French Cinema in 2008, at the César awards.
My expectations for the 2008 César awards were high. If the French made better films, dressed better and spoke a better language, then surely their Academy Awards would be superior. What’s more I was suffering from cinema depression; a week earlier I had watched the Oscars; grimacing at Hugh Jackman’s song and dance numbers and feigning surprise when "Slumdog Millionaire" slam-dunked a year of mediocre Hollywood. I needed cinema affirmation.
Initially, I thought my expectations were met when 2008 president of the César Awards, Charlotte Gainsbourg, pencil-thin in black glitter with a luscious pout and long disheveled bangs, introduced the ceremony with all the style and elegance of her model mom and rock-star dad. However as soon as the epitome of chic left the stage her foil appeared, Antoine de Caunes, comedian and TV personality, speaking in a high-pitched Muppet voice—you know the French love Jerry Lewis! Unfortunately, though I had survived the Hugh Jackman and Béyoncé butchering of the musical into a Oscar medley the week before, I now found myself watching a budget-cut French version of the same routine; de Caunes cockled “Singin’ in the Rain” with his strangled-chicken voice, while gleefully splashing in puddles of stage-rain.
Why sing a song from an American musical in English at a French film award ceremony? France prides itself on inventing film, n’est-ce pas? Perhaps the answer could be found in the camera constantly panning the American stars Dustin Hoffman and Sean Penn. In fact, as soon as de Caunes took his raincoat off and yelled in English “the musical is back!” he informed the audience that The Sean Penn was present. The audience then applauded even more than they had for his wet chicken song when de Caunes interrupted in English again to say “Yooo air so fucking grrrate man!” Yes, Hollywood and its Oscars were never far away from the César award ceremony, and as Gertrude Stein once said, “An award ceremony is an award ceremony is an award ceremony…”
And is Hollywood far enough away from contemporary French film? French cinema in 2008 was dominated by gender types: the gangster film ("Public Enemy no. 1" and "the Death Instinct") and the fragile female sanity ("Sassarine"). That is to say, the year’s most celebrated films did not break any formal rules and primarily repeated clichés established across the pond. In fact the most original French film of 2008, came from a director of yester-year. Founding New-Wave left-bank director, Agnès Varda, made "Les plages de Agnès" ("The Beaches of Agnès") to celebrate her life, loves, and career at 80 years of age.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
"Les Plages d'Agnès" ("The Beaches of Agnès")
Les Plages d’Agnès
"Les Plages d’Agnès" won the César for best documentary, though the film defies categorization. While Varda revisits nearly all of her films in the 110-minute feature with clips and commentary, she also reflects on her life’s pleasures, sorrows, dreams and fantasies. Several times she makes old photographs new on film by finding actors to play herself as a child and as a young woman. She then interacts and poses with them in New Wave style—never shying away from showing the director directing, or revealing the camera to the camera. This approach is not a jarring demystification of cinema as it was in the 60s. In this autobiographical film that traces the mind of Varda, the mise-en-abyme welcomes the audience and then holds them deep inside a rich imagination. In this way, "Les Plages d’Agnès" liberates cinema from common formulas and paradigms, and offers Varda the ultimate expression. Mortality is especially present in several of the film’s most poignant moments; while Varda throws single red roses at photographs she took in the 50s of great actors from the National Theater, she sobs that although the photographs give others happiness, they bring her a sense of sorrow because these great actors once young and beautiful are now dead and gone. The death of her late husband, Jacques Demy, from AIDS is a returning source of sadness in the film, and the viewer feels the stark loneliness of turning 80 alone. However, "Les Plages d’Agnès" spirals and circles through reality and art, past work and celebrity encounters, never dwelling on death or its proximity. Agnès Varda, the wise fairy, guides us through a self-portrait of her creativity, celebrating the joy of life and its pains in equal measure.
