c-blauvelt Reviews

The Departed (2006)

Scorsese's Return to Form

[9/10 · 8 October 2006]

Martin Scorsese's return to form, The Departed, is a complex investigation of the roles death and violence play in people's lives, a classic Scorsese theme. Every one of the characters in the film orients himself to death in some way. The story takes place in present-day Boston where Billy Costigan (Leonardo DiCaprio) is an undercover cop infiltrating the crime ring of Frank Costello (Jack Nicholson). However, Frank also has a mole in the police force, Colin Sullivan (Matt Damon). These two moles gradually begin to recognize each other's existence until the fateful first connection over a cell-phone binds them together in a life-or-death struggle to survive that plays out over the rest of the film. The point of the film is that the poorest of the poor in America's big cities have little choice but to turn to violence to survive, or as Frank Costello puts it: "When I was your age, they would say you could become cops or criminals. What I'm saying is this: When you're facing a loaded gun, what's the difference?" The marvelous acting conveys these different characters' reactions to death. DiCaprio and Damon become locked in a dance of death from which neither can escape. They both have so much to gain from defeating the other, that they gladly risk their own necks. Their working class Boston accents are very authentic, conveying the difficult, unschooled backgrounds from which they have risen, determined to forge better lives like Clarice Starling in The Silence of the Lambs. Just as how her humble origins inspired Starling to pursue her foe to the death, Billy Costigan and Colin Sullivan's impoverished backgrounds reveal why they are so determined to destroy one another.

But how could I forget Jack? Jack Nicholson's character, the mob boss Frank Costello, is the master manipulator of death, someone who profits from violent deeds with no remorse or pity. His purposefully lazy speech and twitchy mannerisms convey a neurotic who has clawed up the ladder with the blood of countless others on his hands. His impression of a rat conveys exactly who he is, a scavenger who preys on society's garbage.

It's a given that this film is engrossing, but Scorsese employs a number of techniques that make it particularly captivating. First of all, he allows us to root for both DiCaprio and Damon, even though one is a cop and the other a crook posing as a cop. That doesn't matter. Good and evil don't apply here. All that matters is the power to survive. Watching these characters deceive their way to survival in the face of death is like watching a wild animal trying not to show fear while staring into the face of a predator. Scorsese crosscuts between these two to make us root for them both much like Alfred Hitchcock does with his hero and villain near the end of Strangers on a Train. We don't want either of these characters to die, because that would be the end of the suspense.

Secondly, whereas Scorsese used eye-line matches, reaction shots, and slow-motion cinematography to capture the psychological state of his characters in the 70s, here he uses percussive sound as the calling card of death. The end of the film becomes a hyper-kinetic bloodbath, which I don't remember as much for its images as I do for its sounds. Particularly, Scorsese's sound designer turned a gunshot into such a percussive alarm, that we don't need to actually see someone getting killed, we hear it. Every time a gun is fired it feels like a portent of doom, a signal that someone has just departed this world, or that all of our illusions and artifice have been stripped away to reveal merely life and death in its most raw form. Whenever I heard a gunshot in this film I was reminded of Mersault in Albert Camus' The Stranger talking about how shooting a man four times was like "…knocking four quick times on the door of unhappiness." Likewise, Howard Shore's pulsating Celtic rock music acts as a war anthem driving our characters unswervingly toward their tragic end.

Some people might dislike the jarring nature of the final 30 minutes with characters being killed left and right with little time to process their departures. This is not like Macbeth where Banquo can announce "I am killed" before actually dying. The characters that are killed die in a split second. We have no way to emotionally process their deaths. However, I believe that the final greatness in The Departed lies in the arbitrary, unsentimental way characters are dispatched. That's exactly as Scorsese intended it. Most people in life are not granted the luxury of protracted deaths with melodramatic monologues. Death is all around us. None of us knows when it is coming or how, but we all know that one day we will be among the departed.

The Departed by Martin Scorsese--A

X-Men: The Last Stand (2006)

A great premise is dumbed-down by too much action and not enough heart

[6/10 · 26 May 2006]

X-Men: The Last Stand had so much promise. It's concept was by far the most interesting to date, that a cure has been discovered for mutants, that if they so wished they could become "normal." Of course, Magneto fears that this is tantamount to an extermination campaign by the U.S. government, and he fears that this cure will not be voluntary for long. This storyline was initially created by Joss Whedon's innovative X-Men comics of the 90s, and what could have been such an interesting storyline in this film is watered down by the addition of too many new characters and multiple other story lines. The Phoenix Saga is explored at long last as Jean Grey is revived after her apparent death at Alkali Lake by the Phoenix force which has long remained dormant inside her. Also, we have romantic subplots with Rogue, Iceman, and Shadowcat. Many new mutants are introduced as well like the aforementioned Shadowcat, Kelsey Grammar's Beast, Angel, Colossus, Callisto, Arclight, Juggernaut, and, of course, Leech, whose ability to drain mutants of their powers is the source of the cure. I feel that Brett Ratner bit off more than he could chew with this film. All these story lines are so interesting that they could have merited films of their own and to combine all these new stories and characters in one film doesn't add complexity, but dilutes the overall narrative. There could have been more psychological complexity as characters like Beast and Rogue contemplate whether or not they want this cure to better "fit in" with society. I wish that there had been more explanation of whether or not it is actually cowardice to get this cure. Instead, the X-Men seem committed to protecting the rights of mutants to choose whether or not they should get this cure, while Magneto sees the cure as a weapon that can be used against his people forcibly. So what could have been psychologically complex became merely a battle between the X-Men and Magneto.

