For me, the most intriguing thing about Knowing was the similarity between the film's poster featuring Nicholas Cage in profile, against a red background, reminded me so much of the poster for the first X-Files movie: Fight the Future.
The similarities between the tv series and the sci fi movie didn't end there, but my interest in them did. With its lack of character depth, Knowing would have made a very poor episode of X-Files. The main players were more type than real.
The movie started well with a 50 year old flashback, remarkable for the way it showcased a teacher's alternate concern for and frustration with an intense and intensely troubled student, Lucinda. The movie could have used more of such relationship cementing moments.
After the flashback, we switch to present day and meet John, your stock alcoholic widower. Actually, it's unfair to call him an alcoholic. He drinks too much, but is a loving father, if absent-minded father, and an unjaded professor who himself is still learning, questioning, even as he teaches.
When we first see John's son, Caleb, he seems smarter than his years, but his keen intelligence and curiousity is soon discarded and he goes through the rest of the film with wide, wondrous eyes, which are ultimately vacant. He watches, but doesn't ask, is pulled along, rather than engaged. There's nothing special about him, so one leaves the theater wondering why he was one of the chosen two.
Yes, we ultimately learn that Caleb is the second coming of Adam, destined to rebuild and repopulate the world after it is destroyed.
The apocalyptic turn the movie takes is far less appealing than its more mundane -- and more suspenseful -- second leg, during which John connects the clues left in a time capsule by a school girl (Lucinda) fifty years earlier. Once he realizes that the girl's nonsensical writings were actually disaster predictions, he frantically tries to prevent the tragedies that have not yet unfolded, but he fails. Life is predetermined. Knowing your fate does not give you the power to change it. John resigns himself to this fact.
Before doing so, he hunts down Diana, the daughter of the girl who made the predictions decades ago. Diana wrote off Lucinda, now dead, as crazy and has been living in denial about the events her mother foretold until John's interpretation renders them to specific to ignore. Within hours, Diana and John are racing against time to protect themselves and their children (Caleb and Diana's daughter Abby) against the coming Doomsday.
The plot would have been more compelling, if it had remained less adventurous. Watching the tension mount as John unraveled Lucinda's coded musings then tried to avert the manmade accidents (subway and plane wrecks) she predicted drew me in, but once his cipherings disclosed that EVERYONE was fated to die, then aliens landed on to claim the planet's pre-selected refugees (Caleb and Abby), well . . . the aliens were alienating. Once it broached the otherworldly, the movie soon lost any sense of import or realism.
That is not to say that every movie about aliens and the world's end is inherently artificial. Fantasies regularly teach every day lessons and if characters are true to life, their problems don't need to be (which is a lesson Knowing should have learned from the X-Files). Thus, it's entirely possible for a "realistic" plot to take an otherworldly turn, without distancing the viewer. But Knowing's heroes were never that solid to begin with, so when they take off in flight (literally and figuratively) it's hard for us to travel with them.
When first seen, the aliens are threatening, but we soon perceive the unspoken bond they share with Abby and Caleb and realize that they have come in peace to safeguard Destiny's Children. When the world ends in flames and the aliens return Caleb and Abby to the barren, reborn earth, to start civilization all over again, one is just left wondering: why them? They aren't especially innocent, sharp or singular. We saw them visiting a museum once and they were both entranced by various exhibits, but is that all it takes? Was Noah chosen to survive the flood because he was a good, moral leader or because he really, really liked animals? If that was the only qualification you needed to colonize earth, then we should all be calling Jane Goodall "mama." Besides, to be honest, there's no real evidence that these kids love animals, exactly. They aren't pet owners. They're just Discovery Channel enthusiasts who can sprout statistics.
Unfortunately for Abby and Caleb, their knowledge will largely go to waste. They aren't gifted with an ark full of friends. The stingy aliens only give them a measly pair of rabbits with which to kick things off. I know bunnies procreate constantly, so Abby and Caleb will always have fur skins for warmth, but they're going to get tired of rabbit stew pretty quickly. I suppose watching the rabbits will teach the kids how to mate, but if Blue Lagoon taught me anything, it's that puberty helps you figure that kind of thing out on your own.
The movie just left me thinking that Abby and Caleb's kids will pretty much have to date each other (at least Adam and Eve's brood had women from Nod to hook up with) and I began musing about the hazards of incest, rather than reflecting on any of the flick's real messages, such as they were.
Mainly, I felt that, except for their knowledge of and love for animals, there was nothing about Abby and Caleb that made me think they would make great world parents. They were not sensitive, strong-minded or independent. To the extent that they remembered the technology that existed before the world was regenerated, I think it would be in their nature to try to recreate what had been lost, rather than to chart a new, unspoiled beginning.
As for the film's most innovative character, John, we last saw him bid Caleb a tearful farewell, before huddling in a parlour with his parents and sister, awaiting imminent destruction. At one point, realizing what was coming, his plan was to hide underground, where there would be the most protection from the burning scourge. He was going to seek safety in an underground cave or -- at the very least, a basement. His religious father disdained such an idea, insisting that when your time comes, you should not avoid it, but accept your inevitable fate. John apparently adopted his father's way of thinking.
I believe in God's Will, but I also think that He gave us free will for a reason. Doris Day sang che sara sara, while making the bed, while making her own bed.
That is, perpahs "What will be, will be," but why were we given the good sense to come in out of the rain, if we weren't supposed to exercise it now and then? We may all have a destiny that was determined before our birth, but that doesn't mean we aren't supposed to contribute to its fulfillment. Maybe something is only pre-determined, if you don't make the choice to help shape the determination.
I'm not saying that as one man John could have stopped the destruction of all mankind, or even have averted his own death. I'm just saying, it wouldn't have hurt him to descend a flight of steps and take shelter in the basement, just in case that might have made a difference. If the movie's viewpoint was that man had destroyed the environment and deserved the ending that he helped create, then John's final resignation would be understandable, but that was not the truth imparted. Rather, we were told that life and death happen no matter what you do, so don't bother trying to change the moments in between. The conclusion tells us that knowing isn't enough, when you can't do anything about it, but doesn't explain why we should accept that the inevitable has to be.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Waitress (2007)
The movie was charming, but full of moments, rather than movement.
In the lead role Keri Russell is luminescent, in a way that transcends her character Jenna's circumstances. Yes, Jenna is from a small town, but her sense of self-awareness is so keen that it's hard to imagine how she got where she is.
Apparently, Jenna's greatest evolution took place before we meet her. We learn almost immediately that she despises her husband, conveniently named Earl, as that moniker has become shorthand for "ignorant lowlife." Witness the NBC comedy My Name is Earl. Indeed, this particular Earl could also have been the title character in the Dixie Chicks' infamous dirge Goodbye Earl. Earl is demanding, dimwitted and self-centered on a good day and violent on occasion. In fact, the character vacillates between humorous and disturbing in a way that leaves the viewer teetering. So much of the movie seems to be fable that when Earl threatens Jenna in a very real way, it's hard to process. It's as if Goldilocks had suddenly been mauled by one of the three, whimsical bears.
We're introduced to Jenna at work, a dinerwhere she bakes delectable pies that express her emotion and possess magnetic appeal to the customers she serves. To partake of Jenna's pie is to dissect a slice of life that would otherwise elude one. While her customers and fellow waitresses realize this, Jenna's gruff boss is indifferent to her culinary skills and comports himself as a less oppressive version of Earl.
Jenna stands out in the small diner where she works, as someone wiser than her years, sharper than her peers. So much so that it doesn't seem realistic that she's there. Such cream would rise to the top. Even if born poor and hopeless, Jenna doesn't seem like the type of person who would remain that way.
