tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72969773759791544382024-03-13T14:53:19.308-07:00 Cinememories<i><br>"Every great film should seem<br>
new every time you see it." <br> ~Roger Ebert</i>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-83564512539287258452015-05-18T16:01:00.000-07:002015-05-18T16:03:03.525-07:00Stick Figure Cinema 2Here's another batch of "Stick Figure Cinema" videos.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Ferris Bueller's Day Off</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/NKaaUBoh4OY/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/NKaaUBoh4OY?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<i><br /><br /> </i><br />
<b><i>There Will Be Blood</i></b><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Yq4-ZDK5FqY/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Yq4-ZDK5FqY?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<i><br /> </i><br />
<b><i>The Birds</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/ZY-Nv0e52Qk/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ZY-Nv0e52Qk?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<i><br /></i>
<br />
More to come.<i><br /></i>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-26844599247480282272015-05-15T19:33:00.001-07:002015-05-18T17:02:01.242-07:00Morose Max and the Fiery Road Picture<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOwpK329E24ChJnAM2ef0qsDA1KQDldUMz5_QSknJ-hyWDk-P9sPPwvtf309bc0FMTYcht1D04N-h4qPyNm9PRCqSobWGdXclRFKFu74H-IpdBLtC-fnBCtQc4i1lVf1nXYO0fzvy98c/s1600/Mad_Max_Fury_Road_-_San_Diego_Comic_Con_2014_First_Look_Trailer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtOwpK329E24ChJnAM2ef0qsDA1KQDldUMz5_QSknJ-hyWDk-P9sPPwvtf309bc0FMTYcht1D04N-h4qPyNm9PRCqSobWGdXclRFKFu74H-IpdBLtC-fnBCtQc4i1lVf1nXYO0fzvy98c/s400/Mad_Max_Fury_Road_-_San_Diego_Comic_Con_2014_First_Look_Trailer.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="_5pbx userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">
<br />
Who would have thought?<br />
<br />
Who would have thought that a 70-year-old Australian filmmaker with merely a dozen features to his name (and whose only work over the past two decades has been family-oriented fare) reviving a 30-year-old franchise with a new actor in the lead role (whereas the original actor was made an international superstar by said series) telling the most minimal of stories and using primarily practical effects (mostly just augmented by CGI rather than leaning on it) and a lot of impressive physical stunts, would be the one to swoop in here in the year 2015 and take the Hollywood summer movie season by storm?<br />
<br />
Well, it happened.<br />
<br />
George Miller's <i>Mad Max Fury Road</i> is a refreshing return to a style of filmmaking we hardly see anymore. It doesn't really show us anything new. It shows us something old and that, in itself, is new. It is a grand, glorious, in-your-face action extravaganza that is breathtakingly thrilling and visually spectacular. It has charmed the critics (earning an almost unprecedented 99% on rottentomatoes) and is sure to make tons of money. It is going to be the movie to beat this summer.<br />
<br />
Tom Hardy steps into the role of Max Rockatansky, the former police officer from a post-apocalyptic world where the main treasures are oil and water, who, following the death of his wife and child (glimpsed here only in the briefest of hallucinatory flashbacks), has become an amoral wanderer in a desolate wasteland, living only for survival and trying desperately to outrun his past. The story of this latest entry is pretty simple. Indeed, it is not only virtually identical to the previous two
films but to just about every lone stranger/gunslinger western you've ever seen (Max is like a futuristic incarnation of Eastwood's mysterious "man with no name"; he rides in, helps a group of people with a problem and rides out). This time he reluctantly aids a small group of women led by the warrior Furiosa (the splendid Charlize Theron) who are trying to escape their despotic "husband" that uses them to breed heirs to his "kingdom." That's it. It is the thinnest of premises upon which Miller
builds what is essentially a two-hour chase film (Miller himself has called it that) and yet somehow the distilled-down-to-its-bare-essence plot makes for an even more powerful cinematic experience. There is no complexity here. There is no depth. There are no gray areas. There is very little dialogue (especially from the lead). What there is are good guys and bad guys locking horns (sometimes literally) in the middle of the desert at 90 mph. It is an intense visceral experience
uncompromising in its power and passion. It is pure cinema made by a director who, despite his age, seems to be at the top of his form. It is an unapologetic summer blockbuster and as such should be seen where it deserves to be seen: on the big screen.<br />
<br />
I really only have one minor quibble with it and that is in the casting of the lead. I have liked Tom Hardy in just about everything I've seen him in so far, but here he is somewhat... dull. One could argue that the character of Max doesn't necessarily give an actor much to work with, but I can't help but feel that someone else might have been able to do a little more with it. Hardy is physically capable and not underwhelming to the point that he detracts from the rest of the film, but at times when he is supposed to be brooding he looks kind of tired and on those rare occasions when he does speak, he just sounds a bit flat. In a film that is so relentlessly energetic, it is strange to have at its center an individual who is relatively lifeless. I've never thought that Mel Gibson was an especially great actor, but when one looks back at what he did with the same character, one sees there is perhaps more subtlety and nuance in his performance than he has been given credit for. Gibson's Max always seemed angry, like he was on the verge of unleashing that inner "madness" at any moment. There was a real rage behind his eyes (due, at least in part perhaps, to the inner demons the actor himself was battling) and this made his silent stoicism all the more electrifying and his acting out, when he did finally release all that pent up aggression in those stunning and violent action scenes, all the more palpable. Mel's Max was truly mad. Hardy's Max seems more... morose.<br />
<br />
However, <i>Fury Road</i> is so excellent that, to a degree it doesn't really matter who plays Max. It could have been Gerard Butler
for all the difference it would have made (and indeed in some shots it almost looks like Butler). The reason to see the movie is not for the psychological/emotional depth of the protagonist or the sheer charisma (or lack thereof) of its lead actor. It is for the raw, kinetic filmmaking that Miller has brought back to an industry that was sadly needing it. Highly recommended.</div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4nIPGOv7gt0FyebcGCZKlgfDtIRbwcfcwMM3v2qgI3iSSPB993OvXz-9LlZAFlB_5cqlH5SwynkVzYdFKOmlHFtaisd4HoMG8nShw51OkYWwd-7xdA-JbrsshvotZerxK0MfoOZDoo38/s1600/MM_Mel_dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4nIPGOv7gt0FyebcGCZKlgfDtIRbwcfcwMM3v2qgI3iSSPB993OvXz-9LlZAFlB_5cqlH5SwynkVzYdFKOmlHFtaisd4HoMG8nShw51OkYWwd-7xdA-JbrsshvotZerxK0MfoOZDoo38/s400/MM_Mel_dog.jpg" /></a></div>
Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-84891102809474230922015-04-30T20:33:00.000-07:002015-04-30T20:34:34.050-07:00Moses Supposes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwSyfpZ0y03ME2Xz2E8D6Z57IhEfHwJMolmWKSEhgivGgdMKrCSNw0VjHUXFP-vtynJzVuPlBZnydh2WZLgA3tmwR0z-W2O-YGp24r4NzWP1vyqckHEkWezknaIPOdUbI7o-WV8_lr5-s/s1600/screen-shot-2012-07-07-at-11-56-54-am.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwSyfpZ0y03ME2Xz2E8D6Z57IhEfHwJMolmWKSEhgivGgdMKrCSNw0VjHUXFP-vtynJzVuPlBZnydh2WZLgA3tmwR0z-W2O-YGp24r4NzWP1vyqckHEkWezknaIPOdUbI7o-WV8_lr5-s/s400/screen-shot-2012-07-07-at-11-56-54-am.png" /></a></div>
<br />
There's a brief moment I love in the Dreamworks animated film <i>The Prince of Egypt</i> where Moses encounters the burning bush and is told to remove his sandals because he stands on holy ground. As Moses glances downward he notices a collection of tiny pebbles between his feet rolling away from the bush on their own. That image reminds me of the statement Jesus makes upon entering Jerusalem where he responds to the Pharisees entreaty to silence the singing crowd by saying, "If they were to be quiet, the stones would cry out." I've always kind of felt like that is what the little rocks beneath Moses are doing at that moment. They, through the action of their removing themselves from the holy ground, are declaring their creator, Yahweh, as their authority. Ironically, they, as mere rocks, are naturally showing more deference to the God of the universe than a living, breathing, thinking human being is doing. It's a wonderfully ironic and poignant image and it takes up about two seconds of screen time.<br />
<br />
I mention that scene only because after (finally) viewing Ridley Scott's <i>Exodus: Gods and Kings</i> earlier today, I couldn't help but notice that there were no scenes that inspired a similar sense of wonder or reflection. There were no moments that illuminated anything new for me about this age-old story. There were no insights into the character of Moses, Pharoah or God that made it an especially compelling experience. I felt like I was simply watching a darker, grittier and -- because of all the CGI -- more expensive telling of the tale. The performances are fine I guess (Sigourney Weaver is utterly wasted with, I swear, like two lines in the entire film) but the characters are pretty bland. Scott, as usual, does the spectacle well (the most impressive sequence being, as it tends to be in these movies, the climactic Red Sea crossing), but at 2 1/2 hours, the film, which is about an hour longer than the animated feature and about an hour shorter than the De Mille classic <i>The Ten Commandments</i>, felt longer than both combined, focusing a lot of attention on mundane details that, frankly, seem unimportant (the freed Isrealites traveling through the desert with Pharaoh in pursuit takes up about ten minutes of screen time and devotes a lot of attention to the minutiae of their being tracked, misleading the army, etc) but glosses over other things that could've been more fleshed out (Moses meets Tzipporah for the first time and then a scene later is marrying her; <i>Prince of Egypt</i>, at least, showed their courtship in a song/montage). <br />
<br />
Just to be clear, I am not one of those Christians who expects cinematic adaptations of biblical stories to be obsessively faithful to the text. I might disagree with them, but I am not angered by the suggestion that Moses might have been insane and that his conversations with God were delusions (indeed, other films before this one have hinted at such a possibility, but in a more subtle and ambiguous way), I don't take issue with depicting God as a petulant, British boy with -- as my dad said -- a bad haircut, or I am not offended by the implication that a number of the miraculous events that occurred could have actually resulted from natural phenomena (I actually don't have a problem with that, although I noticed that the film conveniently sidesteps Moses turning his staff
into a serpent). I recognize that these are works of art and, as such, are expressions of the filmmakers' own ideas and worldviews. The Pietà says more about Michelangelo than it does about Mary or Jesus. <br />
<br />
I just expect that they be interesting and/or provide me with something substantial to think about regarding the account in question. <i>Ten Commandments</i> did that. <i>Prince of Egypt</i> did that. Heck, even Darren Aranofsky's <i>Noah</i> did that. Alas, <i>Exodus</i>, though it is stunning to look at, does not. It commits the ultimate movie sin not of being blasphemous, but of being dull.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCPu3GI9rZVu25gIDuYTfe1QjBIdnD_Jy0wjxR-EbW2dR5sIHQ1o4VN2beU_PsnKiTX_e4Rip_4-vgSwKJnnoK-WG369sPRNYYkYCIN1VVQfiCSTo1AxCZM2YRTPfm3I8Bx-9g6_llriY/s1600/exodus-red-sea.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCPu3GI9rZVu25gIDuYTfe1QjBIdnD_Jy0wjxR-EbW2dR5sIHQ1o4VN2beU_PsnKiTX_e4Rip_4-vgSwKJnnoK-WG369sPRNYYkYCIN1VVQfiCSTo1AxCZM2YRTPfm3I8Bx-9g6_llriY/s400/exodus-red-sea.jpg" /></a></div>
Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-86821046077685864572015-02-10T00:31:00.002-08:002015-02-10T00:34:22.964-08:00"Wick-ed" Action<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV5ZUPxb77k31IVyIYXCBd_O8shXVdTOuNkofbdtHlJ9KAvY-6hR-l32SPLI5YLYCHyPwazyhnWyV2euHJqNWEvoU9cuR1GK477CY7gBtVe2wvoE9rM0PtXnzROAgwkzWEqQqXVRxGVOY/s1600/johnwick2a1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV5ZUPxb77k31IVyIYXCBd_O8shXVdTOuNkofbdtHlJ9KAvY-6hR-l32SPLI5YLYCHyPwazyhnWyV2euHJqNWEvoU9cuR1GK477CY7gBtVe2wvoE9rM0PtXnzROAgwkzWEqQqXVRxGVOY/s1600/johnwick2a1.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Take <i>Unforgiven, Road to Perdition</i> and <i>The Professiona</i>l, roll them
all together, remove any depth and/or substance, add a rock soundtrack, a
bluish/greenish tint to everything and, last but not least, stick Keanu
Reeves and a cute little canine in the middle of it all and you end up
with <i>John Wick</i>, a flashy, slickly produced and at times surprisingly
funny action flick that doesn't have one single original idea in his
head and yet still manages to be highly entertaining nonet<span class="text_exposed_show">heless.</span> Reeves plays the titular character, a former hit man grieving over the
recent death of his wife (for whom he retired) whose newly acquired
puppy, a final gift from his beloved, is killed by some burglars who
break into his house one night to steal his car. The rest of the movie
is him seeking revenge on these lowlifes, one of whom is the son a
prominent Russian mobster.<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
<br />
That's it. That's the whole plot.<br />
<br />
I liked <i>John Wick</i> and partly because of its very simplicity. It is, in a
way, a very honest and straightforward action picture. It understands
that whatever plot or narrative it does have is really just an excuse to
stage some kick ass action scenes. There's no elaborate conspiracy, no
drug deal gone wrong, no corrupt socio-political system that the
protagonist has to break up, etc. An ex-assassin's dog is killed and he
wants to take down the guys that did it. That's all. Naturally in
the process he has to dispatch every anonymous bad guy that gets in his
way (seriously, he must kill at least 50 people over the course of this
movie) in some exciting and extremely well choreographed -- not to
mention comprehensibly shot and cut -- action sequences. It's refreshing
to see a movie where the camera remains on the action for a while such
that you can actually see what is happening and to whom (not as long as
Soderbergh's <i>Haywire</i>, but still, relatively speaking, a long time) as
opposed to most action movies nowadays which are shot with shaky cam and
cut to within an inch of their life. Reeves, who still has his
limitations as an actor, is really quite impressive (what is he now,
50?) as he appears to do a lot of his own stuntwork and is really rather
agile in a very physically demanding role.<br />
<br />
Yes, all of the
action movie tropes and cliches are here (a fun drinking game would be
to take a sip every time you see a helicopter shot of the city at night;
even if you made it to the end of the movie, the final credits would do
you in) and there isn't much to linger long in the memory after seeing
it, but so what? It's still a fun ride.</div>
Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-44645010726541357982015-02-04T03:26:00.001-08:002015-05-18T15:51:58.625-07:00Stick Figure CinemaDespite not having written anything for my blog in a long time (sorry about that), 2015 is still shaping up to be a pretty exciting year for me cinema-wise. I have <b>just </b>started a new venture wherein I produce short YouTube videos (done entirely on the animation app on my phone) that recreate scenes from great movies using only stick figures. I call it "Stick Figure Cinema" (SFC) and I have already completed three entries.
<br />
<br />
<i><b>SE7EN
</b></i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /><iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/_No9glMIGNU/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_No9glMIGNU?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><b>Fargo</b></i><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /><iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/-5ZH0cphMyw/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-5ZH0cphMyw?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<i><b>Raiders of the Lost Ark</b></i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /><iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/i70ihENC7wE/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/i70ihENC7wE?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
Stay tuned. More to come.Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-44036399360109542562014-08-23T00:10:00.000-07:002014-08-23T23:22:55.424-07:00The Greatest Film I've Ever Seen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJf2Iq7xwvMwkz83XLe6pjit3-AddSZax_pkLHUyYpVjD_fiJsEaBUi1WHzGFkcCaJj5omTLuhgOe2hxs76yB4nsbwDwT7H4p-EX59iwrk_gtNzVh_JeFlQ_HLrZrQQYGhSiVtvZayI9c/s1600/sltitle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJf2Iq7xwvMwkz83XLe6pjit3-AddSZax_pkLHUyYpVjD_fiJsEaBUi1WHzGFkcCaJj5omTLuhgOe2hxs76yB4nsbwDwT7H4p-EX59iwrk_gtNzVh_JeFlQ_HLrZrQQYGhSiVtvZayI9c/s400/sltitle.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>The following is a post I wrote several years ago when I was a regular contributor to Edward's Copeland's Tangents. I am re-posting it here for the <b>Spielberg Blog-a-thon</b> (hosted by Kellee of <a href="http://kelleepratt.com/2014/08/22/the-spielberg-blogathon-weekend-theyre-here/">Outspoken & Freckled</a> and Michael of <a href="http://le0pard13.com/">It Rains, You Get Wet</a>) because I still stand by it.
</i><br />
<br />
<br />
The phrase "I know it when I see it," uttered by Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart regarding pornography, is an expression that, at one time or another, we've probably all heard used to encapsulate the frustration of failing to define something whose basic nature seems otherwise unexplainable. I mention it only because I've been wondering lately if art isn't also like that. It is nigh impossible to define and/or analyze a great work of art to such a degree that the elements that make it timeless and brilliant can be adequately determined, nor a basic "formula" be found. It's like the color yellow. You can't really define it. You have to just point at it and say, "See that? That's it." When I think of some of the works of art that I consider to be among the greatest ever created — Shakespeare's <i>Hamlet</i>, Mozart's "Requiem," Vermeer's "Girl With a Pearl Earring" — I find myself struggling to find the proper words to capture their greatness. In the end, I can't really articulate what makes them great. I have to just point it out to others and see who "gets it" and who doesn't. Well, this piece that I am writing for the "Spielberg Blog-a-thon" is about a film that I think falls into that category.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5oKh7s8LqMcrto7Zxkzs4kAiloHv0KBqldWNAUIJ6kbHsalpLtwXjzdECfZLfLZbMmq4_HJFsjqUpo-stvzUu6gCx2RvTkuu5BFM0OnFfhdU9652u0DP3tDsOkV4B7BZQJpGoq7ZFrWE/s1600/1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5oKh7s8LqMcrto7Zxkzs4kAiloHv0KBqldWNAUIJ6kbHsalpLtwXjzdECfZLfLZbMmq4_HJFsjqUpo-stvzUu6gCx2RvTkuu5BFM0OnFfhdU9652u0DP3tDsOkV4B7BZQJpGoq7ZFrWE/s320/1a.jpg" /></a></div>
To be clear, I realize how absurd it is for any individual to declare a particular film the "greatest ever made," because there's just no way that anybody can possibly know that (unless maybe they've seen every film ever made...which, of course, nobody has). However, I do think that a person can make a definitive statement about the greatest film that he/she has ever seen (based on whatever criteria he/she wishes to use). Nevertheless, you would be hard-pressed to find a cinephile who's willing to commit to such a monumental claim (the most you might get out of them is their personal "favorite" film, but even that is rare). Why is this? Well, my theory is twofold: first off, they know that their pick could change with the very next film they watch and secondly, they are well-aware of the fact that it's really just a subjective opinion which says more about them than it does about the film itself. I myself possessed this reluctance for the longest time. Whenever I was asked what my favorite film was (or, even more rarely, what was the best film I'd ever seen), I hemmed and hawed for a while, throwing out several disclaimers and mentioning a list of about eight or nine films that could qualify for that honor. <br />
<br />
Over the years, though, I have found myself returning to one film over and over again: the film that had a profound impact on its director, on the culture at large and on me personally (as a cinephile certainly but also as a human being). It was the film I held up as the standard by which to measure all other films. It was the film I thought of whenever anyone spoke of "cinematic high art" or how the motion picture medium could achieve its true potential. I would discover new and profound truths contained within its frames every time I watched it. Far from diminishing in quality with each viewing, it actually improved in my eyes. I finally had to admit the truth to myself. This is the greatest film I've ever seen and probably ever will see.<br />
<br />
It's Steven Spielberg's masterpiece <i>Schindler's List</i>.<br />
<br />
I first heard of Spielberg's "Holocaust flick" in the summer of 1993 when I was reading an issue of Entertainment Weekly. I was flipping through their "Winter Movie Preview" section when I turned the page and saw the photograph seen below of Liam Neeson as Oskar Schindler addressing "his" Jews staring back at me. I knew who Spielberg was because I had grown up
with <i>E.T.</i> and the Indiana Jones adventures and had only recently become interested in him again because of the movies Hook and <i>Jurassic Park</i>. Like a lot of people at the time, my reaction was one of confusion and skepticism. This did not seem like the kind of film that Spielberg was typically known for. Could he pull it off or would it be a failure on a
massive scale? I was curious to say the least.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNi1XAlp6bNDx1NIjBBnPByEcYQP9z7T6CYxDKzPRFDMFrCO9QUKzRltJBVZkrnVaOe4kO3tk73MVZ7PQPpDDc6hUBtCBLhgDSjFPUxJCwJgu3Hd5dVtrz14vq1ehJ5Hvixfoq9nPD1ak/s1600/slimagw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNi1XAlp6bNDx1NIjBBnPByEcYQP9z7T6CYxDKzPRFDMFrCO9QUKzRltJBVZkrnVaOe4kO3tk73MVZ7PQPpDDc6hUBtCBLhgDSjFPUxJCwJgu3Hd5dVtrz14vq1ehJ5Hvixfoq9nPD1ak/s400/slimagw.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
When the film was eventually released during the winter of my senior year in high school, I went with my dad to the movie theater on Ninth Street in Corvallis, Ore. to see it. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. I knew the film was going to be serious. I knew it was going to be heavy and, not least of all, I knew it was going to be very violent, but I also had a sense that it was going to be worth seeing. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was at a crucial point in my development as a cinephile. I had always loved movies, but I approached them primarily as a form of entertainment. The idea that they could also function as a means of artistic expression was a concept I was only beginning to become vaguely familiar with (prompted especially by a film history class, led by my good friend Tucker Teague, which I had recently attended). Needless to say, I was also moving rapidly toward a major crossroad in everyone's life. I was 17 years old. Graduation was just around the corner and I was preparing to leave home and head off to college to try and figure out who I was and make something of myself. All this served as the context for my introduction to the film and may even help to partially explain why the film had such a big impact on me.<br />
<br />
When the lights went down and the movie started, I was actually bewildered at first because I had understood that the entire film was in black-and-white. What I was seeing was in color. A hand was striking a match and lighting some candles. A Jewish family was gathered around a table in a small room celebrating the Sabbath. The patriarch was singing something in a language I didn't understand. Was this a mistake? Were my dad and I in the wrong movie? Soon the family faded from the scene (though the song/prayer could still be heard) but the candles were left behind. As one shot dissolved into the next, clearly signifying the passing of time, the candles burned further and further down (this also was when the main title appeared on the screen indicating to me that this was indeed <i>Schindler's List</i>, though I was still somewhat confused). Finally, the camera showed only a solitary candle with the flame about to burn itself out. I didn't notice it then but the candle and the background were already in black and white. Only the tiny flicker of flame was still in color. The flame soon extinguished and the resulting thin streak of smoke that flowed upward from it was followed by the camera. A train whistle was suddenly heard and the movie cut to a cloud of thick, gray smoke that poured forth from the smokestack of a locomotive. Now the film was completely in black-and-white and I knew I was in the right movie.<br />
<br />
The greatest films have openings that are unforgettable. <i>The Godfather </i>has that wonderfully slow zoom-out with the heartbroken father seated in a dark room relaying his tale of woe to a mysterious figure ("I believe in America."). <i>Citizen Kane </i>has the magnificent montage of shots of that fortress Xanadu which culminates in a single whispered word ("Rosebud.") and a shattered snow globe. <i>Schindler's List </i>has the sequence I just described. There is so much going on just in that brief collection of sounds and images (Spielberg's symbolic use of color and its lack thereof, the imagery of the candles being snuffed out and the ensuing smoke, etc) that I could write the rest of my piece on it alone. Suffice it to say that from that opening, I already was engaged by the film. Indeed, I was captivated and that sensation never let up for the next three hours and 14 minutes (during which I wept a couple times). When it was completely over and the lights came up I noticed that most of the people who were in the theater with us also were still sitting there, dumbfounded. We all looked like we'd been sucker-punched. Slowly and silently, everyone started to get up and walk out including my father and I. As we often do, we talked about the movie in the car, though I don't remember much of what we discussed. What I do remember is his
taking me by Fred Meyer on the way home and purchasing the film's soundtrack for me because among the many things that stood out to both of us was John Williams' sad, but achingly beautiful, musical score.
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihket5n3apIWlr8Z71q7SU0oz-DwoC-e6IvZQAS_bu0t-HOv0AzJV_L5V31bTCQrcH_B6PP6YWQedC2jd3jy2pPr4VQWFRtAqxXFIbdelMWTDWlROdt3Ra8xgtYbGVEV1k4r0Aret23nk/s1600/schindlersList4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihket5n3apIWlr8Z71q7SU0oz-DwoC-e6IvZQAS_bu0t-HOv0AzJV_L5V31bTCQrcH_B6PP6YWQedC2jd3jy2pPr4VQWFRtAqxXFIbdelMWTDWlROdt3Ra8xgtYbGVEV1k4r0Aret23nk/s400/schindlersList4.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Like a lot of folks, my initial reaction to the film was one of shock. I was horrified by what I had seen on screen. I was shaken to the core of my being and consequently couldn't revisit the film for a long time afterward. I just knew that I loved it. It reached me in a way that very few films can or do. I also remember thinking that this was a different kind of movie than most of the other films I had seen...not just in terms of content but in terms of style. My clumsy way of characterizing it back then was to say that it felt "like a foreign film only it was in English; it didn't feel like a Hollywood movie at all." I was also astounded that it had been directed by the same man who was responsible for the movie I had seen only six months earlier that featured giant dinosaurs eating people. "This is not the same man. This can't be the same man," I thought to myself. Nowadays when I watch the film (having in the interim become far more familiar with the subtleties and nuances of Spielberg's general technique), naturally I can see his hand in the execution of this story, but in a sense I was right in my initial reaction. <i>Schindler's List </i>was not helmed by the same Spielberg who did <i>Jaws, E.T</i>. or even his previous serious efforts such as <i>The Color Purple</i> and <i>Empire of the Sun. Schindler </i>represented a major challenge for Spielberg. In bringing this story to the screen, he pushed himself in a way that very few filmmakers ever do. He did so not only technically but emotionally and spiritually as well. He re-connected with something in himself that he had denied for a very long time: his own Judaism. Making <i>Schindler's List </i>changed Steven Spielberg just as watching it changed me.<br />
<br />
Although controversy has always surrounded <i>Schindler's List</i>, I myself wasn't aware of most of it upon its release. All I heard was praise for the film. This was probably just as well since my passionate love for the film would've blinded me to anything negative anyone would've said about it. As the years have gone on, and I've watched it numerous more times as well as familiarized myself with the various writings on it, I feel I am in a better position to understand and appreciate the problems that people have with it (David Mamet famously called it "emotional pornography"). I could acknowledge that <i>Schindler's List </i>may not be a "perfect" film (if such a thing even exists), but as the great Pauline Kael (who, incidentally, did not care for the film) once said, "Great movies are rarely perfect movies." There may be legitimate criticisms of <i>Schindler's List</i>, but they are not significant enough to undermine the overall greatness of the finished product. If <i>Schindler</i> missteps occasionally it does so because it reaches higher than most other films dare to. I've long thought it's better to strive for greatness and "fail" than aim for mediocrity and succeed.<br />
<br />
I could talk at some length about the true story that the film represents, but by this point everyone already knows it. I could also go on and on about how impressive the film is in all of its technical areas (the stunning cinematography by Janusz Kaminski, the aforementioned music score by John Williams, the impeccable screenplay by Steven Zaillian, the striking editing by Michael Kahn, the excellent performances by all of the actors, etc) but since this piece is already getting too long I am going to conclude by attempting to explain not only why the film means so much to me personally but why I feel it belongs in the pantheon of the greatest art ever fashioned by humans. To those who have heard me expound on this subject before, some of this might sound a little familiar. <br />
<br />
<i>Schindler's List </i>is more than just a Holocaust movie. Like all great works of art it transcends its subject matter. It is a meditation on the extremes to which we human beings can go. Not only is its depiction of human darkness, brutality and evil (as personified by the psychotic Nazi officer Amon Goeth) the most honest I have ever seen, but its portrayal of human goodness, courage and nobility (as represented in the complex, but ultimately righteous, person of Oskar Schindler) is the most compelling I have ever experienced. Rarely does a film so successfully highlight both the best and worst of humanity simultaneously. Like most Holocaust movies it doesn't shy away from showing the cruelty and inhumanity of the atrocities that the Nazis inflicted, but it also dares to depict the love, mercy and compassion that many exercised in the midst of so much bleakness and tragedy. <i>Schindler's List </i>not only opened my eyes to what cinema is capable of (particularly in how it can dramatize a serious subject with passion and dignity while still reaching a massive audience), but it also made me want to be a better human being (how many films can you say that about?). As I told someone
recently, I would rather be inspired by goodness than merely repulsed by evil. <i>Schindler's List </i>does both. Like the film's opening sequence, it is more about lighting a candle than cursing the darkness.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWG9w7pzjRXVuxUeT1WzUa_IrVLy7TwZ2m0ztOcTUbISczJQiEVOTv9t-AJUHKv4t7cAIvVLW6cg2neRnFJ8pIec9ke-l7eS5pP0vGcnnsofkH949ZuLNqJe2kqcuJEkWUwPFetGbm9a0/s1600/SchindlersListBoy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWG9w7pzjRXVuxUeT1WzUa_IrVLy7TwZ2m0ztOcTUbISczJQiEVOTv9t-AJUHKv4t7cAIvVLW6cg2neRnFJ8pIec9ke-l7eS5pP0vGcnnsofkH949ZuLNqJe2kqcuJEkWUwPFetGbm9a0/s400/SchindlersListBoy.jpg" /></a></div>
Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-86378204287802626872014-08-13T19:33:00.001-07:002014-08-14T01:42:00.756-07:00Turtles on Steroids<center>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6bVDfbvqAUl1z6N2d6ZWlC_XA2aexSvCi1Ay-F6yvdvUhtB1M7JA74YSm8ISsiKIIl2WNeA085IyeGfgvySNCkbC2yYiEd83KzvVvC7GUDK29DRw5jTuTpHBwjFvimkUKywlAqgHJm0/s1600/tmnt-elevator.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6bVDfbvqAUl1z6N2d6ZWlC_XA2aexSvCi1Ay-F6yvdvUhtB1M7JA74YSm8ISsiKIIl2WNeA085IyeGfgvySNCkbC2yYiEd83KzvVvC7GUDK29DRw5jTuTpHBwjFvimkUKywlAqgHJm0/s400/tmnt-elevator.jpg" /></a></center>
<br />
I've been mildly curious, though extremely skeptical, since I heard of the new <i>Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles</i> movie (and despite my vow never again to watch another Michael Bay-directed film, the fact that he merely produced this one provided a convenient loophole). I was in Jr. High when they first became huge, so I was the perfect age to be into them (although I remember my first introduction was in fifth grade when my comic book fanatic friend Merlin Carson showed me a role-playing game book cover and based on the title alone I was incredulous; "This will never catch on," I actually said). The film's miserable critical reception -- 20% on rottentomatoes -- almost dissuaded me, but if there's anything I learned from last summer's <i>Lone Ranger</i>, it's that if a movie looks at all interesting to you, even if it is universally reviled, you should see it and decide for yourself. So, I saw and it and I decided for myself.<br />
<br />
Probably the best thing to be said for this new <i>TMNT</i> is that it is not nearly the disaster it could have been. It is, for the most part, pretty harmless junk, neither offending nor engaging. Brad Keefe said, "It isn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Mind you, it isn't good. It isn't even 'so bad it's good.' It's just there. I wish it was better. Or worse." Well, I don't necessarily wish it was worse, but I can sympathize with his indifference.<br />
<br />
Naturally I still have my issues. I don't like the design of these new turtles. First off, I could never really get over their new nostrils. They just bug me. Secondly, in trying to make them appear "cooler" to today's audiences, the filmmakers have adorned their bodies/shells with perepheranlai (sunglasses, necklaces, etc) making them look like a cross between military grunts and homeless people. The cobbled-together nature of it makes a kind of sense I guess, but it ends up just looking cluttered. I miss the sleekness and simplicity of the characters' looks from the old cartoon and movies (where they were distinguished only by their weapons and the color of their masks). The surfer-speak has been understandably dropped (though replaced with a hip-hop/gangta lingo) and the turtles have also been made taller and more muscular. These are more intense, agressive incarnations of these characters. Grittier and edgier heroes in a halfshell for a darker, more cynical youth. At least they got their personalities and inter-relationships right. Leonardo is still the leader and constantly butting heads with the rebellious Raphael. Donatello is still the techno-geek and Michelangelo the laid-back one. My favorite moments were probably when the turtles had to work together, the themes of family loyalty and teamwork having always been one of the most appealing elements of these stories for me. I also liked the elevator gag.<br />
<br />
The non-reptilian characters in this whole affair are pretty forgettable. Nowhere is there a human with the charisma and screen presence of Judith Hoag or Elias Koteas. The always reliable William Fichtner (who was also in <i>Lone Ranger</i>) comes the closest to actually being interesting. Whoopi Goldberg and Will Arnett are wasted while Megan Fox -- and I realize this is not exactly breaking news -- is really a bad actress and embarrasses herself in just about every scene. The turtles' nemesis, the Shredder, is barely a human character as he spends most of the film in his now bulked-up, servo-assisted suit (which eerily resembles the Silver Samurai from last year's <i>Wolverine</i>) and becomes fully CGI as soon as he starts fighting in a wildly animated manner. This is typical of the kind of excess displayed in a film that thinks more is better. Everything is on steroids.