"Les Plages d’Agnès" won the César for best documentary, though the film defies categorization. While Varda revisits nearly all of her films in the 110-minute feature with clips and commentary, she also reflects on her life’s pleasures, sorrows, dreams and fantasies. Several times she makes old photographs new on film by finding actors to play herself as a child and as a young woman. She then interacts and poses with them in New Wave style—never shying away from showing the director directing, or revealing the camera to the camera. This approach is not a jarring demystification of cinema as it was in the 60s. In this autobiographical film that traces the mind of Varda, the mise-en-abyme welcomes the audience and then holds them deep inside a rich imagination. In this way, "Les Plages d’Agnès" liberates cinema from common formulas and paradigms, and offers Varda the ultimate expression. Mortality is especially present in several of the film’s most poignant moments; while Varda throws single red roses at photographs she took in the 50s of great actors from the National Theater, she sobs that although the photographs give others happiness, they bring her a sense of sorrow because these great actors once young and beautiful are now dead and gone. The death of her late husband, Jacques Demy, from AIDS is a returning source of sadness in the film, and the viewer feels the stark loneliness of turning 80 alone. However, "Les Plages d’Agnès" spirals and circles through reality and art, past work and celebrity encounters, never dwelling on death or its proximity. Agnès Varda, the wise fairy, guides us through a self-portrait of her creativity, celebrating the joy of life and its pains in equal measure.
"Versailles" by Pierre Schöeller
"Versailles"
Though Varda speaks of her sejours in Cuba and China shortly after their revolutions in "Les Plages" (see review above), she hardly mentions the Algerian War in which France was directly involved during one of her most celebrated periods (1954-1962). In general, directors in the French cinema of 2008 were political, but less than recent years ("Caché" (2005), "Les Indigènes" (2006), "L’ennemi intime" (2008). This year directors allowed viewers to make associations without forcing an ideology. "Versailles", Pierre Schöeller’s first film, did discuss poverty in France, but primarily received attention due to the surprise death of its starring protagonist, Guillame Depardieu. (Guillame, son of Gérard, had a motorcycle crash in October and could not recover due to drug and alcohol abuse.) In fact, French reviews discussed Depardieu’s performance, which won a César nomination and the film’s subtle cinematography, but did not contemplate the film’s social commentary.
The first half of the narrative of "Versailles" centers on the destitute taking shelter in the woods surrounding the palace of Louis XIV. Homeless Nina (Judith Chemla) wanders aimlessly through the Versailles forest with her young son (Max Baissette de Malglaive) when she finds Damien (Depardieu) dressed poor but Calvin Kleinish—in all black with greasy hair—who welcomes the mom to his shack to shack up. However, when Damien awakes from post-coital slumber he finds Nina has left him alone with her excessively cute pre-verbal son. After the boy’s adorableness wears Damien down, he figuratively becomes the boy’s father and decides to leave the squatter camping lifestyle for a prodigal return. It is thereby revealed that Damien had upper middle-class beginnings and opportunities and the homeless romp was a rebellious angst phase.
Although other homeless campers are featured in the film’s first half, Damien’s middle-class roots prompt a larger question: Is squatting simply a way to challenge the capitalist system? Or is it in fact endemic in a society with a 10% unemployment rate? When Nina abandons her son, she easily finds a respectable job caring for the elderly, suggesting that homelessness and unemployment are a choice—at least for the young attractive white French characters that represent the homeless in "Versailles". Schöeller enforces this understanding of poverty as rebelliousness by casting Guillame Depardieu, who was rumored to have a temper and drug problems long before his death. The actor has the intimating presence of his father, with a much slighter frame, and his anger and frustration at parenting the foundling and at his own parents’ bourgeois lifestyle, demonstrate the predictable but believable acting style characteristic of the Depardieu family. It is the sublime cinematography of nature in the first half of the film that is more interesting than the acting or the storyline. The Versailles grounds offer cinematographer Julien Hirsh plenty of opportunities to boast his understanding of natural light, also demonstrated in Pascale Ferran's "Lady Chatterley" (2006).
