Here's a YouTube classic: the best scenes from Neil LaBute's remake of "The Wicker Man." It's further evidence of his inability to make a film that isn't unintentionally hilarious. See also: that last post on "Lakeview Terrace."
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Lakeview Terrace (2008)--2/5
Any attempts at behavior justification detract from the minor trashy thrills to be had in “Lakeview Terrace.” It’s another “yuppies in terror” film, this time with a racial twist as reason for its existence.
Michael Keaton terrorized Matthew Modine and Melanie Griffith in “ Pacific Heights .” Same thing with Ray Liotta, Madeleine Stowe, and Kurt Russell in “Unlawful Entry.” Now “Lakeview Terrace” has strong-willed cop Samuel L. Jackson as interracial couple Patrick Wilson and Kerry Washington’s Worst. Neighbor. Ever.
Abel Turner (Jackson) has a magical house. No matter what window he looks out of, he’s able to see his neighbors doing something that annoys him. Upon seeing them in their pool in flagrante delicto (am I using this correctly?), he widens his eyeballs in rage. Jackson must have practiced this acting maneuver in front of a mirror for about twenty seconds while reading other awful scripts; he uses it to signify lots of things in “Lakeview Terrace.” But mostly rage.
Abel’s wife died three years before the movie takes place—in a car wreck with her white boss. His daughter is beginning to show signs of rebellion. Somehow, these factors are supposed to contribute to his actions. In truth, he’s simply--and with the eye widening, unnervingly--psychotic. Any other explanation is a waste of time. Fast forward to the yelling and violence and noise.
Michael Keaton terrorized Matthew Modine and Melanie Griffith in “ Pacific Heights .” Same thing with Ray Liotta, Madeleine Stowe, and Kurt Russell in “Unlawful Entry.” Now “Lakeview Terrace” has strong-willed cop Samuel L. Jackson as interracial couple Patrick Wilson and Kerry Washington’s Worst. Neighbor. Ever.
Abel Turner (Jackson) has a magical house. No matter what window he looks out of, he’s able to see his neighbors doing something that annoys him. Upon seeing them in their pool in flagrante delicto (am I using this correctly?), he widens his eyeballs in rage. Jackson must have practiced this acting maneuver in front of a mirror for about twenty seconds while reading other awful scripts; he uses it to signify lots of things in “Lakeview Terrace.” But mostly rage.
Abel’s wife died three years before the movie takes place—in a car wreck with her white boss. His daughter is beginning to show signs of rebellion. Somehow, these factors are supposed to contribute to his actions. In truth, he’s simply--and with the eye widening, unnervingly--psychotic. Any other explanation is a waste of time. Fast forward to the yelling and violence and noise.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
More on Shedd's Spread Country Crock
As a kid, during "General Hospital" breaks, the Country Crock ads--those ones with disembodied hands fetishizing the product--drove me crazy. I desperately needed to see the people who were talking.
Clevelander Jack Riley is the longtime voice of the man in the Country Crock commercials. You may recognize him as the voice of Stu Pickles on "Rugrats" or as the funny guy who traded off with Fred Willard on "The Tonight Show" in a series of satellite interviews. He also has a brief role in "Boogie Nights" as (I forget if it's) Amber Waves' or her ex-husband's lawyer.
I made these connection a few years ago--I happened to be listening to the radio as he sat in the broadcast booth for a few innings of a mid-season Tribe game. I bet it's the only time Tom Hamilton talked about "Boogie Nights" on the air!
Clevelander Jack Riley is the longtime voice of the man in the Country Crock commercials. You may recognize him as the voice of Stu Pickles on "Rugrats" or as the funny guy who traded off with Fred Willard on "The Tonight Show" in a series of satellite interviews. He also has a brief role in "Boogie Nights" as (I forget if it's) Amber Waves' or her ex-husband's lawyer.
I made these connection a few years ago--I happened to be listening to the radio as he sat in the broadcast booth for a few innings of a mid-season Tribe game. I bet it's the only time Tom Hamilton talked about "Boogie Nights" on the air!
The Seventh Continent (1989)--3/5
"The Seventh Continent" has no intention of explaining itself. In building tension, director Michael Haneke gives us the life of a middle-class Austrian family for two days, one in 1987 and one in 1988. Haneke is nothing if not thorough with his concept; he conveys boredom and resignation in a family is by filming boring scenes of resigned characters.
It's more than just this, though. "The Seventh Continent" is ascetically planned and is storyboarded as rigorously as a Coen Bros. film. For nearly ten minutes, the family is rarely seen in their scenes. A moving hand or a face distorted through glass, for example, are the only evidence of life. It's the world's dourest Shedd's Spread Country Crock commercial.