Certainly, there are many high school girls who fall for the captain of the football team and marry him before discovering he is a lout, but Jenna doesn't seem like the type who would have been drawn to such a man in the first place, not even as a teen. Surely, she would have been dazzled by the nerd in wood shop class, the dreamy boy who painted, the lead in the school play, not Earl. She would have caught a teacher's eye and been chosen for a grant or apprenticeship. Perhaps, she would never have left her small town, but she would easily have risen to its highest ranks. Of course, ultimately she does reach them, but the movie's problem is we don't see her rise. Rather, she magically alights, in a sudden manner that teaches both Jenna and the audience nothing.
We learn that Jenna has been saving her tip money to plot an escape from the controlling Earl. She plans to leave him, enter a nearby pie-baking contest, win, and then build an independent life for herself. Her plans are side-tracked by an unexpected pregnancy. Upon seeking prenatal care, she meets a new doctor and is promptly attracted to him. They soon begin a bumbling affair. These events, though enlightening for Jenna, combine to make her more imprisoned than ever. When she fumbles to hide the affair from Earl, he discovers both her pregnancy and the cash she'd stashed away. Enraged he tightens his grip on her, both literally and figuratively. Rather than breaking away, Jenna is given a "get out of jail free" card.
One of Jenna's customers is "Old Joe," a character who resonates more than his screen time merits, due to the fact that he's played by the familiar Andy Griffith, whose very visage strikes an immediate rapport with the audience. Jenna is not particularly nice to Joe. In fact, the best that can be said of her attitude is that she doesn't mind waiting on him. Ever observant, Joe gives her unsolicited advice, keeps her secrets and tells her his stories, but it's not a reciprocal relationship. She doesn't give him anything in return. If he develops an affection for her, she hasn't particularly earned it.
Meanwhile, though she never considers ending her pregnancy, Jenna frankly admits to her lover (and her diary) that she is unexcited about the prospect of motherhood. The baby's advent has made her more a victim than ever. She sees the child as bringing no good for her and she feels she has nothing of value to give it. Her feelings don't change until minutes after the child's birth. When she draws the infant to her, she is suddenly consumed by a love so fierce that she immediately finds the strength to challenge Earl that she'd been lacking for years. When she turns on him, we see that Earl knows as well as we do that Jenna was always the superior one. His only power came from the fact that she did not know it. Maternity opened her eyes, but it happened in an instant. A movie is supposed to be a journey, not a second's revelation.
Minutes after tossing Earl on his ear, Jenna also learns that "Old Joe" has died, leaving her his fortune. Suddenly, she's wealthy and has the wherewithal to survive without Earl or her waitressing job. Dumping her married lover, she buys her own diner and bakes happily ever after. While I don't begrudge the charming Jenna this idyllic ending, I can't help wondering what would have happened if "Old Joe" hadn't died. If her story was a fable (and the vibrant colors that surround Jenna and her infant daughter as the movie closes confirm it's a fairy tale) then it's magic is permitted, as long as it teaches us something. There's little to learn from Jenna's story. She didn't prevail due to goodness, faith,or ingenuity. Instead, a generous customer saved the day, leaving money to her, as his "only friend." But that bequest just revealed the depth of emptiness in Joe's life. I think he did more to fill his own void than Jenna ever did hers.
In the lead role Keri Russell is luminescent, in a way that transcends her character Jenna's circumstances. Yes, Jenna is from a small town, but her sense of self-awareness is so keen that it's hard to imagine how she got where she is.
Apparently, Jenna's greatest evolution took place before we meet her. We learn almost immediately that she despises her husband, conveniently named Earl, as that moniker has become shorthand for "ignorant lowlife." Witness the NBC comedy My Name is Earl. Indeed, this particular Earl could also have been the title character in the Dixie Chicks' infamous dirge Goodbye Earl. Earl is demanding, dimwitted and self-centered on a good day and violent on occasion. In fact, the character vacillates between humorous and disturbing in a way that leaves the viewer teetering. So much of the movie seems to be fable that when Earl threatens Jenna in a very real way, it's hard to process. It's as if Goldilocks had suddenly been mauled by one of the three, whimsical bears.
We're introduced to Jenna at work, a dinerwhere she bakes delectable pies that express her emotion and possess magnetic appeal to the customers she serves. To partake of Jenna's pie is to dissect a slice of life that would otherwise elude one. While her customers and fellow waitresses realize this, Jenna's gruff boss is indifferent to her culinary skills and comports himself as a less oppressive version of Earl.
Jenna stands out in the small diner where she works, as someone wiser than her years, sharper than her peers. So much so that it doesn't seem realistic that she's there. Such cream would rise to the top. Even if born poor and hopeless, Jenna doesn't seem like the type of person who would remain that way.
Certainly, there are many high school girls who fall for the captain of the football team and marry him before discovering he is a lout, but Jenna doesn't seem like the type who would have been drawn to such a man in the first place, not even as a teen. Surely, she would have been dazzled by the nerd in wood shop class, the dreamy boy who painted, the lead in the school play, not Earl. She would have caught a teacher's eye and been chosen for a grant or apprenticeship. Perhaps, she would never have left her small town, but she would easily have risen to its highest ranks. Of course, ultimately she does reach them, but the movie's problem is we don't see her rise. Rather, she magically alights, in a sudden manner that teaches both Jenna and the audience nothing.
We learn that Jenna has been saving her tip money to plot an escape from the controlling Earl. She plans to leave him, enter a nearby pie-baking contest, win, and then build an independent life for herself. Her plans are side-tracked by an unexpected pregnancy. Upon seeking prenatal care, she meets a new doctor and is promptly attracted to him. They soon begin a bumbling affair. These events, though enlightening for Jenna, combine to make her more imprisoned than ever. When she fumbles to hide the affair from Earl, he discovers both her pregnancy and the cash she'd stashed away. Enraged he tightens his grip on her, both literally and figuratively. Rather than breaking away, Jenna is given a "get out of jail free" card.
One of Jenna's customers is "Old Joe," a character who resonates more than his screen time merits, due to the fact that he's played by the familiar Andy Griffith, whose very visage strikes an immediate rapport with the audience. Jenna is not particularly nice to Joe. In fact, the best that can be said of her attitude is that she doesn't mind waiting on him. Ever observant, Joe gives her unsolicited advice, keeps her secrets and tells her his stories, but it's not a reciprocal relationship. She doesn't give him anything in return. If he develops an affection for her, she hasn't particularly earned it.
Meanwhile, though she never considers ending her pregnancy, Jenna frankly admits to her lover (and her diary) that she is unexcited about the prospect of motherhood. The baby's advent has made her more a victim than ever. She sees the child as bringing no good for her and she feels she has nothing of value to give it. Her feelings don't change until minutes after the child's birth. When she draws the infant to her, she is suddenly consumed by a love so fierce that she immediately finds the strength to challenge Earl that she'd been lacking for years. When she turns on him, we see that Earl knows as well as we do that Jenna was always the superior one. His only power came from the fact that she did not know it. Maternity opened her eyes, but it happened in an instant. A movie is supposed to be a journey, not a second's revelation.
Minutes after tossing Earl on his ear, Jenna also learns that "Old Joe" has died, leaving her his fortune. Suddenly, she's wealthy and has the wherewithal to survive without Earl or her waitressing job. Dumping her married lover, she buys her own diner and bakes happily ever after. While I don't begrudge the charming Jenna this idyllic ending, I can't help wondering what would have happened if "Old Joe" hadn't died. If her story was a fable (and the vibrant colors that surround Jenna and her infant daughter as the movie closes confirm it's a fairy tale) then it's magic is permitted, as long as it teaches us something. There's little to learn from Jenna's story. She didn't prevail due to goodness, faith,or ingenuity. Instead, a generous customer saved the day, leaving money to her, as his "only friend." But that bequest just revealed the depth of emptiness in Joe's life. I think he did more to fill his own void than Jenna ever did hers.