Though Varda speaks of her sejours in Cuba and China shortly after their revolutions in "Les Plages" (see review above), she hardly mentions the Algerian War in which France was directly involved during one of her most celebrated periods (1954-1962). In general, directors in the French cinema of 2008 were political, but less than recent years ("Caché" (2005), "Les Indigènes" (2006), "L’ennemi intime" (2008). This year directors allowed viewers to make associations without forcing an ideology. "Versailles", Pierre Schöeller’s first film, did discuss poverty in France, but primarily received attention due to the surprise death of its starring protagonist, Guillame Depardieu. (Guillame, son of Gérard, had a motorcycle crash in October and could not recover due to drug and alcohol abuse.) In fact, French reviews discussed Depardieu’s performance, which won a César nomination and the film’s subtle cinematography, but did not contemplate the film’s social commentary.
The first half of the narrative of "Versailles" centers on the destitute taking shelter in the woods surrounding the palace of Louis XIV. Homeless Nina (Judith Chemla) wanders aimlessly through the Versailles forest with her young son (Max Baissette de Malglaive) when she finds Damien (Depardieu) dressed poor but Calvin Kleinish—in all black with greasy hair—who welcomes the mom to his shack to shack up. However, when Damien awakes from post-coital slumber he finds Nina has left him alone with her excessively cute pre-verbal son. After the boy’s adorableness wears Damien down, he figuratively becomes the boy’s father and decides to leave the squatter camping lifestyle for a prodigal return. It is thereby revealed that Damien had upper middle-class beginnings and opportunities and the homeless romp was a rebellious angst phase.
Although other homeless campers are featured in the film’s first half, Damien’s middle-class roots prompt a larger question: Is squatting simply a way to challenge the capitalist system? Or is it in fact endemic in a society with a 10% unemployment rate? When Nina abandons her son, she easily finds a respectable job caring for the elderly, suggesting that homelessness and unemployment are a choice—at least for the young attractive white French characters that represent the homeless in "Versailles". Schöeller enforces this understanding of poverty as rebelliousness by casting Guillame Depardieu, who was rumored to have a temper and drug problems long before his death. The actor has the intimating presence of his father, with a much slighter frame, and his anger and frustration at parenting the foundling and at his own parents’ bourgeois lifestyle, demonstrate the predictable but believable acting style characteristic of the Depardieu family. It is the sublime cinematography of nature in the first half of the film that is more interesting than the acting or the storyline. The Versailles grounds offer cinematographer Julien Hirsh plenty of opportunities to boast his understanding of natural light, also demonstrated in Pascale Ferran's "Lady Chatterley" (2006).
Saturday, April 11, 2009
The Mesrine films by Jean-François Richet
"L'instinct de mort" ("The Death Instinct" and "L'ennemi public no.1" ("Public Ennemy Number 1")
Guillame Depardieu died in the year he was nominated for the César for best actor (see above for review of "Versailles"). However, despite the tragic real-life drama, Depardieu could not win the César over Vincent Cassel’s performance as Jacques Mesrine in the most popular French films of 2008, "L’instinct de mort" ("Death instinct") and "L’ennemi public no.1" ("Public Enemy Number 1"). The two films together form a bio-pic of France’s most famous criminal, a bank robber at his peak in the 70s, who increased his fame by escaping twice from prison and interviewing with top-selling magazines such as “Paris Match.” The films are based on Mesrine’s autobiography but heavily adapted by screenwriter Abdel Raouf Dafri who also directed a violent ghetto (banlieue) tv series “La commune.” The film follows a gangster formula, complete with car chases, gunfights, and suitcases of cash, but also takes on the prison-escape genre.
Although both films primarily glorify Mesrine, there are also frequent allusions to the Algerian War that seek our attention. L’instinct de mort begins where Mesrine learns to kill, Algerian War. Mesrine as a soldier, follows orders to torture and kill supposed FLN members in a prison, but shows his gallant side when he kills a male Algerian instead of a female. When he returns from war, Mesrine is bored by his employment possibilities and enticed by the money and women of the gangster lifestyle. He begins killing for mob boss Guido (Gérard Depardieu), who incidently is part of the OAS (Organization of the Secret Army) and they shoot Arabs together while jeering racist insults. Near the end of the second film, "L’ennemi public no.1", Mesrine decides to kill a right-wing journalist who has contradicted him. With another prison escapee who is also a left-wing activist, Mesrine meets the journalist at a cave entrance, and then baits the journalist inside, by offering an interview. After verbally assaulting him, Mesrine straggles the journalist with a scarf saying, “You want to know what I learned in the Algerian War, I’ll teach you.”