<br />
<br />
With one exception, the action sequences are fairly ho-hum, although director Jonathan Liebseman seems to possess a bit more of an appreciation for spatial coherence than his producer. The one scene I found enjoyable and, dare I say it, even a bit exciting was the chase down the snowy mountainside.<br />
<br />
Finally, while they wisely abandoned the lame alien idea (there is even a line of dialogue in the film acknowledging so), their changes to the backstory are not exactly improvements. The turtles and Splinter (voiced here by Tony Shalhoub) are now subjects in a mutation experiment who were saved from a laboratory fire by a young April O'Neil and dumped down a sewer. This sacrifices one of the aspects of the turtles' origin story I always liked (and demonstrates a growing trend in superhero/comic book adaptations that I don't like): namely, the seeming randomness of their genesis. Like the rebooted <i>Spider-man</i> franchise (from which this movie basically steals its plot/climax), the turtles are no longer just victims of circumstances whose transformations result from a freak accident (they stumbled on a broken cannister leaking a radioactive ooze). Call me nit-picky, but I miss the days when heroes were created through chance. I don't want Peter Parker to be the only guy who, through genetic pre-determination, could possibly have become Spider-man. I want his being bitten by the super-spider to be a coincidence and his decision of how to use his newfound powers to be what makes him a hero. That is more compelling to me. Same with Batman. I've always preferred the idea that Bruce Wayne's parents were gunned down by some anonymous hood who disappears rather than them being assassinated as part of a big conspiracy. What happened to the days when an ordinary schmoe (or turtle) was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and was struck by lightning or hit by a meteorite or encountered toxic waste or survived an explosion or something? Why do their heroic births always have to result from design now (I mean, obviously from a storyteller's perspective it's by design, but I am talking about within the universe of the story itself)? I miss those days.<br />
<br />
Oh, and rather than being the pet of a Chinese master from whom he learns the martial arts, Splinter teaches himself ninjitsu from an abandoned book and passes the knowledge on to his "sons." I know expecting realism is futile in a movie featuring six-foot talking turtles, but that just struck me as really stupid and lazy.<br />
<br />
In the end, I didn't hate this <i>Turtles,</i> even thought it is mostly devoid of the charm and self-awareness that made most previous incarnations amusing... especially the live-action 1990 film (featuring those remarkable suits designed by Jim Henson's creature shop) which for my money is still the best Turtles movie to date. The kids in the theatre where I saw this one, however, seemed to like it. Cowabunga, dude.<br />
<br />
<center>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUxCdavcmN0VoFNNrDMZ87vN_eFS2eF_IK0I_LMz-2Q0axT1S0cvJ_S1pHPE5nF_CF3ZX5YcMd0L4fIYkHKFcaCqLCB-3N1cY2XPFWbSx8DDNk3ND1VG4vMKjbGsRZ95LcYMqkbcqMijg/s1600/TMNT1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUxCdavcmN0VoFNNrDMZ87vN_eFS2eF_IK0I_LMz-2Q0axT1S0cvJ_S1pHPE5nF_CF3ZX5YcMd0L4fIYkHKFcaCqLCB-3N1cY2XPFWbSx8DDNk3ND1VG4vMKjbGsRZ95LcYMqkbcqMijg/s400/TMNT1.jpg" /></a></div>
</center>
Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-11932115858726924362014-06-18T12:45:00.003-07:002014-06-19T17:47:00.547-07:00Me and HER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIT2JuqHZGRVtSDDh8mWa-sZ4hA_9VSqFMW6VZ7Uf-kibWnuTJuoRbCzIcU89NFw5li_7Vd9bfMi3BCh_fiAjxMXZdz9DLpEisnfCNdE36KmMWR9P-nK01RKobKTut_eowXLYPCIqnGVI/s1600/Her+Joaquin+Phoenix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIT2JuqHZGRVtSDDh8mWa-sZ4hA_9VSqFMW6VZ7Uf-kibWnuTJuoRbCzIcU89NFw5li_7Vd9bfMi3BCh_fiAjxMXZdz9DLpEisnfCNdE36KmMWR9P-nK01RKobKTut_eowXLYPCIqnGVI/s400/Her+Joaquin+Phoenix.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Most people don't know this about me -- not because I've made a secret of it (I'm not ashamed or embarrassed or anything like that; it's certainly not the stigma that it used to be), it just rarely comes up -- but I met my wife online.<br />
<br />
It wasn't through eharmony or some other dating website, but through the Internet Movie Database. That's right. Years ago when I worked at the video store in Oregon, I spent a lot of time on the IMDB message boards discussing movies with total strangers. Amidst all the various conversations, Kristin and I each found the other fun and interesting. We became Myspace friends (that's how long ago this was), corresponded individually and subsequently graduated to talking on the phone. Eventually we became really good friends (chatting sometimes for up to eight hours straight). I looked forward to receiving a private message from her or hearing my phone ring and knowing it was her. After several years of this, the big step came when I flew out to Indiana where she was attending school and spent a week with her. It was a great week and it cemented something that I had known already for a while... I loved her. Somewhere along the way I fell in love with her (and she with me, thankfully) and within a couple years of that trip we were married and have been ever since. We'll be celebrating five years this August.<br />
<br />
I mention my unusual courtship to illustrate that I am only too familiar with the phenomenon of being attracted to someone without ever actually having met them in person. I had a few photos of Kristin but otherwise she was a personality without a body, a voice over the phone, a collection of words on a screen... and yet I still loved her. After we became a couple we still had to stay separated for months at a time as we lived 2,000 miles apart, so our interactions over the phone became the sum and substance of our relationship. We did things "together" (watching the same movie on DVD simultaneously, going for a walk somewhere, etc) but, aside from a weekend every few months where one of us would fly out to see the other, we never occupied the same physical space.<br />
<br />
It is for this reason that the movie <i>Her</i> hits uncomfortably close to home for me.<br />
<br />
For those who may not already know, Spike Jonze's <i>Her</i> takes place in a near (and very plausible) future society where technology has become so advanced that it has drained much of the humanity out of humankind. It is a world both stunningly beautiful and eerily cold. Filmed in Shanghai, the architecture is amazing (and gorgeously rendered by the superb cinematography of <i>Let the Right One In</i>'s Hoyt Van Hoytema) but it's sterile. There is no garbage, seemingly no crime, no hint of the messiness of our common everyday experience and, I must admit, having seen so many dystopian futures in movies, it's a refreshing change (visually the film resembles Andrew Niccol's <i>GATTACA</i>, but with a completely different ominous underbelly). Amongst these flawless towers of glass and concrete, a mass of human beings move in and out, completely isolated from one another. I noticed that in every crowd shot, although we have no sound, people's lips are constantly moving indicating that they are dictating something, talking to another person or, as we will later see, interacting with their operating systems. The story of <i>Her</i> could easily be told -- with very little alteration -- about any one of these people, but it chooses to focus on Theodore (no last name) played by a sweet but pathetic Joquain Phoenix. Theodore is a very sensitive yet socially awkward man who works for an organization that composes hand-written letters on behalf of other people (the term "hand-written" being a misnomer since they are printed on a computer and simply designed to look inscribed... which, of course, is consistent with one of the film's main themes about simulation replacing reality). Theodore's letters are among the company's most emotional and heartfelt, but his love life outside of work is a wreck as he is in the process of divorcing his wife of many years. Theodore purchases a newly invented operating system that is actually sentient (a "female" entity that dubs herself Samantha and who sounds a lot like Scarlett Johanssen) and soon forms an attachment to it/her. Interestingly, that attachment is returned by Samantha and soon love blossoms between them. However, as I learned myself from falling in love with a disembodied voice, difficulty soon follows as both members become dissatisfied with the nature of the relationship and want... more.<br />
<br />
The conceit is a simple but brilliant one. Similar concepts have been explored before but in my experience not with quite the same brutal honesty and startling vulnerability that <i>Her</i> does. Some have likened it to Michel Gondry's <i>Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind</i> (another melancholy sci-fi love story) and the comparison is apt, but I was actually reminded more of a different film, a strange but soulful little work called <i>Lars and the Real Girl</i> where Ryan Gosling plays another sensitive but awkward loner who forms a "relationship" with a blow-up doll and his whole community, out of sympathy for him, participates in the act. Both films focus on unusual romances between lonely men and the objects (and I emphasize the word objects) of their affection. Both premises seem like potential fodder for some pretty outrageous comedy but in fact neither film is especially funny... nor is trying to be. Although they certainly have their moments (one such sequence being Theodore's phone sex encounter with a bizarrely disturbed woman -- hilariously voiced by Kristen Wiig -- early in the film*), their general tone instead is one of sadness. They seem to be lamenting the absurd lengths to which human beings will go to simply form some kind of a "connection" that feels meaningful and they are posing the question of whether such connections are even possible the more reliant upon technology we become (i.e. as things move further away from the real and toward the virtual).<br />
<br />
<i>(*Note: The disastrous phone sex sequence is contrasted by a later scene where Theodore has sex with Samantha and it is a much sweeter, more intimate encounter. Jonze signals the difference by cutting to a black screen as we simply hear Theodore and Samantha "copulating." It both respects the characters (giving them their "privacy") and also equalizes them in that they both become mere voices in that moment.)</i>
<br />
<br />
I should probably confess up front that outside of that amusing Siri commercial with Marty Scorsese (<i>"Is that
Rick.....? Where's Rick?"</i> <b>"*HERE'S RICK.*"</b> <i>"Nah, that's not Rick."</i>),
I
know virtually nothing about anthropomorphized operating systems. That probably makes me
the ideal audience for this film as I have friends in computer
programming who have serious issues with it. In my mind the
verisimilitude of the artificially intelligent OS is somewhat beside the point. The OS essentially serves as a metaphor, a placeholder for whatever entity we decide to invest ourselves in emotionally. It may require more imagination at certain times, but I was surprised at how much <i>Her</i> suggests the activity of loving someone/thing takes place in our own heads. While watching it I was reminded of the Scottish philosopher David Hume who held that we are unable to make direct contact with (and therefore have no actual knowledge of) reality but we can only make contact with our own ideas (which are derived from impressions formed by sense perception). I began to wonder the same thing about love. When we love someone, are we really loving them or are we just loving the idea of them that exists in our own mind? If the latter, then the degree to which my version of them corresponds to the actual them depends on how much I am willing to change myself to accommodate them. A film like <i>Her</i> manifests that question in an exaggerated but very provocative way.<br />
<br />
Of course, none of these ambitions would mean anything if the film weren't splendidly produced. Spike Jonze's thoughtful writing and confident direction, the aforementioned visuals, the performances by the actors (both Phoenix and Johanssen do phenomenal work) and the bittersweet music score are all top shelf and make the movie's ideas all that more potent.<br />
<br />
Although it took me well into the next year before I saw it, I am tempted to agree with those who call <i>Her</i> the best picture of 2013 (my previous pick being Rick Linklater's <i>Before Midnight</i>, another film about the various difficulties in long-term relationships). I was pleasantly surprised at how much it took the various positives and negatives associated with love (the joys, the miseries, the pettiness, the selfishness, the neuroses, the sacrifices, etc) and put them on the screen in an extremely powerful and evocative way. It made me uncomfortable at times. It was unsettling, but it was a very revealing look at human nature and, not least of all, it made me very grateful for the love I do have in my own life... at least, I think I love my wife. I don't think that I love only the "idea" of her that I've created in my own mind, an idea that first formed back when she was just an anonymous poster on IMDb and which got a bit more nuanced as she became a voice on the phone and eventually a flesh-and-blood person I could hang out with. Maybe I don't actually love Kristin. Maybe I am just, in a way, loving myself.<br />
<br />
<i>*thinks for a moment*</i><br />
<br />
No, I think Hume was wrong. I don't love the idea of my wife. I love her... and I loved <i>Her.</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeHZff6aRXIbe5-Jss_KFq2RlcDb0Q7azGz4zd4u4Iv8dp6VVp6-jKD_urWNWWhigq3zydvmPiUrSEeoLUpLvS1eGx8hjzrRvPeS2ElHglK5PC5Y9qkIOzmXGxivOGdmNZRN2kHHLzd5k/s1600/her.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeHZff6aRXIbe5-Jss_KFq2RlcDb0Q7azGz4zd4u4Iv8dp6VVp6-jKD_urWNWWhigq3zydvmPiUrSEeoLUpLvS1eGx8hjzrRvPeS2ElHglK5PC5Y9qkIOzmXGxivOGdmNZRN2kHHLzd5k/s400/her.jpeg" /></a></div>
Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-76481354274267860612014-04-22T13:48:00.000-07:002014-05-06T17:18:26.159-07:00A Born Loser<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFPw39v_tfjghKGxjdY-HD6h4UdgkMXzUs_K1EuG5dmSX6FvtIvis7tOxLypU04PvjY5jgrNzbcwU499f2vF7glBO5Zpy5219obE5AVL1W6QD64n_YRa0vGXgsk2poXL8ooDgG9ILUswA/s1600/Inside+Llewyn+Davis+Ulysses+Cat.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFPw39v_tfjghKGxjdY-HD6h4UdgkMXzUs_K1EuG5dmSX6FvtIvis7tOxLypU04PvjY5jgrNzbcwU499f2vF7glBO5Zpy5219obE5AVL1W6QD64n_YRa0vGXgsk2poXL8ooDgG9ILUswA/s400/Inside+Llewyn+Davis+Ulysses+Cat.png" /></a></div>
<br />
The Coen brothers love losers.<br />
<br />
I can't believe it took me this long to figure that out, but the Coens clearly have a soft spot in their hearts for individuals who try desperately to achieve success and yet fail. Barton Fink, Larry Gopnik, Ed Crane and even Sheriff Tommy Lee Jones... all characters who reached for something and yet fell short of their goal. Occasionally they make a movie about a "loser" who actually wins (<i>Hudsucker Proxy, True Grit, O Brother Where Art Thou</i>, etc) but those seem to be the exception rather than the rule and oftentimes their accomplishment comes more from luck than from their own ingenuity, skill or intelligence. In a cinematic landscape filled with protagonists who defy all odds to win the day, the Coens' focus on those who end up with the short end of the stick is rather refreshing.<br />
<br />
Llewyn Davis is the latest in a long line of Coen losers. He navigates New York's 1960's folk music scene trying to break through but never quite getting there. It's not because he's bad. Indeed he's quite good and we get many opportunities to see him play (the film could almost be considered a musical), but for whatever reason fame and recognition elude him. Is it cosmic justice for the numerous poor decisions he makes along the way (sleeping with his friend's wife, antagonizing his few friends, behaving selfishly and acting just generally self-destructive; in many ways he's his own worst enemy) or is it just bad luck? You don't get discovered but the guy who goes onstage after you becomes a huge sensation (just as some lost cats find their way home and others just wander the wilderness). The movie never tells us.<br />
<br />
I love the Coen brothers and I loved <i>Inside Llewyn Davis</i>. It is, like all of their films, impeccably constructed with some great images (the look of the film has a subtle, melancholy beauty), colorful characters played perfectly by a fine cast, fantastic music (yet another soundtrack I'm going to gave to buy) and some truly hilarious moments. While not perhaps their best film (although lately I find ranking there movies a virtually impossible task), I'd dare say it's one of the best films of 2013.<br />
<br />
That's what I got.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzidu2V40GCHrkfQ9-VUclPswR_g7hqhHdgvuC4616GGE6zEnhZuEDb_kZdyZZcBO_adHhNbFEZd-JHugU01RAJtDSjQQSfUAKNWIidi0YWtyPW4vjPv5dFrkvMgAYLmDQ6_HdFPIQ_70/s1600/Llewyn+1.jng.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzidu2V40GCHrkfQ9-VUclPswR_g7hqhHdgvuC4616GGE6zEnhZuEDb_kZdyZZcBO_adHhNbFEZd-JHugU01RAJtDSjQQSfUAKNWIidi0YWtyPW4vjPv5dFrkvMgAYLmDQ6_HdFPIQ_70/s1600/Llewyn+1.jng.png" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-31870494208569415742014-02-22T17:41:00.000-08:002014-02-23T11:31:12.852-08:00Robo-Robocop<center><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwu24ddARxWhXCDDZgZhwOMIEGhFEkthm5qy6jlvKa-eFZmq80nzfngWJ8RtRTLb1CdpyzlYqq8IRCahYqtha0adTHfjIkrgMB173cRjKZ9AtpjOzKQPHycBgcnk0yRT4YhQ9fQRYw3o/s1600/robocop.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwu24ddARxWhXCDDZgZhwOMIEGhFEkthm5qy6jlvKa-eFZmq80nzfngWJ8RtRTLb1CdpyzlYqq8IRCahYqtha0adTHfjIkrgMB173cRjKZ9AtpjOzKQPHycBgcnk0yRT4YhQ9fQRYw3o/s400/robocop.jpg" /></a></center>
<br>
One's ability to enjoy Jose Padhila's re-imagining of <i>Robocop</i> will probably be in direct proportion to how well one can forget the original. It is not a bad film by any means, and compared to the string of recent remakes, reboots and relaunches, it is probably near the top of the heap, but when put next to Verhoeven's sharp, satirical and eerily prophetic 1987 masterpiece, it is inferior in almost every way.
<br><br>
The plot, in broad terms, is essentially the same: in the near future, tough Detroit cop Alex Murphy is killed/critically injured, given a second chance at "life" as a cyborg police officer and eventually undergoes an existential identity crisis as he takes on the corrupt corporation that built him. It is in the particulars that the film establishes its differences: Murphy's wife and son play a much bigger role this time around, the suit's new design -- obviously influenced by the <i>Iron Man</i> franchise -- is sleeker and a somewhat dull all-black rather than the bulky shiny chrome of the original, the story still stops occasionally for media/exposition breaks (though rather than a news broadcast we are treated to amusing talk show clips with an alarmist Bill O'Reilly-like host) and while the first one dealt with issues relevant to the 80's (the rise of corporate America, the privatization of public institutions, the militarization of the police, the slow bleeding of our nation's economic resources, etc), this one, while still tackling some of the same issues, emphasizes more contemporary concerns (drone warfare, America's foreign policy, big brother-like surveillance, the increasingly blurred line between human beings and technology, etc). The whole thing is intelligently and competently done. All of the elements are in their proper place, but the whole enterprise feels... well, mechanical. While the first <i>Robocop</i> was infused with a thorough (and at times surprisingly moving) humanity, this <i>Robocop</i> so often feels like it is, much like the protagonist at various points in the story, on auto-pilot. It moves along at a relatively brisk pace but still seems to lack the energy or conviction of its predecessor. I found it holding my attention without really engaging me emotionally. The CGI, like all modern Hollywood movies, vacillates between very good and extremely cartoonish and the action is diverting without being especially thrilling (which is ironic given that this Robocop can both run and jump rather than just lumber along slowly like the original did).
<br><br>
What it's also missing, unfortunately, is the original's wicked sense of humor. Verhoeven's film was not only provocative in its socio-political observations and highly astute in its criticism of American culture, it was also REALLY damn funny. I kept waiting for a sequence with the biting hilarity of the original's Ed-209 eviscerating a hapless executive in a board meeting demonstration gone wrong. In fact, the film in general is pretty sanitized (one could even say "neutered"), drained not only of its namesake's extreme violence but also of its wild and unpredictable, but not incoherent, shifts in tone. This <i>Robocop</i> is very "safe" and "middle-of the-road" and it is reflected in its family--friendly PG-13 rating (whereas the original was forced to make cuts to receive an R instead of a dreaded X)
<br><br>
The cast is good: old Commissioner Gordon Gary Oldman and even older Batman Michael Keaton play the ying and yang of Omnicorp (the company that creates Robocop) and both are very effective. It's nice to see Keaton in a major movie again -- he reminds you of his ability to play a convincing, but not cliched "mustache-twirling" villain -- while Oldman brings nuance and complexity to his more sympathetic role of the Dr. Frankenstein to Robo's "monster." Jennifer Ehle, Jackie Earl Haley, Marianne Jean Baptiste and Samuel L. Jackson (a bit more restrained than I would like to have seen him) are also highlights. The weakest link, alas, is the actor playing Murphy/Robocop. When he's in the suit with the visor down, he works just fine, but since this version has him spending far more time with his face visible and his "humanity" present, it becomes painfully clear how welcome an actor with the charisma and eccentricity of Peter Weller would've been.
<br><br>
In the end, <i>Robocop</i> is a decent enough remake. I would buy it for a dollar, but I'd still buy the original at any price.
<br><Br><center>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ88MJZjMdLNFxczUhFk6XanjhJaep8CAt7uM3MZXGvzkFVIagt2gYigbBiUDvqQ4ZTIaH19XV0qQ8MpCELeDZlsjYXq3k9mHsGGfW49ERudZ8m8bJc_rpkZKYpk3eFu3LgjCtIyRI0dU/s1600/robocop-guns.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ88MJZjMdLNFxczUhFk6XanjhJaep8CAt7uM3MZXGvzkFVIagt2gYigbBiUDvqQ4ZTIaH19XV0qQ8MpCELeDZlsjYXq3k9mHsGGfW49ERudZ8m8bJc_rpkZKYpk3eFu3LgjCtIyRI0dU/s400/robocop-guns.jpg" /></a></center>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-25005065050916338392013-11-22T17:54:00.000-08:002013-11-22T20:20:54.368-08:00From the Archives: Faith & Suffering in Shadowlands<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1vS5lstunOcSXi4oILM6v-mi7_4uXG6uOdw81Arvrie84zM2-fyw2Y3ekYggjilFzvQMqM_QM-YYMZNKCUVSodhsQIw5jfVmmluWigzWhKMb07C8_bG-QOeiHxksATTur8kHwta-kQwc/s1600/Mourne_mountains.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1vS5lstunOcSXi4oILM6v-mi7_4uXG6uOdw81Arvrie84zM2-fyw2Y3ekYggjilFzvQMqM_QM-YYMZNKCUVSodhsQIw5jfVmmluWigzWhKMb07C8_bG-QOeiHxksATTur8kHwta-kQwc/s400/Mourne_mountains.jpg" /></a></div><br><br><i>"Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery's shadow or reflection: the fact that you don't merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer. I not only live each endless day in grief, but live each day thinking about living each day in grief."</i>
<br><br>
Suffering is a part of life. At some point in our time spent on this Earth we are all confronted with this truth. Charles Grodin begins his autobiography <i>It Would Be So Nice If You Weren't Here</i> with the anecdote: "I remember crying once as a little boy (I forgot why) and thinking that if this was the best life had to offer, I wasn't so sure about going on." I mention this passage because it eerily reflects one of my own experiences. I also remember crying once when I was younger (like Chuck, I don't recall the reason or even the exact circumstances) and disliking it to the point that I wasn't so crazy about continuing on with this life if it was going to involve this. It's not that I was contemplating suicide or anything like that. I was just desperately searching for a way to "bargain" with life such that I wouldn't have to endure any more pain.
<br><br>
For some individuals this is where the dealing with the reality of pain begins and ends. My college professor once said that there are two kinds of people in this world: philosophers and drug addicts. The drug addict merely goes through life looking for the next distraction to keep himself occupied. The philosopher actually faces into the tough issues that life has to offer. He asks questions and seeks answers. Even as a youngster (though I was beginning to display "drug addict" tendencies in my desire to sidestep as much pain as possible) I was also already launching my tenure as a lifelong philosopher because in the midst of my tears I was asking a simple but vital question: "Why?"
<br><br>
"Why?" is a very important question. In fact, "Why?" may be the most important question a person can ever ask in his lifetime. The question of "Why?" particularly seems to surface in the face of extreme hardship. As the aforementioned college professor wrote once in a book: "Our questioning is not really from a desire to know the particular meaning of the particular event. More importantly, it is from a desire to be assured that it has any meaning at all." In other words, does my suffering serve some purpose? Is there meaning behind it? Or rather is it pointless and arbitrary? Is it simply another random occurrence in a cold, unfeeling and ultimately absurd universe? Well, as a Christian, quite obviously I believe that there is meaning to suffering (and consequently to life) and some of my favorite stories deal with this very theme. That's why, when I heard a while back about RC's "Film + Faith Blog-a-thon" over at <i>Strange Culture</i>, I knew exactly which film I was going to write about... well, it was this one or <i>The Mission</i>.
<br><br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFtlJhmW2cFYkjkcPg1l_mz3uANOJfgJHbfhYa6sCizrFPWUWpqOZAFN3tWBDYCXPxYV1CILviAp0LciCWiZKuyiZm3yRSH-wkXNxSQNaTehbxw15vghx3gDjacCE2T21Bn14mN055c0/s1600/CSL1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFtlJhmW2cFYkjkcPg1l_mz3uANOJfgJHbfhYa6sCizrFPWUWpqOZAFN3tWBDYCXPxYV1CILviAp0LciCWiZKuyiZm3yRSH-wkXNxSQNaTehbxw15vghx3gDjacCE2T21Bn14mN055c0/s200/CSL1.jpg" /></a></div>Some of my real-life heroes have been extraordinary individuals who stood up against incredible odds to fight for some form of liberty for themselves and their fellow man (Martin Luther, Abraham Lincoln, Mahatma Gandhi, Oskar Schindler, etc), but some of my other heroes happen to be a more mundane, less "romantic" historical figures. One in particular holds a special place in my heart. This fellow didn't start any great revolutions. He didn't free or save millions of people. He was just an ordinary guy who dealt with what life threw at him in a very real and very forthright way. It is precisely the "ordinary-ness" of author C.S. Lewis that makes him, in my mind, heroic and noble. Ironically, when it comes to Lewis' writing, I am not necessarily his biggest fan. His fiction (primarily the <i>Chronicles of Narnia</i> series) is pleasant enough but a little too allegorical for my taste (I actually prefer the books of his friend and fellow "Inkling" J.R.R. Tolkien), but I love his more "philosophical" efforts (such as <i>Mere Christianity, The Screwtape Letters, The Great Divorce</i>, etc). Although I admit I haven't read as much of his work as I would like to, the reason I respect and admire Lewis has less to do with his achievements as a writer and more to do with his experiences as a human being.
<br><br>
Though raised in a religious family, Lewis became an atheist in his teen years. It was actually Tolkien who helped convert him back to theism and Lewis ended up becoming one of the great Christian apologists. Certainly no stranger to suffering (having fought in the trenches of WWI), Lewis wrote some thought-provoking meditations on reconciling the existence of evil and the reality of human suffering with the concept of a righteous, loving and omnipotent God in such works as <i>The Problem of Pain</i>. Lewis' theodicy was well-developed, intelligent and rational.
<br><br>
<i>"God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: It is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world."</i>
<br><br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6LLRN3qssnxObAAkk7MgQtYWhyYtP7BxB1tchxG_b3HwRwZ8esiBj7FKFzUluHSWSaOHLOlSLIzEBrnoZKfvM7fROZnoLFwqKm5abbqV5RJIkHXe5-Zywyx1Gg8J3aQ9Aorz8xUdZew/s1600/Joy_Gresham.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6LLRN3qssnxObAAkk7MgQtYWhyYtP7BxB1tchxG_b3HwRwZ8esiBj7FKFzUluHSWSaOHLOlSLIzEBrnoZKfvM7fROZnoLFwqKm5abbqV5RJIkHXe5-Zywyx1Gg8J3aQ9Aorz8xUdZew/s200/Joy_Gresham.jpg" /></a></div>Then something significant happened. Lewis met and fell in love with an American woman named Joy Gresham. Joy moved to England with her two sons (David and Douglas) and she and Lewis were married in 1956 and lived relatively happily together for four years. In 1960, Joy died of Bone cancer and a short time later, in 1963, Lewis himself followed. During the intervening three years, Lewis struggled quite a bit with the loss of Joy. Though it was not Lewis' first occasion doing so (his mother also died of a cancer when Lewis was very young), for some reason Joy's death seems to have affected him deeper than anythings else he had ever endured up to that point. This challenged Lewis' faith to an incredible extent and in his book <i>A Grief Observed</i>, Lewis lays out very honestly and openly not only the bereavement felt over the death of his beloved wife but the anger, the fear and the general questioning felt in the face of a possibility that God is not real or, perhaps worse, that He is not good. The text is such an outpouring of a person's emotions, doubts and vulnerabilities. To read <i>A Grief Observed</i> is to see a man lay his innermost being completely bare, to gain insight into a soul in turmoil.
<br><br>
<i>"No one ever told me grief felt so much like fear."</i>
<br><br>
Interestingly, <i>A Grief Observed</i> was initially published under a pseudonym and never mentioned his wife by name. Thus, a number of Lewis' friends recommended the book to him thinking it might be of some help to him. I find this scenario not only ironic but also extremely revealing because it suggests that Lewis' own friends didn't recognize him in his writing. This indicates to me that his musings in <i>A Grief Observed</i> were unlike any writing he had ever done before. Indeed, I first read it during somewhat of a dark period in my own life and found that it "felt" completely different from, say, <i>Mere Christianity</i> (which I had also recently read at the time). The Lewis who wrote before Joy's death and the Lewis who wrote after it seemed to me like two completely different men. It's as if the first Lewis had it all figured out and the second Lewis wasn't quite so sure anymore. The Lewis who wrote <i>A Grief Observed</i> is the Lewis whose perspective on pain was really put to the test, who was given more of an intense taste of the kind of acute, almost crippling, anguish and heartache that life has offer. Thus, he gained a deeper understanding and more profound appreciation of what pain truly is, what it does to us and, of course, whether or not it has purpose.
<br><br>
<i>"Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn."</i>
<br><br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhRqOFVSn098avIYJmS_OVUuN3kSR7lgfoJSFVtBNnEMf02vtq-xu7BytOJDZoAs9gKFI203Hakzt2vsnph1dTWXTfMfytUYTwAG2wECJMZKMlhFgNU86UTPIqgDi6CvkF9Y36bvR89E/s1600/MPW-20192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhRqOFVSn098avIYJmS_OVUuN3kSR7lgfoJSFVtBNnEMf02vtq-xu7BytOJDZoAs9gKFI203Hakzt2vsnph1dTWXTfMfytUYTwAG2wECJMZKMlhFgNU86UTPIqgDi6CvkF9Y36bvR89E/s400/MPW-20192.jpg" /></a></div><br>Being that C.S. Lewis is one of my heroes and his story is an extremely moving one to me, it should come as no shock to people that one of my favorite films is Richard Attenborough's <i>Shadowlands</i> as it dramatizes the period in Lewis' life I have described above. <i>Shadowlands</i> actually began as a 1985 BBC-TV movie written by William Nicholson starring Joss Ackland and Claire Bloom (of which I've only seen bits and pieces a long time ago) and was then adapted by Nicholson into a stageplay. It was this stageplay that served as the basis for the 1993 film which features the great Anthony Hopkins as Lewis and the effervescent Debra Winger as Joy. While I've been told that the earlier version is far more subtle, less "Hollywood" in its style and sensibilities and contains fewer liberties taken with Lewis' story (the two Gresham sons, for example, are combined into one child for the '93 version) it would be a mistake, I think, to dismiss the later version's "gloss" for lack of substance. Certainly the film is handsomely shot and exceptionally well acted but, in fact, there is quite a bit about it that is very "un-Hollywood." First off, while some might find it emotionally manipulative I find it to be very restrained and low-key. Also, while many films are content to simply use tragedy as a means for injecting "drama" into a love story (cancer almost always serves quite effectively in that capacity) without unpacking its deep and lasting effects on real flesh-and-blood human beings, <i>Shadowlands</i> faces directly into the provocative complexities of dealing with suffering and death... especially in the context of spiritual faith.
<br><br>
Sometimes it seems to me that faith is perceived nowadays as a kind of unflinching optimism; a delusional reassurance in spite of all the evidence to the contrary, that "all will be well;" it amounts to little more than closing one's ears, covering one's eyes and singing "LA! LA! LA!" in the face of any and all adversity. In this sense, the idea of faith is almost always associated with blindness or ignorance, a phenomenon with which I must admit I don't necessarily see a lot of virtue. In essence, that kind of faith is really just another way of distracting one's self, another drug for the addict to take to deaden the pain rather than actually deal with it. I'm not so sure that God wants us to be a bunch of "Pollyannas," only seeing good everywhere and not admitting that oftentimes things just plain suck, taking pleasure in our pain as if we were masochists. I think He wants us to look squarely into the darkness that exists and acknowledge it for what it is (this includes seeing the darkness in ourselves as well). A lot of the time this involves anger, sadness and a whole other range of sensations that really don't feel very good. If one can emerge from the other end of this tunnel of misery and still have hope, then I think one can be more assured of his faith.
