Carlos (2010, Dir. Olivier Assayas)

Review by Chris Rand

Carlos is a fascinating film about an even more fascinating subject. Olivier Assayas offers a thrilling and objective look at an element of the Cold War we have not seen in popular cinema: a celebrity terrorist. The sprawling, here I mean across nations and political realms, epic is very interested in facts and history, which strengthens the humanity of the titular character, inhabited by Edgar Ramirez. Despite his larger than life image and the vast political world he works in, the simple truths and small details conveyed in the film render Carlos as a character we can understand and at times relate to, not the usual caricature of an idealist (as in The Motorcycle Diaries) or faceless, evil terrorist. Yet, somewhere in the latter half of Part 2 this relatability results in a loss of Carlos’ badass veneer. In Mesrine, the other historic epic crime drama of 2010, Vincent Cassel’s character begins as a citizen, then becomes a criminal, then he begins to rationalize his crime once he reached his popular apex, but he never lost the ability to astonish you with his actions. After the OPEC hijacking, which could easily function as a standalone film, Carlos is at the top of his game, but also has lost sight of his cause. I understand that this is the point of the film: Carlos was once an inspired Marxist and became delusional about his decadent lifestyle and purpose long before he became irrelevant. But, I found it hard to believe that a group supposedly so passionate about Marxism could not see their ever heavier symbol of a leader for what he truly represented. Unlike Mesrine, those who surround Carlos do not challenge him, despite his increasingly contradictory actions and attitude, and thus fail to push his character’s depth and nuance to its potential. Despite the solid lead performance, Assayas’ beautiful and dynamic direction, and fascinating history to work from, Carlos loses steam without a meaningful character or relationship in the supporting cast.

Bottom Line: Carlos is a grand, truly exciting piece of filmmaking by a visionary director. But, Ramirez’ charismatic take on Carlos lacks the cinematic flare of other historical crime drama, by no fault of his own, because we never like or really hate him: he is delusional about his importance and beliefs (which are hard to empathize with), but nobody forces him to consider his evolving purpose even after the end of the Cold War.

8/10

Thunderbolt and Lightfoot (1974, Dir. Michael Cimino)

Review by Chris Rand

In the pantheon of 70’s New Hollywood Cinema Michael Cimino is both a hero, as director of Deerhunter, and part of the movement’s demise, as director of the controversial epic Heaven’s Gate. Cimino got his big break with his first feature film, Thunderbolt and Lightfoot, though his influence and style are more of a subtext of the film, which was initially intended to be Clint Eastwood’s foray into 70’s road film. T+L begins as a buddy outlaw film that quickly becomes a road film, then evolves into a heist movie filled with road film characters. Needless to say the movie’s plot barrels along quickly and, for the most part, smoothly through time and genre, but it is the scenes when it meanders and Cimino’s sense of visual space accents Eastwood and Jeff Bridges’ well-drawn characters wandering the Montana landscape that the film truly shines. Cimino embeds many of the themes found in Deerhunter –  veterans lost in life and male moral hierarchy, for example – under a road film attitude greatly indebted to Easy Rider: Bridges’ character still sees romance in the freedom and danger of living on the road, despite his loneliness and desperation. His relationship with Eastwood works well, particularly with George Kennedy as the foil for Bridges’ eager youth, but at times Eastwood’s persona casts too large a shadow for Bridges’ strong performance and Cimino’s distinctive visual style to come through. It is cheap to blame a star’s ego for a good film not being great, yet Cimino proved with Deerhunter the poetry of strong lead characters bowing to larger national themes. The strongest moments of Thunderbolt and Lightfoot revolve around Bridges character and his relationship to Eastwood, each giving a film set in the timeless American Midwest a sense of age and socio-political place.

Bottom Line: Thunderbolt and Lightfoot can be silly, fun, and fully entertaining to watch, but somehow the whole does not amount to the sum of its parts, making it a forgotten cult film instead of the classic 70’s road film it should be.