The symbolism of the sequence is overt; the French killed many Algerians who were hiding in caves with bombs, and strangulation was a common torture technique. Thus the murder of the journalist completely subverts the racism against Arabs demonstrated in the first film, and ensures the audience’s forgiveness. If Mesrine kills Arabs by order or for money in part I, before the end of his life he does penance by torturing and assassinating a xenophobic nationalist mouthpiece. Mesrine does not suffer for the crimes he committed during the Algerian War, but takes vengeance on their interpretation in the years following Algeria’s liberation. The likes of this journalist and his politics, which recall the National Front, could easily be found in contemporary French media. This makes the brutal murder more engaging for the 2008 public, and doubles their respect for the hero.
Cassel executes Mesrine’s bow legged swagger and fast-paced Parisian slang with the bravado indicative of his character’s criminal career. Cassel was so dedicated to the role that he gained a true pot belly, which is exposed in several pretzel love scenes, for authenticity. This achievement garnered Cassel the César for best actor, and Jean-François Richet, the director in charge of the impersonation and all the action editing, a César for best director. However, though the Mesrine features were the most successful films at the French box office in 2008, they did not win the board’s selection for best picture. It was Mesrine’s alter-ego Séraphine (Yolande Moreau), an early 20th century maid come primitive artist, who walked the stage for best actress, and her film ("Séraphine") which stole the best film trophy from the bank robber. In this instance the César committee did yield to the Hollywood pressure of the action film, but transgressed the box office to award a lesser-known biographical film on a lesser-known artist.
Guillame Depardieu died in the year he was nominated for the César for best actor (see above for review of "Versailles"). However, despite the tragic real-life drama, Depardieu could not win the César over Vincent Cassel’s performance as Jacques Mesrine in the most popular French films of 2008, "L’instinct de mort" ("Death instinct") and "L’ennemi public no.1" ("Public Enemy Number 1"). The two films together form a bio-pic of France’s most famous criminal, a bank robber at his peak in the 70s, who increased his fame by escaping twice from prison and interviewing with top-selling magazines such as “Paris Match.” The films are based on Mesrine’s autobiography but heavily adapted by screenwriter Abdel Raouf Dafri who also directed a violent ghetto (banlieue) tv series “La commune.” The film follows a gangster formula, complete with car chases, gunfights, and suitcases of cash, but also takes on the prison-escape genre.
Although both films primarily glorify Mesrine, there are also frequent allusions to the Algerian War that seek our attention. L’instinct de mort begins where Mesrine learns to kill, Algerian War. Mesrine as a soldier, follows orders to torture and kill supposed FLN members in a prison, but shows his gallant side when he kills a male Algerian instead of a female. When he returns from war, Mesrine is bored by his employment possibilities and enticed by the money and women of the gangster lifestyle. He begins killing for mob boss Guido (Gérard Depardieu), who incidently is part of the OAS (Organization of the Secret Army) and they shoot Arabs together while jeering racist insults. Near the end of the second film, "L’ennemi public no.1", Mesrine decides to kill a right-wing journalist who has contradicted him. With another prison escapee who is also a left-wing activist, Mesrine meets the journalist at a cave entrance, and then baits the journalist inside, by offering an interview. After verbally assaulting him, Mesrine straggles the journalist with a scarf saying, “You want to know what I learned in the Algerian War, I’ll teach you.”