Admittedly, the battle sequences in this film are breathtaking, with appropriate bullet-time slow-motion effects to allow the viewers to take in the CGI in all its glory. I felt these battle sequences were extremely well-shot. Ratner doesn't give in to the temptation to use rapid cutting to cover-up shoddy effects. I just feel that the emphasis in this film was on effects rather than heart. I didn't feel as much a connection with the characters in this film as in Singer's movies, but there could have so easily been a connection. There is such fertile ground for psychological complexity in this movie that somehow wasn't harvested. The worst aspect of this being the Phoenix storyline. Jean Grey's mental battle with the Phoenix could have been such an emotionally rich narrative, to see her struggle with her desire to unleash her caged powers despite her love for her friends and family. Instead, we don't get inside Jean's head at all, and she is merely presented as a mysterious, emotionally disconnected "other," whose character is totally defined by other people's reactions to her, rather than by Famke Janssen's performance. This isn't a fault of Famke, who is truly a goddess, but of the writing.

The writing is stilted, stagy, and over-theatrical throughout the film, prompting a number of appropriate giggles in the audience. I think a perfect line representative of the shallowness of the character development in this film is Juggernaut's line to Shadowcat when he reveals who he is: "Don't you know who I am? I'm the Juggernaut, bitch!" Basically, that's his only character development in the movie, and many of the other character's have equally shallow personalities and motivations. Even Magneto, the emotional heart of the first two films for me, is turned into just a deranged warlord, rather than showing how his actions are motivated by fear and the emotional scars from his past. He was never presented as an insane, monolithically evil villain, but as someone with genuine motivations for his actions. Charles Xavier could be seen as the Martin Luther King of the mutant world, while Magneto is the Malcolm X, but certainly Malcolm X is never presented as villain in our history textbooks. Yes, he adopted militant tactics for the civil rights movement, but he had genuine cause to do so. Therefore, as the first two films are about defending what makes you unique, this third film is about being given the choice to be "normal," to fit in with the mainstream. Whereas to be different was a badge of honor in the first two films, the third movie is about taking the path of least resistance, not fighting for who you are or what you believe in, but just acquiescing to what is easiest. In this regard, I refer primarily to Rogue whose cowardly choice at the end of the film is presented as a triumph.

X-Men: The Last Stand had such tremendous potential for being as intellectually stimulating a roller-coaster ride as the first two X-Men films, but gone is the character depth and the psychological complexity, the moody atmospherics and philosophical ruminations that made Bryan Singer's films such a rewarding viewing experience. This third film is a very enjoyable movie, but in a more superficial way. The action scenes and special effects are incredible. I'll certainly never forget the sight of the Golden Gate Bridge hovering across San Francisco Bay to rest on Alcatraz or Magneto's mutants flying in at the end to protest the insult that is the cure. It's a pretty good film that hints at greatness at times, but never follows through. What could have been a brilliant examination of the pros and cons of being different and fitting in became a CGI spectacle devoid of relatable characterizations and emotional depth. If it were any other saga, I'd say it was a good movie, but it certainly is comedown from Singer's brilliant work on the first two installments.

Mission: Impossible III (2006)

It was hardly impossible: the first edge-of-your seat, roller-coaster ride of the year

[8/10 · 5 May 2006]

Whenever I enter the movie theater expecting to see an action thriller, I always experience a sense of trepidation anymore. So many of today's action films are so poorly shot with nauseating hand-held camera work, terrible dialogue, and wooden performances. Many action films feel they need to have as many shots as possible, facilitated by rapid, disorienting, non-continuity editing in the disastrous Michael Bay style. However, I have found my edge-of-my-seat pleasures on the small screen with the brilliant cat-and-mouse games that are "Alias" and "Lost" penned so tightly by J.J. Abrams, the new auteur television producer. So I was thrilled when I heard that Abrams was going to be directing "Mission: Impossible III" starring Tom Cruise. The first two installments were mindless pablum directed by accomplished directors Brian DePalma and John Woo, who completely sold out to the most extreme inanities of Hollywood. After letting the saga lie fallow for 5 years, Tom Cruise became hooked by "Alias," watching the entire series over the course of a single weekend, and afterwards he knew that he had found a new director for "Mission: Impossible" in J.J. Abrams. Hence, we have the best installment in the series thus far, and the best movie yet of 2006.

"Mission: Impossible III" is an incredibly taut, well-edited, swiftly paced story with many action-packed thrills that don't become repetitive and don't rob the characters of development. Tom Cruise plays Ethan Hunt, a former CIA agent in the IMF (Impossible Mission Force), who has finally distanced himself from the spy world. But of course, the spy world will always find him. As he prepares to get married to his girlfriend Julia, his old life catches up with him when a former colleague gets captured by a black-market arms dealer named Owen Davian, played by Philip Seymour Hoffman. The film proceeds like a cinematic version of "Alias" with the narrative alternating between explosive action scenes, shocking twists and revelations, and thought-provoking reflections on what it means to be a spy. What I love about Cruise's character is that we really get to see him as a normal guy. We see him talking with his friends, sharing intimate moments with his girlfriend, and even picking up food at the grocery store. With so many spy dramas in the past like the James Bond series, it is difficult to understand that these spies and villains are real people. It's hard to imagine James Bond going to the grocery store to pick up milk. I think it is a lot more interesting though to explore the juxtaposition between these people's careers as spies and then the "real" lives they lead at home. It makes the spy characters more relatable, and it also grounds the action in reality, making it less cartoonish. There is very little about "Mission: Impossible III" that is cartoonish. It truly is aiming for a certain realism in depicting what it would be like to be a spy in these situations. As a result, the villains are much more down to earth. Philip Seymour Hoffman's character, while certainly evil, is more of a corrupt businessman than a cartoonish super-villain.