<br><br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYQg52Jbhe0_8Gh3VnXjlnE1kAPLZ5mvtCuOwqJZwEilI8HIuSnPZvDxutSvH_kIFwp_3De-y8NsFXCr2LubsqFSFozKeFidGjwJ8aUy9tWi_9Hnlicw1OIEmN67XrmHuVoB0POWOJ-8/s1600/shadowlands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYQg52Jbhe0_8Gh3VnXjlnE1kAPLZ5mvtCuOwqJZwEilI8HIuSnPZvDxutSvH_kIFwp_3De-y8NsFXCr2LubsqFSFozKeFidGjwJ8aUy9tWi_9Hnlicw1OIEmN67XrmHuVoB0POWOJ-8/s200/shadowlands.jpg" /></a></div>This is where pain and suffering can serve a purpose. A faith that has actually learned to confront the harsh reality of pain seems to me to be a deeper and stronger faith. It's a faith that, as the book of James says, is "tested by fire." Naturally that doesn't make the testing process itself any easier. Lewis understood that but he didn't really come to grips with it until Joy was taken from him. He did not abandon his faith before his passing, but he did have great difficulty holding onto it. In the end, Lewis' faith was a well-earned one. He held his beliefs not because he simply refused to confront reality, but rather because he confronted reality. He did not have blind faith. On the contrary, he had eyes to see.
<br><br>
Just as I would recommend Lewis' book <i>A Grief Observed</i> to anyone going through a rough period in their life, I feel I can recommend <i>Shadowlands</i> to anyone who has ever asked "Why?" in the midst of a tough time. It may not make anybody's list of great films (although it did make the "100 Most Spiritually Significant Films" over at <b>Arts & Faith</b>) but on the subject of faith, I happen to think it is one of the greatest out there. It doesn't provide any huge, enlightening answers, but it does ask some hard questions and poses some thought-provoking ideas. Like C.S. Lewis himself, the film is humble but passionate, warm but melancholy, terribly sad and yet simultaneously full of immense joy. As Jack (Lewis' nickname) and his wife discuss in a scene set in the beauty of a picturesque countryside (but with rain serving as an almost symbolic counterpoint):
<br><br>
<b>JOY: It’s not going to last.<br>
JACK: We don’t need to think of that now. Let’s not spoil the time we have together.<br>
JOY: It doesn’t spoil it. It makes it real.... What I’m trying to say is that the pain then is part of the happiness now.</b>
<br><br>
In closing, I want to briefly mention something that I think is interesting. As it does to all men, death finally came C.S. Lewis on November 22, 1963. If that date looks at all familiar to you it's because it was the same day that JFK was assassinated and from a global socio-political perspective that was naturally the more significant event. Thus, every newspaper the world over splashed across their front pages headlines of Kennedy's untimely demise. So, while everyone was in shock and mourning the passing of one of America's most handsome, most charming, most charismatic and, consequently, most popular presidents ever, an old, but great, man was quietly leaving this planet in a manner very befitting the time that he spent on it.
<br><br>
<i>"You play the hand you're dealt. I think the game's worthwhile.”</i>
<br><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLSl4enIwiQUyBRbBfoBfBMs22pVBXebRdrLwDs71sE0x475byhBVhkP71jEtUcoArwJbqjqXKueNvxij8HJqZDyqCLwBSZgQ98nSgPFV9BMkrWZSAauMyGLQzv0lHeL4v2epR8WkxP4/s1600/lewis_grave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLSl4enIwiQUyBRbBfoBfBMs22pVBXebRdrLwDs71sE0x475byhBVhkP71jEtUcoArwJbqjqXKueNvxij8HJqZDyqCLwBSZgQ98nSgPFV9BMkrWZSAauMyGLQzv0lHeL4v2epR8WkxP4/s400/lewis_grave.jpg" /></a></div>
Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-75061653701750622182013-08-27T14:50:00.000-07:002013-08-28T02:43:43.267-07:00Not Quite Dredd-ful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVmBPa_N4MomVAPmgLEnMon_3IlOKYTNZcFRO71lEIFaqRR8uP2MF3xmLXPuCahZ2Jr7Yp6aGwtyY5-jwMJF4zNzasOCXxdO6u5pptLzAvOm3MOtsUwMarbxvEN-yPik-KE0BFlp9tYh8/s1600/dredd-3d-660.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVmBPa_N4MomVAPmgLEnMon_3IlOKYTNZcFRO71lEIFaqRR8uP2MF3xmLXPuCahZ2Jr7Yp6aGwtyY5-jwMJF4zNzasOCXxdO6u5pptLzAvOm3MOtsUwMarbxvEN-yPik-KE0BFlp9tYh8/s400/dredd-3d-660.jpg" /></a></div>
<br>Maybe I'm a little late to the party on this one but it really is becoming more and more apparent to me what an enormous influence Chris Nolan's "Dark Knight" trilogy is having on current comic book adaptations. <br><br>
Like its 1995 counterpart starring Sylvester Stallone, last year's <i>Dredd</i> is based on a 1970's British comic book series (unread by me) about a dystopian future society where the "cops" are in fact judges with the power to try, convict and execute criminals on the spot (this sounds like a premise with potential but unfortunately neither film really does much with it). From a technical perspective, there is little to complain about in <i>Dredd</i>. The film has a gritty, grainy look that makes its sprawling polluted metropolis seem like an actual place. The majority of it takes place in a massive residence building which gives the film a suspenseful, claustrophobic atmosphere (sort of like a futuristic <i>Die Hard</i>) and the digital effects are most convincing when used to make the oppressive environment more believable. They are somewhat less convincing when trying to make gun shot wounds seem real. The film also has a number of gorgeously stylized sequences that are almost hypnotic in their visual beauty (the plot centers around a drug called "slow-mo" that makes everything seem slowed down; imagine the cinematic possibilities). Karl Urban, despite having half of his face hidden through the entire film, provides menace and charisma (and can grimace just as good as Stallone can) to a character with very little personality and Lena Headly gives a fantastic, eccentric performance as a truly terrifying and evil villain named Ma-Ma. <br><br>
What's missing from the whole enterprise, frankly, is just good old-fashioned fun. When compared with the cheesy, colorful big screen comic incarnations of the late 80's-90's (<i>Batman, The Shadow, The Phantom, Darkman</i>, etc), I am starting to be of the opinion that contemporary comic book movies just take themselves way too damn seriously. At a certain point in the story I found myself thinking, "This movie is holding my attention, but I am not really enjoying it." For all of its misfires, the '95 film at least realized the absurdities of its central conceit and made no bones about it. I saw the original in the theater with my father and a mutual friend and while none of us would have praised <i>Judge Dredd</i> as being a fine film by any means, we all enjoyed it and laughed heartily as we talked about it afterward. <i>Dredd</i> is so dark, so grim and so humorless that there is virtually nothing in it to laugh at or even really smile about. I think I watched the entire film with a "Dredd-like" unamused expression on my face. Furthermore, its stone-cold soberness throws the sillier aspects into even sharper contrast. In that regard Stallone's rendition might have the upper hand. It was incoherent but it was not inconsistent. This <i>Dredd</i> is both.<br><br>
Also, the film is EXTREMELY violent, with a body count that must number in the hundreds (most of them innocent civilians). I am not at all squeamish when it comes to onscreen violence, but it is so relentless and unflinching here that it becomes sort of numbing after a while. A couple times I was reminded of Paul Verhoeven's <i>Robocop</i>, a comic book movie (though it has no "direct" inspiration) that also had shocking violence but delivered it with such panache that it still managed to be an enjoyable experience. <i>Robocop</i> was both serious and fun, gory but also witty and satirical, cynical but not nihilistic. It demonstrates that it is possible to make a dark, stylish and grown-up "superhero" movie that doesn't collapse under the weight of its own solemnity. I have little hope that its upcoming remake will strike the same delicate balance and will instead probably err more on the side of the bleak ugliness that <i>Dredd</i> wallows in.<br><br>
Unlike its predecessor, which did not charm the critics, <i>Dredd</i> received generally positive reviews. This did not, however, prevent it from following in the footsteps of its predecessor financially as it flopped at the box office. This is probably unfair since it is not really a bad movie. In many ways it is superior to the '95 version. It's just so joyless, so ugly, so utterly devoid of any modicum of self-awareness that if, for some inconceivable reason, I were to suddenly feel the urge to watch a "Judge Dredd" movie, Stallone's is probably the one I'd reach for.<br><br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8gsvtByzdWzMzLfcxjf4MCijsH9yMEo1BD0D7WhyphenhyphennyaDBJa-BOj20Yr1JSm3NmZqoQ0kyR0LJoy6-BVG9eFuO8ai9MLzOf9alg3KB_wLJ4WpmX5ltpoukvIOqf9sgLLq4s422czBgDW4/s1600/judge_dredd_1995_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8gsvtByzdWzMzLfcxjf4MCijsH9yMEo1BD0D7WhyphenhyphennyaDBJa-BOj20Yr1JSm3NmZqoQ0kyR0LJoy6-BVG9eFuO8ai9MLzOf9alg3KB_wLJ4WpmX5ltpoukvIOqf9sgLLq4s422czBgDW4/s400/judge_dredd_1995_1.jpg" /></a></div>
Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-34203022065454824832013-06-11T13:10:00.004-07:002013-06-11T13:13:38.479-07:00From the Archives: They Don't Make Superheroes Like They Used To<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrNKkRIf367wKmAqtKGkddQOR07Q7pjoAmcV8SBGgwx-Pyh3fSp5E3H09Yx4PlAakKikmkUFItYAIY729E0vtm3WMvBIT7a_6V1rcPSqiUcURoZktGEujhK1XNpyx0_H3pySOrIzMd8vw/s1600/Man-of-Steel-TV-spot.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrNKkRIf367wKmAqtKGkddQOR07Q7pjoAmcV8SBGgwx-Pyh3fSp5E3H09Yx4PlAakKikmkUFItYAIY729E0vtm3WMvBIT7a_6V1rcPSqiUcURoZktGEujhK1XNpyx0_H3pySOrIzMd8vw/s320/Man-of-Steel-TV-spot.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<b>Note: This Friday <i>Man of Steel</i>, the Chris Nolan-produced/Zack Snyder-directed reboot of the Superman franchise, opens in theaters and in tribute, I have dug up a piece I wrote on my old blog shortly before the release of the previous failed attempt at a reboot: Bryan Singer's flawed but somewhat underrated<i> Superman Returns</i>. I'd like to believe my writing has vastly improved since then, but while I may have slightly changed my thinking on one or two points, I still agree wholeheartedly with the essential core of my thesis. Thus, I reprint it here with no changes whatsoever.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
In a few weeks Bryan Singer's <i>Superman Returns </i>opens worldwide and it is a movie that has been a long time in coming (at one point the film was to be directed by Tim Burton, written by Kevin Smith and starring Nicolas Cage; I think I can safely speak for everyone when I say: <i>"Thank God that didn't happen!"</i>). Needless to say, I'm very excited about this event. I realize I'm advertising my hopeless "geekiness" with this blog, but I've long been a "Superfan." He's always
been among my top three favorite comic book heroes (the other two being Batman and Spider-man; whoever occupied the number "1" spot depended on what phase of my life I was going through at the time).<br />
<br />
In response to the upcoming release, the IMDB used its "daily poll" feature to ask its members to vote on which superhero was better: Superman or Batman. The results were
interesting if, admittedly, not that surprising. Batman got a whopping 67% while Superman only got 15%. 10% said, "I like both equally" and 8% said," I don't like either." I have actually observed, in recent years, that Superman's "approval ratings" have dropped significantly and I couldn't help but wonder why that is. Superman used to be considered the greatest of the superheroes. In fact, Superman was essentially the <i>first</i> superhero, the "Adam" if you will. Without Superman there would be no Batman, Spider-man or anyone else. Superman used to be looked upon with awe. He was admired. He was a symbol for "truth" and "justice" and all that stuff! Why has the Man of Steele fallen into such disfavor in recent years? Why has his popularity waned so drastically and his cultural status declined so monumentally?<br />
<br />
Is it the suit? Are the bright blue tights with the red cape, boots and the large red-and-gold "S" not only unimpressive anymore but downright corny? Perhaps its the sheer implausibility of his disguise. While Peter Parker and Bruce Wayne
protect their secret identities by wearing masks that cover at least half their faces, all Superman does to become Clark Kent is put on a pair of glasses. Is it just too much anymore to accept that sharp-eyed journalist Lois Lane can't tell the difference between the guy she loves and the guy she works with? Is it the pantheon of powers that Superman possesses? Super-speed, super-strength, x-ray vision, heat vision, flight, super-breath... Do people just think it's too much? Maybe it's
the invulnerability in particular. Maybe folks are just tired of Superman not being affected by anything (besides kryptonite of course). Maybe they expect that their heroes be subject to <i>some</i> harm or else there's no suspense. Then again, it might be the villains. Perhaps people prefer a whole rogues gallery of baddies for a hero to combat. I mean, Batman has a colorful array of nasty characters hes constantly fighting (Joker, Penguin, Catwoman, Riddler, Scarecrow, etc), as does
Spider-man (Green Goblin, Dr. Octopus, Venom, Sandman, Vulture, etc), while all Superman really has is Lex Luthor (and to a lesser extent Brainiac). <br />
<br />
Any one these things could have contributed to
Superman's fall from grace, but I think it's something else that has
caused him to lose his appeal, something that makes him, in the eyes of
today's youth, not quite as "cool" as Batman, Spider-man or Wolverine,
something that has actually caused my own personal respect for the
character to increase: namely, his righteousness. This is a theory I've
been formulating for a while now and I'd like to lay it out now.<br />
<br />
Of all the comic book heroes out there, Superman is the only who is <i>naturally </i>good.
He has no ulterior motives for fighting crime. Batman's is revenge (he
saw his parents murdered when he was a child) and Spider-man's is guilt
(he feels responsible for the death of his uncle), but Superman does
good for its own sake. He is a truly virtuous, god-like individual, his
physical and moral perfection, his extreme strength and incorruptible
nature, used to be the very characteristics that made him worthy of
respect and emulation. However, the fact that Superman is now referred
to as an overgrown "boy scout" (both in and out of the comics)
demonstrates that these characteristics have lost their luster. Superman
is now considered "dull" or "two-dimensional." Heroes who are darker
and more angst-ridden are called "cool" or "a badass." At the very
least, they are more complex and therefore more "believable," i.e.
there's a greater chance that these characters could actually exist in
our own reality.<br />
<br />
Understand that I'm not saying that there is anything wrong with these other heroes. On the contrary, I am just as
much a product of my culture as anybody else. I love these other heroes. I am very drawn to the inherent drama of the ongoing struggle that Bruce Wayne he has with his own dark self. I also love the realistic,
and oftentimes humiliating, problems that Peter Parker has to contend
with. I find these multi-layered universes are, in fact, sometimes more
interesting than the fantasy world of Superman, but what saddens me is
that these worlds and their heroes are now being embraced to the
exclusion of Superman. It is understandable that we want our heroes to
be more like us (fallible, prone to temptation, at times selfish and
weak, etc) but what we are losing in the process is an <i>ideal</i> and that is exactly what Superman is: an ideal. He represents not who we <i>are</i>, and not even who we <i>could</i> be, but who we <i>should</i> be. Superman personifies the type of end goal we ought to strive for, even if we never actually get there.<br />
<br />
When Superman does indeed return to the big screen later this month, how the film is received should be an
indicator of what we as a culture think of him. Does society still care
about exploits of a person who acts completely selflessly, who helps
weaker individuals without any sort of desire for personal gain? Is such
a superhero still worth our time? Well, here's hoping.<br /><br> <center>
<div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-5655699810377981855" itemprop="description articleBody">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbisGjvxym4JpKheC2bX1-UEmLSbOqfuTruhYFkE77GvZw4UisZ0NrlDUQUOEXj68sS-VvT2Yq3jdYbWtsVAIBsDvCt7foE1RTKMKpStIPTZ0XAQmIiSrujKvnPVGUQFc3j0guKCe7Hp8/s1600/Man-of-Steel-Title-Sequence-HD.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbisGjvxym4JpKheC2bX1-UEmLSbOqfuTruhYFkE77GvZw4UisZ0NrlDUQUOEXj68sS-VvT2Yq3jdYbWtsVAIBsDvCt7foE1RTKMKpStIPTZ0XAQmIiSrujKvnPVGUQFc3j0guKCe7Hp8/s320/Man-of-Steel-Title-Sequence-HD.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></center>
Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-13526033809453919062012-08-20T16:56:00.002-07:002012-08-20T17:20:46.491-07:00If I Had a Sight & Sound Film Ballot: Damian Arlyn's Top 10 Films of All Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPGaEQ5NjNb3cZuRNN7Ze7HcqSwdAU57L1ow2uHeXfVIhMa_g5Kv9bOYKlHELu43air-0pTZZx5sNuQWuImyBxfko9KplACrrl1v40fCku9fcZXqN9g6wpalZve4zyJeRtFf2wyS9BfSE/s1600/flame.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="225" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPGaEQ5NjNb3cZuRNN7Ze7HcqSwdAU57L1ow2uHeXfVIhMa_g5Kv9bOYKlHELu43air-0pTZZx5sNuQWuImyBxfko9KplACrrl1v40fCku9fcZXqN9g6wpalZve4zyJeRtFf2wyS9BfSE/s400/flame.jpg" /></a></div>
<br>
Before proceeding with this post, a quick <i>mea culpa</i> is in order. In spite of <a href="http://cinememories.blogspot.com/2012/01/new-year-new-look.html">declaring my desire to write more for this blog</a>, it has been almost half a year since I last posted anything and I can offer no excuse other than to admit that I've had difficulty finding the motivation. When I was contributing pieces to the <a href="http://eddieonfilm.blogspot.com/">blog of my friend Ed Copeland</a> (who, for health reasons, recently decided to take a more solely hands-on approach to managing his site), I had deadlines to help compel me to write something. Anything. When that went away, much of the drive to write went with it. At any rate, for those few individuals who may follow this blog, I apologize. Fortunately, a recent event has incited my passion and enthusiasm for discussing film once more and has provoked me to compose the following piece. Hopefully I can be disciplined enough to maintain a real presence online once again.
<br>
<br>
Now, to the task at hand. Although there are innumerable top 10 lists out there, any real film-lover knows that the one published every ten years by the British Film Institute's <i>Sight & Sound</i> magazine is considered THE top 10 list. Over a thousand prominent critics and filmmakers are asked to submit their picks for the "greatest films ever made" and the results are always interesting. The most recent list, however, incited some debate and has even sparked a series of articles at <a href="http://www.slantmagazine.com/house/"><i>The House Next Door</i></a> wherein writers who did not participate in the official poll have submitted their own personal top 10 lists. Several of my film-blogging friends have contributed and I have enjoyed their lists immensely, although I have also been somewhat envious because, to put it in childish terms, I wanted to "play" too. Then I remembered that I had a blog. So, I have decided to publish my own list here at <b>CINEMEMORIES</b>.
<br>
<br>
The following titles are arranged chronologically and they come, of course, with the usual disclaimers: it is not necessarily a list of "favorites" (as there are many films I truly love but did not include) nor even a definitive "best" list (as there are some films that I would consider in many senses superior to a few of these, yet I chose not to include those either) and it could change tomorrow blah blah blah. What I can say unashamedly is that each of these films is not only of great significance to me personally, but is also worthwhile for anyone to see... for each title deserves, if nothing else, to at least be part of the dialogue as to what the "greatest films of all time" are.
<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsos0e1foISkouLdObcg6EYNXamtSrpZ3KPkeNS1FN-HWSUJhlAcmd9-TgFq2LlVm3nnJXcVA5begH4_CTO_7ax0UdwZVXw8yai1TEXhcj1-KyhheZ2vjfcuOMZ8LEoBVED9sQgS3Vpm4/s1600/city+lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="349" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsos0e1foISkouLdObcg6EYNXamtSrpZ3KPkeNS1FN-HWSUJhlAcmd9-TgFq2LlVm3nnJXcVA5begH4_CTO_7ax0UdwZVXw8yai1TEXhcj1-KyhheZ2vjfcuOMZ8LEoBVED9sQgS3Vpm4/s400/city+lights.jpg" /></a></div><br>
<i><b>City Lights</b></i> (Charles Chaplin, 1931). There's a scene in Richard Attenborough's serviceable 1992 biopic <i>Chaplin</i> where a frustrated Charlie (flawlessly played by Robert Downey, Jr.) is agonizing over how to communicate visually to an audience that a blind flower girl has mistaken his kindly Tramp character for a wealthy man. Charlie's brother pleads with him to make the film a talkie and have the Tramp simply TELL her that he's rich, but Charlie adamantly refuses knowing that it would "ruin the magic." The solution, arrived at by Charlie as he watches someone get into a vehicle to drive away, is to have the girl hear a car door slam and assume that is the Tramp's automobile thus allowing him to quietly sneak away without her ever knowing the truth. Though the exchange in Attenborough's film was most likely imagined, the filmmaking obstacle it dramatized, as well as Charlie's brilliantly graceful solution, illustrates why Chaplin was such a genius and why <i>City Lights</i> is considered his masterpiece. Chaplin did indeed resist the transition to sound for over a decade (<i>City Lights</i> would be one of his last "silent" pictures) although it meant that he had to work even harder than his colleagues to make audiences laugh and/or cry... and does he ever do both here. Not only is the film delightfully funny but the final scene is one of the most touching ever committed to celluloid, with or without talking.
<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQK9JdTkaJrin8LlPyMVMAPcUBqrIA_ZRSo52_iYyxbnJBtbKLQYl_0_WMggVQD_S-w8DfP-olk220XsqFNB3xDPjQPRxXx5ZTdrsyWMsLRVjXyqqCGgnhQ08UqpL6W1ZsX8Dy3wnLY5c/s1600/citizen+kane.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQK9JdTkaJrin8LlPyMVMAPcUBqrIA_ZRSo52_iYyxbnJBtbKLQYl_0_WMggVQD_S-w8DfP-olk220XsqFNB3xDPjQPRxXx5ZTdrsyWMsLRVjXyqqCGgnhQ08UqpL6W1ZsX8Dy3wnLY5c/s400/citizen+kane.jpg" /></a></div><br>
<i><b>Citizen Kane</b></i> (Orson Welles, 1941). "The remarkable thing about Shakespeare," English poet Robert Graves once wrote about the man considered to be the greatest writer in the English language, "is that he is really very good - in spite of all the people who say he is very good." There is no quote I think that better articulates the phenomenon of <i>Citizen Kane</i>. Since 1962 Orson Welles' magnum opus occupied the #1 spot on <i>Sight & Sound</i>'s list (until it was controversially replaced by Hitchcock's <i>Vertigo</i> this year, but more on that later) and was blessed/cursed with the moniker of "greatest film ever made." This characterization kept the film simultaneously revered and reviled for over 50 years, but whether or not it truly deserves its alleged place in film history -- whether it truly is the greatest film ever made, one of the greatest or merely the product of a half a century of propaganda-- is ultimately irrelevant. <i>Citizen Kane</i> is a great film and as long as the conversation about the artistic merits of cinema continues, <i>Kane</i> will always have its place.
<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDrobgdSQOVGK3v3tFgT83_kR7su9vXMkzrYRFLfIGJo_0AowweXx4iNw9hdOdOJuk6r9N6UTReOah1ityvEzDNwqGH7-YYHVmstbcK15rltEOI-91vyNL2cavBfTrVr4U11ZnpwXRSVE/s1600/la+strada.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="302" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDrobgdSQOVGK3v3tFgT83_kR7su9vXMkzrYRFLfIGJo_0AowweXx4iNw9hdOdOJuk6r9N6UTReOah1ityvEzDNwqGH7-YYHVmstbcK15rltEOI-91vyNL2cavBfTrVr4U11ZnpwXRSVE/s400/la+strada.jpg" /></a></div><br>
<i><b>La Strada</b></i> (Federico Fellini, 1954). Man, did Giuiletta Marsina have quite a face. So expressive. So beautiful. Her sweet and innocent, though at times sad and lonely, waif of a character is the heart of <i>La Strada</i> (which translates "The Road"), the fourth film made by her husband Federico Fellini. <i>La Strada</i> won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film in 1954 and made Fellini an internationally acclaimed filmmaker. Though it built upon the foundation laid by the Italian neo-realists (of which Fellini was a part) it was also, conversely, a reaction against it. <i>La Strada</i> is essentially a "realistic fable" that relates the melancholy but whimsical tale of a quirky young woman named Gelsomina who is bought by a strong man named Zampano (Anthony Quinn) to assist in his traveling act. Along the way they encounter another circus entertainer (known simply as the "fool") who imparts words of wisdom to Gelsomina but who antagonizes Zampano. This triangle results in a series of tragic events which culminate in one of the most powerful and heartbreaking final scenes in any movie. As the obnoxious guy from <i>Annie Hall</i>, who complains about how indulgent a filmmaker Fellini could be, is forced to admit: "Granted, <i>La Strada</i> is a great film." Indeed it is, sir. You may have been wrong about Marshall McLuhan but you were right about that.
<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKuo3sxOZajqS93nt1DukhfUPwstm1i5bj72II1PatgpODvtexbK5LIR3n9eZfT6DgARyoMuC45IoRVj4vgvUDlX-AkZt7XkLVvjXpQ_91YMwejZ7RAmspYjWTlwPHH7Oh2JWahX0nEg/s1600/psycho.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="293" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKuo3sxOZajqS93nt1DukhfUPwstm1i5bj72II1PatgpODvtexbK5LIR3n9eZfT6DgARyoMuC45IoRVj4vgvUDlX-AkZt7XkLVvjXpQ_91YMwejZ7RAmspYjWTlwPHH7Oh2JWahX0nEg/s400/psycho.jpg" /></a></div><br>
<i><b>Psycho</b></i> (Alfred Hitchcock, 1960). A friend asked me what I thought of <i>Vertigo</i> taking the top spot in the latest <i>Sight & Sound</i> poll. Honestly, I have no problem with it. Just because I didn't place <i>Vertigo</i> in my own personal top 10, does not mean I take issue with its being considered "the greatest film ever made" (at least no more than I do with any other film being called such... well, except perhaps <i>The Waterboy</i>). <i>Vertigo</i> is a masterpiece and I do love it. Nevertheless, I always have been and probably always will be a <i>Psycho</i> guy. From a technical standpoint, <i>Psycho</i> is just as clever, manipulative and cinematic as <i>Vertigo</i>. From a storytelling standpoint, it's just as dark, provocative and emotional as <i>Vertigo</i> and from a thematic standpoint, it's just as deep, rich and tragic as <i>Vertigo</i>. What probably makes the latter seem more sophisticated than the former (and what causes many to select it over <i>Psycho</i>) is pedigree. Being a horror film, <i>Psycho</i>'s subject matter is far more lurid, seedy and vulgar than <i>Vertigo</i>. There are no elegant blonde beauties waltzing around in stylishly colorful outfits to the gorgeously delicate strains of Bernard Hermann's bittersweet love theme. What we get instead is a slutty blond girl who steals thousands of dollars and then gets brutally stabbed to death in black-and-white while Hermann's violins shriek at us crudely. <i>Vertigo</i>, like its protagonist Scottie Ferguson, may be disturbed, but there's no denying that <i>Psycho</i>, also like its main character Norman Bates, is sick. That sickness doesn't mean it can't also be high art, but its perversity spawned a whole host of trashy imitators who, quite frankly, aren't even worthy to clean <i>Psycho</i>'s shower. Maybe it will always be somewhat devalued by its association with a fairly ignoble genre, but even if we punish the film for the company it keeps forever, Mother still gets the last laugh.
<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifLOkHFdr_4xDtMbfXxjKeiAN714iV4t1KNz3Vft8Nim0E_kjAmAvMH-H86Jvi9eZTi-QaDSVr_HkRiVOdwA4_YCUIg6AQzDCHABC4Y47ExvYnwiaZzrMcP78kawo9G_t-rgGgwKySv2A/s1600/wild+child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="298" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifLOkHFdr_4xDtMbfXxjKeiAN714iV4t1KNz3Vft8Nim0E_kjAmAvMH-H86Jvi9eZTi-QaDSVr_HkRiVOdwA4_YCUIg6AQzDCHABC4Y47ExvYnwiaZzrMcP78kawo9G_t-rgGgwKySv2A/s400/wild+child.jpg" /></a></div><br>
<i><b>The Wild Child</b></i> (François Truffaut, 1970). While many cinephiles would probably choose <i>400 Blows</i> (a film I love by the way) as Truffaut's greatest work, I happen to be irresistibly drawn to <i>The Wild Child</i>. Based on the true account of Victor of Aveyron, a feral boy who was captured and then re-introduced to 17th century French society, <i>Wild Child</i> benefits greatly from the onscreen presence of Truffaut himself. Playing Dr. Itard, the teacher who patiently educates, socializes and ultimately civilizes young Victor, Truffaut's natural warmth and compassion comes through as clearly on camera as it does from behind it. It also presents some of the most powerful and hopeful scenes of a person rediscovering their innate dignity and humanity I've ever seen. There's an incredibly moving sequence where Itard, concerned that he has simply trained a pet rather than awoken the boy's inner sense of morality, makes the difficult decision to punish Victor for actually obeying him and Victor briefly rebels (biting Itard's arm in the process) which the doctor considers a great success. Jean-Pierre Cargol, the young actor who plays the titular child, does a phenomenal job of seeming genuinely savage and animal-like. Similar to Patty Duke in <i>The Miracle Worker</i> (a story Truffaut wanted to adapt before learning Arthur Penn was already doing so), his gradual overcoming of his natural "handicaps" seems authentic. It's a superb performance, one of the best ever given by a child actor, and it is no surprise given that he was directed by one of the greatest child directors ever. In many ways,<i> Wild Child</i> is just as personal and autobiographical a story for Truffaut as <i>400 Blows</i> is. Whereas the latter is about Truffaut's youth and falling in love with film, the former is about his adulthood as a filmmaker and the "coaching" he ends up doing of so many little children as a result. It's no coincidence that the film was dedicated to Jean-Pierre Léaud, the boy who worked with Truffaut on <i>400 Blows</i> and four other films over a period of 20 years.
<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw-gxreHJiVo0ydYJwAgPIgebzGm0UwY_W7VwXI-B5-VAjCxlA1uHdWBjXVp7pK6WDduDtdAqjc09Ec5TmbkdICopKKcRXWzfhFSCQs4WeyyqS-Fbbt5M2OgZ_KLWg-v_6C96u_t90r0s/s1600/apocalypse+now.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="225" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw-gxreHJiVo0ydYJwAgPIgebzGm0UwY_W7VwXI-B5-VAjCxlA1uHdWBjXVp7pK6WDduDtdAqjc09Ec5TmbkdICopKKcRXWzfhFSCQs4WeyyqS-Fbbt5M2OgZ_KLWg-v_6C96u_t90r0s/s400/apocalypse+now.jpg" /></a></div><br>
<i><b>Apocalypse Now</b></i> (Francis Ford Coppola, 1979). I find that great art often transcends its subject matter and in the case of great films, that includes its genre. <i>Apocalypse Now</i> (Francis Ford Coppola's Vietnam epic based on Joseph Conrad's <i>Heart of Darkness</i>) is ostensibly a war movie but in the hands of director Coppola, cinematographer Vittorio Storaro and editor Walter Murch, it becomes much more. The story begins relatively straightforwardly (Martin Sheen's special ops captain Ben Willard is ordered to proceed downriver and assassinate Marlon Brando's Col. Kurtz who has apparently lost his mind and is running his own rogue military command, composed primarily of natives, in the heart of Cambodia) but as the film goes on and Sheen gets deeper and deeper into the heart of the jungle, it becomes more of an abstract experience: imagery becomes symbolic, colors become impressionistic and dialogue becomes philosophical. The finale is a like a hallucinogenic nightmare from which Willard, though he completes his assignment, can never wake up. The mission is essentially a journey into the darker recesses of his own soul and what he finds shocks and horrifies him. Many consider <i>Apocalypse Now</i> pretentious and indulgent but most films that plumb the depths of human nature tend to be. It is also criticized for having very little connection to historical reality, but again I think this misses the point (the film is basically an allegory). For me, it is a quintessential example of what I call "meditative" cinema and it is, quite honestly, astonishing it turned out as well as it did given the immense obstacles Coppola was forced to overcome to create it (and which were chronicled in the documentary <i>Hearts of Darkness: a Filmmaker's Apocalypse</i>). Years later, Coppola revisited his film with the extended <i>Apocalypse Now Redux</i> and although it does have one or two interesting additional sequences, I prefer the original. You can have too much of a good thing.
