Friday, September 3, 2010

American Splendor.... uh, I don't know... I'll just get on with my job which I hate and maybe tell you about it later. Jazz is good.


American Splendor

Shari Springer Berman
Robert Pulcini

2003


HBO doesn't do bad things, and I'm a comic nerd. Go figure I'm drawn quickly then, to American Splendor, this cool looking, new (ha, I'm so behind the curve) movie.


The introduction is brilliantly put together: Super heroes, comic script, little boxes and gutters of the comic itself. Original, recorded straight off the vinyl Amazing Stories sort of music... I shifted my butt around in excitement. Doesn't get better than witty, self-deprecating, comic-oriented stuff with good music! Glad I wore the comfy pants. All that jazz.


They say, or have said, or have been known to say, that if you like a movie in the first 10 minutes, you'll like it forever, and vice versa. If this were true, American Splendor was shooting right into the top 20 at least of Erika's Bestest.


Cut immediately to a stylized soundroom where the only color is an glass of orange soda. The real life Harvey Pekar is doing, and receiving direction on the intro voice over we just heard. The Meta Meter shoots through the roof. Cool. I'm a Post Post Modern sort of girl, I can dig it.


The rest of the plot and film, though, pings back and forth between this painfully realistic style, like we got in The Savages and Dreiser novels (which, awesome enough, Pekar as Guy Playing the Real Guy (something only Paul Giamatti can do) derides later in the film) with the Guy Playing the Real Guy and this uber clean Gattaca colored Real Guy set.


The uber reality of it all does everything it can to be awkward too. Giamatti must have studied a bit of Chaplin and mime to get papers to cram that awkwardly and phones to not sit in cradles that on cue. It's where the humor is. But, like with writing that is bad, the more awkward you force characters to interact, the more the humor dims.


By an hour in, the audience has been let down to the depression that Pekar and his character, Pekar, feels about the routineness of everything. Every once in awhile there's a glimmer of the splendor in living such a typically humdrum American life, but the continued meta narrative (see Giamatti walk to the set of Letterman, watch Pekar on Letterman, see Giamatti come off the set of Letterman) bogs itself into a pander to Pekar himself, and kind of an ass kissing of him in a way that made me wonder why, if he let into Letterman so hardcore in the eighties, then why is he letting this happen?


Long story short, there's barely any plot other than shooting the comic with actors, and continuously proving it so with shows of the page, and framing the actors with the original gutter.


Though, with a comic so stagnant and depressing that Alan Moore had to make a caricature of it in his own comic Promethea, what else could I have expected.


It's good; well put together, beautiful editing, acting, all that. . . it's just as bleh as the subject matter.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Chick Lit

http://www.npr.org/blogs/monkeysee/2010/08/25/129423107/women-who-read-are-not-marshmallow-peeps-and-other-humble-suggestions

This woman has a point.

I'm reading Anita Shreve for the first time, and it most certainly is not The Devil Wears Prada. Unless the page of purposely awkward trying on of hiking boots for an ultimately lethal climb up Mount Kenya with some British Ex-Colonists, counts as Shoe Porn.

It doesn't.

No, the plot is great. The characters obviously fleshed out. The relationships complex. The women are photographers -- creators! not the objets d-art. Awesome. So, not Chick Lit. I'll give you.

However. These things that are great are all told to the reader. I am an intelligent person, and a damned discerning reader. Personally, I'm almost insulted when I find out the plot is great, characters fleshy, relationships complex, when the exposition spends 60 pages telling me so in no uncertain terms.

The difference, Ma'am, between Chick Lit and seriously taken NYT revered contemporary literary fiction is the reader is allowed to make up their own minds about these things. And if, like Franzen, you are good at it, your reader will come to the conclusions intended.

Women do it too. Don't worry.

Zadie Smith, White Teeth -- Go!
Margaret Atwood, The Handmaids Tale
Annie Proulx, The Shipping News
Alice Munro
Mary Gaitskill
Ursula Leguin
Isabella Allende

Maybe you just want a separate type of Easy To Read/By Women type of fiction? Somewhere for Anita Shreve/Jodi Picoult? Nicholas Sparks might want to me on your list...

Why do we have to keep arguing about stuff like this? Can't we just get along?