Friday, July 25, 2008
X-Files: I Want To Believe (2008)
The new X-Files movie opened on Friday, July 25 and I was there at the stroke of midnight to welcome Mulder and Scully back from their 6-year hiatus. If you love those two characters (and I do), this movie could never be a complete disappointment to you. In the roles, Gillian Anderson and David Duchovny make it appear that the casting director for Gone With the Wind must have been asleep at his job, because no actors were better fitted for their parts -- and for each other -- than these two. The nonpareil chemistry they share is comprised of both eye contact and averted glances, voice intonations and silence. Much is made of their physical contact, but more is said by its absence. Mulder and Scully are closest together when apart. Come what may, it was good to experience that dance again.
Slimmer and with longer hair than she sported in the series, Gillian was simply a vision, while the sparkle in Duchovny's eye could melt all the snow in Vancouver. Though the new film in no way diminishes fans' love for these two, I think I Want To Believe does little to convert non-believers. The story is too mundane, lacking the magic and mystery that composed the tv series' intrigue.
Going in, I knew -- had known for a year or two -- that the plot of this story would not involve the famed X-Files mythology. It would not center around alien invasions and government conspiracy. It was going to be a "monster of the week" (MOTW) plot, sprgun from the type of paranormal, but non-alien phenonemon that FBI Agent Fox Mulder regularly investigated way back when. In no way are these self-contained MOTW stories necessarily inferior to the continuing alien invasion saga. The X-Files writers became adept at both genres, during the shows run. The benefits of the MOTW are that the story contains a beginning, middle and end, a completeness which --when done well --- satisfies the viewer, while challenging the writers to actually answer all the questions they raise, rather than leaving the solutions open to speculation and imagination. Many of the X-Files best episodes featured a MOTW (most notably Ice, Pusher, Leonard Betts, and, even the comical Bad Blood). Indeed, like Believe, one of the best tv episodes even featured a psychic, when the late Peter Boyle starred in Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose. Mind Eye (coincidentally a phrase used by a psychic in the new movie) was also a respectable tv entry. So, there's no doubt that these stories can and have been done beautifully by the 1020 team. But this time? Not so much.
While the film might make an interesting, generic tv movie -- aside from its budget, there's nothing that puts it on the "big screen" level. Aside from its stars, there's nothing that puts it in the X-Files league.
As a phile, I must first complain that, much like the maligned Hell Money , the case does not revolve around a MOTW. There's no X at the center of this file. Yes, there's a psychic lurking on the perimeter, but the crime at the heart is of the human, pedestrian variety. The fact that the evil is gross, odd and illogical, does not make it either paranormal or intriguing. So, when current FBI agent Dakota Whitney calls the exiled Mulder in to help solve a disappearance, one wonders what expertise he can bring to the matter that Mrs. Marple couldn't. Thus, the setup is flawed from the beginning, although its execution was not without frequent appeal.
Chris Carter, co-writer and director, is well aware of his core cult-fan audience. So, he built several reveals into the script, designed to titillate. Since I was at the midnight showing, most of the people in attendance were diehards like myself and they gave a maximum reaction to every nuance thrown our way. They cheered the 20th Century Fox logo, let alone everything that came after it. The movie milked this giddiness mercilessly. We were never introduced to our favorite characters head on. Instead, they were heard, seen from the back, and then finally exposed to the cameras, like theater divas, emerging from the curtain for their final bow.
As the movie opens, we see a woman returning to her home, when she becomes aware that an intruder awaits her inside. Her dog loudly alerts her to the assailant's presence as does his breath vapor, swirling like cigarette smoke. Well, although I know this is not a mytharc, I can't say that the thought of a cigarette smoking man lurking in the shadows didn't excite me for an instant. But it was not to be. The woman fights valiantly, but is ultimately overpowered and dragged away. Turns out she was an FBI agent and her co-workers, led by Dakota Whitney (Amanda Peete) are desperate to find her. I smirked upon learning that the missing agent is named Monica, recalling erstwhile agent Monica Reyes, a rather unpopular X-Files character introduced near the end of the tv series' run. While the movie's Monica is unrelated to Reyes, I imagine that there were many tv fans who wouldn't have minded seeing the first Monica abducted 6 years ago.
The action cuts to a small Catholic hospital (Our Lady of Sorrows) where we see Dana Scully reporting to the board on her losing fight to save a juvenile patient, too aptly named "Christian." Clearly the staff is resistant to Scully's efforts to find a medical miracle for the dying child. She reminds them that medical decisions must be made by the physician (herself), not by the policy-makers. Their faces are blank, their ears apparently deaf. The board members do not mention money outright, but they bring a disinterested HMO-minded mentality to the discussion which is obviously dispiriting for Scully. She looks drawn and weary, when we re-meet her, standing in the middle of the conference room, surrounded by the unimpressed and uninterested.
You know that she is not just frustrated by this particular case, but by the bureaucracy that envelopes her in general. It's clear that this is not the first battle she has waged against them and we can tell by their cool, dismissive reactions that they have long tired of her alturistic campaigns. Scully still wears her cross and her chief detractor in the board room is wearing a priest's collar. When she took her job there, she doubtlessly hoped that the two would have more in common than they obviously do. In the past she was fighting the government, but the medical administrators who now surround her are no different, no more compassionate no more yielding. In fact, as she makes her argument to a supervisor connected to the room via tele-conferencing screen, it is reminiscent of the old Scully speaking to government panels at the FBI. In both cases, far from wanting to help her, the officials are out to stop her.
Later Mulder feels that, as just half of the team, he cannot be as successful in solving the crime, as he has been in the past. The movie does not explore what it's like for Scully working without backup, in her new profession. She and Mulder may seldom have prevailed at the FBI, but at least they were together in defeat. Now Scully faces the barriers alone. She's got a "normal" job now, but it
contains the same frustrations as the old one. The upside may be that her life is no longer in danger, but somehow the quality of that life seems less, because the scope of the priniples she now pursues is so much smaller -- but no more attainable.
From a dramatic standpoint, the tv show rarely employed subplots and that seems to have been a good choice, since Scully's doesn't improve the movie. It raises obvious parallels to the psychic storyline and actually aligns Scully with things from which she would rather be separate. Yet, it does so by bonding Scully emotionally to her patient, a dopey kid, who says precocious things like "now you're the one who looks scared," as a nervous Scully prepares for his surgery. His cloying lisp makes one nostalgic for the dour Emily. Rather than tugging at the heart string, Scully's interaction with Christian yanks at the gag reflex.
As for Scully the Surgeon, when did that happen? I know we haven't seen her for six years, but how did she go from dissecting cadavers to brain surgery in such a short time. Furthermore, she's not just Christian's brain surgeon, but also his primary physician, as she keeps reminding everyone who will listen! Who needs a referral when Dr. Scully can handle all possible medical needs? Her professional "ascension" is even more remarkable when one considers that the last time we saw Scully she was on the run with a fugitive. Yes, Mulder was the one on trial, but Scully was clearly an accomplice in his escape. How is it the authorities have let her roam free (and in Virginia, quite near her old stumping grounds) all of these years?
As if to pointedly avoid that question, FBI Agent Drummond shows up at Scully's hospital and tells her they need to contact Fox Mulder. Choosing her words carefully, Scully says she no longer works with Mulder or the FBI. That may be so, but the agent is confident Scully knows how to get in touch with Mulder. He's right.
Taking a rural road, Scully drives her Ford (a car often used in the tv series) to a remote house, pushes back an unlocked gate barring the drive and enters the old home. There's an orange juice container on the table and a closed door, which Scully opens without knocking. Without turning Mulder jauntily greets Scully with "What's up Doc." Clearly, he finds her new role as "primary physician" as ironic as we do.
