Maguire presented an affable and relatable Peter Parker, an underdog protagonist of delightfully John Hughesian proportions. Willem Dafoe and Alfred Molina played similarly wonderful villains as Green Goblin and Dr. Octopus, both mad geniuses with whom we sympathized despite (or perhaps due to) their stereotypically grandstanding, tormented attributes.
So it is in light of the successes of Spiderman 1 and 2 that Spiderman 3 is such a failure. It lacks the goofy intelligence that made its predecessors so enjoyable, and tries much too hard to revisit the successful formulas of 1 and 2. The movie opens with Peter's life in blissful balance--he's dating the love of his life, terrorizing the scum of New York, basking in the glow of an adoring public, and generally traipsing around the Big Apple with a big smile. Enter a revenge-fueled Harry Osborn (Green Goblin 2.0), neglected Mary Jane, hate-fueled alien symbiote, and surprisingly likable Sandman (Thomas Haden Church). Sounds pretty good, right? Nope! These forces align themselves against our beloved Parker, and we see a dark side of him we haven't seen since he hunted down his uncle's killer in a blind rage. This route itself isn't necessarily a bad one, but Raimi doesn't give it the gravitas it deserves. Instead, all of these elements are hastily jumbled together, with even more elements thrown in: a new rival at the Daily Bugle (Topher Grace, who will turn into Venom) and a new beauty to vie for Peter's attention (Bryce Dallas Howard). What we are left with is a Peter Parker/Spiderman who we like less than the villains he fights, who mopes and smolders and acts like a grade-A jackass. Raimi apparently thinks this will be hilarious, as evidenced by a tremendously ridiculous scene in a nightclub where Peter tries to make a scorned Mary Jane jealous. Think The Mask, but not funny.
Spiderman 3 does have its strong points. The special effects keep getting better and better, and the fight scenes are as wonderfully nimble and explosive as ever (although the final showdown is a bit of a disappointment). Sandman is a welcome addition to the cast of villains--most people I've talked to wished they had seen much more of him, in fact. And Bruce Campbell has his best cameo yet. In the end, though, Raimi piled on when he should have boiled down, and what we are left with is over two hours of adrenaline-fueled confusion.
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