The symbolism of the sequence is overt; the French killed many Algerians who were hiding in caves with bombs, and strangulation was a common torture technique. Thus the murder of the journalist completely subverts the racism against Arabs demonstrated in the first film, and ensures the audience’s forgiveness. If Mesrine kills Arabs by order or for money in part I, before the end of his life he does penance by torturing and assassinating a xenophobic nationalist mouthpiece. Mesrine does not suffer for the crimes he committed during the Algerian War, but takes vengeance on their interpretation in the years following Algeria’s liberation. The likes of this journalist and his politics, which recall the National Front, could easily be found in contemporary French media. This makes the brutal murder more engaging for the 2008 public, and doubles their respect for the hero.
Cassel executes Mesrine’s bow legged swagger and fast-paced Parisian slang with the bravado indicative of his character’s criminal career. Cassel was so dedicated to the role that he gained a true pot belly, which is exposed in several pretzel love scenes, for authenticity. This achievement garnered Cassel the César for best actor, and Jean-François Richet, the director in charge of the impersonation and all the action editing, a César for best director. However, though the Mesrine features were the most successful films at the French box office in 2008, they did not win the board’s selection for best picture. It was Mesrine’s alter-ego Séraphine (Yolande Moreau), an early 20th century maid come primitive artist, who walked the stage for best actress, and her film ("Séraphine") which stole the best film trophy from the bank robber. In this instance the César committee did yield to the Hollywood pressure of the action film, but transgressed the box office to award a lesser-known biographical film on a lesser-known artist.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
"Gomorra": The world is the Camorras
“Gomorra” opens with a surprise mafia shoot-down, at of all places, a tanning salon. Stocky men in panties lather themselves with oil, unsuspicious of the cancerous blue light, or the mafia brother behind them with a gun in his trunks. This opening sequence rolls before credits or even an establishing shot, and represents the film’s revisionist turn in cinema. For the gangster tan, like the gangster film, is a false image that has become a commodity. But just as the tans are revealed as artificial, the next two hours of “Gomorrah” prove Hollywood’s stylish rendition of mafia violence an utter lie with dire consequences. Now, at long last, Hollywood’s gangster film has a contender, for the distant Italian reality of mafia devastation in Naples has shown cinema its face. With no apologies, kindness, or glamour, “Gomorra” exposes how the omnipotent Camorra gang controls Naples and all of its layers, (tunnels, highways, and quarries) with five interrelated narratives of corruption.
Though the tanning salon does not appear again, it remains an important symbol; for the film significantly treats body-conscious teens that are lured into the gang-life by its superficial trappings, (clothing, motorbikes, and cars). One is reminded of Truffaut’s “400 Coups” when Toto (who appears to be thirteen or fourteen) stares in the mirror during several long-takes, however this time the conclusion is less open, and more disturbing (eventually Toto decides the Camorra gang is a more important family than his own). If “Scarface,” the 1932 Hawks’ version or the De Palma production of 1983, fetishized the gangster life by violently destroying the American moral code, “Gomorra” now annihilates this perversion. Two teen boys who quote “Scarface” while playing guns, and believe that “the world is yours” sign might as well be placed on their block in Naples, die a gruesome death for their innocent belief in the Hollywood gangster and the guns and coke that added authentencity to their Tony Montana impersonations. (Evidently, De Palma gave permission for this use of “Scarface,” but I cannot find his reaction to “Gomorra.”)
The film is not only about teens; a large portion of the film, and a still larger portion of the book on which “Gomorra” is based, explain how haute couture is essentially a mob enterprise, and how the dumping of toxic waste is not regulated by the government but orchestrated underground by the Mafioso. The violence in “Gomorrah” is primarily aural, this is not to say that the images of death and gunfire do not equal that of any mob flick staple, but that the sound design is the most emphatic and terrifying to date. By the end of the film, the frequent gunfire and bloody web of narratives have frazzled and affronted the spectator. This makes the didactic series of statistics a welcome solidifying summary of what you have learned; the numbers are clear, the mob is bad and controls everything in Italy. But despite the fast heartbeat and loose editing, one is the wiser for viewing “Gormorra.” Matteo Garrone’s film translation of Robert Saviano’s book, is an overdue response to Hollywood’s vision of the Italian gangster, and an important film puzzle piece to the truth of global corruption, its sides snugly touching “Syriana” and “City of God.”