As Mulder faces the camera, we see he is heavily bearded. The room around him is clearly his office, his haven. It's quite small, but it's as if he's stuffed everything from his basement FBI roost into his new confines, including the famous "I Want To Believe" poster. He is cutting out a paranormal article from the newspaper as Scully approaches and the walls of his cubby hole are pasted with similar clippings but, surprisingly, no computer.
Scully remarks upon the fact that he did not even look around when she entered the room. As a fugitive, shouldn't he be more cautious? Mulder claims he has eyes in the back of his head and describes the human's subconscious awareness of everything around them in paranormal terms, but "who believes in that anymore," he asks archly. Scully says that the FBI does, because they want his help on a case involving a missing agent and a psychic with clues. The FBI will forgive everything if Mulder will help them. Mulder refuses, countering that he was the one on trial on trumped up charges. He's the one who had 10 years of his work discounted. They should be asking him for forgiveness. Scully says that seems to be exactly what they're doing.
She also appeals to Mulder's compassion, telling him that the missing agent could have been him, once upon a time. Or her. Furthermore, she worries about Mulder being so isolated. [When she makes these persuasive arguments to him, it only renders the stance she takes later in the movie all that much more annoying and illogical].
Mulder demurs saying that he thinks the FBI is just trying to smoke him out. Scully sensibly reasons that the FBI could find him anytime they wanted and, since they have not bothered, the agency is probably just glad to have him out of their hair. Clearly she's right. Since the FBI knows where Scully is, she would have led them right to Mulder years ago, if they were even remotely interested in catching the fugitive. Salman Rushdie could never have remained underground, if the prominent Dr. Scully had been his sole confidante.
Mulder retorts that he's just as happy to be rid of the FBI. There's no need for her to worry about his isolation. He's perfectly happy and fine. He reaches for his sunflower seeds (a Mulder trademark in the first years of the tv show). Doubtful, Scully's eyes go the ceiling where there are several pencils lodged in the tiles above. This pencil flinging was another restless trademark of Mulder's. Unlike offices, where Mulder engaged this hobby in the past, few homes actually possess the tiled ceilings which would absorb pencil tips, but we'll allow the movie this artistic license. It is not only a nod to the tv fans, but illustrates Mulder's unexpressed frustrations and the unrest always lurking beneath the glib exterior.
Having obtained his refusal to help the FBI, Scully leaves the room. No sooner has she closed the door than Mulder spies the picture of his long lost sister on the back of the door. The old ache resurfaces. He flings open the door and tells Scully he will help after all: on one condition. That condition appears to be a helicopter ride to FBI headquarters in Washington D.C. [after viewing the audio commentary on the movie's DVD, I stand corrected. The condition was not the helicopter, but that Scully accompany Mulder]. As Mulder and Scully alight from the copter onto the roof of the building, Agent Drummond is there to meet them. His unwelcoming greeting makes it clear that he thinks their presence a waste of time. "I'm not the one who sent for you."
The duo is led through FBI corridors, at once familiar and strange. Personnel walking by cast surreptitious glances at them, but turn away just as quickly. It is significant that even when Mulder and Scully were FBI agents, they were viewed in the same suspicious manner. After all, Mulder's nickname was "Spooky." He was always viewed as half-crazy by his co-workers and Scully was insane by association. They were outcasts then and now. At the hospital where Scully works today, she receives the same silent, withholding stares when she walks down the hall. It's not that Mulder and Scully don't fit into the FBI, it's the world that is alien to them. Both. Scully doesn't blend in any more than Mulder does. Did she ever? Did she change upon meeting him or was she destined to meet him, because she was always somehow different and never meant to have the traditional life she thought she wanted anyway? It's no longer the paranormal that sets them apart from the rest of the world. It's not their beliefs, but the lengths they'll go to fight for them. If nothing else, this is the lesson the movie taught me -- and Scully.
[To be continued, in embarassing detail . . .]
Here are some reviews I've started to post of the X-Files tv episodes.
Slimmer and with longer hair than she sported in the series, Gillian was simply a vision, while the sparkle in Duchovny's eye could melt all the snow in Vancouver. Though the new film in no way diminishes fans' love for these two, I think I Want To Believe does little to convert non-believers. The story is too mundane, lacking the magic and mystery that composed the tv series' intrigue.
Going in, I knew -- had known for a year or two -- that the plot of this story would not involve the famed X-Files mythology. It would not center around alien invasions and government conspiracy. It was going to be a "monster of the week" (MOTW) plot, sprgun from the type of paranormal, but non-alien phenonemon that FBI Agent Fox Mulder regularly investigated way back when. In no way are these self-contained MOTW stories necessarily inferior to the continuing alien invasion saga. The X-Files writers became adept at both genres, during the shows run. The benefits of the MOTW are that the story contains a beginning, middle and end, a completeness which --when done well --- satisfies the viewer, while challenging the writers to actually answer all the questions they raise, rather than leaving the solutions open to speculation and imagination. Many of the X-Files best episodes featured a MOTW (most notably Ice, Pusher, Leonard Betts, and, even the comical Bad Blood). Indeed, like Believe, one of the best tv episodes even featured a psychic, when the late Peter Boyle starred in Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose. Mind Eye (coincidentally a phrase used by a psychic in the new movie) was also a respectable tv entry. So, there's no doubt that these stories can and have been done beautifully by the 1020 team. But this time? Not so much.
While the film might make an interesting, generic tv movie -- aside from its budget, there's nothing that puts it on the "big screen" level. Aside from its stars, there's nothing that puts it in the X-Files league.
As a phile, I must first complain that, much like the maligned Hell Money , the case does not revolve around a MOTW. There's no X at the center of this file. Yes, there's a psychic lurking on the perimeter, but the crime at the heart is of the human, pedestrian variety. The fact that the evil is gross, odd and illogical, does not make it either paranormal or intriguing. So, when current FBI agent Dakota Whitney calls the exiled Mulder in to help solve a disappearance, one wonders what expertise he can bring to the matter that Mrs. Marple couldn't. Thus, the setup is flawed from the beginning, although its execution was not without frequent appeal.
Chris Carter, co-writer and director, is well aware of his core cult-fan audience. So, he built several reveals into the script, designed to titillate. Since I was at the midnight showing, most of the people in attendance were diehards like myself and they gave a maximum reaction to every nuance thrown our way. They cheered the 20th Century Fox logo, let alone everything that came after it. The movie milked this giddiness mercilessly. We were never introduced to our favorite characters head on. Instead, they were heard, seen from the back, and then finally exposed to the cameras, like theater divas, emerging from the curtain for their final bow.
As the movie opens, we see a woman returning to her home, when she becomes aware that an intruder awaits her inside. Her dog loudly alerts her to the assailant's presence as does his breath vapor, swirling like cigarette smoke. Well, although I know this is not a mytharc, I can't say that the thought of a cigarette smoking man lurking in the shadows didn't excite me for an instant. But it was not to be. The woman fights valiantly, but is ultimately overpowered and dragged away. Turns out she was an FBI agent and her co-workers, led by Dakota Whitney (Amanda Peete) are desperate to find her. I smirked upon learning that the missing agent is named Monica, recalling erstwhile agent Monica Reyes, a rather unpopular X-Files character introduced near the end of the tv series' run. While the movie's Monica is unrelated to Reyes, I imagine that there were many tv fans who wouldn't have minded seeing the first Monica abducted 6 years ago.