<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4moIdh6MFJ8_4yBv5B2TtRi8q8Y9hScbZ8dOyM8g08KGDjcqT84s9_wUrvT_cYD9fC_Nx9Y2oXwCMPxq-VrqfTKOsy3KELwFZaKIbatXVr8r7h2NoOmicjmxL6eF9n4VBmhz111Wnb4U/s1600/Crimes+and+Misdemeanors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="300" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4moIdh6MFJ8_4yBv5B2TtRi8q8Y9hScbZ8dOyM8g08KGDjcqT84s9_wUrvT_cYD9fC_Nx9Y2oXwCMPxq-VrqfTKOsy3KELwFZaKIbatXVr8r7h2NoOmicjmxL6eF9n4VBmhz111Wnb4U/s400/Crimes+and+Misdemeanors.jpg" /></a></div><br>
<i><b>Crimes and Misdemeanors</b></i> (Woody Allen, 1989). In his novel <i>The Brothers Karamazov</i>, Dostoyevsky wrote that if God doesn't exist, "everything is permissable." Woody Allen's <i>Crimes and Misdemeanors</i> (an obvious variation on the title of another Dostoyevsky tome <i>Crime and Punishment</i>, only notice that Allen does away with the "punishment") is an exploration of that very idea. It tells two parallel stories (one of a man, played by Martin Landau, who has his former mistress murdered and the other of an unlucky filmmaker, Allen himself, whose marriage is falling apart and who is becoming attracted to another woman). In the film's final scene, the two stories converge in a conversation where the difference between fantasy (as it's usually depicted in movies) and reality (as Allen perceives it) is articulated. In the vein of Allen's idol Ingmar Bergman, <i>Crimes and Misdemeanors</i> is about the absurdity of guilt, the indifference of the cold and unfeeling universe and the ways in which we human beings cope in the face of such hard, bleak concepts (Allen would later revisit some of these themes in <i>Matchpoint</i>). Much of the imagery throughout powerfully illustrates this (Landau's character is an opthamologist and his rabbi friend Sam Waterston is going blind, which indicating he doesn't "see" the truth about God's non-existence). Woody Allen, a known atheist and pessimist, is one of my favorite filmmakers (my most beloved of his films being <i>Manhattan</i> and <i>Purple Rose of Cairo</i>, both of which it was very hard to exclude from this list) and it seems strange to me sometimes that his work should resonate so much with me given that I am neither an atheist nor a pessimist. Nonetheless, there is a lot of insight in his work (Allen is particularly good, for example, at dramatizing the sentiments of the biblical book of Ecclesiastes: "Vanity, vanity, all is vanity") and it keeps me coming back to them. In many ways he has, if you'll pardon the expression, "eyes to see."
<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidn8yBdVyqJ4s8p0CDpy8tVTRAjaW2SrBS4yOFX0NH43gPE6iAHOkS6hOnnz9Nh4XW-c2y1COtMO0EbEHByHGkNfwsakTUt2BV0Fv_eCH6iYjZZocqhmWuhOQDIARhm_6Ej1c8sIPU72U/s1600/schindler.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="280" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidn8yBdVyqJ4s8p0CDpy8tVTRAjaW2SrBS4yOFX0NH43gPE6iAHOkS6hOnnz9Nh4XW-c2y1COtMO0EbEHByHGkNfwsakTUt2BV0Fv_eCH6iYjZZocqhmWuhOQDIARhm_6Ej1c8sIPU72U/s400/schindler.jpg" /></a></div><br>
<i><b>Schindler's List</b></i> (Steven Spielberg, 1993). Whenever someone decides to make a "top 10," "top 20," "top 50" or "top 100 greatest films ever" list, my first tendency is to scan the entire thing looking for this title. If I don't find it, my respect for the list immediately drops a point (Note: I actually had just such an experience recently when I discovered that <i>not a single person</i> voted for <i>Schindler's List</i> in the most recent <i>Sight & Sound</i> poll). Acclaimed and criticized in its initial release, Steven Spielberg's three hour-plus docudrama is a landmark film in the history of cinema as well as a major turning point in the career of its director. A filmmaker known primarily for technically flawless and unapologetically juvenile escapist fare, Spielberg's restrained, dignified and honest treatment of the true story of a German industrialist who risked his reputation, fortune and life to save 1,100 Jews from extermination during WWII was as surprising as it was inspiring. It is also, if I can get a bit more personal for a moment, a seminal film in my own development (both as a cinephile and as a human being). It may not be the greatest "Holocaust film" ever made -- many seem to prefer Alan Resnais' harrowing 1955 documentary <i>Night and Fog</i> -- but I would argue that, due its immense recognition and the way it brought the topic into the mainstream cultural dialogue more than any other film had before or since, it is the most important. Furthermore, like <i>Apocalypse Now, Schindler's List</i> transcends its subject. It becomes a rumination on pure ideals: good, evil, courage, fear, love, hate, etc. Very few films reach as high and dig as deep. Very few films juxtapose humanity's frightening capacity for sheer wickedness with its incredible potential for goodness more clearly or more gracefully. It may very well be, as I have not infrequently called it, the best film I've ever seen or will see (although the final film on this list comes close) and should it ever occupy the #1 spot in <i>Sight & Sound</i>'s poll, you will not hear me complaining.
<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UnkbbyuWdDNiSPt33zhiccKG-BxreH3szZ3lcKa35sQ3HCyWx4adM2JogtKAoZcpDMID1FT7pdYRDiX799_Gd9NcJcMQ94u626sQ3q68GzptvHHxWLDejHn9_iQLVBp1BOVWCmWhP0o/s1600/red+violin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="268" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4UnkbbyuWdDNiSPt33zhiccKG-BxreH3szZ3lcKa35sQ3HCyWx4adM2JogtKAoZcpDMID1FT7pdYRDiX799_Gd9NcJcMQ94u626sQ3q68GzptvHHxWLDejHn9_iQLVBp1BOVWCmWhP0o/s400/red+violin.jpg" /></a></div><br>
<i><b>The Red Violin</b></i> (François Girard, 1998). In Jr. High I remember reading a short story about a coin which traveled all over the world, was owned by many different people, was used for both good and evil purposes and which "lived" far longer than any of individuals who possessed it. I remember being fascinated by that idea and the prospect of asking any object (assuming it could magically speak) about its adventures. What sort of stories would it tell? Well, <i>The Red Violin</i> dramatizes that very scenario. The object in question is a violin known for the eminence of its creator as well as for its distinctive red-colored varnish and the film chronicles, in five different stories which span four centuries and several continents, a remarkable journey from its origin in 17th century Italy to the hands of an appraiser (played by Samuel L. Jackson) in modern-day Montreal. The Red Violin is legendary because it is no ordinary instrument and the film <i>The Red Violin</i> is brilliant because it is no ordinary film. It is dark, mysterious, hypnotic, unsettling, lush, romantic, ambitious, soulful... it is everything that a movie can and should be. It also has, thanks to composer John Corigliano, one of the most hauntingly beautiful scores ever written for a motion picture.
<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjydbdTF_Y11mlomDa8iPazHGEPwNhfaGKJEN8BTf0DS8TbHJTogjfPDjuuj4UgtGb-GCOdhfNeuzxsTFbGog0Foc7QUYmNEVSoE7AiFZrJ8cdd0I8jCvg0XeI9UagIP89844PlFGxXEp4/s1600/tree+of+life+foot.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="269" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjydbdTF_Y11mlomDa8iPazHGEPwNhfaGKJEN8BTf0DS8TbHJTogjfPDjuuj4UgtGb-GCOdhfNeuzxsTFbGog0Foc7QUYmNEVSoE7AiFZrJ8cdd0I8jCvg0XeI9UagIP89844PlFGxXEp4/s400/tree+of+life+foot.JPG" /></a></div><br>
<b><i>The Tree of Life</b></i> (Terence Malick, 2011). Once in a blue moon, we see a movie that reminds us of why we watch movies in the first place, what we are seeking when we venture into that dark room to gaze at light flickering on a screen. We see a film that produces the kind of effect in us (an intense emotional, spiritual, intellectual and existential experience) that only films can stimulate. It is awe-inspiring and ambitious while simultaneously personal and intimate. <i>The Tree of Life</i> was that movie for me. Though it may seem strange to include a film that was released just last year in a list of the ten greatest films ever made, I believe that <i>Tree of Life</i> deserves it. Praised and condemned in equal measure since its 2011 Cannes premiere, Terence Malick's glorious two-and-a-half-hour tone poem takes its audience on a grand odyssey from the beginning of the universe to the troubles of an ordinary family in 1950's Texas to the end of all creation and finally to an enigmatic "no man's land" where time, space and identity seem to merge into one. In terms of style, scope and themes, it has been aptly compared to Kubrick's <i>2001</i>, but (and I realize this is probably cinematic heresy), I think <i>Tree of Life</i> is better. When I first saw it in the theater, I was dumbstruck. I wasn't exactly sure what I had seen, but I knew I had just seen something extraordinary. It took several more viewings, not to mention reading a whole host of pieces on it (both positive and negative), for me to clarify my thinking and form a precise opinion on the film... and it is this: though it may sound hyperbolic, <i>Tree of Life</i> is not only a pure manifestation of the power and potential of cinema, it is the universal human journey expressed beautifully in a stunning marriage of words, images and music. It is sublime. It is magnificent. It is virtually a religious experience and it is, quite simply, one of the best films I've ever been seen. If movies can do that, they can do anything.
<br>
<br>
<br>
<b>Runners-Up:</b> <i>Singin' in the Rain, The Seventh Seal, Unforgiven, The Grapes of Wrath, E.T., The Exorcist, Taxi Driver, The Shawshank Redemption, Blade Runner, The Mission, The Bicycle Thief, Lawrence of Arabia, Double Indemnity, The Godfather, Amadeus, Die Hard, Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, Dr. Strangelove, JFK, Aguirre: the Wrath of God</i> Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-10841171255564350022012-03-10T12:36:00.011-08:002012-03-11T23:47:13.911-07:00Bringing Up Babs<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXLp7_azEB9-qJuSWLBYUeoO1zOhOrADbpYqej2RaO_6Iq-sR_oq5zO9t8K3xOcCmxmeSOnWgBwWWDtw1gPlH8HRYRSelB0DgcMLw5cM58ioBodm6c7JKtH2i0J6qMR9WmcdZYTdMPEGQ/s1600/What%2527s_Up_Doc_poster.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 257px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXLp7_azEB9-qJuSWLBYUeoO1zOhOrADbpYqej2RaO_6Iq-sR_oq5zO9t8K3xOcCmxmeSOnWgBwWWDtw1gPlH8HRYRSelB0DgcMLw5cM58ioBodm6c7JKtH2i0J6qMR9WmcdZYTdMPEGQ/s400/What%2527s_Up_Doc_poster.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718372550660311186" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The following is an article I wrote for the blog <a href="http://www.eddieonfilm.blogspot.com">Edward Copeland on Film</a> (for which I am a regular contributor) commemorating the 40th anniversary of the release of</span> What's Up, Doc?<br /><br /><br />I remember working in the video store one day when a regular customer came in to check out a few titles. He glanced at the enormous flat screen we had behind the counter, saw Barbra Streisand belting out some catchy show tune and uttered a question I got asked a lot in those days. "What are you watching?" he said. "<span style="font-style:italic;">Hello, Dolly!</span>" I answered. He smiled, shook his head and exclaimed, "See, now, here's where I break with the stereotype. I'm a gay guy who doesn't like Barbra Streisand." I just laughed and replied, "That's OK. I'm a straight guy who does."<br /><br />And it's true. Although she is by no means my favorite actress (nor would I ever see a film simply because she's in it), I happen to enjoy watching her onscreen. <span style="font-style:italic;">Funny Girl, Meet the Fockers</span> and the aforementioned <span style="font-style:italic;">Hello, Dolly!</span> are all films I love, but my favorite movie of hers would have to be the hilarious <span style="font-style:italic;">What's Up, Doc?</span> which celebrates its 40th anniversary today. Nowhere is Babs' gift for comedy and sheer charisma on display better than in this film. They even find an excuse to show off her incredible voice once or twice: namely, in the film's opening and ending credits where she sings Cole Porter's "You're The Top" as well as the scene at the piano when she croons a few lines of "As Time Goes By."<br /><br />It also doesn't hurt that <span style="font-style:italic;">What's Up, Doc?</span> happens to be a really great movie. Hot off of his success with <span style="font-style:italic;">The Last Picture Show</span>, Peter Bogdanovich originally conceived it as a remake of Howard Hawks' <span style="font-style:italic;">Bringing Up Baby</span>, but wisely decided (much as Lawrence Kasdan would do later with his film noir tribute <span style="font-style:italic;">Body Heat</span>) to use Hawks' film merely as an inspiration rather than a template and to give <span style="font-style:italic;">What's Up, Doc?</span> its own identity. As a result, it comes off more as a love letter to screwball comedies in general as well as to iconic Warner Bros. feature films (such as <span style="font-style:italic;">Casablanca</span>) and classic animated shorts. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVGJbHBVKITdNNqjsHkkNzo1ZZATj_lHJdxrdfWaY4YOjjhKGRq-ufnWgkRzVj-MN_OtgINtO0fDZP9owle3NrYqr5S7hsA562GLN-RgI2W_fnDsQmDxGt9-2EOkmlmoqOID1rBs5XY0/s1600/whatsupdoc11.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVGJbHBVKITdNNqjsHkkNzo1ZZATj_lHJdxrdfWaY4YOjjhKGRq-ufnWgkRzVj-MN_OtgINtO0fDZP9owle3NrYqr5S7hsA562GLN-RgI2W_fnDsQmDxGt9-2EOkmlmoqOID1rBs5XY0/s320/whatsupdoc11.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718373734522500802" /></a>Hence, when Barbra's character, Judy Maxwell, is introduced first to Ryan O'Neal's nerdy Howard Bannister, she's seen munching on a carrot a la Bugs Bunny and/or Clark Gable from <span style="font-style:italic;">It Happened One Night</span>. With her brash, fast-talking, trouble-making personality and his stiff, bespectacled, long-suffering demeanor, the two leads clearly are based on <span style="font-style:italic;">Baby</span>'s Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn. (Interestingly, Streisand shared a best actress Oscar with Ms. Hepburn only four years earlier in one of the Academy's rare ties. Streisand won for her film debut in <span style="font-style:italic;">Funny Girl</span> while Hepburn earned her third best actress trophy for <span style="font-style:italic;">The Lion in Winter</span>. Hepburn's prize was her second consecutive win in the category having taken the 1967 Oscar for <span style="font-style:italic;">Guess Who's Coming to Dinner</span>.) Aside from Judy constantly getting Howard into trouble and a reminiscent coat-tearing gag, the similarities between <span style="font-style:italic;">Doc</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Baby</span> essentially end there.<br /><br />Also, <span style="font-style:italic;">What's Up, Doc?</span> lacks a leopard. Instead the chaos revolves around four identical carrying cases containing such varied items as clothes, rocks, jewels and classified government documents. When moviegoers first see the quartet of cases at the start of <span style="font-style:italic;">Doc</span>, it's the filmmakers signaling audiences that much confusion and hilarity awaits. At this point I have to confess that, although I've seen the film at least a dozen times, I cannot to this day follow which case is which throughout the course of the film. Every time I sit down to watch, I swear I'm going to keep track of the cases, but I always give up about 20 minutes into it. I take some comfort, however, from the fact that even the great Buck Henry, in the process of re-writing the screenplay, reportedly phoned Bogdanovich to say, "I've lost one of the suitcases. It's in the hotel somewhere, but I don't know where I put it."<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZVjX4OqnD0TMau4pPEtcGD-9A_EvWbECuwpyDWAibTkSjXg_j_Yv7Xv6Y_Ds7gu3LKxmjJBqNhw_T2QXDw074PgY3AFrL2aSTeTQ7EjxEvDCFg36plk__W51oZzVgjEQvfdFik8rZGs/s1600/whatsupdoc3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKZVjX4OqnD0TMau4pPEtcGD-9A_EvWbECuwpyDWAibTkSjXg_j_Yv7Xv6Y_Ds7gu3LKxmjJBqNhw_T2QXDw074PgY3AFrL2aSTeTQ7EjxEvDCFg36plk__W51oZzVgjEQvfdFik8rZGs/s320/whatsupdoc3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718372865721999010" /></a>The gags come fast and furious in <span style="font-style:italic;">What's Up, Doc?</span> More than a decade before Bruce Willis and Bogdanovich's ex-girlfriend Cybill Shepherd resurrected rapid-fire banter on TV's <span style="font-style:italic;">Moonlighting</span>, Streisand and O'Neal fire a barrage of zingers at each other so quickly that you're almost afraid to laugh for fear you'll miss the next one. The behind-the-scenes team also populates the <span style="font-style:italic;">What's Up, Doc?</span> universe with a whole host of kooky characters, each bringing his or her unique comic flair to those roles. There isn't a single boring person in <span style="font-style:italic;">What's Up, Doc?</span> Everyone (right down to the painter who drops his cigar into the bucket) amuses. At the top of the heap resides the great Madeline Kahn in her feature film debut as Howard's frumpy fiancée Eunice Burns. Two years before she joined Mel Brooks' cinematic comedy troupe, she proved to the world her status as one of the funniest women ever to grace the silver screen. Another Mel Brooks' regular, Kenneth Mars, plays Hugh Simon, providing yet one more strangely accented flamboyant nutball to his immense repertoire. A very young Randy Quaid, a brief M. Emmett Walsh and a very annoyed John Hillerman also show up in hilarious bit parts.<br /><br />All of this anarchy culminates in a spectacular car chase through the streets of San Francisco that actually rivals the one from <span style="font-style:italic;">Bullitt</span>. Apparently it took four weeks to shoot, cost $1 million (¼ of the film's budget) and even managed to get the filmmakers in trouble with the city for destroying some of its property without permission. Nevertheless, Bogdanovich pulls out all the stops in creating this over-the-top action/slapstick set piece that overflows with both thrills and laughs. When watching it, one can't help but be reminded that physical comedy on this grand of a scale doesn't even get attempted anymore. One wishes another director would resurrect the kind of awesome stunt-comedy on display here and in <span style="font-style:italic;">The Pink Panther</span> series.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2fUdQlQmfmeOIm1YxyEQlcyqK7lhIW6-DiJtqqtdKvalclm7dSghYlOUjqa28iCBhfcaZiEYll_TdQHjzMuhpcvAjrvqV1khxtpUuSPp6dbxFjQzZEA2hwcAWQ0l22vvKqfXw2cOQtko/s1600/whatsupdoc7.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2fUdQlQmfmeOIm1YxyEQlcyqK7lhIW6-DiJtqqtdKvalclm7dSghYlOUjqa28iCBhfcaZiEYll_TdQHjzMuhpcvAjrvqV1khxtpUuSPp6dbxFjQzZEA2hwcAWQ0l22vvKqfXw2cOQtko/s320/whatsupdoc7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718373125123935634" /></a>The film's dénouement takes place in a courtroom where an embittered, elderly judge (the brilliant Liam Dunn) hears the arguments of everyone involved and tries to make sense of it all. Howard's attempt to explain only serves to frustrate and confuse the judge further and results in this gem of an exchange that owes more than a little bit to Abbott & Costello's "Who's on First?":<br /><br /> HOWARD: First, there was this trouble between me and Hugh.<br /> JUDGE: You and me?<br /> HOWARD: No, not you. Hugh.<br /> HUGH: I am Hugh.<br /> JUDGE: You are me?<br /> HUGH: No, I am Hugh.<br /> JUDGE: Stop saying that. <span style="font-style:italic;">(to bailiff) </span>Make him stop saying that!<br /> HUGH: Don't touch me, I'm a doctor.<br /> JUDGE: Of what?<br /> HUGH: Music.<br /> JUDGE: Can you fix a hi-fi?<br /> HUGH: No, sir.<br /> JUDGE: Then shut up! <br /><br />The tag line for <span style="font-style:italic;">What's Up, Doc?</span> read: "A screwball comedy. Remember them?" Well, whether people remembered screwball comedy or simply discovered it for the first time, they certainly embraced the film as it was an enormous success upon its release. It took in $66 million in North America alone and became the third-highest grossing film of the year. Since <span style="font-style:italic;">The Last Picture Show</span> was released in late '71 and <span style="font-style:italic;">Doc</span> came out in early '72, Bogdanovich had two hugely successful films playing in theaters at the same time. Unfortunately, his career, which had just started to rise, also had neared its peak. Although he would follow <span style="font-style:italic;">Doc</span> with <span style="font-style:italic;">Paper Moon</span> his directing career would only see sporadic critical successes after that such as <span style="font-style:italic;">Saint Jack</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Mask</span>. He even filmed <span style="font-style:italic;">Texasville</span>, the sequel to <span style="font-style:italic;">The Last Picture Show</span>, but he'd never again see the kind of commercial or critical success he had achieved in the early 1970s. Bogdanovich would eventually end up working in television, often as an actor such as his long recurring role as Dr. Elliot Kupferberg, psychiatrist to Dr. Melfi (Lorraine Bracco) on <span style="font-style:italic;">The Sopranos</span>. The most recent feature film he directed was 2001's fairly well-received <span style="font-style:italic;">The Cat's Meow</span> starring Kirsten Dunst as Marion Davies and Edward Herrmann as William Randolph Hearst. Based on a play of the same name, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Cat's Meow</span> concerned a real-life mystery in 1924 Hollywood involving the shooting death of writer/producer/director Thomas Ince (Cary Elwes) on Hearst's yacht.<br /><br />When Bogdanovich was good, he was great and <span style="font-style:italic;">What's Up, Doc?</span> is, in my opinion, the jewel in his crown. It made a once-forgotten genre popular again, it jump-started a lot of comic careers and it reminded us all that love meaning never having to say we're sorry is the dumbest thing we've ever heard.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTYUJYUZQ1NbJD1nMX8hULAKw3frVeiujxzSYojKsm6pR55LO-Ard0TvJtKdpL-Sg7ICqIh8jdfm5LwMma_Fm-hl0Swk8sSDBM7-aClbYPaac4hz_hsjSdDtc0_KBaWurEEvRvm2Doqo/s1600/whatsupdoc2.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQTYUJYUZQ1NbJD1nMX8hULAKw3frVeiujxzSYojKsm6pR55LO-Ard0TvJtKdpL-Sg7ICqIh8jdfm5LwMma_Fm-hl0Swk8sSDBM7-aClbYPaac4hz_hsjSdDtc0_KBaWurEEvRvm2Doqo/s400/whatsupdoc2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718373403762037858" /></a>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-49470383380119853062012-01-10T13:37:00.001-08:002012-01-12T00:25:54.555-08:00My Desert Island DVD's<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQvuDZCdUReZ7REFpTwc8rutf-iYt5qU4KDrnAa7ydquLYg9A4Rxe7CnwkTUrdeZ4HpZyF5WN5oXy0aF2woAAUhHrY8-N_tcujJQFHrt6ABM-MWaxHT6EpMUXePfAfVGjyblYlFOyLwo/s1600/jaws.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQvuDZCdUReZ7REFpTwc8rutf-iYt5qU4KDrnAa7ydquLYg9A4Rxe7CnwkTUrdeZ4HpZyF5WN5oXy0aF2woAAUhHrY8-N_tcujJQFHrt6ABM-MWaxHT6EpMUXePfAfVGjyblYlFOyLwo/s400/jaws.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695914960875331282" /></a><br />At some time or another all movie-lovers have encountered the notorious "desert island" question. You know what I'm talking about: the one that goes "If you could only have X number of movies with you while you were stranded on a desert island for the rest of your life, which ones would they be?" It's a question, I've noticed, not dissimilar from the one posed at the end of George Pal's 1960 adaptation of H.G. Wells' <span style="font-style:italic;">The Time Machine</span> wherein Alan Young notices that Rod Taylor has returned to the post-apocalyptic future bringing only three books along with which to re-start civilization and he asks his friend's housekeeper, "What three books would you have taken?" <br /><br />Although the likelihood of finding ourselves in such a situation is small indeed, answering such a unique query is an immensely fun and, quite frankly, challenging task because it forces one to consider what films one could absolutely not live without. The resulting list would not necessarily be a list of "favorites" or even of "greatest films ever seen" (although it could certainly include either) but rather a list of "personal essentials," the movies that one could watch over and over again for the rest of one's life and never get tired of.<br /><br />Well, film critic Matt Zoller Seitz has <a href="http://www.salon.com/2012/01/07/movies_for_a_desert_island/">addressed this question</a> (and has inspired other critics, such as Jim Emerson, to <a href="http://blogs.suntimes.com/scanners/2012/01/desert_island_dvds_matts_mine_.html">do the same</a>). Matt's parameters for the exercise involve "10 feature films, one short and a single, self-contained season of a TV series... NO CHEATING. Every slot on the list must be claimed by a self-contained unit of media." He elaborates, for example, that the <span style="font-style:italic;">Godfather</span> series (and the <span style="font-style:italic;">Lord of the Rings</span> trilogy I presume) would not count as "one long film."<br /><br />So, with all this in mind, here are my answers to the "desert island" question. First, my picks for the short and the series and then my ten movie choices (in no particular order).<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_U6aZLY3ZYu7yGbCqiHGDCHBZC0FY4mPp-QgJaBC2yGmYWiL3svPsbu70neX14rCnlkebpNhxI6JKXgvzBxRrgaS6RvbTPTPIdqP_YC9aCNvdunFWbekLMG9rSO8CfUAAzGmTLFR5OU/s1600/tim_burton_vincent.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 297px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6_U6aZLY3ZYu7yGbCqiHGDCHBZC0FY4mPp-QgJaBC2yGmYWiL3svPsbu70neX14rCnlkebpNhxI6JKXgvzBxRrgaS6RvbTPTPIdqP_YC9aCNvdunFWbekLMG9rSO8CfUAAzGmTLFR5OU/s400/tim_burton_vincent.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695758584817797554" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">VINCENT</span> - For my short film, I had a hard time thinking of anything that wasn't animated. I considered a number of Warner Bros. shorts including "The Rabbit of Seville," "What's Opera, Doc?" (which Matt chose), "Duck Amuck" (which Jim chose), as well as the Roger Rabbit shorts, some Pixar shorts and one of the Fleischer <span style="font-style:italic;">Superman</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">Popeye</span> cartoons. In the end, though, I decided on a quirky, lesser-known stop-motion-animated black-and-white short from the fertile imagination of a young Disney animator named Tim Burton (and since I had to ultimately remove <span style="font-style:italic;">The Nightmare Before Christmas</span> from my top ten, this seemed fitting). <span style="font-style:italic;">Vincent</span> tells the tale of a relatively normal-looking but eccentric young boy named Vincent Malloy who lives with his mother, younger sister and dog Abercrombie. Secretly Vincent is obsessed with Gothic literature, horror stories and other strange subject matter. His primary wish is to be Vincent Price (who, appropriately, narrates this story) and as he pretends to engage in such quintessentially "Price-like" activities as burying his wife alive, running a wax museum and experimenting on his dog, Vincent tragically succumbs to his fantasies and gets sucked into the abyss of his own mind out of which his soul will be lifted "nevermore." Like all of Burton's stuff, it's odd and dark but also very funny. It's no accident, I think, that the character of Vincent resembles Burton himself and that in this early piece of work we see his affection for the grotesque and bizarre combined with a self-awareness that if he's not careful to keep himself grounded in reality, his own weirdness will eventually prove his undoing. Since I can often have a somewhat twisted sensibility myself, this is a good lesson to remember.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgljcymr86eSi_617dg0VCJUyUfGbh-dCv6qFiRp_LF1_crXnKaLBbOtt4I1ARYzYLIbTSLPyxuxf8i1lDQqzH14yZ7FBDvs3VQQgQR7Yfb4ApHfCGuyN715RB64hDkvyYUikjQLoQGUQI/s1600/holmes.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 285px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgljcymr86eSi_617dg0VCJUyUfGbh-dCv6qFiRp_LF1_crXnKaLBbOtt4I1ARYzYLIbTSLPyxuxf8i1lDQqzH14yZ7FBDvs3VQQgQR7Yfb4ApHfCGuyN715RB64hDkvyYUikjQLoQGUQI/s400/holmes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695755916704952178" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">THE RETURN OF SHERLOCK HOLMES</span> - One of the limitations imposed by this exercise is that we are not permitted any other type of media on this island. No music, no paintings, no literature, etc. That being the case, I would be forced to leave my cherished hard-bound copy of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Complete Sherlock Holmes</span> behind. However, in its stead — and taking the place of my pick for a television series — I would settle for the second season of the Granada <span style="font-style:italic;">Sherlock Holmes</span> series titled <span style="font-style:italic;">The Return of Sherlock Holmes</span> starring the great Jeremy Brett (who is, in my mind, the definitive Holmes). Some may wonder why I chose <span style="font-style:italic;">Return</span> rather than the preceding <span style="font-style:italic;">Adventures</span> or subsequent <span style="font-style:italic;">Casebook</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Memoirs</span>. My reasons are threefold. First, the latter two seasons, due to such unfortunate circumstances as Brett's rapidly declining health and the show acquiring new producers who departed drastically from the source material, are vastly inferior to the first two. Second, although I love and enjoy David Burke's Watson from the first season, the late Edward Hardwicke, who was introduced after Burke declined, is my all-time personal favorite Watson. Finally, <span style="font-style:italic;">Adventures</span> ends with "The Final Problem" where Holmes presumably perishes in a fight to the death with his nemesis Professor Moriarty at Reichenbach Falls. Even though I know that Holmes actually survives and would eventually return, the program itself gives no hint of such a thing and I would rather spend the rest of my life watching Holmes' triumphant return rather than apparent death.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZ55LslPjFQPbbHE5trt84G2f2unjiQsbEtnolwtOFW1tA4RMiTbVsgTAV2uQQXVhyphenhyphenZhQcAZwzMQI9bTZBzKxf8KGrmzsW5wJt7OyulKijHPJgpAPuZ64B4MwvhkxpqC_N4jBFa44OLw/s1600/Manhattan8.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZ55LslPjFQPbbHE5trt84G2f2unjiQsbEtnolwtOFW1tA4RMiTbVsgTAV2uQQXVhyphenhyphenZhQcAZwzMQI9bTZBzKxf8KGrmzsW5wJt7OyulKijHPJgpAPuZ64B4MwvhkxpqC_N4jBFa44OLw/s400/Manhattan8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695749028088312418" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">MANHATTAN</span> - While there is a handful of Woody Allen movies that I consider the cream of his crop (including <span style="font-style:italic;">Annie Hall, Crimes and Misdemeanors</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">The Purple Rose of Cairo</span>) <span style="font-style:italic;">Manhattan</span> is the one that I find myself continually coming back to. Perhaps because it is by far his most gorgeous-looking movie (with stunning black-and-white cinematography by that genius know as Gordon Willis). Perhaps it is that luscious score of timeless Gershwin melodies. Perhaps it is the story's delicate balance between hilariously funny comedy and surprisingly moving drama. Perhaps it is the perfect cast of actors (featuring Woody Allen, Diane Keaton, Michael Murphy, Mariel Hemingway, Wallace Shawn and Meryl Streep). Perhaps it is the collection of iconic sequences such as the wonderful montage of New York images cut to "Rhapsody in Blue" and featuring the opening lines of Woody's book, Woody and Diane discussing relationships as they wander among the cosmos, Woody's listing of things that make life worth living, Woody's running across town to reach Tracy, etc. I don't know. Whatever it is, it all works for me. I never tire of this lovely little gem of a movie.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiap4r9cGuYDaiQe3bHIbr8Ag_xWTtlwAfnpsfZeBPSqYsVfQreXRJVFVWIAQVo49ZOgwAaOBRb6dW1BdyDsvIqGahGgiyDpHICa2YBOV5OuFRhxKGUZxF4c46co7szoppcnG4UrNqsdx8/s1600/diehard-crawl.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiap4r9cGuYDaiQe3bHIbr8Ag_xWTtlwAfnpsfZeBPSqYsVfQreXRJVFVWIAQVo49ZOgwAaOBRb6dW1BdyDsvIqGahGgiyDpHICa2YBOV5OuFRhxKGUZxF4c46co7szoppcnG4UrNqsdx8/s400/diehard-crawl.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695751766842557266" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">DIE HARD</span> - Sometimes you just want to watch the hero overcome all odds to be victorious and see the bad guys get theirs. To that end, you can't do much better than <span style="font-style:italic;">Die Hard</span> (although it was extremely difficult to not include <span style="font-style:italic;">Raiders of the Lost Ark, Star Wars</span> or one of my favorite Bond movies). The film has watch-like precision in its construction of environment, character, suspense, emotion and, of course, action. Bruce Willis is the smart, resourceful and incredibly vulnerable cop who matches wits with the equally intelligent, classy and deadly Alan Rickman in the claustrophobic confines of a Los Angeles skyscraper. It's the closest an action film can get to being "high art," not to mention it's a tremendous amount of fun. I already watch it every Christmas. Can't break with tradition.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkTnFHpGLW9kEtYYAxlbqdozc744TzI4Wdq1jjcM2hDPdRTYLihQYtxp3h2fDvWHeKh_iKSnqsA2qeTwMcyqDW0FQRc9wkELOjZKeUy3uONM-GUlATiw_7NkaBxQS59f8dCTt6vJDPX5g/s1600/youngfrankenstein.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 215px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkTnFHpGLW9kEtYYAxlbqdozc744TzI4Wdq1jjcM2hDPdRTYLihQYtxp3h2fDvWHeKh_iKSnqsA2qeTwMcyqDW0FQRc9wkELOjZKeUy3uONM-GUlATiw_7NkaBxQS59f8dCTt6vJDPX5g/s400/youngfrankenstein.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695753389586716610" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">YOUNG FRANKENSTEIN</span> - Being alone and isolated on a desert island, one would obviously have to be able to laugh at their situation to keep from losing one's mind. Consequently, an uproarious comedy would be an essential part of one's limited DVD stash. There are a number of comedies I would love to take with me (<span style="font-style:italic;">Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, Tootsie, Ghostbusters, Dr. Strangelove, Groundhog Day, </span>etc), but Mel Brooks' 1972 spoof <span style="font-style:italic;">Young Frankenstein</span> seems to make me laugh out loud the hardest and the most. I can barely recall certain classic lines ("I was gonna make espresso.") or comic moments (Gene Wilder's and Peter Boyle's "Puttin' on the Ritz" dance number) without at least cracking a smile. Having such an uplifting film in my possession should, at the very least, help me to accept my circumstances with "quiet dignity and grace."