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

American Beauty


American Beauty

Sam Mendes (1999)


There is no end of existent praise for this film, and I tremble to add to it. Color palette, characters, dialogue, acting, direction, story—all first rate. This is the first movie I ever watched and thought “wow, that's a perfect movie.” Not only can I find no actual fault in it, but there is no bad or unfinished taste left in my mouth from it. Maybe a bit calculated in feel, but even that fits with the film's being from the protagonist's post-death point of view.


What's neat is that, originally, this death was meant to be the focus of a court room drama. Again, set post death, from his perspective, but with a court room frame. The stoner kid and his camera on trial for the murder. I'm glad they went without it. Without, there is a lovely ambiguity and no chance for easy answers or for the entire affair being reduced to a game of clue and/or episode CSI.


Edited aşa, we are presented with our narrator and a vivid cast of secondary characters who add to each other and interact seamlessly. Many movies have tried pulling this off and few succeed. Most end in a series of vignettes that somehow tie together, like Love Actually or Babel. Time gets chopped up evenly on the storyboard, so the characters balance out—time wise. So, the audience is supposed to sympathize with all of them... equally...


Nice sentiment, whatever.


Many movies, like Across the Universe, try pulling off the one story from different perspectives, or a small community interacting, but only American Beauty realistically gives all its secondary characters enough weight and depth that they could support their own full length stories easily.


But that would be moot if the courtroom had been allowed to prevail.


As it is, we just have a narration of the last year of Lester's, Everyman's, life circa 1997. If we'd opened with a courtroom, the drama would focus on the verdict, but this way the drama is subsumed so that when scenes where violence happens that violence is all the more harsh. A plate of asparagus hitting a wall is hardly tense if compared with the possibility of some kid's brain frying for our entertainment/justice. Everyman's life would be mundane except for his death, but this way the fascination in an ascent to self discovery.


Similarly, the growth of the supporting characters is allowed to flourish without a courtroom. American Beauty, though ending with the death of our protagonist, churns up the possibilities of life and stirs the viewer's own desire for sublime within the ordinary. Besides, the children of the doomed have plans for their life! If the courtroom had been allowed to prevail, we would no doubt see these plans thwarted and therefore end on less uplifting note.


Of the three children in question, the daughter's growth, is probably the most important for the viewer. As the actual spawn of the dead protagonist it is her human responsibility to carry on his work. Thankfully, Ball made another crucial choice: he did not hit us over the head with this symbol. No, she, like every teenager, hates her parents. Furthermore, her actions hinge on so many different people's opinions of her that, while the courtroom scenario would allow her more screen-time (being the girlfriend of the “murderer”) the whole fiasco would stunt all the blushing promise of growth she shows when with him. In the scene with the famous plastic bag, she doesn't necessarily see the beauty he does in the bag, but the beauty in him for his simple and sublime love of the world. What Lester achieves just before death, she achieves – albeit vicariously – appreciation of the sublime in the mundane before leaving home to fulfill it.


The daughter's catalyst, Ricky, is a rather dashing allegory for turn of the century go-getters. Highly motivated both to appear perfect to parents and to make it in the world as yourself – freak or whatever – by whatever means necessary. It probably goes without saying that I have a giant crush on this character. As a person, he doesn't grow. This is probably why he is, bizarrely, the center about which this glorious film tilts. By staying still and letting other people meet him, he forces the whole machine a-lurchin'. Finally he makes a move for himself and delivers the crux of drama for both the courtroom version (being the one left holding the bag) and the ambiguous version (taking the daughter off to freak central New York).


If Ricky were accused of murder, Carolyn's, the wife's, role would become wormish and all over despicable, rather than just confused and mildly hysterical. She is an obvious suspect, and her character, at the time of murder, is motivated to do nothing but cover the truth of every one of her actions. From the very beginning, except two quick shots, she is nothing but fake to everyone she interacts with. Getting Nailed by the King, and a small gasp just before Lester gets beer on her $4,000 sofa upholstered in Italian silk. These are minute and quickly covered up. Otherwise her pure self is expressed through guttural screams in private, and are quickly reprimanded and suppressed. Thus, if she were to be confronted as a witness she would only squirm and rely on her facade self. Without the courtroom, she is released from the forced growth of her little motivational tapes, thus sent in a different direction.