The action cuts to a small Catholic hospital (Our Lady of Sorrows) where we see Dana Scully reporting to the board on her losing fight to save a juvenile patient, too aptly named "Christian." Clearly the staff is resistant to Scully's efforts to find a medical miracle for the dying child. She reminds them that medical decisions must be made by the physician (herself), not by the policy-makers. Their faces are blank, their ears apparently deaf. The board members do not mention money outright, but they bring a disinterested HMO-minded mentality to the discussion which is obviously dispiriting for Scully. She looks drawn and weary, when we re-meet her, standing in the middle of the conference room, surrounded by the unimpressed and uninterested.
You know that she is not just frustrated by this particular case, but by the bureaucracy that envelopes her in general. It's clear that this is not the first battle she has waged against them and we can tell by their cool, dismissive reactions that they have long tired of her alturistic campaigns. Scully still wears her cross and her chief detractor in the board room is wearing a priest's collar. When she took her job there, she doubtlessly hoped that the two would have more in common than they obviously do. In the past she was fighting the government, but the medical administrators who now surround her are no different, no more compassionate no more yielding. In fact, as she makes her argument to a supervisor connected to the room via tele-conferencing screen, it is reminiscent of the old Scully speaking to government panels at the FBI. In both cases, far from wanting to help her, the officials are out to stop her.
Later Mulder feels that, as just half of the team, he cannot be as successful in solving the crime, as he has been in the past. The movie does not explore what it's like for Scully working without backup, in her new profession. She and Mulder may seldom have prevailed at the FBI, but at least they were together in defeat. Now Scully faces the barriers alone. She's got a "normal" job now, but it
contains the same frustrations as the old one. The upside may be that her life is no longer in danger, but somehow the quality of that life seems less, because the scope of the priniples she now pursues is so much smaller -- but no more attainable.
From a dramatic standpoint, the tv show rarely employed subplots and that seems to have been a good choice, since Scully's doesn't improve the movie. It raises obvious parallels to the psychic storyline and actually aligns Scully with things from which she would rather be separate. Yet, it does so by bonding Scully emotionally to her patient, a dopey kid, who says precocious things like "now you're the one who looks scared," as a nervous Scully prepares for his surgery. His cloying lisp makes one nostalgic for the dour Emily. Rather than tugging at the heart string, Scully's interaction with Christian yanks at the gag reflex.
As for Scully the Surgeon, when did that happen? I know we haven't seen her for six years, but how did she go from dissecting cadavers to brain surgery in such a short time. Furthermore, she's not just Christian's brain surgeon, but also his primary physician, as she keeps reminding everyone who will listen! Who needs a referral when Dr. Scully can handle all possible medical needs? Her professional "ascension" is even more remarkable when one considers that the last time we saw Scully she was on the run with a fugitive. Yes, Mulder was the one on trial, but Scully was clearly an accomplice in his escape. How is it the authorities have let her roam free (and in Virginia, quite near her old stumping grounds) all of these years?
As if to pointedly avoid that question, FBI Agent Drummond shows up at Scully's hospital and tells her they need to contact Fox Mulder. Choosing her words carefully, Scully says she no longer works with Mulder or the FBI. That may be so, but the agent is confident Scully knows how to get in touch with Mulder. He's right.
Taking a rural road, Scully drives her Ford (a car often used in the tv series) to a remote house, pushes back an unlocked gate barring the drive and enters the old home. There's an orange juice container on the table and a closed door, which Scully opens without knocking. Without turning Mulder jauntily greets Scully with "What's up Doc." Clearly, he finds her new role as "primary physician" as ironic as we do.
As Mulder faces the camera, we see he is heavily bearded. The room around him is clearly his office, his haven. It's quite small, but it's as if he's stuffed everything from his basement FBI roost into his new confines, including the famous "I Want To Believe" poster. He is cutting out a paranormal article from the newspaper as Scully approaches and the walls of his cubby hole are pasted with similar clippings but, surprisingly, no computer.
Scully remarks upon the fact that he did not even look around when she entered the room. As a fugitive, shouldn't he be more cautious? Mulder claims he has eyes in the back of his head and describes the human's subconscious awareness of everything around them in paranormal terms, but "who believes in that anymore," he asks archly. Scully says that the FBI does, because they want his help on a case involving a missing agent and a psychic with clues. The FBI will forgive everything if Mulder will help them. Mulder refuses, countering that he was the one on trial on trumped up charges. He's the one who had 10 years of his work discounted. They should be asking him for forgiveness. Scully says that seems to be exactly what they're doing.
She also appeals to Mulder's compassion, telling him that the missing agent could have been him, once upon a time. Or her. Furthermore, she worries about Mulder being so isolated. [When she makes these persuasive arguments to him, it only renders the stance she takes later in the movie all that much more annoying and illogical].
Mulder demurs saying that he thinks the FBI is just trying to smoke him out. Scully sensibly reasons that the FBI could find him anytime they wanted and, since they have not bothered, the agency is probably just glad to have him out of their hair. Clearly she's right. Since the FBI knows where Scully is, she would have led them right to Mulder years ago, if they were even remotely interested in catching the fugitive. Salman Rushdie could never have remained underground, if the prominent Dr. Scully had been his sole confidante.
Mulder retorts that he's just as happy to be rid of the FBI. There's no need for her to worry about his isolation. He's perfectly happy and fine. He reaches for his sunflower seeds (a Mulder trademark in the first years of the tv show). Doubtful, Scully's eyes go the ceiling where there are several pencils lodged in the tiles above. This pencil flinging was another restless trademark of Mulder's. Unlike offices, where Mulder engaged this hobby in the past, few homes actually possess the tiled ceilings which would absorb pencil tips, but we'll allow the movie this artistic license. It is not only a nod to the tv fans, but illustrates Mulder's unexpressed frustrations and the unrest always lurking beneath the glib exterior.
Having obtained his refusal to help the FBI, Scully leaves the room. No sooner has she closed the door than Mulder spies the picture of his long lost sister on the back of the door. The old ache resurfaces. He flings open the door and tells Scully he will help after all: on one condition. That condition appears to be a helicopter ride to FBI headquarters in Washington D.C. [after viewing the audio commentary on the movie's DVD, I stand corrected. The condition was not the helicopter, but that Scully accompany Mulder]. As Mulder and Scully alight from the copter onto the roof of the building, Agent Drummond is there to meet them. His unwelcoming greeting makes it clear that he thinks their presence a waste of time. "I'm not the one who sent for you."
The duo is led through FBI corridors, at once familiar and strange. Personnel walking by cast surreptitious glances at them, but turn away just as quickly. It is significant that even when Mulder and Scully were FBI agents, they were viewed in the same suspicious manner. After all, Mulder's nickname was "Spooky." He was always viewed as half-crazy by his co-workers and Scully was insane by association. They were outcasts then and now. At the hospital where Scully works today, she receives the same silent, withholding stares when she walks down the hall. It's not that Mulder and Scully don't fit into the FBI, it's the world that is alien to them. Both. Scully doesn't blend in any more than Mulder does. Did she ever? Did she change upon meeting him or was she destined to meet him, because she was always somehow different and never meant to have the traditional life she thought she wanted anyway? It's no longer the paranormal that sets them apart from the rest of the world. It's not their beliefs, but the lengths they'll go to fight for them. If nothing else, this is the lesson the movie taught me -- and Scully.
[To be continued, in embarassing detail . . .]
Here are some reviews I've started to post of the X-Files tv episodes.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Dreamgirls (2006)
It's not that Jennifer Hudson isn't a fine singer, but after seeing Jennifer Holliday live in the stage production of Dream Girls more than 20 years ago, the celluloid rendition just cannot compare.
It's not the comparison of the two Jennifers' talents that makes the movie inferior to the play, so much as the fact that when a powerful actress is standing a few feet away from you belting her heart out, doubling over in pain, rejection, lost pride and crippled self-esteem, the emotion I felt in response simply cannot be recreated by a two-dimensional medium. Maybe, if I could see Hudson performing live, she would move me in the same way Holliday did. Maybe not.