<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphenUnIL0cpwD-OfBT2IwemHY-kSZ9g5wq6yRXNPfm8QJ9BhZZ91DmxS_Qr4jugOtNKoAT5vZhfvVCXBnz9wfPzIs4ZaUHi5J2SiZpf0gijH828j0BA6avg558GqOUGHYVJHNSiNiKjeis/s1600/SchindlersList.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 227px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihyphenhyphenUnIL0cpwD-OfBT2IwemHY-kSZ9g5wq6yRXNPfm8QJ9BhZZ91DmxS_Qr4jugOtNKoAT5vZhfvVCXBnz9wfPzIs4ZaUHi5J2SiZpf0gijH828j0BA6avg558GqOUGHYVJHNSiNiKjeis/s400/SchindlersList.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696287078660604658" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">SCHINDLER'S LIST</span> - Besides being Spielberg's greatest achievement as a filmmaker, <span style="font-style:italic;">Schindler's List</span> was a seminal film in my development as a cinephile. In fact, I have often referred to it as the greatest film I personally have ever seen or probably ever will see (although I was pleasantly surprised at how affected I was by Terence Malick's magnificent <span style="font-style:italic;">Tree of Life</span>, proving once again that one should never assume they won't find something better than what they've already seen because you just never know). By now everyone is familiar with the inspiring story of the German war profiteer who risked his life, his fortune and his reputation to save the lives of 1,100 Jews during the Holocaust. A harsh, unflinching but essentially restrained and dignified depiction of man's inhumanity toward his fellow man, <span style="font-style:italic;">Schindler's List</span> reaches higher and digs deeper than just about any other film out there. It seems strange to refer to such a brutal cinematic experience as one's "favorite" film, but it is mine. Not because it makes me feel good, but because it makes me want to <span style="font-style:italic;">be</span> good (How many films can you say that about?). It is also a rich, nuanced work of art that yields more depth and truth with each subsequent viewing. I've often thought that if I had to be stranded on a desert island with just ONE movie, this would be it. Naturally it had to make my top ten.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjy79tsP-r9UccAull7f42Tif1PVanE2aOeFIBS_LCo5EMxJRX4Y0HfYrMOw2jc6NuwTDYM7XrDiFnlc00WAJxcQ3V2CZO_L8sYTOvkP63JqgMDthNj1Wa2qj4jzcNMUyOQObMdj9L_Ho/s1600/jaws02.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 182px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjy79tsP-r9UccAull7f42Tif1PVanE2aOeFIBS_LCo5EMxJRX4Y0HfYrMOw2jc6NuwTDYM7XrDiFnlc00WAJxcQ3V2CZO_L8sYTOvkP63JqgMDthNj1Wa2qj4jzcNMUyOQObMdj9L_Ho/s400/jaws02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695917566182745490" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">JAWS</span> - Anyone who knows me fairly well knows that Steven Spielberg is my favorite director. Combined with the fact that he is an amazingly versatile artist, it is only appropriate that I bring more than one of his films to the island with me (having already chosen <span style="font-style:italic;">Schindler's List</span>). Picking a second one, however, is a virtually impossible task. Since I already jettisoned <span style="font-style:italic;">Raiders of the Lost Ark</span> in favor of <span style="font-style:italic;">Die Hard</span>, that leaves only two of my "Spielberg essentials:" <span style="font-style:italic;">E.T.</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">Jaws</span> (Don't get me wrong; I also adore <span style="font-style:italic;">Saving Private Ryan, Munich, Close Encounters, Minority Report</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Empire of the Sun</span>, but they just don't quite make the cut). In choosing between the remaining two, it really just comes down to what emotion I feel is lacking from my collection. I already have a couple films to make me cry, but I don't have one to scare me (since the catharsis of fear that comes from watching a horror movie is an important element of dealing with fear in real life ). Since I was forced to leave off my favorite Hitchcock film as well (<span style="font-style:italic;">Psycho</span>) <span style="font-style:italic;">Jaws</span> should serve that function nicely. The truth is, I love the film so much I already watch the it at least once a year (usually in the summer), so I know I'll never tire of it. It should also keep me from going swimming in the waters surrounding my island.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1R5osWzkyo0Xh0gBCAhxVaQDMJ4ZAjMCctTFEa_K_hYBIeLMkfBPiU_HtzmeoewWFbIuv8aIKGFwfa0OlAlgZa5R7ZAU3AeQyvWzVXkB_jCOuGRikwqGCwK3svo7AwRsr1JRNpXjvD1Y/s1600/nimh.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1R5osWzkyo0Xh0gBCAhxVaQDMJ4ZAjMCctTFEa_K_hYBIeLMkfBPiU_HtzmeoewWFbIuv8aIKGFwfa0OlAlgZa5R7ZAU3AeQyvWzVXkB_jCOuGRikwqGCwK3svo7AwRsr1JRNpXjvD1Y/s400/nimh.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695745893153147730" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">THE SECRET OF NIMH</span> - Like Matt, I also figured I should include an animated feature on my list. <span style="font-style:italic;">Pinocchio, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Nightmare Before Christmas, The Prince of Egypt, The Incredibles</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">Wall-E</span> were all candidates for this honor, but in the end I found myself leaning toward a lesser-known, almost forgotten, chapter in the history of cinematic animation: former Disney animator Don Bluth's 1982 <span style="font-style:italic;">The Secret of NIMH</span>. Bluth's debut feature didn't garner quite the commercial success as some of his later efforts did (<span style="font-style:italic;">An American Tail, Land Before Time</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">Anastasia</span>), but over the years it has gained quite a cult following who respond very favorably to its emotional, beautifully animated tale of a widowed mouse courageously fighting for the survival of her children in the face of some pretty overwhelming obstacles. It's a dark, haunting and surprisingly violent "kid's movie" (I still can't believe it got a G rating) and yet it's also funny, sweet and ultimately joyous. I saw it as a youngster and it still stirs my soul to this day.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeGW37dYtJHiJ7YwY-4s4oKIkZg2T3uwofB6yCQIq2u_-rHLntzcfLZ3QdLd13_b29df2srSSgCraBVMzjMAwWHUlcHm4NVqGBC-5ixi5gIoExlmTaN97bliRvNC7r0I5gwB951rDl6MY/s1600/you-know-for-kids.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 216px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeGW37dYtJHiJ7YwY-4s4oKIkZg2T3uwofB6yCQIq2u_-rHLntzcfLZ3QdLd13_b29df2srSSgCraBVMzjMAwWHUlcHm4NVqGBC-5ixi5gIoExlmTaN97bliRvNC7r0I5gwB951rDl6MY/s400/you-know-for-kids.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695757757717643554" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">THE HUDSUCKER PROXY</span> - Naturally I just had to include a film by those wacky Coen brothers and although it may not be their best, their highly stylized homage to Frank Capra, Preston Sturges and Fritz Lang called <span style="font-style:italic;">The Hudsucker Proxy</span> holds a special place in my heart as it is the film that introduced me to their bizarre, subversive and enormously entertaining world. It was either ignored or despised upon is release (though the Coens' next film <span style="font-style:italic;">Fargo</span> made them filmmaking celebrities), which is a shame as I think it's just as intelligent, rewarding and visually striking (perhaps even more so in case of the latter) as anything else they've ever done. Fortunately, it's gained some popularity over the years... though not quite as much as the hula hoop itself. "You know, for kids!"<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERQKQWDurob7cLhf75CP-JqYEOmDm7dR6u9GaFsA2AbNKaBmAzn47Bm9-xiiiCHR5gf_T_chzCWYkgd43aE07BDjCVV_FG_VbHGUFLrfL8DADzR2gH5haw4MiMtPJe3rQm9-a4vKQiJo/s1600/Singing.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgERQKQWDurob7cLhf75CP-JqYEOmDm7dR6u9GaFsA2AbNKaBmAzn47Bm9-xiiiCHR5gf_T_chzCWYkgd43aE07BDjCVV_FG_VbHGUFLrfL8DADzR2gH5haw4MiMtPJe3rQm9-a4vKQiJo/s400/Singing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695756786673531666" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">SINGIN' IN THE RAIN</span> - I love musicals. Sometimes I wish I lived in one. Often, right in the middle of a fairly menial task, I will launch into a song of some sort and imagine that I am being accompanied by an entire orchestra. That being the case, I have little doubt that I would find myself singing quite a bit on my own little island ("On my own little island in my own little sea, I can be whatever I want to beeeee..." Uh, sorry!) and thus should have a movie musical in my collection. Several recommended themselves to me (such as <span style="font-style:italic;">Top Hat</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Fiddler on the Roof</span>) but when it comes down to it, if I had to have just one movie musical to watch over and over again for the rest of my life, it would have to be <span style="font-style:italic;">Singin' in the Rain</span>. No other musical captures the optimistic nature of song and dance in the face of adversity than this one does (particularly in the now immortal sequence featuring Gene Kelly nonchalantly defying the elements). If it ever rains on the island, you can guess what I'll be doing.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrOp_C7Urvg1t37mtNWJ-dIFI4y1u3lRAHgmpQX4hZZ5w-UObd77vJYPk8ZBhjWfg5fiiiRP0UXi71k3a0tbxdkMCrGif7W-nKAmu3fJOHp2cCBmiT1pPxtaKPQtvrE8lPUFgKnB9QaY/s1600/unforgiven.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrOp_C7Urvg1t37mtNWJ-dIFI4y1u3lRAHgmpQX4hZZ5w-UObd77vJYPk8ZBhjWfg5fiiiRP0UXi71k3a0tbxdkMCrGif7W-nKAmu3fJOHp2cCBmiT1pPxtaKPQtvrE8lPUFgKnB9QaY/s400/unforgiven.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695916655298892978" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">UNFORGIVEN</span> - Although westerns are not exactly my favorite genre, I have a small number of them which I happen to love (<span style="font-style:italic;">High Noon, Stagecoach, The Searchers, </span>the remake of <span style="font-style:italic;">True Grit</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">The Good, the Bad and the Ugly</span>). At the top of the heap, though, is Clint Eastwood's 1991 masterpiece <span style="font-style:italic;">Unforgiven</span>. It is probably the best western I've ever seen and it accomplishes that feat by being a sort of "anti-western:" a de-mythologizing melodrama that removes all of the romance, heroism and glory of the genre and replaces it with the gritty ugliness and blind, stupid luck that probably more accurately reflected that period of our history. More than anything, though, <span style="font-style:italic;">Unforgiven</span> is a meditation on the nature of human evil, the possibility of redemption and the dehumanizing effect of violence. It's a phenomenal film that I could watch over and over again.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-xyhsjt_nOj2vaMaT2KeewXcoSEGxQBb7H3_IU5qwPWUn0e35FTL32rQI3l359mcJmbZseRIRpnnznBAT6aIXKZOZUKz1GMiA37BGZaGxHteZUq49kDaGKjQeDAP40uhFUXRfSBMKhY/s1600/Shawshank-Redemption-Screen-Shots-the-shawshank-redemption.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN-xyhsjt_nOj2vaMaT2KeewXcoSEGxQBb7H3_IU5qwPWUn0e35FTL32rQI3l359mcJmbZseRIRpnnznBAT6aIXKZOZUKz1GMiA37BGZaGxHteZUq49kDaGKjQeDAP40uhFUXRfSBMKhY/s400/Shawshank-Redemption-Screen-Shots-the-shawshank-redemption.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695749928490711490" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">THE SHAWSHANK REDEMPTION</span> - Although I have several films on my list whose function is to help me "escape" and/or make me feel good in my loneliness, I also need films that acknowledge that life can indeed suck (sometimes a lot) and that keeping one's faith in the midst of so much suffering is really the right response to have. <span style="font-style:italic;">Schindler's List</span> fulfills that role as does this one. Frank Darabont's brilliant adaptation of Stephen King's novella is a powerful, life-affirming expression of the courage and tenacity of the human spirit. It confronts the harsh realities of life but does not succumb to despair. In our increasingly bleak and nihilistic society, that is a precious commodity. Or as Tim Robbins says in the film "Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies." Hope springs eternal. <br /><br />Incidentally, that final helicopter shot of the beach never fails to make cry. Ever.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivL-j1ksXkpTHfcd_Y1ct0yfobkHVGwAXRPHo0rdWqIRD_FZWk7z7mUkgIwU_cURVsVN9vSE0SH5UTP2uT7H_iI4HNnkVMYHCXSq4nLrOM4ZawKU2_crj5Cjti5bVZVMpldibmndB2CYo/s1600/shawshank-beach.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivL-j1ksXkpTHfcd_Y1ct0yfobkHVGwAXRPHo0rdWqIRD_FZWk7z7mUkgIwU_cURVsVN9vSE0SH5UTP2uT7H_iI4HNnkVMYHCXSq4nLrOM4ZawKU2_crj5Cjti5bVZVMpldibmndB2CYo/s400/shawshank-beach.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696128498480076466" /></a>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-61906419454458384532012-01-01T15:05:00.000-08:002012-01-01T20:13:32.292-08:00A New Year! A New Look!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-C73U7cJ8sy6PRVFBcMnp2ylaIzYHYZnoPi1eqyKp4Kq-dV2utRcteGvERSX8SeKTI64akszmklnHyTZYj5EU9k88mtNnDM5oBQYpBV_Qno-Cm_51iZIQypyIcPm4fh4AVVPl0N5El64/s1600/hudsucker-clock.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-C73U7cJ8sy6PRVFBcMnp2ylaIzYHYZnoPi1eqyKp4Kq-dV2utRcteGvERSX8SeKTI64akszmklnHyTZYj5EU9k88mtNnDM5oBQYpBV_Qno-Cm_51iZIQypyIcPm4fh4AVVPl0N5El64/s400/hudsucker-clock.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692804128810302738" /></a><br />In late 2009 I decided to start <span style="font-weight:bold;">CINEMEMORIES</span> with the hope of establishing, after an extended hiatus from blogging, an online presence once again (I announced my intentions in the <a href="http://www.cinememories.blogspot.com/2011/01/im-blogging-again.html">inaugural post</a> of my new film blog). At the conclusion of my first year here I reflected back, as people tend to do whenever "Big Daddy Earth starts one more trip around the sun," and several things occurred to me.<br /><br />I noticed that over the course of the year I posted a total of 20 pieces. Not only is that less than an average of two per month, but the majority of them were "cross-posts" of articles I wrote for my friend <a href="http://eddieonfilm.blogspot.com/">Ed Copeland's blog</a> (where I contributed a whopping 27 articles). If I intend to take my participation in the online community seriously, that is pretty pathetic. Thus, as a new year begins, I find myself not only wanting to write more pieces for my blog but to make them more substantial and thought-provoking (the truth is, I got a little lazy with some of my posts). Cinema is in a very significant transitional state right now, especially with the death of "film" becoming an ever-present reality, and although there may not be a huge number of readers out there dying to know what I think on various subjects, I should at least have the courage and character to express them.<br /><br />I also found myself wanting to revamp my site. While I was pleased with the "<span style="font-style:italic;">Being There</span> motif" I had created for the blog, an idea suggested itself to me that I thought could prove fun and perhaps, if I wanted to get myself writing more, even somewhat inspirational. What if I changed the layout of my blog every January? What if this became an annual thing? I liked it. As a new year presents itself, so does a new look for <span style="font-weight:bold;">CINEMEMORIES</span>. Once again I have chosen a very specific image which I think goes very well with the dual theme of cinema and memory.*<br /><br />So, at the dawn of 2012, I look forward to a year of more, and hopefully better, writing about movies (both good and bad) and maybe even some good discussion. Hope you like the new look. Happy New Year, everyone!<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">*Where I could've gotten the idea to use a shot from this particular movie though, I do not know. It just came to me. I mean, it's not like anyone could've put it there, right? Right?</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcX_xgg7UYZvH-SdRxmVa0K5ySsavlvseZzdux7IzKPuB6ov8sIUY195BxdLvBNURZgA0nxs4SPl66tObIgA51y3BfQ_gIq9RYFAAKgG9kQMCzEfGRdhvmvHkumgQ3pE-96OPCviEePvc/s1600/top.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 199px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcX_xgg7UYZvH-SdRxmVa0K5ySsavlvseZzdux7IzKPuB6ov8sIUY195BxdLvBNURZgA0nxs4SPl66tObIgA51y3BfQ_gIq9RYFAAKgG9kQMCzEfGRdhvmvHkumgQ3pE-96OPCviEePvc/s400/top.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692807320378365458" /></a>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-19446890234326694032011-12-23T14:38:00.001-08:002011-12-23T14:44:58.784-08:00Now We Know Why They Call Him Dirty Harry<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW97cPsUnwGpP6XvjgLchD2ksErSd8hSIo3yBikIcbEsr1CLYZsvRitjhaGIpFiOFlENDPtuZrsifmtIqnY6pyB91CylHpxsN2Ud_GUJGnNly-Vxn2ovvov_Z5NZHN1Q548ufJFlELcKQ/s1600/dirty-harry-poster.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW97cPsUnwGpP6XvjgLchD2ksErSd8hSIo3yBikIcbEsr1CLYZsvRitjhaGIpFiOFlENDPtuZrsifmtIqnY6pyB91CylHpxsN2Ud_GUJGnNly-Vxn2ovvov_Z5NZHN1Q548ufJFlELcKQ/s400/dirty-harry-poster.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689224242410539538" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The following is an article I wrote for the blog <a href="http://www.eddieonfilm.blogspot.com">Edward Copeland on Film</a> (for which I am a regular contributor) commemorating the 40th anniversary of the release of</span> Dirty Harry.<br /><br /><br />I don't particularly like television, so I don't really watch a lot of it nowadays. Still, there are a few shows which I enjoy and one of those happens to be Fox's <span style="font-style:italic;">House, M.D.</span> My wife had to turn me onto it because I thought it looked like just another hour-long medical drama in the vein of <span style="font-style:italic;">St. Elsewhere, ER</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">Chicago Hope</span>. She told me that it was really more of a mystery show (she knows I love mysteries) and informed me that its protagonist, Dr. Gregory House, is a complex, charismatic and provocative character. His antisocial, unethical and misogynistic tendencies are matched only by his brilliant, obsessive and astute mind. Although it jumped the shark a couple seasons ago, I continue to tune in every week. Even through the worst of its outrageously cheesy and absurdly melodramatic plot twists, House himself (superbly played by Hugh Laurie) remains a fascinating character.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9SNZljOL39wn8fFfIYLsIyFUnOIM_uKkCxDTNhAJTRQkClKTara5oNjMPezOpRhyphenhyphenISoQGjjuAGsmW913TneyO3jwiy997IXxk6O7RHxIdjhQm2JXU1TvjvI8sFjkSWpSAHbJN-c1VllI/s1600/house.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 160px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9SNZljOL39wn8fFfIYLsIyFUnOIM_uKkCxDTNhAJTRQkClKTara5oNjMPezOpRhyphenhyphenISoQGjjuAGsmW913TneyO3jwiy997IXxk6O7RHxIdjhQm2JXU1TvjvI8sFjkSWpSAHbJN-c1VllI/s200/house.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689457356505537378" /></a>Right now, you're probably wondering to yourself why I'm talking so much about <span style="font-style:italic;">House </span>in an article that, given the headline and picture above, is clearly about the 1971 Don Siegel film <span style="font-style:italic;">Dirty Harry</span>, which celebrates its 40th anniversary today. Well, here's my reason. Although it is obvious that House is based on Sherlock Holmes, it occurred to me at a certain point that another fictional character has about equal claim to being a source of inspiration: San Francisco cop Harry Callahan. Harry may not be as brilliant as House, but he has about as much regard for social niceties, can be about as misogynistic and, just as House, always acts in the best interest of those he's trying to help (even if it means disobeying his superiors, putting his own life and career in jeopardy or even tricking, manipulating and sometimes even hurting those he's working to save) in his drive to ensure that justice prevails. The criminals' rights and the rules and regulations that his bosses demand he follow while pursuing those perpetrators concern him less. Harry, like House, just doesn't give a damn and when I realized that in many ways House could be described as "Dirty Harry with a medical degree," I understood not only how iconic Clint Eastwood's brave, tough-talking cop had become but what purpose characters such as Harry, House and their ilk serve for audiences.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Dirty Harry</span> was made in a time when society wasn't feeling particularly safe. This seemed especially true in San Francisco, where the film is set, with the activity of the Zodiac Killer (on whom the movie's psychotic Scorpio Killer, broadly but effectively played by Andy Robinson, clearly is based). Much of that anxiety and frustration ended up being directed at the state and the filmmakers captured it. This anger doesn't seem aimed primarily at cops (indeed the film is even dedicated to San Francisco police officers who have given their lives in the line of duty) but rather to the system for which they work, a system that many people (much like today) felt had gone out of control. It presumed to function in the interests of the innocent but instead came off as more dedicated to preserving itself and/or the rights of the criminals. There is a very strong "anti-authoritarian" attitude present in <span style="font-style:italic;">Dirty Harry</span>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_WDFyhTpj-_Su0nlOVaY_lnAeQfNN2E-WjvQqzR8vImIXEx8GqnzEh01oL0V0syu_c3CblU7ALIRl-29EIspwSO7JwTcrM8VNqtY05T2aIaLSXejKP8i4F7N5mnnVyY81c2T1UeoKrE/s1600/dirty-harry-scorpio.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji_WDFyhTpj-_Su0nlOVaY_lnAeQfNN2E-WjvQqzR8vImIXEx8GqnzEh01oL0V0syu_c3CblU7ALIRl-29EIspwSO7JwTcrM8VNqtY05T2aIaLSXejKP8i4F7N5mnnVyY81c2T1UeoKrE/s320/dirty-harry-scorpio.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689458399668299202" /></a>Throughout the film, Harry's desire to protect civilians from the malevolent force of evil, much to his dismay, constantly gets hindered or thwarted. Consequently, Harry, in essence, becomes a vigilante with a badge. He renounces his oath to serve the law and devotes his efforts to serving justice. In the film's final scene — with the Scorpio Killer in his sights — when he utters those famous lines (<span style="font-style:italic;">"I know what you’re thinking: 'Did he fire six shots, or only five?' Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement, I’ve kinda lost track myself.,</span> etc.) for the second time in the film, Harry clearly snarls the words with much more rage and menace — his own has changed. The incompetence of the bureaucracy always annoyed him, but he has become so "fed up" with the whole thing that he no longer wants any part of it. After dispatching Scorpio with his Magnum, Harry removes his badge and tosses it away. Obviously, no one planned any <span style="font-style:italic;">Dirty Harry</span> sequels. This truly ends his character's story, not the subsequent adventures where Harry softens a little more in each new film.<br /><br />When <span style="font-style:italic;">Dirty Harry</span> was released in 1971, it caused quite a stir. Many critics, including Pauline Kael and Roger Ebert, articulated concern over the ideas and values expressed in it (with Ebert even calling it "fascist"). While I fully understand having such a reaction, I can't help but think that they are somewhat missing the point of what role such an extreme character can play for audiences and why <span style="font-style:italic;">Dirty Harry</span> proved to be such a commercial success in its day. We all feel oppressed at times. We all feel abused or maligned and we all secretly wish we could act out the fantasies of retribution we have. Fortunately, we don't (or at least most of us don't) act on these impulses. Still, there is something appropriate about wanting to see good triumph and evil punished. Dirty Harry serves as a vessel for pent-up frustrations with our own impotence, an ideal of the kind of courage and tenacity it takes to do the right thing (regardless of the personal consequences) and watching him do what he has to do proves cathartic. We live vicariously through him as he says and does the things that we can't say and do but wish we could. He understands that the law is merely a man-made institution — it is not sacred — and if he must circumvent it sometimes in the name of the greater good, he'll do it. In fiction, one can get away with this. In reality, we don't have that luxury — reality always turns out to be far more complex, messy and nuanced than the simple black-and-white moral universe represented onscreen. So, we watch the rogue endeavors of vigilante heroes such as Harry, House, Robin Hood, Zorro, Batman or, even on occasion, James Bond (such as in <span style="font-style:italic;">Casino Royale</span> when he just marches into an embassy, grabs a guy by the scruff of the neck and drags him out) and rightfully admire, respect and perhaps even envy them. As long as we don't imitate them, they fulfill their proper role in our lives.<br /><br />Sometimes to do good, you gotta get your hands a little dirty.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvchVwXYqNBSgjmMcA_OzeIBzS4hcCXyy07tZWJFfE4ghZE2MtGxmaysN2lhEQR-VYzRgpr2ZSvydp3nrMu0J0zblOPT1lZbYL-P4WzDh4SxSgdvSTi3R6AxmTbEeQuiOg6WRqFUmVr0/s1600/Harry_Callahan-gun.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 183px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvchVwXYqNBSgjmMcA_OzeIBzS4hcCXyy07tZWJFfE4ghZE2MtGxmaysN2lhEQR-VYzRgpr2ZSvydp3nrMu0J0zblOPT1lZbYL-P4WzDh4SxSgdvSTi3R6AxmTbEeQuiOg6WRqFUmVr0/s400/Harry_Callahan-gun.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689458168109318674" /></a>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-60932679517132336662011-12-20T18:33:00.000-08:002013-09-14T21:01:03.838-07:00A Riddle Wrapped In a Mystery Inside an Enigma<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-7GY0ZuhawuPqyrdWm_A5F614isFSM-lfGydPtwR8iP7AkASRxubkxNfsPG4Ft5wB87x2kZ9qPqBmU-Kly4lhNiHyDhU8JnqNGiO-2jbvoFwlQZFAuLC04QDZurHfH9TsKKO5cvF9Ajk/s1600/jfk-poster.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-7GY0ZuhawuPqyrdWm_A5F614isFSM-lfGydPtwR8iP7AkASRxubkxNfsPG4Ft5wB87x2kZ9qPqBmU-Kly4lhNiHyDhU8JnqNGiO-2jbvoFwlQZFAuLC04QDZurHfH9TsKKO5cvF9Ajk/s400/jfk-poster.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688405678652114898" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The following is an article I wrote for the blog <a href="http://www.eddieonfilm.blogspot.com">Edward Copeland on Film</a> (for which I am a regular contributor) commemorating the 20th anniversary of the release of</span> JFK.<br /><br /><br />While some might be of the opinion that Oliver Stone’s most archetypal movie is <span style="font-style:italic;">Wall Street</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">Platoon</span>, I happen to think the film which holds that particular distinction is <span style="font-style:italic;">JFK</span> (which celebrates its 20th anniversary today). It is not necessarily his greatest movie, but it is his most significant in a number of ways. In a career littered with provocative, politically charged works, it has proved to be arguably his most controversial. It marked the beginning of a stylistic period in Stone’s filmmaking (a fast, in-your-face approach to storytelling which culminated in Stone’s outrageously anarchic <span style="font-style:italic;">Natural Born Killers</span>). Finally, it was (and still seems to be) one of Stone’s most personal projects: the result of years of research, overwhelming passion and righteous indignation. Indeed, of all Stone’s protagonists, the man at the center of <span style="font-style:italic;">JFK</span> (who is, somewhat ironically, not the titular character) serves as perhaps the best representative of the ideals and opinions of Oliver himself. In reality, the motives and actions of New Orleans District Attorney Jim Garrison (the only prosecutor ever to go to trial in the assassination of President Kennedy) are not entirely clear nor always seem purely honorable, but in the film, Garrison — wonderfully played by Kevin Costner — is a man on a crusade, a courageous hero of the highest intentions and noblest stature crying, “Let the truth be told though the heavens fall!” He is the director's alter ego, a lone wolf fighting the establishment in the name of truth, justice and, yes, the American way.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">JFK</span> was my first Oliver Stone picture. My dad took me to see it in the theater when I was a sophomore in high school and I was, as the expression goes, blown away by it. Incidentally, he was (and still is to some degree) a major expert on the Kennedy conspiracy, so he was able to lean over and tell me at various junctures <span style="font-style:italic;">"That's true"</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">"That's not true"</span> which helped orient me in the somewhat overwhelming deluge of faces, names, dates and theories with which I was being bludgeoned. My dad once owned the largest collection of books, magazines, videos and even vintage newspaper articles about that specific event which I have ever seen. After watching the film and concluding that there <span style="font-style:italic;">definitely</span> was a conspiracy and a cover-up, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwWYRKpbUfahgTaxG930_rCcVQk33PvGu6TMynbe5KN7oE6_XGD-Q5p0Z0VIWcH3RIrXmgyb5fG2tusMBUdQoK14pJZnAbtW4tZm0aUyTTLe2I44AdYJzkEPcHCUm2wHBFi2vB1ANgDl4/s1600/jfk2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwWYRKpbUfahgTaxG930_rCcVQk33PvGu6TMynbe5KN7oE6_XGD-Q5p0Z0VIWcH3RIrXmgyb5fG2tusMBUdQoK14pJZnAbtW4tZm0aUyTTLe2I44AdYJzkEPcHCUm2wHBFi2vB1ANgDl4/s320/jfk2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688407254678753170" /></a>I even read a few of them myself, including the screenplay to the film which contained a footnoted source for every piece of information that Stone wrote into the expository dialogue and/or imagery of the film. It gave me a whole new appreciation for a movie's potential to tell a story which, if not "true" or "historically accurate," is at least "factual." Eventually I became somewhat of an expert myself and years later, after getting married and moving to Dallas, I finally visited the sixth floor museum and Dealey Plaza (the latter of which, I was shocked to discover, is a very small, and intimately contained space). Now, however, having read multiple accounts from different writers arguing for both sides of the conspiracy debate — including <a href="http://www.jfk-online.com/jfk100menu.html">this very compelling website run by Dave Reitzes</a>, whose experience with the film is remarkably similar to my own — I have no idea what really happened on that day in Dallas (though I still think there is more to the story than we are being told). However, one thing that has not changed, is that <span style="font-style:italic;">JFK</span> remains a seminal film in my development as a cinephile.<br /><br />Much can be said about the movie's many stellar qualities, such as the performances from its immense cast (a dizzying collection of such familiar faces as Sissy Spacek, Joe Pesci, Tommy Lee Jones, Kevin Bacon, John Candy, Ed Asner, Jack Lemmon, Walter Matthau, Gary Oldman, Donald Sutherland, etc). In a nice bit of subversive casting, Stone even got the real Jim Garrison to portray Judge Earl Warren of the Warren Commission. Much could also be said about John Williams' suspenseful and emotional Oscar-nominated music score, but the main element of the film which captivated me upon my first viewing (and which I studied very carefully upon numerous subsequent viewings) was its visual aesthetic. In order to make a film which was heavy on talk into an arresting experience, Stone deftly employed various cinematic techniques that until that time had never been employed with such enthusiastic exuberance nor wild abandon in a historical epic. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiev0YTOgvz9CwizAwNF2V863k-ZuhsFzKkYpKI99yRgQ1UNO94JVLtKhiJhZCTONfkLtHRXSFzh4RZsJjk63WxwJSlJ4NPxXrPcb_wYkVE7QTu0LvIevm8pA-tZuJ2FNFCf5Vav9M3Mww/s1600/stone.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiev0YTOgvz9CwizAwNF2V863k-ZuhsFzKkYpKI99yRgQ1UNO94JVLtKhiJhZCTONfkLtHRXSFzh4RZsJjk63WxwJSlJ4NPxXrPcb_wYkVE7QTu0LvIevm8pA-tZuJ2FNFCf5Vav9M3Mww/s320/stone.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688406148982784578" /></a>His approach to shooting and editing the film was considered confusing and indulgent by some and incredibly powerful and innovative by others. I personally fell into the latter camp. Jumping back and forth (sometimes in a seemingly random manner) from authentic to recreated footage, from color to black-and-white and from 35 to 16mm, <span style="font-style:italic;">JFK</span> creates such an apparently chaotic product that people didn't know what to make of it. The more one delves deeper into it though, the more one discovers that there is indeed "method in the madness." Stone's is a stream-of-consciousness approach to examining history, a process that makes no distinction between past and present, between what has happened and what is happening and, perhaps most controversially, between theory and fact. To Stone, history is in the eye of the beholder and he presents so many different perspectives, ideas and judgments that he was essentially, as film critic Roger Ebert proposed, fighting the official establishment myth by "weaving a counter-myth." Not surprisingly, Stone's effort garnered a great deal of criticism from various esteemed news sources. It did not help their case that they were attacking the film well before it had come out and anyone, including them, had even seen it, their zeal and hostility seemingly inspired more by fear of losing their privileged authoritative status than by supposed journalistic integrity and objectivity.