Lolita'sΩ role would be swallowed and reduced to tertiary rather than secondary if the courtroom reigned. As it is she acts as the perfect foil for daughter's role and the driving force of the protagonist's. However, because of shots of her washing her face, and crying on the stairs, we see her unstaged actions and therefore glimpse her motivation. With the addition of the courtroom, she'd be simply a witness, and an unreliable one at that. As an unreliable witness her character would lose any dignity regained by the soda/sandwich discussion, and be doomed to ridiculousness.


Most insignificant out of the lot would be Ricky's parents. Though they have small amounts of screen time, they are Lester and Carolyn's dysfunctional alter-egos. They would only be included in the trial as Ricky's parents. I doubt the fathers role as actual killer would be brought to light. This is infinitely depressing from every angle. The movie would suck. Totchka.


Last, but not least, the super cute gay couple that are Lester and Carolyn's hyper-functional alter-egos. They'd be even less of characters than they already are. They'd be passing thoughts, and trivialized baubles. As it is, they are clearly the hyper-functional end to suburban life. And that is nothing but awesome to me.


There you have it, American Beauty, not Crime Scene Investigation: Suburban Melodrama.



Tuesday, August 24, 2010

The Fall


The Fall

Tarsem (2006)


Mr. Ebert says you should watch this movie just because it exists. Mr. Wilde says that art exists only for this reason. As an addict of aesthetics, especially when they agree with my own sensibilities, this movie is far and away the most beautiful thing created in the last ten years. Actually, I'll get back to you on whether its the most beautiful thing from the last century. What comes close? Hmmm... a couple Picassos, Maybe some Miles Davis. Henry Fonda's face? Well, if you combined these things and added the cutest child ever to act and strung them into a complexly plotted and tightly executed conglomeration of sight and sound, you'd get Tarsem's movie here.


Plot: girl breaks arm picking oranges in orange county. Hospitalized. Man paralyzes himself jumping from a moving train to horseback as he is a stuntman in early Hollywood. Hospitalized. When bones are broken and people are confined, unlikely friendships form and stories are told. The movie follows two plots: the story that he tells her and the story of their interactions with various doctors, nurses, priests, other patients... As the two plots intertwine, we learn more about each of their lives. As with all friendships, the more we learn of each character, the more complex plot. That is, he decides to commit suicide and enlists her in smuggling him morphine pills.


I mean, you just don't get more original or interesting or complex than that!


But! Its awesome does not end there!


Filmed in over 20 countries with a minimal of computer imaging, The Fall questions the power of imagination in a time period where people decided that moving pictures were both the new life and ultimate death of imagination. While it makes no effort to assert philosophy, The Fall exudes simple, childlike morality which is actually refreshing in our super gray world of ambiguity. What is bad? What is wrong? Manipulating children into aiding suicide: its bad, its wrong, it may be the ultimate bad wrong you can exert with your power as an adult. What is selfish and useless? Suicide. Period.


Tarsem sees little point lollygagging about thought-heavy things once these black and white morals are dealt with. Because of its moral simplicity the story becomes doubly potent and heart breaking—you as viewer are sucked into the child's earnest perspective, pretty much regardless of how cynical you may think you are.


To make this all the more realistic, our lead actress, Cantica Untaru, is a young Romanian lass who actually barely acts. She was told “this is a movie set, this is your co-star, this is the story.” Beyond that, most is ad-libbed. Her costar, Lee Pace, who I hope to see in many more things, knew what he had to say and where the story had to go, but beyond that... They even went so far as to not let him out of character the whole time so they were constantly interacting, as his character is paralyzed from the waist down, this includes him being in a wheel chair for the whole of filming. It comes through most poignantly. Love it.


Lemme see... Special effects are minimalist. It's one of the main appeals of the film as a whole. That fade from butterfly to island? Done the old fashioned way-with splicing of gelatin, not with photo-shop. I don't even want to try and comprehend how long it took them to set up the one desert shot that segues between the marriage and the death sentence scenes. Colors are all more vivid and enhanced, but not annoyingly so. Wash out filters are only used subtly, most glaringly in the last scene where Orange County and Alexandra's experience of it are nostalgia-ized with a sepia hue, but again, its acceptably subtle. Black and white is used only because it has to be in the plot. Slow motion is used perfectly – not too much. Supporting cast, supports. Everything that seems out of place or odd is only as such because it fits the mind of an 8 year old in a foreign country imagining a story being told to her by an almost stranger.