Watching Hudson, I felt myself thinking "nice performance" much more often than I connected with Effie White's plight. Having grown up in Detroit and the legend of the Supremes and remembering how all the Motown stars returned for Florence Ballard's funeral, this rags to riches to rags (for Florence, anyway) story always resonated with me. Thus, the movie was inherently engaging. I just was never spurred to join in the Oscar buzz that surrounded Hudson.
Similarly, while Beyonce Knowles, Danny Glover and Jamie Foxx were serviceable in their roles, they brought nothing to the film that lingered with me beyond the closing credits. By contrast, I found Eddie Murphy's James "Thunder" Early a revelation.
I don't even remember the role from the Broadway production, but I won't soon forget the character, as brought to life by Murphy. James Brown married to Marvin Gaye, with a dash of Murphy's comic timing thrown in for good measure, Jimmy stole every scene he was in. And I'm Telling You' I'm Not Going got the applause in my theater, but Jimmy's Rap won the standing ovation in my heart.
I was still laughing over the lyric, "I like Johnny Mathis, but I can't do that stuff . . ." when Jimmy's performance went from cocky attitude and humor to humiliation. Murphy took me on a roller coaster thrill ride, up , then down with a stomach-wrenching plunge. One minute I was shaking my head at Jimmy's swagger, the next I felt awkward, embarassed, wanting to back out of the room quickly, before I saw the icon completely disgraced.
With artful dexterity, Murphy made Jimmy obnoxious and vulnerable; callous, yet sincere at the same time, a complex performance that Jamie Foxx never really attained as Curtis Taylor, Jr. (the Berry Gordyesque) character.
As for, Beyonce, the script probably did her a disservice, by making Deena the Diva with a heart of gold. If the character had had more of an edge, perhaps Knowles would have had more to work with. Conniving can be more interesting than kind. This is especially true when the character is modeled after a real-life person whom the world knows to have been quite the vixen (even viper) in her day. Deena the victim was no fun and, worse, rang false and artificial.
In all, Dreamgirls was entertaining, but probably more so for those less familiar with the play and/or the real life drama that inspired it.
Jimmy want, Jimmy want, Jimmy want more . . .
It's not the comparison of the two Jennifers' talents that makes the movie inferior to the play, so much as the fact that when a powerful actress is standing a few feet away from you belting her heart out, doubling over in pain, rejection, lost pride and crippled self-esteem, the emotion I felt in response simply cannot be recreated by a two-dimensional medium. Maybe, if I could see Hudson performing live, she would move me in the same way Holliday did. Maybe not.
Watching Hudson, I felt myself thinking "nice performance" much more often than I connected with Effie White's plight. Having grown up in Detroit and the legend of the Supremes and remembering how all the Motown stars returned for Florence Ballard's funeral, this rags to riches to rags (for Florence, anyway) story always resonated with me. Thus, the movie was inherently engaging. I just was never spurred to join in the Oscar buzz that surrounded Hudson.
Similarly, while Beyonce Knowles, Danny Glover and Jamie Foxx were serviceable in their roles, they brought nothing to the film that lingered with me beyond the closing credits. By contrast, I found Eddie Murphy's James "Thunder" Early a revelation.
I don't even remember the role from the Broadway production, but I won't soon forget the character, as brought to life by Murphy. James Brown married to Marvin Gaye, with a dash of Murphy's comic timing thrown in for good measure, Jimmy stole every scene he was in. And I'm Telling You' I'm Not Going got the applause in my theater, but Jimmy's Rap won the standing ovation in my heart.
I was still laughing over the lyric, "I like Johnny Mathis, but I can't do that stuff . . ." when Jimmy's performance went from cocky attitude and humor to humiliation. Murphy took me on a roller coaster thrill ride, up , then down with a stomach-wrenching plunge. One minute I was shaking my head at Jimmy's swagger, the next I felt awkward, embarassed, wanting to back out of the room quickly, before I saw the icon completely disgraced.
With artful dexterity, Murphy made Jimmy obnoxious and vulnerable; callous, yet sincere at the same time, a complex performance that Jamie Foxx never really attained as Curtis Taylor, Jr. (the Berry Gordyesque) character.
As for, Beyonce, the script probably did her a disservice, by making Deena the Diva with a heart of gold. If the character had had more of an edge, perhaps Knowles would have had more to work with. Conniving can be more interesting than kind. This is especially true when the character is modeled after a real-life person whom the world knows to have been quite the vixen (even viper) in her day. Deena the victim was no fun and, worse, rang false and artificial.
In all, Dreamgirls was entertaining, but probably more so for those less familiar with the play and/or the real life drama that inspired it.
Jimmy want, Jimmy want, Jimmy want more . . .
Friday, February 29, 2008
House of Mirth (2000)
I don't know what my reaction would have been if I'd seen this movie cold, but viewing it as a dramatization of Wharton's book, I found it two dimensional, missing many opportunities the book presented for character exploration and growth. This review focuses on the differences between the book and the film.
The movie was startingly unsubtle at times, which tended to take me out of the plot. For instance, in one emotional scene, when the cousin sobbed "Lawrence, Lawrence," as Lily exited the room, I rolled my eyes. It didn't help that they melded Lily's cousin and Lawrence's cousin into one character, diminishing their foil potention. Much of what the book revealed through character juxtaposition was lost that way, because the two cousins served as opposite sides of the Good v. Evil spectrum. In Wharton's pages, we saw Lily slowly shift from leaning to one side, to sliding towards the other, through her contrast to the cousin characters.
Lily's social standing isn't the only thing that changes as she descends into poverty. She evolves as her life devolves. The movie loses sight of this transition, because when we begin Lily isn't an especially shallow person herself, so we can't appreciate her developing substance as you do in the book.
The movie portrays her as someone who had no choice, but, in fact, she did have other choices and eschewed them. Her disdain for Gerty, a woman Lily eventually
came to look up to (who resented Lily, but never stooped to being less than
loving to her) told us a lot about Lily. We needed Gerty to show us all that was wrong with Lily as much as we needed Grace to show us all that was honorable.
I wanted to see the Lily who disparaged Gerty at first, scoffing at a woman who's cook also did the washing (with the result being that her food tasted like soap to Lily). I wanted to see the Lily who remarked that she differed from Gerty, because Gerty "likes being good, and I like being happy." The movie showed us too much of the good Lily from the first, so that the evolution was not as sharp or interesting as it could have been.
Furthermore, in the book, it was Grace Stepney who was quietly in love with Seldon, not Gerty. The movie basically eliminates Gerty (and her goodness) entirely. A shame, because not only did Gerty illuminate Lily in the book, but she was a tool used to explore the character of Selden as well. Selden chided Lily saying that she shouldn't go to visit Gerty on wash day, if she didn't like the idea that Gerty's cook doubled as her laundry woman, but in many ways, he was as far from attaining the Gerty ideal (of humble perfection) as Lily was and there was no Gerty there, as measure, to bring about his ultimate realization of this fact and make him conscious of his hypocrisy.
The movie plot advanced, but the characters didn't as much as Wharton's did. If they'd focused on the character development, then Lily's choice not to automatically use Bertha's letters, would have been more profound. I think the movie Lily was so good that it was hard to understand how sorely she WAS tempted to do the unconscionable in marriage, in blackmail, in life.
To the book's Lily, the unethical was not unthinkable at all, just ultimately undoable and that's why it devastated her so that Lawrence was able to read her thoughts so well, but never appreciated how pristine her deeds were in contrast to those thoughts -- until it was too late. Because he could see into her soul, he assumed the worst. But there is something much more empathetic (and human) about the person who is tempted to do wrong, but overcomes that temptation, than in the person who is never tempted.