<br /><br />In spite of (or perhaps because of) <span style="font-style:italic;">JFK</span>'s notoriety, it was very well-received upon its release in December 1991. The film grossed more than $50 million worldwide, which was impressive considering that the film was more than three hours long, and ended up receiving eight Academy Award nominations, including best picture, best director and best supporting actor for Tommy Lee Jones. It ended up winning two of those awards for the experimental cinematography and editing. It also, much to Stone's delight no doubt, incited a whole media discussion about the Kennedy assassination. Much like the media circus that surrounded the release of Mel Gibson's <span style="font-style:italic;">The Passion of the Christ</span>, all you could see and hear on the news for several months was talk of what actually occurred on Nov. 22, 1963. In point of fact, we probably will never know what occurred. As Pesci's nervous David Ferrie quotes Winston Churchill in the film, <span style="font-style:italic;">"It's a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma."</span> Still, perhaps whether we ever know the truth (or, to be more precise, know THAT we know the truth since we may already know it) isn't as important as that we never give up looking for it. Maybe the real message behind the film is that the pursuit of truth is more important then the possession of it.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSKouXm5N47I8cnIQ1EJ4feKWO-N51qKrZ8Phfbmzy6idjbTLxC248J6P_mf70w-YJm7sLjC95kHNZ0BN_zlgAkT-WYYYuMRbl2RwIraQqyL-Fp6AkpwFih7kwRcC4SNXG2XojEOLKkxE/s1600/costner-jfk.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSKouXm5N47I8cnIQ1EJ4feKWO-N51qKrZ8Phfbmzy6idjbTLxC248J6P_mf70w-YJm7sLjC95kHNZ0BN_zlgAkT-WYYYuMRbl2RwIraQqyL-Fp6AkpwFih7kwRcC4SNXG2XojEOLKkxE/s400/costner-jfk.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688406624391095202" /></a>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-75832105406143651432011-12-01T01:27:00.001-08:002011-12-05T01:28:23.286-08:00The Napoleons of Crime<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnwXwnOOWhyphenhyphenCpYafEMBvFJRxU0WIMrS26xgNQ0X-PLEBRZUn8ZubeoHgUAZ21bH_CH2cMrR230l48qGVX3qneeagX6hmPCoQZjxqUoeFdP3QViyaQARvIkgEllImoT2-yEg8TvUAO-Coo/s1600/moriarty_by_Signey_Paget.gif"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 161px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnwXwnOOWhyphenhyphenCpYafEMBvFJRxU0WIMrS26xgNQ0X-PLEBRZUn8ZubeoHgUAZ21bH_CH2cMrR230l48qGVX3qneeagX6hmPCoQZjxqUoeFdP3QViyaQARvIkgEllImoT2-yEg8TvUAO-Coo/s320/moriarty_by_Signey_Paget.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681088970948079490" /></a>With the release of Guy Ritchie's <span style="font-style:italic;">Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows</span> (the sequel to his hugely successful and surprisingly enjoyable 2009 film) only weeks away, I thought I would take a second and look back at some of the actors who have portrayed Holmes' brilliant archenemy Professor James Moriarty over the past century. Although Moriarty only appeared in one of Doyle's stories ("The Final Problem"), somehow he managed to capture the imagination of audiences. Perhaps because he seems to be the only character who, aside from Sherlock's elder brother Mycroft (who is also appearing in the new film), is Holmes' intellectual equal. Holmes referred to him as the "Napoleon of crime" and "the organizer of half that is evil and of nearly all that is undetected in this great city... a genius, a philosopher, an abstract thinker. He has a brain of the first order." Moriarty was clearly someone whose mind Holmes greatly admired, even while despising his moral character. Every prominent hero needs a mortal enemy and Moriarty fulfills that role admirably. He is the Joker to Holmes' Batman, The Luthor to his Superman, the Blofeld to his Bond. While Moriarty's screen career is perhaps not as eminent as that of Holmes, it is nonetheless impressive. In fact, a few of the actors who played one role would later end up playing the other (particularly Richard Roxburgh and Anthony Higgins). Naturally this list is by no means exhaustive, but it is a helpful introduction to a character who can be regarded I think as one of the great villains of fiction.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVkUM7N-y5Nn6lrpH0I0ewPCJjZldaKDImVCfm09Ymzl26tOUPQa-RpvXuRXVNPQ5UFEF5zGpdD7gfnvtYt-LufAXcdrxDmTFe3XXUHEsVZ2Wthq0WM1eWxu2i6pIkLYPoNba_1d8l3kU/s1600/silent-moriarty.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 201px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVkUM7N-y5Nn6lrpH0I0ewPCJjZldaKDImVCfm09Ymzl26tOUPQa-RpvXuRXVNPQ5UFEF5zGpdD7gfnvtYt-LufAXcdrxDmTFe3XXUHEsVZ2Wthq0WM1eWxu2i6pIkLYPoNba_1d8l3kU/s400/silent-moriarty.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680719839030513682" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Gustav von Seyffertitz, <span style="font-style:italic;">Sherlock Holmes</span> (1922)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WEArOWSh2RkqoQpupp7xvTlUOPrpFpdBctaCLQ68DEWon6NbPqtZtJEjJmRSZa_yvN5ZPP9wDg_dhTjHWN86g8YpiMUhq30RhOhPwjsUoZyyCEpj1yF0g_P-MqZbHy7FWkcvh7DABjc/s1600/moriarty-torrence.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_WEArOWSh2RkqoQpupp7xvTlUOPrpFpdBctaCLQ68DEWon6NbPqtZtJEjJmRSZa_yvN5ZPP9wDg_dhTjHWN86g8YpiMUhq30RhOhPwjsUoZyyCEpj1yF0g_P-MqZbHy7FWkcvh7DABjc/s400/moriarty-torrence.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680720507589632322" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Ernest Torrence, <span style="font-style:italic;">Sherlock Holmes</span> (1932)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_TGZ6nbe-nRTZcmB6lIgos5CGnzzoqw0UqlQnWvDj21WvrLdaD-h8ituwPagTt8mbTHNgTrIdypo-vFopnuooQaeYS4kJENGohl2sYQASRgNHqjVdvre_ewtUSsz-ik_wpeNCf4zYTc/s1600/Lyn+HardingProfessor+Moriarty+The+Triumph+of+Sherlock+Holmes.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_TGZ6nbe-nRTZcmB6lIgos5CGnzzoqw0UqlQnWvDj21WvrLdaD-h8ituwPagTt8mbTHNgTrIdypo-vFopnuooQaeYS4kJENGohl2sYQASRgNHqjVdvre_ewtUSsz-ik_wpeNCf4zYTc/s400/Lyn+HardingProfessor+Moriarty+The+Triumph+of+Sherlock+Holmes.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680728658928754946" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Lyn Harding, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Triumph of Sherlock Holmes</span> (1935)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9XiT-kIERo_HtTgTOvPBVPBVrlhUGNzcQhbHhKuj8l7dwY4VonsGQJqsli4XdxMRRp1XS2wJEpTzngstatAu6Qk1Q2iq_4O6X7VHwTd1Ms2TcJPAYj794UMGZOTYQ7tkmmm8eguEwBY/s1600/zucco-moriarty.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq9XiT-kIERo_HtTgTOvPBVPBVrlhUGNzcQhbHhKuj8l7dwY4VonsGQJqsli4XdxMRRp1XS2wJEpTzngstatAu6Qk1Q2iq_4O6X7VHwTd1Ms2TcJPAYj794UMGZOTYQ7tkmmm8eguEwBY/s400/zucco-moriarty.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680721543785852162" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">George Zucco, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes</span> (1939)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDWxwUu7VSb4vb8E1jppFAUQPmEEVaIqoMnaxjYaLqF45RLaTvsGS3GfmZzf1GphwSluFGgOtkOG4IgCSnNS77i4w2S9PW5C9K7QAcncgVkhkR8JLL-3ImREMc7701vQaO0G_cGY2rQ4/s1600/Lionel-Atwill-Moriarty.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDWxwUu7VSb4vb8E1jppFAUQPmEEVaIqoMnaxjYaLqF45RLaTvsGS3GfmZzf1GphwSluFGgOtkOG4IgCSnNS77i4w2S9PW5C9K7QAcncgVkhkR8JLL-3ImREMc7701vQaO0G_cGY2rQ4/s400/Lionel-Atwill-Moriarty.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680721934792656610" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Lionel Atwill, <span style="font-style:italic;">Sherlock Holmes and the Secret Weapon</span> (1943)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpNVP4GWZMA4ytEXoh-HY0oHYdboS5ARPceM7GBHcp1ZBlsNJGDEeL0-jh6DGsDQcSJNJAH1KptDZOhtSlY-QGGnVidDJBAyWXzadQ7NXKleyjoy-ACzB94vaFo7VBVieaHRd6_6XlwI/s1600/woman-in-green.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmpNVP4GWZMA4ytEXoh-HY0oHYdboS5ARPceM7GBHcp1ZBlsNJGDEeL0-jh6DGsDQcSJNJAH1KptDZOhtSlY-QGGnVidDJBAyWXzadQ7NXKleyjoy-ACzB94vaFo7VBVieaHRd6_6XlwI/s400/woman-in-green.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680722799529316562" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Henry Daniell, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Woman in Green</span> (1945)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGNrLs2usdr63xdzLCf6zrIbFP1JXCJGbuiRi37YHvuEh7e0EILW-lSG_W-qndSx1XSxCqe2NzEzBwKHQuLVD_AOJ31_sWbX8xsZoGJIf4AJLT9cLJF-gYAwhcEbTJFEsSEIsewgVLSks/s1600/oliver-seven.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 212px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGNrLs2usdr63xdzLCf6zrIbFP1JXCJGbuiRi37YHvuEh7e0EILW-lSG_W-qndSx1XSxCqe2NzEzBwKHQuLVD_AOJ31_sWbX8xsZoGJIf4AJLT9cLJF-gYAwhcEbTJFEsSEIsewgVLSks/s400/oliver-seven.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680725001373055138" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Laurence Olivier, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Seven Per-Cent Solution</span> (1976)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRBA_YMMHN5p_MpQX_WhuWC-R-LIrViSC4WsRCxqTeykXIvgySA8AiUoaJPYd1VsH3biVehqQtq-TkS_6HkopaVFHmFjS__D-Su76FZ9FyQaXT74Hct-J2x9JrDplTpi0tH6Di4ZJk4IU/s1600/huston-moriarty.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRBA_YMMHN5p_MpQX_WhuWC-R-LIrViSC4WsRCxqTeykXIvgySA8AiUoaJPYd1VsH3biVehqQtq-TkS_6HkopaVFHmFjS__D-Su76FZ9FyQaXT74Hct-J2x9JrDplTpi0tH6Di4ZJk4IU/s400/huston-moriarty.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680725557934778130" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">John Huston, <span style="font-style:italic;">Sherlock Holmes in New York</span> (1976)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQTNUQhfolMCyJ0iGJ3DUs7RvhlHPeulbxcCFs1yVf9ajtXfFjVhunTxbzeUzXkF5Q2IrDOWiMcO4xjDQUzJNrQ3dlB8-Us2RufF4ttKq58MmY4pvjDwGQ5UTbjBRF-kE5cxbHdMZZo-0/s1600/russian-moriarty.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 223px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQTNUQhfolMCyJ0iGJ3DUs7RvhlHPeulbxcCFs1yVf9ajtXfFjVhunTxbzeUzXkF5Q2IrDOWiMcO4xjDQUzJNrQ3dlB8-Us2RufF4ttKq58MmY4pvjDwGQ5UTbjBRF-kE5cxbHdMZZo-0/s400/russian-moriarty.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682572903955557010" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Viktor Yevgrafov, <span style="font-style:italic;">Priklyucheniya Sherloka Kholmsa i doktora Vatsona, a.k.a. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson</span> (1980)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsm9pYXwJ1RJCswmK2Ut1aUJ2mJve1hXSvf7WgDYyQq2aoEREkoKqeR3tK5I-ooXfEtv6ZqPIpISYw0xSJJi9Zssnt-ApmdJ8ypl7on6XEu93Z6-LJeM30ItgczEdkLrovMnrcfrYxFb8/s1600/moriarty-brett.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsm9pYXwJ1RJCswmK2Ut1aUJ2mJve1hXSvf7WgDYyQq2aoEREkoKqeR3tK5I-ooXfEtv6ZqPIpISYw0xSJJi9Zssnt-ApmdJ8ypl7on6XEu93Z6-LJeM30ItgczEdkLrovMnrcfrYxFb8/s400/moriarty-brett.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680726428745038434" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Eric Porter, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes</span> (1985)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDMGmU1OpRi2FBeRmXzme6QmbESRkOeQZLuppEr90rAWXlNBbw34DYPbSicNVg9ULvm4FzSnGz0lPUY6yzeEFyIEbMhuyU7Q9lJrcel7j8zgRtlS50ICCsgYk2QlSxmeJFqd6B3Gr2ITc/s1600/Young_Sherlock_Holmes_promo_01.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDMGmU1OpRi2FBeRmXzme6QmbESRkOeQZLuppEr90rAWXlNBbw34DYPbSicNVg9ULvm4FzSnGz0lPUY6yzeEFyIEbMhuyU7Q9lJrcel7j8zgRtlS50ICCsgYk2QlSxmeJFqd6B3Gr2ITc/s400/Young_Sherlock_Holmes_promo_01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679975147175767586" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Anthony Higgins, <span style="font-style:italic;">Young Sherlock Holmes</span> (1985)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtyNP8nLw58WU_-O1J_iczRqWIrNEPK2Ivxfc0jbOvg7iYuCW0AxPWmxddmCuRwsreg7xVXVrF328KfRjWxXhfdFd9hyphenhyphenRMNt3EtEkjIEWJOtPakAoHcPy4VPeFrSrspZhn4gQo8tXUGcs/s1600/moriarty-withoutaclue.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtyNP8nLw58WU_-O1J_iczRqWIrNEPK2Ivxfc0jbOvg7iYuCW0AxPWmxddmCuRwsreg7xVXVrF328KfRjWxXhfdFd9hyphenhyphenRMNt3EtEkjIEWJOtPakAoHcPy4VPeFrSrspZhn4gQo8tXUGcs/s400/moriarty-withoutaclue.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680201749615366946" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Paul Freeman, <span style="font-style:italic;">Without a Clue</span> (1988)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI0mbkvl5bGwkBcE-YmL2YWOt8OynABwTlE-X_BHn2FDriZMBEHp3So5Xhyphenhyphen_OInV_LdK73icrRNcp2lJo5cAQ31hhRY5i41X_aR_iOrXJXdKPV5HUuWQSzeaw7jImgs9IRhPNqIHjYHb0/s1600/moriarty-trek.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI0mbkvl5bGwkBcE-YmL2YWOt8OynABwTlE-X_BHn2FDriZMBEHp3So5Xhyphenhyphen_OInV_LdK73icrRNcp2lJo5cAQ31hhRY5i41X_aR_iOrXJXdKPV5HUuWQSzeaw7jImgs9IRhPNqIHjYHb0/s400/moriarty-trek.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680727532490391506" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Daniel Davis, <span style="font-style:italic;">Star Trek: The Next Generation</span> (1993)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bErvQYP0-mUw0xiK97OZM9V3Mvin_7KSZ7kmMysFqM7Vyt4xyDQGuY7VcfiuzCrQuELqpeBFTWmAdR_EFEuRC1piA8N8VrtwB-X7DveoeBQgOUh7t8OUUFMAmpvkstHLhF_UdZbd4Ek/s1600/sherlock_evil.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9bErvQYP0-mUw0xiK97OZM9V3Mvin_7KSZ7kmMysFqM7Vyt4xyDQGuY7VcfiuzCrQuELqpeBFTWmAdR_EFEuRC1piA8N8VrtwB-X7DveoeBQgOUh7t8OUUFMAmpvkstHLhF_UdZbd4Ek/s400/sherlock_evil.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679974508739574738" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Vincent D'Onofrio, <span style="font-style:italic;">Sherlock: A Case of Evil</span> (2002)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpe88qMLueg1DrEpR4wY2fjDCjYAmhQ1IKnDI23ljXMR6BYHmC7fWfGHmQed4qSmBHznibWT_EBt_48VKryJhHfwKU-B5BiY8KSOmS8lLMzSvI3sHRXfqI0cdWo_bM43rLbydv7x8OaW4/s1600/lxg.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 227px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpe88qMLueg1DrEpR4wY2fjDCjYAmhQ1IKnDI23ljXMR6BYHmC7fWfGHmQed4qSmBHznibWT_EBt_48VKryJhHfwKU-B5BiY8KSOmS8lLMzSvI3sHRXfqI0cdWo_bM43rLbydv7x8OaW4/s400/lxg.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680204649403492962" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Richard Roxburgh, <span style="font-style:italic;">The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen</span> (2003)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTITncAR7JsImb95XHwklet-ZSSkuH2XsK3Luvvg_NzxObYIXnk5H7iMIUhGPN4bNUGjSXgPY2boehJxszte2kEZZyLPEhxL2KhwrAuPaHb2qi-zjsG75NNhAss5CfcSSNcVKXcYF8_3s/s1600/Moriarty-sherlock.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTITncAR7JsImb95XHwklet-ZSSkuH2XsK3Luvvg_NzxObYIXnk5H7iMIUhGPN4bNUGjSXgPY2boehJxszte2kEZZyLPEhxL2KhwrAuPaHb2qi-zjsG75NNhAss5CfcSSNcVKXcYF8_3s/s400/Moriarty-sherlock.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679974722491659986" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Andrew Scott, <span style="font-style:italic;">Sherlock</span> (2010)</span><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNmgFjHNbBDqvLRF9foj2u5X9pYMcnAqMn0TAvu8_CwXxJ30EI8O7oTUtOiWwaWFg6eKzMcNBeLB4ZVjy-Q1X-LvBj8GmoQtwUQ9RbpO4XkCUTcjal0FFAchbQuzAWhwsyg4MTNK68-xs/s1600/SherlockHolmes2Moriarty.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 294px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNmgFjHNbBDqvLRF9foj2u5X9pYMcnAqMn0TAvu8_CwXxJ30EI8O7oTUtOiWwaWFg6eKzMcNBeLB4ZVjy-Q1X-LvBj8GmoQtwUQ9RbpO4XkCUTcjal0FFAchbQuzAWhwsyg4MTNK68-xs/s400/SherlockHolmes2Moriarty.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679974926431910322" /></a><span style="font-weight:bold;">Jared Harris, <span style="font-style:italic;">Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows</span> (2011)</span>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-91134362246207579232011-11-22T17:59:00.000-08:002011-11-22T18:00:11.462-08:00A Timeless Love Story<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh36kHv3RVya0AmzdfBcWx_FJ2skyrhvSIPVTiHLE9KRnB2saKldqtyA3JTbZNgCaRlyMuFO7uRHwKzUe6AVaHNFlWdS_cy_gCmHLU2DRHV9_nnD627gsmRc3pFvqlBVjrNed2BGN13ENA/s1600/bb-poster.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh36kHv3RVya0AmzdfBcWx_FJ2skyrhvSIPVTiHLE9KRnB2saKldqtyA3JTbZNgCaRlyMuFO7uRHwKzUe6AVaHNFlWdS_cy_gCmHLU2DRHV9_nnD627gsmRc3pFvqlBVjrNed2BGN13ENA/s400/bb-poster.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677211802033764962" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The following is an article I wrote for the blog <a href="http://www.eddieonfilm.blogspot.com">Edward Copeland on Film</a> (for which I am a regular contributor) commemorating the 20th anniversary of the release of</span> Beauty and the Beast.<br /><br /><br />I was recently playing the board game <span style="font-style:italic;">Loaded Questions</span> with my wife, her brother and his wife. It was my brother-in-law's turn to guess. The card asked the rest of us to name our favorite animated feature film. His wife picked <span style="font-style:italic;">Beauty and the Beast</span>. I selected <span style="font-style:italic;">The Hunchback of Notre Dame</span> (although I could just as easily have gone with <span style="font-style:italic;">Pinocchio, The Secret of NIMH, The Prince of Egypt</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">The Nightmare Before Christmas</span>). Being fairly familiar with my wife's tastes in animated films, I suspected she would name either <span style="font-style:italic;">Sleeping Beauty, The Lion King</span> or <span style="font-style:italic;">Hunchback of Notre Dame</span> as well. To my surprise, she also named <span style="font-style:italic;">Beauty and the Beast</span>. I knew she loved the film, but was not aware that it was her favorite. After her brother correctly guessed all of our answers, I told her I was surprised by her choice because I always was under the impression she favored these other animated films. "I admire aspects of the other ones," she informed me. "I think the backgrounds and music in <span style="font-style:italic;">Sleeping Beauty</span> are beautiful and I like the story and themes of <span style="font-style:italic;">Hunchback</span>, but with <span style="font-style:italic;">Beauty and the Beast</span>, I just love the <span style="font-weight:bold;">whole</span> package." I not only learned something new about my wife that day, I was reminded of something that I guess I had forgotten: namely, that <span style="font-style:italic;">Beauty and the Beast</span> (which celebrates its 20th anniversary today) is deservedly one of Disney's most beloved animated features because, unlike numerous others (which can be very uneven), it excels in ALL of its areas. It is arguably the perfect Disney movie.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Beauty and the Beast</span> came at a time when Disney was experiencing a real renaissance in animation. Throughout the '70s and early '80s, some decent movies such as <span style="font-style:italic;">The Fox and the Hound, The Great Mouse Detective</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">The Black Cauldron</span> were produced, but they failed to achieve the kind of critical or commercial success that had come to be expected from a Disney product. To make matters worse, the live-action arm of the studio (which was churning out such "clunkers" as <span style="font-style:italic;">The Black Hole, Tron</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Return to Oz</span>) wasn't faring much better. The studio was finding it tremendously difficult reaching contemporary audiences with its somewhat antiquated material. Their attempt to produce something more "modern" and "cool" with the pop song-heavy Oliver and Company only reeked of desperation. Meanwhile Disney's competitors (including former Disney animator Don Bluth's <span style="font-style:italic;">An American Tail</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">The Land Before Time</span>) were gaining a lot of ground. So, in the mid-1980s some "new blood," in the guise of former Paramount executives Michael Eisner and Jeffrey Katzenberg, was brought in to change things at the struggling studio and special attention was paid to the once-great animation department. Their plan was to try to recapture the essential elements of Disney's golden age: good stories simply but expertly told with gorgeous animation, interesting characters and memorable music.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUlnIDYCTD0r32YESoBnf7Zgh0yyvfczQUv1WXZcOk2duILsQH-ViqkxtMKGrXuR_NB-ifeDMVTMUrjmOh1PUxP9zuJYkkzxSS9xd1t4MGcKCQQhBe-RcrVPpQc8VhDi4lfAsplDG20OY/s1600/mermaid-poster.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 216px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUlnIDYCTD0r32YESoBnf7Zgh0yyvfczQUv1WXZcOk2duILsQH-ViqkxtMKGrXuR_NB-ifeDMVTMUrjmOh1PUxP9zuJYkkzxSS9xd1t4MGcKCQQhBe-RcrVPpQc8VhDi4lfAsplDG20OY/s320/mermaid-poster.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677214880251227218" /></a>The result was <span style="font-style:italic;">The Little Mermaid</span>, an enormously entertaining creation that seemed to include all of the classic characteristics of Disney fairy tales as well as a few new qualities that made it resonate with both children and adults alike. I remember seeing it in the theater with my family in junior high and just being utterly charmed by it. It even went on to win two Academy Awards: one for the score and one for that catchy little tune "Under the Sea," proving that the music was a major ingredient for the film's success. That music came for the imaginative minds of the composer Alan Menken and his lyricist Howard Ashman, the team responsible for the subversive yet immensely melodic off-Broadway hit-turned 1986 movie <span style="font-style:italic;">Little Shop of Horrors</span>. Thus, when Mermaid earned hundred of millions of dollars (much of it from the home video release, the first time a current Disney animated feature appeared in that format) and marked a real return to form for the endangered studio, it seemed only natural that its successor would try to build on the same foundation that it had laid (including the Menken/Ashman songs). Expectations were understandably high and whatever it was to be, they would have to make it something really special.<br /><br />Disney decided to go with the well-known French fable of a beautiful woman (whose name was wisely changed from "Beauty" to "Belle") who stays in an enchanted castle run by a monstrous beast. Although she is repulsed by him initially, she eventually learns to see the kind, tormented and beautiful person hidden beneath the hideous veneer and in the process warms his own cold heart. In the end, she declares her love for him which transforms him back into the handsome prince that he was before being bewitched by an evil spell and the two live happily ever after. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWo-SONKcNR5UedNkM6j_qDauy3cMoPJw45esYlf8Op0xD3fUNTgbProv4diB6d5TjROfIijoGkzaWWig_uC6S39i2Sks4JxUEra-8q2LtH7kl880v2UJ5SFwsmH0GKYLp-iKLBpndjLg/s1600/belle_et_la_bete.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWo-SONKcNR5UedNkM6j_qDauy3cMoPJw45esYlf8Op0xD3fUNTgbProv4diB6d5TjROfIijoGkzaWWig_uC6S39i2Sks4JxUEra-8q2LtH7kl880v2UJ5SFwsmH0GKYLp-iKLBpndjLg/s320/belle_et_la_bete.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677215421044161682" /></a>The story had been told onscreen before (most famously in Jean Cocteau's stunning 1946 adaptation <span style="font-style:italic;">La Belle et la Bête</span>) but never in feature-length animation. Borrowing several elements from the Cocteau film (such as furniture within the castle coming to life) but adding quite a few touches of their own (including the heroine's rescue from a pack of wolves by the beast), the animators fashioned a colorful, sweet, funny and at times scary product. Not surprisingly the animation is gorgeous. The design of the beast is a particular standout. Whereas in other incarnations the beast usually resembles a really hairy human, this beast is fully animal with equal parts buffalo, lion, bear and various other carnivorous creatures. Despite all this, an undeniable humanity still comes through loud and clear in the character's facial expressions and body language.<br /><br />This is no doubt due to the fact that his design was supervised by the eminent animator Glen Keane who has a track record of making huge, lumbering creatures look strangely graceful (see the bear in <span style="font-style:italic;">The Fox and the Hound</span> and Professor Ratigan in <span style="font-style:italic;">The Great Mouse Detective</span>). In fact, all of the characters in <span style="font-style:italic;">Beauty and the Beast</span>, from the leads right down to the minor characters, are beautifully rendered with with distinct looks and interesting personalities. This is especially impressive when one considers that most of the characters in the film are sentient household objects such as clocks, teapots, candelabras, etc. The only other animated film I can think of that so effectively turns inanimate objects into living, breathing beings (not including the <span style="font-style:italic;">Toy Story</span> trilogy) is the woefully underrated <span style="font-style:italic;">Brave Little Toaster</span>. Of course, the believability of the characters is aided in no small way by the bravura vocal performances of the excellent cast. <span style="font-style:italic;">Beauty and the Beast</span> followed another wise Disney tradition in that they decided to hire talented actors to give voice to these characters and not A-list movie stars. At the time I saw it, the only voice I really recognized was Angela Lansbury. Even though I was somewhat of a teenage movie buff, I had no idea who Jerry Orbach, Paige O'Hara, David Ogden Stiers and Robby Benson were and I suspect most audience members were like myself. Their ignorance of the actors working behind the scenes helped make it easier to merely accept the characters on screen at face value. Unfortunately, ever since Robin Williams was cast as the Genie in Disney's next animated blockbuster <span style="font-style:italic;">Aladdin</span>, this turned into a practice that seemed no longer viable. Feature animation now appears to be populated primarily with celebrities (which is no doubt why so many distinguished voice actors such as Maurice LaMarche, Frank Welker and Rob Paulsen all have to work in television) and it creates a bizarre disconnect between the figures we see moving on screen and the voice we hear coming out of their mouths. We know that it's Cameron Diaz we are hearing but it is not Cameron Diaz that we are seeing (at least Pixar is trying to continue the tradition of casting the right actors for the roles regardless of their celebrity status).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgVLBB-L4TWL-ZCkz1rATZooc3lZOEsfchN55GZVVqwhGA3YzrZXoe0YWcRR2UgHrjN-nN70fiLecgEzT7JU31yY6M_CdNdKBNI8eqkca0cP1BHiba_w79VCfAitfg-J36HGQkUg2KU8/s1600/beast-ballroom.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgVLBB-L4TWL-ZCkz1rATZooc3lZOEsfchN55GZVVqwhGA3YzrZXoe0YWcRR2UgHrjN-nN70fiLecgEzT7JU31yY6M_CdNdKBNI8eqkca0cP1BHiba_w79VCfAitfg-J36HGQkUg2KU8/s320/beast-ballroom.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677217120246985474" /></a>Another significant development in the history of animation that occurred in <span style="font-style:italic;">Beauty and the Beast</span> was the combination of hand-drawn characters with a completely three-dimensional CGI environment in the now iconic ballroom sequence. It wasn't the first time such a thing was attempted (the climactic clock tower scene from <span style="font-style:italic;">The Great Mouse Detective</span> did the same thing) but this was the first time such a feat was accomplished so seamlessly. Though it may not be quite as impressive to us now, the sight of the "camera" gliding around the characters, swooping down toward them from above and even moving between them as they danced (almost as if we are dancing right along with them) really helped draw audiences even further into what was already an emotionally-charged scene a) because of what was happening in the story at that point and b) because of the lovely title song that was being sung by Angela Lansbury's matronly Mrs. Potts during it. As corny as it may sound, it really is a magical sequence that somehow seems to transcend all of the numerous technical achievements that helped make it so. One would have to be pretty jaded and heartless to not find themselves in some way touched by it.<br /><br />Like <span style="font-style:italic;">The Little Mermaid</span>, the songs that Howard Ashman and Alan Menken collaborated on for <span style="font-style:italic;">Beauty and the Beast</span> are superb. Clearly modelling their work on Broadway showtunes, every song just pops. There is not a weak tune in the bunch. Also, every song either furthers the story or develops character. The opening number "Belle," for example, introduces the protagonist, establishes how the townspeople feel about her, acquaints us with handsome but obnoxious Gaston who is pursuing her and just generally sets the "stage" perfectly for everything that follows. Gaston even gets his own song wherein the townsfolk sing about how great he is and he in turn agrees with them mentioning all of his accomplishments and hilariously pointing out that every last inch of him is "covered with hair." <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTTZ5ilvBhvZ5HTrm5Vu3TO3ztrtTVNOa_ima1vK2SaCYZJsDkRTCAiYaqwRbPHxC4nhoVLNDM9shjcLY9W3q67_ZOCfxkX_QczOBW7FWgPXOLnSjG5u9zPGb19_Kc0BT5wKyR3v1elg/s1600/lumiere.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 193px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWTTZ5ilvBhvZ5HTrm5Vu3TO3ztrtTVNOa_ima1vK2SaCYZJsDkRTCAiYaqwRbPHxC4nhoVLNDM9shjcLY9W3q67_ZOCfxkX_QczOBW7FWgPXOLnSjG5u9zPGb19_Kc0BT5wKyR3v1elg/s320/lumiere.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677217949646280562" /></a>The big show-stopping number of the piece, however, is "Be Our Guest," a massive extravaganza showcasing a parade of food and cutlery led by a spotlight-hogging candelabra named Lumiere (voiced and sung by the multi-gifted Jerry Orbach). Seriously, Joel Grey's Master of ceremonies from <span style="font-style:italic;">Cabaret</span> has got nothing on him. Finally, the darker and more sinister "Kill the Beast," wherein Gaston reveals his true colors, rounds out an already impressive collection of melodies. It was a no-brainer that the film would receive Oscar nods for its music. The songs "Belle," "Be Our Guest" and "Beauty and the Beast" were all nominated but it was the title song that took home the statuette. What was unexpected, however, was that <span style="font-style:italic;">Beauty and the Beast</span> would become the first animated feature film to ever be nominated for best picture. It was a milestone in the history of animation and made everyone who worked on it very proud. Alas, one individual who never got to see the awards, the critical acclaim or the commercial success that the film garnered was Howard Ashman. During production of <span style="font-style:italic;">Beauty and the Beast</span> it became painfully clear that Howard was dying of AIDS and although he continued to work very hard on the film (helping with the script as well as with the music), on March 14, 1991, Howard died and what was perhaps the most auspicious musical teams since Rodgers and Hammerstein came to a sudden and tragic end. The film's final credits featured one of the most poetic dedications I've ever seen: <span style="font-style:italic;">"To our friend Howard, who gave a mermaid her voice and a beast his soul, we will be forever grateful."</span><br /><br />Although some could argue it was <span style="font-style:italic;">The Lion King</span> that represented the pinnacle of Disney's "renaissance period" (a time when Disney seemed to have the Midas touch, well before Eisner drove Katzenberg away and then proceeded to wreck the very company he had once saved), I think <span style="font-style:italic;">Beauty and the Beast</span> is the true supreme achievement from that era. Everything just came together in such a way that the film managed to catch that ever elusive lighting in a bottle. Twenty years later it still looks, sounds and feels great. Recently it was released on DVD/Blu-ray in a "special edition" which included such notable features as a newly animated music number which was excised before the film's original release (the song was called "Human Again" and it's a charming little tune but I think they made the right decision cutting it as it sounds to my ears too similar to "Be Our Guest") as well as the "work-in-progress" version which the studio courageously premiered at the New York Film Festival. Though it gave birth to several inferior direct-to-video sequels and a successful Broadway show, its true legacy will be as one of the greatest (if not arguably the greatest) animated features that Disney ever produced. The word "masterpiece" gets thrown around a lot, but I feel it truly is a masterpiece, not just of animation but of cinematic storytelling. It is also the last time that a genuine fairy tale was depicted on the big screen. In our increasingly cynical culture, feel-good stories of princesses, monsters, villains, magic and, most of all, happy endings are becoming increasingly rare. Even when a film does attempt to bring a fairy tale to theaters it has to be done in a very sarcastic, self-aware manner (a la <span style="font-style:italic;">Shrek, Enchanted</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Tangled</span>); more of a "meta" fairy tale than an honest-to-God "true" fairy tale. Beauty and the Beast is a timeless love story with an enduring message, but it is also in some ways a relic of a bygone era. Unless Pixar's upcoming <span style="font-style:italic;">Brave</span> can reinvigorate the genre, it may be a long, long time before we see another bona fide fairy tale told with such unapologetic enthusiasm and sincerity.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhUJrg-1X6tM7pE7OpWHEVDkRirwVfVCOna6JID4X5neVp_zO3lf12_YatSC8BvvAjS82LkN3Vv8rui1-Mp20_phXi-_rOnuiFhr2mi-ImAusgearEScvJEYx3kAlO-Vg8wLCu4qzAxM/s1600/beast.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 218px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhUJrg-1X6tM7pE7OpWHEVDkRirwVfVCOna6JID4X5neVp_zO3lf12_YatSC8BvvAjS82LkN3Vv8rui1-Mp20_phXi-_rOnuiFhr2mi-ImAusgearEScvJEYx3kAlO-Vg8wLCu4qzAxM/s400/beast.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677219159773176098" /></a>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-59984329258834038582011-11-06T10:11:00.000-08:002011-11-16T02:18:07.625-08:00Stealing History<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi86TAVJZDnRPkCL5TzBfxjLzz4gBYjuLApHv1RRd-gZHAb0D5bDjMXXt6LmX1ack8Kuw2AI_CdxsPLE-SDerpuG2Ehcq356T-Q9IpKuTCSL-BHuuoFi7rsVffi6cuy-MwfAitpdB6aQ20/s1600/tb-poster.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi86TAVJZDnRPkCL5TzBfxjLzz4gBYjuLApHv1RRd-gZHAb0D5bDjMXXt6LmX1ack8Kuw2AI_CdxsPLE-SDerpuG2Ehcq356T-Q9IpKuTCSL-BHuuoFi7rsVffi6cuy-MwfAitpdB6aQ20/s400/tb-poster.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671947273922035906" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The following is an article I wrote for the blog <a href="http://www.eddieonfilm.blogspot.com">Edward Copeland on Film</a> (for which I am a regular contributor) commemorating the 30th anniversary of the release of</span> Time Bandits.