When you're finished watching this the first time, you are nothing but stunned. Done the second, you start thinking about it, realize there's nothing to think about beyond the mastery of the film-making itself. Every detail your over analytical mind tries to pick apart and apply some obscure philosopher to just points back to the plot. Third watching, you start wondering how the hell long the story boarding must have taken.


Yea.


Damn.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Ultimate Romance -- Punches Titanic in the Face


The Notebook

Nick Cassavetes (2004)



I don't think I've yet posted my American Beauty review, but I can proudly admit that American Beauty as a close second favorite movie of mine, makes me cry almost every time I watch it. At the plastic bag. Yep. It's a new definition of – something. Je ne c'est crois. But everyone cries at triumphant/tragic love stories. Everyone cries when they see The Notebook. I don't wanna admit that! But it's true. It got me. The damn melodrama got me. It is really, really good.


Maybe it's because I watched Married Life so many times I fell in love with Rachel McAdams (young Allie). Maybe it's all the amazing costumes from anywhere between 1920 to 1965 that never cease to make me drool. Maybe I was in a moment of weakness and in the overwrought string orchestra got under my eyes.


It's not though. What sets this movie apart, and ultimately puts it at the top of its class, is the all encompassing melodrama of the plot. Seriously, what I said about Bill and Ted being the pinnacle of stoner comedy? This is the be all end all of romantic melodrama. James Cameron, eat your heart out, Titanic only comes kinda close. I'm yet to read the novel Nicholas Sparks wrote that this movie is based on, so I don't know if the book is this tight, but the plot has all the stops pulled. He does not stop with their meeting.(See Serendipity) Or their marriage (Sense and Sensibility), or even their first kid (The Young Victoria). It stops at the end. Sparks does not shy from his heroes, Noah and Allie, having rough patches and fights and other relationships. He doesn't preserve one in pristine good looks (see Titanic and Love in the Time of Cholera). Sparks and Carravetes declare that shit happens and that a love preached about in romantic comedies can not only prevail, but champions over things and even knows the perfect time to quit. I live in contempt of movies that preach “great love” and then never show it to me. As much as I will watch Pride and Prejudice over and over, I feel cheated. No such loss of pain and loss of gain here.


So, plot. Each set piece eats the heels of the one before in sparky timing (sorry, I had to. I dedicate this review to my friend Faith, and she would appreciate a good pun). If ever there seems peace between the characters we can always flash forward in time to see the couple old and her gone with dementia. The heart strings get a-tugged lickety split. What's even better is we aren't told this right away, in fact we don't know factually she is Allie until she “meets” her children, and don't hear Noah's name until the third or fourth false ending, but if you haven't got that figured out within 15 minutes you have never interacted with Story. Normally I'd call the director out on this sort of easy tension, but here, there are so many tiny scenes building the characters that even I, the eternal cynic, thought Allie might choose The Guy Who Plays Cyclops. The Guy Who Plays Cyclops is a totally likable guy. She even loves him. Narrator tells us so.


(I could go off on a tangent here about meta narratives – turns out our narrator is Allie herself writing the title notebook so Noah can read it to her over and over until she remembers, and Noah is the one telling the story and so we don't know if she really did or if she is just writing that to make everyone feel better about her difficulty in choice between the two handsome men, but! This is a plot movie, it does not call for analysis. And I'm afraid analyzing it would ruin this warm feeling it gave me...)


I could yell about the intrusive music, or the sap upon sap, but I can't. It's not just the writing. The acting is great. I mean, they aren't finding new ways to express pain or joy, not really, but McAdams and Ryan Gosling (Young Noah) manage the gamut of emotions demanded by a life (short of the tragic loss of a child or something. Noah comes close with his best friend getting shot in the war, but it's not that sort of drama). Now, Gena Rowlands and James Garner, they find new ways to express those emotions. And damn are they good.

Also good about these characters is their roundness. Noah is not John Cusack or Tom Hanks or any Strong Romantic Lead. He's a lumberjack who reads Walt Whitman – more like Will Hunting, but without succumbing to cliché. Allie is a little closer to ruin. She's a manic pixie dream girl to be sure, but somehow stays fresh as a real person. She grows up, chooses things grown ups choose. She's not a stunted Natalie Portman in Garden State or Kirsten Dunst in Elizabethtown.