J.J. Abrams was an ideal choice to direct "Mission: Impossible III" and his unique sensibility is clearly evident in this film. The movie actually shares a similar story structure to the pilot episode of "Alias" since we explore what it means to be a spy as Tom Cruise's love interest is placed in peril. The question the film asks is whether it is possible to still be a normal person, and be a spy, and I think that the film answers this question with a concrete yes. For me great action films mix explosive adventure with thought-provoking concepts, and "Mission:Impossible III" really fits the criteria. It is extremely well shot so as to allow the viewer to make sense of what is happening on screen. It allows us to better appreciate the stunts and the effects, than so many action films which use rapid editing to cover up shoddy effects, makeup, and acting. The movie also involves critiques of U.S. foreign policy similar to those found on 24 season 5. This intellectually chewy content is perfectly interwoven with action-packed thrills, my idea of a successful action film. Be forewarned, this is a narratively dense movie. You have to pay constant attention to what is happening or you might miss some key plot twist or character reveal. But the script does make sense, unlike so many non-sensical James Bond movies, and the payoff is all the more rewarding when the action scenes have some coherent narrative motivation. This is the first great movie of 2006 and one of the best action films I've seen made outside of Hong Kong or not found on TV. I think it is an impossible mission to not enjoy this film. A-

United 93 (2006)

Discordant, Incomprehensible, and Lackluster American Mythology

[4/10 · 29 April 2006]

I've never felt much of a connection with American history in the cinema. I've found U.S. history to be portrayed solely as disastrous moments like Pearl Harbor, the Vietnam War, Kennedy's assassination, or the Civil War. If not taking this approach then Hollywood wants to make history sexy, by playing out clichéd romances or revenge thriller narratives against the backdrop of historical moments. If it falls into the latter category, then a film about the Revolutionary War has to become about a family man with a mysterious past who has to confront his demons while protecting his family or exacting revenge for them like Mel Gibson in Roland Emmerich's film "The Patriot." Rarely, is American history portrayed without glamour, without commentary, without subtext. I can truly say that Paul Greengrass's "United 93" is such a film.

And it completely fails. Not that I like the type of movies mentioned previously. I loathe them, because I want a more personal view of our American history. "United 93" is admirably devoid of artifice and glamour. It does not turn these real people into characters with backstory and additional conflicts. It presents them as being extraordinarily ordinary, even dull. Greengrass presents a fairly real-time account of what happened to the passengers of this plane, without bringing in any outside context or historical hindsight. What makes the movie so unsettling is that the people in the film (I hesitate to use the word "characters" here)find out about the events of 9/11 in the same state of confusion that all Americans felt on that terrible morning. The people on flight 93 don't even know who's taken over their plane. The people in the air-traffic control tower don't know who's flown planes into the World Trade Center. In fact we see the utter failure of the government to react to the crisis in time. The greatest accuracy is assured in Greengrass's historical narrative by his exhaustive research of what really happened. The movie should be a resounding catharsis, a creative exploration of our great national wound, and yet it fails.

It fails because we have constantly heard this story since 9/11. Indeed, it is a heroic tale, and worthy of retelling. However, Greengrass tells this story the exact same way we have always heard it: as a series of events written down on a timetable, with people reduced to the roles of terrorists and heroes without any understanding of why these roles formed in the first place. It is history utterly without context, which for Greengrass was entirely the point. I admire that he didn't try to turn this film into an "Air Force One"-esquire battle in the sky between heroic Americans and evil terrorists. But it is unavoidable that the events of flight 93 have become the greatest American mythology of the 21st century: that Americans would have the tenacity to fight back against terror while facing certain death is awe-inspiring. The legend, however, has become greater than the reality, as the film clearly shows. Greengrass wanted to portray the mundane nature of life in contrast with the extraordinary events of the hijacking, but here he utterly failed. Whereas most of the passengers on the plane were concerned with their typical business and family problems, the terrorists are also portrayed as merely carrying out a job. We don't get any insight into what the terrorists are thinking as they are about to kill themselves and a plane-full of other people, nor do we see much of what the passengers are thinking in response to this. All the action takes place externally in this film, while the more interesting conflicts are the moral dilemmas the terrorists and passengers are facing internally. It is a very immersive movie, because the viewer truly feels like he or she is there, present on the plane, but somehow removed, detached, and unable to respond. Perhaps Greengrass was trying to instill this feeling of inaction, impotence, and detachment in the viewer so that he or she could feel what it must have been like to be on the flight, but I think that's giving him too much credit. The fact is: this is one of the most poorly shot films I've ever seen. Greengrass is clearly trying to convey a documentary-style realism here with his verite-inspired hand-held camera work. He is trying to create a sense of truth, of cinematic reality to complement the extensive historical research that went into the film. But the camera lurches and shakes so erratically, so completely without plan or design, that it is almost impossible to tell what is happening in key moments of the film, especially when the passengers decide to fight back. I rarely get motion sickness while watching a movie, but here nausea truly set in. This made it impossible to appreciate the flow of real-time events in the historical narrative.