The movie never let us glimpse the younger Lily's disdain for the world beneath her upper society or for even the life she could have had on the edge of it, as a lawyer's wife. In that position she could have lived respectably, just not frivolously. The movie doesn't acknowledge her rejection of everything modest and inner drive to be at the center of her social set. Instead, the film plot aligns her quest for wealthy connections, with a need to maintain the necessities of life. They made Lily resemble an Austen protagonist who would end up penniless if she didn't marry well. But at the beginning of Wharton's book, Lily didn't face a life of poverty at all. She wasn't grasping out of necessity. She was motivated by ambition and self-aggrandizement. Her values increased as her social status declined.
As for the acting, unfortunately, Stolz struck me as petrified wood. Gillian Anderson? As an X-Files fan, I suppose I am spoiled. I know what she can do with quiet, so I'm less fazed by noise and tears. Of course, there are those X-Files critics (famously honored in The Simpsons' episode The Springfield Files ) who claim that Anderson is incapable of showing any expression at all.
They think the liveliest thing about Scully is the color of her hair. I suppose Mirth would come as a revelation to them. Since I think Gillian blossoms in the intensity of silence, the Mirth scene I liked best was probably the one with Bertha, after Lily has been accused of arranging an evening alone with George and suddenly realizes that she has been framed as the correspondent in any divorce George might contemplate. I loved the dawning awareness crossing GA's face.
Still, in the book Lily was a full match for Bertha Dorset, never out of her league. She simply made a conscious decision to exit the league sometimes. The movie has Gus Trenor's wife telling Lily in the beginning that she doesn't have the ability to compete with Bertha's nastiness and really, that just wasn't true. The literary Lily was not outwitted by Bertha, but rather chose to take the high road. I wish the film's Lily hadn't been so -- so innocent. The naivete only diminishes both her tragedy and moral triumph. Wharton's heroine was more proud than passive.
Of course, I loved the scene with Lily and Lawrence when she said, "love me, but don't tell me so." There were some scenes that were done so beautifully that I just wanted to cut them from the context of the movie and hang them on a wall.
The movie was startingly unsubtle at times, which tended to take me out of the plot. For instance, in one emotional scene, when the cousin sobbed "Lawrence, Lawrence," as Lily exited the room, I rolled my eyes. It didn't help that they melded Lily's cousin and Lawrence's cousin into one character, diminishing their foil potention. Much of what the book revealed through character juxtaposition was lost that way, because the two cousins served as opposite sides of the Good v. Evil spectrum. In Wharton's pages, we saw Lily slowly shift from leaning to one side, to sliding towards the other, through her contrast to the cousin characters.
Lily's social standing isn't the only thing that changes as she descends into poverty. She evolves as her life devolves. The movie loses sight of this transition, because when we begin Lily isn't an especially shallow person herself, so we can't appreciate her developing substance as you do in the book.
The movie portrays her as someone who had no choice, but, in fact, she did have other choices and eschewed them. Her disdain for Gerty, a woman Lily eventually
came to look up to (who resented Lily, but never stooped to being less than
loving to her) told us a lot about Lily. We needed Gerty to show us all that was wrong with Lily as much as we needed Grace to show us all that was honorable.
I wanted to see the Lily who disparaged Gerty at first, scoffing at a woman who's cook also did the washing (with the result being that her food tasted like soap to Lily). I wanted to see the Lily who remarked that she differed from Gerty, because Gerty "likes being good, and I like being happy." The movie showed us too much of the good Lily from the first, so that the evolution was not as sharp or interesting as it could have been.
Furthermore, in the book, it was Grace Stepney who was quietly in love with Seldon, not Gerty. The movie basically eliminates Gerty (and her goodness) entirely. A shame, because not only did Gerty illuminate Lily in the book, but she was a tool used to explore the character of Selden as well. Selden chided Lily saying that she shouldn't go to visit Gerty on wash day, if she didn't like the idea that Gerty's cook doubled as her laundry woman, but in many ways, he was as far from attaining the Gerty ideal (of humble perfection) as Lily was and there was no Gerty there, as measure, to bring about his ultimate realization of this fact and make him conscious of his hypocrisy.
The movie plot advanced, but the characters didn't as much as Wharton's did. If they'd focused on the character development, then Lily's choice not to automatically use Bertha's letters, would have been more profound. I think the movie Lily was so good that it was hard to understand how sorely she WAS tempted to do the unconscionable in marriage, in blackmail, in life.
To the book's Lily, the unethical was not unthinkable at all, just ultimately undoable and that's why it devastated her so that Lawrence was able to read her thoughts so well, but never appreciated how pristine her deeds were in contrast to those thoughts -- until it was too late. Because he could see into her soul, he assumed the worst. But there is something much more empathetic (and human) about the person who is tempted to do wrong, but overcomes that temptation, than in the person who is never tempted.
The movie never let us glimpse the younger Lily's disdain for the world beneath her upper society or for even the life she could have had on the edge of it, as a lawyer's wife. In that position she could have lived respectably, just not frivolously. The movie doesn't acknowledge her rejection of everything modest and inner drive to be at the center of her social set. Instead, the film plot aligns her quest for wealthy connections, with a need to maintain the necessities of life. They made Lily resemble an Austen protagonist who would end up penniless if she didn't marry well. But at the beginning of Wharton's book, Lily didn't face a life of poverty at all. She wasn't grasping out of necessity. She was motivated by ambition and self-aggrandizement. Her values increased as her social status declined.
As for the acting, unfortunately, Stolz struck me as petrified wood. Gillian Anderson? As an X-Files fan, I suppose I am spoiled. I know what she can do with quiet, so I'm less fazed by noise and tears. Of course, there are those X-Files critics (famously honored in The Simpsons' episode The Springfield Files ) who claim that Anderson is incapable of showing any expression at all.
They think the liveliest thing about Scully is the color of her hair. I suppose Mirth would come as a revelation to them. Since I think Gillian blossoms in the intensity of silence, the Mirth scene I liked best was probably the one with Bertha, after Lily has been accused of arranging an evening alone with George and suddenly realizes that she has been framed as the correspondent in any divorce George might contemplate. I loved the dawning awareness crossing GA's face.
Still, in the book Lily was a full match for Bertha Dorset, never out of her league. She simply made a conscious decision to exit the league sometimes. The movie has Gus Trenor's wife telling Lily in the beginning that she doesn't have the ability to compete with Bertha's nastiness and really, that just wasn't true. The literary Lily was not outwitted by Bertha, but rather chose to take the high road. I wish the film's Lily hadn't been so -- so innocent. The naivete only diminishes both her tragedy and moral triumph. Wharton's heroine was more proud than passive.
Of course, I loved the scene with Lily and Lawrence when she said, "love me, but don't tell me so." There were some scenes that were done so beautifully that I just wanted to cut them from the context of the movie and hang them on a wall.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Life is Beautiful (1997)
MOMENTS THAT LINGERED: For me, the heartstopping, "Sophie's Choice" moments in this movie came when Dora insisted that she belonged on the train leaving for the concentration camp. It was not only that she was sacrificing her own life, to share the fate of her husband and son, but the fact that there might have been some infinitesimal chance to use her wealthy family's influence to have her family spared, if she had remained free. She might possibly have been helpful to them on the outside, while hope and identity was lost once she boarded the train.
To me, Dora's decision not only evidenced her utter loyalty to her family, but showed us how entirely she had abandoned the world she had been raised with and the shallowness and prejudice it represented. She had only recently been united with her mother when Guido and Giosue were taken, but she didn't run to her mother for solace or even advice. Though her future might be crumbling, Dora no longer had a place in that past.