Sparks gives each a dream, a fear, and each a parent or two for developmental purposes. Most surprising is the lack of Noah's mom. Normally a writer would jump on that, exploit it, it's not even mentioned. I am now going to read this book and if it's in the book I'm going to be disappointed, but here, its spare and touching in a way that mentioning would have just gummed into soap opera. This, and many other details are all that harnesses The Notebook from being just another tearjerker with new actors. It is a fully functional romance unafraid of where the love it preaches may wander – in sickness and in health. Finally.

Friday, July 2, 2010

Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure


Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure

Stephen Herek, 1989


Discarded as stoner fluff and left for dead by the non-cult-flick-fanatics, Bill and Ted are not ever to be underestimated. I can't really critique it. I suppose that is why critics don't like it. They can't pick it apart and piss on it with their Derrida and Schopenhauer. I've said it before and I'll say it again—whatever.


This film is perfectly put together. Direction: Like Casablanca, it does nothing but point at nothing but the characters and what they're doing. Invisible. This is a talent I think has gone unappreciated a damn long time. I say “Bravo” nameless director, whoever the hell did this totally awesome flick.


Acting: exactly what its after. Where this movie comes out ahead of things like Waynes World is that those really are clueless teenagers, and I'd be willing to bet that that is what they wore to their audition. Wayne and Garth, on the other hand, kinda contrived and overly caricatured.


Plot: a fantastic spin on Candid-like picaresque. Oh! And its got one of those moral thingys. Aren't people always praising those? “Be Excellent to Each Other.” If the world were run by Bill and Ted, like the plot supposes may well happen, it would be a pretty radical place – both literally and how they, themselves, use it. Speaking of which, if you're seriously going to argue that its too 80s kitsch, you need to reconcile with your own poor choices and grow a sense of humor.


Why, I ask you, can people not love things for being perfect incarnations of what they are aiming for?


MY RESPONSE:


I love this movie for so many reasons, many of which you have listed above. It's a history nerd's wet dream in terms of absurd treatment of massive historical figures. That combined with the fact that they take nothing serious in the movie(Socrates is dancing to rock music, for fuck's sake!) makes it so much better than like you said, Wayne's World or something like that. Perhaps Dude, Where's My Car matches it for foolishness, but only because it goes for what Bill and Ted did 15 years prior. I never realized what you meant by the camera work until I thought about it, and agree. I think it would be nice if more movies were done as such. Good camera work is good when it plays well. Most of the time, however, it's mostly people imitating Guy Ritchie or someone similar, who actually know what they are doing when moving a camera around in a scene. Some call it poor directing, I call it letting the actors do their fucking job. And for the two dudes in this movie, its being as stoned as possible.


I believe its one of the first stoner movies that didn't try too hard, and was given to rest after a 2nd, less good iteration. Unlike Cheech and Chong, these two knew when to stop and let this film grow into the amazing hit it is. I first saw it in High School and still list it as a favorite when people ask about stoner comedies. Pure fun.

The People's Pasta

The People's Pasta

Erika Ostergaard and Kraft


This delightfully flavorful dish is both easy to make and bright as the sun as seen while on acid. Conceived by a homesick lady with little to no flavor in her daily food, the only difficult to find ingredient on the list is Kraft cheeze flava.


1 pack Kraft cheeze flava

1 plate left over macaroni (plain as intended)

1 Tbs sour cream

1 Tbs mustard

the left over half of sausage


Take plain mac and sausage from fridge.

Sprinkle with contents of flava pack

Microwave 1 minute

Remove and stir; the juices of the half of sausage should be enough to get the first bits of cheeze sticking

Microwave another minute

Remove, stir in sour cream and mustard

Enjoy!


Taste Tester 1: Excellent. The excess of cheeze on so few noodles really kicks up the flavor.

Taste Tester 2: I don't like the clumps of cheeze, but they blend in with the clumps of sausage.

Taste Tester 3: I would never eat anything that wasn't organic, but, because this sour cream is straight from the cow, I'll make an exception for the cheeze.


And there you have it folks! Having scarce supplies and a Proletariat attitude will get you everything.