Though the tanning salon does not appear again, it remains an important symbol; for the film significantly treats body-conscious teens that are lured into the gang-life by its superficial trappings, (clothing, motorbikes, and cars). One is reminded of Truffaut’s “400 Coups” when Toto (who appears to be thirteen or fourteen) stares in the mirror during several long-takes, however this time the conclusion is less open, and more disturbing (eventually Toto decides the Camorra gang is a more important family than his own). If “Scarface,” the 1932 Hawks’ version or the De Palma production of 1983, fetishized the gangster life by violently destroying the American moral code, “Gomorra” now annihilates this perversion. Two teen boys who quote “Scarface” while playing guns, and believe that “the world is yours” sign might as well be placed on their block in Naples, die a gruesome death for their innocent belief in the Hollywood gangster and the guns and coke that added authentencity to their Tony Montana impersonations. (Evidently, De Palma gave permission for this use of “Scarface,” but I cannot find his reaction to “Gomorra.”)
The film is not only about teens; a large portion of the film, and a still larger portion of the book on which “Gomorra” is based, explain how haute couture is essentially a mob enterprise, and how the dumping of toxic waste is not regulated by the government but orchestrated underground by the Mafioso. The violence in “Gomorrah” is primarily aural, this is not to say that the images of death and gunfire do not equal that of any mob flick staple, but that the sound design is the most emphatic and terrifying to date. By the end of the film, the frequent gunfire and bloody web of narratives have frazzled and affronted the spectator. This makes the didactic series of statistics a welcome solidifying summary of what you have learned; the numbers are clear, the mob is bad and controls everything in Italy. But despite the fast heartbeat and loose editing, one is the wiser for viewing “Gormorra.” Matteo Garrone’s film translation of Robert Saviano’s book, is an overdue response to Hollywood’s vision of the Italian gangster, and an important film puzzle piece to the truth of global corruption, its sides snugly touching “Syriana” and “City of God.”
Friday, January 16, 2009
Vintage Eastwood in “The Gran Torino”
Vintage Eastwood in “The Gran Torino”
“The Gran Torino” refers to a vintage ’72 car protected by a feeble garage and the gun power of its owner, Korean War vet Walt Kolwalkski, (Clint Eastwood.) Everyone longs for a chance to drive the mint condition Gran Torino, including Walt’s materialistic son and suburban nightmare family, his painfully shy teenage neighbor, and the violent gang of Hmong gangsters, who like Walt, tote guns. Just as everyone in the film yearns to cruise the prized vintage Ford, “Gran Torrino”’s target audience craves vintage Eastwood. Strumming memories of Dirty Harry, Eastwood as Walt delivers countless versions of “Make my day” (now the word “goon” is added) and squints with every bit of the same severity.
Although the dialogue in Nick Schenk’s first screenplay’s frequently proves amateur, the plot itself offers a modern if simplistic view of American society in 2008: Sr. citizen Walt, who embodies the racism of his generation, has outlived his wife and is the only white man left in his deteriorating, now Chinese, neighborhood. At long last Walt confronts his prejudice when he accidentally becomes friends with the Chinese family next door while protecting (by chance) their awkward teenage son (Thao played by Bee Vang) from Hmong gangsters. The choice of the Hmongs as the community in anguish reveals a Hollywood orientalism (the Hmong culture makes for an exotic contrast to Walt’s, and the audience’s, middle-American values.) However, the Hmong decision was primarily practical; the “n” word is still unacceptable, and even at 78, Eastwood can tower over the diminutive Hmongs.
In “Gran Torino” the elderly but fit Eastwood recaptures the allure of his past roles. Though Eastwood was 37 years younger when he developed the iconographic Harry Callahan under Don Siegal, and younger still when he built his tough cowboy appeal (“Rawhide”, “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,”) in “Gran Torino” the cold call to justice is rejuvenated as a crotchety old man. If Eastwood’s lines and performance are predictable, they are doubly comic, for each time nostalgia is retrieved an element of spoof results. (In fact, today the Union Square audience roared at each of Walt’s threats and bigoted insults.)