Upon closer examination, every scene hides an unsettling joke beneath the domesticity. It could be something as little as the mother's extra spoonful of sugar in her daughter's cereal or as forboding as the violent slaps of a car wash's brush.
The climax of "The Seventh Continent" is absolutely stacked with memorable images. From the beginning of his career, Haneke, director of the audience-baiting "Funny Games," set out to provoke a response. Here, a two- to three-minute shot finds the family ripping in half tens of thousands of schillings and flushing them down the toilet. This and the other alien acts of destruction--systematically ripping up books and shirts, sledgehammering furniture and mirrors--end up being more shocking than the logical endpoint. Haneke has an inkling of his audience's potential thoughtcrimes and is happy to meet it more than halfway.
It's more than just this, though. "The Seventh Continent" is ascetically planned and is storyboarded as rigorously as a Coen Bros. film. For nearly ten minutes, the family is rarely seen in their scenes. A moving hand or a face distorted through glass, for example, are the only evidence of life. It's the world's dourest Shedd's Spread Country Crock commercial.
Upon closer examination, every scene hides an unsettling joke beneath the domesticity. It could be something as little as the mother's extra spoonful of sugar in her daughter's cereal or as forboding as the violent slaps of a car wash's brush.
The climax of "The Seventh Continent" is absolutely stacked with memorable images. From the beginning of his career, Haneke, director of the audience-baiting "Funny Games," set out to provoke a response. Here, a two- to three-minute shot finds the family ripping in half tens of thousands of schillings and flushing them down the toilet. This and the other alien acts of destruction--systematically ripping up books and shirts, sledgehammering furniture and mirrors--end up being more shocking than the logical endpoint. Haneke has an inkling of his audience's potential thoughtcrimes and is happy to meet it more than halfway.
Monday, May 4, 2009
My Own Private Idaho (1991)--3/5
Critics who admire Keanu Reeves as more than just Neo and Ted (from Bill & Ted) must have "My Own Private Idaho" in mind. Scott (Reeves) starts as a drifting hustler, ends as a charming society man, and has an interlude as "Henry IV's" Prince Hal, complete with Falstaff, here named Bob.
As a testament to the quality of Shakespeare and of Gus Van Sant, the old and the new complement each other. Mike, his father (the Mayor of Portland), and Bob speak in verse for a long stretch of "My Own Private Idaho." It never detracts from Van Sant's recreation of a homeless Portland society.
The combination of flamboyant theatricality and the run-down fringes of a city is reminiscent of Terry Gilliam. Interesting: Gilliam's "The Fisher King" came out one month before "My Own Private Idaho."
Portland is one of four wildly divergent settings in "My Own Private Idaho." Seattle, where Scott and Mikey (River Phoenix) start out, would be similar, but it's scenes aren't played in Shakesperean verse. In Idaho, Van Sant fashions the "purple mountains" and "amber waves of grain" of the film's pedal steel guitar soundtrack as literally as possible. It serves as a humanizing respite for the kids. And Rome has a little bit of both--fast city and slow country.
Mikey often wonders how he got where he is, like when he wakes up at the base of Portland's Elk Fountain. In another film, his daze would be due to drug use. Because he's a narcoleptic, the idiosyncracies are humanizing and tragic.
As a testament to the quality of Shakespeare and of Gus Van Sant, the old and the new complement each other. Mike, his father (the Mayor of Portland), and Bob speak in verse for a long stretch of "My Own Private Idaho." It never detracts from Van Sant's recreation of a homeless Portland society.
The combination of flamboyant theatricality and the run-down fringes of a city is reminiscent of Terry Gilliam. Interesting: Gilliam's "The Fisher King" came out one month before "My Own Private Idaho."
Portland is one of four wildly divergent settings in "My Own Private Idaho." Seattle, where Scott and Mikey (River Phoenix) start out, would be similar, but it's scenes aren't played in Shakesperean verse. In Idaho, Van Sant fashions the "purple mountains" and "amber waves of grain" of the film's pedal steel guitar soundtrack as literally as possible. It serves as a humanizing respite for the kids. And Rome has a little bit of both--fast city and slow country.
Mikey often wonders how he got where he is, like when he wakes up at the base of Portland's Elk Fountain. In another film, his daze would be due to drug use. Because he's a narcoleptic, the idiosyncracies are humanizing and tragic.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Waterworld (1995)--3/5
I’ve seen a lot of movies worse than “Waterworld.” So why’d it take fourteen years for me to get around to it? By the time the film was released, it had been a well-documented exercise in hubristic money-burning. Any supposed slight—especially those regarding Kevin Costner’s balding, begilled, and misogynist character Mariner—became magnified in the public eye. “Waterworld” still stands tall as one of the great Hollywood flops.