I appreciate that Greengrass wanted to make a movie devoid of romanticism, but the fact is flight 93 has become an American mythology based on ordinary heroes and patriotic catch-phrases ("Let's Roll). It is impossible to do justice to the cultural conception of what happened on that plane. And as a result, the actors turn in mechanical performances designed to make them seem like real people. But in the end, despite being devoid of romantic labels, they are turned into roles. Here is the terrorist, here is the heroic passenger, here is the flight traffic controller, here is the military officer. So even though he doesn't turn these people into characters, he does reduce them to functional roles playing out their historical functions dispassionately, incapable of escaping their tragic destiny.

Sin City (2005)

The Ultimate Fulfillment of My Film-Noir Fantasies

[10/10 · 25 April 2006]

If the "Hays Code" had never been imposed upon the Hollywood film industry in the early 1930s, "Sin City" would probably be typical of most films made in Hollywood today. The film industry felt it was necessary to police itself against some of the film-noir excesses of early 1930s movies. American filmmakers produced many crime films in the early sound era, many of which were considered immoral because of their seedy content: the breakdown of law and order in favor of criminal activity; the failure of society in favor of selfish, material interest; and, of course, sexy dames scantily clad, often involved in murder, alcoholism, and drugs.

If Hollywood had remained unchanged, American films probably would have evolved into "Sin City," a celebration of vigilante justice when the state itself has become a criminal entity. Beheadings and whores are commonplace on the streets of Sin City, but with all its decadence, there is a certain primal morality to this universe that redeems it. It is as if the modern city were the site of a new Stone Age, where the population is divided between various factions or "tribes" who fight for the survival of their respective factions. They just happen to be playing out this tribal warfare in the context of post-modern urban decay. All of our major protagonists are concerned with correcting some injustice. We have Marv (Mickey Rourke) seeking justice for his murdered lover, Goldie; Dwight who wants to protect the prostitutes of Old Town from the mob and police corruption; and Hartigan who seeks protection for Nancy Callihan, the girl who he saved from a child molester years before. These three narrative threads are woven together seamlessly into a beautiful neo-noir tapestry.

The most obvious aspect of the film is obviously its unique visual style. Every shot in the film is based on a corresponding panel from Frank Miller's original graphic novel series of the same name. Director Robert Rodriguez so admired Frank Miller's original vision that he demanded that his film evolve into a "translation" rather than "adaptation" of the novel. This film is supposed to be just another experience of the graphic novel itself. In fact he was so determined to give Frank Miller co-director status that he resigned from the Directors Guild of America. Frank Miller, after all, had visualized the film initially, since Rodriguez used the graphic novel as a storyboard. With the exception of a few set pieces, the film was shot entirely against a green-screen with the backgrounds and landscapes of the city digitally added later. The black-and-white cinematography gives a fantastical luridness to the look of the city that makes the setting seem foreign and exotic, a beautiful stylistic complement to the film's theme that life thrives in the shadows. The low-key lighting creates a chiaroscuro effect that makes the actors extremely attractive, turning them into the sexy anti-heroes and femmes fatales that made the film-noir genre so appealing in the 40s.

Interweaving the three major story lines creates a standard film noir narrative structure of vengeance and retribution, violence stemming from sexual tensions, and individuals acting to restore order and justice when the state has failed. I've never been the biggest fan of multistory film narratives, finding them often to be choppy and inconsistent. However, there are enough character connections between the three stories to make them seem like they are just aspects of one mythology, an exploration of character and decision-making. In my opinion the most interesting of the three stories is the second, about an impending factional war between prostitutes, the mob, and the corrupt cops. I think it best represents the failure of the state to maintain its monopoly on violence and the necessity of individual factions to fill the void of the state's policing power. The Big Kill scene is spectacular, with such gritty, hardboiled poetic dialogue like this line from Dwight: "The Valkyrie at my side is shouting and laughing with the pure, hateful, bloodthirsty joy of the slaughter... and so am I." What insightful narration! To have such introspective dialogue shows that this character understands what it means to live in a film noir universe where the medieval age has been revived in the bowels of the decayed urban environment.

The most brilliant structural devices in the film are the karmic bookends. At both the beginning and the end Josh Hartnett's character assassinates a woman. He appears to be a contradiction to this world of factionalized anti-heroes and femmes fatales. He seems to be working for himself rather than aligned with any particular group. I feel that he embodies the intangible justice and harmony of Sin City. If someone who has committed an injustice, like Becky at the end of the film, Josh Hartnett's character will have vengeance if somehow the factions weren't able to solve their problems. He acts as a balancing force, tying up loose ends, restoring harmony to the system just as a free electron facilitates the bonding of a hydrogen and oxygen atom to create water.

Sin City is a beautifully shot, sociologically complex film about rational decision making in a structure-less environment. It is not for the faint of heart, but its social commentary through poetic language makes it a very rich film. It will make all your film noir dreams come true.

Grizzly Man (2005)

Deeply Compassionate Study of Man's Inner Nature

[10/10 · 25 April 2006]

Joseph Conrad wrote in his great novel "Heart of Darkness" that "The mind of man is capable of anything, because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future." This implies that all of history is subjective. It only exists through our knowledge of it, through our perception of it. Werner Herzog's masterful new documentary "Grizzly Man" is a study in the ability of film to record memories and personal histories in such a way that only the mind ever could before. It shows how the cinema provides a certain immortality for those who have left us too early. It also proves that the "mind of man" is not capable of everything, that the human mind can be deluded by falsehoods, falsehoods which can give meaning to our lives.