7/10

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives (2010, Dir. Apichatpong Weerasethakul)

Review by Chris Rand

I have no idea how to talk about Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s latest film, Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives. It’s six reels each have a totally distinct visual and narrative style, but the experience mounts to a final, weirdly pop-infused sadness and loss. Uncle Boonmee shows a fully new way of storytelling: it is so unconventionally strange, yet so matter-of-fact in its exploration of its own weirdness. The setting, Northeast Thailand, is simultaneously quiet, simple, mystical, and gorgeous. Critics have described the film as a ‘ghost story’ and many press photos show the red-eyed ape figures (seen above), but the film is not frightening, in fact, the appearance of the first and only conventional ghost got a hearty laugh at the screening I attended. Though, I do not mean to give the impression Uncle Boonmee is a difficult film to watch; it is slow and uses unconventional narrative techniques, but Weerasethakul’s film was fascinating to watch and continually enticing to explore afterwards.

Bottom Line: It is both surprising and perfect that Uncle Boonmee won Cannes. The film is so rich and gorgeous and fresh in its approach to film, a sort of film that can be poured over many times.

9/10 (I need to see this again before I can confidently give it a 10)

Alex P’s Take:

We. Are. Spirits. In the Material World. Perhaps it’s crass to compare Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s latest surreal opus to a Police song, but the thematic similarities are striking enough that I’ve had Sting singing in my head for the last couple days. The equally haunting Uncle Boonmee essentially plays out like a series of Thai folk tales, each of which threatens to be more casually bizarre than the one before it. While one could easily watch Uncle Boonmee by simply surrending oneself to AW’s gorgeous photography and dreamlike rhythms, there is just enough of a consistent narrative thread to placate those hoping to derive some kind of logical thesis from this meditative affair. While I found Boonmee baffling and occasionally frustrating, it is the rare film that made me want to watch it again almost immediately.

Rating: 7.5/10

Punch Drunk Love

Review by Chris Rand

After the epic brilliance of Boogie Night and Magnolia, Punch-Drunk Love felt like a cop-out the first time I saw it. Anderson had become the master of sprawling character mosaics and stopping to make a crazed 90-minute love story was jarring and initially disappointing. But, upon second viewing, Punch-Drunk Loves is less of a love story than a mood piece about a character learning to deal with the barage of emotions that is daily life. The film’s tone shifts drastically from uncomfortable, to crazy, to sad, to ecstatic even within a single scene, completely dictated by Adam Sandler’s emotions and conveyed through musical frenzy or pop delight (courtesy of Jon Brion) and smoothly panicked camera motion or static calm. But, Punch-Drunk Love is not a film that allows you to be swept up in its emotional conventions: as Sandler reacts to the events of his life the music and cinematography inflict his mood on the viewer, but Anderson constantly pulls you out by reminding you that you are watching a movie with stylistic flourishes. Sandler’s stellar performance is the film’s centerpiece and Emily Watson’s quiet desperation becomes more like soft understanding and sweetness as we spend more time with her. Though, it is Anderson’s incredible vision that allows Punch-Drunk Love to step away from the “I’m crazy, you’re sad and desperate, let’s fall in love” films of the early 00’s and become a film that captures the frenzy of falling in love after deep sadness.

Bottom Line: Brilliant. The “we’re going to breakfast” scene, the point where the film truly engulfed me, is so insane and frantic and breathtaking and ultimately sweet.

9.5/10

Frantic (1988, Dir. Roman Polanski)

Review by Chris Rand

Frantic has great promise given the star, director, premise, and music. But, though it has some delightful moments early on by establishing an intriguing Hitchockian premise and later with several After Hours-esque ‘man out of place in the hip and crazed 80’s nightlife’ scenes, Frantic largely misses its mark by not embracing its own weirdness. As a thriller, the film delivers a limited amount of suspense: Harrison Ford’s Dr. Richard Walker becomes more desperate and, well, frantic as he delves further into the search or his missing wife. But, in the wake of contemporary films (Taken, for example) and Ford films from not 5 years after Frantic, Walker’s responses to losing a loved one seem tame. The setup, premise, and initial visual arrangement (with some great Polanski frames) are totally Hitchockian, but Polanski misses Hitchcock’s ability to build the thriller mood. The plants for suspense – the statue on the roof, for example – do not pay off, leaving the immediate stakes fairly low. Yet, the larger stakes quickly become minimal too: we forget Walker is searching for his wife after a little while because she was pretty lame in her 5 minutes on screen and now he has this badass new model adventuring with him. The broader stakes are a terrorism plot, which is hinted at but not explored as in 90’s Ford when he must choose between his family and his country and, thus, does not fully engage. Even the score seems out of place: Ennio Morricone’s music does not add to the suspense because there is not enough. His score drifts you through the exposition and daytime action, but it is Grace Jones’ recurring songs that give the film new and interesting accents when Ford delves into the Parisian nightlife:

Bottom Line: Frantic is at its best when Polanski allows it to be strange and off-putting. But, so much of the daytime plot feels like something is missing: the moments that should build into later suspense do not and the reason for Walker’s trip to Paris, a stuffy doctor conference, is not allowed to infringe on his search. Though, I am enjoying thinking and writing about the film, which means Polanski did something right.

6/10

Fish Tank (2009, Dir. Andrea Arnold)

Review by Chris Rand

Fish Tank seems predictable at first: as it began I could feel a rough-and-tumble coming-of-age story beginning, but, on the backs of pitch-perfect performances from first-time actress Katie Jarvis and expert actor Michael Fassbender, the film evolves into something far more fascinating and engaging. Wandering handheld cinematography gives Fish Tank an immediate sense of place, the Essex Council Estate, yet intimate scenes with Jarvis’ Mia are made intense and captivating with claustrophobic camerawork, breaking the film’s protagonist and setting in two: the personality Mia must wear when all can see and the scared kid she really is when alone. Fassbender’s arrival to Mia’s horrible home situation brings rays of hope that, as a viewer familiar with films of this sort, feels like a ticking bomb. But, Fassbender’s performance counters that mounting dread: he makes you trust his character’s intentions and want Mia to be hopeful, he makes you hopeful for her when she cannot be. To avoid spoilers I will not delve much deeper into the film’s evolution, but I will say that Fish Tank beats out Dogtooth for ‘best dancing scene finale’ in recent memory.

Bottom Line: Fish Tank is a captivating film experience and continually rewarding afterwards: the more I think about the film and the dynamism of the performances the more stunning they become.

9.5/10

44 Inch Chest (2010, Dir. Malcolm Venville)

Review by Chris Rand

On paper 44 Inch Chest should be incredible: script from the writing team behind Sexy Beast, Angelo Badalamenti and Massive Attack teamed up for the score, and the small cast is a veritable who’s who of British crime drama heavyweights. And, at times, the film can be stirring and exciting to watch, but, sadly, most of Malcolm Venville’s directorial debut falls flat. The situation and delivery feels like a stage play, but, unlike films that successfully employ a more theatrical narrative, the setting becomes claustrophobic instead of seemingly infinite in detail. Glengarry Glen Ross almost entirely takes place in a small, shabby office, but you feel confined to the office through the characters plight and feel the office’s mood fluctuate with each development. That should be the case with 44 Inch Chest, as the basic premise is that the collected gangsters cannot leave the apartment until Colin (Ray Winstone) kills his wife’s lover , yet there is no sense of urgency from the characters: Winstone’s conflict clearly will take time and the other characters are cripplingly casual. Which brings us to, I think, the film’s largest flaw: despite some great scenes from a big-time supporting cast, Colin’s friend’s are overwhelmingly casual and treat the situation like any other, which removes them from the real conflict. These characters should be distinct and immediately dynamic to ease the audience into Colin’s overwhelming melodrama, which becomes absurd when set against the ambivalence of the supporting characters.

Bottom Line: Winstone delivers some stirring monologues and John Hurt has an enchanting retelling of Solomon and Sheba, but Tom Wilkinson and (most sadly) Ian McShane’s performances are surprisingly empty. The opening made me laugh out loud, but 44 Inch Chest never really hits its mark once the cast enters the film’s main setting.

3/10

Movie Titles (a brief rant)

The New York Times Art and Design section published a piece on their picks for ‘Best Film Titles’, a would-be Oscar category:

I was excited to read this article because I agree with the initial thrust of the piece: film titles are often overlooked, but play a large role in acclimating the viewer and subconsciously preparing them for the tone of the film. The writer cites Hitchcock and Kubrick credit maestro Saul Bass and even includes a quote from Bass himself on how titles condition the audience.