David Schwartz in his interview complimented Eastwood by saying “Gran Torino” resembled classic Hollywood. Yes, there are many long shots of the neighborhood, the story holds a moral, and the characters (other than Walt) are flat types. However, the film is primarily a vehicle for Eastwood (and his public) to relive his acting-glory days. Eastwood has perfected the delivery and timing of the quiet, vengeful rebel and is further aided by a script tailor-made for him (according to Eastwood, screen-writer Schenk hunted down his agent.) “Gran Torino” does not rival any of Eastwood’s recent directorial gems, (“Million Dollar Baby,” “Mystic River,” “Flags of our Fathers”) but it does make an interesting bookend for Eastwood's silent and angry persona.
“The Gran Torino” refers to a vintage ’72 car protected by a feeble garage and the gun power of its owner, Korean War vet Walt Kolwalkski, (Clint Eastwood.) Everyone longs for a chance to drive the mint condition Gran Torino, including Walt’s materialistic son and suburban nightmare family, his painfully shy teenage neighbor, and the violent gang of Hmong gangsters, who like Walt, tote guns. Just as everyone in the film yearns to cruise the prized vintage Ford, “Gran Torrino”’s target audience craves vintage Eastwood. Strumming memories of Dirty Harry, Eastwood as Walt delivers countless versions of “Make my day” (now the word “goon” is added) and squints with every bit of the same severity.
Although the dialogue in Nick Schenk’s first screenplay’s frequently proves amateur, the plot itself offers a modern if simplistic view of American society in 2008: Sr. citizen Walt, who embodies the racism of his generation, has outlived his wife and is the only white man left in his deteriorating, now Chinese, neighborhood. At long last Walt confronts his prejudice when he accidentally becomes friends with the Chinese family next door while protecting (by chance) their awkward teenage son (Thao played by Bee Vang) from Hmong gangsters. The choice of the Hmongs as the community in anguish reveals a Hollywood orientalism (the Hmong culture makes for an exotic contrast to Walt’s, and the audience’s, middle-American values.) However, the Hmong decision was primarily practical; the “n” word is still unacceptable, and even at 78, Eastwood can tower over the diminutive Hmongs.
In “Gran Torino” the elderly but fit Eastwood recaptures the allure of his past roles. Though Eastwood was 37 years younger when he developed the iconographic Harry Callahan under Don Siegal, and younger still when he built his tough cowboy appeal (“Rawhide”, “The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly,”) in “Gran Torino” the cold call to justice is rejuvenated as a crotchety old man. If Eastwood’s lines and performance are predictable, they are doubly comic, for each time nostalgia is retrieved an element of spoof results. (In fact, today the Union Square audience roared at each of Walt’s threats and bigoted insults.)
David Schwartz in his interview complimented Eastwood by saying “Gran Torino” resembled classic Hollywood. Yes, there are many long shots of the neighborhood, the story holds a moral, and the characters (other than Walt) are flat types. However, the film is primarily a vehicle for Eastwood (and his public) to relive his acting-glory days. Eastwood has perfected the delivery and timing of the quiet, vengeful rebel and is further aided by a script tailor-made for him (according to Eastwood, screen-writer Schenk hunted down his agent.) “Gran Torino” does not rival any of Eastwood’s recent directorial gems, (“Million Dollar Baby,” “Mystic River,” “Flags of our Fathers”) but it does make an interesting bookend for Eastwood's silent and angry persona.
Monday, December 29, 2008
"The Wrestler": Believe the Hype
“The Wrestler”: Believe the Hype
The hype surrounding “The Wrestler” was enough to kill any film; “Mickey is back!” “The best-actor Oscar!” Yet in all honesty, without the hype I would not have paid the admission to watch men in tights and wigs smash each other to a pulp. In fact as a bourgeois ABD yogini female the WWF is something I have carefully avoided my entire life. But on that note, the film is an insightful commentary on the male population who seek such entertainment, on class and education boundaries that promote it, and on the effects such “sports” have on their labor. One should be forewarned, according to the film’s gripping realism, professional wrestlers do not fake all of the blood and back breaking, (or rather some of the faking is actually done with razors.)
