Viewing Journal - May 2016 #5

Love & Friendship (Whit Stillman, United Kingdom, 2016)

I'm now convinced that Whit Stillman was born to write and direct Jane Austen adaptations. While watching Love & Friendship I realized he's been making Austen stories all along - comedies of manners that are both satirical and affectionate - only in contemporary settings. His unique wit flourishes even more in the 1790s, and when matched with Austen's beautifully drawn characters. I haven't yet read Lady Susan, which Love & Friendship is adapted from, but in some ways it's an atypical Austen story. Lady Susan is a devious and cheerfully amoral character, a social climber with a genius for manipulation. She begins and ends the film unrepentantly horrible, but she is so witty and charismatic that we can't help but be impressed by her scheming ways. Kate Beckinsale clearly had a blast playing this character, delivering Lady Susan's politely wicked dialogue with virtuosic comic timing. Love & Friendship also has a welcome absurdist, irreverent streak, more reminiscent of Oscar Wilde or screwball comedy than Jane Austen. Yet, more than any other Austen adaptation I've seen, Love & Friendship captures her humor - her genius for mining comedy out of the gap between what people say and what they actually mean. It's one of the funniest movies I've seen in ages.

Enter the Dragon (Robert Clouse, United States / Hong Kong, 1973)

Despite considering myself a fan of Hong Kong kung fu flicks, I had never seen a single one starring the legendary Bruce Lee. Clearly I needed to correct this oversight. Enter the Dragon is a collaboration between East and West - made in Hong Kong with a local crew, but filmed in English with an American director and co-stars. It's a genre hybrid as well, both a martial arts extravaganza and a James Bond-style espionage thriller, with influences of so-called "blaxploitation" and psychedelia. About every B-movie genre popular in America or Hong Kong circa 1973 shows up in Enter the Dragon in one form or another. This democratic blending of East and West is typical of Lee, a citizen of both Hong Kong and the United States who was passionate about spreading the philosophy of martial arts across the globe. Enter the Dragon is also a total mess, though an exuberantly fun mess. I now see why Bruce Lee was such a star. He's not only an astonishing athlete but a magnetic screen presence. There's a mischief and wily intelligence in his eyes, and his lightning quick movements are mesmerizing. His body zigs when you expect it to zag; his bird-like shrieks in battle are amusing and terrifying.

The Most Dangerous Game (Ernest B. Schoedsack and Irving Pichel, United States, 1932)

I love these horror-thrillers made in the early 30s, before the Production Code clamped down on what Hollywood films could show. Though tame by today's ultra-violent standards, The Most Dangerous Game remains an entertaining thriller that must have shocked audiences of 1932. Based on a famous and influential short story (which I have yet to read) with a perfectly simple, sinister premise: a wealthy madman and big game hunter entraps shipwrecked people on his private island to hunt them. If they survive a single night, he will release them - but none have survived before! Though it's only an hour long, The Most Dangerous Game spends much of its runtime building up to the hunt, as shipwrecked survivors are trapped inside Count Zaroff's gothic castle. The evil Zaroff is played by an over-the-top Leslie Banks; his bug-eyed expressions and preposterous Russian accent are difficult to take seriously but quite entertaining, especially next to Joel McCrea's stiffly stoic leading man. The really good parts arrive in the final twenty minutes, in a cat-and-mouse showdown in the jungle. The Most Dangerous Game was filmed on the same sets as King Kong - Kong would use the sets during the day, and Game at night. It's clearly an artificial jungle, but with all the grandiose charm and dream-like exaggeration of Old Hollywood. It's the perfect setting for an action-packed climax, as our heroes set elaborate booby traps, flee from hounds across logs bridging canyons, and do battle at the edge of a giant waterfall. The final fight is unusually realistic for the time, with sweaty, flailing desperation that looks unchoreographed.

Flirting (John Duigan, Australia, 1991)

Ignore the frivolous title. Flirting is the rare teenage comedy that treats its adolescent characters with dignity, as intelligent and thoughtful people. In 1965 Australia, two boarding schools, one all male and one all female, face each other across a lake. Danny is a gawky kid, intelligent, not athletic, teased by fellow students, though he's mostly unfazed by them. Thandiwe has just arrived to Australia from Uganda, and stands out from her peers for her race, her sophistication and irreverent humor. Both are attracted by the rebellious qualities of the other, and over a series of awkward and charming encounters grow to love each other. Flirting is the kind of well-observed film where even minor characters come alive as real, specific people, where you will laugh and cringe with fond recognition at their behavior. Noah Taylor and Thandie Newton give sensitive, lively performances as the leads, while Nicole Kidman and a baby-faced Naomi Watts appear in small early roles. Director John Duigan brings to Flirting a quiet beauty unique for its genre - like when Danny sneaks out at night to meet Thandiwe, rowing across a shimmering starlit lake out of a fairy tale.

Viewing Journal - April 2016 #2

Spider-Man 2 (Sam Raimi, United States, 2004)

Only 12 years after its release, Spider-Man 2 seems downright retro within its genre. In my opinion, it's among the handful of great superhero movies, and one that exposes the unimaginative and clunky qualities of today's cinematic superhero juggernauts when held in comparison. Don't get me wrong - many Marvel and DC films of the past decade are decent fun, but it's become increasingly obvious that the genre suffers from bloat, formulaic storytelling, and either leaden self-seriousness or jokey self-awareness, as if anxious about being perceived as cheesy. Spider-Man 2 is nothing but sincere, in both its character drama - Peter Parker is an honest-to-goodness dork here and not the smug pseudo-nerd of the Amazing Spider-Man reboot, and all the more lovable for it - and in its old-school comic book aesthetic. It's also modest in stakes and storytelling, with only one villain and several action setpieces. The lack of franchise tie-ins and Giant Flying Objects Falling On Cities™ is refreshing. Spider-Man 2 has room to breathe as a stand-alone story, one that does not feel pieced together by a committee but has its own distinct personality.