Instead, her feelings seemed to be that if her son and husband were being persecuted simply because they were Jewish, then she must suffer the same lot, because she was no different than they were. She felt no distinction. She would recognize no distinction. She would not allow the world to make a distinction. As Ruth pledged to Naomi, Guido's people became Dora's people. By voluntarily choosing the same lot to which her family was subjected, Dora underlined how arbitrary and irrational racism is. It was just as senseless to be spared because of lineage as it was to be gassed because of it. Dora said that she should be on that train, but so should we all. If anyone must be, then everyone should be.
Of course, the heart of the movie is the whimsical facade Guido assumes for his son, masking his full awareness of the horror. The dichotomy is never more stark than when he peers out of the train window and sees Dora getting on. His silent heartbreak, juxtaposed against Giosue's joy that Mommy will be making the trip with them.
What is most interesting is that during the brief moments when Guido is to make contact with Dora, you can tell that he would try to buoy her spirits just as he did Giosue's, given the chance, but all hope has left Dora. There is no light to be rekindled even briefly. No forgetting, no transcending the death that the imprisonment brings. When she hears Guido's voice over the loudspeaker, even learning that he and Giosue are still alive does not give her real relief. The phonograph music and Guido's voice spark memories, but only as ghosts do, reminding you of what has been lost, more than reviving the past.
After the camp is liberated, Dora is still a listless shell and is not resuscitated until she holds her happy son in her arms once more, a moment of which she had never dreamed. Guido had the fantasies. He alone held the key to possibility. Once he was gone, Dora was unable to imagine herself in any future, except the one the gas chamber would hold. Giosue's final embrace restored her in a way that mere physical release did not.
Of course, the most penetrating moment was Guido's death. It happened offscreen, which had the strange effect of maximizing rather than minimizing the impact. He performed until the end, comically marching to his fate. Surely it would take more than bullets to extinguish such a magical mind and its ever animated spirit, but cruelty levels the world without discrimination, destroying the great with the small and both as easily. Often feared as something momentous and powerful, life's culmination, is invariably a whimper, not a bang, silencing kings and paupers alike, with its anti-climatic finality and stillness. Without thought or hesitation, the end comes instantly for our hero, Guido's killer doubtlessly forgetting him before the rifle has cooled. Yet, Guido lives on, because Giosue has won the game, gets to ride in the tank and captures an even bigger prize: a reunion with Dora who is sure to hear the stories that Guido used to protect and inspire their son for decades and generations to come. Thus, life is not cheap after all. Life is beautiful.
To me, Dora's decision not only evidenced her utter loyalty to her family, but showed us how entirely she had abandoned the world she had been raised with and the shallowness and prejudice it represented. She had only recently been united with her mother when Guido and Giosue were taken, but she didn't run to her mother for solace or even advice. Though her future might be crumbling, Dora no longer had a place in that past.
Instead, her feelings seemed to be that if her son and husband were being persecuted simply because they were Jewish, then she must suffer the same lot, because she was no different than they were. She felt no distinction. She would recognize no distinction. She would not allow the world to make a distinction. As Ruth pledged to Naomi, Guido's people became Dora's people. By voluntarily choosing the same lot to which her family was subjected, Dora underlined how arbitrary and irrational racism is. It was just as senseless to be spared because of lineage as it was to be gassed because of it. Dora said that she should be on that train, but so should we all. If anyone must be, then everyone should be.
Of course, the heart of the movie is the whimsical facade Guido assumes for his son, masking his full awareness of the horror. The dichotomy is never more stark than when he peers out of the train window and sees Dora getting on. His silent heartbreak, juxtaposed against Giosue's joy that Mommy will be making the trip with them.
What is most interesting is that during the brief moments when Guido is to make contact with Dora, you can tell that he would try to buoy her spirits just as he did Giosue's, given the chance, but all hope has left Dora. There is no light to be rekindled even briefly. No forgetting, no transcending the death that the imprisonment brings. When she hears Guido's voice over the loudspeaker, even learning that he and Giosue are still alive does not give her real relief. The phonograph music and Guido's voice spark memories, but only as ghosts do, reminding you of what has been lost, more than reviving the past.
After the camp is liberated, Dora is still a listless shell and is not resuscitated until she holds her happy son in her arms once more, a moment of which she had never dreamed. Guido had the fantasies. He alone held the key to possibility. Once he was gone, Dora was unable to imagine herself in any future, except the one the gas chamber would hold. Giosue's final embrace restored her in a way that mere physical release did not.
Of course, the most penetrating moment was Guido's death. It happened offscreen, which had the strange effect of maximizing rather than minimizing the impact. He performed until the end, comically marching to his fate. Surely it would take more than bullets to extinguish such a magical mind and its ever animated spirit, but cruelty levels the world without discrimination, destroying the great with the small and both as easily. Often feared as something momentous and powerful, life's culmination, is invariably a whimper, not a bang, silencing kings and paupers alike, with its anti-climatic finality and stillness. Without thought or hesitation, the end comes instantly for our hero, Guido's killer doubtlessly forgetting him before the rifle has cooled. Yet, Guido lives on, because Giosue has won the game, gets to ride in the tank and captures an even bigger prize: a reunion with Dora who is sure to hear the stories that Guido used to protect and inspire their son for decades and generations to come. Thus, life is not cheap after all. Life is beautiful.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
The Thin Man (1933)
This movie, the entire 14-year series actually, starts where most screwball comedies end: at the marriage. Even though cinema was still young when Nick and Nora first graced the screen, it was already laden with cliches. All of which the Charles' gracefully sidestepped, arm in arm.
Husband and wife were in delightful synch, mainly because she was just as irreverent as he. They did not squabble to further the plot. When she entered the room and found him in a compromising position with a beautiful dame, the audience held its breath, waiting for the inevitable misunderstanding. Instead, Nora surprises us by simply crinkling her lovely nose. She's amused by the predicament that Nick finds himself in, not jealous and never tearful.
The only time that Nora nags is when Nick presumes to try to solve the mystery without her. So much of the humor in the movie comes from their non-reactions. Both are as nonchalant as they are eloquent, handling a clever comment as deftly as their cocktails.
Although the intrigue is commonplace, the supporting characters are not and provide entertaining foils. But it's Nick and Nora who sell the movie. It's not only the characters that are attractive, but their approach to life is so enticing. Their banter is the goal in and of itself, not the means to an end. It's wonderful to think that their might be life beyond "meet cute."
Though unrealistic, how refreshing to see spouses enjoy each other's humor, style, looks -- and drunkenness, to encounter a duo that never quarrels over money, alcohol or infidelity. Of course, no screwball comedy would waste time manufacturing ways to keep its zany couple apart, if they were all as magical together as Loy and Powell.
Husband and wife were in delightful synch, mainly because she was just as irreverent as he. They did not squabble to further the plot. When she entered the room and found him in a compromising position with a beautiful dame, the audience held its breath, waiting for the inevitable misunderstanding. Instead, Nora surprises us by simply crinkling her lovely nose. She's amused by the predicament that Nick finds himself in, not jealous and never tearful.
The only time that Nora nags is when Nick presumes to try to solve the mystery without her. So much of the humor in the movie comes from their non-reactions. Both are as nonchalant as they are eloquent, handling a clever comment as deftly as their cocktails.
Although the intrigue is commonplace, the supporting characters are not and provide entertaining foils. But it's Nick and Nora who sell the movie. It's not only the characters that are attractive, but their approach to life is so enticing. Their banter is the goal in and of itself, not the means to an end. It's wonderful to think that their might be life beyond "meet cute."
Though unrealistic, how refreshing to see spouses enjoy each other's humor, style, looks -- and drunkenness, to encounter a duo that never quarrels over money, alcohol or infidelity. Of course, no screwball comedy would waste time manufacturing ways to keep its zany couple apart, if they were all as magical together as Loy and Powell.
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