‘My initial thoughts about what a title can do was to set mood and the prime underlying core of the film’s story, to express the story in some metaphorical way,’ he said in a 1996 interview with Film Quarterly. ‘I saw the title as a way of conditioning the audience, so that when the film actually began, viewers would have an emotional resonance with it.’

With those unfamiliar, here is Bass’ famed opening titles for Hitchcock’s Psycho:

Yet, the article goes into detail about the symbolism of font minutae, instead of looking at how the look AND context of the title’s delivery complement the film. The writer describes intricate detail of fonts used in basic title sequences (The Social Network and Somewhere) that could easily go unnoticed by a viewer more interested in the music or opening scene. Perhaps most infuriating is that the writer egregiously contradicts her own point: her introduction describes how titles shape a film’s experience, yet she then gives her imaginary award to a film’s CLOSING credits.

I know it is stupid and petty to get mad about a critic’s take on film titles, but I cannot help it. If you are going to write a cliche ‘heralding the unsung heroes’ piece, at least treat their craft with respect by critiquing their work as a whole, not just the fonts.

Here is my pick for ‘Best Film Titles’:

Gaspar Noe used the title sequence of Enter the Void as an entrance into the hallucinatory experience of his film. The flicker film aesthetic and gliched out soundtrack warns the viewer and introduces the scatter-brained phantasmagoria that follows.

Animal Kingdom (2010, Dir. David Michôd)

Review by Chris Rand

I picked up the bluray of David Michôd’s debut feature based on endless recommendations and a sense that it was exactly the kind of movie I love. Then I saw the trailer, which really is not very exciting at all… But, after watching the film it became clear why: despite being an absolutely thrilling crime story, Animal Kingdom is surprisingly short on violence and conventional action. Michôd’s film enters the narrative as a strong crime family begins its descent from power, unlike the rise-to-fall arc of other crime dramas (particularly Goodfellas, which many critics compare Animal Kingdom to), which immediately brings the characters’ humanity to light as we see their desperation to preserve the livelihood they fought for. The bank robberies and violent rise to the top are in the past, we as an audience assume they happened and the central family earned their place at the top of the food chain. Animal Kingdom‘s soft spoken teenage protagonist, J, sits in the center of the film’s intense drama: he sets the story in motion and keeps all of the characters working for and against him as he realizes how to live his own life. His arc is the crux and provides the framework for the film’s fascinating subplots of familial and legal cat and mouse. Michôd’s visual style is simple and effective, not as stylized as Michael Mann and other slow-burn crime maestros, but captivating and continually surprising. But, it is the performances; the helpless anger of the family members, the calm calculating police, the subdued emotions of J, and the maneater hellishness of the mother, that make Animal Kingdom a real treat.

Bottom Line: A must for fans of crime drama. This is not a shot ’em up gangster flick, but Michôd’s film slowly works itself under your skin as it feels more and more real.

8.5/10

Mystery Train (1989, Dir. Jim Jarmusch)

Review by Chris Rand

Structured as a triptych of stories centered around foreigners in Memphis, Jim Jarmusch’s Mystery Train is both entertaining and bittersweet in its portrayal of American culture. That is, the culture we expose to the rest of the world, the way American pop culture finds its way into every facet of life. But, the focus of our exported culture is stardom, an evanescent engagement that leaves the star and his surroundings broken after the fall. Jarmusch frames Memphis as an empty, deteriorating place populated by the unemployed, yet solely on the shoulders of its cultural achievements 30 years before this film the city remains a destination for non-Americans. The characters of Mystery Train work within the setting and Jarmusch’s languid style to speak more through their inaction and appearance than through words. Jarmusch allows the atmosphere and the ghosts (both literal and figurative) of the once great city to retain their influence in his celluloid world. Robby Müller, as always, delivers a stunning visual experience with Jarmusch’s first venture into color film: the city is at times gray and dirty, but the palette remains cool and vibrant (particularly the red flourishes). Perhaps the film’s only fault is that the best of the three stories comes first, leaving the remaining two with shoes it cannot fill.

Bottom Line: Like all Jarmusch, Mystery Train is a languid and hip affair. Yet, his style fits the pace and setting of Memphis and allows for an articulate and, at times, poetic statement on American culture.

8.5/10