Much of that personality comes from director Sam Raimi, whose pop-art style is perfect for a Spidey movie. Many frames look like live-action panels of a comic book, and I love that insane hospital sequence where we are reminded that yes, this is the same man who directed those crazy Evil Dead movies. That sequence introduces, in high style, a classic supervillain - Doc Ock, played with intelligent menace and charm by Alfred Molina. He is suited with four metallic, serpentine arms, animated with marvelously creepy expressiveness. I love how Doc Ock's character arc dovetails with Peter Parker's - both are torn between selfishness and self-sacrifice, leading to a final act where they battle aboard a speeding train and finally face off in a simple one-on-one climax. Both sequences hinge on characters deciding to sacrifice themselves for the sake of others, in redemptive acts of selfless bravery.

"He's just a kid...no older than my son." I love that moment. Spider-Man 2 is a great example of simple but moving - and fun - comic book storytelling.

Watch trailer here.

L'Atalante (Jean Vigo, France, 1934)

Its story could not be simpler. A village girl marries the captain of a canal barge, L'Atalante, and moves aboard the barge with him. It is also home to a small crew: a cabin boy and a tattooed sailor, Pere Jules. Once their honeymoon bliss fades, however, the girl begins to feel cooped up and yearns to see the world outside the cramped barge, to the perplexity of her rather provincial husband. This causes tension and a rash separation, which they both quickly regret - only when apart do they realize how truly fond they've grown of each other.

L'Atalante's simple and ancient story is the frame on which director Jean Vigo hangs all sorts of wonderful things. It is photographed with beautiful detail and texture, alive with mist and water and smoke. Pere Jules is a wildly entertaining supporting character, a garrulous drunken sailor who would be mere comic caricature if it weren't for the persuasive physicality and nuance of Michel Simon's performance. Jules is a larger-than-life figure, covered with crude and childish tattoos, spontaneously breaking out into dance and song. His cabin is cluttered with trinkets from all corners of the world, which he shows off to the girl with delight in one enchanting scene - "only the finest things", a marionette, a music box, a sawfish bill, crass posters of exotic beauties, even his old friend's pickled hands in a jar, "all I have left of him"! The barge is teeming with Jules's beloved cats, who basically steal the film. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a cat in half of L'Atalante's shots. They pop out of closets, curl up on beds, crawl casually across the background, or cling to Jules's back for dear life while he bouncily plays the accordion.

In part because of its simplicity, the central love story is beautiful. Both characters are entirely ordinary, living a working-class life that, although shot through with strangeness and poetry, is far from glamorous. Their connection is portrayed in an unadorned way by Vigo - neither make any great insights or romantic declarations, but their simple affection and desire for each other is felt keenly. In a surprisingly frank scene (see here), the two lovers sleep in separate beds far apart, and a series of cross-cuts expresses how much their bodies ache for each other. The wife tells her husband a folk superstition about being able to see your beloved's face in the water - he initially laughs her off and jokingly dumps his head into a river. Upon their separation, he desperately dives into the river and swims downward, hoping to glimpse her face again. On top of the husband swimming Vigo superimposes an image of his wife floating in her wedding dress (see here). It's movie magic at its most poignant. Once husband and wife are finally reunited, it's one of the most celebratory and well-earned happy endings in movie history.

Tragically, director Jean Vigo passed away from tuberculosis shortly after finishing L'Atalante, at only 29 years old. This was the only feature film he ever completed, and he knew he was dying as he made it. Even so, with only one film his career as a director and artist has more brilliance and power than most. L'Atalante is a masterpiece.

Watch trailer here.

The Lost World: Jurassic Park (Steven Spielberg, United States, 1997)

There's an odd trend in Steven Spielberg's career. He directs awe-inspiring, generation-defining adventure classics - Raiders of the Lost Ark and Jurassic Park - and follows them with oddly mean-spirited, tonally confused sequels - Temple of Doom and The Lost World. The drop in quality is even more obvious from Jurassic Park to The Lost World, a sequel than contains not an ounce of the wonder that made the original so beloved. The dinosaurs, filmed with awe-struck reverence in Jurassic Park, are now little more than generic scaly beasts to chase around and gobble up our protagonists. The fearsome velociraptors can now be dispatched with a well-timed gymnastics kick. Jurassic Park was mythic and fearfully respectful, The Lost World is just another dumb monster movie. Speaking of dumb, good Lord are the humans in The Lost World a full bench of idiots. Of particular note are the normally excellent Julianne Moore as the stupidest scientist this side of Prometheus and a grown man who runs in panic from a tiny snake into the waiting jaws of a tyrannosaur.

As is almost inevitable for a Spielberg film there is an absentee dad and the rebonding of family through trial, but Spielberg has seemingly never cared less about his characters - including the returning Ian Malcolm, played by a visibly bored Jeff Goldblum, and his daughter Kelly, the aforementioned gymnast assassin who otherwise has no discernible personality. As is also inevitable of Spielberg, there are excellent moments amid the uncharacteristic mediocrity of the rest of the film - Moore kept from plunging to her death only by a slowly breaking pane of glass, invisible raptors cutting through tall grasses towards their prey. Apart from these inspired moments, I suspect that Spielberg did not have his heart in this project. Made between Schindler's List and Saving Private Ryan, perhaps it seemed too juvenile at that point in his career. And I don't know what to think about The Lost World's odd and perversely amusing sadistic streak. The dinosaurs of Jurassic Park inspired the terror and awe of wide-eyed kids, but in The Lost World the T-Rex will break into the kids' backyard and devour the family dog.

Watch trailer here.