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Time Bandits</span>, which celebrates its 30th anniversary today, marked a significant turning point in Terry Gilliam's career. Gilliam first made his mark as the co-writer and animator for the now iconic British comedy troupe known as Monty Python. His directorial debut, which he shared with fellow Python member Terry Jones, was the hilarious <span style="font-style:italic;">Monty Python and the Holy Grail</span>. His second film (the abysmal <span style="font-style:italic;">Jabberwocky</span>) was another medieval spoof which featured Python members Michael Palin and Terry Jones as well as a whole host of typical Python gags. His third film, however, though it still has "Python-esque" moments (and features Michael Palin and John Cleese in small roles), was the first time Gilliam attempted to put on the big screen an actual story full of drama, action, horror and emotion as well as comedy. It was an important transitional point between Gilliam "the American Python member" and Gilliam "the serious filmmaker who tells stories such as <span style="font-style:italic;">Brazil</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus</span>." <span style="font-style:italic;">Time Bandits</span> was Gilliam's "breaking out" work. Naturally I didn't know any of this as a kid when I used to watch the film often. I didn't know about Monty Python and I certainly didn't know who Terry Gilliam was. All I knew is that it was a dark and imaginative fantasy adventure that I loved. Needless to say, I still do.<br /><br />It tells the story of an intelligent young British boy named Kevin (played with a refreshing lack of precociousness by Craig Warnock) whose parents would rather sit on their plastic-encased furniture watching game shows on TV and lusting after the latest electrical appliances than spend time with their son. Kevin, on the other hand, occupies his time reading history books about ancient warriors and great adventurers. One night, while sleeping peacefully in his bed, six strangely dressed dwarfs emerge from Kevin's wardrobe (as if it were Lewis' gateway to Narnia) and drag him with them on an arduous trek through time and space. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVVxQfCRiT0Jx8FaBGWdxBy7C9Eib9P-JJddW9y9NNj5NqMEpFxEFPSIziaKJlzr63t71lvO5SeIc33GSD9Kj_zonLkSKl4jdWuyD4lDDgUoFIhXz2NE6UEsD1IRVqhM8HB_NeJHNZz4/s1600/tb1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIVVxQfCRiT0Jx8FaBGWdxBy7C9Eib9P-JJddW9y9NNj5NqMEpFxEFPSIziaKJlzr63t71lvO5SeIc33GSD9Kj_zonLkSKl4jdWuyD4lDDgUoFIhXz2NE6UEsD1IRVqhM8HB_NeJHNZz4/s320/tb1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671952769835234178" /></a>Kevin soon discovers that these dwarfs were former employees of the Supreme Being who helped assist in the process of creation (specifically designing things such as trees and shrubs), but eventually grew tired of their job and wanted to use their knowledge of the flaws inherent in the fabric of the space-time continuum to their financial advantage. Stealing from God the only map that charts the location of all the holes in existence (which can be used as doorways leading from one time to another), the dwarfs inform Kevin of their plan to rob some of the wealthiest and most famous figures in human history and invite him to join them, which he agrees to do. This endeavor brings them into contact with the likes of Napoleon Bonaparte (portrayed by Ian Holm who had previously played the famous Frenchman in the 1974 TV miniseries Napoleon and Love and would play him again in 2001's The Emperor's New Clothes), legendary Greek ruler Agamemnon (Sean Connery) and even Robin Hood (played as a jolly nice fellow by John Cleese) before ending up on the RMS Titanic (although they mistakenly refer to it as the S.S. Titanic in the film) where they get a little more ice in their drinks than they requested.<br /><br />What they don't realize is that they are being watched by none other than Evil himself (played with delicious wickedness by David Warner). Incidentally, this is apparently a point of confusion for some critics. Warner does not play Satan. He is not the "father of evil." He is evil incarnate, a personification of the abstract concept. His plan is to overthrow creation itself with the intent of fashioning a world based solely on technology, which allows for his character to make some great speeches <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tSaQNlsLuZbP9gKOschQOXtPZ67MtkwqZVlNna-Kaj30GN0o7VnCYuP0uxJOMwm1-TQE6r0Uhhjdq3G02XrMsdjcZrw8AQ4ro4XXNK6DF-ONKettDTMMw1prPDcf_gM65GMtPDMTmjg/s1600/tb18.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-tSaQNlsLuZbP9gKOschQOXtPZ67MtkwqZVlNna-Kaj30GN0o7VnCYuP0uxJOMwm1-TQE6r0Uhhjdq3G02XrMsdjcZrw8AQ4ro4XXNK6DF-ONKettDTMMw1prPDcf_gM65GMtPDMTmjg/s320/tb18.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671953268532090050" /></a>("God isn't interested in technology. He knows nothing of the potential of the microchip or the silicon revolution. Look how he spends his time. Forty-three species of parrots. Nipples for men. Slugs! He created slugs? They can't hear. They can't speak. They can't operate machinery. I mean, are we not in the hands of a lunatic? If I had created a world I wouldn't mess about with butterflies and daffodils. I would've started with lasers. Eight o'clock. Day one!"). Although it is never made exactly clear how or why this is the case, Evil presumably needs the map to accomplish all of this. Using their own greed against them, he lures the seven mini-explorers to the Fortress of Ultimate Darkness where he dwells. He steals the map and imprisons them, but they manage to escape.<br /><br />All of this builds to a colossal climactic showdown between the forces of good and evil where each of the dwarfs (with the aid of reinforcements they gathered from numerous historical eras) attempt to destroy Evil once and for all only to be humiliatingly thwarted each and every time. In the end, it is God himself who shows up and defeats Evil, freezing him in stone. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpMEhDe_v59hs1a09cZkV6JWUJBsY0B8rTgb1-PUNJXppd_i1zRX1hDS1FQY5l8uu5pUo2GPavcvvRZj83hfVYLwFtzrcNH4_3hYV31WNyI9pZ_wS1LjzEj245HNjP1_1EZB8sZ-oPWaU/s1600/tb3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 177px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpMEhDe_v59hs1a09cZkV6JWUJBsY0B8rTgb1-PUNJXppd_i1zRX1hDS1FQY5l8uu5pUo2GPavcvvRZj83hfVYLwFtzrcNH4_3hYV31WNyI9pZ_wS1LjzEj245HNjP1_1EZB8sZ-oPWaU/s320/tb3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671953604248486354" /></a>He then manifests himself in the form of a fastidious old Brit in a three-piece suit (a marvelous Ralph Richardson). Just as Evil had some wonderful lines elaborating on his own nature, God has some humdingers of his own ("I am the supreme Being. I'm not entirely dim."). As he enlists the help of the little thieves to help him clean up the disarray, ("If there's one thing I can't stand, it's mess.") he informs them that, in spite of their attempts to escape him, he was in full control of everything that was happening the whole time. In reality, they didn't steal his map. He gave it to them, because he needed a way of testing his own handiwork and, as he observes, "Evil turned out rather well." In the end, he invites them all back to creation again ("We mustn't waste anymore time. They'll think I lost control again and put it all down to evolution.") but leaves Kevin behind along with one overlooked piece of Evil which starts to smoke. As the smoke starts to engulf Kevin, he cries repeatedly for help only to awaken in his own bed still surrounded by smoke. Two firemen burst through the door and drag him from his burning home. His parents are already outside debating whether to run in and retrieve their beloved appliances. Kevin concludes it must all have been a dream until he discovers photographs he took during his adventure in his bag and realizes that one of the firemen looks exactly like Agamemnon. Eventually the cause of the fire is discovered. What looks like a burnt piece of charcoal is revealed cooking in their toaster oven. Although his parents are confused, Kevin recognizes it as a chunk of Evil and warns his parents not to touch it. Ignoring him, they both reach in to touch it and immediately explode leaving Kevin alone to fend for himself.<br /><br />Terry Gilliam ostensibly wrote the script to <span style="font-style:italic;">Time Bandits</span> over a weekend and it is a work of incredible originality. Filled with memorable sequences (the giant with the ship on his head, the magic act performed for King Agamemnon, the large disembodied head of God chasing the dwarfs down the long corridor) and combining dry, satirical British humor (or "humour" rather) with exciting action sequences and some fairly nightmarish images, <span style="font-style:italic;">Time Bandits</span> is a truly unique film. Gilliam clearly made the film for children (even shooting it, as Spielberg would do a year later in <span style="font-style:italic;">E.T.</span>, from low angles to capture the diminutive perspective of the film's main characters) and as a child I absolutely loved it. I may not have understood or appreciated a lot of the social commentary or philosophical/theological dialogue in it, <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxk1lwHLDK2KKXSnhHexoxEkAcfFYP2SElarw9Qfd_suvjtc5aEJTLJT_6vSOxzjdAoLxdcmpJADfvR_jkIqEmmyIZSLFmnnvHB_RfALuWQElXux1jTedtsF0Gb3oX88fD3HL9rRu7itA/s1600/tb27.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 202px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxk1lwHLDK2KKXSnhHexoxEkAcfFYP2SElarw9Qfd_suvjtc5aEJTLJT_6vSOxzjdAoLxdcmpJADfvR_jkIqEmmyIZSLFmnnvHB_RfALuWQElXux1jTedtsF0Gb3oX88fD3HL9rRu7itA/s320/tb27.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671953958925858802" /></a>but I enjoyed the madcap ride through various lavish set pieces and familiar faces including Shelley Duvall, Katherine Helmond and Sean Connery (whose appearance in the screenplay was written simply as a joke until someone sent him the script and he, astoundingly, wanted to do it). It actually reminded me a lot of the kind of dreams I used to have as a youngster, with the outrageously random associations, the "stream-of-consciousness" storytelling and arbitrary transitions that seem to make total sense at the time. <span style="font-style:italic;">Time Bandits</span> was Gilliam's first foray into putting dream-like imagery onscreen and he proved so proficient at it that he has duplicated that practice throughout his career. He is, in my mind, one of the few filmmakers who does that convincingly.<br /><br />Another one of Gilliam's intentions in making the film was to, for a change, prominently feature dwarf actors. In this regard, <span style="font-style:italic;">Time Bandits</span> was ahead of its time. Years before Warwick Davis did <span style="font-style:italic;">Willow</span> or Peter Dinklage did <span style="font-style:italic;">The Station Agent</span>, Gilliam recognized that it was rare in big-budget studio movies that dwarfs were made the leads. Instead they were usually relegated to minor roles in sci-fi/fantasy films (usually as fairies, goblins, elves or other mythical creatures). <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjmhaBO7rjQ3_CHffsWRRA_z7BsTw3tbV-cR3W20xVrH0HGNuU1bu4TMNXBOb4AjKTszTMOoRnuSrRDlbP3MfyyYrODG2QmiaBCuvaX7BQh9J5mwb2y56fJLqR-W2weeq9he12cO-7xY/s1600/tb15.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 180px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOjmhaBO7rjQ3_CHffsWRRA_z7BsTw3tbV-cR3W20xVrH0HGNuU1bu4TMNXBOb4AjKTszTMOoRnuSrRDlbP3MfyyYrODG2QmiaBCuvaX7BQh9J5mwb2y56fJLqR-W2weeq9he12cO-7xY/s320/tb15.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671955308784323762" /></a>Although <span style="font-style:italic;">Time Bandits</span> is a fantasy film, the dwarfs are not buried under mounds of make-up nor are included just for the sake of "bizarreness." They are fully fleshed-out, flawed, interesting characters. Each one has a distinct personality and distinguishing appearance. Particular standouts are David Rappaport as the unofficial leader Randall (who sadly committed suicide years later), Jack Purvis as the angry but athletic Wally and Kenny Baker as the lovable Fidget. To this day, roles in movies and TV are relatively scarce for dwarfs, but Gilliam still proves to be one of the most consistent directors in casting dwarf actors in his movies.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Time Bandits</span> was very successful upon its release, earning $40 million at the box office and establishing Gilliam as a uniquely creative and visionary artist with enormous potential ahead of him. <span style="font-style:italic;">Time Bandits</span> has also been referred to as the first entry in what is considered Gilliam's "fantasy" trilogy, a series of stories that highlights the pros and cons of the different periods of a person's life/maturity: the first (<span style="font-style:italic;">Time Bandits</span>) being about childhood, the second (<span style="font-style:italic;">Brazil</span>) focusing on adulthood and the third (<span style="font-style:italic;">The Adventures of Baron Munchausen</span>) dealing with old age. In the 30 years that have elapsed since the release of <span style="font-style:italic;">Time Bandits</span>, Gilliam has become a very significant (if very divisive) filmmaker whose work has been at times inspired (<span style="font-style:italic;">12 Monkeys, The Fisher King</span>) and at other times embarrassing (<span style="font-style:italic;">The Brothers Grimm, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas</span>). While it may not be his best film (that honor I would probably award to <span style="font-style:italic;">Brazil</span>), it is in some ways his "purest" movie. It is arguably his least pretentious, his most fun and entertaining and, by far, his most innocent and least cynical. Made by a director who barely grew up himself, it is (as the cliché goes) a film for the child in everyone…especially if that child happens to be a somewhat naughty or troubled kid.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBhgaKHDK_-etVgYeBBGJUe3F_AMlgsMmEdYEAVVQvBVIL1BY2k6iIue6JvtGtbcrtbhMZcM0DfL63prqNiB_r4mEVR3MPyg-8NWfLMOVk5bWtRz70ukZWIlbj6TAZAYQi3Pru0xqbbwg/s1600/tb6.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 221px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBhgaKHDK_-etVgYeBBGJUe3F_AMlgsMmEdYEAVVQvBVIL1BY2k6iIue6JvtGtbcrtbhMZcM0DfL63prqNiB_r4mEVR3MPyg-8NWfLMOVk5bWtRz70ukZWIlbj6TAZAYQi3Pru0xqbbwg/s400/tb6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671954818497690962" /></a>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-78295533093777007652011-11-03T02:38:00.000-07:002011-11-03T11:45:35.307-07:00Scratching Out a Tune Without Breaking One's Neck<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfygZH-W2pltS9POgdeWcu1y3Yi-fj_m9ucYsggtumkVQg-YCTCHfC5HC6CqtTFfkcRw_uU-Bs9myPjNRagb3w3wmRzA_DY_-eHQ2FoTZdrSOhoDyr8HBnM-14XW79Zb2thf4rI0L6Kww/s1600/fiddler-poster.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 260px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfygZH-W2pltS9POgdeWcu1y3Yi-fj_m9ucYsggtumkVQg-YCTCHfC5HC6CqtTFfkcRw_uU-Bs9myPjNRagb3w3wmRzA_DY_-eHQ2FoTZdrSOhoDyr8HBnM-14XW79Zb2thf4rI0L6Kww/s400/fiddler-poster.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670703785716943394" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The following is an article I wrote for the blog <a href="http://www.eddieonfilm.blogspot.com">Edward Copeland on Film</a> (for which I am a regular contributor) commemorating the 40th anniversary of the release of</span> Fiddler on the Roof.<br /><br /><br />Anyone who knows me fairly well is aware of the fact that I not only have a tremendous love of cinema but of theatre. My infatuation with the stage came in high school when I was cast in four (count ‘em, <span style="font-weight:bold;">four</span>) roles in a production of <span style="font-style:italic;">Nicholas Nickleby</span>. That’s when I was, as the saying goes, “bitten by the bug,” and ever since I’ve taken as many opportunities as I can to participate in local plays as an actor or director. One of the highlights of my theatrical “career” was playing Motel the tailor in a production of <span style="font-style:italic;">Fiddler on the Roof</span> during my mid-twenties. It was not the first time I’d been involved in a staging of this show, having helped out with a production done by my old high school a few years earlier. It was also not the last time I would ever see it performed on stage since my fellow cast members and I attended another production of it about a year later. Needless to say, it’s a show with which I am very familiar. It has been, for a long time now, one of my favorite musicals, and it all began with my exposure to the 1971 film. I watched it at a young age and fell in love with it immediately. It has become one of my favorite movie musicals and in celebration of its 40th anniversary today, I thought I’d share a few thoughts on it.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Fiddler on the Roof</span> began as a series of stories written by the “Jewish Mark Twain,” Sholem Aleichem, and published in 1894. They told of a poor milkman named Tevye and his hardships dealing with his six daughters. The stories served as the basis for several plays in both English and Yiddish as well as a 1939 film simply entitled Tevye. However, in 1964 playwright Joseph Stein, along with composer Jerry Bock and lyricist Sheldon Harnick, created what would be the most popular incarnation of this story as well as the most successful and beloved Broadway musical of its day. It was a foregone conclusion then that it would eventually become a big-screen musical (in a time when Hollywood was still making those), and so in 1970 United Artists hired director Norman Jewison to adapt the musical. Having directed such gritty, mature films such as <span style="font-style:italic;">The Thomas Crown Affair, In the Heat of the Night</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">The Cincinnati Kid</span>, he seemed an odd choice to bring such family friendly fare to the screen. (Indeed, the story goes he was chosen because the producers mistakenly thought he was Jewish.) As luck would have it, however, it was an inspired choice. People tend to forget that while the first half of <span style="font-style:italic;">Fiddler</span> is bright and joyous, the second half is darker and more melancholy, and while the tone of the second half seems more in keeping with Jewison’s sensibilities, he actually handles both halves with incredible deftness.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdVycdp_lotZSrK9PQK6HnyTZWgX1t1jrZB81gk1sWFT1-O0YYfs_oJ3SdKNbdGBxlaQfPH7hq0v-F27KjGmctuvF9xgnN24WhVvyNkZi5e_sLzW3TiluuE2cl7hMeT-l2nNVAg73eqw0/s1600/fiddler4.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 196px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdVycdp_lotZSrK9PQK6HnyTZWgX1t1jrZB81gk1sWFT1-O0YYfs_oJ3SdKNbdGBxlaQfPH7hq0v-F27KjGmctuvF9xgnN24WhVvyNkZi5e_sLzW3TiluuE2cl7hMeT-l2nNVAg73eqw0/s320/fiddler4.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670704695805384546" /></a>Jewison’s first stroke of genius was casting the Israeli actor Chaim Topol in the lead role of Tevye. The choice was somewhat controversial because, although Topol had played the part in London, the great Zero Mostel originated the role on Broadway (even winning a Tony for it) and was expected to reprise it for the film just as he had done with the reprisal of his other Tony Award-winning performance of Pseudolus the slave in 1966’s <span style="font-style:italic;">A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum</span>. Jewison, however, felt that Mostel’s style, though perfectly suited for the stage, would’ve been too broad and unrealistic for film. He was absolutely right. Mostel was, of course, pretty disappointed with the decision; in fact, two years later, when Jewison directed the film version of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s rock opera Jesus Christ Superstar and wanted Zero Mostel’s son Joshua to play King Herod, Mostel’s reaction was, “Tell him to get Topol’s son!” Topol is a revelation in the part of Tevye, displaying a warmth and wisdom well beyond his years (only being 35 at the time). Indeed, he was rewarded with a Best Actor nomination for his performance. Much of the rest of the cast also comes from the stage and are uniformly good (including the Oscar-nominated Leonard Frey, Norma Crane, Molly Picon, Rosalind Harris and a “pre-Starsky” Paul Michael Glaser, billed simply as “Michael Glaser”).<br /><br />Jewison’s shrewdness extends beyond casting, however. Wanting to give the film an earthy “period” look (something that is commonplace now but back then was more innovative), Jewison and cinematographer Oswald Morris made the unconventional choice of shooting the entire picture with a stocking over the lens; it can even be seen in a sequence where Tevye is remembering his second oldest daughter as a little girl. Another brilliant decision on the part of Jewison was to get a relatively unknown composer named John Williams to adapt the music for the film. Most of the songs from the show are incredibly memorable (“Tradition,” “Matchmaker, Matchmaker,” “If I Were a Rich Man,” “Sunrise, Sunset”) but when Williams brings his intimate knowledge of the orchestra and bombastic personality to the melodies, helped in no small part by the virtuoso fiddling of the late Isaac Stern, the result is thrilling. Williams won his first Oscar (Best Adapted Score) for the work he did on the film, and it was a harbinger of things to come for the composer.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSyIVgmcVyD99SdaS7RvJVoI_dh9B3j0lZ2uG6Ut1gNRZmAng9zYX3mwqbrgl4E9g2q-eV-_OcJqIacjFa6FYvLtEyTzhUK3eEEkYYB3scKVt5hwjD7ZFBm_LK2u7ScJY2757tiv-Tow/s1600/fiddler3.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtSyIVgmcVyD99SdaS7RvJVoI_dh9B3j0lZ2uG6Ut1gNRZmAng9zYX3mwqbrgl4E9g2q-eV-_OcJqIacjFa6FYvLtEyTzhUK3eEEkYYB3scKVt5hwjD7ZFBm_LK2u7ScJY2757tiv-Tow/s320/fiddler3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670704872208538034" /></a>The story to <span style="font-style:italic;">Fiddler</span> is by now quite well known. In a little village in tsarist Russia called Anatevka, a close-knit community of Jews lives in safety and solitude, trying desperately to preserve their way of life in the face of persecution and socio-political change. This struggle is typified in Tevye, who finds himself constantly warring internally over what to do regarding his five daughters and whom they wish to marry. He expresses these struggles in numerous monologues, songs and prayers to God, usually in the form of an “on the one hand, on the other hand” debate. He often finds himself in precarious situations that he likens to the image of a fiddler on a roof, a musician who is trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck in the process. By the end of the film, Tevye’s three oldest daughters are married (one to a poor tailor, one to a Marxist revolutionary and one to a Catholic) and everyone in the village is driven out by the Cossacks. In the film’s final shot, Tevye invites the symbolic fiddler to follow him and his family to America, indicating that wherever the Jewish people go they bring their traditions, their heritage and their rich cultural and religious identity with them.<br /><br />When I saw <span style="font-style:italic;">Fiddler on the Roof</span>, I didn’t know much about Judaism and the film served as more or less my introduction to it, but I still connected with the humanity of the characters and their obstacles. One of the things that makes <span style="font-style:italic;">Fiddler</span> work so well is, paradoxically, its universality. Although it is a distinctly Jewish story, all societies can relate to the ongoing battle to hold on to more “traditional” values in the face of an ever-changing world, and this has no doubt contributed to the film’s enduring popularity. (Norman Jewison has said that he is surprised how well the film has been received in various, culturally diverse countries.) The film tends to be absent from “100 Greatest Films” lists that critics, cinephiles and bloggers compile, but then so are a number of other films that are almost universally beloved. (I’ve never seen <span style="font-style:italic;"><a href="http://cinememories.blogspot.com/2011/06/you-can-even-eat-dishes.html">Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory</a></span> on these lists either but I’ve yet to meet someone who doesn’t love that film.) To this day it remains a staple of community theater and high school drama productions all across the land. Topol has become indelibly associated with the character of Tevye and continued to play the role on stage for decades after the film’s release. In fact, a good friend of mine, Bob (the fellow who beautifully portrayed Tevye in the production where I was Motel), got to go see Topol in his farewell tour two years ago. After the show he told the aging actor that Tevye was one if his favorite roles and that he was soon going to be auditioning to play it yet again in another local production. Topol simply said to him, “Be good.”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBbxSbFAUVHND49PxmN3bG7Bx1t2UjoOShbo6ZJmC8W6cbeCM20o5FTGia6KxiGP-5b5ikyZBkUaKNxx_h2fjM6eEXpotWF2KJ-XIhghG5AavMstTGBJnFNL7Lw-zn8uknBL60efuAwE/s1600/fiddler7.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 172px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnBbxSbFAUVHND49PxmN3bG7Bx1t2UjoOShbo6ZJmC8W6cbeCM20o5FTGia6KxiGP-5b5ikyZBkUaKNxx_h2fjM6eEXpotWF2KJ-XIhghG5AavMstTGBJnFNL7Lw-zn8uknBL60efuAwE/s400/fiddler7.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670705214096700002" /></a>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-31563164385216640762011-10-31T11:55:00.000-07:002011-12-08T02:11:13.665-08:00Paradise Lost<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZgvWIYG1vKzvWMGeWOS2xpX9cf8GLeW2EtQBgdxDR_SQA-_CkzJPNG1fuj6oRH8KHmsDJP9Iejb_YeYM_XXCtdTyzBckL1PALsApgQMWfkRi5CN27leE8Et7bG4mxl59RD390MOy_oA/s1600/missionposter.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 210px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZgvWIYG1vKzvWMGeWOS2xpX9cf8GLeW2EtQBgdxDR_SQA-_CkzJPNG1fuj6oRH8KHmsDJP9Iejb_YeYM_XXCtdTyzBckL1PALsApgQMWfkRi5CN27leE8Et7bG4mxl59RD390MOy_oA/s320/missionposter.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669732553070391986" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The following is an article I wrote for the blog <a href="http://eddieonfilm.blogspot.com/">Edward Copeland on Film</a> (for which I am a regular contributor) commemorating the 25th anniversary of the release of</span> The Mission.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">"All that is necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing."</span><br /><br /><br />An elderly Catholic cardinal stares intensely at us, his hard facial features betraying an expression of complete ambiguity. Is he angry? Sad? Afraid? We don't know. After several seconds he begins to speak. He is dictating a letter to the pope, relaying details of a past event which the film proceeds to show in flashback. His narration explains how Jesuit priests, who set up missions in South America for the education and protection of the local natives, journeyed into the depths of the jungle "to bring the word of God to those Indians still living in their natural state and received in return, martyrdom." We then see one such cleric, stripped to the waist and wearing a makeshift crown of thorns on his brow, being tied to a wooden cross and carried by a group of these Indians (whom we later learn are called the Guarani) down to a river where he is thrown in. He floats away silently, still alive but seemingly resigned to his fate. We watch as he travels further downstream, a grotesque living crucifix adrift in a series of rough rapids, before sailing over the edge of an immense waterfall and plummeting to his death. Thus opens the breathtakingly beautiful and tremendously powerful historical drama <span style="font-style:italic;">The Mission</span> (which celebrates its 25th anniversary today), one of the finest films I personally have ever seen.<br /><br />Based on actual events that occurred in the territory that borders Paraguay, Brazil and Argentina in the mid-18th century (and, knowing Hollywood's track record for distorting history, no doubt embellishing it), <span style="font-style:italic;">The Mission</span> primarily tells the story of two very different, and yet remarkably similar, men. The first is Father Gabriel (Jeremy Irons), a kind, noble and patient Jesuit priest who, after the death of his friend, decides to bravely enter the domain of the Guarani tribe. In one of many memorable and visually spectacular sequences, Father Gabriel climbs up the waterfall from the film's prologue, slipping and almost plunging to his own death in the process. His conquering of the falls is the first of many obstacles he must overcome in his quest to finish what his unlucky colleague began.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoImy5dcdMjHqVXtCwW02saRJbDwabwiEokdiSPBTgCjOiDd8Lio2RxdZYPw48Gl5BY59fSY_ZW-hBXYkW6aqUcVZ7Wpe7CbzxGbjrI76rRHr_ri6gEnhhUQryVz3mliREONezbUs4XBg/s1600/mission2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoImy5dcdMjHqVXtCwW02saRJbDwabwiEokdiSPBTgCjOiDd8Lio2RxdZYPw48Gl5BY59fSY_ZW-hBXYkW6aqUcVZ7Wpe7CbzxGbjrI76rRHr_ri6gEnhhUQryVz3mliREONezbUs4XBg/s320/mission2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669735108002930594" /></a>In a subsequent scene, Gabriel sits calmly on a rock and plays a sweet but elegiac little tune on his oboe as Guarani begin to slowly surround him with their weapons drawn. Though he notices them approach, he continues to play on, his face clearly betraying fear and yet his will proving strong and resolute. Suddenly one native shouts at him angrily, grabs the oboe, breaks it in two across his own knee and storms off. Another one picks up the pieces, examines the instrument as if trying to understand how such a lovely sound could come from it and meekly offers it back to Gabriel who tries to fix it before shaking his head. The native then takes Gabriel's hand and with the consent of everyone else present leads him back to their home. It is a phenomenal dialogue-free sequence about the universal allure of music and the kind of respect that can exist across vast ethnic, cultural and linguistic barriers. In courageously refusing not to be intimidated by these dangerous "savages" as well as not responding with anger or hostility to their destruction of his beloved property, Gabriel begins the first step in earning the trust and admiration of these understandably scared and suspicious people.<br /><br />Gabriel begins to establish a mission named San Carlos in the heart of the jungle, a sanctuary where the Guarani can hear the Gospel and also be safe from the brutality of the slave traders who capture (and sometimes kill) them. It is here that the film introduces its other primary character: a mercenary named Captain Rodrigo Mendoza (Robert De Niro) who is so notoriously ruthless that when he encounters father Gabriel in one of his many hunting excursions, Gabriel's assertion that they are "building a mission here to make Christians of these people" is met with the callous response, "If you have the time." However, when Mendoza discovers his younger brother Felipe (Aidan Quinn) in bed with his own fiancee, he angrily kills Felipe in a duel and, unlike his spiritual ancestor Cain, immediately regrets his fratricide afterward. Although the law can't touch him, Mendoza is consumed with guilt and punishes himself by wasting away in a cell refusing to eat or speak to anyone. Into his misery comes none other than Father Gabriel who, in a manner very similar to his initial encounter with the Guarani, bravely confronts Mendoza for the coward that he is (not only refusing to be intimidated by his threats but actually daring him to act on them) and offers him a chance at redemption. "For me there is no redemption," Mendoza laments. "There is no penance hard enough for me." Gabriel asks: "But do you dare try it?" to which Mendoza replies: "Do you dare to see it fail?"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOf253h5PbzDXnYCuVlZ2ETiw0i7eJdjvwIzO_R4_0n3BgniGVwfdBT7tOyKG206T3WDDMGKCmHG03CC-uMayIZ5g2sLXFsUjVRq92ag5xJFSSIxhEa-55i58oqjMId9XmsBooqDAQB_c/s1600/mission23.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 208px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOf253h5PbzDXnYCuVlZ2ETiw0i7eJdjvwIzO_R4_0n3BgniGVwfdBT7tOyKG206T3WDDMGKCmHG03CC-uMayIZ5g2sLXFsUjVRq92ag5xJFSSIxhEa-55i58oqjMId9XmsBooqDAQB_c/s320/mission23.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669735359755644386" /></a>What follows is another magnificent extended sequence wherein Mendoza accompanies Gabriel and a few other members of his order back into the jungle all the while dragging behind him a huge bundle of metallic weaponry (swords, shields, armor, etc) at the end of a rope. It even involves climbing the same waterfall (which becomes a sort of character in itself) Gabriel did. It all culminates in another dialogue-free scene of almost immeasurable emotion and profundity; indeed it's one of the most moving depictions of forgiveness I've ever seen on film (although there is a comparable one in Terrence Malick's latest opus <span style="font-style:italic;">The Tree of Life</span>). Mendoza soon becomes an active part of the seemingly idyllic existence at San Carlos. Grateful for his "second chance" at life, he asks Father Gabriel what he can do in return. Gabriel hands him a Bible and we see Mendoza reading passages from the apostle Paul's first letter to the Corinthians ("Though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, and have not love, it profiteth me nothing. Love suffereth long, and is kind; love envieth not; love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up…But now abideth faith, hope, love, these three; but the greatest of these is love."). Indeed, much like Paul, who persecuted Christians only to become one of their greatest proponents, Mendoza transforms from a murderer and trader of the Guarani into their friend and advocate.<br /><br />Having witnessed enough death in his life Mendoza swears off all violence (as is seen in a sequence where the Guarani invite him to help slay a boar they've hunted and he refuses) and even joins Gabriel's order vowing to protect and serve his fellow man. This, however, proves very difficult as the signing of the Treaty of Madrid reallocates the previously protected lands inhabited by the Jesuit missions to Portugal, which unlike Spain permits slavery. This leads to the section of the film where Cardinal Altamirano (Ray McAnally), the stoic priest who narrates the film, is sent by the pope to appraise the Jesuit missions and decide whether they should continue to fall under the protection of the Roman Catholic Church. In some emotionally charged scenes (where the disparity between good and evil is rarely so starkly drawn), the Jesuits defend the humanity of the Guarani and the virtues of the missions while the plantation owners assert the inferiority and animal-like natures of the Guarani and apply political pressure to Altamirano for a favorable decision. They are such despicable, sorry excuses for human beings that it actually borders on the comical.