Thursday, December 5, 2013
Every Drink Mentioned in a Steely Dan Song
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
The Ladies Man (Jerry Lewis, 1961)
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Friday, August 31, 2012
On Dangerous Ground (Nicholas Ray, 1952)
I can’t recall watching any of his films in class, which is a shame. Ray’s films are startlingly modern, his innovations, while subtler, are as radical as those of Citizen Kane and less schematic. He is perhaps, along with Howard Hawks[1], the greatest director America ever produced.
With Ray, American narrative cinema for the first time breaks free from the nineteenth century theatre in a way that it hadn’t with any other American director except for Buster Keaton. Ray's films such as Johnny Guitar and In A Lonely Place, are at once unsentimental and brutally romantic, filled with a cinematic exuberance while fatalistic about existence. He is equally at home in both adolescent and middle-aged angst. No wonder the nouvelle vaguers idolized him.
Ground starts with a traditional Robert Ryan role, introducing his Jim examining mug shots alone in his spartan apartment. His calm exterior masking an inveterate rage at the city, criminals, and his peers. This is a man who is incapable of compartmentalizing. This is a man who has internalized the violence that surrounds him. What makes the story unique though, is that the story of is less about redemption or growth, but about healing.
As he recognizes her blindness, his eyes open to the moral gray area he has entered. What begins as an interrogation slowly turns into a narrative of mutual self-examination. The camera traces the actors’ movements throughout the living room. While this stifling urban "city" is portrayed in stark perpendicular lines, Mary's living room is filled with broken rococo surfaces and talismanic objects (the tree that grows in the center of the living room, a piece of wood, a small bust and a hanging plant). Ray portrays Mary's space as tactile rather than visual[4] and has Jim adapt himself to this alien situation. His Manichaean perspective ebbs away and rediscovers his empathy as he adjusts to the delicate asymmetry of a new space.
Once removed from the tyrannically rigid city and placed in Mary's openly free-flowing home, even if for a few days, he begins to transform and heal.
On Dangerous Ground isn’t Ray’s greatest work but it is representative and therefore utterly brilliant.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
The Dark Knight Rises (Christopher Nolan 2012)
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Love Exposure (Shion Sono, 2008)
Monday, July 2, 2012
Rio Bravo (Howard Hawks, 1959)
- Five Easy Pieces (Bob Rafelson, 1970)
- A.I. Artificial Intelligence (Steven Spielberg, 2001)
- Carlito’s Way (Brian De Palma, 1993)
- Empire Strikes Back (Irvin Kershner, 1980)
- Notre Musique (Jean-Luc Godard, 2004)
- Contempt (Jean-Luc Godard, 1963)
- Mystery Train (Jim Jarmusch, 1989)
- Hard Boiled (John Woo, 1992)
- I Know Where I’m Going! (Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger, 1945)
- The General (Buster Keaton & Clyde Bruckman, 1926)
- Duck Soup (Leo McCarey, 1933)
- The Passion of Joan of Arc (Carl Theodor Dreyer, 1928)
- Winter Light (Ingmar Bergman, 1962)
- Vertigo (Alfred Hitchcock, 1958)
- Marriage of Maria Braun (Rainer Werner Fassbinder, 1979)
- Mystery Train (Jim Jarmusch, 1989)
- Holiday (George Cukor, 1938)
- They Live By Night (Nicholas Ray, 1949)
- A Matter of Life and Death (Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger, 1946)
- Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy (Adam Mckay, 2004)
Thursday, June 21, 2012
White Heat (Raoul Walsh, 1949)
Minority Report (Steven Spielberg, 2002)
Thursday, April 19, 2012
A Matter Of Life and Death & Black Narcissus (Michael Powell & Emeric Pressburger, 1946, 1947)
Britain’s masters of above board perversity produce two dissimilar yet singularly representative works. In the former, David Niven’s very David Niveny pilot fights to remain on Technicolor earth than the black and white afterlife when he survives a bomber crash. In the latter, a bunch of nuns are sent into an erotic/nostalgic reverie in their new exotic environment and by the sight of David Farrar’s shorts. Both films seemed filled with formal contradictions to accompany their narrative ones, the depiction of Life and Death’s aforementioned afterlife, Narcissus’s cold hothouse, whereas most stories of eroticism are enacted in claustrophobic interiors, this one’s is positively agoraphobic, despite being shot entirely on studio sets. Kathleen Byron’s Sister Ruth becoming more beautiful the more nutso she gets (although that could just be me). What sticks in the minds eye the strongest in the films are the moments of sheer beauty, a beauty borne out of neuroses (which is perhaps what links Scorsese so closely, explicitly and implicitly, to their pictures). Images as broad as the vastness of the Himalayas or as intimate as small town projected through a camera obscura, or as heartbreakingly unsentimental as Niven dictating a telegram to his family knowing that he’s certainly going to die. The irony of course is that he doesn’t but falls in love. It is not the auratic impressiveness of Wagner or Malick, but an interior vision depicted on the screen in otherworldly Technicolor. Driven by a veddy English brand of neuroticism their films are at once immediate and distant. Like I said, contradictory. The Archers give credence to the idea that films are the embodiment our collective dreamscape.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Liebelei (Max Ophüls 1933)
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
The Raid: Redemption (Gareth Evans, 2011)
A work of anti-humanist cinema of space and movement made all the more exhilarating for its lack of irony or bloat vis-a-vis the essence of its technique. Art expressed through the collision of mechanized men cut and choreographed to within an inch of its life. The argument has been made that the film resembles a video game, point being that it lacks significant character development and the plot is thin; which are both true, but miss the point. Proof that, by and large, critics are still tied to Aristotelian (by way of Robert McKee bullshit) concept of dramatic construction, and dramatic construction-period as the cinema’s only appropriate mode. You can’t just make a picture where a bunch of guys kick the shit out of each other. However, I would posit that you can make a picture where a bunch of guys kick the shit out of each other artfully. And artfully they do. So while the camera may be shaky and the cutting may be fast; this is not the chaos cinema that everybody won’t shut up about. It takes skill, craft, and yes art to shoot these things right. All of which Evans has in abundance. An intuitive formalist, he knows that this picture doesn’t need anything more, so outside of a few half-hearted stabs at feeding the audience some pathos, he just lets the premise play out without gussying it up. And play out it does. Like an adrenaline shot to the gonads. Who could ask for anything more!