For this reason the film is ingenious and difficult to watch. In the film’s first half, the audience intimately witnesses the wreckage done to “Randy the Ram” (Mickey Rourke.) His tightly framed face screams agony and repression louder than the referee’s megaphone. Close-ups of his limbs twisting and then pounding down (the sound design is grueling) left me squirming with sympathy in my seat. To this extent Aronofsky has surpassed and banalized violence in cinema; for rather than presenting us with the realism of violence in war, "The Wrestler" presents us with the realism of violence in performance— within a performance.
The casting of Mickey Rourke as Randy makes the paradigm complete. Rourke like Randy enjoyed considerable success in the 80s as a bad boy. In addition, though Rourke never wrestled, he enjoyed another concussion inducing sport, boxing, and did brutal damage to his brain and face. Although the basic storyline is often trite, (an overacted angry daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) emerges almost as an afterthought,) Rourke is so compelling in this role that the camera and the audience can scarcely focus on secondary matters. Therefore, there is barely enough space to contemplate another age-limited industry, stripping, though Pam (Marisa Tomei) skillfully demonstrates the other sex’s more typical compromise. If you are one for 80s nostalgia, you will enjoy all the hair-metal hits that might have been played at wrestling events, as well as the superb score co-written by Slash. The film closes with an almost too appropriate Bruce Springsteen song “One-trick pony” providing the perfect finale to a picture about an underclass of the entertainment industry. To this extent "The Wrestler" can be compared not only to "Rocky", and "Raging Bull" but to "Boogie Nights."
The hype surrounding “The Wrestler” was enough to kill any film; “Mickey is back!” “The best-actor Oscar!” Yet in all honesty, without the hype I would not have paid the admission to watch men in tights and wigs smash each other to a pulp. In fact as a bourgeois ABD yogini female the WWF is something I have carefully avoided my entire life. But on that note, the film is an insightful commentary on the male population who seek such entertainment, on class and education boundaries that promote it, and on the effects such “sports” have on their labor. One should be forewarned, according to the film’s gripping realism, professional wrestlers do not fake all of the blood and back breaking, (or rather some of the faking is actually done with razors.)
For this reason the film is ingenious and difficult to watch. In the film’s first half, the audience intimately witnesses the wreckage done to “Randy the Ram” (Mickey Rourke.) His tightly framed face screams agony and repression louder than the referee’s megaphone. Close-ups of his limbs twisting and then pounding down (the sound design is grueling) left me squirming with sympathy in my seat. To this extent Aronofsky has surpassed and banalized violence in cinema; for rather than presenting us with the realism of violence in war, "The Wrestler" presents us with the realism of violence in performance— within a performance.
The casting of Mickey Rourke as Randy makes the paradigm complete. Rourke like Randy enjoyed considerable success in the 80s as a bad boy. In addition, though Rourke never wrestled, he enjoyed another concussion inducing sport, boxing, and did brutal damage to his brain and face. Although the basic storyline is often trite, (an overacted angry daughter (Evan Rachel Wood) emerges almost as an afterthought,) Rourke is so compelling in this role that the camera and the audience can scarcely focus on secondary matters. Therefore, there is barely enough space to contemplate another age-limited industry, stripping, though Pam (Marisa Tomei) skillfully demonstrates the other sex’s more typical compromise. If you are one for 80s nostalgia, you will enjoy all the hair-metal hits that might have been played at wrestling events, as well as the superb score co-written by Slash. The film closes with an almost too appropriate Bruce Springsteen song “One-trick pony” providing the perfect finale to a picture about an underclass of the entertainment industry. To this extent "The Wrestler" can be compared not only to "Rocky", and "Raging Bull" but to "Boogie Nights."
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