<br /><br />Unfortunately, even after visiting the San Carlos mission and seeing the "paradise on earth" that the Jesuits and the Guarani have built together, Altamirano comes to the inevitable conclusion that in order to save the whole body (the body in this case presumably being the "body of Christ," or the church) one must sometimes hack off a limb (the limb being the missions), not unlike another pragmatic religious leader named Caiaphas who determined centuries earlier that it is "better that one man should die for the people than that the whole nation should perish." He tells the Guarani that they must leave the mission, but they do not want to leave. It is their home. When they question the wisdom and authority of this priest, he asserts that they must learn to submit to the will of God. Confused, the Guarani say that it was the will of God that they came out of the jungle and built the mission and they don't understand why God has changed his mind. The Guarani decide to stay and fight. Altamirano tells the Jesuits that they must not fight with the Guarani but that they must instead return to Rome with him. Angry at this betrayal by the church, Mendoza literally takes up his sword again and, along with several other Jesuits (including a young Liam Neeson), joins with the Guranai in defending their home against the colonialists.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOxwcj83QElA0ZX9p4-vHzPz-iFdZt2nSNSHUTo8U1bwbqr3WT7Q7cR3qSJif_CxlvqNpxEDAwYo6W1VrG8XwBhAWqM4-kutrAAiRsdi3UiJ7wL3pWRuXKsxSboWTCQ4i4B-gGjn__T_8/s1600/mission3.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOxwcj83QElA0ZX9p4-vHzPz-iFdZt2nSNSHUTo8U1bwbqr3WT7Q7cR3qSJif_CxlvqNpxEDAwYo6W1VrG8XwBhAWqM4-kutrAAiRsdi3UiJ7wL3pWRuXKsxSboWTCQ4i4B-gGjn__T_8/s320/mission3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669736022561513314" /></a>The only one who doesn't take up arms is Father Gabriel. Heartbroken at this turn of events, but still unwilling to abandon the Guarani to their doom, Gabriel chooses to stay with them, but he will not kill. On the eve of the impending battle, Mendoza comes to Gabriel to be blessed for his efforts, but Gabriel refuses to do so. "If you're right, you'll have God's blessing," he says. "If you're not, my blessing won't mean anything." The two men embrace and the climactic final showdown soon follows. Alas, the outcome is hardly unpredictable. Nearly all of the Guranai who resist are slaughtered. Mendoza and the other priests are killed in battle. Father Gabriel, who stages a nonviolent demonstration with many of the Guarani women and children, also is killed and his mission is burned to the ground.<br /><br />Shortly thereafter, Altamirano is seen eating with the plantation owners and he is utterly sickened not only by the news of this massive loss of human life but by their ambivalence to it. "And you have the effrontery to tell me that this slaughter was necessary?" he asks. Calmly and coldly, they tell him that they believe it was. "We must work in the world, your eminence," one of them says. "The world is thus." To this Altamirano replies, "No, Señor Hontar. Thus have we made the world," before gazing out the window and somberly admitting his own culpability in the affair. "Thus have I made it." The film concludes with Altamirano finishing his letter to the pope and, in one of my favorite post-credit movie codas (right up there with <span style="font-style:italic;">Ferris Bueller's Day Off</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Young Sherlock Holmes</span>), stares intensely back into the camera as he did in the film's opening image.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The Mission</span> was written by Tony Award-winning playwright (<span style="font-style:italic;">A Man for All Seasons</span>) and two-time Oscar-winning screenwriter Robert Bolt (<span style="font-style:italic;">Doctor Zhivago</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">A Man for All Seasons</span>), whose credits also include other historical epics with decidedly intimate focal points such as <span style="font-style:italic;">Lawrence of Arabia</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">The Bounty. The Mission</span> was directed by the English filmmaker Roland Joffé, whose only prior feature film, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Killing Fields</span>, won him much critical acclaim and seemed to signal the promise of a great director. Unfortunately, his career since <span style="font-style:italic;">The Mission</span> has been notably unimpressive, with his failures (such as <span style="font-style:italic;">Super Mario Bros., The Scarlet Letter</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Captivity</span>) looming much larger than his successes. Nonetheless, in spite of its flaws, <span style="font-style:italic;">The Mission</span> is an extraordinarily compelling piece of work with many superlative elements to recommend it. The performances are uniformly solid but Jeremy Irons and Robert De Niro are especially good. The spiritual journeys of these two men are the real heart of the film and both actors imbue their parts with subtlety and soul. De Niro's reticent warrior is perhaps a bit more complex, but Irons' faithful Father Gabriel is no less interesting or sympathetic.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKrl-eRmnf3IH_oJUkcIHOh66XLQhJArS8zIrUdugdciuef1yCvoh-XLIpo599_PIsMnBioNzSfzpx71jmvZnqEAxVFLh1mxSwEvBsHljMi_-JBJk_cbMX-SHa8DKqpjEZLRRSf-m6z0/s1600/mission9.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 312px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisKrl-eRmnf3IH_oJUkcIHOh66XLQhJArS8zIrUdugdciuef1yCvoh-XLIpo599_PIsMnBioNzSfzpx71jmvZnqEAxVFLh1mxSwEvBsHljMi_-JBJk_cbMX-SHa8DKqpjEZLRRSf-m6z0/s320/mission9.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669736500797853138" /></a>One of the things I love about <span style="font-style:italic;">The Mission</span> is how it doesn't cast its lot with either character at the film's finale. Both men are clearly trying to do the right thing in an otherwise awful situation and even though they disagree as to what that is, the film doesn't judge the actions of either. The film also boasts some gorgeous locales beautifully rendered by cinematographer Chris Menges (who won an Academy Award for his efforts) and the highly evocative film score by legendary Italian composer Ennio Morricone not only stands out as one of his best works but has become one of the most popular soundtracks around…even for those who don't typically notice/collect film music. The piece "On Earth as it is Heaven" (the tune played by Gabriel on his oboe early in the film) is a bittersweet melody that haunts much of the film's imagery and the celebratory choral "Guarani" theme (made up of exotic instruments and native-style chanting) lingers in the memory long after the film is over.<br /><br />Although it received a handful of awards (including the prestigious Palme d'Or at Cannes) and numerous other nominations,<span style="font-style:italic;"> The Mission</span> was lukewarmly received when it was released in 1986. Nobody panned it but few critics praised it as a masterpiece either. Most labeled it merely mediocre and remained rather indifferent to it. Roger Ebert wrote that it felt "exactly like one of those movies where you'd rather see the documentary about how the movie was made" (incidentally, the DVD and Blu-ray release of <span style="font-style:italic;">The Mission</span> includes the hour-long doc <span style="font-style:italic;">Omnibus</span>, which chronicles the making of the film in case he, or anyone else, ever wants to actually do that; I have and although it is fascinating, I still prefer the film itself). Considered by many to be muddled, ponderous, pious and with characters who seemed more like "types" than fleshed-out human beings, it grossed a meager $17 million at the box office and faded into relative obscurity thereafter. Over the years, however, as more and more people have discovered this little-known treasure of a film, it has gained a somewhat more prominent reputation …particularly among religious folk who are drawn to its themes of redemption, forgiveness, faith, courage, love, compassion, goodness, evangelism, etc. In fact, the weekly Anglican publication <span style="font-style:italic;">Church Times</span> picked it as No. 1 on a list of the "Top 50 Religious Films" and in 2004 <span style="font-style:italic;">Arts & Faith</span> ranked it No. 54 on their "Top 100 Spiritually Significant Films."<br /><br />Speaking only for myself, I find it to be an incredibly deep and thoughtful piece of work; indeed one of my favorite films. In the interests of full disclosure though, I should probably make it known that I am myself a Christian (though I don't belong to any particular denomination) and as such tend to respond favorably to stories that involve people who share my faith and the struggles that they deal with as they attempt to live it out. Many people already now this about me, but it's still a little nerve-wracking to admit that about myself because I realize it is not a popular thing to be right now. There are a lot of Christians out there who are making a lot of noise (as well as a lot of enemies) and as such people tend to lump us all in the same category.<br /><br />As I believe Dr. Peter E. Dans observes in his book <span style="font-style:italic;">Christians in Movies: A Century of Saints and Sinners</span>, it is becoming more and more difficult to find positive portrayals of Christians in movies and TV and far more commonplace to see them depicted as sanctimonious, hypocritical, judgmental, right-wing ignoramuses (see movies such as <span style="font-style:italic;">Paul, Footloose</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Easy A</span> as well as TV shows such as <span style="font-style:italic;">30 Rock, The Big Bang Theory</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">The Office</span>). Consequently, a film such as <span style="font-style:italic;">The Mission</span>, where the church may not come off particularly well but individual believers are depicted quite sympathetically, resonates with me simply because it goes against the recent trend.<br /><br />I'd like to think, however, that I can still be objective enough to recognize a good movie (which I think <span style="font-style:italic;">The Mission</span> is) when I see one, whether it tends to paint Christians in a good light or not. I am not particularly interested, for example, in so-called "Christian" movies, partially because they are essentially works of propaganda and I tend to respond to all propaganda the same (whether it propagates something I happen to agree with or not), but also because they tend to be as many critics (including <a href="http://www.salon.com/2011/04/13/soul_surfer/">this one</a> and <A href="http://www.relevantmagazine.com/culture/film/features/23250-why-are-christian-movies-so-bad">this one</a>) have pointed out, pretty bad. Nonetheless, there are some films that I think could be classified as "Christian" (though I personally don't even really consider that a viable category) that don't fit the usual "faith-based" mold we have come to expect and which I think are far more powerful, existential and artistic (films such as <span style="font-style:italic;">Shadowlands, Chariots of Fire, The Exorcist, Dogma, Chocolat</span>, etc). I think The Mission belongs with those films. It might not be a "Christian movie" per se (whatever that is) but it is a movie about Christianity and its admittedly checkered past (I am not naive enough to think that the real-life missions were as idyllic as they are depicted here) and it appropriates into its worldview many of the truths about life and human nature that draw me to the Christian ideology.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn4nbOA0NghpYgeSo5Xcjq6F4-rpbiPyHWNilXURwWFjB-9loHmYYWhaIpQ8AH5uuJdTWNw5oJ-WzffN11xn7KdeeDEc7O9eyCwS06LALcf7CfaQoGlDdRUs3vRQ84Y3Zhv67ylAKAUmA/s1600/mission13.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 170px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn4nbOA0NghpYgeSo5Xcjq6F4-rpbiPyHWNilXURwWFjB-9loHmYYWhaIpQ8AH5uuJdTWNw5oJ-WzffN11xn7KdeeDEc7O9eyCwS06LALcf7CfaQoGlDdRUs3vRQ84Y3Zhv67ylAKAUmA/s400/mission13.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669736953826142594" /></a>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7296977375979154438.post-82709315813324124212011-09-23T05:22:00.000-07:002011-09-23T16:52:34.672-07:00Trust him. He knows what he's doing.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDEbujk4YAcrer61xAhokrEjF96n2d3Qb8WIEfP2CKRSXaw4DRFDcNor7pcllWbpshl73XVcYD3Re6T9e8_EX0KI-FxfQ1jcKpIU17Dyon4neEbFeyvySqFyyPm9hsxyRktmZdrGxsIkg/s1600/sledgehammer1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 343px; height: 345px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDEbujk4YAcrer61xAhokrEjF96n2d3Qb8WIEfP2CKRSXaw4DRFDcNor7pcllWbpshl73XVcYD3Re6T9e8_EX0KI-FxfQ1jcKpIU17Dyon4neEbFeyvySqFyyPm9hsxyRktmZdrGxsIkg/s400/sledgehammer1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655530689170023394" /></a><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">The following is an article I wrote for the blog <a href="http://eddieonfilm.blogspot.com/">Edward Copeland on Film</a> (for which I am a regular contributor) commemorating the 25th anniversary of the premiere of </span>Sledge Hammer!.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">"If all you have is a hammer, every problem begins to look like a nail."</span><br /><br /><br />Cop shows are a dime a dozen. For as long as the medium of television has existed there have been cop shows. Consequently, in such an overcrowded genre, which includes such distinguished icons as <span style="font-style:italic;">Dragnet, Adam-12</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Hill Street Blues</span>, it is very difficult for a new one to make a distinct impression on viewers let alone leave any kind of legacy. Thus, in a bold attempt to be different, some producers have had the brilliant idea of doing a comic cop show, but prior to <span style="font-style:italic;">Reno 911</span>, those programs proved to be television poison. <span style="font-style:italic;">Car 54, Where Are You?, Cop Rock</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Police Squad!</span> all had notoriously brief runs (although the latter would spawn a very successful comedy movie franchise). Alas, the same fate also befell the satirical 1980s sitcom <span style="font-style:italic;">Sledge Hammer!</span> Despite critical acclaim, <span style="font-style:italic;">Hammer!</span> was consistently second-to-last in the Nielsen ratings and after running only two seasons was unceremoniously canceled. Like its “comic-cop” brethren, <span style="font-style:italic;">Hammer!</span> has developed a cult following over the years but unlike its “comic-cop” brethren, <span style="font-style:italic;">Hammer!</span> has aged remarkably well. In fact, watching it 25 years later it is painfully clear that <span style="font-style:italic;">Sledge Hammer!</span> was, as the saying goes, way ahead of its time.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKkeGqcISZoQfvWNI-9q5QRip9k02OnHkeuxn0FnbLU9fezrfb8uZ2mn_x__CstojYka2-m3uGgKgTGzFZqqivgCLMnh50IKS7MXMDqQoTYSJ73K45nuHBNM8fIwFeA9qLrvGNRLTBSaw/s1600/Dirty+Harry.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKkeGqcISZoQfvWNI-9q5QRip9k02OnHkeuxn0FnbLU9fezrfb8uZ2mn_x__CstojYka2-m3uGgKgTGzFZqqivgCLMnh50IKS7MXMDqQoTYSJ73K45nuHBNM8fIwFeA9qLrvGNRLTBSaw/s320/Dirty+Harry.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655666497560308274" /></a>Needless to say, without <span style="font-style:italic;">Dirty Harry</span> there would be no <span style="font-style:italic;">Sledge Hammer!</span>. In 1971, 16-year-old Alan Spencer saw the iconic Clint Eastwood film and was very affected by it. While the movie was inciting heated debate over whether its portrayal of a gung-ho policeman more interested in protecting innocent people than following the law was fascistic, Spencer astutely grasped the absurd humor of the whole thing. He wrote a script that featured a central character with even less scruples and an even more destructive personality — sort of “Dirty Harry on acid” — and thus, Sledge Hammer was born. However, it would be many years before it reached the television screen. Originally intended for HBO, it was ABC that eventually took a chance on <span style="font-style:italic;">Hammer!</span>. I wish I could report that risk paid off but, as actor David Rasche puts it, “it was not to be.”<br /><br />I discovered <span style="font-style:italic;">Sledge Hammer!</span> completely by accident. When it premiered on ABC in 1986 it initially followed a half-hour Disney show called <span style="font-style:italic;">Sidekicks</span> (with Ernie Reyes, Jr., Gil Gerard and Keye Luke) that I wanted to watch because it was based on a Disney Sunday Movie I loved called <span style="font-style:italic;">The Last Electric Knight</span>. At the time I thought it was great, but now I realize it was just another second-rate <span style="font-style:italic;">Karate Kid</span> rip-off. However, I do owe the show a tremendous debt because if it weren’t for <span style="font-style:italic;">Sidekicks</span> I wouldn’t have seen <span style="font-style:italic;">Sledge Hammer!</span>. I remember watching the <span style="font-style:italic;">Sidekicks</span> episode on the TV in my room and when it was over I decided to leave the set on rather than turn it off and go to bed. When the next show’s opening credits began I heard this very energetic, macho-sounding theme music (which I would later discover was written by an up-and-coming film music composer named Danny Elfman who would go on to become one of my all-time favorite musical talents) playing over close-up images of a .44 Magnum with an insignia of a sledge hammer imprinted on the handle. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAdtUezAYF-nP1IgEAEmw3kCHUOgxPhaBpjdOMc7DCBsSagBYc6n66CkbD9KBLto57ByeVRnaXEmiLOwWloJYkkHwSBJpSIG34dErVvb2leE2jffNlPuUyRa-L0HrMS8waP53fUn9J9aM/s1600/hammer3.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAdtUezAYF-nP1IgEAEmw3kCHUOgxPhaBpjdOMc7DCBsSagBYc6n66CkbD9KBLto57ByeVRnaXEmiLOwWloJYkkHwSBJpSIG34dErVvb2leE2jffNlPuUyRa-L0HrMS8waP53fUn9J9aM/s320/hammer3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655663390354094466" /></a>After several almost erotic-looking shots of the gun resting on a satin pillow a hand reaches into frame and holds it up next to his face staring at it longingly. He twirls it several times, points it slightly to the left of the camera and then says “Trust me. I know what I’m doing,” before firing it and making what was presumably supposed to be a hole in the television screen. Interestingly, the original idea was to have Hammer shoot directly into the camera <span style="font-style:italic;">Great Train Robbery</span>-style, but the network was nervous it would frighten viewers and possibly even result in heart attacks. Hence, the slightly off-kilter direction of the gun’s barrel was agreed upon as a compromise. Incidentally, I‘d like to make a snarky remark here about television executives overestimating the stupidity of viewers, but I won’t because, according to IMDB, on the night of its debut a Midwest ABC affiliate was indeed “startled by the opening sequence, panicked and threw on the station logo thinking something had gone wrong with their tape machine.” It’s the kind of turn of the events that would fit right in with the absurd spirit of the show itself.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Sledge Hammer!</span> was, as creator Alan Spencer aptly claimed, a “sitcom for people who hate sitcoms.” The main premise was apparently to take every cop show/movie cliché and exaggerate it to the point of absurdity. The humor ranged from pointed socio-political and commentary all the way to goofy, over-the-top slapstick. It essentially did for cop dramas what <span style="font-style:italic;">Get Smart</span> (an admitted influence on Spencer) did for spy stories. It may have been dumb but it was dumb in a very intelligent way. It also was, and this is no small feat, side-splittingly funny. I remember liking it an awful lot when I was 10 but I was genuinely surprised, as I reviewed most of the episodes recently, how often I laughed out loud. Much of the hilarity came from the series’ central character, the sadistic, misogynistic, nihilistic San Francisco homicide detective. Born to parents Jack and Armen (think about it) Inspector Sledge Hammer was the kind of cop for whom excessive force was standard operating procedure, the kind of cop who would brag about violating a criminal’s civil rights, the kind of cop for whom the observation “he shoots first and ask questions later” was not a criticism but a compliment.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">REPORTER:</span> We're here at the scene of a liquor store robbery that was thwarted by the man beside me, Inspector Sledge Hammer. Inspector Hammer, tell us what happened.<br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">HAMMER:</span> Well, miss, I was in this store when two thugs entered and threatened the owner with shotguns. At that time, I drew my Magnum and killed them both. Then I bought some eggs, and some milk, and some of those little cocktail weenies.</span><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">REPORTER:</span> Inspector Hammer, was what you did in that store absolutely necessary?<br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><span style="font-weight:bold;">HAMMER:</span> Oh, yes, I had no groceries at all.</span> <br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAnqtPg3P9qv9cAXM1IbKZkxcqzxxJcHjyFUNmhpXQVLfQcYkmZOfP4YzPAEO5UsQIfDwz2VmXoqSvI3-FjdcVZs7JZu-Cj5o16M9qGRLXhQhUSjiqiNhk5OtpwVq4yndrqONZXrS9qgE/s1600/hammer2.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 251px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAnqtPg3P9qv9cAXM1IbKZkxcqzxxJcHjyFUNmhpXQVLfQcYkmZOfP4YzPAEO5UsQIfDwz2VmXoqSvI3-FjdcVZs7JZu-Cj5o16M9qGRLXhQhUSjiqiNhk5OtpwVq4yndrqONZXrS9qgE/s320/hammer2.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655665046534747906" /></a>Hammer’s main ally in his fight with crime (nay, his all-out full-scale global thermonuclear war on crime) was his beloved .44 Magnum. Hammer so adored that gun that he always had it with him. He showered with it, slept with it (and not under his pillow like James Bond, but resting comfortably on the pillow next to him…like a lover) and even talked to it. Yes, talked to it. Hammer was clearly unbalanced and yet still sane enough to realize that talking to one‘s firearm is considered strange. It’s a very funny running gag throughout the run of the series that every time he is caught conversing with his weapon, he would try to shrug it off or make some feeble excuse ("Who are you talking to?" "Uh, nobody."). In spite of his sheer disregard for any kind of human decency, compassion or etiquette, Hammer is a very engaging character. To that end, the charm and charisma of actor David Rasche (<span style="font-style:italic;">The Sentinel, Burn After Reading</span>) goes a long way. Rasche fully commits to Hammer’s more disturbing personality traits without even attempting to soften any of his hard edges, but still manages to make him bizarrely likable. Rasche is truly a revelation in the role and it is no surprise to learn that Spencer wrote the part for him.<br /><br />Supporting Rasche’s Hammer is the beautiful but tough Dori Doreau, played by the sexy and talented Anne-Marie Martin. In typical cop show/movie fashion, the crazy cop’s partner is very by-the-book. Though she is often distressed at Hammer’s antics, she nonetheless seems to like him. Martin essentially plays the straight man to Rasche’s anarchic antics (though she can be, and sometimes is, hysterically funny herself…especially in “Desperately Seeking Dori” were she gets hit on the head and believes she is Hammer herself). She’s the “99 to his Max.” <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheR9llywzLHsgwPdu-RYY1ZgUjIcWSGgQ_ou0ujyWK4b0KIVUqTTGw9X_bNByJpZYa5KGmkfsxX3bDOqJQ0rtEHrDTWieQzdsHKsoWjGDnxSJ1Vwq8chZVYrakg0yPz3LnqnaSsNEUKXs/s1600/anne-marie-martin.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheR9llywzLHsgwPdu-RYY1ZgUjIcWSGgQ_ou0ujyWK4b0KIVUqTTGw9X_bNByJpZYa5KGmkfsxX3bDOqJQ0rtEHrDTWieQzdsHKsoWjGDnxSJ1Vwq8chZVYrakg0yPz3LnqnaSsNEUKXs/s320/anne-marie-martin.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655664289777541490" /></a>Rounding out the solid cast is Harrison Page’s long-suffering Captain Trunk. Just as Chief Inspector Dreyfus was constantly irritated with Clouseau, so is Trunk forever upset with Hammer, always reprimanding him, but never able to let him go (because against all sense and reason Sledge somehow manages to get the job done), Trunk usually expresses himself in loud verbal tirades. Years before Frank McRae was shouting “SLATERRRRR!!!” at the top of his lungs at Schwarzenegger’s rogue cop character in <span style="font-style:italic;">Last Action Hero</span>, Page’s police captain was shouting “HAMMERRRRR!!!!!” on prime time TV. Interestingly, Spencer never intended the character of Trunk to be African-American because, although he didn’t mind Hammer’s sexism, sadism and jingoism, he didn’t want Hammer to appear racist. It was Harrison’s sheer volume that won him the role. In his audition he decided to just let loose and go for it and his yelling brought people into the office from other floors in the building. Spencer hired him on the spot.<br /><br />Another element that contributed to the show’s caliber (sorry) was the pedigree of directors they got. Indeed some of the best episodes were helmed by some of the best directors working in television at that time, such as Jackie Cooper and Bill Bixby. The pilot (“Under the Gun”) was directed with style and confidence by Martha Coolidge (Real Genius) and helped set the standard for everything that followed. I vividly remember watching that pilot. The mayor of San Francisco — John Vernon, who also played the mayor of that same city in <span style="font-style:italic;">Dirty Harry</span> — hires Hammer to bring his kidnapped daughter home. I hadn’t yet seen <span style="font-style:italic;">Dirty Harry</span> at the time (though I’ve seen it since) but it was not necessary to enjoy the over-the-top action and obviously over-the-top humor. One of the most memorable scenes involve Sledge on his way to work one morning in his car (an ugly green Dodge St. Regis with bullet holes in the windshield and a dent in its side) when he encounters a road block. Told by another officer that there’s a sniper on the roof of a nearby building, Hammer asks if the building is empty, goes to his trunk, pulls out a bazooka, levels the entire edifice and calmly declares “I think I got him.”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gwd06kl1WHWz_oBilfiFJZCdgWkKPrc_3e1MrDtFBSTmgGY0aA28PGetJ_HEqZ9JmoMcUid6EebewyQPwmdkdvFWPJ45ZDvPS-WnaAU9hwv6yGDPqfFJCAyOOpBQuXBmX5Xf_ngoHvE/s1600/hammer8.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gwd06kl1WHWz_oBilfiFJZCdgWkKPrc_3e1MrDtFBSTmgGY0aA28PGetJ_HEqZ9JmoMcUid6EebewyQPwmdkdvFWPJ45ZDvPS-WnaAU9hwv6yGDPqfFJCAyOOpBQuXBmX5Xf_ngoHvE/s320/hammer8.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655664560612462434" /></a><span style="font-style:italic;">Dirty Harry</span> was, of course, not the only movie <span style="font-style:italic;">Hammer!</span> spoofed. <span style="font-style:italic;">Robocop</span> (“Hammeroid”), <span style="font-style:italic;">Crocodile Dundee</span> (“Death of a Few Salesmen”), and <span style="font-style:italic;">Witness</span> (“Witless”) were also among those sent up in other memorable episodes. However, the makers of <span style="font-style:italic;">Hammer!</span> were not content to simply satirize then-recent films. They also set their sights on such classics as <span style="font-style:italic;">North by Northwest</span> (“Comrade Hammer”), <span style="font-style:italic;">Vertigo</span> (“Vertical”) and <span style="font-style:italic;">Casablanca</span> ("Play It Again, Sledge”). <span style="font-style:italic;">Hammer!</span> didn’t just take down movies, of course. It also attacked other TV shows. <span style="font-style:italic;">ALF, Max Headroom</span> and particularly <span style="font-style:italic;">Mr. Belvedere</span> took a beating. One of my favorite moments comes when Hammer is in a bar watching a newscast on the TV when he gets up to leave, hears that they are returning to their broadcast of <span style="font-style:italic;">Miami Vice</span> (one of the shows <span style="font-style:italic;">Hammer!</span> was competing with) and blows away the set with his gun. In addition to movies, <span style="font-style:italic;">Hammer!</span> also poked fun at significant cultural phenomena of the period, some of which would eventually become dated references (such the colorization of black and white films) and others which actually anticipated their widespread profusion (such as JFK conspiracy nuts). One of the greatest episodes (“All Shook Up”), written as a love letter to Spencer’s recently deceased friend Andy Kaufman, had Hammer going undercover as an Elvis impersonator (even going so far as to attend “Elvis impersonator school”) to capture a serial killer who’s targeting Elvis impersonators. Although the budget didn’t allow them include any actual Elvis songs, David Rasche wrote some great original Elvis-style music that was used instead. Occasionally, <span style="font-style:italic;">Hammer!</span> would even tackle a serious subject (such as ageism in Hollywood or sexual harassment), albeit in a humorous fashion.<br /><br />As with all television shows not every episode is a winner, but when <span style="font-style:italic;">Sledge Hammer!</span> was good, it was great. It was a show never afraid to take chances. For example, as the end of the first season approached and it became clearer and clearer that the show would not get picked up, Spencer wrote a season finale that would allow the show to (literally) go out with a bang. In “The Spa Who Loved Me,” a terrorist group steals a nuclear warhead and threatens to set it off if their demands (which include new episodes of <span style="font-style:italic;">Moonlighting</span>) are not met. Hammer, Dori and Trunk find the warhead in a spa and Hammer, after uttering his usual chilling assurance that he “knows what he’s doing,” attempts to disarm the thing only to have it explode destroying all of San Francisco. Partially intended as a desperate attempt to boost their ratings (a confession they got Robin Leach to make at the outset of the episode) and also partially intended as petulant thumbing their nose at the establishment, the outrageous gamble actually paid off. The finale was so highly watched that the network renewed for a second season, provided Spencer would find a way to get out of the apocalyptic ending. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2G-XXeydoUexstrgFdKsgsZ7o40jCNZ7stDi5qwNS-OL0oBUIzsU6TwRqb5dRCAJxq-sfqnI5yOnx8vFZvvxYZwIp15_vHPPGK2r9gfm86AyL0KyqYLb9wfBEXA9LqHgw-i77Fz4i6Uc/s1600/Sledge-excuse.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2G-XXeydoUexstrgFdKsgsZ7o40jCNZ7stDi5qwNS-OL0oBUIzsU6TwRqb5dRCAJxq-sfqnI5yOnx8vFZvvxYZwIp15_vHPPGK2r9gfm86AyL0KyqYLb9wfBEXA9LqHgw-i77Fz4i6Uc/s320/Sledge-excuse.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655665596623260434" /></a>In typical <span style="font-style:italic;">Sledge Hammer!</span>-style, Spencer's solution was yet another satirical jab at television…specifically lame resolutions to unresolvable scenarios (such as “it was all a dream”). In the premiere episode of season two, a title card informed viewers that the rest of the season actually occurs five years before the nuclear explosion. The usual credits then roll, only this time with the subtitle “The Early Years." It makes no sense (especially since Doreau was made Hammer's partner in the pilot and here she's seen working with him), but it's clever and hilarious.<br /><br />The primary sin of <span style="font-style:italic;">Sledge Hammer!</span> was being too good and too provocative for its time. It’s easy to see why audiences didn’t embrace it. It's pretty gutsy stuff. Even if ABC had treated it right (i.e. not pitting it against <span style="font-style:italic;">Dallas</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">Miami Vice</span> in the first season and moving it around to various time slots in the second season, ultimately setting it against that ratings powerhouse known as <span style="font-style:italic;">The Cosby Show</span>), it still might not have ever caught on. The very subversive sensibility of the show fits in more with the hyper-cynical culture we find ourselves in now than the conservative, homogenized environment of Reagan-era America. The fact that the show, against Spencer’s wishes, included a “canned” laugh track for much of the first season (I vividly remember that) illustrates this very point. At the same time, however, the tone and tenor of the whole thing (even the violence) is all so silly and good-natured that it's hard to believe anyone could take it so seriously as to be offended by it (which many people were). After being canceled in 1988, <span style="font-style:italic;">Hammer!</span> did very well in syndication and both seasons are now available on DVD (sans the insipid laugh track thankfully). My advice, if you haven’t yet experienced this woefully underrated show, is to check it out. You might be surprised. You also might find yourself wondering how on earth the show didn’t catch on…or as Sledge himself would say whenever someone tried to use logic or reason on him: “Don’t confuse me.”<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnO6d9Hx3VJoqlIIcWTnIsyTHZk7To3nCCsttUr6VXGnYvssCwhhWlkIJeNndPFA5PuqEKZHjoi-9IjdwOoomLJbsLRc-fRypuyh7N_Bxnm_MvWBnduQCi4CVW0xru2-hnE9Gk6k8uAnQ/s1600/hammer-smiles.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 311px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnO6d9Hx3VJoqlIIcWTnIsyTHZk7To3nCCsttUr6VXGnYvssCwhhWlkIJeNndPFA5PuqEKZHjoi-9IjdwOoomLJbsLRc-fRypuyh7N_Bxnm_MvWBnduQCi4CVW0xru2-hnE9Gk6k8uAnQ/s400/hammer-smiles.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655665973072209330" /></a>Damian Arlynhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07937513879456460221noreply@blogger.com0