The great falsehood in bear-enthusiast Timothy Treadwell's view of the universe was that there existed no barrier between human civilization and Nature, other than that which humanity had erected through hunting and poaching. Werner Herzog's compassionate narration doesn't aim to judge Treadwell, but point out that the great foundation of his life, his enthusiasm for the wild, while the thing which gave him meaning, was also based on a misconception. Somehow Treadwell really believed that both animals and humans were "children of the universe," that they could love each other and spend a life of joyful, carefree play together. His ideals refused to accept that nature could be harsh, demanding the survival of the fittest. He tried to introduce love into an inherently chaotic environment, and nature took his life. There is no good, no evil in nature. It just exists. There is no harmony, there is only chaos.

Grizzly Man is two films. The first consists of the rough footage shot by Treadwell during his 13 summers living with grizzly bears in the Alaskan wilderness. He shot hundreds of hours of footage, not only of the bears themselves, but also of long monologues that he would direct at some unspecified future viewer. He would reflect on his contempt for human civilization, his frustration with previous relationships, the apparent beauty to be found in the simplicity of the wild, and his anger at the government for not protecting his animals. The second film is that of Werner Herzog, who carefully selected key moments from Treadwell's footage and interpreted them with his own narration and in relation to documentary footage he shot himself of people talking about Tim. The most moving moment of the film occurs the only time we actually see Herzog. He is listening to an audio recording of Tim Treadwell's death at the hands of a grizzly bear in October 2003. His reaction conveys his horror, but understanding of the chaos of the universe, and his contentment in knowing that Tim met death the best way he ever could: at the paws of a grizzly bear. Herzog's compassion is not patronizing, and not overly sentimental. As he states frequently throughout the film, he tries to understand humanity from a filmmaker's perspective. Tim Treadwell ultimately preferred escape from the world of man, rather than trying to understand it, but he still did connect with his inner humanity through the use of his DV video camera. This video camera assumed a confessional significance, as Tim revealed his confused tormented heart to nothing more than the digital files of the camera and the foxes around him.

Not only a comparison of the nature of man with the Wild, "Grizzly Man" is a testament to the confessional, healing power of the movie camera. Tim Treadwell has become one with nature, whose only lingering connection to humanity is his legacy on film, just as film was his last connection to humanity in life.

Drunken Master (1978)

110 minutes of acrobatic physicality that is mindless, heartless, and without a story

[5/10 · 13 April 2006]

The film that made Jackie Chan a star, Yuen Wo-Ping's "Drunken Master" constitutes a departure from previous Hong Kong cinema with its intensely comedic elements, while paying tribute to more ancient Chinese cultural traditions. The movie has very little plot relying instead on Jackie Chan's low-brow, Three Stooges-esquire comedic timing, and his acrobatic ability.

It begins with an action scene and really doesn't let up until the very end of the film. The plot concerns a feckless kung fu student (Chan) whose father forces him to study the fighting style of the Eight Drunken Gods. Of course, this means that Jackie fights his many opponents acting as if he is drunk. His physical comedy is impressive, such as his drunken stagger, his slapstick demeanor, and his acrobatic artistry is breathtaking. Chan was raised in the Peking opera, where he learned acrobatics and dancing in addition to the martial arts. This gives his fighting style a unique fluidity, as he tumbles, falls, and leaps out of the way of opponent's blows rather than confronting them head on, fist-to-fist. Most of the movie is really just him using his acrobatics to escape from superior enemies rather than actually fighting them. As impressive physically as this is, few fights actually seem to have any resolution, meaning that the fights do little to advance the narrative, functioning similarly to Busby Berkeley show-stoppers in his 1930 musicals.

Most of Chan's comedy is low humor, involving bodily functions, vomiting, hitting other people a la the Three Stooges, drunkenness, and harassing the opposite sex. The action scenes become monumentally repetitive, having a mind-numbing effect on the viewer by the time you reach the end of the movie. The acting is distorted and exaggerated for comedic effect, but becomes shamelessly boring when combined with the redundant action scenes. The only reason why I give this movie a 5 is for Chan's acrobatic ability. Really, that is the only thing going for this movie, since Yuen Wo-Ping doesn't concentrate at all on mastering the film's formal qualities. The editing is choppy with poor coverage of the individual scenes. Clearly all the fight scenes were edited in camera, so the emphasis is more on the choreography of the fights rather than the filming of them, making them seem rather static and lifeless actually. The movie fails in its formal, textual qualities, so its only draw is Jackie Chan's childish humor and acrobatics.

Nosferatu (1922)

The original vampire film and most famous example of German Expressionism.

[7/10 · 27 January 2006]