Seen independently of its production travails, “Waterworld” is a simple, well-meaning, post-apocalyptic action piece. In an attempt to distinguish “Waterworld” from the oft-plundered “Mad Max” series, the filmmakers bring (perhaps too-) detailed logic to the world. Mariner’s home base, a lovely trimaran boat, transforms with the manipulation of gears and ropes. Its destruction is the greatest tragedy in the film.
Careful, too much logical thought about “Waterworld” leads to madness. How long ago did the icecaps melt? Someone says hundreds of years ago. That can’t be true because Helen (Jeanne Tripplehorn) is unaware of cities—or any other swath of dry land. And Mariner has inherited gills and webbed toes. But it must be true because the Dennis Hopper-led “smokers” have unspoiled cigarette packs, poorly camouflaged wave runners, and a plane. See what I mean?
As perhaps the primary agent of its downfall, the difficult ocean location shooting is what ultimately distinguishes “Waterworld.” Despite the problems—storms, equipment malfunctions, ego-transport—the film has an endless horizon. In contrast, a scene in which Mariner swims to the ocean floor with Helen looks exactly like what it is: models, tank-shots, and poor special effects to tie them together—essentially, what I thought the whole film would look like.
Seen independently of its production travails, “Waterworld” is a simple, well-meaning, post-apocalyptic action piece. In an attempt to distinguish “Waterworld” from the oft-plundered “Mad Max” series, the filmmakers bring (perhaps too-) detailed logic to the world. Mariner’s home base, a lovely trimaran boat, transforms with the manipulation of gears and ropes. Its destruction is the greatest tragedy in the film.
Careful, too much logical thought about “Waterworld” leads to madness. How long ago did the icecaps melt? Someone says hundreds of years ago. That can’t be true because Helen (Jeanne Tripplehorn) is unaware of cities—or any other swath of dry land. And Mariner has inherited gills and webbed toes. But it must be true because the Dennis Hopper-led “smokers” have unspoiled cigarette packs, poorly camouflaged wave runners, and a plane. See what I mean?
As perhaps the primary agent of its downfall, the difficult ocean location shooting is what ultimately distinguishes “Waterworld.” Despite the problems—storms, equipment malfunctions, ego-transport—the film has an endless horizon. In contrast, a scene in which Mariner swims to the ocean floor with Helen looks exactly like what it is: models, tank-shots, and poor special effects to tie them together—essentially, what I thought the whole film would look like.
Friday, May 1, 2009
The Reader (2008)--1/5
(Spoilers)
Ralph Fiennes has a thankless role in "The Reader." It seems that all day, every day, Michael (Fiennes) is paralyzed with vivid memories of Hanna (Kate Winslet). She's naked, she's running a symbolically cleansing bath, she's naked again, then she's old (with typically bad makeup), and then she's dead. Kate Winslet has a thankless role, too--everyone does--because "The Reader" is a laughable bore.
During Hanna's trial, the stigma of illiteracy competes with the "stigma" of Nazism. Steps are made to excuse the bizarre juxtaposition, as when Hanna takes most of the blame for her actions and those of her fellow SS guards. It's still inexcusably nearsighted.
Like Hanna, every main player is shouldered with the burden of his/her respective society--a sure sign of a movie's overblown sense of importance.
We're asked to buy the fact that Michael happens to be in a law school seminar that attends Hanna's trial. That the trial hinges on a single written piece of evidence. That Hanna refuses to admit her illiteracy, even though it means life in prison instead of four years in prison. And, most unbelievably, that nobody in contact with Hanna has noticed that she can't even read a menu or write her own name. Thanks to the string-pulling score and Winslet's overacting, this fact is conveyed in the first few seconds of the first dramatic reading scene.
Ralph Fiennes has a thankless role in "The Reader." It seems that all day, every day, Michael (Fiennes) is paralyzed with vivid memories of Hanna (Kate Winslet). She's naked, she's running a symbolically cleansing bath, she's naked again, then she's old (with typically bad makeup), and then she's dead. Kate Winslet has a thankless role, too--everyone does--because "The Reader" is a laughable bore.
During Hanna's trial, the stigma of illiteracy competes with the "stigma" of Nazism. Steps are made to excuse the bizarre juxtaposition, as when Hanna takes most of the blame for her actions and those of her fellow SS guards. It's still inexcusably nearsighted.
Like Hanna, every main player is shouldered with the burden of his/her respective society--a sure sign of a movie's overblown sense of importance.
We're asked to buy the fact that Michael happens to be in a law school seminar that attends Hanna's trial. That the trial hinges on a single written piece of evidence. That Hanna refuses to admit her illiteracy, even though it means life in prison instead of four years in prison. And, most unbelievably, that nobody in contact with Hanna has noticed that she can't even read a menu or write her own name. Thanks to the string-pulling score and Winslet's overacting, this fact is conveyed in the first few seconds of the first dramatic reading scene.
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