Nosferatu (1922) by F.W. Murnau--F.W. Murnau's Nosferatu may be the most famous example of German Expressionist film-making in the 1920s, and yet it is probably the least representative of the overall movement. The first tale of Dracula to hit the big screen, Nosferatu tells the tale of the vampire, Count Orlok, who brings terror to a village in Germany in the 1830s. The film is slowly paced in keeping with the Expressionist movement's emphasis on slow pacing to highlight nuance in the acting and detail in the mise-en-scene, but also in this case to orient the viewer to the background folklore of vampires, a mythology not in the forefront of the public consciousness in 1922. Compared to the highly distorted exaggerated sets of Expressionism's most representative film, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Nosferatu was mainly shot on location in order to emphasize the idea of the unnatural coming out of the natural, a very different notion from that of the carefully crafted, internal, emotionally subjective reality created in the mise-en-scene of most Expressionist films like Caligari. The acting of Max Schreck as Orlok is highly expressionistic, however, with his extremely distorted body movements. In fact, his acting was so unearthly for its time that many wondered if Max Schreck himself might not be a vampire as chronicled in the film Shadow of the Vampire (2000). The cinematography highlights a sense of claustrophobia through its alternating wide-shots and close-ups with scenes edited together using iris transitions. These edits complement the chamber-drama atmosphere of the tale, as do the many arches in the film, a dramatic motif to define a limited, claustrophobic space. Interestingly, whereas Caligari was a commentary on a hypnotic, but misguided power leading the passive masses to their doom in Germany in World War I, Nosferatu is a commentary on the death of the Great War. So profoundly is this film about death, that every character in some way orients himself or herself to it and establishes a relationship with death. Ideas of the supernatural and death pervade the editing together of disparate scenes, a variation of parallel editing in which two or more actions are perceived by the viewer to be taking place at the same time but there is some sort of supernatural connection between these simultaneous occurrences, such as when Hutter's wife perceives his danger at Orlok's castle when the vampire prepares to drink his blood. Ultimately, while the originator of the vampire film, and a classic of horror and silent cinema, the film's pacing is too slow for so minimal a story. As with many German expressionist films I fear that the emphasis on distorted mise-en-scene and acting betrays what is truly unique to the cinematic medium, editing. Paintings can have emotionally-subjective, distorted imagery as well as in the Expressionist paintings of Munch and Kandinsky, and many German plays in the teens displayed the overwrought performances of films like Nosferatu and Caligari, but this to me is a betrayal of what should be truly emphasized in cinema, editing. Editing is what truly differentiates the cinema from all other art forms, and is why I feel that German Expressionism with films like Nosferatu runs contrary to the soul of film-making. B+

Batman Beyond: The Movie (1999 TV Movie)

After giving up his life of vigilantism, Bruce Wayne trains a new Batman.

[6/10 · 27 January 2006]

Batman Beyond: The Movie (1999) by Curt Geda--Batman Beyond: The Movie is the compilation of the first two episodes of the Batman Beyond TV series. The show alternates awkwardly between brilliant exploration of the nature of vigilantism (what it means to be Batman), with insanely over-blown action sequences, and Dawson's Creek-style teenage angst. The premise for the show is that Bruce Wayne ended his career as Batman when he was forced to use a gun for the first time to save his life. Many years went by and in his 80s he is a bitter old man living out his waning days remembering the past, usually by staring at his little museum of super-hero suits, Miss Havisham from Great Expectations-style. After much initial reluctance he begins to train a new Batman, a teenager named Terry McGinnis, whose own father suffered a similar fate to Bruce's parents. The premise of Bruce training Terry to be the new Batman allows for some probing psychological exploration of what it means to be a vigilante who dresses up in a Bat-suit. But the psychology of the characters isn't as richly explored as it could be, due to the emphasis of extraordinary over-the-top action sequences usually involving gang members called the Jokers who pattern themselves on Batman's old arch nemesis. Much of the initial episode focuses on Terry's love interests as well, a waste of time that could have been spent developing more of a relationship between Bruce and Terry. The animation style isn't nearly as compelling as Batman: The Animated Series or Batman: Gotham Knights, with its emphasis on extreme action and characterization. The style of this show leaves no room for nuance, as opposed to the phenomenally detailed, probing nature of the cartoon-noir Batman: The Animated Series. Ultimately, this show leaves the viewer with the same dissatisfied effect of watching a Batman film directed by Joel Schumacher: a lot of fast-paced action and thrills, but little heart. B-

Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker (2000 Video)

Bruce Wayne continues to mentor new Batman Terry McGinnis while the Joker resurfaces after his apparent death at the hands of Robin years ago.

[7/10 · 27 January 2006]

Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker (2000) by Curt Geda--It's hard to believe that a direct-to-video animated film could be better than the last four Batman films, but it is. Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker is the denouement of the Batman universe created in Batman: The Animated Series in 1992. The story is the final passing of the baton from Bruce Wayne to protégé Terry McGinnis, who has now become the new Batman. This film returns to the roots of the Batman mythology by reviving the Joker, who was apparently killed in the Batman: Gotham Knights series through a brilliant story device involving the second Robin, Tim Drake.

When this video was first released much was cut out due to the intense violence and psychological complexity inherent to the story of the Joker's final demise. Thankfully, two years later a restored version of the original vision was released on DVD with a new PG-13 rating. The flashback sequences showing the Joker's apparent death are absolutely inspired. Mark Hamill has never been better voicing the man in the purple suit. His over-the-top insanity is the perfect counterpoint to the reserved Bruce Wayne and the sometimes over-eager Terry McGinnis. Joker's relationship with Tim Drake in the film is heartbreaking and terrifying simultaneously. Likewise, the psychology behind what it means to dress up like a bat and be a vigilante is explored in much greater detail than I think any previous incarnation of Batman. Through the story device of Bruce Wayne mentoring the new Batman Terry, Bruce gets to ruminate on what exactly it means to be Batman, thus deepening our understanding of what I consider to be the most intriguing heroic figure of comic mythology. The animation of the film includes some of the best action scenes in the entire Batman animated universe, but I think that ultimately its emphasis on the action detracts from the most important elements of the story, that of the exploration of Batman and vigilantism and developing the relationship between Bruce Wayne and Terry, and Joker and Tim Drake. If some of the action scenes had been cut down to better accommodate character and thematic development I think the film could have been even better, but considering that the animation is entirely hand-drawn it is truly a spectacular sight to behold. B+

Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003–2005)

Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi fight the final battles of the Clone Wars in spectacular fashion before the events of Star Wars: Episode III--Revenge of the Sith

[26 January 2006]

Star Wars: Clone Wars--Volume II--Excellent prequel to Episode III: Revenge of the Sith. Volume II is so much more psychologically complex and mythically multi-layered than the action-oriented Volume I. Volume II still has dreadful dialogue on the whole, most of which is comprised of unfunny, unworthy-to-be-rehashed lines from the original trilogy. However, moments of mythological and psychological brilliance shine through in the writing, particularly in the final chapter of Volume II where we get deeper insights into Anakin's obsessions and Obi-Wan's advice for a mature response to dealing with one's inner demons, advice Anakin of course will never heed. I love how the mission to Nelvaan, Anakin's last before Revenge of the Sith, is about his trial of the spirit, which up until now he had never completed because of his expedited training. Through a mixture of Native American vision quest-imagery and calligraphic animation we get a glimpse, as does Anakin, of his future as Darth Vader. Whereas Volume I captured the action scenes of Star Wars brilliantly, Volume II really captures its spirit through the emphasis on character development, mythology, and the some of the best action scenes I have ever seen in animation. The Separatist assault on Coruscant and the JedI response is absolutely perfect animation as is the kidnapping of Chancellor Palpatine. Overall, Volume II is superior to Volume I with its astoundingly detailed, rousing animation, its emphasis on character, and its mythological premonition of what is to come. The sound design of the series, while cartoonish at times, is overwhelmingly awe-inspiring, although the score leaves something to be desired. This is Star Wars distilled to its most basic and brilliant elements. The DVD set has a very interesting 10 minute documentary on how the series was meant to act as a lead-in to Episode III, but the rest of the special features consist of trailers and the Revenge of the Brick Lego film, a mildly entertaining parody of the Star Wars mythology. Series: A- DVD: B+

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002)

Harry Potter's Second Year at Hogwarts means more character development!

[9/10 · 23 November 2005]

Wow! What an improvement in every way over "The Sorcerer's Stone!" At first I was a little ambivalent that this film would be essentially a rehash of what happened in the first film, and indeed that is the case, but it helps to examine the nature of the universe and characters created in the first film and ties it in extremely well to the films that follow. More specifically I am referring to how this movie was essentially designed just to provide more character insight into the connection between Harry and Voldemort. Whereas we encountered the "real" Voldemort in "The Sorcerer's Stone" as essentially a parasite living off of Professor Quirrell, here we have a "copy," a virtual Voldemort created when he was a student named Tom Riddell 50 years ago. The copy has all of the knowledge and memories of the Voldemort in the present but retains the form of the past and even tries to "become more than a memory." Not only is this a highly innovative way to flesh out the arch villain's backstory but it also provides greater motivation for his rebellion years ago and for his return two years later. Both of these two movies have the same plot really which is setting up the background and personality of a boy wizard prodigy who comes to learn more about himself through the attempts of his nemesis, Voldemort, to seek revenge. This movie posits Voldemort on a more realistic playing field and yet with the most creative of devices, that of the virtual becoming the real, which then allows for the revelation that Voldemort rubbed off some of his powers on Harry. Is Harry then another more complex copy of Voldemort we wonder? They certainly do have a connection, mutually attracting and repulsing one another, tied by history and circumstances, and yet divided by alternative perceptions of this connection. Voldemort derives his view of the world from his abilities, an ideology akin to predestination, while Harry has defined himself by his actions, his choices, not by any predetermined role that he must play because of the innate tools which he has been given. Philosophically, the ideas are far richer than in the first film. It is as if Columbus remade the same plot only with new scenarios better connected thematically. The complexity of the ideas presented in this film are so far beyond that of typical kids fare, and I can see why fans of all ages are intrigued by this franchise on so many levels.

In terms of intensity this film still grapples with having a kid-friendly, toy-box insipidness that can't accommodate the more complex ideas, more probing character exposition, and darker themes. Once again I feel completely immersed in this magical world, and, although this film is more epic in scope, I would like to see this scale expanded to give us a glimpse of the world beyond Hogwarts. As much as I love the claustrophobia of these first two films, I still find it difficult to posit this magical world within our own real world. The cinematography exudes mythological reverence with its massive establishing shots of the most richly appointed interiors with the only external establishing shots being of the castle or the dark forest. When this epic camera-work could have really been applied to great effect I don't think it was all that effective during the closing battle scene, which should have been taken more seriously than its almost plastic-y, Spy Kids dimension which I think patronizes the youth audience towards which this film is marketed.

The best thing about this film, though, is the acting. Emma Watson has obviously received professional help--acting lessons that is, and the addition of British gods Kenneth Branagh and Jason Isaacs added the right mix of serio-comic absurdity. And their presence helps to mitigate the dull political banter that reminds of the debate over the taxation of trade routes in a galaxy far, far away. Outstanding film all around.

Originality: 100 Intensity of Effect: 90 Complexity: 90 Coherence: 100 Average: 95 Dialogue too stilted for real children at times (-5) Acting excellent (+2) Cinematography (+1) Brilliant pacing (+2) Sumptuous mise-en-scene (+1)

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets: A (96)

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (2001)

A young boy discovers he is a wizard and enrolls in a school of witchcraft.

[7/10 · 23 November 2005]

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone is really challenging to evaluate on traditional grounds. It is highly original, infinitely complex, tight as a drum in terms of coherence, and leaves a powerful emotional and intellectual response from the viewer. Based on these grounds I start the movie at 100.

However, I must deduct from this movie based on the following grounds. Terrible acting from Emma Watson, who is only good when she is silent. This is appalling considering that she is a huge part of the story. (-5) Daniel Radcliffe is better at the beginning because I never feel he makes a compelling enough transition into wizard prodigy. (-3) Matthew Lewis as Neville Longbottom is absolutely dreadful (-1). At times terrible special effects (-3) but on the whole impressive. Could have been more tightly edited (-3) Fantastic cinematography (+3) Brilliant music (+3) Terrible sound at times (-3) Writing can be trite and uninspired (-3) Great sets, costumes, makeup (+1)

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone: B (86)

Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)

As teenage angst sets in, Harry Potter must face once again his greatest enemy.

[10/10 · 23 November 2005]

If people aren't hooked by the very first shot in this movie, then there is really no hope for them. I knew from the very first instant of this film that it would be outstanding in every way. As opposed to the kid-friendly, John Williams tinker-bell score that sounds so similar to "Somewhere in My Memory" the movie begins with a much darker variation on the Harry Potter theme. The opening shot follows a snake to the crypt of the Riddle family and a statue that looks ominously like a Death Eater. I adore this first shot so much because it lets the viewer know that right away this film is going to be a lean, mean thriller. And thankfully, the opening scene of Voldemort, Peter Pettigrew, from here on known as Wormtail, and Barty Crouch Junior, immediately immerses you in the "magical world" as opposed to the "real world" of Harry's dreadful relatives, the Dursleys. Thankfully, the Dursleys are absent from the beginning of this film, and the story begins with Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys journeying to the Quidditch World Cup. Right away we realize that that opening scene was just a dream, a dream sequence that would become a dramatic motif throughout the rest of the film that often unifies disparate elements into a thriller format.

From the very beginning the cinematography in Goblet of Fire is so much more epic than in the other films with its vast sweeping crane and helicopter shots of breathtaking vistas. The mise-en-scene is infinitely darker than the other films even from the first few moments. I love the extremes in the production values here. I adore how so many of the shots throughout feature the darkest gray lighting and yet are of such sweeping expanses.

The film is expertly paced from the very beginning, instantly immersing the viewer in this magical world without the often awkward transition of Harry enduring the Dursleys for a while and then entering his world of magic. The dream sequence at the beginning casts a specter over the entire rest of the film, setting the overall mood. This chilling opening is continued with the brilliant attack on the Quidditch World Cup by Voldemort's followers, the Death Eaters. The shots of the playing field after the attack are stunningly bleak, and the appearance of David Tennant as Barty Crouch Junior, who conjures the Dark Mark, is chilling. Barty Crouch Junior seems almost like some sadistic member of the Black and Tans with his leather boots and jacket.

So much plot is crammed in this movie that it is almost overwhelming to consider all that happened. I think that in terms of action scenes, the segment beginning the Tri-Wizard Tournament where Harry battles a dragon is one of the most exhilarating, edge-of-your-seat thrill rides I've ever seen.

I really have mixed feelings about the teenage romance aspects of this film. Although I think that there might be more there than just a copycat of a 1980s teen comedy, I can't ignore that this whole segment really does slow down the overall plot, especially since it was charging ahead with such glorious speed earlier. And I don't think the film gains back that same momentum until the very end. I think the underwater challenge is not nearly compelling enough for the amount of time allotted to it, but this is nearly forgotten by the brilliance of the final challenge in which Harry must enter a maze of doom. In this maze he and Cedric Diggory are transported to the graveyard of the Riddles seen at the beginning of the film, and there Harry confronts his old nemesis Lord Voldemort, after being forced to give him life by Wormtail. The Dark Lord is played brilliantly by Ralph Fiennes, who turns in a performance of such over-the-top glee perfectly fitting the mountains of set-up in the first four movies leading up to this moment. Voldemort is half-serpent, half-Hamlet, a character really unlike any other I've ever seen. His genius is evident, but also his insecurity as he feels it necessary to duel Potter in order to prove his powers. The final moment of their duel when Harry's parents arrive to help him is the best surprise I could've imagined in that moment.

What more can I say about this film? It is a wildly entertaining roller coaster-ride, certainly not without its flaws, but an exhilarating experience nonetheless. Despite the crawl of the middle-section of the film the beginning and end are so perfectly paced it's hard afterwards to even remember that there was a time when it dragged. More than anything I just love how this movie franchise has now grown up with Harry. Gone is the predictable whimsy of a John Williams score. Absent is the kid-friendly, cartoonish sensibility that made the first movie, and even to some degree the second, rather formulaic. Mike Newell knows when it is important to have frenetic visual, loud sound effects, and a bombastic score and never overplays any of these elements like Chris Columbus was wont to do. In Chris Columbus's films never would there have been the quiet chill of Harry's exploration of the foggy maze or the eerie silence of the ruined Quidditch World Cup venue. Patrick Doyle's score is understated for the most part and only supplements the action occurring on screen. Mike Newell has learned from the previous installments that less can be more, not every moment has to be another peril, not every shot has to be filled with frenetic action or deafening sound effects. But when he does include these elements they have so much greater emotional intensity because they punctuate moments of relative quiet simplicity.